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xxxdragonfucker69xxx · 4 months

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Hi! 10kDays has had a vice grip on my psyche for the last week or so, and I'm really excited to play the preview. However, I don't wanna make anyone else in my group GM this game just because I want to play it, so I'd like to try out the GMless mode of play, and so would they, but none of us have any experience with that style of game.

Is there any game you'd recommend we look at for a general picture of how you intend GMless play to work? I do own Ironsworn, which has a GMless mode, so if that jives with what you're intending that would be really convenient lmao.

Thanks for your time!

So there's a couple of thoughts i have here, starting with the shape of the game and the pieces of it that need different kinds and amounts of attention:

The game itself is kind of designed in three strands: courses, combat, and the Face game.

Courses are an adaptation of the Arc/quest mechanic from Jenna Moran's Glitch. I've found that they reduce the GM load hugely, for two reasons: you can roll up half an hour before game, ask "who wants to be in the spotlight, what does your quest say is happening in your life right now, and what needs to happen?", and drop something in. Connections and debts are also designed to give you improv prompts, and to a slightly lesser extent perspectives. The other benefit of Courses is that they move planning burden from "GM, night before game" to "player, whenever they want to think about their blorbo". So on a large-scale, "figure out what the campaign looks like" view, you can get away with improvising every session and just following your own character arcs. Likewise, the District moves and intentions are intended to give GMs an easy "i don't know what to do next" button, and the focuses of mask/gear/bell are intended to share around the responsibilities of worldbuilding. Ironsworn's oracles are another example of how to help outsource some of that decision-making, and it's the reason Appendix Yi is earmarked to be a million random tables. For more information on how oracles work, please google Jay Dragon's Sleepaway on your work computer (or at least read this Twitter thread from NightlingBug).

There are a couple story structures that are well suited to wuxia and this game. There's the Shaolin Soccer/shadowrunner/classic ttrpg setup where you are clearly a team, and there are enemy teams, and you are doing hijinks against them. But there's also a Jin Yong wuxia epic type thing where you have, let's say three or four PCs, and you're maybe nominally on the same side but you're clashing a lot and you're tied together by sworn and blood kinship and you keep running into each other. I think the most pared-down version of 10kdays you could run and still call it a full game is 3 players, characters living sort of far apart so they rarely run into each other, and interactions are 2 of the PCs clashing at a time while the 3rd player picks up any NPCs, throws in some District moves, etc. You could do a 2-player game but the kinds of interactions you could have would be severely limited, I think. The Face game of politicking and building support structures is kind of just... you two, face to face.

Now the problem on everyone's mind is fighting. It's attention-intensive, everyone's interested in it, and depending on your setup there can be loads of combatants that a GM would normally be expected to pilot. Again, there are a couple of scaffolds for trying to do this GMless. The sample Techniques in Appendix Jia come with combat tactics to make use of them, so any player can pick up an NPC combatant and figure out what they're going to do. Fight choreographing like this runs the pitfall of it feeling sort of bad to hurt your friends effectively, at least for some tables, but there is the incentive of hitting your friend's Bite highlight when you grab the corpo thug and bite them in the ass.

It is one of my mid-to-low priorities to create like algorithm type protocols for enemy fighters to run themselves, though that's still in the pipe dream phase. One thing I'm looking at here is Katabasis by Rathayibacter, which has a super cool system for easily lining up combatant actions, enemy or not). Maybe I'll end up with literal combat loop Turing machines or something.

There's one more option here which is to lean the other way -- to foreground the GM themselves being a player. I'm talking Ryuutama dragons, I'm talking Fellowship Overlords. Obviously I one hundred percent have not added this yet, and I'm not even set that I will, but it's definitely a tool I'm thinking of to help manage the wuxia/cyberpunk/other bullshit genre merger. If you went this way, it would look like picking a district -- secret note, each district is built to amplify a genre. Gongshan is made to focus on wuxia/the bell, Jiaotou is made to focus on cyber/the gear, Youzhou is made to focus on punk/the mask, Jingcai Xin is made to focus on court and courtroom politics, and Yuanhai is made to play Nezha Reborn. Pick a district that corresponds to the genre the GM is playing as, turn those Moves into Heroic/Humbling Moves and the landmarks/NPCs into Treasures and Connections, turn the Intentions into Skills. Now you can combine this with what I first talked about, sharing out cognitive load, and focus on playing as a district/genre. Is that meaningfully different from being a GM, who let's recall still counts as a player at the table? I'm a sicko who loves being a GM so I'm unqualified to comment, but try out any combination of these options and see how they take you.

#ten thousand days for the sword #ill just automate all of tatterpiging its fine #larian did it its fine

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hillbillyoracle · 1 year

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Pen and Paper Planning

Maybe you like me are endlessly drawn back to pen and paper. I have often felt more at home in a good notebook. For a long time I thought there just weren't many options for notebook systems in comparison to "productivity" apps but over the years I've collected a number of them that I pull inspiration from for my own system. I've been told my little compilations are helpful so I thought I'd share what I've found here with some notes about each.

Bullet Journal

The OG. I think bujo has gotten a bad rap by people who've only every interacted with it via aesthetic routes like instagram. I found out not to long ago that there are people who don't know what the original system entails at all so I thought it was worth mentioning here.

Check it out here.

I recommend it less as a "productivity" system and more as a style of rapid/micro journaling. Does journaling feel like it takes forever and just isn't worth it - this is the system for you. When you go into it with that mindset, it's a lot easier to get the benefits. Wouldn't really recommend it for full blown tasks management and planning but the creator is upfront he never really intended it for that.

Everbook

This is more of a folio style as opposed to a notebook system but I think there are aspects that translate nicely to notebooks. It's definitely more of a productivity system too - very GTD influenced according to it's creator. I like it for it's modular approach to tasks, inspiration, and tracking.

Check it out here.

I recommend this if you like multi-notebook systems and are focused on getting tasks done more so than reflection/introspection.

Analog by Ugmonk

Basically a glorified notecard but this one has been a real game changer for me with regard to my daily tasks. I keep my today card clipped to the cover of my journal. You don't need to buy their fancy system for it at all and lots of people have hacks of it. Easy to combine with 1-3-5 Lists and the Bento Method as well.

Check it out here.

I recommend it for people who prefer a more flexible way of planning their days than what traditional planners offer.

Strikethru

I've not gotten to try many aspects of Strikethru yet but there are some I'm definitely looking to incorporate in another journal. Strikethru is a much more task oriented system than a bullet journal. It features a "live list", "dump" "vault" and calendar. I think it best replicates what you do what many to-do apps. They have their own journal you can buy but it can be set up in your own notebook.

Check it out here.

I recommend this for people who are doing large projects with lots of moving parts.

Theme System by CPG Grey

I love CPG Grey's ideas about yearly and seasonal themes. He created a notebook to compliment those ideas. It basically is composed of a section on fleshing out your themes, daily reflection pages, and habit tracking. I like the light direction while still being freeform enough for most goals.

Check it out here.

And here.

I recommend it for people who's primary use case is self improvement oriented. If you're looking to move the needle forward in some area of your life, themes are a great way to start.

Commonplace Book

I think the best way to think of a Commonplace Book is that it's a sketchbook for ideas. I think too often with digital systems it's easy to get caught up in worrying about capturing all of our ideas or optimizing them to be found again - which only really adds stress and unnecessary complexity. What I like about a commonplace book is not only it's usage throughout history but it's simplicity.

Check it out here.

And here.

I recommend this for people who are looking to do a lot of creative or intellectual work and don't want to get distracted by screens to capture what inspires and moves them. Also for people who prefer to refer to their inspiration in a more tactile way.

Maurice Moves' Notebook

When I first found this method, it had very few views. When I went to look it up again, it had taken off. I'm so glad because it feels like an underrated system that can be easily paired with some of the other. It's basically a series of pages he uses to work through goals or just directions he wants to move in life. I've never see a system that's both so orderly and thorough. I especially appreciate is way of working backwards from his desired results to develop his plan.

Check it out here.

I recommend this for people who are trying to achieve big things but aren't totally sure how to get here. Seems very neurodivergent friendly too depending on what you personally excel with.

1-3-5 Lists

I first learned about a similar concept from Esme Weijun Wang's ebook "Productivity Journaling with Limitations" but I can't seem to find it on her website anymore. This website has one version of it but the version I've been using is slightly different.

The first task is my "win the day task" - if I only do this it was a productive day. It's achievable based on the resources I have that day. On low energy days , the task might be a simple chore like laundry or a health activity like walking. On a high energy day, it's usually something that moves me forward in some way - tackling projects like redoing my room or organizing all of our papers. Most days are inbetween though.

The next three have historically been "to not cause myself further trouble" tasks but I've been experimenting with making them one home/work task, one health task, and one relationships task as mentioned in this Ali Abdaal video (in Part 3).

The next five to six tasks are usually just easy wins - things I can get to if I feel like it but I feel no pressure to complete.

I recommend this system for people who are working with variable energy, health, time, or other resources. I could see it being helpful for folks with children or who are caregivers as well. I've found it useful as someone with chronic illness.

Sorry this section is a bit of a mess, when I originally put it on here I thought I could just link to Wang's ebook but alas. If anyone has the link, please drop it in comments.

Bento Methodology

This is another one that can be paired with another system. While the video I link to is talking about it in terms of an app, I think it's similar to the 1-3-5 system in that you can just use it inside of any other to-do list or task system you might be using. I appreciate it's nudge to do deep work and it's clear criteria for each compartment. I use this when I have more energy and want to use it to the best effect. Whenever I use it I always feel like I had a really meaningful day in terms of my efforts.

Check it out here.

I recommend this for people who want some structure to their day but still want flexibility from day to day to pick what they work on.

And I think that's most of them. I hope something here inspires you to pick up a notebook and get to writing. Best wishes!

#studyblr #analog #planner #notebook #planning

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joycrispy · 6 months

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So I've mentioned before that I've had a lot of arts n' crafts small creative projects on the go (and a few not-so-small ones, but that's another post), and I just kinda felt like talking about 3 of them.

SO I WILL.

1. Bookbinding

This is more of an ongoing learning process than any one particular book I'm binding --but the process is going very well. Pictured here is the latest attempt, and my most ambitious attempt in that it was mostly me going, 'huh, I wonder if that would work' and dicking around until I got some sort of result.

(Example: I dyed that cover black. Did not know if it would work. It...kinda does? Further testing required.)

The final book is far from perfect, but I'm actually very happy with it. It's like a prototype of the kind of book I've been wanting to make all along, the whole reason I picked up bookbinding. Old fashioned tomes are the goal here.

More on that in a bit.

2. DnD Character Journals

At the moment I am in three different ongoing campaigns (including one I'd been playing in for two years before Covid happened, now picked back up again, and another which is a sequel to a previously completed campaign. Exciting stuff. The third is a character I usually reserve for one-shots, but she got a whole campaign this time. Good for her!), and I have completed journals for two out of my three characters.

(If you don't know what a character journal is: it's basically just a Character Sheet, but way more extra and ~Aesthetic. Sort of a functional gaming scrapbook. I also design mine to make the game as accessible as possible to my very ADHD brain. I highly recommend it, as a practice).

Pictured here is the main stat page for my monk, Wormwood, who just reached level 5.

Speaking of DnD...

3. Campaign Journal

So anyone who has played with me knows that I take EXTREMELY DETAILED NOTES, but this time around I'm taking the notes, immediately converting them into readable prose recountings (as opposed to fast n' easy notetaker's shorthand, which only makes sense to me), and then sharing them as an editable Google document with the group. They can add anything I missed, or flesh out details I skimmed over, add their character's POV of a scene, or whatever they like!

(This also has the neat side-effect of generating material for the DM's World Anvil, which is nice. He's free to pick and choose what he wants, or ask me to write an article for him, etc.)

This makes it very easy for the group to refresh their memories between sessions, but also, when the campaign is finished...there will be a very thorough record of it.

Last year I had the thought that, with the way I take my notes, I could easily print out a campaign journal and bind it as a physical book, and then have that as a memento/give it as a gift to the other players.

That's an exceptional amount of work to do AFTER the fact, but doing it one session at a time, as they happen...that's very doable.

I mean. People bind novel-length fanfiction for their own personal collections. There's no reason I shouldn't bind a novel-length campaign, lol.

And I can personalize each book to each player, as well! No, yeah, this is EXACTLY the kind of thing I love to contribute to a game. The group's excited, I'm excited, lots to look forward to, here.

I have other projects, including two large ones that are each going to take the better part of 2024, which slows all these little ones down...but I'm consistently whittling down the daily to-do list into something more manageable.

And work is nice right now because my main job atm is something I'm really, really good at...

(charity fundraising: my location is 1st in the district and 7th in the country for donations, and almost a third of those donations were made through me. I'm very, very good at this part of my job)

(I tend to be good at things I care about --ADHD, like I say-- and our partner charity benefits local queer and disabled kids who need shelter and support, so, YES, I CARE ABOUT THAT)

...so it makes the days pass quickly and peacefully. I get to come home in a good mood to all my little arts n' crafts. It's been very fun.

I'm glad I have time to be on tumblr again, though.

#about me #I can't remember if I have a bookbinding tag or not #I'll figure it out later #the moment I hit post on this I am turning around and throwing myself at one of the big projects for the next two days so wish me luck #Leah bookbinds

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sunset-a-story · 10 months

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Writer Q&A Tag Game!

I got tagged by @touloserlautrec on this one and you can see their answers here.

I'm not sure who hasn't gotten this one yet but I'm no pressure tagging @squarebracket-trick @captain-kraken @vsnotresponding & @tisiphonewolfe (and open tag)

1. What motivates you to write?

The whole absurdly-large scope of Sunset is going on in my head whether I'm writing it or not. You know when you have a song oppressively stuck in your head and the only thing that helps is to listen to the song all the way through? It's like that. If I don't write it out, my brain just churns it over and over on a loop.

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

Ooo. Hrm. Here's something from Arc 2.

Gerrit's heart sank. The idea that this sort of attack was more than a sporadic phenomenon was a dreadful, heavy thing that he didn't have proper words for. But that was the benefit of telepaths--he didn’t have to. When Gerrit would normally have needed to look away, attempting to grasp his fingers around some sort of words that even remotely fit the gravity of what he was being told, instead he just looked at Penn and felt. Penn held his gaze for a moment and Gerrit felt a gentle nudge of his telepathy. Penn understood. “Go.” Penn clapped him on the back.

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

It's tough to pick! I'll say Marek just because I enjoy his antics and stalwart refusal to be a "serious corporate adult" while being one of the most competent people in the Corp. (Plus he and Baguette are a package deal.)

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

I guess I'd have to say planning/mapping the big picture. Sunset covers a lot of threads that all branch out to affect others down the line with cascading consequences. It's all connected somehow and I feel like I do a decent holding it all in my head.

(That and I think I can write some pretty damn funny dialogue to break up the tension of the rest of the story.)

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

The people! It's so amazing to meet so many supportive writers and get to get excited about everyone's projects. Listening to other rant about their oc babies brings me so much joy.

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

I've been using StimuWrite 2 which has been a great motivating tool. It's a program helps to keep me focused and I can create a mini fake coffee shop background with it.

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I love our take on telepaths because it's not a matter of just hearing thoughts or seeing them like on a movie screen. It's synesthetic and young telepaths have to learn to translate this internal language.

Each telepath's experience is different. Penn's is heavily smell-based like information he takes into his body from outside. Jake's is more external with sounds and physical sensations pressing themselves onto his skin, wrapping around him. Reeve's is more internal with tastes and colors that flow from the backs of his eyes and down his throat like a liquid--so if his knack gets overwhelming it can make him feel like he's choking or drowning.

I like to think that how telepaths perceive their knack has an influence on them in the same way that what knack someone has will influence who they are. (This also makes conflict between telepaths really interesting to write!)

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Allow yourself to have fallow times where you aren't writing. That's part of the process. I think the saying is something like anything in nature that is producing endlessly without rest or renewal is dying.

Don't give up on your projects, write that shitty first draft, but don't beat yourself up with guilt when your brain needs a break.

#writer q&a tag #i would talk about telepaths for days

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utilitycaster · 2 years

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You have to be one of the only other people I know who likes Kingsley more than Molly. If you're up to it could you give more thoughts as to why? Personally for me, Kingsley feels more free and less my way is the right way. Maybe the person Molly would have grown to be if he had lived through everything else the Nein did but lighter.

There are DOZENS of us! Basically, look for people who passionately defend the end of Campaign 2 because if people who don't like the end of Campaign 2 aren't mad about about a dumb ship or about Caleb very deliberately and thoughtfully choosing not to go on a murderous rampage of revenge in what the critics (me) are calling "a weird double standard that much of the fandom never extends to the characters who actually do go on justified murderous rampages and frankly didn't even really extend to Caleb during the Vergesson rampage so idk what's going on in their hypocritical little minds", they're mad that Taliesin decided to make a choice I can truly only describe as "fucking based."

Anyway yeah, it's worth keeping in mind that Molly imprinted heavily on Gustav (affability and seeming self-sacrifice hiding some real shady deals, circus) whereas Kingsley largely imprinted on Fjord (genuinely a deeply good person, boats) and brought his own brand of chaos (stealing a boat). With Kingsley, there's none of the pretense. As you said, there's no "my way is the right way"; no manipulation, no claiming a bunch of fun tall tales is actually improving things, he just showed up and wanted to cause problems, and that's great!

Obviously Kingsley benefits from the fact that there's relatively little screen time so if he does share some of the known negative traits both Lucien and Molly possessed, we haven't gotten to see them; and I do think that I'd have felt very different about Molly had we had more time with him. But with the story we had? Kingsley is GREAT. I hope we get to see him in at least one one-shot, though it's hard because I also do want to see more of Caduceus.

#answered #Anonymous #cr discourse #mostly for the first paragraph #cr tag

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hostilecityshowdown · 1 month

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I'd love love love to hear more about your version of Kevin Nash from that one Heartbreak Hotel fic 🙏

shaking diesel in my teeth and dragging him under the cut

chapter one • additional notes • credit for the AU, lore and character development, original fics, and accompanying material in the series: @cyberslam

this guy. while my little pocket dimension within mango's heartbreak hotel AU is his main 'verse, almost every other time i write diesel, i'm just writing HHAU diese in yet another AU. you can actually thank slater for this one!! they love him so much and are so inspiring for me, and if i could i'd churn out fics based on our conversations and their OCs and headcanons like a machine. slater i am holding ur hand.

in terms of the patented* Diesel Writing Process, his muse is headstrong, stubbourn, and self-centered, and most of the work i do when writing involves convincing him to share the spotlight. my offshoot of mango's universe would be all flowery prose, cerebral horror, and... diesel, suffering largely alone on centre stage, if i couldn't coerce this big lug to cooperate. some aspects of that are still preserved, but i've been able to avoid writing all my chapters in this world as solitary experiences; silent hill one and two deeply impacted me as a tiny xentex, and i always want to write that slow, surreal, murky trudge through dreams and summoned memories laid atop the burnt-out husk of reality that the SH2 hotel section, especially, captures.

*patent pending

diesel loves being the star of his own show, but so does the heartbreak kid - shawn's a begrudgingly necessary fulcrum for diesel, once he decides he has to be. my diesel muse genuinely suffers from OCD, and projecting his compulsions onto other people is an unhealthy coping mechanism of his. shawn likes the attention and benefits enough to encourage and enable this in his own ways, until he's able to take over performing compulsive rituals for diesel, becoming a mandated aspect of the rituals themselves. i wrote an example of this in diesel's testosterone injection, and shawn's absence will leave an impact on diesel's compulsive thoughts and behaviours in the ongoing narrative. shawn likes when people are dependent on him (to his preferred degree, not for anything... substantial. he just likes feeling special.) sure, but the heartbreak kid and, inherently, the hotel, need that dependency.

diesel also collects matchbooks from hotels, motels, rest stops, tourism welcome areas, reservation smoke shops and other native-operated establishments, and casinos, which he started as vinnie vegas. dallas collects poker chips, and kim collects ashtrays, cigarette boxes, and dice. studd much more passively collects coasters and glass bottles (especially tiny ones) but competes with kim for dice. and scotty flamingo, the most notable member of the diamond mine (duh /j)... he likes to swipe cosmetics, towels, notepads - anything free! and sometimes even things that aren't free. he doesn't collect but outright hoards various forms of tickets, too, but that predates the stable. i was going to include a huge section on these habits, quirks, and compulsions, but... in the end, most of that was cut. it detracted from the atmosphere too much, and it started to spoil plans i have, which you can see the beginning hints of in that heartbreak hotel branded ashtray in my most recent chapter contribution.

diesel's muse solidified for me very quickly and easily, and i barely even need to keep notes on him. big wolf keeps track of himself and comes to me with whatever i need when i need it, or chases me down and demands i devolve into a crazed, sweating, dizzied madman, writing twelve thousand+ words in a single sitting with no breaks. always something with this guy. in a diesel/undertaker fic that will eventually see the light of day, i write in his beloved ford bronco. it has a wolf howling sticker on the trunk, an Idle No More bumper sticker, genuine leather upholstery, leather conditioner and a rolodex (with hundreds of names, numbers, and addresses of people who died of AIDS and their loved ones, roadside memorials for 2SLGBTQIA+ people and missing and murdered indigenous women, and various gay clubs, bars, bathhouses, safehouses, shops, farms, and other gay establishments - including many that are defunct even by diesel's modern time) in the glove box, endless atlases for different states and provinces he swaps out as needed (most of these go with him to his truck cabs as needed), and a dedicated, custom case for depeche mode CDs and cassettes. i hope that gives a better overview of the guy he is than i could ever provide in mere words alone /j

#[ colour commentary ]#[ space ]#holding ur hand. thank you i love ranting. everyone go look at slater's OCs and custom studd doll and other things i am begging u #and GO READ SPACE'S FICS.#mango may add onto this so look for that post/reblog if they so choose #i can talk more about how diesel feels about his own native identity + his family + his career but at a certain point i'm just scripting a #documentary /j if that is desired however...

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c-h-stevens · 2 months

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Seeing how I'm banned from Patreon and still in non-approval limbo with SubscribeStar, I've been searching for alternatives. Right now, the best one I've found is Pixiv Fanbox. My account's here, if you're curious (a work in process).

In case you don't know, Pixiv is sort of the Japanese equivalent of DeviantArt. A while ago, they launched a Patreon-esque service called Fanbox. A huge point in their favor is that being based in Japan, they're not directly caught by the wave of puritanism sweeping from USA payment processors.

Not that Japanese laws don't have their share of WTF, namely the weird genital censorship (if you've consumed porny Japanese media you know what I mean). But writing is unaffected (rather arbitrary and frankly unfair, admittedly) so that doesn't concern me.

The biggest point against them is that I feel it might be difficult to convince people to sign up there. To begin with, Fanbox allows only payments via credit card for people subscribing to 18+ creators, at least outside Japan. (Oh, and maybe Wise too.) Admittedly that's a consequence of PayPal's increasingly restrictive practices, and I do appreciate Pixiv reacted by limiting their use of PayPal instead of kicking creators out.

There's also the issue of people being naturally reluctant to sign up for a new service. The inbuilt audience's part of why I stuck with Patreon until I got kicked out. On the other hand, the inbuilt Pixiv audience largely speaks Japanese, and I can't attempt a whole-ass novel in that language, so it's really unlikely I'll benefit from their own inbuilt audience.

I haven't found anybody using Fanbox to sell writing in English so far, and I'm really not keen on being a trailblazer, mostly because I know I'd suck at it. Even so, I'm tentatively ready to give it a try. If anybody has thoughts, I'd love to hear them.

#writeblr #writerscommunity #writer stuff #writers on tumblr #writblr #writers #writing #publishing #pixivfanbox #ch's subscription adventures #an update of sorts on whatever im doing

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self-loving-vampire · 9 months

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I mean to a fairly certain extent, frame of reference means it's basically impossible to truly understand anyone beyond the surface level.

But as for the whole "misunderstood by the fandom" effect, I'd guess that's the result of how much non-identifying personal information you casually share on a regular basis, at least compared to the average person on here.

People only know what you tell them, but you tell them more than average, so the version of you that exists in your followers' minds is probably more detailed than their average idea of a person.

But we can never truly know anyone. Any mental version of a person will pale in comparison to an actual person.

We haven't reached mind sharing or infomorph capabilities yet...

The fact that I'm pretty open about so many things, including how highly I rate various kinks, makes it even stranger to me that I seem to get misread so much actually.

For example, the other day I got tagged in a post that said: "a beautiful bisexual man seductively wiping blood from his nose after running directly into a telephone pole".

I can kind of see how that happened. The word "bisexual" is in there, and there's blood and injury involved.

However, I specifically do not like nosebleeds and I don't think injuries from dumb accidents are hot like injuries from things like battle or overusing dangerous abilities shonen-style is. It's kind of like... the surface markers are there, but the context and details are all off.

At least I can say that when people misunderstood me offline back in the day it was in large part because I deliberately misled them for my own benefit.

Like how my mother ended up thinking I did not have emotions, or how people at my school thought I would shoot everyone dead if they bothered me and that I carried weapons in my backpack at all times (pro trick to avoid bullying).

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juvenalesque · 1 year

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Why the world is *gestures around at everything* opinion

No TL;DR here.

Pride month has me dwelling on what i've been thinking about a lot in the last few years, as I'm sure many have, the way the world is heading. Many of us feel out of control and helplessly riding along with an apocalyptic and terrifying demise of the world we know. As we individually fight for just causes, we should seek intersectionality in every facet of our lives. I'd like to share my thoughts on why this is true and more. The cure to the world's problems is as basic as what we tell children: "share." I mean this in more than a literal sense of sharing objects. These problems that I dwell on, we all know about stem from something else. I am speaking of the concept of divide and conquer as it applies to our society and the negative consequences of this. It all begins with organization. I am not going to claim I am an expert on everything on Earth, but these are my thoughts as an educated individual who keeps up to date with credible sources such as academic journals and primary sources. Definitions I list here are both verbatim and paraphrased.

A group exists that most of us are aware of in some capacity, which coordinates together to promote propaganda separating everything that makes humans people. Organizations like the United Nations have a Human Rights Council and a Declaration of Human Rights, but this declaration, and ONLY if properly utilized, plucks only a feather on the bird of prey that divides the Human Earthlings: preventing peace, advancement, and unity; I will not elaborate on the topic of other Earthlings here.

This may sound like digression, but try to humor me here.

There are "hard sciences" such as S.T.E.M. fields. These are held in high regard. People dismiss the social sciences, sometimes called "soft sciences": history, anthropology, archaeology, philosophy, sociology, psychology… This is done systematically through the use of pervasive propaganda even in academia. This reduces interdisciplinary study, which has numerous benefits. Imagine if all of this knowledge could be combined to be utilized for its full potential. We could have advances beyond our dreams. As the old saying goes, "a jack of all trades and master of none, is often better than a master of one." Sharing information is invaluable. Communication of information is invaluable. It is why we have agriculture, medicine, metalwork, machines, and the internet. These are only some extraordinarily vital bits of knowledge that are not utilized to their full potential. Let us peel back another layer of this concept or turn back a page, as they say.

Even literacy is minimized in its importance purposefully. This is a large part of communication. There are different levels of literacy. What is most common in our American society is a gray area between nominal and functional literacy in scientific terms. "Nominal literacy" refers to one who can recognise scientific terms but does not have a clear understanding of the meaning. "Functional literacy" refers to the capacity of a person to engage in all those activities in which literacy is required for effective function of his or her group and community and also for enabling him or her to continue to use reading, writing and calculation for his or her own and the community's development. In a scientific sense, functional literacy is when the person can use scientific and technological vocabulary but usually this is only out of context as is the case for example in a school test of examination or basic correspondence. "Structural: conceptual and procedural literacy" means that the individual demonstrates understanding and a relationship between concepts and can use processes with meaning. "Multidimensional literacy" is when the individual not only has understanding, but has developed perspectives of science and technology that include the nature of science, the role of science and technology in personal life and society. Multidimensional literacy is what it is called when someone is "fully literate," "entirely literate," or "completely literate." They can comprehend entirely. We should, as a society, be trying to assist all persons to reach the highest level of literacy possible for them to understand in the most efficient way. Instead, literacy is kept minimal at best for each individual use by design, even per subject in an academic setting. This is why interdisciplinary study isn't utilized nearly as often as it should be for a more complete understanding of the world as science can inform us and assist in advancement of the scientific pursuit of knowledge and cultural development.

People who are completely literate are perceived as intelligent purely due to their ability to learn and communicate more efficiently than someone who is less literate. People who have the skill of multidimensional literacy are called "advanced" when truly they are the baseline of true understanding. Even those who have not yet reached multidimensional literacy are considered advanced or above average. Literacy is so underrated and avoided in our educational system that a person with an extensive vocabulary is considered more intelligent than someone with a more limited vocabulary, which is blatantly incorrect. The most intelligent people may never have an opportunity to become literate even nominally, but that does not make them less intelligent. It creates a communication barrier just as strong as any language barrier. It prevents a mind from communication. This is a tragic loss, the inability to communicate.

>Side note, that is why accessibility for communication is vital and should be prioritized. Accessibility in all parts of life, a world built for all, not just the "typical."<

Communication barriers in our society have examples such as levels of literacy or understanding of different subjects and perspectives. Communication barriers are also intensified when people are divided by cultural conflicts. These culture clashes are the most well-known form of division of people. People who are united under certain principles or agreements can accomplish radically more than people divided by disagreement, bias, or any other thing that stands in the way of cooperation. The more division, the more discord. That means more distraction and less cooperation. Cooperation and knowledge are what allow a common goal to succeed. The knowledge and how to learn from as many prior mistakes and successes as possible is vital.

This is why, repeatedly, throughout known human history, it has been shown that a ruling class cooperates to design a system that all people follow to maintain some form of basic organization for how the society operates. While some have started altruistically and with the reciprocity that allowed our species to survive near extinction many times, most become or begin as a means of hoarding power through resources.

This is where we get the Malthusian myth of scarcity and horrific events such as poverty and war. If people can be convinced that resources are truly limited rather than just improperly managed, they will all follow the rules they are told will allow them the share of these resources they need to thrive or even survive.

Again, it is somewhat common knowledge that these organized people create a class of people that utilize an attempted control of information with the tool of propaganda to maintain their positions of power. It was discovered that using informational controls to prevent other people from organization was an effective tool against losing their power. This is why when the non-powerful or "common" people eventually tire of a system's injustices and inequities and revolt in anger, society often collapses all together. This is why "education" has traditionally been conducted for a limited number of people and why those people are often the ones next in power should one leader fall. There is no coordinated allegiance or cooperation among those who pursue justice because they have been trained from birth to be driven from everything that could help unite large masses of people that are vastly different from one another. Fundamentally, it is because of an inability to communicate information, from academic knowledge to simple concepts, that we can not cooperate as humanity to solve painful problems.

So, this would mean that at the core of what I am saying is this: we all want equity and the best lives for ourselves, our loved ones, and often all people. However, we do not take the individual responsibility to attempt to communicate, teach communication, and teach utilization of this communication for cooperation. If a large enough group of people took this individual responsibility to promote this TRUE education, which you might call "well rounded," we could improve upon it every generation and interaction to create real change. We need to apply the principles we use selectively universally in our lives without hypocrisy. We need to encourage every human to learn as much as they can about as much as they can and, most importantly, how to communicate this information to others in every way possible.

So, give the most of your time to what you do or enjoy best, but share it. Share everything in your mind and abilities freely and with peace and the pursuit of spreading true and valuable information.

Every skill, every tool, share. It might just save us.

Next, maybe i'll tell you why I think AI could be the savior we need to accelerate this process & that is why there is so much fear mongering in attempts to slow its development and why I love the character "Data" from Star trek so intensely.

-Laura Renee West

06/14/2023

If you like what I have to say and would like to share it elsewhere or in a different format (or think that they might take this down), here's a link these drafted ponderings as a google document.

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frnxcin · 1 year

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CYCLING ADVENTURES: PLACES YOU SHOULDN'T MISSED OUT

It never occurred to me that I would enjoy cycling. Want to know why things changed when we moved to Pampanga? THERE ARE SO MANY AMAZING PLACES YOU CAN VISIT AS A CYCLIST.

When I moved to Pampanga, cycling became my hobby, along with my cousins and uncles. A friend of mine became my inspiration, and I learned a lot from her, to the point where I tried and started racing. Riding a bike was an incredible experience that everyone should have and shouldn't miss trying atleast once in their lives!

Here are some places i enjoyed and will surely recommend to you!

MONASTERIO DE TARLAC

It's a peaceful and perfect place to unwind and relax! The mountain and fresh air say it all, but the best part is the view of the church and the massive statue of Jesus Christ overlooking the city. It's also completely free! You and your friends can stop by after a long ride!

MANILA

It's a large city! There are many wonderful places to visit. There are also many people, shops, and restaurants. One of the places I enjoyed visiting was the Mall of Asia. Due to the heavy traffic, it is recommended that you ride your bike there!

NEW CLARK CITY

It is a good place to visit if you want to get away from the crowded, smoggy cities. It is a city, but there are more green spaces than roads and buildings. Perfect for those looking to relax, unwind, and exercise. We enjoyed the 1.4 kilometers of biking paths in NCC's river as bikers.

SUBIC

One of the best places I've ever been! It's a memorable day, and I'm amazed to see people enjoying themselves despite what happened during the pandemic. Slides, towers, bridges, swings, and a zoo will undoubtedly awaken your inner child! The yummy seafood will not disappoint you! A fantastic location that you can reach by a bike.

TREEHOUSE ARAYAT

A place where you feel as if you're living outside of the country. Summer is the perfect time to visit this location! We went to enjoy the mountain breeze, waterfalls, and the hundred-step staircase leading directly to the Tree House. It's ideal for bikers because of the gentle uphill climb, as well as bike racks and long metal seats where you can sit and rest while sharing and hearing stories with your fellow riders!

GONZALES FARM BAMBAN

This place is owned by one of my uncles and they invited us for a celebration. This place is very famous for cyclist who wanted to chill and have fun. A simple yet a best place to practice bikepacking and camping.

Cycling is one of the best decisions I've ever made because, aside from the health benefits, it allowed me to visit places I never thought I'd be able to visit and meet a lot of nice people who share my interests and values. These places I mentioned are more than just locations, they provide me with a lasting memory. Would you like to try traveling to different places without fare expenses and get some exercise? So, what are you holding out for? Try cycling to those locations!

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aching-tummies · 3 years

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if i was your partner... I'd take you on a date to the county fair. I know you have a sweet tooth, and I promise to buy you whatever you want. When we get there, we haven't had dinner yet so we get a big meal of hamburgers and hot dogs, and some fried dough and cotton candy for you. I tell you I want to take a lap around the fair to see what rides there are, and get you as many treats as you want. Ice cream, churros, sodas and milkshakes all end up in your belly... 1/?

I’ve never been to a fair/amusement park or anything so when my beloved suggests we go I’m excited. Since I was a child, I’ve always wanted to go to these things because friends that have gone always have such cool stories about the rides or cute ones about laughing and having fun with their dates. Also…the occasional fair food item sounds delicious.

At the same time, I’m wary of the food because I’ve eaten stuff like ice cream, churros, milkshakes, and hot dogs before. Not at a fair setting and definitely not all in the same day. Past experience tells me that these are the kinds of foods that give me a queasy tummy ache individually. The idea of eating them all in the same day has me apprehensive. Absentmindedly, I press my hands to my tummy as though guarding it from the thought of such a nasty ache.

The day of the fair arrives and excitement has given way to nerves and those nerves have gone straight to my stomach. As we get out of the car and approach the fair grounds my stomach clenches and does flips. An empty growl splits the air but peters off into an inaudible, nauseous burble. I haven’t eaten much since you told me about our visit to the fair. The thought of fair-food filled me with dread since I knew we were coming and I guess I subconsciously lost my appetite in preparation…to try to give the fair-food a blank slate as though in hopes it’ll hurt less if it’s just the fair-food bouncing around in my gut. I rub my tummy with both hands, squeezing my eyes shut against the sensations rolling within it. I want to bolt. I want to go home. It’s like my tummy knows exactly where we are going and knows it’s in for something nasty.

I toy with the idea of asking that we just go on rides. I try to formulate the words, to make up a reason why I won’t be eating anything at the fair. Variations of “my tummy’s upset” or “I ate earlier and I’m full” come to mind. The latter wouldn’t be something I could fool you with. We’ve been together the whole day and you know naught but water has passed my lips all day. If my stomach weren’t sickeningly empty, I would definitely have thrown up by now. The anxiety of the impending situation twists in my gut, and I feel like a solid mass is forming inside my hollow gut…an imagined mass that sends urgent “puke” signals to my brain. I feel my stomach muscles convulse and I squeeze my eyes shut as it snarls again.

Your hand comes to my stomach and jolts me out of my thoughts.

“Aww…hungry?” You say as you pat my stomach through my clothes. You heard the hunger part of the growl and you took my hands on my tummy as a sign of a hunger pang. Or so I think.

“Uhm…n-not exac—"

“They sell food in there. Let’s grab some hotdogs before we check out the rides.” You pat your own stomach, triggering a growl that has no hint of nausea in it. “I’m hungry too.”

My stomach burbles as you all but push me forward, walking us to the entrance of the grounds. Each step brings the thought, “dead man (stomach) walking”. I had opted to eat less/not at all in preparation for this day because I didn’t want to come to the grounds with an upset tummy. My own stupid anxiety over what this kind of food does to me foiled that plan. If I had known my stomach would be upset entering the grounds regardless of whether or not I had eaten anything I would have just eaten something rather than endure hunger for so long.

“Uhm…d-darling? Hotdogs…uhm…y-you know what hot dogs do to my stom—”

“Ooh! Chilli-dogs! Yeah, those beat hot-dogs any day. We’re getting some!” It’s like you didn’t hear me. Tears prickle my lashes as I realize you’ve cut off all my attempts at telling you something is wrong. I open my mouth again but the glint in your eye shuts me up.

You know. The way your hand is snaked around my waist and how your palm is pressed up against my tummy is a new clue. The gentle, subtle rubs you’re giving me, that I haven’t noticed until now—you’ve done similar motions before. When I lost a dear family member you made those same motions on the back of my neck and on my shoulder when you put your arm around me. It’s your go to ‘comforting’ move. You know what’s on my mind. You know how upset my tummy is. You know I’m anxious about the impending stomach ache. And I know about your fascination with my stomach; we aren’t just here for the fair.

“Let’s walk and eat. Fair grounds are huge and I don’t know exactly what rides they have this year. Let’s do a lap, or two, and fill our tummies with all the different food as we narrow down which ones we want to go on.”

You’re still rubbing lazy circles on my tummy. Your voice and the gentle rubs slowly bring me out of my own head and the tight vice-like coil of anxiety in my gut unclenches just a little. The anxiety lessens just enough for a hungry growl to squeeze out. You know exactly what rides are offered. You studied the pamphlet thoroughly and I know for a fact you have a ranking order of your favorite rides. You love the fair and are a seasoned fair-goer. The walk is for my benefit. Suggesting two laps and suggesting that we slowly fill our bellies is entirely for the sake of my tummy. Starting at the fair with an already upset tummy wasn’t in the plan. You don’t just want to deal with an anxious tummy or a sickly one…the food and the fair-experience are part of your script for tonight. I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. If I let myself throw up it’s all over—that’ll be the end of the night. I don’t want to rob you of your opportunity to enjoy the fair. It only happens once a year. I don’t want to imagine having to deal with an entire year of an anxiety-induced stomach ache—knowing that you’ll try again next year.

“O-Okay…uhm…c-could we just split the food? I-I just want a bite or two of everything.” I pat my tummy. “You know my capacity is garbage.” You grin.

“Sure! One large chili-dog it is. Wanna choose what flavor milkshake we get? Oh, and the churros at one particular truck are to die for—you gotta try ‘em!”

And…we’re off. Your hand slides away from my waist and takes my hand instead as you pull me into the fair. I slide a reassuring hand on my tummy, hidden behind my messenger-bag. I rub my tummy gently, trying to quell the upset.

2/? ... and by the time we're ready to ride a ride, I can hear your tummy grumbling noisily. I ask if you're okay, and you insist, though you look a bit nauseous. We end up on the Tilt-A-Whirl, and afterwards, your stomach is louder than ever. I ask if you're hungry, if maybe that'll help your loud, bloated aching belly, and you say yes. More treats end up in your tummy, until its aching so bad you can barely stand...

A large chili-dog, a sub-par burger, and a churro have disappeared between both our guts and I’m currently polishing off the large choco-banana milkshake we ordered. Sure, you had most of the chili-dog and the burger was because you were still hungry—I’ve let you have the lion’s share of the solid foods. I meant to let you have most of the milkshake too, but you’ve been sneakily finding ways to have it end up in my hands and to my lips.

My stomach is comfortable right now. There’s a barely-there queasiness in it but it’s slight enough to be ignored. It’s quite noisy though, churning away as it tries to break down what’s gone into it. You’ve been rubbing my tummy as we’ve been walking for the last ten minutes or so and I’m sure your rubs are the only reason my stomach is comfortable right now. Without the rubs, a normal fast-food combo has been enough to give me a twisting ache in my gut, enough to get me to cry and dash off to a bathroom to be rid of the mess.

“Oh, hey! Let’s go on that!” You gesture to the roller-coaster we’ve arrived at. I’ve never been on one. “Oh…damn…no drinks allowed on it.”

I raise my eyebrow quizzically as I rattle the empty milkshake cup. You offer a sheepish smile and hold up a full cup of cola you’ve been clutching in your other hand. “Came with the burger. Could’ja help? My tummy’s gettin’ kinda full.” You place a hand on your slightly rounded tummy.

Sure, it’s only cola…but neither of us is in the habit of wasting food. Steeling my nerves, I grab the cola and begin to suck at the straw, taking it down in gulps and thanking the heavens that it’s small as far as beverage containers go.

You pat my grumbling tummy as I finish the cola, forcing a sharp belch to pass my lips. “You didn’t have to chug it, we could have come back.” You coo as you continue to pat and rub my tummy. I groan, realizing my stupidity. My stomach sloshes sickeningly and rumbles violently at the sudden addition.

“Nah. We’ve already done two laps around the grounds. If we’re going to ride anything now’s the time.” A part of me just wants this night to be over. That cola pushed the discomfort meter in my gut higher. There’s a tight pressure inside of me right now and I want to believe it’s just the carbonation from the cola.

We share a car in the roller coaster. I grip the bar. Do not throw up. Do not throw up. Do not throw up. Repeats like a mantra in my head. Just as the coaster starts rolling, you release the bar and put both hands on my gut. You knead into my tummy, forcing burps out as I grip the rail tightly for the both of us. We have seatbelts and all that…the bar is just there for an extra level of safety. You’re experienced, you know we won’t fall even if we aren’t white-knuckling it so you put your hands to a different use. Each loop and sharp turn of the coaster causes your grip on my tummy to tighten. A particularly sharp turn sends your entire form slamming against me and your elbow meets my stomach and has me feeling something wet surge up my esophagus but I fight it down. You’ve managed to get most of the gas out of my tummy before the big loop of the coaster, at which point you offer one last pat to my tummy and turn to face forward properly. My stomach churns as we slow and watch the looming loop seeming to creep up on us. As we crawl up the loop my own hands clutch my tummy and I begin to squeeze, short and small burps burble out of me. You raise an eyebrow but are more fixated on the coaster. I want the gas out. I don’t want the inversion to cause a burp to bring up something else when we’re completely upside-down.

As we climb out of the coaster all that is left in my gut is a dense mass of thick sludge swirling around in a lake of cola. Some of the milk from the shake most definitely curdled in the acid bath of the cola. I let out a few moans as I walk and my hands have not left my tummy since we got off. I cradle my churning gut as I make my way to a miraculously empty bench.

“Babe, you okay?” Concern colors your voice as you skip after me. I need a few minutes for my stomach to re-orient itself. I can feel the thick sludge swimming in my gut and it is not a pleasant feeling. The squeals and whines from my gut betray that it doesn’t like the sensations either.

You’ve disappeared and I’m too absorbed in the activity in my tummy to care. Bathroom break, maybe. I press into my tummy cautiously, wincing at the churning grumble that is pushed forth from it. I can’t help but groan under my breath. My stomach really sick. I feel like it’s a sack of vomit churning violently rather than a stomach at this point.

I hear the crinkle of paper and I open my eyes. Something crisp and golden is shoved into my face as though you are presenting me with a bouquet of flowers.

“Is that?” My eyes widen.

“Yup! A Bloomin’ Onion! I saw a stall selling ‘em while we were on the coaster.” You announce proudly as you plop yourself down next to me.

Eagerly, I reach to tear off a piece of the treat, my nauseous tummy forgotten.

“I thought you’d need something to settle your stomach and maybe absorb some of the mess in there.” You pat my noisily churning tummy. “A-also…you’ve always wanted to try this thing, right? ‘cuz you love onion rings.”

“Mmph.” I give you an affirmative grunt as my mouth is full of the treat. You giggle and tear off some for yourself.

Once the onion has disappeared between the two of us my stomach is feeling moderately better. I’ve eaten most of it. I’ll definitely come to regret putting something so oily down the hatch, but I take your hand and suggest more rides before it has time to bloom into a full-blown sickly ache. I’m resigned to it now. We’ve got precious few minutes before my stomach begins to literally belly-ache about what’s gone into it.

We arrive at your favorite, the Tilt-a-Whirl. Nothing will stop me from letting you enjoy this ride tonight. I hope my stomach gets the memo. As I hear the screams from the ride, I notice someone off to the side of it, hurling into a convenient trash bin. I grimace, willing that not to be me.

“Babe, you sure you’re up for this?” You’re worried. I take your hand as we get in the (thankfully) short line.

“Yeah. You love this ride. It’s fine.” My tummy grumbles deeply, sounding like a dying lawn mower or something.

You slide your hands around my waist, rubbing and patting at the upset vat that is my stomach. Your hands are magic. By the time we’re at the front of the line my stomach is still churning, and aching, but not as violently as it was before. There’s a very present ache in my guts but it’s just under the threshold between a full-blown stomach ache and something that could just be classified as discomfort.

The seatbelt is tight against my tummy and I have doubts, almost caving and telling the staff I’ve changed my mind and to let me off before the ride has even begun. As the cup spins the centrifugal force causes the belt to cut into my stomach jostling it every which way. I grow steadily more and more nauseous as the ride goes on. I don’t have your miracle hands on my tummy and that thought is enough to make me want to cry. Seeking some escapism, I let my mind wander as I try to focus on anything but the violent churning in my tummy. This ride has accomplished in thirty seconds what it took your hands thirty minutes to fix.

I imagine how this ride looks from above. It must look pretty cool—my thoughts are interrupted by a new one: how this ride looks from above is how my stomach feels right now. Uneven, unpredictable churning with little bits seeming to churn within the mess. Yeah, the inventor of this thing must have seen some cruel irony in fabricating a ride that was an external representation of what it was causing internally.

When the ride ends I practically stumble into you. You laugh, dizzy yourself, and we move together. I’m leaning on you, whimpering and clutching at my distressed tummy. I can feel it. I want to throw up. The vomit signals are very strong but it feels like one of the chunks of curdled whatever has blocked the path to my esophagus. My stomach convulses and I whine as it grumbles angrily.

Your hand comes to my tummy. “Aww…baby…you hungry? The most of a solid thing you’ve eaten today has been that onion. Maybe something more solid in your tummy will calm it down?”

I can no longer tell if you’re sticking to your kink-script or if you genuinely believe my sickly tummy is in need of some proper sustenance. My stomach feels too awful to care so I let you lead me by the hand wherever it is you want us to go.

I don’t protest when something is shoved into my hands. You tell me to eat and I mechanically bring it to my mouth and take bites. I don’t even know what it is you’re making me eat, but many different treats disappear into my tummy. I think there was a burrito of some sort at one point. At least two different churros have made an appearance too. A slice of pizza, dripping with grease, is definitely one of the items if the layer of grease floating in my gut is any indication.

“Ergh…ugh…” I curl, bringing my knees up and sandwiching my arms over my belly. You led me to a sort of hidden bench. We’re kind of behind one of the tents for some carnival game and there’s tree-coverage around us. You wanted some privacy while you fed me and I’m grateful for it because I’m certain my stomach is about to spill out of my mouth and I do not want an audience. Upset doesn’t even begin to cover how bad it feels. I feel like I’ve swallowed lava and the molten mass is burning away my digestive organs. The lingering ‘discomfort’ of an ache threatening to bloom finally explodes and I curl up tightly, the added pressure not doing any favors for my poor, achy tummy. “Ugh…urp…n-no more…please? Ugh…babe…it hurts. My tummy hurts so, so much…” My stomach protests just vocally as I do.

I end up flopping over onto my side on the bench, knees still curled up to press my arms into my sickly belly. You guide me to make sure my head is on your lap. You try to get me to uncurl, to grant you access to my tummy, but my limbs refuse to budge so you settle on rubbing my side and back.

“Aww…baby…maybe a walk would settle your tummy?” Your voice is sickly sweet and I groan as it goes straight to my stomach, feeling like I just guzzled another cola.

“Umph…nuh-uh—nope. Not gunna.” I curl up, my tears soaking into the fabric on your lap as I whimper a little. I try to bring up a burp, desperately trying to relieve some of the pressure in my gut. Nothing comes up. I know there’s some in there—there has to be—but each time I clench my abdomen it feels like there’s something sickly blocking the path of the gas. If I were to really push it I could maybe clear the blockage…but I’d almost definitely end up vomiting all over your lap.

“Babe…how about that walk?” You suggest again and this time I glare at you from your lap. I glare at you and uncurl just a little. You can see the pain lancing through my eyes for a split second. I watch as your gaze travels to my gut and then I jab at it with a hand. I bite back the groan of pain so that you can hear the resulting rumble. The turbulent sounds from the jab continue for a few moments even as I curl up again.

“A walk? You kiddin’ me? My tummy hurts, babe. Hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it. I can’t even stand up straight ‘cuz my tummy is imploding; and you want me to walk?!”

I’m being curt with you. I know I am and I regret it even as the words spill from my mouth. It’s the stomach ache. I haven’t had such a nasty one in a very long time.

3/3 I feel terribly you're not feeling so well, and offer to help you to the car. You lean on me heavily, and I rub your aching belly as we make our way back to the car. I have to help you in, and the seatbelt barely fits over your round tummy. I rub it as we drive home, and carry you into our house where I'll nurse your tummy back to health... or maybe give you more snacks ;)

“Oh, baby…I’m sorry.” You’re genuinely sorry and that makes me feel even worse about snapping at you. I pull a hand out from its position on my tummy, reaching over to brush against your face, to apologize in some way.

A sharp cramp shoots through my unhappy tummy and I let out an exclamation of pain. It felt like I got punched, from the inside. I whimper and close my eyes, breaths labored as I clutch at my tummy again. My stomach convulses violently and you can tell that I’m trying very hard both to vomit and to keep it in me. The struggle exhausts me and it breaks your heart to see it go down.

The fit dies down after a while and I eventually lie still on your lap. My stomach continues to churn within me and you can hear the sickly burbling. You’ve taken to carding a hand through my hair and using your other hand to rub at whatever you can reach—arm, side, back. The shooting cramps die down somewhat and I manage to uncurl. I find your hand and guide it to my stomach and you rub it gently. I’m still biting back grunts with each breath but you can tell that your massage is slowly doing something for my sickly tummy.

“Do you think you can get to the car? I think we’re done here.”

I whimper, shaking my head and guiding your hand back to my tummy. “Not yet. Ugh…please?” I look at you, silently begging for more rubs. “If I get up now I’m gonna hurl.” You continue rubbing my tummy and we continue in our positions for a while.

My stomach is fairly distended. I usually don’t eat much in a single day and you managed to cram a whole lot of stuff I usually wouldn’t touch into me today. Sugar, fried foods, salt, milkshakes. This is stuff I only allow myself to indulge in a couple of times a year…and only one at a time, usually. Like…before meeting you I was the type to see a can of cola as a treat. That was my dessert quota for the day or week. After we got together the occasional scoop of ice-cream became another dessert option—but always only one scoop. This is our first time at the fair as a couple and you really let me have it. You gave me the ‘full’ experience in more ways than one and my tummy is suffering for it.

“Urp…ugh…nachos? When did I eat nachos?” You laugh at my observation, a sign that I’m doing a bit better.

“I think it was between the second burrito and the banana split.” You inform me as I sit up.

“Second? Banana…split?” I’m surprised. I know I was out of it when you were feeding me, too caught up in the agony swirling in my tummy, but I didn’t think I was that out of it. “Wait…when was the pizza?” You laugh at my dumbfounded expression.

“I only gave you a few bites of the banana split ‘cuz I wanted it…and ‘cuz it looked like you were going to be sick at that point. You ate a whole slice of that pizza before the ice-cream.” My stomach burbles as it’s reminded and I put a hand on it.

“I don’t think that qualified as pizza. It feels like it was grease with a side of dough and cheese.” I groan, patting my tummy gently and rubbing up and down slightly. I still feel sick but the crippling ache has subsided…for now.

I take your hand and get up off the bench. You’re up immediately and drag one of my arms over to rest around your shoulders. We stumble our way toward the exit with your hands resting on my waist. My other hand on my belly is more to support the extra weight while yours provide some much-needed rubs. It’s a team effort to get to the car in my state.

You help me into the passenger seat as I moan. The cramps are building in intensity. You fasten my seatbelt and I almost push you off when you put too much pressure leaning over me to get the thing buckled. Now that I am sitting up my belly is really prominently distended. As you back up I immediately recline the seat, giving my belly some much needed room.

“Do not throw up in the car.” You admonish.

“Urgh…urp…ulp…ugh…no promises.” I whimper. You close the door and the impact jostles my belly. I clutch at it with a groan, swallowing back something thick and wet.

It’s a long drive back home. I’m reclined as far as the seat will go. You have one hand on the wheel and the other rubbing absentmindedly over the crest of my tummy when it’s not needed to steer or shift gears or whatever.

A part of you feels horrible for what we have done tonight. While both of us are into tummies, this is the first time we’ve ever done something like this. We’ve done some minor stuffings before. We’ve done other things in the realm of tummy kink before. This is a first where you stuffed me with foods that would normally cause me great distress all on their own and you decided to cram them all into me in the span of six hours.

I’m lost to the pain as we pull up to our place. I’m in the same incoherent state I was in when you fed me all those things I didn’t register. Gently, you unbuckle the seatbelt, guiding it home so that it doesn’t have a chance to upset my belly further. I groan and nearly lose my gorge as you slide your arms under my back and my knees and lift me out of the car with a massive heave.

The vertigo goes right to my tummy and I’m a groaning mess as you whisper reassurances at me. We’re almost home. Don’t throw up on you. Etc.

You set me on the couch. The bedroom is too far a walk and you don’t want to risk dropping me. The extra weight of all that indigestion is more than you anticipated.

I can’t move. My tummy is pinning me down and the threat of vomiting is extreme. I feel like a thermometer or something with the sludge going up and down my esophagus.

You set a bin within reach of me before disappearing to the kitchen. I whimper, wishing I could call out. I need your hands on my belly. I feel so sick.

I hear clattering in the kitchen. The tell-tale signs of something being microwaved. I hope it’s a heat pack or something even if the added pressure of it is sure to make me vomit. You return with a plate of pizza bites and my stomach pulls a move where it feels like it’s trying to drop out of me and run. I can’t move. I’m too full, too sick, and in too much pain. I only hope you have a night of rubs planned and that you’ve got a hair-tie somewhere ‘cuz there is no way this night ends without me throwing up.

#AT Asks #Tummy RP #bloated belly #Tummy ache kink #Stuffing #tummy stuffing

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youbloodymadgenius · 4 years

Text

Min Skat (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is for @maggiescarborough‘s and @gearhead66‘s birthdays 🎉 The truth is, I wanted to write two different fics but I had problems... As you may know, girls, I was on vacation. And the laptop I took with me was broken... So... I couldn’t write. I got home only 36 hours ago. That’s why I finally decided to write a single story, to share, for both of you. Hope you won’t mind. And since I know you both love fluff, then... fluff it is!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOVELY WOMEN 💖 🌷 💖

As usual, thanks to my lifesaver, @inforapound, for beta reading it so quickly 🌻

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Min elskede: my love - Min skat: my treasure

the gif belongs to @ohbelllaciao

Summary: You’re pregnant, childish, cranky, hungry, moody and it’s the middle of the night. How’s Ivar going to react?

Warnings: soft, soft, soft Ivar and a lot of fluff.

Words: 2308

Hands on your lower back in a futile attempt to ease the shooting pain coursing through your spine, you slowly cross the room. The faint moonlight allows you to see that Ivar hasn't moved. Covered by many furs, lying on his side, his eyes are closed, his steady breathing just loud enough to hear.

You honestly resent him for sleeping peacefully when you haven't been able to for weeks. There are so many reasons for your sleepless nights: the constant need to empty your bladder, the feeling of choking as soon as you lie down, the midnight cravings, your inability to find a comfortable position in your shared bed, or the frantic kicks from the tiny human growing inside you as soon as you try to rest… You're exhausted. And mildly jealous.

Getting closer, you sink heavily onto the bed, releasing a deep sigh. Ivar immediately moves and groans, annoying you. He should know better and not dare to complain. "Ivar, don't expect me to apologize! I am warning you!" You hiss through clenched teeth, furrowing your brows. "Carry a baby for nine fucking moons and then, maybe, you'll be allowed to say something!"

Sitting up, he grabs a candle and lights it before shifting next to you.

Looking at him, you see his big, sleepy blue eyes staring at you, bewilderment written all over his face. "Min elskede, are you all right? Is there anything I can do?" There's no annoyance or impatience in his voice, and his gentleness stirs you up. You love him so much… Forgotten, your previous anger is replaced by an emotional roller-coaster bringing tears to your eyes.

Since you don't answer, he gets closer to you, squeezing both your hands in one of his. "Y/N, min elskede, why did you get up? Tell me please."

Using his free hand, he gently fixes a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"I don't know…" Shrugging your shoulders, you try to explain. "I had… I was too hot. And then I had to… pee…" You blush. "And now I wish I'd grab something to eat. I'm hungry. And I'm cold." Snuggling into his arms, you can't help but pout.

Smiling at you, he kisses softly the tip of your nose before speaking firmly, grabbing and patting a fluffy pillow. "I'll take care of everything. Lie down, min elskede." You're too exhausted to fight back and just do as you're told. Rewarded by a soft kiss on your forehead, Ivar folds several furs onto you and you give him a little smile.

You watch him as he throws himself onto the floor and starts crawling. The glorious sight of his nacked, chiseled chest is mesmerizing and painfully appealing. If you weren't so pregnant, you'd probably jump on him for a long and passionate lovemaking session. But here you are, huge and so weary that the simple thought of moving again exhausts you. Frustrated, you close your eyes, sighing heavily.

"I'll be right back, min elskede." Stopping at the doorway, Ivar gives you a last comforting smile and then disappears. You do know he'll come back with everything you could wish for, and undoubtedly more.

From the very beginning, Ivar has always been different around you. Nicer to you than to other people. Less prone to anger. You know it's because of the way you acted when you first met him. That night, for the first time in his life, he had been treated first as a human being, and not as a cripple.

He'd traveled all the way to Vestfold to ask your uncle, King Harald, for his support in his war against Lagertha. You, the illegitimate daughter of Halfdan the Black, the king's brother, lived most of the time further north with your mother, who had only been a one-night stand to your father. But once or twice a year, Harald invited you to Vestfold, usually for his own benefit.

That time, the king had asked you – urged you – to seduce Ivar the Boneless, in order to strengthen their alliance. You didn't like being treated like a courtesan and had locked yourself in your room. It had taken all your father's forcefulness to convince you to come out. When you had eventually entered the hall, the feast in honor of the youngest Ragnarsson was in full swing. Dressed in a beautiful burgundy red dress offered to you by King Harald, you had caught everyone's attention but only had eyes for your uncle's special guest. Immediately captivated by his perfect facial features, you had felt as if you were drowning in his unimaginably blue eyes as soon you had looked into them, your heart skipping a beat.

Sitting next to your uncle, the chair to his left was free, reserved for you according to your father's words. Taking your seat nervously, you had wondered if he could hear the frantic heartbeat in your chest.

From that moment on, it was just the two of you. You weren't even sure the world kept spinning. For hours, Ivar and you had been talking, smiling at each other, his hand grabbing yours under the table, your fingers stroking his knuckles.

You soon had realized that Ivar's reputation – a selfish, bloodthirsty and ruthless prince – only reflected part of the man he was: outstandingly intelligent, curious about everything, funny, smart and clever. He had asked you a lot of questions, wanted to know everything about you. You had told him about your village, about your mother's people, the Sami, and their peculiar customs. He had listened carefully, often asking you to clarify some details. He had been more reluctant to talk about his life, claiming that yours was much more exciting than his own, made of wars and blood.

When your completely drunk uncle had ended the feast, Ivar had put his hand on your forearm, tentatively offering to see you again the next day. Much to his surprise, you had agreed right away, a wide smile lighting up your face. And then a frown had crossed his face as he had lowered his head. "Y/N, I… There's something you need to know… "The panic was written all over his face. "I'm… not like everyone else." Swallowing, he had kept his head down.

Of course he wasn't. He was different. He had won your heart in a matter of hours. What was the problem? Then, realization had hit you. Of course. Speaking softly, you had grabbed his hand. "I know absolutely everything I need to know about you, Ivar."

Releasing a shaky breath, Ivar had shook his head. "No, you don't. You wouldn't have agreed to meet me again if you did. You wouldn't have agreed if you knew that I'm a cr—" Shushing him, one finger on his lips, one hand on his chin, you had forced him to look at you. "Ivar, I know your legs don't work. I knew all along. I knew when I sat next to you." He was bewildered and speechless. Shrugging, you had explained. "I don't care if you can't walk, Ivar, it doesn't matter. What matters though, it's what's there,” your hand had briefly grazed his chest, you had pointed at his heart, "and there,” your index finger had brushed his forehead as you had smiled once again. "So yes, I definitely want to meet you tomorrow." And then, your lips had audaciously found his, leaving him astounded.

You were already utterly in love. And so was he. That night, you spoke with your heart and Ivar believed you. And more importantly, from that night on, he trusted you, allowing himself to be soft and caring when it was just the two of you.

Abandoned to your memories, you sigh lovingly. Gods, this man is your everything and you love being the one with whom he's his true self. You know him like no one else does. And you see him for who he is. Not a king, not a cripple. Just a man; your man. Often stubborn, sometimes hot-tempered but always and unwaveringly loving.

Since you are with child, Ivar takes even greater care of you, his unexpected yet unfailing patience both surprizing and delighting you. Whether you're screaming, crying or sulking, he's always there, smiling, cheering you up, whatever the time of day or night. And no matter what you ask, he's always trying to meet all your needs, making a point of doing everything on his own.

Every night, since your first cravings many months ago, he brings you something to eat.

Every day, he massages your tense shoulders and your aching back, and then rubs your swollen legs.

At all times, he wordlessly endures your mood swings and tantrums.

Every morning, he helps you get dressed before braiding your hair while whispering words of love for only you to hear.

And every day, you feel guilty.

Since you're pregnant, you're not yourself. Most of the time you can't help it, but sometimes you realize what you're doing and blame yourself for treating your husband so poorly.

"Min elskede!" His voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

Pushing a heavy wooden tray in front of him, Ivar carefully crawls his way back. From where you are, you can see on the tray two bowls and one plate, all full of delicacies.

When he's close enough, Ivar hands you the tray before pulling himself up on the bed, taking a seat right next to you. Helping you sit up, he places a large cushion behind your back, his knuckles grazing your cheek while his lips briefly find yours.

Looking down, you stare in wonder at what Ivar brought you. Once again, he thought of everything: various dried meats, goat cheese, those blueberries you love so much and those pickled herrings you usually hate but are mad about since you are with child.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you let out an embarrassed laugh. "Ivar, I don't deserve this…" Blinking a few times, you grab his hand. "I don't deserve you."

He shakes his head, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "Min elskede, you made me a man, then a husband." He tenderly puts his free hand on your huge belly. "And soon, I'll become a father. It's more than I could have hoped for. Of course you deserve this. You deserve even more than this." Before you can say anything, Ivar pops a blueberry in your mouth.

Patiently waiting for you to finish eating, Ivar keeps a soothing hand over your shoulders, absentmindedly massaging them while pecking you on the cheek. As soon as you finish, he puts the tray on the nightstand, nodding appreciatively as he sees the cleared plates.

"Min elskede, it's far from dawn, you should try to get back to sleep." You nod getting lost in a yawn and lay down, rolling on your side with effort. Ivar lays down as well, facing you, his right hand brushing your belly.

"I love you, Ivar, I love you so much. You're a wonderful husband and you're going to be an amazing father." Sighing, you close your eyes for an instant. "You'll be a much better father than yours or mine ever was." Your voice is shaky and you can see uncertainty on Ivar's face.

"I'll try, Y/N, I'll try really hard. I can promise that I'll do my best." His breath hitches as he grabs your hand, squeezing it. "But tell me… Tell me again…" He stops, eyes clearly watering. Swallowing, he winces before taking a deep breath. "Tell me… What are we going to do if the baby is… like me?"

That's his greatest fear. You know your husband is terrified. The thought of him passing his condition – his curse, as he says – on to your kid gives him nightmares. Since you have been with child, he's done everything he can not to bother you with it. Yet, the closer it gets, the less he manages to hide his worries.

A hand on his cheek, you give him a reassuring smile. "If the baby is like you, my king, we'll love them just as much. We'll be there for them at every step, and you can teach them everything you had to find out on your own. If the baby is like you, it will be their strength and we'll help them to make the most of it. And I promise you, Ivar, growing up, this child will have everything you didn’t." Eyes bathed in tears, Ivar sniffles as you grasp his hand, firmly putting it back on your belly. "However, because of those vigorous kicks…,” Ivar almost jumps, wide-eyed, as he feels something hitting his hand and you stifle a laugh, "… I strongly believe their legs will be perfectly healthy."

Closing his eyes, Ivar enjoys feeling the blows against his palm, but frowns as you hiss in pain, one of them reaching your ribcage.

Sitting upright and adjusting his legs, he takes the fur off, tossing it to the side before pushing your nightgown up. He gently presses his hand on your belly, his fingers freely running over your skin, before lowering his head. "Min skat, I know you can't wait to see the world, and the truth is, I can't wait to meet you. But for now, please, let your beautiful mother sleep." Whether it's Ivar's voice, or his touch, it works and you can feel your baby calm down. Ivar inhales deeply. "My father once told me that happiness was nothing. He couldn't be more wrong. Your mother made me a happy man, which I thought was impossible. She and I, together, will teach you love and happiness…"

As you struggle to hold back your tears, Ivar peppers light kisses all over your belly. "Go to sleep, baby…" He whispers… "Sleep, min skat."

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @lisinfleur @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @maggiescarborough @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @milkkygirls @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @shannygoatgruff @xbellaxcarolinax @didiintheblog @zuxiezendler

#ivar #ivar x reader #ivar fanfic #ivar fic #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar vikings #vikings #vikings imagine #vikings ivar #sydney's birthday #sophie's birthday #gearhead66 #maggiescarborough #Happy Birthday

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silverhandjoytoys · 4 years

Text

I got you, V.

Those words ricocheted off the walls of her mind, steadily growing louder with each passing second.

Told you that was a bad idea, but you just don't fuckin' listen.

Even when V was drifting somewhere between life and death, she could still hear the voice of the asshole rocker boy that lived in her.

The glitching was worse than it had ever been, making her feel as if her head was going to explode. She wasn't ready to die, but it seemed to be a foregone conclusion. It didn't matter how deep they went into finding a way to stop it, they were still so far away from a solution.

Come on, V, fight it.

Her eyes fluttered open sometime later. The smell of cigarettes and a dingy motel room filled her nostrils.

"Wha- fuck… Johnny?" She said, willing herself to sit up.

"Stay down, V. Need to take it easy." He appeared next to her, crouching next to the bed.

"What... where-" the room was blurred, objects barely formed as she tried to focus.

The only thing she could see clearly was Johnny. A hint of concern etched across his face, but she assumed it was just her vision.

"Brought you to a safe place. Those fucks won't find us here." Johnny said, answering a question she felt like she asked hours ago.

"Where... is here?" She struggled to return to full consciousness, head buzzing and vision distorting.

"Motel outside of the city. Stayed here a long time ago," he answered.

"This a they don't care if you vomit on the carpet kinda place?"

"Can't smell the aroma of vomit's past?" He asked with a little smirk.

V tried to laugh but she was hit with a shit storm of nausea and couldn't hold it back. She leaned over the edge of the bed and emptied the contents of her stomach at Johnny's feet.

"Barely missed me." He moved back.

V rolled back on the bed, feeling slightly better, "did you- how did you get me here?"

"Had to take your body over for a while. Only choice I had to keep you alive," he explained, stepping around her vomit to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Surprised I'm still alive after what you did the first time you were in control," she smirked and propped herself up against the headboard.

"Wasn't about to leave you in a pool of your own fluids." He kept his gaze on her.

V felt like she'd been hit by a truck, "thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you riding shotgun." She smiled slightly, trying to ignore the buzzing in her head.

"Guess there are some benefits to sharing the same body." He pulled a cigarette out and lit it.

There was something oddly comforting about it. Like a certain amount of stability had returned just from seeing him smoke. Normalcy in the midst of chaos.

"You ever wish you'd gotten stuck with someone else?" V asked.

"Someone with a dick maybe." He passed the cigarette to V.

"I can only imagine the chaos you'd cause if you had full access to someone's dick." She took the cigarette from his fingers.

Normally she wasn't one for smoking, but it was becoming a habit after a black out.

"You have terrible taste in sex partners," he chided.

"Still won't let the whole River thing go, huh?" V grinned and passed the cigarette back as she blew out a stream of smoke.

"A cop, V. You made me fuck a cop."

"Oh, then I can only assume you came too? Does that mean... you enjoyed it?" She grinned.

"Fuck you." Johnny shook his head and plucked the cigarette from her fingers.

"Had to feel good since you're feeling everything same as me. River is a God with his tongue." V pulled her knees up to her chest and watched Johnny take a long drag of the cigarette.

"Can we at least talk about future fucking? I should have a say," he said after a long silence.

"Okay, who did you have in mind?" V was curious if this was something he'd put actual thought into.

"Anyone with tits and a pussy." He said.

"That narrows it down a bit. I'm all for fucking chicks, but can we be a little more... selective?"

"Selective? The fuck does that mean?" Johnny furrowed his brow.

"No back alley hookers for one." V explained.

"Joytoys need attention too, V."

"Wait, so you'll bitch about flirting with Judy, but you're okay with back alley hookers?" She asked.

"Don't get me started on Judy," he warned, passing her the cigarette.

"Sound a little jealous there, Silverhand."

"Never been jealous before, ain't about to start." He shook his head.

V grinned and scooted closer, placing her hand on his shoulder, "don't deny it, you get all grumpy when Judy's around."

"Don't get grumpy either." He shrugged her hand off his shoulder.

V burst out laughing, even though it hurt to do so. "When are you not grumpy?"

"All the time, just said it," he replied without hesitation.

"Liar," V said, feeling his side for another cigarette.

"Told ya smoking is bad. No more," he grumbled, pushing her hand away.

"Seriously? Your first words when you crawled out of my psyche were where are my smokes." V reached for him again.

"No more. Need to keep your health up, what's left of it." He grabbed her wrist.

"Johnny, how do you feel when you're denied smokes?" She inquired.

"Doesn't matter what I feel, this is about you." He pulled another cigarette out and lit it.

"I'm literally getting taken over by you. Give me a goddamn cigarette." She reached for the one between his lips, but he caught her arms.

"Don't make me tie you up." He was able to hold her arms back with little effort.

If V hadn't been curious about him tying her up, she would've been concerned about her lack of strength.

"You wouldn't. Plus, you need me mobile so we can destroy shit."

"Not tonight, I don't. Told you to rest," he warned again.

"I'm not tired. At least let me sit up and smoke with you," V pushed, scooting closer to him.

"You're being more annoying than usual. Upset I used your body without permission?"

"Used my body would be an understatement. You took my body for a joyride." V tried for the cigarette again, this time winning the fight.

She knew it was only because he allowed her too though.

"Got you back in one piece, didn't I?" He asked.

"Barely. I'll need a week soaking in a tub and another week to sleep." She put the cigarette up to her lips.

"Gonna have to accept sleeping on a bed stained with bodily fluids and a shower that might not work."

"You couldn't bring me to a resort?" V joked.

"I brought you here for a reason, V," he admitted without so much as a glance in her direction.

V sat up a little more, "what reason is that? Getting tetanus?"

"Can you stand?" He turned towards her.

"Yeah, wh-"

"Come over here." He stood without explanation.

V slid off the bed and stood up slowly, letting her legs adjust for a moment before straightening up. She shuffled towards the kitchen, trying to avoid the large stains on the floor.

"Open up that cabinet and lift up the bottom board." He leaned against the wall while she carefully crouched to open it up.

"What am I lookin' for?" She asked, searching for a good spot to lift up the board.

She popped the board out and sat it to the side. She reached in and grabbed two metal dog tags on a chain.

"Are these-"

"Mine." He answered.

V sat back against the wall, turning the tags in her hands, "they've been here all this time?"

"Had to pry that board up myself," he said, stepping in front of her.

"Johnny... I- why are you giving me these?" V felt the significance of the moment right away. Johnny wouldn't do something like that if it was meaningless to him.

"Never found anyone worthy of having them, not one, until I met you, V." Johnny struggled to look up at her.

"Johnny-"

"You had to accept me coming into your life with no warning. Probably know me better than anyone ever has." He watched as she put them around her neck.

"Really didn't have much of a choice, but I'll be honest, I like having you around," V replied, letting the tags rest between her cleavage.

"Of all the people I could've ended up stuck in, I'm glad it was you."

The softest grin played on his lips and V realized it was the first time she'd seen him genuinely smile. No hint of anger, spite, or sarcasm at all.

She could've come back with a snarky comment like their usual banter but reconsidered. She couldn't ruin the surprisingly soft side he just revealed.

"I uh... thanks, Johnny. Means a lot." She stepped closer and kissed his cheek.

Johnny tensed and V froze, both of them realizing they'd never actually been this close to one another, even though they were connected. V placed her hand on his cheek and turned towards him, hesitating before pressing her lips to his softly.

V noticed his hesitation immediately and began to pull away, but he grabbed her hips and brought her back.

"You don't have to... I- I probably shouldn't have... "

He silenced her with a soft kiss that quickly turned harsh. He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her in closer, his lips moving perfectly against hers. When he finally released her she was in a daze, feeling like the breath had been taken from her lungs.

"Johnny, I-"

"Been curious about that." He said.

"Yeah? Why'd you wait so long?" She teased as she tried to regain her composure.

"Didn't think you wanted it. Why'd you waste your time on the cop?"

"Just can't let that go, can ya?" She laughed and leaned in for a hug.

"Never will. Still annoys me." He pulled her in and held her pressed against his chest.

"I wouldn't have fucked him had I known you wanted this." V was enjoying the softness of his touch as he ran his hands down her sides to her hips.

"Guess we need to communicate better," he said.

"And here I thought our problem was too much communication." She kissed his neck without thinking and paused, unsure if he was ready for more.

Johnny let out a soft sigh, "you need to rest."

"I'm not tired. Especially not now." V said, not moving away from him.

"Not really sure of this is a good idea." Johnny said.

"Since when do you worry about that?" V pressed her lips to his neck again.

"Since I started to like havin' you around," he admitted, but he made no move to stop you.

"Isn't that a good reason to keep going?" She pulled back, searching his expression for an answer.

"Relationships with me tend to break down once the fucking starts."

"It's not like you can leave though." V shrugged.

"Might not work out like you think." He stood still and let her continue to kiss along his jaw.

"It might work out better than you think." V placed her hand on his chest.

"Stop and think it over before you keep doin' that, V." He let out a low grunt as she continued to kiss closer to his lips.

"Already thought about it, Johnny," she whispered, breath hot against his skin.

His hand was around her throat in an instant as he shifted their positions, pressing her back against the wall.

"Ain't no going back after. Sure you want this?" Johnny's lips were close, but just out of reach for her.

"Yes, Johnny. Tell me you don't?" She was already panting for him.

"Pretty sure you know the answer to that, V," he said softly.

"Then take what you want," she whispered, eyes darting between his eyes and lips.

"Exactly what I've always done and it usually doesn't end well."

"But not with me." V was struggling to keep from begging.

"V-"

"Please, Johnny?" She asked softly, hoping he'd give in to what they both wanted.

He pulled her into a harsh kiss, making her moan at the sudden contact.

His hands moved down her sides to grab the hem of her tanktop and pull it over her head. The sound of his dog tags clinging as they fell back to her chest was like music to his ears.

Johnny returned his lips to hers as if he was dying for another taste. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him flush against her. His hands moved down to her pants, working at the button and her belt until he could push her pants down to her knees.

He had to concentrate on being gentle with her after what happened. That wasn't his usual style, but for her, he was willing to change things up. He was finally understanding why it could be satisfying to put someone else's needs above his own. V more than deserved that, especially after he was dropped unceremoniously into her psyche.

"Damn shoes." She sighed as she worked to get them off.

"No rush, V." Johnny said as he trailed his lips down her neck.

She finally got them off and shuffled out of her pants. She pulled him close and kissed him again, needing to feel his lips against her once more.

"We're going slow. Can't have you feeling worse." He slowly walked her towards the bed and gently laid her down.

"You don't have to treat me like glass, Johnny. Not gonna break that easy."

"No doubts that you're tough, V. But you need to take it easy." He crawled on the bed and peeled her panties off, settling between her thighs.

"Just relax," he said as he lowered his head and slid his tongue up her cunt.

V inhaled sharply at the feeling of his tongue flicking over her clit.

"Fuck, Johnny." She squirmed.

"Still, V." He ordered and ducked his head back down to focus on eating her out.

She gripped the sheets beneath her and tried to stay still, but it was proving to be a lot harder than she thought.

The only sounds in the room were her shallow breaths and the faint sound of Johnny's tongue lapping at her clit.

The bed creaked beneath her the harder he pressed her into the mattress.

"Johnny..." V panted for him the closer she got to coming.

"Let go for me, V." Johnny said.

She held on as long as she could, not ready for it to end.

"Don't be stubborn, V," he said, breath warm against her skin.

"You're the stubborn one, Johnny, remember?" She moaned as she squirmed beneath him.

Johnny grinned and dove back in, moving his tongue faster and easing two fingers into her. V bucked and writhed until she couldn't hold on any longer.

"Fuck... don't stop- right there." She moaned loudly as she came.

#johnny silverhand #johnny x v #cyberpunk 2077 #the joytoys write

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