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night-garden-fic · 7 months

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Chapter Five: What Blooms in Winter

(Read on AO3)

"It works. This is good.

(This is bad.)"

Part Two

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Is there a powder to erase this?

Is it dissolvable and tasteless?

You can't imagine how I hate this"

-"Graceless," The National

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chapter Five: What Blooms in Winter

"...Good afternoon! What-"

Almost immediately, I realize I'm mistaken. These strange men aren't here for a book.

They're here for me.

Something is wrong with the light, and I can't get a proper look at their faces. Something is also wrong with my body; heavy, structureless, near-paralyzed. Unable to move or hold my ground, I am quickly overpowered.

Several hands—perhaps a few too many—pin me against the wall. A pair of heavy manacles are placed on my wrists. My own two hands feel far-away. Severed. I can't fight back.

For a hectic minute or two, I become convinced that I can turn the situation around by telling them how I really feel about being pushed around and shackled. So, in the most lascivious tone I can manage, I do just that, though I'm not really sure what outcome I'm hoping for. To unsettle them so much that they have to let me go? Or to somehow change the scenario entirely?

(No, not the second thing. I don't think that's how it works.)

In any case, they don't seem to hear me, so I give up.

Then, before I realize it, I am thrown into the cabin of a small airship, where I lie immobile on the floor and feel my stomach drop as the craft begins to lift from the ground.

(I'm supposed to go pick up Cecilia. How will she know that I didn't forget her?)

The airship is poorly-made. I can see the ground through a crack in the floor, and I know that if I look too long, I'll slip right through and crash to Earth. I close my eyes, but it doesn't work. I can still see everything. So I turn to look at the ceiling instead. It's surprisingly high, and vanishes into blackness.

(Into which I could also slip?)

I want to ask what I'm doing here, but I realize I already know.

The war isn't over.

I never finished my tour of duty, and was never properly discharged. It only makes sense that I'd one day have to finish what I started.

(Could I explain that I started against my will?)

(No, that doesn't make a difference.)

I don't know how it happened, but I'm standing on solid ground again.

(Where did the time go? Did I hit my head?)

My wrists are still bound, and strong hands are gripping my shoulders. Again, I consider letting everyone know what this does for me, but I can't keep a thought in my head for long enough to act on anything.

Instead, I let them walk me towards a deep, dark scar in the Earth.

A trench.

I think I know exactly which one it is, though it looks like it could be any of them. Or maybe nowhere I've been before.

(Or perhaps, nowhere at all.)

When we reach the chasm, the anonymous man behind me finally speaks:

"It looks like everyone's moved on, but this is where you left off."

His words seem to ring from inside my own head. Then he pushes me over the edge, and I fall so far that I'm surprised I survive the landing.

Something is wrong, though. I can't move.

(Everything is broken.)

Yes, everything is broken. And I'm half-sunken in the mud, my body braced on all sides, too weak to fight the building vacuum beneath me.

I don't know when night came. I can't recognize any constellations, and the stars are moving around at random.

(I guess I'll die here?)

(Oh, Sabrina, take care of my girl.)

Now that I'm resigned to it, it's almost peaceful. The Earth will simply swallow me, and I won't have to think about any of this ever again.

(I'm just finishing what I started, after all.)

Something starts blotting out the stars, and I realize that dark figures are gathering around the edge of the trench.

I still can't move.

And I have no idea what they're planning to do to me.

(Am I in my grave again?)

~*~

"Russell... Shh... It's all right... You're okay."

The voice was comforting, but Russell didn't feel okay. His heart was hammering against his ribs, and without his glasses, in the dim blue light of the distant moon and stars, he couldn't make out where he was. For all he knew, he was still paralyzed, stuck in the mud, waiting for...

I never did find out what they were, or what they were going to do.

For a sickening second, between sleep and wakefulness, he thought he felt one of their hands.

Mercifully, it was only Lady Ann, roughly shaking him awake.

At first, he cringed so far from her touch that he very nearly fell off the bed. But now that he knew who she was, he practically tumbled into her arms, with a sound that was halfway between a pained groan and another scream.

She enfolded him protectively, with an almost uncharacteristic tenderness, gently stroking his back. Russell buried his head in her chest, trying to melt with the comforting feeling of her hands on his skin. Still, he couldn't keep from shivering himself into a tense ball, and began to sob in frustration.

Frustration, and the sticky remnants of horror.

Lady Ann held him tighter, began running her fingers through his hair.

"It was just a bad dream... I'm right here..."

Yes... She's right here.

Suddenly aware of how soaked he was in his own sweat, and mortified that she'd been touching his drenched hair, Russell rolled onto his back, putting a bit of space between them

Just the ceiling. Low enough that you could stand up on the bed and touch it.

(Nothing waiting for you up there.)

"...How long was I asleep?"

Lady Ann moved to gently brush away the tendrils of hair that clung to Russell's face, as salt-tacky and sodden-limp as seaweed.

"About two hours."

If she was so determined to touch him, he figured there was no harm in allowing it. Russell leaned his mind toward the soothing sensation and sighed heavily.

"That all?"

Lady Ann shrugged, shadows pooling in the contours and crevices of her moon-pale shoulders and chest.

"Afraid so."

Russell unstuck his body from the damp sheets and sat up, hunched and cradling his heavy head.

"And I woke you up, too... Gods, I'm sorry..."

Lady Ann reached out to place a hand on his trembling back.

"It's okay. It... Happens. I'm sure I'll get back to sleep."

The way they all take it for granted.

"I know. Lucky you."

Though he'd barely been awake five minutes, Russell had already given up. The shivering had subsided, but his nerves were still buzzing under the skin, overheating his brain. He could almost feel those dream-phantoms hovering above his helpless body, waiting to strike.

There would be no sleep tonight, or perhaps even the next.

Lady Ann resumed stroking his back, which seemed like too little, too late. Even so, it made him feel a bit better all the same.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Nothing you haven't already done.

(Apparently, it doesn't work anymore.)

"No... No, there's nothing."

Russell was half-hoping she was going to start winding him up for another session, but found that his heart wasn't really in it. His body already felt used-up and sore, and he wasn't quite up to the physical effort, especially if it couldn't even ensure a good night's sleep.

Lady Ann's hand came to rest on the back of his neck, her voice a breathy sickroom whisper that didn't really suit her.

"Lamp Grass helps you with this, right? Could you take some?"

Gods, could I...

Russell sighed raggedly.

"Edward stopped prescribing it to me. I think he thinks I'm addicted or something."

"You over-rely on it."

He could feel the quicksilver rising in his throat as his Lady did her best to reassure him.

"I mean, it seems to me like you just need it. And actually..."

She paused for a moment, and seemed to be considering something. Russell regarded her with curiosity.

"...Actually what?"

Another pause, in which Lady Ann seemed to be in two minds about what she was planning to say.

"Well... It's not an uncommon winter flower. In fact, I have an ornamental planting in my courtyard. I don't know how they make it into medicine, but if you can figure it out, you're welcome to try."

Russell brightened a bit at this news, feeling suddenly hopeful.

"...Wait, seriously? Would that be okay?"

Lady Ann shrugged, yawning and burying herself deeper into the messy blankets.

"Of course. I planted a lot of it this season, so take as much as you want."

Already, he was losing her, but it didn't really matter. Before long, he'd be getting lost himself.

"Well, thanks a lot. You're a lifesaver."

(In the literal sense?)

"Mmm..."

And, with that, she was gone. Alone in the dark again, Russell slipped on his glasses and began fumbling around with his clothes; shrugging on his coat and trousers and shoving his feet into his boots, not bothering with his shirt and underthings.

I shouldn't be out long...

Taking quiet, careful steps, minding the few stairs he knew could creak, he made his way through the dark Inn, then out into the bitter, stunningly bright nighttime cold of the courtyard; where the glimmer of the full moon on the sparkling snow was enough to make him squint, the chill enough to snatch the wind from his lungs.

His shallow breath coming in white puffs, sweaty hair freezing into brittle icicles that whispered in the wind like dry grass, Russell jammed his hands into the relative warmth of his pockets as he surveyed the garden before him.

The winter garden was a gloomy, eerie sight. Fallow beds bristling with the fragile remains of autumn's twigs and stems here; the elegant, severe angularity of White Crystal and Ironleaf there. Everywhere, a glistening, deathsome starkness.

It felt as though he were standing in the family graveyard of all green things. And, amidst all that grey-blue-black stillness, it wasn't difficult for Russell to find what he'd been looking for.

An inviting, red-gold glow.

(The proverbial light in the darkness, I suppose.)

He admired the phosphorescent blooms for a moment, then cautiously reached out and plucked a few, secreting them in his pockets.

Part of him hated tearing these orbs of warm light from such a cold, dark garden. But, when he thought about how he'd soon be taking some of that warmth into himself...

...Well, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such sublime relief.

(Not since my last dose.)

As for the next dose, Russell wasn't quite sure how to go about getting his hands on it.

Should I go into the kitchen and try to make a decoction?

Would it work if I just ate it like this?

Suddenly, he remembered a lurid historical novel that he'd devoured with rapt fascination at sixteen. Admittedly, it had made him a bit morbidly curious even then, but that was before he had any reason to seek out such things.

Back when feeling well came naturally to him.

Well, better late than never, I guess...

Russell plucked another blossom and tapped the stem over the back of his hand, releasing a shower of glowing specks. He didn't know how much was a proper dose, but decided to keep the pile small, figuring he could always take more.

Let's just see how this feels.

Holding his breath, as not to disturb the tidy cluster of near-weightless granules, Russell held his hand up to his nose, then plugged one nostril and inhaled sharply.

At first, he almost thought he'd set himself on fire. The powder burned his sinuses on the way up, and his right eyeball was suddenly lit from behind, as though a miniature sun had been born and died right there in his head.

And then, a wave of calm like nothing else.

It emptied his brain, uncoiled his aching muscles, chased off what few phantoms still lingered around him. Russell's mind felt as cool and silvery-blue as the garden's frozen moonlight, as safe and quiet as the warm gloom of the Lady's bedroom.

It works. This is good.

(This is bad.)

Still, he could already tell that it would take a little more to properly put him to sleep. He tapped out another little pile of light; slightly smaller than the first, but enough to once again light up his skull like the sun.

This time, he nearly fainted. Russell fell to his knees in the snow, the stars wheeling overhead, his vision beginning to grow dark around the edges.

Maybe I'll just lie down right here.

Cold as it was, the snow looked as soft and inviting as any bed. The only thing that eventually stopped him was, funnily enough, another harrowing book from his sixteenth year; a story about a lost mountaineer who had to eat tree bark and ended up losing five fingers.

He was stranded in the hills. You're five feet from the door. Get up.

Russell wiped his burning nose with the back of his hand, and noticed that he'd left a small smear of blood. Unable to think of anything else to do about it, he quickly licked it off, then wobbled to his feet.

I think I'm already dreaming.

If he was, it was a pleasant one this time. The dead winter garden with its crystalline, metallic, and glowing blooms looked beautiful to him now, everything sparkling in the moonlight, so bright that his eyes could barely adjust when he stepped back into the deep velvet shadows of the Inn.

The shadows, once foreboding, now seemed gentle and protective. Their dark arms enfolded him, and Russell swore he could feel them carrying him all the way up the stairs, back into the warmth of Lady Ann's bed; where they carefully laid him down, naked and uncomprehending as the day he was born.

And then they swallowed him whole.

~*~

It wasn't until he woke to the livid, almost obscene red of a sunbeam falling across his closed eyelids that Russell realized he had slept through the night.

The shadows were gone now.

And, for that matter, so was Lady Ann.

He cleared his throat, thinking he'd call for her, but it set off a violent coughing fit. The fluid in his lungs must have pooled and stagnated from his lying in one position for...

...How many hours?

Russell couldn't be quite sure.

He only knew that, for the first time in a very long while, it may have been enough.

Leaning precariously over the edge of the bed, he riffled through his coat pockets until he found his handkerchief, then coughed again and spat. Regrettably, he couldn't resist briefly inspecting what he'd managed to bring up, and nearly panicked at the sight of dark blood on the worn white cloth.

Soon, however, the previous night began coming back to him, and he felt a bit more at ease.

Red blood. Red petals. A red light behind my eyes.

His nose must have bled into his throat as he slept, but he decided that didn't matter. It also didn't matter that he'd found himself still wearing his glasses, but otherwise completely nude, with no clear memory of getting undressed before collapsing into bed.

All that mattered was sleep. Sleep, and all it brought him.

Though still a bit pleasantly foggy from the drug, Russell's thoughts felt as clear as the sunny winter day itself, the leaden confusion of the past weeks burned off his brain like heavy fog. His body felt strong and quick, and sharply alive. The aches that had begun to constantly plague him were all but gone.

I guess that really was all I needed.

Just then, he heard the door creak. There was no fuge to startle him out of, so Russell stayed as he was, the sunbeam and the blankets warming his naked, luxuriating body.

Lady Ann peered into the room, sun gleaming on her rich brown hair. Then, upon seeing him awake, came to sit on the edge of the bed.

"...You okay?"

Russell coughed again, drier this time.

"Yeah... My lungs are still a little iffy in the mornings. Actually, what time is it, anyway?"

...Please, tell me it's morning.

"About two in the afternoon."

The sound of the door hadn't startled him, but this new information certainly did. Russell vaulted up in bed so quickly that he had to sit for a moment and let his head swim; feeling it fighting against some great whirlpool in his listing skull.

"Oh shit... I need to go... Cecilia's still at Sabrina's."

The dizziness subsided, and Russell picked his clothes off the floor and began hastily dressing, putting his undershirt on inside-out and fumbling with his myriad buttons and zippers. Lady Ann watched with what might have been amusement, handing him a stray sock that had gotten tangled in the bedsheets.

"Well, then you'd better get over there... Sorry for not waking you earlier. I just knew you needed the sleep... And honestly, I didn't know if I could. You were pretty out."

Russell took the old wool sock, slid it on, then set to jamming his boots on his feet.

"Don't worry about it... I forgot how dead to the world I can get on that stuff."

Lady Ann gave his shoulder a somewhat rough, thoroughly sympathetic pat; the sort of jovial, slightly masculine gesture that made him feel like an absolute fool for her.

"Well, at least now you'll remember... Do you want me to fix you something to eat before you leave?"

Russell paused, somewhat apprehensively, before the vanity mirror; checking for any residue of the previous night, and finding himself a bit pale and puffy-eyed. It would probably be obvious that he'd just woken up. But, after finger-combing his hair, and using his handkerchief to brush off the slight crust of dried blood from the inner edge of one nostril, he looked presentable enough.

It won't matter how late you are. She'll just be glad you've been sleeping.

"No, I don't have time... I appreciate the thought, though."

Something that might have been disappointment flashed across Lady Ann's face, but they both quickly dismissed it.

"Right... Well, I had a lovely night with you. See you later, Russell."

They shared a quick peck on the lips, and Russell smiled at her, bright and boyish, on his way out the door.

"Believe me, you will."

With that, he stumbled down the stairs and out into the bright afternoon.

Russell's boots crunched though the fresh powder, building up to a run. The sudden surge of energy and vitality wasn't just pleasant, but strangely fascinating. He hadn't realized how poorly he'd been doing, and had nearly forgotten what it was to be well.

In his mind, he saw his body filling with the golden light of life itself; the glow emanating from the tender membrane at the back of his throat and reaching all the way to the tips of his digits, keeping the blood warm and swift, even as he ran through the freezing snow. He felt as though he could keep going forever, dashing eagerly to meet the bright day.

But this was not, as it turned out, a pace that Russell could easily keep. He got out of breath easily these days, and had nearly slipped on a patch of ice in front of the Pub, so running quickly lost its novelty. He reluctantly slowed to a sedate walk, and carefully made his way to the beach; where the snow gave way to sand, and the sand gave way to infinity. He took a deep breath of the wild, salty smell of the sea, then knocked twice on Sabrina's door.

There was no answer, but he could hear some kind of merrimaking going on inside, so Russell simply opened the door, letting himself into the heavenly-smelling chaos of the Shack.

Cecilia and Nicholas were playing some kind of boisterous self-devised game at the kitchen table, which seemed to mostly involve flicking balled-up paper around, accompanied by a hell of a lot of squealing. Sabrina was clanging around washing dishes, occasionally playfully scolding or cheering on one or both of the children, so it took her some time to notice he was there.

But, late arrival aside, she seemed happy enough to see him.

...Russell! There you are!"

At the sound of her father's name, Cecilia snapped to attention; looking away from Nicholas, and consequently getting hit in the head with a ball of paper, which stuck fast in her thick, straight hair.

"...Daddy! We made steamed bread!"

Amidst the paper flotsam on the table, Russell noticed a platter containing a few pale, spongy loaves; some whole, some ripped into messy halves. Crocks of butter, jam, and honey. A graveyard of sticky knives. This was the obvious source of the sweet, yeasty smell that he'd noticed upon entering.

"I see that!"

Cecilia picked the ball of jammy paper out of her hair, tossing it at Nicholas.

"There's no milk in it! You can have some!"

Sabrina turned off the tap and placed the damp steamer basket back in the cupboard.

"Just some eggs and honey... Yes, have some! Tell us what you think!"

Nicholas used a greasy butterknife to flick the sticky paper back at Cecilia.

"Mom said she had to keep our hands busy!"

The crumpled paper ended up hitting Sabrina instead, and she discreetly slipped it into the wastecan.

"Yes, I did, and I think we can all see why... And anyway, I also said we needed to have a good lunch. Was it a good lunch?"

The kids nodded in enthusiastic agreement as Russell took a seat at the table, tearing himself half of one of the small loaves, and noting his topping choices. He settled on a pot of apple jam, and spread a thin layer on the soft bread. The combination was comfortingly plain, with a gentle, uncomplicated sweetness.

He was surprised at how delicious it was, then remembered that he hadn't eaten since the toast Cecilia had made for him at yesterday's breakfast.

I really need to get my act together.

"No complaints from me... I'm not sure who did what, but you all did a great job!"

Cecilia beamed with pride.

"I kneaded half of them!"

Russell took another bite of bread, chewing it carefully. He wasn't sure if this was one of Cecilia's, or even how he would know, but he figured he would humor her.

"Excellent work."

Sabrina gave Cecilia an approving pat on the head, then slid down into the remaining empty chair.

"This one's great at following directions. She helped with the curry rice last night, too."

Cecilia nodded primly in the affirmative, an oddly serious gesture for such a small girl.

Russell smiled. They weren't blood relations, it was true, but there were still times when he caught a glimpse of his childhood self in her.

"Hey, that's great! Keep it up, and I might just have you take over in the kitchen."

He had meant that as a joke, but wondered, for a moment, if it might actually be better for both of them. His way with food was about what one would expect from an unproficient bachelor who couldn't digest milk, and even he grew sick of his own cooking at times.

Nicholas, obviously bored of sitting in one place and listening to people going on about bread, was fidgeting in his chair.

"...Mom! Can we go outside?"

Sabrina ripped off the corner of a somewhat mangled-looking loaf and nibbled at it absent-mindedly.

"Sure, sweetie... Just put on your coats and boots, and remember Ceci needs to go home soon, okay?"

That was all it took to send the kids off like twin arrows. Hurriedly, they tossed on their warm outer clothing, rushing eagerly toward whatever could be unearthed from the cold, grey sands of the wintery beach.

With his bread eaten, and the noise of the children outside muffled by the walls of the Shack, Russell felt strangely awkward and out of place. Before, he'd been happily distracted. Now, he was suddenly self-conscious of the fact that he'd showed up well into the afternoon, likely still reeking of sex and acrid nightmare sweat.

"...Sorry it took me so long today."

He couldn't tell if Sabrina was genuinely untroubled, or concealing a level of annoyance out of politeness. In either case, he was grateful

"It's no trouble. I figured you were just getting in a little more relaxation. And I like having her here... Keeps Nicky busy."

As if on cue, Nicholas's voice rose outside. He was yelling something about a shark, while Cecilia giggled madly in the background. Russell sighed.

"Well, I know they're a handful... I'll make it up to you sometime. Really"

At first, back when he and Sabrina were an item, Russell had tried to keep the arrangement fair by inviting Nicholas to stay over at the Library as often as Cecilia stayed over at the Shack. Which, it turned out, was a rather hard sell, as the children found the sea far more appealing than what essentially amounted to an ordinary house with an abnormal number of books. Russell was never sure how to keep the two of them occupied enough to prevent things from descending into chaos.

He tried not to stare as Sabrina shrugged; a small motion, but just enough to hint at the incredible power of her shoulders, honed by years of swimming against strong tides.

"I appreciate the offer, but I promise they aren't a chore."

...And there it is, right in the heart.

He had heard that phrase before. Countless times, in fact. And every time, even now, it nearly brought him to tears.

"Russell, you aren't a chore to me."

Whenever he woke her in the night, or when there were whole days where he couldn't make himself get out of bed. Back in the very beginning, when he practically had to be re-taught how to make love. He was quick with apologies, but she seemed even quicker with reassurances.

"It's never a chore to be with you."

The soft sincerity of her usually boisterous voice, her skilled, delicate fingers weaving themselves into his...

(You remade me, you know.)

...He only ever half-believed her, but just hearing her saying it meant a lot all the same.

"Still, thanks again... Anyway, I guess I should probably go."

Sabrina looked slightly disappointed.

"Not staying for more bread?"

Russell rose from his chair and stretched his spine out of habit; expecting the bones to pop and crunch painfully, then feeling nothing but his well-rested body gliding fluidly over itself.

"No... I have things to catch up on at the Library. Nice seeing you, though."

They lingered in silence for a few moments, neither seeming particularly eager to part. And then, the sound of Sabrina's chair scraping across the floor as she came to stand beside him.

"Well, it was nice seeing you, too. We'll have to have a real visit sometime soon, though."

With a warm, friendly hand on the small of his back, she walked Russell to the door, then sent him on his way with a light peck on the cheek. He felt himself blush furiously, hoping in vain that she wouldn't notice.

"Yeah... Soon, for sure... You'll have to tell me all about ice fishing!"

Sabrina brightened noticeably.

"Yes, I'll tell you all about ice fishing! Goodbye, Russell."

Even her goodbyes never failed to make his heart feel full.

"Bye, Sabrina... Ceci! Time to go, kiddo."

Cecilia hopped down from her perch on the mysterious giant shell, little boots splatting loudly in the damp sand.

"Bye, Nicky!"

Nicholas looked up from a piece of rotting seaweed that he'd been inspecting with a stick.

"Bye, Ceci!"

They repeated this a few more times over, until Cecilia took her father's hand. The pair waved their farewells to their good friends, then carefully ascended the icy stairs together.

The chilly walk back to the Library was pleasantly quiet, save for the sound of the small Elven girl's coat pockets, which rattled cheerfully with stones and shells.

Russell couldn't wait for her to tell him about each and every one.

#rune factory #rune factory 1 #rf1 russell

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w-ngs · 3 years

Text

jan21

hello 2021! you did not get off on a good start. let’s try and be a little better, okay?

i didn’t read much this month (and probably won’t be for a long while because of school), but it was a wild month. well, you’ll see.

***

crooked kingdom, leigh bardugo — oh my god???? i completely forgot that i read this before i left for school and almost didn’t include it in my monthly wrap-up????? how dare i forget this masterpiece.

it was great. i loved it. i think overall, i preferred 6oc because heist stories are my guilty pleasure. but romance-wise... let’s just say kaz and inej have made it to my top 10 ships. but also i read through this so fast because i had to finish it before i left that half the story is kinda just not in my brain lololol

the most intriguing part of the entire story was the anti-wraith. her character kind of came out of nowhere, and i’m not really sure she had much of a purpose than being someone who could physically match inej. i guess she was also anti in the sense that she had no respect, just ruthlessness, which is the opposite of inej and what she stands for. but i don’t know if the anti-wraith was significant enough of a character to really be considered a foil.

i don’t really give spoiler warnings because hardly anyone reads these other than myself lolol but big spoiler ahead. skip the next paragraph if you don’t want to know. cuz i accidentally spoiled it for myself before reading and i kinda ruined it for myself lmfao.

poor matthias. he was there, and then he was gone. i feel terrible for nina. they were finally on the same page, and then he had to act all saint-like and trigger some idiot into killing him. and matthias finally came to terms with what he’d been taught and what he was trying to teach himself (#charactergrowth), so he wrapped things up neatly for himself before the bye-bye. but nina, she finally got her guy on her side and they were supposed to change the world together. sigh.

and of course, we got kaz. he’s my favorite. how could he not be, with his trauma and desire to overcome it but not letting it define him and still maintaining that evil genius act he’s so good at. it definitely hit harder in this story, the extent of his trauma. it made him more real, too. both sides of him coexist, and one could not exist without the other. he’s crazy, in nearly all senses of the word. also crazy in love, the mfing idiot. ugh, i love vulnerable kaz. i love what inej brings out in him, how she knows just how hard to push without driving him over the edge. also i saw a tiktok (this app is gonna come up a lot more in the next few reviews fsjdsdfkjdf) with a photo of them kissing with a towel between their mouths because he can’t touch her but he desperately wants to and what a perfect solution is that their... bathroom scene had me holding my breath. or at least taking very shallow breaths. it was intense. so intimate, i felt like i shouldn’t even have been there. ugh, the cute little babies. uwuwuwuwuwu

one last note. leigh bardugo is a very good writer, plot and characters and all. everything flowed much more smoothly in this book, and once again i was impressed by the detail provided. you go girl. i can’t wait to see the tv series development.

a 10/10.

***

the shadows between us, tricia levenseller — literally what did i read lmaooo. this is my first tiktok book recommendation. and it. was. boring. boring characters that didn’t make much sense. boring plot. i skimmed it after the first 50 pages cause it was so boring. that’s it bye.

a 3/10.

***

manacled, senlinyu — um. wow. i literally......... even hours after finishing it my brain is still ridiculously scrambled. edit: it’s about a month later and sometimes random scenes and images still pop in my head for no reason and then i feel all twisted inside again. i love it.

so, this is not a published book but a dramione fanfiction on ao3. i don’t read fanfics that often anymore, mainly because i’d rather read other things, not because i don’t like them. but i found this one because a tiktok that showed the illustrations in the story and i was so blown away by the fact someone would illustrate an entire fanfic that i just had to read it. and i have no regrets. it’s kinda long and a biiit wordy for me at times but holy shit that hit like a mother trucker. and i haven’t read dramione in ages, not since... years. so this really hit different.

the illustrations are beautiful. they’re what dragged me into the story in the first place, so, of course they are. but i’d literally spend minutes looking at every detail in amazement at how perfectly the emotions were captured and the lighting casting the perfect shadows and just… everything. i know nothing about drawing but my eyes were truly blessed.

i think integrating the handmaid’s tale with the hp world was ingenious. i would never have expected that. and wow. the relationship between the two, it’s…….. i can barely put it in words in my mind, and it’s even harder to articulate on paper. complex, but at the same time not, simply the desire for the other to stay alive. timeless. destructive. their only defense from the harsh reality of their situation. desperation at its most desperate, their one and only survival method. depressing. it’s so depressing. i was so sad, the angst almost too much at times.

the flashbacks were insanely intense. and i thought the handmaid section was bad. it was awful to read. i could hardly bear it, it was so dark at times i didn’t know how either of them got through it all. i mean, they barely did. the near-death scares, the constant need to create a blank slate within yourself in order to not overwhelm yourself with crushing emotions… wartime sometimes has a tendency to sound romantic, but theirs wasn’t anything near romantic, and i appreciate that the author chose to be very real about it.

at the beginning, and in the middle when we went through the flashbacks, i was afraid the love would be toxic. and, well, it kind of was at some points. but in a time like that and a situation like theirs, it would be hard to not have a toxic relationship. i was glad that in the end theirs was a good love, the kind that sustained and kept them alive and got them through until the very end, because it was what they needed from each other. and, of course, my favorite part of it all was draco’s ceaseless possessiveness that only seemed to grow, never fade. i love simpy men.

they deserve each other. i was afraid at the end they wouldn’t, that one of them would die—that draco would die because hermione basically did once already for him, so he would have to “return the favor”—also she was pregnant so there was no way she’d be the one to die—idk many theories. but at the end i’m so glad they both ended up alive. after everything, they deserved it.

i did nothing for two days straight but read this book. except eat. and barely sleep. and i have no regrets.

a 9/10.

***

bloodlines, richelle mead — dang. i used to be obsessed with vampire academy when i was in middle school. i even watched the terrible movie that released because of it. and now i can’t believe i really thought that was peak literature lmfaooooo

i remember adrian being such a funny and interesting character that i picked up bloodlines to see if it was gonna be as good as i remembered it was. i was disappointed. it was just... well let’s just say there wasn’t enough to get me invested in the characters as i used to be. i think what it was is that adrian’s characterization was so weak. he wasn’t as ~quirky~ as i remembered him to be haha. the plot was also way too slow-paced, and a little too easy to guess. maybe if i was 12 again i’d be going crazy over it like i used to. but i’m not a pre-teen anymore and my brain craves stuff along the lines of manacled—destruction, death, angst that wants me to pull my own heart out to stop it from hurting.

a 5/10.

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