#lafayette towers

[detroitlib]

View of the Lafayette Towers East and West apartment buildings, designed by Mies van der Rohe as part of the Lafayette Park development in Detroit. Stamped on back: "City of Detroit photo. Dept. Report & Information. 1008 City County Bldg., Detroit, Michigan 48226." Handwritten on back: "Lafayette Towers (East & West)."

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

[weherzit]

[annina-dietzenbacher-photography]

Annina Dietzenbacher - October 2023

[hsmagazine254]

The Marvels of Paris: A Journey through the City of Lights

Unveiling the Charms of Paris: A Journey through the City of Lights Welcome to the magical city of Paris, where history, art, romance, and culinary delights merge to create an enchanting atmosphere. From iconic landmarks to hidden gems, Paris offers a treasure trove of experiences for every traveller. Let’s embark on a virtual tour and discover the top things to do in the City of…

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 2 -  La Valse de Paris

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

AuthorsNote: Chapter 2 of new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This details our reader settling into Paris and the outbreak of war. Benedict turns up next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Your first few weeks in Paris are a delightful blur. 

Spending late summer exploring the city - with Solène as your occasional guide and Eloise when she is not at work. You soak up every moment, from the windswept magnificence of standing atop the Eiffel Tower, your words being stolen by the wind, to the monastic silence of the Louvre on a quiet Monday morning. And everything in between - from Notre Dame's atmospheric incense-laden gothic darkness to the airy, resplendent glass dome of Galeries Lafayette that glitters like a prismatic jewel even on cloudy days. 

But perhaps your favourites are the little slices of city life: sitting watching the world go by at a corner cafe, the crunch and warm, pillowy softness of the first bite of freshly baked baguette as you wander back from the boulangerie, the lingering fragrance of the rose garden at the Château de Bagatelle in Bois de Boulogne... It's all pieces of a puzzle that fill your heart in ways that make your life before now seem drab, almost in black and white, like a photograph.

You have written to Stanley once since you arrived, effusive in your praise, a homily to your new home, however temporary. While proclaiming his happiness for you, his response tempered, a touch dismissive of your wonderment. I can scarcely believe any city could truly live up to the praise you so readily heap upon Paris, my love, he wrote back. That was a week ago, and your urge to reply has been muted. 

It's during an idle lunchtime by the Seine, eating a sandwich as you dangle your feet over the river wall, that you genuinely feel a local. An elderly French couple, likely visiting from the provinces, approaches you and asks you for directions to the Musée de l'Homme. Part of you aglow they think you sophisticated enough to look Parisian, and French. And you are able to help them, giving them the information in French, not fluent but sufficient that they are surprised when you confess “je suis américaine”.

In your third week, you secure the art gallery job Eloise had seen posted. An opportunity to meet many new people, primarily British and American, who share your love of art of all persuasions. You spend many a happy hour answering questions and building your knowledge of art, not just in your gallery but across the city. Part of you is wistful to study the subject in even greater depth than the books you borrow in copious quantities from the library where Eloise works.

You grow so close to Eloise so quickly that it’s as if you have known her your whole life. A sense of kinship, a near familial bond. You know, on some instinctive level, she will always be a part of your life somehow. Your evenings are often spent in lounge bars together—venues awash with art deco splendour as you listen to jazz through a cigarette haze and flirt aimlessly with a carousel of handsome men. Life seems so full of potential, a hum in your very being.

“What do you think the purpose of life is, y/n?” Eloise sighs as she flops onto your bed after returning from one such decadent night out.

“Aaaand we are done with the brandy…” you declare, taking the bottle of Martell cognac from her grip and placing it pointedly on the dresser, your high-handed point only mildly undermined by your own unsteady gait.

You collapse down next to her, the intricate ceiling rose around your light fixture swirling slightly before your very eyes.

“Love?” you hazard in answer to her question.

“Boo! Cliché!” she jeers, elbowing you good-naturedly.

“I don’t just mean romantic love,” you protest, “the love of family… friends…”

“Ah, yes, family. Endlessly large family. Don’t suppose you want an extra sibling or two, do you? I could be persuaded to let a couple go,” she squints comically.

“Depends… can I have the artist?” you jest.

“You have to stop staring at that painting; it's getting weird,” she opines with her typical bluntness, “and no, you can’t. You know he’s my favourite,” she pouts.

“I think he’s my favourite too,” you opine over a stifled yawn, any embarrassment about being called out for your unbridled admiration overridden by the sleepy state your comfortable bed lulls you into.

“If you end up being attracted to my brother, I will have to disown you, you know,” she pats your hand drowsily.

“Hmm, good thing he’s so far away…” you trail off with a lazy giggle, eyes drooping heavily.

It’s the last words you exchange before you both fall asleep on your bed.

–

Perhaps, as with all things that are too good, the idyll is temporary. It's the news you wake up to that following morning, September 4th, which throws everything into uncertainty. Solène knocks on your door early with an uncharacteristically sombre expression, wordlessly handing you the morning paper and flicking on the wireless on your mantelpiece, the fine lines on her face deeper etched, furrowed with worry.

‘La Guerre!’ the headline screams from the newspaper. And the voice on the airwaves, your ear more attuned to the language now, details how Britain and France have jointly declared war against Germany for their invasion of Poland a few days prior.

At the sound of the radio, Eloise emerges from your room, blinking and hair asunder, a little delicate from your previous night's revelry. You sip coffee at a loss for what to think or do. It’s an odd cognitive dissonance when life at once seems identical but also changed by an invisible shape - an undercurrent of fear, of the unknown, a punch to the pit of your stomach that you don’t know how to acknowledge - even as you go through the motions of your daily routine and head to work.

By the evening you are more phlegmatic about the situation. Your spirit dampened, yes, but not crushed. You feel an immense sense of privilege that conflict is not yet at your doorstep, but equally knowing being in the capital city of a nation that just declared war against a neighbouring country is not exactly safe.

You and Eloise splash out on dinner at an upscale brassiere that night, one you have both passed and commented you’d love to dine in some time. Both of you seized by the unspoken “what if”, the previous reluctance to treat yourselves entirely absent.

Talk on all the tables around you as you dine - on heavenly butter-soft steak - is about the war. What it could mean for Paris, fear of another major European conflict so soon after the last, the economic concerns - the bite of the early 30s depression just relinquishing its hostile grip on the somewhat bruised denizens.

Afterwards, you wander the cobbled streets back to your apartment, arms looped, bellies full, occasionally staring up at the starry night sky in mostly contemplative, sober silence. It’s a beautiful evening, but something in the warm breeze feels melancholic.

When you open the door to your building, Solène is waiting, rocking on her heels.

“Eloise, a telegram has come for you!” she announces, shoving a piece of paper into her hand. “And a telephone call from England earlier,” she adds, gesturing to the black rotary phone outside her place—the only one in the building.

Eloise gives you a brief glance and then opens the message. You watch her eyes ping across the text before her shoulders slump.

“My mother,” she sighs in explanation, “it appears she is summoning me back home.”

“What?!” the selfish reflex of not wanting to be left alone is the first thing flaring in you.

“It’s not fair!” she whines in a flash of child-like defiance before continuing in a more subdued tone. “She is sending my brother to come get me. She doesn’t specify which, but seeing as Anthony is a Lieutenant General in the Army and has likely been called to Churchill’s side, I'm presuming Benedict,” Eloise surmises. 

Your thoughts instantly fly to that painting hanging in your apartment upstairs. A strange flutter under your ribs at the idea you could be about to meet its creator. Quickly followed by a wash of guilt that you could even focus on such a frivolous thing.

“What will I do without you?’’ You fret aloud, grasping her arm tighter.

“There was a call for you too, y/n,” Solène pipes up. “Your father wants you to exchange your return ticket for a sailing home as soon as possible,” she relays.

“But.. I just got here!” your lament as defiant as Eloise’s. A frustrating sense you are losing a fleeting opportunity you already hold so precious - like a new toy being ripped from the meaty fist of a truculent toddler.

“Mes amis, what can I say?” that trademark Gallic shrug seizing Solène’s shoulders. “While Paris is safe for now, we do not know how much longer that will hold true… it is likely best you return home. Perhaps this will be over in weeks, and you can return?”

You know your parents have paid your rent upfront for a whole year, likely similar for Eloise, your landlady not impacted financially by your leaving, merely a wish for you to enjoy your Parisian adventures.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and wander in, both of you sigh; the illumination from the Eiffel Tower that refracts upon your window pane just adds to your melancholia, a sight that before had never failed to warm your heart.

“When will your brother get here?” your inflection dull.

“Tomorrow, most likely. It only takes a couple of hours to cross the Channel, and as you know, the train ride from the coast is just a few more. I expect he’ll be waiting for me right here when I return from work,” her tone is just as flat as yours.

You want to ask if she will pack tonight, but you stop yourself, seeing the flame that usually burns so bright behind her blue eyes dimmed. Wordlessly, you draw closer and pull her into a firm hug.

“I will miss you like a sister,” she whispers into your hair, returning the embrace just as fiercely, “maybe moreso.”

You nod and band your arms tighter briefly before letting go, bone-deep exhaustion overtaking anything else you see in her mirrored stance.

The last thing that captures your eye as Eloise turns to her room is that painting of her childhood home and, strangely, how it feels closer now than ever before.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[duchess-of-lara]

What do you recommend doing in Paris? I’m going for a week in March and am working on my itinerary!

This is so embarrassing late, but I hope you can forgive me and that people may find it useful!

First of all, my biggest recommendation: research, research and research!! And not just the weather or the hotel, find everything that Paris has to offer and think carefully about what you will enjoy the most and how to do it. For example, if I had known that Notre Dame was so close to being reopened we would have gone next summer.

Now we can start with my biggest disappointment:

❌ THE LOUVRE!!! You hear it constantly but it really is humongous, AND very difficult to navigate! If you can splurge on it get a guide or do it with a tour. You might think that you want to explore it on your own, but trust me, you don't! I almost had a panic attack trying to find the exit. I genuinely did not enjoy it. I really would recommend getting a guide or making an extremely detailed plan on how you want to visit it and what you want to see. Trust me you just can't do it all. I did love seeing the Niké of Samothrace and for some reason I was extremely enchanted by Marie Antoinette's picnic set. I can't really think of anything else that I enjoyed besides the jewellery gallery. I have said this to my friends and family, if they are visiting Paris and they don't have much time or aren't super interested in seeing something there... They have my permission to skip it.

On with what I enjoyed (everything else!!):

💜 Saint Chapelle 😍😍😍 Absolute must, it's really a 30min max visit in my opinion and it could be cheaper but it's absolutely worth it!!! Gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous, don't skip it.

🔵 Boat ride on the Seine: it's ok, but not a must imo, it fills time but I feel like you're just going to see the same sights walking around all week (If you want to do something like that a dinner on a boat might be cooler).

💛 The lights on the Effiel Tower ✨✨✨ So worth it, so enchanting, just... Hearing that collective "OHH". We had to wait almost 40 minutes until 11PM because we had missed it and it was so so worth it. I'd recommend getting there a bit sooner and choose from where you want to see it. We were at the Champs the Mars, super close to the tower and I really liked it there.

🤍 Montmartre: very cute but I would explore it on my own, we were on a free walking tour and the guide was SO depressing, she kept going on and on about the miserable lifes of the artists of the Boheme (which I get it's a big part of Montmartre, but she seriously only talked about death for two hours and I don't feel like I saw any cute streets!!) Sacre Coeur is beautiful and free so don't miss it, the queue is long but quick.

🤎 OPERA GARNIER 😍😍😍 It's another thing that could be cheaper but SO WORTH IT, my mother was super impressed by it, we kept saying "oooohhh" all the time. There will be loads of people in your pictures though, so be patient to get a good one or go super early.

🟢 Galeries Lafayette: beautiful place to just take a break and look at the Chaumet jewellery you're not going to buy. The rooftop is nice and the only place with a free panoramic view of Paris but it's far from the best one (It's the only one we did because my mother has brutal vertigo so I can't recommend others sorry). Staff was rude though!!

💙 Latin Quartet: gorgeous, we did it with the best guide I've ever had so I found it very interesting, I actually thought the Shakespeare and Company was a tourist trap and I ended up almost crying after he told us the story about it (the original one and the current). The Luxembourg Gardens are GORGEOUS, and I'm not someone who really likes parks or gardens but there's something about it! While you're at the Latin Quarter PLEASE!!! Don't skip on Saint Suplice!! It looks very rough on the outside and it's not perfect on the inside either but it was such a delightful surprise! I still think about the virgin Mary on the altar, it looked like she was in a cloud, I had never seen anything like it. We didn't see Saint Germain des Prés because I didn't know it existed, but they are very close, so do both!! (Both are free by the way!!)

⚪ Le Arc the Triumph: I mean it's there? It's big? It's a beautiful end to le champs-élysées? Nothing more to add 😅 Oh, don't be an idiot like me looking for the way to cross, there's a very obvious subterranean access that I completely mistook for the metro. If my mother didn't have vertigo it's probably the place I would have liked to go up and take pictures, but I thought it was quite expensive.

🩶 Museum d'orsay: I thought it was very good, it's definitely a beautiful place and nicely organised museum, nothing like the Louvre, it was a breeze doing it..... But you have to like impressionism and post impressionism. I don't love it, though it was nice seeing lots of paintings you've seen in history classes, and there were some Pre-Raphaelites that I really like and didn't know were there. There's also lots of Rodin, and if you don't like him like me you won't feel guilty by skipping his museum. Basically, a nice two/two and a half long hours museum, not super expensive, but check to see if you would even enjoy it.

💖💖💖 VERSAILLES 💖💖💖 Oh boy did I LOVE IT!!!! Such a cliché but it really is so beautiful!!! We changed plans once we were in Paris from guided gardens and audio guide interiors to fully guided after the disaster with the Louvre and I'm so glad we did. I would have loved to stay a full day there but we didn't have time. The gardens really impressed me, more than the interiors, which surprised me a lot! I would have loved to see the petit Trianon as well but it was very easy to get there by public transport.

✅ Hotels: I'm extremely happy with my choice and I was very worried because you hear constantly that Paris hotel rooms are terrible but we stayed HERE and I thought it had a fantastic value for money.

☑️ Restaurants: honestly we had so little time that we skipped lunch one day and the rest was very much wherever. But I had researched two places and they ended up being quite good:

Le Mistral: Literally eating looking at the Seine for 17euros the menu???? And the food was very good????? I still can't believe this place existed. Also the staff was super friendly. A normal nice place that had good food and amazing location.

Chez Pippo: Not french but a really good Italian place not super expensive super close to the Eiffel Tower, it seemed like a nice restaurant that People who live in Paris actually go to.

Hopefully this helped. But if anyone has any questions please ask me or feel free to add anything I might have missed ❤️❤️❤️

Also!!! We only went for basically two and a half days and I would really recommend at least 5 if you're only going to it once in your life (living in Spain I know that I can go back any long weekend if I want to, but keep that in mind if it's the journey of a lifetime).

[lostheaventales]

Night Shift

Description: It’s been 10 years since Axl has seen Slash. The day his stepfather picked him up from Slash’s house was the last time he saw him. Now, they meet again.

Relationship: Axl Rose x Slash, Axl Rose x Izzy Stradlin

Prompt: “Please look at me” (Day 14)

Part 7 of “You’re My Red Rose”

Content Warning: Implied Mpreg

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1991

Axl walked through the halls of Tower Records, making his nightly checks as night manager. He was on the second floor where the studios were located to see if none of the equipment had been stolen. When he was walking to the last room a tidal wave of laughs were coming up the staircase. A group of five men were walking together with beers in his hand. Axl was going to tell them that they couldn’t have any food and drinks in the building when the site of the third man stopped him in his tracks.

It was…Slash.

They hadn’t seen each other since that night John threatened his father with his shotgun. Several emotions flowed through his body. Confusion, sadness, and anger were to name a few. He couldn’t move to hide. Slash spotted him as well. They stood there, staring at each other for several awkward seconds.

“Hey, guys, go ahead into the studio. I’ll be back in a minute.” Slash directed.

The dude, who had even curlier hair than Slash, briefly looked at Axl and smiled at him. He gave a small laugh and the group disappeared into the room. Slash started to walk towards him. Tears started to form in his eyes for the first time in years. To hide it, he looked down at his feet. His vision began to blur. He covered his face as the tears couldn’t be controlled any longer.

“Please look at me, Axl.” His sweet voice begged.

Axl struggled to. Every time he attempted to lift his head, it would just go right back down as more tears brewed. He was married and had a kid. This was wrong. He shouldn’t be having feelings for another, especially for someone who left him hanging for years. The last time they saw each other was against his will. Slash avoided him. Axl would try to approach him and he would go the other way. He went years wondering what his problem was. Slash gave him no closure. He had no choice but to let him go.

“I’m married.” Axl declared. “I have a daughter as well.”

His face dropped in shock. “Th-That’s great, Axl. I’m currently in a band called Tidus Sloan.”

“That’s cool.” He looked at the clock on the wall. 11:25 pm. “My shifts almost over. I should be heading out.”

“Ok. See you later?”

Axl nodded silently and headed downstairs. He got into his car, then began punching his steering wheel. Axl left Lafayette to not be reminded of the torture that town had put him through. He wasn’t prepared for one of the memories to bump into him at his job. And for the feelings to still be there after all these years.

His husband, Jeffrey, was sitting on the couch watching tv, waiting for him to come home like he always does. After taking off his shoes and setting them by the door, Axl bent down and kissed him.

“You had any trouble with Isla today?” Axl asked his routine question.

“No, she’s been an angel for once. She even went to sleep on time.” Jeffrey reported.

Isla was two years old and already showing signs that she had Axl’s temperament, which was a fear he had when he was pregnant. The pediatrician said her attitude was pretty normal for children her age, but he was still fearful of the possibility that she would never grow out of this. Axl worked from 3:30 to 11:30 at night for five days a week, which meant Jeffrey was home with her most of the day.

“So how was work?” He asked, hugging Axl from behind.

He grabbed hold of one of his giant hands. “It was fine until I ran into one of my exes”

“Who?” Axl could hear the anger in his voice.

Axl didn’t keep anything from Jeffrey. It was in the vows to not hold secrets and, so far, both of them have been honest with each other. He wanted this marriage to work.

“It was Saul. My very first boyfriend in matter of fact. His band is recording at the studio.”

“Did he say anything?” Jeffrey wondered.

Axl shook his head. “Not much. I told him I was married and he walked off.”

Jeffrey happily kissed his cheek. “This is why I love you.”

If only he knew what he really felt about him.

[a-maniac-making-art]

If Historical Figures Were To Say Things My Classmates Have Said

Part 2

Hamilton: Slapping a baby is not ok

Hamilton: BUT PUNCHING ONE IS!

Hamilton: Are you a Mormon?

Jefferson: No I'm a Gemini

Lafayette: I'm gonna be French

Lafayette: oui oui, Eifel tower, croissant, I SURRENDER!!!

[yr-obedt-cicero]

I read your post about how Laurens was infamous for his diplomacy skills in Europe, but was he ever banned from the country for it? What did his father think about it, especially since the Laurens reputation would be on the line? Did Franklin ever try to do anything about Laurens’ diplomatic skills?

Definitely not banned, but his name was nonetheless a bitter one amongst the higher-ups of France. He had broken French etiquette but it didn't warrant anything that severe, other than being renowned as a total nuisance. In fact, even after leaving France he was still pestering them for more, that Vergennes wrote to Lafayette;

Despite the enormous efforts we are making for the United States, we have not been able to satisfy Mr. Laurens. That officer has much neglected me since I announced to him His Majesty's decision. I know he is complaining rather indiscreetly, and I foresee that he will make every effort to get at least his chief to share his sentiments. Please warn the latter and engage him to instruct his aide-de-camp and, above all, to make him realize the necessity of giving Congress the most temperate account of the mission he carried out in France. I hope we shall not be sent any more such messages; France is not inexhaustible, and it would be absolutely impossible to give them any consideration. We are doing a great deal for the Americans, but they must do their part to help themselves, too.

Source — Comte de Vergennes to Marquis de Lafayette, [May 11, 1781]

He sent a similar report to the Chevalier de La Luzerne and instructed him to minimize any “damage” Laurens may have caused with a biased report to Congress. Funny enough though, after Laurens had taken leave of the court, Vergennes told La Luzerne; “I hope that no one will be sent back here.” [x]

Although I haven't found anything about Henry's knowledge of Laurens's conduct in France. He was taken to London under suspicion of high treason, and imprisoned in the Tower of London on October 6, 1780, until being officially discharged on April 27, 1782. So, I doubt it was easy for the story to be passed around, especially towards Henry who was imprisoned the entire time. Nonetheless, he knew his son's temperament and warned him about discretion in the past—I doubt the story would come as a surprise, but that's not to say he wouldn't be infuriated about it. Especially since the Laurens family did travel through Europe often.

And surprisingly - despite not agreeing with Adams's similar conduct in France - Franklin seemed pleased with Laurens. I suppose because in the end, it worked, no matter the terrible methods. But it could be speculated he probably tried to regulate or give better advice to the hot tempered Laurens during the whole ordeal. Regardless, he even suggested he continue as a diplomat;

Inclos’d is the Order you desire for another Hundred Louis._ Take my Blessing with it, and my Prayers that God may send you safe & well home with your Cargoes. I would not attempt persuading you to quit the military Line, because I think you have the Qualities of Mind and Body that promise your doing great Service & acquiring Honour in that Line. Otherwise I should be happy to See you again here as my Successor; having sometime since written to Congress requesting to be reliev’d, and believing as I firmly do, that they could not put their Affairs in better Hands._

Source — Benjamin Franklin to John Laurens, [May 17, 1781]

But Laurens was firm on his word that he would not be returning to any diplomatic positions;

I take this opportunity of returning Your Excellency my best thanks for the indulgent expressions in the letter which you did me the honor to write previous to my departure from Paris_ I repeat to Your Excellency that it was only a principle of obedience that brought me to Europe on the present occasion_ that I have not the most remote inclination to engage in the diplomatic line_

Source — John Laurens to Benjamin Franklin, [May 22, 1781]

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Some Language, Smoking, Death, Drinking

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: City of the Dead

The streets are packed shoulder to shoulder as Lucie steps out of the cab and onto Decatur.

With the worst of hurricane season behind and the oppressive summer heat fading, the French Quarter is in full swing to prepare for Halloween. Beneath the wizened, watchful eyes of St. Louis Cathedral, Jackson Square is a veritable menagerie of excitement. Tourists pose for photos in front of the manicured gardens while artists, street performers, and fortune tellers seek to alleviate their heavy wallets by a buck or two. The honeyed notes of a corner brass band reverberate off the walls of the red, pink, and purple Spanish-style buildings, rising above the bustle to join the music coming off Royal and Bourbon, mixing into a cacophony of jazz that floats overhead like a cloud. 

Lucie hates the French Quarter. It hits her in full force as she squeezes between feverish bodies and dilapidated storefronts, the air thick with the miasma of sweat, seafood, and alcohol. The colors are too bright and the smiles too broad, both painted and polished for the out-of-town crowds. 

But Lucie knows the truth. The sugared confections, clinking plastic beads, and the curated romance of wrought-iron balconies and Spanish oaks, are a mask. Like a corpse sewn and rouged for the wake, they hide the telltale signs of decay. 

In a land below the water table, the earth spits out its dead in a final act of rejection. Above-ground burials are hot real estate, dotting the landscape like ant hills. Yet even in death, all is not equal. Towering over regular “ovens,” the grand mausoleums of Lafayette and St. Louis are monuments to the elite. 

New Orleans is more mausoleum than city. 

She weaves through a sea of people crossing the square. Her feet travel the well-worn flagstones of streets where victims of Yellow Fever were once left to molder in the heat until they could be dumped into the Mississippi. There had been too many to bury. 

It’s only one of many gruesome moments in the city’s long history. Stories of not only apparitions, but the atrocities that humans commit against each other were enough to make even the most skeptical of locals harbor a healthy fear of that which lurks in the dark. 

Even they don’t know what Lucie does, don’t know what monsters make their beds on the banks of the delta. 

A chill radiates through Lucie like long, bony fingers running down her spine. The cathedral’s shadow amplifies the ice in her veins as she slips into one of its quiet side alleys. 

The air is lighter here. She fills her lungs and finds her bearings against the faded white-washed facade. Only when she retrieves the box of cigarettes from her purse does she notice her trembling hands. 

It’s not surprising. Not when she passed through two state lines, including the entire width of Texas, in the last eighteen hours. That’s saying nothing of the half day spent on some roadside trying to find a tow company to haul her and her sedan out of the bayou. The ride here alone had cost her close to a week’s old wages. 

And Violette is dead. 

The sentence plays on an endless loop in her head. Like if she only tells it to herself enough times, it’ll make it seem real. But all she can muster is a dull acceptance and sharp edges of a distant pain. 

She’ll have to deal with it eventually, but for now, presses a cigarette to her lips and lights it. Her eyes close against the familiar harshness as the smoke slides down her throat.

“That’s a terrible habit, you know.” A voice says and Lucie jumps out of her skin. Smoke catches in her throat. She coughs and scowls at the intruder with stinging eyes. 

The first thing she notices is the tattoo on his chest. It’s eye-level, peeking out from beneath the collar of a light-colored Henley. The shirt is tucked into a pair of jeans so meticulously distressed they must have cost a fortune. She doesn’t need to look at his face to know this isn’t the average LSU frat boy. But she does anyway. 

What she finds is blue eyes beneath sandy locks of curly hair and a smug smile. She realizes he’s smirking. At her. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” she says, flicking the end of the cigarette. She watches the ash flutter to the ground before taking another drag, despite her burning chest. Irritation flickering, she adds, “So is sticking your nose in other people’s business.”

If she thought it would humble the strange man, she was wrong. His smile broadens in a way that can only be described as wolfish. 

“Then I suppose we’re both in need of a little self-improvement.��� His accent is unmistakably English. That in and of itself is surprising. Usually, foreigners opt for more well-known travel hubs, the Gulf Coast or Floridian beaches. But there’s something in his tone, too. Like he’s laughing at a joke she’s not in on. 

She hums in a non-committal response, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave her alone. She’s never been particularly lucky. 

“Shouldn’t you be out with your friends, enjoying all that the French Quarter has to offer?”

She exhales, watching the smoke swirl and dance in the space between them. “Needed some air,” she shrugs. 

If he’s fishing for personal details, he has the wrong girl. And she certainly isn’t going to let on that she’s here alone. Despite her more melancholy tendencies, she doesn’t have any desire to end up at the bottom of the Mississippi. 

“Well, filling your lungs with poison seems a strange way to get it,” the man drawls. The amused sparkle in his eyes sets her teeth on edge and tests the limits of her already strained nerves. 

“Are you bad at picking up hints or just a dick?”

The man laughs.

“Easy, love,” he says, hands up. “Your point is clear enough. I’m just passing through. It’s a free city, after all.”

Lucie feels the tiniest flicker of regret. Exhaustion and stress and years away had eroded her manners. 

“I’m sorry,” she says reluctantly. “It’s been a long day and crowds make me edgy. Do you need directions?”

His lips flicker in the faintest of smiles. “Oh, I think I can find my way.”

And with that, he steps out of the alley and into the bright daylight, disappearing into the crowd beyond. 

Well, that was weird.

_____

She’s hit with a blast of cool air as Lucie steps off Chartres Street and into Rousseau’s. She blinks a few times, eyes adjusting from the abrupt transition from bright autumn sunlight to the dim ambiance of the bar. 

A handful of patrons drink at tables scattered across the room. Nobody raises their voice above a whisper. The soft sounds of conversation only seem to add to the sleepy atmosphere. It’s a far cry from the world outside its doors. 

The bell jingles as the door shuts behind Lucie and a blonde head pops up from behind the polished bar top. 

“Hi!” the breathless bartender says. “Take a seat wherever and I’ll be around to take your order in a sec.”

Lucie nods, but the woman has already returned to rummaging around behind the bar. 

Framed art and candles cover the walls. It’s an odd mismatch, but it works somehow, giving the place a quaint, hole-in-the-wall sort of charm, Lucie thinks as she slides into a seat at the bar. 

“Alright,” the bartender says after a few minutes pass. “What can I get for you?”

‘Camille ’- according to her nametag- peers at her from the other side. Dark blonde strands escape the confines of her loose ponytail, framing her angular cheekbones. She seems a little frazzled, but her lovely hazel eyes shine with curiosity, and her smile is friendly. And even though her nose wrinkles in disgust when Lucie orders the cheapest domestic on tap, she doesn’t say anything. 

She turns away to pour her beer, and it’s then that Lucie realizes that she’s not alone at the bar. 

She watches the man at the other end, with detached observation. She traces the sharp lines of his profile, from the meticulous coif of his dark hair to the strong jut of his jaw. The perfect tailoring of his suit accentuates the broad span of his shoulders and the curves of his biceps in a way that makes him seem more fit for the pages of an Armani catalog than an empty French Quarter haunt. 

What are they putting in the water here?

When his eyes, dark and arresting, lock on hers, she realizes that she’s been caught staring. His lips quirk at the edges and she turns her head to inspect the patterns in the wood grain, cheeks hot. 

It’s not until she has a beer in hand and some of the initial embarrassment has faded that she dares another glance. To her relief, he’s looking down into the amber contents of his glass. If she had to put a name to his expression, she’d call it pensive. 

“So, how long are you in town for?” Camille asks.

“Hmmm?” Lucie tears her gaze from the man in the suit to look at her. “Oh, just a week.”

Camille’s lips quirk as she rubs at the wood with a washcloth. “Is it your first time in the city? I’ve got a laundry list of recommendations if you need them.”

“Thanks, but they’d be wasted on me.” When the bartender gives her a curious look, she adds, “I grew up not too far from here.”

“I thought I smelled a local,” Camille says wryly. “Irish Channel.”

“Garden District,” Lucie replies with a soft smile. Her eyes wander about the room as she searches for a friendly topic. “Do you still have family nearby?”

It’s the wrong thing to say because the bartender’s smile slips and her eyes go blank. Then she plasters it back on, though more lackluster than before. “Just an uncle, but we don’t really talk.” 

Lucie gives a sympathetic hum. “Families are tough.”

The bartender snorts. “You can say that again. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Lucie.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucie. I’m Cami.”

“Likewise,” Lucie says, sipping at her beer. “You can’t be that much younger than me, but I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Cami says, tensing to a stack of empty glasses. “Catholic school until I left for college. I’ve only been back for a couple of months. I didn’t plan on being here this long.” 

Lucie swallows the foamy liquid, only wincing a little as it goes down. “This place has a way of dragging us back, kicking and screaming.”

Cami huffs in agreement, leaning against the bar top. “Good to know it’s a universal experience. What brought you back? -No wait, let me guess, a wedding?”

“Funeral, actually.”

She expects the stilted silence that follows, but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she asks gently. “Can I ask who it was?”

“My great-aunt.”

“I take it you were close?” She pauses at the stunned look on Lucie’s face. “Actually, you know what? It's none of my business. I’m going to shut up now.” Cami’s cheeks flush and she returns to wiping at the counter with renewed vigor. “Grad degree in psych. I need to learn to shut it off.”

“Impressive,” Lucie laughs. “Maybe you should lean into it. I bet a drink-slinging therapist could make some pretty amazing tips.”

“You know, I think you might be onto something there.” Cami smiles at her, cheeks still pink, but seemingly relieved she’d been let off the hook. “Maybe we can be business partners.”

She reaches under the counter to the distinct sound of clinking glass.

Then a bottle of bourbon lands on the bar, followed by two shot glasses. Cami pours both and slides one to Lucie. “Here, on the house.”

Lucie gives her a questioning look.

Cami shrugs. “Let’s say I know what it’s like to come back to say goodbye.”

The expression she gives her is so sincere that Lucie finds herself at a loss for words. 

She lifts the glass, locking eyes with the beautiful bartender. “To goodbyes.”

“To goodbyes,” Cami echoes, clinking their glasses together before knocking the whiskey back. 

Lucie does the same. The amber liquid burns her nostrils and sears down her throat, but settles like a warm blanket in her belly. It almost feels like home. 

When she steals a glance to her side, the man in the suit is gone. 

____

A light breeze tugs playfully at her hair, but her body is liquor-warm as she steps out of Rousseau’s. A reluctant smile forms on her lips. It’s late. She had stayed at the bar far longer than she’d meant to. But Cami was easy to talk to, and it had been a long time since she’d been in the company of women her own age. They’d swapped stories and numbers, sharing more than a few drinks. 

A couple of squandered hours and a long walk on a nice night seemed a small price to pay to find a kindred spirit here of all places. 

Nearly a mile of clubs and bars stand between her and her hotel. She knows the streets like the back of her hand. The walk should take her twenty minutes except she opts to detour down to St. Peter. It’ll add another ten minutes to the trip, but at least it’ll keep her a safe distance from the east side of Dauphine. 

The last thing she wants is a run-in at the Jardin Gris. So she commits to enjoying the extra long walk that allows her to bask in the peaceful balmy night and ignores her aching feet.

The streets are mostly empty, though a few individuals are out enjoying the evening. She sidesteps them as she passes, deftly avoiding uneven slabs in the sidewalk. 

The trees rustle as another gust picks up, carrying the rich scent of gumbo and soft brass.

When she was a girl, she used to wile away autumn evenings like this at Violette’s. She and the other girls would park themselves on the front stoop with glasses of lemonade and listen to the music. Inside, the older women chatted in the kitchen, peeling vegetables and taking turns stirring the pot. 

Now and then, one of them would step out of the hot kitchen to catch the cool air. Bastiana would chide them for their laziness and, more often than not, Violette would shoo them away to do some chore or another. But she always liked it when Agnes came to join them. She was quick with a smile or a gentle pat, and she always had the best stories.

Her chest constricts. It’s a past that’s no longer hers. No one lives in the old house in the Garden District and Agnes would be more likely to drive a knife through her heart than tell her story if they were to cross paths now.

She shakes off the pain like a chill. It’ll still be there in the morning, but for now, the night is too lovely to let old ghosts ruin it. The sun has long since dipped beyond buildings and the French Quarter comes to life. Neon signs and gas lamps glitter like stars from every corner, casting Chartres in an ethereal glow. 

She watches a group of girls stumble out of a bar, leaning on each other for support as they amble along in their heels like drunken gazelle. Their laughter jingles like bells as they pass her in a gaggle of hooked elbows and hairspray. 

Cool air wafts off the river, bathing the neighborhood in a crisp shroud. The street lamps glow and fairy lights twinkle from balconies overhead.

Bewitched, she follows rows of picturesque balconies block by block. Laughter and music trail behind her. 

The Ursuline Convent looms a few blocks ahead, but even it can’t dampen her spirits. For a moment, she wonders if she ever truly thought she could hate this place.

Then, she turns the corner and finds Jane-Anne Deveraux dead on the pavement.

[hekateinhell]

Where is your header image from? <3

I took it myself when I went down to New Orleans with some vampire friends — it's Lafayette Cemetery at the intersection of Washington Ave & Prytania St! The cemetery has been temporarily closed for a few years, so I just stuck my hand in through the fence to get the shot.

This was Armand's neighborhood, you guys! When he was walking around pining and watching over Lestat's living grave for almost 50 years! 🥹🥹🥹

And I spent the last years of the 1800s in complete seclusion in the old Garden District a block from the Lafayette Cemetery, in the finest of my houses, slumbering beneath towering oaks.

Poor Armand. And you told me Louis was dead. Go dig a room for yourself under the Lafayette Cemetery. ~ Lestat, TVL

[kissoflightning]

I was re-watching this scene and realized this is the only instance an exact address is given (As far as I am aware). Carl Manfred resides at 8941 Lafayette Avenue, Detroit

It's not a real address (In Detroit) - YET (It's 2038 so anything could happen) , but assuming is close to Lafayette Street, it would be roughly a 25 minute drive from Carl's house to Belle Isle

Elijah Kamski's house is in Detroit River, which is Close to Belle Isle

CyberLife tower is in Belle Isle

Elijah Kamski gifted Markus to Carl Manfred, so there's definitely some kind of history there. They became friends and built a relationship somehow.

I plan on writing a fic at some point where they interact so this post is mainly me taking notes for myself.

[adventuressclubamericas]

Flat Phryne in Buffalo!

Flat Phryne's adventures on the way to Miss Fisher Con in St. Paul continue. This week, she paid a visit to Buffalo, New York!

She checked in at the Hotel Lafayette. During it's prime, the Lafayette was one of the 15 finest hotels in the United States, boasting not only elevators, and hot and cold running water and a telephone in every room. Flat Phryne enjoyed her time there before heading out to see the sites.

Flat Phryne's first stop was Buffalo City Hall, one of the largest and tallest municipal buildings in the US. The Art Deco building, designed by Dietel, Wade and Jones, and featuring sculpture by Albert Steward, Rene Paul Chambellan and William Ehrich, was completed in 1931.

Next she made her way to the Liberty Building, built in 1925 and topped with replicas of the Statue of Liberty.  She wanted to replicate Didier Pasquette's 2010 tightrope walk between the 2 rooftop statues, but it wasn't in the cards. Maybe next time!

She then stopped by the Soldiers and Sailors Monument in Lafayette Park.

Phryne was keen to learn more about Josh Allen, the quarterback for the Buffalo Bills, though she prefers footie to American football.

She made a quick stop to admire the Buffalo Savings Bank, 

and the Electric Tower building, 

before taking in a picture and enjoying the Wurlitzer extravaganza at Shea's. The Mighty Wurlitzer organ at Shea's (and in the Capitol Theatre in Melbourne!) were made just north of Buffalo. 

Today, the former Wurlitzer factory is home to a brewery, events, and an amazing chocolate factory.

Where will Flat Phryne turn up next? Stay tuned!

#MissFisher

#MsFisher

#1920s

#1920sfashion

#1920sstyle

#1960s

#1960sfashion

#1960svintage

#1930s

#1930sfashion

#1930sstyle

#1930svintage

#shanghai

#melbourne

#mnhistory

#flapper

#phrynefisher

#adventuressescluboftheamericas

#adventuress

#stpaulmn

#stpaul

#saintpaul

#saintpaulmn

#saintpaulminnesota

#saintpaulhotel

#buffalo

#buffalony

#wurlitzer

#artdeco

#flatphryne

 ·

[ntzsche9]

Find the Vibe: But I don't want to

Opened the tag from @justnerdy15 for myself, mostly as an excuse to post this atypical bit of fluff that I really enjoyed writing and that has absolutely no purpose for anything, anywhere.

These are side characters from Bad Blood, but it's years before that story takes place, around the time they first decide to adopt Lafayette into their family.

Dave didn't have his knack for knowing when he was being watched, so it took a while for Gabe to catch his eye, using the straight razor to glint light in his direction. Dave squinted against the late morning sun as he looked to the top of the guard tower, and grinned back at him. Gabe bid him to come up with a curl of his finger and a backward toss of his head. Dave shook his head with a guilty expression and tilted his head down the street. General Garvey had pulled Dave aside after they had made too much noise the last time he had visited Gabe in the tower, admonishing him for compromising security like that. Gabe couldn't have given a fuck less about Garvey. Come! Up! He waved in jerkier hand motions. No! I'm still doing laundry. Dave replied in an exasperated gesture to wet the clothes. Gabe pointed at Dave and used the razor to mime shaving. Dave waved him off. You have a neck beard, Gabe told him by pointing at him, then petting his own throat and making a cartoonishly disgusted face. He saw Dave laugh but didn't quite hear him, but the self-conscious rub at the edge of his beard meant he was wearing him down. It was another thing their brief stint living in a vault had spoiled them with, and even though they had a barber in town now, they both preferred the tender ritual of grooming each other. They were even pretty decent at it now. Okay, okay, but I'm gonna finish this, Dave mimed, hands patting the air, then gesturing to the clothes, and turned to hang the next pair of socks. In a quick snap, the rifle on Gabe's back was suddenly in his hands, and he eyed down his scope at Dave. Dave jerked upright, dropping the socks when he put his arms up in dramatic surrender. Gabe held up a finger and pointed it sharply to the ground beside him, the gun not moving.  Dave's palms turned back, making fists with his middle fingers up. But he was grinning and already walking toward the tower, stopping only to wrestle his shoes back on. Dave did a pretty great job of getting around these days, and the three flights of stairs around the trunk of the large tree the guard tower was built into weren't a problem. But a vertical ascent up a ladder was a bit undignified, his prosthetic leg not flexible enough to get his knee up very high, leaving him to take one rung at a time. "Whew!" He exclaimed as he finally pulled himself up through the hatch door, a bit out of breath. "What, are you bored up here?" "Nah," Gabe smiled, leaning back against the rail.  His rifle was propped nearby, and the panorama around him was bright and cheery. Dave slowly spun to appreciate it all. "Your treehouse has a great view today." "Sit down, neckbeard," Gabe said and kicked a chair toward him. Dave happily obliged, plopping into the seat. Gabe stood behind him, running his fingers through slightly sweaty hair as Dave tilted his head back against his chest. They smiled at each other affectionately. "And you need a haircut."

Tag: @kae-luna, @elbritch-kit, @eldritch-flower, @winterandwords, @digital-chance, @deanwax

Lmk if anyone wants me to post what happens next (Dave gets triggered by a really annoying song and has a massive PTSD episode of that one time where he got his leg eaten by cannibals.)

[fuckinuhhh]

Architectural Finds, 06/24/2023

My walk today was a brief 20 minutes, I was meeting up with a friend from upstate for some chai who had come down the night before to stay with some other friends. We met up at the Chai Spot on Mott St. (which I definitely now recommend) and we relaxed in their backroom lounge with our chai's for 45 min or so. She eventually had to leave to catch her bus back upstate & I walked her to the subway stairs hugged her and said goodbye. Feeling the warm weather on my skin and the caffeine in my veins I decided to walk up Broadway, here were some of the architectural highlights.

This cute turret room on the top of the building on the NE corner of Bleecker & Broadway. Doing the smallest ammount of googling I am finding out this was Peter Venkman's (Bill Murray) apartment in Ghostbusters 2???? ok.

It just looks like it would be such a whimsical little tower to hang your hair from, idk.

Building Facts: Built in 1891 as the Manhattan Savings Institution, also known as Bleecker Tower. Architect Stephen Decatur Hatch.

Built in the Romanesque Revival style with arches and ornaments, as well as the red sandstone and signature rough cut stone of this style on the base of the building (definitely why it caught my eye, I love Richardson Romanesque/romanesque revival).

The tower on top eludes my brief internet search, but if anyone has pictures of the inside please direct them to me.

Next up we have this lil copper cutie who looks like it just got a face lift judging by the shiny copper facade on top. It is currently a FootLocker so hopefully they're treating her nice.

Building Facts: (obv) Built in 1889 by Architect Alfred Zucker.

The menacing gargoyles are cute.

(maybe more of an opinion than a fact, but) there used to be a bookstore called Shakepeare's on the bottom floor and the top floors were 1-per-floor studio spaces for artists to live/work in, & I wish that was the case today, not footlocker and high rent.

MOVING ON, we've got this pair of cuties. Don't they look like the best of friends holding hands ready to face the world side by side? These guys are 734 (left) and 732 (right) Broadway.

734: Built in 1872 by Architects David & John Jardine in Cast-Iron Neo-Grec style. Until ~2015, the facade had become a rusted brown/black mess until they cleaned and repainted it.

732: Built in 1854 by unknown.

This little building has a complicated past but ill try and summarize the small dig I just did on it. Originally it was a 3.5 peaked-roof building as a set of 3 houses for wealthy sisters (daughters of John Mason) from 732-736 designed by an undocumented architect. It underwent large renovations twice in its life, and one small renovation adding the Treffurth's sign on the roof cornice. The first renovation happened in 1885 by Henry Janeway Hardenbergh (god write a romance novel already would you) and allowed the introduction of E. A. Mac's bookstore to take the place of the earlier saloon on the bottom floor. It was then renovated in 1900 by Bruno W. Berger to the Cast-Iron more or less Renaissance Revival facade we see today.

-

Im going to keep these next ones brief because I'm beginning to lose steam :)

1 Astor Place

Built in 1883 by Architects Starkweather & Gibbs (they also designed the Potter Building). Brick & Terracotta above Cast-Iron ground floor facade.

Originally it was used as a hotel and boarding house with ground floor stores. The harsh vertical motifs on the exterior caught my eye, and I was drawn in even more by the harmony of the design elements and color choices.

10 Astor Place aka 444 Lafayette St

Built in 1876 by Architect Griffith Thomas to the same owner as the above building, Orlando B. Potter, who seemed to have impeccable taste in architecture.

I love the ornate implementation of the painted white Cast-Iron in the arches and pillar ornaments on this one. As well as the eye-popping contrast of the white paint on dark red brick, kind of a juxtaposed take on themes seen in the building above with the way the red and black elements seem to blend in together in harmony.

21 Astor Place aka Clinton Hall

Built in 1891 by George E. Harney.

Originally a Library for the New York Mercantile Library. I love the classic industrial look its such a strong look while they still tried to give elements of the facade some artistic nuance like in the arched windows and dark banding.

Only Caught the side of this Collonade building but doing more research on it, it's owned by the Blue Man Group????

Built 1831 by Seth Greer and historically home to family member's of the Astor & Vanderbilt families, it is the oldest building I took note of today.

And of course, how could I not be drawn into the Cooper Union Foundation building's charm. It stands seemingly so alone in the heart of Manhattan, close to a modern miracle.

Built in 1859 by Frederick A. Peterson in the (what I'm finding now to be called) Rundbogenstil German neo-Romanesque style.

I didn't realize it at the time but this picture also seems to be the back of the building. Still just such ornate and well-balanced design!

HONORABLE MENTIONS: This house on top of this building and the cute lil mansard moment next to it, which I searched and searched for but I cant seem to remember where it is.

Edit: I found it, there were street signs in the picture whoops. The one with the cottage is 203 E 13th Street also known as Pear Tree Place. And the little guy with the mansard roof is 109 3rd ave, both of them resting above Kiehls 3rd ave.

DISHONORABLE MENTIONS: This NYU Alumni building. Who designed you, they should be ashamed. What is going on with your offset, unbalanced terraces in the back? Awful. What was the point of all of these different colored brick patches?? Uncomfortable, awful. It looks like a neutral-toned Duplo set.

Built in 1986 and I cant even find the architect so you know they weren't very proud of it.

[mthguy]

Union Square

Union Square is a historic intersection and surrounding neighborhood in Manhattan, New York City, located where Broadway and the former Bowery Road – now Fourth Avenue – came together in the early 19th century.

Its name denotes that "here was the union of the two principal thoroughfares of the island". The current Union Square Park is bounded by 14th Street on the south, 17th Street on the north, and Union Square West and Union Square East to the west and east respectively.

Adjacent neighborhoods are the Flatiron District to the north, Chelsea to the west, Greenwich Village to the southwest, East Village to the southeast, and Gramercy Park to the east. Many buildings of The New School are near the square, as are several dormitories of New York University. The eastern side of the square is dominated by the four Zeckendorf Towers, and the south side by the full-square-block mixed-use One Union Square South, which contains a wall sculpture and digital clock titled Metronome. Union Square Park also contains an assortment of art, including statues of George Washington, Marquis de Lafayette, Abraham Lincoln, and Mahatma Gandhi.