u/goldtoothbrigade

Let’s write a fanfic together c:

I’ll start with a word, and then each commenter only write ONE word to continue the story.

To make this work best please respond to the newest comment in the thread instead of posting your own. Punctuation is okay to add as you deem necessary. Example: “Suddenly,” or “end.” No double posting either please! Let a few comments come in before adding another word.

mods please let me know if this isn’t allowed.

have fun c:

What do we think Lucien’s scent smells like ? I was trying to find it in the books but couldn’t.

So I was trying to think of plants that grow well with Jasmine, as that’s part of Elain’s scent and upon researching I found this!

“Jasmine grows well in a Mediterranean-type garden and can offer another level of foliage when planted on supports near lavender, sage, rosemary, and alliums.” (plantaddicts.com)

So my guess is that Lucien smells like sage or rosemary, both herbs that are associated with autumnal foods, but also jasmine!

What do you think Lucien will smell like?

Quick one shot I wrote up today. Elain feels stifled; she does some gardening; she finds a surprise.

Barely edited because well, I don’t feel like editing more. Thanks for reading!

*slightly IC critical - but like, not that they’re bad people, just that Elain feels claustrophobic and like she’s not part of the group.*

Elain’s hands were aching.

They were torn up, bloody, and caked in dirt. She had been weeding in the garden at the townhouse since dawn, unable to sleep yet again.

It had been another night of them making plans without her. They thought she couldn’t hear them, but she could. She heard their conversations about the Mortal Lands, Cassian relaying information about Illyria, and Azriel giving updates on Eris. She had tried to join a few times, but they only politely smiled and changed the subject to something more palatable for "soft" Elain. It was obvious she wasn’t part of the inner circle. To them, she was too breakable, too sweet. So she spent another night alone, listening to their laughter and inside jokes—a world she was not a part of and wasn't necessarily welcome in.

She had been forced into this body and forced to move to a strange land. She was happy to be with her sisters and safe in a city with everything she needed, of course she was, but this was not her plan for herself. This was not what she wanted at all. She had wanted to travel and see the continent. She wanted to sail on a ship with her father, navigating the sea and bartering with foreign merchants. She longed to see the tulips of the continent, to harvest their seeds and spread them around her home. Instead, she was stuck in Velaris, forcing herself to stay busy with gardening, baking, and homemaking. She was bored and deeply lonely. Plus she had this ache deep inside her, like she could never get enough sunshine….

So Elain buried her feelings so deep she couldn't feel them anymore. Her magic thrummed in her veins, begging for release, but she forced that down too, squeezing it into a tiny box. Because that was another thing she couldn’t deal with: Lucien. Whenever her magic escaped its box and flared - she had a vision and it was always of him. He was smiling, laughing, or crying tears of joy. She couldn't handle it because, in those visions, she was there with him—relishing his laughter and smiling back. They were happy, and they traveled, saw distant land- She wouldn’t think of that now. She wouldn’t think of it ever, actually. Instead she plunged her hands into the garden bed, trying to pull out a very stubborn weed. It. Would. Not. Budge.

Elain gritted her teeth, hissed, and yanked at the stubborn root. It finally gave way, the thorns digging into her palms. Dirt flew into the air as the root tore free, and her hands stung from the impact as she fell back on the stone pavement. She looked down, staring as the blood began to pool on her hands. She was covered in dirt and dark red blood, her nails cracked and bleeding.

“Elain, are you okay?” Rhys’s smooth voice spoke in her mind.

She clenched her teeth. “Yes,” she replied, wiping the blood on her dress. Although she was close with her brother-in-law, she wasn't in the mood for talking. “Just weeding. I cut my hand on a thorn. I’m fine.”
It was a lie, but she didn’t care.

“You know, I believe a certain someone gifted you gloves that would prevent that?” he joked. She could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Elain snapped her mental gates shut, shoving Rhys out with a final “prick!” She swore she could feel Rhys’s midnight laughter in the air.

She wouldn't think of him. Not now. Not ever, if she could help it.

First, she was going to clean her hands, and then she was going to bake Rhys’s favorite dessert—but with extra salt and no sugar. Nosy prick.
She hauled herself up from the stones of the courtyard and headed back to her room.

She went straight to the back of her wardrobe, pushing aside some gowns and heavy cloaks until she reached a plain, wooden box. She hadn't looked at it since the day he gave it to her. She had barely said thank you and couldn’t even look him in the eyes. She hissed internally at the memory of that day.

Her fingers, still stained with garden soil and dried blood, trembled as she lifted the lid.
The gardening gloves were beautiful; enchanted to never get pierced, and they probably would fit her hands perfectly. She pulled them out, the scent of expensive hide filling the small space. The scent of him struck her, shocking her as she dropped the box. The box clattered to the floor, the gloves falling out. She bent down to pick it up, her dirty hands starkly contrasted against the beautiful gloves. She marveled over them once more before putting them away, when she spotted the edge of a piece of paper.
It was a small, wax sealed letter. For her. She opened it with unsteady breaths, his scent on the gloves filling her lungs, her heart. She slid a shaking finger under the wax seal, breaking it and inside she found one sentence:

“In case you need room to bloom

-L”

On the back, there was a small silver key, magically attached to the sheet of parchment.

A key, to his apartment in Velaris.

A space for her.

Room to bloom.