#and of course getting to draw celeste is always a pleasure

[maaarzsie]

chihiros nervous stop staring

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[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 38

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k (._.) ➻ rating: m ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: blood, fighting, violence, weapons, choking (not the sexy kind sorry), self-inflicted injury, some psychological torture, graphic depictions of death, drowning but not really? someone being held underwater, implied suicide (but no graphic depiction) ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part five

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Stepping onto the bridge with Wooyoung in tow is an experience to say the very least. Mostly because it is eerily quiet when you arrive, so startlingly empty that you pause the second you step into the room. Hongjoong sits still as a statue in his usual place even though he has truly no need to be in the captain’s chair since you aren’t going anywhere quite yet. The only movements he makes are to cross one leg over the other back and forth every few seconds like he can’t stay put for too long. Other than that, he makes no effort to acknowledge your presence at the edge of the bridge, which would be expected if not for the crucial nature of your mission.

The effects of Soojin’s little concoction are still weighing heavily on your muscles and bones, but you are at least able to keep your eyes open now. Jongho refuses to let go of your waist, and you might complain if you didn’t think you would crumble to a useless heap on the floor once he let you go. You don’t trust your muscles to cooperate that much.

“I see you’re bringing good news,” Hongjoong states as you draw closer to where he’s seated. One quick glance at the observation window tells you he’s carefully watching your every move, including the pair behind you that consists of Yeosang and Wooyoung.

“Aye, Captain,” Jongho says through a smile. Hongjoong finally shifts to look your way, eyes hesitating on your slumped form for a moment before moving to where Wooyoung stands.

“Glad to see you back on board, Wooyoung.” His tone won’t commit to showing how he truly feels, but there is a certain light in Hongjoong’s eyes that he cannot hide, and you find relief in his features as he looks over Wooyoung. It’s brief and temporary, but the obvious warmth that his countenance holds as he and Wooyoung make eye contact is enough to show you how heavily this has been weighing on the young captain as well.

“Glad to be back, Captain,” Wooyoung answers in haste. You can hear the smile in his voice even if you cannot see it.

“Were there any issues with the mission?”

“No, just… a small hiccup.” Jongho glances down at you, and the slight shift has Hongjoong redirecting his focus to you as well. You steel yourself for some sort of lecture, a backhanded comment about staying focused on the task at hand, or maybe even just a comment about you being a weak link. Hongjoong’s gaze never hardens though. Instead, he offers a small nod then —

“I see. Be sure to check in with Yunho in that case.”

Something else nags at the edge of your thoughts then, mostly due to the absence of one certain person on the bridge at the moment.

“Where is Jisung?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

Cold, cold, cold. Red in your vision, hands on your throat, and everything is cold.

“In the brig. We — I decided it would be best to keep him there until the situation changes.” Hongjoong’s answer is spoken through a stiff and uncomfortable tone, and you expect that he was met with some resistance when it came to such a decision. But of course, that begs another question about the other person who is not on the bridge or by Hongjoong’s side like he typically would be.

“And Seonghwa?”

“Also in the brig.” Hongjoong presses his lips together, and he shifts to glare holes into the floor. The shift in his demeanor is slight but unsettling nonetheless, especially as he forces a tight grin onto his lips a second later. “Wooyoung, after you’ve settled and taken some time to recover, I’d like to chat. I won’t ask anything too invasive, but I need to know a little bit about the places you were held and where San and Mingi could possibly be. And Yeosang, a mission debriefing is needed as well.”

“We can talk now, Captain. I’ve got some news that should be helpful anyway!” Wooyoung steps around you to talk more directly to Hongjoong, Yeosang lingering at his side the whole time, and you pull back to give them more space. “I’ll go see our dear doctor after we chat. He’ll talk my ear off anyway.”

“Do you need to see Yunho?” Jongho asks, stepping back with you.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Right now I… I think I just need to see Jisung,” you murmur. How are you going to stomach looking at him without thinking of his hands around your throat and trying to kill you?

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“If he’s in the brig being watched by Seonghwa, how much damage can he do?”

Jongho falls silent at that, mostly because your point holds strong, but he still stays by your side during the walk down there. And arguably yes it is your first time heading down to that part of the ship; the only times you’ve wandered in that vague direction are when you went to the cargo bay with Jongho. There is a different kind of tension in your muscles now though, one that feels much more like walking to your inevitable doom than anything else. That feeling intensifies with each step closer to the small hatch leading down to the brig, a ladder with metal rungs taking you to a place you aren’t sure you want to be. A quick glance over your shoulder shows you a minor portion of the brig, only enough to see three cells lined up on the left then a sharp corner that no doubt leads to more cells in a narrow hallway. Typical of a ship of this caliber. They aren’t built to house prisoners, and any slave trades made with such a vessel would only carry that precious cargo in the cargo hold. They would only need roughly twenty of these cells — five by five squares with just enough space for the average person to stand up comfortably but nothing more than that.

Yet when your feet hit the cold paneled floor and echo a hollow noise, your gaze falls upon Jisung and only Jisung. He is safely tucked away in the middle cell, walls of bars surrounding him and separating your body from his, but that’s hardly noticeable compared to Seonghwa’s absence near his cell. Hongjoong had claimed that Seonghwa was down here with Jisung, and the initial lack of his presence immediately sends your brain into danger mode.

“What did you do with Seonghwa?” You inquire without hesitation, leveling the man you used to admire so fucking much with a glare full of heat you didn’t even know you were capable of. Jisung laughs from the spot where he is curled up on the floor. He has his back pressed to the only solid wall in the cell, knees pulled up to his chest and elbows draped overtop them so that his hands hang loosely down in the space before him. The huff of air that passes through his lips almost sounds like a laugh. It does nothing to quell your nerves — if anything it makes your anxiety spike a bit higher, causing Jongho to lay a hand down on the small of your back in attempts to calm you some no doubt.

“Shouldn’t you be asking your dearest captain that?” Comes Jisung’s scathing reply, complete with a sneer and curled lip. The disdain in his tone isn’t hard to miss at all. His chin tilts. Eyes blaze with some fury. Then he presses his tongue against his bottom lip and forces the skin there to stretch under the pressure. “To think you escaped my cruel clutches just to fall into the filthy hands of a scourge who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. A beautiful irony, don’t you think?”

You don’t give him the pleasure of hearing any response from you.

“Don’t worry, doll. You’ll be safe in my hands soon enough,” he says, tone almost bordering on teasing rather than being serious with the threat. “What’s it? Got one back, no? Not the one you care about though, am I right?” Jisung brings his head forward again, staring down the line of empty cells before him like he’s taunting something nonexistent there. “Poor, poor lieutenant. Denied by both the people he loves. How much bending can an Elitist take until he breaks? I’ve always wondered that… never did get to see Hyunwoo snap after all. Perhaps now I’ll get to witness it with my own two eyes.”

“Don’t speak on things you know nothing about.”

That stops you dead in your tracks, your whole body lurching as you are midway to stepping closer to Jisung’s cell. The words don’t come from your lips, nor do they come from Jongho’s, but the tiny voice in the back of your head tells you that no one snuck down behind you and Jongho. And that Jisung’s staring isn’t coincidental or meaningless at all. A cruel smile curls the corners of his mouth. He prods at one side with the tip of his tongue and releases a laugh that is more hollow than anything else.

You force your legs into action and push yourself forward, although this time you don’t head for Jisung’s cell like you originally intended to do. Instead, you round the sharp corner leading to the remaining cells in the brig with bated breath and a growing sense of dread in your gut.

As it turns out, that dread is not misplaced in the slightest.

Because the moment you stare down the row of metal cages perpendicular to Jisung’s own holding cell, your gaze falls on something heart-wrenching and horrid to see. And Jongho might be confused — a bit beyond merely confused, you’ll admit — but you? You recognize this to be the cruel picture your mind conjured up the day Hongjoong told you that you would be going on the rescue mission for Wooyoung.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come to stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

It’s Seonghwa who sits far in the back of the brig, curled in on himself in the very last cell in the block with what feels like leagues stretching between you and where he is. Chains cuffing his wrists together and a shackle hanging so heavy on his neck that he can barely lift his head. You’ve never seen a man look so small and insignificant in your life; the knowledge and realization that it’s none other than Seonghwa under those chains burn so deep in your chest that you forget how to breathe properly until Jongho shatters the weighty silence by joining you in front of the row of cells.

“Lieutenant?”

“The mission, Jongho. Did you recover him?”

How dare Seonghwa look so gentle and confident even while being chained and held in the brig of his own ship?

“I — yes, Lieutenant, we recovered him but — but you—”

“Good,” Seonghwa interjects. He gives a heavy nod that makes the iron hanging from his neck rattle. “Then there is no reason for you to be down here currently. I’m sure our captain would have much better use for you now than I do.” Seonghwa’s dark eyes remain fixated on you as he speaks, but you’re too far away to even try to discern the emotion concealed in them.

Jongho turns back to the ladder leading out of the cellblock. He doesn’t put up a fight or argue about the matter; merely looks the other way and follows the order like nothing is possibly wrong with the scene unfolding before him.

You, on the other hand, hardly consider yourself the kind of person who gives in so easily.

Thus, against better judgment no doubt, you step around the wall of cells separating you and Seonghwa, then take the steely walk over to that far corner of the brig.

And against better judgment, with Hongjoong’s words of warning ringing in your ears of how dangerous Seonghwa was the last time he was in such a position, you get as close to the cell as humanly possible. You curl your fingers around the bars as you sink to your knees in front of him, eyes unable to find a comfortable resting place anywhere on his body and instead finding purchase on the sliver of the floor still exposed under his knees. He, like Jisung, has his back pressed to the cage, bars digging harshly into his typical billowing black coat. He can’t extend his legs all the way in the cell and is thus forced to keep his knees bent at an awkward angle that will surely hurt after some time has passed. Hands are held together by that short chain and stretched as far as possible over his knees. You would never go so far as to say Seonghwa could ever look pitiful, but this brings you pretty damn close.

“I do not wish for you to see me in this position, Y/N,” Seonghwa whispers without looking over at you. He maintains the same honed stare on Jisung, and now that you’re closer to him you can see that flames of anger that lick at his dark eyes. Despite his words, you can’t bring yourself to move. The weight of your bones suddenly feels heavier than ever and even if you wanted to get up and leave, you don’t think you could. “It was shameful enough to ask Hongjoong to put me here.”

“You… you asked him to do this?” You inquire through a whisper of your own.

“He didn’t want to, of course, but—” Seonghwa cuts himself short and you watch his chest heave as he inhales sharply “—I’m ashamed to admit that I know how to get what I want from him. And thus… I made him put me here.”

“Seonghwa, I — you — why?” If only eloquence could be your strong suit.

“I cannot trust myself. I am not needed for these missions. I am a liability. Anything I do must be under careful watch and instruction, otherwise, I could risk the safety of the crew and the success of our missions.” Seonghwa swallows around nothing and drops his chin to his chest. His mop of black hair falls forward to cover his eyes. You hadn’t realized how long it had gotten in recent days as he pressed it back constantly, but now you can see how the ends caress his eyelashes and near the bottom of his temples. “I pose more of a threat than anything else in this state.”

“Says who?” You insist, pressing your face so far forward that your cheek squishes against the bars. Seonghwa seems startled by your sudden fervor. His eyes go wide and dart over to your face, but they linger for only a second before turning back to his lap. “Was it Jisung? Did he say something? Before he was locked up? Or maybe after? He’s — Seonghwa, you can’t believe anything he says. He wants to cause discord and issues in the crew, he wants trouble because he’s an enemy.”

“He has nothing to do with this, Y/N. Absolutely nothing.” The skin around his eyes crinkles as he squeezes his eyes shut, almost as though he’s in pain. “Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

“What did you do? No, what happened while we were gone?”

The chains around Seonghwa’s wrist rattle so suddenly that it startles you, and his abrupt movements send you back from the cage in a rush without thinking twice. You merely acted out of self-preservation and instinct, and yet —

And yet the damage is already done.

Your eyes dart up to look into Seonghwa’s. He looks more lost and confused than anything else, like a child who can’t find his way home. From the way his lip trembles to the wobble in his gaze and how his hands clench and unclench as though in an unknown ceremony of their own. The man seems — is harmless.

“Go, Y/N, before I truly hurt you.”

This time, you don’t fight him on the matter. You force your legs into action and push yourself up from the floor where you just unceremoniously sprawled in an effort to get away from Seonghwa’s cell. The walk away from him hurts something awful in your chest, like each step you take to get away from him causes a new piece of your heart to break off, but still, you walk until you reach the end of the hauntingly short hall. You can’t keep yourself from staring down that corridor to look at Seonghwa’s crumpled form one more time.

In that moment that couldn’t have lasted more than half a second, you believed that Seonghwa would hurt you, and he believed the same. It only took that much time for the line of trust you thought could be unbreakable to shatter and give out under you. Was it not only recently that you told him you were willing to place your heart in his hands and trust him with it?

“Are you content with yourself yet, Spectre?” Seonghwa’s voice rings clear in the room, echoing off the metal walls with more venom than before. You don’t think that venom is directed at anyone other than himself right now.

“Not even in the slightest, Lieutenant,” Jisung laughs in response. You don’t intend to make eye contact with him, but it happens nonetheless and once it does, you are transfixed on each of his movements. He drags his tongue over his lips before tucking it between his teeth and biting down hard on the tip. “I know plenty about making people break. And I can guarantee that by the time your dearest captain loses his will and decides to let you out, I will have broken you in ways you fear to even imagine. Let’s see how well you can play my game, Lieutenant of Death.”

The urge to reach a hand between the bars and strangle Jisung where he sits is so overwhelming that you see red. Somehow you find it in you to turn away, using some shred of reason and logic because you know you need Jisung as much as you wish you didn’t — until San and Mingi are safely back on the ship, you cannot risk killing him.

And to your surprise, Jongho is not waiting outside the hatch when you surface in the corridor again. It falls shut with a loud bang, trapping Jisung and Seonghwa both in their little prison once more.

The pressure around your head is mounting and becoming hard to ignore, even through the lingering effects of Soojin’s concoction. It seems the drowsiness wishes to win out, however, seeing as you pull yourself to your bedroom without much thought and more like it’s some form of muscle memory instead. Between all the things happening around you at the moment, it’s hard to pinpoint just one thing and focus on it.

San is still missing.

Seonghwa locked himself in the brig.

Han Jisung is terrorizing you and your crew out of some odd desire to claim you.

Mingi is still missing as well and at risk of being reprogrammed back into the Brute of Kebos.

Wooyoung, in the very least, is safely back but no doubt suffered new and awful traumas that he’ll have to deal with in the coming months.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa fought for what feels like the hundredth time.

You found Soojin in a brothel then promptly got confirmation that your memories were indeed wiped a second time without you knowing. Delightful, truly.

All that swirling back to the mounting headache that pierces the left side of your head so hard you see little flashes in your vision. And despite the need to most likely think through things, weigh your options, try to do something other than just sitting around and waiting for someone else to plan, you merely curl up under your sheets in the darkness after wiping away your leftover black lipstick and changing into some more comfortable clothes.

Alone again. It’s odd how you went from being on your own almost constantly for three years to now being so dependent on having someone by your side. Maybe it was the knowledge that you had no one back then that kept you sane. Now, however, you know there are people around you, close to you, people you would almost dare to say you can rely on for safety and trust. An image of Jisung’s cruel smile flickers in your mind before you close your eyes to sleep.

Trust got you nowhere before.

Would it be foolish to make the same mistakes again?

…

There’s a cold hand wrapped tight around your own, but even as you look down at it you can’t figure out who it belongs to. Another hand is folded over your eyes, blocking every ounce of your vision and leaving you shrouded in darkness. You have no idea where you are or where you are heading, and though your first instinct is to fight, you feel somewhat safe under the hand that holds yours.

“Kan han ceso, Umiko. Nu an nadu. Un cu nu, Umiko, un nukon.” The words grate against your ears, a soft-spoken voice whispering the foreign language to you through the darkness, and you blink hard against the hand covering your eyes.

“I-I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper back, only to be answered with more confusion and unknown words.

“Nadu, nadu. Sosun hen.”

The hand around your head slips away only to shove hard at your back. You don’t have time to turn to face your companion before a door is slammed shut on your back. You whip around to face the wall of metal, seeing nothing beyond the dark.

“Wait! Don’t — don’t leave me here!”

“Kidehon u Nurun, Umiko.”

Despite not knowing what any of the words mean, a chill rushes down your spine and leaves goosebumps all across your skin. Then a shrill scream tears you away from the door and back to the reality swirling together behind you. It’s moreso the contents of the scream that catch your attention because through the sudden swarm of yells and shouts, you catch one recognizable word.

“Yeosang!”

It’s like a veil is torn away from your eyes and you can suddenly see the world around you with so much clarity and brightness it hurts. And the first thing your gaze lands on is the sight of Wooyoung being dragged by the waist back into what seems to be a spitting image of the House of Lilies. His captors are hooded figures, unimportant and insignificant compared to Wooyoung who flails around desperately in their arms to get out. And across from him, running and running but never once catching up because a massive crowd of people blocks his path, is none other than Yeosang. You push your way forward as well in attempts to reach the Elitist. Each step is harder than the last with the way faceless figures shove your shoulders and force you back until his blond head of hair is out of sight. You can’t see Wooyoung’s face any longer either; all you can hear are a few distant shouts and screams that are unintelligible by now.

You have no choice but to let the crowd guide you to an unknown destination, shifting to follow their hasty steps before you get trampled to the ground. They’re too tall for you to see past their shoulders, all shrouded in black coats and suits with masks covering their faces as well, and you are only left with confusion the more you try to get a closer look at them. That confusion lingers for a while, and as you walk, the shouts and yells around you morph into cheering. It’s deafening, growing louder with each second, but the hoards simply continue into what seems to be the source of the sounds.

Once you finally reach that destination, your heart drops through your stomach because it’s tall colosseum walls that rise up around you. They are painfully recognizable, and you can almost guess what you’re about to witness given what you just saw transpire with Wooyoung and Yeosang.

The confirmation, albeit unneeded, hurts worse than you thought. As the crowd ushers you into the arena, you stumble up familiar stairs and come to a halt at the railing looking over the heart of the colosseum.

Mingi stands at the center of it all, donned in leather and copper armor like a gladiator of olden times that have long since become mere myths for children’s stories. Red streaks down his cheeks and covers him in a bloody glow under the sun. You watch him as though in a daze. Each movement he makes is like a dance between the way he swings a longsword in one hand and an ax in the other. The beauty of Mingi’s swings dissipates into a cloud of panic and horror when his opponent comes into sight across from his tall form.

“Jongho, Jongho, no!” You scream through the din ringing into your ears. A hand stretched down to the pit below in vain because there is no way for you to even attempt reaching them.

There’s a flash of red again, this time one that reaches across Mingi’s blade and spreads onto the sand below their feet. You clasp a hand over your mouth to silence the blood-curdling scream that tears through your lips.

“It’s not real, Y/N, it’s not real,” you murmur to yourself, not daring to look back down even as the cheers continue to swell around you. “It’s just a dream, you need to wake up. It’s not real.”

The most obvious clue that this is not real is the fact that you see Jongho — another Jongho — stepping out of the gates into the arena just seconds after Mingi cut him down. The body hasn’t even dissipated into thin air; it still sits at Mingi’s feet, a lifeless corpse that will continue to haunt you for god knows how long. The second Jongho comes forward to replace the last, standing completely still before Mingi like he’s nothing more than a training dummy for Mingi to kill over and over.

That is exactly what you are forced to witness too because the tall figures surrounding you refuse to let you budge or turn. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut each time Mingi lifts his arm. This hell is almost worst than the last. Seeing Yeosang and Wooyoung being torn apart burned deep in your chest but this?

Mingi killing the person who cares about him perhaps more than anyone else? Like it’s only a game or a sport to be played for entertainment?

That leaves a different pain in your chest. One that cuts deep and tries to sever your heart from your body.

You lose count of the bodies down in the area, and counting them would only hurt more so it’s a foolish plight to even imagine right now. Your limit comes soon enough, however, and in a fit of desperation, you shove so hard at the figures behind you that they topple over like dominos.

The mantra of reminders of how this isn’t real still runs on repeat in your head, but even forcing your way out of the crowds grants you no reprieve.

You can still hear the cheering, the way the crowd shouts for more blood then delights in another kill. And now that you know it’s Jongho being cut down by none other than Mingi, it makes matters much worse. You don’t make it three steps out of the arena before you’re stumbling to the ground on your hands and knees. A dry heave wracks your form, forcing up nothing but air. The contents of your stomach are nonexistent in this hellscape yet your body continues to convulse until bile drips from your lips.

“Please make it stop, make it stop, please, please, please,” you beg to the sand under your form.

“Y/N?”

Normally the voice would fill you with a sense of relief, but given what you’ve seen thus far, it only fills you with incredible dread.

You lift your chin to look Yunho in the eye nonetheless. He stands several feet away from you, unmoving and nearly statuesque with his pose. That peace lasts all of four seconds. He chokes out a cough. It sounds far too thick and wet for it to be merely a normal cough. Your fears turn to reality when blood coats his bottom lip after the next cough.

“Y-Yunho, no, n-no, not you too, please.”

Another cough and Yunho is on his knees like you are.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I… I wasn’t good enough to keep this from happening.”

“No, no, no, p-please, no, Yun—”

“This was the only thing I could get right.”

Your chin drops to your chest.

“You’ll be okay, won’t you? Our little Ghost…”

“No more. Please, Daichi, if this is your doing, then end it! End it please, please stop this!”

The response to your pleas is a hand clasping hard at the back of your neck. It shoves you to the ground with little effort until you are sprawled out on your stomach. You release a weak cry into the dirt, thrashing hard under the stranger’s grip. Another hand closes around your ankle. You aren’t given any time to prepare as it yanks you forward, dragging your body over the scratchy ground. You can feel your skin splitting under the impact yet as much as you twist to get out of it, the best you can do is flip onto your back and let the abuse continue there. Your new position allows you to at least see your attacker, a tall and lanky figure with sweeping black hair. You can barely see the outline of her face, but she looks strikingly familiar, like a person you’ve seen once in your dreams. It isn’t until you have been pulled all the way to a new destination that you realize exactly who she is.

“Mother.”

Seonghwa stands in the center of this barely lit room you’ve been dragged into, gun in hand and shrouded in a black cloak.

This is Seonghwa’s mother. Of course it is. This nightmare is not only yours but both Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s as well, the thing that has been so glaringly present for a while now. And in your inability to stop thinking about it, it has landed you here to live out this unending nightmare.

Seonghwa lifts the gun to aim it at his mother’s skull. He doesn’t spare you even the slightest glance, so dead-set on this mission that nothing else exists in his mind. You don’t have time to react before the gun goes off and echoes through the room. You scramble back on shaky legs when the woman in front of you crumples to the ground. Scarlet ebbs from her skull in mere seconds.

You think that’s it — hope would be a better word actually. You wish for the nightmare to end here with Seonghwa killing his mother, but it gets worse as Seonghwa turns the gun to his own skull and places the barrel against his temple. Despite already knowing that nothing you do in this dream will make it stop, you rush forward practically like an animal to stop him.

Something — or someone, rather — beats you to it.

A force hits you so hard that you are sent sprawling to the floor again, landing somewhere near Seonghwa’s mother, and upon looking up to see your sudden attacker, you find Hongjoong standing before Seonghwa instead. He’s in the middle of trying to wrestle the gun from Seonghwa’s hand, aiming it high at the ceiling before Seonghwa can hurt himself.

“Stop it, Seonghwa, I won’t let you do this!”

“Let me die, damn it, you were supposed to keep me from doing this!”

All you can do is watch as the fight unfolds before you with a growing sense of horror because you know where this is going to end. It will end the same way it has for everyone else in this nightmare. The thought of watching Seonghwa die and not being able to do anything to stop it is almost too much of a burden to bear.

If that was the worst scenario your mind could come up with, what actually happens minutes later is far far worse. You don’t see where it comes from but you don’t need to either; all you see is Seonghwa barreling into Hongjoong’s smaller form with all his strength until both are them are pressed to the nearest wall. The silence that overtakes the room is deafening. You don’t realize that there is anything wrong until you see hear the soft pitter-patter of blood dropping to the ground.

There’s a pointed metal spike sticking out of Seonghwa’s back, dripping blood from not only Seonghwa’s body but also Hongjoong’s.

“I’m sorry, my beloved.”

In a cruel twist of fate, you see the metal joining their bodies together, watch the way their chests rise and fall in shaky patterns that show their diminishing strengths. Hongjoong’s chin is the first to fall, dipping down to his chest as his eyes fight to stay open. Seonghwa is crying — no, sobbing with all the effort he can muster and pressing his lips to the edge of Hongjoong’s hairline through muttered apologies.

You know your limits, and you know you are not nearly strong enough to witness them die like this, even if it’s together and at Seonghwa’s own hand.

Thus, you push yourself up onto shaky legs and stumble out of the dark room as best you can with Seonghwa’s shaky cries ringing so loud in your ears that you fear you will never escape it for a second. There is a lingering sense of dread curling in your gut at the moment, however, because you have witnesses horrors happening to every single one of the crew except for one. And arguably, it is the one you fear the most, the one you wish to avoid the most, yet every attempt to force yourself awake before you can come across him fails miserably. The next room you stumble into is another familiar one, much like the distant memories you have of being strapped to a cold metal chair, but in this room, the chair is occupied by a man with jet black hair and a tuft of white at the front. You can’t manage more than a pained whimper as you step close to the chair.

Rounding the metal brings you face to face with him, although his eyes are shut as though he is asleep. For a fraction of a second, you think the worst has happened and throw your hands down on his chest to lean over San’s reclining body. He jolts at the contact, a sharp gasp tearing through his dry and cracked lips when he comes back to the land of the living.

“San, oh S-San, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, you’re safe, I promise,” you babble like a woman possessed. Your hands come up to cradle his face and brush a few long strands of hair away from his eyes. It takes too long for him to fully come to his senses, eyes blinking against the harsh light that filters down from the ceiling, and you wait with bated breath for him to say something as he registers your face. “Hi.” You’re too lost in the moment to remember this is a nightmare, too enamored with the mere sight of San’s face. When the reverie is torn away from you, it hurts worse than you could ever have imagined it would.

“H-How do you know my name? Who are you?”

Your chest tightens to the point where it hurts to breathe.

“It’s Y/N, San, don’t you remember me?”

“I don’t know who you are,” he whispers back, pulling his face away from your hands as best he can in his current position. You withdraw your hands as though burned and fall back onto your ass so hard you bounce a little. It should hurt, but the pain in your chest outweighs that by far. San sits up and slings a leg over the side of the chair, the other following shortly after. He steps down off the metal to come closer to you. His head is tilted in question, and his eyes search your face like he’s attempting to recognize you.

You hardly realize what’s happening before he’s bending over you and latching his hands around your neck. When he shoves you down to the ground, you aren’t met with the cold floor but rather a splash of water. It’s murky and an almost copper shade, like someone has doused you in blood and water. San’s grip on your neck tightens until you’re forced to choke up a few air bubbles.

“Did you think you were someone worthy of remembering?” San speaks to you through the water, voice coming to your ears in a muted tone. His features fall into a blur, and he squeezes at your skin so hard you see spots dance across your vision. You cry out in the water even though you know it won’t do you any good. “Did you think you earned that right? What use are you to me? Someone who couldn’t even do the bare minimum and protect me when I needed it… useless.”

San huffs out a loud laugh that echoes around you.

“You are completely and utterly useless to me.”

Sleep might have come easy to you but it does not claim you for long. Rarely are you ever awoken by nightmares; your body tends to just continue on with sleeping until the morning, but tonight is one of those oddities where the nightmares wake you up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. With the end of dream San’s cruel monologue, you startle awake, gasping for breath like you had been holding it the entire time you were asleep. A quick glance at the clock on your bedside table shows that it’s nearing one o’clock in the morning, so you were hardly asleep more than four hours.

You almost wish that Jongho stayed by your side through the night, if only to provide the comfort you want so desperately from someone who isn’t here. It wasn’t even an offer he posed or one that you asked for, but you find yourself wondering if it would have been better to seek out that comfort. And maybe it’s selfish of you to crave that peace that Jongho claims to have brought him for so long, but the appeal of not waking up alone is too tempting. Being able to have that with Seonghwa — the ability to go to bed at night and wake up in the morning with the knowledge that someone was there if anything went wrong — is something you took for granted. On nights like these, it’s all you could ever ask for. And while you and Seonghwa made the mutual decision to sever the more intimates parts of your relationship, it’s become glaringly obvious to you that you don’t have anyone to rely on for physical comfort anymore, even just the smallest action of holding a hand or sleeping beside you. Did you dream of him? Jongho might ask, hand outstretched to offer some sort of relief from the anxiety tugging at your heart. Either that or to try to take it away as best he can.

Yes, and it was wretchedly awful and horrible, you think. Something wet slips down the side of your temples before you can stop it. I feel I might lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

Why, why, why did this happen?

Surely you’ve been through worse in the past, but this feels so much more potent than those times, either because those memories are tucked away or because you’ve never felt this strongly about needing to protect someone before.

You roll onto your side and let the stray tears slide across the bridge of your nose now.

Staring at the bed does absolutely nothing (even though you knew it wouldn’t); neither does reaching out to put a hand over the cold sheets there.

These days you keep finding your mind slipping back to the memories of Echidna. They’ve become so much more vivid since the entire kidnapping situation, yet oddly enough you cannot bring yourself to recall the actual torture you and San suffered together at the hands of Cara. Rather, you keep coming back to a monotone hotel room with a creaky bed and fluffed pillows.

“I won’t leave this time,” you mutter. You can feel heat radiating from San’s cheeks even though you can’t see the flush to his skin.

“I’ll hold you all night to make sure you don’t,” San whispers back. Hot breath fans over your lips. You aren’t sure what comes over you but you lift the hand resting against San’s chest to trace over the outline of his lips with two fingers. He smiles into the touch.

It brings a startling realization to your bones when you find yourself reaching out to the nothingness before you like he will be there because how could he be gone, why is he gone, he isn’t supposed to be gone.

“I’m scared to let you in,” you admit, bring your gaze back up to San’s eyes. He’s looking back at you with a gentleness in his eyes that catches you off-guard.

“You don’t have to let me in yet. Just try to trust me.”

“Okay… okay. I can do that.”

“Then that’s more than enough.”

You should have never let go of the hand he outstretched towards you. It’s a hefty realization, one that weighs down on your body so much you struggle to breathe because you would do anything to have him back. And perhaps you didn’t appreciate him enough while you had him, perhaps you took that time where he was safe for granted and didn’t think it could happen again. Because even though you had told Yunho back around the time of the incident that you would never be able to look at him without worrying something bad would happen once more, you let your guard down and believed him to be entirely safe.

A huff of air passes through your lips, then you sit up in bed to throw your legs over the side of the mattress. Your gaze lingers on the bedside table for a moment, only to recall what’s been hidden inside there since you returned from Echidna. You haven’t forgotten about the pardon papers per se; your mind has understandably been elsewhere and things took a turn during that mission with San. Before then you were so dead set on leaving without a word.

It wasn’t Hongjoong who convinced you to stay back then even though you left you with several pretty threats and propositions.

It wasn’t Seonghwa with his comforting words and touches that burned your skin.

Nor was it any other member of the crew outside of San. It was always Choi San, the Spectre with a cat-like grin and pretty eyes, and he wormed his way into your heart with such little effort that it still scares you quite a bit. If you had absolute certainty that what you remember from your time in the military was true and real, you might say that the only time you felt this way towards another person was with Jisung, but you doubt that now with recent revelations.

How much easier would life be if you could simply roll back into bed and find San there waiting at your side, all warm smiles and gentle gazes as he urges you to sleep once more?

Unfortunately for you, life is far from easy and that is not an option, so you do the only other logical thing that comes to mind and that is to stand up and leave your bedroom without looking back at that cursed bedside table. If you can’t have San or anyone else to calm you down at the moment, perhaps a short walk around the ship will do you some good.

It is that very thought that lands you on the bridge and in front of the observation window. Despite the late hour, some workers are milling about in the hangar bay Hongjoong has landed you all in, doing their duties without cease. Some are cleaning and sweeping at the floor even though it looks spotless to you, others are polishing other ships in the bay, and you’re sure that if you could see near the bottom of The Horizon, you would find them doing the same there. There are a few others who don’t quite look like the workers do — perhaps people from the other ships — who sit on boxes and offer each other seemingly menial chatter based on the way their gestures remain casual. They seem so calm and at peace compared to what you have been experiencing with this crew where trouble seems to be around every corner and you can’t get a breath of peace for more than a day.

Briefly, you picture yourself in their shoes one day. It’s something you can only wonder about because you aren’t sure whether that’s even a possibility for you, but the image of sitting on one of those boxes with Jongho sitting on one side and Wooyoung on the other floats to mind. And maybe Yeosang would be wedged between Wooyoung’s legs with hands held tightly together like even a breath of air could separate them. You imagine Mingi would be lingering near Jongho rather than anywhere else, draped over the other Berserker and pressed as close to him as possible because it grounds him and keeps him in one piece for the time being. Yunho would probably be doing something like reading a medical article or book and muttering to himself about the contents of the writing, nearby but never too far from the rest of you. In that daydream, Hongjoong and Seonghwa would come around the corner of the ship side by side, and the captain would have a hand pressed to the small of his lieutenant’s back because he can’t bear to be any further than that. Then San — darling San — would rush around them with a smile on his lips and dimples flashing to barrel straight into your chest with a resounding laugh. You dare to let yourself imagine the peace and serenity of the scene, dare to picture San pressing his forehead to yours as he exhales a laugh over your lips, but every image your mind conjures up hurts worse than the last.

You may want that desperately, but it’s not something you can achieve.

The daydream ends with hands around your neck and bloody waters clouding your vision. And thus, you startle yourself back to reality and tear your gaze away from the hangar bay below as not to let the images come back.

The peace you wish for is not one you can ever hold in the palm of your hand the way you wish. The crew cannot have it either so long as you are present in their lives. The next sound to tear through your consciousness nearly makes you believe that they wouldn’t be able to have that peace even if you weren’t around to mess it up. There’s a resounding shout of frustration followed by something loud thumping against the wall off to your left and behind you a bit. You whip around to stare at the door to Hongjoong’s quarters, the source of the sound, and wait with bated breath for something else to happen. You aren’t sure what exactly you’re waiting for — perhaps for the captain to step out in a huff of anger or something like that — but nothing happens for the next thirty seconds, which is what causes you to pull closer to the door. It’s hardly your place to eavesdrop on whatever is happening inside, although that doesn’t stop you from doing so anyway.

“I shouldn’t have had to put him in that fucking brig in the first place!” That clearly comes from Hongjoong; you can tell just from his voice, but he must not be alone in there as it sounds like his rant is directed at someone. “This isn’t the same situation as last time! He knows that the mission is our priority, that the goal is to get San and Mingi back, he wouldn’t let himself lose sight of that. The Seonghwa I know wouldn’t do that!”

“Then you shouldn’t have listened to him when he asked you to put him in there, Hongjoong! You were the one who bent over backward for him yet again.” It’s Yunho’s voice that rises through the door next, and that is equal parts shocking and unsurprising because you aren’t sure who else would possibly be in there with Hongjoong at this hour. “Your only two options are to either leave Seonghwa where he is or let him out to do as he wishes. If he chooses to go out there and kill his mother, then so be it!”

“That’s not what he wants, Yunho,” Hongjoong refutes without missing a beat. “And it’s not what I want either — I don’t care for either of those options. I want to let Seonghwa out and have that be that, nor for him to go off and murder someone! He hardly wants to kill her, it’s just what he thinks he ought to do as an Elitist but — you… you wouldn’t understand it, Yunho. You wouldn’t understand what goes through Seonghwa’s head or what he wants.”

The next sound to fall from Yunho’s lips is a scoff, and you can almost picture the way his eyes roll with the noise.

“You can’t pretend like you understand what all Seonghwa wants either, Hongjoong.”

There’s another clatter and something smacks into the wall again.

“I’m trying my fucking best! I am trying my best to know what he wants right now. All I know for certain is what he is afraid of, and I know that he fears turning into the kind of person his father was and he fears losing himself. This would—”

“You can’t know whether this would make that happen, Hongjoong, that’s the point I’m trying to make here.”

“Are you encouraging murder all of a sudden? When have you gone a minute without chastising me for taking an innocent’s life?”

“And when have you ever hesitated to let your precious Lieutenant of Death kill someone? How many people have you killed yourself? How many have you asked Seonghwa to kill? How many innocents have bled under your hands, Hongjoong?” Yunho fires back, seeming to grow louder with each question he poses. “Is his mother innocent of all crimes? Does she not deserve to die? Because Seonghwa sure talks about her like she deserves a fate worse than death!”

“And if she deserves death then I will bring it upon her myself!” Hongjoong accentuates his words by slapping his hands down on his desk, letting the sound echo after he speaks, and Yunho doesn’t respond for a bit.

“How angry would Seonghwa be if he found out then?” Yunho inquires, tone so low you can barely pick up on the words.

“He wouldn’t need to, Yunho. He wouldn’t need to find out. He could just hear that she passed away in her sleep a long time ago because of age or illness.”

“You’re so ready to base your relationship with him on lies when doing so was what caused things to go to shit between you in the first place. I can’t fix you a second time, Hongjoong. I can’t do shit if you are the one making things intentionally worse. You need to sit your ass down in that fucking brig like a god damn man would and take responsibility for your mistakes. Then you need to ask Seonghwa what he wants and hear it from his own damn mouth rather than assuming what Seonghwa wants and hoping for the best. Fucking listen to him and trust him for once instead of making every decision in his life for him. Why do you think he ran off to Y/N in the first place?” That causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and you seize up as though both men inside know you’re standing outside the door as they speak. “He at least got to choose her.”

“He chose to join my crew, he asked to join my crew, he chose a fuckton of things in his life, Yunho! You want me to be a man? I am his captain. Is that not enough for you?”

“No, it’s not, Hongjoong. You being captain doesn’t mean shit to me unless you have the balls to back it up, and from where I’m standing, you aren’t going to step up anytime soon. There are only two people on this ship who can put you in your place. That includes both me and Seonghwa, but Seonghwa stopped doing it a long time ago because you changed the dynamic of the relationship without stopping to ask him how he felt.”

“Are you trying to act like you’re in control now?” Hongjoong counters, but his voice has lost a bit of the edge in it.

“Act?” Yunho releases a tiny hum. You can almost feel the way the mood inside the room shifts despite not being inside yourself. “Now you’re just trying to rile me up so you get what you want and I forget about this conversation.”

“That would only be the case if it works, Yunho.”

You pull back from the door, having a slight sense of where this conversation is headed and realizing that you probably shouldn’t stay any longer. As you move to exit the bridge, however, you can’t help but wonder how much of what Yunho said is accurate.

Would — could Seonghwa really want to kill his mother? Maybe for a sense of closure and peace? To put that part of his life behind him for good perhaps?

If Hongjoong truly were to kill the woman behind Seonghwa’s back, then you don’t doubt that Seonghwa would be enraged, to put it mildly. Everything you have seen from him thus far since meeting him has shown you that he prefers to do things himself than to rely on others to do it for him. Yet… even if his mother passed of natural causes, you are not sure that Seonghwa could have his closure unless he saw her body with his own two eyes. So maybe that is why his inner voice is as desperate as it is for him to kill her.

You cannot speak for Seonghwa himself, but you do know a fraction about such closure. Not seeing Hyunwoo’s body after the execution and having to dig an empty grave was one of the most painful experiences of your life, even if you cannot remember much of it or if it was completely fabricated, the pain you were left with from said memory is still sore to the touch. You would have given anything to have his body to bury but instead, you were left with absolutely nothing, not even something small and of value to him in life. You were denied closure then. It causes you to think back to those pardon papers again. If you had been granted that closure, would you have even sought the pardon papers in the first place? Would you have gone off and settled down somewhere no one could find you?

Seonghwa has mentioned craving peace before. You know you will never have yours because of your lack of closure, so perhaps if he were to achieve his, then things would end better for him.

That thought stops you dead in your tracks, midway down the corridor leading away from the bridge.

Although… Seonghwa mentioned begging to be put in the brig. If he truly wanted this, then why the hell would he ask for such a thing?

“Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

You make a spur of the moment decision right then and there, spinning on your heel in the middle of the corridor and inhaling sharply as you head back to the bridge with a new thought in mind. You wish to hear from Hongjoong himself what transpired before Seonghwa was put in the brig and the reasoning as to why Hongjoong agreed to such a thing. Sure, now might not be the opportune time for such a discussion, but you have already made up your mind and it’s unlikely you would be able to sleep with this plaguing your thoughts anyway.

Less than a minute passes before you are back at Hongjoong’s door, this time rapping your knuckles as hard and loud as you can on the metal. You hear nothing more of a conversation inside — neither his nor Yunho’s voices filter through the door until after your knocking ceases. Then a bit of shuffling resounds followed by some mutterings that vaguely sound like complaints of some sort. That could not have prepared you in the slightest for the sight that greets you when the door finally slides open.

First of all, it is not Hongjoong who stands before you, but rather Yunho.

And not only that little shocking tidbit because Yunho is very much standing half-naked with pants hung low around his hips and absolutely no shame or insecurity in the way he leans against the doorframe to greet you.

The inherent shock from the sight causes you to sputter and choke on air, gaze darting off to the side and away from the healer as quick as humanly possible. You truly do your best to ignore the very obvious trail of bruises along the column of his neck and collarbone, along with the ones traveling lower.

“Oh? Looking to join us, Y/N?” He asks. An amused grin paints his lips, you can see that much out the corner of your eye.

“Abs-Absolutely not, Yunho, are you mad?” You refute through a stutter and dare to focus back on his face (and his face only). Yunho arches an eyebrow, not at all shy in the way he drags his gaze over your body from head to toe. You ignore him with a scoff then ready to duck around his stupidly tall form. He seems to catch that before you can though because he darts a hand out across the doorway and effectively blocks your path inside.

“You certain about that? You seem a bit eager to come in.” Your only reply is a pointed glare. Thankfully, Yunho picks up on the hint in that look after a second and shifts his tone. “Is it an emergency?”

“I need to ask Hongjoong something, it’s important. About Seonghwa.” You see movement just past Yunho’s shoulder and glance beyond him. Hongjoong stands back at the other edge of the room in the doorframe to what must be his bedroom. You nearly don’t recognize him right them because of how… incredibly fragile he appears to be. A blanket wraps around his shoulders and torso, dwarfing his already small figure and making him almost come across as something delicate. If someone asked you to point out the horrifying and menacing pirate captain in the room, you would glance over Hongjoong without a thought.

“I take it you’ve been down to the brig then?” Hongjoong pipes up. His voice bounces off the walls to reach your ears, confident and knowing.

“I have.”

Hongjoong ducks his chin to his chest, and the way his breathing shakes his form almost makes him seem like he’s laughing at your response. Then he comes closer to join you and Yunho where you stand. You hardly miss the way one of the captain’s hands darts out to touch Yunho’s bare waist before he brushes a soft kiss over the back of Yunho’s shoulder. It’s a rare — no, more than simply rare, it’s frankly a sight you have never seen from Hongjoong before in that you have never witnessed him be so openly intimate with anyone in the crew in such a way. Perhaps the closest he has gotten was when you were left in the medbay with him and Seonghwa, but even that was not as… openly blatant as the way he touches Yunho before you now. Yet it does not seem to be meant to tease you in any way; you moreso get the sense that it’s almost a threat in a way. After all, you are still the newest on the crew and you aren’t sure you have fully gained Hongjoong’s trust. If this is a challenge, you aren’t sure how it is meant to test you.

“Go back to the bedroom. I’ll be there shortly,” Hongjoong murmurs against Yunho’s slightly flushed skin. The healer steps away with nothing more than a nod. Hongjoong waits until the taller man disappears into that room he just emerged from before turning back to face you. He still seems smaller in your eyes like this even though he is closer; the two of you are more evenly matched when he’s not wearing his typical heeled boots. The blanket around his body strains as he pulls it tighter. He, like Yunho, is very clearly not wearing much in the way of clothes underneath, but at least he covered himself mildly even if you can see a deep v exposing his chest through the folds of the fabric. It is enough for you to see numerous bumps and ridges along that strip of skin, all discolored and mismatched lines that mar an otherwise perfect canvas of tanned skin. Even if expected, it’s an alarming amount of scars for such a small expanse of skin. And if you look past the points where scars are, you can make out the barest hint of black ink accompanying the marks — it spreads over him like a constellation, connected by lines and threads of varying thickness to meet each other in other corners.

You tear your gaze away with great effort, clearing your throat as you blink up to look the captain in the eye.

“Seonghwa mentioned that something happened while we were gone on the mission. He asked me to leave before I had the chance to ask further about it but…” Your voice dies in your throat then, and nerves suddenly curl in your stomach. When you speak again, it’s in nothing more than a whisper. “What happened?”

Hongjoong hums.

It’s the only sound he makes for quite a while too, and you think he has no intention of continuing the conversation until he shifts his blanket all of a sudden and exposes the lower half of his body. Just as before with Yunho, you are swift to look in the opposite direction before you spot anything you do not wish to see.

“That’s hardly appropriate, Captain,” you grit out, finding a newfound interest in the wall to your left. Hongjoong exhales a laugh that’s so soft it sounds more like a sigh.

“Seonghwa stabbed me.”

Now that has your head jerking back to examine him, and thankfully, your eyes settle on pants around his hips rather than nothing at all. One of his hands slips down to tap what looks to be a bandage. He peels it back as gently as possible and reveals a narrow yet long slice along his abdomen, almost parallel to his side. All in all, it doesn’t appear to be too gruesome or gnarly, no doubt held together by liquid stitches of some sort.

“We had a small argument after putting Han in the brig,” Hongjoong continues. As usual, his tone is near impossible to read with no clues as to what he is feeling as he recalls the memory.

“Did it involve discussions of Seonghwa’s mother?”

“Yes, yes, of course, it did.” Hongjoong returns the bandage to its original placement then tugs the blanket back around his body. He brings a hand up to run through his mess of fading blue hair. “It didn’t start that way though. He accused me of caring more about him appearing to be an Elitist than anything else. Threatened to tell Jisung that he is a Siren along with the rest of the crew. I doubt Jisung even cares about Sirens in the slightest given the way he is hyperfocused on you instead, but Seonghwa has always been so adamant about being wanted by others because of what he is. And I know that we were both acting rashly and out of fear rather than reason, but it doesn’t — that does not excuse what we said to each other. I told Seonghwa that perhaps he might feel better killing me rather than his mother, and that obviously did not go over very well. That’s when he stabbed me, well, it was more a glancing blow than a stab. Hardly even deep enough to cause significant damage, but Seonghwa damn near acted as though I was fucking bleeding to death though. He called for Yunho to get me patched up them begged that I put him in the brig. As much as I wanted to deny him that, I complied.”

“I can talk to him,” you offer without a second thought.

“Talk to him? What is it you think to do, Y/N?”

“I was denied my closure, Captain, and that has haunted me every day for the past several years. You… you are a person who achieved that already; I don’t need to know the details of your backstory to understand that because it is more than clear in the way you handle yourself and matters around you. But Seonghwa? He hasn’t gotten his closure either. At least allow me to talk with him and see if this is what he truly wants before you rule anything out.” Hongjoong regards you with nothing more than a lingering stare for a bit. You take it as a cue to excuse yourself and leave, yet the second you turn to do so, he catches hold of your wrist and pulls you back to be face to face with him. The jerk of his arm sends you propelling forward more than you expect because it tugs you close enough to nearly smack foreheads with the captain.

“I am willing to trust you with this and with Seonghwa, at least for now. Take care to remember that, especially when it comes to Seonghwa’s heart. For if you mislead him in the slightest, there will be hell to pay.” Your subconsciousness has you straightening your back at those words, reading the thinly veiled threat with ease.

“I won’t do anything to influence his decisions. They should all be his own anyway, so I won’t try to change that for him. You have my word. Besides, you no doubt plan to talk with him again soon, right?” Hongjoong’s gaze falls into a pointed glare at that comment, and you catch yourself a little too late. “At least, I’m sure he would appreciate that either way.” That soothes the captain enough for him to release his grip on your arm, and he lets you step away from the door after that.

“I pray for both our sakes that his mind is kind enough to have a reasonable discussion with you. But… don’t — don’t get too close just in case the worst happens.”

“Understood, Captain,” you whisper back. The warning is a bit haunting albeit necessary; it’s moreso unfortunate that Hongjoong has to even usher the warning in the first place because the Seonghwa you know would never willingly harm someone he cares about. Especially not Hongjoong.

As you walk away from Hongjoong’s quarters and off the bridge for a second time tonight, you have to remind yourself that it is still Seonghwa down there. He isn’t a different person, he’s not some monster even if there is a bit of fear curling through your gut as you walk down to the brig. He remains the same Seonghwa that you know and care about so much. Perhaps you have just been blessed enough to only witness the pretty sides to his character in the time you’ve known him. Thinking all the way back to the way you met — how you knocked him out cold in front of an airlock — he was not cruel or heartless then either. In fact, every ounce of evidence up until recently made you wonder how such a compassionate soul could possibly be such a deadly and fearsome pirate.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to go home and face my demons after all,” Seonghwa whispers, letting his smile stretch a bit wider. It falls away a second later, and something dark takes over, something you decide you don’t want to see cross Seonghwa’s features again. Because in that moment, you see something sinister and cruel, and all the legends you heard about the man come to life before you. The stories of a man in a black cloak bearing a silver scythe in one hand with a gun in the other, the fearless killer who stands beside the Scourge of the Black Sea rearing death in his wake. When Seonghwa turns on his heel and leaves the room, you see it. The dark shadows billowing behind him curl outwards and sweep across the floor, crude shapes built by the light in the hallway, and that cloak of darkness sits on Seonghwa’s shoulders. It’s like the Lieutenant of Death has crawled his way out of the dark abyss of hell that Seonghwa kept him buried in, and the face he rears horrifies you.

That thought keeps you occupied the whole way down to the brig, and it continues when you climb down the ladder with hesitant steps. As before, Jisung is the first thing you see when you reach the bottom, although this time he is curled on his side and facing the wall. He must be asleep given his position, yet you’re hesitant to write him off as so without knowing for certain. You don’t dare stop to find out, however, and instead just move past his cell as quietly as you can.

You find Seonghwa still sitting upright in his own tiny prison. He has shifted to put his back to Jisung now though, and his head hangs at an angle that is uncomfortable to look at. Whether he was already awake or merely sensed your presence, you have no way of knowing. Nonetheless, he shifts to glance back at you when you approach, chains jingling and rattling in the silence of the room.

“I asked you not to return,” he murmurs once you are close enough to hear him. You don’t kneel before his cell in the same way you did last time. There’s a bit more distance between you and the bars now, enough to be just out of harm’s way but near enough for you to reach out if you so desired.

“You know I’m no good at following orders,” you reply with a melancholy smile. Seonghwa’s gaze softens a bit at that. He tilts his head back to rest on the bars, still staring at you out the corner of his eye. He seems exhausted beyond belief — muscles lax and with no strength to them, eyelids drooping every time he blinks, breath huffing out in deep sighs rather than even exhales. Despite that, you don’t get the sense he wants to rest at all.

“Why aren’t you resting? I’m sure you’re tired from the mission.”

“I rested enough earlier.” But couldn’t stay asleep because of the nightmares. Nightmares in which you killed both yourself and Hongjoong. Ones where San took the serum and forgot me. “I’m okay.” That seems to be more for your own ears than for Seonghwa’s. He hums a bit anyway, acknowledging your words as his eyelids flutter some.

“You don’t need to come keep me company, you know.”

“I can’t just see you because I want to?”

“Y/N…” Seonghwa faces forward before finishing the thought. Something seems to overcome him, if the sudden spike of distress that rolls off his shoulders is any indication at least, and he curls in on himself some more. Your first instinct is to move closer to him and offer some sort of physical comfort, but Seonghwa only pushes further into the corner of his cell when you move. “Don’t.”

“I trust you, Seonghwa,” you utter back. You heed his words though and stop dead in your tracks.

“That would be your first mistake.”

“Why?”

“What?” Seonghwa’s counterattack sounds nearly incredulous.

“Why would it be a mistake to trust you?”

“You are at a greater risk than Hongjoong, yet I still hurt him. Just like last time.”

“How am I at a greater risk, Seonghwa?”

“I don’t — I fear… I fear my mind mistaking you for someone who should die simply because you are a woman.”

“Ah…” you exhale. The implication is there: he’s afraid of mistaking you for his mother in the craze that his head is putting him through. You hadn’t even thought that to be a risk before honestly. From the memories you saw of her, you don’t think you look anything like said woman, but you also have no idea of what Seonghwa’s demons are capable of convincing him to believe. If they’re strong enough to make him harm Hongjoong, then no doubt they would be capable of that too. Seonghwa reaches down to rub at the skin around his ankles, where the flesh has already turned red and bruised from repeated abuse.

“I can’t stay here, Y/N. I’ll lose my mind. I almost wish that fool behind me would do more to antagonize me, but it’s my own head that refuses to let me come up for air.” The chains rattle once more as he reaches up to massage his hairline. The thin black strands of hair cling to his skin like he’s sweating buckets, and under the little bit of light in the brig, you can see a sheen of sweat on his body.

The room is deathly cold.

“Hongjoong mentioned… he said you believe he is forcing you to masquerade as an Elitist.” The words are spoken quiet enough to where you don’t think Jisung could pick up on them even if he were awake.

“I don’t. That’s the thing — I don’t believe that. I know he’s not. I don’t know what came over me when I said such a thing. It isn’t his fault that I-I am like this, and he shouldn’t even have to b-blame himself for it. I’m the one who chose this and demanded the masquerade before he even knew my true identity.”

“But—”

You stop the thought in your throat, cutting off with a small grimace and sigh of air. Seonghwa jerks to look at you anyway. He waits and waits for you to finish the thought, and under his intense gaze, you have lost much of the confidence you had in saying such a thing.

“From what I saw of your memories, and what you told me of your childhood, you were not the one to decide that,” you say after some deliberation. “It was her.” Admittedly, part of you fears the reaction you might garner from Seonghwa in mentioning his mother directly, so you try to keep it as vague as possible. “You never asked to be kept a secret.”

“My worst crime then was being born,” Seonghwa murmurs more to himself than to you. “Now what is it? A son who wants nothing more than to kill the woman who brought him into this world? The more time goes on, the more I… I-I lose myself. I don’t know where my line of morality is, nor do I know how to adhere to it. Y/N, I’m—” Seonghwa falls silent, tongue caught between his teeth, and when he looks to you, there are tears shining in the corners of his eyes. “I’m so afraid.”

You don’t think you have ever heard Seonghwa utter such words, at least not with the raw conviction he says them with or the wrecked pain that radiates off his body.

“Are you afraid of what might happen if you do kill her or what might happen if you don’t?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer right away; instead, he hangs his head between his knees and you can only watch helplessly as the man’s shoulders tremble under an invisible weight.

“The right answer… what a good person would say is that I fear killing her. But I’m more terrified of what happens if I don’t. How much longer do I suffer if I don’t take this opportunity now? Can I justify risking your safety, Hongjoong’s safety, the crew’s safety for being a good person? I know the blood on my hands is already immeasurable, the infamous Lieutenant of Death shouldn’t fear one more life ended, and I don’t. I just can’t figure out if the Seonghwa who isn’t an Elitist believes that or if it’s the Seonghwa I’ve pretended to be most of my life. Maybe part of me fears how you all might view me if I do kill her.”

“I can’t say it wouldn’t change anything, but I don’t know if anyone would view you as a bad or evil person because of it.”

Seonghwa huffs out a weak laugh and pushes his hair back with the hand he’s not keeping clenching into a tight fist.

“I think Hongjoong is convinced I’ll turn into some sort of monster.”

“He believes that you don’t want to do it,” you counter. “He thinks that your definition of losing yourself lies in killing your mother.”

“I thought it did too.” Hopeless. That’s the word you would use to describe Seonghwa’s current tone, and it burns you from the inside out to hear such desperation on his lips. “If I keep pulling away simply because I’m afraid to hurt any of you, then what right do I have to call myself a lieutenant? To work as Hongjoong’s right-hand? I-I should have some semblance of self-control rather than continuing to distance myself. I thought back then that my mind was crying for her blood bec-because it wanted me to go insane, but now it sounds more and more like a cry for help. When this is all said and done, when it’s time for me to rest, I don’t want to have lost any of you along the way. And I certainly don’t want to be the cause of it either.”

To you, that sounds like a decision. And so, you echo his words back to him with a resolute tone.

“If you tell Hongjoong that, he would take you there, Seonghwa.” You aren’t strong enough to push the full meaning into your words, but it lingers between you. He knows what you mean. “He’s adamant that the decision be yours, as am I. Even Yunho wants you to do what you think is the best course of action. And should you get there and not be able to carry it out, no one would force you to, and no one would do it for you unless you asked that of them.”

“I could never ask anyone to take that burden for me, Y/N.”

“Then you have your answer.” You muster up the courage to slide closer to Seonghwa’s cage and slip a hand between the bars. You don’t push your luck and touch him quite yet, merely letting your hand rest on the bed of metal for Seonghwa to regard with a terrified stare. Although it’s slow progress, he inches his hand down to rest a little ways away from your own. “I promised Hongjoong that I would do nothing to influence your decision, and I plan to uphold that promise. I just… want you to know you are loved today just as you were yesterday, and you’ll be loved tomorrow as well. Whatever kind of that love is, it’s love nonetheless. These people — the family you have built and chosen yourself — will continue to love you even if you get a little lost along the way.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so certain of something before.”

It’s your turn to exhale a little laugh, although yours is merely one of faux amusement.

“I wish you could see the way they look at you, Seonghwa. The respect they hold in their eyes when they see you, the admiration and love and affection — I don’t need to feel what they feel to know how much they care. It’s not a matter of thinking you are strong because they know you are. You don’t have to force yourself to show restraint or continue to be the thing your mother wanted you to be for them to know you are strong. You have already been with them through some of the toughest moments of their lives, you have been at Hongjoong’s side and you have led just as much as he has. I firmly believe that is not a bond that could be so easily severed.”

Seonghwa’s fingers are so close to yours, so close to curling around your palm and holding you at last, taking that last step of the fickle little thing called trust. At this point, you are throwing yourself headfirst into it with reckless abandon. While there might be some hesitance hiding away in your bones, you would rather see Seonghwa take this step forward in trusting himself.

In the next second, that precious thread of peace snaps and frays at the edges.

“Bravo, Y/N, bravo.” You withdraw your hand from Seonghwa’s cell with a start, lips pressing into a thin line as you turn to regard the man who spoke with a glare. Jisung smiles back at you. It’s all poison and menace. His chains ring to an inaudible song as he claps his hands together. “Oh, you must be so proud of yourself for that one, little lady. Absolutely riveting and… encouraging and… inadequate, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?” You hiss back without answering the question.

“I don’t think I do. Because every time I speak, I just dig my way under your skin a little more, and that? That amuses me to no end.”

“Don’t humor him, Y/N,” Seonghwa mutters. His hands are now withdrawn to rest in his lap again and curled into tight balls as he stares down at the floor. “I’ve found he wears himself out if you ignore him.” You can hardly imagine being trapped here for more than five minutes with Jisung, but Seonghwa has been in here for hours. Unfortunately, you don’t hold the same resilience that Seonghwa does.

You push up to your feet and stalk towards Jisung’s cell with no clear intent in your mind.

It feeds right into what he said though, it’s proof that he has gotten under your skin and bothered you to some extent, yet you don’t stop even with that knowledge.

“Don’t you have what you want? Haven’t you wreaked enough havoc in your stay here?”

“Oh? And what is it I want exactly, Y/N? Let me hear it from your pretty lips instead of my own.”

“You want me,” you spit back, leaning over the bars like it will intimidate the man behind them.

“And? Do I have what I want?”

“And you fucking have me. I made the deal, I did what you wanted, can’t you quit now?”

“Such foul language from my little lady’s mouth. A shame, truly.”

“I’m not yours to be clai—”

“Incorrect! You said it yourself: I have you. As far as I’m concerned that makes you mine. I really wanted us to find a nice peaceful place to settle down after all this, but you… you are so violent. Angry. I really would rather not be forced to deal with such behaviors, but if you continue to do so, then maybe we can try that method they’re using on the Spectre. What was it? Regression… therapy? I hear it’s quite effective in breaking someone’s spirit. Shall we try?”

You know better than to fall into that trap again. It’s all for show; Jisung is merely saying and doing these things to bother you because he knows how best to do so. He hasn’t yet even proven that he has the balls to follow through with anything he’s threatened, but he also understands that he doesn’t need to. Whether he proves it or not, he wins merely by garnering a reaction from you. It was a tactic you learned about years ago, something they taught your unit before you engage in high-risk intelligence-gathering missions.

“You don’t get to talk about San,” you fire back, right into the trap Jisung laid before you.

“San, is it? He’s the one you worry about most, no?” The smile painted on Jisung’s lips nearly seems genuine. It probably would be if not for the gleam in his eyes. “You always got too attached too quickly. I suppose that hasn’t changed.”

Jisung sits up on his heels and traces a finger over the bars separating you. Whatever the reason in doing so is a mystery to you, but you stand transfixed by the gentle movements.

“I bet you haven’t even told him how you feel. That’s the scary part, isn’t it? The part where they leave? Die? Or worse… forget everything about you? When the doctors go in to reset his brain, they won’t even think to keep those memories of you. If it makes you feel any better, I can take your memories of him away too.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

The laugh that tears through Jisung’s lips echoes off the walls and bounces off your ears.

“Is this so amusing to you?” Seonghwa is the one to pose the question, voiced raised a bit so it carries over to where you and Jisung are.

“I haven’t even begun to have my fun yet. I do so adore seeing relationships crack under the slightest bit of pressure though. I suppose that’s one thing dearest Y/N and I have in common. I’m not sure she’s let you glimpse into the cruelest parts of her yet.” His smile drops with such haste that it causes you to visibly flinch. “I’ve seen them all, Lieutenant. Oh, the fun we’ll have once together again, doll~”

“Fuck you, Han,” you spit through the curling fear in your gut. Your words have no effect and offer no respite, however; all it does is bring the smile back to Jisung’s lips and another laugh from his throat.

“You should be grateful that Hyunwoo spared you from living with the weight of your worst crimes. I wanted to let you live with them but he said you would be too guilty and too much of a liability if we left you with them. He had to be the one to take the weight of those crimes after all. I wonder how many of those broken memories will still be intact when I go back into that pretty little brain of yours again. Since Hyunwoo won’t be around to keep me from playing this time, that is. Which ones should I release first, Y/N?”

“Shut up.”

“You saw our lovely whore in Lynder didn’t you? Don’t tell me she forgave you for what you did… perhaps we should start there.”

“Shut the hell up, Han Jisung, if you want to keep your life.”

“Oh?” Jisung presses forward and gets to his feet without batting an eye. You hadn’t realized how close you had gotten to his cell until he comes face to face with you behind the bars, so close that the heat from his body radiates onto your skin. “I would be careful, Y/N. I’ve spent years learning how best to toy with brains using the military’s serum. If you want to keep your sanity, then I suggest you play nice like the good little doll you are. You wouldn’t want to be left with any horribly traumatic memories, now would you?”

Jisung’s lips fall into a faux pout, and you take a hasty step back from the bars in disgust.

“I told you: I know plenty about making people break. All I have to do is tell you the smallest white lie for seeds of doubt to take root. I can make you believe that you killed thousands of people without even taking a single step into your head. Take that into account before you attempt to threaten me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but we… we’re merely two halves of a whole crazy, Y/N. You need me to survive because if you didn’t, you would have forgotten all about me a long time ago, wouldn’t you? Isn’t it funny how someone who doesn’t even have any true and real memories of her past clings to it so desperately?”

“You know, from where I’m standing, you aren’t doing shit to help us find the others, so I have no reason to uphold my end of the bargain,” you deflect, turning the conversation on its head to escape his pointless scrutiny of your reasoning. It works to your advantage perfectly because Jisung huffs air through his teeth and rolls his eyes.

“We’re on Dorado, no? Your Berserker is in the Lower Echelon of Lynder near the Smokehouses. Large warehouse preparing for reprogramming no doubt. You won’t be able to get him out. Your best hope is to wait until after the reprogramming as my crew will take him back to our ship, then we can play tradesies and bring him back while you come with me.”

“Or you can go to that warehouse and tell them the deal is off and there’s been a change in plans.”

You squat down beside Jisung’s cell, hand slipping over your waistband and dipping underneath it to pull the sheathed knife you keep there out. It glints under the low yellow lights above your head.

“Scourge was right in saying that it’s hard to threaten a man like you. But one thing fucks your plans up, Jisung. If I’m dead, then what do you get out of this?”

The playful gleam in Jisung’s eyes fades like a candle being snuffed out. His smirk falls, expression growing grave in mere seconds, and you crank up the heat a little further as you dance the knife over the inside of your wrist.

“If it means ruining your plans, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my crew. You should know that by now.”

“You haven’t fucking changed in all these years.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You fucking wish, you harlot. Do you really think—”

You cut him short by digging the knife harder into your skin, just enough to break through and cause a stream of red to slip out. He falls silent with a sharp inhale of air.

“I hope you agree before I run dry, Jisung. You want me to be a psychopath so badly? Let’s fucking play. Ten seconds until I cut again, and this time it’ll be vertical, so I sure hope you realize the stakes now.”

“You think your boy toy in the corner over there will sit still as you kill yourself to prove a point?”

“From where I’m standing, it seems like neither of you is in any sort of position to stop me. Five seconds, Jisung.” A drop of scarlet falls from the tip of the knife to the floor. Jisung watches it splatter, eyes calculating and careful as it moves, then he blinks back up to look you in the eye.

“I’ll tell them to cancel the reprogramming and send your Berserker back to my ship.”

“That’s not good enough,” you reply without missing a beat. The knife careens back towards your arm, and Jisung lunges forward in his cell as you shift, a desperate attempt to stop you from continuing the damage. He can’t fit a hand through the bars with the shackles around his wrists though, and he’s left to hiss out a complaint when the knife penetrates your skin again. It’s closer to your elbow this time, a deceptively shallow slice the runs parallel to the bone. Red blossoms over the line immediately. “You go in there, get them to cancel the reprogramming, then bring him out yourself to deliver him to this ship and this ship only.”

Jisung doesn’t respond right away, prompting you to lift the knife again in threat, and he snaps into action at that. Scarlet trails down the blade.

“Fine! You can even send some fucking lackeys with me to make sure I get the job done.”

“I’ll save you the trouble of trying to fuck it up while out there; I will go with you, along with our Berserker Jongho just so you don’t forget what you’re supposed to do out there.” It’s hardly your place to make such decisions or plans in place of Hongjoong, but since he’s otherwise preoccupied at the moment and you have this chance before you right now, you are going to do the most with it. And if Hongjoong has any issue with that? You’re willing to take the consequences of your actions later.

“If that’s what will make you happy, then so be it. My intention has always been to help you recover your lost crewmates.”

“Even though you were the one who kidnapped and sold them in the first place?”

“Did you think I would make things easy for you, Y/N? Come now… don’t let my kindness fool you. You haven’t even thought to ask about the other one — the Spectre, was it? Here I thought he mattered to you. You were oh so concerned when I spoke of him before.”

“I’m fucking getting there, Han. You’re in no position to be impatient,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. Jisung merely laughs at the fire in your tone.

“I’m hardly impatient, doll. In fact, I have all the time in the world. However—” he hesitates to lift one of his shackled hands and points a finger directly up “—that Spectre has a countdown looming over his head, does he not? Countdown to the hard reset? I wonder what stage of regression therapy they’re at by now. Or maybe he’s already given in? My men told me that he was… so responsive whenever your name was mentioned. I wonder if he’ll beg like the mutt he is when it comes time for him to break.”

That tips you over the edge you’ve been teetering on since entering the brig for a second time. You drop your knife to the ground, letting it clatter and fall away from where you’re squatted in front of Jisung, then you thrust your bleeding arm through the bars to close your fingers around his throat where the band of his collar can’t reach. The strain and pull on your skin burns and causes the wounds to split a bit further. It doesn’t stop you from squeezing Jisung’s neck until his face turns purple.

“Run that by me again, Han Jisung, and see what happens.”

It’s that slight insanity creeping back up your neck and into your mind — the same craze that overtook you when Taskmaster Cara stabbed San back on Echidna.

“What? Is this not a fun game for you? You were enjoying it so much not too long ago. Do you not enjoy it not?” You taunt as you twist the blade in her.

“Y-You’re a fucking – fucking psychopath.”

The smile returns to your lips. You pull the knife out of her leg with haste then move forward so that you can squat down in front of her.

“I’ve heard that before too,” you mutter as you twirl the knife in your grasp. The smile coating your lips dissipates. “But only by the people who deserve their fates.”

It terrified you then, made you fear who you were and what you could become. Now? Your mind fights the urge to kill Jisung as best it can, but it’s a losing battle, because no matter how hard you try, you cannot peel your hand away from his neck. It’s like a voice is playing on repeat in the back of your head, saying ‘kill kill kill’ over without cease.

Your ears ring with the blood thumping through your veins. If you squeeze just a little tighter then—

“Enough.”

Your hand pulls away from Jisung’s neck with such haste that you slam it hard against the bars as you’re trying to withdraw it from his cell. You scramble back from the cell full of a terror that can only be directed at yourself because you don’t know what came over you in that moment. The figure creeping up on your left doesn’t even register until he is in your space and squatting beside you. A hand overlays one of your trembling ones and pulls your arm out until your injured forearm is exposed.

“Reckless. What else should I expect from you?” It’s then that you finally decide to look up at the owner of the voice, finding none other than the captain standing over you like you’re nothing more than a petulant child who can’t learn a lesson. Still, his tone holds far more softness than anger, and you don’t get the sense that he’s truly enraged by your actions. “Go see Yunho and get these cleaned, hm? You’ll need to be in top condition if you’re heading out on yet another mission tomorrow. Though we’ll have to discuss your tendency to jump the gun on planning things without orders in the future as well.”

Ah, so he’s been present for a while if he overheard that bit as well. Then he had every opportunity to stop you from harming yourself or making any propositions with Jisung the entire time. It’s almost touching in a way knowing that Hongjoong allowed you to have that moment of control — a moment to take matters into your own hands — even if he’s all but told you that there will be consequences for said moment.

You offer a hesitant nod in response, glancing over at Jisung one last time before Hongjoong helps you to your feet. You are about to step past the captain when he yanks you back by the elbow in a similar fashion to your earlier stand-off with him outside his quarters. He presses so close to you that you smell the distinct musk of a fresh shower on his skin.

“Yunho’s still upstairs so don’t bother dropping by his room.”

You don’t understand why he had to whisper that fact to you like it was a closely guarded secret, but you are not going to point that out either. Instead, you murmur a quiet thank you and turn to climb the ladder out of the brig. Just before you reach the top, you dare to cast one more glance down to Hongjoong. He has moved to assume your previous position in front of Jisung’s cell, squatted low enough to be eye level with the man, and he holds your forgotten knife between two fingers. The scene is telling enough, but you can’t help but wonder what Hongjoong saw when you had your hand wrapped around Jisung’s neck. If he saw the way you started to pull apart at the seams and become slightly unhinged, that is. An even larger part of you wonders if perhaps what he saw was frightening enough to cause him to step in when he did.

The thought does not dwell for long; you put the brig behind you and leave Hongjoong to his own devices in there, deciding it better to not think about whatever he plans to do or say until he inevitably mentions it later to the crew. And even if he deems it unnecessary for the crew to know, you would accept that as well. Either way, you wish to leave what just happened behind you, bury it in the recesses of your mind like it’s a memory that does not belong because you wish it didn’t.

Your hands continue to tremble by your sides for the entirety of the walk back to the Hongjoong’s quarters.

I fear I will lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

✧✧✧ a/n: here we are again i really played myself and said yeah this will be under 10k so i LIED to mYSELF um yeah wow okay i never know what to say after finishing a chapter i just go brrr i have a lot of energy tho feeling good about this chapter bringing back the survey bc it’s been a minute and i’d love to hear how we’re feeling nowadays and as always let me know how you feel in the comments replies whatever you wish just bring it on let’s GO hit me with the theories and thoughts!

if you would like to, you can take the survey here! if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[zu-is-here]

Hey Zu! Your comic looks amazing! Soooo colourful!!! So cooool!

How's the moving gone/going

Hi Gayfish! Awww thank you a lot!ヾ(≧∪≦*)ノ〃

It's a home stretch heheh ☆ Finally the Internet issue has been resolved so I'm ready to work from there! 〆(・∀・) Guess Koshka also feels the upcoming move, she's been restless lately (ówò) But today's a day off so I plan to devote more time to drawing while she's sleeping ♪

How was yesterday? How's your day going? ♡

UPD:

Your artwork with Luna and Celest is amazing! (*'▽'*) They're so cool and adorable at the same time <3 Such a nice pride drawing, you did great! ☆

Heheh hope so <3 Oh it's not a secret, I'm still struggling with Ccino's designs reference, almost two weeks later XD Gotta post today—

A carnival! *0* What's celebrated?? Not dumb at all <3 We rarely have carnivals in the literal sense of this word, more mass festivities and concerts ٩( ᐛ )و

Ohhh I can imagine these rides, hardly durable yet working steadily for oh so many years at the same time :D They have a certain charm <3 Poor your legs tho! (ó3ò) Was it fun at least? As for me, I prefer quieter but equally impressive ride like the Ferris wheel, though riding Bumper cars with friends is hilarious XD

True, even ice cream doesn't help in such weather (x3x) So it's better to save yourself with cold drinks indeed! What did you take? I usually take water but if there's a chance to drink some kind of lemonade like Dyushes or Tarragon, it's even better *^*

Oh my god— Where's it now? (°▽°) Same here tho! I open the window wide open but it doesn't help either cause the sun's shining right on me and there's no wind at alll _(:3 」∠)_ Luckily, there's no uninvited insects, though I remember how a palm-sized beetle flew inside last summer, that's when I was ready to move out. XD

Almost done! (*⁰▿⁰*) Congrats!! You two are doing such a hard work, it's gonna be awwwsome ☆ And good luck to you too too with drawing! Take your time╰(*´︶`*)╯

I haven't tried Terry's chocolate (seems like we don't have it here ;3;) but I have it in the list of things I'd love to try once I'm in UK! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)☆ Green apple is a classic <3

Oh I've been great! I've save loads of drafts with others works I haven't had time to read and reblog yet (since Fluffynightkiller week, could you imagine!) so I'll slowly sort them out ♪( ´▽｀) What about you? Again, thank you so much for always checking me! ♡

You already have the prompts for the next year?? \(//∇//)\ Wowie— I'm too excited to wait for so long! XD When are you planning to post them btw? I mean, how many weeks will we have? *^*

Hook-a-duck? Nooo what's this game about?? (・∀・) I don't remember winning a carnival games either xp What about you? (ﾟ∀ﾟ) Ohhh a parade must be spectacular! ☆

Awww I'm so happy you had a fun time! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)♡ Bumper car ride is a fenced space with a large number of "cars" on which you can drive and crash into other drivers, thereby pushing them and yourself xd

Frostino looks so sweet! *^* We call them just milkshakes xp Dyushes is a popular pear soda, slightly astringent and sweet <3

Phew! The spider tho,,, (；ﾞﾟ'ωﾟ') For real XD

It'd be an honor and pleasure for me╰(*´︶`*)╯

Someday! ☆ I wanna visit more significant places (*´꒳`*)

Thanks again! Looking forward to your new works <3

I'm really glad you liked them (๑>◡<๑)♡

Oh that's great! More time to prepare ;) Hope it'll be even bigger next year ☆

This game sounds easy yet fun! :D You're cool *^*

Most of insects are scary to me x) so I like to think of nice ones like ladybug or butterfly <3 What about you?

That's the point! The capitals attract but not many people talk about other equally interesting cities ☆ Like in France or Spain, or Japan, where it's worth going not to the capital but to Kyoto, there are many more beautiful and interesting places and sights there *^* And of course, I'd love to meet you in person too ♡ Perhaps even in Russia if you get ahead of me? :D

I saw this and I'm crying XD It's perfect! (the bodies are *chef kiss*)

(=´∀｀)人(´∀｀=)☆

Omg the daddy long legs! XD I'm sorry– don't get me wrong, I didn't even know they're called like that! Cause we just call them "haymakers" or "centipedes" but this is hilarious, guess I'll laugh every time I see them (≧∀≦)♡ But true, they're unpleasant in appearance, completely harmless tho, even a bit defenseless and fragile (ówò)

Ah I have \(//∇//)\ It's a truly amazing place, like a paradise! I've even seen a special box with caterpillar pupae where they're grown <3 When I was there as a child with my grandma, one butterfly sat down on her hat, like a blessing, and everyone around gasped in admiration for such a "decoration" (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)☆ What about you?

That would be amazing! (〃ω〃) Moscow really is worth visiting, but Saint Petersburg, Kaliningrad, Kazan, Yeysk... There are countless amazing places in my city alone! ♡ from Saint Isaac's Cathedral and the Winter Palace (the most famous ones) to Lakhta Center (one of the newest, the tallest building in Europe ★)

Hoo boi— XD

Wowie! Like a fairy tale came true (༶ૢ˃̵̑◡˂̵̑༶ૢ)

Good luck with your future family trip! ☆ And always welcome to Russia╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

[astorxa]

Merlin’s beard, what is ( ASTORIA GREENGRASS ) doing out at this hour? For a ( PUREBLOOD ) who is ( 16 ) years old, ( SHE ) really ought to know better. You know, I hear that they’re aligned with ( THE NEUTRALS ), but that could be just a rumor. I do know that they’re ( QUESTIONING ) and a ( SLYTHERIN ) student though. They’re very ( + DIPLOMATIC ) and ( + INTELLIGENT ) but also quite ( - ALOOF ) and ( - OVERTHINKING ), which could be why they remind of ( USING DISTRACTIONS TO PASS THE TIME, SWEEPING YOUR HAND ACROSS A RACK OF EXPENSIVE DRESSES, THE YEARNING FOR MORE, A KNOWLEDGE UNQUENCHED ). Some people say they’re the spitting image of ( SYDNEY PARK ), but I’ve never heard of them. 

CHARACTER INSPO: Astrid Leong ( Crazy Rich Asians ), Leila Keating ( All American ), Nancy Wheeler ( Stranger Things ), Laurel Castillo ( HTGAWM ), Peyton Charles ( iZombie ), Celeste Wright ( Big Little Lies ).

EXTRAS: pinterest 

ABOUT:

It was a particularly cold day in October, upon a house on a hill in Kent, Astoria Greengrass was born quietly, in the late evening. Even then, she came out of the womb easily without much fuss, the labor was short, she cried once and then not at all. Even from a young age, she displayed the traits of a perfect daughter -- quiet, non questioning ( outwardly ), intelligent, stoic, curious but not too curious ( yet ), poised, obedient. Halloween was just around the corner and the Greengrass’ showed off their new daughter at their annual O’Hallows Eve event, only a little over a week old, she was the apple of their eye. It was like she came into the world to be perfect, seemingly serene, lovely, good. The Greengrass’ while frustrated they couldn’t have any sons, settled for daughters who would make the family name a shining example in the Wizarding World and would make good matches when the time came, they just had to be groomed to get there. It didn’t take much grooming for Astoria to play the part, to become the part, to excel at it like she was born to do so -- much to their pleasure.

She was also kind, inquisitive, sneaky, knowing the more she obeyed the less they’d watch her. At a young age, even though she was younger than many of the pureblood children she hung out with, she was the maternal, caring, quiet, warm presence many of them lacked. A quiet warmth among them, trying to give them the love that none of them got by simply being there, being by their side. If you needed something, go to Astoria. If you wanted something done or needed someone to back you up and legitimize your hijinks, go to Astoria. The only time she deigned to stand up against the adults was in defense of her fellow purebloods, as she felt a camaraderie as well as a responsibility for them she couldn’t really explain. Perhaps, it was the fact that they all had similar upbringings, that they were all practically indoctrinated into a society after the First War that was dying. The Greengrass’s were a dying breed and she easily took on the role of diplomat, of perfect dutiful daughter. She didn’t know anything else even though she longed to.

By the time Astoria was 11, she knew society well. Praised in Witch Weekly as ‘One to Watch’, she made subtle waves within society, going back to her mother’s home in Singapore frequently to further integrate with Pureblood society internationally. The name Astoria Greengrass was known in Pureblood circles and by the time she sixteen, she was fairly popular within them. A perfect socialite, a perfect daughter, a perfect diplomat, she’d been groomed since birth and fit into the role perfectly.

EXCEPT. She wondered. In between the traveling, her parents started to be less lenient with her due to her just being the daughter they didn’t need to worry about ( not that they were the most attentive parents in the first place )  -- she slipped in between the cracks and saw a world that was more than what she was given. The hate they raised her with she realized was fear, which was then countered by her need to know, her curiosity that was once unthreatening, propelled her into muggle cities, into muggle books, muggle music. Of course, she never talked about it, with anyone. But she knew. In her mind, there was so much more than what she had and the longing for it started. A life long love affair with knowledge, never quenched but always thirsty, was born.

That’s when the distractions, the hobbies of sketching, drawing, baking, cooking, reading, became needs. Her mind reeled, her mind saw so much more and realized how her family was on the wrong side of history. Sure, she could enjoy the perks of living, she could enjoy her name & her reputation, the money, the privilege she had of being pureblood, but the morality of it all started to weigh on her heavily. The older she got, the more she read about the dead during the First War. The people her family had helped slaughtered ( at least, they were neutral/DE leaning -- by proxy their blood was on her hands ). The people her Ministry parents had let slide, the people who came in and out of their home who were objectively bad people. She baked, though she wasn’t the best. She painted, she sketched, she made clothing designs of ornate dresses, some of which were brought to fruition and many of which were actually worn by Astoria. Witch Weekly asked her when her clothing line was coming out and Astoria became motivated to actually make one. Not due to desire, but due to the guilt of her life weighing down on her more and more -- instead of doing something about it, standing up to her family, Merlin forbid betraying them, she fell deeper down the rabbit hole of her life. They wanted a clothing line of evening gowns? Astoria would deliver. Brands wanted her to wear their clothing? She did and made them her own. Astoria got better and better at living a life that she felt horrible living because what other option did she have?

Astoria was a true hatstall between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.  He saw she was a wonderer, someone who had an unsatisfied need to learn about everything, that she would soar if she was to be an eagle. The hat kept trying to convince her that Ravenclaw was where she belonged, after all she read books, practically soaked up knowledge like a dry sponge & valued it extremely — but being away from her family? Away from the big sister she loved with all her heart and soul, the people she grew up with? Astoria was a Greengrass, but more importantly she held her value of family above anything else. After a few minutes, the hat saw this, it realized that maybe she did belong in Slytherin after all and let her go. Green robes adorned her, and she joined the House of Snakes with a superficial smile. Because underneath all of that, she was nervous, that maybe she had made a mistake. This was something that she often wondered but was able to push it away for years, happy that she was with the people she loved.

The Hat wasn’t wrong in the end, Astoria Greengrass belonged in Slytherin even if she was a Ravenclaw. She didn’t just belong there because of her last name or her company, but because of cowardice born from self-preservation and the deep need to be loyal to her family, to be by her sister’s side, though not prominent in all Slytherin wizards, was in her veins. Doing the right thing seemed much worse than betrayal, saying something against what she was taught was practically betrayal, so she kept her mouth glued shut. Astoria seemingly turned a blind eye to the budding war around her ( even though that was very much not the case, which was worse ), following her sister dutifully as a Greengrass as a socialite, even if she would’ve rather been home reading many of the books she had collected ( even if some where muggle and not allowed, she hid them under her bed & floorboards ). At 16 almost 17 years old, she’s more conflicted but down the rabbit hole than ever -- a small line of designer gowns under her belt, Witch Weekly’s endless love & praise being named Witch Weekly’s Jr. Socialite Of The Year -- something that weighs heavy on her. Her parents are pleased but Astoria is finding it harder and harder to adorn herself with beautiful clothing and look in the mirror like she isn’t as guilty as the Death Eaters by simply standing idly by. "The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis. " Astoria thinks about this quote. Often.

Underneath the grace and demure demeanor is not someone you want to piss off. With a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, Astoria could easily tear someone down, pick someone apart, so observant and very wry, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t need to and realized at a young age that she would gain more with being adored & loved than being feared -- but it doesn’t mean she can’t. This distinction is important.  She bites her tongue, she swallows the blood, but it doesn’t mean she can’t draw it if necessary.

EXTRA FACTZ:

alright i’m gonna stop bc i usually write long intros and i’m trying to learn the art of brevity

ISFJ & libra

has a cat named asteria because she thought it was funny tbh

patronus: swan

none of that blood curse BS bc cursed child isnt valid in my house!!!!!!

boggart: her sister’s dead body which signifies letting her family down and the person she loves most down, losing her family as well

if u didn’t already know daphne is everything to her

plays piano and violin

loves the stars and star jewelry, she does kinda like astrology too

questions her gender v v deep down, doesn’t really acknowledge or talk about it and doesn’t feel there’s room to

knows she aint straight though and is cool with it

buy the stars by marina and the diamonds is her SONG

always looking good. always looking fresh. she dresses up that uniform with so much jewelry, she looks GOOD AT ALL TIMES and is always wearing some sort of jewelry. designer everything on hogsmeade weekends. like ur girl is looking fresh 2 DEATH

it’s astoria or ria, even then only a few people can call her ria. it’s astoria or bust lol! none of that tori shit!

is something of a wine expert?? she’s real posh tbh. she went to italy (1) time and was like wow i am cultivating a Love of Wine and has done so

[voulezvous-rpg]

STAFF: THE COLLECTOR

marcel gauthier 34 years old bookkeeper & debt collector played by jade. 24. she/her. pst.

Officially, you handle the books here. If someone didn’t have a reason to assume otherwise, they wouldn’t — and why would they? You think more than you speak, often blending in with the walls in the back of the club. You cause no spectacle, draw no attention to yourself. Not until necessary. It’s your responsibility to ensure the club’s books stay in the black, and you take that responsibility very seriously. You follow up on debts, on promised favours gone unredeemed. It’s then, as you shake them down for what they owe, revelling in their fear, that they get a glimpse of who you really are. It’s then that you make yourself memorable.

Many, many things came along with the Gauthier name. Marcel learned that much while young and impressionable enough for it to fully take hold. The only son to a Parisian banker and his doting wife, Marcel grew familiar with wealth and opportunity — but also with strict rules, expectations, and strings tied so tight it often hurt to breathe. Of course they’d meant well. Of course the intention had always been to raise a well mannered gentleman, one who stayed in line and remembered his place and reflected well upon the family, but a gilded cage is still a cage nonetheless, and while it kept him safe, it left him stunted. His days — his years — were carefully planned. Not a single decision belonged to him, from what he’d wear in the morning, to where he’d one day be buried — in the family crypt, naturally, alongside those Gauthiers who’d come before him. While freed from the burden of choice, the clear-cut path his parents set him on left him robbed of freedom. Don’t question things. Do what you’re told. He got quite good at that — at blind obedience, at stifling his own urges, at allowing the world to traipse themselves over him, then politely thanking them for it.

He grew to see the world in black and white — right or wrong, do or don’t, obey or disobey. He was a practical boy, one that swore by facts over feelings, one that greatly preferred the tangible and concrete over the hypothetical. He liked what he could understand, what he could prove; whatever he couldn’t see, he couldn’t grasp. Emotions never came easily — the processing of his own, or the understanding of others’. The social graces Marcel’s parents had hoped to instil were rendered useless by his emotional ineptitude. Don’t speak until spoken to, they’d told him — and he didn’t; but when it was his turn, oh, he said exactly what he meant, bluntly, brutally, leaving no room for the annoyance of miscommunication. Black and white. Just like the rest.

Ambitions were yet another thing prescribed to him from the higher branches of his family’s tree. Marcel had never once dared to question whether banking was something he’d had an interest in; passionate or not, to go against his family’s wishes would be all but an act of war. He made excellent grades, had a knack for numbers, and so when his mother picked him out a tie and his father escorted him into the bank for his first day, he muttered no objections. It was a sturdy job — mind numbing, yet reliable, the kind of profession that would set him up to find a bride, to father children, to bring home a reliable pay check. It was also the kind of profession that would keep him tightly under his father’s thumb, nodding and obeying, like he’d always been conditioned. Under the guise of starting his career, starting his life, he was still a pawn. Still lowly. Still powerless. He’d just been shuffled over to a different board.

He dragged his feet into the bank every day, did his time, and at the stroke of five o’clock, he retreated to the comfort of home. It was routine. Clockwork. Had he ever known any different, he’d have been able to pinpoint the sensation as the skull-crushing boredom it was. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until, by pure happenstance, he found himself running late one evening, lingering at work until a ghastly seventeen past five. It was then that he ran into a group of colleagues, tossing jackets over their shoulders and exchanging hearty laughs and friendly claps on the back on their way out the door, ready to hit the town — surely a nightly bonding ritual of some form that Marcel, the boss’s son, had never been invited to participate in. Not until they were forced to give him half of a smile as they passed him on their way out. Not until one of the men, visibly uncomfortable, sheepishly asked if Marcel would like to join them for the evening.

It was an offer he’d typically refuse, one he knew was made out of obligation. He had better things to do with his time, he’d usually insist — but Papa always did stress the importance of building a strong network, and perhaps it was about time his relationship with his colleagues progressed from indifference to amicable tolerance. He’d stay for an hour, he reasoned — perhaps a single drink, heavy on the ice to water down the burn of alcohol he’d never developed a taste for. 

He couldn’t have known he’d find his new home that night.

That single drink turned to four and five and six more, and the quick glance he’d taken towards the flash of the dancers’ legs became a grab of the hand, a flick of his wallet, and a swift set of footsteps upstairs. A ripe twenty-four years old, he’d been with but one woman before — Celeste, a pretty yet daft thing of his parents’ choosing that he’d tried and failed to love. Every word with her had been a gamble, and oh, Marcel loathed the uncertainty that came along with courtship. A transactional relationship, however, he could grasp without difficulty. There was a pleasure to be found in knowing exactly what he was getting, in cutting through the small talk often required in such a dalliance — in not being faulted for keeping his distance once bodies fell limp and buttons were done up. 

It wasn’t long before that pleasure consumed him.

Temptation drew him back the next night. And the next. And the next, sampling the finest of liquors and women the Moulin Rouge had to offer, until the pockets of his wallet began to run dry. Next time he’d have the money, he’d swear; next time he’d pay off all of the debt he’d accrued. But he couldn’t, and it began to pile, until he had no option but to get on his knees and bargain. He’d work it off, he offered, in the only way he knew how — taking a look at their books, straightening out that bottom line until they could call it even.

The closer he dug into the club’s finances, the more gaps continued to appear — debts far surpassing his own that had gone unpaid for years, IOUs unredeemed, endless opportunities to make up for the money he owed. He took it upon himself to fill those gaps, and under no one’s supervision but his own for the first time, he did so by whatever means necessary. One by one, he approached those in the club’s debt — and one by one he emptied their pockets, each time with increasing vigour and creative tenacity. It marked the first time he’d ever had his hand against a man’s throat. The first time he’d threatened a man. The first time he’d hurt a man. For the first time, he felt autonomy. For the first time, he was under no one’s control but his own. For the first time, he felt powerful. 

Never had he discovered a drug as intoxicating as the look of fear in a man’s eyes as he begged for just one more day. Here, he was no one’s underling, no one’s pawn. Here, he was capable. He was strong. He was good at what he did, and before long the numbers were in the black, and Marcel had earned himself a place in the establishment’s esteem. Soon enough he stopped showing up at the bank altogether, instead making himself a permanent fixture in the little back offices of the Moulin Rouge. Officially, he took care of the books. That’s all anyone needed to know, until their business became his — and when it did, he revelled in the arts of threat and extortion, his lack of empathy proving, for once, useful. 

For ten years, he’s helped the club thrive. If asked no questions about just how he keeps the balance sheets even, he’ll tell no lies. His work is dirty — bloody, sometimes — but it’s effective. He flips like a switch — from fly on the wall to cold, calculated, frightening. That first taste of power all those years ago poisoned him, and ever since, all he wants to taste is more.

You’re often hounding The Good Time Girl for coming up short.

You take care of The Proprietor’s dirty work; when they tell you to handle something, you handle it, no questions.

You’ve had a stern word with The Dealer for attempting to pay with their product, as opposed to actual money.

FC: Dan Stevens

[allthevmff]

Trust Me, I'm a Gentleman

by CubbieGirl1723

“C’mon, Veronica, it won’t be that bad.”

  Lilly sets Veronica’s paisley patterned duffle bag on the king-sized bed with a huff.

  “Logan’s not—”

  “Lilly,” she interrupts her roommate sharply, “I’ve met him, remember? Multiple times. So yeah, it will be that bad.”

  “This bed is so big, you won’t even notice that he’s in it.” Lilly’s persuasion does nothing to alter the glare on Veronica’s face. “Okay, I’ll double your fee.”

  At that, Veronica feels her resolve start to slip. “Well…”

  “Seriously. I’ll double it AND let you have the master suite in our apartment.”

  Veronica sticks out her hand for a shake. “Done.”

  Lilly sinks down onto the mattress of what looks like a very luxurious, gigantic bed and Veronica glances around, taking in her surroundings. The afternoon sunlight filters in through the windows overlooking the backyard and gives the space a peaceful feel. The Kanes’ fourth-best guest suite really is lovely—plush carpet, vaulted ceilings, soothing grey walls, sumptuous bedding—but the prospect of sharing it with Logan Echolls takes most of the joy out of it for her. Sure, he’s handsome and charming but he also flirts with everything that moves. Anyone who’s that hot surely can’t be trustworthy.

  She sits down on the bed next to Lilly and sighs. “Honestly, Lils, I can't figure out what you used to see in him.”

  Lilly giggles. “Mmm, yeah, we were pretty terrible together. But the boy has skills, Veronica.”

  She bobs her eyebrows, leaving no doubt in Veronica’s mind what kind of skills she’s referring to.

  Veronica rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Lilly, I do not want to hear about that! I can’t believe I agreed to this case.”

  She flops down onto her back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Is that a small chandelier hanging above the bed? This house is so much nicer than any place she’s ever stayed before.

  “I can’t believe I just agreed to pay you double.” Lilly lays down next to her, their heads touching. “I just have a really bad feeling about this girl he’s marrying, Veronica. You have to help me.”

  The door clicks open with a soft snick, making them both sit up.

  “Lilly Kane. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Leaning against the door frame with a sardonic grin on his face is none other than Logan Echolls, jackass extraordinaire. He draws out the last word in a particularly naughty fashion. His dark jeans and tight maroon cashmere sweater hug his body and Veronica gulps.

  He goes on. “Fulfilling my two blondes in bed fantasy?”

  He closes the door behind him, still smirking.

  Lilly laughs. “You wish, Logan. I know you miss me, but it’s time for you to move on.”

  Her eyes glint, not with malice but merriment, and Veronica can tell that while Lilly might be able to admit their on-again-off-again relationship was a disaster, she still has fond feelings for Logan.  He’s ridiculously good looking but the effect is almost spoiled because he obviously knows it. Veronica can’t stop herself from glancing at his hands and remembering Lilly’s comments about his skills.

  “In fact…” Lilly’s voice trails up the scale, building suspense, and she clears her throat.  “I’ve arranged it all for you. You’re dating Veronica.”

  He sputters and Veronica rushes to explain.

  “It’s not like that!”

  Lilly laughs again at her roommate.

  “I’ve hired Veronica to look into Kendall.  I think she’s a conniving little gold-digger and I can’t let her sink her claws any deeper into Duncan.  Veronica’s going to help, but I had to tell my parents that she’s here as your date, since it’s just a small, family wedding.”

  Logan’s mouth drops open in shock.  “What the hell, Lilly?” He moves away from the door and strides into the room. “You can’t just — ”

  “Look, I hate this as much as you do!” Veronica jumps in, yelling back at him, but Lilly cuts them both off, waving her hands.

  “Logan, do you honestly trust Kendall any farther than you could throw her?” She eyes his biceps, outlined nicely by his tight sweater, and amends her statement, smirking.  “Okay, any farther than I could throw her?”

  He doesn’t meet her eyes, so she charges on.  “She’s the worst, and I know you must think she’s terrible for Duncan.  You have to help me.”

  Logan’s mouth opens again, this time hesitantly, as he perches on the edge of the bed.  He stares at Veronica, and she feels like he is evaluating her. His eyes rake up and down her body, making her flush hot and then cold.

  “Kendall’s pretty awful.” He swallows and looks down, pleating the white duvet cover between his long fingers.  “I never told anyone this...but right after she started dating Duncan, she made a pass at me. I don’t think he knows. She played it off later like I had misunderstood but…” He stares intently back and forth between Lilly and Veronica for a second.  “I definitely didn’t.”

  He clears his throat and goes back to his examination of the bedspread before continuing.

  “I was actually hoping I’d be able to talk him out of this. Or at least a longer engagement.”

  “I know, right?”  Lilly rolls her eyes. “A month is crazy if she’s not…” She rounds her hand in front of her stomach, indicating a baby bump.

  “He says she’s not.”

  Logan has virtually ignored Veronica for most of this conversation but his focus shifts to her now.  

  “What I don’t understand,” he sneers, “is what she has to do with it.”

  Veronica hops up off the bed, incensed, but before she can yell at him, Lilly intervenes.

  “Logan!  Play nice.” Lilly gives his arm a playful swat. “You know Veronica. She’s building up her PI business and has taken some cases for friends on campus. She’s good. But this was the only way I could get her an invite.”

  He looks skeptical.  

  “No offense,” although his face implies the absolute opposite, “but why didn’t you have Celeste hire a professional? I know the look of disdain is permanently etched on her features but I can tell that she hates Kendall even more than you do, Lils.”

  “She did.”

  Veronica’s ears perk up at this new information. “Who did she hire? What did they find?” She grills Lilly.

  “Some guy named Vinnie? And Kendall came out smelling like roses.”

  Veronica snorts.  “That’s her first problem. Vinnie Van Lowe is a hack for sale to the highest bidder. She should have called my dad.”

  “But she didn’t, so I hired you.”

  Logan flops down dramatically on the spot Veronica vacated on the bed. “Let’s be clear. I’m only agreeing to this terrible idea for Duncan’s sake, so he’s not saddled with that sack of silicon for life.”

  At Lilly’s raised eyebrow, he elaborates. “Yeah, they’re fake. I told you she made a pass at me.”

  Lilly just smirks. “Good to know.”  She sighs deeply, like she’s distraught, but Veronica has lived with her for two years and knows better.  There is nothing Lilly Kane loves more than secrets and intrigue.

  “Well, I should be going.” She moves across the room, stopping with her hand on the doorknob, smiling back at them wickedly. “I’ll let V settle in and you two lovers can figure out your cover story.”

  “What are you talking about? You said we’re dating. That’s it, cover story done.” Logan brushes his hands together and hops up off the bed, giving Lilly an alarmed look.

  “Of course, but how did you meet? How long have you been dating? What’s your favorite sexual position? These are all questions that could come up at dinner.”

  Logan sighs and runs a hand down his face, haggard.  “Only if you ask them, Lils,” he says to the door as she disappears through it.  

  He turns and glares at Veronica.

  “Was this your idea?”

  She huffs, hands on her hips.  “As if!”

  His face loses a measure of its aggression. “Yeah, it has Queen Lilly written all over it. Sorry.”

  He flops back down on the bed. “Um, maybe we got off on the wrong foot the first time we met,” he mumbles to the ceiling.

  “Which time would that be? When I found you wearing my bathrobe in my kitchen, drinking my special Lavazza Espresso Super Crema coffee? Or the time I came home to find you and Lilly, naked on the couch? Or what about when — ”

  He cuts her off. “To be fair, I thought it was Lilly’s robe and I bought you a new one. And that can’t have been the first time you’ve found Lilly naked on the couch with a guy. I guarantee if you continue living with her, it won’t be the last.”

  Despite her efforts to the contrary, Veronica laughs and decides to accept his olive branch. His sexual charisma might make her uncomfortable, but she realizes she may need his help this weekend.  

  “She warned me as much when we moved in together. And I do like my new bathrobe. I never thanked you for it.”

  She gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed, keeping a careful distance from Logan.  

  “So we met through Lilly, obviously. And how long have we been dating?”

  “Lilly and I stopped fooling around about a year ago. So...eight months?”

  “No good. Why wouldn’t Duncan or Kendall know if we’d been dating that long? He’s your roommate and best friend, right?”

  “Ah, good point. How about two months, then? And I just haven’t told Duncan because...he’s been so busy with Kendall planning his wedding?”

  “Sounds good. Long enough that you’d ask me to be your wedding date, but short enough that we still like each other.”

  “Whoa, Ms. Cynic. Who broke your heart and left you so bitter?”

  “None of your business,” she answers sharply and decides to change gears.

  “Now what can you tell me about Kendall? I’ve heard Lilly’s views, obviously, but I haven’t met her yet.”

  Logan grimaces and, still lying on his back, covers his eyes with the crook of his arm. He’s probably not doing it to purposely show off his arm muscles but she can’t help but notice. Yum . Veronica squashes that traitorous thought quickly and makes herself focus on what he’s saying.

  “Lilly’s a drama queen; she’s probably exaggerated but...she’s not wrong. Like I said, I’ve been planning on talking to Duncan myself. I just got...busy.”

  Veronica scoffs and raises an eyebrow. “Right.”

  “Hey!” He throws off his arm and sits up. “I’ve brought it up a few times but Kendall is always at our place and then I had finals and…” He sighs. “You’re right, I probably should have done more.”

  “So Kendall…” she prompts.

  “Right. Duncan met her at a party at the start of the semester. He brought her back home and the next morning...she maybe got confused about which room she had been staying in.”

  His face says this is doubtful.  

  “She was in your room?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Naked in my bed. She came onto me and then when I turned her down, she pretended like she was embarrassed and in the wrong place.”

  “Is she a student at UCLA?” Veronica asks, her brow furrowing as she dives into investigation mode.

  “I guess.” He shrugs. “I’m pretty sure she’s majoring in General Studies and sorority parties.”

  Veronica can’t keep from making a face at that fact. “Ick. What else? Where does she live?”

  “When she’s not at our place she has a room in the Delta Gamma house, I think?  I actually don't know much about her background...I think she transferred to UCLA this year? Not many people know her.” Logan runs his hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. “She was just suddenly...there...in our apartment all the time. So I started making myself scarce.”

  “Suddenly crashing with her super rich boyfriend? New transfer student? Yeah, Lilly’s instincts might be founded on something more than sibling rivalry this time.”

  Veronica hops off the bed and begins digging in her black studded messenger bag. She emerges with a tiny notebook decorated with unicorns and a pen and scribbles some notes and reminders to herself.  

  “What time is dinner?” she asks Logan without looking directly at him. She can still feel his gaze on her, observing her movements. Apparently ignoring him would not actually make him go away. His constant piercing stare is beginning to make her flustered.  

  “Uh, seven, I think?”

  She makes another face as she glances at the clock on the nightstand. “Great.  An hour is just enough time to raid Lilly’s closet and get ready.” She looks back at Logan. “We might be stuck sharing this room but I’m getting dressed by myself. So you can do your thing now and find Duncan. I’ll see you at dinner and we’ll put on our couple show.”

  “Are you going to make a schedule of when we’re each allowed to shower?” he teases her, heading into the bathroom and turning on what she assumes is the hot water because of the issuing steam.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Veronica calls as she exits the room. She doesn’t know where the thought of Logan, hot water running in rivulets down his body in the steamy shower, comes from.  

  _____

  Veronica steps into the formal dining room of the Kane mansion and takes a deep breath, looking around for Logan.

  She spots him leaning against the fireplace, glass of scotch in hand, talking with Duncan. Presumably the tall brunette on Duncan’s arm is Kendall. Her dress is purple with sparkles, utterly tacky, but her curvy figure fills it out well. Her long brown hair is pulled to one side with just the perfect amount of curl and it highlights her slender neck. The heels she’s wearing make her almost the same height as Duncan and she’s clutching him possessively.  

  Logan is wearing his tight maroon cashmere sweater from earlier that begs to be petted but has switched out his jeans for charcoal dress pants. He catches sight of her and his eyes widen as they rake up and down her body.

  Veronica had grabbed a variety of outfits from her closet as she packed but a family dinner at the Kane mansion was a more formal affair than she was used to. Thankfully, Lilly let her borrow a dress from her closet. It’s strapless red satin, gathered under her bust and it flares out flatteringly over her hips. It hits few inches above her knee and since Lilly’s bust is larger than hers, they had employed some safety pins and duct tape to keep it secure but nothing could change the fact that she’s showing way more cleavage than usual.

  Based on Logan’s indrawn breath and lingering eyes, it’s noticeable. She touches the diamond star pendant resting in the hollow of her neck that Lilly had lent her for the weekend and plasters a fake smile on her face, making her way over to Logan’s side.

  She grabs his forearm and pushes up on her tiptoes—at least her silver heels help close some of the gap between their heights—and plants a kiss on his cheek.

  “Hi there, Love Muffin.” She goes into full-on perky mode, trying to appeal to Kendall’s sorority girl nature, and her eyes sparkle as her traitorous fingers stroke the soft cashmere covering his arm.  

  “Sugarpuss! You look beautiful tonight.” He’s overly jolly as he places a kiss on the top of her head, probably angling for a glimpse down her dress.

  “Veronica! I had no idea you were Logan’s date for the weekend!” Duncan turns to her, his open, guileless face full of happiness for his friend.  

  She actually feels a stab of guilt for lying to him. She’s met Duncan a few times before and while he doesn’t shine as brightly as Lilly— who could? —she’s always gotten the vibe that he is sweet, if a little clueless. Being taken advantage of is his fault, really, for being so damn trusting but she can see why Lilly wants to protect him and if Kendall really is lying to him, she needs to pay.  

  “Yep! He and I kept in touch after Lilly dumped him again, poor guy. I actually felt bad for him! He was so mopey—”

  If she had to pretend to be dating him, she could at least have a little fun.  

  “And I just hadn’t had a chance to tell you, man,” Logan quickly interjects before Veronica can do any more damage to his reputation. “Things got so busy there for a while.”

  “Well, I’m happy for you.” Duncan claps Logan on the shoulder and turns to the brunette on his arm.  

  “I guess you haven't met Kendall yet. Kendall, this is Veronica Mars, Logan’s girlfriend and Lilly’s roommate. Veronica, this is my fiancee, Kendall Shifflet.”

  Veronica tears her fingers away from where they’re resting on Logan’s arm and shakes Kendall’s limp hand.  Kendall’s eyes gleam with malice as she gives Veronica the once-over and for the second time today, she feels like she’s been measured and come up short. It’s as if Kendall can tell she’s borrowing Lilly’s dress and jewelry, as if she knows she definitely doesn’t belong at a fancy dinner at the Kane’s.

  “Lilly’s roommate?” She sneers and turns back to Duncan, placing her hand on his chest, not-so-subtly showing off the four carat Harry Winston on her ring finger as she fawns over him. She smooths over his blue dress shirt, then runs her hand down the sleeve of his sports coat.  Her haughty glance reminds Veronica of the mean girls in her high school and she’s even more determined to expose any potential secrets Kendall might be hiding.

  “My girlfriend,” Logan clarifies firmly and puts his arm around her but Kendall, no longer interested, ignores them. Logan’s affront on her behalf is sweet, if unnecessary.

  Veronica takes a minute to rethink her strategy. Originally she’d been planning on adopting a vapid sorority girl persona to befriend Kendall but that doesn’t look like it’s going to work. The best way to fight mean girls is to be one, she thinks to herself with a sigh.

  She leads Logan away—Duncan and Kendall don’t notice—and whispers in his ear. God, he smells good.

  “She seems lovely. Any insight here?”

  Logan just shrugs, helpless.

  Thankfully Lilly chooses that moment to appear at her side.

  “So, did you meet the Wicked Witch yet?”

  “Mmm. I couldn’t call it a pleasure, but yes, I was introduced and I see what you mean. Want to come with me and try to pump her for information?

  Lilly rubs her hands together gleefully. “God, yes. I knew this was going to be fun!”

  Veronica rolls her eyes and turns to Logan. “As long as you can bear to be apart from me, Honeybunch?”

  He gives her a fake pout. “I suppose I’ll live, Snookums.”

  Lilly snorts and rolls her eyes at their exchange, then turns and shasays over to Duncan and Kendall, Veronica trailing in her wake.  

  “Kendall, you get to talk to Duncan all night! Come ’ere, Veronica and I need girl talk time!”

  Kendall’s eyes widen in horror before she can school her features. “Oh, I don’t know—”

  Duncan cuts her off. “You should go, Babe. You don’t really have any girlfriends to share this all the wedding stuff with and Lilly and I are close. I want you to get to know her better.”

  Lilly doesn’t bother to hide her triumphant grin, and Veronica notices that Kendall can’t successfully hide her moue of distaste. Duncan moves over to talk to Logan, though, so Kendall gives a fake smile and lets Lilly pull her over to a secluded corner of the elegant dining room.

  “So tell us everything! All the details!” Lilly squeals.  

  Kendall looks like she just bit into a lemon. “Um.  Well, you saw my dress when we went shopping for your bridesmaid dress a few weeks ago…”

  Veronica waves this away. “What about ceremony details? Those are my favorite. Is your dad giving you away? Tell us about your family coming in for the wedding.”

  Does anyone ever say that? Veronica thinks to herself. Oh well, Kendall doesn’t question it.  

  “No, no family.” Her tone is harsh and at Veronica’s obvious recoil, she clears her throat and tries for a softer note. Veronica knows con-artists, though, and this girl is not a very good one.

  “I mean, my parents died when I was little. No extended family.”

  “No aunts and uncles who raised you?” Veronica questions.

  “Nope.” Kendall pops the P on the end of the word, obviously annoyed with her pushiness. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Right, sorry. So who are your bridesmaids?”

  Kendall gestures at Lilly.  “Just her. Look, I really don’t know much about that stuff; I let Celeste plan the whole thing. The only thing I wanted—” she tries to turn wistful, but lays it on so thick that Veronica wants to gag “—was a Christmas wedding.”

  Behind Kendall’s back, Lilly rolls her eyes and Veronica agrees with the sentiment. Facing Kendall, though, she keeps her face neutral and makes a small “oh,” sound, like she’s interested.

  Kendall doesn’t elaborate, though. “I think Duncan needs me,” she says, and glances over at her fiance. He is deep in conversation with Logan and his dad and definitely doesn’t seem to ‘need’ her.

  “Oh, wait,” Veronica quickly pulls her cell phone from the lace garter holster she wears specifically to hold her phone. “Let’s take a quick picture, just us girls.  I promised my dad—”

  But she doesn’t have to finish her excuse because Kendall interrupts her. “Oh, no, I hate having my picture taken. I’m terribly unphotogenic.” She hurries over to glue herself to Duncan’s side.

  Veronica had been hoping for a picture to aid her background search but apparently it was going to be harder than that. She is just about to whisper something very mean in Lilly’s ear when Celeste interrupts them. Her cream-colored suit looks offsets her auburn hair nicely and looks very tasteful but her sneer of distaste ruins the overall effect.

  “Lilly, no gentleman escort tonight?” she asks her daughter in a berating tone. “You’re throwing off the dinner party numbers.”

  But Lilly is breezy and unaffected by her mother’s scorn.

  “Mom, you know I don’t get a Flavor of the Month at Christmas! Gifts tend to make them...attached.”

  Celeste huffs at her and calls everyone to dinner.

  Veronica has met Lilly’s mother a few times before, and as Logan had alluded to earlier, Celeste does not seem like a terribly happy person. Usually she’s upset with Lilly, which seems to bother her roommate very little.  During one of their first late-night tipsy evenings, Lilly confessed that Duncan had been the favorite for so long that she had given up on ever getting her parents’ approval and embraced her wild side. But if Duncan, the heir-apparent and child-who-can-do-no-wrong, is marrying someone they don’t approve of, Celeste is likely to be more upset that normal.  

  Logan quickly finds Veronica and escorts her to the chair next to his. Thankfully it’s across from Lilly and she catches her friend sticking her tongue out at her as they all sit down.

  Jake Kane, software magnate and CEO of Kane Industries, taps his fork on his glass to get everyone’s attention. He clears his throat.

  “Thank you, everyone, for joining us tonight.” He looks around the table and Veronica takes notice of the guests. There are two older couples, she would guess them to be Duncan and Lilly’s grandparents, seated at the far end with Duncan and Kendall across from Jake and Celeste. She, Logan, and Lilly round out the other end of the table.  

  “While we are saddened that Kendall doesn’t have anyone special to join her tonight, we hope she will feel like a part of the family.”

  Kendall glances down demurely and Jake continues.

  “So please raise your glasses: to Duncan and Kendall.  May they have many happy years together.”

  Everyone clinks their glasses together after his toast and Veronica notices that Celeste looks pained.  

  Lilly raises her eyebrows meaningfully at Veronica. “We’ll see,” she mouths silently.

  Veronica gives her a tiny head shake. “Be good,” she mouths back.

  Lilly nods like she’s agreeing but then sticks her tongue out again.  

  Oh, god. Veronica should have known this was really a case of babysitting Lilly.

As if he can read her mind, Logan puts his hand on her arm and whispers in her ear, “Don’t worry.  I’ve had years of experience keeping Lilly out of trouble at family events.”

  She glances at him, grateful, and realizes how close their heads are. She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry, and can’t help staring at his lips, inches away from hers. They look soft, and supple, and she’s hit with a memory of Lilly describing his kisses in vivid—and flattering—detail. All she can manage is a nod.

  They are too far away from Duncan and Kendall to try to hear their conversation, which turns out to be a good thing because Veronica is so distracted by Logan’s presence that she has a hard time focusing on dinner. She’s pretty sure she ate, and took small sips of her wine, but she can’t remember what the meal was because Logan’s arm kept brushing hers and once—it was probably an accident—his knee bumped hers under the table.

  Why does he have to be so damn sexy?  Now she can’t stop thinking about the time she walked in when he was screwing Lilly on the couch...or wearing her much-too-tiny bathrobe, and how incredible his body looked.

  He is patently a jackass, though, and amazing cologne and soft cashmere can’t do anything to change that. She tries to make herself think of his sneering contempt at her investigating this case...and not the plush bathrobe he thoughtfully left on her bed from La Perla, or the extra bag of Lavazza that magically appeared in the cupboard. She can’t afford to let herself get distracted by Logan Echolls.

  Suddenly, dessert appears before her, and this she definitely notices because it’s the most decadent slice of chocolate cake she’s ever seen. The cake is dark, decorated with thick ganache and extra shavings of chocolate curl on top. Her mouth instantly waters as she inhales sharply at the beautiful sight and Logan leans over to whisper in her ear.

  “Yeah. The Kanes’ cook is a pearl above price when it comes to chocolate cake.”

  HIs whisper sends a shiver down her spine.  

  “Oh, are you cold?” Logan thoughtfully puts his arm around her and rubs his hand up and down her arm, as if trying to warm her. It definitely has the intended effect as her insides heat up at his touch.  

  “Thanks,” she manages to choke out. “I’m fine.”

  He stops rubbing but keeps his arm around her.  

  “Mmm.” She takes a bite of the cake and her eyes roll back in her head a little. Between her proximity to Logan—she gets a whiff of his cologne again—and the tingle of chocolate on her tongue, she’s practically in sensory overload.

  He takes a bite but then pushes his plate over to her. “You can have mine.”

  If her mouth wasn’t full of cake, she would question him. As it is, though, she merely raises her eyebrow.

  “No, it’s good. And I like it. But I like watching you eat it even more.”

  Veronica looks around carefully. Lilly is busy teasing Duncan; Jake and Celeste are having a whispered argument across the table and the grandparents are too far way to have heard anything. So if he didn’t say that to cement their faking dating relationship...is Logan Echolls flirting with her?

  She’s not sure how she feels about that. But she finishes her piece and slides his plate of cake in front of her.  She never has any doubts about extra helpings of dessert.

  _____

  “Oh, shit.”

  Veronica is locked in the en suite bathroom in the Kane’s fourth-best guest room and she has just realized that she and Lilly safety-pinned and duct-taped her into this dress so well that she can’t get herself out.

  She looks for her phone on the bathroom counter, but she left it charging on the nightstand. She can’t call Lilly to help her.  She supposes she could walk down the hall to Lilly’s room but she forgot her plush bathrobe at home and she really doesn’t want to be wandering around the Kane mansion in her pajamas.  

  She takes a deep breath. She can do this.

  She cracks open the door to the bedroom. Logan is lying on the bed with his hands behind his head, contemplating the ceiling. He’s taken his shoes off but otherwise he’s still in the clothes he wore to dinner.

  “Logan?” she whispers. “I need some help. Can you…?”

  He glances over at her, immediately alert, and hops off the bed. Concern is etched on his face as she opens the door fully.

  “Are you okay, Veronica?” He leans against the door frame, and damn, that man can lean.

  “Oh, yeah, nothing bad. It’s just, um, kind of embarrassing.” She giggles and can’t meet his eyes.  “I’m stuck in this dress. It’s Lilly’s and she finagled it.” She waves her hands to encompass whatever Lilly did to make this dress fit. “And now I can’t get it off.”

  Logan’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline. “Well, lucky for you, I’m an expert at such things.”

  Even knowing that some sort of quip was coming, she rolls her eyes. “Lucky for me.”

  He turns her body to face the mirror and moves the soft waves of her hair over to one shoulder, baring her back. His fingers gently brush the skin along the top of the dress and she can’t help it; goosebumps break out over her body and she shivers.  

  “Oh, sorry, are my hands cold?” Logan bends to examine the back of her dress and all the clever ways Lilly kept it from falling down.  

  Veronica tries to look anywhere else—around the luxurious bathroom, at the glass walls of the shower or the jacuzzi tub, at the marble countertop or tiles along the wall—but her eyes are drawn back to Logan in the mirror. His movements are sinuous, like a cat, and thinking about how sexy he is makes her shiver a second time.

  “Okay…” He bites his lip in concentration, and dips his hand below the top of the dress.  “Sorry, I just have to undo this safety pin…”

  She can feel his fingers move all along her back, scrabbling to open the safety pin—

  “Oh, shit!” she breathes again. She can feel his fingers along ALL of her back because her bra didn’t work with the neckline of this dress and Lilly convinced her not to wear one. A fact that slipped her mind but must be taking root in his right about now.

His head pops up at her expletive and he eyes her questioningly in the mirror. “Did I poke you with the pin?”

  “Um, yeah,” she lies. “I’m fine, it just startled me.”

  “Okay...that should just about...do it.” Logan concentrates as he successfully unzips her dress.

  She carefully clutches the red satin material to her front to keep from giving him a peek.

  “Thanks for your help.” She keeps her eyes fixed on the marble countertop and she’s sure her cheeks are scarlet.

  “Anytime.” He clears his throat and they both stand there awkwardly until he apparently realizes that he needs to leave so she can change.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry, I’ll just…” It’s his turn to be uncomfortable as he jerks his thumb in the direction of the bedroom.

  Veronica giggles at the flush that covers his face now and playfully—one hand still holding her dress up—shoves him out the door.

  “Yeah, nice try, Echolls.”

  His smirk is back in place as she firmly closes the door and she’s glad the moment of tension passes.

  She definitely doesn’t let herself think about Logan’s hands on her skin as she soaps up in the shower. At least, not too much.

  When she slips out of the bathroom later, clad in her favorite soft nightshirt—which is a few inches shorter than she would have picked if she’d known she was sharing a room—Logan is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing black jersey pants but no shirt.

  He’s facing away from her and, god, his back is marvelous. A freaking work of art. He should be sculpted, immortalized in marble for future generations.

  She lets her eyes linger as she fantasizes about running her hands over those beautiful muscles.

  “So…” Veronica gulps, her mouth suddenly dry, and perches on the edge of the gigantic bed.

  He turns to face her, and his eyes rake up and down her body, taking in the expanse of her thigh revealed by her too-short grey nightshirt. At least the scoop neck isn’t too revealing.

  If she thought his back was gorgeous, it’s nothing compared to the front view. There’s a sparse scattering of hair—with a slightly reddish tinge, perhaps?—across his chest and she’s surprised to note that he’s freckled. It should mar the perfection but it doesn’t. His chest is well-defined, his abs are magnificent, and she definitely wants to follow the happy trail of hair below his navel and see where it leads.

  She shakes her head to clear it when she realizes that he’s speaking.

  “I know I should do the gentlemanly thing and offer to sleep on the floor, but this bed is plenty big and way more comfortable than floor. So, is this okay?”

  Veronica nods. “It’s fine. I mean, we’re adults, right? It’s no big deal.”

  He smiles. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

  She slides under the covers as he heads to the bathroom and keeps her eyes closed until she feels the bed shift upon his return. She can tell through her eyelids when he switches off the light. Maybe if she doesn’t look at his bare chest again, she can stop thinking about all the hollows where she wants to put her tongue.

  She balances on the edge of the bed, keeping her eyes tightly closed and putting as much space between them as possible. Just don’t think about it, she tells herself. Don’t think about the incredibly hot, half naked man in bed. Think about his jackass sneer instead.

  “Veronica-ca-ca-ca!” Logan whisper-yells her name from the other side of the bed, adding a fake echo to the end. “You’re so far away, you’re going to fall off the edge of the bed. You can trust me, I’m a gentleman.”

  He can’t see the glare she shoots him for that smarmy line thanks to the darkness but he’s not wrong about falling off the bed. She mentally weighs her options and then rolls over to face him, giving herself a little more room to get comfortable.

  There’s enough ambient light coming in through the windows for her to see he's lying on his side, his head propped up by his hand as he stares at her.

  “So we got through tonight okay, but I figure if we are going to keep up this ruse for a couple more days, there’s probably some background information about my girlfriend that I should know.” He clears his throat. “In case anyone asks, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmurs. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, tell me about your family for starters. Where did you grow up?”

  “Oh, actually not too far from here. I went to Pan. That was how Lilly and I connected. A mutual friend, Eli, thought we’d get along so we decided to room together at San Diego State.”

  “What about your family?”

  “It’s just me and my dad.” She stumbles a little over the words and wonders how much to reveal.  A boyfriend would obviously know more details by now but it’s not like she’s really dating him… “My mom’s...out of the picture.” There. That’s enough of an explanation for their little ruse. She rushes on, skipping over that painful subject as much as possible.

  “Dad was the Sheriff while I was growing up but then he got injured in the line of duty a few years back and made a change. He’s a PI now. So I picked up some of his tricks along the way and got my license, started working little cases as favors for friends.”

  She shrugs in the dim light, aiming for modest, but really, she had been bursting with pride when she passed her PI exam and worked her first case at San Diego State. She loved investigating, the thrill of secrets and stake outs and unraveling mysteries. The fact that Lilly trusted her with this, well, it was a huge boost for her.

  “So what’s your major? What do you want to do after graduation?”

  “Criminal Justice.” She shifts, mirroring his pose so that her head is propped up by her hand. “I’d really like to work for my dad, but we’ll see. So far he’s not sold on the idea.”

  “Over-protective?”

  “You have no idea.” She clears her throat. “What about you? Family?”

  He scoffs. “You really don’t know?”

  “Well…”

  She’s glad it’s dark and he can’t see her flush.  She grew up only fifteen miles away so she did know something of Logan Echolls’ background. It would be impossible not to. Son of two-time Oscar winner Aaron Echolls, mother Lynn jumped to her death off the Coronado Bridge when he was sixteen, rocky relationship with the press—and pretty much everyone else for a while there.

  She decides to try a different track. “Okay, so how about you and the Kane’s? How’d that happen?”

  “Ah.” He sits up in bed and turns on the lamp on the nightstand next to him. “That’s actually a good story.”

  Veronica shifts and sits up as well, trying not to stare at Logan’s bare chest as he speaks.

  “So when I was in junior high, we moved to Neptune from L.A. My first day there, this really horrible girl, Madison, kept trying to befriend me, mostly because she wanted to meet my dad, I think, and Lilly swooped in and saved me from her evil clutches.” Logan’s face is animated as he talks, and he gestures expansively with his hands. “She pretty much claimed me as her own and that was that. Duncan and I became friends along the way, surfing together and stuff. After my mom…”

  He clears his throat and glances away.  

  “Well, I spent a lot of time at the Kanes’ house after that. They’re like family to me.”

  “And you and Lilly?”

  Now he looks abashed, and runs his hand over his face. “Yeah, we were kinda a train wreck. I guess you could say we dated in high school. After my mom died, I was a mess for a while. Lilly and I kept ending up together but it wasn’t a real relationship; it hadn’t been for a long time.”

  He’s looking at her earnestly now and she realizes that she didn’t really need to know that for their cover story. He told her anyway, though, like it matters to him that she knows the truth.  

  “And it’s not weird between you?”

  “Nah. We’re better off as friends and we both know it. She really is like my sister these days.”

  Veronica moves to face him, sitting up further and tucking her legs under her, tugging the fabric of her too-short nightshirt down to cover them. “And what’s your major?”

  “Anthropology.”

  “Really?” she asks, incredulous, before she can think about it, then claps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was mean of me—”

  But Logan is laughing. “Yeah, I know. But I like history and sociology so it’s a good fit. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it after graduation, though. Archeological digs would definitely cramp my style, so not that, and academia is getting a little old.”

  He shrugs. “I kind of only picked the major to piss off the department head. He hates me.”

  Veronica giggles. “Masochist?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But it turns out I like it so it’s okay, even if I have zero job prospects.”

  “Forensic anthropology is cool,” she offers. “We learned about it in one of my criminology classes.”

  “Too much anatomy for my tastes. But you’re right, it is cool.”

  He smiles at her and she’s disappointed that she can’t think of anything else to say to prolong their conversation.

  “Um, I guess we should probably go to bed. I’ve got my work cut out for me tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. Gotta save The Donut from the Evil Queen.”

  She laughs. “I’m practically a fairy godmother.”

  She lays down and pulls the covers up to her chin but instead of rolling away like before, she stays facing Logan. He turns out the light and lays down. She can see his eyes, shining darkly in the dim light.  

  “‘Night, Veronica.”

  “‘Night, Logan.”

  _____

  Veronica wakes the next morning with her head pillowed on something...odd. It’s not soft and plush like her pillow, but firm and warm. As her eyes flutter open, she realizes that she is laying on Logan’s muscled chest. She can hear his heart beating under her ear and his chest hair tickles her cheek slightly. He smells incredible up this close and he has his arms wrapped around her tightly. Oh, god, what happened? With all this room in the giant king-sized bed, how did she end up on top of him?

  She rolls away, but he stays wrapped around her, with her back to his chest now. He sighs in his sleep and mumbles something unintelligible. He seems quite content...and is divinely warm and comfortable. It’s been a long time since she’s wakened in someone’s arms. Logan is practically a stranger; this should definitely bother her—but she’s surprised to discover that it doesn’t. She figures she might as well enjoy it, and presses closer against him. She sighs, contentedly, and lets herself fall back asleep.

  ______

  Veronica wakes again later, still cocooned against Logan’s chest with his arms around her. She’d really love to stay there all day...but on second thought, she’d rather avoid the awkwardness of waking up this close to him and she does have to get ready. She gently disentangles his arms and rolls out of bed, grabbing her clothes and heading for the bathroom. For a second, she thinks she hears him whisper her name in his sleep...but she’s probably imagining that.

  ______

  “Good morning.”  

  Logan is sitting up in bed, still shirtless, with his finger keeping his place in a paperback copy of  ‘Guns, Germs, and Steel.’ He looks adorably sleep-rumpled still, with his hair mussed and sticking up. He is wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and instead of looking like a dorky bookworm, he looks like the Mr. July spread on the best Naughty Librarians calendar ever.  What can she say? Smart is sexy.

  Veronica adjusts her black blazer over her polka dot blouse, cuffs up her sleeves, and tucks her jeans over her boots, fluffing the soft waves of her hair. She shakes her head, trying to banish the image that flashes into her mind of making love to him on top of the checkout desk at the Malcolm A. Love Library on campus. Clearly she is sex starved if she’s now having library fantasies.  

  She clears her throat. “Morning. How did you sleep?”

  “Really well. I hope I didn’t bother you on your side of the bed?”

  She flushes. “Nope. Not that I know of.” She jerks her thumb in the direction of the door behind her. “Bathroom’s free.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  He gets up and pads to the bathroom while she tries not to stare at his chest as he brushes past her.

  Down, girl, she tells herself fiercely.  

  She makes her way downstairs to the dining room of the Kane mansion where a brunch spread is laid out. There is coffee, french toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon, plus muffins and scones, on the sideboard so she helps herself and fills a plate. The spacious room is decorated in a modern style, and Veronica thinks that it suits Celeste implicitly—it’s cold and unwelcoming, with the vast table, recessed lights, and marble floors.

  Duncan and Kendall are already sitting in the middle of the long table and while Kendall doesn’t look like she wants any company, Duncan waves her over. He looks like an ad for Brooks Brothers in khakis and a blue polo shirt.     

  “Hey, Veronica,” he greets her. “I’m glad you found breakfast. Did you sleep okay last night?”

  She smiles. “I did, thanks. You?”

  “Oh, definitely.” He turns his eyes to his fiancee. Compared to Duncan’s casual monied look, Kendall appears out of place. Her clingy red v-neck sleeveless blouse shows too much cleavage to be classy and her black pants are practically painted on. “I mean, I didn’t sleep as well as I will when I have Kendall with me next week, but yeah.”

  Kendall glances up briefly from her phone, where she’s been furiously texting someone. She gives him a distracted smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.  

  “Yeah, you, too, Baby.”

  Duncan takes a bite of eggs and sighs in contentment, still moony-eyed over Kendall. He doesn’t seem to notice that her response doesn’t quite make sense and Veronica would love to get a hold of her phone and read those text messages.

  She takes a sip of coffee. “So what’s on the agenda for today?’

  “Um, I’m not sure about you ladies. I know the guys are going golfing. Kendall?”

  She doesn’t answer, just continues to tap on the keys of her phone.

  “Kendall? What are you girls doing today?”

  She looks up, startled, and her doting fiancee mask falls back into place. “Oh, sorry, Baby. I don’t really know.” She gives a ditzy smile and waves her hand. “I’ve left most of that up to your mom.”

  “Well, luckily, that’s what I’m here for.” Lilly bustles into the dining room, brandishing a folder of papers and a beguiling smile.  

  “Celeste just gave me the schedule,” she waves a piece of paper in the air, “and put me in charge.”

  Kendall’s face falls at that news and Lilly’s smile widens.  

  “Hurricane Lilly,” Duncan quips affectionately at her as she sets down her papers and fills up a cup of coffee and a plate.

  “Hey, now,” she teases as she sits down next to Veronica at the table. “You and Logan desperately needed my...direction..when we were younger.”

  He laughs. “Sure we did, Lils.”

  Veronica swirls a bite of French toast through the river of syrup on her plate—it’s divine—and pops it into her mouth before turning to Kendall.

  “They’re cute but I don’t really get the sibling thing. I’m an only child. You?”

  “Yep, me, too.”  Her response is short and predictable. Veronica contains her sigh. It’s hard to look into someone when she has so little to work with.

  “So, Kendall, did you grow up around here? Where are you from?”

  Kendall waves her hand vaguely. “Oh, here and there. We moved around a lot.”

  Lilly zeros in on this. “How old were you when your parents died? When did you start moving around?”

  Kendall turns fidgety and starts playing with her spoon. It looks like she only had coffee for breakfast.  

  “Uh, I was just a kid. I moved around a lot because of foster care and stuff.”

  This could be legitimate, but the way she says it just sounds so fishy. Veronica keeps pushing.

  “Logan said you just transferred to UCLA this year? Where did you go to school before that? Where did you live when you graduated high school?”

  Kendall practically throws her spoon down on the table. “God! What is this, the third degree? I told you, it’s very painful, I don’t like to talk about my past.”

  Duncan puts a soothing hand on her shoulder and Veronica apologizes.

  “We just want to get to know you better, is all.” Lilly gives her a fake smile. “Not trying to upset you.”

  “Yeah, Babe,” Duncan placates. “Lilly is like your sister now. She’s just curious. You should open up to her. Maybe it would help you to talk about it with someone.”

  Kendall obviously realizes that she has to say something and Veronica watches her squirm as she considers what story to tell.

  “Uh, I actually moved to UCLA from Tennessee. I went to Handley High School in Tennessee, right outside of Memphis, and then I went to the University of Tennessee. But I decided it was time for a change and I’ve always wanted to live in LA.”

  She turns to gaze adoringly at Duncan. “It must have been fate that we met at that party.”

  Veronica glances at Lilly, who is pretending to stick her finger down her throat. She stifles a giggle and looks away, only to see Logan enter the room.  

  He’s wearing artfully ripped jeans—the kind Veronica rolls her eyes at because spending money on torn clothing is ridiculous—and a fitted charcoal short-sleeved Henley. She watches out of the corner of her eye as he grabs a cup of coffee—black—and sits down beside Duncan at the table. Remembering how his chest felt under her cheek, she takes a large gulp of coffee and winces when it burns her mouth.

  Duncan claps him on the shoulder. “Man, I didn’t get to talk to you much last night. I still feel bad that I didn’t know about you two.”

  He gestures between Logan and Veronica and she can see guilt filter across Logan’s face as he takes a sip of coffee uneasily.

  “So when did that happen?” Duncan asks.

  Veronica jumps in. “About two months ago, right, honey?”

  “Yeah.” Logan nods and picks up the narrative. “I didn’t say anything at first because it was just casual, you know, and then I didn’t see you for a while there.”

  “Yeah, totally, man. Sorry if I’ve been a bad roommate.” Duncan looks so sincere and Veronica vows once again to protect him from Kendall’s possible schemes. Someone needs to.

  “And Lilly?” He turns to his sister with a teasing smile on his face. “Normally she hates the girls you date.”

  “Oh, I set them up,” Lilly interjects, her eyes glittering with glee. “You’re right, normally Logan dates bimbos, so I knew this was another situation where I had to intervene. I think they’re perfect for each other.”

  She gives Logan a dramatic, put-upon sigh. “What would you do without me?”

  Veronica expects Logan to tease her back but he just stares at Lilly thoughtfully.

  Kendall, still preoccupied with her phone, jumps up when it begins to buzz. She mutters something about having to take the call and heads for the patio doors off the dining room.

  Veronica spots an opportunity and excuses herself to use the bathroom. After winding down the hallways and pretending to get lost, she ends up on the other side of the patio where she opens the French doors a crack to listen to Kendall’s conversation.

  Kendall sounds agitated. “Listen, just back off. We’re not married yet,” she snaps into the phone.

  She pauses a second. “Give me a few weeks to get your money.”

  Another pause. “Of course there’s a prenup; Celeste’s not as trusting as her son. But it won’t be a problem. I’m not leaving him for a while yet.”

  Kendall drops her voice menacingly and Veronica presses her ear to the crack in the doors to hear her. “Don’t call me again at this number or you’ll live to regret it.”

  Veronica eases the door open slowly and surreptitiously snaps a picture of Kendall with her phone before the other woman huffs and ends her call, storming off. The only sound is her high-heeled sandals clacking on the patio tile.

  Veronica has no doubt that Kendall is conning Duncan. She just needs to figure out how to prove it. The photo is not the best quality—nor is it flattering—but hopefully it will be enough.

  She makes her way back to the breakfast table.  Thankfully, Lilly and Logan are still sitting and chatting over their coffee cups. Duncan and Kendall are nowhere to be seen.

  “You about ready to go, Veronica Mars?”  Lilly looks up at her with a smile. “We’ve got a full day of pampering and girl talk ahead of us.”

  Veronica winces. “Actually, Lilly, I’ve gotta do some research. I’m gonna head over to my dad’s office. Can you make an excuse for me?”

  “Veronica! You can’t leave me alone with her and Celeste all day! That’s torture.” Lilly’s eyes are wide with horror. Logan chuckles softly at her plight.

  “I know, Lils, and I’m sorry, I really am, but I’ve gotta do some digging.”

  “You rode with me. You’re stuck.”

  “I’ll take a cab.”

  “Oh, I’ll drive you,” Logan hurries to offer. He quickly drains his coffee cup and sets it down decisively on the long dining room table.  

  “Oh, no,” Veronica protests. “I don’t want to keep you from your best man stuff.”

  He grimaces. “I hate golfing. Please let me go with you?”

  His pouting puppy dog eyes are too much for Veronica and she relents, laughing. “Yeah, okay.  As long as you can come up with a good excuse. Go talk to Duncan and meet me back down here in ten minutes.”

  Logan tosses her an eager smile and lopes off to find Duncan while Lilly turns to her with a calculated look.  

  “So...you and Logan, huh?”

  Veronica stammers and hopes she’s not blushing. She throws down the cloth napkin she was unconsciously pleating between her fingers.  

  “It’s not a big deal, Lilly. He’s not as horrible as I first thought, yeah, but I’m still mad at you about this fake dating thing.”

  “Sure you are, V. Sure you are.”  Lilly’s eyes glint with mirth as she stands, pulling Veronica with her. She links their arms and saunters off, dragging Veronica in her wake.  

  “I still can’t believe I have to brave this by myself,” she grumbles.  

  “I know, Lil. But hey, you can keep prodding on your end and text me if you learn anything else. I’m gonna go to my dad’s and see what I can learn from her school records.”

  “Fine, fine. But I’m still not happy about it.”

  The wide smile on her teasing mouth belies her words. Lilly is nothing if not up for a challenge.  

  _____

  “Wow, this car, it’s...”

  Veronica searches for the word as she pats the interior of the passenge door of Logan’s black Range Rover.

  “Luxurious? Sumptuous? Pimpin’?” Logan looks over at her, his hands tapping on the steering wheel, and smirks.

  “Um, I was going to go with ‘ostentatious’. It would never work for a stake-out. But it is nice.” She strokes her fingers along the tan leather of the seat.

  “A stake out? Is that how you judge cars? ‘Cause I base my decisions on the back seat.”  

  Before she can stop herself, she glances reflexively in that direction. He bobs his eyebrows at her and she can’t help but laugh.  

  “Do those lines actually work on the girls you date?”

  “Not the keepers, no.” His brown eyes are warm as he looks over at her and she curses her traitorous heart for the flutter that she feels. Logan might be fine as a friend but she can’t let herself get involved any further than that. Not after what happened with Troy.

  “It’s up here,” she points out the window at the shady storefront that houses Mars Investigations.  “Sorry, there’s only street parking.”

  Logan is faux aghast. “Will my baby be safe?”

  “I know, the mean backstreets of Pan are pretty dangerous. Not like your pampered existence in Neptune. Especially for you rich pretty-boys.” She smirks at him as she hops out of his car.

  “Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Now it’s his turn to grin at her.

  Her dad’s PI office, Mars Investigations, is sandwiched between the sketchy law offices of Cliff McCormack, Esquire, and a nail salon. The strip mall also houses a Subway and used to have a Blockbuster on the end but that space has been sitting vacant for a few months now.  

  The bell dings above the door as she pushes the glass—embossed with her dad’s All Seeing Eye logo—open and she calls out, “Hiya, Pops!” as they enter.

  The space is cramped and narrow but the bright sunshine streaming in the storefront windows helps keep it from feeling too dark. The waiting area is decorated with old issues of People magazine on the coffee table—Veronica grimaces at the Aaron Echolls Sexiest Man Alive edition—a scattering of uncomfortable chairs, a ficus tree, and a rickety receptionist desk, currently empty.

  “Still no applicants for the receptionist job, huh? I guess my shoes are hard to fill.”

  “Veronica!”

  Her dad comes bustling out of the back office. He is wearing a blue dress shirt, slacks, and a sportcoat and a wide grin lights his face as he envelops her in a hug.

  “I didn’t expect you! I thought you had that thing with Lilly in San Diego this weekend.”

  He places an affectionate kiss on the top of her head as she explains.

  “I do, and the thing is actually in Neptune. I just need a little bit of help.”

  Her dad glances at her companion and raises a questioning brow.

  “Oh, right. Dad, this is Logan Echolls. He’s kind of, um, my partner on this one.” Logan shakes her dad’s outstretched hand.  “Logan, this is my dad, Keith Mars.”

  “Nice to meet you. I hope she’s paying you well,” Keith jokes.

  “Not so much. She’s actually doing me a favor right now and getting me out of golfing so I figure we’re even.”

  Logan glances at her with affection in his brown eyes and her stomach gives a flutter. Maybe she should just sleep with him and get him out of her system.

  She snaps out of it when her dad gets her attention. “Well, Veronica, what sort of help do you need?”

  “Okay, I’m looking into Duncan Kane’s fiancee. I’m pretty sure she’s conning him, that she’s not who she says she is. So I was hoping to access your database.”

  “Sure, sure.” He gestures at the empty receptionist desk. “It’s all yours. I was actually on my way out. Can you lock up when you leave?”

  She pats her messenger bag as he grabs his coat off the rack by the door. “Yep. Keys are in here somewhere. I’ve got it.”

  Keith shrugs into his coat and plants another kiss on the top of her head. “Good luck with the case, kid. I’ll see you soon, right? Home for Christmas and all that?”

  “Of course, Dad. Wouldn’t miss it.” She gives him a wide grin and sits down behind the desk, booting up the computer.

  “Nice meeting you, Logan. Don’t let her walk all over you,” Keith calls on his way out the door.  

  The bell jingles as it closes and Logan laughs softly. “You two are cute.”

  She smiles up at him, distracted by the research ahead of her, and waves at the pitiful reception area.  

  “Sorry, I don’t have much to entertain you while you wait. But there’s a water cooler in my dad’s office if you’re thirsty and we have a lovely assortment of outdated magazines.”

  “It’s no problem, Veronica. Still better than golfing. I do think I'll grab some water, though.”

  She quickly removes the offending issue of People magazine while he’s gone and then settles back at her desk.

  Logan finds a true crime paperback buried under the magazines and seems content to sit quietly and read—well, he jiggles his leg the whole time, but it doesn’t bother her—while she types furiously at her computer and makes phone calls. Occasionally he glances over at her, eavesdropping on her phone conversations, but he doesn’t interrupt her to ask what she’s doing.  

  After countless phone calls and—she glances at her watch—hours of digging, Veronica jumps up from her desk, holding a sheaf of papers, triumphant.

  “The real Kendall Shifflet is dead. The girl we know is named Priscilla Banks.” She can’t keep the wide grin off her face.  

  Before Veronica can turn back to her desk chair, Logan is across the room at her side. He grabs her around the waist and spins her around.  

  “You did it! That was awesome.” He sets her back down on her feet and gazes down at her and the look he gives her is so full of affection, her stomach drops and her breath catches.

  His arms slowly leave her waist but he grabs her hand.  

  “I’m gonna be honest, watching you do this Nancy Drew stuff—it’s really hot.”

  Veronica self-consciously tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Logan, no one is here.  We don’t have to pretend to be dating.”

  His eyes widen and he drops her hand, taking a step back. She immediately misses the contact and mentally kicks herself for opening her stupid mouth.

  “Oh, yeah, right. Sorry about that.”

  “But, um, thanks for your enthusiasm. Most guys, uh, most people don’t feel that way.” She leans back against her desk, trying to smooth over this awkward moment.

  “Really?” He is genuinely skeptical. “What do you mean?”

  “My boyfriends haven’t always been very supportive. Troy...well, he probably didn’t like the investigation stuff because when I finally turned my skills on him, I found out he was a drug dealer and got him arrested for it. And Leo, he kept freaking out and smothering me, thinking it was too dangerous.”

  He grabs her hand again. “Ah. I’m starting to understand your bitterness about relationships last night.”

  “Maybe they did have something to do with it, but I’m starting to think I have terrible taste in men.”

  She huffs a laugh, trying to break the moment with a joke. Logan continues to gaze into her eyes, though, and she gets a sneaking suspicion that he might try to kiss her. As much as she would like that—and she’s pretty sure she would enjoy it immensely—if Troy, the ‘nice guy,’ and Leo, the sheriff's deputy, both broke her heart, there’s no chance that it would be a good idea to get any cozier with celebutante playboy Logan Echolls.  

  His thumb caresses her knuckles, and sends a jolt of warmth through her. She allows him to step closer to her and cup her face in his hand. Her breath quickens and her lips part as she stares up at him before she’s even realized what’s happened.  

  She takes a step back and gestures at the waiting area. “So what did you think of the book?”

  Logan looks dazed. A moment later, she can tell when her words her words register with him because the light dims in his eyes.

  “Oh, yeah. It was good.” He clears his throat. “But how will I survive without knowing the end?  Think your dad will let me borrow it?”

  She gives him a hard, speculative look. “What are the odds that you will be back to return it?”

  He stares at her steadily, picking up on the undercurrents of what she’s really asking.

  “I’d like to. That is, I’d like to have a reason to come back.”

  And before she can change the subject again or flee, he takes two steps forward, cups her cheek and the back of her neck, and kisses her.

  She’s sure that something shorts out in her brain when his mouth meet hers. His lips are soft and gentle but urgent and she takes deep drags from his mouth as her arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. She lets her tongue rub against his and, god—he tastes good. Lilly wasn’t exaggerating. She lets herself get lost in the moment, feeling his hands on her face and his soft t-shirt gripped in her fingers, and she’s pretty sure her legs have turned to jelly.  

  The kiss doesn’t end so much as lengthen and slow down. They break apart reluctantly, like they can’t quite bring themselves to stop.  

  “Well, now.” Logan clears his throat, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “I’m glad that’s out in the open.”

  She should protest. She should fight this attraction harder. But he’s still cupping her face and gazing into her eyes. He places a sweet kiss on her nose and she just—melts. Maybe her first impression of him was wrong. Maybe she needs to stop looking for ‘nice guys’ and take a chance on this one in front of her who’s actually been way better than ‘nice.’

  So she swallows and says, “We should probably talk about this. But right now, we have a wedding to ruin.”

  ______

  Much like the previous evening, Veronica is seated in the same spot at the dining room table in the Kane mansion. This time, however, her slinky black v-neck cocktail dress is her own and she feels more at ease than she did 24 hours ago.

  Jake raises his glass for another toast.

  “To Duncan and his bride, Kendall.”

  Lilly, who couldn’t resist the spectacle of it all, recognizes their pre-established cue and before everyone can clink their glasses, she clears her throat. Her forest green lace dress offsets her green eyes, sparkling with mischief.

  “Actually…”

  All eyes—grandparents, parents, Duncan, and Kendall—flash to her. Logan, who knew a little bit about their upcoming production, smirks down at his plate. He looks delectable in a well-tailored suit that hugs his frame snugly.

  “That’s not quite right. Is it, Priscilla?”

  Kendall shoots a venomous look at Lilly and clenches her jaw. She flushes and her complexion clashes with her chartreuse dress—although, what wouldn’t? Jake and Duncan look confused, and Celeste sputters, “What?”

  Lilly is triumphant. Really, Veronica can’t blame her. The ‘big reveal’ at a dinner party is definitely a rush and Lilly lives for this sort of drama.

  Lilly stands behind her chair—did she block this out earlier, Veronica wonders—and gestures expansively at her roommate.  

  “Veronica! Would you like to do the honors?”

  Veronica stands as well, adjusting the hemline of her dress. Might as well play along with Lilly’s big moment. After all, it is kind of fun.

  “The real Kendall Shifflet is dead. This,” she waves in Kendall’s direction, “is Priscilla Banks. She’s not an orphan, not a Delta Gamma, or even a student at UCLA. She’s a twenty-five year old con artist with a rap sheet as long as my arm. Convicted in Tennessee but never served time. She took off and stole the identity of a girl from her school who was killed in a drunk driving accident.” Veronica levels a glare in her direction. “She was the drunk behind the wheel.”

  Kendall slinks further and further down into her seat during this revelation. Duncan’s eyes are wide and his face has gone pale, in stark contrast to his black suit coat. Lilly grins like the Cheshire Cat and Logan continues to smirk, clearly enjoying the show.

  Celeste sputters again and manages to get out, “But this can’t be! I checked! I hired a PI.”

  Veronica looks at her with faux-pity. “You got what we call the ‘Vinnie Van Lowe Special.’ He discovered all this but then decided to blackmail Kendall for her silence.”

  Celeste gasps and turns to Kendall, swearing like a sailor. She lunges for the woman, screaming something about the Harry Winston and Jake has to physically hold her back to keep her from attacking Kendall across the table.

  Kendall leaps up—self-preservation is clearly a skill she’s honed—and tries to placate Duncan.  “Baby, it’s not like that. Maybe I haven’t been totally honest about everything but I love you!” She grips his forearm with her talons.  

  Everyone else leaps up from the table and Celeste knocks over a chair in her rage. The grandparents slink out the dining room, shocked looks on their faces.  

  Duncan’s eyes flash with anger as he shakes Kendall off. “How could you? Get out!”

  The gleeful look slides off Lilly’s face and Logan stands protectively by Duncan, fixing Kendall with a fierce glare.

  “The Harry Winston!” Celeste hisses again.  

  Kendall drops all pretense of love and remorse. “Fine!” She slams the four carat ring down on the dining room table and huffs off.

  Celeste sinks down into Jake’s chair and gapes at them. “Someone needs to follow her to make sure she leaves without taking anything else!” From the way she speaks, this job is obviously beneath her. “Lilly!”

  Lilly glares at her mother. “As if! It’s thanks to me and the reliable PI that I hired that you even know the truth!” She links arms with Veronica in a show of solidarity.

  Logan claps Duncan on the shoulder. “I’ve got this, man. I’ll let you know when she’s gone.”

  He shoots Veronica a meaningful look and mouths, ‘Later’ at her before following Kendall, the sound of her clomping high heels still echoing through the cavernous house. Duncan sits back down into his chair woodenly, shellshocked.

  Celeste lowers her head down onto her crossed arms on the table and Jake shoots a pointed look at Lilly and Veronica as he tries to comfort her.  

  “You’re welcome!” Lilly sarcastically hisses at her parents as she and Veronica make their way around the table to Duncan. Lilly lets go of Veronica and drops down onto her knees next to Duncan’s chair, turning his shoulders so that she can look into his unfocused eyes.

  “Duncan, I’m really sorry this hurt you. I thought it would be better to know the truth. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “It’s okay, Lils,” he whispers, his voice raw, and covers her hand on his arm with his own. “Thanks.”

  She places a gentle kiss on top of her brother’s head as she stands up and once again links arms with Veronica.

  As they make their way upstairs, Lilly allows a small smile to grace her features. “That was both more fun and less fun that I expected. Thanks for being awesome at your job, Veronica.”

  They halt outside the door to Veronica’s room. “Yeah, it’s a rush—until you remember it’s someone’s life, huh? You’re pretty good at it, though, Lil. I might have to take you on as a consultant sometime.”

  Veronica winks at her and Lilly pulls her into a quick hug.  

  “I’m sorry I made up that story about you dating Logan,” she gestures at the guest room door. “Although it looked like maybe there was some chemistry there?”

  Lilly eyes her knowingly and Veronica opens the door and pulls her roommate in after her. It’s not a conversation she wants to continue in the hallway.

  Her cheeks turn a pretty pink shade as she admits, “Maybe. But how would you feel about that?”

  Lilly squeals loudly. “I’ve been trying to set you up for the longest time!”

  Veronica’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Is that—is that really all this was? A set up?”

  “No, of course not, Veronica Mars.” Lilly scoffs and shoves her shoulder gently. “I had utter faith in your PI skills and genuinely needed your help.” She grins mischievously. “Setting you up with Logan was just a benefit.”

  Lilly bounces over to the bed and perches on the edge. “So! Tell me everything.”

  Veronica shrugs and sits next to her. “There’s not much to tell. I think...maybe...there could be something between us, but…”

  “But what?”

  She sighs and flops down on the bed to contemplate the ceiling. “I dunno, Lilly. He just doesn’t seem like my type.”

  Lilly lays down next to her. “Wanna know why it didn’t work between us?” Without waiting for Veronica’s answer, she continues. “Because Logan is way more into monogamy than I am. His playboy reputation is mostly smoke and mirrors to keep girls like Kendall—or whatever her name is—away. He was never the one who wanted a casual fling but I pushed him into it and I knew he would agree because we’ve been friends for so long. He just didn’t have anyone else in his life, not for real, and I took advantage of that because the sex was so damn good. It was selfish of me.”

  Veronica sits up, suddenly, a faux-shocked look on her face. “Lilly! Don’t tell me you’re getting all deep and self-aware here!”

  Lilly laughs. “I know. It doesn’t suit me. But honestly, V, you should give him a chance.”

  Their conversation is interrupted by Logan, pushing the door open and peering inside.

  “Lilly, seriously.” He groans. “You’ve gotta stop this—” he gestures at the two of them on the bed “—or I’ll never get over imagining all the topless pillow fights.”

  He winks, though, and Veronica can see now that he’s teasing. Maybe he and Lilly will always tease each other like that. Now she knows there’s really nothing between them, maybe she can live with that. Like Lilly said, maybe it’s worth finding out.

  She takes a deep breath. “Yeah, Lilly. Get outta here.”

  Lilly sits up and turns wide, surprised eyes on Veronica and slowly gives her a wicked smile.  “Anything for you, dear,” she murmurs as she slips out of the room.

  The door closes behind her and Logan comes to stand at the foot of the bed, staring at Veronica speculatively.

  “So. Is everything…?” She waves her hand around to encompass the dinner drama.

  “Yeah. Kendall—Priscilla?—is gone and Duncan...well, he’s in his room. I checked in on him a little bit ago. He’ll be okay, I think, eventually.”

  Veronica pats the space on the bed next to her and he sits down.

  “The pursuit of truth is good, I think, but sometimes…” She trails off and clears her throat. Logan grabs her hand and caresses her knuckles with his thumb. “It’s better to know, right?”

  He nods. “It is. And like I said before, the Nancy Drew thing you’ve got going on is hot.”

  His eyes are twinkling and it helps pull her out of her worry about bearing the bad news to the Kanes.

  “Oh, it is, huh?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He moves his hand to the back of her neck and leans in to kiss her again. It’s just a soft brush of his lips against hers but it sends shivers along her spine and she’s aching for more when he pulls away.

  His eyes look a little glazed over, too, and she’s glad that she’s not the only one affected.

  “Hey, Veronica?”

  She bites her lip and tries to focus on his words. “Yeah?”

  “Can I confess something? I’ve wanted to ask you out all weekend. I really like you and—”

  She can’t help it, she starts to laugh. He stops talking and looks slightly offended.

  “Really? That’s your big confession? You’re asking me out? I thought for sure it was going to some quip about the bed and how we should test it out.”

  He bobs his eyebrows at her suggestively. “Well, I’d hate to disappoint you. Should we test out the bed?”

  She playfully swats his arm and leans over to kiss him again. “Is this some roommate thing? Like, points for dating girls who live together?”

  He laughs softly and she can feel his breath against her cheek. “No, I—is that what’s holding you back? My history with Lilly? Because—”

  She cuts him off. “Actually, Lilly and I had a little chat and things are cool. She maybe kinda orchestrated this,” she gestures, encompassing the bed and the space between them, “on purpose.”

  Logan’s eyes light up with delight. “Little minx. I’ll have to thank her for the wingman assist.”

  He grabs her hand earnestly. “You didn’t actually answer my question. Will you go out with me?”

  Veronica pulls her hand from his grasp and hops off the bed, walking around to the nightstand where his cell phone lays.

  He raises an eyebrow as she types in something and tosses it to him.

  “It’s Christmas,” she explains, twisting her hands together, “and I doubt the Kanes want me sticking around. You probably should stay, though, to keep an eye on Duncan. So there’s my number. Call me sometime.”

  He checks his phone while she pulls her duffel bag out of the closet and starts packing.

  “Wait, Veronica.” Logan’s hand on her arm stills her movement. “It’s late. You should at least stay the night.”

  She gazes into his eyes and sees genuine affection reflected there. It makes her bold.

  “And share your bed?”

  “Well…” She thinks he might actually be blushing a little bit, something she didn’t think was possible. It’s adorable. “I was a perfect gentleman last night, right? Trust me. I can behave again.”

  He bobs his eyebrows in a way that totally negates his words and takes a step closer to her, moving his hand to rest on her waist. His voice is husky and it resonates low in her belly, warming her. “Or not. It’s up to you.”

  He bends his head down to capture her mouth with his, and she’s helpless to resist the pull she feels towards him. She wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him closer, and kisses him deeply. Sparks zip along her spine and heat continues to build in her core. She lets him maneuver them over to the bed, sitting down on it and pulling her on top of him, across his thighs.

  Maybe, she thinks as he sucks on the side of her neck in a delightful way, Logan Echolls isn’t as bad as she expected. In fact, she could get quite used to this. His lips send jolts of pleasure through her and she pushes him down on his back, tugging the hem of her dress up so she can settle herself more comfortably astride him. He looks at her with wonder in his eyes and slides his hands up her thighs.

  “Veronica…” His voice is seductive, wrapping around her, and she didn’t know her name could sound like that. She wants to hear him say it again. Everyday, perhaps.

  She puts her finger over his lips. “No more gentlemanly behavior tonight, please.”

  He nips her finger and sends shivers down her body. “If you insist.”

via AO3 works tagged 'Veronica Mars (Movie 2014)' https://ift.tt/2HjEFjj March 20, 2019 at 11:36PM

[circaverne]

✨THE ONE WORD PROJECT✨

Evolution is an inescapable force in our world. Not only are the fauna and flora around us constantly evolving, we as human beings are changing too, and the world with us. It is inevitable and occasionally terrifying, and the idea of change has different connotations for different people. A few months ago, Circa Verne contacted some very talented folks to ask them to draw, paint, sculpt, photograph, or digitally create a piece of work which encompassed the idea of change to them, particularly in the world of 2017. We've combined them all into one post here for your viewing pleasure!

 Celeste.

 Statement: As a human, in some moment of our life, we dare to change something about ourselves through pain, so we grow. I believe that it's when you find yourself, and I find it truly beautiful. I drew mother nature in her own beauty, because for me, nature is one of the most perfect examples to the process of changing and growing without seeing it (full of patience and slowness). She call’s us all, tending her hand almost saying "I'm like you". The hole in her body, represent the emptiness that we feel when we have to change and move on in life. That's why I left that innocent, basic stem in the middle, a symbol of growth waiting inside of an empty, but necessary hole. 

Jessica Estrada.

Title: The Tower

Medium: Ink, mixed medium on paper

 Statement: Change is inevitable, but it's not always beautiful. I chose to depict my feelings on the changes I've seen in the world around me, growing like mold since late 2016, and seeming to spiral out of control in these first few months of 2017. People are sloughing off their skins and extruding these ugly monsters -- brightly colored, loud, a warning sign declaring their venomous nature. Insect-like, they're displaying the basest of mentalities, "us vs them", mistrusting the different, the nuanced, the subtle. No tolerance for the individuals branded "scapegoat". But of course, these mentalities were always there. They were concealed and whispered, lurking beneath the surface, but they were always there. 

 Jessica Estrada is a 24-year-old artist living in the central valley of California. Their preferred medium is simply pen and ink. They live at home with their cat, Nacho, and their family. Their website is estradaart.tumblr.com

Lynn.

Statement: My piece shows the different moon phases above a mountain range, surrounded by stars. I’ve always been fascinated by how much changes in nature can affect the human mind and emotions. The changing of seasons, the tides, the moon phases, everything has a deep impact on my thoughts and mood and I feel like change in nature always has a great symbolic meaning. I decided to draw the moon phases for this project because the night sky has always been my biggest source of inspiration and I just love drawing anything space-related.

 I’m Lynn, a 17 year old digital artist from Germany. I create minimalistic line art of nature, space and witchy things. Drawing is a way of finding peace for me and it has been my biggest passion for years now.

Rachel Bennett.

The Future: Pt. 1

 Statement:This piece depicts the fear of the unknown, the impending changes we face in our lifetime, and the difficulty of knowing how to proceed. Above all, I hope this piece represents the resistance to going backwards; that no matter how fearful we may be of what comes next, we must walk forward into the future, not backwards. 

This image is one of a four part series that I will be showing at Chapterhouse Cafe & Gallery in Philadelphia as part of their Spring show, which will run from April 14th to July 13th. You can view my work online at rachelbennettdraws.tumblr.com or on instagram @rachelbennettdraws. You may contact me with questions or comments via my portfolio site at www.rachelbennett.net.

Stephanie.

 Statement: For my piece, I represented the word "change" in an illustration of a phoenix because it is a creature that is always changing forms, from life to death, flames to ashes, and reborn again. However, this ever-changing cycle is always constant and its spirit never dies. The phoenix is housed in the Greek letter delta, the mathematical symbol for change.

Mochichito is a designer based in Raleigh-Durham, NC. Inspired by the magical, imaginary, fuzzy, and fierce.

instagram.com/mochichito

etsy.com/shop/mochichito

100daysoflittledudes.tumblr.com

Stefanie Shank.

If you’d like to see more of Stephanie’s amazing art works, visit her Tumblr page here.

 Swathi.

 Statement: My artwork for the word “Change”, encompasses the thought of slow changes. Changes need to be gone through slowly, but they reap rich rewards. It might take time, but it will certainly be beneficial to an individual, a country and the world.

The word “Change” in my artwork goes through seven colour changes. Each colour transition in the word signifies the meaning behind the colour used. The lettering starts off black, which is a colour associated with death, power, and unrest. From black it moves to brown, a colour symbolising nature, warmth and support. From that we move to green, a fresh colour denoting harmony, balance, greenery, and peace. From green we move on to a blue, a colour associated with serenity, trust and calmness. We then move to yellow, a bright joyful colour and finally to an orange which is an extension of the yellow; a colour filled with life and energy. This transitions in colours, can be synonymous with change; making small changes as an individual, as a leader or as a nation can lead to a better and richer lives for people, nations and in turn, the world. 

Making small changes can be as simple as being kind and helpful to the people around you, spreading love, and making peace with the next person, protecting the rights and beliefs of people and making their voice heard, putting together ideals to make the world a peaceful and better place to live in, safeguarding the environment from harm and making it a safe place for future generations. As they say changes can be hard at first, messy in the middle but they will result in gorgeous benefits at the end.

My name is Swathi and I am an Designer and Illustrator from India. I am a UI designer at my day job and by night I am an artist and illustrator. I enjoy exploring new mediums, and experimenting with different styles. I love working on/with typography and lettering, inked illustrations, pattern design, watercolours, and gouache painting. I am a strong believer in hard work and patience and how important the two are to become successful at work and in life.  

Travis Marks.

 Statement: This piece signifies that even though our bodies don't stand the test of time, we'll always be that young kid at heart.

Travis Marks is a freelance Story Artist, Character Designer, Illustrator and 2D Animator living in Los Angeles, California. You can view his work at:  www.travismarksportfolio.squarespace.com

https://www.instagram.com/travismarksart/

www.travismarksart.tumblr.com

Now that you’ve viewed these brilliant pieces of work, we’d like you to take the time to sit back and recognize how all of these pieces represent change, in their own special way. Even though they are all uniquely different, one way or another, they all represent beautifully what ‘change’ is. In such a hectic society, we often lose sight of what is right or wrong, and routinely choose the most cliche answer to every question. Through these art pieces, we hope that you realize that no matter what you decide is right, or wrong, you always have the right to express what you think is right in any way you’d like. No matter how different or varied it is from anybody else’s view on the matter. So please, don’t ever let the elevator get you down.

A big thank you to all of the artists involved in the One Word Project, for their creating their genius art works and doing Circa Verne the honor of collaborating with them!

All rights of the artworks remain with the original artists.

This project was run by the head of art, Joëlle den Toom, at Circa Verne.