#[in all timelines. in all possibilities. only you.]

[thecoochiefairy]

cybersex. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.2K word count. camgirl!blackfemreader, original!blackfemreader, contentcreatorcoded! onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, riding, missionary, stand n’ carry fucking, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, multiple orgasms, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ reference to the title, this song did inspire this fic. teehee—nasty, okay? that’s all i can say about this one. just nasty. might be one of my faves, idk.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

THE PINK PLUSH OF YOUR DUVET SOFTENS BENEATH YOUR TOES AS YOU LAY ATOP OF IT, curved nails wrapping around the cherry sunken between your heart shaped lips. You didn’t think this would be as hard as it was, but you were now on hour three of scrolling in between OnlyFans and Twitter—you’d found nothing. 

Your job wasn’t something anyone expected of you. You were quiet, reserved, introverted—But being in front of a camera? Well, that was different.

A Cam Girl, to be exact. You’d only been in the industry for about a year and a half, but the money you made versus working as a bartender was tenfold— your experience with people was all in the making of your success. Your smile, those slender eyes combative in getting what they wanted, dark curls framing the doll shape of your caramel face. 

You leaned into the camera every other night to show off the multitude of lingerie you’d bought, twisting your fingers against the satin bow between your large breasts, comments flooding as your customers waited for an accidental slip to show. Your legs spread open, teeth digging into the plush of your lip as you fucked yourself, moaning blasphemies into the camera—or, a couple scandalous pictures posted if you were working overnight at the bar. 

Your customers would ask, Are we ever gonna see a collab? 

It’s not that the thought never crossed your mind. But to anyone’s surprise, you’d only known the pleasures of exploring your own body. You’d had sexual partners, but none that ever satisfied you the way you could yourself. Your customers enjoyed watching you indulge yourself, but just like them, something in you might’ve wanted something—different. 

So here you were—continuously scrolling through male content creator’s to possibly do a collab with—you just were unsure how comfortable you were with the entire idea. To make matters worse, you couldn’t find anyone that piqued your interest. 

You leaned your jaw against your palm as you fell deeper into the bed, a soft sigh parting your lips as your finger flicked the mouse pad down your timeline. Your eyes were practically immune to the nastier side of Twitter. But then—you stopped.

Onyankopon. 

Licensed massage therapist. Top .015% on OnlyFans. 

His profile picture might’ve gotten your attention. It was simple, but enough. You could tell that he might’ve had a head full of hair, as it was braided to the back in cornrows, clear beads hanging at the end of them. His brown skin almost carried a red undertone beneath the lights, tattoos and silver jewelry complimenting the bistre of his complexion. His lips—full, the perfect shape, coated by the sable of his facial hair. Tattoos scattered all over his body—neck, arms, crawling all the way up to his face—the cross along his cheek twinkling next to the silver stud in his nose. He was pretty.

But as you continued to scroll down…pretty isn't the word you’d use for him. Your eyes nearly widen at the sight of his di—

It’s big. Huge, even. Veins protrude throughout it, the tip as flush as his lips. It nearly reaches his mid thigh. The sculpt of his body was insane, and you felt your mouth watering. You’d never had this reaction before— But your body seems to react worse as you keep scrolling. Videos of him and other women, the darkness of the rooms are curated in candles and roses, lights blaring colors for a sensual environment. Each girl smiles sultrily as they all start the same—he talks with them, has them become comfortable as they sit along the massage table. He touches them in an almost innocent way, keeping their attention—Then, his touches become less innocent, and to see the way he handles them—the squeals, screams, orgasms are like no other. They cum in raptures, squirt all over him—his voice grunts, praises in satisfaction. They made your jaw drop, glasses tipping over your nose. 

They might’ve had you squeezing your thighs together, too. So you did what you didn’t expect yourself—You messaged him. 

bimbopiscesprincess: hey, um. do you happen to live in new orleans?

You received a response almost immediately. You can see the typing bubble, making your heart skip at how fast he’d seen your message.

onyo: hey. yeah, i do. why?

Before you could even type out your next message, another notification pops up at the corner of your screen. 

onyo: user is typing…

And then—

onyo: hollon’. i know you. 

Your eyes blink at that. You showed your body to the world on a regular basis, so why did that sentence make your face go warm? 

bimbopiscesprincess: oh. you do? 

onyo: yeah. the bartender down on canal at the blue bayou. saw you behind the bar a couple of times. 

It’s hard to contain the way your heart rate picks up— Your stomach is flipping at the idea. You type back immediately. 

bimbopiscesprincess: i guess that’s better than saying you’ve seen my videos, lol.

onyo: i guess i should’ve clarified. i’ve seen your videos. yo’ pussy pretty as hell, face too. 

Your eyes go wide. You can’t help but bite the corner of your lip, a light feeling in your chest as your fingers press against the keys.

bimbopiscesprincess: well um—thank you, lol. sorry, i’m a lil’ different when the camera isn’t on.

onyo: don’t gotta apologize, girl. you’ cute regardless.

He types a couple minutes after.

onyo: so what’d you hit me up for? i ain’t tryna’ stop talkin’ to you, just curious.

You stare at the screen, eyes flickering up and down his messages. Did you really want to do this? Could you? The man made you nervous through text.

bimbopiscesprincess: i don’t mean to be forward, i was just curious on how this whole collab thing works? i mean, that’s even if you were interested.

onyo: you don’t gotta be shy. we can call and talk 

‘bout it if you’d like.

You go to reach for another cherry, but your fingers can’t seem to find the bowl. Your heart was beating. 

bimbopiscesprincess: right now?

He’d messaged you a number, which you assumed was his. Your fingers seemed to dial it on their own, nerves beginning to eat at you as the ringer went off. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And then he answered, voice heavy and smooth.

“Hey, mama. How you’ doin’?”

Your voice is breathless, “Hi. I’m um—I’m fine. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

He lets out a chuckle. It’s low, deep and gravelly. 

“You’ good. I was just scrollin’ on my computer when you decided to hit me up. Glad you did.” 

He pauses, “You born and raised in the boot?” 

“Uptown,” you hum, “Graduated from Xavier. You?”

“You’ smart, I like that shit. But yeah— I grew up on the Westbank. Did college out in Baton Rouge, came back to work with my momma before I started doing content. She owns a couple shops down here.”

Even when he was just talking, his voice was like velvet, thick, and raspy. It had you unconsciously squeezing your thighs together.

On top of that, you didn’t necessarily expect all this dialogue with him. 

You say it before you think, “Are you usually this open in conversation with the girls you collaborate with?” 

He chuckles again, the sound vibrating against your ear through the receiver, “Not really, nah. But it’s not hard to have a conversation.”

He lets out a sigh, almost like he’s stretching, “You asked how the collabs worked, right? We ain’t even get to that part.”

“Right,” your voice is soft, “So—you wanna explain it to me? I mean—it’s probably simple, but—I just—“ you stop yourself with an awkward giggle, “Sorry, Go ahead.”

“You good, baby. It’s how it sounds, so I promise you ain’t off with the idea. We’ll just plan out a date and time, you’ll come to mines, and—“ He exhales, like he just realized he was getting off track, “Let me not bore you with extra shit—it all depends what you’ comfortable with, first.”

Your eyebrows raise at that, “What I’m comfortable with? So—it doesn’t necessarily have to be sex? I mean—sorry, that’s a dumb question. I just see that you’re specialized in massaging, so—yeah.”

“You ain’t gotta keep apolgizin’ to a nigga. I swear, you’ good. Sex brings in a bigger payout for the both of us, but I got all types of ways I can service you if you’ not comfortable with that. Just say what it is.”

You think to yourself—this is your line of work. You didn’t have to be nervous or scared. This could bring in more attention to your page, and you could get a new experience out of it. 

Your voice is a bit softer as you reply, “I’m open to anything.” 

Another chuckle. It’s heavier this time. 

“You sure?” 

You nod your head, “I’m sure. I’ll see you then, Onyankopon.” 

Then was sooner than you’d expected it to be. Two weeks had gone by, officially making a date after you’d both gotten tested. Your eyes flicked up to the high rise condos glowing into the starry night of the sky, coaxing you into the entrance. You almost couldn’t feel your legs from the moment you stepped into the lobby to show your ID to the receptionist, your lower body numb as you stood outside the door to his apartment. 888 was his door number. Figures. 

With a small breath, your fingers tightened along your baby pink Telfar tote, other hand raising up to the door as you knocked. You waited.

When the door opened, you couldn’t even think to prepare yourself. 

He was tall, even taller than on videos. But it was in a more muscular, wider way. He wore a fitted black tee that showed the extent of his broad shoulders, with a pair of sweatpants. It was casual, but he looked like he’d just rolled out of a photoshoot, durag shining in the light as he towered over you. 

“Hey, baby.”

His voice was deeper in person, something you didn’t expect, your fingers tightening around the handles of your bag.

You’d always been confident in yourself. In your body, your shape— Your hips were as full as a woman who’d given birth, ass and thighs almost preposterous in curves. It showed under the BODYBYRAVEN teal set you wear—the yoga pants and jacket hugging your frame, your curls draping over your body in lazy waves, black furry boots covering your feet. You were cute to him, but in a way that had him glaring at the sight of you. 

“Hi,” you gently greet back, “I hope I didn’t knock too loud,” your fingers tug a curl behind your ear.

“I told yo’ ass about allat’ apologizing. Come on.” 

He moves to the side, the aroma of his body oil wafting through your nose—something sweet, musky and spicy. You felt yourself almost wanting to taste him, your stomach fluttering by the time you’d made it inside.

The condo is large, high-end, yet it carries a homey touch to it. A large glass window overlooks the view of the river and city. You weren’t that nervous—until you saw the maple wood of the massage table, the plush material atop for comfort making your heart pound in your chest—and then, the blaring sight of the professional lights tilting directly onto the furniture, camera stands holding the perfect angle of the scenery.

You drop your bag beside the sofa, running your fingers through your hair as you ask, “You were um—setting up?”

“Wanted to get it out the way ‘cause I knew it’d take yo’ ass a while to get here,” he pokes fun, “You’ hungry? A nigga been cravin’ pasta like a muhfucka’.” 

 You can’t help the way your face flushes—his voice was just as sweet as it was heavy. You didn’t expect him to be so—real?

The question was genuine, as if he’d sensed your nervousness. It reminded you that you needed to answer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you shake your head, “I don’t wanna’ impose or—make you feel like you have to make me comfortable.”

“Why you bein’ like this, huh? I stink or sum’?” 

He goes to sniff under his arms, and it makes you giggle a bit at the sight.

You sigh, “No, no. I’m—I’m sorry, okay? You’re being very sweet— I’m being weird, aren’t I?”

You lean against the counter, “I just haven’t done this before, Onyankopon. That’s all.”

“Ony. You can call me that.” 

His jaw shifts, “Come here. You’ nervous for no reason.”

Your lips part a bit, but you don’t move forward. 

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so—normal.” 

“Normal,” he repeats, a light chuckle rumbling in his throat. It was deep, chest vibrating within your ear, “I can’t be nothin’ else. You ain’t gotta be different either.”

You nod your head, taking in his words. Your eyes fall behind him as you notice the array of snacks in his open pantry, eyebrow raising as you flick your vision back to him, “Oatmeal Cream Pies? Really?”

“You judgin’ me, huh?” he grins down at you, “What, I gotta’ be all high end ‘cause I do what I do?”

“Nah. I’m judging ‘cause they’re nasty,” you retorted back, finding a seat on one of the stools, “Just a lil’ surprised is all.”

“I could say the same about you, girl— Actin’ all shy in person when you be goin’ crazy on camera.”

Your eyebrows raise, your face flushed once again, “How bout’ you focus on that pasta you supposed to be makin’ me? ‘Cause you just wanna talk!” 

“A nigga must’ve hit a nerve,” he chuckles, but steps away to rummage further into the kitchen. 

"What I do, what you do—same difference." 

 His voice is muffled under the sound of the stove, but he continues, "You gon’ tell me it’s not?”

“It’s not. Self pleasure versus connecting with someone else is two completely different things,” you point out, leaning your head in your palms as you watch him move around the kitchen, back flexing in return.

He looks down at you with a smirk, hand reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet above with ease. Something about that made you tug at your lip.

“What? You ain’t gon’ argue back with me?” You question.

“Nah,” he shrugs. 

”Don’t gotta’ argue what I know is right.” 

“I think I’d like it better if a man didn’t argue anyways,” you confess, another small giggle falling from your lips.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “You like a nigga that’s gon’ tell you sum’. Ion’ believe that.”

“If that was the case, I might’ve done a collab a long time ago. So wrong. Feed me, now?” 

“See. You ain’t that shy. Lyin’ ass.”

This man couldn’t have been good at everything. You had to keep your reactions to yourself as the pasta melted in your mouth, warm and just the right amount of flavor. The minute you placed your fork on the plate, you sighed, “Now I’m gonna’ be bloated on camera.”

“You got a pretty ass shape, girl. Niggas gon’ kill to see you in any state.” 

 He picks a noodle from his plate, leaning over to you. His eyes are hooded, brown and pretty. He nudged the fork to your lips, “Open.”

That compliment—it throws you off a bit. A part of you almost had to remember this was a part of a job, and nowhere near a date. 

So your voice is soft as you lean back, “I should probably get dressed.”

Your lashes are fluttering in a way that’s returning to nervousness, so he steps back. 

“You’ right. But if you need anythin’, let me know—You got a preferred kind of music you want? Imma’ go start settin’ up.”

“PARTYNEXTDOOR is always good,” you hum, “I’ll be back.”

You should’ve had a glass of wine to cure your nerves. You make your way into your bag, sifting through the contents to find the perfect lingerie set. But then you thought—you had to push yourself in some way. 

So you retouch your makeup, fix your hair, and slip on the deep blue of a satin robe you owned. The material was short, nearly teasing the cheeks of your ass, your body completely bare as your breasts loosely moved beneath the top. Your honey freckles appear lighter under the complexion of your robe, and you exhale, feet paddling along the floor as you make your way back into the living room. 

You slow down as you see him—now shirtless, and as your eyes continue to travel down, you can also see the bulge pushing through his sweats as he adjusts the lights against the table.

“Need any help?”

He looks up at you, brown eyes narrowing the moment he catches your appearance. You were pretty, pretty in a way that felt different from anyone else. 

“I’m good. C’mere, though.” 

His voice—heavy and dark, beckoned you over to him. He was like a dog under your gaze.

You move the moment he asks you to. You come forward, somehow keeping your face away from the camera as you hide your expression with your hair, “Should I change?”

He steps into your space, the scent of you making him move in closer—it’s milky, musky—fingers brush under your chin with ease to capture your attention. Tilting your face upwards, Onyankopon’s eyes lower into yours. It felt invasive, in a way that made your stomach twist. 

“Ain’t no words to compare how fuckin’ pretty you’ look. You’ ready?”

You nod, sitting yourself along the massage table, the tip of your toes just barely reaching the floor as you keep your eyes on him. It’s a scene you’d seen before—the rose petals, the candles, the music almost has your shoulders hike up. The plush of your lips pressed together, your breasts spilling slightly from the soft fabric. 

“Do I look nervous?” you try to whisper, the chuckle he gives in return making you release a light giggle.

He moves to sit against the end of the table, his back still to you as he reaches for one of the cabinets, picking a few oils out before placing them beside the massage bed. 

“You can be nervous. You wanna tell me why?” 

It’s all he questions, his gaze still on the items in front of him. You felt your heart rate pick up a bit when he looked behind him, eyes peering over you.

“…I’ve never had a man—well, anyone, make me—you know,” you admit to him, “I’m nervous about that, I guess.”

“That ain’t a bad thing, Mama. Ain’t gotta’ be embarrassed about nothin’ with me.” 

 You can feel his presence now towering over you from behind, his voice vibrating through the music fading within the background as he finds a clasp of your curls, gently pulling you enough for your eyes to meet his. 

“Imma’ take care of you. You’d like that?”

The question itself, you’re unsure why, but it instantly makes you horny. To make matters worse, he brings his face lower, looming his lips above yours. The moment feels heavy, and it makes your chest rise a bit, your lips patting a soft exhale as you hear him say, “Gotta let me know if I can touch you, baby. C’mon.”

You nod, “You can touch me, Ony…” 

He moves to the front of you, sliding your lower body off of the table as he holds you by the arch of your foot. His thumbs dig into the muscle, and the feeling rushes along your entire body, making a chill graze down your spine. It makes your hips visibly tense. The warmth from the oil makes it no better. 

“Sorry,” you mindlessly part from your lips, an awkward giggle after. 

You see that he muses at the reaction, eyes flickering with that sensuality you couldn’t place. 

“What you’ apologizin’ for?”

His hands move up the leg he holds, palms gripping, large and strong. He’s deliberate in every move he makes. Every touch. 

As his hands travel farther up your left thigh, he places it along his shoulder, the arch of your toes directly besides his ear. A pressure begins to develop at your inner thigh. When he stretches your leg even farther, his bulge presses right against your clit—the warmth has your nails digging into his bicep.

“You flexin’. That feels good for you, huh? Want me to stay here?”

When you go to find your words, Onyankopon presses a sweet kiss to the side of your foot—Then, his tongue is grazing the flesh, lips wrapping along your toes, sucking. 

This was one of your spots. 

You nearly jump out of his hold, your thighs trembling as your eyes flutter shut. You gasp, “O—Ony…” 

“There we fuckin’ go. How’ you holdin’ up, baby?”

He’s soothing you, still sucking your toes. 

It makes you reach up for his shoulder, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. You’re bad at saying what you want, so you rub your lips against his, breath shuddering in return. They were soft. 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles against you, pulling back enough for him to give you a look, “Gotta’ ask for it. I wanna’ hear you.”

Your slender eyes flicker up, lips pouting for him to take yours. 

“Wanna kiss, Ony.”

“Yeah? Where? Here?”

Onyankopon tugs you, gripping you by your jaw so he could give you a taste of his lips, a smacking sound swelling as he quickly pulls his mouth away. 

He repeats it along your throat, your head knocking down as you pant, sticking your tongue out as you whimper, “My mouth.” 

His lips press against your collarbone, then your shoulder—slower this time, almost teasing you along the stretch of your neck before he gives you that taste of his lips again—it’s all you’ve been waiting for. His tongue dips in and out of your mouth, nearly dragging against your lips—he’s sinful in his kisses. 

After minutes of him devouring you, he pulls away, a string of spit bridging you both together as his dark gaze finds your eyes. You’re drooling. 

“Imma’ need that pussy droolin’ on my mouth next. You gon’ let me eat her?” 

His lips are sucking the skin of your stomach into his mouth, trailing lower—you squeak as he tugs you further off the table, your legs in the perfect angle above his shoulders to see everything within the camera. 

He’s bringing it closer, and your face flushes as you whimper, “Ony—I’ve never—“ 

“I know. Just need you to keep talkin’ to me.” 

When he speaks, you can feel his words caress your folds—they glisten under the lights of the camera, his hands gripping the soft of your thighs as his eyes find yours. His face is handsome, yet so different from this angle. Your lips part to speak, but his thumbs rubbing along your inner thighs—your words turn into a soft mewl.

That’s when you feel it—his tongue drags along the entirety of your pussy, his groan muffled, “Knew this shit was gon’ taste good as fuck. You finna’ be a problem.”

Your fingers are knotted in the braids of his hair, legs quivering at the first contact. 

You hate yourself for it, but you turn your head away from the camera as you whimper again, knocking your eyes down as you stutter, “Ohmygo-Ony.”

He groans at the sight of you hiding from the lens, his mouth kissing at your clit, “You cute as hell,” his full lips wrapping against the pink bud, vibrating as it’s being sucked up by his mouth. Slurps fill your ears, and your thighs are back to trembling. 

“You doin’ good, baby. Shit.”

He pulls your legs wider apart, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your body. You whimper even more, mortified, but he doesn't relent. With a swift motion, he raises his palm against your folds, massaging your pelvic, fingers splayed on your pussy—he’s rubbing, teasing.

You’re holding your breath, slender eyes flickering down to watch his palm graze your clit each time his fingers move. His voice is low, “Keep them’ muscles relaxed, baby. That’s how we finna’ get you to cum.”

Then, he’s taking his index and middle finger—it’s rubbing directly on your clit, and instead of tensing up, you moan softly. He’s continuously grinding his fingers around your clit, slowly, your breath steady as you softly whimper, “Okay.”

You can see him directly into the camera—his beard begins to glisten as he lowers his mouth back down—he’s making out with your pussy, tongue wagging as if he’s lapping to drink you. His eyes find yours, grunting at the sight of your face screwed up.

Slurps echo through the room louder as Onyankopon dives deeper between your thighs, his tongue flattening against your clit, lapping in long strokes. His free hand comes to grip your hip as he eats you out, groaning in appreciation of your flavor .When he glances back up at you, his eyes are dark with lust, and he grins, showing you the wetness coating his beard.

"You' taste so fuckin’ good, baby," he growls, “Like you' been savin’ this shit just for me."

Your eyes roll, your back arching up from the table as you squeeze his hair under your fingers. You give a low whine, “O—Ooh.”

It’s as if your every reaction makes him go more, and you can feel the flesh of your thighs becoming drenched in your own arousal. It’s when he sucks your clit up into his mouth, shaking his head side to side into your folds, the schlick of your pussy nearly making music against his mouth. That’s when you really tremble, your thighs vibrating on their own as you whimper, “Ooh-oohshit.”

Onyankopon’s tongue continues to stroke on your clit, the pulse intensifying with each passing second. His grip tightens on your hip, fingers digging in as he uses his other hand to spread your pussy open for him, exposing more of your slick flesh to his eager mouth.

“Gimme’ this shit," he grunts, fucking your clit with his tongue in a rapid, filthy rhythm. Up and down, up and down.

He’s nothing you’ve ever dealt with before. Onyankopon raises his mouth, drooling saliva onto your pussy and letting it drip in between your folds, coating the increasing slick of your pussy. You’re already shuddering, but that just made it worse.

“A nigga need you gushin’ on his fingers.” 

 Onyankopon brings his forehead up to yours— not before sucking your perked nipples into his mouth roughly, then taking his fingers as he grazes them back up your folds, continuously rubbing—he’s rubbing. 

You could’ve blacked out. Your palm clings onto his jaw the moment his fingers nudge in between your folds, sinking in so easily that you barely feel them. But when you do, they’re deep, and your eyes roll as you clutch the nape of his neck—you messily whine,  “Ohfuck—O—Ony…” 

He gives a sharp grunt through his nose as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers,"Come on, baby," he murmurs, slowly pumping them in and out of your soaking folds, “Let it happen. I know you cum so muhfuckin’ pretty.” 

The sound of squelching flesh fills the room as he works you over. Your eyes shut, holding him so tight as if to gain some control in your body. Your eyes roll as you cry a moan—Onyankopon groans, “Shit, you tremblin’." 

He watches your face contort with pleasure, claiming your lips in a dominating kiss, tongue plundering your mouth as he fucks you harder with his fingers. Onyankopon breaks the kiss, looking down at where he's buried to the knuckle inside you. 

“Look how muhfuckin’ wet you are. Pretty lil’ bitch— you finna’ milk my fingers.”

It just happens—your stomach coils the deepest groan, your entire body trembling as the vibration flows to your lips—tears lightly puncture your eyes as you lean yourself farther into his forehead, a whine shakily gasping from your lips as you squeal, “Onnnnyyy-fuckkk.” 

You’re squirting, the arousal drowning his fingers as your lower body convulses onto his palm. 

“Ohmygoddd.”

You tense, Onyankopon’s other hand tugging up at the back of your neck as he holds you up more into the camera. 

You don’t stop—it’s everywhere, the groans releasing from your lips whiney as he’s practically milking your squirt, his voice rumbling with approval, “Thereee’ you go. You soakin' my fuckin' hand. Look at that shit."

His mouth is back on your pussy, nodding up and down into your folds, tongue fucking your opening, coaxing more gush from your between your legs. 

Your fingers grip onto his shoulders as you whimper, “O—Onyyyy…fuck, baby.” 

You're shaking, tears streaming down your face—Onyankopon laps his tongue once more against your clit as you coat his mouth and chin. His thrusts become irregular, shallow, lazily curling inside you—he’s like a demon. But finally, he stops.

Your legs are still over his shoulders, panting, your palms sliding along the swell of your breasts as you just breathe. 

“You aight, baby?”

Your eyes are shut. You move your palm up to your face, covering yourself along the camera as you nod your head.

He doesn’t mean to. But he chuckles, fingers sliding up along your stomach to help you breathe, “Yeah? You wanna take a lil’ break?”

You nod your head again. You’re dazed. 

“Yeah. I—I need a minute,” you mutter. 

He’s already helping you straighten up, sliding your legs off his shoulders as he asks you softly, “Want some water? Tea? I know it’s too late for coffee, but we got another hour of filmin’.”

You want to answer. You really do, but your body is still trembling a bit, your legs buzzing—you lean your forehead into his chest, a flushed giggle releasing from your lips as you whisper, “Tea, please.”

He chuckles in return, hand caressing along your shoulder—it’s the first time you noticed the rosary tattooed on it, complimenting his brown skin.

“Aight. You’ want it sweet? Sugar—“

Before you can answer, you feel something press into your neck—his forehead. He leans against you, almost in a cuddling manner, lowering his height for you to relax. 

“You gon’ be good while I go make it? Not gon’ fall asleep?”

“Camera is still rolling, Ony. I’m fine,” you promise, “I like my tea sweet, yeah. Thank you.” 

He gives you a soft tap on the chin, his eyes lowering along your form before he makes his way into the kitchen. You find yourself fixing your hair, adjusting the robe along your body before you exhale—You were still shaky, but it didn’t make your heart race the way it did before.

Your eyes follow him over to the kitchen, watching the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes. The silence is comforting, but you somehow still feel awkward around him.

Your voice is soft as you ask, “How come you never left New Orleans?” 

He leans over the counter to turn the stove on, the candles in the room making his eyes look darker. 

“I wanna’ protect it. Not only my family—but my people. When it got rough, my brothers moved to Texas for better opportunities, started their careers—I was cool makin’ a name for myself here.” 

When he turns back around, his face is a bit softer, almost innocent. He moves his shoulders a bit. 

“Why’ you ask that?”

You press the fullness of your lips together, “You just—seem like you have it all together. A huge fanbase, and there aren't many of us who reside here. L.A or Houston is more on the nose—I just figured maybe you’d fit in there too.”

“My manager been pushin’ for it, but the people in L.A are superficial as hell—I got fans here, and that’s enough. Ain’t always about the money.” 

He looks back at you. 

“And what about you? You want a bigger fanbase?” 

You think about that question. 

“Well—don’t get me wrong—I love being in front of the camera, but my dream has always been to get my life together and move to Tokyo,” you giggle a bit, “Sounds silly, I know. Plus—I’m close to thirty, and I don’t know how okay my future husband is gonna be with me showing myself online for money.” 

He chuckles when you giggle, coming over to hand you the tea before he takes a seat next to you. When you move to sit beside him, you still feel vulnerable—but at ease.

“It’s doable—All in how you plan. You’ want the family, the white picket fence too—allat’?”

You hold the mug in your palms, letting it warm up your hands for a moment. You then look up at him, nodding  your head.

“I do. The way you’re talking— I guess it’s safe to assume that’s not what you have in mind?” 

“It’s the end goal, but nah. I got a long while ‘til that,” he responds, reaching his hand out to caress your shoulder when he sees you shiver. 

When you’re quiet for a moment, he clears his throat.

“You gotta’ nigga?”

Your eyebrow raises, “That’s a serious question?”

“It can’t be?” 

His gaze is musing on you, eyes flickering to the way you press your body closer to his palm. 

“If you do, this shit could get you into some trouble with yo’ nigga.”

It’s a teasing tone, but it holds a little weight. He wanted a direct answer.

You throw it back to him, “Do you got a bitch?” 

“If I say yes, you gone’ be mad?” 

“I’m not, I’d actually feel bad for her—cause I’d lose my mind if you was doin’ shit the way you do on camera—and I’m sitting at home—yeah, hell no.”

“So you’ the jealous type. Interesting,” He responds, lifting his own mug of tea to his lips. 

“I don’t,” he then confirms, “You still ain’t answering my question, girl.”

“My nigga would either be doing this with me as a couples content channel, or I wouldn’t be doing it at all. So no,” you shrug, “And I’m not jealous. But I’d kill a man if he was eating my pussy the way you did and then doing it to every other bitch across the state for a couple dollars,” you sip your coffee, “Jealous? I guess.”

His lips are smiling against the rim of his mug, giving you a look from the corner of his eye, “Sounds like you tryna’ be a nigga ole’ lady.”

That’s how you were making it sound. Dammit. 

You play it off, “Maybe you want me to be your ole’ lady, and this is reverse psychology, hm? Right. And even if I was sayin’ that, it looks like you gon’ have to clear all them’ messages in your phone first.”

His laugh is loud, like music to your ears. It makes that tingly feeling in your stomach tighten the more you hear it. It’s different from the ones you hear in his other videos. He seems more genuine, more personal with you. 

He reaches a hand out to nudge you with his shoulder, “You gon’ be mean to me like this now? Ion’ like that shi’, girl.”

“You laughin’, but I’m serious.”

“I heard you, Mama. Chill.” 

You take the final sip of your tea, placing it down on the table behind the camera. You question, “You’ ready to massage me now?”

“You ain’t ready,” he shoots back, “Gon’ head and take that robe off—Need you naked as fuck.” 

The command makes your body thrum—you’re surprised, but after he makes you smile, it somehow makes it so easy to listen to him. Maybe hornier than before. 

The moment he takes both mugs into the kitchen to wash off, you press your body into the soft material of the massage table, kneeling yourself on your knees as you slowly drag the silk of your robe off your shoulders. 

You dig your teeth into the plush of your lip as you question, “Like that?” more playful, a giggle sounding through your mouth as you purr directly into the camera. 

You can hear him hum his approval, placing the mugs down in the sink before turning around to watch you get in position— His footsteps grow closer as he heads into the living room, the camera now following his footsteps to stand by your side as he admires your form. 

“You’ a good ass girl.”

Maybe it’s the sugar rush—but your toes point as you sit further on your knees, coming closer to him as you run your tongue over your lips, “I like that. Say that again,” you giggle sultrily.

His fingers move forward to slide against the sides of your neck, his thumbs digging slightly along the bone as he tugs you closer, face stopping just before your own, eyes flickering along your lips. 

“You a good ass girl,” His voice is raspy with his words this time, his lips grazing yours.

That’s all you needed. 

He’s putting you in different positions as he stretches you, your body relaxing in each way your limbs fold. You’re now flat on your stomach, your back arching, a huff passing your lips as he holds your lower body up by his hands, thumbs digging into your back. 

His words were heavy, “How’ you doin’?”

Your lips part the sound of a deep exhale, a soft “Good,” passing your lips as you feel his fingers trail along your spine. His hands were strong, large, long—talented.

“You lyin’?” he mumbles, “Or I’m that good for you?”

Another giggle—but it’s more shy this time.

“You smell so sweet, Mama.” 

You sigh when you feel him lower your pelvic back down to meet the table, taking your ankles as he folds them, allowing the balls of your feet to meet with the back of your thighs. The warmth of the oil on your body makes you tingle, and every touch keeps you shivering at this point. 

His hands were now slow, his touches a mixture of pressure from his fingertips and the strength of his palms—it had your eyes flickering shut, head lowering a bit more as you found your hands gripping the table. 

“Don’t tense up,” he warns, “You got it.” 

It felt heavier than it looked from pictures—his tip felt weighted, the dark pink of it flushing against your puffy folds, slapping against your pussy. 

You suck in a breath.

A long lick along your back—your jaw kisses the material of the table as you tug your bottom lip again. He’s groaning, “Keep yo’ back like that,” another lick. 

Onyankopon’s fingers are still folding the balls of your feet as you lay on your stomach—but it’s a distraction—a new pressure overwhelms your lower body, it has your mouth slightly drop, unexpected of his tip stretching your folds open. Your back fully arches, fingers digging into the table as you frown, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain throwing you into overdrive. One of your hands goes to immediately reach back, a whimper dropping from your lips as you feel Onyankopon gently trap your arm behind your back. 

“You got a pretty ass back, baby. You know that?” 

You know the question is another distraction, Onyankopon reaching for the back of your neck, beginning to leave the gentlest kisses there. You’re still lost within the feeling, your lips releasing a pant as you then tremble a soft whine, “Ohmygod…Ony…” 

Your free hand finds a hold of him as he’s close, holding him by the side of his ear from below. Your eyes roll. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, “That’s it.”

His head was in the crook of your neck, kissing in an almost slow, lazy way, yet there was a ferocity to them. 

“Good girl,” he hums, hands moving lower along your neck, “Yo’ shit opening up for me. I can feel her.”

“N—Onyankopon…” 

His nose nudges along your ear, his whisper deep, “Let it out.” 

Your pussy gushes out air, making the loudest sound each time he slowly fucks himself back into you. It’s like he wants you to listen. 

“Ohshit,” your voice warns, “Shit,” you tremble. You could feel every. Single. Thing. 

“Hold my hands.”

When you find his hands, your arms are now pulled behind yourself, chest inches above the table. Your eyes flicker towards the camera—it makes your body arch more for him, a pleasured pout pulling at your lips as you murmur to yourself, “U—Uhn…”

“You sound pretty, Mama.” 

Onyankopon’s voice—it makes your brain so jumbled, so messy, that you can’t find the words to respond.

 “You want me to stay like this? This shit deep enough for you?”

“S—stay just like this…” 

Your hips slowly begin to move, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you allow him to use you, dropping you up and down onto his abdomen from behind. The specific angle hits your spot, one that you could only reach while filming yourself. But you felt it now, and you can feel your eyes watering with how good it feels. 

“Ughn,” you whine louder, “Shit.”

His hands are strong, and they’re now holding you by your hair, pulling back—it makes you frown a little more, “Your balls feel so good hittin’ my pussy, baby.” 

It’s hard to talk with him moving behind you, his hips snapping to the bounce of your ass, a soft clap that sounds in the room.

He grunts, “You’ a nasty ass bitch— pussy talkin’ to a nigga. They’ hittin’ yo’ clit, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whine in return. 

“Mmh,” he softly groans, “Look at that pussy. She’ so pretty and creamy.” 

The soft clap of your skin resounds as he slows himself, almost giving you a deeper, more intense wave of strokes. You gasp, reaching for the side of his hip, pulling him in as you whimper, “Right there…”  

“This yo’ world, Mama. You want me to stay right here?” he keeps himself angled, hitting exactly where you leaned him towards.

You give him a breathless squeal, “Yes, baby.”

“You been waitin’ all day to feel me, huh?” he asks, the corner of his lips moving in a teasing grin. He knew. 

Your nod is thoughtless. Your eyes are watery, and you’re almost in a state of confusion on how your body responds in a way it never has. 

Your voice tells him, “Itfeelssoogood,” whiney as ever. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, turning your face behind, his lips smacking against yours. 

He lets out a small grunt, “This some good muhfuckin’ pussy.” 

With every smack of his lips that meets yours, he’s sucking at the same time, and when your mouth pulls for air, it stays directly against his, trembling against it, “Ohhhmygod, Ony. Ony…” 

You don’t realize—but you’re cumming again through his movements, your brain muddled as your eyes roll, teeth sinking into your lip as you moan, drenching his abdomen with that pretty cream he’d been looking for. 

“Yeah,” his grunt is smug, “That’s it, girl. You got it.”

But it didn’t stop there.

He was gonna be the death of you. You knew that, because you’d been more turned on then you’d ever been before. So much that Onyankopon was now beneath you, back flat along the table as you loomed above him. The camera had the perfect angle—your ass jiggles above him, feet flat against the sides of his thighs as you’re bouncing atop of dick. 

Your eyes roll, skin clapping together—you’re moaning, eyes lowering over your shoulder to stare into camera, “Oh my god.”

He’s watching you with a glare. The camera could only hear his voice as he asked, “You know who’s dick you’ takin’ right now?” 

You were lost. 

“Onyankopon, Ony,” you stutter, the words breaking between your breath, the back of your thighs slapping with his. Your cream is beginning to create strings between the flesh of your thighs, splattering down with your movements. 

He gives a smirk, “Good fuckin’ job, baby.” 

You’re breathless, low whimpers as your curls fall along your face.

“Keep that ass bouncin’. Shit lookin’ pretty on my dick.” 

A smack from his palm, like an added punctuation. 

You listen. 

You press your palms along his chest, your eyes still to the camera to watch yourself from behind—You’re dropping, riding, every exhale breathily pushing out another moan in return.

“You like how you look, huh?” 

You found yourself slowly nodding your head, grinding as you came down. Your voice is a whimpering mess,“You’re so big, Daddy. Fuck.” 

“My shit curvin’ inside you, I know. Keep goin’,” the sound of your skin meeting his is loud, as if it were a melody. A piece of music his other hand keeps composing.

You knew you were gone—Your head dropping, your eyes lowering in a pleasured face. Your thighs tremble as you’re squirting for a second time, but you keep going, your eyes rolling as your thighs collide down to his hips— the squelch, squelch, squelch, deafening in your ears. 

You look directly into the camera, watching as you drown his pelvic area, his dick shining into the lens—your eyes roll heavily as your head falls back, “Oooooohshiiittt.” 

“Fuck, girl.”

He groans as his breath starts to hiss, “Just like that. Yo’ pussy so—“

You hear him moan, so softly it’s nearly inaudible, as if he wasn’t used to doing that on video. You watch as his eyes narrow at you from below, smacking your ass assertively. To gain his control back.

And he does—Onyankopon now stands inches away from the table, your legs held up by his arms as he’s carrying you, lifting you up, dropping you back down onto his dick.  Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pouting as your eyes roll at his deep strokes he forces onto you. 

You’re practically being tugged down onto his dick, he’s strong. The strength of him makes your brain fuzzier, your mind nearly gone. You’re groaning, a slurping sound creating as his tongue curls with yours in a hungry kiss. 

”You got another one in you?” 

You mewl in response— shaking your head, your brain nearly short circuits at this point.

“You can.”

He lays you back against the table, his body hovering atop of yours now—he’s rotating his hips, mouth sucking the skin of your neck that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“Mmh,” he softly grunts, his eyes flickering up to the camera as his expression is a smirk. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, the word soft, yet commanding with every roll he gives, “That’s my baby.”

Your voice squeaks, “Ony.”  

“You’ so shy,“ he huffs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your mouth, your legs tightening around his hips, “Yo’ pussy keep on talkin’ to me. She tellin’ me sum’.” 

Your lips part open as you reach down for the side of his thigh, gripping the flesh as you rock him in the angle you feel the most pleasure.

 You tremble, “Don’t stop…” 

His hand was on the table, steadying himself against it before his head leans against yours, “Yeah?” he repeats, his voice a deep groan, “You need my shit in yo’ stomach?” 

“Please,” you whimper, your nails dragging into the skin of his lower back, tugging his body towards your own. 

He goes deeper, and the change had you grunting. Your mouth is parted, your ankles meeting at the sides of his head, the sight of this position in the camera's eye makes it all the more erotic—you shout a moan. 

He let it out—a deep sound of another snarl, pushing in you even deeper, hands digging into the back of your hair as he held you steady. His lips met yours in a kiss that was hot, heavy—You could feel the way he sucked at your tongue, the wet sound of your lips echoing in the room. 

You sob, “I’m gonna cum, Ony. Don’t move. I need you.” 

“This the best shit I ever had,” he admits, grunting out every word, “Imma’ kill a nigga ‘bout this shit. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

Your eyes widen a bit, but you’re so distracted from the waves of pleasure that rushes across your entire body, you can’t respond properly. Onyankopon groans in your ear, and you clasp him closer, your entire body shaking as you both moan against each other's lips.

You whimper, “You don’t mean that.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. Onyankopon’s fingers find the back of your neck, tugging you closer for him to leave a kiss along your shoulder, “I swear on my momma, you ain’t. You mine now,” he mumbles.

You’re gasping in his ear. 

“You was a problem from the moment I seen you—but now?” 

He’s fucking you with every word. 

“Imma’ need this shit all the muhfuckin’ time. Imma’ need you.” 

That made you weaken.

“I’m’ cumming.”

You hold him.  

“Ony, you got me.”

“I know.” 

It’s like that music from earlier— a symphony, the camera nearly shaking at how hard he’s fucking you, how deep he’s fucking you. You sob—you’re squirting for a final time, your body shaking so much that you had to find his arm to ground you. The warmth of his cum mixtures within your folds, the sight pretty, Onyankopon pulling his dick out as he smacks it along the creamy mess you’ve both made.

And as you look at each other, lips inches apart, a thrum of emotions sitting between two strangers, it happens—you both laugh. 

And that’s when he asks—

“So, how Tokyo soundin’?”

[timelines-and-possibilities]

Sumn sumn washing dishes and doing taxes together

Mundane Jayvik 🥹

[erinravenseeker]

I think Undertale is a lot of things, but the one that’s relevant to this conversation is that it’s a discussion of nihilism.

When you treat the story and characters (even the most inconsequential ones) as if they all matter, you’re rewarded with what the fandom has decided to call the True Ending. The fact that we collectively call it that reveals something about what we all feel the message is; the true ending is the one where you show the most kindness and compassion. It’s not a moral obligation to save everyone just because you have time travel powers. You don’t even have to do that, Flowey just… suggests it’s possible at the end of Neutral. You can totally quit there and have a satisfactory game experience.

The Genocide route, on the other hand, is gruelling for a reason. If Undertale wants to be about showing compassion and kindness, even towards one-note NPCs in a video game, then the exact opposite is… well, it’s becoming like Flowey. Like @lumsel said, it’s about treating the game and its characters like a checklist. It is practically IMPOSSIBLE to do a genocide run by accident, by Hotland you are walking around for HOURS waiting to kill everything. The game FORCES you to actively make that choice, and KEEP making it. And at the end of it, the game says fine, you spent hours on this, so I’ll give you a good boss fight. And it will hurt and challenge you and you will win it and you will feel satisfaction, and maybe that will last you forever and you want that ending. That’s fine. But maybe that satisfaction will be fleeting because you have simply won a hard fight. You have not told a good story.

So Undertale is a discourse on nihilism. The nihilism that Flowey and the genocide run represent is the idea that nothing matters because everything can be reset and people can be boiled down to checklists of interactions. The other type of nihilism, the one personified by the pacifist and true endings, is the idea that even though everything can be reset and therefore nothing matters, then the only thing that DOES matter is how we choose to act and treat the people around us. (Especially because, and this is a bit of personal headcanon, it’s implied by the fact that Sans gives us the ‘timelines stopping and starting’ spiel even if you DO win a genocide run on your first playthrough, that EVERYONE ELSE’S save files are canon to YOUR playthrough. Doing a True Ending on YOUR first try doesn’t stop all the millions of other resets from existing.)

Undertale wants us to pick positive nihilism, wants us to see value in kindness and compassion even though everything is pointless and your file can be reset just like that. To that end, yes, it absolutely IS pushing a certain emotional narrative, and it DOES want you to feel bad about choosing the genocide route. I think expecting it to have no opinion about your actions either way is a fundamental misunderstanding of the game. Also this discussion of nihilism is, like, what 99% of time loop stories are about.

Hey, Undertale! We could all argue about Undertale, that could be fun!

[yuurei20]

Is it really canon that Leona… *ahem* sleeps without a shirt? Cause aren’t the mangas retellings of each book?

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🦁

While the manga are retellings of each book (as you say!) it is maybe best to consider them not canon to the game, only canon to themselves!

As a result, "Leona sleeps without a shirt in two scenes in the manga" is yes yes, canonical to the manga version of the story ^^

Does he wear more or less or different things on other days when there are fewer people in his room? Is that the only thing he ever wears and has ever worn and will ever wear? Is game-canon different? We do not know! (but will learn soon in maybe two months? 👀)

Q: "But why can't the manga and game be sharing the same canon?"

A: There are several things that happen in the game/manga that cannot happen in both! For example:

・Game-Prefect is frightened of the ghosts and bonds with Grim through fighting them together. Manga-Prefect is delighted by the ghosts and does not reunite with Grim at Ramshackle at all, not seeing him again until the following day after he has already met Ace and Deuce on his own.

・Game-Prefect works together with Ace, Deuce and Grim to defeat the mine monster. Manga-Prefect, Ace, Deuce and Grim are saved from the mine monster by Riddle, who takes Ace and Deuce away, leaving Manga-Prefect and Grim alone at the mine.

Etc. etc.! ^^

But the manga-prefects all seem to be experiencing the same (slightly different) stories, just like how the players are experiencing the same (slightly different) stories via the game/novels/manga.

Is it possible that a different, non-Yuuken prefect was frightened by the ghosts, and was able to work with Grim in the manga like we see in the game?

And maybe a different, non-Yuuken prefect was able to beat the mine monster with Ace and Deuce and they did not need Riddle's help?

Maybe maybe, but without seeing such alternative timelines in the manga, we cannot say it is for sure canon ♪

Fans are always free to pick and choose, of course, so if someone prefers to think that Game-Leona and Manga-Leona both wore jeans to bed in Book 3, there is of course no harm there ^^

But picking and choosing what things are canon and what things are not will vary by person! From a general, "what do we know for a fact is true?" perspective, we cannot say anything (yet 👀) about Leona's loungewear situation in the game, and will need to wait until July to know for sure! 🦁

[tobethemselves]

What are your current thoughts on L+H?

Hi love,

honestly it's hard to say. Most of the time I do believe that they are still together but that they want to keep their privacy and that's one of the reasons why they don't signal as much anymore.

Past reactions of them when the other's name was mentioned, don't give me the impression that they have broken up. And then there's the umbro shirt that H decided to wear twice, some other stuff that happened during the past few years and timelines that show that they do have lot's of opportunities to see each other. When I look at all of that I'm inclined to believe they're still together.

But nowadays it's impossible to say. They don't signal as much, if at all anymore and the only signs we get are probably only coincidences and nothing intentional. So I really don't know.

Most of all though, I just believe in true love and I've had the luck to see it in my own live too. It's possible and I think those two found that in each other. And that's the biggest part that makes me believe in them as a couple. Once you reached that part of your relationship with someone there is not much that can happen that could break you up, because then it's not "how do I get through this time" anymore but "how do we get through this".

Either way, I just want them to be happy and if they do decide they're happier apart then that's okay for me. It won't make Larry any less true and I'll still be here because I love their history but most of all I love their music and who they've become as an artist. And that's the main reason why I'm in this fandom.

[astrologysaysno]

I think about the fact that Shen Yuan was transmigrated. Mostly because that, despite Shang Qinghua already isekai'd into the world, the pivotal changes were made by Shen Qingqiu.

It makes me wonder. Why did the system need to bring another transmigrator when there was one already? One that, in comparison to Shang Qinghua, who was born there, was brought relatively late into the full timeline.

Personally, I have the theory of the system messing up.

For all that we know of Shang Qinghua in the main series, not once does he seem to deviate in any way shape or form. Now, this could just be that Shen QingQiu wasn't paying attention as well as the fact that I haven't actually read the novel and am learning everything through osmosis, but in a lot of the scenes before they realize who they were, Shang Qinghua seems like he never deviated from the role, especially if you had only the conceptions SQQ had of pre-reveal SQH.

So my Theory is that when SQH transmigrated here, the system didn't properly ensured that there was room FOR change.

In my understanding of the story, the system seems to have the goal of changing and improving the narrative of PIDW. It seemed to prefer the ending SQQ made rather than the original narrative. So my confusion lies in that, combined with what I talked about with Shang Qinghua playing the role to a T, why did SQH never cause anything similar? He had decades on time before Shen Yuan arrived and became SQQ, and yet nothing visible seemed to have occurred. He didn't even seem to be given the option of an OOC unlock from what I could remember.

My hypothesis why is that when SQH was given the system, it was hyper strict in its requirements to ensure that he could be in a position to have any power to change the plot. Become a disciple of Cang Qiong, Become Peak Lord. All of that seemed to be necessary. But with such emphasis for this to occur, the personal decisions and feelings of SQH had to be overrided. This in turn created a problem

The system had become too strict, too exacting, no room or chance to be OOC. It would impose quests and it would be done with more or less accurate results. But in doing so, it had accidentally blocked itself of its most important goal, to change the plotline into something better.

Years of stamping out any rebellion or disobedience in SQH through punishment have molded his personality to not take chances to change anything. And when the system gave the possibility of killing Mobei-jun to SQH, it was also to see if SQH was still willing to change the plot. When SQH spared MBJ, it was the sign of the system to give up using him as an instrument for change.

The system had essentially trapped itself into a cycle that ensured the person who was supposed to make everything better as a second chance to write the story he initially wanted was stripped of every capability and desire to do so.

This was why Shen Yuan was pulled into PIDW.

To rectify for its own mistake, the system needed to pull someone who wanted to change the story of PIDW, or at least had the knowledge and passion to make things better. SQH had been that pick since he would have known so much of the stories behind each character, but they ruined that chance so they made a last ditch effort by dragging the next best person who could have a probable chance of influencing the plot.

[It's the middle of the night as I type this. Cause like all thoughts, they keep me awake at night.]

[rosiesdisneydrama]

I'm honestly not sure how the in-universe timeline works out. But I'm not sure that the first episode of the show was Dipper and Mabel's first day in Gravity Falls. I think it was included! Since the ep showed them arriving, but I don't think finding Journal 3 and the Gnome Attack happened on the first day.

While narrating the episode, Dipper implies that they been there for a little while by the time he finds Journal 3. As he's explaining how he and Mabel ended up in Gravity Falls, he says that he was having trouble adjusting and that he'd thought being there would be the "same boring routine all summer". He doesn't say anything specific at that time, like "we've been here a week" or something like that. But I think even Dipper would have needed a few days of the same thing before he'd call it a routine.

(Although, the Pines Family seems to be full of drama queens so it's possible that he could decide that it was boring in a single day.)

The ep also does at lot of quick-cut events, like several of Mabel's attempts at flirting and her date(s?) with "Norman". And it feels like those werw actaully spaced out over a longer span of time than just their first day?

Idk, to me it feels like the first episode was actually condensing a few days into a single episode for the sake of getting everyone up to speed.

But, that also makes the twin's idea of running away and reporting Stan to the FBI on the very first night kind of funny?

Nothing truly weird or dangerous would have happened to them at that point! (Execpt maybe some misquito bites) They would have just arrived and maybe been told the ground rules for staying in the Shack. Maybe given a tour with Stan going "and here's where you'll be staying. I want you to help out in the shop while you're here."

And yet these two City Kids, probably mostly Dipper since Mabel seemed willing to try it out, were already So Done with being in the country with their weird great uncle and the tourist trap the guy lived out of in this tiny middle-of-no-where town that he wanted to leave Right Now Mabel!! We need to call the cops on this place and go home!

Like, Stan hadn't even done anything really shady yet! Other than say he wanted them to help out in the shop while they were there or telling some customer that there were no refunds. He hasn't had the chance to say or do anything illegal in front of them by then! At most, Stan would have just been awkward around them or maybe unpleasent to a customer. They'd known him for less than a full day!

But already the kids think they should run away from their great uncle, whom they've only just met, and report the "definitely shady" tourist trap to the FBI.

And, like, the Melodrama of that reaction is just so damn funny to me.

so does anyone else think about how, according to thisisnotawebsite, Stan overheard the kids plan to run away and report him to the FBI? And that the only reason they didn't was because an 8-ball told them not to?

Does anyone else think about how this perfectly validates why Stan didn't tell them anything about the portal, even when he started to trust them later on? How Dipper and Mabel unknowingly and unintentionally destroyed his trust in them from the start?

Does anyone else think about that? About how, if that night hadn't happened, Stan might've slipped up too early? But because he was distrustful of them, they never knew?

Does anyone else think about how Ford could've potentially gotten back even earlier in the summer? Like if Stan had messed up and the kids saw him go into the lab? They could've shown him the 3rd journal and told him about how Gideon had the 2nd one! Stan loves crime! He wouldn't have hesitated pulling a heist on his rival's home if it meant bringing his brother back!

But that never happened!!! Because of a conversation he was never supposed to hear!!!

Does anyone else think about it?! Is it just me?!!

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ roomates!pb&jj au

#0 - headcanons:

notes: okay so. i’ve been thinking about pb&jj quite a lot recently. so this is the result of hours and hours of researching and brainstorming a timeline/au where they could all meet and eventually become roomates. things are slightly based off canon comics/mcu movies, but obviously taking a turn where they’re not superheroes, just normal guys!! i will be writing actual blurbs, but for now you get headcanons to set the scene!!

kindly reminding everyone that english is not my first language and this is actually my first time doing this, so please be nice! <3

i like to think that pb&jj moved in together after college!!

bob and joaquin have been best friends since middle/high school after bob moved from sarasota springs to miami

joaquin only meets both peter and johnny in college (MIT babyyyy), they’re all engineer majors (peter is majoring in chemical engineer, joaquin and johnny are majoring aerospace engineer)

johnny and peter do NOT get along at first btw. johnny attended midtown high school as well, so they’ve known and hated each other for a while now, but they both push through it for the sake of joaquin’s friendship.

bob goes to new york and majors in music (and minors in psychology, he wants to be a music therapist). he meets yelena, ava and walker in college and after two years they start looking for a place together.

they were not able to find a big apartment with an affordable rent, but they find two two bedroom apartments right next to each other (think of the joey/chandler and rachel/monica set up). the landlord is willing to give them a discount if they sign for a three year contract. they take it.

after two years, yelena is offered a job in san francisco. moving would be great for ava’s career as a musician, and walker’s willing to tag along too. bob knows joaquin is graduating in a couple months, and invites him to move in. and bring two friends, if possible, cause bob’s contract says they need to live there for another year at least.

joaquin convinces peter and johnny to move in with him and bob, promising they won’t need to share a room, and they only have to live there for a year, just the time for them to start a brand new life in new york.

and this is where we start!!! i wanted to set the vibe before expanding the universe and maybe introducing characters (ahem, reader) if that’s something you’re interested, but please let me know what you think and if you have any requests! xx

[lukas-and-pama]

!ASKS ARE CLOSED TILL INBOX IS EMPTY!

########—Bweeepp…

Accessing local database. . .

[||||||||||||||||||||||||||] 100%

Initialized . .

“PAMA.. what’re you doing now?” - Lukas

“I am accessing a local social media platform.” - PAMA

“And.. why? How is that gonna help us?” - Lukas

“I am not sure, but we might find these peopele.. USEFUL for information.” - PAMA

“You just want their data, PAMA, not information.” - Lukas

“But data IS information. Data is USEFUL.” - PAMA

“Not when you want it all to yourself. If something comes up, just please, for once, let me know.” - Lukas

“. . . Affirmative.” - PAMA

———

OOC:

Plot:

Lukas found himself deserted in the middle of a desert biome after getting separated from his friends. Accompanied by PAMA, who is now degraded into a small computer. They both traverse the vast and deserted lands with only one goal in Lukas’s mind: Find a way to get out and reunite with his friends to figure out what happened and what’s going on.

Background:

Lukas was revisiting Crown Mesa to help Harper with moving her stuff to Beacontown— something about moving in with Ivor. While he was halfway with moving, a sudden burst of energy from his portal home knocked over Lukas, sending him flying into the portal behind him. Lukas ended up in a deserted remote world with nothing but sand—cacti and tumbleweeds. The computer Lukas was carrying before suddenly sparked to life from the blast. The energy was powerful enough that it powered the computer. Revealing that it was PAMA—a miniature version of it—Lukas decides to bring it with him, hoping it would help with the isolation.

Timeline:

After season 1 & 2

Relationship:

Lukas isn’t very fond of PAMA, therefore he dislikes them.

Lukas still has PTSD from getting chipped.

PAMA doesn’t have much data than it was before when it was in full control. But they’re still kinda.. useful.

PAMA still regains their desire to make everyone useful, but due to their small state, PAMA does not have access to anything unless either someone/something is chipped or they’re connected to something like a PC.

PAMA does regain their lost memory data, meaning PAMA remembers everything before they were deactivated by Jesse.

PAMA likes Lukas because he has “gained new data” throughout is later adventure with Jesse—Petra and Ivor.

Important note:

Anything you say might possibly be remembered!!

(ex. [Insert Name] will remember that..])

[hannahmanderr]

the TUE timeline is a paradox

as in so much a paradox that it never should have been a possible timeline in the first place. the kind of "accidentally-kill-your-own-grandmother" type paradox. it's the kind of thing that is so extremely obvious in hindsight but i rarely ever see talked about, so here i am, talking about it, bc it's fascinating and i can't stop thinking about it.

we kind of have to work our way backwards to really see the series of cause-and-effects that set the TUE timeline into motion. going in reverse order, this is the initial series of events that happens to set the TUE timeline into motion, before Clockwork's intervention:

Dark Danny/Dan/Phantom/whatever you call him is created from the fusion of Vlad and Danny's ghost halves

Danny is either sent or chooses to go live with Vlad after the death of his family and friends

Jack, Maddie, Jazz, Sam, Tucker, and Mr. Lancer are all killed due to the explosion of an overheating vat of Nasty Sauce. it is unknown where Danny is

Danny cheating on the CAT prompts Mr. Lancer to call Jack and Maddie and have them meet him at the Nasty Burger to discuss things

Danny cheats on the CAT, using a packet containing the test answers

that list leaves a lot to be desired. it seems straightforward enough, but there are a lot of plot holes that are strangely unanswered. how did Danny get the test answers to cheat in the first place? why would Sam, Tucker, Jazz, and Danny all be at the Nasty Burger when it explodes, when Mr. Lancer only called Jack and Maddie? what even caused the Nasty Burger to be damaged and the vat to start overheating?

yes, it could all be explained away by "something else happened to cause all that" but the circumstances are so strangely specific that chalking it all up to a shrug-and-walk-away thing completely undermines the entire story in the first place.

the general idea that the episode clearly wants us to take away by the end is that Danny cheating on the CAT causes the bad future. thus, Danny not cheating on the CAT averts it. the episode achieves this extremely well, in fact; for the past nearly 20 years since its premiere, that's what fans have generally taken from this episode.

let me state that again, just to be explicitly clear: this episode wants us to understand that the key event in causing the bad future is Danny cheating on the test

now, that being said, let's list out the series of key events that leads to the bad future as we see them play out from Clockwork and the Observants' perspective. again, we'll go in reverse order to see the causes and effects, but this time we'll start with the explosion itself since we know how the story really ends:

Jack, Maddie, Jazz, Sam, Tucker, and Mr. Lancer are all killed when the vat of Nasty Sauce they are gagged and bound to explodes, with Danny witnessing this firsthand

Danny cheating on the CAT prompts Mr. Lancer to call Jack and Maddie and have them meet him at the Nasty Burger to discuss things

Danny cheats on the CAT, using a packet containing the test answers

The Nasty Burger is pushed into a further state of disrepair when Danny fights SkulkTech 9.9. this also puts the heating node into close contact with the vat of Nasty Sauce

SkulkTech 9.9 is sent by Clockwork to distract Danny from looking at the CAT test answers

Danny accidentally obtains the CAT test answers when he is thrown back from the force of an explosion at the Nasty Burger while fighting Box Lunch

Clockwork brings Box Lunch to the present to fight Danny

notice how in that list, Danny cheating is not the inciting incident. if the true cause of the bad future was actually Danny cheating on the test, then it would follow that it should be the last event on that list, making it the first event in the series of dominoes, so to speak. even more importantly...

Danny doesn't even have the means to cheat before Clockwork begins intervening.

in fact, it's only because of Clockwork's initial intervention that Danny even obtains the test answers in the first place. for Danny, cheating was never even an option on the table until then. in other words, had Clockwork never intervened, then the bad future would never have been possible to begin with. the entire premise is a paradox, and Dark Danny's timeline should never have existed in the first place.

of course, this raises as many questions as it answers. why did the Observants see this as Danny's future in the first place? why did they also not go after Vlad for being, quite literally, half the reason Dark Danny exists (as i question in this post here)? what on earth is Clockwork playing at, deliberately setting the events of the TUE timeline into motion only to purposefully reverse the deaths of Danny's friends and family in the end?

there are so many theories and possibilities people can run with, given those questions, so i'll leave it to you to tell me in the notes what you think hehe

personally i use it as fodder for my "becoming Ghost King is Danny's ultimate destiny" conspiracy theory, but that's a post for another day :P

[someone-writing]

Today's menu:⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Taste test 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

To kill a Good girl S.R. x Reader

Ingredients: Spencer Reid x fem!reader, slow-burn, possible heavier/heavy topics in the future, doomed prodigies, originally BAU!reader (but…), reader is a bit older than Spencer but not much, genius!reader, reader smokes (once, for pretentious reasons), past trauma, father figure!David Rossi, around earlier (?3-8ish?) seasons Spencer, timeline… what timeline?, lore is recommended but not requested -> bit sidelined from the original but not much, Spencer being freezing fussy smartass, no real description of a crime scene Special thanks to the chef: Inspiration from Good Girls by Josie Edwards Underline note for the recipe: I'm not a native speaker, 'pardon my French' and any mistakes, but we're cooking in freestyle here Next meal: 𝜗𝜚 Chapter I. -> 𝜗𝜚

Enjoy this appetiser.

꙳Good girls die young, don't you know they got'em꙳

Her teeth sunk into the orange filter of the cigarette between her cold fingers. Bit of the dark crimson getting on the paper. Being stained, marked. Like sin would stain the soul of a first time sinner.

Yellow light of the match lighting up her face for a moment, dancing in the eyes that have seen too much, and never enough. One move, that's all what it takes to kill… the flame. Putting back the burned match to the corpses of others like it in the match box. Gamble.

From a gambler.

Air was heavy, the skies were ready to crack underneath the weight of the world above and underneath it. Suffocating like before a wild storm.

She always knew that you can run, but you will never really hide. Because once you run you will be always on a run. Runner can't stop. Like the pace of a runaway train.

And she changed a lot of shoes in which she has run through her life. She just never really expected that she will come back to those shoes. Not properly wore in, heels of them still being in equal shape with rest of the shoe. They didn't have time to be bend, ripped and worn out by the time that would nibble on them with every step.

Tap, tap, tap. Step after step and… those shoes never got the chance to be break in.

For once she stopped running and stood in one place for more than few seconds. The tapping of the running stopped for once.

She was there.

When it all started in a way. Young and beautiful and… oh, such a good girl.

Good girls die young.

She was the first prodigy of David Rossi and Jason Gideon. She was the reason why Rossi left early to his retirement, reason why Gideon later hesitated to take Spencer in as his second student. She was the one who was taken in and who was the omen of past.

Of things that cannot be changed. She was brilliant, but good girls die first.

And yet…

She was sitting at the railing, watching the beach at her right side.

As it's illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights. The yellow tape that is made from plastic, but holds strength like it was made from titanium. No one is fool enough to try to rip it apart even if it's just… plastic.

She came.

They called and she came even tho she had zero reason to come. She almost wanted to laugh over the arrogance of the current director who requested her presence. She became an academic, silent face who only spoke about her knowledge on her lectures, she wasn't in field for years at that point. And yet, life was arrogant enough to request her presence to search for the network of monsters.

Good girls die crying.

Monsters do not live in dark closets, under beds or in darkest corners. They live everywhere where the goodness doesn't have a place to thrive. Where hope is the fuel for those monster to keep going and try to kill it.

Try to kill the impossible to kill.

She is waiting when someone will finally come to scolder that she is hanging around the crime scene like a stray cat.

Like that creature that brings dead creatures to your doorsteps. She doesn't know if she is the cat or the dead creature brought by the cat. She is waiting for someone to come and…

Good girls die waiting.

She knows that Gideon left. That Rossi came back and the team she worked with was gone. She only knew Hotch and Rossi at this point and only shortly met with Morgan before she left.

Only knew that new names and faces exist in the darkness, running with flashlights, chasing away the monsters the best way they are capable to do. Her flashlight was destroyed.

She doesn't know that after her… there was another one like her.

That Gideon found his 'new one', but it was with hesitation. She only heard words about that man.

Man who could have been living comfortable life in research labs and have a safe sable life. Man whose face could have brought him a position of a model and yet he never thought about himself that way. Man whose flashlight was sometimes flashing in unsure impulses of dying light and yet… it never stopped lighting.

Good girls… you will hear them crying.

She died crying.

This good girl died young.

The footsteps were quiet, she almost missed them. And yet, there was that feeling on the back of her neck, the strange feeling of being watched. Maybe that's how the mouse feels before the cat pounces.

"Excuse me, miss, this is a crime scene."

Up for the whole meal?

But seriously. If you finished, thank you very much. I hope you enjoyed this small thing. It's my first time around here… so, maybe see you later? And… "Good morning, and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night" Ps. This is a repost from the original blog because the original had problems with publishing posts, I will be deleting it soon when I will migrate fully to this one

[timelines-and-possibilities]

Beach day!!

Another request done!

Day out with the uncles!

From @secretkittywolf

[yamchioya]

"In all timelines, in all possibilities... only you."

[sillygoofyqueer]

MAD. SCIENTIST. WEI. WUXIAN. AU. I CAN DO THIS, COME ON, WHOOP WHOOP!!! I CAN FUCKEN DO THIS. This may seem like it's jumping ahead a littol in the timeline of things but honestly you wouldn't really notice unless you were me and you had planned out the entire timeline in your head. One day I will write the fanfiction for this, I do promise that, I just want to get at least *checks notes* at LEAST halfway through Losing Hope before I take on something else so big. Wei Ying knows that he cannot raise A-Yuan on his own, not without some form of help. He of course allows his family to help but honestly, they're all reeling from the loss of the rest of their family and they have other responsibilities (and, in Xue Yang's case, is a child). People don't trust Wei Ying to do things around camp because, although he is fighting on their side, he is still an Unnatural Being that is working with forces far beyond most people's comprehension. So, all he can really focus on is looking after A-Yuan. It's nothing if not one of the best things for him, honestly, because he truly would die to keep the little guy alive and he has started mentally labelling him as his son before correcting himself because A-Yuan deserves better than that. Plus, it has helped him steer clear of just constantly messing around with resentful energy because a baby simply cannot be around such things without being negatively affected in some way.

He does still need to mess around with resentful energy though, as it is basically the only reason he and his family are not already dead in the eyes of some people in the camp. He needs to do this, and he also does - according to Qing-jie - 'need to sleep' instead of spending all of his time watching over A-Yuan as he sleeps to make sure nothing bad happens to him if he looks away. There is also the big factor of the resentful energy is starting to withdraw in increments from his body so that his golden core can start properly healing it, causing impossible agony to seep into his daily life to the point where he sometimes cannot leave his tent despite his best efforts. That is where possibly the greatest boy alive, someone so great and good that it is a shock he still chooses to be around Wei Ying willingly, comes in. Lan Zhan is always there to help look after A-Yuan; playing songs to help him fall asleep, helping calm him down when he cries, looking after him when Wei Ying is stuck in his bed, curled up to ward off indescribable pain.

No matter what the rest of his family says, Wei Ying knows that Lan Zhan is far too good for him. He knows that the boy could never even think of looking at him the way Wei Ying dreams of him almost every night. So, he contents himself with watching as Lan Zhan sits beside A-Yuan on the floor and quietly distracts him from reaching out to Wei Ying with confused little babbles when he cannot reach back, wrapped tightly in his blanket. Every time he hurts Sometimes, Lan Zhan will also drape his outer robe over him, not saying anything (he's pretty sure that the boy overheard him talking to A-Yuan about how Lan Zhan smells nice, which is. Embarrassing). A-Yuan likes Lan Zhan, babbling to him about anything that goes on in his baby brain while he pats at the boy's face, and Lan Zhan replies seriously as though they are having a proper conversation. It's so cute. They're so cute. It makes everything worth it.

Of course, even with all of the warmth and cosiness inside his tent, there is still a war going on outside of the fabric walls. He slaves over work even when he cannot move, staring at all of the scrolls he has filled with notes and ideas, talisman designs scattered all over the floor and crows flitting about with messages from the whole Jianghu and the Burial Mounds (strange little childish doodles with messy stick figures and strange smiles). When he cannot focus properly with all the pressure to work even if he cannot work, he takes a crack at Jin Zixuan's request for a talisman that can identify blood relatives. It's a casual, relaxing thing to work on, something difficult but not too hard compared to everything else he's expected to create quickly and efficiently. It's not even a waste of his time, because otherwise it would be used doing absolutely nothing in his bedroll, and it's fulfilling a zongzhu's wishes at the same time!

When he finally works out the perfect talisman for it, using a very willing Lan Zhan and Lan-Zongzhu as test subjects, he doesn't even care about the pain he's in as he bounds on over to the Jin side of the camp (with Lan Zhan). Jin Zixuan is surprised it's been done so quickly, certain that it would be put off until after the more important things were completed, but Wei Wuxian says that family is most important in times like these, and he is extremely thankful for what Wei Wuxian has done for him. He's shown how to use the talisman, and then he's given it to try himself. He's got no reason to believe that there would be anyone he's related to in the war camp, but who even knows with his father? So, he imbues the talisman with qi, then adds a drop of his blood. He doesn't expect there to be a golden string of light shooting out almost instantly, offset by a few, much fainter lights.

Wei Wuxian tells him that the brighter it is, the closer they are, so he's basically off and running through the camp, clutching this talisman and following the brightest string of light. Meanwhile, Meng Yao is trying out sword forms with an unsurprisingly eager Xue Yang at the edge of the forest, Nie Huaisang painting the scenery nearby, and is rather surprised when a sudden golden strand appears out of nowhere and attaches to his wrist. They panic over it a little bit, Xue Yang offers to cut off his hand and honestly, he's willing to let the twelve year old slice it off when a very familiar face comes darting into view near one of the tents. Jin Zixuan stares at him, holding the talisman, and he stares back, not really sure what to do with himself. Then, all of a sudden, Jin Zixuan smiles awkwardly but sincerely (Jiang Yanli has been teaching him what she calls 'social skills') "hi. I'm Jin Zixuan," as if this isn't well known, you dumbass, "you're Meng Yao, right? According to this talisman, you're...likely a half-brother of mine."

[vexic929]

Chronal Decay

Chapter 2

Warnings: Hartley being Hartley

Chapter 1: link

Barry hated that Eobard had been right.

Flashpoint had resulted in disaster. Wally, a speedster but nearly dead. Joe, an alcoholic on the brink of losing his job. Cisco, a wealthy tech mogul and a certifiable dick. Caitlin, a pediatric ophthalmologist? And worse, Barry had begun forgetting all of them the way they were before, just as Eobard had warned he would. His parents were alive but...at the cost of everything else.

So, he went back. And broke things further.

Cisco's brother, Dante, was dead and apparently Barry just...hadn't been there for him though he couldn't fathom why. His new (well, not new apparently, but new to him) coworker, Julian, was an asshole who apparently hated Barry as much as Barry hated him. Iris and Joe weren't on speaking terms for some reason he had yet to figure out. God, it was all a mess.

So, he went back. Again.

Jay tried to stop him, had sat him down at a diner on his Earth to explain that he could never put things back the way they were before - the timeline would never be fixed, could never be fixed, not really. But nothing anyone could have said would change his mind. He was just saving Dante - that's it. Cisco deserved that and, anyway, it was only a few months. How much could possibly change?

Everything, apparently.

When Barry entered the Cortex, he wasn't sure what to expect, if he was honest. Everything seemed...normal? Cisco was explaining something to Joe that Joe clearly wasn't following. Iris wasn't present but he hoped that wasn't because Joe was. Caitlin was in the medbay. Hartley was-

Hartley?

Before he could process Hartley's presence, he was interrupted by a boisterous man who looked like Harry but probably was not striding through the doors behind him, a tray of Jitters cups in his hands.

"Sumptuous day!" Definitely not Harry. "Oh, wait- no, on this Earth, I believe you say..."

"Good morning." Cisco supplied with a mildly amused look.

"Good morning!" Not-Harry echoed with a wide grin. "And it is, isn't it? I took the liberty of reading through your ledgers last night. A lot of information to absorb, but let's see how I did."

The man approached him first. "For you, my fleet-of-foot friend...you'd best stick to decaf." He handed it over with a theatrical wink.

Barry forced a laugh as he took the cup. "Probably for the best, yeah."

Not-Harry spun on his heel. "San Francisco!" To Barry's horror, the man put on an obnoxiously terrible French accent. "I have prepared for you a French roast with a touch of creamer."

Cisco grinned in amusement, taking the cup. "Thank you."

"You're welcome!"

Barry wondered if he was always so cheerful as the man glided across the room, handing Joe a cup.

"Detective West. A grounded man. One sugar, no cream. Classic."

Joe chuckled. "Appreciate that."

"Now Caitlin!" Not-Harry twirled theatrically, nearly spilling a cup but recovering it just in time. "White mocha, iced, plenty of whipped cream for our dear doctor with an extra shot of espresso for those sleepless nights of late."

Barry wondered what sleepless nights Caitlin had been having as she took the cup with a tired smile.

"Thanks, HR," she said. Barry wasn't sure if that was the man's name or not.

"And last but never least," he called, walking toward Caitlin's desk where Hartley was seated, typing away at a laptop, "for the maestro of multitasking himself - Hart-and-Soul! Soy cappuccino, half-sweet, dash of cinnamon. Because you, my friend, are a symphony of spice and subtlety."

Hartley met HR's eyes finally, a blank look on his features. Barry held his breath as Hartley took the cup.

Without looking away, without a word, slowly, deliberately Hartley dropped the entire cup into the trash beside him. The paper hit with a soft, wet thunk.

Steam curled faintly upward.

Hartley turned back to his work.

Silence.

"Well!" HR said brightly, voice only cracking a little. "Not a coffee guy, after all. Message received!" He chuckled awkwardly, turning back to the more friendly faces in the Cortex. "Did you know, on my Earth, coffee crop was wiped out by blight? I mean, that's one more reason to stay on this Earth, for the coffee alone."

Hartley rolled his eyes and snapped his laptop shut audibly. "If you stay." He commented, picking up his laptop and brushing roughly past HR to leave the Cortex.

"Hartley-" Caitlin called but Hartley interrupted her without turning back or stopping.

"I'm not going far. Unfortunately."

Caitlin sighed and exchanged a look with Cisco.

"He's going to your workshop," she said at the same time as Cisco said, "he's going to my workshop." with a sort of tired, indignant exasperation.

Barry wasn't sure why, but he followed.

"Hartley!"

Hartley didn't stop or even slow, as though he hadn't heard Barry at all. Barry persisted, following him until he arrived in the workshop and abruptly turned to face Barry, surveying him critically. Barry felt briefly that Hartley could see straight through him.

After several moments, Hartley spoke.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, eyes narrowing before bluntly adding, "I tried to kill you."

Barry tried not to look startled by the proclamation. "I-"

"You don't remember that, do you? Just like you didn't remember HR. Just like you don't remember that I loathe you." Hartley scoffed, continuing further into the room to set up his laptop on a workbench. "We're not friends, Flash. I'm not interested in rekindling whatever camaraderie you remember us having before you fucked everyone over."

Barry tried not to flinch at the harsh rebuff.

"I don't-" Barry hedged but Hartley interrupted.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Allen. You changed the timeline. I may have no idea what exactly you changed for me but I'm certain my circumstances can't have been worse." Hartley turned, sitting on the nearest stool and opening his laptop again. 

Barry wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't defend himself, Hartley was right. He had fucked everyone over. He fidgeted in place, rubbing his palms together as he tried to come up with a passable explanation.

"I...look, Hartley-"

"Save it. You're going to need to work on your acting skills before I'll consider accepting an apology. I doubt you even know what you'd be apologizing for," Hartley said flatly, staring Barry down through his glasses.

Barry blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, throat locked tight around the words. Hartley returned his attention to his work, waving his hand as though swatting away a fly.

"Shoo, Flash."

Barry didn't know what else to do, so he left.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Jayvik for the ask game

Ask game here.

What made you ship it?

I watched the whole show after it was complete, so I knew that people shipped them and that they ended up in some kind of cosmic yaoi situation. Maybe because I was looking for it, I thought they had chemistry and an appealing dynamic right from the beginning. But then s2 gave them the most batshit intense "I'll bring you back from the dead against your will because I can't stand to live without you"/"I'll bend the multiverse to ensure our lives intertwine over and over again"/saving each other/killing each other/unconditional love saves the world relationship arc and I'm so into that shit.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

Ooh they tick an embarrassing number of boxes for me. I have a real weak spot for that kind of soulmatey, larger-than-life, "in all timelines in all possibilities only you" shit, where there is this one person who through a very specific set of circumstances just fits with you better than anyone else in the universe. Not a particularly healthy way to view relationships in real life; extremely compelling in fiction.

Beyond that: lonely person who finds someone who just won't give up on trying to connect with them. (Which could mean nothing.) Friends to lovers and the potential to explore the mushiness of the line between those categories. The joy of being able to nerd out about the same thing together. Being already very good at something and finding someone who can both keep up with you and challenge you, a partner and an equal. There is something very romantic to me about falling in love in the midst of an intense shared project (scientific, creative, political) where the project and the other person's commitment to it becomes so intertwined with how you feel about them.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Lmao well. There are a lot of characterization details that annoy me in fanworks on a scale from "well that's not my personal take" to "did we watch the same show" but this question is not about that.

Idk how unpopular an opinion this is, but I do not vibe with them having kids, either bio or adopted. I'm sure this is partially because wanting to raise kids, let alone birth them, is not a desire I've ever particularly related to, but also there is really nothing about these characters that suggests to me that they would want that. I like seeing them as teachers or mentors and I tend to think they'd both be excellent at that, but these guys have never heard of a healthy work-life balance and I enjoy that about them. I can't see either of them wanting to rearrange their priorities around taking care of a child, either in an AU or post-canon. Let them do their weird little experiments with questionable lab safety standards and fuck each other on/against/over every surface in their little soft epilogue cabin in peace.