#who are you meatball sub anon??

[ollvr]

What are your meatball sub criteria?

I need the meatballs and the sauce to have a little bit of a kick! They have to be a little spicy, i like a nice sharp cheddar for the cheese and my preferred vegetables are bell peppers, red onion and jalapeño’s if I think the meatballs and sauce aren’t spicy enough (looking at you subway). I like a nice crusty bread for the sub that’s fluffy on the inside so it soaks up the sauce a little.

[legobiwan]

For a writing prompt: maybe something with Luigi and polterpup? Or just Luigi and ghosts in general. The fact that ghosts are Real and Present in that world has always been super fascinating and a little upsetting to me haha. Could be as light or as angsty as you wish I just think Luigi being terrified of ghosts and having to (or in polterpup’s case, choosing to) be around them constantly is a fun concept to toy around with.

Apologies this took so long, anon. I vastly underestimated the demands of my travel schedule over the past few weeks. Oof. But now we're back!

Minor TWs in this one for general talk of death, existentialism, and broad references to both animal and child death (nothing graphic, nothing extreme, no on-screen death).

~~~~~~~~~~~

Of Ghosts and the Afterlife (Luigi’s Mansion 1)

Luigi didn’t like to think about death.

Not that there was much he could do about it. Death was as inevitable as a subway car with broken air conditioning on a hundred-degree day.

There was no such thing as the afterlife, Luigi having long ago abandoned the faith his brother and what remained of their family clung to, a practice more cultural than spiritual, steeped in the mores and traditions of a country and people he shared little in common with beyond his last name and an untamable mane of wavy, thick brown hair. 

For Luigi, death was death - game over, end of the line, see you never. A philosophical problem he didn’t enjoy contemplating, but one he could easily shove into a forgotten closet of his subconscious, the more pressing concerns of his daily life taking up his mental energies, banal things like scraping up enough plumbing jobs to pay the rent, dealing with corroded spark plugs in the repair van, and being forced make a meal of the questionable meatball subs from the corner bodega.

Death was death. Religion was religion. And ghosts were…a fairytale, a folklore conjured to rationalize away the heavy weight of existential dread. That, or something used as a cudgel, to keep people on the side of moral righteousness, lest they be doomed to walk the earth for all eternity in the shadows of existence.

Ghosts were a thought experiment. A fun diversion in a cramped Bensonhurst studio, the heating bill long unpaid, he and his brother buried under a set of fraying blankets, their father’s hefty industrial flashlight in hand, competing to see who could scare the other the most as the D Train rattled its metal bones past their window at two in the morning.

Mario was good at stories. (Mario was good at everything). And it wasn’t that Luigi was afraid of the spirits his brother would describe in gruesome detail, the way they’d seep through cracks and keyholes, wrapping their grey, misty arms around skinny, lost children who kept too many secrets. No. He couldn’t be afraid because ghosts weren’t real.

Not until he had been unceremoniously dumped into the Mushroom Kingdom, that was. 

He could deal with the existence of Boos. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but he could at least assign them a category outside the paranormal. Boos were just another strange species, a bunch of floating marshmallows that looked like ghosts and acted like ghosts, but in no way were actual ghosts. Boos were something real, something alive, but beyond Earth’s limited taxonomies, just like everything else in this impossible world of talking mushrooms and tyrant turtles and evil wizards and booted dinosaurs and a million-and-one things that could leap out with fangs or fire or spikes and kill you at any moment - 

Death, he had once nervously told his brother over a campfire on the outskirts of Toad Town, felt like it had become a way of life. 

The letter had arrived on a crisp autumn morning, the early sunlight peeking through the gaps of Luigi’s drawn curtains. He remembered thinking it was a clean kind of light, unsullied by the drudgery of heavy coats and thick scarves, of greying slush and oily puddles pooling in the gutter, cigarette butts bobbing up and down like the stained buoys off Brighton Beach. Life had been, if not normal (he didn’t think he’d ever consider his existence in the Mushroom Kingdom normal), at least less chaotic than usual. There had been no invasions, no kidnappings, no pleas from neighboring kingdoms for help. For the first time in a long time, his daily routine was…pedestrian. A little boring, even. It was a nice change of pace.

He should have known better. Did know better. 

No one gave away mansions.

Yeah, and I’m sure they also have a bridge in Brooklyn they’d like to sell me he had muttered, crumpling up the notice, tossing it into a dented, mushroom-shaped garbage pail without another look as he groped for a gurgling coffee pot.

Three days later, a short, wiry old man was thrusting a souped-up vacuum into his hands, blathering all kinds of nonsensical instructions about ectoplasm and strobe lights and hearts and all that Luigi could think through the high-pitched static descending on onto his brain is that my brother is in danger and holy shit this entire mansion is filled with actual, real ghosts.

There was no time to wrap his head around the metaphysics of it all, the very real danger of being killed by an entire army of irate specters overriding any considerations as to the how or why of the entire situation. Ghosts apparently existed, not only as Boos, but as colorful, globulous forms, as cantankerous old knitting women, as mechanical, murderous toy soldiers, and worst of all, as small children and even screaming babies, the terrible implications of which rattled around Luigi’s already frenzied consciousness as he sucked the heart from a wailing infant, in all likelihood murdering it a second time. (A hazy memory had surfaced, a small, doll-like figure laid on a cheap, linoleum kitchen table, legs unstable as a small cadre of extended relatives wept and laid kisses on the child’s forehead. Forty and eight hour, their great-grandmother had commanded in broken English. To be sure the true dead. Spirito.)

It had been less than twenty-four hours, he reminded himself. Mario wasn’t dead. Or undead. Or whatever. Not according to tradition, and certainly not according to Luigi’s empirical observations (which seemed to be holding less and less weight as the paranormal evening drew on). No, he had seen his brother through the marble fangs of the dragon’s head. He was in the painting, banging for his life against an invisible prison of oils and canvas, his mouth open in a silent scream.

A victim of magic, but not a ghost.

Not if Luigi had anything to say about it.

He ran. Up broken, splintering sets of stairs; down dimly-lit corridors with threadbare rugging; through trap doors and flocks of toothy, golden bats, vacuum hose at the ready, sucking away at anything even resembling a ghost (how many curtains, how many dresses and bedsheets had he whisked into shreds all because of the ripple of a breeze or a trick of the light?)

He fought his way through chamber after chamber, slurping phantasms from earthly existence, unwilling to consider just what he’s damning his enemies to, if he’s killing them again, if they can feel pain or remorse, if this whole situation is maybe a figment of his imagination and in reality he’s back in Brooklyn, or worse, committed to a padded cell in Bellevue, colorful apparitions dancing on blank, white walls, the evidence of a broken mind. 

He found his brother’s portrait hung in a baroque, gilded antechamber, the room something as alien as the specters he had been fighting, his grimy boots sinking into blood-red, lush carpeting as gems and pearls and other precious-looking stones twinkled in the light of a silver candelabra. 

The keeper of Mario’s canvas prison turned to greet him, a gargantuan Boo with a jeweled crown named “King Boo” - an uninspired moniker if there ever was one - who pontificated at length, swearing vengeance on both Mario and Luigi, demanding reparations in blood and soul for crimes Luigi couldn’t even begin to understand, no less remember. 

Did I kill him? Luigi had panicked, rooted to the spot, Poltergust in hand as the Boo continued his long-winded diatribe. Is that why he’s a ghost? Did Mario do something? Luigi tried not to think too hard about the ethical dilemmas of their adventures, of their roles as protectors of the Mushroom Kingdom. Sure, people got hurt, that was the nature of the beast, but…

It didn’t matter, not when King Boo conjured a several-story tall likeness of Bowser, whisking Luigi through a portal to the stark rooftop of the dilapidated mansion to engage in a twisted game of cat-and-mouse (ghost-and-plumber), the giant Koopa puppet doing its best to stomp Luigi into a fiery, broken heap of ashes.

He escaped with his life. That, and the promise of retribution from beyond the grave, King Boo spitting all forms of vile epithets and visions of eternal pain as Luigi sucked the last of his bulbous form into the squealing, smoking Poltergust. 

When Mario was spat from E. Gadd’s printing machine, tumbling across the floor in a confused pile of limbs - his brother, real, corporal and definitely not dead - Luigi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

He never wanted to see - never wanted to think about another ghost again in his life.

Of Dogs (Luigi’s Mansion 2)

He supposed it made sense. In a way.

After all, if there were Boos, if there were ghost adults and ghost children and ghost babies - there were bound to be ghost dogs. Maybe ghost cats, as well. Hell, maybe an entire ghost civilization living (dying?) in tandem with his own flesh-and-blood world. 

He hated the idea. It trampled on every tenet of thermodynamics he had carved into his brain at the age of ten, made a mockery of the physics and chemistry and engineering that had carried him through adolescence and into adult life.

The Mushroom Kingdom - that was something he had at least managed to rationalize, had begun to construct a loose schematic for, notebooks upon notebooks filled with messy diagrams and rambling equations, an inadequate translation to his Earth-bound science, but one that allowed him to find some kind of solid footing in this incomprehensible new dimension.

Ghosts did not fit into his neatly constructed template. 

Least of all, ghost dogs.

Of course, the dog had to eat the key and run away, leading Luigi on a wild goose chase (he dearly hoped there was no such thing as ghost geese). He ran pellmell through gardens, through labs, through a series of mansions and other haun - 

Other decidedly creepy spots in the Evershade Valley. Places where he was left to battle groups of angry, globulous…shadows. Specters. Phantoms. Spirits. Poltergeists.

Ghosts. 

Again. 

He would have been angry if he weren’t so terrified. 

The dog, as much trouble as he was (He? She? Did it matter?) had at least not fallen under the spell of the Dark Moon, making him the Least Frightening Ghost of this particular run-in with the ethereal undead and King Boo.

And Luigi could almost get himself to…well…maybe not like him, but tolerate him. Even though the dog ate his keys, left messy trails of crumbs and soggy, half-eaten baguettes, slobbered all over Luigi’s pants, and managed at least once to urinate in a public fountain, a phenomenon Luigi would be puzzling over for months after the fact.

Best of all, the dog, unlike almost everyone else here, wasn’t bent on killing him. 

He was just a normal dog.

Who happened to be a ghost. 

Luigi wondered if he had had a family in life. Children to grow up with. A big house with a yard. He acted more like a puppy than an adult dog, his exuberant chaos reminiscent of the little Golden Retriever pup his second cousins had gotten when their family moved out to the Island. Oyster Bay, he remembers, real fancy stuff. Sal and Tony’s house had had trees. A garage. Separate bedrooms. He and Mario had begged for a dog for weeks after visiting, shuffling furniture around their tiny-windowed room, marking out places in purple chalk for the dog’s water bowl, his kibble, his toys.

Their father had grunted at the proposal, noting the two brothers would have to sleep in the same bed to make the space for their imaginary new pet. This ain’t no place for a dog, you two. You want animals, get a job with the pound. What, you’re still going to beg? Santa Maria. You two share that bed for a week without beating each other up and then come back to me. But I don’t like the odds. You boys haven’t shared a bed since you were seven. Five’ll get you ten you last forty-eight hours before someone’s fist is in the other one's face. 

They lasted three whole days before Luigi had planted his foot in Mario’s kidneys at two in the morning.

They never saw the dog in Oyster Bay again.

A car accident, real unfortunate stuff, Aunt Maria had told them later.

The memory haunted Luigi as he unholstered the Poltergust, forcing his fingers to twist dials and push at levers. He needed that key. It wasn’t just his life on the line if he failed. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as he sucked the ghost dog into the machine, trying his absolute best to ignore the little whines and terrified yips of the struggling not-animal. After what felt like an eternity, he heard the tell-tale “pop” of the Poltergust, signaling his success in capturing yet another ghost, the silver key clanging to the cobble-stoned ground.

Luigi had never felt less heroic in his life.

I just think he wanted someone to play with, E. Gadd had commented offhandedly later, emptying the Poltergust's canister into the gigantic silver ghost vault with his usual detached efficiency, oblivious to the way Luigi's features had paled at the comment.

When he got word of the dog’s escape a few hours later, Luigi didn’t even try to deny his relief.

Of Half-Lives and Vengeance (Luigi’s Mansion 3)

Fatigue. Carelessness. Hubris. Naivete. 

Or maybe it had just been sheer stupidity.

An invitation to vacation at an exclusive, luxury hotel, addressed to him. 

Nice things never happened to Luigi. Or if they did, he could hardly enjoy them, waiting on tenterhooks for the other boot to fall.

The boot fell that evening. It was ghosts. Of course, it was. Nearly twenty floors of ghosts. At this point, he could say he was almost used to it, the creeping shiver up his spine, the gluey residue of ectoplasm which would leave him tattooed with ugly, mottled rashes for weeks on end.

Once again, he had to act as a one-man army against the mass of spectral, malevolent will. Once again, his brother had been trapped in a painting.

There were differences, of course. Polterpup was by his side, the ethereal puppy proving more loyal to Luigi than his fellow spirits. (Luigi could never say Polterpup was "his" in the way most pet owners would lay claim to a regular cat or dog. The ghost puppy had a disturbing tendency to disappear for weeks, sometimes months on end, only to make his return in the most startling manner possible, more than once sending Luigi screaming, flailing off his bed at some weird, inconvenient hour of the night. But for as much as Polterpup could have a "home" - Luigi's house was it).

Luigi also had the help of his pseudo-clone, Gooigi, a horrifying creation of E. Gadd's, an unholy combination of ghostly discharge (the nature of which Luigi did not want to know), coffee, and, Luigi's own biological samples. An impossible being with whom he shared an inexplicable telepathic connection, and if Luigi had had any semblance of a minute to consider what that all meant (was he part ghost now? Could Gooigi outlive him? Would he maintain that consciousness after death?) he would have likely run screeching into the night.

(The fact Gooigi had proven essential to his continued existence did not distract from the wildly dubious ethics behind Gooigi's creation, an issue Luigi was definitely going to have a long talk with E. Gadd about at some point. If he could manage to broach the topic without falling into a breathless panic).

But the most striking aspect of his third encounter with King Boo and his minions, something that wriggled at the base of Luigi's cerebellum as he fought floor upon gimmicky floor the largest array of ghouls he encountered yet, was the element of premeditation.

King Boo had easily disposed of Mario, the Princess, and the Toads during their first midnight encounter. Sure, Luigi had escaped down a laundry chute, chest heaving as he toppled onto a pile of dirty towels. But that shouldn't have posed an issue for this crazed version of King Boo, a being who could literally phase through walls.

Luigi should have been dead, or worse than dead, ten times over.

No, King Boo had decided to wait. To draw out the deep, sustained hum of terror far beyond its final breath.

Security cameras were posted everywhere in the hotel. Luigi had no doubt the ghostly tyrant was following his every move, watching, salivating as he fought and struggled against Egyptian gods and malevolent Mozarts, and bearded, Bayou beasts. (Were these the literal souls of the departed? Was Mozart truly in these walls? Or was this like a ghost Halloween, a once-in-a-deathtime opportunity to fulfill that longing urge to finally be someone who you will never be?)

(He remembers being six years old. Remembers dressing as his brother for Halloween, Luigi stealing Mario's iconic red t-shirt, his parents pleading with him to go as anything else - a spider, a rat, a baseball player - Luigi refusing each entreaty. The other boys aren't going to like it, Luigi, his mother had said, consonants slurring. You're going to get the snot pounded out of you, Dad had added a beat later).

(In the end, he had thrown an old floral bedsheet over his head, not even bothering to cut out eyeholes. I'm a ghost! Luigi had boasted. You're a loser, Vinny Malanga had laughed).

And worst part of it was, Luigi knew it. Knew he could turn any corner, go down any dark hallway and be met with that signature violet gemstone, that bladed, fanged smile ready to slam an empty frame down on his head and trap him for all eternity in oil and canvas. 

Death waited in every shadow.

And King Boo was going to enjoy every minute of it.

Of Death (Epilogue)

Luigi thought he knew death. After three, separate encounters with buildings chock full of the undead, after countless hours spent in the company of the best paranormal researcher he knew (the only one he knew, admittedly), after providing part-time shelter for a genuine ghost puppy, after meeting his half-undead clone - Luigi considered himself, if not comfortable, at least conversant in the hows and whys of the afterlife. 

One day, he tried to stop a wedding between a princess and a monster.

Death, he would learn, was only the beginning.

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

I'm curious, since you've said you practiced Boxing before would you mind if I asked you about the physiques of boxers and the types of diets they typically have? It's for an ask I'm thinking about sending you for HSR and I want to make sure I've got all my ducks in a row information wise.

Well Anon, I would like to preface all of this by saying two things. One, I am extremely sorry this turned into a rant of sorts about some personal nitpicks and issues I have when I receive asks about Martial Artist and Fighter readers. And two, out of the Boxing classes (Going Off The WBA Accepted Ones Only For My Own Sanity) I only really know a lot about my own weight class in boxing, Heavyweight, which does not have a upper weight limit which is good considering I am currently hovering around 266lb to 270lb (120.65557kg to 122.46994kg) and that I stand at a fairly tall 6'2 (1.8796m). So basically, I am pretty similar in weight, stature, and reach to Andy Ruiz Jr.

Speaking of Andy Ruiz Jr., he is a excellent jumping off point to get into something I would like to say to all people who send in asks about "Extremely Muscular Readers".

When I receive in asks about readers about fighters who are shredded and have extremely defined muscles, the descriptions I get are not about fighters, they are about body builders. These are two EXTREMELY different things as Bodybuilding is, predominantly about size and looks.

Example, the man himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger

As shown in the photo above, he is an absolute beast of pure muscle in this photo. However, there are more than a few problems with this when it comes to an actual fight. For example, flexibility, agility, and speed, all of which are EXTREMELY important in a fight, no matter the martial art. Hence why you don't often see extremely muscular people like the wonderful Arnold here in combat sports.

Meanwhile, when it comes to boxers, and other martial artists. Such as-

Muhamad Ali

Valentina Shevchenko

Saenchai

Anderson Silva

And many, MANY more.

In Comics, Manga, and Video Games good examples of this are-

Wilson Fisk (AKA Kingpin) From Marvel Comics

Laios Touden from Delicious In Dungeon

And probably more, however absolutely none are coming to mind.

Essentially, what I am getting at is that there is a VERY big difference between the muscles of a fighter and what I typically get in asks which is a body builder. The differences probably bother only me but by god do they bug the hell out of me.

For example.

A Boxers body is about endurance and power.

A Body Builders body is about size.

There are completely different caloric needs, workout routines, workout intensity, hell, completely different DIETS!!!

Luckily, that brings me into the next point of your ask.

The Diets.

For diets, I can't really attest to it as Boxing is a hobby and not my Career (Though I wouldn't mind if it was). Though, I can say that what I was recommended to eat and what seems to be common from my research into the subject is to eat a lot of carbs, a solid bit of protein, and a little, but not a lot of fat. So basically I ate a lot of sandwich's, subs, garlic bread with spaghetti and meatballs or some meat on the side, not to mention, a TON of chicken. I like to eat chicken.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tta episode 4

“Last time, on Total Takes Action: the campers found themselves in a sickly-sweet situation when they competed in a romcom-themed challenge. Kelly and Austin fell out, while Bonnie and Caesar rose to the top. Joner and Sha-Mod broke their awkward silence on Sha-Mod’s boyfriend McLovin leaving, and resolved their issues just in time to get defeated. Kellaustin were sent home as friends, not lovers, and the Anons lost two players in this special double-elimination episode. Will Scary stop being such a downer with them gone? Will Bonnie and Caesar finally resolve their unresolved tension? Find out now, on Total! Takes! Action!”

Bonnie walks into the craft services tent, scratching their throat. They take a seat next to Caesar, looking tired. He strokes their hair. “Feeling any better, Bonbon?”

They shake their head. Since last challenge, their throat has been on fire, leaving them completely unable to speak. 

Scary watches from the table across the tent, smiling. She turns to Scruffy. “Let’s hope today’s challenge is a musical,” 

They shrug. “I have no idea what today’s challenge is. I’m completely lost,” their voice is monotone, but there’s a clear tension behind it. 

The lights in the tent suddenly go out, and the windows are covered in dark tarp. The campers shout in protest as they’re shrouded in darkness. A sudden round of gunshots to the ceiling catches everyone’s attention, and the holes the bullets left in the tarp leaves a spotlight over Chris. 

He clears his throat. “For as long as I could remember, I always wanted to be a host,” 

The lights go back on and everyone grumbles, annoyed. Chris is dressed sharply in a pinstriped suit, holding a meatball sub. Scary rubs her eyes. “What was that?”

The campers glance between each other, annoyed. The camera pans over to Michela, who’s looking like she just won the lottery. O and Fren, sitting on either side of her, stare and then make eye contact with each other. 

Chris beams. “FINALLY, someone understands my references!” he tosses the meatball sub aside and crosses his arms. “Today is a guilty pleasure of mine- the gangster movie!”

Michela outright squeals this time. Everyone turns to her and she blinks, then quickly regains her cold disposition and looks away. 

---

O shakes his head. 

O: “There is something seriously wrong with this girl,”

---

“The gangster movie is one of the most iconic crime subgenres in cinema- and today, you’ll be hitting every beat. You’ll be carrying out an effective organization, smuggling and selling the recently-banned Japanese delicacy, Chef Hatchet's Total Drama Yum Yum Happy Go Time Candy Fish Tails,”

Peter raises his hand. Chris sighs. “Yes?”

“We’re not doing anything actually illegal, right? It’s just for the game?”

Chris blinks, then smiles. “Yeahhhh. It’s all fake,”

Peter sighs, relieved, while everyone else suddenly looks nervous. 

“In a classic mob movie, there’s always different tiers of power- there’s the guys on top, the boss- and the guys on the bottom, the goons. It’s up to your teams to delegate who is who,” Chris says. 

Fren looks over. “Well… Michela… would you-”

She holds up her hands. “Oh, no. Everyone knows the boss is the most vulnerable position in every gangster movie. I’ll take whatever’s lowest,”

The Fujoshis look between each other, processing her words. “Who else?”

O looks away, Peter hides under the table, and Fren turns to Bonnie and Caesar. Bonnie tries to protest, but nothing comes out. 

“What’re they saying, Caesar?” Fren asks. Caesar leans in to Bonnie and then nods. 

“No,”

Bonnie crosses their arms. The rest of the team sighs. 

“Okay, how about Bonnie and Caesar?” O offers. “That way, you can communicate what we need to do to the group.”

"I can do it on my own, you know," Caesar sighs. "Bonnie needs a break, anyway,"

Bonnie begins to protest, but nothing comes out. It's settled.

The four-person soiree at the Anon’s corner looks between themselves until Scary finally sighs. “Okay, I’ll do it,”

The remaining three sigh in relief. 

---

Chris stands before a boat at a loading dock somewhere in the heart of Toronto. It’s well after dark, much to everyone’s annoyance. 

“Alright, campers. Inside this boat are the crates of Chef Hatchet's Total Drama Yum Yum Happy Go Time Candy Fish Tails, which you’ll be transporting back to the film lot undetected,” he chuckles. “After that, you’ll be unpacking and figuring out how to market, sell, and distribute these slightly cancerous treats without being caught. The team that either makes the most profit, or doesn’t get arrested, wins. And don’t be afraid to get your hands a little dirty,” Chris winks. “We are in a mob movie, after all.”

“The fish tails are fake, right? And the police?” Peter asks. 

Chris rolls his eyes. “If it makes you feel any better. Ciao! See you tomorrow!”

The teams look between each other. Bonnie uses their hands to puppet-out a plan, while Caesar rubs his chin knowingly and nods along. 

“What’re they saying?” Fren asks, eyes carefully studying the display. 

Caesar nods one final time and then turns to the group. “I have no idea,”

The Anons are already making some progress, unloading the unmarked crates onto the asphalt of the inner city dock. Scary is making a list of things to do, and as Sha-Mod and Joner heave out the final cargo, she claps her hands. “That’s fifteen crates, so we can’t carry these. We’re going to need transportation,”

“Like, what, an Uber?” Joner asks, wiping the sweat off his brow. 

“Not quite,” Scary’s eyes drift across the dock until settling on a pile of large, empty wooden crates beside an abandoned shopping cart. 

---

“Where are we going to hire a moving service at this hour?” Caesar scoffs, flipping through a phonebook in a nearby booth. Fren stands outside, keeping a lookout, while Michela surveys the lot. Peter drags another crate outside, the only person doing so. 

Bonnie is once again trying to explain their idea to the group, but no one can understand their vague hand gestures and expressions. 

O taps his chin. “Maybe if you think about the plan really hard while you’re moving, it’ll translate through your body language and I’ll get it,” he clears his throat when Bonnie stares at him. “I’m training to become a therapist.”

Michela walks over to Peter and sees a bag of the candy sticking from one of the crates he brought down. She turns back to the lot, where a stalling truck is waiting outside a warehouse. 

“Hey, Peter, can I take this?” she asks, holding up the bag. 

---

“There!” Scary huffs, tossing the wrench aside. A massive flatbed cart, encircled by a metal caging, lies before them. “Let’s start loading.”

Scruffy, Joner, and Sha-Mod carry over the crates and set them on the cart. Scary covers them with a spare tarp and the four begin pushing their cargo back to set. 

Caesar watches dejectedly and exits the booth just as Michela returns. "Well, we're done for," he takes a seat on the curb, leaning against his palm. Bonnie sits and tries to comfort him with a pat on the back, and he smiles at them.

Michela clears her throat. “Not yet. We have a ride,”

The team raises an eyebrow in unison as she points to a truck backing over. The driver peers out the rearview mirror. 

Caesar blinks. “Where did you-?”

“There’s no problem in this world that can’t be solved with bribery or violence,” Michela says coldly, and then smiles nervously when everyone stares. “I bribed him!”

---

Scary, Joner, Scruffy, and Sha-Mod are all covered in sweat and wheezing by the time they roll up to set, watching as a large truck drops off the last of the Fujoshi’s cargo. “Oh, come on!”

As Peter and Bonnie begin to carry the crates into the film lot, Caesar turns to Michela. 

“Listen. You and I both know that this operation isn’t going anywhere with me at the wheel. You know how to get things done,”

“But-”

He holds up his hands and lowers his voice. “Listen, I only chose to do this for Bonbon. They do everything for me,”

Michela blinks, waiting for him to continue.

"...So, if it's okay with you, I'd like to relinquish my position here and help them out exclusively,"

Michela sighs. “Fine. Tell everyone there’s been a shift in power,”

---

The Fujoshis have staked out the craft services tent since they arrived first, leaving the Anons to unpack their contraband outside the trailers. 

Scary looks down at their army of candy. “Okay, we need to figure out how this is going to sell,”

“Is there an underground candy market or something?” Sha-Mod chuckles. Scary glares at him. 

“Maybe Chris is sending someone to come to us?” Scruffy asks, but then shakes their head. "No, that'd be stupid. He would've said something."

---

SCRUFFY: "I am hanging on to my sanity by a thread at the point. And not a good thread either! A tiny, fraying string of dental floss!"

---

"We'll figure it out, man," Joner says, patting their shoulder. "In the mean time, let's all take a breather. Who knew using a modified shopping cart to carry a hundred kilograms of cargo would be exhausting?"

---

“Okay, we’re going to need some people on the ground to sell these things. Now, the salesmen are probably the most important part of this hierarchy- they need to be charming, kind, and likable. Keeps them in business and out of trouble,” Michela hits her open palm with her fist. “Fren and Caesar, start staking out some back-roads candy places around town to see if anyone’s interested. Keep it vague, lead them into asking for it. Then make the deal and send them here.”

She turns to the remaining team members. “Peter, you can sort out the orders as they come in. Just organize and label them, okay? That’s all,”

He looks unfathomably nervous. “What if we get in trouble for this?”

“It was Chris’ idea. He’ll get the time, not us,”

“Yeah, while he’s escaping to Mexico,” he grumbles. 

“Nothing but organizing and labeling! Bonnie and O, you’ll be meeting with the clients at the gate and making sure the money comes through,”

Bonnie and O look at each other, and then nod. 

---

“Okay, I’ve made this schedule and this list for everything we need to do,” Scary says, passing out a few thick packets. “Since Scruffy looks like they’re about to piss themselves and Joner and Sha-Mod are essentially pets on this team, I’ll be handling sales.”

Joner raises a finger. “Are you sure that-”

“Did you want to be wandering the streets alone tonight?”

He shuts up. 

---

In the darkest parts of Toronto, Caesar wanders alone, wearing a bowler hat and long black trench coat. He narrates:

“Michela ran a tight business,”

He walks down a dark alley and comes up against the back door of a restaurant, where a man with a green mohawk is waiting outside, smoking a cig. 

“Frennie Two-Times and I handled sales,”

Caesar hands the man a thin box from the inside of his coat. 

Back at the lot, Peter keeps a record of every client’s finances, typing out on a calculator at the craft services tent table. 

“Peter “The Brains” took care of all our finances. Smart guy, but easy to push in the right direction,”

Pan over to O, carrying crates outside. 

“O Muscles was our work guy whenever Bonnie Bloodknuckles was busy… delegating,”

Cut to Bonnie threatening the same green mohawk man in the same alley, demanding money. 

“Yeah, we ran a pretty tight ship,”

The blue and red of police cars flashes behind them, and the mohawked man ducks and runs. 

“But not tight enough,”

---

“This is so dumb!” Scary kicks a crate. “How have we not made a single sale! Is threatening people with knives not enough to get this dumb candy out there?”

Scruffy cradles their head in their hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know,”

Joner pats their back. “Hey man, don’t worry. We’ll figure it out!”

“No, we won’t. The other team sold ALL of their inventory and we haven’t gotten rid of a damn bag!” Scary yells, then sighs. “Except for the ones that Sha-Mod’s been eating.”

The camera pans over to Sha-Mod, sitting on one of the crates with the candy. He chuckles nervously. “It’s salty,”

Everyone’s attention is turned to the sound of police sirens as dozens of cars drive up around the craft services tent. In a few seconds, Michela is being escorted out in handcuffs, an annoyed look on her face. 

---

MICHELA: “I KNEW I was forgetting something. No respectable mob operation goes without bribing the cops to stay quiet. Stupid!”

---

Chris adjusts the large white wig on his head in a cardboard courtroom. Chef is sawing away at some wood in the back of the flimsy building, taking measurements of the dimensions. 

Bonnie sits in the witness’ podium, looking over the crowd. Michela is seated at the fold out table serving as the defendants corner, O as her lawyer. 

“I call this court meeting to order,” Chris slams a plastic gavel on his table just as Chef pulls out a chainsaw and starts carving a block of wood. “Don’t mind Chef, we’re going to need a real set again in a few days!” Chris yells. “Anyway- Michela, you stand here on trial for bootlegging. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” she rolls her eyes. 

“That’s interesting. Prosecutor, your defense?”

Scary stands on the side of the room adjacent to Michela and O. “I call to the stand, Bonnie!”

“They’re already there!” Michela yells. 

Scary ignores her. “Now, Bonnie, could you please describe the operation your boss was running?”

Bonnie points to their throat, and makes a few hand gestures. Scary rolls their eyes. 

“Okay, fine. I guess that’s too difficult a question for you philistines,” she mutters. “Just point to the person who was running the damn thing.”

Bonnie looks around nervously, eyes meeting with Caesar’s. He raises his eyebrows as they make eye contact.

“To rat or not to rat?” Chris asks, watching the display with delight. “That is the question. Reminder to all participants that ratting out your fellow players gives you immediate immunity from the mob!”

Bonnie looks back to Caesar again, and he hesitantly nods. They sigh and point to Michela. Chris slams his gavel, grinning. “The Fujoshis are sentenced to an elimination ceremony for the crime of bootlegging- and ratting!”

Bonnie holds up a finger, trying to articulate. Caesar stands from the audience on their behalf. “But Bonnie has immunity!”

“No, Bonnie has immunity from the mob,” Chris chuckles. “But don’t worry. We have an excellent witness protection program at Playa des Losers.”

Bonnie looks pale as the courtroom audience shuffles out. Caesar runs over, putting his hands on their shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort this out. I shouldn't have told you to do anything, I was just trying to help,”

Bonnie looks down. A strong breeze blows away the cardboard walls, leaving them both in the rain. 

---

“Fujoshis, even though you lost… I gotta say, what a run!” Chris chuckles. Michela sits in the bleachers, hands still cuffed together. “But all good things must come to an end, so let’s get this over with. Fren, Peter, you’re safe,”

Peter sighs with relief and catches his golden Chris. Bonnie looks to Caesar, a nervous expression on their face. He tries to console them by rubbing their back, but it doesn't help any.

“Caesar… O…”

“Michela- you forgot one of the most important parts of an underground operation, spelling doom for your team. And Bonnie, you sold out a fellow team member for immunity! Not cool, dude. But only one of you is going home,”

“And that person…

…is…

…Bonnie. Time to pack your things and take some cough drops,”

Bonnie's shoulders drop and they look at the ground. 

“Can someone let me out of these now?” Michela holds up her wrists. 

“If I recall correctly, you were sentenced overnight. See you in the morning!” Chris hops off stage merrily and walks away. The rest of the campers follow shortly. 

Caesar runs over to where Bonnie is sitting as the Lame-o-Sine’s back door opens. He puts his hands on their shoulders. “Bonbon, I am so sorry. I was trying to help!”

Bonnie coughs a bit and then speaks weakly. “You didn’t have to-”

“I did, though. You’ve been saving my ass every day since we met. I thought if I could repay the favor…”

Bonnie shakes their head. “Not your fault,”

“It’s okay to blame me. I promise, I understand! I just wanted so badly to be just as good a player as you, and help you out liked you help me just by being around...”

Bonnie smiles softly and looks away (scratching their throat again). Caesar smiles back and they hug.

"You're my person, Bonbon,"

"I know," Bonnie coughs. "You're mine."

The Lame-O-Sine honks and Chef rolls down the driver’s side window, glaring. The two break apart and stare at him, both embarrassed. He honks the horn two more times for emphasis.

“Gotta go,” Bonnie wheezes, pointing to the impatient driver. 

Caesar nods. “And take some cough drops when you get there!”

“Aw, wasn’t that heartwarming,” Chris steps out in front of the camera. “Will Caesar win for Bonnie? Will we ever let Michela out of those handcuffs? Find out next time, on Total! Takes! Action!”

[carnivorousyandeere]

I BE ADDICTED TO LIKE MESSY GROSS DARLING WITH ERIK BUT YOU KNOW WHATS EVEN GREATER THAN MESSY GROSS DARLING?? ADHD MESSY GROSS DARLING WHOS A GENIUS ON THE VIOLIN AND THE CELLO! becos that's me lol and it absolutely surprised my entire orchestra to find out that i could barely take care of myself but i manage to make sure my cello always looks spic and span, my bow is always tightened perfectly, my violin is always perfect LMAO and i always be first chair despite the fact that my music and my notes be lookin like a tornado came thru. i be memorizing songs with only one play thru but then i also be forgetting to feed myself (: ive literally become the orchestra pet at this point. they be relying on me for solos but also they have to feed me meatball subs from subway if they want to keep me alive til the next orchestra practice. sometimes the theater kids take pity on me and i get some cookies or baked goods from them also. they toss it into the orchestra pit like im a little seal who needs to do tricks for them LMAO

LMAOOOOOO this might be the funniest ask I’ve ever gotten. The mental image of a little orchestra seal brings SO MUCH JOY!! I love you Anon (platonically) 😂

Splinter skills in ADHD are SO REAL I used to be the same way with martial arts 💀

That particular mixture of “perfect musician,” and “mess everywhere else,” would drive Erik absolutely crazyyyyy but in some good ways, too. Sure, the spotty self-care and disorganized notes bother him, but… Your skill with the cello and the violin would take his breath away in awe— and all he can think about for some time afterwards is playing duets with you 🥹💕

[jeonggukieverse]

Hey author, sorry for the incomplete request, the scenario is up to whatever you would like :)

Hello author just saw your prompt request and I hope you won't mind doing prompt #4 and #6 with Jungkook or namjoon 👀 thank you

4: “What? Why are you crying?”

6: “You’re my whole world, you know?”

Am I forgetting something?

Pairing: ArtistJungkook x CEOReader

Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff

Warnings: Just the some swearing, Main Character is a little dramatic, Jungkook is the boyfriend that no one deserves

Word count: 2.4k+

A/N: Anon, hope you like it! This was a lovely prompt choice! Had so many different directions but I chose a nice fluffy story for you

and im still looking for a bata reader for future chapters so hit me up if you're interested :)

______________________________________________________________

You can’t quite put your finger on it but you can’t help but feel like you’ve forgotten something. Something very very important.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror while you scrub away at your teeth deep in thought. What is it that you’d forgotten? You were so busy trying to search every tiny corner of your brain for this hidden piece of information, you didn’t even notice your boyfriend slip his arms around the middle of your waist.

“Good morning, meatball” he said in a sleepy voice, leaning into the crook of your neck.

“Jungkook we’ve been together for 4 years now, when are you going to let that nickname go?” you chuckled while looking at him in the mirror.

“Never! Cause I have never and will never meet another woman who was willing to physically fight me in the middle of a subway over the last meatball sub” you felt his body shake with amused laughter.

“Hey, never come between a hungry girl and her favourite sub. You just unfortunately had to learn that the hard way.” you joined in his laughter as you both reminisced about your first encounter.

He unwrapped himself from around you and you both proceeded with your morning routines. It’s the stupid little things like this that you love about being with Jungkook. Just mundane things like brushing your teeth together feels so intimate with him. Jungkook had this way of looking at you, a way that made you feel that there was no one else in the world he’d rather be with. You were his person and he was yours.

Your thoughts were then interrupted by that persistent nagging feeling.

“Babe, was I meant to be doing something today?” you asked, still trying to rack your brain over this absolutely irritating feeling.

“Today?” he asked, with toothpaste dribbling onto his chin

“Yeah, I can’t help but feel like I’ve forgotten something really important. I can’t for the life of me recall what it would be.”

“You really forgot, huh?” he said with a smirk on his face. You hated when he did this! Jungkook loved having one over on you. He loved being the one with the power; he loved it when you couldn’t reach the cereal on top of the fridge so he’d have to reach up and get it for you, he loved when you asked him to take a few grocery bags off your hands because they were too heavy but most of all, Jungkook loved when he had information that you wanted. It amused him to no end.

“Not today JK! It’s really gonna get on my nerves, please just tell me!” you practically begged.

“Nah, meatball you’re gonna figure it out all on your own. If you don’t remember by tomorrow, I’ll let you know for sure” he finished washing up and strolled out of the bathroom. You hated when he was this smug, he would hold this over your head the entire day. You would be damned if you gave him the satisfaction. So, you try as best as you could to put it out of your head.

You both kissed each other goodbye and got in your separate cars to drive to work. Jungkook was a very talented painter. Talented was an understatement. The media had dubbed him a ‘modern day creative genius’ and they were absolutely correct. All of his work felt alive and so beautiful. To even watch him work was an experience to behold. When the two of you had first started dating, he whisked you way to his studio late one night, you both drank wine and talked about everything and anything. He suddenly told you to stay still, unsure of what he was doing, you obeyed his instruction. When he was done, he had revealed a painting of you. Too see yourself as he saw you through his eyes was almost magical. It was early into your relationship but it was that day you decided that you were in love with him. You were his muse and he was your artist.

You had been thinking about your boyfriend so much that you hadn’t even realised you’d arrived at work.

You were a little different to Jungkook. While he was the creative, you were the mogul. The youngest ever CEO to own and run a multimillion-dollar corporation.

You hopped out your car and walked into your building and headed to the elevator. Your office was a lovely glass structure right in the middle of the city centre. You can see Jungkook’s studio building from your office, it brought you a little comfort as you had not been able to see him much recently. You were just nearing the tail end of a huge project that had been occupying most of your time. There were nights you didn’t get home until 3am only to find your world already asleep in your shared bed. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Everything blended together into a big chunk of time that you’d missed. You felt completely neglectful of Jungkook but, being the angel he was, he understood completely. You don’t deserve him sometimes.

The elevator dinged and you walked up to your office door. Just as you were about to push open the door:

“Morning, boss” chirped a familiar voice.

“Morning Josie, what do we have planned today?”

Josie was your PA, she started working here a few months ago and you don’t know how you’ve survived this long without her.

It was torture but you managed to sit through 8 meetings, 2 seminars and 3 final project reviews but you did it. Finally, the project was finished and could finally spend some time with the love of your life.

“Any plans for the weekend Josie?” you asked casually as you both prepared yourself to head out for the day.

“Me and the Mr are planning to go watch that new Super hero movie that just came out. I’ve heard it’s really good, there’s meant to be a real good plot twist at the end” she explained as she followed you out of your office.

“Ah nice, I’ll have to go with Jungkook to see it. I know he’s a whore for a good super hero movie” you both giggled in unison.

“Is that what your planning to do tonight” She asked.

“No? Why, what’s happening tonight? Am I missing something?” you asked. You had put it to the back of your mind but you should have brought it up sooner. Josie had a great memory; you knew you could count on her to help you remember.

“You-you forgot, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god, Josie not you too” you sighed hoping she wasn’t as much as a power fiend as Jungkook.

She looked at you and paused, hesitant if she should indulge your question. She decided to put you out of your misery and pointed to the calendar next to your desk and there. There you saw it. Circled 5 times and underlined 6 times in red.

“OH NO!! OH, FUCK THIS CANT BE HAPPENING. OH NO, NO NO!” You shot out of your seat

“Boss calm down, I’m sure he’ll understand” Josie rushed in an attempt to comfort her panicked boss

You sprinted to your car ignoring the strange looks you got from your Josie and all your other employees. At this point, you didn’t care.

You were so stupid. How the FUCK do you forget your boyfriends fucking Birthday!?

And he knew! That little shit! That’s why he was so fucking smug in the bathroom! Okay, you had to calm down and figure out how you were going to make it right?

You looked at the time. You had 3 hours until he got home. 3 hours to dig yourself out of this hole.

You were in a huge predicament because you and Jungkook had a tradition that you would never buy each other gifts. You would both always make something so the other person knew it was from the heart. Usually you did pretty well, last year you made him a photobook of the years you’d spent together, the year before that you took a painting class and painted him a portrait of the two of you. It sucked but he loved it because he knew it was from your heart and you tried your best.

What could you do that would come from the heart in 3 fucking hours?!

You knew! You could bake him a cake. He loved cakes. You’d never baked a day in your life but how hard could it be? Right?

Wrong.

It’s like the universe was punishing you for forgetting one of the most important days of the year. Because, the food delivery workers had decided to go on strike this afternoon, so a few shipments of deliveries hadn’t arrived. Don’t worry, they had most of the necessities, they just didn’t have any: flour delivered, eggs delivered or sugar delivered. So, you were screwed. They said the next supermarket over would have some but that was an hour drive away and you didn’t have that kind of time.

You panicked and just brought what you could and hurried back in your car to drive home. It was only when you arrived in your driveway that reality set in.

You really forgot your boyfriends birthday. The tears began to pool in your eyes at the actuality that Jungkook was the most important person in your life and you had forgotten his birthday. You let the tears stream down your face as you sobbed behind the when of your car.

‘NO!’ You said to yourself. ‘Pull yourself together and do your best! Jungkook deserves at least that much’. So, you did. You took your incomplete list of ingredients to the kitchen and got prepared to do the best you could.

Things were going relatively well, granted you had to make some substitutions. You only had 1 spare egg in the fridge cause Jungkook made you guys omelettes this morning, so you used 1 instead of the recipes required 2. And Jungkook’s protein powder could double as flour, right?

You popped the makeshift cake in the oven and looked at the clock. Okay, only 30 minutes till he gets home and the cake should be done in 20. That gives you a 10-minute window to make it look like you didn’t forget.

As you rushed around to tidy the kitchen you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the microwave door. You looked an absolute mess! You ran upstairs to try and tidy yourself up a little.

You were upstairs fixing your hair until you heard a beeping coming from throughout the house. Oh no! The cake!

You sprinted downstairs to find the kitchen covered in smoke. You rushed over to the oven to try and salvage the only hope of salvation you had. Could things get any worse? Well, it could.

You heard the front door open and an all too familiar voice shouting into the house

‘_____?!______?! Baby are you okay?”

You heard his footsteps run through the house to the kitchen. Every step you heard get closer to you the more you wanted to cry. How could you face him? You were so ashamed of yourself in this moment, you just wanted the room to swallow you up and never let you out.

“Baby, what’s going on?” he asked through stuttered coughs.

He ran to the window and pulled it open to let the smoke out. You couldn’t even do that. God, you felt like such a failure.

He saw you sat on the floor next to the oven. You weren’t moving so he scooped you up in his arms bridal style and carried you to the living room. He ran back to go and sort out the absolute carnage you had left in the kitchen while you were again, avoiding all types of eye contact.

He eventually came back once things had settled and sat right in front of you.

“Hey, meatball? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” he questioned, trying to look into your eyes. That last question was what caused the floodgates to breakdown and you just began to uncontrollably bawl. After you forgot his birthday, he thought he’d done something wrong?

“What? Why are you crying?” he said, worry lacing in every word. Tired of your avoidant behaviour he took your cheeks in his hands and made you finally look at him?

“Baby, please talk to me, what’s wrong?” sincerity poured out of him with every word he spoke.

“Kookie, I’m so sorry I forgot it was your birthday today! I’m so sorry! There’s no excuse but I didn’t mean to, I’ve just been so busy. I tried to make you a cake to make up for it...but t-the sup-per-market d-didn’t ha- “

He enveloped you into a warm hug, cutting off your teary apology. He felt warm, he felt like home. You knew he wasn’t mad at you but still, you couldn’t help but feel like he should be.

He got on the sofa and laid with you until your sobbing had subsided.

“You must think I’m the worst girlfriend in the world. I’d completely understand if you hated me for a while.” You said, looking up at him, eyes all puffy and red. Your head ached and your nose felt stuffy. You hated the post feeling of crying but you felt it was the least you deserved.

He looked at you for a moment, not saying anything, just looking. He then raised his hand to your forehead and gave you a hard flick. This earned an ‘ouch’ from you and a snicker from him.

“How could I ever hate you? Plus, my birthday is only special to me cause it means I get to spent time with you. You’re my whole world, you know?”

“I know, and your mine”

He smiled down at you, smile reaching his eyes. You joined him; how did you get so lucky? How is he yours?

You both decided that tonight, you would order a pizza and watch Iron Man. You got up, he gave you a loving kiss and you both walked upstairs hand in hand. You were content. And you also made a mental note to put a pre reminder a few days before on your calendar for his birthday next year.

“Also, babe, when I was in the kitchen, I saw my protein powder on the side. What were you using it for”.

“It’s a long story” you replied not looking at him.

Crap, he was gonna kill you for wasting his powder.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'll get through the other prompts by the end of the week :)

Comments and reblogs would be highly appreciated, please let me know if you enjoyed it :)

taglist: @mwitsmejk

[darling-i-read-it]

Jealousy

Travis Bickle x reader

Word Count: 900

Warnings: talks of guns and jealousy 

Author’s Note: I hope you like this darling! I’ve written something else for Travis that I like better than this but it wasn’t requested so I don’t know when I’ll have space to post it. Either way look out for that!

Requested: by anon, Hey, could we have travis bickel being jelouse?    👉👈 i just found your blog and its astounding 💗 Anyway, im in love with travis and there are only like 2 fics on ao3, and everything else is travis x Arthur wich im not rlly into.

Summary: the request 

Genre: fluff i guess? 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Travis leaned back in the taxi, glancing out at the door of your work. He had been waiting for you to come down so that you could go out for dinner and a night on the town. He was excited about the night and he felt that the clock was going by to slow as it ticked away on the dashboard.

Finally the door opened and you emerged. The first thing he noticed was that your head was hung back and you were laughing. He thought your laugh was the best thing he had ever heard even if he couldn’t hear it through the window. He rolled down the passenger window to hear you and then a voice broke his fantasy.

“So we can meet up to work on the project?” 

It was a male voice. Finally Travis’s eyes fell on the man who was making you laugh. He was a tall macho guy, wearing a suit that was a size too small to make his arms pop. He looked like the kind of guy who went to a sports bar to watch a football game with his buddies to pick up chicks.

Travis’s smile immediately fell as you nodded.

“Of course. Call me,” you said, handing him a small slip of paper with your number on it. The man nodded and he gestured to the taxi you were walking toward that had Travis in the passenger seat.

“Are you taking a taxi? I can drive you home if you want,” he said. You shook your head, gesturing to the driver through the window. 

“Travis is taking me home. Thank you though!” The man nodded and kneeled down, getting a good look at Travis and held up a hand in a sort of half wave.

“Make sure she gets home safe,” he said. Travis had a neutral look on his face as he nodded a bit.

“Yeah,” was all he was able to say. His excitement and self esteem plummeted. You leaned over the window and gave him a grand smile before opening the door and slipping into the passenger seat. Travis started the car wordlessly and pulled out.

“We heading to dinner?” you asked, putting your purse on the floor. He nodded simply but didn’t answer you. His mood was off and it infested the car. You sat up and your mood fell as well, worried about him. “Did something happen?” 

“Who was that?” he asked, voice bitter.

“Some douche bags from work.”

“Are you going out to dinner with him?” You and Travis had only been seeing each other for a few weeks. It was still new and that left some wiggle room for Travis to be nervous that you were seeing other people.

“Not if I can help it,” you said honestly. Travis glanced at you.

“You just gave him your number,” he said, turning the car to the place you had agreed to go to dinner together. You turned to him fully with a proud smile on your face.

“I actually gave him your number. So if you get a house call from a guy named Eric just say you’re my boyfriend,” you stated simply. His face blushed a bit and he glanced over at you, feeling a bit better.

“So you don’t like him?”

“Are you jealous Trav?” He shook his head too quickly, looking at your through the rear view mirror this time so he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“No, just wonderin.” 

“You are jealous,” you whispered. “You don’t have to be, honest.” You grabbed his hand and held it as he parked the car in front of the restaurant. He nodded and turned to you now that the car was parked and he didn’t need to look at the road.

“Okay,” he said quietly. You squeezed his hand then gestured to the restaurant.

“Come on. There’s a meatball sub waiting for the both of us and if we don’t get in there soon who knows who’s gonna eat it,” you teased. He laughed and nodded.

“Okay.” 

You got out of the car and waited for him to walk around before grabbing his hand again, walking inside together. He felt better but that guy Eric still plagued his mind. That guy's intentions weren’t good. The gun in his pocket felt heavier.

[palettes-and-prompts]

Character Palette/Personality Palette

If I have seen the movie/show/or whatever this character is in I will let you know! But if I haven't I'm just gonna give my best guess to their personality or what I think they like and everything. I will make them two palettes, one based on their appearance and one based on what I think their personality is. If you'd rather not see this just block the tag "character palette and personality guess" I figure no one's tagging anything like that so it should be easy to filter out. If you genuinely like this character and I lowkey diss them I'm sorry, I'm not going to apologize though, you're going to have to live with it. If you wanna send me a character for a palette and my guess at their personality/interests just drop it on anon and I'll see what I can do.

Alright so this is Connor from the game Detroit: Become Human. I've vaguely heard about this game. I only recognize this guy's face because I think there's a person who looks like him but I don't know who it is. But I swear I've seen their face somewhere before.

He looks like a good guy. He's got this color scheme that doesn't really match his face. Like, the clothes say he's sad and works hard but his face says puppy. He's got a very kind face. He's the kind of guy you would trust to like, watch your kids or something if you went out of town. He's dressed serious but his face looks like he just wants to have a good day. He's very childish looking but he's probably made to do things that aren't childish. I feel like since he's in a suit and his face is very soft he seems very sweet. I like his face. It's got a good cross between Tom Holland and Matt Shively. I like it. He's good in my eyes. I probably wouldn't feel the same if he were just wearing khakis and a polo shirt. There's something just fucking evil about that combination. It just makes me want to trust someone less. I do not vibe with that shit. But this guy is cool. He doesn't fee like Best Buy, he feels like 'If I walk your dog for you will can you please make me a meatball sub?' and then he's just excited because he gets a meatball sub and he gets to hang out with a dog. It's like hitting the lottery for him. I know he's from Detroit or at least lives there because of the game name but just looking at him feels New York. Like, I can just hear Brooklyn the way his mouth is open. Is it just me? I don't know. He seems good. The kind of kid who likes baseball games and helps old people do things they can't do anymore. The kind of guy who regularly hires a guy to dress up as Santa for orphans and is just helpful. He's not a rule breaker. He doesn't like breaking rules because he knows he shouldn't, but he eventually does in some way, shape, or form. And I feel like it happens in a big way. He seems like that kind of kid. He's always trying to do the right thing and doesn't want to break the law but then something happened. Something big happened and there was no justice and he realized that he was going to have to be the one to step up and fix what happened. And I don't know what he does or how he does it, but it's big and it definitely changes him forever. I don't know if that's a good thing or not but it definitely puts things into perspective for him. I feel like whatever the situation is, the second it happens that's when he remembers the words 'Bad things happen to good people' and then that's when he does whatever he does. I can't think of a song that would best describe him, he looks sort of soft, sort of dog like which is funny because he seems like he would definitely be a dog person who always does a little gasp when he sees an animal he would like to pet. The kind of guy who's got someone watching over him like "We can't go in the pet store again you always want to bring one home." And he's trying to convince his guardian or whoever that they have enough room for another pet. This guy adopts a lot of animals from shelters. He's a good kid. I trust him.

Anyway here's his palette based on his character design.

And here is his palette based on what I think his personality is.

[estellaira]

I got the perfect Gajevy prompt for you! "Huh, aren't you a little short to be a prison guard?"

A/N:- Thank you for the request! I have to admit I didn't know how to write this at first but after getting some encouragement from another anon I just felt like “"Take the plunge, write what you wanna write and go along with it. Your inner writer might be kind.” After some time it just felt natural and a bit fun. I do hope that you enjoy this ^_^. Requests are open.

“"Hey have you heard the news Metal Head? Apparently, someone from the main branch is tranfer’in here to fill in the spot old man Gildarts left behind.” Gajeel looked at his friend from across the table with a bored expression.

“"And I should care about this… Why?” Gajeel asked taking a bite from his meatball sub. Natsu shrugged his shoulders in response “"Maybe cuz I overheard Gramps and Erza talking about having you team up with the new guy.” he answered licking away any stray crumbs from his lips. He eyed his meatball sub “Ya gonna eat that?”

Gajeel scowled at Natsu“"And why do I have to deal with the newbie?” he asked, ignoring the pink haired man. “"Probably due to the fact that you’re the only one us who’s flying solo.” Gray replied taking a sip of his iced coffee. 

Natsu looked at him disgust “"How can you drink that stuff?” He asked and Gray scoffed “"I don’t wanna hear that from the person who pours an entire bottle of hot sauce over everything he eats.”

“"You’re just jealous I have the guts to handle it, since it’s to manly for you Ice Princess!” Natsu roared in response

“"Stop talking like Elfman! And why would I be jealous of a guy who can never win a fight against me?” Gray countered, a smirk plastered on his face

“What did you say SnowFlake? I can take you and Metal Face with one hand tied behind my back!” Natsu challenged jumping up from his seat

Gajeel smirked “How bout we test that theory Salamander?” He asked standing up with one foot on the table.

Natsu looked like he was about to retort when he suddenly snapped his mouth shut and sat back down on his seat. Gray was in a similar position with a fake smile on his face. 

Gajeel rose a brow at their antics “"What, you two wimps chicken out already?” he asked, confusion laced in his voice before he felt a hand rest on his shoulders. Turning around he saw the one person he would never want to meet in a dark alley. 

“"Is there a problem here boys?” Erza asked, disapproval clearly written on her face. 

Gray shook his head “Ofcourse not Erza, me and Natsu here were just telling Gajeel about the rumors of a transfer guard, just like good friends do. Right buddy?” Gray looked at Natsu who only shook his head in agreement, mouth filled with the sub that Gajeel had been eating.

Erza smiled at the his words and nodded in approval before wrapping her fingers around the back of Gajeel’s collar “"That’s actually why I’m here.” she stated dragging Gajeel behind as she marched towards the door of the small lunch room. 

Just before he was pulled through the door Gajeel saw Gray and Natsu shaking failing to hold in their laughter as Natsu mouthed a “Sucks to be you.” Gajeel responded by mouthing an “I’m gonna kill you both.”

Following after the redhead after she finally released him from her death grip he walked past several jail cells. Several eyes followed their movement, many were filled with hatred and contempt.

No one said that the job of a prison guard was easy. 

“"The warren has decided that you should be the one in charge of the new transfer.” Erza explained as they stopped. 

The noise of her typing in the correct combination to the door that lead to the outside filling the silence around them.

 “"She was initially trained for interrogations, and this is actually her first time as a prison. Since you’re one of our more experienced guards you seemed perfect for the job. Show her the ropes. Make sure she understands her responsibilities. Keep her safe.” She turned back to him and looked him in the eye. 

Gajeel looked at her  before he smirked “"Yeah yeah I get it. I gotta act like a babysitter till the newbie can walk on her own two feet.” Erza nodded before she opened the large, metal door.

Gajeel walked out behind her, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. When his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness he looked around only seeing an empty prison yard. “"So where’s the newbie?” he asked slightly irritated.

Suddenly he felt someone poke his chest. He looked down and saw blue hair. He took a step back and fully examined the woman in front of him. Her mouth was in a thin line, hazel eyes looked at him seriously, blue hair tied by a brown bandanna that matched the uniform she was wearing. 

Gajeel raised an eyebrow “"You’re the newbie?” he asked unsure. “"I am Sir.” she responded, face serious as she stood in attention. Gajeel smirked before he tapped the top of her head “"Huh, aren’t you a little short to be a prison guard?” he asked teasingly which caused her to puff out her cheeks in response “"Aren’t you a bit of a jerk to be a guide?” she retorted hands landing on her hips. Gajeel rose his brows in surprise as he saw the fierceness in her eyes. 

Realizing what she just said, her eyes widened and she immediately looked down at the ground, a light blush on her cheeks “Ah, sorry for the out burst Sir.” she apologized softly, arms returning to her sides in attention. 

Gajeel stayed silent for a moment before a grin broke on his face and he threw his head back to laugh loudly, startling both the new recruit and Erza who stood by the door watching the entire exchange.

When he calmed down Gajeel grinned at the girl in front of him “Ya got guts Shrimp, I’ll give you that.” He said tapping her head “"And quit calling me Sir. Ya don’t have to act all formal with me..”  

Levy swatted his arm away from her head “Don’t call me Shrimp!” she yelled in frustration which only made his smirk grow bigger “Names Gajeel.” he introduced himself “Whats your name then newbie?” He asked hands in his pocket.

The girl smiled and Gajeel was surprised as he felt his heart beat faster slightly. 

“"My name’s Levy McGarden. I look forward to working with you Gajeel.”