#bavarian band

[allmyandroids]

I just remembered, as I was a little child, that I couldnt understand the bavarian dialect. I thought it was another whole fucking language which must be the weirdest language to ever exist sjfjdjdh

[olympain]

wanted to thank you for making gifs of the play Good. after i finished watching i wondered if you had made any more gifs, and sure enough you had, and they're beautiful as always, so thanks for that <3

Thank you for your kind words always ❤️ it's my most anticipated play so do expect more in the coming days.

[paul-archibald]

Year of the Dragon

The only mythical creature in the Chinese zodiac, the dragon has long been associated with prosperity and imperial power. Initially a vague motif in ancient Chinese art, the dragon is now an emblem of benevolent divinity, imperial power and sweeping unity. Its symbolism builds on thousands of years of folklore and Chinese history. Dragons have also been a source of inspiration to composers for…

[yourninjasareajoke]

it was totally leaven-worth it

sorry for the bad puns, 15 hours with band kids took a toll

[pastdaily]

Coleman Hawkins All-Stars - Live In Munich - 1950 - Pastdaily Downbeat

Coleman Hawkins – One of the timeless legends of Jazz. https://pastdaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/colemanhawkins1950-01-19-live-munichgermany.mp3 Something special and rather rare. A concert, recorded by Bavarian Radio in Munich on January 19, 1950, featuring the Coleman Hawkins All-Stars featuring James Moody, Kenny Clarke, Nat Peck and Pierre Michelot. Truly an all-star lineup. A little…

[alphynix]

Romaleodelphis pollerspoecki was a dolphin-like toothed whale related to the ancestors of both modern oceanic dolphins and beaked whales, living in coastal waters covering what is now Austria during the early Miocene about 22 million years ago.

Although only known from a single fossil skull, this cetacean was probably around 3m long (~9'10"). It had a long snout lined with over 100 small pointed uniformly-shaped teeth, and the bony walls of its inner ears were well-preserved enough to show that it was able to hear narrow-band high frequency sounds – a specific form of echolocation that has convergently evolved multiple times in various modern and extinct toothed whale lineages.

Based on the presence of ancient river-mouth deposits in the area where Romaleodelphis was found, it may potentially have been capable of traversing between marine, brackish, and freshwater environments similar to the modern franciscana.

———

NixIllustration.com | Tumblr | Patreon

References:

Bavarian State Collections of Natural History. "'Astonishing Results' – Scientists Reveal Secrets of Mysterious 22-Million-Year-Old Dolphin Skull." SciTechDaily, 15 Nov. 2024, https://scitechdaily.com/astonishing-results-scientists-reveal-secrets-of-mysterious-22-million-year-old-dolphin-skull/

Sanchez-Posada, Catalina, et al. "Romaleodelphis pollerspoecki, gen. et sp. nov., an archaic dolphin from the Central Paratethys (Early Miocene, Austria)." Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology (2024): e2401503. https://doi.org/10.1080/02724634.2024.2401503

Wikipedia contributors. “Romaleodelphis” Wikipedia, 06 Nov. 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romaleodelphis

[lostloveletters]

You Can’t Start a Fire Without a Spark (Ron Speirs x Reader)

Summary: Night falls in Bavaria to victorious revelry, and at the goading of your friends, the lust you've been kindling in secret suddenly burns hot and wild to the touch.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used besides the slightest bit of backstory. Inspired by several Bruce Springsteen songs. This is based on the fictional portrayals in the HBO miniseries and not the real individuals. (Also, hi I’m Battie! This is my first Band of Brothers fic despite being a fan of the miniseries since 2016. Let me know what you think🖤) Do not interact if you’re under 18, are a terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Inherent power imbalance. Explicit content involving vaginal fingering and unprotected sex.

You weren’t sure how six of you managed to squeeze into a booth together in the Bavarian bar, elbow-to-elbow as you drank beer and shouted over each other. Sitting squished against Talbert, who was squished against Malarkey, one of your legs wasn’t even in the booth. On the other side of the table, Babe, Perconte, and Luz were in the same situation.

Victory in Europe had just been declared. The celebratory feeling filled your lungs with each breath despite the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung over the bar. With the war in Japan still raging on, the likelihood of those without enough points having to endure another drop remained up in the air. One night of fun wouldn’t hurt anybody. No one could say you hadn’t earned it.

Glancing around at your friends, the guys you lived and would’ve died for—even after the war ended, if you were being honest with yourself. You couldn’t imagine being closer with anyone else. Growing up without much of a family, passed around homes of distant relatives and near strangers until you had enough and ventured out on your own as a teen, you’d never had such strong connections before. The only reason you were even allowed to work so closely with Easy Company, was the absence of any next-of-kin, no one to cause a fuss if something went wrong while you were overseas. You were non-combat detail, of course, typing and running errands as needed, but more often than was likely ideal, you found yourself somewhere on the line with the medic training you’d gotten. 

You hadn’t been at Toccoa with them, only meeting most of the guys just before D-Day. After Operation Market Garden’s failure in Holland, they came around to you upon the return to Aldbourne, least surprising of whom was Talbert, ever so kindly taking you under his wing when he was recovering from being accidentally stabbed by Smith. The two of you became close friends, and though you heard of his exploits with women in just about every city the company passed through, he seemed hellbent on being your wingman, trying to set you up with at least half a dozen members of Easy to little success. 

With the taste of sweet victory and bold German beer on everyone’s lips, declarations of what and who everyone would ideally do to celebrate poured from your friends with little prompting. Knowing you well enough at that point, Tab took the opportunity to get you in on the conversation, the light mood and buzz in your system leaving you more loose-lipped than usual.

“Alright, our company’s eligible bachelorette,” Tab said, conspiratorial mirth in his voice. “Fraternization rules to the dust, which of Easy’s officers would you do your celebrating with?”

Your lips twitched, failing to suppress your smile as your drinking buddies awaited your answer. “Speirs.”

Finishing off the rest of your beer, you stifled your amusement at the clamor that ensued. Undoubtedly the least expected answer, part of Tab’s failure to secure a date for you among his comrades was your infatuation with the legendary captain—closely guarded, until you had a beer or two in you, apparently. 

“Speirs?” Babe repeated incredulously.

“No way,” Malarkey said, shaking his head. “No fucking way.”

“They need to get you to one of those headshrinkers,” Perconte said.

“Hold on a minute,” Tab said with an amused smile, trying to reign in the chaos. “Let’s hear her out.”

“You wanna know why?” you asked.

Ever since Speirs stuck with Easy Company after Bastogne, you worked closely with him as you did the other officers, taking notes and keeping memos for them. Speirs often requisitioned you to type up reports for him, finding it easier to dictate what he wanted written to you than typing them himself. Sometimes you found his attention drifting off when it was a more mundane report, his words trailing away while he looked at you, typically slouched on a chair or couch at the end of a long day. You would let yourself take him in, hoping the perceptive man wouldn’t notice the way your eyes trailed up his long, outstretched legs to his disheveled hair. 

He provided the most attention to battlefield exploits, and at times you couldn’t keep up with how fast he was speaking or would find yourself a bit startled by some of the gruesome details he relayed. You’d heard the rumors about him. Everyone had. But a disgustingly repressed part of you that’d emerged at some point during the war was secretly thrilled by them, almost hoping they were true. 

“Well, you owe us that much,” Luz said.

“I owe you all jack and shit.”

“What if I buy you another drink?”

“I think I’m gonna need another one after hearing this,” Babe muttered.

“Let’s see, why would I sleep with Captain Speirs,” you said, playfully tapping your chin in faux thought. “For starters, he’s fine as hell, which should be reason enough. I like that he’s a no-nonsense kinda guy. He has this intensity that I think is really sexy.”

The cacophony of bewilderment and objection that filled the booth met its slow death when the occupant of the booth behind yours got up. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry when you saw it was Speirs.

He made his way out of the pub, your light mood with him. 

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Do you think he heard?”

“No way he didn’t,” Malarkey said.

“Fuck, I need to do something before I get demoted or transferred or something.”

Tab grinned. “Well, if you’re not walking straight tomorrow, we’ll know you did something.”

“Shut up, jerk!” you hissed. “I’m in this mess because of you.”

He gave you a mocking salute.

You flipped him off as you got up from the table, running after your CO who more than likely overheard you expressing to your buddies that you’d enthusiastically have sex with him. Of course it happened the one time you actually joined in on their vulgarity.

Unlike his silent stride, your boots pounded against the pavement, announcing your approach to him.

He turned around abruptly, and you nearly fell over your own feet as you stopped in your tracks. 

His intense gaze on you felt like being at the end of his rifle’s sight. “Are you drunk, Y/L/N?”

“No—no, sir.”

“Good. I could use your help with a report.”

You stared at him blankly. A report. At ten o’clock at night. “Of course, sir. Anything you need.”

The corners of his lips upturned for a split second. “I’m sure.” Fuck. He’d definitely heard you.

The two of you started off down the street, toward a more residential area wherein officers had requisitioned houses for the US Army’s use for the foreseeable future. Almost dreamily picturesque, tree branches waved at you in the cool night breeze, the surrounding mountains illuminated by the bright fullness of the moon. From the soft glow of street lamps lighting your way, something you’d previously taken for granted, you tried not to stare at him. In the warm glow of that balmy summer evening, however, he looked almost too good to be true. Hair slightly unkempt, the whisper of stubble along his jaw and cheeks, surely his face would feel like heaven between your thighs. 

Soldiers in all states of drunkenness ambled up and down either side of the street, hollering and singing in carefree celebration. Speirs placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you past a group of men who could hardly walk straight. One of them walked right into you, his head nearly colliding with yours.

“Fuck,” the young soldier grumbled under his breath, shooting you a dirty look for being in his way.

Speirs wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you aside to stand in front of you. “Private,” he snapped, staring down the young man who looked like he was about to shit himself. “I advise you get yourself together and watch where you’re going.”

“Yes, sir—Captain Speirs, sir,” he said, turning his attention to you. “Sorry, ma’am.”

You nodded silently, and the private ran off after his buddies. 

Speirs turned to you, his hands on your shoulders as his intense gaze searched your face for any sign of injury.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

In Hagenau, one of the replacements had been pestering you the moment he laid eyes on you. At first, you humored him, supposing he needed a friend, as the men who’d been through Normandy and Bastogne were understandably closed-off and tight knit. Thought the new guys were too green, too eager to do something stupid and get someone killed in pursuit of battlefield glory that was too haunting to exist. 

Then he started getting handsy, not enough to be outright inappropriate, but enough to make you uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what possessed you to mention it to Speirs when he’d asked you how you were doing one afternoon. His brow furrowed, he gave you a silent nod in response. The replacement had been transferred elsewhere the following day.

Though Speirs stared right at you, there was something far away in his eyes as he squeezed your shoulders. 

“I’m fine, sir,” you repeated. “I promise.”

“Hmm? Oh, right,” he said softly. 

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, not bothering to offer you one. You were in the minority of people who didn’t smoke, allowing you to leverage the packs in your rations to trade amongst the men. As time went on, you’d leave them on top of your finished reports for Speirs, especially if they were Luckys. You watched silently as he lit the cigarette in his mouth, a shining silver lighter in his hand. His eyes drifted from the flame back to you, though you noticed the slightest spark behind them.

The rest of the walk was uneventful until you reached the house. A few stragglers hung around on the street outside, their voices becoming the slightest bit more hushed as they watched you follow Speirs inside. By the time the front door shut, they’d already begun speculating why the two of you were going to his place so late. With the way the men spread gossip, you could hazard a guess as to what the tale would morph into by the morning. You silently bemoaned the prospect of the night hardly being as interesting as whatever they conjured up.

Following him upstairs, the makeshift office seemed especially cramped with the boxes and papers that were haphazardly spread around the place. It’d probably take weeks to sift through it all, especially since a glance at one of the files appeared to be in German. Getting help wouldn’t be the issue, but rather the fact that none of the members of Easy who knew German were particularly inclined toward office work, becoming restless after an hour or so. 

A problem for another time, however. Glancing at the clock, it was nearly half past ten, and you were almost inclined to ask Speirs about coffee, depending on how long he expected the report to take. You sat down at the desk, ready to begin typing the date when you noticed the ink was out.

“Is there any typewriter ribbon around, sir?” you asked.

He nodded. “Should be in one of the drawers.”

You opened the drawer immediately to your right, finding a mess of stationary that had clearly been shoved in carelessly. Or maybe someone had taken something out of it in a hurry. Digging through it, you came up empty, and moved onto the drawer below it. No dice. The one to your left didn’t have typewriter ribbon either, at least, you would have been surprised to find it tucked in with the loot that nearly filled the thing to the brim–shining silverware, glistening jewelry, and trinkets that someone with a keener eye than you had clearly decided were valuable enough to keep. 

His extensive looting was an open secret, but a glimpse of this treasure trove was a shock to the system. So entranced by the contents of the drawer, you didn’t hear him walk up beside you until his shadow fell over the necklaces and rings you silently coveted.  

He gave you a sly smile, wolfish in the dim lighting. “Haven’t had much of a chance to organize those.”

“They’re beautiful,” you whispered in awe, gingerly touching a pearl necklace.

“Try them on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go ahead.”

You picked up the string of pearls, a nervousness washing over you at holding something so valuable, something of his. Walking over to the window, the nearest reflective surface you could find, you pulled the necklace on, garish against your uniform. You tried shaking off the odd feeling of playing dress-up in front of your commanding officer, a girlish whim he inexplicably allowed you to indulge in. His expression was unreadable when you turned around for him.

“They suit you,” he finally said, brushing his fingers against the pearls, slowly drifting lower to the exposed skin of your decollete. “Keep them.”

It wasn’t uncommon for him to bring you small gifts every now and then—typewriter ribbon, fountain pens, chocolate, trinkets. You knew better than to question where he got them, as he seemed to give them to you at the perfect moment. The stationary supplies when you were running low on them, chocolate and trinkets when you were feeling down. At times they’d be accompanied by notes from him. Usually short, but so sincere you treasured them more than the gifts. Whenever you’d try to thank him, he’d just shrug, almost dismissing the gesture.

This time, feeling bold in the cover of night, you pressed your lips to his cheek, uttering a quiet “thank you.”

He didn’t react. Disappointed, you moved to sit back down at the desk until he grabbed your arm, gently pulling you back to him.

“Were you telling the truth?” he asked, his voice a husky, demanding whisper. “Back at the bar.”

“Yes.”

“So if I said I’ve wanted you in a bad way since Bastogne?”

You kissed him, an explosion of warmth in your chest as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He settled his hands on your hips, squeezing them with a tenderness that betrayed his longing. Parting your lips for him, you allowed him to deepen the kiss, wanting to see how far he’d take it. 

Almost overwhelmed by his gentle intensity, you pulled away from his lips, though his mouth chased yours, capturing yet another kiss from you.

“Show me how you want me,” you pleaded with desperate kisses to his face, trailing down to his throat where you could feel the way he groaned in pleasure at your touch. 

“In my room,” he managed to say. “I wanna lay you on the bed and–”

“Anything, anything you want, Ron.”

His lips slightly blushed from the ferocity of your kiss, he parted his mouth as if to speak, but instead took your hand firmly in his. 

He led you straight down the nondescript hallway that nevertheless left you feeling turned around, dizzied by your desire for him. A door opened, and you were promptly pulled inside the room. The click of the lock behind you sent a slight shiver down your spine. 

Pulled into his arms again, you lost yourself in his fervent kiss, until you reached down, palming his hardening cock through his pants. He moaned into your mouth, the sound only exacerbating the heat between your thighs, the ache inside of you that up until that point had been abated by your fingers, always rushed, never satisfying the urge to be filled–by him, preferably. From the way he felt beneath your hand, he could do all of that and more. 

And after the months of silently, almost guiltily lusting after him like a nun, he wanted you too. The ego boost emboldened you. “Did you ever think about me when you were alone?” you asked, giving his bulge a gentle squeeze.

“Yes–fuck,” he groaned.

“Like what?”

“Besides keeping me warm in that goddamn forest? This–I thought of this,” he murmured against your lips. “But I didn’t let myself think of a future with you. I couldn’t have survived if I did.”

“And now?”

“I want everything you’ll give me, sweetheart.”

“Lucky you, that’s exactly what I wanna give.”

He smiled slightly, his hands hastily working to unbutton your shirt. “Lucky–except you’re wearing too many clothes.”

You reached for the pearls, about to take them off when he caught your wrist in his hand.

“Leave them on.” His voice was steady, authoritative, the closest he sounded to Speirs since he scolded the private who walked into you earlier. 

Weak in the knees, you acquiesced to the one and only order your captain would give you that night. You otherwise undressed, your uniform in a pile at your feet. Your bra and panties were simple, certainly not the sexy lingerie you’d fantasized about seducing Ron in, but his eyes blazed as if your body were hugged by an inviting satin set. A burst of confidence rushed through you, and you held his gaze as you discarded your bra and panties. 

You laid back on the bed as he undressed, watching intently until he was down to nothing more than his underwear, his hard cock straining against the fabric. He pulled them off, and you sucked in a breath at how big he was. Erect, at attention for you, all the more intimidating as he approached, joining you on the bed. His daring in the line of fire sure as hell wasn’t compensating for anything.

He straddled your hips, his eyes taking in your naked form with a primal intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. He reached down, two of his fingers circling your clit, your body trembled beneath his touch. By the way he studied how your face contorted in pleasure as a foreign-sounding moan rose from deep in your chest, you could tell it was payback for your teasing him just minutes before. 

His fingers shifted, slipping inside your wet core with ease. He pumped them in and out at a steady pace that made your stomach tighten and toes curl, but slowly bringing you closer to orgasm. You bucked your hips when he curled his fingers inside of you, blood rushing in your ears so loud that you could hardly hear the obscene sounds coming from your pussy. A lump formed in your throat, one that made you nearly howl in frustration.

“Who got you this worked up, sweetheart?” he asked, nipping the shell of your ear.

A whimper. “You.”

“What was that?”

“You.” Through a haze of lust-soaked desperation, you took his face in your hands. “Don’t make me beg, Sparky. It’s always been you.”

He pulled his hand from between your legs, and you nearly whined until he slid his length inside your pussy, your walls clenching around his cock. You braced yourself on his shoulder blades, your nails doing a number on him as you dug them into his taut skin while he thrust into you. Carefully at first, almost frustratingly so, until you cried, “More.”

He was bigger than you were used to, even before the war, but the slight discomfort was drowned out by the way his steady, deep thrusts filled you. He ducked his head down, taking one of your breasts in his mouth, his hand groping the other. Sucking on your breast, his teeth grazed your nipple, the hint of pain complimenting the pleasure. Your climax was so close you could see it if you closed your eyes, raw and vulnerable.

“Ron, I’m so close,” you moaned. “Don’t stop.”

He lifted his head, nodding. “Where should I–”

“Inside–fuck–I want you to cum inside me.”

And he did, with an erratic thrust that pushed him deeper inside you still. You kissed him as your pussy milked his cock, lifting your hips to grind against him for the slightest bit of friction to your clit. You threw your head back as you came, an obscene moan escaping your lips as pleasure spread across your body, white-hot like a star in supernova.

His name fell from your lips, laced with curses, over and over like a vulgar prayer. He pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your decollete, his lips brushing the pearls that stuck to your sweat-sheened skin until he shuddered, bottoming out in you. 

He pulled out slowly, his toned chest heaving before he collapsed next to you. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes, silently offering you one. You declined, and he placed one between his lips, using a nearby match to light it before taking you in his arms. You settled comfortably against his chest, closing your eyes for a few moments.

“So, what about that report?” you asked slyly when you’d finally caught your breath.

His quiet laughter rumbled in his chest, and he took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze betraying his adoration as he looked at you. “I might need your help again tomorrow night."

Knowing it was too risky for you to spend the night, he reluctantly let you leave around three in the morning, a slight pout on his face as you took off the pearl necklace and tucked it into your pocket. You left him with a passionate parting kiss, one that he used to nearly convince you to stay just a little bit longer until you quietly promised you’d report to him first thing. 

The streets were mostly deserted except for the men on patrol. You kept your head down, booking it back to where you were quartered, hoping your arrival wouldn’t wake anyone up, or at least raise any questions.

Just your luck, you ran right into Tab, a shit-eating grin on his face at your disheveled appearance. “I knew it."

[sparkly-skies]

ahfdkjlajskdfljsk LAURA PSPSPS @mondscheinprinzessin your lads got assigned UK twinks 😂😂😂 I'm not sure if you recognised this but they're the same guys from the same band in both pictures, just from different music videos. The guy zooming past behind them in the first one is their guitarist:

your question for "fandoms you know nothing about (I hope, I'm honestly still not sure if I know you)":

Please find a connection between here:

and here:

Well i do not recognize any of these men and my first thought about what they have in common is twinks so 😂🤷🏻 and there giving off some uk vibes as well

[subformuscularalpha]

We went to Oktoberfest with my friends on the first day it opened. Somehow we managed to get places on the balkony in Augustiner tent. The atmosphere was crazy as always with Bavarian music and all the people dancing on the benches with traditional one-litre beer mug in their hands — maß.

After half a maß I had to go downstairs and make some room for more beer. Being 5’7” I felt like a dwarf squeezing through the crowd of tall German men. Tall fit blond guys with chiselled forearms, tall massive men with dark beards and hairy chests visible from beneath their shirts with few top buttons undone, bulky guys with muscular frames and barrel-like bellies. My cock was getting harder in my trousers everytime I had to squeeze between massive frames.

Suddenly I bumped into a tall massive man in front of me. He didn’t even budge under my weight but still he’d noticed me and turned around. Towering in front of me was standing a massive hunk of a man. Shirtless he was holding two beer mugs in his hands.

The man handed one beer his friend that was standing hearby and hugged me with his free arm. His massive bicep encircled my head pressing my cheek into his ripe sweaty armpit. The music band in the centre of the tent started the usual song calling to drink “Ein Pro-o-osit, ein Pro-o-o-osit der Gemü-ü-ütli-i-ichkeit!”. The big bear hunk hugged me tighter and clinked the mugs with his friends with a loud “Pro-ost!!!”.

He gulped half a mug of beer in a few seconds and looked down at me. He leaned closer to me and yelled “Wie gefällt’s dir hier?!” trying to outvoice the music.

“Sorry… I don’t speak German” I yelled in reaponse, still being hold in a tight hug with my face pressed against the giants hairy pec.

“Vear are you from?!” he asked with a thick German accent.

“England!”

“Haf you like it here?!”

“It’s nice here! Very authentic!”

His wet hair was rubbing against my cheek and my hard cock was squeezed between my body and his firm thigh. I was ready to come every moment.

“I can feel it” he whispered into my ear and looked down at my crotch with a big smile. His hand moved down my back. His large palm covered my whole butt cheek and he squeezed it, making me squeak a bit.

I was scared a bit but also very excited. I had never never had a similae expirience before.

The giant’s midde finger found the way to my hole. He pressed and rubbed on it through the fabric of my shorts. I let out a moan and at the same time my dicklet burst with a few shots.

The big guy chuckled looking at the small stain at my crotch, “Somebody’s got too excited”. He clinked the mugs with his friends that all looked down at me with a smirk. “Prost!” and he gulped the rest of the beer.

He handed me a card with an address and a phone number, “Be there at the midnight, boy”. He slapped my ass and let me go.

[notbecauseofvictories]

obssessed with Mark Pavillion XIII being paranoid and also correct. The Cassandra of gazebo researchers!! This is the peril of being annoying at local government meetings! (anyway I now need this novel too, please write it thank you in advance)

The worst part---or the second worst part, since the first worst part is obviously the fact that the gazebos will rise up once more and demand a bloody toll for all the years of peace they bestowed on their less-than-grateful adherents---is that Mark Jr. has to eventually come down off the stage. He has to stick his poster-board charts under his arm, and catch the bus, take that to the train, and then wait for his cousin Sam to pick him up at the station.

He has to go to family dinner. That's definitely the second worst part, after the probable large-scale slaughter.

There's nothing Mark hates more than the sight of the whole Pavillion clan, gathered around the table. Boasting about their recent schemes to coax garage bands out from basements, charm puppeteers into taking a gig that's long past any child's bedtime. They are the Pavillions, after all! Marcus Pavillion the First was there, he worked with President Washington himself to create the first American gazebo; he corresponded with the Italian masters of the casina, married a woman from the Bavarian Schöns ("The Dianatempel was ours, did you know?" Mark's mother liked to say at parties, then smile coyly.) The Pavillions have been keepers almost as long as there have been structures to keep, theirs is a rich and storied history.

........Mark does not appreciate this. Mark spends most of his time at the kid's table, trying to avoid conversation about whether gazebos prefer to eat in solitary dignity, or to tear into a visiting chamber ensemble with a full audience. It makes him uncomfortable when Kimmy, his youngest cousin, starts scrawling red lines around her smiling clown---"He's being eaten!" she says cheerfully.

Mark does not ask follow up questions.

The problem---after problems one and two, already mentioned---is that he doesn't know if there's any stopping this. With the odd exception (e.g., the 2004 incident that resulted in Hurridge, Minnesota being carefully removed from US maps) gazebos seem content these days to snack on the occasional piano player, with a couple rambunctious kids as an digestif. But Mark has been tracking these things. He knows that the incidents are gathering closer together, both in time and in location. He knows they're getting less easy to predict, less easy to hide, less easy to excuse. His family might sit around the table and complain about keeping 4-5 gazebos happy, but Marcus Pavillion died trying to appease just one. Those times will come again---are coming. Are here. Mark's got the numbers to prove it.

Walking back from the bus stop, Mark finds himself looking up and---suddenly stops dead outside a lot that's been vacant almost as long as he's lived in this neighborhood. There's a safety fence around the property now, and silhouetted in the light is a brand new sign. UNDER CONSTRUCTION, the sign states, above a sketchy outline of a park. COMING SOON!

In the center of the picture sits a gazebo.

[wexhappyxfew]

AND THEN THE DAWN CAME

OC masterlist for the band of brothers fic

tags to look at: #attdc #and then the dawn came #esther armstrong #mercy codona, etc….

ESTHER ‘ESSIE’, ‘FUBAR’, ARMSTRONG

-> war correspondent for the us airborne (101st, company E), trying to make a name for herself in this world by telling the stories that no one wants to tell

MERCY ‘HALF-PINT’ CODONA

-> war photographer for the us airborne (101st, company E), esther armstrong’s most trusted companion, running from her past into a future that’s nothing more than a blur. at least a camera can keep her in the present

MARGARETA ‘MARGOT’ GERINGHER

-> double agent for the SIS in britain, proclaimed legally dead by the world it seems, but is doing everything she can to get back at the germans, even pushing herself to the breaking point to get revenge on her mother

LUCY GARDNER

-> rogue SOE agent with a foggy past, previously having graduated from oxford, having been stranded in both the desert in north africa and the bavarian alps, now running with the red devils to invade normandy

ROLANDE PELLETIER

-> member of the maquis with ties to a few prison cycles in marseilles, partaking in the normandy operations, paired with a stubborn oss agent who does nothing more than sit quietly

MILDRED ‘ MILLIE’ CARTER

-> oss agent with a traumatizing history in berlin, now freed and escaped, but with a heavy burden on her shoulders, trying to make up for something or other without getting too close to the sun

YVETTE ST. CLAIR

-> ex maquis member, previously on the run, who lost everything but a wrist watch through the war, and is doing nothing more than trying to save the lives of people she can still save, having found herself in normandy

JEANNIE DESCHAMPS

-> maquis member, who works covertly as a translator, knowing 5 languages, trying to save the life of a russian sniper after a freak break-out from a prison cycle in marseilles, who says knew her missing brother

MIRIAM ‘MITZI’ ZAKHAROVA KASATKINA

-> russian sniper who found herself tangled in the lives of vichy, france, and was tried for far too many counts alongside the brother of a maquis member who helped to get her out

PADMAVATI ‘PUJA’ SOLANKI

-> member of the british 8th army, working as a translator of 5 languages, who has a chance run-in with a few people from her past and a fellow oxford graduate

[sparkly-skies]

I do not raspel carrots, the whole reason I never make carrot cake is that i do not voluntarily raspel carrots unless it's with a proper Raspler with a Kurbel instead of a cheese grater board, there is literally not a single worse cooking/baking task than raspeln with a handheld Raspler.

Why aren't you going berry picking with me 😤

hello hi, someone on JO tumblr started an ask game and I come bearing some things to pick from for you

go berry picking with, walk into a Trachtenstore for at least three minutes with, bake carrot cake with, watch a ballet with:

aleksi, robin, jules, me ✨

Okay it took me way too long to understand this game🤦‍♀️

Let's see. Go berry picking with Robin because you can have a great time with him just talking, I think this would be very fun.

Walking into a Trachtenstore with Jules because I would like to know his opinions and would love to hear him further shit on bavarian traditions.

I would bake a carrot cake with you, but this time it's your turn to raspeln the carrots😄

And going to a ballet with Aleksi because I hope he would get inspired by the music/ orchestra and the emotions, and I think he's very open to other genres and he wouldn't totally suffer through a ballet.

[pinturas-gran-guerra-aire]

1917 10 Triple threat - Russell Smith

As the sun peaks above the horizon, a trio of German Albatrosses patrol the skies in search of enemy aircraft. These pilots and aircraft are assigned to Jasta 76b, a Bavarian unit based in the Vosges region of France. The unit markings consisted of white spinners followed by white and bavarian blue rings. The horizontal stabilizers were Bavarian blue with white stripes one each side.

In the lead we see the Albatros DVa of Lt. Hans Böhning. Böhning began his flying career with Feldflieger Abteilung 290, but eventually found himself assigned to Jasta 76b in late 1917 where he would score his fifth kill. In addition to the unit markings , the front half of this particular Albatros was varnished wood while the rear half featured the white and blue Bavarian checkerboard pattern. A narrow black band separated the two sections. Böhning ended the war with 16 victories to his credit.

Next in the lineup is Vzfw. Siegfried Walther. Walther’s Albatros DVa carried the standard unit markings, but the fuselage was painted entirely red and marked with a white “W”.

Last in the lineup we see Lt. Walter Boening. Boening assumed command of Jasta 76b in October 1917. Here he flies a baby blue Albatros DVa marked with the standard unit markings. This aircraft also carried a white and bavarian blue band around the center of the fuselage. In May of 1918 Boening severely wounded below the left knee during and aerial combat with 70Sq RAF. Although he safely landed his crippled aircraft, his wartime career had come to and end. He ended the war as a 17-victory ace, having earned the Iron Cross 1st and 2nd class, the Military Merit Order, and the Kight’s Cross, among others.

[ematsubusa]

An introduction? Uhm… sure, why not? Hiya, nice to meet’cha!

//(A better picture will follow, it’s just a small display of one of her possible teams) ((We ignore the legendary/mythical overload, I just love those little critters)) (((also also, I’m thinking of making a newer artwork for her… soooo… yeah)))

Full name: Elisabeth Matsubusa

Nickname: Lizzy

Age: 33 years old

Birthday: 24th of May

Being a so-called “Faller” is hard… I feel like the protagonist of some shitty Isekai-Anime!

OOC & Lore/Infodump down below!

//OOC:

Hi, I’m @starlightcosmos04245 and I’m the one behind Lizzy and also Maxie (@matsubusa-m) and Jördis (Courtney) (@kaga-ribi-612)

Like I already said in my Maxie-introduction: I, personally, am usually very open about everything. Though I have to admit I’m very shy and get nervous easily… so sorry for that. I’m happy though to be included in the "multiversal beef" ^^

(I maybe disappear sometimes for some time due to mental health reasons)

Lizzy is an OC and serves as a stand-in for the various protagonists throughout the Pokémon games. She basically is the personification of how I remember playing those games. That said… she’s probably a bit OP since the protag always wins… I'm very sorry… （−＿−；）

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Lizzy was born in our world. The real world. One day, when she was around 9, she just awoke in this strange world this all takes place in. She basically has been isekai'd, if we’re looking at it that way. A faller. She’s been on her own ever since then, travelling the world, catching Pokémon, conquering gyms and leagues… kicking villain-ass…

Her unusual presence has also attracted many legendary and mythical Pokémon over the years. Her goal is to befriend and protect them all. Especially after she saw how villainous organisations are after them to mistreat them for their own gains. That legendary and mythical Pokémon cling to her like magnets has only worsened after battling Arceus in the hall of origin during her travels in Sinnoh. After catching them, Arceus punished and temporarily killed her - reawakening her after three days to be their servant on earth. It was rocky in the beginning, when she had to learn to control her new powers.

Lizzy was and never will be able to return to her original world. Over the years she accepted this and came to terms with it. Though it sometimes still stings when she thinks about her family, that she will never see them ever again and that they will never really know what truly happened to her.

Personalityvise (is that a word?), she’s usually very friendly and hyper, laughs a lot, but can quickly become either very serious or even angry - then she’s a walking, ticking bomb. Though most of the time, she’s a people pleaser (she wouldn’t save every region she travels to, if she wouldn’t be, let’s be honest)

She knew Maxie and Archie from her journey through Hoenn, kicking both their asses and befriending them afterwards. She’s also good friends with her universes Courtney, they’re practically like sisters and have each others backs (this universes Courtney looks up to Maxie, viewing her as a mentor and maybe even somewhat of a father figure, but she’s not obsessed-obsessed).

Many years later (and I mean MANY years), Lizzy marries Maxie. They have three children together.

She’s still the Hoenn Champion (and basically the world champion but she mainly competes in Hoenn) but also often helps out around the Team Magma base. She serves as the second in command, when she’s around, and has her own little flock of Grunts.

Some more useless info:

- She’s small. Like, smol. 1,53 meters of pure sass walking

- Especially BAVARIAN sass. The nightmare of each and every "prussian" German…

- She mostly trains psychic-types

- She loves rock and metal music (especially the older ones), though she also listens to a lot of other stuff too

- Her favourite band is Ghost, though. Her favourite song is "The Riddle" by Nik Kershaw

- Lizzy is a nerd. Games, Manga, other random trivia… she’s got it

- She also is a cosplayer, jumpscaring Maxie a bit too often when randomly running around the house in cosplay (he’s an old man, don’t scare him to death)

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

I might add more stuff someday, but that’s it for now.

If you’ve read it all, you earn my respect (just like with the Maxie one, like, damn. Someone is really reading this stuff?)🫡

With all that said… I hope you have fun and happy rp-ing (๑╹ω╹๑ )

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 50, vol. 13, 13 décembre 1891, Paris. Manteau camail en drap deux tons. Modèle de Mme Simon, 1, rue Auber. 17. Redingote Helyett. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(15) Elégant camail de drap de deux tons. — La grande pèlerine en drap hanneton est entourée de fourrure loutre naturelle, la petite pèlerine vient se terminer en pointe sous la fourrure, le devant est en drap plus clair avec petite lézarde de passementerie, La jupe assortie en drap de deux tons avec passementerie noire et fourrure dans le bas.

(15) Elegant two-tone cloth camail. — The large cape in cockchafer cloth is surrounded by natural otter fur, the small cape ends in a point under the fur, the front is in lighter cloth with a small crack of trimmings, The matching skirt in two-tone cloth with black trimmings and fur at the bottom.

Matériaux: 4m,30 drap hanneton, 2 mètres drap clair.

—

(17) Manteau Helyett de drap bavaroise. — La grande redingote cintrée est garnie le long des devants d'une bande de velours brun foncé retenu par des boutons de nacre, petite ceinture mince autour de la taille, col ouvert avec revers sur plastron de velours, parements avec boutons.

(17) Helyett coat of Bavarian cloth. — The large fitted frock coat is trimmed along the front with a band of dark brown velvet held in place by mother-of-pearl buttons, a small thin belt around the waist, an open collar with lapels on a velvet bib, facings with buttons.

Matériaux: 4m,50 drap, 1m,75 velours.

[paganimagevault]

Honfoglalas - Hungarian conquest (of the Carpathian Basin) by Mihály Munkácsy 1890-1893. Sources and more info on my blog, link below.

"Between 902 and 906 the East Frankish sources give us little concrete information concerning the movements of the Hungarians. One reason for this fact may be that the Annales Fuldenses simply came to an end in the spring of 902. The Annales Sangallenses maiores and the Annales Alamannici do report that the Bavarians invited the Hungarian chieftain (rex/dux) Chussol (Chussal/Kurszan) to a banquet and surreptiously [sic - surreptitiously?] assassinated him; this event was probably staged to create confusion among the Hungarians since the Franks hoped that rival leaders of various war bands would struggle among themselves to replace Chussol (Kurszan). Most modern Hungarian historians believe that the murder of Chussol (Kurszan) ultimately resulted in the Magyars' abandoning their traditional system of dual leadership for one based on the kingship of a single warrior king, Arpad."

-Charles R. Bowlus. Franks, Moravians, and Magyars: The struggle for the Middle Danube