#to be fair he IS cold all the time but that's not why those crossbones wrist warmers stayed

[thesimsblues]

moocha-muses replied to your post “moocha-muses replied to your photoset “Lookbook Challenge by...”

Ruthie: You really need to clean out this closet. *shifts box* *a dozen pairs of arm-warmers spill out*

asdklasdfjlkasdf lmao Nev says he kept them because he’s cold all the time.

[hellyeahomeland]

“Chalk One Up” | Directed by Seith Mann, Cinematography by David Klein

The episode opens with Carrie arriving from a long night out doing… God knows what with God knows who. We love the starkness of this close-up on the exterminated motorcycle light. According to Lesli Linka Glatter, this mode of transport is based on a real life story: 

“The scene where she gets out of the embassy was based on the real agent who Carrie is based on. She was based in Iraq at the time and that’s how she got out: by dressing as a man and traveling on a motorcycle. So, we used that for this. Also, you can’t leave in Kabul without an armored vehicle.”

...as the camera slowly pans up to reveal it’s Carrie underneath that (gigantor) motorcycle helmet, the question becomes clear: where the fuck was she? 

Sara loved these scenes between Samira and her friend. Homeland has depicted several cities in the Middle East over the years but has rarely given us glimpses into the world outside the walls of a hotel or CIA station, especially without our main characters. The market that Samira and her friend walk through is vibrant and filled with color, as are their outfits. It’s a stark contrast to the interiors of the CIA station. And Samira’s line that the Taliban didn’t go away but were no longer hiding proves remarkably predictive of the rest of the episode’s events.

The real highlight of the scene is the selfie, of course. We love the detail of the man on the far, far left being cut out. Samira’s friend is the master of the one-arm selfie! 

This shot of the various players at the Kabul station looking outward at Carrie is striking. It’s almost a reverse fish bowl. Carrie remains on the outside but everyone’s looks are in her direction. Jenna standing at the front of the room further suggests she was never “stuck in the starting gate.” She’s in the same position of power in that room as the Chief of Station and the commanding military officer at right. From afar, the dynamics are almost similar to early season one, Carrie running an ops meeting with Saul by her side. All of which is to say… is Jenna the Carrie to Mike’s Saul?

Dog.

This was such a specific detail that we thought it required pointing out, but 27 is not a significant number on this show (at least that we can remember), so we’re not sure why they bothered to show this. 

...unless it’s a reference to the general ominousness of the 27 Club and a hint that Carrie (who, to be fair, is far past the age of 27) is going to die. 

This week the show confirmed that Tasneem is the Director of the ISI. Which means that (after President Elizabeth Keane) she’s the second most powerful woman ever depicted on this show. And boy does she dress the part! 

Tasneem’s all-white ensemble is attention-grabbing and distinctive (the other women in this frame are dressed in dark clothes). It’s also visually similar--especially with her long, black hair peeking through the sheer fabric of her headscarf--to the dress worn by several other men at the reception.

Homeland has told lots of stories over the years--whether intentional or otherwise--about the challenges women face living in a patriarchal, misogynist society. Whether it’s Martha losing her career because her loser husband couldn’t stand having a wife who was more powerful and smarter than he…. Or Allison dying in the back of a car near the Russian border in an act of scorned lover revenge. Or Carrie, screaming and crying at the end of “The Vest”... but being right the whole time. 

Or, as Abigail Nussbaum said more elegantly than we ever could: 

“Carrie is, in many ways, a boogeyman; she is what professional women, and particularly ones in male-dominated professions, have been taught never to become - emotional, hysterical, crazy. Emotion is how women who want to be taken seriously are undermined and dismissed. Even if you’re perfectly sane, being emotional - and most especially, being angry - devalues you and your professional contribution. A woman can be called crazy simply for behaving like a normal human being rather than a robot (and of course, if she behaves robotically and unemotionally, she’s a cold bitch). But Carrie isn’t simply emotional (though she is that too, and worst of all, she allows her feelings for a man to cloud her judgment) - she actually is crazy and hysterical, in the proper clinical sense rather than the exaggerated one which attaches to any feminine display of emotion, and profoundly pathetic and unattractive in that state. And she’s completely right, the only person who figures out Brody and Abu Nazir’s plans and motivations, and the person who saves the day by being hysterical, infecting Brody’s daughter with enough of that hysteria that she calls her father and convinces him not to blow himself up.

It’s certainly possible to read this arc as purely tragic, Carrie’s self-destruction being the cost of saving the world (though this is a character arc that is applied to men as often as women, for example in Thomas Harris’s Red Dragon), but to my mind its effect is more complex. It makes a crazy, hysterical woman into a hero without in any way mitigating her craziness or hysteria, and thus defangs the argument that emotion in women is a weakness. It’s the rational, sane men around Carrie, who turn away from her unattractive mania with distaste and embarrassment, who are blind and incompetent, and it’s that same inability to look past surfaces that leads them to put their trust, wrongfully, in Brody - just as Carrie performs hysterical femininity, Brody performs stalwart masculinity. Both are misleading.”

All of which is to say, we’re really fucking pumped to see how Tasneem’s role expands for the rest of the season, and we think the array of women in Tasneem, Carrie, and Jenna and their varying degrees of power is going to be really interesting to see unfold. 

Sara is obsessed with this shot. She’s obsessed with the set design of Samira’s apartment. She’s obsessed with this moody lighting. She’s basically just obsessed. 

Last week we had a slow pan around Jalal to reveal Tasneem. This week we have a similar slow pan around Carrie to reveal Jenna. This definitely means that Sara’s theory that Jenna will “single white female” Carrie is right on track. 

Also, Gail hereby declares Carrie’s delicate silver jewelry her “FULL circle earrings,” because everything is coming full circle this episode, including accessories.

That said, we can’t deny the power of this shot. First, we have to note what’s going on in the background (which is actually in focus). President Beau has just arrived off Air Force One and immediately stops for a photo op with the Afghan president. From the beginning, the show is clear this is an optics-based trip. 

But we really love this image of Carrie and Jenna (out of focus, but in the foreground) side by side. Again, they mirror each other, but in opposite ways (“So they’re mirror opposites?” --Sara’s brain). Carrie’s light hair versus Jenna’s dark hair. Jenna’s light jacket versus Carrie’s dark one. It’s eerie.

On the podcast we talked at length about the scene between Beau and Carrie. It’s genuinely moving. The staging of it is unique as well. The camera shoots them both at the same height. They stand close together. Ironically, the power dynamic seems almost equal. He’s one of the few people who’s ever acknowledged the sacrifices she’s made in service of her country. 

Their twin smiles here are all the more tragic following the sequence of events that closes the episode. They all sincerely want peace. So many characters smile real, genuine smiles this week. That’s not a normal Homeland occurrence! 

And they all legitimately believe in what they’re doing. They believe they’re doing the right thing. Maybe they are. But partly out of necessity, and partly out of more selfish desires (Hayes later says it’s all about getting a second term), they get caught up in the theater of it all. They make poor decisions. They take the wrong risks.

Every so often in this series we have to abandon screenshots in favor of gifs in order to truly capture ~the moment~ and this is one of those times! The way Claire plays Carrie’s reaction here is so specific, so nuanced and strange and wonderful. These “lived in” moments are something we’ll really miss when the show is over.

IJLTP.

We’ve all been there, Carrie. 

This is another interesting shot choice. We’re not sure what its purpose is, other than to add interest to a fairly run-of-the-mill scene. But still, the set design! *heart eyes* 

Sara’s note for this shot was “Saul is so extra.” We talked about genuine and sincere smiles above and Saul’s here does qualify… sort of. This is halfway between genuine and self-aggrandizing. AKA “where Saul lives 100% of the time.” He looks like a director about to screen his short film at Sundance. The red curtains parting slowly behind him are Too Much.

Tasneem and G’ulom are the kids in the back of the classroom who are so fucking done with this shit but can’t leave because they’ll get detention. We will continue to stan. 

It’s a classic Homeland device to show a significant moment from a variety of perspectives, especially if those perspectives involve screens. The multitude of angles on Beau’s speech here reminded us a lot of Keane’s resignation speech in the Oval Office in “Paean to the People.” Coincidentally, that was her last hurrah as president too. 

(P.S. Another Saul over-the-shoulder shot!)

Two selfies in one episode! 

We loved the payoff to Max’s subplot. For once this season the weird LA filter actually looks nice! These are beautiful shots and the reflection in Max’s glasses is especially striking. 

The skull and crossbones on the barracks is an ominious detail. As is the rock labeled “Boredom Rock.” Death and boredom really have been the two extremes of Max’s stint at the combat outpost.

We’re still divided on the merits of the “Carrie has to save Samira” storyline, but the camerawork here, with Carrie’s armed hands appearing out of nowhere, was pretty cool. 

This RPG shot was one of the cooler special effects the show has done in a while. The entire sequence of Chalk One looking for Chalk Two was tense and thrilling and extremely well-executed.

Bringing us back to the ops room, the “LOSS OF SIGNAL” projected now for both helicopters is pretty chilling.

This is now Sara’s favorite shot of the entire series and we’d be remiss if we didn’t mention that it’s another over-the-shoulder Saul shot. This time he observes one of the crowning achievements of his long career literally blowing up in his face. 

Visually, this shot anchors the viewer back to the Carrie/Saul relationship, the central one of the show. The black blankness--and the failure it represents--engulfs the frame. 

We love the choice to end the episode on Carrie alone. It refocuses the event back to her. The horror in her eyes, welling up with tears, is palpable. How does Carrie feel? Alex Gansa explained that the writers wanted to create a new 9/11 with this maybe-assassination of the president. And it’s a fitting bookend for the show in many ways. In Homeland’s pilot, Carrie says she “missed something that day,” misdirecting blame to herself for not preventing 9/11. Now, in the final season, the show seems poised to tell a story in which Carrie is blamed for the “new 9/11.” 

Strap in, folks. It’s gonna be a rough ride. 

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Differences between Blue and Meggy

Daisy, to a camera: Y'know, contrary to popular belief, the Inklings aren’t all that the same in terms of personality. Sure, Agent 3 silently judges everyone, Helmet-kun manages to juggle a million jobs, Crossbones (green Inkling) takes really good care of his equipment and lets absolutely no one touch them…we could go on to the rest of them. But the ones who really seem to be the most different are Meggy and Blue.

Palutena, now talking to the camera: Those two are more often than not seen next to each other. However, they’re pretty much the opposite when it comes to personality….Turf Wars not included, those kids are monsters on turf wars. It all happened yesterday…

Yesterday…

Blue, Meggy, Palutena, and Bowser Jr were all playing Mario Kart. Jr was in last place, but had a smug grin on his face. Blue was in a healthy 5th place, feeling quite satisfied. The top two positions were held by Palutena (1st) and Meggy (2nd). It was the last lap, Meggy was frantically trying to pass Palutena, her face scrunced in determination, Palutena’s face read pure, emotionless focus.

Palutena’s eyes widen, and she slows down a bit, allowing Meggy to pass her. Meggy’s eyes widened as she got to first place. The finish line was only a bit further. She could win!

Meggy, tears in her eyes: I’m gonna win…I’m gonna-

She then heard it. The cursed sound that all people in 1st place dreaded….

The Blue Shell.

Without so much as a warning, the Blue Shell made contact with her Kart, sending her flying. Palutena zoomed past her, crossing the finish line. The moment Meggy finally landed, she was pelted with items until she got to last place.

Meggy, all white from defeat: (drops her controller)

Blue: That was a good race. I’m satisfied with 4th place.

Palutena: And that’s why you never go against a goddess in a race.

Bowser Jr, laughing his shell off: Oh man! I can’t believe you thought you’d win! Hahahaha…Meggy?

He notices that she’s glaring at him, her eyes completely red. The next five minutes were spent trying to pry Meggy off from beating Bowser Jr with a controller. His screams were drowned out by Meggy’s countless Inkling profanities.

(Flashback end)

Mario to the camera: And how could any of us forget the Squid Sisters concert incident. Blue showed his true colors that day…no pun intended.

Flash back to a Squid Sisters concert….

A fair amount of the Smashers and some random standby Mii’s were dancing and cheering as the concert progressed.

Blue jumping: I love you, Callie!! You’re the best!!

Random Mii: I mean, she lost the last Splatfest, so….

Blue, stopping in midair, turns to face the Mii with a smile on his face: …Hm?

Random Mii: I mean, the Splatfest proved that Marie was better, so technically, she’s the best. Besides, Marie’s way hotter. But, you wouldn’t get it since you’re a Callie fan.

Blue, gently floating to the ground while still smiling:….(sharp inhale)

Meggy, feeling the animosity coming from Blue, she grabs his arm: Blue, please don’t do what you’re about to do. I thought we weren’t gonna get into these type of fights anymore. It isn’t that big of a deal.

Blue to the Mii, as his smiling face slowly turns into a cold-blooded rage glare: .….The FUCK DID YOU SAY ABOUT CALLIE?!!!

Meggy: Crap, someone hold Blue down!!

But, no one was able to hold Blue down. When Donkey Kong tried, Blue instantly broke from his grip, twisted his arm, and through him across the seats. Blue then proceeded to attack the Mii with the strength of ten Ganondorf Side Smash attacks. It took all of the strong Smashers to eventually restrain him, and even then they had trouble.

Blue had gone from “local good boy” to “enraged super strength child” in a matter of seconds.

Callie and Marie remained unphased by it. This wasn’t the first time a fight broke out in one of their concerts. This was one of the most entertaining though.

Callie: That blue kid just suplexed that fire cat!

Marie: I’m already watching, Callie. You don’t need to narrate. (munches on some popcorn)

Callie: …(takes some popcorn and eats it)

(flashback end)

Joker, shaking his head: None of us saw that coming…not even me. And I see everything coming.,,,

[distant-rose]

CS JJ 31: Bundling Against the Cold

Notes: Hi lovelies, it’s been awhile. I’m slowly but surely coming back from the dead. It’s a process. Anyway, hopefully this story will relaunch my productivity for writing. I’ve been sorely lacking in that department. Anyway, this is my submission for @csjanuaryjoy. Apologies for how short it is but I hope you enjoy it anyway. A special thank you to @shireness-says for constantly dealing with my absurdity. Summary: Though life is good at the moment, but for Emma Swan, it hasn’t always been. Trauma tends to form scars in different ways and a coping mechanism of hers comes to light when unloading her possessions from the Bug - an absurdly large mountain of blankets. Word Count: 2,000+ Rating: T

Emma has always had a contentious relationship with winter. Though she’s no longer a lost girl on the streets, she still remembers the cold nights of her teenage years when she wrapped herself in ratty blankets and cardboard, trying to keep the chill from seeping into her bones. The numbness in her fingers and toes, the clattering of her teeth and the fear of possibly dying alone in her sleep has stayed with her and she doubts they will ever leave; tattooed traumas embedded on her heart that no one sees but she’s very much aware of them.

Her fear of the cold is the reason the Bug is full of blankets.

They’re the one item that Emma refuses to leave behind and always buys regardless of the absurd pile up. She has one for every place she’s lived; a fleece throw blanket with a coyote on it from Phoenix, an old patchwork quilt from Albuquerque, a faux fur leopard print from St. Louis and a frayed overused green basketweave throw from Tallahassee. She even has a stained and beaten up Bruins blanket from her stint in Boston despite her distinct lack of interest in the sport.

It’s not until she pulls all of her blankets out to bring them into the house that she realizes just how many she has. It takes three trips between Killian, Henry and herself to get them all in and she’s left with a crooked motley mountain on her coffee table. Her son stares at the giant pile in incredulity. It’s nearly as tall as he is.

“Wow, Mom. What’s with all the blankets?”

Mortification curls down her spine at the question, unwelcome and unwanted. Even though she’s in a better place, the shame of surviving on the streets and sleeping rough stays with you. It’s not a happy chapter in her life and one she certainly doesn’t want to share with her son. She ducks her head so Henry can’t see the embarrassment burning at her cheeks.

“I just don’t like being cold.”

Killian says nothing, but he brushes his pinkie finger gently against hers. She jumps at the contact, but doesn’t pull away, allowing him to interlace their fingers and giving her hand a small squeeze. She welcomes the touch, his palm warm, rough and calloused against hers. She glances in his direction, almost afraid of what she might see.

Instead of jest or judgment, all she sees is understanding.

A heavy nameless emotion embeds itself in her throat and she doesn’t know what to say, how to respond with the proper extent of her gratefulness. She’s never been good with words, not like him. They often weight heavy and clumsy on her tongue. Instead, she opts to return his squeeze with one of her own, hoping that he can somehow understand what she’s feeling through osmosis.

He seems to get the message as a crooked smile crosses his lips and the corners of his eyes crinkle. He places a brief kiss on the crown of her head before turning his attention to Henry and asking him about some new game he’s obsessed with. Emma knows he has zero interest in it. Killian’s eyes glaze over as Henry starts a lecture on the intricacies of Magic: the Gathering but he pretends to listen anyway, herding her son into the kitchen and leaving Emma alone with her pile of blankets. As Killian distracts Henry, Emma tries to find a home for all of her blankets, trying her best to spread them out as far as possible in an absurd attempt to disguise just how many she owns and to keep awkward questions to a minimum.

It isn’t until later when Henry is back with Regina that Killian reveals his own personal horde. She’s sitting on the couch, hot chocolate in hand as she mindlessly watched an episode of Arrested Development when Killian places a massive chest on the coffee table in the exact same stop where the mountain of blankets once stood. Despite its size, it connects with a dull, soft thud. It almost sounds hollow to her.

“What’s this?”

“Well, I guess you can say it’s my version of your blankets,” he responds, opening the chest.

Socks.

Hundreds and hundreds of socks of various different colors and patterns. Some were obviously homemade, rough homespun wool with obvious mistakes in the knitting while others look more contemporary. Emma cannot help but snort as she picked up a pair covered in skulls and crossbones, rubbing her thumb over the material.

“That’s quite the collection.”

“When I was a boy, most sailors didn’t wear shoes on ships. If the weather allowed it, we went barefoot most of the time before soles of shoes became more slick resistant. Your feet have natural better grip on deck and when climbing the rigging. Not to mention, feet are better at drying out than shoes when wet,” he said, wetting his lips.

“Okay, I guess I can understand that, so why the socks if you guys weren’t big on shoes?”

“Because I remember the cold, Swan. At night, I often shared a bunk with my brother and more often than not, the blanket wasn’t enough to cover our feet. Winter at sea is hard and there were some nights that my toes nearly went black. It’s a sensation I never wanted to feel again, so whenever I had coin, I would spend it on socks…”

“You’re afraid of the cold.”

“Of course, I am. Only those who have lived in comfort don’t.”

Emma drops the socks back into the chest before pushing herself up off the couch and crossing the distance between them. Killian closes his eyes as her fingers trace the length of his cheekbone, pulling her close with his truncated arm and resting his forehead against hers.

“You don’t live on a ship anymore. You live in a house with a decently sized furnace.”

“And you don’t live on the streets anymore, but you know as well as I do that scars tend to linger…”

He’s right and she knows it. The mountain of blankets and the chest full of socks are coping mechanisms, leftover evidence of their past just as tangible as any scar. That doesn’t stop her from wincing at his words however. She can’t think of anything appropriate to say in response. So Emma does what she does best and decides to make a joke, reeling away from the intimacy of the conversation.

“Am I allowed to steal a pair or two from your secret sock chest?”

“What’s mine is yours, of course,” he chuckles in response. “As long as I’m allowed to have a few blankets.”

“Absolutely not, you’re not allowed to touch any of my twenty billion blankets. They’re mine and I totally need all of them at once and can’t spare you one.”

“Greedy,” he teases.

“Okay, maybe you have just one…”

“Just one? Out of your self-professed twenty billion? My, my, my. So generous.”

“If you’re going to complain, I’m going to revoke your privileges.”

He takes some of her blankets anyway. It’s all fair and good because sometimes his socks mysteriously end up on her feet.

Emma doesn’t think about the cold much anymore. It’s easier to handle such thoughts when she has Killian, Henry and her parents now to guide and bring light, love and laughter into her life. When life is good, the hurts hurt a little less.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean they disappear.

It’s a bitter night in late January when her thoughts turn back in time to the fears of her youth. It’s colder than it has been for a while, too cold to start the Bug and thus leaving Emma to walk through the abandoned streets of Storybrooke by herself in the dark. The air is biting, attacking her exposed skin without impunity and seeping into her body. Despite the woolen hat pulled over her ears, they feel numb and she regrets putting in earrings this morning as the cold metal irritates her skin.

Streets are dark, the lamps dull and virtually useless in the winter night. It reminds her too much of the alleys she took refuge in, hiding behind dumpsters, hoping that no one would find her and at the same time also hoping that someone would. She remembers the ratty gloves she wore and how she would tear the holes and frayed edges anxiously, waiting for something to happen; alert, tired and too afraid to fall asleep.

Killian is standing on the porch waiting for her when she arrives home. His smile falters upon catching the expression on her face as she walks into the light. She can tell he wants to say something, but he holds his tongue as he leads her into the house. His hand reaches for hers and it almost burns at the touch, as if the winter chill had made her bones too brittle to handle such heat.

After taking off her jacket and hat, he forces her to sit down in their living room, muttering to himself as he picks up three blankets, the ones she took from Phoenix, St. Louis and Boston, from the woven wicker basket her mother gifted them and starts bundling her. She almost wants to laugh at him for being such a mother hen, but she’s too cold to do anything more than chatter her teeth. He places a brief kiss on her forehead before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

“Where are you going?”

“To get more blankets!” he responds, not even bothering to look back as he ascends up the stairs. “Don’t move.”

Emma rolls her eyes but nonetheless obeys, not because he asks but more because there’s an episode of A Discovery of Witches playing on her television and it’s one she hasn’t seen, thus confirming her theory that he’s been cheating and watching ahead without her on his nights off.

When Killian returns, this time she does laugh since it seems like he’s grabbed nearly every blanket in the house. He gives her an unimpressed look as he drops the blankets down next to the couch.

“It’s bad form to laugh at a man who is doing something nice for you, love.”

“I can’t help it, you’re cute.”

“I disagree. I’m an absolutely vicious and ruthless terror of the high seas.”

“Who is also very cute and very sweet,” she replies with a small smile. “ I absolutely love you though, so that’s okay.”

“I would hope you love me since you married me after all.”

“I married you for your ship, so I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she teases.

“Well, that’s a pity because I only share my socks with women who love me.”

He pulls out a pair of socks – the skull and crossbones pair that she pulled out of his chest on the day he revealed his weird sock obsession with her. Without even thinking, Emma snatches the socks out of his hand and hugs them to her chest.

“Pirate,” he laughs with delight.

“I learned from the best,” she replies, leaning forward and kissing his nose.

He settles down next to her as she pulls on his socks, throwing all of the blankets of top of them both. It’s an absurd number of them and Emma feels like there’s half a foot of wool, cotton and fleece on top of her.

“Do you want to watch this or something else?” he asks, pulling her to his side and playing with her hair.

“Well, considering you seem to be a few episodes ahead me, cheater, it might be best to put something else on.”

He rolls his eyes but relents nonetheless by putting on an early episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Emma buries her head in the crook of his shoulder, warm and content despite the bitter cold outside. Her body relaxes, exhaustion from a long day of fielding complaints settles in and she barely notices as her eyelids grew heavy. She’s halfway through a Halloween Heist episode when she falls asleep, snoring quietly into Killian’s neck.

She wakes up a few hours later, disorientated, boiling hot and still on the couch. Killian is conked out beside her, his head thrown back and mouth wide open. Not even caring, she kicks off a good number of blankets and settles back in to sleep.

Who needs blankets when you have a Killian?

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo​!

Reminder that I am still accepting prompts for this! Check out my initial post (linked in my blog desc) for the guidelines. Also note the current bingo card on this post–the things I mark with crossbones are completed prompts, and ones with a single bone are ones that have been requested, but not written yet.

(Fics are also posted to AO3 and FFN, but please just use the links in my blog desc to get to those ‘cuz I’m too tired to make links for them.)

Aaand here’s our next prompt, submitted by @melody-of-the-universe​! This one is very fluffy. I hope you like it!

Prompt: Common Cold Characters: Héctor and Imelda, post-movie

Even an hour after the musical had ended, the theater was still crowded. Héctor was talking animatedly to one of the musicians in the crowded theater when Imelda placed a hand on his shoulder. “Héctor, remember what I said?”

“Sí, mi amor, of course!” he replied, and then turned to quickly wrap up the conversation with a promise to meet again later. That settled, he faced Imelda again, offering her his arm. “I remember, before ten.”

She nodded at him, smiling as she looped her arm around his, and the two of them walked out of the theater. “I will not go to work on less than eight hours of sleep.”

He flashed her a grin. “So you’ll stay home with me, then?”

“Héctor!” She gave him a playful shove, and they both laughed as they made their way to the gondola station.

This had been an evening they’d been planning for about a month now, as they worked their schedule around their jobs, extra deliveries, and concerts. Their lives weren’t the same as they’d been eight years ago—they were busier than ever, but it was absolutely for the better. Imelda may have missed having a slightly more lenient schedule, but she was more than willing to sacrifice that to be with her husband once more.

Tonight had been the night to see a musical—one Héctor had been highly interested in, since it was the premiere of one with brand new songs from a songwriter he liked. Apparently the musical had been unfinished in the songwriter’s life, and he’d simply picked it up again to finish it in death.

“It’s great isn’t it? When they haven’t lost interest in their writing,” Héctor babbled to her, even as he repressed a yawn. “Death can really be a killer on your inspiration for some people, heh, so it’s nice to see when it doesn’t discourage them.”

Years ago the words would have left a twist in her gut, given the reason why he’d quit music all those ages ago, but it was something they’d long since worked out in the form of apologies, tears, and the music they sang and played together. Now, she was simply happy to see him happy, and that was all that mattered.

The musical had been wonderful, and they found themselves losing track of time as they discussed the story and songs on the gondola ride back, tired though they were. As they stepped out of the station, they tried to recall the lyrics of a particular song they’d enjoyed. “It was something to do with that storm,” Imelda said, lifting up the hem of her dress as she stepped down a few stairs. “The one in the second act.”

Héctor hummed, taking her hand in his and swinging their arms back and forth as he thought, while his other hand held his hat in place to keep it from being blown away by the wind. “Something like… ‘And then the rain will fall—’”

“No, no, she never said ‘rain.’ It was certainly ‘storm,’ I remember. Oh, and ‘storming.’ She used it to rhyme with ‘warm’ and ‘warning.’”

“Sí, you’re probably right. But then—” He paused, and Imelda glanced over when his arm stilled, finding him with a stunned expression on his face. “…Rain?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It was absolutely ‘storm.’”

“No, no no, I mean rain.”

“But—”

A large drop immediately splashed onto her head, and she stopped.

“…Rain.”

“Sí. It—I thought it wasn’t supposed to do that today—”

The raindrops were coming faster now, and they were still a fifteen minute walk from home. “Did you bring an umbrella?”

“No.”

They swore simultaneously and took off running, Héctor removing his hat and holding it over Imelda’s head, for all the good it would do. Immediately she regretted wearing heels; though she’d hand-made them herself, even the most skilled Rivera craftsmanship couldn’t prevent the eventual ache that came with running in heels.

As they turned a corner, the rain picked up even more, as did the wind, causing the rain to beat against them in great gusts. It might not have been quite so terrible had it not been January, but as it was, it was bitterly freezing. Imelda’s dress was getting wet, though not soaked through, and her bones that weren’t covered with clothing felt like ice. That was bad enough, but they were so focused on getting home that they weren’t looking where they ran, and Héctor let out a startled whoop as they splashed through a deep puddle, thoroughly soaking his nice pants and her dress.

“We should have taken Pepita!” Héctor called over the wind.

“In this rain with her wind speeds?”

“Aaaeeh… fair point!”

It felt like an age before they finally arrived at the hacienda, and Héctor was quick to open the gate for Imelda. When they reached the house, Imelda fumbled through her purse with numb, shaking hands as she searched for the key, while Héctor wrung out his scarf. Finally they stepped through the door, both of them heaving an exhausted sigh of relief.

“That… could have gone better,” Héctor remarked as he hung up his hat. He then pulled off his wig, twisting it to wring it out.

“Stop that, don’t dry it out over the floor like some animal,” Imelda said, shivering as she turned to close the door. Before she could, however, a winged, hairless alebrije squeezed through, stood between the two skeletons, and shook himself dry. Imelda cried out in disgust, while Héctor sighed heavily.

“Thank you for the demonstration, Dante,” he said, deadpan, as he replaced his wig with a wet thwap. Dante, meanwhile, trotted over to the living room and flopped down onto the rug, rolling around on it to further dry himself. Neither of them had the energy to scold him for it.

Imelda glanced at the wall clock, wincing when she noticed the time. “Ten minutes to ten,” she breathed, her shoulders sagging. “At least we made it home on time.” The rest of the house was deserted—everyone had already gone to their respective rooms for the night, and it was about time they get to theirs.

As she made her way up the stairs, Héctor let out a great yawn, attempting to speak through it: “—shower would’ve been nice.”

“Yes, and then I would have to put you back together and carry you out of the bathroom after you fall asleep in the tub again.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I say it because we both need to sleep in bed, mi amor.”

It was a pain to disrobe from their sopping wet clothes, but they managed, toweling dry and changing into freshly-washed night clothes. Sure enough, they slipped into bed just before the clock struck the hour. “Gracias for taking me to the play, Héctor,” she murmured as she settled next to him.

Wrapping his arms around her, he mumbled something barely comprehensible in response: “Mm… Sorry ‘bout… the rain…”

Imelda smiled. “I’m deeply offended you couldn’t control the weather.”

Héctor chuckled softly beside her, and it was the last sound she heard from him before he drifted off, and she soon followed.

Imelda didn’t know what time it was when she found herself slipping back into awareness; all she knew was that it was freezing, and the sound of her bones shivering against Héctor’s was rather obnoxious.

Blinking in the darkness, she tried to discern the time from the clock on her nightstand. The hands on it glowed faintly (it was a little more modern than she normally liked, but it was a gift from her brothers, and she had to admit the feature was useful), and it took her a moment to realize that it was a little after one in the morning. She really should go back to sleep, and tried to settle closer to Héctor, hoping he would provide more warmth.

To her surprise, the clattering sound of bone against bone grew even louder, and she realized Héctor was shivering as well. It wasn’t just her, then—it really was freezing in the room. Luckily she kept a few extra blankets in the trunk at the foot of their bed, but the problem was getting out of bed without waking Héctor up. She tried to slip out from his arms, but he only let out a faint whine, wrapping his arms around her more tightly. Fortunately she knew the workaround to this, and carefully tugged her pillow between herself and her husband. Héctor responded by wrapping himself around the pillow, leaving Imelda to slip away.

Crawling out from under the quilt and standing barefoot on the hardwood floor seemed to increase her chill tenfold. Imelda retrieved the blanket and spread it over their quilt as quickly as she could before returning to the warmth of the bed. However, the added weight and warmth of the blanket didn’t seem to completely chase out the cold—in fact, it felt almost simultaneously too hot and too cold—but it would have to do.

Imelda tugged the pillow out of her husband’s arms and settled next to him once more. Hopefully this would be the end of it, and the chill wouldn’t wake either of them up for the rest of the night.

Of course, the universe seemed keen on disregarding Imelda’s wishes. It didn’t feel like much later that Imelda found herself waking again (at five thirty-eight, the clock cheerfully informed her) to a terrible chill once again. This was absurd—had they left a window open? Or the balcony door? But why would they do that in the middle of winter?

Lifting herself up on her arm, Imelda glanced toward the windows. The curtains were pulled over them, but she could faintly hear the sound of wind and rain outside—if the windows were open, the curtains would be billowing in the wind, surely. She had to twist herself around, looking up over Héctor to see the curtains covering the balcony door, but they too were still.

Ridiculous.

Clearly there must be a draft somewhere in the house—possibly from her brothers conducting another experiment without her permission, or perhaps Pepita had scratched another hole in the side of the building. Either way, she would deal with it after she got ready for work.

Imelda tried to leave the bed again, only to find Héctor clinging to her once again, shivering. “Nooo… no, stay,” he mumbled, half-asleep, and Imelda blinked.

She knew what he’d said, but for some reason, he sounded like he was speaking through a stuffy nose. Which made little sense, given they didn’t have noses anymore. Regardless, she rolled her eyes, letting him cling to her for a few more moments. It wasn’t six yet, after all.

Héctor seemed pleased with this, sighing as he tucked his head against her shoulder.

The only thing keeping Imelda from enjoying the peacefulness of the moment was the chill in the air and—she now realized—the strange ache in her chest and in her joints. Remembering she’d been running around in her heels last night, however, she figured that was probably what was causing the soreness. That’s what it had to be, not… anything else. It was her fault for wearing impractical footwear that night—a rarity for a Rivera, but it did happen.

Eventually the minutes ticked on, and it was time to get up. Once more exchanging herself for a pillow, Imelda slipped away from her husband and prepared for a usual day of work at the zapatería. When she found herself sniffling, she blamed it on the new perfume she’d picked up at the store—she would have to try a different brand later.

In spite of how cold and sore Imelda felt, she finished getting ready (putting on a long-sleeved dress this time) and made her way down the first flight of stairs. She reached the landing, paused, then sneezed.

Her first instinct was to cover her face in surprise, but she forced herself to relax the second she heard footsteps scurrying closer. A door just by the stairs creaked open, and Oscar and Felipe poked their heads out into the hallway.

“Salud.”

“Buenas dias,” she said, giving her brothers an unimpressed look. “I thought you were supposed to clean and dust around here yesterday.”

“Oh, we did!” Felipe exclaimed, ducking back into the room for a moment.

“Sí,” Oscar confirmed. “We used our prototype dusting machine!”

Felipe stepped out into the hallway, carrying a contraption that consisted of two feather dusters tied to a device with a crank attached. He immediately began working it in demonstration, and the feather dusters spun in a circle. “We completed our task with only minor complications.”

“It only took half an hour longer than normal.”

“It seems you missed a spot or two, then,” Imelda said, turning away and fighting the urge to sniffle. (She didn’t have a nose, so there was nothing to sniff with, or even sneeze with, for that matter.) “You should do a more thorough cleaning after work today.” With that, she headed down the second set of stairs before they could protest.

The morning continued to go on as normal, mostly, as the others made their way downstairs and started their breakfast before work. It was all fine at first—a few of them asked how her date with Héctor had gone last night, and she’d been happy to tell them about it. But she could also tell they were glancing at her every so often, with the way she avoided eating and kept to short sips of coffee instead, but she ignored them as she tried to hide her shivers. She already knew what they wanted to say—that she must be sick, and should take it easy, but they all knew better than that.

At least, she thought they did.

“Mamá Imelda,” Rosita said, and Imelda snapped to attention, realizing she must have zoned out. “You should probably stay home and rest. You seem like you’re—”

“I am not sick,” Imelda said, resisting the urge to sniffle again. Her voice was taking on the same stuffy quality her husband’s had, much to her annoyance. “You know we can’t get sick. We don’t have anything to be sick with.”

The others exchanged glances, and Imelda rolled her eyes. “It’s all a trick of the mind. I’m not really sick, but because of a bit of rain…” She shook her head. “I’ll be heading in today. This is nothing to miss work over.”

Fortunately that seemed to shut everyone up, and she was grateful that they finally dropped it. Or perhaps they knew there was no point in arguing? In any case, she was glad to get that out of the way.

Until Coco brought up something else: “Has anyone seen Papá?”

“He’s usually up by now, isn’t he?” Victoria asked, glancing toward the stairs.

That was true; it wasn’t uncommon for Héctor to wake up late, and none of them really minded, but usually he tried to be up on time to go with Imelda in to work, at least. Recalling the way her husband had been shivering earlier, Imelda frowned. “I’ll go check on him,” she said, heading for the stairs. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be in to work on time.”

She didn’t care whether or not any of them believed her, because she’d make sure of it herself. She would be in to work today. There was no reason not to be. Sure her feet hurt, but she wasn’t going to be on her feet all day. And maybe her chest hurt a bit, but she wasn’t going to be doing any running around, either. She would be fine.

Stepping into the bedroom, she found Héctor still asleep and shivering, his arms clutching the pillow. She approached the bed, reached out to brush his hair out of his face, and felt his forehead. Sure enough, it was warm—he was running a slight fever, though nothing serious. Sighing softly, she ran her hand through his hair, and he stirred.

“Stay here and rest, Héctor,” she said gently. “I’ll come back to check on you during my break.” Bending down, she planted a light kiss on his forehead before pulling away.

Just as she approached the bedroom door, however, she felt a soft tug on the back of her apron. Confused, she turned around, only to find nothing out of the ordinary—Héctor was still seemingly asleep in bed. When she turned to face the door again, she felt another tug, and this time reached back, startled to feel something long sticking out of her back. Quickly she yanked it off of her and held it in front, only to roll her eyes exaggeratedly at the sight of Héctor’s arm waving cheerfully at her.

Looking back again, she found Héctor propped up on his other elbow, eying her with a raised brow bone and a playful-but-tired smile on his face. “You’re not going to work,” he said, his voice still stuffy with cold, and Imelda clicked her non-existent tongue.

“I am. Stop messing around and get some rest.” Imelda tossed the arm back to the bed. While she noticed he’d failed to catch it, she didn’t think anything of it until she felt something tugging at her apron again. “Héctor!”

Héctor’s other hand was rather insistently tugging at her skirt, and when she pulled it to her front, it stood up on her hand on two of its fingers, looking almost like a little person. The sight amused Imelda until the hand managed to leap up on top of her head, then settled to her forehead, just long enough for Héctor to feel it.

“You have a fever,” he said, and the hand jumped away from Imelda as he recalled it, moving back to his wrist with a reconnecting pop. “And you’re not going to work.”

“How on earth do you manage that?” Imelda asked, hands on her hips.

“Telling that your temperature is higher than normal?”

“I mean that trick with your hand.”

“Oh.” Héctor sat up, rubbing his wrist sheepishly. “Well, when you’re dead for a hundred years, you get kinda bored sometimes…” He plucked off his left hand again, setting it on his right palm, and made it do a convincing imitation of a zapateado dance.

“Very impressive.” Imelda smiled, cocking a brow herself. “But I’m not going to stay home from work tod—” Her voice broke off into a series of coughs, and she held a hand to her chest.

“Imelda…” Héctor said, his voice softening as he scooched over to sit on the edge of the bed. “This isn’t like… how things were in the Land of the Living.”

“Exactly,” she said, wincing slightly at the roughness of her voice. “This is all just in our mind thinking that we’re sick. Nothing more.”

Héctor shook his head. “Not what I mean. It’s…” He scratched the back of his head, looking away. “I know, back then, you had to work hard, even if you weren’t feeling well… because you had to, if you wanted to feed everyone.”

Picking up on the hints of guilt tugging at his words, Imelda took a seat next to her husband, reaching out. “Héctor—”

He held up his hands in protest. “No, no. The point is… everything’s okay, now. We don’t have to worry about money, and the others can handle running the shop without you for a day.”

Imelda glanced away. “But I’m not—”

Héctor cut her off again, this time unintentionally with a sneeze, nearly knocking his wig off. Startled, he held a hand to his head to straighten his hair before giving a slight laugh. “Listen, you told me to take it easy, and I’m pretty sure you’re feeling the same as me. Right?”

Before she could answer him, she nearly sneezed, herself, and paused long enough to suppress it. “No.”

Héctor laughed, and Imelda chuckled as well.

“Very well,” she conceded. “I’ll stay home… on one condition.”

Héctor beamed, sitting up straight. “¿Sí?”

Imelda gave him a half-smile. “You have to make tea for the both of us.”

“Sí, Imelda!” He went to push himself up off the bed, only to pause, and laugh again.

“What’s so funny?”

“You told me last night that you wouldn’t stay home with me if you got eight hours of sleep. But I guess now you get the best of both worlds, eh?”

“Ugh.” She shoved him backwards onto the bed, but smiled. “I’ll make the tea myself.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Addewid (VIII)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4,036

Summary: “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

Nodding at him, I step into the bedroom and shut the door. Leaning softly against it as I listen to Kai move in the room next door. I hear the sound of him removing his boots. The sound of him removing something else and flush, pushing away from the door.

I walk to the water basin, splashing cold water on myself as I stare at the mirror. I look exhausted. Exhausted, feeble and utterly mortal. A pang goes through me as I consider the man next door. Kai protects me through some warped sense of duty. A belief in honor that once made, he keeps his promises.

It couldn’t be more than that.

Though the clothes in the wardrobe are male, I find them warm and comfortable and curl up in bed happier than I’ve been in weeks. The lids of my eyes are heavy, tired and yet I can’t sleep.

My thoughts can’t help drifting to the room beside me, and I can’t fall asleep.

XIII - The Seelie 

The night is dark, air cool against my skin when I bolt upright. My scream dies in my throat as I find myself unsure whether I’m still dreaming or not. My brow is drenched with sweat, matted and stuck to both cheeks as my head spins with nausea. There was a forest. I was in a forest, surrounding by shadow and pain. Pain such as I’ve never felt before. Without pausing, I heave over the side of my bed.

The door to my bedroom opens and I see Kai, sword half-drawn and hair mussed with sleep. He looks frantic. “What’s wrong?” he gasps, nearly out of breath.

I recoil, unable to help myself. Seeing him, I remember my dream. I see it all. Kai advancing in the forest. Blood on his dagger and wind in his hair. No warmth in those dark eyes, though a smile curved his lips. His silver collar was tight around his throat, gleaming while he shoved me against a tree. “Maeve sends her regards,” he whispered, right before cutting into me. The blade pierced flesh, shadows dancing even as I screamed in pain.

Loud enough to wake myself, and now Kai is here. Now I stare at my own nightmare, the taste of bile in my throat. Slowly, Kai sets his sword on the dresser. He’s not dressed his normal, formal attire. Just plain pants and a tunic. Similar to what I’m wearing and I wonder if these are his clothes. If this place is his, as well.

Kai disappears to reappear before my bed. Clutching my sheet tighter, I sit up. Even though I’m fully dressed, it feels strangely intimate having him here. His face is lit by moonlight, making him seem both closer and more alien. Kai bends to survey me with those dark eyes and traitorously so, my breath starts to even.

It should be the opposite. I shouldn’t feel calmed by him, shouldn’t feel comforted in his presence. My dream was trying to tell me that. Kai belongs to Maeve, belongs to the wilds of Faery and I am nothing compared to that.

Kai’s hand touches my chin, lifting my face. “Are you alright?” he asks, the words soft in otherwise darkness.

I stare back, half-caught in the thrall of my dream. My gaze moves lower and I wonder what it would be like to kiss Kai. To press my lips to his, arching upwards and as I think this, my sheet falls from my grasp. Landing around my waist as I stare up at him. What I see there should scare me. Kai’s eyes are black, dark as the night. I watch, entranced when he leans forward. Barely a hair, but - 

“I dreamt of you,” I blurt out.

Kai stops. His gaze finds my own and I realize he was also staring. “What?”

“You,” I pause, chest rising and falling. “You wanted to hurt me.”

Shadows enter his gaze, but Kai remains frozen.

“Or.” I tilt my head, curious. "I think maybe you had to hurt me." 

Now that the dream is coming back, I recall no joy in his eyes. Even as he hurt me, Kai seemed pained. He gasped when his blade entered and I don’t recall whether it was his scream or mine which woke me.

Something flickers in Kai’s eyes. "That sounds like a nightmare, indeed.”

Then he’s gone, removed to the doorway and I’m left staring at an empty space. I glance sideways, observing his dark shadow on my bed. Kai’s arms are folded, tunic half-fallen so that I catch a glimpse of his broad expanse of chest.

“What is this place?” I ask, curious.

“The past,” Kai says simply. He turns to walk from my room. Stopping just before the door to look over his shoulder. “We leave tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

He shuts the door when he leaves.

I stare after him. Stare at the grainy pattern of the wood, the brass doorknob he touched. I have the strangest urge to get out of this bed. To walk across this floor, open that door and tell him to come back. Now that Kai is gone, my nightmare returns and I pull aside my covers. Swinging my legs to the side and pressing my feet to the floor.

The floor is cold, and the coldness reminds me Kai is Unseelie. He is Fey, I am human and were I to enter his room right now, he’d only laugh - or worse. Slowly, I pull my feet back onto my bed. Lying down and turning to one side.

The moonlight dances over the snow outside and I marvel at the cleanliness of this world. Wonder at how empty it is. I suppose we’re far, lost to the mountains but I’m surprised at the tranquility of this place. The past, Kai said.

An answer darts through my mind, but I don’t catch hold and before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep.

The next morning starts peacefully. The sun rising through my windows, its rays waking me. I open first one eye, then the other. Surprised to find Kai not there. I thought he might be – holding a bucket of water, threatening me to get up. He did say first thing in the morning.

The floor creaks beneath my feet as I walk to the sink. Cleaning myself the best I can before heading towards the dresser. My clothes are right where I left them, laid in clean piles as I slowly dress myself. There’s a snag in the bottom of my t-shirt and I bring my hand to this, stretching the hole to see the tag on the inside. I smile, finger trailing over worn marker from f my father.

There was one summer – the only summer, really – that I went away to camp. My father insisted on marking every piece of clothing with my name. My name along with a skull and crossbones symbol, which surprisingly did nothing to gain me popularity. It did make me laugh, though.

My throat tightens. I miss him.

I jump when someone clears his throat. 

“Muriel can fix that,” Kai nods, standing framed in my doorway.

Dropping the hem of my t-shirt, I glare up at him. “Quit doing that.”

“Doing what?” Kai asks. 

As I watch him, my frown deepens. It’s not fair - we slept at the same place, his bed was even less comfortable than mine and somehow he still looks radiant. I glance quickly at the mirror and sigh. “Stop sneaking up on me,” I mutter, turning away.

Kai raises both eyebrows. “Next time I’ll try and drop a note.”

My gaze lifts to his and I hate the blush on my cheeks. It’s hard to face him though, without remembering the tension of last night. I can’t stop thinking about his gaze, his parted lips, the taut silence between us. I wonder if it was just my imagination. Kai seems completely unaffected, which makes me think that maybe it was. I was half-asleep at the time and right now, his gaze upon mine is solid.

“Let’s go,” Kai says, pushing away from the frame.

I follow him into the next room. Surprised when I see coffee and bread laid out on the table.

“Eat,” Kai demands, buckling his sword around his waist. “It would be bad if you collapsed on the trail.”

Rather than respond, I roll my eyes. Pulling back a chair to take a seat. “Thank you,” I say, bread already halfway to my mouth. “Although – if I remember correctly, you were the one who used so much magic you couldn’t run.”

Kai yanks his belt tighter, expression neutral. “It’s impolite in most circles to insult the individual who saved your life.”

“Ah,” I muse, trying to hide my smile. “Luckily, I was not wasn’t raised in any such circle." 

Kai snorts. Turning away and I glance down, trying to avoid staring while he tugs his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. 

"So.” I struggle to keep my tone light. “What’s up with the whole naming thing?”

Kai’s shoulders tense. “What do you mean?” he asks, looking backwards. “Did someone ask for your name?”

“Sehun did." 

Kai stills, gaze frozen. "You didn't… you didn’t tell him your name, did you?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to but he – Sehun – used persuasion.” I stutter to a stop when I see Kai’s expression has become stone. His lips are white, face pale and before I can blink, he stands before me.

“Sehun knows your name,” Kai breathes, gaze serious. “Your true name?”

“I – yes.” I’m taken aback by his intensity. “What does that mean? I know in my father’s research he said never tell a faery your name. He didn’t know why though. Just not to.” Staring up at him, my breathing becomes shallow. Kai looks horrified. “What… what does this mean?”

Kai swallows. Pushing both hands through his hair as, for the first time since I’ve come to Faery, Kai looks anything but in control. “No wonder he agreed to the Addewid,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.

“No wonder he agreed?” Kai doesn’t answer and, frustrated by his lack of response, I rise. “Tell me what I’ve done,” I demand, leaving my chair.

Kai’s eyes snap to mine. “What you’ve done,” he hisses. “Is given Sehun control over your person. If he has your name, he can use persuasion to make you do just about anything.”

My thoughts spin, the entire earth seeming to tilt. “So he… so Sehun could….”

Kai’s expression remains blank, but he nods. “He agreed to make that Addewid knowing full well he already had something even more precious. With your true name, Sehun can run to Maeve and tell her. Then she’ll do his dirty work and he won’t be hurting you himself. A technicality, little one.”

My legs wobble, though I manage to remain standing. “Kai.” A thought occurs to me, and I watch his expression as I ask, “Why doesn’t Maeve already know my name?”

Sehun hinted this in the library and in the manor. Kai kept me secret from Maeve and I want to know why. Need to know why, need to know if he intends to harm or help me. Either way, I’m not sure it matters. I wouldn’t be able to leave regardless.

Kai stares back, processing my words. His lips part, then close. “Maeve doesn’t know your name,” he admits, exhaling softly. “Because I don’t know it myself.”

“I – you what?" 

Though my head spins and I struggle to think –I can’t recall a single instance where Kai has said my name. It’s always little one, human, idiot. Many things to make me scowl or smile but never my name. Never my true name, at least. 

My gaze lifts to his. "Why?”

Kai falters under the weight of my question. “If I knew your name,” he says hesitantly. “Maeve could steal that information from my mind. Ignorance is a better excuse than kindness,” he reminds, repeating his words from earlier.

His words are crushing, not because of what they say but what they imply. His words paint a life without trust. An existence where Kai has to hide his feelings not just from Maeve but himself - because he’s not truly his. Maeve must have taken information before, for Kai to know that the only way to keep things a secret is not to know them at all.

Now though, it doesn’t matter. Now Kai’s one attempt at keeping me safe has been negated because Sehun knows. He knows my name and, understanding this – I take a step closer.

Kai looks down, alarmed when I slowly on tiptoe. I take a breath, placing my lips by his ear to whisper, “I am Y/N.“

Kai stills, body motionless as his gaze moves sideways. It catches my own, sparking something deep within me. "No. It’s not,” he breathes, expression wondrous.

“What?” My brow furrows. “I assure you, it is.”

“It’s part of your name,” Kai admits, nodding. “But not in full. There’s more, parts you’ve yet to discover and if that’s what you gave Sehun – you may be safer than I thought.”

I blink, confused by his words. “What do you mean, there’s more to my name?”

Kai shrugs. “When you hear a person’s true name, it sings.” He falters, trailing off as he stares back at me. “I don’t know how to describe it more than that.”

“Well.” I pause. “Tell me your name, then. I want to hear what you mean.”

As soon as I ask, the corner of his mouth lifts. Kai takes a step closer, gaze burning. “You want to know my name, little one?”

I attempt a nod but find I cannot. Kai lifts his hand and I realize then that I’m frozen. I can’t move, even as he presses a finger, feather-light to my skin. “Do you want to know,” he murmurs. “The total number of people who know my name? My true name,” he adds, so soft it could be a caress.

I follow his fingertip with my eyes, the only part of me that moves. It’s odd. Though I’m frozen, his grip feels tenuous. As if I could easily break free, should I desire. I don’t want to. Kai’s eyes spark and I realize he’s teasing me. My heart pounds traitorously in my chest.

As though he can hear, Kai smiles faintly. “Two people,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “One of whom is no longer with us. Which brings the grand total down to one: Maeve.”

My eyes widen when he takes a step backwards. I find I can speak then and when I do, my voice is shaky. “I apologize,” I say, limbs loosening from his hold. “I didn’t realize telling someone your name was so… intimate.”

I wish I could say I wouldn’t have told, had I known. I still would have though, even if I’d known it was dangerous and even if I’d known it was intimate. It’s this which convinces me to take a step backwards.

“When you find out your true name,” Kai murmurs, sadness in his gaze. “Don’t tell anyone.”

He looks away, the moment broken and all movements returns to my limbs. I still feel his touch though, lingering on my cheek as I stare. He doesn’t look back, cinching his coat tighter to open the door. “We should go.”

I nod, stepping past and blinking in the sudden sunlight. Raising my hand to my brow and squinting against the snow.

Kai steps beside me. “Follow me.”

He strides into the woods without so much as a backwards glance. I fall into step beside him, staring at the woods around us, awed. We’re moving down the mountain, away from the direction from whence we came. 

I walk until I can no longer keep silent. “Where are we going?” I ask, turning my head.

“Home.” Kai continues to walk. “Where else?”

I shrug, twisting the bottom of my jacket. “Didn’t we come from the other way?”

Kai exhales. “That was the way to Sehun’s manor. This is the quickest route to mine – through the Seelie court. Otherwise we’d need to backtrack and I don’t want to risk running into Sehun.”

“Oh.” I fall silent, remembering his description of the Seelie lands. Though not as cruel as Unseelie, equally as destructive. “Isn’t this dangerous?” I ask. “You’re not exactly… inconspicuous.”

A ghost of a smile crosses Kai’s lips. “Says the human in Faery.” He looks at me. “We’ll move fast then, how about that?”

“Was that a joke?”

Kai shakes his head. “Never. You must have me confused with my twin brother, Lai. He’s the funny one.”

I stare in amazement. “It was a joke,” you breathe. “A bad one, but a joke nonetheless. Who would have thought,” I grin, amusement growing. “The Ice Prince has a sense of humor.”

“Ice Prince?” When Kai grins, the gesture is wicked. “Is that what you think of me?” Before I can move he’s behind me. Soft breath against my cheek while he says, “My preferred gift is fire, actually.”

Before me, a circle of flames grows in midair. I stare, wide-eyed before it disappears. Kai moves to reappear before me, arching a brow. “Let’s go,” he smiles.

I snort, stumbling after while he moves gracefully down the hill. “How can you be like that,” I grumble, trying not to show how in awe I am. “Blazing with fire and then, poof, disappearing. Ridiculous fairy.”

Kai’s shoulders shake with laughter before stopping at the edge of the forest. My words die as I come to a halt beside him, staring out over the austere landscape. It’s beautiful, in a different way than the human world. In Seelie everything is green. Lush, beautiful grass spread in every direction. This is what I thought Faery would look like. A gentle breeze rolls through the valley and I inhale, intoxicated by wildflowers and dew.

Kai doesn’t seem to share my sense of excitement. He stares warily around at the landscape.

“What’s wrong?” I tease, taking a step forward. The mountains rise on either side, cradling the valley in rows of exposed rock and grass. Shards of limestone spear the grass before me, jutting from the earth like bones.

The sun is bright though, the world clean and I spin in a slow circle. Too happy to be out of endless winter to notice Kai go still. His gaze shoots to our right and I barely have time to react before he’s in front of me. Body covering mine, lips pulled back in a silent snarl.

“Kai?” I whisper. The wind whips my hair back from my face.

Kai continues to stare in that direction, head tilted to one side – listening. “They’re close,” he murmurs. Gaze darting sideways, searching for shelter but finding none.

“Who? Who’s close?" My hands circle his arms unthinkingly. Kai doesn’t react though, beside pushing me further behind him. Still watching the same place on the horizon. 

He doesn’t move, not even when my human eyes finally perceive the threat he’s seen for miles. "The Summer court,” he mutters.

I watch them move closer. Kai murmurs to me in snippets, hushed bits of breath before they arrive. It’s a hunting party, he says. There are no important nobles, judging by their crests. Lower Lords and Ladies, out for a bit of sport and fun. They heard us through the pass and came to investigate. I need to remain quiet and still, let Kai do the talking.

I nod, body trembling despite Kai’s relative calm. Given what he’s said of the Seelie court, I don’t see much hope I’ll leave this alive.

The Fey close the distance quickly, galloping through the valley on steeds. White, black, chestnut brown. Hardly any time passes before they’re here and I draw in a breath, stunned by their appearance. All of Kai’s servants, Sehun – they have the same pallor. An icy sheen of skin and gaze. As though they’re built of the snow itself, Unseelie land giving birth to Fey form. If the Unseelie court is ice though, Seelie is sun.

Golden Fey stare backat me, their skin toned like jewels in firelight. Some have golden hair, others silver. There’s auburn, brown and every shade between. Everything is brighter than human color, more vibrant than I thought imaginable. Dogs snap at their heels – if one can even call them that. The dogs are gigantic, bigger than any I’ve ever seen.

Many in the party carry bows and arrows, though it’s not just the hunters who ride with them. No, servants and musicians are at the back of the pack. Flasks of wine and instruments strung from hips and saddles. The party slows as they approach, coming to a stop in the meadow.

The one closest has red hair. He narrows his eyes, leaning back in his saddle. “What ho,” he says, sounding faintly bored. His lighter eyes flick to mine, then Kai. “Why so far from home, Unseelie?" 

Kai shrugs, a lazy gesture. "Hunting is scarce on the other side of the mountains these days.”

The fairy rolls his eyes. “That may be, but you are still unwelcome in our territory.” His gaze moves to mine, and he leans slightly forward. “Is that a human?”

"Mine,” Kai murmurs, gaze deadly. Several members of the court have the sensibility to look away. “Unless,” Kai smiles, hand casual on the hilt of his sword. “You care to challenge me for her?”

The fairy has a gleam in his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a woman dismounts. “You are Prince Kai, are you not?” she asks. Her eyes are dark, voice velvet. “Prince of the Unseelie court and Enforcer of Maeve?”

A ripple sweeps the party and the first fairy’s eyes widen in recognition. He recoils, hand going for his sword. “Enforcer,” he spits, eyes sparking. “Traitor.”

Kai doesn’t move. “I’d watch how you use that word,” he murmurs, voice low.

“Oh?” The fairy’s eyes are bright and I realize he’s drunk. Drunk with wine and the excitement of the chase – a dangerous combination if it means picking a fight with Kai.

Kai gives nothing away, though I’m certain he could slaughter this group if he wanted. His very posture suggests as much. Staring casually down the circle, as though deciding who to take first. The best warriors, undoubtedly. That shouldn’t be difficult, given the amount of alcohol they’ve consumed.

First the warriors, then the weaklings. Disable as quickly and quietly as possible. Break weapons, knock them unconscious. It’s considered a crime to kill a member of the opposite court in their own lands – I know this from my father’s research. Even Maeve couldn’t protect Kai in that scenario. 

Kai tilts his head to one side. “I urge you to reconsider your language,” he smiles.

“Reconsider?” The faery’s lip curls, staring Kai directly in the eyes. "What about whore? Do you reject that term as well?”

The entire Summer party blanches, fear tangible. The woman who’s dismounted raises her hand, murmuring beneath her breath. The taunting male falls silent, slumped in his saddle as the woman steps before him. She raises both hands shakily, expression white.

Kai’s back is rigid, barely able to move his gaze to hers.

Her face is pale despite the golden color. The woman’s hair is dark, bound back in strips of leather and feathers. “I apologize for my brother,” she says, voice even. “He meant no offense, Your Majesty.”

Kai’s lip curls. “It seems he did.”

“Please,” she says, eyes wide. “Please just leave him. Leave us. We mean you no harm, just leave the Seelie lands. We were returning to Tir Na Nog, anyways – just please don’t hurt him.”

It’s her fear which seems to shake Kai from anger. His gaze flickers upwards and very slowly, he exhales. “Agreed,” Kai murmurs. Gaze like steel as he surveys the slumbering fairy “Tell him when he wakes that should he step a single foot within Unseelie land – his life is forfeit to me.”

Though it seems to pain her, she nods.

“Walk,” Kai breathes, waving a hand and grabbing my elbow.

I’m half-walked, half-dragged and true to my word, I remain silent. Keeping up the pretense of being Kai’s plaything, his pet. I cast my eyes downwards, allowing my lower lip tremble. I don’t look back, though I feel their gazes on us while we walk across the meadow. The trees are close though, I can feel them beckoning. Feel them calling out to me.

My fear lessens and when it does, I realize I’m dizzy. Winded, nauseous and Kai glances sideways as my feet stumble on the grass. “Y/N?” he asks, eyes widening when I fall.

He’s there before I can hit the ground, strong arms scooping me into him. He starts to run. Faster and faster, until the world blurs around us. Streaks of gold and green turning to ice while I breathe a sigh of relief. Face turning into his chest, exhaling as the nausea fades from my limbs.

I’m tired. Drained, and I sleep before I can register what Kai is saying.

[Master List]