#Fenris is so hard to draw wtf

[julemmaes]

Stuck

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre modern au

A/N: idk wtf this is, I got an idea and then it spiralled into something completely different and considered how I ended I might write a second part where they fuck it out of their system, just for the sake of it

Enjoy!:)

Word count: ~2300

"No. Nonono, fuck no. Not today, please!" She cried, running her fingers through her hair and pulling at the roots until it hurt. 

Elide groaned, shutting her eyes closed. 

She tried to draw a deeper breath in and when the tight skin dress didn't stretch enough for her to do so, Elide felt anxiety crest. 

"Fuck me," she whined, running to her living room, where the biggest mirror in her flat leaned against the wall. Maybe the problem was that she couldn't see properly and something was obstructing the way. 

Turning with her back to the glass, she started slapping at her back, trying to reach for the zipper. Once her fingers closer around the tiny chip of metal, Elide yanked the thing down. 

Nothing.

She closed her eyes in despair, breathing through her nose. When air got stuck in her throat again she blew it from her mouth. 

Her eyes started stinging. 

"Please, not today." 

She had had the longest day at work and she needed to get out of this dress, so she could decompress after the tiring shift. But no, she couldn't. Of course not. The universe hated her and she was cursed. 

And she was stuck. 

She tried again, slower, gentler. The zipper didn't even shift. 

Elide never really considered herself claustrophobic, she easily got into elevators and toilet stalls without windows. She never felt any kind of panic whenever she was in tiny, crowded spaces and such. 

But she was starting to doubt how much she truly knew herself at this point.

She clutched her neck with a hand, forcing herself to take small, slow breaths, trying to calm down and think of a solution. 

Before she knew what she was doing, she was out of her apartment and striding down to the only other one she was sure wasn't vacant. 

She couldn't waste any time checking which neighbor was home or not and the music coming from apartment E24 was proof enough someone was in there.

She reached the door in the blink of an eye and started slamming her palm against the flat wood surface, so hard that her skin tingled with pain.

"Fuck!" A clearly masculine voice came from inside, “The Police!”

“Shut up, Fenrys, it’s not the Police,” another male voice came through. Whoever it was, they were immensely calmer than the former speaker. 

“Fuck you, Ro, you can’t know!” 

Elide called out, “I’m not the Police, please open the door!” 

“You open it, Dorian." 

“Are you for real?” Another person. 

"You're closer to it—"

"It's your house."

"—and I'm scared."

"Hellas above, I'll get the door." 

Elide didn't have time to step back that the door unlocked and a second later a guy larger than life stood in front of her. 

She sagged, leaning forward. She couldn't help the relieved whisper that escaped her. "Thank gods." 

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already turning her back to him.

"I'm fucking stuck and if you don't help me right now I might collapse." 

Dramatic much, she could hear her best friend's words in her head. 

"I've been trying to get out of this hellish trap for twenty minutes and I–" she paused, panting as if she'd just ran a marathon, "–I can't really breathe."

When her plea was met with silence she turned her head enough to look over her shoulder and she only then realized how tall the man standing there was. 

He towered over her, by two heads. 

He was staring at her with parted lips and a furrowed brow.

"I'm sorry what?" His voice was rough, scratchy in a way that made Elide blush.

She whined, not above crying in front of strangers if it came to it, "The dress, it won't come off, I need you to zip it down. Please."

A loud, barking laugh came from inside the apartment and then a chorus of various voices started.

"I can't believe this is happening."

"No one will believe us when we tell this story."

"Lucky bastard." 

"I can't believe it myself and I'm living through it." 

Elide ignored the others and focused on the giant guy, looking him straight in the eyes, "Listen I just need you to pull it down, I can't do it myself and I live alone, please I…"

"Okay," he murmured. He stepped forward, lifting his hands toward her dress. He looked at her back before his eyes flitted to hers, "Can I?" 

"Please," Elide repeated. 

She tensed when his fingers brushed her skin, and held her breath when he brought the hems of the dress together and tried to pull the zipper down. 

"It doesn't work," he stated.

"No shit, Sherlock," someone said from inside. "She literally told you that." 

Elide brought her hands to her face and groaned for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

When he stepped back, she turned and eyed the others—there were seven guys, plus the titan standing next to her, in total. They seemed to be in the middle of some kind of videogame tournament. Snacks and joysticks lay everywhere and they were all wearing some kind of comfy clothes.

She had to hold back her smile when she realized she'd walked in on a slumber party.

"Do any of you know how to fix zippers or am I destined to die in this?" 

"I heard using soap works, come inside." 

Elide's attention shifted back to the guy next to her. She had to bend her head back to look him in the face. 

He was wearing black pants and a black sweater, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. He was eyeing her curiously, as if he was studying her. Elide couldn't say she minded the attention.

He was pretty good on the eye, too. 

Another one of the guys shot up, "Sure, let the stranger in, it's not like this is my house."

"You're right, I'm so sorry," Elide looked back at the room. She stepped inside nonetheless, "I'm Elide. Lochan. I live in E27? I think we crossed paths a couple of times?" 

"Oh, maybe." The owner of the house came up to her, extending a hand and flashing her a shit-eating grin, "Fenrys, Moonbeam." 

"Nice to meet you, where do you keep the soap?"

He seemed taken aback for a second and slowly lowered his hand. A few surprised snorts sounded in the room. He pointed a finger down the corridor, "Bathroom."

Someone brushed past her, murmuring a curt come as they passed. 

She didn't have to be told twice and followed the Wardrobe-wide Guy into the flat. 

He moved around the bathroom like he owned the place, and Elide would probably be embarrassed later when she realized she'd literally just barged into someone's house and demanded their help, but she needed to get out of this dress and couldn't really think of anything else at the moment.

"Turn around." 

Elide did as told without a word.

She hissed as a few droplets of cold water slid down her back. 

"Sorry," he grumbled. The soft sound of the soap bar grating against the zipper was the only audible thing. And she was growing aware of her surroundings.

"What's your name?"

"Lorcan." 

"Cool," she cleared her throat. "Cool, cool."

He huffed a breath. His version of a laugh, perhaps?

She felt the dress being pulled down, but nothing unzipping, then he clicked his tongue. 

"It's not working, is it?"

"Nah," he said, putting the soap back and washing his hands. "I could try with some oil." 

Elide let go of a shuddering breath, she just wanted out of it.

When she said nothing, Lorcan rounded her and stood in front of her, glancing down at her face. His chin jutted out, "You okay?" 

She nodded swiftly, offering a tight smile.

Now that she knew someone else was taking care of the issue at hand, she was feeling calmer. And she could think more clearly. 

The guy in front of her was stunning. 

He had long, black hair that reached his waist. Eyes just as dark and a white, deep scar that ran from the side of his forehead down to his temple that appeared even paler in contrast with his dark skin. She wondered how he'd gotten it.

"Are you claustrophobic or some shit like that?" 

That question brought her back to reality and made her aware of the fact that he'd been watching her just as closely.

She shook her head, "I'm just exhausted and I want to sleep. But I can't sleep in this."

His lips curled on one side and after a few seconds where they just studied each other, he jerked his head toward the living room before silently heading back. 

She was on his heels in a heartbeat.

The moment they stepped into the full room, Elide dared looking at the crowd. She stopped in the hall when one of them talked.

"Lorbear, I see you're no good at undressing ladies in distress." 

Lorbear. This group was close.

Elide snorted, rolling her eyes back and then fixing her stare on the blue-eyed prince charming that sat on the only armchair. "You think you could do better?" 

A white-haired guy chuckled, addressing her directly. "Our Dorian here hasn't seen a single dress in his entire life, he wouldn't know where to start." 

She smiled knowingly, enjoying the distraction as much as the friendly banter between the boys.

"Do I need to remind you how you met your girlfriend, Rowan?" Dorian grinned back, lifting a foot to poke at the other's leg.

Rowan—she supposed—tensed and clenched his jaw, slapping Dorian's foot away, "Please, don't."

Elide's interest was piqued, so much so that she wanted to ask questions, but Lorcan's voice called for her from the kitchen.

She waved at the others, "Wish me good luck." 

A chorus of good luck rose from the couches.

"Sorry," she said as she sauntered in the small kitchen, "I got stopped."

Lorcan gestured at her to turn around, "Don't mind them, they're all jerks."

"I like them," she shrugged as she positioned in front of him. "Plus, you're the one hanging out with them, if you really thought that, I don't think you'd be here." 

His fingers slipped under the fabric on her back and something coarse scratched at her skin.

"It's paper, so you don't get oily," he warned. 

"Oh," she was surprised. By the small kind gesture, and by the reaction her body was having to the infinitely unimportant brush of his touch. "Thanks."

"No prob," he drawled, his voice traveling over the back of her neck.

Elide scrunched her nose. What was she doing?

"Would you mind leaning forward a bit for me, 'lide?" 

'Lide.

She was going to die. 

You're not, Manon's voice sounded amused in her head as she obeyed. 

They went through the process again, just for the zipper to not even budge.

He cleaned the metal, wiping it until it was dry enough that it wouldn't dirty her. 

She turned to face him again and he bent his head to the side, scratching his jaw.

"Can I cut it?"

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, "No, it's my work uniform, you can't cut it." 

He stared at her for the longest time, then went, "Are you wearing a bra?" 

What?

Someone laughed from the other room, "Smooth, Slavaterre. Really smooth." 

Lorcan huffed, running a hand down his face, "I was wondering if we could take it off from the head. You know, like a shirt."

Elide suddenly felt stupid. She blushed lightly and muttered, "I didn't think of it." 

"So?"

It was her turn to stare at him, in silence, contemplating her next move. 

The way his gaze didn't falter for half a second gave her a kind of confidence she rarely possesses these days.

She shook her head, "Yes, I am." 

"Do you think you can do it by yourself?"

She nodded.

Lorcan hummed, "I guess my part is done here, then." 

"I guess," she replied, never stepping back from the staring contest. 

When his eyes slid lower, slowly, to her mouth, she smirked. He mimicked her, and his tongue came out to wet his plump lip.

It wasn't her style, not really how she found hookups, but Lorcan was attractive and seemed to be really appreciative of whatever he was seeing in her. 

"What if," she added, speaking so softly that only he could hear her, "I get stuck?" 

Something glimmered in his eyes, and he took a step forward. The movement forced her head further back and when his hand lifted to play with the hem of her sleeve, her arms covered in goosebumps. 

"I could help with that," he rasped, caressing her shoulder. He ran a finger down her collarbone and Elide took a sharp breath in. 

Their eyes met again and she swallowed. 

"Then I'll make sure to call you, if it comes to that." 

Lorcan's lips curled again, tempting, "I would love that." 

Fenrys' scream came sharp as a needle, bursting their bubble of tension and longing. 

"Don't you dare make out in my kitchen!" 

Elide averted her gaze, pushing her tongue against her cheek to avoid laughing. She really liked these people.

Lorcan stepped back until a good two meters distanced them and then inhaled, extending a hand toward the living room. 

She walked out of the kitchen first, heading directly for the front door. 

She spared a long look at Lorcan, letting him see the sincerity behind her next words, "You know where to find me, Salvaterre, if you ever need company." 

She loved the taste of his name on her tongue.

He smirked, taking his stance next to the kitchen door. He nodded his head once, clearly letting her know he would take up on her words. 

She didn't even look at the rest of the guys as she said goodbye and left, closing the door behind her.

She was halfway down the corridor when shouts and cheers exploded from Fenrys' flat.

Oh, just how fast things had changed.

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[blackberreh-art]

Fenris

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[abbeyfangirl]

dragon age: all characters (companions)

I’ve been in this fandom for a hot minute now and I want to update my opinions on characters :)

Origins

Alistair: super sweet dude who literally is not the stereotypicalchantryguyfightme. He’s a great example of healthy masculinity and I totally wish he was bi because I have an entire essay on that— also: he’s a poc! His mum was brown. In game he’s got dark features. if you really want a blond/blue-eyes/white guy, make your warden that. or accept that brown people can be noble and moral. or just draw cailan, idk. just because BioWare whitewashes doesn’t mean you should.

Leliana: someone hug my singing girlfriend before I crush her under with my own hugs. Also: nugs. Yes! Shoes. Yes! She likes how I style my hair? YES!! I honestly think she’s super duper and it pisses me off whenever someone’s like: yeah she enjoys killing people and the Game. ok. and michel de chevin willingly participated in genocidal marches through the alienage he grew up in with his elvhen mum. 

Morrigan: dirty swamp witch that i stan and also have a v big crush on. tiddies. Have a son with a GW so we can raise him with our tiddies out in the forest. she’s also white-passing, as her father was chasind and all people we’ve seen that are chasind are black. therefore, she is biracial. therefore, poc can be goths and don’t shy away from giving morrigan a darker skintone. if the devs had of been thinking, she’d have a darker skintone.

Zevran: Actually is the best romance, I think. Loves consent, therefore I will stan him so hard my skull cracks a little. Also: he is a very brown boy and if he’s white in da4 I’m seriously going to throw all canon out the fucking window. genuinely a good person who needs to be told so. 

Wynne: grandma who only likes my friends who go to church. but also super sweet and I’d rest my head on her bosom (in a platonic way omg ZEVRAN)

Sten: angry quiet boi. the bestest boi. I totally would give him a kitten for a gift and bake him cookies. Thicc softie. I think if I had DA:O and i knew how to use mods i would mod the fuck outta him. sorry.

Sha(y)le: who’s gender? idk her. See also: fuck birds and authority. pound ur ass into the ground you feathery meatbag little shits. fuck songbirds.

Dog: such a good boi. thicc. thinks Alistair is a whiny fuck and is Morrigan’s only friend. love him. he’s the cutest companion. bet.

Ohgren: honestly forgot about him bcc he’s such a shitbag. also: he could’ve been a really cool addiction recovery type but NOPE. probably would have a trump shirt in a modern au and would catcall wlw and hit mlm. no thanks.

Awakening

Anders: he acts like rlly straight but he’s so gay I can smell it. also he’s rlly cute and fun and I love him so much.

Justice: MAYBE i’M selF CONSCious OF THE twitchING. is the friend that genuinely doesn’t get dick jokes but is ur 110% ride or die.

Nathaniel Howe: honestly is sort of a white knight/neck beard a little, but it’s kind of charming with his whole velanna m’lady?? grump boi. annoying soul patch that I’d mod out SO FAST—

Sigrun: would have ROMANCED the FUCK out of her. why she even entertains the idea of fucking with ohgren makes me realize most of the writers are dumbfucks.png. peppy little emo. 12/10 would die if she kissed my cheek teasingly.

Ohgren: why. why. why. I’d have brought Shayle over. Maybe Zev? Definitely Dog.

Velanna: she was written to be an annoying feminist and you can tell but I deadass am a kindred spirit with her bcc I too am deadpan annoyed with Thedas’ general population too. love her. Would’ve loved to romance her. She’d totally be one of those who’d get all tsundere and be like “n-no i hate you” *kisses the fuckin soul out of you then blushes so hard she’s now a tomato*

Dragon Age II

Anders: fuck the cops. i don’t care. fuck the cops. (vine reference). also: do i hate him for blowing up the chantry that would eventually annul a huge collection of his people? no. read dalishious’s meta on Anders. v intriguing. didn’t they retcon the fuck out of the reported deaths too? like there was like eight Templars and Elthinia in there. Templars killed more “abominations” in a day than Anders in the game canon—

Aveline: initially thought she was fine and then realized she’s shit to my lil brother and I will fucking clap her ginger ass. See also: whorephobia isn’t a joke so fuck off with treating Isabela badly, you tit.

Bethany: sunshine. Literal sunshine. I feel my freckles grow in her presence and i love it. she’s my little baby sister and I’d slam that ogre so fuckin hard before it touched either twin.

Carver: there has to be a mod where both twins survive. I love them both to bits. My babies. carver is my bitter, angry little brother and I can relate because I too am very angry and would totally clap my own ass. hes so genuine and I don’t get the competition between Beth and Carver. Like, both are fuckin stellar in different ways. In this essay I will—

Fenris: honestly, I don’t get the general hate between him and Anders. Fenris’ main arc should’ve been a recovery arc, not drunken moping and revenge. he deserves better. give him a soft sweater instead of his spikes and let him love himself as much as I love him for MAKERS SAKE. like when you really think about their relationship, it could’ve been an eye-opener for fenris and finally some legit sympathy for anders. but we all know that if they had of teamed up that Meredith would’ve been dead before the end of Act 1 so.

Isabela: whorephobia is not a joke. oversexualizing your only appearing brown woman is so poorly written. how about we appreciate her and her lovely bosoms but also let people tease her about her heart of gold? her innate understanding of freedom? instead of just a wave of dick? please?? can we give her some pants for when she fights? can we accept that i fall for rogues who hate themselves?? fuck. also whomever draws her x femHawke x Merrill literally is after my own heart.

Merrill: my fucking babygirl MARRY ME. Fenris could’ve been her older brother type, but NO. she and Isabela should’ve been canonical gfs instead of Isabela/Fenris (no shaming the pairing tho!!). I love how she’s written as neurodivergent. V nice. Sometimes I just look her up and cry because she’s fucking everything. Also: she’s in the Dalish origin and she’s far from being white. Why did they make the most innocent/naïve character really white? hmmmm.

Sebastian: whew that boy. Would totally be that annoying Mormon at your door but you still let him in bcc he’s super sweet. Also: huge ass bible thumper and should get his head slap because you said the maker loved all his children why do you defend a complicit old hag you annoying attractive fuck—

Varric: totally is a bard and the devs couldn’t handle the idea of him being one bcc it might make him look less straight. is the only grey morality person I don’t want to fucking bash in with a fry pan. he sees people and I like that, but you totally know he’s siding with mages every time bcc him and Anders are like besties. I’m sorry. I don’t make the rules. “Professional Younger Brother”.

Tallis: I know nothing about her but she seems okay. I think she was an escaped slave and honestly? Fucking props. Spy on a shitting organization, idk what you’re doing, but your VA was that cool lesbian from SPN so I think ur okay?

Inquisition

Blackwall: Redemption Arc 101. Love him to bits. Sad dad bunwall. good man. actually atoned for his sins by actively becoming a good person. his initial design is 80% hotter im so sorry but so not.

Cassandra: was way browner in the last game. would romance the fuck outta her. I love me a butch lady who melts at my dorky recitation of poetry. BioWare is a coward. also is the worst choice for divine. but not a bad person. could use some more guidance or get her ass whipped by a dalish elf about religion or a circle mage kid whos like “yeah bud i didn’t ask for the templars to whip my ass everyday for existing.”

The Iron Bull: I think the Qunari/Vashoth were a little based off black people (the whole anti blackness thing where ppl are scared of them bcc of whatever reason) and it pisses me off that he had a weird ass dubcon thing with Dorian in banter. It doesn’t make sense— he’s an A+++ dom and would not jump straight in role play without at least checking in at first like wtf BioWare.

Cole: his mother was chasind so he’s like not supposed to be that white? or like biracial? albino? idk. love him to bits tho. He’s neurodivergent and I deadass love him. romancing him? idk. I see why ppl think it’s fuckin nasty but also like as a writer I’d age him the fuck up so fast before my inquisitor even THOUGHT about that. like idk. I’m down with him being a sweet little bro character tho. he’s a babe. love him.

Sera: had the worst fucking writer I’ve ever seen and I willingly read the twilight saga twice by a shit ass racist white lady who okay’d pedophilia. like. Fuck you Kristjanson suck your own dick you fuck. had the worst options in regards to speak to her. has a thicc case of internalized racism that literally most of the fandom just loves to use against her. my lesbian neurodivergent queen. Would write a thousand fix it fics for her. Love her to bits. im gay.

Varric: I haven’t played DA2 so i don’t get why everyone wants to romance him but like. a dwarf romance? yes please. Idk he reminds me of my uncle so I only see him as fun uncle material. Deadass should adopt Cole and Merrill and co parent with Blackwall for Sera. dads? fuck yeah. love me some wholesome, present fathers.

Dorian: is a gay stereotype that I love/hate so much. and he’s also just as bad about being a creep bcc he sexualizes qunari men (in banter). I attribute that to shit writing tho. I want to protect him from all the “omg gay best friend!” people. he’d clearly be that tired gay that wouldn’t give a diddly damn about ur het romance. wanna talk about politics? he’s ur guy/gay.

Solas: “me, an intellectual:”. I don’t hate him, but I’m not about him. He comes off as mysterious and suave (which he totally is) but I deadass would not save him from himself because he’s a racist, exclusionist eggshell. idk. not my cup of tea, but I can totally see the appeal. And he’s interesting, I’ll totally say that. “I think the Dalish are garbage but they made you” is not a compliment. it’s so offensive. and such bait for “quirky girls” which I’m no fan of. Would be Achilles and let Patroclus (Lavellan in his case) die before he realized how his pride is literally a waste of time. If he gets a redemption arc I hope Lavellan gets to slap him before getting him to teach all about ancient Arlathan and show that the Evanuris weren’t all total dicknozzles. (Aka I really have a hard time believing that they’d be slavery cult things. especially since they’ve compared elves to indigenous ppl, Jews and the Romani.)

Vivienne: it’s so racist that they’d make a black woman be pro-slavery. That’s such internalized racism. She could’ve been the cool ass “educate yourself first before you speak, fool” ice lady, but NO. the devs could’ve kept the “Templars are a tool that I proudly can mandate” and the “circles are very good education” and we. Could. Have. Romanced. Her. Like. Fuck. Sake. I just wanna give her a hug and say “love yourself omg!!” and not even in a romantic way. Also: she and morrigan should not have been so antagonistic towards each other. I’d expect them to have great respect for each other, as they both moved up in the world through hardwork and very little help. They could learn different magic from each other too and still maintain that rival respect “oh you” mood. Sidenote: probably the cooler option for Divine. if her approval is high enough she’ll love and be loyal to you forever and i can’t see her agenda being bad. she improves the circles exponentially and tells all the antis to suck her pretty painted toes.

Josephine: an actual disney princess. romanced her my first playthrough. I love her so much. she just makes me so happy. And she’s like: “Integrity, Loyalty, peace. That is what it means to be a GREY WARDEN good fucking person.” she’s the person who would let you hold her hand if you got anxious and she’d be that person who shouldered the whole group project with finesse and poise and would probably lie for everyone as to not be mean. i love josie. her and leliana’s relationship is so cute, too. whether it’s romantic or not: women supporting women.

Leliana: if you leave her hardened you must hate her. why. she becomes so against herself. i like how shes feminine and lighthearted because that’s so powerful-- to remain hopeful when the world is hopeless. (its hard to know when to soften her/harden her so i get it but. google it. she deserves to be happy and sweet again.)

Cullen: uwu war criminal with shit ass “redemption arc” that was actually a half-assed (at BEST) recovery arc. Recovery isn’t linear, it isn’t pretty, and even the broken need to be told they are wrong in order to heal right. Like I’m offended by that bullshit. I’ve had to do some mental health recovery in the past and unlearning lots of toxic ideologies— which I’m still unlearning— and it bothers me that he gets an easy pass because he’s hot. It’s one thing if you like Cullen, it’s another thing if you hold him accountable.

[your-high-lady]

Revenge(Throne Of Glass Fanfiction)

I would recommend reading the following AN because though it may be long, it will probably answer quite a few of your questions.

AN: Hello. This one-shot is very graphic and I would not recommend reading it if you're not in a very wretched mood and wanting to kill someone. I've written a very detailed and very explicit version of a part of Kingdom of Ash that Sarah J Mass chose to write about very briefly. That wasn't enough for me so I added to what she wrote.

I started writing this one-shot about 3-4 months ago when I was angry and probably losing my mind because right now there is not a single reason that I can think of that would've caused me to even think about writing this let alone writing it at all, other than that one of the screws in my brain had come loose and seriously damaged another part. But anyways.

No, I'm not a sociopath and don't take psychiatrist help, though after reading through my one-shot a few times while editing has made me wonder whether I should seek help from a shrink because what I've written honestly scares me too. Me, the writer. This stuff came from my mind. Like, WTF! What is wrong with me!? But still. I want you to read it, of course at your own risk. I'm not forcing you to read this in any sense, but I would really appreciate a review or two giving me some feedback on my writing, and maybe a couple more assuring me that my writing is not as insane as I think it is.

I don't know what else to say except that I am sane. I am not mentally or physically disturbed in any way that could've caused the following to come out. I just... I don't know. I just don't know. There's just something about the way my mind is wired that I decided to write this and then post it on FanFiction.

It just occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the writing isn't as graphic as I think it is. If that if the case, please ignore all of the above.

Thank you, have a great day.

Disclaimer: I, in no world or sense, own the TOG world or its characters. Sarah J Mass very spectacularly imagined all of it and put it into seven wonderful books for us to read, and I'm very grateful for that. The first part, which is in italics is basically a copy paste of the part in Kingdom of Ash where Rowan asks Gavriel to heal Cairn. The part starting from the non-italics to the beginning of the actual torture is a loose summary of what Sarah J Mass wrote before Rowan actually began. After that is all mine. That's where my work starts: When he starts hurting Cairn. Everything before that is not my words. They're SJM's words put into a different form, or at least the non-italics are. Please know that, and don't come for me saying I copy-pasted her work and took credit for it. I gave her credit, just now, in the past few sentences.

If you have any other questions or worries, feel free to contact me however you like.

Ok, this is actually getting really long. I'm gonna stop.

--

Rowan didn’t know where to look first.

At the wolf and Fae male sprawled on the floor.

Or at the iron coffin across the tent.

The iron box they’d locked her in.

Had to reinforce it seemed, from the sloppy welding on the thick slabs atop it.

The box was so small. So narrow.

The smell of her blood, her fear, saturated the tent. Emanated from the box.

A metal table lay nearby.

And beneath it…

Rowan took in the three unlit braziers set beneath it, the chain anchors at the head and foot off the table.

Rowan turned his head to look Gavriel who was healing Fenrys, in his wolf form. And beside him, he lay. “Heal him,” Rowan said with lethal softness. The Lion looked up to find Rowan’s gaze not on Fenrys but instead on Cairn. Chunks of flesh had been torn from his body and a lump was forming on his temple. It was the blow that had knocked him out. A blow that had been inflicted by Fenrys. Right before he collapsed himself. But not from his wounds, instead of from… Rowan started. What had happened here, what has been so terrible that the wolf had done the impossible to spare Aelin from enduring it? Though Gavriel’s eyes were wary, Rowan pointed at Cairn again, “Heal him.” There wasn’t much time left. Not for what he wanted to do. What he needed to do.

Drawers had been pulled out. Polished tools glinted inside. A pouch of them had also been set on a piece of black velvet beside the metal table.

Her blood sang to him of pain and despair, of utter terror.

His Fireheart.

Gavriel’s magic shone golden as it settled over Cairn.

Rowan surveyed the tools Cairn had laid out, the ones in the draw. Carefully, thoughtfully, he selected one: a thin, razor-sharp knife. A healer’s tool, meant for small incisions. Rowan turned to look at Cairn as unconsciousness gave way. By the time, Cairn was fully awake, Rowan had him chained to the metal table. Cairn beheld Rowan, as he stood over him with the tool in his tattooed hand, others laid out beside him. He began thrashing, but the iron chains binding him held. Then he saw the frozen rage in Rowan’s eyes. He understood what he intended to do with that sharp knife. A dark stain spread across the front of Cairn’s pants. Once Gavriel was out, Rowan wrapped an ice-kissed wind around the tent, blocking out all sound, and began.

--

Rowan started at the bottom. He twisted and broke the bones in Cairn’s ankles, giving himself easy access to the bottom of his feet. Though Cairn tried to keep his mouth shut, the pain was too much. And so he screamed. He shrieked loud enough that Rowan’s ears ringed with it. But despite that, he savoured Cairn’s screams as he first peeled off the skin at his toe pads. Slowly, mercilessly. Then his heels. And then the arch of his foot. Through the ringing, Rowan thought about her. About Aelin. What had she gone through? How had Cairn tortured her these past months? Had she screamed like Cairn was now? More?

He looked up to see Cairn’s face. It was streaked with tears. His nose was running, face pale. It wasn’t enough. No amount of pain Rowan inflicted on him would be enough to challenge what Aelin must’ve gone through. Maybe, Rowan thought, I should lock him in the iron coffin. Take away his air. Make him feel what my wife felt. Later, Rowan. Later.

He moved on to Cairn's lower leg, letting his blood drip, drip, drip on to the floor. He picked up a slightly bigger knife. It was equally sharp if not more, as the last one. Rowan put it against Cairn’s shin and carefully made a horizontal cut, starting about an inch below his knee and ending at his ankle. Then the other leg. The screams grew louder, wilder. A haze had entered Rowan’s mind and only one thing, one word was able to get through it: Revenge.

The lone word burned within him, with each heartbeat, with each intake of breath.

Revengerevengerevenge

It was all he could think about. He wanted revenge. He wanted to hurt Cairn. He wanted to destroy his body, then his mind. He wanted to kill him. And he didn’t care about himself, about how he might feel regretful—or even disgusted with himself—when he finished, even though he doubted he would ever regret this. Cairn deserved everything he got. Every scream, every nightmare, every time he felt even a shred of pain or fear. He deserved it all. And so that is why he asked softly, “Cairn.” The shrieking halted. “Why am I hurting you? Do you know?”

"Because you're a sociopath, that's why." Cairn spat, panting.

Rowan turned his head to look at Cairn… and smelt more urine. “Wrong answer.” He moved so that he was closer to Cairn’s left thigh. Put the knife’s tip against it, right in the middle. He knew, one hard plunge down and he would crush right through the bone. Cairn wouldn’t be able to walk then. But then again, he wasn’t able to right now either what with the chains and his unfortunate injuries. Eh. Let’s do it anyway. And down went Rowan’s knife. He heard the crack of the bone. He felt the splinters graze the knife. He felt the rage in himself when he turned the knife making a full circle. He relished the shrieks that emanated from Cairn’s throat. Miraculously, Cairn was still alive and conscious. Rowan planned to change that. But first, he had to tell Cairn the right answer. “The right answer to my question, Cairn, is because you hurt my mate. You tortured her. You mistreated her. You laughed at her. You did all that and more. And now, I’m going to make you pay for it.” And with those words, he took the knife out of Cairn’s leg and jabbed it into the other. Harder. He heard the point of the knife clang against the metal table under Cairn. The screaming was getting hoarse. But that wasn’t what Rowan wanted.

Rowan took the knife out. Looked at the dark red blood staining the blade, tilting his head to the side, contemplating. His bright green eyes turned to look at Cairn’s blue ones. Turned back to Cairn’s bleeding leg. Rowan put his finger into the small hole his knife had made. He angled skin back and made a short horizontal slit, tucking his knife into the small flap. He moved his eyes to see Cairn looking at what his fingers were doing. Cairn began to tremble. He saw in Cairn’s eye fear and anticipation of what was to come. The agony he knew would come. Rowan didn’t give him enough time to mentally prepare before he yanked. As if he were no more than a butcher pulling off the skin of his dead prey. He watched as Cairn’s body arched in pain, as his mouth opened in agony and gurgling noises came out. They sort of sounded like stop! stop! Rowan processed them as to keep going! keep going!. So he did.

“Ahhhh!” Cairn’s voice was getting hoarse with each howl. It wasn’t enough for Rowan though. He wanted Cairn to lose his voice. Then he wanted Cairn to regain his voice, so that Cairn could scream even louder and then lose his voice again. But he was going pale now. Rowan took the knife out of Cairn’s skin and ripped back the skin above so that he had two flaps off skin opening up and down his leg.  He, then, did the same torture to the other leg, just much faster. Cairn already knew what was going to happen. There was no pleasure in dragging it out twice. By the time Rowan finished, he had been pulled to oblivion. Rowan stared at Cairn’s face. It was toned with muscle. Sharp and angled. It would be a pretty one, if not for the permanent arrogant smirk on his face, even in oblivion. Rowan had had enough of staring at his rutting face.

Rowan moved his hands so that they hovered over Cairn’s bleeding legs, and healed him. And slowly, Cairn came back to conscious, groaning because though Rowan had healed him enough that he was no longer unconscious, he still had the injuries. And they still hurt very much.

Rowan moved his eyes to look at Cairn’s sharp face. There was a smirk on his face. “Feeling arrogant, are we?” Rowan asked Cairn.

His smirk grew, “No matter how much you torture me, you’ll never be able to forget that you”, he lifted his head, jerking his chin at Rowan, “failed her.” Rowan flinched. “That’s what hurts, doesn’t it. You think hurting me will make you feel better. And it might. But you’ll still always ponder over it, what I might’ve done to her. Did I rape her? Did I cut her? Did I burn her? Did I drown her? No one knows… but, wait. Aelin would know. I know. But you don’t. I’m not going to tell you. And I don’t think the bitch”—Rowan slapped Cairn for that, causing a spray of blood to come out of his mouth—“wants to relive those memories either. They’re pretty brutal if I remember correctly.” Cairn shrugged as if accepting the fact that no one was going to say anything. But Rowan hadn’t decided anything yet. Half his mind was demanding he torture the information out of Cairn, but the other was saying that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Hearing about what Aelin went through would kill him. He believed that side. And anyway, it didn’t make a difference, whether he knew what happened to her or not, it would be equally painful. Either way, Cairn wasn’t going to see the sunset today.

Picking up the smallest and sharpest knife Rowan had in his arsenal, he slit Cairn’s shirt in half. Turning and playing with the knife, Rowan said, “I don’t know what you did to her, Cairn, but I can still label you. Murderer, sadist, torturer, abuser. There’re so many words. Which one should I use? Tell me. What word do you want me to use.” Cairn’s nostrils flared with anger but he didn’t say anything. Rowan sighed. “You speak when I don’t want you to but lose your tongue when I want you to talk? How inconvenient. I guess I’ll just have to choose the word for you.” He took a few seconds to himself before he told Cairn, “I can’t decide, Cairn,” he huffed, amused. “I suppose we could use more than one word. Let’s start with… coward? Is that okay with you?” Cairn just glared, nostrils flaring. Rowan gave him a small smile, before putting his knife point against Cairn’s skin. And so he began, once again. Coward, sadist, betrayer. He carved out all these names and more, some of the more ancient words in the Old Language, on to Cairn’s torso, all the while savouring his screams. They were worse than before, and soon Cairn’s voice was hoarse and he was struggling to get his voice out. But Rowan didn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. He needed to keep going. He needed to give himself this. He couldn’t have avoided Maeve taking her away on that beach, all those months ago. He didn’t even know what was happening until she was taken away, and he saw that blood-soaked shirt staining the sand red. Aelin didn’t tell him anything and Rowan couldn’t help but hate her for that. For taking herself away from him. For taking away the greatest honour of protecting and keeping his queen safe. She took that away from him, and he hated her for that. But more than he hated her, he loved her. He loved her more than anything in this world and he could bring himself to forgive her but only because he had the opportunity to maim and kill the man who hurt his wife. His mate. His reason for breathing. Because there was no reason to live if she was not breathing alongside him. To whatever end. They had said that to each other many times before. To whatever end. That included death. If she died, Rowan would happily follow along, with her.  

But Aelin was alive. She had escaped. His Fireheart had braved everything and escaped. She would be okay now. Rowan would be able to take care of her. But he needed to kill Cairn first. He needed closure. And so he only stopped with the carving when there was just one small spot left above his hip, where the skin was not split and bubbling with blood. The rest of his torso was just a slab of ruined flesh and blood. Just like Aelin’s must’ve been after the whipping she got in her first month off Endovier, and on the beach at Maeve’s orders. But that spot. He would come back to that spot. Later. He had to do some other things first.

As Rowan put the knife down, Cairn’s shrieking died down too as he once again was pulled into oblivion. He made sure Cairn’s wounds had started clotting and that he wouldn’t die of blood loss, before going to a small bucket full of water and washing the blood off his hands. His clothes were splattered with blood, too. He would have to throw them away because of the staining that was sure to happen.

Taking his hands out of the water, Rowan looked at them. His fingernails and fingers were also stained red with blood. They would be stained for at least a day or two before the blood came completely off. He was used to this. After all the wars he’d been to and come back from, he’d gotten used to it. He’d gotten used to the sticky feeling of it before he could wash the blood off. He’d gotten used to the metal stench of blood and the feeling of the phantom blood that never seemed to get off his hands. Instead, it just seemed to cake on even more with each war he returned from. He’d never really cared for any of these things before he met Aelin. Blood was blood—something to be washed off and forgotten about. He hadn’t cared about the blood or who it might’ve belonged to. He still didn’t, especially if it had the black colour and reek of Valg blood. He wanted his hands coated in Valg blood. But this wasn’t Valg blood staining his fingers. This was red blood, Fae blood. Cairn’s blood. And still, he didn’t want to wash it off completely. He wanted the reminder. He wanted the reminder of the pain he’d inflicted on Cairn. He wanted to remember the feeling of his flesh squishing under his fingers and hands, and the feeling of his hands being icky and sticky with blood. He enjoyed the feeling of it. He was distantly aware that his thoughts were not right, and that if anyone heard what he was thinking they would call him a psychotic killer who very badly needs some help, but he couldn’t care less about them. Cairn had hurt her. And Cairn would pay for it now. It was as simple as that.

Drying his hands, he walked back over to Cairn. His face was contorted in pain, leaving little space for the usual arrogant smirk. Not one to waste any time, Rowan moved his hands over Cairn’s body and gave him a little energy boost, still leaving the pain there and wounds open. Once Cairn was relatively awake and aware of his surroundings, Rowan picked up a medium-sized knife. Inspecting it, he said to Cairn, “Cairn, doing good? I hope you’re okay. I want to be alive for the rest of this. I want you to feel it. I want you to experience the pain you put my wife through. You deserve to feel it, for what you did to her and I’m sure countless other people, too. You enjoy it, don’t you? You enjoy their pain, their screams, their tears. Well, I enjoy yours, only yours…And I guess other people who hurt my Aelin and our court, too. You, who put my wife through misery. You, who made her cry. You, who took her away from me.” Rowan was getting tired of talking, so he put the knife at Cairn’s shoulder and just started peeling the skin of his upper arm, moving it around here and there to get to the more hidden-from-him spots. Cairn didn’t scream this time. Instead, he just moaned and groaned in pain, which was expected at this point after all the pain he’d already been through. His body and mind had probably entered a place where he was accepting the pain rather than trying to fight it, which was completely fine with Rowan as long as he could keep hurting Cairn. He kept speaking over Cairn’s groaning, “You did so much, Cairn. Do you remember when I was trying to train you? You were so difficult. You wouldn’t listen, always got into fights with the others. Why? Why did you always need to keep fighting?” He moved down to Cairn’s forearm. “Why do you enjoy it? Isn’t it sickening to you? Have you ever puked after torturing someone? Do you have any conscience at all?” Cairn didn’t reply, so Rowan just moved on to Cairn’s other arm, and before long, Cairn was once again pulled back into his mind, but not before Rowan cut off both of his arms. That procured a shriek from Cairn’s throat, which made Rowan smile in the sweetest delight. He drank a glass of water, swallowing the minor disgust at his own thoughts. He walked over to the small fireplace on the side of the tent and lit a small fire. Then picked up the first knife he’d used and put it beside Cairn’s head, freeing his hands so that he could bring Cairn’s back to consciousness one last time. While Cairn was blinking away the last dregs of unawareness, Rowan said, “I have nothing to say to you, except that your whole life, everything you did, led to this point. You and your actions are why I’m here standing here, holding this knife. You hurt her and now I will kill you.” Cairn trembled as Rowan picked up the small knife used for precise incisions. “Please, please. Make it quick.” Cairn begged in a small squeaking voice. Rowan slowly shook his head, bringing his mouth close to Cairn’s ear. “You don’t deserve it.” Coming back up, Rowan brought the knife down to Cairn’s crotch. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you keep your manhood after what you did to my wife, did you?” And with those words, Rowan castrated Cairn. His mouth widened in horrified terror. Rowan imagined that he was so much in pain that he couldn’t even get his voice out to express the pain he was going through. It was so painful he couldn’t even scream. His hands presumably come up to hold his crotch but he couldn’t because of the iron holding him down. After he’d carved out impotent on to the small spot he’d reserved before, he moved to Cairn’s forehead. Starting just above his bushy brown brows, Rowan dug his knife into the skin and peeled it back until half of Cairn’s scalp was just hanging off the table edge. Rowan didn’t blink an eye at the bits of brain spilling out, as he went to the other brow and did the exact same thing. During all this, he also very reluctantly healed Cairn just enough so that he wouldn’t die of blood loss or suffocation or any of the shit, as Rowan basically destroyed Cairn’s mind, physically and mentally. He moved on to the cheeks, peeling the skin of then the nose and ears, also slicing the skin away and then cutting the body part of altogether. Then he took his knife and jabbed them into each of Cairn’s eyes. He screamed at. Loud and clear, his voice rang through the tent. Soon Cairn’s once permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face was not a permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face. Instead, it was a slab of meat, blood, squishy shit, and just overall, waste. No one would be able to tell who he was, anymore. No one would see that arrogant smirk again. Aelin, though she would most likely see him in her nightmares for years to come, will never again be tormented by him and his face in reality.

Before Cairn could die out on him, Rowan peeled the skin off Cairn’s neck, before picking up his axe and slamming it down. Cairn’s head fell and vulgarly rolled around the tent floor before Rowan picked it up and threw the head into the fire that he’d kept going with his magic. He watched it burn for a couple of minutes before going to the rest of the body. He cut it up into smaller pieces before throwing those into the fire too. His nose prickled at the scent of burning flesh but he kept watching. He wanted to make sure that not a single piece of that male lived. He wanted to make sure that was Aelin safe, or at at least as safe as she could be at the moment. Ten minutes later, the fire was finally starting to die down, leaving the ashes of Cairn scattered on the floor.

Cairn. He was dead. Good riddance, was all Rowan thought before he exited out of the tent, his magic blowing the scent of the burnt flesh away from the tents.

In the chaos of Aelin’s escape, Rowan was easily able to walk out of the camp without attracting any attention. He had only taken a few steps away from the camp entrance gates before he ran. And ran and ran and ran. When he was sure no one could see him, he stopped and just let it all out. He had been feeling sick at himself and his actions the whole time he’d hurt Cairn. But he’d kept it buried deep in his soul. He knew it was important that he give himself that closure. He’d needed to hurt the person who hurt his mate. It gave him a little solace that her tormentor hadn’t died an easy death. He’s experienced pain first, then died. He’d needed to give himself that satisfaction. And so he gave it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be sick. And so he vomited. Everything he’d eaten in the past couple days spilled out of his mouth. And when it was over, he gagged dryly. It was his way of physically getting it all out. All the anger and hopelessness he’d felt in the past few months—it all came out and he was glad of it. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to puke anymore he stood up, took his hawk form and flew around until he found her scent. Her normal scent of jasmine and lemon verbena was laced with fear and blood and misery but there was also a slight undertone of happiness and pride which Rowan guessed was because of her escape. Of course, she would be happy and proud of herself. She’d been through so much and come back alive and aware of her surroundings if not completely pleasant. But they could work on that. Together. Together they would heal.

AN: Well that was quite the journey. Yes, I’m still sane. I hope you are too, and I also hope that you liked my one-shot. Let me know if there are any other ideas you might have and would like for me to write about, and remember to leave a review. I always find those quite nice and interesting to read. Thank you. And have an amazing day.