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the-court-of-terrasen · 4 years

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“If you like . . .” popular YA fantasy tropes edition

Assassins / fighting / traINING SEQUENCES

to satisfy your need for a good training montage

Graceling by Kristin Cashore

set in a society where members are ‘graced’ with one specific power, we follow a girl who is graced in killing, and working for a corrupt king

main is fcking kick ass as hell, lots of training fight sequences that you can pretend have a dope soundtrack

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab -

Lila fucking Bard??? And her knives?? Just read it, this series is killer and the main has the same obsession with her knives as I have with her p.s. you get magic competition montages what more do u want in life

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo -

NiNA and INeJ. This book has a rotating PoV system, and of the two main girls one is a gorgeous waffle loving sorceress and the other is a fucking knife wielding acrobat that will fill your need for sneaky sneaky spy/assassin types

The Queen’s Thief series by Megan Whalen Turner -

In the later books you get some thicc duels on training grounds that will make you shit yourself so not quite a sequence but read it anyways ok

Nevernight by Jay Kristoff -

Assassin training sequences like you’ve never fucking seen please read it and love it

Le feminine and strong main

To satisfy your need for more gals who are allowed to have both strength and femininity

The Wrath and the Dawn by Renee Ahdieh -

queen of your life stuns everyone with her gorgeousness and the reader with her strength??

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo -

coming at ya fast for a second time, Nina is girly af and also loves waffles which is just a perk you’ll love her i promise

Fire and Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore -

the main in this book is a monster known for her unearthly beauty which makes men go mad when they see her? Also she is v feminine and soft and loves children and wants babies and is STILL SO STRONG THANK YOU for this amazing portrayal

Falling Kingdoms by Morgan Rhodes -

Cleo is a pretty fcking princess and a romantic and is strong thank you v much

The Demon King by Cinda Williams Chima -

Raisa goes to SO MANY BALLS and has crushes on boys and never shuns her femininity this is so important.

The Queen’s Thief series by Megan Whalen Turner -

The goddamn Queen of Attolia she wears dresses and runs a kingdom what more do you want

Le Romance

enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, sexual tension

The Queen’s Thief series by Megan Whalen Turner -

Never will you be so wrecked over such subtle romance I’m not gonna spoil and tell you which trope is going on but I just need to plug this series every day so have it in every category

Fire, Graceling, and Bitterblue by Kristen Cashore -

all of these have romance and all of them are GOOD COMMUNICATIVE HEALTHY romances you’re welcome (ft. sexual tension on training grounds, star crossed lovers, and CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD)

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo -

fucking coming at ya again here we are lotsa good romances in this just go for it it’s clearly a winner psst. enemies to friends to lovers trope

Falling Kingdoms by Morgan Rhodes -

le enemies to lovers trope coming at you STRONG if you’re that kind of trash read it

The Wrath and the Dawn by Renee Ahdieh -

again, the enemies to lovers thing played out BEAUTIFULLY

Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor -

urban fantasy featuring that otherworldly romance that you know you ate upppp p.s. romeo and juliet sorta deal

Trick by Natalia Jaster -

that whole “they get on each others nerves forever and bicker and then fall in deep love” shit (p.s. this is a little more nsfw but not as much as…..)

Captive Prince by C.S. Pacat -

ENEMIES TO LOVERS THIS BOOK IS THE EPITOME OF IT JUST READ IT (p.s. explicit graphic content)

Nevernight by Jay Kristoff -

Oh boy there’s some romance here it’s v nsfw also lgbtq+ rep and just all around how many tropes do u want bc shit it really does it all in the best way thx

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller -

A retelling of the Iliad it’ll tear your heart out read it read it now I beg you

The Tiger’s Daughter by K. Arsenault Rivera -

Lgbtq+ !! just some gay princesses in love in an Asian-inspired fantasy setting with demons and everything you could ever want

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the-court-of-terrasen · 4 years

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Detail from the Queen of Mirth scene I’m working on, from Holly Black’s novel The Wicked King. When Jude tells Cardan “I hate you,” I think I laughed out loud. It’s my favourite line from the whole book 😊 Hopefully I made her look sufficiently resentful here!

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the-court-of-terrasen · 5 years

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Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

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the-court-of-terrasen · 5 years

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The Vortex Chronicless covers are really something else!

Livia Prima is an amazing illustrator!

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the-court-of-terrasen · 5 years

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prompt jude: i will never love you PLS MAKE IT ANGSTY

this is post twk! i highly recommend listening to “black mirror” by sophie simmons while reading! this is high angst. i was a little watery eyed when i finished.

it’s rated a soft T, there’s no smooching or anything but it broke my heart to write. i’m not going to tag anyone bc i don’t want to blow up y’all notifs.

Jude was miserable. Her unique skill set was wasted in the mortal world. She couldn’t do anything but take up space at Vivi’s. She felt directionless, hopeless and lost.

Her whole life had been spent in Faerie trying to become the best but now, all that was worth absolutely nothing. So when she flips through television channels meaninglessly she didn’t think much of the knock on the door. She had ordered pizza about a half hour ago. She went to the jar of money Vivi had left her. She pulled out a ten and tried to untangle her hair. There’s a second, more insistent knock on the door. “I’m coming, damn it!” Jude shouted in the direction of the door.

She was wearing a t-shirt that was at least three days old and her hair was uncombed.

As she wrenched open the door ready to stuff the money in the pizza boy’s face and eat her feelings she was completely caught off guard.

Cardan.

Her Cardan.

“Jude, why are you waving a piece of paper in my face?”

A snarl ripped from her throat, she was going to kill him, “Get the fuck out.”

Cardan was wearing something that looked like he had actually given some thought to his disguise. He had a black bomber jacket, and dark wash jeans and Jude would never admit it to another soul but he looked good enough to eat.

“That’s no way to greet your husband, my dear Jude,” He pushed his way inside and she felt her temper rising. This spiteful boy pushed her from her home. Made her come here where she has no purpose.

“This place is filthy,” he said as he surveyed the living room.

“You’re not welcome here,” Jude said shortly.

Cardan sat down on the couch. He patted the cushion next to him. Jude subtly grabbed a small knife from the counter and went to sit with him.

“I am afraid we may be misunderstanding each other,” Cardan started.

She cocked her head to the side, “I have no idea what you’re talking about Cardan.”

He reached behind her gently, far too close for comfort. Gods above, she felt the warmth of his body when he was this close to her. He took the knife and set it on the coffee table.

“Jude you have to understand-”

“Understand what? Understand that I put you in a position of power only for you to abuse it?”

Cardan’s eyes dropped to Jude’s lips. “I never loved you.”

Jude is unaware of the gasp that works it’s way from her lips.

Cardan pulls her close, and rests his forehead on hers, “I never loved you, I never cared about you, it was an act. An elaborate play made to fool your mortal heart. I will never, ever, love you.”

Jude knew she should crumble for better reasons than this. She knew Cardan was testing her, but she was here in the mortal world and he is high king.

“Just pretend,” she says in a breathy whisper, “pretend, for me.”

“No, Jude. I cannot.” He brushed her off his lap and made of the door.

He’s about to turn the handle and disappear forever when Jude speaks, her voice broken, “It was real, it was always real for me. I have loved you as long as I have hated you.”

“I know,” and with that Cardan disappeared into the wide world.

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the-court-of-terrasen · 5 years

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How to Write a University-level Essay

Heyo, so school is fast approaching, and seeing as Tumblr is made up of a lot of younger users who will soon be shipping off to college or university soon, I thought I would take it upon myself to help spread my knowledge of essay-writing. Essay-writing is my thing. I love it. I live for it. It’s how I make up for my shitty test marks, and still get by with an 85 average+ in University classes. I’m a historian by trade, so perhaps this information will seem a bit off from what you’re used to, but hopefully, It’ll help you out. If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me an ask.

1. Consider your question and find your thesis.

I know, I know. People always say, no! Never start with your thesis/intro paragraph! Go to the body!! Well i’m here to say forget everything you’ve been told. Forget that, forget the stupid hamburger shit they teach you, forget it all and start reading.

I ALWAYS start with my thesis. Why? Because you cannot make good paragraphs without knowing what you’re researching. You need direction, and a thesis is your map.

So, the question we’ll use shall be: What is one way in which the Union won the American Civil War?

Now remember, your thesis is your map. It shows you where to go, what to look for. The thesis is the heart and soul of all your work. You want a good, solid thesis. What does that include, you ask?

An idea

A reason for said idea

Evidence to support said reason, and thus validate the idea.

So, lets do an example. Let’s say I’m writing on the use of media during the American Civil War. I like photography, and wrote a paper on this in my second year, but im gonna be doing this example freehand(idk where I put that essay lol) so lets work with how I got an A+ on that paper. This will be my idea:

“Photography during the American Civil War influenced the war’s outcome in the Norths favour.”

This is VERY vague. This is an example of a thesis in bloom! Let’s take it further. Look at the above. What questions would you have from this thesis?

-Who was taking photos at that time?

-Why did it influence the outcome?

-How did it influence the outcome?

-Who consumed photography as a media at that time?

This is where you STOP, and start the next step.

2. Research

Start your basic research with your idea, and the above questions in mind. Look at libraries, ask your professor or TA or librarian, or just do some basic google searches to get to know the subject(but for the love of god if you include a google link in your citation I will personally hunt you down and castrate you.)

I like to start with the basics of any inquiry: WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHEN, WHY, HOW. Who was taking photos? Where were they displayed that caused influence? ect…These, in relation to your beginner thesis, will help guide you in what form your thesis will take.

Once you’ve finished that, and have a general feel for the time period, go back to your thesis.

3. THESIS 2.0

Go back to your original question: What is one way in which the Union won the American Civil War? Now look at your thesis again. It’s too vague, isn’t it?

As you can see, our original thesis was too vague to be a real thesis. So, we NARROW IT DOWN using our WWWWWH progress we focused on during early research!

“Photography during the American Civil war influenced the war’s outcome by providing a visual for ordinary citizens about the horrors of war, and thus helping to increase donations and awareness to the cause.”

Great! But once again, too vague! Questions that may arise include:

Who was taking the photos

Evidence for donations?

Evidence for social awareness?

So, we NARROW IT DOWN again. I’m going to use Andrew Gardner’s photography during the Civil war, as he was one of the most famous and influential at the time.

The above then gives us the following(why and how are sometimes grouped together):

Who: Andrew Gardner

What: Photography helped the north win the war.

Where: Union-aka northern states

When: American Civil War

Why/How: Because Andrew Gardner’s photography raised social awareness through this new and budding medium

Use this sort of outline to guide you in the next step!

4. Now that we have a thesis, you need to do some more research and evidence gathering.

The way I like to do this is to go check out a few books from the library(look for text books in particular), and leaf through the index for matching terms. Our matching terms would be:

Photography, civil war, Andrew Gardner, media

From there, you read over the pages, and see if any of the info relates to your subjects. Copy down quotes, page numbers, book title, author, publishing date and publisher. You need these for your bibliography. Pick and choose relevant information. The filter for relevant information relies entirely on your thesis, because it decides what you need to be looking for—this is why I hate when people tell me to start writing paragraphs before I write a thesis! It’s simply impossible and counter productive, and will cost you hours in revision.

So, gather your information from the library, and cross-reference with peer-reviewed articles and data. For our thesis, we would need data on enlistment numbers in an area after a date of Andrew Gardner’s photography exhibit showcases. No matter what type of essay you’re writing, you can always back up your evidence with data, and it won’t hurt one bit. Don’t be afraid of the numbers, kids!

So, if we were to go back to our thesis, we could now expand on it like this:

“Andrew Gardner’s photography during the American Civil war influenced the war’s outcome by providing a visual for ordinary citizens about the horrors of war, and thus helping to increase donations and enlistment in the Union through awareness to the cause. An increase in donations and enlistment in relation to exposure to Gardners work is seen in data/evidence point A, as well as in data/evidence point B, which will be fully outlined in the points below.”

This gives you an example of how to lead from a thesis, to your opening paragraph.

5. Data and Evidence Justifications—Paragraph making

This is the section where you can branch your essay into your data and evidence points you gathered in steps 2 and 4. You can have as many paragraphs as you like, just make sure your evidence and data is strong and supported. I personally like to work with my thesis copied and pasted onto the top of every page I write on. This keeps you on track, with your clear goal in mind, and will help you from straying. I will give you an example of how a paragraph might sound.

Andrew Gardner’s photography during the American Civil War became heavily influential upon the American population at the time, particularly the north, wherein which his work was showcased. The influence of Gardner’s photographic works is seen in the _____, which shows us that without the influence of Gardner’s media influence, war efforts and awareness may not have been as successful as they had been.

This is an alright opener for you to work with. The ___ is where you could put in your data point or evidence piece. The point of the paragraph is to show your support for your thesis by confirming it with evidence.

Your paragraphs should take this form:

Present, Confirm, Conclude, Lead.

You present your evidence, confirm its relation to the thesis and confirm the validity of the thesis, conclude by brief revision of evidence, and then lead into your next paragraph.

6. Conclusion

Your conclusionary paragraph should be a look-over of the above paragraphs. Restate your thesis, present a summarized version of your paragraphs(one or two sentences only), and perhaps take the time to look at your own views on the subject. An example might look like this:

“Taking a moment to step away from the above mentioned evidence, I believe it to be scholarly acceptable and even necessary to state my own views on the subject presented. In drawing conclusions, I felt that the above information was correct in that it presented a reality of the time period, in which photography was becoming a medium to be embraced by popular society. People were not only astounded by Gardner’s photographs on a social level, but also a technical level. The astonishment people held at seeing the war-torn battle fields spurred them into action, and even today can still present feelings of dread, fear and loss when looking at his photos…blah blah blah”

Why is it scholarly acceptable and perhaps necessary to state your views? Oftentimes, it is to reassure the reader of your own personal bias’, which exist whether you like them or not, to the subject at hand. Having a small tidbit on your own thoughts about your research ect, breaking away from the third-person droning of an essay can be refreshing and welcoming for a prof at the end of his stack of essay reading.

7. In summary

Thesis

WWWWWH

NARROW IT DOWN

Data and Evidence

Present, Confirm, Conclude, Lead

Self opinions/Conclude

All in all, do unique things. Professors love it when they come across something that’s not cookie cutter! Even if they present you with a list of essay topics, take the leap and ask them if you can do your own research topic!! Take risks with your essay writing, talk to your professors about what you want to do, and try to have fun with your research. I’ve written on everything from civil war photography to Disney princesses in american media, to the religious formation of idea of heaven and earth. Remember, so long as there’s credible, documented evidence, it’s possible to write about it.

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the-court-of-terrasen · 6 years

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Aedion: I bet you can’t say it five times fast.

Fenrys:…

Fenrys: Lord Lorcan Lochan, Lord Lorcan Lochan, Lord Lorcan Lochan, Lord Lorcan Lochan, Lord Lochan Lor—fuck.

Lorcan: (grinds teeth)

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the-court-of-terrasen · 6 years

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Chicago KOA Event

No spoilers, here’s everything that was talked about at the event last night!

When she had edited it completely, KoA was originally 1008 pages but the glue they use for binding couldn’t hold together a book more than 1000 pages long

Bloomsbury reformatted it all to less than 1000 pages because Sarah didn’t feel like she could delete any of it

She knew what the end would be five years ago while on a trip in Costa Rica at the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve. Saw the landscape and the final sentence of the series came to her

She ended up crying in front of all of her in-laws

Lysandra’s return in Queen of Shadows was inspired by the song “Smack My Bitch Up” by The Prodigy. Not the title or the lyrics but the background music made Sarah think of Lysandra shifting into a snow leopard and she knew that she would be a shapeshifter

She wanted to make Aelin see other girls as allies and friends and to surround herself with strong women and she realized Lysandra would be the perfect best friend

The scene when Lysandra saved Rowan and Aedion in Queen of Shadows is one of Sarah’s favorites and was inspired by the song in E.T. when the kids are riding their bikes

As soon as Lysandra was there, she couldn’t imagine the series without her and she’s one of Sarah’s favorite characters

Every scene and character is inspired by music

Aelin has a theme song: “Remember Us” from the 300 soundtrack

Sarah listened to it when Chaol found out Celaena was Aelin, when the army arrives at the end of EoS, and throughout writing KoA

As she’s writing books, she makes playlists with songs for scenes and characters

Helps when she’s editing so she can re-listen to songs that inspired that scene/chapter to re-enter the headspace

When writing scenes without music, she worries that they will be ‘emotionally dead’ and it can be a really weird experience

Rowan and Aedion are one of her favorite relationships—especially when they first meet and Aedion is geeking out. Then when Rowan gives Aedion the dagger at the end of QoS and it becomes his most prized possession

Manon and Abraxos are also one of her favorite relationships because he brings out her ‘humanity’ and begins the change that leads to her character arc

Abraxos was inspired by Ferdinand the bull and her aunt’s dog, Buddy, who was rescued from a fighting ring where he was used as a bait dog. He was abused, his teeth were all gone, and they abandoned him on the side of the highway before someone found him. Nevertheless, he was the kindest, sweetest, most trusting dog

She replicated his story in Abraxos

Aelin and Rowan is her favorite pairing

Their journey in Heir of Fire is really special for her

In Queen of Glass, Aelin and Rowan weren’t together because she was in a relationship with someone else but when Sarah wasn’t writing that, she would write fanfic smut where Aelin and Rowan were hooking up on the side

When rewriting the series for publication, she realized that Rowaelin should be together, although Rowan should come in later in the series because she wanted Aelin to have the journey of going through first love [triangle] with Dorian and Chaol

When writing Heir of Fire, she planted the seeds of their romance so when readers reread it, they could understand why he… bit her and stuff lol

Keep reading

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the-court-of-terrasen · 6 years

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Masterlist

FAQ

Poems

an eclectic array of poems for the variety of topics

free verse: an ode to kaz brekker · engendered enmity · describe the shapes you see when it’s dark · the hearth · the little pill

Rants

Science of History

Nesta Archeron · Reminder · Defense

Decay of English Language

The Strength of the Fire

Plagiarism

Acceptance

Age

Maladaptive Daydreaming

one | two | three

Writing

Writing with Color | Twelve Steps in Creating a Rape Culture

“Rules” | Motivation | Solutions | Generator

Ea’s Writing Tips | Ea’s Writing Process

Aeonian

Nessian Greek Mythology: Unfinished

Part 1 · Part 2 · Part 3

Words of Werewolves

Elorcan Werewolf AU: Complete

Extras: Headcannons · Playlist · Epilogue

Part 1 · Part 2 · Part 3 · Part 4 · Part 5 · Part 6 · Part 7 · Part 8 · Part 9 · Part 10

Possessive Billionaire

Elorcan AU: Unfinished

Part 1

An Assassin’s Affection

Nessian AU: Unfinished

Part 1 · Part 2 · Part 3 · Part 4

Elide Lochan

Keubiko · Set Free · Kasar

Teaser | Theory

Nesta Archeron

“You do not marry someone you can live with, but someone you cannot live without” | part 1: veiled · part 2: unveiled

“A fresh poison a week, for we were born sick”

“She loved so hard because she knew how it felt to be loved so little”

“I’m not a stop along the way. I’m a destination”

The Hunt · Kehlani · Gratum

Elain Archeron

Angel · Love Like Death

Feyre Archeron

Legend · Painting of Poetry

Gavriel

Karsa

Azriel

Shadows of Poetry

Six of Crows

Crooked Crows · Promised

Kallias/Viviane

Frosted Fluff

Drabbles

Samleana

Nessian

The Mermaid and the Enchanted Socks

Links

Other accounts:

Earray (a bunch of eclectic collections) · Eactivist (politics aside)

excerptsofea (prose and poetry)

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the-court-of-terrasen · 6 years

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Aeonian AU Series part 1

A Nessian Greek Mythology based fic and a darker twist to this ship. There will be this Aeonian series (Nessian) and an Antiscians series (Elorcan).

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”

Aeonian 1

“Poor Nesta,” Ianthe chided. “No longer a virgin.”

Nesta’s fingers wrapped around her fork, tightly gripping the cold metal.

“No God would want a deflowered woman,” the blond crooned. “Especially one who thinks she does know her place.”

The brown-haired woman stabbed at a piece of salad, and shoved it into her mouth. Chewing slowly on the hard leaves, she quelled the chaotic waves surging within her. She refused to give into her anger—to allow Tomas to have the last hold on her.

“You always talked about not wanting a God.” The other female smiled, sharp as a blade. “I guess Tomas Mandray really did you a favor.”

That was the last straw for Nesta. Yes, no God would want to claim a non-virgin—which was perfectly fine with her, especially after all Feyre had been accounted for, still missing to this day—but for Ianthe to dare—have the audacity to—rub assault in her face, even from the dark times of three years ago—

The eldest Archeron sister twirled the fork in her fingers, staring hard at the dried, yellow leaves and mottled, squished fruit in front of her. It was against the law to attack a priestess, but an even greater sin to murder the village’s Head Priestess.

But no one said anything against accidents.

With a flick of her wrist, Nesta sent the fork flying out her hands and at Ianthe’s right eye.

A perfect execution. A warning that a line had been crossed. A sign that they would never see eye to eye—that Nesta’s gaze would never waver, unblinking, and unflinching.

A loud gasp escaped from Nesta’s mouth, and she lunged forward, knocking Ianthe to the floor. The High Priestess’s shrill pierced the air, and Nesta moved quickly, digging the edge of the fork deeper, twisting the metal. Even through the metal, she could feel the edges grinding against the root, white and pink liquid swirling.

“I’m so sorry!” Nesta cried, slipping on a mask of horror, climbing over the other female. “I can’t pull it out.” Her hair fell across her face, a shadowed curtain—and she allowed Ianthe to see the dark smile cutting across hers face, sharper and deeper than any mortal blade.

For three years, the darkness’ isolation had cultivated into something icier and harsher—a ghost of a phantom whirling within her. She’d shown Ianthe just a pinch.

As the High Priestess shrieked, bodyguards stormed into the diner, clad in plates of metal, faces shadowed by a thick, black masks. Nesta allowed the memories of three years ago to consume her, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Loosening her grip on the fork, she curled into herself, rocking on her heels.

The nearest guard grabbed her elbows and set her roughly onto her feet.

“What the hell happened?” he gruffly ordered, shaking her shoulders.

Ianthe let out a hiss, but Nesta’s contempt was a gaping abyss full of raw will.

The eldest Archeron sister harshly rubbed away stray tears seeping down her cheeks, and forced down the sick smile threatening to erupt across her face. “The High Priestess came out of nowhere—” Nesta hiccuped “—my reflexes spun out of control—”

“Psychopath!” Ianthe screeched. “Chain her! Whip her!”

When the guard reached out for her, Nesta collapsed onto her knees, and laid her palms against the Priestess’s heart. “Forgive me,” she loudly cried. “I meant no malice.”

She leaned in closer to Ianthe’s face, as if she were to kiss her cheeks, the fallen woman sobbing and shuddering. Nesta brushed a finger against the golden-haired woman’s forehead as an almost tender caress, and wrapped her hand around the emblem pinned to Ianthe’s robes. Pressing her lips against the High Priestess’ ear, Nesta whispered, “Now you can see darkness.”

Ianthe kicked upwards. Nesta rolled off of the blue-robed woman.

Ianthe’s trembling fingers grasped the hilt of the fork. Nesta twisted her fingers into her pocket, and hunched her shoulders, the image of a thoroughly fearful woman.

Ianthe’s throat elicited squeaks of gagging and gurgling noises, but her right eye pinned on Nesta’s form. Her mouth pinched, then hissed out, “Put her in an empty cell!”

The guard trapped Nesta’s wrists, tugging her away from the High Priestess. Two more went at her sides, caging her in. Little did they know cornering a wildcat, bred from the savageness only the true seers of society saw, would end in detrimental dysfunction.

Nesta schooled her features into a blank, empty face, struggling within the solid grip. She spared a glance towards the blue-robed woman. “The only cells missing are those in your eye.”

Stepping over the boots and knocking herself forward as she were tripping, Nesta twisted herself out of the guard’s grasp, using the falling momentum to bring him down on his back.

Plates of metal lumbered towards her, and Nesta tore out the the diner, blocking the sounds of Ianthe’s feeble cries of my eye, my eye, my eye over and over again.

Fixing her sleeve, a darker and sharper smile shot over Nesta’s face.

She didn’t even have to pay for that shit excuse of a meal.

II.

Nesta stole through the night and into the forest. Here, the darkness draped over her already black-clad frame. She knew this path at the back of her mind, weaving through thick tree trunks and sailing over high-branched roots. Slowly, the heavy clanging sounds of armor receded from her ears, but Nesta picked up her pace.

This was the seventh village Elain and Nesta had taken refuge in—ever since Feyre had been taken three years ago and Tomas had yanked her into a barn, both Archeron sisters turned into wanderers, fleeing with the wind. Trust was reduced to bread crumbs, and even they could barely afford for the tiniest slice.

What God had taken Feyre—Nesta had no idea, but had her suspicions. It had been any other morning, Nesta serving buttermilk pancakes while Elain had went up to fetch Feyre from the drawing room. Rather than seeing their middle sister painting with her hair twisted up into a messy bun, the stench of alcohol and grapes had permeated the room.

Elain had screamed. Nesta came up running with a knife in her hand.

Feyre’s hunting clothes had been strewn all over the floor, a purplish-green scrap of fabric littering across a canvas. It was as if the their middle sister had given them a warning and a signal that she’d been claimed—by a God.

Nesta knew the rules. When Gods claimed humans, they dressed them in their ornamental colors and symbols. Yet green and purple were common colors, even found among the varying masses of minor Gods.

It was then Nesta banished all hope of desiring to be claimed by a God. She’d once dreamed, among the others, to be one with another force, to see through another set of eyes, and to ascend the mortal limits.

She’d once set apples and pears along the mantle of Athena, the one God she’d revered the most. Three years ago, she’d pray to the God of Wisdom, asking for guidance. Now all she did was pray to the minor Gods of vengeance and fear, demanding divine retribution for those who had wronged her—because it hadn’t just been her who’d been afflicted and twisted.

Nesta had watched Elain spiral into the coldness as well. The youngest Archeron no longer made honeyed offerings to Demeter, the goddess of the Earth. She instead grew darker roses and pricked her fingers as if lines of blood served as her penance.

It was as if the darkness of the demons had descended upon the Archeron sisters.

No happiness, no protection, no understanding.

A branch snagged the sleeve of her arm, and Nesta hissed. Despite this village’s soldiers pursuing her and having to move to another village, she felt oddly safe and warm, a blanket of false security.

Perhaps it was because she’d stolen the golden emblem from the High Priestess, the coin tucked securely under her sleeve. The price would last them another to journey to another village.

The moon casted swirls of strange colors of white against the darkness and the green of the forest. She slowed to a walk, taking in her surroundings. The branches reached low, stroking hunched, estranged shadows that curved and murmured unspoken cacophonies the human ear tuned out. Nesta slowly angled her body and slid through a cluster of vines.

The myths had become reality a long time ago, the Gods deciding to end their supposed boredom in waiting. The beginnings of their reappearance into society was often bloody, jealously in both claiming humans rampant and in being desired to be claimed.

Their father had worshiped Hermes, the messenger God, and named the Archeron fortune in his name. Nesta had considered it justice when a business company across the sea had sunk their father’s ship, and had stolen every commodity on board.

Their father had never returned the sail back, a merchant following the God of Thieves, saw the end, robbed of life and fortune.

The obsession with the Gods had seen the decline in family values, many children left alone or pitted against each other. Their father had been no exception, travelling to Athens, Greece, in hope of appeasing the Gods.

Death had been his answer.

While Nesta believed it to be foolish to devote a lifetime in praying for Gods, the higher beings indeed chose humans. Those taken under their wing received immortality. It could be eons before Feyre would be brought back to them willingly and unwillingly, and there was a high chance Nesta and Elain would be six feet under in a coffin or reduced to ashes by that time.

It had taken Feyre’s kidnapping for Nesta to realize that being trapped in a powerful body with no regard for lesser creatures and their emotions and past was something she did not want.

So she stopped praying and stopped her offerings.

Elain had followed suit.

Both sisters had been shunned from the original village in consequence.

Now that Nesta harmed Ianthe, it looked like they’d have to move again. Whisperings of rumors and fault had followed the Archeron sisters as they traveled, and it never seemed the words would never cease.

Cursed.

Yet solace stirred within her, and Nesta scowled at the feeling akin to comfort’s cost crawling within her.

Elain would be beyond worried by now. Nesta knocked away the thin branches and ducked under a canopy of large ivies she knew would reveal a large clearing only a couple of meters away from their temporary home. Soon, she’d be running in the veil of the night, holding Elain’s thin hands again.

Her head rammed into steely hardness.

She rubbed her nose and slowly backed up.

Seething, Nesta untucked a dagger hidden under her sleeve, and pushed the wall forward with her other hand.

It didn’t move.

Squinting through the darkness, Nesta realized that streaks of dark, dried red pooled down silver plates, sheer power exuding from the figure.

A soldier.

The amount of blood could only mean a dead man.

But if a soldier was here, then the chances of Elain’s safety was very low. She had to get out of here, quickly and quietly.

Cursing under her breath, she turned around back under the canopy, but a gloved hand with a huge, red jewel pulsating at the center lashed out and captured her wrist.

It was a solid grasp, almost crushing her bones.

This was not the ordinary soldier’s strength. And it was a very much alive man.

She dropped the dagger into her other hand and sliced it vertically towards the hand.

Her blade merely bounced off, falling to the ground.

With a yank, the hand jerked her back against a chest of steel and coldness. Yet Nesta felt warmth pour over every vein and crevice in her body.

The male towered over her, dark, hazel eyes cramming into her own soul, sheer strength emanating from him, broad shoulders with muscles roping around an enormous form.

A purebred, dangerous warrior.

Those piercing orbs raked over her, starting from the bottoms of her torn boots to over her clothes and under the slope of her breasts, up to her collarbone and into her own stormy eyes. Black boots, black pants, black sleeves—and if he looked close enough, he’d see a black painted heart.

A brow flicked up. “Whose funeral?”

Nesta shuddered at the low, husky voice that shot down her spine. She refused to be weak again—the last time she was in a male’s embrace three years ago. She would not be fooled again.

“Get off me,” she hissed instead, and squirmed fruitlessly in his grasp.

His dark inked hair and ruggedly shaven face rang a bell, but Nesta didn’t care, not when Elain had been alone far too alone. The predatory glint in the male’s face heightened memories of three years ago, but her body remained strangely calm and soothed.

“That’s no way to treat a God.”

Nesta realized the blood seeping from the armor was not from the male’s, but a head hanging from the canopy above, a thin river of red raining down.

Nesta arched her own brow. “I’d suggest planning his funeral soon.” She could see the outlines of the dead body strung along vines and branches, gutted and torn apart.

The male shrugged. “If you want to plan a murdering liar’s funeral, then be my guest.” The arm around her waist hitched up to rub circles across her back, almost daring her to string the body back to pieces.

Nesta didn’t find the action disturbing, but rather reassuring. Perhaps he was a minor god in infatuation or magic along those lines. The gaze no longer seemed of predatory possessiveness, but of amused affection.

A dangerous smile appeared on those rough-hewn features, as those seemingly pulsing eyes studied her. “I like women who can handle blood.”

“I like men who can respect boundaries.” Nesta damned her cover and swore if he didn’t let her go, she’d scream—even if it meant drawing the village’s soldiers here.

The male seemed to read her thoughts. “You think humans are match for a God?”

Nesta didn’t reply, and cursed her own traitorous body sinking into the comfort and warmth the male seemed to offer.

He leaned in closer, a hand stroking her hair. “A match for the God of War?”

Nesta’s eyes widened. “You lie.”

“Now why would I lie, sweetheart?” The God leaned down and brushed his mouth against her ear. “Especially to one I want to claim?”

Another last straw for Nesta. She lashed out, but the God easily cupped her knee cap with one hand—just hovering over the V of his hips—and the other hand flattening a palm against her back.

“A cheap shot.” A grin.

Nesta went up on her toes, her hands cupping the God’s cheek. His skin was warm and sent delicious trills down her. The God leaned down as well, his eyes darkening, a low growl erupting from his throat, hands folding around her waist. Just before his lips closed on hers, Nesta’s knee collided with her aim.

It was a pity his armor covered his torso, but the God still doubled over in pain, a foul curse leaving his mouth.

Nesta didn’t wait before she sprinted around the clearing and to the house where Elain was waiting. Running past the locked front door, she hurdled over a bush into the back.

Slipping through the window and into their shared room, Nesta grabbed her bag, stuffing the nearest clothes into the brown material.

A frail figure rose from the tiny bed, and Elain rubbed her eyes. “Nesta?” she whispered, a sigh of relief escaping her chapped lips.

“Pack,” Nesta ordered. “We’ve got to move again.”

Elain immediately hauled herself out of the bed, rapidly opening all the tiny cupboards and sweeping the contents into bags. “What was it this time?”

“Ianthe, soldiers, and a God.” Nesta folded all the blankets and stuffed the pillows.

“The High Priestess?” Elain said, heading to the bathroom. When she emerged, all the toiletries had been zipped into bags and stuffed into a larger sack. “What God?”

A God of War.

One that made her feel alive instead of merely existing.

Instead, Nesta said, “Just a minor one.” She beckoned Elain to head to the kitchen so pack their last rations, the cold air seeping into their skin. She gave the guards about another hour before they found their refuge.

Locking the window shut, Nesta froze when Elain’s scream shattered the air. Bolting into the next room, she snarled when she saw Elain shivering and staring in shock at a large figure radiating the familiar sense of power—seating himself in the ragged and torn chair as if it were a throne fit for a king.

But that was what he was compared to them.

“Just a minor God?” the God tsked his tongue, staring at Nesta—as if Elain were invisible and as if he could consume Nesta right there and then.

“Get out of my house,” she seethed, and nudged Elain away.

Elain levelled Nesta with a clipped stare. “Really, Nesta? The God of War? Ares?”

Ares.

The name sent shivers down her spine. It made the situation too real, too risky. By no means was this some minor God, as Elain had realized, trembling.

She supposed it was the small mercies—the God allowing Elain to bolt away—that mattered.

An eyebrow cocked towards her. “It’s won’t be your house much longer will it, Nesta?” When she didn’t answer—her veins on fire—he pushed further. “Guards are searching for you and closing in.”

“What do you want?”

The God rose from the chair, the darkness wavering around him. The red jewels on top of each of his gloves exuded another type of power. A set of dimples winked down on her and those deep, brown eyes stared unfathomably at her. “I want to claim you.”

Nesta swallowed. This was her last defense, her last barrier to remain free: “I’m not a virgin.”

With swiftness beyond reason, the God moved so he was in front of her. He studied her eyes and the pulse along her throat—the fury and the rage in her own eyes and the quicker, beating pulse in memory of three years ago. Seconds passed before his eyes narrowed, and he gutted out, “Who?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You resist my claim, and the guards will be here sooner than you think.”

Nesta shivered. “Then you’re just as bad as him.”

The male who had taken her away three years ago.

The God of War looked down at her, and gently reached out a hand, traced with scars and bruises. When she didn’t bat it away, his knuckles slowly caressed her cheek. “I can help you, sweetheart.”

She’d wasted enough time. “Help is just another word for control.”

“Who hurt you,” the God snarled, the red stones flaring. Lethal dark oozed from them.

A crash sounded from the other side, and Elain meekly peeked up from under the countertop. “I packed all the kitchenware.”

The God of War didn’t spare a glance in the other direction, determinedly staring into her soul—seeing the darkness. “I can help you and your sister. You’ll be safe. You won’t have to run again.”

“At what cost?”

He leaned down so that his forehead touched hers. Warmth shot through her at the contact, and in that moment, she felt safer than she’d even been in his life.

“I claim you,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous, deep and deadly. “As mine.”

“And if I refuse?”

A glimmer of amusement in those hazel eyes. “I hear cells in this village are quite cold.”

“Threatening a mortal?”

“What can I say, sweetheart?” A cocky, dark grin, honed from insanity and lunacy in the battlefield. “All’s fair in love and war.”

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the-court-of-terrasen · 6 years

Text

The Stars We Sew pt. 8

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter is also pretty dark and contains mentions of non/con and rape as well as abuse, so if those are triggers to you, you’ll probably just want to skip the entirety of this chapter.

Someone is screaming-a woman. Mina freezes for only a split second, but as soon as the tang of blood hits her nose she’s sprinting past houses. Whoever is screaming is not far off, and she knows there are no enemies in this village. Surely none of the men now under her and Gavriel’s command would hurt their own people.

Wait.

There is one. Cairn. Mina has seen sadism plenty of times in her centuries of life, and that male is likely to have it. At that, she pushes herself harder until she barely stops herself from barreling into the door of the hut that the screaming is coming from. Sure enough, inside is the soldier Cairn. The young Fae female beneath him has already been beaten and is broken and sobbing, trembling as one of his hands keeps a grip on her hair, the other pulling at the buttons on his pants. Mina does not think. She moves.

Cairn is young, barely set into immortality, and she is not only one of Maeve’s strongest and most skilled warriors, but she is filled with icy rage that is making it hard to think. In fact-she can’t think at all. One moment she is in the doorway, and Cairn is about to rape an innocent female. The next she is being dragged off of him by Gavriel, and Cairn’s face is nearly a pulp, though, unfortunately, he’ll recover.

Gavriel drags her outside with her head in a headlock since she’s still thrashing and pulls her from the village before she accidentally mists everything in her mindless rage. “Mina,” he murmurs in warning. “Kosmina.” She slows, panting, and Gavriel moves his arms so he’s simply holding her, not about to choke her out. For a few minutes he holds her, letting go as soon as her shoulders slump.

“He was-he was going to-“

"I know."

She turns to him, astonished. "He needs to be punished!"

"You punished him perfectly well on your own, I think,” he says, the approval clear in his eyes. “And you know Maeve won’t do anything about it.” A pause. “Are you alright, Kos?"

“This isn’t about me being alright.”

He nods in understanding. "The girl is safe,” he tells her. “I sent her to be bandaged up, but I haven’t yet healed her wounds, although I plan to. I needed to stop you from killing him."

"You shouldn’t have stopped me.” She is numb. “Why in Hellas would you stop me?"

"He’s transferring to Rowan’s unit next week,” he says evenly. “And if that doesn’t work out, he’ll be sent to Lorcan. One of them will straighten him out."

"You saw that,” she seethes. “You do not straighten THAT out."

"We need all the soldiers we can get,” he says softly. “And I WILL be punishing him as well, don’t worry. But he lives."

Maeve had sent a cloak for Mina to wear during the punishment of the other blood sworn. That was it. No pants, no shirt. A cloak. Because of course she’d want her punishment broadcast to further the pain and humiliation. Maybe this will help you remember that you are a whore, not a hero.

Still, she walked with her chin up and her shoulders back, face neutral as she followed Cairn down the hall towards the throne room. He’d been rough, had tried to break her spirit as well as her body. It had not worked, no matter how badly she felt like hugging herself. The cloak hid hardly anything. It hid her back-which he’d clawed into a mess to ruin the tattoos-and her chest and down to her crotch, but her legs, arms, and neck, and the bite marks and bruises there, were visible for all to see.

It wasn’t a matter of showing everyone, though. Just the other blood sworn.

Mina could hear the Queen already speaking to them by the time they reached outside the Court room. "But you, Lorcan,” she was drawling. “You’ll be punished more thoroughly, I’m afraid, just as Kosmina was. But you’ve already finished you punishment, haven’t you, my Mina?"

Cairn walked in first, swaggering with male arrogance, thrumming with excitement for the violence that was surely about to follow. He was like a dog with a bone-she was all chewed up and used. It was time for a new bone. She entered right behind him, and all five of the other blood-sworn present went so still it was hard to tell whether or not they were breathing. "If she hasn’t learned her lesson, Majesty,” sneered Cairn, turning back to openly admire his handiwork, “I’m more than happy to teach her again.”

In the space of a heartbeat, Vaughan had vaulted across the room and tackled Cairn to the ground, punching him so hard there was the distinct crack of a jaw flying out of place. Maeve said nothing to stop him, only watched the brawl with amusement, and when Kosmina realized that it was because the harder Vaughan beat Cairn, the harder he’d end up getting whipped, she immediately shoved between them and dragged Vaughan to his feet.

“Enough,” she said harshly, pulling him away a few feet. He yanked from her grip and she held her arms out as he paced back and forth like a wild animal. “Vaughan.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Enough.” If she was anyone else, he would not have listened. He was a sun, burning with his rage. But she was her, and his eyes flew to her-to the bruises on her face. His jaw ticked, but he nodded, getting the message. She could fight her own battles.

“Back in line,” Maeve purred. “Really, Vaughan, you can be such an animal.” He said nothing, and Maeve turned to Kosmina. “And what is the lesson you learned?"

She couldn’t look any of her companions in the eye. "I am a whore, not a hero."

The Queen’s lips turned up sensually. "Good girl. Come sit by my throne. You’ll watch the punishment much better from up here.” The room was silent as she obeyed, sliding into her usual place at the foot of the throne, eyes on her hands. “Look at them.” That binding between them forced her head up, and she looked at them all standing there. They all wore masks of indifference, save for Vaughan, who was still trying to check his anger and pain, but their emotions flowed off them; she read it all, the shock and the sorrow and the ire on her account. It suffocated her. “Don’t look away."

And as Cairn unraveled that whip and the blood sworn were forced to their knees, Mina’s eyes did not leave them. Not even for a second.

Mina’s hand was trembling.

She scowled at it, suddenly feeling even smaller than usual, because General Kosmina Moreno did not tremble. She’d walked through valleys of blood and gore, had watched men die in unspeakable ways, some from horrible injuries she’d inflicted, and she’d certainly had more terrible wounds than a burned hand.

Then again, it wasn’t the burn that was causing her to shake.

Gavriel had healed the largest wounds to his, Connall, Fenrys, and Vaughan’s backs. Vaughan had gotten it the worst-as was to be expected, since he’d definitely dislocated Cairn’s jaw in his fit of rage-and he was still somewhat pale from the blood loss as she applied a wet cloth to his back, but the rage in his eyes and flowing through his aura had not weakened in the slightest.

All five of them were quiet as they licked their wounds and helped heal each other, though Mina wished they would do something to fill the silence. It was idiotic and impossible, given how far away they were from the courtyard, but if she thought about it hard enough, she could have sworn she heard a whip cracking as Cairn flayed Lorcan’s flesh from his body. She had no idea how long he was going to be hung out there by his arms, but if it was anything like Mina’s punishment, then it would at least be days. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Maeve left him out there for as long as a week.

A gentle hand on her arm jerked her from her thoughts, and Mina jolted, eyes sliding to Gavriel, who regarded the bruises on her flesh with eyes full of centuries of sadness. "I can heal them,” he said quietly. Gods, she wanted him to, wanted to crumple into the protection he was obviously offering her, but she couldn’t. She was not a child. She was a General who had done terrible things in the name of a Queen she loathed, and she didn’t deserve comfort. She deserved every horrible thing that happened to her.

She felt her eyes shutter as she turned away, voice clipped. “They are nothing. They’ll heal within a few days."

Vaughan angled his head to look back at her, dark eyes stormy and mouth pressed into a firm line. "Mina-"

"Vaughan,” she returned in a tone that brooked no argument. “I got off easily. It’s no worry."

"That’s a lie, and we all know it,” snapped Fenrys, and she twisted to give him a level look. Most of the time, the fact that Fenrys was so willing to speak his mind was refreshing, but now, it was only irking her. He was seated awkwardly next to his brother, face pale from blood loss as well, but he held her gaze steadily, daring her to lie again, to say that she was alright, that any of this was alright.

She did.

“We’ve been met with worse,” she replied simply, and it was true. Still, it was obvious from the look on Vaughan’s face that he wanted to avenge her. She felt a pang in her heart. She was older, had raised him, and it should be her protecting him, not the other way around. Not that it really mattered. In the end, they were both helpless.

The thought was bitter, and her mind recoiled from it, just like her body always recoiled from the soft hands and the pretty words and the hot breath on her cheeks before she was forced to endure. Enduring was all she had left. She was an empty shell, living from day to day, order to order, the only saving grace the burn of liquor from her flask sliding it’s way down her throat. She hadn’t realized that until the moment she’d felt Cairn’s hands touch her skin.

Thank the Gods none of them were daemati. Rhys…if he ever read that thought, ever knew her sad life, his heart would break. Mina shook off the thoughts, refusing to allow herself self pity, and gave them all a soft smirk, as if to say ‘I’m the same. Nothing has changed.’ She wasn’t sure if they believed her, but they continued to work in silence, picking themselves up off the ground before they would eventually start again.

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