#and i was out in cardiff for two days in a row
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So now the portion of the tour for 2022 is over, l'd like to share my (and fan!) favorite (and iconic) moments from it :)
Sorry in advance for the long ass post :P
Europe:
Live debut of Foundations (Eden night 1)
Disappear for the first time since 2010!
Live debut of Surrender the Night <3 (my first MCR song ever so I FLIPPED when this happened)
Live debut of Boy Division!
Gerard crawling on the floor
Frank moaning in Destroya for the first time in years
FINALLY being able to hear Mikey's line in Vampire $$$
Cemetery Drive for the first time since 2012 (Eden night 2)
Only Hope for Me for the first time since 2012
Tour debut of House of Wolves
Ghost of You for the first time since 2011
Tour debut of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
Headfirst for Halos for the first time since 2009
Live debut of Mastas
The first two shows having Gerard in normal dad clothes then the third show has the bloody mess we all know as Meta Man (MK night 1)
Deathwish for the first time since 2007
Saying moan instead of actually moaning during Destroya
Bulletproof Heart for the time since 2011 <3 (MK night 2)
Ray and Gerard kissing after Destroya
“How'd you get that off my closet door”
Rat attack documentary played before the show (MK night 3)
Mikey dedicating Helena to Rowan and Kennedy <3
Cancer for the first time since 2012
Rowan dancing on stage before MCR goes on with the crowd cheering for her <3
Piss and vinegar
Tomorrow’s Money live debut (Dublin night 1)
The “fuck the queen” chant
Frank's moans during Destroya
Frank telling a fan to listen to Gerard
Frank picking up a (fake) rat
Piss on stairs (Dublin night 2)
“These are my best friends”
Fuck the queen chant round 2
Ponytail Ray
The birthday balloons for Bandit's 13th birthday (Warrington)
Gerard dedicating Teenagers to Bandit for her 13th birthday
“My little bee keeper”
Gerard cardboard cut out
Save Yourself for the first time since 2011 (Cardiff)
“I'm just giving myself an ass pat, sorry”
Frank attempting to toss a hat onto his head
Oil Gerard (Glasgow)
Na Na Na being dedicated to Grant Morrison
Sleep being dedicated to Kristan Morrison
“It's time to drink my piss”
Grant getting the drum head from the Glasgow show
Frank completely shredding it
Mikey Mouse shirt (Paris)
MERCI POUR LE VENIN
Gerard taking a leap of faith
Joke about drinking Frank’s piss
Video of the band making pancakes (Rotterdam)
Ray playing guitar with his wine glass
Fans recreating this
Mikey wearing a happy birthday Kennedy shirt for Kennedy's 3rd birthday <3 (Bologna)
The crowd singing happy birthday to Kennedy for her 3rd birthday <3
Gerard stating that they hope it won’t be a long time before they come back :)
SHORTS GATE (Munich)
Discussion of Twilight
The Da Vinki twins went to the show in Budapest
Slow clap moment
“How many of you are MCR Veterans..Trademark”
Na Na Na played a second time in Warsaw but faster
Engagement during Teenagers!!
Gerard taking down Stuart
Heaven Help Us played for the first time since 2008 (Prague)
Another mention of wanting to return
Clown Gerard (Berlin)
Story time about playing in Berlin for the first time
Hearing Frank laugh when he’s nowhere near the mic
“THEY ARE GONNA HAVE TO BURY ME IN THIS MOTHERFUCKING FILTHY CLOWN SUIT! I AM NEVER TAKING THIS OFF”
The interesting drum
Poncho Gerard (Stockholm)
“I went a little hard the other night with filth clown”
Pointing a rainbow out to Gerard
Mikey’s crooked heart <3
Pink shirt Gerard (two nights in a row in Bonn)
Admitting to googling their own lyrics (Bonn night 1)
Ray's hair being half up half down
Coughing during Destroya instead of moaning
Gerard talking about Hayley Williams
Frank watching Gerard perform Cancer (Bonn night 2)
Llama on stage (a toy but a real one would’ve been cool too)
Closing off the European portion of the tour with Cancer </3
North America:
Clown Gerard 2.0 (Oklahoma City)
Gerard laughing with sparkling water in their mouth
BURY ME IN BLACK FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2003
BEST DAY EVER FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2005
Sleep with an alternate outro
The shirt incident
“Lighten the fuck up, buttercup!”
Ray breaking his wine glass against his guitar
HANG ‘EM HIGH FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2011 (San Antonio)
Sleep with an alternate intro and different outro
Second unintentional Frerard moment
Besties moment from Ray and Mikey <3
Iero on the floor
Debut of the Sunshine intro leading into Sorrows
CHEERLEADER GERARD CHEERLEADERGATE (Nashville)
Summertime being dedicated to Kristin, Rowan, and Kennedy <3
Kristin livestreaming the show!!
Everyone (except Gerard) wearing Mikey Fuckin Way shirts!
The World Is Ugly for the first time since 2008; live debut of the studio version
Gerard almost drinking their microphone
Gerard twirling around and Ray cheering <3
Rowan and Kennedy’s drawings make their debut <3
Mikey doing a livestream prior to the show!!
Gerard singing on the floor (Cincinnati)
Frank stealing Mikey’s line in Vampire Money
SHORTS GATE 2.0 (Raleigh)
Gerard's story time about Bandit trying to make advil m&ms
Everybody Hates The Eagles live debut (kinda)
LIVE DEBUT OF BURN BRIGHT
Gerard in a bloody eyepatch
Gerard shushing the crowd (jokingly) so they can take advil
Sleep with an extended outro (Elmont)
Shorts for the second night in a row
Everybody Hates The Eagles for the second night in a row
Weird ass mask debut
Two fans wearing Petekey shirts
And someone else had the Petekey arm notes written on them
Anddddd two other people had matching Frerard shirts
Shorts for the third night in a row (Philadelphia)
Vampires for the first time since 2012!!
Pool Boy at the Vampire Mansion <3
Gerard calling Mikey Lil Mikey
Debut of the mystery shirts
Sunshine intro leading into FLW (Albany)
Shorts for the fourth night in a row
Mikey watching Waterparks perform
Priest/bloody eyes Gerard (Uncasville)
Eagles returns to the setlist
Ray and Mikey brushing their teeth before the show
Sunshine intro but with S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
Skeleton Gerard (Toronto night 1)
CAUSE IM HER KIND OF GIRL AND SHES MY KIND OF BOY
Mikey wearing the happy birthday Goose shirt (Goose is what he calls his mother in law)
CAT GERARD (Toronto night 2)
Frank attempting to kick Mikey (jokingly)
Black Swan Gerard (Boston night 1)
Wholesome picture of Ray and Christa <3
Ray and Gerard colliding then hugging
Best Day Ever being dedicated to Thursday (Boston night 2)
Mikey blowing a kiss to Kristin <3
Frank wearing a headpiece
Ray rocking out with his sons <3
Crowd singing happy birthday to Mikey!! (NYC night 1)
Mikey dedicating Helena to Rowan and Kennedy again <3
Everyone except Gerard wearing Mikey Fuckin Way shirts for Mikey's birthday!
Drum is a Mikey shrine for Mikey's birthday
“How ‘bout you birthday boy?”
Fans wearing party hats for Mikey’s birthday
Gerard wearing the outfit he wore when he witnessed 9/11 (just a special moment honestly; NYC night 2)
DESERT SONG FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2008
Lily pointing Mikey out to Rowan <3
Frank crossing himself during Sorrows
Bathroom photoshoot
Gerard’s story time about running into one of the openers while with Bandit
Frank posting a picture of his ass and getting a ass tattoo (Detroit)
NURSE GERARD
Hey Chris in Detroit
“Lucky for him…I had other plans.”
Crossing out Cancer for Helena (not a favorite or iconic, just offensive lol this is a joke dw)
Hawaiian shirt Way Brothers (St. Paul)
Teenagers being dedicated to Gerard's mailman
Bullet hole makeup
Jackie O Gerard at Riot Fest
Wholesome Jamia moment from the LS Dunes set <3
Wholesome family moment from Frank during Weezer's set <3
Hey Chris at Riot Fest
Frank wearing a bandana around his neck
Frank facetiming his dad just before his set with LS Dunes <3
Mikey watching TBS (Taking Back Sunday) perform
CROP TOP GERARD (Alpharetta)
Teenagers was dedicated to the band's crew
MIKEY WORE EYELINER
First of the hometown shows and Gerard performed with Thursday!! (NJ night 1)
BAT GERARD
I NEVER TOLD YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2008
Best Day Ever with Geoff of Thursday
DEMOLITION LOVERS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2004
Frank Sinatra Gerard (NJ night 2)
PLANETARY GO FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2012
Teenagers was dedicated to Midtown
Cover of Frank Sinatra's My Way
Cherry taking a pic/recording Mikey :)
Miles getting excited when Frank said “trust me” <3
Gerard performing with Thursday
Gabe being one of the reasons why FOB8 is Pete’s villain origin story (iykyk)
BLOUSE GERARD!! (Firefly)
The entire band signs a mannequin leg
“You'll get this at the end of class”
Ghost Gerard!! (Sunrise)
Gerard took the trans flag during WTTBP <3
Frank going out on stage with HGP
Mikey going out on stage with Midtown
Gerard being unable to pronounce Florida
Ended off the east coast portion of the tour with Cancer </3
Dress in Houston!!
“I thought about wearing a dress in Texas before...but that's a story for another time”
Ray posting a peanut with a penis after the show
Mikey going out on stage with Midtown (again)
The return of dad clothes in Dallas
Teenagers was dedicated to the opening acts
“Get fucked at an airport bar”
Mikey wearing a Midtown shirt
Dad clothes again in Denver
Frank interacting with his kiddos <3
Teenagers was dedicated to Sydney
Adam of Taking Back Sunday said opening for MCR was the only way to get Mikey to return his calls
Ray moaning during Planetary Go
“Just sit back, daddy’s gonna take you where you need to go” Adam Lazzara, 2022 (Portland)
Gerard dedicating Teenagers to Taking Back Sunday
Gerard grabbing their phone to look at something
Tomato soup…hm
“Your turn!”
Meta Man cardboard cut out (Tacoma)
Sign for Gerard’s two cats, Mitch and Lotion
Frank going on stage with Kimya
Meredith and Andy went to the show!!!
“Cause if you think Mikey fuckin Way is coming out here to a cold audience, you’re mistaken”
VACUUM GUY AT THE VAMPIRE MANSION
RAY IN A PONYTAIL AGAIN
Teenagers was dedicated to Panda (Kimya’s daughter)
Gerard simping for Robert Pattinson in Batman
Gerard wearing a Twilight shirt
One of Frank’s kiddos giving a fan a paper set list
Smiley face drumhead! (Oakland)
Cum sign
Idk why someone did this but yeah
“Ray and I’s home state. We’ve lived here for...14 years?”
“I see a lot more flesh than usual. It’s fleshy out there”
Mikey and Frank almost bumping into each other before Skylines
Gerard chasing the tech off stage
Singing happy birthday to Worm
Mikey petting Worm’s beard
Gerard in an all black outfit with a rose (Vegas)
Ray rocking out with his sons <3
Ray patting his son’s head <3
Gerard dedicating Teenagers to Bandit again <3
KRISTIN WENT LIVE AGAIN
The drum was for Bandit <3
Engagement during Helena!!
Mikey having a random book signing (Aftershock)
Crowd surfing a…a sex doll during the LS Dunes set
Frank attempting to do a bottle flip at the end of the LS Dunes set
Ray, Jamia, and Frank’s kiddos watching Frank from side stage <3
Gerard’s shirt saying scabs
Gerard gagging on the microphone
The drum saying choke me which goes perfectly with the point above
A deer running around during WTTBP
THEY SOUNDCHECKED DESOLATION ROW (LA night 1)
GERARD WITH A FLAMETHROWER
CHEERLEADER DRESS IS BACK
“This song is about my favorite fucking human” spotlight proceeds to go onto Frank
Gerard got a haircut
THE SHOW WAS FILMED
Teenagers being dedicated to Quentin Tarantino
DESOLATION ROW FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2011
Mikey with his family during I’m Not Okay <3
GERARD COSPLAYING PRINCESS DIANA (LA night 2)
I Never Told You being dedicated to glow in the dark skeleton man
“DO YOU HAVE THE KEYS TO THE LAMBORGHINI BECAUSE IM GONNA DRIVE THAT MOTHERFUCKER INTO A TARGET”
Dedicating Teenagers to a fan
Frank singing Teenagers to Lily <3
Frank hugging one of the twins prior to encore <3
Frank waving to his kids prior to Foundations <3
THEY SOUNDCHECKED ALL THE ANGELS (LA night 3)
THEY SOUNDCHECKED I DON’T LOVE YOU
THE SHOW IS BEING FILMED AGAIN
Foundations being dedicated to Doug </3
I DON’T LOVE YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2019
Teenagers dedicated to a random fan again
KILL ALL YOUR FRIENDS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2008
WTTBP being dedicated to Doug’s wife and kids </3
ALL THE ANGELS LIVE DEBUT
THEY SOUNDCHECKED SING (LA night 4)
GERARD IS DRESSED AS DRACULA
Teenagers being dedicated to Bandit for the third time as well as dedicating it to her friends <3
Bandit attending the show with her friends
RAY SLAPPING GERARD’S ASS AGAIN
Ghost of You in the encore!!
Mikey bringing Rowan on stage for Kids <3
Rowan making heart hands at the crowd <3
THEY SOUNDCHECKED SISTER TO SLEEP TWICE (LA night 5)
VACUUM GUY COSPLAYING GERARD
SISTER TO SLEEP FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2003
SING FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2012
Teenagers dedicated to the crew
Dinosaur in the pit
GERARD HAS WRITING ON THEIR ARM
FRANK POSSIBLY WROTE ON GERARD’S ARM
LIVE DEBUT OF FAKE YOUR DEATH
Gabe’s son having to be “evicted” during Midtown’s opening set
Ray rocking out with his son during Kids <3
Gerard throwing fake insects to the fans
The final bow </3
Luigi cosplayer comforting emos at the first day of WWWY (cause it was canceled)
Katy Perry welcoming the orphans/emo kids to her Vegas residency show due to the first day of WWWY being canceled
Katy bringing an emo kid on stage with her and starting a mosh
THEYRE ALL IN THEIR REVENGE OUTFITS (WWWY night 2)
FACIAL PROSTHETICS
Opened with I’m Not Okay!
BAT BUCKLE
MIKEY HAS BLOOD ON HIS FACE
FRANK WENT BALD
CONFETTI WAS LITERAL VAMPIRE MONEY
Secretary of Salmonella
Gerard misaddressing the crowd as Utah
First time Foundations isn’t on the setlist since it was released (not a favorite or iconic, just really strange cause we’re all so used to it every night lol)
Frank walking onto the stage like an actual old man
Gerard flipping the crowd off before the show even started
Hayley (from Paramore) mentioning and thanking MCR <3
Person who did their prosthetics last weekend is back! (WWWY night 3)
Adam from TBS sitting on a whole ass person (ik it’s not MCR but it’s too funny to not include)
Foundations returned to the setlist!
Gerard dressed as an army general
GERARD WORE LIPSTICK
OPERA MUSIC BETWEEN SONGS
Mikey wearing the Kristin Fuckin Way shirt <3
GERARD GOT A MEDAL
GERARD BROKE THE MIC STAND AT THE END
Closing off their final US show with Kids </3
Jamia, Kristin, and Christa taking a photo with each other <3
MCR’s first time in Mexico since 2008!
Another sex doll for some reason
“You look good today baby boy” Anthony to Frank during LS Dunes’ set
GERARD IS JOAN OF ARC
Gerard spelt fuego wrong
GERARD SPOKE SPANISH
“WATCH ALL THE SHIT YOU DO”
Mikey winked and smirked at the camera
Gerard playing a telephone sound
FILMING NOTICE BEFORE MAMA
Gerard shouting out Frank and the rest of Dunes <3
NEW INTRO BEFORE FLW
Gerard got an axolotl plushie <3
Ending the North American tour and the final show of 2022 with Kids </3
If you’ve made it this far, first of all, hi! Secondly, ty for looking through this haha.
I’ll probably do this again when they’re in Australia, New Zealand, and Japan next year, so stay tuned! :)
#i also would’ve included many more links if tumblr didn’t have a limit to it :/#gerard way#frank iero#mikey way#ray toro#my chemical romance#mcr#my chem#mcr reunion#mcr tour
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Day One - Spring @sapphicmicrofics
April Daily Series - 717 words
**Series 5/5 of a continuous multi-ship story**
<<<Previous Series OR Beginning
The train station was busier than she expected for this time of day. It was too bloody early for normal people to be awake and yet here they were flooding Cardiff’s Central station. Ridiculous.
Marlene dug through her backpack until she felt the tangled cord of her earbuds. “Ah-ha! There she is.”
“Is everything feminine to you?” Regulus asked. His head was tilted slightly toward James to accommodate headphones they shared. The cord was still wrapped around Regulus’s neck while James listened intently to the song that Regulus played for him.
“Only things I value,” she replied, grinning wickedly at him.
Regulus rolled his eyes, as seemed to be his habit. The bloke was certainly a different breed from his brother. Their similarities were entirely skin deep, but it startled her to see the same features that she associated with general merriment contort into a glare or bored apathy so often.
Except for the similarly adoring expressions the brothers turned on James. It was impressive how thoroughly he’d charmed both of them. Not that Marlene was surprised. She’d watched James charm nearly everyone he’d ever met rather quickly.
They were complements in many ways. Where James was bold and confident, Marlene was bold and brash. Where James was eager and determined, Marlene was eager and hungry. They were different branches springing from the same tree and worked well together. Which was why they were old childhood friends and current hockey teammates.
Sirius prodded her hip. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to Edinburgh with me? Those two will be all over each other the entire time. Last chance.”
“As if you and Remus will be any better?” Regulus snarked. “You’re like dogs in heat.”
Sirius flipped him off. Before he could retaliate, James stuck the headphones back onto Regulus’s ears and distracted him with a quick kiss. It was becoming a common interaction between the brothers. Sirius loved winding Regulus up and Regulus enjoyed lashing out.
Marlene shrugged. “I’m due a holiday anyway and Pandora insisted that she and Lily needed help rearranging things at the London flat. Who am I to tell a pair of pretty women ‘no?’”
“Fair,” James agreed. He then swatted Regulus’s boot away from Sirius’s shin with a sigh. When his feral boyfriend grumbled a threat, James picked him up and promptly settled him into his lap. “Both of you, behave.”
Sirius smirked at Regulus, but his brother was entirely unbothered now that he was comfortably snuggled into James’s chest. It was probably best that Sirius wasn’t joining them on the train to London. Marlene was just about sick of the bickering.
“Can you not?” she said, budging Sirius’s shoulder.
“We have lost time to make up for, Marls.”
“Which you want to spend quarreling?”
He flashed a bright grin at her, then draped an arm over her shoulders. “It’s what siblings do. You know how it is.”
She definitely did. Her three brothers were constantly scrapping with each other or poking fun at her when she lived at home. It was just as irritating.
“James is being entirely too nice about it. I’d have knocked you about by now.”
Sirius laughed, loud and sharp. “Nonsense. Our rows give him an excuse to ‘rescue’ Reggie. He loves it.”
Marlene glanced back at James to find him smiling fondly at Regulus while he stroked his back to soothe him. He always was the righteous peacemaker type. It sort of tracked that he’d take advantage of the chaos to play hero.
“Utter twats.”
“You should be used to it by now,” Sirius said, leaning his head against hers. “Honestly, Marls. I think you’re jealous.”
She stared at him incredulously. “Of who?”
“Regulus.”
“What? Why?”
Sirius nodded at his brother again. “Didn’t you have that in London? The calm to your chaos?”
Marlene immediately dropped her gaze to her backpack and toyed with a loose thread. She couldn’t think about that right now. Walking away was the worst decision that she didn’t make.
Dorcas was right, of course. Long-distance was shite and they were never “just friends.” It was entirely logical to end things cleanly when they did, and also complete bullshite.
“Are you going to look her up?” he persisted.
“London is a big city and I doubt she’d want me to.”
Next Part>>>
#dorcas x marlene#marlene x dorcas#dorlene#marlene mckinnon#dorcas meadowes#marlene mckinnon x dorcas meadows#hp sapphics#marauders women#marauders era
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Day 7: Lover
written for #SeveralSunlitDaylights & @corneliaavenue-ao3
a version of this has existed since may of 2020 and it feels so good to finally put it into the universe after sitting on it for three (THREE!) years... i have a feeling i will continue this at some point and hopefully turn it into a full blow fic, but until then, enjoy some non-traditional, pandemic themed, sex pollen, a/b/o dynamics <33
They said it started in China. At the annual festival in Shanghai.
Some experts claimed the mutation originated because of an uncharacteristically dry winter. Some blamed climate change. Others said it was all part of the cyclical nature of the earth. A purification process. Nature taking its course.
The more hysterically minded said it was the end of the fucking world.
Either way, Ginny watched in horror with the rest of Edinburgh as more and more reports flooded the news.
All across the northern hemisphere, the cherry trees were blossoming, and people were going mad.
~~~
The thing about fear was that it spread like wildfire.
Grocery stores emptied of necessities overnight. The Prime Minister issued stay at home orders, some of the more populated areas even attempted a voluntary curfew. Borders were closed, air traffic came to a grinding halt, restaurants were instructed to only offer takeout, and any non-essential businesses were told to close their doors entirely.
For a while, it all felt over-cautious.
At least until the first case hit Cardiff.
They said the little omega lasted three days in a severe heat until the pain and the dehydration finally rendered her unconscious. Her family rushed her to the emergency room and it was another two days before the hospital identified what was happening to her. They said before she was quarantined, she infected almost thirty people, nine of them hospital staff.
It spread from twenty-nine confirmed cases to over three-hundred within a week, three-hundred became eight-thousand within the month.
And that was just Wales.
~~~
Birmingham was the third city to reach critical levels of contamination, after Liverpool and Manchester.
They projected a global spread, the more densely populated areas being hit first. Each day the estimates increased, predicting numbers so catastrophic, there hadn’t been anything like it in over five-hundred years.
The real test, however, was London.
There were reports that all the major cabinet members had been moved to separate and secure locations. That way if any of them contracted the sickness, at the very least, they wouldn’t infect the rest of the country's leaders.
The worst part was nobody seemed to know anything. Records of the last pandemic were inconclusive or didn’t exist. No one knew how long the sickness lasted or how debilitating it really was. Less reliable news sources even reported deaths when the first wave hit eastern China, rumours spreading of alphas ripping each other apart over the chance to mate an omega.
But that’s all they were.
Rumours.
~~~
Designation had never mattered much to Ginny. It was just something stamped on her birth certificate next to seven pounds two ounces, eighteen inches long. Her ruts weren’t dramatic events, they were hardly even a disruption. Four times a year, she’d get the urge, use her fingers on herself three nights in a row and wait out the subsequent five days of bleeding.
Designation also hasn’t mattered to the world in decades. Suppressants went out of fashion after the turn of the century, the human race’s more animalistic instincts fading with each generation until the ruts and heats became nothing more than quarterly nuisances. Only a very small percentage of the population still needed herbs and homoeopathic blockers to get by, the rest went about their lives business as usual.
Humanity had evolved past such trivial things as Alpha, Beta, and Omega.
But now, it was all anyone could talk about.
~~~
Dawdling around the townhouse, Ginny took her frustrations out in the form of kneading a lumpy, soon to be loaf of bread while half listening to the news. Her television emitted a scratchy noise every few seconds, but for a dumpster dive, it worked fine enough. Especially since for the six weeks she’d been stuck at home, she’d hardly turned the damn thing off.
It wasn’t so much that she was dedicated to being informed, she just couldn’t bear the silence.
No honking cars, no nosy tourists, no shouting street vendors.
It was quiet in an uncomfortable way, in an unnatural way. In a way that left Ginny too much alone with her own thoughts.
As she punched the dough down as hard as she could, her telly warbled out an odd static followed by the evening news anchor chatting animatedly with a couple who supposedly recovered from the sickness.
“And you think having each other,” the journalist asked in disbelief, “helped speed up your recovery?”
“We realise it sounds a bit crazy, we aren’t even sure if there is science to support it–” a male voice responded. He sounded rational enough even though what he was saying went against every directive of social distancing. “But I’m an alpha, and my wife is an omega. When we both came down with it, we decided to stay home and wait it out together. Within a week or so we felt completely back to normal...”
Ginny snorted. The hospitals reported the illness lasting between twelve to fifteen days, not seven. And what were their credentials besides claiming to have been infected? The news station could interview anyone off the street. They’d probably interview her if she claimed she danced naked, covered in chicken’s blood beneath the full moon and it spared her. If anything, the segment was irresponsible. Now people were going to go out looking for a sex partner for the week.
Sighing at the downturn in journalistic integrity, she tuned out the rest of the interview, content to bask in the early May breeze wafting through the open windows.
Until she heard the squeak of brakes slow to a stop out front.
And muffled voices.
Followed by a car door slamming shut.
She’d just begun to wonder which bluenose neighbour had arrived to hole up in a holiday house when footsteps scuffed up the stone walk, her stone walk, and a key slid into the lock of her front door.
The knob turned, the door clicked open, and Ginny stood rooted to the spot, covered in flour as her landlord (slash older brother’s best mate) appeared framed on the stoop.
At first, Harry didn’t notice her. He stepped inside, careful to scrub his shoes on the mat before closing the door behind him and dropping his duffle unceremoniously in the foyer. He looked the same as he had nearly a year ago. He scratched a hand through the disaster hair piled atop his head then patted it all down again. His glasses were the same, and he still had the same little divot permanently etching his brow into a scowl. Beneath his anorak she could tell his lean frame still gave way to lanky limbs that shifted into slender fingers.
Then the telly switched programs, the News giving way to some crime documentary, or something. Ginny wasn’t actually paying attention. At the change in music, Harry froze with his back halfway to her and his shoulders went tight.
Then he turned on the spot, and he finally registered Ginny’s presence tucked away in the kitchen at the back of the house.
Their gazes held for several beats too long, both of them wide-eyed and startled by the existence of the other in such close proximity.
Ginny’s heart thundered inside her chest, in a way that was achingly familiar and entirely unwelcome.
“What are you– I didn’t think–” Harry stammered quickly. “Ron said he was meeting you back home?”
“He was,” Ginny answered, just as flustered. “I’d planned on it but– I couldn’t– I mean, I…changed my mind.”
Harry dug his fingers into his eyes behind his glasses and swore softly. He looked a bit peaky.
“Christ, I’m an idiot,” He croaked. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve called.”
“No, it’s fine,” she reassured, not quite sure why she was pardoning his intrusion. “It’s still your house.”
They stared at each other in the silence for several beats too long, both of them seemingly at a loss for what to do next.
“Er–” Harry finally stammered, a grin taking over his face. “Hi, by the way.”
Ginny laughed. “Yeah... long time, no see.”
They went in for a hug at the same time, but it was too light and too quick to feel natural. As he pulled away, Harry averted his gaze and let his eyes wander around the hall and the front two rooms.
“Is Luna…” he trailed off, as if those two words were question enough.
Ginny realised she was still covered in baking powder and half finished dough. She grabbed a tea towel from the hook and wiped her hands just for something to look at besides him. “She and her Dad were visiting family in Hamburg when the stay at home orders hit. She’s been stuck there for over a month. They can’t get a flight home.”
Harry nodded and let out a deep exhale of sympathy. “Fuck, yeah, that’d be awful.” He paused, shooting her a furtive glance. “And you? How–how are you?”
“Yeah, fine,” One half of her mouth tipped into a smile. “You?”
Shaking his head as if in thought, his hands fidgeted slightly in front of him. “Well, London is a disaster. They aren’t letting anyone leave their homes, or letting anyone into town. They’re letting people leave, but it took me ten days just to get approval to hop a train. I figured it couldn’t be so bad up here, you know? That’s why I…”
He trailed off again and Ginny wondered if he’d become incapable of finishing a coherent sentence in the time since she’d seen him last.
“Makes sense,” she nodded generously.
Harry remained exactly where he was, awkwardly perched on the welcome mat.
“You can come in,” Ginny asserted and he flinched a bit like he hadn’t expected to actually be allowed to stay.
“Right,” he cleared his throat and stepped forward like a man walking the plank.
Busying herself with the kettle, she tried not to be too aware of his progress through the sitting room.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him wave to the bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
Ginny grinned. The house held tell-tale signs of being solely occupied by her for the last month and a half. Stray jumpers, and rumpled throw pillows, and forgotten cups of tea sat scattered all around. The dishes in the sink were piled several days too high and the bananas on her countertop were just a shade too brown.
“It’s a disaster,” she corrected, pulling her last two bags of tea out of the cupboard.
Harry flashed her a smile, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “I mean the furniture and things. The colours.”
“The colours?” she repeated incredulously.
“Yeah,” he hummed, finally inching his way fully into the kitchen. He swallowed as his eyes settled on her once more. “It looks nice. Cosy.”
Snorting, she pulled her nearly empty carton of milk out of the refrigerator. “A sight better than when you and Ron lived here, you mean?”
That fleeting smirk again, there and then gone. “Do you know our sofa broke in two when we tried to move it out?”
“That does not surprise me in the slightest.”
Ginny poured and they both chuckled. She passed him one of the mugs and the milk, remembering how he took it. She reckoned it was one of those things she’d never forget. Like the opening to her favourite Spice Girls’ song, or her childhood phone number, or the rhymes to bonfire night. Two plus two equals four and Harry took his tea with milk, no sugar.
He tipped a splash into his cup, seemed to hesitate for a second, and then burst, “I can get a room. There’s got to be a hotel open in Old Town–”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ginny cut across him, spooning a heap of sugar into her own tea. Again, she wasn’t quite sure why she was contradicting him, but she refused to chase the thought down, because then she’d have to acknowledge that somewhere deep down she wanted him to stay.
“Ginny,” he croaked. “I can’t intrude like this. I’ll figure something out. I’ll go stay at Sirius’ place in the country, or–”
“Harry,” she interrupted him again. “It’s your house.”
He seemed determined to put himself out. “But I can’t just show up out of the blue and–”
“Luna took your old room–” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“I mean, you pay rent!” Now he was just talking to himself. “I had no right–”
“And she’s obviously not using it–” Ginny reasoned, though the ramifications of what she was suggesting crept up on her in a gradual recognition of awareness.
“I bet the Chisholm Hunter has rooms–”
“Harry!” she cut across him in humoured agitation. “It’s fine. Stay tonight, or the next few days, or a week, until you figure it out. It’s fine.”
He blinked, the furrow between his brows deepening in thought. “You’re sure it’s okay?”
“Yes,” she lied, like a liar. “It’s not a big deal.”
It was kind of a big deal, but she could handle it.
“You said they aren’t letting people into London, right?” Ginny continued. “What are you going to do? Rent a room until they let you go back home? That could be months!”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it again and exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Yeah, alright,” He conceded. “But only until I can get ahold of Sirius. Then, I swear, I’ll get out of your hair.”
The statement stung, just a little. As if getting out of her sight was vastly preferable than remaining in it.
“Where is he?” Ginny asked instead, lifting her mug to her mouth as if completely unaffected.
Harry pulled out his mobile and punched in his passcode. “Australia. Apparently their cherry trees don’t bloom until September.”
A scoff bubbled up in the back of her throat. “Lucky Australia.”
He muttered something that sounded like agreement and pressed the phone to his ear. As he meandered back into the sitting room, Ginny turned her cupboards in search of biscuits. Surely, she still had a package left somewhere.
Harry returned within moments. “Didn’t answer.”
“Well,” she shrugged, “Isn’t it like three in the morning?”
Harry gave her a flat look. “It’s Sirius.”
She laughed. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”
Something in his expression sparked at her reaction and it made the breath in her lungs go shallow.
Just like his smiles, the flare of something was there and then gone in an instant. She tried not to feel the familiarity of it, really she did, but something hollowed out spread through her middle at the reminder of her nearly debilitating infatuation, and then its eventual collapse.
Ginny cleared her throat, coming back to her senses. “So, you said it took you forever to get a train ticket. Have they decreased the routes?”
“Oh, erm–” Harry took a sip of tea that was clearly too hot for his mouth and he winced. “Yeah, and they’re checking into everyone who books.”
Understanding washed over her. “Right, so they make sure people aren’t…”
Great, now she was incapable of finishing her sentences.
He looked to her uncomfortably. “I hadn’t actually ever seen my birth certificate, I just always figured I was a Beta. Had to have a Doctor check me over once to make sure I wasn’t — you know — that I hadn’t gone unidentified.”
“Right, good. Nice.”
Why exactly was it nice? She should really stop talking.
“Is that why you…” He gestured vaguely south with one hand. “Couldn’t…go home?”
“Oh, er-” Ginny resisted the urge to cringe. “No.”
In reality, she’d had plenty of time to book a train to Devon before they started restricting the passengers who were designated one way or the other, but she hadn’t had the funds.
Harry’s gaze sharpened in curiosity.
“Do you want to put your stuff upstairs?” she asked brightly. “You must be knackered after travelling all day.”
~~~
Ginny retreated to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her and leaning back against the sink. Shortly after Harry had settled into Luna’s room, his old room, she’d heard his mobile ring. His muffled voice through the mostly closed door had been maddening, and nearly too tempting to eavesdrop on, so she’d escaped.
She was half-torn. One part of her wished Sirius was offering up his country house to his godson immediately, and the other part hoped there was some flood, or fire, or other natural disaster that made it inhabitable.
Because the prospect of spending time with someone, but especially him; to not be alone hour after hour and day after day, was almost too exquisite to contemplate.
Christ, she was hopeless.
With nothing better to do than simmer in her own thoughts, Ginny turned the taps to the bath and adjusted the temperature until the shower spray was borderline scorching. She spent an excessive amount of time washing her hair and scrubbing her skin. She didn’t bother trying to figure out if she was doing it consciously or subconsciously, but she did know she was avoiding the end of her shower. Because as soon as she left the bath, she’d find out if he was staying or going.
Both scenarios felt too formidable to contemplate.
Eventually, though, the water ran cold, and Ginny couldn’t hide any longer.
After brushing her teeth, applying night cream, and wrapping herself up in her dressing gown, Ginny yanked open the bathroom door to find Harry standing directly in the doorway, with his fist raised as if to knock.
“Oh, sorry–” He muttered, his gaze flitting down her body and back up again. His face flushed just enough to notice. “That was Sirius,” he continued. “I can stay at his place, so I’ll be out of here as soon as I can book a train.”
Ginny pulled in a breath and did her best to keep it even. “Right. Good.”
She felt anything but good.
Squeezing past him and into the hallway, she kept her expression bright and open until she was safe inside her bedroom.
In her haste, she missed the way his eyes fluttered shut as she passed.
~~~
That night was unseasonably hot. The forecast had called for it to be a mild week, balmy and temperate, so Ginny wasn’t sure why the air wafting in through her open window felt so stifling. As she tossed and turned, a light sheen of sweat clung to her skin, and she contemplated the merits of another shower. This time a cold one.
She settled for a glass of water instead.
Padding down the hall toward the stairs, Ginny skirted past Luna’s room as quickly and quietly as she could. However, in the end, stealth didn’t matter.
Harry was already in the kitchen, propped up against the sink and looking pale.
“You okay?” Ginny muttered, taking a tentative step forward.
Clenching his eyes shut, Harry kept his head down and nodded. “I don’t know what’s happened to my stomach. Food poisoning or something–”
“I may have some Pepti upstairs?”
Harry nodded again.
She took a step closer, reaching for a glass from the shelf when the scent hit her. It smelled like fresh spring mornings, and the citrus of Earl Grey tea, and the warmth of never being alone. It smelled like home.
Every instinct she had screamed at her to take in more of it, to surround herself in it. Harry’s eyes met hers through the dim light and she saw him pull in a deep inhale through flared nostrils.
In an instant, her mind was restless and her body uncomfortably warm. Parts of her she didn’t know could ache, gnawed and cramped in time with her too loud pulse.
She dropped the glass she’d been holding at the same time Harry lept backwards.
In some corner of her mind, she knew what was happening. All of the doctors listed the same symptoms over and over; heightened senses, irregular body temperature, lower-abdominal cramps, increased libido. However, she was firmly ignoring the signs… especially the last one. It was much easier to dismiss her body’s immediate urges as coincidence. Otherwise, she would also have to admit what triggered it.
For fuck’s sake, Harry triggered it.
But that would mean he–
Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck.
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Doctor Who, but Chronologically: 35
It's 1941! The Second World War is now underway, and we, lucky things that we are, get the glory that is Christopher Ecclestone's Doctor back as we reach the Empty Child.
Incidentally, if you were a young Welsh adult in 2005, this episode absolutely blew your tits clean off even more effectively than Margaret's email. We held WATCH PARTIES for the second part. This was THE story we all went feral for, and it is fascinating revisiting it now, almost two decades later, as part of this incredibly pig-stupid watch order. It looks so dated! Everyone is so young! Richard Wilson has a role for a single scene and completely steals not just the show but the entire fucking series! That hospital is the Old Infirmary in Cardiff! Those train station steps are at Cathays! I'm having THE BEST time
Okay anyway
So this is the first of a two-parter - the Doctor and Rose chase a spaceship that's on Mauve Alert (aliens consider Red Alert to be camp, apparently) through the time stream to land in London, 1941, except they land a month behind it. On landing, the Doctor meets Nancy, a homeless woman who spends her time breaking into people's houses while the air raids are going and stealing food for a horde of adorable homeless urchins, except they're all being menaced by the titular Empty Child, who it emerges is a creepy gas mask zombie that used to be Nancy's brother - until a month ago.
It follows them and has Bluetooth. Likes asking if they're its mam. Connects with phones. There's a fun bit where it makes the TARDIS phone ring, which reactivated an 18 year old memory in me of me fucking GASPING at the time.
Eventually the Doctor makes it to the bomb site. The Old Infirmary I'm sorry a definitely real London hospital is nearby, and Richard Wilson is playing a Doctor inside (some SUPER FUN bits where Nancy says "You need to meet the Doctor" and we're all like "Whoa, another Doctor, say what -" look this episode BLEW OUR TITS CLEAN OFF, okay, it's so atmospheric and mysterious). He's the only one still alive - the wards are filled with rows and rows of people, gas masked like the Empty Child, and equally empty. This is where Nancy's brother was first brought, we're told; and the next day, everyone who touched him became like him. Within the week, so were all the patients. They now all have the exact same injuries, and they lie dormant, like creepy zombies.
It happens to Richard Wilson right in front of us and it's so, so creepy. Fuck me this is a good episode. Like I know, I know, it's a Moffat one, and I'm not going to pretend there aren't the occasional troublesome bit, but the fact is that the man does his best work when he has a talented editor who tells him no and takes the pen out of his hands before he wrecks his own stories. Moffat-edited-by-RTD produces some great stuff, and this is one. Yeah I said it. AND I'D SAY IT AGAIN)
MEANWHILE Rose immediately wandered off after landing ("Just once," the Doctor mournfully tells a random street cat he sees and instantly scoops up and cwtches, "I'd like someone who doesn't wander off. 800 years and it's the only thing that would still surprise me"). She decides to climb a random rope up a blimp for no reason other than The Plot Requires It (curse you, Moffat), and then gets rescued...
BY CAPTAIN JACK HARKNESS!!!!!!!!!!!
:D :D :D
We're getting this in order!!!! We haven't met him before!!! But oh, we have had him TEASED to us, haven't we - we know he gives Whittaker a warning to beware the Lone Cyberman, or billions will die. We know he'll "get round" to Me. And now we're meeting him!!!! Fantastic.
He is, too, he's the epitome of Be Gay Do Crimes. He's a conman. Turns out the spaceship they were chasing - which is somehow causing the gas mask people - was sent by Jack, because he thought they were time agents and wanted to fleece them. It's an ambulance! Though he made sure it was empty, so no clue yet how Bluetooth gas mask zombies are the result. Rose spends the majority of this episode absolutely horny on main for this guy; I mean it's very, you know, Moffatt writing, but also Jack is very fun and sexy so fair enough, girl, he's a sure thing and you got needs you chase that dick. He saves her from falling to her death, too, so that's fun.
Anyway the episode ends on a big cliffhanger. Nancy is found by her empty zombie brother, who corners her in a house and is asking her if she's his mummy. It wakes up all the zombies in the hospital, though, so they start menacing the Doctor, Rose and Jack. There were seventeen of us packed into a tiny student flat to watch the resolution of that, back in 2005. I sat on a cushion on the floor. I am very nostalgic.
Other things hinted at: the Doctor lost a son and a grandson, and knows what it's like to be the only child out in the cold. And Mickey is only Rose's sort of boyfriend, whatever that means. Not many new plot threads - only the cliffhanger really, but we'll be watching that immediately (waiting a week in 2005 was AGONY). But! We can remove the one asking who is Captain Jack Harkness! Fun fun fun.
“She” (an unknown person) is returning (perhaps River returned as Missy. Maybe Me? Maybe Clara???!)
There is something on Donna’s back
An entire planet, Pyrovilia, just… disappeared, somehow. (Maybe because the TARDIS is exploding??? Saturnine was also lost, and that WAS because of the TARDIS exploding. The lion man’s planet was also lost but he was a bit of a knob about it if I’m honest.)
Amy is maybe dead (she’s not)
The Doctor has been cubed (he’s out, but how?)
River is possibly blown up (unless she’s Missy. NEW INFO: she is definitely not blown up)
The TARDIS has blown up (It’s fine now. Except it’s sort of melting now because it’s corrupted, but it’s fine again)
The universe appears to have ended (the universe is back again)
The Doctor has employed(?) Nardole
(And Nardole was “reassembled???” Nardole had glass nipples and invisible hair?? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE)
There’s a vault in the TARDIS and it contains Missy but we don’t know why (sometimes she knocks for the bants)
There’s an immortal Viking girl now. Her name is Me and she’s now looking after the people the Doctor abandons
Why was Rory entirely unconcerned by the entire world suddenly going silent when that is Not Normal and should have been, at the very least, extremely disconcerting?
What did the Doctor do to Queen Lizzie One?
Why is Amy seeing a one-eyed woman in a vanishing window? (She’s with the Silents, but we don’t know why Amy saw her)
Why is Amy’s pregancy inconclusive? (Maybe because the baby had Time Lord DNA?)
Who is Sarah-Jane Smith?
How is the Doctor Bill’s teacher and why/where does he have an office?
What is going on with the Cyber War and the Cyberium???
What happened with the Other Cyber War?
What happened with the Third War that deleted the void?
Why does Rose seem particularly important?
What order do these Doctors go in? (Eccleston, Tennant, uncertain, Smith, Capaldi, Whittaker)
Which companion just… forgot the Doctor, and how?
Yaz and Vinder are about to die as Mori/Mwri/Muuri
There is a Lupari shield around Earth.
What’s a Time War?
What’s the Rift?
What’s Bad Wolf?
In which war did the Doctor become a war criminal, and how?
Who is the Master?
Why has Amy forgotten Rory?
Is Rory plastic or not?
Why is the Doctor sulking on a cloud?
How exactly does the Doctor have a cloud?
What exactly happened with Strax to, uh, tame him?
Which friend killed Strax?
Which friend brought Strax back?
Where did this lesbian lizard and human couple come from?
What happened with Clara as Souffle Girl and the Daleks?
How does Clara actually join?
Why so many Claras?
Why is Missy apparently in robo-heaven?
Why is probably!Missy pushing Clara and the Doctor together?
What is Trensilor and what happened there?
Who is Handles?
The Doctor is about to be dissolved by a beautiful geode man
The universe is being crushed by the Flux
Will the Doctor open the fobwatch?
Sontarans are invading Earth again
Who is Kate?
Who is Osgood? Another name of Clara’s again?
The fuck is the deal with the Grand Serpent
Does Martha get to go to an ice cream planet with 12-fingered massage aliens?
How did the Doctor forget Clara?
Who is Bill’s puddle girlfriend Heather?
How did Nardole die?
When does Bill get Cyberman-ed and die?
When does the Doctor shrink and enter a Dalek called Rusty?
Whittaker is falling to her death rn
Was that ring relevant?
Does anyone know the Doctor’s name?
When did Yaz talk to Dan about fancying the Doctor?
When did Dan talk to the Doctor about fancying Yaz?
What’s happening with the bees?
What happened with Donna’s ex and a giant spider?
What war wiped out the Daleks, and is it one of the ones already mentioned?
What did the Doctor mean when he said “The (Daleks) always live, while I lose everything?”
If Dalek Caan is the last Dalek left why are there more now?
How did the rest of the Time Lords die?
How and why did Amy melt?
What’s the question that will make silence fall?
Why do the Silents… want silence to fall?
How and why are Silents at war with the Doctor when he… hasn’t even heard of them?
How does Hitler get out of the cupboard?
What’s the significance of fish fingers and custard?
Why does the Doctor feel guilt about Rose, Martha and Donna?
What happened with the space whale?
When does Rory defend Amy for 2000 years?
How does the Doctor survive River
How does he erase himself from history
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‘A Night At The Opera Tour’
John Reid's prediction of a highly successful year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.
The band stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."
Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.
The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought.
During ‘Stone Cold Crazy’ Freddie's movements explode in perfect unison with the music, the lights and surroundings go crazy, and the audience goes berserk.
Freddie asks for requests and receives a roar out of which one can vaguely make 'Liar'. Fred walks along the stage, nodding, agreeing he will do this one and that one while the kids roar on. "I'll tell you what - we'll do them all!"
(Brian twisted his ankle during ‘Liar’ unbeknownst to the audience.)
'Doing Alright' changes into a cha-cha beat, Freddie snapping his fingers, the coolest hipster in town, and then instantly drops into faster-than-light drive - the whole row next to me leaps to their feet as a man, rocking back and forth as Brian roars into a blinding solo.
Two songs later, in 'Seven Seas of Rye', the kids break - very fast - and in five seconds half the audience is a seething mass in front of the stage, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as a splintering seat sends a few bodies to the floor.
(Seats seats were damaged from the fans climbing over them)
Interestingly, Freddie's strip act during ‘Big Spender’ isn't part of the show every night. On this night Freddie appeared (and remained) in his kimono, while on the previous night he emerged for the encore in his tight white shorts
Queen will probably always be remembered, because as their tour is beginning to demonstrate, they have the ability to actualise and encompass the outer limits of their sense of self-importance. Queen and their music, presentation, production - everything about them says that they are more important than any other band you've every heard, and who has there been, so far, who has objected? Certainly not the 150,000 people (plus 20,000 a day) who bought 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in the first 20 days of its release. Certainly not me.
Source: Queen: A Riot At The Opera
Published in Sounds, November 29 1975
Queen triumphant
Report by Jonh Ingham
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top 5 times you've seen tmg
this resulted in me pulling up setlist fm and my travel spreadsheets to double check how many tmg shows i've actually been to and its 11 full shows and one instore so i do actually have to pick and its hard!!!
dublin 2019 - palmcorder yanya, waylon jennings live!, this is about when younger solidifed as one of my all time favourites. john played ash's request for birth of serpents back to back with my request for steal smoked fish in the encore and afterwards we hung out with matt and got hugs and were like, fully solidified as Those Two who were barrier at every show of the tour
dublin 2015 beat the champ tour - my first time! i flew from cardiff to dublin to stay with a pal and went to the gig on my own, got in the second row, and sobbed my way through most of the set next to an older irish woman who grabbed my hand during never quite free. the setlist was insane: cry for judas, ballad of bull ramos, heel turn 2, steal smoked fish, amy aka spent gladiator, and my first time ever hearing this year live. whelan's is a tiny venue, the crowd was rowdy af and joyful, and until this year it was the only full band show i'd been to!
brighton 2017 - last show of the goths tour, i tweeted john from outside the venue asking if i could teach myself how to make an origami unicorn before the show, would he consider playing from tg&y (my fav unreleased song). i successfully made the unicorn and left it on the keyboard, he held it up during high unicorn tolerance and referred to me as "his friend". he did play from tg&y during the solo set and it changed my brain chemistry forever. also this was maybe my favourite version of harlem roulette i've seen live?
leeds night 2 2019. i have loved all the leeds shows, the brudenell club is my favourite venue, the crowd is always incredible, hearing andrew eldritch is moving back to leeds in leeds remains one of the most joyful musical experiences of my life every goddamn time, but this show in particular had autoclave in the solo set and then the double whammy of cry for judas into woke up new. this was 18 months after ash and i lost a friend to suicide and woke up new hits different when you're in grief like that. getting to cry and hug my best friend listening to our favourite band together doesn't get old ever.
dublin 2017 - HEEL TURN 1 BABYYYYY. new chevrolet in flamess!! the young thousands!! you were cool in the encore!!!!! ash and i befriended a very chill dude at barrier who lost his shit when JD played masher in the solo set, extremely good vibes. but really: heel turn one. screaming "i/ i/ i'm not gonna die in here" with a room full of people increasingly loudly was just so much.
honorable mention for berlin 2022, my first and only show of this tour bc i got incredibly sick the day after the gig. but going to germany with ash to see tmg again post-pandemic was just such a joy. matt melted my face off with his guitar solo during dark in here, seeing a full band show for the first time since 2015 rocked, waylon jennings live! full band? incredible. i screamed along so hard to up the wolves that my mask fell off; the catharsis was deeply needed
#tmg#every show is special like all the leeds ones have been so good and unique; glasgow 2019 was insane#the leeds instore where they played cotton after i joked about wanting to hear it to ash earlier in the day?#thee band of all time for me
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Walking as a Commuter Within the City and Campus: Mobility, Belonging and Identity by Taylor Trueman
‘Overslept. So tired. If late. Get fired. Why bother? Why the pain? Just go home. Do it again’ (Bissell, 2018, p. xiii, emphasis added).
We begin our walk outside of Cardiff Central train station, having just alighted from a train that I catch every week from my rural hometown, as a commuting university student. A pigeon lands in the middle of Central Square. It bobs along, searching for bits of food dropped by passengers as they go. A group of tourists huddle together, eagerly clutching their bags and listening attentively to the tour guide, who sounds knowledgeable on the city of Cardiff. A man who took the same train journey as I did, recognisable from his bright orange rucksack, appears to be munching on something. Small flows of people move in and out of the train station, most of them carrying luggage and all having different journeys and reasons for being within the city (Jones et al., 2014). They disperse in many directions; right, left, straight on, whilst some slow and stop. The smell of a warm, crusty pasty draws my attention back to my fellow passenger. So that is what he is eating. As I walk past the train station exit, a loud and impatient beep from a taxi in the nearby taxi rank catches me off guard. Scraps of litter fly around the grotty concrete slabs of the Square, the wind catching this ‘vibrant matter’ in its grip (Bennett, 2009).
The time on my phone alerts me that I have taken too long dawdling at the train station, resulting in me being 5 minutes behind on schedule. Commuters learn certain dispositions and travelling skills, such as timed and familiarised routes, that are important to the mobilities of being a ‘commuter’ (Bissell, 2018). This walk takes me on a route that starts at the train station and ends at the Glamorgan Building, whilst moving through the spaces of the city and campus. It is how the identities of ‘commuter’ and ‘student’ interact and shift, and how the relationship of the city and the campus relate and contradict, that is of interest here (Jones et al., 2014; Haar, 2010). I begin walking hastily up the path towards the centre. My walk slows as I catch up with a group of men who occupy the pavement. Catching an odour that makes my nose scrunch up, I notice two of the men are smoking marijuana. Cautious not to be seen with the group, I keep my distance, partially because they are smoking drugs but also because I am a lone female venturing into the city (Pain, 2001). An opening is made between the group as the pavement widens and I quickly walk through them. The smell of alcohol trickles out of the nearby Wetherspoons. Rows of pubs, restaurants and shops are scattered along the street, a sign that I am moving away from the train station and entering the busy centre of city life.
A scratching suitcase catches my attention. It is being dragged by two women dressed in big stiletto heels and short sparkly dresses. The suitcase hits and bounces off of the grooves and edges of the pavement. To the commuting student, who is tired but ready to get on with her day, their fashion does seem odd for a drowsy Tuesday morning. Maybe they are on their way to a hen do or a heavy day of drinking. I hope they have a good time, but those shoes do look uncomfortable. My attention regains back to my own reason for being within the city – my lecture (Jones et al., 2014). Picking up pace, I approach the first pedestrian crossing, which is manned by traffic lights. The pedestrian sign shows red, so I wait. The cars leave a smell of petroleum as they whizz past, burning my nostrils. Seagulls squark above me, flying around in circles and flapping their big wings. The pedestrian sign quickly turns green, and everyone breaks into heavy strides, shuffling around each other to avoid any awkward interaction or collision (Ryave and Schenkein, 1975). As we cross to the other side, the high-heeled ladies, the shifty young men and myself, the commuting student, all disperse into different directions, as we go about our day within the city.
Those around me turn from passengers to shoppers, who funnel in and out of the many stores along the Hayes. My attention is drawn to a melodic, groovy sound of something that is not attributable to the hard sounds of the city; a saxophone (Gallagher and Prior, 2017). I follow the tune down the street, where I find a busker under the statue of John Batchelor. The clanking of coins fall into the saxophone case from a man who is enjoying the music too. I want to stay and listen, but the anxiety of being late grows in my stomach. Time to bring out the dreaded Google Maps app. The app brings up a route through St David’s Shopping Centre that will allow me to bypass most of Queen Street, knocking off 5 minutes from my journey. This leaves me feeling out of place, as I do not know the secret routes of the city, as other students surely would (Holton and Finn, 2018). My more familiarised rhythm slows as I take this route into St David’s Shopping Centre. The saxophone drones out, as does the light provided by the spring sun. Harsh UV lighting replaces it and burns down from the shopping mall ceiling, becoming engulfed by its sterile and commodified landscape.
Google Maps directs me to take a left through a shop leading out to Queen Street. As I approach, a big red WE ARE CLOSED sign is plastered across the shop windows. Google Maps has not registered the shop’s closure. I turn around and allow Google Maps to reconfigure the route (Laurier et al., 2016). This obscures my feeling of unbelonging, as I belong in the sense that I am a student, but do not in terms of knowing my way around Cardiff. After finding and exiting from another shop onto Queen Street, I recognise the side street that leads on to Park Place; the beginning of the Civic Centre where the university can be located. I close down Google Maps and check my phone – I am now on time. Although the side street feels like the limbo between the city and the campus as it transports me from one side of Cardiff to the other, I recognise the campus as not a separate space that is isolated from the city, rather as a place that unites city living with pedagogy (Haar, 2010). As I enter the quieter, more esteemed area of Cardiff University campus, I feel a shift whilst moving through this space, with my identity as ‘student’ rather than just ‘commuter’.
As the landscape changes from city to campus, so do its inhabitants. I start to encounter students, recognisable from their big rucksacks and bright coloured folders. A group of girls approach, where I catch their conversation as they pass; ‘…the diss deadline is creeping up fast’ – I know the feeling! (Jones et al., 2014). The Centre of Student Life stands adjacent to my route, with its exaggerated white pillars and four-story floors filled with glass windows. Impressive, but expensive, learnt from the recent university strike action campaigns. I begin walking through the Cardiff University Main Building opposite. The history in its old walls is not outshone by the extravagance of the Centre of Student Life. The Cardiff University Main Building exudes what it feels to belong and be within a university building, with its open gallery and old marble walls, the silence eerie but the grandiose staggering (Hurdley, 2010). The receptionist resides at her desk, typing away, whilst a few people rest at the tables and chairs provided. The white statue of John Viriamu Jones sits centre stage. I cross the red carpeted gallery floor and make my way to the exit, which opens up towards Alexandra Gardens.
I begin walking the paths of Alexandra Gardens, which twist and turn around its corners. A young woman starts to jog across the grass. As she does, she creates a ‘desire path’; an earth trail created by those who divert from the designated route (Bates, 2017). Seeming to be in a rush, she makes her way towards the Glamorgan Building – most likely another student or member of staff getting to their class on time. The trickling of water meets my ears, stemming from the fountain in the huge war memorial erected at the centre of the park. The smell of fresh grass recently cut by the gardeners, who are busy filling up their truck with clippings after a morning of hard work, remind me of the smells of my hometown. This park allows me to embody the identities of both ‘rural’ and ‘urban’, rather than only ‘commuter’ and ‘student’, as I move through the park on foot (Moles, 2008). Suddenly, the clock tower begins to dong, signalling the start of a new hour. Taking me out of the serene landscape, I return back to my lecture, which is beginning in 2 minutes. Picking up pace, I walk past those enjoying their lunches on the park benches, where I too decide to have my lunch.
A row of tightly parked cars meet me as I exit the Gardens, stretching down the road where the Glamorgan Building resides. The bright colour of yellow catches the corner of my eye – daffodils, planted sporadically on the side of the pavement. Their heads dance in the breeze, a petal or two plucking off when the wind becomes too strong. This is a nice change from the gusts of litter encountered at the train station (Puwar, 2019). I continue down the pavement, cracked in places from the roots of the ancient trees that stand above, erupting underneath the tarmac as they grow. Reaching a gap in between the parked cars, I quickly move across the road. Arriving at the steps of the Glamorgan Building, I take a second to catch my breath, tired from the long and liminal commute (Bissell, 2018). The building, greyed and historical, stares down. Two Roman stone sculptures flank the sides of the building, one I recognise as the Goddess Athena, from her distinguishable helmet and shield. A I walk up the steps, I hear my name. Turning quickly, one of my friends, who I came to know from my lecture, runs up the steps to join me.
As a commuting student, having the opportunity to see friends outside of class is not a regular occurrence, often leaving me on the peripheral of university life (Holton and Finn, 2018). Yet as I greet my friend, I feel a rush of belonging to the campus. The identity of ‘commuter’ leaves me as I push through the turning doors of the building with my friend, and the role of the ‘student’ takes over. As Clark (2020) moved through Brighton train station to Brighton Pier, her identity also shifted from commuter to tourist. Although I am not overly fond of the commute – from its early morning starts, claustrophobic train carriages and interruptions on foot – it is the mundane movements of social life that constitute what it means to be within the city and the campus. The commute by train and foot can begin and lead to significant social experiences and meanings of being within the urban city (Bissell, 2018). The high-heeled ladies, the tunes of the saxophone and the smell of cut grass all make up and shape the important encounters and shifting identities of a commuting university student as she ventures into and through the city of Cardiff.
‘Overexcited. Energised. All smiles. Time flies. Come, brother. Much to gain. Just be proud. Do it again!’ (Ibid, p. 161, emphasis added).
Methodological Note
This walk from the train station to the campus highlighted the mutually constitutive connections one can have with the city through the method of walking (Bates and Rhys-Taylor, 2017). Mobile methods emphasised the affective, embodied and mundane experiences one can have as they move through the city, both as a commuting university student and a social researcher. Using walking as a sociological tool in this instance facilitated an intimate perspective to the sensual processes of everyday life within the city (Spinney and Jungnickel, 2022). Walking as method was significant for the route from the train station to the campus, as it reignited what it meant to ‘be there’ as an ethnographer, and offered insight into the negotiation of identities and sense of belonging as a commuting university student who passes through the city of Cardiff. As Cresswell says (2010, p. 2), this shows how ‘…sociality and identity are produced through networks of people, ideas and things moving rather than the inhabitation of a shared space…’. As I walked the streets of Cardiff, this was achieved by focusing on four concepts of walking research which illuminate the value of walking as method: place, sensory inquiry, embodiment and rhythm (Springgay and Truman, 2019). It was the city centre and the campus, the sounds of the dragging suitcase, the identities of ‘student’ and ‘commuter’, and the change in rhythm from the familiarised route to the unknown path that allowed me to enact a walk that was relational and evocative to my sense of place within the city.
It was important to consider how to account for the mundane experiences of the city through writing (Bates and Rhys-Taylor, 2017). To grasp the everyday moments of walking in a way that appreciated the multi-layered and multi-sensual, the walk from the train station to the campus was approached through ‘literary sociology’, which was used to illustrate how writing is just as creative and imaginative as the walk itself (Back, 2007, p. 164). This was done by explaining the small details of the walk, such as the bobbing daffodil heads, and also through capturing the wider landscape encountered, by taking photographs along the commute. Working with visual images was important here, as it situated and brought meaning to the differences between the urbanised city and the quiet green space of the campus (Grady, 2004). This enhanced my understanding of how I, as the commuting student, experienced a shift of identifies and belonging to the city and the campus. This shows how ‘Written accounts and visual representations…provide a valuable insight into the embodied practices, events, spaces and experiences of…a particular activity’ (Merriman, 2013, p. 4). Therefore, the commuting journey from the train station to the campus emphasised the importance of accounting for the experiences, emotions and thoughts had whilst on the move, rather than merely documenting the result of the walk. This highlights how the ordinary yet significant experiences encountered as a commuting university student within the urban city can be realised through walking as method.
Bibliography
Back, L. (2007). The Art of Listening. Oxford: Berg.
Bates, C. (2017). ‘Desire Lines’, in Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. (eds), Walking Through Social Research. London: Routledge.
Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. (2017) (eds). ‘Finding Our Feet’, Walking Through Social Research. London: Routledge.
Bennett, J. (2009). Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press.
Bissell, D. (2018). Transit Life: How Commuting is Transforming Our Cities. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press.
Clark, S. (2020). ‘The conflicting twin personalities of the Brighton seafront’, Cardiff Ethnography Walks. Available at: https://cardiffethnography.tumblr.com/post/190288602323/walks (Accessed 18/04/2023).
Cresswell, T. (2010). ‘Mobilities I: Catching Up’, Progress in Human Geography, 35(4), pp. 550-558.
Gallagher, M. and Prior, J. (2017). ‘Listening Walks: A Method of Multiplicity’, in Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. (eds), Walking Through Social Research. London: Routledge.
Grady, J. (2004). ‘Working with Visible Evidence: An invitation and some practical advice’, in Knowles, C. and Sweetman, P. (Eds), Picturing the Social Landscape: Visual Methods and the Sociological Imagination. New York: Routledge.
Haar, S. (2010). City as Campus: Urbanism and Higher Education in Chicago. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Holton, M. and Finn, K. (2018). ‘Being-in-motion: The everyday (gendered and classed) embodied mobilities for UK university students who commute’, Mobilities, 13(3), pp. 426-440.
Hurdley, R. (2010). ‘The Power of Corridors: Connecting doors, mobilising materials, plotting openness’, The Sociological Review, 58(1), pp. 45-64.
Jones, H., Jackson, E. and Rhys-Taylor, A. (2014). ‘Moving and being moved’, in Jones, H. and Jackson, E. (eds), Stories of Cosmopolitan Belonging: Emotion and Location. London: Routledge.
Laurier, E., Brown, B. and McGregor, M. (2016). ‘Mediated Pedestrian Mobility: Walking and the Map App’, Mobilities, 11(1), pp. 117-134.
Merriman, P. (2013). ‘Rethinking Mobile Methods’, Mobilities, 9, pp. 167-187.
Moles, K. (2008). ‘A Walk in Thirdspace: Place, Methods and Walking’, Sociological Research Online, 13(4), pp. 31-39.
Pain, R. (2001). ‘Gender, Race, Age and Fear in the City’, Urban Studies, 38(5-6), pp. 899-913.
Puwar, N. (2019). ‘Walking through Litter’, Life Writing Projects. Available at: https://reframe.sussex.ac.uk/lifewritingprojects/place/nirmal-puwar/ (Accessed 22/03/2023).
Ryave, L.A. and Schenkein, J.A. (1975). ‘Notes on the art of walking’, in Turner, R. (Ed.), Ethnomethodology: Selected Readings. London: Penguin Books.
Spinney, J. and Jungnickel, K. (2022). ‘Studying Mobilities’, Sage Research Methods. London: Sage Publications Ltd.
Springgay, S. and Truman, S.E. (2019). ‘Introduction’, Walking Methodologies in a More-than-human World: WalkingLab. London: Routledge.
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Six Nations tournaments begins with a blockbuster day
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Six Nations tournaments begins with a blockbuster day
One of the most competitive Six Nations tournaments in recent years begins with a blockbuster day of action on Saturday.
Wales, inspired by the return of heroic head coach Warren Gatland, host world number one side Ireland first in a match live on BBC One. Then Steve Borthwick takes charge of his first game as England boss when Scotland travel to Twickenham.
The weekend concludes when an improving Italy host defending Grand Slam champions France on Sunday. Here is all you need to know about the 2023 Six Nations, including where to watch the opening matches and a cheat sheet on each game to prepare for the weekend.
What is the prediction for Wales v Ireland?
Warren Gatland named his squad to face Ireland early because he wanted to “talk about rugby” with the Welsh Rugby Union currently mired in allegations of sexism and misogyny.
Gatland, who took again the head train position in December after a successful 11-yr stint formerly and following a terrible 2022 for Wales, has stated he wants to win the Six Nations and not just use the match to put together for September’s World Cup in France.
That shows in the skilled facet he has decided on, with Wales’ oldest captain Ken Owens, who is 36, the beginning hooker and 37-year-old Alun Wyn Jones within the 2nd row.
Liam Williams was drafted in on Thursday to update injured full-again Leigh Halfpenny, even as 20-yr-old centre Joe Hawkins provides some children on his Six Nations debut.
Wales may be buoyed by way of the fact that they received four Six Nations titles – such as three Grand Slams – with Gatland, however Ireland are the form crew.
Andy Farrell’s aspect are pinnacle of the arena ratings and are waiting for to compete with Grand Slam champions France for this yr’s identify.
However, Ireland have been known to height at the wrong time before a World Cup – they misplaced inside the quarter-finals in 2019 after starting the 12 months’s event as international number one.
Farrell factors out that Cardiff “has now not been a super searching ground”, with Ireland’s closing Six Nations victory there coming in 2013.
Ireland are with out megastar prop Tadhg Furlong because of damage. Furlong is changed via Finlay Bealham, with captain Johnny Sexton match to begin at fly-1/2 and World Rugby guys’s player of the yr Josh van der Flier at flanker.
Who will win England v Scotland Six Nations?
While Steve Borthwick is taking charge of his first Six Nations as England head teach, Scotland counterpart Gregor Townsend may be heading into his last along with his settlement ending after the World Cup.
The facets arrive at Twickenham on different trajectories too. England fans, some of whom booed while their crew ended a disappointing 2022 with defeat via South Africa, wait with anticipation to peer whether Borthwick can turn their fortunes around.
Scotland arrive in ownership of the Calcutta Cup – the historical trophy the two sides play for in this fixture – and having claimed a first win at Twickenham on the grounds that 1983 on their remaining visit to London.
Townsend describes this in shape as “the biggest recreation of our championship”.
Despite Scotland triumphing their last Six Nations encounters, England are favourites – however scrum-1/2 Danny Care says: “I don’t have any idea what is going to appear.”
Wing Ollie Hassell-Collins will make his debut for England, while centre Manu Tuilagi has been neglected in favour of Joe Marchant.
It became previously counseled that captain Owen Farrell would begin at fly-half however, with internal centre Henry Slade injured, the Saracens again will take Slade’s vicinity and resume his partnership with 23-yr-antique Harlequins 10 Marcus Smith.
For Scotland, 3-cap lower back row Luke Crosbie begins and the more skilled Hamish Watson is excluded, with Finn Russell beginning at fly-1/2 and Stuart Hogg getting back from injury at full-again.
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Baby, Baby | Shelby! Reader
Bonnie Gold x Shelby! sister reader
Warnings: a whole lot of tooth-rotting fluff
Request: accidentally pregnancy w/ Bonnie (part of a big request)
word count: k
Chubby little legs clumsily chase after the pretty white butterfly that was hovering over the row of flowering roses – grubby hands covered in grass reaching towards it.
Bonnie trailed behind, only needing one step to keep up with his little sister, Florence. You watched from the steps of the vardo with a gentle smile, wrapping your brown coat tighter to your body as the crisp morning air pricked sharply at your skin.
Your smile grew as Bonnie made his way to you, leaving his little sister to chasing the butterfly that seemed to hang in one spot before flying a few paces when she tried to grab it.
“G’morning, dove,” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before pulling you into his arms – his voice was always deeper in the morning, causing your heart to do backflips.
“Morning Bon,” you sighed, letting his body encase you.
You had been staying with Bonnie and his family at the camp just outside of town for the last month after telling your family of your relationship – only going back into town when Bonnie had a boxing match or Tommy required you for a meeting; and you loved it.
Polly had always said you had a wild spirit that could only be set free by being outdoors – living like your traveller relatives and she couldn’t have been more correct. Waking up to the sound of birds chirping and falling asleep to the sound of fire crackling outside the vardo you shared with Bonnie was something that you could do forever – his family adoring you being an added bonus.
“You feeling alright?” He mumbled into your hair – mentioning your sickness earlier in the morning, before brushing a few locks behind your ears.
Smiling, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering a, “I’m doing okay now,” which seemed to ease his worry.
“Flo, don’t pick the flowers!” Bonnie yelled towards his five-year-old sister, her giggles making you and Bonnie share laugh.
“I’m not, Bon!” She called back, her voice as soft and sweet as honey.
Giving you another kiss on your cheek, Bonnie raised to his feet again before running towards his sister, her small squeals echoing throughout the field as she tried to run away from him – small pigtails of curly brown hair bouncing with every step she took.
You watched with fondness as Bonnie picked Florence up, swinging her around in circles. Both of their faces were covered with a pretty smile before Theodosia, Bonnie’s second youngest sister, jumped onto his back making them all fall down in a heap of hysterics.
“A lot of trouble aren’t they?” A voice beside you piped up causing you to jump slightly, head turning to see Aberama looking at you with an amused grin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” you brushed him off, moving aside so he could take a seat on the steps beside you.
“Could hear their laughter halfway into the forest while I was hunting,” he nodded, watching his children wrestle each other – while his eldest daughter, Esmerelda scolded them all. You turned your attention back to the Gold siblings, briefly chuckling.
“It’s a nice sound to wake up to.”
“I agree with you there, child,” Aberama agreed with a hum, before nodding towards his son who was carrying both his siblings under his arms. “He’s going to make a good father one day. Better than me.”
“You’re a better father than mine ever was, Mr. Gold. You’ve done good, you should be proud of yourself - raising your kids alone.” you lowly spoke, sincerity laced through your words.
“I’m glad Bonnie found you and for the last time you can call me Aberama.”
With a pat to your shoulder, Aberama left you watching Bonnie lift Florence onto his shoulders – your palm moving to rest on your stomach. Aberama’s words left echoing in your mind.
He’s going to make a good father one day – maybe sooner than he thought.
~~~~~~~~
Your right leg rapidly bounced up and down as your left hand was squeezing your aunt Polly’s so tight you were probably cutting off the blood supply to her fingers.
“It’s going to be alright,” your aunt muttered, pressing her hand down on your knee to stop it from bouncing. “Stop stressing so much.”
“What am I going to do if I am, Pol? Tommy is going to be so mad at me,” resting your head on your aunts shoulder, she ran a comforting hand up and down your arm.
“If you are, you’re going to go straight to that boy of yours and tell him. Don’t worry about fucking Tommy or your other brothers. Once you know how Bonnie feels, then you make a decision; together.”
This is why I love you, you wanted to tell her, instead you only loosened your grip on her hand.
It was only an hour ago that you arrived in Small Heath with Aberama who was visiting your brothers. You went straight to your aunt, who was waiting for you at the front door to the house on Watery Lane with wide arms. Your hands shook as you told her what you suspected, watching as she calmly placed a cup of tea in-front of you.
“I think I’m pregnant,” you didn’t dare meet your aunts eyes as you said the words, taking a sip of your warm tea. Polly was silent for a moment, taking her sweet time to light a cigarette and take a drag – before looking towards you. “Bonnie and I are careful. I don’t know how it could’ve happened I-”
“I know. I had a dream last night,” she cut you off, words picked with precision that only Polly Gray could master. “Two horses. One grown, the other a foal – had the same one when your mother was pregnant with you. We’ll go see the woman down at Cardiff to make sure once you finish your tea.”
So here you were sitting on the bed, waiting for the woman that your family had been going to for years to confirm if you were or were not pregnant.
“So?” You urged her on once she had finished packing her tools and began pulling her red hair out of its pins. “Am I?”
Wiping her hands on her apron, the woman took the envelope of money from beside you – peering inside before nodding towards you. Tears began to form in along your lash-line at her confirmation, before you requested for her to leave you for a moment to compose yourself.
Pregnant. You were pregnant.
~~~~~~~~
The breaks of the car squeaked as it came to a stop just outside of camp, your ears immediately being filled with the sounds of laughter and cheering.
Aberama had invited your family to celebrate with them over the recent deal made between himself and Tommy earlier that day – Polly having a driver take you both once you had finished up in Cardiff. Before you could exit the vehicle, Polly stopped you, giving you a stern look.
“I’ll tell him tonight Pol,” you assured her, taking the hand that the driver had offered as you stepped out of the Bentley, heading straight for the camp.
Standing around the fire were your brothers, Aberama and Johnny Dogs cooking a deer – while everyone drunk and laughed to whatever story Arthur was telling.
Immediately noticing you, Finn passed his drink to Thea who was standing next to him and Michael and ran towards you – encasing you in a tight hug while mumbling an ‘I missed you,’ into the crook of your neck.
“I missed you too, Finn,” you chuckled, taking off his Peaky hat as you pulled apart to ruffle his hair.
After greeting everyone in your family, you finally made your way over to Bonnie who was watching you with love filled eyes, his father nudging his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss.
“Get a room!” Arthur called towards you, causing you to pull away from Bonnie to flip him off.
The atmosphere immediately fell back into a familiar rhythm as Bonnie sat down on a log, you sitting between his legs on the ground – his hands reaching over your shoulders to hold yours.
You watched as both your families interacted; Florence and your nephew Charlie were picking grass and throwing it at each other, Finn, Michael and Thea seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion, while the older siblings drank and sung songs they heard at the Garrison.
It was a perfect atmosphere, one you could find yourself getting used to – and you fell in love with every second of it.
“What’s on your mind?” Bonnie leaned down to whisper to you, playfully bitting your earlobe.
“Just how perfect this moment is,” you whispered back, tilting your head to kiss his cheek. You took a moment to take the man you love in, from the way the flames from the fire danced upon every square inch of his skin – lighting it up in ways that the sun never could, to the feeling of his heartbeat racing against your palm – perfect and all yours.
Turning in Bonnie’s arms, you raised yourself to your feet, holding your hand out for him to take – which he did without question, as you pulled him up.
“I have something to tell you,” you gestured towards your shared vardo, beginning to pull him away from the fire. “But not here.”
A boyish grin formed on Bonnie’s face as he followed behind you, hand clasped in yours as you walked up the vardo steps, inside. Shutting the door behind you, you nervously began picking at your coat, before Bonnie lifted your head with his fingers under your chin.
“What’s bothering you, little dove?” He frowned, voice filled with concern. Taking a deep breath, you grounded yourself by gripping the lapels of Bonnie’s grey coat.
“I found out something today,” you started, focusing on straightening Bonnie’s tie. “I’m pregnant, Bonnie.”
You waited for the words to settle in, too scared to look at your boyfriends reaction to the news. Instead you felt yourself being lifted up and swung in a circle.
“You’re serious?” Bonnie beamed, cupping your face in-between his hands. “We’re having a baby?”
It felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when Bonnie expressed his excitement, your features lighting up. “I’m serious, Bonnie. We’re having a baby.”
Pulling you back into his arms, Bonnie began rocking you both back and forth while muttering about how he was going to be a father – the overwhelming feeling of support causing you to tear up.
“Oh!” Bonnie pulled away slightly, his hands shoving into all his pockets as you watched his actions curiously before he pulled out a small piece of jewellery. A ring. “I was going to propose tonight, ask you to be my wife. I kept chickening out, but now there’s no reason to. So, Y/N Shelby, will you marry me?”
Bursting into tears, you rapidly nodded as he pushed the ring onto your finger before you jumped into his arms. Bonnies hands gripped your thighs as you wrapped them around his waist – both of you joyously laughing.
Pressing your forehead against his, you pulled Bonnie’s face to yours as he walked you both towards your bed, both of you falling flat against it and all you could think was that this was it for you, nothing would ever be this perfect.
“We’re getting married and starting a family,” Bonnie whispered, pressing kisses all over your face – causing your pretty features to scrunch up.
“I don’t want to burst our bubble,” you trailed off, brushing away his stray curls. “But we should probably go tell my family.”
#bonnie gold#bonnie#gold#bonnie gold x reader#bonnie gold x you#bonnie gold x y/n#bonnie gold x shelby! reader#bonnie gold x shelby sister#bonnie gold x shelby! sister#bonnie gold x shelby sis#bonnie gold imagine#bonnie gold imagines#bonnie gold headcanon#bonnie gold head canon#bonnie gold one shot#bonnie gold oneshot#peaky blinders#peaky#blinders#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders imagines#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders oneshot#peaky blinders one shot#peaky blinders head canon#peaky blinders headcanon#oneshot#one shot#imagine#imagines
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I've had a really hard day today and I saw someone wanted more Jimary crack, so I decided to write it to cheer myself up. I hope three fics in a row isn't too excessive. (All credit goes to the anon who suggested this.)
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‘She’s drunk.’ Joe said very matter-of-factly, lifting his wine glass to his lips, only to discover there was nothing left in it.
‘Very drunk.’ Replied Phoebe, reaching for the bottle nearby and giving them both a refill.
It wasn’t as though they had never seen Mary drunk before. She was usually all giggly and bouncy after a few drinks, perhaps more talkative than usual and, in Joe’s opinion, far less uptight. But they had never seen her like this; her eyes heavy lidded, downing her wine like it was water and clumsily swaying to the music that filled the busy lounge, stumbling every now and again to keep her balance. She was clearly taking her break up with Piers very badly.
‘Freddie’s livid.’ Joe murmured, glancing over at the singer who appeared to be deep in conversation with Peter Straker, but kept glancing over at the intoxicated woman who was trying to coax Brian into dancing with her, much to the displeasure of Anita. ‘Prepare yourself for a screaming match later on.’
‘I already have the popcorn ready.’
Mary eventually gave up on Brian and loudly announced she was heading into the kitchen for another bottle of rosé, almost stepping on Delilah as she staggered through the door. She surveyed the kitchen a moment, the room spinning as her alcohol consumption finally caught up with her, before she noticed Jim sitting alone at the kitchen table, trying unsuccessfully to uncork a large bottle of champagne between his knees.
She had always been a little jealous of Jim. Before he came along, she had always held out hope that Freddie might return to her one day, discover he wasn’t actually into men or something daft like that. But then this Irishman appeared, who wasn’t like Freddie’s other boyfriends; for the first time, it seemed like Freddie was in love and ready to settle down, happy in a way she had never seen him before. It had been hard for her to accept; but when Piers had finally had enough of her obsession and left her, she realised that she would never be able to properly move on with her life if she kept latching on to the past. She had to let Freddie go. She had to accept that, while they would always be friends, Freddie was gay and what they had all those years ago was over.
Jim noticed her hovering and looked up, giving her a small smile. ‘Enjoying the party?’
Mary hummed in response, going to the cupboard where the booze was kept and digging around until she found the rosé she was looking for. When she looked back at Jim, he still hadn’t managed to remove the cork and was quietly cursing under his breath in his thick Irish accent.
It was quite a nice voice, her inebriated mind told her.
‘You have a lovely voice.’ She suddenly said aloud, her words slurred. She wobbled up to him, heels clinking against the kitchen tiles as she unscrewed the top of the rosé bottle. ‘Where is it you’re from again?’
Jim blinked at her dumbly. He wasn’t used to Mary initiating conversation like this; she was usually so reserved. ‘Um, a town called Carlow. It’s near Dublin.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Mary drawled and without any warning, she suddenly plopped herself down in Jim's lap, making him jump in surprise. ‘Ireland is sss-such a lovely place. Lots of sheep there.’
Jim’s face went red, and he carefully set the champagne bottle down on the table. ‘Yeah, I suppose there are.’
Much to his horror, Mary put the bottle of rosé to her lips and began downing the drink ruthlessly, not stopping until it was almost half empty. When she finally stopped, she carelessly abandoned the bottle next to the champagne and turned around to stare Jim directly in the eyes, her smile disturbingly wide.
‘You have beautiful eyes.’ She garbled, moving her finger as if she was going to poke them out, but she instead ended up giving him a weird boop on the nose. ‘And your arms are so big.’ She reached down to squeeze his bicep, giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘I bet you’re really strong. Remember when you lifted me up at Freddie’s birthday party?’
Jim remembered. He was so plastered that night he had almost dropped her on her head.
‘Are you feeling alright, Mary?’ he asked warily, not comfortable with how close their faces were.
‘I’m wonderful, Jim.’ Mary giggled again, though it sounded a little manic. ‘I really, really want to dance. Will you dance with me, Jim?’
‘I’m not much of a dancer, Mary.’ Jim coughed, glancing over his shoulder in hope that someone might come through the kitchen door and save him.
‘That’s not true! I’ve seen you dance!’ Mary insisted, pulling at his hands, ‘come on.’
Jim didn’t have the energy to argue with her, already a little tipsy himself, and he allowed her to drag him into the middle of the kitchen, face filling with colour as Mary threw her arms around his neck and sagged all of her body weight against him. He realised rather quickly that if he let her go, she’d probably fall face first onto the floor and never get up again.
The next five minutes had to be the most uncomfortable of his entire life, as he swayed in awkward circles with his husband’s ex-girlfriend, mindfully trying to keep his hands off her waist. He wasn’t a religious man, but in that moment, he prayed to every God in existence that someone would call him from the lounge and rescue him from this predicament.
Mary suddenly lifted her head from his shoulder and whispered in his ear. ‘Marry me, Jim.’
The Irishman stared down at her, eyes comically wide. ‘Beg your pardon?’
‘Marry me.’ Mary grinned at him, leaning so close that for one horrible moment he thought she might try to kiss him. ‘We can have lots of beautiful Irish babies together.’
Jim sighed. Next time they had a party, he was going to replace Mary’s wine with Ribena. ‘I’m very flattered by your offer, but there are two problems; I’m gay and I’m married to Freddie.’
‘Oh bugger.’ Said Mary, as if she had forgotten that detail. ‘You can still marry me though. We can run away to Cardiff together.’
‘Carlow, Mary.’
Her face suddenly fell and she stepped away from him, looking betrayed. 'Is it because of the cats?'
'The what?'
‘That's why you don't want to marry me, isn't it?’ Mary's lip trembled as if she was about to cry. ‘Freddie has cats and I don't!'
‘Mary, I’m going to get you some water.’ Jim replied, making a beeline for the sink.
‘No, don’t leave!’ Mary grabbed his sleeve, trying to tug him back. ‘Stay with me, Jim. I'll buy you all the cats you want!’
‘You’ll feel much better after drinking this.’ Jim said firmly, pouring a glass of water and turning around to hand it to her. As soon as he did, her lips were suddenly pressed against his own, arms locked around his neck so there was no escape as he yelled against her mouth in surprise.
‘Mary!’ he roared, as soon as she released him, half the water having spilled onto the floor during the struggle. ‘What the bloody hell are you playing at?!’
Mary grinned; lipstick smudged across her face, so she looked like the Joker. ‘I’ve never kissed an Irishman before. Does that make me Irish now?’
Before Jim could even answer, she suddenly dry heaved; he grabbed her and stuck her head into the sink as she vomited up the contents of her stomach.
--
‘What the fuck happened?’ Freddie demanded, as Jim walked into the lounge, his shirt ruffled, a smear of red lipstick on his mouth and a very drunk Mary giggling uncontrollably in his arms.
‘Your ex-girlfriend asked me to marry her, then threw up.’ Jim replied, as if this was a normal occurrence. ‘I’m going to put her in one of the guest rooms so she can sleep it off.’
He turned and walked out of the lounge before anyone could respond. Freddie clenched his glass so hard it was a miracle it didn’t shatter in his hand.
‘I’m going to murder her!’ he growled, lunging towards the door, only for Phoebe to grab him from behind and hoist him up. ‘Let me go! That backstabbing homewrecker is trying to abscond with my husband!’
‘Take it easy, Fred.’ Phoebe said calmly, holding onto the man effortlessly. ‘You can kill her tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, we haven’t even had dessert yet.’ Said Joe, holding onto Freddie's legs to stop him from kicking. ‘I spent all fucking day slaving over that baked Alaska, you’re eating it whether you like it or not!’
Firstly, I am so sorry you are having a hard day. I feel terrible that whilst you are doing so much to entertain us with this outrageous crackship, you are not having a good time. I can just hope that writing these stories bring you as much joy as they bring us.
And now, the fic. I AM WHEEZING. First of all, I fucking love Joe. Even though we've never heard him speak, or ever listened to his words through his own perspective, I feel that your characterisation is so realistic. His dessert comment slayed me lmao.
And oof, Mary being drunk off her ass is my new favourite trope. And lmao her thinking that Jim doesnt want to marry her because she doesn't have cats😂😂😂 Leave him alone, Mary. He doesn't want to have irish babies with you.
And hahahahaha Freddie's reaction is as epic as I had envisioned. And god, this is another nightmare that Jim isn't going to recover from soon.
This is such a fantastic crackship, omg. I absolutely loved this💙💙
(More drabbles by writer anon)
Also anon, if you ever want to talk, you can always dm me, if you are comfortable of course🧡
#ask response#jim hutton#freddie mercury#jimary#crack ship#anon writing#phoebe freestone#joe fanelli#brian may#anita dobson
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Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 1/10 (Multi) - Juno
Summary: This year’s Great British Bake Off will see some baking for sure, but also a few surprises. Tayce goes into the Bake Off tent determined to bring the winning cake stand to Wales, along with a few Star Baker badges, but her attention may not be on baking for too long as she gets to know fellow baker Aurora, on the same row as her. And judging by the other contestants, Tayce might not be the only one focusing on something other than baking this season.
A/N: This is a DRUK2 group based on GBBO - there are a few ships! It’s also on AO3 with 12 chapters but I will post here with 10 for ease as the first two and last two will are being done together. No CWs for this chapter! I hope you enjoy.
PROLOGUE - October 2021
It had been Cheryl who had suggested a live react to the grand finale of this season of Bake Off, so the twelve finalists could all gather together, watch the finale, and then the winner’s reaction could be captured on film and put on the internet for the whole world to see. Cheryl hadn’t even been in the cast - she’d been on the previous season - but she said she’d become invested in the season and the bakers so much so that she hadn’t wanted to let them go yet.
And judging by the public’s reaction to her tweet about it, she wasn’t alone.
Pip had mentioned in their group chat that her sister had a big town house in the Wirral, and she’d offered to let them all use it as a base for their live watch. Channel 4 didn’t have anything purpose-built for them, and the filming location wasn’t available, so they’d all jumped at the chance. Plus, Liverpool served as a good mid-point for them all - it saved Joe having to go all the way to Dundee or Ellie having to go to Brighton.
Aurora had marvelled at the amount of space there was once they’d all arrived the previous day. The living room and dining area were one, with a dining table probably big enough to fit a couple of football teams at it; and the kitchen led into the room with an arched doorway. The kitchen itself was enormous too, in highly polished white surfaces that Aurora was terrified to touch with her probably-impure fingers
“Bit posh, isn’t it!” She’d muttered to Tayce.
Pip’s sister and her husband were staying away, and they had the place all to themselves - the twelve of them reunited, with just Blu and Cheryl for company, operating a handheld camera with the intention of sending the finale footage for Channel 4.
As three endings had been recorded back in June, with each of the finalists winning one of the takes, the actual winner’s reveal would be a surprise to all of them, including the three finalists, and ensure no slip ups from the production team.
That didn’t stop all twelve of them worrying. None of them had slept a wink, all of them keeping an eye on Prue’s twitter to make sure she hadn’t accidentally tweeted the winner again. But mostly they’d been together, reminiscing on some of the moments from the season that had made them laugh. All the funny moments, all the tense moments, and one or two viral moments loaded with innuendo.
Not to mention everything else that had blossomed in tandem with nature that springtime.
It had been quite a season. They’d started out as strangers, and now they were so tightly-knit that they hadn’t even entertained the thought that they would possibly be watching the finale without all of them in the same space.
Aurora swilled the glass of champagne that Joe had insisted on pouring for everyone, and watched all of the people she’d grown close to on the season, a peaceful atmosphere in the room as they waited for the finale to start.
Well, not all of them were peaceful. Lawrence and Ellie were being their usual loud selves, jousting with wooden spoons and shrieking as loudly as they ever did - but Bimini was utterly still for the first time since Aurora had met them, laid against Asttina’s chest as they both reclined on one of the sofas, while Asttina raked her fingers through their mullet; and Bimini’s eyes were closed, their lips in a sleepy smile.
Aurora felt familiar hands creep around her waist, a familiar chin rest on her shoulder from behind, and familiar lips at her cheek.
“I can’t believe it’s coming to an end now,” Aurora murmured, her thoughts escaping her unfiltered, as they sometimes did with Tayce at this close range.
“Well, it was never gonna be forever,” Tayce said into her ear. “But we’re all gonna be friends after this, aren’t we! The wonders of technology! Come into the twenty-first century, Rory. We have this thing called the internet, and group chats, and phones -”
“We’re not all just gonna be friends, though, are we?” Aurora replied.
“We’re all just besties, nothing more than that. Rory, I’m joking!” Tayce laughed at Aurora’s horrified expression. “All I’m saying is that this isn’t the end - just the beginning.”
“That’s so cheesy.”
“Yeah, but I’m right, you can’t deny that!”
Aurora let her eyes drift around everyone else in the room.
Tia and Veronica who had barely left their corner of the sofa, hands and legs wound tightly together, both with hearts in their eyes and bigger smiles than anyone else in the room as they chatted quietly, simply enjoying each others’ company.
Lawrence and Ellie, wooden spoons still in hand, making the most noise in the room in delighted laughter as they jousted with each other, almost knocking Pip over as she carried in another tray of snacks to lay on the dining table.
Bimini resting against Asttina’s chest as they reclined on the other sofa, Asttina still running her fingers through Bimini’s freshly-dyed mullet, both of them letting out a contented sigh in tandem.
“Yeah,” Aurora murmured, as Tayce held her tighter, “I guess so.”
——
WEEK 1: BISCUIT WEEK
April 2021
Tayce grinned at the cameras as they panned around everyone. She’d given the interviewer her spiel about how much she’d always dreamt of being in the gingham tent and how excited she was to bring the winning cake stand to Wales for the first time in Bake Off history; and a surprising calm settled in her chest, nerves dissipating, at the genuine warm aura from everyone and everything in the room.
At least Tayce wasn’t in full view of the judges right at the front. That privilege was reserved for two people from London, both of whom looked right at home in front of the cameras, although their names were a mystery for now.
It was all very familiar from seeing it on the telly the last eleven years. Immaculate worktops with varnish that shone like glass; the tent walls decorated with bunting and flowers, and the pastel shelves and adorned with china cups; the multi-coloured KitchenAids ready to whisk, fold and anything else - Tayce’s was pure white, while the woman from Nottingham on the bench opposite her had a turquoise one.
Tayce chanced another glance at her; the tight-lipped smile showed a single dimple, and her long blonde hair was tied off her face, but her fingers drummed nervously on the workbench, and she evidently wasn’t as poised as the veneer she displayed for the cameras.
Tayce smiled to herself. It’ll be fun winning this thing.
——
Signature: 24 Iced Biscuits
The best bit of the show when it was on the telly was the banter between Matt and Noel. Seeing them in person, even from a distance away, made Tayce’s stomach bubble with excitement, and she had to cling to the workbench a little tighter to stay upright.
“Well, bakers, welcome to the gingham tent! Back for another season of Prue-Paul’s Baking Race!”
Prue’s sweet smile was complemented by her brightly-coloured glasses and sharp, matching blazer, while Paul’s cool stare lingered on everyone in the room a split second longer than they all would have liked.
“For the signature today,” Matt said, “the judges would like you to make twenty-four iced biscuits. The biscuits can be any flavour -“
“ - but should tell the judges a little bit about yourselves or where you’re from.”
“Where are you from, Noel?”
“Oh, you know, the moon.”
Everyone was laughing, even Tayce; although it wasn’t that funny - but the whole room was dancing with nerves by now, starting to become contagious from the people around her.
“On your marks -“
“Get set -“
“BAKE!”
Once Matt Lucas and Noel Fielding had declared the immortal lines to the room, everyone was scrambling for ingredients from their bags and the fridges.
Tayce was still cringing a bit at the dragon-shaped cookie-cutter her mum had found in some gift shop near the castle in Cardiff. She didn’t understand why tourists would be making dragon-shaped biscuits inspired by their trip to Wales, but for once she was thankful for tourists. Her friend Cara had customised it a little when she’d seen her a couple of weeks ago, by melting the tail with her lighter, elongating it a little, and extending the jaw and ears to make it look a little more ferocious.
“Can’t have people thinking you’re not breathing fire,” she’d said, passing the cigarette back to Tayce, “otherwise they won’t think you’re competition.”
And Tayce had nodded, holding smoke in her lungs half a beat longer than usual, wondering if she cared whether anyone thought of her as competition. After all, it was Bake Off. The last sabotage attempt there had been a national scandal the following day.
The most unproblematic, drama-free show on the telly.
Nothing was going to happen here.
——
“The judges are coming for you next,” one of the cameramen nudged Tayce out of her thoughts, just as she was measuring out her flour, causing it to fly upwards in a cloud “Just a heads up. Oh, sorry love.”
“Right, right.” Tayce nodded, brushing flour from her face. “What do I say to them again?”
“Just … talk. It’s the first episode. Show them your personality.”
“Personality,” Tayce repeated, nodding. “I’ve got oodles of that.”
“Great stuff. And don’t forget to be doing something bake-ey while they’re coming over.”
The cameraman dodged out of the way to make room for the medical team, running to help the woman in front of Nottingham, who had managed to slice her finger on something already.
“Here they are,” Tayce muttered to herself, taking a deep breath and straightening as the judges, along with Matt and Noel, came over to her.
“Morning, Tayce!”
Paul Hollywood was shorter than he appeared to be, and Prue Leith was taller, but nothing prepared Tayce for meeting either of them. Tayce held her breath for a split second, smiling somewhat mechanically to try to mask the sudden heat in her face.
“Bore da, folks! I’ve brought the weather with me!” Tayce beamed, indicating the heaving downpour of rain that was falling outside the tent; and they all laughed politely.
Tayce momentarily stopped concentrating on the judges and noticed the woman opposite her, turning to watch Tayce interact with the judges. And every time she was describing the perfect quality that her dragon-shaped shortbread biscuits would turn out, she seemed to slow her actions, looking up over at them.
The conversation was light, but Tayce could feel the calm authority of both judges before her, making words freeze on her tongue. It only went on for a minute or two, but Tayce was left feeling as if she should have prepared more.
Oh well. What’s done is done.
The ingredients for her biscuits were mixing slowly in the KitchenAid, the gentle whirr of the blades almost lulling Tayce to sleep as she sipped her cup of tea, before she took out the ball of shortbread dough and rolled it out to cut into biscuits.
“Your accent is so nice.”
Tayce looked up from her biscuits, to see the woman from Nottingham had come over, tucking her hair behind her ear, leaving her hand resting at the back of her neck to play absently with the strings of her apron. Up close, the dimple in her cheek was emphasised as a shy smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
“Thank you!” Tayce stood to her full height. “This place doesn’t look like Barry Island yet but give it some time!” She leaned against the workbench, tossing her hair away from her shoulders.
“My accent is … well, it’s just … northern,” she continued with a giggle. “I’m Aurora, by the way. I’m so bad at names, I’m sorry, you’ve probably already said yours!”
“Don’t worry, I am too. I’m Tayce. And if I forget your name, well - yeah, same.”
Aurora’s gaze lingered half a second too long as she tested the name on her tongue.
“Tayce.” Her smile widened. “Nice to meet you.”
——
Tayce was terrible at names. She had no idea how she was going to remember who all eleven of these other people were, especially as one of them would be going every week - the pool of people getting smaller and smaller until Tayce would be remaining with whoever else was any good out of these lot.
As the day went on, she started to pick them up.
She had to learn Asttina’s for one, because Asttina seemed to know everyone’s name from the word go. Asttina was one of the two Londoners at the front, and was the only one of the group who had made a deliberate effort to come round to all their workbenches to formally introduce herself during the bake itself, her demeanour confident but her handshake gentle and light as air.
“Nice to meet you, Tayce,” she’d said, with a cool smile that reminded Tayce of a Miss World competition. “Looking forward to tasting all your bakes!”
She knew Pip’s name too, on the bench just behind Asttina, as she’d turned up in the tent wearing elf ears, claiming they were for luck. Everyone had been staring at her workbench, where she’d positioned a tiny blue handbag with a red circle in the middle, saying she took it with her wherever she went.
“I had a sesh with a psychic,” Pip explained to them all as a group of them crowded round her. “She’s a bit of a local celeb in Liverpool, Psychic Sally they call her, but - anyway, she told me to look for a sign in blue and red, said it was from me great-grandpa - and the same day I walked past one of those handbag shops on Paradise Street and there it was, in the window, 70% off!”
“Definitely couldn’t have been a coincidence, Pippa,” Tayce grinned, and Pip shook her head in agreement, but she had a mischievous glint in her eye and Tayce wasn’t entirely sure how serious she was about the whole affair.
Ellie’s name too had become familiar, because of the amount of times the show’s medics would groan it when she managed to hurt herself on something that episode. Ellie herself had been quiet most of the day, seemingly a little shy and evidently the youngest in the room; but she’d bounced on the balls of her feet at meeting Matt Lucas, garbling something about her and her brother doing all the impersonations as kids.
The soft-spoken woman in front of Tayce was called Cherry, and Tayce had found that out because she’d pointed it out to everyone when she put cherry flavouring in her biscuits.
“Does that actually, y’know, work as a flavour?” Tia had asked her when she was explaining it to them.
Tia was another name that Tayce knew, mainly because the woman was so tall and striking. She looked like she’d come straight off a catwalk and wandered into the Bake Off tent by complete accident on her way to London Fashion Week, happening to become covered in flour in the process.
Cherry had huffed. “I don’t know, but you eat cherry-flavoured things all the time! What could go wrong with putting it in biscuits?”
Tia grimaced. “Wait. Have you … never put cherry flavouring in biscuits before? Didn’t you practise at home?”
Tayce couldn’t help but feel a twinge of mirth as she watched Cherry chew her tongue, her cheeks flushing, but her jaw set obstinately. “I know what I’m doing. I can do this.”
“You haven’t even practised this bake? Okay. So how late do the trains run from here to Newcastle?” Tayce had asked Cherry, and Aurora had doubled over in wheezing laughter as Cherry had folded her arms.
“Darlington. Darlington, not Newcastle. And there’s been trains there for nearly two hundred years, love.”
That had just made Aurora laugh harder, clutching her stomach and shaking in silent giggles, leaning on Tayce as Tayce had led her back to her workbench and let her wipe the tears from her eyes before continuing with her biscuit dough.
That was the most important thing Tayce had learned so far in the tent. The woman from Nottingham opposite her was Aurora, and Aurora lit up the whole bench.
When the judges had stood with her earlier, she’d cooed about how much she adored baking everything for all her family - making fairy cakes for charity bakes for work, birthday cakes for her family, tipsy cakes for her best friends for their birthdays, or anniversaries, or whenever they were just feeling crap.
From the smile that she couldn’t hold back, Tayce knew that Aurora was the only person in the room who meant it when she said that she loved baking.
——
“One hour break, folks, and then filming starts for Technical, okay?”
The first bake was over, and Tayce’s shortbread biscuits shaped like dragons had gone down pretty well with the judges. She wasn’t sure if she’d had the best feedback, her nerves kicking in and blocking out most of the other contestants’ comments; but she thought she’d done enough for this round at least.
One of the producers herded them like sheep - or maybe cats, judging by how Ginny had gone chasing after a squirrel they’d seen - back into Norton Hall where they were all staying for the weekends while filming was happening. It was a huge, Georgian manor mouse with ceilings touching the clouds, far more halls than were necessary, and so many excessive bedrooms that each contestant had a room each.
Tayce had half-expected four-poster regal luxury as she’d opened the door to her own, twice the size of her room in her flat; but no such luck - it was furnished sparingly, and all the beds were normal. A small double, she noted. Not that she was likely to get lucky with these master bakers, but a woman could dream.
The floorboards creaked as she crossed the room and flopped backwards onto the bed, gazing at the ceiling, the elation sending a shiver through her skin as she realised again that she had made it to Bake Off.
The Bake Off!
They weren’t meant to change clothes between takes unless they’d made a huge mess with the food, so Tayce just retouched her eyeliner and went back down to the communal room, where most of them had gathered back in the group, polite conversations carrying on amongst relative strangers as they sampled each others’ biscuits.
What a surreal scene.
A group of almost strangers, half of their names unfamiliar, and she was meant to discuss baking with them all.
“Alright, babs?” She heard someone pushing a plate in front of her. “My name’s Ginny, Ginny Lemon, and if you don’t like lemon, well - just skip my biccies, alright love?”
“No, lemon is great,” Tayce forced a smile, taking one of Ginny’s biscuits. “Thanks hun.”
“You’re welcome! Which ones did you make - wait, I remember, the Welsh dragons?”
“Now how did you guess that one?” Tayce raised an eyebrow at them. “My mum’s idea, she was like, do it for the Welsh! So of course she found a dragon-shaped cookie cutter from somewhere. One of the tourist shops in Cardiff. Tourists love dragon biscuits apparently.”
“Oh I know love, I know - speaking of weird biscuits, have you ever tried a Worcester sauce biscuit? I don’t recommend it if you haven’t, but have you?” Ginny shook their head, tutting. “Tastes like shit! Waste of biscuit. Waste of Worcester sauce too, though. Anyway, Pip’s looking lonely without me. Nice to see you!”
And Ginny fled from Tayce’s arm, scurrying back over to Pip. Tayce tasted the biscuit, bracing herself for Worcester sauce, blinking with surprise to find it was actually pretty good, the lemon flavour really tasty, and finding she wanted another.
Most of the rest of the biscuits were arranged on a bench at the back. Tayce picked up another of her own and went down the line, eager to see which had depleted the most.
Gravestone biscuits were the biggest shocker for her - two different sets of biscuits were there, iced to resemble gravestones, mostly untouched - but Tayce politely picked up the better-looking of the two and found a lovely chilli kick to it when she tasted. But gravestones weren’t the only common theme - two different rose patterns were there, one set iced in different shades of pink, and the other with a deep red icing. The pink roses were almost all gone, and Tayce took the second-to-last one, enjoying the raspberry flavour, and grabbing one of the other roses to go.
Tayce peered around the room at the other contestants from her vantage point at the table. Most of them had dropped into twos and threes - with twelve people it was bound to happen - chatting amongst themselves, quietly and politely for the most part, although the two Scottish women in one corner were laughing as if they’d known each other for years.
Eventually, she joined Aurora, who was talking to someone whose white-blonde hair and pencil-thin eyebrows looked very familiar …
“Joe Black,” she said, extending a heavily-tattooed hand to Tayce, whose stomach flipped upon hearing the name.
“You’re - on Instagram, that woman -“
“My internet infamy precedes me, but in that case I hope so too do my bakes, and of course my sense of fun.” Joe’s voice was theatrical, her gestures affected; but her smile was warm, and Cherry looked as enamoured with her as Tayce was feeling.
“And who wins the biscuit version of the wars of the roses?” Joe continued, pointing down at the two rose-shaped iced biscuits on Tayce’s plate. “Lawrence, or Veronica? I must say, the amount that Veronica worried about her own bake, that time probably could have been spent thinking up a better biscuit flavour than rosewater, don’t you agree?”
Tayce glanced at Veronica’s biscuit, then up at Aurora. “Does it taste that bad?”
But before Aurora could answer, they were interrupted by “Alright, babes! How’s it hanging?”
The woman joining them had rich violet hair scraped off her face into a bun at the crown of her head, and an intense green stare. Tayce took the hand that was extended to her, finding a firmer handshake than Asttina’s, trying to follow the stream of words from this woman’s mouth.
“I’m Lauren, but you might as well call me Lawrence, that’s all Ellie’s been calling me all day, thinks she’s fucking hilarious, and I’ve not really met any of you yet because, you know,” Lawrence paused for breath, waving her hands, “baking contest, ooh I’m not here to make friends, et cetera, but now that we’re all here and we’re not baking right now, I thought I’d better find out who everyone is! Are you the one who made the dragon biccies?”
“That’s me, baby!” Tayce grinned. “Bore da, bitches!”
“See, I knew you were Welsh, and there Ellie was trying to convince me the dragon biccies were by someone who just really liked Puff the Magic Dragon, she owes me a tenner now - and you’re - oh wait, I know you!” Lawrence wagged her finger at Joe, whose expression didn’t change apart from the slow blink. “That Instagram video!”
Joe fixed Lawrence with a stare. “Yes, that Instagram video; I know that precedes me, but I hope by the end of this competition that can be eclipsed by my culinary skills.” Her voice still kept the throaty drawl, but Tayce was starting to sense her irritation at the association.
Cherry had already offered her hand to shake, and Lawrence took it. “Alright, I remember your name, because you put it in your biccies as flavouring! Where’re you from, do they grow cherries there?”
“No - I’m from Darlington.”
Lawrence blinked, frowning. “Darlington, near Sweetie-shire is that?”
“No, it’s near -“
“I’m joking babes, I’m joking! I know it’s - hey, hey Ellie!” Lawrence stopped to shout to Ellie, who had evidently reappeared. “Els! It’s not Puff the Magic Dragon! Where’s my tenner? Hey!” And she was gone in an instant, Tayce turning to watch her chase Ellie as she scurried out.
“Anyway,” Joe continued, motioning to Tayce’s plate and one of the gravestone biscuits, “I’m so glad you’re enjoying mine! I know my sense of humour is a little … ah, morbid, but I didn’t count on being one of two people with this bake, let me tell you that!”
Joe glanced over to the left out the sides of her eyes; Tayce followed her gaze to Pip, oblivious, making herself a cup of tea.
“She didn’t - like, you don’t think she -“
“Oh, no, not in a month of Sundays! But it’s a strange little coincidence, isn’t it? The viewers will love the drama!”
Joe opened her mouth wide to let out a violent cackle, a sound that might have made a shiver glide down Tayce’s spine if she hadn’t been mid-biscuit.
——
Technical: 8 Wagon Wheels
The Technical challenge was the first time Tayce felt her nerves return in a rush.
Everyone had identical ingredients and an identical recipe, but nothing prepared any of them for whipping the gingham cloth from them all and flipping the instructions over. Tayce ran her pencil down them, her head spinning.
On the first read, she recalled nothing.
Focus.
She took one steadying breath, letting go of as many nerves as she could, and then ran her pencil back down the list, jotting down timings and a couple of notes. They only had an hour and a half; precision was key.
On her right, Aurora was fidgeting with her apron, twisting her hair around her finger, before grabbing as many bowls as she could from the drawers and setting them all down ready.
It almost felt like more pressure, rather than less, having no judges in the room - just Matt and Noel, and they couldn’t really interact with the bakers at this point, mostly just talking amongst each other and having to film occasional silly quips for the television interludes.
You’re not gonna get this finished if you keep looking at Matt and Noel!
So Tayce mentally blocked out everything and anything around her, not taking her eyes off her workbench. Instructions, ingredients, whisk, repeat. Oven, timers, filling, cooling, done.
She barely remembered anything else that happened in the room.
As she put the last wagon wheel on the tray to take to the front, she wiped her brow, took a swig of tea, and then heard the immortal lines.
“Bakers! You have one minute to go!”
Tayce looked around the room. Tia, three desks ahead, was looking flustered, covered in flour from head to toe - a difficult feat when you were six feet tall - and Veronica, just behind her, was rounding the corner to help her move the biscuits over to the tray one by one as she spread on the jam and marshmallow fluff. Bimini, who Tayce was sure had finished about ten minutes earlier than everyone else, was doing the same thing for Asttina, leaning over her workbench and talking soothingly to her as they both moved biscuits around.
On the other side, Ginny was rubbing Pip’s back, trying to help her load wagon wheels onto the tray but only succeeding in knocking the handbag to the ground. Ellie broke two of her wagon wheels by dropping a palette knife on them, her squeak causing Lawrence to turn from her bench and put her hands on her hips.
But Tayce felt an unexpected wave of relief when she saw Aurora finishing her own biscuits right on schedule, stepping back with a sigh, rolling her head and her eyes to the ceiling.
They had to bring the biscuits to the front table, and put them behind their respective photographs for blind judging. Looking at the other biscuits on the bench, Tayce nodded to herself in satisfaction. She definitely wasn’t the worst. The photos were all a blur, but there was definitely one disaster, chocolate and marshmallow oozing; Ellie’s broken biscuits; and another tray with a biscuit missing.
It was easy to breathe a sigh of relief for herself.
“Just get into any order,” the producer said, pointing to the stools that had been set in front of the table, “but don’t sit directly behind your photo. Otherwise it just looks obvious.”
Tayce’s biscuits were second from the right, so she bunched towards the left, and found herself between Aurora and Joe. Joe had pretended to trip over her feet while carrying her own biscuits up, cackling gleefully at Veronica’s pained expression as she watched. Veronica, mercifully, had sat as far from Joe as she could.
Aurora was breathing rapidly next to her, and Tayce gave her a nudge with her knee.
“Chill girl! Relax! It will be fine!”
Aurora nodded, but said nothing, focusing on trying to breathe at a normal rate once again. Tayce could practically hear her heart hammering. She nudged her again playfully, and Aurora nudged her back, taking a deep breath out and seeming to calm from then.
Once Prue and Paul were back, Tayce grew a little sleepy. The judging went on for much longer than on telly, and tent was hot from all the baking and warm bodies, plus Aurora’s knee jogging rhythmically was enough to make her feel a little drowsy. Her biscuits were second to last, and Tayce wasn’t really focusing on any of the other critiques as they went down the line, not even those of the two women on either side of her.
She hated tents. They reminded her of camping. This one wasn’t like any of the camping tents, propped by firm wooden walls and decorations but it still reminded her of trips to the Gower when she was at primary school. And thinking of the Gower made her think of day-tripping to Tenby, where the air was hazy with salt and fresh fish, and the sea was far too cold as they skimmed stones, watching them bounce once, twice, three times …
A nudge at her side from Aurora brought her down from her reverie; blinking, Tayce saw the judges had reached the biscuits behind her photo, looking up expectantly to see who would claim them.
Oh, yeah. It’s the Technical, and I’m here to be judged.
She raised her hand, realising that she’d been in a dream so long that she didn’t even know what place the judges had called her for.
“Tayce - good flavour, biscuits had a good crunch, and the chocolate has set well; it just wasn’t quite filled enough.”
Nodding and smiling, she waited for them to move on to the next person before she leaned over towards Aurora, muttering from the corner of her mouth “Where did they put me again?”
But before Aurora could answer, Paul spoke up. “And in second place, we have -“
“You came third, you bitch!” Aurora whispered, her mouth open in awe, and she looped her hand into Tayce’s and squeezed. “How do you do it? You always look so put-together! Not like - Miss Second-Place down there.”
Tayce glanced at Veronica, right at the end of the line of bakers on their stools, whose hand was raised to claim second place. She was nodding earnestly at the praise, but she still wasn’t smiling, her lips tight and her other hand still quivering a little in her lap.
“That means that first place goes to - Asttina!”
But Aurora hadn’t let go of Tayce’s hand, and Tayce was suddenly more aware of that contact than whoever the winner was, even as she slowly drew her hand away for the polite applause that followed.
“Where did you come?” Tayce asked her in a whisper.
“Seventh. Not great. I over-baked them a little bit,” Aurora shrugged. “I’m never gonna be good at technical.”
——
“Congrats on coming top of Technical!” Tia clapped Asttina on the back as they came back into Norton Hall, and Asttina responded with her winning smile.
“Thanks, babe. I thought you all deserved a taste of what I can do!”
There was a collective amused murmur around the other bakers at Asttina’s slightly smug tone. Tayce grinned, staying silent for now, wondering what the others would have to say to that.
“Oh, there’s more to come, is there?” Tia continued.
“I should hope so.” Asttina licked her lips. “From all of you lot as well.”
“There’s no need to be cocky,” Veronica said, the first time any of them had really heard her speak. Veronica was tiny, with blonde hair and a nasal voice that was louder than any of them had expected; most likely feeling the sting of coming second.
Asttina shook her hair back. “I’m not cocky, Veronica, I just know what I can do. Read the CV, it’s all there! If you want to win stuff, you need to know yourself. Do you want to win?”
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” Veronica retorted.
It was Tia’s snort of laughter that started them all off, diffusing the vague tension creeping into the room. Asttina’s laugh was only drowned out by Veronica’s as she realised what she’d said.
“Is the Pope a Catholic, does a bear shit in the woods … I know, I know. I mean, yeah, I definitely do want to win.”
Asttina shrugged. “Then there’s no point being modest about what you can do. Let your bakes do the talking!”
One of the producers came in at that moment, motioning for them all to come round, and they all bunched together.
“Alright folks, the day’s filming is done, we’ll begin tomorrow at nine sharp for the Showstopper challenges. Until then you’re free to relax and have a nice time - please don’t go into any areas marked as Private, and no excessive drinking, but otherwise, have a good night!”
“Thank you!” They chorused, clapping for some unknown reason, as some of the staff rounded up the leftover biscuits and cleared them away.
“The filming crew get them,” Veronica explained to Tia, “I asked earlier what happened to them all because I knew we wouldn’t be able to eat them all.”
“You know what this means?” Cherry said, addressing them all from on top of one of the sofas. “This is the last evening we’ll all be together. Let’s all cheers to the cast of GBBO!”
She pulled a bottle of something from her bag, and the rest of them grabbed a mug each, sharing out the gin Cherry had brought, and bringing all their drinks together in cheers.
——
Showstopper: A gingerbread sculpture of a place that makes you nostalgic.
The Showstopper was about as broad as you could get. Everyone seemed to have something different in mind. Bimini and Asttina, on the two front benches, looked as poised and confident as they had all the previous day; and Asttina, buoyed by her Technical challenge win, puffed her chest in pride.
Tayce had practised her gingerbread over and over, but nothing prepared any of them for being in the tent, where the pastel colours and the novelty of the bright, friendly conversations started to switch to a competitive edge.
Especially after the Technical, where they had all been ranked. Having a number against your name now, combined with a vague grade against the Signature challenge, meant the Showstopper was the be-all and end-all for some of them.
That was it Tayce thought to herself, as she watched Aurora’s grim determination pass her face every second.
And she wasn’t the only one.
Cherry, on the workbench in front of her, had come sixth; but she’d been much quieter all morning, concentrating on reading and re-reading her instructions, tapping her pencil against her chin and growling frustratedly every now and then.
Ellie, wearing a pair or Pip’s elf ears, was doing even worse. Being ranked eleventh had done very little to ease the nerves she had displayed the day before, and her morning had already started with another blue plaster on yet another finger.
But Aurora was the only person Tayce was concentrating on. Something about the way she’d held her hand … and Tayce was far too quick to let her mind run away without her, thinking it meant anything, when obviously it probably didn’t.
“What are you doing?” Tayce called to Aurora over the chatter of everyone else around the room; but Aurora didn’t reply, her tongue running over her lips as she surveyed the mess that was the butter and sugar mix before her.
“Aurora?” She asked, making her way to stand by her behind the bench.
Aurora was still silent, but the noise from the bowls and KitchenAid she was using spoke volumes for her without her needing to say a word.
“D’you want a cup of tea?” Tayce asked her eventually, waiting for the curt nod from Aurora before sprinting to the tea station, in a tent outside.
When she got back, Aurora had moved up to Ellie’s workbench, and even though her back was to Tayce, she could see her shoulders shaking and Ellie’s hand rubbing her back, before offering her a can of the Monster she always had to have, the label covered in masking tape to escape product placement.
Tayce approached them both to comfort Aurora too, but as she did, cameras zoomed in on all three of them. Aurora pushed them both away and walked out of the tent, covering her face.
Ellie looked from the camera to Tayce and then back again, confused more than anything, and Lawrence, turning from her bench, looked back at them all with a frown.
“What’s going on here? Is she alright?” Lawrence pointed to Aurora, who was busy wiping her tears away in the far corner, with Matt Lucas at her side and a camera in her face.
“No,” Tayce muttered, “and she won’t be while there’s a lens on her.”
After that, Tayce kept half an eye on Aurora as she baked. She mostly ignored the cameramen as they hurried around the tent, taking stock footage of them cutting gingerbread shapes, using their ovens, and decorating, but Tayce purposely kept her mouth tightly closed, and her expression firmly neutral.
As Noel called for ten minutes remaining, Tayce was finishing the detailing of the roof of the stadium. The band were meant to be playing biscuit instruments and there was meant to be a crowd, but Tayce had settled for calling it a backstage pass moment, where VIPs could meet them, and just made models of herself and her friends.
“Time is up! Bakers, step away from your bakes!”
Noel called time, and Tayce took a step back to properly admire her finished product - and really, she was blown away by her own bake. The gingerbread houses she’d made in practise had gone alright, but this one, even in the pressure cooker environment of the tent, had gone almost perfectly, down to the timing of the bakes.
“Wow,” Tayce whispered to herself, “week one is done!”
She took a few seconds to admire everyone else’s in the tent. Some were much better than others. Joe’s looked a little strange - she’d meant to do a wedding scene with the gingerbread church, but the roof was crooked, and the gravestones falling over, not supported by the sticky sugar mixture they’d all used as adhesive. Cherry’s ambitious building was incomplete, and Tayce didn’t even know what it was meant to be.
But Asttina’s was incredible - a beautiful beach scene with a model of a beach hut and even a Ferris wheel. Ellie’s technical slip up was definitely repaired by the pub she’d built, adding fondant banners inside and making the dull gingerbread colours come alive with her imaginative take on the icing outside; while Lawrence had made a theatre, melting jelly babies to create beautiful stained glass in the windows, something Tayce kicked herself for not thinking of.
They all had a chance to leave the tent for a break, to sit outside in the shelter, and to have a breather before the actual judging of the bakes was done.
“I don’t envy the judges,” Joe said, her drawling voice awed, as she took in all of the gingerbread houses from their vantage point outside the tent. “They definitely have their work cut out for them, don’t they?”
“Everyone did amazing,” Aurora nodded, “it’s just a case of who did less amazing. D’you reckon they’ll just take this into account, or the whole weekend?”
Tayce didn’t know why she was worrying. Aurora had come middle of the pack in technical, but had been praised for her Signature, and her gingerbread house - modelled on her Nan’s, she had said - was so prim and dainty that Tayce knew the judges were going to eat it up, and not only literally.
“It won’t be you, chillax!” Tayce reached to rub her hand.
“Who d’you reckon it will be then?”
“Well, they tend to take into account the numbers assigned at the Technical challenge, and the Signature comments, to make the first analysis, at least,” Joe chuckled, “that’s what we see on the television. Who were the bottom three for Technical? I was tenth, Ellie was eleventh, who was twelfth again?”
“It’s - erm,” Aurora pointed, but the name escaped her for a second. “Tia. Tia was twelfth.”
“It’s probably between the three of us, then,” Joe said brightly, “unless something goes … horribly wrong to one of the Showstoppers. And how likely is that?”
As they looked through the panels of the tent, one of the gingerbread houses collapsed into pieces onto the tray it was set on.
Tayce glanced around the other eleven bakers to see whose it was.
One of the bakers had her head in her hands, shoulders tensed, while the two people on either side of her hugged her tightly.
——
“Seriously, Joe, how did you make that happen?” Aurora’s voice was hushed, tense, after the award for Star Baker and the first elimination had taken place.
Joe’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “I don’t quite know - maybe it was just something, spoken into the universe, made to happen.”
“Or maybe it was just gravity and shitty caramelised sugar sticking it all together,” Tayce added.
“Yes,” Joe replied, “or that too.”
Joe, Ellie and Tia had all survived their stint in the bottom at Technical - but Pip, who had come ninth in Technical, and whose Signature had received mediocre feedback, had laughed behind gritted teeth at presenting her collapsed gingerbread house - “More of an Ikea house,” Paul had commented cheerily - which had ultimately turned out to be too hard to bite into and had sealed her fate. Not even the lucky elf ears saved her from the first elimination.
“I was so sure I was going home this week,” Aurora sighed later that night, back at Norton Hall, where everyone had eaten so much of each others’ gingerbread houses that they all felt ill.
“You wouldn’t have, yours was good!” Tayce rubbed her arm. “Relax! It’s done now. Just focus on next week instead.”
“And I can’t believe Prue said she’d like to try a bit of carpet when they were looking at Ellie’s pub,” Aurora said, shaking her head. “Did anyone else catch that?”
“Yeah, I did!” Tayce sniggered. “They’re so innocent! This is just gonna be a load of innuendos all season, isn’t it? Imagine what they’re gonna say for next week too.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s cake week, isn’t it?” Aurora seemed to perk up. “That’s a bit more my comfort zone.”
Suddenly the door opened, and Asttina was led back inside the area by the cameraman and a producer. Everyone broke into applause - this time genuine, not the muted, polite sound that had echoed round the tent in the technical. Asttina had just given her winner’s interview and called her family, and now wore the Star Baker badge proudly on the lapel of her jacket, her grin wider than the Cheshire Cat’s.
“How did your mum react when you said you were Star Baker this week?” Bimini asked her.
Asttina smiled the warmest smile any of them had seen all weekend from her at the mention of her family. “They screamed so loud that you probably all heard it in here. My mum was falling off the sofa, my dad was waving a wooden spoon, my brother was banging on the floor with his feet - oh, it was great.”
“Well-deserved, babes,” Bimini nodded, and Asttina pulled them in for a hug.
Everyone else was clamouring around Asttina, congratulating her on her Star Baker win this week and admiring the badge she’d won - biscuit-shaped, or at least cookie-shaped - but Tayce hung back, exchanging a glance with Aurora, a glint in her eye; and both of them knew what the other was thinking.
Let’s not cross Joe Black. She might make our Showstoppers crumble.
——
ELEVEN BAKERS REMAIN
#rpdr fanfiction#juno#down with the recipe#rpdr uk#uk2#taywhora#asttina x bimini#tia x veronica#ellie x lawrence#tayce#a'whora#asttina mandella#bimini bon boulash#ginny lemon#lawrence chaney#tia kofi#veronica green#ellie diamond#cherry valentine#gbbo au#lesbian au#fluff
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Hayley Mills: The “Every Girl” By Susan King
Hayley Mills wasn’t the typical child star. Unlike picture perfect Shirley Temple and Margaret O’Brien, the British actress was a bit of a scruff, a gangly, wild colt. Though cute, she certainly wasn’t adorable. But the daughter of Oscar-winning actor John Mills and author Mary Hayley Bell and baby sister of actress Juliet Mills definitely had the undefinable star quality. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her. And she had a naturalness and ease on screen. She was an “every girl.”
And that’s one of the reasons baby boomers fell madly in love with her in POLLYANNA (‘60), the first of six films she made for Walt Disney and for which she won the last Juvenile Oscar handed out by the Academy for her endearing turn as the eternally optimistic orphan who changes everyone’s lives. She just seemed like one of us. We all wanted to be her friend. And, as she got older, her young female fans wanted to be her; and boys wanted her to be their girlfriend. Even now, a smile lights across the faces of boomers whenever you mention her name.
In fact, when I recently posted on Facebook that I was watching her hit comedy THE TROUBLE WITH ANGELS (‘66) for the first time since it was released, people came out of the woodwork expressing their love for the movie and Mills, who is now 74.
Before she became POLLYANNA, Mills made her first credited film debut in J. Lee Thompson’s acclaimed black-and-white thriller TIGER BAY (‘59). She plays a tomboy named Gillie, who lives with her aunt in the poor and racially diverse Tiger Bay district of Cardiff. Gillie witnesses the murder of a woman in her apartment building by her young Polish sailor boyfriend (Horst Buchholz) in a moment of rage. Though she initially fears for her life when Buchholz tracks her down, these two lost souls end up developing a strong bond. Her father John Mills plays the police superintendent trying to find him and is thwarted every step of the way by Gillie, who lies constantly to keep the detective away until the young man leaves the country.
Again, she gives such a natural “coy”-free performance, you feel that Thompson had plucked a young ruffian off the streets of Tiger Bay to play Gillie. The first time I saw Mills on screen was in 1961 in one of her biggest hits for the Disney studio THE PARENT TRAP, a trippy comedy about twin sisters who meet at summer camp after their divorced parents (Maureen O’Hara and Brian Keith) had divvied them up as babies when the marriage ended. (One has to admit in this day and age, it’s more than a bit creepy and cruel that parents would do something like this.) The twins decide to play a trick on their parents, while plotting a way to get them back together, by switching places after summer camp.
Not only did the movie prove Mills could handle comedy with great aplomb, THE PARENT TRAP also turned Mills into a singing star. Not that she could really sing, but Richard and Robert Sherman penned Mills the catchy “Let’s Get Together” which became a hit tune.
Her next film for Disney IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS (‘62), an adventure based on a Jules Verne story, was the weakest of her Disney films. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for her follow-up movie SUMMER MAGIC (1963), a nostalgic comedy with the Sherman brothers once again supplying the songs. She was 17 when she made THE MOON-SPINNERS (‘64), a mystery thriller set in Crete based on a Mary Stewart best-seller. This time around, she is paired with the handsome British actor Peter McEnery as her love interest. Every girl in the audience also wanted McEnery as their love interest. Reviews were decidedly mixed, but Bosley Crowther in the New York Times stated the actress was growing up, noting “the ripening attractiveness” of Mills.
Mills ended her time with Disney with the blockbuster That Darn Cat! (‘65), an entertaining comedy about a mischievous Siamese cat named DC owned by Mills that ends up helping the FBI in solving a robbery and kidnapping. While she was under contract, Mills also made films in England including the lauded WHISTLE DOWN THE WIND (‘61) based on her mother’s 1959 novel of the same name. Directed by Bryan Forbes, the family film revolves around three farm children who find a bearded fugitive (Alan Bates) in their barn. Because he utters “Jesus Christ” when he is found, the three believe he really is Jesus. Mills received a BAFTA nomination for her charming performance.
Her first post-Disney film after GYPSY GIRL (’66) was the heavenly comedy THE TROUBLE WITH ANGELS (‘66) directed by Ida Lupino. I loved it when I first saw it and adored it when I revisited it recently. Mills and June Harding play the best of friends at a Catholic girls’ school and in between studying get into all sorts of trouble much to the chagrin of the Mother Superior (Rosalind Russell). Attending Catholic girls’ school for nine years, there’s little wonder TROUBLE WITH ANGELS is my favorite Mills film. TROUBLE WITH ANGELS also would be the last Mills film I would see in a movie theater.
THE FAMILY WAY (‘66), was her first grown-up role and marked her first nude scene. Not only that, Mills created a scandal when she had a romance with the film’s director Roy Boulting, who not only had children, but he was nearly 33 years older than Mills. The two would marry for six years in the 1970s and a have son, Crispian. Most of her films during that time certainly weren’t for her young fans and frankly weren’t very good.
Mills took a six-year hiatus and returned in the acclaimed 1981 miniseries The Flame Trees of Thika which aired on PBS’s Masterpiece Theatre. She’s been going strong ever since, even touring Australia in the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical The King and I. Mills returned to the Disney fold doing several projects including the Disney Channel movie THE PARENT TRAP II (‘86), for which I got to interview her in person, and the Disney Channel film BACK HOME (‘89), for which I interviewed her for the Los Angeles Times.
I asked her—and yes, she was charming—in 1990 if it was different being a child star in Hollywood versus being one in England. “Quite different,” she noted. “As far as my own life was concerned going over to America was a most wonderful holiday. It was like going to Disneyland. America was a playground, and everything was larger than life. The sun was always shining, and the cars were always clean and shiny, and everyone said, ‘You’re welcome.’ It was rows and rows of comics, ice cream sundaes and endless channels on the TV. I was very well looked after. All I was expected to do was learn my lines and get on the set. Of course, when I came back to England I came back to reality and had to go to board school and behave myself!”
#Hayley Mills#Tiger Bay#Parent Trap#TCM#Turner Classic Movies#Pollyanna#TCMFF#child actor#Susan King
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Queen live at Colston Hall in Bristol, UK - November 18, 1975
x
The photos could be from either night.
This article from the November 29 issue of Sounds chronicles the second night in Bristol.
Queen triumphant
QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.
On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.
Skin tight
That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.
Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?
John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".
Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.
Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.
Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.
Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour.
Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and 'A Night At The Opera' turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.
Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.
Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.
As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to A Night At The Opera. The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.
Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...
Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph.
There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and shake his cute arse, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!
Phallic
Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of the time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.
He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.
Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.
Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.
Bulldozer
Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.
For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.
That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kowtows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.
Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.
Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.
They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."
Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.
The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'.
Maniacal
The audience, seeing their faces in town for the first time, are vociferous in their appreciation. Guys know all the words to every song, yelling enthusiastically at every effect and solo. The band picks up, Freddie receiving the crowd beneficently, telling them they’re beautiful.
As the show builds it is obvious that things are gelling more. The previous night Brian had seemed totally out of place, not moving too much, taking solos with the weirdest half blank half possessed stare, talking to himself; cocking ear towards guitar. He was the proverbial stranger in a strange land, one step removed from the plane inhabited by you and me.
Tonight he moves fluidly, the gonzo lead guitarist of a gonzo band. His expressions are just as maniacal, but it only makes him look more demonic. His solo in 'Brighton Rock', an exposition in riffing and echo, is a treat because of his physical response to both music and audience, complete with ham acting. Freddie gets into the same game on 'The Prophet's Song', where he conducts an acapella madrigal with himself. It's a pretty commanding moment.
It’s soon after this that Madison Square seems reasonable. About a minute into 'Stone Cold Crazy' it becomes very obvious that Queen have suddenly Plugged In. Found the metal music machine and Connected. Freddie's movements explode in perfect unison with the music, the lights and surroundings go crazy, and the audience goes berserk.
Freddie asks for requests and receives a roar out of which one can vaguely make 'Liar'. Fred walks along the stage, nodding, agreeing he will do this one and that one while the kids roar on. "I'll tell you what - we'll do them all!"
'Doing Alright' opens slow and portentously. Queen's variation of light and shade is one of the major factors in their popularity, but even so the quiet sections frequently find the audience's mind wandering. One kid starts getting a joint together, totally forgetting it when everything blasts off again; guys talk among themselves, only to instantly leap to their feet, fists flying to the beat.
'Doing Alright' changes into a cha-cha beat, Freddie snapping his fingers, the coolest hipster in town, and then instantly drops into faster-than-light drive - the whole row next to me leaps to their feet as a man, rocking back and forth as Brian roars into a blinding solo.
Two songs later, in 'Seven Seas of Rye', the kids break - very fast - and in five seconds half the audience is a seething mass in front of the stage, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as a splintering seat sends a few bodies to the floor.
The rest of the show is equally intense, especially for a couple of minutes during 'Liar; where Fred and Brian merge into a tight little triangle with Roger while John stands in front of the bass drum, staring out with his small smile.
Freddie has treated his encores - 'Big Spender' and 'Jailhouse Rock' - differently on successive nights, once appearing in a kimono and in Bristol with rather rude tight white shorts, giving the song title new emphasis. In Cardiff, though, he doesn't bother to change at all. Later it transpired that Brian had twisted his ankle during 'Liar'. While he’s attended to, kids out front pick up chair slivers to keep as mementos.
On the bus back to the hotel Brian sits quietly at the back, chatting with two girls. John sits at the front, as always. Freddie stares out of the window, lost in his own world. Roger bounces around, starts a pillow fight with Brian - which stops as soon as Brian scores a direct hit to the face - then discovers an eight track of 'Sheer Heart Attack', punching it through the channels as he conducts the group. The two hours towards which they have channelled the day's energies are spent.
Ambition
That Queen have become a top attraction through a fair degree of plagiarism is amusing. Stealing is nothing new in rock (or any art for that matter) and mostly Queen use the borrowed material better than the originals. That they would be big I don't think anybody really doubted. All four have immense desire to be successful, and that kind of ambition will keep them slogging until they achieve it.
But there are popular heavy metal bands and there are popular h-m bands. From watching Queen's audience it is apparent that Queen speak for them in a way that bands such as the Who and the Stones and the Beatles spoke (and continue to speak) to their audience. Uriah Heep may be great at what they do, but five years after their demise who'll remember them? Creedence Clearwater Revival demonstrate the same thing - who remembers them? And yet five years ago they were the largest band in the world.
Queen will probably always be remembered, because as their tour is beginning to demonstrate, they have the ability to actualise and encompass the outer limits of their sense of self-importance. Queen and their music, presentation, production - everything about them says that they are more important than any other band you've every heard, and who has there been, so far, who has objected? Certainly not the 150,000 people (plus 20,000 a day) who bought 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in the first 20 days of its release. Certainly not me.
See you at Madison Square Garden.
[text © J. Ingham 2007; photos © Kate Simon]
~ You can see the photos which was mentioned on the article, from the link on the title. ~
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Traditional Values or Matrimony Before Children
Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @stupidbluegirl @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst
This Passage Contains Potentially: swearing, violence, blood, angst, whump, fluff and very smutty content.
Summary: Rod decides it's time to 'pop the question' because he can't risk losing Kirby after they have a massive argument following Kirby getting injured.
Kirby's POV:
"Maybe if ya were able to see things from my point of view, ya wouldn't be here right now!"
"Well, maybe if you weren't so pig-headed about the finish of the match, I wouldn't have ended up getting hurt!"
I had snapped by this point, we were in New Haven, Connecticut and Rod had rushed in at the end of my match against Orton.
The match ended due to outside interference as well as injury.
Piper had knocked me off the turnbuckle, right before I was going to hit a senton bomb on Orton, making me fall out of the ring, off of the turnbuckle and thus slamming my right elbow into the guardrail, leaving me in extreme pain and needing medical attention.
He had managed to make me sprain my elbow, putting it in a sling for three weeks and taking me off television for the next month.
Damien had told me to take the month off, not risking any sort of further injury.
From the sixth of May until the sixth of June I wouldn't be allowed to work and I pinned all of the blame onto Roddy.
I got Damien to drive the long way back to the house, luckily me and Roderick had separate keys.
I was so hot with rage that I decided to just go home, to Cardiff, forget all about America and Roddy.
I stewed in the anger for the full three weeks of healing, on the Twenty-ninth of May, I heard the front door open, fully ready to call everything quits I waited for him to get through the foyer and see me.
"Before ya leave me, let me know, did ya love me?"
"I, uh, I, God, Roddy," I couldn't hold back the tears and Rod came running up to me, I tried to push him away with my left arm but failed.
"My love, my love, shh, shh, it's okay, you're okay."
"Rod, I wanted to leave but then I got my citizenship finished up and everything was clear and I couldn't think of a life without you in it … And now is not the time to get horny."
"Oh God, I'm not, that isn't, I wanted to do this after I cheered you up, but I guess now is as good a time as any, uhm," he took a moment to collect himself and got in front of me next to the table and got down on one knee, "Kirby Trevor, I know I'm a mad Scottish bastard at times, and before you ask I did ask your parents for your hand," he got out a small black box from the pouch of his sporran and opened it, inside laying half set into the foam was a simple, slim, iron ring, "I know we're moving a little fast, but I can't imagine a life without you in it and, I'm not risking losing you for a third time, I would like to marry ya, if you would let me."
"Roderick, you're kidding."
"I'm not kidding, mo chridhe. It would make me the happiest man alive."
"Oh … my … God … Yes, Rod, Yes!"
He slipped the ring onto my left ring finger, pulling me closer and kissed my neck before hoisting me over his shoulder and taking me upstairs.
By the time I woke up the following day, Rod was putting an ice pack on my elbow.
"Roddy?"
"Morning, mo chridhe, are ya alright?"
"I'm fine, yesterday was real, right?"
Rod lent down to kiss me, running his fingers over the rings on my left hand, making me realise that instead of my usual three, there were now, in fact, four rings, all in a row. Yesterday was real, the almost argument, the breakdown, the proposal, it was all real.
Without much thought I got up and backed Rod against the wall, kissing his neck, his jawline, his lips, anywhere I could access, until he managed to back me towards the bed and throw me down onto it.
"I fucking love ya, mo chridhe."
"Rod, when are we getting married."
"When do you want us to get married?"
"As soon as possible. If it's possible"
Roddy made calls, several calls, to I don't know who but he managed to get us a civil ceremony on Friday the first of June.
Seeing Rod in the pale blue suit as I stood there in my satin, peach toned slip dress I suddenly felt complete, in a weird way, like I had found my other half. I guess that's why people call their spouse their 'better half'.
The matching wedding bands we had Rod had bought without me felt right, two Celtic wedding bands, one gold (being Roddy's) and one silver (being mine).
We got back to the house, now a married couple and likely to spend a lot more time near each other, seeing as Damien had outed me on television the day before our civil ceremony as Rod's girlfriend, and soon-to-be wife.
Captain Lou and Cyndi Lauper had both made statements on me and Rod being 'man and wife' with both of them believing that it was 'disgusting to see two freaks marrying each other'.
However, the other D.O.D members as well as Schultz, Orndorff, and Orton showing support.
Roddy took 'wedding night bliss' seriously. No condoms, no alcohol, just him and me and a potentially breakable bed.
Things started off the moment we got in through the front door, Rod quickly locking the door behind us as I took my heels off, now in just my satin dress, I started walking out of the foyer, Rod pulled me back, hoisting me into a bridal carry and taking me upstairs, kicking open our bedroom door before letting me down.
I managed to sit myself on the edge of the bed while Rod was preoccupied with taking off his suit, I focused back on taking off my dress, the zip up the back actually pretty easy to unzip and remove, standing back up and letting the dress slide off, hearing a groan from Rod and knowing fully that he was watching me, he soon saw the black lace leg garter and started grinning like a mad man.
"Rod, what are you thinking about?"
"I think you know, honey."
In a matter of about a minute or two, Rod had ripped off the garter with his teeth and started kissing from my mid-thigh up to my groin and then making his way up to kissing my neck and then my mouth.
Feeling the heat from Rod's groin as well as his erect member poking at my clit through two layers of clothing (his briefs and my boxers) and hearing him groan in my ear, I started sliding my hand down the front of Rod's briefs.
when we woke up the next morning, both still fully nude, Rod was just starting to wake up as I started to get dressed.
"Oh, there you are, my beautiful wife."
"My dearest husband."
"We've gotta get back to work, Honey."
"I know, Roddy, I know."
By the seventh of June we were back at work fully, each night before Rod had asked for my permission to try and get me pregnant and I agreed, most of the time it was either in a hotel bed or on the front bench of the D200.
On screen I was usually by Roddy's side often being treated as softer or more emotionally vulnerable when compared to him, but just as quick-witted and tough as him. A marriage of equals instead of your typical opposites attract.
On the ninth of June I was in Roddy's corner during his fight against Rocky Johnson at the Capital centre in Landover, Maryland. He pinned Johnson, later on that same night he filmed a Piper's Pit segment with Captain Lou.
I was once again in Roddy's corner for another win against Rocky Johnson on the fifteenth in Detroit.
Then again, another Roddy win against Johnson on the sixteenth in Hollywood, Florida's Sportatorium before he filmed another segment of the Pit with Lauper.
I had noticed that either my period was late this month or something was wrong because I still had some cramping pains but they weren't as bad as they usually would be if I was 'on'. I decided to drop my worries for now and to focus on staying by Rod's side as I knew if anything bad happened to me, he'd be the first to react.
We went to the CYC in Scranton, Pennsylvania for another one of Roddy's matches against Rocky Johnson on the 18th.
I noticed on the twentieth that I had started feeling tired much easier than before, often needing to sit down a lot quicker than I was used to.
Backstage at the Civic Centre in Erie, Pennsylvania on the Twenty-first. Instead of going out with Roddy like what had been planned, Billie and Vickie had pulled me aside and into a bathroom, locking all three of us in a small private bathroom stall originally meant for disabled patrons or staff members, Vickie started questioning me.
"How long have you and him been married?"
"Around twenty days, why?"
"Have you two been, y'know," Billie wiggled her eyebrows, "Active?"
"Ya mean sexually, of course. I'm his wife, what are you two doing?"
"Well, little 'sister' time to take a test."
"What, Vic, like a newlywed game or something?"
Billie pushed me backwards, forcing me to sit on seat of the toilet, still with my slacks on.
"This test," Vic pulled out an 'ADVANCE' box from her purse, "You look confused, Kirbs. It's a pregnancy test, tall-ass."
"No, no, I can't be, just, no."
"Take it, we'll guard the door."
Vic unlocked the door and they exited, leaving me to take the pregnancy test, I did what the test required and told Vic, who went through the steps, and started giggling to herself after the result came through.
"I'm going to be an auntie."
"Oh no, no, you're kidding, right?"
Vic wasn't kidding, she explained the test and the result and lo and behold my future had changed, I was expecting a child. Rod didn't know yet, but I didn't know how to tell him. Truly I love Rod, but how was I gonna explain this to him.
The following day (22nd June 1984) it was announced that 'Due to unforeseen circumstances' I was not wrestling for the next ten months.
On that Saturday (23rd June 1984) Rod had brought me on to Piper's Pit to address some questions about my nearly a year long departure from wrestling.
"I've had a lot of questions about why my wife is off your screens, ladies and germs, so here she is, my beautiful wife, Kirby Piper."
"Hi Roddy."
"Hello, beautiful. First of all, congratulations on marrying the strongest and most intelligent man in the WWF. Secondly, why have you decided to take a ten month break from active competition?"
"Firstly, thank you for marrying a female giant. Secondly, Rod, look me in the eyes."
He did as I asked, and so I continued.
"I am being completely serious, okay."
"Okay."
"Roddy Piper, I, as your wife, and as your friend, must be completely honest and tell you that I am," I took a moment to compose myself and realised that both the audience, as well as both Orton and Piper were hanging on my every word, "I'm, I am," I took a deep breath in to help calm myself down, "I am pregnant."
Barely above a whisper, I had said it just loud enough for the microphone Piper had customarily shoved in my face, the same way he did to all his guests, could pick up.
"Re, uh, repeat that, Kirby," Rod stumbled over his words momentarily, "If you, if ya wouldn't mind, my, my love."
Slightly louder than before, now at my normal speaking volume, rather than a whisper, I repeated my statement, "The reason I'm out of the ring for the next ten months is because I, the human being you see here, I am with child. I am pregnant."
Rod erupted, dropping the mic, which still continued to work and actually caught him yelling, "I'm gonna be a dad?! I'm going to be a father?!"
He dropped to his knees in front of me, I leant down to kiss him and he got up, having to lean down into the kiss for a moment. The crowd cheered from behind him, before they started chanting his name. He helped me out of my seat and Orton gave Rod the mic before helping me stand from the other side.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, my wife, Kirby Piper, and the reason, oh my God, the reason she is out of active competition. I'm gonna be a father! Acey baby, I'm gonna be a dad, can ya believe it?!"
Rod leant up to kiss me, letting Orton let go of the other side of my back as Rod wrapped his arms around my waist and stayed in the moment until we both needed air, touching his forehead to mine as he huffed out an almost silent 'I love you, so much'.
END OF TRADITIONAL VALUES or MATRIMONY BEFORE CHILDREN
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Every so often when I have to drive somewhere in my city and use a gps to get there, I think of the experience I had in the UK that blew my mind. I have the worst sense of direction and have to use gps to get a lot of places unless they’re somewhere I regularly go or on the way to somewhere I regularly go. I’ve always been this way. It was much worse when I was younger and had just started driving but I’m still not great at directions.
But when I went to the UK in 2018, I was amazed to find myself in the exact opposite situation. I was there with my mother, and the three cities we spent more than half a day in were Cardiff, Bath, and London. And somehow I knew exactly where I was the entire time, without looking much at a map. In Bath, my mother was trying to remember some shop she’d seen but couldn’t remember the name of, and I was able to navigate straight to it without knowing the name either. In London, I could figure out how to get from our point A to point B barely glancing at a map, and really only using it for figuring out which tube station I wanted to get to.
(I had a similar experience in Rome in 2011 but I also had almost no actual destinations and I was very content to mindlessly wander.)
For a while after that I couldn’t figure out what was different, why it was so easy to navigate in the UK and I felt so confident doing so despite it being so completely new to me.
And I realized that the biggest difference is driving vs walking. Whenever I used to read books from pre-1960 (fiction or not), and writers or characters talked so vividly and easily about the places they went and the roads they walked down and all that, I was always so confused about how well people could remember maps of the city in their head or knew so perfectly where they were going or had gone or whatever. But the difference is that most of those characters were walking, not driving. Or, if they were driving, they weren’t driving, they had a driver or were using public transport.
That’s the difference, for me. The difference is, when I’m walking or using public transport, I can pay close attention to the path I’m taking, to landmark details or street sign details or exactly how long it felt to walk from this right turn until I had to take a left turn (or whatever) or what things distinguish this row of houses from the houses two streets over. And all the little things like that. When I’m driving, I can’t do that because I’m concentrating on the cars around me, the stoplights, pedestrians. It’s harder to gauge how long from this right turn until this left turn because that depends on more than my normal pace, it depends on the traffic and the lights and things like that.
It’s easier for me to construct a map of someplace in my head when I walk it, even once, than when I drive it. I don’t know if that’s an ADHD thing or a dyscalculia thing or if it’s just normal for some people to have a harder time mapping things when driving.
It’s interesting to think about how automobiles affected the construction of cities, how it prioritized making things car-accessible rather than pedestrian-accessible. Which is a whole other huge thing. But I think that’s a big reason for that problem of mapping. Cardiff, London, Bath, they weren’t originally constructed for cars. They’ve been adjusted and remodeled and reconstructed to do so (bath the least amount, it seems) but they definitely retain more pedestrian-friendly construction than any of the US cities I’ve ever been to. I was able to retain and map them better because I was walking, definitely, but also because they were built in a way that was supportive and friendly to my walking.
#squash rambles#this thought was in my head again today after using my gps to drive my roommate to an appointment
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The Enigma of Roger Roundhead
I’m pretty sure I was their biggest fan since the beginning. When I first saw them performing, they were busking in Bristol’s shopping district. It really is a nice city, and the amount of young, fresh-faced musicians you see on the street adds to its endearing appeal. You’ll find all sorts of singers and songwriters trying their luck with the public.
One Saturday, I was out with a friend. We were on our way to grab a bite to eat, and there they were. The strangest sight I had seen all day. Three men busking - something that would have usually been a normal occurrence. I barely even noticed the other two, the frontman was so uniquely captivating that I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t take my eyes from him. There he stood, playing an acoustic guitar. From his neck downwards, there didn’t seem anything out of the ordinary about him - brown boots, cargos, vest, average build. But then there was his head. What looked to be a great, big, white papier-mâché ball. Some sort of gimmick, I thought; despite that I found it utterly enthralling.
With an accompanying banjo and a cajon, the trio sang away. My friend pulled at my arm, but I stayed still, paying an intense attention to the band. The humdrum of a passing group obscured my focus, and I came to.
“Yeah, sorry, just watching the buskers.”
I saw a cardboard sign on the floor. Written in a thick, black marker were the words Roger Roundhead and the Trashmen. I repeated the name out loud with a child-like curiosity.
“Fitting name.” My friend laughed. “Right, I’m starving, shall we get going?”
We went and got some food from the market stands, but still I couldn’t remove the image of Roger Roundhead from my mind.
When I later searched their name, I could find little about them. I found it strange that such an interesting performance didn’t have an online presence. There were no videos on YouTube, and no songs on Spotify. So I decided I had to follow them, to see their music, to have more than a thirty second glimpse. I was hooked.
I went to town on my own the following Saturday, in hopes that they’d be busking in the same spot. As luck would have it, they were. Playing the same song that I had heard before, this time I was able to sit down and listen properly to the whole thing.
It wasn’t even my sort of music, if I’m completely honest. It felt a little too political for my liking, and the rhythms and melodies weren’t particularly different to anything I had heard before. If anything, it was a little repetitive. But still, I tried not to blink for fear of missing as much as a second of Roger Roundhead and the Trashmen. Something about Roger unfalteringly drew me in, as if I was being compelled to simply sit and observe him. The song finished, and I looked around. Dotted about were a small number of other people who were equally invested in the group of buskers. After performing only a few songs, Roger Roundhead and the Trashmen packed up their belongings and left.
I watched them busk on a number of occasions, and quickly became familiar with all of their songs. Still, I was never able to discover an online presence - until I found out that they would be performing at a small venue called The Fleece. Though it wasn’t their own online presence, they were mentioned by another local band. Some friends were fans of them, and were already going to the concert. I instantly decided to tag along when the band stated that Roger Roundhead and the Trashmen would be opening for them.
Their opening performance was much like their busking performances. It had the exact same format, and they played the same songs. Still, I was unable to turn away from Roger. My friends were divided in opinion - half of them just wanted the main band to perform, the others were as captivated by the opening act as I was. And so I went on, going to concerts simply because Roger Roundhead and the Trashmen were the opening act. Performing at a number of different venues, I followed them as far as Cardiff. And then, they returned to Bristol, to perform at The Marble Factory. This time, however, would be their first time as a headlining act.
***
It was a Saturday night, and the place was packed. We stood like sardines, pressed against one another, clambering to reach the front beside the stage. I was lucky enough to get a front row view. I was with two of my friends - Will and Theo. They were the ones who were as equally fascinated by the band as I was at that first concert they opened at.
“When are they gonna start?” Will anxiously peered onto the stage. “I hate it when bands are late.”
By the time I had looked at Will, and looked back at the stage, the Trashmen were positioned ready to perform. Roger Roundhead was yet to show himself. Instead of their usual banjo and cajon, the Trashmen were equipped with a more standard drum kit and bass guitar. As we patiently waited, smoke filled the stage, and the lights dimmed. The blackness gave way to silent excitement. The crowed waited with anticipation. As if to treat us to an appetiser, strobe lights flashed. And shortly after, out emerged that familiar round head - the main course. Like a disco ball, the strobe lights seemed to bounce from him. Roger Roundhead brandished a new guitar; black and white circles rippled outwards sequentially from its centre. Cheers burst from the crowd, but soon were dulled into silence as Roger raised a finger to his round head.
“Shhhhh.”
As silence befell the venue, he began to play. The strobe lights flashed in time with the beats. The same riff, over and over. The drums rhythmically repeating a backing line, the bass reiterating the guitar’s melody. A continuous line, incessant repetition, I found myself mesmerised. I stared at Roger, at his guitar. The circles felt like they were moving. Roger bobbed in time with his playing. The smoke cleared, but the strobe lights pressed onwards with a lightning speed. Then Roger Roundhead began to sing.
His voice was masked by numerous strange vocal effects, but it was still distinctly him. Regardless, it was nothing like the music I had heard them play while busking. He swayed his hips forwards and backwards with each note of the rhythm. The distorted vocals droned, and took a backseat to the repeating melody. Over and over the notes repeated an enchanting hex, words that I couldn’t make out worming their way into my mind. Not of my own volition, I felt myself swaying with the rest of the crowd. Seeds of Roger Roundhead’s words planted themselves in my head. I watched them play, waving, swaying, leaning forwards past the barrier that guarded the stage.
Roger Roundhead plucked a final note, and we were thrust into darkness.
***
Echoes of light peppered my vision, though never truly lit the way. I called out to my friends, but made no sound. The little lights resonated with my intended vocalisations, seemingly responding to the noise I was trying to make.
“Hello?” I didn’t say.
Two lights blinked one after the other.
“Who’s there?”
A flurry of lights flickered and flashed - I spun around in place, watching the strobe orbs that surrounded me. Some were a warm glow of orange that phased in and out of blackness, others a pleasant green that jittered about, and a few were a soothing purple that would rise and sink. I swivelled and stumbled, searching for any indication of what was happening, searching for my friends. I was only met with more lights. As I waded through the glowing waters of the space around me, bioluminescence splashed in place, those little lights bouncing from my body. Like tiny fireflies with no weight, no form, the lights flittered about my person until I stopped moving.
“Hello?” I didn’t call out, again.
Two lights blinked one after the other, again.
“Hello!” I tried to shout.
The same lights blinked.
“What’s going on?”
The lights formed a line forwards, flashing in sequence, the ripples of a glowing array pointing me in a direction. I followed the path set before me, that seemed to stretch on as far as the eye could see. I trudged along, for no longer than thirty seconds, before I began to feel myself lifted up. I spun around, and below me were a series of lights, carrying me upon their formless selves. They raised me further, until I was met with a small circle. Again, more little lights, though this time they were white. I passed through the circle.
Passing the threshold, I felt myself accelerating. I saw lights beginning to pass by me, faster and faster, until they all formed a single blur around me. I began to shout, feelings of fear sloshed around and mixed together with adrenaline and ecstasy. Faster. Faster. I kept accelerating. A warping, wobbling, winding tunnel formed around me, spiralling smaller and smaller, into a thin tube. I reached an unimaginable velocity, and passed through the ever-narrowing pin-prick exit.
A painted world surrounded me, a sky of oils and watercolours, a mixed media painting that splattered and slurried vastly, trickling with wet whites and drying blues. Velvet hills of rolling green, with a smattering of flowers waving in time to a familiar rhythm. The music, it played still - Roger Roundhead performed. The lights danced with precise, rhythmic intentions. And at the centre of it all, Roger and his bandmates. I felt my form slip away, and watched my body return through the pin-prick entrance to this painted world. Sucked violently backwards, it flew. Then there I was; a little green light. Happy, content, and perfectly in time, I danced carelessly and unthinkingly.
I spent no longer than an evening, enjoying the music, enjoying the company of my shapeless compatriots, before a great typhoon whisked the world up, and a tremendous mash of lights and painted hills were washed away. And then there I was, in my body, laid in the same darkness as before. I stood up. I tried to walk forwards again, but tripped over something. I tumbled onto a soft surface, and, as I broke the fall with my hands, felt that it was a person. I pushed myself back up. I felt shuffling around me. Other people were rising. A confused murmur reverberated around me, and I participated in the crowd’s muttering.
The venue lights flashed on, and I saw before me an empty stage. A crowd of dazed people wobbled to their feet, and I scanned the room for my friends. I was aware of how thirsty I was, how stuffy the room was. It was hard to breathe, and I could see other people experiencing the same discomfort that I was feeling. Amidst the fray, I did not see my friends, but found my way to the exit. I gasped for air as I fell into a flowing street, the waves of people exiting the building dragged me into the fury of the blistering midday sun.
Wasn’t it night-time?
I scratched my head, trying to work out exactly how long the night had lasted, and whether everyone else had experienced what I had. The details of the painted world were fuzzy, fading in and out of my memory. It was like trying to remember a dream. The more I thought of it, the further it slipped away from me. I took my phone from my pocket, intending to check the time. The battery was dead. I took a bus home, grabbed a glass of water, and put my phone on charge.
I had fifty-seven missed calls, a plethora of text messages, and was inundated with social media notifications.
“Are you ok?”
“Where are you?”
“What’s going on?”
“Call me please.”
Voice mails from my parents and friends, all concerned as to where I was. It wouldn’t have been the first time I stayed out all night, it shouldn’t have been an issue. Then, my mum walked through the door. As soon as she saw me, she ran towards me, hitting me with a whirlwind of emotions; crying, shouting, hugging me, hitting me. When I nonchalantly asked her what the problem was, her jaw was agape.
She explained that I had been missing for three months. She had reported me missing to the police. My friends had been reporting missing too. I was still in a state of confusion, and my Mother’s babbling words didn’t help. I had been gone for an evening, not three months. Little anxious ideas raced around in my head, bouncing from wall to wall within my skull. It was possible that I had been spiked with something, and that I was still under the influence of it. I had been gone for an evening, I went to a concert. I hadn’t been gone for three months. I knew that, but my mother - if it was really her - didn’t. I tried to focus, to see if I could wake up from whatever this was. But I couldn’t.
Roger Roundhead and the Trashmen disappeared. I didn’t hear of any more performances by them, it’s almost as if they never existed. Maybe they’re still in the painted world, but I wouldn’t know. Everyone says I was missing for three months, and I tell them I don’t remember anything. My friends and I agreed to say that whenever anyone asked, but we still talk about that evening amongst ourselves. We have theories about it, but I know that we won’t ever come to a solid conclusion. At the end of it all, all we can do is reminisce, and hope that we can go back - just for an evening.
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