#Maybe he’s projecting on that last bit…

[regressionschool]

The corporate boardroom was all polished chrome, sleek wood, and well-dressed professionals sitting attentively as Maya stood before them, flipping through slides on the screen behind her. Her voice was steady, clear, and authoritative, drawing nods and murmurs of approval from several of the senior board members.

“Now, if you look at the Q3 projections,” Maya continued, gesturing to the chart with a steady hand, “you’ll see our growth potential really peaks in the holiday quarter. I’ve adjusted the strategy to—”

She paused, mid-sentence, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. The smallest trickle had just started to soak into the soft fabric of her pull-up, an increasingly familiar feeling. She’d grown used to it during her busy workdays, where stepping out for a break was often the last thing on her mind. And right now, with all eyes on her, the tiny trickle became a small stream, her pull-up warming, swelling subtly, hidden but noticeable to her. Maya took a controlled breath, keeping her composure as her pull-up grew wet.

“The strategy should help us capitalize on current market trends…” She forced herself to keep going, gesturing to the data behind her, even as she felt the soft garment expand against her. Maya kept her voice steady and didn’t skip a beat, but as she scanned the room, she couldn’t help noticing the slight shifting of a few of her colleagues in their seats. Had she caught the faintest whiff of something…? Her confidence rose, just a bit, as she realized she wasn’t the only one there with a little secret.

As Maya continued her presentation, her mind briefly wandered to the board members sitting around the table, each wearing an expression of focused interest, all eyes on her. But one or two of them, the ones in their seats just behind her, seemed slightly uncomfortable. She thought she saw a little wiggle here and there, like they were maybe trying to hide something… and that faint scent in the air made her wonder. She bit her lip, refocusing on her own slide and pushing away any thought of how wet she was becoming. It was, after all, her job to finish the presentation first.

After another fifteen minutes of speaking, Maya wrapped up her final point, ending her presentation with a confident nod. The board members clapped politely, a few exchanging pleased glances with her, clearly impressed.

“Excellent work, Maya,” Mr. Thompson, the CEO, nodded approvingly. “Really stellar. I think you’ve positioned us perfectly for Q4. Let’s talk further about these adjustments next week.”

Maya gave a polite nod, resisting the urge to shift in place as her wet pull-up felt heavy and slightly squishy. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” she said, clasping her hands professionally in front of her. “I look forward to it.”

The meeting adjourned, and Maya made her way back to her office to collect her things. By now, her pull-up had cooled against her, and she felt it sag just a bit as she walked. She gave herself a small, confident smile as she slipped into her coat and gathered her laptop, ready to head home to her husband, Evan.

Later that evening, Maya finally relaxed as she closed the front door behind her. She set her things down and called out, “Evan, I’m home!”

Evan appeared around the corner, smiling warmly. “Hey, love. How was the presentation?”

Maya smiled back, letting out a little sigh. “It went well. The board seemed pleased.”

“Of course they were,” he said, giving her a hug and a gentle squeeze. “They’re lucky to have you.”

As they embraced, Evan’s hand slid down her back, landing softly on her waist. He paused, his hand lingering, then gave her a light pat just below the small of her back. His expression shifted into one of quiet curiosity. “Maya… are you wearing…?”

Maya blushed, her eyes meeting his with a knowing sparkle. “Mmhmm,” she said softly, biting her lip playfully. She took a small step back, unbuttoning her coat and letting it fall to the side. As she shimmied out of her skirt, the unmistakable bulge of her soggy pull-up peeked out.

Evan’s eyes lit up with pride and warmth as he took in the sight. “Look at you,” he murmured, reaching out to gently trace the outline of her swollen pull-up. “You were so focused on work that you didn’t even take a break?”

Maya shrugged, chuckling softly. “I didn’t want to miss my flow, and well… I guess it just… happened.” She looked down at herself, then met his gaze with a twinkle in her eye. “Not that it’s anything I haven’t done before.”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with her dedication. “You’re incredible, you know that? All this hard work, not even thinking about a break. No wonder you’re so successful.”

“I wasn’t the only one. You wouldn’t believe how much half the boardroom smelled like… well, like messy diapers by the end of it.” She laughed, giving him a mischievous smile. “I think a few of them weren’t even in pull-ups like I was. Some of them were probably in full-on diapers, and not very fresh ones.”

Evan’s eyes widened with a chuckle. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” she replied with a smile.

He grinned, nodding slowly. “Well, with all that in mind, maybe it’s time you upgrade too?” He leaned forward, his voice low and encouraging. “I mean, if you’re going to keep up with the big dogs, maybe you should be a little more prepared yourself.”

Maya’s blush deepened, but her eyes sparkled with interest. She’d been pushing herself so hard at work, and it was almost freeing, realizing she didn’t have to worry about interruptions just to find the restroom.

“You think I should switch to diapers?” she asked, teasing but clearly interested.

He nodded, his hand sliding to her hip. “Think about it. If you’re wearing a full diaper, you don’t have to think about breaks at all. You could handle the longest meetings without worrying, even if you’re… more than a little wet.” He gave her a gentle, playful pat on her soggy pull-up. “And you’d be a lot more comfortable.

Maya grinned, looking down thoughtfully. “I mean… you’re not wrong,” she said, nodding slowly. “Maybe I should just go for it. If half the boardroom can do it, why shouldn’t I?”

“Exactly,” he said, smiling as he reached out to hold her hand. “If anyone’s earned the convenience, it’s you. “

She chuckled, glancing at him with a sly smile. “And you wouldn’t mind helping me get some? You’d be okay with that?”

Evan’s face lit up, nodding eagerly. “Of course I would. I’d love to see you fully relax like that. You’re already amazing at your job—now you’d have all the freedom you need, no matter how long those days get.”

Maya’s smile softened, and she gave his hand a squeeze, feeling a deep sense of comfort at the idea. “Then… let’s do it. Let’s get me some diapers.”

The decision felt surprisingly easy.

Soggy and not sorry about it

[pnfc]

here is some train-of-thought writing that came out today while i was thinking about labels/identity for d&p, sexuality and gender.

18+ for (brief) sex scenes, you’ve been warned, door is over there etc

When Perry laid out the realities of his private life to the Flynn-Fletcher family it was not, in his preplanning mind, a gay coming-out. That was like the 9th or 10th layer of the curtain he was pulling away in the grand reveal, a flimsy one attendant in its connection to Heinz Doofenshmirtz and all the messiness he embodied, mortal threats on Perry and tristate domination schemes and more than one cringeworthy viral video.

So it’s sweet and befuddling to Perry when Phineas and Ferb gift him a handknitted rainbow pride scarf for his birthday that year, maybe the last people he’d expect to take that particular tack.

“Phineas is really taking to Home Ec,” Ferb tells Perry as they refill at the coffee table. “I don’t mean to devalue our shared gift in your eyes, but he made that in just half a period, it was his first project. And I think,” Ferb continues in his low voice, as he retrieves the creamer for Perry. “He might be just a little excited to have a gay family member.”

That’s what Perry is, now that he and his connection with Heinz are out for the world to see. He’d never thought of it in those terms before, nor had Heinz used the word to describe their still-new romantic partnership. Perry’s gay and his former nemesis turned agent-partner is now his boyfriend, is the buzz at the office.

Perry thought it might have a welcome insulating effect, word spreading that Agent P isn’t into women, on an official basis this time. But it didn’t stop Agent Lyla from flirting at him, in fact seemed to goad her on, like Perry’s stony indifference to her was funny, fun to poke at. And it didn’t stop women from cooing over him in public, even with the enamel flag pin from Stacy pinned to his hat band -- again, that may have only exacerbated the situation.

But it did spare him from at least one Monogram holiday present, a profoundly haunting OWCA calendar starring female models in states of Christmassy undress, posed with plush animals. He’d yanked it back out of Perry’s hands, with what might have been bashfulness, and muttered “Gotta get a male model calendar for next year, too, so HR doesnt get on my keister. Carl! You’re in charge of the gay one.”

Perry accepted the designation of gay man, even if he didn’t feel it in his bones. It fit on him like a well tailored suit, the rainbow aesthetic was appealing, queer human history was deeply compelling and Stacy et al were so excited to share in his education on the subject, to share a place with him behind the marching banner. It affirmed Perry’s lifelong indifference to the human and non-human women he was assumed to feel attraction for. But it all felt a bit specious, since Perry harbored attraction for one person only. He couldn’t in a century feel for anyone else the way he does Heinz.

Still here he is, a man with a boyfriend, and if the fact that he’s a platypus threatens that definition, that opinion is not possessed by the people in his life who matter. So he’s gay.

Heinz shares Perry’s ambivalence around labeling, but out of a long legacy of experience that Perry lacks, so he’s a refuge in this. “Bisexual, yeah, that was the rage back in college,” he waxes nostalgic to Perry, during their nighttime couch convos. “The only way to be, unless you were a college republican finance major. But there’s pansexual now too, right? And so many flags -- Vanessa’s friends were over here trying to explain it to me. That girl Laci had so many flags on her bag, it was like the Olympics back there. Or like the last 50 years of Drusselstein regional flags from the warring states -- except like, in more colors than just grey and brown. Drusselstein had a serious dye shortage. They finally cut a deal with the Ukraine in 2006 for green, it was a real gamechanger, but it only complicated the flag design wars.”

“…Anyway it was fun to be bi, in the 80s,” Heinz says. He’s sprawled along the couch, Perry sitting against his bare bent leg, idly rubbing a paw around his knee. “Guys really put themselves together back then, they were electric. And if you slapped on enough liner and eyeshadow to partly obscure your weird shaped face maybe one of them would give you his number, if he had enough cocktails. And sometimes that number would even be legit.”

Pausing, Heinz looking up at the lofty ceiling, his head on the armrest. “I don’t know if I am bi anymore, Perry the Platypus,” he says with a note of regret. “Everyone’s just so sad now, so Linkedin and Panera Bread, even the evil scientists of the day are so sexless -- I dunno, maybe I’ve aged out of the crowd. Once I hit 30 it just seemed easier sticking with women. They can be a lot kinder, in my experience. Or at least more liable to pity a guy like me. Plus they’re, y’know, really hot -- trust me on that one, Perry the Platypus. So I dunno if I’ve got the right to be all ‘loud and proud’ just because I knew how to party in my 20s. …At least, I didn’t have the right for a good decade there.” Perry’s smirking across at him, elbow propped on the bend of Heinz’s knee. “You don’t need to give me that look,” Heinz scolds. “I know what you are to me. You don’t need to rub it in. “But, you know what I mean: you outgrow the bi phase, you get married, you work with a lot of cute dancers, accept an arduous future of heterosexual post-divorce dating efforts -- and then you, ah -- meet a very attractive platypus,” he says, struggling because Perry is pressing his hands into Heinz’s thigh, trailing a leisurely path upwards. “And it, uh. Gets confusing. …Oh my god, Perry.” His splayed leg shakes and he props it up on the back of the couch as Perry focuses on worsening the situation in his cotton workout shorts. He told Perry not to rub it in -- that’s always annoying, being told what not to do, what not to rub.

Despite all of Heinz’s wordy equivocating he is loud about Perry’s role in his life, the first to introduce Perry as his boyfriend or himself as Perry’s, though he tends to prefer the word partner, maybe for its alliterative quality. “Yes, Perry the Platypus is my partner,” is the line trod out to whichever party guest, since more often than not Perry is the one who needs no introduction. “And I mean romantic partner, just to be clear, so there’s no confusion. Because we used to be work partners too, and we still are. But we’re an item.” And if Heinz deems the partygoer in question to be sufficiently magnetic and therefore threatening he will follow this up with the even more unnecessary “So don’t even think about it.” Perry should find this more mortifying than he does, probably, except that it’s cut short conversations with a lot of people who turned out not to be worth Perry’s time. Quite efficient, letting your boyfriend trim the homophobic tallow off your social sphere with his blunt-sheared social crudity. More than one social blowout has turned into a furious makeout session back behind the venue, Perry dragging Heinz’s back down a brick wall so he can suck his tongue, so Heinz’s pleas of “Perry we’re parked right over there” muffle into whimpers under a canopy of evening cicada call.

Perry came up in OWCA right when they were transforming their internal messaging, making it superficially friendlier. Some changes were Carl’s well-meaning suggestions that became enshrined. “The agents shouldn’t be shamed out of exploring their natural desires,” was the gist of his plea to Monogram -- Perry retains a fuzzy memory of the scene, he couldn’t have been older than 3 then, was delivering a hot beverage to Monogram’s office as part of his daily duties. “Even the ones who aren’t, um… intact, they still feel things.”

“So we tell them not to. Anything less is insanity. It’s sick, Carl.” He took the heavy coffee from Perry’s hands. Perry’s palms were wet and burning. “The animals need to focus on one thing, and that’s the mission. Lord knows I don’t need to hear about whatever nasty business they get up to back at the zoo, in their off-hours. But we’re dealing with dumb, wild animals, Carl. We need to stamp out all that mating distraction with a vengeance. This is a war, Carl, against evil itself, and they’re humanity's front line.”

But Carl must’ve gotten something through, because the recruits younger than Perry endured less scare mongering around sex, fewer militaristic tirades from Monogram about the primacy of the fight and the evils of carnal temptation. Mono’s coffee mug featured a hula dancer whose bikini vanished at high temperatures -- it had always been difficult to take him seriously.

And one day they’d all been gifted a Carl-designed asexual pride tee, the OWCA logo in purple and grey, and a “Be who you are!” platitude written in Carl’s loopy cursive. This messaging was muddled to say the least. This was a human designation, asexuality, of which Perry had only partial comprehension -- and Carl seemed to be prescribing it to the agents even as his words encouraged free identity. But the design was nice, Carl had a flair for that -- the flag colors were classy and austere, not quite to Perry’s taste where t-shirts were concerned, but definitely suited to Heinz. Except Perry knew even back then that if any human pride flag fit Heinz, this was not it.

He still has that shirt bunched in the bottom of a drawer with the other old employee tees, including one with Carl’s face and chocolate stains on it. Maybe that human designation does fit Perry, in a certain technical sense. In the fall and winter. Seasons when he sits with Heinz watching trashy old 70s flicks that burgeon and bulge with more nudity than the plot demands. “You see how they filmed skin back then, Perry the Platypus?” Heinz will lament. “It’s crazy, her legs are like glowing -- people don’t look like this anymore.” He works himself up trying to explain the magic effect to Perry, while Perry just leans into his side and gazes up at him. Human attraction is cute, defanged like this, watching Heinz helpless in the thrall of some chainsmoking director’s bad movie about a city cop taking down apocalyptic gangs. And just to be mean Perry won’t touch Heinz’s hard-on -- but he’ll touch everywhere else, as the movie plays, nose his bill up the side of his shirt and kiss his hot skin, and he’ll watch Heinz shudder his way to breaking point, whereat he digs himself out of his pants and pulls himself off in a few fast strokes. Perry doesn’t need to get off to enjoy this. It satisfies just like the old thwartings. Perry’s just hitting other self-destruct buttons, on Heinz’s body -- he’s really one big button, if Perry’s honest, and Perry savors pushing it again, and again, and again.

So he could take or leave the labels. He likes that he and Heinz cut a different shape, one that doesn’t slot neatly into a human-made hole. But they mean a lot to the kids, Perry observes, as they grow into high schools and colleges, as they get passionate and motivated, as Vanessa breaks up with Monty and doesn’t look back. And Perry, Perry’s not even a person to so many of the humans he encounters, much less one with an orientation worth caring about. So it’s nice. He carries the cheery rainbow umbrella with the London skyline that Lawrence brought back from across the pond. He wears Ferb and Phineas’s snazzy rainbow scarf, Stacy’s hat pin. It’s not borne deep in Perry’s bones, this identity, but it’s a lovely accent, fortified by the people he loves. No depth required.

Which is why it does not seem too jarring, many years in the future, a decade onward, when his partnership with Heinz looks different. After they’ve danced through years of late night karaoke, hitting up gay bars and the vanishingly rare sapient-animal-friendly club, both of them growing loose and happy in their linkage to each other, holding each other’s hands and feeling the clink-clink of their rings. It was just more playtime for both of them, Heinz bustling around Perry to deck him out in 70s throwback fits with the big cheesewedge collars and migraine stripes, Perry standing tiptoe to zip up Heinz’s dress as he sits craned forward on the floor, holding frizzy wig ringlets out of the way, before Perry smooths his hands out across Heinz’s shoulders and he lets the hair bounce back down.

It’s still play, maybe, until the year that Heinz’s mousy hair is long and shoulder-brushing. Perry lounges in the balcony hammock with one hand trailing on the ground, as he watches Heinz pull it up into a ponytail before tearing into a vintage radio repair, an ongoing collaboration with Lawrence. And something that wasn’t serious now is, because even now, dressed down in oil-stained sweats and a holey tee, with wispy silver hair and no 80s eyeshadow on to obscure her charming face, Perry sees that she’s beautiful.

Perry wants to tell her this, when they’re getting in from an anniversary dinner out. He has the words in his hands, he’s already told her several times, because she needed to hear it those first few staggering attempts to hit the daytime streets in skirts, that she looked right in them, looked cute. Perry says it differently now, as he presses her down into the pillow with a hand, leaning across her skinny torso. Heinz’s natural hair fans the pillow, heat-curled and sprayed for the special night. Perry presses his soft bill to her forehead, trails down to her rouged cheek, further down to her lips, where her plum purple lipstick looks black in the dark. Perry says it with hands down her face, trailing into her soft hair and gripping it tight as she touches him. He says it with clawmarks trailing up her thighs and snapping the net of her tights as he swallows her down, the ritualistic tearing of Heinz’s fabric newly modified into a synthetic cherry pop, and if in the dark beads of blood flower up under his claws Perry licks them too, with love and apology, with a want to get more of Heinz into him. And he says it one more time when she’s asleep and curled around him like the crescent moon, and he reaches in to unhook her earrings, puts them on the nightstand.

Is Perry gay now, when the shape of him and Heinz seems so the same, despite her changes? Well, it’s not the most pressing question. It’s hard enough contemplating how Perry will introduce his girlfriend to his family, when he used to swear up and down the day would never come. But not girlfriend, wife, and not wife, partner -- so he’s circumvented it rather ingeniously, actually, a fact he hopes Phineas and Ferb appreciate. They decide to do it that week, packing the fixed-up radio and a few fresh loaves of zucchini bread, decoratively ribboned, into the truck. Perry helps smooth Heinz’s hair in the driver’s seat, and Heinz smooths her floral skirt down before taking off the brakes. Perry adjusts his hat in the mirror, and judges the scarf around his neck. It still looks cute on him, now flaming more vibrant in hue against the greying fur of his chest. It’s still his boys, hugging around him, all the unrestrained cheesy love they felt for Perry as kids preserved in rainbow yarn. So he wears it, as he and Heinz drive ahead together through the rest of it.

[lubnabowsandpoetry]

I accidentally deleted my work on ao3 and it felt like burning down the library of Alexandria.

Anyways here's the prologue while I go ahead and re-release it. Reader is a firefighter (I watch too much 9-1-1) and Ghost needs therapy.

Prologue (I didn't start the fire!)

The late-autumn air, harsh and unrelenting, seeped through the thin sweater of the lieutenant. Despite his stature his steps were quiet, his boots making little to no sound. His eyes on these streets were always darting around, observing. With his hand clenched in fists in his pockets, his right one wrapped around a combat knife, he started to walk more confidently. He was almost where he was supposed to be. The weather forecast in Manchester predicted heavy rain, yet there was no sign of that. Just the usual cold wind.

When the lieutenant finally reached the address that was written on a note in his hand he took in the abandoned residence. The roof looked like it was about to collapse, the door was barely attached to the hinges and outside walls were littered with graffiti. He payed no mind to the tiny garden gate and walked up the path leading to the front door as if he owned the place. Technically speaking, he did. Kind of.

Just to let out the smallest bit of frustration he kicked down the door. Unnecessary, but it did the trick. He stood in the foyer of the house as if he were a guest expecting someone to greet him and offer him a drink. The remaining furniture looked like it would explode to dust any second. His entire life was being a soldier, and maybe also some of his comrades. He was really beginning to enjoy Soap’s company. He’d never admit it though.

His old life taunted him whenever he came from another mission. There is no distraction that lasts long enough to make him forget.. His past ghost haunting his chambers. Therefore, he decided to dig up the grave of his youth himself. Since the spirits of his past were going to release themselves anyways.

Ever since he saw you.

You who reduced him to nothing but a teenage boy. Reminding him of the childish joys, making him feel giddy at the sight of you.

He just had to see you again.

Carefully pouring gasoline in every single corner of the house. Making sure the outside had its fair share aswell.

He grabbed his lighter out of the pocket of his jeans, the same one he had used countless of other times to light up a cigarette.

Then he set his past aflame.

He watched as the fire started to lick at every inch of his childhood home. He lived there until the age of six. No tasteful memories really resided there. Just an empty shell. He grabbed his phone and entered three digits.

‘’9-9-9, what’s your emergency?’’

‘’Send the fire department.’’ Preferably a specific firefighter

PS: It is out there again. 5th chapter out!

[sunlightmurdock]

katie my dear! 🧡🧡 i’m beyond excited for spook week, i can’t wait to read everything that you cook up! 🥹

i’ve been missing sweet loverboy sub rosa rooster lately, so may i pls request a little something for him and lil kazansky with pillow forts from the cozy prompts list??

thank you so much ily!! 🤭🥰🧡💛

- @sugarcoated-lame 🎃👻🧡

Hi Kricket!! I’m always missing lover boy Rooster! Here’s a little bit of him doing what he does best 🫶

One-Hundred Percent | Sub Rosa Rooster

spooktober masterlist | fic masterlist

warnings: can be read as a standalone, rooster x college age reader, unspecified but mentioned age gap. Head warnings of full fic for subtext

There were only a handful of times that Rooster made the drive up to your college apartment. Well, maybe a little over a handful. Work commitments and senior year deadlines kept you apart a lot of the time, and with your apartment up there being a shared space and his apartment back home being fifteen minutes from your father’s place — it wasn’t an easy operation to organise.

Maybe the stars had just aligned for this particular weekend.

Your roommates were gone, back visiting their own families for a while, and he had a whole six days of leave, four of which were all yours. He had arrived on the Friday, mid-afternoon, leaning against the hood of his car in a tight-fitting flannel and blue jeans as you had gotten out of your last class for the day.

Your third official date had consisted of mini golf and dinner and a walk across campus, pointing out the sights and telling him the stories of your four years there.

Although this was far from the first time that the two of you were sleeping together, there was still something strangely intimate about taking him home to your apartment. Something that always made you a little bashful.

It would have been easy enough to just go right to bed once he had gotten you home, it had been a month since he had seen you last and god knows that he’d missed you enough to have contemplated this night for a long time.

Long enough to have decided that he wanted to make the most of your time together.

The idea had started out as a joke, lounging across the couch and in the middle of your first real deep and prying conversation. You had made a throwaway comment about wishing this was more private, wanting a place within the four walls of your room that was just for the two of you and your new secrets.

It hadn’t ever been part of the plan for him to take you seriously, but he had seen the big smile on your face when he had pretended to begin the little project. The giggle that spilled from your lips as he started to rearrange furniture to make it work.

“Just so you know,” He had explained, tossing a thick and fuzzy blanket onto the floor for the base of his fort, amusement sparking in the warm brown of his eyes. “I don’t half ass things.”

“Oh no?” You had checked, beaming as you leaned back on your palms across your bedspread. “You’re not going to half ass your pillow fort?”

He had smiled at you with a look in his eyes that told you he was referring to much deeper things than pillow forts, but he had answered with a chuckle anyway. “Our pillow fort.”

In the months following, you would grow to learn that really, he doesn’t half ass anything when it comes to you.

Even then, when his work is meticulous and the pillows have been rearranged for the hundredth time — for structural integrity’s sake — you can’t help but lay back, stare at the blanket sky above your heads, and smile. He really had done a pretty fantastic job.

He’s got one arm under your head, draped around your shoulder as he cuddles you against his side, and the other resting on his stomach. Unashamed both in the way he admires his handiwork, and the way that you look in his arms.

Already decided, then and there, that this is much more than a fling.

…

[newhavengossip]

Who do you think is trying to hard to get laid around here? Some of these guys seem a bit too desperate if you ask me.

Samson. Lux. Stolas.

Samson is really working the angle of ditzy blonde with nice tits but I think all that bullshit is a sham. Obviously, the tiddies are real - if you haven’t felt them, you should give it a try. But that personality is bullshit. I know too many ladies and fellow gays who play up the airhead sexbomb act just to attract a certain type of man. That ain’t a himbo, Maury! I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t actually a natural blonde. @evendarkerdays

Now, Lux doesn’t really give me desperation to get laid but I think the need for affection and love is there and that can make you look even more crazy than craving knot or tail. He’s kind of adorable, maybe a little annoying at times, but that’s just typical lil twink behavior. @goodbuckhavefawn

Stolas needed impregnated last-fucking-month. This little queen needs bred the house down. She needs someone to go spelunking in that cub cave and, as much as the world doesn’t fucking need another, build a fucking Walmart in that bitch. Ask him, he’ll probably agree. @scalesandspclls

And every alpha is constantly sniffing out the next spring of slick he can take a sip from, myself included. Some like to act like we’re not ready to split an omega in half every second of the day but those alphas are fucking lying bitches.

[rambles-about-minecraft-ocs]

one of my favorite things about zedaph is that on a server full of people that find strange and oft-overlooked minecraft mechanics or rare events and then see just how far they can push them in the name of spectacle or efficiency or world-breaking, zed is over here finding these mechanics in order to do the weirdest things he can think of in as entertaining a manner as possible

like i 100% have faith in zedaph's theoretical ability to be just as efficient or spectacular or world-breaking. if he wanted to do that stuff, i trust that he absolutely could. but thats so far from being his priority. instead, hes going to spend around a week of irl time focused entirely on eventually having the good luck to spawn in something insanely rare so that he can convert it into something even rarer, the result of which being something that 99% of the server reacts with complete and utter shock that it even exists in the first place, just because its zany and funny and he wanted to. and i love that

[kagooleo]

doodlin some joh’s

[murdleandmarot]

GET FRAGGLE-IFIED‼️‼️‼️

So recently I’ve been more than a little obsessed with the 1983 Jim Henson company project called “Fraggle Rock,” about all these silly little muppet creatures having crazy adventures in the cave system in which they live, called, appropriately, Fraggle rock. After watching 3/4 of the seasons, I started doodling some of my fav cats OCs as fraggles, and it just sort of spiraled from there. So if I’ve sent you 🫵 an ask about the kind of clothing your oc would wear, this is why :D. Without further ado:

THE FIRST WAVE‼️‼️‼️

These are the tallest of the bunch, and they are, reading left-right left-right:

@gotham-native’s Calypso, @ernestelm’s Vega, @toki-toro’s Chaumet, and last but certainly not least, @cillyscribbles’s Tin Tin!!!!

[redbean-nom]

watched the first 2 episodes of acolyte and so far i like every character except for the main one lol. (also is her name osha as in occupational safety and health administration??)

[cuteniaarts]

2 hour rough drawing of Ehuang, my precious Green Opal child who I don’t draw nearly enough <3

[bpdbuck]

some fics have buck doing the hyphenated thing when he and eddie get married but i definitely think he would drop buckley and just use diaz.

[averlym]

,,, little lemmings in line...

[ripclaudia]

i know that jesse armstrong is more than capable of knowing when to end a series but the way it was announced that season 4 is going to be the last one kind of made me feel like the whole process behind it is a bit sketchy. they only revealed that s4 is the last one only a month before the premiere, even after posting teaser trailers that never even hinted at the season being the last, and even the cast got the news only during the table read for the final episode. the promotion of season 4 has been disappointing especially when compared to season three. while the actors are not the ones writing the show, most of them have been very clear that they could have seen the show go on for another season and their disappointment over the show ending has been clear as day. while an ambiguous ending will be a very fitting end to succession and i am not against it, i am definitely wondering if the decision to finish with season 4 was something that developed during the filming process instead of it being a clear guideline throughout the creative process of season 4.

[kakyogay]

rant in tags...

[monkee-mobile]

i cannot put into words well all my thoughts about how soft the monkees are I have SO MANY THOUGHTS it’s just so hard to type them out. my drafts are crazy right now.

it all just comes out like “when they’re all at home and it’s bedtime everybody just cuddling and chilling out to the guitar and singing with each other and talking oh my god you know they just like you know when like the blankets and it’s warm and mike is so gentle to davy and they sing and then read stories and peter likes the lights low” like that’s not what i meant to say at all i have whole narratives going i’m just kind of sick and i’m thinking about the monkees being so soft and sweet and davy curled up in a blanket in mikes lap while he plays the guitar complaining about bedtime and petting at mikes beard and mike picking at some chords as he tries to reason with the (NOT sleepy!!) little one—this is turning into davybaby !!

[whatudottu]

You know, at first the idea of the Galvans being high intelligence-low wisdom made me wonder if the Cerebrocrustaceans have slightly more wisdom than the Galvans to contrast being slightly less intelligent than them.

Then I remembered that one of their best scientists thought that a reasonable response to First Thinker-senpai not noticing him was to blow his planet up, and realized that nope, they’re just as lacking in the wisdom department.

Now I'm just imagining the Contumelia coming up with alien species to populate the newly-created galaxy with and making two ridiculously smart ones before going “wait, we can’t make them too OP, we have to nerf them somehow”, and in addition to having one species be five inches tall and giving the other species no hands, deciding to make them complete dumbasses when it came to practicality and sound judgment.

Galvans are considered smarter on the long term, being typically more intelligent than cerebrocrustaceans on the technicality that they plan thinks beyond one certain goal; there's a longevity to galvan tech that cerebrocrustacean tech has not been designed around, which is not quite 'planned obsolescence' persay but 'right to break' style fixing and updating versus 'goal a, b and c' design philosophy.

But that tends to make galvans 'slower' to think because they (as a generalised statistic) like to plan things to a more completed state, whereas cerebrocrustaceans are great at coming up with disposable instant ideas and solutions and move on to the next to outthink the situation they're in. In other words... autism vs ADHD /lh /hj adlkfhgfkl-!

I think the reason why species known for their wisdom aren't heard about in the wider galactic sphere (beyond just not having a concept in the world of Ben 10) is because they have a high enough wisdom to not get involved too heavily beyond their own scope. I mean certainly they'd be wise enough to retort were anything to happen to drag them out but, unless you're a 'wise guy' sarcastic trickster individual or 'look at what i can make' big brain smart alec, wisdom might not get you heavily well known (unless you're a geochelone aerio against a power hungry Aggregor)-

Nnnn the contumelia... considering that the construction of the universe is beyond our feeble human understanding, being the looks something up fifth-dimensional beings that they are (depending on what Ben 10 defines as dimension, this could mean they are beings of split timelines and come in the visual form that they do because of the very limited 3D snapshot a three dimensional being imagines which at the very least manifests in matters of emotional sway) they may create and destroy universes for perhaps the intrigue of divergent timelines, but I do not think they have control over the actual species that make that universe home. Something something I don't want to discredit achievements (even fictional ones) to the work of one specific cause, yada yada the contumelia being5D beings that are perhaps entertained by the comparably one dimensional 3D lives merely through the creation of new variable timelines.