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bunnyinfoxclothing · 3 months ago

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Obedient Exorcists Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | (you are here) | It will arrive

If you thought it was angsty before. Hahahaha

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She had hoped that if she reached the hotel before Charlie, she could get all the weapons setting inside, send the Carmine workers on their way, then find a way to hide her wings.

Truth be told. In the deep folds of her brain, she had known hiding her wings wouldn't be possible. And even deeper still, she was prepared to take her spear to them.

She wasn't living with Charlie anymore anyway. She had hidden being an angel for years. She could hide a back injury for a few weeks.

But the two women arrived at the same time. And Vaggie stood there unsure how to proceed.

She had written thousands of apologies notes during her time alone. None of them were good enough. She wasn't good enough. Charlie probably couldn't even look at her.

Vaggie was prepared to say an apology. A simple sorry. Something that Charlie had preached since the beginning of the hotel. Then she would take care of the Carmines and leave Charlie to settle in the cannibals.

Then Charlie pulls out the shrunken head.

And everything changes.

It's a perfect mix of the two of them. The red circle cheeks. The purple skin. The permanent smile. The red bow.

It was what Vaggie imagined their children would look like. Except less shrunken, sewn, and hopefully dead. (if it so much as twitched Vaggie doesn't think she will ever sleep again.)

Vaggie finds herself tucked into Charlie arms and everything feels fine again. They walk into the hotel and their friends haven't let them. Vaggie packs away the weapons and shakes hands with Carmilla's girls with a promise that she will return again. Then returns to help Charlie check in the cannibals.

The lobby is alight in so much activity it is blinding. There are so many people talking and enjoying the hotel. Husk has brought out his bartending moves and began mixing drinks like a true entertainer. Angel not far behind, with his flirting with husk, becoming a bit of a show for onlookers.

Nifty zipped through the crowd ensuring she was the only tripping hazard around. Even Alastor seemed to be enjoying the space, talking with his overlord friend.

And Charlie.

Charlie had stars in her eyes. Wetness peaking just at the corners. And the biggest smile that Vaggie had ever seen. (bigger than anything she had been able to produce)

Vaggie knew why.

She could see it.

This was Charlies dream. A hotel so full of people all of them united, and not trying to kill each other. It wasn't far off from her dream of redeeming mass amounts of sinners. This was a sneak peak into Charlie's dream. Fully realized.

Fully accomplished.

And she had done it on her own.

Charlie brought the cannibals.

Charlie wanted Alastor, and got Husk and Nifty as an addition.

Charlie wanted Angel and Sir Pentious.

Charlie had made all of this possible for herself.

Vaggie brought weapons.

Vaggie brought violence and bloodshed and the death of thousands who could have been saved.

Charlie retires before Vaggie, going to her room, getting some rest. Offering Vaggie only a smile from across the room as she heads upstairs.

Vaggie, not having been invited, stays.

While checking in cannibals, Charlie had never asked her to return the room key. Nobody was logged into the logbook for that room, not even her. And yet there wasn't a single question.

So, when everything is over and everyone has gone to bed, she heads to her own room.

Suddenly, nothing is fixed. The keychain in her pocket. The item representing her and Charlie's relationship feels like a noose. A message signed with the picture of a guillotine.

Vaggie can only empty her stomach.

She washes up and with a pain in her heart and gut, she goes to bed.

When she wakes up, she decides it's best to take a flight. She hopes a stretch will help sooth the pain that had come from sleeping on her back.

Her wings are weak. They barely get her to the roof before her lungs are puffing with exhaustion.

It's quiet on the roof.

Just like it always has been.

It's nothing like flying. It's nothing like heaven. It's nothing like anything.

And for Vaggie that's okay.

She enjoys the wind, even if it is humid heat against her face. She enjoys the view. Sinner on sinner crime at the break of dawn. Even though the crime had never ended to begin with.

The blood curdling screams make her wonder, if she screams would anyone hear? She hopes no. She could find herself a nice alleyway and scream her head off. Curse herself for every having existed. For ever falling in someones way.

For ever tainting Charlie's dreams with her face. For ever tainting heaven with her creation. She was proof that not everyone can be forgiven. Not everyone is worth redemption. She was proof that God made mistakes. That not all of his creations were loved.

She was the flaw in every plan.

Charlie finds her on the roof and all thoughts stop.

"How long have you been up here? You never came to bed... at least I don't think you did... did you? i'm sorry."

Vaggie is left reeling. What could Charlie ever have to apologize for? Did she miss something? Did Charlie want her to come to her room? Did Charlie want to talk to her about something? Did Vaggie accidentally ignore her?

Vaggie considers how to respond. How to tell Charlie she didn't know she was allowed to see Charlie again.

But Charlie is already onto a different topic. She talks about how great it is to have so many bodies in the hotel. She talks about the Carmine weapons, and the overlords kindness.

She talks about the sky, how nice Hell looks outside. And that's when Vaggie's traitorous mouth finds the words it was looking for ages ago.

"I fell asleep."

Charlie, of course, looks absolutely confused. Then assumes Vaggie meant last night and launches into an entire apology about the cannibals and how impolite it was not to ask anyone if they were comfortable sharing a roof together.

Guilt twists in Vaggie's chest. She had lied to Charlie again. It wasn't on purpose, but she didn't correct her.

Still Vaggie steels herself for tonight, where she assumes she and Charlie will finally talk.

The day goes by with Charlie attempting to see if any of the cannibals would even think about joining them full time. And no she does not mean the staff. All while Vaggie sets about getting everyone their own weapons.

It was nice having a menial task to do. No emotions. Nothing deep to think about. Just logic, and war.

This is what she was built for.

She makes incredible progress, only getting a select few weapons returned with the suggestion to make them special order.

Apparently too many people heard her with the Carmine girls and decided that she would be the perfect 'currier pigeon' for their weapon needs.

She tries not to be offended by the new nicknames.

pigeon

hot wings

feathers

bird brain

They all seemed to revolve around her new appendages.

A part of her missed the lewd renditions of her name Angel used to throw her way.

She gave everyone a quick safety brief on angelic weapons before deciding to end the day early. She would go to the Carmines with the requests in the morning.

Charlie took her by the hand and brought her to her room. A room they once shared.

She felt a bit of warmth seeing her stuff, still in its rightful places. She let a hand caress a few trinkets. Gifts from Charlie from their earlier stages of dating all til...

She reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out the shrunken head from yesterday. It felt wrong to carry it now. So she placed it amongst her collection.

A hand snaked it's way around her waist and she was pulled flush against Charlie.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Charlie continued on. Listing every little aspect of Vaggie she missed. Her scent. Her warmth. Her smile and smirks. Her sarcastic jokes. Her protective aura. Her loving kisses. Her eye that was only ever soft when gazing upon her.

Charlie let herself ramble on and on while holding Vaggie.

Vaggie felt nothing.

Vaggie felt less than nothing.

And that made her feel guilty.

All while Charlie continued to sing her praises, Vaggie could only feel the pressure on her wings, which quickly morphed into irritation the longer Charlie persisted.

She thought to Charlie's last few wishes. To be left alone. To have her sent off to the Carmines.

The look on Charlies face had been so empty. So full of hate that she had been willing to die for the girl in front of her.

Yet, this moment directly contrasted all of that.

Vaggie felt angry.

and that made her feel guilty.

Charlie had saved her life. Charlie had given her a purpose. A reason to live. If Charlie wanted to change the rules and orders she had previously set, then that was fine.

Charlie started slow, taking Vaggie's clothes off piece by piece.

It wasn't sexual, Vaggie knew when Charlie wanted more from a night together, even their gentle nights weren't like this. This was a sensual whisper of 'I missed you'.

This was I want skin on skin contact.

This was the closeness of a baby just after birth. When skin contact was vital for helping regulate temperature, heartbeat, breathing and connection.

This felt like life or death.

But only to Vaggie.

Charlie continued to whisper all the aspects she loved about Vaggie, moving from physical features to personality traits, to weird quirks.

Vaggie felt naked and scared. The words washed over her, but nothing soaked through. Her heart rate increased as she began to panic.

The closeness felt suffocating.

She should tell Charlie to stop. That she wasn't ready for any amount of emotional or physical closeness yet.

But the rules were changing.

Charlie was deciding which rules stuck. What if she no longer wanted Vaggie thoughts or opinions? She had filled the hotel on her own. Vaggie's opinion wasn't worth much anyway.

What if this was a couple clearing of the board? No rules no orders.

When Charlie brought her to bed, she finally seemed to notice the heart hammering against Vaggie's chest.

"Shhhh. It's okay, we're not doing anything tonight. You can relax. Tell me what's wrong."

Vaggie opened her mouth but nothing came out. It was an order. To tell her what was wrong. But did Charlie want the truth? Did she want half truth sounding board Vaggie? Did she want the softened words of girlfriend Vaggie? Did she want the rough uncaring truth of first found Vaggie?

The safest option was to ask.

"What do you want me to say?"

There were a few seconds of silence. Vaggie looked up to see a confused and slightly hurt look on Charlie's face. She had chosen wrong.

"The truth? Always the truth. Please, I can't- don't- don't lie to me again."

Vaggie nodded. Going with the most honest answer she could come up with.

"I don't know."

She doesn't know what's wrong. She doesn't know why she's bad at obeying. She doesn't know what the rules are anymore. She doesn't know what Charlie wants from her. She doesn't know why she feels suffocated in the arms of someone she once never wanted to leave. She doesn't know what's wrong with her.

Charlie sighs. She's disappointed in Vaggie again.

We can talk more about it after the battle.

There's a time limit now. Vaggie can feel it. She used to be so good at being hotel manager. She used to be so good at commanding respect. She used to be so good at being Charlie girlfriend.

Since they visited heaven she has done nothing but fail at all of these.

And now...

her and Charlie are over.

Vaggie doesn't sleep. Vaggie doesn't cry. Vaggie doesn't even think. Vaggie lays there and listens to Charlie quiet snores and lets herself get pulled into tighter snuggles. Vaggie ignores the burning in her back as her wings scream out. Vaggie doesn't do anything.

The arms around her body won't let her.

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year ago

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the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

masterlist | join my taglist

The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather.

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering.

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity.

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.”

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.”

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area.

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera.

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!”

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world.

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!”

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows.

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more.

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one.

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.”

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly.

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue.

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer.

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.”

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?”

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm.

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table.

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer.

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more.

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?”

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…”

“Hey, dad?”

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…”

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated.

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over.

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

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