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[electricalembassy]

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[feinzleclerc]

𝗦𝗧𝗬𝗟𝗘 | CS55

.||✧ pairing ; carlos sainz x journalist!fem! reader

.||✧ summary ; Where you and Carlos have been broken up for more than two years, but suddenly you meet again on a random set to film a perfume commercial. After all, you never go out of style.

.||✧ warnings ; [main warning] English is not my first language

.||✧ word count ; 2.7k word

notes ; masterlist & sportify

Your heart froze, and you could barely believe what you saw before you. The set was chaotic—stylists rushing one way, makeup artists darting another. But the moment you spotted him standing just a few steps away, everything else faded, if only for a second.

Who would’ve thought the star of the commercial you’d been cast in would be Carlos Sainz —your ex-boyfriend, the man you hadn’t seen in two years?

And when he walked onto the set, impeccable in a beige blazer, hair deliberately tousled, gaze sharp yet unsettled, your heart skipped more beats than it already had. You saw the genuine surprise flash across his face, your own breath catching in your throat.

— Hey! — someone from production called out. — (Your name), please! Come with me!

A gentle hand touched your shoulder, guiding you to a nearby dressing room. Inside, a makeup artist waited. Sit down, sweetheart.

— I think I need water. — you muttered, your mouth dry.

— You’re pale! — the makeup artist handed you the bottle you’d asked for.

Then again, who wouldn’t go pale in this situation?

But… how could you even begin to explain your history with Sainz?

[FLASHBACK]

You’d met in Madrid, where you’d gone to interview a French football coach about to take over a major club. Your schedule was tight, your mind focused: interviews, deadlines, coffee, then home. No distractions. Until the Spanish embassy’s PR manager tipped you off:

— There’s a gala tonight. Sports crowd only. Great networking.

You almost said no. High heels sounded exhausting. But you went. After all, a little networking never killed anyone.

And that’s where you saw him for the first time.

Carlos wore a navy-blue tuxedo, his hair slightly messy, a smile that said, I know you recognize me.

You tried to ignore him. Focused on your wine, the menu, small talk with some retired defender-turned-commentator. But he noticed you.

He’d always been good with curves, whether on the track or in conversation.

— You’re the journalist who asked if Mbappé understands Brazilian football, right? — He appeared at your table when you least expected it.

You turned, startled.

— And you’re the driver who’s hopelessly in love with Real Madrid?

His grin was dazzling.

— Exactly, cariño.

That night became a turning point. Between jokes about football and Formula 1, between teasing and lingering glances, something sparked. An electric chemistry. A slow-burning flirtation. He asked you out for coffee the next day. You said it wouldn’t be professional. But Carlos wasn’t the type to give up easily, he spent the rest of the night inventing a thousand reasons why you had to go.

You went. And kept going. Again and again.

The relationship unfolded slowly but intensely. He’d text you right after races:

“Podium today. Would’ve been better if you were there."

You’d pretend not to smile, sitting through yet another press conference with grumpy coaches. He’d call you in the middle of the night, from the other side of the world, just to hear you say he was more than a pretty face and a pole position.

You traveled in secret. Hotel rooms with blackout curtains. Breakfast in bed, muffled laughter, fingers tangled under the sheets. No one could know.

For months, it worked. Then the first leaked photos surfaced, and the fans weren’t kind. The world wasn’t gentle, that much was a fact.

“She doesn’t match him.”

“This is a scam.”

“Carlos, open your eyes.”

You held on. For a while.He swore it would pass. That love was stronger. That it was just noise.

But the noise became silence. He stopped defending you publicly. Stopped including you in his victories.

On your last trip together, you argued in the hotel hallway. You said you were tired of hiding. He said he didn’t know how to handle it.

— I thought I loved you enough to wait for you to grow up. But I’m tired of being invisible.

He lowered his head. Said nothing. That night, you left before his flight. There was no explosive fight. Just a quiet surrender. What was supposed to last forever turned to silence.

Yet the world kept repeating both your names, like an echo that never faded. Because even apart, you never went out of style.

[PRESENT DAY]

Two years without a single message. Not even a sign. And now, you were about to play a couple on camera. A cruel twist of fate, or a tasteless joke by that eccentric director.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the chaos inside. But it was impossible. Every part of you still recognized Carlos, the curve of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed when he was unsettled. And there he was. The makeup artist had just started on your face when you muttered.

— This is a nightmare.

— An ex? — you nodded.

— That’s a problem. A big one.

He kept murmuring, but you barely listened. Your mind had already dragged you back two years, to your last night together. The hotel in Barcelona. The smell of coffee in the room. His suitcase tossed on the sofa. Your toothbrush beside his in the glass.

And then… silence.

The absence.

That breakup wasn’t dramatic. No explosive fights, no words meant to wound. But the pain? That was sharp. Because you’d loved each other.

You just hadn’t known how to handle everything that came with it, the pressure, the fans, the judgment, the distance.

Carlos had pulled away slowly. And you’d retreated, refusing to beg for a place in his life.

Until one day, neither of you called. And no one answered anymore. Now, in the blink of an eye, you were ready—forced to leave the dressing room, step onto the set, and finally face Sainz.

If you’d survived losing him, you’d survive this reunion.

The set lights were brighter than you remembered from any other job. Carlos stood a few feet away, adjusting the collar of his white shirt while a stylist meticulously rolled up his sleeves.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Then, the director explained the first shot:

— You’ll meet on the terrace, elegant dinner, warm night, candles lit. The perfume is the invisible thread between you. I want restrained desire. A past that still weighs heavy, but also attraction. Lots of looks, minimal touch.

— Restrained desire. A past that still weighs heavy.

You bit your lip. The irony of this script practically screamed the truth no one here knew. Or maybe they did—and were pretending not to.

Carlos stepped closer. He walked the same way you remembered: confident, but with a hint of laziness.

A charm that always seemed effortless. And that always unraveled you. He stopped inches away.

His cologne invaded your space. But it was him that dominated the air, that mix of leather, wind, and something else you could never name. Only feel.

— I had no idea… — he murmured, barely moving his lips.

You didn’t answer. Just held his gaze. In that brief silence, time seemed to collapse.

Two years condensed into a single second.

— Scene one, take one… Action!

You turned slowly, as the script demanded. Your black dress fluttered slightly in the artificial breeze from the fans. When your eyes met his, as if for the first time, the world blurred around you.

Carlos held your stare, steady. But there was something else there. A faltering breath.

He was supposed to walk to you. Take your hand. Lead you to the table like the gentleman in the commercial. But instead, for a fraction of a second, he hesitated. And you saw it.

Carlos still remembered. The way you’d lace your fingers with his when you walked. The way you’d whisper *“good luck”* before his races.

The kiss you’d press to his shoulder when he returned exhausted from a Grand Prix weekend.

He took your hand gently, but his fingers took too long to settle. Like slipping into an old piece of clothing—familiar, but tighter with time.

You followed him to the table. Both of you sat.

Two wine glasses, candles, and the silence of people who’d said everything, yet left everything unfinished.

— Look at each other. — the director instructed.

You turned slowly, meeting Carlos’s gaze with an intensity that wasn’t acting. He matched it. And in that frozen moment, you knew:

He hadn’t moved on either.

And he hated still feeling it.

— Cut! — the director clapped. — Perfect! The tension was palpable. You two have insane chemistry.

“Insane chemistry.” Oh, if only he knew the price that chemistry had cost…

Carlos released your hand almost reverently. But his eyes—those damned brown eyes—didn’t look away. You stood, heat rising to your cheeks.

— Ready for the next scene? — someone from production asked.

But all you wanted was to run. Or maybe… to ask why he left. Why he never reached out.

Why, after all this time, one glance from him could still stop your world.

During the break, you leaned against the dressing room wall, clutching an iced coffee. Your fingers trembled. The scene had been quick, scripted, professional, but none of it felt like acting. And that was the problem.

The door creaked open slowly. You didn’t need to look to know it was him.

Carlos closed it quietly. He still wore the beige blazer, sleeves now rolled up, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.

— Can I come in? — he asked. You nodded.

Silence.

— I swear I didn’t know. — he finally said.

— Me neither. If I had, I wouldn’t have taken this job. — Your voice was steady but low, a warning disguised as hurt.

— I thought you… didn’t even want to hear my name.

— I didn’t.

Carlos exhaled deeply. He sat across from you but kept his distance. His eyes traced yours, searching for a crack to slip back into.

— Are you still mad at me? — you let out a humorless laugh.

— That was two years ago. I’m not mad. Just… trying not to fall into the same trap.

He looked down.

— We were young. I messed up. You did too.

— You messed up more. — you fired back. — You cut me out like I meant nothing. One day I was the love of your life, the next you were ‘Carlos Sainz, F1’s most eligible bachelor.’ Easy as that.

[FLASHBACK — Monaco]

You were on a balcony overlooking the sea. Grand Prix night. You wore one of his dress shirts, hair damp from the shower, feet in his lap as his fingers traced idle patterns on your calf.

— Do you think the world would ever accept us? — you whispered.

— I don’t care about the world. — he said. — I care about you.

And that night, he made you believe it.

[PRESENT DAY]

You looked away.

— The fans never liked me. Remember? I was ‘the football girl,’ ‘Sainz’s distraction,’ ‘the one who knew nothing about cars.’ I read every comment.

— So did I. — his voice wavered.

You finally met his eyes. For the first time, he looked small. Fragile. Lost. As if only now realizing the depth of the scars.

— I ended it… because I thought I was protecting you. That if you stepped out of my shadow, my world, you could grow on your own. That it’d be better for you.

— You didn’t get to decide that for me.

He had no reply. The silence now was heavier. Not with anger. But with everything that never had the chance to unfold.

The door opened again. A producer glanced between you both with a strained smile.

— Sorry to interrupt, but we need you. Next scene’s the kiss.

Carlos looked at you. And for the first time in two years, asked:

— Can you do this?

— I don’t know.

[FLASHBACK — Six Months Before the Breakup]

You were on a small rooftop, sharing a cheap bottle of wine and laughing about absolutely nothing. Carlos tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

— You know, when I kiss you, it’s like time stops?

You laughed, thinking he was exaggerating. — I’m serious. — he said. — You’re my favorite kind of time.

[ — ]

— You okay? — he whispered, his nose almost brushing yours. You nodded, your throat dry. His hands slid up your back.

— Ready? — the director shouted.

Carlos held your gaze one last time, then slowly pressed his lips to yours. The first touch was cautious, hesitant, like stepping onto cracked ground. But when he felt you respond, the tension shattered. The kiss deepened. Grew urgent. And within seconds, you were just like before: as if you’d never been apart.

His hands gripped your waist like he was memorizing it. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, something you always did when breathless, something he’d always laugh about afterward. But no one was laughing now.

It was just old desire. Pent-up hurt. Two years of swallowed screams pouring out in the most intimate way possible.

— Cut! — the director yelled. — Yes! Perfect! That was beautiful, that was real!

You pulled apart slowly. His eyes were red. Yours too. But neither of you spoke. Not yet.

Carlos wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, a slow, familiar gesture. Something silly and achingly old.

— Didn’t know it’d still hurt this much. — he admitted.

You swallowed hard. — Wait for me in the dressing room after. We need to talk. For real this time.

[4 MONTHS LATER]

The sky was shifting colors, bleeding into burnt gold and orange. The sea breeze tangled your hair and carried that salty scent only the beach could. Carlos sat beside you in the sand, legs stretched out, sunglasses pushed atop his head.

— Thought you’d have left straight for the hotel. —you remarked, tossing a pebble into the water.

— Thought you’d have called a taxi mid-shoot. — he shot back, the ghost of a smirk at his lips. You huffed a laugh.

— Been a while since you’ve been here? — you asked.

— Since last summer. The one with the chaotic race and those terrible tapas.

You side-eyed him. — The one where you swore you spoke Catalan?

Carlos feigned offense. — I do speak Catalan. I just chose not to—to impress you.

You shook your head, grinning.

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was easy. Nostalgic. The kind of quiet you only share with someone you’ve known long enough not to fill every space with words.

— The sunset’s pretty today. — you said, almost to yourself.

— Barcelona does sunsets right. — he agreed. — But you still win.

You scoffed, giving him your most unimpressed look.

— That was terrible, Sainz.

— Still got a smile. Mission accomplished.

The sun dipped lower, kissing the sea. A couple jogged past along the shore. A dog barked in the distance. The city’s lights began flickering to life.

— Y’know… I forget how good this feels. — you murmured, sifting sand through your fingers. — Just sitting here. Watching the water.

Carlos snapped his fingers. — We could make it a habit. Chance reunions, always by the sea. Next time, maybe Rome?

— Maybe. — you said, promising nothing.

As the sun faded, you thought that of all the ways to end a day, this was one of your favorites. Light. Quiet. Almost as if life wasn’t so messy after all.

[komsomolka]

Former US President Donald Trump, on the advice of Henry Kissinger, sought to adjust to the new international distribution of power by “getting along with Russia” and instead focus US resources towards countering the rise of China. Trump was for several years presented as a Russian agent, a suspicion that lingers on even after the allegations and evidence were proven to be fraudulent. During the US Presidential election in 2020 Russia was blamed for placing bounties on the life of US troops in Afghanistan, another evidence-free allegation that was retracted after the election. The Hunter Biden laptop scandal proving Joe Biden’s corruption in Ukraine and China was then denounced as another Russian disinformation campaign before it was proven that the emails were authentic and Moscow had no involvement. Russia was accused of hacking the French election system until the French authorities disclosed there were no traces of a Russian hack. Moscow’s manipulation purportedly has a crucial impact on almost all elections and referendums across the West, although the accusations tend to either lack evidence or are proven to be wrong. The Russians allegedly hacked into the Vermont electric grid, which was revealed to be another false story that had to be retracted. Russia purportedly used a secret energy weapon against US troops in Syria and the US Embassy in Havana, although it was exposed to have been food poisoning and crickets. Sweden routinely discovers threatening Russian submarines when there are debates about increasing defence spending or joining NATO, which has been proven to be minks, vessels, broken buoys, and even the detection of farts from various animals. [...]

Caught up in the Russiagate hysteria, several British newspapers reported that “half of the Russians in London are spies”. Out of 150,000 Russians living in London, approximately 75,000 of them are Russian spies according to a report by the Henry Jackson Society, a think tank with an anti-Russian bent, which was then repeated as an “expert report” by various British media outlets (Hope, 2018). The British Daily Star reported that experts claim “Vladimir Putin’s war threats are why aliens haven’t made first contact”, as the barbarism and “primitive behaviour” of Russia reflect poorly on the ability of human beings to join any advanced Galactic Federation (Jameson, 2022). [...]

The success of propaganda does not depend primarily on selling specific accusations, but on selling the binary stereotypes through constant repetition. Once allegations against Russia are exposed as fraudulent it does not appear to vindicate Moscow, it does not result in the removal of sanctions imposed based on false information, and it does not alter the overall narrative about Russia. Instead, the stereotype of a meddling and intrusive Russia seeking to undermine democracy remains after the accusations and evidence have collapsed. While the debunking of these stories should give way to a rational debate that reconsiders and recalibrates the threat perception from Russia, the narratives about Russia remain convincing as they do not merely appeal to reason. A Pavlovian reflex of contempt for Russia informs and strengthens the overarching narrative. There is little accountability for false stories about Russia, rather journalists and politicians are often propelled up the hierarchy of their profession. Instead of serving as a caution for future accusations, the false stories open the door for more accusations as the false stories are cited as a “pattern of behaviour” that strengthens the narrative of a belligerent Russia.

Russophobia: Propaganda in International Politics by Glenn Diesen.

[silenzahra]

⚡ An electrical aura ⚡

Ah, it feels so good to be back with a new story after so long! 😌

As I mentioned here, in this fic you will find one of my favorite topics to consume in any kind of fanwork:

✨⚡ Protective Luigi ⚡✨

I would've liked to post this story a couple of days ago to coincide with Mario and Luigi's birthday (even though the story has nothing to do with the date itself) as a way of celebrating their bond as brothers that we all love and adore so much 🥹💚❤️

Still, I'm glad I can share it now as this is one of the many fanfics I've been planning to write... for more than a year 😶

And at long last, here it is! 😄

@pepperycar @bberetd @vulpixfairy1985 @megamagimugi @peaches2217 @zocchini37 @itsavee4117 @multicolour-ink @dragon-fly34 @eleventhhourfactor @stripetkattelalala54-gf @kelbreyworshipper @doodleydoo101 @c-lavanda and anyone else who might be interested: hope you enjoy! 💖

And as always: you can keep reading under the cut if you'd like! 👇

(Please remember that likes, comments, kudos, reblogs and any kind of feedback is always more than welcome 🥰)

EDIT (29-3-2025): Should've edited this post earlier to add that I wrote a second chapter for this, this one from Mario's perspective, and it can also be found on AO3! ❤️

⚡ An electrical aura ⚡

TW: Blood, violence (not too much though)

Luigi doesn't like being separated from his brother.

It was hard enough having to leave him behind when he got sick to go in search of the antidote. Luigi swallows as he remembers how scared he was when he saw Mario's skin turn green after consuming that strange mushroom and how his feet practically flew to the Mushroom Kingdom embassy, carrying his twin in his arms, to take him to the princess and try to get him help.

This time, however, at least Luigi has the comfort and relief of knowing that his brother is safe, even if he’s not at his side.

The moment they came across that first barred door, Luigi immediately understood that his twin wouldn’t have a chance to follow him, that he’d have to go on alone and that Mario would have to find his own way. Luigi gave him a glance full of consternation and, for a very brief moment, his brother returned exactly the same look. Before, of course, forcing himself to hide it so as not to show discouragement in front of his little brother and, instead, give him a reassuring grin.

Luigi smiles to himself as a pleasant tenderness spreads across his chest and warms his heart. That's his big brother: always ready to appear strong and confident to protect his younger sibling and not to worry him, all with the purpose of preventing Luigi’s anxiety from getting any worse.

Looking around, Luigi puts his hands to his chest in some sort of reflex action, trying to keep the warmth that the thought of his brother brings up inside him. For, not to his luck, everything around him is ice and more ice. Joke’s End is an inhospitable, deserted, cold place. It certainly serves its purpose of functioning as a kind of graveyard for jokes, for while the other places in the Beanbean Kingdom that he and Mario have visited had much more cheerful names and were also full of life, this place is far from the mainland and, except for the monsters and that strange blue girl with the scepter that has greeted them, it’s also the loneliest place in the entire kingdom.

Luigi hugs himself as he continues looking at his surroundings with a parched throat and a sense of dread growing inside him. He’s never felt so alone in his entire life.

He only hopes that this ordeal is about to end. He followed the path marked by the place itself, hit the necessary blocks and battled alone against various monsters, despite the insecurity produced by not having his twin with him so that they could perform their combined attacks.

Not to mention the several occasions on which he’s been able to see Mario through a barred door without either of them finding a way to bridge the distance between them. All those times, Luigi has clung to the bars as if he could make them disappear in his fingers so he could finally be reunited with his brother, and Mario hasn’t hesitated to approach him and place his hands on his twin’s, gazing at him affectionately while he gave him words of encouragement and, again, smiles filled with confidence.

“Soon we'll be together, Lu,” he assured him, and Luigi could practically touch the certainty that permeated every word his brother spoke. “We'll soon find a way, you'll see.”

Despite his anxiety and his many insecurities, Luigi has never doubted Mario. He always believes in his promises, unquestioningly, because he knows that his twin wouldn't tell him if he didn't truly believe in them and if he wasn't willing to do everything in his power to keep them.

And he always does. Mario has never, ever failed Luigi. Not once in their entire lives.

Therefore, Luigi trusts. He trusts Mario blindly, just as he has since the day they were born, and he’ll continue to trust him until the day he dies.

So that's what keeps him going: the certitude that Mario's words will come true sooner or later. The assurance that everything his brother tells him is as true as the sun will always rise at the end of the darkest night and the light will shine again. Just as bright as Mario’s smile.

This time, whether they manage to reunite depends on a strange puzzle that, once again, they must solve by working together, even though they’re physically separated. This is not the first time, of course: when they’ve seen each other through barred doors, it’s been because they had to hit twin blocks in unison in order to activate different mechanisms, and there have even been times when they haven’t been able to see one another but have felt each other's presence through the thick walls of ice that make up Joke’s End.

As Luigi hits this last block, he hears a sound coming from outside. Both he and Mario have just crossed walkways that ran parallel to each other and converged at two different doors in the building, and they’ve helped each other to move forward until they’ve reached, at least in Luigi's case, a dead-end room. After hitting the block, Luigi retraces his steps towards the walkway he has just crossed and discovers that a frozen bridge has emerged between the two.

“Yes!”

Luigi can't and won't hold back the squeal of relief and excitement that bubbles up from his throat. Without wasting any time, he runs across the footbridge to cross to the other side and begins to follow the path that Mario must have taken. He wonders if he’ll bump into his sibling, if he too has started running, if he’s as eager as Luigi is to hold him in his arms. The smile on the younger plumber’s face widens, for he’s sure that Mario feels the same way. He’s about to join his big brother in a tight embrace, and this time, he won’t let Mario get away from him again.

Then, as he climbs up some latticed platforms, a high-pitched scream rings in his ears and is suddenly cut off.

Due to the surprise, Luigi almost stops in his tracks as he feels how the air escapes from his lungs and an icy fist grips his heart. And it has nothing to do with the cold prevailing in the place.

It only takes him a moment, however, to resume running, giving his legs more speed.

“Mario!”

He leaps over some ice blocks and manages to reach the next room. He skids across the ice when he realizes that he’s at a high location and that, to his right and left, there are two sets of steps leading down to the bottom of the room.

And down there, right in the middle, is Mario.

The blood runs cold in Luigi's veins as he discovers his brother lying on the ground, completely motionless, with traces of dirt on his clothes and a red stain crowning his forehead, his hat fallen just short of his head. With a horrified gasp, Luigi doesn't give it a second thought: he runs to the edge of the step, bends down and jumps, landing in a crouch a short distance from where Mario lays. He moves practically on all fours towards his twin, his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes so wide that he thinks they'll end up popping out of their sockets.

“Mario,” he mumbles in a nervous whisper.

He carefully places a hand under Mario's head and slowly lifts him up as he slides his knees under his body to try to give him some comfort. He pulls him closer as he continues to whisper his name, but his brother does not respond. There’s blood on his neck and one of his knees, Luigi notices. Feeling the anguish growing inside him, he examines the crimson stain on Mario's forehead, as it seems to be the most serious wound. His white glove is immediately covered in red. Wheezing, Luigi raises his hand in front of his face and stares at it, blinking in awe, as if his brain is having trouble processing what his eyes are seeing.

Mario's blood coats Luigi’s fingers.

The distress that floods him begins to transform, little by little, into something different. Something that causes small sparks of electricity to sizzle around him.

It is then that he becomes aware of their presence.

Luigi blinks a little to focus his eyes, as they’re blurry, he doesn't know why, and lowers his hand without any haste. He places it protectively on Mario's chest, which, fortunately, rises and falls, evidence that he continues to breathe, albeit slowly and heavily. Luigi pulls him a little closer to himself, his hand still holding his twin's head with extreme care. His breathing is getting more and more arduous and laborious, and his cheeks are getting wet, but he’s not even aware of it.

In front of him stand three of the many monsters that plague the place. Luigi has faced several of them before, both alone and in the company of his brother, so he recognizes them immediately. A Glurp, which spews toxic clouds that have on occasion poisoned him or Mario, causing his sibling to be extremely grateful for Luigi's efforts to carry extra Refreshing Herbs in their luggage. An Ice Snifit, whose spiky chunks of ice have frozen his soul and against which only his brother's Firebrand has been effective enough to eradicate its effects.

And lastly... a Clumph.

His green skin makes Luigi think of a nurse’s uniform. His purple hair reminds him of a bunch of grapes.

And finally... that huge club that he carries everywhere.

In all likelihood, this Clumph is the main reason why his big brother is lying unconscious in his arms.

Out of pure instinct, Luigi squeezes Mario a little tighter as his brow furrows. How dare that damned Clumph hurt his twin in such a way. How dare he stand there, in front of him, carrying his club on his shoulder as if he hadn't just dealt it with all his might on Mario's forehead. How dare he give him that goofy look with which he pretends to be completely innocent.

How dare he.

“How dare you,” Luigi mumbles without even being aware of it.

The particles of electricity around Luigi have increased in intensity and power. His breathing has accelerated so much that snorts escape from his mouth, and the hair on his arms has bristled under his green shirt. The plumber hears the roar of thunder, but he can’t tell where it comes from. He does take a glimpse of a glow that illuminates the place green, though. Without taking his eyes off the Clumph, Luigi reaches an arm over Mario to grab his brother’s hat and places it under his twin’s head as he lays him extremely gently on the ground. Then, taking his time, he stands up. His enemies don't miss his every move either, the Ice Snifit and Glurp ready to attack.

Luigi, however, is not going to give them the slightest chance.

His veins burn so much that he feels like he's going to explode at any moment. Rage has invaded every inch of his body and is spreading through his nerve endings like a thunderstorm that threatens to burst and destroy him in the process.

Luigi is more than willing to let it out.

He can't remember ever feeling this way, either before or after acquiring his Thunderhand, but he's not going to hold back. These enemies dared to touch his brother. They dared to attack him when Luigi was finally on his way to reunite with him. They dared to inflict Mario a wound that has robbed him of consciousness. They dared to spill his blood.

It will be the last thing they will do in their lives.

Anger controls his every move when Luigi unhurriedly steps over Mario's body and walks heavily towards his rivals, as if he were nothing more than a puppet in the hands of the strongest wrath. Although they try to look determined and ready to fight, the monsters sense the aura that surrounds Luigi, the aura of someone who is willing to do anything to get revenge, the aura of someone who will stop at nothing to protect what is most precious to him in the world.

An electrical aura that brings thunder at lightning in its wake.

As he walks, Luigi clenches his fists at his sides and rebellious sparks escape from them. He feels that both his mustache and his hair under his hat have bristled, and his cheeks are now so dampened that he feels them cold, but he doesn't care. He continues to move, his breathing harsh and uneasy, his heart pounding in his chest, and he feels an unexpected surge of satisfaction sweep over him when he realizes that his enemies, cornered, have bumped into the icy wall of the building surrounding them.

They have no escape.

Luigi's fury, on the other hand, does.

Growling under his breath, the plumber closes his eyes and allows the energy pulsing in his veins to take complete control.

His arms rise up, his palms pointing towards his enemies. Electricity courses through his body, surging from deep within him and rushing to his hands. Against all odds, a sense of warm calm invades Luigi as he feels his electric magic dance up and down, flooding every inch of his body, reaching every corner of his essence and causing a fleeting smile to play across his lips.

He has never felt so powerful.

Before the first streak bursts from Luigi's fingertips, his eyelids part, but there’s no trace of pupil in his gaze.

There’s only room for electricity.

Luigi's eyes are entirely white as his power begins, at last, to be released. Jets of light, sometimes blue, sometimes green, emerge from his hands, lethal, deadly, and it takes Luigi a moment to realize that he’s begun to emit a low snarl that, gradually, turns into a scream with which he frees all the emotions that boil inside him. The fear of losing his brother. The rage for what they’ve done to him. The thirst for revenge, which had never before blinded him so much.

In fact, Luigi realizes that everything he sees is white. An immaculate white, dotted with sizzling green and blue flashes, which prevent him from checking what his magic is doing, what his hands are causing. Nor is he able to perceive any sound, as if his ears were underwater, in a completely silent limbo that has cut him off from the outside world.

However, he quickly decides that he doesn't care. He doesn't care, because he feels invincible. He’s filled with fierce drive that fuels his power and begs him to go on, to not stop, to continue giving it free rein. The euphoria of the moment is so strong that it becomes addictive, something Luigi clings to with all his might.

It's all for his brother.

Mario deserves that and more. Mario deserves the whole world.

Despite Luigi’s blindness, which, he hopes, is temporary, the image of his twin appears clearly in front of him. His beloved Mario, always so cheerful and smiling, always ready to fight for those he loves, always ready for battle. Always determined to protect Luigi and spare him all harm, but also full of unshakable faith in his little sibling.

A faith that has always been Luigi's driving force throughout his entire life.

If it were not for Mario, Luigi simply wouldn’t believe in himself. If it were not for Mario, Luigi wouldn’t have learned to fight, both for himself and for those he loves. If it were not for Mario, Luigi would not be who he is today.

If it weren't for Mario, Luigi wouldn't be here right now.

So he's not going to give up. He’ll continue to defend his brother the same way Mario has always defended him. He won't let those damn monsters get close to his sibling again. He won't let them get a chance to hurt him again.

He won't let them get away with it.

However, as he unleashes all his power and his unstoppable energy travels through his body and gushes from his hands, Luigi empties himself. He empties himself of the fear of losing Mario forever. He empties himself of all his anger, of all his resentment against the beings who have dared to harm his twin. He empties himself of all his thirst for revenge.

And he empties himself, also, of his electric magic.

Which carries with it a great part of his vitality.

Luigi blinks several times as the sparks around his vision begin to dim and the blinding white gradually fades. Before he can see anything, however, he notices his knees hit the icy ground, his legs unable to support him, and he begins to become aware of the noisy panting he’s emitting. He closes his eyes again and squeezes his eyelids tightly shut as he brings a hand to his chest in an attempt to calm his racing heart and regulate his rapid breathing. His entire body trembles violently, and he continues to see sparks, only, this time, there’s no trace of those green and blue flashes in them. All he sees is blackness and darkness.

A darkness so enveloping that it threatens to drag him into the deepest and most absolute unconsciousness.

Despite his exhaustion, Luigi can’t afford to faint now. This is no time to rest. He has to check what has happened while he was in that kind of electric trance, what has become of his enemies. He has to check in on Mario.

His brother needs him.

But the darkness is so tempting... What if he only lets himself be dragged along for a moment? Just enough to rest and regain his strength. Besides, his eyes are already closed. What's the difference if—?

“Lu?”

Luigi's eyelids flutter open as he lifts his head with a jerk. He only takes a moment to gaze at the frozen wall in front of him, empty, which makes him imagine that the monsters must have fled, frightened by the fierceness of his power.

But that’s not important now.

His head turns at lightning speed as he compels his exhausted limbs to move. In the midst of his wheezing, a wide grin blooms on his face as his eyes meet another pair, of the same limpid blue, gazing up at him in awe.

“Mario!” he exclaims.

Not wanting to waste any time, he propels himself onto the icy ground to stand up, only to drop to his knees again two seconds later, this time next to Mario. His brother watches him with half-opened eyes and a tired smile glistening on his lips as well. Luigi places a hand in his sibling’s hair, careful not to touch his wound so as not to hurt him more, and his heart fills with joy as he notices how his twin reaches for his hand.

When their fingers intertwine, they join with a force more sweeping than that of a hurricane and more intense than that of the most devastating thunderstorm.

“How are you feeling?”

“Was it you?”

The brothers share a few knowing laughs when they realize that they’ve spoken at the same time. They look at each other fondly, amused, and Luigi, feeling his heart calm at last, gladly gives the floor to his twin.

“I'm a little dizzy,” Mario confesses, his voice a faint murmur. “It hurts...”

He attempts to bring his free hand to his forehead, but Luigi gently restrains him.

“Don't touch it,” he asks, concerned. “You’re wounded, but I'm sure this will help.”

He begins to rummage in his pockets without letting go of his brother's fingers. He doesn't notice that his twin can’t take his eyes off him.

“Was it you, Luigi?” he asks again.

“What do you mean?” Luigi asks, pulling the fabric of his right pocket to try to get a glimpse of its contents.

“The electric shock,” says Mario. “I woke up and saw... Lightning bolts. Electricity. Blue... Green. And... I heard thunder.”

Luigi notices that his brother struggles to speak. Stressed, he begins to rummage in the chest pocket of his overalls, ignoring the fact that he feels exhausted too. Where the heck did he put them?

“Luigi.”

His twin's voice, tinged with a certain urgency, as well as the squeeze he gives his hand, cause Luigi to finally look up. He’s speechless when he notices the fixed, penetrating glance, bursting with curiosity, that Mario is giving him. He can’t help but be slightly startled and even blush, and immediately resumes his search.

“I-I don't know what happened,” he mumbles nervously, and he’s not lying.

“Lu, did you...?” Mario takes a few seconds to ask his question. “Did you just unleash a thunderstorm?”

As his fingers finally grab the 1-UP Super he was looking for, Luigi closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath.

The truth is that he has no idea what just happened. He only knows that several emotions swirled inside him the moment he saw Mario's blood staining his glove red, and that he experienced them in a more overwhelming and powerful way than ever before. He’s never felt that fire in his chest, that tingling in his arms, that sensation of being unstoppable that has taken over his soul and has demanded to gush from his hands with more force than ever.

Luigi had no clue he was capable of such a thing.

“Lu?”

Mario's voice urges him to open his eyes again. His heart shrinks in his chest as soon as he notices the lingering worry in his brother's eyes, not yet completely lucid, but enough to be worried by his silence. Luigi tries to smile and shrugs as he holds out the mushroom.

“It's nothing,” he assures his twin. “I'm fine, but you're not. Eat this.”

“Luigi.” Mario lifts his other hand to push away the shroom. “Tell me what happened. Please. What did I see?”

Luigi will never cease to be amazed that his brother, even with a bleeding wound on his forehead, can still display his innate strength. He knows Mario too well to know that he will never give up, that he’d still want to talk to him about what happened even if he were on the verge of unconsciousness. So, defeated, Luigi offers him a deal.

“Eat this,” he repeats, “and we’ll talk about it.”

Fortunately, his suggestion seems to appease Mario. After watching him for a few seconds, his brother eventually lowers his hand and allows Luigi to give him the 1-UP Super. Luigi knows how much his sibling dislikes the taste of mushrooms, but by now Mario has learned to tolerate it: he closes his eyes and swallows them almost all at once, and always lets out a little whimper of protest that warms Luigi's heart. Mario may be his older brother, he may be the bravest and most capable person he knows, he may have always protected him since they were little, but in some ways he still reminds him of a child.

And yet Luigi admires his sibling for being able to eat something he doesn't like. He struggles every time.

Within seconds, Mario's wound begins to heal. Luigi watches, dumbfounded, as the blood recedes and the skin practically regenerates, eliciting a small grunt from Mario that causes Luigi to squeeze his hand and stroke his hair in an attempt to comfort him. His brother purses his lips as he squeezes back, and Luigi smiles as he witnesses Mario trying to contain the pain and not show himself vulnerable despite the fact that, here and now, it's just the two of them.

To Mario's relief, the shroom soon completes its magic. With his forehead completely healed, Mario opens his eyes, once again glowing with his distinctive energy and vitality, and rests them on his twin. Luigi, however, is so relieved to finally see his older brother safe and sound that, as soon as he begins to sit up, Luigi throws his arms around Mario’s neck.

He doesn't even realize that he’s started to cry until he tries to speak and the lump in his throat prevents him from doing so.

Mario's laughter is like a balm that warms his heart. His brother laughs fondly and puts an arm around Luigi while he raises his other hand to pat him affectionately on his head. Still hugging him, Luigi smiles, and a strangled chuckle escapes his system as he swallows to try to quiet his crying.

“It's good to see you too, little brother,” Mario whispers.

He presses his cheek against Luigi's and Luigi closes his eyes, his heart fluttering in his chest. There's no telling where his smile ends and Mario's begins. He could stay like this forever, clinging to his sibling and feeling his twin's arms around him, providing him with a warmth more intense and comforting than that of the most blazing fire as they protect each other from any evil coming from the outside world.

Luigi needs nothing else to live.

After a few seconds, Luigi notices that his brother tries to pull apart from him to look him in the eye, but the younger plumber finds himself unable to stand up straight. His whole body feels strangely limp, as if it didn’t belong to him, and it’s impossible for him to do something as simple as opening his eyes.

Luigi then realizes that the fatigue caused by the force with which his electric magic has emerged from his body is causing the upper part of his body to slip to Joke’s End’s cold, icy floor, as both him and Mario are still on his knees, and he finds himself unable to break his fall. Mario's voice, full of alarm at his little brother’s condition, reaches Luigi’s ears muffled, and he just can’t make out his twin’s words. He does feel how Mario holds him tightly with one arm, trying to ground him, and Luigi finds himself clinging to him with what little strength he has left in his body. He rests his head on his twin's shoulder while he closes his eyelids, just for an instant, to rest for five minutes, nothing more.

For this reason he’s unable to resist when he notices that Mario brings something to his lips. Without hesitating, Luigi opens his mouth and allows his brother to give him what the green clad plumber immediately distinguishes as a 1-UP Super. He’s barely swallowed it when he begins to feel its effects: a small spark of energy springs up in his heart and starts to spread through his body in slow but intense waves, finally giving him back the vitality that the magnitude of his power had taken from him. Soon he’s aware of how Mario's arms support him while, in Italian, his brother whispers soft words of encouragement, waiting for the shroom to take effect with the little patience that Luigi knows his sibling has, but which he always displays when it comes to him.

Luigi lets out a small moan as he regains control of his body, holding on to Mario's shoulders to slowly sit up. He immediately hears his twin greet him as if he had just woken up, which, in fact, is not far from the truth.

“Hey,” Mario says softly, his tone full of gentleness. “Can you hear me, Lu? How are you feeling?”

Luigi notices Mario's fingers cupping his cheek and can practically feel the concern that tinges his voice. Still clinging to his twin's shoulders, Luigi hastens to smile, looking at him, and nods, wishing he could wipe all traces of worry from Mario's blue eyes in one fell swoop.

“I feel wonderful,” he declares.

His tone must be more convincing than he thought, because, in front of him, Mario's face begins to calm down: his frown relaxes, his eyes recover their usual spark, and a smile blooms on his lips that mirrors Luigi's, as if his brother were an earthly representation of the sun and he, the moon that feeds on his glow.

“Thank goodness,” Mario replies, giving him a gentle pat on the back.

Both his voice and his face are brimming with relief. Luigi instinctively closes his eyes the instant he notices how his twin begins to tilt his head towards him. Warmness bursts in his chest as his forehead meets his brother's, and the smile that spreads across his face at the contact is wide, serene and placid. Despite the ice that surrounds them, despite the coldness that reigns in the place where they are, far from any trace of civilization, Luigi could almost swear that never before, in all his life, has he felt more wrapped up in the warmth provided by the mere presence of his older brother.

When, seconds later, the twins separate, they give each other wide and calm smiles, both filled with joy at being together again. Mario's expression, though, gradually turns into one full of curiosity.

“So...” he says before patting Luigi's back again. “It was a thunderstorm, right?”

Luigi can't help but cringe a little. How is he going to tell Mario about something he doesn't even know how it happened? In fact... should he? What if his brother starts to see him in a different light? What if...?

What if Mario stops loving him?

“W-well...”

He doesn't realize that he's started to fiddle with his hands, as he usually does whenever he's nervous, until he feels Mario's palm, warm and pleasant, resting on his fingers before gently squeezing them. Raising his head, Luigi meets the equally sweet and affectionate gaze of his brother, radiant with all the love he feels for him.

The sight is more than enough to soothe Luigi’s racing thoughts.

“Lulu,” Mario says, still smiling, “you don’t have to be ashamed. What you did was amazing!” he exclaims, chuckling smoothly as his eyes sparkle with excitement. “You unleashed a thunderstorm all by yourself, little brother. Do you realize how incredibly powerful you are?”

Luigi stares at him in silence for a few seconds, trying to process the reality of his twin's words.

Or, he corrects himself, trying to process the fact that Mario doesn't seem at all horrified by what his younger sibling just did.

“In fact,” Mario continues before Luigi manages to come up with a response, “you're so powerful, Luigi, that not only did you get me to wake up even though I had just been hit in my head, but you made the monsters run away. Or at least,” he adds as he looks to and fro, “I don't see them anywhere.”

Looking at Luigi again, Mario winks at him as he holds both of his brother's hands in his, Luigi's fingers resting on his left palm while his right continues to tap him lightly. Luigi blinks slowly and closes his mouth at last, for he wasn't even aware of having it wide open. A shy smile begins to bloom on his lips.

“They fled like cowards in the face of the bravery and courage of my mighty little brother,” Mario then says, imprinting his voice with a proud tone that causes Luigi's smile to widen and his cheeks to start burning. “Do you hear me, monsters?” Mario suddenly shouts, turning again to one side and the other, and grabs Luigi's wrist with his right hand to raise his younger sibling’s arm in the air. “Don't even think of coming closer if you don't want to suffer the wrath of the Green Thunder!”

Luigi can't contain the laughter that escapes from the depths of his soul at the nickname his brother has just bestowed upon him, as well as his enthusiasm when boasting about him and the vigor with which he shakes Luigi’s arm. Luigi doubts that any monster is going to be scared by that, but, maybe, just maybe, what he just did is not... bad. Maybe his power has gotten out of his control, but, after all, he hasn't caused any harm.

And, besides, he’s achieved his purpose: to keep those monsters away from his big brother and prevent them from ever having a chance to harm him again.

When his laughter starts to fade, he notices that Mario was laughing too. Now he looks at Luigi with eyes sparkling with affection, and the younger plumber returns a radiant smile that he hopes will convey the same feeling to his brother. Seizing the fact that he’s still holding him by one hand, Mario begins to pull him up and they both stand up at the same time. Mario, however, doesn’t let go.

“Thank you for protecting me, Lu,” he says heartily, giving his fingers a little squeeze.

Luigi can't help blushing and massages the back of his neck with his other hand.

“You always protect me,” he replies, shrugging, “and besides, I don't even know what I did...”

“What do you mean?” Mario sounds both intrigued and confused.

“W-well...” Luigi takes a few seconds to try to find the right words. “I don't know what happened, Mario,” he declares, looking him in the eyes. “I just know that I saw you lying there, and you were bleeding, and...” He sighs, looking away again. “My Thunderhand took control. I didn't even know it was capable of creating a thunderstorm,” he admits, dejected.

Luigi drops his shoulders and massages his arm with his free hand. Mario still holds his other hand, but Luigi senses that it's only a matter of time before his brother lets go and walks away. Surely he doesn't admire him so much anymore. Surely he doesn't see him in the same way anymore. Surely...

“Then,” Mario's voice interrupts the torrent of his thoughts, and a new squeeze on his fingers causes Luigi to turn to him once more. Mario's warm smile disarms him completely. “Maybe we can find a way together that you can do this while maintaining control.”

At first, Luigi isn't sure he fully understands what his twin is referring to. It takes a while for his brain to register what his twin means: that Luigi should learn how to be in control in case he needs, or wants to, create another thunderstorm in the future.

It hadn't occurred to him that there might be a way.

“You’ll see how they will call you Green Thunder then,” Mario adds, amused, and gives him a gentle punch on the shoulder.

Luigi chuckles at his joke, and an idea suddenly comes to his mind.

“Do you think you could do something like that with your Firebrand too?” he asks, curious.

This time it's Mario who stares at him dumbfounded.

“Well... I hadn’t thought about it,” he admits, putting his hand to his chin and tapping his finger pensively.

���Then that’s one more thing we have to research,” Luigi suggests, suddenly filled with a determination that only Mario could have infected him with. “What do you think, big bro?”

“Fair enough, little bro” nods his sibling, giving him another wink.

With no need for words, the two break contact in unison, only to raise their arms and high five. Luigi laughs, feeling not only relieved that Mario still loves him the same way, but pleased that they’re going to further investigate both his electrical power and his twin's igneous magic. He hopes to come up with an appropriate nickname for Mario and his Firebrand in the process.

“I guess we'll have to get out of here first,” Mario adds jokingly. “Let’s-a go!”

“Okie-dokie!”

And, together again, they set off.

[wildemaven]

1000 kisses to you and here's my 2 prompt picks for the drabble thingie: 4 and 15 with Javier

Can't wait to see what it leads to 😘

call me javi | javier peña

pairing: javier peña x reader word count: 651 content warning: mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, dancing, fluff, javier being protective and sweet, I don’t think there’s anything else note: sorry it took me so long to get to this!! I hope this works okay 💕 thanks for sending in your ask and for you support

“You're not as bad as everyone says you are.” You say loudly rather close to his ear, hoping he can hear over the booming music and crowded bar. 

It was a slow week at the embassy, which meant the DEA’s finest had a chance to let loose and enjoy themselves for once. 

Drinks flowing. Bodies grinding in tune with each song the DJ throws out, keeping the energy circulating throughout the small bar you all frequent regularly. 

Tonight would be like any other Friday with your fellow Agents, except this evening you find yourself drawn to one Agent in particular. 

His body has been firmly against yours for the better part of the evening, front and back. Hands holding you close no matter the pace of the song, selfishly worried you might drift away or find yourself in the arms of someone else. 

You lost count at the amount of times his lips brushed over your own ears. His constant need to check in with you had your chest tight and stomach full of fluttering desire. 

There was a small part of you that was feeling he might even like you. More than just a crush born from an evening of close proximity. There was never a thought that he would be, not with all the beautiful women constantly in his arms in all the years you’ve known him. 

With the way his warm brown eyes are so fixated on you says otherwise. His expression exchanged for something a little less brooding and a little more alluring. Hands still finding purchase by any means as you lean against the wall while his body shields you from onlookers. The dimly lit hallway near the back of the bar adds another layer of privacy. 

“Who’s everyone?” Javier’s voice is laced with a nervousness you’ve never heard before. The stoic demeanor he wears regularly now hangs up alongside his worn-in leather jacket. 

There’s a raspiness brought on by the pack of cigarettes he most likely blew through leading up to showing up here, even though he said he had other plans.

“Who do you think?” You smirk playfully at him, your fingers playing with the damp curls at the base of his neck. 

“Steve?” There was no need to even ask, he already knew how protective Steve was, rightfully so. Didn’t mean he still didn’t find his overbearing partner to be a pain in his ass, especially when it came to you. 

You nod in agreement, desperately trying to contain the laughter bubbling up as he huffs out  dramatically, shaking his head. The annoyance doesn’t last long though. The corners of his mouth lifting, revealing one of his best features. His smile makes you instantly weak and it has you prematurely looking forward to being on the receiving end of it forever. 

“Are you going to kiss me, Javier?” The prospect of his lips on you, in any capacity, had been overwhelming your every thought since he saddled up next to you at the beginning of the night.

Watching the way his lips formed every word he spoke. Cradling the edge of his glass on his plush lower lip as he sipped on his dry whiskey. Contorting in such a delicate way with each drag he pulled from his cigarette. 

They’re the softest lips you’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing. Excruciatingly blissful, deliberately encompassing your own, as your brain silently screams for more. 

“Javi.” Javi. It rolls off his tongue like a sweet springtime honey. Each letter electric as he says it, leaving your mouth tingling as it brands itself to your soul. 

“Hmm?” Too consumed by him to form words. 

“You can call me Javi from now on.” There’s a permanence in the way he says it, something you both have to discuss once the hangovers have worn off tomorrow. 

“Kiss me again— Javi.” And he does well into the next morning. 

[eretzyisrael]

Good News From Israel

In the 2nd Mar 25 edition of Israel’s good news, the highlights include:

A week of contrasts – Buses & Bibas.

An innovative, less-invasive, Israeli device to minimize the chance of a stroke.

Israel had a friendly visit by a Pakistani Moslem leader.

See what Israel uses to prevent wildfires.

An Israeli startup is vastly extending the life of electric car batteries.

Fiji promises to be the next country to open an embassy in Jerusalem.

Read More: Good news From Israel

Israel's news last week was dominated by the heart-wrenching scenes of the coffins of the Bibas children and their young mother. But there were also many positive "Young at Heart" news stories, as can be seen in this newsletter. The Jewish Agency's "Youth Futures" program has been vastly expanded to help young Israeli families adversely impacted by the war. Simcha Layeled (Joy for the Child) entertained some 400 disabled children at their winter camp in Eilat. A new initiative allows the over-50s (young at heart) to volunteer for a year of service to Israeli communities. And watch Israeli NGO Innovation: Africa bring more clean drinking water to rural Ugandan children. A new innovative Israeli medical system unblocks arteries from the heart to the brain. And Europe is funding an Israeli professor's innovative treatments for atrial fibrillation of the heart.  Another new Israeli medical tool helps detect a mutant gene linked to autism and cancer in children. And three new Israeli medical schools have already enrolled nearly 200 future young Israeli doctors. Israel is also building a future of hi-tech engineers at Tel Aviv's Afeka College. Meanwhile, Israel's Tech It Forward is giving young college graduate immigrants tours to help them choose future careers in Israeli hi-tech. Prospective professional Israeli immigrants can now apply for their license to practice in Israel before making Aliyah. And a $25 million donation from Charles Bronfman will ensure Birthright Israel will continue to bring young Jews to Israel. Finally, you must watch the video of a class of Israeli kindergarten children visiting the Knesset (Israel's Parliament). As a platoon of visiting IDF soldiers strolls past them, the children loudly chant the Prayer for Protection of the Israeli Army.  It really pulls at the heartstrings!

The photo (TY Sharon) is of a new children's playground in Jerusalem, built next to a new Memorial to the Fallen

[welcomemoscowwalks]

The urban estate of S. P. Berg. The Italian embassy has taken over a beautiful building for itself. The building was erected in 1897 for industrialist and millionaire Berg on the site of an old wooden manor house, previously owned by the writer M.N. Zagoskin. The mansion of S. P. Berg became one of the first in Moscow to receive electricity. In 1918, the embassy of the German Empire was located in the building.

[psyphigirl]

How to play Caravan (New Vegas)

While I was tryin to learn how to play Caravan I saw loads of guides were just explaining the win conditions and not the actual rules or controls. So this post'll explain everything about caravan from top to bottom. (The only reason to play Caravan is for the two achievements, win three times and win thirty times; I don't find it very fun, not the fastest way of making money, and has no bearing on any plot.)

Getting the Cards

The only way to get the Caravan Deck is from Ringo after completing Ghost Town Gunfight (or looting it off his body). You don't need this, but it gives you the minimum number of cards you need to play. If you don't take it you'll have to manually find enough cards for Caravan to be available for you You can get cards from vendors and merchants (~two caps per). Keep an eye out for 6's, 8's, 10's, and Kings (The strat I'll describe needs those cards). You can have multiple copies of the same card (i.e. more than one 6 of Spades)

I got the most cards from Lacey (the bartender) at the Mojave Outpost (anywhere from three to eight). Buy the cards you need and wait three days for her to restock. There's a semi-rare bug where she'll sell two of the exact same card (i.e. two Ultra Luxe 8 of Hearts): Buying both'll crash the game

Sierra Madre Cards

If you have Dead Money installed you can find additional cards for Caravan in and around the Sierra Madre. Below is all the cards you can find and where they are:

8 of Clubs - Sierra Madre Casino & Resort (Cantina Madrid): On the floor in front of a file cabinet to the right of the Cafe Madrid terminal and restaurant manager desk. King of Clubs - Medical District: Inside a 2nd floor room with an active electric hot plate, north of the Villa clinic and above a ground level cafe sign directly west across a courtyard from the room containing the 6 of Diamonds, on a round table in the northeast corner. 6 of Diamonds - Medical District: Inside a 2nd floor room northeast of the Villa clinic and directly east across a courtyard from the room containing the King of Clubs, on a wooden shelf in the southwest corner behind an orange chair. 10 of Hearts - Villa: Some distance north of the Villa police station and west of the room containing the 5 of Hearts, on the interior corner of a walkway to the southeast of a wall fountain. Going from the 5 of Hearts, out the door with a wall fountain, down the stairs, in the corner of the interior walkway on the left. 6 of Spades - Salida del Sol North: In the northwest corner of a small courtyard with three bear traps and a dead tree, on the ground between a wall and three pipes, just west of the stairs leading to a room containing Dean's Secret Stash, a radio and two pool tables. 8 of Spades - Villa police station: In the northwest corner of the cell Dog is located in.

Who can I play with?

You're never explicitly told who you can play with, you just have to ask around. Here's the full list; Limited: You can only play with them five times and then never again Restricted: You have to have good rep with their faction to play

Cliff Briscoe - Dino Bite gift shop - Limited Dale Barton - The Fort - Restricted Dennis Crocker - NCR Embassy Isaac - Gun Runners Jake Erwin - NCR Embassy Johnson Nash - Primm - Limited Jules - North Vegas Square Keith - Aerotech suite Lacey - Mojave Outpost - Limited Little Buster - Camp McCarran Q.Master Mayes - Camp Forlorn Hope - Limited - Restricted No-bark Noonan - Novac Ringo - Goodsprings/Crimson Caravan Camp Jed Masterson - Northern passage - Only available with Honest Hearts

Johnson Nash uses more face cards than other players which can break the strat I'll describe later. No-bark Noonan is the easiest to play against

Building your Deck

After offering to play with someone, and after setting your bet, you'll be shown two long rows of cards. The top row is the deck you'll play with in the game, the bottom row is the cards you won't be using

Use your arrow keys to move left and right, pressing W to add a card to your deck and A to remove it. Only select your 6's, 8's, 10's, and Kings. If you don't have enough of these to reach the 30 card minimum, add some Jacks or Queens. After that press F to play

The Controls

The descriptors of the controls listed along the bottom right can be a little vague or misleading, here's a better explanation;

Arrow keys to highlight a card in your available hand (these will be the cards revealed to you in a fan) W to select a card Q to discard a card (counts as a full turn) If you select a card and want to deselect it, press R. With no card selected, R is the forfeit button E lets you completely discard a caravan you've built

When you select a card it will move to the left side of the screen. This is where the game is played. Use the arrow keys to place your selected card in one of the six sections available (these are the caravans)

Number Cards and Face Cards

Ace - Value of 1 Number Cards - Value of 2-10

You can play face cards on your caravans or your opponents caravans, and they can do the same to you

Jack - When played on an Ace/Number Card, removes that card along with any card attached to it Queen - When played on an Ace/Number Card, supposedly reverses the direction of hand and changes suit of the hand. I'm not sure if it's just my game being buggy or if I'm using them wrong, but Queen cards don't seem to do anything for me. I use Queens as null cards: Just something to fill up my deck. If you know what they actually do I'll add a proper explanation here. King - When played on an Ace/Number card, doubles the value of that card. Multiple Kings can be attached to the same card Joker - When played on an Ace, removes all other non-face cards of the ace's suit from the table (except that card) When played on a Number Card, removes all other cards of that value from the table (except that card) You can place multiple Jokers on the same card to remove any card of that suit/value placed after you placed your initial Joker

Playing Caravan (6 8 10 K Strat)

This isn't a strategy I invented, I found it online. But I only every found it in posts that assumed I knew how to play already. So I wanted to put it here alongside a tutorial Also, just as a rule of measure for how weird this game is, we're only now getting to how to actually play the game ...

You're aiming to have the values of the bottom three card piles (your caravans) be higher than their matching top three values (your opponents caravans), while keeping your values between twenty and twenty-six (values outside of this are invalid).

You might notice that you can't place a card on a caravan that already has a card in it. This might be for a few reasons;

There's a difference between attaching a card to another, and stacking a card on top of another: Press the up and down keys to move along the various heights of a caravan. Face cards can only be attached, number cards can only be stacked

You can't place two number cards of the same value in the same caravan. But you can place as many of the same face card as you want in the same caravan

Place a 10 and a 6, or a 10 and an 8 in each caravan, attach a King to the 10 in 10/6 caravans, or to the 8 in 10/8 caravans. These will each bring your value up to 26. If you don't have any of the cards you need, discard something you don't want (like a Queen if you have any in your deck and are using them as null cards). It's worth having a handful of Jacks in your deck to use against your opponent

Beating No-Bark

I'm not certain, but I think No-Bark's deck has no 2's, Queens, or Jokers. He only has three to four Jacks, and two to three Kings. After you've placed your initial card in each of your caravans he'll use a Jack against you one or two times. Rarely three, very rarely none. After your first few moves he's very unlikely to use Jacks again. I only saw him using a king against three times out of thirty-five games. Sometimes he deliberately busts his caravans. I have no idea why he does this

The strat I use against him is to place 6's and 8's as my first card in each caravan, then replace any cards he removes. It's only after three to five moves that I actually start building my caravans. Unless he's particular nasty with his Jacks, or you're particularly unlucky with whichever cards you draw, you should be able to get to 26 in each of your caravans immediately. If not, don't forget to Jack or King any caravan of his that reaches 20

Conclusion

Caravan sucks

If I missed something or didn't explain something right I'll make edits

Peace and love

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

hi! it's been far too long since ive done this, but classes have been kicking my ass. next semester is my last at this college, so i'm trying to get as much done as possible <3

thank you to the lovely @captain-of-silvenar for tagging me, and to everyone who has been tagging me in my absence!!

tagging @orfeoarte @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @viss-and-pinegar and whoever wants to do this and hasnt been tagged!!

this week, i bring the rough draft of the rewritten first chapter of An Inner Sanctity. ancano wakes up to find himself in an unfamiliar setting with intense pain he can't find a source for… and someone else in the cabin with him.

The room was dark. Lit only by a hearth, or some other fire. He could almost hear it crackle, if not for the shooting, electric pain digging into him like a hot knife. It ran in wild arcs from his lower spine, up through his shoulders and down through the legs, into his head until it pounded. He strangled a cry mid-way from his mouth and choked on air, face balled tight in an effort to shut it off, but that only served to intensify the tension in his head. He laid back on the pillow, coated in a new layer of cold sweat, lungs ragged in their attempts to keep any air in them. He tried to move, kicking his legs like stubborn carts laden with ore, but they were too heavy to move under the quilts and his own exhaustion. The pain dulled, first a slow glimmer of softening, then it dissipated into thudding behind his eyes. His ears pounded with blood rushing through them, his muscles heavy and uncomfortable. It was as though he had been speared through with a burning iron blade, but as he lifted his shaking hands to his face and touched the skin beneath, he could not feel anything out of the ordinary. His features were a bit sharper, perhaps. And the thin, oily coat of sweat didn't help any matters, either. He couldn't tell where he was, nor why the room was dim, nor why the quilts were there. Was he asleep? How long had he been asleep? The last thing he'd seen is that wave of… What was it, was that magicka? Not like anything he'd ever seen before. But it had slammed into him, knocking him back towards a wall, and a force had shocked through him to his core, and then…

A door opened near where he lay. Ancano shut his eyes. He slowed his breathing as the trudge of footsteps drew closer, a bowl sloshing with water. The guise of sleep would afford him enough time to take them by surprise, to shove them aside and paralyze them before he made his escape. Then, he'd run to the Thalmor Embassy and let them know what had happened at that dreadful College, barring a few details, of course. After all, it was only natural that the one to wield such an artifact such as the Eye should want to keep it for himself, is it not? A warm, wet washcloth swept over the ridge of his brow, the hand who held it moving in slow, gentle motions. He could feel their fingers as they gripped the cloth, and brought it down to his cheeks, over his eyes, and around his mouth. It took all of his strength not to protest the sensation, but he remained still and quiet as a corpse, and allowed the motions to fall over him. The cloth set aside somewhere, the same hand dipped something into the water, before he felt bristles moving through his hair. The motions were careful, pushing back the front of the lengths with the wet brush, ensuring that the one who held it did not harm him. Strange, was he perhaps in the care of a Dominion medic? Is that, by some miracle, where he'd wound up? The brush set aside on a wooden surface - to Ancano's chagrin, as he had enjoyed the little bit of comfort the brushing sensation provided - the mysterious hand returned, moving the cloth down his neck, and around his chest. They moved it along the ridges of his collar bone, and when he opportunity struck, he lurched out his hand like a snake's mouth to prey, eyes shot open as he got a bleary, unclear look at the figure. "Explain to me who you are, and what you are doing, or you will be missing a hand very shortly," he sneered in a hoarse voice, the threat taking the figure by surprise. As he began to register the figure before him, recognition came through the sound of their own voice, the person shoving against his hand on their wrist.

"Let me go, damn it! I'm just trying to help you!" Their protests came out more surprised than scared, and at that moment Ancano got a clear look at the individual before him. He loosened his grip, watching the Mer rub their wrist and pout a little, their dark hair falling over their shoulders in curls. His eyes widened involuntarily as he looked up at them, brow knit in confusion. The last memory that he had of this figure was that of them trying to kill him. "Athenath?" He uttered, throat unusually dry. The Altmer turned their attention to him, giving a nervy grin as he continued to massage his wrist. They then let the hand fall to their lap, looking over Ancano curiously. "Yes, and I'm gonna assume you've always had good grip strength." He frowned. Attempting to push himself up onto his elbows, another crack of pain whipped through his lower spine and into his extremities. Whatever noise he must have made, it was enough to make Athenath flinch, before they began to lower him back into the bed. "Hey, don't do that, not yet," they chided as Ancano's lips ran with haggard breaths, "you're not… well. I mean, I don't think you're sick, but you're definitely injured, though Lydia said she can't find any signs of physical injury. I can't, either, besides some cuts and bruises from… Well, you shouldn't worry too much."

He sneered. "Don't worry, I won't," he replied, words dripping thickly with sarcasm. The other Altmer rolled their dark eyes, and while Ancano had known they'd spoken, and he'd returned his own words, it was as though all sound came from across a corner, down a hall, somewhere out of touch. All he saw was his own pulse-spot-spattered vision, and the gleaming of the hearth reflected in the surface of the water that they'd been using moments prior. He had never known that he could get this thirsty. His tongue laid as dry and sharp in his mouth as a chunk of sandstone, all thoughts focused there. It would be pathetic to ask for water, to beg like a dog, but he found he did not have to, as Athenath pulled over a silver pitcher and poured him a glass. They set it aside, and with as much care as he could muster, began to shift Ancano to sit against the pillows. He winced and gagged on the pain, but the other took his time, and Ancano swore in that moment he almost heard reassurances, words meant to soothe so bitter and mocking in this light. When it was all over, however, he was seated, with the pillows against his back, resting on the headboard of what must have been a makeshift bed, as it was too hard to be a bed used regularly, and too lumpy to be one he was expected to sleep on for much longer. Well, he certainly hoped so, for if he had to sleep on this mattress any more nights, he might burn the entire place down with everyone but himself inside.

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

Scandal and Sequins

Hello @bubblyishyoshi ! I got to be your secret fic-writer for the @fallenlondonficswap this year! I had fun writing this, though I think the characters took it out of my hands! I hope you enjoy! Implied sex/fade to black, Devils, and quite a bit of scandal! Written letter format, and lesbians Wordcount: 1,141 A Scandalous Costume-Designer head to the Brass Embassy to get inspiration for her next show at Mahogany Hall. This is her 100% factual recounting of that night. ao3 link here

To my dear D - - - - -, 

I presume, by now, you’ve heard of my rather graceless departure to the Tomb-Colonies. I’m under the impression, in fact, that half of London herself has! Of the reason why I was sent away, i’m certain you’ve heard of as well. Yet these so-called ‘recountings’ of what exactly it was I did have some rather glaring errors. So perhaps, my dear, you would run this story through that newspaper of yours, and bring my reputation to a bit of a more favorable light? I assure you it was largely misconception, and the rest exaggeration. You were always begging me for a personal interview, and if people have the truth it would surely hasten my return. A mutually beneficial deal.

Yes, I was at the Brass Embassy on Thursday, but I assure you I entered in a perfectly reasonable manner. There was no involvement of petticoats, windows, or other such nonsense. Furthermore, the misunderstanding with the guest list was simply that, a misunderstanding. My Amassador friend clearly it all up quite quickly. Nor did I seduce the Doorman after ‘being caught with my skirts a-tangle’ because, as I said, my friend got me into the Embassy in a reasonable and safe manner. Besides, the Doorman’s not my type. Oh, but I’m certain you know my type, don’t you D - - - - -? I saw your most recent haircut. Was that meant for me?

I’m also certain you remember my costuming work for Mahogany Hall last season. When you came and sat off to one side, hoping I hadn’t noticed? I did. 

Our upcoming play is about Paris, and I had intended to take inspiration from the Devils for our leading actress. What better was to get inspiration for my costuming than to see things for myself?

The Embassy was warm, so yes, I did have my skirts hiked. Anyone would have. I should rather like to see Lady T - - - - - - try to dance with the ‘Terpsichores’ in her haughty bustles two decades out of style and not feel the heat! Besides, my skirts were no shorter than what the Devilesses wore! Oh, how you should have seen what they wore! The electric lighting truly made their dresses sparkle and glint! The beadwork and spangles used on their clothes were positively dazzling, and more than once had a garment’s design taken my breath away!

I had sat in a corner for at least half the night, my hands covered in graphite as I sketched away what I saw. Rectangular, boy-ish shapes, and an overall slimmer fit, with less support underneath. Over the course of the night, I came to notice other details as well. Fangs, bright eyes, and the occasional human companion wearing a rose corsage. These I sketched as well. Hairstyles, hemlines, necklaces, all of it made it into my notes. Insectoid and floral motifs seemed to be especially in vogue.

I was quite caught up in my work, you understand, so I’m afraid I have no recollection of how I ended up on the dancefloor in the arms of a Deviless. It was not my own doing. Anyone who knows Devils will tell you they’re very persuasive. The personal position certainly offered its advantages though.

I was much more able to study my self-chosen muse’s face, and noted she wore makeup. Her vibrantly red lips did not, however, hide her fangs when she laughed. Nor did her eye makeup draw my attention from her burning, golden gaze. I should have taken the chance to study other faces as well, but my companion danced double-time, and dragged me with! The steps were searing, and I’m afraid she danced a pattern I couldn’t understand. Despite this ignorance, she was an exhilarating partner! 

She was as seductive, and I should have been remiss to turn her down! It was her that kissed me, and not the other way. With her charms upon me, how could I say resist? Society doesn’t need to know whether I actually wanted to or nor. 

The Deviless’ lips were hot as a brand upon mine! She kissed with fierce passion, and when I placed my hand upon her scalding cheek, it was her turn to melt. Though we were in the middle of the dancing floor, though her hair was rarely fair, though the taste of honey lingered on my lips, I found myself imagining a different kiss altogether. Hair darker, made more so by the poor lighting behind the stage curtains. The smell of cigarettes. The taste of absinthe, perhaps?

Let’s keep that last part out of your paper, shall we? 

My muse’s charms were not limited to kisses alone. Conversation turned to the reason for my attendance, and I gladly explained. My sketches were going well, though I confessed there was a few details evading me. Devil fashions cannot be worn over petticoats or Lady T - - - - - - ‘s excessive bustles and bum-pads. I aim for accuracy in my designs, and I cannot put a dress over the wrong underthings, for that mistake would be immediately apparent.

She understood, and offered to enlighten me.

Here is another misconception, for clearly someone had overheard our conversation, despite the brass section, and misunderstood my intent! These gossips will twist anything to suit their own narratives! We did nothing so racy as my blackmailers believe! It was merely for art and costuming!

We slipped away to a private guestroom for my companion’s privacy. With the amount of scandal this has caused, what do you think think should happen if I had acquired my information in the middle of the floor? I’d never even have hope of leaving the Tomb-Colonies! 

All she did was show me the construction of her undergarments. She was very informative in the fastening and removal, but only because I want to make sure my lead can get back out of the garments.

The Deviless even permitted me a few sketches, at least until she grew bored and interrupted them. I spent quite a long night studying, with her guidance. That is all the happened, nothing more. Alas that nobody save me seems to believe that! When I emerged from the Embassy the next morning, I was promptly dragged off to the Docks! Lady T - - - - - - - and her tittering hangers-on can go kiss Drownies, I just know they were waiting for me so they could twist this story! The Anti-Massacre receives their patronage since that little incident a few seasons ago with the mirror-trick, and she’s been on my tail since, as if I had any part.

Well, now I reside in the Colonies until the stains upon my name have faded. There is much dust, and quite the dreary air, but some of these Colonists are quite alluring. Perhaps I shall make a study of their bandages and wrappings in my time here. 

 Not yours yet, ~ Amelia Chantilly 

[electricalembassy]

Why Smoke Alarm Installation Brisbane Should Be Your Top Priority

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Electrical Embassy, a trusted name in Brisbane, offers fast and reliable smoke alarm installation services. Their qualified electricians ensure your home meets Queensland's stringent requirements, providing you with a compliance certificate for peace of mind. 

Key Benefits of Smoke Alarm Installation:

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Maintenance Tips:

Regular Testing: You should test alarms every month to ensure they function correctly.

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Replacement: Replace smoke alarms every 10 years to maintain optimal performance.

Don't wait until it's too late. Prioritize smoke alarm installation Brisbane today to safeguard your home and loved ones. Contact the Electrical Embassy to schedule your installation.

[falloutboylyricss]

Fall Out Boy and Places

note: this post only includes names of specific places, both real and fictional

Evening Out With Your Girlfriend

"I'm deep with futures like Chicago / No, Glenview never meant a thing to me, she never meant a thing to me" - Growing Up

Take This to Your Grave

"Pete and I attacked the laws of Astoria with promise and precision" - Saturday

"Landing on a runway in Chicago, and I'm grounding all my dreams of ever really seeing California" - Homesick at Space Camp

Chicago Is So Two Years Ago (title only)

"But there's a light on in Chicago, and I know I should be home" - Chicago Is So Two Years Ago

From Under The Cork Tree

none

Infinity On High

"Put love on hold, young Hollywood is on the other line" - The (After) Life Of The Party

"And everyone's looking for relief, United States versus disbelief" - You're Crashing, But You're No Wave

"New York eyes, Chicago thighs, pushed up the window to kiss you off" - I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears And None On My Fingers

Folie à Deux

"Erase myself and let go, start it over again in Mexico" - I Don't Care

"Let's hear it for America's suitehearts, but I must confess, I'm in love with my own sins" - America's Suitehearts

Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet (title only)

"Plant palm trees on Lake Michigan before it gets cold" - The (Shipped) Gold Standard

"Said, 'I'll be fine 'til the hospital or American embassy'" - What A Catch, Donnie

"And you're a bottled star, the planets align, you're just like Mars" - 27

"A Roman candle heart, keep us far apart" - Tiffany Blews

"Have you ever wanted to disappear and join a monastery, go out and preach on Manic Street?" - 20 Dollar Nose Bleed

West Coast Smoker (title only)

"Got my degree in the gutter, my heart broken in the dorms of the Ivy League" - West Coast Smoker

Save Rock And Roll

"Did you trip down twelve steps into Malibu?" - The Mighty Fall

"Bel Air baby, did you get dressed up?" - The Mighty Fall

"But we are alive here in Death Valley, but don't take love off the table yet" - Death Valley

"When Rome's in ruins, we are the lions, free of the Colosseums" - Young Volcanoes

"Americana, exotica, do you wanna feel a little beautiful, baby?" - Young Volcanoes

PAX AM Days

"Cargo and despair, all American made" - American Made

American Beauty/American Psycho

"You know you look so Seattle, but you feel so L.A." - Irresistible

"She's an American beauty, I'm an American psycho" - American Beauty/American Psycho

"Take me down the line, in Gem City, we turn the tide" - Uma Thurman

"In between being young and being right, you were my Versailles at night" - Fourth Of July

"There's a room in a hotel in New York City that shares our fate and deserves our pity" - Twin Skeleton's (Hotel In NYC)

MANIA

none

So Much (For) Stardust

Heaven, Iowa (title only)

"6 AM, Mulholland Drive, Moonlight Sonata and I" - Heaven, Iowa

Misc.

"I wanna put the Midwest home again" - Alpha Dog

"Sometimes, when I'm in Heaven, I get forgetful of the Earth" - Lake Effect Kid

"And joke us, joke us 'til Lakeshore Drive comes back into focus" - Lake Effect Kid

"I love you, Chicago, you make me feel so summer fling" - City In A Garden

"You know the world can get my bones, but Chicago gets my soul" - Super Fade

"Captain Planet, Arab Spring, L.A. riots, Rodney King" - We Didn't Start The Fire

"Oklahoma City bomb, Kurt Cobain, Pokémon" - We Didn't Start The Fire

"Nuclear accident, Fukushima, Japan / Crimean peninsula, Cambridge Analytica" - We Didn't Start The Fire

"More war in Afghanistan, Cubs go all the way again / Obama, Spielberg, explosion, Lebanon / Unabomber, Bobbitt, John, Bombing, Boston Marathon" - We Didn't Start The Fire

"Stranger Things, Tiger King, Ever Given, Suez" - We Didn't Start The Fire

"Elon Musk, Kaepernick, Texas failed electric grid" - We Didn't Start The Fire

"Great Pacific garbage patch, Tom DeLonge and aliens / Mars rover, Avatar, self-driving electric cars" - We Didn't Start The Fire

[savepalestineinfamily19]

Urgent Humanitarian Asylum Request from Gaza – Coordination Required for Evacuation via ICRC

To the Honorable Embassy [Sweden, Norway, Belgium, France, Spain, Ireland] or any embassy who can help getting me out of Gaza

My name is Mohammed Majed Ahmad Al-Madhoun, born on June 20, 1999, currently residing in northern Gaza Strip, along with six members of my immediate family, and my married sister and her two daughters, who now live with us in the ruins of our bombed home.

We were displaced to southern Gaza between November 2024 and January 2025 due to the intensifying bombardment. Since returning to our destroyed house, we have constructed a makeshift shelter in which we struggle to survive.

I am a professional graphic designer, working remotely with a Swiss company, Bamboo Montreux, yet due to the lack of electricity and internet access in northern Gaza, I am unable to maintain a stable income or regular workflow. Many companies have declined to hire me under these conditions, despite my broad experience and strong portfolio.

Each day, we face the constant terror of airstrikes, drones, and bombardment. There is no electricity, no water, no connectivity, no safety, and no future. My dream of establishing a design studio and building a meaningful life has been shattered. All I now wish for is to survive — to be evacuated to a safe country where I can rebuild my life and contribute to society.

I am writing to urgently request your humanitarian intervention, by coordinating with the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) to facilitate my safe evacuation through the Kerem Shalom crossing, as this is currently the only viable route. I am unable to leave Gaza independently, despite several attempts.

Attached are:

My European-format CV

A motivation letter

Supporting documents and samples of my work

Identification and family details

In addition, I am sharing this link to my Google Drive folder, which contains all my academic qualifications, certificates, volunteer experience, and work samples to support my application:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1-5DYjCne25s6BWejGaZSCgWQb_96WbXZ

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1_i-QhybBJOb_DA7WueGsrxYY37r9fpxy

I kindly and humbly appeal to you to consider my case as one of extreme urgency and to grant me and my family a chance to live in safety and dignity under your protection.

Sincerely,

Mohammed Majed Ahmad Al-Madhoun

Gaza Strip

mhmdalmdwn23@gmail.com

[jaskwritesthings]

wip wednesday

surprise wip wednesday 2: electric boogaloo, with two snippets from the jayvik arranged marriage au cause i've been consumed by this damn fic, i'm calling it 'so they did take your life (not me at all)' which is directly from sigyn by the mechanisims, from my fave album of theirs

here's a sneaky wee thing

The explosion certainly wakes people up. Viktor has a brief moment to recognise what’s happening before Vi is taking him and Powder to the ground with a harsh tackle and covering them both with her body. Vander quickly follows and blocks out the sun as he curls over his children and all around them people scream and cry out, whether from fear or pain he doesn’t know. “Are you all alright?” Silco asks, hands grabbing Vi and Powder’s shoulders underneath Vander, his one good eye finding Viktor under everybody. “Good,” Vi yells, Powder echos it and Viktor taps Powder thrice in quick succession in an old signal, seen as he can’t quite get enough breath to join them. “Vik’s good too,” Powder yells for him, “Though probably a bit squished.” “What the fuck just happened?” Vi demands as Vander pulls up enough to give everybody room to breathe.

and the second

It’s clear that Talis intends to join Viktor in his own carriage but his siblings have other plans, throwing any decorum out the window they basically clamber over one another to get into the carriage as Vander sighs behind the squabbling horde he's taken into his life. Talis opens his mouth to probably invite Viktor to another carriage when Powder grabs her brother by the front of his shirt. “Come on!” She yells, yanking Viktor inside without waiting for an answer. Claggor thankfully grabs Viktor around the waist as he passes and helps him into carriage as Powder pulls him as far away from Talis as she can possibly manage in the small space. Mylo and Vi eventually shove their way in, squeezing through the door together as Claggor follows and takes up the last remaining space. Talis ducks his head in, looking a little disappointed as he seemingly admits defeat, “You’ll be taken to the embassy to get ready for the ceremony…I guess I’ll see you at the altar?” “Yep, last one there is a stinky weasel!” Powder shouts in Talis’ face forcing him out of the carriage before swinging the door shut with a bang.

[polyhexian]

US embassy has some interesting tips about living in Australia, but they're never the stuff you really need. Tho it does advise they're way stricter about driving the speed limit there. The embassy didn't mention this but I've heard from a lot of non American friends that jaywalking is a way bigger deal too. I've lived in major cities so Im a chronic jaywalker. I'll cross when the lights green I don't even care. I'm hoping public transport is solid, but my only experiences on a metro are DC/NYC (terrible) and Beijing (incredible) so my expectations are a mess. I think food is cheaper there but shipping I know is ghoulish. I know they drive on the opposite side of the road as the USA and I know from my short time in Japan that freaks my brain the fuck out. So that will take some getting used to. I'm fortunately already broken in on the 24 hour clock and Celsius. At least I don't have to relearn utensils this time. Im good with chopsticks for an American, but I've seen my coworkers peel a goddamn egg with the things, so. Thank god for forks.

God the reverse seasons are gonna fuck me up I know it. I've never been in the Southern hemisphere but I just know it's gonna be like jet lag 2 electric boogalo

Also I'm currently just ending northern winter and entering southern winter. This will be the longest winter of all time.

Can't wait to find out all the social no nos I'll discover. Fortunately even in Beijing others generally didn't lump me in with other Americans because I was like. Normal. And understood other people have feelings. So I don't think I'll do too bad.

[mariacallous]

Ukraine is set to face its toughest winter since the start of the full-scale invasion as Russia eyes cutting off its nuclear power after already bombing out capacity from half of its electricity generation sector in large-scale air strikes.

For now, Russia is not directly striking the plants with missiles and kamikaze drones. But Moscow has increasingly targeted nearby infrastructure, such as substations containing crucial equipment like transformers and power lines connecting nuclear plants to the grid.

“We're in a world where (Ukraine) has a deficit of functioning infrastructure. This is going to be the hardest winter yet,” International Energy Agency (IEA) Chief Economist Tim Gould told the Kyiv Independent.

If Russian attacks successfully disconnect all the power plants from the grid, then Ukraine’s only stable power source is gone, said Warsaw-based energy analyst Wojciech Jakobik.

“(Nuclear power) is a baseload capacity, which is irreplaceable by renewables, other sources, and especially not by energy imports,” he told the Kyiv Independent.

“With a smaller nuclear capacity in place, Ukraine will have less flexibility and less ability to stabilize (energy) generation.”

Ukraine has lost 9 gigawatts of power generation, including eight thermal plants and five hydro plants, due to Russian strikes this year. While companies scramble to repair their damaged assets, Russia is gearing up to attack Ukraine’s nuclear infrastructure, the Energy Ministry's press office told the Kyiv Independent, which would freeze out Ukrainians and cause a humanitarian crisis if the country can’t swiftly repair and protect its infrastructure.

After the occupation of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant in 2022, Ukraine relies heavily on three nuclear plants remaining under government control. They are the lifeline of the country, providing 60% of its power. The last mass attack on Aug. 26 forced Ukraine to disconnect three units at the Rivne and South Ukraine plants, causing weeks of power outages.

The country’s state-owned nuclear company, Energoatom, told the Kyiv Independent that all its power units are ready to operate at “maximum capacity” during the heating season, and the company connected a refurbished one-gigawatt nuclear power unit to the grid on Oct. 1. However, it has only recently announced plans to build additional fortifications to protect power plants from attacks.

Without stable power, Ukrainians will face another round of blackouts similar to the ones in the summer which could last as long as eight hours a day, according to Kyiv-based think tank DiXi Group. Brutally cold winter temperatures during power outages will freeze pipes, cutting off Ukrainians’ access to water and heating, and may lead to another wave of refugees, the UN’s refugee agency (UNHCR) told the Kyiv Independent.

At the same time, attacks on nuclear infrastructure massively heighten the risks of accidents, the Energy Ministry's press office said. While Jakobik believes a Chernobyl-like scenario is unlikely as reactors are well protected, damage to substations could prevent backup supplies of electricity that ensure the safety of reactors, according to the International Energy Agency (IEA).

The EU and the U.S. Embassy in Kyiv both told the Kyiv Independent that they are pitching in to bolster the energy sector in time for winter with financial support, backup equipment, and humanitarian aid. But with Russia relentlessly churning out and firing its missiles and drones, the only tangible tool for energy security is stronger air defense, the Energy Ministry's press office said.

Running out of time and options

During the first years of the full-scale invasion, Ukraine relied on different facilities within its massive energy sector to survive the initial attacks on energy infrastructure and even managed to export electricity to the EU. But that changed this year after mass attacks beginning in March wiped out 50% of its energy assets. Now, Ukraine has run out of options and switched from exporting to importing 2 gigawatts of electricity from its European neighbors. Winter power outages appear inevitable. The United Nations Human Rights Monitoring Mission (UNHRMM) expects blackouts to last between 4-18 hours a day, depending on attacks and the weather, causing living conditions to crumble for millions of citizens. “The deficit of electricity supply could be up to 6 gigawatts. That's the equivalent of peak demand in Denmark,” Gould said. With nuclear power as the remaining foundation for Ukraine’s energy stability, it is the prime target for Russian strikes, the Energy Ministry's press office said. Ukraine’s government seeks to decentralize the power grid as quickly as possible, but this is unlikely to happen by the winter and private energy companies are desperately restoring their assets to strengthen the grid.

Ukraine hopes to recover 3 gigawatts by the end of the year, said Olena Lapenko, general manager in the Field of Security and Resilience at DiXi Group. But this depends on critical funding, which state electricity grid operator Ukrenergo puts at $1.5 billion for rapid repairs this season. So far, Ukraine has received nearly 700 million euros ($766 million) from its energy support fund in cooperation with the European Commission, and winter is fast approaching.

Part of the fund covers much-needed equipment, such as autotransformers, to patch up facilities damaged by Russian air strikes as fast as possible. Simple repairs around nuclear plants, like power lines, can be fixed within 24 hours, said Jakobik. But specialized equipment depends on deliveries from Western allies, which can take months unless there are readily available stockpiles, he said. “The tough part is, you replace the old infrastructure with new parts and Russia attacks it once again,” he added. DTEK, Ukraine’s largest private energy company owned by its richest man Rinat Akhmetov, has lost 90% of its thermal plants capacity to Russian attacks. By winter, the company hopes to restore 60-65% of its thermal power that was damaged in spring. But even this would not be enough to replace nuclear power if all the plants are disconnected, said Oleksiy Povolotskiy, DTEK’s head of Recovery Office. Another issue, said Povolotskiy, is that the war has bitten a chunk out of Ukraine’s manual workforce while the scale of the damage is massive. DTEK is bringing in workers from other enterprises, like miners, to help clear debris. The company has asked European states to send engineers and machinery for more complex repairs.

The costs of Russian attacks are piling up for Ukraine. DTEK has already funneled $80 million into repairs from its own budget. Instead of relying on equipment that softens the fallout of attacks and power outages, Povolotskiy believes the most efficient solution is for Western allies to provide Ukraine with additional air-defense systems.

“Partners should understand that it is much cheaper and much more efficient to protect (energy facilities) than to repair,” he said.

The U.S. embassy in Ukraine told Kyiv Independent that the Defense Department will provide an additional Patriot battery and missiles but did not specify if this was directly for the protection of energy facilities. For now, this is the only confirmed delivery of an additional air defense battery, although Washington pledged a $2.6 billion aid package on Sept. 26 that includes munitions and support for air defense systems.

Ill prepared and ultra exposed

With no other extra air-defense systems currently in the pipeline, Ukraine’s government is building protective constructions for substations against falling debris and drones. However, not enough constructions have been built in time for winter and contractors have allegedly not been fully paid.

“More concrete constructions must be built as soon as possible,” Povolotskiy said.

Yuliia Kyian, an official at the Energy Ministry, told the Kyiv Independent during a discussion in Kyiv on Oct. 2, that the constructions are expensive and take time to build. They also cannot withstand ballistic missile strikes, she added.

Energoatom has faced criticism. In September and October, the company signed contracts to construct a $12.3 million shield around the Rivne Nuclear Power Plant and a $14.4 million worth of protection around the South Ukraine plant in Mykolaiv Oblast. Ukrainian anti-corruption watchdog Nashi Groshi reported that the contracts were concluded only after President Volodymyr Zelensky told the UN Security Council that Russia was preparing an attack on the three operating nuclear plants.

“It is difficult to assess why this was not done earlier,” said DiXi Group’s Lapenko.   “Probably no one could imagine that the Russians would aim directly at the nuclear power sites as this is a serious threat to nuclear safety. But we can’t exclude such a scenario.”

A nuclear disaster would threaten the whole of Europe, the Energy Ministry's press office said, adding that the global community must unite to prevent a catastrophe. Kyiv has reached out to the UN’s nuclear agency (IAEA) to place more observation missions around its power plants, but an agreement has not yet been reached.

International observers will ensure that safety standards are enforced at the plants and combat disinformation, as Moscow frequently denies Ukraine’s accusations of endangering nuclear safety, Jakobik said. Nevertheless, Russia could pummel nuclear facilities to the point that it is dangerous for people to remain and force evacuations.

“Russia is not a responsible stakeholder in the nuclear sector,” he said.

“It's using energy terrorism against Ukraine. You cannot be sure about what Russia is doing,” the energy analyst added.