#you will lose a lover to the fatality of your world and it will sting

[inklore]

always forever.

premise: after the emergence, after almost losing druig, the events haunt you in your sleep. but when you wake druig is there to calm you and remind you that he’s not going anywhere.

pairing: druig x (f)eternal!reader

warnings: small dream sequence in the beginning, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, lots of talks of feelings and loss, slight sub!druig, super sappy, angsty, i suck at writing fluff and pacing so don’t act surprised when it sucks, eternals spoilers!! you are in control of your reading consumption so if you don’t vibe with any of the above please do not go on. 18+ only minors dni, you will be blocked.

word count: 2.1k+

etc: i know what you’re thinking: am i sick of writing soft!druig smut with nothing but forehead touches and super intense sap? the answer is no and i never will be! and i hope you all get the hint in this that druig is the king of eating pussy and has sub counterparts that make me weak xoxo.

“He’s gone. We have to go.”

“There’s nothing else we can do.”

“We have to leave him.”

Their voices burn your ears, each syllable sounding like a blowtorch to your ear drum. Your head ringing so loudly, your body shaking with pain, the heartbreak mixed with grief and guilt making your chest feel as if it might implode; all you can do is scream. Scream so loud that you think your throat might start to bleed from how it burns.

But it’s all you can do as you look down at him, his lifeless body, the greying of his skin. His beautiful blue eyes now dull and shadowed. He was dead. Gone. And now you were alone with a whole in your heart and a black abyss forming where your soul should be, sucking in every last feeling and memory you had of him until it’s a festering ball of poison that’s a constant reminder that he’s gone forever.

When you wake your throat feels just as raw as it did in your fevered dream. A sheen of sweat has gathered along your forehead and neck, and you can’t seem to catch your breath, can’t seem to come back to reality. Can’t get the image of your lovers greyed lifeless face out of your mind, can’t stop picturing Ikaris pull him through the sky and slam him to the ground as if he were nothing, meant nothing. Ending your entire world with just one fatal swoop and flash of his eyes.

You feel the tears run down your cheek before you even comprehend that you’re crying, that your grip on the sheets is straining your wrist.

Until you feel his hands on you, at your neck, your cheek, your wrist. “Hey, hey,” his voice is soft and filled with concern, strained with it as he pushes the sheets off of the both of you, moving so he’s now positioned at your front where he can see you better. “Shh, shh.” His hands bracket each side of your cheeks.

“Druig,” it’s soft, choked but it pangs your heart to say his name. Burns your throat even more. There’s a tear filled haze over your eyes that stings as you try to blink them away. “You–“ your breath can’t seem to go back to normal the more you try to speak, the more you cry. “You were gone. Ikaris–“

“Shh, I’m not gone.” Druig pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you firmly. Your body shaking against his naked chest. “I’m right here,” he presses a gentle kiss to the side of your head, the tips of his fingers running down your back slow and soothingly.

The two of you sit like that for a while, your body coming down. Draining all the adrenaline and heartache from your nightmare—that was almost a reality. Could of been your reality. Your breath returning back to normal as you breathe in each shaky intake of air nice and slow. Your cheek is wet against his shoulder from your tears, you do your best to wipe them as you lift your head and pull back from him. And now you can really see him. The tears no longer in your eyes, the image of his grey and shadowed face gone. He’s here, he’s alive. Your Druig.

“You okay?” His brows are etched with worry as his thumb runs along your cheek.

You nod slowly, sniffing. Your eyes checking him all over for any sign that this might actually be part of the dream. That this wasn’t your reality right now. That he was really gone and this was some fevered apparition of him. “I-you were gone. Ikaris had killed you. I saw your..” you trail off as your chin starts to wobble. The tears threatening to come back, the hurt waiting to bring you down again.

“Ikaris never stood a chance,” he reassures, the upturn of his cocky grin making you chuckle softly. But there’s still sadness in your eyes and it makes Druig’s chest ache. A feeling he knew all too well, one he didn’t like, especially when it came to you. He’d be lying if he said there hadn’t been fear deep within his marrow when he thought this would be it, that Ikaris was finally going to shut him up for good. Images of the times the two of you had spent over centuries together, your beautiful laugh, and the way you kissed him when he wouldn’t shut up, all flashing through his head as he laid helpless in the bedrock.

But Ikaris didn’t kill him. A few scratches were nothing compared to what could of happened. The two of you losing each other. But it had happened the two of you got out of it safe and together, and something like that was never going to happen again, Druig would not allow it to.

He takes your hand and presses it firmly to his chest, his heartbeat beating against your palm. The warmth of his skin against yours once again breathing life into you, making your heart swell and pump faster. “I’m here. I’m alive. No one’s ever going to take me away from you.” He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to your fingers, “I promise.”

And something within you breaks. Breaks in a way that can only be put back together by him, can only be touched, pressed, kissed, fucked by him. Bring you back to being whole. Remind you that it’s you and him forever. That it would take more than an angry Eternal or God to rip the two of you apart again.

You don’t recollect yourself moaning his name until your back is pressed into the mattress and Druig is on top of you, your sleep clothes gone, his mouth on yours; your cheek, your neck, against your chest where your heartbeats just a little faster. His hands are massaging your breasts in his palm, running the pad of his thumb over your nipple making you moan into his mouth.

And Druig swallows it down, every moan every whimper until all he can breathe and all he can taste is you. His love. His everything.

His lips are searing wet and hot as he kisses down your chest and sternum. Your breath and eyes heavy as you watch him make his descent until he presses a kiss to the top of your mound, his eyes staring up at you before fluttering closed as you feel his tongue move past his lips and slowly run over your clit. Your breath hitching in your throat as your back arches from the bed, your hand going to the top of Druig’s head as your fingers run through his soft hair.

To watch you like this was a gift to him.

Druig remembers watching plenty of artists paint masterpieces throughout the centuries he’s been alive. He remembers watching the beauty of history unfold before his eyes, read poetry from infamous poets. Had people bow down to him as if he were some kind of God. But no matter how many beautiful paintings he saw come to life, or sonnets of everlasting poetry he heard, or the praise from humans; nothing looked or sounded as good as you did when he was between your legs.

The way your moans vibrated through your body, toppling over your beautiful lips and filling the room with a symphony of whimpers and need. The way your legs shook around him, the way your skin felt against his palms when he gripped your thighs, licked, kissed, bit them. And the way you let yourself be consumed by him, pleasured by him, as if this was his last meal and your last time savoring the pleasure. The way you both let it wash all over you and consume you until every nerve ending felt as if stars were exploding in your blood stream. A feeling neither of you could fully comprehend other than; you needed this. Needed each other.

Druig loved having his mouth on every part of you, loved letting you know that your body was a temple he wanted to pray to everyday. Touch everyday if only to feel that beautiful spark it gave off. To be a part of you and the space you took up, the life you breathed into a room, into him. But the telepath was not shy in admitting while he loved devouring every part of you; his mouth watered at the thought of it being on your pussy, daily. He couldn’t look at you without thinking it, wanting it, to taste, kiss, and devour your wet cunt. It was his favorite meal, his favorite treat. Nothing tasted as good as you did, he got drunk off of you. His tongue lapping at your juices, lips wrapping around that sweet bundle of nerves that had you pulling his hair and his eyes rolling back in his head.

And after he’s made you come twice over, your fingers digging into his shoulder as you try to pull him up, “please, Druig,” you moan. His boyish grin making your stomach flutter as he lets his tongue run along your wet folds a few more times before pressing a kiss to them and coming back up to meet your lips, his tongue bombarding your mouth, giving you a taste of your own sweetness.

You let your hand move between the two of you wrapping your fingers around his hardness, as you stroke him slowly. Druig pulling from your lips to let out a breathy groan that fans across your face. His lips even more plump and swollen from his assault between your legs and your own mouth, the wetness that gathers along his bottom lip as he licks them making you want to chase his tongue into his mouth with yours. You’d never get enough of his lips, of kissing him, of any part of him.

The tip of his cock skates across your sensitive clit as you grind your hips against him, your body shaking from the overstimulation and the ache to have him inside of you.

“Fuck,” Druig’s voice is low and deep, barley above a whisper. “Want to be inside of you, love.” He presses a kiss to your lips, runs his hand along the junction of your neck where your jaw meets it, presses his thumb below it to push your gaze up to meet his. “I need it.” Your body trembles at the seriousness in his eyes that mixes so beautiful with lust and desire. His tone on the cusp of begging.

And when he slips inside of you the low breathy grown that falls from both of your lips is dizzying. Both of you feeling that missing ache become whole as Druig bottoms out inside of you. The drag of his cock as he fucks you slow makes your mind go hazy, wild. You have to press your head into the crook of his neck, bite at the flesh there to stop yourself from being too loud. To stop yourself from shaking because it’s so good, he feels so good inside of you. So thick, so big. His moans fanning out at the shell of your ear, as his fingers rub slow circles in time with his thrusts against your clit, quickly pushing you over the edge again. His name a choked sob on your lips.

Druig keeps fucking you through it, that slow gentle way full of passion and heat. Keeps whispering sweet words and moans in your ear, “I’m never going to leave you, love. It’s you and me for centuries to come.” and “Fucking you like this for the rest of my life is the only treasure I need.” And then he’s moving from the crook of your neck to look down at you, to watch your beautiful face contort with pleasure as he fucks you, as you take him so good, so perfect, as if you were made for him, for his cock. For his love.

Your nails digging at his back as he fucks you deeper, a little harder as he feels his release coming. The groans he lets out are nothing short of angels hearings. Your palms press to his cheeks, bringing your foreheads together, hot breath mixed with shaky intakes, “Druig, come for me.” And it takes everything in him not to let his emotions take over as you whisper the words, sending him over the edge buried deep inside of you.

There was a time the only emotion Druig felt was distain and anger. His emotions bottled up and stored away. But then there was you, and then there’s was this. All of it. The shared touches, devotion, love.

And he doesn’t know how he had ever lived without it, and doesn’t think he ever could again.

[luvreyn]

RED || Gojo Satoru

Red has a range of symbolic meanings, including life, health, vigor, war, courage, anger, love and religious fervor.

tw: mentions of abuse, death

You don’t like making mistakes. In your world, mistakes are fatal. They are a sign of weakness and vulnerability, all things you loath when your innocent brother gets punished for being kind (he’s dead now.)

(You recall your mother, who was driven insane whenever your father slapped your brother and you. She’s dead now too.)

You didn’t know it back then, but your father had been right about not showing your weakness and not making mistakes. He taught you that when his son failed him. He taught you that when he showed you just why your family was rich. He taught you through whips, gags, isolation, and beatings. He taught you by showing you how useless all of your childhood dreams and innocence were, and by undoing everything your Mother taught you. That scar on your back is a proof of those teachings.

Now you’re making a mistake. A big, fatal mistake that could get you killed, could get your father to kill you like he did to your brother and mother when you all attempted to flee from his mansion.

Long, beautiful fingers tip your head up to look at you in the eyes. His eyes contrast with the darkness of the room. "What are you thinking?"

Gojo Satoru. Your father’s nemesis. Young, handsome, and someone who brought half of your family’s operations to its knees. Gojo Satoru, who approached you that one evening when you’re drowning in self-hatred for being the only one your father allowed to live. Gojo Satoru, who showed you just why he’s as dangerous as the rumors say-that charming smile, that charismatic personality, those damning eyes.

You knew you were a goner.

He who does as he pleases without fear. He confidently showed up in front of your father to announce that the shipment of illegal drugs wouldn’t be happening because he blew up the docks and showed the videos to prove it.

The sight of the frustrated and tormented expression on your Father’s face is ecstasy.

Your father wants retribution, so he does. Kidnapping and assassinating Gojo’s allies one by one. The Gojo family did the same, of course.

Now you’re in the middle. Now you’re at the crossroads. Torn between staying with a life that you didn’t choose and running away to be together with your lover.

"Don’t think about it." It is the war that is brewing and the deaths that follow. Your father would rather die than surrender and let his business be taken over by his nemesis. "Think of only me."

"I can’t." but you craned your neck to give him more access to it.

"I’ll make sure you have no thoughts of anything except for me then." he grins. He takes his time on marking you, and you fight to fight the moans that escape.

Gojo Satoru, who kisses you dirty and sweet on his bed and table, who kisses and worships the scars on your back, who exorcises your demons and brings your soul to life.

"You need to pull back." He stops marking you.

There are too many deaths that whisper to you in your mind.

"Pull back?" You can feel his smirk on your skin. "Sweetheart, we’re not the ones losing, aren’t we?"

Yes. Because it’s your father who is losing. Your father, who is being driven to insanity, deserves for you to ask Satoru to stop, but you also value your subordinates, and Satoru values his friends.

Your father is not worth losing them over.

"You know how much I love tormenting your father for you." He winks, and it makes you grin.

The attraction is too much, so you raise his head by pulling his hair and kiss him.

When you got home, wearing your turtleneck, you didn’t expect the slap that your father gave you. The slap stings, and the feeling of his hand touching your face is disgusting. He is disgusting. From the furious expression on his face, you knew he had already found out.

Took him long enough.

Before you say those words to him, you’re already falling from the blunt force on your back, and you see his subordinate staring down at you as you fall to the ground.

You wake up to find yourself in a familiar room, hooked up to familiar poles. The handcuffs feel itchy and painful. You’re no longer wearing the turtleneck and are instead wearing a sports bra, the scars on your back visible for them to see, the love marks on your neck visible for your father to see.

This is where my loyalty lies. Not to you, not to this family, but to him! You would have said, but there’s a gag in your mouth. To my dead family and my lover.

The whip lands on your back before you can even blink.

You think I wouldn't know that you were whoring yourself to that man?!

The feeling of the whip is both familiar and painful. You don’t know how long your father has been whipping you, but you do feel the blood on your skin, the tears in your eyes as your body takes damage after damage.

Your father’s anger does not easily dissipate, though.

You soon lose consciousness, but not before hearing a loud cry.

You woke up to find yourself staring at all too familiar eyes. There’s a dark glint in his eyes, a frown on his face, blood on his hands and on his white perfect hair.

"Satoru..."

"Sshh..." he surveys the damage, cursing under his breath as he moves. There are no handcuffs on your wrist now; the whip has been long abandoned not far from you; the bodies of the people who stood grinning at your misery earlier are littered around the room. "Shoko!" he called in a panic.

You must be in worse shape than you thought.

"M-my father?" Don’t let him escape; let him be dead. "My father did he es-"

"He’s dead." he says, holding your cheek, brushing the tear stain. "I killed him."

What great news to wake up to.

The sight of your relieved and smiling face is ecstasy.

[azurevi]

hanahaki au (heartslabyul)

Finally it’s here! More parts coming soon!

Riddle

He isn't certain at first as to why his throat's been acting itchy, but then he starts throwing up flowers and petals and he finally understands.

It's the hanahaki disease, the telltale sign of the fact that your lover doesn't love you back.

Riddle tries to mask it at first, anxious that it will interfere with his work as a dorm leader.

And for a short but blissful time, he finds it unnecessary to worry. It only happens so rarely. 

But then it worsens. Mid-lesson, during meetings, sometimes even late at night, he finds himself rushing for the washroom.

Trey figures it out easily. How could he not? He's known Riddle since they were kids, afterall.

Trey is calm as ever, asking Riddle his plan. It's out of character for Riddle, but he has yet to make a decision.

It is no foreign knowledge that hanahaki can be cured by removing all the romantic emotions the patient has for the other, but for some reason, Riddle is hesitating.

He isn't sure he wants to lose this feeling, this sensation that blooms in his heart whenever you see him. 

With every caring word you bring him comfort and understanding, filling him with delight so profound it cancels out the ache in his heart.

"Are you sure it's unrequited though?"

He finds Trey's question ridiculous. Of course it is, that's the whole point of hanahaki.

"Maybe you haven't been looking hard enough,"

Trey refuses to elaborate, leaving Riddle alone to fathom the meaning behind his words.

But he takes the advice and starts paying attention, and it may be just his desperate mind playing tricks on him, but he can notice subtle differences in how you treat him and the others. Like how you show concern when he's a little too quiet during lunch, how he always seems to meet your eyes, how you're always walking by him in a group. 

As hope blossoms he finds himself coughing up fewer and fewer flowers, and he becomes more and more daring.

And after Trey's continuous and almost nagging encouragement, he finally tells you how he feels. He may not show it, but he's so, so elevated to know that you feel just the same.

Ace

Ace finds it ridiculous. It's already been established that he's not a firm believer of love (or at least that's what he thinks). Even when he notices the budding romance he feels for you, he's certain that it's just an insignificant little crush. 

But it appears to be more than fondness. He's quite head over heels for you, it turns out. Enough for blood-stained flowers to grow in his lungs.

Ace will try to mask it. It's so lame, and of course he won't tell you about it. After all, he doesn't want to force you into loving him. It wouldn't be true love … no, he isn't a romantic!

No one around him knows about this, that he makes sure. Even when he feels that the pain in his chest is too agonizing for him to go on, he still carries it on his own, all because it was his own problem to face, and partly due to his unwavering ego.

He also acts strangely around you, dubiously avoiding contact and losing the usual cheerfulness he carries whenever he's with you. And of course, everyone else notices. But upon asking, he always waves it off, saying that he's caught a little cold, or that he's simply tired.

The more he tries to ignore his feelings, the more aggressive they get. Soon the flowers mess with his daily life, interrupting his lessons and waking him up in the dead of the night just to feel the seething realization that his love isn't returned.

It hurts because he knows that you'll never love someone like him. It hurts because you're the entire sun, but he's just one of the orbiting planets. It hurts, because he knows that he'll sooner or later die of this unyielding love for you, and yet he still doesn't dare to give it up.

How can he? You're the one giving him courage, and even though you are the cause of all his pain and suffering, you are at the same time his medicine and sanctuary. He can't imagine not ever looking at you with admiration anymore, and he's sure that he'll fall in love with you all over again anyway.

When you approach him about his distant attitude, he becomes as cold and hard as a stone, unable to break even with the strongest axe. The two of you bantered in front of his dorm room until he felt the untimely urge in his chest. 

He rushes into the washroom, even though he can hear your haste footsteps trailing behind. The moment he wheezes and throws up dozens of flower petals, you freeze in your spot, unable to make another move.

"Who is it?"

It almost enrages Ace how you still manage to say that, but he's too weak to hold grudges, so he simply closes his eyes and let the fatigue takes over.

When he wakes up again, he's in the infirmary with you napping beside him, looking as serene as ever. 

You stir awake not much later, and immediately dives into 'caretaker' mode, bombarding him with questions and complaints. 

"Ace… could this person you're in love with be me?"

He once planned to carry this secret to his grave, but he finds it impossible to lie in your face, so he just nods slowly. 

You slaps his arm lightly, and Ace's dramatic ass whines at that.

"Ace… can't you tell that I like you too?"

He swears his heart stops the moment he hears it, and something stirs his insides. No, not nausea, but something akin to butterflies. His chest was fluttering.

"You could've told me!" he yells with a pout, already looking sharp again.

"You're one to speak! I can't believe you carried all that by yourself… don't you ever do it again, okay?"

"Yeah, ok, mum," he teases relentlessly, but he's actually overwhelmed deep down.

Deuce

Deuce isn't even aware that he has fallen for your charms until hanahaki strikes like an assassin in the dark.

He coughs up flowers vigorously, which he doesn't understand. 

This boy has never heard of hanahaki. So when he searches it up, he's bewildered, and no later realization hits him like a truck. 

He's in love with you, after all.

Deuce finds it a great trouble, not his affection for you, but how this disease affects his life. All he wants to do is make his mother proud, and getting a fatal disease is not exactly part of his plan.

Deuce considers removing his loving feelings for you, but somehow he doesn't want to. Perhaps it's something about your gracefulness, or it's just his stubbornness, but he doesn't want to lose his feelings like a coward.

He carries it on by himself, excusing himself from the lunch group to the washroom, suppressing the pain in his throat so he won't skip lessons, making sure he doesn't let anyone in on it. 

And it's quite troublesome, because the feelings aren't fading at all. They're growing with every coincidental glance, every brush of fingers, every genuine smile shot his way. 

His friends don't fail to note the subtle changes in his behavior, and who better to ask him than you?

But he won't tell, even if his heart yells at him to. He doesn't want to guilt trip you. 

And so, everytime he pushes you away, the flowers grow more frequent, the blood stains become more prominent, and unbeknownst to him he becomes more suspicious in your eyes.

So when Ace sneaks into his room and finds scarce, bloody flower petals in his trash can, you immediately deduce that he has hanahaki.

Which stings, because he's supposed to be able to trust you enough to tell you something as pressing as this, but instead he chooses to hide it.

So, both heartbroken and a little hopeful, you approach him about it.

He stutters, not knowing how to answer or how you even knew, but then he supposes that he has nowhere to hide now that you're standing right in front of him demanding an answer.

Finally he tells you, head hung low, scared to see your reaction.

You're quiet for such a long while before he hears sniffles and sees you looking at him teary eyed.

"What-Why are you crying?"

"Because I like you too!"

His brain short circuits. It's hard to wrap his head around the fact that you would see him as more than a friend.

His cheeks are furiously red when you tell him that you've always noticed how he feels.

Just how could he be so blind?

"Please don't ever hide something like that from me, okay?"

He feels guilty for having made you worry, but relieved by knowing that you love him just as much as he does.

Cater

Cater is a good liar. No one ever notices his changes, not even Trey.

He knew from first glance that he was going to fall in love with you, and frankly, that he even gets hanahaki because of it isn't much of a surprise either. 

To avoid suspicion, Cater doesn't alter his behaviors. He's still the same － cheery, free-spirited, pouty when he's not treated like a senior. He posts just as regularly on magicam, and smiles just as brightly in front of others.

Alas, he can't ever bring himself to cause pain to others. He'd rather carry the whole world on his shoulders than drag other people into his misery.

It takes you a long time to take note of his differences. He's such a hard one to crack, but you can see that his eyes are a little sunken, lips unnaturally sheet, appetite growing smaller and smaller. You almost brushed it off, but something still feels off to you.

Cater almost falters when you confront him about it. All he wants to do is tell you all his woes and ask for you to love him back.

He ponders whether he should remove these hurtful feelings from time to time, but he can't bring himself to. He knows how this love is the reason he can make your day. If he loses his feelings, wouldn't it mean that he won't care about your happiness anymore?

No.. he can't imagine that. Your happiness is like the most pivotal thing to him. And so, he endures it all.

When it aggravates he decides not to show up at all. That's when his magic comes to good use. He can hole up in his room or hide somewhere else all day while his clones go live his life for him.

But it doesn't last long either. Soon enough you and Trey figured that he's acting a bit … robotic and unversatile. The two of you looked into it and finally discovered that the real Cater hasn't been around for days.

Naturally you feel scared, but also angry at him for disappearing just like that. 

It's almost impossible to get his clones to speak up, but once they do, you race to his place like McQueen (sorry bad reference). 

Oh boy is he shocked to see you. He seems so different from the Cater you know - the things love does to a lover.

You can see petals around him, overfilling the bins. They are stained with blood, both wet and dry, tainting the innocent flowers.

You know exactly what hanahaki is, and seeing him suffering from such a melancholy disease seems to cause a certain ache in your chest as well.

"Oh? Hi prefect…"

The fact that he still manages a smile only adds to your sorrow. You asks him who causes him all this pain, and all he can do is smile dispiritedly at you.

It was all you need to understand though. Instantly guilt fills you up from head to toe. How could you not notice this? How could you be so blinded and submerged in your own feelings that you failed to notice his feigned smiles?

You decide to tell him the truth, how you love him as he does you and how you hope it's not too late to tell him this. Needless to say he's thankful, happy and really overjoyed.

He apologizes for hiding away like a coward, but you assure him that he needs not mask his worries anymore for he can confide in you and others.

Trey

Trey may think that he is a subtle liar, but his actions often work against his favour.

After getting hanahaki he always indulges in deep thoughts about how to deal with it and other things, which are all too obvious not to be noticed.

You know, Riddle knows and ADeuce know. It's just that no one is sure whether to pry or not.

Trey seems to have fallen in love with you since first glance. It's just something about your aura, he guesses. You're so comfortable, like a current that Trey's happy to be pulled in. Little mindless touches are enough to send shock through his entire body, and it only takes a smile from you to lighten his day up.

For once, he feels like he can rely on someone too.

Before he realizes, he has fallen too deep. It is only when he coughs up petals that he understands the severity of his affection.

He doesn't wish to give it up, simply because it is like memories of you, innocent and warm, and despite the pain it causes him, it's still his powerhouse.

So he pretends not to be suffering. He pretends that his throat doesn't sting, and continues racing towards the sun that will one day burn him to ashes.

"Trey, are you okay?"

You ask out of concern. He has been falling out of conversations quite often and seems to be neglecting baking too.

It seems to bring all his pain away how you worry about him, and he wishes he can lean on your shoulder and sigh all his troubles to you, but he can't. Trey can't bear to be selfish.

And so he smiles. He shrugs it off, and it pains you because you can see how fake it is. You don't press on the topic though, not wanting to be too nosy.

Trey feels like a young kid who doesn't have any concept of self control. He continues lingering around you, making you smile with all his might and reassuring your recurring concerns.

But good days don't last long, and his situation aggravates at a quickening pace. He can no longer smile it off and sometimes has to befriend his dorm for the entire lunch break. He can feel energy slipping away from him everyday, little by little as he looks up at you. The bright, brilliant sun, out of reach and yet so close.

"Trey?"

His sobs are cut short in his throat, forming small hiccups. You're standing right outside his dorm room and he's a mess.

"We need to talk,"

You're talking in a serious tone. Can't be a good sign. Trey messily cleans his face before opening the door.

You look stricken, disheveled, having been in deep thoughts. He's about to ask you what's wrong when you shut him down with one question.

"Do you have Hanahaki?"

No, impossible. How do you know? He's made sure that his acts are flawless, impossible to see through. And yet here you are, standing here, almost teary-eyed.

There's no point to lie to you anymore. He admits defeat.

It pains him even more seeing you break down because of it. He thinks it's all his fault, all his wrongdoings.

"Trey… I've always liked you too, can't you tell?"

He almost thinks it's out of pity, because just how much of a coincidence is it? But he can tell that you're being genuine -- that's who you are. Honest, a bit docky, and always close to his heart.

You tell him that you've been taking note of his bizarre behaviours, and it's just so easy to deduce. With the assistance of others, you are able to stick together pieces.

"Just don't ever hide something so big from us again, okay?"

How he feels like the luckiest man in the world, loved by the loveliest person ever. He promises not to be secretive again, and he swears that he'll never forget this moment of relief and pure joy.

[authorellenmint]

Isabela, the duelist

Another article about Julie d'Aubigny, the famous French duelist and opera singer with no fucks to give, was making the rounds and it got me thinking what if that was Isabela.

So, here’s an AU of Isabela in late 17th century France.

In the bustling theaters and bordellos of Paris, ruled a fist far finer than usual. While francs often tumbled free, it was just as likely to deliver a fatal blow as a waft of delicate perfume. For the moment, it was locked around the shapely hip of one of the dancers, a woman named Giselle. Sadly, Giselle bore a suitor of her own -- whether she wished for his attentions or no.

Claude Renoir was not so easily shaken from his prize.

"Do not bother," his friends cajoled, complaining as he ventured from the smoking room, glasses of brandy barely disturbed and abandoned upon the table. "Come back to watch the show. From our seats you can look straight up their skirts."

He would not listen. No, Claude assumed he was in the right -- as he often does in whatever matter the young man thinks was his divine right. At the tender age of twenty-three, with a rich father and a business to whet his beak upon once he exits university, he was nearly right. Men of his cloth were offered the whole world upon a satin pillow.

Such a shame he chose to butt up against the one sword to slice his future to ribbons.

Rounding up the stairs, Claude spotted Giselle laughing, her pert form reclining upon a fine divan. Her delicate fingers splayed out against a stranger's chest, her perfect face dipping under the stranger's wide-brimmed hat to press a whisper in an ear. Another woman sat astride this usurper, dressed in even less than his dear Giselle.

How dare he! To take not one but two women for himself? It was unheard of!

"Sir!" Claude stomped his foot on the rug before this lecher. Both of the girls looked up into his scarlet face, his anger and passion transforming into purpose. "I say, you have no right to abscond with my Giselle!"

"Your Giselle?" a voice rolled from under the bent hat, its brim obscuring a face. But the sound was odd, far more tenor than he would have expected within this house of debauchery. "I see no ring, no brand to her succulent rump," a hand slid off Giselle's shoulder to slap into her buttocks.

Claude roared at the slight while Giselle, dear Giselle giggled. "You dare!"

"I dare do what I wish, Sir...whatever you call yourself. No point in telling me, it will slip from my ear before you go."

The anger turned to rage, Claude's eyes glaring death upon this usurper. Still, the man wouldn't move, refused to take his hands off what was rightfully Claude's. So be it! Claude reached forward, about to grab his beloved Giselle off of this stranger's lap, when fingers latched onto his arm.

Brown as the peasants that burned in the fields, they dug in tight and refused to let go. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man laughed, his voice raising into an alto.

"Do you have any idea who I am?!" Claude howled.

A glint of a smile appeared below the shadows of the hat, "You speak as if I should care."

"I am the eldest son to Monsieur Renoir, heir to the..."

That brown hand released him in order to wave through the air, cutting off his credentials. "That's who your father is. Who are you, boy?"

Boy? This puerile farmer trucked in from the provinces dared to call him such! "You have greatly offended me, Sir. I demand satisfaction!"

The two women astride the stranger gasped, Giselle covering her mouth in shock. Good. May the man quiver, fall to his knees in subjugation begging to be forgiven, and let Claude have what he deserved. He was about to reach out for his love, when Giselle turned to the hat and cried.

"Please, he's a foolish child. You shouldn't..."

A child? Oh Giselle! How her cruel thoughts wounded him straight through the heart.

"You are aware that duels are illegal in Paris," the man said.

"Are you afraid? Are you a coward? Do you have not the balls to face me?"

The smile lengthened and the stranger rose from the divan. "There is nothing a pup like you can do to scare me, and..." a hand yanked off the hat to reveal long black hair cascading down HER back. She was a woman?! Cocking a hip to the side, her brown face smiled, "I don't need a pair of danglers to face you."

Dressed in little more than what the whores working through the theater wore, she paraded about in all white. There was no dress to cover her shame, only a corset with a sash of purest blue tied around her waist. Boots rose to her thighs as if she'd walked the streets dusk to dawn.

"What are you?!" Claude cried, skittering back a step as he feared the woman to be a hag dragged in by the sea. While her features were fine enough in the low light, the sea hags could shift them to torment men by dawn.

The woman turned to Giselle, circled a hand around her peaches and cream jawline, then sampled a long, slow kiss from those pink lips. Claude hung in shock. He hadn't even had a chance to hold her hand yet and this woman, this degenerate, was kissing her in public!

"I am Isabela, feared pirate of the Caribbean, master duelist in all of France, ransacker of beds, lover of such fine art," her hand scooped along Giselle's décolletage, showing no care for decorum. Golden snake eyes snapped up at him, "And you, young pup, are the next man to dance upon the end of my blade." In full view of the patrons, she unsheathed a sword kept at her hip. The candlelight danced up and down the rapier's edge, Claude transfixed by the glow.

"Or," she paused, "do you relent and allow me to continue with my business as I see fit?"

He was no duelist. His father owned a sword but if he found out Claude was scuffling, was breaking the law, he'd go spare. Perhaps even threaten to disown him. Fighting her would be foolish. If he won, he'd have beaten a girl, which afforded him little honor. And if he lost...no, he wouldn't lose.

"Oh," this Isabela paused in staring longingly at Giselle, "and you have to leave her alone. Forever."

Claude saw red, his hand rising up to strike her in the face, "We shall meet outside the theater."

The woman didn't blanch, she didn't turn and run. No, the idiot smiled wide, took his hand and gave it a powerful shake. "This shall be fun."

His friends agreed to back him up, two of them braying about Claude managing to work himself into such a predicament. Fighting against one woman for another, it was a waste of his time and skin. He didn't care about Giselle. Forget the whore. No, this was all about putting that...cretin in her place. Proving to her that she belonged under a man's thumb, not philandering about in theaters with other women.

"Perhaps she won't even show," his close friend said, the drunkard laugh shattering the night, when the swish of a cloak overpowered the inebriations.

Claude's blood boiled, his hand locking around the grip of his foil. This woman had returned her hat, complete with a long crimson feather in the brim, upon her head. It was tipped back, allowing her to gaze at her challenger, as well as his seconds. Where was hers? Did she come alone?

A cloak as black as night circled her body, Isabela casting it off of her shoulder with a flip of her arm. "Forgive me, I had to...enjoy a rather long goodbye. Giselle is quite skilled in such matters."

"Draw your weapon!" Claude cried, quickly unsheathing his rapier. The hilt was a silver steel, twisted like a brambled mulberry bush. He'd never fought a man to death with it, nor a woman for that matter. But the anger in his stomach boiled, assuring Claude that he could cut pieces off of her blackened hide and feel no remorse for it.

"Such a hurry," she shook her head, then plucked her hat off. With a throw, she flung it to one of his friends, who caught it in surprise. "Hold that for me, darling," she winked at him, and the bastard blushed. "Yes yes, as you were saying," she gripped onto the hilt of her sword and unsheathed it into the waning gas lamplight of evening Paris.

Claude snickered while eyeing up her pathetic blade. The edge was thin as a blade of grass, but it was the grip that had him laughing. "You don't have a hilt upon that thing. There's nothing to shield your hand from my blows."

"Arrogant little shit, aren't you?" she laughed, swiping thrice through the air. "Funny thing is, " Isabela raised her arm up, the elbow cocked as the edge of the blade cut through the air right beside her eye, "so am I."

Screaming, Claude ran at the woman. He didn't need a countdown, only for her blood to litter the cobbles. With everything inside of him, he swung for her hand. Disarm her, make her fall to her knees and weep. Sweep Giselle off her whore feet and into his bed to be used once and discarded. It was a brilliant plan.

His blade's tip cut through the air, about to flay the brown skin from her hand, when suddenly his sword was thrown back. Another swing bounced into his blade, skittering it even further into the night as the woman danced forward on the balls of her feet. Through the rush of his blood he heard his friends shouting for him, cheering him on, but Claude was too slow to retrieve his skittered blade.

Two twin cuts sliced against his cheeks, stinging deeper than any shaving mishap ever would. Gasping, Claude fell back, touching his enflamed flesh to find sticky blood swiped over his fingers. "How dare you?!" he screamed, his eyes widening in shock.

"Well, the trick is to be good. Which is probably why you're having trouble. Oh, you don't mean how can I but how may I." Another swipe of the blade swung from the darkness, striking faster than lightning. He barely had a chance to block it, this one aiming for his wrist. Claude bounced one away, but a second thrust cut into his waistcoat. The chain thudded to the ground, Isabela whacking him away until she could pick it up for herself. She eyed the thing by the moonlight as if it were a prize, before pocketing it on her barely-there clothing.

"See, young pup," her attacks were unending, backing him into corners, then chasing him away. All Claude could do was keep her from killing him. Still, cuts were appearing all over his body. Slashes to his arms, his legs, the back of his knees. His friends fell silent, watching in terror as Claude was led about on an invisible lead.

"If you had a lick of sense in your brain, you'd know me as Isabela, Queen of the Siren's Call."

"Sweet mother Mary!" one of his friends shouted before crossing himself.

"Ah, a fan of my work," Isabela winked and nodded at him. "Shame your friends didn't warn you about me. I've fought in at least fifteen different duels since weighing anchor upon your shores. Always with stuff shirt pricks who think they own whatever they can take. And you know what happens to those men?"

"What?" Claude snarled. She was bobbing but slowing, circling around his back. If he swung fast he might be able to knock into her smart mouth with the pommel of his sword. Isabela darted close to his shoulder, which was when Claude struck.

Swinging behind, he expected for his fist to come in contact with her face, but suddenly there was naught but air where she'd been. Something hard bashed into the back of his bleeding legs, sending Claude crumbling to the street. Filthy muck splashed up from his hands splattering into fetid water and piss. He gasped, trying to spit the muck out, when a sharp blade drew against his throat.

"They always lose," she smiled wider at him, about to plunge the blade deep and finish him off.

"You!" another woman's voice roared through the night.

"Oh, for the love of..." Isabela stepped back, her blade fleeing away from Claude's neck. She sheathed it while turning to whoever was shouting at her. It wasn't yet another jealous husband but a woman built like an ox. Hair redder than the seine by sunset, an unsophisticated stomp to her manly gait, this woman approached Isabela and grabbed onto her collar.

"You know duels are illegal here! We've warned you once before."

"Yes, Aveline. I heard you the first time, I simply didn't care," Isabela whimpered as this muscular woman began to bind her hands behind her back. "You should know, he challenged me."

"Right, anyone in Paris is stupid enough to challenge you to a duel," the redhead chuckled mirthlessly, clearly finding his humiliation hilarious.

"I was doing you a favor by cleaning up this trash. I dare say I deserve a medal..." Isabela sighed.

Struggling to rise, Claude shook away the spots in his vision to watch the subject of his ire being clapped in irons as befitted her. "Yes, arrest her. Take her away!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" this Aveline rolled her eyes at him,

"Told you," Isabela whistled, rocking back and forth on her toes even as the iron cuffs clanked on. "Total prat."

Sneering, Claude stomped closer to the woman unable to fight back. His nose flared as he declared, "You're an abomination. Creatures like you should be stoned before the church steps. It isn't natural for a woman to abandon the home's hearth, dress like a man and fight. You're no better than a feral dog."

"Damn it," the redhead groaned, her head tipping back to the stars. Claude turned to her in confusion, worrying he'd have to be the one to take Isabel in as a feminine vapor overtook her, when a massive fist burst into his jaw. He collapsed to the street, his head bouncing against the cobbles as he stared up at the bruised knuckles of the redhead still hanging in the air.

The redhead turned around to Isabela and snarled, "Get out of here." Then she bent over to haul Claude up from his dizzying state. He could barely see after that punch. "Disorderly, and drunk in public. Gonna have a long stay in the Bastille for that, prat."

The iron cuffs clanged to the ground without the redhead having to assist. Isabela dashed to pick up her hat from his friend's useless fingers. Once it was on her head, she gave a jolly wave to the men and walked right back into the theater. Claude groaned, his head throbbing from every hit to his body as those cuffs were now strapped to him.

"Don't you know anything? Never interrupt her when she's watching a show. You idiots," the woman hauled him up and tossed him over her gargantuan shoulder, "you never learn."

[jamieanovels]

Fifteen (short story)

This is the uncut version of a short fiction I turned in for my science fiction class. We had to write a story that described the interaction between humans and another equally or more intelligent species (inspired by the late Octavia Butler, whose work I’d highly recommend for lovers of alien science fiction and beautiful prose). 

Hope you enjoy!

It was during her Math midterm that the Elder came for Fif. The instant that the pinstripe-suited man stepped into the classroom, eyes widened, and when he revealed the tattoo on his neck that identified him as an Elder, the air went electric. Pencils dropped as the Awares in the class looked at each other in anticipation, while the Unawares eyed the Elder in apprehension, perhaps thinking he was an important official.

Most of the time Fif felt bad for the Unawares. They clung to the Village like a veil that they didn’t know how to shed. The constructed nature of their world must have occurred to them, but their terrified minds had willfully ignored it. Non-realities were scary and implied a need for escape. What other world could the Unawares escape to? The toxic planet above the grove would be nowhere near as forgiving as the Elders.

Besides, Missions could be fun. Fif had done one before, back when she was very young and the main Mission-goer was a physically fit but recently Unaware teenage boy who had wanted company in the abandoned toxic wasteland. Fif hadn’t blamed him, and when one of the Elders—taking the form of one of her teachers, as they often did—had come to tell her about the situation, she had agreed to be the boy’s companion.

Now, she quietly watched the Elder from her seat in the back of the room until he turned from his conversation with her teacher and faced her. Every eye in the room followed his gaze and landed on her as she, despite her perfect knowledge of Mission protocol, shrunk under the attention and fiddled with her pencil under her desk.

“Fifteen,” the Elder called, beckoning to her. Fif nodded, picked up her test, and tiptoed to the front of the room. Her teacher, a bemused Unaware, took it from her and reminded her to come back from her “meeting” to finish it. Fif nodded again and then, at the Elder’s raised eyebrow, followed him out of the classroom and down a hallway dappled in afternoon sunlight. She marveled, as she often did, at how precise the Village was in its approximation of the original humans’ Earth, from the infamous setting of the so-called sun to the crisp smell of grass in the morning.

They arrived at the school’s Mission room, conveniently labeled “Maintenance: Staff Only” so that Unawares wouldn’t question its purpose. The Elder strode inside as Fif followed. She settled in the chair in the center of the room and placed her arms on the armrests as she had been taught. The Elder stood over her, his eyes unreadable, and pressed a finger to her forehead. The coldness of his touch slid through her mind and into her arms, slithering over her skin until she woke with a start, hissing with pain from the sudden sting of the roots as they released her.

She sat up, wincing as her body protested. Being born in the Village had its downsides; her body was far more accustomed to letting the Elders to siphon energy from it than it was to natural human movement. This stillness was a useful existence, since the Elders needed the lives of other sentient creatures to create the air bubble that kept them alive underground, but it was also a counterproductive existence. Missions needed humans to travel to the surface, and it was difficult—and sometimes fatal—to travel malnourished.

Fif groaned as she lifted herself from the curled roots that had recently cocooned her. The only part of them that remained on her person was a single root that grew out of her right arm, turning from the brown of her flesh to the rich green of the Elders. She took a deep breath and then stumbled out of the trunk that surrounded her.

She turned to look back at it, a childlike fondness for the creature who kept her alive bubbling out of her. It looked so serene sleeping there, its leafy arms curled around its rooted legs, verdant branches drooping from its crowned head over eight closed eyes. Fif wondered what dream it was living at that moment, and whether it had ever visited the Village. Considering that the Elders could inhabit any dream of their making as long as they never woke, she guessed that it had not. The Village was no doubt boring compared to the other places that the Elders could create, places that her puny human mind could never comprehend.

“Alright, Fif,” she whispered to herself, her voice muffled in the dry, metal-tinged air. “Time to go.” She reached into the recesses of her sluggish brain and riffled through the instructions the Elder had given her the day that she had accompanied the recently Unaware boy. She’d long since forgotten the boy’s name, but the Elder’s words remained as clear as they’d always been.

Find the Elder at the edge of the grove and merge, climb the vine to the Mission hole, find the sprig and merge, climb back down. It was a simple enough process. Fif heaved another painful breath and started her trek.

The journey may not have been so bad for a fitter girl, but Fif’s time-softened body made every step a struggle. Every few minutes she stopped and rested against a sleeping Elder, wheezing for air, the soft pulse of the Elder’s slowed breathing comforting her at the same time that it reminded her where she ought to have been. She would have been finished with her math test by now, sitting on the lawn with her friends at break. Ten might hand her a peanut-butter sandwich that supposedly tasted just like its original Earth predecessor, smiling brightly through her gap teeth. Christine would look at them both with the same brilliant smile, asking in her innocent Unaware manner whether Ten had put something weird in the sandwich, and Ten would laugh.

Fif shook her head and hunched her shoulders. Now wasn’t the time to ruminate on the Village; she’d be back there soon. She wound her way around two more Elders, slipping past their entangled branches to reveal the edge of the grove. Her breaths were less labored now; her body had finally become more accustomed to her pace. She ducked under another branch, her steps far more assured, and came into view of the last Elder in the grove.

The Elders who prepared Mission vines were all dead. This one was no exception, its milk-white eyes peering unseeingly from its mottled yellow-brown face. Fif shuddered at the sight of it. This was what happened to the Elders when they awoke, either by dying within a dream or being woken up by a growl of hunger or toxic fumes. Fif had no idea how this one had woken up and forced its body into shut-down, its photosynthesis and life-preserving mechanisms malfunctioning under the energy it had to exert to stay awake. If an Elder couldn’t fall back asleep instantaneously, their body would cease to function.

So it had been with this one. Fif headed towards it, already preparing to press her arm to the back of the its cavernous middle, when she suddenly skidded to a halt. Was that movement behind a branch? The Elder couldn’t move, obviously. It was dead. Curiosity bubbled into Fif’s chest as she resumed her walk towards the Elder’s body. It was only when her foot landed too hard on a hollow spot, resulting in the tiniest resonant echo, that she heard a voice.

“Who’s there?” The words were soft, lisping, high-pitched and laced with fear. Fif took another echoing step forward. She must have found a smaller air bubble beneath the main—those sometimes appeared when younger Elders practiced.

“I’m Fif,” she answered, the volume of her voice taking her quite by surprise. She lowered it. “Are you on a Mission, too?” She wasn’t sure how to deal with this human voice outside of the Village. She’d never heard of the Elders sending out two Mission-goers at once, but she didn’t put it past them. Maybe they were losing more sprigs than ever.

“Mission?” the woman repeated.

Maybe not. Fif sighed and took another step forward. “Never mind. What’s your name?” She took on the soothing tone that she had used with the frightened Unaware boy she had helped to the surface. This woman seemed to be an Unaware as well, though how she had escaped her Elder Fif hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Kala. Kala Chung.” The branches of the dead Elder rustled and a stout East Asian woman emerged from the its holly belly. She was probably less plump beneath the full-body suit that she wore, its attached orange helmet covering her peach-shaped face. Wide brown eyes peered at Fif through the plastic visor, warily taking in her skimpy smock, bare feet, and the green root that rose from her elbow and wrapped itself around her forearm.

She was definitely an Unaware.

“What are you?” Kala demanded, her eyes on the root.

“I’m human,” Fif replied, perfectly calm. “I’ve adapted to the environment.” She didn’t want to scare Kala, who she was starting to think might be from the original Earth, or at least somewhere like it. It was clear that the woman had never before seen an Elder’s root. She was like an Unaware, but outside of the Village. It was odd, sure, but at least Fif knew the protocol for dealing with Unawares: tell them the truth, but only as much as they can handle.

“You’re human,” Kala repeated, her voice accepting enough. Fif nodded and then strode towards the Elder’s hollow, stopping only when Kala blocked her, brown eyes narrowing behind her visor. “Where do you think you’re going? This is my place.”

“No, it’s not,” Fif replied patiently. “It belongs to the Elders. You’re living in one of their bodies.”

Kala paled, quickly withdrawing the arm that she had been leaning against the Elder’s belly. She looked around her, her lip curling as she noticed, seemingly for the first time, the dead Elder’s milky eyes. “This thing is alive?”

“Was,” Fif corrected her. “Every Elder serves a purpose, even these dead ones. Some feed the other Elders when their own sugar isn’t enough and some become Mission Elders.” She shouldered her way past the stunned woman and headed to the back of the cavern. It had shriveled after death, allowing her enough room to move around, and seemingly ample room for Kala to decorate. The sides of the hollow had been tacked with pictures of people, some dressed in suits like Kala’s and others in Village clothes. A few stacked notebooks made a desk, complete with a book-light as a lamp, and an empty backpack sat against the Elder’s belly lining.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kala said, shaking her head. “Is there someone older I could talk to?”

“They’re asleep,” Fif answered. She dragged her hand along the lining of the Elder’s belly, searching for the lever that some other Mission-goer had created with their Elder’s root. Finally she found it, tucked under one of Kala’s pictures.

“That’s my husband,” Kala said brightly when Fif lifted it up. She then added, as a sad afterthought, “Or at least, he was. I won’t be able to see him again after what happened to the ship. It just…” She waved her arms, though Fif didn’t see. She was too busy pressing her root to the groove under the photo. She didn’t, however, need to see Kala’s wave to know what she meant. Her ship must have disintegrated; anything metal did.

“Did you come with anyone else?”

Kala’s face fell. “Yes, but they’re all dead. The whole crew. They didn’t have the luck I did. I fell through that up there, landed across from this…this creature. Corpse.” She shrugged helplessly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, using it as a hideout.”

“Makes sense,” Fif said. Her root had activated the vine. She let the photo fall back over the groove. “I need to get going.”

“Where?” Kala demanded. “Somewhere with people? I’ve been here for weeks; I’m on my last rations. I might last a few more days, but I’ve never been very good with impulse control…”

“The Elders will take you,” Fif interrupted.

Kala blanched. “I don’t…that’s not what I…”

“There aren’t any people left out there,” Fif interrupted, her tone blunt. “Your crew is dead. The Elders will take you in and you’ll live with us. You’ll probably never be a Mission-goer, but at least you’ll have a chance.”

Kala seemed unsure what to do with that answer, so Fif hurried out of the Elder in search of its vine. Village time went on without her whether she liked it or not. What if her Mission cut through English class? She didn’t know how well she could handle two make-up exams back to back.

She had just found the vine when she heard a pattering of footsteps behind her. She looked over her shoulder and found Kala dragging an extra suit that she must have had hidden somewhere in the hollow. When Kala saw that she had caught Fif’s attention, she held out the suit.

“It might protect us from the air,” she said in answer to Fif’s raised eyebrow.

“Us?”

Kala shrugged. “You were right; I’ve nowhere else to go.”

“It’s a barren wasteland. I’m only going because I have to.”

“Well, I’m going because I want to.” Kala’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Why would I?” Fif asked. She returned her attention to gripping the vine that wove its way up the side of the bubble and through the hole above them. It only looked like a hole from where they were, of course; from up close it was a thinner layer of the same solid bluish air that comprised the rest of the bubble.

She only stopped moving and begrudgingly slipped into the suit when Kala practically threw it on her, insisting that it would protect her. Fif knew all too well that this was not the case, but she was too tired to argue. Sighing, she dragged herself and the added weight of the suit up the vine, her panting suddenly back with a vengeance.

—

The surface was just as Fif remembered. Jagged remnants of demolished buildings rose from a reddish haze. Yellow-red dust coated everything in a powdery film that reeked of iron and smoke, though they really breathed mercury, lead, and lethal chemicals that Fif couldn’t name. The heat was dry and suffocating, every breath weighing down Fif’s already weak lungs.  

A civilization had stood here once; the main Elders recalled it through their aboveground brethren. Back then, surface Elders had been able to survive past the sapling stage, and groundwater that flowed onto the surface had carried their roots. Now, human Missions could barely keep up with the saplings’ death rate.

After making sure Kala had climbed out of the Mission hole, the thin layer of air bubble closing behind them, Fif held out her arm in search of the Elders’ saplings. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of walking in place through reddish fog, her Elder’s root warmed against her arm. Grinning, she walked in the direction that her arm pointed.

It was actually Kala that found it, trailing behind Fif’s purposeful step at a much slower and awed pace. She had been looking around at the scenery, probably trying to figure out what sort of world the surface had been in its prime, and nearly stumbled over the sprig in the process. Fif had been spinning in small circles when Kala cried out.

“Oh my God! A plant!”

Fif hurried over to Kala. She knelt over the sprig, whose wispy leaves were draped over its face in yellow-brown misery. Fif nudged Kala aside and reached for it while the woman babbled in excitement, yet to connect the dots.

“This is amazing news! Native life! My crew would have a field day over this! I shouldn’t have left my data in that hollow…” She trailed off as she processed what she’d said. Her shoulders drooped as she edged closer to Fif, who was gently pushing the branches from the sapling’s eight-eyed face.

“It’s one of those things, isn’t it? A live one?”

“Yes, but it’s dying,” said Fif. She brushed her Elder’s root against the base of the sapling’s trunk. Immediately, the root curled around its yellowing wood until it had cocooned it. Fif gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. This was the part that would drain her the most. As if from a distance, she heard Kala gasp and pictured the woman stumbling to her feet and staring in shock as the sprig shot up in height, sprouting healthy green branches of hair and thick coils of bark that drove into the ground. Her gasps continued as another sapling shot up in the distance, and then another, until they stood in a ring of five. Fif stared at them, her hazy mind piecing together an imperfect image of starlight streaming down to the rest of the Elders where they would convert it to sugar like they turned lifeblood into dreams and bubbles of air.

As stars winked in Fif’s vision, bliss shot through her arm. She shivered in pleasure, suddenly buoyant as if she’d risen up on a cloud. This was the reason that Awares like her loved the Missions so much, why they didn’t protest number-based names the Elders gave them to track them and the constant weakness that assailed their limbs. Here was another example of how powerful the Elders became in their dream state; they could make and inject their Mission-goers and other sentient beings with dopamine to keep them docile. Fif knew this, but didn’t mind. The feeling made it worth it.

“What happened?” Kala demanded as soon as its effects faded. “Did it do something to you?” She still seemed shaken by the healing sprigs, and Fif’s sudden giddiness made her even more dubious. Fif shook her head and grinned a little too widely for Kala’s liking. The other woman’s brows knitted together as Fif led her back to the Mission hole.

—

Fif was silent for the entire walk back to the Elders’ grove, not trusting herself to speak after the dopamine shot despite Kala’s many questions. Unawares were wary of the true nature of the Village even when they were inside of it; she didn’t want to think about how Kala, someone who had never lived in a dream world, would feel about it. She hoped that once Kala was in the presence of the main Elders, they could placate her and convince her to enter the Village on her own volition.

Of course, the Elders would still pull her into the Village if she resisted, but it would be more painful that way. Fif didn’t wish her new friend pain. Kala had lost her crew, her family…it would be a shame to cause herself more discomfort.

“Are you going to answer any of my questions?” Kala burst when they reached the entrance to the main Elders’ circle. Fif turned to her and nodded.

“I will, but after you see the main Elders.”

“And where are they?”

“In here.” Fif beckoned to Kala and led her into the circle. Kala’s jaw dropped as she spun in a surprised circle, taking in the sleeping Elders whose crowned heads touched the ceiling of the air bubble they had created. They all swayed to face Fif as soon as she stepped into the center of their circle, Kala only a few inches behind her.

“What are they going to do?” Kala asked. Fif smiled, remnants of the happy drug still swirling in her blood.

“They’re going to take me to the Village, back to my Elder, and then they’re going to take you too,” she said. “You’ll be happy there. It’s just like Earth.”

“Earth?” Kala repeated, blanching. “Original Earth?”

“I have friends there,” Fif continued, ignoring her. She didn’t react when roots burst from the ground and attached themselves to the root in her arm, pulling her into the cavity in the chest of the Elder behind her. Kala, however, cried out and scurried back to the circle’s entrance.

“Don’t be afraid,” Fif said gently.

“But it’s pulling you…” Her eyes widened in realization as she focused on the Elders’ closed eyes. “The Village isn’t real, is it? It’s all a dream! A life-sucking dream!”

“What’s the difference?” Fif asked. She met Kala’s terrified eyes and smiled. She was smart, that Kala. Fif looked forward to seeing her again. Even when Kala loosed a shrill, “No!” and sprinted out of sight, she remained giddy. The Elders would find her. Someday she’d spot a stout Asian woman squinting at her from across the street, and she would give her the brightest smile in the world.

[booksclevernessblog]

I hope everyone who celebrates had a great Christmas!

I can’t believe I’m writing this — 2018 is looming…waiting in the wings…right around the corner! It’s practically here! I’ve been pretty out of the loop for the latter half of 2017, but I have managed to find a LOT of 2018 releases to anticipate (surprise, surprise!). All of my 2018 anticipated releases aren’t here; I wrote another post in October featuring some more!

But before I get on my list, I’m going to book-push the one 2018 release that I have already read and ADORED! The Hazel Wood by Melissa Albert! I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now. The hype has been huge surrounding it, and extremely well-deserved. It made its way on to my favorites list immediately after I finished reading it. Think the magic of The Night Circus, meets YA fairytales!

Now, on to the books! I’ve sorted them by month and release date so you can easily plan your book-buying!

January

Reign of the Fallen by Sarah Glenn Marsh

To be published January 23, 2018, from Razorbill.

Odessa is one of Karthia’s master necromancers, catering to the kingdom’s ruling Dead. Whenever a noble dies, it’s Odessa’s job to raise them by retrieving their souls from a dreamy and dangerous shadow world called the Deadlands. But there is a cost to being raised–the Dead must remain shrouded, or risk transforming into zombie-like monsters known as Shades. If even a hint of flesh is exposed, the grotesque transformation will begin.

A dramatic uptick in Shade attacks raises suspicions and fears among Odessa’s necromancer community. Soon a crushing loss of one of their own reveals a disturbing conspiracy: someone is intentionally creating Shades by tearing shrouds from the Dead–and training them to attack. Odessa is faced with a terrifying question: What if her necromancer’s magic is the weapon that brings Karthia to its knees?

—

  2nd: The Lost Season of Love and Snow by Jennifer Laam 4th: The Fandom by Anna Day 23rd: Markswoman by Rati Mehrotra

February

I Stop Somewhere by T.E. Carter

To be published February 27, 2018, by Feiwel & Friends.

Ellie Frias disappeared long before she vanished.

Tormented throughout middle school, Ellie begins her freshman year with a new look: she doesn’t need to be popular; she just needs to blend in with the wallpaper.

But when the unthinkable happens, Ellie finds herself trapped after a brutal assault. She wasn’t the first victim, and now she watches it happen again and again. She tries to hold on to her happier memories in order to get past the cold days, waiting for someone to find her.

The problem is, no one searches for a girl they never noticed in the first place.

TE Carter’s stirring and visceral debut not only discusses and dismantles rape culture, but it also reminds us what it is to be human.

—

6th: All We Can Do Is Wait by Richard Lawson

March

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi

To be published March 6, 2018, by Henry Holt BFYR.

Zélie Adebola remembers when the soil of Orïsha hummed with magic. Burners ignited flames, Tiders beckoned waves, and Zelie’s Reaper mother summoned forth souls. 

But everything changed the night magic disappeared. Under the orders of a ruthless king, maji were targeted and killed, leaving Zélie without a mother and her people without hope.

Now, Zélie has one chance to bring back magic and strike against the monarchy. With the help of a rogue princess, Zélie must outwit and outrun the crown prince, who is hell-bent on eradicating magic for good. 

Danger lurks in Orïsha, where snow leoponaires prowl and vengeful spirits wait in the waters. Yet the greatest danger may be Zélie herself as she struggles to control her powers—and her growing feelings for the enemy.

—

  6th: In Search of Us by Ava Dellaria 6th: To Kill a Kingdom by Alexandra Christo 20th: Orphan Monster Spy by Matt Killeen 27th: Nothing But Sky by Amy Trueblood 27th: In Her Skin by Kim Savage 27th: Not If I Save You First by Ally Carter

April

Sky in the Deep by Adrienne Young

To be published April 24, 2018, by Wednesday Books.

Seventeen-year-old Eelyn’s world is war. Raised to fight alongside her Aska clansmen in a generations-old blood feud against the Riki, her life is brutal but simple: fight and survive. Until the day she sees the impossible on the battlefield—her brother, fighting with the enemy—the brother she watched die five years ago. 

Faced with her brother’s betrayal, she must survive the winter in the mountains with the Riki if she wants to make it back to the fjord after the thaw. But when she begins to see herself in the people she’s been taught to hate, the world Eelyn once knew begins to crumble. And after the village is raided by a ruthless clan many believe to be a myth, Eelyn is given no choice but to trust Fiske, her brother’s friend who has tried more than once to kill her. Together, they must end the blood feud between their clans or watch their people be slaughtered. 

A lush, Viking-age inspired fantasy about loyalty, forgiveness, and the definition of family.

—

24th: Stay Sweet by Siobhan Vivian

May

Fatal Throne: The Wives of Henry VIII Tell All by Candace Fleming

To be published May 1, 2018, by Schwartz & Wade.

The tragic lives of Henry VIII and his six wives are reimagined by seven acclaimed and bestselling authors in this riveting novel, perfect for fans of Wolf Hall and Netflix’s The Crown. 

He was King Henry VIII, a charismatic and extravagant ruler obsessed with both his power as king and with siring a male heir.

They were his queens–six ill-fated women, each bound for divorce, or beheading, or death.

Watch spellbound as each of Henry’s wives attempts to survive their unpredictable king and his power-hungry court. See the sword flash as fiery Anne Boleyn is beheaded for adultery. Follow Jane Seymour as she rises from bullied court maiden to beloved queen, only to die after giving birth. Feel Catherine Howard’s terror as old lovers resurface and whisper vicious rumors to Henry’s influential advisors. Experience the heartache of mothers as they lose son after son, heir after heir. 

Told in stirring first-person accounts, Fatal Throne is at once provocative and heartbreaking, an epic tale that is also an intimate look at the royalty of the most perilous times in English history.

—

29th: Listen to Your Heart by Kasie West

June

My Plain Jane by Cynthia Hand, Jodi Meadows, and Brodi Ashton

To be published June 26, 2018, by HarperTeen.

You may think you know the story. After a miserable childhood, penniless orphan Jane Eyre embarks on a new life as a governess at Thornfield Hall. There, she meets one dark, brooding Mr. Rochester. Despite their significant age gap (!) and his uneven temper (!!), they fall in love—and, Reader, she marries him. (!!!)

Or does she?

Prepare for an adventure of Gothic proportions, in which all is not as it seems, a certain gentleman is hiding more than skeletons in his closets, and one orphan Jane Eyre, aspiring author Charlotte Brontë, and supernatural investigator Alexander Blackwood are about to be drawn together on the most epic ghost hunt this side of Wuthering Heights.

—

5th: Save the Date by Morgan Matson 26th: Now You See Her by Lila Michaels

July

Gracy and Fury by Tracy Banghart

To be published July 24, 2018, by Little, Brown.

In a world where women have no rights, sisters Serina and Nomi Tessaro face two very different fates: one in the palace, the other in prison.

Serina has been groomed her whole life to become a Grace–someone to stand by the heir to the throne as a shining, subjugated example of the perfect woman. But when her headstrong and rebellious younger sister, Nomi, catches the heir’s eye, it’s Serina who takes the fall for the dangerous secret that Nomi has been hiding.

Now trapped in a life she never wanted, Nomi has only one way to save Serina: surrender to her role as a Grace until she can use her position to release her sister. This is easier said than done. A traitor walks the halls of the palace, and deception lurks in every corner. But Serina is running out of time, imprisoned on an island where she must fight to the death to survive and one wrong move could cost her everything.

—

  31st: The Cheerleaders by Kara Thomas 31st: Sea Witch by Sarah Henning

August

These Rebel Waves by Sara Raasch

To be published August 7, 2018, by Balzer + Bray.

Adeluna is a soldier. Five years ago, she helped the magic-rich island of Grace Loray overthrow its oppressor, Argrid, a country ruled by religion. But adjusting to postwar life has not been easy. When an Argridian delegate vanishes during peace talks with Grace Loray’s new Council, Argrid demands brutal justice—but Lu suspects something more dangerous is at work.

Devereux is a pirate. As one of the outlaws called stream raiders who run rampant on Grace Loray, he pirates the island’s magic plants and sells them on the black market. But after Argrid accuses raiders of the diplomat’s abduction, Vex becomes a target. An expert navigator, he agrees to help Lu find the Argridian—but the truth they uncover could be deadlier than any war.

Benat is a heretic. The crown prince of Argrid, he harbors a secret obsession with Grace Loray’s forbidden magic. When Ben’s father, the king, gives him the shocking task of reversing Argrid’s fear of magic, Ben has to decide if one prince can change a devout country—or if he’s building his own pyre.

As conspiracies arise, Lu, Vex, and Ben will have to decide who they really are . . . and what they are willing to become for peace.

October

The Boneless Mercies by April Genevieve Tucholke

To be published October 2, 2018, by Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR).

Farrar, Straus and Giroux has acquired The Boneless Mercies, a genderbent Beowulf re-imagining in which four mercenary girls chase glory and honor by battling a monster that’s been terrorizing a nearby earldom. Publication is slated for Fall 2018.

  Sometime in 2018 TBA

The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi

To be published by St. Martin’s.

Set in a darkly glamorous Paris, the book follows a charismatic but cursed heir of a massive fortune as he plots to steal one of three ancient and powerful artifacts of fate. He and his crew will navigate the elite gatherings of secret occult societies, traveling through Paris’ catacombs where they must confront their worst secrets as well as a destiny they never imagined.

While the latter half of the year is a bit scarce at the moment, I know I’ll be adding more as the year goes on. 2018 is looking like it’s going to be another great year for books! All of the titles highlighted above that also have the synopsis are the books I’m particularly excited about. I’m also thrilled that so many of my favorite authors are going to be coming out with new books this year!

Whelp, this is my last post before the new year, so have a lovely end of 2017! This year definitely wasn’t the best in terms of the world, but my personal year was a great one.

What was the highlight of your 2017? What’s your most anticipated 2018 release?

2018 Releases! They’re right around the corner! I hope everyone who celebrates had a great Christmas! I can't believe I'm writing this -- 2018 is looming...waiting in the wings...right around the corner!