#because he feels like nothing too. overshadowed and (in his eyes) nearly assassinated by his own uncle.

[greaterpaladin]

thinks about star wars for 5 seconds, thinks about the 'you have no place in history. you come from nothing. you're nothing. but not to me.' and then i PUKE UP MY INTESTINES

[shirophantomvox]

“Longing for Attention” Illumi x Reader

Hello anon! Thank you for this awesome request! This story consists of a little angst and fluff towards the end. I can truly say that this story is the closest to Illumi’s canon characteristics. If you all did not know, I am celebrating my 100 follower goal! If you’d like to participate in this event, click this link. Please note that requests for this event will close on July 15th at 12 AM EST. The post will have all of the rules and prompts!

👁 👁 👁 👁

“I swear I’ll haunt you in your sleep, Zoldyck! ‘Ya hear me, boy?!”

A body thudded as this man’s speech was cut short. A tired Illumi Zoldyck came calmly walking towards his target with the straightest face ever. Even at the sight of blood, darker than any he had seen, his lips remained neutral and his eyes remained half-lidded as they were. The sound of the mini heel on his green loafers echoed as he continued to approach the deceased man before him. The ballroom was completely empty, leaving Illumi all by himself for who knows why and what else could happen.

Being a bounty hunter was challenging in itself but being a bounty hunter and dating an assassin is a totally different story. Criminals began to spread the word of your alliance with the Zoldycks and formed many gangs to retaliate against you both. Both of you have been shot at, stabbed a few times, and even been robbed! After being robbed at gunpoint and dealing with trauma, it nearly made you quit your job because of the stress and life endangering events faced almost everyday but for Illumi, it didn’t phase him at all. Not in the slightest. After being robbed of his engagement ring, he simply went to another jewelry store and bought another. He did not cry, quiver, or shutter.

After Illumi phoned his father and gave him a brief overview of his success, he proceeded to the exit. The light flickered, giving the impression that an eerie figure stood at the end of the hallway. Electricity hummed the closer someone approached it, sounding like a fly trying to find its way back outside. An atmosphere like this one did not bother Illumi in the slightest but he did not like being there no longer tha needed.

“Y/n! Y/n! I know you can hear me!”

“Now is not the time to play around. We need to vacate the premises immediately,” He thought to himself. He began to bang on doors, opened them up, and yelled your name to the heavens trying to find you.

“Oh! I know,” he said out loud, snapping his fingers.

He opened a tracking app on his iPhone that displayed all of his contacts that had recently shared their location with him. Once he began the search, it revealed that you were 400 kilometers away. Tracking your phone was something he did every time he could not find you. At times it was adorable and sometimes it was weird and intrusive. Illumi’s intrusive behavior stems from his mother, Kikyo and no matter how you put it, it is very unhealthy. Caring can easily turn into an obsession that can make you do unsound things.

“Illumi! I am in the bathroom. Can you give me a second,” you ask, slightly irritated, washing your hands quickly. You did not want to keep him waiting any longer. It was always a mystery if it was his anger or anxiety that prompted him to bust the door down just to make sure you were safe. Poor Illumi Zoldyck. His expression of love and how he cared for others was rather odd and unusual. It is safe to say that you were the best thing that has happened to him.

As you open the door, he stands with his long arms crossed in a huff, his long legs creating an upside down “V” shape gazing at you a slightly angry about your disappearance halfway through the mission.

“Where were you,” he asked, moving closer to you. “While I had to complete both of our jobs, you have been playing around in the bathroom.”

“Illumi, you’re—“

“Shhh—“ He placed his index finger over your mouth, bending down at eye level, and smiled devilishly. “—I’ll still pay you but you owe me a favor.”

“—But I wasn’t playing in the bathroom!”

As you were pleading your case, Illumi nonchalantly typed away on his phone. He quickly showed you his screen that listed your every step within the last few hours. It displayed where you were, the longitude and latitude, who you spoke with, and if you took any pictures. You had no idea that a smartphone could disclose so much personal information and since you have shared your location with him, he has access to it all.

“—Care to tell the truth?” Illumi raised his left eyebrow, using his somewhat intimidating tactic used when he was a child.

“Fine. Ugh! Why do you have to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“You’re…too overprotective. Give me some space sometime! Hell, you might be pleased to know where I was.”

“Pleased?! I nearly had a heart attack when I realized you were not by my side! Are you satisfied that my heart weakens everyday?”

“You’re so dramatic. You might want to take up acting, you know.”

“Ha, ha, so funny,” he said flatly.

As you roll your eyes in irritation, Illumi closes the leftover space between you two. Still bent over at eye level, he places his large hand on your cheek, blinks twice, while his straight face remains. His cold hearted personality seemed to always overshadow his body but all of his warmth seemed to be omitting from his palm.

“I care about you deeply. I cannot have you running away doing God knows what while we are on a dangerous mission like this one.”

“Illumi, I—“ He places his index finger over your mouth again, shushing you as he continues to, as they say, pour his heart out for once.

“I understand that you are a bounty hunter, but if I’m being honest it is a much different line of work than being an assassin. It is my job to care for you while I complete some of the harshest tasks on Earth.”

“I’m not a child, Illumi. Do you want to know what I was doing? Those longitude and latitude readings are very wrong, by the way.”

“Huh? Ok…where were you then?”

Still, your face was placed in his palm, his large eyes staring in yours somehow made you feel lost. Your delayed answer made his palm involuntarily tighten.

“I bought you this pocket sized white teddy bear…?” This statement was propositioned as a question rather than a statement because you were afraid of how he’d react. He was already startled and giving him a plushie would only make it worse. Instead of reacting calmly he would assume that giving him a plushie would imply that he was weak.

“…Valentine’s Day is a few days and I know you’ll be in Las Vegas handling business so I decided to buy you something that will remind you of me while you’re away.”

The small plushie was a white teddy bear holding a heart. It’s eyes were as big as Illumi’s. Before you could hold it up to him, he grabbed it rather gently, stood up straight, and held it in front of his eyes for examination. He turned it around a few times as if it was on a rotator. He placed his index finger inside of the keychain loop and finally smiled. He placed this small object against his heart just before he bent down to meet your eyes once again.

“I always think of you. Come to think of it, that must be why my shots have been off.”

His face scrunches in a humorous way. As usual, his smile fades away and returns to his neutral look. Illumi’s silence signaled that his mind was running a million miles a minute. So many questions and feelings begged to be released but something was preventing him from doing so. You could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to suffocate you with a bear hug but he wouldn’t do it. He has been trained to think that assassins do not need friends, cannot express their feelings, and can only do what is needed to get the job done. It’s ironic; the Zoldyck children are not allowed to have friends but they are allowed to have lovers only so they can reproduce and keep their legacy alive. Love has no part in their marriages; they are only contracts, literally. As in love as Kikyo and Silva were (and still are), it would seem like they’d emphasize the importance of love to their children. As a result, they all have adopted an odd way of showing affection for others.

In this instant, Illumi’s face appeared to be more endearing than before. His face had darkened significantly, his cheeks were fatter like they were stuffed slightly, and his eyes twinkled. You smiled as you have truly found the key to his heart. All this young man wanted and truly desired was to be loved not for his abilities or job, but for him and only him. Your warm hands, now on his cheeks, felt overwhelmed with warmth. Just the sight of him at that moment was breathtaking. The flickering power, the unrest souls in the next room of his targets, and the eerie atmosphere seem to fade while you gazed into his eyes. Pressing his cheeks together, puckering his lips was indeed both an amusing and cute sight to behold.

“You are so adorable, Illumi. Did you know that? This “bad boy” behavior and clutching a teddy bear is too much to take in. I might just send a photo to your mother. She’ll screech and tell the entire world.”

“You wouldn’t dare do that ,” he said, words muffled; lips still puckered. He seemed to flush more and more every time you’d remind him of how vulnerable he is right now.

“Try me!”

“Mother would just embarrass me, you know that!”

“I know. Then I’d be able to see the sweet, soft assassin that I see now. All warm and cuddly. I’m sure you just want to sit in the back seat of your Dodge and just fall fast asleep, am I right?”

“I plead the 5th,” he said flatly.

“I was right! Ha, ha!”

“Would you pipe down already?”

Illumi’s right hand was placed directly behind his torso carelessly pressed against his lower back. He appeared to be in pain but made no mistake. If asked about it, he’d lie just to debunk any statements about him being weak.

“What is in your hand? Let me see it.” Your demanding tone turned into one that a mother has, specifically Kikyo.

“It’s nothing,” he said, slightly wincing in pain.

“Let me see it now, Illumi or I swear I’ll—-“

“Fine! Fine! Just don’t make a big deal about it, alright?”

A promise is a promise; that is what you said to Illumi as you agreed to not over react once you saw his hand. A healed bruise nearly scarred the entire base part of his hand. A light red dotted cut looked as if someone took a exacto knife and grazed it. You gazed back into his eyes. He looked hurt; longing for attention for a cut that had already healed. As childish as it may seem, just the slightest bit of attention is something he craved, even if something like this had been healed a long time ago. Him wincing was something he conjured up to grasp your attention. He raised his hand in front of your mouth, leaving it bent for you to grab.

“Do you want me to kiss it and make it feel better?”

“Please,” he replies, smiling slightly again.

The touch of your soft, moist lips made his smile grow larger, his cheeks flushing yet again. A few overlapped lipstick stains remained on his hand, something he might get tattooed so everyone knew who he belonged to.

“Why can’t you be this way every time we finish missions? We could have sooo much fun.”

“If I have too much fun, I’d abandon my remaining missions and father would not like that at all. He might even put out a contract on me.”

You sigh somberly. Illumi had his moments of anger, roughness, and kept his distance but moments like this, where he wasn’t afraid to allow his softer side resurface made you feel content as if you completed a mission of your own. Gazing into his eyes one more time, they sparkled greatly.

“At least I can enjoy this while it lasts.”

[stormobsessed]

Avatar: The Last Bondsmith

So, I had made THIS POST about a Zuko Windrunner and his Spren Iroh, and there were a lot of comments about other radiant orders for the other characters, and a strong argument for Zuko not actually being a windrunner because his arc was less about protecting people and more about facing hard truths. That may be Lightweaver, but Lightweaver is personal truths, and Zuko doesn’t have a lot of personal lies, but is entrenched in the lies of his nation. I feel like fixing that is very Truthwatcher. 

Then… this happened, I hope you enjoy. 

The Fire Nation was full of Lightweavers. It was a court of secrets, of hidden faces, of lies. Men and women and children claimed loyalty when they felt fear, claimed morality as they killed innocent, stayed silent when they wanted to speak, and were practiced at confessing to only their spen rather than risking the words aloud. As time wore and generations changed, it came to pass that nearly every radiant in the Nation was accompanied by a cryptid, one corrupted Sja-anat and blessed by Odium to accept voidlight. The Fire Lord claimed that was good, for the Lightweavers were clearly the strongest order of radiants, with powers and abilities that overshadowed all others. He proclaimed across their country that it was this that showed that they alone deserved to rule. 

The Cryptids loved this lie. 

Was it a lie though? After all, they killed Honor and every one of his windrunners when Odium sent a comet leaking voidlight through the sky. 

Odium loved the passion and anger of the Fire nation as they utilized it and stormlight to begin razing the rest of the world to the ground, the cryptids cared not for honorable or right, only true. Sometimes the truth was cruel and ugly. 

Firelord Ozai was not shamed by truths other men dared not speak. He fully confessed to himself that he was cruel, a monster, that his campaign was about personal growth rather than the love of his nation. He held those truths so clearly, that his power was great. Great enough that when he touched his son’s face in a duel and felt dry, flaking skin, he said ‘you are fire’ and it did not disobey. 

Not even when the child screamed. 

The son was failing, only sworn to the first ideal, if any. Ozai had never seen his son’s spren, in fact if any had it would have been his traitorous, Stoneward mother with her weak oaths of being there for others. She’d broken her oaths though. She was not here for her children. In assassinating Azulon and fleeing she’d saved her son, but killed her spen. 

The boy was weak. He was too hot headed, too honest. He wore his heart on his sleeve and said every word that he thought. Sometimes Ozai doubted that he had Truth to speak at all. He was completely unlike his sister, a prodigy who could weave illusion nearly as soon as she could walk. She soulcast before the age of five. She was the most skilled Lightweaver to be born in decades. 

She had to be. She couldn’t reveal that she could not say the last truth, could not make herself try to accept it, even if the ghostly lightweaving vision of her mother that visited every night said it without fail. She couldn’t accept it. After all, if she was a monster without even the love of her mother, then surely no one could blame her for the atrocities she commited, it was simply in her nature. It was why she could smile at the duel, why she could laugh as her brother was sent on an impossible quest, why she could focus on how much closer that made her to the throne. 

Odium liked that, the passion of her people, the passion of her family, her passion. 

Zuko had passion as well, but it was not a kind that Oduim enjoyed. 

So Zuko was banished, for an impassioned speech to save men Odium considered no better than discarded toys. An impassioned plea for a useless passion. 

Zuko was almost relieved, for it gave him the opportunity to hide that his spren was not a cryptid at all. His mistspren, Iroh, spoke in a light accent that almost always had a proverb or a chuckle, and the few times Zuko risked looking into shadesmar, he found a rotund, smiling old man. Upon materializing in the material world, one of the first things he did was hear someone offer a cup of tea to a man who was distraught, and had latched onto that. Zuko could barely say a word without the kindly spren suggesting a tea break. 

Zuko feared the day that he would be material enough to actually carry the tea leaves to a cup. 

But Zuko… couldn’t say the ideals. He didn’t know what they would mean. Not at first. It wasn’t until he left a stonewards home in the Earth Kingdom, after days of hearing nothing but hate and fear towards his people, that he felt the words at his lips. 

“I will seek the truth, even when it is painful to me.” 

“Well done, Prince Zuko.” Iroh had said. “Now, how about some tea.” 

“We’re in the middle of the dessert.” 

“So?” 

“There’s no tea anywhere within a hundred miles of here!” 

“Well, all you need for tea is leaves, yes? I will find pre-tea.” 

“No, it’s not any leaves! You can’t just-” 

But Zuko almost feared that oath, for what did it mean for his mission that would restore him to his home? He was more powerful now, but would that be enough to capture the Bondsmith that he had been chasing for months? 

The bondsmiths were rare, after all, only three spren could form a bondsmith pack, and two had been damaged so dearly that they were as dead as a Spren of their nature could be for nearly a century. There was only one spren whose identity had been unknown, the spren created by the slain honor, the Avatar. 

A century past, when all manner of radiants were formed in all manner of locations, Windrunners found themselves drawn to one another, taking shelter in mountain top homes across the world where they could immediately be sent out to help others. For warriors, they were a peaceful people who desired not to fight, but to protect. Though honor spren bonded men and women of every people back then, nearly every member of the Air Nomads was a windrunner, as the men and women lived and taught their ideals. 

Aang was young when he bonded his spren, not the youngest but still young. The Windrunners wondered why they never saw the boy’s spren after he swore the first ideal, but reasoned that while honor spren were not often shy, each had their own distinct personalities and a timid spren could only help the foolhardy boy. They questioned why he did not use the gravitational lashing, though relaxed when he was able to use the surge of adhesionc Different people excelled at different elements of surge binding after all.

However, Aang was seeing a world that was starting to crack under the pre-war tensions. He saw merchants refusing trades with other nations, sneers and insults and hate. When his two closest friends, Bumi and Kuzon, both confessed that their parents forbade them from playing together, he couldn’t take it. He hated to see the balanced world tearing itself apart and uttered the words with a yell “I will unite instead of divide!” 

He was the youngest bondsmith to ever bond a spren, but the Avatar, a spren element of honor who upheld balance and unity, was sure of its choice oice. However, ironically the bond did nothing but divide him from others his age. It drove a chasm between him and his playmates, as they recognized his unique and great power. When the elders spoke, and threatened to separate the boy of unity from the only family he’d ever known he’d panicked and fled, ending up in a storm and utilizing his powers to create a protective shell around himself and his pet, his ever-renewing stormlight keeping him alive as his body froze. 

As a hundred years passed the world changed. Spren were killed, oaths were broken, and radiants were captured and tortured, until in some places, such as the Southern Water Tribe, no radiants bonded at all. None except for one girl, Katara, the daughter of a chief who saw a decimated people barely able to survive and vowed not to forget them. Who saw their pleas for help being ignored and promised to listen to those without a voice. The edgedancer glided through the stiffest snow like it was clear ice and scaled glaciers like the handholds formed at her whim. She healed the sick and wounded as her brother, Sokka, a non-radiant protected and bore the tribe’s last, hidden shardblade. 

Their father had entrusted the shardblade to him before disappearing to fight in the war, knowing that the benefit to having the blade would be outweighed by the enemies that would seek it, and the allies that were willing to become enemies to obtain it. The blade was large, a straight line of sheer unworldly black. If one were to peak into shadesmar, they would find a peakspren with skin of dark stone following the blade. If they looked closely, they might see the spren tilt its head when the boy lovingly talked to his weapon. 

In this changed world there is also a willshaper. A young girl in a gilded cage who longs to be free and wishes that others have that same option. A girl whose parents immediately, upon seeing cloudy eyes, traveled to the Nightwatcher in search of their boon and curse. Perhaps they hadn’t been clear enough, for they asked that their daughter could see the world, but her eyes did not grow clear. However, as the child began to walk upon stone itself, discarding fancy shoes and plush carpets, she found that with each step she could feel and hear the ground beneath her feet. The stone would tell her where she was, what was near, and what those around her were doing. She found a vision far beyond mere sight of the eyes, a vision constantly being renewed by light leeched from the stones themselves, just enough to keep this one power constant. This was the boon of the Nighwatcher. What was the curse? None can say. Perhaps it was that the girls parents would never truly understand the gift of the boon. Perhaps it was that the girl would never feel happy in the left they wished to foist upon her. Perhaps it was something else entirely. It didn’t matter, for when the Bondsmith, the Edgedancer, and the Shardbearer came, she could no more stay with her parents than she could break her oaths. She was taking the chance to be free. 

There were others in this world as well. There was a warrior in a green dress and war makeup, who had bonded no spren but enjoyed watching the windspren dance around her fans. The Honor spren were said to all have died in the genocide but… she couldn’t help but hope as she protected her people, then left to protect others that needed her. 

There was a princess with white hair, with startling insights into the truth of the spirit world and who would one day use her stormlight to use regrowth on a spirit, condemning herself to death on wounds she didn’t have light enough to heal. 

There was an elderly inventor, an elsecaller who had used transportation to bring himself and his crippled son to a safe place where he could work on creating fabrials to stop the war. Though, when he was discovered by the Fire Nation his work did nothing but perpetuate it. 

There was a teen of messy hair, whose spen formed dual blades. He was a skybreaker, bound to the ideal that the Fire Nation was evil, that their very presence in the world was a wrong that needed to be corrected. He lashed himself into trees and created a home for children, teaching them his ways and bonds. 

There was a girl of the Fire Nation, who was so often mistaken for her own many siblings that she was determined never to forget anyone else. She danced on the world, walking wires like it would be impossible that she should fall, gliding when others walked. 

Her friend, a willshaper who had been trapped by chains of propriety and expectation, who spoke to the ground to form weapons of peerless balance, who would appear without warning, and whose enemies often went down before knowing they were in danger. 

Zuko sought the Avatar’s Bondsmith, facing foe after foe as he travelled the world. He could find no edgedancer or truthwatcher who could heal the scar that marked him traitor, that marked him an honorless traitor. His surges were weak with the second oath, and Iroh could not form a blade until the next was spoken, leaving him with simple steel. 

In fact, it wasn’t until he had achieved his purpose, the Avatar-Bondsmith supposedly dead through the bold of ribbon that Azula had soulcast into lightening, that he was able to profess the next ideal. Name restored, sitting at the right hand of his father, he realized that there was no truth in the Fire Nation. He realized that everything he had learned his whole life were beautiful lies. He knew the truth now, and Iron sat at his shoulder with a weakening voice, imploring him not to break his oath. 

It was only then that he knew what words were pushing at his mouth, as he whispered to himself, broken, “I will see the truth declared, in spite of those who would try to hide it.” 

When he stood, Iroh was a set of Dual Doas in his hand, and he marched to confront his father on the day that Odium’s Voidlight would be eclipsed. 

[snakeboistan]

Just Out Of Reach

My exams are finally over so have some touch-starved!Nagisa 

Pairing: Nagisa x 3-E

AO3 LINK

Shiota Nagisa was a loner. He always had been for as long as he could remember.

When he was in elementary school, he was the weird kid - the strange girl-boy that hardly talked and no one could understand. His male classmates thought that he was too girly to take part in their games or join their conversations and whilst his female classmates didn’t mind his appearance that much, they knew better than to associate with him lest they too fall victim to the taunts and sneers that followed him everywhere, or the relentless bullying that inconvenienced him every breaktime. However, he didn’t mind - friends were a luxury he couldn’t afford anyway (his mother didn’t approve of him spending time out of the apartment, away from her). He would have his own fun by sitting himself down in his school’s library and bury his head in a book, getting lost in worlds that weren’t mean, or cold, or judgemental. Or he’d sit on a bench in the school playground, homemade lunch in hand, and observe his peers hug and high five and laugh together, whilst ignoring the strange pang of something that would curl in his stomach, wanting more than ever for something he could never have.

 Even during his first year of Junior High, when he met the red haired genius of a delinquent called Karma, he didn’t let himself indulge in what normal friends would do. Sure, he felt comfortable around the first friend he’d ever had (though the unnatural comfort was often overshadowed by the awe and admiration that he was allowed in the company of someone as brilliant as Akabane Karma) but Karma had his own walls, his own issues and lack of trust, so there was always that unspoken distance between them, that slight tenseness that lingered between every (very) rare arm that was slung over his shoulder. Though they walked side by side, it was never hand in hand. Though they spent every free minute together there were never any fist bumps or high fives or hugs (Nagisa wondered if Karma even knew what hugs were). Karma kept to himself and so did he - they both had boundaries that the other respected.

 Until, Karma left. And he was alone again. 

 And as much as he said that he didn’t mind it - as much as he told himself that he was used to it ever since he woke up that one day and his father was nowhere to be found, the shouts and screams of his parents having their nth argument ringing in his ears even though his house was pitch quiet for once - it hurt. So when he was sent to E-Class with his head hung low and the voices of his former classes whispering their disgust trailing after him, he looked at the grenade in his hand and knew that he had nothing left to lose.

  (So why did Koro-Sensei save him? And why did it feel so good? )

  (And why did that mucus-like membrane shrouding him make his chest heat up with a feeling he’s never felt before?)

  It was during their lunch break when it happened.

 Nagisa was sitting by cross-legged at the base of a tree, reading an article about an upcoming superhero flick, whilst a group of his classmates were throwing, hitting and bouncing a ball in a game that Yada had called ‘don’t let the ball touch the ground’ but Kimura dubbed ‘the floor is lava for the ball and not us’ (he’ll let the jury decide which title was better) when he heard some rustling above him followed by groans.

 “Okajima,” Maehara whined, “you hit it too high.”

 “I’m sorry okay,” Okajima said, “I didn’t mean to get it stuck in some branch.”

 “Don’t worry,” Yada smiled at him, “I’m sure that we can get it down if we stand on each others shoulders or something.”

 “I don’t know,” Kataoka frowned. She looked up, making sure to cover her eyes from the sun, at the cursed branch, “it’s pretty high up. It’s safer for us to go and get a ladder.”

 “No need,” Nagisa said. Unbeknownst to them, the moment Nagisa had gotten whiff of what had happened, he jumped up and, as silent as a serpent, leaped nimbly from branch to branch until he reached the one with the ball. He carefully plucked it from where it was nestled in a groove before making his way back down again, all just before Kataoka spoke. He threw it into her hands.

 “What the- how the hell did you even do that?” Maehara’s jaw was dropped, frantically looking between the ball and the branch it was (he swore) a second ago.

 “How did no one even see him?” Okajima whispered.

 “Thank you, Nagisa,” Kurahashi beamed with the intensity of a thousand suns and threw her arms around him in one of her famous bear hugs, laughing in that usual bubbly way she always does. Nagisa freezes mid-flinch, almost petrified at the sudden contact. An unfamiliar warmth starts to spread across his chest. It was nice and almost comforting, drowning him with bright yellows and gentle goldens - making him feel like he was special. It took everything in him to not melt into it, a keening noise stuck at the base of his throat.

 When his mother touches him, he feels the sharp talons of her nails digging into his skin. When she pecks his cheek or forehead, he has to stop himself from wincing at the way cyanide seems to burn him where her lips leave. In all honesty, he’d rather the sharp slaps and objects flying at him, at least those forms of pain where only physical and didn’t leave a confusing sense of dichotomy where his emotions that craved for the positive contact to linger battled where his fight-or-flight survival instincts screamed at him to scrub every single atom of her off of him. Touch was something he could neither afford nor understand. 

 If he wanted warmth, he’d wrap himself up in scarves and throw on soft jumpers; if he wanted to feel safe, he’d make sure to do everything he can to not trigger his mother into another eruption; if he wanted contact then he’d find his old plushies buried deep in the confines of his closet and embrace them in hopes that it would be enough. For him, the closest he’s ever gotten to feeling that void in his chest was when words of affirmation would wash over him (it’s no secret to anyone that compliments can render him unable to function)(but can you blame him when compliments to him are as rare as painite?).

 When Kurahashi let go of him to go regale Yada with stories from a nature documentary she watched the night prior, he’s still stock still, dumbstruck, from that momentary embrace. He wanted her to come back so that he could feel it again. He wanted to feel her arms around his body like a safe little cocoon. He wanted to submit to that sunshine-like comfort and never get out of it. He craved that warmth so much it hurt him - why did it hurt so much?

 It made him feel so wanted . And lov-

 Is this why people hold hands all the time? 

 Later that night, he crushed one of his stuffed animals against his chest as he wrapped his arms around his body. He wondered why his pillowcase had wet stains on it when he woke up the next day.

 (He ignored the answer that gnawed him at the back of his mind)

  The second time he felt it was during a ‘completely necessary class bonding sleepover extravaganza’ (as Fuwa had put it) at the Nakamura household. With the blonde’s parents out of the country to visit her older brother, she had her entire house to herself - a house that was miraculously large enough to house twenty-seven teenage assassins in training (as well the phones that contained ‘Mobile Ritsu’).

“I still don’t understand why we can’t watch anime,” Fuwa pouted from her position on the kitchen island, her One-Piece-themed-socks-clad feet kicking up and down as she took another spoonful from the bowl of snickerdoodle cookie dough she had nicked from Hara and swallowed it, “it’s practically a staple for every good sleepover.”

 “Because, Fuwa,” Nakamura drawled in reply, her own hands busy pouring popcorn into bowls, “none of us want to see you go full otaku during our relaxing evening.”

 “It’s nothing against you Fuwa,” Nagisa had cut in quickly, having had made eye-contact with Isogai and Hara as the three of them were washing and drying the baking equipment they were using (“‘You know we have a dishwasher right?” Nakamura had called in amusement) and their combined parental instincts had deemed it necessary to extinguish anything that could potentially start something (and knowing this class, mountains can be made out of molehills as quickly as Koro-Sensei can fly from continent to continent), “it’s just that we think it might be a good idea to have more variety tonight. Next time we have a class movie night, you can choose anything you want.”

 “I’m holding you to that, Shiota,” Fuwa pointed her spoon at him with narrowed eyes before sliding herself off the table and sauntering off towards the living room.

 “She’s not going to get sick, eating all of that raw cookie dough, is she?” Nakamura asked, staring at the doorway.

 Hara smiled at her, “don’t worry, we made the dough edible.” She gave Nagisa a head pat with a slightly soapy hand, “you can finish with that bowl you’re drying and help me bring these trays to the living room, ‘kay Nagisa?”

 Nagisa nodded bashfully, trying to hide the redness that blossomed over his cheeks in reaction to Hara’s hand making contact with his scalp.

  "What do you mean 'we should watch a horror movie'?" Isogai asked his friend.

 "Exactly that class prez," Maehara grinned at the brunette, "you can't have a sleepover without a few screams."

 "Nor can you have one without anime but here we are," Fuwa grumbled to herself.

 "But what if people get scared?" Isogai asked, as always being the Ikeman he is and thinking about others. Bless him.

 "That's the point," Nakamura chirped, "it's the perfect bonding exercise. Nothing can bring together a group of rag-tag misfits like fear."

 "But-"

 "Don't worry," Nakamura said, "we have Karma and Hazama with us. I can assure that whatever we see on the television will be nowhere nearly as scary as them."

 "True that," the class sighed as the two students in question gave eerie, self-satisfied smirks.

 "Not to mention that we're all assassins in training," Okano said, "no evil spirit or crazy murderer would stand a chance against us."

 "And if they do, we can just sacrifice Terasaka to them," Hazama piped up, not even looking up from her book.

 "HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!"

 "Yeah, Hazama," Karma smirked, "as if they would even want him."

 "OI AKABANE, WHAT'S YOUR DEAL?!"

 "Hey, Nagisa," Kayano turned to her friend as Karma stuck his tongue out at Terasaka, "what kind of horror movies do you like?"

 “I don’t know,” Nagisa replied, idly tracing the outlines of the cartoon sushi pieces that patterned his pyjama bottoms, “I’ve never watched any horror movies so I wouldn’t know what is good.”

 Maehara grinned at them from under the hood of his Pikachu onesie, “Then have no fear, Nagisa. As a movie connoisseur-”

 “I thought that title was reserved for me?” Mimura raised his hand with an arched eyebrow.

 “-I would be more than happy to educate you, my young padawan-”

 “-I’m pretty sure he’s older than you,” Okano pointed out.

 “On the art of Horror Movie Binge-athons,” Maehara declared, ignoring the interruptions and pointing at the blunette in a very Fuwa-esque way.

 So that was how Nagisa found himself on one of the couches, two scream-fests later, sandwiched between Karma and Sugino, watching the end credits of The Ring. From his perch, he watched in interest at the horror-struck faces of his classmates below.

 “Dude,” Kimura breathed out in fear when the screen turned black, a shaky hand attempting to comfort a very visibly distressed Okajima, who had the athlete in a bone-crushing hug from behind as he hid behind him, “I am never going to answer a phone again.”

 After a full ten seconds of silence, the smartphone that was lying in front of him lit up, and the Sonic theme song ‘Gotta Go Fast’ cut through the air like a knife. Kimura jumped about a foot in the air, screaming, whilst the others around him did the same. Muramatsu and Yoshida, clung tighter onto Hazama, yelling about how they were too young to die whilst Okajima and Okano began praying to the gods.

 “Karma, stop it,” Nagisa sighed without even looking at the redhead next to him. When Karma smirked and ended the call on his phone, thus terminating the ringing, he turned and raised an unamused eyebrow at a snickering Nakamura who was filming the entire scene on her own phone. The blonde winked at him and raised a peace sign.

 “I know what we should watch next,” Yoshida said after a while and took the remote. He began to scroll through the movie suggestions on the screen, “Coraline.”

 “Isn’t ‘Coraline’ a kids’ movie?” Kataoka furrowed her eyebrows as she eyed the cartoonish movie poster on the television.

 Coraline was not a kids’ movie. It was a horrific abomination of nightmare fuel dolled up with pretty colours and a talking cat. At least with the other films they had watched that night, he was able to stand - jump scares don’t really work on someone that’s constantly on edge and no CGI generated creature of the supernatural could terrify him as the very real harpy that he shares a roof with. At most he stiffens up or just trains his eyes onto the kernels of popcorn that get sent flying whenever Okajima gets particularly frightened. He usually just tries to deconstruct the story from a logical standpoint, making sure to point out to himself the plot-holes to enhance the fact that it’s nothing more than fiction (instead of making these comments out loud like Sugaya and end up having a brigade of throw pillows assaulted onto him). However watching The Other Mother, who spoke with a honey-sweet tone but had that distinct aura of ‘threat threat threat’ made him feel more chills than watching the disfigured Samara Morgan crawl out of a television and murder people and whilst the revelation of her true colours weren’t completely unpredictable, it didn’t and the fear and acid crawling up his stomach.

  ‘You may come out... when you've learned to be a loving daughter!’

  ‘How dare you disobey your mother!’

 It was after watching that vile woman drag Coraline into that dark chamber and locking her inside it when he couldn’t take it. His frozen facade and almost petrified posture just broke. He lurched, fumbling for the blanket draped over his legs and pulled it up so that he could cover his head and buried himself under it. With his knees drawn up under the covers, he focused on controlling his breathing and trying to steady his shaking hands and starting-to-blur eyes in an attempt to push away the unpleasant flashbacks hissing around in his head like a viper. Suddenly out of nowhere, he felt a hand gently circle his wrist. He tensed, heart rate speeding up in a panic, before his skin registered the familiar feel of polyester - the material of Sugino’s red sweatbands (wait, does he even wear them to sleep? ). When he had physically relaxed, the- Sugino’s hand slowly and carefully - giving him ample time to pull away - moved his own and away from his legs and then interlocked his fingers between his. The skin on skin contact at the base of his fingers had caused the same warmth he had felt with Kurahashi spreading across his entire arm, stopping at his chest and swirling around like a mixture of comfort and elation, like he had just drank a cup of steaming milk tea. He steadily curled his own fingers downwards, letting the tips press down against the baseball-lover’s knuckles. The only response he got was a tight squeeze in return - not hard enough to sting but still grounding in a sense.

 Okay.

 He was okay, he can do this.

 It was during the climax of the film, when Coraline confronts that button-for-eyes-wearing she-devil, when Nagisa abandoned all inhibitions and pulled on the hand intertwined with his own, simultaneously pulling Sugino down and bringing himself up so that he could wrap his arms around the black-haired boy. His uncharacteristic actions even shocked himself but all of his usual anxiety’s of forcing his problems on others were pushed back by the voice in his head saying ‘safe safe safe get closer closer ’. With his eyes squeezed shut so tight they almost hurt, he felt something wet roll down his cheek and so he tightened the hold he had on his best friend. Sugino reciprocated, one of his own hands gently cupping the back of his head, fingers burying past silken blue hair, so that he could very lightly bring the other’s face closer and tuck it underneath his chin. Now normally, Nagisa would have combusted with embarrassment at being so close to another student, especially in such a public setting like this, but right now he felt like nothing more than some primal urge begging him to soak in as much of that embrace as possible. To be selfish for once and just stay as close as he can even if it means he dies there. To let himself be vulnerable for a change. The movie, those memories they all washed away and he felt nothing but safe….

  The next morning he woke up with his head on someone’s shoulder, a fluffy blanket raised upto his chin. He blinked the haziness out of his eyes to find himself in front of inky locks.

 “You alright there, Nagisa?” Sugino looked at him with a smile. Oh he was already up. That’s new.

 Nagisa’s eyes widened, his face erupting with redness as the events of the previous night replayed in his inner-theatre like those epic fail compilations Karma likes to laugh at. He jumped back to the other end of the couch, as far away from Sugino as possible.

 “Oh god, Sugino, I am so sorry,” Nagisa whispered as loudly as he could without waking up his still snoozing classmates, “what happened last night was so weird and I put you in such an awkward position and I’m super sorry I swear that will never happen again and you must’ve been so embarrassed honestly you should've just pushed me off when I fell asleep I really wouldn’t have minded this was so weird and-”

 “Nagisa, chill,” Sugino moved closer and placed a hand on the rambling boy’s shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards with slight amusement, “it’s cool. It’s normal for people to get scared during horror movies - it’s kind of the reason why they were made, you know. Besides if you looked really distressed and if I couldn’t do anything to help you then why are we even friends.”

 “Yeah but-”

 “No buts,” Sugino cut in, “you’re always ready to help others so don’t be surprised to find otu that others want to help you.”

 Nagisa sighed. He looked up at the other boy with a slight blush, “well, um, thank you. For that. It was really nice of you.”

 Sugino’s hand squeezed on his shoulder and he felt that familiar thrill shoot down his arm as the taller smiled, “no problem, Nagisa.”

 (“Next time we decide to do a bonding activity,” Fuwa says during breakfast as she’s munching through a honey dripping pancake, “we should all go camping.”

 Collectively the class shuddered, their minds being filled with visions of Fuwa holding up a chainsaw on full speed and running around like a mad woman, of fire enveloping a forest and demolishing a once peaceful campsite and dark grey mushroom clouds puffing out like an ashy eruption, “no thank you.”)

  For some reason he finds himself in these sort of situations more and more. Like when he feels himself clinging closer to Okano when she bridal carries him up the mountain after he had injured his leg during a training exercise (which is interesting because normally being in such an unmasculine position would make his insecurities flare up like crazy); or when his arms tighten around Karma so much that it feels like their bodies are going to fuse together when the red head piggy-back carries him during a race; or when he just sighs in contentment when Maehara slings him over his shoulder instead of flailing around like he usually would when the brown-eyed boy declared that he was studying too hard and ‘offered’ to take him karaoke singing with everyone else.

 In the back of his mind, he feels like the amount of affectionate touches he receives have almost quadrupled in size -  there hasn’t been a day where he hasn’t gotten either a head pat, friendly noogie or side hug. There was even a tickling incident that led to his male classmates dogpiling him (because in 3-E the A in PDA can also mean aggression).

 No one comments on it though.

 It’s almost like Irina-Sensei’s comment about the students of 3-E having ‘some creepy hive mind’ is actually true.

 (That comment actually lead to the class planning via group chat to speak in monotonic unison in front of her for an entire half an hour just to mess with her. It worked.)

  “I still don’t understand why you people like drinking this leaf juice,” Fuwa scrunched her nose at the ceramic cup in her hand. Due to the pleasant weather, Kanzaki, Kayano and Okuda decided to have a tea party and Nagisa being the tea lover that he was was more than happy to accept their invitation.

 “Hey,” Kayano glared at her, making a shooing gesture with one of her hands, “Group four only.”

 “Kayano,” Nagisa said firmly, “she can stay if she wants.”

 “But she’s disrespecting the tea.”

 Nagisa shook his head and sighed whilst Kanzaki giggled into her cup.

 “Listen Fuwa,” Kayano rounded on the female otaku, “whilst I stand by the statement that pudding is the closest thing to perfection humanity has ever created and I would sell this entire class for a lifetime supply of pudding cups without a second thought (“Say what now?” Nagisa backtracked), a cup of nice warm tea can truly heal your soul. It’s science.”

 “That is true,” Okuda piped up, gently pushing her glasses up, “a cup of hot anything in your hands mimics human warmth which is said to have calming properties. So it basically means that warm drinks can mimic the need for human care and touch.”

 ‘ Well ,’ Nagisa blinked, thinking back to the mountain of tea bags that reside in his bedroom’s dustbin, ‘ that explains a lot. ’

 “So if you guys ever feel too single,” Fuwa laughed and gave them double finger guns, “you know what to do.”

 Whilst the rest of his company gave responding giggles, Nagisa felt a tug on his elbow and let it go limp to allow the greenette sitting next to him to tug it downwards. When he felt her link her pinky with his he turned to look at her to see a sunny beam directed straight at him.

 And he smiles back.

 Because he’s not alone anymore.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Favorite Reads 2017

2017 was, all in all, not the greatest year for books (for me personally).  A few follow-ups to series-starters I loved disappointed me; there was a lack of new historical fiction that was truly compelling; YA was very hit or miss.  But there are always exceptions to the years unspoken “rules”, and I found myself reading more thrillers than I had before.  Maybe the bright side of my usual categories (I don’t know that they’re all genres) failing me is that I had to get a bit more adventurous.

In no particular order, my top ten favorite books of the year were as follows...

Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan.  Rachel is an ABC--American Born Chinese.  Smart, practical, and successful, she’s dating Nicholas Young, quite possibly the man of her dreams--but there’s a bit of mystery about him.  So when Nick brings her to his family home in Singapore to attend his friend’s wedding, she’s shocked to discover that he’s the heir to a fabulous fortune, hailing from one of the most high-profile and wealthy families in Asia, or perhaps even the world.  Everyone is out to break up Rachel and Nick, it seems; but especially his mother, the conniving and clever matriarch Eleanor.  This is one of the most addictive books I’ve ever read, and the rest of the trilogy thankfully measures up.  God, I was hooked; and it’s nothing like what I expected.  There are vapid characters, sure, but this isn’t Gossip Girl--the book is wickedly smart, and Kwan seems to make great insights about “crazy rich Asian culture” without ever seeming sanctimonious.  The characters are great--you root for Nick and Rachel’s romance while falling in love with his Machiavellian mother, and for that matter his tragic It Girl cousin Astrid.  Unfortunately, this book has been categorized by some as trashy... and sure, at times it is.  But it’s also one of the best books I’ve read in a long time.

Wintersong by S. Jae-Jones.  In nineteenth century Europe, Liesl is a gifted composer.  But she’s overshadowed by her brother Josef, a musician, and their beautiful sister Kathe.  As a child, Liesl knew the Goblin King; and she meets him again as a young woman, stealing her sister away from the mortal world.  Liesl makes a bargain with the Goblin King: if he returns Kathe, Liesl will become his bride.  The Goblin King--enchanted with her music--whisks her away to his realm, creating a world of delights that’s hard for Liesl to resist.  This book is basically everything a grown woman could want Labyrinth to be.  Liesl and the Goblin King do have a captivating romance, but it’s not so much insta-love as I would say it’s a sexual awakening.  I don’t think she’s starry-eyed; she’s more attracted to him physically, and experiencing the thrill of having someone return that attraction for the first time.  So much of the book is about passion--the Goblin King’s passion for Liesl, their shared passion for her music, the Fair Folk’s passion in general for things that they can’t have.  It’s a melancholy, haunting book with just the right side of indulgence to make it impossible for me to resist.

Final Girls by Riley Sager.  After surviving a massacre that took all of her friends during a college cabin trip, Quincy is a part of what the press calls “the Final Girls”.  Lisa survived a sorority girl slaying, while Sam was nearly murdered at the motel she worked at.  But the three don’t really interact, as Quincy is determined to live a normal life.  She doesn’t even remember what happened to her on the night of the Pine Cottage murders.  That all changes when Lisa is found dead of a supposed suicide, and Sam shows up on Quincy’s doorstep.  Quincy needs to remember what happened all those years ago--before it’s too late.  This book is far from your run of the mill thriller, with unexpected twists and a feminist slant.  It’s almost a satire of slasher tropes--except the plot is a bit too coherent for a satire, and everything is a little too real.  I blazed through it, and wasn’t exactly sure of what happened until the very end.

Warcross by Marie Lu.  Teenager Emika Chen makes her living as a bounty hunter--specifically, tracking down people who illegally bet on Warcross, the virtual reality game that’s taken the world by storm.  Of course, Emika’s hacks in the game aren’t exactly legal either, so when she’s summoned to Tokyo by the game’s creator, billionaire Hideo Tanaka, she assumes the worst.  But Hideo has a proposition for her: if she can find out who’s at the heart of a dangerous security glitch in the game, the payout will be huge.  But as Emika competes undercover, she realizes that the stakes--personal and professional--are much higher than she thought.  This is one of those books that really surprised me. You don’t have to be a gamer to follow “Warcross”--which also, surprise, has a great romance to go along with it--but the parts of the story that pertain to the game are just as compelling as the bounty hunting plot.  What pleased me most, however, was the ending; nothing is as it seems in this book, and the characters are much grayer than you might imagine.

Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust.  This retelling of Snow White focuses on the relationship between Lynet, our princess, and Mina, her wicked stepmother.  Lynet is the living embodiment of her dead mother, and recently made the queen of the southern territories by her father--which displaces Mina, of the southern territories and devoted to her homeland.  What Lynet doesn’t know, as we’re told the story of Mina’s past, is that she was made from snow by Mina’s alchemist father--who, using the same magic, saved Mina’s life by making her a heart of glass. Mina believes herself incapable of love, and despite her closeness to Lynet, she grows increasingly threatened by the girl.  This fairy tale is decidedly dark--but it’s clear that this isn’t darkness of the sake of darkness.  Rather, we see the good and bad in both Mina and Lynet, two women driven apart by the machinations of men--but perhaps not permanently.  

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson.  The painter Isobel caters to a specific clientele: the fair folk.  Incapable of “craft”, they treasure Isobel’s paintings, but are feared for their predatory and capricious ways.  Isobel’s always been careful around the fair folk, but slips up when she paints the autumn prince, Rook, accidentally depicting sorrow in his eyes.  This creates a great weakness for Rook, who takes her on a journey to the autumnlands, so that she can stand trial and dispel the notions of any mortality in Rook.  Of course, there is the issue of their attraction to each other--because if a mortal and a fairy fall in love, their lives will be forfeit.  This is a lovely fairy tale, with a romance that is much more hard-won and realistic than what I expected from the summary.  While Rook is just as fanciful as you’d expect a fairy to be, Isobel has her feet planted in reality, and I love a story in which the main character really, really doesn’t want to fall in love.  This book depicts the fair folk with just the right balance of fear and whimsy, and I dare you to read it without falling for the world.

Flame in the Mist by Renee Ahdieh.  The daughter of a samurai, cunning Mariko is on her way to meet her betrothed, a prince.  Along the way, her party is attacked by a group of bandits paid to assassinate Mariko--killing her servants along the way.  Disguising herself as a boy, she infiltrates the bandits’ group--known as the Black Clan--determined to find who was sent to kill her, and get revenge.  This retelling of “Mulan” takes on gender roles in a fantasy realm influenced by Japanese history, with Mariko standing as a strong female character, but also a girl.  Renee Ahdieh is great at building these history-based fantasy worlds--and she’s not too shabby when it comes to the romance department, either.

Caraval by Stephanie Garber.  Scarlett and Tella live a sheltered existence, dominated by their abusive father.  Scarlett--the responsible one--has always dreamed of going to Caraval, the magical circus-like show that sucks the audience into the game.  In an effort to make her sister relax, Tella takes Scarlett to Caraval, only to get swept up in its magic.  The object of this year’s game?  To find Tella.  So Scarlett joins a host of people looking for her sister--but the line between reality and fantasy on the island is blurred, and Caraval may turn out to be just as dangerous as it looks.  This is the sort of dreamy fantasy that is just delicious to read, especially during cold weather.  

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid.  Unknown journalist Monique is stunned when she’s selected to interview the notoriously private movie star Evelyn Hugo, famous for her beauty, talent, and seven husbands.  As Monique is drawn into Evelyn’s story, she becomes more and more curious about why Evelyn chose her, and who the real love of Evelyn’s life was.  Evelyn is clearly based on Elizabeth Taylor in some ways, but the story is really all her own.  While Evelyn’s tale is obviously more compelling than Monique’s, they satisfyingly come together in a way I didn’t quite expect.  Really, at its heart this is a love story; but it’s also quite the piece of Old Hollywood glamour, with all the gossip and controversy that you’d expect.

The Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo.  This anthology of fairy tales is set in Leigh Bardugo’s grishaverse, but all take a little bit from those that you might be familiar with.  They’re dark and sensual, some of them a little gory.  But what really got me is that these are stories I can really see the characters from Bardugo’s other books telling.  The world feels fully realized, the morals complex but solid and a little dated, but with reason.  Read this if you want to be transported and a little spellbound.

[adorkablephil]

Fic: Imaginary Friends (Chapter 4)

Title: Imaginary Friends Summary: Nothing’s AU ... except that Dan and Phil have been appearing in each other’s dreams since childhood without realizing it because they’re soulmates. Everything on the outside looks like the reality we’re used to irl. Rating: Teen Word Count: 1440 (this chapter) Tags: Soulmates, AU, But Kind of Not AU, Except That There’s Magic, Certainly Not a Typical Soulmates AU, Dreams, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers Author’s Note: I’m really hoping this doesn’t immediately get massively overshadowed by Halloween baking, but I’m posting it anyway. Fic also available on AO3 here

[Masterlist of all Imaginary Friends chapters on Tumblr]

Chapter 4: No Such Thing As Magic

Around age 10, Phil first started noticing that he seemed to attract weird people on the street and on the bus, and he worried that it meant something was wrong with him. But his grandma had told him it was just “the Skill.”

His grandma knew a lot of things, including how to read tarot cards and tea leaves and other mysterious things. She knew about magic. And she told him that she had something called “the Skill,” and that he had it, too. She said it was genetic, but not everyone got it.

She said they were special.

Many people in the family thought Grandma was crazy, but Phil loved her, and he trusted her, and he didn’t think she was crazy at all. They spent long afternoons just talking as she lay cards out in various patterns or just shuffled them idly, or looked at the palms of Phil’s hands, or just sipped her tea and talked about the ways the world really works, which was always much more interesting than what they taught him at school.

She told him that quite a few people had the Skill, but most never knew it, because it worked differently in each person. She thought maybe, long ago, it had once been something everyone had, but now it only showed up in a comparative few, and some only faintly.

Her own Skill leaned toward divination, but everyone was different. Some might be able to influence other people’s thoughts, or communicate across long distances, or make themselves pass unnoticed, or manipulate their dreams. Really, it could be almost anything.

Phil’s Skill drew people to him, she said. And so other people who had a bit of the Skill, even if they didn’t know it, would feel compelled to approach him, would want to be near him or interact with him. That’s why strangers sometimes reacted oddly to him. They were just people with a bit of the Skill, being drawn to him for reasons they didn’t understand. Grandma’s imagination had always seemed a bit wild, so Phil didn’t know what to think, but he listened, because she was his grandma and he loved her, and she gave him ginger cakes with lemon icing.

He shouldn’t be afraid, she said—the Skill was a good thing. And oftentimes, if two people’s Skill worked in complementary ways, it could form an unbreakable bond. It had been like that for her and his granddad. Her Skill had told her that he would come into her life someday, that he would be her soulmate, but she didn’t know anything about him except that they were connected. She didn’t know what his name was or what he would look like, only that he would come. And his Skill, weaker than hers, only gave him the power to recognize the Skill in others. But when he came up to her at a cousin’s wedding and asked her to dance, their eyes met and she immediately knew this was him, the man she’d always seen in her future. And she could see in his face that he knew it, too.

And so, since Phil’s Skill drew people to him … someday, another Skilled one who was drawn to Phil could turn out to be his soulmate, just like her and his granddad. Her own Skill at divination told her that it would happen. Someday, Phil’s Skill would draw his soulmate to him, and their bond would be stronger than he could possibly imagine.

Phil listened, but as he grew older he became less and less sure that he believed it. Even though he loved his grandma, he was pretty sure there wasn’t any real magic in the world, not like in his dreams. And, as years went by, he never saw any proof of anything she’d said. He never heard or read any other reference to “the Skill,” no matter how much he searched. Strange people continued to accost him in public for no apparent reason, but he never found any “soulmate” … and after his grandma died, he slowly forgot the last traces of any faith he’d once had in her magical knowledge or ability to predict the future.

Whenever someone would bark at him on the street or say something particularly strange out of nowhere, Phil would think wryly to himself, “Yeah, that’s because I’ve got the Skill,” but he didn’t really believe it. He couldn’t remember if he ever really had.

The first time Dan came to visit him in Manchester, Phil met him at the train station, and when their eyes met for the first time something like electricity arced between them. Phil immediately glanced away, then shyly back again, and they smiled at each other. He felt some strange sense of recognition, but convinced himself it was just the result of dozens of hours on Skype.

“I can’t believe I’m really here,” Dan had said, sounding awestruck. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for so long and now … here we both are!” Phil had opened his arms, and Dan had dove in for a tight hug.

“I’m glad I was finally able to lure you away from the captivating delights of wonderful Wokingham,” Phil joked as he released Dan again, immediately missing the warmth of the slim body against him.

“I just couldn’t stay away from you and your animal magnetism,” Dan grinned. Phil raised both hands like claws and roared, making Dan laugh.

In the years that followed, Phil would always be grateful to the universe for bringing such a wonderful friend into his life, and it all really started with YouTube, and with that day in the train station.

It was like Fate.

Maybe his grandma would have said that the Skill drew Dan to him, that maybe all those weird people on the street were just the price he paid for having the power to draw this one person to him at the right time … but Phil didn’t believe in the Skill anymore, if he ever had, and the Internet certainly made a lot more sense as an explanation. Even Fate made more sense, or at least a lot more people believed in it. Nobody believed in “the Skill.” It was just some idea his crazy grandma had come up with to romanticize how she met his granddad.

And now she was gone, not there to argue with him, and so Phil dismissed his occasional wonderings about how magical it seemed that Dan had ended up coming into his life the way he had. He supposed thoughts like those were what led people to make up romantic, mystical, ridiculous stories about things like “the Skill.” Okay, maybe tarot cards and tea leaves might be fun, and they might make for entertaining videos or party tricks, but they weren’t really magic. They weren’t really real.

YouTube and Twitter and the Internet were real, and they had brought Dan into his life. It was that simple.

He didn’t need to believe in magic. He didn’t need magic. He had Dan.

And … at night … he had his shadow. Nearly every night now, since the time with the starlight, they came together in his dreams.

Often literally.

He spent his days with Dan, his best friend in the real world … and he spent his nights with his oldest, truest friend, the one who had always been there for him, but only in his dreams. The one who—he could feel it, the way he could always feel things in his shadow dreams—the one who loved him. Really, truly, deeply loved him. Loved him in a way Dan never would, with kisses and touches and passion and want. And, yes, Phil loved the shadow, too. His dreams were filled with desire and pleasure and the bone-deep knowledge that he was cherished. So, yes, of course he loved the shadow.

But maybe not exactly the same way he loved Dan. Because Dan was real, and the shadow was just a dream.

If anyone had ever forced him to choose, Phil would have chosen the Dan who didn’t love him over the shadow who did, because Dan was Dan. The shadow was just part of Phil’s imagination and always had been.

It was just that, as his sexual and romantic frustration had grown in daily life, his subconscious had apparently taken to satisfying it in his dreams … where Dan would never know and it could never ruin their friendship.

Dan never needed to know how Phil spent his dreaming nights.

Even when they slept every night side-by-side on the tour bus.

Author’s End Note: My basic idea of “the Skill” comes from an excellent series of fantasy novels by Robin Hobb, though I have skewed the concept quite a bit for my own purposes. The series starts with a novel called Assassin’s Apprentice, and I highly recommend it.

And a final thank you: Again, thank you bazillions to my patrons, @jorzuela, @itsjustmestef, and she who shall not be named! If you, too, enjoy my writing and would like to support me, leave a tip in my Tip Jar or learn about how to become a patron. Or, you know, just like, comment, and/or reblog!

[Continue to Chapter 5]