#hmm I wonder who Penguin's neighbor is?

[fordarkisthesuede]

Fangs of Ourorboros - Chapter 1 - Ghosts of the Past

Good evening from the east coast! 🌇 I've brought you a proper chapter for you to chew on! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Last time:

Batman was playing a strange murder-mystery game with Joker when an explosion interrupted his investigation...

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Rocky Hopper:  employed part-time in Xotic Construction, living in a two-bedroom apartment in midtown with a wife and two children. His criminal record showed he was a three-time parolee by the age of thirty-six for armed robbery, assault, DUI, and theft. No known association to any Gotham-based gang. An unremarkable small-time criminal Batman previously noted for rubbing shoulders with Oswald Cobblepot during his time in Gotham two years ago, before The Penguin was taken into custody.

To anyone else, such a fact was a mere blip on the radar. But to Bruce - to Batman - it was a flashing yellow mark on the edge of his mind. 

Richard Hartright. Vicki Vale. Penguin. One string leading to another on a cork board collage with a muddled picture of why. 

The GCPD touted BlackGate Penitentiary as a fortress; a prime example of modern security in spite of the building’s age. 

Heh. Not for Batman. The nighttime security were like any other lookout team, conversing on their radios or over their shoulders while paying mild attention to their surroundings.

It was practically a cake walk. Bruce grappled up to the roof and rolled over the railing with barely a swish of his cape. The guard by the rooftop door jabbered about the Knights’ chances in the league this year over the two-way as Bruce crept behind him and squirted all-purpose oil between the crack in the door where the hinges should be.

The door opened silently, and Bruce slipped in, breathing in the familiar smell of dusty hallways as he walked on the edges of his feet down the concrete steps.

Oswald would be in the C Block. It took no time to get down to the third floor. Even less time to find the section, painted in chunky white letters on the floor and wall as if the heavy metal door to the place was easy to miss.

The security lock was a simple hand scanner, meant to use the layout and size of the hand instead of a key or passcode. Bruce pulled out the luminous spray normally reserved for crime scenes and sprayed the scan bed. The Batsuit’s gauntlets scanned the imprint, and with a few taps on the key generator Tiffany had perfected last year, all he had to do was place his hand over the sensor and wait while for the lights to turn green.

The bolt lock slid open with a sudden thunk, and Bruce slipped into Cell Block C.

Three stories of prison cells stretched open before him, smelling like a public bathroom in the Narrows. He could see each barred door had two beds embedded into the walls, with only just enough room for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, bringing to mind a twisted shoebox diorama.

One long catwalk weaved throughout the place, spotted with rust and bits of peeling paint. The rush of air as he whizzed past rows of metal bars was only slightly satisfactory when he was still wincing at the slight sound of the metal clang of the grapple teeth hitting the railing.

The cell door was easy to unlock - all the doors were connected to an online grid for routine automatic unlocking, but had a manual override to use a physical key. A simple signal jammer was all that was needed to fool the cell into thinking it lost connection to the controller and let Bruce pick the lock.

Despite the cowl, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He was being watched, but he wasn’t sure by who. At the very least, he knew an alarm hadn’t been tripped; his radio tuner wasn’t picking up any calls to action inside the prison…

The lock opened with too loud of a cha-clink. Oswald stirred.

The upper bunk was empty, despite the rumpled sheets. At least Bruce wouldn’t have to worry about potentially fighting off two prisoners at once.

Bruce chose to stay away from the cot to speak; there was no need to overstep and put either of them in harm’s way yet. He kicked the cot’s mattress instead to get attention.

Oswald jerked upward with a garbled sort of shout, flinching to press his back against the wall.

The direct approach was best. “Why did you want to destroy Richard Hartright’s files?”

Oswald glared at him, shoulders sagging as he relaxed into a sitting position. “Should’ve known you’d sneak your sorry-winged ass in here to give me the business one of these days. Or did the Commissioner give you your own Bat-pass?”

“I know Rocky Hopper worked for you,” Bruce said flatly, “The bomb he was setting in Hartright’s filing cabinet went off early. He’s dead.”

Oswald’s eyebrow rose a fraction, eyes widening in a sort of surprise that he was trying and failing to suppress. “Plenty of people worked for me,” he said with practiced casualty, casting a look at the cell door and waving away the issue. “I don’t care what they do with their spare time nowadays.”

Bruce had enough. He grabbed Oswald by the collar and hoisted him up to be more on his level. “I don’t play games,” he growled out, “You worked for Vicki Vale - you knew Richard was one of her sources during her time at the Gazette. One of your affiliates blew up his office with enough C4 to kill him. Why were you after him?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the detective,” Oswald scowled.

Bruce punched him hard in the jaw, holding him up so he didn’t fall back into the wall. “What did he have that you didn’t want getting out?”

“You can’t hurt me in a way that matters,” Oswald scowled in disgust, “You think I don’t see this every day in this hellhole?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. A clanging noise came from outside the cell.

“SHUT UP or I’m going to come over there and chew your FACE off, Penguin!” came a gravelly hiss of a voice from a nearby cell. “SOME of us are trying to SLEEP!”

“Your neighbor sounds mad,” Bruce taunted, “Tell me what I want to know and maybe I won’t wake up the whole block.”

Bruce tossed him to the floor, only too late feeling his cape pull along with the motion. His shoulder smacked into the wall as Oswald skittered out the open door.

He chased after him, boots clanging on the metal of the catwalk, priming a bat-bola to throw. Oswald barely reached the staircase when the weighted rope whipped through the air and wrapped itself around the man’s calves in the nick of time.

Oswald hit the floor with a loud, reverberating thunk. Bruce was able to grab an arm and pin it around his back as he leaned over him, out of arm’s reach.

“You bastard, you’re no different from the pigs that run this place!” Oswald spat, voice echoing around the cell block.

“Why did Richard pose a threat to you?” Batman asked again, feeling more eyes on him. He could see several prisoners had risen in their beds. One was already pressed against the bars of the cell for a better look. He pulled on the arm he was holding, just enough to hurt.

“Because he’s just like your lot,” Oswald grunted, “Sticks his nose in where it doesn’t belong. Vicki’s worth ten of him.”

Bruce’s brain buzzed, trying to parse through what information he had. The private detective’s only link to Oswald was through Vicki Vale; he had nothing to do with Penguin’s crew, before or after his arrest, that Bruce knew of. The mention of Penguin’s old leader in the present tense was jarring. “Vicki Vale’s been dead for two years.”

Penguin gave a light wheeze of a chuckle. “Killed her yourself, did you?” he taunted, “Buried her in a shallow grave with the last rites? They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?”

Bruce had seen the rocks fall as he guided Alfred out of the underground catacomb. He’d doubled back later, on the off chance he could find her, and found the chamber practically blocked off by the collapse. There were no other tunnels, no secret rooms, no pockets she could have climbed out of. He’d checked.

But it bothered him all the same.

He could hear the inmates start to blabber and howl as he dragged Oswald ‘The Penguin’ Cobblepot back to his cell by his feet. 

Body slam him next! Body slaaam!

Not so tough now, are ya Peng’? Ha ha, oh man!

Fuck you! Fuck you, you hear me, Bat? Fuck you!

Let me out - I’ll drag your ass around the block, Bat! 

Come on, Penguin, get up and grab him-!

You think you’re so tough, you’re nothing without that fuckin’ armor!

He ignored it all, leaving Oz to nurse his wounds on the floor of his cell, winding the bola back up after he slammed the door behind him.

Deep down, he knew getting information out of Oz was a longshot to begin with. Any more questions would be met with more stubborn non-answers. He would have to check Oz’ mail, visitors, cell-mates, anything he could have used to send out the message to his cronies.

He leapt up and over the railing to glide back down to the first floor, feeling the eyes of awakened prisoners all around.

“Hey, Batman” a smooth, familiar voice called from his right. “You got a taste for beating up bird-dudes or what? I���d think you know he doesn’t like to talk about work.”

Bruce barely gave Roman Sionis and his cocky little smirk a second glance.

“I could tell you what he was up to,” Roman added.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bruce ignored the cacophony of noise as he left the way he came in, the sound of the hinge on the metal door far more noticeable now that he was in a hurry to leave. “I doubt it,” Bruce muttered.

🜁

The bare facts stared out at him through black and white scans and data retrievals on the Batcomputer’s oversized screens.

Rocky Hopper communicated strictly through text messages. Simple instructions of picking up the bomb and a key from a contact he’d meet on the street, dropping it off in Detective Hartright’s office, and flicking the switch to let the countdown start. Said contact was never named, explained as being able to recognize Rocky on sight.

Oswald Cobblepot’s outgoing mail took a long time to be scanned and approved, up until a few months ago. Most likely he or someone who worked for him was paying off one of the officers in charge of the mail room. At first, the letters used an easy code of the first letter in each sentence spelling out a short command. Silence person, pick up this, sell that, mostly to one Cameron Van Cleer. As far as Bruce could tell, Cameron was one of Oz’ one-time cronies that - judging by the social media profile Bruce had gathered - had sympathies to the Children of Arkham. Oz must have entrusted them with a financial account, judging by shorthand instructions to buy and sell actual stock as well. No mention of Detective Hartright.

All of this would be easily digested, if it weren’t for the last line in the last letter to Cameron:  Our fair lady will be reaching out to you.

The incoming mail told a similar story of back-and-forth mob work disguised as friendly exchanges. And then there were the others. Arriving every week or two, short and to the point, like telegrams more than anything.

I know you must be surprised to hear from me. I know I’ve been away a long time, but I’ve kept a close eye on things. I can see things haven’t changed since I left… Wayne Enterprises is still standing, to my surprise. But I can see our friends aren’t all gone. Can I still count you as a friend, even though it’s been so long? -Your fair lady

Then, two weeks later:  

I’m glad we’re still friends after all this time. I have so many things I’d like to share with you! Do you remember Julian Day ? He had a whole article in the Gazette on page 4!  -Your fair lady

Bruce checked the date against the Gazette’s webpage. Julian Day was noted for causing a car crash that ended in his death and the destruction of a popular corner restaurant. The coroner’s report Bruce pulled up noted no street drugs in his system. One patron said they thought they saw someone else exit from the backseat of the vehicle, but no other person was found on CCTV.

And then the last letter, dated a week ago:

We need to catch up in person. I’ve got a little place downtown above the Iceberg Lounge. (I heard Roman Sionis tried to buy it once!) I’d love for you to visit… Drop me a line when you can. -Your fair lady

Bruce felt the impossible gnaw at him. But the strings he had were so easily put together. Oswald had been corresponding with Lady Arkham, despite the fact that Vicki Vale was buried under the rubble of Arkham’s underground catacombs.

She was dead. 

Had to be. 

He’d checked. 

They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?

Bruce tried to breathe steadily into his hands. His elbows were sore from the near-constant perch on the metal console as he read and re-read. He sank further to rest his forehead on his arms, breathing in the cave air as he tried to focus. 

He saw that pile of rubble in his mind’s eye. Broken stone bricks were piled high in a seemingly endless mountain in the cool, musty darkness below Arkham. He moved through it, stepping on only the largest, sturdiest pieces to prevent an avalanche. Bruce climbed over a fallen column. The snakes winding around the stone seemed to shift in the light.

Even in the basement, he could feel the pull of the asylum on his psyche. The toxic energy that seeped into walls from years of madness and undoubtable abuse stirred down there like dust, swirling at his feet and seeming to stick to the edges of his cape. He tried to ignore it as he walked over the broken stone to the spot he saw Vicki last.

The opening she had tried to get to was completely sealed now. There was nothing but dead ends among long-dead bodies everywhere else underground.

He could see the top of the air-pulse weapon Lady Arkham had wielded sticking out between two stones. He reached down and pulled, straining against the rock until they started to tumble away; the weapon pulled free as if it were Excalibur, almost making him fall back.

His drone was too large to send into the fresh gap. He stooped down to shine his light into the crevice, dust swirling up to meet him and cover him in Arkham before could glimpse the gloved hand reaching up to snatch his cape, jerking his shoulder, trying to pull him down deeper into-

Bruce snapped awake, jolting in his seat. When had he fallen asleep…?

“Morning, honey-buns,” John greeted from behind, placing a cup of coffee next to Bruce’s elbow, “Rough night?”

Bruce watched a freshly dressed John lean his hip against the massive desk, taking a sip from his silly ‘clown juice’ mug with an expectant stare. He felt his mood sink upon realizing he hadn’t seen him since last night. He’d seemed surprised at the explosion interrupting the odd murder-game he’d made, but… He looked awfully casual right now, if not a little mad.

“I mean, I assume,” John added, squinting accusingly at Bruce, “you forgot to text me what happened.”

Ah. That explained the mood. “It was pretty long,” Bruce answered, his mouth tasting like old beef jerky. “I didn’t even know I fell asleep.”

“I could tell,” John teased with a snide little smirk, moving to sit on the flat surface so he could swing his feet in the air. “I haven’t seen you fall asleep in the suit before.”

The square cut of emerald and tiny amethysts on either side winked at Bruce from John’s ring finger, bringing Bruce back into the reality of the present. He pushed the thoughts of John’s involvement away, choosing to trust his fiancé and figuring that his mood was entirely due to Bruce keeping him in the dark. He finally gave into the urge to let his gloved fingers rest softly on the plum-purple corduroy covering John’s thigh. “That’s because someone keeps goading me out of it.”

John giggled, looking pleased. “If you weren’t so shy about mixing the other halves of our lives together, I wouldn’t have to.”

Bruce could feel the little smile in the corner of his mouth quirking up as John’s hand covered his. He relented in finally taking in some of the steaming caffeine John had brought him. The smooth bitter heat steeped into his chest, bringing him partially back to life.

“Soooo…Penguin, huh?” John craned his neck up to the monitor behind him, taking Bruce a little off guard. “Was he playing ‘Emperor’ in prison, or is it just another concrete jungle?”

Truthfully, Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of Oz’ predicament. “Hard to say,” he said, “He got out of the cell for a few minutes, but some of the prisoners had no problem with me fighting him. His neighbor certainly didn’t care about who he was talking to.”

“Could just be all that testosterone and sleep deprivation crammed in those two-by-fours,” John commented knowingly, legs moving steadily in the air, “Any fight gets ‘em all riled up! As you well know,” he said with a sly little grin.

Bruce remembered Zaaz’s fight with the orderly back in Arkham all too well. The orderly survived, but Bruce had felt the guilt of leaving him to fend for himself while he made the all-important call compound and sit in him for a long time. 

“Could be.”

“Those little letters sure are interesting, aren’t they? I’m guessing you didn’t find the replies.”

Bruce leaned back in the chair, looking at the whole picture again. “No. He must have had an in-between deliver them. I know he must have had someone in the mailroom on his payroll.” He stared at the offending final letter, pulled up square among the rest. “That last one bothers me.”

“Right? It’s hard to picture The Penguin meeting up with a zombie in a club! Ha ha ha haa! Ah, doesn’t that sound like a bad horror flick?”

Such a silly thing to say should have quelled the thought still pecking at the back of his skull. It only left a bad taste in his mouth. Coffee wasn’t washing it away.

The smile slipped from John’s face. “...she is dead, isn’t she? I remember that pile of rubble looked pretty big on T.V…”

For a moment, Bruce thought about shrugging it off with silence. Or just saying that Oz mentioning her couldn’t be a coincidence. But John had asked the question that kept casting shadows over everything else. And if there was anyone else who could look at those, it was John. “I never found her body,” he answered, staring hard at the digitized letter, “No one did.”

“Sooo…there’s a slim chance she’s back in Gotham, then,” John said with a squint, pinching his index finger and thumb together in front of Bruce’s face, the emerald on his ring glinting, “I mean, IF we put aside the fact she was likely heavily injured and would have to hitch a ride back to the city, where everyone definitely recognizes her, AFTER getting out of the secret underground chamber and swimming back to Gotham from the island.”

It was the kind of thing he’d hear from him across the visiting table at Arkham. He wanted to believe him. “It’s still a chance,” he said, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something important, “If it’s not her, then someone’s going out of their way to convince us it is.”

“There is another possibility.” John paused to take a loud slurp from his mug. “He’s trying to throw you off your rhythm.”

“To what end?”

“Who says there has to be an end?” John shrugged, a smile on the corners of his cherry-red mouth, “If I was really mad at you - like, ree-ally mad - ‘you betrayed me’ mad - I’d do it just to mess with you.”

Even now that they were engaged, he found himself not doubting that at all. John sometimes enjoyed needling him for little to no reason other than getting a reaction. Maybe, if John were different… If their lives had gone differently, then…

He swallowed the dark thought down with coffee and a non-committal hum as the cell phone left on the console buzzed. Once, twice, and on the third Bruce finally deigned to answer.

“Morning, Iman.”

“Bruce,” came Iman’s no-nonsense voice, “you need to get down to the office.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on playing hooky,” Bruce said dryly.

“A few of my old colleagues are here,” Iman replied, her tone sharp and stable, “talking to our security team. They’re going to have a conference call with a few of our other branches. And I have a feeling they’ll want to talk to you personally.”

“Great. That’s all I need.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt he needed to know:  “What are you doing there so early, anyway?”

A slight pause. “I wanted to catch the Quick ‘Fast truck again,” she answered sheepishly, “I figured I would just come in and get some work done afterward.”

Ah. The early bird catches the pancake-burger, Bruce thought to himself. “Right. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Be careful,” she added, “they’ll likely put a tail on you after they talk with you here, but they might have one already watching the house.” A beat passed as he considered the small frame of time he might have unobserved. “I’ve gotta run. Any longer in here and they’ll suspect I’m talking to you.”

John set his mug down by the fabric flowers he’d made Bruce while he was still in Arkham. “Bad news? Let me guess – our latest wedding planner’s gone rogue.”

“No. Worse than that.”

“Good; Kimberly might not have much going for her, but after the last two…”

“John.”

John mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“The Agency is back in town. Some of them are waiting for me at the office.”

“The Agency?” Tiffany piped up from behind, “What do they want?”

“I don’t know yet,�� Bruce said over his shoulder, “but considering they aren’t coming to the house, and are conversing with Wayne Enterprises’ entire security team, I’d say they’re waiting for someone to come in or out of one of our buildings.”

John was worrying the corner of his bottom lip as he looked at the steel floor, eyes darting over the squares like they held all the paths such a situation could go.

“John,” he said as gently as possible, putting a hand on his shoulder, “you don’t have to go to work if you don’t want to. I can talk to your social worker-”

“No!” he said suddenly, snatching hold of Bruce’s arm. He seemed to realize how frantic he seemed, because he quickly covered it by giving the armor plating a couple of pats and trying for a smile. “No. I’ll go. I shouldn’t…”  The smile wavered. “I don’t want to be alone here,” he muttered honestly.

“We’re going to have to get you to work early, then. It’s that or dropping you off at St. Dymphna’s…”

Tiffany was already taking over the console, pulling up the 3D-generated image of the bomb. “Have you looked through this?”

“Not quite.”

Tiffany pulled away the layers of it, eyes traveling over the interior. The drone cameras had taken the pictures of the pieces, and Bruce and the BatComputer worked together to piece it back like a three-dimensional puzzle. He didn’t pay as much attention to its construction as he should have; he had been combing over Oz’ mail not long before and thinking about any other possible explanation than the one that kept popping up.

“So, you missed the partial left behind?” Sure enough, a partial print of what might have been from the middle or index finger was barely visible on one of the inner slices of metal, somehow not entirely burned off. If Bruce hadn’t been present for the explosion, he wouldn’t wonder if it was somehow planted for him. 

Tiffany was already running a cross-check on the criminal database with one of her shortcut commands. “That’s not like you.” She squinted at him with a tilt of her head. “Are you okay?”

“I think the lure of the criminal chase was clearly too much last night; he fell asleep down here,” John excused for him.

Tiffany pulled a face. “I hope that’s not a euphemism for something.”

“He means I was distracted by case details,” Bruce butted in, “And I did fall asleep. But more importantly-”

“You need to go,” Tiffany and John said in unison. 

John pointed at Tiffany in delight. “Ooh-hoo, jinx!”

“I can easily look into this,” Tiffany pointed to the rapidly growing list of names, “and still be on time.”

“And I’ll help!” John gestured to himself importantly, “Four eyes are better than two! Um, as long as you don’t mind driving me to work on your way,” John added, casting Tiffany a friendly look. 

Tiffany pursed her lips in mock-thought. “Hmm… Alright. But only because I know I’m getting a seat of honor at your guys’ wedding. And this is a huge list.”

Bruce felt the usual itch to just take the important work with him. He knew he could only look at it at red lights, and knew he’d be thinking about it nonstop until he reached his office. But with the Agency back in town and speaking with his security team of all things, the sense of dread he’d felt last night was building higher. 

Something was going to happen.

And for once, Bruce felt that he shouldn’t try to go it alone.

“I expect to see you,” he pointed to Tiffany, “in the engineering offices by 9 A.M. sharp. I want a brief in my office at 9:30.” Tiffany seemed to stand a little straighter, and the smile on the edges of her mouth became more pronounced.

“And you,” he directed at John, who was already looking bright-eyed, “better be at All Stitched Up Alterations by 8:30. And you’re going to stay there for your whole shift, go back to St. Dymphna’s with the others, and wait until I pick you up at 5:30.”

“Sheesh, I leave early one time to follow a lead for your case, and you act like I’m some delinquent,” John poked with a toothy grin. “I’d make a joke about detention with you if Tiffy wasn’t here.”

Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, please don’t.”

John giggled at her as he brushed off his pants like he’d gotten them dirty just by sitting. “Okay, Bruce, I promise I’ll be good,” he half-sang, “but I better be updated during the day this time.”

John looped his arms around Bruce’s neck and leaned in to kiss his cheek, but his lips didn’t make contact. 

“Don’t think any of this stops our game, Bruce,” John whispered in a low voice, the corner of his smiling mouth brushing over the fine hairs. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was the words or the soft movement that made the spike of heat in his gut. John’s lips barely brushed his skin in a soft peck. “Don’t make me sleep alone.” 

Bruce felt John’s nails dig slightly into his back with the last word, and then John pulled himself away like nothing happened. “Have a good day!” he added brightly. “Uh, you know, as much as you can.”

His heart thudded with the small rush of adrenaline at the threat still burning against his ear. It was unreasonable to try and play this…murder-game Joker had established while Bruce and Batman had enough on their plates.  

“I’ll be waiting,” John added, tilting his head to look at Bruce through his lashes with a challenging sort of smirk. The kind normally reserved for when he was moments away from being bound and on his knees.

Bruce reminded himself that this unreasonable, manipulative, handsome sneak of a man was who he was choosing to marry. He wouldn’t promise him anything; he couldn’t. But he wouldn’t deny him, either. If he was this hell-bent on playing, it was clearly important to him.

“I’ll…try.” Bruce heard the cape of his suit swish across the metal tiles as he made his way to the elevator.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author Notes: Finally, we're at our proper start, having returned to the classic TellTale formula! The Whole Nine Yards sure was a nice romantic break in the series, but things can't stay that way forever. (If you hadn't read it, no worries, I'll summarize for you: Bruce and John talked about their feelings and further built their relationship, boinked a lot, Alfred left again, and Bruce spontaneously proposed to John on a romantic sunset-lit beach.) I'm sure you realize that our return to base means "choices" have an impact again - for example, if you romanced Selina throughout and only befriended John, it would be her waking Bruce but John butting his way in partway to deliver his last whispered lines with a hug…minus the threat of sending Bruce to the couch, of course. Selina would then stick around to help next chapter as well, but only so far. A villainous Joker would have had made a real crime scene for our prologue and thus made his game a lot more pressing of an issue and a way more reasonable excuse to follow up on it. (No matter who he romances, Bats can't stay away from Joker's ploys.)

Y'all know by now that I love jokes in my work as much as I love making clues. Penguin's dead goon, Rocky Hopper, is both! The name comes from the rockhopper penguin, which is famous for it's bushy "brows", weird spikey mullet-like "haircut", and red eyes. We also have a callback to Season 4, The Tolls of Justice, with Iman's excuse for showing up to work early - Quick 'Fast (like "quick breakfast"), the mysterious food truck that eludes John and home of his coveted Pancake Burger! Apparently, Iman tried it and liked it enough to chase after it. Somewhere, in the recesses of my brain, there's a short story taking place before this where Iman and John hunt down the truck together… But that's for another day.

Next time, we'll see things from a certain bird-girl's point of view. After all, her choices matter as much as the rest, and she really doesn't get enough love around here. Until then...thank you, as always, for joining me on this journey! (●´□`)♡

[aleksadnezz]

Sweet Night

Jae x Reader

I let out a groan while I extend both of my hands in the air. I stretched my hands side to side as i slowly pushed myself away from my table so i'll have enough space to stand. I finished the last call I have for today. I scan the whole room and saw that there are only few people left. I turned off my computer and fixed my things. After i fixed my things i stood up and silently bid goodbye to my colleague beside me while she's still in a call with a customer. She looked up to me and nodded and I left the room. On my way of leaving the building i bowed and greeted other people as if they actually give a f but i do it anyway.

It's only 5pm, my shift today was early compared to the other days. Since today is Friday I decided to drop to the market to buy groceries so i can finally eat something that a normal person usually eat, which is a home cook food. I've been eating process foods and sometimes i would just order food outside if i'm feeling lazy which happens everyday. I bought some groceries good for a week cause i don't know when will I have courage to go out and do grocery shopping again. I took a bus on my way to my home. My apartment is quite far from the main road so i had to walk 3 blocks to reached my apartment.

As i was walking a man from nowhere approached me and offer to help me carry my groceries. As if that I would let him he might ran and took my groceries away. I politely refused his offer and I continue to walk, after a minute i thought that he already left but i can feel him walking behind me, the nerve. I entered the building of my apartment knowing that he already stop following me, I quickly looked back to checked if he is still here and HE IS STILL HERE. I try not to think to much so i just think that he might also lived here too and wants extra money by offering strangers assistance or something, yeah right. I quickly hop to the lift together with other tenants, i was the last person to enter so i immediately clicked the close button but then an arm blocked the door and entered. It's still him, I refused to look at him but i can feel that he is staring, luckily we're half meters away from each other. We're getting fewer and fewer as the lift rises to each floors, i'm at 15th floor and this strange old man still with me inside the lift, should i be concern because we're at 12th floor already. I looked up when I heard the sound of the door opened, the other person left, my heart began to beat fast thinking how am i going to beat his ass without dropping my groceries. While i stared at the floor planning his execution I saw a pair of feet walked inside and stood beside me, i looked up to him trying to remember who this person is. Oh right he lived across my apartment. When the door opened i quickly walked out the lift with my short legs, i feel like i look like a penguin rushing to get home but whatever. I reached in front of my door and searched for my room key not minding anybody. I jolted when a man spoke.

"Hey! do you have company?" I turned around to see who is he talking to. I saw the guy across my apartment looking for his key to and suddenly looked up at me. I frowned and saw him slightly gazed over the strange guy walking towards me.

"Uh no." I stared at him as if im hinting that 'i have no f clue who's that old man'

"Hmm.. by the way do you have an iphone charger?"

"Y-yeah i'll give it to you later" I kept the conversation flow, so this old man would think that he's not the only male here.

"Excuse me Mr? I think you're in the wrong floor, this is the dead end." My co-tenant spoke. Both of our room are located at the very end of the hallway, so there's no way that the old man will insist that he lives here. The old man just pretend that he mistakenly went to the wrong floor and thanked him for telling him. What a b

I stood up in front of my door waiting for the old man to leave our floor. I looked back at my co-tenant and he is still standing there looking at the old man's shadow when he finally left.

"Yeah right what a creep." I spoke and his eyes shifted to me.

"Was he following you?"

"Seems like it. I saw him down the street." I said calmy as if i was not terrified earlier. His eyes widen to what i said.

"What??? He must be insane, are you alright?" He asked worriedly. By the way it is my first time seeing him this longer. The only time that i can see him is when he picked up his order from his door. He wears sweats, hoodie and his slides all the time. I wonder what his job is or do he even have a job cause i really never saw him leave his apartment and the cost of this apartment per month is no joke. Well who am i to judge.

"Yes im okay now thank you.."

"No worries." He looked down scratched the back of his nape.

"Thank you again." I smiled and entered my apartment not waiting for him to answer. My bladder is killing me already.

After i went to my bathroom, I started cooking. Im not good at cooking so i try not to make my life more complicated than it already is so i just fried some chicken and vegetables. I placed my food on top of the study table and opened my laptop. I like watching sitcoms and reality shows while i eat, though that's the only thing that i watch cause im not a fan of watching drama series. As i eat i remember that my co-tenant asked me earlier about the charger. I hurriedly finish eating my food so i can hand it to him.

I changed my outside clothes to a loose shirt and pajama, and put my hair into a bun. I walked out my apartment carrying the charger with me, i have an extra so i dont mind if he forgot to return it. Actually i hope he won't forget. I stood in front of his door and knocked trice. I got no answer so i knocked again loud enough for our neighbors to hear. Seconds later and he finally opened the door.

"Hi umm?" I spoke.

"Im Jae, sorry i didn't hear you, i was playing"

"It's okay by the way here's the charger."

"Hmm? Oh- yeah.. yeah.. thanks???" He looked at me waiting for me to answer. He's now wearing some specs that i think made him look attractive. Damn i got a cute neighbor. Okay i'll shut up now.

"It's y/n"

"Thanks y/n i'll return it to you right away."

"Okay sure.." I looked behind him. His room apartment looks just like mine. Well of course we lived in the same building but the difference is that he have lots of electronics like those two monitors with mic and cam on top of his table. I looked back to him, i think he noticed how i scanned his room. Gosh.

"S-sorry.. um you're a streamer?" I asked. His eyes widen as if i just discovered something about him.

"W-well.. i think. yeah i do stream." He again scratched the back of his nape. I just nodded. I didn't ask further questions cause i don't want him to feel uncomfortable.

"Woah cool!" I haven't watch streams before but i know what they do i just don't know how it works. I really do think that people who play games are cool cause i can't stand playing one.

"Yeah yeah.."

I jolted when i heard a voice behind me. It was the delivery guy carrying plastic bags with food.

"So um so see you around" I gave him a little smile and then entered my room.

I washed the dishes that i left earlier. I reached out my phone that was laying on my table, i typed "Jay streamer" nothing shows up so i just stared at my phone then i have come into my senses and quickly turned off my phone. Why do i even bother knowing him. Gosh what's wrong with me.

1   2   3  4 5

[alphacrone]

MAGIC TOWN SAMWELL AU

Based loosely on this older post of mine.

When the charm shop went in next door, Jack was wary. But plenty of his tomes still had the residue of charms and spells lingering in the dust between their pages, seeped into their cracked spines, and Jack managed well enough. Still, an entire store devoted to mood charms and luck potions – the idea of it alone made his skin itch.

When a sign went up above the cheerful, red awning declaring the shop “Peachy Keen,” Jack was skeptical. The name indicated to Jack that it was probably some gimmicky chain store, pretending to be quaint and local while really forcing out actual local businesses. But the sign itself looked genuinely hand-painted – it was either a very clever marketing tactic, or Jack was wrong in his assumptions.

When the shop’s owner came by to introduce himself, wearing a pastel pink button-down shirt and smiling like he’d just won the lottery, Jack knew he was utterly, totally fucked.

Jack and Bittle – “Eric Bittle but my friends call me Bitty oh is that cookbook I love old cookbooks my moomaw has a dozen-” – didn’t speak much after that initial introduction. Their respective shops kept them busy, and Jack tended not to go out with the other shopkeepers from the square when they had their weekly pub crawls. Bittle, from what Jack could tell, was bubbly and outgoing and almost as talkative as Shitty.

Jack was...not.

It had been maybe two or three weeks since Peachy Keen opened its doors when Jack came to work only to find a pie sitting on his stoop. It smelled heavenly, of nutmeg and cloves, apple and lemon, and seemed to still be piping hot. There was no note, but Samwell was a safe and friendly hamlet; Jack assumed it was from one of the older ladies who ran the butcher’s shop, or maybe even Shitty, learning to bake while baked. Jack was a little wary to eat anything that had seen the inside of Shitty’s apartment, but it smelled so good he couldn’t resist.

That turned out to be a huge mistake.

Thanks to some very creative hand gestures and the suspiciously intelligent crow who roosted in Jack’s chimney, Jack managed to get his medication before the bright purple welts on his arms and face got too horrific. A trip to the nearest urgent care center later, and Jack was perched behind the counter at Shitty’s nursery, Weeds n’ Things, glaring daggers at his laughing friend.

“Someone tried to poison you with pie?” Shitty asked incredulously. “Really? That’s your theory?”

Jack shrugged, feeling a little defensive. His father was a famous Necromancer, and while he had many fans, Bad Bob also had many enemies. It had been one of the numerous things that had plagued Jack’s anxiety as a child, knowing that there were people who wanted his father dead.

“Jack,” Shitty said, face softening. “I’m pretty sure that pie’s from Bits.”

“Who?” Jack frowned.

“Bitty?” Shitty sighed. “Bittle- you know, cute as shit, owns Peachy Keen. His whole schtick is charms and spells that aren’t disgusting – infused in desserts, snacks, drinks. Pie is, like, his forte, man.”

“Oh,” Jack said, feeling a mixture of relief, embarrassment, and irritation. “It’s sort of rude to just give someone an infused pie without telling them what it is.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” Shitty said, scratching at his jaw. “That doesn’t seem like Bits at all. Want me to talk to him about it?”

Jack thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t want to make him feel bad for almost killing me.”

Shitty laughed again and slapped Jack on the back. “You’re not that allergic, dude. But I gotta ask – how was the pie? What flavor was it?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Jack said, “Aside from the hives all over my skin, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Shitty gave him a wide, knowing grin. “And apple. The pie was apple.”

“Hmm, good fortune,” Shitty said. “That’s usually what he puts in those.”

Jack snorted. “I guess from a certain perspective,” he said. “I was pretty damn fortunate.”

“That’s the spirit, brah,” Shitty said, nudging Jack with his elbow. “Now come help me water the herbs. Those babies have missed you.”

When Jack got home that evening, the chimney crow was waiting for him outside the shop. In its beak it held a small, torn note. Hesitantly, Jack reached out and took it. The crow gave him an appraising look and flew off, leaving Jack feeling very nervous as he unfolded the cheerful, yellow paper.

Everyone in the square’s tried a pie but you! Hope you like apple & fortune – it’s one of my best. See you around, neighbor :) - Bittle

Despite himself, Jack smiled. So Bittle had sent a note – and that damn chimney crow had nicked it. The grudge he’d been harboring towards the man lessened in intensity; the grudge he now bore for the crow doubled.

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t call an exterminator,” he called up at the roof where the crow’s nest hid. “I mean it.”

The crow did not respond, but Jack hadn’t really expected it to. He sighed and tucked the note into his pocket, ready to collapse face-first into his bed and sleep off the terrible day.

He wouldn’t remember how it happened in the morning, but the note was stuck to his refrigerator, right next to the ice maker. It stayed there for a long time.

It quickly became evident that, for the first time in his loud, obnoxious life, Shitty Knight had not intervened in Jack’s business.

Unfortunately, this meant another pie appeared on Jack’s stoop a week after his trip to the hospital.

The note taped to the tin was intact this time, written on light orange paper. Jack wondered idly how many colors of paper Bittle had in his shop, then realized he had never even seen the inside of Peachy Keen. The whole place could be covered in different shades of colored paper, and Jack wouldn’t have the faintest clue.

He was almost certain the air in that shop alone would be enough to break him out, which he definitely wanted to avoid in front of the cute baker.

Strawberries, cream, & focus, the note read. Mr. Crappy at the nursery buys a slice every time he needs to focus on paperwork. Of course, you don’t seem to need the help in that department! Hope you enjoy, and stop by soon! -ERB

Careful not to touch the crust, Jack picked up the pie and deposited it on the first flat surface in his store – the front counter. He didn’t want to just throw it out, but being near the thing, so chock full of pixie dust, was making Jack uneasy.

Though not all magic came from pixie dust, it was a large component in most Western spells, charms, and potions. It was potent, cheap to produce, and incredibly flexible in use.

And Jack Zimmermann was allergic to it.

Pixie dust allergies were not unheard of, but they were pretty rare. In his studies, Jack had found they occurred more frequently in East Asian and Southern African countries, where pixies were not native and their dust less commonly used. As a child he’d dreamt of running away to Antarctica, where it was too cold for pixies to survive, and he could live totally free from the fear of reaction with the penguins and the seals.

Jack sighed and glanced at the pie, tucking the note into his wallet so it wouldn’t get lost. He had a few minutes this morning before he needed to start his opening routine, so Jack grabbed the pie again and decided he'd take it over to Ransom and Holster, who ran the popular bar and grill, the Haus. They were also the leaders of Samwell’s very own werewolf pack, and therefore ate...a lot. As did their pack mates. The pie wouldn't last five minutes at their place.

Hesitation tugged at the back of Jack’s mind. It felt rude just getting rid of a pie specially made for Jack, but he certainly couldn't eat it. He needed to express gratitude somehow.

A small collection of antique cookbooks caught Jack’s eye. They weren't big sellers, not when Jack had colonial spellbooks and first edition grimoires on his shelves, but Bittle had noticed them right away that day he came in.

Shifting the pie to one hand, Jack grabbed one of the cookbooks with the other and slipped back out of the shop, not bothering to lock up behind him.

Ransom and Holster accepted the pie with as much gusto as Jack had expected.

(“Bro! How’d you get Bits to make you personal pie? That's dope!”

“I propose to him every other day or so, just so I can have that pie in my life forever. He thinks I'm kidding but I'm not.”)

Half of the pie was gone by the time he was back out of the door, and Jack breathed easier with its hauntingly delicious aroma far behind him. His anxiety spiked again as he remembered the book in his hand, and Jack scrambled to pull a piece of scrap paper – the back of a Jiffy Lube receipt – and scrawl out a quick note: Thanks for the pie. -JZ

Jack left the book and the note leaning up against the door of Peachy Keen and sped-walked away. He’d already diverted from his opening routine too much today; getting caught in conversation with Bittle was out of the question.

It wasn’t until he was back in his shop that Jack let himself breathe easy. He let out a deep sigh and began organizing the displays and cleaning up paperwork, readying himself for the day. Nursey, his assistant and one of the calmer members of Ransom and Holster’s pack, slipped behind the register with two minutes to spare, nose stuck in a well-worn book. Jack nodded at him in greeting, somehow still surprised when Nurse managed to nod back without taking his eyes off the page.

“I’ll take the register today,” Jack said as he flipped the sign in the window to say OPEN. “We got a restoration order in yesterday, seventeenth century French herbiary. Thought you’d like to take the reins on this one.”

Nursey looked up, surprised. “Really? By myself?”

Jack shrugged, shooing Nurse away from the register. “You’re one of the fastest learning conservators I’ve ever met. I have faith in you. I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

“Chill,” Nursey said, face still blank with confusion, but a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll, uh. I’ll be in the back.”

Jack grinned at Nursey’s retreating back, and steeled himself as the door opened. He wasn’t the best with customers – even Nurse, as laconic as he could be in conversation, had an ease and charm about him that enticed patrons of the shop – but Jack could answer questions and handle the register as well as any awkward teenager working their first job.

Around noon, just as Jack’s stomach began to rumble, he was pulled away from the counter by a customer who couldn’t reach the twentieth-century wizard’s almanacs. (Why anyone in Massachusetts needed a 1957 almanac for Prince Edward Island was a mystery to him, but, hey, it paid the bills.)

When Jack returned to the register, a pie was sitting on the counter, still steaming. There was a hot pink note attached to this one, but no sign of Bittle.

Found your gift this morning and HAD to put one of the recipes to use! Buttermilk pie with Comfort. Glad you liked the last one. <3 ERB

Jack sighed, heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest. This feeling was like anxiety, gnawing at his diaphragm like acid, but something in it made his limbs and heart light. Bittle loved his gift. He loved it so much that he used it immediately...and had given Jack another pie he couldn’t possibly eat.

“Where’s Nurse?”

Jack looked up from the pie to see Dex and Chowder, Nursey’s friends and packmates. Dex was the Haus’ handyman and least flirty bartender; Chowder, however, had left his job at the butcher’s shop to apprentice at Peachy Keen. From what Jack had heard, Bittle adored Chowder. Something a little too close to jealousy stirred in Jack at that thought, so he tamped it down and gestured at the pie.

“He’s restoring. You two want pie?”

“Is that one of Bitty’s?” Dex asked, eyeing it carefully. Jack snatched the note away from the tin before either man could read it, stuffing it into the pages of his ledger.

“Yeah. He dropped it off while I was in the back,” Jack said. “You two want it?”

“Chyeah we want it,” Nursey said, coming up behind Jack. His reading glasses were dangerously low on his nose and his hair was tousled, but he seemed in high spirits. Jack assumed the restoration was going well. “Takin’ my lunch break, boss. Bitty Pie Lunch is the best lunch.”

Jack scowled. “Try to eat something with a bit more protein,” he said sternly. “You’ll crash by three if you just eat sugar.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Z,” Nurse said, waving him off. “Be back in thirty.”

“I can’t believe you call him Mr. Z,” Dex scolded as they walked away. “He’s a Zimmermann, don’t you think you should be a little politer?”

Chowder was clearly, willfully ignoring the fight that was about to erupt. “Guys, I can’t believe we get free Bitty Pie! I don’t even get that and I work for him!”

Jack knew his face was flushing horribly as the boys left the shop, but he schooled his features as he put up the BACK AT 1 sign in the window and grabbed his lunch – and another cookbook – and all but ran to Weeds n’ Things.

“Two pies in a day? Jacques,” Shitty said as they ate their lunches among the perennials. “Go into that shop and talk to that man. You know how many pies he’s made me? One. To introduce himself. And he made me share it with the Taddies.” Shitty jerked his head at the couple of kids he’d hired after Ollie and Wicks left the nursery to open their own store. “He clearly wants to get to know you, which is not easy seeing as you’ve decided to be the token hermit of Samwell.”

Jack ducked his head, concentrating on his sandwich. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to get to know Bittle, but he knew stepping foot in Peachy Keen was out of the question. “I hate Ransom and Holster’s pub crawl nights, though.”

Shitty patted him on the back. “I know, bud. But Bits is, like, the most outgoing person I know. You’ll be able to talk with him as long as you try to leave your cave every once and awhile.”

“If you say so,” Jack mumbled into his PB&J. “Is he always so cheerful? He seems really...chipper.”

“Chipper?” Shitty snorted. “We’re in America, speak American, Jack.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t understand you, your accent is so foreign to my sensitive, Canadian ears.”

Shitty snorted again and elbowed Jack in the ribs. “See? When you hide away from the world, I’m the only one who gets to see how funny you are. And, to answer your questions, yes, Bits is the chipper-est person I’ve ever met. He’s, like, the opposite of you,” he added with a teasing grin. “He’s great, really, I think you guys’d really get on.”

Jack nodded, getting lost in memories of Bittle smiling and waving at him across the square as they went about their days. He seemed so bright, so sunny, that Jack always wondered what kind of glamours he used, or if the way he shone was all in Jack’s imagination.

“I’m gonna ask Chowder to drop off this book for him, after lunch,” he said eventually, patting the cookbook by his lunch sack. Shitty beamed at him, (probably) unaware of the spinach stuck to his mustache.

“You beautiful fucker,” Shitty sound through a mouthful of salad. “Wooing Bitty Bits with books. You guys are gonna get married and have twelve thousand sparkly nerd babies. I love it.”

“Shut up,” Jack muttered with no real heat. “He likes cookbooks.”

“So cute,” Shitty said, batting his eyelashes. “Mushy cute. I’m gonna ralph.”

“So Lardo’s been hanging around a lot,” Jack said casually, taking a bite of sandwich. “That’s interesting.”

“She needs herbs for the apothecary,” Shitty said, a little too defensively. “Apparently it’s salve season.”

Jack grinned. “Sure, Shits.”

“Oh, shut up, you big book wooer,” Shitty grumbled. Jack laughed so loud that the Taddies all jumped, and the one named Tango tripped over a flower pot.

Jack returned to his shop that afternoon in higher spirits and with one less cookbook in his inventory.

Jack and Bitty traded pies and books for almost a week without actually speaking in person. Jack could never manage to catch Bitty outside of Peachy Keen, and the chimney crow was always making a ruckus in the back whenever Bitty dropped by the bookshop. Nurse thought it was all too amusing, and had started calling the bird Johnson, just because “it suits him, man.”

“It’s because Johnson is a euphemism for dick,” Lardo said when Jack told her. “‘Cause that bird sounds like a fucking dick.”

“Okay,” had been Jack’s only response, because, really, what was he supposed to say to that?

It was Friday evening when Jack was just locking up the store that he finally got his chance to speak with Bittle. As he headed down the steps to the sidewalk, a bright, cheerful voice called his name. “Jack!” Bittle jogged down the sidewalk, waving with one hand, carrying a pie in the other. “So glad I caught you! I was gonna stop by earlier but we were packed all day, then this disoriented crow flew smack dab into the window of the shop and I had to rush the poor critter to the Falconer’s Lodge – I know he’s not a falcon but I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to heal a bird! So George – have you met Georgia Martin? She’s delightful! – George managed to patch the silly old thing up in no time, and then the thing just flew off! So I had to run back to the shop – poor Chowder had to close up himself, I felt so bad – and grab this pie to thank you for the last book you sent! I’ve really been so interested in incorporating more herbs in my baking, they have such wonderful properties that come out in cooking, but I’ve never had time to study them! Anyway, sorry for rambling, I’m just so glad I caught you – and in person this time! I hope you like key lime and cheer.”

Bittle all but shoved the pie into Jack’s hands, and he took it hesitantly, careful not to touch the crust, just in case. Brow furrowing, Bittle seemed to notice Jack’s caution.

“Do you not like key lime?” He asked, wringing his hands together. “Oh, goodness, you don’t, I should’ve gone with pecan, I just couldn’t decide-”

“Bittle,” Jack said softly, cutting him off. “I...I really appreciate all the pies, but. But, I can’t eat them.”

“Why?” Bittle asked, tilting his head. “Are you on some sort of diet? Are you gluten free?” He gasped. “I should've asked if you had celiac or were lactose intolerant or-”

“It’s the pixie dust,” Jack said, feeling his cheeks burn against his will. “I’m allergic.”

Bittle’s eyes widened. “You’re...allergic to pixie dust?”

“Yes.”

“But your dad is Bad Bob-”

“I’m aware.”

“Wow.” Bittle carefully took the pie out of Jack’s hands, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Gosh, Jack, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you could eat these- oh! Please tell me they haven’t affected you!”

Jack knew his face was probably bright red, but he soldiered on. “I, uh. Did have to go to urgent care after the first one. It was delicious,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “But, uh…”

“Oh, my Lord!” Bitty shrieked, dropping the pie to cover his mouth. “Oh, Jack, oh, gosh- Let me pay your medical bills- I can help out at your shop, too, I’m real handy with cleaning without any pixie dust, I promise-”

“Bittle,” Jack interrupted, holding up his hands. “It’s okay. I have insurance, the urgent care bill isn’t going to force me into debt, I promise. It’s not the first time this has happened nor will it be the last.”

Jack was stunned to see tear – actual tears – in Bittle’s eyes. “Jack, I could’ve killed you.”

“It’s okay-” Bitte scoffed, wiping at his eyes. “No, seriously, I’m not deathly allergic, I promise. And do you know how hard it is to navigate life in America when you’re allergic to pixie dust? I had so many incidents growing up my mother seriously considered putting me in a bubble.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Bitty insisted, wrapping his arms around himself. “I just wanted to talk to you so bad, but you seemed so cool and standoffish-”

Jack snorted, against his better judgement. “You are the only person who thinks I’m cool.”

“Please let me make it up to you,” Bitty pleaded. “I’ll clean your shop, wash your car, anything-”

“You wanna get dinner?” Jack asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I know a great, little Thai place. No pixie dust,” he joked, nudging Bitty’s arm with his elbow.

Bittle sniffed, but gave Jack a small smile. “Okay, but it’s my treat.”

“Sure, Bittle,” Jack said. “This time.”

Bittle pursed his lips but took Jack’s proffered arm, leaning in to Jack’s space to chat as they wandered down the street. Behind them, a suspiciously intelligent, happily meddlesome crow pecked at the remains of the pie that were splattered across the sidewalk.  

Monday morning, Jack arrived at his shop to find another pie sitting on the stoop. The note on top was robin’s egg blue and read: Sterilized my kitchen. Bought all new utensils. There is not a speck of pixie dust in this pie. I hope you enjoy blackberry, Mr. Zimmermann.

Jack smiled to himself and picked up the pie, breathing in its scent.  Even without pixie dust, everything about it smelled magical.

Careful not to drop it, Jack unlocked the door with his free hand and shouldered his way into the store. He went straight back to his small, personal office and stowed the pie inside. This was one treat he would not be sharing.

[tessatechaitea]

New Super-man #8

With an entire Bat-school full of Bat-men (Bat-mans?), Yang is probably going to turn Chinese Bat-man into Kenny from South Park.

I don't know if that's a better question. It's just a different way of answering it.

• Hmm. I probably didn't have to mention the bowel movement, did I? Because of the way I comment while I read the comic book, I tend to forget that this blog entry isn't going out live. • Back to the Kenan versus the ancient prophetic text made into a man, Kenan decides to move his qi up from his fists into his ears. That's so he can hear where Master I-Ching both is and is not. It's ancient Chinese wisdom. • Speaking of Ancient Chinese wisdom, has Archie McPhee never sold fortune cookies with Sun Tzu quotes in them? That seems like a bajillion dollar idea! Imagine opening a cookie after dinner and reading, "Invincibility lies in defense, the possibility of victory in the attack." That's already better advice than any regular fortune cookie I've ever eaten!

Although this one was pretty good. The Non-Certified Spouse's mother once got this one at a Chinese restaurant in Lincoln, Nebraska.

• Um, anyway, when Kenan moves his qi up into his ears, he begins to hear all of the noise all over the neighborhood around him. One of the things he hears is some kid bouncing a basketball. FUCK YES! That is one of my top hated sounds coming in through the walls of my house when I'm trying to write and I don't even have super-hearing! I just want to go outside, snatch the neighbor kid's basketball out of his sticky hands, and kick it over the roof onto the next block. The only reason I don't is I know that kid will soon be a teenager and he might stab me. • Wanna-Be-Bat-man of China loses the fight even though he conspired with Alpaca to rig the contest. So now he's decided to threaten the life of his schoolmaster by putting a Bat-Grapple up to his head. That seems wrong but I don't know anything about Schoolmaster O so I'll withhold my judgment. Schoolmaster O might be a huge prick. • It doesn't work. Baixi, Bat-man of China, saves the day and remains Bat-man of China. I wonder if there will be a Manbat of China? See how I left out the dash in the same way they've been putting in a dash for the Chinese versions without one? Clever! • I just wrote "clever" about something I just wrote. I also constantly call myself a Grandmaster Comic Book Reader. I wonder how many people are turned off by the seeming arrogance and completely miss the joke of it all? Dum-dums! • Once Kenan invokes his super-hearing, he hears a kid about to be hit by a truck and ditches the fight to save the day. But in saving the kid, the driver of the truck is grievously wounded. So he rushes him to hospital and heads off to pout at a nearby shrine. Master I-Ching catches up with him there. Probably to punch Kenan one more time and win the fight. • Alpaca winds up being Jiali, Bat-man's sister. She is tired of being controlled by China and all things communist. She's not even fighting for democracy! She's just an anarchist and my heart is suddenly pittering and pattering all over the place. Alpaca is the real hero! • Oh, also she escapes to be Bat-man of China's Jo-ker. But named Alpaca. • Master I-Ching doesn't punch Kenan in the nose and gloat and do a little blind man dance. Instead, he tells Kenan why Kenan has an octagon on his chest. And he explains Superman better than about 90% of all writers who have ever written Superman.

Never mind the third interpretation. It's not nearly as clever as the totality of this page.

• That previous page didn't make me cry but it has come closest to any comic I've read in a long time. It got me right in the belly trigram and the eye trigram. • After a moment of showing what everybody is doing during the Year of the Rooster celebration, there's an epilogue. Somebody identified as Super-man Zero, locked away in the Crab Shell, is approached by a mysterious figure who claims to be the reason for Chinese super-heroes. The final page identifies this mysterious stranger and...um...well, uh. See for yourselves!

Whew. I'm glad a genius grant Chinese American is tackling Ching Lung but I'm nervous about the comments I might make!

• I can't believe Ching Lung isn't in DC's late eighties Who's Who! They were trying to erase history, weren't they?! • Seriously, though, I'm super excited about Gene Luen Yang taking on this story. I'm a huge fan of people examining the racist history of popular entertainment, talking about it in a frank and honest way, rather than pretending it never existed. And I especially like when a company decides to tackle it in-house. I'm sure DC Comics had to be nervous about this whole thing but if they didn't kill the idea, I can only imagine Gene Luen Yang (who has been writing the fuck out of this comic book (that was a compliment!)) will have some insightful and thoughtful opinions on the subject of Yellow Peril characters. • Speaking of race in popular entertainment, I watched some thing on PBS last night with George Takei and Nichelle Nichols discussing Star Trek and how it was such major social commentary to have a diverse cast of characters in charge of the Enterprise. This made me reflect on watching the show as a kid. Something that was such a major issue when the show was produced in the sixties meant nothing to me in the late seventies or early eighties, whenever I began watching it. The diversity of the crew didn't have any kind of impact on me at all. That's encouraging, right? I know I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area which is probably the bubbliest bubble of all the bubbles (according to people who think embracing diversity and difference in others is somehow abnormal) so that's probably part of it. After school on KTVU, there were shorts produced by the television station between shows that showed non-white children living in the city that would end with the kid saying, "I'm proud to be a Chinese American!" Or "I'm proud to be a Black American!" Representation and diversity isn't just important for children who identify with the diverse characters in popular entertainment. It's also important for the white children to see that we're all a part of everything. We're all piloting the Enterprise to the future. Although what was meant to be a five year mission has gone ten times as long. Get it together, you non-bubbled bubbleheads. The Ranking! +2! It gets +1 for just being an overall well written book with great characters. It gets another +1 for the insight into Superman. Still my favorite comic book, beeyatches!

[lookingatlifeasanadventure]

1-150?

1. Who was the last person you held hands with? Probably my sister hahahahaha 
2. Are you outgoing or shy? Pretty shy
3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? My friends anyone that’s not my fam sick of them with the snow 😂
4. Are you easy to get along with? I’d like to think so yeah!
5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? I hope so
6. What kind of people are you attracted to? Funny kind hearted and caring people!
7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? I doubt it
8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? No one really 
9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? Nope
10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? Uh my best friend Lisa I’d say 
11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? ‘Them people?’
12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?Khalid- coasterTrey songz- slow motion21 savage- FaceTime Bazzi- alone/ why?/sober Khalid & Normani- love lies 🔥🔥🔥
13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? Yes
14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? Not sure really 
15. What good thing happened this summer? Nothing I can remember 
16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? Yeah
17. Do you think there is life on other planets? Yeah
18. Do you still talk to your first crush? Nope 
19. Do you like bubble baths? Yes!
20. Do you like your neighbors? Yeah
21. What are you bad habits? Bite my nails a lot!
22. Where would you like to travel? Everywhere possible!
23. Do you have trust issues? Yep
24. Favorite part of your daily routine? Writing in my diary!
25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? My stomach 
26. What do you do when you wake up? Wish I was asleep!
27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? Darker
28. Who are you most comfortable around? My sister
29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? Nope
30. Do you ever want to get married? Maybe if I meet the right person 
31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail? Yes
32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? Oooooh kehlani & Halsey 😍
33. Spell your name with your chin. Louta
34. Do you play sports? What sports? Nope
35. Would you rather live without TV or music? Tv
36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? Yep
37. What do you say during awkward silences? Nothing 
38. Describe your dream girl/guy? Funny, caring, trustworthy 
39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? Vans, JD sports, new look and h&m
40. What do you want to do after high school? Done and dusted went to college lol
41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? Yes
42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? Nothing bad could be just intimidated by a person or feeling shy
43. Do you smile at strangers? Yes 
44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? Outer space 
45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? The future 
46. What are you paranoid about? Not doing everything I want to do in this lifetime
47. Have you ever been high? Yes
48. Have you ever been drunk? Yes
49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? Nope
50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? Grey 
51. Ever wished you were someone else? Yeah
52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? My body
53. Favourite makeup brand? Inglot
54. Favourite store? Errr topshop or new look. Also love Asos 🙏🏻
55. Favourite blog? @aphrodykeeee 🙌🏻
56. Favourite colour? Khaki green 
57. Favourite food? Anything Italian pizza or pasta 
58. Last thing you ate? My dinner 
59. First thing you ate this morning? Granola 
60. Ever won a competition? For what? Probably not sure !
61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? Nope
62. Been arrested? For what? Nope 
63. Ever been in love? Yep
64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? It was with a boy I’d liked 
65. Are you hungry right now? Yep
66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? Ya sometimes!
67. Facebook or Twitter? Facebook I guess?
68. Twitter or Tumblr? Tumblr !
69. Are you watching tv right now? Nope 
70. Names of your bestfriends? Lisa, Stacey, Lauren, tara probably missing some 🤷🏼‍♀️
71. Craving something? What? Chinese 
72. What colour are your towels? Orange and blue 
72. How many pillows do you sleep with? 2
73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? Yes 
74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? 3 on my bed anyways 
75. Favourite animal? Penguin or turtle 
76. What colour is your underwear? Grey and white 
77. Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate 
78. Favourite ice cream flavour? Hmm any sorbet flavour like lemon or raspberry 
79. What colour shirt are you wearing? White 
80. What colour pants? None lol
81. Favourite tv show? One day at a time!
82. Favourite movie? Oh god wonder is the only one I can think of
83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? Mean girls 
84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? Mean girls 
85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? Can’t remember their names lol
86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? Dory
87. First person you talked to today? Lauren 🙌🏻
88. Last person you talked to today? Lauren lol
89. Name a person you hate? Don’t hate anyone 
90. Name a person you love? No one bar like family and friends 
91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? Nope 
92. In a fight with someone? Nope 
93. How many sweatpants do you have? 2 or 3
94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? A lot 
95. Last movie you watched? Below her mouth lol
96. Favourite actress? Megan Fox is a beauty 🔥
97. Favourite actor? Eh don’t have one
98. Do you tan a lot? I fake tan a lot of that counts 
99. Have any pets? One dog 
100. How are you feeling? Alright 
101. Do you type fast? Ya 
102. Do you regret anything from your past? Kinda 
103. Can you spell well? Think so
104. Do you miss anyone from your past? Yes 
105. Ever been to a bonfire party? Nope 
106. Ever broken someone’s heart? Yes
107. Have you ever been on a horse? Yes
108. What should you be doing? Nothing 
109. Is something irritating you right now? Nah
110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? Yes 
111. Do you have trust issues? Yes 
112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? Can’t remember 
113. What was your childhood nickname? Lala
114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? Yep
115. Do you play the Wii? Did before 
116. Are you listening to music right now? Nope 
117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? Nope 
118. Do you like Chinese food? Yep 
119. Favourite book? I’d be saying wonder 
120. Are you afraid of the dark? Not really 
121. Are you mean? No 
122. Is cheating ever okay? No 
123. Can you keep white shoes clean? Yep 
124. Do you believe in love at first sight? Not really 
125. Do you believe in true love? Yeah
126. Are you currently bored? Nope 
127. What makes you happy? A lot of things 
128. Would you change your name? Nope 
129. What your zodiac sign? Aries 
130. Do you like subway? Yas love it
131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? Talk to them about it nicely 
132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? My best friend 
133. Favourite lyrics right now? You’re not the one for me 
134. Can you count to one million? Yeah 
135. Dumbest lie you ever told? 
136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? Closed 
137. How tall are you? 5’7
138. Curly or Straight hair? Straight 
139. Brunette or Blonde? Blonde 
140. Summer or Winter? Summer 
141. Night or Day? Day 
142. Favourite month? December 
143. Are you a vegetarian? No 
144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? Milk 
145. Tea or Coffee? Tea 
146. Was today a good day? Yeah 
147. Mars or Snickers? Snickers 
148. What’s your favourite quote? This too shall pass 
149. Do you believe in ghosts? Yes 
150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? What’s wrong?