#this is very goofy don't mind me

[flibbertygigget]

i've come to the conclusion that vulcans would fuck with serialism. teen spock did a lyre interpretation of boulez for some fancy concert.

[bibliophilesince2003]

Transformers One Incorrect Quotes (3)

Because of the post I made right before this, I was inspired to write this. It's an incorrect quote, but also an "altered" scene that already exists.

Orion: Hey, Darkwing! My finger can transform... guess which one? D-16: Don't... Orion: I'M DEFENDING MY FUTURE WIFE, SHUT UP. D-16: *stunned* Darkwing: *also stunned* Elita: Elita: Marry me.

[flowerakatsuka]

indirect compliment

[asofterepilogue]

hermes really told odysseus to use his infamous brain cells to defeat every threat on his way home, and then odysseus... somehow... just brute forced his way to victory against a god. and you expect me to be fine with that jetpack??

[pama-saga]

I have to tell y'all, if you make fanart I will appreciate it forever, even if it's a damn scribble or if the character is 50 gazillion degrees different I will still enjoy it

[nocentis]

Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.

[vivitalks]

guys i genuinely don't know what to do. my quirky little destiel fic which was already far too long to begin with now has a second smaller fic nested inside of it and somehow the second smaller fic is the absolute crackfest of this supernatural/tazamnesty crossover where dean lowkey hooks up with barclay the bigfoot and i don't KNOW what to DO. do i cut the scene. do i post it separately. do i post it separately but ALSO leave it in the fic. do i just pretend like barclay is an OC i made up and all the references to the fictional town of kepler west virginia are incidental. WHAT IS THE MOVE HERE

[whysamwhy123]

Since I'm back after a little unplanned hiatus, time to blab about another dumb idea I had for an AU that I'll never write! So! For some reason, a while back, I decided I really wanted to come up with a trashy reality show AU for Max Squared, where MJF decides to exploit Caster's immediate, intense love for him by starting up a little showmance. Max wants to manipulate the editing of the show as well as the game itself to make sure that he wins and/or becomes the breakout star of the season. So when Caster falls head over heels for him on Day One, he's presented with the perfect opportunity.

Initially, I was thinking the show would be a Survivor type deal, a bunch of people on a desert island or something, voting each other off, so Max's game is stringing Caster along so that he won't ever vote against him and he always has an ally help him vote out whoever he considers his biggest competition. But then I started to think it might be funnier if it was an American Idol style singing competition. It kinda fits, right? Both MJF and Caster are musically inclined, after all. And it changes the logic behind Max's plan - he wants to manipulate the editing of the show, make himself seem like a nice, endearing guy so the public will vote to keep him in the show, and ensure he gets a lot more screen time than the the other contestants. And what better way to do than pretending to be falling in love with this weirdo who's obsessed with you? A heart-warming queer romance on a show where only one of them can win? That's some good trash TV there, right?

MJF insists to Caster that it's all an act on his part. He's only pretending to be in love with him for the show, to tug on the heartstrings of all the stupid fans out there who think this shit is anything close to real. A ploy to make himself seem like the perfect charming, irresistible hero he needs to be in order to win this damn thing. And Caster's just like ''Whatever you say, sweetie,'' because he knows before Max does.

Maybe after a certain point, Max figures, hey, there's no harm in sleeping with the guy. It doesn't mean anything - Caster's so willing, so he may as well get laid. Of course, Caster thinks this is a sign that he really does have feelings for him, no matter how many times MJF tells him that it's not because he's actually attracted to him. No, it's just a ''power thing''.

He's only pretending, right? Caster's a fucking loser, a pawn in Max's grand master plan to emerge victorious. There's no way he could end up actually developing feelings for him over the course of the show, right? It's all for the show, it's fake, it's not real! There's simply no way he could...

Also, I'd want there to be a point where one night, Caster straight-up begs Max to let him eat his ass. And MJF's like ''Ugh, no way! That's disgusting! You're insane! You're a fucking weirdo! You're gross! You're...you'd do that for me?'' and of course, Caster tells him he'd do anything for him. And Max finds he can't resist anymore. So he lets Caster do it and he makes sure he doesn't regret it. Max's probably so loud during it that it pisses off the other contestants and the crew members who can hear it through the walls because Max simply cannot keep quiet like he usually can.

[aroyalpaininthecass]

I'm so sad, what am I gonna do when my mom moves and takes this little prince away?

[causalitylinked]

WHICH RAGE LANGUAGE ARE YOU?

open the floodgates.

your frustration turns into tears quickly. the strength of your fury is so potent that it sets off the waterworks out of pure rage. you hate it, because whoever's pissed you off thinks it's funny, like you're not tough and you can't defend yourself. you can, you just need to get through the haze of emotions first.

TAGGED BY: @ofliminalities​ ( thank you for the mention! <3333 perhaps one day, i’ll try to be more active. )

TAGGING: @heraid / @hembralfa / @spiritpyro ( hayate and rokuro! ) / @lastgenesis​ / @fractalle / @aaternum / @crimsontroupe ( equinox ) and whoever else would like to do this!

[miisfits-toys]

A morsel of world building ft. my Beloved Edin

[softgrungeprophet]

amazing spider-man annual #5 add that to the list of comics in which peter is indirectly responsible for the death of someone trying to kill him lol

[silvreflames]

you can pretend that you don't miss me . — u already know :)

Typically,    she  sets  the  apartment  to  a  very  brisk  19  degrees  because  if  Rhys  wants  to  keep  her  locked  up  in  this  minimalist  cage,    then  she  wants  to  make  it  an  expensive  pain  in  the  ass  to  him.    With  air  blowing  that  cold  from  the  vents,    she’s  usually  bundled  up  when  she’s  alone.    Who  does  she  need  to  impress  if  it’s  just  her  and  her  smutty  books  curled  up  cozy  on  the  couch?    Who  does  she  need  to  keep  around  if  there  is  no  one  that  visits  in  the  first  place?

A  moment  of  weakness.    She  shouldn’t  have  asked  him  to  come.    She  knew  it  as  soon  as  she  sent  him  the  text,    she  knew  it  as  soon  as  she  buzzed  him  up,    and  he  only  confirms  her  instincts  when  he  opens  his  mouth.    And  he’s  got  the  fucking  cat  at  his  place,    so  there’s  no  buffer  or  excuse. Now he's here and she wishes violently that he wasn't. There are dishes in the sink from days ago and she's very obviously been sleeping on the couch and she doesn't even want to know the state of her bathroom right now. She shouldn't have asked him to come.

❝  Fuck  you.    ❞  She’s  dressed  down  in  nothing  but  a  shirt  she  stole  from  him,    something  lacy  that  would  peek  if  she  stretched  on  her  toes  for  him  like  she’d  considered  because  she  had  in  fact  been  missing  him,    and  gooseflesh  rises  across  her  chilled  skin.    She  doesn’t  care  that  he’s  already  closed  the  door  behind  him;    he’s  close  enough  to  it  still  that  it’d  be  a  quick  and  painless  exit.    For him, anyway. She  gestures  toward  him,    but  means  it  as  a  dismissal  and  knows  he  won’t  waste  his  time  if  she’s  just  pissed  him  off,    too.    ❝  Are  you  here  to  fuck  me  or  are  you  here  to  piss  me  off,    Hyunwoo?    Because  I’ve  already  had  enough  of  the  second  today  from  everyone  else.    Make  me  forget  or  get  the  fuck  out.    ❞

— @fatedriven as HYUNWOO. // DON'T SMILE AT ME.

[jonnywaistcoat]

What’s your opinion on the contrast between “silly” and “serious” spaces? Do you think people can have very serious interpretations about a genuine piece of media and also be goofy about it? I’m asking this particularly because I’ve seen people in the Magnus podcast fandoms fight about people “misinterpreting” characters you, Alex, and the many other authors have written. Are you okay with the blorbofication or do you really wish the media you’ve written would be “taken seriously” 100% of the time?

And follow up question, what do you think about the whole “it’s up to the reader (or in some cases, listener) to make their own conclusions and interpretations and that does not make them wrong”, versus the “it was written this way because the author intended it this way, and we should respect that” argument?

This is a question I've given a lot of thought over the years, to the point where I don't know how much I can respond without it becoming a literal essay. But I'll try.

My main principle for this stuff boils roughly down to: "The only incorrect way to respond to art is to try and police the responses of others." Art is an intensely subjective, personal thing, and I think a lot of online spaces that engage with media are somewhat antithetical to what is, to me, a key part of it, which is sitting alone with your response to a story, a character, a scene or an image and allowing yourself to explore it's effect on you. To feel your feelings and think about them in relation to the text.

Now, this is not to say that jokes and goofiness about a piece of art aren't fucking great. I love to watch The Thing and drink in the vibes or arctic desolation and paranoia, or think about the picture it paints of masculinity as a sublimely lonely thing where the most terrible threat is that of an imposed, alien intimacy. And that actually makes me laugh even more the jokey shitpost "Do you think the guys in The Thing ever explored each other's bodies? Yeah but watch out". Silly and serious don't have to be in opposition, and I often find the best jokes about a piece of media come from those who have really engaged with it.

And in terms of interpreting characters? Interpreting and responding to fictional characters is one of the key functions of stories. They're not real people, there is no objective truth to who they are or what they do or why they do it. They are artificial constructs and the life they are given is given by you, the reader/listener/viewer, etc. Your interpetation of them can't be wrong, because your interpretation of them is all that there is, they have no existence outside of that.

And obviously your interpretation will be different to other people's, because your brain, your life, your associations - the building blocks from which the voices you hear on a podcast become realised people in your mind - are entirely your own. Thus you cannot say anyone else's is wrong. You can say "That's not how it came across to me" or "I have a very different reading of that character", but that's it. I suppose if someone is fundamentally missing something (like saying "x character would never use violence" when x character strangles a man to death in chapter 4) you could say "I think that's a significant misreading of the text", but that's only to be reserved for if you have the evidence to back it up and are feeling really savage.

I think this is one of the things that saddens me a bit about some aspects of fandom culture - it has a tendency to police or standardise responses or interpretations, turning them from personal experiences to be explored into public takes to be argued over. It also has the occasional moralistic strain, and if there's one thing I wish I could carve in stone on every fan space it's that Your Responses to a Piece of Art Carry No Intrinsic Moral Weight.

As for authorial intention, that's a simpler one: who gives a shit? Even the author doesn't know their own intentions half the time. There is intentionality there, of course, but often it's a chaotic and shifting mix of theme and story and character which rarely sticks in the mind in the exact form it had during writing. If you ask me what my intention was in a scene from five years ago, I'll give you an answer, but it will be my own current interpretation of a half-remembered thing, altered and warped by my own changing relationship to the work and five years of consideration and change within myself. Or I might not remember at all and just have a guess. And I'm a best case scenario because I'm still alive. Thinking about a writers possible or stated intentions is interesting and can often lead to some compelling discussion or examination, but to try and hold it up as any sort of "truth" is, to my mind, deeply misguided.

Authorial statements can provide interesting context to a work, or suggest possible readings, but they have no actual transformative effect on the text. If an author says of a book that they always imagined y character being black, despite it never being mentioned in the text, that's interesting - what happens if we read that character as black? How does it change our responses to the that character actions and position? How does it affect the wider themes and story? It doesn't, however, actually make y character black because in the text itself their race remains nonspecific. The author lost the ability to make that change the moment it was published. It's not solely theirs anymore.

So yeah, that was a fuckin essay. In conclusion, serious and silly are both good, but serious does not mean yelling at other people about "misinterpretations", it means sitting with your personal explorations of a piece of art. All interpretations are valid unless they've legitimately missed a major part of the text (and even then they're still valid interpretations of whatever incomplete or odd version of the text exists inside that person's brain). Authorial intent is interesting to think about but ultimately unknowable, untrustworthy and certainly not a source of truth. Phew.

Oh, and blorbofication is fine, though it does to my mind sometimes pair with a certain shallowness to one's exploration of the work in question.

[obae-me]

Would He Peel The Orange?

(I hope this hasn't been done too much already, but I really wanted to do it) So, if you've been in the same internet circle as I've been in, you probably know about this trend that's going around right now where people ask their partner to peel an orange for them. It's supposed to kind of signify your partner's willingness to do something important to you, even if it seems mundane or even inconvenient for them. So of course, I wanted to imagine what our favorite boys would do in this scenario.

Note: This is just for silly goofy times. A little ha-ha funny jape, if you will. Meaning not serious. If I think a character would not peel an orange, I don't think they're suddenly toxic or would not love the MC or anything.

"Could you peel an orange for me?"

Lucifer

To those of you who say he is too prideful to peel an orange for you, do I need to point out that he is the eldest sibling? Not only that, but he's practically a single mom. He has Sloth as the baby brother of the family. Do you think Belphie peels his own oranges? No! Lucifer probably cuts the crusts off of his brother's sandwiches for heaven sakes.

Is it heaven sakes or heaven's sake?... I actually don't know

However, I do think he would get suspicious, especially if you're trying to film his reaction. He would raise an eyebrow and know that there's something more to you just wanting an orange. Is this orange cursed? Is this a prank? You'll have to convince him it's perfectly normal before he straight up refuses.

Is he going to get up from his desk or move away from work to go grab you an orange? Probably not. But if you bring it to him, he will peel it for you, giving you a weird- and maybe slightly judging- look the entire time.

He will peel it very nicely, but you would have to take the peel back to toss yourself all while demanding to know why you have such a smirk on your face.

If you explain it to him, he'll definitely get a bit smug. "Who knew all it would take to prove my love to you was peeling an orange? If you needed some assurance, I would've gladly provided more for you."

He wins this one. He peeled the orange.

But...he might be asking his own favor from you later. So, minus one point for that, but they do say the devil dances in dealings, so...

7/10

Mammon

"Huh? Why do you need me to peel it for you, your hands broken or somethin'? I'm not your damn maid."

He is already peeling the orange. He is somehow managing to grumble and act like he's not doing it while he is in the process of doing it.

And if you don't have oranges on hand? Just give him any excuse to go shopping and he will take it. And not only will he peel those oranges, he'll buy them for you too.

And sure maybe he's a little ditsy and might not know what the difference between an orange, a tangerine, and a clementine is (they're all orange, dammit), but he will be buying you ALL of them just in case.

Listen, he's a man with impulse problems and an intense desire to be your number one demon.

Did he probably spend the next few hours in the store getting himself stuff as well? Probably, yeah. He see shiny, he get shiny.

But don't worry. He will peel you that orange.

And you will be eating an assortment of orange colored fruits for the next few days.

Is...this a peach?

9/10

Levi

If he's gaming, probably not. Some games can't be paused. And it's not even that he doesn't want to, he'll probably be glad to do so, but he'll do it once this round is over.

And then he'll probably forget. Which, fair, I do it too. You get into the zone and then six hours have passed. Sometimes the measure of love can't always be held behind an orange.

However!

If a controller is not in his hand and his mind is not occupied by several random colorful flashes, he might peel the orange.

BUT

If too many other people are around, he might get anxiety.

You know when you somehow manage to fumble peeling an orange? You can't manage to break the peel properly or you end up dropping it and looking like a fool?

If you've never had performance anxiety over peeling an orange, you... well that's actually really good, you must have a much more peaceful mind-- but it exists for us anxious people, okay?! It's too much pressure!

In the end, he's very situational! But that doesn't mean he refuses to peel you an orange! It would actually make him very happy to do that for you...

5/10

Satan

Very confused. Will ask too many questions before he does anything.

Are you hurt? Is the peel too tough for human fingers? If you're having a hard time using your fingers, why not get a knife or a tool to assist you? Why are you in his room rather than the kitchen? Is that not a waste of energy? What if he'd not been here, would you have wandered around?

He doesn't get it. He means well though.

He might get a little irritated, not so much at you as at himself. He feels like he's missing something.

Is this some form of human bonding? Are you afraid of the orange? What secrets does it hold?

He will peel it for you. He'll even put his book down to do so.

But please answer his questions, he can't find the logic in seeking him out just to peel a fruit for you. He can list off several other more efficient methods.

If you explain it to him, you'll see him visibly relax. So there was some deeper meaning.

Although now he might think that this form of act is some sort of love declaration. Prepare to have him peel and/or cut all your fruits from now on. Which... is actually kind of sweet. What a gentleman.

8/10

Asmo

No... with his nails?! Please. I've only worn fake nails like twice in my entire life, and doing anything like that with those little suckers hurts like hell. Why?? Tried to open a can once and thought my real nail would peel right off.

And even if he's not wearing fake nails, getting that pulpy orange peel underneath your fingernails?! Having the juice make your fingers all sticky? No. Awful. Bad texture. I've always headcanoned Asmo with texture issues, and if his are even close to being like mine, it's gonna be a no.

BUT

If you want an orange so badly, I can guarantee he knows all these cute little places around town that make delicious fruit selections! He'd probably go out and get you one of those beautiful and decorative edible fruit arrangements and make sure they somehow include lots of orange.

Or, if you don't want that and you just want a normal orange right NOW, he'll charm someone else to peel it for you, hon. Don't even worry.

And once it's peeled, to make up for not doing it himself, he'll be all to happy to feed it to you if you want him to. ~

Never underestimate the lengths he'll go to provide for you and himself at the same time.

6.5/10 I appreciate the hustle.

Beel

I... I mean... he's gonna eat it.

Love the man to death, but if you hand him an orange before you fully preface that it's yours and you just want it peeled, it's gone. He probably didn't even peel it before he ate it too. Probably just eats it like an apple.

But, but, but, he'll get you a new one. So please don't look so sad...

It might be best if you accompany him just in case, but he'll absolutely get you another one. Besides, he wants more himself now, that first one was delicious.

He'll gather a whole basket of oranges and you can share them together.

One slice for you...five for him. Another slice for you...

It make take a minute to get a full orange's worth, but it's about the attempt and the time spent. And he's technically actually peeling SO many oranges for you.

I'd also like to point out that I have actually written out a scene in one of my stories where Beel actually EXACTLY peels an orange FOR MC. WAY before this trend was a thing.

--Eventually he came across an orange, peeling off the wax shell meant to serve as extra preservation. Citrus flooded your nose. Your mouth actually watered at the scent, watching Beel strip the fruit before peeling it apart. A sniff, and then it was actually handed to you.

So he would! 100 times over! Even in my silly little side story where everyone is nearly on the brink of death and in a freezing wasteland, he would still peel an orange for you!

10/10 Minus one point for eating your orange first, plus one point for peeling you an orange in another universe.

Belphie

Y...yeah, no. No, he won't.

Or there's at least a very slim chance he will. He does get in weird moods sometimes where he wants to pamper you, but that's on his own terms and his own time.

He doesn't even peel his own oranges, as I previously stated in Lucifer's section.

If you just waltz up to him and ask him to peel it for you...there's a 95% chance he will not. Most of it being due to him being asleep. You would probably have a better chance trying to train him to peel an orange while sleepwalking. That might work. Would also probably make a good party trick.

But, he's weird at remembering details like this. Even if he doesn't act on it right now, it will be logged in his memory. You could mention something briefly once seven months ago and he'll bring it up to you and remember the conversation completely like it happened yesterday.

So, even if he doesn't peel the orange now, when he's in the mood, maybe after his nap, maybe the next day, maybe two weeks after in which you had forgotten it, he will bring you a peeled orange.

Either that or he'll do what Asmo does and make someone else peel it for you.

3/10

Diavolo

You want him to peel your orange for you? You mean... he gets to treat someone like that for once?! ABSOLUTELY.

He is all too happy to peel you an orange! This is like, groundbreaking for him. He gets to provide! Gets to hand you a tiny fruit, broken and prepared with his own two hands! Is this how Barbatos feels when he cooks?

How does one exactly peel an orange, though?... He's seen them whole like this before, but they're typically already in strips when he gets around to eating them.

Break the skin? What, like an egg?

Well...there goes your orange.

On the bright side, it seems he's very good at making orange juice.

But fear not! He'll have Barbatos bring another one!

Wait...look, see, they come pre-peeled. Oh...you mean Barbatos has been peeling all his fruits for him this entire time? He's never known the joyful luxury of unveiling and working for the literal fruits of his labor?! This will change today.

Get another orange, unpeeled, and he will do it himself this time!

It might take some personal discovery and some patience before he peels you an orange, but it will get done, he swears it!

11/10 Plus one point for wholesome life lessons and sheer determination.

Barbatos

An orange? Just a plain orange? If you wait just a moment, he could have an orange chiffon cake, or would you perhaps prefer some orange panna cotta? Orange Merengue pie? Pound cake? Made into a buttercream? A pudding? A sorbet? A sherbet? Served as a juice? Main flavor or just as a zest? Would you like a meal before dessert? Or he could always find healthier options for oranges? Would you like him to list of those options as well?

Okay, so... he overcorrects a little bit.

Bottom line is, he'd peel you an orange. He'd make an entire seven course meal based around oranges. Make it all the color orange if you'd prefer.

Like I said though, he tends to overdo it.

He falls into his royal butlery habits and misses the fact that this is supposed to be so important to you because it's so simple. Although it's cute the way an ever powerful ever perfect being can miss such a detail.

You might have to put your foot down a bit and not let yourself get carried away in the splendor. You just want this orange. This one orange, and if he could just peel it for you, that's all you want.

So he'll take his gloves off and peel it for you. He'll make sure all the extra little white strands are plucked off as well. And he double checks it for seeds.

Are you sure this is all you want? "I guess something so simple can often be taken for granted. I forget that sometimes."

12/10 He'll probably still end up making you several other orange treats and he learned a valuable lesson today. It's a win for everyone.

Simeon

Are you kidding me?

This man probably brought the orange with him. You probably didn't even need to bring it up! He's single dad with two one kid and a sorcerer. He's like that sweet mom who always has certain things on hand. Medicine? Bandages? Spare cash? Candy? Gum? He's got it. He puts the Guardian in guardian angel.

You want that orange? He'll peel that orange, you just hold on. Let's make sure your hands are clean. Use this hand sanitizer he brought with him. Here, have a granola bar while you're at it. Are you hungry? You didn't skip lunch, did you? Here, take this water bottle, you look a bit dehydrated.

Oh dear, and your hands feel so dry! Here, he brought some lotion.

This angel is 100% fully here for you. You are about to be so taken care of.

Not even oranges. You want your apples fully peeled and sliced? Got it. Want something pitted? He can do that too. He'd be willing to stain his fingers and clothes on a pomegranate for you. How is he doing this even outside of the house? Magic or something probably.

He'd pack you an orange in a cute little bag with a hand written note and a short poem.

This man is a real one.

100/10 He definitely thinks that LOL means lots of love.

Solomon

Are...you sure you know what you're doing? He will absolutely peel you an orange, but at what cost?

If you're not careful, not only will he peel you an orange, but he'll add some of his Special Solomon Spices to make your experience all the more... thrilling.

Quite like how thrilling bungee jumping in the dark could be...

Also, he might just try to peel it with magic, which, while nice of him, defeats the purpose of the entire test.

You'll have to specify he's to do it by hand, and keep an unblinking, ever-careful eye on him to make sure he doesn't 'enhance' the flavor.

But, all in all, he does it. Quite happily too, one might add.

Are you sure you just want an orange? He'd be glad to whip something up for you if you're feeling peckish!

You kind of... tempt fate with this one.

2/10 One point for wanting to peel the orange, one point for trying to go the extra mile. But... well... Will you survive is the thing? You might want to try to measure his love for you using different non-edible methods.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Princesse's Halloween

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The sixth of my Halloween-centric fics

"You're saying this is a family tradition?" Talia asks, one brow raised in confusion as you gather Kung up in your lap to feed him treats.

"Yes."

"And your mums did this all the time?"

"Yes," You laugh," Right up until I was born. Then they had to include me in it."

"And they just choose each other's costumes? Nothing fancy? And the other person has to wear it?"

"Yes."

Talia grins, looking you up and down and you get the funny feeling that you're missing something.

"Do you want to do?"

"I would love to do it." You girlfriend practically purrs out the words and now you definitely know you're missing something.

But Kung thumps his foot and Reina hisses on the balcony at the neighbours and Prins whines to go on his walk and you forget all about the look Talia had on her face when you told her about your family tradition.

It doesn't even come to mind again until you're welcoming your mothers in the day before Halloween.

"Oh," Talia says, throwing her bag down onto a spare chair as she comes in from her media commitments.

She's had a lot of those now that she's the Barcelona captain and you're secretly very thankful you don't have a captaincy. You don't know if you'd make a very good captain.

It's a dream, of course. Every wannabe footballer, pictures captaining their club and their country but you don't know if anyone would ever see you as a leader like that.

It's one thing to captain a youth team. It's something completely different to captain a senior team.

"I didn't realise you guys were coming today," Talia continues," I thought you were coming in a few days?"

"You'd be surprised by how many flights are packed after Halloween," Pernille throws over her shoulder, having completely taken over the stove in the short time she's been in your apartment.

Magda's over by one of the shelves, staring intently at Rocky like she's willing him to blow up with her eyes. "It's awful. There was a baby on our flight. It wouldn't stop crying. Who brings a baby into business class?"

You laugh. "You've gotten grumpy in your old age, Morsa," You say fondly.

"We didn't travel with you at all!"

"You did," You say," I used to go to camp with Momma."

Magda flicks her hand dismissively. "Yeah but you were a well behaved baby. You barely cried." She looks over at Talia, nose wrinkled. "I bet you cried a lot."

Talia grins, more of a smirk really as Reina clambers all over her. "And tantrums. They're the stuff of legend in my family. Completely blew Patri's tantrums out of the water."

"Yeah, well-"

"Must you two do this every time?" Pernille asks, plating up food and opening some drinks. "We get it. You're 'enemies'. Can we just skip this bit and get to the point where you're bonding over being remarkably similar?"

Talia and Magda exchange a look.

"You always ruin my fun," Magda complains good-naturedly, sitting down at the table," But fine. Only because I love you." She leans over to kiss Pernille square on the lips.

"Hey!" You say," If you banned PDA for us, no PDA for you! No kissing at my table!"

The meal is delicious as always.

Talia doesn't think for a moment that Magda was the better cook from your childhood no matter how many times you insist she was.

After cleaning up and a few movies, you finally remember that look a few weeks ago. The look that Talia gave you when she agreed to pick out your costume this year.

Magda and Pernille had gone first with Pernille choosing a cute tiger onesie for Magda and Magda choosing a massive, inflatable chicken costume for Pernille that nearly didn't fit through the doorway when she came in wearing it.

You'd chosen a fairly goofy looking vampire costume for your own girlfriend, complete with a set of fangs that glow in the dark.

It's only when you get changed into the costume that Talia chose for you, that you remember that god awful smirk she wore when you explained to her your family tradition.

"Er..." You look at yourself in the mirror, trying to pull down the skirt of your nurse's outfit. "Talia, are you sure this is everything? It's...Kind of short..."

You can hear Talia cough, movement outside the door and then her head is popping in.

"I...er...bought this before I found out your parents were coming. You look good though."

"So I take it this is the full costume."

"You look very good as a sexy nurse," Talia says, grinning back at you in the mirror.

You purse your lips in thought. "Yes, I do." You turn, passing her in the doorway. "I'm looking forward to hearing how you're going to explain this one to my mothers."