Production team: We want you to make one chocolate celebration cake, twelve puff-pastry sausage rolls, twelve mini quiches, twelve savoury scones, and twelve fruit and custard tarts. That’s forty-nine (49) things.
Do you remember Zach Braff’s final scene in Scrubs? The one where he walks through the corridors of Sacred Heart Hospital and all the people who have ever had an impact on his time there are lined up along them, smiling or saying a few words as he walks past, and just as he leaves he imagines his perfect future life, and it’s all projected in front of him onto a big white sheet hanging above the entrance?
This is what I want tonight’s final episode of the Great British Bake Off to be like. I want the winner to be announced and the speeches to be made then I want it to cut back to the tent one final time, and I want Mary Berry to be standing there, at the back, and the tent is filled with every contestant that’s ever taken part in the show. And some of them might be holding a mixing bowl with a wooden spoon, or some of them might still be covered in flour looking tired but happy and still wearing their aprons, or they’re holding freshly baked bread and cakes that you know taste perfect. And as Mary walks past them all some will smile and wave or give her a quick hug. And occasionally some will say something to her, like Nadiya, who will give a short encouraging speech about how everyone can achieve whatever they want in life, and then she’ll smile her beautiful white smile one last time. Or Kimberley Wilson might mention how she clearly should’ve one series 4 as her bakes were always the best and Ruby will be next to her crying a little saying how her bakes were never good enough. And then there’ll be some light comic relief from Iain Watters as he holds his bin with his melted Baked Alsaka inside or Howard and Deborah might make one final remark about the custard theft that took the tent by storm all those years ago. Then she’ll pass Paul who will be holding a giant check from channel 4 and looking horribly guilty, but Mary will smile at him anyway and carry on. And finally the last two people Mary sees will be Mel and Sue who will deliver one final hilarious but heartfelt pun that’ll have us all laughing and on the verge of tears at the same time. They’ll hug and then Mary will turn back one last time and the tent will be completely empty. Then she’ll leave the tent and we’ll hear her voice over the image on our screens and it will deliver the very same line that Zach Braff’s character did,
‘And even though it felt warm and safe, I knew it had to end. It’s never good to live in the past too long. As for the future, thanks to Mel and Sue, it didn’t seem so scary anymore. It could be whatever I want it to.’
And in front of her, the images of what she hoped the future would be like will be projected onto a white sheet. And we’ll see Mary, Mel and Sue back for another series of the show on the BBC and they’ll be laughing and smiling together while drinking champagne and then Selasi will appear and we’ll quickly realise that he’s replaced Paul Hollywood as the second judge. Then we’ll see Paul, but he’ll be a cleaner, mopping cake crumbs off the floor, looking sad. And it’ll cut back to the present Mary who will be smiling, with tears just slightly filling her eyes. And finally the sheet will be pulled down by some bloke in a janitors uniform with Channel 4 emblazoned on his chest and he’ll look at Mary and simply say, ‘Goodnight.’ And Mary will look back him, smiling, and reply, 'Goodnight’, before walking off into the growing darkness.
word count: 1037
tw: swearing, food (if there are anymore let me know)
“Honestly, in Britain, more people watch this than the British equivalent of American Idol or whatever talent shows you have over here,” You explained to Herc as you rested the laptop on your only chair in your dorm. You were introducing him to The Great British Bake Off, he didn’t see the appeal.
“But they’re just making cake,” he began to argue.
“Everyone loves a good cake, Hercules!” You interrupted, slapping his knee, your focus not moving from the laptop screen. You could see in your peripheral vision that he was about to speak. “Don’t interrupt Mary Berry!”
Forty minutes passed and you could see Herc gradually get more and more emotionally invested in the cooking show. The bakers were making mirror glazed sponges for their showstopper challenge, you were trying to decide who your favourite baker was.
“Hm, I think Tom might be my favourite this year, Tom or Benjamina,” your voice was swiftly cut off by Herc shushing you.
“Don’t interrupt the oddly fascinating baking show!” He chastised, you couldn’t help but giggle.
“You can’t tell me to shut up! I’ve been watching this show since series one! I am very knowledgeable on baking subjects like scones and biscuits,” your voice trailed off.
“Y/N, be quiet!” Herc whisper shouted, eyes not moving from the screen.
“Why should I?” You asked, wiggling your eyebrows and moving to try and get in his field of vision.
“Because you’ve got amazing taste in TV shows and I want to know who leaves the tent!” He said, louder than he had been speaking before.
“You what, mate?” Your British accent sounded terribly posh compared to his.
“You’ve got amazing taste in TV shows and I want to see how it ends!”
“And here I was thinking that my best friend just wanted to spend time with me.” You mused, letting him focus on the screen. You sat next to him and your attention flitted from the panicked bakers with five minutes left to finish their cakes and your best friend who you might possibly have a crush on. It was worst than that, you admitted to yourself: you loved the guy.
“Lee’s going,” he commented as Mel and Sue revealed star baker.
“I agree, his cake was awful,” you replied.
As it was later revealed that you were right, Herc smiled and turned to you.
“I was right!” He cheered, hugging you, initially from the side, but ultimately turning into a proper hug.
“Yep! Weren’t the puns great? I told you they were great!” You held his shoulders as you pulled away from his hug.
“They were amazing,” he agreed, standing up from your pile of pillows on the floor, “I’m getting some cookies, do you want some?”
“Yeah,” you answered, not moving from your place in the pillows, “thanks.” Herc left and you sighed to yourself. You needed to tell him how you felt, you couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore. You’d already spoken to your friend, Eliza, about it and she said you needed to put yourself out there otherwise you’d always wonder if he felt the same. He eventually wandered back in with a plate of homemade cookies and an extra blanket.
“Here you go,” he said, handing you the blanket which you threw over yourself and folding it over so he could sit before you threw it over him.
“You bake and bring me blankets, how are you single?” You commented, trying to pass off your slight sadness at the platonic nature of the situation as sarcasm.
“Well,” he started and then trailed off, mumbling something to himself. An awkward silence was born. You couldn’t hold it in anymore you were going to tell him.
“I love you, you goon!” You exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing your hands up in the air.
“Y/N, nobody uses the word goon this side of the Atlantic…” Hercules commented.
“Well, I am from England where we use the word goon so you’re just going to have to deal with it, aren’t you?” Your crossed your arms as you looked at him with one eyebrow raised as if saying ‘fight me.’
“I suppose I will, because I love you too.”
“You what mate?” Your jaw went slack, what on earth was happening to the world today?
“You heard me.” Herc grumbled.
“Yeah, but if you could say it again I wouldn’t exactly complain,” You fluttered your eyelashes at him.
“I. Love. You.” He separated the words as he spoke with gritted teeth.
“I can tell,” you replied jokingly, shoving him gently with your elbow.
“You’re such a goon.” Herc said, shoving you back.
“Don’t say that, it’s weird when you say it,” you teased, wrapping your hands around his neck.
“Hm, okay.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll do this instead.” He kissed you. You began to move into the kiss when it sunk in. You were kissing Hercules Mulligan, your best friend for years. Your first friend in New York. You loved him so much. You must’ve paused for a second because he pulled away.
“Y/N? Are you okay?” He asked, concern growing in his features. He had an Irish lilt in his voice whenever he used long “r” sounds and your heart trembled a bit.
“Who? Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Amazing.” You spoke quickly.
“Didn’t feel like it.” He responded, looking hurt. ‘Oh shit,’ you thought, ‘now he thinks I didn’t mean it oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.’
“I’m sorry, Herc, I am so so so happy right now,” you grinned at him, “and I just thought for a second: what are we going to be after this? Are we going to be best friends still? Are we going to be more than that? Because I really want to be more than th-” Herc rested a finger on your lips, a soft “shh” noise escaping his mouth.
“Do you want to date me?” He asked simply. You opened your mouth to speak but nodded as you realised his finger was still on your lips. You bit it lightly, he retracted it in pain and glared at you playfully.
“Does this mean that we’re dating then?” You looked to him for confirmation.