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nathandrakeisabottom · 3 months

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Imprisoned, Impressioned: Nathan Drake x Reader

Summary: As a Panamanian prison guard, you signed on the dotted line that you'd never take bribes, never bring prisoners off grounds, and never beat on/off inmates. But for one, you just might make an exception. So long as he stays in his cage. Notes: Explicit. Gender neutral reader. B0ndage, fem/male-dom, r*mming. Cause that's his bussy, folks, don't get it twisted. (Get it plunged.)

“God, you’re such a fucking brat.”

Nate snorts in a wavering smirk in reaction, stabilizing a cocky grin as best he possibly can.

But his best seems to be quickly deteriorating in quality.

“I distinctly remember telling you we’d only keep this up if you stayed out of trouble.” Your busy tongue shapes words around a threatening tone, fingers drifting mindlessly where you spread him open, but Nate’s quick to wiggle his hips— cute, and fucking irresistible— to coax you back in.

“Really? Because what you actually do kinda seems to imply the opposite.”

And he’s right.

You rove and search memory, only to find no occurrence where he wasn’t sporting a newly-earned bruise, a flinching face from a black eye, blood still speckled where his lip had been split from a particularly well-aimed punch. And he’s right. you only gave him this when he misbehaved.

Punishment, you convince yourself.

Comfort, your better mind argues.

Like a band-aid you administer, a kiss where it hurts. Maybe you only offered such a thing in the aftermath of cruelty. Defend from the bullies when he claims he needs no defense.

Even though he does.

“Do you mind taking these off? Wrists starting to ache a bit—”

And he sounds so earnest when he says it that you almost move, relinquish to give him what he asks for. But you’re no idiot. He may be cute— you won’t lie and say you don’t feel some sort of affection for him, no matter how tart and mistrustful— but you’re grounded enough in your conviction to know he always has an ulterior motive.

“Good. It’ll build some strength. You’ll want this position again. you can tell.”

You learned quickly not to play coy with Nathan. He liked blunt. He liked vulgar. He liked when you told him to shut up after a quip and called him ‘pretty boy’ with a sharp, teasing tone and forced him as deep as his legs could possibly go, ignoring when he’d grunt discomfortedly. He liked it when you called him out on his bullshit. He liked it when you knew what he wanted before he did.

And just like you expected it would, his cock jumps with an excited, anticipatory twitch. Of course he’ll want this again. He likes being held open. He likes being held down.

But before he can hop in with some sort of pathetic, half-hearted joke, you pry his legs wide and delve back inside. Tongue lapping pink and untethered between his thighs, where his hole puckers sweet, wet, and where he has no choice but to sigh in pleasure. you kiss him there like you’re kissing him— because we’ve never kissed before and frankly have no reason to— and this is a lovely consolation prize. He tastes tangy, stings of soap after-tasting between your lips because he always keeps himself nice and clean for you. You could only be so lucky to one day watch for yourself as he props one foot up on the shower bar, examines himself in the fogging mirror, razor in hand, and fantasizes about what you’d prefer, what you’d desire, what you’d want best against your tongue. What would make you bring him back sooner next time.

Maybe one day you can convince the Lieutenant to transfer your post to the male showers so you can watch for yourself.

“So good…” His groan rumbles deep and dark down his belly, breath desperate, gasping uneven at a pleasure soaked in only on barren grasses on the outer perimeter, where they forget to water it because no one ever, ever goes out that far. Your passion exists in secret, exists only in handcuffs and lies you hold better than any truth when you tell the other guards you’re only planning to rough him up a bit. When you feel like treating yourself, pushing past the boundaries of where your waning shyness crumbles, you allow your palm to brush past denim— old bloodstains aged to a grainy brown— to squeeze his naked chest between your claws. He’s fit, he’s young, he’s nimble, he’s beautiful. And whatever he’ll let you hold, whatever he’ll let you touch, you will.

Your tongue dips deeper, pushes past pucker with little resistance— you always wonder if he preps himself for you first, skin stinging freezing cold against the steel toilet bowl and leg hiked high over the toilet paper rack, how many cigarettes must he trade for olive oil, lotion, vaseline, fucking anything— and he croons sounds just as impassioned as his daily fist fights.

Fights you sometimes let go just a hair too long to enjoy the sounds he makes: pained and giving pain near identical. Though the pained ones have always been a personal favorite.

Again— he likes being held down.

And the wispy laugh that bubbles past his lips when the fight is finally broken up never suggests anything different.

This can never go on long enough for you— suspicion is born quickly in the likes of a Panamanian jail— so you always need to draw things to a close far, far sooner than you’d like. Your fingers reluctantly reach up to grasp his cock between them, stroke him just how you know he likes, be quick about it because he always either comes way too fast or takes just a little too long, and you always have to split the difference.

He groans delicious at your mercy, nails digging contradictorily merciless into the skin you long to taste, but never have the time to. One day you’ll leave him hard from foreplay and nothing else, abandon him aching and more desperate for next time. And next time, maybe you’ll make him eat you out. The image of his sweet, strikingly blue eyes gazing up at you from between your legs imprints in your weak-willed mind and steers the rhythm of your fist faster. How fucking adorable he is, how scrappy, how witty, how bratty, how you love the sounds he makes, how you love his skin pinching pink between your fingers, how the thought of one day marking him even deeper drives you wild.

Your tongue points, swallows, and savors for one final taste, before skating further along to foreign territories. And you distract him with quicker speeds, tightened grip, because you’re the same:

You always have an ulterior motive.

“Fuck—” His moans transcend into higher octaves, just like they do when he’s close, and his feet scramble for purchase, legs bending and stretching and flailing until you have to force them back up into position. Be good, babyboy. Stay where you want you. A gasp suddenly squeezes from his overworked lungs, a product likely of his precarious positioning, and there’s one second where you almost fear you’ll drop him. But your chest is quick to push forward and prop him back upright, keep him vertical, give him support until he comes in your arms. He breaks out into a wistful wisp of moan at the movement.

Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna want this position again.

And when he finally does come, you squeeze his thighs between your arms just before he can tip over— even though the sick satisfaction of a ruined orgasm, the sight of him falling hard and fast and unfair into the dirt below, always sounds like a fun idea on paper. Your own brand of cruelty is usually more playful than sadistic. But eh, watching him come uninterrupted isn’t so bad, either.

You drive your pace fast and consistent, and don’t stop even when you feel him coast languidly down your wrist. He always keeps bucking into your fist— hedonistic and somewhat masochistic— even when it must start to edge on the side of pain. Nate chases his pleasure because it’ll run out far too soon, it’s always far too soon, and something tells you he wants to impress. Prove to you a stamina that prolongs, even when you always deny his request to let him inside. Or maybe even a volume, to prove just how much he’s willing to give, how much his body will supply for your tongue to swallow up later— salty and warm and satisfactory because you earned it fair and square.

He comes a lot— but maybe he’s just trying to beat a personal record.

His final wail gives way to heaving pants, stomach tightening and relenting and tensing and back again, and his pleasure is so thorough that he drops limp in your hands. Little death, indeed. Nate dies in your arms as you gift him one last kiss there in a sweet finality, remind him of what he’ll receive in a couple days if you’re feeling nice, a couple weeks, a couple months if you’re feeling cruel. Taste him again because you love the thought of being inside him-– and the feeling of him around your tongue will be enough masturbation fodder to last you the better part of a week. Until next time. Until he gives you something even better to imagine.

“Woof…” Nate smiles doey-eyed and serene, and you can’t help the cocky, self-satisfied smirk that eases itself across your face. He looks fucking adorable— all blissed-out and rosy red and still slightly throbbing between your fingers with an overeager abandon.

Yeah… maybe you’ll be nicer this time around. Because you already know how violently you’re going to miss the sight of him like this.

“Crap, that felt so fucking good.”

Your teeth clamp teasingly into his thigh, flirty in a way you almost never allow, and he giggles. He fucking giggles. And you want to slap yourself for how quick your heart squeezes around such a delicious sound. you want to hold it longer. Wring it out of him faster. And against all reasoning, you want more of it.

But there’s no time. There’s no trust. You can never let on such a feeling.

This can only last so long as you keep control, so long as you keep distance.

But as soon as you lay his legs back to rest— he grunts when his body makes such an abrupt transfer of weight— Nate presses out into the unknown, and asks the only thing that would bridge the distance before you can push it back apart. Just as you finish lifting his slacks back up around his hips, zipping him closed (a common courtesy that may even be too tender by your standards), he sighs relieved and sweet before you can grapple him back to standing:

“...What? Not even a goodbye kiss?”

Oh god.

The freedom awarded by ecstasy has made him dumb. He has no idea what he’s even asking for. And for the fifteen additional seconds of bravery he has left, before his orgasm leaves him in a cold sweat and he begs you to not take him back, he’ll convince himself that this is a good idea.

He’ll convince himself that his joke is hilarious and he’s a better actor than he actually is. Because, even if you actively tried to ignore it, his wavering breath sticks out like a sore thumb. He can’t make the words sound natural, casual, suave in the way he must want them to. There’s something overzealous about it. And your stomach clenches at how your initial reaction to this isn’t repulsion.

But also, in the now ten seconds of bravery he has left, he’ll convince himself that a kiss will only make the sex better. That it won’t ruin it and he won’t mind the taste of himself on your tongue and the idea of adding feelings to the mix will be a good idea. Because, yes, oh my god, Nate, how fucking brilliant of you, yes, let’s add feelings to the mix. You know, I always thought prison bathrooms were so romantic. What a lovely getaway. Why not retire and raise kids in the handicapped stall while we’re at it?!

But his lips look so soft. Unbearably so. One corner is slightly chapped, skin peeling from a still-healing cut, and the instinct to kiss it better overwhelms, dizzy and sickening in just how badly you want to pursue it into reality. The idea of wanting him nauseates, terrifies. But the desire to give in, to taste for yourself the tantalizing beauty that always hovers just a little too far out of reach, is stronger.

When you two meet, it’s terrible and you hate it.

Because it’s fucking electric.

…

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

You break away before you can dwell on it, praying you’ve satisfied him enough to never ask again, but the residue stings clear across your lips.

It was good. It was a good kiss.

Nate’s eyes flutter back open just a second too late— and his lungs die on an inhale he must’ve thought he wouldn’t be privy to so soon. But the reaction is evident, etched along his face. It was a good kiss.

And he fucking noticed.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

His lips curl with a dazed sort of satisfaction, just in the way you feared they would. But his eyebrows jump, too, confusion just as much as pleasure, eyes reading you for something more. Clearly something has to be said, and you pray you're the one to say it first. ‘Okay, up and at ‘em.’ ‘Nice try, but never again.’ ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ ‘You’re a rat and you hate you, asswipe.’ ‘This can never, ever, ever happen again. And fuck you for even trying, Nathan Drake, if that even is your real name—’

But you’re too slow, and Nate’s chest rises in an abrupt inhale that signals he’s beat you to the punch.

Oh god. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything.

But he does. Of course, he does. Even with a sock in his mouth, rope, tape, palm, he’ll find some way to talk (and trust, every single one— and then some— has already been tried).

“...One more?”

You just didn’t think that was going to be his answer.

There is one moment of absolute terror. The split second of doubt on the deep end diving board. He must know this is a terrible idea. He has to know. There’s no way his orgasm was so good that he completely lost touch with reality. The silence stretches endless and icey. And you can tell the feeling is mutual.

But then, all of a sudden, his fallen face splits, smiles uplifting into something familiar. Cheeky. Safe.

“I’m just messing with you.”

And a laugh escapes before you can even register exactly what you’re feeling.

The feeling is relief.

Yeah, that’s it. Relief trickles in and cools your blood back down to sanity. Fucking asshole gave you a goddamn heart attack. You deliver him a curt punch to the shoulder to release the remaining tension, but he laughs it off as soon as it lands. And how sweet his laughter is only makes you want to punch him harder.

Little brat is much cuter with his mouth closed. And far, far away from yours.

You grab hold onto his handcuffs and wrestle him back to standing— a motion he leans into far more reluctantly than usual— his throat still fluttering with an excess giggle.

“Come on, champ, let’s get you back home. Nobody’s gonna be missing me, but they sure as hell are gonna be missing you.”

“Aww, don’t say that…”

His facetiously tender tone dribbles like slow caramel down your back as he twists his neck to face you, and he drops a bomb that almost makes you die at his feet.

“I know I will.”

…Fucking brat.

Yeah, you’ll make sure to bring him back sooner this time. Fucking definitely. Give him a spank or two for good measure. Let him kiss you again— and this time bite his lip til’ it bleeds. Give him a wound of your own. A mark of your own.

But then again, none of that would really be punishment for either of you, would it?

And just before you can shove him back into the courtyard, he tilts down to whisper in your ear:

“Please don’t make me wait so long next time… ma’am.”

Oh.

Oh god.

Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Nathan.

…

I won’t.

⭑⭑⭑

The metallic walls sting matte and clouded with a heavy steam, lungs thick and breath difficult. Lust and peace lie reclined in humidity. After a startlingly quick release down the shower drain, a simple purpose rather than a prolonged pleasure— he tries not to think too hard about why he always curses himself for finishing so soon, or what reasons he has to prefer saving such a deeper pleasure for later— Nate points his focus back to the basics. He never bothered with anything fancy. The money Sully wired them was only ever used for band-aids, Tylenol, and whatever shitty coffee the commissary kept stocked (“None of these rats are ever gonna catch me sleeping,” Sam would say with a suspicious side-eye), which meant nice shampoo was off the table. But suddenly Nate was rethinking it.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he started making sure he smelled good. Looked good, too.

…But for who?

A pestering question he always ignored the answer to.

He scrubs up his chest generously, barely even notices when he catches the tail end of a peeling scab, absent-minded and letting his thoughts run to nothing and nowhere. This was his only time of peace and solitude— why waste it with thinking? Why waste it when the next black eye, cut knee, broken rib was probably already outside waiting for him?

But as his hands drift downward, reaching to clean between his legs, he abruptly flinches.

…Huh.

That’s weird.

Now, Nate was no stranger to violent wounds he didn’t notice till later on— he could almost consider them a friendly confidant, a toxic sort of lover— but this one was especially disconcerting. A dull, tingling pain on his inner thigh. A strange place to not notice getting wounded.

He shakes his head and tries to ignore it— maybe he had just scratched himself during a particularly vivid nightmare— but when his palm moves low, he winces even harder.

…What the fuck?

It’s bigger than he thought. A lot bigger. And the ache is sharp enough to make him completely drop his soap when he touches it.

Okay, seriously, what the fuck?!

Nate abandons all motivation, turns tail out of the stall, and leaves his bar of soap to linger lonely on the shower floor. He has to know what’s going on. Allergic reaction? A sneak attack while he slept? Fucking STDS?

But when he reaches the bathroom mirror, levees his leg up to catch the culprit, his stomach drops.

And his cock twitches in unexpected interest.

Because there, stained across the inner side of his left thigh— drawn across his skin in lovingly littered hickies— is the unmistakable, pink-purple bruised shape of the first letter of your name. A brand. A claim.

A mark of your own.

“ ...Shit.”

⭑⭑⭑

#uncharted #nathan drake #nathan drake x reader #uncharted x reader #uncharted 4: a thief's end #Shea's B-Sides (HOLY SHIT is my 2 year old writing so different from my current)#(this is a year and a half old btw oops)#(im really excited for yall to one day see the new stuff <3)#shea speaks #original work #my stuff #anyway i love him your honor <3 but also i would smack the crap out of young nate #thus a fic was born!!#happy shea is posting again eve!!#have to censor tags now bc im scared

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luc1ferian · 5 days

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Hi I'm thinking about writing a h2g2 and gravity falls crossover fic. I saw your post awhile ago and I was wondering if you had any idea on how the two fords would interact.

Oooh this is a really good idea!

Hm, I haven't properly watched Gravity Falls in a while (I KNOW IM SORRY), but comparing their personalities from what i know they have a couple similarities and differences.

For first interactions I'm not entirely sure how or where, neither of them are naturally social but if someone were to start a conversation it would be Prefect, and once they realize they're both named Ford P. they'd hit off perfectly.

I think they'd love to go out for a small drink and talk about their outlooks on life, about space, their own traumas and relationships, about their research and studies with their respective books (Pines to the Journals, and Prefect to the Guide), and about their plans for future. This interaction could also be a lot funnier depending on the tone you wanted to take.

Ooooh they could also rant about their annoying family members (Zaphod and Stan)

They would also engage in an epic game of Dungeons & More Dungeons no doubt

#if you ever end up writing this fic please feel free to send me it when you're ready i would love to see it :)#okay okay im not sure if you were only planning for the fords to interact but a full crossover is immediately interesting me now #hmm maybe the HoG malfuctions with the improbability drive on and it crashes into the mystery shack immediately i think that would be silly #i'm really interested in bill and arthur interactions now as well. they barely have any similarities but it sounds really funny #oh wait they could relate to their world's being destroyed...even though bill's the one who destroyed his own world #i think the pines twins would immediately lose their marbles over ford and zaphod being *real life* aliens #ford prefect would give dipper his copy of the Guide that man would give a 6 year old a laser blaster this is tame for him lol #mabel would be super insane over the fact that zaphod has 2 heads and 3 arms and was also a president and zaphod would. not care #(i head canon he dislikes children)#i think a mabel and marvin interaction would be cool too #uber depressed and uber excited #i also need zaphod and stan relations yeahhhhh 2 greedy often self-absorbed criminals probably wanted across all 4 dimensions #i want to see trillian and arthur summon bill cipher by complete accident because they were bored and they are simply just Normal Guys #neither of them would be surprised to see a floating yellow triangle with a tophat. they've seen too much at this point this would be norma #someone needs to restrain me i've made too many tags #ANYWHO happy writing!! im sorry if i sound demanding you get to choose whatever you would like for your story i just got a little silly #i hope i answered your question enough #h2g2 #the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy #ford prefect #gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #ask #tumblr asks #lucifers gluttony #lucifers inferno

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plzandspanku · 6 months

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I accidentally started only the brave pray for me

#for the longest time I thought I already read this fic #because I got it mixed up with a different fic #and then today I was watching TikTok and I realized this is not what I thought it was #so I pulled it up to read it later and then I got my open tabs mixed up #and now I'm on chapter 4 and I'm very nervous for some reason because I don't really know what it's about #like I know it's semi canon compliant and I know it has a happy ending #but it's extremely long and takes place over the course of like two years #honestly if anyone wants to supply me with a spoiler filled plot synopsis under 300 words I would really appreciate it #the marauders #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #only the brave #starchaser #sunseeker #perry's pontification #plzandspanku wishes this was twitter

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daddyplasmius · 2 months

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this is let grief do its work, a fic (currently unedited rip) I started as a kind of sister fic to hand on my stupid heart, another fic I'd written earlier and uh. yeah. you guessed it. haven't finished. I'm working on this on the side, Flying Over the Pit of Death + its sister fic & my original novels being my main focuses right now. I will most likely continue lgdiw sometime in the future, it just isn't my main priority. Like all of my fics, this idea is free for anyone to take & run with. if/when I finish this fic, the edited version will go on ao3. For context: this is just a prologue of sorts, depicting vaguely what is happening on the human side of the Portal the month after the Accident. On Danny's side, he's been chillin' in the Ghost Zone, where he ended up after half-dying, believing he's fully dead (he's not) & only realized he's still alive after it was too late for him to tell everyone what happened cuz like, awkward & embarrassing lol. HOMSH takes place a year later, when things come to a head. I feel it's important to reiterate that, although Danny isn't actually dead, the characters think he is & act accordingly. okay author's infodump note complete, fic under a readmore

“when they first go, let yourself think every selfish, no-good, dirty, angry, filthy, horrible thought. let the waves of anger wash through you. let grief do its work.” ーCaitlyn Siehl; Grief Counseling

On the first day, Sam had thought that, maybe, Danny was just busyーtoo busy to answer their texts, and their calls, and everything else. But then Tucker called her. It was a horrible game of telephone at first. Danny’s parents told Jazz, who told Tucker, who told Sam, and that’s how the communication went for two days until she and Tuck had enough.

They went to FentonWorks, the big, ugly building on the corner of Mockingbird and Cedar, and were surprised to find no one home at all. Not even Jazz. And, for the first time since they’d known the Fentons, the doors were locked. And when they tried to talk to Jazz later, they would find that they’ve officially filed a police report.

ー

Danny Fenton is missing. The last time Sam talked to him she was making fun of him, for being too scared to go check out the Fentons’ new Ghost Portal. She knew he was freaked out by stuff like thatーby ghosts. Now she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see him again.

There’s just no way. He can’t be gone. She literally saw him on Saturday. His empty seat in homeroom on the first day of school is the thing that does it. There’s this gap in the desks where he should be, but he’s not. Like he’s already haunting her.

It makes her sick. Everythingーeverything in her head, everything she knows. Despite what Dash and his asshole friends say, Danny wouldn’t run away. And the longer a person is missing, the more likely it is that they’reー

Sam doesn’t wait for the bell. She leaves Tucker in homeroom, goes straight to the bathroom, and wipes her face down in the sink, water turning black. Suddenly, everything macabre, everything dark and creepyーit just disgusts her.

She goes home early. No one even says anything, not the school, not her parents, not Tucker. Alone in her room, Sam starts to shake. She sobs once, something seething just under her skin. She stalks over to the wall where most of her horror movie posters are taped and starts tearing them down, one by one.

ー

Danny Fenton has been missing for a week, and Tucker, staring at the sweater his best friend forgot at his house, laid across his computer chair, thinks he’s starting to feel it.

Opening his phone, he feels it again. Looking at his texts, he feels it again, and again, and again.

Saturday • 4:47 p.m. Danny Phantom: xD Danny Phantom: not playing tonight, ghost portal opening night 👻 Danny Phantom: can play tmrw tho Too Fine: hell ya txt u then Danny Phantom: 👍 Sunday • 10:20 a.m. Too Fine: yo still up 4 doomed Too Fine: dued Too Fine: dude* Too Fine: you there Sunday • 10:21 a.m. Too Fine: txt me when you wanna play Sunday • 11:58 a.m. Too Fine: you up?

Tucker lets his phone fall on his bed. He doesn’t bother checking in with Sam. She’s been out of school and ignoring him for the last three days. It’s almost been a week sinceー

He gets up and stumbles to his chair. He sits down, careful not to mess up Danny’s NASA hoodie. Tucker turns on his desktop, types in his password, checks his emails. He messes around for as long as he can before he literally cannot take it anymore. He just can’t ignore it.

God. His best friend is gone. Is he coming back? Is heー

It’s like something inside his chest cracks. Without thinking, he pulls the NASA hoodie into his lap, and then over his head. It’s been here too long. It still has that smell of ozone and copper on it, though.

Tucker leans back in his chair and stares at the wall.

ー

Danny was home. That’s the thing. The last time Jazz saw him, he was inside the house, and she never saw him leave. He must have, at some point. She has no idea why, or for what, but he must have. It’s the only rational explanation. Danny left. Something happened. He never came home.

She feels the panic rising, gripping her throat again. She puts the candle down on the bleachers. Wipes her face. Whoever is speaking to the crowd of students holding vigil is a mess of white noise in her ears. It doesn’t help. It should and it doesn’t. A lot of things are the opposite of what Jazz knowsーthought they are.

She almost wishes it had just happened at home, been a little less drawn out.

As soon as it pops into her head, she feels sick, disgusted at herself.

But no one goes missing this long and lives. A very small percentage do. And if it had been some accident in the lab, like she always feared would happen, at least they’d have a body to mourn. At least they would know.

ー

Sam’s parents pretend they aren’t happy. They have to look worried, grieving, because what would the neighbours think if they didn’t? She can see through it, unlike them. They always hated the Fentons. They always hated Danny. They always hated Sam’s fascination with the macabre.

Well. They got what they wanted.

It’s like he’s in everything. She isn’t even looking for him, and he’s still there, still everywhereー

Sam rubs her eyes on her sleeve before she can properly cry. There’s no body. He could still come back. A month is a lot, but he could stillーhe could show up. Someone could find him alive. He could be alive.

Her parents look at her from across the lavish, stupidly large, solid wood table. She should know what type of wood it is but it’s like the information is behind a fogbank. She can see the silhouette. She just can’t make it out. Mom places her cutlery down neatly, dabs her mouth with a cloth napkin, and clears her throat.

“Sammy-kins…” She starts, and the rage inside Sam bubbles up like lava bursting through rock. “There’s been… We…”

She looks to the side for help, from dad. He looks incredibly awkward for a moment before turning to Sam with an expression she hasn’t seen since grandpa died.

“Saman… Sam.” He says, simply, slowly, and the lava in Sam’s gut turns cold, and heavy. “They’ve found evidence that has given them reasons to believe that… your friend is gone.” He’s never spoken this softly. Ever. His voice is barely audible above the blood rushing in her ears. “They’ve called off the search.”

ー

Tucker didn’t expect nightmares. He wakes up and he panic-cries into his pillow and hopes to whatever god or deity is listening that ghosts in dreams aren’t real. He can’t explain the fear. Everything is incredibly normal, more normal than his dreams ever have been, and then Danny walks in.

He would give anything for this to happen, right now, in real life. He’s afraid, though. In his dreams, a sheer terror overcomes him. He can’t get away fast enough. He can still hear his own voice echoing in his head. “You’re dead! You’re dead!”

It’s a wrongness he can’t quite graspーor doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to be afraid of his best friend. Tucker wants him back so badly. But his brain knows the truth, even if Tuck is digging his heels in and refusing to budge.

Someone knocks on his door, and he tenses.

“Tucker, sweetie? It’s…” Mom takes a deep breath. “It’s time to go.”

He grits his teeth and shoves his face into his pillow so hard he can’t get air. He stays like this until he can’t. He gets up.

Tucker walks across the floor like a zombie, barely aware of what he’s even doing. He manages to put on the suit his mom put out for him yesterday, and goes downstairs. He refuses breakfast. The three of themーmom, dad, Tuckerーgo out to the car, and drive to his best friend’s funeral.

ー

Jazz stares at the closed casket. There’s a pair of police officers out of uniform, or maybe detectives, standing in the corner by the photo album laid out on a table looking haunted. Aunt Alicia, uncharacteristically wearing a plain, black dress, sits with mom and dad at the other side of the room. Jazz stares at the casket and she tries to imagine that it’s not empty. That it isn’t making her scream inside with the frustration of it all. Her baby brother is gone. They couldn’t even find him. And probably never will. Because that’s how these things end.

Tucker walks into the room. Dark bags circle his unfocused eyes. His parents are right behind him, his father’s hand on his shoulder. Tucker looks at the casket. He turns away, catching sight of Jazz, and when his parents break off to meet hers, Tucker walks over.

He picks at his sleeves. Says nothing. Jazz tries to pick at the grief counseling she knows she’s studied for fun, but finds herself falling short.

She doesn’t see Sam or Mr. and Mrs. Manson walk in, but suddenly they’re there as well, smiling tightly and giving their condolences to Jazz’s parents. Sam doesn’t walk over. She stands in a corner and stares at a wall with purpose.

Jazz breathes slowly, willing her heart to stop pounding. She counts the stages she can see in front of her.

Too much Acceptance, all from strangers who never even knew him personally. She glances at Dash Baxter, tugging on his tie and looking annoyed. She can feel Anger in her. But also Denial. Bargaining. Depression.

And somehow, Acceptance, too.

They’re not stages. She never really got that before. You feel them all at once, all the time, and they don’t go away. The intensity changes, turning from a background hum to bright bursts of emotion at any little reminder.

She looks at Tucker out of the corner of her eye. She wonders if he’s feeling that way too. Being bombarded by the stages of grief in a way no one prepared them for. Is this why mom and dad never let them get any pets? Besides Danny’s gerbil, which promptly disappeared before she could even get used to the rodent’s smell. What happened to it? Was it rehomed, or is its body still somewhere around the house, unfound, unlooked for?

The stages start over, skipping between Depression, Anger, Denial, the emotions falling over themselves. She wished the cops would leave.

Not soon enough, it’s over. The funeral home employees usher them out, the rooms and halls now empty. The drive home is simultaneously the longest and shortest ever. She stares up at the brick and all she wants to do is sleep. She heads inside intending to do just that.

She takes her shoes off at the door. Mom and dad take off their jacks and move to settle in the living room. Mom is holding a tissue to her eye. Jazz hesitates for just a moment.

Should she do something? She feels like she should do something, anything. She wants to suggest therapy. She’s afraid to open her mouth, though. Jazz can feel the blame on the back of her tongue, ready to spill out. That would be the worst thing for her to do, and she doesn’t know if she has the strength to hold it back, because for fucks sake, if they just watched their children, this wouldn’t have happened.

Jazz turns to the stairs and starts climbing them. She doesn’t get halfway before she’s blinded by drywall dust and knocked off her feet.

#Danny Phantom #Let Grief Do Its Work #i'm surprised the format stayed. i literally just copy pasted the whole thing #me remembering The Gerbil: ohoho yes i can use this for evil purposes #btw this series (extended HOMSH universe) is like. supposed to be funny #but i also was literally so depressed at the time it ended up hella depressing. i don't like. remember anything from that year #HOMSH was a vent fic & then i promptly forgot it existed til i rediscovered it like 4 months later just after the 1st anniversary of. yeah.#i literally have no memory of writing it at all. it was literally like reading someone else's work #i vaguely remember figuring out the panic attack chapter but that's literally it #every time i reread it it's like. an all night affair. i put on Implode Alright by Built by Snow & read it til dawn #& it's funny. but also it's like. yeah. that's uh. that's where my mind was. & it's the only proof i have that i was even alive that year #dont worry i was pulled out of my severe depressive episode a year later when a kitten ran out of the woods & attacked me & stole my hotdog #i still have that half feral kitten. he's a lot bigger now & much more of a baby (only with me apparently though)#he even lets me pick him up without severely injuring me #i should just post HOMSH actually. it's unfinished but like. maybe that'll make me want to #posted this & then immediately got hit with the fanfic author's curse. uh. all my shit might get postponed

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fezwearingjellybananas · 5 months

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RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence

Tagged by @alittleflashvibe thank you! I am very excited to read your fic from that sentence. I haven't done mountains and mountains of writing for the past few days (having a break after somehow managing to get those other fics done), but I have finally had an idea for the Wally Fic! Still a little bit between what I have and the part I've just written, but I am having Ideas so here's a sentence:

“Time is a gift,” Henry said.

Tagging @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @shrinkthisviolet @angst-is-love-angst-is-life @kitkatt0430 @ftl-faster-than-life @simpledontmeanpeachy if you'd like?

#of course this is because i actually sat down to write the flashvibe ghost au but i have made inchings of progress on both now which is good #i think i actually could do a chapter break here then just skip forward in time that should work #i'll get my laptop and stick s2 on tomorrow that should get it moving #debating singing it up to the wip big bang but i'm not that optimistic yet and their rules strongly encouraging having a beta #so i guess if anyone would be willing i'd hugely appreciate it but i don't know if i'll sign it up yet or not #sign ups go till the end of may so i'll think it over some more #one day of having ideas does not mean i can whack out the fic that's been a wip for like 4 years in a few months #and i might open my laptop tomorrow and go back to the flashvibe ghost au i just got to the part cisco finds out he's talking to a ghost #anyway #replies #wip #*

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sysig · 7 months

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Finally made it through (Patreon)

#Doodles #Here it is! Finally transitioning into 2024 doodles! Heck!!#A small handful to bid the year goodbye #Starting with trying to doodled something and it not going to plan so nevermind lol #Sucks too 'cause it was one of those shower thoughts that I got Really excited about and then every step ended up getting frustrated #Wanted to make a cover of a song and then the song had no instrumental-only version :/#Okay well the concept was meant to be a fem cover of non-human characters - I'll draw up what I think they'd look like! No #Designs were underwhelming and looked weird :// So I gave up lol #Maybe another day! But not this day not when I keep being stopped lol #Only Christmas! Yes I wore the ribbons it's an important tradition and also I like cute in them #Ma got me some fine-tip markers so I had to test them haha - they scan a bit dark so I don't think I'd use them for scanned doodles #That purple is pretty tho I do like it #Was really excited about the gold but nahh oh well I still appreciate them haha #Oh and the tests were on my latest Blank Slate scratch page haha #I've set it down again for the moment but Ch. 4 is probably about 70% done! :)#Had a lot of fun moving pieces around hehe ♪ To no one's surprise Scriabin has painted himself into a corner #Might have a mini project/side project planned around Blank Slate at some point hmmm #Other than the fic itself haha #And finally seeing out the year - it's been over for a while now!#Always feels funny to approach it's end and ring in the new

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ssreeder · 7 months

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hi, I don't use tumblr often, but i when i do, i always check your account to check if you posted something. LIAB is amazing. i truly have no words. i have read a LOT of fanfics from very different fandoms and i can confidently say that Leaving It All Behind is the best one i have ever read. the world you've built around the main characters is so deep, and realistic. even though benders are not real, it feels like i'm reading about true events. you describe the horrors of war and trauma so well. i'm actually very, very impressed. i happen to be a person that suffers from ptsd and other mental illnesses and and the way you portray traumatized characters is very realistic. i know you always say that the main characters' recovery is unrealistically fast, but don't worry about that. the way you describe zuko and sokka's feelings is perfect. their recovery doesn't seem rushed. it just looks like they're adapting and learning how to deal with it fast (we have to remember that the war is still very much happening and sadly they don't have a lot of time to deal with everything that happened to them). i'm so grateful i found your work. it's truly amazing, i hope you won't give up on writing when you finish the LIAB trilogy. have a good day/night

AWWWW OMG THANK YOU <3

seriously this was so kind I’m still in shock. I’m so happy you think the healing arc is realistic because I try to balance the stories pace with the characters struggles and emotions (some of them make it DIFFICULT haha) but I’m always worried it doesn’t translate well.

I have a lot of fun writing LIAB & I’m really glad you like it so much. I hope I continue to make you proud & thank you so much for this amazing ask you made my day <3

#This is so validating you have no idea ahhhh #I have read so many fics where the chatacter (zuko lol) has gone through extreme trauma or torture and he gets rescued or escapes #& then it’s like after a quick patch up job he is essentially back to normal #Which… no. lol. I can’t do it!#Trauma follows a person whether they like it or not & everyone copes differently to it #So even with zuko and sokka going through so much they’ll both handle their trauma completely different #I try to show that lol so I’m glad you like it #I am totally worried about the upcoming battle though #Cause shits about to get really rough #But we are in a fun arc right now (as fun as liab can be it’s a fic about children fighting a war so idk… I’d say 25% fun 75% angst)#So we have a few more fun chapters idk 4/5 and then we are on the home stretch #Idk what I’ll do when it’s over this has been so much fun and I’m so sad it’ll come to an end this year #But thanks again for this amazing ask #Its comments and asks like this that pets the head and makes me feel like a good author lol #Gets me fired up to finish the fic!#Wohoooo thank you !!!#Deansnoodle #Zukka #liab #ITF #RIA #ask #Leaving it all behind

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theflyingfeeling · 9 months

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fic talk in the tags 💝

#aaaaaaaa i have only 4 stores left to write for the advent calendar and then i'm done?! 😭#i can't believe it guys i might actually be able to pull this off 👀#i've literally just winged it day after day with minimal planning #and i haven't even had a breakdown once? gonna knock on wood here real quick lol #i've had so much fun writing all these little stories too 🥺 and i'm fairly satisfied with them as well! yes!! me!! my biggest critic!!#i'm not gonna be writing anything for a while after i get these last ones done though lol i've written SO MUCH during these past weeks #however i did write down a short piece of dialogue in finnish the other day 👀#like. literally 11 words and idk if i'm ever gonna write more but those words just...came to me so i had to write them down somewhere #(it has been peer-reviewed as 'perfect' (thanks eetu <3) and you can totally slide in my DMs if you're curious)#and the college/uni au i've been playing with practically all autumn is something i definitely want to give a try #(so far i only have some random notes and moodboards 😅)#but whatever i'll end up writing i'll do it because i want to and that's what's important 🤍#thank you so much everyone who has been reading these stories or any of my fics this year #i really am not expecting anyone to read my stories and i'm happy if even just one person does 🥺#okay sappy talk over now back to writing byeeeeee #*stories

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olde-scratch · 2 years

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saiki k tokyo ghoul au bc of that one post comparing nishiki and kuniharu by @herdecisions (i havent read tg in years idc if i get anything wrong)

- possibility of kuniharu and nishiki being the same person OR twin brothers

- if theyre the same person kurumi is the gf whatever her name was, if theyre not then theyre not (idc if she died canonically she can be alive if i wantbyer to be)

- kuniharu is a ghoul and kurumi is human but threatening as fuck (kuniharu is either a weak bitch ghoul or hes soft for her)

- kuusuke was born a one eye. saiki was too but that pales in comparison to the fact that hes still psychic (dont ask why hes psychic its saiki ofc hes psychic)

- the govnt baby kusuo destroyed was the ccg, but he mightve given his family a different last name before that as witness protection, or after to avoid the govnt coming after them

- the grandparents are human bc theyre on kurumis side, know but dont care abt kuniharu being a ghoul (well grandpa does but he doesnt like kuniharu anyways)

- kusuo probably ended the stigma around ghouls and developed safe alternatives for them to eat OR he made it so ghouls can just eat normal food

- angstier idea is that he didnt and his familys still in hiding, but tbh anything to make his life easier yk

#ending it here bc i wanna see if anyone else wants to add anything #cmon follow ex angtsy 13 yos who looked up 'goriest anime ever list' and watched tokyo ghoul dont fail me now #i dont remember anything abt tg even tho im literally still writing another crossover fic thats been going on for 3 almost 4 years now #saiki k #saiki kusuo #saiki no psi nan #the disasterous life of saiki k #might write a fic on this if it gets enough traction (please say it wont /j)#formatted it like this to mimic all the cool kids with their own aus #sorry my brain only works in crossovers :( i apologize deeply that my first major contribution is this #also sorry for the tag i realized after posting that i should probablt credit u for this

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parvuls · 1 year

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okay wait I'm writing an actual post so I can start handling all these emotions

#in the tags #because I am extremely aware of the privilege involved in buying extra content and even getting it shipped so fast #if seeing madison/kickstarter talk bothers you feel free to ignore this post! it'll likely be my last one on the subject.#but the thing is: three and something years ago I was deeply depressed and confined to my house because of covid #I hadn't been active in any fandoms in 3-4 years at that point and I started to think I'd never feel this passionate again #and then I read omgcp in a fit of insomnia one night #and then waited with baited breath for the last episode to go up so I could write a completley canon compliant madison fic #I spent six months obsessively writing it.#it was my first long fic in 5-6 years and working on it honestly - genuinely - dragged me out of that bad place.#when I posted it I knew one day it'd be jossed by canon madison but I was so okay with it. I couldn't WAIT #and tbh I thought it'd happen much sooner than it did #but now we're finally here and it weirdly feels like a big moment for me #like a: look where we were and where we're at now kind of moment. like a: end of an era kind of moment.#by no means the end of my omgcp era #but I think a part of me just felt unfinished as long as this moment was still unfulfilled #anyway. if you were here when I was completely new to this fandom and just started talking about that 2015 summer nonstop #just know you were a major part of my mental health journey during covid and that I appreciate it so fucking much #rip madison fixation 👋 you've served me well #text

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astersatdawn · 2 years

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Brimstone and Emerald Dreams

Relationship: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All for One

Rating: T

Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Hisashi, Bad ending, Possessive Sensei | All for One, Izuku in Tartarus

Oneshot | 1.6k words

But he did make it to his destination, eventually, and with the right combination of Quirks the locks on the door broke away and let him pass through.

And there he was.

If All for One had been anyone else, he might have paused to check if he was really asleep. On his cot, Izuku sat, chained from head to toe, slumped over, his back to the wall. Search told him he was asleep, and even without the Quirk, All for One would know. All for One had seen Izuku fall asleep sitting before.

[Or, with his victory assured, All for One traveled to Tartarus to collect his prize.]

ao3 link: here

This was written for the bad ending event hosted by @mamashenanigans and @possiblycringe

Tonight, Tartarus was quiet.

It was not unusual for Tartarus, be it the old or new building, to be silent. The prison was rigid in how both its guards and prisoners were meant to act, each step and breath to match another tick of a clock on a never changing schedule. Sound inevitably became a forgotten thing when it fell into the background, not even worth acknowledging.

What made this silence different, however, was how it felt more like All for One was walking into a freshly abandoned ruin than a high security prison. It was only obvious to someone like him who was coming from the outside in, for it let him see the pitiful attempt to mask the silence. Janitors dressed as guards wandered the halls, but cowered at any shadow that crossed their path; blinking cameras moved at regular intervals, recording every act like a reprimand was imminent, even though it no longer was.

All for One knew that, for the first few hours, this illusion of that well maintained routine would hold out. All who dared hope for goodness and justice could pretend to breathe easy, that Tartarus would stay in its timeless bubble, ignorant to the reality just a few miles away, where all members of law enforcement were drafted into the climax of the war, to deal with the unquenchable chaos that had been plaguing the streets for hours now, and still had no end in sight.

Truly, all this was for a futile yet desperate effort to keep the worst of the villains they’ve managed to catch out of the field for as long as possible. The destruction All for One and his minions had brought to Japan alone already sent the country to its knees, begging for reprieve, and once the prisoners here began their unnecessary riot and realized they could make another escape, Japan would truly know no salvation.

Not that they stood a chance before that fatal moment, but dreams were always best crushed slowly yet thoroughly.

That is all to say, this was the bare minimum, and if the old Tartarus was not enough to keep him in, it was no wonder this one fell to his whims so easily, now that the world was setting itself firmly in his grasp.

How far hell had fallen, but even hell must bow before its king.

Even the halls attempted to delude his path, a futile resistance to the last, all long and winding, containing hundreds of matching doors unable to act as a guide to his destination. Not like All for One needed one, not with Search. He knew exactly where to go, could see the bright glow a few levels down even with his eyes closed.

He could travel down there faster if he really wanted to. Taking his time through the hallways left him impatient, but the child he wished to visit was asleep, just as All for One hoped he would be. An explosive entrance would put the boy on guard, and that would make the night far more difficult than it needed to be.

But he did make it to his destination, eventually, and with the right combination of Quirks the locks on the door broke away and let him pass through.

And there he was.

Most often, it would have been at the boy’s desk, drool spilling out from his lips and falling onto his sleeves, barely missing the analysis journal he’d likely have beneath his pillowed arms. He could tell at a glance the boy's dreams were more pleasant than his school days, dreaming up Quirks and heroes. Sometimes, when Inko had been there to catch the end of Izuku’s late night research sessions, she’d quietly fret about, worried about waking him up, but also wanting to make sure he slept comfortably in his bed. As the ever reliable Hisashi, he would offer her reassurance, slip next to Izuku, and a hand on his shoulder was all that was needed to make sure Izuku stayed asleep as he pulled him into his arms and tucked him into bed.

Many times, All for One had considered keeping Izuku asleep for eternity. As a boy, he’d always found more peace in dreams and delusion. Being trapped in his dreams meant his son couldn’t pursue a reckless dream and die a martyr like his brother had done. But keeping his son asleep meant Izuku’s happiness would not be dependent on All for One, but instead on whatever paradise he found in unconsciousness. He would never see his son’s smile, or hear his voice or his laugh—dreams would reduce them all to useless mush. The boy would not be his if dreams kept him away.

In hindsight, maybe letting him sleep for a few years would’ve been the better alternative, if it meant the boy would not obtain One for All. That Quirk made those childhood dreams obtainable, or it had, until the moment they had been snatched away and brought him to this defenseless place. The almost achievement meant that one false step and the boy would’ve been lost again, and just like his brother, it would be to somewhere he could not yet reach him. The only worth in his son obtaining that Quirk was letting his son learn his lessons the hard way.

Tonight, the boy’s dreams were quiet, but not pleasant. Nightmares likely caused by those very delusions he’d long since harbored, All for One’s certain, with the way his brow scrunched and sweat slowly built on his forehead, likely only moments before the nightmare’s climax. In the past, All for One would have waited it out to see if the boy would run into his arms and cling to his father, afraid that if he let go the nightmares would drag him back.

This time, however, like he had done on those nights he slept away from his bed, he reached out and cast Izuku into a deeper slumber. Dreamless or not, it didn’t matter, if it meant the two of them could have a moment of peace. The only sign there had been a change at all was the way the boy’s shoulders relaxed.

He did not pull away his hand. Instead, he ran his fingers through Izuku’s hair, longer and more tangled than it had been when All for One last saw him. He would have to change that later. In the meantime, All for One sat next to the boy and gently brought the boy’s head down onto his lap.

“Now isn’t this familiar?” All for One mused, no longer concerned he’d accidentally wake the child. Inko hadn’t realized it when he was around, but Izuku was a lighter sleeper than she gave him credit for. It’d been convenient to figure that out when the boy was five rather than fifteen. The boy’s breath evened out. “Did you truly think you’d ever know peace without me?”

As if in response, his facial muscles scrunched, then relaxed.

“Your father’s back to chase all the nightmares away.” Another stroke through his curls, a tangle caught and smoothed away. “No thanks to that man you call a mentor, we’ve been kept apart for far too long. But that changes tonight. I believe you and I will both agree that’s for the best. I know you’ve hated your time here. It’s a shame I couldn’t come sooner, but I had something to finish first. You understand, don’t you, Izuku?”

The boy’s nose wrinkled.

Truly, All for One would not mind staying here a while. Even though his memories of this place were not fond, there was a charm in the creation of such a warm memory in a place that had tormented both him and his son. An irony in how these walls were meant to bind and separate them, but instead brought them together again. If society had not betrayed his son as it had he didn’t think such a task would have been as easy. Izuku was far too much like his brother, always willing to fight for others, even those who hurt him. Had that society not clipped the boy’s wings, even with the ongoing chaos, taking his son back would have taken more effort, nor would it have been a guarantee.

Yet here, the boy slept on, oblivious to the distant smell of smoke and iron. Sleep would keep him away, and when All for One let him wake, he would make sure the boy only found the ashes. Maneuvering those who had no hope had always been easier. He’s certain his son would be the same.

All for One did not entirely care how much time had passed, content with the sight of his son in his arms after years of distance. Yet, when he heard something rattle in discontent with his enhanced hearing, the earliest sign of the inevitable riot, All for One knew it had been long enough.

“It’s time to go home, Izuku.” He lifted Izuku up, arm under knees and Izuku’s head fell against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “We’ve kept your mother waiting long enough.”

And as he came, so too, did All for One leave unimpeded, but with the very prize he came to collect.

Outside, the world burned as its king ordained, and in the king’s arms, his child slept on in peace.

#mha #bnha #AFO bad ending event #dad for one #fic #my fic #i never write proper bad endings this seemed like a fun chance to try it #hope i did this right xD #astersatdawnfics #can't believe i'm posting 3 fics this week tho lol #the timing just worked out this way #i'd say watch as i don't post for a year now #but i am actually planning to semi-regularly update my long fic #aka it's getting an update next week so #i guess the weird reality is i'm posting 4 times in one month? lol #dreams that are(n't) mine au

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lover-of-mine · 9 months

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Re: the timeline - I think everything pre-season 4 is supposed to be counted as "present day" (at the time of airing), so 3x18 should be (roughly) taking place in spring 2020 (sans pandemic) and then, yea things get a little weird after that with the beginning of S4 being set in Sept 2020, but airing in Jan 2021. But I think you can solidly consider everything pre-season 4 to take place similarly along the date it aired.

I remember there being some timeline confusion this season in 6x11 (March 2023) when Bobby tells the hospital staff that Buck is a 30 y/o male. Which, if each season is roughly set against the time it's airing, I think is hard to figure when Maddie says Buck is 28 in 3x01 (Sept 2019).

But I do think the writers screw up their own timelines sometimes - ex: I think Buck should have been 31 if not 32 in 6x11, I also don't think Eddie and Buck are meant to be the same age even though the glimpse of Shannon's headstone in S6 would indicate they are closer in age than what's been implied in several previous eps/seasons. So, TLDR; Idk if the writers/producers keep as close of a watch on little timeline details as we do to know when they're contradicting themselves lol.

Yeah, I think s4 screwed up their time line plans and they kinda said fuck it by season 6 because to give us a definitive date for Shannon's birthday and death really messes with things there, they put a definitive date on the s2 finale, they defined Eddie's age, when they haven't really defined it for anyone except for the occasional mention to Buck's age and the general Bobby is in his 50s along with Athena. And like, Buck being 28 before the tsunami, 29 when he finds out about Daniel and 30 by the lightning really compresses the timeline there, even if we assume he had just turned 28 in s3 and is about to turn 31 during the lightning (which doesn't make a lot of sense in regards of when Buck's birthday would be, not that I actually think they have a set birthday for any of the characters) that's still a lot things happening in the middle, because there's also Jee being born, so if they really pushed s3 back, like, how old is Jee supposed to be at the end of season 6? Because she's walking and toddler talking by the end of 6a, so she has to be close to 2 around there? With her being born end 2020/beginning 2021, it has to be 2023, but Maddie left a few months after she was born and she was way for 6 months, so Jee is pushing 1 by the time Boston happens, which kinda adds up considering the time jumps that are established around the shooting, but also with Buck being 29 while Maddie is pregnant, how can he still be 30 and Jee be almost 2? And there's also the way another whole baby is created and born during 6b. Because eve. considering the way the baby is born early, it has to be what? 8 months from cursed to the finale? The more I think about the more knots are created in my brain.

And even more so considering the injuries at the bridge and the way the season ends with Chim coming back and Eddie already there, when the recovery time for broken ribs is close to 2 months in real world but maybe not in 911 world because Lena broke her ribs during the tsunami but she's perfectly fine the next episode. So, like, what's the truth?

I feel like the whole time line I created is around Buck's age and I'm starting to believe Buck may need to be even younger than we assume, because if he's 26 in s1, 28 in s3 and he's still just 30 in s6, the math stops mathing somewhere along s5. Because, like, either things are happening real quick during 5b or the time line is just wrong. But I agree, I don't think they've been all that careful with the dates there, and they didn't think about the implications of giving us the Shannon related dates.

#imma be honest this whole thing started in my head while i tried to figure out I can say Chris is about to turn 13 in a fic lol #and eddie said the tsunami was less than 3 years before 6a #so he would've turned 12 at some point in 6b?#so making him 13 would push the fic too far into the future lol #and also i was trying to figure how long after the tsunami was the shooting #because since the tsunami is the beginning of s3 and the shooting is the end of season 4 #and again theres the whole Jee being created and born #i kinda slapped a 2 years between them and called it a day #but now im questioning things kspakapakapaka #i am legit giving myself a headache #so im gonna stop questioning and accept they dont know so i dont know either lol #but thank you #911 #i really need a tag for asks #anon 😌

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