#the drought has been so real

[sadanduncertain]

I miss dnd so much I'm gonna vomit

[orphyd]

✅ Officially a Girlfriend 🫡🍾🥳

[jamiesfootball]

Today’s out of order scene that demanded I focus on it instead of the parts I should be working on is-

*spins wheel*

Roy and Jamie training montage! 🥳

[partynthem]

what level of gay is it to have a crush on your roller derby coach. cos that’s where i’m at

[snekdood]

come on, get it over with you cowards, come and tell me how horrible and terrible i am or whatever.

[chai-en-kaadhale]

atp the default weather in the summer is heat wave (for my state atleast)

[reasonsforhope]

"The sleeping giant of the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has stirred.

In the past month, an avalanche of anti-pollution rules, targeting everything from toxic drinking water to planet-heating gases in the atmosphere, have been issued by the agency. Belatedly, the sizable weight of the US federal government is being thrown at longstanding environmental crises, including the climate emergency.

On Thursday [May 18, 2023], the EPA’s month of frenzied activity was crowned by the toughest ever limits upon carbon pollution from America’s power sector, with large, existing coal and gas plants told they must slash their emissions by 90% or face being shut down.

The measure will, the EPA says, wipe out more than 600m tons of carbon emissions over the next two decades, about double what the entire UK emits each year. But even this wasn’t the biggest pollution reduction announced in recent weeks.

In April, new emissions standards for cars and trucks will eliminate an expected 9bn tons of CO2 by the mid-point of the century, while separate rules issued late last year aim to slash hydrofluorocarbons, planet-heating gases used widely in refrigeration and air conditioning, by 4.6bn tons in the same timeframe. Methane, another highly potent greenhouse gas, will be curtailed by 810m tons over the next decade in another EPA edict.

In just a few short months the EPA, diminished and demoralized under Donald Trump, has flexed its regulatory muscles to the extent that 15bn tons of greenhouse gases – equivalent to about three times the US’s carbon pollution, or nearly half of the entire world’s annual fossil fuel emissions – are set to be prevented, transforming the power basis of Americans’ cars and homes in the process...

If last year’s Inflation Reduction Act (IRA), with its $370bn in clean energy subsidies and enticements for electric car buyers, was the carrot to reducing emissions, the EPA now appears to be bringing a hefty stick.

The IRA should help reduce US emissions by about 40% this decade but the cut needs to be deeper, up to half of 2005 levels, to give the world a chance of avoiding catastrophic heatwaves, wildfires, drought and other climate calamities. The new rules suddenly put America, after years of delay and political rancor, tantalizingly within reach of this...

“It’s clear we’ve reached a pivotal point in human history and it’s on all of us to act right now to protect our future,” said Michael Regan, the administrator of the EPA, in a speech last week at the University of Maryland. The venue was chosen in a nod to the young, climate-concerned voters Joe Biden hopes to court in next year’s presidential election, and who have been dismayed by Biden’s acquiescence to large-scale oil and gas drilling.

“Folks, this is our future we are talking about, and we have a once-in-a-generation opportunity for real climate action,” [Michael Regan, the administrator of the EPA], added. “Failure is not an option, indifference is not an option, inaction is not an option.” ...

It’s not just climate the EPA has acted upon in recent months. There are new standards for chemical plants, such as those that blight the so-called "Cancer Alley" the US, from emitting cancer-causing toxins such as benzene, ethylene oxide and vinyl chloride. New rules curbing mercury, arsenic and lead from industrial facilities have been released, as have tighter limits on emissions of soot and the first ever regulations targeting the presence of per- and polyfluoroalkylsubstances (or PFAS) in drinking water.” ...

For those inside the agency, the breakneck pace has been enervating. “It’s definitely a race against time,” said one senior EPA official, who asked not to be named. “The clock is ticking. It is a sprint through a marathon and it is exhausting.” ...

“We know the work to confront the climate crisis doesn’t stop at strong carbon pollution standards,” said Ben Jealous, the executive director of the Sierra Club.

“The continued use or expansion of fossil power plants is incompatible with a livable future. Simply put, we must not merely limit the use of fossil fuel electricity – we must end it entirely.”"

-via The Guardian (US), 5/16/23

[rinnstars]

cravings!

rin misses you, a little too much

itoshi rin x reader: lovesick rin, yandere ish, its all metaphorical tho, word dump tbh.. , not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

he must be going crazy, he thinks, lying on the rock-hard mattress provided by this lukewarm facility - a cold reminder on where he longs to be, by your side on your soft bed right by your side. and there he goes, becoming sidetracked all over again. all he can think about is you - and he knows that should be normal, considering you’ve been dating him for over a year, and that’s all normal. but even to itoshi rin, he thinks its a little more than infatuation, limerence or a crush, he thinks he’s truly gone crazy being apart from you for so long.

he misses every inch of you. he misses your eyes that seem to sparkle when it meets his, he misses your eyes when they blink at him confusedly whenever he attempts to show his affection to you, he misses your eyes that turns into crescent lines when you smile - and he can’t get enough even through the face calls he’s making all too often or through the thousands of photos he keeps in his phone in a secret folder. he misses your lips when it mesmerises him as it changes its shape as you chatter away, he misses your lips melting into his, connecting and becoming one with his, he misses just the look of your lips whether glossy, dry, sticky - and he doesn’t think any photo that he takes whether with his phone or with the help of your digicam can ever do it justice. he misses your hair that flicks on his face that usually annoys him but at this moment of weakness it makes him yearn for you even more, he misses combing through your hair as you lie on his laps doing whatever you want as he watches football matches, he misses the warmth of your hair against his neck and face as you sleep soundly beside him, resembling an angel - and yet all he can do is to stare through the blue screen to watch your social media to see if you’ve changed your hairstyle - leaving it down, tying it up, if you curled it or straightened it and whatnot. he misses your hands when it interlocks and fits right into his, he misses your hands and the way it sends electric shock down his spine as you touch him, he misses your hands that were so warm and gentle against his cold and rougher hands - and he regrets now not taking a few pictures of your hands and he has to rely on zooming in like a creep on your shared pictures.

and he thinks he truly has it bad when he dreams of you. he dreams of you at night - some days its back to school, where you’ll be with him all day long, convincing him to study that he’s truly taken advantage of because right now all he wishes to do is to go back to school and learn mathematics with you even if he doesn’t understand a single word youre trying to say, eating lunch with just you, sitting right next to you during practicals, exams, class time, and everything. some days it’ll be another weekend for you two - lying on his lap as you scroll through your phone or play games or sometimes even revising your work whilst he without fail glues his eyes on the computer or tv displaying clips of football matches, and all he wishes is that he focused on you instead. some days, its much more weird, some days he dreams of those cringe love mangas, and he swears its your influence on him - where you play the princess and he can be your prince or knight, or maybe even a role reversal if he’s real tired that day and some days he just dreams of clips of you, like he’s stuck in those edits he sees you giggle and lose your mind over and now suddenly he gets it as if youre his idol.

and right now, all he wishes to do is to crawl within your veins. all he had learnt at blue lock is simply that he can’t stand this distance between you and him, as though he is in a drought, as though this red string of fate between your fingers is instead wrapped and tugging at his heart, as though youre his water and food and air to him. he yearns to be one with you, not just by signing a piece of paper to determine you two as forever, he wants to be one soul with you, he wants to be the one you match your ribs with, he wants to be yours completely the ways you are his entirely. he wants you to eat him, the way he wants to eat you - having each other inside of one another is romantic albeit sick and twisted in others head, be one with you truly, be mixed with every part of you. he’s never thought so much about something other than his crushed dreams of football, and even that pales to this addiction of you. youre like his drug, and he feels as though he’s going through withdrawal symptoms - he’s getting even more moody than usual and he’s sure his roommates in this claustrophobic space can tell by his glare, his even more snappy and irritated tone, the ways he’s getting more fidgety as though he’s a kid going through a sugar rush that is you, his head is rushing with thoughts of you that is simply unlike him, and his chest is pumping now even faster as he thinks about you.

at this point, just for a moment, he doesn’t even want to be itoshi rin anymore. he wants to be the necklace youre wearing, making contact with your skin as you walk, looking around at the scenery with you, sharing your point of view. he wants to be the homework youre probably stressing over, having all your attention and your hands on him, and maybe even your tears he suspects since its exam season. he wants to the fan in your room, cooling you off and helping you stay comfortable and relaxed, being rewarded for his relentless spinning by the grace of your smile that he’s sure will send him to heaven. he wants to your hands, aiding you in your everyday life, and getting his reward through being able to touch your skin that he’s sure is sculptured by whatever god rules this world. he wants to be your blood, deep inside you and keeping you alive, getting to see you from the inside, and exciting and forbidden view he thinks. he wants to be a virus cell, exploring your insides and truly being one with you, infecting you with his lovesickness probably, as he in a way becomes one with you. he wants to be the walls in your heart, and be kept deep inside your heart like a secret, like he’s truly yours, like he’s one with you.

and he knows he can never say all these weird thoughts out loud - not because of his pride, not because of his inability to truly express his extent of his love, not because he thinks its cringe but simply because he knows you just might leave him and he’d rather die, rather give up football, rather go to hell for the rest of eternity than to be separated any longer. he would do anything just so you keep him a little longer - he’’ll play a fool, he’ll play as a pet, he’ll play as your doll, and he’ll do anything you ask of him just so you’ll stay even if you don’t love him. but he knows you does, so what can he do to keep being in your, his angel, good graces to go to paradise, as in to stay with you forever. he cannot even bear the thought of separating from you relationship-wise - he thinks the world will end if you ever broke up with him, maybe he’ll truly die whether by his own hands, those pill bottles, or simply just from the distance you’ve put between you and him, because youre his blood, youre his heart, youre his brain. he rather live through being abandoned by his own brother, witnessing his own metaphorical death and corpse rotting on that grassy field than to ever be separated from you, rather go through the fiery pits of hell, rather be tortured for an eternity than to be reared apart from your embrace in this mortal life. because if he can’t even handle this one mere week without your physical presence, even with your voice mails you’ve sent to keep him alive and the face calls you make every night, he thinks he’ll become a mad man, hell, he doesn’t even think he’d be alive if you ever left him truly.

but for now, he’ll let his strange mind wander and yearn for you a little more, he just hopes you wont think you’ve gotten a cold from the amount of times you’ll be sneezing today from the constant and never-ending thoughts about you.

[bonus-links]

Ahem, if I may impose.... Directors commentary?? 😁😁

YEAHHH lots to say abt this one

i know rule number one is don't point out the flaws in ur own work but i have to confess. i forgot to add hair highlights to this entire update. i didn't realize until i had already queued up the posts and i could not bear re-exporting and color correcting every page again. so i just let it be. it only kills me a little bit. they rlly add something y'know

i haven't seen a whole lot of comments about this to the point i worry i didn't do a good job of conveying it so: Loft's dream at the beginning is about ganondorf.

Loft has, in fact, chewed his nails to bits.

i'm gonna be so real, part of the delay for this update was bc my brain got so stuck on the logistics of where that damn bookshelf would go

korok bookends :D

i like to think the story of the hero of time is actually mostly an oral tradition on Outset, or at least that's how Gran Gran first told Link and Aryll the stories when they were children.

i worry a little bit about these 'lore recap" updates, bc like. I'm assuming you've played the games, or at least know the gist. but I feel like there's a few stories it's important for us to see Loft's direct reactions to, and the conclusions he draws from them, because it'll be important to his actions later. I try to make up for it by at least making these sections visually interesting HAHA i think this is the last major one though

on that note: I hope this comes across on its own, but Loft finishes Gran Gran's story himself because he's just realized the flood was sent by the gods, and not some external force of evil. he's also realizing that this is not the first time the gods have been willing to wipe the slate clean in the absence of a hero, and that it's actually something of a pattern. it runs up against his idea of how Demise's curse is meant to work. this is one such mystery mouseketool we'll use later.

also on that note: regardless of ganondorf's actions, i find it significant that the gods chose to destroy a man whose people suffered in a droughted desert with,,,,a flood. that thought was the conceit for this update

Loft has seen this play out in his dreams, but obviously doesn't fully know the context. also I'm gonna refer to this version of zelda as Sheik. he uses he/him pronouns thank you :-)

just wanted to show some closeups of the stained glass bc. i worked hard on them HAHA + the grayscale wip

i was really hoping this chapter would be done. last year. it was meant to be a chance to slow down for a second before the plot speeds up 😅 but we're nearing the last few updates!! thank you all for bearing with me <3 life has been kind of insane and extremely discouraging irl, so getting to post these updates and seeing you all enjoy them has been a real bright spot <333 special thank you to my patreon supporters bc. seriously it has helped more than you know.

i think that's all ive got for now! see you next time, hopefully sooner than 4-5 business months

[p0orbaby]

Leah/reader have been going through a sex drought so reader decides to surprise leah one evening with a strip tease. Make it SaUcY plz x

-

The plan has been percolating in your head for days. Weeks, if you’re honest with yourself. The outfit agonised over for days: all silk and black lace that toes the line between sultry and “I’m absolutely trying too hard.” You’ve taken into account lighting (low, warm, flattering) and ambiance (candles, but not so many it screams séance). This is high-level strategy, not a whim.

The drought has been bad. Biblical, almost. You’re starting to feel like one of those tortured protagonists in an indie film about suburbia. “Are we okay?” hangs between you and Leah like stale air. You’re fine—better than fine—but busy schedules and post-match fatigue have made the bed a glorified charging station for your phones rather than a place of… connection.

The sound of Leah’s keys jingling in the lock sends a ripple of nerves through you. You check your reflection in the mirror one last time—lingerie clinging to you in all the right places, lipstick sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of confidence that’s half real, half bravado.

“In the living room,” you reply, pitching your voice just shy of nonchalant.

The door opens, and Leah steps in, looking as gorgeous and knackered as ever. Her hair’s tied up in a loose bun, and her kit bag is slung over one shoulder. She smells faintly of fresh grass and whatever industrial-strength shower gel Arsenal uses.

“Hey,” she says. Her eyes land on you, and she pauses mid-step. “What’s all this?”

You cross the room slowly, hips swaying with more intent than usual. “I thought I’d treat you tonight”

Her bag drops to the floor with a dull thud. “Something special,” she repeats, her accent curling around the words like a tease of its own. “And what exactly does that mean?”

You press a button on your phone, and the opening notes of the song fill the room. Leah freezes as the implication hits her like a perfectly struck free kick. Her jaw tenses, her cheeks flush, and you know you’ve got her.

Her voice is shaky but attempting nonchalance. “Are you…? Are you about to—?”

You step closer, tugging the robe’s belt loose. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be”

She exhales sharply, her hands coming up in mock surrender. “Nope. Absolutely nowhere”

The next few minutes are equal parts electrifying and ludicrous. You sway your hips to the beat, sliding your robe off completely before stepping closer to her. Leah sits frozen on the edge of the sofa, hands gripping her knees like she’s trying not to combust. Her eyes flicker between your face and… everywhere else, wide and slightly panicked.

“You’re… really good at this,” she stammers, which makes you laugh mid-spin. “Like, way better than I expected”

“Expected?” You pause, raising an eyebrow as you slide a strap off your shoulder. “What were you expecting?”

She shakes her head rapidly, clearly realising she’s said the wrong thing. “No, I mean—it’s just—oh, God.” She runs a hand through her hair, flustered. “You’re killing me right now”

You step closer, close enough that her knees brush against yours. Her breathing has gone shallow, her lips parted slightly. “Killing you, huh?” you murmur, letting your fingers trail along the line of her jaw.

“I’m actually dead,” she whispers. “Gone. Buried”

You smirk, shifting to straddle her lap, and her hands hover awkwardly at your waist like she’s scared she’ll ruin the moment if she moves too soon. Her eyes search yours, and for a moment, the teasing drops away. There’s just her, and you, and the ridiculous, overwhelming love you have for each other.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” you say softly, your lips inches from hers.

And that’s all it takes. Her hands find your hips, her grip firm but reverent, and she pulls you closer like she’s been waiting her whole life to do it. The playlist fades into the background as she kisses you—slow at first, then deeper, needier, like she’s making up for lost time.

The drought is over.

[requiemforthepoets]

en garde! 𖦹 CL16

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x fencer!leclerc!reader , f1 grid x fencer!leclerc!reader

SUMMARY: charles had been asking you to teach him fencing, and you finally did.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: smau mixed with narrations, inconsistent photos, typos, not proofread, cursing, no use of y/n on the narrations, poorly google translated italian, and all photos are taken from pinterest

FACE CLAIMS: all from pinterest

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: it’s been a long time since i added a new fic to my leclerc!sister series, so here it is hehe sorry, i’ve yapped a LOT about fencing on the narration part, so pls forgive me 😭 i hope i didn’t bore you a lot with fencing stuff 😭 i’m also accepting request for this series (i’m running out on ideas lmao 🥲) but i hope that you’ll enjoy this one!

ynleclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, sofia_rossi, marcoromano.fencing, landonorris and 783,984 others

ynleclerc E' passato un po' di tempo, Italia 💘

view all 12,837 comments

charles_leclerc when are you coming home?

ynleclerc idk, why?

charles_leclerc are you serious right now 😐

ynleclerc what…🧍🏻‍♀️

charles_leclerc check my messages for once 😐

username1 OH HOW I MISSED YOU 😭

username2 the y/n drought has finally ended!!!! 😭

username3 MOTHER IS BACK, MOTHER HAS POSTED 😭🎉

landonorris thank god you’re alive. i thought you’re already dead somewhere 😔💔

ynleclerc bro what 😭

landonorris anyways, when will you teach me how to fence for a new quadrant yt vid

ynleclerc you sure you’re up for it? don’t want you poking yourself with the foil

landonorris 😠😠😠😠

sofia_rossi CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!!

ynleclerc 🥰🥰🥰

username4 OUR FAV FENCING DUO IS GOING TO SEE EACH OTHER SOON??? OMG 😭❤️

francisca.cgomes you’re in italy and you didn’t even tell me? 😠

ynleclerc I FORGOT IM SORRY IM SORRY!! but hey, i’m italy 🥰 hangout soon?

francisca.cgomes of course!!! just text meeee!!

username5 SHE REMEMBERED HER PASSWORD 🥳

ynleclerc posted a story!

liked by charles_leclerc, sofia_rossi, yourbestfriend, francisca.cgomes, marcoromano.fencing and others

charles_leclerc when will you teach me fencing 😔

charles_leclerc can’t believe it’s so hard to schedule one with you 💔💔💔

charles_leclerc i need big brother privileges 💔

ynleclerc USHCJJSJD CHARLES 😭

ynleclerc i’ll be home by next week! (hopefully you’ll be home as well 🤥) damn, can’t believe our schedules never really align

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️❤️❤️

francisca.cgomes i’m free tomorrow!! how about we go out for brunch?

ynleclerc KIKAAAA!! yes yes, ofc! ❤️

francisca.cgomes YAY!!

username6 OUR FENCING DUO WILL BE REUNITED SOON 😭❤️

username7 oh we pray for times like this (you being active on ig 😔💔)

MONACO

The sound of clashing blades echoed through the halls of the Club d’Escrime, a backdrop to your training session with Marco, your Italian coach. Fully suited in your white fencing uniform, mask tucked under your arm, you watched the double doors open, revealing your brother, Charles and his videographer, Antoine. The latter already had his camera rolling, and Charles, in his usual casual style—jeans, a dark hoodie, and white sneakers, looking like he had just stepped off a magazine cover.

“Finally!” You said, walking towards them with a smile. “Thought you’d never make it.”

Charles chuckled, spreading his arms in mock exasperation. “Don’t start! You’re the one who’s always impossible to catch. What is it this week? Tokyo? Budapest?”

“Home, for once,” you replied with a laugh, gesturing around the salle. “But that’s rare, as you know.”

“The place is very stunning,” Charles said, as he marveled the interior of the salle. “So this is where gold medals are made?” He teased.

“Something like that,” you replied, your voice light with pride. “Though Marco here deserves half the credit.”

“Ah, Charles! Finalmente ci incontriamo,” Marco greeted, shaking Charles’ hand firmly. His thick Italian accent added a charm to his words. “Your sister talks about you a lot.”

“È un piacere finalmente conoscerti. Lei non parla mai di me quando vinco, però.” He joked, shooting a playful look your way.

“Not true, and you know it.” You rolled your eyes at the comment.

Marco laughed, patting Charles on the shoulder. “Well today, we’ll see if athletic talent runs in the family, sì?”

“Okay, so here we are at the Club d’Escrime in Monaco. This is where my sister trains—when she’s not winning Olympic gold, of course,” he said grinning at you and turning towards the camera.

“We’ve been planning this fencing lesson for many months now, but with her busy training schedule and my racing calendar, it’s been almost impossible to find a day that worked for both of us. So finally, today is the day!” Charles added.

“Did you mention how excited you’ve been?” You quipped, folding your arms.

Charles smirked. “I may have. But, let’s be honest, you’re probably more nervous than I am.”

“Nervous?” You scoffed. “Why would I be nervous? You’re the one holding a weapon for the first time.”

“Ah, but I’ve seen the movies,” he countered, mimicking a clumsy lunge. “How hard can it be?”

You laughed at his theatrics, shaking your head. “We’ll see how long that confidence lasts when Marco puts you through the warm-up.”

“Speaking of which,” Marco interjected, “shall we start soon? Time is short, and I want to see if he can last more than five minutes.”

“You’re in for a workout.” You teased and smiled.

Charles gave an exaggerated sigh but could not hide his amusement. “Great. I love being underestimated.”

“You’re about to learn that fencing isn't as easy as people make it look on TV.” You smiled at the camera.

“Or tiktok.” Charles quipped, earning a chuckle from Marco.

You gestured towards the piste. “Alright, let’s get you geared up. I don’t want to hear any excuses later.”

Once Charles was all suited up, he stepped onto the piste, fully suited in his borrowed fencing gear, and you couldn’t help but pause. There was something striking about the way the jacket, breeches, and long socks suited him. The silver sheen of the lamé, a metallic vest worn over the jacket for scoring, added an almost regal touch. You smirked as you took in the sight of your brother adjusting his gloves.

“Oh my god. I’ve never looked so good.” Charles said as he came out all suited up.

“Would you look at that,” you began, folding your arms. “Hate to admit it, but you look good. Maybe too good.”

Charles glanced up, clearly amused. “Oh? Surprised your brother cleans up well?”

“I’m just saying, if this racing thing doesn’t work out, you might have a future as a fencer. Imagine, Charles Leclerc, Olympic Champion.” You gave him an exaggerated once-over. “The gear suits you.”

“I mean, I do look the part.” He smiled, striking a mock fencing pose, which was more comedic than impressive.

“You do,” you admitted with a laugh. “But let’s see if you can move like a fencer before you start planning your second career.”

“Basta con i complimenti. Time for the warm-up! No excuses later when your legs start complaining.” Marco smiled.

Charles groaned playfully, shooting you a mock glare. “Leg day already gets me in the gym. Don’t let him overdo it.”

“Stop whining,” you teased, motioning for him to follow Marco. “You’ll thank him when you’re not limping tomorrow.”

“We begin easy,” he said, demonstrating a forward bend. “Touch your toes, Charles. Keep your legs straight.”

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered, glancing at Marco, who was effortlessly folding himself in half.

“Come on, Charlie. You can’t lose to a guy twenty years older than you.” You chuckled from the sidelines, standing near Antoine, who was filming the entire thing.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Charles quipped, finally managing to graze his toes. “I see you’re enjoying this too much.”

“I am.” You admitted, voice light with laughter.

Next were lunges, which Charles did with ease, his form surprisingly precise. “Now these, I can handle. We do this in the gym all the time.”

“Good. Now arm extensions, long and controlled. Think of reaching for the target.” Charles mirrored Marco’s movements, extending his arms fluidly.

You couldn’t resist teasing, “not bad, Charles. Maybe you’re a natural after all.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, smirking. “See? I’ve got this.”

“Next is jumping jacks,” Marco interrupted, clearly amused by your banter.

Charles transitioned smoothly into the exercise, his movements energetic and practiced. As he worked through the routine, Charles suddenly turned to you, his tone curious.

“Why don’t we ever train together? Seems like it could be fun.” Charles glanced at you.

“Because you’d complain the whole time.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Hey, I don’t complain that much.” He argued, clearly offended.

You just laughed at him, waving a hand dismissively. “Fencing is my thing, Charlie. I need to focus when I’m training, it’s not all fun and games.”

“And today isn’t serious?” Charles raised a brow, pausing mid-jumping jack.

“Not really,” you admitted with a shrug. “Today’s more about proving to you that fencing isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, clearly amused. “You forget who you’re talking to.”

“Charles,” Marco interjected, a mischievous glint in his eye, “your sister has a gold medal, she might surprise you.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he said sincerely, before his grin returned. “But I’m still confident I can keep up.”

“That’s the spirit!” You smiled.

”The floor is yours, campionessa.” Marco smiled as he stepped back, and gestured for you to take over.

“Alright,” you turned to Charles. “Let’s start with the basics. This is going to be your crash course in fencing, everything you need to know before you touch the blade.”

Antoine, still filming, zoomed in on Charles’ face as he nodded, looking serious. “I’m ready, let’s hear it.”

“Fencing is one of the oldest sports in the world. It dates back centuries, originally used in dueling and combat training, but over time, it became more of a sport.” You explained. “In fact, fencing has been part of the Olympics since the very first modern games in 1896.”

“1896?” Charles repeated, very intrigued. “So, it’s been around forever.”

“Pretty much,” you confirmed with a smile. “Since then, it’s evolved into three distinct disciplines—foil, sabre, and epee. Each had different rules, strategies, and weapons. That’s what makes fencing so fascinating, you’re not just swinging a sword around. It’s a mind game as much as a physical one, that’s why some call it physical chess.”

Charles tilted his head, clearly interested. “What’s the difference between the three?”

“Come on, let me show you guys.” You walked over to a nearby rack, where several swords were neatly displayed, each one gleaming under the salle’s lights.

“This is a foil.” You picked up a foil, you held it up for him and the viewers to see. “It is the lightest of the three weapons, weighing about 500 grams, and the one I use. Foil fencing focuses on precision and technique, the target area is only the torso, and points are scored with the tip of the blade.”

Charles reached out, and you handed him the foil. He tested the weight of the blade, lifting and lowering it.

“It’s lighter than I thought.” He admitted, giving it a small swing.

“Foils are meant for agility and speed,” you explained. You then picked up a sabre, slightly heavier with a distinct curved guard. “This is a sabre. It’s a bit heavier, and the rules are very different. In sabre, you can score with the edge of the blade, not just the tip, and target area is the upper body—above the waist, including arms and head.”

“Sounds aggressive,” Charles remarked, running his hand along the blade’s flat edge.

“Oh, it is,” you chuckled. “Sabre is all about speed and attack. It’s fast-paced, almost like a sprint compared to foil’s more calculated, chess-like style.”

“And the last one?” Charles asked, pointing to the remaining weapon.

“This is the epee,” you said as you picked up the epee, handing it to him. “It’s the heaviest of the three, about 775 grams, and the target area is the entire body, head to toe. But in epee, there’s no right of way, whoever hits first, scores.”

Charles tested the epee in his grip, nodding thoughtfully. “So it’s more…straightforward?”

“In a way, yes,” you said, setting the sabre and foil back on the rack. “But it can also lead to longer matches since there’s no restriction on who can attack when, you need all the patience you can get when playing epee.”

The camera panned as you gestured for Charles to follow you back to the piste. “Now, let’s talk about the rules. In foil, which is what we’ll be learning today, the target area is just the torso. No arms, legs, and head. If you hit anywhere else, it doesn’t count.”

“Got it,” Charles said. “What about the scoring?”

“In foil, we use something called right of way. It means that the fencer who initiates the attack has priority. If the other fencer wants to score, they have to defend or parry first, and then counterattack.”

You picked up a foil and demonstrated, lunging forward in a quick, fluid motion. “For example, if I attack you like this, you can’t just hit me back. You’d need to block my blade first.”

“So, it’s not just about being faster, it’s about timing.” Charles frowned slightly, absorbing the information.

“Yup,” you said, impressed. “It’s about strategy and reading your opponent’s moves. Now, there are also some practical rules. The piste, the one we are standing on right now, is 14 meters long and 1.5 to 2 meters wide. If you step off, you lose ground or even a point, and you can’t use your off-hand to block, and obviously, no overly aggressive moves like charging into your opponent.”

Charles raised a brow. “No tackling allowed? Shame.”

“Not unless you want to get a penalty.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Lastly, to win a match, you have to reach a predetermined number of points, usually 15, or have the highest score by the end of the time limit.”

“Okay, I’ll give you a quick demonstration of how right of way works in a tournament.” You gestured for Marco to join you, and he grabbed another foil, stepping into position, as Antoine adjusted his camera as you stepped back onto the piste.

“Watch closely,” you instructed as you and Marco faced off. “Marco will attack, and I’ll defend and counter.”

Marco lunged forward with a smooth attack, and you parried, your blades clashing with a satisfying ring before you swiftly riposted, your blade landing lightly on his torso.

Turning to Charles, you explained. “Since I defended first and then countered, I get the point. Make sense?”

Charles nodded slowly, his brows furrowed in thought. “So, if I just swing wildly, it’s useless unless I have priority.”

“Yes,” you said smiling. “Fencing isn’t about brute force, it’s about control, precision, and strategy.”

“This all felt like a masterclass,” Charles chuckled. “This is very incredible stuff.”

Once Charles had a solid grasp of the basic rules and ths purpose of fencing, you decided it was time to get into the technical aspects.

“Alrighty,” you began, pacing in front of him, foil in hand. “Before you can start attacking, you need to learn how to defend yourself. So, let’s talk about parrying.”

“There are four primary parries in fencing, and each one is important for blocking and setting yourself up for a counterattack.” You added.

Charles nodded, gripping the foil in his hand as if ready to jump in. “Alright, I’m listening. Hit me with it.”

“Not literally,” you teased, pointing your foil at him briefly before continuing. “First is parry four. This is your standard parry, used to block attacks aimed at your torso. You bring the blade across your body like this.”

You demonstrated, twisting your wrist and angling your blade so that the imaginary opponent’s strike would be deflected away. Charles mimicked the movement, though his hand was stiff, and his blade angle slightly off.

You leaned in, using the tip of your foil to adjust his blade position. “Loosen your wrist a bit, it’s all about control, not brute strength. The goal is to guide their blade away, not smack it out of their hands.”

“Okay, okay. Got it.” Charles said, trying again. This time, his movement was smoother.

“Better,” you said, stepping back. “Next is parry six. The one is similar to parry four, but instead of protecting the inside of your body, it covers the outside. Like this.” You executed the parry with ease, your blade moving in a fluid arc.

Charles tried to copy the movement, his blade wobbling slightly as he adjusted his wrist.

“Close,” you said, stepping closer. “But watch your wrist, it needs to stay firm, or you’ll lose control of your blade.” You tapped the back of his hand with your foil, and he adjusted accordingly.

“Parry eight is for low attacks to the outside of your body.” You continued, moving on, and crouching slightly, angling your blade downward to demonstrate. “This one is a little tricky because it requires good reflexes. You’re aiming to protect your lower torso and legs.” Charles gave it a go, though his stance was a bit too wide.

“Too much space,” you said, tapping his knee lightly with your blade. “Keep your movements controlled. The smaller the motion, the quicker you can recover.”

“This is harder than it looks.” Charles exhaled, looking at the camera as he adjusted his stance.

“That’s fencing for you,” you said with a grin. “Last one, parry seven. This one is similar to parry eight, but it protects the inside of your body instead of the ourside.”

You demonstrated the motion, and Charles followed suit, this time managing a relatively smooth movement.

“Good,” you said, stepping back. “Now, key things to remember when parrying—keep your blade pointed at your opponent at all times. It’s not just about blocking, it’s about setting yourself up for a counterattack. As soon as you’ve parried, you need to riposte, counterattack, immediately. If you wait too long, you’ll lose your advantage.”

Marco stepped forward, foil in hand, and you turned to Charles. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You squared off with Marco, and as he lunged forward with a mock attack, you parried effortlessly, your blade gliding against his and redirecting it away. In the same motion, you extended your arm, blade tip landing lightly on Marco’s torso.

“See how quick that was?” You said, turning to Charles. “It’s a fluid motion—parry and riposte, all in one go. No wasted movements.”

Charles nodded, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Alright, let me try.”

You stepped aside, letting Marco face Charles. As Marco slowly lunged, Charles attempted a parry, though his movement was slightly delayed, and his riposte lacked precision.

“Not bad,” you said encouragingly. “But don’t overthink it. The more natural it feels, the faster you’ll be.”

“Okay, let’s talk about stance,” you said, planting your feet firmly on the piste. “Your stance is your foundation, if it’s wrong, everything else falls apart.”

You demonstrated, keeping your feet shoulder-width apart, one foot pointing forward and the other at a slight angle.

“Your dominant hand is the one holding the foil. The non-dominant hand stays behind you, raised slightly for balance. So, which hand are you using?” You asked.

“Right.” Charles said, switching the foil to his dominant hand.

“Good,” you said. “Now, copy my stance.”

Charles mirrored your position, though his back foot was slightly out of place.

“Close, but—” you tapoed his leg lightly with your foil. “Your back foot needs to be at an angle, like this. Don’t forget to bend your knees slightly. You need to stay low for balance and quick movement.”

“Not bad,” you said, nodding approvingly when Charles adjusted his stance. “Now let’s work on movement. When you’re in your stance, you need to be able to move forward, backward, and side-to-side quickly withou losing your balance.”

You demonstrated, gliding forward and backward with small, controlled steps. “Notice how my feet stay the same distance apart, no matter where I go. That keeps me balanced and ready to attack or defend.”

Charles followed your lead, though his movements were a bit stiff.

“Relax,” you said, smiling. “You’re not marching in the military. It’s more like a dance, fluid and controlled.” He tried again, this time loosening up slightly.

“Better,” you said. “Now let’s add a lunge, the lunge is your main attacking move. From your stance, you push off your back leg and extend your front leg forward, like this.” You demonstrated, your movement smooth and precise. Charles attempted the motion, but his lunge was too short.

“Bigger step,” you said, tapping his front leg with your foil. “You want fo cover as much ground as possjble without overextending.” After a few tries, he managed a decent lunge.

“Not bad,” you said, stepping back. “You’re getting there. Now, let’s put it all together—stance, movement, parries, and lunges. You ready?”

Charles grinned, gripping his foil. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Alright,” you said, picking up the body cord, “before we start, we need to get you all hooked up.”

Charles tilted his head, examining the cord. “What’s that for?”

“This is a body cord,” you explained, stepping closer to attach it to his fencing jacket. “It connects your weapon to the scoring system. When you land a valid touch, the electrical circuit completes, and the scoreboard registers the point.”

“So no sneaky hits?” He joked, watching closely as you secured it to his back and guided it through the sleeves of his jacket to attach to the foil.

“Not unless you want the referee to see it light up,” you quipped, making sure everything was in place before handing him a fencing mask. “Here, put this on.”

“For this first round, we’re keeping it simple, call it a trial run,” you said, rolling your shoulders and flexing your foil. “Marco will referee and keep things light. Just focus on getting comfortable.”

“Got it. Don’t go easy on me, though.” Charles raised his foil slightly, his excitement evident in his stance.

You laughed. “Trut me, Charles, I won’t.”

Marco stepped onto the side of the piste, holding a referee’s clicked in one hand. “Alright, trial run. I’ll call the touches. En garde!”

You and Charles took your positions at opposite ends of the piste, foils raised in salite before dropping into the en garde stance.

“Prêt? Allez!” Marco called, signaling the start of the bout.

Charles moved hesitant at first, testing his footing as he advanced. You let him come forward, observing his movements.

“Don’t forget your stance,” you reminded him, stepping back slightly. “Stay balanced.”

He nodded, adjusting his feet, and made a tentative lunge. Charles’ foil grazed your blade, missing the target area entirely.

“Close,” you said, countering with a light touch to his torso. Marco raised his hand. “Touch!”

Charles shook his head, laughing. “Okay, that was fast. Was that even one second?”

“Welcome to fencing,” you said with a grin. “It’s all about timing. Relax, though you’re doing fine.”

As the trial run continued, Charles began finding his rhythm. He landed his first touch on your shoulder, earing a quick ‘touch!’ from Marco.

“How does it feel?” You asked, stepping back for a brief pause.

Charles grinned under his mask. “Not bad! Are you nervous yet?”

“Me? Nervous?” You teased. “Cute. Let’s see how you handle the next round round.”

The second round began, and Charles was much more deliberate in his movements. He used the parries you had taught him, successfully blocking two of your attacks and landing another touch on your shoulder.

“Not bad, Lord Perceval,” you said, nodding as you reset your stance. “You’re learning quickly.”

“Of course,” he replied, his voice light with mock arrogance. “I’m a Leclerc. We adapt fast.”

By the end of the round, Marco called for a pause. “Alright, let’s use the scoreboard for the next one.”

“See this?” Marco said, pointing to the display. “Every valid touch will light up here with a beep. First to fifteen points wins.”

Charles noticed the screen, which displayed yor names, complete with small Monaco flags next to them.

“Wait, you personalized it?” He asked, laughing. “Now I feel like I’m in the Olympics.”

“Of course,” you said with a grin. “Nothing but the best for my big brother.”

Charles chuckled, lifting his foil again. As you adjusted your own, you bent the blade slightly, an action that caught his attention.

“Why are you doing that?” He asked.

“It’s something all fencers do,” you explained, holding the blade up for him to see. “Foils are flexible, and bending them ensures they’re in good condition and won’t snap. It also helps make the touches more accurate and less painful.”

“Huh,” Charles said, mimicking the motion with his own foil. “Interesting.”

“Alright, this is it,” you said, lowering your mask. “First to fifteen.”

Marco raised his hand. “En garde! Prêt? Allez!”

The boug began, and Charles quickly demonstrated his growing confidence. He moved fluidly, landing a few clean touches on your torso and arm. You could see his competitiveness kicking in, and you responded with sharper attacks, forcing him to parry and riposte.

Halfway through, the score was tied at 7-7, and the beeping sound of the scoreboard filled the room with each touch.

“You’re doing great.” You said during a brief pause.

“Thanks,” Charles replied, panting slightly. “But I’m not letting you win.”

“Good,” you said, resetting your stance. “Because I’m not letting you win, either.”

The intensity ramped up in the final stretch. Charles managed to land three more touches, bringing his total to ten, but you quickly countered with a series of precise attacks, pushing your score to fifteen.

Marco raised his hand as the final beep sounded. “Touché! Match for her—15 to 10!”

“Lifting your mask, you grinned at Charles, who pulled off his own mask, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was incredible,” he said, still catching his breath. “I actually thought I had you for a moment there.”

“Well fought, champ! Ten points is impressive for a first timer, you did really great.” You said, resting your foil on your shoulder. “But I told you, fencing isn’t easy as it looks.”

Charles laughed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, no kidding. I think I’ll stick to racing.”

Marco, who had been observing with a smile, stepped in. “You were actually good for a beginner. You’re a fast learner, Charles. I’ve work with a lot of first-timers, and not many can pick up that quickly.”

“That’s true,” you chimed in nodding. “You were way better than I expected. Usually, people take ages to figure out how to lunge properly or keep their stance balanced.”

Charles’ grin widened. “Well, what can I say? It’s in my blood to be competitive.”

Marco laughed, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “You should come by more often during her trainings. You’d make a good parry partner.”

“Oh stop feeding his ego,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s already huge.”

Charles gave a mock bow. “Keep it coming, Marco. I’m soaking it all in.”

Marco just smiled as the camera zoomed in on you both as he continued. “Not, really, Charles. If you’re free diring off-season, you should consider it. You’d give her a good challenge, and it would keep her on her toes.”

“Hmm…” Charles leaned on his foil again, pretending to consider the offer. “Fencing during off-season. I might actually think about that.”

You laughed. “Sure, if you can handle beaten every time.”

“Bold words. But we’ll see.” Charles grinned. “So, what’s next for you? You’ve already won the Olympics. Where do you go from here?”

“Next up is the Fencing World Cup. It’s coming up in a few months, so I’m focused on preparing for that.” You smiled, feeling the excitement bubbling inside of you.

Charles nodded. “If people want fo follow your journey, where can they find you?”

“Everywhere.” You said with a laugh, then added, “but seriously, you guys can follow me on my social media. If you are curious about up coming tournaments, you can check out Team Monaco’s offical instagram. They post all of the updates there.”

Charles turned to the camera. “There you have it, guys.” He then faced you and Marco. “I just want to say thank you, for real. I know your schedules are crazy, and you took time to teach me something completely out of my comfort zone. I really had fun.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, Charles.” Marco smiled warmly. “You’re a natural. Who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll be on the piste at a tournament.”

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“You did great today,” you grinned, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll see you fencing for Monaco one day.”

Charles smiled. “Only if you promise not to embarrass me in front of everyone.”

“No promises.” You teased.

Marco gestured toward the camera. “Alright, shall we wrap this up?”

You, Charles, and Marco all faced the lens. “Thanks for watching!” You said with a wave. “Remember, fencing is cooler than you think.”

“And harder than it looks!” Charles added. “Thank you both for taking the time to teach me, I had a blast today. It’s always fun learning new things.”

“Of course, Charlie!” You replied warmly. “We’ll be waiting for your next fencing session.”

“You’re always welcome, Charles.” Marco smiled. “Just don’t take too long to return, alright? We might have to recruit you into the team at this rate!”

All of you laughed as you said your goodbyes, and with that, the video came to a close, screen fading into black.

twitter posts

yn.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, lilyzneimer, landonorris, lilymhe and 88,746 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, gaiusthecaracal

yn.jpg just a regular day at the office (bonus: taught charles fencing, see slide 4! 😁)

view all 10,837 comments

username8 never knew i needed to see charles in a fencing gear up until now 😮‍💨 THANK YOU MOTHER!

landonorris can’t believe you taught charles first, i thought i was gonna be the first one 😞💔

yn.jpg sorry, big brother privileges 😔✊🏻

charles_leclerc what she said! 😁❤️

landonorris i see that you have taken my advice

yn.jpg yes, and i owe it all to you sir 🫡

landonorris when will u be our quadrant athlete 😔🤲🏻

yn.jpg idk bro, what do they do? 🤨

yn.jpg just hit up my personal coach 😁

landonorris ME NEXT PLS

yn.jpg THERE ARE A LOT OF YOU WANTING ME TO TEACH YOU ALL FENCING 😭😭😭

lilymhe I ASKED HER FIRST! FALL IN LINE!!

landonorris IM HER BEST FRIEND

landonorris BESTIE PRIVILEGES

yourbestfriend EXCUSE ME????

landonorris EXCUSED

username9 WE FINALLY GOT A JPG ACCOUNT??? ACTIVE ERA IS UPON US?????

yn.jpg u guys really gotta thank lando for convincing me on making one bc apparently according to him, i always “ghost” you all 😞💔

username9 OHMGYGOSD I LOVE YOU 😭

username10 GAIUS 🥺🥺🥺🥺

username11 CHARLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING 😭😭😭

username12 petition for you to have a yt acc or tiktok or smth 😔😔😔😔

username13 and then what? we all ended up being ghosted 😔😔😔😔

username13 she barely posts on instagram, and now that she has a jpg account, i’ll take what i can get tl have some y/n content 😔😔😔💔💔💔

username12 omg u right 😭😭😭

username14 ok, scuderiaferrari, just hear me out this once…what if y/n teaches charlos fencing on a tiktok or yt vid? huh huh huh, wouldn’t that be a great idea, right? 😁

scuderiaferrari hmmm, i think you might be onto something 🤔🤔🤔

username15 i will sacrifice my first born for this to happen 🤲🏻

username16 we are BEGGING, on our knees

username17 charles leclerc in fencing gear, save me. charles leclerc in fencing gear, save me 🛐

[astonmartinii]

babysitter duty | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x reader

an emergency meeting at red bull means max finally meets the horner family babysitter and chaos ensues

note: i will obviously not be using christian's real kids in this, this is a work of fiction. there will be no real pictures of his kids, neither will i use their real names (i actually have no clue what they are and cannot be bothered to google it lol)

yourusername added to their story

[caption: when all the big businessmen crash baking night]

yourusername

liked by yourbff and others

tagged: yourbff

yourusername: last weekend before the eff won starts again i.e. my last weekend before my only friends are literal children

view all 27 comments

yourbff bring the kids out me thinks

yourusername my boss literally follows this account dumbass

christianhorner do not take my children clubbing

yourusername YES SIR 🫡

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, christianhorner and 223 others

yourusername: wasn't raining in oxford for once so a picnic was only necessary

view all 10 comments

yourbff they're so so precious

christianhorner who taught her that sign?

yourusername you did??? stop swearing so much in drive to survive sir

maxverstappen1 she's not wrong

christianhorner why are you here?

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 601,778 others

maxverstappen1 best way to start the season and to end a ten year drought in Bahrain!! thank you to everyone in the garage and all the fans in the stands

view all 10,865 comments

yourusername smashed it maxy

maxverstappen1 why thank you i'm blushing

user67 what. the. fuck. is that ^^^

themaxverstappenstan33 i am actually bamboozled

danielricciardo ignoring whatever meltdown is happening in these comments - congrats max !!

yourusername added to their story

[caption: school run days]

maxverstappen1 added to their story

f1wagsupdates

liked by f1girly77, likedbypierre and 77 others

f1wagsupdates this is y/n y/ln, she's a live-in babysitter for christian horner and more recently, she seems to be the one catching max verstappen's attention. as far as we know they first met after the top officials at red bull met for an emergency meeting at christian horner's home - we know she was present because she posted on her story with one of the kids baking during the meeting. since then she has been commenting on his posts and max posted a picture of him with a girl on his story in an outfit y/n has posted in before. do you think they're cute?

view all 21 comments

yourusername someone fancies themselves a detective

user34 oof she gagged yall

hugsforcharles tbf she has a point, you guys are digging way too into all of it

lilacverstappen i know this is a gross invasion of privacy but i kinda think they're cute

user33 you're not wrong

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 1,206,781 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1 fuck u sherlock holmes i'll decide when i announce my relationship ... anyhow, you're cute, sorry christian but you're going to have to find a new babysitter

view all 23,089 comments

yourusername I LOVE YOU MAXY but i love those kids more so looks like you're movign to oxford

maxverstappen1 i never agreed to that

yourusername say goodbye to the tax free life and say hello to crayons and picnics

christianhorner you'll have three very angry kids to deal with max, but aside from that, i'm very happy for the both of you

yourusername love you bossman

maxverstappen1 love you bossman

danielricciardo this is not usually how this plot line ends

landonorris STOP RIGHT THERE OLD MAN THIS IS A WHOLESOME POST

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, christianhorner and 22,301 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername add max moving into christian's house to ur f1 bingo cards - you can't take me away from these kids, they're kinda my only friends

view all 3,451 comments

maxverstappen1 i've been here one day and i'm convinced @christianhorner ur kids are evil geniuses

yourusername obvs they are maxy, they're salty spice's kids

user46 omg she calls him salty spice as well

christianhorner don't make me regret giving you a room near mine

yourusername GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER CHRISTIAN... maybe invest in some ear plugs ;)

christianhorner consider this your eviction notice

note: bit of a random one lol but i had fun. i know people don't like christian (for good reason) but he's the one it worked with. ALSO my asks are open now !!! so ask away xx

[femboycatofmystery]

Hey folks let me anti-doomscroll you for a quick second:

Batteries and Solar have been getting cheap very quickly for a long time now and not only is it not stopping, but even at the rates it's at the economics of energy are shifting rapidly. The costs of decarbonizing all forms of electric power are now more down to infrastructure and planning than bulk cost. Compare and contrast to the turn of the century when Solar was so prohibitively expensive that saying we'd meet any meaningful fraction of our needs with photovoltaics would have gotten you laughed out of the room.

Meanwhile, although there are lots of complicated moving parts and a surprising amount of gross politics attached, gas cars are now less good in most ways than electric. Again, at the turn of the century this would have sounded laughable.

Many industries have specific needs that prevent direct conversion to electric, but hydrocarbon fuels are not intrinsically fossil fuels and can be made as a storage medium for solar. Hydrocarbon fuels made in this way are intrinsically carbon neutral. The technology is relatively young, but from a basic math perspective looks very doable.

Inflation actually has more to do with the above than it does with whatever it is the federal reserve does, and pulling down a supply of energy from the sky that requires less infrastructure to get (which is true because that's why it's cheaper now) directly helps.

The current "business as usual" scenarios with global warming are lower than they used to be, because the solar transition is just sort of happening because of economics without a lot of government help. All of the above lower the amount of friction and pushback we face when trying to get the government to do something.

By the way, the Inflation Reduction Act, passed by Joe Biden a couple years back, is explicitly designed to accelerate these trends.

As disastrous as the current projections for global warming are, it's important to keep two things in perspective: first, that they are exactly that, disasters, not the end-of-the-world kind but more sort of the hurricanes and floods kind, and second, while they certainly will get worse before they get better, they can and will get better. What we do now from a policy perspective has an outsize impact on how much flooding, droughts, and other weather-related costs we will face in the decades to come, but "human civilization ends" is not actually particularly likely. It is much more realistic to say "we could have a huge number of climate-related disasters or a moderately increased number, and every little bit of policy work helps move the needle".

We can and we will solve global warming, the question is not if but when, and how many lives can we save or improve by acting as soon as possible. Imagining this as an almost-certain death sentence for the future of humanity and nature is not merely unrealistic, but wildly counterproductive. It is paralyzing and enervating when what will do the most good is planning, policy, and communication.

Remember, despair is not a tool for positive change. Hope is the real language of revolution.

[endursent]

- Opened doors

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , cockwarming (sunday giving) , anal sex , comforting , halovian biological headcanons , penis haver!reader , NSFW 】

【 note; this is for the penis havers and wanters out there of any gender. stay strong in the perpetual drought of reader-insert fics dedicated to you, you're stronger than any troops. can of course be enjoyed by anyone, as usual no gender nor appearance described. 】

【 word count; 2.450 | read on ao3 】

You had barely started and Sunday was already digging his fingernails into your sides—whether in protest or pleasure wasn’t clear by the action alone. He was so still and stiff you wondered if he had changed his mind. 

  “Sunday, if this is too much, we can—“ 

  “No—it’s fine, i-it’s fine,” his words aren’t very convincing, mumbled and stuttering as they are, so you try again. 

  “I can finish tending to your wings first, then we can do this,” it was slightly your own fault, you had offered him a seat while you go through his thinning wings to remove any feathers that have loosened but cling stubbornly to the ones around it… and Sunday is having a hard time already, giving him options isn’t the brightest idea right now while he’s adjusting. 

  He frowns slightly, chin on your left shoulder as his fingers stop clenching your poor skin and he instead wraps his arms around your torso, holding firmly. “No…”

  It’s impossible to read his thoughts on a normal day, and you expected it to be easier today—this isn’t your first time helping him through moulting, it takes several weeks to complete the process for adult Halovians and you’ve helped him through it once before… though it took some convincing to let you help. 

  Sunday is stubborn and reclusive, though he’s less avoidant now after so long with the Astral Express… he learned the hard way that trying to ignore or avoid certain members only makes them more persistent and determined, it’s still a great effort to get him to accept help. Not because he doesn’t want it—he does, so badly—but because he neither wants to take your time nor waste it on something he could do by himself and has always done.

  Unfortunately for him, you need to know his thoughts to help. “Hm, well, I won’t start until I know you feel well enough for it,” your own hands resting on his hips clap his skin lightly, just enough for a small smacking sound to snap in the air. 

  Instantly, he straightens as if a sudden burst of energy knocked him on the forehead, his golden eyes squint at you with the greatest offence he has shown. “What must I do—to prove it to you?”

  Almost as if defiantly, he clenches even further around you—he’s been holding on tightly already—and nearly forces a groan from your throat. He’s so damn warm, inside and out. It’s a dangerous combo, to have him warming your dick, and giving you that defiant look at the same time… you almost give in. Almost. 

  But you don’t particularly feel like having him pass out on you from the feeling of having his wings touched as thoroughly as you will as well as the intensity of cockwarming you at the same time. You prefer to have him aware and enjoying it just as much as you are. 

  “How about naming every world in the Tiberius system backwards?” 

  His wings twitch in agitation. “That—that’s not even a real star system.”

  “Yes it is,” you insist. “I read about it.”

  “Then why don’t you name them and—stop stalling?” he says, voice tinged with annoyance and impatience. 

  A smile spreads on your lips. “I’ll get started then.”

  He clicks his tongue in frustration. You didn’t want him to name anything—if Sunday had started blabbering some made-up names to get you to start and stop talking in desperation, you would have known he wasn’t in the position to do this. 

  Sometimes, you do like to use the perfectly functional brain between your ears. 

  His wings itch and ache, a dull throb that isn’t particularly bad during daytime when he’s out and about—but as soon as he takes his coat off, it intensifies until he massages for a long enough time or puts a salve between the feathers.

  As soon as your hands leave his sides—the assured hold that’s been anchoring him since he sank down onto your stiff length—he almost feels off-balance, but it’s quickly rectified once your fingers touch his wings and he whimpers at the touch. You had barely slid your thumb under the ridge of his left wing and between the first two feathers, and he was already twitching and shifting subtly, causing your touch to falter as his hips moved just little bit and you almost give in to the desire to snap your hips upwards, but rein in every single thought and willpower you can muster. 

  Maybe this is going to be harder for you than it will be for him. 

  Swallowing thickly and continuing despite your extremely distracting throbbing inside of his hole, you carefully and firmly—but gently of course—nudge and press against the sensitive feathers of his wings. You comb two out and the base of his wings appear thinner, your fingers brush by feathers that are emerging and they feel impossibly soft and delicate. 

  Halovian wings are sensitive—but they’re not necessarily stimulating, having them touched tickles at most, yet during a moulting when the flesh and feathers are so fresh and vulnerable, it somehow amplifies the feelings fivefold and can promote certain feelings of pleasure. 

  Sunday’s eyes flutter closed, eyelashes equally soft as his wings as they brush against his cheeks and he leans into your touch instinctively. “Mmh… wait, go back—there, again… just a little…” 

  You follow any instructions he gives, despite the way your heart races with every movement he makes the slightest movement, with the way his expression contorts into comfort and a focus on himself—where he can only feel the overwhelming touches and barely has room to consider your presence outside of the way you stretch him with a mild, twitching burn. 

  Releasing one wing to reach for the oils he had prepared on the bedside table next to you, Sunday peers his eyes open, but closes them again when he sees why you stopped. 

  Outside of the now two times you’ve done this, you don’t generally touch Sunday’s wings… mostly because touching them—or stroking them specifically is an intimate act that despite your relationship (that has never quite been defined, as he finds an escape at the mention of it) he’s been hesitant about letting you do. And you’re not one to be pushy if he feels uncomfortable, a step forward can quickly become two steps backwards if you push too hard. 

  But despite the difficulty of navigating this delicate companionship… you find it to be worth the hassle, after all, having his slim—though a bit boney lately, the moulting requires a lot of energy and nutrition to sustain itself, and you imagine he hasn’t taken the best care of himself that he could—body pressed to yours, his soft whimpers and breaths trembling with every press of your fingers as you carefully massage the sore appendages. Your own cock is buried deep within him, throbbing desperately for movement that takes half your focus to suppress, while his twitches stiffly between your stomachs, now leaking slightly against your skin as a feather that was half-loose detaches when you nudge it only slightly. 

  Sunday’s lips part as your finger touches the area where the feather just fell, and you feel a deep urge to kiss him, to slide your tongue between his open lips and feel the sounds he makes instead of just hearing them. But you fear that might completely overwhelm him to a point it might make him dizzy. You will have plenty of opportunities to kiss him later. 

  The oils both are both cooling and soothing, helping ease the ache that comes with the development and lowering of new feathers. It’s always a bit funny to see how his wings get shorter and thinner, like a baby bird, before they grow again into the expressive appendages that you love so much. 

  “Sometimes,” you start talking and Sunday’s eyebrow twitches, brought out of his thoughts and focus. “There’s six wings, where are the other four now?” 

  “Stop talking,” he mumbles. Half your focus is on tending to his wings and the other half on holding back from thrusting fiercely into his welcoming heat. Thus as soon as you open your mouth, your hands still. 

  “I’m curious,” you hum. “Tell me later?”

  He huffs as your hands start moving again, you’re almost finished anyway. “Fine…”

  Feeling a little mischievous, and pouty by his dismissive response, you lightly pinch the ridge of his wing where it bends—and immediately, Sunday jerks in surprise, his wing stretching fully as his eyes fly open and his entire body tenses. He hisses your name as he clenches so tightly around you, your vision nearly dots, warmth and sparks shooting through you like an electrical line and you can’t stop yourself from pushing further up into him.

  With both of you surprised and disoriented by each other, as well as you finally granting the delicious friction of movement—if accidental—Sunday grasps your shoulders tightly and inhales sharply. “C-careful…!” he blinks, the combined tingle of his wings and the pressure of your cock is a delicate balance that he’s very quickly losing hold of. 

  Your breath shakes when it leaves your lips, you feel dizzy with need, the suppressed desire you worked so hard to keep under wraps while you tended to him is very quickly slipping between your fingers. “Sunday… I’m not—sure I can…”

  He clenches his jaw, in equal trouble with himself as you are. “You got m-most of it… we can finish later,” it’s a long process of checking and preening through over a few weeks, you already found seven, that’s more than enough for one day. 

  It’s all you needed to hear, you’ll take good care of him after—now, you desperately need to move. You already prepared plenty of protein-rich snacks to promote a healthy moult, and you’re sure you’ll both be hungry after this. 

  Sunday lets out a strange sound when your hand lays on his lower back and presses him closer, you other goes around his back—and you turn the two of you around, Sunday’s halo clanks against the headboard as he finds himself on his back, he groans slightly and hits you lightly on top of the shoulder. “Y-you—don’t do that while you’re inside of me!” he chides. The feeling of so much movement and how you twisted slightly made him cringe even as it also felt slightly good—only slightly, he won’t admit to more so you don’t get any ideas of rolling him around. 

  Any thought of further scolding leaves his mind like the scattering of ash after a fire has been stomped out as soon as you drag your hips back, halfway out—and move back in. Carefully. 

  Sunday swallows thickly, he feels a throb pulse throughout his entire body, behind his eyes and prick the ends of his fingers and toes. His stomach is wet, his cock freely leaking more than he’s sure he ever has before he’s even reached a high. He breathes your name and his nails dig into your shoulders, you seem so focused—but he wants your eyes to be on his. Before, he might’ve been embarrassed to lock eyes with you, but right now, he feels that he might cry if he doesn’t see you. 

  You blink, the breathy sound of his voice carrying your name to your ears snaps you out of your focus—to not thrust wildly, to not grab his hips in a bruising grip and lick the mess off his stomach. Your eyes move before your head does, and you see the watery squint of his eyes, the slight scrunch of his eyebrows and you fear you moved too fast—perhaps you should have pulled out before flipping him down, did it hurt him? 

  “Sunday,” your hand moves from the mattress next to his head, your fingers—still slightly fatty from the oil—brush over his cheek, his lower eyelid twitches as the tip of your thumb slides below it. “Are you okay? Should I stop?”

  Surprisingly, he smiles. A small tug of his lips that feels like a rare treat to see, it’s infectious and you smile in return. “Continue?” you ask, having stilled as soon as he uttered your name. Sunday nods, not quite trusting his voice to form words in a way that won’t sound embarrassing. 

  You lean down and press your lips to the edge of his eyes, they squeeze shut the moment before you touch them, and you feel a tinge of salt from unshed tears. 

  He trusts you, you take good care of him—always have, despite his tendency for doubts and isolation. You will always be there when he opens the door again. 

  The drag of your cock pulling back and pushing in again burns slightly, but with repeated movements, the feeling of pleasure overwhelms the pressure. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and tugs you into him, his thinned wings tickle your cheeks and shoulder as he presses his nose into your neck. Sunday can’t hold back his moans as you slide one hand under his thigh and lift it only slightly, managing a deeper angle without lifting his hips too much. 

  “Nghh—w-wait, that’s—“ Sunday jerks slightly as you rock into a particular spot inside of him, his entire body feels alight and his joints freeze as they are. His breath deepens as his back bows and his head tilts back, and you can’t help but press your lips to his, swallowing his moans and whines as his leg that’s not firmly in your grasp hooks around your waist. His words are muffled and clumsy against your lips as you increase your pace, he clenches around you in a rhythm that almost finishes you off instantly—but you can’t give in until he’s been satisfied. You need to hear and see him as he falls apart. 

  Sunday moves his head to the side and away from your lips, his expression pinching as the final thrust needed sends him over the edge and he cries out, and you quickly join him. 

  His head spins, Sunday feels like he’s in a whirl-winding pool—but realises the wetness he feels is just his own, and not pool water. He pants, squinting at you. “D-did you pull o-out?” he’s barely recovered enough to ask, and his body thrums so much still that he can’t feel it. 

  When you only give a sheepish smile, he pinches your ear, earning an; “ow!”. Sunday’s lips purse in a frown-pout. “You better help me clean up, then.”

  He doesn’t even need to ask.

[beausling]

pov: you’re jensen ackles’ controversially young gf (alt!musican!reader) part iii

read part i here, read part ii here

youruser 12m

jensenackles

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jensenackles Fun morning in NYC. Thanks @/goodmorningamerica and @/livekellyandryan for the chat. Sorry for the explicit spoilers 🤭!!!

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theboystv Hope the coffee was iced

gibson_g1rl i think i know what’s going on hereee🤭

pearlzier i think we’re thinkin the same thing🤭🤭

youruser you did so good superstar🌟🤎

jensenackles Thank you, honey. I’ll see you soon☺️🤎

caswh0re @/jensenackles @/youruser music stuff??👀

gibson_g1rl @/caswh0re don’t be delusional

caswh0re @/gibson_g1rl 😭😭😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/caswh0re @/gibson_g1rl nonono she’s right, they’re probably abt to fuck nasty

pearlzier @/vamps4y/n BYEE☠️

j2texas OMGG why tf is #She here😭

gibson_g1rl girl why don’t you #kys

youruser

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youruser *taps mic* is this thing on? resurrection coming out october 13th🐈‍⬛🧙‍♀️🦇🧛‍♀️

(note: absolutely no graves were defiled, and not a single dead soul was woken, in the making of this project !!! and big shoutout to st. louis cemetery no.1 for existing and being so cool n morbidly beautiful🤞)

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jensenackles So fucking proud of you, sweetheart. I feel incredibly honored to have been apart of this beautiful project, and I really hope that the world loves it just as much as I do.🖤🖤🖤

youruser hey bro wtf !!!!! you’re abt to get a very tearful phone call here in a minute😭😭 thank you so much for everything, i love you🖤🖤🦇

vamps4y/n AWWW JENSEN THATS SO SWEET !!! OKAY NOW SAY “vamp life til i die”

hrtsy/n @/vamps4y/n NOT THE TIME GIRL😭😭

gibson_g1rl @/youruser YOU GUYS ARE SO DISGUSTINGLY CUTE !!!! ITS NAUSEATING !!!!!

jasvtsc ANYONE ELSE CRYING AND THROWING UP AND BANGING THEIR HEAD ON THE WALL RN😭😭😭

suicideleopard i see that mausoleum we used to always make out behind

youruser you tryna run it back??

suicideleopard @/youruser Pause…

youruser @/suicideleopard nah nah nah it’s good dw i got socks on😼

gibson_g1rl @/youruser @/suicideleopard ?????😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/youruser @/suicideleopard you guys are fucking insane, just make out already

youruser @/vamps4y/n i Really wish i could thumbs down instagram comments…..

suicideleopard liked your comment

jensenackles liked your comment

vamps4y/n @/youruser 😭😭 you literally started this

youruser @/vamps4y/n blaming everyone but yourself…

hrtsy/n OMGOGKFMFO NEEWWWWWW ALBUMMMMMM ON THE FUCKING WAYYYY OMGGGG😭😭😭😭😭😭

gibson_g1rl WE USED TO PRAY FOR DAYS LIKE THESE🙏🙏

y/ngirlies MOTHER IS FINALLY FEEDING US AGAIN

archiveofvirtue THE DROUGHT IS FINALLY OVER😭😭🙏

pearlzier WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK YOU GUYS!!!!!

jasvtsc THE SUN HAS FINALLY COME THE RAIN IS GONE🙌

youruser

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youruser when you gon’ fly me in private so i can land on that dick🧎‍♀️ #oldpics

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gibson_g1rl i beg your finest fucking pardon⁉️

pearlzier THE SECOND PIC?????

jensenackles Hey, nice coat!☺️

youruser OH THNX😸 yeah i actually stole it from this random white boy, he was super chill abt it tho

jensenackles liked your comment

archiveofvirtue @/youruser you two aren’t fooling anybody anymore, just hard launch already so we can be crazy in peace

y/ngirlies @/archiveofvirtue @/youruser RETWEET !!!

jackleswife that should be me

vamps4y/n we should take you out back and shoot you like a deer with chronic wasting disease

deanluvr i’m obsessed with seeing you guys in this era, i don’t ever want it to end🙏

jasvtsc this might be their best era yet

deansluvr @/jasvtsc it is fr

hrtsy/n mama y papa liked🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

caswh0re @/hrtsy/n iktr they’re just like us

youruser

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youruser CHICAGO I HAVE SO MUCH TO THANK YOU FOR

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yourbffsuser baby came back home for awhile guys😸😸

youruser you can take the girl out of the midwest, but you can’t take the midwest out of the girl fr🙁

hrtsy/n the sixth pic is so real, like i felt that🤞

youruser we revisited the trap that day☠️☠️

hrtsyn @/youruser OH?????

youruser @/hrtsy/n ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

gibson_g1rl your silly ass was getting more train flattened pennies huh😭

youruser you know it babe🤭🤭

jasvtsc i love it when y/n in chicago🫶

pearlzier ykyk we always get some of the best music when she goes back🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

jasvtsc @/pearlzier EXACTLYYYYY

archiveofvirtue WELCOME BACK JUNE ADVENTURES !!!!!

youruser I FINALLY GOT TO FLICK THE BEAN AGAIN!!!!!

y/ngirlies @/youruser excuse me???💀

youruser @/y/ngirlies the giant stainless steel bean in millennium park☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

y/ngirlies @/youruser OHHHHH!!😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/y/ngirlies @/youruser tf did you think she meant😭

jensenackles Hope you had fun sweetheart!!😊

youruser i did lovey, thank you🫂🤎

pearlzier @/youruser SWEETHEART AND LOVEY?????????😭😭😭😭😭😭

jasvtsc @/youruser LOVEY??? THATS SO FUCKING CUTE OMG????😭😭😭

gibson_g1rl @/youruser YOU GUYS ARE SO ADORABLE IM THROWING UP!!!!!!

deanluvr @/youruser PLS JUST GO CANON ALREADY OMFGG😭😭

caswh0re @/deanluvr @/youruser “go canon” 😭

youruser 3m

꩜ thank you so much !!! i hope you guys enjoyed reading this😸 all feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💟

꩜ SOOO much happening here, this part didn’t go the way i originally planned but i still like it🙏🏼

꩜ tags : @gibson-g1rl @pearlzier @jasvtsc @archiveofvirtue 🎀 lmk if you wanna be tagged and/or featured in the next part !!!!!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bankruptcy is very, very good

On THURSDAY (June 20) I'm live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On FRIDAY (June 21) I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On SATURDAY (June 22) I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.

There's a truly comforting sociopathy snuggled inside capitalism ideology: if markets are systems for identifying and rewarding virtue, ability and value, then anyone who's failing in the system is actually unworthy, not unlucky; and that means the winners are not just lucky (and certainly not merely selfish), but actually the best and they owe nothing to their social inferiors apart from what their own charitable impulses dictate.

It's an economic wrapper around the old theological doctrine of providence, whereby God shows you whom he favors by giving them wealth and station, and marks out the wicked by miring them in poverty. And like the religious belief in providence, the capitalist belief in meritocracy is essential to resolving cognitive dissonance: it lets the fed winners feel morally justified in stepping over the starving losers.

The debate over merit and luck has been with us for millennia, and even the hereditary absolute monarchs of the Bronze Age had to find a way to resolve it. For the rulers of antiquity, the way to square that circle was jubilee.

Bronze Age jubilees were periodic celebrations in which all debts were canceled. Different kingdoms had different schedules for jubilees, but imagine some mix of "every x years" and "every time a new ruler takes the throne" and "every time something really portentous happens." To modern sensibilities, the idea that we would simply wipe away all debts every now and again is almost inconceivable. Why would any society practice jubilee? More importantly, how could a ruler get the wealthy creditor class to countenance a jubilee, rather than seeking a revolutionary overthrow?

The best answers to this question can be found in the scholarship of historian Michael Hudson, who has written extensively on the subject. Hudson doesn't just write for a scholarly audience, he's also a fantastic communicator with a real commitment to bringing his research to lay audiences:

https://michael-hudson.com/

Hudson's most famous saying is "debts that can't be paid, won't be paid." It's in this dense little nugget that we can find the answer the the riddle of jubilee:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#debt

Let's start with a simple model of debt and credit in an agricultural society. In agricultural societies, everything exists downstream of farming, which is the core activity of the civilization. If the farmers succeed, everyone can eat, and that means they can do all the other things, all the not-farming work of your society.

To farm successfully, you need credit. Farmers enter the growing season in need of inputs: seed, fertilizer, labor; they need still more labor during the harvest. Without some way to acquire these inputs before the farmer has a crop that can pay for them, there can be no crop.

No wonder, then, that the earliest "money" we have a record of is ancient Babylonian credit ledgers that record the debts of farmers who borrow against the next crop to pay for the materials and labor they'll need to grow it. Debt, not barter, is the true origin of money. The fairy tale that coin money arose spontaneously to help bartering marketgoers facilitate trade has no historical evidence, while Babylonian ledgers can be seen in person in museums all over the world.

Farming requires an enormous amount of skill, but even the most skillful farmer is a prisoner of luck. No matter how good you are at farming, no matter how hard you work, no matter how carefully you plan, you can still lose a harvest to blight, drought, storms or vermin.

So over time, every farmer loses a crop. When that happens, the farmer can't pay off their debts and must roll them over and pay them off with future harvests. That means that over time, the share of each harvest the farmer has claim to goes down. Thanks to compounding interest, no bumper crop can erase the debts of the bad harvests.

That means that, over time, "farmer" becomes a synonym for "debtor." Farmers' productive output is increasingly claimed by the rich and powerful. No matter how badly everyone needs food, the whims of the hereditary creditor class come to dictate the country's agricultural priorities. More ornamental flowers for the tables of the wealthy, fewer staple crops for the masses. "Creditor" and "debtor" no longer describe economic relations – they become hereditary castes.

That's where jubilee comes in. Without some way to interrupt this cycle of spiraling debt, society becomes so destabilized that the system collapses:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

In other words: debts that can't be paid, won't be paid. Either you wipe away the farmers' debts to the creditor class, or your society collapses, and with it, the political relations that made those debts payable.

Jubilee is long gone, but that doesn't mean that debts that can't be paid will get paid. Modern society has filled the jubilee gap with bankruptcy, a legal process for shriving a debtor of their debts.

Bankruptcy takes many forms. The most important split in bankruptcy types is between elite bankruptcy and the bankruptcy of the common person. The limited liability company was created to allow people with money to pool their funds to back corporations without being responsible for their debts. This "capital formation" is considered "efficient" by economists because it creates the backing for big, ambitious projects, from colonizing and extracting the wealth of distant lands (Hudson's Bay Company) to spinning up global manufacturing supply chains (Apple).

Limited liability means that companies can take on debt without exposing their investors to risks beyond their capital stake. If you buy $1,000 worth of Apple stock, that's all you stand to lose if Apple makes bad decisions. Apple may rack up billions in liabilities – say, by abusing its subcontractor workforce – but Apple's owners aren't on the hook for it.

Economists like this because it means that you can invest in Apple without having to be privy to its daily management decisions, which means that Apple can accumulate huge pools of capital, "lever them up" by borrowing even more, and then put all that money to work on R&D, product development, marketing, and, of course, "incentives" for key employees and managers.

But limited liability also does a lot of work in the political sphere. Once an individual crosses a certain wealth threshold, they become an LLC. Accountants and wealth managers and financial planners insist on this. For freelancers and other sole practitioners, the benefits of forming an LLC are modest – a few more tax write-offs and the ability to get a business credit-card with slightly superior perks.

But for the truly wealthy, transforming yourself into the "natural person" at the center of a vast pool of LLCs is essential because it allows you to accumulate and shed debts. You can secretly own rental properties and abuse your tenants, accumulate vast liabilities as local authorities pile fine upon fine, and then simply dispose of the LLC and its debts. Plan this gambit carefully enough and the debtor LLC will have no assets in its bankruptcy estate apart from the crumbling apartment building, and its most senior secured creditor will be another of your LLCs. This lets the slumlord move an apartment block from one pocket to another, leaving the debt behind.

For the corporate person, shedding debts through bankruptcy is an honorable practice. Far from being a source of shame, the well-timed, well-structured bankruptcy is just evidence of financial acumen. Think of the private equity looters who buy a company by borrowing against it, pay themselves a huge "special dividend," then wipe away the debt by taking the company bankrupt (which also lets them shed obligations to suppliers, workers, and especially, retirees and their pensions). As Trump (a serial bankrupt who has stiffed legions of contractors and creditors) would say, "That makes me smart."

The apotheosis of elite bankruptcy is found in massive corporate bankruptcies, in which a corporation kills and maims huge numbers of people, then maneuvers to get its case heard in one of three US federal courtrooms where specialist judges rubber-stamp "involuntary third-party releases" that wipe out the company's obligations to it victims for pennies on the dollar, while the company gets to keep billions:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#morally-bankrupt

This process was so flagrantly abused by companies like Johnson & Johnson (which spent years knowingly advising women to dust their vulvas with asbestos-tainted talc, creating an epidemic of grotesque and lethal genital cancers) that it is finally generating some scrutiny and pushback:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

But the precarious state of elite bankruptcies has more to do with the personal corruption of the small cabal of judges who run the system than public outrage over their rulings; like that one judge in Texas who was secretly fucking the lawyer whose clients he was also handing hundreds of millions of dollars to:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/16/texas-two-step/#david-jones

Certainly, we don't hear much about the "moral hazard" of allowing the Sackler opioid family to keep as much as ten billion dollars in the family's offshore accounts while walking away from the victims of their drug-pushing empire, no matter what bizarre tricks they deploy in pulling off the stunt:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

But when it comes to canceling the debts of normal people, the "moral hazard" is front and center. If you're a person who borrowed $79k in student loans, paid back $190k and still owe $236k, we can't cancel your debt, because of the message that would send to other people who want to (checks notes) get an education:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#strike-debt

The anti-jubilee side also wants us to think of the poor creditors: who would loan money to the next generation of students if student debt cancellation was a possibility? Of course, these are federally guaranteed loans, risk-free, free money for people who already have money, a kind of UBI for the people who need it least. The idea that this credit pool would dry up if you were limited to only collecting the debts that can be paid – rather than insisting that debts that can't be paid still be paid – elevates the hereditary creditor class to a kind of fragile, easily frightened, endangered species.

But the most powerful arguments against bankruptcy are rooted in the idea of providence. In an efficient market, anyone who goes bankrupt was necessarily reckless. They were entrusted with credit they weren't entitled to, because they lacked the intrinsic merit that would let them manage that credit wisely. Letting them walk away from their debts means that they will never learn from their mistakes, and that their fellow born-to-be-poors will learn the wrong thing from those debts: that there's an easy life in borrowing, spending, and discharging your debts in bankruptcy.

As it happens, this is an empirically testable proposition. If this view of personal bankruptcy as a personal failure is correct, then people who go bankrupt and live to borrow again should end up bankrupt again, too. On the other hand, if we accept the jubilee view – that debt is the result of accumulated misfortunes, often including the misfortune of birth into poor station – then bankruptcy represents a second chance with an opportunity to dodge misfortune.

In a new study from IZA Institute of Labor Economics's Gustaf Bruze, Alexander Kjær Hilsløv and Jonas Maibom, we get just such an empirical analysis. It's called "The Long-Run Effects of Individual Debt Relief," and it examines the lives of people for a full quarter-century after a bankruptcy:

https://docs.iza.org/dp17047.pdf

The study follows Danish bankruptcies following the introduction of continental Europe's first modern bankruptcy system, which Denmark instituted in 1984. Prior to that, the Danes – like most of Europe – did not allow for a discharge of personal debt through bankruptcy. Instead, a debtor who went bankrupt would be expected to have about 20% of their lifetime wages garnished to pay back their creditors, until the debts were repaid or they died (whichever came first).

After 1984, Denmark bankruptcy system imported features of US/UK/Commonwealth bankruptcy, including the ability to restructure and discharge your debts. Not everyone is eligible for this kind of bankruptcy: there's a bureaucratic system that verifies that people seeking bankruptcy discharge don't have a lot of assets that could go to their creditors.

But for the (un)lucky people who qualify for bankruptcy discharges, there's a fascinating natural experiment in which the fortunes of people who see debt relief can be compared to bankrupt people who couldn't get their debts wiped out.

It turns out that the Bronze Age has a thing or two to teach us. Here's the headline finding: people who discharge their debts in bankruptcy experience "a large increase in earned income, employment, assets, real estate, secured debt, home ownership, and wealth that persists for more than 25 years after a court ruling."

After people are given the benefits of bankruptcy, they are less likely to rely on public benefits. They get better jobs. Their families live better lives. Their creditors get some of their money back (which is all they can realistically expect, since "debts that can't be paid, won't be paid").

As Jason Kilborn writes for Credit Slips, "the benefits of debt relief are not only substantial but robust, as debtors learn their lesson (if there was one to learn) about managing their finances, and they capitalize (literally) on their fresh start."

Score one for the luck-based theory of wealth, and minus one for the providential meritocracy hypothesis.

Americans should take note of these findings. After all, Danes are insulated from the leading American cause of bankruptcy: medical debts. In America, breaking a bone or getting cancer or even kidney stone can wipe out a lifetime of hard work, careful planning and prudential spending. The US refuses to seriously grapple with this problem. The best we can come up with is the (welcome, but tiny) step of banning credit bureaux from trashing your credit score because of your medical debt:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2024/06/11/fact-sheet-vice-president-harris-announces-proposal-to-prohibit-medical-bills-from-being-included-on-credit-reports-and-calls-on-states-and-localities-to-take-further-actions-to-reduce-medical-debt/

Millennia ago, everyone understood that debts that can't be paid, won't be paid, and they created a system for discharging debts and freeing productive people from the tyranny of accumulated liabilities, to the benefit of all. Dismantling that system required us to invent an elaborate theological system and dress it up in economic language.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/17/lovilee-jubilee/#debts-that-cant-be-paid-wont-be-paid