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nocturnesmoon · 1 year ago

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Safety Nets

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x GN!Reader Wordcount: 6k Tags: Polyamory, established relationship, Hurt/comfort, a LOT of comfort, the guys take care of you, that's the fic CW/TW: Military inaccuracies? canon typical violence, insecurities, heavy self doubt and self blame, minor character death, A/N: This is probably inaccurate mission and military wise but idc i wanted to write something like this for so long- though i am open to constructive criticism if you got some notes. (Read on Ao3)

-You come back from a mission that shook you to your core, the boys help you back on your feet as they always do-

The wind raged like a storm in your ears, despite the heavy earmuffs which sat too tight on your head, you could hear it clearly. When you closed your eyes, you could imagine it being a hurricane, a wind so strong it would scoop you up and carry you to who knows where. One that would tear you apart and leave no remnants of who you were.

The thought seemed nice, to be taken away and to never return. To be freed from not having to face your own failures in the disappointed stares, that awaited down on the rapidly approaching platform. Your body rocked with every little swerve of the helicopter, no longer having the strength to go against the motion.

"Lieutenant?" Your head snapped up to the soldier in front of you. You ignored the crack in your neck and the ache that pooled into your muscles. He'd been calling on you a few times now, his concerned eyes searching your face for an answer. "We're about to land sir," the soldier let you know, you couldn't muster up a verbal response, only a nod to acknowledge you'd heard.

Ever since they had picked you up on the site, they had that look of pity. It made you squirm, feeling all too self-aware of the way your clothes were caked in mud and blood. Your bones hurt, and your joints felt like snapping in half. You had spent the majority of the mission running, believing that you wouldn't make it out. You had fled, and you had left them behind.

The size of the heli was too big for just you, the soldier, and the pilot in the front. The space felt like caging you in, reminding you of your failure, of who you had lost. Your eyes threatened to shut, the exhaustion whispering in your ear that it would all feel a little better if you let yourself drift away into sleep.

Except every time your eyes slipped closed it wasn't darkness you saw, it was their screams, their blood, and their gore. The cracks you heard when one of the bullets pierced someone's skull echoed in your ears, as if you were still down there on the battlefield.

You were pulled back into your own head, your mind running laps to go through the mission once more. Every single second accounted for so you could dissect your failure. How each one of them had fallen, one by one they dropped like they were nothing. How you had ran with what was left of your team, until one got caught in a bear trap and pulled under falling debris, and the other was shot in the stomach.

You had hoped your head would fill with fog, that it would help you forget and suppress the last few moments of that soldier’s life. His name had been Jacob, his callsign Wisp, he had been difficult to deal with but his progress under your guidance had been noticeable. You hated how it was only now you could remember every little thing about him. Before you didn't care, you did your job in training him, guiding him, but you never made an effort to know him. You wished your brain would stop remembering every little thing now, making you feel all the more guilty.

You wished your brain would do that thing it's supposed to do, block out the traumatic memories so you didn't have to deal with them. Yet they were there still so fresh in your mind, like an open wound, his last words repeated over and over in your mind. You'd think someone's last words would be scared, or sentimental or a sweet last wish. Not his, no he decided his last wish was to let you know just how much you had failed them all.

Over and over again you replayed that memory, how his blood had mixed with the dirt and gravel under you both. You remember how his hand had clutched onto your arm, digging his nails through your sleeve and into your skin. He had pulled you down with him in his final moments, uttered those words into your ear with so much disdain the tone would have rocked your core on its own.

"This is your fault, you led us here."

There was more to his words, you were sure there was but maybe your brain was doing part of its job now. You could only cling to every part of the memory you could before it slipped away into the fog. It was only when someone gently nudged you that you snapped out of your own mind once more. "Sir?" your body went rigid at the touch and the voice, and you fought the distinct urge to disarm the person that was in front of you.

It was the same soldier that had been with you ever since they found you. He had been careful around you ever since he saw the casualties, walking on eggshells around you as if you were a loose cannon, maybe you were. "Sir?" he repeated, being a little more patient now that he had your attention, "We're here."

You felt your stomach drop, nodding slowly and glancing towards the opening doors, the platform outside. You could already glimpse at the two people that were waiting for you, they had probably been on edge for days. It only made you more guilty how you must have worried them, ever since your call for immediate evac. You weren't even sure you could reassure them once you got down there, you weren't sure you wouldn't just collapse to your knees the moment you were within their vicinity.

"Do you need help Lieutenant?" the soldier in front of you hadn't moved, it surprised you slightly, having been sure he would be just as eager to get off and way from your stench of death. For a moment you want to say yes, tell them to get someone to carry you, because your knees would give out the moment you went to stand, but how would that look for you. A new promising Lieutenant, the first op you led after you got your new rank and it turned out like this.

You didn't dare look up at the soldier, too afraid that your own eyes would give you away. You considered for a moment, to tell the soldier to go get the only two people who would know what to do. The only two people you would trust enough to become vulnerable with. "No..." your voice barely comes through, but he seems to register it, his legs moving quickly to get down on the platform. It was time to face them.

It had been a long few days ever since you said goodbye to the two of them. 72 hours since you had left on the plane with the promise of being back sometime the next day. 24 since Johnny had started complaining about your absence. 6 since Simon had been alerted of the fact you had called for immediate evac, that the supposedly simple mission had gone wrong in every way possible.

He hadn't relayed all the grueling details to Johnny, just that the op had gone wrong and that you might come back a little rattled. Simon wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong either, he just knew there was casualties, and the team wasn't coming back in one piece. The scot next to him was restless, practically jumping in place from anxiety, watching intently as the heli descended and the doors opened.

Simon kept one step in front of him, knowing the man all too well, and even though his eagerness is shared within Simon's own veins, he knows that you might not be in a state that could positively receive that. He knew the both of you inside and out, the years he had spent with both you and Johnny allowed him to know you in ways he didn't think possible.

He was quick to find out exactly what made you both tick, what set you off, what made you happy and what would comfort you. He didn't like the uncertainty; it was a rocky start when he was still mapping out your emotions. By now you all knew each other well, like three puzzle pieces that fit together, you had found each other and filled out the holes in each other’s lives. Certainty was assured when he was with either of you because you both knew he needed it.

This was new, this was an uncertainty he didn't like. He had no idea what you would be like when you came down to the platform, down into their arms once again. Not to mention the fact you and nobody else had come out yet only churned that unsettling anxiety in his stomach further.

"L.T?" the sound of Johnny's accent filled his ears, his shoulders managing to relax just a little. He wasn't alone in this, he reminded himself, Johnny would be here to figure out how to help you as well. Johnny's pinky curled around Simon's, his urge to pull them both away from the public area would have overpowered if it wasn't for the fact, they were waiting for you.

The pilot had gotten out almost as soon as they landed, but you were still nowhere. He could just peak inside, trying to look for you or anyone else he would recognize. He only caught a glimpse of your form, hidden behind another soldier who was speaking to you. "What's taking 'em so long," Simon mumbled quietly, his mask obscuring his already quiet speech.

Johnny let out a heavy sigh, the hold his pinky finger had was surprisingly strong. They shared the anxiousness, the uncomfortable knowledge that you weren't okay. "Ah dinnae ken" he answered, trying to angle himself so he could get a better look at you. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot he could see at the distance.

They waited, as patiently as they could, the inconspicuous grip they had on each other also served to hold themselves back. Their resolve was wearing thin, and they both knew it, that soldier was talking to you about something, something they didn't know about, and they didn't like it. Simon almost completely lost it when he saw the soldier emerge without you, but his attention was quickly turned when you appeared not long after.

Your walk was slow, in no hurry to get back to them, it should've been the first sign. You looked around as if you were confused, as if you hadn't walked down this path a hundred times before. Johnny wasted no time bolting forward, closing in on you with the clear goal that you were his target. It startled you and Simon almost wanted to berate Johnny in that moment for being so quick with his movements.

Though what Simon saw almost made him want to have a little more time to prepare. The look in your eye rattled something foreign in his bones. It was something familiar, something he had seen in himself once upon a time. Something terrifying he'd never have wished upon you, how it felt when his bare soul had been chipped away at. He looked behind you, expecting some other members of your team to perhaps clue them in on the horror that had occurred.

The hit felt even harder when he realized, you were the only one.

By the time they had gotten you inside and settled in the tub you were a little more present. Your awareness a little higher from when they were on the platform. You had barely spoken a word to them, so vary of threats on every corner that you didn't even let your guard down for them as you usually did.

Only when they had managed to drag you inside, convinced you that your report could wait for later, and gotten you safely inside the space of your own quarters, did you settle. Johnny had carefully helped you out of your clothes, taking the task of cleaning you up and settling you into the safe atmosphere that was them.

He had whispered soft praise in your ears as he removed layer after layer, meanwhile suppressing the want to berate you for each little wound he found on your body. He knew you didn't need the extra scolding, the pure shock from the mission would be enough for you. However, he still felt that sting of hurt in his heart, knowing that neither he nor Simon was there to look after you, to take care of you.

He was well aware that you were capable on your own, you wouldn't have made it this far if you weren't good at what you did. If your rank wasn't enough to go from, then your other various accomplishments on your resume was. But when he saw you like this, with the silent knowledge that you could've been wiped out along with the rest, it put a dark cloud over his mind.

He helped you slowly lower yourself into the bath Simon had previously prepared. You winced in pain when the warm water touched your wounds. None of them were severe enough to cause major worry, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt just as much. Your movements were sloggy, relying on Johnny to not lose yourself completely.

"There ye are," Johnny mumbled quietly, forcing a soft smile on his lips in hopes you soothing you. You let out a shuddering sigh, doing your best to relax into the warm water. You pulled your legs close to your chest, resting your tin atop your bruised knees. "Oh leannan," he gently presses his lips to your temple, cradling your head in an attempt for comfort.

It feels like you're not fully present, watching the world from a third person view that doesn’t exist. You have half of your comfort with you, his hands grabbing the washcloth and slowly moving it over your skin. You look around the small bathroom, trying to locate the other half of your comfort, the missing equation.

"Si..." You're taken aback on your own voice, the croak and soreness of it all leaving you wondering whether you had yelled or screamed more than you thought. You tried to think back on it, settling your mind into the mission again but it made a headache form.

Johnny's motion came to a slow stop, his eyes catching your pleading ones. He knew what you wanted, but he wasn't the one that could give it to you. "He's comin' soon," he does his best at keeping your calm, "S'ok jus' relax." His free hand finds your cheek, making you focus your vision on him.

You lean into it, your body trembling slightly beneath his touch. It was warm and safe, two things you hadn't felt ever since you left. He moved the washcloth over your face, rubbing at the dirt that had infested itself on your skin. His eyes never left your face, his attention and devotion completely yours. His eyes fell on your trembling lips, before quickly flickering upwards to see the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

"S'ok love, yer okay" He lets the washcloth rest on the edge of the tub so he could take your face in both hands. His forehead leans against yours, bringing you close and gently coaxing you into more contact. "Just breathe with me aye, he'll be back in no time" your eyes fluttered closed, listening to his instructions, glad that you were able to let go of the part of your brain that needed to make decisions.

Fortunately, he was right, as he often is.

Heavy footsteps could be heard and then the creak of the door, it made you snap your eyes open, their searching beginning once more. They landed on the tall brute, Simon's eyes fixated on you since the moment he made his way into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and made his way towards the tub, planting himself on the toilet seat right next to it.

He was still wearing his mask, tired eyes searching your body and gliding over the wounds in your traumatized state. He lets out a deep sigh, reaching his hand up to his mask and slowly sliding it off. You had seen his face so many times, by now it shouldn't affect you anymore, yet still you can't help that feeling you get when you see him shed the mask in front of you and Johnny. The trust he has in the two of you makes your heart flutter.

The look he's giving you almost makes you feel ashamed, even though you know that he's just concerned. He's always been, that's why he's so harsh on you, on Johnny, even on occasion Garrick. You're pretty sure the only reason he isn't like that on Price as well is because of his higher rank and better experience. He's trained you hard so you could overcome anything, but no amount of training could prepare you for this kind of thing.

Johnny leans back, allowing Simon more space to move closer. You move before he does, leaning your body slightly to the side. The sound of splashing water went deaf on your ears, even as Johnny yelped from some of the water going overboard. Your chin ended up nestled atop Simon's thigh, his eyes never leaving you as you moved. His hand coming down to rest on the back of your head.

"How we doin' pet?" his voice of gravel is like a blanket for your soul, the years of smoking giving him a voice that makes you shiver. In truth you don't feel like speaking, you don't feel like answering at all. You know you have to; you can't hide forever but you still hope they won't inquire about the mission just yet.

You let out a huff, almost hoping that the answer would suffice for Simon, but he keeps looking at you with those expectant eyes. "I don't know," you whisper quietly, letting your eyes fall, your body going slack against the side of the tub.

Simon nods in response, a hum of understanding going out to you. "S'fine, you don't have to know right now," he tells you, giving you the peace of mind to just have a non-conditional existence between them.

Johnny picks up the washcloth again, guiding your arms in his direction so he could continue his work of getting you clean. They're both quick and efficient with cleaning you up, Simon's rough voice filling the room as he updates you on things that's happened since you were gone. It's not much, mostly trivial things you don't care about and will likely forget, but it keeps your calm, giving you something else to focus on.

"Ye should've seen Cap he was livid," Johnny's laughs and you muster a smile, hearing about his latest misadventures, and the dumb thing's he'd rode Gaz into. His hands run over your scalp, working in the shampoo and grimacing when he takes out a small clump of dirt. "Aye darling, how the hell did ye get so caked in mud anyway," he sighs, parting your strands to get to the nape of your neck.

You bend your head down to allow him to work through your hair without straining his arms. "I..." you do your best to think back, but the number of times you fell down and scraped against things were a blur. "I think i tripped a lot...it was a muddy area," You held back a pleasured groan, as Johnny worked his fingers over your scalp, small goosebumps going down your back and arms.

"I don't really remember," you admit and let out an exasperated sigh. Johnny finishes up your hair, going for a little longer than necessary in hopes of keeping your enjoyment going awhile longer. When he pulls back to reach for the shower head, he boops your nose, leaving some soap on your face. His mischievous grin is infectious, and it manages to tug the corners of your lips upwards. The way his eyes light up when he sees your half smile makes your heart hurt, you've worried them so much, you're still worrying them.

As soon as they got you out of the water you were clinging to them like a leech. Refusing to let go of the precious contact you've already established with them. They move you around between them, molding you to them as they do the teamwork of getting you dry. Simon peppers soft kisses to your lips and cheeks while Johnny moves the towel over your back.

Even after they're done getting you as dry as they can, they keep you there. Sandwiched between them they hold you tight, and in tune each other. Johnny's head nestled in the crook of your neck and Simon's chin resting on top of your head. It's a stance that squeezes you tight, your own head getting light from the amount of love they try to squeeze into your bones.

It makes your heart burn, and your eyes sting with tears. Your breathing coming out in small gasps, as you end up choking back on a sob. Every single little thing coming crashing down on you now that you know you're safe in their arms. They've always got you, ready to catch you in case you fall. That hasn't changed, and being so subtly reminded by them brings it all out.

"Breathe," you aren't sure who says it, the disorienting feeling not alleviating even as they accommodate you. "Good Good," you recognize Simon's praising voice when you manage to take a few deep breaths. The tears never manage to fall but you don't doubt that they both know just by looking at your pathetic state.

"Love, we need to treat your wounds," he starts off quietly, not having any haste to move you, "Johnny'll go get you some food, and then we can get you settled into bed, okay?" He's making it sound more like a question, but you know it's just to make you aware of their next movements.

Even so you can't help but cling to Johnny's presence as he starts to unattach himself from the cuddle. You look up at him with pleading eyes, hoping he would stay if you just used puppy eyes enough. You almost think he'll budge as he moves closer to you again, his lips descending onto yours for a chaste kiss. Reluctantly he pulls away again, "Be back soon, ah promise ye."

Before you can protest and force him to stay, Simon scoops you up and places you on the bathroom counter. Distracting you from Johnny's quest of finding food that will be easily digested. He holds your face in his hand to keep your eyes on him, while the other one rummage through a cabinet.

You had gotten extremely lucky all things considered, the worst of your injuries the long scrapes on your back from sliding down a hill with sharp rocks. The rest included rough bruises, sore joints, and jumbled mind. Your other teammates had been much less fortunate, led right into their death by your own incompetence.

You're softly called back to reality, Simon gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek and calling your name. You don't know how long you were zoned out, but it was long enough to give him that worried glint in his eye. "Sorry..." you croak, swallowing thickly to hold it all back but this time it's not as easy.

The tears come slow and quiet, the shake in your body forcing them out of your waterline and down your cheekbones. He gently wipes them away, pulling you in closer to his body again and cradling you against his chest. "You survived," he reminds you, "You're still here."

You want to nod along with him and take in his words to keep close. But you don't know if you agree with him, you survived but should you have? Why did you survive and not Jacob, not any of the other soldiers who trusted you to see it through.

Simon placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and then leaned over you to get a look at your back. He gave no reaction to whatever he saw as to not make you panic, though from the bleeding warmth in your back told you it probably wasn't looking the best.

"Lean back for me pet," he instructs you, slowly plucking you from his chest. With a reluctant sigh you lean back and look down at yourself. Your eyes trailing over every little bruise that littered your body. Simon was silent as he took care of you, giving you gentle squeezes over small kisses after every little wince you made.

When he was done treating the visible wounds, you could hear Johnny rustling around outside the bathroom. The only thing left was your back, the one you dreaded the most out of all your wounds. Simon leaned back just as Johnny came back into the room, a set of your clothes hanging over his arm. He places it on the counter and picks through it, handing you a fresh set of underwear, sweats, and t-shirt.

"Wait with the shirt, need to check over your back," Simon reaches over for the underwear and sweats, helping you into it and lowering you back to the floor. You stretch out your limbs, groaning as you feel the exhaustion in your body, your joints popping when you stretch your arms above your head.

Johnny takes your hand in his own, smiling at you and leading you into the bedroom. "Ah found ye some soup, there wasn't a lot to choose from at this hour," he told you as you crawl onto the bed. You glance at the nightstand, the soup bowl steaming and looking good enough to make your mouth water. The little chocolate bar next to it makes you smile, just until Simon guides you to lay on your stomach.

The real pain is about to start, you think. His hands smoothe over your back, avoiding the ridges of your wounds and grabbing the salve. "It'll be quick, am sure" Johnny lowers himself onto the bed next to you, mimicking your way of laying. His head right next to yours, his loving eyes staring into your own and the giddy smile he wore made you huff out the air in your lungs.

"Hi"

His hand reaches out and caresses your cheek, gently running his fingers over your scalp. He does his best at distracting you from the pain in your back. "How ye feelin'?" he asks quietly, his thumb running over your cheek and fixating on your lip.

"Like shit," you scoff and turn your face into the mattress. You feel Simon's hand run over your back, the aching pain making you whine into the sheets. His hands hesitate, smoothing over unscarred skin as an apology before going back to his work.

The work on your wounds is tedious, and when he finally pulls away your eyelashes are wet. The clutch you have on the sheets beneath you is starting to hurt your knuckles. Simon's touch leaves you, but you don't take any action to turn or move. Someone else guides you to move, the difference in touch leading you to believe it's Johnny.

He moves you closer to him, slowly turning you up so you're sitting and leaning against him. He gently helps you into a t-shirt before moving you around like a ragdoll once more. You're settled between his legs, your back to his front and his big forearms wrapped around your waist. He buries his head in your neck, squeezing you and inhaling your scent as if it's the only thing he ever needs.

"C'mon, you need'ta eat," the bed dips as Simon gets back on it, this time having the bowl of soup in hand. He settles in front of you both, reaching forward and gently rubbing your calf. "And we need to talk," he knows you don't want to, that you'd rather bury it deep. Unfortunately for you, he also knows where that will lead you, and the sooner you put it into words for them the easier you'll be able to process it.

You take the bowl from him, agreeing to at least eat something. You couldn't remember when you last had gotten something nutritional, your stomach felt like a gaping hole that was trying to eat itself. You brought the spoon to your lips and savored the taste. Despite the limited options Johnny had still managed to get the things you liked.

"Don't wanna talk," you mumble between your bites, trying to ignore the look Simon is giving you by staring into your swirling soup. "There's nothin' to talk about," You swallow thickly, ever since you had been back you had been fighting the thoughts that urged to trap you. They were just waiting for you to trip in your careful state, they would pull you under the bridge, drown you into the water until you couldn't breathe through your panic.

Simon didn't let go of your leg, rubbing slow soothing circles into your calf. His full attention was on you, and there was nowhere to hide from the man in front of you and the man behind you. Johnny placed a soft kiss to your neck, and mumbled into your skin, "We know ye don' wanna, Leannan, but when ye came back ye were like a Ghost."

When you didn't answer they elected to let you eat in silence for a while longer, unaware to the emotional storm inside your body. You knew that you would have to make that report eventually, that they would hear about the details eventually. But actually, being met with the demand was something else entirely.

You didn't know if you could bear their reactions, the thought of them being disappointed in you made the anxiety roar. You didn't want them to realize that all the time they had spent being proud of you for your achievement had been wasted. That you were nothing of what you promised to be.

You only realized how shaky your hands had become again when you raised the spoon to take another bite. Simon let out a soft sigh, before taking the spoon and bowl from you so you didn't spill on yourself or Johnny. "Darling?" the question was laid bare for you, he gave you the opening to start talking, to confide in them like you always did.

Your hands fall to your lap, right along with your sight. You try to calm your own nerves, trying to rationalize the stirring thoughts in your head. After an elaborate breath, that is more like an exhausted sigh, you find your words. "It was supposed to be a simple op, and it was in the start, find the target and neutralize him," you start quietly, grasping your own hands together.

"But once we were there and set up, nothing went as planned," you lightly shake your head along to your words, "They knew we were coming and hunted us like dogs." You swallow thickly, noting how the shakiness had nestled into your voice. "I tried to reroute our objective; we tried getting out of there, but this was unlike anything I had ever been up against."

Johnny's hand came to encapsulate your own, stilling your shakiness and you freeze up. Feeling all to self-aware all of a sudden, how the attention was on you, as they listened like you were the most important thing in the world. It was both a warm and agonizing feeling, their protectiveness was nice, but it was also scary.

"We were so close to getting out but...they were faster and I...I couldn't..." you choked back on your own voice, feeling the hotness burn on the back of your eyes. "They were better..." you admitted in a whisper, "If I had taken a different route maybe we could have avoided the trap, maybe we could have gotten the drop on them before they got to my team but...."

The feeling of Simon's hand cupping your cheek made you halt, teary eyes meeting his in temporary shock. "It wasn't your fault love," the sincerity in his voice rocks something deep in you, "There was no way anyone could've known." You tilt your head to the side slightly, you wanted to argue, to tell him you could've done a thousand things better.

"Aye, ye acted just how ye were supposed to, ye kept a level head and guided the rest to the best of yer ability," Johnny briefly took over. His voice was hot on your ear, his quiet whispers just as reassuring as the hand on your cheek, "Ye did everything ye could, and ye survived because of it."

"But they didn't..." You sank further into Johnny, sniffling as you held his thumb inside the little cocoon, he made of both of your hands. "They died because of me," you try to argue, despite being grateful that they didn't seem mad you almost wanted them to lash out, to give you right, to let you feel like a monster.

"They didn't die because of you, they died in action, trying to complete the mission they were given," Simon's voice turned a tad harsh, the determination to get through to you all the more prominent. "They knew this was a possibility when they signed up, you did everything you could for them, and the way you make it up to them is to keep going," he told you sternly.

"I know what it's like, to have people fall under your command," he sighs, "S'never not tough, and it's all too easy to fall into the spiral of whose fault it was." You paid close attention to him as he spoke, he always had a captivating way of speaking, just like when he dished out orders, he commanded authority in his mere presence. "It's somethin’ that happens love, it's important to mourn and assess," he looks you directly in the eye, "But it's also important that you know, it makes you neither monster nor failure."

You never knew whether to love or hate the way he could read your brain like had he telepathy, or personal access to your every little fear and sorrow. "It doesn’t make it feel any better," you said quietly, tilting your head into his palm, nuzzling against his skin.

"I know" he puts the half-finished bowl on the nightstand, "Gonna hurt for a while, but we'll be here with you through it." He gave you a half smile, moving closer so he could place a kiss to your forehead. "We're not going anywhere, ain't that right Johnny?" he glances to the man behind you.

"Aye," Johnny's chest rumbles with a hum, his lips placing a trail of loving kisses over your neck. "Not gonna let those nasty thoughts get to ye," he whispers and slowly moves you as Simon directs. Johnny gets you on your side in the bed, your back pressed even further into his chest. Simon gets out of the bed but only for a brief moment. The lights turn off above you, and soon after the bed dips.

You sigh when you feel Simon's skin on your own, his lips find your cheek as he settles in with you and Johnny. His arm supporting both you and Johnny's heads, his other hand coming over you to hold onto the man behind you after moving your hair out of your face. Compressed between them like this always felt like heaven, the pressure they put on your body was grounding and reminded you that you weren't alone.

"Sleep now," Simon's voice rumbled, "We'll be here when you wake up, and we can try again."

They were always here for you, even when you didn't know you needed the extra support. They had worked with you for so long, you had changed a lot with them and for the better. You felt safe with them, no matter how many times you would fall, they would always be there to catch you and get you back on your feet.

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ipodfresa · 6 months ago

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summary: chubby!reader x abby

warnings: kissing with lots of tongue, grinding, praise, mentions of readers body briefly, finger sucking (r!recieving), both pussy drunk lolllll, and very self indulgent...

abby’s heavy weight on you, thigh slotted into between your thighs, pressing delicious pressure on your core. her smell, the way her mouth and tongue moved with such precision, and the way she groaned in your mouth was driving you crazy. teeth clashing, trying to focus on your tongue but all you can do is let out pathetic whimpers.

"noisy today huh?" she whispers on top of your lips. you don't have to open your eyes to know that she's smirking, feeling it on your lips, and hearing it in her raspy voice. you feel your cheeks heat up, turning your head to the side as you don't dare to open your eyes to see that devious glint in her own eyes. she noses up your face, leaving feather-light kisses before licking near your lips.

"stop..." you say, barely a whisper. oh, does abby hear it but from how soft your voice was, a slight tremor in your voice made her feel her core grow hotter. she snakes her hand up before grabbing your face, squishing your cheeks. not a thought in your glossy half-lidded eyes, a little smile on your face from how pleasant this warm fuzzy feeling abby is giving you.

"look at me baby," the girl above you says, letting go of your face before slotting her index and middle fingers into your mouth. you gladly take them, letting the salvia pool and drip from the corner of your mouth as you hear the girl groan deeply. you open your eyes, meeting the gaze of abby’s clouded blue eyes, almost looking gray. her mouth was slightly opened, an expression of pure bliss but amazement is painted on her freckled flushed cheeks. "fuck babe.." is all she can say before she sticks them farther your warm mouth. you focus on your breathing so you don't choke, the rough pads of her fingers pressing into your tongue. you buck your hips, feeling the need to get some sort of friction.

"you got it, baby. be a good girl for me yeah?" abby says this as she slides her other hand down your body, caressing your tummy. she gropes and squishes the fat that was there on you that she loves. making her way to your clothed cunt, making a lingering contact with your soaked cunt.

"shit.. you're so wet," she can barely say before she removes her pruned fingers from your mouth and replaces it with her mouth. you let out a string of whimpers and whines as she licks up around your mouth. letting your guard down completely. she cups your warm heady cunt, pressing slightly, letting you soak your panties up even more.

"abby please," you whine, breaking the kiss, letting a thin line of saliva connect the two of you. you notice now that abby has been grinding against your thigh. feeling her legs cage your leg, small jutted movements to satisfy the ache that you caused.

"look at me," she says in a soft stern voice. "you're gonna let me fuck this pussy yeah? gonna be a good girl and let me hear ya? god, you're so cute" the blonde girl says as she hides her face in your neck, little nibbles and kisses littering your neck. you feel her hand go past the layer of cloth that prevented her from touching you. her hands gently caress the patch of hair that lays there before going to the place where you needed her the most.

a/n: im sorry i edged yall lol. lmk if you want a pt2. inbox is open for blurbs, concepts, ideas, and constructive criticism!

#lesbian #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson smut #tlou abby #abby tlou #wlw nsft #writers on tumblr #orion's writing

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itsphoenix0724 · 1 year ago

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could i request an azriel x reader body worship. reader sees azriels body while he works out and gets flustered and aroused. She stares at his arms flexing and abs like omg. he notices her and goes harder👀 or he catches her staring at the most inconvenient time, they’re newly mated and they have a meeting with everyone and reader can’t stop staring at his ARMSSSSS

You Lookin'? (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of sex. sexual thoughts

Word Count: 972

A/N: Hi Anon! Thank you so much for requesting I hope you enjoy what I wrote for you! Please feel free to request again! I hope you have an amazing day love, and as always constructive criticism is welcome! <3

Being newly mated truly was a beautiful thing.

You and Azriel had taken two weeks to pass the energy surge fully. Your family had cleared out of the townhouse for the time you needed, and you were now finally starting to get back to your normal everyday lives. So, here you are now, reclined on the settees atop the House of Wind with Nesta and Feyre watching your mates train. It was a boiling summer afternoon, the golden sun bouncing off the rock making it hot enough for all the males to strip off their shirts.

Watching Azriel train was like looking at a work of art—strong cords of golden muscle working and rippling as he did a set of sit-ups. You were shameless as you watched the sweat drip off his trapezius, the only thing you could think of was licking the sweat straight off of him. Visions of the nights Az spent over you flash in your mind, in fact, you could still see the faint claw marks from your ceaseless two-week honeymoon.

Frankly, you were insatiable.

The Spymaster knew it too, and he may have been showing off just a little. He could see the hot flush of your cheeks and the heaving of your chest from where he was pushing a large stone above his head. Even if he wasn’t looking his shadows were whispering to him, floating on a summer breeze, about your every tell. They talked about the way your eyes snagged on his straining biceps, and what he surely knew was pooling between your legs. Sitting up from the bench he rubbed a hand through the sweaty hair and watched as Feyre tried to get your attention.

“She’s going to need this,” Nesta shook her head and laughed, pouring a glass of cold water before passing it to Feyre, who then pressed it into your hand. The cold of the glass shocked you out of your dazed state, Azriel had the gall to wink at you before returning to his training, and your two friends now sit snickering at your attempt to focus on something that wasn’t the Shadowsinger.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were currently pressed up against the cold tile of your bathroom wall, the towering form of your mate caging you in, shadows teasing at the edges of your clothes. Azriel might kiss like he doesn’t need oxygen, but you certainly need to take a gasping breath. He doesn’t seem to mind though, he takes advantage of the opportunity to latch onto your neck.

“Az-” You pant, clawing your hands up into his hair. He cants his hips against yours and you mewl in response.

“Say my name again and we won’t leave this house for another two weeks.” He growls, going back to his assault on your neck, biting devotion into your pulse point.

“We have a meeting we have to go to.” You try to pull yourself away, but the Spymaster is relentless in his pursuit.

You’re starting to think you might not make it to this meeting.

That is until you both feel a wave of dark power tap on the shields in your minds. You know Rhys doesn’t actually want to talk, he’s just politely reminding the two of you that you were supposed to meet at the River House five minutes ago.

“Fucking cockblock,” Az slumps his head against your shoulder and takes a few minutes to compose himself. You rest your hands on his cheeks pulling hazel eyes up to yours.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead he winnows the two of you to the sprawling estate.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Rhys purrs perched on a chair in the meeting room. Your cheeks flame when you find your seat as Azriel levels a glare at his brother, slumping into the chair across from you.

Feyre cleared her throat before starting the meeting.

You were not listening to a single damn thing she was saying.

You felt a little bad about it, but not bad enough to stop staring at your mate across the table. You just couldn’t help it. He was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest which only made the immaculate muscles pop out in the Illyrian leathers he donned for the meeting, blue light bouncing off the sculpted cheekbones on his face.

You could truly spend hours staring at Azriel, and you fully intend to do so for the rest of your lives.

It didn’t help that Azriel was also shamelessly stealing eyefuls of you from his seat. Hazel eyes tracked you, the green running through like veins of emerald.

You remembered how those eyes looked nestled between your legs last night.

“Okay, are the two of you even listening?” You snap back into your body and find Rhys’s incredulous stare. Cassian and Feyre look like they’re barely containing laughter, Elain is quietly averting her eyes, and Nesta has a sparkle in her eyes that tells you she’s very amused at not being the one reprimanded for once. “Alright, the both of you fucking reek. Clearly you can’t keep your desire in check.” Rhys says rubbing the crease between his eyes. “If you two can’t focus maybe we should just reschedule the meeting?” He raises one dark eyebrow in question and Azriel shoots out of his chair entirely, rounding the table to you. He hauls you up and against his chest in one smooth movement, and you’re looking at Azriel like he’s grown two heads.

“Sounds like an excellent idea brother, We’ll see you in a week,” Az sends Rhys a saccharine smile. Cassian starts roaring with laughter so hard he almost knocks his chair over and it doesn’t look like Feyre is far behind him. He sweeps an arm behind your knees and scoops you into his arms before sending Rhys a wink and winnowing away.

It looks like maybe that energy surge hadn’t quite passed after all.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel

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bunjywunjy · 4 months ago

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hey bunjy. i have a question. i have an old cat whose incontinent and recently weve had to resort to putting her in our outdoor pool cage (closed off. she cant go wandering out into roads without someone opening a door for her) becauses shes become incontinent and our house reeks of cat piss. i feel bad for her and want her to be happy out there so i was thinking of getting some furniture. we live in florida and shes a fluffy black cat and i dont want her to get overheated or deal with the heat. ive been looking for shaded furniture for her but all the outdoor, weather-proof furniture ive found is too high up for her as she has arthritis and wont climb any step unless she has to. do you know of any weather-proof, low-lying cat furniture that gives cats a a shaded respite from the sun?

uh. I'm not really pet care adjacent, but it sounds like you have more problems than just furniture. does anyone have (constructive) suggestions for improvements?

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th3b4dk1dzz · 6 months ago

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Darkest Hour Map/Song Analysis and speculation

Let me preface that while I would have loved Sweet Dreams in the game, I absolutely respect the hell out of the monumental task this song would have been to create. To write a song for a preexisting dance has never been done before, so to make it sync with the scene transitions and the routine, capture the right energy, tell the story effectively, be the right time length exactly and to sound different enough from the original song, that sounds like an impossible task for anyone to complete, so full credit where credit is due.

What I will say is, what we do get in Darkest Hour that we didn't get in Sweet Dreams is a lot more specificity to the lyrics, which might enlighten us to what really happened to Leda. I want to pick certain moments and go into what the implications for what they might mean.

Spoilers Ahead

And keep in mind this will be a Long Post.

"I would play the game, Every hour through the night"

Now we know Leda is from our world. We know, like Sara, Just Dance is a game that became real to her. However, unlike Sara, she chose to stay there at the end of MOTD, so suddenly, she's in the game every hour through the night. It couldn't have been good for her in the long run. I think this twisted up her perception and clarity, making her more vulnerable to whatever happened to her.

What's interesting is that before the faces in the background take on Leda's visage, they are constructed using machinery and polygonal, much like how video games are a mix of machinery and coding, which shift to resemble her more.

"In the dark flow shadows, the mirror lies to me"

The mirror lying to her might allude to the large holographic versions of her own face, harmonising with her or this giant visage of herself as the perfect ballerina. These being potentially the siren whispers she mentioned, luring her to ruin. However, it could also refer to her illusory powers, most likely granted to her from the dark flow. Using this power to first, trick Wanderlust at the end of Canned Heat and then to trick Sara in YSMIAC.

But if we want to look at specific instances of mirrors lying, then look no further than Jack's maps. First in LOOH, we see these mirrors showing Night Swan, instead of himself reflected back in the verses. Then, in Treasure, we see these versions of Jack as the perfect performer (much like Leda saw of herself) coming out of the mirrors. It should be worth mentioning that Treasure itself takes place in a reflection cast into a pool of water.

"I Traded in my Dreams"

Now, this is interesting. This means being Night Swan wasn't Leda's Dream at all. We've been led to believe that she wanted to be Night Swan, that's what she wants to be. But everything in this map suggests she is not in control and was corrupted much like the coaches under her control.

In the section where the smoke see Leda clutching her head, much like Sara does in YSMIAC while she is fighting off the thrall of the Dark Flow. Much like Night Sara was able to corrupt the other Just Dancers with her own newfound dark flow in Swan Lake, while being corrupted herself.

Maybe Leda was corrupted and used that to corruption on her minions in herself. Almost as if this Dark Flow is spreading, adapting, and evolving throughout the Danceverses, and Leda was just patient 0.

As we see in the first verse for Treasure it looks like the mirror room is in some kind of guilded cage, and the pool which the Ilusion is cast into turns gold. As we zoom out of her eye at the end of the map, it turns gold. Is Leda in a guilded cage of her own, inside her own mind?

So, who corrupted Leda?

Someone acting on The Traveller's Interests/Public Image

I don't think The Traveller would have actively harmed Leda. Also, if you want to keep a past relationship a secret, turning her into an evil magic warlord is certainly not the most discreet cover up.

We know that from when Night Swan took over the JD Twitter account in the run up to JD24, Wanderlust is referred to the 'the son of gods'. Note the plural 'Gods', not just one. So The Traveller is a God confirmed. And if there's one thing I 've gathered about the structure of Deities within the Danceverses is they have a lot of stupid rules that don't help anyone.

I could go into a deep tangent on how the political system for the Deitys seems like a hot mess. And one day, I will (believe me, I will).

So The Traveller becomes a God, and someone else essentially decides to clean up his image, including getting rid of a mortal he brought through, who won't leave. Again, I think creating an evil witch trying to take over the Danceverses isn't the best way to sweep someone under the rug, I think, maybe, someone led her to the scariest, most abandoned part of Cygnus to scare her away and try to make her go home. What happened next was not what the Gods intended.

So, which Deity would be high ranking enough enact a cleanup act of another Deity's reputation and has an association, with mirrors and reflections? Belacus, P2 from Woman.

Her headdress has a large disc that looks a lot like a mirror, much like P3 Derkes, is a fire goddess, Belacus has a lot of motifs associated with water, the fishscale teardrop in the middle of her torso, the wave-like tattoos on her chest and water can be attributed Night Swan (The pool of water in Treasure, Swan Lake, Night Swan taking to the boat at the end of DWTS). And working directly under Selios, perhaps the most powerful Deity we know of to date, she would definitely want the rest of the pantheon to her personal standards. Also, Belacus wears a lot of blue, which is also the Traveller's signature colour.

Another Villain from Eternyx

Leda says in Darkest Hour that she was haunted by the dream. Which villain do we know ca haunt dreams and is associated with Eternyx? Cthylla! We see her haunting Scotty's dream in Cradles, and also her Avatar quote, "When you sleep, I'll be there in your dreams"

The map for Darkest Hour is also filled with this pink smoke, which looks to be the same shade of pink that Cthylla is. Again, tying it to the water motif, We see her emerging from the water in the teaser for BS&V (and the real Lovecraftian mythos Cthylla, who the game version is based on, was a water dwelling deity). Also, when do most people dream? At Night.

What do we see in the sky in both Treasure and Cradles has pink clouds in the distance, while in the last chorus of Treasure, there is a large image of perfect Jack in the centre, not on the screens, but transparent like the image of Ballerina Leda when she's on the rooftops.

Also, the second verse and bridge of Treasure seems to take place in some kind of industrial part of Eternyx. Maybe the abandoned factory?

TL:DR: Leda was tricked by Belacus, working on Selios' behalf, into entering the 'abandoned' factory in Darkest Hour with the intent of scaring her into going back to Earth. However, while there, she was corrupted by Cthylla, her warped perception of reality, making her easy to control. Now possessed by the Dark Flow, she can corrupt others by proxy.

Sorry this was so long, and if it doesn't make any sense,but I thought it was interesting, That this map left so many unanswered questions, about what really went down.

#just dance theory #just dance #jd night swan #jd leda #jack rose #jd sara #jd cthylla #jd scotty #night swan: the prequel #jd the traveler #jd belacus #jd selios

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whumped-by-glitter · 4 months ago

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A Quick View of Tallis' Banding System

⚠️CW: Institutionalized Slavery

Just a bit of lore dump since I've gotten a few questions about it.

Here are 3 different classes of slave bands. These are differentiated by different metals. They indicate what the slave is trained for is also (usually) an indication of their master's social class. Slaves are also sometimes referred to “[type] band”.

Gold bands:

the highest “rank” of slave. They are owned by the royal family. They are split into 2 categories- Palace and Personal slaves. Both categories can be used for entertainment, though it’s more common for personal slaves.

Personal slaves are owned by a specific member of the royal family and tend to their every need. They also perform bodyguard duties if necessary. They are distinguished by a jewel embedded on the bale of the O ring on their collar. Their uniform includes a corset vest with solid boning in the back and front. This restricts their movements and provides an extra layer of safety to the royal they serve. It is essentially a cage hidden behind fancy fabric. Personal slaves, sometimes called gem slaves, do have a small amount of authority over other slaves. They are usually the most highly trained/ specifically skilled.

The palace slaves do not have a specific master and instead answer to a servant overseer. They help in the kitchens as well as laundry, housekeeping, and working the stables, among many other important jobs, such as repairs and groundskeeping. They keep the palace functional and running smoothly.

Silver bands:

They are slaves owned by nobles. Silver bands are used for housekeeping, childcare, food service, and protection. However, usually they are just used for entertainment. They are often the least educated of the 3 classes and the most mistreated. The nobles usually see them as disposable and easily replaced.

Brass bands:

The final class of slaves are the brass bands, sometimes called drudge slaves. Owned by commoners, they are the heartbeat of Tallis. Without them the kingdom’s economy would collapse. Ironically, they are generally treated the best out of the three classes. They are usually given days off, and often have their own living quarters. Sometimes entire villages must pool their resources to buy them, so they are rarely mistreated since they can’t be easily replaced. Their masters often get to know them and care about them. They are usually educated in the most basic reading, writing, and math, if at all.

Potential jobs include (but not limited to)-

Miller

Farm hand

Running the shop when their master is away.

Childcare

Laundry

Stable keep

Construction

And many other jobs requiring heavy lifting or are tedious or time consuming.

@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @3-2-whump, @wounds-seen-and-unseen

@generic-whumperz, @emptycalories-splitlip, @pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000

@onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink, @aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps

@paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer, @vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark

I am also creating an 18+ blog to include spicier scenes and content. It'll be the same story, just with add parts. please let me know if you want to be added to that taglist instead or as well.

#whump community #whump writing #whump #whumpblr #devros #my whump writing #world building

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trans-axolotl · 1 year ago

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"Disability justice is a requisite for abolition because carceral systems medicalize, pathologize, criminalize, and commodify survival, divergence, and resistance. The past and present connections between disability and all forms of carceral violence are overt and overwhelming. Disabled/neurodivergent people comprise just 26% of the united states population — but represent up to half of the people killed by police, over 50% of the incarcerated adult prison population, up to 85% of the incarcerated youth population, and a significant number of those incarcerated in medicalized carceral spaces like nursing facilities, group facilities, and civil commitment, “treatment” facilities, and “hospitals.” Whether under the pretense of “care” or “corrections,” disabled people are highly represented in all carceral populations. History explains this phenomenon.

The united states government and corporations have always used constructed ideas around disability and criminality alongside constructed ideas about class and race to classify, criminalize, cage, and disappear its “undesirables.” In this way, those in positions of power maintain the white supremacist status quo and create an exploitable labor pool while sowing discord within and across marginalized communities."

By Talila "TL" Lewis, in "Disability Justice Is an Essential Part of Abolishing Police and Prisons"

#personal #prison abolition #disability justice #disability studies #psych abolition #posting quotes today

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aegon-targaryen · 1 year ago

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Zelink Week Day 2 - Forbidden

read on AO3 | read on FF.net | @zelinkcommunity

Major TOTK spoilers below!

Link flexed the fingers of his Zonai hand and tried to remember the last time he’d obtained a Light of Blessing. If he didn’t need the powers that came with it, he would take the whole limb off just to make it stop hurting. Would he still be her knight, then? He had the vague sense that someone had trained him to fight lefthanded before the Calamity, but as usual, he couldn’t recall who.

It didn’t matter. He could still close his fingers around his broadsword and draw it forth, stepping out into the hollow heart of the Dueling Peaks.

Ganondorf’s imposters had all been empty and cold-eyed and alien. The woman waiting inside the metal cage was different. She wasn’t trussed up in that white Zonai dress Link knew she would hate. Instead she wore her beloved Champion’s colors and dove-grey cloak, her hair clipped back from her face and shining like a golden halo in the morning sun, looking just like the day he’d lost her.

And she was smiling at him. It was the wrong smile, girlish and carefree, not the marvel Link had kept tucked into his heart as far back as he could remember. Of course the enemy could never understand what it meant to survive what she’d survived and emerge glowing on the other side.

“Oh, Link!” she trilled. “You came to save me!”

The voice was wrong too. So was her unguarded posture. Even if Link had never found that pool of tears on the Akkala shoreline—the last gift she left him as she ascended, screaming, to the sky—he would have seen straight through this façade. Yet he found himself rooted to the spot even so.

“Well, aren’t you going to get me out of this cage?” the imposter wondered.

Link did not move.

“You’re him, all right. Blond and dumb as rocks!” She twirled away in a sunburst of crimson magic and reappeared at his side, still grinning, the choppy golden hair he’d cut himself brushing the hood of her cloak. “Don’t you have anything to say, Link?”

Her fingers slid around his Zonai wrist, burning everywhere they touched.

Whatever her intention, she went flying before she could execute it, slamming into the bars of the cage and sliding to the ground in red Yiga leathers. Her two companions burst out of hiding and charged.

Instead of retreating like they wanted, Link barreled forward recklessly, sliding right past one Yiga’s guard and falling upon the other. His sword flashed up—hooking through the center of the Demon Carver—then down, raking across the man’s arm and wrenching the weapon from his grasp in one movement. Kicking his legs out from under him for good measure, Link whirled to ram through the last Yiga’s attack with his shield, sending them both tumbling to the stone, his fist connecting with that masked face again and again.

Only Penn’s arrival brought him back to his senses. Link lurched away and let the Yiga scurry off, clutching at his shaking, gloom-cursed hand. That’s not me, he thought in horror. I’m not cruel. Zelda, I don’t know who I’m becoming without you.

“You all right, partner?” Penn asked, looking Link up and down as he handed over a pouch of Rupees.

Link nodded blankly, but he sat there a long time after the Rito left, wind threading its cold fingers through his loose hair. He thought of a warm bed, a slow morning, a body that didn’t hurt all the time, and Zelda sleeping safe and sound beside him.

Finally, he gathered the courage to touch the ring on his second finger.

Mineru appeared in a shower of blue-green light, the limbs of her construct clinking as she faced him. “Yes, Link?”

“Dr—draconification,” he said, stumbling over the big word in his small voice. “You called it forbidden. That means…she wasn’t the first.”

“Or so the stories would imply,” Mineru agreed. “The details have been lost to time.”

Link had always suspected the dragons were far from mindless beasts—Naydra had even lingered at the Spring of Wisdom as if to thank him for freeing her from Malice. Yet she, Dinraal, and Farosh circled Hyrule endlessly and pointlessly, never resting, never going anywhere. Had they been people once, too? Had they made the same sacrifice as Zelda?

Clutching his legs to his chest, he looked up at Mineru and voiced the question he’d been avoiding for weeks: “Can it be reversed?”

“Oh,” she sighed, her metal face emotionless, her voice full of grief. “I’m sorry, Link, but…not to my knowledge.”

He hid his face in his knees.

“She was certain of her choice,” Mineru told him gently. “She told me that she had more faith in you than in anything else.”

A river of agony flowed from Link’s right shoulder to the tips of his fingers. He made a sound at the back of his throat, choking on the brutal reminder of those final, gasping moments beneath the castle, when he’d let Zelda fall into a place of no return.

He hadn’t even gone to see her, except as an insect on the earth while she soared far above his head. Link had faced his own death; he’d faced the Calamity that caused it; he’d faced the shattered remains of Hyrule and found his place in it, even after losing so much else. But he truly and fundamentally did not think he could face this.

Nonetheless, he would have to. Over a century ago, Zelda had collapsed in the ashes of their burning kingdom and told him she’d sacrificed her childhood for nothing. He could not let the same be true of her humanity.

The Light Dragon screamed, twisting violently enough to throw him off his feet. Link clung to the sword he’d been born to wield and smothered the echoing protests of his own heart.

“It’s me!” he cried out, the deafening wind swallowing his weak voice. “It’s me, Zelda, you can let go—”

She silenced him with another roar. By some desperate miracle his boots met the soft earth of her golden mane. Even the perfect shape of the Master Sword’s hilt felt like nothing under his nerveless Zonai fingers, but there was another sensation: that of the sword reaching for the lost phantom of his real hand, reaching for the center of him.

And Link was ready. He was still ready, no matter how much it hurt.

Despite his terrible strength, he tried to be gentle—yet still Zelda screamed and writhed, and her pain drove the voice from him. Link poured everything into the blade instead: his apologies, his precious memories, all his broken-hearted love.

She yielded, relinquishing her hold, and it was over. Link raised the Master Sword towards the boundless sky, tears sliding down his face as it passed on Zelda’s final message.

By the time he opened his eyes, he wanted to burn the world down. He wanted to take her place. He wanted to tear apart everything that had ever hurt her: with this sword or any other, with his own teeth and nails if necessary. Better yet, he wanted to be back in their bed the morning before it had all gone wrong, when he still had a chance to keep her safe.

But some failures could never be undone. Link had learned that while kneeling in the sunlit waters of the Ash Swamp, remembering his own death.

He balanced between Zelda’s glowing horns, sheathing the sword so he could smooth down the moon-white fur that had been parted by its blade for so long. “Thank you,” he whispered shakily. “I—it’s going to be okay. I promise.”

She had fallen quiet, turning in a wide arc towards the Temple of Time. Link watched the green fields roll by beneath them, the tiny shapes of his brave friends at Lookout Landing, the flock of geese flying in perfect formation across the shimmering wetlands.

He loved Hyrule, he really did; for a long time, he’d considered the whole wild expanse of it his home. But that was before he’d entwined his life with Zelda’s. Now home was her face lighting up as she made a discovery, her hand cradling his scarred jaw when they kissed, the certainty that he could tell her anything and she would never turn away.

Link wouldn’t turn away either. Zelda was still there inside the Light Dragon’s wide, frightened eyes. He knew it because he felt safe and stable and calm, everything he hadn’t felt in the presence of the enemy’s imposters. He sensed her the same way he sensed his phantom arm—too much a part of him to ever be truly lost.

“We’re going to be okay,” he insisted, wishing the words didn’t feel so empty.

After that, Link went to see her as often as he could. He cleaned her back of loose scales, shot the Aerocudas who tried to approach, and spent hours curled up in her mane, talking to her when he could manage to find words.

The best he could say was that she was aware of his presence. Sometimes her eyes shifted towards him, and sometimes his desperation sought recognition there, but the brutal truth was that Zelda had lost herself. So the sky and the silence were all they had—all they would ever have, until the end of Link’s short mortal life left her alone again.

He held that thought at the forefront of his mind as he stood before the Demon King with the Master Sword in hand, amplified by its union with a piece of the Light Dragon’s horn.

The enemy had knocked the Sages out like an afterthought, and his strength kept growing, even as Link’s waned. Everything hurt, and his legs trembled with exhaustion, and there was nothing left for him at the end of this. Lose hope, lose the fight, someone had told him once, but he had forbidden himself hope that day in the empty place between the Dueling Peaks.

Anger, though—Link had plenty of that.

He had never been so fast or so savage. The Master Sword was afire in his hand, blazing with Zelda’s sacred light. The Demon King billowed at the peak of his crimson power, but every one of his counterattacks seemed pitiful, so pitiful that Link saw fear in his enemy’s eyes as he swallowed the secret stone.

Link hadn’t wanted to die, the first time around. He had clung to the Master Sword, to each breath, to the sight of Zelda’s wildflower-green eyes, and he’d fought so hard that he woke up a century later to find her again.

Now—trapped in the Demon Dragon’s maw, bleeding along the razor’s edge of its fangs—he was still fighting, because he could hear her call, and he could feel her piercing through the corrupted sky. When Link let himself plummet into the golden clouds, she caught him, like he’d failed to do all those months ago.

He pressed his face into her mane as she shot upwards. His sides were wet; his head spun; he tasted gloom with every breath he took. The enemy stormed after them, an undulating nightmare of mindless rage. He was always so big, and they were always so small.

But Zelda had come for Link.

And as he rose to his feet, drawing the sword she’d forged for him, he realized he had been hoping all this time. He would go to his grave hoping, no matter how much it hurt, because he loved her too much to stop.

She caught him again and again, until their nemesis roared in final agony, until his ruination faded into the beautiful dawn, until Link—trailing Rauru and Sonia’s blessing like a falling star—finally returned the favor.

At the water’s edge, Zelda opened her eyes and found him. Clutching at the miracle of his flesh-and-blood right hand, Link’s breath caught around a sudden terror that this was a dream, or another lie, one he didn’t think he would survive.

Looking just as confused, Zelda climbed shakily to her feet, making sense of the birdsong and the clear blue sky and the shapes of the Hyrule she knew. And then she tipped her face up to the sun, letting it shine upon the smile that had saved Link from his silence, conquered the Calamity, and carved her path home to him through the millennia.

Only when they were tumbling to the grass in each other’s arms, laughing and crying, did he let himself think: It wasn’t for nothing.

It never had been.

#zelink week 2023 #loz #totk #totk spoilers #totk zelink #botw zelink #zelink fanfiction #my writing #loz fanfiction #zelink #zelink community #zelinkcommunity

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gaunt-and-hungry · 1 year ago

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Anything For You

(N)Edward Little x Reader

I'm experimenting with this one so bear with me. Unsure if I will stick with it. (Current Struggle: Edward being IC. Please send feedback) For @mister-dr-goodsir Current Rating: G (Under Construction) Warnings: None Currently Current Word Count: 1,974 Summary: Nedward and you have had a working relationship as Steward and Leftenant for almost five years. Whilst in Disko he takes you as company so he is not alone whilst you are at port. His trust and care for you may be slipping out of his grasp a little as he realises he may want more of you than you are willing to offer. Or... the other way around, moreso.... He hopes you want out of him. Hopes you can make use of him. Hopes he can please you as you have pleased him. Perhaps more than a Leftenant should wish to please their steward.

There was a ripe tension in the Leftenant’s shoulders. There was a ripe tension and it rippled with stagnation worse and worse since the Discovery Service departed from Disko. It had been naught but two days and you carried about your duties as usual. The brief respite of solid land only lasts so long until seafaring legs and hearts become uneasy like caged animals. Stewards were, blessedly, rather easily ignored less they were needed for something immediately. Ensuring that the Wardroom Officers had what they needed was quite easy when they called for very little. Edward Little, affectionately, Ned, was a cordial man, a broad and well mannered individual with such eyes that pooled like new moons in the light of the Patented Illuminators in the dark of the cabins and like fresh hot coffee and milk when cast in natural light.

Leftenant Edward Little did not often need much. He was mindful of himself, always keen on ensuring that he was both reliable and independent. You knew this from the years spent serving under him. There was, of course, no shame in needing your services as a steward. It was, after all, what the Discovery Service paid you for. If you were to be quite honest there were few Wardroom Officers that truly wished to bend to the supplementary aid that you nor your other Petty Officers provided. Much of your time was spent, instead, tasked to Little and Hodgson’s linens and laundry and ensuring that their living spaces were tidied as well as their basics were supplemented. Soaps, their personals, parchment and ink of course. To ensure that the Command did not need for things was much more just maintenance of keeping them well provisioned. Fresh clean and hot water for the morning and evening was always your priority. Usually you were more than able to slip in and out of his cabin unseen and unnoticed in the early morning and in the evening. Whilst the Leftenants were in for their evening meal, usually taken together, you were left ample time to bring hot boiled water to his basin. Twixt your duties you put things back where you knew he would keep them and where he liked them to be.

Thankfully the man was not as much a mess as some others you certainly knew of. In a funny way you knew that Edward Little would be quite clean. This was not your first time serving under Leftenant Little. Nor, did you hope, would it be your last. The two of you had a strange and unspoken relationship that had begun to shift and ebb in a way you did not understand since Disko. You had served under Little as a Steward aboard the HMS Vindictive back in 1842. He was a senior Leftenant then and even here he carried the years of experience within his shoulders. Shoulders that you knew from having spent nearly a half a decade now tending to his requirements. You knew things about this man that you probably ought not.

In Disko, he had watched as Dundy and Irving left off to traverse the hamlet with Hodgson. You, however, had prepared to explore the unusual land that was, in all reality, a sea away from what you considered home alone. Edward Little had looked to you then, his imposing height in full glorious uniform that you had helped button down that morning. He was a well adorned and decorated Leftenant. Edward Little caught you by surprise when he held both of his hands in front of him politely and inquired if you would not wander too far and accompany him during their stay in Disko, his gloved fingers knitted woefully before his stooped shoulders.

You were off duty. You dipped your head and nodded at that, a strange sense of duty and loyalty to him slipping through despite your best efforts. “If that is what you wish, Leftenant Little,” you had offered a cordial bow of your head then and followed him well and dutifully. He spoke about his previous visit and how the small hamlet of Claushavn had grown. He told you of the time he had tried his hand at whaling when he last had been there. He spoke fondly of navigating the Sullorsuaq Strait and the Bowhead Whales that harboured there during the seasons and their magnificence. You could not recall a time when any of the Wardroom Officers sought you for casual pleasantries. With all respect it was not only usual but often looked down upon as a form of fraternisation.

The sun would begin to dip early in the evening. Each of those evenings you returned to the ship as they drew into a rich crisp cold that wracked your teeth with chatters, your body drawn up tight to conserve warmth. Edward never seemed as steeped by the cold as you. It was always when a palsy of cold began to grip your body that Leftenant Little ushered the both of you back to the ship where, finally within the warmth of his cabin, your trembling fingers would undo his jacket and waistcoat and help ensure that they were well put away. Little had been a First Leftenant already once before, which meant he took Command with a tone of serious contemplation. Fastidious habits and mindful self care were incredibly important to the Admiralty. Yet unshelled in this manner he stood less like a man that sought glorious futures of Captaining his own ship and more as a gentleman that appreciated your presence and the knowing direction you provided when you worked. You were still off duty. Something that nagged in the back of your mind as you knew you certainly would not be paid for this work. The cold still sat deep in your bones as you asked each evening if that was all he required of you. You were still off duty. And each evening he would bow his head and nod politely, “Indeed,” he would speak low and calm, eyes upon his desk or the floor or perhaps his bed as if he was uncertain of his place in his own bedcabin. “Thank you for your service.”

And you would politely bow your head back to him and bid him a pleasant night, sliding his door shut with a mindful gesture as to not disturb anyone else that may be asleep.

This accompanying companionship continued for the three days you were at Disko. Leftenant Little caught you before you could escape anywhere and inquired for your presence each morning to which you, truly, had no other plans. You could not speak the local dialect nor knew where you were when traversing the shore nor surrounding land that he desired to show you before your ship left port the following day.

It was when you returned early to the ship for an evening meal that you realised something was amiss. Something had woven itself pitifully into the Lefetnant. You ate with the other Petty Officers as you always did but observed quietly as your charge returned woefully and dolefully to his bedcabin quiet early. That would normally be your cue. There was a duty you had to ensure that the Leftenant was tended to. You shovelled the last of your dinner and took a good hearty drink of your tea before you excused yourself.

He allowed you in, knocking briefly in the way you always had since the HMS Vindictive and allowed yourself in. He looked at you with startled eyes, large orbs taking your presence as if he had not anticipated you meeting like this. The idea seemed absurd and yet, “I may return a proper time if now is poor, sir,” you offered, though went about picking his boots up regardless and tucking them beside his berth.

It was here that things seemed different. It was this moment that something became… strange between the two of you.

Edward Little warred with something as he danced between his feet. He did this every so often as the ship moved, his body taking up the tide as if it would rock him back to a state of calm. He was clutching his hat between his hands, slow rotations. He had told you that you were alright to do as you please. You did as you always did and when you returned with evening water for his basin, hot and steaming, he asked if there was anything he could do for you.

You were stunned to a strange surreal silence. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

“Is there,” he had swallowed hard, “Something, if anything at all,” he struggled, mouth opening and closing with those saucers of rich chocolate flickering between you and the floor, “Ah. Forget me. I must be unwell. Out of sorts…” He turned from you then, a bitter and detached, “Dismissed,” coming from him where he could not face you.

Two days and he had avoided you like a sullen thing that had been caught mid offence. He would not raise his gaze to you. Usually you were more than able to slip in and out of his cabin unseen and unnoticed in the early morning and in the evening. You had restocked his parchment. You had refilled his ink and tidied his desk. However, his linens battled against your desire to ensure his bed looked pleasantly comfortable and well made when he entered. Your last engagement had left you feeling as an undesired intruder. The callousness with which he dismissed you last leaving you feeling hollow a little and as if you were a nuisance that ought not be in a Leftenant’s path if you could help it. He had left you questioning much of him from that little interaction. He had not spoken nor raised his eyes to meet you since.

“Oh,” was all he had offered at first, immediately removing his hat as he stood in the doorway with a shameful look upon his features. He was a beautiful man in his own respect. Handsome and pleasant but still a Wardroom Officer. You stood like a stunned creature, staked to the wood floor with his pillow still yet in your hands. “I am intruding.”

“It is your cabin, sir,” You spoke reflexicely, the statement itself a far cry from how you ought to have spoken to him. “May I ask something of you, sir?” You were unsure where this was coming from, a sudden shift in the air propelling you like wind in sails. You moved towards him.

“Yes, yes anything,” he seemed uneasy but finally after those forty eight hours of palpable tension and uncertainty he looked to you with those rich eyes. “I meant it. If there was something you wished of me, I would gladly do what I can. You do so very much for me. It hangs upon my shoulders that I may take advantage of your services,” he confessed. It was an out of place thing, almost as if the Leftenant had dropped his teacup and could not catch it before it clattered to the floor in a hundred porcelain daggers. He looked much the same.

This stunned you into freezing once more. “Oh. I ah,” you lost your thought for a moment, “I am unsure what I would ask of you. I have no complaints working under you, sir,” you had canted your head, measuring him carefully.

“You have worked so very hard for me. These years,” he gives a thoughtful pause. “I… Wish you would ask something of me.” a soft shudder was rippling through his body, his limbs tense where he stood. “However you wish. However would please you.” “...Oh?” came from your lips. And then, all at once you realised what he was implying by this sentiment and your world came crashing down. You gasp. “OH.”

#Edward Little #Edward Little x Reader #Reader Insert #the terror fanfiction #the terror fanfic #reader x character #my writing #writing blog #Struggling with Edwards Character #Please please please give support if you can #I am begging thee

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spiderh0rse · 7 months ago

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stark's mind notes part 7, e31-33, -1, and stark's mind 2 chapter 1. those last two aren't crucial to the plot and sm2e1 is noncanon, I believe, but they're fascinating regardless. the series is functionally in a hiatus at the moment, so this is all there is.

e31

sounds far more calm now. off to the lambda labs!

his tram has locked into the fastest setting! He has to jump off of it! Inertia! Fuck!

honestly I do think he ends up the most hurt from his own accidents than being attacked

tries to gripe for a second and gets shot at

admits that though he's not the paragon of virtue, morality, so on, the military is Still Worse. Score one point for self esteem??

confused about how the tram broke open a blast door, then shakes it off claiming he's wasting time

he says he can't shoot at shoddy and decrepit infrastructure and that makes it more dangerous than the things actively trying to kill him. OSHA inspector Stark when

having a rough time staying afloat

underwater mumbling

glad he didn't fall into the water from too high up. Surface tension and all that

a physics puzzle! Yippee!

confused about how a marine can die to a headcrab zombie

continues to be mad at poor construction and poorly maintained infrastructure

gets water in his mouth on accident

very thankful that none of the aliens are aquatic...

sprinklers! But yeah that and the water in the silo probably washed the blood off!

spots. The ICTHYOSAUR

thinks grenades will have killed the icthyosaur. Confusing that they don't tbh considering what being underwater near an explosion does to you

e32

deep breath. sigh.

so confused about the room layout of the icthyosaur encounter

claims he's been conditioned to kill every dangerous alien in his path. Relieved he doesn't have to kill this one

almost slips into the water! This shakes him badly

collapsed hallway > the fucking pool

"if there is a god, this door will lead to the lambda labs! I hear beeping and booping!"

a week. Stark doesn't comment on the timeline here.

stark does NOT want to talk to this pushy guy who's trying to get him to kill the icthyosaur

so so so beleaguered by this asshole scientist. Very quiet to him.

ignores the shark cage in favour of shooting into the water. Admits it isn't working

finds this while detour stupid

visibly struggling for air while turning the valve

seems to be shaking a bit for a while there! The water drains out of his suit when he stands up

wants seafood now! Get him some shrimp

likes the scope on the crossbow

likes that being able to see things at a distance with the scope affords him some safety

when you can teleport, everything's an ambush!

enjoys peeking around with the scope

climbs a grate! Poorly!

Colleague.

it's 2:34! PM? AM? Hell if i know

e33

spaced out for a minute there! My word he's exhausted

you know I think he'd have pieced together this puzzle easily a day or two ago. Hasn't eaten has barely slept...

yeah! Right there! Admits he missed something earlier! He's slowing down!

wonders if he'll be able to catch up to the man he saw

ignores the puzzle and stacks boxes

bangs his head on some metal

"the electricity won't kill me, it just hurts" man this'll give you brain damage, pal

agrees heartily to being called Gordon Freeman

cooooooold

shivering terribly. Has never been this cold in his life

goes and huddles by some warm pipes until everything clears up

still pissy about the icthyosaur

Stark's compliment of choice for the aliens is "sneaky"

alas that guard there is probably not Arlen

20 FOOT VERTICAL JUMP

handles the black ops pretty well!

considers the skintight bodysuits very impractical for combat

it's morning. It was 2:34 not too long ago. Wanna bet that little space out was him being asleep on his feet for a bit?

pretty sure he's doing very well right now. Nothing has stopped him so far. Nothing will! He's in complete control of his situation!

came back to the facility because of a promise

surface access is not his ideal direction right now

makes a dark joke, considers it may be too far, then figures he's allowed

hears the ambush, kind of gasps, shoots around, gets hit over the head, and hits the ground with a whimper

the voices of the HECU dragging him are much harder to make out than in Half Life. Stark is silent.

e-1

new titlecard! Neater hair. shorter.

on a coffee break! Likes the taste.

was manually delivering paperwork to Management

on his way, was mistaken for Freeman five times

and now a sixth. Politely corrects the man.

works with Freeman! Seems to think he doesn't like Stark

waits around watching the monitors for a tram schedule for a while

Kleiner has lectured him on tardiness before

makes a little ditty about walking around

so happy some random guy didn't call him Freeman!

responds to What's Up with The Ceiling

has been working at the company since he was 19, before Freeman was hired on

pretty sure the Freeman thing rn is a prank

picks Felix and Ramirez as a good example of someone who'd prank him

wonders how Ramirez would convince people to join in on the prank

he and Ramirez have had some manner of prank war going on for a while now

Stark managed to convince maintenance to swap the orange soda in the vending machines for lemon lime, which many were unhappy about

the racquetball incident saved Stark from being fired over the Soda Swap

hasn't heard from Ramirez in weeks due to some... Research project he's on...

Ramirez doesnt have to witness his prank to be happy about it

sees an exploded printer and compliments maintenance nearby for their work

knows a janitor! Marty! Considers helping him clean up a puddle if he weren't so late.

leaps a spilled puddle. Proud of his jump. Most physical activity he's done in a while

hazard course training next week!

considers shaving his goatee

sm2e1

fancy slow title screen. No card.

however ending up in the train worked, it is unpleasant.

oh yeah man's just whispering the whole time

does get a bit louder to protect someone

tells some combine (Barney) "You don't know who you're dealing with."

prepares to attack the combine

doesnt object at all to Barney calling him Freeman

only slightly objects to Kleiner

just. Deeply confused.

knows who Alyx is

exasperated at the combine, at Barney urging him along and offering no explanations

claims it's good to be back.

claims this is Black Mesa all over again, in the map department

throws away the can

figures out they're being watched pretty quickly

knows what Xen is called!

finds the Citadel imposing

talks about the man in the suit

a bit shocked at the sight of a strider but pushes past it

thinks Gman may have brought him back to Earth to mock him

realizes he hasn't seen any kids.

insults someone who doesn't fight his impending doom

a lot better at keeping calm under pressure than we're used to seeing him

#stark's mind #vincent stark #mindverse #rmanotes #ramirez stark's mind #uh #ramirez's mind #???#he does not have a series but i hear this is how individuals in mind series are tagged regardless #at any rate i love ramirez.

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never-ending-studio · 1 year ago

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Day 6: Machine

It was when Thomas Connor handed in a request for a thousand dollars did Grant Cohen decide to take direct action.

No, he didn’t go and visit Mr Drew, he had learned that that was a non-starter. Mr Drew’s solution was always to put people on back-pay or to just tell Grant to “work his magic”. He also could not simply reject Mr Connor’s request as a week later Mr Drew would come to his office and demand Mr Connor be paid in full. Instead of this he was going to try a trick a friend had suggested to him. He was going to perform an assessment. His friend had had success with bringing a construction company's bill down by a couple of hundred just by physically seeing where the money was going. He was certain Thomas Connor was lying about the thousand-dollar price tag, the ink machine had been built after all. What extra expense could there be?

Grant Cohen had booked in an appointment with Mr Connor one evening. This didn’t mean the studio was empty however, walking to the elevator Grant sighted many employee’s working into the dark hours. He felt sick at the thought of paying for this over time. Reaching the bottom of the basement levels Grant was greeted by not one but two men; Mr Connor and Mr Drew.

Oh joy.

Mr Connor escorted both Mr Cohen and Mr Drew through the labyrinthian halls of the studio's basement. Many of the underfloors were soaked with ink that crept through when stepped on. Grant felt a small pang of schadenfreude seeing Mr Drew wince as his shoes became tainted. It had been unclear to Grant as to why Mr Drew had decided to join Grant on his assessment but that changed when the group reached the work site. It had turned out that Mr Connor was working on a second ink machine. Mr Drew apparently knew about it too and had tagged along in an attempt to sell Grant on the idea. While going through his explanation on how this ink machine ‘will actually make money’ and that Mr Connor's request would ‘pay itself back threefold’ Grant conducted his assessment. The floor here was swamped with ink, reaching just a little below the ankle line. Exposed bulbs buzzed above, connected by flimsy wires. Following one such wire Grant found a hidden passage; placed directly behind the second ink machine in fact. The wire continued down and Grant decided to investigate. The maze-like structure of the basement levels continued in this hidden passage but these halls were clearly meant for only one person. Room entrances appeared suddenly in the narrow hallway, most were barren but some sported the odd lopsided chair or desk. These rooms were all lit by a single exposed light bulb, too. Except for one, one room was left unlit. Grant peered into the dark room. He made out a cage, and then a smile. Adjusting to the dark interior Grant made out the grinning prisoner. It was distinctly inhuman in the way in hunched over, making wet breathing sounds. It snapped its gaze towards Grant as he stepped closer. He was struck by the horrible revelation that this, this ink demon was Bendy in some way. It in no way looked like him; built with the body of a malnourished mammal and a deformed oversized head. Yet it was.

Grant became aware that his name was being called, more specifically Mr Drew was calling him. He stumbled backward from the dark room and attempted to do a small jog toward Mr Drews voice, but the pool of ink made it hard. Eventually, Mr Drew caught up to him instead.

“I see you found the… maintenance shaft.” Mr Drew said with a fixed smile. It reminded Grant of the ink demon’s.

“Yes, I thought-” Grant searched for an excuse. “We could spend less on these light bulbs.” He indicated to the one overhead. “Many are placed in rooms that seem unused, it - it seems a waste on our power bill.” Grant finished, grateful to break eye contact with his boss.

“Is that all?” Grant could feel Mr Drew staring holes into his bowed head.

“Yes, if - if we could get this excessive use of power fixed I would be able to approve Mr Connor’s grant.”

“That’s great!” said Mr Drew, placing a firm hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of this basement then, and sign those papers!”

Grant breathed a sigh of relief.

#batim #batdr #bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the dark revival #joey drew #bendy #the ink demon #ink demon #thomas connor #grant cohen #ink demonth #the ink demonth

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rametarin · 1 year ago

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Cities irritate me. Pondering them.

People that love cities seem to enjoy the selling point that your personal liberties are inherently compromised either by hard laws, or just by the nature of the soft laws. Such as, gun rights.

There's hard laws that are laws that arbitrarily punish your discharging of a firearm, whether it does or could damage anything. Those laws are hard because they exist purely to punish you based on what you MIGHT do accidentally or on purpose.

Then there's the soft, indirect, asymmetric laws. These ones punish you based on the circumstance. In a city, you virtually cannot discharge a firearm without it hitting something man-made and owned as property, be it brick walls, windows, street lights, or a herd of people walking around. You are almost guaranteed to be taken to court and sued into oblivion for it.

People that stand to make a great deal of money off available labor and the expenses of the people that live there love cities, because it's a large population and pool of people that can do labor. But then they also rope the city into taxing the people that live there in order to finance city life- which gives the city more control over the space above the earth, where they DO control the erection and construction of dwellings, workplaces and institutions deemed necessary for the function of society. They make the people pay to live in the cities and build the cities, and the city and wealthy tolerate one another's influence because they need one another. All to create a large population of people that have needs for both living space and creature necessities.

But the rub is you simply do not and cannot have the freedom of suburban or rural life. You give up certain amounts of personal autonomy, like the freedom of gun ownership without being charged out the ass if your discharged bullets hit anything, and more arbitrary laws that punish you for carrying when you are forced just by the layout of the city to pass by buildings where you aren't allowed to carry or concealed carry, just to live your life.

And the only people that can live under these laws, live around them illegally. Those willing to violate the laws and sacrifice any notion of legally living in society and try to live in the cracks, cede legitimacy in return for doing whatever they want, at the cost of possibly going to prison. These ones carry and intend to commit crimes and predate on people. The ones that live legally become marks, the ones that live illegally prey on them.

Real estate becomes an impossible luxury, because there's simply so many people and so many (necessary and not) zoning ordinances, and regulations, making new housing is practically impossible. You have to build new parts of the city just to keep providing for the people.

Simply put, after a certain size, cities become too intimate and congested. There's no room to live.

You can't have a space to work on your car in your yard, you can't go over to a friend's house to crash because their breadbox apartment isn't "zoned" for guests and the landlord's ire.

Cities just aren't designed for people, they're designed to treat people like hamsters that pay to live in a cage for the betterment of those that believe in the idea of caging people (one distinct group) and the people those cagers deal with (business people, whom are distinct from the ideological cagers and are just in it for the convenience such workers bring.)

So I've come to a conclusion;

I think in the future we're going to have more rural and urban sprawl, and tele-presence will be used for a kind of national commuting. Imagine cities that serve only as large factories; the workers are effectively machines connected to a wireless internet in the factory. You connect via VR and haptic feedback peripherals in the hands for tactile perception. Cities of the future will be designed to house a minority of people who maintain these factory conditions and don't mind the industrial limitations of city life.

The actual workers and employees will enjoy lives outside said city, perhaps connecting from thousands of miles away in different states. Not needing to go by rail or bus or car to commute, always having a machine to boot up into convenient workstations, where they are for a human hand to serve function there.

Doing it this way you eliminate so much need for congestion in cities and can maximize exactly how human inhospitable the city layout is. You'd need far fewer schools locally, fewer sidewalks, fewer residential buildings, fewer sewers, less garbage dumps, fewer hospitals, smaller government. Cities become centered around the people that specifically want to live in a city for the sake of living in a city, which means the sacrifices based on location and necessity become less of a consequence of living there and more the point. Where a minority population can exist there in comfort and the majority can earn city-life wages while living in whatever home community that they wish.

This means that cities can focus less on making breadbox apartments out of necessity to fit as many people as possible, and can afford to make vertical properties that are actually able to be physically owned. Because the people that would be paying taxes to work there as a toll to access the jobs and thus also provide for the city, would not similarly tax the city with their living, physical existence for their needs. The city could suddenly AFFORD, with both space and real estate and labor, to improve the quality of living conditions.

That would mean fewer tiny apartments with small square footage of space and more condominiums with as much space and square footage as farmhouses, able to comfortably house a family of 6-8. With the equivalent of a yard.

That'd mean more piping, infrastructure and real estate for something that's usually, "NIMBY." Imagine cities meant to be natural containment for nuclear power plants, so if there was an explosion (god forbid), they're designed to soak up the energy and spare populations- perhaps even a skyline meant to absorb sunlight and buildings designed not with the priority of habitating people and more as giant vertically-erected but horizontally spinning wind turbines. Cities that themselves are the sources of massive amounts of carbon sinkage, using renewable energy to remove it from the atmosphere.

To me, this seems like a good compromise. The way we're currently doing cities is enormously inhuman for individual rights, and it compromises too much just to be viable. And I'm not commenting on the financial side of things; I'm meaning specifically from the civic side.

It offers all the advantages of a city but removes the sources of poverty in a city when the jobs go away. It eliminates the urban decay and crime. It eliminates road congestion. Cities should logically be populated by fewer people but provide the sort of close proximity, high industrial employment that rural and suburban places don't.

The benefits it'd offer outside of that are great, too. Because you'd have tens of millions fewer people driving to work everyday, you'd have tens of millions fewer people consuming gasoline, diesel or electricity as fuel just to move the person to get to work. You'd have less wear on our roads and streets from traversing.

Overall, the idea of a city as a more serious business industrial zone habitated by tele-presence robots and a smaller human population to service them and keep the place running in ways that require a human presence (and get adequately paid for the inconvenience of city life) just seems to be the more human hospitable model.

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