#and I work at michaels so I can always procure more

[fluffyapathybunny]

Finished a painting as a gift for a coworker who's moving next month. I'm oddly very proud of it

[magentagalaxies]

Kids in the Archive: Episode 9

one week from today i will be conducting my primary interviews scott thompson and paul bellini for the buddy cole documentary! as i'm going through my various archive materials to construct the most important interview questions, i figured why not do another episode of kids in the archive! the show where i highlight iconic kids in the hall sketches that i have procured the original scripts for and break down a behind-the-scenes comparison of script and screen

Previous Episodes: Episode 1 - armada finale ("do we make it?") Episode 2 - fran & gordon: the vacation Episode 3 - comfortable Episode 4 - cathy & kathi: is he? Episode 5 - danny husk: kidnapped! Episode 6 - trappers Episode 7 - sizzlers & the bank Episode 8 - darcy & francesca

today's episode is highly on theme, as i present to you the S2E10 sketch "show within a show"!

ah yes. "the scott thompson show featuring scott thompson": aka an accurate portrait of what it's like to be in my brain while working on the buddy cole documentary for the past year and a half. i've always enjoyed how bizarre this sketch is and how far it takes the joke with several mini-segments all relating to, of course, scott thompson.

The Opening

As you can see from the script segment above, the draft version of the sketch includes a longer intro monologue to justify this premise before getting into the show itself. I can see why it was cut, since it doesn't add much to the pacing and it's funnier to portray the scott thompson show as just a natural spin-off from what the kids in the hall were already doing. the credits themselves are also described differently:

written faintly next to the credit sequence in pencil is the word "cut," meaning whoever annotated this script also didn't think this proposed credit sequence idea was that strong. personally, i like the version of the credits that aired so much better - while the business with the coffee mug more properly parodies the typical morning show setup, the sketch's actual opening creates such an incredible vibe. starting straight in with music and text that reads "LORNE MICHAELS DOESN'T PRESENT" as a silhoutted figure (later revealed to be scott) dances around dramatically is such a strong opener, and i think it supports this idea of scott's ego more than a bunch of pictures of his face ever would. it's scott being weird and theatrical - what's not to love?

The Stuff that was Cut

"show within a show" is in many ways a list-sketch, bouncing quickly from one bit or "segment" to another. therefore it makes sense that some jokes could easily be slotted out and replaced with others on the same theme.

while most of these bits remain, the "scotland" joke was cut (presumably because it doesn't have anything to do with the most important scott). this is also funny because scott would go on to use the title "scottland" for his webseries in 1999 which i will be interviewing scott and his brother craig about for the buddy cole documentary. and if you've ever seen me screenshot one of my hilarious text conversations with scott you will know that "scottland" is what his contact is saved as on my phone, because he told me a story about how it was a nickname he was trying to make happen in the 80s as a weird artsy twentysomething.

The Stuff that was Added

while the majority of the bits in this sketch remained the same, the one bit that was fully added was the introduction of scott's neighbors, the baxters.

other small bits that were added to this sketch that i appreciated were referring to giving himself a hickey as the "arts and crafts" segment, and of course the opening and closing beat of scott losing his contact lens. because it would not be a scott thompson show without some low-stakes catastrophe for him to freak out about (i mean this in the most complimentary way possible)

anyway i hope you appreciated my kids in the archive episode on the scott thompson show featuring scott thompson. fun fact i did just get a text from scottland as i was typing this. i do feel like getting to know scott more as a person and the relationships he has with the other kids in the hall made me appreciate this sketch more, because even though this sketch is deliberately larger than life and was made by a version of scott that existed a decade before i was born i can still go "yeah that's scott."

with my central interviews with bellini, scott, and the rest of the kids in the hall coming up in these next few months, i'm starting to realize we're close to being finished with filming on the buddy cole documentary. i'm sure there are still things i'll want to film in the new year (i want to get an interview with someone at GLAAD to discuss the paradox of "good queer representation" in comedy, and if scott tours again with the new buddy show he's working on i think that will be a good way to close out production before sending things into post) but the buddy cole documentary has been such an all-consuming entity in my life that it's weird to be able to see the end of the tunnel even if it's still a few months off. will the inside of my brain still look like the scott thompson show featuring scott thompson once the documentary is done? i don't know, i'm sure it'll be different - i'll be moving on to projects that don't have scott the real human being and his characters as the main focus of my artistic output. but over the course of this project i've gotten to be so close with scott and paul and bruce that i'm certain our time as collaborators is just getting started

[rhimorechill]

which bmc character besides jeremy would you want to see a musical based on?

hmmmm. while michael and christine are solid contenders because theyre like my faves after jeremy. i have to say jenna. this is a little bit because i love tiffany mann but its also a lot bit because i love jenna and i think we need more of her always.

if we're trying to include bmc canon/squips i think it would start pre-bmc with her trying to get the attention of her classmates, and bmc would be relegated to a song or two. i feel like it should mostly be post-bmc because. like. if we are including bmc canon. that's jeremy's story and all and we already have it. but also i think the idea of act 1 ending where bmc does would be delightful. and then we could pick back up with jenna trying to fit in and adjust to this new normal and to people who are suddenly looking out for her a little more- but also she's jenna, she loves a good scoop. can someone tell her more about those supercomputers ? and it can be a little bit of a mystery where theyre trying to get rid of squips entirely.... or at least procure a steady supply of mountain dew red. i think jeremy, michael, and christine would be the most solid contenders for detective buddies but i think brooke and chloe would also be like. really important because those are her friends already !!! and she needs to properly resolve her issues with them lol. where are rich and jake ? um. ok actually rich probably also needs to be involved in the detective-ing.

ok. uh. listen i think you could definitely totally make a sequel to be more chill where the squad just works out all their interpersonal issues properly while also getting rid of squips (OR AT LEAST GETTING MORE MDR. every day i am plagued by the shortage of mdr. please). however i am forever biased towards jenna and the meremine trio so like theyll always be the stars to me. even if rich really should be more involved lol

if we're ignoring squips i mean i think her goal is overall similar to jeremys they just have different baselines (jenna has friends and probably parents who ignore her, jeremy has a friend who loves him and a dedicated bully) so maybe it'd have to do with jenna splitting off and discovering a cool new friend group with people she used to gossip about w brooke n chloe (jenna-dustin-madeline trio that lives in my head and my head only lets go). but she could also do that in the first idea lol

there's also a third option where we just go for entirely an au but theres a million worlds out there. so

[monsterintheballroom]

Interview under the cut

Penelope Wilton: ‘The new Downton film will give us the lift we all need’

Ed Potton

‘I’m not one for the spotlight,” says Hester Leggett, the MI5 secretary played by Penelope Wilton in Operation Mincemeat, the new film about a real-life campaign of British deception during the Second World War. You could say the same of Wilton, who has built her quietly exceptional screen career on being the humane foil to showier actors. Think of her bickering with Richard Briers in Ever Decreasing Circles, putting the brakes on a deranged John Cleese in Clockwise, sparring with Maggie Smith in Downton Abbey — whose second spin-off film is out this month — or sharing grief on a graveyard bench with Ricky Gervais in After Life.

While Wilton, 75, has had the chance to be spikier on stage in Ibsen and Chekhov, on screen she is invariably kind, contained and melancholic. Her Leggett is all three of those things, a tweed-clad spinster who has dedicated her life to supporting needy intelligence stars such as Colin Firth’s Ewen Montagu. The Scarborough-born Wilton again does great things with brittle smiles and silent glances, suggesting turbulence beneath.

“That’s always more interesting than knocking everything on the head,” she says by phone from her home in London. “Because audiences are very bright and they pick up on all that. You can hint at things and people can make up their own minds.”

Operation Mincemeat was based on the book of the same name by Ben Macintyre and directed by John Madden, with whom Wilton worked on The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. It recounts the British plan to camouflage the invasion of Sicily in 1943 by persuading the Germans that it would instead invade Greece. The team procured the corpse of a Welsh vagrant, Glyndwr Michael, which they dressed to look like a British soldier, planted with false documents and dropped off the coast of Spain. The gamble was that the Spanish, though officially neutral, would pass on the documents to their fellow fascists in Germany.

Leggett is tasked with writing a letter from the soldier’s fictitious sweetheart, also to be left with the body. Referring to “that last long golden day we spent together”, the letter feels pointedly authentic. “You do wonder what happened,” Wilton says. “If she’d perhaps lost somebody in the First World War, which a lot of women of her age would have done. I think the letter she composes is the letter she perhaps wanted to write to somebody she might have lost. But she’s a private person, and you didn’t know about that.”

Wilton is private, too, and doesn’t want to say if she has a partner. “You can turn better into people when they don’t know too much about you,” she says. “If they know your inside leg measurement, it’s pretty difficult for them to forget it’s you.” While her father was a businessman, her mother acted and danced and many of Wilton’s friends are actors. She married two: Daniel Massey and Ian Holm. “That didn’t work out so well, did it?” she says with a little laugh. The marriage to Massey lasted from 1975 to 1984, the one to Holm from 1991 to 2001. “I don’t think it’s easy to have two careers in a family,” she says. Massey later married her sister, Linda, but Wilton says it didn’t affect their sibling relationship. Massey, who died in 1998, said that she handled it “with great grace and style”, which comes as no surprise.

She and Holm weren’t in touch when he died in 2020 but she fondly remembers working with Massey, with whom she had a daughter, Alice, and two grandchildren. She and Massey starred in the premiere of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal in 1978 when Alice, now a theatre producer, was a baby; Wilton had to leave her with the casting people when she auditioned. Afterwards, “Harold came up and said, ‘Penelope, I’d like you to be in my play.’ I nearly fell over,” she says. She went on to work with Pinter on stage, radio and television. “He became a great friend of mine. He was the most on-your-side person. He was an actor, you see, before he wrote. He came to see everything that I did. Some people make you rather nervous if they’re going to be there, but when Harold came I never minded because I knew he was on my side.”

Her theatre work has been plentiful and varied because that’s where she started, playing Cordelia in King Lear in 1969 after training at Drama Centre London, “and that’s where the work was”. She came to serious screen acting quite late, like her fellow dames, Eileen Atkins and Judi Dench. Wilton twinkles subtly on screen, though, and loves her verbal jousts with another dame, Maggie Smith, in Downton Abbey. “It’s like playing tennis with someone rather better than yourself,” she says. “We get on very well. She’s got an enormously good sense of humour.” Wilton’s Isobel and Smith’s Dowager Countess of Grantham “are two people who in the end liked each other, but weren’t going to give in. Although Maggie usually won the argument because Julian [Fellowes] wrote it like that.”

Wilton hopes that the new film, Downton Abbey: A New Era, “will give people a lift, because my goodness we need one”. She won’t say any more, except that it takes place quite soon after the last film, which was set in 1927. “If it moves too far ahead my character would be dead, and Maggie’s certainly would be.”

While the royal family is under strain these days, with the Prince Andrew scandal and countries such as Barbados becoming republics, Downton revisits a time “when people still had enormous respect for it, before the Second World War when things changed completely”, Wilton says. “But it’s quite right that we’re having a bit of a reckoning, and apologising for what went on. So many of those big houses made their money from the slave trade.”

This makes me think of Cleese, her old co-star, and his woke-baiting jokes about slavery and trans people. On Clockwise “he used to test me on my geography from the back of the car — he said women are very bad at geography. I think I proved him wrong,” she says. “He was joshing. I don’t think he means any of it.” She also sticks up for Gervais, another controversy magnet. “He’s got an old-fashioned decorum about him. You can always tell if somebody’s a good person when they work with the same people over and over — the same first [assistant director], camera people, sound people.”

After Life, in which she and Gervais played grieving spouses, “hit a button at a time when the world got darker with Covid and people were dealing with loss”, Wilton says. Her other sister, Rosemary, died of the disease last year. “We’re still in mourning for her.”

Yet she has no truck with the idea of drawing on real-life experience, even if her next film, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, is also built on loss. She and Jim Broadbent play a married couple whose son died by suicide. Wilton brought this pain to life the old-fashioned way — by acting. “That’s what we do,” she says. “And then you come home and you’re just you.”

Operation Mincemeat is in cinemas from April 15; Downton Abbey: A New Era from April 29

[dweemeister]

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)

In these days of social isolation, domestic distractions, and pandemic, rare is the feature film that I watch at home in one sitting. Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp might have confused me in its opening half-hour but, in the end, commanded my attention for all of its one hundred and sixty-three minutes*. It is a film made during a time of crisis now fading from living memory, from British filmmakers reveling in their work’s Britishness. During Colonel Blimp’s wartime production and release, Britain was under existential threat from the Nazis, despite the opening of the North African front and apparent British victory in defending its airspace. A gentleman's war this was not, if ever such a thing existed. British cinema reflected those beliefs of the nation staring down its own annihilation, as the industry set to work on patriotic, if not propagandistic, movies.

There is no denying that Powell and Pressburger’s The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp has elements of propaganda. The film, so resistant to any categorizations by genre (including comedy, drama, epic, romance, war), has no qualms that Britain is fighting a just war against Nazi Germany. But there are moments that must have given British Prime Minister Winston Churchill – who attempted to halt Colonel Blimp’s production and distribution – pause. Powell and Pressburger raise questions towards the justifications and necessity of past British wars, the idea of warfare as a noble exercise, and introduces a “good German” character. Colonel Blimp’s genre-bending and provocative queries into Britain’s militant soul represents the most breathtaking balancing act in any of Powell and Pressburger’s movies.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp takes place over three time periods, each in a different setting:

Boer War (the common name for what is technically the Second Boer War): 1902 in Berlin, far from the violence in southern Africa

World War I and between the World Wars: from November 1918-1935 between the Western Front and postbellum Britain

World War II: from 1939 through the Battle of Britain (1940), mostly in the London area

The film begins near its chronological conclusion, when the rotund, mustachioed, Major-General Clive Wynne-Candy (Roger Livesey; whose role is modeled off of the “Colonel Blimp” comic strip character’s appearance and mannerisms) is surprised to be “captured” by Lieutenant Spud Wilson (James McKechnie) during a premature training exercise. Candy, who is trying to enjoy his afternoon at his favorite Turkish bath, is outraged at Wilson’s disregard to the exercise’s rules, and fisticuffs break out. From here, Colonel Blimp flashes back to Candy’s service in the Boer War and sticks to a strict chronology. Then-Lt. Candy is in Berlin, on leave from his service in the Boer War. There, he has a series of misadventures (and a love triangle) involving Edith Hunter (Deborah Kerr in one of three separate roles she plays) and an officer from the Imperial German Army named Theo Krestchmar-Schuldorff (Anton Walbrook). All three become friends while in Berlin; Theo and Edith become engaged shortly before Candy must leave Berlin.

We never see Edith (who stays in Germany with Theo) again in Colonel Blimp, but Theo – even though his time with Candy was relatively brief – remains friends with Candy. That friendship, however, conflicts against and interweaves into his German patriotism. Theo’s patriotism is not unconditional: he believes fervently in the aims of Imperial Germany in World War I’s immediate aftermath, but flees Hitler’s Nazi regime for soil his wife once called home. Taking account of all English-language cinema, he becomes a rare “good German”. In a person that a xenophobic British person might consider the enemy, we see a man heartbroken for the fate that befalls his native country and the violence waged against his adopted one.

Take the cruelly ironic scene of Theo visiting Candy after being released from a prisoner of war (POW) camp, as he ingratiates himself with Candy’s British dinner guests. Candy’s friends remark that British hospitality and organization must have eased the lives of the POWs, and the insinuate that British-German tensions shall soon wane. Germany will soon recover from the war, the dinner guests maintain. Notice Anton Walbrook’s physical acting here, acting as a man too polite to belabor his fellow guests with his sadness for his country and the anger of their presumptuous predictions. The Austrian actor, perhaps best known as Boris Lermontov from The Red Shoes (1948), provides a stupendous performance, most likely the widest-ranging one of his career. He inhabits his character’s contradictions of all three eras: the martial rigidity and playfulness of his Boer War-era youth, the defiance and disappointment following the Great War, and the sadness and pent-up fury of his elderly years. This is quite demanding for any actor, let alone someone who is nominally in a supporting role. Yet, a particular interview scene might represent the best piece of acting in any Powell and Pressburger picture. Walbrook performs spectacularly, with never a wasted motion or a dull moment from him.

Personal change comes much more slowly to Lieutenant-later-General Candy. This is as much for the purposes of the film’s chronological drama as it is a product of World War II-era remembrance. At this time in British filmmaking, one could not make narrative art deemed too critical of Britain’s bloody past – whether colonial or against its European rivals. For a film that engages so vigorously in a discourse concerning jus in bello, it portrays zero wartime violence. Meditations of war arrive solely in conversation, never action. In Candy’s indefatigable Britishness, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp affirms his views that the Boer War and World War I were and are just conflicts, fought justly. He does not thirst for violence, nor does he dismiss the traumas war brings to combatants and civilians alike (he may downplay those traumas, though). Candy’s flawed introspection and stubbornness are endearing, at first. As time progresses, those qualities come ever into conflict with the changing nature of warfare and the contexts of the war currently waged. Britain is and will always be above committing war atrocities, Candy believes (you can roll your eyes; it is the least you should do after reading those last few words), and Nazi Germany’s tactics will never succeed in the face of Britain’s upstanding military. Such thinking was outdated even then, and only through his friendship with Theo does he consider how wrong he is.

Roger Livesey might not have been Powell and Pressburger’s first choice as Candy (that would be Laurence Olivier, who probably would have made Candy a more sophisticated character), but he embodies a contradictory gruffness and gentleness that weaves between military and civilian life. Those qualities are on full display when Livesey captures the attention of Deborah Kerr’s characters. In addition to Walbrook’s turn as Theo, Livesey and Kerr offer wonderful performances that cement the film’s Britishness. Through the three eras covered in The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, Candy’s relationship with these women evolves as he ages, as the nature of the Britain’s conflicts make romance unwise. Kerr’s three characters might have different life interests, romantic inclinations, and temperaments, but their similar appearances – no coincidence, as the viewer later learns – anchor Candy to a perpetual past.

The striking Technicolor photography from Georges Périnal (1930’s Under the Roofs of Paris, 1948’s The Fallen Idol) with assistance from Jack Cardiff (1947’s Black Narcissus, 1951’s The African Queen) and production design from Alfred Junge (Black Narcissus, 1953’s Knights of the Round Table) makes The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp one of the most arresting Technicolor productions ever. The vibrancy of the colors leap from the screen – even the gray interiors of modern buildings and the browns of the World War I trenches and wooden panels of Candy’s estate. One crane shot of Candy and Theo during their first encounter – a swordsmen’s duel inside a cavernous hall, away from the freezing storm outdoors – and the fade into the shot of a building model gives the film the feel of an oral history where the most dynamic moments can never be truly captured. Those moments of action blur into Candy’s memory, as tangible now as the buildings inside a snow globe. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp might not have the dedication to visual leitmotif as The Red Shoes does, but its visual interest outstrips all but the most masterful Technicolor pictures of the 1940s.

British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was cognizant of the buffoonish Colonel Blimp and, in addition to Lieutenant-later-General Candy, believed the characters were modeled after his appearance and behavior. Furthermore, considering how Powell and Pressburger imbued Theo with such humanity, Churchill – who had only read of the filmmakers’ preliminary plans for their film and never saw any footage – believed that The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp would only undermine morale for the war effort. In response, Churchill directed his Minister of War, Sam James Grigg, to suppress the picture to the extent that he could. Grigg denied Powell and Pressburger access to matériel, but the filmmakers had friends in the correct places to procure military uniforms, vehicles, and weapons necessary for their production. Despite Powell and Pressburger’s resourcefulness, Churchill succeeded in preventing the international distribution The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp for at least one year after its 1943 release. The film’s American debut would not occur until March 1945. For the American release, the film lost thirteen minutes of its 163-minute runtime; television screenings further reduced the work to ninety minutes up until the mid-1980s.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp might not seem like accessible viewing. This is a tale of an aging British military officer clinging to the ideals of his militaristic youth, long after when such ideals had purpose, let alone meaning to the young people of his present. It is rooted deeply into early twentieth century British culture, with an opening that might only serve to confuse a new viewer as it transitions to flashbacks. However, like any Powell and Pressburger film (and this might not even be the duo’s best work), there is much to offer. This is a love story, with love shown in various forms: for the first true love of Candy’s life, for the man who should be his enemy, for country. The genre gymnastics on display – a war film with nary any war violence; a romance without torrents of romance; a comedy without boisterous belly laughs – allow any caring viewer to witness General Candy grow into his times, all while retaining traces of a self that no longer is. That growth is subtle, but enveloping. His story feels like the origins of present-day Britain, its empire slipping away, wresting with a world no longer bowing in deference. As we must guard against the unexamined life, so too, Candy realizes, must he.

My rating: 10/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is the one hundred and sixty-fifth feature-length or short film I have rated a ten on imdb. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

*The longest film I have seen in one interrupted sitting at home was Lawrence of Arabia (1962), in all its 227-minute glory.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[bbnibini]

Oh, Brother! (Lucifer ft. Baby Beel)

Summary:  Brotherly love comes with sacrifice, even if the said sacrifice greatly outweighs its benefits. (based on a headcanon request on our old AO3 request box)

Accompanying HC for this fic can be read here. This was originally a request. The old version is poorly formatted so I decided to repost this now that I am sliiiightly better at using tumblr. Anyway, enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I consider myself to be a rather self-sufficient person. It was a fruit of years of conditioning brought upon by my unique, personal circumstances. You may also say that it is my inclination to exhibit such behaviour because of my personality. But while I make long-winded introductions that segues even further from the point I was making, let me, as my brothers say, "cut to the chase":

I have no idea what in Devildom is going on. Sets of eyes looked at me expectantly, and I did as I usually do when I am dragooned into unforeseen…problems. 

"I see." I don't. But a white lie is what is required to quell the squall of chaos right now: debris of what looked like Leviathan's furnishings were strewn on the wet floor. Looking up from the living room where remnants of the ceiling were barely keeping itself intact, Henry freefell into my arms, a timely catch away from his imminent death. I turned to my pale brother, asking "Lotan?" in the calmest tone I can muster, and was only answered in more silence. I offered him Henry, which he took still looking down, and turned to problem #2. 

"MC, may I have him?" 

"I…" 

I stopped and talked over them. "I'm not angry. Let me hold Beel."

"It's all my fault!" 

Sigh. Why do they always do this? A surge of pain was felt on my temples, but I pretended not to feel it. "Why don't you help Levi clean up his room? Do you even know how to take care of a non-human child?" 

"No, but!" they argued again. I listened. "You're not going to punish Mammon, aren't you?" 

Punish is such a heavy word. I noticed how protective they were of my brother, almost to an extent where I feel like they perceive me in an unfavourable light. They were more carefree with them, but all yes and no's with me in comparison. I wouldn't say I'm envious. Rather, I'm baffled. Occasional pranks became the highlight (read: tragedy) of my day, often while I was poring over documents and settling political disputes on behalf of Diavolo. Partnered with Mammon and Satan, they were a force to be reckoned with; one I remembered being visibly annoyed by for interfering with my work. No one shall ever know that I might…have looked forward to those times. It was a puzzle to be pieced, an idle form of entertainment to guess which kind of tomfoolery they would attempt at me that they were foolish enough to think they would succeed in. Unfortunately, any victory they may have celebrated in the past were my fabrications that only the likes of someone as observant as Satan would notice. 

"Procure a change of clothing and go while I'm still being merciful." I saw them share the same pallour as Leviathan, dragging him along while mouthing complaints under their breath. A curse perhaps, not bound by magic but of something else, directed at me, their usual villain. Such childishness that I let slide, as I was accustomed to being an enemy, especially when I know I was right. 

Beel is finally in my arms, a docile child as cherubic as the little Beel in my memories. The pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together as I look around. 

"Belphegor, wake up this instant! You're sleeping on a wet floor." You'll catch a cold, I almost felt myself saying but was able to hold myself back. "Unless you would rather be carried like the old days? I don't mind." 

"Fine, fine. I'm up." They stretched out their arms to retrieve their twin and I shook my head. "I wouldn't leave such a delicate child to someone who couldn't even coordinate themselves properly. Go to sleep, Belphegor.

.

.

.

...and Satan, if you have the time for hexes, you would also have the time to clean up this mess."

"Tsk."

"I would see all of you in my office once this is all fixed.

. 

.

.

.

Not a spot should be left unattended. Understood?" 

"Yes, Lucifer."

I don't have time for this. So many documents are left unsigned on my desk. A meeting with the Chancellor, a hearing from the House of Commons, a response to Michael's ridiculous letter…

"Wuchy, angy?"

Beelzebub's upturned eyes looked at me adorably.

"Wuchy…" I looked around and breathed a sigh of relief as I saw most of them are either absent or pre-occupied. Clearing my throat, I noticed my voice was shriller than usual. "Wuchy…" I repeated and sat Beel on the plush sofa. "Wuchy is NOT angy…"

"Bee hangu" he pulled at my sleeve, turning my attention to his rumbling stomach. "Wuchy…Bee hangu."

I nodded. "I see. Does Bee want to eat?" 

"Peas!" 

"You want to eat peas?" 

"No! Bee Hangu! Peas!" 

"Ah, " I nodded again as I finally understood. "I apologise, Bee. You're trying to say please?" 

I couldn't help but smile back when he did so in reply. 

To my disappointment however, even the kitchen was destroyed, to the point that MC didn't want me to enter. It was admirable, I suppose that they were able to explain the situation to me while everything was still in a state of chaos. 

It all started with a hexes assignment that failed miserably, turning Beel into an inconsolable toddler that caused Levi's room to be absolutely destroyed. Since nobody was capable of understanding Beel's speech, his childish tantrums got worse and caused the House of Lamentation to be in its current state. The only reason the situation subsided a bit was because of Belphie's interference. Where was Belphie in the first place? Was my question, and MC's shrug affirmed that he ignored my warning about sleeping in on the weekend. Again. I sighed. 

"Sorry, Lucifer. Why don't you eat out with Beel for a while?" 

"Bee hangu! Now!" 

"....Bee, that's my glove."

"Bee?" (MC) 

!!!!

"Beelzebub." I cleared my throat. "I shall heed your advice before Beel throws a bigger tantrum."

"Wuchy, hangu!" 

"Yes, yes. Wuchy…heard you. MC, take care of the house while we're gone."

There was a ghost of a smile on their face, one they must have tried to hide from me earlier. "Yes," They snorted, and I silently warned them to open their mouth again.  "Wuchy."

Ah. They still have the audacity to mock me. Me. Who was trying to turn a blind eye? Giving them a chance to fix their mess before anyone else finds out? I smirked back. 

"If the house falls down…or if it gets destroyed any further…prepare to face your punishment . Alone."

Their silence was enough of a penitence…for now. Beel's stomach growled louder and louder each passing second, and my gloves are currently soiled with bite marks everywhere. 

I bent down to meet Beel at eye level and pried my hands away from his nibbling. "What do you want to eat?" 

His eyes sparkled at the question, and he started chanting something in gibberish that I pretended to understand. "Wook wook! Bee fawwit!" 

Wook? 

He...never said that before. Or did he? I decided to carry him in my arms once I noticed he was having difficulty keeping up with my strides. He shook his head several times as we passed every food stall and kiosk in the shopping district, contenting himself with chewing on the gloves I thought I had confiscated already. 

It had been so long that I almost forgot that Beel was once a picky eater when he was little. Michael marveled on his "refined palate", telling me I should cherish my brother's talent (and consider giving Beel to him once he got older to train under his tutelage) but I vehemently refused. I was busy enough as a high-ranking angel and barely had the time to see my siblings, and the last thing I ever wanted was to part from them. I understood the difficulties of having an absent parent all too well, and I did not wish for my brothers to experience the same longing I had when I was the same age as them. 

Beel was as docile and as sweet as I remembered him long ago, smiling and laughing in my arms, calling me Wuchy over and over, and seeking for his twin in adorable babbles of "Bewphie" and "Bwanky", which I responded in my usual way:

"Bewphie, sleep." 

"Seepu?" 

"Yes." I answered, prying away my damaged gloves from his mouth. "Bewphie told me you should eat so you won't wake him up." I pointed at his rumbling stomach, and little Beel automatically held it and felt the rumbling coming from it. 

"Bee…wouwd (loud)?"

"Mhm. Bewphie can't sleep unless you eat something."

He must not have been able to distinguish his twin because of his current form, seeking perhaps a smaller counterpart of his brother just like the old days. After some more meandering around stalls, feeling full over the meals that Beel refused to eat, I racked my brain to figuring out the meaning behind his childish babble:

What on earth does wook mean? 

I have never heard him say it before even in the Celestial Realm, nor did I ever recall teaching him the words. 

"Wook! Wook!" Beel said excitedly again, grabbing my hair in his elation to turn to a man flipping Bat Wing pancakes in a stall. The line was atrocious, barely moving, arid and noisy. 

"Does Bee want to eat that?" 

I sighed in relief when he shook his head. "Wuchy, Wook! Wook Bee fawwit!" 

Wait a moment. Does wook mean…

"Do you want me to look?" But look at what? At the elderly demon flipping pancakes? Beel shook his head again, seemingly lost at how to translate his thoughts and feelings into his limited toddler vocabulary. 

"Wook...wook fuu fo Bee…" he squinted his googly eyes at me and made exaggerated hand gestures. "Wuchy….wook fuu fo Bee! Bee fawwit!" 

The proverbial cogs in my brain started to turn as I came across an epiphany. Before I knew it, I was already holding my DDD. 

It pains me to do this, but I cannot let Diavolo know. 

"Hello, Simeon?" 

Brotherly love comes with sacrifice, even if the said sacrifice greatly outweighs its benefits. It was evident with Simeon's jovial expressions as he opened the door. 

"It really is a baby! Can I hold him?" 

Simeon's smile never disappeared, rather, his eyes narrowed as he turned to me to speak. "Luke is good with kids. He volunteers taking care of cherubs in Heaven."

"Mhm! I have Raphael's seal of approval!" 

Sighing, I surrendered my brother to Luke, my traitorous brother who did not even cry or protest when a complete…stranger is now holding him in his arms. 

"Meemwon!" 

"Oh! I haven't heard that in ages! This sure brings back memories!~" Simeon planted a kiss on Beel's cheek and I couldn't help but frown. "Hello, Bee! It's big bro Meemwon!" Beel giggled in reply as Simeon planted smaller kisses at him, clearly enjoying the attention. 

"You're getting into this, way too much don't you think so?"

"He's adorable!" Simeon reasoned. "But, isn't his stomach growling?" 

"That's why we're here." I tried to maintain an aura of composure. "I need to borrow your kitchen. Is Solomon around?" 

Simeon's eyes widened for a bit in understanding…then I heard manic laughter. Is this really how he should conduct himself in front of the children? I kept that opinion to myself and didn't say a word. "No, he isn't. Don't worry." He looked at me again and smiled reassuringly. "Feel free to use the kitchen. We'll take care of Beel~" 

"Solomon--"

"...won't feed Beel anything even if he does come back. Just go before he throws another tantrum!" Simeon shooed me away from the living room, pushing my back to Purgatory Hall's fully furnished kitchen. It certainly had better equipment compared to Lamentation, which I can only attribute to Michael's influence. 

Cooking was one thing, but feeding Beel another. He continued rejecting meal after meal after meal of my best dishes. His stomach only growled louder, and his mood became irritable even with Simeon's and Luke's aid. The ingredients I have purchased were almost gone, left only with a half-used bag of flour, milk and eggs. 

"The best I can do with these are pancakes…

. 

. 

. 

. 

Pancakes?" 

A memory flashed in my mind, taking me back to the Celestial Realm and our former residence there. Assuring the house help that I wanted to try cooking for my brothers for a change, I begrudgingly followed the recipe book Michael had given me and started with its easiest dish. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

I attributed my failed attempts to Michael's unique, archaic wordings in his cook book and tried again. And again. And again. Numerous ruined frying pans and ingredients later, I was left with a shabby excuse of a pancake---charred at the sides, eggshells at the other. I waved my white flag in surrender and called for a food delivery instead, deflated. Some Morning Star I was. It was an hour before dinner and my siblings were peeking at the kitchen with their blinking, doe eyes.

"Wuchy...huwt?" Lilith looked up to me, looking like she was about to cry and I took her in my arms to comfort her. 

"Lucy…" I corrected myself. "Wuchy isn't hurt. Just tired."

"Seepu?" Belphegor offered me his cow pillow and I shook my head. "Later after we eat."

"Fuu?!" I managed to catch Beelzebub with my free hand before he faceplanted on the floor as he rushed to me in excitement. 

"I'm sorry, Bee. As you can see, Wuchy doesn't have anything edible he can feed you." I carried him in my free arm and showed him my culinary failures. 

"Wuchy…fuu." Beel pouted at me. "Wuchy, whie. Fuu deww! (Lucy lied. There's food over there!)" He tugged my hair and glared. "Bee, eat!" 

"Eat!" Lilith mimicked. 

"Bewphie, eat?" Belphegor followed. 

"No, children. As you can see-- Mammon, wash your hands first!--" 

I couldn't believe my eyes. 

Everyone was gathered at the table, eating my failures with smiles on their faces. Beel, who had been sitting next to me this whole time tugged me on the sleeve to ask for seconds. "Dis...Bee fawitt! Cwunch!"

"It must be the eggshells."

"Mhm! Wuv it! Wuchy?" 

I felt him wrap his arms around my side. With a wide grin, he said. "I wuv you!" 

Only to be followed by a barrage of hugs from the others, talking over each other as they gathered around me with their syrup-stained faces.

"Asmo wuvs Wuchy disssss much!" 

"Bewphie...wuv!"

"Wiwi, wuv Wuchy moww! (Lilith loves Lucy more!)" 

"I guess you're okay…but the Great Me is better!" 

"...Levi l-loves Lucy too…"

I couldn't remember much of what happened afterwards, but I do recall telling the delivery man that he can have my order for himself. After that, I strived to become better at cooking so I can serve my siblings better meals.

.

.

. 

Anyone would strive to try harder if they are ever subjected to that much smothering, I suppose. Still, I do think that after that, Beel began to eat everything happily, much to Michael's dismay.

"This looks horrifying." The plating of the pancake itself was one or two burns shy of Solomon's best attempts at cooking…I could not believe that out of every dish there is in this world, this horrible disaster is my brother's favourite food. I never really asked him about it. Perhaps I have forgotten and he happily ate everything I cooked because he had no choice. Still, it was no time to mull over such nonsense, especially if Beel's stomach is now resembling Cerberus' growls. 

"Wook!" Beel's eyes sparkled as I placed the cooled pancakes down at the table, munching on the sweet treat happily despite the…eggshells. I tried my best to emulate my failed attempts from before, and judging from the elated look on Beel's face, I must have gotten his approval. 

"Is that--" (Simeon) 

"Don't ask." I shut him up before he could even speak a word. "And please don't ever say this to Michael. I wouldn't hear the end of it."

Simeon smiled impishly in reply. "Would you cook here again--" 

"No.

.

.

.

.

.

But I suppose I owe you some hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies for letting me use your kitchen."

"Anytime~" 

"I was talking to the chihuahua, not you."

"I'm not a chihuahua!" 

Beel was sleeping peacefully in my arms on the way home. While still baffled at a startling discovery about Beelzebub, I hadn't much time to think about it as I was covered in confetti the moment I opened the door. 

"Happy birthday, Lucifer!" (MC) 

"Simeon took too much time! The ice cream's meltin'!" 

"Lolololol I told you he forgot his own birthday! Beel was the perfect distraction!" 

What. On. Earth. Is going on? 

"Sorry, Lucifer!" MC bowed her head and looked up to me, looking apologetic. "We were trying to throw you a surprise party but…things got…well...wrong. But, everything's okay now!" They pulled me inside and showed me the feast they have prepared for me. 

It was a smorgasbord of my favourites. From the appetisers to the desserts and wines, I recalled some of these dishes as my specialties. Satan's familiar handwriting was drawn over a buttercream cake with my name on it, along with a small drawing of me in a party hat along with everyone else. Everyone else was seated at the dining table including Diavolo and Barbatos, both of which I was trying to avoid the entire day. 

Were they involved in this ridiculous plan as well? 

MC seemed to read my mind and nodded at me shyly. "I did mess up with my homework, that much is true, but Solomon helped in undoing the spell! He was the one who suggested to turn Beel back into a toddler so we have enough time to prepare for everything!" 

Solomon waved a hand at me and smiled. "They still didn't let me cook anything though☆"

"So all of the chaos…"

"...is us cleaning up our first attempts of party preparations." Satan begrudgingly replied. "Until of course, you came back earlier than expected."

"Now, now~" Asmo interjected. "What's important is that he's here and Beel's spell is about to wear off!♡ Now, Lucifer dear, why don't you join us and blow your candles?" 

I have completely forgotten about my birthday.

I didn't see the point of celebrating it anymore, I suppose. Thousands of years of repetitions can bring ennui upon you. However, things have changed. 

The House of Lamentation had a warmer atmosphere thanks to MC, and everyone was closer than ever before. The loss of a family and an inclusion of a new one opened up our hearts enough to heal and perhaps forgive ourselves a little for the years we have ignored its value. 

Who knew such a fleeting human could be the catalyst of such unimaginable developments? 

"Oh! Beel's back!" 

"Yay~! Your seat's over there, Beel!" 

I consider myself to be a rather self-sufficient person. It was a fruit of years of conditioning brought upon by my unique, personal circumstances.

However…nothing can ever prepare me for this moment. 

"Lucifer?" 

I turned to Beelzebub, now back to his normal form and he offered me a smile. "The pancake you cooked was really good. Can you make it again for me next time?" 

I smiled back. 

"With or without the eggshells?" 

[heavencollins]

Top 10 Films of 2020: Part Two

And the last five of my top ten are...

5: Unpregnant, directed by Rachel Goldenberg and written by Rachel Goldenberg, Jennifer Kaytin Robinson, Jenni Hendriks, Ted Caplan, and Bill Parker.

This HBO Max Original was the tipping point for me actually purchasing HBO Max, and I haven’t regretted it since.  Starring two absolute queens, Barbie Ferriera and Haley Lu Richardson, Unpregnant tells the story of a teenage girl who finds herself in a situation she wants nothing to do with: pregnancy.  Her boyfriend informs her that the condom broke a few weeks ago but he didn’t tell her, which is fucked up in it’s own right, but that they should keep the baby and raise it and get married.  Veronica, played by Richardson, quickly says no and runs to her old friend’s house; Bailey, played by Ferriera.  Veronica learned that you cannot access abortions in her state without parental consent, so she makes a plan to roadtrip to New Mexico from Missouri to get an abortion that should be a human right.

Veronica and Bailey have been estranged for years, as Veronica became popular and Bailey fell into the realm of introvert, pothead, and nerd.  But Bailey misses their friendship, and says yes to going on this road trip because she knows they’ll have time to grow close again.  Throughout the road trip, the girls reminisce and become closer than they have before; Bailey revealing her sexuality, Veronica facing the reality of her shitty relationship and not-great friends, and the fact that chosen family is often better than real family.  

The film is aggressively pro-choice and feminist, but also is a feel-great movie, not just good, but great.  it made me both laugh and cry, as well as cheer on both characters.  There’s a lot of really, really, really wholesome narrative within this and it’s a film targeted at teens for teens.  It shows what a healthy relationship is and that no matter how different your best friend is from you, you’ll still have the same connection as always.  I love this one.  

4: Saint Frances, directed by Alex Thompson and written by Kelly O’Sullivan.

One of my favorite facts about this film is that the lead star wrote it, and she works as a team with the director, Alex Thompson, and is partners with him in life as well.  Saint Frances focuses on a 30-something woman named Bridget who finds herself with no set path in life.  She’s childless, sleeping around, has no real career other than waitressing, and doesn’t know what she wants to do with herself.  Her friend recommends her as a nanny to a lesbian couple around her age who are having their second kid and need help with their six year old daughter, Frances.  

Shortly before starting her job as Frances’ nanny, Bridget undergoes an abortion via pill, which means you bleed in the safety of your home and get to do it outside of the medical appointment.  This plays heavily into the plot, as her periods end up being heavier than ever throughout the rest of the film and it becomes a slight joke between all of the characters.  It also shows how little Bridget really cares for her own health, as she doesn’t think to go to the doctors at all and that it’s totally normal.  

Frances helps Bridget grow up, as well as bringing her two mom’s together after the birth mother of the newborn suffers from extreme post-partum depression.  Bridget and Frances end up becoming best friends, and it’s a truly touching film that feels like a home, if that makes sense.  I could watch this again and again and never get sick of it.  O’Sullivan and Thompson are a fantastic writer-director team.

3: Shirley, directed by Josephine Decker and written by Sarah Gubbins and Susan Scarf Merrell.

A movie about one of the greatest horror novelists and short story writers of all time set in Vermont starring Elisabeth Moss?  Alright, I’m in.  Shirley held very tightly in the number one spot until just this month, because it was that good.  Moss plays Shirley Jackson, the horror writer we all know and love, and there’s something haunting about her.

While the story is highly fictionalized, with two characters being completely made up (the young couple played by Odessa Young and Logan Lerman), the film takes place right after Jackson published The Lottery and as she’s writing her next novel.  Her husband, Stanley Hyman (played by Michael Stuhlbarg), is a professor at Bennington College and Jackson finds herself shying away from the stereotypical role of a faculty wife.  She’s aloof, callous, straight up rude to the other wives and prefers to spend her time alone in her room, writing.  Hyman prefers to cheat on her with younger woman and yell at Jackson for not being more social.  This is most likely true to real life.

The young couple work as a mirror for Jackson, people she can project her novel onto and try to see how it will play out.  It’s reflective of her writing style.  This story is told with lavish cinematography and a score that reminds you of wind whipping between the trees, one of the best scores I’ve ever heard, actually, and it’s just lovely.  Despite being mainly fictionalized with some truth sprinkled in, it’s by far Decker’s most palatable work for a wide audience (though I loved Madeline’s Madeline).  I highly recommend this one to anyone.

2. Never Rarely Sometimes Always, directed and written by Eliza Hittman.

I’ve loved every single film that Hittman has put out, but this one is especially poignant in the current political climate.  Abortions should be widely available, but sadly they aren’t and often teenagers have to travel to other state’s to have to have their procedure done without putting themselves in danger by telling their parents.  

In Never Rarely Sometimes Always, two cousins go on a trip to New York City to procure an abortion procedure, not informing their parents beforehand.  Except nothing goes to plan; they end up having to sleep in strange places, use all of their savings, and even steal portions of money from the grocery store they both work at.  This film is quiet, sad, and real.  

Perhaps the best scene in this is when the title comes into play.  Anybody who has been to a physical appointment knows the questions they ask, but it’s especially nerve wracking when your body is at risk for something.  The nurse asks questions, stating never, rarely, sometimes, or always after each.  Skylar, played by Talia Ryder, starts to hesitate as the questions get more and more personal.  And then she finally breaks down.  It’s overwhelming and scary and she’s finally vulnerable for the first time in this entire movie.  

While Unpregnant and Saint Frances provide more witty and funny tales about abortion and unwanted pregnancies, Never Rarely Sometimes Always gives a dark and gritty tale of what having no help in those situations can look like, ultimately putting yourself in the most dangerous situations possible to make the right choice for yourself.  

1: Swallow, directed and written by Carlo Mirabella-Davis.

I don’t want to say much of this film because it’s something you truly have to experience.  Hunter, a woman who finds herself pregnant with her rich husband’s child, finds herself having what can only be called abnormal food cravings.  Except, what she eats isn’t necessarily food—she suffers from an extreme form of pica, causing her to eat everything from marbles to staples to little figurines.  She proudly displays her collection on her desk, cleaning them off meticulously once she passes them.  It’s a horror film but the horror isn’t necessarily in what she eats, it’s how she’s treated.

In fact, her eating habits are the one thing she has control over in her life until even that’s taken away from her.  Her husband’s family doesn’t care about her—only the fetus she’s carrying.  It’s a really good representation of an abusive husband that you don’t often see, because none of the abuse is physical, rather, emotional.  

I can’t say anymore because then I’d be spoiling—all I have to say is go watch it.  Please.  It’s so amazing. 

[tinypeckers]

The Enchanted Ornament

Ship(s): Jack Pattillo/Geoff Ramsey (Jackoff? ehehe)

Word count: 7,790

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and everything couldn’t be more wrong. The baby won’t stop crying, everyone is in a bad mood and Gavin has lost his Christmas spirit. Can something as simple as a wish save it all?

A/N: This story is two years in the making. I have been working on it every festive period since 2018 and it is finally done. I almost didn’t release it because, well, you know but... I did. Because I love this story. I am proud of it but I’ll warn you here, there is a new OC introduced. His name is Brian, er, I think we all know why (Here’s a link to my thoughts on it as well, if you care)

AO3 link

Jack sat, head between his hands, perched upon the edge of the bed. His right foot twitched erratically as the pressure increased against his temples. He screwed his eyes shut. He tried to hum. A broken and tuneless carol barely vibrated his lips. No matter how hard he squeezed, how tight he closed his eyes, how loud he hummed - he could not drown out the near-constant whine from beside him. He cracked open his right eye and it narrowed when he glanced at the basinet inches from his knee. The baby inside it, who had seemed so angelic and sweet just a few months ago, kicked at his confines. With fists barely bigger than a ping pong ball, he pummelled the air.

“Please,” Jack whispered at the baby. “Please Jeremy, just give in and sleep.”

As if Santa Claus himself had listened and granted Jack’s wish, the infant stilled. The whines gave way to small, miserable hiccups. Jeremy’s legs fell and his fingers opened up. His eyes, which had not left Jack for hours, started to flutter closed. Jack held his breath. Hic. Jeremy fought to keep his eyes open. Hic. His foot hit the mattress impatiently. He brought a fist to his mouth. Hic. His eyes closed. Hic. They stayed closed. Hic. Jack let his own eyes fall shut, his breath slowed in sync with the child laying in the basinet. Finally, Jack thought.

 He didn’t hear the sound of small, socked feet that tip-toed into the room. He didn’t acknowledge the arm that brushed his knee. Jack wouldn’t have known that someone had joined them at all, he’d have blissfully have sat there for hours if it had not have been for the small, yet caring, hand that brushed its knuckles against the baby’s cheek.

“Night, night Jeremy.”

Like a sensitive car alarm startled by a falling leaf, the baby screeched once more. Jack shot to his feet and glared at the boy who had only wanted to check on his younger brother.

“Gavin, get out!”

He loomed over the seven-year-old, face as red as his beard and eyes bloodshot and wild. Gavin fell backward and scrambled away from his father. Jack’s breaths came in heavy, short bursts. Gavin stood, as quickly as he could scurry to his feet, and dashed from the room.

 Gavin pulled the door shut behind him. He winced when the slam seemed to escalate his younger brother’s screams. Not sure what to think or who to turn to, he shook as he tried to reason with himself why his father would yell at him like that. Gavin ran to the room right next door to his parent’s. The door was closed, as it had been for months, but Gavin went ahead and opened it anyway. He’d not got one foot through the doorway before he was yelled at once more.

“Gavin,” his older brother, Brian, barked from his bed. “Can’t you read? You’re not allowed in here.”

Gavin raised his shoulders, clenched his fists and tried desperately to keep his lower lip still as it quivered. He could read, Brian knew that – it’s just that, like his teachers and his parents often said, Gavin was often oblivious to things around him. Gavin didn’t know what oblivious meant, exactly, he just knew that it meant sometimes people got annoyed at him for, as far as he was concerned, no reason. Gavin didn’t tell Brian any of this, of course, he merely stood and tried not to pout.

“Papa yelled at me,” he finally said.

 Brian laughed, or rather made a sound that was close to a laugh. He didn’t smile or offer to give Gavin a hug like the younger boy had wanted – like Brian would have, last year. Instead he rolled his eyes at his brother and shifted the laptop perched upon his knees.

“By the sounds coming from next door, you deserved it. Papa and Dad didn’t get any sleep last night thanks to that dick,” Brian gestured to the wall with his thumb. “Neither did I; the brat.”

“You can’t call him… that. His name’s Jeremy.”

Brian rolled his eyes: “They should have called him Satan, I thought they’d come to their senses after they took you three home but no, you had to lose your cuteness and then they wanted another one. Fools.”

Gavin swallowed. He played with the hem of his shirt and bit at his lower lip. When no words came, he simply stared at his older brother. Brian had let his hair grow out since his thirteenth birthday and now he had to blow air out occasionally to stop it from flopping over his eye. He had practically lived in his bedroom since then too and stopped playing games with Gavin and all of his other brothers. Gavin had begged him all month to help him build the family Christmas puzzle – Geoff and Jack had been too busy with the baby, Ray would rather play on the Xbox and Michael just grew bored and broke it all apart again – but Brian simply refused. On one occasion, he had said he was too old for it now. When Gavin asked why their fathers still did it then, because they were ancient, Ryan had told him to go away in less than pleasant terms and had been grounded all weekend.

“Why are you still here? Go, and shut the door on the way out. Anything to drown Satan out,” Brian waved Gavin toward the hallway.

 With a heavy sigh, Gavin did as he was told. He gently closed the door this time, aware that the screams from next door were becoming less and less frequent. He paused by the door, pressed his ear against it to listen. He could hear his papa hum to the baby, the occasional creak of a floorboard letting Gavin know that he’d given in and picked the infant up. Gavin swallowed. He knew he was seven, and technically a big boy now, but he wanted nothing more than to open the door and join them. He wanted Jack to pick him up, bounce him on his hip and hum a Christmas carol to him. Jack had been too busy to teach him a new one, like he’d promised, so Gavin had had to google the lyrics to Silent Night, but listening to the YouTube video wasn’t the same as Jack’s singing. He dragged himself away from the door, used the back of his hand to wipe underneath his eye and headed down the stairs. He didn’t need Brian, or Papa – he had other brothers and he had a whole other dad to keep him company.

 Gavin went straight to the kitchen. Geoff hunched over the counter, his face hidden behind his hands. Gavin could see his shoulders rise and fall, slowly, as Geoff tried to breathe. He was struggling to, mostly because Michael had sucked all the air out of the room with his screaming.

“Wha’ happened?” Gavin asked.

Geoff stood properly then, seemingly startled back into action by Gavin’s voice. He turned his back to the inquisitive boy, preoccupying himself with the large, uncooked bird that he had procured for tomorrow. Gavin chewed upon his lower lip. He edged around the breakfast table and peeked at his brother.

Michael lay flat on his back, face red as he tried to rival the baby’s yells from upstairs. His feet kicked and kicked at the linoleum floor. Strewn around him were the boys’ advent calendars, the final door ripped open and the chocolate missing. Gavin allowed himself a short, sharp breath. He had been looking forward to opening that tomorrow. It had been so fun this past month to race and find the door. Ray was always first but Gavin was always second. He was good with numbers, see, much better than he was at reading. Michael wasn’t patient enough to find the number and always resigned himself to a huff. Gavin liked to help him – it was always nice to see his brother smile once he’d found it. Gavin didn’t mind that he liked to declare that he’d done it himself.

 Gavin sat down beside his brother and folded his feet underneath his knees. Michael’s yells never stopped, though he cranked one eye open to see who had bothered to pay him attention. He only screamed louder when he saw that it was Gavin and not Geoff who had noticed him.

“Why are you crying? I’m not mad you eated my chocolate, Michael.” Gavin reached out to brush a stray curl from his brother’s forehead.

“Leave him alone, Gavin.”

Gavin looked up. Geoff hadn’t turned away from his turkey but his voice was gruff and clipped. His tone left no room for arguments and, though Gavin would much rather give his brother a hug, he got up and did as he was told. Gavin toddled over to Geoff. He stood upon his tiptoes to see what his father was doing. Michael let a yell fall into a huff.

 “I thought that turkey was for tomorrow’s dinner,” Gavin said.

“It is, bud, but Papa and I are going to be so busy tomorrow so I’m starting it tonight to make sure we actually get dinner tomor-“

Geoff trailed off as he moved away from the bird to grab something from his spice rack. His hip brushed a mug on the counter. As the cup tipped towards the ground, a small dollop of brown liquid careened to the floor. Geoff saved the mug, absent-mindedly pushing it back as he walked away. Gavin frowned. He knew that his dad had made the hot chocolate a few hours earlier, when he’d let his sons steal a sip once it had cooled down enough. Yet Geoff had never left a hot chocolate so that it had become cold, Gavin knew that his dad liked to finish it before he and his brothers came back for seconds. He glanced up at his father. The bags under Geoff’s eyes, though ever prominent, had surely gotten deeper these past few days.

 Without a word, Gavin slunk out of the kitchen. It didn’t feel like Christmas at all. At least, it wasn’t like last year. Last year, they were all watching Christmas movies together by now. Last year, he and Michael had helped Papa build a gingerbread house. Last year Brian had helped Gavin wrap a present all by himself for their dad. Gavin chewed at his fingernails as he entered the living room. Maybe Brian was right, maybe everything had changed because Jeremy was here now? Gavin’s brow furrowed. He shook the thought away. No, it wasn’t Jeremy’s fault. He wasn’t crying on purpose. He was just a baby. He needed more help than Gavin, that’s all. Gavin nodded to himself. Christmas wasn’t over either – he could still have fun!

 Gavin looked up. The living room was his favourite room in the house by far. Geoff had gone all out with the decorations; paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, all handmade by Gavin and his brothers; a wreath hung above the fireplace, a berry garland hid the nails that held in the stockings and the covers on the pillows on the couch had been swapped out for more festive colours. Best of all was the tree – Gavin had helped out there too – upon which sat the prettiest, most magical fairy Gavin had ever seen. The boy spared her a small smile as he hopped over to the couch where the last of his brothers sat hunched over Geoff’s old laptop. Gavin sidled up beside Ray. He squinted at the screen as Ray shot a ball at pegs.

“Want to build my puzzle with me, Ray?”

Ray didn’t even look up, he only grunted as he shot the last ball. Gavin clapped when the fireworks appeared on screen but Ray sighed. He exited the game. His name appeared again and again on the high score list, taking almost every spot bar one. With a score much higher than second place, it was the only Brian left on the list. Ray hit play again and restarted it entirely.

“Why’d you do that?”

 Gavin waited for an answer. All he got was the click of the mouse as Ray fired his first ball. Gavin swallowed. He used the back of his hand to rub at his eyes. An old movie was on the TV, one that Gavin had never seen before. Ray had turned the sound almost all the way down. Gavin took it upon himself to turn it back up. He forced a smile as the small child on screen uttered an optimistic phrase about “having Christmas cheer”. He slipped off of the couch and headed toward the base of the tree. When Gavin had left it, his puzzle had been almost finished. Now it lay in pieces once more. He rubbed at his cheek, willing away the salty water that had raced across it. He brushed the pieces aside, found a corner and placed it onto the carpet. Gavin hunted for the other corners and spaced them out evenly. He interlocked other pieces where he could.

 Gavin sniffled as some of the pieces started to get damp, curling at the corners as he pushed them into place. Behind him, on the TV, the child cried below his own tree too. Gavin looked back at it. The screen was suddenly engulfed in a white light and the fairy that once sat at the top of the tree now stood below it, almost as tall as the plant itself. The child looked up as she smiled. Gavin watched, mouth agape, as she offered the child some Christmas wishes. He watched as the scene changed and the child stood with his family around him, grinning from ear to ear, as it begun to snow just in time for Christmas. Gavin looked up at his own fairy then. She looked like the one from the TV – white dress, big crown and silver, glittery wand. Gavin opened his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue, when Geoff called from the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready – everyone get in here!”

 Having spent all the afternoon and most of the early evening preparing his beautiful bird, Geoff had opted out of making dinner for Christmas Eve too. Gavin poked at his meal, which had spent all of a few minutes in a microwave, and tried to be grateful for it. He knew that his dad was tired, that he was lucky that they were all around the table together (except for Jeremy, who he hoped was now sleeping peacefully) but he couldn’t help feel disappointed that Geoff had forgotten that Gavin didn’t like mac and cheese because he hated the way that it squelched. Still, he forced down a mouthful and tried to ignore that it had already started to go cold.

 Michael sat beside Gavin, arms crossed, glaring at the meal before him. When they had first sat down, Jack had tried to force him to try a mouthful but Michael was nothing but stubborn. Jack had given up almost immediately, resigning himself to eating his own meal. Brian had his phone out at the table, eyes trained on the screen as he used one hand to eat and one hand to scroll. Gavin waited for one of his dads to tell his brother to put it away. It was against the rules normally, but it seemed that they were making an exception for Christmas. Ray sat as close as he could to Brian, his eyes following every flick of his brother’s finger. He ate slowly, seeming to suck upon his fork before going back for another mouthful. At the head of the table, Geoff paired every mouthful with a sip of water. Gavin let his fork fall onto his plate and clapped his hands together.

“Is everyone excited for Christmas?”

 Ray sat up straighter then, dropping his own fork and holding up his hand as he listed everything he wanted under the tree.

“Santa’s gonna bring me a new laptop, a phone just like Brian’s, a new controller, a nerf gun…”

“No, Ray, he’s bringing me a nerf gun,” Michael interjected. “You can’t ask Santa for a nerf gun because I asked for it first and he’s going to give it to me, isn’t he dad?”

Geoff lowered his glass, which at this point had little more than a drop of water swirling at the bottom, and cleared his throat.

“Well, Santa-“

“Santa’s not bringing you anything because he’s not-“

“Brian!”

Jack pushed his chair back as he yelled, hands firmly planted on the table as he loomed over it to glare at Brian. The older boy seemed unfazed by his father’s outburst, he even seemed to smirk at the reaction. Gavin, on the other hand, had curled up in his seat.

 A faint wail sounded from upstairs. Jack slumped in his seat, fingers making indents in his forehead as he willed away the headache that had been there for hours. Geoff reached out and squeezed his husband’s shoulder, glancing at his children.

“All right, everyone, finish up your meal. I think we all just need an early night.”

Brian did not need to have to be asked twice, though he rolled his eyes at his father’s request. He stood up and left the room. Only seconds after, Ray did exactly the same thing, eye roll included, but his exit was much swifter so that he did not have to hear the inevitable lecture from his fathers. Michael also got to his feet. Instead of leaving, however, he grabbed the chair he had been sitting on moments before and tried to throw it. Thankfully for everyone else in the room, he was far too small and it was much too heavy and he only succeeded in pushing it a few inches. Frustrated at the lack of destruction, Michael kicked it back under the table.

“Michael,” Geoff began. Michael kicked and kicked and kicked at the chair. “Michael. Stop that, you’re being very naughty.”

Yet Michael did not stop and Gavin winced as one of the rods that formed the back of the chair finally gave way to the heel of Michael’s foot. As though he did not notice, Michael continued to deliver swift kicks to the chair. Geoff stood then and grabbed his son by the arm.

“MICHAEL! That is enough, you have been horrible today and if you don’t go upstairs and get ready for bed right now, I will tell Santa that you don’t deserve any gifts this year.”

Gavin gasped. Michael stopped kicking. They both looked at their father in horror. No gifts? That wasn’t fair. Gavin knew that Michael had indeed been quite terrible today, and maybe in the past month he’d had his naughty moments, but he knew that his brother was good. It was Michael who would hold Gavin’s hand when he was scared, after all, and Michael that got the boys at school to stop bullying Ray and Gavin was sure that the last time he’d seen Brian smile was after a joke that his brother had told. Michael certainly deserved presents, Santa couldn’t judge him on just one day!

 Geoff let go of his son’s arm but his face never lost its thunder. Michael hiccupped, he rubbed at his cheeks vigorously and sucked in a breath. He lifted his arm and for a second Gavin thought that he was going to reach out, Michael’s fingers outstretched as though asking Geoff to hold him, but he let his arm drop. His chin met his chest as he shuffled out of the room. Gavin looked at his father then, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he waited for Geoff to follow his brother and give him the hug he so clearly needed. Geoff didn’t go anywhere. He seemed years older to Gavin, almost twice the age of Father Christmas himself, and so vulnerable.

“Daddy, Michael will still get presents, won’t he?”

“Go to bed, Gavin.”

A lump seemed to form in Gavin’s throat. His chest hurt, like he’d been running for hours and forgotten to breathe. He did that sometimes, had to stop and hold onto his knees as he gulped in air. This time Gavin didn’t know what to do. He looked at his dad, and then to his papa, before he nodded and slipped from the room.

 Upstairs, Gavin found Ray already in bed. He’d pulled his duvet over his head and the faint glow underneath made it obvious he was not sleeping and did not plan to soon. The door to the boys’ bathroom was open so that Gavin could see Michael inside brushing his teeth. The mirror reflected his red, puffy eyes and miserable expression. Gavin came and stood beside him. He went to grab his brother’s hand but Michael snatched his arm away. He spat the toothpaste out into the sink, rinsed his mouth and left Gavin alone in the bathroom. Gavin watched him get into his bed through the mirror. He looked at himself then and felt sorry for himself. It was Christmas, he thought, it was the season of joy. He wished and wished that today could have been like last Christmas, that they could have all spent it together and it was magical. Gavin could only think of one way to fix this. With a nod to his own reflection, Gavin grabbed his toothbrush and formed a plan in his head.

 Hours later, when Gavin was sure that everyone else had fallen asleep, he tiptoed downstairs. The living room was dark and it felt more horrifying than magical as Gavin made his way to the tree. He didn’t know the time but was thankful to see that Santa had not been yet, hoping that he still had time to save Christmas. He knelt beside the puzzle he had still yet to finish, picking up a piece absent-mindedly as he sighed. Gavin squeezed the piece in his hand and looked up. Even in the dark, the angel’s dress seemed to glow. Gavin could not make out her face but he tried to imagine where her eyes were, remembering that his papa had told him it was important to make eye contact with someone you wanted to talk to. Gavin took a deep breath.

 Across the hall, in the kitchen, Geoff, Jack and Brian cocked their heads towards the door. They had paid no attention to the slight creak of the stairs minutes earlier, the house was old and it just did that, but now they could hear a faint muttering coming from the living room.

“One of the boys must be up, probably trying to catch Santa again,” Jack said.

Brian rolled his eyes from where he leaned against the kitchen counter, bag of chips in one hand while the other cradled the small cup of whiskey Jack had allowed him to try when they had caught him sneaking down for a midnight snack.

“When are you going to tell them? Surely at seven they’re old enough,” he asked.

“If I had my way, never,” Geoff headed towards the door. He’d have to send the kid to bed, he thought, lest they caught Jack and himself doing Santa’s bidding. “But I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon – hopefully with no one spoiling it for them.”

Geoff playfully pinched his son’s nose as he passed him. Jack followed, if only to deal with the possible tantrum that could come once the boy’s plans had been foiled. With nothing better to do, Brian decided he should come as well to help convince his brother that Santa would not come at all if he stayed up and waited. The living room door had been left open a crack and as Geoff reached out to push it open and spoil the would-be Santa catcher’s fun he paused for a second to listen to what the kid was saying.

 “Please, please, please miss angel if you could help Jeremy go to sleep so that dad and papa could take a nap and feel better it would be so nice because they should have a good Christmas too and, and if you could just maybe make Brian happy tomorrow as well, maybe he can help Ray play that game and then Ray would be happy too and they would have a very good Christmas,” Gavin clasped his hands together and sighed. “And I know Michael weren’t very good today but he has been good a lot of the time and he really, really, really wants a nerf gun so please tell Santa that he is a good boy and he should get one to play with tomorrow. If Santa says no then tell him that Michael should get my presents then ‘cause I don’t want ‘em.” Gavin squeezed a puzzle piece between his hands and closed his eyes. “Alls I want for Christmas is for everyone to have fun and to be together tomorrow. No one’s been happy for a long, long time and so please if you could help – I know I’m asking for so much but my family needs you. Oh, but, maybe, if you can, and if it would make dad happy, could you maybe ask if he could help me finish my puzzle and, and, if papa feels better after his nap if you could maybe also ask him if he’d sing with me tomorrow. But don’t worry if they can’t, it’s okay – just please if you really are magic just make sure that you help them to have a good Christmas.”

 Geoff’s hand slapped against his mouth. He took a step away from the door and fell against his husband’s chest. Jack felt equally as shaken but, as he heard the wishful boy tiptoe back toward the door, he was quick to pull both his son and his husband back into the safety of their kitchen. He nudged the door closed and held his breath as Gavin stepped out into the hallway. The boy paused, curious about the slither of light that spilled from the kitchen that he had not noticed on his way down. He shrugged it off and hurried back upstairs to make sure he was asleep long before Santa came and visited.

 Back inside the kitchen, Geoff looked as though he had been visited by a Christmas ghost. He clung to his husband because he did not know what else to do. How could they have let this happen? Their own son had resorted to asking an inanimate object for help. He looked to his husband for the answer to the thousands of other questions that whizzed through his mind.

“Right, I know that that was unexpected and upsetting to hear,” Jack said. He looked from Geoff to Brian. Though he seemed calm, his voice wavered as he spoke. “But we can fix this. Tonight. There is still time to make sure that Gavin, and all of us, have a good Christmas tomorrow but we have to work fast.”

As Jack launched into his plan, setting out tasks for each of them and trying to keep the mood light, Brian nodded along. He looked into his glass, which had a drizzle of whiskey left in it, and chucked his head back to finish his drink.

 When Gavin awoke the next morning, he didn’t feel incredibly magical. He didn’t know what he’d expected, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t the empty feeling that he had. With a sigh, he sat up in bed and glanced across the room at his brothers. Ray had yet to wake but Michael sat sleepily in his own bed. He blinked rapidly at Gavin and supressed a yawn, throwing back his covers and toddling over to his brother. Gavin lifted his own duvet to welcome him into the bed, finding comfort in the way Michael’s fingers quickly tangled with his own. Michael bumped their heads together.

“Merry Christmas Grabbin,” he said.

“Merry Christmas, Michael. Do you think Santa came?”

Michael squeezed Gavin’s hand. He chewed upon his lip and glanced quickly at his brother.

“I hope he did and I hope dad didn’t tell him I’d been naughty.”

“Don’t worry Michael, dad wouldn’t do that – I bet Santa’s left you lots of presents,” Gavin said but he wasn’t so sure. Still, his brother smiled back at him so he hoped that he was right.

 The two brothers waited as long as they could before they jumped into Ray’s bed. He grunted as they sat on him and tried to bury himself further under the duvet. Once they had reminded him it was Christmas, however, Ray could not leave his bed faster. As they scurried to pull on their slippers and dash out the door, Ray insisted that they wake Brian up as well. They ran to his room and found the door slightly ajar. The boys paused in the hallway, hesitant to let themselves in given the sign. It was Michael who gave the door a little push and all three waited as it slowly creaked open. Brian’s bed was empty and unmade. The three boys looked to one another. Perhaps he had gone to wake dad and papa already?

 They ran down the hallway, hand in hand, before they came to a stop in front of their parents’ door. This was one was fully shut, most likely to muffle the cries of their younger brother, but Michael did not hesitate to pull on the handle and shove the door open. Like Brian’s, however, the room was empty. The three boys stepped inside to peer into the basinet only to find that it too was void of Jeremy. They looked at one another.

“You don’t think they started Christmas already, do you?” Ray asked his brothers.

“No,” Gavin whispered. A lump formed in his throat. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“Come, I bet they’re downstairs waiting.” Michael tugged on his brothers’ hands.

Standing at the top of the stairs, the boys could hear Christmas music coming from the living room. Hand in hand they walked down the stairs and with every step it grew louder and louder. The door was shut. Once again, it was Michael who reached out and opened it for them.

 It was as though they had opened the door to Santa’s grotto. While the house had already been beautiful and festive, Geoff’s pride and joy of the season, it was as though an angel had come and spread her own magic across the room. Brian sat on the couch in last year’s Christmas sweater, the sleeves of which were halfway up his arms, and his hands held a mug of hot chocolate in lieu of his ever-present phone. Beside him, Jack cradled Jeremy in his arms. The baby donned an elf outfit, complete with little pointy slippers, while Jack himself had a Santa hat balanced precariously upon his head. All three boys gasped at once. They rushed to the couch. Ray scrambled to sit right next to Brian and was quickly welcomed as his brother lifted his arm for him to cuddle under. Michael hovered in front of Jack, having been told too many times to give Jeremy some space to rush onto his father’s lap, no matter how badly he wanted to. Jack shifted the baby in his arms, making space for his other son, and patted his knee.

 Gavin wasn’t sure what to do as he watched his papa snuggle with Michael in what felt like the first time in months. He was overwhelmed with the gratitude that washed over him as Brian listened to some story Ray was telling him. He was sure that he was about to break into happy tears when someone gently bumped into his back. Gavin looked up but was only graced with the bottom of a tray. The man holding it stepped back and then Gavin was greeted by Geoff’s smile.

“Oh, you three are up? I wanted to come and give you hot cocoa in bed!”

Geoff almost dropped the tray in his hands at the chorus of cheers that erupted. Michael refused to move from his coveted spot on Jack’s lap but he reached eagerly for the tray. Geoff sidestepped Gavin and lowered it for him. He smiled at his son as Michael took a mug. Ryan grabbed Ray’s for him and gingerly held it in front of the boy so that he could sip from it. Geoff turned to Gavin then.

 The warmth from the mug in Gavin’s hands seemed to spread all the way through his body. It filled him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and felt like a big, loving hug. Geoff placed the tray onto the coffee table. He slipped his hands underneath Gavin’s armpits and slowly carried him over to the armchair, making ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ sounds every time Gavin’s hot chocolate dared to kiss the rim of his mug. Geoff turned and took a seat, placing his son onto his lap. Almost immediately Michael cried out.

“I want to sit on your lap! Why does Gavin gets to sit on your lap?”

“You can come sit on my lap too, Michael, I’ve got two knees!”

Jack held Michael’s mug for him as he scrambled off the couch. He handed it to the boy and Michael shuffled his way to Geoff. Once he’d been safely seated and his hot chocolate was back in his hands, Michael curled into Geoff’s arms. Geoff kissed the top of Michael’s curls, and then Gavin’s head too, as he squeezed his two boys against his chest. He stifled a chuckle as Gavin cried out, his pyjama top now sporting a brand new brown spot on its chest.

 Once the mugs were dry, with help from Geoff of course, the children looked expectantly from their dads to the tree. The family puzzle wasn’t the only thing hiding under its branches now, with presents of all shapes, sizes and colours taking up valuable floor space.

“Oh,” Jack said after minutes of being stared at. “Do you want to open your presents?”

He blinked rapidly at the onslaught of happy cries. He looked to Geoff and the two shared a look that only parents could understand.

“All right then, but I suppose you better open your presents from Santa first. He left them at the very front.”

 Ray elbowed his way out of Brian’s arms, although he was sure to hold his hand out to help Brian to his feet. Gavin wriggled free of Geoff as well, the first to stand in front of the tree. He hopped from foot to foot as he waited for all of his brothers to gather. Only Michael didn’t move. He chewed upon his fingernail and looked up at Geoff.

“Dad, did Santa leave a present for me?”

Geoff and Jack shared another look then, though unlike before the expressions on their faces made it obvious to anyone that looked at them what it meant. Geoff cleared his throat and pressed another lingering kiss into Michael’s curls.

“Of course, silly. Now go and help your brothers find them, I think Gavin is getting impatient.”

 It was obvious which ones had been left by Santa, the brown wrapping paper didn’t match anything else under the tree. The boxes were tied together with twine and four out of the five were all the same shape and size, while the fifth was much smaller and crinkled when held. Brian read the name on the smallest parcel’s tag, smiled and then handed it to Jack. The baby in his arms slapped the package that was placed upon his lap. Jack made a tear for him and Jeremy slowly pulled at the paper. He didn’t care for the sweet, crinkly plush octopus inside but laughed as he ripped another strip of paper. Meanwhile Ray, Gavin and Michael waited impatiently in front of their own parcels. Brian stood by his. He teased his brothers as he pinched the corner.

“Okay,” Brian’s fingers tugged at the paper. “Go, go, go!”

 Geoff cringed as paper flew across his freshly vacuumed living room. He fought the urge to pick up every piece right that second, knowing it would only be met with a stern look from his husband. It didn’t matter, anyway, as the boys revealed their gifts from Santa. He had been so kind to give them each a nerf gun, conscious to give them the same one so that they did not fight. Geoff knew, not from experience because of course it had been Santa to get these gifts for the boys, that these guns had been so hard to get so Santa must have tried very hard to find them.

“Look, look – Papa look what Santa got us!”

Jack smiled at his children as they rushed him. Jeremy startled as they drew close, dropping the strip of paper he’d been holding. Jack held his breath as he waited for the boy to cry but he let it out when Jeremy only laughed instead.

 It did not take long for the guns to be loaded, fired and thrown aside in lieu of the other more brightly wrapped gifts under the tree. Though Ray did not get the laptop he had written about, or the phone for that matter, he was not disappointed by the gifts he did receive. His favourite, that had briefly had a tag that read ‘from Brian’ before it had been ripped off, was a controller. It was identical to Brian’s own: light green with a darker green crosshair painted on. The only difference was the name in the corner, Ray. Ray held it in his hands and looked up at his older brother. Brian smiled back at him. He waved his freshly unwrapped R-rated game.

“Maybe later we can play this together, yeah?”

Ray nodded and squeezed the handles between his fingers. He laughed as Michael knocked his shoulder and shoved his own controller, also from Brian, under Ray’s nose.

“Me too! I want to play!”

 Gavin stood off to the side, his own identical controller in his hands. The corners of his mouth almost touched his ears. He did not want to blink, for if he did he might miss Brian’s smile or Jeremy’s happy little kicks. He did blink, however, when Geoff gently nudged him with the black trash bag he’d whipped out not too long after the Santa presents had been unwrapped. Gavin bent down and picked up his discarded wrapping paper, and Michael’s and Ray’s and Brian’s too, and dropped it into the open bag. Geoff nodded back at him in appreciation. Gavin leaned into his father’s hand as it ruffled his hair, letting his eyes fall closed for just a second before he snapped them open again to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. Geoff’s hand left his head to snatch some wrapping paper that flew into the air. Ray had already started on another gift, one that was from papa and dad this time. Michael passed another present to Gavin. It was rather crudely wrapped, with too much paper having been used and tape slapped this way and that across the folds.

“I helped papa wrap it,” Michael beamed.

 Gavin dropped his controller to the floor. He did not wait to open it to give Michael a cuddle, wrapping his arms around his brother’s neck and squeezing. Ray rubbed at his head where Gavin had bonked him with the box. Gavin mouthed his apology. Michael made exaggerated gagging sounds as though Gavin were choking him but he wrapped his arm around his brother’s back all the same. He pushed his brother away to watch him open the gift. Gavin picked at the paper. His fingers struggled to find purchase on the edges. Eventually Geoff came over to help him, using some scissors to slit through some of the tape and create a hole. Gavin ripped the rest off himself. Geoff’s hands shot out to catch every shred of paper before it could fall onto his freshly vacuumed floor. Gavin grinned down at the gift in his hand. It was a puzzle, a new one with more pieces than the puzzle he had worked on all month.

“This one isn’t just for Christmas,” Geoff said. “We can work on it all year.”

He gasped as Gavin threw himself into his father’s legs and hugged him too. Michael, not one to be left out, wrapped himself around the both of them in an extremely tight bear hug.

 There was not much left under the tree now, just a couple of presents for the adults from their friends and from each other. Brian spied one more for his youngest brother, nestled between a tall gift bag and a suspiciously squishy parcel addressed to his papa. He pulled the present out and stood up. He took a moment to stetch, fingers brushing some of the tallest branches of the Christmas tree. Beside him, Ray copied his movements. Brian smiled down at him before he marched toward his papa. Jack was still sat on the couch, Jeremy on his lap. The baby smashed together two strands of wrapping paper he had kept from being thrown in the trash bag. Jack’s eyes, which had been almost completely closed, glanced upwards at his eldest son. He saw the present in Brian’s hand and made to take it but the boy shook his head. He gave the present to Ray instead, who frowned when he read the tag and saw it was not for him. Brian made grabby hands at Jeremy. Jack raised an eyebrow at the boy. Ryan mimicked a lobster as he opened and closed his fingers.

“Come on,” he insisted. “You can’t sit there all morning, you and dad have presents to open too. I’ve got him.”

 Jack bit his lip. Brian had not so much as glanced at the baby since he had been brought home and he was certainly the first to complain when Jeremy cried. He was about to turn his son down, tell him that he and Geoff could wait until Jeremy had gone for a nap when Brian cocked his head at him. Jack felt chastised for his thoughts. In that moment he saw that although his son had grown several inches and developed an attitude seemingly overnight, he was still Brian. Brian who was the first to calm down a crying brother, Brian who was the apple of Ray’s eye, Brian who played shop after school and patiently counted out the fake money. Brian who now, in a jumper that barely fit him anymore, reached down and took his youngest brother from Jack’s arms. He settled the baby on his hip, as he had done years before for Ray and for Michael and for Gavin. Jeremy’s eyes grew as wide as saucers as he looked at his brother. Jack held his breath. Jeremy’s brow knitted together. His little cheeks flushed red. And then Brian pulled a face as the baby farted upon his hip, loud and wet. Jeremy laughed. Jack hid his own chuckle behind his hand. Brian shook his head at his younger brother.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Jeremy.”

 Jack changed the baby before he let Brian sit down with him. He smiled at his eldest as Brian held both Jeremy and Ray on his lap. He watched as Ray gave Jeremy his present. He could see Ray’s fingers itching to help him unwrap it but a simple shake of the head from Brian and he sat, as patiently as he could, and watched his younger brother fight to free the toy from its wrapping paper. Jack was distracted by a small kiss upon his neck. He leaned back against his husband. Geoff wrapped his arms around him, black trash bag coming to rest upon Jack’s stomach. It was nearly full.

 Later, when all the presents had been unwrapped and the turkey had been eaten, they all returned to the living room. Brian sat beside Ray on the couch and pointed at the screen of Geoff’s laptop as he offered tips to Ray on how to get the best score. Jeremy was curled up on his lap, thumb on the edge of his lips as he snored softly. Michael sipped at his second hot cocoa of the day, which had been Geoff’s at first but had been given up rather quickly. He sat beside Brian on the couch with one of his new toys, a teddy bear with a rather mean face, and watched the Christmas movie that Geoff had put on for them. Jack snored from the armchair where he had, up until recently, been teaching Gavin the words to Silent Night. He had unintentionally sung himself to sleep. Gavin pressed a kiss to his forehead and scrambled down from his papa’s lap. He looked up as Geoff returned with his replacement mug of hot cocoa. Geoff smiled at him and nodded to the tree. There was nothing left under it but the puzzle. Its pieces had been scattered but were still mostly left under the tree.

“Shall we?”

 Gavin rushed to the tree and fell to the floor with a plop. Geoff was much slower, and more careful, as he lowered himself to the ground. He placed his mug between them and laughed when he saw Gavin’s eyes dart toward it.

“Go on then,” he said.

Gavin yanked the cup up off the floor. The drink sloshed inside, and then over, before it hit the carpet. Gavin’s eyes grew wide as he brought the mug to his lip. Geoff sighed at the stain but managed to keep himself from rushing to clean it. If it lingered later on, he would simply tell his husband that they should refit new carpets as a Christmas present to themselves. He reached for a puzzle piece instead, rubbing his thumb over the worn image. It wasn’t a corner, so he put it to one side and looked for another. Gavin placed the mug down much more gently than he had picked it up. Hot cocoa clung to his upper lip in a mockery of a moustache that would not sprout there for years to come. He found a corner piece, showed it to his dad, and placed it confidently where he knew it should go. Geoff was sure it was for the other side of the puzzle, but he kept it to himself and hunted for something to connect to it. As Geoff searched, Gavin glanced up at the top of the tree. He smiled at his fairy and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’.

[vagrantblvrd]

Okay, so the GMOD where they realized they could set the alien creature on each other?

But with space AU. (FAHC space AU, even.)

Just imagine these idiots dealing with a Dire Situation in which they come across a space station, right. This little outpost smugglers and ~space pirates and the whatnot use to refuel and resupply without having to go through major hubs when they maybe don’t want to be showing their faces?

But this time around the whole place - it’s not gone dark or anything, but it’s a totally weird creepy Mary Celeste kind of deal, you know?

Lights on and everything like nothing’s wrong but no signs of the usual crew staffing the place. (All these neutral parties and certain Rules set in place to keep them criminal type from shooting the place up and such, because reasons.)

At first they don’t think much of it because shit happens, you know? Not like there were a lot of people keeping the place running as it was because this is just one of countless other outposts like it out in space.

As to other criminal types like the Fakes or whatever they’re calling themselves in this AU, well. Sometimes the authorities come out a little too far, dangerously close to where outposts like this one sit and there’s a network warning people like the Fakes to maybe choose a different route for the immediate future, yeah?

Sure, there wasn’t such a message this time, but they don’t always get advanced notice or it slips past unnoticed and anyway, anyway, not important.

They’ve got a running tab or some such, access to the storage bays where the supplies they placed an order for ages back are waiting and most of the time that works just fine for everyone involved.

Better not to do too much in the way of face-to-face business transactions in case plausible deniability is a thing that needs to be used at some future date. (The Fakes get into trouble and the authorities come sniffing around and has the outpost commander seen them lately and so on.)

ANYWAY.

They just figure there’s a situation that has the usual staff otherwise preoccupied and this is just a pitstop and they’ll be on their way.

BUT.

Then little thing, fussy little things start to make them wonder? Like. Tiny things, and someone goes off looking into things and before you know it you’ve got this giant face-eating alien chasing everyone around and all the screaming is happening, omg.

Rooms and hallways where Something Bad happened because blood literally all over the walls and floors. Bodies (...bits of bodies), bullet holes and/or energy weapon burns/marks, and so on.

That scene where everyone’s holed up in a room somewhere putting what they know together, someone hacking into the outpost’s systems/network to piece together garbled logs and messages and other communications and realize how fucked everything is?

Some clandestine government lab somewhere fucking about with this newly discovered alien species someone wants to weaponize or whatever typically cliche trope you want to use.

Maybe some truly horrible bastard of a criminal type “procured” said alien species for a bounty was transporting it to said lab or whatever when it managed to escape and then Bad Shit happened.

Possibly said bastard of a criminal type was contracted to capture this alien species and purposefully given insufficient/inadequate capture equipment. You know whoever contracted them were banking on them stopping at a disreputable outpost like this where the alien species ~might escape - on its own or with a little help thanks to an operative in the bastard criminal type’s crew or just a simple little bribe and greed doing it’s thing.

And then, okay, whoever contracted the criminal type to get them this alien can sit back and watch things unfold from a position of safety. Take all the noted they need, get the footage to show what an asset this alien species could be if/when they find a way to control it and all that and no one, okay, no one would bat an eye at some low-life criminals dying for these demonstrations/tests/experiments, so yeah.

The Fakes sitting back after realizing the kind of mess they’re in - maybe someone’s out there running around working for the main baddies in all this (definitely some government agency/lab/company using the criminal types as guinea pigs or what have you) who went and sabotaged their ship so they’re stuck until they can get it fixed to get the hell out of there.

Cobbled together weapons and barricades, whatever they can use to keep themselves alive - and on a foraging/scavenging trip they run into other survivors.

Outpost staff or various criminal types. (Some of whom may or may not be on the main baddies payroll and so on.)

And then, basically just the plot of various Alien(s) movies kind of mushed together, but with these idiots involved????

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ALSO.

At some point (after their ship is sabotaged?) the Fakes discover Trevor is/was a rocket scientist - or future sci-fi equivalent in terms of then why the fuck are you running around with assholes like us? since sci-fi space ships and the whatnot and he ends up helping to fix the ship. (Because, you know, he worked with a company that helped design ships like theirs and is kind of familiar with them and also Plot Reasons and such.)

ALSO, ALSO.

What if, also, this is some pre-FAHC crew scenario and they all have to learn to ~trust one another and work together As A Team to survive?

Like, before everything Goes To Hell they’re all there for their own reasons?

Geoff and Jack coming off a job for Burnie and the Roosters and a stopover for fuel and supplies and the others there for similar reasons?

Michael and Jeremy a pair of hired guns meeting by chance at the bar or whatever and just being idiots together.

Ryan’s there because he’s chasing after some little shit or other, which - coincidentally, might I add - is why Gavin keeps trying to avoid him once things go to hell and everyone if forced to work together?

Ryan scowling at Gavin and generally being creepy about it everyone is like ??? about it because they know about his reputation, but even this is weird from what they know of him?

Later, of course, it comes out they’re in this sekrit relationship wherein they’re totes head over heels for one another but kind of dumb about things.

Also! Gavin gets in trouble like no one’s business and since no one knows they’re ~involved (for both their safety, and also the aforementioned dumb thing?), Ryan gets hired to either kill him or being him to someone Gavin’s made an enemy of so they can kill him all the fucking time and honestly? It got old a long time ago.

Of course Ryan tracks Gavin down every time it happens because God knows what other asshole is after the price on his head and they’ve talked about it, Gavin. Why are you like this?

Also, also!

The ~truth comes out when the others think Ryan’s cornered Gavin in a storage closet or other confined space to murderize him only to realize makeouts are happening instead and jfc, could you two maybe not do that when they all might die horribly in the near future?

And then, some adventures and close calls, someone getting Hollywood shot when the saboteur/operative is discovered and more death-defying shenanigans before they manage to escape.

The outpost goes kaboom while they do, and everone breathes a sigh of relief knowing the alien species went with it, because of course it did, right?

(...or did it??? *dramatic music cue because gotta leave it open-ended for potential sequels*)

All these idiots deciding to stick together because they made for an effective/impressive team, and also ~bonding and other such things.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[hazelnmae]

Lies Travel Faster Part Two: Chapter 5

Summary: Sophia Murphy’s past is coming for her. Can she outrun it?

Tags: Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Warnings: angst; smut; violence; language; rape/non-con; death

ALSO WARNING: This chapter, just as the previous one, includes the events of S5. So from this point forward, beware of S5 Spoilers.

Chapter 5 Read Chapter 4 here.

Despite getting only a few hours of sleep, Sophie arrived at Charlie’s yard right on time. It was so early the sun was barely up, the fog barely lifting. She was surprised to find Polly and Arthur there, with no sign of Tommy.

She stood next to Arthur by the fire, nudging him with her shoulder as she took her place there. Arthur slapped her back and smiled, ear to ear.

“It’s good to have you home, love,” Polly said with a smile.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, Pol. And congratulations. Exciting news.”

Polly just nodded in a way that made Sophie uneasy. Surely Polly would be over the moon to have a grandchild on the way, but she barely perked an eyebrow at the comment.

Tommy, as he so often did, stalked up to the group so quietly they hadn’t heard him approach. Sophie was startled to turn and find him standing on the other side of her, lighting a cigarette.

“You’re late,” she said instinctively, falling into a comfortable rapport without thinking.

“Right, well, we’re all here,” he said, no more concerned with her comment than if she’d made a frivolous observation about the weather. “Let’s discuss business.”

Tommy went on to explain that he wanted to hire her to corner and kill a man in Chinatown. Arthur explained that he was a “bad man,” which was clarified by Polly to mean that he was a pimp, dealing in young children.

“Fucking kids, Sophie,” Arthur added.

Sophie’s mouth went dry and her stomach tightened. It was sickening, to be sure, but she couldn’t make sense of why the Shelby family had become involved. Things had certainly changed since she’d been gone.

“So you’re in the business of improving the world now?” Sophie asked to no one specifically.

“It’s a particular opportunity,” Polly answered.

Sophie just looked to Tommy for further explanation, knowing he’d been the one to make the decision and would be the one to explain it.

“A particular opportunity for £50,000,” he said, answering her unasked question. “This pimp is blackmailing a senior member of the House of Lords--a very wealthy man.”

And then she understood. The family was scrambling after the crash--looking for other ways to procure easy money. They were returning their focus to less than honest means, having to let go of legitimate business for a time to build back up their reserves.

Fucking Michael, she thought.

Somehow, though, it felt oddly comforting to her. She’d fell in with the family when they were only beginning to move into legitimate money. To know they were rediscovering their roots felt natural. She thought perhaps she did have a place in this world still.

“I still don't understand. You have the muscle, why do you need me for this?” She asked.

Tommy let out a deep sigh. He wasn’t accustomed to having to justify his decisions. In the last two years, he only had to explain himself to Polly. To have Sophie back, needing explanation from him, questioning his authority, was going to prove more difficult than he remembered. But it was, at the same time, somehow exhilarating. He’d forgotten how it felt to face a challenge like her.

“We received intelligence from a senior police officer in Scotland Yard. They can clear the streets for us, they feel the same way about this pimp as we do, but they can’t protect us from his men. And his men know us," he said. "But they don’t know you--not by sight.”

“Plus you’re slippery. Proven that already,” Arthur added with a grin, pulling her into a side hug.

The three of them just looked at her now, awaiting an answer.

Tommy’s stare tore through her, as it always had. She felt the urge to refuse him. To tell him this wasn’t what she’d signed up for. But she knew if she did, she’d lose him once and for all.

But another part of her, a part deeper inside, pulled at her to accept the offer. To let the rage that had been building inside her do the work she knew she could do.

Sophie nodded.

And with that, Tommy tossed his cigarette on the ground and straightened his hat.

“Good,” he said. “Get it done. I’ll collect the payment and we’ll get you out of that fucking flat on Watery Lane.

__________________

Sophie took her time down the hallway toward Tommy’s office. She enjoyed being the only woman in a hallway full of powerful men. Men wondering who she was and why she was there. Women had only begun making their way into Parliament and continued to confuse their male counterparts with their fierce acumen, and Sophie could have easily been one of them. A single look at Sophie and these men knew she wasn’t to be trifled with.

And it felt good to no longer be trifled with.

The smile she’d been wearing drained from her face as she turned the corner into Tommy’s office. His door was open, but when he looked up to see her enter, he motioned for her to shut it as she entered.

She did as he wanted then crossed the room to sit in front of him.

Tommy hadn’t been expecting her but, as usual, didn’t let any surprise he may have experienced to show on his face.

“I hear you did well," he said, reaching into his drawer and removing a roll of bills. "You didn’t need to come all the way to London to collect your cut."

Sophie looked at the money. Then back at Tommy, before picking it up and placing it in her purse. She didn’t need to count it to know it’d be enough.

“I didn’t come to London to collect. I’m looking for a flat. Meeting Ada here soon. Thought I’d stop by to see your office,” she said, lighting a cigarette she’d taken from his desk without asking.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, leaning forward on his elbows, when the phone rang and interrupted his effort.

“Let him in,” was all he said to the secretary who’d called.

Sophie noted how his demeanor changed in that moment. He’d started out the same overly confident, powerful, and commanding presence she knew him to be. But whoever was coming through those doors to meet him was a force that made him anxious. She could read it in the way he leaned back in his chair and tossed his glasses on the blotter. The familiar gesture as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The way he straightened his lapels and collected himself.

As the doors to his office opened, Sophie stood and moved out of the way. The man that entered the office had an incredible air about him. If Tommy Shelby was intimidating, this man was terrifying. He had a brashness about him. A pretension. A Machiavellian posture that frightened her to the core. She could tell, in that instant, that he was evil.

And he looked straight at her.

Tommy cleared his throat, trying to move the man’s attention from Sophie, but it was no use. She suddenly understood why he’d been so uneasy to welcome this man into his office.

“Mr. Mosley, this is my business associate. Sophia Murphy. Sophie, this is Sir Oswald Mosley.” Tommy gestured between the two of them, clearly unhappy to make the introduction, but knowing he’d had no choice.

Mosley reached out a hand and Sophie responded by giving him her own. His handshake was firm, almost threatening. But it wasn’t his touch that repulsed her. It was the look in his eye. The way he let his eyes trail up and down her body, without restraint. The way he licked his lips before he spoke.

“Business associate. And what is it you do?” Mosley asked in a suggestive tone.

Sophie was accustomed to men like this expecting her to be something she wasn’t. Mosley wasn’t the first crooked piece of shit to assume she was only valuable for what lay between her legs. But something about the way he said it put her on edge.

“Well, as of late, I'm a hired assassin,” she said batting her eyelashes and flashing him a sly smile, taking a note from Tommy’s book and letting the outside mask what she felt on the inside.

She’d caught him off guard and watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

“I suppose you two have something important to discuss, so I’ll be off,” she added after a brief pause. She returned to Tommy’s desk to extinguish her cigarette.

“Why don’t you wait for me outside, darling,” Tommy said. “I won’t be long here and I can walk you out.”

She stopped in her tracks, floored by what he’d said.

Darling. Darling? Sophie wondered if she’d heard correctly or if she was losing her mind.

Tommy stepped around the desk and placed his hands on her arms, turning her to face him so that her back was to Mosley.

Then he looked deep into her eyes and kissed her.

It was a soft, slow kiss. But it was deep. And she felt it in the recesses of her stomach.

She’d thought about his lips, his tongue, his kiss, so many times over the last two years. Had imagined him pulling her in close, tilting her chin toward him, kissing her with want . She’d pictured it in her mind. She’d longed for it.

But she was shocked it’d actually happened.

And when he pulled away, she was immediately disappointed to see in his eyes that it had all been for show. That moment of pure ecstasy fell away from her like broken glass.

She hesitated, but eventually turned to leave the office--her legs a little unsteady beneath her--nodding at Mosley as she went.

_____________________

When he emerged from the office a few moments later, Mosley drank her in again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Murphy. Perhaps we’ll meet again soon.”

Sophie forced a smile at him, physically shuttering as he walked away from her.

Tommy approached from behind her, placing her coat on her shoulders. She thanked him softly and the two walked down the hall together, down the stairs and toward the exit.

After they found themselves in a fairly quiet hallway, Sophie found the courage to say what was on her mind.

“I’m not sure you remember the first day we met,” she said without looking at him.

“I remember.”

“Then you remember me telling you I wouldn’t fuck anyone for you.”

“I don’t want you to fuck anyone,” Tommy said, as if it were obvious.

“So flirt with him, then? Perhaps tease him? Or am I to extract information from him?” She asked sarcastically.

Tommy stopped walking. It took a few steps before Sophie realized and turned to face him.

“I don't want you anywhere near him,” Tommy said now, the conviction on his face unlike any she’d ever seen.

“Then what was that for, Tommy? That show back there?” Sophie’s voice was growing uneasy--the anger rising so fast she couldn’t control it.

Tommy stood silent, pulling a long drag from his cigarette. His eyes darted around the hallway over her shoulder and refused to make direct contact with hers. Sophie understood what it was he wanted to say, but refused to vocalize.

“Okay, first of all, what makes you think for a second that Oswald Mosley wants me?”

But that question, too, went unanswered.

“Do you really think kissing me in front of him is going to stop anything? He doesn't strike me as the kind of man who gives up on what he wants.”

And it was that comment which cut Tommy to his core.

He didn’t think himself the type to give up either. But he had. He’d let Sophie go without a fight. He didn’t stop her from leaving. He didn’t go to America immediately to bring her back. He simply gave up the fight before it ever started.

“I could tell the way he looked at you that he wanted you,” was all he said, looking away again.

He was growing anxious again, like he had before Mosley had entered his office. Sophie, constantly conflicted, felt the urge to comfort him.

“I don't need protection, Tommy,” she whispered softly, stepping closer to him.

He tossed his spent cigarette on the floor, and pushed past her, continuing his way toward the exit. Sophie rolled her eyes and followed after him.

“You do from him,” was all he said in response.

__________________

Read Chapter 6

As always, thank you so much for reading! Comments and feedback ALWAYS appreciated!! XOXO

Tag list full of lovely folks:  @justanothershelby @evelynshelby @l0tsofpennies @sympathyfortheblinderdevil @actuallyazriel @huntersvibe @porcelainjokersmadness@julietswildchild @geeksareunique @brianaisasongbird @ilycosimo 

[aion-rsa]

Why The Haunting of Bly Manor Needed a British Script Editor

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Warning: contains a spoiler for The Haunting of Bly Manor episode 6

When you belong to a cultural superpower, you get used to things being all about you. Wrapped in the soft cotton wool of cultural dominance, you so rarely feel the prick of non-recognition. To grow up the same nationality, race, and on the same patch of land as the planet’s most celebrated writers, artists and musicians is to feel that their stuff is yours too. Unlike other groups, there’s no fight for representation on your hands. The world literally speaks your language. Fiction is your comfort zone.

The extreme and enduring comfort of which must explain why the slightest jolt feels so unacceptable. The British like to think of ourselves as a solid, unflappable people, but really, we’re all paper doilies who tear at the slightest violation. And the worst violation we can suffer is at the hands of Americans who get Britishness wrong.

The Haunting of Bly Manor, Netflix’s new spooky series based on the works of Henry James – an American who elected late in life to become a British citizen, so technically a win for our team – is well aware of British indignation. In episode one, there’s a gag in which a Yank does a comically bad English accent and receives an eye-rolling response from a Brit (not an actual one, but Henry Thomas doing a sort of James Mason), and a running joke about said American’s inability to make tea (she approaches it more or less like the woman in this video with the added injury of using a coffee pot). 

Trained in decades of King Ralph-style culture-clash jokes about the snooty British tutting at graceless Americans (see Downton Abbey, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Buffy the Vampire Slayer…), The Haunting of Bly Manor knows the routine: Brits get uppity about this stuff.

Why then, does the show go on to commit the most egregious offence of all by making English characters speak American? Only the US pronunciation of ‘twat’ as ‘twot’ is as likely to put an end to the Special Relationship and get everybody dusting off their Revolutionary War muskets as hearing a so-called Englishman saying “math” without an “s” at the end. 

(Sidenote: as a young English child with weekly access to 1980s US sitcom Kate & Allie, I envied nothing more than the brown paper grocery bags and sugary Pop Tart treats of the New World, and so to borrow a bit of US glamour, once wrote the singular ‘Math’ on the front of my school subject exercise book. It was returned to me with the errant “s” added on and twice underlined. Mr Welsh in Year 7 wasn’t having any of my transatlantic nonsense.)

I say ‘so-called Englishman’, in Bly Manor, “math” was said by an actual Englishman: Matthew Holness, actor, writer and the genius co-creator of Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace. Holness plays sweet toff Dominic Wingrave in the show. In episode six ‘The Jolly Corner’, Dominic works out that he’s not the biological father of his youngest, Flora, and confronts his wife about it: “Math didn’t work did it? I mean that if she wasn’t early, she was actually right on time, that math wouldn’t work. […] Six years, it took me six years to do the math.” Three times. Three. Where’s Year 7 teacher Mr Welsh when you need him? Not script-editing a Netflix show, where he’s sorely needed. 

An episode earlier, an Englishwoman twice offers to “arrange a ride” for her housekeeper. In a rare event for the British aristocracy, she’s not talking about horses (nor is she Irish and offering to procure her housekeeper the services of a male sex worker, or, as we call them in England, trumpet-dandy). She’s talking about a car, in which any English person would always get a lift and never a ride.

It continues. In episode two ‘The Pupil’, English chef Owen urges a bunch of mostly British people to sample his “cake batter” and not a one of them responds by saying ‘Batter? You mean cake mix, you bellend. No more Kate & Allie for you’. In episode three ‘The Two Faces, Part One’, a little English girl performs a party piece about a kitten unravelling “yarn” rather than the English term ‘wool’. (Thankfully she describes said yarn as originating in a “jumper” and not a ‘sweater’, which is, when you think about it, a horrid name for something you wear.) 

The Haunting of Bly Manor was filmed in Vancouver and Washington, but is mostly set in England and specifically, Hampshire (in the south, the county I’m from). For the most part, the US and Canadian locations do a good impression of the English countryside. Their London streets are less convincing, but the addition of flat caps and trilbies to the heads of every man who walks past in the background helps to mitigate things. Yes, it’s supposed to be London in June 1987 and not January 1912 but as one of the greater things to mourn in modern culture is the loss of people habitually wearing hats out of doors, it’s allowable.

Hats, anyway, are so intrinsic to British culture that when Owen picks Dani up to drive her to Bly, where should she be standing but outside a shop selling them. Hat shop = instant London. (In The Turn of the Screw, the original Henry James novella on which Bly Manor is based, a large proportion of Peter Quint and Miss Jessel’s lustful evil is genuinely expressed via the fact that in life, both were often to be found out of doors without a hat. Look it up if you don’t believe me.)

London. So many hats.

In true ‘Wee Britain’ style, the residents of Bly Manor eat the traditional meals of the English – bangers and mash, shepherd’s pie, and a pot of tea with every meal. The presence of Yorkshirewoman Jamie (played by English-southerner-doing-a-Northern-accent Amelia Eve) presumably explains the presence of tea as a mealtime accompaniment because it wouldn’t happen in Hampshire – at least, not on my watch. Nothing, as far as I can tell, explains the presence at Bly Manor of the poshest policeman ever to say ‘Why hello, why hello, why hello.’

Pouring salt on the wound of these faux pas is that Bly Manor is filled to the rafters with real British people. In the cast (Rahul Kohli, T’Nia Miller, Tahirah Sharif, Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Matthew Holness, Amelia Eve, Benjamin Evan Ainsworth, Amelie Bea Smith…) and on the writing staff (Michael and Paul Clarkson, Laurie Penny…) the show has enough Brits to form its own cricket team. And yet not one of them spoke up about these severe infringements to our national character.

It’s almost as if there are more important things to worry about. As proven though by the fuss kicked up over Netflix’s fluffy new series Emily in Paris, in which Americans commit the second worst crime imaginable and get Frenchness wrong, there’s no end to the nose-out-of-joint sensitivity of the West’s most pervasive cultures. The French have a point. After all, it’s not as though there are any other films or art about Paris. No, if the umbrage is there for the taking, by golly, we’ll take it. Pip pip!

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The Haunting of Bly Manor is streaming now on Netflix

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[luckylq48-blog]

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[themoonandotherslikeit]

What the Rain Can’t Wash Away- Chapter 4

*FINAL PIECE IN THE LOOK IN HER EYES TRILOGY*

Sixteen years after Lucifer rose, and Dean lost his wife he finds himself with a teenager, a Nephilim, an angel, and his brother living out a Full House rerun with some seriously dark undertones. How will he be able to raise his daughter, fight monsters, and deal with the loss of the love of his life? Sometimes moving on is the hardest part, but with the Winchester’s there’s always something harder around the corner. Isn’t there?

Chapter Four, Poughkeepsie 

Dean

"A... pearl?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Yup," Sam said smoothly. "It grants your deepest desire."

"That means...Micheal gone. That's my deepest desire!"

"Exactly." Sam grinned triumphantly. "So you think you can hold off on the whole deep sea plan for a few days?"

I swallowed. If this was true.. then fuck. That could be the solution. "Seems a little too good to be true, man. Don't you think?"

My little brother shrugged. "Maybe, but we won't know until we try. Ya know?"

"Do you have any leads on it?" I pressed. I would be damned if I got my hopes up just to have something else fall through. Just to have another wild goose chase.

"Actually, we do," Cas said, literally stepping out of the shadows.

I jumped in my seat at the table. "Jesus, man! What're you doin lurking like that?"

"I wasn't lurking, Dean," Cas said with a huff. "I was just waiting for the best moment to bring you the good news."

"Well, it was creepy," I said, taking a swig of my beer. "What's the lead?"

Cas walked to the kitchen table. "A man named Larkin. He is a collector, of sorts. A procurer of rare occult items."

"Like Bela?" Sam asked, making a face.

"Not exactly," Cas said smoothly. "He keeps them for himself. Locked away. Sometimes he will sell, for a price, but something like this won't be for sale. It's too valuable."

"Right," I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "So what do you propose? We ask nicely?"

"I was thinking we should steal it."

"Cas, you naughty girl," I said through clenched teeth.

Sam shrugged again. "Won't be the first time."

"What's with you two?" I asked, standing. "You have a death wish for a half assed lead?"

"It isn't half assed." Sam frowned. "This is a real lead, Dean."

"Well, we don't know if we can get it or if it would even work."

"But we should still try," Cas said gently.

"Respectfully? Fuck no. This guy probably has an arsenal."

"So?" Sam rolled his eyes. "We have an arsenal. We can handle this, Dean."

"Just put me in the box, Sammy. Put me in the box and let me fucking rest."

I turned to leave but Sammy grabbed my arm to stop me. I turned to meet his pained expression. "Just let us try, Dean. Please."

I sighed. How could I say no to those fucking doe eyes? They were the same ones that got me a thousand times over. The same eyes that pulled me out of my head, out of the pocket that Michael had slipped me into. He gave me strength I didn't know I had. "Okay, Sammy. We can give it a shot, but we can't wait around forever. You got a game plan?"

"The start of one."

"How far away is it?"

"Bout seven hours."

"Good. We can finish the plan on the way. I'll let the kids know we are headed out on a case. Wheels up in ten."

  -Three weeks earlier, inside Dean's mind-

 I flipped the Tequila bottle. Once, twice. "Damn I'm getting good at that." I grinned to myself, finishing pouring the shot.

"Shit,” a voice came along with the chime of the front door. "It's really coming down out there."

I turned toward the familiar voice. Ava. "Hey, Sweetheart."

"Got your precious limes. Hope my Afro is worth it," she joked, shaking out her black curls. They were a bit bigger than usual from the humidity.

"Totally worth it," I grinned widely, gesturing for her to come to me. "We can't have the house special without limes. What are we, savages?"

She hopped up on the bar, and slid into my arms. I pressed a gentle kiss on her lips and she smiled against me.

"I missed you," I told her.

"I've been gone half an hour, you're so needy," she teased, kissing me again.

"Yeah, well, it felt like a fucking life time."

Ava grinned back at me. "Should we close up? It's pretty fucking dead in here."

"You're right," I sighed. "And I need to do the books."

"You're really sexy when you talk management to me." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Well, Mrs. Winchester, I could use the help. Step into my office?"

"In a minute." She smiled. "I want a famous house special." She slid off the bar top and rested on a stool.

I sliced a lime effortlessly, like it was second nature.

"Have you heard from Nel?" She asked, leaning in to me, the tops of her breasts poking out from her V-neck.

"At the movies with Claire."

"That's a normal teenage thing to do. I'm so proud." Ava grinned. "Does this mean she's given up on the idea of being a hunter like Mom and Dad?"

"We aren't exactly hunting anymore," I said with a smile. I reached out and ran my thumb over her bottom lip. "We're business owners."

"Yeah, we are."

I sighed. "Yeah, Sam and Cas are still on that ghoul hunt in Wichita. Should be home soon though."

"Maybe we should hire Sam as a bar-back." She grinned. "With you two behind the bar we won't need to do ladies night to make extra money."

"Don't objectify me," I scoffed, even though I couldn't hide my growing smile.

"You love it."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Dean." She leaned forward, touching my cheek with her soft hand and kissed me.

Something inside me ached at the kiss, and I pulled her closer, deepening it. I would take her right there on the bar top if she'd let me. I would run into the rain and scream I love my fucking wife! There was no need, though, I had her, and nothing would rip me away from her.

"Two House Specials." I grinned, sliding her a tequila shot, a lime, and a beer. I opened my own beer.

"Best special around." She smiled, raising her shot glass. "To Rocky's, to our dysfunctional family, and to us. Love can solve anything."

"Fuck yeah it can." We clinked glasses and downed the shots.

Ava wiggled as the alcohol ran through her, and she wrapped her lips around the lime, sucking.

I hopped over the bar and swiftly walked to the front door, flipping the sign to closed.

"What're you doing?" She asked, removing the lime from her lips.

"Gonna do what I've been thinking about since the moment you walked back into this bar."

"And what's that?" She asked coyly.

"'Mere and I'll show you."

I walked to her, meeting her in the middle before pulling her into my arms. She fit there like she was made for me, like I was made for her. I captured her lips in mine and ran my fingers down her back.

"Dean," she whispered.

"Dean."

I turned, with my hand up her fucking shirt, to find Sam and Cas staring at me wide eyed.

Sammy stood there slack jawed like a complete creep.

"No offense, guys, I'm glad you're here, but Christ can you not watch?" I laughed, moving my hand out of Ava's shirt.

She readjusted her top and her hair. "Hey Sam, Cas. How was the case?"

"Ava," Sam muttered.

"What's wrong with you, man? Was it a tough one?"

"I'll get you two a beer," Ava said, going behind the bar. "We have this new one from Austin. It's an IPA, you'll love it."

"Dean," Sam said, grabbing ahold of me. He turned my attention from Ava behind the bar, one of my favorite versions of her, to him.

"What man?"

"What's going on here?" He asked low.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, shrugging him off.

"Glad you two are back safe," Ava said, cracking the caps off the beers. "I think Dean was starting to get worried." She smiled brightly. Damn she lights up a room.

"Was not," I grunted.

I made my way back behind the bar, and snaked an arm around Ava's waist. "What're you two waiting for? Want her to bring the beers to you? Drink up." I slid the beer to the edge of the bar, waiting for Sam and Cas to oblige. They'd never had a problem drinking my free beer before.

The two of them raced toward the bar and Sam placed his palms flat on the bar top. "We don't have time for this. I'm sorry, Dean..."

"Sorry bout what? I'll drink the beer if you don't want it, Sammy."

Ava laughed. "Not if you're wanting to... you know." She eyed me.

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Wanting to what?"

Ava looked to me for approval and I shrugged. "We are trying to get pregnant again. Now that things have slowed down... and beer can lower the sperm count. We already have a lot against us from our age. So no more than one drink a day. He promised."

I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. "And I won't break it." I swore to her. I looked to my brother and Cas, who honestly looked like someone ran over their puppy. "What the fuck is wrong with you two? Thought you'd be happy?"

"Dean.. None of this is real. Okay? The bar... Ava.."

"Excuse me?" Ava asked, moving out of my arms. "You've never met anyone more real than me, Sam Winchester."

"You're just a complex manifestation of Dean's memories designed to distract him," Cas said sadly.

"You really know how to talk to a lady, don't you?" She grinned. "Just have the beer, Castiel. You're a little tightly wound."

"Okay, listen to me," Sam said, frustrated. "You have to remember what's going on out in the real world."

"I know its raining." I gestured to the bay windows in the bar. "What else do I need to know?" My whole world is in here. I thought, kissing Ava's hair.

"No! I'm not talking about the rain. I'm talking about Michael."

I blinked a few times. "Michaels in the cage."

"Sam you okay?" Ava asked gently. "Was there something more that happened on the hunt?"

I stroked the length of her back, feeling almost blissful. I barely noticed what Sam and Cas were saying. Being this close to her just felt so fucking good.

"No, damn it. It wasn't a bad case."

"Michael is possessing you," Castiel said carefully. "You have to remember that."

"Come on guys," I groaned. "What? Is this some kind of joke?"

"No, Dean," Cas sighed. "It isn't a joke."

"Okay, okay," Ava said, putting her hands up. "If we are inside Dean's head then he should be able to control things, like a lucid dream?

Sam looked flustered. "I don't know, maybe?"

"Then let's go ahead and skip all the dirty stuff. Where's my baby, Dean? Get me pregnant with your brain," she said before busting into laughter.

"Baby, I don't want to miss the dirty stuff." I wiggled my eyebrows at her.

"Dean listen to me. This bar is not real. Ava isn't real. You know what happened to her," Sam said insistently.

I frowned. "Man, that's my wife. Stop talking about her like she isn't here."

"She isn't here, Dean. Ava.. Ava died that night in the church. The night that Lucifer rose. You remember that, right?"

I frowned and closed my eyes. Do I?

"It's going to be okay, Ave. I've got you. I won't let you go," I said into her hair. "You're the one, sweetheart. It's always been you. From the second I walked into that bar. It'll be okay, because everything with us is right. You're the only thing that's right."

I opened them back and she was gone. "Where the... where'd Ava go? Ava?" I ran out from behind the bar. "This isn't funny... this... this is my life." My eyes stung. "This is the dream!"

"No, Dean," Cas said sadly. "This is a dream, Dean. That's all it is. Please you have to try to remember, because the people in your life.. in your real life out there need you to come back. Eleanor needs you to come back."

Eleanor.

"No." I shook my head. "Nel's in a movie with Claire. She's being a normal kid. She's happy. We're happy."

Sams eyes flickered to mine and with a sad expression whispered. "Poughkeepsie."

"What?" My heart sunk.

"Poughkeepsie."

Ella

Two days after the boys went to look for the pearl

 "I haven't heard from them." I crossed my arms, pacing the length of the kitchen. "I'm starting to get worried. They call they always call."

"Maybe their phones are dead?" Claire offered weakly. She knew that this was as bad as I did.

"They always check in Claire. What if something happened? What if Michael escaped and blew them up? What if they're..."

"We will go save them," Jack said, standing suddenly.

"I know where they went," Claire said, meeting my eyes.

"You do? They told you?"

"I sort of... fuck. I didn't want to have to lie to you. They were looking for a solution for Michael. This magical pearl that grants you your hearts desire."

"So they think they can use it to get Michael gone?"

"Yeah. We think at least."

"Claire, why didn't you tell me?" I asked, desperately.

"We didn't want to get your hopes up if it wasn't going to happen," she sighed.

"Do you think it can really work?" Jack asked, hopeful.

"That's the idea."

"If they're still alive," I said, cracking my knuckles. "Jack's right. We have to save them."

"We could call another hunter."

"Claire, why don't you want me on this? I can do it. I know how to shoot, plus, I'll have you both with me." I smiled, taking her hands. "Let's go save our Dad's."

"Fine," she said curtly. "But I don't like it.

"Someone wise once told me that I don't have to like something, but I do have to respect it."

"What dumbass said that?"

"Mmm not sure, but damn I bet she was pretty," I said, placing a kiss on Claire's lips. "Wheels up in ten?"

"Really, Dean Jr?"

I shrugged with a grin. "Always wanted to say that."

"I will pack the snacks," Jack said with a nod.

"Not a lot though, Jack! We are taking the bike," Claire said flippantly.

It had to be a real funny sight seeing Claire and I on a motorcycle, with Jack in the sidecar. Like real fucking funny.

I borrowed one of Claire's leather jackets and my own boots. Jack was wearing one of Sam's jackets, even though it just about swallowed him whole.

"We have a long ride, so get comfy," Claire said, kick starting the bike.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, pressing my face to her back. This is all I need to be comfortable. You're all I need.

Claire turned back to me with a smile, before closing the plastic on her helmet over her face. "You're all I need, too."

—————

Chapter Five, Adventures in Babysitting

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