#when you're standing in the mirror questioning the substance of your own reflection

[saferincages]

monsters are always hungry, darling, and they’re only a few steps behind you, finding the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren’t stitched up quite right, the place they could almost slip right through if the skin wasn’t trying to keep them out - Richard Siken

Dean as a myth, an aberration, a whisper in the dark. ~ for @celebratingdean, and week one’s theme of vampirism ♥

(“The Dean Winchester? Aren’t you dead?...” “It didn’t take.”)

The first time the idea of vampires as a threat is introduced to the Winchesters’ story, they practically scoff in their disbelief. Of all the supernatural entities they’d already encountered, vampires are the first ones that, if not entirely imaginary, certainly were thought to be extinct. There's a fascination to it - how could these things be real? - that is interestingly reflected in what Dean himself has become. His very name transcends reality when he crosses certain paths. He is alternately envied and coveted by those he confronts. A legend only confirmed to exist in small circles, a figure who endures as both hunter and prey, dancing in the margins of the living and the dead.

In a haze of grief and survivor’s guilt, vampires begin to represent growing shades of gray, that a story may not always be what it seems, that the brutality of human beings can out-monster the monsters themselves, that morality is infinitely complex. Later, when Dean is briefly turned, the horror is very pointed, cast in mirrors, in silhouettes, in betrayals.

“The vampire is an outsider. He’s the perfect metaphor for those things...someone who doesn’t belong anywhere, yet longs to be part of something and gravitates to other outcasts of his own kind.” (x)

Though vampires are outsiders, they often have the gift of disguise, easily blending in, having no choice but to eternally adapt, to shift and adjust to mortal change, much like Dean is able to rearrange himself for a given situation, to fit himself into essential molds only to break out of them again. It’s a talent, never quite conforming, yet possessing awareness and empathy that allows you to slip in and out of society, of time. An outsider that can easily transfigure to fit in is brilliant and terrifying, seductive and ambiguous. Dean is positioned as bait on more than one occasion (not only with vampires), and there’s a lot that could be unpacked in those instances about his agency and his relation to himself as an entity, but use of his body isn’t always a negative connotation. Dean physically becomes a vessel to lift a vampire out of purgatory, and Benny becomes a friend and confidant, someone he knows he can rely on because they understand one another on a fundamental level, because they’ve experienced loss and subsisted on the fringes of life in similar ways. When they meet Alex, her abuse and her complicity echoes Dean’s viscerally (x). Every vampire narrative has furthered his multifacetedness, stripping away certain masks he wears while ornamenting others, exposing where he’s ragged and worn, revealing his unexpected softness, underscoring his tenacious survival.

Emblematically, vampires are a monster that have been used in a particularly reflective way for Dean and his tumultuous relationships with both himself and with his familial dynamics. In stories, we usually think of vampires now as aesthetically beautiful, but they began as frightful anomalies, and as those cadaverous qualities have changed into attractive appeal, the stark fear has turned into an inner examination instead. SPN has created its own version of those legends, but the essence remains. The self-loathing; the insular quality of belonging in a family with a secret, trapped on the edges of the night; the lure of violence disguised as necessity, as protection, as righteousness. There's an element to him that's mythic and enigmatic in a kindred sense. Beautiful but deadly, like light glinting off the blade of a knife; capable and gifted despite hating what you are. He’s been pulled back from the maw of death so many times, but he experienced a multitude of smaller metaphorical deaths long before a grave was dug, and he continues to carry their accumulations; and when the earth briefly claimed him, he defied the natural order by clawing his way back out and into the scorching sun. 

Vampires consistently serve as a symbol of allurement and yet terrible danger, a twist in essential humanity, burdened with heightened emotions and senses that can either overwhelm or become apathy, defying death and yet forever mired in it - and there are aspects of those qualities that Dean has either been forced to assume or has taken on as transformation when necessary. Temptation and hunger, longing and absence; the penance you pay in guilt for your bloodlust, the ability to unflinchingly tear at the seams of your world while still imbuing it with devotion and love; being more alive than one should be, and yet too dead to be considered whole at the same time. There's such a wealth of parallel and paradox in those comparisons, the contrast of romanticism and terror, heroism and transgression, of what it means to make the decisions that control those urges, of the schism between the persuasive physical aspects of oneself and the hope of an immutable soul, of believing in nothing and yet still raising your voice in prayer. There’s more than one kind of vampire, and ultimately literal fangs aren’t the only way to be drained. That yearning void lurks on his heels, in his hands, caresses his shoulders, aims for his chest. How do you move forward in the world when it’s a constant fight, when even your memories have savage teeth? How do you reconcile the blood on your hands with the tender compassion of a beating heart?

Dean bears those aspects of himself as he bears the weight of everything, with a blend of enticing ferocity and stoic grace; brightly burning and alive, yet hollowed and haunted by the shadow of death.

[jamespotterthefirst]

The Viper (AU: Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Words: 1.5 K Warning: Cursing. Mentions of s e x Summary: Detective Ramsey is a step closer to capturing a notorious criminal. If only Miss Allende, a key witness, would cooperate.

Author’s Note: I am an idiot because the beautiful @beastlyinstrument sent me this AU prompt and I didn't know I was to write a fic. Anyway, once I caught on, I got right to work on this lol. Thank you so much for the prompt! Thank you immensely to @aestheticartsx for pre-reading!

When Ethan awoke that morning, he couldn't possibly predict he'd be punching Declan Nash square in the jaw. It was a long standing fantasy of his and finally, in the crowded, smoke-filled bar, Ethan had found a good enough excuse to do it. One minute, the lecherous pig was forcing his company on the visibly distressed blonde, the next Ethan was shoving him away and punching him with such spectacular force that Nash flew back into a storm of glasses, bottles, and furniture.

Ethan also never imagined his hand, red and swollen from the satisfying impact against Nash's leering face, would be tended to in a desolate dressing room by the loveliest woman he had ever set eyes on. Then again, his mind would require an exceptional measure of talent to invent the perfect arch of her brows, the graceful slope of her nose, the lush swell of her lips. And those eyes— almond-shaped, bright, and the most captivating shade of green imaginable.

Alluring green eyes that were currently meeting his, sending his pulse into an elated flutter.

“All better,” she informed him in that caress of a voice.

Something about the spark in her eyes as she watched him put in a comfortable and flirtatious lull, so much unlike his usual self. The same warm ease had blossomed in his chest when his eyes met hers from across the bar only minutes ago.

“Are you certain you're not a doctor, Miss…”

“Allende,” she supplied, red lips curling into a coy smile. “And no doctors here, just years of experience cleaning up messes. Though if they all looked as handsome as you, I wouldn't mind patching them up.”

She punctuated the heady little pronouncement with a wink that almost made his breath hitch. Ethan's good hand twitched at his side just as she moved away to a vanity. All he could do was watch as she placed herself in front of the lighted mirror, reapplying her lipstick with skilled precision.

“So what brings you here, Detective Ramsey? Don't tell me you just stopped by to defend my honor from the likes of Declan Nash.”

“Though an honorable pursuit, that's not the reason for my visit,” he said, their eyes meeting through the mirror. “I'm here to investigate the Kenmore bank robbery from two nights ago.”

Miss Allende hummed in acknowledgement but added nothing more.

“A reliable source claimed I could come here to find all the information I needed about the Viper.”

She raised her perfectly shaped brows at him.

“You think the Viper is a regular here?”

“It's what I'm here to find out.”

There was a pause in which she realized his intent. To his surprise, she laughed.

“And you think I'm the one who's going to rat the Viper out?”

When Ethan said nothing, only held her gaze steadily, she laughed even more still. This time, Ethan could hear an edge to the sound, something akin to fear.

“I'm not that keen on making enemies, Detective.”

In the silence that followed, she carefully brushed the platinum blonde curls that cascaded down to her shoulders. Those green eyes remained fixed on her reflection, and something told him she was studiously avoiding his eye. His instinct told him she was afraid, despite how masterfully she tried to hide it under the flirtatious veil. To his astonishment, his stomach clenched unpleasantly, the urge to protect her tightening his jaw.

Before he could think of a tactful way to continue his questioning, she rose to her feet, smoothing the front of the black dress clinging to her skin. “Now, if that was everything, Detective Ramsey, I really must be getting back to the bar. I'm due on stage in less than ten minutes.”

Ethan intercepted her before he could stop himself as she moved to the door.

“Please, Miss Allende—”

“Lilac.”

“What?”

“My name. You can call me Lilac.”

“That's—”

Beautiful.

He had never heard anything like it.

“Lilac. Anything you might know about the criminal known as the Viper will be of great help.”

Lilac paused, studying his expression for any trustworthiness she could cling on to. Ethan gazed back, acutely aware of how close their faces were in the silence. Something slipped in her guarded expression, revealing a small hint of vulnerability.

At last, she sighed.

“I can't,” she said in a quiet voice. “I'm not—”

“I will protect you.”

Lilac startled at that, as though she had seldom heard the words before. She swallowed, her gaze holding his as she considered his offer, something heavy and tangible pressing into the small space that separated them.

“You offering to be my bodyguard, Detective?” she asked in a sultry voice, the words dripping from her lips like honey. She added a coquettish smile for good measure, leaving no doubt that the mask was securely back into place. “I accept, but you don't need the job title to press me against a wall with your body.”

Ethan had no hope of pushing his point as a crimson nail traced the outline of his jaw. The slow, lazy line made his breath hitch, his mind racing with thoughts of her tight little body flush against his.

Fuck the wall.

He could bend her over that vanity, forcing her to look at him through the mirror as she whimpered his name.

Lilac shifted closer to him still, lips parted as her finger descended down his neck. The intent in her gaze told him she wanted the same thing. Ethan leaned in to capture her lips but something in the mirror caught his attention and made him pause.

Lilac blinked at him, befuddled by his sudden stony expression.

“What?”

Ethan said nothing, observing the stain on the skin of her back. It was insignificant, otherwise imperceptible if not by the slight shift in the fabric of her dress.

Yet, there it was, as present as any hard evidence he might find.

“You missed a spot.”

Lilac stepped away from him, puzzled.

“What are—”

“Tar is notoriously difficult to get off the skin, isn't it, Miss Allende?” His voice grew icier with every word. “But you knew that. Hell, you knew that two nights ago when you slipped on the Kenmore rooftop during the chase.”

“Fuck!” the masked figure had hissed as they hit the black substance coating part of the roof.

She continued to back away. “I don't know what—”

“Tell me, Miss Allende, did you research Kenmore before you decided to strike?”

“You're—”

“Did you know the rooftops were under construction before you led us up there in your hasty little escape attempt?”

Lilac finally halted her steps, keeping her eyes trained on Ethan.

Something shifted in her expression, like a mask falling to the floor.

Then, she smiled wickedly at Ethan.

“Very good, Detective Ramsey. Maybe you are as good as they say you are.”

There was a pronounced silence, steely blue eyes boring into effervescent green ones. In a blinding motion, they both moved—Ethan to restrain, Lilac to evade.

Their bodies were a flurry of limbs moving to strike or to defend. The furniture in the small dressing stood no chance against their skill, which Ethan was surprised to find Lilac possessed. She moved with admirable grace and precision for someone wearing stilettos and a confining, skin-tight dress. It didn't stop her from aiming a high kick at his head, which Ethan barely dodged.

“You're under arrest,” he grunted when he pushed her against a wall.

Lilac laughed in his face, her crimson lips only inches from his.

“You're cute when you're confident, Ramsey.”

In a swift movement, she freed her body from his hold, light and unassailable like the waters of a raging river.

More swirls of movement as they struck, blocked, and kicked, each paired with a breathless grunt or swear. At last, just as his technique descended into sloppiness, Ethan managed to press her against the wooden tiles of the floor. His hands pinned her wrists above her head, his knees digging securely against her hips.

“How did you know?” she asked between pants, still donning a devious smile despite her position. “That this is my favorite position to be in?”

Ethan stiffened as he held her, unable to look away from the rise and fall of her chest. It struck him then how fighting her was not unlike fucking her, just how they wanted only minutes ago. Before he could reign his thoughts in, she freed her legs, hitched them on his hips, and reversed their positions with trained strength and agility.

“Or maybe me on top is better?” she asked thoughtfully.

Ethan grunted, moving to free himself from her grasp, but she was surprisingly strong.

“It's a shame you're a damn good detective,” she continued. “We would've had so much fun together.”

As Ethan unsuccessfully tried to free himself, he saw Lilac's hands delve into her blonde curls until she removed what he now knew to be a wig. A downpour of glossy, dark hair fell past her shoulders, reminiscent of the dark braid he thought he saw in the darkness on the night of the chase. Even struggling and breathless as he was, his traitorous mind couldn't help but recognize how much lovelier she looked with dark hair.

“You'll never get away, Viper.”

Lilac laughed out loud at the use of the moniker, which felt so ill fitted.

“Even as talented as you are, I'm afraid you don't have all the facts yet.” She pressed a hot, languid kiss to his neck before using his own handcuffs to bind him to a nearby pipe. “But something tells me you'll get there soon enough.”

With one last charming smile, she rearranged her dark hair, hoisted herself onto the window, and vanished into the night.

_________________________

Author's Note: Y'all I don't know what this was lol. Thank you so much for reading this! It was so much fun!

A few notes:

The next chapter of my OH3 AU is almost done. Yay!

I'm almost caught up with replies and reading all the fics I missed out on the week I was gone. Double yay!

And (not to jinx myself) but I might finally sit my butt down to complete the next chapter of the Picta series (ages later oops)

Thank you everyone for being here, despite it being almost a month the OPH ended :( Love you guys!

*tags in a reblog

[katsukikitten]

Part 10 of Irritated. Y'all thank Jo for this being updated lol.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ This is an 18+ Pro Hero AU, mentions of violence and death. Enjoy

The pungent smell of wet Earth and nose burning chemicals did not pair well with the harsh scent of rotting fruit. Sickeningly sweet as it rouses you, mind hazed as your eyelids refuse to open or even flutter. Weighted by lead and an endless sleep that tries to pull you under again. For once you submit.

More time passes, although you aren’t even sure you understand the concept any longer as that same smell stirs you again, a bang from an adjacent room pushes your eyes to flutter. Flashes of light against the start darkness before your eyes adjust to the low light of the room that seeps in from a few small rectangular windows. The panes are caked with dust while bricks are pressed into the seedy Earth, giving the room a natural coolness, there is only one set of stairs that lead up towards a door outlined in light. The sound of running water makes your throat constrict and your mouth dry, as if you swallowed cotton whole. Making you wonder just how long you had been pulled undertow. It takes your throbbing head a moment to catch up with your senses as a chill settles over your bare skin in goose flesh.

And then it all comes flooding back, the awful taste of his salty skin in your mouth, the fear gripping at your muscles as you finally realize that you are not in the safety of your apartment but somewhere forgein. Thrashing to get to your feet only to hit hard onto the icy concrete, wrists and ankles bound by white cuffs, a small whine escapes your raw throat. Your heart hammers in your chest before you feel a sharp prick in both of your wrists. A warm substance floods your system as your eyelids become heavy, mind trudging through abduction procedures before settling on blissful numb. A blurry figure comes from the only other door in the room that isn’t atop the staircase. You don’t need to fully focus on his face to know exactly what color his eyes are as they burn into your retinas before sleep hushes your frayed nerves. You dream of all consuming green that slowly fades to black.

Bakugou finds himself standing in the kitchen of his apartment, your spare key stares up at him from your paperwork. A sweating glass with melting ice and the reminisce of an amber liquid is his only company. He leers down at the address, wondering why the hell you were on such a seedy side of town, then he thinks of you shaking on the couch back at the hotel during the convention. His stomach churns, your final words and blow cause him to suck his teeth.

“Not my fucking problem.” He huffs to himself, refilling the glass before killing the light in the kitchen to settle on the couch. His grip is too tight on the crystal glass in his explosive palm, the glass threatens to shatter while an infomercial plays in the background. His mind is anywhere but the TV while indestructible pans are advertised across the large screen. Aggressively swirling the amber liquid as his thoughts become more and more loud. He swallows the whisky whole and with it the thought of you. Letting it all burn as it runs down his throat and heats his chest, a warm feeling flooding his veins as he sinks lower into the couch. Flipping channels as he forgets you.

Your key taped to your personal records, that Bakugou stole, do not sit on his fine counter much longer, soon it is swiped and shoved into a pocket. He slams the crystal glass on the counter as he reaches for his own apartment keys and his cellphone. Bakgou slams his apartment door, locking the deadbolt before he rushes down the stairs to catch the last train to you hellish part of the city.

The hour train ride sobers Bakugou and only sets him into further agitation. Glaring at anyone who thinks to look at him more than once, even going as far as baring his teeth. Before glaring at his own reflection, who sneers right back. His black tee is tight and a bit damp despite the cool air, the brim of his backwards cap pulls the hair away from his forehead as his faded sides breathe in the chill of the train. The hat, an excuse to hold in his hair, his hero gloves heating his hands as his fingers twitch, he hopes your apartment is hardwood throughout since he didn't have plastic bags to put his feet in while he looked for something. Anything. He was doing the best with what he had.

But the more he looks at himself the more he realizes he never really was doing his best. At least not when it came to you.

The address to your apartment complex is a few blocks away from the train station, his jaw clenched as he reaches the low lit building. Screaming comes from somewhere far off, his ears perk out of habit, but he was supposed to be off duty right now. Plus that wasn’t his current focus, not to mention should he help it would be suspicious as fuck as to why he was so far way from home tonight. He bounds up the stairs in the dank stairwell two at a time, huffing through his nose as he reaches the top floor. The carpet is worn threadbare and reeks of vomit and water damage. Silence envelopes the top floor compared to the yelling and crashing items on his way up. Slowly it dawns on him that you’re most likely renting out the entire fucking floor. He sucks his teeth, leaning in close to the door of the first apartment on the floor. Nothing comes from the other side of the thin cheap door, musty air flows from between the cracks as if the room had been closed for quite some time. It confirms what he’s been thinking. He finds your apartment door with ease, several bolts and locks lined up perfectly straight. He looks down at the one key and thinks about what happened in the short few years you started at the agency that you would need five, no six additional deadbolts on your door. He half wishes you hadn't made it so obvious as to which door was yours, thoughts creep into the forefront of his mind as he imagines someone else standing in his spot now. He thinks he will need a locksmith, but that would call attention to himself, he could attempt to pick them but he never really had time to practice the shady skill. Just as he is about to turn to brute force as the answer he notices that your door doesn't seem fully shut. He thinks of all the times that you bitched while on patrol about your damn door and how you had to literally slam it shut for it to actually lock. Gritting his teeth he gently pushes the door open with his gloved hand letting it swing open with an eerie creak.

Already things are out of place. Your suitcase stands alone, untouched and obviously unpacked from the clothes peeking out from beneath the zipper, by the front door. Your lanyard for your keys is on the floor instead of the table that is in the foyer and the converse you were wearing the day that you quit are missing. Faintly something gleems in the grainy light from the hallway from beneath the table in the foyer. Bakugou reaches for it tentatively, teeth gritting as he realizes what the glass rectangle is.

Your phone.

Specifically, your dead phone.

His hand hover over the unresponsive screen before deciding to leave it, this would be evidence they would need later but for now he knew he had to do something. Kamisama takes pity on the poor bastard and throws him a bone in the shape of a scrunchie. Your black scrunchie that seems to have been ripped from your arm. As he reaches for it he notices the faint residue smeared on the hardwood. His mind dredges up weeks ago of the guy trying to hide his quirk. Of the carpet by the hotel door in the hall just a touch darker.

He should have fucking killed him, he should not have listened to you. He snatches the scrunchie, heading towards your kitchen to look for a bag, tupperware, anything to trap the smell of you and possibly your assailant. He finds a plastic sandwich bag, shoving the broken hair tie into the baggie before sealing it shut. He heads for your door thinking better of slamming it shut in case he needs to return without the calvary. Pulling his phone from his pocket he dials an old number from memory, the other line picks up.

"Oi, it's time I cashed in on that favor you owe me."

After the short conversation and the long hour and a half in the cold a four door sudan pulls up to the train station by your house. Bakugou eagerly yanks open passenger side door, slamming it shut as he cranks of the heat in the car, giving the driver no room for questions let alone a greeting.

"Oi, I need you to find the owner of this." He flashes the scrunchie as the driver gives him a look, "Inu, you're hound's son aren't you? It's not impossible."

"It might as well be dude. What is this?" Inu snatches the bag from hot fingers, "Do you even know when the last time the owner wore this. And what exactly are we doing? Is this even fucking official?"

Bakugou narrows his eyes, mouth set in a harsh snarl as he leans in close to the driver's seat while Inu leans back.

"I dunno was your shit I helped you with official? Was it ethical for us to take out a mob boss for your now ex wife?"

Inu looks away into the rear view mirror, eyes boring holes into the glass and the blankets in the back seat. Bakugou doesn't notice, he takes it as admission before leaning away into the passenger seat.

"Now get to sniffing." Inu grits his teeth at the hot head's comments before sighing out. Opening the bag just a little to take a whiff. The smell was faint, indicating a large gap from the time it was last worn to now. Not to mention there was an odd smell, so unbelievably faint in the fabric that had Inu not already known what you smelt like he would have missed it. Just barely he could make out past the notes of your shampoo a salty harsh smell, almost like a preservative. Had it been any stronger it would have burned his nostrils. Sweat and...was that formaldehyde?

His stomach churns, slowly closing the baggie before cracking his window, catching the wind just right. He follows his nose, head halfway out the window as the car carries the men late into the night, all the way to the fringes of a suburb that was partly in the country. Inu parks the car on the wide street of the little neighborhood built to mimic an American suburb in the nineties. Homes of various sizes spread out and yet not too far from one another.

"This is it." Inu announces, throwing the car in park as it sits nestled between a beat to hell pick up truck and a dented sudan.

"You're sure?" Bakugou asks as he takes in the old home, it's upkeep is minimal at best, landscaping border line over grown as he can barely make out the small rectangular windows at the base of the house beneath the old dim street lamp.

"This is where both smells get stronger."

"Both?" A tic wounds tighter in Bakugou's jaw while a tremor runs through his arms. Inu nods as Bakugou reaches for the knob.

"Woah, woah!" Inu's large hand clamps down onto a broad shoulder, "Hold up man, if she really is involved then this is nothing like the sting we did bro. We need to call someone."

"Like fucking who?"

"I dunno Director Yami?"

"Yea so he can dismiss this again? Fuck that and fuck you. I'm going." He shoves Inu away reaching for the door again before the blankets in the back seat come to life. A mop of emerald curls with concern plastered across the giant's face appears to Bakugou's horror.

"Kaachan...you can't. We need to do this right, for her." And with that Bakugou snaps, lunging for his old friend, enemy. Climbing past the center console with his hands outstretched before they wrap around a thick column squeezing with all of his might. Deku doesn't do much to stop him, somehow knowing deep down that it isn't really him that the red eyed man wants to kill. He wraps broad hands around thick forearms giving them a gentle squeeze, he could snap them with One for All if he wanted. Instead Inu barks out a breathy "What the fuck?" as he wraps his arms around Bakugou's torso pulling him back into the passenger's seat. In the tussle either Bakugou or Inu hit the horn, causing Inu to panic as a light comes to life in the once darkened house. He forcefully shoves Bakugou into the front seat as he peels into the street, thankfully without burning rubber.

"Are you trying to blow our fucking cover?!" Inu shouts, "Like fuck! And what's killing Izuku-kun going to do?"

Bakugou turns to glare at the behemoth of a man in the back seat, he rubs his throat as red eyes watch bruises form.

"I'm not sorry Deku, fuck you." But Izuku can read between the lines, Bakugou saying he is sorry but still fuck you for trying to stop me while our friend is most likely on borrowed time.

"'S kay. We can help her."

A honk, rouses you before footsteps can be heard overhead rushing through the house before blinding light floods down into the basement.

"Finally you're awake." He flicks on all the lights, scrambling to put your feet under you so you can at least sit. Eyes flickering over the room as you try to give your throbbing, unresponsive mind to collect something, anything you can store away for later to aid your escape. Meanwhile the green eyed fucker monologues.

"It took some time for me to adjust your dose, I need you to be just under enough that you won't fight back, your heart rate spikes easily you know…." His words are lost to you as you glance over your shoulder only to wish you never did as your stomach churns in horror. Lined up against the wall behind you are women, women you had posed with.

But what haunts you is how it starts with your missing friend. Her eyes hollowed out, pitch black holes stare back at you as her skin looks paper thin, like a botched mummification or that whoever was trying to preserve her got lucky. She is still in her last scene clothes that are bloodied and torn. Your eyes struggling to follow the line as they progressively become more and more preserved, until your eyes finally land on your last instagram picture, you and that young girl. With the peace signs beneath your eyes.

She looks to still be alive, until you realize she is unblinking with glass eyes and a permanent smile with the help of a stich or two.

He notices your rigidness and frowns.

"Are you not happy? It's hard to save the eyes." He forces your face to meet him with his fingers on your skin, "I made them for you. They're your friends right? I wouldn't want my doll to be lonely."

Your breath comes in ragged huffs as rage consumes you, you were going to kill him. With whatever little power you had left, you were going to end him and savor it.

All these lives, twenty, that you could see, lost, because of you and you negligence. Your eyes glow before a prick comes at your wrist, the power dying in your fingers.

"No." You rasp out as your vision begins to fade.

"Ah come on, I just want you to be a wake for just a bit doll. Just a while longer before I make you mine."

Your world plunges into the depths of darkness.

Your dream of the girls behind you, of their scream as their preserved bodies animate, their glass eyes fixated on you as they crawl across the concrete. Their mouths smelling of formatihide and rot as they lean close to you, voices beneath water or worn by gravel.

"You did this. You killed us."

[literary-spirit]

Lessons of Devotion

Chapter 6

Bonnie spent the next several days restoring Rollo's former keep. By the end of the fifth day, she moved in and Queen Aslaug gifted her with a new bed, a table, two chairs, and a large barrel to use for baths. Bjorn gave her bulks of silks, linen, furs, and leather material to fashion a wardrobe that would range from great hall feasts to raiding next spring. For that task, her magic did the bulk of the work. In no time, she had several dresses fashioned after wears she'd seen on the hit television shows Reign, Last Kingdom, and Merlin. She even threw in some retro fits from her time period. For her raiding gear, she went straight Valkyrie from Thor Ragnarök.

She stared down at the leather black raiding outfit she wore, frustrated she couldn't see the gear on her in its entirety. Craning her neck, she looked over her shoulder to see if she could catch a glimpse of her butt. "Damn, wish I had the full-length mirror from home," she mumbled to herself.

Seconds later the mirror materialized in front of her. Her bottom lip kissed the floor. Although the emergence of her mirror from thin air stunned her, the reflection which stared back at her shocked the southern fried shit out of her. Instead of her sassy twenty-seven-year-old self-staring back at her, she was staring at her scared of her own shadow eighteen-year-old senior in high school self. The self who died before she even had the chance to graduate. How? Why? She rubbed a hand over her face, unable to believe the lie her reflection attempted to tell.

A knock sounded at the door and she hurried to cover the mirror with a few bulks of stray fabric. When she turned to answer the knock, Bjorn walked in followed by Torvi and the boys. Bjorn carried a chest, while Torvi held a battle ax and a sheathed sword.

"Bonnie, you fashioned your raider's wear?" Torvi placed the weapons on the table and hurried over to spin her around. "It's made so well, you're barely able to see the stitching. Look, how the chainmail overlays the length of her arms and bosom area. Bonnie you have to make me one. Wait until Lagertha sights this."

As Torvi continued fawning over the raiding outfit, Guthrum rushed over and wound himself around one of Bonnie's legs. Hali, not to be left out, toddled over with his arms raised. Bjorn, who had since place the chest on the table next to the weapons, watched her with a complacent expression locked tight on his face. Conflict, however, incinerated his eyes until they glowed brighter and bluer than a Brazilian sky. One could only imagine the battle which waged inside his head.

"Of course, I'll make one for you," she said as she leaned down to scoop Hali into her arms.

The intensity in Bjorn's eyes doubled, when his gaze traveled over her and Hali, "You'll have to wait until after you give birth to done the garb."

"It's enough to know I'll have it when time comes," Torvi insisted, standing back to stare down the length of Bonnie once more before turning to her husband.

"Bonsie, will you come before slumber to finish the saga about the street rat, and the Jinn?" Guthrum questioned.

Bonnie squatted with Hali still in her arms pecking away at her cheek, "Yes, and if we finish early we can start on a new one."

"Alright," Bjorn said, snapping from whatever mental deliberation he wrestled with to the point of distraction, "help your mother ready the keep for Lagertha's visit on the morrow. We'll fish in the harbor once you've finished."

Torvi and Bjorn exchanged a stare that screamed a thousand words without whispering one. Torvi glanced away first to regard her with warm eyes that put cups of cocoa and comfortable furry slippers to shame, "Will we see you at second meal? Queen Aslaug does enjoy squandering a great amount of your time." She finished with an eyeroll.

"I'll be there," Bonnie smiled, handing Hali back to Torvi.

With that assurance, Torvi nodded and ushered the children from the keep. After the door to the keep closed, Bonnie's gaze moved to Bjorn. He still watched her with eyes that burned her in a place she couldn't even begin to try and soothe. "What troubles you, my protector?"

"You," he straightened from his lean on the wall. With deliberate purpose he crossed the room. "You trouble me. So does your voice that I hear even when you're not near... and your eyes that forces me to misuse time because I'm occupied staring into the trees to find their likeness in hue... but let me not misremember your mouth! For how can I misremember your mouth which tempts and mocks me just so of the point of madness...your hair, in which my hands long to fist themselves...your scent, which intoxicates and besots me until I'm no better than the village drunkard." He paused to lift her onto the table. After cupping her face in his hands he continued, "Everything about you troubles me." He dipped his head to press a lingering kiss to her lips. "And it troubles me that I'm troubled by you. It troubles me that I can't merely make you my concubine because my heart refuses to recognize you as anything other than my wife...my future queen." He kissed her again, this time slipping his tongue between her lips. The taste of him ripped a moan from the bottom of her throat. Without any real thought behind the action, her arms snaked around his neck. "Marry me, Mystical One."

In that moment all she wanted to do was drown in him. To become overwhelmed by the absolute epicness of him. And if she was just a woman and him just a man with a heart equal in measure to the demigod who stood before her, then to him she would submit. Goddess, help her, she'd become his wife and carry a minivan full of children for him. Alas, she wasn't just a woman and he wasn't just a man. They both had roles to roll with and it was too early in the game to allow emotions to get in the way of them achieving the victory history had already saw fit to deny him.

"I'm sorry, Bjorn," she leaned back from his grasp, "I can't."

Several emotions filtered across his face, but the one of pain is the one which stuck with her. "Why? I know you would be my second wife, but you have to know you'd always be first in my heart."

"There's someone else, Bjorn," she said, figuring there was no better time than the present to make Klaus' place in her life known. "There's someone I left behind, who's waiting for me back in my land."

"And he holds your affections?" He backed away from the cradle of her legs. "Even now?"

"He's my family," she said, barely above a whisper.

Bjorn scoffed, before spinning around to stalk toward the door. Opening it, he paused, "Whomever he is, he doesn't deserve you. Anyone who could misplace one as rare and precious as you, doesn't merit the treasure the gods have gifted him." With that said, he left.

Bonnie's eyes closed, and there in silence she allowed the salty liquid droplets of pain to slip freely down her face.

****

"Mother said Bjorn has spoken to her of his plans to marry, Bonnie," Hvitserk said to Ubbe's back as he followed him through the forest.

Ubbe remained silent. He already knew of his older brother's plans to marry his Mystic One. Anyone with sight could bear witness to how taken he was with the girl. Odin's eye, they all were. Her beauty and exoticness was unique to any other in Kattegat. Hel truth be heralded, anyone in all of Norway. Yet, her physical appeal only attracted one's attention, it was everything else about her which intrigued. The whole of her is what provoked many topics of conversations at the long table and had every ear trained on what she would possibly say next.

"Well, she will not have him," Ivar said, while gripping the sides of the wooden plank on which they dragged him. "She will have none of you. You all see the way she gazes upon me, hmm?"

It was true. Whenever in Ivar's presence, she couldn't keep her verdant pigmented eyes from meeting his. The strangest thing. One would think she didn't even see him as a cripple, but instead as an unbroken man who was capable of being her provider and protector.

Sigurd scoffed. "Have you ever even been with a woman, Ivar?"

"Sorry, Little Brother," Hvitserk laughed, leaning down to ruffle Ivar's hair, "Nestled between those dark thighs is my home and I do mean to return to the comforting heat of her hearth."

They reached the edge of the forest which gave way to the cove. Hvitserk was about to pull Ivar out but something with in the falls of the water snared his awareness. He raised a hand to signal for Hvitserk to halt. The shadow in the water moved into view and their collective breaths caught. There in all her bared radiance stood the matter of their debate. Her body was beyond perfection. Even through all the froth lathered over her golden bronzed skin, he could tell her tempting frame was crafted by and for Odin. For what mere mortal man would be worthy of a woman such as her?

"I don't understand?" Ivar mumbled. They turned to see there little brother gawking at the overexaggerated man stand towering in his lap. Fear glistened Ivar's already too blue gaze, "What is happening?"

"What don't you understand?" Sigurd frowned, barely tearing his eyes away from a now rinsed clean Bonnie. "Is that your first one?"

"Looks like you're not quite so boneless after all, Little Brother," Hvitserk said, reaching down to squeeze Ivar's shoulder.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Ubbe's mouth as he returned his gaze to Bonnie. She now stood on the rocks near the waterfall rubbing a liquid substance of sorts into her skin which made her rare hue glisten in the sunlight. Unable to resist her any longer, he left the cover of the trees.

"Ubbe!" he heard Hvitserk hiss.

"Where's he going?" Sigurd panicked.

"Where do you think?" Ivar answered.

****

Bonnie stood in front of the waterfall, dipping her head back. She allowed the supernaturally heated water to rinse the homemade co-wash from her head. With the pads of her fingers, she gave her scalp a deep massage. Her eyes slipped closed. Mm, she needed this after how things went down with Bjorn. No matter her feelings, she couldn't afford to lose focus.

Ansel's warning growl from the bank alerted her to be on guard. Her eyes snapped open and collided with a bottomless sky-blue gaze. Ubbe towered before her bared tanned, hard, ripped and cut the hell up with godlike precision. For a full minute they remained struck in awe of the other. Unable to take her eyes off of him, she backed away. Once she bumped into the large rock holding her belongings, she squatted to retrieve her shower scrub and a scrap of linen from her basket.

When she reclaimed her spot in front of him, she commenced to bathing him. She started with his face, and then worked her way down to his solid shoulders. There, she kneaded the rigid muscles into pliable submission. After she relieved the tension in his neck she moved on to the firm hills of his chest. With ease, she glided the rag over the dipped crevices of his abdomen. She lifted her gaze to stare in his eyes as she attempted to wrap the linen scrap around all eight inches of him. Which was no easy task since the girth of him was almost the size of her ankle in width. Once secured in her grasp, she gave him a few firm tugs that earned her a long-drawn-out moan and a couple of grunts.

"Don't marry Bjorn," he demanded in a hoarse broken whisper.

She gave him another massage infused pull, "I wasn't planning to."

"Good," He leaned down and captured her upturned mouth with his.

The kiss he rocked the hell out of her mind with was nothing like she believed him to be. Under all that arctic chill simmered a passion so fierce and wild she'd nearly missed the splashing of the water in the distance. She severed her lips from Ubbe's in time to see Sigurd and Hvitserk's glorious but naked form trotting over to them.

"Shit," she hissed, and broke away from Ubbe.

Snatching her basket from the rock, she disappeared behind the curtain of frothy falling water. Quickly, she put on white bikini bottoms and a matching wrap top, items she managed to displace from home in 2018. Once dressed she stepped back through the waterfall.

Hvitserk greeted her with one of his signature wide smiles. "Our turn." When he glanced down at her bikini bottoms, a frown battled back his previous good cheer, "What are those? Is that some strange fabric barrier to preserve chastity in this Mystic land of yours?"

"Why is your muff bare?" Sigurd questioned, fucking all over the boundaries of her personal space. "Have you not completely reached womanhood yet?"

"First, I'm not done with Ubbe yet, so you'll wait your turn." She began, addressing them both with her chin raised and hands planted on her hips. "Second, these or bikini bottoms and they're made for swimming, not preserving chastity, Hvitserk. Third, Sigurd, I'll have you know I'm all woman and the reason there is no hair down below is because I prefer a clean canvas down there. And Fourth," She looked over the three of them, "where's Ivar?"

"Back on the shore. He can't swim," Sigurd said, his tone dismissive.

She stepped closer to Hvitserk and Sigurd, palming each of their cheeks. "Will you both please get him and place him here on the rocks. This platform is large, flat, and stable. It should be safe enough for him over here." When they nodded their assent, she stood on tip toes and kissed them each on the corners of their mouths.

Once alone, Ubbe wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "I apologize for my brothers' interruption. Can I come visit you at your keep after second meal?"

"Isn't that normally when you meet Margrethe in the barn?" She asked, watching as they placed Ivar on some sort of wooden raft.

He yanked her backwards through the waterfall. When they were obscured from the view of his brothers, he allowed his hands-free reign over her body. One reached up to palm her breasts, while the other slipped into her bikini bottoms. He devoured the side of her neck with open mouth kisses. His thumb grazed over her clit in persistent brushes, provoking her overheated good-good to ooze her need all over his hand. Whimpering, she silently urged him on by further parting her legs. Instead of giving into her quiet demands he kneaded her breast and tweaked her nipple. The roughness of his touch had her grinding into the heel of his hand.

"I do not care to meet Margrethe in the barn this eve," he rasped next to her ear. "I'd rather greet the next rising in your bed. Now will you have me, Valkyrie?" He tried to press two fingers in her entrance, but her good girl being a tease refused admission. After a brief pause, he downgraded to one finger and she still refused to bloom. "Are you a-,"

"Where are you two?" Sigurd yelled from outside. "We need help getting Ivar off the raft and on the boulder."

"Do you think they're-," Hvitserk began.

"No," Ivar cut him off, "Bonnie's, girdles are not nigh as light as Margrethe's."

She broke free of Ubbe's hold and straightened her bottoms. After stepping back through the waterfall, she jumped from the rock into the water and swam over to the raft. Ivar searched her face, and then looked over her shoulder at Ubbe who'd just reappeared back through the froth of water. A smirk settled on his all too willing lips.

"As I said before," Ivar said to no one in particular, "Some girdles are light and others..." his dancing gaze moved to regard her, "not so much. Greetings, my love. My brothers tell me you requested my presence over on that boulder."

Her heartbeat tapped out a peculiar rhythm upon hearing Ivar refer to her as his love. "Yep, I wanna bathe you and wash your hair. Do you have any objections to me doing so?"

His brows leaped to his hairline as he shook his head, "N-no."

For the next couple of hours, Bonnie bathed, shampooed, and groomed the Lothbroks. They each seemed to bask in the attention. Especially, when she braided Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd hair in actual designs instead of the sloppy twists they usually wore. Since Ivar's hair wasn't yet long enough for braids, she trimmed it into a precision cut. By the time they made it back to Kattegat the second meal had already begun. She was late for dinner with Bjorn and Torvi. If she didn't hurry she'd miss it altogether.

"I'll see you guys later," her gaze darted to Ubbe first before moving over all of them, "I had fun, thanks for helping me to take my mind off things."

She turned to walk towards Bjorn's and Ivar grabbed her wrist. "What things?"

She squatted and kissed him on the lips. "It doesn't matter." With that, she stood and hurried away.

****

The next rising after first meal, Bjorn greeted his mother in the great hall. People who remembered her from long before as Ragnar's first wife waited in Kattegat's long house to welcome her. Although he was happy to see his mother, only half his heart cared she visited at all. Bonnie's refusal still pained him. Why would she choose another over him? Surely, he couldn't be the only one between them who harbored such affections.

"I said, how have you fared here since your return, my son?" Lagertha's voice, delivered him from the torture which was his thoughts.

"Distracted it would appear," Astrid, his mother's...Astrid said.

Bjorn waved off their observations. "I've fared well enough. Although, Floki has informed me that the fleet he's building for the Mediterranean won't be available until next spring."

"Oh," Lagertha reached up to rub his back, "I'm sorry, Bjorn."

He shrugged. "Just as well, Torvi's carrying again."

"Bjorn, this is wonderful news," Lagertha hugged him, her smile nearly splitting her face in two. "The gods have truly favored you and Torvi."

This time he felt his own smile creep into his eyes. "They do, in truth Bonnie has assured me this babe will be a girl."

"Bonnie?" Confusion snatched Lagertha's head to the far left.

"The dark woman he brought back from his last raid," Astrid enlightened, "The one he placed under his protection."

"Ah," Lagertha's pale brows shot up as she gave a slow nod. "I remember. How is she? Is she still a part of your household?"

"No, she now resides in Rollo's former keep," Bjorn answered, while tracking Ubbe's march into the hall.

"That's better for all," his mother exhaled, seeming somewhat relieved.

"No!" Bjorn snapped, dragging his attention from Ubbe. "I do not think it's better for all. I suffer-w-we suffer very much from her absence. The sooner she agrees to become my wife, then and only then will we all be the better for it."

"Your wife?!" Lagertha low hiss shrieked. "Did you leave your wits in the wetlands of Frankia? Bjorn, you know nothing of this woman!"

"You're wrong," he placed a palm at the center of his chest, "I know exactly who she is, and I know exactly where she belongs."

"And what of Torvi? Is she content with this usurper stealing her way into your lives and making a home of your marriage?" Lagertha questioned.

Bjorn folded his arms, weary of the entire discussion. He wasn't Ragnar, Torvi wasn't Lagertha, and Bonnie wasn't, Hel take her, Aslaug. "Torvi embraces the idea of Bonnie joining us in matrimony."

His mother's eyes flared. She scoffed in disbelief. "You've been bewitched. This woman has bewitched you, just as Ragnar was so many years before you. What is it about Lothbrok men that breeds witches?"

"Mother, it may be best if you rest," Bjorn said, leveling her with a glare that would make steel fold, but more than likely meant less than horse shit to Lagertha. "The journey from Hedeby to Kattegat can be exhausting." With that said, Bjorn turned and left the great hall.

Once Bjorn disappeared from sight Lagertha looked to Astrid. "Take care of her."

Astrid nodded her understanding.

****

Unable to stay inside any longer, Bonnie decided to take a walk along the shore of the fjord. Though they were on the brink of winter, the beauty of Kattegat was heart snatching.

In her own time when she traveled, she never even considered visiting Norway. Now that she found herself stranded there surrounded by its people and exquisiteness, she couldn't understand why this place never made the bucket list.

As she continued along the bank a cloaked figure sitting on a large rock staring out at the sea caught her attention. Loneliness wafted off of him in dejected waves. When she'd binged the series with Caroline Ivar was never one of her favorite characters. He reminded her too much of Klaus. Always hurting and terrifying others to distract from the obvious detail that he too was also hurt and terrified. Back then she had zero compassion to give to bullies who thought to offer reason behind their madness. At least not until Damon became her best friend and she fell face first in love with Klaus. Now after seasons of judgement from her something within urged her to offer Ivar the consideration she never did when she watched the show.

Wrapping her cloak tighter around herself she made her way over to him. Once at his side, she joined him in staring out at the clear waters of the fjord. For a while, neither of them said anything. They just existed together in a shared moment of peace.

A several more comfortable minutes of silence, Ivar spoke without turning to look at her. "I'll wager you're pondering what a cripple could possibly be considering as he gazes at waters he can never be minded to tread."

"You're considering how far you'll go," Her words brought his disbelieving blazing stare to hers, "But you don't have to worry because you'll go far, Ivar. You'll go further than you can ever think to dream or imagine." She reached inside his cloak and interlaced her fingers with his. Laying her head on his shoulder, she turned back to the fjord.

He rested his head on top of hers, "Why'd you kiss me, hmm?"

"Because I wanted to and I knew you wanted me to," she answered reveling and drowning in him all at the same time. "You bother me, Ivar. The last time a man bothered me I fell in love with him."

"You mustn't do something as foolish as to offer me your heart, my love," He cradled her hand in both of his. "I may do something as equally foolish and accept it."

She lifted her head from his shoulder to study his face. What she saw there was the strike of lightening she'd waited twenty-seven years to see. How did one come back from Nirvana and settle for the lack-lusterless of reality? The mundane of good enough. Was he the reason? Far away yipping of a dog snatched her from the brink.

"I have to go," she whispered.

He studied her for a moment before nodding. "Alright."

She pressed her mouth to his and took a minute to savor his lips. He moaned into the kiss, reluctantly she pulled away. After she gave herself a second for her world to start spinning again, she slid from the rock and darted off toward the woods. Inside the forest, Ansel barked for her to follow him. So that's what she set out to do. After a half hour of nonstop running she could no longer see Ansel. Bonnie called out to him, but only silence answered her in return. She glanced about the overhang she stood on. Everything and nothing looked familiar. Hell, she didn't know north from south. She'd do better waiting for Ansel to return for her. She walked to the edge. A view of the fjord feeding water into her cove greeted her.

A grin teased her lips. Thoughts of her bathing the boys shamed her better judgement. She would have never pulled that shit back in Mystic Falls as a senior in high school. Hell not even as a senior citizen. With thoughts of the day before still trailing across her mind she backed away from the edge. Bjorn's sacred arm ring slipped from her wrist. When she was unable to locate it among the leaves she dropped to her knees and started sifting through the brush on the ground. As soon as her hand connected with hard metal she exhaled. She didn't know what she would tell Bjorn if she'd ever loss the symbol of their vow. Quickly, she slipped the sacred arm ring back on her wrist.

When she moved to rise something hard bashed her in the head. Fingers tangled themselves in her hair as blunted nails clawed at her scalp. With unnecessary force her head was jerked backwards. A cold jagged edge of steel bit into her neck and slid from ear to ear. The sound of howling dampened her hearing as her attacker drug her by her hair to the edge of the precipice. A well-aimed kick to the center of her back sent her tumbling over the edge. Her heart stopped long before the near freezing waters of the cove embraced her.