#al: 'but we both love *YOU* and *THAT'S* bonding too! see? familiar traditions all around!'

[aces-to-apples]

Think whatever you want, I just know Kieran is spending Veilguard bopping around Ferelden putting out fires and fighting darkspawn with King Dad, truly fulfilling the Theirin family curse tradition of learning what it means to be prince (and eventually king) of Ferelden in the most dogshit circumstances available

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Falling Together Part I

Author’s Note: After receiving such kind words from Tall Tale, I had another idea that I ran with. There will be a part two, so if you want to be added to the tag list for this as well as future works to come, please let me know. 

Summary: You enter into an arranged marriage with Ivar, a marriage of convenience, but can you both come together to make it more?

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 3137

Warnings: Language, mild angst

"You need to fuck your wife, brother."

Those were the words that came out of Hvitserk's mouth after they had been sitting in silence. How he longed for better advice from Ubbe, but his eldest brother remained back in Kattegat with Torvi. They had parted as equals, peace finally coming to the sons of Ragnar. For Ivar, Kattegat held only pain and misery, so he had taken to the sea with a handful of ships and a map to Ireland, and once again Hvitserk had chosen to remain at his side. He didn't know what inspired such loyalty from his brother, but he was grateful for his company, most days. Today was not one of them.

"Are you listening, Ivar? I said--"

"Yes, I heard you," Ivar interjected before he could repeat himself. "I'm just choosing to ignore your advice."

Hvitserk shrugged as he pulled meat off of a chicken bone with his teeth. "Alright, but you know I'm right. She's going to want someone to warm her bed eventually, and she won't wait around for it to be you."

"Christian women don't like sex," Ivar said with a huff.

"Not the ones I've been with," Hvitserk said, smirking around a mouthful of meat. "They don't like sex with devout Christian men, but we are not such men."

Ivar frowned into his mug of ale as he thought about you. You were his wife in name only, an alliance forged with your father for lands in the first few weeks they had arrived in Ireland. The wedding had been small, in accordance with Viking tradition, not Christian. You weren't as devout as the Saxons of England, but you had insisted on keeping your cross.

There was no love in your marriage. At first you had appeared hopeful if not reluctant to be sharing in this union, but as many moons had passed, you'd begun to realize you were alone in your efforts. Ivar didn't hate you, even if you were a Christian, but he did not want to be in love again, not after Freydis. She was everything he had ever wanted, and she had betrayed him.

"Why the sudden interest in what goes on in my marriage?" Ivar said, setting down his mug as he watched Hvitserk.

"I'm sure King Conall will be starting to wonder about grandchildren soon," said Hvitserk, leaning back in his chair. "And you have a pretty wife. Others have taken notice already, and she might start to consider picking one. Women don't like to be lonely."

Ivar scowled, hating the apprehension his brother's words stirred up. "She is free to take a lover if she wishes." His voice wavered. Even he didn't believe himself.

"You have changed, Ivar, but not enough that I don't believe you wouldn't kill the man she was with."

Hvitserk wasn't wrong. He still lacked self-confidence as far as women were concerned, and he would take it as a personal slight if you humped some lesser warrior in his army. You never voiced any discontent in his presence, and Ivar was sure he would notice any man becoming too enamored with you.

He rose from his throne, a sudden need to get away from the doubts that the turn in conversation had brought up. Hvitserk looked at him with a grin while folding his arms back behind his head.

"Going to take care of your wife?"

"Be silent," Ivar grumbled. "My marriage is a solid alliance. There's nothing that needs fixing."

"If it's as you say, then forget what I said," said Hvitserk, returning his attention to his plate of food.

Ivar growled as he started for his chambers. He hated not getting the last word in, but nothing he could have said would've proven Hvitserk wrong. Truthfully, he knew little about you or how you spent your days. When he was preoccupied with the duties of ruling, you were off amongst the people, though not without a guard. Ivar was surprised that you had taken an active role in being Queen. Freydis never had, nor had his mother. Your father was a great King, and you must have studied under his exemplary tutelage. 

His crutch ticked down the corridor with each slow step, the damp causing his legs to stiffen. Ireland was greener than Norway, but the warmth of the sun would disappear for days behind a wall of grey cloud that brought heavy rain. The long torrents left him miserable with agony, something he fought to conceal from his men.

He leaned on the door as he came into his room, the fire low since the last time it had been tended to by a slave. The bed was empty. This had remained the same since the wedding night. There was a smaller room attached to his main chambers, meant to be used for any future children you birthed. Instead it had become your own personal wing, with no one growing wise to the fact that you slept away from your marital bed.

Ivar slept better alone. The space allowed for him to shift about if the pain became unbearable. Tonight was different. He couldn't keep his eyes from the door to your chamber, even as he eased himself down onto the furs. Reaching for his crutch, he rose again, letting out a low hiss as he forced his body forward. Just one peek would be enough to satisfy him. 

Ivar doubted you'd bring any man to your room, as it meant you'd have to drag them past his bed first. Hvitserk's comments had burrowed into his head however, and he needed to be sure. He eased his way through the door, and took a step into your space for the first time. It was a smaller room, not meant to be used as sleeping quarters for an adult, but you had made it into something personal. There was no hearth for a fire. You kept warm under a pile of furs, twice as thick as he needed. There you slept in the middle of the small bed, unaware as he watched this private moment of solitude.

You didn't appear to be in despair. A ghost of a smile sat on your lips. It was a look Ivar was familiar with, even if he hadn't been on the receiving side of it for some time. At first you had tried to smile for him, all attempts to forge a bond with your new husband. He didn't know when you had stopped trying, but now it was a smile you only reserved for others. You never referred to him by name anymore either. It was always 'My King' or 'My Lord', the latter of which he detested.

He breathed a sigh. This was not how he imagined his life would turn when he set out to new lands. There was still the desire to grow his father's legacy, and thus far his Kingship in Ireland was progressing much better than it had in Kattegat. He had been driven by blind ambition and false beliefs that he was anything other than a crippled mortal. The loss was humbling, and even with his new found success he refused to rest on his laurels. 

Now that his curiosity was satisfied, he pivoted back towards the door to leave. The thin light coming from the fire in his room illuminated the table beside your bed where you kept your cross. There was something else there as well, a small thing that stopped Ivar in his place. It was a hammer of Thor, whittled from wood and tied to a piece of twine. The craftsmanship was poor, but the meaning of it was something else entirely. Someone had gifted it to you, and you had kept it in a place within reach.

He wanted to inspect it further, maybe even take it back to burn it in his hearth, but he wouldn't risk Thor's wrath, or the chance that you could wake up. Hvitserk's warning about you taking a lover came back with a vengeance and had his stomach feeling like it was filled with rocks. He would have to sleep with this knowledge until he could question you about it, a conversation he did not desire to have. How to broach it would be more difficult still, and combined with the pain in his legs, Ivar found no rest that night.

ooOOoo

Ivar was behaving strangely. Your father had come to visit, which meant there was an unspoken agreement between you and your husband to behave cordially. You had done so many times when the situation called for you both to act as united rulers, but the efforts on your husband's part had never felt this...forced. 

During the feast his hand kept pawing for yours beneath the table until you gave up and let him cling to your limp fingers. He was attentive, patient, and even addressed you by name. You concealed your frown as best you could between bites of food. One glance down the table at Hvitserk and you understood that he was perplexed by Ivar's behavior as well. It pleased your father to witness such fondness from your husband towards you, and that had you holding your tongue. You would give your King an earful later.

"Daughter," Your father said, raising his arms to embrace you after you had managed to pry out of Ivar's iron grasp. "You are a smart match together, I am glad you are happy."

"Thank you, father," You whispered into his ear before parting.

"Might I see a grandchild soon?"

You flushed from what looked like embarrassment, but was actually shame. It was a constant hurt inside you, that you had failed to be desirable to your husband.

"Maybe, if we are blessed," You said evenly.

"I'm sure you will be. This is a successful alliance, and I have no doubt your union will be fruitful. We have a son of Ragnar on our side, that is no small thing, but remember you are my daughter, and you will always have a place in my court."

He placed his large hands over your shoulders, as he often did when you were a small child. His cheeks were flushed as red as his beard from drinking, and a merry grin was upon his lips. It had just been you and him for so long, after your mother had passed from sickness a lifetime before. You used to think you could tell your father everything, but now that you were a Queen, your loyalties had shifted to protect your husband and the integrity of your new settlement. 

With your practiced smile and a reassuring hand upon his arm, you eased whatever burdens he felt for giving you away to heathens. "I am well father, and my place is here with my people."

"Then I shall depart, and leave you with your husband."

"Hvitserk," You called, and he stood with uncoordinated abruptness. "Please escort my father and his men to the gates."

He seemed to understand your true intentions, shooting you a nod to confirm. You had grown fond of your brother-in-law in a short time, and had come to see him as someone you could rely on. He had no qualms about answering anything you wanted to know. If you had asked, he would have spilled every secret about Ivar as well, but you had refrained from going down that path. You would rather get the truth from the horse's mouth as it were, and now you were about to be alone with him.

Ivar's eyes did not lose the mischief behind them. They were cold blue, like the winters of his home you thought. But the patient smile you had been rewarded with at dinner had vanished, replaced with something shrewd.

"What are you playing at, husband?" You stressed the word as you steeled your stance against him.

"I'm not sure I understand, (Y/N). It is a husband's duty to dote upon his wife as he sees fit," He remarked while his hands gripped tight to the armrests of his throne.

"You can stop pretending now that we are alone. Lord knows I have," You mumbled the last bit, but Ivar had heard. Maybe you had wanted him to.

"Come sit, and talk with me," He said, indicating to your throne next to his. 

The seriousness of the request left you with little choice, and you gathered up your skirts while keeping your head high as you made your way beside him. There was a constant cloud of anger that seemed to follow your husband wherever he went, but you didn't think he would hurt you. Sometimes when he would look at you, a wave of sadness would fall over his face, and it was as if he was seeing through you to something else.

"What do you wish to speak of, My Lord?"

Ivar winced, but he recovered by bringing his hand down on top of yours. This again. You kept your hand still as he laced your fingers together, the roughness of his palm stroking against your soft one.

"Are you happy here?" He asked, and the hesitation in the question was tangible. 

"Yes. The people are content, and the settlement is thriving."

"That's not what I asked." His tone was curt and to the point. It seemed he wanted to discuss the nature of your marriage, but the timing of it was mysterious to you. "I know the people talk of an heir, as I'm sure your father also mentioned."

"The people will always talk, My Lord. All you have to do is listen and decide what's worth hearing," You said, feeling your fingers start to tingle as his grip held firm. "As for my father, he is as any old King would be. Anticipating a grandchild so that he can pass from this world knowing his blood will live on."

His brow was furrowed into a frown. "When we are alone, call me Ivar."

"Alright...Ivar," You said, sampling the feel of his name on your tongue. You hadn't addressed him as such since your wedding.

"If we had a child, would that make you happy?"

His eyes were downcast as he spoke, which you were glad for, as he didn't see how his words had embarrassed you.

"I never said I was unhappy," You remarked. "And I don't think a child is something we are ready for yet."

"Because we are not in love," He sighed.

"Well, yes and no. I always knew I would marry a stranger with whom I wouldn't be in love. But marriage is a tool to strengthen kingdoms, and spread prosperity to its people. If you have that, you don't need love."

His eyes scrutinized you with something indiscernible, and he let go of your hand. You thought that perhaps your words had hurt him, but you didn't know why. When you had first been brought forth by your father to meet with Ivar, you had thought he was handsome. Perhaps a bit too quick to act in anger, as you had witnessed during the meeting, but you had hoped he was a man you would grow to love. Months later, and you were sleeping in separate beds with your virtue still intact, so it frustrated you to see him be upset by what you had said. 

"Is that why you accept gifts from other men," His tone was harsh, and you thought he hated you then by the dark look in his eyes.

You jumped up from your throne, and rounded on him with fury. This marriage had insulted you long enough. "What are you accusing me of?"

He searched for something just beneath the collar of his tunic, and what he showed you was the hammer pendant of one of his Gods that hung from his neck. "I know you have one. Which man gave it to you? I will not have my reign tarnished by a whore Queen, not again."

Your stomach burned from the insult, and much of what he said you did not understand. His insinuation had stung, and you had little care for finding out about what he meant by 'again'. 

You pulled the small bracelet out of the sleeve of your dress. The twine was too short to be a necklace, but you wore it all the same because it was special to you.

"You mean this I presume. How you came to discover it, I can only assume you have entered my chambers without my consent."

"I'm your husband, and King, I don't need your consent," He shot back.

"Then let me tell you about the man who gifted it to me one day while I walked the market. His name is Einarr, a son of one of your warriors. He is eight years old, not even old enough to have an armring yet."

You took a small bit of satisfaction to see him struggle to retort. Whatever argument and claims he had built up against you in his head disappeared after your explanation. He sunk back in his throne, and you were pleased to see he had the humility to look guilty.

"Then why keep it hidden?"

"It's special to me, proof that even as a foreign Queen to your people, I can be respected. We haven't established a relationship to share such things," You exclaimed, everything that you had been holding back spilling out in an instant. It took a deep breath to calm yourself, to bring you back to the matters at hand. "I think we should stop...for now. Our alliance has thrived by us acting separately, and perhaps that is how it should stay."

"I regret the things I've said," Ivar hurried to say, his voice now thin from weariness. 

It was a small comfort, and you both knew it. "If there is nothing else, My Lord, I should like to retire?"

There was nothing he could have said in that moment that could have kept you there and not made you resentful, so with a wave of his hand, he dismissed you. 

When you were far enough away, you let your shoulders sag, and let out a quiet sigh of defeat. Despite how he had hurt you with his words, neither of you walked away the victor. The hill to surmount in your marriage had just become a mountain, and you weren't certain it could ever be conquered. Judging by the crashing and shouting coming from the Great Hall, Ivar's black mood had returned. Maybe he felt the same. You held the small wooden hammer in your hand all the way back to your chambers, praying to any God that would listen to guide you on your way to mending your marriage before it was too late.

Tag List

@blah-blah-fuckit-shit 

@tgrrose

[mxndoscyarika]

Red Sunsets (Javier Peña x Chinese!Reader) | Chapter 10: Al Fín Se Hablan

Author’s note: I’m still here! I’m soooo sorry this took so long, I know we’re close to the end but school and applications took up all my energy 😭 Thankfully, I have a writing class this quarter that’s been helping to keep me inspired! Hope you guys like this one, it’s not much but it’s cute 😘

Summary: Family fights, grudges, and determination. Those three things defined your journey as you navigated through the workings of the DEA. Getting in was hard, and catching Escobar was even harder. You joined Javier Peña and Steve Murphy in the hunt for Escobar, forming bonds and life lessons along the way.

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Red Sunsets masterlist

Warning(s): smoking, discussion of marriage 👀, one(1) vaguely sexual innuendo

You sighed and rubbed your face, trying to rid yourself of the haziness that came with staring at pages of small text. You lifted your face from your hands as a steaming mug of coffee was set onto your desk. It was made just how you liked it, and you knew exactly who was next to you. “Thanks, Javi.”

“Of course, hermosa,” he rasped. You smiled as he rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head. “How are things coming along?” “They’re not,” you lamented. “Nothing makes sense and I haven’t been able to make even the dumbest connections.”

“I can take a look at them in a few minutes,” he soothed, nodding at the typewriter on his desk. “Just let me finish something up for Messina.”

“Okay,” you sighed, pouting at him. You pulled him down so you could press your lips to his, smiling at the familiar pressure. “Thanks, baby.”

Javi hummed softly and sat down at his desk. “Anything for you, mi amor.”

You two didn’t notice Steve’s slack-jawed expression as you went back to work, the rustle of papers and clicking of the typewriter filling the office space. Whorls of steam tickled your nose as you took a sip of coffee, the fruity notes lingering on your tongue. It was certainly watered down, but you appreciated the caffeine nonetheless.

“So were either of you going to tell me you got together,” Steve asked, looking between the two of you, “or was I supposed to find out myself after you two sucked face? When did this happen?”

Neither of you looked up from your work as you replied simultaneously, “A while ago.”

The blonde scoffed, set down his cigarette, and crossed his arms. “So you’re telling me that you’ve been together this whole time, and I never knew?”

“Yup,” Javi grunted, pulling the finished report from the typewriter and examining it for errors.

You rolled your eyes at his gruff reply. “We would’ve told you, but we haven’t had the chance. But I guess you know now, so there’s no need for that.”

“Wait, so you two are together?” Steve asked in disbelief.

Javi cringed at the volume. “Thanks for announcing it to the whole world, Murph.” He held out his hand for the folders, which you silently passed them to him.

“Oh, as if the entire embassy didn’t know you two had a thing for each other,” he scoffed, taking a drag from the smoking cigarette. Wagging his finger, he stated, “But this- this is a cause for celebration. Connie’s going to freak out when I tell her the news. How about a double-date tonight? Just the four of us getting some drinks.”

“I don’t mind as long as Javi comes.” Taking another sip of coffee, you silently begged for the caffeine to stamp out your growing headache.

“With you? Always,” Javi said, squinting at the small print. A lock of hair fell from its place, making you want to run your hands through his silky hair. But he was too far from your reach, and you didn’t feel like getting up from your chair. He didn’t notice Steve choking on air across from him.

---

Despite being a weeknight, the bar was fairly full. Music played softly as you searched for an open table or booth. The warm weight of Javi’s hand rested on your back as you rose to your tiptoes for a better view. You spotted Steve and Connie sitting towards the back, tucked away in a booth for four.

“I knew it!” Connie exclaimed when you arrived at the booth, slapping her husband’s arm.

“You knew what?” you teased, scooting across the seat. After work, you and Javi went home to change into more comfortable clothes. While Javi was content with simply changing his shirt, you slipped into a mid-length dress and some stylish slip-on shoes.

“That you two were together,” she said, pointing between you and Javi. “If you were trying to hide your relationship, you weren’t doing a very good job. Though I guess there’s something to be said for Steve not picking up on it earlier.”

“When you work with them every day, everything starts to look the same,” Steve scoffed. “They’ve been acting like this for months by now. Hell, they’re probably married and didn’t tell us.”

“That’s some fantastic detective work,” you said, sharing a look with Javi. He smiled softly and looked down at his drink, swirling the amber liquid. “But we’ve only been together for a couple weeks.”

Although you and he were officially in a relationship, you had quickly realized that not much changed. For some reason, part of you had expected grand gestures and declarations of love, but you also knew that wasn’t Javi.

No, your Javi expressed his love through small favors, gentle touches, and attention to detail. In many ways, it was all you ever wanted; someone who cared about you and would make you feel cherished in a world that was so busy.

Instead of waking up alone in a cold bed, you now woke to Javi pressing warm kisses on your shoulder and nuzzling along your neck. His stubble would scratch your skin as his soft lips worshipped your body, sweet murmurs of  “good morning” and “I love you” rumbling in his throat.

The mornings were always your favorite for that reason.

“So, what made you two take the plunge?” Connie asked, bringing you back to reality. You must’ve looked like a deer caught in headlights, because she shrugged sheepishly. “I’m just curious.”

“Why don’t you tell them?” you asked, nudging Javi’s arm.

He sighed softly and downed the rest of his drink before telling them what happened.

---

The city glowed beneath the overlook, the silhouettes of comunas like mountains during a sunset. You and Javi stood together by the edge. Although it wasn’t particularly cold, Javi gave you his leather jacket, draping it around your shoulders before pulling you into his arms.

It smelled like him, the scent bringing you back to the night of your first undercover mission. The difference was, you and Javi and Steve and Connie had gone to a bar not as DEA agents, but as couples.

A couple. No matter how much you’d wanted to be Javi’s, and for him to be yours, you still couldn’t quite fathom that he’d chosen you. You wondered how your family would react if they found out. Would they be happy that you finally found love, or would they disown you because you broke tradition?

Javi kissed the side of your head and murmured, “Come back to me, baby. What are you thinking about, mi amor?”

“You. Us.” You held his face in your hands and kissed him deeply, your lips molding together. “Te amo, Javi.”

He stilled, your lips brushing against each other. The soft rumble of his voice warmed you from the inside out. “Hm, you know, ‘te amo’ is normally only reserved for the love of your life, as in someone who you’d marry.”

“I know,” you replied, kissing him again. A soft groan escaped him as you wove  your fingers through his hair. “I didn’t stutter, did I?”

“No, you said it perfectly,” he said. In the faint light, you could see his eyes sparkling. They were dark, like the comfort of a bedroom. Like the warmth of coffee in the morning. Like the star-filled sky. You leaned into his hand as he cupped your cheek. His voice was velvet as he murmured, “Eres el amor de mi vida. Nunca imaginé que podría tener un amor como el que tenemos. But then you arrived, got off that plane, and blew us all away. You blew me away.”

You smiled and bit your lip, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You fell in love with me that early on?”

“It wasn’t hard,” he answered, kissing the tip of your nose. When you scoffed lightly, he pouted. “It’s true!”

You rolled your eyes. “Well we can’t both fall in love at the same time. That just makes us look like a couple of fools.”

He laughed softly. “It would, wouldn’t it?” He paused, then said your name softly. When you hummed for him to continue, he asked, “Do you ever think about settling down? Giving up on all this and going home to live your life?”

“Honestly,” you began, “more often than I’d like.”

The warmth of his lips against your temple made you smile as he asked, “Why is that?”

You let out a sigh. “There’s just always been that pressure for me to settle down, get married, and have some kids. And when I was younger, I fought against it. But now that I’m here with you….”

“Let me guess,” Javi started, a half smirk on his face. “You realized that men are pendejos and you’re better off alone?”

He grunted as you smacked his chest lightly. “No,” you objected. “I realized that all I needed was the right person to share my future with.”

“And who might that be?”

“I think you know who it is.”

Translations:

“Eres el amor de mi vida. Nunca imaginé que podría tener un amor como el que tenemos.” You are the love of my life. I never imagined that I could have a love like ours.

Tagging:

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[kyber-crystal]

catch me under the mistletoe || s.r

summary: in which a certain bond is tightened during the magical holiday season

words: ~3.6k

warnings: none. some language i think,,, and rly shitty writing bc i wrote this over a year or so ago

a/n: we’re still days away from christmas lmao, but who cares

“MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE, LOSERS!” Bucky yelled out.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE!” Thor boomed in reply, slamming his hand against a baking sheet.

“Shut the hell up!’ you hissed as you shuffled into the kitchen, a cranky look on your face. You grabbed the nearest pillow to you from the couch and chucked it at Bucky’s head. He winced and immediately stopped what he was doing. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For waking me up at nine-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, asshole,” you muttered, reaching over to pour yourself a cup of tea. “Do you ever shut up?’

“9:30 isn’t even that early. You’re just lazy,” he argued. “And why am I getting all the hate? Thor was in on this too?”

“Because Thor is a compassionate and kind being,” you explained, as the Norse god gave you an apologetic smile. 

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve, Lady Y/N,” he greeted politely. “I presume you slept well?”

“Yes, until Bucky started making noise…”

“I’m sorry!” Bucky exclaimed. “I’ll buy you more Cadbury tomorrow, okay? Is that enough?”

You nodded. “...Okay, fine.”

Steve hobbled into the kitchen, dressed in his Captain America pj pants (Tony got them for him last year as a gift) and wearing fluffy slippers. 

“Morning,” he yawned as he ran a hand through his hair to tame it, quickly kissing your forehead before sitting down in between you and Natasha. “How’d you guys sleep?”

“Got a solid six hours. Better than last week’s combined total of three, so I’d say not bad,” you replied. “You?”

“Managed to squeeze in five. So, anything new happen lately?”

“No, asides from the fact that the holidays are near and you two are acting like a couple,” Natasha rolled her eyes. You and Steve both averted your gazes and looked down. “Anyway. When are we gonna start getting decorations up?”

“After we finish eating, I guess,” Sam shrugged as he poured cereal into his bowl. “Ooh yes. I got more charms this time. Fuck the grains, Lucky Charms ain’t lucky if you got more grains than charms.”

“Shuri and T’Challa will be coming in approximately two hours. I advise you all get to work on decorating before they arrive,” FRIDAY’s voice came over the intercom.

Loki suddenly materialized in the middle of the lounge with a wide grin plastered on his face, as well as Pietro. “Did someone say decorate?”

“Have at it, brother, Sir Speedy,” Thor handed the several boxes of decorations over to him. “But please, don’t do anything stupid.”

...

You were all amazed and shell-shocked when a mere fifteen minutes later, the entire compound looked like a winter wonderland. The giant tree standing strong in the corner of the lounge was decorated from bottom to top with various stunning ornaments, garlands, and twinkling LED lights. 

Long story short, it seemed as if someone had punched Santa and made him throw up Christmas. Loki and Pietro nodded in approval at their work before exchanging a high-five.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this but,” Tony cleared his throat, “the jokesters really pulled it off this time. I’m proud of you both.”

The only thing left to do was hang the wreath up, and you decided to be the one to do so. You climbed up the ladder to hang up the wreath when you felt someone taser your sides. 

"Steven Grant Rogers!" you screeched, glaring at him as you wobbled and tried to regain your balance. "I could've fallen off, you bastard!"

"Oops," he shrugged, giving you an innocent look. "That was a complete accident, I'm so sorry."

"You suck," you stuck your tongue out at him before hanging the wreath up on the wall. 

"Told you the holidays were a magical season," Natasha whispered over to Wanda, and they both exchanged knowing looks. “Hey, Y/N, I still have some last-minute shopping to do. You willing to drive?”

“Sure, why not,” you shrugged. “But why can’t you take your own car?”

“I don’t feel like driving.”

“Alright,” you sighed, standing up and pushing your chair in. You leaned down to quickly kiss Steve’s cheek. “See you guys later.”

“Damn,” Sam wolf-whistled as you stepped into the elevator with her and Wanda, doors closing behind you. “She’s so oblivious.”

“To what?” Steve looked confused. 

“Y’all are so in love. Don’t try and go on with that ‘we kiss each other all the time’ bullshit because that’s not what people who are ‘just friends’ do.”

“But it is what just friends do. Y/N and I...we’ve known each other for a while...”

“Bullshit. I ain’t buyin’ that.”

… 

After you finished your last-minute shopping, you returned home with the gifts all wrapped up and ready to go and decided to whip up a batch of gingerbread cookies. The party was due to begin tomorrow evening, and you wanted a head start so you wouldn’t be cramming mere hours before.

Soon enough, the warm smell of cinnamon and other festive aromas drifted through the air.

"Mmm, is that gingerbread?" You turned around to find Steve sitting there, chin propped on his hand.

“Yeah. When I was little, I’d help my dad bake them because he’d often burn the cookies. As a SHIELD agent, he was always busy and didn’t have the time to improve his cooking skills.” You chuckled, and a nostalgic smile appeared on your face as you recalled the memory. “I started cooking at a young age...it really helped me prepare to be on my own. It kinda became a tradition of mine to keep baking even after he passed...feels like I still have a part of him with me when I do.” 

The timer went off and you grabbed your oven mitts, pulling the cookies out of the oven and placing them on the counter. You put the second batch in and reset the timer.

"You smell like cookies," Steve commented, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

Your cheeks turned bright pink from the physical contact. He didn't let go, and you let your arms slide up his back and stay there, as you stood in his tight embrace, breathing slowly and heart beating rapidly.

Tony broke it up by walking in and coughing loudly. 

"Don't distract her, Rogers," he said, sitting on the couch with a slight smirk on his face.

The two of you pulled away from each other, looking away quickly to avoid further embarrassment. 

"Speedy Gonzales, Parker, you better put those props away or no party or cookies for either of you," you scolded as Pietro and Peter were parading around the lounge.

"Darn. I look really attractive in this headband," Pietro whined. 

"Yeah, it really brings out the color of your eyes," you said sarcastically.

"Thanks, Y/N," he imitated your tone of voice. 

Shuri arrived soon enough, and immediately took to watching Vine compilations with Peter on the couch as they ate the few samples of the cookies you’d given them. The compound grew rather quiet, and you relished in the feeling of peace before someone could come along and screw it up again. 

… 

The next day quickly came and went. One by one, the rest of the guests began to arrive: Strange and Wong, the Guardians, Loki, even Fury and agents Coulson and Hill. How Tony managed to convince them to come, you had no idea. 

You were dragged away by Natasha to get ready upon her insistence that you were forbidden on seeing Steve before the party. Despite your protests (”The fuck? This isn’t even a wedding? Why are you treating it like one?), she didn’t budge. Knowing her unmovable determination, you allowed her to dress you up and do your makeup. 

“Wow, gold really is your color,” she propped a hand on her hip as she spun you around so you could look at yourself. 

“You’re a miracle worker, Romanoff,” you laughed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d be so lost.”

“That’s why we’re friends, isn’t it?” Natasha gave you a little wink. “Dress to impress, love, dress to impress.”

...

The Christmas party was now in full swing - it was just after dinner and everyone was walking around, laughing and drinking at the bar or just casually conversing with one another. You were bored of wandering around and had already talked to pretty much everyone in the room, so you decided to look around for Clint and T’Challa  because you didn't know what else to do. 

"Hey, mind if I join you?" you asked, holding your simple glass of ginger ale (You hated alcohol). "Stark ditched me because he's busy working the music."

"Sure," T’Challa  nodded, motioning to the empty seat beside him, and you slid into the booth.  "How's it going for you so far, Miss Y/L/N?"

“Just Y/N is fine,” you laughed, setting your drink down on the table, “I’m doing alright. What about you? I forgot to ask how the flight here was.”

“We were able to get a couple hours of rest on the way here, so I’d say it was a nice flight.”

“That’s good,” you nodded. 

“Kinda off topic, but hey, why aren’t you talking to Capsicle? He was looking for you earlier,” Clint spoke up. “Go talk to him.”

“Clint…”

“Come on! Just talk to him. It’s not like you’re some teenage fangirl terrified out of your mind to even look in his direction.”

“Fine,” you huffed, standing up. “See you guys later?”

“See you,” the two men said in unison as you walked away.

Your eyes scanned the room for Steve’s familiar broad-shouldered figure. They finally land on him, standing in the corner with a crystalline champagne glass in his hand, standing next to Bucky with a faint smile on his face. 

You take one look at him and you swear your heart stops. He was literally the human form of perfection. The black suit he wore only further accentuated his lean, athletic build, with chiseled features and a sharp jawline that had to be sculpted by the gods themselves. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of him. The collar of his shirt is rolled down slightly, holy crap- and his eyes- they seemed to be shining even more brightly tonight, if that was even possible. They made you swoon, and you never swooned. The effect this man had on you… 

As soon as he met your gaze, he couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. His eyes immediately brightened at the sight of you standing there in your shimmery, gold gown, his heartbeat picking up speed. 

He gave you a quick once-over before looking straight back into your eyes. “Hey, doll. You look...amazing.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled lightly, feeling your face flush, “you look great, too, Captain.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “So you’re not gonna make a comment on my appearance, huh Y/N?”

“Oh! Sorry,” you apologized, “Bucky! You look so...different!”

“Decided to go back to that old 40’s look. Tony insisted on it and I caved, so here we are,” he explained, gesturing to his clean-shaven face. “What do you think?”

“You look great,” you beamed. 

“Romanoff pick out your dress?” You nodded, and he made a little ‘ah’ in realization. “She has good taste.”

“I know. I never would’ve found this on my own. Hope Tony doesn’t mind losing 2 grand from his credit card.”

“He won’t. Uh, anyways...I’m gonna go join Clint over there for our pool rematch. We have at least fifty bucks on the line now that Strange and Quill are joining in,” he motioned behind him to show Dr. Strange and Peter Quill arguing over how much money should be put in. “Catch you guys later?”

“Sure,” you nodded. “See you later.”

You turned back to Steve to see his baby blue eyes still boring into you. Normally you’d feel like shrinking away underneath his gaze but instead, you hold your head high and maintain the friendly smile on your face. 

“So, how’s the party been going for you so far?”

“Other than Tony ditching me to DJ, I’m great,” you laughed, “and you?”

“Parties aren’t really my style, but I decided, why not just let loose for tonight?” he replied, “It’s Christmas. There’s no need to be in a foul mood.”

“I mean, you can’t possibly stay grumpy when you’re watching Peter and Shuri battle it out on the dance floor.” He glanced in the direction you were looking at to see in fact, Peter and Shuri, holding a dance-off as several people cheered them on.

“Staying on that topic…” he paused for a moment before speaking, holding his hand out to you, “may I have this dance?”

“Of course, Captain,” you give him a goofy grin as you took his hand and he leads you to the dance floor. Once the two of you arrive at the center, the crowd immediately parts to make room and the music immediately switches from a fast-paced pop tune to something much slower. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, pressing you close to his body. Right away you’re hit with his fresh scent of berry aftershave and pine, and clean linen. You find yourself leaning into him as he gently places his hands on your waist and your arms loosely wrap around his neck, swaying gently to the beat of the music. 

“You’re pretty good, if I do say so myself,” you comment, sending him a flirty wink. He laughs in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he does so. 

“You’re not so bad at this, either,” he grins, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch in your throat. He twirls you outward before bringing you back in, quickly catching you around the waist again. “You’re very light on your feet.”

You continued to dance and twirl around the floor, onlookers thinking to themselves that this most certainly wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this before. The lights overhead twinkled with each step you took as you spun around in delicate circles, the gold of your dress glittering brightly. With the feeling of Steve’s warm hand on your back and your feet gliding smoothly across the floor, it felt as if the only people in the world at that moment was just you and him, no one else. You’re too busy to realize everyone’s stopped what they were doing to watch you two. Like Cinderella and her Prince Charming, Hercules and Megara, Beauty and the Beast - you had everyone believing you were a match made in heaven.

You’re not sure how long you stay wrapped up in each others’ arms for. Maybe it’s about half an hour later when the music switches again that you finally snap out of your trances.

“That was nice. Thank you,” you gave Steve a single nod. “I had fun.”

“Likewise, Y/N,” he looks you square in the eye as he gives you yet another million-dollar smile. Oh my god, his smile-

You make your way over together, his hand still on the small of your back, to where the rest of the OG Avengers were seated around the couches.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds themselves,” Sam smirked as you sat down, Steve putting his arm around the couch right behind your head. “Saw your romantic little moment back there.”

You rolled your eyes. “Lovebirds, my ass.”

“Language,” Steve teased, nudging you in the side. You shot him a ‘look.’

“Well, you’ve been quite the eye-catcher tonight,” Natasha folded her hands in her lap, nodding in approval as she observed your appearance. “If I were Rogers, I’d take you out on a date right away. Or if I were a man in general, I’d just straight up marry you.”

“Nat, with the way we act around one another, some people think we’re already married.”

“Touche.”

“Ooh, damn,” Clint let out a low wolf-whistle, twirling his drumsticks around his fingers. “Sounds like someone’s hot property.”

“Shut it, Barton,” you gave him a death glare. 

 “Okay, anyone against Y/N and Cap being a couple, please raise your hand,” Pietro announced, and when nobody raised their hands, he pointed at you. “See! No one’s objecting. You’d make an amazing couple.”

"No."

"Yes."

"Why are you guys so determined?"

"This ship has to happen. It is not going to die. Not on my watch," Sam declared. 

“What even is a ship-” Steve began, but was unable to finish his sentence as Maria Hill was approaching your group. 

"Merry Christmas! So I've heard this is the new power couple," she said  as she made her way over and sat down as well. "How's it going?"

“Ooh, another ship member!" Clint pumped his fist up in the air. 

"Damn right," Sam gave Hill a thumbs-up.

"Of course I'm on board," she smiled. "I'm all for it."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Seriously. What is it with you guys and shipping people together?"

"It's 'cause y'all cute," Sam wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "Y'all really gotta be cute like that. My heart can’t take it."

"Y/N," Steve noticed that you were looking uncomfortable and jerked his thumb behind the two of you, "want to go get some soda or something to eat?"

"Uh, yeah," you let out a sigh, brushing out your dress, "yeah. That'd be great."

"Don't have too much fun!" Tony called after you.

"Remember to stay safe and use protection, guys!" Clint cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted.

… 

“Well, that was chaotic,” you breathed out as you took a sip of your champagne before setting it down on the counter. “I’m honestly not even surprised by the team, anymore...kinda got used to it.”

“Yeah, you grow immune to the jokes after a while,” he shrugged. 

“You know…” you thought for a moment, a wistful yet sad smile appearing on your face as you looked out ahead, "Mom always got so excited around Christmas Eve. She wasn’t a huge alcohol lover, but made an exception for champagne. And hot chocolate. No matter how cold or warm it got during the month, she had one mug of it every day-" 

You stopped for a moment to compose yourself again. "And Dad---he would make us sing along to every single Christmas track that came on the radio."

"Hey, are you alright?" Steve's brow furrowed in concern as he placed a hand on your forearm. 

"I'm okay," you smiled sadly. "I just really miss them."

“I know. I miss my parents, too. My mother...she’d love you, you know. Ma always talked about having another daughter, but was unable to. Loved hot chocolate, like your mother…and never missed the chance to catch the sunrise or sunset, no matter the occasion.”

“She sounds like an amazing person,” you looked up at him. 

“She was.”

You spent another hour or so talking together, feeling the tension lift from your shoulders with each passing minute. Talking to Steve came so naturally so often- that was why, when you couldn’t fall asleep at night, would go out to the balcony with him and talk until the sun rose. You just continued your conversation, until giggles and whispers interrupted your chatter.

"What do you want, guys," you rolled your eyes at the team, arms crossed and smirking at you and Steve. Shuri especially, had a rather evil grin on her face, and so did Clint, Bucky, and Sam. 

"No...what they're trying to say is...uh..." Steve scratched the back of his neck and with an awkward chuckle, pointed to the mistletoe hanging above your heads. 

"Mistletoe," you said softly, feeling your face heat up. 

"Yeah," he spoke in a quiet voice, a light pink shade dusting his cheeks. 

"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!" the entire room began to chant.

"Rules are rules! You're not leaving until you two kiss!" Clint sing-songed.

The air around you had suddenly grown thick with anticipation and suspense as everyone fell silent, waiting for what was to come next, your heart beating so fast that it was making it difficult for you to catch a breath. Your gaze slipped down to his lips so he took this as a cue to let his arms slowly snake around your waist and you placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling as if everything was all going in slow motion. 

Although the kiss didn't last very long, you made sure to take in every detail. His lips were so soft and warm, you could feel one of his hands on the small of your back as he pulled your closer, the other resting just below your shoulder blades, and you could feel the butterflies going wild in your stomach. Your heart was beating a million miles per hour, it seemed, and the sparks.

It could've been hours, or weeks, or even months until you finally broke apart but when you did, you were both grinning like fools and the team was trying their hardest to hold back their excited squeals.

"Merry Christmas," you whispered.

"Merry Christmas," he breathed out, before wrapping his arms around your waist again to bring you in a second time.

“Clint! Get up!” Sam lightly tapped the archer’s cheek. “Get up!”

“I think he’s dead.” Peter whispered. 

“No, he just passed out from shock,” Shuri shrugged, but then gave him a high five. “Anyway, good job, Pete! You did a pretty amazing job of hanging that up there in time.”

[leam1983]

On Grief

This is a long one. You're under no obligation to push further if you don't want to. It's a personal post, so I'll more than understand if this isn't to your tastes. The normally-scheduled pedantry, commentary and memes will resume shortly.

One of my relatives was diagnosed with ALS. What started as an odd case of palsy in her left set of vocal cords that could've been far more benign was just confirmed by her referred physician. It's Lou Gherig's, and with her age and current condition, her prognosis is of three to five years, tops. Sure, Stephen Hawking blew his own prognosis out of the water, but a combination of notoriety and luck enabled him to eke out as much existence as medical tech could've possibly allowed.

We knew things were suspect when my aunt, a marathoner with a monthly sub to Runner's World, stopped running. Her food intake dropped like a stone, and she soon took to increasingly simple painting and drawing styles. At first we thought it was just her wanting to explore simpler rendering techniques, but then...

Then we noticed the twitching. How awkwardly her pens and brushes were set in her hands. She was in great shape and didn't mind living in the ass-end of Sutton, basically in the open country and with a path leading up to her front door that was all in rough cobblestones. She broke a hip against them, last year.

Her speech started to slur, lately. Her last bike trip also landed her in the ER. She doesn't bike anymore. She doesn't run, and being a gourmand by nature, feels obligated to restrain herself, for fear of gaining weight. She's aggressively vegan. Not towards others, but towards herself. No meat, no eggs, nothing. Most of us ovo-lactos and omnivores in the family know her constant snacking meant her seventy-plus body is desperate for energy.

From the look of things, it feels like the diagnosis broke through her bullshit reasoning for being vegan. She wasn't vegan for the sake of limiting her carbon footprint or making more responsible choices at the grocery store, but because she, as a lifelong anorexic, thought she was ugly and needed to lose weight. That's been a constant with her. Age catches up and skin sags? She mistakes it for a love handle, cuts out virtually all sources of protein and carbs safe for tofu, seitan and bean-based preps. Of course, like a lot of anorexics, she'd have bulemic episodes. I used to sleep over at her last bachelor pad, as a teen, and I remember her pantry was loaded up for bear with Danish cookie tins, Nutella jars and whipped cream. I remember she invited me over specifically when she intended to cheat. Then it was back to yoga, pot-smoking, meditation and shopping runs - and she probably kept her purging for when I was gone.

So yeah. I'm betting Belgian Asshole (see one of my previous posts) convinced her to break her vows and went looking for a "slice of authentic Tikka Masala", to quote his email. The entire family is made up of ethnic food diehards, so we spam-flooded his inbox with recommendations. Looks like she'll be eating meat again, soon. Her own email mentioned concerns of strength and stamina, so I get it.

Otherwise? We're gobsmacked. Imagine spending an entire weekday both at work and off work, aggressively goofing off because you're trying as hard as you can not to think of your favourite aunt's mention of assisted suicide as an option.

Three to five years. Maybe one, or two good Christmases. After that, her condition should probably have started to deteriorate quickly.

I'm not close with a ton of my own family. I love them all, but it's more a sense of polite respect than anything involving solid bonds. The only two folks I know I'll be devastated for when they'll die are her, and my youngest cousin on the other side of the family.

I'm mostly okay now. No doubts, no crisis of unbelief, no anger, no rage... But then I'll see her in a more diminished state, one of those days. How am I going to take to it?

Part of me keeps a tally of the deaths in the family. First, it was my uncle on my mother's side. Ruptured abdominal artery, with a leak small enough to pool into the gut's cavity for months. Decay settled in, guy got anesthetized for an intervention...

They didn't even bother sewing him back up.

Second one was my other paternal aunt's new husband. First one was great, but left the country in the seventies to go live in Stockholm with his medical assistant. Second one was a geologist and physicist at the same campus she taught as. French guy, the son of innkeepers four generations down. It showed, too. Our Christmas tables haven't been the same since he left us his recipie books, all his corny jokes on provincial eating habits, and his obstinate focus on turning every 25th of December into a Roman orgy probably befitting of the old Saturnalia traditions. I mean, when's the last time you've had an eight-course meal, outside of Thanksgiving?

Tumors in his mesenteric artery lined the blood vessel's inner walls, deposited virtually everywhere in his body. He was diagnosed in June and dead by August. He'd always been the lanky type, bone-thin even if he hoovered food like he'd never have enough. He looked even thinner in his hospital bed.

Then, my maternal grandpa bit it. Decades of casual alcoholism, cirrhosis more or less jumping on him around his seventy-sixth year. He looked a bit like John Keston, the actor who played Gehn in CyanWorlds' Riven. Same hairline, same hawkish nose, same eyes - just more Cajun and less New England-esque. I don't know if it was youth or stupidity or - anything, really, but I dropped by to see him, just two days before he died. I didn't realize he was tallying my life, asking me if I had everything in order, if things were planned.

Now, I understand.

Next one on the chopping block is Aunt Doris, still on Mom's side. She of the serial mooching, she of the concept of not needing much to get by if you were the cute one of the family. She was pretty enough in her prime, sure - if by pretty you meant "cigarette-butt blonde with a discount Farah Fawcett blow-up and an unfinished High School degree". First husband was an abusive ass who gave her an uncommonly sensitive son, second one figured she'd stick to the minimum-wage circuit while he tore out rotator cuffs or busted his C7 while on his outboard like clockwork. By the end, she roped my grandmother into living with her, spent her days sloppy-drunk and died on her ratty couch while falling asleep and choking on her own vomit.

Before them all, the youngest of my uncles died at age two. Cancer. Never knew which one, was told it didn't matter. You didn't survive much of anything cancerous, back in the late fifties.

Ping-pong this back to three years ago, and my oldest paternal uncle dies. Paul, who smoked like a chimney for most of his life and successfully stopped after discovering Champix. He got to live five great years as the high-IQ oddball he'd always been, smoke-free. Paul was the weird bird in the family, the type to remember a really engrossing story at two in the morning and making a note to call you up first thing in the morning to share it. He always had a project of some sort to work on, like a simulated investors' tank for young entrepreneurs looking to learn the ropes, or a Byzantine arrangement of coaxials allowing four of his lakeside neighbours to pirate his cable sub. He'd invite us over for dinner, gather all the ingredients we'd need for whatever it was he wanted to treat us to - and then he'd let us cook it - just sitting by the sidelines, chatting away.

He was also a bit of a narcoleptic, and looked a bit like William Howard Taft if you'd worked him out of these old sack suits and into modern shirts and suspenders. He fell asleep practically everywhere, with his more wakeful environments being his workshop and his property's dock. He took me out fishing, once, and knew what the entire family expected.

"Oars're here, Gremlin, fish're that way. Wake me up when you've got a bite."

At this point, it wasn't even a point of concern; it was just an Uncle Paul Thing, the exact thing you'd have expected out of this kind, eccentric blob of a man whose idea of fishing involved pushing his hat over his eyes and basically all but ensuring that his roaring snores would scare prey away. He'd been a supposedly high-IQ type, terminally bored with almost everything, only really getting agitated and interested back when I asked him for help for my Junior High Computer class's Javascript calculator. Once the syntax hit something familiar and he realized that JS has some similarities with FORTRAN, he was on a roll, acting like someone had snuck a Red Bull in his coffee.

Well, fibrosis caught up with him. His last hours were spent directing us on how to cook what would've been his last meal. I think he really just wanted to know we were alright, that we still could exchange laughs around the kitchen counter. He clocked out the way he always did, except he had an oxygen tube running under his nose. His head bobbed down, he snored loudly for a few minutes, then turned increasingly quiet...

And that was it.

And now there's Isabelle. The marathoner, my partner-in-crime when it comes to professing to have a healthy diet while occasionally cheating in glorious, weekend-defining means, my gateway to cannabis and also the first person who took my cringy self-insert fanfic fodder and went No, that's worth it! Push it, develop that universe of yours!

I wouldn't be almost two-thirds of the way through my first decent manuscript, if not for her, and I wouldn't be shopping for publishers with the same energy you'd reserve for weekend-grade Facebook putzing-about. I owe her part of my self-acceptance, and part of my discovery of what defines my routine to this day. Isabelle was my first meditation coach.

And in three to five years, she might be gone.

I just thought grief might be... noisier, is all. Louder. Right now, it's just germane to confusion, and it's sitting there. There's a pinch of fear in it, too. My parents are in their mid-sixties. How long do I have left with them?!

And the family and I just covered that up with jokes and, well, cooking. I've been told I'd make a half-decent therapist but - navigating your own emotions is hard work...

I don't know. I guess I needed to put this down somewhere.

[poppy-pelican]

Darkness on Fire (chapter 4/5)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

Chapter Summary: Shit hits the fan, y’all.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692747/chapters/66250873

Chapter 4

At sunset, the party of six piled into Barry’s truck. Trisha had tried the phone again to call her husband with no luck. The first stop was at a market for more supplies, then to gas up the truck before driving nonstop to Barry’s safe house.

Riza was offered the seat of honor beside Barry, but she forced Al into being the buffer to sit between them. The other three road in the back, enjoying the warm summer wind in the open air. Ed fell asleep, his snores reaching even over the sound of the truck. Al’s head flopped onto Riza’s shoulder not long after, but at least he didn’t snore.

She was once again hit by how wonderful the family was. It was unlike the usual assignments she had working with Mustang. This time it was about protecting life directly rather than protecting life by taking another.

Not for the first time, she wondered at Selim Bradley’s interest in the boys. Was it worth the cost of the two vampires they had killed at Barry’s home? She could only hope that after foregoing the tunnels, the family would be safe until they reunited with Hohenheim. Unless he had not dealt with his sire. Then they would need to strategize again.

They arrived at Barry’s safe house. House was a bit of a stretch. It was more of a shack, hidden away in the woods much like his other home.

“Take care, kids!” Barry said. He needed to hurry back by sunrise. “I’ll try giving Ol’ Van a call, too. Maybe I can reach him at some of the addresses I have.”

As they waved goodbye, Mustang waved a rude gesture that made the boys laugh while Barry returned the same gesture out the window as he drove off. Riza shared an exasperated look with Trisha. She was probably wondering how an immature buffoon like Mustang had been entrusted with her sons’ lives.

Stepping inside the shack, Riza wrinkled her nose.

“It smell like rotten meat to anyone else?” Mustang asked.

“Oh dear. I bet this is one of Barry’s old haunts from…his human life,” Trisha said, covering her nose.

“Like…where he used to chop people up?” Al asked, the question more of a squeak.

“Maybe you kids should go play outside while I…clean this place up,” Trisha said.

“I’ll help. Mustang can keep watch outside,” Riza offered. He was better suited for looking after wild vampire boys in the dark than she was.

“I still don’t think I’ll want to sleep here,” Ed said. Riza privately agreed.

“It’s probably haunted,” Al said. His eyes darted around the bare walls in fear. He looked more afraid of the supernatural than he had the very real dangers chasing after them.

“This really isn’t fun anymore,” Ed grumbled.

“When was it ever fun?” Trisha scolded, but she laughed.

“All this because that guy thinks our blood is special?” Al asked her quietly.

“He’s a desperate creature searching for a way to play god,” Trisha said. She kissed the top of Al’s head. “And while you two are very special, it’s not in the way Selim thinks.”

Roy opened a window, not looking at anyone as he asked, “There are other vampire children. Why is Selim so set on these two?”

“Van is a very old vampire—from Xerxes. A vampire his age has never had children before.”

Riza was stunned. And Selim would use the brothers like a specimen, like Barry and countless others. Her stomach churned.

“That’s…that’s very old,” Mustang said. Riza was surprised he didn’t know Hohenheim’s age either.

“There are those centuries older than Van, but they have no interest in having children,” Trisha said. “I just hope he can convince Selim this is nonsense.”

“If not, you have our support,” Riza said. She knew Mustang wouldn’t mind her speaking for them both. He’d probably bring the whole team in if they needed to.

Trisha gave her a watery smile before shooing the boys outside to escape the disturbing smells of the shack. Riza couldn’t help thinking Trisha needed a break from having to put on a brave face for her sons. Riza wasn’t around the boys as often, but even she had grown weary from constantly monitoring what she said around them. She wasn’t used to censoring herself all the time. Even when the boys were out of the room, their sharp hearing could eavesdrop.

“We’ll stay within hearing range,” Mustang promised, following the boys out the door.

Riza and Trisha went to work, finding some soap and buckets to cleanse what they could. There was an old dusty bed, but Riza was positive no one would be caught dead sleeping on it. They would just make do with the floor.

While they got to scrubbing, Trisha working twice as fast as Riza, she found herself burning with questions.

“So how old is Hohenheim then? He has to be at least…” She tried to remember her history lessons about the fall of Xerxes, but the dates were muddled.

“He’s not really sure. Over four hundred, at least,” Trisha said.

His eccentricities were beginning to make sense. How many lives had he lived? Riza felt unbearably sad at the thought. She was quite content with the one life she had. She couldn’t imagine how many people he had grieved for.

“I’m incredibly curious how you two came to be married,” Riza confessed. Talk about a May-December romance.

Trisha gave a secretive smile. “The traditional way people fall in love, mostly. It was love at first sight for me. And for him…I suppose love at first bite.” Her eyes sparkled.

“So you knew he was a vampire from the beginning?”

“Yes. It was kind of a whirlwind courtship. We were married after knowing each other less than a year.”

“Why such a whirlwind?”

“I suppose that was Van’s doing. He understands better than most how short life can be. Until I got sick, he planned to age himself beside me until I died. We weren’t sure if he would try to change me or not. He’d lived a long life, and I was ambivalent about immortality for myself.”

“You ended up a vampire anyway.” How very sad it would have been for Hohenheim if his wife had died prematurely. Hundreds of years and finally settling down…only to lose them…

“I’m very grateful for that. Humans and vampires can’t have children together, as you know, and I so badly wanted children. It was my only regret when I married Van. I thought we’d be childless,” Trisha scrubbed a suspicious stain so hard the wood beneath it cracked loudly.

Riza frowned at the broken floorboard. “We should just have Mustang burn this place down.”

 #

 Roy had been tuning out the conversation between Hawkeye and Trisha in favor of listening to possible intruders as the boys climbed every tree they could find. They had spooked several sleeping squirrels and dozens of birds already. While Roy remembered having a lot of energy as a boy, these two seemed to have more than twice that. He was weary just watching them play.

When he heard Hawkeye mention his name, his attention was drawn to the women in the shack.

“The boys would love that,” Trisha said. “They want to see the flame alchemist in action.”

“They are so clever, I wonder if they won’t work it out themselves,” Hawkeye said.

“They take after their father that way. I wonder if it’s all his blood I drank during pregnancy,” Trisha mused.

Roy watched Ed leap from one tree to the other, twenty feet in the air. He followed after them as they circled around the shack, Al shadowing his brother through the trees. Roy remained distracted. Like Hawkeye, he was incredibly curious about how the boys had come to exist.

“And how…how did you become pregnant? If you don’t mind my asking,” Hawkeye asked, her voice hesitant and polite.

“What do you know about blood bonds?” Trisha asked.

“Umm…very little.”

Roy almost stopped in his tracks as Trisha explained. “For us, it began when I was human. At first, he just fed from me occasionally. Then to maintain my health and blood supply, he started giving me his blood. When I became a vampire, it began a circle of blood sharing until it seemed I had as much of his blood in me as my own, and vice versa. And…I wanted a baby. Badly. And I guess, just like a vampire can will themselves to age, well, I realized my fertility had returned. I hadn’t had a period since I became a vampire.”

Roy felt his cheeks warm, and thought about walking farther away, but he’d promised to stay nearby, and the boys’ hearing didn’t seem to be as far-reaching as his own. They were absorbed in their game, regardless.

“The rest was done…the usual way,” Trisha laughed. “But during the pregnancy, I had to drink a lot of his blood. I craved it more than I ever had before—no blood but his would do. And I was very clingy.” Trisha seemed lost in happy memories as it grew quiet for several moments. “And with those two boys, I’m perfectly happy, and my fertility seems to have gone dormant again.”

“That’s convenient,” Hawkeye said.

“Yes, for most vampires manipulating the body takes concentration, but for me it was instinctive.”

Instinctive. The word shook through Roy along with a painful epiphany. He replayed Trisha’s story. Love at first bite. Sharing each other’s blood. Hadn’t he always wondered why no one’s blood tasted as good as Hawkeye’s? He’d attributed it to being his first taste of blood as a vampire, but that didn’t explain the animalistic urge to drink from her and have her drink from him. Those urges only grew stronger the more he tasted her.

He had no idea how dangerous his desires could be. A blood bond was for vampire lovers. Not Roy and his human assistant. Bonded vampires were rare, and creating and maintaining the bond took effort. All the same, he would need to be more careful in the future with taking blood from her.

“And you got two wonderful boys out of it,” Hawkeye continued.

“They are wonderful, aren’t they?” Trisha gushed.

“I adore them.”

Roy was so caught up in his internal distress that he almost missed the vampire lurking in the trees. A familiar vampire at that. The greasy-haired flunky of Selim’s he’d seen skulking around Central a few times.

Roy didn’t hesitate, not even warning the boys before he snapped. The black night was lit with a wall of flames, the wall erected in place between the boys and the enemy vampire.

Within seconds, a gunshot rang through the air. And the vampire was hit in the head. Roy smiled darkly at Hawkeye’s perfect aim before he incinerated the body, angry that two young boys had been endangered again.

He turned to find them frozen up in the treetops, gaping at Roy. He hoped he hadn’t frightened them too much—

“That was crazy!” Ed said, completely stunned.

“Wild,” Al whispered.

Maybe they were more resilient than Roy gave them credit for.

Trisha appeared, lips thin with worry.

“What is going—” but she couldn’t finish her question before more shots rang out, followed by masculine cries of pain.

“Incoming!” Hawkeye shouted from a distance.

“Stay together, keep behind me,” Roy said. The boys jumped from the trees, joining their mother.

Roy tried not to panic when he couldn’t find Hawkeye. He pinned her location with his blood still pumping through her system, and he guessed she had never left the protection of the shack.

A single shot echoed through the trees, followed by a gasp and the thud of someone being slammed to the ground. The sounds of a struggle made it difficult for Roy to hold his position, but his goal was to protect the Elrics, not Hawkeye.

Trisha must’ve been thinking the same because she patted Roy’s shoulder.

“Boys, stay with Roy,” she instructed. She rushed off before Roy or her sons could protest. Roy cursed under his breath.

A savage growl caused the hair on the back of Roy’s neck to stand up. It was Trisha. The sounds of tearing flesh filled the quiet wood around them. It didn’t smell like Trisha’s blood, but as he was scenting the air, the fragrant perfume of Hawkeye’s blood reached him. He had to imagine his legs were buried in cement to keep himself from running toward her in a rage. Instead, he gestured for the boys to be quiet and follow him. Silently they tracked through the trees, making their way to the other side of the shack.

“Ah, there you are,” a cheerful voice greeted. Another one of Selim’s favorites. His sire must be desperate if he was sending out his best lackeys. This one always wore a headband and strutted around Central feeding indiscriminately—sometimes draining humans dry just for fun.

He was holding Trisha in a tight chokehold, her mouth dripping in blood that wasn’t hers. Two muscular humans stood beside them, clearly not compelled. One held Hawkeye with a knife to her throat. She looked furious.

Stepping out of the trees, Roy hissed for the brothers to remain right behind him.

“I don’t think you’re a very intelligent vampire,” Roy said, projecting a calmness he didn’t feel. But the confidence was real.

“What? You don’t want to trade? Not even one boy for these two women?” the cocky vampire sneered. “We only need one.”

Trisha thrashed in his arms while Hawkeye remained still, patient.

“And you think you have room to negotiate with me?” Roy asked. He wanted to boil the vampire’s eyeballs.

Roy considered every possible direction this encounter could go. The vampire was the more dangerous target, but Hawkeye was the more fragile hostage. And Roy could never sacrifice one woman in favor of the other.

Then Edward stepped forward. “Fine. I’ll go with you. Just don’t hurt anyone,” he said, surprising everyone.

“Brother!” Al whimpered, grabbing Ed’s arm. “Let me go instead.”

“No, I’m going. Then I’ll kick that bastard grandpa sire’s ass,” Ed said.

And then Roy saw it, in the confusion of the boys’ argument, Hawkeye reached under her jacket where she kept another gun holstered. Her eye twitched to the vampire holding Trisha.

The rest happened almost in unison. A snap. A crackle of gunfire. Hawkeye shot the man holding her and flung herself out of his grip while Roy sizzled the vampire from the inside out—to prevent Trisha from being caught in the flames with him. The vampire didn’t even have a moment to scream. Hawkeye whirled on the second human, holding him at gunpoint before Ed and Al tackled him to the ground.

Trisha coughed, rubbing her neck, but otherwise seemed fine. The boys ran to her. She fawned over them for being so foolishly brave, and he dimly overheard her tell them to head inside as Roy set to work compelling the men to stay silent and gave the injured one his blood, although Roy thought he deserved to heal slowly and painfully.

“There were two others,” Hawkeye said. “The first is around the corner, and Trisha got the other just over there,” she said, nodding to a headless vampire corpse beneath a tree.

“They’re increasing their numbers,” Roy said.

“And not using compelled humans for backup anymore,” Hawkeye said. “I think it’s obvious now how they keep finding us.”

“Barry?” Roy asked optimistically, but he knew it wasn’t what she was thinking. And Roy’s gut knew it too.

“We know I haven’t been compelled,” she said. “Someone must have spiked one of my drinks with vampire blood.”

“Who?” he asked. Barry would be easier to blame.

“Anyone in Central. A compelled human. It could have been at the Rockbells, on the train—anywhere. I could even be dosed with multiple vampires’ blood. It doesn’t take much to be able to trace a human.” She sighed, defeated. “It’s impossible to know how, but we can’t ignore that it has happened.”

He couldn’t argue with her when he knew she was right.

 #

 “I’m so sorry,” Riza apologized to the Elrics, after the humans had been interrogated and sent on a slow walk to the nearest town. “I’ve put you all in danger.”

“No, Riza,” Trisha said, taking Riza’s hand. “I’m the one who is sorry. My husband’s sire did this. You’ve done nothing but protect us.”

Riza couldn’t agree, but she didn’t want to belittle Trisha’s apology. Riza should have been more circumspect with her drinks.

“The best I can do now is take the first train out and get as much distance between us as possible,” Riza said.

“Out of the question!” Mustang barked. “They’re still tracing you.”

Riza stood straighter. “I’ll regroup with the team in Central as soon as I can,” she said, hoping to appease her superior.

“Better idea, you stay with us until we get to Central, then we separate when you have protection,” he said through his teeth.

“We might not make it to Central at all if we do that,” she said. “They attack at night, during the day—whenever. We got lucky tonight that they didn’t have time to compel me. I could’ve killed you!” Again. Didn’t he know what that would do to her?

Mustang maybe didn’t know explicitly how much she feared hurting him again, but he knew it was why she had become so rigid about his safety. She feared nothing more than being compelled to hurt the ones she loved. She’d rather die.

“Not to interrupt,” Trisha said gingerly, “but I agree with Roy. We couldn’t possibly live with the guilt if something happened to you on our behalf.” She paused and pointed accusingly at Mustang. “Don’t look so smug yet. I also agree with Riza. My sons’ safety is important. It’s why I think it would be best if I leave with Riza. We can meet you in Central. Then she has at least one vampire with her, and my boys are safe with the Flame Alchemist.”

Riza didn’t like it. Mustang didn’t like it. The brothers didn’t like it. But compromises rarely made everyone happy.

 #

 With sunrise pressing down on them, they had no choice but to hunker down in the “Chopping Shack,” as Ed called it.

They all slept in the same room for added safety. The boys slept on either side of their mother, the only two sleeping somewhat peacefully, Riza noted. Trisha slept fitfully, awakened by the quietest noises. Riza barely slept at all, the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through her.

She would generally say she held her own on her assignments with Mustang. She was capable and used her advantages in the sun as much as she could. But what was supposed to be an overly cautious bodyguard job had turned into an all-out war. A human was nothing but a burden with just the two of them on the assignment.

She didn’t want to be a liability to Mustang. Her eyes drifted to him. He was sitting against the wall by the door, dozing off occasionally, but trying to keep watch all the same. He’d refused her offer to take the watch. His clothes were askew, his hair was an even wilder mess than usual, and the scruff on his face was longer than she had ever seen it.

He still looked insanely handsome.

Riza was glad there wasn’t a mirror, because she probably looked like hell.

She rolled over onto her side, putting her back to Mustang, when he whispered to her.

“Hawkeye?”

“Yes?” she whispered back just as quietly.

“Maybe you should drink some of my blood again. And maybe Trisha’s too—before you go.”

“Haven’t I had enough of yours?” she asked. He would be able to track her for several weeks—probably longer with how much she’d had. Although remembering its heady taste made her stomach flutter with interest. Then she remembered what Trisha had said about blood bonding. Was it strange for them to be sharing so much blood with one another?

“Just to be doubly safe,” he said. “And you must have cut yourself again because—” He stopped and inhaled, and she saw his fangs glistening.

She shivered.

It was a bad idea, but she couldn’t tell him no. Maybe his feelings didn’t run as deep as hers. It didn’t matter. She would have to leave him at sunset, and if she could take even more of his blood with her for the journey, she would.

Trying not to wake the others, she crawled over to Mustang on her hands and knees, her eyes locked with his. A charge flared to life between them, her blood singing for him almost as much as his called to her. Her mouth watered.

Knowing things couldn’t go too far with the Elrics right there made her confident. Mustang grazed his fangs across his wrist and held it to her lips. She was immediately overwhelmed with its taste. Then she did something different—feeling bold. She tilted her neck toward him, leaning against his chest with his arm between them so he could feed from her neck simultaneously.

She heard the faintest rumble as he held her close and stabbed his fangs into her neck. It felt so good, all of it. His taste, his mouth, the flick of his tongue against her neck, his free hand squeezing her hip.

Her consciousness grew dreamy then. A protective, worshipful yearning seeped into her soul. There was also a strange thirst. And languid desire.

None of those feelings were her own.

They jerked away from one another at the same time, Riza unable to look him in the eye. She was reeling from the intensity of it just as much as she wanted more. It was only the fear of what Mustang could feel from her that held her back. Or what he might have already picked up on. She couldn’t bear it if he had to turn her down gently, like a schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher.

“Is it time to get up yet?” Al’s sweet voice asked through a yawn.

Riza jumped back even farther from Mustang, hating that she was blushing.

“Not yet,” Trisha said. “Go back to sleep.”

Riza stood and tiptoed back to her place on the floor, legs wobbly. She didn’t dare look at Mustang again.

 #

 “Be good for Roy. He’ll tell me how you behave without me,” Trisha said, dropping a kiss to the top of both boys’ heads.

“We will,” they agreed sullenly.

The frustration of being a burdensome human reasserted its presence. But Riza was a soldier, so she kept her face neutral, even as her mind summoned a memory of her own mother. She’d been holding Riza’s hand as they walked, chatting happily, when the vampire had slammed into her mother. The momentum was so powerful that Riza’s shoulder had been dislocated, and she’d fallen to the ground. It was hours later, after the military police had dropped by the house as they collected the many bodies the vampire had left behind, that the adrenaline faded and Riza noticed the pain.

Until that point in her life, her father had always coddled and spoiled her. That night, he seemed to forget she existed. She sat up in bed for hours, waiting to be tucked in by him and her mother. She was never tucked into bed again.

Mustang nudged her.

“It’s only until we make it to Central. If we get there without delay, we should all be reunited tomorrow,” he said.

“I hope so.” Her gut told her it would be longer. Mustang looked apprehensive, so he probably secretly agreed. “How do you think you will handle being Uncle Roy all on your own?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

He snorted. “I’m going to keep an extra close watch on my ignition gloves, that’s for sure.”

Riza’s lips twitched as Edward turned to stick out his tongue at Mustang. How she wished to be a fly on the wall to observe how Mustang handled babysitting. She had never seen him around children before.

“We better get going,” Riza said. “We need to get as far from the boys as we can.” Her heart constricted with guilt.

She was touched when Al and Ed each gave her a brief hug goodbye. Mustang gave a restrained goodbye of his own—without so much as a handshake. Then Riza hopped onto Trisha’s back, again feeling like a hindrance, but it was just until they made it to the road where they hoped to hitch a ride. Trisha felt thin and misleadingly fragile as Riza tried to find a comfortable position, unlike Mustang who she had molded against with ease.

As they rushed through the trees away from the shack, Riza tried not to think about how lost she felt leaving Mustang behind.

 #

 Riza and Trisha walked on the side of the road at a leisurely human pace in the moonlight. A few cars had gone by without stopping, and Riza had made an effort to look less intimidating by removing her jacket and fluffing her hair around her shoulders.

“I hope Roy is having an easier time of it than we are,” Trisha said.

“He probably is.” Now that Riza wasn’t summoning vampires to their location. The reminder of the beacon she had become sent a shiver down her spine. She wondered if this was what a fox felt like as bloodhounds tracked it. Her fear only grew as she watched Trisha chew on her lip nervously, eyes darting around the darkness.

“Maybe you should run ahead,” Riza suggested. “Scout out a car.”

Trisha gave her a withering stare. “You seem all too eager to martyr yourself on my behalf, but I won’t allow it.”

“I’m being practical. If things get bad, and I tell you to run, please—please—run. It’s very possible we could both die, and what would be the point of that?”

Trisha was quiet, gathering up an argument, Riza suspected.

“I can’t do it. Not if there’s a chance I can help you.”

“Trisha,” Riza said sternly. “I was a soldier. I’ve killed more people than I can count. I was trained in the militia to quickly calculate what to do in a skirmish. If I’m telling you to run, I promise, it won’t be something I say lightly. I don’t want to die. I don’t…I don’t really want to be a vampire either,” she admitted. She loved watching the sun rise and set. She loved spreading out on a blanket and soaking in the sun while she read a book. And beyond that, the fear of living as long as Hohenheim terrified her. To outlive all her human friends would be unbearable.

“So you’d have me run off like a coward?”

“Not a coward. Like someone who has a family who needs you.”

“Doesn’t Roy need you?”

“Not like Edward and Alphonse need you.” Riza glanced out into the night, her paranoia growing. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a mother. My mother was killed by a vampire with blood rage. And while my father did his best, it wasn’t the same. He fell apart without her. She was the love of his life.” She wanted to force Trisha to think of what she would be taking away from her family if she died: a mother, a wife, the backbone of the family.

Trisha pursed her lips and looked up at the stars. “And aren’t you the love of Roy’s life?”

Maybe Mustangs was Riza’s, but he was a passionate man, easily caught up in the moment. He could move on. She was more steadfast, unchanging. His feelings were a flash fire, ignited and extinguished almost as quickly as it began. Hers were the embers burning long after the flames died out. She’d seen evidence of this with his many girlfriends over the past two years. Riza’s own dating experience had been sparse in comparison.

“No,” she said. “And even if I was, we don’t have children together. It’s different.” Riza knew she was right, but perhaps it was easier for her, as a former soldier, to rationalize who should live or die—who should take the risk or play it safe.

“I’m not going to leave you on your own, and that’s that.”

They were at an impasse, and fortunately at that moment a car’s lights appeared at the top of the hill, heading toward them. It stopped almost as soon as the two women came into view, and when the man’s eyes lingered too long on her chest, Trisha gave him a look. His eyes went vacant, body relaxed.

“We’re going to borrow your car,” Trisha told him politely. “We’ll return it to you as soon as we can.” The man cheerfully stepped out of his car, even shutting the door for her as she took the driver’s seat. Riza went around to the passenger’s side, unholstering her rifle. As soon as she sat, Trisha floored it, leaving the perverted driver in the dust.

“How’s the gas?” Riza asked, leaning to see for herself even as she spoke.

“Not much.” They wouldn’t make it to Central without stopping for gas, which would give more time for Selim’s people to catch up with her. Riza wouldn’t feel safe until she was with Mustang again.

“There should be a fork in the road eventually,” Riza said, pulling out a map from their bag. “It would probably be best if we go the more indirect route. We can throw them off, and there’s a small town in that direction. We can get gas there, too.”

Trisha agreed with the plan, and Riza felt minimally better now that they were speeding down the road. It would only be a few more hours until they reached Central. They might have to stop at a closer safe house than the one Mustang and the boys were going to, but they could reconvene the next night.

Trisha was tense as she drove, her knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel, but she drove smoothly. The countryside flew by in a blur of darkness and shadows from the moon.

The fork in the road came just past a long curve that edged the side of a steep hill, so the roadblock ahead surprised even Trisha. She slammed on the brake, jolting Riza forward.

“Winry!” Trisha gasped, bringing the car to a complete stop.

She was right. There in the headlights stood Winry, ominously motionless. Her blue dress was wrinkled but clean, and even her ponytail remained tidy. She seemed unharmed.

Except Solf Kimblee’s hand rested threateningly on her shoulder.

“Damn Kimblee,” Riza said, adjusting her rifle.

“You know him?”

“He defected from the militia after he became a vampire.” And tried to intimidate her when she’d gone to meet Raven about Selim’s whereabouts. She’d wanted to blow his head off, and apparently she should have. Kimblee’s allegiance was always in question, and tonight it was not in Riza’s favor. Beside him were five well-armed humans. And Winry was the perfect little hostage. Kimblee could snap her neck so easily. If Ed and Al were here…

“He’s also an alchemist,” Riza said. She didn’t need to say aloud that they were immensely outclassed.

“We just want to make a trade,” Kimblee called out.

“It’s different now,” Riza whispered. “We do whatever we can to get her home to her parents. Agreed?”

Trisha nodded, and her expression twisted into the same fury Riza had seen her use when she had decapitated the vampire outside Barry’s shack. Riza swallowed back the same fury, knowing she needed to keep a cool head—to find that same state of numbness that helped her strike down her oldest friend.

They stepped out of the car, approaching Kimblee slowly.

“Hohenheim’s sons aren’t with us, as you can see, so what do you want?” Riza asked bluntly, keeping her rifle limp at her side. The five men with Kimblee had enough guns aimed at her, she didn’t have a chance if this went badly.

He sniffed the air. “Hawkeye, you positively reek of the Flame Alchemist.”

“What are you doing kidnapping little girls?” she countered.

“I’m on a hunt for the secret to immortality,” Kimblee said breezily. His eyes focused cruelly on Trisha. Angry tears fell down her cheeks. “Will you be more forthcoming than your husband?”

“My husband has already told his sire the truth, over and over. There is no universal guarantee to become a vampire”

Kimblee wound a finger around a lock of Winry’s hair. “But he has another theory, doesn’t he? Selim wouldn’t tell me that part.” He tugged on her ponytail just enough to force Winry’s neck to be exposed. “I want to know what that theory is.”

Trisha’s hands trembled. “I’m not sure I’m the best one to explain.”

“Does it require an alchemist?” Kimblee asked.

“No.”

“Then explain. Now. Or I take this girl to Selim.” And then his gaze slid away from Trisha, and Riza felt the moment it landed on her. Every last trace of anger and fear melted away in an instant, and her fingers almost dropped her rifle, she was so relaxed. Faintly, she was aware that he was compelling her, but it felt like a dream.

Then her focus was back as she was filled with an urgency to point her gun at Winry. Steady. Don’t pull the trigger. Not yet.

“Stop it!” Trisha snarled, taking a step forward.

“Hold it, Mrs. Hohenheim. That’s the best shot in Amestris.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to explain. It’s not like his theory’s a secret. It’s just difficult to prove.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t you have her put the gun down first?” Trisha asked, her voice desperate. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Before Kimblee could reply, a shot was fired.

 #[HB1] 

 “It’s so crowded here,” Edward said, looking at Central with wide eyes. “So many buildings.”

“Aww, look! She seems lonely,” Al said, suddenly holding an orange and white cat in his arms. The cat struggled for freedom, clearly displeased with his new benefactor.

Roy was baffled as to where it had come from.

“Put it back,” he said. “We’re trying not to call attention to ourselves.”

“But she needs a home!” Al said, squeezing the wriggling cat.

“Then we’ll come back for it later.”

If only it had been as simple to get rid of the cat as the rest of the trip. They had made brilliant time. The boys kept up well with him until they reached the city, and then had slowed to a human pace. And with that pace, they had also become incredibly distracted.

Of course, Roy was also distracted. He had no right to judge.

Ever since he and Hawkeye had shared blood, he had been catching waves of emotions that weren’t his own. It had been overwhelmingly strong when his fangs had been buried inside her, but it remained at a more muted level even after they parted. He’d felt her fear and desire, her worry over the family, her exhaustion…the precious devotion whenever she looked at him.

Roy had taken the cowardly way out and not told her he was privy to her most intimate feelings. Clearly she felt something while drinking from him, but as a human, that vanished when she pulled away from him.

And now, separated by miles and miles, he could still feel Hawkeye’s hunger and exhaustion. She was more tired than she acted. Always silently suffering.

“There, it’s right outside a fish market. It will live a life of pure happiness,” Roy assured Alphonse.

“Yes, cats love fish,” Ed enthused, also ready to be done with the cat detour. Roy was prepared for Al to give a lengthy goodbye to the cat, but the cat darted away, putting Roy and Ed out of their misery.

It was lucky that the fish market was on the way to their destination. They continued with a leisurely stroll, Roy watchful for anyone following them.

“So where are we going?” Ed asked, kicking a tiny rock back and forth with his brother.

“It’s my aunt’s place. There are enough vampires I trust there at any given time that it should be safer than anywhere else in Central. And with some luck, we can reach your father and he will be able to meet us tonight.”

“Your aunt’s place has lots of vampires? Is she a vampire too?” Ed asked.

Roy tugged at his collar. “No, it’s more of a…bar for vampires.” He was not going to explain the shadier sides of the business.

“We’ve never been to a bar,” Al said, perking up.

“Can I try some wine?” Ed asked.

“Definitely not.”

The boys peppered him with questions until they finally arrived. Roy took them in through the back, hoping to keep a low profile. He led them down the hall to Chris’s private kitchen.

“Vanessa?” Roy asked quietly, knowing she would hear him. “Send my aunt to the kitchen for me?”

A moment later Vanessa appeared, dressed impeccably and making the three of them look even more dirty than before.

“Chris is on the way, but I heard children?” Vanessa smiled brilliantly, but her eyes were crinkled in concern. The last child to step foot in his aunt’s establishment had been Roy himself.

“Yes, this is Edward and Alphonse,” Roy said, avoiding last names. He had told the boys to act as human as possible, as had their mother. He hoped they listened.

“You boys hungry?” Vanessa asked. Those were the magic words. They were wrapped around her finger already.

Chris arrived later, her eyes full of questions when she saw the Elrics stuffing sandwiches into their faces. She yanked Roy into the hallway before he could get a word in.

“Where’s Elizabeth?” she asked, her voice the lowest whisper.

“She’s still busy,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “She’s supposed to meet me later for a date.”

“I’m worried about her. I may have given her an expired drink, last time I saw her. I can get so forgetful about those things.”

Roy felt like he’d been punched in the gut as he worked out her meaning. How many steps ahead had Selim been? He knew Hawkeye would come here.

“Yes, she was feeling very sick the past few days,” he said.

“And it may have been…a mixed drink,” Chris continued. More than one vampire’s blood. “I hope it didn’t cause her much trouble.”

Roy didn’t want to tell her the truth, but his aunt could likely read into it herself. He was dirty and unkempt with two boys in tow. The assignment had gone to shit.

He concentrated and reached for Hawkeye, the connection so strong he could almost feel her blood pumping through her heart, or was it his?

“She’s—” fine, he almost said, but then a rush of anger and determination that wasn’t his own slammed into him. And fear.

“You don’t look well,” Chris said. “Do you and the boys want a room for the day?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said. “But I need to use your phone right away.” He knew he sounded distracted, but it couldn’t be helped. He went around the corner to the phone, his mind only half present as he made plans to call his team in for backup, then going through the round of phone numbers Trisha had written down for him.

Roy reminded himself he had been entrusted with the lives of the Elric brothers by both parents, and that came first. He could do nothing for Hawkeye now.

Still, he halted in the shadows, falling against the wall as the connection to Hawkeye went blank. No—he was wrong. It was her emotions that were eerily vacant. He could still feel that vague, strange sensation of her heart beating.

Someone was compelling her—to do what, he could only guess. She’d been afraid shortly beforehand. His resilient Hawkeye, afraid. He wanted to reach through their connection to burn whoever had compelled her.

And then he had a thought, as he gripped onto that powerful thing that had been growing between them with every taste of blood. He’d always likened compulsion to manipulating the laws of alchemy. One is all, all is one. Vampires understood the potent properties of blood better than anyone, and if Roy could just take control of the bond to Hawkeye, he could maybe—if he focused—

He held his breath, hoping it was enough.

 [HB1]It was a mistake Mustang never would have made. Military training was not something Trisha had. She thought only to protect, not to utilize Riza’s sharpshooting. Trisha pulled her behind the phone booth.

“Vampire down the street. I’ll be back,” Trisha said hoarsely, pulling a revolver from her bag that Riza had no idea she’d been carrying. Then Trisha was gone.

Riza followed the trajectory from the bullet. She spied the shooter easily. He would’ve made a shoddy sniper during the uprising.

Riza aimed for for his head, scanning the area for other attackers but several shots went off in quick succession.

Riza only realized she was hit when she felt the warmth of her own blood. She’d been shot in the chest. Twice. She tried to gasp for air, but her lungs felt like they had shrunk. It wasn’t enough oxygen to get by with.

Angry at being caught by surprise, again, she shot at the sniper on the roof, her aim unsteady. It wasn’t a fatal wound. Unlike her own.

Then the vampire hunting them appeared. Zolf Kimblee. Once a member of the militia, the moment he awakened as a vampire he turned on his comrades, then went underground for the rest of the uprising. He was also a terrifying alchemist.

He dragged a limp Trisha behind him, a waterfall of blood staining her skirts and the street. It was enough that even a vampire’s life could be at risk, but she must be alive if Kimblee was carrying her.

“Where are the Elric brothers?” he asked, compelling Riza with a honeyed voice.

“With Roy Mustang,” Riza said, the words torn from her throat like knives. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe.

“Where are they going?”

“Central.”

“Where in Central?”

“Only Mustang knows,” she rasped out. She had been kept in the dark in case of this very thing.

“How useless you are then,” he said. He made to leave, releasing the compulsion he held over her mind. He was moving quickly, still dragging Trisha behind him.

Kimblee had always thought himself superior to his fellow humans, and as a vampire he had only become more arrogant. He would never imagine a human could get a shot out fast enough to kill him.

Riza thought of Al’s sweet golden eyes, and Ed’s bravery when they had been in danger. Summoning all her anger and concentration, she picked up her gun one last time. She had little satisfaction at watching Kimblee’s head splinter into chunks across the sidewalk. Weakly, her gun dropped from her fingers, and she let her body relax.

“Hang on, Riza,” Trisha whimpered, clumsily shuffling to her side. “We need to get you to a doctor.” She slashed open her wrist with her fangs, though she was still bleeding herself.

She held her wrist to Riza’s lips, but she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow. Everything was going dark.

She thought of Roy, despairing of ever seeing him again.

Her heart gave a final thump and went silent.

[fulgensun]

[ When I discovered the FFX Ultimania Omega book had not only a long novelization of the whole story and trivia lists, but also snippets of the original plot and even parts of that original script and scenes (together with authors’ interviews and explanations) I knew I had to look more into it !  Points finger at it -- I want it haha. Admittedly, it was one of the first things I did concentrate on the moment my copy arrived, months ago by now !  Because so little of it is contained on the eng side of the fandom, it seems, that even the wiki had incomplete versions of these original parts of the script...

Honestly, I was surprised and baffled at the described snippets -- the ones similar to Tidus the plumber HH I guess that’s one known fact, but so much more was contained there... and all was deleted for a total change of the story--  but looking back at it now, I can’t help but wonder just how different the whole atmosphere and story would have been !  It’s something widely described and explained in the Ultimania... I have not seen anything like that ever posted anywhere, nor here or on other websites or wikis. While this won’t be a word-by-word translation of the script in the book, I feel - having a FFX centric blog like this, posting these little gems here, so that people can read them too, could be an amazing thing to do !  If these snippets can make people dream (ah...) or imagine how things could have gone, but don’t have the resources to know it since it’s all kept in an old book in Japanese, then that’d be awesome !  

To make things look better, I guess I’ll keep part of the post under a read more -- !  

REGISTAN

Before the book arrived, all I could find in the web, translated here and there, was the description of Tidus (the plumber yeah HHH) in Registan (the old name for Zanarkand) swimming around, meeting his group of friends at the Dome/Shrine of Registan and even fighting monsters underwater, where he’d also see a calm Sin passing by. The Dome was both a gathering place for citizens and a holy place -- with an altar and pictures of Yevon around, people would pray him for good health but it’s not considered a true religion as Yevon doesn’t seem to ask for anything in return. The Hymn (of the Fayth) would resound inside it.

In the end, they discarded the name Registan because a true city has that name - even though Zanarkand is based on the real city of Samarqand. Tidus was also described not as easy-going as we know him now. The script continues. Tidus, trying to hurry towards the Dome to meet his friends, would have met a group of soldiers fighting monsters in the street. They were supposed to be elite, chosen fighters, whose commander would shout orders at them. The commander being Auron !  The soldiers’ performance did attract a crowd; among them, Auron notices a man covered in a black cloak staring back at him and starts chasing him. The script reveals the cloaked man is, in fact, a Guado !  Tidus doesn’t notice this last part, and keeps rushing to the Dome... but he’s late, his friends have left already.

I have discussed in a HC post before how Tidus is able to cook. Well, that is something the original script had planned to show the player (so that we could feel nostalgia and closeness too, of Registan/Zanarkand) and something I inspired myself to, for said headcanon: there would have been a scene of him, cooking abundant meals at home (still a boat).

SIN ATTACKS

The next snippet tells of Tidus, some other day, entering the Dome. As he does, he notices a group of men in black cloaks exiting the Dome. A second later, panic settles. Announcements broadcast the same news and people start running and screaming: Sin is landing on Registan. As alarms invite people to evacuate the area, Tidus notices Auron outside the Dome helping people flee; Sin is indeed approaching the Dome area -- its body is scarred, pyreflies seeping out of it as many arrows and spear pierce its body. Sin opens its many eyes and stares at Tidus, before blinking, closing all its eyes except for two, brown-coloured pupils and keep staring at the boy, calmly.

Soldiers, in the meantime, keep attacking the still beast. Hurt, Sin tries to retreat back in the sea, destroying many buildings in the process and whatnot... but the men in a black cloak from before (the Guado), who have witnessed the whole scene, suddenly start following the monster. The script informs the reader the tallest cloaked figure is, indeed, the leader of these Guado, Seymour. Auron and Tidus follow the totally-not-suspicious bunch.

A very interesting thing I noticed... the script also has the dialogue of Auron and Tidus chasing Seymour and the Guado, who seem to want to do something to Sin. Auron DOES have his ‘This is your story’ moment !  And all is still supposed to be Tidus’ tale and flashbacks. The fact it all carried over to the game we know was nice to notice.

THE GUADO

Instead of Baaj as we know it, Tidus would have later arrived in a small lone island, most likely after having touched Sin. Exploring it, he would have found a video-sphere -- a scene of a mother and child would have played: the two would be conversing, but the language they spoke would be incomprehensible to Tidus. He would have also found human remains, buried in said island, of - he thinks, the same mother depicted in the brief video. The script reveals the language would have been the Guado’s native one. Tidus would have accepted the creepiness of it (’This place gives me the creeps’), grilled some fish and waited for someone to rescue him HAHA (it is also revealed he’d spend days alone, stranded in there...)

Here too, I kinda had some very familiar vibes of the whole situation. If I think of a hypothetical Guado language, a mother and child, desert abandoned island and all, the story of Anima and Seymour in Baaj comes to mind. Not to mention the script reveals the dialogue of mother and child would have become understandable once Seymour’s intentions etc were to be discovered by Tidus -- confirming the child in the video is most likely a younger Seymour (and probably that we would have learned the language of Guado as we do now with Al Bhed’s ! )  

MACALANIA’S MUSICAL

This is my favorite. Do you remember those animal-like forest creatures you see in FFX, playing instruments around Spira, greeting even Mika and Seymour in Luca and encouraging you to catch butterflies ?  Those are what nowadays remains of this original snippet of script, according to Kitase himself. The idea was to give Yuna an idol-like appeal (I guess they still had no idea what X2 would have done ahah) and this scene was a good example of it, together with the wedding ceremony, Toriyama confirms. 

The pilgrimage party would have passed by Macalania during a peculiar festival: people of all races would gather in the woods to commemorate and celebrate the figure of Yunalesca, all sponsored by the Temple of course. Seems like a traditional festival, if you think about it, full of lights, magic, happiness, etc. There would have been a stage built in the forest, depicting a corner of old Registan and people would sit there, waiting for the programmed musical number to start (the musical band would be composed of the beings I described earlier !) Yuna would have been chosen to play as Yunalesca -- the script describes her as breathtakingly beautiful, dressed as Yunalesca (I supposed the bikini was not planned to be Yunalesca’s official attire... I hope so). The Guado would have built, with magic, a ‘fake-Sin’ prop to be used during the recital... but as the scene of the Final Summoning did approach, the Sin-prop would have started causing panic by growing bigger and bigger (turns out it was all Guado’s plan) so manacing and real-looking people would freak out and its giant size would destroy the stage and the lights. In complete darkness, a weird light would appear on stage. This light would shape itself into a precise figure: High Summoner Baska (YES, his original name was supposed to be Baska, later changed in Braska), Yuna’s father. 

The audience would start yelling his name with joy, calming down, before a man yelled: “Do not fear Sin, for Baska has returned!". A violent wind would arise and the figure of Baska would disappear. Tidus’d then turn around and find out that man who just talked was Seymour. Angered, he’d yell: “That’s a fake! It’s a Guado illusion!” The script goes: people turn around to glare at Tidus, since Baska is a very loved figure among Spira’s people. Yuna remains still on the stage: “True, my father died ten years ago!”. People would turn their anger at the girl, asking if Baska had been Sent after his death. Yuna cannot lie and confirms his father could not be Sent to the Farplane, and that he may be a monster. The crowds protest: “So, are you going to kill your own father?! We don’t need you as a Summoner!”. Yuna would fall on the stage, probably overwhelmed by those hateful comments.

What does this make me understand ?  Guado are seen as magic experts, they help with the festival but yet find a way to add their own, weird personal touch to the musical. Also Yuna probably does not know what truly becomes of a High Summoner after their death, and probably thinks that, by dying and not being Sent, her father became a rancorous monster (by now, we know that Summoner performing the Final Summoning probably do not need to be sent: Braska didn’t receive one and is still present in the Farplane in X and X2).

Also, it’s worth mentioning the holy spring scene would have had Yuna screaming (much like Tidus does in Kilika) all her frustration and helplessness at her destiny, crying against Tidus’ chest. There is no mention of the kiss, but I cannot be sure about it as an idea: the script for the holy spring scene stops as she buries her face in his chest and weeps. Being there an affection system, if you hadn’t bonded enough with Yuna, Kimahri would have consoled... and that, kids, is why Kimahri still is present in the holy spring / kiss scene in FFX !  It’s a nice reference.

The last snipper in the Ultimania is the party facing Yunalesca. I find the scene really similar to the original -- she calls them fools, asks who will take Jecht’s place. She calls human beings weak creatures who find new ways to substitute the dead ones and reject peace. She does try to attack Auron too, but he dodges her attack and the battle begins. Outside the Dome, much like in the game we know, Sin is watching them. But in the original script, he did carry people of Registan on his back. Why? Kitase and Nojima explain Registan was supposed to float above Gagazet (Fayth Scar weird column of water, anyone?). Before the final battle, the player would have had the chance to do a sidequest, in which Sin would have helped you carrying your Registan friends in Spira... yea, crazy. Tidus would have been briefly taken home again and helped his old friends, all carried on Sin’s back to Spira. But once they did decide on Registan/Zanarkand being a dream, the sidequest disappeared. ]

[justgotham]

Time is running out for Jim Gordon and Gotham, and nobody is more acutely aware of that fact than Ben McKenzie, the actor who has portrayed the flinty Gordon for five seasons on the Fox series that shares its name with Batman’s hometown. “It’s a lot to take in,” McKenzie said about the Gotham series finale that airs tonight. “It really is one of those bittersweet moments. But the show was never an open-ended proposition.”

Tonight’s finale is titled “The Beginning…” but the name isn’t quite as ironic as it sounds. That’s because the drama was built to be a sort of “prequel procedural” that leads up to the familiar Batman mythology that DC Comics has been publishing since 1939. The narrative window would begin in Bruce Wayne’s youth with the murder of his parents, and effectively end with his first forays as a costumed crimefighter: Gotham would end when Batman begins. That graduation moment arrives tonight with the show’s 100th episode, the first to feature an appearance by the Caped Crusader in action.

Gotham fans are more than ready to see the Dark Knight in all his cowled glory, but the show’s creative team hasn’t shared that eagerness. Just the opposite. Executive producer Bruno Heller, the British producer best known for The Mentalist and Rome, has said he would never have developed the show if it was a traditional costumed-hero franchise. “I don’t think Batman works very well on TV,” Heller said back in 2014. “To have people behind masks? Frankly, all those superhero stories I’ve seen, I always love them — until they get into the costume.”

That has made Gotham an eccentric entry in the superhero sector, but not an entirely unprecedented one. Smallville (217 episodes, 2001-2010) still reigns as the longest-running television series ever based on DC Comics heroes, and creators Alfred Gough and Miles Millar shared a similar aversion to costumed exploits. Their early mission statement was “no flights, no tights,” and the series held out until its final episode to put Clark Kent (Tom Welling) in Superman’s iconic suit.

For Heller and his team, the key to making a compelling Gothamwithout a Batman was to spotlight the hero’s trusted friend, James Gordon, the dedicated lawman destined to become the police commissioner of a city defined by its lawlessness and celebrity criminals. Gordon was introduced in the first panel of the first page of the first Batman comic book ever published, Detective Comics No. 27, the landmark issue that reached its 80th anniversary last month. Gotham added a key element to its version of Gordon — when Thomas and Martha Wayne are murdered, Gordon is the detective who handles the investigation.

Gordon is the good cop who holds on to his morals in a bad city that loses its marbles. The show found the man for the job in McKenzie, who had memorably portrayed LAPD officer Ben Sherman on the highly regarded (but lowly rated) Southland, which aired 2009 to 2013 on NBC and TNT. Before that, the Texan portrayed Ryan Atwood, a scruffy outsider adopted by a wealthy Newport Beach couple and the central character on The OC, the frothy Fox teen drama that aired for 92 episodes from 2003 to 2007.

“I had some things in common with the character,” McKenzie says with a shrug. It’s true, the 23-year-old actor trekked west from dusty Austin (instead of rural Chino) to Southern California, and bought himself a eye-catching Cadlliac DeVille that already had logged 17 hard years and 228,000 long miles. “That’s lot of miles.”

McKenzie has covered a lot of distance in his personal life while channeling the role of Gordon. In 2017, for instance, McKenzie married his Gotham co-star, Morena Baccarin, who has portrayed Dr. Leslie Thompkins on the series (and is well-known for her role in the Deadpool films as the mutant anti-hero’s love interest). The couple now have their first child.

For McKenzie, the end of Gotham closes a pivotal chapter in his screen life. But he’s also hoping that the final seasons will also someday represent a prelude to a different career story — one writing and directing. The actor directed the sixth episode of Season 5, and also directed one in each of the previous two seasons. McKenzie has also written the screenplay for two Gotham episodes: “One of My Three Soups” in Season 4 and “The Trial of Jim Gordon” in this final season.

McKenzie, the writer, didn’t exactly go easy on his fictional screen persona. The cop took a slug in the chest and hovered near death for much of the episode, stuck somewhere between “the here” and “the hereafter” in an existential courtroom where he had to defend his life.

‘I actually feel no sympathy for him at all,” McKenzie said with a chuckle. “The less sympathy you feel, the better, I’d say. The more pain you inflict upon the protagonist, hopefully, the higher the stakes are and the more emotion gets elicited. So I had to be a bit of masochist. Putting him through the ringer and having this existential crisis, this dream, where he’s on trial for his crimes and faces the loss of everything: the love of his life and his child at the same time. I think we got there. That’s about as high stakes as you can get. I think, ultimately satisfying, with the kind of emotional payoff we were looking for.”

That seems to apply to the season as a whole. The final episode is an epic send-off, too, with a story that flashes forward a decade (long enough for Gordon to sport a new mustache) and finds the Penguin (Robin Lord Taylor) returning from prison and Bruce Wayne returning to his ancestral home after years in self-imposed exile. It also coincides with the rise of the show’s off-kilter version of the Joker (Cameron Monaghan). “It’s fitting that he comes into conflict with Gordon and Wayne right at the end,” McKenzie said. “Cameron has been amazing and there was room for one more big flourish with the role.”

Most of the reviews have veered from good to great, encouraging news for the cast and crew of a series that had been uneven or over-the-top at times. “Everybody’s been very enthusiastic and positive,” McKenzie said. “The final season has been wrapping things up in the way the audience hoped we would.”

Gotham City is arguably the most famous city created in American popular culture since the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz (although Metropolis, Springfield, Mayberry, Twin Peaks, and Riverdale are other prominent spots on the map of un-real estate). Even without Batman, the city zoned by greed, paved in corruption, and mapped by trauma seems to have no limits as far as its story range.

“It’s extraordinary when you think about it,” McKenzie said. “The city itself is a character. There’s a lot of stories to be found in Gotham City. There’s a lot of stories being told from Gotham, too.”

It’s true, Gotham City will be the site of Batwoman, the pilot on The CW this fall, and for a string of upcoming feature films including Joker, The Batman, and the Birds of Prey project.

Also this year: a Harley Quinn animated series and Pennyworth (a series about Batman’s loyal butler) on Epix. Pennyworth and Gothamare unconnected in their story continuity, but both are from the tandem of executive producer/writer Bruno Heller (The Mentalist) and executive producer/director Danny Cannon (CSI franchises).

A passing reference in the 2016 film Suicide Squad identified Gotham City as a major metropolitan hub in the Garden State. The city’s location had been a vague matter for decades, but now it is officially part of New Jersey’s map, and Springsteen isn’t the only local hero named Bruce.

On Gotham, the city feels more like Al Capone’s Chicago than Dracula’s Transylvania. “There’s a specific look and style that Gotham has that sets the show apart. It’s visual identity is distinctive and it was really interesting to work within that as a director.”

Has McKenzie inherited anything Gordon, anything he will take with him forward? “Maybe. We have some things in common, too. He’s living in the same city I live in, New York, but just the slightly more dramatic version.  He’s had to figure things out on the fly and his life has changed and met the love of his life and had a child. There’s a lot of similarities there. But I haven’t bought a gun and I don’t go around shooting one. And I’m more a jeans and t-shirts guy. Although Gordon’s given me an appreciation for a good suit, that’s for sure.”

McKenzie said he’s learned a lot from the creative team he’s worked with, and he believes his acting has made his directing better and vice versa, as well. There’s several new projects that looks promising for McKenzie, both as an on-screen presence and writer or director. Still, saying goodbye to Gotham has been a sentimental exercise for the man who plays the taciturn detective.

“It’s hard. I’ve been through it a couple of times before. I’ve been on two shows before, so it’s been less daunting then before. I’ve built really strong bonds with these folks. We spent more time together than we do with our families for nine months a year. It’s been a joy and a experience I will never forget. I can’t forget.  I wake up every morning to my wife and child who happened during it. So yes, it’s been a city without limits for me.”

[bloodybells1]

Leeches, Part 1

“Just the other day, I sat at a bus stop, over on, I don’t know, somewhere in the eighties on the east side. I sat back and the sun shined on my face, and I think I just sat there for going on half an hour. I let about five buses pass me by, I reckon. The drivers kept asking through the doors, but I just shook my head and waved them on.”

Joe laughed at himself, very much the wizened old timer, laughing at his time-honored follies, a cough feigning to latch on to the tail end of one of his chuckles. He sat on a folding chair and never crossed his legs during his speech. He looked back at us once in a while, a wide grin framing the face of a man who’d found God in his dotage.

Behind him stood three sturdy chairs on a low, small landing, the middle one much larger, obviously for a deacon, or some other minister. To his left was a banner affixed to the chapel’s wall, to his right the darkened interior of Rutgers Presbyterian Church’s main hall, only the closest pew mingling with our reflections on the glass, while the rest of the chamber disappeared into the unlit black, pews, apse, arches, all fading away like undulating cephalopods motioning into the bottomless expanse of the deep ocean.

We were thirty men of various ages and, in various angles, situated on recently unfolded chairs, our ears plastered to Joe’s syllables. A semicircle of a row flanked Joe on each side, while rows of five staggered farther away in front of him. We waited for him to finish his speech.

My friend Kenyon, a man given to reflexive smiles, body art and jangling silver jewelry, raised his hand on the tail end of the applause. Kenyon was, like myself but in a completely different way, the aesthetic anomaly in this male lineup of denim, half-zip fleece pullovers, and unbuttoned checks. As for me, I was undergoing an awkward transition from the bespoke slim-fitting hipster fare of my East Village salad days to the generic knits I ended up cottoning to, staid, American gear with a fashion forward edge, the kind of corporate mimicry of downtown New York style evident in late aughts Express storefronts, the cheap grey cardigan with thin, plastic buttons and a gaudy, shiny placket to name one example, the sort of trickled-down haute couture which American Apparel had turned into a belated, and thankfully short-lived, empire of disposable cotton.

Kenyon, on the other hand, was a world onto himself. He was irreducible, and managed to turn all of that corporatizing on its head. Steeped in glam rock, a downtown tradition dating back to Max’s Kansas City, he merged the ripped tank tops and the second skin of leather trousers with punk, post-90s hip hop, and even industrial. By the time Kenyon was done, he was fully dressed, even though he’d barely put anything on: five necklaces formed an extra shirt over that tank top, while seven sterling-coated rings formed makeshift cuffs past the “sleeves” of tattoos on his arms. Sometimes he wore a black grosgrain cap with a chrome plate sewed onto the front that read “BITCH”. No one dressed like Kenyon, and if the reader regards my valuation as improbable, I can but insist that no one pulled off his sartorial derring-do with even half of his aplomb.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to like Kenyon, and I chalk that up to sibling rivalry. Though he did pull it off, his style was nonetheless loud. At the time, I needed quiet. That’s why I was there listening to Joe with my conveyer belt cardigan. Of course I had no idea I was dragging my old style like a cadaver in search of some missing morgue. But I was trying to fit in, trying to make a break with the past. I needed those dudes with their conservative shtick, sitting cross-legged checking blackberries once in a while, probably texting loved ones about soccer practice and babysitter hours. Joe was the granddaddy and these guys were my dads.

Once Joe was done everybody else started chiming in. People talked one at a time, and each person picked the next person to talk. Kenyon’s arm was erect, and he was picked early. Joe was sheepish about feedback, more out of feeling gratified to have shared his story with us than with insecurity about revealing himself, so he darted his eyes from the floor to anyone who wasn’t talking. Kenyon, like all who were picked, was speaking to the room, even though he directly addressed Joe, who indulged the time it took to place a couple bucks into the donation hat making the rounds. Silver tinkled on silver as Kenyon lowered his arm.

He did his best: “Joe, that story about the bus stop, man, wow, that’s amazing. I wish that was me. I’m just not there yet. I’m always busy, running around chasing my fantasies, maybe a woman, projects, getting angry about my job. It’s like I’m addicted and I can’t find peace. So I envy you, and all that serenity you shared with us. Thank you.”

Unlike their hardier, more “masculine” AA counterparts, Al-Anon meetings have no liquidation agenda. They’re not out to eradicate your issue. Nobody will say, as they do in AA, “Hey buddy, you’ve been fucking up, so it’s time to get your ass in gear and do some service for a change”. It’s more like “Sit back and relax, you’ve been working too hard” and “Don’t just do something, sit there.”

AA-ers criticize the warm embrace as too accommodating, but for my money’s worth, I always got more out of the Kumbaya fireside chat in Al-Anon meetings, than the fluorescently-lit, “bad cop” demeanor of your typical AA church basement. Booze was a problem, of course, but only during a relatively short span of debauching as an erstwhile rockstar. It was a symptom of “extreme lifestyling”, so, once I left the music industry and started frequenting libraries instead of dive bars, I had little difficulty moderating my intake. Thankfully, there were no winged bottles of Smirnoff in my dreams, and to this day, I say a prayer of gratitude with every crisp draught of New World red during mealtime.

What I lacked was not self-control, but self-esteem. Al-Anon, with its boundaries, its “healing centers”, its gingerbread cookies, its amateur yogis meditating, palms up, while people like Joe regaled you with yarns about how they lived “one day at a time”, boosted the lagging go-getter within and checked the autocratic superego’s overreach. Unlike our bulldog AA counterparts, choking and chafing on the leash, we were more like tiny, caged Papillons needing assertiveness training. Al-Anon’s ethos of boundary-setting was the gamechanger for the steamrolled contingent.

I needed a jolt in the arm to help me take charge of the new me. Once the keg dried on my club kid/rocker past, so did all of its faulty affirmations – “I’m a killer” – “I’m the man” – “I’m the life of the party”. What had seemed like incontrovertible evidence of greatness and longevity soured into empty pomp and arrogance, showing its age faster than a fine Brie sitting out too long. If you cut the tap, you see things for what they are, hollow, teenage rhetoric, a lacquered gloss of puerile angst disguising the real pain within, the miserable cartography drawn in Crayola. I had a hard time transitioning to “adulting”.

Al-Anon was the perfect solution for a spiritual drifter like myself, someone who’d managed to duck the hypnotic allure of substance, but was tethered to the overhead luggage of an overwrought past, a hypertrophied lore inflated by the helium-empty of media success and unrestrained carousing. The skill of setting boundaries, the primary focus of the work in that fellowship, was my first time making a conscious, adult demarcation of self. It was a kind of handwritten accounting, using a brand-spanking new calligraphy pen when in the past I only had a crayon.

Not only had I been bluffing my way through every opportunity and relationship all my life, but I’d shirked male bonding as well. The old man had left enough scar tissue to lead me to believe, wrongly, that nothing presented a greater threat to my safety than another swinging dick in the room. Al-Anon, being majority female in its constituency, attracted me for this very reason. But this uptown meeting offered me a new twist: the gentle lilt of Al-Anon sloganeering with the familiar heft of masculine energy. When I found that meeting, I discovered the verdant hidden pastures of otherwise craggy masculine caverns, undergoing the Robert Bly encounter with male, yet enlightened, initiation.

“I get so much wisdom from those guys,” I told Kenyon on the downtown 1, our trip back to the Village from the Upper West Side enlivened by the meeting. Post-meeting positive spin comes like hand delivered mail, the delay forgiven and forgotten at the instant the hand touches the parcel, a sudden flash of serum in the bloodstream, a mild chemo.

“They’re like old New York,” Kenyon replied. A silver bracelet ticked on one of his eight rings as he switched arms straphanging. He rearranged his fedora and there was a moment when, with the sterling on his fingers blinking in the light as it contrasted with the soft crushed velvet of the brim, he looked like Jared Leto (Twenty Seconds to Mars Leto, not the actor). Kenyon was impossibly handsome and, after two decades of casual sex in New York, had to have known it. On top of that, his mind was so sharp, dropping an op-ed’s worth of observation in a single response, you always forgot how attractive he was. I didn’t want to like him, for survival reasons, but I couldn’t help myself.

We both got off at Sheridan Square and parted at the newsstand on Christopher and Varick. The hugs were the best part of the night, warm, not bro-y. Cool jocks first clasp hands and keep them in between, the embrace more of a back pat, with the forearms warding off fears of errant torsos touching. Not so with Kenyon. It was a full upper body affair.

He went East and I West, to a dinner date with someone I met at school. But I couldn’t get his wall-to-wall smile out of my head.

All throughout the evening, through the dinner and the subway ride back to my Upper East Side apartment, even as my head hit the pillow and I let the day’s events drift through my head like a shuffling deck, I thought of Joe’s bus stop and wondered if it was one of the ones I used, any of the M79 ones, running from where I lived on East End Avenue to Lexington where the 6 train offers the nearest underground service. That crosstown corridor gives access to one of the most pacific locations in the city. The highlight was coming out of Agata & Valentina, hauling four thick polypropylene shopping bags spilling over with istara cheese, seasonal fruits, swordfish, prime cuts, homemade pasta, and imported Brazilian nuts, and, braving the murder on my delts, walking across the street to the east bound stop on 1st and 79th,hauling two leaden weights like overfull scales pressing down on a balance. Joe probably had his atman moment directly across the street, at the westbound stop, where the sun hits more directly for longer in the day.

As I turned my head on the pillow, I thought of tomorrow, Wednesday, of waking up, walking the dog, hitting the computer to play around with electronic music, and stretching the limbs. At acting school they were really emphasizing the importance of movement (���If I see one more stiff actor in my scene study class, I’m going to be angry” was one teacher’s version).

I was reminded how, in my early twenties, I was terrified of anyone looking at my body. I didn’t know anything about anatomy, but I could feel how broad and lanky were my shoulders. I was like a wide clothes hanger. Playing the bass guitar, though I hadn’t gone out of my way to pick it up, made perfect sense, the heaviest rock instrument to offer ballast against flaying limbs. Night after night the strap creased my left shoulder, pulling me closer to the floor, the weight pressing my boots on the ground, plantar ligaments stretching out the arches. Once it was removed, I was like a hot air balloon.

So was my acting, hence the need for movement exercises, which made interesting cases concerning anatomy. At Stella Adler, I had the good fortune of having Joanne Edelmann, an experienced dancer from the Alvin Ailey school, impress upon me the importance of the pelvis. Everything was about the pelvis, acting, moving, blocking, memorizing lines, it all had to come from the pelvis, apparently. We’d lay down supine, after one of us had swiffed the last class’s sweat, grime and dead skin cells off the creaky, wooden floor, and start gyrating our pelvises, all twenty-five of us. Having suspended my pause at the bursar’s office (at some point the acting conservatory, like therapy and Al-Anon, acquired healing potential in my mind), I jumped into all this with gusto. These movement exercises, so I thought, were my ticket to getting my feet on the ground, literally. So I worked them every day for an hour.

It was early spring in 2009 and I’d been living in the Upper East Side for close to a year, moving here to escape the East Village’s countercultural orthodoxy.

The East Village is great when you’re an upstart, when your friend owns a vintage boutique and sitting there for hours talking about nothing could feel like a quiet revolution. There was something conspiratorial about scrounging for change, wearing the same pair of trousers, and bumping into the same vagrant hipsters every night. Bar hopping became a kind of Where’s Waldo stretched over the span of a week, like each party was a pop-up shop taking over that bar or club. It would have been unthinkable to go on another night, after the pop-up shop had moved. Each one of us could feel like an unshowered Che looking at Fidel clipping a Cohiba across the fold-out table, an overhanging burning bulb backlighting the floating dust and cumulus clouds of tobacco smoke.

But by this time, I’d already “made it”. My cover was blown. Interpol’s success had fattened my wallet even as it’d thwarted my agitprop designs. Trips to the grocer could involve catcalls and held stares. Benjamin’s wisdom seemed apt: “Behind every fascist regime, lies a failed revolution”. In my case, the project of seeing how far flipping the bird could get me (very far, apparently) had yielded such pithy spiritual results it was time to call it a day and find a place to do my laundry where I wouldn’t have to sign autographs.

Growing up in Queens, I had no idea what the hell was the East Village. But I knew the Upper East Side, mostly through The Jeffersons (my mother did have a wealthy friend and, once, while we visited when I was eleven, I feigned adult sass by declaiming “This place is rich!” during the elevator trip up the Central Park adjoining high rise). The sight of rows of stacked iron-grated balconies on grey-brick facades, all set to each other like a long ship container yard disappearing into the horizon of 2nd Avenue, where every taxi cab, street light and butcher shop becomes a tiny dot twenty blocks north of 79th Street, was always set to a soulful “We finally have a piece of the pie”.

Later, after initiation with the caramelized crust of 80s pop-culture, the Upper East Side came to mean Woody Allen and Andy Warhol. The high rises, in my estimation, offered sanctuary to the city’s cultural superintendents, a haven in which to pen or paint their New York City-centric odes in peace and quiet. I thought of Leonard Bernstein laboring over scores, the doorman interrupting with a call about a dry cleaning delivery.

Here, as well, were stock brokers, attorneys, traders, and other sundry bourgeois interests, the better to authenticate the wealthy artist’s pains with commerce’s badge of (dis)honor. (“There. You are one of us. Now, to quote a 90s prophet, entertain us.”) Eyes Wide Shut, with its luxury apartments and endless chambers, its New York Jewish-y professional class embodied in Sydney Pollack’s Rolex, its de riguer charcoal Brooks Brothers three quarter overcoat worn by Tom Cruise in almost every frame, laid out the terms of this fantasy of old school New York wealth for me, if also tickling my artistry with a Kafka-esque slant. Perhaps, I could revivify the failed revolution, I thought, not against the fascist regime, but from within.

It was a straight shot up 1st Avenue from Houston Street to 79th and on a random late morning Tuesday you could drive through light after light in less than fifteen minutes. I’d always hated the West Village’s European style of urban planning, the streets and lanes that curve and follow every slope of the ground, (pre-Google Maps, this meant that sometimes you ended up, Blair Witch Project-style, back to where you started). I loved the East Village’s Soviet, numerical grid, so artificial you could easily imagine the planners taking their time to map everything out. What this did was help me focus on the shops, ateliers, and salons within the fifteen block radius, without the distraction of curves and cobblestone. And the Upper East Side, at least from an urban planning perspective, was the East Village without the personality, simply adding a z axis of verticality to the latter’s x and y. With three dimensions now at my disposal, I felt I could take my Bernstein myth into Olympus itself, away from the caustic rabble of DIY punk down below.

I made enough money to afford a $4000 rent in what is called a “splinter building”; apparently only three in the city exist, a building slim enough it can only have two apartments per floor, but giving each one a three sided-view of all Manhattan, in my case, from the 23rd floor. When I first walked into it the sun was setting, casting an amber glow onto the East River. Wall to wall windows proffered a vision of Manhattan only the wealthy know – “This is Your City” (daily exposure did end up diminishing the returns of the view).

For some reason, taxis were out of the question (never mind I was splurging on rent, dinners, tuition, and music equipment expenses). After five dizzy years of flights and car services, I was only too happy to take to the MTA, the buses still lacquered in the future-glossy palette of navy and white, which I recognized from my morning commutes to St. Francis Prep High in Floral Park from my Elmhurst home. Getting on the M79 right by the river, I basically had the bus to myself, my own crosstown Lear jet, a meager, yet delightful, taste of the jet-setting I’d left behind.

[renaramblesaboutcomics]

Wednesday Roundup 8.8.2017

Okay quite a huge week for my pull list, though with a few sad farewells as a result of that. Will everything pass the muster? Or have we got some duds in waiting? 

Just kidding everything’s wonderful and I’m going to explain why that is.

Marvel’s All-New Wolverine, DC’s Detective Comics, DC’s Gotham Academy: Second Semester, Marvel’s Immortal Iron Fists, Dark Horse’s The Legend of Korra: Turf Wars, Marvel’s Silk, DC’s Titans, IDW’s Transformers: Till All Are One

Marvel’s All-New Wolverine (2015-present) #23 Tom Taylor, Leonard Kirk, Michael Garland, Erick Arciniega

Probably my favorite Marvel book coming out right now is All-New Wolverine and I think nothing has helped my appreciation for Tom Taylor as a writer grow than this book. It’s everything I’ve always wanted for Laura and more, but I won’t waste time. Let’s just dig into the specifics~

Story: We’re in the midst of an arc that’s meant to completely avoid the stink of Secret Empire but also probably will limit exposure to Laura that will be given to the stupid asshole male Wolverine they replaced her with on the main team I meant that is meant to bring us into Laura and Gabby’s first big space opera adventure, which is a proud tradition for all Marvel A-listers, and especially familiar to the X-Men. But Laura’s not with the X-Men on this trip because a forced romance with Warren isn’t being shoved in our faces. She’s here with the Guardians of the Galaxy who are enjoying their rise in Marvel prominence quite a bit, I believe.

In any case, the Brood have kidnapped Gabby and this is pissing both of them off immensely because Laura’s protective of Gabby and Gabby’s protective of Jonathan their pet Wolverine, and everybody is trying to get in the way of the Wolverine ladies living a happy life that they deserve. 

Now I don’t often give summaries but it’s difficult to really parse what this story gets right and why even as the crotchety woman that I am who usually doesn’t care for superheroes in space, I am enjoying the aliens and the epic giant crossover and the cast of thousands. And that’s because this story and this comic series is about Laura and Gabby. It’s about the sisterhood, the mother-daughter relationship, the friendship, and the just general goodness that they’ve provided for each other throughout the past 23 issues that makes all the dressing not matter nearly as much as the moments where Laura declares her commitment to getting Gabby back or Gabby’s stern rebuttal to the idea that any outcome would be possible besides Laura coming for her. That faith and trust has been earned for over 20 issues and it’s the thing that really makes this comic stand out from the majority of the comics I’m going over this week. 

This is a comic that has always been about these two characters and the loving bond that they share for one another. And it is exactly why it works to the point that I can give a hilariously complex summary like the one above without it making a real difference, and it’s why the final page is so gut wrenching for a cliffhanger.

Art: Leonard Kirk, I believe, has done the majority of the artwork for this series so far, and I really appreciate the look he gives to the title and specifically to Laura. She’s treated with every ounce of power and intimidation that you expect of Wolverine and the sexy costumes or posing are brought down to a severe minimum. Really, his designs for everyone are great and service the action of the story well because with so many aliens and sceneries to be had, the precise and direct approach makes the comic easy to follow. And I like that it manages all that without sacrificing action scenes or Kirk’s own style. 

It’s solid comic art through and through.

Characters & Dialogue: For the most part I’ve said everything that needs to be said in the story bit, but I need to again give accolades to Taylor here because of the subtle character growth he’s allowed for in the way Laura and Gabby’s world views are evolving. 

The dialogue for the two of them is very specific to their characters, but now we’re starting to see the way that they talk is having an effect on the other. Laura has become more artfully expressive about her feelings and love of others, especially Gabby, which is a change that took a long time for her and also is something her father never quite learned as well. We are a long ways away from the Laura who was ready to give Gabby up to the Jean Grey school and not look back. Likewise, Gabby has become more stern, more encouraged. She relies on Laura and believes in her so much that she doesn’t fear, another far cry away from the Gabby who was abused and misused by the lab that created her. 

Basically the characterization isn’t just good, it’s subtle and full of depth beyond what people would be expecting from a giant space opera adventure trying to avoid a storyline centered around Captain Fascism. 

DC’s Detective Comics (2016-present) #962 James Tynion IV, Alvaro Martinez, Raul Fernandez, Brad Anderson

So, I think my Roundups are a pretty fair record for how tumultuous my relationship has been over time with Detective Comics. It’s a comic and characters I love fiercely but it’s also often subject to fair criticism of being fairly unpolished, rushed, and just generally misses a mark from time to time that’s just difficult to overcome.

A mixed bag if you will. 

And we’re coming to the close on this particular storyline “Intelligence” and I think it’s as good of a place as any to really get into the nitty gritty of what the pros and cons of this Detective Comics run is.

Story: I only recently have begun reading Jean Paul’s original solo series Azrael thanks to DC’s new campaign to volumize old comics and it’s been a surprising read. But I’ve always been familiar enough with him as a character to be fairly curious about what more stories centered around him -- and not Azabats him but him him -- would be like. And I’ve stated before that I enjoy seeing the development of his friendship with Luke and would love to see it feature more prominently. 

And in all those respects, I feel like this conclusion and really this whole storyline paid very good tribute to Azrael and Jean Paul in ways that even contemporaries of Denny O’Neil tended to miss the mark on. The complexity of his relationship with religion while also dealing with the additional stress and pressure that has placed on him with his abusive past, the allusions to mental illness which serve throughout his stories. And really just Jean Paul getting a chance to be a character in a way he certainly wasn’t in his re-introduction through Batman and Robin Eternal worked out very well with me. And I’m grateful that his injury in this battle and his paralysis are not going to be immediately erased while they do acknowledge that in this universe that’s a possibility.

I don’t really like the state reasoning for the decision or the near certainty that his disability will eventually be “overcome” but it’s better than the nothing that DC has basically given us in the way of the major titles for a while now.

Plus, consequences! It’s nice to have consequences that matter.

The magic part... well I enjoy Zatanna as a character to an extreme degree so my ability to be completely unbiased here was always going to be difficult. But this is one story where the magical elements being blended in with the spiritual.. I’m not really sure if it worked for me. It’s nice to see Zee, but in an ensemble book I’m getting a little tired of all the excuses being fit into the narrative to excuse not ever actually being about the ensemble.

oh look tim’s alive and ra’s al ghul’s behind it all who saw this coming

At least we don’t have another new made up organization that secretly spans across the whole world and Batman didn’t know about it ever. At least they’re finally converging a bit because that shit was getting ridic.

Art: Of the rotating art teams that we have for Detective, I have to say that this is one of the best and most consistent. There’s a good variation between splash pages and regular paneled format, there’s a proper use of shifting and varying panel differing. And overall it’s just a pleasing comic to read with easy action to follow and a great use of color and inking despite being a literally dark comic.

It is not the most stylized comic for those who prefer styles that are Out of House as opposed to the Big Two’s normal aesthetic, but it is a good comic and easy to read without being redundant. 

Characters & Dialogue: Detective Comics has way too many characters. Tynion gives all of them good voice, and everyone who’s featured gets quite a lot to do, but there is not enough balance for the ensemble and the constant addition of new characters, new villains, etc. makes even less room for development and especially for relationship building between characters. 

Like I guess Cass is just the only kid in the Belfry period now. Alright. 

Cass, Kate, Luke, and... *sigh* Clayface have very little to do in this issue, though I’d argue that their small parts are some of the best content when one’s reading. And while it’s more than okay to center different arcs on different characters and Jean Paul getting his long, long overdue dues is more than welcome, there’s still the problem of giving everyone something that pushes their own plots forward, or at the very least, let’s us see the progress that has been made as a culmination of the previous storylines. 

Cassandra is still not even adopted by either Bruce or Kate yet for chrissake. Someone give Cass a family.

Zatanna was good and if I have to measure a Bruce this Bruce is good for my tastes, but again there’s just so many characters it’s very difficult to fully dive into their various developments, especially when it’s hard to tell if there is one.

At the very least, I can give this comic thanks for getting Cass’ speech pattern back to normal. I have to agree with some other fans who have contacted me and said that it’s not too terrible if from time to time Cass learns and memorizes a Shakespeare verse thanks to her time with Clayface, but not showing any of the characters working with Cass to teach her to read and speak and then giving her full sonnets or soliloquies is way too much and is painfully out of character to read.

DC’s Gotham Academy: Second Semester (2016-present) #12 Brenden Fletcher, Karl Kerschl, Becky Coloonan, Adam Archer, MSASSYK, Sandra Hope

After a few years of this fun, YA tale of mystery and friendship, we sadly come to a close on Gotham Academy with this final issue wrapping up the series that was very beloved by myself and a number of my comic reading friends here on the internet. It’s a different type of story in the landscape of DC’s Batbooks and it’s going to very much be missed, regardless of how well or not this last issue was going to do. 

But, with this cancelation, did the finale manage to feel like it came to a conclusive resolution for all of our favorite Gotham Academy kids?

Story: Given that this is the finale of both this storyline and for the series as a whole, going into story is a much bigger deal than it has been before. I mean, we’re talking about a narrative that really started back with Gotham Academy (2014-2016) and has come to its end here, a reboot and a year later. And it all, as it should have, revolved around the titular friendship between Olive Silverlock and Maps Mizoguchi. 

Of course all the friendships, all the support that has been built up for Olive throughout the series still play a fairly important role to her conclusion here, but it was always going to be the friendship that held Olive and Maps together that would be what drove the story at its core, and in that way this ending doesn’t feel forced or strained, but simply like a natural testing of friendship when both have made mistakes and are wrong for various reasons -- for Maps it was coming to terms with her treatment of Olive’s mental illness and accepting her for it rather than simply ignoring that it was a factor, and for Olive it was about relying on Maps and trusting her to be there for her whenever she should fall. 

That is what affects the narrative the most and that’s what the resolution to this story got right the most here. 

Still, the cancelation of GA has come at the cost of the resolution of a lot of other elements that had been built up over the series. An unfortunate affect of having spent so much of the bulk of the series building up the world, the supporting characters, and more for what was no doubt many more mysteries and subplots to come, but it’s ultimately a little lost here. Colton’s confession to Kyle doesn’t see some real focus in the finale due to time and that’s made all the more a painful thing to see cut short considering the confirmed LGBT+ elements of Gotham Academy never received direct attention in ways I know I wish I could have seen. And likewise some resolutions felt missed entirely or unnecessary, Tristan’s apparent comfort with his bat form by the end as an example of the former and Pomeline being in a romantic relationship again with oh-whats-his-beard in the final pages. 

I would not have wanted any of the final issue’s focus to have left Maps and Olive at all, as I’ve said, they are the driving force of this comic, but as understandable as it is that these shortcomings happened under the circumstances, they’re still shortcomings nonetheless. 

The one that’s the most glaring, however, is the way that Olive’s disdain and distrust of Batman ended up coming to an end here. This is a character trait that was built up with Olive since the first issue of the series, and that relationship complicated between her, her mother, Batman, and Bruce Wayne, began dropping off the radar the moment we came into Second Semester and became more and more lost only to give us this moment in the finale where she comes to terms somehow with the fact that Batman was just trying to save her mom? I don’t know. 

Speaking of which, this all coming down to magic and a secret society using Olive’s ancestral blood to control her or whatever reminded me exactly of when I was watching Scooby-Doo: Mystery Incorporated for the first time and I adored that first season SO much and loved how it stuck to the tried and true Scooby-Doo formula of skepticism winning over superstition and the paranormal, only for the second season to... make a 180 and everything was due to magic after all. That’s kinda how I felt about Gotham Academy, we spent the first series constantly solving mysteries of Gotham Academy through the eyes of the Mystery Club and time and time again the lesson seemed to be that the legends and tribulations of the people at the heart of these things were just that -- they were people and they were real, and their problems paralleled the cast’s for that reason. 

Only for that to be somewhat wasted due to the fact that... it was all nobody’s fault and the strings were being pulled by the occult the first series had proved were false. And I suppose that’s okay, save for how it feels as though it tries to use this to wave off the genuine symptoms of mental illness Olive has shown throughout the series. 

It’s something I’ll have to chew on for a while, honestly. It’s given me a lot of complicated feelings. 

Art: Ah, the most contentious part of the series has been the massive shift in art. Karl Kerschl was the original artist for the first few volumes of Gotham Academy and his style remains a truly unique, very stylized, and very character driven style which was a huge contributing factor to launching Gotham Academy and getting it off its feet with a unique flare to draw in audiences that weren’t necessarily picking up other Batman books at the time. And his presence has been missed since he left the book, without a doubt. I’ve had people tell me personally that a big reason for dropping the book when they did had to do with the change up in art. 

I’m not condemning Adam Archer here for not being Kerschl, make no mistake. What I think has truly hurt this book, however, is that Archer either chose or was directed to attempt Kerschl’s style as close as possible which comes off as not feeling natural to Adam Archer’s own talents. That’s unfair because Archer’s work is unique, fun, and lovely n its own without this attempt to mimmic a style that was less his own. I think we would have all appreciated the art more in that respect, since other guest artists between the two like Chen were better received for their issues. 

That being said the art for this issue is not bad, but it’s not great, and missing that feeling of sincerity that was connected to by so many readers before. 

Characters & Dialogue: Considering how character driven this series is, it’s fair to say that the characterization and dialogue of these new Gothamites is unquestionable. They were always well rounded, interesting, and full of intrigue, and all the way to this conclusion, that remains to be the case. The big difference here would be that because we needed to focus on Olive and Maps, the other members of the Mystery Club were less involved than I would have liked though they very much did at least get to play a part in stopping Calamity (pun intended).

The good thing about having a single team writing from the very start of the book is that we get very strong voices throughout for all of the characters, and that remained true to the very end as well. Really, the characters were the best part and it made this feel like a very deserving farewell to our Gotham Academy family. 

Marvel’s Immortal Iron Fists (2017) #2 (of 6) Kaare Andrews, Afu Chan, Shelly Chen

Well, guys, never say that change isn’t real and tangible, because it almost looks like Marvel learned something from the reception of Immortal Iron Fist on Netflix and is creating a legacy from the title that shock of all shocks actually contains Asian characters for once. I know, I was stunned as well.

In all seriousness, I was super interested in this series when I first saw it with issue #1 but hadn’t bought it by the time I was doing my weekly reviews for that week. Obviously, that has since then been remedied and has left me open for a good ol’ review of the new Marvel Infinite series Immortal Iron Fists.

Story: We’re still very much in the early part set of this story, which is a combination of Danny trying to navigate the trials of adulthood while being a complete human disaster, Pei is attempting to fit in her new public school which is middle school and thus inherently filled with racist little sociopaths in training just like real life high school, and also about the two Iron Fists trying to harness all of these magic scrolls which are currently possessed by demons which increase in power each scroll before culminating into this Mega Awful Demon that is the mortal enemy of the Buddah.

So yes. Immortal Iron Fists is basically ripping off Jackie Chan Adventures and believe it or not I am absolutely fine with that, in fact I think it might be the most fine I have been with a Marvel concept in ages. It’s like making Laura Wolverine, creating Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur, and now this. There, I had my arm twisted and admitted there are positive things about Marvel this week.

The story itself is a very soft, even light narrative considering the complexity of Pei’s origins and even her connection to Danny, but it’s also at the same time so fitting for what I assume is the intended audience (children and YA) and especially fitting with the art that is positively adorable and awesome. 

In this issue Pei makes her first friends, learns that there is a string of missing cases, and also decides that unlike everyone else in middle school she’s not going to be a “key to a single door” but keep all her doors open and try to bridge the gap between the various cliques, who were introduced to us Mean Girls style and it was hilarious. 

It’s just a fun read overall, but it’s also a fairly quick read so given that ever high Marvel price tag it’s hard to argue with the assessment that this one could be a trade wait for a lot of you.

Art: As I mentioned before, the art is very soft, gentle, and light. The colors pop, everyone is incredibly stylized, and the action scenes are surprisingly varied and plentiful. While they’re still simple enough to read for beginning comic readers, there is a flow to them, such as the sequence where Pei gets some revenge on some bullies at school through one extended fight sequence across a panel. 

I just really enjoyed the art and I’m glad to see so much variation in comic art lately. It’s been a long time coming.

Characters & Dialogue: Pei and Danny are the focus of the comic, obviously, and they play their roles incredibly well. Danny is ... I mean, he’s Danny Rand, he’s a complete disaster of a human being trying to Adult it with an inheritance he never cared about or really earned and as such everything rolls in and catches up with him. He literally can’t teach Pei how to clean the house without tripping on soap, and I feel like that is a perfect summation of everything anyone has ever needed to know about Danny Rand. 

In contrast, Pei is a reserved little girl, fish out of water, and drowning in a culture she has no familiarity with while also harnessing power and skills beyond her years. What I find interesting and subversive about this, though, is that Pei neither yearns for normalcy nor does she completely rebel openly against Danny’s orders for her to restrain herself and act normal. It’s honestly a relief to have a character whose problems are so relatable and have her just... treat it with the actions of a kid in the moment: uncertain but trying to play everything out until she decides she doesn’t fit the necessary mold. And she’s pleased with herself for not fitting the mold. It’s honestly kind of inspiring to see that in a kid character these days. 

But the big part of this issue was arguably building up the supporting cast, including the nanny Danny has hired for Pei and most of all the kids in Pei’s school. And how there’s apparently no point to her hiding her identity as the tiniest Iron Fist. It’s well paced and all the kids, right down to their overwhelming cruelty to their surprising generosity, are definitely acting like kids.  

Dark Horse’s The Legend of Korra: Turf Wars (2017-present) Part One Michael Dante DiMartino, Irene Koh, Vivian Ng

Ah, at long last!

While I was not in on the hype for The Legend of Korra as it was airing, my appreciation for what it’s become has grown over time, and more importantly, I fnd that it provides more possibilities and more opportunity to the world of Avatar, which is always a good thing.

As such, I’ve been waiting for this comic series to come out for quite some time! ... and then had to wait longer because for Reasons we don’t get the comiXology release at the same time as the regular issue’s release in stores. Oh, Dark Horse. 

But now to get into the specifics. 

Story: It’s always difficult to gage story with just the first issue, but in all honesty I think that the fact that the TV series ended on such an open note really helps the comic in this matter. “Turf War” is an interesting name for the story, but at the same time it’s oddly blunt and fitting. There is a war erupting between the Spirit World, the human lands and property settlement, and with the ever present Republic City triad gang wars. We follow all of these through the Krew members who are exactly where we last left off with them. 

Some of the stuff that deserves a lot of attention is the cementation of Korra and Asami’s romantic relationship, which is given a good amount of page time for the first half of the book. They confess true feelings for each other, share a first kiss, have a beautiful vacation together, and we ultimately get to see Korra’s blunt and protective nature play out accordingly. She rushes in to Asami’s aid and frets over her pretty consistently, which could be seen as a callback to the series itself when, as Korra was most down, Asami cared for and nurtured her. 

We also get to see Mako and Bolin working together as partners in the Republic City police. They deal with the triads and the general unrest that has come about as a result of Spirits and Humans openly interacting again for the first time in centuries. And this honestly felt like some greatly due development for the brothers’ relationship since in the series it felt like they had grown apart without it ever being explicitly addressed in the text.

And while all this turf grabbing is happening, we also see a parallel drama being played out. And that would be the story of how Korra and Asami choose to come out to their friends, family, and even the world. As usual, Korra barrels in half cocked and not thinking of repercussions, figuring “damned if anyone judges me” whereas Asami is more thoughtful, planning, and reserved. She’s nervous about coming out to people, and she’s nervous about how boisterous Korra is being about it. 

But they haven’t communicated this detachment between their processing of the situation yet. It’s fairly obvious that a portion of Turf Wars is going to come to a head with Asami and Korra having to address being respectful of each other’s needs to come out in their own ways first. 

In any case, it was a real great start and had lots of little moments to help explain the world without acting as though the intended audience wouldn’t have some more than passing knowledge about what was coming up.

Art: One of the most widely praised and beloved aspects of The Legend of Korra from the very start had been the beauty of its animation, so much so that the same animation house got to move on to other passion projects like the current reboot of Voltron. And one of the things that makes the world of Avatar so unique is that aspect of Eastern philosophy combined with different disciplines which inspire the forms of bending in the series. And, as was pretty clearly seen before in the Avatar: The Last Airbender comics, that is not something that is easy to translate into a more still and less fluid medium like comics.

And that mostly goes the same here. There’s a distinct lack of bending compared to what you would see in an episode of the show, but at the same time that isn’t to say that there isn’t a lot more than I thought there was. It simply did not have that many creative takes on what to do with the bending. No splash shots into the next panels, no using the elements to transition. The sort of things you’d expect from a comic inspired by a show which was all about the uniqueness of bending. 

Still, the comic did a fair job of keeping to the style of the series without the character art seeming stagnant and stationary which is usually a problem with cartoons that are adapted into comics. Hair in particular was treated with much more fluidity than I remember the show being able to give it. And the styles of the various nations and cultures were well designed while also fitting. 

Everything was well compositioned and especially the events which took place within the Spirit World were beautifully colored, though that came at the seeming cost of a duller color pattern used in the “normal” world. 

It’s a good start, and I’d argue it’s better than if it had tried to strictly stay to only the style of the series and not rely on the personal style of the artist. 

Characters & Dialogue: Given that this is an ensemble story and there was a limited amount of time to dedicate to each of the characters, we did not get as much individual development for the wider cast. But Korra and Asami got relatively large roles and since they and their relationship seems to be the driving force of the narrative, it worked out well for this issue. 

Korra was brash to a fault, but as always it is her conflict and emotions and her validity that moved the plot forward. For a character it is always important that her purpose and her growth be the defining force. And I think we definitely got that.

Asami on the other hand was the quieter personality, yes, but her hesitation and temperance also did a lot to build suspicion for future conflict in the relationship between her and Korra and also in just the world itself. Her perspective and her concerns are as real and as valid as Korra’s which means that our concerns for their coming out narrative are validated here, too. 

The dialogue is a bit harder to pin here, as again there aren’t many characters with specific inflections that really pop out, so we’ll have to wait for more issues to get a larger grasp on how the dialogue changes between characters.

Marvel’s Silk (2015-2017) Vol. 3: The Clone Conspiracy Robbie Thompson, Irene Strychalski, Tana Ford, Ian Herring

I can’t believe I’m having to say goodbye to so many books this week. It’s like my personal Cancellation Day, and the only prize is disappointment that more series I enjoyed aren’t coming my way. I’m supremely sad to see Silk go, as Cindy Moon is a hugely inspirational and important character both for being an Asian-American superhero with her own book and for narratively dealing with anxiety in depression. 

And it’s also extremely sad to see her go on what was mostly tie-ins to yet another endless Spider Event. I won’t be going into a full review for that reason, it just doesn’t seem fair to recap the end of the series knowing that a lot of the context for The Clone Conspiracy is not included in this book, nor should it really have been, but I do want to say to fellow Silk fans that there’s enough of Cindy and enough closure to her narrative that it will be worth your collection and time, but yeah there will be some lackluster stuff in the majority of the issues in this since it is a tie-in. 

And I hate that, I hate how much endless tie-ins have felt like they’re killing books lately. 

But Robbie Thompson was a fantastic, thoughtful, and well articulated writer throughout this series and for Silk before this series, really making her a real character where her initial introduction was... not that... ugh pheromones and gross twitter trolls. Anyway, Robbie Thompson truly made a character to love in Cindy Moon, and the two artists who contributed throughout the series -- Irene Strychalski and Tana Ford did amazing very stylized work and weren’t afraid to experiment with style and page correlation.

It was a great read and I’m going to miss it a whole lot.

DC’s Titans (2016-present) #14 Dan Abnett, Brett Booth, Norm Rapmund, Andrew Dalhouse

Hello, world, it’s me, the Titans fan who wished upon the monkey’s paw that her favorite heroes would be restored to their former glory and that their friendship would be allowed to flourish on the page once again. And in return I got Roy’s stupid hat. 

But in truth, I’ve been fairly pleased with Titans since the very first issue in Rebirth and have felt taken aback by just how much the creative team seems to love the characters, their relationships, and their history. But now we’ve got to answer that ultimate question: a year later with those rosy tinted glasses still firmly on my face, am I starting to eep out of the honeymoon phase? Or it this book still living up to unrealistic expectations?

Story: We’re in the middle of the sleeper agent storyline and it’s probably more difficult to gage how good a story is doing by its middle than it is by its start, in all honesty. All the same, the distrust running through the Titans, the pain of conflict and second guessing each other’s friendships and so on. It’s not a bad way to flesh out the arc, and I wouldn’t say that like a lot of storylines’ mid-issues this one felt useless or flat. 

There is a definite escalation throughout the issue of how the Titans are beginning to fold in on each other, how HIVE’s master plan to destroy them from the inside may be working before we ever get confirmation about a betrayer. And the testing of the relationships among the Titans in that delicate web they weave cause everyone to trip over each other once they’re really put to the test. 

That being said, it’s still not hitting all those points perfectly. While you can see an organic build to the relationship of Lilith and Garth that’s been pretty fun and true to the characters so far, the love triangle between Wally, Donna, and Roy is something I’m pretty confident in saying no one wanted. I have seen no one say they wanted this. And weirdly it continues to put all the female characters in romantic relationships as the crux of their developments while we still have at least Dick and Gnarrk on the men’s side who don’t have to be motivated by this bull. The best part of the love triangle so far has been Donna throwing Roy and Wally both when she realizes what’s going on.

As for Dick being the sleeper agent well, I guess it’s one of those... shoulda seen it coming because of course we have Dick involved with another covert secret underground all powerful world corrupting group in another book. I don’t know why I was expecting different. But at least in the defense of Titans, it does feel like a good call back to the original New Teen Titans storyline with the cult of Brother Blood where similar happened and it was Dick again. 

People just really like mindfucking with Dick, there’s not really much else to say about it. 

Art: Ever since Brett Booth first appeared on my radar I’ve been fairly critical of him as an artist. His style was never really my taste, but he’s proven again and again on Titans to really pull some variation in body types and physicality that I hadn’t seen on his previous works. I like that the guys all have different body types and that the girls’ costumes and personality are reflections of themselves. 

That being said, we still have a problem of Sameface with the girls at the very least, where honestly some panels the only difference between Donna and Lilith is hair color. But the colors are vibrant and the panels are all full of details, no space wasted.

Which is both a compliment and a criticism since, to be frank, the absolute refusal to have any normal panels basically gives us the opposite of my criticism of Turf Wars which is that there seems to be no real complexity because of the constant unstable panel work. 

This is the comic book equivalent of shooting every scene in a movie with dutch angles. There’s no dramatic or narrative reason to have these panels slanted and all over the place, but every panel will be that way. Even panels where we’re literally reading the characters talking about pizza. 

It gives us no real change between action sequences and normal sequences so it’s just kind of boring in spite of the dynamic panels. Which I’m pretty sure is the opposite of what they wanted.

Characters & Dialogue: If it wasn’t clear in the story portion, I’m not a fan of how when it comes to individual character development, we have conveniently gotten all three of our female heroes into romantic subplots with at least one (now possibly two? if we’re hinting at Tula like I think we are) love triangles in the mix. It just feels like it’s 2017 and we should be beyond that sort of “what kind of subplot do we give the girls? love I guess”

That being said, it’s really been amazing to me, personally, to see just how good this comic continues to be at making these characters feel like the ones we knew and loved prior to the New52. Not exact, not perfect, but pretty close to the preferences for each of the characters as we can get with the current character histories being what they are. Like, personally, I’m much more enthusiastic about Dick and Wally in this book than I am about them in Nightwing and The Flash because it just feels like them, Wally’s current romantic entanglements aside. 

Still, it’s a fun book and for what it lacks with some characterization quirks it always tends to make up for later in the story so for the current storyline I’m willing to wait a touch longer.

IDW’s Transformers: Till All Are One (2016-2017) #12 Mairghread Scott, Sara Pitre-Durocher, Joana Lafuente

Wow. Another one of my favorite ongoings is ending today and I’m starting to worry it’s me. I hope I’m not actually the kiss of death to these comics because, full stop, Windblade and Till All Are One have been some of the most enjoyable comics I’ve read in the last several years and there’s probably no comic getting canceled this year that makes me sadder than this one. 

So, how does Till All Are One leave us?

Story: Mairghread Scott has absolutely blown me away over the last year with her comics and just her obvious, obvious love and understanding of the expansive Transformers universe. Her world building has spanned over several series now and her character work has truly been put to task by having to stand up against fan favorite TF writers like John Barber and James Roberts. And I think nothing has proved her talents more than Till All Are One, where all that build up and all that character work is allowed to at long las come to fruition. 

This conclusion could have been use to tease us with the ideas and storylines that Scott obviously had planned (and if people are curious I really encourage you to look up the storylines she had planned and posted to her tumblr), but Scott instead made this a solid ending and a celebration of the comic she was allowed to make. And much like Gotham Academy, she did so by bringing it back home to the characters which have driven the series the most: Windblade and Starscream.

The tumultuous relationship between the two same yet so very different jets has been something that I’ve adored watching play out. Their distrust of each other, their manipulations, their political games, and ultimately their teamwork for the greater good. It’s been fascinating and also has put me on the edge of my seat. 

There is nothing more uncharacteristic, nothing more selfless than what Starscream did by putting his own life at risk in order to save Windblade, and the fact that Windblade at last got the confirmation she’s desired about Starscream’s true self feels like a great resolution to all the buildup over the years. This is a very triumphant ending, to the point that 80s Business Woman style Windblade ended by strutting out the door. 

I sincerely hope we are going to be blessed with more of Scott’s signature Transformers writing in the IDW’verse and I desperately hope that this is not the end of Windblade who has quickly risen as one of my favorite Transformers. 

Art: The majority of the artists on the Transformers titles for IDW are honestly so good and so amazing that I barely know what even to say about the art. The art standard for bringing these robotic transforming cars with heart is so high that it leaves one baffled when it comes to what’s left to say about them, any of them. And even with that standard, Sara Pitre-Durocher manages to amaze me.

Of the Transformers artists I would say her style serves to be the most sleak and the most expressive. Theres not necessarily any time where you think of the Transformers as being “soft” or “pliable” -- they’re still metal and wires with all the complexity therein -- but there’s a believability to the phrase “living metal” that doesn’t always come across in some other artist’s work where the bulk and construction of the Transformers seems more prominent than their expressionism and agility. 

The fact that this book gets to at least end with having had consistently amazing art throughout is a highlight and why I think it’s going to be one of the titles returned to the most fondly of the IDW’verse.

Characters & Dialogue: Starscream’s duplicity is his most iconic character trait, of course, and I’ll be the first to say I’m sort of worn out with classic villains being “reexamined” and given redemptions and whatnot these days, but I love how malicious and cruel Starscream has remained in this series while simultaneously showing us and himself through Windblade and Till All Are One the kind of character he could aspire to be (hello Armada allusions) and therefore making it more frustrating and even tragic when he boldly makes the decision to be the opposite of his own potential. 

Windblade on the other hand has grown as a character since we first met her. Her naivety and pure intentions have been warped and she now understands how to play the game of politics, but also what it costs -- her honesty, her friends, her belief system. And she was willing to sacrifice herself despite learning all of that -- she was willing to put herself in mortal danger knowing that it wasn’t a perfect, harmonious society she was doing it for but a deeply flawed one. And the fact that she ultimately survived and is now capable of moving forward for herself with the new ambition of being open and speaking for herself more than being a figuehead or politician feels like an arc that was built up to through all this time and yet at the same time was something surprising and unexpected.

Other characters didn’t really play much of a significant role in this ending, which puts it like a lot of the other story bookends this week where a large cast doesn’t really get to close out with homage to the majority of those characters. But this felt more solid, at least to me, because of the wisdom Scott had in using the last several issues to bring the focus in particular to Starscream’s POV and then building up to Windblade’s. It feels like what loose ends for other characters are left are left in ways that are going to be easily picked up by another book or by another creative team entirely rather than everything simply being cut off. 

Just an awesome book and I’m so sorry to see it come to an end.

It’s another difficult pick of the week but for me, I absolutely have to give this one to Transformers: Till All Are One. It’s one of my favorite series in a long time and it ended on a resolution that made me honestly puff up with pride for the main characters. It’s a comic which embraces history of its franchise while growing it, a comic that embraces questions of politics, identity, gender, sexuality, and more. It’s been a beautiful ride and I wish the best to the entire creative team.

But I thought all the comics were great this week and highly recommend you check them out! Of course I’d love to hear back from you -- agree with me? Disagree? Think I missed any comics I should’ve picked up? I’d love to hear from you.

Before you go, however, I need to share that I am in a bit of a financial crunch for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being the medical bills I’m paying for my dog, Eve, who experienced a catastrophic dog fight and underwent surgery just yesterday actually. 

As such, I really would appreciate if you enjoy my content or are interested in helping me out, please check out either my Patreon or PayPal. Every bit helps and I couldn’t thank you enough for enjoying and supporting my content. 

You could also support me by going to my main blog, @renaroo, where I’ll soon be listing prices and more for art and writing commissions.

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[kansascityhappenings]

Traditional Halloween foods and preparing for a cold holiday

KANSAS CITY, Mo. — Fall took a sudden cold turn this last week. On Halloween, temperatures could drop to what we usually see in winter — plus, the ground might be too wet for walking, especially for kids in costumes. There is even a chance for snow.

Not everyone likes the idea of a White Halloween, but there are some alternatives that can help keep the holiday fun for you and your family and friends.

This weekend is an excellent time to prepare in advance, buy some groceries, and to create a backup plan in case you decide to ditch the parties and keep the kids indoors.

One alternative: focus on making a memorable Halloween meal and think ahead about some kid friendly Halloween movies and shows. Some candy at home with a couple of friends over in costumes might be more manageable this year than a hike through the neighborhoods in freezing to almost freezing temperatures. Contact other parents you know and see if you can come up with an indoors plan together.

A snowy Halloween will likely be memorable for your kids, help them see it as positive

Most people on Halloween focus on getting candy, but there are also a lot of hearty foods associated with the day. The spooky holiday originates from a mixture of European influences, including pagan festivals and Christian observances. Foods that were available for these events hundreds of years ago are commonly used at fall and Halloween gatherings today including: turnips, apples, gourds, nuts, corn, squash, potatoes, beef, pork, lamb, poultry, wines, and ale.

Halloween gets a lot of its identity from an older Irish holiday called Samhain, which has a long list of savory and sweet foods associated with it. Western Christianity’s influence on Halloween led to churches and communities abstaining from meats around that time of year as a way to reflect on departed loved ones.

At the bottom of this post, there are a couple of recipes and a plan for a Halloween dinner if you need to make an alternative indoors plan this year. These foods could also be used for another cold day this week or in the near future. This post would be far too long to add a recipe for each item below, and this isn’t a cookbook. The foods on this list could also teach you more about Halloween and its history.

Side dishes

Boxty

The Irish love potatoes in just about every form. Boxty is another take on potato pancakes. It consists of finely grated potatoes or mashed potatoes mixed with flour, baking soda, buttermilk, and sometimes eggs. The mixture is fried on a pan for a few minutes, then flipped to the other side — just like a more traditional pancake. The most noticeable difference between boxty and other fried potato dishes is its smooth, fine-grained consistency. It can also be served as a type of dumpling. This is generally easy to make and great for kids.

Champ

Several Samhain foods feature potatoes, including champ. It is made by combining mashed potatoes and chopped scallions with butter, milk, salt, and pepper. It is simple and inexpensive to make. In Samhain lore, a bowl of champ along with a spoon was set at the foot of a hawthorn bush. People believed the shrub was the entrance to a fairy home — and fairies played a big role in Irish folklore. Leaving behind a bowl of champ was a way for people to honor and remember the dead, and for others, a way to give an offering to fairies.

An Irish Halloween tradition is to serve colcannon with a ring and thimble hidden in it. The dish champ is similar, but made with buttermilk. Colcannon is generally made from potatoes, butter, milk, and kale. Image taken from Wikipedia.

Colcannon

Similar to champ, colcannon is another traditional Irish dish made of mashed potatoes, but with kale or cabbage. It’s a mashed potato dish with butter and milk, with chopped up cabbage and herbs. It can contain other ingredients such as scallions, leeks, Laverbread (a type of seaweed), onions, and chives. This dish is popular at Samhain gatherings. There are several variations out there of it. Brady’s Public House in Kansas City serves colcannon.

Finnish mashed turnip casserole

This is a traditional Christmas dish in Finland — sorry, it’s not Halloween themed, but it’s one of the better turnip dishes out there. The root vegetable is popular in European dishes around autumn. The casserole is also called “Lanttulaatikko.” It’s not easy to pronounce for English speakers.

The casserole is usually served as a side to ham, fish, or other meats. It’s made of boiled and mashed rutabagas and enriched with a mixture of bread crumbs, eggs, cream, treacle, butter, and seasoned with salt, cinnamon, or nutmeg.

Irish stew

Warm and filling, Irish stew is a popular dish typically made with lamb, potatoes, carrots, onions, parsley, and beer. Many food historians believe that goat was originally the meat of choice for this classic stew; it eventually was supplanted by beef and mutton. Recipes vary widely as this meal dates back to medieval times. Recipes today generally include Guinness or an Irish stout, but there are ways to cook a pot of this without using alcohol.

Stewing is an ancient method of cooking meats throughout the world. Cauldrons came to Ireland around the 7th century AD and became the dominant cooking tool at that time. This type of stew goes great with bread.  Conroy’s Public House has a version of the stew. Browne’s Irish Market has an Irish potato soup on its menu along with several other traditional Irish foods.

Potato pancakes come in a variety of forms. Different cultures around the world have their take on the treat. Image taken from Wikipedia.

Potato pancakes

Also called boxties, draniki, deruny, latkes, or raggmunk are shallow-fried pancakes of grated potato, matza meal, or flour. It is made with a bonding ingredient — like applesauce or eggs — and flavored with garlic or onions. The dish is sometimes made from mashed potatoes to make pancake shaped croquettes. These pancakes can also be made from sweet potatoes.

Several European, Middle Eastern, and Asian countries have some kind of potato pancake recipe.

Pumpkin and squash soups

Pumpkin dominates Halloween food season, especially in the United States. In Europe, turnips are more abundant and have a tie to Halloween that dates back hundreds — if not thousands — of years. When the holiday moved overseas, pumpkins were used in place of turnips as the gourd was more common in the U.S.

There are a variety of soups that fit the fall season from pumpkin and roasted butternut squash soups, apple based soups, chilies, and vegetable broths. These are often easy to make and great to eat on a cold day.

Squash soups often include acorns. Roasting squash before putting it in a soup can help concentrate the gourd’s flavor. Squash soup can be prepared with chunks or pieces of squash. Onion, cream, sage, thyme, cinnamon, old bay, and marjoram all make for great spices with pumpkin or squash dishes. You can find pumpkin and squash like soups at Panera Bread locations, Rye Plaza, and Brown & Loe.

Sowans

Also called virpa, sowans are a Scottish porridge dish made from oats after milling. The oat husks are soaked in water and fermented for a few days. The liquor is strained and allowed to stand for a day. This allows starchy matter to settle. The liquid part can be poured out or used as a drink. The leftover sowans are salted and boiled with water until thickened, then served with butter or dipped into milk. Recipes for sowans might be complicated if you’re not familiar with these processes.

Meats & mains

Beef and Guinness pie

Beef in dark, silky gravy composed of fat and reduced stout, along with vegetables, and in a covered pastry. It’s a dish that works well to warm people up and fits for any day in fall. This food is a challenge to make and takes a lot of time – it’s for the expert cook or baker in the family to attempt. One recipe online listed it takes more than 4 hours to make and needs 2 hours of refrigeration.

Meat pies

Samhain is big on the meat pies. Historians date the pies back to the Neolithic Period around 9500 BC. It’s simply a pie with a meat filling and other savory ingredients. Meat pies are great for fall dinners and can be assembled in hundreds of different ways.

Meat pies in Kansas City are found at a variety of places including Banksia and PotPie. Ashleigh’s Bake Shop in Westport serves meat quiches.

Other meat mains

If pies don’t really satisfy your meat cravings, other main courses that might work include: roasted lamb, meatloaf, chicken fricassee, apple cider glazed chicken, garlic rosemary pork chops, honey garlic glazed salmon, and chicken Florentine.

Vegetable main courses

Try casseroles or pastas with apples, turnips, pumpkin, onions, or squash. Also, try harvest bowls with a mix of your favorite fall vegetarian ingredients.

Cakes & breads

Apple bread

For the baker in the family, there are plenty of great bread recipes online appropriate for autumn. Apple bread pairs well with foods for both Halloween and Thanksgiving. An added bonus: bread can easily be made from ingredients from your pantry without having to buy too many items from the store.  Apple bread usually consists of flour, cinnamon, white and brown sugar, vanilla, vegetable oil, eggs, baking powder, and, of course, some apples. Throw in some chocolate chips, nuts, or bacon if it fits your palette. Make sure to give yourself plenty of time if you want to make bread for a specific day.

Barmbrack is a quick bread with sultanas or raisins. For a traditional Irish Halloween gathering, a baker may add objects into the dough to play a game.

Barmbrack

Cake has long been a part of Halloween celebrations. Barmbrack is a quick bread with sultanas and raisins. The dough is sweet, but not as rich as a regular cake. It is sometimes called Bairín Breac.

The cake is often used as part of a fortune-telling game or for entertainment. Traditionally, a baker would place in the dough a pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, and a ring. Each item meant something for the person who discovered it in their slice. These items can easily pose as a choking hazard. If you ever place objects in food like this, you should warn those about to eat it… so they can look for items thoroughly before biting into something unpleasant.

The symbolism behind the traditional objects in barmbrack often had to do with marriage. The pea meant the person would not marry that year. A stick: the person would have an unhappy marriage or continuous quarrels with their spouse. A cloth signaled bad luck. The coin meant good fortune. The ring meant someone would wed within the year.

Other articles added to the cake include a medallion, usually of the Virgin Mary, to symbolize going into the priesthood or into nunhood.

Barmbrack is often sold in flattened rounds, served toasted with butter along with a cup of tea.

Garlic and herb Irish soda bread & buttered rolls

Rolls with lots of herbs and spices are a mainstay of Samhain. Throw in some whipped butter or a specialty butter and most dinner guests will be happy. Rolls and soda bread go great with stews, soups, and mashed potatoes. Browne’s Irish Marketplace has soda bread and other traditional Irish foods.

Fairy spice cakes

A delicate treat popular for Samhain will appeal to children. Fairy cakes are actually smaller versions of cupcakes. They’re widely popular in the United Kingdom, and come with far less icing than here in the United States. Our friends across the pond find our sugar addiction somewhat cloying.

Fairy cakes are traditionally made with a lighter sponge cake as opposed to the thicker butter cakes used in cupcakes. Muffin tins were not widely available back in the 1700s, so people used ramekins or individual pottery cups to make the tiny spice cakes. In Irish lore, the cakes would be small enough to serve to fairies. Children will like the size of these – but it’ll be far too easy to eat too many of them. Pack in a variety of spices to give it a punch.

Making smaller cakes in tins might also be fun for older children or teens who like to bake.

Pumpkin cider bread

For those who love both apple cider and pumpkin spiced lattes, you can marry the two flavors in a bread that will have the full taste of fall. You can use pumpkin puree (which is usually squash) or carve a pumpkin and use the pumpkin guts to make the bread… or use the guts for soups, pastas, cakes, and pies. Pumpkins are pretty versatile and soak up spices. The gourd goes well with a variety of meats, sauces, and pastries.

Red beet chocolate cake

The color of this cake is perfect for Halloween; it should come out a brownish-red hue. It might look a little like a red velvet cake. This is an earthy sweet cake – and despite the concerns around beets and whether you like them – the mix should be moist and with a slight kick to it. This cake does well with a variety of spices — the best recipes include cinnamon.

Soul Cakes are usually filled with allspice, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, or other sweet spices. They usually contain currants. Before baking, the cakes are topped with the mark of a cross to signify the food is meant for alms. Soul cakes are traditionally set out with glasses of wine as an offering for the dead — this was an early Christian tradition. The cakes are customary around Halloween, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day. Image taken from Wikipedia.

Soul cakes

A soul cake is a small round cake usually made for Halloween, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day to remember the dearly departed — this is part of a Western Christian tradition popular in the United Kingdom. The cakes were given out to children who went from door to door during  the days of Allhallowtide. The children would sing and say prayers often in exchange for gifts. The practice in England dates back to the medieval period, but it lost prominence in the 1930s as trick-or-treating became mainstream. Soul-mass loaves usually have currants in the center and include oats.

Treats

Bonfire toffee is a customary bitter treat in the United Kingdom for Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night.

Bonfire toffee

Also called the treacle toffee, Plot toffee, or Tom Trot. It is a hard, brittle toffee associated with Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night in the United Kingdom. The toffee is bitter and tastes of molasses. In Scotland, the treat is called claggum, and less sweet versions are called clack. In Wales, it is known as loshin du. The toffee tastes similar to butterscotch.

People first started using molasses in the United Kingdom in the 1660s to make gingerbread. At first, people thought bonfire toffee had medicinal value — this led to an inflation of the price. Toffee was widely popular by the 1800s. Bonfire toffee is popular in the northern part of the United Kingdom, where sweets darker in color are preferred.

Candy apples

Known as toffee apples outside of North America — these are whole apples covered in hard toffee or sugar candy coating. A stick is placed in the middle to act as a handle. These are commonly sold during Halloween, at fall festivals, and for Guy Fawkes events. Toffee apples are made by coating an apple with a layer of sugar that has been heated to hard crack stage. Humidity can prevent the sugar from hardening, so it is better to make this treat in fall and not in summer.

Caramel corn

Caramel corn is a confection made of popcorn. This is also a popular item during Christmas. A caramelized candy syrup is used in the process. Making this item is time consuming and requires skill to make without burning the sugar. You can find a bag of caramel corn at Topsy’s, Velvet Crème Popcorn Co., Popculture Gourmet Popcorn, and Walmart.

Cranachan is traditional Scottish treat with raspberries.

Cranachan

For raspberry fans, this is a traditional Scottish harvest dessert. It includes whipped cream, raspberries, oats, honey, and whiskey. These ingredients are all popular in Scotland. Cranachan is served all year round. Alternate versions of the recipe include oranges, trifle, spiced rum, and shortbread. Chocolate cranachan can be made with chopped toasted hazelnuts, light muscovado sugar, and chocolate.

Sweet potato cream cheese pie

A cheesecake-like pie made with fresh or canned pureed sweet potatoes, cream cheese, and brown sugar. Top it off with cinnamon and nutmeg. Fall foods are all about the spices and the herbs, but don’t go too crazy – too much paprika or cloves distracts from other flavors. Recipes for this item should be easy to follow and can be made in a decent amount of time, an hour or less.

Suggested Halloween menu

Irish beef stew

The hearty stew is easy to make and great for a cold night. Cooking it in a slow-cooker during the day means it will be ready for you by the time you get home.

Ingredients:

2 tablespoons olive oil

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

2 pounds beef chuck, cut into 1 ½ inch cubes

1 pound of carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch chucks

6 large potatoes, peeled and cut into large chucks

1 white onion, cut into large chunks

2 cloves garlic, minced (yes, you can use more)

2 cups of beef broth

A six-ounce can of tomato paste

A 12 fluid ounce can or bottle of Irish stout beer (Guinness). If you cannot consume alcohol, substitute the Guinness with 2 cups water + 1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce + 2 beef bouillon cubes crumbled. This will make it a classic beef stew.

1 tablespoon cold water

1 tablespoon cornstarch

Instructions:

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Toss beef cubes into flour to coat them, then fry the mix in the hot oil until browned.

Place the carrots, potatoes, onion chunks, and garlic in a large slow cooker. Place the meat on top of the vegetables. Mix together the beef broth and tomato paste and pour into the slow cooker along with the beer.

Cover and cook on high for 6 hours or on low for 8 hours.

During the last hour before serving, dissolve the cornstarch in cold water and then stir it into the broth. Simmer on the high setting for a few minutes to thicken.

Champ potatoes

The Irish love potatoes and there are numerous potato recipes online. Champ is an easy to follow potato recipe that’s made from scratch.

Ingredients:

22 ounces / 675 grams of potatoes (floury Idahos or russets are recommended. Peeled and quartered)

1 cup green onions

2 ounces of salted butter

2 to 3 ounces of milk

Sea salt (to taste)

Black pepper (to taste)

Instructions:

Simmer the potatoes in lightly salted water until cooked (when pierced with the tip of a sharp knife, the potato should be soft in the middle). This will take about 20 minutes depending on the size of the potatoes.

Finely chop the white part of the green onions and roughly chop the green part. Set aside.

Drain the potatoes in a colander. Place both butter and milk into a pan and heat gently until melted.

Add the potatoes to the pan and mash until smooth and creamy. Be careful not to over-mash the potatoes. You’ll end up with an unpleasant texture.

Add the finely chopped white part of the onion and mix well.

Season well with the salt and pepper to taste. Serve with the green part of the onion sprinkled on top.

Pumpkin cider bread

Ingredients:

22 ounces / 675 grams of potatoes (floury Idahos or russets are recommended. Peeled and quartered)

1 cup green onions

2 ounces of salted butter

2 to 3 ounces of milk

Sea salt (to taste)

Black pepper (to taste)

Instructions:

Simmer the potatoes in lightly salted water until cooked (when pierced with the tip of a sharp knife, the potato should be soft in the middle). This will take about 20 minutes depending on the size of the potatoes.

Finely chop the white part of the green onions and roughly chop the green part. Set aside.

Drain the potatoes in a colander. Place both butter and milk into a pan and heat gently until melted.

Add the potatoes to the pan and mash until smooth and creamy. Be careful not to over-mash the potatoes. You’ll end up with an unpleasant texture.

Add the finely chopped white part of the onion and mix well.

Season well with the salt and pepper to taste. Serve with the green part of the onion sprinkled on top.

Pumpkin cider bread

Ingredients:

2 cups of pureed pumpkin

1 tablespoon of cinnamon

2 tablespoons regular sugar

1 tablespoon nutmeg

2 cups of all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons dry yeast dissolved in a half cup of warm water

1 tablespoon salt

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1/3 to 1/2 cup molasses

2 cups of apple cider

Instructions:

Combine cinnamon, sugar, and nutmeg with the pureed pumpkin.

Combine salt and 2 cups of flour. Add the cider, yeast mix, and all other ingredients. Add more flour if necessary.

Pour the dough into a lightly greased bowl, cover it, and let it rise for about 45 minutes in a warm place. Wait until it’s doubled in size.

Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees.

Punch down the dough and turn it out onto a floured surface. Roll the dough into a long strip and then roll it up jellyroll style to fit into a bread pan. Place in a greased pan and let it rise until double again.

Bake in the oven for 50-60 minutes until brown. A fork should come out of it clean.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/10/26/traditional-halloween-foods-and-preparing-for-a-cold-holiday/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/10/27/traditional-halloween-foods-and-preparing-for-a-cold-holiday/