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Oh don't mind me, I'm just sitting here imagining Johnny and V after they get their bodies back, when they are both struggling to adapt to being apart while also dealing with the trauma of everything they went through.

They are barely able to get themselves out of bed, barely able to pull themselves apart from each other long enough to get anything done, let alone bathe. But it's been weeks and V is reaching their limit but they are too afraid to be alone, afraid that they might have some residual relic malfunction if they were to try and shower; afraid that if they were to take their eyes off Johnny for even a moment he would vanish into thin air and none of this would be real. And so Johnny has V lay back over the edge of the bathtub; he rolls up a towel to rest their neck against. And with the utmost care he washes their hair for them.

He gently lathers the shampoo, running his fingers through their hair and just lightly scrubbing their scalp. He fills a cup with water to slowly pour over their head and rinse the soap out, sooo careful as to make sure not to get any in their face or eyes. And I know that when Johnny is leaning over V, and he looks down for a moment at their face and he sees the way they look back at him with absolute unwavering trust in their eyes, I know he chokes up and tries to pretend he doesn't notice. He makes some snarky remark, gives V shit for being too lazy to wash their own hair but V knows that if it were up to him, they would never do anything alone ever again.

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No one talks about how exhausting it is to be sad for essentially your entire life!!!!!

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Yeah sex is great but have you ever had someone close to you take the time and care to wash your hair over the side of the bath for you when you couldn't do it yourself?

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Started to hyper fixate on new characters but nobody to obsess over them with because they're my own characters from a book I haven't written yet 😞

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After a couple weeks of brainstorming and world building, I finally sat down and bit the bullet of starting to actually write down this story that has been plaguing my mind for weeks now. Y'all I've never been the best with prose, especially on my first go but fuck it suddenly feels like I've never written a single sentence in my life. I'm trying really hard not to go back and edit every paragraph, I know I just need to let the first draft be bad but fuck lmaooo

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being a horror fan will have you saying sentences such as “i liked it a lot, super gross and sad”

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pass it around

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Life has been going a little too well lately so I decided to reread the most gut wrenching silver v fics while listening to my silver v playlist just to add a little bit of ✨ spice ✨

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Thought about silver v today and got violently ill about it. We're so fucking back y'all

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hey u missed ur shift on tumblr.com why aren’t u reblogging

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So obviously my activity on this account has been significantly low in the last month or so and I've mentioned in my previous posts that I have been reading more lately and have actually just started the journey of actually writing a novel seriously for the first time and I have been hesitant to post much here because of it. I originally started this blog for my Cyberpunk hyper fixation so that is what most of my content has been about, along with most of my following and although my love for Cyberpunk and Johnny Silverhand has not died, it is not on the forefront of my mind as much. I haven't decided yet if I want to expand this blog to include my other interests as well or if I want to start a side blog to keep things separate 🤔 what do y'all think?

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How it literally feels every time I come up with a new plot point for my book and force my partner to listen to me explain it in excruciating detail except every idea is half baked and I'm not even sure I know what it was anymore (and then repeat at least five times a day)

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I'm still alive y'all Ive just been in my reading era 🙇 and because I've decided that having two ongoing fics that I mentally punish myself for not having the motivation to write for isn't torturous enough, I have started writing a novel as well (as in I've started the planning and world building process and relearning how to actually write lmao)

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Nobody warned me that even as an adult reading and becoming so deeply immersed in these fantastical stories of power and family and adventure would leave a feeling of longing so consuming that it rips into the flesh beneath my skin and settles deep into my bones — a reminder, like a faint distant whisper in my ear, that I don't belong here.

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Love to see a man cry; like eyes red and swollen, snot running down his face, gasping for air, just absolutely devastated and wrecked. Need to see more of that.