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onceuponatown · 6 months

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The history of Christmas traditions kept evolving throughout the 19th century, when most of the familiar components of the modern Christmas including St. Nicholas, Santa Claus, and Christmas trees, became popular. The changes in how Christmas was celebrated were so profound that it's safe to say someone alive in 1800 would not even recognize the Christmas celebrations held in 1900.

Washington Irving and St. Nicholas

Early Dutch settlers of New York considered St. Nicholas to be their patron saint and practiced a yearly ritual of hanging stockings to receive presents on St. Nicholas Eve, in early December. Washington Irving, in his fanciful History of New York, mentioned that St. Nicholas had a wagon he could ride “over the tops of trees” when he brought “his yearly presents to children.”

The Dutch word “Sinterklaas” for St. Nicholas evolved into the English “Santa Claus,” thanks in part to a New York City printer, William Gilley, who published an anonymous poem referring to “Santeclaus” in a children’s book in 1821. The poem was also the first mention of a character based on St. Nicholas having a sleigh, in this case, pulled by a single reindeer.

Clement Clarke Moore and The Night Before Christmas

Perhaps the best-known poem in the English language is “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” or as it’s often called, “The Night Before Christmas.” Its author, Clement Clarke Moore, a professor who owned an estate on the west side of Manhattan, would have been quite familiar with the St. Nicholas traditions followed in early 19th century New York. The poem was first published, anonymously, in a newspaper in Troy, New York, on December 23, 1823.

Reading the poem today, one might assume that Moore simply portrayed the common traditions. Yet he actually did something quite radical by changing some of the traditions while also describing features that were entirely new.

For instance, the St. Nicholas gift giving would have taken place on December 5, the eve of St. Nicholas Day. Moore moved the events he describes to Christmas Eve. He also came up with the concept of “St. Nick” having eight reindeer, each of them with a distinctive name.

Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol

The other great work of Christmas literature from the 19th century is A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. In writing the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge, Dickens wanted to comment on greed in Victorian Britain. He also made Christmas a more prominent holiday and permanently associated himself with Christmas celebrations.

Dickens was inspired to write his classic story after speaking to working people in the industrial city of Manchester, England, in early October 1843. He wrote A Christmas Carol quickly, and when it appeared in bookstores the week before Christmas 1843 it began to sell very well.

The book crossed the Atlantic and began to sell in America in time for Christmas 1844, and became extremely popular. When Dickens made his second trip to America in 1867 crowds clamored to hear him read from A Christmas Carol. His tale of Scrooge and the true meaning of Christmas had become an American favorite. The story has never been out of print, and Scrooge is one of the best-known characters in literature.

Santa Claus Drawn by Thomas Nast

The famed American cartoonist Thomas Nast is generally credited as having invented the modern depiction of Santa Claus. Nast, who had worked as a magazine illustrator and created campaign posters for Abraham Lincoln in 1860, was hired by Harper’s Weekly in 1862. For the Christmas season, he was assigned to draw the magazine’s cover, and legend has it that Lincoln himself requested a depiction of Santa Claus visiting Union troops.

The resulting cover, from Harper’s Weekly dated January 3, 1863, was a hit. It shows Santa Claus on his sleigh, which has arrived at a U.S. Army camp festooned with a “Welcome Santa Claus” sign.

Santa’s suit features the stars and stripes of the American flag, and he’s distributing Christmas packages to the soldiers. One soldier is holding up a new pair of socks, which might be a boring present today, but would have been a highly prized item in the Army of the Potomac.

Beneath Nast's illustration was the caption, “Santa Claus In Camp.” Appearing not long after the carnage at Antietam and Fredericksburg, the magazine cover is an apparent attempt to boost morale in a dark time.

The Santa Claus illustrations proved so popular that Thomas Nast kept drawing them every year for decades. He is also credited with creating the notion that Santa lived at the North Pole and kept a workshop manned by elves. The figure of Santa Claus endured, with the version drawn by Nast becoming the accepted standard version of the character. By the early 20th century the Nast-inspired version of Santa became a very common figure in advertising.

Prince Albert and Queen Victoria Made Christmas Trees Fashionable

The tradition of the Christmas tree came from Germany, and there are accounts of early 19th century Christmas trees in America, but the custom wasn’t widespread outside German communities.

The Christmas tree first gained popularity in British and American society thanks to the husband of Queen Victoria, the German-born Prince Albert. He installed a decorated Christmas tree at Windsor Castle in 1841, and woodcut illustrations of the Royal Family’s tree appeared in London magazines in 1848. Those illustrations, published in America a year later, created the fashionable impression of the Christmas tree in upper-class homes.

By the late 1850s reports of Christmas trees were appearing in American newspapers. And in the years following the Civil War ordinary American households celebrated the season by decorating a Christmas tree.

The first electric Christmas tree lights appeared in the 1880s, thanks to an associate of Thomas Edison, but were too costly for most households. Most people in the 1800s lit their Christmas trees with small candles.

The First White House Christmas Tree

The first Christmas tree in the White House was displayed in 1889, during the presidency of Benjamin Harrison. The Harrison family, including his young grandchildren, decorated the tree with toy soldiers and glass ornaments for their small family gathering.

There are some reports of president Franklin Pierce displaying a Christmas tree in the early 1850s. But the stories of a Pierce tree are vague and there doesn't seem to be contemporaneous mentions in newspapers of the time.

Benjamin Harrison's Christmas cheer was closely documented in newspaper accounts. An article on the front page of the New York Times on Christmas Day 1889 detailed the lavish presents he was going to give his grandchildren. And though Harrison was generally regarded as a fairly serious person, he vigorously embraced the Christmas spirit.

Not all subsequent presidents continued the tradition of having a Christmas tree in the White House. By the middle of the 20th century, White House Christmas trees became established. And over the years it has evolved into an elaborate and very public production.

The first National Christmas Tree was placed on The Ellipse, an area just south of the White House, in 1923, and the lighting of it was presided over by President Calvin Coolidge. The lighting of the National Christmas Tree has become quite a large annual event, typically presided over by the current president and members of the First Family.

Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus

In 1897 an eight-year-old girl in New York City wrote to a newspaper, the New York Sun, asking if her friends, who doubted the existence of Santa Claus, were right. An editor at the newspaper, Francis Pharcellus Church, responded by publishing, on September 21, 1897, an unsigned editorial. The response to the little girl has become the most famous newspaper editorial ever printed.

The second paragraph is often quoted:

"Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS."

Church’s eloquent editorial asserting the existence of Santa Claus seemed a fitting conclusion to a century that began with modest observances of St. Nicholas and ended with the foundations of the modern Christmas season firmly intact.

By the end of the 19th century, the essential components of a modern Christmas, from Santa to the story of Scrooge to strings of electric lights were firmly established in America.

Source

#christmas #christmas tree #christmas traditions #victorian christmas #victorians

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merci-bitch · 7 months

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please write some headcanons with Miranda’s P!

Sure thing!

Absolutely love the Devil Wears Prada and Miranda is just <3

Not my gif!

- Let’s say you’re a photographer for Runway

- And also Miranda’s

- You’ve been there for a while, a long while before Andrea

- You started as a photographer, Nigel found you

- Made you his new project to present for Miranda first

- You were shitting yourself obvs

- It’s thee Miranda Priestly

- You were quite shy, who wouldn’t be in front of the biggest fashion icon ever??

- But when you then later showed her your portfolio she was interested

- You were hired as the new photographer

- Working 24/7 like everyone else

- Emily liked you

- Quite a lot

- You were doing good, and Miranda liked your work, always left little notes on the side of the photos you’d taken

- You’d spent a lot of time together

- Nigel obvs played match maker

- Cocky bastard

- One night you came with the book, Emily had turned in sick at the last possible moment, so you offered

- You had a portfolio to show her either way

- So you went in, left the dry cleaning and then heard her call for Emily

- She was stunned to see you

- A little annoyed too

- It quickly went away as you handed her the book and portfolio

- And then the rest is history

- First time arriving when Andrea was her second assistant, well

- She didn’t know who you were

- Told you that you couldn’t just walk in without an appointment

- So you left with a little smile on your lips

- Went to Nigel, told him all

- Boy

- He was sure Andy was getting fired

- Despite her cold and strict attitude to the world, Miranda is a gentle lover

- When you’re at home, she calls you by pet names

- Darling, dear for example

- She’s still has a hard shell, but she’s ever so soft with her daughters and it is a wonder to witness

- Small touches as she passes you

- HUGE gift gives

- Obviously

- She absolutely loves how close you are with her girls

- Was such a relief when her daughters loved you as much as she did

- Of course Irv was fuming when he found out about the relationship

- Wanted to fire you

- Miranda stood her ground

- With backup from a lot of people

- Surprisingly the press was nice about the relationship

- Only after a few months of course

- The first few weeks was awful

- But it got better

- The internet calls you “power couple”

- You make her laugh like no other

- You really turned her world upside down

- Nigel is of course smug

- He is the reason you two found each other of course

- He likes to remind Miranda about it

- Likes to tease you about starring at Miranda

- You two just fit together like two puzzle pieces

- Of course there’s an age difference

- But it doesn’t define your relationship

- Miranda still does criticise you about your fashion choices

- Practically begs you sometimes to let her dress you in the morning

- Her children have better fashion sense than you do

- Loves to tease you senseless

- She knows she can make you weak to your knees with just one single glare

- She feels exceptionally powerful

#ask #the devil wears prada #miranda priestly x reader

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wizblr-blue-moon-ball · 2 months

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Hello Magical Friends~☆

The date for the ball has been confirmed!!

The Blue Moon Ball will be held in LATE MAY, on the week of May 19-25.

The official announcement post with details on the event and the prologue prompt will be released on the 30th of April!! That will give you all around 3 weeks to prepare for the event.

☆

A note, you are NOT REQUIRED to participate in all prompts, just do what you want and what you can. You can do one RP prompt for the week, a few sketches, whatever strikes your fancy.

It will be close to my finals week for this date and I will be moving out of my dorm soon, so I may not do much in terms of Roleplaying, but I will be making a few small art pieces for each day if I can :)

If you DO want to RP with me (I will only be RP-ing Lurien for this event), please organize with me (@the-necrobotanist ) beforehand :3

At most I'll probably do RP with 3 people personally, I'll get overwhelmed otherwise. But I will be sending asks to participants to see if they're having fun!

Thank you! We hope you're excited for the ball magical friends!

☆

Pinglist (tumblr is still making a few wonky, if that is you idk how to fix it I'm sorry ;;;)

@scuttling-comfuddlement @the-gnomest-bastard @kobold-sanctuary-buss-island @satyrs-apothecary @irving-the-pirate-wizard @morbingtime @justagingerwithredhair @chaos-familiar @these-detestable-hands @regina-the-sorceress @combustion-witch @slymewitch @yourlocalbreadenthusiast @mango-lord-of-poison @selldemapplez @agentldiddy @fractalkitty @wizard-island-trading-co @asheslab @good-wizard2 @the-illegal-wizard-council @ash-the-tiefling @mysticminion @blobbiedaykeeppcaway @blaster-fagot @life-is-okay-rn2 @skyethebisexualwolfwizard @thequeerwizardcouncil @dread-the-eldritch-wizard @f4y3w00d5 @profeshinul-wizurd @a-squirrel-wizard @the-mighty-dalob @amateur-wizard @chaos-wizard-nyehehe @bertskullhaver @transgender-wizard @flowers-the-sun-witch @the-silliest-sorcerer @wizard-ghost @a-goose-in-a-trenchcoat @flirtyambiguouswizard @paltering-peculiarity @parkyrtheelvishbard

@jesterofthelibrary @be-gentle-with-littluns-2 @thebookshelflord @ceeceelemons

#blue moon ball updates~☆#wizard posting #wizardblr #wizardposting #the reason I am not hosting the ball in mid-may is because my brother is graduating HS that week and I want to focus on that #so there will be no ball in the middle of May

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heaveninawildflower · 11 months

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I posted the FAB silk postcard of the American actress, Maude Fealy a couple of weeks ago and said that I would post some more about her, here a are few more images of Maude from my collection of postcards and photographs.

The first postcard shows Maude as Alice Faulkner from the play 'Sherlock Holmes.' The third one shows Maude as Eunice from 'Quo Vadis'.

The sixth postcard shows a winning photograph by Burr McIntosh from the French magazine 'Paris Figaro Illustre.' Maude's photograph was sent to their competition (to find the most beautiful woman in the world) by the American photographer, William Burr McIntosh. Maude was the winner, chosen from out of 30, 000 entrants from all over the world.

Some information about Maude from Wikimedia.

Maude Mary Hawk was born on March 3/4, 1881-3 in Memphis, Tennessee (the dates vary depending upon the source) the daughter of actress Margaret Fealy and James Hawk, who divorced. Maude took her mother's name, Fealy.

In 1896, she made her debut at the Elitch Theatre in Denver playing various children's roles. Her first appearance was during the week of July 19 in Henry Churchill de Mille's The Lost Paradise. In 1905, Churchill de Mille's son Cecil B. DeMille was hired as a stock player at Elitch Theatre, and Maude appeared as the featured actress in several plays. Their friendship continued for decades, including when DeMille cast Maude in his film The Ten Commandments.

Maude made her Broadway debut in the 1900 production of Quo Vadis, again with her mother.

Maude toured England with William Gillette in Sherlock Holmes from 1901 to 1902. Between 1902 and 1905, she frequently toured with Sir Henry Irving's company in the United Kingdom, and by 1907, she was the star in touring productions in the United States.

In Denver, Colorado, Maude met a drama critic from a local newspaper named Louis Hugo Sherwin (son of opera singer Amy Sherwin). The two married in secret on July 15, 1907, because, as they expected, her domineering mother did not approve. The couple soon separated and divorced in Denver in 1909. Maude then married actor James Peter Durkin. He was a silent film director with Adolph Zukor's Famous Players Film Company. This marriage ended in divorce for non-support in 1917. Soon after this, Maude married John Edward Cort. This third marriage ended in a 1923 annulment and was her last marriage. She bore no children in any of the marriages.

Maude died on November 10, 1971.

#Maude Fealy #Sherlock Holmes #Edwardian postcard #vintage postcards #Edwardian actress #theatre

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goldfishgrahamcracker · 1 year

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Franklin's lost expedition crew

I was looking at posts about AMC's The Terror and I kept getting confused by the use of first names, so I wanted to see how many of the characters had the same names. Arranging the crew in alphabetical order, I got:

1 x Abraham (Seeley)

4 x Alexander (Berry, McDonald, Paterson, Wilson)

5 x Charles (Best, Coombs, Des Voeux, Johnson, Osmer)

1 x Cornelius (Hickey)

2 x Daniel (Arthur, Bryant)

3 x David (Leys, Macdonald, Young) + Bonus: Bryant in the show but most historical sources I found list him as Daniel

1 x Edmund (Hoar)

3 x Edward (Couch, Genge, Little)

2 x Edwin (Helpman, Lawrence)

3 x Francis (Crozier, Dunn, Pocock)

1 x Frederick (Hornby) + Bonus: Des Voeux, whom I have seen referred to as Frederick rather than Charles on occasion

6 x George (Cann, Chambers, Hodgson, Kinnaird, Thompson, Williams)

1 x Gillies (MacBean)

1 x Graham (Gore)

7 x Henry/Harry (Collins, Goodsir, Le Vesconte, Lloyd, Peglar, Sait, Wilkes)

10 x James (Brown, Daly, Elliot, Fairholme, Fitzjames, Hart, Reid, Ridgen, Thompson, Walker) + Bonus: Ross, who was not part of the expedition but appears in the show

23 x John (Bailey, Bates, Bridgens, Brown, Cowie, Diggle, Downing, Franklin, Gregory, Hammond, Handford, Hartnell, Irving, Kenley, Lane, Morfin, Murray, Peddie, Strickland, Sullivan, Torrington, Weekes, Wilson)

2 x Joseph (Andrews, Healey)

1 x Josephus (Geater)

1 x Luke (Smith)

1 x Magnus (Manson)

1 x Philip (Reddington)

1 x Reuben (Male)

2 x Richard (Aylmore, Wall)

8 x Robert (Carr, Ferrier, Golding, Hopcraft, Johns, Sargent, Sinclair, Thomas)

3 x Samuel (Brown, Crispe, Honey)

1 x Solomon (Tozer)

16 x Thomas (Armitage, Blanky, Burt, Darlington, Evans, Farr, Hartnell, Honey, Johnson, Jopson, McConvey, Plater, Tadman, Terry, Watson, Work)

22 x William (Aitken, Bell, Braine, Clossan, Fowler, Gibson, Goddard, Heather, Hedges, Jerry, Johnson, Mark, Orren, Pilkington, Read, Rhodes, Shanks, Sims, Sinclair, Smith, Strong, Wentzall)

#i saw the 23 johns coming but not the 22 williams #there may be a mistake somewhere but that was a lot of names #amc the terror #the terror #terrorposting

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thedannyphantomcookbook · 3 months

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42 Ingredient Nasty Burger Sauce Recipe

I figured this would be one of the most challenging recipes to create. As described in the show, "If those 42 secret herbs and spices in our nasty sauce overheated, it could cause an explosion that could take out a whole city block!" - Irving "Third Degree" Burns. And while I may be an amateur home chef, I don't know how feasible something like that is. BUT I did create a 42 ingredient burger sauce. Here are all 42 ingredients and the recipe!

Red onion

Thyme

Olive Oil

Garlic

Smoked Paprika

Brandy

Hot sauce

Ground pepper

Egg

Red or white wine vinegar

Salt

Neutral oil

Lemon juice

Crushed tomatoes

Water

Sugar

Sherry vinegar

Onion powder

Garlic powder

Celery salt

Mustard powder

Cayenne

Clove

Mustard seeds

Turmeric

Honey

Herbs

Honey

Beer

Cider vinegar

Cucumber

Onion

Distilled white vinegar

Cornstarch

Red bell pepper

Celery seed

Dill seed

Parsley

Dill

Fennel

Rosemary

Tarragon

And here is the recipe!

Nasty Sauce

1 red onion, finely chopped

Thyme sprigs

Rosemary springs

Olive oil

Garlic

1 teaspoon of smoked paprika

Brandy

6-8 Tablespoons Mayo

2-3 Tablespoons Ketchup

2-3 Tablespoons Relish

Hot sauce, to taste

Ground pepper, to taste

Method:

In a sauce pan, heat olive oil under medium heat. Add the red onion and thyme springs, season with salt and pepper, and immediately cover and lower the heat to low. Leave to cook for a few hours, or until everything turns into a nice jammy texture. After a few hours have gone by, remove lid and discard thyme. Add in garlic and smoked paprika and turn the heat back up to medium. Add in the splash of brandy, and cook for 30 seconds, scraping up any burnt bits stuck to the pan. When the bottom of the pan looks clean, transfer the contents to a food processor with the mayo, ketchup, mustard, relish, hot sauce and ground pepper. Blend until everything is smooth and creamy and transfer to a container.

For the 42 Ingredient Recipe, you can make homemade Mayo, ketchup, mustard, and relish with the recipes provided below.

Homemade Mayo

- 1 large egg at room temperature

- 1 tablespoon mustard

- 1 tablespoon red or white wine vinegar

- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, or more to taste

- 1 cup (240ml) neutral flavored oil, grapeseed, safflower or canola are best

- 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice, optional

Method

In a small food processor, add your egg and blend for 20 seconds. Add your mustard, vinegar, and salt and blend for another 20 minutes. Scrape the sides and bottom and resume blending. As it blends, slowly add in the oil, drip by drip, until a quarter of the oil has been emulsified. One the mixture has start to come together, you can start adding the oil in a thin stream. Once all the oil has been added, continue to blend for another 10 seconds. Taste to see if it needs lemon juice, salt, or vinegar. If the mayo seems to thin, you can drip in more oil. Store covered in the fridge for two weeks.

Homemade Ketchup

- 2 (28 ounce) cans crushed tomatoes

- ½ cup water, divided

- ⅔ cup white sugar

- ¾ cup sherry vinegar

- 1 teaspoon onion powder

- ½ teaspoon garlic powder

- 1 ¾ teaspoon salt

- ⅛ teaspoon celery salt

- ⅛ teaspoon mustard powder

- ¼ teaspoon finely ground black pepper

- ¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper, or to taste

- 1 whole clove

Method

Pour tomatoes into a slow cooker. Rinse out the cans with the ¼ cup water and pour it back into the slow cooker. Add your sugar, vinegar, onion powder, garlic powder, salt, celery salt, mustard powder, black pepper, cayenne and whole clove, whisking to combine. Cook on high, uncovered for 10 to 12 hours, or until thick. Stir every hour or so. Use an immersion blender to break down any chunks of tomato that did not break down in the cooking. Finally, use a fine mesh sieve to strain out any other lumps. Transfer to a bowl and allow the ketchup to cool completely. Taste and adjust for seasoning.

Homemade Mustard

- 6 Tablespoons mustard seeds

- ½ cup mustard powder

- 2 teaspoons of salt

- 1 teaspoon ground turmeric

- 2 tablespoons honey (optional)

- ¼ cup minced herbs such as parsley, dill, fennel and tarragon.

- ½ cup water or beer

- 3 tablespoons of cider vinegar

Method

Using a mortar and pestle, spice grinder, or a bag and meat hammer, grind the mustard seeds, leaving them mostly whole. Pour these into a bowl with the mustard powder, salt, turmeric, honey or herbs. Pour in the water or beer and stir well. When everything is incorporated, let it sit for up to ten minutes. The longer you let it sit, the mellower it’ll taste. When you’re ready, pour in the vinegar. Pour into a glass jar and store in the fridge for 12 hours before use. This will keep for one year.

Homemade Relish

- 2 cups finely chopped cucumber (about 3 Kirby cucumbers)

- 1/2 cup finely chopped onion

- ½ cup of red bell paper, finely chopped.

- 1/2 cup distilled white vinegar

- 1/4 cup sugar

- 1 Tablespoon of celery seed

- 1 Tablespoon of dill seed or dill weed.

- 1 teaspoon cornstarch dissolved in 1 teaspoon water

- Salt

Method

Set a sieve over a bowl and place your cucumber, onion, red bell pepper, and ¾ teaspoon salt and allow it to drain for 3 hours. As the salt mixes with the cucumber and onion, liquid will release. After the three hours, wrap the cucumber and onion in a kitchen towel and squeeze out as much excess liquid as possible. Set aside.

In a small saucepan, heat the the vinegar, sugar, and ¼ teaspoon salt to a boil until the sugar has dissolved, and there is about ½ cup of liquid left, about 3-4 minutes. Add the cucumber onion mixture and simmer for about 2 minutes. Stir in the cornstarch mixture and simmer for another minute, stirring. Transfer the relish to a bowl and chill, uncovered until cold, about 1 ½ hours. The relish will keep for one month.

#danny phantom #dp #phantom #dannyphantomcookbook #nasty burger #nasty #nasty sauce #sauce #danny fenton #sam man #tucker foley #jazz fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #vlad plasmius #cooking #cookbooks #burgers #ghosts

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louisupdates · 1 year

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FITFWT23: TOUR RECAP MASTERPOST

FASHION RECAP: NORTH AMERICA, EUROPE (Top Ten)

LITHOGRAPHS and PORTRAITS

OUTRO SONGS

IQ 123: Tour promo and production interviews

TOUR TECHNICAL SPECS [TPI MAGAZINE]

GROUP PHOTOS NA

Louis’ care for his fans

NORTH AMERICA

26 May - Mohegan Sun Arena, UNCASVILLE, CT

27 May - Bank of New Hampshire Pavilion, GILFORD, NH

29 May - Place Bell, LAVAL QC

30 May - Budweiser Stage, TORONTO ON

1 Jun - Blossom Music Center, CUYAHOGA FALLS, OH

2 Jun - Michigan Lottery Amphitheater, STERLING HEIGHTS, MI

FITFWT23: WEEK 1

3 Jun - The Icon Festival Stage, CINCINNATI, OH

6 Jun - Kemba Live! Outdoor, COLUMBUS, OH

7 Jun - TCU Amphitheater at White River State Park, INDIANAPOLIS, IN

9 Jun - Saint Louis Music Park, ST. LOUIS, MO

PORTRAITS, 1st set [10.6.2023]

IG stories and selfies [10.6.2023]

10 Jun - Starlight Theatre, KANSAS CITY, MO

13 Jun - BMO Pavilion, MILWAUKEE, WI

15 Jun - Huntington Bank Pavilion, CHICAGO, IL

16 Jun - The Armory, MINNEAPOLIS, MN

17 Jun - Harrah’s Stir Cove, COUNCIL BLUFFS, IA

19 Jun - Denny Sanford Premiere Center, SIOUX FALLS, SD

21 Jun - Red Rocks Amphitheatre, MORRISON, CO: CANCELLED 😪

24 Jun - Wamu Theater, SEATTLE, WA

26 Jun - Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Center, VANCOUVER BC

27 Jun - McMenamins Edgefield Concerts, TROUTDALE, OR

29 Jun - The Greek Theatre, BERKELEY, CA

PORTRAITS, 2nd set [29.6.2023]

PORTRAITS posted 30.6 [x]

30 Jun - Louis Instagram recap

30 Jun - The Hollywood Bowl, LOS ANGELES, CA

1 Jul - The Chelsea at the Cosmopolitan, LAS VEGAS, NV

3 Jul - Arizona Financial Theatre, PHOENIX, AZ

6 Jul - The Pavilion at Toyota Music Factory, IRVING, TX

7 Jul - Moody Amphitheater at Waterloo Park, AUSTIN, TX

8 Jul - The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion, THE WOODLANDS, TX

PORTRAITS, 3rd set [9.7.2023]

9 Jul: Louis Instagram recap

10 Jul RTL Radio Interviews

11 Jul - St. Augustine Amphitheatre, ST. AUGUSTINE, FL

13 Jul - Hard Rock Live at Seminole Hard Rock Hollywood, HOLLYWOOD, FL

14 Jul - Yuengling Center, TAMPA, FL

15 Jul - Cadence Bank Amphitheatre at Chastain Park, ATLANTA, GA

18 Jul - Ascend Amphitheater, NASHVILLE, TN

19 Jul - Charlotte Metro Credit Union Amphitheatre, CHARLOTTE, NC

21 Jul - Red Hat Amphitheater, RALEIGH, NC

22 Jul - Merriweather Post Pavilion, COLUMBIA, MD

PORTRAITS, 4th set [23.7.2023]

24 Jul - MGM Music Hall at Fenway, BOSTON1, MA

25 Jul - MGM Music Hall at Fenway, BOSTON2, MA

27 Jul - TD Pavilion at the Mann, PHILADELPHIA, PA

28 Jul - Stone Pony Summer Stage, ASBURY PARK, NJ

29 Jul - Forrest Hills Stadium, NEW YORK, NY

PORTRAITS, 5th set [31.7.2023]

North America FAN EDIT

AUGUST 2023 GAP 1 recap

AWAY FROM HOME FESTIVAL

19 Aug - Parco Bussoladomani, LIDO DI CAMAIORE, Italy

AUGUST 2023 GAP 2 recap (including the 28 launch)

EUROPE

29 Aug - Barclays Arena, HAMBURG

31 Aug - Royal Arena, COPENHAGEN

1 Sep - Spektrum, OSLO [Bigger Than Me anniversary content]

PORTRAITS, 6th set [2.9.2023]

2 Sep - Hovet, STOCKHOLM

4 Sep - Ice Hall, HELSINKI

DORK MAGAZINE PHOTOS 2022 w/ links

5 Sep - Saku Arena, TALLINN

7 Sep - Arena Riga, RIGA

PORTRAITS, 7th set [8.9.2023]

8 Sep - Zalgiris Arena, KAUNAS

10 Sep - Tauron Arena, KRAKOW

11 Sep - Atlas Arena, ŁÓDŹ

13 Sep - Wiener Stadhalle D, VIENNA

14 Sep - Stozice Arena, LJUBLJANA

15 Sep - Budapest Arena, BUDAPEST

PORTRAITS, 8th set [16.9.2023]

17 Sep - Arenele Romane, BUCHAREST

18 Sep - Arena Armeets, SOFIA

20 Sep - Plateia Nerou, ATHENS w/ links to AOTV announcements

SEPTEMBER 2023 GAP recap

1 Oct - Bilbao Arena Miribilla, BILBAO (VIZCAYA)

3 Oct - Altice Arena, LISBON

5 Oct - Wizink Center, MADRID

6 Oct - Palau Sant Jordi, BARCELONA

PORTRAITS, 9th set [7.10]

8 Oct - Pala Alpitur, TURIN

9 Oct - Unipol Arena, BOLOGNA

11 Oct - Rockhal, ESCH-SUR-ALZETTE

12 Oct - Sportspaleis, ANTWERP

14 Oct - Accor Arena, PARIS

15 Oct - Ziggo Dome, AMSTERDAM

17 Oct - Lanxess Arena, COLOGNE

19 Oct - O2 Arena, PRAGUE

20 Oct - Mercedes Benz Arena, BERLIN

PORTRAITS, 10th set [21.10]

22 Oct - Olympiahalle, MUNICH

23 Oct - Hallenstadion, ZURICH

FITFWT23: LATAM promo begins [28.10]

Twitter spree: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 Hall Of Fame, [31.10]

IGTV [1.11]: transcript, gifs [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

8 Nov - 3Arena, DUBLIN

10 Nov - Utilita Arena, SHEFFIELD

11 Nov - AO Arena, MANCHESTER

12 Nov - Ovo Hydro, GLASGOW

14 Nov - Brighton Center, BRIGHTON

15 Nov - International Arena, CARDIFF

17 Nov - The O2, LONDON

18 Nov - Resorts World Arena, BIRMINGHAM

FITFWT23 has come to an end!

ROLLING STONE UK 2023 AWARDS

23 Nov - Camden Roundhouse, LONDON

#fitfwt23 #fitfwt23: mp #fitfwt23: recap #louis tomlinson

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representative-democracy · 6 months

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saw your tags about getting into terror fic again and was wondering if you have any recs <3

Great question! I feel like The Terror has higher than average quality fanfic so this is a toughy, so this list is in no particular order and non conclusive!! And get ready for a lot of Bridglar :P

I also have a TON more, especially of less popular pairings, so lmk if you want more recs

For The Glory of a Good Pudding by soft_october

Fitzier, modern AU, and answers the important question: what would happen if The Cold Boys were competing in the Great British Bake Off?

any world (that i’m welcome to) by attheborder

Fitzier, modern AU, JFJ was frozen in the ice and is defrosted just time time to meet grumpy professor Crozier

Upon Great Persuasion by anactoriatalksback

McStanley, modern AU, this will get you shipping the doctors

Read from a Treasured Volume by Acephalous

Bridglar, canon time period, watch these two perfect men fall in love, THIS SLAPS PROBS THE FICS I HAVE READ THE MOST BELOVED OF ALL TIME

Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad by TheGreenMeridian

Bridglar, canon time period, literally the softest, most tender porn on the internet 🥹

lighthouse on the sea by rednights

Bridglar, canon time period, John Bridgens learns he deserves to be loved and it makes me sick to my stomach how amazing it is

For Those About To Rock by neversaydie

The modern rock band AU you didn’t know you were looking for

At Furthest South by sadsparties

Fitzier, canon time period, the Antarctic expeditions if JFJ had joined - explored unreliable narrators in an extremely satisfying way

Lock and key by seekwell and hazelmotes

Canon, explores Silna and Bridgen’s friendship

How To Kill The Man You Love by madness_and_smiles

Fitzier, canon, I DONT KNOW HOW DESCRIBE THIS FIC OTHER THAN ITS SOME OF THE BEST FICTION IVE EVER READ, I’ve literally made people that haven’t watch the terror read this

Here Again, Even With A Thought by whipstitch

Canon, this will fulfill your need to know what Fitzjames and Bridgen’s friendship was like and will absolutely devastate you

(it’s) a guarantee soul destroyer by in_a_hedge

Joplittle, modern AU, Tom Jopson has a terrible, no-good, very bad week working at a pet store

i’ll be two steps on the water by eternalbrook

Irving/Gibson, modern AU, this bad boy got me shipping these lads something I never planned on doing

Devine Fruits by manicpixiedreamjop

Joplittle + Solomon, modern AU, the romance is TOO TIER and the porn also slays for this! This Solomon is also so extremely in character is almost painful but I love it so much

#the terror #I genuinely havent read bad fanfic for this fandom yet #also everyone on tumblr has amazing fic and fic recs #these are just the ones I had the foresight so save so I don’t have to hunt them down

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mossarchives · 3 months

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Drew All Out Attacks based on Persona 3 Reload for the characters of @gumitime's Monster of the Week campaign that I am having a great time playing <3

((Morris: @leliana-sings-mozarts-requiem, Skie (Noah), Irving @stabbyaoba, Hajime (Me :D)))

#moss art #my art #dnd #Morris Livingston #Marc Irving #Hajime Tachibana #Skie Elrod

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esotheria-sims · 2 years

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Looks like Dominick has a little vermin problem! 🐁 A big rat found its way into the house. What the poor thing didn’t know, however, was that it's intruding on the territory of the Mightiest Hunter™ in all of the land. Guess that’s a lesson that’s going to be learnt the hard way...

And sure enough, our aforementioned mighty hunter rounds the corner, having sensed that prey is nearby. She pounced the helpless critter, snuffing it with practised ease (was anyone here expecting a different outcome? 😅). But finicky beast that she is, OF COURSE she didn’t eat it, leaving the remains for Dominick to pick up instead.

Hard as he may try, our soft-hearted cat father just couldn’t seem to get used to cleaning up Cass’ messes. He knew that she was just acting on instinct, but that didn’t make him feel any less sorry for her victims.

Sorry, dude, that's what you get for harbouring a serial killer under your roof! 😂

#sims 2 #ts2 #sims #gameplay #bacc #wb gameplay #wyverns bay #irving #irving week 3 #dominick irving #pets #cassiopeia the cat #mine

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faux-fires · 1 year

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(not a) drabble a day #3

Friendship ended with drabble-a-day, now random 5k handers fics about solitary confinement are my new bff

In this freedom we found (M!handers, 5119 words, look it's about solitary so it's gonna have dark themes & stuff).

The worst of it was the shame.

He'd told himself he wouldn't cry. He'd gone whole days without speaking when they brought him to the Circle, what was a week in the dark to him? He'd sleep through most of it, surely; he was made of stronger stuff than they thought.

But it wasn't about the silence, or it wasn't only about the silence. In the dark he realised that they could just stop feeding him. It was so small and so empty and he felt small and empty, even though he tried not to be. He tried to be quiet and contemplative and stoic but it had never really been in his nature, and so he had begun talking to them when they opened the tiny slot in his cell and shoved in his food, and then when that didn't help, talking to himself to fill the space. When they came to change his chamberpot once a week he found himself trying to make eye contact and then, gradually, as even that was denied him, to touch - to lay his palm on silverite just in case there was a human being beneath it, one with eyes and hands and a maker-damned voice, pathetically grateful even when his jailers just tore his fingers loose disdainfully.

Eventually he began to rage, and even as he did so he felt like a toddler battering his fists against the walls of his door and screaming until his throat gave out and kicking over his slop bucket, hoping some of it would leak out through the gap under the door, even though sometimes it worked and they'd open up the cell to sluice him down with a bucket of ice water, and he was so fucking grateful to just see them that he didn't even care that they were unhelmeted, and that they looked at him in disgust like he had chosen to live this way.

And worse was the silence and what it did to his control and his sense of himself, of his own courage and his own dignity and his own humanity: the intervals. Sometimes when he begged he could hear them laughing on the other side of the door; one time after he'd been hammering on the door for so long he'd broken at least one of his knuckles a templar flung it open, snorted, "You cracked sooner than most, robe," and shoved a healing potion at his chest; the way they spoke about him at shift change as though he were an animal (the runaway been good today? And the response, Yeah, managed to get most of his piss in the bucket for once, like it was his fault he couldn't see) and he was so raw, he'd thought he could live through it but in the dark he was nothing, they made him nothing, and even after they brought him back to the light the cell stayed.

It hadn't been a week. He'd known that on some level but they didn't tell him the truth for some time. They put him in the infirmary afterwards because his legs were funny and he couldn't walk and he couldn't chew anything or hold anything. Wynne treated him with a sympathy he hated (I'm sorry, Anders, there is no cat in Kinloch Hold - I don't know what you saw) and the templars at the door wouldn't look at him and he couldn't stop wondering if they'd worked any shifts down there and had seen him, weeping, bleeding, unravelled and broken. He didn't want to know.

At first he kept going back there at night in his head, woke screaming so loudly Irving had to get the Tranquil to put silencing charms on the infirmary doors, and that was shameful, too, that he couldn't just get better despite being a healer of no small skill. Nobody at Kinloch talked to him about it because all of them were aware it could be them, and as the months went by his shame and humiliation began to curdle, turn vicious and heavy in his gut, something in his eyes putting them off.

He'd been out the cell for six months when the Blight came. He stole a templar uniform and walked out with the rest of the bucketheads, fingers flexing inside his cold silverite gauntlets, and it was the dumbest escape plan he'd ever executed and should never have worked but it did. Maybe Kinloch itself wanted him gone. Maybe it could feel his rage and his hatred seething in his belly and wanted him out before Uldred split the veil, because if Anders had still been there he knew his Rage would have left no survivors.

At Vigil's Keep he talked too much and too fast, and he needled his new, fellow, Wardens, testing always the limit - what would it take to end up back there in the cells? He slept with Pounce on his pillow and a candle burning at his night table, and although Oghren bitched about the light when he was trying to sleep they all let it go, because Anders had been woken up by the screams of every single one of the other Warden recruits and most of them were to do with Darkspawn but maybe not all of them were, and not one of them would ever push.

He told the Commander, airily, and when she looked back at him with sympathy but no real understanding he didn't bring it up again. When she gave him the world's ugliest blue scarf he wrapped it around his wrist and played with it whenever he thought he wasn't real, which was happening less and less the longer he stayed with the Wardens, with people who called him Anders because that was the name he'd asked him to use and who treated him as annoying colleague and not a ghost haunting Kinloch without even the decency to die first. He wished he'd taken the scarf with him to Kirkwall but by then he had something better: light he carried within himself and another who slept beneath his skin and whispered in his dreams, What they did to you was wrong. It will never happen again.

After the Commander left he killed six templars with his bare hands and thought, pleased, now I am not nothing - even in the worst places of Kirkwall with the Chokedamp oozing through his lungs, even in the dark and the damp of the sewers. But at night sometimes he dreamed of walls and bars and silverite and blood under his nails, and he made his clinic in an old mine-shaft half open to the sea air and told himself it was because it would help circulate the bad air, and hated himself for that, too, the way he cringed from the truth like a beaten dog.

He didn't tell anyone in Kirkwall. Isabela waxed lyrical about her time in the drunk tanks of every port city from here to Rialto; Aveline thought anyone in a cell had to be there for a reason. Fenris carried his trauma so openly on his skin that it made Anders even more ashamed that he had come from his unmarked, which made him angrier, so much so Hawke stopped inviting them to Wicked Grace at the same time. Sebastian asked him once whether something had happened in the Circle and Anders picked a fight with him about demons, because his knees had gone weak just at the idea and that too was humiliating.

Hawke thought it was romantic that Anders slept pressed so tight to his side, his hand splayed across Hawke's broad chest so that he could track his lover's heartbeat even in his dreams, and Anders loved him so deeply and so selfishly that he never once told him because he didn't want Hawke to know, ever, that Anders had once been nothing. Hawke was a man he could have dreamed into being, strong and handsome and talented and so Makers-damned kind, and Anders hated that even in the safety of their bed - with Hawke's heart under his palm and the fire banked low but never extinguished - he sometimes thought not sweet nothings like a lover should but instead, I will kill you myself before I let them put you in a cell, and he hated the templars all the more for making him think it in the first place.

He was so angry, all the time, but it got worse after the Arishok died - after Meredith began to squeeze and Kirkwall began to crumble, and his anger was a self-stoking blaze, because the more it grew the more he hated himself for damaging his spirit in this way, of taking something as good as justice and warping it with his hatred and his fear. It was a cycle he couldn't get out of and his friends - Hawke's friends - began to avoid him as he became crueller and colder and even Hawke began looking at him with such concern, and that hurt most of all, because some part of Anders wanted so badly to curl against him - to draw strength from those broad arms and say, I am so afraid all the time. He never would because he knew with gut-deep certainty that if he said anything at all Hawke would leave him, because that well of cowardice and shame ran so very deep through the core of him now and had done for so long that he simply did not know who he was without it. Better that it was anger. Anger drove him onward, anger got the door open even if just to sluice him down with an ice-bucket, anger got the templars banging back on the door and yelling Shut up in there! and that was so very much better than being nothing.

Anger got him sela petrae and anger got him into the Chantry basement and anger got him through that last night in their room, the moon shining in through windows that Hawke never drew the curtains fully across. Anger got him through their last night of lovemaking, teeth and tongue and fingernails biting as Hawke held him close and he responded in kind. Anger was there for him when Hawke touched his cheek so gently to turn them face-to-face, expression sad and uncertain in the dim firelight that he had never once questioned and said, You'll tell me, won't you? If there's.... if you need me?

Anders wanted to say, I'll always need you, and he wanted to say, I am sorry I cannot be whole, and he wanted to say, hold me and show me I am real. But when he opened his mouth all that came out was a comment about the cause, and it played in his head all through the next day until they stood before Meredith in Lowtown and he cut through their bickering, and Hawke said, "Anders, what did you do?"

The red light was so fierce and so bright he could see it through his closed eyelids, and it felt like that bucket of ice water. It felt purifying. It felt like losing a rotten limb - a moment of sharp, intense pain, and then... nothing. He opened his eyes and looked at them, at the horror and fear on their faces, and thought, Nobody can ever say I am not real now.

He took a seat on some spare crates while they argued, and realised he didn't much care what they were arguing about. How had he forgotten how it felt, to be this peaceful? They were fighting, but the sun was going down, and for a time he sat and he watched the embers falling through the reddening sky with nothing in his head at all. There was no rage. No fear. No shame. There was a pang of grief for Hawke, who had loved him so well and so gently, but even that was distant, like his heart had been wrapped in such a thick suit of armour nothing could pierce it.

For a moment he simply existed in his body, worn and unkempt as it was. His socks were damp and there was a hole through which his big toe protruded; it was uncomfortable, he should have darned it. His coat was heavy on his shoulders. He knee twinged. His knuckles - never quite right after the breaks in the cell - ached a little, but nothing unbearable. His throat itched with the smoke. All the damage had always been on the inside, and he was suddenly glad that nobody would see it even after he was gone. It was the only thing Kinloch Hold had let him keep and it would be his now and... in whatever came next.

When someone touched his shoulder, he thought for a second it might be Meredith or one of her lackeys - but then Hawke squeezed gently. He had questions, which Anders supposed was fair, and he answered as best he could, for this brave man who had loved Anders and also spent so many years fighting for this city. The dead needed their Champion to be their voice more than he did, he supposed, until Hawke said, "Help me defend the mages," and everything turned upside down.

He rose, and Hawke clasped him by the cheek in a mirror of that last night in their bed. His face was unreadable. His eyes were clear and thoughtful. He didn't stop staring at Anders, not even when Sebastian swore bloody vengeance upon them, and Anders couldn't have moved out from under that gaze if he had tried. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he had no name for the emotion he felt - something quick and bright and growing by the second; something so massive and out of his sphere of knowledge that he felt almost a boy again, going for his first walks through the Fade, struggling to find the vocabulary to describe things never intended to be pinned down by words.

The fighting was brutal and bloody. He had known it would be but hadn't thought too much about it, having assumed that it was a part of the process he'd never live to see. Hawke fought as efficiently and cleanly as he ever had. Every time Anders glanced over he was focused on the task at hand, but at moments he thought he could feel the weight of Hawke's gaze on him. Even in the courtyard, when Hawke agreed to flee the city with him, to become fugitives, together (like it was that easy!), he thought maybe Hawke was keeping himself back. He wondered if Hawke was struggling with his own rage, if his hate was choking him the way Anders' was.

After they fled the city nobody would look at him at all. Hawke had given them time to go home and gather what belongings they wished to carry and they came to Isabela's ship one at a time, bodies exhausted and hands curled around both weapons and knapsacks. They gathered on the main deck and dropped their belongings where they sat and sank down atop them, one giant sprawl, and not a one of them watched him as he stepped carefully over and through discarded shields and daggers and swords and made his way up to the forecastle. The sky was grey now, smoke choking out the moon and stars, and the water was as black as the cell, but the fires raging across Kirkwall left enough light to see how filthy his hands were - coated with ash and blood, and little of it his own. He had always been a healer of no small skill. He set them on the rail and waited for the guilt and the shame, and none came.

Instead Hawke found him there, two ship bells later as the Siren's Call carefully managed her way out of the narrow shipping channel, slipping underneath the lifeless Twins on her way out to the ocean. He announced his presence in the form of a small ball of crimson magelight in the shape of a butterfly, which flitted onto the railing next to Anders' right hand and flapped its wings a few times. Anders could see how tired he was from the poor shape of the butterfly, the lack of detail in its wings, and turned so that his back was to the water to take him in.

He was covered in ash and blood. His trousers were torn mid-thigh, where one of Meredith's bronze statues had nearly taken his leg off. His face was filthy, and he walked slowly, like all his joints were creaking and old. Anders thought he looked magnificent, and only when Hawke's mouth quirked did he realise he'd said it aloud. "Are you sure you don't need any healing?" He asked the question carefully. He thought he'd healed them all completely before, when Cullen let them go, as they walked the damaged pier of the Gallows and tried to find a boat sea-worthy enough to take them back to Kirkwall's docks. There had been bodies floating in the water, and Hawke had been using his force magic to shove them out of the way so that they could leave the berth.

Hawke shook his head. "You got it all earlier," he said. He stepped closer, and in his own magelight Anders could see he was just dirty. The bags under his eyes came from exhaustion, not bruising, and the blood was old, or not even his. His expression was so hard to read. His mouth moved, like he was thinking about what to say, but all that came out was, "I came to tell you we're sleeping on deck - Isabela says she's not sharing her cabin with any of us while we look like this." Ruefully he plucked at his own sleeve. Anders watched him cautiously, waiting for the anger, the revulsion - the ash he was failing to brush off had been perhaps people. Instead, he closed the distance between them and leaned on the railing next to Anders, heavily, like he genuinely needed the support to stay up.

"I wasn't planning on sleeping in Isabela's cabin," Anders said slowly.

"Good," said Hawke. He glanced sidelong at Anders, who was shocked to see him smiling, a sharp cut of a thing. "I don't share."

"Are you -" Anders swallowed. "Do you mean that?"

Hawke just watched him, his eyes roaming over Anders' face, searching for something that Anders couldn't understand, and then he looked away, back over the black waters. "I packed a bedroll for each of us," he said. "I don't think I told you about the emergency packs behind the wardrobe."

"I, ah, already found them," Anders said. He winced when Hawke levelled an unimpressed glare his way. "I was - looking for a secret place to put something of my own. As I'm sure you can imagine."

He'd kept the sela petrae in his clinic, but the crushed high dragon fire gland Hawke had given him from the Bone Pit dragon needed somewhere else. The glass jar hadn't been very big and he'd wanted it close to hand, but when he'd lifted that loose floorboard in their room and seen the two stuffed knapsacks lying there - had realised why he'd mysteriously been running dry on socks and underwear and hadn't been able to find his favourite whalebone comb those past few weeks - he had replaced the floorboard and vowed to say nothing. Hawke was an apostate too. He understood.

He'd thought Hawke would start in on him for his own secret, which had been so much bigger, but instead he just nodded, like it was a satisfactory answer. "We've got money, weapons, and some travel rations," he said. "I've told everyone but Isabela we're heading for Ferelden, but I was thinking we could get off at Ostwick instead. A lot of people will be wanting to find us and the sooner we start being unpredictable, the better."

Anders felt like he had prepared a different version of the conversation than Hawke had. His stomach felt tight and tense. "But - your brother," he said, and when Hawke shrugged, pressed - because he'd never been able to leave well enough alone - "You're going to leave him behind? Your friends? For me?"

Hawke laughed bitterly, which was a relief. "Here we go," he said, to the great night sea.

The anger was back, albeit smaller, and Anders said, clipped, "What do you mean by that?" His voice was waspish, and got lower pitched as he stoked that fire in his belly. Hate me, loathe me, leave me - just don't look too closely at me. "I gave you a choice at the Gallows - if you didn't want to travel with me you should have said then. "

But instead of getting indignant or shoving back or anything Anders could use, could build on, Hawke just grinned at him crookedly, no humour in his eyes at all, and said, "When are you going to let the Circle go?"

"What?" Anders pushed himself off the railing, momentarily stunned, and then hissed, "This has been my goal from the start, Hawke. I've never been less than honest. I burnt it down -"

"You bombed a Chantry," said Hawke, "And then we killed some templars, and hopefully saved some mages. I know what you did, and what you wanted to achieve. And I hope that it works the way you planned, Anders, I really do. I don't give a shit about the Chantry. I know I should, and I have been trying all evening - maybe it'll come to me later, but all I see when I think about the body count tonight is fucking Orsino stitching himself into an abomination made from his own murdered apprentices. I see the bodies in the water at the docks with the stab wounds in the back as they ran away. I think about the mages we found in their cells butchered under their beds as they tried to hide.

"I meant everything I said in the Gallows," Hawke continued. His fingers were curling around the railing, the tips of his stylized talon gauntlets digging into the wood; the magelight flared a little with his anger and Anders realised there were wisps of smoke escaping between his palms, wrapped tight to hide the shaking. He was still staring straight ahead at the water. "For the sake of the mages I will follow you across Thedas, Anders. I'll kill more templars, I don't give a fuck. I'll support the cause no matter what because it is my cause." And now he looked at Anders, and his expression was terrible to behold because it was so familiar; lip curled in rage, but in his eyes nothing but fear and - helplessness. "I won't follow you if you're going to try to push me away because some part of you is trapped in Kinloch fucking Hold."

Anders said, too quickly, "What happened to me there -"

"Don't," Hawke begged, hoarsely. "Please. I'm not Sebastian. I'm not Varric. I'm not looking to - get into your brain or dig into your story. I am the man who has loved you for six years. I have heard you crying in your sleep. I have watched you find a reason not to follow us into caves. I was there in the Deep Roads when the campfire burned out and you panicked and set fire to half our bedding, do you even remember that? Anders, I'm not - I'm not your enemy," And his eyes were wet, now, and somehow this was the most awful thing of all the things that had happened tonight.

All the blood that had been shed because of him, all the lives that had been lost because of him - none of it mattered as much as this man, this one single man, looking at him with such awful despair and heartbreak on his face, and Anders felt a surge of shame course through him, so strong that when he opened his mouth to argue what came out was instead a humiliating high, keening noise, and he clasped both his hands over his mouth, horrified, but it wouldn't stop, and for a moment he was back in the dark, screaming I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry until his throat bled, begging for pity from people who had taken everything from him and deserved nothing in return, and he thought that there might be no way out this time -

And then Hawke pulled him into an embrace so tight that left no room for the nothing. He clung to Anders with a savagery Anders could never have expected - his face pressed tight into the side of Anders' head, and he was crying now like Anders had never seen him cry before, and Anders realized with a mix of abject embarrassment and deep relief that he was, too - horrid jagged, broken little sobs that came from somewhere deep inside even as he tried to force them back in, to seal shut his throat, to fill his chest with the comforting familiarity of rage.

But Hawke's tears were pooling in his ear, and it would have been awful enough if he hadn't been whispering, "I thought you were going to die, Anders, I can't lose you, I thought you were going to die," over and over again, and Anders thought - maybe we're in this together. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. But he hooked his arms around Hawke's waist and pressed himself closer, closer to that sweat-smoke smell and the uncomfortable wetness, the heat and light and warmth of him, and took everything he was being offered as he cried like he hadn't since the cell.

He didn't know how long they clung to to each other in the night. Nobody came to find them. They'd left Kirkwall behind for good now, slipping past the lighthouse, and were loose on the Waking Sea; with the smoke falling behind them the stars had crept out, and a faint blueish patch that must be Satina, lurking in her gibbous form behind the clouds. At some point Hawke moved them away from the railing and they sat, pressed into each other, under one of the cabin windows. Anders didn't think his legs would work if he tried, but he wasn't trying; he curled half into Hawke, his face tucked so tightly into his throat he could feel every exhalation his lover made as a cool breeze against his still-drying ear. Hawke's left arm wrapped around his torso but he had both of his hands clasped around Hawke's right hand, holding on closely.

They hadn't said anything, not since at least the lighthouse, and yet Anders felt... better. Fuller. Like some hollow part of him had been filled. It wasn't quite as peaceful as he'd felt sitting on that crate awaiting execution but it wasn't too far from it, either, and this time he could honestly say he did not expect to die.

He had fought so hard to keep Hawke from his weak places; the shame he felt in that cell, the hatred at his own cowardice, the fear that it could happen again. That he was himself everything they said about him - paranoid, crazy, twisted by Vengeance. Hawke hadn't turned him away. Instead he had shown Anders the parts of himself Anders could never have guessed at - the terror he felt at being alone, born from a lifetime of apostasy. The templars lurking around every corner. The desperate loneliness, the yearning for a connection inhibited by that fundamental need not to be caught. The stubborn, white-knuckle viciousness he displayed to the world on behalf of those he called friend and family.

Anders had always thought of Hawke as a Just man. Even sharing his life with the man - entangled in his bed, struggling their way through domesticity together - part of him had thought he could never deserve Hawke, not truly. He was too noble, too brave, too good to be trusted with those awful, deepest parts of Anders' own heart. He was coming to see that this was not the case, that Hawke had felt that same, deep-rooted self loathing, and had made choices not because they were good and right and just but because they kept him close to the people that he loved. He didn't care about the Chantry, for example, and Anders suspected he never would - which felt odd, given that Anders himself did care. He had made deals with monsters - like the boat they were on, for another; Isabela had traded it for an opportunity to catch a slaver lord, and Hawke had let her because he thought they might need an escape route. Anders still didn't know how he felt about that.

It felt strange to look at him as another human being, and not a man on a shining pedestal, a Champion and a hero. Perhaps these dark, wounded places were something common to all sentient beings. Or perhaps it was the magic, the shame they had both been soaked in by the Chantry and its adherents before they were even born. Anders rubbed his cheek lightly against Hawke's throat, stubble rasping against stubble, and considered this for the second draft of his manifesto.

Hawke said, his voice gummy and weary, "If it's alright with you I'd rather stay here tonight. I don't think I can face everyone else like this."

Anders wanted to say something sarcastic and light; he wanted to say something that slid off the edge of everything they had just been through. Instead he forced himself to take a deep breath and said, "I'm with you, love. To the end." After a moment, he added, "Fugitives, together."

The arm still wrapped around his torso tightened. In response Anders squeezed Hawke's hand where he held it between both of his, and eventually Hawke's bearded jaw scraped across his forehead as he pressed a kiss into the crown of Anders' head. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. They'd come through the darkness of the night together, and it had made them stronger.

He didn't tell himself he wouldn't cry again. In fact it felt entirely possible he'd cry more tonight. But he'd experienced the worst of himself, and the worst of Hawke too, and they were still here. Filthy, dog-tired, and with an uncertain path ahead of them: but still here.

He wasn't afraid any more.

#reikah writes recklessly #anders #hawke #handers #did i just want to write my favs cuddling YUP #drabble a day #<- YES I KNOW THIS IS NOT A DRABBLE I'M MAD ABOUT THIS TOO

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antoine-roquentin · 1 year

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This is a miniseries about the 1965 American invasion of the Dominican Republic, the fifth by that nation, in the midst of a much larger series about the CIA in the 1960s and god knows what else. The above clip is from a primetime CBS news broadcast on March 13, 1967, a few weeks after the Ramparts revelations, called In the Pay of the CIA. Take note of the foundations mentioned. You can watch it here, and I would recommend doing so, because it shows which allegations the CIA was hoping to get ahead of and which ones they were hoping to bury with a counternarrative. William Small at CBS News had asked the CIA to provide a list of who at the station was in their employ, and unlike with other news organizations, the CIA refused to confirm or deny. Given the testimony of former CBS men like Sam Jaffe, foreign correspondent, as to the pushiness of the agency, it's likely that at least some were compromised. The previous part in this series, Part 6, can be read here.

In the aftermath of the Russian Revolution, the American socialist movement was deeply split. Jewish Americans tended to see the Bolsheviks as the liberators of their people still held captive by Tsarist anti-Semitism and joined the Communist Party USA. Protestants, held captive as they were by a tendency towards paternalistic politics, were horrified by the atrocities committed against Orthodox priests and of state atheism and tended towards the Socialist Party USA. Jay Lovestone, as the former, became a rising CPUSA star, working to support the party through labour union entryism in the American Federation of Labour. Politics in the party mirrored those in the Soviet Union: Lovestone supported Bukharin, James Cannon supported Trotsky, and William Foster supported Stalin. Foster and Lovestone booted Cannon from the party, then Foster booted Lovestone. Lovestone went to the Soviet Union to argue his case in front of Stalin himself, and as he tells it, he criticized the man to his face, was jailed, and had to escape. This fostered a lifelong hatred for Stalinism in his eyes, although for a number of years after he defended him opportunistically even on the outside of the Party. He brought along with him a number of loyalists, most notably Irving Brown, his best friend and muscle man (Part 3). Lovestone fell under the influence of David Dubinsky, leader of the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union, member of SPUSA, and a vehement anti-communist. Dubinsky, the head of an all-male leadership of a 3/4 female union, prided himself on turning down wage increases when he felt they would threaten the stability of the industry, and once said "workers need capitalism like a fish needs water". He used his intelligence chief, Gus Tyler (Part 3), who had experience breaking Trotskyite groups, to suppress any local taken over by communists. He used Lovestone as his outside man, sending him to the UAW to prevent them from joining the CIO over the AFL. Victor Reuther, brother of the UAW president, described Lovestone as "one of the most Machiavellian union-splitters ever to prey on the American labor movement".

During the war, both Lovestone and Brown applied to work at the OSS. The spy agency wanted people who could provide information about the Soviet Union and communist trade unionists in Europe, who had become some of the few resisters against the Nazis. Brown was accepted, but Lovestone was felt to be too compromised. Instead, he was appointed by Dubinsky's close friend Irish Catholic George Meany, AFL treasurer and future AFL-CIO leader as well as a close CIA collaborator, to head up a new project. Meany was a schmoozer who prided himself on his conversational skills and his ability to be arrogant without seeming it, like keeping the American president waiting on the line. Lovestone was a classic intelligence man, obsessed with gleaning information and putting it to use. An underling reported that he read "twenty newspapers a day". Lovestone noted that the AFL was at the height of its power, and Dubinsky and Meany should use that to prevent the Soviets from taking over Europe. He saw that communist, socialist, and Catholic trade unions were the only ones who had survived the war, typically through extreme resistance in the case of the former and collaboration for the latter. Lovestone was appointed to create an international intelligence network to crusade against communism. By 1946, the FBI noted that Lovestone had a man in the majority of America's European embassies, largely thanks to Dubinsky's influence in the White House. The network was called the Free Trade Union Committee.

Prior to WW2, an attempt had been made at a global trade union conference. The International Federation of Trade Unions refused to take a hard line on colonialism, feminism, socialism, or any other prominent political questions of the day and so fell apart. The English Trade Union Congress attempted to create a new post-war version, the World Federation of Trade Unions, and invited Soviet and communist trade unions to participate. The AFL refused, complaining of communist subversion, but the CIO attended. Lovestone devoted hundreds of thousands of dollars, much of it from the women, largely Jewish, of the ILGWU sewing repetitively for 44 hours a week, to breaking the WFTU apart. For the AFL triumvirate, any organization that had communists was a front group. In Germany, Italy, France, and Greece, Lovestone worked hard at creating a merger between pre-war socialists and Catholics that would shut out communists who had massive sway among new membership for their part in the resistance. He used the same tactics he had at the UAW, while Brown brought his OSS experience. In large part, he succeeded because he was the only one with money in these war-torn countries. In large part, this was the same debate club tactics. People were brought together and prepared with pre-canned lines for the big debates both on the shop floor and at the general meetings. Both sides dropped phony measures with friendly, unobjectionable language to see which side independents would support. In the background, money was exchanged and positions were promised. If big wins weren't found at the conventions, plans were made for open splits with expensive press conferences and advertising. In the streets, blood had to be spilled to keep the rank and file in line and to take over a local from the outside. Money went a long way there too, as did contacts with mafia members. Wherever possible, locals that had fled to America to escape were brought in to replace the local leadership.

Ultimately, this was the same way the National Student Association got started, to torpedo an international effort feared converted by the Soviets. Like them, the AFL would soon have CIA backing to do it. The money would come from the Marshall Plan. Reconstruction was important and would require the acquiescence of labour. The point of the plan was to get people paid higher wages so they could buy more and fuel growth. American agents on the ground would distribute money to worthy projects, gaining local contacts and bettering the American brand. Countries that chose not to participate would face lower living standards. This was the perfect way for the newly formed CIA to gain intelligence on the ground. Many of the CIA's operatives were former OSS who had gone to work in the State Department and were now in charge of the Plan. Most important of these employees was Frank Wisner, who was not officially CIA but often dined with their leadership as part of the Georgetown Set, which included Ben Bradlee, Cord Meyer, and Dick Bissell. He and a more famous employee, George Kennan, writer of one of the most famous documents of the Cold War, went to work using Marshall Plan money for covert projects. These included bringing fascists from Eastern Europe to America where they could be protected, trained, and sent out to conduct guerilla warfare, and helping to sway the 1948 Italian elections with the help of anti-communist trade unions. Soon, Lovestone's FTUC was being funded with more CIA money than union money.

These men hated each other. The CIA boys were WASPs and the union men were Catholics and Jews with little in the way of formal education. They shared objectives and funding but felt that they were acting independently of each other and claimed so in their autobiographies. Thomas Braden (part 5), Lovestone's handler in the early 50s, complained of never getting any accounting books, while Lovestone derided Braden and his comrades as "fizzkids". Nevertheless, the historical record betrays a close cooperation. In a top level meeting, Wisner was described in CIA memorandum as "Mr. Lawyer", Meany as "Mr. Plumber", Dubinsky as "Mr. Garment Worker", and Lovestone as "Mr. Intellectual". They shared an odd political affiliation, a liberalism that was moderate supportive of working class demands but against any radical changes to the overall system and most definitely against the Soviet Union. They didn't just want fascists from Eastern Europe, they also wanted independent trade unionists. One of these men was Sacha Volman. In Romania, Volman had worked for the social democratic party, fighting in the resistance against the Nazis before being forced out of the country by the Soviets. Like his patrons, he was well educated and spoke many languages. They set him to work on a joint project between the AFL and the CIA, a radio station known as Radio Free Europe, translating propaganda broadcasts. Volman knew who was paying him, but like Lovestone and Brown felt like an independent, calling himself a "half-virgin".

The CIA's attention soon turned to Latin America. They brought together the remnants of the Caribbean Legion, who had contacts on the ground and in some cases had become local leaders, with Eastern European trade unionist exiles, who had backgrounds in organizing workers and could testify to the brutality of the Soviet system. Volman became personally attached to the Dominican Juan Bosch, who in exile in Figueres' Costa Rica had become attached to a training program for democratic activists sponsored by the AFL and SPUSA. Now, you may be asking yourself, why would America train people opposed to the allied regime of Trujillo? The benign explanation would be that the political attachment of American government employees to liberalism made them wish to do whatever they could to improve the character of foreign governments while working within the system. The more sinister one would be that nobody in politics trusts anyone to stay attached to them for any longer than the present moment. If your ally betrays you or even just isn't performing that the level you'd prefer, you'd better have someone you can replace him with on short notice. Better yet if the new guy has more local legitimacy than the old guy. Juan Bosch certainly did, having worked underground to organize workers as part of his banned opposition party, the Dominican Revolutionary Party (PRD).

Betrayal wasn't what Trujillo was doing, but he certainly pissed off the wrong people. He knew how to pay people off to his benefit, and American politicians were no exception. One of the first men he bribed was congressman Hamilton Fish III. Fish was a progressive anti-Soviet isolationist in favour of civil rights who objected openly to the massacre of Haitians. Trujillo gave him $25,000, his standard fee, and two years later he welcomed the Dominican leader to New York with a speech proclaiming he'd created a "golden age for his country". In that case Trujillo's investment was devalued, however, by Fish' 1938 speech at a pro-Nazi conference, leading to his isolation and ultimate election loss in 1944. Others were primarily from the Senate Agricultural Committee. They held control over how much raw sugar could be imported to America for refinement, ensuring that the price remained stable and high. In turn, Trujillo owned about two thirds of the country's sugar plantations and American investors 30%. Most were staunch anti-communists, southerners, and pro-segregation. They helped determine who got foreign aid, both money and weapons, in the fight against Soviet influence in the region. Most notable of these was James Eastland, perhaps the most right wing senator in the 50s and 60s and a good personal friend of J. Edgar Hoover. Hoover was so committed to the man that when he informed Eisenhower about the bribes from Trujillo, he kept Eastland's name off the list (note: wiretapping had been ruled illegal, so Hoover simply spied on everybody in Congress and told the president the most salacious gossip so that he wouldn't object. Only Truman and JFK were uncomfortable with it). If you've seen the recent Elvis biopic, you might recognize Eastland for his bit role in the film. Of course, it wasn't just money that changed hands. The Dominican's tourism industry went from bust to boom during the 50s, and Trujillo maintained a controlling interest in all the brothels as well as many ritzy properties where members of Congress could enjoy themselves. All, of course, were bugged and had two way mirrors to expedite filming.

Despite his best efforts, in the long run these policies alienated America. Dominican dissident Jesus Galindez, a Spanish civil war vet, FBI informant, and Columbia University professor, disappeared from New York City and was never found. A man arrested in the Dominican Republic, Octavio de la Maza, was found dead in his cell with a confession that the FBI considered to be forged. Trujillo hired a high priced American PR firm that did work for the Mafia and Tammany Hall to defend the nation. Hoover got a former agent of his, Joseph Farland, appointed ambassador. Farland quickly confirmed that much of the embassy was compromised. Farland's second at the embassy even openly bragged about spending time in one of Trujillo's mansions, leading to his replacement. In 1957, members of the Chicago, Philadelphia, and Tampa Mafias, including Meyer Lansky and Santos Trafficante (large investors in Cuba, also see part 1), were flown in to discuss opening casinos on the island. The investments were minor, mostly slot machines in hotels, but led to Trujillo hiring mafia-linked men for the Galindez job as well as an attempt to kill Jose Figueres. Hoover, Eisenhower, and the brothers Dulles began prepping for an orderly transition of power. The CIA initiated funding for Juan Bosch through the charity of businessman J.M. Kaplan, owner of Welch's Grape Juice and an investor in Dominican sugar plantations, a project managed by Sacha Volman. Together, they trained 200 Latin American students in 10 week courses in politics and social change, including a heavy dose of liberal anti-communism. Some of the Kaplan money made its way to Carlos Prio, who in turn handed some of it to Castro at a meeting in 1956. Arms sales, meanwhile, were quietly suspended in early 1958 to both Trujillo and Batista, although ongoing deliveries continued and both simply bought from Nicaragua.

1959 was the key year. In the decade since the Caribbean Legion, Castro had gone from using his elected position to try and pass a law against Batista's coup to fighting in guerilla warfare. One of the men he fought with was a former OSS man named Frank Sturgis. He used his links to pick up weapons wherever he could, likely including from the CIA's Samuel Cummings, who also sold to Batista, and from Rafael Trujillo, who had wanted to bribe Batista, then tried to kill him, then begged America to resume arms sales to him. This was not strange for the lower level CIA men, who rationally assessed Castro's claims to be an liberal nationalist. Their opinions turned when the men they'd trained to staff the anti-communist secret police began to be executed. Early New Year's Day, Batista touched down in Ciudad Trujillo, the renamed capital of the Dominican Republic. "Trujillo next", Castro shouted on the day he arrived in Havana. He only intended for rhetorical support, but Che had acted quickly to set up camps to train Haitians and Dominicans in promoting revolutions. Eisenhower's advisors recommended cautious engagement to draw Castro away from Che. The president's own paranoia, not to mention Vice President Nixon's, told them otherwise. Moreover, so did the Wall Streeters who owned Cuban plantations that were now being redistributed to peasants. In March, Frank Sturgis, who'd been helping clear the gangsters from the casinos but ended up going to work for them, reached out to the FBI and let them know his own negative assessment. Castro reached out to the Soviets for aid, hoping like any small national leader to play against American intransigence in providing their's. Cuba and the Dominican Republic sent rival adventurers to overthrow each others' governments, the former backed by Romulo Betancourt, president of newly democratic Venezuela. Those in the Cuban group were armed with AR-10s that Cummings had continued selling to Castro, who had liked the feel of captured ones, after Batista had been overthrown. (Cummings was in the Dominican when it happened trying to sell more guns, and Trujillo had demanded answers, as I found out reading the CIA's files.) Eisenhower read into these actions his own worst fears. What scared him more was when Trujillo did the same thing, reaching out to the Czechs to buy arms.

In the summer, Hollywood star and socialist Ava Gardner (just saw her in the great The Killers), who'd thrown down with Rubirosa as well as JFK, decided to visit Cuba and ended up seeing Fidel. She'd wanted to bang him but was blocked by a nineteen-year-old woman named Marita Lorenz, who prevented Gardner's private notes from reaching Castro. Ultimately, the two had a physical fight that had to be broken up by a Cuban security guard. Lorenz would later float around Cuban exile circles and claimed at one point, unconvincingly, that she'd been recruited to the CIA by Sturgis and the two had met Lee Harvey Oswald to look at maps of Dallas in 1963. In an odd coincidence, Jack Ruby testified to the Warren Commission that he'd seen Gardner while in Havana on business for Santo Trafficante (Another coincidence, Juan Peron was living in exile in the Dominican Republic at the time and was quite friendly with Trujillo, but ended up getting kicked out and fled to Madrid instead where he became Gardner's neighbour). On 11 December, Dick Bissell of the CIA (his name is on the ZR/RIFLE file in part 1) put out the first written recommendation for the "elimination of Fidel Castro", although by the time this memo hit the president's desk it was toned down. On the 20th, Dick Rubottom (there's a guy who was born to be in porn) at the State Department signed off on an order to remove Trujillo from office. This was likewise written on paper to be a charm offensive to convince the man to step down. However, as we saw with ZR/RIFLE, on paper there was a burglary operation, and in real life there was something more sinister.

#this post and the last one end abruptly because they were once one long post and then i realized i had to cut things up

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