#Source: Coronation Street

[cake-emu]

Coronation Street | Lisa Swain

Bonus:

the real cherry on top is this example coming up on Google for the definition of 'frankness':

and ICYMI: Carla and her big gob gifset

[literary-lesbian]

if mason's brothers were actually involved in becky's death imagine what the fuck that's gonna do to betsy

[kitchensinksurrealism]

my notre dame de paris obsession was so embarrassing bc all I talked about pierre and my truffula flu obsession was so embarrassing bc all I talked about was swag and my coronation street obsession is so embarrassing bc all I talk about is hilda and

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[inky-duchess]

I’ve kinda been interested in learning about royal scandals and drama from history (like could be anywhere in history besides the Princess Diana, Prince Charles, Prince Harry & Meghan stuff since there’s lots of info on that), but every time I try to look it up I just get random websites like “Top 10 Craziest Royal Scandals”. Any source or particular scandal/drama that you’d recommend looking into/starting with?

Here are just a few:

Margaret Campbell, the Dirty Duchess

Catherine of Valois marries Owain ap Tudur

Jacquetta of Luxembourg marries Richard Woodville

The Duke of Cumberland "murders" his valet

Empress Alexandra Feodorovna's letters to Rasputin get leaked

Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence and Avondale gets caught up in both the Jack the Ripper and Cleveland Street scandals.

The death of Madame Araujo and Tsar Alexander I's cover up of her death

The Black Masses and Madame de Montespan

The "poisoning" of Henriette, Duchess d' Orleans

The exile of Julia, daughter of Augustus.

Lady Seymour Worsely

The disappearance of Lord Lucan

The death and coronation of Inez de Castro

The death of Thomas Overbury

Affair of the Poisons

George IV and Maria FitzHerbert

Lola Montez

The death of Ludwig II

The Banquet of Chestnuts

The marriage of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria and his wife, Sophie, Duchess of Hohenberg

The exploits of Sabina, Empress of Rome

The fall of Sejanus

The marriage of Victoria Melita and Grand Duke Kirill

The imprisonment of Sophia Dorothea of Celle and the death of Königsmarck

The loves of Catherine the Great

The marriage of Louis and Edwina Mountbatten

The death of Amy Robsart

The Mayerling Incident

The Kotze Scandal

The death of Infante Alfonso of Spain

The Tour de Nesle Affair

Peter Townsend

George, Duke of Kent and the girl with the silver syringe

Affair of the Diamon Necklace

Wallis Simpson and Herr Ribbentropp

There's a great podcast that just focuses on scandals on Spotify, it's Trashy Royals, you should give it a listen!

[kaceyrps]

268 gifs of Charlotte Jordan in Coronation Street, during February 25 can be found in the source link. these are all from scratch so please don’t edit or claim as your own. if you plan on using these gifs please reblog this post.

triggers: alcohol, kissing, food, hospitals

[novelsbynia]

GEMINI:

——————————————————————————

Chapter Seven: Dinner At The Carpenters

——————————————————————-

Warnings: none

October 30th

Scarlett swallowed hard as she looked down at the stick. Out of all the times she could get pregnant in her life of course it's now. Of course she finds out the same day she just established her relationship with the father. The father, Ethan, Scarlett thought to herself. What was she going to tell Ethan? When was she going to tell him? How would he react? Would he be okay? Would he be angry? Would he be there? Would there be someone to be there for? All the thoughts raced through Scarlett's mind. She knew she had to tell him. Right now with everything going on, she knew she had to. God forbids if she doesn't make it. Well both of them now, it wasn't just herself anymore. If anything happened. He deserved to hear it from her and not some coroner. When he gets back she'll talk to him.

Then her family popped into her mind. She knew Sam would freak, she would probably yell at her and ask her how she could be so irresponsible? How she could let this happen? The truth is she didn't know exactly when it happened. Clearly sometime within the past three almost four months.

Scarlett shoved the box in her bag and the test in the pocket of her jacket and zipped the pocket closed. Scarlett suddenly got hit with a wave of nausea. This is what it was all along, fucking morning sickness Scarlett told herself.  She headed over to the toilet once again and let out her Chinese Asher bought her earlier. After she was finished she flushed the remnants down and grabbed her tooth brush off the holder. 

XXXX

"I think you should get out of the city. You know, considering what happened to you last time. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go." Tara looked over to Chad stirring the noodles in the pot. "Thats very thoughtful of you, but um, I don't think I'm going anywhere." Chad smiled.

"Will you two just make out already?" Mindy groaned from the next room as she started setting the table. "That is so inappropriate, dude." Chad scolded his twin. "Oh whatever, get it over with." Mindy lifted her hands up in defense.

Chad thought about what Scar told him earlier and he did have plans to go for it. Part of him thought that it wasn't the best time while the other thought this was the best time. To tell Tara in case anything happened to him God forbid.

"Sam?" Mindy called out as she headed towards the kitchen. "Yep?" Sam headed into the kitchen to meet up with the four. "We do not have to stay here again tonight."

"Well, too bad. I insist. Safety in numbers, and after today's attack it's for the best." Sam grabbed the bottle of wine Chad brought earlier. "This will be so fun. A little slumber party again with the fantastic five!" Chad said with a giddy smile.

"Fantastic five?" Sam asked as she grabbed the corkscrew. "Did you just give us a nickname?" Tara asked. "I sure did. I mean we've been through a lot together, and it's a pretty cool nickname." Chad said proudly.

Scarlett drowned out the voices of her sisters and friends as she sat there at the kitchen table. Her mind was currently resting on Ethan and the little person inside her growing. What did she even want to do? Did she even have to tell them? Did her and Ethan want to do this? "Are you okay?" Chad's voice brought her out of her daze. "Huh?" Scarlett hummed as she looked up at her friends. "You okay?" Chad asked. "What? Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

"Guys. What the hell." Anika said from the living room. The five looked at each other for a second as they headed their way over to Anika. Chad looked back at Scarlett for second. He knew there was something off. "We're hearing from sources inside our homicide division that the prime suspect is none other than Samantha Carpenter. One of the survivors of the Woodsboro killings in 2022. Seen here attacking a woman on the streets a few nights ago  and has gone viral on social media platforms." 

A video popped up on the screen of the recording of Sam and them all when the girl who threw the soda at Sam on the night of the party was being pushed by Sam then it was cut.

"In the wake of the Woodsboro tragedy last year, rumors sprouted online that Carpenter was actually responsible for the killings. Blaming the crimes on her boyfriend; Richie Kirsch and teen Amber Free-"

Sam grabbed the remote and shut the tv off before heading back in the kitchen. Scarlett watched her sister walk back into the kitchen then looked over at her other who gave her a sad look. Scarlett knew she had to swallow her nerves and be there for her older sister right now.

She made her way over to the kitchen table and pulled out a seat next to Sam. "I know you're not a fan of the way Tara and I have been handling things, and that we've been giving you a really hard time. But I can say that none of us can relate what you are experiencing. And I'm really, really sorry that you have to do that alone." Scarlett grabbed onto Sam's hand on the kitchen table.

Scarlett knew Sam had her moment with her and Tara sometimes, maybe more recently. However she knew it came from a place of love and she knew she didn't exactly act the way she should sometimes. She would discard Sam's feelings too much.

"It's not your fault. And I know I shouldn't care what people think. It just sucks being this hated." Sam wiped a small tear from her eyes.

"Hey. Hey. Just a reminder, not a single person in this room hates you. Okay? We have been through some fucked up stuff. And we are coping with it differently. But I mean, we moved here together for one very specific reason. We're a team." Chad sat down across from Scarlett with Mindy on his right.

"We are." Tara added as she took her seat on the end of the table next to Scarlett and Chad. "Thats because we are the fantastic fucking five." Mindy's words brought a smile to Chad's face. "Thank you very much."

"Ah I hated myself." Mindy groaned. "You said it." Tara added. "Thats what I'm talking about." Chad exclaimed. "Say it." Mindy tried egging Scar on. "Nah, not going to say it. I mean yes we are a team but-" Scar smiled. "Come on say it." Mindy continued.

"I've been sleeping with Cute Boy from across the hall." Sam interrupted. The room went silent for a second. "Boom." Mindy clapped. "I fucking knew it!" Tara yelled. "Called it." Scar added. "You did." Chad pointed over at Scarlett.

"I knew it from the day you had that hickey." Mindy joked. It hit her, her hickey Scarlett panicked looked up at Chad and slowly gently lifted her hair. He looked at her neck and back at Scarlett and shook his head. It was noticeable and dark however it was hidden by her dark locs.

"I feel like we should high five or something." Tara laughed. "The fantastic high Five, may we please?" Chad lifted his hand up in the air. "That was awful." Mindy chuckled. "Don't call it that. But we'll do the high five." Tara lifted her hand up to grab Chads. "It's kinda cute." Sam admitted. "Come on." Chad egged Scarlett on. "That's gross." Scar grabbed onto the fours hands that's when Sam's phone started to ring.

"Is that him?" Chad smiled. Tara grabbed Sam's phone from her hand and put it to her ear. "No Tara. Not right now." Sam tried to grabbed her phone away from her sister. "Hey, what are your intentions?" Tara chuckled.

The sound of her friends and sisters made Scarlett smile. With everything going on she knew everything was going to be okay. She knew after everything was over that this was her family and she knew they would be with her no matter what happened. That itself made Scarlett feel a little bit better.

"It's fine. I'll call him back." Sam grabbed her phone and pressed decline. The five stopped talking when they heard the muffled moaning sounds coming from Quinn's room.

"Oh my God. Quinn and her gentleman called are back at it again." Tara put her water glass down. "She's getting it too? Okay." Mindy trailed off. Scarlett heard her phone go off in her pocket. She thought it was probably Ethan letting her know he was on the way until everyone else's went off too. She opened the message to see a picture of Quinn in her room being strangled by Ghostface behind her. Everyone quickly got up from the table and ran over to the living room. "Help! Help! Stop!" Quinn's screams echoed through the apartment.

Tara immediately charged her way to the living room. "Tara wait. Wait!" Chad grabbed Tara back as she was trying to head towards Quinn's bedroom door. Everything then went silent and that's when Mindy spoke up.

"Run."

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕏𝕀𝕀𝕀: ℝ𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @kavalyera for the beta read!

Summary: As Chidi struggles to win back Vincent's trust, two visitors show up at the palace to make good on Gianna's promise of revenge.

TW: Vincent and Chidi still arguing, discussion of slavery, drug use, mention of self-harm via overdose

The night wore away to raw, abraded, faded morning over Il Palazzo. A morning so broken that it creaked with the progress of Chidi’s boots up the staircase at four o’clock, when the streets were at their most silent and the tumult of his heart was greatest. He was not wanted until five, but if he were discovered there early, it might give the Marquis some renewed confidence in him.

A line of white light bled out from under the bedroom door, an indicator that the master of the house was not sleeping either. Swelling with emotion, Chidi took his station next to the door and repeatedly imagined it opening. It didn’t. All the same, he felt the tension of the night finally ease. He was where he was supposed to be. Something was being done for Vincent.

Chidi never had any doubt that the thing could be resolved. In a day (or a week, if his suspicions lasted that long) Vincent would see that his bodyguard continued to rise from his guest bedroom to take up a place by his side as faithfully as ever. Just as before, love and patience would win out between them, surely. It wasn’t the outcome that bothered Chidi, no. It was the journey towards it, which could only be painful. He strained his ears in the silence, as if Vincent’s suffering might make an audible sound. As if he could do anything if it did. He listened actively, with his whole body, until he cursed himself for obsessiveness. Don’t fuss over him. Just be here. Just be here and wait.

There was water running in the bathroom. Soft sounds of movement that meant things were, in some measure, okay. Some of the tension in his shoulders finally slipped away, and with it, his perfect poise. In the relaxation of being near his master, Chidi dozed. It was not his habit to do so – in fact, he usually maintained meticulous awareness, scanning any given room from left to right and planning at least a dozen ways to defend it in his moments of idleness. But the past days’ constant activity, followed by a sleepless night, had bludgeoned his brain into a sort of mush that couldn’t maintain any kind of awareness, let alone meticulous scanning. So he fell asleep standing up at Vincent’s doorstep like a dog left outside overnight.

He had ample time to sleep, because the Marquis did not emerge at five, or at six, or seven. He had still not emerged at nine o’clock sharp, when the doorbell rang. The leading maid came rushing up the stairs to Chidi, and declared that the master of the house was wanted immediately by Signore Giovanni D’Antonio himself. At last, Vincent was forced to emerge, and at last, Chidi laid eyes on him.

So this is what you’ve been doing since 4 AM, thought Chidi. It was worse than anything he could have expected.

Vincent looked positively regal. He looked, perhaps, the most magnificent Chidi had ever seen him, aside from his coronation day. His motions, too, were more unnaturally smooth and rapid than they had been since coronation day, and Chidi now recognized the effects of cocaine. It only added to the overall effect of overwhelming vitality, and for some reason, Chidi would’ve rather he’d been too bedraggled to venture out in public.

No particular feature stood out as the source of his splendor – rather, each and every possible facet of his appearance benefited from extraordinary care. His suit was styled the same way as ever, but he had selected the scarlet one that he knew to be Chidi’s favorite, and paired it with a black tie Chidi had once complimented. His slicked hair shone under the lights with a pearlescent gel (made of real pearl dust, based on what Chidi once read on the crystal bottle in the bathroom) which played dazzlingly against the sparkle of that glittering blazer. He wore a full face of makeup. Natural though it was, the concealer under his eyes and around that frozen smile gave him the look of hollow porcelain, a doll that might, at any moment, smash into thousands of pieces. At once adorable, breakable, fuckable, kissable – really, one could do anything to him except look away from him.

Chidi tried to force his gaping mouth to express either appreciation or concern, but all he managed was “Bonjour Monsieur. Vous êtes… [Good morning, sir. You look…]” before Vincent pushed past without even glancing in his direction.

He had words only for the maid. “Merci beaucoup, Gabriele. Voyons Sr. D'Antonio dans le salon, d'accord ? [Thank you so much, Gabriele. Let’s see Sr. D’Antonio into the sitting room, shall we?]”

Oh. So this is to be your weapon of choice, sir: silence. Sighing, Chidi followed him.

The head of the D’Antonios was accompanied by a small, very upright and orderly sort of person, dressed all in black, with leather gloves and a smart capelet, and black boots that clicked over the entryway onto the marble to extend a hand to Vincent.

“Greetings, Marquis. I believe we’ve met once in person? A pleasure.” Chidi recognized them then, from the coronation. The Adjudicator. They’d been mercifully brief with Vincent’s time.

“Of course. A pleasure to meet in person again. Though I do regret the circumstances.” He turned his gaze on Giovanni with a cold smile. “It’s always so bittersweet when a man’s grief for his son brings us together, no?”

Giovanni passed him without a handshake. “Not grief, Marquis. And not for my son. The boy was a fool, and not even my heir. I knew he’d meet such an end sooner or later. No, this is for my daughter.”

A flash of open aggression contorted Vincent’s features before he could repress it, smiling again. “In that case,” he snapped his fingers at the maid. “Champagne! It’s a celebration instead. Have a seat, my friend, and we’ll drink to Gianna’s health.” Chidi was smiling too. Even with the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife, it was a delight to watch Vincent at work. And he was putting his all into every word, every motion. One knee folded over the other, he descended into a chair like a swan landing.

Despite his irritation, Giovanni did the same across from him, shifting under that smug, almost hateful gaze. Chidi wished they could trade places, that Vincent would grace him with such a look instead. Better that than nothing. It nearly happened - Vincent’s eyes flickered in Chidi’s direction, perhaps to check if he was looking, but he swiftly looked away again before he could break the continuity of the punishment.

The Adjudicator remained standing, and stepped back to let the champagne pass through. Giovanni seemed to welcome the distraction of the maid handing over a glass of bubbly. Though he let it fizzle in his hand without drinking, eyeing it thoughtfully. “While we’re drinking to Gianna’s health, we ought to drink to your father’s memory. To ruin!” Again, Gianna’s words returned to them like a bell that just kept tolling. I will ruin you.

“To both their ruin!” said Vincent, and drank.

Giovanni laughed humorlessly. “You throw away a connection so carelessly. But then, times change with new leadership. Your father and I had an agreement, Vincent. Did you ever hear of it?”

“…My father had many agreements. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Well. This was an important one, to be sure. But my daughter was kind enough to remind me last night that…given the changes at the French seat, it may be time to re-evaluate. Especially since the present leadership hasn’t shown the same appreciation for my family that Àlderic did.” His eyes flashed with meaning, but Vincent remained impassable.

“Enough theatrics,” said Vincent, all while lazily tapping his fingers at the glass of champagne he didn’t want. “On with this agreement of yours.”

“You see, it was always good for my family when your family was strong. They took care of us. So…I overlooked something that has been overlooked for a century now. I never brought trial against him, and I shut down anyone who tried. Even the Elder overlooks it, because it has always been good for him too, when your family is strong. But it’s not fair, and it’s never been fair, so I’ve decided to grow a conscience, you see. A conscience about your Myrmidons.”

“Hmm? Et eux ? [Hmm? What of them?]” Again, Vincent almost looked at his bodyguard and didn’t.

Giovanni leaned forward, grinning, watching for the way the words would hit home. “The High Table is owed forty percent of them every year.”

The glass went onto an end table with a sigh. “How disappointing. The celebration is over before it can begin, as our most important guest has gone mad.”

“No madness. What I mean to say is that they should be under universal High Table control. Every seat holder must be protected against the others, as well you know. According to statutes enacted in the mid-1700s, forty percent of all captive human beings of any kind are to become the subjects of the High Table at large, to prevent the accruement of privately enslaved armies. Which is exactly what your great-grandfather created, and your father and grandfather maintained. They’re slaves, Marquis. They just happen to be controlled by hostages instead of chains.”

Well. That was the first time Chidi had heard the word applied to the situation, and it was…strangely validating. Perhaps he would have chosen this job, but many surrounding him wouldn’t. It might be prestigious. It might be high paying. But it was forced, and nothing could change that.

Vincent, on the other hand, was struggling to contain himself. “Madness, it’s definitely madness. They are anything but slaves. They’re paid, quite handsomely. Both the Myrmidons and the leashes. They’re under our protection. It’s a perfectly upstanding hostage situation. And if you suggest such things about my family again – ”

“Of course, it was never presented to you that way, I’m sure. But they can’t exactly file for severance, now, can they? If they’re held on pain of another person’s death, they’re slaves, and a slave counts as an asset, not an employee. And assets are taxable for the High Table Treasury.”

He clapped his hands, chuckling. “How interesting! How clever! You know who else can’t quit? Seat holders can’t quit! They know too much. None of us can quit. I can’t quit. You can’t quit. Every seat holder is a slave, hahaha! You’re a slave to the Elder and the High Table!” Vincent was really laughing now, high and hysterical. There was sweat breaking out on his brow. “No no, don’t stand up, let’s think about it.” He leapt up himself, pushing Giovanni back into his seat as he tried to rise, a knife suddenly sharp against his throat. Giovanni shrunk under his grasp, wide eyed and trembling. The man’s own guards, and Chidi too, all drew guns, but Vincent had already dropped him and was back to spinning giddily through the room. “No really, let’s have a little think! Can you quit, Sr. D’Antonio? Maybe you want to retire in the country. Maybe you’re tired of watching your pathetic whelp of a son curse you from beyond the grave and your traitorous wretch of a daughter lick her lips waiting for you to die. Maybe you even abdicate. But if the High Table ever calls on you, if they ever want you, they still own you and they’ll sooner shoot you in the back than let you run away. Look at that, you’re a slave yourself. Perhaps the Elder should take a percentage of you. Your prattling tongue, for instance, or everything above the neck if they’re - ”

“TU LUNATO! TU ASSOLUTO – TU BAMBINO! NON HO FINITO! NON SONO – [YOU LUNATIC! YOU ABSOLUTE – YOU CHILD! I AM NOT FINISHED! I AM NOT – ]“

“OH! OH! VOUS N'AIMEZ PAS LES ENFANTS ? PEUT-ÊTRE QU’ILS DEVRAIENT PRENDRE TOUT CE QUI SOUS LA TAILLE ET NOUS ÉPARGNER D’AUTRES HÉRITIERS D’ANTONIO – [OH! OH! YOU DON’T LIKE CHILDREN? MAYBE THEY SHOULD TAKE EVERYTHING BELOW THE WAIST AND SPARE US ANY MORE D’ANTONIO HEIRS – ]“

The two shouted over each other inaudibly for at least thirty seconds before The Adjudicator seized a small golden lion bookending a nearby shelf and slammed it against the coffee table like a gavel. Both men straightened themselves, red faced and sheepish. Vincent at last muttered into the awkward silence, staring ruefully at the coffee table. “…If that’s dented, I will see full compensation, oui?”

“Of course, and I do apologize for any inconvenience. A typical hazard of dispute mediation. It all goes in the expense report. Now…” They came to stand between D’Antonio and De Gramont, with more courage than Chidi himself could have mustered. “I do believe the nature of the dispute has been communicated. Sr. D’Antonio, you have three days to withdraw your claims, should you wish to do so.” The look he gave in response showed zero probability of that. “Marquis de Gramont, you have three days to either surrender forty percent of the Myrmidon army, or surrender the army’s leadership, to the authority of the greater High Table. …Alternatively, you may prove that they are legitimate employees, bound only by oath. That oath may be unbreakable on pain of death, but it must be given without coercion in order to ensure the Myrmidons are not taxable assets. Do you both understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. If either of you would like to consult with me in the meantime, you know how to reach me. On the third day, the Harbinger and myself will oversee your final decision. It’s a curious case, to be sure, the nature of the Myrmidons.” They cast an appraising eye over Chidi. “There hasn’t been a question of this kind for centuries. It will be sure to set precedent for the Table as a whole.”

With that, the guests made their way out of the sitting room, leaving Vincent and Chidi alone with each other. Vincent stared into space, and then at Chidi, as if seeing him for the first time. “Quel putain de cauchemar. [What a fucking nightmare.]”

Chidi squinted, trying to interpret. “Est-ce que… vous me parlez encore, monsieur ? [Is that…are you speaking to me again, sir?]”

“Oui! Oui bien sûr je te parle encore. [Yes! Yes of course I’m speaking to you again,]” Vincent said, as if he’d asked whether the sky was blue. “As-tu déjà dit à ton frère qu'il était libre ? [Have you told your brother he’s free yet?]”

”Pas encore, monsieur. Ma matinée était – j'attendais devant ta porte. [Not yet, sir. My morning was – I was waiting by your door.]”

“Mon Dieu… je ne l'ai pas fait… la nuit dernière… la façon dont je t'ai traité, putain… pour vouloir quoi, ne pas être un esclave ? [My god…I didn’t…last night…the way I fucking treated you…for wanting to what, not be a slave?]” The laughter was starting up again. Much like the exquisite beauty, Chidi thought the opposite would have been less concerning.

“Oui, c'est… eh bien, c'est techniquement ce qui s'est passé. Mais… [Yes that’s…well that’s technically what happened. But…]” But what? What was he supposed to say? It’s okay? It wasn’t, really. Forgivable, but no, it wasn’t okay. Though the sincerity of Vincent’s response now was certainly an encouraging turn.

“Pour ça, pour ça, je me suis habillé dans ce foutu costume juste pour que tu te sentes mal de me quitter. Alors peut-être que tu pleurerais en voyant à quel point j'avais l'air pitoyable, évanouie, le visage dans un sac de cocaïne ce soir. Pour CELA ! Quand tu as tous les droits ! [For that, for that I dressed up in this god-forsaken suit just to make you feel bad about leaving me. So maybe you’d cry when you saw how pitiful I looked passed out with my face in a bag of cocaine tonight. For THAT! When you have every right!]” He buried his perfectly done-up face into his hands.

“Oh mon Dieu, Marquis, non, s'il te plaît, ne fais rien de pareil. Je te jure que je ne partais pas, il n'y a rien que je ne ferai pas pour le prouver – [Oh god, Marquis, no, please don’t do anything like that. I swear to you I wasn’t leaving, there’s nothing I won’t to do to prove – ]”

“Chidi arrête. Arrêtez-le. Écoutez-moi. [Chidi stop. Stop it. Listen to me.]” Vincent spoke through his teeth, and through the hands still covering his face.

“Oui, monsieur?”

He pulled his hands away, leaving severe smudging, to look Chidi in the eye. “Je…suis désolé [I’m…sorry.]”

Chidi took a step forward, arms already outstretched. “Je vous pardo - [I forgi – ]“

“Non, n'ose pas me réconforter maintenant. Sortir. Et pas parce que je suis en colère contre toi. Va dire à Mo qu'il est libre, d'accord ? Allez lui dire qu'il est libre. ALLER! [No don’t you dare comfort me right now. Get out. And not because I’m angry with you. Go tell Mo he’s free, okay? Go tell him he’s free. GO!]”

He obeyed. The sound of furious banging and crashing followed not ten seconds later. He was on the point of turning back when he heard muttering about “mets-le sur la note de frais alors, très bien, je le ferai [put it on the expense report then, fine, I will]” which could only mean they’d soon be getting a new coffee table. Best let him carry on with that. It could be much worse...

“¡Nosotros podemos ir juntos! [We can go together!]” That was Mo’s exclamation, as they stood in the guest room, repacking his bag together. “Ven conmigo antes de que cambie de opinión. [Come with me, before he changes his mind.]”

“No, me quedo. Quise decir lo que dije. I – [No, I’m staying. I meant what I said. I – ]“ He had to breathe for a second just to overcome the wild emotion. “Realmente lo amo, Mo. No me iré hasta que él también esté libre. [I really love him, Mo. I won’t leave until he’s free too.]”

“¿Libre? [Free?]” Mo glanced left and right, at the tortoiseshell wall table to one side of them and the gilt chandelier to the other. “¿De qué, riqueza y poder más allá de lo que cualquiera de nosotros pueda imaginar? Preferirías liberar a una tortuga de su caparazón. Estos tipos de tiranos, esto es lo que son. He conocido a muchos trabajando en la Mesa. Algo está roto arriba con esta gente, nunca están satisfechos. [From what, wealth and power beyond what either of us can imagine? You’d sooner free a turtle from its shell. These tyrant types – this is who they are. I’ve met too many, working at the Table. Something’s broken upstairs with these people, they’re never satisfied.]” Mo tapped the side of his head. “Lo vi, incluso estos últimos dos días. ¿Qué crees que les hará a los mirmidones a medida que crezca su reinado? ¿A ti? Es... te mereces algo mejor. [I saw it, even just these past two days. What do you think he’ll do to the Myrmidons as he grows into his reign? To you? It’s…you deserve better.]”

“Estas equivocado. [You’re wrong.]” Chidi felt his face flooding with heat but refused to let them slide into conflict again. He took a deep breath. “Él no es su padre, Mo. Verás, pronto todos lo serán. Hay una fuerza en él que no tiene nada que ver con la compostura, y hay... hay una bondad que no tiene nada que ver con la humildad. No hay nadie con quien preferiría estar a mi lado mientras adquiere ese poder. Creo que las cosas serán diferentes. Realmente. [He’s not his father, Mo. You’ll see, everyone will soon enough. There’s a strength to him that has nothing to do with composure, and there’s…there’s this goodness that has nothing to do with humility. There’s no one I’d rather stand beside as he grows into that power. I think things will be different. Truly.]”

Mo sighed. “Supongo que no creo que pueda convencerte. Quién sabe, tal vez le hagas algún bien. Si tienes razón, nada me haría más feliz. [I guess I know better than to think I can convince you. Who knows, maybe you’ll do him some good. If you’re right, nothing would make me happier.]” He pulled the backpack onto his shoulders, loaded even tighter this time with gifts from the palace. “Pero… ¿lo visitarás? [But…you’ll visit?]”

“Sí. Si me aceptas. [Yes. If you’ll have me.]”

“Por supuesto que lo haré, idiota. Cuídate. Eso es todo lo que siempre quiero, ¿sabes? [Of course I will, idiot. Take care of yourself. That’s all I ever want, you know?]”

Chidi had to wipe the tears from his face. “Sabes que siento lo mismo. [You know I feel the same.]”

But the moment was broken by Mo’s glance at the doorway. Chidi followed his eyes just in time to see the heel of Vincent’s boot disappearing around the corner. “Volveré, ¿vale? [I’ll be back, okay?]”

“Ve a buscarlo. [Go get him.]”

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹

Image Sources: One (my screenshot) | Two

Author's Note: For more information about real modern slavery, this is the US State Department's overview. Chidi's situation is probably closest to "forced labor."

[strange-anni]

In 1881 Mark Twain first published his children's book The Prince and the Pauper. It is a tale of a young prince swapping places with a poor boy from the streets of London.

I think if my theory of Will and Mike swapping places in 1976 is true, this classic children's book might have served as major inspiration.

Read more on why I believe Mike and Will could have swapped places here and here.

In this tale by Mark Twain young Tom Canty lives in poverty with his grandmother and abusive alcoholic father but was also shown kindness by a local priest who thought him how to read and write.

One day he goes and loiters too close to the palace gates. The guards however catch him and want throw him out but in comes the young prince Edward who's next in line to the throne. He sends the guards away and the boys talk for the first time. Not only do they get along well, they also quickly discover that they look the same and even share the same birthday. So just for fun, they exchange clothes.

Then it is Edward in the clothes of Tom Canty who goes out to reprimand the guards for hat they did but isn't believed because they believe him to be the street urchin Tom so they throw him out.

Tom - now in Edwards place - must then try to find a way to cope with the manners and customs of the court. Him not knowing anything causes the court to worry that the prince might have an illness which caused all this memory loss. Later after Edwards father King Henry VIII dies and Tom is asked to sit in on judgements the court is reassured that his mind is well because of his common-sense judgements.

Meanwhile Edward manages to find his way "home" to Toms family. There he gets confronted with Toms alcoholic father who brutally tries to ab*se him. Edward flees and meets Miles Hendon, a nobleman and an ex-soldier returning from war. While Miles doesn't believe Edward is indeed the prince, he still takes a liking to him and becomes his protector. Later on they learn that the king has died and Edward is about to become king.

As Edward lives his life as a pauper in the streets of London he also learns first hand about how the harsh punitive judicial system affects the poor in particular. He sees how people get burned at the stake, flogged or pilloried all while learning that the accused are convicted by flimsy evidence and for petty offences. So he vows to rule with mercy once he can go back to the palace and take over as the rightful king. Meanwhile he declares himself as king in front of a gang of thieves who think he's just insane and then hold a mock coronation for him.

After some time and a series of adventures Edward finally manages to return to the palace where everyone is shocked at how much Edward and Tom look alike. Yet they still don't want to believe Edward that he is the true prince until he shows them the royal seal he brought with him when he first left the palace in Toms clothes. They switch back for good and Edward finally becomes king and then makes arrangements for Miles to become an Earl and for Tom to become the "King's Ward."

Source

I think some of the parallels are pretty obvious. It's Edward the prince who is Will in our story and Mike who is the boy living in poverty - Tom - if we are to believe that Will and Mike have swapped places in the past. That's not where the parallels end though.

As Edward comes home to Toms house he meets Toms father who is an alcoholic and also very ab*sive towards him and has likely been towards Tom in the past as well. Just like Will who's in Mike's place now is confronted with an ab*sive and possibly dr*g or alcohol addicted father. Unlike Edward who tries to flee Will has to stay with Lonnie.

Then we have the two mentor figures/ protectors mentioned in the Prince and the Pauper. I think it is Scott Clarke (Clarke also means Cleric) who's served as a great inspiration for Mike (and the boys in general) and just like the priest thought Tom to read and write it would not surprise me if Mr. Clarke sparked the joy for science inside Mike. The difference being that Mike probably only learned from Mr. Clarke after he already swapped places with Will.

Then of cause the character of Miles Hendon in our story is Jim Hopper. A (noble) man and an ex soldier who served in Vietnam and later came to be a protector of both Will and El just like Miles was to Prince Edward.

Just as Tom and Edward need to learn to survive and navigate their new lives Will and Mike had to do the same thing. Both are at different stages accused of having a mental illness or amnesia while our Mike and Will are dealing with the supernatural as well as their own mental health with them even agreeing to become crazy together if they're both going crazy.

In the end and after many adventures both Edward and Tom find their rightful place in the world and swap back to where they were originally coming from via proof of the royal seal. Just like Joyce tells us that Will apparently has a birthmark on his right arm which as far I know was never shown to us.

Then of cause there is the larger theme in the story of the Prince and the Pauper about the harshness and unforgiveness of the Justice system and being judged by what clothes you wear or where you come from which is also a great theme in Stranger Things. It's the authorities who can rarely be trusted and even if you need them to you do need to provide proof first. Then we have themes of not fitting in with the crowd and being branded a freak for it resulting in certain groups or even the whole town going after certain characters because of what they believe to be true about them. Judging first on flimsy evidence and then striking with a hard hand.

But what's the purpose of it all?

This is the quote The Prince and the Pauper starts with. It's from Shakespeares The Merchant of Venice and it shows the significance of mercy to those who rule.

For Edward his journey in the shoes of Tom through the streets of London embodies this pretty well. He is about to learn of mercy and not to judge others based on appearance either through experiencing the harsh justice system himself or by seeing others fall victim to it. In the end he takes a vow to be merciful once he is king and to never judge others as harshly as he has seen in his days as a pauper in the streets of London.

Yet there is also something else to consider. Prince Edward who then became King Edward is based on the real historical figure of King Edward VI the only surviving son of King Henry VIII. While it is true that he became king at the age of 9 he also never ruled himself as he died only one month after his 16th birthday never reaching maturity. Even if the real Edward had learned the same lesson as his fictional counterpart did, he would have never been able to apply it in real life.

After his death it was his cousin Jane Grey who became queen for 9 days only to be deposed by Edwards older half-sister Queen Mary I of England who also ruled for only 5 years in which she tried to reverse the English reformation set into place by her father as she herself was catholic and not protestant. After her death it was Edwards other half-sister Queen Elizabeth I who took over the throne and again restored the protestant reforms.

What does it all mean for Will? I'm not entirely sure but I do think it speaks for itself how much Will even despite all the horrible things he had to endure believes in things such as kindness and being good. He is willing to sacrifice himself or his feelings if it will make others happy and is deeply afraid of hurting others or becoming a monster like Lonnie. So the above mentioned quote fits Will quite well.

Although right now Will still believes he needs to kill Vecna, I don't believe that's what's going to happen in the end as Will will show him mercy. He probably together with Mike and El will persuade him and try to come to terms with him. Then they will all be able to face the truth of what happened to them in 1976 and who they were before.

[cake-emu]

Coronation Street | Carla Connor + Lisa Swain (suspicious of Rob's intentions)

Bonus: (Rob proving their suspicions are very much warranted)

[blackfolksintime]

O'Day H. Short (died January 22, 1946) was an African American refrigerator engineer who broke the color barrier in Fontana, California after buying land and constructing a house south of Base Line Road. Short contacted the FBI and the Black press after receiving a warning of imminent violence from vigilantes. On December 16, 1945, the house exploded in a fireball. His wife Helen, and young children Barry and Carol Ann died due to their burns by the following day. O'Day would linger for a month before succumbing to his injuries.

During the Dust Bowl, 5,000 Southern white families headed west and found jobs in Fontana, home of Kaiser Steel, but they did not leave behind their preferences for segregation. African-Americans were welcome to live north of Base Line Road but were not permitted to live south of it. Possibly because he and his family were light-skinned, however, Short was able to buy a five-acre lot on Randall Avenue and Pepper Street.

While the home was still being completed, Short and his family moved there in the fall of 1945.

As word got out that the family was Black, neighbors became concerned, and asked a sheriff's deputy to advise Short that he was "out of bounds". The local White Chamber of Commerce offered to buy the property back for full value. The seller, once apprised of his "mistake", warned Short that the local "vigilante committee" might have to resort to violence.

In response, Short contacted the FBI and local Black newspapers.

On December 16, 1945, the house exploded while the Shorts were inside. The family was taken by a friendly neighbor to Kaiser Permanente Hospital. Although he lingered for a month, Short died soon after being informed by the District Attorney that none of his family had survived.

Authorities claimed that the explosion was due to a faulty oil lamp. However, the coroner's jury was skeptical of this conclusion and ruled that the fire was of unknown origin, although they were not informed of the threats, as the coroner considered the reports to be hearsay. An arson investigator hired by the NAACP, Paul T. Wolfe, found the lamp to be mostly intact, and concluded that the fire was deliberately set from outside the house.

Black newspapers decried the deaths as an injustice. The ACLU and NAACP organized rallies in Los Angeles and San Bernardino which drew upwards of 6,000 people calling for a full investigation.

The land on which the home stood is now the site of Randall Pepper Elementary School.

It would be another 20 years until a black family would again live in downtown Fontana.

(Source: Wikipedia)

[spiritundaunted]

Elizabeth smiling at Bertie during their visit to Inverness in 1948, at The Lord Roberts Memorial Center.

(Particularly loving this uniform!)

Bertie looking dapper as he inspects the Highlanders on Academy Street.

An estimated 80,000 people packed into Inverness to welcome King George VI and Queen Elizabeth in June 1948.

It was the first time the couple, accompanied by Princess Margaret, had visited the Highland capital since their coronation.

The Royal Procession of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth traveling along Ness Walk, opposite Inverness Castle. [source]

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today - March 22nd, 1984 - Queen Story!

London, UK - Queen videoed "I Want To Break Free"

The video for this song parodies a popular British television soap, Coronation Street. The opening sequence features all the band members in drag (Mercury as a housewife, Deacon as grandmother, Taylor as a schoolgirl, and May as a housewife). This confused many people who didn't catch the reference. Brian May was asked in an interview with Q magazine March 2011 whether each band member's character in the video was an accurate reflection of their personalities? He replied: "Of Course! Everybody thinks that was Freddie's idea because it looks like something that he would love to do but it actually came from Roger's girlfriend at the time, strangely enough. It was her idea to pastiche the Coronation Street women."

Location Docklands Limehouse Studio

Directed by David Mallet, with hundreds of fan club members dressed as miners as film extras

Freddie Mercury was all set to shave off his trademark mustache, but director David Mallet put a stop to it: "I said, 'No, the one thing you musn't do, the funny thing is that your mustache is there and you're in drag!' To this day, when he comes around the corner with that hoover I laugh." In this video Mercury is surrounded by the Royal Ballet in a nod to the French ballet L'Après-midi d'un faune and its clean-shaven Russian star Vaslav Nijinsky.

This song became an anthem for the ANC in South Africa in the late '80s when Nelson Mandela was still in jail and the white government's apartheid policies were still in place.

(➡️ source: songfacts.com)

[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

Six moons subsequent to the coronation of Westeros’ first Ruling-Queen, ravens have once more been sent to summon every caliber and shade of the kingdom’s noble families back to Court at The Red Keep...

...This time to celebrate the wedding of Queen Rhaenyra’s heir, Crown Prince Jacaerys, and his cousin, step-sister, and betrothed of nearly twenty years, Princess Baela. They have flown out, however, to meet a Realm steeped in far more tension, ambition, and gossip than most could have dreamed half a year ago.

The soon-to-be-newlyweds are, of course, a source of much of the whispers and more, many speculating the only reason such a pairing has only lasted so long because of the new Queen’s desperation to restore favorability towards her family’s Valyrian looks in her son’s progeny after her own poor luck in the matter, the Prince held only by his duty to a union made when he had hardly learned to walk, and the new Princess wholly satisfied with such an otherwise suspect arrangement because of her own intent to rule not with but through her blushing groom. Another couple amongst the Targaryen Royals, Prince Aemond and Princess Rhaena have set gossip of their own aflutter, with a courtship lasting all these past six moons and no proposal seeming to dawn on the horizon, spectators have proposed the second son may have been more infatuated with the chase than its subject, while others murmur the proclaimed Pearl is only using him as a shield until someone better comes along…or comes of age.

All the while halfway-reliable reports that Prince Aegon the Younger has been spotted on many an evening gallivanting through the streets of Fleabottom, his younger brother Prince Viserys has grown fond of playing kissing games with his own, male companions, and their sister Princess Visenya has been all but neglected during her Queen-Mother's latest pregnancy, causing the girl in turn to act out with uncharacteristic misbehavior and grow sour towards the nearing arrival of her new siblings. More worrying still, in the five moons since his betrothal to Lady Alannys Greyjoy, Prince Joffrey has spent more and more of his time with the Ironborn. Some say this is his way of rejecting the Faith of the Seven, leaving the Gods for the Drowned God, becoming more barbaric because of their influence on him, and leaving behind the kind and courtly boy he was in trade for the temperament of a Greyjoy.

Queen Rhaenyra herself has, unsurprisingly, sparked even more whispers throughout her court and across the kingdom than all her children combined. After the very first weeks of her reign were marred by an attempted poisoning, a speculated miscarriage, a shock pregnancy announcement, and even more shocking political appointments, her Grace could not be faulted for attempting to draw the public eye anywhere else, but she has not. While her supporters and detractors alike found the new installation of stained glass in the high windows of the Red Keep's Throne Room honoring The Seven unveiled during her coronation to be impressive, it was not hard to notice the wrought iron seven pointed star which had hung above The Iron Throne for nigh on two decades had been replaced by the Targaryen sigils that had not hung there since Septon Barth became Hand to King Jaehaerys.

Meanwhile the new Queen's closest ladies have caused gossip of their won to fly between loose lips and the cracks in the Red Keep's walls; Lady Roslin Vance believed to be conspiring with the head housekeeper and whispered witch of her brother, Lord Larys', stronghold at Harrenhall to kill him via magical means after a long string of failed assassination attempts in vengeance for her assertions he was behind the deaths of their father and older brother. The interim hand of the Queen and her lead Lady-in-Waiting, Lady Calla Celtigar has further drawn rumors that she has soured since Queen Rhaenyra's coronation at odds with Her Grace over her pregnancy, others speculating she dislikes the public attention she receives as Hand, and the boldest claim that she was scorned in illicit advances by one of the Lords of the Small Council. These murmurings accompanied by whispers that the Lady Celtigar has been taking keen note of powerful Lords of the Realm, especially those who seek high positions on Queen Rhaenyra's council, and her judgment as thorough as it is fierce.

As the Dowager-Queen Alicent has all but entirely absented herself from Court in favor of spending her days on Dragonstone and tending to the affairs of her children and grandchildren, speculation has grown that the new Queen's disregard towards The Faith showcased in everything from her change of heraldry, to the appointment of Dalton Greyjoy to her small council, and now the invitation of a Dornish Envoy to attend the wedding and restart diplomatic negotiations between the two kingdoms has driven Queen Alicent to flee her own home of the past three decades over the hostility. Although, those less charitable in their views on the Dowager claim she has done so not from Rhaenyra's hostility, but out of self preservation, as to spare herself the prying eyes of the continuing investigations into who was behind the attempt on her stepdaughter's life the night of King Viserys' funeral. All the while, the head of the aforementioned party from Sunspear, Ruling-Princess Aliandra, is believed to have arrived looking for a Westerosi groom of her own, perhaps even from the long time rival-Kingdom's royal family itself.

Speaking of Dragonstone, the elder Prince Aegon has been causing his own, characteristic share of speculation; most pressingly that he has been harboring several aggrieved parties in familial disputes between fathers and their daughters and wives, slowly building up his own harem for Seven only know what ends, without a care in the world as to what Lords he angers in the process. Meanwhile, since Queen Rhaenyra ascended the throne, Princess Helaena has been involving herself in the ruling of Dragonstone more often than noticed before causing claims this is because Helaena feels she is robbed from her right to be Queen, and she is making up for this by ruling Dragonstone. Or, worse yet, she is readying herself for the duties of being The Queen. Princess Rhaenya too has been acting most unusually spending long hours on the island's sept and eliciting rumors that she has already lost her tongue as punishment after a secret admire made her with child, though the Princess herself did finally come to threaten any more slander against her would be met with dragon fire. Her twin, Prince Daeron, on the other hand, who has spent the past half year serving as the commander of the City Watch for his older sister's new reign, has casually confirmed but not yet to which one it has seems that the Prince Daeron has gotten over his fear of the sea and been traveling on many days to Storm’s End to see his future wife, whoo he's been heard calling his "shining light". Even one of the youngest amongst the family, Princess Jaehaera is whispered to be dabbling in Valyrian blood magic, seeking to use ancient and forbidden practices to enhance her connection with dragons, some claiming even to resurrect a dragon long believed to be dead whilst conducts strange rituals in the dead of night, and using her own blood in these experiments.

Across the bay on Driftmark, the most unexpected news was announced by Princess Rhaenys, that the five and fifty year old is pregnant once more, causing speculation of dangerous treatments from Asshai, a plot to produce a new heir for Driftmark over Prince Lucerys, and turmoil within the Princess' and Lord Corlys marriage. The Sea Snake himself has recently been making frequent appearances at court without his wife, which while catalyzing rumors of turmoil in and of itself, has now become fuel to a raging fire of gossip and conspiracy over whether he has set off on a voyage to Qarth against his own will on orders of the Queen, or in a purposeful attempt to absent himself from his wife's potentially perilous labors. Meanwhile—the so-called "White Worm"—Lady Mysaria, has purportedly welcomed home her own bastard daughter with Prince Daemon, once believed to have died in her cradle, Zhaerina, after many years spent away from the Crownlands. And in the midst of it all, whispers are growing that a girl from Spicetown has claimed the wild dragon called "Sheepstealer" on the isle's shores, perhaps a royal bastard claiming a perceived-denied inheritance, perhaps something even more dangerous.

Throughout the Kingdom the most widely remarked upon matter has quickly become the negotiations to maintain peace between The Iron Islands and The Reach. While most of the conditions are expectedly concerned with safe passage and trade agreements, wards, though some have claimed hostages, have been exchanged on both sides in the form of Lord Dalton Greyjoy's youngest daughter by one of his "salt-wives" Alla Florent, the legitimized bastard Penny Greyjoy, and the Castellan of High Garden and late-Lord Lorence's eldest cousin Jon Tyrell's son, Henley. The Lady-Regent Clarice Tyrell, for her part, has seemed significantly more pleased with this arrangement than either Ser Jon or Lord Dalton, leading many to believe the once gentle and fair image of the Lady Regent of the Reach has soured through using these children as her pawns. Not least of all because by taking away her greatest detractor’s heir, the highborn and common folk alike speak on the evilness of her ways in which she ensures that Jon Tyrell is brought to heel. A seemingly never-ending source of gossip as of late, however, the Lady-Regent has also drawn many judging eyes for the long visits she's taken with Lady Sabitha Frey over the past half year, and while both women's supporters claim it is simply Lady Clarice supporting her newfound friend through a twin pregnancy, the boldest amongst their opponents claim Lady Sabitha's pregnancy is a sham all together to hide that she has truly fallen in love with The Golden Rose.

The little Lady Penny has even sparked gossip of her own, reports highly divided in claims that she brought an entire boat of wild animals she claimed to be "pets" in accompaniment to her wardship at High Garden, rebuked by glowing praise she is stunningly poised for a girl her age, much less one of Iron Islander origin, and has won the hearts of all those who reside in and visit her new home with her compassion and sweet wit. Lord Dalton, in turn, has been spending a remarkable amount of time on the island of Dragonstone with Prince Aegon after the pair first grew close around Queen Rhaenyra's coronation, sparking many a rumor that all of his salt-wives are, in fact, simply a facade to true his true amorous feelings; rumors not assisted by the fact Princess Helaena has begun to grow most wroth at the Lord Greyjoy's presence. Further, The Lady of House Hightower and wife to it's elderly head, Lord Ormund, Lady Sam, has purportedly been evading her own embarrassment that—while one of the harshest voices at the table in the peace dealings between The Reach and The Iron Islands—her eldest sister, Lady Sansara Serry, has grown near-mad with love for Lord Dalton, going so far as to beg to run away with him in secret before she and her husband left court after the Coronation.

There has been no shortage of rumors concerning the young ladies of Court either. Lady Cerelle Lannister was claimed to have been buying poisons a few moons ago, and only a fortnight before the ravens were sent was accused by the Red Keep's chief ratcatcher of kidnapping many of the castle's cats for hereto unknown purposes. Meanwhile, Lady Maris Baratheon was recently speculated to have wed in secret to a rich man and possibly taken the spot as the heir of Storm’s End though Princess Rhaenya has finally spoken and defended her close friend on this rumor, alongside Lady Maris reaffirming she will not be the heir. More recently, however, she was caught seen holding hands, with the Lady Elaena Snow while the two were extremely close, embroidering beneath the Red Keep's heart tree while Princess Rhaenya was away from her ladies' side and purported to have been out with the yet to be identified man she's whispered to be hoping to marry soon.

The third Baratheon sister and Lady in Waiting to Princess Rhaena, Lady Ellyn, has been noted to be away from court interactions for an advance of a moon's time, a rarity for the Baratheon daughter, who was most seen at court. Reportedly, Lady Ellyn had a public spat with her elder sister Cassandra that caused her lord father to withdraw her from public outings and causing her not to have spoken to her family and friends except her elder sister, Maris, the Princesess Rhaenya and Rhaena, alongside her Lord Father. The two Baratheon sisters have reportedly been in each other's company for an abnormally advanced time, even for sisters. Though, the most scandalous whispers have been elicited from two of Princess Baela's Ladies in Waiting, Lady Alannys Greyjoy and Lady Teora Grafton. With their recent betrothals to Prince Joffrey and Ser Petyr Mooton respectively, the notably sharp witted, cunning, and some claim wild young women have given many cause to believe they intend to secure their unions with an heir or two as quickly as possible, and then—one way or another—dispose of their grooms to live in comfortable widowhood where no may question their notoriously strong wills.

The young Knights and Lords of Court may still outdo them, however, Lord Cregan Stark's continued frequenting of Court combined with his distaste for it's politics showing no signs of fading has caused must speculation he has continued to be drawn back to the so-called nest of vipers by a woman who has earned his heart's affection. Amongst the Manderly sails, sailors speak on the position and strength of the Greyjoy fleet among the ships of Westeros. They question the Queen for Lord Dalton Greyjoy's position as Master of Ships and the favor offered to his children. Torrhen Manderly shares their words and often speaks of concern over the strengthening of House Greyjoy. Torrhen himself, however, has been a recluse at court, more often found at the docks of King's Landing. He only comes to the castle for his lady sister and accompanies his liege lord, Cregan Stark, but most believe Torrhen himself wishes to be away from the 'nest of vipers' known as King's Landing. He is in turn, not the only young heir who has turned their ire towards the Lord of the Iron Islands, Joss Westerling earning the court's attention for over a moon in his show of uncharacteristic bravery in defending his House and home from the Lord's seeming carelessness for other's hard earned gains.

Amongst the prominent Rivermen in King's Landing, Oscar Tully caused quite a scare amongst the Court disappearing for a fortnight with no trace and drawing speculation of kidnapping or even an accidental death before returning unharmed, gossip only sparking further when it was discovered his older brother and heir to Riverrun, Kermit Tully, was mostly unconcerned with his disappearance, and only moderately pleased when Oscar returned. One of Crown Prince Jacaerys' closest friends Ser Willam Vance has drawn speculation he is carrying on a secret affair with a highborn lady already married to a powerful lord. Several witnesses claimed they have spotted the two meeting in secluded corners of court gatherings, exchanging stolen glances and secret notes also that Willam has secretly been considering renouncing his position as heir to House Vance, wishing to free himself from the responsibilities and pressures of nobility, to flee with his forbidden love. All the while the heir to the Iron Islands himself, Toron Greyjoy, has spent the past half year under the command of Ser Steffon Darklyn, learning the ways of the sword of mainland Westeros as a way to inconspicuously remain at King’s Landing. However, voices have begun to grow in the claim that he is preparing to assassinate Daemon Targaryen if the need to meet the mainland’s biggest military asset with force draws near should the Iron Islands go to war with the Crown...

...And so begins Arc II of A Song of Golden Fire and Black Blood.

[kaceyrps]

179 gifs of Charlotte Jordan in Coronation Street, during January 25 (part one) can be found in the source link. these are all from scratch so please don’t edit or claim as your own. if you plan on using these gifs please reblog this post.

triggers: crutches, alcohol, food, candles

[posttexasstressdisorder]

CNN 6/15/2025

ScienceUnearthed• 6 min read

Reopening a 688-year-old murder case reveals a tangled web of adultery and extortion in medieval England

By Mindy Weisberger, CNN

Updated: 8:47 AM EDT, Sat June 14, 2025

Source: CNN

The sun was setting on a busy London street on a May evening in 1337 when a group of men approached a priest named John Forde. They surrounded him in front of a church near Old St. Paul’s Cathedral, stabbed him in the neck and stomach, and then fled.

Witnesses identified his killers, but just one assailant went to prison. And the woman who might have ordered the brazen and shocking hit — Ela Fitzpayne, a wealthy and powerful aristocrat — was never brought to justice, according to historical records describing the case.

Nearly 700 years later, new details have come to light about the events leading up to the brutal crime and the noblewoman who was likely behind it. Her criminal dealings included theft and extortion as well as the murder of Forde — who was also her former lover.

Forde (his name also appeared in records as “John de Forde”) could have been part of a crime gang led by Fitzpayne, according to a recently discovered document. The group robbed a nearby French-controlled priory, taking advantage of England’s deteriorating relationship with France to extort the church, researchers reported in a study published June 6 in the journal Criminal Law Forum.

But the wayward priest may have then betrayed Fitzpayne to his religious superiors. The Archbishop of Canterbury penned a letter in 1332 that the new report also linked to Forde’s murder. In the letter, the archbishop denounced Fitzpayne and accused her of committing serial adultery “with knights and others, single and married, and even with clerics in holy orders.”

The archbishop’s letter named one of Fitzpayne’s many paramours: Forde, who was rector of a parish church in a village on the Fitzpayne family’s estate in Dorset. In the wake of this damning accusation, the church assigned Fitzpayne humiliating public penance. Years later, she exacted her revenge by having Forde assassinated, according to lead study author Dr. Manuel Eisner, a professor at the UK’s University of Cambridge and director of its Institute of Criminology.

This 688-year-old murder “provides us with further evidence about the entanglement of the clergy in secular affairs — and the very active role of women in managing their affairs and their relationships,” Dr. Hannah Skoda, an associate professor of medieval history in St. John’s College at the UK’s Oxford University, told CNN in an email.

“In this case, events dragged on for a very long time, with grudges being held, vengeance sought and emotions running high,” said Skoda, who was not involved in the research.

The new clues about Forde’s murder provide a window into the dynamics of medieval revenge killings, and how staging them in prestigious public spaces may have been a display of power, according to Eisner.

Map of murder

Eisner is a cocreator and project leader of Medieval Murder Maps, an interactive digital resource that collects cases of homicide and other sudden or suspicious deaths in 14th century London, Oxford and York. Launched by Cambridge in 2018, the project translates reports from coroners’ rolls — records written by medieval coroners in Latin noting the details and motives of crimes, based on the deliberation of a local jury. Jurors would listen to witnesses, examine evidence and then name a suspect.

In the case of Forde’s murder, the coroner’s roll stated that Fitzpayne and Forde had quarreled, and that she persuaded four men — her brother, two servants and a chaplain — to kill him. On that fateful evening, as the chaplain approached Forde in the street and distracted him with conversation, his accomplices struck. Fitzpayne’s brother slit his throat, and the servants stabbed Forde in the belly. Only one of the assailants, a servant named Hugh Colne, was charged in the case and imprisoned at Newgate in 1342.

“I was initially fascinated by the text in the coroner’s record,” Eisner told CNN in an email, describing the events as “a dream-like scene that we can see through hundreds of years.” The report left Eisner wanting to learn more.

“One would love to know what the members of the investigative jury discussed,” he said. “One wonders about how and why ‘Ela’ convinces four men to kill a priest, and what the nature of this old quarrel between her and John Forde might have been. That’s what led me to examine this further.”

‘Thirst for revenge’

Eisner tracked down the archbishop’s letter in a 2013 dissertation by medieval historian and author Helen Matthews. The archbishop’s accusation assigned severe punishments and public penance to Fitzpayne, such as donating large sums of money to the poor, abstaining from wearing gold or precious gems, and walking in her bare feet down the length of Salisbury Cathedral toward the altar, carrying a wax candle that weighed about four pounds. She was ordered to perform this so-called walk of shame every fall for seven years.

Though she seemingly defied the archbishop and never performed the penance, the humiliation “may have triggered her thirst for revenge,” the study authors wrote.

The second clue that Eisner unearthed was a decade older than the letter: a 1322 investigation of Forde and Fitzpayne by a royal commission, following a complaint filed by a French Benedictine priory near the Fitzpayne castle. The report was translated and published in 1897 but had not yet been connected to Forde’s murder at that point.

According to the 1322 indictment, Fitzpayne’s crew — which included Forde and her husband, Sir Robert, a knight of the realm — smashed gates and buildings at the priory and stole roughly 200 sheep and lambs, 30 pigs and 18 oxen, driving them back to the castle and holding them for ransom. Eisner said he was astonished to find that Fitzpayne, her husband and Forde were mentioned in a case of cattle rustling during a time of rising political tensions with France.

“That moment was quite exciting,” he said. “I would never have expected to see these three as members of a group involved in low-level warfare against a French Priory.”

‘Violence experts’

During this time in British history, city dwellers were no strangers to violence. In Oxford alone, homicide rates during the late medieval period were about 60 to 75 deaths per 100,000 people, a rate about 50 times higher than what is currently seen in English cities. One Oxford record describes “scholars on a rampage with bows, swords, bucklers, slings and stones.” Another mentions an altercation that began as an argument in a tavern, then escalated to a mass street brawl involving blades and battle-axes.

But even though medieval England was a violent period, “this absolutely does NOT mean that people did not care about violence,” Skoda said. “In a legal context, in a political context, and in communities more widely, people were really concerned and distressed about high levels of violence.”

The Medieval Murder Maps project “provides fascinating insights into the ways in which people carried out violence, but also into the ways in which people worried about it,” Skoda said. “They reported, investigated and prosecuted, and really relied on law.”

Fitzpayne’s tangled web of adultery, extortion and assassination also reveals that despite social constraints, some women in late medieval London still had agency — especially where murder was concerned.

“Ela was not the only woman who would recruit men to kill, to help her protect her reputation,” Eisner said. “We see a violent event that arises from a world where members of the upper classes were violence experts, willing and able to kill as a way to maintain power.”

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