#Pile's writing

[plainclothesdisaster]

Danny’s on the Suicide Squad. He’s the defacto team moral compass and ray of sunshine. He plays the role of the camp counselor that keeps everyone in line. He’s not afraid of working with even the gnarliest of baddies.

Everybody on the team wonders how he ended up locked up with the villains- he never talks about what he did to end up behind bars no matter how much they pester him. Then one day they’re out on a mission and Harley or somebody is caught and tortured. Danny snaps. It’s the opposite of brutal- he takes down everyone in the room with clinical, dispassionate efficiency.

After it’s over and the team is safe he comes back to himself and is almost sheepish. He radios Belle Reve.

“Whoops. Add another couple notches on my power dampener collar, would you Waller?”

“Can’t, it’s already at max.”

“Ah. Well. I’ll have a look at strengthening it when we’re back then.”

The team just stared at him slack jawed. Good thing he’s on their side.

[syea-say]

The finale of a never-ending masquerade.

AQ 4.2 spoilers.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

got a worm nibbling my brain. can someone help me find a piece of obscure media?

webcomic/indie comic from the 2010s. basically a sci-fi short story about a young girl (with red hair?) who was being raised by scientists as part of an experiment. she receives a haircut/has her head shaved, in preparation for her annual brain scan/testing. it is revealed that while her body is human, her "brain" is artificial, made of computer implants throughout her skull and spine. at some point her biological mother (also a scientist on the same campus?) encounters her and is repulsed, viewing her as a machine who has murdered her daughter.

it was very poignant and it bruised my heart and i can NOT find it anywhere

[klauw22]

little lore/fic/x reader stuff under cut bcs im insane abt mummy vencha,,,

Sloane Cameron, once a young devotee to the kings and queens of the land has been chosen to be sealed alive in the royal temple in order to guard the graves and riches of the dead. Unbeknownst to them, the scripture painted onto their limbs and back were not for protection or luck in the afterlife like they've been told, but rather curses and spells binding their soul onto the thin thread which laid between the two realms, dividing the living from the dead. That is where their soul was now bound to wander until eternity, losing their grip on mortality yet unable to pass on like the rest.

With time their flesh rotted away leaving nothing but a husk of sand and bones. Before sealing, their sight was blinded as they weren't worthy of looking onto the royals that rested within these tombs, not even in death, and to ensure that Sloane wouldn't try to escape.

For centuries the guardian remained asleep in their designated chamber. That was until now. Until you and your crew of explorers too curious for your own good uncovered the entrance to the temple, awakening the guardian from their peaceful slumber in the process.

The guardian now awake had one goal in mind.

With a torch in hand you scanned the golden walls upon entering, lightly tracing your fingers along the carved paintings. Sand and dust coating your fingertips. For a moment you swore you could feel another presence there with you. Another pair of eyes watching, lingering on you while your crew stayed behind. The room suddenly felt cooler, as if a draft of cold air passed through you making a shiver run up your spine. This spooked you even further but you were determined to continue onward.

Its probably just my imagination you tried to comfort yourself as you stepped deeper.

[deancasforcutie]

Dean complimenting fellow queer people on their game

Bonus inverse, trying to out-game someone to vicariously flirt for/with your presumed-but-not-at-all-straight friend who has no game whatsoever:

[dottie-n-stripes]

linus has always needed his tightknit friendgroup!! i call them the chums. my philosophy with crafting them all was making it feel like they are a sitcom ensemble and it's been so fun putting them in situations together. i had a blast designing these sea creachers in a splatoony way and i'm super proud of how they came out, i hope u enjoy them too!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOUR SQQ HE LOOKS SO FUCKINH DONE WITH LIFE

The recipe for SQQ is: calm on the outside, screaming on the inside.

[chadleys]

›› pairing: astarion x reader

›› wordcount: 1.9k

›› genre: established relationship, smut, fluff.

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: got a request for pregnant tav and astarion taking place after the events of the game. this is that.

›› warnings: pregnant!reader, impreg, biting, mentions of blood drinking.

the grounds of the manse are still, quiet, as you examine yourself in the full-length mirror by the window. cloud cover has been rolling in all day; a storm is brewing. you wish it would just arrive already — you’ve always loved the rain. and any excuse to spend the afternoon in bed with your beloved while rainfall pounds at the windows is a good one to you.

you turn this way and that, examining the subtle swell of your belly. that’s not the only change you’ve noticed, of course; your hips and thighs are a shade larger, your breasts more plump, arms slightly too thick to fit into most of your tunics anymore.

at the moment a sheer, lacy negligee drapes from your shoulders, the bottom hem barely brushing the backs of your thighs.

just as you start to grimace and turn from the mirror, a knock at the door distracts you.

❝ is my love decent? ❞ astarion’s dulcet tones make your legs quake and a tenuous bout of gooseflesh prick your arms.

❝ as though you’d care either way, ❞ you purr. a moment ago, you were desperate to get away from the reflection in the mirror. now, you stand your ground, waiting for him to enter.

which he does, beautiful body sliding between door and frame as his crimson gaze finds you. he sighs, wistfully, and his bare feet make quiet shuffling noises along the hard wood floor as he approaches. ❝ what can i say other than that you’re right? you are utterly indecent and i have to be honest. i prefer you this way … ❞ those last words spoken right into your ear send a shiver down your spine, your lashes fluttering before flying open again.

this. this is why you so suddenly changed your mind about abandoning your post in front of the mirror. it’s been enchanted. ever since your return to baldur’s gate, both your and astarion’s fortunes have vastly improved. not only monetarily, though it’s certainly been fun to watch your coffers steadily rise and eventually overflow. but also your general quality of life; not only do you have a special midwife who’s been helping to check on the babe from time to time, making the periodic blood meals it requires more palatable for you, but every mirror in the house has been magicked to be able to show a vampire’s reflection.

❝ admiring yourself? ❞ astarion’s voice is unbearably low and intoxicating in your ear. you nearly fall into his arms, as one wraps itself around your waist, hand cupping your belly. ❝ … i know i am. ❞

your hands come to brace themselves on astarion’s forearms, running back and forth, though you’re comforting yourself more than you are him. ❝ just the opposite, ❞ you all but spit. ❝ i don’t look like myself anymore. these changes, they … they disgust me. ❞

suddenly, you’re being whirled, losing your footing. but astarion is there, hands on your biceps, drawing you close and pressing his mouth fiercely to yours.

you melt, fingers clutching at the collar of his tunic, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

just when you think he’s sucked all the air from your lungs, he presses you back and allows you to breathe again.

❝ i don’t ever want to hear you talking about yourself like that again. and i do mean ever. ❞ gentle fingers swipe a lock of hair back from your forehead. ❝ you’re carrying my child; how could you possibly be disgusting? ❞

at a loss for words, you let him wheel you slowly back around to face the mirror. chin hooked over your shoulder, his scorching carmine gaze roves over you. slow hands part the lapels of your negligee, traipsing over all of your newest curves. ❝ look at this beautiful body ... ❞ his voice is low and hot, splashing molten waves over your entire body. ❝ and it's all mine. ❞

in one swift move, he sinks his teeth into your neck, making you moan and squirm against him. he doesn't drink from you anymore, not when you need all the energy you have to keep up with the life growing inside of you. but it's enough for him to continue to mark you, never letting your bites heal fully before he leaves more.

❝ astarion ... ❞ his name is a plea on your lips as you lean back into him, a solid pressure against your back.

❝ i can smell you, ❞ is his response, one hand traveling steadily downward, ❝ getting so wet for me. it happens more often now that you're pregnant, have you noticed? i certainly have. ❞

you want to tell him that it's not like the two of you weren't having sex every single night before. but now you're having sex every morning, too. and afternoon. and evening …

instead, you swallow thickly and swerve onto your other path of thinking. the path that focuses on the heat between your legs, thighs already sticking together as astarion slips a hand between them and cups your sex.

❝ please tell me you were wearing this — ❞ he plucks a piece of flimsy fabric from the negligee between his teeth. ❝ — for easy access? ❞

❝ of course. ❞ it hadn’t even crossed your mind.

astarion releases a shaky breath and steps away from you. you miss him immediately. ❝ get on the bed. ❞ normally he would throw you onto it, bthe two of you are taking every precaution for the baby.

climbing onto the soft bedspread of your giant four-poster bed, you allow astarion to come after you, crawling, hunting you as if you were his prey. the softest, sweetest prey he’d ever encounter.

legs spread, you welcome him between them, where his hardness presses — warm and insistent — against your wetness. but he still has his breeches on.

you hook a finger into the waist and tug, letting the fabric snap back against his alabaster skin. ❝ these, i think, need to come off. ❞

❝ why, i do believe you’re right. ❞ using his roguelike reflexes, the trousers are gone before you know it and his erection is jutting up, thick and hard, against his stomach. the sight is enough to make you salivate.

normally you’d put it in your mouth straight away, but pregnancy has made you overly sensitive to nausea and you really don’t want to chance ruining this lovely afternoon. so you pull him down by his tunic and kiss him again, your tongues slipping, dancing, enjoying themselves.

one of astarion’s hands has found itself down between your legs again, and he parts from you to whisper, ❝ you’re so wet … i think i could just … ❞

he trails off, and the head of his cock finds your entrance. gentle fingers splay your lips apart and he guides himself right into you, gliding easily along your slick walls. this is not the first time you’ve gotten wet so easily for him and certainly won’t be the last.

you pull your legs back, hooking your arms around your knees to hold yourself open for him. you’ve made this exact shape with your body many times before, and not always in a bed as comfortable as this one. but the extra weight you’ve put on makes holding the position a touch more difficult this time, and one of your legs slips from your grasp, knocking astarion hard in the side.

❝ gods, sorry! ❞ you reach for him, to make sure he’s okay, but the vampire catches your hand easily and pins it to the bedclothes, fingers twined with yours.

❝ never apologize to me, my love. you have no need to. you could ravish me, and still i would thank you. ❞

the thought makes your toes curl; being with astarion hasn’t always been easy, especially when you first met. but now … especially now that you’re pregnant, his desire to dote upon you has grown immeasurably. you want nothing more than to bask in the intensity of his gaze forevermore … and to give birth to his child, of course, but that is still months off.

❝ i still c-can’t believe, ❞ you stutter as he begins to thrust, ❝ you actually managed to get me pregnant. ❞

astarion covers your swollen belly with one of his perfect hands, and both of you watch your breasts sway as he fucks you. ❝ my dear, i was so full of your blood that night i’d be surprised if you don’t give birth to twins. ❞

the thought makes your head swim, your legs clench around his waist, drawing him in, wanting him so much deeper.

neither of you had strictly known that was how it worked; that the more blood a vampire had drunk, the more virile they’d become. not until conducting some research and investigation after you’d mysteriously missed your cycle that month.

needless to say, however, both of you were beyond thrilled.

❝ careful, ❞ you jest, with your legs still tight around him, urging him on. ❝ don’t want to poke the baby’s eye out. ❞

astarion chuckles, leaning down to lay a chiding bite to your chest, fully on display now that the opposites sides of your negligee had fallen completely open. ❝ i don’t claim to be an expert, but i don’t think that’s how it works, love. ❞

as if to prove his point, his hips start to piston in and out of you. harder, faster, astarion holds your gaze as he all but begins to plow you.

pregnancy has made you sensitive in ways you couldn’t believe were possible. the ridges of his fat cock dragging against your tight walls make the room go fuzzy, the bed canopy above you shifting and twinkling like a sky full of stars.

your hands are in his hair, tugging, drawing a hiss from him as he tosses his head back against your ministrations.

he growls, tight and low, that he wants to see you cum, wants to see you lose yourself for him. and you can’t help but obey.

your entire body seizes, toes curling in the sheets, and astarion fucks you through it with harsh, demanding thrusts. you’re so wet that his cock makes sticky sweet noises every time he enters you.

it takes him no time at all, after that, to finish for you. this time you pull your legs back as far as possible and tell him to cum as deep inside of you as he can, wishing to every god you believe in that he could get you pregnant again now, fuck another baby into you.

the one already inside of you is demanding enough, but you can’t help but marinate on astarion’s earlier words: what if you’re having twins? the thought fills you with inexplicable joy, heart pounding big and broad in your chest.

astarion sighs and slips to the side of you, sliding down to place his cheek against your belly. ❝ see? i don’t think he minds at all … ❞

❝ oh? and how do you know it’s a he? ❞ you can barely catch your breath to ask, fingers brushing hair back from astarion’s sweaty forehead.

❝ i don’t. but if you have a boy, you can be guaranteed i’ll be getting you pregnant again as fast as i can, so that he’ll have a sister to keep him in line. ❞

[fireheartwraith]

I need you all to understand that because there’s a city in Brazil called CHRISTMAS (aka Natal because Portuguese) and another one called BETHLEHEM (aka Belém), as a kid I thought JESUS IS BRAZILIAN

[howmanyholesinswisscheese]

Okay so this rant is brought to you by this gorgeous art by @builtintripping what the fuck dude you hit me right in the heart.

Because it’s just. We spend all this time thinking about how affected and hurt Crowley would be after the final fifteen, and yes, of course he would be -- one look at his face tells you he doesn't think he'll ever come back from this, but fucking-

Aziraphale. What about Aziraphale?

Imagine how hard it would be to tell your best friend in the entire universe that you have to go. You have to, you have no choice, coffee or death — leave or death — and you both know it.

He tells you he loves you, asks you to run away with him again, and he has no idea how much you want to. No idea. You want him so badly it hurts, and on some level he knows that much, but he also knows you have to leave.

He knows, but he’s still desperate.

He looks at you with broken eyes and pleads at you with a broken voice. You put that pain in his face.

He kisses you, and it changes nothing except how much it will hurt you when he leaves the bookshop.

How hard would that be? To keep yourself from melting into his touch. To shoulder his confession and harden your heart, because it’s coffee or death - leave or death. How hard would that be, to keep a brave face against your abuser when the one person who has ever managed to convince you that you are more than what they say you are, is gone.

How much would that hurt?

Anyways love the art @builtintripping thanks for facilitating my rambling-

[advicemp3]

(— THE WATER LAPS AT HIS ANKLES AND IT IS SO TERRIBLY COLD.)

for @pendraegon (x)

[blutopaz15]

timeskip Rayla got really into writing self-insert rpf fanfic about her and Callum, published on Archive of Xadia's Own

[franeridart]

The Housecat Philosophy - Ep 37

Ep 00 || < Prev || Next >

Read the next four episodes on Patreon || support me on ko-fi~✨

[rhondafromhr]

I’m thinking about Bill getting home after the events of Workin’ Boys and as the shock wears off, he can’t stop thinking about that poor girl who played Henrietta who’s probably dead and her striking resemblance to Alice. Thinking about the danger Alice would have been in if she came with him like she was supposed to. He calls her and asks if she wants to come over for a movie night even though it’s not his weekend with her. She’d normally never agree, but something about the way his voice shakes compels her to. She gets there and he just pulls her into the tightest hug and stays like that for a while, needing the physical reminder that she’s here and she’s okay. They watch a childhood favorite of hers that Bill still knows practically word for word from the amount of times he was forced to watch it on repeat when she was little. She’s kind of bored, scrolling through her phone then stumbles across some tweets about what happened. The movie ends and she decides to distract him by telling him about her vampire play with the happy ending. He doesn’t comment on her career choice like he usually does, just so, so grateful that she’s alive that he doesn’t care if she picks the most lucrative, stable career as long as she’s happy. He thinks the world needs more good, kind playwrights like her. He just makes her promise never to put on a play at the starlight - he wants to be there at every opening night and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to step foot in that theater again. It gets late, but neither of them can sleep, so she asks him to show her how to bake those chocolate chip cookies he always brings to the church potlucks.

[landwriter]

dead boy detectives is a show whose shortcomings and strengths make total sense when you think of it as a comic on tv, ie terribly goofy expository dialogue that sounds way better when you picture it in comic book font with every other word bolded, panel-paced conversation as our heroes figure out something very obvious, fun enormous monster set pieces that used up all the cgi budget which is why all the rooftop shots look Like That, incredible snap zooms and smash cuts in montages that hit exactly like comic panels, and side characters with bland or brilliant characterization that seems to hinge on the metric of ‘how much cunt did the actor put into their line readings’

[airlockfailure]

Clone trooper who loses the rest of his squad and the medics find him curled up in a pile of their empty, broken armor.