#send me more asks :)

[jayduztumb1r]

Strange request, how about Eddie making a big pot of spaghetti?

Thank u for the totally normal request Eddie enthusiast anon! 😎 take some mediocre drawings of Eddie making spaghetti that I made with a pen in class when I definitely was paying attention.

Also this drawing made me think of that one scene from year one where Eddie had an accident making soup 😰

[snuize]

scout tf2 smile ‼️

Sorry I requested asks and then immediately got sick and could barely leave my bed

But also my fridge is now restocked with monster so now I can like my art again :))

[the-broken-pen]

A sapphic detective who gets too close to the truth of a case and gets confronted by her girlfriend for being too obsessed?

“You need to stop.”

The detective didn’t jerk up at the sound of her voice—just quietly stirred, rustling papers as she shifted upright to meet her eyes.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” the detective said slowly, eyes scanning over her. She watched her gaze catch on the water dripping from the ends of her hair, the mascara smudging itself down her cheeks.

“It’s date night,” she said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded tired. Dead. Rotting roses and dirty dishes in the sink.

The detective blinked once, then shifted through her papers until she found a scribbled in calendar. It was stuck on the wrong month.

“I forgot,” the detective murmured. It wasn’t an apology, and neither of them were pretending that it was. She could tell, even now, with her girlfriend pathetic and dripping water onto the hardwood floor in front of her, that the detective wanted nothing more than to go back to her evidence.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Funny how it’s never the case you forget.”

The detective jerked, slightly, like she hadn’t expected the barbs in her girlfriend’s voice.

In the hallway, there was a drooping bouquet of flowers she hadn’t been able to bear bringing into the apartment.

“You know how important this is,” the detective implored, and it made her want to break things. Burn the papers, shatter the fancy glasses in the cabinet, spill wine across the carpets.

What about me, she wanted to scream. Am I not important to you anymore?

Instead, she said again, “You need to stop.”

“Stop?”

“The case. You need to stop.”

“I can’t just stop,” the detective laughed slightly, as if she thought it would convey how inconceivable the idea of stopping was.

“Yes, you can. Give it to someone else. There’s a whole precinct just waiting for you to put this file into their hands.”

At the thought of it, the thought of giving up this case, the hunt, the chase, pain flashed across the detective’s face.

“You don’t understand.”

“I do,” she replied. She had to shift her gaze to the dead plant on the corner of her partner’s desk, dirt dry and leaves brittle. “How could I not?”

“So then how could you ask me to do that? To give it all up? Why now?”

She had so many answers to that. So many moments that cut into her hands like a mosaic of memories. The bed empty beside her through the entire night. Cancelled reservations, one seat alone at the dinner table, laughs that died in her ribs. Friends, well meaning, who asked where the detective was, and the painful smiles she forced through the explanations. Work, and work, and work. Crime scene photos on the coffee table. The loneliness that seemed to care about her more than her girlfriend did.

There were so many times when she almost said something. Almost said enough. But she hadn’t, and now they were here, as she dripped a puddle onto the floor, and the detective looked at her like she had never seen her before.

When she tried to say that, any of that, it caught in her throat.

The detective took her silence for an inability to answer. A lack of evidence. Like she was throwing this tantrum for no reason, a little kid in the toy aisle of the store.

The detective sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead. The other was already fanning through the papers once more. Her voice turned into something that begged to be understood.

“I’m so close—“

“To losing me.” She swallowed, painfully. “You’re losing me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“This isn’t fair,” her voice broke as she gestured between the two of them. “What you’re doing to me isn’t fair.”

“I’m not doing anything—“

“Exactly.” It was louder than she meant it to be. They both flinched.

“I’ll have it solved in a week, I promise.” She wasn’t sure who the detective was promising to.

“No.”

The detective blinked.

“No?”

“You heard me the first time.”

“I heard you, but I’m not sure what you’re saying ‘no’ to.”

If she had the energy to be slightly meaner, she would have told her to figure it out. Told her that she was a detective, this should be easy for her.

“I’m not giving you a week.” She took a deep breath. “And you’re not going to solve it.”

The detective’s looked at her like she didn’t recognize the person on the other side of the desk.

Finally, she understood what it felt like to face her girlfriend from the other side of an interrogation table.

Her girlfriend’s face was cold, and closed off. Her jaw was grinding into itself. She was staring at her like she couldn’t decide whether or not to consider her a suspect. As if the only reason she could fathom her girlfriend saying something like that was if she was actively sabotaging her.

She was cold, and her coat was wet, and this place no longer felt like home.

“You won’t solve this case.”

She was pretty sure there wasn’t anything crueler she could have said.

“You don’t know anything.” It was dripping with venom, and fear, and frustration. The fear the detective really wouldn’t solve it. The frustration that it still wasn’t solved.

“Do you really think you’re that special?” By now, it was too far gone for her to stop. There was no pretty way out of this. “You aren’t. This isn’t a TV show. You aren’t the main character who swoops in where no one else has before. It’s been decades of the same bullshit—taunting and evidence trails, and nobody has solved it. Don’t you think if it was solvable, it would have been by now?”

“There’s new evidence, and I’m not them—“

“What part of ‘you aren’t special’ don’t you understand,” she hissed, and the detective shifted away from her. “You aren’t the miracle detective who solves this. They’re going to keep on killing, and driving the people who try and find them crazy, and you’re letting them do it to you.”

“I’m not letting them do anything.”

“But you are,” she countered. “You have been for months. They’re messing with you. They’re everything to you, and you’re a game to them, and I’m nothing on the sidelines.”

“Babe, that’s not true,” The detective tried, voice softening. As if she had just realized something between them was wrong. That her girlfriend was hurting—had been, for a while.

She swallowed the tears rising in her throat.

“Do I need to become a crime scene for you to finally care about me again?” She slammed her hand down on the papers. Pretended the wince on the detectives face was concern for her, and not the papers she crumpled. “Will you look at me, love me again, if I’m a bloody photograph in this folder?”

“I do love you.”

“When someone loves someone else, they don’t leave them alone in the rain, waiting to be picked up. They don’t cancel to go dig through old archives on their loved one’s birthday. They don’t leave them in the middle of the night and let the blankets beside them get cold. People who love someone don’t live their life without a concern for the person they’re putting below everything else.”

“You’re making this really hard.”

“Good,” she snapped. “Because you’ve been making it hard to love you for months, and I’m glad you finally know how it feels.”

The detective paused, at that. Swallowed, eyes flitting around the room as if she would find the perfect thing to say in the remnants of the life they had built together.

“I love you,” The detective managed. Somehow, it was the worst thing she could have said.

“Good. Prove it.” She thought maybe dying would have hurt less than this.

“Prove it?”

“Prove it. Me, or the case.”

The detective froze.

“You don’t mean that,” she said, and it sounded like a plea. Don’t make me choose.

“Look at me and try and tell me I’m joking.” When the detective said nothing, she pushed further. “Go on. Do it. Choose.”

“I can’t do that—“ the detective choked. “This isn’t fair, you know that. I’m so close.”

Somehow, she had expected it to hurt less.

“Don’t make me choose,” the detective, her girlfriend, the love of her life finally said, voice breaking.

She had thought it would feel like dying.

It felt like nothing.

“You just did,” she said. The tears refused to be held, this time. The pain ran rampant through every word.

She knew her girlfriend could hear it.

“I love you,” the detective whispered. A final, desperate prayer for her to stay. But she was no god, and her girlfriend was no believer. And it would never be enough.

She let the door slam on the way out.

The detective never did solve that case.

[attachmentbarbiee]

i hc courtney to be a terrible driver and due to her ego she refuses to pay her speeding tickets in advance (since it would admit guilt), so duncan has to keep driving her to court to contest the charge.

this is so funny i love it. duncan would find it so funny that for once she’s the one breaking the law and tease her relentlessly about it

[tmnt-has-ruined-me]

Your little comics give me life

Usuhsnnxbxbx *sobs* /pos

For u drawn bonus content:

[jtl-fics]

16. For the all for the game asks!

All for the Ask Game

16. How did you even get here?? How did you discover AFTG?

ok it is a combination of things.

I followed RainbowD00dles for Kingdom Hearts reasons so I saw Andreil stuff and was distantly aware that AFTG existed.

I was reading a series called Trash of the Count's Family which is shortened to TCF a lot and uh...I mistyped and got TFC

I saw a fic description that intrigued me and just decided to rawdog it without having read the series and I just kept doing that until I figured I should probably actually read the books for the series that now took up the majority of my bookmarks on ao3 and that I had written like 5 fics for at that point.

So now here I am

[hellovivirose]

Can we have a B2 Celeste please (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)

Of course!!! Have a bonus Kai too .3.

[lesbianoms]

Holy fuck I’m vorny and wet and in the mood to be somewhat cruelly teased… any pred ladies wanna tell me what they’re gonna do to me? 👀

[professorbumface1246899]

i wanna be your friend so bad but I am too scared lol

I am terrifying you should be horrified to be my friend

[banhammersdemondog]

We should:

dehorn you

……

*maybe she has eyes under her horns 🤔*

[countessofravenclaw]

5 and 11 for the gastina kids

Yay! Just for a reminder we are talking about Oscar (2029), Aurora (2031) and Laura (2032) Perida

Any planned stories/events with the kids in your head?

Obviously, we have the ongoing time travel escapade with Aurora, so lets not talk about that.

I have talked before about the story about Laura getting her first boyfriend at 14, after she meets him at a skating camp. The guy, Alex, is also 14, and a son of a locar firehouse's truck captain and elementary school literature teacher. They're also Spanish (this is important).

Laura's ecstatic, as she is a hopeless romantic and obviously she believes that she has found the "grand love of her life" when again, she's 14, just started high school. Something that Gastón and Nina will have to deal with. Obviously there are gonna be few boundaries and rules in place, like any responsible parents' would do, when their kid is 14 and dating somebody.

Alex's parents, especially his mother, are just a tad bit intimidated by their son's girlfriend turning out to be a daughter of the basically the poster person of Castillo Corporations, a notable and quite acclaimed engineer who is rumoured to be on his way to becoming the next CEO of the company and a successful and accomplished author and literary artist (yes, Gastón and Nina have done quite well for themselves in 20 years, what else were you expecting?). Not to mention the whole granddaughter of millionaires part (Gastón's nt gonna keep his inheritance for himself. Mst of it actually goes to his kids).

Yeah... so, Laura's gonna get her heart broken, because Alex's family moves back to Spain after his Dad's promotion to battalions chief.

She has hard time comprehending the reasons because "they were in love" and that's all that should have mattered to her, ignoring all the real life reasons why a working class immigrant family might wanna return to their country. Again, she is 14.

The heartbreak clouds her judgement, to the point where she gets risky on the skating rink and falls badly.

She ends up in the hospital (yes, again with the hospital) with a pretty messed up leg and a at least a mild concussion.

So, very fun summary...

The Time Travel one, doesn't really highlight anyone in the Roller crew as parents, so this will will definitely focus on that. I mean Nina's gonna get pretty fun trauma response, given the events of my recent fic and now something similar is happening to their duaghter

I have another story kind of planned, focusing on Oscar and kind of finishing the whole arch of Stella having a crush on him... but lets save that for another day.

How are their relationships with other relatives (grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, etc)?

Well, cousins, aunts and uncles are pretty easy. They don't have any, since neither Gastón or Nina don't have siblings.

But, on the other hand, Gastón has nine cousins and Jonathan and April especially are involved with kids' lives. Basically Gastón's cousins are called aunts and uncles. And kids will have several second cousins who they hang out once in a while.

Grandparent wise: Ricardo is the fun and cooky granddad, who maybe not around that much (since he's in Miami) in person but they're in contact and he sends them games to demo and stuff like that. They do see each other too, because they travel and alot and gpt to visit Miami and stuff. I think Ricardo will find a woman or a partner there, but she won't act any sort of grandparent role.

Ana and Mora are quite involved. Ana is Granny and Mora is more often than not called Nana Mora. No one is questioning it, the kids just have three grandmothers.

Same with Gastón parents. Very involved grandparents. I think Gastón and Nina in general are closer to his parent which is actually Nina's choice. They are the go to babysitters, who you can drop the kids and the dog whenever, especially after Gastón manages to convince them to at least retire part time.

Other thing to note about especially Nina's parents is that, like I said above, they are involved with their grandchildren, but she doesn't want Ana and Ricardo to be involved together, because even when they do get along much better as the time goes on and they're aren't in the same continent for the most times. Nina does not wanna risk it. Heaven forbid she ever subjects her own kids to anything close to what she went through.

Ana and Ricardo only like see the kids at the same time during parties like birthdays and graduations. Otherwise Nina does not let them hang out with them together.

[the-broken-pen]

Here's a prompt for you: write about a mask someone wears. Can be fiction, nonfiction (about yourself, an experience, people in general), maybe a poem. What kind of mask is it? What does it look like? Why are they wearing it?

“You can stop, you know.”

The villain froze for a moment, smile almost slipping, and set down their lunch tray. The hero leaned against the table next to them, knuckles white.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” they gestured to themself. “I’m reformed. I already stopped.”

The hero waived a hand. “Not that. I know that, I’m the one who helped you do it.”

The villain kept smiling, even as the edges began to crack like fine china.

“Hero,” they said as gently as they could. “Are you alright?”

The hero stared at them for a moment, as if they weren’t sure what was happening, as if the villain’s very existence confused them. They blew an angry breath out of their nose.

“I’m fine,” the hero said pointedly. “You aren’t.”

The villain ignored them at that, sitting down to stir their lunch. It was half cold and entirely unappetizing, but happy people ate the compound rations and were happy about it. And the villain was reformed, and good, and happy. So they ate.

Their bowl disappeared from in front of them, and they studied the plastic of the table for a moment. When they looked up, the hero’s eyes burned into them.

“Stop. It.”

This time, the villain was the one who sighed. “Can I have my lunch back please?”

The hero threw the bowl an unimpressed look. “What, this crap? Nobody likes this, and I can especially tell that you don’t. Your face is exactly the same as the first time you met me, and you tried to stab me directly after that. So. Stop.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” the villain grit out. “I’m smiling, I’m contributing, I’m doing good things. No more murder, no more crimes. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“I wanted you to want that. I wanted you to have that. I never wanted this.”

“This what, hero.”

The hero gestured to their face.

“That. That smile.”

The villain gave them a dry look, even as their smile faded. “What, I can’t smile?”

The hero regarded them, fingers laced together under their chin, food abandoned. The villain picked at a hangnail and tried to look calm. This was why they had been avoiding the hero—the villain could read them like a book, but the hero could read them just as well.

Someone clattered down the hall, laughing, and then it was just the two of them again.

“You don’t have to be happy,” the hero said quietly, “to be good.”

The fine china, the mask, shattered.

The hero sighed, but it wasn’t triumphant. Relief, maybe. Or sadness.

“Why couldn’t you have left it alone,” the villain’s voice wobbled traitorously. The hero smiled, just slightly. A smile for a smile.

“Because you were drowning in there. And you don’t deserve that.”

“I’m trying to be good,” they murmured. The hero reached out and stilled their hands before they could pick them bloody.

“You are good. But you’re also hurting. You can do both. It’s okay.”

The villain shoulders loosened, as if the hero had stolen some huge burden from them.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” the villain agreed.

The hero smiled, a soft thing.

“Only smile when it doesn’t feel like a burden to do so,” the hero stood, leaning over the villain for a moment.

They left the villain in the lunch room, staring down at their hands.

Months later, when the hero told an awful joke, the villain laughed. They smiled at the hero, and it was warm. So warm.

And the hero smiled too.

[jammboe]

came to ask what your favourite music is! genre, band, song, instrument, any and all of the above, whatever you feel like answering! please take this as a free pass to ramble as much as you may like about any of it :)

Im not a big musical person but i really do like this singer called maher zain 😭 he does like songs about Islam and stuff so it's not for everyone but he has some really nice songs. One song I'd recommend from him though is called This worldly life :) but lately I've been listening to like video game music. Especially relaxing zelda songs, i go through phases of wanting to hear words in a song and not. Sometimes it's easier for me to focus when I'm not singing along with the lyrics in my head LOL

[tmnt-has-ruined-me]

lmao rewatching 2012 series and broooo Donnie's a fucking chemist, statiction, DOCTER??? And mechanic

what is this

He’s a working lad

[filmmakerdreamst]

Am I the only one who only got into Life With Derek once they were slightly too “old” for it? I hadn’t watched it as a kid, and only saw it for the first time last year.

No, I got into it when I was 18. I only caught one episode of it when i was a kid on TV because i live in the uk and i didn't have cable (at least not at my mums house) I feel life with derek is quite universal -any age can enjoy it.

[objectum-culture-is]

My inbox is cleared out and the queue is full all the way for the next ~11 days or so!