thebluenickel
Novelist-ish
My online friends call me Blue. An aspiring writer; an indomitable smartass.
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In the ACORAS epilogue, we see Bryce, Lorcan and Fenrys all in Prythian.
Do you have any plans to continue expanding that storyline, or is that story done for good now.
You know, when I wrote that, I had every intention of writing a short bonus chapter that would wrap up that plot, but things have been so busy with my original project that I just haven’t had the chance to write it.
If anyone would be interested in that bonus, I’d be happy to set aside time to write it. Otherwise it can exist as an ambiguous ending for the imagination of readers to fill in.
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Jacks ghostwrote this
do you wanna hang out tonight my curse was finally lifted
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Hollow Hearts
My new Once Upon a Broken Heart fic has officially begun. The first two chapters are posted on AO3!
If you’ve read my fic Between Enemy Lines and liked it, you’ll love this one, too.
Cold wood dug into his knees. The church must’ve truly been frigid if even his skin wasn’t immune to the chill. He had gone blissfully numb to all else, though.
He welcomed in the cold with every breath, freezing the burn in his stomach. The need, the ache. It had crept up on him, stronger than ever, dragging him down with every step he took away from Donatella Dragna.
Sometimes it felt similar enough to the burn of alcohol, he could almost pretend. Not so today. No, he’d swallowed fire. He’d nearly torn into his skin trying to rid himself of the feeling. He’d done quite a number on his jacket.
He let his hands fall away, breathing only the dust of this old, abandoned place.
It was then that he heard the footsteps. His head shot up. He had felt a tingling like he was no longer alone, but the door to his church was hidden.
He spotted his intruder, and all he saw for a moment was pink. Her hair was—pink. Not a bubbly, sweet sort of pink. It had a sharp edge of gold shooting through it, lending her a certain aura of otherness. A storybook character must have gotten loose in his church.
How had she gotten in?
#once upon a broken heart#ouabh#the ballad of never after#tbona#a curse for true love#acftl#ouabh 3#ouabh fic#evangeline fox#jacks of the hollow#jacks x evangeline
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ACORAS question for you. In the epilogue, it says:
“Nesta won’t drink it. She’s nervous again—she always seems to find reasons to be nervous these days. Her body won’t like food for another hour yet, at least.”
Is this an allusion to her being pregnant?
Hi, friend. No, no, that was just about her being anxious in the aftermath of everything that happened. I have a feeling it's going to be a while before Nesta and Cassian settle down to have their own kids. For now, they're focused on being baby Nyx's favorites 😊
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Dusk and Dandelion
A little Blossom and Luci scene in the garden that got cut from A Court of Ribbons and Shadows. This can be read as a one shot, but it's set within the ACORAS universe.
More bonus content to come ❤️
Elain was disappointed when he left. She told herself it was because they’re friends now, and because she doesn’t have many of those.
But there’s no room for denial to squeeze between all the butterflies in her stomach when he returns. That shock of fire hair. Golden eyes and a smile so sweet, she wants to taste it. And that fucking blue suit. She wants to take a nap in that exact shade of blue.
It’s distressingly pretty on him.
“You’re back already,” she says, and there’s a breathlessness in her voice like she’s been startled. No, much worse. She’s been aroused. By him.
He turns to her, hair flicking out around him and eye clicking as he takes her in. A small smile dares to peek out, though something else is creasing up his brow like that. It’s almost—sheepish. “I didn’t have much to do,” he says. And with a hint of sarcasm, “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
She’s surprised, though she doesn’t know why. Every time he’s left the past week, he’s returned in mere hours. So quickly, like he missed her, too. “I needed more time to plan your assassination,” she says cheerily as she brushes past him into the hall.
His footsteps follow. “Hardly,” he says, “All it takes is a little money slipped to the right nefarious character.”
“Ah, do you have an address for any nefarious characters? I’m struggling to find one.”
Lucien pauses at her side, looks down at himself and back at her pointedly. She’s not sure if he’s calling himself a nefarious character or her. One is almost true; the other, mildly amusing.
Elain bustles into the kitchen, throwing open the door far enough for him to follow her in without getting struck in the shoulder on its backswing. And he does, follow. He always does. She motions to the pot of water boiling, asking him to take it off the fire for her. He does.
She makes up two mugs, one with her favorite tea, one with his. She doesn’t ask him if he wants any. He always drinks whatever she hands him. It truly would be easy to kill him, she supposes.
She also supposes that food to accept the mating bond doesn’t account for drinks. As she’s served him many of those and never felt the stirrings of that magic in her. Sometimes she wonders why she serves the drinks, though. Like she’s testing fate, daring it to bind her down to Lucien.
A dangerous little part of her thinks that wouldn’t be too bad.
That dangerous little part of her is victim to his blue suit, she’s sure of it. He looks too good in it. Something about the thicker material it’s made of, and the way the cut of it hugs him at all the curves and dips of his body, defining them like candlelight does to bare flesh. Or perhaps it’s just the color against his flame hair and fox eyes.
She hates him so much.
She hands him the steeping mug of tea. “How were Jurian and Vassa?” she asks politely.
“Irritating,” he says, with love. He hops up to sit on the counter; she sits on the other, across from him. These have become their places when they’re in the kitchen together. “Vassa’s highly displeased with how much I’ve been gone lately. I had to tell her I’m spending it all with you—” he seems to realize he’s made an error before she registers what he said. What he implied.
“To appease her?” Elain asks, quietly.
“Sure.”
Elain barely catches herself before she smiles. And, because she can’t help herself, she asks, “Why would that appease her,” with utter innocence.
He shoots her a dirty look. He knows what she’s doing, and he knows she knows what she’s doing. They’re both dancing this same dance, though neither of them are willing to admit that there’s music. “She desperately wants me to befriend you,” he says, “So she can befriend you too.”
“Oh, is that why you’ve been here? Because Vassa wants you to befriend me?”
“No, I’ve been here in case my father attempts a genocide against my court,” Lucien says, very seriously. Then adds, “And because Iwant me to befriend you.”
She doesn’t catch her smile that time before it slips through. She stuffs it back down deep a moment later, but she knows he saw it. Gods, that stupid suit has her so flustered. And now he’s admitted that he wants her in some capacity.
She wants him, too. The music is still playing, a drumbeat in her ears.
“I may be receptive to befriending,” she says, and it comes out much softer than she intended, aching with sincerity.
Lucien’s real eye—russet and gold—flickers with an emotion she can’t name. But it’s soft, aching with sincerity. Simultaneously, they both shake off the moment. He asks, “If I befriend you quick enough, will you call off your assassination?”
“If you help me with dinner tonight,” she says, hopping down off the counter and taking a deep drink of her tea. She abandons the half full mug on the counter.
Lucien pauses to drink the rest of his before chasing after her with a mumbled protest that she’s always running off. Then, “Where are you going? Cooking food often requires the food,” with a motion back towards the kitchen.
“We need to collect some ingredients from my garden.” And she desperately needs to mess him up, muss up that pretty suit, ruin the sight of him before she admits to anything more dangerous.
He casts her an askance look. “You want me to forage with you?”
“Garden.”
“What’s the difference?”
“One requires opposable thumbs.” She bumps open the back door with her hip, stepping out into the fresh afternoon air. The sun is carving deep orange lines into the sky; the perfume of the garden wraps up tight around her on the subtle, warm winds. “How did you manage to live in the Spring Court without learning to garden?”
“I was a courtier,” he says, haughtily, “I tended the fruit trees.”
Elain doesn’t expect it, and a short, wild laugh escapes her. He’s made her laugh before, but this one tastes like sunshine and affection. She swallows down the tail end of it, afraid he’ll realize that he just made her fall a little more in love with him with a single, well placed joke.
Gods, she’s really quite a simple creature.
But as she glances over at him, his gaze is down to the ground like he’s trying to hide the soft, pleased little smile he’s wearing. Which only makes her smile. And makes him smile wider when he glances over at her.
Now they’re both just grinning silently as they cross the last path of uneven stained glass tiles to her garden.
“Do I at least get gloves?” Lucien asks, stopping with his toes barely crossing the boundary between tile and tilled dirt.
“Are you afraid for your fingernails?”
He nods without a hint of humor.
Elain digs into the pocket of her cotton, yellow dress to pull out her two pairs of gardening gloves. The ones sized for her dainty hands were bought as a gift by Feyre last Solstice. The larger ones—Elain bought. And she knew they were for Lucien as she was buying them.
Admittedly, she wasn’t certain, even as she bought them, that Lucien would ever wish to garden with her. Yet, here he is. And here are the gloves she bought for him on a whim.
He stares at them for a moment, noting the size. Very obviously selected for a male. “Who’s been foraging with you, Blossom?” he asks mildly.
“No one,” she says, “I like to be alone out here. It’s my little sanctuary.”
His clockwork eye clicks as he looks around at it, something new touching his expression. Something soft, fond. He accepts the gloves from her, though he doesn’t immediately put them on. “I need to pull my hair back,” he says, “Give me one moment.”
“I can do it for you.”
The offer comes out entirely innocent, but his reaction is not. He goes still, hands halfway to his hair with a strip of leather between his fingers, and a hint of color brushes across his cheeks as gently as a lover’s caress.
His throat works. “Are you sure you can reach?”
She scoffs and slaps him across the shoulder with her gloves.
Laughing slightly rougher than usual, he effortlessly pulls back his hair and binds it there. She advises him to remove his suit jacket so he doesn’t get it dirty. She just wants it off of him. That godawful distracting blue finally, blessedly gone.
She pulls on her gloves, and he pulls on his. He must note that they’re the exact size of his hands. He must realize that she commissioned them specifically for him.
Hopefully, he doesn’t question how she got measurements for his hands. She’s given him enough reasons already to call her a creep.
He says nothing. She points him to all the things she needs dug up out of the garden or plucked from a stem, and she sets herself to the simple tending duties. After filling and refilling her watering can twice, she busies herself with removing weeds. She took care of a patch just a few days ago, but she must not have gotten all the roots.
Her eyes lift from her work, and without meaning to, she’s staring at him. His sleeves are rolled up now to spare the white of his shirt. Gods, that’s so much worse.
He looks debauched. His hair mussed and pulled back, half undressed and kneeling in her sanctuary. He’s so gentle, like her plants are precious to him because they are to her. Suddenly, she wants to know if he’ll talk to them if she leaves him alone.
Suddenly, she wants. She swallows it down, snapping her attention back to the weeds she’s pulling. With a slightly too rough yank, she gets a big portion of the stem up from the ground, but she feels the tear of its roots remaining behind in the soil. She’ll have to pull it again in a few days.
“I have everything,” Lucien says, his voice soft on the wind.
Her heart gives a merry little skip. She’s in so much trouble. “Thank you,” she says, and her voice comes out soft, too, “You can take it inside. I’ll be there in a moment.”
She feels his eyes on her as she scrapes loose another weed without looking at him. Then, he’s gone. His jacket goes with him, but his gloves are set gently atop the patio table for her.
She dares to take a deep breath of her garden. But it smells like him, now.
She should’ve known better than to play with his kind of fire. To fool herself into thinking they could be friends. It was a trap she laid for herself in her sleep, and now she’s stepped directly into it.
Before she follows him back into the house, she does something silly and whimsical that she hasn’t done since her childhood. She lifts the dandelion covered in white fluff up, and she blows on it. A harsh, furious little puff that throws all the fluff into the air.
Dandelions are meant to be like shooting stars or birthday candles, granting wishes. But as she watches the little white seeds scatter about her garden, she knows she’s only added a million more roots she won’t be able to clear out.
In the kitchen, Lucien waits for her. Back in his dusky blue jacket, hair falling free but still a bit mussed. Between two fingers, he’s twirling a small yellow flower back and forth. A dandelion.
He looks up, from it to her, and he smiles. “Got all the sun you needed, Blossom?”
She’s in so much trouble.
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When Luci says Blossom yellow, I need everyone to know that this is what he means
🌻
So what happened here was I texted @witchlingsandwyverns two weeks before I needed this and said, hey you know that starry Feysand piece you did (which is gorgeous and my favorite thing ever created for this fandom)? Would you make the inverse of it for Elucien? And can I have it in two weeks?
And my girl said, "say less." I gave her nothing to work with but she's so talented and so wonderful, she still put this together and it's stunning.
@lucienweekofficial
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The Final Chapter of ACORAS: the Epilogue, is now posted on AO3
I've been working on this project for years, now. And I can't believe I get to wake up tomorrow (on my birthday, no less) with the knowledge that I've completed the largest project I've ever written. You have my never ending gratitude for supporting my art. Thank you all ❤️
#acotar#gwynriel#gwyneth berdara#azriel#acosf#elucien#lucien#a court of ribbons and shadows#acotar fic
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ACORAS chapter one explained in one sentence:
“He must be reaching the end of his quota for words spoken in a day.” -Gwyn
#acotar#gwynriel#gwyn x azriel#gwyneth berdara#azriel shadowsinger#gwynriel fic#acotar fic#acosf#acosf fic
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Rhys, walking into the House of Wind: Why is the dining table glass?
Cassian: The House wanted to watch.
Rhys:
Cassian:
Rhys: what.
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Azriel: I am a Shadowsinger. It’s not just a title someone made up.
Gwyn: Ah, I see.
Azriel:
Gwyn: So who decided to call the ability Shadowsinging?
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An average morning in the House of Wind:
Azriel: *Enters the dining room*
Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta: *Abruptly stop their conversation*
Azriel: *Turns and walks right back out*
#acotar#incorrect acotar#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#gwyneth berdara#nesta archeron#emerie of illyria
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You’ve always been so incredibly sweet to me and my writing. I hope you know it means the world to me
A Court of Ribbons and Shadows is three and a half books
I have been recently informed that ACORAS is, in fact, nearly a million words long, which is absolutely absurd. So I thought I’d drop my semi-official breakdown of the books of ACORAS for anyone who feels too intimidated to try getting into it.
Book One:
A Court of Ribbons and Shadows
From Chapter one (“I Am”) through Chapter 11 (“The End of Something; the Beginning of Something”)
A retelling of the latter half of ACOSF with the focus on Gwyn and Azriel’s growing friendship. Something new is brewing on the horizon—or, perhaps, right under their noses.
Book Two
A Legacy of Storm and Song
From Chapter 12 (“Azriel Talks”) through Chapter 28 (“From Seconds to Eternities”)
After their ordeal, the Valkyries return to find their lives fundamentally changed. Emerie is no longer welcome in her home, Windhaven. Nesta is set to be tied permanently to Cassian.
Navigating her fresh romance with the Shadowsinger, a new position in the Night Court, and unfamiliar faces joining their ranks—Gwyn finds that the thing she knows the least is her past.
And the Blood Rite, they find, was only the beginning of a greater enemy’s attempts to take their lives.
Book Three
A Ballad of Blaze and Blossom
From Chapter 29 (“The Song of Sun and Snow”) through Chapter 42 (“Never’s End; Forever’s Renewal”)
The threat to Velaris has not gone unheard. Gwyn, Azriel, Emerie, and Balthazar have gone to Winter to track down a lost ally of great and terrible magic. Elain and Lucien are begrudgingly, for now, together in the Summer Court to apprehend an attempted theft—by stealing the incredibly dangerous enchanted object first.
But a particularly brash River Nymph from the Autumn Court claims that their adversary is little more than a puppet.
Book Four
A Reflection of Gods
From Chapter 43 (“Sunfire”) through Chapter 55 (“Collide.”)
All secrets have been revealed. Of bloodlines, of powers, of alliances between friend and foe. Even the secrets of love have revealed themselves. Azriel and Gwyn, with Elain and Lucien, are invited to stay in the Haven, a beautiful oasis of libraries in the Day Court, to recover.
But one mystery remains unsolved. The single hope they have to stop the apparent end of the world is hidden in a story—long forgotten tales written by a tribe of Fire Nymphs. Emerie and her Unit must travel to a faraway land to track down the ancient texts.
They meet resistance from an unexpected source.
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A Court of Ribbons and Shadows is three and a half books
I have been recently informed that ACORAS is, in fact, nearly a million words long, which is absolutely absurd. So I thought I’d drop my semi-official breakdown of the books of ACORAS for anyone who feels too intimidated to try getting into it.
Book One:
A Court of Ribbons and Shadows
From Chapter one (“I Am”) through Chapter 11 (“The End of Something; the Beginning of Something”)
A retelling of the latter half of ACOSF with the focus on Gwyn and Azriel’s growing friendship. Something new is brewing on the horizon—or, perhaps, right under their noses.
Book Two
A Legacy of Storm and Song
From Chapter 12 (“Azriel Talks”) through Chapter 28 (“From Seconds to Eternities”)
After their ordeal, the Valkyries return to find their lives fundamentally changed. Emerie is no longer welcome in her home, Windhaven. Nesta is set to be tied permanently to Cassian.
Navigating her fresh romance with the Shadowsinger, a new position in the Night Court, and unfamiliar faces joining their ranks—Gwyn finds that the thing she knows the least is her past.
And the Blood Rite, they find, was only the beginning of a greater enemy’s attempts to take their lives.
Book Three
A Ballad of Blaze and Blossom
From Chapter 29 (“The Song of Sun and Snow”) through Chapter 42 (“Never’s End; Forever’s Renewal”)
The threat to Velaris has not gone unheard. Gwyn, Azriel, Emerie, and Balthazar have gone to Winter to track down a lost ally of great and terrible magic. Elain and Lucien are begrudgingly, for now, together in the Summer Court to apprehend an attempted theft—by stealing the incredibly dangerous enchanted object first.
But a particularly brash River Nymph from the Autumn Court claims that their adversary is little more than a puppet.
Book Four
A Reflection of Gods
From Chapter 43 (“Sunfire”) through Chapter 55 (“Epilogue.”)
All secrets have been revealed. Of bloodlines, of powers, of alliances between friend and foe. Even the secrets of love have revealed themselves. Azriel and Gwyn, with Elain and Lucien, are invited to stay in the Haven, a beautiful oasis of libraries in the Day Court, to recover.
But one mystery remains unsolved. The single hope they have to stop the apparent end of the world is hidden in a story—long forgotten tales written by a tribe of Fire Nymphs. Emerie and her Unit must travel to a faraway land to track down the ancient texts.
They meet resistance from an unexpected source.
#gwynriel#elucien#gwyneth berdara#gwyn acotar#azriel shadowsinger#Azriel#elain archeron#lucien vanserra#acotar#acotar fic#emerie of illyria#nesta archeron#ocs#acosf#post acosf#acosf fanfiction
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This is so incredibly sweet ♥️♥️♥️
The final battle of ACORAS: Collide.
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The final battle of ACORAS: Collide.
#acotar#gwynriel#azriel#gwyneth berdara#acosf#elucien#lucien#a court of ribbons and shadows#gwyn x azriel#elain x lucien
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Chapter Fifty four of ACORAS is now up on AO3! (Finally)
Gwyn tucks in against Azriel’s side, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. “I don’t recognize it,” she says, quiet enough to keep her voice from carrying on the wind, “I thought I would, but it’s just all rocks.”
“Most mountains are made of rocks,” Az says.
“You would know,” she mutters.
He chuckles. His arm around her shoulders pulls her in closer, a wing rustling open to shield her from the cold. “Is it better,” he asks, “that you don’t recognize it?”
“I think so.”
#acotar#gwynriel#elucien#gwyn x azriel#elain x lucien#azriel#gwyneth berdara#acosf#lucien#a court of ribbons and shadows
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Chapter Fifty-Three of ACORAS is up on AO3!
The Nightmare at the End of the World
Rhys is beginning to look bored from his throne. Any Nightmare his eyes lock on immediately scurries into the shadows of the great hall.
And yet none of them have managed to produce their little figurehead.
Feyre’s lips have locked into an irritated line, bordering on a sneer. Like this is the normal way of things, being ignored by Keir and made to sit and wait like dogs. She waves lazily for a Nightmare to approach and says sweetly, “Tell Keir to show himself before we have to go searching for him ourselves.”
Night rolls from Rhys’s shoulders, down his arm to toy around his fingers. He watches unmoved as the Nightmare races off.
“This is tedious,” Emerie whispers.
Azriel glances at her from the corner of his eye. “Ten gold coins if you dust one of his chandeliers.”
She snorts, caught by surprise. The slightest smile pulls at Az’s lips, barely perceptible and gone in a flash. His shadows give a little twirl of delight. They hate it here, too.
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