#Prythian's Fantasia

[vulpes-fennec]

Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 1)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Friday, March 8th, 1889

***Nesta***

The rain had let up by the time 25-year old Nesta Archeron stepped out of the St. John’s Wood Road station. Taking the family carriage was preferable to clustering with all the grimy plebeians, but riding the Metropolitan Railway was considered en vogue for young adults in 1889. Besides, showing up to a suffragist meeting in a fancy carriage wasn’t very humble.

Political disagreements—revolving around Prime Minister Gladstone and Irish Home Rule—had left the budding suffragist movement in disarray. Still, Nesta’s particular group of women’s activists managed to meet every Friday. Which was why, even on freezing March days like this, Nesta was committed to trekking out to central London.

Central London itself was a veritable sludge of shit, coal soot, and rot. But she’d rather be wading through the mucky Victorian streets than walking up the front steps of the Archerons’ house. Nesta didn’t have issues with the four-story building crafted from warm red brick, with its ample windows and three full-time staff to attend to their needs. The home was even outfitted with running water—what more could she ask for?

Nesta had issues with her mother’s disagreeable presence. 

Nesta hadn’t minded being her mother’s favorite child when she was younger, for it meant receiving pretty dresses, compliments, and plenty of dance lessons. But as Nesta grew older, she realized Isabella Archeron cared only about social status. And once Nesta joined the suffragist movement, it became abundantly clear that her mother saw her as a marriage mart project—and never as an actual person. 

Isabella Archeron had fallen ill last spring. Her health failed to improve at their country home, at the southern coast, and even at the hands of their family doctor. So shortly before Christmas, Nesta’s father returned the family to London.

“The pollution is not ideal, but there will be better doctors in London,” he’d reasoned. “And better chances of finding a husband for you, Nesta.” Nesta had agreed to the move, but not because she wanted to get married. If she couldn’t go to Manchester, where the beating heart of the suffrage movement lay, she would find like-minded women in London. 

Society in the country moved at a snail’s pace, as things often did when the closest neighbors were a carriage ride away. Women’s suffrage was met with blank stares, and then revulsion once Nesta explained it in simple terms. Really, did no one find it illogical that in a family with three daughters, the father was the only individual with any say in matters of politics? The women in the family outnumbered him four to one! 

“Miss Archeron.” A maid dusting the vases in the front foyer gave a little bow as Nesta entered. Her brown eyes lingered on Nesta’s muddy boots. Though the servants turned a blind eye to Nesta’s comings and goings, she was certain they gossiped amongst themselves. 

“Hello, Bridley.” Nesta gave the maid a nod. Poor, poor Bridley, a sweet girl married at such a young age to a boorish man who drank and gambled away into the night. This was precisely why Nesta had no intention of getting married, for upper-class men were hardly any better.  

“Your mother called for you several minutes ago. I tried to borrow time, saying you were in a bath, but—”

“Yes, yes, I know. I must make haste.” Nesta waved Bridley off and ran up the stairs. She felt a bit guilty for tracking in street grime, but her mother was a woman who did not appreciate being kept waiting. 

Nesta hastily threw on a tea gown and undid her braid, making sure there was no dirt on her face before opening the door to her mother’s bedroom. “You called, Mother?” Nesta greeted cautiously. 

“Nesta, dear.” Only Isabella Archeron could make terms of endearment sound unpleasantly cold. “Come, sit by me.” Nesta entered and perched delicately on the edge of the four-poster bed. “Sit up straight, Nesta. You won’t attract any aristocrats with that slouch. And goodness, I know you just got out of the bath, but there is no reason for your hair to be undone,” her mother chided sharply. 

Nesta automatically tilted her chin up and squared her shoulders. Surely even Queen Victoria would not meet her mother’s standards for appearances and proper etiquette. “My apologies,” Nesta gritted out.

“Hmm…I just purchased the scarlet dress for you from the catalog.” Her mother’s attention flitted from one topic to the next like a butterfly, and she waved a ladies’ fashion pamphlet at Nesta. 

“Mother, I have five dresses that have not been worn in public yet. The scarlet dress is hardly a necessary purchase,” Nesta protested. Prices in those catalogs were astronomically expensive, but of course Isabella Archeron loved spending money like it grew on trees. 

Nesta refused to balk at her mother’s icy look. “Yet two of those dresses have already fallen out of fashion! You must make a stunning entrance at the Beddor’s gala next week. It’s the debut event of the season, and I heard that several families from the House of Lords will be there, with sons of marrying age.” 

Nesta suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at her mother’s obsession with marrying up in society. Didn’t she realize that most courtships these days were based on love—not social and economic value? Did she ever think about how much potential was wasted when women were limited to marriage, children, and managing households? Clearly not. 

Her mother continued chatting. “...and Tomas Mandray should be a fine option. Did you know that Lord Mandray’s wealth increased by 40 percent since last year? He was so smart for investing in those railways…”

“With the Beddors hosting, it would be poor taste for me to upstage Clare,” Nesta said carefully. 

“Clare? Upstage her? Why, Nesta, that poor girl is so plain, even Bridley could upstage her in last season’s frock.” Her mother chuckled cruelly. “Oh, don’t give me that cross look. You know it’s true.” 

Nesta suppressed the urge to defend Clare. Perhaps Clare lacked remarkable features, but at least she didn’t possess a nasty personality like her stunning mother. Besides, vying for attention from men was as close to pathetic as one could get. “But Mother, how am I to attend the gala if you are unwell and Father is still away?”  

Isabella Archeron bristled. “Unwell? My dear girl, I am just a bit under the weather. I will be in perfect health to accompany you to the Beddors.” 

Nesta highly doubted her mother’s chronic illness would magically clear up in a week, but she chose not to say anything. 

Her mother pressed a pair of garnet and gold earrings into Nesta’s hand. “Wear these earrings to the gala, Nesta. They were your grandmother’s, and they will surely catch the eye of every man in the room. I know this to be true, because your father asked me for our first dance when I wore these 27 years ago.” Icy gray-blue eyes glinted with cunning. 

It was nauseating. What kind of mother expressed affection in the form of social-climbing strategy and materialistic goods? Where were the hugs, kisses, or warm words of comfort? Although the earrings were beautiful, they reminded Nesta of her fate: you will marry, just like the generations of women who came before you. 

“Thank you,” Nesta managed to say, closing her fist. 

“You may take your leave now, my dear. And tell your sister Feyre to join me for afternoon tea.” Isabella Archeron’s placid tone indicated she’d grown bored already. 

“Yes, Mother.” Nesta closed the door, gripping the earrings so tightly that the metal backings left pricks of pain in her palm. Days like this drove her to dance away her self-loathing in the parlor downstairs. The waltz, the tango, the metal pole…Nesta was a master—or should she say, mistress—of these forms. But first, Nesta needed to find Feyre.  

***Elain***

A colossal structure of wrought-iron stretched up, up, and up into the twinkling night sky. What a magnificent building! If Elain craned her neck, she could barely make out the tricolor flag of France fluttering from the upper viewing terrace. The grand lawn before her, a bursting promenade of shops, exhibits, and worldly wonders, invited her to explore at a leisurely pace. 

A solid arm looped over her shoulder, drawing her close to a warm body. Elain gasped, startled at the rush of sensations he—for the person was definitely a man—elicited. She felt warm, like she was sitting by a toasty fire. Secure, as if she’d come home. Elated, like champagne bubbles rushing through her body. Elain glanced to her right, trying to see who the stranger was…

Knock, knock, knock. Sharp raps on her door woke Elain from her nap. “Elain! Elain!” Her younger sister’s muffled cries sounded from the hall. “Are you in there?”

Elain stifled the urge to snap at Feyre when she opened the door. She was fairly certain her dream had featured the Tour Eiffel: the architectural wonder waiting to be unveiled this summer at the Exposition Universelle. Photographs of the attraction had been kept hush hush, but if Elain had just seen it in its full glory…that meant it wasn’t just any dream. It was a premonition. 

“Elain, look what I managed to get!” Feyre was excitedly waving three slips of paper in Elain’s face. With her mismatched servant’s clothes and faint smell of coal, Feyre must have been wandering the slums of London again. 

Elain blinked, trying to regain her post-nap bearings. “What is that?” She took the shimmering crimson slips of paper from Feyre’s hands. In gold lettering, the paper read:

Admit One | Prythian’s Fantasia

A magical night awaits you at the greatest show this side of Earth…

“Three tickets to see Prythian’s Fantasia!” Feyre gushed breathlessly, her blue-gray eyes shining with excitement. “Remember, the circus that arrived last week?” Ah, yes. The circus that Feyre had been raving about every spare minute.

“This side of earth?” Elain repeated. A craggy mountain with two branches of magenta amaranth flowers crossing below it was printed on the ticket. A strange choice of imagery for a circus. “What does that even mean?”

Nesta’s angular face appeared behind Feyre like a ghostly apparition. “Feyre! You’ve been out of the house again, haven’t you?” Nesta accused sharply. “It’s a miracle you haven’t been robbed, stabbed, kidnapped, or caught some venereal disease!”

Feyre’s expression soured. “Says the one who went to a suffragist meeting today!”

“Be quiet.” Nesta whipped her head around anxiously. “Unless you want me telling Mother about your dalliances.”  

“Look, Nesta,” Elain tried to diffuse the situation. “Feyre got us tickets to Prythian’s Fantasia.” 

Nesta’s icy eyes narrowed at Elain’s hand. “Where’d you get those from? Isaac Hale?” She spat his name like a bitter root on her tongue. Elain winced. Isaac Hale, the butcher’s son in the seedier side of town, was Feyre’s paramour. She’d met the man once, and found him relatively handsome and well-mannered. But she privately agreed with Nesta: Feyre could do better. 

“He gave them to me for free.” Feyre crossed her arms indignantly. “Why are you in such a mood today?”

“Nothing in this world is free. Especially between men and women,” Nesta scoffed. 

“Well, they’re for tonight’s show. Eight o’clock. Do you want to go or not?” Feyre jutted her chin out stubbornly. Eldest and youngest Archeron sisters faced off, like a viper versus a wolf, their matching blue eyes blazing. Elain held her breath, preparing to intervene again. 

“Fine.” Nesta was the one who relented. “By the way, Mother asked to see you for afternoon tea.”

“How is she?” Feyre asked, cooling down quickly from their verbal exchange.

“As superficial as she always is.” With that, Nesta turned and left. She didn’t have to specify that their mother only wanted to see Feyre. Isabella Archeron rarely asked for Elain. 

Perhaps all middle children were simply doomed to be forgotten. 

It was always like this: Elain meekly sandwiched between Nesta and Feyre, the two rebellious and squabbling women of the Archeron house. Nesta, who openly derided the male species and passionately spoke about women's rights. Feyre, who renounced high society by excelling at archery and sneaking off to the seedier parts of London. 

While Feyre’s artistic talent was her only refined hobby, Elain seemed the perfect lady, all agreeable manners and poised like a princess. 

But it was all a defense mechanism. Excelling as a high society lady prevented her cruel mother’s scrutiny. And if the peerage saw Elain as a docile, conventional woman, they would not suspect her of seeing the future. For what man would marry a woman who fell into fitful dreams, one who could predict his death and misfortunes? 

At least Elain’s visions only came when she lulled herself into a meditative state or dreamed. If she fell into random, episodic trances, she would definitely be sent off to an asylum for insanity. The future came in flashes and snippets, always cryptic but never subject to change. And with the number of startling—and sometimes horrific—premonitions she received outnumbering the pleasant ones, Elain would hardly call her ability a “gift”.

“Any news from Papa?” Feyre asked Elain. Reginald Archeron, a renowned merchant who sailed to the four corners of the earth to do business, had set off for Continental Europe just after Christmas. He still had not returned. 

Elain shook her head. “The postman didn’t have any correspondence.” 

“It’s unusual for him to be gone so long, and not send any word.” Feyre chewed her lip worriedly. “Perhaps we should alert the authorities?” 

“What good will that do?” Elain replied shortly. “We don’t even know what country Father is in.” 

“I don’t see how you can be so calm about this.” 

Elain blinked, trying to keep her expression neutral. Why worry about her father, when he was probably having the time of his life cheating on their mother? The terrible premonition arrived three years ago: Reginald Archeron kissing a woman with dark hair and emerald green eyes in a continental-style opera house. Possibly in Moscow. Or perhaps it was Berlin. 

The most striking detail was the ornate golden locket that had glinted in the woman’s hands. Elain went rooting through her father’s study when he returned from his trip, and she found the exact same locket, complete with the woman’s picture in it. Holding the offensive jewelry piece in her very hands had Elain tasting bile. 

Elain had been 21 years old and well aware that not all marriages were pleasant. Still, the realization that her own father was unfaithful had been a shock. That her loving Papa was one of those types of husbands. But Elain didn’t dare breathe a word of her findings to her sisters, who knew nothing of her abilities. Nesta…Nesta would probably tear their father apart with words alone. Feyre…Feyre, who valued their family unit more than anything, would be crushed.

Feyre sighed, not waiting to hear Elain’s response. “Well, I’ll see what Mother wants. Be ready for the circus by seven. We need to travel to the south bank.” Elain nodded, closing the door distractedly. 

Elain’s mind returned to that mysterious man from her vision. Oh, how she longed to return to that hazy dream, so warm and tantalizing it was! He existed somewhere. He had to. Elain didn’t catch any of his features, but she felt so sure that he wasn’t anyone she knew at that moment. The man was waiting for her in the future. In Paris, too!

Oh, Paris! The Continent! As her father’s favorite child, Elain was shown the goods he’d help procure, like beautiful fabrics, spices, rough-cut gems, and wood carvings. She had fond memories of spending hours in his office, staring at the large maps on the walls and devouring books about foreign lands. “I’ll bring you to the continent next year, Elain,” Reginald Archeron had promised. Then he promised again, the next year. And again, the following. Many years passed, a slew of broken promises in their wake.

Not that she would ever want to explore the continent with her father now, knowing that he spent those trips canoodling with mysterious women. But the London gloom outside her window had Elain wishing her life was different.

If Nesta and Feyre were shamelessly carving their own unconventional paths, why couldn’t she do the same? She didn’t need to wait for her father to take her to the continent; she was 24 years old, a modern woman with the means to travel the world. 

As if an answer to her thoughts, the mystery man’s phantom touch seemed to linger on her shoulder, urging Elain to make her way to the Exposition Universelle. To find him in real life. 

***Feyre***

Isabella Archeron had been a formidable woman just two years ago. Her golden-brown hair had been a luscious mane that shimmered even under England’s clouds. Her back had been ramrod straight, the sharp lines of her cheeks and jaw had nary a wrinkle. Flitting from one party to the next, Isabella Archeron was truly London’s finest social butterflies.

But her mother’s hair turned limpid, even gray. The pale hue of her skin was almost sickly, and the angles of her face only made her look hollowed out, older. Now, Isabella Archeron spent most of her time confined to the bed or the bath. 

Watching her mother’s chest rattle with phlegm-filled coughs and her frail hands tremble, Feyre wondered if something swift and sure like cholera would have been better. It would’ve been better than this gradual chipping away at life over the months. 

“How are you feeling, Mother?” Feyre asked cautiously when she entered the room. Although illness had dulled Isabella Archeron’s quick mind, it soured her temperament, leaving her prone to mood swings.

“Feyre. Pour me a cup of tea, won’t you?” 

“Yes, Mother.” Feyre dutifully placed a sugar cube into the dainty china cup, and poured steaming tea from the ornate teapot. 

She was about to stir the sugar and cream with a spoon, when her mother snapped, “And do not stir the tea. I may be ill, but I am not invalid.” Feyre set the spoon down cautiously and dutifully walked towards her mother’s bed, hating how her shaky hands rattled the cup and saucer. 

“Have you heard from your father?”

“No, Mother.” 

The difficult pregnancy had meant that Feyre would be the last Archeron child. Feyre suspected her parents hoped she would be a son who could inherit the family business and lead the household while Reginald Archeron was away for work. Feyre wasn’t a son, but her parents still expected her to be the “most responsible” of her sisters since early childhood. 

For example, ever since she was 16, her father assigned her to managing their bank statements while he was abroad. All Feyre had to do was sign the checks and record the transactions in the balance book, but at this point, she could forge Reginald Archeron’s signature in her sleep. Feyre had also tended her sisters whenever they got sick, bringing them warm soup and administering tonics. Thanks to those years of “experience”, Feyre was now charged with managing the rotating circle of doctors, household expenses, and servants ever since her mother fell ill.

Perhaps she was assigned this role of “caretaker” because her parents were reluctant to change their attitudes toward her sisters. Nesta, the first-born, could have easily been taught the tools of the trade. But Isabella Archeron was keen on shaping Nesta to be the wife of a lord or a prince, not a merchant’s apprentice. Then came Elain, who took after their father and automatically became his princess to dote on. 

That left Feyre at the scrutiny of both, but without the love from either parent. 

“Hmm. I’m feeling rather abysmal today. I fear these doctors are not helping me whatsoever.” Her mother gestured to the array of tonics and powders on the bedside table. Feyre’s eyes widened in alarm when she noticed a pile of brown-stained handkerchiefs. 

“Are you coughing up blood?” she said in alarm.

“Don’t be silly. Why would I be coughing up blood? I just spilled my tea.” Her mother sounded like she even believed it herself. But Feyre was doubtful; she’d seen those tell-tale colors on Isaac’s work apron numerous times. “Do write to your Aunt Ripleigh and ask if she could send some more of that rose and daisy tea. It was delightful.” 

Aunt Ripleigh had been dead for six years now. There was no rose and daisy tea in the house, either.

“Of course, Mother.” She made a mental note to ask Nesta if their mother had experienced another bout of memory loss during their session together. Isabella Archeron’s diminishing moments of lucidity were concerning. 

“Well, Feyre. You’d better hurry along and get ready for Watson's charity ball. I’ve already told Mrs. Watson that I’ve fallen ill, but your father should be able to accompany you three.” Isabella Archeron’s blue-gray eyes closed, and within moments, she’d fallen asleep.

The charity ball her mother spoke of had occurred two seasons ago. 

Hopefully she would sleep past supper and continue assuming her daughters were at a charity ball instead of a circus. Isabella Archeron considered anything below the opera or classical music hall a lowly performance unfit for their presence. Laughable, considering the Archerons were only wealthy merchants, not the aristocracy. 

“Yes, Mother.” Feyre said, even though she couldn’t hear her. She touched her mother’s hand before she left the room. It was deathly cold. Feyre didn’t love her mother, but she didn’t want her to die. Despair rose within her like the tide, as if it was her fault Isabella Archeron wasn’t getting any better. 

It was rumored that Amarantha, the circus ringmaster, was a powerful witch doctor. Apparently she learned her craft from the natives in the tropical latitudes and left a trail of miracles from town to town. Feyre had nearly laughed in Isaac’s face when he told her that. 

A female ringmaster? Impossible. And a witch? Those were from the Dark Ages. 

But now, Feyre was desperate. If modern science could not cure her mother, why not try other methods? The Archerons had money. Jewels. Exotic antiques. Feyre was quite confident she could pay Amarantha for a little healing spell. 

Nesta was wholly focused on the suffragist movement. Elain was swept away by the pageantry of fancy dinners and shows in London. Both seemed rather ambivalent about their mother’s health and their father’s suspicious silence over the last few months. Once again, it fell on Feyre to do something, anything that would keep her dysfunctional family together. 

Tonight, she would see for herself what this Amarantha was all about. Even if the ringmaster turned out to be a dud, at least she got a famed circus show out of it. 

✨

Taglist: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo

[the-lonelybarricade]

LB my dear dear! I have devoured all yours and MB's ao3 works till date ❤️🤌 and I am feeling pathetically ravenous for more 🫠. Although my question is- since I have seen people asking you for suggestions as to which blog and which writer to look to for more feysand/elucien content I would like to request the same only and only if you are comfortable and have the time for this pressing request. And thank you even if you couldn't for some reason im only scared since you are busy and wouldnt want to burden you with such an exigent task. . I'm sorry to bother you That would be it 🥺 👉👈

You want blog suggestions for Elucien/Feysand authors? And you think you're bothering me??? Anon, this happens to be my exact area of exertise and there is nothing love more than hyping up my friends!

To kick us off my lovely friend @velidewrites is an extraordinarily talented writer and artist, and also just an all-around ray of sunshine whose blog I cannot recommend enough.

There's also @writtenonreceipts who's every work is literal potery. Pick any of her stroies and you will come undone.

@belabellissima has a beautiful Feysand/Elucien series called the State of Grace and is also one of my favorite people 🥺💝

@azrielshadowssing also regularly feeds us with delciioiusly sinful Feysand and Elucien stories 🥰 hehehe definitely read the tags though!

Among a host of other incredible fics, @damedechance has an onlyfans series that will make you feral - Playgirl (Elucien) and darling.exe (Feysand) 👀👀 Come back to me once you finish losing your mind

@xtaketwox and @itsthedoodle come as Feysand/Elucien pair hehe. @xtaketwox has treated us to lots of goodies, but I wanted to highlight her modern soulmate AU which has a dedicated work for Feysand, Elucien, and Nessian! @itsthedoodle has written so many beautiful feysand oneshots and is the sweetest, most unhinged person you'll ever have the pleasure of knowing.

@asnowfern is so talented and writes for a lot of different pairings, including Feysand and Elucien! Right now she's working on a stunning Feysand AU inspired by a chinese legend called Till Forever Falls Apart

if you're a fan of next-gen, @areyoudreaminof has lots of adorable fics and headcanons centering around Elucien and Feysand as parents!

@witch-and-her-witcher again writes for many couples, including Feysand and Elucien! She recently wrote a Feysand and Nyx oneshot, The Little Tiger, that completely fractured my heart and put it back together.

@thegloweringcastle is another extremely talented writer who has a wealth of feysand and elucien fics! One I really love is the The Law of the Land which is a Feysand western AU with background Elucien 🤠

@darling-archeron has been in this fandom since 2016 and in that time has blessed us with so much wonderful Feysand and Elucien content!! (One day you really need to sit us all down and tell us the fandom lore we all missed out on from the acomaf/acowar releases 👀)

@iambutmortal has a lot of delicious Feysand and Elucien stories! For Elucienweek last year she wrote a really addicting story called The Honeymooners

@labellefleur-sauvage has written so many incredible Elucien fics! As well as a very delicious monster!Feyre fic called Meet Me In the Woods hehehe 👀

@foundress0fnothing always blows me away with her writing. For Elucienweek last year she wrote an Elucien sex cult fic titled Both Forever and Rather Die that lives in my head rent free.

@howlingcaptaincommando is working on a really amazing pirate AU, Never Shall I Die, centering around Elucien, Nessian, and Feysand!

@vulpes-fennec has so many lovely stories, including her Prythian Fantasia WIP which centers on the Archeron sisters and their mates 😍

@popjunkie42 has yet to dip her toes into writing Elucien but maybe one day we can convince her 👀👀 That said she has so many amazing Feysand works such as Hate Me Instead and her current WIP Blossoming In Winter.

Likewise my dearest friend @wilde-knight has only written Elucien and Nessian, but I can't recommend her works and blog enough!! She's working on an amazing Princess Bride AU called Burnished Gold

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship is a die-hard Feysand, Elucien, Gwynriel, and Nessian! Currently they're working on a Feysand fic Five Minutes to Midnight which also features background Elucien!

@octobers-veryown creates so many wonderful moodboards for variuos ships and characters! I cannot recommend following them enough💕

And finally @rosanna-writer, @reverie-tales, @thesistersarcheron, and @starfall-spirit are my multishipping queens 🥰 On their blogs you'll find wonderful content for Feysand, Elriel, Elucien, and other ships as well!

[acourtofkindness]

December 10th | @vulpes-fennec

Prythians Fantasia (Elucien, Feysand, Nessian,...)

This is an ACOTAR circus AU and what I can say…it is basically perfection. Not only are scenery and world building incredible, but also the description of the characters and the whole storyline. It is definitely worth reading, but one warning…you won't be able to stop after starting it, so prepare to save some time for it. 

Meddle About (Elucien)

It is definitely one of the sexiest and most amazing stories about Elucien that I have ever read. This story is incredible and perfect, basically just like all the pieces of work from this author - you all have no idea how hard it was to only pick two.

[vulpes-fennec]

Brb screaming!?! Thank you so much for the moodboard 🥹 I am blown away by everybody’s love for the fic so far 🥰

(Also this moodboard series is very exciting and I’m looking forward to getting new fic recs from this ☺️)

Favourite Fics || A Court of Thorns and Roses

🎪 PRYTHIAN'S FANTASIA 🎪 by @vulpes-fennec

A magical night awaits you at the greatest show this side of Earth… (Prythian’s Fantasia, Chapter I)

You can read Prythian’s Fantasia here!

[elucienweekofficial]

Elucien Fanfic Crossword Answer Key- Fantasy AU

How did you do? It's our hope through this week of puzzles that folks are able to find an existing fanfiction that speaks to them! Consider these a small masterlist filled with recommendations from the community itself. Below you'll find every fanfiction recommended attached to the author who created it, added in the order they were submitted! Fics were also categorized to their best of our ability. Check them out below!

A Blaze In The Dark by @the-lonelybarricade

On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

All Of The Girls You've Loved Before by @separatist-apologist

I want to teach you how forever feels

OR:

That time Elain was a witch and Lucien was condemned to hunt her down

I Am Not A Woman, I'm A God by @separatist-apologist

Elain Archeron only wants revenge on the man who jilted her and turned her village against her. On the Autumn Equinox, she decides to summon a demon and have her vengeance before leaving that village-and the life she'd once hoped for- behind. What comes for Elain is no demon. An ancient God of Chaos rises, binding her life to his. And when he speaks, he makes the most terrifying claim she's ever heard.

He says she's his wife.

Burnished Gold by @wilde-knight

Should I call you that, then?” She quirked her head. His noble brows curved in confusion.  “Err–call me what?” he replied, still trying to find his way over the path of their stumbling first encounter. “Well, farmboy, of course,” she replied with the sly hint of a smile he’d treasure until his dying day. “As you wish,” was his only reply.

---

An Elucien Fairy tale inspired by A Princess Bride

Pride and Prythian by MANGo

Regency Era Elucien Inspired By Bridgerton

After bumping into a beautiful woman at the seasons first ball, Lucien Vanserra has spent every day since trying to track this mystery woman down. All the while his best friend is making calls on the Archeron house, attempting to woo the youngest daughter - and all is recorded in the daily editions of Lady Whistledown

A Tale of Nymphs by @missarcheron

Elain is a nymph of spring, spreading beauty and happiness wherever she goes. Lucien is the Lord of Death, whose realm is, well- dying. When he meets Elain, he knows he will need her to save his court- and perhaps for some other things as well…

Prythian's Fantasia by @vulpes-fennec

It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Golden by @separatist-apologist

I once believed love would burning red. But it's golden.

To save his people, Lucien Vanserra will marry his most hated enemy.

But to love her? Well, that's another thing entirely

This Fire Won't Burn Me by @separatist-apologist

Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Your Heart, Beating Through Stone by @ofduskanddreams

An upstanding young woman from a disgraced family, Elain Archeron takes a position as a governess to avoid an unwelcome arranged marriage. She didn't know what to expect when she arrived at the Forest House but finds herself enchanted by her pupil Charlotte Vanserra, the only child of the Duke Eris Vanserra and his late wife, and her grandmother Serafina, the Dowager Duchess. Just as Elain begins to feel like she has a place in the world, everything changes.

Every summer, Lord Lucien Vanserra and his brothers return to their childhood home for holiday. You would not believe his surprise when he arrived early and found Elain Archeron, the girl he'd loved for half of his life, sitting in his chair at the breakfast table. When Lucien finally works up the nerve to speak to the woman again, a dangerous situation arises that may bind the two in ways neither of them anticipated.

They Are The Hunters, We Are The Foxes by @the-lonelybarricade

Nesta had been very firm in her instruction not to stray from the path. The path was safe—sprinkled with iron dust every morning by the mercenaries who protected their villages. But Elain had spied the blackberries, plump and ripe for the taking, if only because no sensible human would have dared. Ordinarily, Elain wouldn’t have. Too terrified of the fae and what she heard they did to young, pretty human girls like herself. But today, Elain was to be married. Even facing the woods was less daunting than that. - Elucien Little Red Riding Hood AU

Ex Luna Scientia by @kingofsummer93

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Flicker in the Night by @ablogofsapphicpanic

Elain is sure that Graysen is the man she's going to spend the rest of her life with. He's everything she could have hoped, and has been caring and kind to her in a time when her family is looked down upon after her younger sister, Feyre, disappeared over the Wall separating them from the land beyond it three years ago. But when reveals that he intends to marry someone else for the dowry she can offer, she desperately claims she will retrieve a star that they saw fall on the other side of the Wall and use that for her dowry. He accepts, but she only has a week to retrieve it. But how hard can it be to get a rock? Instead of a rock or a gem, though, she finds a man. But she refuses to let that get in the way of true love. The only problem is transporting a mouthy, uncooperative star all the way across Prythian and back over the Wall in time to meet Graysen and gain his hand, and all of the roadblocks that come with that.

never shall we die by @howlingcaptaincommando

One sunlit morning, the Archeron sisters are kidnapped from their ship by the Pirate Lord Rhysand, his spymaster, and his warlord — why, and what he wants from them, they don’t know. But they are soon to find out.

Twist of Fate by @damedechance

After an ill-fated night that alters Elain Archeron's friendship with Lucien Vanserra, Prince of Autumn, forever, Elain struggles to regain any semblance of civility with her childhood friend and crush.

You Are Not The Kind Of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying The Wrong Girl) by @c-e-d-dreamer

With her season and herself ruined thanks to her older sister's lover, Elain Archeron decides she's finally going to take what she wants.

ivy game by @thelovelymadone

Beron wants Lucien back in his court and intends to reinstate him in Autumn, willing or not. The Night Court tells Elain to accept the bond or face the consequences by the end of the day. Lucien is told by the Night Court that Elain intends to break the bond so the war between Autumn and Night Court is prevented. What is fact? In a lavender field, a few bargains are made. What comes before a storm? Calm.

[starfall-spirit]

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY

If you want to give me a gift you can come to my ask box and tell me you have visited any or all of the wonderful stories I am posting below and just tell me all the reasons the authors are amazing bc I guarantee I'll agree with you.

Feysand

As the River Flows and/or A Court of Faded Dreams by @the-lonelybarricade

Sunshine and Promises (You get some Helion too) and by @shallyne

A Memory Undone and/or The Things We Cannot Say Series (Mute!Feyre) by @writtenonreceipts

To Steal a Bride of Spring by @ultadverb

Of the Archer and the Dark by @thesistersarcheron

I Was Enchanted to Meet You and/or Is There a Word for a Bad Miracle by @separatist-apologist

Catch Me Flying, Love by @reverie-tales

Five Minutes to Midnight by @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship

Blood Moon and Starlight Fangs by @edgyellie

Elucien

Sunshine and Reunions (Sunshine and Promises AU) by @shallyne

Seven Tears for the Sea by @ultadverb

Call it What You Want to by @separatist-apologist

(Also it’s Elucien Week so check that stuff out. We have some very talented participants this year!)

Elriel

Glitch by @thesistersarcheron

Over the Edge by @shallyne

Morlain

Embers by @ultadverb

Feymor

You're so Gorgeous by @separatist-apologist

Multiship

Sea Monsters Series by @separatist-apologist

Prythian's Fantasia by @vulpes-fennec

You and I Are Going to Change the World by @velidewrites

Pretty Please (I Need Your Hands on Me) by @headcanonheadcase (Also known as the threesome I didn't know I needed until she dropped a chapter in ubc)

[fieldofdaisiies]

two month story wrap up and shout-out, canon + x-Reader stories

I haven't read many stories in the past months, but I managed to catch up with some. so here we go, a little shout out to amazing creators and my absolute favourite stories I have read lately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Asking Prize - by @the-lonelybarricade (Azris)

Elucien Drabble - by @asnowfern

The Writings on the Wall - by @asnowfern (Nessian)

Effervescence - by @asnowfern (Elucien)

Prythian’s Fantasia - by @vulpes-fennec (Acotar AU)

Throne Room Shenanigans - by @vulpes-fennec (Jassa)

Until Your Last Breath - by @moonlightazriel (Azriel x Reader)

Run Away - by @moonlightazriel (Eris x Reader)

Leave Before You Love Me - by @velidewrites (Elucien)

I Was Never There - by @velidewrites (Bone Carver)

Sleep - by @velidewrites (Elucien)

One Hundred - by @velidewrites (Elucien)

Where Have the Bubbles Gone - by @kingofsummer93 (Elucien)

Into the Water - by @kingofsummer93 (Elucien)

Ex Luna Scientia - by @kingofsummer93 (Elucien)

All of the Girls You Loved Before - by @separatist-apologist (Elucien)

What a Time to Be Alive - by @separatist-apologist (Elucien)

New Beginnings (-part 4) - by @cosmic-whispers (Azriel x Reader)

On My Mind in My Heart - by @darling-archeron (Elucien)

The Sins that Blind Us - by @honeybeefae (Eris x Reader)

You’d Marry Me If I Asked, Right? -by @isterofimias (Nessian)

On the Line - by @moodymelanist (Nessian)

All You Knead Is Love - by @moodymelanist (Nessian)

The Hit - by @headcanonheadcase (Nessian)

Helion x LoA Drabble - by @ofduskanddreams

Game Night - by @areyoudreaminof (Elucien/Band of Exiles; sorry, I knew I forgot sth.)

the ACOTAR writing circle organised by @azrielshadowssing

and lastly an absolutely fantastic painting of Elucien - by @krem-does-stuff

[areyoudreaminof]

It’s @vulpes-fennec birthday today! Not only is she awesome and hilarious, she’s also an amazing writer! Check out her Ao3 here! Especially Prythian’s Fantasia, one of my personal favorites.

Happy Birthday Viffy! ❤️

[readingrabbit]

Progresso de leitura (A Corte de Espinhos e Rosas - Sarah J Maas)

Página atual: 300

Nem sei como falar desse livro.

Ao mesmo tempo que explora um mundo de fantasia interessante, consegue ser incrivelmente mal feito.

O livro conta da Feyre, filha de um ex-rico que perdeu tudo, que mata um feérico - um ser mágico que não foi inventado pro livro!! - e é levada para morar em Prythian devido ao Tratado entre humanos e feéricos. Até aí beleza. Depois disso acompanhamos Feyre vivendo da casa de Tamlin, que descobrimos ser um Grão-Feérico (como se fosse um rei da província onde ela está), onde ela é incrivelmente lelê das ideias.

O maior problema desse livro deve ser o quão repentino são as coisas. Por exemplo, como a Feyre passa a confiar no Lucien a ponto de arriscar sua vida indo atrás de um feérico perigoso só para procurar respostas que ela ignora depois que começa a se envolver com o Tamlin. E mais pra frente, como suas irmãs com ela depois que ela volta de Prythian.

Diversos comportamentos dela são super compreensíveis: a falta da família, a insegurança em um lugar totalmente perigoso pra ela... Mas o jeito que ela reage a isso e como ela esquece tudo isso depois desvaloriza demais tudo o que acontece.

Nem vou entrar aqui no red flag que me dá diversas vezes envolta da relação dela como Tamlin. No fim das contas o cara está realmente querendo proteger ela, mas... Fica de olho, amiga.

No geral, eu vou ser muito ingrata se dizer que não estou gostando. A leitura está sendo bem chata em alguns momentos, mas o mundo é muito interessante e, se fosse bem construído e escrito com um pouco mais de firmeza nos personagens, eu teria amado.

Minhas partes preferidas até agora são do romance entre ela e o Tamlin, além, claro, da exploração de Prythian, que é uma terra totalmente mágica. Talvez se essa magia fosse melhor retratada e te abraçasse - meio parecido com o que eu sinto lendo Harry Potter - seria um ótimo universo fantástico.

E olha... desculpe amiga que me recomendou ler os próximos, mas acho que não vai rolar, um tá bom!

[asnowfern]

Ahhh thank you @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies I am so touched you guys thought of me💕💕💕

There are so many amazing, talented writers already mentioned but I am going to add on (and maybe some repeats🙈) my personal favourite fics too!

Everything @separatist-apologist writes is gold but Throw Me To The Flames will always have a special place in my heart as being the fic that made me an Elucien

Can't forget the amazing A Court of Faded Dreams series by @the-lonelybarricade but I also really love her latest Elucien week fic: A Blaze in the Dark

Prythian's Fantasia by @vulpes-fennec which has amazing world building and captures different voices so well

As the World Falls Down by @thesistersarcheron has me salivating at the beautiful writing

Velaris U series, especially the latest Elucien fic The Shot by @headcanonheadcase

Amazing Feysand, queen of softness by @reverie-tales and her latest Beautiful Darling Boy

@c-e-d-dreamer is also Nessian writer royalty but the one I always find myself rereading is I Will Love You Without A Single String Attached

Begged and Borrowed Time and Promise @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk who have me falling in love with Nessian again and again

Embers and Light by @duskandstarlight has probably forever changed me too

Cursed, Hexed, Bonded by @thelovelymadone has such amazing world building and fantastic writer's voice

I Was Never There by @velidewrites who is so incredibly talented but has probably forever changed my views on the Bone Carver

Fox and Fawn by @daevastanner which is such delightful Elucien-ness

Sympathy for the Devil by Saphie3243 (I'm not sure if she's on Tumblr?)

Hover Corte by @areyoudreaminof who nails BOE dynamics so well

Plant a Jasmine in the Night by @kingofsummer93 which is such delicious steamy Elucien (of course Ex Luna Scientia for every Marauders-era x ACOTAR fans!

The Highland Fox and The English Rose by @labellefleur-sauvage which features delicious Scottish Lucien

Like falling stars, we are destined to burn @ofduskanddreams that popped my omega-verse cherry

I am no god, only wormwood by @damedechance is so beautifully written

Ultima Ex Nobis by @fieldofdaisiies is so creative and original

A Court of Scars and Shadows by @beaumaismortel which was honestly entrancing and I love so much too

Five Minutes to Midnight by @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship which is an honestly amazing acomaf rewrite

I definitely have missed people and so many wonderful fics but these are definitely life-changing for me💕

On to shameless self promo, I am particularly proud of these fics so do give them a read if you're interested!

Sunshine in Autumn, an Elucien time travel fic

Effervescence, an Elucien night circus AU setting fic

The Writing's on the Wall, a wuxia, Legend of White Snake-inspired Nessian fic

Eye for an Eye, an alternative acosf ending Nessian fic

I also want to collect titles to give a shout out on bookstagram since I often get asked about fanfic recommendations.

So don't be shy and let us know 🥰 These are the most popular ships but if you also have fics for different characters that's fine too!

[vulpes-fennec]

Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 3)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Previously: The Archeron sisters had a magical experience at Prythian's Fantasia. Will Feyre be able to bargain with Amarantha to save her mother's life? WARNINGS: References to past SA in Gwyn's POV

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Tuesday, March 12th, 1889

***Nesta***

Nesta was scritch-scratching her way through the pile of correspondence in the parlor when the front door snicked shut. Blazing irritation ruined Nesta’s train of thought. Where the hell was her damn sister going? 

Sure enough, Feyre’s cloaked form had just turned the corner down the street. Nesta ground her teeth, frustration fueling her quick steps into a light jog. She’d turned a blind eye to Feyre’s excursions long enough. As the eldest child, it was her responsibility to keep her sisters out of trouble. But Nesta hated running. Especially in such a layered skirt and dainty little shoes. 

“You, there. I’ll pay you five shillings if you follow that girl in the black dress down the street.” Nesta announced to a boy who happened to be driving an empty wagon past her. He could not be any older than fourteen, based on his short stature and pimple-covered face. But he nodded, even cowing slightly as Nesta hopped into the grimy wagon. “Be discreet. If she catches us, you’ll only get two.” 

The janky wagon rumbled and squelched over cobblestone and mud. The boy maintained a careful distance as they moved past soot-darkened gray buildings, ramshackle apartments, squalid beggars, and over the Thames River. They followed Feyre for a good half hour before she disappeared into thin air. 

“Where did she go?” The boy stopped, his confusion mirroring Nesta’s. Nesta, who had been keeping a close eye on Feyre the entire time, was at a loss for words. Feyre’s honey-brown hair was easy to spot, even amongst the throng of Londoners. She was even wearing a knitted cream shawl that made her stand out in the gray. But they had traveled far enough that Nesta was certain where Feyre was headed. 

The Prythian’s Fantasia tent rose tall and proud about a half mile away. The lines and colors were sharper in daylight, but the structure still evoked memories of that magical night. Nesta had not been able to stop thinking about how circus dancers pranced and spun across the ring, seductively contorting their bodies mid-air with silken ribbons. She would make the rest of the way by foot; Nesta plunked down the five shillings into the wagon before hopping out.

The circus gate was shut and the grounds were silent, which had Nesta wondering for a moment if she had guessed incorrectly. It seemed dead as a graveyard. But there it was…that faint jingle of music. Lilting notes and clear tones sweetened the air, beckoning her in. Nesta walked along the massive perimeter, following the music. She eventually reached the performers’ camp just behind the main circus. 

Sure enough, her sister was idling at the camp’s edge, wringing her hands and pacing anxiously as if she was working up the nerve to enter. A gold-painted sign propped next to the small entrance read: Prospective performers, seek Amarantha. 

“Feyre,” Nesta called out firmly. 

Feyre jumped, her blue-gray eyes widening in surprise. “Nesta!” Her expression pinched with sudden nervousness. “What are you doing here? Have you been following me?” 

“I should ask the same thing about yourself. Not thinking of running away to the circus, are you?” Nesta replied dryly. 

“I’m not running away…I simply must speak with the ringmaster.” Nesta groaned in frustration when Feyre strode away. Whatever business Feyre had with Amarantha, Nesta was not going to wait around for her sister to come back out. 

During the day, the circus performers were unrecognizable in regular garb, with women in plain linen dresses and men in standard brown pants and shirts. Nesta clearly stuck out, with her pale blue dress and embroidered silk slippers. Even Feyre looked more proper than usual, with her freshly cleaned lilac dress and carefully braided hair. 

Colored caravans were interspersed between medium-sized tents and practice rings. The performers barely paid Nesta and Feyre any attention as they navigated down the crunchy dry grass and towards the large plum tent with the words “ringmaster’s office” scripted on a hanging placard.

A tall, muscular man stood under the tent’s awning, and Nesta gawked at him openly. He was not like the sniveling, pale, weak-boned aristocrats of London society. Nor was he like one of those bumbling country boys who were all brawn but no brain. His golden eyes were like a hawk’s: sharp, intelligent, and…beautiful. Was he a circus performer, or personal protection? Nesta could not recall having seen him in the show, for she would certainly remember a man like him. 

“What’s your business here?” he asked with a half grin, in a deep voice that sounded like a song. Nesta clenched her jaw, trying to keep herself from getting carried away.

“We request an audience with Amarantha,” Feyre responded. The man’s crossed arms stretched and creased his gray shirt along defined muscles. Nesta’s eyes were fixated on the triangle of ruddy brown skin, like that of sailors who spent their days out in the open seas, peeking through the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

“What is the nature of your audience?” 

“I seek her aid for our ailing mother.” Nesta blinked in surprise. Running to a circus ringmaster for healing? Feyre must have lost her mind. 

The man’s hazel eyes snapped towards Nesta’s face, picking her steely facade apart and assessing every hidden, dark thought. She could have sworn his pupils widened with subtle desire. His chiseled face was rugged, as if a sculptor had failed to smooth down a marble statue before presenting their work to an art exhibit. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” His attitude had changed, and it stung, for some reason. 

“I don’t see why not?” Nesta blurted out. “You are not the ringmaster.” The man scoffed at her now, his lip twitching in condescension. 

“What you seek would not benefit you in the slightest.” Normally, Nesta would have wholeheartedly used the barring of entry as an excuse to drag Feyre away. But his self-righteous and dismissive attitude riled her. 

“Cassian,” a strong, female voice called from the interior of the tent. “Do we have guests outside? Do let them in.”  

So that was his name. Cassian. 

“Seems you do not have the final word around here.” Nesta allowed her lips to twitch in a simpering smirk as she walked past Cassian, who had gone rigid with fury, most likely. She could not banish the memory of his intense hazel eyes, which were surely pinned on her back like a target as she slipped into the ringmaster’s tent.  

***Feyre***

It was surprisingly dim inside the tent, and the air clung to Feyre’s cheeks like a damp fog. Ringmaster Amarantha sat in a large velvet chair, reading a book and sipping from a goblet of wine. She’d exchanged her bodice and breeches for a deep purple gown that made her alabaster skin appear bloodless.  

“Good afternoon,” Amarantha purred with a saccharine smile. “What brings such lovely ladies to my domain today?” It seemed the ringmaster’s charisma was not limited to the stage. Feyre took a step forward, dipping her head in a slight bow. 

“Good afternoon, ringmaster. I heard you possess…magic. And I’ve come to humbly request your assistance. My mother has been gravely ill for months.” The Archeron family’s fate hung upon Amarantha’s answer.

“My assistance does not come without a price. Tell me, dear, what is your name?” Amarantha tossed her thick, crimson hair behind a shoulder. 

“Feyre Archeron.” Confidence—keeping her voice steady—was crucial.

“And yours?” Amarantha’s dark gaze swiveled to Nesta, who did not balk at the sheer weight of the ringmaster’s stare. 

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron,” she replied. “I’m Feyre’s older sister.” Amarantha hummed in approval. She closed her eyes, tapping her fingers together in contemplation. 

“Feyre Archeron, I do not desire money or riches as a form of payment. I will provide a healing potion for your mother, as long as you agree to half a year of service with my circus: Prythian’s Fantasia.” 

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But Nesta pinched Feyre’s arm hard before she could speak. 

“Please excuse us for a moment,” Nesta said roughly. Amarantha waved her hand flippantly, returning to her book. Nesta dragged Feyre to the side. “Have you lost your mind, Feyre?” she hissed lowly. “Join a circus? For some crackpot potion, when Mother is already on her way out this world?” 

Feyre’s blue eyes flashed angrily. 

“I need to try, Nesta,” she argued back. “I know that you are not fond of Mother. But imagine what Father will endure if she dies. And think about Elain! You may not want to get married, but are you willing to be her chaperone next year? Be my chaperone for another season?” 

“The ringmaster didn’t even inquire about Mother’s condition. How would her ‘potion’ be any useful cure?” Nesta asked, a little more loudly. 

“Magic,” Amarantha called out lazily. “Six months of service seems sufficient in exchange for a potion that acts as a general restorative for any ailment, don’t you think?”

“Magic does not exist. Healing potions do not exist,” Nesta rationalized. “You’re being foolish, Feyre. Save yourself from the embarrassment.”

“Magic does exist. I know it,” Feyre shot back, her voice a harsh whisper. She turned back to Amarantha. “My mother’s condition is too dire to wait six months. What if she passes before my term of service is completed?” 

Amarantha’s mouth curled in a wry grin. “You do drive a hard bargain, my dear. I will award you the potion after two months of service, but you must finish the six months with me before you are free to leave.”  

“This is a traveling circus, is it not? Where do you plan to go?” Feyre asked. 

“We will be making a touring loop around England before heading to Paris in May for the World’s Fair,” Amarantha responded. “Our stops will be in the main cities of Bristol, Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield, Cambridge, and Southend-on-Sea.”

Feyre chewed her lip. Her answer was still ‘yes’ but would two months be soon enough? 

“One month of service,” Nesta declared suddenly. Feyre stared at her older sister in confusion. “I will take part in the bargain, as long as you give us the ‘potion’ after one month of service.” 

Amarantha’s dark eyes gleamed with feral delight. “Very well, then. Come closer, ladies. All I need is a few droplets of your blood.” 

“For what?” Nesta blanched.

“The potion, of course.” Nesta and Feyre stepped closer to Amarantha, who produced a sharp needle. Amarantha grasped Feyre’s hand, her slender fingers icy cold and unusually strong. 

“A bargain: one healing potion, to be given after a month of work, in exchange for six months of Feyre Archeron’s work in Prythian’s Fantasia,” Amarantha intoned. 

Feyre watched with fascination as crimson welled from her index finger and dripped into a small glass vial. A prickling sensation raced from her fingertip to her elbow. Amarantha did the same for Nesta, handing them both linen bandages once she was done. The ringmaster pocketed the glass vial and smiled demurely at them.

“Thank you, ladies. Prythian’s Fantasia departs for Bristol on Friday morning. I shall see both of you here no later than eleven o’clock.”

“What will our roles be?” Feyre blurted out. Amarantha assessed them critically. 

“Feyre, our magician is in need of an assistant, especially for the World’s Fair. You shall work closely with him on his acts. Nesta, I see you have a dancer’s grace. You shall participate in our aerial silks act.” 

“Thank you.” Feyre smiled, feeling incandescent. Everything was lining into place: she would save her mother, go on an adventure, and become closer with the handsome magician. The magician! Perhaps by working with him, she could also find answers about her magic. 

She was so caught up in her joy that she barely noticed a glowering Cassian as they exited Amarantha’s tent. She was going to join the circus! Feyre’s finger throbbed with residual pain, proof that this was truly happening. “You didn’t have to strike a bargain with Amarantha,” she pointed out. “So why did you?” 

Nesta seemed lost in a similar wishful daze. “It’s a ticket to Manchester. The beating heart of the suffragist movement. I also couldn’t let you do such a foolish thing alone.” She gave Feyre a dubious glance.

Feyre froze. “Oh, damn us,” she gasped, glancing at Nesta with wide eyes. “What are we going to say to Elain?” 

***Gwyn***

Tears rolled down Gwyneth Berdara’s cheeks at the memory of her twin sister Catrin’s joyful face and pealing laugh. How many more times could she draw upon her recollections before they faded away? Catrin’s silver wedding ring hung on a chain around Gwyn’s neck, was the only physical part of her sister she had left—and served as a reminder of all that was lost. 

Her heart hurt, but at least she wasn’t in physical pain anymore. Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, pushing away the memories of the cursed brothel. The rank smells, the raucous laughter of drunkards. The clinking of coins before they began. The leering men who did not bother with “making love” to women. 

From what Catrin told her, intercourse was supposed to be a blissful and exciting experience. But Gwyn only knew pain. Pain from the bruises, the pulling of her coppery-brown hair, the chafing of skin between her legs. 

There was also a specific memory of warm, wet blood and the sounds of screams in the dark. And a fast-cooling body. 

Gwyn wiped her teary face and allowed herself one last sniffle before getting up from her cot. At least the bruises on her arms and waist had faded after a week with Prythian’s Fantasia. She’d sought the help of Thesan, the circus physician, who gave her contraceptive tonics without any judgment.

The caravan she shared with Emerie, Nuala, and Cerridwen was packed to the brim. Small windows ventilated the space, a small copper tub was shoved in the corner, and clothes and books were strewn across all available surfaces.

Gwyn was on kitchen duty today. The center of the camp served as the main area for meals and congregating, with food prepared in the open air. Tarquin and Daphne Vanserra were already there, baking bread in the clay oven and handling the wheels of cheese. 

“The vegetables are already washed,” Tarquin said, pointing to the crates of leafy greens, carrots, and potatoes. Tarquin cut a striking figure, with his turquoise eyes and long white hair contrasting with his dark brown skin. She’d only known him for a week, but his gentle smiles and thoughtful nature had put Gwyn at ease with her new surroundings. 

Gwyn picked up a sharp knife and began dicing the vegetables, placing the smaller pieces into large wooden bowls for stew. She was so engrossed with her cutting that when a man silently stepped up next to her, Gwyn jumped with fright. But it was only the dagger-thrower, here to assist with meal preparation. 

He was the same height as her, with a slightly muscled build. Inky black hair curled around the nape of his neck and fell in front of his angular hazel eyes, which softened slightly at her reaction.

“Apologies,” he muttered, his voice low. 

“It’s alright,” Gwyn responded quickly. “My name is Gwyn. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She smiled broadly at him.

“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?” Gwyn stiffened, her smile slipping away. 

“Azriel, don’t you know it’s rude to say such things to a lady?” Daphne tutted at the dagger-thrower. 

“Apologies,” Azriel said again. He picked up a knife and began expertly fileting the skin and bone off a slab of meat. Gwyn stared: pale scars streaked across his olive-toned hands. They moved with deadly precision. Smears of blood had begun to coat the tips of his fingers…Azriel met her gaze with a sharp look that had Gwyn glancing away with embarrassment. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Gwyn replied. “I joined the circus right when it arrived in London.” 

“Why?” His words were short, and to the point. 

Catrin’s lifeless face, with sunken-in cheeks and chapped lips flashed before her. That horrible smell…those awful hands grabbing her, hurting her…Gwyn shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I needed to make some money. When did you join the circus?” Azriel’s brows lifted slightly at her returning question. 

“Almost five years,” he replied. The dagger-thrower did not offer any more words of conversation after that. Daphne and Tarquin chatted in the background, but between Azriel and Gwyn, there was only silence. Gwyn’s eyes began watering again when she started on the onions. Before she could reach for a second onion, Azriel wordlessly took the whole crate away. 

“Thank you. I suppose I’ve cried enough for today,” Gwyn murmured. She snuck a glance at the dagger-thrower, and was disappointed to see his face stone-cold at her attempt to jest.

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

[skylartt]

"El pueblo que sabía que había un precio, un precio que valía la pena pagar, por ese sueño. Los guerreros que habían nacido bastardos, los mestizos ilyrios, el monstruo atrapado en un cuerpo hermoso, el soñador nacido en una corte de pesadillas… Y la cazadora con alma de artista."

Libro: Una corte de niebla y furia.

Autora: Sara J. Maas

[kilannad]

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Fanfiction Masterlist

I've Been Taught Not to be Afraid (Look at the Price I've Paid)

In the after math of the Third Valg War, Terrasen is visited by a collection of dragon riders seeking alliances from beyond their own lands. Now, a delegation is sent on behalf of King Orlon to form a treaty with Tyrrendor. Aewin Ashryver Galathynius knows even without anyone saying it that she's being brought to marry the prince she's never met; whoever Xaden Riorson is, it doesn't matter. She'll do what her country needs her to.

That being said, when she finds herself with one last night of freedom, she lets herself make a bad choice. What is one last night of passion when she's about to marry a stranger?

It feels like one last fuck you from the gods when she realizes that stranger is the very prince she's set to marry. The Empyrean/Throne of Glass xover. Xaden/OFC. Abandoned. On Ao3.

Willow in the Breeze

Five years ago, Violet had an incredible one night stand. Now, the last thing she's expecting is for her daughter's unknown father to walk through the door of her new bookshop. The Empyrean series. Collection of ficlets, Xaden/Violet kid fic. On Ao3. Updated as the mood strikes.

As the Stars Burn On

While on a solo mission to Crocus, Lucy runs into Laxus. Having forgiven him for his part in the Fantasia business, she invited him to help her investigate an ancient ruin. By luck or fate, the site involves old magic tied to the Celestial Spirits that Lucy accidentally activated. Now, trapped in a land where there was fruit instead of magic and pirates instead of guilds, Lucy and Laxus have to follow what clues they have to get back home to Earthland. They don't know where these new Keys came from or how they're tied to the Void Century, but they'll be damned before they stop looking for answers. A One Piece/Fairy Tail crossover. Laxus/Lucy/Gajeel pairing, starts with Alabasta arc. Hiatus. Posted on ao3 and Tumblr.

A Court of Decay and Growth

With Amarantha dead and the Hybern War over, Prythian is left to pick up the pieces. From Tarquin trying to revolutionize his court to Spring's rebuilding efforts and Kallias merely wanting a solution to his food shortages, all courts and their people are trying to move past five long decades of pain and misery. For no one is this more apparent than Nesta Archeron and Eris Vanserra. Forced to contend with Court politics, old magic, and another brewing conflict, both must figure out what they truly value--and what they're willing to do for it. A Court of Silver Flames rewrite, Nesta/Eris pairing, heavy politics. Hiatus. Posted on ao3 and Tumblr.

These Ancient Words (Like a Hymn of Reclamation)

Thousands of years ago, the gods chose champions to fight on their behalf--now, in the Great Age of Piracy, those champions are reincarnated to once again play a game to the death. As the game begins, these twenty-two Arcana awaken with new powers to help them towards their goals--be that trying to stop the cycle of death once and for all, or win and claim immortality as their prize. From rookies just setting out all the way to Emperors and Revolutionaries, the players span seas and loyalties. The only question; who will die first? 20k one-shot what if. One Piece fusion with Arcana Chronicles by Kresley Cole, but not necessary to have read the books. Open ending that I may pick up and turn into multi-chaptered. If you'd like to adopt, please message me. Posted on ao3 and Tumblr.

Invictus

Long ago, the Cerberus Assembly developed the Soltryce Academy and, with it, Söldner Squads; mercenary teams trained and deployed by the Academy and her sister Hall to fight monsters, protect notable people and locations, and obtain long-forgotten powerful relics. Everyone knows a Söldner Squad will complete their mission no matter the cost and be rewarded in gold and jewels for it. Despite their black reputation, Squads are always welcomed for the protection and power they bring. When a group of no-name misfits and low-level adventurers manages to take down a fiend the Academy was sent to hunt, they draw the attention of several powerful people and must contend with the consequences of their actions. A Critical Role Mighty Nein rewrite, heavy AU. Abandoned. Posted on ao3.

What is it to be a Hero?

In which Matt Murdock is Peter Parker's biological father and things change because of it. MCU series of interconnected one-shots focused on Peter Parker/the Defenders. Abandoned pre-epilogue but can be read as is. Posted only on ao3.

For Want of a Snail

Eight people signed up for the Dcom Experiment: two time travelers, three espers, a serial killer and her boyfriend, and a blind guy who just wanted to find his sister. Nine people end up in a bomb shelter fifty-feet below ground, stuck in a deadly game that looks awfully familiar to a lot of them. With decisions forced upon them, they all need to figure out who is behind the mask before it's too late. Rewrite of Zero Time Dilemma. Complete. Posted on ao3.

Keys of Obsidian and Bone

When Master Makarov finally brings Fairy Tail back together, Lucy expects more of the same; too bad she forgot "more of the same" implies more insanity. When the Thunder God Tribe finds a solid black Celestial Spirit Key, she's a little curious. When it brings a spirit from somewhere not the Celestial Spirit World, she's a lot worried. After all, what would happen if a Dark Wizard found these Keys leading to Shinigami? With her own Team split up for the moment because of special requests, she embarks with the Thunder God Tribe to look for the rest of these Obsidian Keys. Fairy Tail/Bleach crossover. Laxus/Lucy pairing, post one year time skip pre-final arc. Abandoned. Posted on ao3.

As you can probably tell, I'm heavy ADHD and struggle with keeping on one fandom, much less one fic. I post as I write and have a complicated real life, so apologies if something doesn't get updated as fast as you'd like. Please remember I do this as a hobby and only receive payments when you are kind enough to tip/kofi.

[velidewrites]

Your writing is amazing and I’m literally taking notes every time I read your work lol. I’ve been looking but do you have any Nessian or Nesta one-shots???

Thank you so much!! I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you like my writing 🥹 I haven't written a lot of Nessian, but you can find some of my drabbles here and here.

There are so many incredible Nessian works out there, so I made a small recs list of some of my favourites below!!

I See You by @iambutmortal is a Nessian Medusa AU that is so insanely hot I find myself thinking about it all the time. She also writes incredible Feysand and Elucien!!

Anything @separatist-apologist writes is pure excellence but her Montana!Cassian, Cowboy Like Me, is in my humble opinion one of the BEST Nessian fics out there. It has everything: hilarious banter, sexy smut and Cassian on a horse. It really doesn't get any better than this.

I have also recently started reading the masterpiece that is Viciousness & Intelligence by @thesistersarcheron and LET ME TELL YOU. The way this fic is making me insane. Nesta x Cassian x Azriel should've been canon, that's all I'm saying.

No one does Nessian like @moodymelanist, and Where The Light Won't Find You has got to be my favourite fic of hers, but they're all so insanely good make sure you check out her masterlist here if you haven't already!

@vulpes-fennec has just started an INCREDIBLE Circus AU, Prythian's Fantasia, and Nessian is one of the featured pairings. The first chapter is already out and I promise you you're in for a TREAT.

@headcanonheadcase, apart from being a sexy Gwynriel writer, also writes VERY sexy Nessian, and I have it on good authority she's currently working on an amazing Hockey AU (and if you like Gwynriel, make sure to check out The Bargain!!)

@fieldofdaisiies writes my FAVOURITE x Reader fics (have you read her Vampire!Elucien?? It single-handedly rewired my brain, I’m just saying), and you can find her Cassian and Nessian works here!!

Like I said - there are so many incredible Nessian fics out there, and I DEFINITELY forgot tons of them, but I'm working on a massive fic recs list so keep an eye out for more soon!! This fandom has so many talented people, we are truly blessed.

[elainxmor]

ELAIN & AZRIEL — Conto #4 🌹🦇

Escrito por robertawbertolo.

Não era o longo vestido branco com a barra da saia azul cobalto, dissolvendo a cor conforme subia até a cintura, ou os pentes dourados em forma de asas com penas nos cabelos, prendendo-os com cuidado atrás da cabeça. Podia ser o cinto, igualmente dourado, com pedrinhas azuis escuras preso a cintura, brilhando conforme andava, mas também não era…

Eram os cabelos cacheados nas pontas, longos e encontrando o acessório do vestido, o dourado sobressaindo o castanho e seus olhos grandes, encantadores como a pintinha sob o olho esquerdo. O rosto indescritível, com beleza, talvez, semelhante a da figura que vestia naquele baile de fantasias. Se fosse direto, não eram as pulseiras floridas, os brincos mais longos do que ela costumava usar ou as sandálias que mal se via sob a saia, mas Elain. Únicamente Elain.

Deslumbrante em branco, azul cobalto e dourado, iluminada por luzes feéricas que a faziam brilhar como o crepúsculo, repleto de cor e esplendor. Azriel nunca havia a visto assim, fantasiada, usando um vestido de diferença nítida aos seus habituais, e não era por como ele ficava nela — prendendo os olhos do mestre espião que mal conseguia desviar, tentando fingir e não entregar — mas pelo corte. Que Elain não parecesse mais incomodada com ele do que parecia por estar ali, à vista de tantas pessoas que a avaliavam assim como ela a eles, mas mais discretamente.

— Muita gente? — Indagou Rhysand, vendo Elain se aproximar. Ela tinha descido mais tarde, com mais discrição, longe da atenção do público que havia assistido a chegada dos grãos-senhores.

— Sabia que era para todas as Cortes, mas vê-las todas juntas é… — Elain olhou para Rhysand, desviando os olhos dos feéricos visíveis no salão principal. — Eu não esperava tantas pessoas.

Feyre sorriu. Um intervalo curto dos jogos da Corte que aos poucos deixavam de jogar, mais verdadeiros para os demais do que a Corte Noturna havia sido há cinco anos atrás. Todavia, muitas pessoas estavam ali…

— Logo você se acostuma de novo, — um gole da taça de vinho. — Não éramos eu e Nestha que ficávamos acordadas até tarde nos bailes que você gostava de organizar.

Dever de anfitrião, Elain pensou, mas não disse nada, se contentando em abrir um sorriso singelo e polido. Feyre, em tecidos brilhantes preto e prateado, era o que se esperava — não de uma senhora da noite, mas — da senhora da noite. Com transparências e estrelas caindo em linhas delineadoras, nascidas da faixa no pescoço.

— Nós não vamos ficar mais que o necessário, Elain — Rhys comentou. — Se não gostar pode subir para o quarto, não precisa ficar aqui embaixo por nossa causa — Ela assentiu, ciente de que não havia rostos conhecidos além daqueles com quem viera para conversar.

Embora essa não fosse sua primeira escolha em uma festa cheia de grãos-feéricos vinculados ao poder de Prythian ou a cargos políticos importantes em suas cortes de origem. Dançar… Bem, com desconhecidos milenares também não era uma opção. Mas podia observar, quieta e inotável, os jogos traçados naquela noite. Apenas para saber melhor como acontecia. E por não ter mais o que fazer.

Elain assentiu para a irmã e o cunhado outra vez, retirando-se com suavidade. Sem questionamentos ou respostas. Muito embora sentisse que os olhos violetas de Rhysand perduraram sobre ela por mais tempo que os de Feyre.

Sem as amigas, ocupadas em outra tarefa, Elain seguiu para um dos cantos daquele salão, perambulando entre as colunas branco-peroladas que abraçavam-a com sombras contra as paredes pintadas. Haviam dezessete corredores ao todo, que ligavam ao cômodo a outras áreas da residência. Cada um decorado de modo semelhante, retratando em quadros e esculturas histórias de senhores antigos os quais ela não conhecia, mas certamente os feéricos de nome e poder, como os Grão-Senhores, sim.

Elain não sabia para onde estava indo, desconhecida para aquele lugar, guiada pela linha que a prendia, puxada pela outra ponta, para longe de olhares e ouvidos e narizes. As pequenas estatuetas retratavam feitos ao longo dos milênios, datados pela cor da pedra que não era totalmente branca. Algumas sim, por serem novas e bem cuidadas, outras… Nem tanto. Complementos para as artes das paredes, como algo a ser destacado. Relembrado.

Todavia, elas tornaram-se sombrias, causando estranhamento na fêmea que presumira que, numa festa daquelas, não haveriam luzes apagadas. E em seguida, uma porta apareceu, mostrando-a uma saída. Não podendo evitar, Elain absorveu os detalhes: a ausência de luzes, a porta, como se não quisessem atrair pessoas para longe da longe, mantendo-as dentro, longe dos jardins e do exterior.

A lembrava de seu sonho, que tivera na semana anterior. Embora o labirinto fosse diferente e a noite recaísse sobre ela…

Mas aquele não era um labirinto de verdade, apenas corredores simples e circulares, que davam voltas breves e abriam-se para salas verdes. Semelhante ao lado de dentro, porém sem muitos tijolos ou tetos altos. O da direita a chamou mais atenção, o seguindo para longe das janelas acesas dos andares superiores, nos quais feéricos poderiam aparecer.

Elain não deveria se isolar, fugindo da festa tão rápido quanto chegou. No entanto, que diferença faria?

A segunda das irmãs parou. Engolidas por sombras quando a lua parou de iluminá-la, passando a refletir seu brilho em outro alguém; que puxava-a para perto, agarrando-a pela cintura da mesma forma como fizera horas antes, antes dela se arrumar para descer. Azriel.

Elain sorriu, virando-se para encará-lo envolto de escuridão.

— Você está tortuosamente linda.

— Mas você já sabia disso — ela respondeu.

— Você trocou de vestido — de fato, Elain pensou, contendo o sorriso que ameaçava crescer. O rubor pintou suas bochechas.

— Alguém teve a audácia de me dizer que preferia me ver nua a usando o anterior!

Azriel arqueou uma sobrancelha.

— E isto é ruim?

A amante riu, arrancando-lhe um sorriso ou beijá-lo no canto dos lábios. O vestido anterior era lindo, quase uma homenagem à deusa da primavera, sútil e delicado. Perfeito para entrada no crepúsculo. Mas alguém a tinha atrasado e com isso a dera mais tempo para pensar. Elain gostava de azul e gostava de Psiquê. Mais até do que de Perséfone, se os deuses a perdoassem por pensar assim.

— Se fosse outro macho quem tivesse me dito isso, qual seria sua resposta? — Um sorriso arrogante enfeitou o rosto perfeito do encantado de sombras.

— Que macho?

— Não sei, — ela cantarolou. — Mas se voltarmos para o salão dou a você três nomes até o final da hora.

Como ela sabia que podia fazê-lo se permitisse a si mesma, apesar da arrogância costumeira entre os machos. Mas Elain não faria, apenas brincando com Azriel e seus elogios. Ele nunca o faria. Não conseguia, por falta de confiança e atitude, mas também por seus olhos que não apreciavam mais nenhum além daquele a sua frente, segurando-a pela cintura. A impedindo de se afastar.

[literaturaliteralmente]

📝Resenha de Névoa e Fúria📚 por @therealsjmaas Um livro que vai de 10 a 100 no quesito "retratação psicológica" que vai te deixar desnorteado tentando entender "o que rolou aqui". Vamos lá, por etapas. Sarah escreve muito, a mente dessa mulher é infinita de criatividade, cada plot que te deixa louca. Mas! Esse livro ao contrário do que ouvi e li por ai não se resume ao capítulo 55. 658 páginas riquíssimas de detalhes e surpresas. O hot meus caros, como boa leitora de ROMANCES DE ÉPOCA que sou não me surpreendeu. Achei básico. Contudo, considerando o público alvo, adolescente é compreensível. Esta é a segunda obra da saga de ACOTAR, chamada por ACOMAF em que vemos a história de Feyre ser continuada por caminhos imprevisíveis em Prythian, ela peça chave na guerra contra Hybern. Vamos a Feyre... ela me irritou algumas vez, me surpreendeu em outras, mas essa coisa de não vermos seu máximo no poder está me inquietando. Ela sempre está a mercê de alguma coisa. Quero ver ela controlando, comando essa poder todo. Enfim, não me decepcionei. E vocês já leram? _ #acotar #acomaf #sarahjmaas #feyre #rhysand #booksgram #booktok #tbr #leitura #literatura #fantasia https://www.instagram.com/p/CagY4W6sWXt/?utm_medium=tumblr