#surely there's a school around berlin right? right?

[seawitchkaraoke]

the try guys doing a skydiving video and Zach talking about how much he loved it is reawakening the need to go jump out of a plane in me, like, that shit was the best feeling ever, why am I not doing it right now

Guess I'm researching sky diving schools now, I have some money saved up, come on, surely it can't be that expensive right. Right?

[octuscle]

Four T and one C

On campus, they were known only as TTTT. Tanner, Thad, Trent and Trey had known each other since childhood. Their parents were all members of the same country club, their parents all had summer houses in the same area in the Hamptons. It was clear that TTTT would all go to the same college together. With a lot of money from their parents, they had all made it to Yale. Even if not everyone was actually clever enough for it. Fortunately, as Yale alumni and successful investment bankers and lawyers, their fathers and mothers were able to fix that. And so the party at the high school became an Ivy League party. And TTTT were the guests of honor at the party.

Chad's parents weren't in a country club and didn't have a house in the Hamptons. But they were wealthy enough that Chad had somehow managed to find favor in the TTTT's picky eyes. He lived in the same dorm, they had talked at some point. And the fact that Chad was smart and could help them with an exam or two wasn't a disadvantage, of course. The TTTT were all studying business studies, Chad biochemistry. But with an IQ of 142, he was easily able to pick up what little knowledge he needed for an MBA in a lunch break.

The first semester came to an end. TTTT had done reasonably well, Chad already had a job as a working student at a biotech lab and had a good chance of finishing the semester at the top of his class. Nevertheless, he was at every party and if you saw the five of them in their Polo Ralph Laure and Abercrombie & Fitch outfits, you would have thought that all five of them were nothing more than spoiled and stupid frat boys. Until the day the last marketing exam was written. TTTT treated themselves to a beer in the sun on campus in front of the football stadium to celebrate the end of the semester. And then Chad came by. But he wasn't dressed like Chad. He looked like a British hooligan. At least almost. Tight jeans, DocMartens and a tight Fred Perry polo shirt that showed he obviously didn't just spend time in the library and lab. The tight shirt showed off his pecs and biceps pretty well.

“Bro!” said Tanner. “What do you look like? What's with the chav look?” Chad grinned. With that cheeky grin and his haircut, he was still one of them, even if he was dressed differently. “I got this invitation from my new employer. Sick party, all for nothing. And the employees were asked to come in the company colors. And they are yellow and black. And because I didn't have time to change beforehand, I wore the only thing like that I could find. I had it from my exchange year in Berlin. Everyone at my school walked around like that.” Trent grinned. “Sounds sick, dude! Do you think you can get us into the party?” Chad grinned and pulled out four ribbons. “You think I'm forgetting my best bros? Put on your wristbands, they'll get you into anything you want. And here are the tickets for the entrance.” Chad took a look. The nerd still had to study, he still had two exams to write. TTTT did a collective high five. The evening was saved. It would be just the right end to their first semester at university.

The bouncers had had their hands full. The party was an event of the year, crowds of people wanted to get in. TTTT had problems even getting through to the bouncers. But when they showed their tickets, they were waved through. One of the bouncers said to a colleague “What boring philistines!” Fortunately, TTTT didn't hear that. And fortunately, the four of them were so sure of themselves and their appearance that they didn't feel they stood out among the party people.

The party was good. There was plenty to drink, there were hot girls for the four of them to dance with. But the real kick was missing. Trey noticed that the most attractive people were heading towards a door with another group of bouncers in front of it. Trey waved his bros together and headed for the door. “Ribbon only,” grunted one of the gigantic bouncers, pressed into a black and yellow leather suit. Trey grinned. He had pocketed the ribbons and had almost forgotten about them. TTTT put the wristbands on their wrists and passed the gorillas with a grin.

Loud bass thumped at the end of the corridor. Strobe flashes flashed. There was much more yellow and black on the dance floor than on the last dance floor. And the people here were different. Beautiful. But not New England at all. Thad was reminded of Berghain in Berlin. He'd tried to get in once, but even with a wad of dollar bills he hadn't been able to get past the bouncer. But those who had managed to get in often looked like the people dancing on the dance floor here. Thad turned to look at his bros. The three of them had rushed straight onto the dance floor. In their outfits, they stood out like colorful dogs. At least their hairstyles matched the crowd on the dance floor to some extent. Thad rubbed his head. He loved the feeling of freshly shaved sides. Fuck, Trent really looked good with that badass undercut. Thad's cock was getting hard.

The four of them danced in a trance to ecstasy. The hard techno beats thumped through their bones. Every now and then, one of the TTTTs went to the bar and provided the four of them with an energy drink. Last time, the awesome bartender had also slipped Trent a few colorful pills, which the four of them washed down with the candy-sweet drink. I have no idea what time it was. But the party had only just started. According to his watch, it was 06:00 in the morning when Tanner had to go to the toilet. The room was overcrowded. A few of the athletes who had gathered here sweating were actually pissing. But most of them were sucking cock or being sucked. Damn, there was a muscular guy at the front wearing nothing but a pair of black and yellow chaps. Tanner had already noticed the guy on the dance floor. Without giving it much thought, he dropped to his knees in front of the Adonis. And sucked the first cock of his life. But no one, not Adonis, not Tanner would have thought that. It was as if it was routine on a club night.

Tanner had swallowed every drop. He wiped the rest from the corner of his mouth and made his way back to the dance floor. Maybe with a detour past the bar. There was a guy sitting at the bar who made Tanner want to get down on his knees again. The guy's bulge in his latex pants looked almost painful. The guy almost grabbed his crotch, kneaded the bulge and asked, “So, Tanner? Do you like sucking cock, you pervy pig?” Tanner winced. He knew that voice. That was… Chad!

Chad grinned, took a swig of beer and unzipped his pants. A monster jumped out of his prison like a jack-in-the-box. Tanner first licked the skin-tight latex-wrapped nipples and then ran his tongue over Chad's washboard abs to the shaved cock. Shit, Tanner was addicted to hot guys' cum. Chad leaned back and enjoyed Tanner's practiced tongue. For a semester, TTTT had taken advantage of him. Always made him feel like a second-class human being. But now? The substance he'd soaked the ribbons with seemed to be working excellently. The dumb college jocks had become techno disciples who followed their DJ gods around the planet from party to party. As guinea pigs for Chad's new employer, they would not become lawyers or investment bankers. But thanks to a lavish expense account, they would be able to lead a very hedonistic lifestyle. And whenever Chad was horny, one of the TTTT would be at his disposal.

Tienn, Tyrus, Tai and Taren were in top form. The party was far from over. They were the stars of the dance floor. Hardly anyone moved to the music like the four of them. When they weren't in the washroom servicing a hot guy they had picked up on the dance floor. One of them always had his eye on Chad. When Chad needed their services, he always had priority. All they were, they were only thanks to Chad.

Pics by @ki-kink

[pretty-bratty]

'It's Peter. Parker.'

He slides the phone back into his pocket without much hope. No one will reply - haven't in all these months - and even if someone would, it would be a very annoyed Happy.

It's September, and the mornings are foggy-pink like apples, the evenings are orange from streetlights and fallen leaves - and Peter's been living with this bittersweet mix of hope and anxiety since Germany.

Since Mr. Stark gave him that little talk in the car. Peter tries not to die from embarrassment every time he remembers that not hug.

"You sure you're okay, kid? No feeling sick, dizziness, any other fun stuff?"

Peter hurried to nod, then shake his head. The movement echoed with the pain.

"Yeah, no, I'm-I'm totally fine!"

I don't want you to go.

But Mr. Stark - Tony - had a long night ahead. Lots to discuss with Captain America and the others. Lots to figure out about Cap's friend, the one with the cool arm. And Peter, well, Peter wasn't needed in any of this. Not anymore.

That fight in Berlin airport ended almost as soon as it started. Everyone stopped throwing superpowered punches and started talking, right after-

No. Peter forbids himself to think about it. This memory is saved for before sleep.

And right now he better focus on whatever Ned is saying.

"...in the news."

"Huh?" Peter whips his head to look at his best friend. "Sorry, what's in the news?"

"Mr. Stark," Ned repeats patiently, slurping apple juice. "Saw them in the morning news, him and Cap."

"Really?"

Peter almost asks what suit was Mr. Stark wearing, but bites his tongue before the words slip out. He's not a fangirl gossiping about a popstar. He's just gonna see it himself on YouTube after school.

"They've been asked if a part of the Avengers tower could be open for school field trips."

"Really?!"

Okay, he's repeating himself, but - seriously, he missed that?!

"Yup." Ned smiles dreamily. "Mr. Stark said it's a great idea-"

"Really?!?"

This time Ned gives him a look, and Peter giggles sheepishly. Yeah, alright.

"Yeah dude. Don't get your hopes high though. Cap banned it."

Ugh.

"Said it's dangerous and blah blah blah."

"And rightfully so." Michelle chimes in, and Peter didn't even know she was here. "Imagine all this herd near the alien weapon and superpowered technology."

"O-o-oh, you're the Avengers fan?!" Ned's eyes immediately sparkle as he turns to her.

"Who said so?"

Peter tunes out, looking at the cafeteria. Flash is trying to pour juice into someone's - surprisingly, not Peter's - milk. Yeah. Michelle and Captain Rogers have a point.

But at the same time, what if he could go?! What if they saw him, and remembered how good he did in Berlin (they said so themselves back then), and then Cap would be like 'You could actually help us out with this one, Peter', and Mr. Stark would be like 'I was actually about to tell you to start reporting straight to me, not Happy', and!

And even all that aside, it's just. It would be so cool to just see Mr. Stark.

"Duuude, you totally have a crush." Ned gives him a toothy smile, and Peter realizes, horrified, that he said the last phrase out loud.

"No I don't," he quickly looks around, feeling how hot - and undoubtedly red - his face is. Apparently, Michelle already went away, and Ned was the only one to hear that. Thanks God. "I don't really do crushes, Ned, you know. It's-it's different."

"How different?"

The bell rings, getting them hurrying to Spanish class and saving Peter from the inquisition.

Well, not fully - Ned keeps whispering questions the whole class.

Do you wanna play Kiss-marry-kill and pick from Mr. Stark, Cap and Black Widow?

Would you like him to personally check your internship work?

Imagine if he picked you up from school in one of his cool cars, would you - scratch that, who wouldn’t have wanted it.

Peter is almost grateful when Mr. Ramirez threatens them with detention.

After school he manages to run away, yelling about being late to the internship. The look on Ned's face tells him he's already planning to bombard him with questions tomorrow.

***

The patrolling goes as always. Boring. Yeah, no, it feels great to swing around the city, getting all his energy out and helping wherever it's needed. But so far the highlight of his day is the churro from this nice old Mexican lady - until he sees a robbery near Mr. Delmar's place.

Everything goes exciting at first - he even manages to make a cool fight-talk, before one of the guys pulls out that weird-looking weapon. Peter's muscles tense - and seconds later the whole place explodes. Literally.

He barely remembers how he runs into the sandwich place, helping Mr. Delmar and carrying Murph out. The next thing he sees is the splash of red, white and blue, accompanied by the big wings shadow in the sky. Captain America and Falcon. Peter looks for the flash of red and gold, with the sounds of Led Zeppelin or whatever - heart rabbiting faster than when the actual explosion happened. But there's nothing. He ducks from the Avengers' sight, running into the alley where he left his backpack and clothes, tugs the mask off, and-

"Peter."

For a millisecond his heart drops in his stomach and freezes there, but then he recognizes the voice difference. He turns around to face Steve Rogers - starry shield and all.

"Uh, yes sir? Hi?"

Hi? How lame.

"You were there, fighting with the robbers."

It's not even a question, so Peter just shrugs. Like no biggie, he's doing it every day. Ugh.

"Would you recognize them?"

"No. They were wearing masks, Avengers masks actually. Maybe it's like, something personal?"

Cap makes a thoughtful noise, nodding absentmindedly.

"Where's your friend?" Peter shuts his mouth, but the words are out already.

"Sam?" Cap furrows his brows in confusion. "He's helping with the-"

"No, I saw him." Peter cuts him off. Yeeaaah, May would've been just delighted with his manners. "The other one, from Germany. With the metal arm."

"Oh. Bucky..." there are so many different emotions in how Captain says this name. It feels overwhelming. "He's getting...back to himself. I hope."

He adds the last phrase so quietly that a normal person wouldn't have made it out. Spidey senses deliver it to Peter loud and clear.

"He's nice." Peter offers him a little smile. "Especially when we stopped trying to kill each other."

Captain actually chuckles at that, shaking his head. Then nods back to the explosion.

"Stay away from trouble like this, kid." His face gets the usual shade of solemn. "Those are dangerous people, we'll take care of them."

"I can help!"

"Like I said, it's too dangerous. I'm glad Tony's keeping an eye on you..."

Apparently something's flickering on Peter's face, because Cap frowns. Uh-oh, time to go, time to go. He stumbles back, nearly tripping over a trashcan, and giving Cap a bigger and hopefully not so fake smile.

"Um, sorry, but I actually gotta go, Aunt May will start worrying if I'm not home!"

Captain Rogers crosses his arms, worry clearly showing on his face now.

"Peter? He is, right?"

But he just pulls his mask down, jumps off and swings away, leaving the national hero without an answer. Holy shit.

***

He should've just said yes. Because obviously, Happy being his curator is considered as Mr. Stark keeping an eye on him. And maybe Happy not replying to his messages doesn't mean he's not caring! And now Captain Rogers would tell Mr. Stark about his encounter with Peter, and Mr. Stark would come and yell at him, and oh my God. Well, at least he would talk to him. Except if he's gonna call Peter an ungrateful brat who he doesn't want to do anything with, and Peter wouldn't be able to bear that.

He stops mid-climbing, tears the mask off and presses his face into the red-bricked wall of his building. It's cold to the touch. The night air is chilly and dark blue and full of police sirens and big city noises.

All Ned's questions suddenly pop up in Peter's mind, but none of them are helpful. Peter doesn't know how to call what he feels for Tony Stark, what he's longing for, and what label to put it under. He almost wishes it was a crush, because it would be normal. He would be normal.

What lives and burns in his chest is something in between adoration of a role model, falling in love and needing a father figure - or maybe all of those combined.

He wants to be near him. He wants to do as he says and be good for him. Or not do what he says - and find out what happens.

He just wants Tony to really care about him. To care about him the most of all. Like during that short time - no, Peter, stop - in Berlin airport... He tries to stop thinking back to that moment but fails. He lets his eyes close and sees everything as if it's happening right now.

***

Thinking back, adrenaline - that's what Peter felt the most. The rest was just a big noisy mess, flooding the whole world and overwhelming his senses. He missed when and how the reasonable - well, sort of - conversation turned into a fight. Maybe it happened while he was too busy filming? But anyways, everyone was fighting now. And it wasn't a cool battle against baddies, wasn't protecting what's right from what's evil. There weren't bad guys. There were confused guys, hurt guys, guys who didn't manage to talk it all out, and now were too angry and adrenaline-infused to do anything but fight and hurt each other. They reminded Peter a bunch of riled up first graders. What could he do though? Mr. Stark got his full and devoted loyalty...he wasn't sure when exactly that happened. Maybe even before the man burst into his little room, spitting date loaf and making innuendos about May. That's - that's whatever. Peter didn't really want to fight other Avengers, and he wanted Mr. Stark to fight them even less, because he saw how hurt it actually makes him.

Yet, here they were. Fighting.

"Sorry, guys, I just really gotta impress Mr. Stark!" Peter yells to Cap's friends.

One just looks annoyed, and the other - the mysterious metal-armed one - bugs his eyes out. Peter knows that he's the reason the whole ruckus started and that Mr. Stark doesn't like him for some reason.

"S' just a kid," the metal-armed dude breathes out, and okay, now Peter doesn't like him too.

He webs him down to the concrete, smirking under the mask.

"How's that from a kid?!"

Metal Arm is grunting something, but Peter doesn't have time to listen. There's something crazy going on.

"Hey guys, have you ever seen this really old movie, The Empire Strikes Back?!"

His spidey senses are overflowing with information. He's overexcited, high on adrenaline, giddy with being accepted by real superheroes, and-

BOOM.

Something huge, like a train on full speed, smashes into him. Peter sees stars flashing under his eyelids - cartoons don't lie, it really happens - and then everything goes black and he starts falling. He tries to use his webshooters, but for some reason it doesn't work out. Everything's going awfully fast. Peter hears someone cursing, flails his arms around, heart in his stomach - and suddenly there's a strong grip across his body. Peter opens his eyes - turns out he was squeezing them shut - and sees the metal arm. There's a red star on it. The next moment the grip changes, and there's a soothing glow of shiny upturned triangle, and red and gold suit, and Peter blacks out.

When he wakes up, Black Widow is giving Mr. Stark an incredulous look.

"Jesus Christ, Tony. If I knew that's what you meant by 'your guy', I would've said no right away."

Peter pouts at her, and it only makes her nod as if in confirmation.

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"It's an actual child, Tony!" That's Cap.

Seems like they didn't kill each other while Peter was unconscious. Which is, would be nice to know for how long.  Everything feels funny. Maybe he has a concussion?

"What?! Don't give me that judging glare, Capsicle. You just dropped half a building on that child-"

"And I was wrong!"

"-even your assassin bestie didn't do that."

That's the first time Mr. Stark addresses Metal Arm not as a mortal enemy, and everyone falls quiet, staring.

"And this is what I've been trying to talk to you about," Cap gets everyone's pointed looks and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, okay. I haven't really. And it was wrong of me. I should have."

Peter opens his mouth - for some reason, it feels awfully dry, and it takes an effort to part his lips.

"S' so stupid, you fighting." He cannot believe he's saying this to the Avengers, his heroes, for crying out loud. He definitely has a concussion. "S' how all the worst wars happen..."

He blacks out again after that, and when he wakes up, everything's over. The brewing war that was about to start never happens. Mr. Stark and Captain are talking, then them both and Metal Arm are talking, everyone is talking and no one has time for Peter.

And actually, he should've understood back then - he's just not needed anymore. Because he was just that - 'my guy' as in a help in a fight, not as in 'mine'.

***

He shakes himself out of the memories, realizing he's still clinging to the wall, without a mask, cheek warming up the old bricks. Without a mask! What if someone sees him! What if May sees him - what's he even thinking about!

Peter lets out a sharp breath and quickly picks up his pace. Up, into the window, climb over the ceiling, quietly close the door - why is it even open - on the floor. He taps the suit, letting it loosen and fall down, leaving him in boxers.

"Agility - 10 out of 10. Attention - we're going to negative numbers here." The painfully familiar voice speaks up from the semi-darkness of his bed, and Peter stumbles and plops on his ass.

"Correction, 9 instead of 10." Mr. Stark watches him intently, popping some snack into his mouth.

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training Chapter 7

Mad love to my alpha @whositmcwhatsit seriously your editing and feedback make this so much better. Also love and special thanks to my lovely elvis coven, @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @peskybedtime @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @powerofelvis @be-my-ally @shakerattlescroll @lookingforrainbows and to @ab4eva for her sweetness, you were the only person to ask me about Bess on tumblr between now and the last chapter and I was like oh, I guess someone is still reading this. Which is good. Because I am still writing it. ;)

Thanks to everyone who reads this, shares, reblogs, leaves a comment or whatever. I write for myself, but I publish for community, and I don't think I could write with out your support and friendship.

Summary: Bess resigns to get over Elvis and move on, but he has other plans.

Warnings: Not much, depictions of mental illness/delusion.

WC: 6.5 K

If you need to catch up Chapter Six: Guided Missiles or the masterlist here Basic Training

Click here if you prefer to read on A03

Chapter 7: The Minefield

12:15 p.m., Friday,  April 24th, 1958

Commissioned Officer’s Mess

Army Intelligence Training Unit, Fort Hood, TX

“I thought you were applying to law school?”

Bess let her straw drop out of her mouth to meet James’ concerned stare across the mahogany table.

“Um, I changed my mind.” Her eyes dropped back to her chocolate egg cream and she paused for a moment. The sound of glasses clinking and hushed conversations reverberated through the Army Intelligence officer’s club. “I kinda dropped the ball on writing my sample essay. And,ugh, I haven't been able to focus at all on studying for the entrance exam.” Bess trailed her shoe anxiously across the burgundy carpet, she hated admitting that she had given up on lawyer school. “It’s just temporary, a temporary pause.  No, for now, I think a year or two working for the state department is the best next step. I’ve always wanted to spend time in Europe..”

“But Helsinki, Bess?” James reached over to comfort her with a hand squeeze, but she pulled loose and went back to eating her pot roast lunch.

“Finland is a stepping stone.I could be working in Berlin next summer. And Helsinki has a lot of international action. It’s right next to St. Petersburg.”

“This sudden need to go to the coldest burg in Europe wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain tall, dark soldier who’s been doing extra laps around the barracks every day, would it?”

Bess lifted her thick, white cotton napkin to obscure the blush spreading up her cheeks. “I saw that he’s had extra PT, I’ve been wondering what happened.”

“Oh? I thought for sure that was all you and your front office connections, getting back at Presley — “

“Jameson, I would never abuse my position in the Front Office for revenge. You know how basic training is. Drill sergeants use any excuse to tear you apart just so they can build you back up again. He probably was late to inspection, or maybe he tried to protest extra push ups, and now it’s marathon time everyday til he’s learned his lesson.”

“Hmmm, must be. Though I don’t feel even the teensiest twinge of sympathy for him after that stunt he pulled on you? Think it would look suspicious if he got run over by a jeep? In his barracks?” James winked at Bess/

“Ha, just say you made a wrong turn.” Bess chuckled, but her smile quickly faded into a sigh.

She speared a potato with her fork, looking at it as if it had the answer to life’s secrets like a magic eight ball. Maybe all she needed to do was turn potato over and around until it revealed her fate. Sadly, no messages turned up, and she laid it back on her plate. 

“Thing is, I knew he had other girlfriends. I just wished he’d called and canceled our plans instead of leaving me hanging to find out another way. The most humiliating way.”

“Maybe he couldn’t get away to call? Or forgot your number? Have you seen him at all?”

Bess shook her head, sipping her drink again. “Uh uh. But I’ve been avoiding him. What am I supposed to say? It hurt my feelings that you put the kibosh on our night together for a pajama party with one of your steady girlfriends?“ Her eyes met James. “But, uh, he knows my number, though. He called that Monday, after she left town. And several other times.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know, I have Kay on switchboard duty. She has strict instructions to inform male callers that I’m not home.”

“You oughta talk to him, honey, let him have it.”

“I’d rather not, I  - I, it was, uh. The whole thing felt so icky, I never want to feel that way again. It took me back to last summer and Be. Except, this time, I’m the other woman and I know all about his girlfriend back in Memphis.” Bess put down her fork, unable to eat anymore.  “I think my picker is broken, James. I’m destined to be alone.”

“But are you supposed to be alone in Helsinki?”

“I’m actually excited to be single in Helsinki.” James raised his eyebrows. “What? The city is is pretty hip!They just hosted the Olympics. Lots of people live there from all over the world. After Berlin, it is one of the top hubs for working with the Ruskies.”

“Ok, ok, I get it, you hussy, you’ll probably be able to play patty cake with an assortment of good looking European men. I just can’t believe you are abandoning me, it’s so selfish. I’m almost ready to swear I’ll never buy another Presley record.”

“I’m not leaving because of him!” Bess huffed at the way James arched his eyebrow higher and straightened her napkin over her skirt. Aggressively. “I swear, how many times do I have to tell you, he’s just helped me get the perspective I needed. The straw that broke the camel’s back. I gotta get out of this place before I wind up like Mabel.”

 James sniffed as he motioned to the waiter. “Mabel seems happy, could be worse.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. But you might be out of here before me. I only just sent in my application materials, you know how these civilian posts can be. If I make the first cut, I still have to do a round of phone interviews,an in-person one, a thorough background check. Why, I probably won’t head out until the summer. If I get it.”

James quirked his mouth and whistled when they stood to leave and shook his head.

“Seems like such a waste to store all your resources behind a desk. Should be out, serving our country at USO shows.”

Bess slapped James shoulder, then straightened his jacket, smoothing her hand over his medals.

“Jameson, stop. Do you talk to the debutantes back in Rhode Island like this? You know, half the officers in here are probably my father’s spies. Keep whistling at me like that, they’ll convince him we’re an item.” She grabbed her purse and put her gloves back on. “Besides, I am not exactly the type who likes performing or attention.:

He looked her over once again, making an exaggerated show of appreciation for the way that Bess’ smart tweed pencil skirt hugged her hips.

“Oh, but that’s what makes you such a knockout, Bessie Girl. Why don’t we get married, huh? We could travel the world together, life would never be boring. We’d have great looking, smart kids.”

Bess put her finger to James’ lips, looking into the hazel eyes that glimmered below his perfectly coiffed honey blonde hair.

“I wish I could. I can’t marry someone I don’t love, not in the way I love you anyway.It’s no good, we’d end up ruining our friendship.”

James slid his arm through Bess’ as he led them out of the officer’s club. “I suppose you’re right, Schwartz, but if you ever get desperate and want to be married to a dashing officer who’d never leave you for another woman, the offer stands.”

“This is no time to be getting married, Jameson. I’m sure you’ll want to enjoy the local flavor in Heidelberg.”

“Hmm, yeah, no matter the gene pool, it’s gotta be better than this dump.”

Bess smoothed her hair once they were outside and turned to James. He looked so handsome in his dashing officer’s uniform, cap under his arm. He was probably the best looking, wealthiest man to ever propose to her, even in jest. She really would miss him once they left Fort Hood. Bess gripped James arm tighter before they parted, and smiled.

“No kidding, I can’t wait to put Fort Hood and Elvis and everything in my rear view mirror. Get a fresh start in gorgeous, romantic Helsinki-town, city of dreams.”

“I thought that was Paris?”

“Nope, pretty sure it’s Helsinki.  Though I understand why you’re confused, Helsinki is the Paris of the Baltic Sea.”

“No one calls it that.”

“Sure they do, I’m starting it now.”

James smiled, fixing his uniform cap back on his head. “Ha, ok. Well, as they say in Helsinki, au revoir.”

*********************************************

Bess’ fresh start suddenly seemed a million miles away when she glimpsed Elvis Presley running round the base. It had only taken a few minutes after she got into her father’s Oldsmobile before she recognized Elvis’ tall, perspiring figure jogging around the circular track behind the PX. There he was, in his sweat-soaked tee-shirt, dog tags jingling over his chest, running towards them in the dusk of sunset. 

It struck her for a moment how odd it was for the drill sergeants to have him do laps out here on the road near the gate instead of closer to the 37th tank division. They must be making a public example of him, she thought, having him do laps out here as people drive past on a main road out of the base. 

It was working, he looked absolutely miserable and exhausted. The cold grimace he had fixed on his face pulled on Bess’ heartstrings, and she felt a compulsory urge to go comfort him. But then she remembered why she’d cut him loose, and nodded to herself, reaffirming how wise she was protecting herself from further heartache. It wasn’t easy. 

She got so captivated watching him take off his cap and wipe his forehead as they got closer, that she suddenly realized he was about to run by her car and had to quickly duck down flat against the bench seat to avoid being seen.

“Ilsa, whatever are you doing?”

Bess popped up with a squeak, looking over her shoulder at Elvis’ figure running away behind them, then stuttered to her father. “I, um, I dropped my lipstick on the floor is all, Papa.” 

Dinner was pleasant enough. Mama served tuna noodle casserole and followed it with a cherry cream cheese jello mold. It was comforting to Bess to think these were recipes any other family on the block might be eating tonight. Though she doubted whether the other mothers were wearing a matching red dress and explaining the deep meaning behind the color red, and how powerful color it is, one that can provide all the strength and nourishment they needed. Bess did concede that cherry Jell-O tasted like what she thought the color red might taste like. 

And if a lecture on the spiritual nature of red Jell-o was the most occult Mama got tonight, then tonight was a good night. 

After eating, Bess changed into a more comfortable, simple light blue house dress, and was trying to calculate how long it had been since Mama had one of her episodes as she walked downstairs, when she heard Kay on the phone.

“Well, no Rex, I guess I’m not doing anything. Well, sure, gee whiz, yeah, I know a few friends who’d flip their lids at the chance. You bet, meet you there at 8!”

Bess turned the corner at the bottom of the landing, and gripped the polished circular handrail as Kay spun around with a wide, beaming grin. Her sister halted suddenly and tripped forward with a gasp when she caught Bess’s stare.

“Was that Elvis’ bunk mate, Rex?”

Kay gulped. “Mhmmm, I did like you told me, and said you - you weren’t home.”

Bess crossed her arms. “So what, now you’re going out with them?”

“Well, I - he - I heard Elvis tell him to invite me and any other friends to meet them at the movie theatre on post. It’s, it’s, not a date, it’s a group-like thing.”

Bess took a deep sigh. Miles Davis wafted out from behind the closed door of their father’s office at the back of the house, and she could hear her mother doing the dishes. Bess had come down to help clean up, and had planned to spend her Friday evening at home. She thought she might read or watch TV, play a game of gin rummy with Mama. Anything to take her mind off of Elvis. And now here her sister was, running out to go meet him!

“I cannot believe he invited you out.”

“And why is that? You’re not the only charming, good looking girl around here, Bess.”

“That’s not what I was saying, Kay. What kind of guy invites out the sister of a girl - a girl - a girl he’d been riding around with? You aren’t seriously thinking of going? What about Dickie?”

“It’s not like that. Cuz,  - it’s - it’s not a date. Why, they’re getting a gang together. Rex said I should bring some other girls. I’m about to call Carol and Tracy. If you think I’m gonna deprive them of the chance to meet Elvis Presley, you got another thing coming. Why, you always keep him all to yourself.” Kay huffed, and put her hands on her hips. “It’s not a date. You could come if you wanted, you know.”

Bess squeezed her hands into tight fists, squelching her sudden intense desire to slap her sister.

“You know exactly why I won’t be doing that, I told you how things went with him and you are smart enough to know he is probably doing this to upset me. And you’re helping him! My own sister. Kay Brutus Schwartz.”

Kay’s face fell, and she met Bess in the middle of the hallway. “It’s not like that at all. Please don’t be mad, Bess, but me and my friends, we have all his albums. You can’t hold it against me for wanting to go. It’s not like I asked, he - ” 

Bess brushed Kay’s hand from her shoulder and stomped off in a huff, her anger powered her through an incredibly fast cleaning session in the kitchen.

Mama dried the last plate Bess handed her, then put her arms around Bess at the sink. “See, Bessie baby, all that red Jell-o gave you the energy and focus you needed. I’ll get you some red silk underwear for your new job, I saw some in the Montgomery Ward catalog. Or were they red flannel long johns? Well, you’ll need both in Helsinki.” 

*********************************************

Bess had frowned as Kay traipsed out the door to meet her friends when Carol pulled up in her mother’s yellow DeSoto. At first she took her book upstairs and sat at the window, watching for Kay’s return around 10 p.m. 

By 10:30, she had moved to the porch, where she sat up on the bench hugging her knees and trying to read while she waited to catch her sister and pump her for information outside where their parents wouldn’t hear them. 

Yawning, she was just straightening the bows on her white house slippers when she turned to see a car pulling up in front of the house. But this was not Carol’s mother’s yellow DeSoto. It was a white Cadillac. And she made the mistake of looking up long enough to note the row of guys in the back seat and make eye contact with Elvis as he parked.

Fuck, Bess muttered to herself staring back into her book, unable to focus her eyes on any of the words. In her periphery, she watched Elvis jump out and race around the front of his car, loosely putting his arm around a giddy, smiling Kay as he walked her up the path to the front porch. 

Bess took a deep breath, accepting that there was nothing she could do, that she was stuck out here with her hair in a messy bun wearing a house dress and slippers. So, she braced herself and stood to confront the most famous man in the world. 

The cool night air was no comfort to the heated temper rising in her chest as Elvis walked up the stairs in front of her, his fingers now spread over Kay’s shoulder. His eyes narrowed, and a smirk played over his face.

“Hellooooo there Bess, ain’t you sweet, coming out here to greet me.”

“Hmmmm.” Bess nodded, curtly, exhaling at Kay’s sheepish grin.

“Well, I enjoyed our date tonight, Kitty Kat, didju?” He gave Kay’s shoulder a rub and Kay laughed nervously at his nickname, glancing back at Bess as she untangled herself from Elvis’ grip.

“Oh, well, it was a gas to meet you and the whole gang,” Kay made a show of waving at the car, “Tell Rex thanks for the Coke and candy.”

Elvis ran his hand through his hair.“Uh, well, I wudda bought you all the Cokes you wanted, I just -”

Bess interrupted him. “Let me guess, you forgot your wallet?”

 “Yeah, guess that’s happened before.” Elvis chuckled. 

“Ahem, Kitty Kat is it?” Bess raised her eyes at her sister. “Probably time you were in bed, little girl. I have a few words I need to have with your date, here.”

Kay coughed and avoided Bess’ intense look of death as she thanked Elvis for a fun night. He grabbed her hand, making eye contact with Bess over Kay’s shoulder and he hugged her sister and gave her a soft peck on the cheek. Kay hung in his embrace for several beats, then scuttled away to leave Elvis with Bess’s cool stare

“You have some nerve.”

Elvis took a step toward her, “Aw, Bess, now see, when you act like this it makes me think you still like me.”

“Is that ri-ight?” Her voice wavered as he took a step toward her with his shoulders back, head forward, rubbing the back of his neck. She stumbled back a few steps, distracted by the way his eyes pierced her from under his eyebrows.

“See, you actin’ like ya jealous, honey. But you ain’t playin’ fair.“

“Really. I don’t play fair?”

“Uh uh.” Now he was hovering over her, backing her into the front of the house, his lower lip hanging open as he leaned over her. “You play hot one day, then cool the next. Won’t take my calls, but now ya jealous. Playin’ games s’what it is, and I can’t stand chicks who play games.”

“Ha!” Bess had meant her declaration to be a lot more forceful than how it came out as a muffled breath into the dark, red fisherman’s sweater Elvis was wearing. Of course! Of course his sweater was red. It sucked all Bess’ strength right out of her. And her resolve. She tried for dear life to hang on to the painful embarrassment that had punched her in the gut when she met Anita.

“You’re - you’re - you had - you’re the one who -”

Elvis’ hand was at her waist, and his thumb pressed over her belly button.

“Sshhh. I know, I missed our date.”

Bess mumbled toward her shoes. “Well, I wouldn’t call a party in a cheap motel room a date by any me-“

Elvis’ pursed his lips in a grin as he brought his other hand to Bess’ cheek, his eyes gleaming as she shivered in him. He tilted her chin to meet his eyes. Bess tried to shake him off, but couldn’t, she was spellbound by the pair of dark blue eyes above her. 

She reminded herself that there was an audience of grown men watching them from his back seat. Then she thought she saw the curtain at the front window ripple and realized Kay was probably leaning against the wall inside, spying on them. She thought about how Elvis had invited her sister out, at the very least to get her attention, or at worst, to make her jealous. She thought about how she had sworn to her best friend hours ago that she never wanted to see Elvis Presley again. She tried to grasp at all these things and more as Elvis stepped closer to her, and shifted his arm over her against the wall. But suddenly thinking was very difficult. Elvis’ thumb circled the button at the waist of her cotton house dress.

“OK, ok,well, when you say it like that, sounds awful. Definitely weren’t no date. Still, Kitty Kat told me how upset you’ve been. And I know I shudda called you.” Elvis took a deep breath, and coughed. “ And, well, that gal came down and surprised the hell outta me, is what happened. I didn’t invite her, now that’s the god’s honest truth. But, well, put me in an awful bind and I couldn’t get away to call you. Wudda much rather spent the weekend with you, Moo Moo.”

His breath was warm on her neck, and the way he murmured her nickname was like a sultry saxophone solo. Bess closed her eyes as it rolled over her body, giving her goosebumps. His whisper was full of vulnerable need and Bess couldn’t believe that she actually felt bad for him, as if she were to blame for everything.

“I - I - I’m sorry.”

“Nah, honey, I reckon, if I’m honest with ma self,  you have every right to be sore at me. But you havta give a man the chance to defend hisself. Tell me now, don’t a man deserve a chance to splain?”

There was his thumb, gliding over the front of her stomach, rubbing back and forth.

“Really, I wasn’t trying to play games.”

“I know, Moo Moo. I know’d you weren’t really like that, else I wouldn’t be here.” He leaned in, pressing his open lips to the corner of her jaw, soft and delicate as he continued his whispers. “Though I don’t know if I could stay away even if you were the devil, baby. Ain’t been able to stop thinking about you.” His mouth was warm on her neck. “You, and only you.”

His touch sent a wave of feverish heat through her body, and Bess didn’t care if he was lying, all she knew was that she would willingly go back to his motel room with him right now in her flimsy white house slippers and all. However, before she could make that suggestion, she heard the front door open and she jumped up instantly, pushing Elvis away at the sight of her father’s silhouette in the dim porch light.

“Elizabeth, it’s cold out tonight. Why don’t you invite your guest inside?”

Bess swallowed hard, glancing up at Elvis, whose cool demeanor and friendly smile belied the fingers she could see tapping against his thigh through his pocket. She looked out at the car, then up at the dark sky, shaking her head to herself.

“ Hi Papa, this is, uh - ”

Elvis stood up straight and jerked his hand out as he strode to shake her father’s hand.

“Uh, good evening, Sir, I’m Elvis, Elvis Presley.”

“Yes, I’ve been expecting to meet you for some time now.” Bess’ mouth dropped open. Before she could find the words to protest, her father was putting his arm around Elvis and guiding him inside. “I understand you and Ilsa have been spending a lot of time together, jah?”

*********************************************

“Can I pour you a whiskey?” The table lamp flickered as Bess’ father walked by, his calm words trailed behind him on his way to the bar. 

Elvis sat at the edge of the couch patting his hand to a silent rhythm and then bouncing up again to pace over to the hi-fi set.

“Naw, jus a Pepsi - or a Big Red, honey.” Bess glared at him as he looked up at her from where he perched in front of the record player. “Bessie. I mean, Eliz-a-bess.”

Bess frowned as Elvis popped open the concealed door in the sound system’s speakers and proceeded to rifle through her father’s LP collection. Her father arched his eyebrow, muttering in German that the boy seemed to know his way around and feel quite at home, jah? Bess was asking Rex and Lamar what they wanted when Mama floated into the living room, swaying the skirt of her red dress back and forth, a dreamy look in her face. Bess froze, looking around the room, then scuttling over to her mother and latching her arm around Mama’s waist, whispering in her ear.

“Mama - Hi Mama, I thought you went upstairs to relax?”

The boys all stood up as Mama patted Bess on the shoulder. “Bess, you’re making the lamps all buzzy, stop buzzing around and introduce me to your friends.”

Bess sighed and then froze when Elvis walked over and took her mother’s hand, kissing the top.

“Evening, ma’am, I’m Elvis, Elvis Presley, s’a pleasure to meet you, I can see where your daughters get their good looks from, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Mama giggled and blushed. “Ha, well, you are charming. The faeries told me Bessie had a new beau, but they didn’t say he was handsome.” Bess’ face went white as she tried to guide her mother to the big orange leather chair in the corner, but Mama swatted her hands away. “Bess, I said to quit fussin’. Go get our guests something to drink.”

Every cell in Bess’ body was on high alert, and she rubbed at her throat trying quell the nauseous, tight feeling that now plagued her stomach. Bess had not brought Ben, her former fiancee, home to meet her family until he had asked her to marry him. At that point, they had already been going steady for two months, she had trusted Ben completely and had given him a thorough debriefing on Mama and the family dynamics. She had known Elvis a month. ANd spent the last two weeks hating him.

Elvis returned her mother’s hand and flashed Bess a warm, crooked reassuring smile. Rex and Lamar gathered next to him making their awkward introductions, before Papa walked over and offered Mama his hand, tilting his head at Kay. 

“Come sit with me, Emily, let the boys relax. Katherine, you get the drinks.”

Bess followed Kay into the hall. “I’ll get it, Kay, I -uh - I was gonna make Mama a special cup of tea - “

“I got it, I know how to do it. You go back in there.” Kay winked, and left Bess to sigh as she took a deep breath and resigned herself to face whatever was waiting for her in the living room.

Elvis sat on the edge of the couch trying to stop his knee from bopping up and down with the palm of his hand, already in conversation with Bess’ father.

“Jah, I started off in the German division, but now I oversee all intelligence training.”

Elvis’ eyes widened and he seemed grateful to see Bess walk back into the room and hit Lamar to clear the seat next to him on the couch. Bess shook her head and sat at the piano bench, trying to think of how to change the subject.

“Papa, I imagine the boys are tired after a long week and - “

“Oh Bessie, don’t send them away!” Mama waved her off as she got up and happily plopped into the clear spot next to Lamar, shooting Bess a playful frown. “You never bring friends over any more, it’s a breath of fresh air having young people over. Want any leftover tuna noodle casserole?”

A momentary grimace passed over Elvis’ face as he declined, and Bess' father coughed.

“Too bad we don’t have any meatloaf, perhaps zat would have suited you better.”

“Actually, mister, I’m bout plumb fed up with meatloaf, EP’s been ordering - “ Lamar stopped talking at the sight of Elvis’ eyebrow, arched in warning. 

“Well, Bess makes a great meatloaf, you boys will have to come back for dinner sometime. I’ll get her to cook it up for you.” Mama bowed her head with certainty as she spoke, turning Elvis’ hand over in her lap as if to read his fortune. “Elvis, such an unusual name. What does it mean?”

“Ugh, well, ma’am.” Elvis scooted back against the arm rest, turning in to face Bess’ mother more directly. “I have been told it means someone who is uh, very wise.” He winked over at Bess as she rolled her eyes. Kay returned, and she bounced up to assist in handing out the drinks. 

“I’ve never heard the name Elvis before tonight, is it common where you’re from?”

Lamar gasped. “You never heard ‘a Elvis?”

“No, why, should I? Do you all work with Henry in Intel?” 

Elvis shook his head. “No, no ma’am, Rexadus here and I, well, we’re new recruits, and Lamar right here is jus’ a ole friend of mine, visiting.”

Mama smiled big. “Oh, well, if you think I would have heard of you from Bess, you have another thing coming. She’s a sphinx, that one, never tells me anything about anything.I have to get all my gossip from the wind.”

“Elvis is a famous performer, mama. They’re surprised you’ve never heard of him because he is on the radio. And the movies.”

“Oh, is that true? Would I know any of your music?”

Just then, the phone in Papa’s office began to ring and he stood up to excuse himself, muttering in German that he would hardly call it music. Bess exhaled a chuckle at the curious look on Elvis’ face. 

“I’m guessing that weren’t a rousin’ endorsement from ya daddy,huh ?”

She shook her head, and Mama clucked.

“Oh, Henry didn’t get enough red food tonight, don’t mind him. You know, you’re not the first song and dance man I’ve met. When I was a girl - “

“-I met Eddie Cantor when he sang at Zeyde’s theatre on Coney Island.” Bess and Kay exclaimed in unison with a grin.

Bess relaxed as the room filled with warm laughter and she almost felt like they were a normal family, teasing and chiding each other as they entertained guests.

“Oy, well, it’s true, you boys have heard of Eddie Cantor, haven’t you?” Mama grinned at their nods, and took it as her cue to keep talking between sips of tea. “Well, I was just a kid when he was first making it big in New York. And my father had this vaudeville theater, and we met all sorts of acts working their way up the circuit. Baby Rose Marie, Bert WIlliams, Jimmy Durante, and, of course, a lot of nobodies trying to be somebodies. Eddie was probably the most successful guy to come through our place. Boy, was he handsome! Tall, dark hair, those big gorgeous eyes, like two rounds of chocolate.”

“Mama, zey ton nisht veln tsu hern vegn deyn shule meydl krashiz.”

“Oh, Bess thinks I shouldn’t share these things. She thinks I’m an old lady, that I don’t have blood pulsing in my veins. But I’ve always appreciated a good looking man.” Mama patted Elvis' knee. “Still do.” Then all of a sudden she swayed into Elvis' shoulder, her eyelids fluttering before she slumped on his shoulder.

“Ma’am? Ya ok? I’ve had girls swoon before, though they usually heard a me.”

Bess jumped up and looked over at her sister. “How much did you put in her tea, Kay?”

“Just a tablespoon.”

“It’s supposed to be a teaspoon!” Bess growled through clenched teeth as she felt her mother’s pulse, and tried to unfurl her mother’s arm from around Elvis’ shoulder.

“I’ll take her up - “

“Aw, honey - s’ok, want me to - “

“ - Well, it was an easy mistake.” Kay hovered behind Bess, and stomped her foot.

Mama’s eyelids fluttered back open for a moment and she looked up into Elvis' face. “You know, you have a beautiful aura, Alvis, I can tell you are a good person - Bess, if you don’t marry him, I will.” 

Bess gulped, and looked at Kay. “Help me get her up the stairs?”

Before they could do anything, Elvis lifted Mama and nodded at Bess. “Jus lead the way, ‘k Bess honey? Boys, y’all go on out to the car, and we’ll get outta ya hair ‘fore you say lickety splickety.” 

Lamar sighed with relief and could not get through the hallway fast enough, almost knocking the telephone off the little desk as he passed. Rex, however, hung back, gathering up the bottles of pop and taking them to the kitchen behind Kay, looking back to nod at Elvis in a silent offer to help. Elvis shook his head and followed Bess up the stairs.

“Alright, now, Mrs. Schwartz, ma’am, ya gonna be snug as a bug in a rug, jus you wait.”

Elvis set Mama down in her bed carefully, gently taking her hands and placing them at her sides. Mama opened her eyes and trailed her fingers over the sharp edge of Elvis' crew cut, smiling dreamily as she asked “Almond” if he would marry her.

“Ya so sweet and beautiful, I would, I would  if I could, ma’am.”

Tears welled up behind Bess’ eyes as she watched the tender way Elvis kissed her mother’s cheek and squeezed her hand before she passed out. They exchanged a long look, and Bess blushed.

“I’m sorry you had to see all this, I’m so embarrassed. You didn’t have to stay and help me - “

Elvis rubbed her shoulder. “Honey, I wanted to help, I like helping folks. Ain’t nuthin to be shamed of. Really Moo Moo, wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to. An getting to spend my night with the prettiest lil gal in town, why, that’s just the icing on the cake.” His face scrunched into a big grin as he held her, and bess nodded into the comfy wook of his red sweater.

Elvis stood in the doorway, watching curiously as Bess took off her mother’s shoes and tucked her under the large, homemade victory quilt that they had sewn from old clothes during the war. It was the only blanket Mama would sleep with, and for Bess, it evoked that time in her childhood when Papa was overseas doing things he couldn’t talk about and Mama was the strongest woman she could imagine. 

Now, as she looked down at her mother and smoothed hair out of her face, it was Mama who resembled a little girl, finally relaxed and at ease as she started to snore. Her sleeping face free from the cares and mysteries of the world. Bess kissed her mother on the forehead, and turned to find Elvis waiting for her in the doorway. His blue eyes seemed to penetrate her soul, as his thumb rubbed the side of her shoulder.

“Holdin’ it all together, ain’t ya Moo Moo. I see you. I really do.” 

Bess shuddered at his touch, wiping the side of her eyes.

“I, um, I. Well, you caught us on a bad night, Almond.”

He chuckled, drawing her into his arms and kissing the top of her forehead.

“Nah, ain’t nothing bad about anything.” The sides of his crinkled as he smirked. “Almond, huh. maybe ya mama there is on to sumpin. Might sell more records and movie tickets if I changed my name to Almond instead. Tell you what, wudda made it harder for the Army to find me.”

“Yes.” She took his hand and led him back down the stairs.”Though you would have missed out on your freel vacation here at beautiful Fort Hood.” 

They were back on her porch, and Elvis was clasping her hand tight. He looked out at the darkness, and at his car on the street, then over the garden, before turning back to hover over Bess, hands resting at her waist.

“Wudda missed out on meeting you, honey. Ya my silver lining. Tonight, being here with you, I know it now for certain that fate brought us together.”

Bess turned her head to listen to the crickets, wondering if they had any advice on how to defy fate. Especially when fate distracted you from all common sense by nuzzling your forehead. 

“Elvis - I - “

His lips were at her ear as he drew her closer. “Aw, Moo Moo, I cain’t bear to think I made you cry. I mean it.” His thumbs rolled up and down Bess’ sides. ”I promise, ain’t ever let that happen again. I swear. Cuz I need ya, honey, been thinking ‘bout you all the time.”

Bess couldn’t resist the way his eyes lit up with hopeful vulnerability, it made her feel like she was the one who had wronged him by withdrawing her company from him. 

“I  - I think about you too.” She cupped his cheek. “I’ve seen you doing laps every evening, are you doing okay?”

Elvis huffed and pinched her side. “Oh, yeah, you know me. Every morning, those drill sergeants find a reason to be cross at me, makin’ me do extra PT. But ain’t nothin I can’t handle.”

Bess nodded. Then Elvis’ hands tightened all the way around her, constricting her so tight she almost couldn’t breath, before parting with a soft, chaste farewell kiss and a vague promise to call her the next day.

Bess was humming to herself as she turned off the porch light and locked the door behind her, stopping short when she saw her father come out of his office.

“Everything ok, Papa?’

“Jah, jah. That was just the secure line, a call from D.C.” He straightened his sweater, coughing as he took in the dim quiet of their house. “Ze hound dog has run off, I take it?”

“He’s not so bad, you know.” Bess shifted and looked at her feet, unable to stop the smile at the corner of her mouth. “The drill sergeants have really had it out for him this last week. He’s been running extra PT and they put him on latrine duty. Must have pissed off the wrong person.”

Bess stopped talking, noticing that her father’s face had soured into a tight grimace. She had probably been right not to tell her parents that she had been seeing Elvis. This would be tough, now there was nothing she could do now.

“Jah, that boy did piss off the wrong person. Me. You would be wise to cut your ties with him, Elizabeth, he does not respect women. And you have a bright future ahead of you. I might expect Katherine to be dazzled by this flash of Memphis. But you are too smart for all that. I would hate to see you lose focus on your goals to run around with a boy who brings his hoochie coochie girlfriends to town and flaunts them in your face.” 

Bess was silent as her father pursed his lips, nodding, then said good night. She listened to the sound of his footsteps as he walked up stairs, her mind racing as she tried to figure out how he had found out about Elvis. About the debacle with Anita. About all of it. 

The disappointment she had seen in her father’s eyes crushed her, and Bess tossed and turned in her bed all night trying to figure out how she could make him understand that she could have fun and still go after her goals. It was the thought of Elvis’ long thumbs caressing her body that finally calmed her down. The memory of his touch was like her own personal dose of benzodiazepine, it made her forget all her problems and give herself over to the sandman.

********************************************************************

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[hannahssimblr]

“Oh God,” Shane puts his head in his hands, “That’s so bad. Shockingly, shockingly bad.” 

A wobbly rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart floats through the open doors of the local pub, invading the night with flat, tuneless melody. From our picnic bench on the docks, every karaoke performance has been crystal clear. We hear every note, every fumbled lyric and pre-emptive, spirited launch into the chorus even though there’s an entire verse to go. Jen swore that we’d have more fun as a group if we went in and watched it, complete with the overdramatic physical performances, but Shane objected. He says he has a hard time coping with embarrassing things. He can’t watch other people fail miserably, and while I’m the opposite and thrive on it, I still prefer our seats at this comfortable distance, right by the barrier to the sea where the fishing boats bob serenely on black water. Being away from the karaoke minimises the chances that Liam will force me to include myself. I can’t sing. I am completely tone deaf, so it’s better that I steer clear of that microphone and all others.

I didn’t want to come out tonight anyway, I’ve been pretty tied up with all my wallowing, but Jen refused to take no for an answer, the same way that she has refused to let me order spirits from the bar. It’s beer for me only until she can trust me to act reasonably again. Not that I’ve made any attempts to contact Michelle since last week's ordeal, not even through email, where sometimes, when I log on to contact various students in Berlin about housing, I see her name there and the last email I ever sent her. It was just study materials, and I should delete them and move on, but I can’t. I’m stuck. it feels too final.

But the night is clear and the conversations are flowing, and if I don’t think about anything outside of my immediate experience then one could argue that things are going well, that there's no need for me to feel unsettled. What’s not to love about a night by the water with friends? It’s what the summer is for. I should be trying harder to enjoy myself. 

There’s distant chatter as two girls step out of the bar. I recognise them. It’s Kelly and her friend from the tennis court. The blonde one. Shane perks up in recognition and waves. She waves back. 

“Who’s that?” I ask him. 

“Claire. My sister’s friend.”

“Right, from school or something?”

“Yeah, from Tullamore.”

They’re coming over now, at least Claire is while Kelly drags her feet behind and does her best to look disinterested, but if Claire notices her friend's reluctance she doesn’t show it. She’s smiling, a wide, even smile as she hops onto the dock and greets us all with a confident, “Hello everyone!”

Shane runs a hand over the top of his head, “Hi, were you- were ye in doing the karaoke and stuff like that?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t sing because I’m awful at it, but Kelly did.”

Kelly, hanging back in the shadows, grunts and keeps her arms crossed.

“Oh, was that you caterwauling Bonnie Tyler just there?” He teases, “Sounding absolutely diabolical?”

“No,” she snips, “I sang something else, Claire, can we just go sit over there or something?”

“Yeah in a minute. You didn’t feel like singing, Shane, no?”

“No,” he laughs self consciously, “I don’t think you’d have liked to have heard that. I’m no singer at all. I’d be brutal.”

“Ah c’mon, I’m sure that’s not true! Sure you're good at everything.” She’s got a very sing-songy, country kind of accent, high and feminine, but what’s most interesting about her voice is the things it seems to do to Shane. Every time she speaks to him his cheeks turn pinker. 

“Ah, well, no,” he lets out a goofy laugh and goes back to touching his hair, “I don’t think anybody would have liked to hear me,” He peers around her for a moment and looks back towards the pub, “Where’s Evie?”

“Oh, she’s with Liam.”

A pause, “Oh right. As in, they’re singing?”

“They were,” Kelly pipes up, “But they went off.”

“Off where?”

“To shift.”

“Evie is shifting Liam?”

“Yeah. Who else would do it?”

This tickles Joe, “Aw lads! Liam is off with some girl? That’s so funny. What do you think is wrong with her? Blind? Would you say? Or blind and deaf?”

Kasper laughs once the joke is explained to him, and I make a deliberate point of not joining in, because Jen’s warning eyes are on me like a hawk. I will be nice to Liam this summer. I will. 

We hang out with Claire for a while, chatting and pretending we’re not aware of Shane’s blatant crush on her while Kelly sulks on another bench alone, pointedly checking the time on her flip phone and sighing about how they’d better get back to the caravan park soon. 

Claire doesn’t notice, and I find it satisfying. 

Eventually we break off into our own conversations and let Shane and Claire talk on their own, and I wonder if he’s going to do anything about it this summer, if he’ll ever find the courage. Shane’s always been shy with girls, it’s just how he is. Always reluctant, always hanging in the background waiting until he’s absolutely sure about any mutual feelings to say anything to them. Maybe focussing on him like some sort of project would help to keep my mind off my own stuff. Is that a normal thing to think?

Claire raises a hand and calls to someone behind us. We turn around, and it’s just Liam. Liam, holding hands with a girl, which is interesting because it’s an unusual sight, but not interesting enough to interrupt my conversation with Jen. I look away and continue talking about the things I’ve been googling about Berlin. 

“You can’t mow your lawn on Sunday, that’s another thing.” I say, and she scrunches up her face, “You don’t mow the lawn.”

“Yes but if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

“I’m sure you could, they might just frown upon it.”

“It seems restrictive though, doesn’t it?”

A shrug, “Maybe they respect silence. And in that case you might have a hard time fitting in.”

“I can be silent.”

“You can’t even whisper normally,”

“What? I can. Yes I can.”

Shane, who is now standing by the end of the table with Claire, Liam and his girl-friend, throws an arm around the brunette’s and interrupts us before I can argue my case and prove to Jen just how well I can whisper.

“Lads, this is Evie by the way. She’s another one of Kelly’s friends from home in Tullamore.” 

We have to do the whole thing of going around the table and introducing ourselves, even though I don’t really have much interest in who this random girl is. “Jude,” I say when we get to me, and Jen gives me a tight smile like I should be making more effort. What else does she want from me? This whole being nice thing is starting to feel akin to a totalitarian regime.

“Good to meet you,” Evie says with a smile. She’s tense and overly formal.  

“Good to meet you too.”

Claire leaps in excitedly,  “Shane was telling me about the house they’ve all been staying in. It sounds unreal. It’s way up the beach where all those modern mansion places are, they’ve got a big outdoor deck and a fire and everything.”

“Sounds cool,” Evie says, and then Shane explains that it belongs to my parents, that they’ve let us use it for the summer while leaving out all the juicy bits about how they can’t risk being trapped in it together for the summer in case they kill each other, which is why the care of it has fallen to me. All I have to do is make sure that it doesn’t get damaged, that the roof tiles don't fly off in a storm or something. I realise I forgot to clean the puddle off the floor two weeks ago, and remind myself to check if the timber has any marks when we get home. 

Claire goes on, “You were just saying though, Shane, that we could go up and hang out with ye all some time?” 

Shane scratches the back of his neck and shuffles about looking awkward. I wonder if he was trying to invite her over alone. 

But Jen comes to the rescue. “Ugh, yes please.” She says. “I’m getting sick of hanging out with only boys, so I’d be delighted if the two of you came up to visit.”

Evie glances at Kelly, forgotten but not gone, still on the bench. “Maybe three of us?”

“If she’ll be seen with us.” Shane calls over his shoulder, and his sister flips her middle finger at him. 

I’m amused. Three of them? Are they forgetting the obvious fourth party? “Four of you, including Liam?” I say.

“Oh yeah, well, obviously I thought that went without saying,” Evie smiles at him, tucking hair behind her ears and he smiles back. He’s delighted. He feels lucky. He’s got a smudge of her makeup on the shoulder of his t-shirt.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Jen murmurs. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I suppose.” I say. “Haven't really thought about it.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG chapter

[lesmisletters-daily]

Madeleine

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.5.2

He was a man about fifty years of age, who had a preoccupied air, and who was good. That was all that could be said about him.

Thanks to the rapid progress of the industry which he had so admirably reconstructed, M. sur M. had become a rather important centre of trade. Spain, which consumes a good deal of black jet, made enormous purchases there each year. M. sur M. almost rivalled London and Berlin in this branch of commerce. Father Madeleine’s profits were such, that at the end of the second year he was able to erect a large factory, in which there were two vast workrooms, one for the men, and the other for women. Any one who was hungry could present himself there, and was sure of finding employment and bread. Father Madeleine required of the men good will, of the women pure morals, and of all, probity. He had separated the work-rooms in order to separate the sexes, and so that the women and girls might remain discreet. On this point he was inflexible. It was the only thing in which he was in a manner intolerant. He was all the more firmly set on this severity, since M. sur M., being a garrison town, opportunities for corruption abounded. However, his coming had been a boon, and his presence was a godsend. Before Father Madeleine’s arrival, everything had languished in the country; now everything lived with a healthy life of toil. A strong circulation warmed everything and penetrated everywhere. Slack seasons and wretchedness were unknown. There was no pocket so obscure that it had not a little money in it; no dwelling so lowly that there was not some little joy within it.

Father Madeleine gave employment to every one. He exacted but one thing: Be an honest man. Be an honest woman.

As we have said, in the midst of this activity of which he was the cause and the pivot, Father Madeleine made his fortune; but a singular thing in a simple man of business, it did not seem as though that were his chief care. He appeared to be thinking much of others, and little of himself. In 1820 he was known to have a sum of six hundred and thirty thousand francs lodged in his name with Laffitte; but before reserving these six hundred and thirty thousand francs, he had spent more than a million for the town and its poor.

The hospital was badly endowed; he founded six beds there. M. sur M. is divided into the upper and the lower town. The lower town, in which he lived, had but one school, a miserable hovel, which was falling to ruin: he constructed two, one for girls, the other for boys. He allotted a salary from his own funds to the two instructors, a salary twice as large as their meagre official salary, and one day he said to some one who expressed surprise, “The two prime functionaries of the state are the nurse and the schoolmaster.” He created at his own expense an infant school, a thing then almost unknown in France, and a fund for aiding old and infirm workmen. As his factory was a centre, a new quarter, in which there were a good many indigent families, rose rapidly around him; he established there a free dispensary.

At first, when they watched his beginnings, the good souls said, “He’s a jolly fellow who means to get rich.” When they saw him enriching the country before he enriched himself, the good souls said, “He is an ambitious man.” This seemed all the more probable since the man was religious, and even practised his religion to a certain degree, a thing which was very favorably viewed at that epoch. He went regularly to low mass every Sunday. The local deputy, who nosed out all rivalry everywhere, soon began to grow uneasy over this religion. This deputy had been a member of the legislative body of the Empire, and shared the religious ideas of a father of the Oratoire, known under the name of Fouché, Duc d’Otrante, whose creature and friend he had been. He indulged in gentle raillery at God with closed doors. But when he beheld the wealthy manufacturer Madeleine going to low mass at seven o’clock, he perceived in him a possible candidate, and resolved to outdo him; he took a Jesuit confessor, and went to high mass and to vespers. Ambition was at that time, in the direct acceptation of the word, a race to the steeple. The poor profited by this terror as well as the good God, for the honorable deputy also founded two beds in the hospital, which made twelve.

Nevertheless, in 1819 a rumor one morning circulated through the town to the effect that, on the representations of the prefect and in consideration of the services rendered by him to the country, Father Madeleine was to be appointed by the King, mayor of M. sur M. Those who had pronounced this newcomer to be “an ambitious fellow,” seized with delight on this opportunity which all men desire, to exclaim, “There! what did we say!” All M. sur M. was in an uproar. The rumor was well founded. Several days later the appointment appeared in the <i>Moniteur</i>. On the following day Father Madeleine refused.

In this same year of 1819 the products of the new process invented by Madeleine figured in the industrial exhibition; when the jury made their report, the King appointed the inventor a chevalier of the Legion of Honor. A fresh excitement in the little town. Well, so it was the cross that he wanted! Father Madeleine refused the cross.

Decidedly this man was an enigma. The good souls got out of their predicament by saying, “After all, he is some sort of an adventurer.”

We have seen that the country owed much to him; the poor owed him everything; he was so useful and he was so gentle that people had been obliged to honor and respect him. His workmen, in particular, adored him, and he endured this adoration with a sort of melancholy gravity. When he was known to be rich, “people in society” bowed to him, and he received invitations in the town; he was called, in town, Monsieur Madeleine; his workmen and the children continued to call him Father Madeleine, and that was what was most adapted to make him smile. In proportion as he mounted, throve, invitations rained down upon him. “Society” claimed him for its own. The prim little drawing-rooms on M. sur M., which, of course, had at first been closed to the artisan, opened both leaves of their folding-doors to the millionnaire. They made a thousand advances to him. He refused.

This time the good gossips had no trouble. “He is an ignorant man, of no education. No one knows where he came from. He would not know how to behave in society. It has not been absolutely proved that he knows how to read.”

When they saw him making money, they said, “He is a man of business.” When they saw him scattering his money about, they said, “He is an ambitious man.” When he was seen to decline honors, they said, “He is an adventurer.” When they saw him repulse society, they said, “He is a brute.”

In 1820, five years after his arrival in M. sur M., the services which he had rendered to the district were so dazzling, the opinion of the whole country round about was so unanimous, that the King again appointed him mayor of the town. He again declined; but the prefect resisted his refusal, all the notabilities of the place came to implore him, the people in the street besought him; the urging was so vigorous that he ended by accepting. It was noticed that the thing which seemed chiefly to bring him to a decision was the almost irritated apostrophe addressed to him by an old woman of the people, who called to him from her threshold, in an angry way: <i>“A good mayor is a useful thing. Is he drawing back before the good which he can do?”</i>

This was the third phase of his ascent. Father Madeleine had become Monsieur Madeleine. Monsieur Madeleine became Monsieur le Maire.

[iamthedamndonutdrawcat]

muckla, i’m having berlin marauders thoughts: please tell me in which districts they live in your story!!!

i always thought of remus as someone who would live in “wedding”. maybe he jobs at some video store or shell’s gas station, is basically best friends with the barbershop owner next door even though hope cuts his hair so he’s never been, family time: grilling in humbolthain-park or mauerpark, maybe lyall owns a shisha bar?? that’d be crazy, i can see it so vividly tbh. i’m not sure if sirius is from “mitte”, some flat with huge glass window-walls yk, orrr he has to come from idk “zehlendorf” (?) everytime he wants to meet his friends. kind of right winged neighbourhood, takes his motorcycle into the city, lives in a hugee villa and hates it, hates that he’s so far away from everything, feels isolated and spends weeks at james’ or remus’ place. james is a “prenzlauerberg”-kid if i ever see one tbh. old building, stucco, wine bars, eats at a restaurant with his parents at least once a week before he moves out… you name it. peter could be from p-berg too, maybe they went to the same elementary school, or he’s from a more northern part of “pankow”.

but this is just what i come up with when i play with the district’s stereotypes lol

tell me about your au pleaseeee

xx<3

YESS YOU ARE SO CORRECT!!

in my berlin au i grouped them all in central/northern berlin (pankow area), just so they live relatively close together and it makes sense for them to go to school together.

so i definitely see peter and remus in Pankow! in my au remus dad' earns good money and they rent a pankow altbauwohnung. but remus lovesss wedding and mitte and i always out & about. Shisha bar lyall has me dead omg 😭😭😭 my lyall is NOT that cool im afraid

i imagine lily & severus are from wedding/gesundbrunnen, actually! they come from lower income families (compared to the marauders) and suffer under the gentrification of wedding lol, get pushed out of the neighbourhood by art students & zugezogene. but remus & lily always hang around in wedding

sirius' parents own a house on the outer parts of berlin and he hates it, has to bike everywhere. at some point he starts spending 4 out of 7 nights a week at james and when shit gets real he moves in with him. i can alsoo imagine james in an einfamilienhaus but i def see the prenzlauer berg vision! but i want him to have his own backyard & i need them to be able to have loud band practice somewhere, so in my au, he's maybe in wilhelmsruh (near pankow). omg i think i just fell in love w pberg james i love ur hcs

they def do not hang out in pankow though, always take the sbahn into pberg and mitte

i fear my berlin marauders are all losers, in the sense they pretend to be cool mitte kids but are actually all from very well off families :)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Joyce Vance at Civil Discourse:

It did not take long for Eva Marie Kogel, the opinion editor at Die Welt, Germany’s paper of record, to decide what the right thing for her to do was. Die Welt ran an editorial from Elon Musk praising Germany’s extremist far-right political party AfD and calling it the country’s future. Kogel announced her resignation. Musk’s piece in Die Welt came on the heels of a December 20 tweet where he posted, "Only the AfD can save Germany." AfD translates to “Alternative for Germany.” The party was started by “Euroskeptics,” opposed to the single European currency, in 2013, but has taken a hard right turn since then. It has been classified as a home for right-wing extremism but is gaining ground in parts of the country. Unlike our two-party system in the U.S., Germany has at least eight serious political parties. As the country heads toward parliamentary elections in February of 2025, AfD is polling in second place, which translates into about a 1/5 share of the vote. Musk, in Trumpian style, dismissed the view that AfD is a right-wing extremist organization as “clearly false.” But German courts, in May of this year, backed the German security service’s decision to investigate the party as an extremist group. Part of the concern centered on the activities of AfD’s leader in the eastern state of Thuringia, Björn Höcke. In 2017, he condemned Berlin’s Holocaust memorial as a “monument of shame,” and called for a rejection of the negative light the country views its Nazi past in, saying it should make a “180-degree turn” in how that era is assessed.

[...] No matter what Musk claims, the AfD is most definitely not Obama’s Democratic Party. That’s what he tweeted when Connecticut Senator Chris Murphy pointed out that Musk’s support of AfD was support of a party that had aligned itself with Nazi ideology. Musk tweeted that AfD policies were “identical to those of the US Democratic Party when Obama took office!” Just to make sure everyone understood what he was saying, Musk continued, “I don’t think there is a single difference.” In fact, of course, there are all kinds of differences, and the overlap between AfD and the Democratic Party’s platform when Obama took office is a virtual null set. But that obvious reality didn’t keep Musk from misrepresenting while calling Murphy a liar. It would feel tremendously high school if it wasn’t so serious. [...]

In Die Welt, Musk wrote, “The AfD is committed to a controlled immigration policy that prioritises integration and the preservation of German culture and security.” It’s an all too familiar refrain for Germans. “A nation must preserve its core values and cultural heritage in order to remain strong and united.”

Musk left his native South Africa at age 17 for a brief stay in Canada before entering the U.S. He became an American citizen in 2002 after spending a decade working in the country. He has business interests in Germany, which may explain his interest in who wins the next election there. He said those investments gave him the right to give voice to his opinion. Much of the impetus for AfD’s advance and for Musk’s support of it seems to center around Germany’s immigration policy. To understand the dynamic, you need to know that Germany has absorbed large numbers of refugees and other immigrants, and that the impact on the country has been predictably tremendous. In 1980, when I was in school in Germany, there was an acceptance of the need for “gastarbeiters,” foreign workers who filled gaps in Germany’s labor pool. Humanitarian crises in the last half century have fueled migration, and Germany has been at the forefront of helping people, as when then-Chancellor Angela Merkel announced an open door policy in 2015. AfD, and now Musk, are speaking to less tolerant Germans, using anti-immigrant animus in hopes of provoking a sharp right political turn.

[...] In his efforts to defend AfD against claims it is Nazi-like, Musk singled out party leader Alice Weidel, who has a same-sex partner originally from Sri Lanka. “Does that sound like Hitler to you?” Musk admonished people who would “condemn the AfD as extremist” against being “fooled by the label attached to it.” Musk’s willingness to dismiss the similarities and to advocate for AfD to take over Germany is deeply disturbing. The suggestion that having a gay leader somehow means the party can’t hold the extremist views it explicitly advocates for is simply wrong. And it is disingenuous. Musk fails the lesson of history: while the Nazis persecuted homosexuals, sending about 15,000 gay men to concentration camps, it was an open secret that Hitler’s right-hand man, the hyper-masculine Ernst Röhm, who headed the Brownshirts, was homosexual. One gay leader doesn’t mean anything here.

Die Welt’s incoming editor-in-chief, Jan Philipp Burgard, offered an opposing view that ran alongside Musk’s column. Burgard wrote that while Musk might be correct about the problems Germany faces, the argument that only AfD can fix things is “fatally wrong.” He pointed out that AfD supports rapprochement with Russia, including trade restoration and an end to sanctions, and that the party supports appeasing China and leaving the European Union. Burgard wrote that leaving the Union would be a “catastrophe.” (Jens Spahn, a member of the center-right CDU party and former health minister, tweeted that about 40% of Germany’s foreign trade is with EU partners and that without that relationship, the country’s economy would collapse.) Burgard also lambasted Höcke, the leader of AfD in Thuringia, for his repeated use of banned Nazi slogans and salutes.

Right-wing tech bro zealot Elon Musk wrote an editorial in center-right German newspaper Die Welt praising the country’s far-right fascist Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) party. Musk’s Die Welt editorial led to the resignation of Eva Marie Kogel from the paper.

See Also:

Mother Jones: In Die Welt Op-Ed, Elon Musk Doubles Down on His Support for Germany’s Ultra-Right Party

[pfffsfic]

Post-Fall Falls False Starts- Chapter 17: The Shame

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Spinning the last vestiges of wet beach sand from its tires, the van, its ground floor interior loaded with fries, donuts, ice cream sandwiches, and pizza, pulled onto a Westmore island just west of the increasingly-reinforced border between the settlements. The ground around the border itself had been done up in amateurish graffiti like a grade school play setpiece version of the Berlin Wall. Customer gossip had given the shopkeeper a detailed understanding of the ins and outs of post-apocalypse politics, all against his will, of course, and as a crowd of relieved townsfolk made their way towards him he wondered if perhaps he was squandering his identity as a mysterious and shady dark market type in favor of the perils of friendship and community.

People used to approach him with darting eyes, nervous faces, shaky hands. It was the same as when he'd sell mystical (or just shoddy) items to unsuspecting passerby. They'd ask if they were in the right place to buy food and then there would be visible relief when he confirmed that, yes, he was the guy they were looking for, though he sensed that many of them had naturally not been able to get over their (admittedly accurate) preconceptions about buying items from an anonymous van driver. With familiarity came more to-the-point greetings; people began to ask for food right off the bat, which he found a lot easier to keep up with than the more theatrical variants of his shtick, much to his surprise- he had become entirely accustomed to that mysticism, and shedding it was not the difficult task he had always assumed it would be. Things stayed terse and cordial... and then they moved past that.

"Look who's here!" came the dainty, enthusiastic, mostly-muffled voice of a paper girl in a gas mask and full-body hazmat suit.

"Hey, meals-on-wheels is back, boys!" said Elmore's former chief of police, who had recently (and unsuccessfully) been trying to rebrand himself as a gang leader by the name of Big Frosting. The gang itself had originally just been the former police department, but had grown to accommodate anybody who asked the boss nicely enough, especially those kicked over the border wall by Eastmore's Mayoral Royal Guard. The shopkeeper felt like slamming his head against the dashboard for knowing all of that.

A cacophony of supportive, joyful voices surrounded the van in turn. They greeted him, some concerned for his wellbeing, others conveying gratefulness. Some called him 'buddy' or 'man' or 'that guy'. Only two minutes after his entrance, a veritable mob of Westmoreans was clustered on the island he had chosen to park on, accompanied by a small volunteer task force of flying people put together to fetch anybody who fell off the edge. Westmore was lawless, yes, but it also had a definitive human warmth to it- and not just from the fact that every building was near-constantly on fire!

"Stand back, everybody, one at a time," the shopkeeper said, and the chaotic mixed-media mass of people immediately arranged itself into a messy single-file line. He had to make sure he hadn't activated some sort of mind control artifact by accident. To his horror, he determined that the horde was obeying him out of its own free will... but now he had other things to think about. Every new food order was bigger than the last. Every new food order served a greater number of people and carried a greater risk. Dumpster diving no longer sufficed, and he had taken to straight-up robbery- as long as he didn't revisit the universes where he was wanted, he'd be fine, he told himself.

Several short conversations later, he crossed into yet another unfamiliar frontier when a baggily-dressed woman carrying a stack of papers tall enough to hide her face approached.

"Excuse me, sir," she asked, "would you happen to have a copier in there? These are the residential records for my apartment building, and rumor has it those are going to be important soon because there's an invasion being planned, so I want to have spares just in case."

He did have one. It was on the second floor and made 100 copies no matter what number you entered for it to print. It wasn't cursed, just shot- he had gotten around the problem by only putting in a few sheets of printing paper at once, not that he'd needed to use the thing in years.

"No," he lied, and then thought better of it. "Actually, yes. But it's broken."

"That's a shame. Did you hear about Larry?"

The little demon on the shopkeeper's shoulder- who looked like the shopkeeper with little horns- told him to ask her to cut to the chase and buy some food, but the demon on the other side- wait, wasn't one of them supposed to be an angel?- told him to engage in idle gossip with her. He would have asked about the missing angel but did not want to confuse a potential customer by speaking out loud with his subconscious (assuming they were indeed his subconscious and not actual miniature spectres he had picked up somewhere along the line). Thinking about this choice was strenuous, and so he decided not to think for once, and-

"No, I don't think so. What happened with him?"

Drat. That was what happened when his vocal chords moved ahead of his mind. Now he was trapped in a conversational prison of his own device.

"I don't know the details, but he went to deliver a message to some guy's wife in Eastmore and they kidnapped him! And he was the only guy who had access to a copier! Back when all this started, he had his own faction, y'know, a little cult of personality, and they scooped up all the printers n' copiers in town that didn't fall into the abyss..."

The shopkeeper began to zone out. Either 30 seconds or 30 minutes passed.

"...rumor has it they're making him do accounting for the folks in Eastmore! Accounting! And they're making him run the mercantile, and drive the public transport around, and he's also apparently a butler for the mayor, and a member of the royal guard... point is, he was the one I would have gone to for making copies, but he's gone and his whole base is empty. Somebody looted all the copiers. We don't know who, but me and a couple friends have a mob justice thing planned if you wanna get in on that."

"I appreciate the offer, I suppose, but that's not exactly my style."

"Fair enough. You said your copier is broken? That's a shame. Did I already say that's a shame? I'd like to get some food. Here, I have some stuff- I need to put the paper down so I can get it out of my cone."

"Cone?"

She set the papers down and kept the stack steady with one hand. A powerful sense of disorientation came over the shopkeeper for just a moment as he stared into a familiar face... sort of. This woman was a different flavor of someone he knew. To be precise, mint. Within moments she had reached behind her back- into her cone?- quick as a whip, and produced a long-distance zoom lens for a camera, a pair of night vision binoculars, and a camouflage raincoat.

"I hope these will be enough," she said with an awkward little grin.

"More than enough. What would you like? We've got fries, donuts, pizza, and iii... don't think we have anything else."

"Nothing else, huh?"

"Yes," he choked, "not unless you count my other mysterious and eclectic wares."

"That's a shame. I am so sorry, I keep saying that."

"What were you hoping for?"

"Ice cream."

His eyes widened.

"Well, you're in luck, I just remembered we've got ice cream sandwiches in stock! But isn't that, uh..."

"Too light for a meal? Oh, I have some leftover protein shakes at home, so don't worry."

The shopkeeper, who was about to say 'cannibalism', only nodded and produced several cat-shaped ice creams, slightly melted and then refrozen, for her, accepting the reconnaissance items in turn. As the lady stepped away from the van he did something he had never done before and called out to her.

"What's your name?"

"Dolly," she replied, "Dolly Lato."

"Lato. Any relation to Sarah?"

"She's my niece! I'm surprised you know her. She's been holed up in her room since this whole thing started. We put food under the door."

His breath caught in his throat and the demons came back. "Lie to her," said one. "Yeah, what he said," said the other.

"Aren't you two supposed to disagree?" he asked the left demon. Dolly cocked her head and he quickly scrambled to play it off as the speech of a ventriloquist dummy he grabbed from the back. If she saw through his deception, she wasn't calling him out on it.

"That's a shame," he said in his best dignified voice, putting the dummy away.

"Not really," Dolly said with a little laugh, "She's done this before. One time she spent an entire summer vacation up there! We've come to accept it as a family, or at least I have."

"You should, um, definitely keep giving her privacy! She's a growing girl."

"Oh, that's absolutely the plan. I'm actually with the folks at the old radio tower- I only go to her house once a week. Her parents were on a trip out of town, you know? We're trying to get communications up, but is this, like, another dimension? Is it even possible? You seem like you might know."

"I-" he fumbled for words. "You know, I- sorry, this isn't my field of expertise."

"That's a-"

"-A shame, yes, I know. And I sincerely apologize. You know, let me make it up for you," he found himself saying, again without thinking. "The copier is a little out of sorts, but I think I can wrangle it. What say you to returning for the papers this time tomorrow?"

"All of the clocks in Elmore are either broken or out of sync with each other, so the best I can do is an estimate."

"Right, right, I forgot. I'll tell you what. Next time I restock, I'll come to the radio tower and wait there for you with the copies made," he said, subconscious mind yelling at him.

"You would do that for me?"

"I would do that for any of my customers, ma'am."

It had seemed like a good save, but seconds later a disconcerting feeling crept over him as he realized that everybody near the front of the line had heard him say it. He was good at running away, and yet, for the first time in, perhaps, decades, he found himself unable (and/or unwilling) to do so. The line was getting longer and longer with every passing minute. The highest number of customers he had ever dealt with in one day pre-apocalypse was four, and here he was, as famous as he'd ever been, showered with paise and love and appreciation when all he'd ever known was, "can I get a refund?," and "what do you mean, I can't get a refund?"

"I was going to buy some food," said the next customer in line, "but I also have this pickle jar that needs opening, and I was wondering if you had anything to get the lid off without breaking it..."

He steeled himself, put on his best salesman smile (not that anybody could see his mouth), and faced a future so bright it threatened to burn out his darkness-adapted eyes.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

[spacedog-askblog]

hi!! I’m Laika, I thought I’d make a blog here because a few of the people at my lab bench have Tumblr and it seems like fun!

If you want you can also call me Pavlov or Pav, I got the nickname because I’m Russian (well, Israeli-Russian, but I digress) and I’m obsessed with dogs and human/animal behavior lol

If you were wondering, yes, I graduated high school a bit early and decided that I wanted to study in West Berlin for some reason. I know what career I’m gunning for, but for now I’m just gonna say that it’s for me to know and you all to maybe find out if I feel like it :P

(on a… more serious note, I’ve seen a few blogs rattling around on here that apparently belong to CIA operatives, Russian terrorists, and the like. I think you all might know something that I need to.

I had an older sibling, Kelev, who disappeared several years ago while working for a… clandestine Russian organization which our father was part of. I was convinced they were dead until a few weeks ago when an overseer of mine told me he’d heard rumors about an operative with a similar physical description to Kel. I’m still not sure there’s anything there, but if any of you know anything, please, tell me. I just want closure, in either direction.)

yooo it’s hound (he/they/it, main at @yell-hound), back at it again with another CoD oc roleplay blog! I’ve got one or two more that I might make after this, but here’s Laika, who is totally not interning to be a Russian terrorist *wink wink*

in terms of physical description: Laika is 17 years old, as mentioned in the bio. He’s about 5’4 and has mid-tone skin and very curly, dark brown hair with a few strands already grey from stress. He has heterochromia, with one brown and one green eye, and wears round glasses; he has a kind of dorky style and owns more sweater-vests than any self-respecting teenager should.

I don’t think I can say much about his story without spoiling anything right now, but I’ll edit this and add details as they are uncovered during the roleplay ^^

[ellenchain]

Which are the preferred personal vehicles of 47, Diana, Lucas and Olivia?

I know that 47 has access to the hearse in Freelancer and while that is his brand of humor, I don't see him using it much.

I bet Lucas had a bike he drove recklessly after he escaped from the institute (misquoting B99's Hitchcock, he has nothing left to live for and drives like it). But after he got Olivia, he upgraded to a car. But I can't decide if it's funnier if he goes directly to a football mom suv or if he drives something like a muscle car and only when someone makes an offhand comment on its safety, he switches to the suv. (Hi Mr Grey. Olivia is settling in nicely. Is it true you drove her in an Impala? My husband has one as his project car and those safety ratings are terrible, I would never pick up my kids in one. .......Haha, of coirse I wouldn't either, my car's at the garage nd this is just a rental........fuck).

Diana probably has a landrover, reinforced like a small tank.

I bet Olivia drives a cute hybrid or electrical car.

47.....sleek Italian sports car? In black, of course.

oh boy how I LOVE that question! Honestly, I've been thinking about that quite a lot recently, I don't even know why, but it crossed my mind

And I like your headcanon, which I absolutely agree with! They probably all have several cars, they are rich, they can drive whatever they want. But there are one or two cars that I associate with them…

I think 47 loves cars, especially old cars. He certainly has a penchant for spending his money on classics. But an everyday car? Next to his many sports cars (e.g. Lamborghini Aventador)? Probably a rich (old) person one like a Porsche Panamera (in red because it's probably his favourite colour, I mean his tie is always red):

But I think he prefers to drive his classics. Unfortunately I don't know much about them, but he seems to love this black one in Freelancer a lot!

I can well imagine Diana in a sleek little sports car. She certainly has to get around a lot and quickly. Power woman style (but still reinforced like a small tank, as you say. She knows her enemies and how to protect herself from them). I think Diana has a lead foot on the highway (that's what we say in Germany when you drive way too fast) So why not an Audi R8 in blue? Her little show-off car

47 loves driving in it. But not so much when Diana is at the wheel (vroom vroom)

Ohhh Olivia, our cute little mouse, must have been driving around in a junk car for many years. But she values environmental protection, so she got herself a small, affordable electric car recently (after the old car died). Everyone thinks the car is ugly, but she loves her green box a lot, her Honda e:

(this car is so ugly, it's insane)

And Lucas. Oh, he probably sees cars purely as a commodity. And yes, he certainly made sure to drive a decent car in Olivia's school days so that no one would be suspicious, but I think he has several cars (despite being against capitalism). One for missions, where you get a lot in, get through every terrain, etc., probably a Dodge Ram 1500:

(I don't know much about American cars, but here in Europe these things are way too big for our streets and are more used by hunters or forestry workers because you can pack a lot onto the loading area)

He probably has a small SUV for everyday use (in the city), because the weapons have to go somewhere, right? A Dacia Duster is probably something for him - relatively cheap, yet robust, not a posh car, just an SUV:

(I'm starting to get the feeling that I am going to sell you a few cars)

BUT in the depths of his garage in Berlin he has his greatest treasure, his old Opel Corsa B in mint green:

This thing has seen a lot and is 30 years old. All doors except the driver's door can only be opened from the inside, the boot can no longer be locked properly and when you hit the gas pedal, the car only gets louder and not faster. Air conditioning: Roll down the windows manually. But he loves it with all his heart and enjoys driving around Berlin at weekends to get a Döner at his favourite Döner stand 💘

(47 only drives with Lucas in absolute emergencies in this car, which sometimes makes strange noises and the lack of insulation makes it feel like your arse is about to hit the road. 140 km/h (around 85 mph) with this car is like a death sentence, but Lucas has fun)

[weirdthoughtsposts]

One thing about school that always bothered me is history class, not because it’s history, but it was only talking about things that happened 500+ years ago, which I get, but also, my country has only became a country in the last 100 years, and already went through four different types of government in that little amount of time, one of them fucking up the country socially, economically, environmentally, and it’s relation with other nations, that government only fell 20 years ago, my generations parents remember that, they remember not being able to express their political viewpoints or they’ll get abducted and tortured, maybe even on live tv, they remember their men disappearing, they remember being attacked for their race and religion, they remember how shitty it was, like only two years ago did I learn that my mom’s uncle was kidnapped because he had the same name as someone who publicly opposed the government, although thankfully releasing him before he was tortured because they realised they had the wrong guy, but I was never taught that in high school, only in college, which seems so wrong, this is something that is still affecting the current environment here, why aren’t we talking about that? Why aren’t we talking about how fucked up the old regime was? Everyone agrees so damn it in the history books that everyone has to read. Me and everyone else in my age group doesn’t care that our country’s land was invaded 300 years ago, but we do care about why our home is the way it is, why is it so fucked? Why were we never taught that? Talk about the tortures, the violations of human rights, the mass graves that were found, the chemical attacks on areas that caused high levels of cancers and malformations in newborns, that specific races up north that were targeted and had multiple mass disappearance cases, that’s not talked about, sure the British fucked us up, but they fucked up everywhere else too, tell us how a few horrible people from our own home destroyed it, that’s what we care about.

And it didn’t end there, foreign forces that came to “help” us, only abducted men and stole from our people, my mom tells me how her and my grandma had to hide their gold jewellery or our “saviours” will take them, the way my country and people from my country are viewed in the world is really bad, I hate having to defend my people from bigots who only believe what the west tells them, tourists who visits say that the people are some of the most hospitable and kind that you could meet, which talking from someone who’s lived here since birth is absolutely true, I’m not gonna say there isn’t horrible people, but if you’re in public even if you’re a woman you’ll probably have a positive experience as well, my country is full of beautiful sites and a rich history that extends beyond what Europe and the west did to us, we have some of the oldest recorded history in the entire world, a lot of old scientists came from here.

Another thing the west ruined was that rich history, our national museum was ransacked after the old regime fell, so many of our artifacts were stolen, entire statues were stolen and put in the British museum, Louvre, the Met, even somewhere in Berlin, the few they didn’t take were ones that were excavated after or that were too big to move.

The most wild thing that they did was prevent us from learning about our own history, two years ago, me, my mom, my aunt and her son, all went to one of our national museums that showcased how life was in the past, then we went to another historical site nearby, this site is important because it’s one of the oldest schools ever known, at first we went around on the outside (technically inside cause the building is a giant rectangle without the middle, but like, not inside the building just inside the premises) cause that’s all that was open to the public, then a guard saw us and came to talk to us, we were talking and when he realised my aunt and her son were only visiting since they lived in another country, and that my aunt is an architect, he took us on a tour on the inside of the building that wasn’t open to the public, he explained why the building was built the way it is, what certain rooms and perches for, he even gave each of us a little booklet that wasn’t given to just anyone, then he took us to the last place of the tour, he pointed us to a room and told us that that’s were someone very important to our religion in our country was murdered, both my mom and my aunt then went into the room separately to pray before they came out crying, and the reason none of this is allowed to be public? The goddamn west. I’ll honestly never forget the kindness of this guard and I’ll forever be grateful to him, because if it wasn’t for that tour I probably won’t remember that visit in so much detail.

[jokertrap-ran]

[スタオケ] La Corda d'Oro Starlight Orchestra Main Story Chapter 2-1 Translation

*Starlight Orchestra Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Main story tag will be #Main Starlight

2 Years Ago, Mito.

???: Real lame, don’cha think?

???: He’s pathetic as a delinquent.

???: And equally pathetic when trying to play at being part of the Student Council.

???: …HAH?

???: We can’t seriously be tolerating this.

???: Probably.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Sakuya: What, no one’s here again?

Sakuya: We’ve successfully held our concert, and we’ve even pasted our posters up at the Music Education department, yet we don’t seem to be getting any new members.

Hayate: The people in music ed aren’t like those in general ed. We don’t exactly have the time to go parading around with such a suspiciously shady Orchestra.

Sakuya: If so… then what does that make you, exactly…?

Tomoharu: Hahaha. He does have a point.

⊳ Choice: It’s not anything to be joking about

Tomoharu: Pfft- Sorry. I do suppose it’s bad to joke about this, considering our situation.

⊳ Choice: You’re completely open to jibes

Hayate: Wha- Is that how you treat someone who lends you a helping hand!?

Tomoharu: Hmm… But if that’s how it is, then I don’t think we’ll have much luck recruiting members in Seiso Academy.

Sakuya: Yeah. Maybe we should try appealing in a different place—

Ginga: Oh, you’re all gathered?

Ginga: Ready to head out? Plum, natto and history-rich streets await us all!

Kazuma: Do you remember Hashizumi-sensei, from the Mito Symphony Orchestra, who was in attendance for our concert?

Kazuma: He has graciously offered to introduce us to a place where we can hold our future concerts if any.

Tomoharu: Eh? We’re going to hold our next concert in Mito?

Sakuya: Isn’t that kinda far?

Ginga: Cease your chatter! Yeesh, you lot. For people who are aiming to go global, your worldview really is tiny!

Ginga: Isn’t Ibaraki just a moment away if you go by the Joban Expressway?

Hayate: Mito, huh? It would be great if we could get Osakabe-san to join us…

Hayate: He was the Trumpets’ leader from last year’s Starlight Orchestra.

Hayate: He won 4th place in the Brass Section of the Jr. Classical Music Concours just as he’d entered his first year in high school.

Hayate: We were in different sections, so I didn’t really get to interact much with him. But, he’s reliable and someone worthy of respect.

Ginga: Heh? He sounds like an amazing person. Alrighty then, let’s try our damndest to induct him into our ranks.

Hayate: If he’s willing to join the Starlight Orchestra again, then…

Hayate: Maybe there’s some helping this misfit of a Starlight Orchestra, as well as how messy this room is.

Ginga: Huh?

Hayate: I’m talking about this sloppy mess in here— Empty cup noodle cups, pet bottles, and that barely standing mountain of papers just piled together in a heap.

Hayate: He’s also the Student Council President of his school, and very neat about things. I’m sure he’ll put the right to things here.

Hayate: I’m seeing a glimmer of hope here, (L/n).

Ginga: I, on the other hand, am absolutely horrified…

Sakuya: Well, it works out for you too, doesn’t it?

Tomoharu: If we have brass instrument players joining us, that’ll also mean that we’ll be able to play a wider variety of songs.

⊳ Choice: Let’s head out to Mito then! 

Tomoharu: Yes! It’s going to be fun, don’t you think, senpai?

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Nono: You’re going to Mito? That’s brilliant~!

Nono: That place is a noted place of connection of a really amazing Orchestra Conductor from Berlin ♪

Nono: I look forward to seeing the superb new members who’ll be joining us, Concertmistress!

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬Main Starlight♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-14) Next Part: (Chapter 2-2)

[carletes]

I can’t stop thinking about disco sewis au with background carlando 😖😖😖 (tw: mention of drugs)

Lewis is in his early thirties, living in a two bedroom flat in London. He’s trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life; he’s been making things work as a tattoo artist, but his real passion is and has always been music. He’s inspired by disco, by rock, by everything, and it’s completely overwhelming. He’s a perfectionist. He doesn’t do anything by halves. So, he leaves his dream alone. He plays with music in his spare time but all it is is a hobby. That’s what he tells himself.

His roommate is a close family friend, a younger man and art student named Lando. He jokes that Lando keeps him young and the rent low, but really he likes having someone around who has all the optimism of youth and none of the fears of the future. Lando has spent his summer talking about a guy he met at school. Eventually, Lando asks Lewis if it’s okay if this guy comes to visit them. Lewis says yes, of course. He’s utterly surprised when upon seeing each other, Lando and this young now-lawyer, Carlos, freeze, gazing at each other for a long time, before falling into a passionate embrace, holding each other and kissing, whispering their love. Lewis didn’t expect this of his friend, and over the course of the night he finds out that Lando and Carlos are deeply in love and hope to marry.

Lewis is delighted for his friend and feels oddly lonely at the same time. His sense of being in stasis only deepens: here is his youngest friend, already outpacing him in life. But he resolves to be happy.

Carlos visits frequently, and one particularly weed-filled night, Lewis confides everything in them. He doesn’t remember how much of anything he tells them the day after, he just feels embarrassed that he has at all. To their credit, neither Carlos nor Lando bring it up. Then, Carlos swings by and asks Lewis if he can bring his roommate over next time he visits. He says it’s kind of a similar arrangement to Lando and Lewis: an older family friend, kind of a mentor, who was nice enough to let Carlos stay with him through law school and now through the start of his career. Lewis shrugs and says sure, thinking nothing of it.

That night, Carlos knocks on the door. When Lando opens it, Lewis is briefly stricken: he recognizes that voice, that accent. But no, surely not—

Then he sees the man’s face, he hears the man’s name. And memories of Berlin rush back.

Late nights spent at nameless clubs. Drunken hazes. Dancing all night to The Bee Gees, going to gigs and listening to lyrics he doesn’t understand. Nothing but a backpack and his guitar, and the reams and reams of music written. Co-written. Promises made. And then a panicked return home.

Through it all: a brilliant smile, mischievous eyes, hands that held him and caressed him, a voice that made him feel as though he could do and be anything.

Lewis’ throat closes up. He is afraid. He is hopeful. He is–

Then the man approaches him with that same smile, though softer now, with more lines on his face, and he says, “Lewis, right? It’s nice to meet you. My name is Sebastian.”

And Lewis does not know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.

[thepixelpenguin]

Mario Kart Tour: Oxford Foray

Told you this page would be random.

I think an underappreciated aspect of Tour's city track design is their atmosphere. They don't just tour recognisable landmarks in a believable layout, they really capture the city's character! From New York's dazzling nightlife to LA's casual appeal, Singapore's extreme extravagance to Sydney's energetic simplicity, Vancouver's splashes of colour and natural beauty, Amsterdam's effortless harmony with canals and nature alike, Rome's ancient architecture with comfortable life on top, Madrid's modern bustle with impressive history underneath, Athens' proud (and hilly) past and Bangkok's humble yet hopeful future, and Berlin's seamless integration of all eras: they're all accurate as far as I can surmise. There's only a few that I think don't quite hit the mark. Paris’ modernity is smothered in quaint romanticism, though what else could one expect, Tokyo has little of its maximalist flair, but perhaps the graphics limited that, and then… London.

I'm certainly biased, it being my home country and the only city on the list I've seen for more than a day, but it seems to only hit the beats of its most recognisable icons: laudably no doubt, but the city isn't just its imposing imperial riches! What strikes me about London is its fast-paced mishmash of cultures that fill in all the gaps between the great British statements like water running over cobbled streets: history and novelty around every corner! The course gives me the impression of the former but not the latter. 

I'm not sure I'm qualified to rectify this, but I can make up for it with another English icon! My hometown has its history, but not enough to base a tour around. My current homestead, however, is undeniably culturally significant, and it's not just that. I hope I did well to convey the place as storied and not just interesting, but inviting, a genuinely fun place to stay for a day or a year. That's how I feel about it at least.

HERE WE GO

1: Our foray begins on the left side of the picturesque High Street, between Queen’s College and the Examination Schools. It’s a noticeably wide street (and a noticeably wide gothic limestone starting gate with a waving chequered flag to boot), with a cobbled dividing strip, and plenty of buses to crowd the way! As the road narrows and items are collected, there’s a right turn into the Covered Market, which has three narrow lanes to choose from, and a few opportunities to weave between.

Out of the market is a sharp right turn down a walled alley, with the lovely Exeter and Lincoln colleges adjoining. This is before a huge 180 turn with another item set around the Radcliffe Camera, an impressive dome in the middle of a big communal square. Having lost its fence, at that, so if you’ve got a mushroom and are prepared to miss out on items, the shortcut is worth it! Racers continue north past All Souls College and the Bodleian Library to reach the roundabout connecting Broad Street and Holywell Street. Remember the Bridge of Sighs to your right.

The route continues up Parks Road, a leafy avenue with plenty of boost panels, before splitting around Keble College! If you continue straight forwards, you get an easy wide road, and a view of both the Natural History Museum and University Parks. However, if you take that subtle sharp left, you can find a potentially faster cut-through that’s a bit tougher to navigate. I didn’t even have to design this one!

Both options reconvene at the apex of St Giles, where a patch of off-road leads to an optional ramp, and the road broadens to quite a degree, leaving room for a ridiculous row of coins. The abbreviated straight ends at the Martyr’s Memorial, which now has just a humble patch of grass behind it instead of an entire church, just to improve the flow.

A quick left turn introduces Broad Street, which, you guessed it, also widens out, somewhat narrowed by some of the city’s numerous bike racks. However, this one has its right half covered in short wooden ramps, for the first half! These can be useful for some trick boosts, but more coins lay the other way. Items are given at the halfway point. Before reaching the roundabout at the end, there is a conspicuous diversion past the Sheldonian Theatre (which has no fence, to make way for the race) and through the library complex towards the Bridge of Sighs. Racers may either run straight through the gate (tricking as they go) or take the grated glider ramps to make it over the bridge!

The return to the start line via New College Lane and Queen’s Lane is a winding, narrow path, walled in by the historic namesake colleges. You’ll have to forgive them for not having karts running through their grounds. Nonetheless, navigate those chicanes and a final left turn (with a sneaky cut over the pavement) brings you back to the line. It’s a long one alright!

2: As in track 1, we begin on the High Street, though this time we forge ahead past the Covered Market, the traffic turning off before the Carfax Tower, until the course swerves into the Westgate Centre. In a strikingly similar manner to Coconut Mall, the route has two walkways either side of an optional drop with escalators, before a right turn into a more open area where the drop and escalators are forced. I swear it’s coincidental! The decor is distinct at least. 

After grabbing items wherever you may encounter them, exit the mall via another sharp right turn onto open road. Make use of its breadth before you have to navigate the Castle & Prison, which is exactly what it sounds like! A couple of narrow turns later, there is a brief anti-grav uphill to wind up the Castle Mound to a big glider ramp, from which one must avoid the dreaming spires of Nuffield College and St Peter’s College some random church, or grab some of the revolving coins if you’re daring…

Though you could just drop onto the street, the Ashmolean’s grand ionic forum is a perfect landing place, where one can drift around to jump down the stairs and find themselves heading onto Broad Street once again! This time, the route heads past the theatre and turns at the roundabout, so the other lot of ramps, this time occupying the left half, can be made useful. The lap ends the way you’d expect after turning at the roundabout.

3: Unlike both 2 and 1, we start our race on Cornmarket Street (under a long hanging sign of oil paints on wood, the closest I can get to putting a pub in a kids’ game), a place I would be remiss not to include, along with its clutter of bicycle parking. If there’s one thing you notice about transit in Oxford, it’s how many bicycles are in the way. However, if you can dodge around the racks, you may find some coins or even dash panels…

Anyway, Cornmarket is a simple, if not uninterrupted, straight, which racers take south, spying once again the Carfax Tower and then the Town Hall and impressive Christ Church. You know, the big one. The road continues down St Aldates with all its traffic, but soon turns left through the open gates of Christ Church Meadow! The next half of the lap takes place in greener pastures, first down a puddle-ridden southward straightaway with sparse items and Moo Moos spectating, then when the course meets the Thames and Folly Bridge, a more wide open snaking route with grass shortcuts abound! The riverside path remains intact, but still off-road.

After doing this eastward a while, the course drastically narrows as it winds its way northward strictly following the meanders of the Cherwell. Of course, there’s nothing stopping you from driving through the river itself, but the bumpy terrain and drag force balances any advantage of breadth. A wiser path is found by jumping onto a series of punts, which can be quite hard to aim for, but offer a trick each time. They’re not hard to come by in Oxford. This continues all the way to the Botanic Gardens, which can themselves be snuck through via a gap in the fence. Those wishing for a complete row of item boxes and, of course, the exquisite surroundings, can find themselves jumping over the pond in the south section before reaching the north, where a quick right around the fountain directs you between the greenhouses to reenter the river. The river, of course, does continue past the gardens, but who would want to miss out? Especially when that part of the bed gets so muddy…

When you’ve finally made it to Magdalen Bridge, you need only drive under it to find a wide slope up to the roundabout, which is drifted around before crossing the bridge to witness the lovely Magdalen Tower! We then cross the line - the line from the other versions, that is - before sneaking past the University Church to reach the road past the Radcliffe Camera. The Bodleian Library can now be dashed through for a guaranteed double box, if you can find the narrow entry! The rest is obvious: take Broad Street one last time, westward now, to reach the top of Cornmarket Street.

So how might these all fit together if they were given the Mario Kart 8 Deluxe treatment? Honestly, probably better than the individual courses! Lap 1 takes version 1, of course, but stops short of Broad Street, instead cutting through via Cornmarket to start lap 2, with version 2 taking over by way of a right turn at Carfax Tower. Lap 3 simply commences from the High Street and doesn’t bother with the whole Broad Street diversion: we’ve already seen it!

Oh right, I also made the music for it! You'll have to forgive Musescore's playback engine, they try, bless 'em.

It too had to be truly emblematic of Oxford, and besides the obvious historical, academic, fancy vibes, no sound reminds me more of this place than the echoing of church bells! And there are choirs in every college. So I ended up with a rather baroque piece, arpeggiated bass, change ringing, suspensions and all, which certainly suits the locale, but does NOT typically suit Mario Kart's encouraging energy. Heck, they almost always rely on synths, too, let alone their melody-first composition style that is entirely unfamiliar. How did I fit the mould? By focusing on intensity of Biblical proportions! If there's one thing choirs and organs can do, it's a ramp-up of DRAMA. With enough build and release, it's got the natural energy. Slap on a drum-beat and it ends up shockingly fitting. With all the zero inspiration I had to go on, I seriously surprised myself with this one. Judge for yourself!

Oxford is quite a convenient place to work with: most cities are so massive that you have to smush all the landmarks together and the layout doesn’t quite come naturally. But this place is already so compact, and packed with unmistakable buildings! Also, I know they’re trying to be flattering, but can you believe London saw not a drop of rain?! I think Oxford should be partially cloudy by contrast, providing a gentle rainfall, but with enough streams of sunlight to pierce the depressing grey… it could make the meadow look positively angelic!

Perhaps one day I’ll try my hand at Hong Kong Hustle to address Tokyo’s plight… or Shanghai Streets, I can’t decide! And then there’s one that is so easy to make that it’d be kind of funny just to do for the sake of it. We’ll see.

If anyone wants to take the names Rio de Janeiro Jaunt, New Delhi Journey, Moscow Scoot, Stockholm Swing, Cairo Cruise, Geneva Chase, or best of all, Brussels Bout, be my guest. And if any modders feel like 3d-modelling most of Oxford for me, I would love to give it a look :D

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Named After Locations Masterlist

A Little Bit Of California, With A Little Bit Of London Sky (ao3) - twelfthnlght

Summary: (alternatively, dan and phil go outside.)

on an impulsive road trip dan plans right before their high school graduation, the truth will out.

Australian Adventures (ao3) - shippercentral

Summary: An Instagram story of Dan and Phil’s island adventures in Australia seem normal, but what really went on behind the scenes? Why did Dan really cover up Phil’s face in that one story? This semi- normal get away seems to be leaving a lot of questions.

berlin (ao3) - waveydnp and dizzy

Summary: dan and phil meet at a hostel in berlin.

Dan and Phil's Stroll Through Japan (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: When Duncan and Mimei have to cancel on their plans with Dan and Phil for the day, they take it upon themselves to stroll around Japan by themselves.

Disney World Misadventures - auroraphilealis

Summary: Dan, a law student with parents so strict they make him come home every weekend, gets ditched by his friends at Disney World in Florida during his short summer holiday. Alone, he runs into an incredibly attractive YouTuber who nerds out about anime with him, and even buys him a tiny Ciel figurine. Dan, meanwhile, quickly finds himself falling in love, especially after they get it on in a Disney World bathroom.

Glimpses of Portugal (ao3) - adorkablephil (kimberly_a)

Summary: Dan and Phil went to Portugal together May 27-June 3, 2010, but very little is known about the trip. This is a random collection of ficlets that take place during that trip, occasionally incorporating some of the few actual tweets and photos from the trip. They aren't in any particular order, but they all take place during that holiday in Portugal.

how to survive a flight to australia - softiejace

summary:inspired by “will dan and phil survive australia?” in which dan suffers through horror in the form of planes, noise, and other people. but hey, at least he’s in it with phil.

Iowa 80 - realityisnoplacetolive

Summary: In which Phil is stranded in Iowa.

It's Good To Be In Manchester (ao3) - danrifics

Summary: Dan and Phil are in Manchester visiting their friends Ian and Lauren Ian and Lauren’s daughter draws a cute photo of Phil.

(Based on a Phil insta story, link in notes)

Manchester (ao3) - ahappyphil

Summary: 13 March 2010 @amazingphil- “Looking at apartments in Manchester:]”

Memories in Melbourne (ao3) - hilariousandunappreciated

Summary: moments from Dan and Phil's instagram stories in Melbourne.

Moscow to Berlin (ao3) - outphan

Summary: What happens when they get horny on the plane?

New Zealand During Six AM (ao3) - watergator

Summary: Dan and Phil wake up early during their first day in new zealand to get some laundry done.

Phoenix Rising (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan challenges Phil to a period of forced abstinence while on tour in America. The game becomes unbearable, and each man has moments of weakness. In the end, it is all about passion and urgency.

That's What You Get (For Waking Up in Vegas) (ao3) - notanannoyingfangirl

Summary: While revisiting Vegas for Dan’s twenty fourth birthday, Dan and Phil both have a bit too much to drink…. and apparently wake up married. Dan’s not entirely sure that he wants a divorce, now he just has to convince Phil.

Under Vegas Lights (ao3) - LunarLoverrr (orphan_account)

Summary: It's the last night of their Nevada road trip, and Phil has the perfect date planned for his boyfriend. However, he hopes this date will be a stand out among the rest.

Vegas (ao3) - justhavesex

Summary: When Dan turns 30 and Dan makes a video titled 'Vegas', a short home made video with him and Phil at the alter in Vegas. Not when they were younger, but the current them. He wanted to live out everybody's fantasies about them getting married in Vegas, just a tiny bit.

Vegas Lights - softiejace

Summary:2012 is not going as planned, but phil still takes dan to vegas for his 21st birthday, the city that is said to hold adventure, risk and fortune – and maybe a flimsy hope for conciliation?

Venice: City Of Dreams (ao3) - expiredlove

Summary: Dan and Phil are on holiday in Venice, Italy, with two of their best friends. They discover the city with their unprofessional tour guide Phil and end their day with a romantic stop at the Accademia Bridge, which is known for its so called love locks.

We’re Going To Disney World! - dxnhowell

Summary: A future fic where Dan and Phil are no longer youtubers. They’re married and have two kids named Kaden and Josh. Josh decides that he wants to go to Disney World for his birthday this year.