#yes send me if you write fic

[pulvisetsumbra]

BLEACH x Inuyasha

Ichigo Kurosaki, a 15yo "human" whose normal life ends when a demon drags him into a cursed well. Instead of hitting the bottom of the well, Ichigo ends up 500 years in the past during Japan's violent Sengoku period with the demon's true target, a wish-granting jewel (Hōgyoku). After a battle with a revived demon accidentally causes the sacred jewel to shatter and awakens an asleep demon, Ichigo enlists the help of said human-friendly demon named Rukia to help him collect the shards and prevent them from falling into the wrong hands.

[ghostofcarcosa]

Prompt: When ectoplasm is used to power one of the Fenton’s devices, it can borrow ghost zone physics.

“Wow, so how’s this one supposed to work?” Bruce Wayne picked up the small silver device, examining it. It was about the size of a hockey puck, with a handle welded to the top that looked like it had originally belonged to a dresser. The handle was wrapped in simple black electrical tape with a small button on the side.

“Oh! That table of stuff is not for sale,” the red-head walked briskly over, wringing her hands, “those are just some of my brother’s projects, they’re not related to ghost hunting.”

The convention had, up until that point, been boring. Tim had disappeared about an hour ago, meeting up with a couple of friends who were also attending the Scientific, Paranormal, & Occult, Occupational Convention, or “SPOOC.” An attempt at a play on words, Bruce supposed.

Barbara had alerted him that an up-and-coming company, Axiom Laboratories, had announced some pretty cutting edge tech that could be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. Bruce had attended the demo this morning, only to leave unimpressed. Only one of their four inventions had actually worked, and even then barely did what was advertised.

Aside from waiting for Tim to be done hanging out with his friends, Bruce had surprisingly found several start-ups that were developing some promising technology, as far as ghost-hunting equipment could be considered “promising.” The latest booth he was exploring had been pointed out to him as having “some kind of crazy idea they’ve perfected renewable energy,” which while Bruce was wary of most of the people peddling wares here, peaked his interest. So far, however, it had been a disappointment.

The girl held out her hand for the device and Bruce gave it back. “Do you know what it does?”

The girl gave him a guarded look, and he held up his hands and grinned. “Just curious!”

She glanced around the booth, the only other occupants were a couple dressed like they were late for a shift at the nuclear power plant, gas masks and all. The husband, an absolute mountain of a man, seemed to be knitting while his wife flipped through a paranormal magazine. She turned back to Bruce, sticking out her hand.

“Jazz Fenton; my parents own Fentonworks.”

“Nice to meet you Jazz. I’m Bruce Wayne.”

Her eyes widened, and she blinked owlishly at him. “Oh! Like, Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne?”

He went for a disarming grin. “The one and only, hopefully?”

She let out a laugh that was probably more nervous than it was meant to be, and glanced over at the couple again. “Just to warn you, if my parents spot you, you’ll be stuck her for the rest of the day while my dad rants about ghosts.”

“Noted. So if that’s not a ghost hunting device, what is it?”

Jazz fidgeted with the silver hockey puck, plucking at the edge with her fingernail. A hatch popped open, revealing a small switch. She flicked it and popped the hatch closed.

“It’s a prototype gravity binder. Uses gravitational force to stick itself to the ground. I think.” She held it out over the floor in front of Bruce, and he took a step back. Jazz carefully checked the ground below before hitting the button and dropping it.

It hit the ground at Bruce’s feet and he looked at her, unimpressed. Jazz grinned. “Pick it up.”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow, but bent down to the small device. An audible humming was coming from it, and it almost felt like it was vibrating slightly as Bruce gripped the handle.

“Be careful not to push the button again. That turns it off,” Jazz said.

Bruce reached down and grabbed the black handle.

It didn’t budge.

Bruce frowned, gripping it with both hands and pulling. It was as if the small device had been bonded to the floor. He looked back up at Jazz, who had a wry grin on her face. 

“Now, hit the button.” 

Bruce did so, and the humming immediately stopped, the device powering down. He hesitantly picked it up from the floor, unable to stop the surprise that bloomed across his face as it now only weighed a few ounces, like before. The floor where it had fallen was undamaged and unmarked.

Bruce handed the device back to Jazz, “Alright, color me impressed. How does it work? I’m pretty sure this thing breaks several laws of physics.” 

Jazz simply shrugged, placing it back on the side table with several other devices that Bruce couldn’t begin to guess the purpose of. “My brother is more into the engineering and sciencey part of the family business. You’ll have to ask him once he gets back. That is, if he didn’t ditch me to explore the city.” The last part was grumbled under her breath.

Bruce looked back at the device. Had Bruce seen some crazy stuff in his time in the Justice League? Absolutely. He had three different friends who used magic on a daily basis. But no other League independent company had anything close to this kind of tech, let alone a family business that specialized in ghost hunting, of all things.

“I think I’d like to meet your brother. I’m going to be honest, this is unbelievably impressive. Has he ever thought about applying for the engineering and development internship at Wayne Enterprises?”

A contemplative look passed over Jazz’s face. “Honestly, Mr. Wayne? My brother Danny is smart, and a talented inventor. But I’m not sure that kind of thing would be his style. I’ve been pushing him to start thinking about college now that he’s graduating soon, but he seems pretty convinced he’s going to be stuck in Amity Park working for my parents for the rest of his life. Not that he doesn’t care about the family business, but...” She trailed off, glancing back over at her parents. Some poor soul had wandered a little too close to the front of the booth, and Bruce could hear the couple yapping non-stop about ghosts. “He does need to spend some time away from it.”

“What are you proposing?”

Jazz drummed her fingers against the table. “I’m in my second year at Gotham U. Danny’s going to be eighteen next year, but refuses to apply to any colleges because of his grades. He... well, let’s just say there were some extenuating circumstances that caused it.” She shook her head, “He’ll probably end up at community college living at home, at least if I can convince him to stay in school. He won’t be able to get into GU with his grades, but if you’re really interested in his work...”

“You think I could get him an acceptance letter?”

“God no!” she blanched, “But I could probably get him to apply with a letter of recommendation from the owner of Wayne Enterprises. He’s smart, and a quick learner for sure, but after... the stuff in high school, he’s convinced himself his life is already over.”

“Hmm,” He’d have to do a little research on the brother, make sure her ‘extenuating circumstances’ checked out, but Bruce started to wonder if this was his lucky day. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll be back at the convention tomorrow, and I’ll drop by the booth around 10am. If your brother can give me a better demo than any other scientist here, I’ll write the letter.” He smiled, handing her one of his business cards, “and I promise that will be a low bar to pass.”

“Thank you, thank you so much Mr. Wayne!” Jazz grinned, taking the card and shaking his hand. “Danny will be here.”

...

“Hey Bruce!” Tim finally caught up with him outside the convention center. “So, what did you think of ‘SPOOC’? Bust any ghosts?”

Bruce smiled at him, shaking his head, “No, but I think I just found an intern for Lucius Fox.”

[vossn]

bg3 modern AU but its just the story told through a series of increasingly urgent e-mails

[beanghostprincess]

I'm turning that Sanuso Modern AU (In which they meet because Zoro forgets to pay at the Baratie and Usopp and Waiter!Sanji end up flirting all night while they wait for him to come back with the money) into a whole fic called "The very first night" that will approximately have 9 chapters and it's actually about Sanji going on a quest trying to find Usopp again and failing miserably. Congratulations, y'all have convinced me to write a long fic when I usually write one-shots. Let's see how this turns out!

[kakashiislut]

Who is it?~ GhostFace

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5, Pt 6, Pt 7

@simp4myself

Warnings: kissing, cheating, mentions of hands on body.

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You find yourself just staring. Staring in shock. It was….it was them. You knew it, you fucking knew it! Those looks they always share, the way they always have a sadistic look in their eyes, the way Stu was always making up for silence by being loud, the way Billy stared.

Stu…Stu was that ghost. Ghost Face? The one that killed Casey and Steven, the one who called syd, the one who attacked syd? But Billy seemed guilty too.

But how did Billy get in trouble for something Stu did?…wait. WAIT.

You placed your hands on top of your head, shutting your eyes and trying to stop the wave of emotions flowing. Stu and Billy?…sharing a costume…killing people?

That itchy feeling bloomed in your stomach again.

Hearing a bang you slammed your head towards the door.

“Alcohol…ya alcohol…” you mumbled, shutting the closet where Stu…no ghost face stored all his stuff. You ran to lay on the floor and shove your arm under stus bed.

“HEY! What’s taking you so long?” Stu busted open the door quickly. 

“Oh- I’m sorry…I guess my arm isn’t long enough to reach and I didn’t wanna move your bed- and I also didn’t wanna bother you or anyone else, so I thought if I just-“

“Relax!!! I got it!” His face seemed so joyful, was it all true?…

You moved a bit and watched as he laid his slender body on the floor and reached his hand under his fairly clean bed.

His hand brushed yours just a bit, yet it didn’t stop him from making a snarky comment.

“Oo you must like me…” he giggled.

“I do…” you teased, biting your lip hilariously.

“…well I mean…Tate and everyone are downstairs…”

He retracted his arm from under the bed, holding a slightly dusty bottle of wine. Apparently he’s had it since he was 12.

“What do you mean” you both sat on your knees staring at eachother.

“I mean…we can like…” Stu suddenly leaned in.

When his lips touched yours, you just let him. You let him softly kiss you, almost like he wasn’t sure if you’d flip out.

“Hey..wait…” you pulled away a bit and his lips hovered yours.

“Y-ya?..”

“Can I put my hand up your shirt?..”

“HO HO HO! Hell ya!” You were quick to put your hand over his mouth.

“Okay…”

“Okay..”

[sweatersadkitty]

i am a grace chastity is on the aromantic spectrum but NOT on the asexual spectrum truther.

happy halloween, bitches

[flowercrowngods]

in which eddie is semi-nonverbal and steve notices despite eddie’s best efforts. cuddles ensue | 1.8k

They’re hanging out at Eddie’s, just the two of them, when Steve notices it for the first time. He’s not known as the most perceptive guy ever, but he’s actually rather good at these things. And he’s starting to get good at getting a feel for Eddie, too, even though it’s made harder by his dramatics and his flourishes and all those exaggerated gestures, mimics and mood swings. Eddie is fluent in all things sarcasm and drama, both of which Steve had issues reading in the beginning but is now pretty good with.

After fighting an interdimensional monster wizard creep, nearly dying a few times and spending time together almost every day because we stick together now, Steve knows Eddie.

He’s not sure if they’re friends, exactly, but that doesn’t really stop him from knowing all of his tones, his moods, and even most of his music these days. Steve just watches. Listens. Remembers. He’s shit at talking about himself much around anyone but Robin, but he always makes a point of knowing as much as he can about his friends. And Eddie.

Which is why the sudden strain in Eddie’s voice catches him off guard. It’s not the I didn’t get any sleep last night because all I can think of is how I almost died kinda strain. Nor is it the It’s 5pm and I haven’t eaten yet and I don’t want you to find out kind. Steve still makes sure to make them sandwiches as he listens to Eddie rambling off about something or other.

And that’s the thing. Steve listens. He always does, but Eddie is rambling. And he sounds almost miserable about it. The words don’t make sense, they lack their usual enthusiasm when Eddie talks DnD or music — which, he’s doing both? There’s no connection. And when Steve turns around, sandwiches secondary to that fucking strain in Eddie’s voice, he sees that his eyes are dull. The smile forced. And he keeps talking even though his tone indicates that he’s done.

Steve frowns slightly and watches Eddie, who’s walking mindlessly, aimlessly, pacing and stopping every few seconds, looking a little lost every time he does.

The thing is, there is no reason for Eddie to talk. No point to his words. No calculation in his movement, no burning off of excess energy, no kick in his step, no stomp for emphasis.

Steve notices. He sees. He listens. And thinking back, Eddie’s reaction time to just about anything Steve said today was either close to nothing, or very delayed.

It dawns on him then, as he looks Eddie up and down, noticing the fidgeting hands, the tense shoulders, the stiff grimace of a smile. It dawns on him because he knows this look, this behaviour. Not exactly like this, but close.

He has a hunch and hopes that whatever they have built over the past weeks is strong enough for Eddie not to freak out on him over this.

“Eddie,” Steve interrupts him, and it shouldn’t be this easy. It wouldn’t be, normally, but today Eddie just shuts up immediately, mouth closed, eyes on Steve.

“Yeah?” Four seconds. That’s how long that word took.

Steve hopes the expression on his face is kind, not patronising. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

Eddie blinks. Swallows. Two, three, four. “Do what, Steve?” And immediately he is defensive, taking on an act because maybe that’s makes this easier for him, but even his performance is strained.

“You don’t have to talk all the time,” he says, and only realises once the words have left his mouth that they sound wrong, like he’s annoyed with Eddie’s constant babbling and needs some silence. Which he doesn’t.

Eddie scoffs before he can take it back. He scoffs, spins in a circle and sighs deeply, expertly bridging the four seconds it takes him once again to open his mouth and speak.

“Oh, that’s new! That’s new, Harrington, I’ve never heard that one before. What’s next, you gonna call me a Freak? Maybe tell me the bands I listen to aren’t music? Really sorry, man, and I hate to break it to you, but if you wanna hang out with someone who doesn’t ‘have to talk all the time’, I’m not your man!”

Even the anger seems dull, the little speech far from what it could have been, like Eddie’s brain isn’t quite there, like it doesn’t work today, like the words just won’t come and decide to leave him hanging with his failed dramatics.

Still, Steve approaches him slowly, his hands raised in a placating motion. “That’s not what I meant, and I’m sorry it came out wrong, Eds. I don’t mind your talking, you gotta believe me. But…”

How does he say this next part, this next assumption, without accidentally insulting Eddie again? Without sounding like a complete and total jackass?

“You know El, right? The one with the superpowers?”

Eddie nods.

“Well, when she came to us, she could, like, barely talk. Her vocabulary wasn’t there yet, sure, but that’s not the only reason. And now she’s made wonderful progress and her vocabulary is pretty decent, but still she gets those days where she just… She can’t talk. Or won’t. Maybe both. Sometimes both, yeah. And on some days she will, like, force herself. But I can tell when she does because she’s miserable about it and it sounds like hard labour and she’s always on the verge of tears about it. And… I don’t know, Eds, but you kinda look a lot like her now, and even if you don’t, which is fine, sorry for bringing that up, but even if you don’t have days like that, just know that you don’t always have to talk, yeah? One way or another, there’s not a price you have to pay in stories or running commentary just to be part of the group. You could never talk ever again and we’d still stick together, yeah? That’s what I meant. Sorry if that’s a jackass kinda thing to say.”

Steve hates how he’s always out there fumbling for words and can never get them to sound right. Especially now, when he needs Eddie to understand. He always needs Eddie to understand. It’s a bit of an urge lately. He just wants him to feel safe.

It’s more than four seconds now, and Steve stops counting at ten, acutely aware of the silence this time. He lets Eddie have his silence, though, leaves him room inside it.

“That’s not a jackass kinda thing to say, Steve Harrington,” Eddie says, and Steve swears he has never heard his voice in such a quiet, vulnerable tone. The quiet always helps El, too. Make all those words she can’t say a little less loud and imposing, make it all a little more okay. Not so scary.

“Good,” Steve whispers, and maybe that’s one step too far, but Eddie sags a little bit and for a moment Steve fears that he’s about to sway forward. Not that he wouldn’t catch Eddie.

“What do… How. Do you help El through it?” Small, vulnerable, confused, and Steve heart breaks a little for him.

“I do,” he says, equally quiet, smile on his face. “We always lie down somewhere because you only have to talk when you sit or stand, right? Lying down, no one can make you talk. So we lie down, she’s usually resting on top of me, and either I talk to her about, well… Anything, really. Or I shut up. Sometimes there’s music. Really, there’s many ways to get through it, but the main two things are lying down and not talking on her part, y’know?”

And the way Eddie looks at him makes Steve think that maybe they are friends, because you don’t let just anyone see you this vulnerable. You don’t look at just anyone with your big brown doe eyes like they’re opening a whole new world for you.

“Sounds great,” he croaks and that tension is back in his shoulders, so obvious that Steve wants to reach out and massage it away.

He smiles and searches Eddie’s eyes, absolutely sure of the situation now, and maybe having a cure for it. “Eddie Munson, would you like to go lie down and not talk for a while?”

Eddie stares at him as though he’s calculating the risk, as though he’s weighing his options. He could still tell Steve to go and he’d be out of here in a heartbeat if being alone is what Eddie really needs. But then he nods.

“I think maybe I do, yeah.”

“With El, I only ask her yes or no questions. You can just nod or shake your head. Okay? Don’t know if that works for you but, well, we can find out I guess. Yeah?”

Eddie nods, and Steve smiles. He goes to the kitchen area to grab the sandwiches he made earlier and then lands back right before Eddie, smile still in place.

“Not to be weird or anything, but I think this might work best on your bed. Is that okay for you? If that’s not okay, we can just lie down on the couch.”

Eddie looks back to his room, then back at Steve. He nods.

“Your bed?” Steve asks again just to make sure, and Eddie nods again.

And this is how they find themselves lying on Eddie’s bed, Eddie’s head resting on Steve’s chest. His fingers find their way into the metalhead’s locks at some point and Eddie purrs, which makes Steve laugh for a moment. He doesn’t take his hand away, though.

Steve doesn’t talk like he does with El sometimes. With Eddie, he just basks in the silence and lets the other boy soak up as much of it as he needs. There’s a smile on his lips the whole time, and he didn’t think he could smile so much around Eddie Munson, especially on one of his bad days.

But he does.

They even fall asleep like that, Eddie lying on top of Steve, cuddling into him. Steve lets him. Even the next morning when they’re both awake but not willing to break the silence yet even though Eddie looks much better already, he doesn’t make any moves to get away from Steve. He stays there, head on his chest as they both just bask in the moment.

Bask in the company.

Bask on the threshold of something just to the right of friendship. Something more.

[am-i-interrupting]

Imma just say this right now. This is a safe place for all kinds of kink. I don’t care what you’re into and you can send me all your kinky requests. Maybe your kink isn’t my kink but I will always respect you and never judge you for what you are interested in sexually.

[the-kr8tor]

Oh you guys are getting fed this Friday

[thebest-medicine]

Just a quick curiosity - do you accept gifts from followers?

Just a quick follow up to your curiosity with a curiosity of my own - what do you mean by gifts?

[navybrat817]

I wish you would write a fic where... Bucky and Steve are lifeguards 😎 (sorry, I'm a week away from beach vacation, I'm already living the dream lol)

Yes, please. 🥵 I would spend every single day at the beach if Bucky and Steve were the lifeguards. Is it a summer thing where they romance and wreck you? Or are they your brother's best friends? The ones he warned to stay away from you because you're his sister? So you spend the days flaunting your figure because you deserve to be admired? 😏

Love and thanks! ❤️

I wish you would write a fic where...

PS - Enjoy your vacation! ❤️

[bereft-of-frogs]

I wrote a longer and more overwrought version of this post when I was slightly drunker (yay distillery book club) but the shorter, more sober-clarity version is: it's so ridiculous that about 50% of my current fandom experience is based on things that are now 25 years old (thanks for the reminder, lucasfilm) and yet I'm terrified of being left behind because I 'can't move on' from something that is now barely 5 years old

you could probably attempt to make some sort of sweeping statement about this, like the lifespan of media now versus the early 00s, but what it's really about is my own issues with abandonment which is affecting both my ability to move on (I really struggle with the 'crew breaks up between installment thing', always have) and also the general fear of behind left behind, rather than any real trends in fandom as a whole

ok I think that's enough for superb owl sunday

[seoafin]

i havent felt so strongly about a fic until i read ripverse. it reminded me of why i love reading and memories of me staying up till the early hours of the morning just reading something so good and so worthwhile finding. thank u

crying in the club rn

[thermodynamic-comedian]

i have read quite a few excellent michael distortion fluff fics but i'm not satisfied. where is the helen fluff

[abyssalhuntersnerd]

Something might be coming your way soon. And it's not her.

[kakashiislut]

No one asked for this, but I’ve been thinking about this and me and @kioplama had some giggly chats about it. So hehe, hope you enjoy.

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Part 2 here!

Warnings: Mentions of Simons past, concussions, scars, blood, malnutrition, needles, and more. 

Authors Note: heyo! Maybe this will be a series, who knows!!!! Basically, Y/N is a underground nurse/doctor and she finds lil old Simon passed out in front of her house and she takes him in to care for him until he’s all happy and healthy.

Word Count: 1,096.

Part 1/?

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The Solider~ Ghost x FemNurse!Reader.

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“What the fuck is that” You mumbled, squinting your eyes to try and get a better look. Moving your curtain to the side, you stared at the massive black blob that laid almost 50 Ft away from your house. It wasn’t moving, but you could see the outline of a hand and maybe even a head.

Taking a step back, you reached into the entryway table and pulled out a Glock .19, pushing it into the back of your pants, you made your way out the front door.

You walked carefully to it.

It was indeed a body, a body that was unresponsive, but you could hear some mumbling. Using your nurse strength, you pulled the body onto its back and stared down at the odd mask and military clothing. “Sir, are you breathing?” You asked, trying to sound as professional as possible. “Sir! Can you hear my voice!” Leaning down, you could hear him say something.

“Roba? Is that your name? Sir, is your name Roba?”

Getting behind him, you hooked your arms underneath his armpits and began dragging him towards your back door.

—

“Oh My GAwd!” You let out a loud huff as the man’s body finally hit the hospital-like-bed you kept downstairs. “I never regretted having an entire hospital downstairs more than right now- ow! My back-“ You whined out, rubbing the sore spot on your lower back. Getting him downstairs….well…if he knew, it would probably break his pride.

If he had any left.

You got “scrubbed in” as fast as you could. Slipping on a pair of scrubs over your clothes, getting into some gloves and even putting a mask to your face.

You had everything. Of course you did, you’re a pretty famous underground nurse. You worked with petty criminals, politicians that needed embarrassing or private work done, even with poor people who couldn’t afford basic help. Though licensed as a nurse, your knowledge and expertise went as far as a doctor.

You took off the mask first.

“Wow…you’re..something” you mumbled, placing it to the side, your fingers searching for a wet wipe to clean his face a bit. Once clean, you checked for any sort of cuts or wounds.

The man had a crooked and bumpy nose, with a massive scar coming across of it. His eyebrows were brown and messy, with once again, another scar vertically cutting through it. His hair was dyed blonde and grown out, some of it covering his face. He had a Glasgow smile cutting up the right side of his face and his cheeks were sunken in.

Very obvious sign of malnourishment.

Peeling open his eye lids, you flashed a light and watched how they simply didn’t respond. His pupils seemed to be uneven and you heard the smallest groan slip out of his mouth.

Concussion? Seriously. Fuck.

“Roba? Can you hear me?” The man licked over his dry and cracked lips. “No.” He mumbled, “no? No What?”

The man went silent again.

—

It was bad. It really was. When you cut off the man’s shirt, his body was littered with unimaginable scars and wounds. His shoulders were burnt and messy. He had a hole between his ribs. What seemed like 100 gunshot and stab wounds. His body was also littered with many messy and faint tattoos. The most prominent and taken care of was the one that adorned his forearm.

Lucky for you, those were all scars and seemed to be in the man’s past. The bloody ones…weren’t any better. His skin almost seemed to be peeling, he had a branding on his pelvic bone that stuck out, and shards of glass and wood stuck into him.

His ribs were sunken in and his skin seemed to be almost purple and red. The man needed something in his system, STAT!

Infection. Infection. Infection Was all that ran through your mind as you hurried to grab a IV bag full of fluids. You searched his cubital fossa for a vein and when you got a good one; you injected him with the needle. Letting the bag drip its liquid gold into his system, you cut off his pants.

Not as bad. But his legs were skinny and taunt.

His wrist was also broken. It seemed cleanly broken though. Like someone purposely did it to inflict pain.

You’re not worried that he might be a horrible person, you really aren’t. You’ve worked with people in the mafia and so much worse. If this man deserved all this to happen to him…then who gives a shit!

—

“Finished!” You huffed, sitting down in your chair and breathing heavily. Working with a limp body was super difficult, you barely had control over it. You used over the counter Antibiotics for his infection and a “homemade” cast for his wrist.

To heal? He needs lots and lots of nourishment.

Sliding your wheely chair to the closet, you opened it up and searched for a pair of handcuffs. To be safe. Of course. You wheeled back and attached his good hand to the railing of the bed and a sense of comfortability washed over you.

The painkillers you injected into the IV bag will keep him asleep, make him a little drowsy, so he’ll for sure wake up screaming and thrashing, confused where he ended up at. While he had his beauty sleep, you searched his pants, vest, side bags and the broken down backpack he had on him. Messy and dirty clothes made up most of the bag and you made a mental note to wash them in your softest and best detergent.

He had a bag of essentials in the smaller pocket of the military backpack and you took them to the bathroom in the basement. He had no phone, just a loose watch that had a broken screen. His vest seemed to be missing something, like some sort of system was ripped out of it.

The man had no ID.

The man seemed to be no one. Like he didn’t exist.

Cleaning up the mess you made, you didn’t need to worry about weapons as the man had nothing on him. Maybe, he himself was the weapon. You left upstairs, locking the door on the bottom of the stairs, and then the door that led to the stairs. You washed his messy clothes and stitched up the ones that had tiny holes in them. You made a homemade tomato soup and kept it warm until he would wake up.

Before you left upstairs, you snapped a photo of his face. Your “friends” could help you.

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Heyo! Sorry for making this kinda short and maybe a bit fast paced, but I’m to excited thinking about their little interactions they’re gonna have in the next part! I hope you like it and leave some comments for any misspellings or ideas! My request box is also open ❤️