#Okay so there's this elven blood book but I only found the third one of the saga in our house library so I asked for the first one

[dragoninahumancostume]

I hate it when it's like 2am and I get a wave of one of the feelings on the sad spectrum and my chest starts to hurt

[sageclover61]

It’s Only A Myth Witchers Don’t Need Family

@geraskierweek

TITLE: It’s Only A Myth Witcher’s Don’t Need Family

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @sageclover61

PROMPT DAY #: Day 6, Found Family

SUMMARY: The general population is wrong about a long of things. Witchers have feelings, Mages have feelings, and Bards are more than the shenanigans they get up to. Geralt might think he doesn't care what others believe him to be, but he's more than their hatred and their fears. Over time, he learns a valuable lesson about his pack.

WORD COUNT (if applicable):4881 

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: NA

RATING: T

ADDITIONAL NOTES: AO3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828018

Everyone knows that Witchers don’t have feelings. They don’t form attachments, they can’t feel anything , and they’re no better than the monsters that they hunt. Those who believe in souls would say that Witchers don’t have them, can’t have them, because they’re too inhuman for a thing as human as a soul.

  Some say that Witchers were born without souls, and others would say that they were cut out of them. Either way, they were inhuman.

  They’re wrong. Witchers didn’t do families. Or attachment. But it’s a choice, a rule, a law . They’re sterile, and the only thing that separates them from the monsters that they hunt is the choices that they make. But not because they were incapable of attachments or feelings. Rather, they felt everything too strongly, and used the coldness they displayed as a means to protect themselves.

  They could live forever. No one around them was going to. Human lives were a single grain of sand in the hourglass of the universe.

Everyone knows that mages trade their capacity to feel things for the enhancements that make them beautiful and immortal and powerful. It makes them cold, and petty, and amoral. They’re human, anymore. They’re something greater.

  Humanity fears them for it, and uses them, and craves to be like them in the same pretty sentences they weave to use to abuse them. 

  Mages don’t want families. They sacrifice their ability to have children in exchange for power. They don’t need anyone. Not to depend on, not to be dependent on them. They did live forever. Even the lives of the Witchers were but a grain of sand.

Everyone knows that bards aren’t to be trusted. Their words hid too much behind them, charming wives away from their husbands, husbands away from their wives, and running away before anything could be done about it.

  But there were whispers, in dark corners of taverns at night, when no bards were around. Rumors of clandestine meetings, from which only the bard would leave alive and of coin trading hands as quickly as daggers sinking into hearts, and strange concoctions being tipped into drinks when no one was watching, leaving the drinker dead by morning.

  They didn’t have families. They didn’t need families, all the bastard children running around unclaimed. They didn’t have time for them. Lives too short, too many places to visit and epic ballads to write, and deaths to be gleaned at the hands of jilted lovers.

They’re wrong, about Witchers. Witchers are less than human, but they’re more, too. If humanity is defined by their capacity to feel, then Witchers are defined not only by their infinitely greater senses, but also their infinitely greater capacity to feel .

  Geralt can’t speak for all the Witchers, but he finds that their disdain for him makes everything, easier, somehow. They hate him, so they send him on his way once he’s helped them, often without paying all that he’s owed, and it’s easier to keep himself from getting attached to them. He says little, cloaking himself in a facade of whatever the fuck they need to keep from desiring to get closer to him.

  He pretends so well and for so long, that he forgets that he’s pretending. Opinions of him decrease and decrease, until he didn’t know they could get any worse, and then it does get worse.

  “You say that you can’t choose but you had to, and you’ll never know if you were right. Your reward will be a stoning and you will run. You will try to outrun the girl in the woods and you cannot. She is your destiny.”

  She does not tell him that the stoning is his reward for caring so much, but it is. He cares deeply, and impossibly, and being able to do so is supposed to be against the way of the Witcher.

He kills neither the girl nor the mage, but the whole town of Blaviken is dead.

  Geralt uses a Witcher Sign, and he wonders if anyone else had ever thought of such a use for it. He uses Axii to wipe the knowledge of the curse of the black sun from Stregobor’s mind, and force him to forget about Renfri.

  He manages to convince Renfri to stop hunting him, and move on with her life. She’s safe, now. She doesn’t have to run unless she wants to, and she can discover for herself what she wants.

  She’s 16 and she has never had peace. But she can have it now, she deserves it.

  Renfri trails after him for 3 days, and then, she is gone, having chosen for herself what comes next.

  She was the first of Geralt’s pack, though she did not know it.

Jaskier was, in all probability, the sluttiest slut who had ever been a slut. If not, he was definitely the sluttiest bard who’d ever existed. He who would happily charm into his bed anything and everything that could possibly consent to joining him there. The husbands, the wives, the elves, the monsters, even those who believed themselves to be the most celibate of priests and priestesses allowed themselves to be charmed into his bed.

  He loved this life of performing for the masses, and running from vengeful cuckolds. Jaskier had always craved some more adventure, and this was as fun as it got.

  But then, the great Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, walked into the bar while he was playing, and he knew that even greater adventure awaited him.

  His first adventure, and he even ended up with a brand new, elven crafted, lute. From Filavander, the king of the elves. He didn’t think it could get any better than that, but then he was falling in love with the Witcher who didn’t use enough words, and, who despite his course addressing of him, treated him well.

  Tumbling into Geralt’s bedroll with him, there was no place on the entire Continent that he would rather be.

  He was the second member of Geralt’s pack, and followed by his side, faithfully, for twenty three years.

Yennefer did not have a choice. She had a series of impossible decisions, and a destiny that led in a direction she did not wish for, so she broke it. No longer was she the little girl to accept the hand of cards that had been dealt to her. No. She needed no one. She was as alone as she had always been, but she chose power over being a wife or a mother. She did not know that was her choice.

  She did not know that humanity despised mages, even while demanding their services to fix their messes. Yennefer had the potential to be the greatest mage to ever exist, and yet for thirty years she was nothing more than a royal arse wiper.

  Nobody. She was nobody. She was hated and despised by the same people whose very lives depended on her. It was not what she had envisioned, nor was it the power she’d so desired.

  But then she was escorting the queen and the new darling princess the queen didn’t even want, and she could not allow her to so callously attempt to bargain with the assassin for her own life, with the life of her child.

  What mother was willing to allow a fiend her child if it meant that she could live?

  The assassin kills the mother with a single blade, but Yennefer is willing to risk her own life to save the babe, and the magic accepts her desire without requiring her life.

  The baby wasn’t born of her blood, but she realizes that’s okay. She doesn’t know what Kalis named her daughter, so Yennefer names the baby Ksenia.

Yennefer hates being trapped in a gilded cage for a stupid mayor of a stupid town in a stupid country that she hates infinitely. But she must provide for the little girl she’s raising as her own, and this is the only way, now that she’s left the Aedirn court.

  Ksenia is almost ten, and Yennefer loves her more than she's ever loved anyone, and if the mayor so much as touches a single hair of her head, she's burning this town down.

  She was entertaining herself with a masked orgy when a Witcher brought her a pitcher of apple juice and a dying bard. What wish did they make, she wondered, as she mixed the antidote for the tumor in the throat.

Could she use the Witcher to get the mayor off her back? She didn’t want her daughter growing up here. It simply wasn’t the best place for her to be. So what to do…

In retrospect, using the Witcher to attack the members of the council she hated the most, especially before she knew all of what was going on, was an incredibly stupid mistake. She was lucky Ksenia hadn’t suffered any harm, once the djinn had set its sights on the house they were all in.

  So was the fact that Geralt had made the third wish silently. It could be anything. But whatever wish he’d made, Ksenia was safe, and so was she. It had to be good enough.

  “You know, you could have just told me that you wanted to get yourself out of this place.” 

  Yennefer turned around quickly, seeing the Witcher standing behind her. “And how do I know you truly would have helped us? Your kind isn’t so fond of my kind, as I recall.”

  She could hear the bard speaking with Ksenia, but it wasn’t important. Whatever Geralt was about to say, however, she could feel that it would be one of the most important things she would hear for a very long time.

  “Contrary to popular belief, Witchers aren’t all heartless beings. Regardless of my feelings towards someone, I will not ignore a child in danger, especially when there is a chance I can help save them.”

  Yennefer didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent, watching her daughter. The daughter whose life she had risked foolishly, because she had been too selfish to ask for assistance.

  Ksenia was laughing at something the bard had said, she wasn’t sure what. When had she last seen such a carefree expression on her child’s face? Had she really spent so much valuable time with this worthless situation, when there were so many more important things? Like whether or not her daughter was happy ?

  There was a sigh from Geralt, then, as he moved to leave. “I will not keep you from your child any longer than I already have. All I ask is that should anything happen, you ask for help, before it is too late.”

  “Ksenia.” She did not raise her voice, loathe as she was to separate her from what she was finding so hilarious, but she also needed to know that the child really was okay after all that had happened.

  “Yes, Mama?” Ksenia turned her head in recognition of her name being called, but she didn’t move the rest of her body, and she was still grinning, eyes still laughing. She somehow looked younger than her nine years. Smaller and more innocent, but not unhealthy. Not injured . 

  “It’s time to go, My Heart. There’s another home waiting for us elsewhere.” She didn’t know where, but there would be somewhere . Anywhere would be better than this place had been for them.

  Yennefer and her daughter were the third and fourth additions to Geralt’s pack, and neither of them had any idea.

“And what does a Mage like you want with a dragon hunt?” Jaskier asked the next they saw Yennefer. “Don’t you have a daughter to be looking after?”

  The expression of sour hurt that spread across Yennefer’s face was almost enough for him to regret his taunt. But it wasn’t until she said, “Ksenia is dying from dragon pox, I need the dragon’s heart to cure it,” that he really regretted it.

  Even after so long, he could still remember the fear in his sisters’ eyes as they heard of a mysterious plague sweeping through the land, and the horror in his parents’ eyes when the youngest had fallen ill with it. He could remember watching helplessly as it spread from one sister to the next, as his parents locked his sisters away in a room, unable to watch as the sickness slowly stole away their lives.

  “Jaskier-”

  It had been the strangest, and deadliest plague. A wasting illness, a horrible rash, an ever rising fever. It had left them bedridden, lost in waking nightmares. Famished, but unable to eat, and sweating more than they could possibly hope to drink. He could still hear their screams, as the disease had taken weeks to run its course. Though he had been told to stay away, he just couldn’t. He’d snuck into their room, laying with them, and holding them as they shook and cried, praying to any god who would listen to spare his baby sisters.

  But it had all been pointless.  A month after the first signs had been noticed, they had all been stolen away from him, leaving him alone to face his parents.

  “Jaskier!”

  Jaskier found himself blinking, staring at Geralt in confusion. When had the Witcher moved in front of him? “Geralt? What’s the matter?”

  Golden eyes stared back at him, narrowed in concern. “You were speaking with Yennefer, but froze. I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes now.” he paused for a moment, eyes searching for any unseen wounds, but Jaskier knew that he wouldn’t find any. “What happened?”

  He shook his head, trying to calm his heart as he put on the same fake smile he’d been forced to wear all those years ago. “It’s nothing, I was just distracted for a moment.”

Jaskier might have missed the whole of the battle sleeping in, but the fight he’d missed had nothing on the scene he witnessed now. The whole of the dragon’s lair was littered with blossoming flowers in a pale blue, yellow, and dark purple, and in the back of the cave, alongside the massive body of the green dragon, a golden egg was glowing .

  He’d never seen this kind of flower before, but even from where he was standing, he could feel the magic emanating from the petals, so thick it was almost impossible to breathe.

  His sisters would have loved it. A sunny meadow would have been prettier, but even a cave full of flowers in their favorite colors would have been a hit.

  Despite himself, he reached down to pick one of the pale blue ones. Even as he bent now, it felt like blasphemy to vandalize it, but he just wanted to get a better look at the flower that reminded him so much of his youngest sister.

  Even as he severed the stem, the flower crumbled into dust.

  “Humans have all but wiped the dragons out, believing them to hold all manner of cures for their ailments. Fertility, blindness, lost limbs, even to hold the secrets of immortality. They’re wrong. There is no cure that can restore your womb.”

  Jaskier glanced to where Borch was standing in front of Yennefer. Borch was holding a handful of the flowers that he’d just tried, and failed, to pick.

  “These flowers only grow where dragon fire has burned, but they’re most common where we hatch our young. I give these to you freely. My heart will heal yours.”

  “ Dragon’s Heart,” Yennefer gasped.

  Jaskier swallowed heavily. “Borch,” he said, quietly. He did not think he could speak louder, but he also did not think the gold dragon would have any trouble hearing him. “Would flowers like these… have saved them?”

  “Perhaps, Julien Alfred Pankratz.”

  His insides burned at how ironic it was that flowers in their favorite colors might have saved the lives of his little sisters. There was a very sad, very epic ballad in there somewhere.

  A dragon’s fire breathes new life.

  “You may take these with you, Bard.” Borch handed him a bouquet of three flowers, one in each color. One for each sister. “They will not wilt, and if you were to plant them, they would grow.”

  “Thank you.” There were no words that Jaskier could say that would convey his gratitude. But his heart burned, too. These were the flowers that would have saved the lives of his little sisters, and he was only holding them too many decades too late to be of use. “Yennefer, may I come with you?” He was intimately familiar with dragon pox. At the very least, he could help Ksenia feel more comfortable while Yennefer prepared the medicine to cure it.

  “Jaskier.”

  Jaskier turned around, and walked towards where Geralt was standing outside the cave. He hugged the witcher. “I need this,” he whispered, brokenly, even as Geralt kissed his forehead. “I need closure. And you need to go find your Child Surprise. She needs you.”

  “I know you do.” Geralt’s voice was soft, almost softer than Jaskier thought was possible. “I’ll find you, or you will find me, when you’re ready. And by then, I may have my Child Surprise, ready for you to meet.”

Yennefer made the cure for dragon pox, and Ksenia lived.

  And Jaskier found himself in a place he’d never ever thought he’d return.

  There were three marked graves in a meadow in Lettenhove. The pox had been believed too contagious for them to be buried in the family graveyard, so they had been buried here instead. This was almost easier, however, because it meant that he could carry out his task without any witnesses.

  He planted the baby blue flower over the first grave, the purple flower over the second grave, and the yellow flower over the third.

  “Answer your calling,” his eldest sister had said, her dying words to him, as he’d held her hand and fervently wished that she would live. “Go be a bard.”

  He had spent his entire childhood trying to be the very best big brother that he could be. He’d learned to braid their hair, and had played dress up with them, and stolen their mother’s makeup, and cooked with them. He’d also sung an infinite number of songs, and read bedtime stories or made them up, and all in all, they were his fondest memories.

  But they had been gone for decades, and he’d left very soon after their deaths, unable to cope with their absences in a house in which the ghosts weighed more than the air they breathed.

  There had been no joy, and the pain had not only been emotional.

  “In a house of too many secrets

There’s no people, only their strife.

At the end of dying meadows,

A dragon’s fire breathes new life.”

  He sighed. “No, no, that’s not right. There needs to be something about the memories in that house. It was… rife with them.”

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry, are you desecrating those graves?”

  Jaskier spun around. A brown haired woman was leaning against a tree at the edge of the meadow. She looked young, but looks could be deceiving. “Excuse you, I would never . If you must know, they’re family.”

  “Sometimes our blood is the people we want to hurt the most. I’m Renfri. You’re… Jaskier, the bard, right?”

  She was armed, but she hadn’t drawn her blade, nor did he think that she was about to attack him. Or at least, he hoped not. He was armed too, at least. If it came to that. Not that he was very useful with a blade.

  “They died of dragon pox. I wish them no ill will, I’m simply here for closure. What brings you to the graves of three Lettenhove daughters who didn’t even have the respect of being buried in their family graveyard?”

  “I had heard that the bard who traveled with the white wolf of Rivia was traveling this way, and I wanted to meet you. I’m on my way to see Geralt again, it’s been… a number of years since I saw him last, and I thought it would be polite to ask if you cared to accompany me.”

  Jaskier looked back at the graves. The flowers seemed… healthier, than when he’d planted them. Taller, perhaps, if that was even possible.

  “As I’m sure you know, there’s an inn not that far from here. I’m leaving in the morning, but we can stop here as we leave.”

  He didn’t have his closure yet, but he did also greatly want to go back to Geralt. He’d been feeling lethargic for days.

  It was possible the woman was using him as a trap to get Geralt, but if that was the case, then she had no idea who she was dealing with. If she was telling the truth though, and he really thought she was, then it meant he didn’t have to travel to Cintra by himself, and he liked that idea.

  “I’m not ready to go back to the inn yet, but I will travel with you back to Geralt.”

He sang a few ballads in the tavern at the inn, including a new one in his rotation about the White Wolf. Songs of heartbreak and the lonely Witcher were popular with the masses, even if it was mostly an exaggeration.

  He loved Geralt, and maybe Geralt loved him back, but while his heart did feel broken, it has nothing to do with Geralt and everything to do with three little girls.

  He still channeled it into the song.

  "Did Geralt break your heart?" Renfri asked when he joined her after his performance. "I would be happy to knock some sense into his skull for you."

  Jaskier shook his head. "We both had things that we needed to take care of, and we'll see each other again when we're done. But some audiences prefer songs like that one and I like the coin they'll part with when they're satisfied."

  "I couldn't help but overhear you in the meadow, were you writing a new ballad?"

  "I'm hoping it'll bring me closure. Anyway, I think I'm going to head to bed."

Travelling with Renfri was nice. She let him ride double on her horse, and they made really good time.

  They chatted about their adventures, telling various stories or just making idle chit chat. She was infinitely more talkative than Geralt.

  But it didn’t help with the emptiness he was feeling in his chest. It was growing. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now, Renfri’s random diversions of dialogue was the only thing distracting him away from it.

  “Tell me about the bards who assassinate people with poison while wandering around the bar with no one ever the wiser.”

  He blinked. “What?” He supposed it wasn’t exactly a secret that some bards used the opportunity provided by their ability to wander around mostly unnoticed to perform more nefarious acts, but he’d never done it himself. He’d never… felt that urge. “There’s probably good money for those with the skill and inclination. But why commit murder when the greatest pleasures in life comes from sleeping with them?”

  It occurred to him that he’d slept with a lot fewer people once he’d started sleeping with Geralt. The Witcher had a lot more stamina than your standard human. Needed less sleep, too. Meant the best of both worlds.

“The call of the White Wolf is loudest at the dawn

The call of a stone heart is broken and alone

Born of Kaer Morhen

Born of No Love

The song of the White Wolf is cold as driven snow

  Bear not your eyes upon him lest steel or silver draw

Lay not your breast against him or lips to ease his roar

For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone

For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone

  Cast not your eyes upon him, lest he kiss you with his sword

Lay not your heart against him or your lips to ease his roar

For the song of the White Wolf we'll always sing alone

For the song of the White Wolf we'll always sing alone”

  Jaskier was singing in the bar of an inn somewhere north of what was left of Cintra, and he was beyond exhausted. Sleep did not come easily, and what sleep did come was plagued by nightmares of losing what little family he thought he’d gained.

  He was about to beg off because even just lying restlessly on a bed sounded better than staying down here any longer, when who but Geralt walked in, Ksenia and a younger girl he didn’t recognize on his heels.

  The younger girl was the spitting image of Pavetta, and he realized it could be none other than Princess Cirilla of Cintra.

  “Geralt!” he exclaimed, barely noticing as Renfri made a beeline after him as he hurried over to embrace the Witcher. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, standing up on his toes so that he could kiss Geralt.

  “And I you,” Geralt answered, after kissing him back. “Ciri, meet Jaskier.”

  “Hi,” the little girl said.

  “Geralt.”

  “Renfri?” Geralt smiled at Jaskier’s traveling companion, who was standing behind Jaskier. “It’s good to see you again. This is Ciri, and Ksenia. And I guess you’ve met Jaskier?”

  “Ran into him in Lettenhove. Geralt, I would be happy to see that the girls get something to eat, and a room.”

  “You should do that,” Jaskier suggested, before kissing Geralt again. “I think Geralt and I have… some things to, uh, talk about.”

  “We do?”

  “We do,” Jaskier repeated, dragging Geralt in the direction of the room he and Renfri had already rented for the night.

They stayed a few days longer than Geralt had intended, but Renfri and Jaskier had enough coin, and Ksenia and Jaskier both needed a few days of rest before making the long journey to Kaer Morhen.

  Once they left, Ciri and Ksenia, who had been riding double on Roach, took turns riding double with Renfri so that the horses could rotate who was carrying the weight of two. Sometimes Geralt would insist Jaskier ride as well, which was new, he’d never let Jaskier ride Roach before.

  It took them weeks to get to Kaer Morhen, but Vesemir was waiting for them when they arrived.

  The eldest witcher stared at them, and then he rolled his eyes as he opened the gate to let them in. “The others didn’t bring their packs this year,” he said. “But Lambert, Eskel, and Coen are all here.”

  “Thank you,” Geralt said, and with that, he led his family into the home that would always welcome him.

Destiny would bring Yennefer back to them, and time would allow Ksenia a full recovery from her time bedridden by the dragon pox. Yennefer would have to come, someone had to teach Ciri control of her volatile magics.

  Vesemir wasn’t going to say anything, but he really hoped it was before Ciri managed to dismantle the entire keep with a single shout.

  The other Witchers learned to enjoy having some women in the keep who could remind them to stop eating traveling rations all winter long. It was a reminder, really, that they deserved good things too.

  And Jaskier… wasn’t just a bard. He taught Ciri and Ksenia, with Renfri’s help and using Geralt’s long hair, all of the courtly braids he’d learned to make of his sisters’ hair. He also made a mean chicken noodle soup.

  He also worked on his newest ballad, an ode to the memory of his sisters.

  “Jaskier! You have to play a new ballad! A sad one, those are my favorites,” Ciri begged, one eaving after supper when Geralt’s pack and all the Witchers had gathered in the main living room, in front of the warm fire. She was sitting at Jaskier’s feet, watching out the window as it continued snowing.

  Jaskier hummed, and plucked idly at his lute as he considered whether or not he was ready to play the ballad that would bring him closure. “100 years ago, the dragon pox took my little sisters away from me. I haven’t finished it yet, it’s not really telling the story I want to tell.”

  “That’s okay,” Ciri said. “I want to hear it anyway.”

  Jaskier smiled, sadly. He couldn’t deny her anything, and he didn’t want to.

“At the end of the old road

In a house built on a foundation of strife

There’s too many secrets, too many memories

Too many necessaries after too many centuries

All the things of which it was rife.

  Far too much that was all but owed

And yet, a dragon fire breathes new life

Into what first appeared a dying meadow

Being that which is not a rough

But all it ever needed was that new life.”

  He plucked a few more chords, but he didn’t resist when Geralt tugged the lute from his idle fingers. “You’ll be happy with it when you finish it, and it’ll bring you the closure you’re still seeking.”

“I’ll help!” Ciri exclaimed. “It’s just a matter of finding the right words, right?”

“Something like that.” He leaned against Geralt, and let himself find comfort in that.

[emo-floof-child-writes]

The Sword of the Solstice

Chapter 2: An Adventure Unfolds!

We return to the party’s adventures when the party walk into a tavern, the Lost Horse, in the village of Camio. They all walk in, except Eijiro, that is. Izuku realizes he isn’t following, and turns back to him. “Are you okay, Eijiro?” He asks, and Eijiro sighs. “I do not know how many of the people in there have family, friends, or property that I’ve destroyed...” He looks away, but Izuku sighs. “None of that was your fault. Just uh, take comfort in the fact that he’s not going to hurt anyone again.”

He smiles, and nods. “Come in, and be merry.” Izuku says, pulling the door open. “Woo!” Katsuki says, with a laugh. He wanders up to the bar, to get himself some ale. Shoto is sitting in a booth, Izuku motions Eijiro towards the table Shoto is sitting. Eijiro nods, and follows Izuku. Eijiro sits down, while Izuku goes up to the bar to collect the rewards for “defeating the dragon.” He smiles at the barkeeper, who sighs, inching towards the counter so she can give Katsuki his drink.

“So, as you three seem to be back in one piece, I assume you stopped the dragon?” Tsuyu Asui, the Tortle Barkeep, asks. Katsuki scoffs. “Have we ever failed you, Tsuyu?” Tsuyu scratches her beak, with a nod. “Well, no, I suppose.” She grabs her book of adventuring. As many adventurers come through her Tavern, she has a book recording uncompleted/completed quests, so she can account for any and all rewards.

She clears her throat, as she opens the book. “Ah.” She says. “1300 gold pieces, please wait for me to get the funds.” She slowly leaves the counter, heading into the back room. Izuku sits down next to Katsuki. “Sorry you don't get your dragon duel.” Izuku says, and Katsuki shrugs. “Can't be helped. Besides, we got a half-dragon to journey with us.” Izuku smiles, as Tsuyu walks back, dragging a sack behind her. Katsuki laughs. “I'll take that off you, idiot.” Tsuyu sighs.

“Thank you, Sir Bakugo. Sadly this slow Tortle cannot carry such sacks.” Katsuki reaches his arm over the bar top, easily picking the sack up. Shoto and Eijiro walk over. Tsuyu looks at Eijiro, and smiles. “I'm afraid I have not made your acquaintance?” Eijiro bites his lip. “I'm from out of town. Eijiro Kirishima.” He then walks behind Shoto. Tsuyu laughs. “I say! Found a shy one, have you? I am pleased to meet you, and perhaps do business with you.”

From behind Shoto, Eijiro nods. “You too, ma'am...” He says, looking at the floor. Tsuyu sighs. “You know, looking through the book, I realize there was a party that was supposed to search for an artifact, but they were supposed to be back a fortnight ago.” Shoto frowns, and moves closer. “They didn't return?" Shoto asks. Tsuyu shakes her head. “No. I'm concerned about that. I fear that they came into trouble.” Tsuyu taps her shell, looking around.

“I wouldn't normally ask anyone to do this, but,” she swallows. “Could you perhaps check on them?” Izuku sighs, turning to his party. “Well? What do you think?” He asks them, and Shoto kneels in front of the Tortle. “As a Paladin of Light, I cannot see a more honorable cause.” Katsuki growls. “Light Bringer! Just say yes or no!” Shoto stands, and sighs. “I wish to help them, should they need it.” Izuku nods. “Let's take a vote. Shoto is for it, as am I. Katsuki?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Why not? As long as I get to hit stuff, I'm good.” Izuku nods. “What about you, Eijiro?” Shoto asks, turning to face Eijiro. Eijiro frowns. “Wait, I get a say?” Katsuki hits his shoulder. “Yeah, Scales. You wanna come?” Eijiro nods, and Izuku smiles. “Well, that settles it. Guess we're doing back-to-back quests.” Shoto nods. “Where were they going?” Tsuyu clears her throat. “They were retrieving the Solstice Sword. In the wreckage of the Elven City of Neumel.”

Shoto nods. “My former Kingdom...” Izuku gasps. “Oh, dear.” Tsuyu says. “I did not know those were connected. I will not force this on you.” Shoto sighs. “I am nothing if not a man of my word, I will go to Neumel.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Can you not talk in paragraphs?” Izuku clears his throat. “Katsuki, be nice. You sure, Shoto?” Shoto nods, and Izuku runs his hands through his green hair. “How far is it to Neumel?”

“About two days ride, by horse." Shoto says, folding his hands. Katsuki frowns. “Really? We are that close to your home city?” Katsuki says, and Shoto nods. “Well, you better leave soon, I don't know what may have befallen them.” Tsuyu says, and walks back to the bar, on the request of a customer. The party stand outside, and Shoto channels Lathander's power, casting Call Steed. A white horse appears, and nuzzles Shoto's shoulder.

“I can take one on my horse, I cannot summon two horses.” Eijiro raises his hand. “I can transform into my dragon form, one of you can hitch a ride with me.” Katsuki smiles. “I knew I liked you, Scales!” Izuku shakes his head, chuckling. “You're just glad that your bulky figure does not need to walk.” Katsuki shrugs. “Do not judge my figure.” He turns to Eijiro, and punches his shoulder. “Can you support my weight?” Eijiro scoffs. “I could carry three of you on my back.”

Katsuki smirks. “I think you and I will get along great.” Eijiro smiles. “Well, I suppose that is good.” He changes into his dragon form, and kneels down next to Katsuki. Eijiro sighs. “Be gentle, I'm big and strong, but not indestructible.” Eijiro’s voice booms, birds fly off, out of panic. Katsuki pulls himself onto his back. “How demeaning is it that I'm riding on your back?” Katsuki asks. Eijiro laughs. “Trust me, I prefer this to being controlled by an Evil Mage.” Izuku and Shoto climb onto Shoto's steed, and they head off toward the Elven City Neumel, by the Path of Cleo.

They stop for the night, Izuku setting up a fire. They prepare for the night, Shoto takes first watch, which is uneventful. Izuku takes second watch, but again, everything is calm. Izuku goes to wake Katsuki up, with some silent protesting, Katsuki takes the third watch. He hears something rustle in the bushes by their camp. He frowns, and pulls out his club. It may just be an animal, but with this party, it never is “just an animal.”

Katsuki walks over to it, and pokes the bush with his club. He hears a quiet yelp. He smirks. Thought so. He reaches into the bush, to feel something made of leather. The bush rustled again, and a smaller, cloaked figure pushes out of the bush. Katsuki chuckles, and reaches for the figure. The cloaked figure struggles, as Katsuki pulls the figure back. “Look,” he whispers, crouching next to the figure. “I just want to know why you were in that bush?”

The figure pulls the cloak down, to reveal a brown haired young Elven woman, about Katsuki's age. She has a dark pink dress that is a little faded, and signs of blood and dirt are visible. She reaches into the bush, pulling out a staff, with a red jewel in the top. She points it at Katsuki, eyes narrowed. Katsuki smirks, hefting his warhammer in response. “Give me a good reason that I shouldn't blast you right now.” The girl whispers.

Katsuki looks over at Eijiro, and back to the girl. “They say not to wake a sleeping dragon...” Katsuki says, grabbing her staff. She scoffs. “Right, is that ‘dragon’ supposed to be you?” she asks, pulling her staff out of his grasp. Katsuki smirks. “Well, while it is true that I have a temper, I was referring to an actual dragon.” He frowns. “Well, half-dragon.” Katsuki points at Eijiro. She looks at Eijiro, and pulls her staff away from Katsuki.

Katsuki puts his warhammer away, and folds his arms. “What were you doing in that bush, miss..?” She rolls her eyes. “Miss, huh? I didn't know you punch first type were polite.” Katsuki shrugs. “I could call you ‘Round Face’ if you preferred.” She sighs. “But in all seriousness, what were you doing hiding there?” The girl bites her lip. “My party and I were attacked, by a Mage of the Cult of Dendar. I was the only survivor.”

Katsuki frowns. “What were you doing messing with cults?” She squeezes her staff. “Two things, one; my crew and I were trying to find a magic sword. Two; I am a Warlock. If you don't know, they get possessed by Dendar the Night Serpent, herself. It's why I survived.” Katsuki nods. “What was the name of that sword you were seeking?” She scoffs. “Gonna try and take the prize yourself?” She asks.

Katsuki shakes his head. “Not at all, me and my sleeping companions were to determine what happened to a party in search of a sword.” The girl frowns. “The Solstice Sword, yeah? That's what you're referring to?" she asks, and Katsuki nods. “From who?” She asks. Katsuki sighs. “Tsuyu, from the Lost Horse Inn and Tavern?” She smiles. “Okay, you aren't lying.” Katsuki holds his hand out to her.

“Katsuki Bakugo. What's your name?” She moves her staff to her left arm, and takes his hand. “Ochaco Uraraka.” He scoffs. “Uraraka, huh? I think I like ‘Round Face’ better.” She grunts, hitting him with the bottom of her staff. “Well, I'd love and chat with you, but I need to get away from an Evil Mage.” Katsuki looks around them, and scratches his chin. “I don't see a mage, minus you, at least.” She groans.

“That's because, nitwit, I was running away from him. He hasn't gotten here yet, but he'll be here soon.” Katsuki growls. “Don't call me a nitwit!” She smirks. “Ooh, did I hit a sore spot? I did, didn't I?” Katsuki scoffs. “You should start running, or whatever.” She frowns. “Y'know, we're looking for the same thing, I suppose that it would make sense to work together.” Katsuki runs his hands through his hair. “Just a second ago you wanted to run!”

She shrugs.”If you really have a Draconic on your side, I imagine I'm safer here.” Katsuki shrugs. “Yeah, he's new.” She nods. “Have you been traveling together long?” Katsuki sighs. “If we're going to get personal, I'm gonna wake my crew up.” He starts to walks over to his sleeping companions. He wakes Shoto and Izuku first, and nods towards Ochaco. Izuku gasps, reaching for his sword. Katsuki shakes his head.

“As far as I can tell, she's a friendly.” Katsuki whispers. They nod. “Be on guard, though.” Katsuki adds, as he kneels down next to Eijiro. Much to the young barbarian's surprise, Eijiro awakes without blasting fire in his face. Katsuki motions to Ochaco, and she walks over, supporting herself on her staff. “Um, hello.” She says, fixing her cloak. Izuku holds his hand out. “Uh, I'm Izuku Midoriya.” She smiles. Izuku turns to Shoto.

“That's Shoto Todoroki, he either says too much or too little.” Izuku says, smiling. Shoto clears his throat. He has one hand on his greatsword, and he waves with the other. Eijiro walks over. “Eijiro Kirishima, uh, hello.” She smiles. “Sounds like you got those backwards.” He shrugs. “I've been trapped in damp cave for a long time, social skills are not my forte.” She chuckles. “Well, I'm Ochaco Uraraka, Mage of Levitation, and unwilling Warlock of Dendar the Night Serpent.” Katsuki sighs.

“You'd get along great with Light Bringer, over here with those unnecessary titles." Katsuki says, and she frowns. “Dendar doesn't seem to agree. You uh, wouldn't happen to be a Paladin of Lathander, would you?" she asks, taking a few steps back. Shoto also takes a few steps back. “I am, and I knew what you were right away. I sensed Her presence, thanks to my Detect Good and Evil spell.” Her arm goes up. “Um, I'm s-sorry. I can't stop her, she's gonna blast you.”

Shoto takes a deep breath and walks closer to her, grabbing her shoulder. He casts Command on Dendar's presence. “Surrender." Much to Shoto's surprise, he senses that the spell takes hold, and Ochaco's arm drops to her side. She lets out a sigh. “Did, did you just stop a deity?” Katsuki says, in shock. Shoto's hand shakes. “Y-yeah. I just told a goddess to surrender...” He kneels, taking a shaky breath. “I didn't think that would work...”

Ochaco kneels beside him. “Thank you. I didn't want to use Eldritch Blast on you.” He nods. “I didn't want you to either.�� She smiles. “Maybe we could get along. Perhaps you were right, Half-wit.” Katsuki grunts. “I'm not a half-wit! Not all barbarians are mindless berserkers!” She smirks, and shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me.” She says, and he growls. Izuku notices that Katsuki was about to explode, and steps between them.

“Let's not fight.” He turns to Katsuki. “I assume you know what she's doing here?" Izuku asks Katsuki. “She says she's the sole survivor of the crew we were looking for. Says she was after that sword, when a Cultist of Dendar, a Mage, attacked her party.” Katsuki shrugs. “It sounded legit.” Katsuki adds, and Shoto sighs. “If it's all the same, I'm casting Zone Of Truth.” He casts it, with his party aware of the effect, they willing went under its influence.

Shoto feels her being compelled to the spell. “Is what you told Katsuki true?” He asks, and she nods. Does she know the loophole? Izuku wonders, with a sigh. “Say what exactly what happened.” She frowns, but nods. “Um, me and my crew, we were going to the ruins of Neumel, in search of the Solstice Sword. A Mage of the Dendar Cult attacked us, I only survived because of the Dark Entity within me.” Eijiro pats her shoulder. “I'm sorry, it must be hard to lose your crew.”

She smiles. “Yeah, I wasn’t aquaintanted with them, but survivor's guilt is there at the very least.” Shoto nods. “Do you, by any chance know the precise location of the sword?” She frowns. “The Mage took our map, he's trying to take it for some malevolent purpose.” Izuku groans. “Why is there never someone who wants it for a benevolent purpose?” Shoto asks. Eijiro shrugs. “Guess those with power seek ways to gain more.” Eijiro says.

Katsuki sighs. “Now is not the time to do that, Scales. We should get going, what do you think, Deku?” Katsuki asks. “Deku” means “Useless Idiot”, he uses it to refer to Izuku as an endearment. Izuku sighs. “Yeah, let's go.” He turns to Ochaco. “Do you, by any chance remember where the map said it would be?” Ochaco shakes her head. “My party didn't trust me to see it...” She runs her arm. “Because of Dendar...” Eijiro nods, understanding her pain.

Shoto frowns. “So you never saw the map?” She shrugs. “Not that well, it was well guarded.” Katsuki groans. “Looks like we're gonna do this the old fashioned way.” Izuku says, with a shrug. “If it helps, supposedly the sword gives off a humming sound when you get close to it?” Ochaco says, shrugging. Izuku groans. “Well, we should at least get to Neumel before we worry about this.” Shoto says, as he casts Find Steed.

His horse appears, and he and Izuku climb onto it. Kirishima turns into his dragon form, and Ochaco gasps. Katsuki laughs. “I did say that he was a Draconic.” Katsuki says, as Eijiro kneels. “I don’t bite.” Eijiro says, and Katsuki scoffs. “You may not bite, but you spit fire...” Katsuki says. “I wouldn’t say such things to a dragon, Kacchan.” Izuku says, using his nickname for Katsuki, based on the local human language from where he was born.

Katsuki frowns. “Good point, Deku.” He climbs onto Eijiro’s back, and Ochaco follows, eyeing Eijiro as she climbs on. They reach the Neumel ruins, and set up camp. They set up in what looks like a house, but it was burnt to the ground, with debris surrounding it. Before they could even set up, they had to clear a spot for the five of them to sit. “What exactly were you supposed to do with this sword?” Shoto asks Ochaco.

She sighs. "Well, we were to bring it back to Tsuyu. She said something about it seals the darkness or something? Gave us a brief summary of a legend about a Mage of Light and a Mage of Dark. They've supposedly have been locked in combat since the dawn of time, in different forms.” Katsuki scoffs. “Wow, that's just a fancy way of saying a fight against Good and Evil.” He says, and Ochaco frowns. “I don't think so, from the way she said it, she made it sound as though the mages are reincarnated. Always after the sword of legend.”

Shoto nods. “As a Paladin of Light, I have heard of this legend.” Shoto says. “It is said that it can only be carried by the next incarnation, though. How did your party expect to take it with you?” Ochaco shrugs. “They didn't tell me.” Izuku pats her shoulder. “It's okay.” He says. Eijiro frowns. “Can we even get it?” He asks, and Ochaco sighs. “I don't know, do any of you have a heavenly connection?” She asks. Everyone looks at Shoto.

It takes Shoto a few seconds to register that they think he'd be worthy. “Oh, not me.” He says, looking at his companions. “It cannot be me! It states that it's the lowly man that's worthy. I was raised as a Prince, I don't doubt I'm the least lowly person here!” Katsuki groans. “Well, I guess we're doomed, aren't we?” Shoto scratches his chin. “Not necessarily. We could stop those Cultists from obtaining the sword, so that the Sword doesn't fall into the wrong hands.” They nod. “It's all we can do for sure, unfortunately.” Izuku says, grabbing hold of his shortsword.

[siriusist]

dark chocolate bonbons; victoria sponge cake

dark chocolate bonbons: who is your favorite heroine from literature?

That’s really difficult off the top of my head, honestly (And honestly, and unfortunately, there’s not a lot of top heroines outside of the stereotypical ones, like Hermione Granger, Elizabeth Bennett, etc.) Some childhood favourites are probably Matilda and Nancy Drew, but I wouldn’t say necessarily they’re my favourites of all time.

Probably I’d say outside of enjoying the actual book (because it is a bit of a slog and I prefer the BBC series if I’m being absolutely honest), I do love the concept of Margaret Hale from North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. She’s really the first example of a woman protagonist advocating for change in a system that is cruel and unjust to workers, and basically is a unionist version of Pride and Prejudice, lets be real.

Other than that, I’d say in terms of pure enjoyment reading her character, it’s honestly got to be Miss Marple by Agatha Christie. I went through a huge Agatha Christie phase where I literally read every original Miss Marple book (and some just written in her name), and it’s just such a fantastic concept of this little old lady taking advantage of being a little old lady and not letting her mind ‘die’ like everyone assumes it will when you pass sixty for a woman, and basically outsmarting everyone by just casually playing their grandma and low-key interrogating them. She’s basically everything I aspire to be as an elderly woman xD

I’ll also give a mention to Clarice Starling from Silence of the Lambs. Although I’m not a fan of where the books actually went (Imagine an elven year old reading the sequels to Silence of the Lambs, and not being turned off by any of the blood and gore, but basically by the fact that Clarice fell in love with Hannibal, just looking up, and being like, DID THIS END IN A LOW KEY SEX SCENE- UGH xD. It’s so much more interesting when they’re playing that cat and mouse game; but I digress). 

I love Clarice so much, and how Jodie Foster played her in the actual film is just as great. I love the cinematography too, which also played on a lot of themes from the inner narrative of the original book from Clarice’s perspective: Guys looking her over like she’s (ironically) a piece of meat, being the one small woman in a field almost exclusively at the time for men, being hit on constantly by weird creeps in the field, and having to keep her cool and composure, look forward, and match wits with Hannibal, all while not letting her traumatic past catch up with her. I looked up to her so much as a child, and still do now.

(Also, honourable mention for Lady Macbeth and the line, “Unsex me here.” Brilliant forever. xD And a low-key mention for Brienne of Tarth, even though I still have not properly read the Game of Thrones books besides skimming the chapters of people I actually enjoy (AKA Brienne). xD

victoria sponge cake: what is your favorite poem?

Okay, I’m going to start this with a bit of a rant, because I never found myself traditionally drawn to poetry (I’m much more of a prose person), but you know who didn’t help with that in doing a double minor in English and German literature and a Classics major?

WILLIAM FUCKING BLAKE.

Every time I think of the worst poetry imaginable, I think about William FUCKING Blake and his STUPID poems which I can recite (unfortunately) to this day. How insipid, how twee, how CLOYING (even though I appreciate he was ATTEMPTING to get a social message across). I hate all of it. It’s saccharine and stupid and my favourite fact is that even in his time period everyone thought his poetry was insipid and cloying and ‘eccentric’ and how he wasn’t ‘recognised as a genius in his own time,’ and I’m like, “YES. BECAUSE HIS POETRY IS TERRIBLE AND I LITERALLY HAD TO RECITE ‘TIGER TIGER’ IN GRADE TWELVE ENGLISH, FIRST YEAR UNDERGRAD, SECOND YEAR UNDERGRAD, AND THIRD YEAR UNDERGRAD, WITH WILLIAM BLAKE GETTING AN ENTIRE UNIT IN ALL OF THEM. I HATE IT, I HATE IT SO MUCH. XD

Anyhow, now that I’ve gotten THAT out of the way, let’s talk about a poet who SHOULD be featured over William Blake ANYDAY, and that’s Langston Hughes. The Harlem Renaissance is infinitely more interesting and important in representing the diversity and the ideas that came out of the States any day than William Blake attempting to speak about social politics in the most cloying way imaginable.

I wouldn’t say it’s my ‘favourite’ poem, in that I find it enjoyable, but ever since we covered it in Literature 12 in high school, I always loved “Harlem” by Langston Hughes.

What happens to a dream deferred?

     Does it dry up     like a raisin in the sun?     Or fester like a sore—     And then run?     Does it stink like rotten meat?     Or crust and sugar over—     like a syrupy sweet?

     Maybe it just sags     like a heavy load.

     Or does it explode?

The first line is just so iconic, “What happens to a dream deferred?” And this image of it either shrivelling up like a raisin or this explosion of anger and frustration- obviously Hughes was speaking to the black experience and frustration of the poor in the 1920s in Harlem, but I find myself always quoting that line mentally whenever I find myself in a situation which leads to me suppressing a part of myself or a dream, and knowing that might be my only few options- to let it pucker up and prune inside of me, or to let it explode in anger. I always found it accessible outside of the historical connotations because anyone under the burden of capitalism in modern society can feel these things: Anyone who wasn’t born into affluence, but has smarts, a drive, wit. And like some sort of horrible boil, the last option is that their dream (and the person involved in that dream) can just explode, and then people wonder why individuals under a system which is most often set up to directly negate their success, lash out. It just really says everything, doesn’t it? (I didn’t mean to end this on a ranting downer, but there you go xD)

[wordsturnintostories]

7/ Nothing in the Mirror

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine

Masterlist

Summary: A lot can happen on a late spring day, especially on a bus. A lot more can happen if the ride ends before you’ve reached your station. If you end up in the Avengers Tower without memories, things have either taken a very good or a very bad turn of events. Too bad you have no clue who you are. Apparently, that’s not the case for everyone. Scarily, not all your secrets are hidden within your head, but you have two men by your side who swear to figure everything out with you.

Warnings: blood, knife (what else do I need to say? pretty self-explanatory), fluff and shirtlessness (only the right people tho), doors, too

Word Count: 1667

_Author's_Note: This one was so much fun. Hope you all love it as much as I do. A little more fluff with Buck and Steve. Sweet @buckyslion and adorable, blushing @aubzylynn , the warmest hugs to you. Xx

„Are you even aware of how many there are?“ „How many what?“ „Scars, doll. Your back is full of 'em.“ His finger trailed a few of them, leaving soft trails on you. He didn’t notice he gave you goosebumps. Forgetting your situation, your eyes closed, tension floated away. Air turned sweeter as the tips of his fingers brushed your skin. It felt good, like an affirmation. You would be alright. It was a promise. Someone else cared. Suddenly, Buck pulled away, ripping himself from the daze. With the metal hand, he pulled a knife from his belt. It still surprised you how smoothly all the plates shifted into each other, each of them working on its own, but belonging together. „Are you ready? I think I found it.“ „Sure.“ The metal shifted onto your shoulder, placed with care while the knife tore a cut into your skin. Blood collected in drops, running down your back as the wounded tissue warmed up. It stung, very much so, but the pain was bearable. Then, the knife went in a little deeper and even though you knew Buck tried to be careful, it made you gasp. The hoodie crumpled up in your fists and you could feel him hesitating back there. „Go ahead, get it out!“, you cried. „Okay, I can’t get it out with the knife. I’ll-“ „I don’t care. Just get it out!“ It hurt. It hurt more than raw wrists due to handcuffs, it hurt more than damaged eardrums. Buck was skilled, he kept his hand from shaking and got the little object out of your back, dropping it into your lap. There was blood all around it and just before Buck could protest, you’d rubbed it off with your - well, his sleeve. He was still fumbling around with the wound, but now you had something to distract yourself with. Although, the little metal thing that resembled a bullet casing was as simple as it could get, round, matte metal, nothing on it. „You’re done“, Buck said, looking at the stitches with a satisfied expression. „How’s the tracker?“ „Beautiful“, you rolled your eyes. Steve checked it out right now. „Well, the inside counts, right? Wanna keep it or should I give it to Tony?“ „Can he say who put it in there? Then yes. I want to know.“ They nodded and Buck put it back into your hand. „You can give it to him yourself, tomorrow, at breakfast. You’re gonna spend your whole day with us.“ He ignored the protest in your eyes, but it made you think. It was probably safest that way and, hopefully, the least boring.

The rest of the day you spent with the two men, reading through of the pile of books Steve had supplied you with „so you could figure out what kind of literature you were into“. Well, definitely not romance, that was for sure. Having found another super cheesy line on the second page already, you put aside the third romance. Secretly, you wondered if these books were actually his, the super old ones had yellow-brimmed pages and some were falling apart, they seemed quite aged. There was one in particular that warmed your heart, though, the language and the imagery in it were capturing and in no time, you were so deep in it that you didn’t even notice anymore what was happening around you. The hobbits in it were lovely creatures, you found, and although passages of the text sounded ancient, you sucked them in, hungry for more. Time passed and you were so enraptured, you had unconsciously switched positions various times because stiffness plagued your back. Somehow, it was also becoming harder to figure out the sentences. Suddenly, a flash ripped you out of your reading and your head shot up. The boys just laughed, Buck still holding his phone in his hand. How dare he? „You took a photo!“ „Mmh. You were this close from being sucked into your book.“ He put his thumb and pointer finger together, emphasizing how tiny the space between them was. „This close.“ You rolled your eyes. That was no excuse for disrupting you during reading. „I saved your life, doll. Think that deserves more than an eye roll.“ „Oh yeah? Here, have another one.“ Steve chuckled, looking over your shoulder after turning a lamp on. „Oh, I love that part. I remember when I read it first, the book was a Christmas gift.“ He smiled and there were so many emotions on his face that it almost took your breath away. His jaw looked soft now and the worry was completely gone. If you observed right, you witnessed nostalgia overtake him as he plopped into an armchair. Bucky joined you on the sofa, now interested too. He brought a blanket, which you gladly took, but instead of wrapping it around only yourself, you decided to share.

You tried to go back to reading, but his hand lifted the cover side of your book. „No way“, Buck looked baffled, with wide eyes. „You kept it.“ Steve nodded, sipping on a steaming tea, his smile only growing wider as if Buck had just discovered a wonderful secret. Maybe he had. „Of course I kept it, jerk. Must’ve cost you a fortune, this was a brand new print. I told you how much I loved it.“ Buck still stared at his friend and his lower lip shook slightly. But it confused you, what he said made no sense at all. You went back to the first page, where they the publishing information was printed. 1938. Steve was still talking. „There weren’t many things I could take to Camp Lehigh, but this one was in my suitcase. Peggy kept it stored up, with all the other stuff Fury returned to me.“ Bucky smiled. „Yeah, I remember. It was a horrible Christmas even though you weren’t sick that one time.“ Their eyes did that thing again, exchanging looks you couldn’t understand, looks that only belonged to them and nobody else could share. It was their secret language. „Sorry to disappoint, but I think Buck kinda tricked you. This was published in 1938. Or it’s a different book, not yours.“ Against all expectations, both men laughed, a kind and warm laugh. It filled the entire living room and together with the cackling the fireplace emitted, it sounded melodious, its deepness reaching your bones, making them tingle. You almost laughed with them, but this was a serious question. „Nah, that’s all right. I got this book for Christmas, this exact one. Check the page where they meet the Elven king. There’s a little candy left, right in the crease.“ „Well, that doesn’t prove anything. It’s yours, okay, fine. But 1938? That was before, like, the Second World War.“ Buck next to you grabbed your hand and grinned. „Yeah, sweetie. We were in it. Wasn’t much fun, though, I’ll admit that.“ You stared at both of them. Their eyes sparkled, was that mischief? Steve didn’t reply and he didn’t solve this mystery, so you huffed. „I meant what I said. You’re all crazy.“

With that, you went to bed. Since there wasn’t three of them, you opted for the one Tasha had tied you up to. If they needed to keep an eye on you so bad, you’d totally make use of that. There was no way you’d sleep on this sofa, not after having read on it for so long. You took off your shirt and your pants and checked out the wardrobe. Every single stack of clothes was folded very neatly and you pulled out a shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. The blanket had just become warm when there was a loud roar in the room, one that made you sit up straight. That had been your stomach, demanding food with the authority of a god. So you obeyed, how daren’t you, and strolled into the kitchen. The search for food was successful and after having had a few forkfuls of some pasta from the fridge, you returned to the bedroom. Steve had gone to bed already, the lights in the living room were turned off and his door closed, with a flick of light underneath the door. You opened yours and were met by a shirtless Buck, who stepped out of the bathroom. The combat suit hung on the empty hangers now and his hair was in a ponytail. You quickly turned your gaze towards the floor, your cheeks heating up. Does he always walk around half naked? Goodness. You walked past him, towards the bathroom, closing your eyes just so you couldn’t see his reaction to your cheeks. Of course, you ran straight into the door. It had shut on its own. Now, you were sitting on your bum. What do I do? Laugh or cry? Buck laughed behind you and that set you off. You quickly disappeared in the bathroom, locking it. Goodness. What was that? You were extra slow with washing your face and brushing your teeth, hoping, no, praying that Buck was already fast asleep. You tiptoed back to bed. Whatever you had done in your life, it must’ve been the worst crime of them all, because no, Buck was still up, and in fact, very much in a mood for chatting. „I don’t blame you, you know“, he grinned and you wanted to slap his face. „Losing your memory makes you forget… what a man looks like, I guess.“ „At least we can rule out „assassin“ from my list of possible professions now.“ „Why? They don’t run into doors?“ „They’re just a lot more graceful, I think.“ „Thanks.“ „What? Did you forget to take medication or something? You’re full of bullshit today.“ „Nah, darling“, he grinned at you shamelessly. „Your beautiful little head just can’t wrap around it all yet. Steve wasn’t kidding, I’m not either.“ „Care to explain?“
 „You're lying next to a one-hundred-year-old assassin, doll.“ „Whatever makes you feel good, Buck.“

Masterlist | Please let me know what you think about this chapter! Message me directly, use my Ask Box or comment/reblog!

Permanent Tags:

@buckyslion , @aubzylynn , @inappropriatepirate , @buckysmusculararm, @coffeeismylife28

Tag list for NitM:

@naenae87 , @xllxni , @aquabrie , @canumoveyourseatup-no , @borderline-person , @avengingnights , @secretlypleasantlover , @harleyhiddleston , @bailieinabottle , @chipilerendi , @bibitchalicia , @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes , @aoimidzu

[les-bi-katamari]

SESSION 12

We pick up right there in the middle of the road. The carriage-driver has taken off - Brianne tells Ghorza her demon book was in it.

Ghorza turns to the soldiers, unarmed, and says, “I hope you can believe that we are not your enemies.” We start talking about the undead in the forest - the soldiers were entirely unaware of them, saying it sounded impossible since ranger captains regularly patrol the forest. We started asking them more about Theris, and tell them the real story, and ask if any of the rangers have gone missing. They suddenly start to remember many, many, many people who have vanished, that they hadn’t been thinking of, how could they not have realized -

Ghorza suddenly remembers the thing Megs had saw, that had stolen their memories of it. When she brings it up, Megs doesn’t really know much, but says that it’s very “out of sight, out of mind.”

While Ghorza tries to comfort them, Apphia and Brianne go to investigate the Purifier’s sword. Apphia managed to pick it up, with no adverse affects aside from getting a faint sense of the violence inherent in it.

Brianne examines the sword more. The Abyssal text is similar to what we’ve seen before; only the gold in the runes is different. Gold is, of course, a metal associated with purity - and Lyrae’s scales and leaves were also gold. It seems to be significantly associated with more powerful monsters. This transformation was also instantaneous, with no prolonged ritual necessary, and produced a much stronger creature. The ritual may have been prepared ahead of time?

Reminder note: one of Galaias’s epithets is ‘the golden-scaled’

Most of the people the soldiers have been talking about are outriders, rangers. Apphia recognizes a couple from her friendship with one of her dad’s guards? Brianne retrieves the fake warrant from the ground; Ghorza talks soldier talk with the remaining elves and invites them back to Vassarein, where their patron might help protect them.

Apphia asks Ghorza to carry the body of the fallen soldier over to her. Since the fire, everything smells like blood and fire and Ghorza… likes it. When she approaches the corpse, broken and bloody, torn by the Knight’s jaws… GOD it smells good. She’s hungry again. She carefully avoids drooling, sets the body down, and backs the hell off. Apphia lets the soldiers say their goodbyes and give last rites before the pyre.

We start discussing plans for getting to Vassarein. The soldiers have two horses; Cadence is a third. That accounts for six riders: we have the three elves, Ghorza, Apphia, Brianne, Megs, and Nemeth. Nemeth (and then Megs) offer to stay and wait for the next carriage.

“Megs says, ‘We’re basically best friends now!’ Nemeth stares at you like she’s on the Office.”

We also decide to leave the sword with Nemeth, since it doesn’t seem magicky any more. She’ll bring it and we’ll have it melted down.

[I, OOC, insist that Ghorza should ride with one of the elves, since that will leave Apphia and Brianne together on Cadence. Plus she’s like bonded with the soldiers and stuff.]

There’s a LONG discussion between Gwen and Megan about which of Brianne and Apphia should be in front, whether animal handling proficiency would be necessary to ‘steer’ Cadence (Lin: “CADENCE IS NOT ACTUALLY A HORSE!”), and land vehicle proficiency (Lin: “yes, she would count as a land vehicle”) before we finally set out.

We get back to Vassarein and track down the carriage pretty easily - it’s more Fantasy Amtrak, it’s a public service, core infrastructure of the Marches thing - and tip him very heavily as we retrieve our stuff. I give the elves some money for a meal, send ‘em to the Orcish Forge and tell them to tell her moms that Ghorza sent them. It’ll be an hour until the next carriage arrives.

While waiting for the tieflings, we read up on demons:

“Bloody-Handed Galaias was once summoned at the behest of a sadistic elven warlord who desired the subjugation of another elven city that had resisted his assaults up until then. Having long nursed his hatred and arcane power from the depths of the Abyss, she answered his call and led an army of elves and demons to reduce his enemies to ruin. Then the Purifying Light tortured the elf to death, trapped his soul, and forced him to watch her devour his family before devouring him as well. Drunk on the blood and terror of her summoner’s former subjects, she was later banished by an alliance of powerful heroes, and the tyrant’s nascent empire collapsed in her wake.”

…Ghorza’s resolve to not give in to Galaias is strengthened because WHAT THE FUCK.

We wonder if this might be the history of Isvanir and Tarjanir, the ruined elven city where the Oneiric Lens was found? It is NOT, according to Apphia; this is something else. That said, it IS kinda similar. “Two is a coincidence, more is a pattern.” Galaias ‘the Feybane’ seems to be targeting elves again, and places linked to the Fey like Azure Glade.

The fall of Tarjanir: it was besieged by the dwarves, and the desperate elves did… something. The dwarves vanished from their mountain halls shortly after - at least, they haven’t been heard from since, and they are presumed dead. The site of Tarjanir is abandoned now, said to be haunted by the ghosts of elves and dwarves, and people Do Not Go There. Tons of refugees from Tarjanir settled in Vassarein, living mostly in slums.

[Various ooc quotes: “Yeah, I’ve plotted Apphia’s family all the way back to the dragon and the dragon-fucker.” “Dragons are too powerful for gender” “True vers / Neutral bangin” “With Ceremony, I could only marry humanoids within 10 feet of me, so we’d be limited to a 25-person marriage.” “Unless… we create new geometries in defiance of the DnD rules…” “Okay so how many wives could we stack into a 10-foot cube?” “Well, a dome is a more stable structure.” “Okay, so for the stability of the WifeDome…” “You know, in the Astral Plane there’s no gravity, so we could make it a complete sphere, maximize the number of wives in the spell’s volume.”]

OKAY BACK TO THE BOOK “Galaias was a giant in life - a Fomorian. She is a patron to them, but is a minor power, despite her immense strength, because the Fomorians were cursed by the Archfey to lose their beauty, their magic, and their minds. There are few Fomorians remaining who have the mental capacity remaining to understand Galaias, let alone worship her. Thus she reaches out to the lesser races.”

The next carriage arrives after an hour with the Tieflings - Megs is riding on top, sprawled and clinging to a luggage rack. We hear laughter from inside - a older gentlewoman in fine clothes, middle merchant class, is blushing and saying “Oh, you’re TERRIBLE!” Nemeth says, “Oh, you have no idea yet how terrible I can be. I’ll see you again.” She flirts a lot more as the woman leaves. Ghorza gives Nemeth a high-five.

It becomes apparent that no one else remembered that The Orcish Forge is a bakery, so we just stash the sword there for now, and do not melt it down in the bread ovens.

Megs suggests that she could probably sneak in, like, you know, she could. Apphia says her plan is to Alter Self into a specific maid, get to Ivandra, and get her to bring Silenne with her. Megs says “okay, well, I was just saying I could. I don’t have to or anything. I’ll just go try to swipe some food-” “Did you literally just tell me you’re planning to go steal from my parents.” “NO, I’m not going to steal from them! Just like see if they would give-” “You said swipe!” “I just meant, like, they might give me some, cause we’re friends now!” It was beautiful. Lin plays Megs REALLY well.

We head off - the rest of us are going to go into the castle too, but try to hide in the conservatory to ambush not-Silenne. Apphia will get a head start.

[She heads up first - the servants’ entrance is unlocked. She enters, holding a cloth bundle that is actually her cloak. She heads up to Ivandra’s room - it appears to be just the two of them. Ivandra looks exhausted, her chambers disorganized. Apphia’s plan goes off without a hitch and she heads on down to meet us.]

The rest of us just kinda headed on up to the servant’s entrance and didn’t know what to do. We don’t know the way to the conservatory. We decide to just walk in and act like we’re supposed to be there. Ghorza absolutely talks chummily to the chefs and offers to help them out, and there’s no problem. I chat with them a bit. Apphia comes to fetch us and we go to hide in the Solarium, waiting for Ivandra to bring not-Silenne. It’s empty and beautiful. We all take up positions.

Megs tries to hide behind a flower arrangement and Ghorza herds her back to the wall. M: “I totally had it under control, and it was fine, and you just had to cramp my style-” G:“Yeah, I hate fun.” M: “You kinda do?” G: “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” A: “Please keep quiet!”

As not-Silenne walks in and the doors shut, Apphia immediately charms her. We start investigating and discover Silenne is alive, locked in a cupboard in her room. We convince her Ivandra is on the cult’s side now to keep her talking, making allusions to killing off Aren.

Spy: “Well, he is busy - facing the Hordes of Ardazhan alone - if I was facing them down alone I’d be worried”

Uhhhh. We press for more, what the fuck?

Spy: “Whole lot of nasty characters went dormant after a failed conquest of this region. And now… they’re waking up. Dwarves, from the north. They’ve fallen to demons. You know. Aron’s gone up with soldiers to try and stem the tide. He’s hoping Isvanir will send help, but I think we both know it won’t be coming! Soon Cyric will have what he wants.”

G: “…and what does our God want, again?”

Spy: “Heh, you should ask this one [Ivandra]. It wasn’t too long ago you were playing for the other team.”

I: “No more! No more talk! We need to stop her, now!”

And it’s a fight, as a teal-green light builds up in Ivandra’s hands and she hurls a spell at the spy. “Silenne” flickers, and the illusion drops, revealing a gaunt woman with messy brown hair and a twisted scar across her cheek and jaw, dressed in studded leather armor. We drop her EXTREMELY fast, nonlethally. Ivandra says, “What are you doing?! Finish her!” but we talk her down. Ivandra rushes off to find the real Silenne, and we loot and tie up the spy.

She had some standard armor and shortsword, as well as thieves’ tools and a poisoner’s kit. We decide to keep the tools as a spare (Ghorza will carry them). Then there’s this exchange.

Ghorza: “Is Megs gonna take the poisoner’s kit?” Megs: “Uh, NO? Why would you think I would want that?” G: “Um, sorry, I just - you pick locks and stuff-” M: “That doesn’t mean I KILL PEOPLE! … I mean, I do, but like, it’s not one of my favorite pastimes or anything! I don’t go looking for new fancy ways of killing people! Arrow does just fine.” G: “Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” M: “Tell you what. Bake me something good, and we’ll call it even.” G: “Deal”. Megs raises her hand. Imp: “Ok, Ghorza goes in for a- wait was Megs going for a fist bump or a handshake? (Handshake.) Okay, Ghorza goes in for a fist bump, but then switches to-” “Megs also switches.” They sorta give up. (beat) Brianne: “So if noone else wants it, I’ll take the poisoner’s kit!”

We tie up the unconscious spy and mull over the new revelations.

End session.

[coffeebased]

I’ve been logging my reading for the past five years. I started in 2013, keeping track using a notepad file and Shelfari, but I moved over to Goodreads in 2015/6 when Shelfari shut down. Instead of a notepad file, I keep my reading list in Excel, which lets me make interesting data comparisons of my reading patterns and habits.

I’ve also been making Year-End Reading posts since then: 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016, but they  become less interesting and comprehensive as you go backwards.

I was excited enough about this year’s reading post that I made a zine about it and sold it at BLTX 7: Mazinehawa, last December 15. It was obviously incomplete, with my data ending on December 11, but it was really fun to make! It was actually more interesting because it was incomplete, in terms of data, as outliers were established, but now that the data is complete, I’ve found that everything’s within normal parameters, so it’s less exciting and less complicated. I also removed the error bars and line equations for ease of reading.

In 2017, I read 172 books, with an average of 14 books per month.

List of Books Read in 2017:

  My Top 10 Reads of 2017, in no particular order

The Goddamned, Volume 1: Before the Flood by Jason Aaron and R. M. Guéra

“And the earth was filled with violence.” (Genesis 6:11). It’s 1,655 years after Eden, and life on earth has already gone to hell. The world of man is a place of wanton cruelty and wickedness. Prehistoric monsters and stone-age marauders roam the land. Murder and destruction are the rule of the day. This is life before the Flood. The story of man on the verge of his first apocalypse. Welcome to the world of the Goddamned. “

City of Miracles (The Divine Cities, #3) by Robert Jackson Bennett

“Revenge. It’s something Sigrud je Harkvaldsson is very, very good at. Maybe the only thing.

So when he learns that his oldest friend and ally, former Prime Minister Shara Komayd, has been assassinated, he knows exactly what to do — and that no mortal force can stop him from meting out the suffering Shara’s killers deserve.

Yet as Sigrud pursues his quarry with his customary terrifying efficiency, he begins to fear that this battle is an unwinnable one. Because discovering the truth behind Shara’s death will require him to take up arms in a secret, decades-long war, face down an angry young god, and unravel the last mysteries of Bulikov, the city of miracles itself. And — perhaps most daunting of all — finally face the truth about his own cursed existence.”

Thick as Thieves (The Queen’s Thief, #5) by Megan Whalen Turner

“Deep within the palace of the Mede emperor, in an alcove off the main room of his master’s apartments,. Kamet minds his master’s business and his own. Carefully keeping the accounts, and his own counsel, Kamet has accumulated a few possessions, a little money stored in the household’s cashbox, and a significant amount of personal power. As a slave, his fate is tied to his master’s. If Nahuseresh’s fortunes improve, so will Kamet’s, and Nahuseresh has been working diligently to promote his fortunes since the debacle in Attolia.

A soldier in the shadows offers escape, but Kamet won’t sacrifice his ambition for a meager and unreliable freedom; not until a whispered warning of poison and murder destroys all of his carefully laid plans. When Kamet flees for his life, he leaves behind everything—his past, his identity, his meticulously crafted defenses—and finds himself woefully unprepared for the journey that lies ahead.

Pursued across rivers, wastelands, salt plains, snowcapped mountains, and storm-tossed seas, Kamet is dead set on regaining control of his future and protecting himself at any cost. Friendships—new and long-forgotten—beckon, lethal enemies circle, secrets accumulate, and the fragile hopes of the little kingdoms of Attolia, Eddis, and Sounis hang in the balance.”

Boku no Hero Academia by Kohei Horikoshi

“Middle school student Izuku Midoriya wants to be a hero more than anything, but he hasn’t got an ounce of power in him. With no chance of ever getting into the prestigious U.A. High School for budding heroes, his life is looking more and more like a dead end. Then an encounter with All Might, the greatest hero of them all, gives him a chance to change his destiny…”

In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan

“The Borderlands aren’t like anywhere else. Don’t try to smuggle a phone or any other piece of technology over the wall that marks the Border—unless you enjoy a fireworks display in your backpack. (Ballpoint pens are okay.) There are elves, harpies, and—best of all as far as Elliot is concerned—mermaids.

Elliot? Who’s Elliot? Elliot is thirteen years old. He’s smart and just a tiny bit obnoxious. Sometimes more than a tiny bit. When his class goes on a field trip and he can see a wall that no one else can see, he is given the chance to go to school in the Borderlands.

It turns out that on the other side of the wall, classes involve a lot more weaponry and fitness training and fewer mermaids than he expected. On the other hand, there’s Serene-Heart-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle, an elven warrior who is more beautiful than anyone Elliot has ever seen, and then there’s her human friend Luke: sunny, blond, and annoyingly likeable. There are lots of interesting books. There’s even the chance Elliot might be able to change the world.”

The Stone Sky (The Broken Earth, #3) by N. K. Jemisin

“THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS… FOR THE LAST TIME.

The Moon will soon return. Whether this heralds the destruction of humankind or something worse will depend on two women.

Essun has inherited the power of Alabaster Tenring. With it, she hopes to find her daughter Nassun and forge a world in which every orogene child can grow up safe.

For Nassun, her mother’s mastery of the Obelisk Gate comes too late. She has seen the evil of the world, and accepted what her mother will not admit: that sometimes what is corrupt cannot be cleansed, only destroyed.

The remarkable conclusion to the post-apocalyptic and highly acclaimed trilogy that began with the multi-award-nominated The Fifth Season.”

La Belle Sauvage (The Book of Dust, #1) by Philip Pullman

“Eleven-year-old Malcolm Polstead and his dæmon, Asta, live with his parents at the Trout Inn near Oxford. Across the River Thames (which Malcolm navigates often using his beloved canoe, a boat by the name of La Belle Sauvage) is the Godstow Priory where the nuns live. Malcolm learns they have a guest with them, a baby by the name of Lyra Belacqua . . .”

Dead Balagtas: Sayaw ng Mga Dagat at Lupa by Emiliana Kampilan

“Ang Dead Balagtas ang unang komiks tungkol sa mahaba at makulay na kasaysayan ng Pilipinas. na gumagamit ng alternatibo at malikhaing pamamaraan upang ilahad ang kasaysayan ng bansa.

Sa unang tomong ito, isasalaysay ng isang maalam na babaylan ang pagsilang ng santinakpan mula sa mainit na pagmamahalan ni Tungkung Langit at Laon Sina. At saksihan ang pagbangon ng mga kontinente, ang bangaan ng mga karagatan, ang pag-iibigan ng dagat at lupa; mga puwersang bumuo at patuloy na humuhulma sa ating tahanan at bayan: ang Pilipinas.”

Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng

“Lydia is dead. But they don’t know this yet.

So begins this exquisite novel about a Chinese American family living in 1970s small-town Ohio. Lydia is the favorite child of Marilyn and James Lee, and her parents are determined that she will fulfill the dreams they were unable to pursue. But when Lydia’s body is found in the local lake, the delicate balancing act that has been keeping the Lee family together is destroyed, tumbling them into chaos.

A profoundly moving story of family, secrets, and longing, Everything I Never Told You is both a gripping page-turner and a sensitive family portrait, uncovering the ways in which mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, and husbands and wives struggle, all their lives, to understand one another.”

Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive, #3) by Brandon Sanderson

“In Oathbringer, the third volume of the New York Timesbestselling Stormlight Archive, humanity faces a new Desolation with the return of the Voidbringers, a foe with numbers as great as their thirst for vengeance.

Dalinar Kholin’s Alethi armies won a fleeting victory at a terrible cost: The enemy Parshendi summoned the violent Everstorm, which now sweeps the world with destruction, and in its passing awakens the once peaceful and subservient parshmen to the horror of their millennia-long enslavement by humans. While on a desperate flight to warn his family of the threat, Kaladin Stormblessed must come to grips with the fact that the newly kindled anger of the parshmen may be wholly justified.

Nestled in the mountains high above the storms, in the tower city of Urithiru, Shallan Davar investigates the wonders of the ancient stronghold of the Knights Radiant and unearths dark secrets lurking in its depths. And Dalinar realizes that his holy mission to unite his homeland of Alethkar was too narrow in scope. Unless all the nations of Roshar can put aside Dalinar’s blood-soaked past and stand together–and unless Dalinar himself can confront that past–even the restoration of the Knights Radiant will not prevent the end of civilization.”

  I read the most in June, with 61 books, followed by January and December with a round 30 books each. I did pretty poorly the other months, the lowest number of books read was September, with a big zero, but that was all right because I got to focus on my academics. The reading peaks were during term breaks or the beginning of term, and everything else was in-between.

The number of books read is directly proportional to one’s reading rate, of course, and the highest reading rate I had was 2.03 books per day, bpd, in June, and the lowest was 0 books per day in September. The over-all reading rate for 2017 was 0.47 books per day, which isn’t really all that bad considering how many other things I was doing and reading.

The number of books read in January, June, and December were higher than those read in the other months of 2017. This is likely due to the number of graphic novels read in these months, with a focus on different Western graphic novels in January, three Japanese manga series in June, and mixed Western comics and Japanese manga in December. Graphic novels are easier to read for me, and the serialised nature of comics makes it easy to rack up a lot of volumes in a single sitting because you just keep reaching for the next one!

In the next figure, you can see how much of each month’s reading was comprised of graphic novels. The blue area shows the proportion comprised by graphic novels, and the orange shows non-graphic novels. Graphic novels took up more than or equal to 50% in 7 out of the 12 months.

When I started recording my reading data in 2013, I examined the loose reading data from 2012 and determined that my reading habits could be divided into five main categories: New Releases, Fiction, Graphic novels, Standalone books, and Speculative Fiction. If I were to describe my reading type by category majorities, my reading type would be Fiction (94.8%), Part of a Series (81.4%), Graphic Novel (69.2%), Speculative Fiction (58.7%), and not a New Release (72.4%).

Of the 119 graphic novels I read in 2017, 52% were Japanese manga. The Western GNs I read tended to be single volumes since I am up-to-date with most of the series, except for John Allison’s Giant Days and Bad Machinery books, both of which I came to late. I played catch-up with the manga series I read this year, Haikyū, Mob Psycho 100, Houseki no Kuni, and Boku no Hero Academia, all of which had many volumes published already, so of course those really stacked up.

Speaking of series, I began 28 new series this year and finished 8. 74% of the books I read in 2017 were part of continuing series. I blame the manga for making books from series comprise 81.4% of my total books read in 2017, but again, SO WORTH IT.

Speculative fiction took up 58.7% of the books I read in 2017. Majority of these were Fantasy, 66%, and 34% for Science Fiction. There was so much good sci-fi and fantasy released this year that I didn’t get to read and I can only hope to catch up… eventually. Likely never. Masakit po.

I was able to read 816 books in the past five years, with an average of 163.2 books. I thought that 2017 wouldn’t have as many books as the other years, but it actually has the second highest number of books read, after 2015’s all-time high of 252 books. I thought that 2015’s high reading value would mean that it’s an outlier, but 2017’s reading value was high enough to make it within normal parameters.

Average reading rate from 2013 to 2017 was 0.135 books per day. The highest reading rate, 0.69 bpd, corresponds with the year with the highest number of books read in 2015, and the lowest, 0.31 bpd in 2016. Both values weren’t outliers and were within normal reading parameters for those five years.

The following table shows the reading data in percent, from 2013 to 2017. These five categories were, as discussed earlier, based on loose reading data from 2012.

I was going to show different line graphs showing the progression of these categories across the years, but I found it too clunky for a blog post. In terms of New Releases, the year with the highest proportion of those read was in 2014, and no outliers existed across the five years. For Fiction, the percentage of books read hasn’t dipped below 83.9%, the lowest value recorded, in 2016. The Graphic Novel category shows the biggest change, from 8.97% in 2013 to 69.2% in 2017. Series has trended to increase across the years, with an all-time high of 81.4% this year, which is likely tied to the increase of Graphic Novels. 2017 shows the lowest level of Speculative Fiction yet, at 58.7%.

The trend lines below show that New Release reading has been decreasing across the years, Fiction has remained stable, Graphic Novels and Series have been steadily increasing, and Speculative Fiction has shown a gentle decrease.

  Despite the changes within individual categories, the general trends of the categories of my reading remain mostly consistent across the years, as can be seen below.

    2018 Objectives

  Based on the data above, I’ve seen that my reading hasn’t been as well-rounded as I would like it to be. There’s a lot to be said for just reading whatever I want to read and damn it all to hell, but I have definitely missed reading classics and literary novels. If I want to be a more well-rounded reader in 2018, I should focus more on non-graphic novels, as well as non-fiction books. I don’t want to miss out on the rest of the world because of how easy it is to submerge myself in comics, and I’ve already proved that it’s really easy to catch up to them when I want to.

My 2017 Reading Resolutions were:

1. Continue to read more standalone books and non-fiction.

Not accomplished. I read 20% more books from series and 10% more fiction in 2017!

2. Read more literary novels!

Accomplished, but not entirely. I did read less speculative fiction, but I feel I can do better in 2018.

3. Book blog at least once a month.

OH MY GOD. I did so well until March, and then I just threw myself into my academics. I don’t think that I’ll be able to book blog much in 2018 either; my first quarter is going to be really intense because of academic concerns AND I’m joining an adult musical theater program for a month. I’m going to try to write more, but not for blogging purposes.

4. Use my bullet journal to keep track of my reading. 🙂

I read too much to use my bullet journal to keep track of it. I think that my current Goodreads + MS Excel tracking is perfect for my purposes.

WELP, I wasn’t successful. I think it would have been easier to succeed if I had more time to actually be mindful about my reading but this year was about my academics, so I read what I wanted, when I could. Since I’m still doing my PhD this year, and until 2019 at the very least, I don’t think I’ll be able to have very structured reading resolutions for 2018.

  My Reading Resolutions for 2018:

Read less graphic novels

Read more non-fiction

Continue logging my reading on Excel and Goodreads

Keep using the Serial Reader app (Currently Reading Plato’s Republic) so I can read Classics

  I’m feeling weirdly optimistic about 2018. I know that years are mostly an arbitrary way of keeping track of time, but I do think that we need that yearly reset so we can take stock of who we’ve become, what we’ve done, and what we want to do. I know that I definitely needed the refreshing feeling of starting a new year and I’m going to hold onto it for as long as possible.

[2017 Reading Round-up]: I’ve been logging my reading for the past five years. I’ve been logging my reading for the past five years. I started in 2013, keeping track using a notepad file and Shelfari, but I moved over to Goodreads in 2015/6 when Shelfari shut down.