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22ayla21 · 2 months ago

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Hi! I hope you doing well^_^, could I request amphoreus men with reader who gave birth. But after the childbirth she isnt same anymore physically and is really insecure abt it. She slowly starts to avoid him and distancing herself.

It's all you that I love

After giving childbirth, she became deeply insecure, yet her husband assured her that he loved her just as she was.

Only a few months ago, their firstborn, a boy with his mother's eyes and a hint of his father's confidence already showing in his face, had arrived in their home. Now their lives were governed by a new rhythm: the silence was frequently broken by a child's cry, nights grew shorter, and days filled with monotony and anxiety. But this didn't burden her husband.

His wife, Mydei, however, felt differently.

She increasingly locked herself in the bathroom, avoiding her reflection. She would spend a long time sorting through clothes, trying to conceal her changed figure. Her body, after childbirth, sleepless nights, and months of exhaustion, had become different. Her gaze had become more cautious, her movements more restrained. She turned away more and more often when he was near. And if he tried to touch her, she would gently evade him, hiding her embarrassment behind a tired smile.

She loved him, oh God, how much. But now it seemed to her that she was unworthy of his gaze, his touch, his love.

Mydei saw this. Not immediately, but he noticed how she would subtly turn her head when he touched her cheek. How she would hurry to put on a robe before he entered the bedroom. How she wouldn't linger beside him in the silence when the baby finally fell asleep.

He didn't reproach her. He wasn't angry. He simply felt her distance.

And one night, when the house was plunged into silence under the lulling howl of the wind, he entered the room where she sat by the cradle. Her face was dimly lit by candles, her eyes betraying weariness and something else, unsaid. She didn't notice his arrival. Or pretended not to.

He approached silently and sat beside her. Several long seconds of silence stretched out, broken only by the baby's breathing and her nervously twisting the hem of her dress with her fingers.

He reached out his hand—not to her, but to her hand. Gently, as if touching a fragile petal. She flinched, but didn't pull away, only looked away.

"You're avoiding me," he said quietly. She remained silent. "Why?"

She pursed her lips, hesitated, and whispered, "I'm not the same... Not like I used to be."

He looked at her for a long time, calmly. There wasn't a trace of irritation in his eyes, only sincere attention and deep pain for her.

"You're right," he said softly. "Not the same."

Her shoulders trembled, as if from an unexpected blow. But he continued:

"You've become stronger. Softer. More patient. Something... more has appeared in you. Something difficult to explain in words. Something that makes my heart beat quieter when you hold our son. Something that gives me peace simply when you're near."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, not breaking eye contact.

"Your body has changed. Just like mine. Just like our life. But for me, you are not just a collection of shapes and lines. You are the woman I chose. The mother of my child. My world."

She was silent, and her eyelids trembled. Inside, everything seemed to collapse and then reassemble.

"I love you. Any version of you. And everything that has changed in you has only added to your strength, your beauty, your femininity."

He leaned down and touched her forehead with his lips. Quietly, gently, as on the day they vowed to be together.

She couldn't hold back. She turned and buried her face in his shoulder, finally allowing herself to cry—not from pain, but from relief. He hugged her tightly, warming her with his warmth, his faith, his love.

That night, for the first time in a long time, she fell asleep beside him peacefully, without fear or shame.

And he didn't sleep for a long time. He simply looked at her face, illuminated by the moonlight, and silently repeated, "You are all that I love. And I will always love."

After giving birth, she seemed completely changed. It wasn't just about her body—it was as if something inside had broken. Her former confidence had dissolved somewhere in the fog of sleepless nights, a baby's cries, and the reflection in the mirror she avoided.

Before, she would look him straight in the eye, could tease him, playfully touch his hand. Now, any touch felt superfluous to her. She generally tried to keep her distance from him.

She would get up before dawn, hide in the bathroom under the sound of running water, and fall asleep last of all, when his breathing became even and calm. In his arms, she felt uneasy—not from coldness, on the contrary—but from the feeling that she no longer deserved that closeness.

Could a woman with a changed body, not the same waistline, stretched skin, and a tired, extinguished gaze, be the one he had once loved so much?

She hid behind a flurry of tasks. Behind the baby, diapers, household chores. She appeared beside him only when necessary, answered monosyllabically, silently accepted his care, but never once in all this time allowed herself to simply be near him, to relax.

Anaxa noticed it almost immediately. Not because there was less affection—no, but because her smile had disappeared. Not that old one—with a spark, warmth, and mischief in her eyes. Now they were strained, formal smiles. She felt like a stranger in her own body.

He didn't know how to approach her. He was afraid of scaring her, didn't want to pressure her, but seeing her withdraw into herself was becoming unbearable.

He waited. He endured.

And then one day he simply walked into the bedroom. She thought he was in the lab, and she was standing in front of the mirror in her nightgown, slightly open at the chest. She looked at her reflection as if it were an enemy. Her fingers gently touched the marks on her skin—reminders of childbirth, sleeplessness, exhaustion.

She didn't notice him right away. And when she did see him—she flinched and instinctively covered herself, as if afraid he would be frightened by what he saw.

"Don't look..." she whispered barely audibly.

But he approached. Silently. Anaxa simply hugged her. Quietly, without unnecessary words. As if the only thing that mattered was being near. He held her close, feeling her tense up at first, and then slowly relax.

"I've ruined everything..." she said a little later in a trembling voice, without looking up. "I'm not the same anymore. Not beautiful. Not..."

He didn't interrupt. He didn't object. He simply touched her cheek with his palm. She looked up, her eyes full of vulnerability and pain. And she saw not pity in his eyes. Reverence.

"You're not just the same. You've become more. Stronger. Deeper. You gave me a child. You are alive. Real. You are mine. And I haven't stopped loving you for a single second."

Words were unnecessary.

She cried. And he held her, allowing her to pour out everything: fear, shame, pain, confusion. He wasn't going to let her go. He wasn't going to let her hide from him, from love, from herself. Because for him, she wasn't perfect. But real.

And that was more beautiful than any perfection.

After giving birth, everything turned upside down.

And it wasn't about the cliché words about a new meaning in life, about how a child's cry becomes the most tender melody, and sleepless nights—the highest expression of love. No. The changes affected her reflection in the mirror.

Before, she radiated confidence. She caught glances, wasn't self-conscious, laughed heartily, touched him without a hint of embarrassment. But now... The body that had given them their baby felt alien.

Scars, stretch marks, softness where firmness used to be felt. She seemed clumsy, awkward, as if faded. And every morning she had to force herself to look in the mirror.

Phainon saw everything. He wasn't blind. He noticed how she wrapped herself in loose clothing. How she lingered in the bathroom for a long time, how she went to bed last of all, waiting for him to fall asleep. He felt her flinch from his sudden hugs from behind, how she didn't respond to affection, as if she didn't believe it was still for her.

She loved him. Very much. But deep inside, a strange, bitter thought settled: what if he now looked at her with different eyes? What if he pitied her, compared her to who she was before?

One night, Phainon woke up to silence. The baby was sleeping peacefully. A quiet stillness reigned in the house, but she wasn't beside him.

He found her in the nursery. She was sitting in a chair, wrapped in a soft blanket, looking out the window. The moonlight played on her face, both beautiful and tired.

He approached quietly, sat down beside her, not touching her. He simply waited.

"You won't say it," she whispered, not taking her eyes off the glass. "But I see it. I feel it. I'm not the same anymore."

He exhaled. Slowly took her hand, not squeezing it, but gently, as if asking for permission.

"No," he replied softly. "You're not the same. You've become stronger. Deeper. Real. I've always loved you. But now... I admire you."

She didn't turn. But her lips trembled.

"I have scars. I'm not beautiful."

He gently touched her cheek.

"These scars are part of our miracle. You look at yourself and see flaws. And I look—and I see a woman who gave birth to life. The mother of our son."

She finally looked at him. Her eyes glistened with tears, her voice trembled. He hugged her—not possessively, not passionately, but tightly, confidently, as if saying: you are still mine.

That night, for the first time in a long time, she cried. Not from pain. From relief. From the feeling that she was still loved—wholly, completely, with all her changes, with all her fears.

She hadn't lost herself. She had simply become different. And he was there to remind her of it.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #mydei x reader #mydei #mydeimos #anaxa #anaxagoras #anaxa x reader #phainon #hsr phainon #phainon x reader

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papathe5th · 2 months ago

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Could I possibllyyy ask for a Perpetua x reader where reader has been appointed his prime mover and must travel with him…I beg…

I hope to Lucifer that you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. You didn't specify what flavor, so I prepared for you a bit of all three: fluff, angst and smut.

I would love to write some more about a hypothetical Prime Mover, but this is all I can muster for today.

READ THE SECOND PART HERE: PART TWO

Papa V Perpetua x Prime Mover f!Reader

Words: 1500

Rating: 18+

There was no way in the Nine Circles of Hell you were sitting your ass on a five star hotel king-sized bed all day waiting for the ritual to start. You were going to join the band at tonight’s venue for rehearsals. You will stand by Papa V Perpetua’s side as Satan intended. Until death do you apart and after the end of the world.

“You should be resting.” He moved his lips much to your annoyance.

You had but two more strokes before finishing his black Cupid’s bow, but he just had to move those mesmerizing lips of his and distract you.

“And you shouldn’t concern yourself with such menial tasks.” He looked at himself in the dressing room mirror. “We have a make-up artist for this.”

“You don’t need her,” you snapped back, barely disguising your disdain at her mention. “You do a better job of it anyway. And you have me to help.”

Papa watched your shaking hands and how they struggled to reassemble the make-up kit. And he lent your supposed helping hand a hand of his own.

“Mia Prima,” his voice is low, like it was meant for the depth of your soul, as it was on your wedding night.

You became the Prime Mover less than three months ago. The night you were sworn to Papa V Perpetua was the first time the two of you met. And he addresses you as “Mia Prima,” his First and Everlasting. You heard his low voice over the scripture read by Papa Nihil’s spirit and you felt his gloved thumb stroke your trembling hand.

Now, as he was arresting your hand, pulling it away from the pile of products, he didn’t say his vows. Papa used his power to be rid of you. Again.

“Go back to the hotel and get yourself ready for the ritual.”

“I am ready,” your voice is also a whisper, but only because you were trying your best not to shout. “Do you not like my dress?”

You already saw the way his eyes lit up when you showed up in the little black dress, the way they took little bites out of your figure when he thought you couldn’t see them through the dark holes in his mask. But now that you were being sent away, you doubted what your own eyes were witnessing.

“It suits you,” he assures you, rising from the make-up chair. “And so does the jacket,” he smirked and you saw the work you did on his lips come to life.

The jacket was black leather, so worn it looked grey in the sunlight. He had worn it in his youth and brought with him to the Ministry along with the little he owned from the outside world.

One of his treasures was a collection of Hammer Horror VHS tapes. They became your treasures too during the night of your wedding when, instead of consummating the marriage, you fell asleep in each other’s arms to the screams of dead movie stars.

You would be celebrating three months before either of you could blink, but he had been too busy building an image for the Ministry to use to reach the outside world. And, before you could settle into his chambers, you were out on the road for the first leg of the Skeletour.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You mirrored his smile. “It looks better on me than it ever did on you.”

“Does it?” He teased you, and stroked his chin with a flourish, the test make-up came off before he could stop himself.

“Papa,” you chided him. “I was just finished with that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just have the make-up artist—“

“No.” You stand your ground, actually speaking your mind this time. “Nobody else gets to see your bare face. Nobody.”

Papa took a step back in surprise. And you covered your mouth in shock at what had just escaped through it.

“Are you…jealous of the backstage crew?”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. He was probably mocking you, looking down at you like you were still a lowly servant. And you suppose you were still servicing him, only as a wife instead of a sister. But your marital bed had been so cold without him.

Papa reached for you, running his leather clad fingers down each of your shoulders. “Confess to your Papa.”

You hugged yourself tighter, your back turned away from him so that he wouldn’t reach your heart.

“Mia Prima,” he whispered in your ear.

“Am I really your First and Everlasting? You haven’t even touched me!” And you said all this as he was struggling to encircle his hands around your shivering body.

“It is me who should be confessing,” he breathed into the back of your neck. “I’ve been a terrible Papa. Just as my brother…our Frater feared.”

It wasn’t just you who was trembling now. He curled himself around you as he opened his heart to your closed off one. “Forgive me. They put the weight of the end of the world on my shoulders and I can’t even…I am too weak to carry it.”

The pressure you have been feeling since the members of the Clergy informed you of your new role was his pressure. While still among the Sisters of Sin, they swore they heard that Papa V Perpetua himself wanted you before the elders made their final choice. When they appointed you his Prime Mover, they split that pressure down the middle for you to carry separately instead of together.

“But you don’t have to do it alone,” you turn towards him, and he rests his silver forehead against your bare one. “We can come together.”

“Together as one,” he breathed over your lips, his breath hot and heavy.

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to take your mouth, to claim your body and finally consummate your marriage right there, right then.

“Have they shown you the stage yet?”

You opened your eyes to see he had moved his mouth along with the rest of his face.

“I’ve seen it before.”

Still, you take his arm when he offers it.

“Not this one you haven’t.”

Papa was right. You had never seen a stage this big before. It was the biggest venue that they had played so far and the stage they built was massive. The giant ghrucifix hanging from the ceiling was enough to inspire religious zealotry which was exactly what the Ministry intended.

Under its majesty, Papa spun you around and you freely fell into his embrace. The only one who could distract you from Satan was him, so you didn’t even see the ghouls chasing the crew backstage. You didn’t even notice that you two were left alone in the intimacy of the unlit arena.

“Will you join me in unholy matrimony?” Papa asked, taking both your hands in his as he did during the ceremony. “Again?”

“Yes,” you giggled. “Again and again and again.”

He kissed you. Again and again and again. The face paint you so meticulously applied was all over your mouth and you didn’t even care. You tasted the black, his tongue gliding against yours as it snakes into your mouth.

You moaned around it, your legs melting under you and your hands clawing at his curls to keep your body from falling and your mouthed interlocked.

When he released you and you both took a respite, he poured golden honeyed words into your open mouth.

“Will you be my first?” He kissed your top lip. “My everlasting?” He kissed your bottom one, suckling it before surrendering it back to you. “My unholy mother?” He kissed your chin and moved his mouth under it and downwards.

“Yes,” you moaned and he kissed the sound as it formed in your throat. “Yes.”

Then, he bit the side of your neck and you arched right into his teeth. “Will you take me into you?”

“Yes.” You pulled on his hair and he growled against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Do it again,” he nuzzled into the bruise purpling there. “Again.”

You scraped your nails against his skull first and then you pulled.

“Again,” he scrapes his canines against the sensitive spot behind your ear. “Harder.”

You indulge him so that he sinks his teeth into you again. Both of you gasp for the same air. And both of you have trouble standing up straight.

Papa lowers you both, his mouth latching onto the lobe of your ear as he lays you down onto the floor and under his shadow.

“Will you take my seed into your womb and give me The Son?”

You looked up at him through the thick haze of your arousal, and saw how bright his white eye shone. All the rituals, all those nights, all this time he was holding down because of the pressure of his position.

Right there, right then, you saw Papa V Perpetua unleashed, his jagged teeth bared, his racing heart open and his cock straining in his tight trousers, standing at your attention.

You stroked his hair again, gently this time, and he nuzzled into the palm of your hand.

“Make me yours, Papa.”

“Mia Prima.”

#papa v perpetua #papa v perpetua x reader #the band ghost #ghost #fan fic #inbox

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sugar-grigri · 1 year ago

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Denji no longer has access to his heart

The golden rule in Chainsaw Man is to focus on the title, since it's the key to reading the story.

Rain, Brothel, Removal seem to be three absurdly unrelated elements, and Fujimoto likes to put it that way, because the challenge for the reader is to find a way of reading that links them together.

This chapter is funny as well as disturbing, deeply sad, and in itself this collection of sensations just makes you uncomfortable, since the tone is always reversed, and the protagonist himself refuses to allow his situation to be a comic spring.

Fujimoto confirms an interpretation that is fundamental to understanding Denji: his character thinks only in terms of short-term objectives, incapable of projecting himself, just as he responds only to the satisfaction of needs without being able to verbalize and think about his unhappiness in a more abstract way.

Denji, for example, isn't thinking about whether sex is actually a solution to his problems, no, it's more concrete than that: he's thinking about whether he's masturbated recently.

Another piece of evidence is the rain. I've always thought that when it rains in Fujimoto's works, it's proof that no lies are being told.

Whether in Look Back with a silent victory, the school moment with Reze and Denji.

But that's not what we're interested in here, because there's no doubt that Denji is sincere, or at least the rain only shows us that he's sincerely desperate.

There's a subtlety....

Denji complains that he only thinks with his dick, but there's another, more philosophical and certainly less funny idea behind this: Denji only thinks through his body.

The rain, the amputation, the brothel - they're all proof that Denji only thinks with his senses.

Denji thought the brothel was the solution to his distress, it's when it started raining that he collapsed, as if the change in weather had evoked his own emotional change. Yoru's solution is amputation, another physical sensation and solution.

Amputation is a solution all the more symbolic because it's antithetical to what Denji is: a demon man capable of regeneration.

To amputate is in itself not to regenerate, and not to regenerate is in itself to be more human.

What distinguishes us from animals (although science relativizes this) is the way we think about our own emotions, something Denji is incapable of doing, or at least has great difficulty in doing.

This doesn't mean he can't verbalize it at all, but when he evokes, he evokes a sensation, a dish (a shitty hamburger, a steak, a ton of sex).

Even when he wants to be loved, Denji formulates it in the form of wanting his heart, almost organically.

No one wants Denji's heart because it's gone

And it makes sense, because Pochita has reassembled his entire body, except for Denji's heart, which has literally been left in that garbage can.

That's why, when Pochita lets Denji access his feelings, the place is symbolized by a garbage can.

When Denji asks Pochita to wake up to find Nayuta, Pochita asks him where his legs are, because Denji's only function is to be a body.

And now everything makes sense again

When Denji spoke his dream to Pochita, being Chainsaw Man, I think there was a certain feeling in every reader: what exactly does it change?

What if it changes nothing? It's normal for Denji not to be able to project himself in the long term, as he should symbolically listen to his heart.

Denji's inability to have a dream, a goal for the future, is symbolized by him and Pochita as children.

It doesn't mean that Pochita is an antagonist (although that could be cool), but that Denji and Pochita are prisoners of their own situations.

Denji doesn't have access to his heart, but Pochita is contractually bound to what Denji wants.

This is also why, when Denji reproaches himself, it's his child self who's addressing him, because the only way to reproach himself, to feel guilty, is symbolized by his old self, the Denji that Pochita may have known. Just as Denji doesn't have access to his heart, Pochita has difficulty gaining access to the person Denji has become, all of which only leads to stagnation.

Denji as a child is also the symbol of a scumbag, the remnant of a lost heart, always dressed in poor, dirty clothes, a past that Denji seeks to escape, but a past that is the only time Pochita has been able to get to know Denji.

I know it's a pretty crazy line, but it's precisely because Denji is Chainsaw Man - a being both fused and disconnected - that he thinks with his dick lol

Saving Chainsaw Man by killing Chainsaw Man has never been a truer statement

Chainsaw Man is Denji's prison but also his only hope

A cage

#csm #chainsaw man spoilers #chainsaw man #csm part 2 #csm spoilers #csm 166 #csm 156 #csm 150 #denji #denji hayakawa #asa mitaka #katana man #my thoughts

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super-ion · 7 days ago

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I am awoken from my fitfull sleep. More of the same dreams that leave me with the disquieting feeling that I don't quite fit right in myself.

Over the thundering rain, I hear the pounding on the door again.

I strike a candle and make my way achingly and groggily down the stairs into my shop to the front door.

A woman is there, maybe a few decades younger than me. It is hard to tell exactly. She is soaked to the bone, her dark hair plastered to her face. She blinks in the candle light with brown eyes.

“Are you a luthier?” she asks urgently. “You make violins, right?”

I unconsciously glance around the darkened shop, to the instruments in varying states of construction or reassembly.

I look back to her. She stands there, trembling on the threshold.

“Yes,” I reply.

I should tell her that the shop is closed.

She holds out a scrap of paper.

“Is this yours?” she asks with the same urgency.

I take it from her. My eyes are not as sharp as they once were and I have to squint in the gloom to read it.

It is indeed one of my labels. Number 43. An instrument I made twenty years ago if the label is accurate.

“Where did you get this?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“It's mine,” she said.

I let out a small grunt of surprise. I finally believe I understand why she might be so distraught. If the label is in my hands, it means something terrible must have happened to the instrument.

Despite the fact that it is well past midnight I usher her in.

A dread settles over me as I find her a dry blanket and start a cup of tea.

“How bad is the damage?” I ask gently as I hand her a cup of tea.

“What?”

She blinks up at me, confused.

“That's why you're here?” I ask softly. “You want to see if it is something that can be fixed?”

“No, you don't understand,” she tells me. “That label is mine. I…”

A look of uncertainty crosses over her face.

“Promise me you will listen to my whole story before you judge it?”

I give her a reassuring nod and ease myself into a chair.

“I am the violin,” she says.

“Wh-” I begin, but words spill out of her mouth, cutting me off in a rush.

“The woman who owned me, she had dreams of being the greatest violinist in the world. She was visited by a demon who agreed to grant her that in exchange for her soul. Well, that was ten years ago and the demon came to collect it's due tonight. It took her away, but she left her body behind and…”

She paused and frowned into her tea.

“I think you put part of your soul into me when you made me, I don't know. I woke up inside her body but the only thing that was left of me was that.”

She gestures to the label that I am now clutching in my hands.

I stare at it, my body perfectly still except for the slightest tremble in my hand.

“You don't believe me,” she says.

“No, I…”

My mouth is dry. I lick my lips and swallow.

“That is to say,” I continue hesitantly. “It is quite fantastical.”

I tried to search my memory. Had 43 been a commission? Or had it just been made to sell at the store. It would have been so long ago, I'm ashamed to say I can't remember.

“Please,” she says. “I need your help. I don't know who else I can turn to.”

She reaches out to take my hand in hers and the whole world jolts and falls sideways.

When I come to, the candle is still burning, so it can't be much later.

Why am I so cold?

I pull myself up and everything feels wrong. For one, my clothes are sodden. For another, the aches and pains of my body that I had begun to take for granted have gone.

Then I see the violin. Number 43.

My body lets out a gasp and my lips move, outside of my control.

“No… no, this is wrong.”

It is her voice… our voice, coming out of our mouth.

She reaches forward. I watch her hands gently pick up the instrument. I feel a flood of relief as we examine it. It is whole, intact, undamaged.

I feel her confusion in our head.

“Hello?” she calls.

The room is empty. I realize now that the violin appeared where my body would have fallen.

She pulls herself… ourself to our feet.

I feel… good. It is strange how I suddenly feel more at home in this stolen body than I ever did in my own.

I don't know what that means.

“Hello?” she says again.

“Hello,” I reply back.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #transgender #microfic

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copperbadge · 1 year ago

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I took a survey when I left the Country Music Hall of Fame that asked me about "artifacts" in the collection, which isn't wrong but did crack me up as a term to use, so here are two of my favorite weird artifacts:

The photo of the front seat of the car is just so unhinged. I'm going to do the description of it here because I want to make sure you guys notice that this is a white open-top car with front hybrid bench-bucket seats upholstered in leather, but that is where the normalcy ends. The door handles on both outside and inside are made of SIX SHOOTERS with mother-of-pearl grips, the sun shades are embossed leather flaps like cowboy boots might look if you flattened them, and between the two front seats where the gearshift normally goes is a large saddle covered in silver dollars. The horn of the western-style saddle might be the gearshift, it's tough to say. According to a placard nearby, this is the Nudie Mobile, so called because it was customized by "Nudie's Rodeo Tailors" which did a lot of early costume design for country performers.

This image looks more normal but I promise you it is not.

This is a Gibson F-5 mandolin, billed in the placard as the most famous mandolin in American music history, which seems like a low bar to clear, but I'm not a mandolin aficionado. Again, for an image ID, it is an extremely worn-looking eight-string instrument, a fairly standard modern mandolin. It has a number of bare patches and scratches on the soundboard. Wanna know why?

It's because this famous mandolin belonged to Bill Monroe, who bought it from a barbershop (how a Gibson made by Lloyd Loar got into a barbershop is a mystery) in the 40s. He played it for decades until 1985, when an intruder broke in and beat the mandolin to pieces with a fireplace poker. So what you're seeing in that image is the original Gibson -- reassembled from about 150 splintered pieces by Gibson company. Monroe kept playing it, including in recordings, until he died in 1996.

I have to say, I spent maybe five, ten minutes standing in front of it, leaning this way and that, looking like an idiot I'm sure as I tried to detect seams and cracks where it was reassembled, and whoever at Gibson put this back together did a spectacular job. For all it looks kicked to shit in this picture, it looks fantastic in person.

#the biscuits and bbq trip #country music hall of fame #mandolin #classic cars #firearm warning

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 1 year ago

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Vaggie: “Charlie. You know I love you, right?”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “…before I answer, can I ask YOU a question?”

Vaggie: “Sure, babe. Fire away.”

Charlie: “Okay.”

Charlie: “Is this about the singing cannibal quartet love song turned massacre in the hotel lobby?”

Vaggie: “No.”

Charlie: “Is it about the supposedly non-man eating flowers that tried eating Angel Dust, which Niffty won’t let us get rid of now because she wants to train them to hunt cockroaches with her?”

Vaggie: “No.”

Charlie: “Is it about the alleged cookies Husk is still in bed recovering from taste testing?”

Vaggie: “Those were cookies?”

Charlie: “Allegedly. In a previous life maybe.”

Vaggie: “Huh. They weren’t bad.”

Charlie: “They- Vaggie, you didn’t actually EAT-”

Vaggie: “After wrestling Angel Dust out of the third flower in a row? I was hungry. The kitchen was on fire earlier so I knew you’d made something. And they were sitting in a common area, unclaimed and unlabeled.”

Charlie: “I put CAUTION TAPE around them!!”

Vaggie: “We don’t have anyone staying here named Caution or Hazardous Waste. Not yet, anyway.”

Charlie: “ARE YOU FEELING OKAY!?”

Vaggie: “Fine. This isn’t about the uh, ‘alleged cookies’.”

Charlie: “Well then what is it about? Am I forgetting something else?”

Vaggie: “Maybe. Are you gonna answer my question now?”

Charlie: “Of course I know you love me, Vaggie. Absolutely."

Vaggie: "Then-"

Charlie: "A dangerous amount, even- you sure you’re feeling alright? Those cookies... poor Husk…”

Vaggie: “Husk is on average 40% alcohol and not used to solid foods. This was a good learning experience for him, trust me.”

Charlie: “I do! I do I do, I just, also really hope Angel Dust knows how to BE an actual bedside nurse as well as DRESS like one. A. Sexy one.”

Vaggie: “We’ll save Husk from medical malpractice in a minute. Right now though…”

Vaggie: (smooch the tol gf)

Charlie: “?”

Vaggie: “You don’t have to do extra things like this, sweetie.”

Charlie: “Oh.”

Vaggie: “Not that I didn’t love the thought behind it.”

Charlie: “There were no thoughts. Just, wow I love my girlfriend, wow I really hope she knows I love her.”

Vaggie: “I do. You’re amazing, and doing normal hotel crisis things with you is already amazing enough.”

Charlie: (droops) “I know, I know…”

Vaggie: “So?”

Charlie: “Well that’s the THING though! We’ve only been doing hotel stuff!”

Vaggie: “It’s a pretty wide range of activities you gotta admit.”

Charlie: “Oh sure right, sooo varied- stop a murder, fight to stop a murder, try not to do a murder, replace THIS fix THAT organize another group talk and go into red alert whenever the things get suspiciously quiet- go collect the bodies, probably reassemble them, pay the bills, supervised arts and crafts and Cherri still makes a BOMB somehow-”

Vaggie: “Everyone getting together to blow it up outside was kinda sweet.”

Charlie: “And that’s great! We’re doing great, things are going good, it’s just- WE don’t do anything that’s just for US.”

Vaggie: “That what’s bothering you?”

Charlie: “Bothering me? BOTHERING ME?? Vaggie our last outing together was dragging you back up to HEAVEN where the people who left you in hell also BLAKMAILED YOU!"

Vaggie: "Could've been worse."

Charlie: "IT WAS HORRIBLE! A NEGATIVE TIME TOGTHER! I’m gonna explode- I haven’t taken you on an actual date in MONTHS!!!”

Vaggie: “So let’s go then.”

Charlie: “I know we can’t just leave the hotel, but that doesn’t stop-”

Charlie: “…”

Charlie: “Huh?”

Vaggie: “Let’s go. We can take the rest of the night off.”

Charlie: “….can we?”

Vaggie: “Sure. Niffty’s busy with her new murder plant buddies, Husk’s busy being sick, Angel Dust’s busy with Husk, and Cherri Bomb… well. If the singing cannibal duo wants to keep playing exploding volleyball with her out back then that’s their problem, not ours.”

Charlie: “It’ll be our problem REAL quick if anyone spikes the bomb at the hotel!”

Vaggie: “It’ll be just another Tuesday, another hole in the wall, and a chance for Cherri to learn about the wonders of vacuum cleaners and wall plaster.”

Charlie: “Which you won’t be able to sleep knowing about until you’ve redone the whole thing yourself.”

Vaggie: “That’s still just another Tuesday.”

Charlie: “What about Husk being sick? AND suffering under Angel Dust’s dubiously sexy medical care?”

Vaggie: “If they’re bothering each other they can’t be getting into trouble with anyone else. Win-win.”

Charlie: “Niffty is building an army.”

Vaggie: “Good for her.”

Charlie: “She might be planning on wiping out all life in the hotel???”

Vaggie: “Hell forbid the cleaning ladies do anything.”

Charlie: “Why are you suddenly so okay with mess and chaos? You HATE messes and chaos! You patrol the hotel just to check everyone’s doing what you thought they’d be doing, based on all the little schedules you keep making on them!”

Vaggie: “Which they didn’t need to hear you yelling about but sure.”

Charlie: “You refold all my laundry so the creases line up just right! Why- oh no.”

Charlie: (gasp) “Vaggie, don’t panic, but I think the evil fail cookies are affecting you-”

Vaggie: “Charlie-” (laughing) “-no, they’re not. Maybe I’m fine with a little extra mess and chaos, if it means spending time with you.”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Vaggie: “Triangle. Wanna go on a date with me?”

Charlie: “YE- wait, you’re sure though?”

Vaggie: “I’m sure.”

Charlie: “Really sure?”

Vaggie: “Very.”

Charlie: “It’s not a fun date if it makes you super stressed afterwards.”

Vaggie: “I’m always stressed. It’d be nice if I could at least get some uninterrupted ‘stare at my beautiful girlfriend’ time while I’m at it.”

Charlie: “The hotel’s gonna be in RUINS when we get back. Our friends might be on fire by then.”

Vaggie: “C’mon, they’re not our kids. They’re all responsible adults….”

Chaggie: “…..”

Vaggie: “….they’re all adults…”

Charlie: “Who we’re kinda responsible for…?”

Vaggie: “Not for tonight.”

Charlie: (sighing) “That WOULD be nice.”

Vaggie: “So let’s make it happen. Date night?”

Charlie: “-ES YES YES YES YES-”

Vaggie: “That a yes?”

Charlie: “YES!!! I- Hold on, wait wait, I’ve got-”

Charlie: (pulls out several papers covered in writing and diagrams)

Charlie: “…I’ve got, let’s see here-”

Vaggie: “Notes?”

Charlie: “-seven quick pick up date ideas that don’t need ANY preparation-”

Vaggie: “You made plans for dates you didn’t even think we’d go on?”

Charlie: “Well it never hurts to dream about something, right? That way you get to have fun either way, and you’ll be ready if it does happen!”

Vaggie: “I love you.”

Charlie: (grinning) “You love that you’ve infected me with note cards and organizing thoughts and things~”

Vaggie: “That too.”

Charlie: “Well according to my wonderful notes, the least stressful date option is…. Cannibal Town!”

Vaggie: “They have that dress code don’t they.”

Charlie: “Unless you wanna get your cute butt chased for all the wrong reasons, yep! They do!”

Vaggie: “Is this you wanting to see me in a fancy-ass dress?”

Charlie: “And to stroll down the nicely kept streets arm-in-arm with you, enjoyed the quiet atmosphere not filled with random agonized screams, stopping to admire the beautiful and very well composted flower beds…”

Vaggie: “I’d stroll with you anywhere, so count me in.”

Charlie: “YES! Oh I already LOVE THIS- and Vaggie?”

Vaggie: “Yeah?”

Charlie: “I love you too.”

Vaggie: “Wow really. Had no idea.”

Charlie: “Heheh.”

Vaggie: “Honestly there’ve been like, zero hints about that all day.”

Charlie: “I promise I really was trying to be subtle.”

Vaggie: “There’s a lot of words for you, but subtle’s probably not one of them.”

Charlie: “I tried. I tried for youuuuuuu~ For the sake of my girlfriend, I was willing to go against my baser and more dramatic nature!”

Vaggie: “What’s more dramatic than man eating flowers, that’s what I’d like to know.”

Charlie: “A garden.”

Vaggie: “A g- a whole garden?”

Charlie: (shrug) “We’ve got plenty of empty rooms…”

Vaggie: “A garden, sweetie.”

Charlie: “I was thinking of putting a lot of trees and bushes in. Lots of stuff to hide behind.”

Vaggie: “Our own little patch of private picnic paradise, huh?”

Charlie: “Hm-hmm! Or for makeouts. Or both?”

Vaggie: (chuckling) “Not to spoil the mood but… speaking of plants and compost, on our date, should we bring the other half of the cannibal quartet over to Rosie’s while we’re headed there? Or, what’s left of them?”

Charlie: “Mmmmm NAAAH. I wanna have all hands free on the way over.”

Vaggie: “Hands free for what?”

Charlie: “Nothing~”

Vaggie: “Your hands are already on my ass, Charlie.”

Charlie: “Oh whoops!”

Vaggie: “I didn’t say you could move them.”

Charlie: “That’s why I’m not~”

Vaggie: “You’re in a mood tonight, aren’t you.” (muttering) “I’m not even the one off playing with carnivorous plants, so why's it suddenly feel like I’m in danger...”

Charlie: “Beecaaaause you look dangerously cute in a fancy dress.”

Vaggie: “Says the woman walking around in THAT suit.”

Charlie: “I have to dress sharp! I need to match with my girlfriend!”

Vaggie: “You’ve been wearing that exact same kind of suit since long before you even met me.”

Charlie: “Only through YEARS of unfulfilled potential!”

Vaggie: “Uh huh.”

Charlie: “Tragic, wasted beauty!”

Vaggie: “Hardly wasted with you in it.”

Charlie: “But it was! A jacket crying out for the one woman who’ll finally borrow and wear it the way it was always meant to be worn!”

Vaggie: “With the sleeves falling over my hands?”

Charlie: “With that adorable little blush when you snuggle down into it… Also, the way it falls to almost mid-thigh on you, and how you like wearing it with nothing el-”

Vaggie: “Is this a date night or a do not disturb night?”

Charlie: “Date night!”

Vaggie: “Then stop biting your lip at me.”

Charlie: “Aww.”

Vaggie: “And come help me pick out a fancy dress.”

Charlie: “!!! THE ONE FROM THE COMMERCIAL MAYBE???”

Vaggie: “Oh you liked that look, huh?” (snickering) “Aw babe- is THAT why you stay up replaying the commercial some nights?”

Charlie: “That’s… public image analysis…”

Vaggie: “Whatever you say. Now you now know how I feel every day.”

Charlie: (muttering) “lucky you.”

Vaggie: “You wanna switch things up for the date, or keep the suit?”

Charlie: “Keep, probably..? You like me in the suit~”

Vaggie: “I like you in a lot of things.”

Charlie: “R-right.”

Vaggie: “And nothing.”

Charlie: “I- same.” (horns start popping out) “Um.” (pushes them back in) “Could we also. Wear matching hats?”

Vaggie: “Of course we’re wearing matching hats. This is supposed to be a fancy date right?”

Charlie: “Very. Very fancy.”

Vaggie: “Well nothing’s fancier than hats."

Charlie: "WHEEE! With flowers on them, yeah!?"

Vaggie: "Have I ever let you down?”

Charlie: “Never.”

Vaggie: “And do you promise not to bring me anymore demonic flowers or singing quartets?”

Charlie: “… I’ll do my best.”

Vaggie: “Perfect.”

Vaggie: “…”

Vaggie: “I wouldn’t say no to a few more of those cookies though-”

Charlie: “NO.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, they were good.”

Charlie: “No. Absolutely no, I am NOT poisoning you on purpose. Not even if you ask me nicely and pout about it like that.”

Vaggie: “You deny the cookies?”

Charlie: “Don’t even start-”

Vaggie: “Girlfriend abuse. Toxic relationship alert.”

Charlie: “Those 'cookies' were the MOST TOXIC THING that our relationship has EVER seen!”

Vaggie: “They were made with love.”

Charlie: “And likely heavy metals? The fact that you willingly ate them is maybe the most WORRYING thing our relationship has ever seen…”

Vaggie: “Cough exorcist lie cough cough.”

Charlie: “Totally different. That didn’t put you in active danger-”

Niffty: “SPEAKING OF DANGER!”

Chaggie: (screaming)

Niffty: “My murder plant babies are in danger.”

Vaggie: “HOW can- how can those things BE in danger?”

Charlie: “NIFFTY PLEASE! The knocking?? The not dropping from air vents???”

Niffty: “Only in emergencies, I remember! This is an emergency. Husk is feeding himself to my murder plan babies.”

Vaggie: “Why.”

Niffty: “Escaping nurse Angel Dust and unnecessary CPR.”

Charlie: “Oh for-”

Vaggie: “Let him. They won’t kill him. Permanently, anyway.”

Charlie: “…. Hm.”

Niffty: “What if my murder babies get food poisoning from second hand bad cookies?”

Vaggie: “Seek revenge for them or something?”

Niffty: “OoooOOOH!”

Niffty: (scuttles away cackling)

Charlie: “Oh noooo, you’ve given her an idea-”

Vaggie: “Too late to stop her now. C’mon.” (grabbing charlie’s hand) “Make a break for our room before anyone else-”

Cherri Bomb: “Hey girls! Uh, you were planning on making a pit for a hotel swimming pool, right? Like, one already kinda full of blood? Right out back? Right???”

Chaggie: “….”

Charlie: “… Hello~! Charlie and Vaggie can’t be reached at the moment!”

Vaggie: “We’ll be out all night.”

Cherri Bomb: “And the pool of blood-?”

Charlie: “So please leave a message at the sound of the beep!”

Vaggie: “Beeeeep.” (at charlie) “Run.”

Charlie: (scooping up vaggie) “My legs are longer-”

Vaggie: “Brilliant thinking sweetie now GO GO GO!!!”

Chaggie: (flees)

Cherri Bomb: “…..”

Cherri Bomb: “They take the u-haul thing seriously, huh.”

-their room-

Charlie: “….Vaggie.”

Vaggie: “Yeah?”

Charlie: “Stop it.”

Vaggie: “Stop what?”

Charlie: “Vaggie.”

Vaggie: “Mmm?”

Charlie: “…..”

Charlie: “…..fine, FINE!” (groaning) “I’ll see about salvaging the burnt remains of the evil cursed cookie recipe when we get back. Now will you PLEASE stop messing with your flawless hair and put the dress on? Or anything!? Anything being put on would be good now too!”

Vaggie: (smiling) “No idea what you mean babe, but alright.” (quietly to herself) “Mission success.”

Charlie: “I heard that.”

-exiting hotel-

Vaggie: “Almost there.”

Charlie: “Oh please my dad who’s probably in a pile of duckies, please just let us make it out the d-”

(horrific screaming from deeper inside hotel)

Charlie: “…..”

Vaggie: “….”

Charlie: “We didn’t hear that.”

Vaggie: “We kinda already did, sweetie.”

Charlie: “No.” (pouting) “No. We can hear it when we get back.”

Vaggie: “Fine by me.”

Charlie: (SIGHING) “Even though we’re gonna hear allllll about not hearing it when we get back...”

Vaggie: “Worth it.”

Charlie: (grinning) “Think so?”

Vaggie: “Do you?”

Charlie: (already tugging them out the door by their entwined hands) “More than worth it.” (lifts and twirls vaggie down the hotel steps) “Whooosh!”

Vaggie: “Oh is THIS why you really wanted me in a fancy dress? For the ‘whoosh’?”

Charlie: “That, and for the way you smile when I whoosh you~”

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #incorrect quotes #silly ridiculous fluff #they need a date night i swear they need at least ONE

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