Posted 3 hours ago
I'm the anon that asked about Heart in Chains. There's no link that I see for chapter 9.
Anonymous asked

Hmm, I think I fixed it when I fixed all the links.  It should be there now <3

Posted 16 hours ago
The morning after the official "Welcome to Night Vale, Scientists" party Carlos woke up on the mattress on his apartment floor with Steve Carlsberg on his right, Earl Harlan on his left, and Marcus Vansten cuddling on top of him. None of them could find their clothes. He doesn't remember that night and he's never brought it up to Cecil.
Anonymous asked

((You are, of course, free to ignore my headcanons for how the men of Nightvale look!  :3  Picture whatever sort of gents you like lying on top of our perfect scientist.))

"Oh, fuck.  My head,” Carlos groaned, trying to sit up.  He was unable to, which caused a moment of panic to run through him.  This had never been a problem before.  Why did he feel so heavy?  He wasn’t paralyzed; he could feel his toes tingling and -


Someone was on top of him.  Someone naked.  Someone with dark golden skin, tousled silvery-black hair, and almond-shaped eyes, the lids of which fluttered as he breathed the peaceful breaths of the sleeping.  Carlos’ jaw fell open slightly and he began to rake his brains for answers, but he didn’t get much.

"You like that, Doctor?" Marcus grunted, tightening the grip of his thighs around Carlos’ middle.  They were soft, slightly pudgy from the life of shameless excess he led, but Carlos loved the way they felt on the peaks of his hips.

"I’m - oh, oh, oh - I told you, I’m…n-not a doctor," Carlos panted, thrusting up against him.  Marcus’ body was warm, pliant; it seemed Marcus was able to take just about anything Carlos could offer.  And he enjoyed it.  For a man who claimed to be as picky as he was, he certainly wasn’t too picky with the way he took cock.

"Don’t spoil my fun.  Steve?  Teach the good doctor what happens to spoilsports."

Steve?  Carlos looked to his right and felt a thrill of something between horror, because he couldn’t remember ever having been interested in a threesome, let alone participating in one, and delight, because all through college he’d been told ‘nerds like him’ were destined for boring sex lives with one dowdy, unappealing partner who called the incredibly vanilla shots in the bedroom.

But this man didn’t look vanilla, and there were obviously two - no, make that three; he could sense someone on his left as well - people on the mattress with him.  Steve was broad and grizzled, with the look of a stylishly unkempt conspiracy theorist-slash-hipster.  The rich chestnut hanks of his hair tickled at Carlos’ nose, and he looked in the other direction to see someone who, in many ways, could have been Steve’s opposite.

Earl, Carlos remembered.  Earl was a whip-thin redhead with a sea of freckles on his face and shoulders.  He was clinging to Carlos’ arm like his life depended on it, and as he gained clarity, Carlos realized that one of his hands was cradled against Earl’s groin - which was warm and flecked with what could only be the remnants of last night’s excursions.

"Please, Carlos, please..!"

He was gorgeous when he begged.  Earl was made to be broken; he was simply exquisite.  Carlos watched as Steve took him, gripping those slender legs and pulling him into each thrust.  Marcus was working Carlos’ arousal with fast strokes, breathing filth into his ear.

"Go on, do it.  Look at him; he likes it.  He’d love it.  And I could put my cock in his mouth and then he’d be really happy, wouldn’t you, Earl?”

Earl nodded with wordless desperation.

"You’re…you’re sure you can take it?" Carlos asked hesitantly, his voice catching as Marcus thumbed across the head of his erection.  "I mean, Steve’s not a small guy, and I’m…"

"Just grab the lube," Steve said, slowing slightly.  "It’s not his first time trying it.  Earl’s a shockingly flexible guy."

Steve, it turned out, was right.  Earl took to being fingered while fucked him quite well, and when Carlos slicked himself and pressed carefully in alongside Steve, he made the most amazing noises.  Carlos gasped and rutted against him, timing his thrusts, and Steve groaned with the added pressure.

"Oh, that is lovely," Marcus hummed, standing and stretching.  "Open up, Earl…oh, there’s a love.  Aren’t you good?"

"I try," he panted.

That hadn’t been the only part of the night he remembered, either.  Bits and pieces - nothing continuous, but wisps of memory - came back to Carlos as he woke up.  Between the throbbing pulses of his headache, he remembered Steve putting him on all fours, Earl lying back and writhing with a delighted smile on his face as Carlos swallowed around his arousal, Marcus flitting between the three of them like an indecisive hummingbird…

"Good morning, good-looking."

Carlos recognized the rough but pleasant voice of Steve.  He looked over, mouth still slightly open.  ”Oh.  Good, uh, good morning.”

"Wow, you look confused."  He chuckled.  "Want some breakfast?  We can wake up Marcus’ lazy ass; he actually likes to cook.  It’s one of the only things he doesn’t pay others for."

"You know, I’m awake," Marcus muttered.

"Good.  Then you’ll make us some breakfast," Steve reasserted as Earl stirred with a sleepy yawn.

Carlos couldn’t help but chuckle.  The whole situation was confusing, yes, but the way these men clearly knew each other made him feel somehow…comfortable.  Safe.  Sure, this town was a bit odd, but the knowing banter between them was as ordinary as anywhere else.  Scientific fascinations aside, how different could this place possibly be?

At any rate, it was an interesting welcome to Night Vale.

((Wanna prompt me? Click here to find out how!))

Posted 1 day ago
You should fix your next chapter links for Heart in Chains! They redirect to your main blog instead of here :)
Anonymous asked

o_o  Oh, wow.  It’s been a while since I’ve thought about those; my bad.  And it should be finished.  Nine chapters, right?

Posted 1 week ago
SHIELD doesn't pay as much as one would think. Agent Coulson has a second job. Of course out of all the Avengers to find him taking his cloths off and dancing for money, it would be Stark, wouldn't it? ((IronAgent if you want, or just a friend supporting another friend! However you wanna do it. :) ))
Anonymous asked

Skip Firmwood was a terrible stage name, Tony thought with a grin as he settled in.  ’Firmwood’ was just cliche enough to be alright, but strippers named ‘Skip’ always made him snicker.  Poor bastards, scraping the bottom of the barrel for names because all the good ones were taken…though at least it wasn’t the old pet’s name-street name trick.  Tony had once gotten a lap dance from a Solomon Silverbridge, which was weird.  That was a lawyer name, not a stripper one.

Of course, getting a lap dance from a lawyer would have been a lot less interesting than what actually happened.  Because right as Tony got comfortable with his whiskey sour, Philip Coulson came on stage, sexy and seductive and larger than life.  So to speak.

Tony’s jaw fell open and his glass nearly fell from his grip.  Coulson was wearing nothing but a pair of suit pants - tear-away, Tony was guessing - a nice pair of freshly-shined shoes, and one of those ridiculous bowtie-collars that seemed universal to these sorts of places.  Apparently, he had already built quite a name for himself, because men and women alike howled for him, money already in hand.

Once he started, it was easy to see why.  Coulson moved with a lewd, sensual fluidity that was nothing like his stiffly professional demeanor in the SHIELD workplace.  He rolled his hips, grinding against the air and sinking down to the floor before he stood to dance again - minus the trousers, which he cast away like useless scrap fabric.  Tony licked his lips, suddenly aware of a tight, dry feeling in his throat.  He took a sip from his drink, watching Coulson like a hawk.  Damn.  Every body roll was a feast for the eyes, the curve of his open mouth was just so…tempting.  Tony could lose himself in a mouth like that.

Coulson looked down, and for a fraction of a second, Tony could see recognition there.  But it vanished beneath a seductive smirk, and Coulson slung himself down until he was posed as provocatively as possible.  ”Well hey there, hero,” he said in a throaty purr.  ”I hope you didn’t come here looking for me.”

"Came here looking for a good time," Tony responded, watching as countless hands pressed money into the thin lines of fabric over Coulson’s body.  "So…I guess yeah, I did come for you.”  He reached into his pocket and wiggled a hundred-dollar bill in the air.  ”What will you say if I tell you I’m up for a lap dance?”

"I’d say I finally have proof that you’re an unprofessional cad."  Coulson winked and slid off the stage, straddling Tony.  "But then, I’ve always known that, so why the hell not?"

The crowd around them thinned as Coulson set his hands on Tony’s shoulders and writhed.  Tony made a small, satisfied noise and asked softly, “So, what exactly brings a good man like you to a naughty job like this?”

"SHIELD doesn’t pay as well as people seem to think it does."

Tony chuckled, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair.  ”Tell me about it.  I haven’t seen a single paycheck from them since the New York incident.”

"Tony, you don’t work for them.  You work with them.”

"Details, details."  Tony did his best not to roll his hips, knowing it was considered bad form.  "Still…that kind of blows.  You work like a dog for them, and you’ve got to take your clothes off for strangers anyway."

"You make it sound like I don’t enjoy it," Coulson said with a playful smirk.

Tony’s eyes widened with amazement.  ”You - well, well, well!”  He tilted his head forward, resting his forehead on Coulson’s shoulder.  ”You are just full of surprises, Mister Firmwood.”

"I suppose I am.  Want to see some more?"

"Hell yes."

((Wanna prompt me? Click here to find out how!))

Posted 1 week ago
Sterek- Lets go a little cliché here, Derek is an extremely hot mechanic and Stiles is purposely getting in accidents with his jeep so he'll have an excuse to see the hot mechanic as he tries and fails to ask the man out.
Anonymous asked

At first, it was a legitimate problem with the Jeep:  a gurgling in the engine, particularly when it was cold outside.  Stiles had wailed to his father about the issue, and the response had been exactly what he didn’t want to hear:  ”Well then, take it to a garage and get it looked at.”  He had been pointedly against going to a garage.  Ugly men with tacky posters charging him too much money for a problem that could be fixed in two days, but would take a week?  Not his idea of a good time.

Of course, that was before the mechanic who would be working on his baby slung himself out from under a weather-worn ‘76 Ford truck and wiped oily hands on a rag tucked carelessly into his waistband.  Maybe it was the casual but fierce nature of his motions, or the overt stereotype of American manliness - a weakness of Stiles’ - but he’d gone from disgruntled consumer to fascinated car aficionado in 0.5 seconds.

Derek Hale, said his nametag.  Yum.  Stiles had done his best to keep his cool as he described the nature of the problem.  Derek had raised an eyebrow, jumped into the car, and revved the engine a couple times before rumbling to Stiles in a grouchy sort of voice, “Air.  You need to burp the system.  Grab me that coolant and I’ll show you how to do it.”

And with those three sentences, Stiles knew he had to ask this man out, or his brain would just kill him.

So it had started with a perfectly innocent little fender-bender.  And then another.  And then he’d plowed down a fast-food menu board, much to his father (and the Burger King’s) chagrin.  And so it had continued, escalating until Stiles had actually started to worry that he was going to make a mistake and end up with a ten-thousand dollar charge for some critical part he didn’t realize he’d damaged.  Or worse - his dad could take away the keys.

But every time, he failed to ask for a date, whether through nerves or some unwittingly malevolent outside force that distracted Derek just as Stiles was about to get the words out.  It went on for months, with Stiles getting steadily more frustrated with himself…to say nothing of the frustration of those who dealt with the aftermath of his shenanigans.

And of course, when something finally did give, it wasn’t at all the way he’d planned it.  He was sitting in the waiting room, watching through the glass door as Derek undid the damage the last fiasco had done to his door.  His muscles flexed with effort as he worked at it, providing one hell of a free show…

…and then those sharp brown-gray eyes locked with his, and Stiles was obliged to bite back a startled yelp.  He lifted a random magazine to his eyes, only realizing once he was face-to-face with useless and impractical bedroom advice that it was an old issue of Cosmopolitan.

Kill me.  Just - just - lightning bolt, bang.  Right here.

He swallowed nervously as the door between the waiting room and the workroom slid open.  Stiles squeezed his eyes shut as he heard Derek’s distinctive leather-and-gravel voice address him.  ”Mister Stilinski?  A word about your car.”

Stiles dropped the magazine and nodded.  ”Sure.  Let’s get right on that.”

"In the garage."  It wasn’t a request.

Stiles nodded again and followed Derek out, glancing around the shop.  He’d never actually been in the work area before, just outside it, peering into the gloom through the wide red doors that the cars were brought in through.  Derek’s space was a bit messy, and judging from the look of him and the streaks on the floor, he seemed perfectly content to wipe oil on his pants or shirt when the rag was out of reach.  The whole situation was just so ridiculous that for a moment, Stiles wondered if he’d wandered onto the set of a low-budget porno.

The badly-hidden Unzipped by Derek’s locker didn’t help.

"This is your seventh accident in two months," Derek grunted, snapping him out of his distraction.

Stiles nodded, as if the statistic hadn’t already occurred to him.  He gave a sheepish ‘what can I do?’ sort of shrug.  ”Yeah.  I guess I get a little distracted behind the wheel.”

"Right.  What do you want?"

Stiles tried to feign innocence.  ”Come again?”

Derek let out a growl - an odd habit of his; that and his surly disposition had encouraged Stiles to give him the secret nickname ‘Sourwolf’ - and turned to fix Stiles in one of his death glares.  The Hale Sourwolf Scowl, patent pending, Stiles thought with a nervous chuckle.  His laugh caused Derek to further narrow his eyes.  ”Something funny?”

"No.  No, just - I laugh when I’m nervous.  Sorry."

"Hm," Derek huffed, then asked again, "What do you want?"

"Honestly?" Stiles asked after the longest silence he dared offer, picking at a bit of loose skin on his thumb with an evasive turn of his head.  "Uh, I’ve been trying to - "

Apparently out of patience, Derek cut him off.  ”Close to seven thousand dollars in mechanical repairs is not a good way to get a date.”  Stiles looked up sharply, mouth falling open in a dumbfounded stare as Derek’s glare softened back to his usual level of irate disinterest.  ”Try asking.  Works wonders.”

"Wait, you knew?" he blurted out.

"Subtlety isn’t your strong suit."

Well, at least he told it like it was.  That deserved respect in its own way.  Stiles shifted awkwardly at his apparent transparency and gave Derek a hopeful look.  ”So, that wasn’t a ‘no’.”

"I haven’t even asked yet."

"I thought was going to ask.”

Derek snorted, as if he thought that he’d grow old waiting for Stiles to do so.  Hell, Stiles thought with dry amusement, maybe he would.  Took me this long - wait, no, it took him this long.  ”I don’t have work on Sundays, Mondays, and every other Wednesday.  We could grab something.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and offered a shameless half-smirk.

Derek looked at him uncomprehendingly before letting out an exasperated growl.  ”Food!" he clarified, and Stiles broke into a grin which could only be described as ‘shit-eating’.

"You like steakhouses?" Stiles asked.

"Like you have money for steak after everything you’ve put your car through," Derek said.  Stiles gave him a wounded look…but hell, he was right.  Stiles would be lucky if he scraped together enough for a McFlurry.  Derek looked at that hangdog face and sighed as if this was all some great trouble he was reluctantly suffering through for a friend.  Despite how plainly grouchy it was, Stiles loved that sigh immediately.  "How about I pay for the first date.  You can cover the next."

"Oh?  You’re so sure that there’ll be more than one?" Stiles asked, grinning.

"Are you kidding?" Derek asked, turning his attention back to the Jeep.  "Something tells me I couldn’t get rid of you with a crowbar."

((Wanna prompt me? Click here to find out how!))

Posted 2 weeks ago
have you signed the nonbinary recognition petition yet? we need about 13,000 more signatures by april 20 to make the 100,000 we need, and it would be great if you signed it and encouraged others to do so!! i can link you if you want !!
still-marauding asked

Damn skippy, I have.  As someone who is actively against the senseless enforcement of outdated gender roles (and, by the grace of logic, in support of the recognition and respect of those whose gender cannot be defined by these roles in the first place), my signature went on that the moment I saw it on my dash.

For those who can’t find it on their dash, it’s right here, and it’s a deserving cause.

Posted 2 weeks ago

THE ONE WHERE I TRY TO ENGAGE INTEREST IN ANOTHER CRAFT SWAP!!! So a lot of months have gone by and I’m wondering is there is interest in another Pac Rim craft swap. What say you fandom??

Let’s do this, guys!  :D  Meet cool people, make cool stuff, get cool stuff, find new cool friends!!

Posted 2 weeks ago
Some Clint handporn? One of the avengers (your choice) finds themselves unusually fascinated with Clints hands and how extremely... skilled they seem to be.
Anonymous asked

Bruce figured Clint knew he was watching him - very little escaped Clint’s gaze, and Bruce was lucky to have escaped sarcastic, if friendly, commentary from the man whose hands he was so fascinated by.  But Bruce couldn’t help himself; Clint’s hands were nimble and clever, and his fingers worked with tireless precision when it came to anything having to do with his job.  Paperwork?  His handwriting was pristine, scratched out with quick flicks of Clint’s wrist.  Weapon maintenance?  Clint could collapse, reopen, and restring his bow in a manner of seconds, almost in the same movement.  Mapwork?  Clint plotted routes like no one else, drawing in thick red lines.

And in bed? he wondered, watching as Clint examined the fletching on his arrows.  Were those nimble fingers gentle and coaxing, stroking down his body and gently pressing against tight pink skin in a silent plea for permission?  Or would they be rough like Clint’s job, tugging at fabric and grasping at skin, pushing lube-slick knuckles in and prying him open?  Damn, how he wanted to know..!

"Bruce?  You’re sounding kind of short of breath.  You okay?"

Bruce looked up sharply, meeting Clint’s concerned frown.  ”Sorry, I didn’t even realize I was doing it.  Must be asthma.”

"Huh," Clint grunted, turning back to his arrows and running a careful finger along the shaft of one arrow from one end to the other.  "I didn’t even know you had asthma."

Bruce held back a sigh of relief.  At least Clint had bought it; the reason he didn’t know Bruce had asthma was because Bruce didn’t have asthma.  But he couldn’t exactly admit that he was more or less panting because he was imagining Clint fingering him with those slender, handsome -

"And here I thought I was turning you on."

Bruce nearly choked.  ”What - ?!”

Clint smirked and raised an eyebrow.  ”Come on now, Jade Jaws.  You don’t think I usually stroke my arrows like this, do you?”

Bruce’s jaw slackened slightly and he shook his head - not in negative response, but in disbelief.  ”I…I thought you were checking them for straightness.”

"No.  I do that," Clint said, holding one up to one eye so he could see along the edge of the shaft, "by doing this."  He slid the arrow back into its quiver and gave Bruce a hesitant look.  "I haven’t been putting on a show for nothing, have I?  I was pretty much positive…"

"No, no.  You’re right.  I’m attracted to you," Bruce responded.  "I just…wow.  I can’t believe it."

Clint grinned wider and examined his next arrow.  ”Perhaps I could clear the confusion and explain the details to you over dinner tomorrow night?  Or would you prefer we skip straight to the dirty stuff?”

Bruce’s cheeks darkened with embarrassment.  ”A date would be nice.  More than one date would be nice, I mean.”

"Alright.  Greek okay?"

"Greek’s fine."

"Tomorrow at six, then."  Clint lifted the arrow to his eye.  "See you then, handsome."

((Wanna prompt me? Click here to find out how!))

Posted 2 weeks ago


I want a fic where Loki keeps a creepy journal of sex fics featuring him and Thor and one day like fandral finds it and believes this is a legit diary of what happened so he keeps winking to Thor like “hey hey u nasty daddy” and Thor has no idea what he’s referring to

Fandral’s eyes widened and he chuckled into the palm of his hand as he continued reading - not an amused chuckle, but a scandalized one.  To think, he had always assumed that Thor would be boring in bed!  He was starting to regret not pursuing the good prince before Thor went and got married.

Slightly flushed and heated with arousal, Fandral continued reading.

He held me by my legs, pushing my knees to my chest and taking me like a beast in season.  Every thrust drove the breath from my lungs; every stroke of his cock was warm, weighted bliss that I could feel in every fiber of my body.  How warm Thor’s skin is compared to mine!  I moaned his name against his skin as he bit into mine, and he rapped one hand across my thigh.  I could feel it stinging on my skin, and I knew what he wanted.

I heightened my voice, the way he likes, and moaned, ‘Allfather, do it harder.’  He obliged, cupping the back of my neck in one broad, powerful hand and crushing his lips against mine with a growl.

Fandral nearly choked.  Of course, ascending to the role of king would grant Thor the title of Allfather, but to have it used in bed as a sexual sobriquet was obscene.  Worse than obscene.  He wasn’t sure whether he was horrified or turned on.

Of course, he answered that question for himself when he kept reading.

Thor clawed into my thighs, dragging me into each roll of his hips, pressing me back against the bed for leverage and whispering filthy promises into my hair.  I could feel his muscles tighten and his arousal throb inside of me, warm and thick, and I knew he was approaching climax.  Desperate for him, I squirmed against his body, hooking my legs over his shoulders and pleading with the name he loves so much.

Thor came with a roar, with the power of the storms he calls.  The heat of it coursed through me, filling me like his moans filled my ears.  His mouth dropped to my neck to suck dark marks of carnal possession to the surface of my skin; his hand glided from the outside of my leg to the length of my cock, stroking -

Fandral pushed the book aside, licking his lips and tugging open his shirt.  No more of that, not for tonight.  He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to look Thor and Loki in the eyes tomorrow…not without thinking of this, anyway.  And wouldn’t that be interesting.

Ah well, he could always fight any potential awkwardness with humor.  He usually did.


Thor grinned down at Loki, pleased to have such a handsome man as his husband.  Loki seemed just as pleased, and though Thor was not in his mind, Loki often made his contentment known in no uncertain terms.  He’d been smiling widely of late, as if he knew something Thor didn’t - maybe it had something to do with how creative he was getting in bed? - but Thor loved that impish grin of his.

And speaking of impish grins…

Fandral approached with a spring in his step, eyes widening for a moment as he looked at the two of them.  He then chuckled like the whole world was some great secret, leaning in towards Thor as he walked by.

"You are a filthy, filthy man, prince - oh, pardon me, you prefer other titles, don’t you?”  He winked and looked at Loki.  ”And you!  You’re a lucky man, aren’t you?”

Thor frowned in confusion as Fandral headed away.  He watched him leave, then looked down at Loki.  ”…what was that all about?” he asked, bewildered.

Loki looked up at him and gave a shrug.  ”Who knows?  Fandral makes no sense until he has some mead in him.”  Thor shrugged back at him and they continued walking…but he could have sworn he heard Loki mutter, “So that’s where it went.”

((Wanna prompt me? Click here to find out how!))

Posted 3 weeks ago

Pokemon Magnet Giveaway!!


To celebrate Google Map’s awesome April Fool’s Pokemon Challenge, the first five people to reblog this with screencaps of their progress so far will receive a handmade magnet of their Pokemon menu sprite of choice!!  :D  Like these:


(photo by gypsu-thor)

Just spreading the news <3  Act quickly, guys!