#how queue you

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[daydreamerwonderkid]

I know WFA is too OOC for some people, but I need that shit right now.

I do love seeing the Batfam beating the shit out of each other. I like how messy their relationships are and I have always loved flawed characters.

But idk, man, Batman #138 just really crossed a line for me and I need a reminder that there are other depictions of Bruce that aren't so fucking heinous.

I'll take this shit:

Over this shit:

Any. Fucking. Day.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heh...Literally nothing personal, kid.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[aeide-thea]

on principle opposed to describing art i dislike as 'masturbatory' because even though it's an alluringly contemptuous word to sneer it's impossible to reconcile with my pro-masturbation stance

[rodolfoparras]

Yeah but thinking about a man pissing you off, acting like a brat all day and instead of apologizing he just lays on your shared bed, pulls up his pants enough for his fat ass to spill out, spread his cheeks to show off his hole that’s pulsating for you, doesnt say a word and waits for you to approach him, and if you’re reluctant to do so he’ll let you stand there and watch him work two spit slicked fingers inside of him, grunts and groans escaping his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he fucks himself onto his own fingers, acting as if you aren’t even standing there with a boner

and of course there’s only so much a man can take before you’re crawling over to the bastard, all while he’s trying to suppress the smile on his face, and you can’t find it in yourself to be mad anymore as you slot yourself between his legs, fingers digging into plush thighs, tip of your nose brushing over the coarse dark hairs that lays dusted on his ass, before licking a stripe along the hot wet flesh, hearing a string of curse words attempt to tumble past his lips before he quickly silences them

“Apologize ” you say hot breath washing over his skin, seeing the goosebump raise across his body as the smell of his musk and sweat hits your nosestrils

“Fuck no,” he says through gritted teeth, eyes barley able to stay open as you slide the tip of your tongue inside of him, tentatively licking at the tight ring of muscles.

You just hum in response, too tired and too horny to keep this argument going as you start thrusting your tongue inside his hole, licking, sucking, eating him out, as if your face was buried in a sopping wet cunt.

“Mpf Fuck Fuck Fuck! Yes yes yes just- ah just like that”There’s sobs escaping his lips, body quaking onto the sheets, ankles locking in place to keep you moving away from him.

You continue working your tongue inside , hands spreading his cheeks as wide as those stupid jeans will allow, eagerly lapping at his puffy rim and setting a steady pace with your tongue.

“Mm wait, , stop, it’s stop too much, toooo much,” he suddenly slurs out, hands attempting to crawl away from you even though he’s practically fucking himself back onto your mouth.

Despite his words you see the way he’s looking at you with mouth agape, eyes half lidded, cock surely weeping on his abdomen. So you only tighten you grip on him, as you continue to lick relentlessly.

And it’s not long before he’s tipping over the edge, his hand sloppily fisting his dick while your tongue’s still buried inside of him.

He doesn’t say a word as he cleans himself up, and lays back down on the bed, leaving you down on all four, cock all hard and weeping, wishing he’d let you fuck his hole.

“Bastard,”

[arsenicflame]

Bonus round! Do you use a queue tag?

[aphel1on]

AURGH auwarghh the autistic parental trauma... the epi was wacky hijinks then dropped this on us out of nowhere... (sobs) laios... laiiiiooooos

[braisedhoney]

fighting back? against who? they're so happy—they've been waiting for you.

you are wonderful. don't you know that?

bonus: they play sims together :)

[trans-androgyne]

Yes, trans men and mascs have historically been subjected to less public violence and ridicule than trans women and fems. Is having privilege really the only reason you can think of for that? Have you considered that they had less ability to be publicly visible in the first place? Please remember that the lack of autonomy women have historically been granted also applies to transmascs. They would have been considered the property of men. Spousal rape wasn't illegal everywhere in my country until 1993. How easy do you think it would be for forcibly impregnated transmascs to transition? For abused transmascs in general? Do you think they were all even allowed out of the house often without a man? There are so many stories of transmascs being forcibly institutionalized for being trans. Is that situation and otherwise being quietly abused and erased really so much better than hypervisibility?

[twistedappletree]

lan wangji: *brings home baby a-yuan*

lan xichen: i want one too :(

lan jingyi:

[ophernelia]

Amelia Jade Carranza, 1996

Recent Episode | Full Series

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

jimin's smeraldo garden marching band

[martyryo]

I was abt to give up on this until I remembered who she is

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Oh Skinzun, we're really in it now...

[mutantninjamidlifecrisis]

[rodolfoparras]

not to be crazy but reader being crazy obsessed over dragon!price. maybe reader's a hybrid, or maybe he's just a human; but it doesn't matter, not when all he cares about is john, john, john, john. a reader who's so obsessed price, no matter what he does or say, cannot seem to get rid of you. in the peripherals of his vision he is haunted by you, whether you are actually there or not, you have infested his mind just as much as he's infested yours.

a reader who's so obsessed he'll go up against creatures much stronger and older than he is, against creatures with teeth and claws and magic that hums in their veins - but that magic and claws and teeth are all usually against a man who's sole purpose is to live for another man, for a man who you're so deeply and dearly enamored with. their size and strength and whatever mystical, non-human features are all useless against you, whose veins scream for violence and blood, who scream at you to get rid of anyone that so much as breathes your john's way.

and price isn't sure whether to be impressed or disturbed by the amount of heads that arrive packaged onto his desk, the dismembered limbs he throws out with distaste on his tongue. it boggles his mind whenever he finds out you've gotten rid of yet another hybrid, how someone like you - either a human man or a weaker hybrid of sorts - have managed to become the personification of death itself.

he's more exasperated when he somehow finds out you've been stalking him, finds the collection of polaroids of him stored away somewhere, finds a shrine just for him, than he is frightened. he's never had anyone be so obsessed with him the way you are in all his years of living, and despite himself, with every corpse or limb found, with every sickly love letter finding itself on his desk, with stolen clothes finding itself in your bedroom or laundry, with the little bloodied gifts you leave him, it has his draconic instincts purring at a potential mate.

Cw: 18+, dragon!Price, dragon! male reader obsessiveness, stalking, scent kink, masturbation, voyarism, exhibitionism, briefly Nikolai x Price, brief mention & depiction of dismemberment, yandere!reader, yandere!Price

It all started with a small act of kindness. You were getting scolded by a superior for something you’d done- had almost gotten kicked out of your squad because of that, when suddenly Price had swooped in and uttered a little white lie “he didn’t mean it, I’ll keep him in check don’t worry about it general” and got you out of trouble in a matter of seconds

Truth be told Price forgot all about you after that encounter but you couldn’t forget about him. You spent every waking moment learning about him who he was - a dragon hybrid and a captain- what he’d done- fought in wars and served everything from kings to generals - learned all about who he keeps in his inner circle - it had once been his mate now it’s mostly his squad and oh his mate -she was absolutely beautiful- a dragon hybrid just like him. They’d been together for years until she’d gotten killed.

That’s at least what you had read in one of the many journal he keeps in his room. You had snuck in one day when he left for a mission with the intentions to just look around but you had ended up with your clothes on the floor and fucking one of his pillows just because it smelled like him, - soap and cologne still embedded into the pristine white fabric, and still carrying the imprint from where his head once had been. So of course you folded the pillow right in the middle and slid your cock inside of it, losing yourself in its tight and warm grip, pretending it was the stand offish dragon captain you were fucking before spilling ropes of cum all over the sheets.

Then it came to the over protectiveness. You really wouldn’t call it that. You just wanted to make sure he was alright. So what if you watched him through the cracks of his office door while he held conversations with Nikolai? And what if you stayed as his lips crashed onto the Russians, while your hand slipped down your pants and what if you snuck into Price’s room the morning after and buried your face in his underwear just so you know that Nikolai didn’t take it any further?

But Price knew- could feel your eyes on him as he lined Nikolai’s cockhead up with his entrance. Price knew -could hear your growl and the way your hand stroked your cock as he bounced on Nikolai’s cock. Price knew- and he enjoyed it, tipped over the edge at the sheer thought of it, vision turning blurry and ears ringing as he slumped into the other man’s embrace.

So it wasn’t to any surprise when he discovered the Polaroids you kept of him, stashed under your mattress but poking out enough for him to get a glimpse. He had come to your room to talk about your recent behavior. Things had started to get out of hand. He didn’t really care that you watched his every step. What he did care about were the soldiers that had mysteriously gone missing, soldiers he’d gotten into minor arguments with prior to the incident, but eventually popped back up in his office or rather his desk- body completely dismembered and limbs neatly wrapped, reminding him of a Christmas Day in hell and Price was sure he knew who was behind it

There were plenty of Polaroids, so much so they made up an entire album.

Some were rather innocent in nature, snapshots of him while he was smoking a cigar or talking with Kate or any member of 141 . The photographs were blurry - unfocused almost as if you’d accidentally taken them but he knew that wasn’t the case. Some were a bit more suggestive: a close up shot of his ass while he was maneuvering the shooting range or a shot of his scantily clad lower half as he held a training session with the team. He could only imagine what you did with those,

But there were more polaroids, snapshots of him while he’s clearly asleep, blissfully unaware of what’s happening. Going by the murky surroundings, the pictures must’ve been taken whenever the two of you were out on a mission together and shared a tent.

Some were close up shots of his face, cheeks dusted in pink and hair in disarray, completely unaware of what’s happening. Other Polaroids were blurry shots of his body, silver of skin peaking through the clothes he’s wearing, probably a direct cause from all the tossing and turning he’d done in his sleep. Despite the nature of them, they were rather innocent, reminding you of causal snapshots someone would take of their lover.

But something about that had heat creeping up his cheek, blood pooling straight to his dick.

He could imagine you sprawled out on your bed, or seated in his office chair, one hand holding a Polaroid; probably a snapshot of him smoking a cigar, while the other hand was stroking your cock.

Disgusting he thinks as his hand shakily unbuckles his jeans, doesn’t even bother to take a seat.

How could he allow anyone as sick as you into his team? He thinks, hand grasping his dick, that’s already hard and weeping.

He should report you for misconduct and get you kicked out of the army, he thinks, thumb swiping over his tip, smearing around the pre that had been collecting there as grunts and groans escapes his lips

All thoughts escape his head as he sets a steady pace with his hand, stroking root to tip while his free hand fondles his ball sack.

“Fuck!” He grunts out, eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back as he fucks into his own hand.

“John?”