#no lie i will write a fic about it

[a-wynterwonderland]

When the Hunting Dogs were introduced I genuinely didn't know what to think of them. They just randomly showed up like "Hey we're a thing" and the more I read about them the more I began falling in love with their characters. They're all goofballs and I just love them so much. They are the most non-cis non-straight group I've ever seen in my life. I'm rotating them in my brain like chicken nuggets in the microwave at 3 in the morning on a Wednesday. I want to see them happy and healthy and I want them to get happy endings.

Seriously they better get happy endings. I want Tecchou and Jouno to get married and become cat dads. They should adopt five cats. I want to see Tachihara alive and well and absolutely thriving as a full-time mafioso rather than a double spy. I want to see Teruko smiling and showing genuine happiness like she initially did rather than seeing her so numb like in recent chapters.

I don't want to see their entire unit in shambles. I want to see them happy. I genuinely hope they all survive, because this current arc has been so unfair to them it's depressing. They deserve the world tbh.

Just. Gently holds. <3 Hunting Dogs my beloveds <3 <3

[necrotic-nephilim]

as much as I love the common "Tim worships/stalks Jason" trope in TimJay fanfiction because it's Good and making Tim a weird little freak is Fun, I think the underutilized dynamic is where Jason is the one weirdly obsessed with Tim and makes it Tim's problem.

Like, the moment Jason is confronted with the information that a third Robin exists, the first thing he does is cover his wall with pictures of Tim so he can just obsess and torture himself over it. That is the behavior of a man who is Unwell over Tim's existence and I love it.

red hood: lost days #4

And as much as a shitshow as The Titans Tower Incident™ is characterization-wise (though I think it has far more merit in depicting Jason's character than people give it credit for but I digress-) there's something very fun about the fact that even after kicking his ass, Jason respects Tim and is impressed by him.

teen titans (2003) #29

And on top of that, Jason can't seem to stop trying to ask Jason to Tim to work with him in some capacity.

robin (1993) #177

batman: battle for the cowl #2

While Battle for the Cowl is an exceptionally bad comic, especially for its characterization of Jason and the "be my Robin" bit is taken deeply out of context, I do think it's interesting how obsessed Jason is with believing that Tim is extremely competent, only held back by being "brainwashed by Bruce". (hence him leaving Tim for dead later on in the comic.) Jason seeing a darker side of Tim and wanting to bring that out of Tim, wanting to see what Tim could be if he let go of his loyalty to Bruce is so fun to me, tbh.

And in Robin #177, Jason seems genuinely upset Tim doesn't want to work with him. Jason sees such a raw potential in Tim and is obsessed with it, constantly wanting Tim to work for him and see Tim be the type of person Jason is. And despite Tim rejecting him, Jason doesn't shoot to kill Tim. I just cannot get over the fanfic potential of Jason obsessing over Tim, tracking him and seeing what he's capable of and what he could be capable of. Wanting to make Tim see things the way he does. To Tim it's corruption, to Jason it's freedom. Tim trying to 'save' Jason is fun and all, but Jason trying to corrupt Tim? That's even more fun to me. Watching that power struggle between them, Tim unable to get Jason off his heels as Jason gets more and more possessive and bold with each attempt.

And when Jason sees Tim successfully get Gotham back under control after a gang war, he's impressed. He praises Tim, even. And then Tim just. Breaks him out of prison.

robin (1993) #182

The way they're constantly trying to see something in the other that isn't there, hoping the other will come around? That is the most fucked up hate/love dynamic ever. Jason keeps coming back to Tim, keeps trying to find ways to get Tim onto his side. They're always chasing each other. And I think Jason would be the one to confess love first, the one to do anything to make Tim his. And when you consider after all of this, Tim has his Red Robin arc and is at his lowest, getting the closest he ever gets to considering murder? I think it'd be so fun to see Jason take advantage of that and worm his way back into Tim's life and finally push Tim over the edge.

[sirmanmister]

MacCready not beating the generational trauma allegations 😔😔😔

[royaibrainrot]

Sometimes I hate that biblically accurate Roy always wears dress clothes. What if I am tired of saying he’s wearing slacks. What if I want to have fun.

[tunastime]

hiccuping tears into the shoulder + ranchers by chance?

hiccuping tears into their shoulder (1087 words) (x)

For the first time in a good, long portion of his life, Tango despises how silent the night gets. It's not without its natural noise—the balmy, sticky humidity and breeze in the grass, or the crickets, the cicadas quieting down, the sounds of animals rearranging themselves to a comfier sleeping arrangement. He should be doing the same, but he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his spine a rigid line. He can feel the blood in his body, he can feel the spaces where his muscles connect to each other, with every breath he can feel his lungs separate out the oxygen. It's at the very least startling, and at the very most, he feels like he might dissolve on the spot if touched. 

Tango knows how death feels—painless respawn and a few seasons of a life game behind him, but to feel someone else die, too. The echo of death alongside your own. He didn't like that! Not good at all. All his blood and heartbeat-y things are rushing around in his ears. He doesn't even hear Jimmy the first time he speaks up from the other side of the bed, with how his voice scrapes out.

"I didn't know they were aiming for us," Jimmy says.

"Of course not," Tango says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know you didn't."

He's still looking at his hands, running his thumb over the lines in his palm and pushing into the tiny bones and muscle there. Jimmy flexes his hands like he can feel the pressure and bones moving around. He watches him fold his hand tight around each other and slump, pulling his shoulders to his chest. His breath squeezes in his chest as Jimmy deflates tiredly.

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I'm not gonna think this is your fault, alright?" Tango says, frowning at him. "Why would I?"

Jimmy sighs. His jaw works.

"Cause it usually is," he grits. Tango scrunches his nose on instinct, recoiling out of habit before he manages:

"That's not fair, man."

"This whole game isn't far!" Jimmy huffs, waving a hand about.

"Sure but—"

"But nothing, Tango. I just—I can't lose and drag you with me. That's more than not fair."

"I don't care."

"I care."

Before Tango can argue, though, he tastes the faintest hints of anger and frustration at the back of his mouth fade. He watches Jimmy's face contort as he tries to come up with a better sentence, something he probably thinks Tango deserves. Maybe an apology. 

Tango just looks at him. He kind of feels bad, that little bit of gut wrenching cold that trickles in, but mostly he's just confused. Jimmy's words bat around in his brain like dust particles. Dust bunnies. He definitely assumed they were done with this. That maybe Jimmy made peace like he did—though really he hadn't had that much time to make peace, if he's being honest. He's still bitter. He's sure a lot of people are still bitter. But in terms of Jimmy's whole situation? It's not like it could be helped. They just had to be careful. So Tango was being careful, and Jimmy was taking what Tango thought was a calculated risk, so he was mad, sure, but he couldn't really stay mad for a long time. So he takes a long breath and sighs it out his nose. It still tastes surprisingly reminiscent of smoke.

"So what are we going to do?" he asks softly. Jimmy inhales.

"I don't know," he says. "Go to bed? Wake up and start planning?"

Tango hums plainly. He likes that idea. The small spool of feeling in his chest that must belong to Jimmy gives a little tug, like it wanted to take him down with it. 

"Yeah," Tango says, voice coming hoarse. "Yeah, I think so."

For a moment, Tango runs his tongue over his teeth, runs his thumbs over the seams of his knees. He sighs, and then he leans into Jimmy's shoulder with a definitive huff. He's tired. From the ache in his bones, to the breathlessness of dying, to just taking in Jimmy's stress. Man. He's exhausted. Jimmy snorts quietly. He feels him press his cheek against Tango's head. The hand Jimmy had been fiddling with in his lap ends up at the base of his spine, splayed over the fabric. Tango squeezes his eyes shut.

"Thanks Tango," Jimmy says shakily. He sounds like he's on the knife's edge of crying, so Tango fumbles out a hand and lands it solidly on his knee. It's not a terribly comfortable thing to stretch one of his achy shoulders or biceps that far but he does anyway, and Jimmy huffs out a damp laugh. "Guess I'm just... pissed off."

Tango snorts.

"If you think you're pissed, just wait until they rile me up," he says into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy laughs. Tango tries to hold in a grin that he also smothers into his shoulder, but fails. Jimmy's hand skips over his knuckles and squeezes the hand on his knee.

"Sure thing, Rancher," he teases. Tango makes a half-suppressed noise of indignation, squeaking as he bolts upright. He nearly knocks into Jimmy's jaw as he untangles himself with all the grace of a cat trying to weasel out of someone's arms. 

"I'm just sayin'," he grumbles, crinkling his nose. "You seem like you're in a better mood though."

Jimmy sighs, rounding out his shoulders. 

"Think so," he says, working his cheek between his teeth. Tango feels the sensation of prodding in his mouth. Bleh. "Think so."

"Probably a good idea to make good on that sleeping... thing,” he says, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. He barely stifles a yawn as Jimmy stretches, twisting his tall body around in a way that feels surprisingly pleasant to Tango’s stiff muscles. He can’t imagine, especially with the way Jimmy holds all his emotions in his shoulders, that his upper back is doing him any favors. Jimmy makes a little noise in confirmation as Tango turns, attempting to make ample space for him in the small bed. He knows they’ll end up back to back at some point, but as he lies down, shoulder to shoulder, an easy comfort rolls over him. Sure there’s all the red blood rushing around in his ears, and sure he feels it right up on his skin like a bad rash, but for now, next to Jimmy, he shuts his eyes.

They’ll make this time count for something, at least.

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

I see many posts about Ford’s crush on Stan when they’re teens going unnoticed. But let’s switch it, Stan’s been in love with Ford since birth, but Ford’s just a little too preoccupied (with books, with learning, with himself) to notice and it tears Stan up inside.

Its not until after Weirdmaggedon, when Ford began to tell Stan about their childhood that “ooohhhhhh” it all clicks for him

Ooooh I love this!! I honestly am pretty firm in the Ford falls first category but I appreciate the good switch up, especially since it makes Stans actions sooo much more tragic

Heres Stan, falling in love with his brother, imagining their future together where they dont have anyone but each other— its pretty close to a marriage. It practically IS a marriage. Its Stans way of just tipping it off just enough thats what he wants.

"I wanna be with you forever, sixer" he'd probably say casually once but inside he feels like his whole body is crashing and burning. he wouldnt even be facing ford, theyre just looking out on the beach because stan cant handle looking at fords face when he rejects him.

"i dont think we'd be on earth for that long," ford would quip back, not even noticing stans confession. stan would snort, punch fords shoulder, but inside hes destroyed. ford couldnt say it back, not even as a brother, let alone romantically. he's holding onto the only time ford ever said it back— their promise when they first found the stan o war, because its all he's really got to assure himself thay ford wants that future too, no matter their relationship.

It would eat him up inside to hide how much he wants to take ford in his arms, hold his hands in his in a way that those 6 fingers were made perfectly to encase stans own hands, to kiss ford until theyre only ever breathing in each other, but as long as he knows he can have the second best thing, ford and fords brotherly love, for the rest of time... he'd bear the pain of unrequited feelings.

fast forward to the future, ford would be watching at an aged stan staring out to the sea and all he can think about is how he told stan how much he wants to be with him forever too and stan took it in the most brotherly way possible and even tho hes happy stan accepted, he is dying inside over how much stan missed what he actually meant, sufferinh how he can't hold stans hand in his six fingers or kissing him senseless into the night (as he should)

[tartagliatum]

something so special about the pet name big guy. like yeah,, big boy with an even bigger appetite. the trashcan of his friends, the bottomless pit who seems to be able to eat for a family of five and then ask what's for dessert - but even he sometimes manages to overeat and needs a belly rub. probably a little embarrassed about it bc he's been warned this will happen with the large amounts he regularly eats. hell yeah i love me a big guy <333

[bikananjarrus]

if yord had lived he'd be leading the hunt for qimir and osha and we would've gotten the most delicious tension between him and qimir. qimir would start out frustrated that yord got away, intent on finishing what he started. and yord, once hunted, now hunter, once an exemplary jedi, and now solely focused on revenge disguised as righteous justice (which it is also a bit of that). and qimir starts to enjoy the game, the chase. and in this timeline, sol still dies, osha still goes with qimir, but yord was unconscious, recovering in a bacta tank, so all he knows when he wakes up is that qimir is out there and took osha, his friend, away. so then you also have the tension of that confrontation, the realization that osha has willingly turned, and that maybe yord can't blame her for that, because what has he been doing these past many months, years, maybe, but give in to the selfish desire to finish what he started too?

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[iamumbra195]

Guys, what if Barron actually became an important part of the overall plot?

Like I dislike the guy as much as the next person but he was also one of the last people to see Ashlyn and co. at school before they disappeared. He also saw Logan transform from a timid kid to someone who suddenly takes none of his shit and even saw all the kids go a little psycho that day at the park.

He's also the only established character besides Mr. Thomas at school too... I don't know but I just have this feeling that he's going to be somewhat important and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

[mythmerth]

sometimes the best thing you’ve ever read is 200k words worth of sex spell induced smut fan fiction and that is completely acceptable

[essektheylyss]

I am absolutely agonizing over pov and narrators for this draft that I am literally nearly done with, and it did make me wonder how much importance other writers give these things. So I am running a poll.

To preface, the following notes and elaborations on the options:

"Crucial" would mean that it has a significant impact on your writing process up to and including impacting your ability to progress.

"Important but not crucial" would mean that you consider it, and it does have an impact on the story you're telling, but it does not significantly hinder your process.

"Inconsequential" would be something like, you kinda just pick something and go with it, and do not find yourself rethinking that later.

I ran out of room with the options regarding one or both being important at the start, but that can be either crucial or merely important. If you mess around with your pov or narrators within, say, the first 10% of a draft, but don't really worry about it once you feel like you've settled on something, these are the options for you.

If you feel so inclined, elaborate in the tags on what kinds of things you weigh when you think about one or both of these! I'm curious!

[posallys]

The old fears, but I’m here (through the long night with you)

posally | T | 1.5k | could be canon for @pjoseries because we're side by side in the trenches

Thunder claps, deafening.  Her ears ring.  Through half-opened eyes and hot tears, she sees the water recede too far back too quickly.  Thunder. Rain. The water creeps further back. And then it falls.

or, sally doesn't call, but poseidon comes anyway.

read on ao3

[yellowocaballero]

dude psyched ur reading orv, insanely curious about ur takes

My friend @charterandbarter put it best.

ORV is pretty fascinating to me. It's really just a self-insert isekai OP webnovel, and it is nothing else. Its medium is trashy and lowbrow, and its genre is almost devoid of high art. OP isekais are 'id' stories, meant to be satisfying and fun and contain very little of substance. ORV is a very well executed OP isekai - it contains the elements of the genre that make it satisfying, it understands why people read the genre and enjoy it, it reproduces those elements very well, and it is very concerned with telling an enjoyable story. ORV really, really loves webnovels and isekais and shitty wishfuillment stories. There's a lot more to ORV than the 'fist pump' moments of kdj doing something cool or pulling a fast one on a shmuck, but those moments are the undoubtedly the point of ORV, as they are the point of all SIOC isekai OP webnovels. And that's the point of ORV.

Metanarrative stories are cheap. Neil Gaiman's written 30 and millenials love waxing philosophical about the power of narratives. These metanarratives tend to describe stories as a theoretical framework through which we understand the world and our lives. Therefore, stories are tremendously important and valuable because they contain the totality of religion, history, culture, relationships, and lives. ORV says this too. But this theory tends to land at mystifying and exalting stories on virtue of them being stories, which I think misses the point. Stories aren't special because they're stories. They're not more sacred for containing our lives. What ORV says is that stories are important, because our lives are important. I like that a lot more.

ORV says that stories are our way of ordering a disordered world. A history, culture, nation, and religion are stories. None of those stories are true or real, because histories/cultures/nations/religions are constructs - they're how we interface with reality. They're created with a purpose, told for a point, pulled together into a narrative, and are satisfying or dissatisfying based on certain factors. ORV's perspective on fiction is deeply seeped in its own nature as 'low art'. There's something very cynical and commercialized about narratives in ORV, and every narrative in ORV is being told for a quick buck or to try and spread an idea for an individual's gains. It's a very unromantic, unimpressed view of narratives and fiction. It's pretty much the only way a SIOC OP isekai webnovel like ORV can talk about it without being disingenuous. And it's remarkably raw and visceral as a result, because ORV loves SIOC OP isekai webnovels like kdj loves yjh. Fiercely, insanely, like breathing, exactly for what it is. No pretensions.

It's bizarre, because ORV is about love. It's not about love for anything that deserves it. Not for a story with a lot of literary merit, a main character who is a remotely kind or lovable person, or art itself outside of its commercial or philosophical value. kdj really, really, really fucked loved TWS - because it was there, and because it lasted 15 years, and because it was fake, and because it was what he had. He loves yjh because yjh was his only companion in a dark world. That's fiction. Fiction helped him survive, because love is a way of ordering a disordered world.

I'm still reading myself, but ORV seems to be about how we manage to live in a hard world, and how to find it within ourselves to love each other and find meaning in that hard world. I see why kdj's the protagonist: he can find merit in something for existing, and loving it for being there, and he holds onto something because he has it. He sees the value in that. He read it in a book.

TL;DR: ORV is well-executed trashy commercialized art that is so obsessed with trashy commercialized art that it's looped straight back around into being somehow the most raw and visceral depiction of love I've seen in a long time.

[demoniccrowz]

whats the. emeralds one about!!! the one wip with tommy and sbi :33333

I just spent like ten minutes looking for this print to make sure I was ranting properly about it before I decided I literally remember it fine so anyway. Sir, we don’t take emeralds. (Tommy/SBI)

the basis: Tommy works the night shift at a bakery near the edge of the city. Between the hours of 12 am and 4 am, the only customers that come in are cryptids and monsters from the nearby forest. They pay very, very well. The bakery is probably run by Niki, though she’d be a background character, and probably not show up like. At all.

writing this after I wrote the other stuff: I accidentally wrote the first draft of what would probably be drug out into two chapters. It’s under the cut. My bad. Designs (also under cut) are subject to change.

Um, first night he meets Wilbur, a man with no eyes who tries to pay with an emerald. Second night, nothing happens. He wonders if he hallucinated everything. The third night, he meets Philza, a man with black wings and bird talons, who pays like a normal person but tips him a crow feather. He’s confused, but the crow feather looks nice. Someone told him crow feathers are bad luck, but… the feather gives him a warm feeling. Fourth night, Philza comes back. He seems very happy to see that Tommy has stuck the crow feather behind his ear. Philza tips Tommy several more feathers. Fifth night, he meets Techno, a man with tusks and pig hooves, who pays like normal but tips him a golden doubloon. I dunno, he probably gets run out of town at some point, once someone sees the crow feathers. Philza, Wilbur, and Techno rescue him from the mob. They steal him away. Found family occurs.

Tommy moved to the city a few weeks ago, and started hearing the stories almost immediately. Everyone he talked to warned him away from the woods, with tales of what happened to people who stayed out too late or who walked near the woods after dark. The city seems to almost have a curfew, though it isn’t explicitly stated anywhere Tommy can find. Yet, like clockwork, at 11:30 the streets are deserted. The busses don’t run. People are inside, whether at their homes or somewhere else. Businesses stay open, sometimes, but no one enters or leaves. The entire city holds its breath for five hours. Then, at 4:30, it’s once again bustling. Tommy doesn’t believe the stories, of course. It’s just superstition. He signs up to work the night shift (sometimes dubbed the cursed shift) at a bakery in desperate need of workers. It’ll be easy, he decides, to take the shift when there would be no customers.

Yet… there were customers. The first night, a man with tinted glasses and a brown trench coat walks in and orders a few loaves of bread. Tommy goes about his routine normally, until the man hands him a green gem for payment. He stares at it in shock, trying to tell if the man had just handed him an ACTUAL EMERALD. “Sir? We- we don’t take… emeralds.” Tommy looks up at the man, who takes the gem and removes his glasses the squint at it.

He has no eyes.

The man laughs, putting the gem back into his pocket. “Of course, of course. My mistake.” He gives Tommy a fifty dollar bill, grabbing his bag of things and leaving before Tommy can give him his change. Tommy stares after him. Maybe there is something to the rumors, he thinks as he stares at his shaking hands.

He tries to brush it off.

[koqen]

⠀⠀EAST 2 WEST⠀⠀…⠀⠀Mic Check!