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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

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The God of this Sh*t

Wheeeee... little bit of GCW melodrama because why not. This one is set during the buildup to and at the Art of War Games show which, if you're able to see it, is really worth a watch. That said, I've taken a little artistic licence, so not everything is going to line up exactly. Sorry if this is a bit of a slog... I seem to be incapable of telling a story succinctly.

Pairing: RSP (Rickey Shane Page) x OFC

Word count: 5,353

Content advisory: explicit sexual content, language

It’s pretty difficult to smile under the circumstances. Sure, you’re looking forward to seeing your MDK cohorts kick the living shit out of their 440OH! rivals, you’ve been looking forward to that for months. It’s going to be the best sort of bloodbath. For that matter, you’re excited for Allie to have her match against that piece of shit Tony Deppen, even though that one doesn’t go as you’d hoped. You’re happy for all your friends. The problem is that you were supposed to be part of this. You had a match scheduled and that all went to hell because at a small show five days ago you miscalculated a jump and slammed right into the ring post, immediately dislocating your shoulder and taking you out of commission for at least a month. Just fucking awesome.

So you’re sitting backstage with the gang, arm in a sling, hating the fact that you’re going to be stuck in the role of cheerleader. It’s not fair, but it’s your own fault and you should be relieved that you only hurt yourself, because you were the idiot who went into a match all distracted. That’s the other problem. The distraction.

You’re in a little pain but you don’t want to take any of the whopping ten prescription pills your doctor gave you. You have seven remaining and you want to reserve them for those times when the pain becomes completely unbearable. Besides, you’ve had a seemingly endless stream of people warning you not to rely on pills and shoving joints and edibles at you. You’ve been trying to take it easy with that, too, so that you don’t go and do anything stupid.

“Don’t worry, you got this next time,” Nick grunts at you, giving you something between a hug and a headlock which, you’ve come to realize, is his way of saying that he likes you. It kind of irritates the shoulder but you don’t care.

Before you found this weird bunch of misfits, you were alone. Even in the world of underground wrestling and its cast of weirdos, you felt completely isolated. Then one night you’d done a match with Allie. She’d beaten the crap out of you, to the point where you were spitting blood over the mat. Then she’d helped you up and walked you to the back, where she proceeded to ice your jaw.

“You need some friends,” she informed you, “or you’re going to get eaten alive, I don’t care how tough you think you are.”

You were a bit insulted because you thought you were plenty tough but no one had ever been as nice to you as she was.

“Will you be my friend?” you’d asked, embarrassed at how ridiculous the question sounded (even more so because your mouth was all swollen).

She gave you a wink. “You know, I think I will.”

Through her, you met her sometime ring partner Effy, and gradually the other members of the loose gang at GCW. You’d been around as the MDK alliance had formed over a period of months and had been accepted to that strange little family. Gage had been reserved at first but once he realized you came from a similarly rough background, he’d adopted you as a kind of little sister. He could still scare the shit out of you because his grip on his own level of violence seemed tenuous, but he was also your rock.

The only one of the group who had never entirely warmed to you was AJ, and, indeed, as you do what you get everyone as hyped up as possible, he’s eyeing you with the same hint of suspicion he always has. It’s like he knows there’s something up and it’s bothering him that he can’t figure it out. You’re trying to avoid looking in his direction because it’s started to feel like there’s a sign hanging over your head that reads traitor.

The rivalry between MDK and 44OH is no joke. They seriously want to hurt each other, and nowhere is the enmity any more bitter than between Nick and his opposite number, Rickey Shane Page. They’d fought over the title but everyone knew that the title was just an emblem of something that went much deeper. And when he couldn’t beat Nick, Page had resorted to fucking him over. You’d known these people for a small portion of your life but you felt the hatred every time you had to look at one of the 44OH! crew. You wanted to hurt them. You’d get in their faces, guys double your size and weight, knowing full well they’d hit you without thinking twice about it. This wasn’t a place where being a woman was going to protect you from anything.

But hatred, as you’d recently discovered, is a passion. And passions have a tendency to conflate when they get heated enough.

A week ago, you’d been settling in for an early night. You’d been plagued by allergies every spring and fall for as long as you could remember and this year was a doozy, so you took a pill to relieve the sinus pressure enough that you could get some sleep and were in the process of getting ready for bed when Brett, the GCW owner, texted you.

I’m house-sitting and we’re having a party, come on over.

You’d responded that you really weren’t in the mood for a party because of your sinuses but you kind of knew that he was going to be able to talk you into it.

Pop a couple of pills and come over. Come in your pajamas for all I care. You have to see this place.

Brett had mentioned that he was taking care of a house for friends of his parents for a couple of weeks leading up to the Art of War Games show and you had to admit, you were a little intrigued. Brett was vague about his family and background but you knew that he came from money. He didn’t like to talk about it because, in a weird inversion of how life usually worked, it was kind of shameful in this environment to be a rich boy. But there was no mistaking what he meant by telling you that you had to see the place: it was a place that would impress even wealthy people.

You’d already done part of what he said because you’d taken a pill, and so it just made sense that you should follow the rest of his instructions. How you came to that conclusion you didn’t know. You’d been raised in poverty. Your family had lived out of their car on a few occasions when you were still in grade school. You really wanted to see the fancy house.

And it was quite the house. You felt your eyes widen as soon as you walked in, because it was clearly the sort of place that was designed to impress people a lot classier than you. It backed onto the beach, not that you needed to go there because there was a giant fucking pool (that several drunken wrestlers and their friends were carousing in). You were certain you’d stayed in hotels that had fewer bedrooms. There was a big kitchen and a small kitchen, for what reason you couldn’t imagine. There was a room with a damn projection screen, basically a tiny movie theater. Wandering around, unable to find Brett or Allie or anyone who could make you feel like less of an intruder, the sheer scope of the place made you start to panic.

“They’re upstairs!” Jordan Oliver, who you didn’t really know but who seemed nice enough, waved and pointed to where you should go.

Indeed, there were your friends, along with a bunch of strangers at a bit of a distance, on the rooftop terrace, just shooting the shit like this was normal.

Allie beckoned you over.

“Come sit down, let’s act like fancy bitches!”

She poured you a glass of wine which you gladly accepted in order to steady your nerves. You’d been so freaked out by the house that you’d totally forgotten about the allergy pill with its bold warning about not drinking. But it’s not like you’d overdone it. It wouldn’t have even made you tipsy under normal conditions.

“Who the hell are all these people?” you whispered to Allie. “This is more people than are going to be at the show.”

“I dunno,” she giggled. “Friends of Brett’s? Random strangers looking for a party? We’ve been up here all night.” She laughed and pressed against you. “He gave us the top because we’re the best.”

“He what? Who?”

“Brett. He told us to hang out upstairs and on the roof. The evil fuckers are downstairs. Stuck in a cellar, I hope.”

You had to laugh at Brett’s way of dealing with the very real tension between his wrestlers: give them their own territory. And, yes, you guys had obviously been favored because it was a gorgeous night and the fresh air felt good. Nevertheless, your curiosity gnawed at you. You wanted to see the whole house. You bugged Allie to come with you but she flat-out refused. And so you’d abandoned the idea for a little while. But you couldn’t keep it out of your head.

It wasn’t just that you’d wanted to see the house, although that was part of it. You’d wanted to stir up some shit. The others were happy to observe the no-fly zone in the middle of the house but you were just itching to poke the bear a little. Finally, you’d excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You’d gone twice already and ended up in two different places so you told yourself that you were just playing a game: you were going to try to use as many different bathrooms as possible while you were in the house. And since you’d already found two, you figured you had to start heading further downstairs.

It didn’t really land with you that you were very inebriated, probably because you were too inebriated to know. You did notice that you were tripping fairly often and relying on the walls to keep you up more than usual. But you were excited to see what kind of mischief you could get into. That’s all it was. Mischief.

You did find a new bathroom on the main floor that had a tub almost the size of your apartment. But as long as you’d come this far and were this drunk, you figured it was easier to go down stairs than up them. You were never going to be in a place like this again in your whole life, you knew. You wanted to get the full experience.

“ALRIGHT IT’S GO TIME, LET’S FUCKIN’ MOVE!” Nick’s gravelly voice blasts through your thoughts and brings you right back into the present. He marshals his troops and calls them in for a last huddle before the big match begins. Two rings! A huge cage! Tables! Light tubes! Panes of glass! Those random doors that always turn up at these shows! You have one of those moments where you marvel that people do these things to themselves on purpose but it passes quickly enough.

“Get over here,” Nick barks, waving you into the scrum.

You and Allie aren’t part of the match but you’re part of the group, which means that you get to join in for the last motivational words and a sort of group hug, which you can’t really participate in because, ya know, arm in a sling. You’re a strange group, cobbled together from links of toughness and mutual respect. You’re going up against a much more unified faction and that makes you a little nervous. Still, there is something nearly religious about the way Nick conducts these things and normally it makes you feel like a member of the congregation. Tonight, however, you can’t get into it as much as you usually do, because you wonder if these guys would straight up kill you if they knew what you’d done. As you’re wondering, you raise your eyes a little and immediately there’s AJ with that same stink-eye expression.

You don’t go with them to the entranceway because, all other considerations aside, it’s kind of crowded there and you’d be in the way. But you also don’t want to risk any unnecessary confrontation. So you give them a few final words of encouragement, check to make sure Allie’s not expecting you to go back and sit with her right away, and then sneak off to try to compose yourself.

It’s all going to be fine. It was one stupid thing. You were drunk. None of them know and they’re not going to find out.

You feel a pair of large hands encircle your neck from behind, lifting you just enough that you have to stand on the balls of your feet to keep from being strangled. Rickey leans in and presses his face right against your ear.

“If you even think about coming out there to start something,” he snarls, “I’ll break the other arm.”

You try to twist and free yourself but it’s useless. The guy is huge and strong and he has you by the neck. You wince because the strain is hurting your shoulder. Mercifully, he relaxes his grip enough that you can plant both feet back on the ground. He doesn’t let go, though. Instead, he slides his hands back and forth like he’s trying to loosen your head from your neck. His grip tightens again, his forefingers pressed right up into your throat, as he plants a kiss to the top of the head.

“But if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll give you a treat after.”

That’s it, you think. You’re a dead woman.

What had happened at the party was that you’d gradually made your way down to the basement of the mansion. You could hear voices and music and figured you just had to check it out, to see who was there, to see what kind of amusing trouble you could get into. You knew damn well who was going to be there, the 44OH boys, because that was their established domain, down close to the sewers where they belonged. At no point did it occur to you that you were heading into enemy territory in a very real war, mere days before the ultimate battle was to take place.

You wandered into the room that seemed to be at the center of the action and glanced at what was happening. There were people, mostly people you hated, hanging out, drinking, and enjoying what appeared to be a games room. A couple of them were playing their own version of pool, which involved shoving the balls as fast as possible across the table while the other players placed their hands in the holes. The point of their type of pool seemed to be to try to nail the other guys’ fingers as hard and as often as possible. These dumbasses were going to break their fucking hands before the match even started. Awesome. You’d watched from a discreet distance, laughing the whole time.

When you noticed a couple of quizzical looks coming in your direction, you’d made your way towards a darker corner of the room. There was Rick, Rickey, Dickhead as you usually called him, reclined on an expensive-looking leather sofa, having a boisterous conversation with a few friends.

He wasn’t like Nick or you. At a party, in dim light, he could almost pass for someone who belonged in this place. If you didn’t know what a lowlife he actually was, someone could think he was a fancy bitch.

Rickey noticed you, his eyes flickering over you with a look of mild curiosity, nothing more, before he returned his full focus to his conversation. It wouldn’t do. You’d come there to start something and you weren’t going to be denied. So you’d stumbled towards the group and grabbed a drink from the table before you walked back to your shadowy corner.

This definitely got attention and one of his friends, presumably the one whose drink you’d taken, seemed ready to approach you, but the big man just shook his head and waved them off. And that was absolutely unbearable. The bastard thought he was protecting you? He thought you were so insignificant that it wasn’t even worth confronting you when you’d brazenly stolen from them? You’d choked down the scotch you’d taken, not a lot, not enough to have made you lose your damn mind, but still a bad idea under the circumstances, and you’d marched back to where they were sitting.

The man closest to Rickey looked up. He didn’t stop talking but he did give you a hard stare. But he wasn’t the one whose attention you were trying to get, so you’d planted one of your knees on Rickey’s thigh , leaning into him and giving a defiant look.

What are you gonna do about it?

“You lost?’ he snapped, finally turning to face you. He’d sounded more annoyed than anything, which was not the reaction you wanted. You wanted to get under his skin. You wanted him to be riled up and he was refusing to give into it.

So you’d basically climbed onto his lap, balancing yourself as best you could without looking at him. You’d just nodded at his friend to continue talking. You know, like you weren’t even there.

Page had made no effort to touch you, spreading his arms and giving his boys a theatrical shrug. Might as well keep talking.

They did try to continue with the conversation as best they could, pointedly trying to ignore you. So you’d upped the ante, coiling your arms around Rickey’s neck and pushing your head against his like a cat.

“I think someone wants you to herself,” one of the guys chuckled.

“Great.” Page rolled his eyes. “Just the thing I need.”

He was steadfast. He kept trying to talk to his friends, even as you did everything to distract. It had seemed hilarious in the moment but it’s so humiliating in retrospect that you can barely stand to think about it. What the hell had your plan been? You’d gotten it into your head that it would be funny to get him all hot and bothered and then take off but the more he insisted on ignoring you, the more frustrated you got.

When the comparatively subtle approach of squirming around on his lap didn’t get the results you wanted, that was when you opened your big, stupid mouth.

“Rickey, Rick, Richard,” you giggled in a sort of sing-song cadence. It got a look of irritated confusion but nothing else, so you burrowed your face close to his ear. “I usually just call you Dickhead.”

“That’s sweet,” he quipped.

It was at that moment that you’d decided you were going to say something outrageous, just to get a reaction.

“Well I think you’re a dick. But I kind of want to suck yours too.”

“What?” his eyes widened and for an instant you did have his complete attention. The laughter of his friends brought him back to earth, apparently. “Ok, miss, it’s time for you to go.”

He grabbed your hips and lifted you off him, although he was at least nice enough to make sure you were steady on your feet before letting go. Pulling a petulant face, you’d grabbed his drink from the table but he pulled it away from you.

“No,” he growled, brushing you away. “You need to go back to your people. Go bother them.”

You’d thought about trying his patience more but decided against it. It had been more fun trying to find all the bathrooms, so you figured you’d go back to that. You were dimly aware that you’d done something very bad, something humiliating, but in the state you’d been in at the time, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. Drunkenness knows no consequences.

On your way out of the room, you’d walked straight into Eddy Only. You kept on going as if nothing had happened but as you did, you’d heard him mutter “The fuck is she doing here?”

It didn’t mean anything to you at the time, but when you woke up the following morning, the memory triggered a panic attack. Rickey’s conversational buddies might have been aware of who you were but didn’t think much of it. Eddy knew very well who you were and how scandalous it was that you had walked into the lions’ den. Him blabbing on you was one of the things that had had you worried since that night, although not the main thing.

You were wandering the halls for long enough that you’d forgotten about what had just happened, probably about five minutes. You’d sensed a very quick, silent movement behind you and immediately felt yourself bodied against the wall and pulled into the laundry room.

Rickey closed the door and looked down at you with a lot of suspicion but also some interest. You were a little frightened in the moment because in all the time you’d been around GCW, all the time you’d been participating in this blood feud, you’d never really noticed the size difference between you. You had said some very nasty things to this man and he could have squashed you like a bug.

You were trying to figure out what to say when he gave your shoulder a push, enough to knock you off balance and send you to the floor, so you were on your knees in front of him.

“Ok,” he snapped, unfastening his belt, “you want this? Well, show me what you’ve got.”

He tapped the back of your head and without any further hesitation, you’d dived in, freeing his semi-erect prick and pressing it into your mouth with vigor. You hummed in satisfaction as you felt him becoming harder, stroking his shaft with your tongue, resting one hand on his massive thigh to keep your balance. His breathing quickened and grew deeper but he was still eyeing you like he expected some kind of trap. No, you hadn’t trapped him. You went at it with greater intensity, paying attention to any little cues as to what really drove him crazy, and gradually he let his head fall back, a stream of whispered curses and praises falling from him.

He wrapped his fingers in your hair, pulling you a little tighter, and you expected he was about to get rough but he didn’t- he let you set the pace and do whatever you wanted because that was apparently better than just ramming himself into your throat. A hot feeling of pride flowed through you. It was crazy that you’d managed to get this great beast here, more or less at your mercy, that all this hatred had suddenly turned into this. You pulled back a little, still swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, and glanced up. He looked back at you through hooded eyes and gave a little smile, something you’d never expected from him.

His grip on your hair tightened as he approached his climax and he couldn’t resist bucking his hips a little, pressing into your throat as he spilled inside you. He slowly relaxed and gave a little laugh as he tucked himself back in and fastened his pants and belt again. You were feeling very proud of yourself and just as a little alarm started to go off inside you, he’d lifted you against the wall, pulling one of your legs around his waist.

It wasn’t even like he was holding you, he just somehow managed to keep you stuck to the wall with his own bulk and strength, jamming one hand between your legs and tugging your panties to the side.

“Guess you deserve a little something,” he rasped.

He pushed two thick fingers inside you, quickly adding a third when he felt how wet you were. He was so rough that it hurt for a couple of seconds but then that melted away and it felt very, very good. It felt amazing. You yelped and cried out a little, unable to stop yourself, and after the second or third outburst you felt his hand still.

“You need to find a way to shut yourself up or I’m stopping this now,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

You nodded and buried your head in his chest to muffle the sounds you couldn’t help making. The scent of him was kind of hypnotic, the remnants of laundry detergent over musky skin, something that made you relax, which made the sensation of his hand feverishly working at your cunt even better. You bit down on his chest hard as you came, which drew a little grunt but nothing more, and then let your head fall back against the wall while you caught your breath.

He shifted and for a second you were afraid he was going to just let you drop. Instead, he pressed into you enough to keep you in place until your breathing regulated, at which point he set you gently on your feet.

He gave a little smirk as he raised his fingers, visibly soaked with your juices, and pushed them into his mouth for a few seconds. Then he turned with a cheeky little wink and left without another word.

You can’t remember at what point reality had started to set in. In fact, after your little tryst, your memory of the night is very fuzzy. The alcohol and the allergy pill were hitting their full combined force and you’d ended up struggling to find your way back up to the roof, to safety, only to panic just as you were about to make it. You’d somehow made your way down onto the beach, ignoring the people cavorting around it, and started frantically scooping water into your mouth and spitting it out because you’d become convinced that if your friends, your MDK crew, talked to you, they’d be able to smell what you’d been doing and that they’d know who you’d been doing it with.

“Fucking hell, there you are!” Allie came rushing up to you just as you took another mouthful of lake water. “What the hell are you doing? That’s probably got nuclear waste in it or something.”

Strangely clear is the memory of her face, genuinely frightened and worried.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you. We thought something had happened to you.”

“Sorry, I got lost,” you mumbled, gesturing in the direction of the house.

Immediately, her expression became softer. “I know, right? That place could house an army. How does just one family live there? Like they must never see each other.”

She wrapped an arm around you and started to guide you back towards the mansion.

“Just take your phone with you next time you want to go exploring. I was worried sick.”

You have no memory at all of making it home, although you have a very fuzzy memory that you’d started to cry at one point when you were back on the roof. You knew you hadn’t said anything because you would have heard about it in the days following. All anyone said was that you’d been pretty far gone but, they were quick to reassure you, everyone had. No big deal.

No, very big deal.

You’d woken up hungover but not congested and ever since that moment you’ve been unable to think about anything but what happened. It was on your mind when you’d gotten in the ring and busted your shoulder. It had been on your mind as you tried to have normal conversations with your friends. It had definitely been on your mind when you caught glimpses of Rickey in the days leading up to the show. He never seemed to notice you were there, although a couple of times, you saw him nervously chewing at his lip ring a little, like there was something making him ill at ease. He hadn’t tried to approach you or even speak to you. If he’s bragged about his conquest to his 44OH boys, they give no sign. If Eddy remembers catching you in their territory, he doesn’t say anything. None of this relaxes you at all.

Along with the worrying, you can’t stop thinking about what happened and feeling turned on by it. You don’t just want Rickey to notice you because you want some kind of assurance that he’s not going to rat you out. You want him to notice you because you want to know if something is going to happen again. You’re kind of desperate for it and that is infuriating. Even more infuriating is that you can’t even take care of yourself because, even if you can get started with your weaker hand, the strain of actually trying to get yourself off makes your shoulder seize up and the pain is so much that you can’t finish. You’ve no idea if there’s a name for feminine blue balls but you definitely have it.

The first you’ve come into contact with Rickey at all is here, in the hallway, waiting for him to go out and kill or be killed by your friends.

He releases your neck and starts to walk away without even glancing back. You can’t let that happen.

“Ambulance or hearse?” you call after him.

He turns back, frowning. “What’s that?”

“Which do you think you’re gonna leave in tonight?” You give an impudent little smile.

He blows you a kiss, flipping you off at the same time, and then he’s gone.

You make your way towards the curtain separating backstage from the main room, wanting to get a look at what’s happening. Once all the team members have entered, you’ll be able to get close to the entrance and have a better view but for now, you content yourself with peering through a crack in the fabric. You rub at your neck, although you know there’s no way he grabbed you tight enough to leave marks. It does make you wonder what it would feel like to have him mark you up, leave you with bruises and scratches, and you wonder if he wants to. Once again, you’re all hot and bothered and can’t think straight.

This is why you rarely get sexually involved with anyone, because it’s always like this, always some bizarre complication that causes chaos and disaster.

“I am the god of this shit,” you sigh to yourself.

From what you can see, the ring is already a mess and there aren’t even that many bodies in it. The real match won’t even start until all twelve of them get there.

You sense someone approach you and you turn around in anticipation. But goddamn, it’s AJ, who bumps against your arm with that barrel chest of his.

“Better be careful,” he grunts, dead eyes locked on yours.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

He rolls his shoulders but never breaks eye contact. “There’s gonna be glass and chemical dust flying, god knows what else. The crowd can get rough when they get into it, maybe bodies falling. It’s called a deathmatch. People have actually died doing these. So just watch yourself so you don’t get hurt.”

It’s almost unfathomable to you that the man looks like he wants to bury you but seems to be showing you a rough sort of kindness.

“Ok,” you stammer, “I’ll keep my distance.”

“You can watch. Just take care of yourself.” He starts to head off but turns back and gives you a very serious look. “Nick really likes you. It’d fuck him up if you got hurt because of this.”

You gulp as a whole new wave of guilt washes over you.

“Hey,” you croak, “kick their asses.”

AJ nods and heads out as the first notes of his music hit. Soon, everyone is going to be in that cage. It’s going to be carnage.

#gcw fanfiction #rsp fanfiction #rsp imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

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katybirdy95 · 4 years

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I was looking over some comments on YouTube for next week’s preview of The Spanish Princess.

I know, I really need to stay away from YouTube and Twitter, especially when it comes down to historical figures because I just get annoyed and then everyone on here has to listen to me complain. I swear I don’t moan this much in my day to day life, but this is mainly a historical/costume drama blog and there’s no one else I know in my private life that wants to discuss this show, which means that you will all need to suffer for it haha.

Anyway, I was watching the preview for Faith (episode 7) and decided to scroll down to the comments, they weren’t all hateful, mainly just lementing that for many years Katherine has been kind of left in the shadows and now that she finally has a show where she’s the main character, it’s the rollercoaster, which keeps going down that is The Spanish Princess.

There were also a few comments stating how this has been the best depiction of Katherine they have ever seen, which makes me believe they haven’t seen much because TSP Katherine is not strong, dignified or regal, instead she’s angry, selfish and rude to the majority of people around her, which is a far cry from the real Katherine, but I thought to myself, it’s not that important because they probably haven’t seen actresses like Maria Doyal Kennedy, Irene Papas, Annette Crosbie, Paola Bontempi or Frances Cuka (I haven’t seen Isabel or Carlos Rey Emperador) in action and that’s fine, but then I saw a few comments that said The Tudors was a horrible depiction of Katherine and Mary because Katherine was old, bitter and the majority of depictions have her represented as a hag.

I mean, who can look at this woman and think old and hag-like, she’s a literal goddess:

Yes, I have complained in the past that she hasn’t got the right colouring - I have to stick up for my fellow gingers - and I still believe that she could have gotten away with dark red hair, but she’s beautiful. Does she look older than JRM, she does, but that doesn’t stop her from being beautiful or talented.

MDK was a fantastic Katherine who played her with such dignity, grace and regalness that even as a fan of Anne Boleyn, I still felt sorry for this queen - I have always felt sympathy for Katherine though - because MDK portrayed her in such a way that you could tell her whole world was falling apart, but yet she still remained quietly strong and queen like, which was pretty true for the real Katherine. Also, at least The Tudors showed a loving relationship between Mary and Katherine and we as the audience knew that Katherine was fighting for her daughter’s rights and of course there was the heartbreaking scene when Katherine is dying and thinks she sees Mary, which is the right way to go when developing a relationship between two characters, if it had been depicted like TSP, we wouldn’t feel the same sadness for Katherine when she imagines her daughter by her bedside. We also see Katherine in The Tudors take an interest in her daughter’s education and see them having fun and playing together and then the anguish of watching them being forced apart, there is never a moment where we believe that Mary wasn’t good enough in Katherine’s eyes and that’s because she wasn’t.

Also, most depictions of Katherine have her played by very talented and beautiful actresses. It’s usually productions that only have her in one or two scenes that make her more unfortunate looking, but it’s not a common accurance, in my opinion.

Finally, the comments have stated TSP Katherine is the best portrayal because EF and PG made her young and beautiful and a fearless, warrior queen (not my words) who doesn’t take anyone’s nonsense, but is that all it comes down to? The main reason you think the TSP portrayal is in anyway respectful of Katherine of Aragon is because the actress is beautiful, I think that’s a weak reason.

Yes, the actress is beautiful, but the character is selfish, arrogant and lacks any of the grace, kindness and piety that Katherine was known for and what drew people to her.

This version of Katherine despises her own daughter, which lasts up until the girl is six and has to be told to love her. Yes, I understand that this show wanted it to be depicted as Katherine distancing herself from her daughter because of the pressure of needing to produce a son and perhaps she’s suffering from postnatal depression, but either the writers are bad at depicting this and/or the actress just doesn’t have the range to convey Katherine’s struggle.

In conclusion, here are better portrayals everyone can sink their teeth into:

Yes, I know Irene Papas doesn’t look anything like Katherine, but she is beautiful and makes for a very dignified Katherine. Although, it’s not my favourite out of these five actresses, but it’s not the worse.

#katherine of aragon #the spanish princess #tsp #depictions

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its-moopoint · 5 years

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Noone is ever taking a SO/friend/wife to any event. No S, Duncan, Graham, Sophie, David etc. but SHE does. Why? Must Toko attend everything now? It's red carpets, bts in the US/UK, obv. no cons and now this with OL cast. Tell me who needs a PA at a MDK evening? Oh, forgot, he's only a friend. So let's pretend all his fine. Sorry, this doesn't fit anymore.

LOL of your list above tell me those who have a partner to take. Not S (not officially) not Duncan (he could be gay too for all the girlfriend evidence out there) and DB and SS are rumored to be fucking each other so...

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closetofanxiety · 6 years

Text

New Jersey Death (match) Trip

I’m sorry this is long. If you’re reading on a mobile device, I know Tumblr makes you scroll through the whole thing instead of respecting their own html cut.

Let’s just get this out of the way: I’m not reviewing the matches from Game Changer Wrestling’s Tournament of Survival 3. I haven’t watched enough death matches to qualify even as a mildly informed observer, and you know what? They kind of run together. It’s hard to distinguish one from the other, when you’re seeing one after the other.

When the first light tube spot happened on Saturday night, with a loud POP that could be heard everywhere in the building, the crowd erupted. By the time the hundredth light tube spot happened (not an exaggeration!), late into the show, no one in the crowd reacted at all. At some point, you just become numb.

I will say that, for sheer “Oh my God” spectacle, it’s hard to beat this kind of wrestling. I posted a bunch of short clips to my Instagram story, and friends who care not a whit about wrestling were messaging me all night about them. “What is that?” “Where are you?” “That looks insane,” etc. And when you’re standing a few feet away, the brutality is mesmerizing and almost artistic, like Artaud’s idea of the theater of cruelty, but for real.

On the other hand, all the criticisms I’ve heard of death match wrestling were on display: the comparison to the numbing effect of pornography seemed apt, as did the common complaint about guys who are theoretically trying to kill each other calmly waiting while their opponent sets up the next ridiculous spot. During one match (Ciclope vs. Alex Colon? I don’t know. They genuinely run together, especially in a tournament), one guy was setting up panes of glass on two chairs, but they kept slipping off, so THE REF started helping him out, while his opponent just waited on the turnbuckle for the suplex. Tell me that’s somehow less of an “exposing the business” scenario than an intergender match.

So, the matches were fine if you like death matches. Ciclope won, and good for him. What follows are my disjointed recollections of my first - and presumably last - experience at a death match tournament, lazily organized by chronology.

Saturday, June 2, 5:15 p.m.

I arrive at “the historic Starland Ballroom,” which turns out to be a grim loading dock of a building in an industrial park. The parking lot is practically full, and I am arriving 15 minutes after the scheduled bell time, thanks to traffic jams in Meriden, Fairfield County, and New York City. Let me say this: if I never drive across the George Washington Bridge again, it will be too soon.

Luckily, I have not missed anything. Doors were supposed to open at 4 p.m., but there is still a line of people snaking around the side of the building. We’re not just on Indie Time, we’re on Death Match Indie Time.

The crowd is about what you’d expect, with a uniform of black T-shirts and baggy shorts and a general commitment to ill health, although there are more women here than at most wrestling shows I’ve been to. I may be the only person here who has a favorite book. I see three different TSOL t-shirts, which somehow makes sense. I am surprised at the number of WWE shirts I see. I briefly thought about wearing a Kevin Owens shirt, but feared I’d be mocked and derided; within minutes of arriving, I see a huge guy with sleeve tattoos wearing the same shirt. There are more WWE shirts here than CZW shirts, in fact, which I guess is not surprising, given the enmity that exists between the established New Jersey promotion and the GCW upstarts. There are, in fact, more T-shirts here that say “CZW is Pussy” [sic] than CZW shirts.

There are people tailgating in the parking lot, and fragrant drafts of marijuana smoke drift by. A burly guy in an orange T-shirt that says SECURITY waddles up to me and tells me I can’t bring my shoulder bag inside the venue.

“I understand, safety first at the death match tournament,” I say. He nods, either not getting the joke or deciding whether I need to be restrained in a chokehold.

5:35 p.m.

I’m through the doors. There are metal detectors and bored-looking bouncers in orange shirts, because this is a crummy rock club. A guy in front of me with neck tattoos is told he has to take his bottle of prescription medication back to his car. A woman is arguing about a bag search.

There’s a small table set up just behind the metal detectors. It’s hard to know who might be part of the GCW staff. A guy in a black T-shirt and baseball cap is yelling at a woman, possibly about people getting in with bogus tickets.

“I know every name on every ticket sold,” he tells her. Then, to me, he says, “What’s your name?” as I hold out my crumpled printout.

I tell him, and he says “You’re good.” I don’t feel good, but I go in anyway.

The venue is absolutely packed. There’s a ring set up in the middle, and a VIP seating section on what must be the stage for all the shitty bands that play here. There are rows of chairs on all four sides of the ring, and all of them are occupied. Behind the chairs, in standing room areas, crowds of people jostle for position.

My ticket theoretically entitles me to a seat in the third row. Pathetically, I hold my ticket up to a person working at the GCW t-shirt table and inquire about getting a seat.

“Sorry, bro, first come, first served,” I am told. I could have saved $15 and bought a general admission pass, I ruefully reflect.

It’s standing in the back, near the t-shirts and the barbecue vendor, that I notice the long bar is empty. This is a shame, as I am extremely thirsty and would pay at least $10 for a bottle of water. It turns out the venue decided not to serve alcohol tonight, which is the first good decision anyone has made all day.

I wander around, noticing merch tables and the Nick Gage-mocked treats for sale. No one has any water. The treat woman, God bless her, points me to a small bar in the back of the room where the venue is selling pizza, Red Bull, and bottles of water. I buy two and want to sob in gratitude.

“Yo, we’re starting soon!” a voice announces over the PA. It is now 40 minutes after the announced bell time.

5:45 p.m.

A man in black shorts and a baseball cap bounds into the ring. The crowd erupts in cheers. It is the same guy who knew every ticket buyer’s name. This must be a GCW owner.

“Yo, look at all these mothafuckin’ shot callers in this place!” he yells, and the crowd roars its approval. Are GCW fans shot callers? Am I now, by extension, a shot caller? I feel briefly stirred, until I reflect that a genuine shot caller would be allowed to bring his shoulder bag into the venue.

The guy tells us that regular ring announcer is sick tonight. “He’s in the bathroom, shitting and puking,” the guy says, and the crowd cheers, as if excited by any bodily function. Instead, there’s another ring announcer, who is dressed like a frat guy at a golf course and sounds like the world’s most convincing Joel Gertner impersonator. I mean, he really, really sounds like Gertner. It was uncanny, and throughout the night, it was weird to hear that voice and see it coming out of a guy who incels would characterize as a “Chad,” instead of a tubby, hairy Long Islander with a leopard-print neck brace.

We’re ready to go. The music starts. It’s Nick Gage’s music. The crowd goes insane. I am watching from the small bar at the back of the room. I have two bottles of water and a cupcake. I wanted the “MDK” variety (red velvet with cream cheese frosting), but the woman told me they all melted, so I get the “Ultraviolent,” which is just a vanilla cupcake with buttercream frosting. It’s a little soggier than I’d like, but it hits the spot. I am eating a cupcake and watching men rake pizza cutters across each other’s faces. This is Roman decadence. Our society is doomed.

The matches come and go. Shlak is here; people on Woke Wrestling Twitter hate Shlak and regard him as a Nazi, but I don’t know exactly what the source of that grievance is. He was recently shot in the leg, as he posted on Twitter, along with the motto, “I welcome death.” He gets a big welcome here. In his match, Markus Crane - who is introduced by Not Joel Gertner as “The Devil’s Big Red Dick” - repeatedly does horrible things to the leg where Shlak was recently shot. Eventually the referee stops the match and awards the win to Crane, which results in bloodthirsty disapproval from the crowd.

As this is going on, I notice a man watching the show at the bar, with his 8 or 9 year old son. I briefly think about calling the police, but instead I pay $3 for a slice of pizza that I saw delivered in a box and have another water. Between matches, members of the ring crew use huge industrial brooms to sweep all the broken glass out of the ring, because, safety first at the death match tournament.

7:30 p.m.

It’s intermission now. I don’t know who’s winning. I go over to Takayuki Ueki, the Big Japan wrestler who lost to Nick Gage in the first round. He seems nice. I buy a Big Japan yearbook from him and get him to sign it. Some other guys are selling loads of wrestling magazines from Japan. I buy one with a Minoru Suzuki cover and one with a Naito cover. I am a gormless tourist. “Got any joshi magazines?” I ask. The guy looks at me like I just asked him to make me a casserole. He does not have any joshi magazines.

I buy a Tournament of Survival shirt with all the participants, because I want to remember one of my most questionable decisions as an adult. Now I have a shirt with someone who may or may not be a Nazi. I will not wear this on first dates.

The show starts up again. I’m standing closer to the ring now. During one of the matches, I get hit with broken glass from one of the light tubes, a spot happening about 15 feet away. I decide to go back to my spot in the bar at the back of the room. I have another water.

Nick Gage comes out to wrestle Ciclope. A guy tries to start a “U-S-A!” chant and is immediately drowned in a sea of booing. I’m oddly relieved that the death match crowd in 2018 has no time for jingoism. After 10 minutes of brutalizing each other with glass, pizza cutters, light tubes, a fishing pole (don’t ask), and whatever else, Ciclope beats Gage with a schoolboy, which is hilarious. To me, anyway. The crowd is infuriated. Nick Gage was infuriated, and suplexed the ref through a pane of glass. Well, Nicholas, perhaps you shouldn’t lose matches to routine roll-up pins, hmm?

Joey Janela comes out. He’s wrestling the resurgent PCO in a non-tournament match. This is my first glimpse of the new look PCO, who I have vague memories of from childhood, during his goofy Not-the-Mounties stint in the WWF as one of the Quebecers. Pierre Carl Ouellet, Indie Darling, is one of the weirder and better wrestling stories of 2018. It would be like the Ding Dongs coming out of retirement to win the PWG tag team championships with a dizzying routine of high spots.

Janela and PCO start with a lockup and go into chain wrestling, and it’s like listening to jazz after hours of black metal. It’s so different and refreshing. Eventually they start breaking out the Home Depot supplies, of course, and since part of Indie PCO’s gimmick is that he has a gross, welt-covered chest, there are lots of chop spots involving that. But this is a good match overall. A solid 3.5/5 and my favorite of the night.

9:00 p.m.

It’s time for the main event: Ciclope vs. Miedo Extremo. It’s a death match. Ciclope wins. I scoot out early so I can exit the crammed parking lot and get on the road to my hotel, which is in Neptune. I have a full day ahead of me tomorrow at Asbury Park, where I plan to visit some weird places for a newspaper column I write. It’s also, unbeknownst to me, the day of the Asbury Park Pride parade, so the town is quite full, which explains why I paid $250 for two nights at a Red Roof Inn. I may be the only person in the state who, in about 12 hours, was a death match spectator, Catholic Mass attender, and inadvertent Pride parade viewer. What a day. What a weekend.

#GCW #Tournament of Survival #makin' towns #making towns #show reviews

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speedkiran · 4 years

Audio

MDK - The Only Way I Know by MDK (Morgan David King) Stream The Only Way I Know on Spotify: https://spoti.fi/3nXc31k Stream The Only Way I Know on Apple Music: https://apple.co/350c2Rw Buy MDK Merch: https://ift.tt/2CiEkJq ------ In a year that has been very emotional for us all, I wanted to write a song that was much more human and relatable. I hope you all enjoy this new side of my music - I'm incredibly excited to share it with you. LYRICS: [VERSE 1] Do you remember, how it felt on our first day together? A two-top at a coffee shop, we were both wishing we could stay forever. Two minutes in, you were wearing that grin, laughing at a joke I said. We were falling in love over our heads. [CHORUS] Your parents’ place last October. The air was growing colder. My arms around your shoulders, nothing could bring us down. Staring up at the mountain sky, watching the sun; getting way too high. Just wanted to say I miss you, the only way I know how. [VERSE 2] I still remember, all those trips that we both took together. Cruising ‘round in your small home town, in that old blue beater that you had forever. That magical night, when I saw you cry, surrounded by a million lights. But even they had nothing on your eyes. [BRIDGE] I’m sure you’re doing just fine, wherever you are. I still have you on my mind, since we’ve been apart. I wish I told you back then, all the words on repeat in my head. I was scared to ask for help, I’m sorry I lost myself. [CHORUS] Your parents’ place last October. The air was growing colder. My arms around your shoulders, nothing could bring us down. Staring up at the mountain sky, watching the sun; getting way too high. Just wanted to say I miss you, the only way I know how. [CHORUS – VOCODED] Your parents’ place last October. The air was growing colder. My arms around your shoulders, nothing could bring us down. Staring up at the mountain sky, watching the sun; getting way too high. Just wanted to say I miss you, the only way I know how. ------ Follow the official MDK social media pages to keep up to date with my latest releases ▼ SPOTIFY: https://spoti.fi/2s1DLS9 TWITTER: http://www.twitter.com/MDKOfficial INSTAGRAM: https://ift.tt/1LmjwNL YOUTUBE: http://www.youtube.com/MDKOfficialYT FACEBOOK: https://ift.tt/1bSHrEI WEBSITE: https://ift.tt/1oZU6Nd ------ VISUALS CREATED BY: Graphic Design - http://mikejdesign.com Motion Graphics - https://twitter.com/HellLars

#Morgan David King #Male Vocals #Acoustic Guitar #IFTTT #SoundCloud #MDK #Pop #Ballad #Edm #"Fu

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orphanblackzone · 7 years

Link

1. Dennis K. via Facebook: It was on your recommendation years ago Maria D over a Guinness in the back of McArthys pub in Dingle after a gig you did with your husband that got me watching Orphan Black. I have loved every episode since. You seemed so passionate about this show and all your colleagues on it. My question is – did you shed a few tears when you realised Siobhans number was up? Maria Doyle Kennedy: Graeme Manson (one of the show’s creators) called me last summer to talk to me about the character’s journey for the final season. He said they had been searching for an “emotional bomb” to propel the story towards a grand finale and that S’s death was what they had thought of. As soon as I heard it, I thought it was exactly the right thing for the show — probably the biggest loss that the core characters could suffer , and something that would make them dig to their very essence in order to survive.

I was also honored that they (Graeme and John) had such respect for my character and for me as a person, that they felt it was important to make that early call.

2. Joshua T. via Facebook: How did the whole “chicken” thing come about? Was that written in from the start of the series or did it come in naturally from you developing the character? Is it something you say in real life? (For the record, the rest of the extraordinary cast has already spilled the beans about that.) MDK: It is something that I say in real life! Like several other things in the show (my singing in Season 3, Kristian [Donnie]’s Highland fling in Season 5) it came from Graeme and John being present when something happens and saying to themselves “Let’s get that in the show.”

3. Brooke P. via Facebook: First off, thank you for Siobhan. She was my favorite character. A badass until the end. (I took her loss really hard and am still trying to process it) When did you find out about her demise? Did you know she was going to meet her end at the beginning of the season or is that something you found out once you got the script? What was your reaction when you read the script for the first time? MDK: When it came to the read-through for that episode though, I was very nervous. Even though I was aware of what it contained, I was fairly sure I was going to cry. I got through the reading and then was a bit tearful. I was sitting next to Tat who hugged me and told me they loved me, which of course turned the tears to sobs, mortified by my inability to compose my self. I looked up to say, “Sorry about that,” to find the whole room crying. I will never forget it. It was just prior to filming Episode 8 and the first time we all realized that it was really coming to an end.

3. Evelina S. via Facebook: Back in season one your only concern was Kira’s safety, but step by step you’ve forgive Sarah, you’ve accepted her brand new sisters (and brother) and protected them, and now you’ve finally welcomed Delphine, Colin and Adele, how do you feel about this change for Siobhan? MDK: I think for S., finding and reconciling with her own mother changed everything for her. She saw how much of her own actions and rebellion as a younger woman were a response to the disconnect and loss of relationship with her family. She also knows that she won’t be around forever, and so she desperately wants to create a network of love and support and friendship around Sarah and Kira and Felix, so that they are able to care for each other and able to carry on without her when she is no longer there.

4. Kaitlyn J. via Facebook: What was your favorite line to deliver as S? P.S. You were completely brilliant as our lovable but tough clone club matriarch. Really going to miss S in these last couple episodes.

MDK: Thank you so much. I’ve been overwhelmed by the #CloneClub love. I have so many memories of lines, not as they are meant, but of the random things that happened around them…usually that involves me or someone else farting (!) I remember in Season 3 somewhere, Sarah and S were on a Skype call hearing about Rachel’s demands for her safe passage away. A ticket to Taiwan was one of her demands, and I improvised “Taiwan no less,” sounding just like my own mother, and Tat burst out laughing.

5. María F. via Facebook: What was the hardest part of doing this character? Btw love you so much you are incredibly talented and you really made Mrs S one of the most amazing characters on tv!! MDK: Doing the really badass stuff.. the guns, the pinning folks to tables with carving knives… I had to work really hard at that — I’m not a natural gun-wielder. I would watch it again and again on the monitor to make sure I believed it.

6. Karla V. via Facebook: Please tell us one funny story you have on set! MDK: There are many, but my most recent one was when Sarah & S are in the hotel bar in Episode 4 of Season 5 pretending to have a fight in order to con Dr. Perkins. We were trying to keep the drink-throwing to a minimum in order to save costume drying time, so when he thought he had the shot, our director David Wellington shouted “CUT!” but so loudly that Tat’s hand flew into the air and completely soaked me. The entire crew cracked up!

7. @plusplusbrochu via Twitter: How was the feeling when you saw #cloneclub’s reaction after Siobhan’s death? MDK: I was, and still am, totally overwhelmed by the outpouring of affection and comfort from #CloneClub towards me and the rest of the cast, but also towards each other. Truly heartwarming.

8. @lilmistrouble via Twitter: Felix has been inspired by many women but which women inspire you the most? MDK: Oh so many. My mother; my sister Fiona; a special aunt (Veronica); a formidable group of female friends who have gotten me through everything thus far in my life; Tatiana for her extraordinary dedication to and ability at her craft… Some of the other artists… Patti Smith, Andrea Arnold, Frida Kahlo, Julia Margaret Cameron, and two incredible glass artists I have just gotten to know: Flora C. Mace and Joey Kirkpatrick. I could make this a never-ending list.

#orphan black #siobhan sadler #maria doyle kennedy #clone club #interview #5.08

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mariadoylekennedy · 7 years

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Maria Doyle Kennedy Q&A: ‘Find Your Tribe’

I was also honored that they (Graeme and John) had such respect for my character and for me as a person, that they felt it was important to make that early call.

9. @HelenBranswell via Twitter: S had a connection to Rachel, or at least a sense of empathy towards her that the rest of the Clone community didn’t seem to feel. Why? MDK: I think she understood that Rachel was a product of the life she had lived and the (lack of) real love she had been shown. I think S began to believe that if she could really get in there, she could affect some change.

10. @ThereGoesMinky via Twitter: If Mrs. S were to give her #CloneClub chickens one piece of parting advice, what would it be? MDK: I am so honured to have been part of something that seems to have meant so much to so many. The ideas of identity and family are very big ones for all of us. Find your tribe. Kick negative ideas and a–holes to the curb. Live with honor and as little judgment of others as you can manage. I hope that although the show is ending, some sense of community and support will continue for each other among #CloneClub. You are a mighty force. X Maria

#maria doyle kennedy #orphan black #obspoilers #obcast #interview

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happymetalgeek · 6 years

Text

On a very chilly night in the back streets of Belfast metallers and rockers of all swathes huddled outside the iconic Voodoo, a bar that knows how to roll out tunes and a home to some fantastic metal and rock.

The pilgrimage began with the walk up the well worn stairs, along the landing and into the temple of metal on the first floor. And tonight, it was a very full congregation come to listen to not one, but two mighty titans of metal. Tonight, thanks to The Distortion Project and Voodoo, the great conclave would witness Northern Ireland’s own CURSED SUN who were going to whip up the gathering into a conflagration before the coming of EVIL SCARECROW, the greatest metal band to ever write a song about a robot. Probably.

CURSED SUN

And as foretold CURSED SUN occupied the blessed stage and immediately proved why they should be the support act for tonight’s headliners. With “Breeding”, “Primordial” , and “Loyalty” Andrew Jones Cassidy and the CURSED SUNS ‘Beis’ blew away any cobwebs that might have been hanging around. The songs were rumbling out with the usual hard edged, riffed up thunderous metal storm that is only to be expected when Andrew, Jonny, Ciaran, Chris, and Steve unleash the swirling metal tempest. This was only hammered home with “Cataclysmic”, “The Seven”, and “Crawl Space”.

CURSED SUN were not holding back in any way and delivered an incredible set that rumbled the walls and floors only to hammer home “MDK 187”, and the final song “Replicant”. The beginning of the evening could not have been better, more energetic or more satisfying. CURSED SUN are a band to see live without a doubt.

EVIL SCARECROW

After a short recess to set everything up the time was ripe for EVIL SCARECROW to appear. The stage was almost filled to the brim with props and sets letting everyone know that they were in for one Hurricanado of a show. And with that on came Dr Rabid Hell, Brother Dimitri Pain, Kraven Morrdeth, Ringmaster Monty Blitzfist, and not quite Princess Luxury. They had to leave a large portion of their tour set due to the wonderful costs of crossing the Irish Sea but, as Jeff Wayne opined, still they came.

All dressed in their finest weirdness, this full of fun black metal band exploded onto stage with “Way to Die” and what a blast off it was. On into “Skulls Of Our Enemies” and “Morbid Witch” the incredible sound of EVIL SCARECROW showed everyone that they are consummate musicians first and foremost. There was no mistake, these lads from England held everyone entranced in a whirlwind of sensory metal unlike anything seen in Voodoo previously (or probably in the future) before doing the unthinkable. Dr Hell, in his inimitable way, announced “Dance Of The Cyclops” and called forth everyone to take part. So for the first, but far from the last time that night, a packed Voodoo full of metalheads clad in traditional leather, denim, spikes, patches, black t-shirts and everything in between, musical Vikings ready to mosh every wall down danced in the most Monty Pythonesque way leaving anyone watching dumbfounded. And lo! It was mightily entertaining. And without giving anyone much room to start thinking too much and have time to raise a finger and exclaim “Wait! What??” EVIL SCARECROW launched into “Robototron” – the greatest and most epic metal song ever created about a robot. Probably. Nah, scratch that ‘Probably’ and go for ‘Definitely’. And yes, they did it. Yup. Everyone, in splendid synchronicity, did the Robot dance. In time with the monstrous yet stunning EVIL SCARECROW Robot bullying the band on stage. It was such a bewilderingly beautiful sight. You might have even felt a tiny little welling up inside.

Then came “Blacken The Everything” before the introduction to the wonders of Brother Pain with an incredible display through the “The Ballad Of Brother Pain” when he had the opportunity for him to show off how well he could stand on his head. Dr Hell then split the crowd in half and led everyone in a side splitting rendition of “Cosmos Goth Moth Gong” as once again crowd participation, whilst not compulsory was mesmerizingly irresistible, as like a tennis volley each side took it in turns to roar each of the words of the song title, battling back and forth, faster and faster. The atmosphere couldn’t get any better.

The audience was then treated to an alter ego of Jen, the band’s manager, that of a noble character from one of the games millions played as they grew up. That of a Leprechaun ….. er, no sorry, that of Link. All in the name of Metal!! And it only added a smattering of ecstasy to “End Level Boss”. On they went into “Space Dementia” before the ultimate competition of sexy metal dancing as Dr Hell extolled a split room once again during “Red Riding Hood”. Brother Pain and Kaven Morrdeth had been embroiled in a bitter battle throughout the tour with the score being 6 to 7 wins in favour of Kraven. If Brother Pain won then Dublin would be the deciding gig. But, Lo! It was not to be as Kravens emissaries of black metal sexy dancing crushed the opposition of Brother Pains. The war was over.

But not the set. Out came the terrifying Crab to ensnare all in its claws during “Crabulon” and once more the room was overcome with EVIL SCARECROW madness. The mass of bodies, almost as one, stood askance arms raised in a lax cupped manner, hands formed into clamp like appendages before the strange mating dance of the crab was celebrated as they all moved from side to side. It was a fantastic uplifting way to finish the set. But as with most gigs there would be an encore. Dr Hell and his crew though could not be bothered leaving the stage and pretended to everyone that they had come back on. They hit a home run with “Polterghost” before everyone had to hold their arm in the air and spin round on the crescendo of “Hurricanado”.

What can be said about this night of comedic metal? CURSED SUN were superb as ever with their delivery and could have held their own as a headliner. But EVIL SCARECROW could not be topped by any means. This band is the full package without any doubt, even the lads of CURSED SUN fully joined in with abandon as EVIL SCARECROW delivered a pure Carlsberg of a show. Anyone who did not make it to the Antartartica tour should kick themselves with utter regret. They had everything – metal, costumes, a stage set of pure Blue Peter nostalgia, a set list of incredible songs, and the best attitude you could ever hope for from a legendary band. Not one person left without a great smile of satisfaction stretched from one ear to the other, filled to the brim of knowing they could say they had been at one of the greatest gigs Voodoo had ever hosted.

If you ever, and I mean EVER, get a chance to see Dr Hell and his Blue Peter metal colleagues you simply must make every effort to go. They made a huge number of new devoted fans on a cold night in Belfast. A night that will be discussed for a long time to come.

Review by Happy Metal Geek

Originally posted on Metal Planet Music

Photos by Steven Donnelly

GIG REVIEW: @EvilScarecrowUK Bring The Sexy Black Metal To Voodoo along with @cursedsunmetal @dpmetal @Voodoo_Belfast @dmepromotions ‏ On a very chilly night in the back streets of Belfast metallers and rockers of all swathes huddled outside the iconic Voodoo, a bar that knows how to roll out tunes and a home to some fantastic metal and rock.

#Cursed Sun #Evil Scarecrow

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