#if i ever decide whether or not wolf and shin have actual contact. i want them to poke drifter

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt.1/25

Geralt swore as he knocked into his bedside table, hopping from one foot to the other as he tried to pull on his socks. He’d have a nasty bruise on his shin by that evening but he’d had worse, a lot worse. Across his chest was a web of puckered scar tissue that he’d had ever since he was a child. He growled under his breath and pulled his shirt on hurriedly.

“Geralt!!” Ciri shouted from downstairs. “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

He glanced at the clock and swore again. She was right. It had taken so long to get her dressed and sat down eating breakfast that he’d lost track of time. He pulled half his hair back into a black hair tie and stared back at his reflection in the mirror. He looked passable.

“Coming, Princess.” He called back to his young ward.

He’d known Ciri since she was born, and he’d known her parents well before the accident. Pavetta and Duny had been two of the kindest people he’d had the pleasure to have known and he’d been honoured when they’d asked him to become Ciri’s Godfather. Of course, at the time, he’d only ever expected his duties to be a sort of uncle figure in her life. No one could have predicted they would have been taken from the Earth so soon. Ciri had spent the next few years with her Grandmother, during which time Geralt had barely seen his Goddaughter. He and Calanthe had never really seen eye to eye and the elder woman had decided Geralt was a bad influence on her granddaughter’s life.

Still, Geralt had been sad when he’d received the call at the beginning of summer that the woman and her husband Eist had passed away and Ciri would become his ward. Calanthe had been a fierce woman and Geralt found he had a lot of respect for her, despite their differences.

And now he was raising a child as a single father.

It wasn’t where he’d seen his life going but Ciri had brightened up his lonely existence considerably and he would not change having her in his life for the world. He’d not realised just how lonely he was before Ciri had moved in with him. His life had just been work, sleep, eat repeat. He worked hard to afford his house and then never actually spent any time there because he was always working or at the pub with Lambert, Eskel and Renfri. Since Ciri, he’d realised it was alright to spend time staying still at home.

He shook his head and made his way down the stairs. It was Ciri’s first day at school and then he’d have to make his way to the station for the start of his shift. Vesemir had been very understanding and now allowed Geralt to work his shifts around his young ward. He now started after the school run, and he would only do on-call or evenings if Yen or one of the wolf pack was around to babysit over night.

“Geralt!” Ciri called again and ran out of the kitchen. She had her shoes on but the laces were flying and Geralt only just reached the bottom of the stairs in time to catch her as she tripped. Her hair flew out behind her in a cloud of ashen blonde and he was hit by the scent of her floral shampoo. He chuckled. Lilacs. Just like Yen. Ciri had probably chosen her shampoo to mimic Yennefer’s after his ex had spent the week with them over the summer.

“Got ya!” He chuckled as he pulled her into a hug. She hugged him back tightly, she always did, and he stroked his fingers through her long ashen hair. “Be careful, Princess.” He dropped her down on the bottom step and tied her laces, explaining what he was doing as he looped the laces round. She watched carefully, sticking her tongue out in concentration. “You can have a go tomorrow.”

“Let’s go!” She whined and pulled him by the hand towards the door.

“Wait.” He ruffled her hair and gestured towards his own boots, sitting down to pull them on.

“Hmmph.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted at him. “We’re gonna be late on my first day! Everyone is gonna laugh at me.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped up from where he was tying his own shoelaces at the sudden vulnerability in the young girl’s voice. He frowned and tilted his head as he tried to search for the answers in her bright green eyes.

“Why?” He huffed when he found no answer.

Ciri shifted awkwardly and scraped her feet on the floor. “They did at my old school.”

Geralt tensed and he felt a bubble of rage in his chest as he finished off his laces. “Why?”

But Ciri couldn’t find the words. Her eyes filled with tears and she spun round to avoid his gaze. He stood up and pulled the young girl into another hug and kissed her hair. “They won’t laugh, little Lion Cub, and you must tell me or your teacher if they do. Promise?”

Ciri nodded against his chest and then wiped the tears away. The next minute it was as if the whole moment had never happened and she plastered a smile on her face and pulled Geralt determinedly towards the door. He grabbed his keys off their hook and let himself be pulled towards his old truck.

“Come on!” She trilled and he let himself smile at her newfound excitement.

He made a note to check in with Yen to see if she knew whether Ciri had had any problems at her old school. After the death of both her parents and her grandparents, Ciri was bound to have been the odd one out and Geralt knew from experience how cruel kids could be when you were the odd one out.

The drive went without any further incident. Ciri was happily chatting away about all the new things she couldn’t wait to learn, wondering what her new friends would be like, and her new teachers. Geralt had received an email from the school administrator a few weeks before. Ciri was going to be in Mr Pankratz’s class, otherwise known as Buttercups. All the tutor groups in Ciri’s school were named after flowers. Yen’s tutor group had been called Lilacs before she’d quit teaching a few years ago to focus on her career as an art critic. She’d enjoyed spending time with the children but had found that teaching didn’t suit her and her online art blog had been growing in numbers almost everyday. She’d begun to make a name for herself over the last few years and had been jet-setting all over the world after receiving invitations to all the most prodigious galas and gallery openings.

It had been one of the reasons they’d grown apart. Geralt hadn’t enjoyed the glitz and glamour of Yen’s new life, and she hadn’t been content to stay in the small town for the rest of her life. The spark that had kept bringing them back together after every fight had fizzled out and they’d realised that deep down their relationship had never really meant to last. They were both too headstrong, too stubborn. Still, she knew him better than he knew himself and they stayed in contact. He didn’t have many friends outside of his work life and he didn’t want to lose Yen. He still loved her and she was his best friend. Life without Yennefer Vengerberg would be very dull indeed.

It had been Yennefer who had managed to use her connections with the school to get Ciri a place last minute once she’d moved in with him over the summer. Yennefer was still friendly with the staff and regularly met up with a handful of them when she was in town. Geralt pulled up and parked the car. He helped Ciri pull her rucksack onto her shoulders and held her hand as they headed towards the reception.

A pretty young woman was manning the desk. She had curly dark caramel coloured hair and dark chocolate eyes. Her skin was tanned and her cheeks were painted with a flurry of freckles. He frowned. She seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t recall ever meeting her and he was usually pretty good with faces. She smiled brightly when she saw them approach and stood up to shake his hand.

“Mr Rivia?” She asked.

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Call me Geralt.” He added.

“Excellent. I’m Ms Merigold.” She smiled as she released his hand.

Merigold.

That was Yennefer’s best friend’s name. Triss Merigold. They’d never managed to meet up whilst he’d been dating Yennefer, and Geralt had started to suspect that Yen had purposely never introduced them. Maybe she’d been jealous. More likely she’d realised their relationship was never meant to last and there was no point in involving her friends. Geralt had been optimistic and Yennefer had been introduced to all the most important people in his life. He felt a pang of sadness to know she’d never allowed him the same courtesy.

She ticked off Ciri’s name on the clipboard in front of her. Geralt grimaced when he noticed hers was the last name. This single parenting lark was going to be a lot harder than he expected. “Don’t worry. There’s still time.” She turned to Ciri. “And you must be Cirilla?”

Ciri made face and scrunched up her nose at her full name.

“She prefers Ciri.” Geralt explained.

“I’m sorry Ciri. I didn’t know. We’ll make sure all the teacher’s know before you have any classes with them.” Ms Merigold smiled down at his ward. Ciri scowled whilst she considered the other woman’s apology and then her face broke into a bright smile. “You’ll just need to let Mr Pankratz know.”

“Thank you, Ms Merigold!” She beamed.

“Follow me. I’ll show you to Mr Pankratz’s class. You too, Geralt. Jaskier, Mr Pankratz, likes to meet all the parent’s on the first day.” Ms Merigold walked around to their side of the desk and started to make her way through the corridors, pointing out important locations to Ciri on the way, the toilets, the school assembly hall, the dining room.

Ms Merigold stopped in front of a bright yellow door that was covered in kid’s drawings of buttercups. The name ‘Jaskier’ was scrawled out in elegant calligraphy under the thin window pane.

“Here we go. Once you’re done, Mr Rivia, Geralt, if you could drop back to reception and we’ll finish up the paperwork.” Ms Merigold gave Ciri a small wave and wandered back down the corridor.

Geralt took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The music that was floating through the door, halted and Geralt heard a voice through the buttercup covered door.

“Come in!”

Geralt scowled at the cheery tone and pushed the door open. In the middle of the room, surrounding by tiny children, was a sunny looking brunet cradling a guitar in his arms. His face broke into a grin when he saw them. Geralt felt like he’d been punched in the gut as Jaskier’s brilliant blue eyes met his. He’d never seen eyes that blue before. They seemed to shine and glitter in the bright lights of the classroom. He was… radiant.

Geralt tore his gaze away from the teacher and looked around the room. He knew he had a habit of staring too much and with his larger frame he had a tendency to be intimidating. He didn’t want to terrorise Ciri’s new teacher on her first day. It would only make her school life harder for her. Although, Jaskier’s eyes were so captivating and unique, Geralt could hardly be the first person to gawk at him.

“Ahh Mr Rivia! At last. And you must be…”

“Ciri.” Geralt cut the younger man off. “This is Ciri.”

“Ciri!” Jaskier jumped up excitedly and swung his guitar onto his back and extended his hand to the young girl. “Nice to meet you Ciri, I’m Mr Pankratz but everyone calls me Jaskier.”

Ciri giggled and shook Jaskier’s hand. “That’s a funny name.”

“Princess.” Geralt warned in a low voice.

“No no. It’s fine.” Jaskier just waved it off with a charming smile that made Geralt’s stomach flip. He turned back to the children behind him with a wave of his hand. “Right everyone,” Geralt noticed he was making gestures with his hands as he spoke. It looked like sign language not that Geralt was overly familiar.

“I want you all to think of three things that have made you happy this morning and share them with as many people as possible. It can be as simple as having a yummy breakfast, or a parent picking out your favourite top for you to wear. Go!”

He finished off with a final wave of his hands, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated on the last couple of words. A little boy in a beanie was watching him intently until the very end. He had an adult sitting nearby who smiled appreciatively at Jaskier.

The classroom erupted with noise but Jaskier’s eyes just danced with excitement. He’d probably have a hard time calming the children back down but it gave him a chance to talk to Ciri and Geralt without much disturbance. Jaskier turned back to Ciri with a more serious expression. “Jaskier isn’t my real name Ciri, but I chose it. Just like you chose Ciri, right?”

Ciri’s nose scrunched up as she took in what her teacher was saying and then nodded.

“Just because we chose our names, doesn’t make them any less important. A name is a very personal thing Ciri. We should be openminded, yeah?” Jaskier spoke calmly, fixing his blue gaze on the younger girl.

She blushed a little but nodded. “Yeah.”

“Wonderful.” Jaskier trilled happily. “Now, go join the others. Remember I want three things that put a smile on your face this morning. What’s the first one?”

“Cub!” Ciri replied with a laugh.

“Her stuffed lion.” Geralt explained when he saw the flash of confusion on her teacher’s face. He immediately brightened up at Geralt’s explanation and met Geralt’s eyes with a grateful expression.

“That would make me happy too. You’ll have to bring Cub in one day so we can meet them.” Jaskier’s voice was so sincere and genuine that Geralt almost believed that the young man would like nothing more than to meet Ciri’s stuffed toy lion. “Off you go then.”

Ciri scampered off to meet the rest of the class. Geralt watched after her nervously but Ciri was already better than him at making friends and she’d already introduced herself to two of her peers before Geralt turned back to face her teacher.

“Mr Rivia.”

“Geralt.” He insisted.

“Geralt.” Jaskier nodded. Geralt’s name sounded like molten chocolate coming from Jaskier’s mouth. He turned back to watch Ciri so that the teacher couldn’t see the blush that he was fighting down unsuccessfully. “I just wanted to check with you to see if there’s anything we can do to make Ciri’s school life easier. The other children aren’t aware of her, circumstances, shall we say? If she ever needs time off or you think a therapist at school would help her then we can accommodate that. She’s far too young to have known so much death.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded. Jaskier wasn’t wrong. “I’ll have a think. Thank you, Jaskier.”

“So what’s made you happy today, Geralt?” Jaskier asked with a wink.

You.

The word almost escaped his lips and took him off guard.

Instead, he took a deep breath and turned to face the teacher, desperately trying to ignore the smile that seemed to brighten up the whole room, or the way his eyes twinkled as if he knew the most exciting secret.

“Ciri.” He paused. “And the coffee machine.”

Jaskier’s chiming laugh filled the room. “Ah yes the elixir that is coffee. That’s only two things though, come now Geralt even the kids can count to three.”

“Hmm.” Geralt struggled to think. “Ciri was nervous this morning.”

“And that made you happy?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him and put a hand on his hip.

“No, of course not. Let me finish.” Geralt almost growled at him before he remembered that this man wasn’t his friend, he was his daughter’s teacher. “She was nervous, and you made her laugh.”

“So, I made you happy?” Jaskier smirked mirthfully.

“No.” This time Geralt did growl the word. He couldn’t help it, this man was just so infuriating. Of course he was. No one could be that beautiful and not be a pain in the arse. “You made Ciri happy. Ciri being happy made me happy.”

“Ciri’s on your list twice.” Jaskier pointed out.

“Problem?” Geralt raised an eyebrow at the younger man.

“No. No. No problem.” Jaskier grinned. “Right. I need to get back to the little devils. Triss, Ms Merigold, will set you up with my email address should you need it, she’ll also need your phone number incase there’s a problem here. I’ll look after Ciri, Geralt. I promise.”

Geralt grunted with a nod and turned to leave the room.

“Wait. Geralt.” Jaskier called. “One last thing.”

Geralt tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at the brunet.

“If we can’t get hold of you. Is there someone else to contact in emergencies?” Jaskier fiddled with the strap of his guitar.

“Hmm. You could try my work. Vesemir, or Yennefer if she’s in town.”

“Vengerberg?”

“That’s right.”

“You know Yennefer Vengerberg?” Jaskier looked at him wide eyed.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded wearily, Jaskier was probably a fan. Yen’s art blog had become something of a sensation after all.

“I met her once. She left before I started here, but she’s become something of a legend amongst the staff. Mr Gynvael speaks very highly of her.” Jaskier explained although the way his gaze drifted awkwardly to the floor made Geralt think there was probably more to that story than Jaskier was letting on.

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t quite know what to say to that.

Luckily for him one of the children started to cry and Jaskier instantly slipped back into teacher mode, rushing over to where a child had fallen on the floor. “Hey hey. It’s alright. Can you show me what hurts?” Jaskier cooed to the small child.

Geralt smiled at the easy care that Jaskier had with the children. He would be far better at being thrown into single parenthood. Geralt sighed and walked out the classroom. He glanced at his watch and cursed. Vesemir would not be impressed with him. He was much later than he’d anticipated but he could always say it was an exception for the first day.

He pulled out his phone and hit his second speed dial.

Vesemir picked up on the second ring “Ah White Wolf. You’d better have a good explanation.” Vesemir chuckled.

“Ah. Fuck. Yes.” Geralt sighed. “I’m on my way.”

_____________

Geralt ached. His body was tired from running drills with Lambert, Eskel and Renfri all morning. They had also been called out a few times. Nothing major luckily, an unfortunate microwave incident in the local University dorms, a couple of house calls that were easily contained and the hugely stereotypical my cat is stuck in a tree call. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he unlocked the door to his flat. He’d barely stepped across the threshold when a blur of ashen blonde hair came flying at him and he caught Ciri in his arms and spun her around.

“Geralt!” She giggled happily as she flew through the air.

“Hi Princess. How was school?” He asked his ward.

“It was great! Mr Jaskier is the best!” She sang happily. “He was telling us all about words that sound the same, and Dara can’t hear properly so Mr Jaskier is teaching us how to speak with our hands!”

“Yeah?” Geralt smiled fondly down at the young girl as he carried them both to the kitchen where Coën was waiting for them both. Geralt nodded at him in greeting. “What words sound the same?” He prompted wondering how much she would have learnt on her first day.

“Yeah! Like bee and tree!” Ciri nattered away happily.

“Hmm. And you were a good girl for Coën when he picked you up from school?” He asked.

Ciri pouted. “I’m always good!”

Geralt chuckled. “Of course.” He turned to her babysitter. “Thanks Coën. Any problems?”

“None at all. She was an angel.” Coën said with a laugh as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “She’s even been teaching me how to sign the alphabet. Ciri, show Geralt how to sign your name.” Coën asked with a gentle smile. Ciri beamed back and scrunched up her nose and she slowly spelled out her name with her hands.

Geralt made a mental note to look up sign language courses online. If one of Ciri’s friends used sign language then it was only a matter of time before they ended up on a playdate and he wanted to be able to communicate with his ward’s friends and support Ciri in her learning.

“That’s good, Ciri.” He praised a little awkwardly. He’d never been particularly open with his feelings but it was something he was working on for her. He knew children needed praise and encouragement so he was trying his best.

The three of them sat in the kitchen for a few minutes whilst Ciri tried to go through the whole alphabet. She forgot a few of the later letters but Coën had already looked them up on his phone and was able to remind her. Geralt’s respect for the teenager grew. He was the son of one of Vesemir’s former colleagues and Vesemir had recommended him as a babysitter once he heard about Calanthe and Eist’s death.

Once Ciri had reached the end of the alphabet, Coën hugged her goodbye and Geralt shook his hand. “I’ll see you both tomorrow then. Bye Ciri!” He called with a wave before picking up his bag and heading to the front door.

“See ya!” Ciri waved him goodbye and then turned her attention back to Geralt. “Did you know nothing sounds like orange?”

“Hmm. I did. Did Mr Jaskier tell you that?” Geralt asked as he lowered Ciri back to the floor and began to root around in the fridge for his dinner.

“Yup! Purple doesn’t have a word rhyme either.” Ciri grinned.

“Hmm. I never thought about that. Mr Jaskier is a clever man.” Geralt smiled softly at the memory of Jaskier’s bright eyes and kind smile.

“He’s the bestest!” Ciri agreed. “but don’t worry, Dad, you’re still my favourite.”

Geralt’s heart stopped in his chest.

“Dad?” He asked quietly.

“Well obviously.” Ciri said with her hands on her hips.

“Come here.” Geralt said and pulled her into a big hug.

“Oh there’s something from Mr Jaskier on the table for you!” Ciri said as she squirmed in his arms.

“Hmm?” Geralt let his daughter go and saw a yellow envelope on the table.

“He said to make sure you saw it.” Ciri insisted.

Geralt flipped the envelope over. He was sealed shut by a small blob of teal wax. Geralt chuckled at the sight of it. He should have known that Ciri’s teacher would be the extravagant type. He opened the envelope carefully, tracing the elegant letters of his name. He’d never known anyone else with such dramatic writing. He wondered if Jaskier wrote on the whiteboard like that or whether he’d made an effort for the letter. Geralt scowled at that. Why would Jaskier make an effort for him? He shook the thought from his mind. He wasn’t special. Jaskier had probably written a letter like this to all the parents.

The writing inside, however, wasn’t nearly as neat. It wasn’t bad but it was definitely more of a scrawl than calligraphy.

  Hi Geralt!  

     Thank you for coming in to see me on Ciri’s first day. I always prefer to meet the parents sooner rather than later so we can work together to give the kids the best start in life that we can. Normally I would send an email at the end of the week to give all the parents an update on their child’s progress and what we’ve learnt but it’s the first day so that’s all a bit exciting isn’t it?  

     Ciri is an absolute delight! She makes friends very easily and seems to have the whole class wrapped around her little finger. She’s even managed to bring one of the shyer kids, Dara, out of his shell. You should be very proud of her.  

     On a more serious note, Ciri has noticed that her family situation isn’t exactly common. Most of the kids in our class have two parents or live with their mother. We had to have a little chat after lunch. She got a bit upset that she didn’t have a mum and dad but we talked about how family is important, especially the ones we choose. If there’s anything I can do to help please let me know. If there are any topics that are best to avoid etc.  

     Anyhoo! Today we learnt about rhyming words and started work on writing our numbers and alphabet. In the morning we learnt a new song together and started learning sign language! A wonderful skill to have, I think, and this afternoon we had to draw one of the things that made us happy. Ciri should have her drawing done by the end of tomorrow! I expect to see all her drawings pinned to the fridge. No slacking, Geralt.  

     I am absolutely thrilled to be teaching Ciri this year! Here’s to the rest of a brilliant year with the Buttercups!  

     Kindest Regards,  

     Jaskier.  

Geralt didn’t realise he was smiling until Ciri peered up at him with a smirk on her face.

“Dad, do you like Mr Jaskier?” She cackled.

“He’s a good teacher, Princess.” He scowled down at her.

“He’s got pretty eyes.” Ciri hummed thoughtfully.

“Cirilla. Go to bed.” Geralt snapped.

“But Dad!” She whined.

“Don’t forget your teeth.” He grunted.

“Urgh. Fine.” She stormed off upstairs in a huff.

Geralt gently traced the letters of Jaskier’s name at the bottom of the paper. Jaskier was a beautiful man, there was no denying that. It was the first thing Geralt had noticed when he’d walked into Ciri’s classroom. You’d have to blind not to notice that, even Yen would probably agree and Jaskier was decidedly not her usual type, and he was kind. He was good with the kids. He talked too much. That much was evident but he’d already won over Ciri and Geralt had been impressed by how he’d handled the sensitive subject of Ciri’s home life, both that morning and in the letter.

That didn’t mean he liked him though.

It was just well-deserved respect.

He pictured Jaskier’s blinding smile and the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Geralt felt a warmth bubble up in his chest at the thought. He put the letter in his pocket and slumped down into a chair, resting his head on this the table.

“Fuck.”

_______

Next

[laylacooke]

Did You Just UMWC Me Fall? || Morgan & Layla

timing: Earlier in the month. parties: @mor-beck-more-problems & @laylacooke summary: Morgan talks to Layla about life and college.

While college hadn’t been the main thing on Layla’s mind anymore, it had been a lingering thought. So, with nothing better to do, the nineteen-year-old decided to check out UMWC for the day.

The campus, a beautiful sight, hadn’t been quite as big as some of the colleges she had toured back home in Tennessee, but it did remind her of her past residence. However, it was the lingering memory of what she had done to Blanche and her car nearly a month ago that left a bad taste in her mouth. Walking this campus would forever be a reminder, and as she moved from one part of the university grounds to another, she hadn’t quite noticed where she was going, resulting in the collision with a parked row of bicycles that sent her tumbling over and to the ground.

With a groan, Layla sat up, cheeks bright red, hoping no one had seen what had just happened.

Morgan, having just finished her last summer session, was carting out the books and resources she’d kept on hand so she could cram the next semester’s reading list onto her tiny shelves in her office. With her new zombie strength, she could almost get the books to her Subaru in one go. She was nearing the parking lot when she spotted a girl take a tumble over the bike racks. Morgan rushed over, shifting her heavy box to one side as she bent over to help her up. “Hey, are you alright? Do you need a lift to student health services? That uh, looked like a big yikes.”

Layla rubbed the pain out of her shin and leg, before attempting to find her footing. The sooner she was up, the sooner she could forget about embarrassing herself in front of anyone that had seen her. It was the offer of a hand and a trip to student health services that caused the once subsiding redness of her cheeks to come back stronger than ever. Looking up, she gave the woman a weary smile and utilized the help. Her leg was still aching, mainly from where Ariana had clawed her, but otherwise, she had been fine, “I’ll be fine, and thank you. I think it was my pride more than anything. Plus, I doubt they’d see me. I don’t actually go here. I was just checking out the campus.” She dusted herself off and hobbled back away from the woman to give her some space, “Question is do you need help? That box looks pretty heavy.”

Morgan was too concerned with giving the girl a once-over for obvious signs of injury to think about hiding her confusion at her question. “Do I--huh?” Then she looked at her box, crammed to the limit with books, balanced easily with one arm on her hip. “Oh! Yeah, you know I uh…” She pulled back and switched to both arms, twisting her face into her best grimace. “It is really heavy. Just--whew!” Without thinking, she lifted a hand to wipe her brow, trying to really sell the idea. “But I work out, you know? Lifting...weights and stuff. Anyways, I don’t mean to keep you if you’re headed to class. Unless there’s something I can help with? I’ve only been teaching here for a little bit, but I know my way around pretty well I think?”

The teenager narrowed her eyes for a moment but shrugged it off. If she had it under control, “Right. Well as long as it’s not hurting you or anything.” Layla eased up and shifted a little in her stance, still adjusting from the fall, “I’m not a student or anything like that. I mean I’ve thought about coming here. Well college. I’ve thought about college. But life kinda got in the way, and I don’t know if it’s something that will ever really be in the cards now.” She shifted her eyes to the ground. The redhead had imagined so much for her future. Getting away from her parents. Starting her own life free of the supernatural. Marrying the love of her life and starting a family. But her plans had changed the night she was bitten. “Do you maybe have some brochures or something?” It wouldn’t hurt to take some home, right? At least she could look them over and have something to hold onto and dream about.

Something about the girl’s words struck Morgan as familiar. It reminded her of Frankie, of course, who was still too new to town and wary of hope to enroll just yet. And by extension, she remembered herself. ‘Life happened’ and ‘things just came up’ were her favorite shorthand for her curse. Saying the word itself was out of the question, and if she went down the line of particulars, she always feared someone would think her too needy and dramatic. And, heck, maybe she was, but when you had to keep your chin up while the world fell around you for the third or fourth time, sometimes you wanted the world to turn on a spotlight and notice and say it was fucking sorry. “I’m just an adjunct for now, but I do have an info sheet for drop-ins somewhere in here. You know, UMWC is one of the more affordable universities out there and I think the financial aid office is more understanding than most, which is the best one can hope for until we get free education someday--but, anyway--” Morgan set down her box and started digging through all her books. Of course, the folder she was looking for was smushed down at the very bottom. “If you’ve got the time and the will, I’ll try and do what I can to help you out here, if you decide to go for it. You wanna tell me a little about your situation, or at least your name, so I know who I’m helping?”

She watched as the woman sat the box down and began digging for papers. Dropping in on a class could be fun. Layla had always taken pride in learning new things. Well, things that interested her. Having her parents force her to learn about werewolves, survival in the wilderness, first aid, and other practical things a hunter needed to know had never been her idea of fun. Except for archery. She had taken on a love of archery. About the only thing she had found pleasant at the expense of her mother and father’s fortune, “Really? I mean I don’t exactly have the means to afford college right now, and I got into some trouble a little while ago…” Every day she had regretted what she had done to Sam and Took’s, and now, she would be paying for it; as she rightly believed she should. Biting at her bottom lip, she was almost hesitant to give her name, but decided to anyways, “Uh, Layla. My name’s Layla.”

“I’m sure whatever happened, the admissions office has seen worse,” Morgan assured her. She had to unload all the books, and the magic game of Tetris she’d been able to rig together was doomed to be wrecked. She paused in her work just as she fished out the folder in question. “Wait--Layla. Do you--?” Her face wrinkled with curiosity. It seemed unlikely, but White Crest was a small town… “Are you friends with Ari and Ulf? I just--I’ve heard of you from them. And Blanche. I’m friends with them too, to be clear. Whatever happened to you before, it’s safe with me. Oh, and uh, that goes for whether you’re the same Layla I’ve heard about or not, obviously.” Morgan passed her the info sheet. “I’m Morgan, by the way.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” Getting in trouble with the law wasn’t exactly a good thing, especially when it came to jobs and college admissions, but if she didn’t at least try, she’d never know. It was the woman’s reply that caught Layla off guard. So, this woman did know of her. Did she know about Blanche’s car? “Yep. I...I live with them. So, I’m guessing if you know Blanche, you probably know some other stuff…” She looked towards the ground embarrassed, before catching the info sheet out of the corner of her eye. Slowly reaching out for it, she gave the woman a small smile, but kept her head down, until her name was confirmed. Morgan. She knew Blanche. She had seen them interacting online before. Did that mean that she knew about the car situation? “I think we’ve talked online before, about pie prizes and college and stuff.”

Morgan clocked Layla’s embarrassment instantly. From what she knew of the girl there were a lot of reasons she might feel that way. Between her public social media and a truly ridiculous crisis with a fidget spinner, she had gotten herself into a lot of trouble. The mention of Blanche, however, gave her some idea. “We have,” Morgan said. “And I do know about some of your more dramatic misadventures. Including that it wasn’t your fault. The stuff with your fidget...toy thing? You, at the very least, were not in full control of your actions. So, if you’re looking for a guilt trip about Blanche’s car or what you did to Ariana, I’m just not that person. And, I think I said this online at some point, but just so we’re clear: you’re still a good kid, Layla. And even if life is happening a lot to you, you shouldn’t give up on your future.”

Morgan had said something that Layla had needed to hear. In so many ways, people had shown the girl that they cared and believed in her. But for some reason, hearing it from a stranger, she had only briefly talked to online, seemed to linger in her mind. Whether it was just the right moment or something in the air, she was glad she had run into Morgan. With a little more confidence, she forced herself to look up and make eye contact, “I guess I just struggle with believing I deserve those things. I was told all my life that if I didn’t follow a certain path, I was going to fail. And I didn’t, and the failure part kind of came true…” She kicked at the ground, her eyes settling downward for a moment as she fought back tears, “But I want a chance at a future and a good life.” Raising her head, she looked back at Morgan, “I just don’t know how to achieve it. And, I know this sounds crazy, but I’m...scared…”

Morgan gave the young wolf a knowing look and started to re-pile her things all over again, now with much less paranoia about showing her super strength. “This might sound wild, but you’re really not alone in that feeling. I feel like for some people you just...get so used to being stepped on, it gets easier to think you deserve it than to believe that you don’t. But, you’re still here. And you’re still a good kid. And not every voice in your head is telling you the truth.” She smirked good-naturedly at Layla’s last statement and threw in the rest of her things. “First of all, you’re talking to a gal with a decent-sized history of depression and anxiety. Crazy-slash-scared-slash-sad is sometimes just another Tuesday if I’m in a low. Second of all, this is a pretty rational thing to feel scared about. Everyone’s afraid of the future, and of things not turning out the way they want. We want to plan, and we want to make our dreams come true, and…” Morgan paused for a moment, letting out a sigh for her past self. “The more we want something, especially when we’re not used to having good things at all...I think for some people that can be one of the scariest things there is. The trick is not letting the fear control you too much. So uh, maybe try out that application? Think about what you’d wanna major in?”

She hadn’t expected to come to campus and have a therapy session, but it was appreciative. And she knew Morgan was right. Layla’s life, while full and financially stable up until this last year, had been full of heartache. Coming from a home with parents who constantly put her down had certainly done a number on Layla’s mind and own self-worth. But the woman was right. What did she have to lose? The worst that could happen is she would be rejected. She just wasn’t sure where the money would come from to pay for college, but at least if she applied, it would be a step in the right direction, “I guess I could try that. At least I would know if they would accept me.” She chewed on her lip and thought for a moment, “Well, I was thinking about fashion, but I don’t see White Crest, Maine as being a big fashion town.” She laughed softly, once more looking down at the application, “What would you recommend?”

Morgan hefted her box on her hip and dusted herself off. “There’s more offered here than you’d expect,” she said. “I wouldn’t give up on something so fast just because you’re not in the epicenter of New York or Paris or something. I bet whatever textile arts program they have here can set you up with an internship in Augusta or Bangor later on in your degree plan. But there’s nothing that says you have to decide right away either. Just, show up as undecided. Take your time with some basics and electives. See what you really like and what you’re really good at.” She shrugged and reached out a comforting hand to squeeze Layla’s shoulder before backing away, gesturing to the young wolf to follow her to the staff parking lot. “Obviously I think you should take my lit seminar for your English credit, because my students get to do things like write their own stories and read cool, sometimes creepy books, in my humble opinion. But I’m a bit biased, obviously. And look, the more you try things out in the beginning, the easier it’ll be to figure out what you really want. What matters is that you let yourself actually try, Layla.”

Layla took in all the words carefully. There was some good advice to be pulled from what Morgan was telling her. She had a lot to think about. If she wanted to go to college, it was now or never right. Maybe signing up for a few classes wouldn’t be so bad, if she could get financial aid. She had remembered talking to her high school guidance counselor about her options, but scholarships had been on the table back then. Nevertheless, at this moment, it was just her standing in her own way...or so she thought. In all her talk of going back to school, she hadn’t even taken her parents into consideration. If she was trying to lay low, this wasn’t the way to do it. But she still wanted to hear Morgan out and following her to her car meant that something in her life could feel normal for at least the briefest of moments. It might have been a pipe dream, but the more information she got, the better off she would be if she, in fact, was able to have a future that held her dreams, and that was something she was holding out hope for.

[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.