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bettyfrommars · 7 months ago

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I'm on Fire: The Epilogue

biker!Eddie x artist!Reader

biker!Steve x Astrid (fem!OC)

masterlist playlist

wc: 14.6k

18+ONLY as always, adult themes, allusions to smut, backyard union/wedding, violence, auto theft, hustling, fist fight, mention of blood, mention of guns and shooting, relationship issues, Eddie is a cat dad, tw: Charlene, alcohol consumption, healing, lots of love.

Summary: If you're one of my ride or dies who have read this far, you know what to expect, but I do mention pregnancy and kids more than a few times, for good reason. We get to check in with what the gang has been up to, and how the families have grown. A little bit of drama, of course, and Coffin Kings mayhem. For the sake of this story, the character Bones is meant to be Tom Hardy from the yet to be released movie The Bikeriders.

A/N: This is reallyyy more of another chapter more and an Epilogue, lmaoo. I love all of these characters so much that I keep wanting to spin off in different directions and write a bunch of niche stories; I can see myself living in this world for a long while. I know I say it all the time, but my IoF readers mean so much to me, and I really hope you enjoy this. Please see a second author's note at the end.

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Highway 22 had once been the only main road out of town, but since the freeway came to Hawkins in the 60’s, very few ever took the country road lined with cornfields and alfalfa crops. There were several homesteads scattered about, mostly farmers, and all of them spaced out by several acres; but for the home of the Whittiers—Bob and Helen—who just happened to live across the street from the place once owned by the Fergusons.

The first time they heard the rumble of motorcycles approaching, Helen screamed through the living room that it must be an airplane flying too low, about to crash into them. She nudged Bob awake from his nap in the recliner and then ran out onto the porch, wringing her hands.

What she found was a motorcycle gang, clad in leather and covered in tattoos, crawling twenty deep into the driveway of their newest neighbors.

It was rare for Eddie to invite the entire local Coffin Kings MC and a few of the Hells Belles over, but the ceremony for Steve and Astrid’s union was an exception. She was 8 months pregnant with the twins at the time, bursting at the seams, but Steve had this bug up his ass that he needed them to be official before the babies came, and Bones was happy to officiate.

Under an arbor in the neatly manicured lawn of your front yard, flanked in willow trees and cherry blossoms, Robin stood as Steve’s best man, and pretended like she’d lost the ring during the ceremony when he asked for it. The panic in his face made everyone in attendance snicker when she pulled it from the tiny pocket of her vest with a wink. Steve wore black suit pants with a collared white shirt, rolled up to the elbows, under his Coffin Kings leather. Astrid looked stunning in a hunter green, off-the-shoulder dress with a few pieces of simple, gold jewelry, and a baby’s breath flower crown in her hair.

Astrid didn’t need a ring, or any traditional symbols, and the material stuff meant nothing to her, but Steve insisted. He took the extra step of getting her name tattooed on his ring finger, which made her roll her eyes and fall more in love with him all at once.

You stood at Astrid’s side, making eyes at your boyfriend Eddie who was extremely handsome in his leather and a suit in the front row. You were still reeling at the idea that this was your life, as fear kept trying to creep in and tell you it was all a dream, or that something would happen at any second to take it all away at any moment.

You’d barely had the keys to the farmhouse for two months before the wedding, and so things were still stacked in boxes on the main floor, and the plumbing was a mess, but every morning, Eddie kissed you goodbye before work, and then you padded over in bare feet to the empty space with south facing windows that would soon be your studio.

Wayne gave Astrid away, and there were tears streaming down Steve’s cheeks. Once the official “I do’s�� were said, everyone, including the bikers and their families in attendance, started to hoot and whistle for the kiss. Steve held her face in his hands, and it was deep and sweet and made the obnoxious howling from the crowd melt into a collective swoon before erupting in applause.

Eddie’s heart swelled with love, not only for his friends who were finally getting the happy ending they deserved, but for you, and the promise of the life you were building together. Neither one of you held the matrimonial traditions of society in high regard and didn’t need a piece of paper to prove that you were devoted to each other, but right then, watching you stand with Astrid, he thought about dropping to one knee and begging you to be his wife.

Neither one of you had a family history of marriage keeping people together, in fact, it had mostly only succeeded in fucking everything up. In his heart, it was till death do you part, and that was all that mattered. In fact, he planned on finding you in the afterlife as well.

Steve had Oliver on his shoulders while they cut the cake, but what everyone didn’t know was that Astrid was fighting some stomach cramping. She figured it was the two babies kicking from all of the excitement, but the second the music started for the reception, her water broke.

“This can’t be happening right now,” Steve was flabbergasted, holding up his wife so that she didn’t sink to the ground. “They’re not due for another month?”

“Oh it’s happening,” Astrid gushed, framing her belly with her hands. “They are coming.”

“Take my car,” Katie offered, digging around in her purse for her keys. The driveway was full of vehicles, pinning in Astrid’s truck, but Katie’s car was further out, near the highway.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Eddie shouted, reaching for your hand.

Dustin was the voice of reason, stepping in front of him while the others headed for the vehicle.

“She could be in labor for hours, and you’ve got guests,” Henderson reminded his friend. He was there with his wife Suzie and their daughter Stevie. “I say stay here, man. Robin can call you from the hospital with an update.”

For a second, it had slipped both of your minds that you even had guests; approximately 87 of them.

The big speakers Eddie had hooked up to a sound system were playing Hold onto Me by Cowboy Junkies, and the two of you turned to stare at each other, wondering what to do.

“Dustin’s right,” you looked around, eyes settling on your ex-coworker Jeff who was drinking red wine straight from the bottle. “I don’t want anyone to puke in our bedroom or something.”

Suzie handed you a glass of champagne, ring finger heavy with a Princess cut diamond. “I promise you, those babies probably won’t poke their heads out until morning.”

You just hoped nothing went wrong, since Astrid confided in you that labor had been notoriously hard on the women in her family; there had even been a few mothers who didn’t make it. What if they needed to do an emergency C-section? What if one of them started to come out sideways?

You were about to take a sip of the sweet bubbles when you saw Steve jogging back in your direction.

“Katie’s car is dead,” he huffed, headed for the back patio where his Harley was parked.

Craning your neck down the long row of cars, you saw Astrid sitting on the front bumper of the dark blue sedan with Oliver holding onto her arm while Robin and Katie appeared to be having an argument. You were sure it was nothing personal, but tensions were high.

“Hold tight, let me grab the jumper cables,” Eddie jogged alongside Steve, aiming for the garage.

“Nah, it’ll take too long, we need to get out of here,” Steve was throwing a leg over his bike and revving the engine before Eddie could offer another suggestion.

You ran up beside Eddie. “He’s driving her to the hospital on that?”

“It appears that way,” Eddie stepped back so that Steve could roll by the two of you, fishtailing through the lawn before jumping a rock bed and weaving between the vehicles to pick up Astrid.

A lot of pregnant women might have hesitated to go by motorcycle, but Astrid did not. She didn’t hesitate to get on behind him, knowing that the sooner they got to the hospital, the less likely things would go wrong. Making room for her ample stomach took a moment of adjusting, but she strapped her helmet on before tapping his shoulder to let him know she was ready.

“You’re insane!” Robin shouted at him, and then she covered her face in frustration.

Bones, Devlin, Van, Ratchet, and a few others went along as escorts, clearing the highway with their own bikes so that Steve could have the road.

Across the street, Helen was on her porch with a pair of binoculars. “Bob? Where are they taking that pregnant woman?”

Bob was in the living room with the TV on, and he pretended not to hear her.

“The music is loud enough,” she scoffed. “The whole thing better quiet down by 10 or I’m calling the police.”

If so, that wouldn’t be the first time she’d called the cops about her across-the-way neighbors. The first time was during the week they’d moved in, and a couple of the Kings came over to help unload furniture. Helen reported that there was a gang breaking into the Ferguson place to steal things.

“Let me get this straight,” Hopper twirled a pencil between two fingers while he spoke into the phone. “They’re stealing things by putting them back inside the house?”

He very politely talked her down from a ledge, and then drove by on the highway to give her a wave so that she felt safe.

The Velvet Hammer was closed the day of the wedding, as most of the employees were guests. But the next day, Shana opened up the bar at 10, harboring one of the worst hangovers of her adult life.

The shrill ringing of the phone made it feel like a buzzsaw was cutting through her skull, and Jackie leaned over the bar counter to snatch the receiver.

It was you, letting them know that Astrid had given birth to two healthy baby girls named Gracie and Rue early that morning, and that labor had been horrific, but their mother was on the mend.

Poor Steve. When the doctor came out and said there were “complications”, he nearly tore down the wall trying to get in there to his wife. The first baby, Rue, started to come out feet first, and he had this terrifying thought of the umbilical cord getting stuck around her neck or something, but once they got her turned around, the rest went smoothly. He did the best he could to coach her through the breathing techniques they’d learned in the Lamaze classes, but at one point, she politely, yet abruptly, asked him to shut up.

Not even three months later, Astrid was pregnant again.

They were certain that the procreation of the twins had been a fluke, a miracle; something that would only happen once in their lifetime.

But they’d been gravely mistaken.

They’d just transported the whole family to the ranch style home Astrid had inherited from her grandmother. Everyone had their own room, including another living area in the basement, and a vintage Landshark Airstream trailer in the back yard where Steve and Astrid slept when they needed alone time. It was the communal living, and the constant support from Robin and Katie, that kept them from mental collapse when they found out there was another baby on the way.

“What is wrong with you?” Eddie chuckled at Steve when he gave the two of you the news one morning over coffee at your kitchen table. “Couldn’t keep it in your pants for a few weeks?”

“I told you,” Steve shrugged. “I have a magic dick.”

At that, you and Eddie shared an affectionate eye roll. All joking aside, Steve was ecstatic about the news, bouncing on the balls of his feet everywhere he went at the idea of having a fourth child. Astrid, on the other hand, was trying not to have a panic attack as she breastfed two infants at once. If it happened to be another set of twins, she said she’d have to give one to you and Eddie.

You were testing paint swatches on the wall when Eddie snuck up from behind on the hardwood floor and put his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair. He had on a pair of his “holiest” jeans that were so ripped and worn, they were about to be shorts, along with his Slayer shirt that now had wide, cut out arm holes, exposing his ribs.

“Which one do you like more?” You asked, slipping your arms over his.

He hummed, kissing your earlobe. “They all look yellow to me.”

“Close, but one is Summer Sunset, one is Lemon Cream, and one is—-”

“What about black?” He asked in all seriousness. “Or gray?”

“Or we could just keep all of the wallpaper as it is,” you giggled at the tickle of his beard scruff on your neck.

The country rose wallpaper was lovely, but heavy pink floral themes in every room was a bit much for both of you. “You’re right, I love Lemon Yogurt or whatever.”

“I figured as much,” You turned to search his face. He’d been growing his bangs out, so they were just long enough to tuck behind his ears. “How does tofu curry sound for tonight?”

Your lips met, and you could taste that familiar mix of wintermint and Camel Lights that you’d come to love. He’d cut back to only a couple smokes a day, but he went through a pack of gum in an hour.

“Mhhmm tofu,” he closed his eyes dreamily. “Is there meat in that?”

Just before the twins turned one, you and Eddie had your first big fight.

Big enough that you threw some clothes in a bag and said you were going to stay with Katie and Robin right before you slammed the door so hard, a vase full of daisies he’d bought for you crashed to the ground and shattered.

It was over something so stupid, really. The way he left hair in the sink after he shaved bugged the shit out of you, and when you rolled as far away as you could from him in bed, he took it personally. You’d felt restless and out of your mind that week, and then you started your car to realize the gas tank was empty, even though he said he’d fill it up. You promised Eddie you’d have some quality time with him one night, but then Steve needed you at the Hammer and…all of these things started to pile up until the dam burst.

You sat in your car with the engine on for a while, swallowing back hot gasps, unable to pull the trigger and drive away. It wasn’t long before you felt his shadow, and a few soft knuckle taps on the window.

“Please don’t go,” he said.

“I don’t want to go,” you shivered and finally broke out in a sob, tears streaming down your face. “I love you so much.”

Next thing you knew, you were in his arms, and then you were back in the bed you shared, begging him to be so deep inside, until it made you see stars.

—-----

“An inch to the left,” Robin coached you from the ground as you were up on a ladder at the Velvet Hammer, hanging a piece of artwork along the brick red wall opposite the bar while Mother Love Bone played from the jukebox. “Ah, right there. Perfect.”

You’d brought a few paintings over weeks earlier, at Robin’s request, and they all sold almost immediately, so she begged you to bring in a few more. Still an employee at the Hammer, Steve offered you something more of an assistant manager position, but you were honest with him and confessed you didn’t want the extra responsibility, but that you’d help as much as you could. Plus, the tips you earned waitressing mostly surpassed what they could offer you as an assistant, and you were under the gun to get a collection of work together for the upcoming show in Marysville.

The same Marysville shows at the airplane hangar where you’d bumped into Eddie and Charlene that one night three years ago. The memory felt surreal to you, as if it were something that had happened in another lifetime.

The bar didn’t open for another hour, and Steve was hunched over a cup of coffee, popping energy pills he’d bought at the gas station.

“Get any sleep last night?” You asked, on your way to return the ladder to the storage room.

Steve grumbled something unintelligible, and his head bounced, nodding himself awake as if he’d been drifting off right where he sat.

“Mae has some serious pipes on her,” Robin quipped, speaking of Steve and Astrid’s newest baby girl, Mae, who was barely 16 weeks old. “The only one of us she seems to want to be around is Oliver.”

The twins were over 2 years old by then, and just as much of a handful as you’d imagine toddlers would be. Now with another baby, the family was running on empty. You and Eddie volunteered to babysit Rue and Gracie for a weekend after Mae was born, and even though you loved the girls dearly and cherished the time with them, you found yourselves counting down the minutes until their dad came to pick them up on the last day. “I’m glad we decided not to have kids. Steve’s brood is more than enough,” Eddie whispered to you at the window watching Steve drive off. He even considered getting “snipped” around the time Steve had the procedure, just as a precautionary measure.

“Why are you here so early anyway?” Robin asked around a yawn, adjusting the clasp on her denim overalls. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll stay until Shana gets here at noon.”

Steve yawned too, stretching his arms above his head as he stood. He wore a nice pair of blue denim jeans and a sage green pearl snap shirt that was buttoned wrong. “Can’t. Interviewing for a new apprentice over at the shop.”

Construction on the tattoo parlor next door took longer than anticipated. So long, that Eddie got frustrated enough to go ahead and do a bunch of the work himself. They’d just passed inspection the week before and were anxious to get some bodies in there working. They’d decided on the name Velvet Ink, and Wayne found some vintage barber chairs at auction for the reception area aesthetic Steve was looking for.

As of then, Wayne was fully in remission and getting his strength back. He’d even been well enough to take his 1948 Harley-Davidson Panhead out on a few Sunday cruises with the boys. Rue, one of the twins, took to him like glue, and Eddie remarked that he’d never seen the old man smile as big as he did when she called him “gan-pa”.

Taking the last big gulp of his coffee, Steve made his way out, letting in blinding beams of sunlight when he pushed open the front door of the Hammer. He paused for a moment to look at the padded leather stool that was there, the one he’d parked his butt on for many a night. Even though he helped to keep the peace if necessary, most of the past two years had been spent behind the scenes. A weird, secret part of him missed it; missed the simplicity of being a bouncer, versus being the owner of two businesses. Before he knew it, reminiscing on his old life brought his thoughts back to Charlene.

He was sure that she kept tabs on him, and he hoped she never decided to drop in and wreak havoc on his life again, but he was grateful for the fresh start she’d given him. He hoped that she was enjoying herself with Billy…or whoever the hell she was fucking those days.

—-----

It was Eddie’s night to make dinner, and you spotted him fussing in the kitchen through the side window of the farmhouse when you drove up that night. It looked like he touched something that was too hot and was snapping his hand in the air to cool it off.

You saw his motorcycle parked in the red barn, and wondered if he was planning to do some repairs on it. The Chevelle was no longer around, as he’d sold it to a collector up north so he could get a pickup that would be more useful to your new lives. You’d begged him not to, as you knew how hard he’d worked on it over the years with Wayne, but he couldn’t be swayed otherwise. .

Turns out, your man was extremely stubborn.

“Hey there, Dungeon Master,” you greeted him, shutting the back door to take your coat off. He’d been teaching you to play DnD now that he had a new head mechanic at the shop, giving him a bit more time to lean into his hobbies. Max and Lucas moved back to town, and Eddie was happy to teach Lucas how to operate the tow truck when he voiced that he needed a job.

In a black Hanes tank and jeans, your man was barefoot with his hair tied back. Looking down at the pot of sauce he was stirring, he smiled so big his dimples popped. “You really like calling me that, don’t you?”

Calling him Dungeon Master was a new kink unlocked for you.

You set your bag on one of the kitchen chairs and wrapped your arms around him from behind to sink your teeth into his shoulder. “I love finding out what a nerd you truly are. It’s hot.”

He lifted up a wooden spoon full of marinara, cupping his other hand underneath, and turned to blow on it before putting it to your lips.

“Smells yummy,” you said before taking a taste. He watched your mouth, but then eagerly found your eyes for the verdict.

“Mhmm baby it’s delicious.”

Satisfied, he went back to stirring. “Astrid gave me her recipe. I’ve never made it from scratch before,” he took a lick off the spoon for himself. “I think I used too much garlic.”

Another facet of Edward Munson you’d never realized before was that he was a natural in the kitchen, and found a lot of joy in cooking. One of the first things he made when you first moved in was chickpea patties for burgers, and whenever the two of you went into a bookstore and you found him browning the vegetarian cookbook section.

If you weren’t working at the Hammer, nights at home were very low key. There was the occasional concert or dinner on the town, but mostly nothing sounded better than curling up on the couch with him, or on the porch swing with a cocktail. Charlie was strictly an inside cat, but you found a stray living in the barn. All black with green eyes, a recent visit to the vet let you know that she was pregnant, and a litter of kittens was on the way, one of which had already been claimed by Oliver. So, you brought her inside and made her comfortable in the guest bedroom, until just yesterday when you found her curled up for a nap in Eddie’s lap.

He named her Scully because of his love of The X-Files, and you wondered if he’d be able to give the rest of the kittens up for adoption with the way he fawned over his new companion. He bought her a fancy collar with a bell, as well as catnip and special treats that she was forced to share with Charlie.

Later that night, sprawled on the couch with your head on his chest, you were having a hard time keeping your eyes open during an episode of Saturday Night Live when the phone in the kitchen rang. You almost jumped out of your skin, and both of the cats sprang from their perch on top of the couch.

“What the shit,” Eddie grumbled, gently sliding out from underneath you just as a second ring shattered the once peaceful evening.

“Who would be calling this late?” You said groggily, pulling the blanket up to your chin to turn and watch Eddie disappear down the hall.

“I don’t know, but this better not be Steve wanting to rant about one of his late night epiphanies.”

Phone calls at midnight were rarely ever a good thing. You sat straight, waiting to hear Eddie pick up the receiver. Had someone been hurt? Were the girls okay? Had something gone wrong at the Velvet Hammer? Maybe it was Bones needing Eddie for something to do with the Kings, and if so, you didn’t want him to answer it.

Eddie jerked the white, cordless phone to his ear, frowning. “Yeah? This is Eddie.”

You shifted to the edge of your seat, muting the TV so that you could hear him.

“How did you get this number?” He mumbled gruffly.

That made you get to your feet.

“...what makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

You took a few steps and froze.

You had a very bad feeling that you knew exactly who it was at the other end.

Eddie locked eyes with you when you came to pause at the stove.

“You have to be mistaken, there’s no way he was one of ours—-,” Eddie said to whoever it was, shaking his head.

You reached out and motioned for him to hand you the phone.

He swallowed, hesitating at first, but then you took it from him and put it to your ear.

“Charlene?” Your tone was patient. “What’s going on?”

—----

Earlier that evening at the Harrington residence, Astrid was breastfeeding Mae in the rocking chair while Katie helped the twins get dressed after their bath, and Robin washed dishes with Oliver. The TV was on, but no one was paying any attention to it, and Mae nestled against her mother like she was finally ready for sleep.

God, Astrid was tired.

Exhausted to the marrow of her bones and beyond.

Absolutely in love with her daughters and in awe of the beautiful family they’d created, but wishing she could have a few hours away from it all, just the same.

The twins were being loud, giggling as their Auntie Katie ushered them across the hall to their bedroom, and Astrid held her breath, worried they’d wake the baby up.

She let Robin know she was putting Mae in her crib, and then went to take the first shower she’d had in a while, feeling her stretch marks and all the ways her body had changed after carrying three babies. She never doubted Steve’s attraction to her, but he tattooed gorgeous women every day, not to mention the ones who waited tables in fishnet stockings and danced at the Hammer. She was sure a handful of those young beauties had a crush on their boss and would offer him comfort any time he wanted it.

She hated when her mind went there, when she could feel the walls of insecurity and depression closing in. She wanted to be nothing but grateful for every waking moment, but sometimes she was way too tired to think clearly. She needed to cry or scream or fuck… or something.

Between the kids, Steve’s schedule, and having zero energy at night, she couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had been intimate. A few kisses and touches in passing was really all it had been. Considering the insatiable hunger they’d had for each other over the years, it made her worry that he just wasn’t attracted to her anymore. But also, she knew that was bullshit—-but the whispers kept nagging at her.

On her way back down the hall to her bedroom, she could hear Oliver reading the girls a bedtime story and she paused to listen, emotions catching in her throat. Rue and Gracie loved him so much, and he was such a wonderful big brother, slipping into the role like he was born for it. Born to be a nurturing, caring soul just like his father. She often wondered if Ollie would grow up to be who Steve would’ve been, if he had been surrounded with love as a kid. Before Wayne took over his care, he hadn’t known much comfort or safety.

Steve came home smelling like a distillery, and when he tried to kiss her on his way in, she moved her head away.

“Where have you been?” She didn’t have to ask, it was obvious he’d tattooed late and stayed to have a few drinks. She missed the guy who would spend hours rubbing her belly and talking to the babies inside of it. It was the closeness she missed, not the sex itself.

Alarms went off in Steve when he caught the way she didn’t want to look at him, the way she shrugged away from his touch. “Hey, baby, I’m sorry. Jake paid extra to have his back piece finished tonight and so I—”

Robin and Katie had adjourned to the basement, and Astrid was folding laundry at the couch. “You just thought you’d booze it up with your buddies while I took care of our girls?”

He lowered his arms to hook his thumbs into his belt loops. “I thought about calling but I didn’t want to wake the—”

“Your daughters are all asleep. Gracie was asking for her daddy,” she pinned a towel to her check with her chin and folded the ends together.

Steve’s heart tightened, thinking of how he’d missed his baby girl asking about him. Thinking of how he was already letting her down. “I’m gonna sneak in and say goodnight,” he mumbled, heading that way.

“Please don’t,” Astrid snapped. “It took a long time to get them to calm down, but you’re rarely here at night so you wouldn’t know.”

Okay, something was definitely wrong. He’d fucked up, but he wasn’t exactly sure how. Astrid knew that he’d have some long nights, this was something they’d talked about. There had to be something else going on.

He sat down on the edge of the recliner, facing her, and laced his fingers together. “Is there anything…you want to talk about?”

Astrid scoffed, keeping her eyes on the TV. “Where do I even start?”

“I’m sorry if I—”

“Just say it, Steve,” she bit, stacking folded towels on top of each other. “Just say you’d rather get drunk with the dancers at the Velvet Hammer rather than come home and be with me.”

At that, he was dumbfounded. Gobsmacked, even.

“How could you…what? That’s crazy. Shit, you know other women don’t even exist for me, Astrid,” he kept trying to catch her gaze, but she’d avoid it. “No one has ever meant more to me than you. You're the love of my life.”

“I can tell you’re not attracted to me anymore, Steve. Just say it, I don’t float your boat.”

“Float my boat?” He almost chuckled at that, but immediately caught himself, realizing that it wasn’t a good time for humor.

There were tears welling in her eyes and Astrid bit her cheek in an effort to keep them at bay; her shoulders were shaking.

“Hey, listen, baby, c’mere,” he stood and reached for her hand. She let him have it, dropping the t-shirt she’d been holding. “Tell me you love me? Please?”

“Have you fucked anyone else since we’ve been together?’ She stared at him that time, eyes wet.

Steve didn’t hesitate. “Never even crossed my mind.”

She swallowed thickly, lowering her gaze.

“Wait,” Steve’s mind raced, realizing that it had probably been months since they’d had sex. “Have you? Fucked another dude?”

That one pissed her off, and it showed in the look she shot him. “When the hell would I have time for that, Steve? I barely have time to pee.”

He let go of her hand. “Oh, so, you’ve wanted to, with other people…you just don’t have time?”

“Steve, I’m going to punch you in the throat.”

He pulled her over so that she was in his lap, and she only fought him a little because then she was crying into his neck, overcome with exhaustion.

“Tell me,” he said softly, brushing her hair away to kiss her forehead. “Tell me you love me.”

“You know I do,” she sniffed, letting the tears roll hot down her cheeks, pulling her knees up so that she was snug in his lap.

“Say it,” he was pushing it now, tipping her chin up to find her mouth with his.

She mumbled her devotion as the tip of his tongue dragged along her bottom lip.

She clung to him as she cried it out for a minute, letting him hold her close and stoke her hair.

“Is she okay?” It was Oliver.

He’d snuck in from the other room and was watching the scene with a creased, worried brow.

“I’m fine, honey,” Astrid sat up, wiping her eyes. “It’s just been a long day.”

Oliver stared at his dad, almost defiantly. “I don’t like to see her sad.”

Steve saw his own tender perception mirrored back to him in his son's eyes. “I don’t like it either, come over here,” he motioned for Ollie to get close enough so he could put his arm around his son. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I didn’t want to miss you again,” Oliver admitted, sending another pang into Steve’s heart.

He’d gone from working all the time to…working even more, and something had to change. He hated being away from his family so often that he missed bedtime several days a week; they needed to hire more full-time help like Robin suggested, but Steve and Eddie were trying to pinch every penny.

After he talked to Oliver about his day, Steve realized he needed a goddamn smoke. Since the twins were born, he’d tried several times to cut back, but decided to quit cold turkey two days ago, and it wasn’t working. He needed to get some of those nicotine patches or something because being irritable with a throbbing head was no way to live in tandem with everything else on his plate.

Two hours later, after he’d tucked Ollie in and everyone else in the house was asleep, Steve made love to his wife.

He was about to try for a second round when his beeper on the nightstand started buzzing.

The alert was from Eddie.

Steve frowned at the number and excused himself to use the phone while Astrid pulled her robe on to go and check on Mae.

Come to find out, the past was indeed back to haunt him, yet again.

—--------

Hawkins was the last place Charlene ever expected to be on her birthday weekend. She’d said goodbye to that place forever, or so she thought, as there was nothing for her there. Her relationship with Billy lasted the better part of a year, but when she found out he’d been cheating on her with their neighbor, it didn’t even phase her. Normally, she would’ve been furious and exacted some elaborate revenge on the two, but at the time, she only shrugged and told him good luck. She was never in love with him, he’d been just another way to pass the time; a way to distract from her deep, soul-sucking loneliness.

Just before the separation from John, she’d purchased a storage unit for sentimental items she didn’t want to look at, but also didn’t have the heart to throw away. She’d considered letting someone from Storage Wars buy it just so they could be disappointed, but there were private letters and photos in there that she never wanted anyone to see, especially not strangers. So, she was back to clean it out and burn whatever she no longer wanted to hold on to.

She was in disguise, so to speak, with a new cropped brunette hairdo, and oversized sunglasses. The divorce and the bankruptcy of one of John’s businesses made headlines in the paper for weeks, as there was clearly not much to talk about in Hawkins, and for the first time since marrying into money, she didn't want to be recognized.

She promised she wouldn’t punish herself by driving along the street in front of the Velvet Hammer, but she did it anyway. She picked up her white 1970 Jaguar XKE from the secure garage it’d been stored in, and parked across the street to watch you carry a huge painting in while Robin held the door for you. The neon sign for Velvet Ink was clever, and she sat there for over an hour, until Steve finally stepped out of the main building. He squinted up at the daylight, shaking his fist like he wanted to punch the sun, and went next door to shake hands with a woman who was tattooed neck to foot, before unlocking the door to the parlor.

She had plenty of phone numbers for young men who would love to get paid to be her escort, but she was tired of paying people. She wanted someone to want to be with her, and be protective of her, without the money or the status, and she was realizing she didn’t know how to act normal when it came to earning someone’s genuine affection.

So, that night, she was alone at a swanky rooftop bar drinking a dirty martini and listening to someone playing a Christopher Cross instrumental on the piano.

Eating the last olive, she was thinking she’d make her way to her hotel when she felt a body sink down for a seat just one stool over. She smelled him first; a familiar mix of leather and nicotine, but this one had superior taste in cologne as she recognized a hint of cedar and honeysuckle from Dior’s Fahrenheit.

He ordered a beer and a shot of Jameson and then, to her surprise, he leaned over and pointed at her empty glass. “Can I buy you another?”

Her first instinct was to flat out ignore him or say, “no, I can buy my own drinks, thanks,” but then she turned to see who the voice belonged to, and her tongue got stuck on the roof of your mouth.

Maybe ten years her junior, he wore his jet-black hair slicked back, while his full lips and hazel eyes reminded her of someone. She could tell he was tall with broad shoulders, and a couple tattoos exposed where his shirt was pushed up to the elbows. A few chunky metal rings similar to the ones Eddie always wore, and from the insignias on his leather vest, she could see that he was also a member of the Coffin Kings MC.

Charlene notoriously had a thing for outlaws, especially pretty ones, and so she let him buy her that second drink, and then a third.

He said his name was Nick, and she was relieved to find out he appeared to have no clue who she was. She said her name was Rita, and after that third drink, she invited him back to her room to continue the party there.

Inviting a stranger back to her suite was not how she’d expected the evening to go, but the need to feel the weight of him on top of her overrode any common sense that might’ve tried to dissuade her. He was sexy and he made her laugh, and those were the only qualifications she needed at that moment.

After a few hours of getting to know each other in the biblical sense, and enjoying the mini bar, Charlene excused herself to the bathroom.

“I think I need a shower,” she hummed, lifting an eyebrow. “You want to join me?”

He was stretched out on the bed naked with his hands behind his head watching an episode rerun of ER.

“You go ahead, babe,” he seemed to nestle further into the pillows after that term of endearment, shooting her a wink. His Coffin Kings leather was neatly folded over the back of the nearby chair. “I’m gonna make us a couple more drinks.”

She left the bathroom door open a crack, just in case he changed his mind, but then she got fully absorbed in how heavenly the steaming hot water felt. She thought she heard him come into the bathroom at one point, so she peeled the curtain back a few inches, but only found her reflection in the mirror.

By the time she turned the water off, the steam from the hot shower was as thick as soup, and she realized that at one point, he’d shut the door all the way for whatever reason. Perhaps for her modesty? Him being such a gentleman felt almost too good to be true.

“You could order some food from the late-night menu if you’re hungry,” she said from behind the closed door while brushing her hair out. “Pie sounds good for some reason.”

Either he wasn’t responding, or he did, and she just couldn’t hear him over the audience laughter on the TV. She rubbed in some expensive body butter and then checked herself in the mirror a few times while putting the fluffy, white hotel robe on.

“But if you need to go home I’d understand, as long as I can have one more—-”

She opened the door as she spoke, but then stopped dead in her tracks.

Nick was no longer sprawled on the bed, and all of his clothes were gone, even his kutte.

Nothing wrong with that, maybe he went to get ice or to take a phone call.

The suite was large, with a separate sitting room, and so she checked around for a bit before realizing he had, in fact, vanished.

Anxiety rose in her chest but she pushed it down, taking a seat on the edge of the bed to reach for her lipstick on the nightstand.

But the lipstick was in her purse and there was no purse to be found, just a few condom wrappers and tiny, empty bottles of booze.

She’d taken her purse into the bathroom with her, she was sure of it.

After a few sweeps of the place, mumbling to herself in disbelief and horror, Charlene realized that her purse, her money, and her car keys were all gone.

She’d been hustled by a member of the Coffin Kings, and the truth of it made her scream into the palms of her hands.

She sprinted for the window to yank the curtains back. It was the middle of the night, and they were on one of the highest floors, and she couldn’t see the Jaguar from there even with binoculars.

She didn’t even bother to change out of her robe or put shoes on as she bolted from the room. She was pissed, sure, but there were sobs catching in her throat, and that old loneliness dropped like a lead weight, threatening to bring her to her knees.

By the time she rushed breathless into the lobby, Nick and her car were long gone.

—------

For whatever reason, Charlene asked Eddie specifically not to tell Steve; she didn’t want to face him under such lame circumstances. But the two men made an agreement a while back that one would tell the other if they ever heard from her, just to keep miscommunication to a minimum when dealing with someone who had a track record for manipulation.

“She thinks one of you put this Nick guy up to it,” you said, standing at the door watching Eddie get dressed. “As payback or something.”

Eddie frowned, adjusting the strap on his watch. “If I felt like I needed to get back at Charlene, I sure as hell wouldn’t trust someone else with the task. Plus, I didn’t even know she was back in town.”

“Did Steve know?”

The last person you ever wanted to feel bad for was the rich white woman who tried to ruin your life, but still, you didn’t like the idea of any woman getting hustled and used in that way.

Okay, maybe Charlene deserved some payback, but you hated to think that someone from the Coffin Kings was out there making a habit of taking advantage of women in such a spineless way.

Eddie was rummaging through the top dresser drawer. “We don’t even have a member named Nick, so that’s another whole fucking problem.”

“Another charter, maybe?” You followed him into the kitchen.

“Maybe,” he put his leather jacket on while Scully wound herself around his legs. He bent down to pet her and spoke to her in a baby voice before finishing his thought. “Or maybe it’s something worse.”

You didn’t have to ask to know that impersonating a member of the MC was a big problem.

Under any other circumstances, Eddie would wait until the next day to deal with whatever happened to Charlene, but the chop shops worked fast, and if they didn’t hurry, they’d never get her car back.

Why did Eddie even care? He asked himself that on the way to meet Steve at the hotel, rumbling along in his midnight blue, square box Chevy. She could’ve just called the cops and let them sort it out. But Eddie knew that, aside from Hopper, the police force was a joke, and there would be days of paperwork and questioning before anything attempted to get solved. By then, whoever the guy was would be long gone, and the Jaguar on a cargo ship to its next owner.

Steve was already in the parking lot, leaning against his bike with a smoke in his mouth when Eddie rolled up.

“How the hell did you get here so fast?” He asked, slamming the door of his truck.

“Left a message for Miser down at the chop shop,” Steve exhaled, ignoring his friend’s question. “He said he’ll keep an eye out for the car.”

Eddie had already sucked down his ration of cigarettes for the day, so he shoved another piece of gum in his mouth as they made their way to her floor.

There was a crystal chandelier in the lobby and mirrored elevators that gave Eddie the creeps.

“You think it’s some sort of trap?” Steve had his hands in his pockets, leaning in the corner while they traveled up with a Beach Boys instrumental played from a speaker in the ceiling. “Like she’s trying to trick us or something?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Eddie muttered. “I’m not gonna mention it to Bones and the rest until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Still in her robe, Charlene would’ve touched up her makeup to look presentable, but her Estee Lauder compact, and mascara were both in the stolen purse. Also, she was too upset to care. She’d called to cancel the credit cards in her wallet, but there was a bunch of cash that she’d surely never see again. She’d have to contact her bank in the morning, but until then, she was basically squatting in that expensive hotel room.

Eddie did not look happy to see her when she opened the door, but she’d expected as much, tucking her bob of hair behind her ears.

What she hadn’t expected, and what made her breath catch, was that Steve rolled in right behind him, scowling. He had what appeared to be baby spit up on the front of his Santa Cruz skate shirt and dark indents under his eyes.

Steve didn’t acknowledge her, he just breezed into the room and started looking around like he was a seasoned detective at the scene of a murder.

Charlene gave Eddie a look, whispering, “I asked you not to tell him?”

All Eddie could do was shrug, as he was still weary of her intentions, and for good reason.

Steve couldn’t help it, ever since the birth of his daughters, every injustice done to a woman in the world was something that could potentially happen to his girls, and he wasn’t having it.

“What did he look like?” Eddie asked the question just as Steve spun on his heel at the other side of the bed.

Hands on hips, she gave the description as best she could, and it sounded like half the guys in the club.

“He said his name was Nick?” Steve picked up the remote to turn the TV up a notch. Unsolved Mysteries was on and he was suddenly interested, forever distracted. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

Charlene scoffed. “I had no reason to think he was lying? I didn’t ask to check his driver’s license.”

“Maybe you should from now on,” Steve kept his eyes on the screen, sitting down at the end of the bed. “The way you go through men like a meat grinder.”

“Look who’s talking, Romeo,” she spit back.

Charlene turned to complain to Eddie, but instead he held his hand up, palm out to silence her. “Are you sure he was with the Coffin Kings?”

Charlene tightened the sash on her robe. “Okay, you two can feel however you want about me, but you know I’m nothing if not observant.”

The two were silent in agreement.

“His leather vest looked just like the ones you have on now. Black, tooled leather with the reaper holding a coffin on the back. Embroidered insignias on the front as well.”

“Did it have a nickname or rank?” Eddie stuffed a third piece of wintermint gum in his mouth while Steve lit another smoke. The smell of the nicotine made Eddie’s hand twitch and his muscles ache.

Charlene shook her head after a moment of contemplation. “He didn’t have a name on his cut, but Hawkins was the charter, I’m positive.”

Both men shared a look before Steve got to his feet. “So you had your car stolen, what’s the big deal? Don’t you have like a hundred of them?”

Charlene shot him a look, reminding herself not to be a bitch. “That car belonged to my dad. It was special. He’s the only person in this world who ever gave a shit about me.” She went to the bedside table to grab a half empty travel size bottle of Jameson and drank the rest. “That’s why I kept it in storage. I couldn't take it with me, and I didn’t want to sell it.”

Eddie scratched the stubble on his chin, thinking about how he couldn’t wait to go home to crawl in bed with you and the cats.

“How much is it worth?” Steve asked out of curiosity.

Charlene shrugged, leaning against the wall to cross her feet at the ankles. “Dunno what it would go for today. Easily 300K.”

Eddie almost choked on his wad of gum thinking of what he could do with that much dough.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You better hope this Nicky is stupid and greedy enough to sell it locally, or we might be shit out of luck.”

—-----

You felt Eddie slink in under the covers to spoon you early in the morning before dawn, but you were too tired to look at the clock or ask him how it went. Charlie was curled up at your feet and Scully took her pregnant belly over to nestle behind Eddie’s knees and purr.

He wasn’t in bed with you at quarter to 8 when you finally rose from sleep, and for a second, you thought maybe you’d only dreamed about him coming home, until you saw the note he’d left on the nightstand.

Had to run again

Tell you everything later

Left the coffee on

Love you infinity, Eddie

The way he always signed his notes made you chuckle, as if anyone else would be leaving notes for you at the house. You folded it up and tucked it into the shoebox in the closet where you stashed all of his notes to you.

After a half hour of letting yourself rejoin the living on a much-needed day off, you went up to the studio to stare at the two paintings you were working on, but your reverie was shattered when the phone rang.

Breathless, you answered to find that it was Robin. The shrill wail of a screaming child sounded from somewhere in the background.

“Is Steve there at your place?” She sounded rightfully flustered.

“No, um,” you looked around the kitchen as if maybe he was there, you just didn’t know it. “Eddie was here but then he left again. They might be together?”

A thoughtful silence and then, “Steve never came home last night. We assumed he stayed at your place.”

You were shaking your head but then realized Steve could have slept in the living room and you wouldn’t have been the wiser. You walked through the house to see if there was a blanket on the couch, but it was as tidy as you’d left it before bed.

“Are you busy right now?” Robin continued, making the executive decision to worry about Steve’s whereabouts later.

That was a loaded question, and even though you had plenty to do, you knew that was Robin’s way of saying she needed help. “Not…right this minute.”

“I hate to ask,” it was true, she really did hate to ask for help, but sometimes it was necessary. “Could you come over here for an hour or so? Katie has teacher conferences, I have to go to the Hammer, and as you know, Steve is MIA…”

“Sure,” Mae let out another earth-cracking wail that made you fear for your life. “Be there in ten minutes.”

—------

Miser’s underground chop shop operated behind one of the oldest buildings in Hawkins; solid brick, using a mom-and-pop place to get an oil change as a front during the day, but at night, stolen cars were stripped for parts and/or sold on the black market. The building was huge, and had once been a busy hotel and saloon, as it was near the train station.

Miser himself was short and muscular with a gray, handlebar mustache, a rodeo buckle from his old bareback days, and a cowboy hat. He’d been a pillar of the community for decades, and one of the last few anyone would suspect of illegal activity.

That morning, Eddie, Steve, Van, and Devlin rolled into the alley, passed the No Trespassing signs, and settled at the locked garage door. Miser’s Old Lady was one of the head Hells Belles named Jackal, and she came out of the back door with him. A long ponytail of silver hair, she lit a smoke and gave the guys a tip of her chin.

“That car you said to look out for? The white Jaguar?”

Eddie and Steve still had their sunglasses on, nodding once in unison his question.

“The guy showed up an hour ago,” Jackal inclined her head, whispering. “He’s been here before. He’s with another crew that likes to scam older women and take their shit.”

Steve and Eddie exchanged a look with the other two members, palms itching to get their hands on him.

“I asked him about the Kings flash,” Jackal continued. “He said he was from another charter, but he didn’t know who Bones was.”

Bones, President of the Coffin Kings Hawkins charter, was one of the first original 9 members of the MC when they first banded in the 60’s. Every CK member from Indiana to California knew exactly who Bones was.

So, this guy Nick just made it to the top of their shit list.

“This might get messy,” Eddie said to Miser.

“We got you,” Jackal confirmed, waving for them to follow her.

At the far end of the building, a door opened, and a guy with slick black hair, wearing a Coffin Kings kutte stepped out.

“Shit, that’s him—” Miser hissed, reaching for the Ruger at his hip.

But it was too late, the guy saw them and bolted.

Steve cursed, letting out after him on foot alongside Jackal, while Eddie and the others pursued on their bikes.

Around the next building, there was a car waiting for Nick—a plain white sedan—and even after Steve summoned his high school athlete days, he still couldn’t catch up. Nick jumped in the passenger seat and the vehicle peeled out, throwing dust up into Steve’s face as his arms windmilled to a halt.

“Fuck,” Steve took his sunglasses off and threw them to the gravel, nostrils flaring as he watched the vehicle flee.

Miser sent a gunshot, aiming for the front tire, but missed as the car picked up speed.

Eddie and the others continued on in hot pursuit, and Jackal motioned for Steve to get into her truck that was nearby: a lifted navy Bronco with monster tires. Steve had to grip onto the side bar to heft himself up into it, and then she gunned it, skidding out of the parking lot.

The sedan led them on a wild chase over the railroad tracks, skirting the center of town to avoid the cops. Eddie and Van made their way to the side of the vehicle and Van cracked the driver’s side window with the hilt of his knife, making them swerve. The car dove into the nearby alfalfa field, going where they knew the motorcycles couldn’t follow.

But, Jackal’s Bronco was made for the mud.

“Hold on—” she warned Steve.

“I’m holding,” Steve said through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed on the target in front of them, his fist tight on the grab handle above his head.

The sedan almost got its back tire stuck in the ditch, but the Bronco bounced right through the muck like it was a paved road, tractor tread crawling along like a tank.

While Steve and Jackal took a diagonal course through farmland, Eddie and the rest took the next side road, aiming to cut them off before they could hit the highway.

—-----

You were on your way to Robin’s when you caught sight of a white car being chased through a field by what looked like a monster truck from one of rallies at the coliseum.

“What…the—-”

It was far enough away that you didn’t feel in danger, but you slowed down to see if you could understand what was happening.

But then three riders on motorcycles were headed in your direction at full tilt, so you pulled off to the side of the road to get out of their way, wondering if you knew any of them—-

“Eddie?” You squinted, wanting to be mistaken.

Indeed that was your boyfriend leading the pack.

He saw you as they passed at lightning speed and picked up his hand in a wave.

You sat there for a while, watching the three of them disappear in your rearview mirror, clearly angling to beat whoever was driving their car through the crop rows.

After a heavy sigh, you dropped your shoulders and kept on in the direction you were headed.

Three years ago, you would’ve freaked out and followed them. But at that point in the relationship, such a scene was par for the course, and you knew it was best to stay out of it.

—----

Up ahead was a sharp turn in the bend, and Devlin sped up to angle the sedan away from the street. His approach clipped the bumper of the car, making it lose control, forcing it back into the ditch, but it also made his own bike go flying. Thankfully he was thrown free before the hunk of metal landed on his leg, skidding across the gravel.

Jackal rode her tire up onto the back of the sedan, pinning it there as the two men inside fled.

Steve was on the ground so fast, he could barely find his feet. His legs felt like that of a roadrunner in one of the cartoons, flying in circles.

Eddie snagged the driver, throwing him into the dirt with a grunt, followed with a punch of his fist. The driver was gangly, with a prison spider web tat on his elbow and dishwater blonde hair styled in a mullet.

Nick climbed up onto the main road and bolted, until Jackal aimed and shot a bullet so close to his head, the heat grazed his ear.

That made him stutter to a halt, just in time for Steve to tackle him at the waist, putting him down hard on the pavement. Van took Eddie’s place, putting his knee into the driver’s back, pinning him there while the rest went to deal with the Coffin Kings imposter.

No words were exchanged for a while, just Nick sputtering in pain while Eddie rolled him over to check his pockets.

He found a wad of bills and waved it in Nick’s bloody face.

“C’mon man, that’s like 2 grand—-” Nick protested through a busted lip before Steve punched him again.

“Yeah, it’s real nice,” Eddie flashed a grin, standing to tuck the money in the top pocket of his leather. “Take that thing off of him.”

Steve and Devlin got the leather vest off, making sure they hurt him in the process, and then Devlin put his boot on the guys belly to keep him there.

Eddie inspected the insignia’s, noticing there were no rank or name placards, and the material wasn’t even real leather.

Eddie gripped it in his fist. “Where the fuck did you get this?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear,” Nick wiggled, grimacing at the weight of Devlin’s foot. “Just let me go, okay?”

Steve bent down to lap the guys face with the back of his hand. “He asked you a question.”

Nick looked like he’d rather vomit than tell the truth, but then Jackal stepped up and pointed her gun at him.

“Okay okay!” He squirmed. “M-my mom made it for me, alright? For my birthday a few weeks ago.”

None of them had been expecting that, but they all made eye contact and snickered in disbelief; Eddie’s grin nearly split his face open right before his expression turned dark again.

“Tell your mom to come see us sometime, we’ll put her to work,” he joked. “But you? You’re fucking done, do you understand—?”

Steve pulled Nick to his feet by his shirt and got in his face, jaw tense. “I should kill you for what you did to her.”

Eddie gave a sideway look, not expecting Steve to still have so much heat under his protectiveness for that woman. Maybe that’s part of what having daughters did to a man.

“B-b-but you’re not going to, right?” Nick blubbered. “We’re cool?”

“We’re far from cool,” Steve pulled him close to whisper in his ear. “I’ll be coming for you.”

And then Steve shoved him so that he tripped over his feet backwards and fell again.

“You better run, cowboy,” Jackal shot a bullet into the ground at his feet, and he let out a high-pitched scream before taking off down the road on foot.

“I see either of you again, you’re dead. Understand?” Eddie shouted after both of them as Van let go of his death grip on the driver.

The two were too scared to look back; too busy scurrying away as fast along the corn field to care about how stupid they looked.

“Hey, War Machine,” Van brushed blonde hair away from his beard stubble. “Was that your girl we passed back there?”

Eddie checked over his shoulder in the direction of the farmhouse, wondering where you’d been headed, exhaling a long breath. “Yeah, it was.”

—-----

You only saw Robin in passing once you arrived at the house and parked behind the Airstream. Oliver was at school, so it would be the three young girls with you and Astrid.

The twins were on the floor in the living room, coloring, and you couldn’t get over how much Gracie looked like Steve. Since they were fraternal, Rue resembled her sibling, but was also very different. She had Astrid’s wild hair and a face that didn’t quite resemble either of their parents; Astrid said she was the spitting image of their grandmother, Evelyn.

Astrid came around the corner cradling Mae in her arms with her mane of black hair back in a clip, and her eyes were puffy.

“Please take her,” she groaned, handing over Mae into your arms with a sigh of relief. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Mae had a pacifier in her mouth, but you could tell she was smiling up at you, lids droopy. You began that automatic movement of rocking her in your arms. You’d never been around many babies in your life, but the soothing gesture seemed to be ingrained in your dna.

Astrid flopped heavily into the kitchen chair with a groan. “Did Robin tell you Steve never came home last night?”

“She did,” you bent to kiss Mae’s soft forehead. “Eddie came home late and left early, so Steve might’ve been with him, and I just didn’t know it.”

“It’s not like Steve to not leave a note or let me know somehow,” she started picking at an invisible thread on her peach dress that buttoned down the front. “Do you think he did anything with Charlene?”

You were shocked at the question, but your friend looked like she hadn’t slept in days and perhaps wasn’t processing thoughts at peak capacity.

“Oh god no, Astrid,” Mae squirmed, kicking her strong little legs a few times in her Big Bird onesie, and you sat down in the chair next to Astrid. “Steve would never, and I think you know that. He’d cut his own hand off before he did anything as stupid as cheat on you.”

“Maybe,” she swallowed hard like she was trying to push down a sob. “We just…can’t seem to connect like we used to, and I’m just…just…”

She covered her face with both hands and cursed into her palms.

“Hey,” you leaned forward with a free arm to rub soothing circles on her back. “I’ll stay out here with the girls if you want to take a nap or something? Slam some beers in the bathroom, whatever.”

Astrid chuckled a bit at that, sliding her hands down her face and into her lap. “Maybe I do need some sleep.”

From where you sat, you could see the twins on the floor in the next room with papers and crayons scattered about. Just then, you noticed that Rue was headed in your direction, curls bouncing around her face.

There was a tiny frown on her face, like she’d been concentrating, and she handed each of you a piece of lined notebook paper that had been ripped in half.

Apparently, she’d made some drawings, but before you could say anything, she was off again, determined to get back to her work.

“Thank you Rue, I love you,” you called after her.

“One is from meeee!” Gracie shouted.

“I love you too, Gracie,” you laughed, staring fondly down at the mess of colorful scribbles.

“They want to be like their big brother so bad,” Astrid had tears in her eyes, but for a different reason this time; she was so proud of her little family, so grateful to be a mother.

When you held the paper up to the light, you noticed that there was some writing on the back of it, so you turned it over.

My hot wife —

Slept in trailer, didn’t want to wake the girls

Can’t wait to kiss you again

I love you

“Um, I think you should see this—” you passed the note to Astrid, and enjoyed watching the relief spread across her face as she read it.

—------

A few hours later, Steve rolled up to Munson’s Garage in the Jaguar, after giving it a test run around the hills to enjoy how smooth it took corners. He found Charlene already waiting there on a bench in the shade, talking with Wayne who wore a pair of light blue coveralls.

Wayne got to his feet while Steve pulled the sportscar up to the closest parking spot.

“Took you long enough,” Uncle barked at him, crossing his arms. “Cab dropped her off an hour ago.”

He’d left the top down, so his hair was a mess, and he pushed his sunglasses up, eyeing the two.

“No, it’s fine,” Charlene shrugged, looking relaxed. “I had good company.” She had on a teal, halter top pant suit with matching heels, and she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Steve put one booted foot up on the bench seat next to her. “Yeahm, so, that guy Nick, he wasn’t—”

“I know,” Charlene reluctantly held her hand out to take the keys he was offering. “Eddie told me. I’d like to say I’ve learned my lesson, but probably not.”

“No woman deserves that,” Wayne said, giving Steve a pointed look. “I hope you boys took care of it.”

“We did,” Steve met his gaze, letting him know without words that the dude wouldn’t be hanging around Hawkins if he had a lick of sense.

Wayne said a polite goodbye to Charlene before heading back to the shop.

“You never mentioned how charming your uncle is,” she said, running a hand through her hair.

“Stay away from Wayne,” Steve grumbled, sitting down across from her.

“I didn’t mean—” she got flustered and then straightened. “He reminds me of my dad, that’s all I meant. Nothing nefarious.”

“Never can tell with you,” he muttered, fumbling to rip the wrapper off a soft pack of Camels with his teeth. He told himself he wouldn’t buy another pack, but he lied.

There was silence while Steve lit his smoke, all but for the sound of faint rock music and an electric drill from one of the garages.

“So,” she chanced. “I hear you have a big family now.”

“Yeah, what about ‘em?” He scowled at her after a hearty inhale.

Charlene lifted both palms out as a sign of surrender. “Forget it, I was going to say I’m happy for you.”

Steve snorted. “You expect me to believe that, after all the shit you pulled, that you actually give a shit about anyone?”

She’d expected that, and she knew she deserved it.

“I give a shit about you,” she muttered. “I would’ve done anything for you.”

The sincerity confused him but then he pushed his shoulders back. “I’ve got everything I ever wanted, and I won’t let anyone fuck with that. ‘Specially not you.”

“Understood,” she said, rubbing her magenta lips together with a nod.

“I want you to be happy, though,” he softened his tone. “I cared about you once, and that means I always will, no matter how much I wish that weren’t true. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“That’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she scoffed a self-deprecating laugh.

“That sucks,” Steve exhaled through his nostrils. “You’ve got a good heart, Charlene. It’s just too bad you don’t know how to use it.”

A car pulled into the compound and at first, Steve didn’t pay much attention until he saw over his shoulder that it was you.

With Astrid and the girls.

—-----

Eddie turned the radio up in the garage when Come and Get It by Judas Priest came on, and then wiped his hands on a red rag as he made his way to the office. Although the finances at the Hammer and the garage were handled separately, he’d hired one accountant he trusted to take care of it all, and she’d just left a stack of paperwork for him to sign.

On the wall behind the desk was a framed photo of the two of you together, hugging in the front doorway of the farmhouse the first day you’d moved in. The flashback made his mouth twitch in a smile, as he had so many fond memories of those first couple weeks, back when there was nothing but a mattress on the floor and several leaks in the roof he had to control with various buckets. It was just the two of you, making love and whispering about lifetimes of devotion.

He had a secret place in the metal file cabinet where he kept all of the notes you’d left in his lunch over the months, and he had this tugging need to look through them again just before he caught sight of your car coming through the open gate and into the compound. Wayne was gone, but there on the picnic table sat Charlene and Steve, and before he could think too much about it, his feet were moving, wrenching the door open to make his way across the lot.

Steve jumped up when he saw you angling for a parking spot nearby. Oh shit, Eddie realized you had Astrid and the girls with you, too. The fact that they’d helped Charlene was no secret, but still, it made him feel uneasy with everyone about to converge in one spot.

—------

“Please tell me that is not Charlene,” Astrid whispered, eyeing the profile of the woman sitting across from her husband.

“I’m afraid that is exactly who it is,” you muttered, suddenly feeling like maybe it wasn’t a great idea to bring the girls by to visit daddy at work. It had been a while, and you assumed she’d be gone by then.

But it was too late now. You recognized the Jaguar parked nearby; it was the same one she brought in for Eddie to fix that first day you met.

All three girls were safely in car seats in the back, and when Astrid went to step out, Steve was right there, blocking her exit.

Funny enough, Eddie did the same, but on your side. He was there so fast, you accidentally hit his leg with the door.

“What a sight for sore eyes,” he grinned, pulling you flush to him while tipping your chin up for a kiss.

With lips still brushing together, you mumbled: “What the hell is she still doing here?”

And then through gritted teeth, Eddie responded: “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Steve went to grab for Astrid right away, hands at her hips, and she let him, but her attention was over his shoulder.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, gorgeous?” He murmured, noticing that she’d put on some mascara and deep burgundy lipstick after not wearing makeup for months.

Steve only shuffled back a few steps to allow her to shut the door, but then he continued to act as a barrier to keep her from going any further. He bent down to knock on the back window, waving to the twins as Mae slept in the car seat between them. Gracie shouted “daddy!” and held her hand out as if he could grab it through the glass.

Steve glanced sideways at Eddie. “So, should we all go get pizza or something? At that one place with the bouncy balls that the girls like? My treat. If you head over there, we’ll meet you—-”

Eddie was close to telling his friend to shut the hell up, as it felt like his babbling was only making things worse.

Astrid kissed his cheek. “Please move out of my way, Steven.”

—----

Charlene stood up and took hold of the keys to head for the Jaguar. She could tell by the looks you and Astrid were sharing that she’d managed to make things awkward, and more than anything, she felt embarrassed.

But, she took a step away from the picnic bench just in time to see Steve’s twin daughters come bouncing out of the vehicle in matching Oshkosh overalls and her chest tightened—-oh god, one of them was the spitting image of Steve.

And why were the two tiny girls headed that way on their little wobbly legs as if they knew her?

“Slow down, Rue!” Astrid called after them as Steve fumbled at getting the car seat out that had Mae inside.

“She’s, um, she was just leaving,” Steve grunted, trying to move the apparatus out without waking the baby. Astrid was already rushing to catch up with the girls, making each of them hold one of her hands.

For some reason, Charlene was frozen. Locking eyes with Gracie, knowing they were Steve’s hazel eyes, accumulated with the rest of her regrets like a punch to the gut.

Her deep dark secret was that she’d always wanted children of her own, but John refused.

You and Eddie followed them over, albeit reluctantly. If there were ever some serious conversation that needed to be had with Charlene, it certainly wouldn’t be done with the kids there, and so you weren’t at all sure what could possibly unfold.

Although Charlene and Astrid had spent a very tense few moments together the night Craig was shot, they’d never shared more than a few words with each other. Last night, when Steve got the page from Eddie, she’d known it was about Charlene before he even said a thing; she could feel her arriving in her bones like some might feel the impending threat of cold weather.

Steve hurried to get between the two women and set the baby carrier on the picnic table. Gracie was on her tiptoes with her arms up, begging him to put her on his shoulders, and so he did, and she took hold of his hair like a saddle horn.

“Glad we could meet under better circumstances,” Astrid said to Charlene, sincerely.

Eddie put his arm around your shoulder and you sank into him, wrapping both arms around his middle. You wished you could hide under his blue and black flannel so no one could see you.

“You have a really beautiful family,” was all Charlene could think to say as she caught sight of Steve’s third daughter.

“Thank you,” Astrid replied, maintaining steady eye contact.

There were a few strained silences, and you could feel Eddie wanting to fill them, but suddenly he burst out with:

“Did you want to come by the Hammer and see what we’ve done with the place?” He chirped, rubbing your arm almost violently.

Your whole body tensed at that, and you could see that it was the same physical response for Steve.

“No, that’s…I’m good,” Charlene removed the Gucci sunglasses from the top of her head and put them over her eyes. “There are several cargo crates of my things being sent to Hawaii right now, and I have a flight to catch. But I’m sure you’ve done well with it.”

But it was Rue who broke the next silence.

She’d wandered a few yards over to the fence and back, carrying two bright yellow dandelions pinched between her fingers.

She was right there, blocking Charlene’s path to her car, arm outstretched to offer her one.

“For me?” Charlene was genuinely confused, and not accustomed to the wholesome kindness often displayed by children.

Rue just nodded, tucking the other one behind her ear so that the bloom was at her cheek.

The rest of you exchanged a few baffled looks—all but Astrid, because she knew what was happening. She knew then that her daughter carried the same gift she’d been born with; the gift of intuitive sight. Even at her young age, Rue could read people and their intentions, and she knew that Charlene was no longer a threat to them. She knew that everyone in that parking lot deserved healing and forgiveness.

“Like this?” Charlene put the flower in her hair the same way with tentative fingers, and Rue nodded again, moving around the woman to walk back over to her family.

Astrid scooped Rue up into her arms.

Charlene took one last look over at the group as she drove out of the compound, seeing the way you all smiled at each other, continuing on with conversation as if she’d never been there. You were all visibly relieved to no longer be sharing space with her, but Rue had been able to see her with fresh eyes, without all of the pain and suffering she’d inflicted on others and on herself. There’d been no judgment or weariness in that child’s eyes; just curiosity and love. It gave her a bit of hope that maybe she could…start over. Maybe she’d fall in love again with a guy who wasn’t Steve, maybe she’d adopt a child of her own one day, or maybe…she’d get a dog and call it a day.

—------

A few days later, you couldn’t find Scully, and the two of you fell into panic mode.

“Did you let her out?” Eddie snapped. “You know we need to keep her inside this close to the due date.”

Eddie was a mess. Granted, you were upset too, but he was ready to tear the whole house apart looking for her, and then some. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself seeing how devoted he was to this once stray cat. Some nights he even made room between the two of you so that Scully could sleep in the middle.

But finally, a soft mewing from the closet alerted you to the fact that she’d tucked herself away in the dark to have her babies.

“Honey, come look,” you whispered down the hall to him.

There she was, snuggled back in the corner in a box of old sweatshirts, nursing four tiny baby kittens. She had one more a half hour later to make the final count five. Two black, one gray, one black and white, and one orange striper.

“Daddy must’ve been an orange guy, hey my darling?” He hummed a conversation to Scully as you picked them all up to put down some fresh blankets, making sure she had food and water nearby.

“What should we name them?” Eddie asked as you both sat in the doorway, watching them nuzzle together for sleep.

“I think we should let Oliver name the orange little girl, since I know that’s the one he’ll pick,” you whispered, to which Eddie agreed. “Maybe I’ll name the gray one Keanu,” you said, mostly joking, but Eddie didn’t seem bothered. As soon as it was possible, Scully would be back at the vet to get fixed, but you were grateful to have this experience with him.

“Can I name the black ones Dio and Vecna?” He asked, hopefully.

“What kind of a name is Vecna?” You wrinkled your nose. “Should we call him Vicky for short?”

“The black and white looks like a Leia,” he continued, eyes sparkling.

“Leia is a good name,” you hummed, putting your cheek on his shoulder.

You moved Scully and her box of babies into your bedroom so that she would be closer if she needed anything, but then in the middle of the night, she moved the kittens back to the same spot in the guest bedroom closet, so then that is where you let her stay.

Later that night, you were in the kitchen cleaning up before bed, when you heard Eddie singing a song under his breath in the next room:

“Hey little girl is your daddy home, did he go and leave you all alone…”

You thought you recognized it as you scrubbed a dish, eyes darting to the window to watch two motorcycles zoom by on the dark highway in the distance.

“I got a bad desire…”

On the refrigerator behind you, secured by magnets, were photo snapshots of the two of you with Steve and Astrid, Robin and Katie, Gracie, Rue and one of Mae when she was first born. There was one of Wayne twenty years ago, standing with Taz and War Machine as two gangly teenagers. There was a long strip from a photo booth at the fair with you, Eddie, and Oliver all making faces for the camera.

“Tell me now, baby, is he good to you

Can he do to you the things that I do? I can take you higher…”

He’d been folding the blanket on the couch and blowing out candles, but then he was on his way to you as the mumbled lyrics got clearer:

“Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull

And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull…”

You finished what you were doing, but then you stayed still, feeling him come up behind.

“At night, I wake up with the sheets soaking wet

And a freight train running through the middle of my head…”

You leaned back, letting yourself be caged in his embrace; his head dipping to kiss your neck. You thought about that day on the side of the road when he picked you up in the tow truck, and how it didn’t feel like you were meeting for the first time but more, coming back together after a lifetime apart.

His lips ghosted the shell of your ear. “Only you can cool my desire…”

After that first kiss years ago, you knew there would never be another option for you; Eddie Munson was endgame. Having tasted true love once in your life, you felt like you could die happy.

But not until you rode the highway of life for a long, long time. Even at the end, you’d still be holding on tight.

“...Oh oh oh I’m on Fire…”

—------

The Epilogue of an Epilogue

“Yo, Steve. Package for you.”

It was Thumper, working the door at the Velvet Hammer for what promised to be a wild Friday night. Max ended up showing interest in the Assistant Manager position, after deciding that long haul trucking was taking a toll on her need to start a family, and Robin couldn’t hire her fast enough. Jeff also came on as a part-time bartender, leaving you pleasantly surprised and wondering what other skill sets he had up his sleeve.

Steve had just come through the door to ask Shana for a cup of coffee when the crumpled brown piece of mail flew at his chest. He caught it, but took the time to throw Thumper a dirty look.

“Ease up, boss,” the burly biker grumbled through a huge grin. “Since when do you have a penpal in Hawaii?”

He stopped in his tracks at that, afraid to look down. Afraid to open it, even. Steve’s newest ink—-Mae’s name on the back of his hand—-glistened from the recent layer of Aquaphor.

He asked for his coffee with a pound of sugar and sat at the end of the bar, frowning.

The return address was a P.O. box in Honolulu without a name, but he didn’t even have to wonder. He was sure he could smell the Chanel through the packaging.

Inside was a ring of keys.

Car keys, clearly, but it took him a second to understand what they belonged to and why they looked so familiar in his hand.

There was also a note:

These are the keys to the Jaguar. It’s parked in a secure garage at the airport, instructions also enclosed.

Every time I drive it, I get myself in trouble. Hopefully you will have better luck, or maybe Rue can have it when she gets older.

The dandelion was a fair trade.

—----

I have so much to say, so much love to give to you all, and I hope you can feel it through the words. I'm so deeply grateful for each one of you and this experience. Whether you have left comments, reblogs, thoughtful asks, or edits, I remember you and you are special to me. I would give anything to meet up at the Velvet Hammer for cocktails (and/or tea, of course) but here are a few in particular I'd like to thank:

Huge thank you to @cryptidcurio for being the initial inspiration for this fic in the first place, and for always feeding me the best ideas. Some of the most popular scenes in this series are from her. Our biker Eddie and biker Steve talks seem to have somehow gotten us through the past hellish year, I love you. I'm so grateful for @texasblues and all of our chats about Steve, Astrid, Wayne, and the girls. Truly, the only reason Astrid and Steve are so perfect is because of Jennie and our brainstorming. We chat a lot about what Rue, Gracie, and Mae will be like when they are older, and hopefully we'll have a few blurbs about that someday. Also, I highly recommend her Steve & Astrid writings HERE My beautiful friend @dandelionnfluff decided to do a bind of I'm on Fire for their personal use and I am still choked up about how much work they put in and how gorgeous it is. You can see their amazing work here: book bind

-------

Taglist: @notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose

@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724

#I'm on Fire #IoF #biker!Eddie #biker!Steve #biker Eddie Munson #biker Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson fanfiction #biker au #Robin Buckley #Steve Harrington

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octuscle · 7 months ago

Note

Hey man, I’ve been having problems with my roommate lately, he’s been getting into leather, and it’s getting weirder by the night. Apart from the random people I see leaving his room every morning, he’s been asking me to try one of his leather jackets, claiming that “i’ll love it”. I don’t know what to do, I’m not all that interested in finding out what is life is like when he leaves at night.

Dude, I just saw your latest reel on Instagram. Totally lit:

"Yo, what's up fellow riders? It's your boy, Jay, here to drop some truth bombs about why leather is the sickest gear you can rock on your bike.

Let me tell ya, there's nothing hotter than sliding into a leather jacket and pants combo before hittin' the road. And I ain't just talkin' about the temperature, although leather does keep you warm when the wind starts howlin'. Nah, I'm talkin' about that badass vibe you get, like you're ready to tear up the streets.

First off, let's talk looks. When you're struttin' around in leather, you look like a straight-up boss. I mean, it hugs your muscles in all the right places, showin' off all that hard work you've been putting in at the gym. People see you rollin' by and they know you mean business.

But it ain't just about looks, bros. Leather also makes you feel invincible. It's like a second skin that gives you that extra boost of confidence. You know you're protected if things go south on the road. Plus, when you're revvin' up that engine, the leather amplifies the roar, makin' you feel like you're on top of the world.

And let's not forget about the guys. Rockin' leather? It's like catnip for them. They see you in that gear, and they can't help but swoon. It's like you're the lead in your own action movie, and they wanna be along for the ride.

So, next time you're gearin' up for a ride, remember one thing: leather ain't just a material, it's a lifestyle. And trust me, it's the hottest gear you can rock on two wheels. Ride on, brothers!“

Looks like you share your roommate's fetish. That, and a few more things. Have fun with it!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #leather tf #ai image

91 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 9 months ago

Text

you got your claws in me honey, like a tiger in love

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: you arrive at your estranged uncle's door. what else is there to do but catch up over grilled cheese? well, if you have anything to say about it, you might end up doing a bit more.

warnings: dbf!dieter, grilled cheese as a way to guilt trip your dad's best friend/uncle into fucking you, drug use (weed), raising arizona that comes with its own warning, flirting with someone twice your age, no smut — that’s what part 2 is for, reminiscing, a cliffhanger? 👀

a/n: the original fic came out MONTHS before the mcu rumors, so either i have precognition, or the apocalypse is becoming predicable. happy valentine's day you filthy animals because nothing says romance like porking your dad's best friend

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From the voicemail of Mr. Paul Landeau, official Hollywood talent manager and agent to one Mr. Dieter Bravo . . .

Tuesday, 6:43PM

No, I’m not doing it. I’m not.

There has to be something else out there. Look, I know Fire Monsters: A Cliff Beasts story didn’t do as well as we hoped, but Reddit says it could be a cult classic so why don’t you focus on making that happen, okay? Instead of giving me shit roles like this. I’m not doing it.

– the sound of a door opening and the phone being shuffled – – a zipper rips – – liquid pouring –

We fucking talked about this, man. I told you I needed something different, something new. Tiktok is just reels of me screaming and dying – it’s fucking bullshit –

– more liquid –

I’m done playing the fucking bad guy. I’m not signing any more headless action figures for those little snot-nosed, little fuckers in line. I’m not asking to sign their moms’ tits, either – okay, maybe – but Jesus Christ, Paul, what you sent over is, like, the opposite of where I need to be. It’s for little teeny boppers with one or two B horror movies under their belt to finally break out into the mainstream – or where actors over forty go to cash in an easy paycheck. And yes, I fucking know we need something, but fuck – is this really all there is?

– liquid stops pouring – – zipper rips – – the sound of a toilet flushing –

Don’t fucking call me back, Paul, unless you’ve got something. Something real.

Tuesday, 8:23PM

OW! Motherf–

– a skillet clattering –

Okay – fuck, that hurts – okay, Paul, what about this? It came to me in the bathroom. Remember Jack from the Christmas party at the studio’s place? So, he’s got those two Sundance films, right, but they’re in Spanish, so not appealing to an American audience. Nicki told me that he’s thinking about doing another project, one with a wider appeal, and I’m thinking I should totally give him a call. I think we could vibe. I really liked his stuff – reminded me of my old small town, fucking around with the neighbor kids, you know? Kinda hometown hero sort of thing.

– sharp inhale then a cough –

It’s not my usual thing, but I think we should give it a try. Gimme a call.

Oh, do you know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich? Been craving one but I think I might burn down my house if I try again and UberEats doesn’t reach the good places further south. Oh, fuck, wait –

Hey Google, how do you make a fucking excellent grilled cheese?

Tuesday, 9:21PM

No, fucking–

Siri – how.do.you.treat.a.burn?

Calling. . . Burger King . . .

No! Fuck!

Tuesday, 10:49PM

Paul-y! Baby! Paul-ito!

Don’t worry. I got an idea that’s going to make us a million dollars.

A shop that makes only grilled cheese. But like – fancy grilled cheese. What do the kids fucking call it, ah – boogie – yeah, boogie grilled cheese. Like gouda and white cheddar, and butter churned by blind nuns or some shit. Tomato soups that have been blessed by the Dalai Lama.

Big sign out front that says, Vegans Can Eat Shit.

They’ll eat it up.

Fuck yeah, they will.

– silence for three minutes and sixteen seconds –

Fuck acting, man. Fuck this place.

And fuck this fucking cheese that keeps burning – goddamn it!

Tuesday, 11:52PM

Paul, why don’t we hang out anymore?

When I got started, we hung out all the time, man.

Hot dogs on the Santa Monica pier. Beer in the Pacific Ocean.

You showed me all the cool spots that no one else in LA knew about. You got me my first bump and my first stripper. God, that was fucking wild, man, you remember? I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. Did I ever tell you that before? Coke probably didn’t help a kid from a small town in South Cali, but – fuck, it made me feel better. Like I could get my shit together if I really tried.

What, are you too good for me now – is that it? Am I not good enough for you, huh?

Look, I’ve got Raising Arizona on right now, so why don’t you come over with a six pack –

Oh, shit, that’s right. You got a fucking family now.

Not a good influence, ol’ Dee.

Not a good –

Wednesday, 1:05AM

Fine, Paul. Fine.

I’ll play Mr. Fantastic in the Fantastic Four reboot.

Dieter’s thumb brushes the red End Call button and tosses his phone onto the kitchen island with a growl. He can feel himself coming down from the bump earlier – a thing he absolutely did not want to happen – and he shoves his palms into his eye sockets.

There is more coke upstairs, but that would require him to walk through his very long hallways to get there. Very long, and dark, and empty hallways.

He should have asked Maria to stay once she was done with the laundry. He would have done it right too – big bowl of popcorn, fully dressed, with a sign around his neck that said, I promise I’m not trying to sleep with you.

He is becoming increasingly aware of how many erratic voicemails he just left for his agent, aware that behavior like that was libel to get him a sit down in Paul’s office with all the blinds and windows closed, Paul’s narrow face serious and using Concerned Emotion #5, as he asks, “do we need to go back to rehab, Dieter?”

We.

There once was a “we”, now there was just “he” – in a house with seven bedrooms and a pool that could fit a sixteen wheeler in it.

And TWO kitchens – why the fuck did he think he needed two kitchens –

Well, he knew he didn’t need two, but it would have been cool to show them off to someone – If there was anyone to show them off to . . .

Fuck this downer mood.

Dieter snatches up his phone again, and the movement brings up his latest apps. UberEats is the second one. He taps in a few keywords, blatantly ignoring his latest call list.

Goddamn Burger King . . .

The front doorbell rings.

Dieter frowns, pulling the screen closer under his big nose. Now, he knows he is high and he knows he should be wearing his glasses when reading but there’s no fucking way . . .

He goes out of the kitchen, the room still smelling of burnt cheese with the cast iron skillet in the sink and a black husk sticking to its bottom. He goes left, then right, his robe tightly wrapped around him as if he is some huffy housewife, then down a hall and across the marble entrance way – fuming – why is this house so goddamn huge – who thought this was a good idea?

And so he wrenches open the front door – to a girl, not holding a Burger King bag. No, she’s got a roller suitcase behind her, bright blue, and she and the case are dripping wet. Like, just sprayed with a hose kind of wet and her big bottom lip is trembling. Behind her, the sky pukes buckets of rain, groaning with thunder.

Now, he likes his call girls (he always thought it was classier to call them that) a little more . . . vampy than this, but hell, he had been turned on by much less than this— than her with her big eyes, fat droplets rolling off her lashes, flushed cheeks – and oh, shit, her shirt is totally see-through – is that purple, he feels the back of his mouth flush with spit – wow, is this Paul’s way of apology because –

“Uncle Dee?”

And he’s mentally shoving himself back into his pants because no one in years has called him that and that was a very different time in place, when he was a completely different person and if this girl is the person he thinks it is, then – Jesus Christ, he’s bound and gagged straight for hell –

He squeaks out your name and you smile, sort of grimace, at him and wave.

“Yep, it’s me. Been awhile, right?” You finally give into the mortification of your stupid plan and you scrunch up your face, your hand wrapped around your elbow. “Look, I’m so sorry, this is too weird. I don’t have your number, but I panicked when my flight got canceled and my phone’s dead and you’re the only person I know in LA and –,”

“No, no – you’re fine – sorry–,” Dieter blinks before stepping back and letting you through. You sigh in relief and yank your baby blue suitcase over the threshold as you walk in, dripping water everywhere. “Sorry, it’s been a weird night and for, like, two seconds, I thought . . . nevermind . . .”

I thought you were a fucking ghost.

You bite the corner of your lip, glancing at him, knowing it was probably unwise to piss off your one chance at not sleeping on the ground tonight — or if what you were about to say would piss him off in the first place.

“Yeah, well, it’s been eleven years since we last saw you, Uncle Dee.”

Early on in his career, he wanted to build up rep as not only an actor but a real tough guy, so he asked if he could do some stunts for an old cop show. For all his bravado, he ended up getting a real round-house kick to the face and it sent him reeling.

This feels a little bit like that.

“No way, it can’t have been that long. Besides, I know I left my number with your dad or your grandma before I left and —,”

His throat closes up when very old guilt washes over him. It’s intensified when you give him an uncomfortable look.

“So your dad didn’t give you my number then.”

It’s not a question. You shake your head. You don’t tell him that your dad tried to call years ago and got a busy tone for the first few, and then a few years after that, was brusquely informed the line had been disconnected.

He chews on his lip.

You try to smile at him again but then another shiver takes hold of you and Dieter grimaces. “Shit, sorry, one second. I think this closet down here has towels.”

He all but sprint-walks down one of the many halls branching off from the entrance, the ends of his robes flapping. You hear the creak of doors, several, as he digs around in the walls.

“Why do I have so many fucking linens?” You hear him grumble and you smile to yourself. You feel like you need to wring your hair out but wouldn’t dare move from the spot where he left you.

After a thump and more grumbling, he comes back, rubbing the back of his head, but holding out a giant lime green towel. In the light, you can see the dark circles under his eyes when you take the towel and immediately go to stop your hair from dripping on the marble.

His brain is waffling, ping ponging, between his memories and what is standing right in front of him. This? This is the little girl, not his literal blood relative, but she’s Enrico’s kid – Enrico, a slugger and one hell of a outfielder since he was eight years old, whose mom made enchiladas like nobody else in the goddamn world – Enrico, whose house became like a second home, Ricky's family a better family than his own – this is the same girl who hoarded Skittles like a fiend, the same one who he took to the pool on the weekends in the summer, and the zoo during Thanksgiving break? This little girl –

– is the same girl who is all legs under damp denim, eyes that could make Cleopatra fly into a jealous rage, and a fucking rockstar smile?

And, holy shit, those tits –

Dude, you cannot be checking her out. Dig deep and fight your fucking caveman brain. You’ve fucked up a lot in your life and you cannot do that right now. You cannot do that to Enrico.

You cannot do that to her.

You notice him grimace as he squints into the light of the chandelier above you both. “So, uh, not that I mind, but, uh, what are you doing here? I mean –,”

You laugh and it seems to echo in the empty house. “No, that’s a fair question. I was on a flight back from looking at colleges out east and my flight got grounded in LAX because of the storm. I absolutely don’t have enough money to stay in a hotel or rent a car and drive back home, so I needed a place to crash and call my sister to send me some money. And my stupid driver didn’t want to get flagged for harassing a celebrity, so he dropped me off at the corner, hence . . .”

You wave at yourself and inside his slippers, his toes curl, respectfully not looking at your damp legs and a definitely purple bra visible through your shirt.

Your mouth suddenly capsizes. “Shit, is that okay, if I stay here for a night? I didn’t even think - I - I’m not . . . interrupting anything, am I?”

Dieter chuckles, your expression undeniably cute, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe.

“Nah. Not unless you call making the worst grilled cheese imaginable a party.”

At that moment, your stomach chooses to make the most aggressive growl in your entire life and you flush deeper than the cold outside.

“Apparently someone thinks that’s a good idea,” you chuckle weakly, horrified that your body is actively trying to sabotage a normal conversation.

Did it matter that you had posters of him in your bedroom when you were thirteen? That you went to midnight releases of every one of his movies?

No. Not at all.

“I got some food, mostly leftovers.” He worries at his lip as he realizes the only thing by way of something green in his fridge is the jar of olives he got for martinis. Even then, he has a sneaking suspicion he replaced the olive juice with vodka, but the memory of that night is entirely butchered. “But, uh, I’m sure we can find something.”

You smile at him. “Actually, grilled cheese sounds great.”

“Only if you do it.” He smiles, honestly, when you laugh. “What? Don’t laugh — I’m serious. I can’t make a sandwich to save my fucking life.”

“Pretty sure I can manage two slices of bread and cheese.”

His eyebrows jump as his lips press themselves together and you watch the thumb-sized bare spot on his beard twitch.

“Yeah, that’s what you think and then your goddamn kitchen is on fire.”

“Lemme change, do some rocket surgery and brain science, and then I’ll attempt to crack this grilled cheese thing.”

“Okay, but remember we do have Chinese leftovers and I can definitely crush a microwave. This way.”

You follow him through the halls, his shoulders loosening underneath the off-green fuzz, and you try and not to stare at the immaculately beautiful walls and expansive, clean floors, so your eyes wander, and then you’re trying not to stare at the immaculately beautiful man in front of you.

You push away the thought that this house looks nothing like you’d expect someone like Dieter to have, as he leads you to the kitchen — all black and chrome and steel, like what a Norwegian serial killer would have — and nods to a door towards the opposite wall. He’s digging around for the last slices of white bread when he says,

“Bathroom’s down there. I’ll get it all ready, but I’m leaving it up to you. Can’t afford to lose another pan.”

Your eyes finally drift down from the bare walls, unsure if you should be offended that nothing of the family back home is here, or accept that there was just nothing personal anywhere. You smile gently at him and nod in thanks.

He watches you go, that bright blue suitcase flashing as loud as a tornado siren, and he shakes his head. God, he needs a drink but drinking also makes him horny and he needs every mental facility available to him if he wis going to make it through this night with his sanity still intact.

Had it really been eleven years? He always meant to call up Enrico and the old neighborhood gang. He probably forgot about that last fight anyway – even if Dieter hadn’t – even if it wasn’t more than a decade ago. Mama Gonzales always said there’d be a place for him, even after his own father said acting was for maricos and drag queens. It always hurt more when the postcards from the Gonzales family stopped coming than when Mom stopped calling. And he always meant to send back a proper return address when he moved out of that crappy loft after his first real movie premiere but that was the 90s, and much of the 90s was spent between working shit jobs and drooling on the floors of rave warehouses. It wasn’t them specifically he didn’t want to see him like that, but anyone. Anyone who knew him before Dieter Bravo.

Certainly not anyone who called him Uncle Dee —

Something flashes in the corner of his eye and he realizes he’s always fucking hated the fact that the a) the back of his house is just one big window and b) he never bothered to put in curtains. Because, the thing with windows is they reflect things — things like his pseudo-niece taking her top off in his guest bathroom. Reflected and in full color right across his kitchen island like the sexiest hologram that will haunt his fucking wet dreams until the day hell freezes over.

Yep, that’s definitely your hips, your ribs, and okay—

Nope. Absolutely not.

Dieter’s knees give out and he crouches (more like slumps) to the floor behind the island, his palms so far in his eye sockets he can only see stars.

Yeah, only stars. Focus on the stars, not the image of the curve of your gorgeous tits that’s running around his brain like a child with scissors and a Thanatos instinct off the fucking charts.

Fuck, and he just wanted to get high and watch Nicholas Cage in a mullet.

“Hey, I’m done. Dee, you still here?”

He stifles a groan and stands up. You smile at him, the wet jeans and agonizing white tank top gone, only to be replaced by a black Fleetwood Mac tshirt and — fuck, where are your pants?

You lower the handle to your suitcase and go to stow by the bathroom door. And that’s when he realizes you are actually wearing pants, black shorts that are practically hidden by the oversized t-shirt and are comically, hilariously, painfully small. He can’t actually see the curve of your ass as you walk around the side of the island but he is absolutely not going to let his gaze linger long enough to confirm.

He clears his throat as you come to stand beside him. He gestures to the four pieces of white bread and a stack of Crafts American cheese.

“H-h-have —,” he clears his throat again and his forebearers groan collectively in embarrassment. “Have at it.”

You smile and tuck your hair over your ear before picking up the knife.

“D’you have mayonnaise? Butter?”

No amount of irredeemable hotness can distract him from that. “What? What do you need mayonnaise for? It’s grilled cheese.”

You cluck your tongue, an eyebrow raised. “Brain science and rocket surgery, remember? Don’t question the master.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he goes to his steel monolith of a fridge.

“Jeez, sorry, I asked,” he grumbles playfully.

He comes back with an (thankfully) unexpired jar and tub of butter and you get to work. Silence stretches a bit too long, something Dieter has never been good with, especially with beautiful women. He loves running his mouth and sometimes he's found that the women liked it too. He resigns himself to sit across from you at the island, watching you spread mayonnaise on both sides of the bread.

“So, uh, how are the folks? How’s your, uh, dad?”

You nod slowly and even though he hasn’t been around in eleven years to pick up on all your tells, he swears your hackles go up.

“Fine. All good. Dad’s still at the car repair shop — owns it now, actually. Makes decent money, I guess.”

“You guess?” He hadn’t made it his life’s work to mimic the human condition to not recognize cagey language.

You glance at him briefly before flipping over the last piece of bread and dropping a dollop of mayonnaise on top.

“Yeah. I — uh, we haven’t — I actually haven’t talked to them in a while. Though if I had, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.” You sneak another glance, this one ladened with a smile that had a secret curled up in its corners. “Serves me right, probably.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

He can’t help but return the smile, one of a familiarity he hasn’t earned yet. You were smiling at him as if you two had years of secrets together, memories and inside jokes that were for the pair of you alone. For the life of him and all the water in his ridiculous pool, he couldn’t fathom why you were being so nice to him. Letting him off the hook. It had been eleven fucking years after all. There are a lot of things he takes guilt free from the world. Your fucking star-eyed smile is not one of them.

So, he lets you off the hook. He doesn’t push it. If you don’t want to talk about your folks, he is happy to chatter aimlessly about something else. But, his brain winds up, what happened that caused you to fall out with your parents? Enrico, even back then, had been a hard ass, with you and your brothers. Always made sure to walk the straight and narrow. Detested drugs, always shined his shoes, thought tattoos were the devil, never kissed a girl on the first date —

And here you are, making fucking mooneyes at his daughter.

Well, one thing was for sure, he muses, something warm spreading in his gut, you are nothing like your daddy.

The hiss of the bread hitting the hot butter in a pan (you didn’t even need to ask where another pan was, you just helped yourself to his cabinets and he couldn’t have been more proud) jerks him out of his daze and he realizes that annoying silence has set in again.

“So, colleges, huh? Anything in particular spark interest?”

You nod excitedly as he found a topic that made you glow. Clearly, no one had asked about your interests in a long time.

“Yeah, actually. Emerson in Boston was amazing. I loved the city, but not sure I’d survive the winter. Swarthmore sounds good, Amherst too, but again, cold.” You grin sheepishly and flip the sandwiches, pressing the spatula (he didn’t even know he owned one of those) into the bread, making the butter sizzle and the air fill with a smell that can only be described as mouth-watering.

“It’ll be a nightmare, taking out loans for those places, but fuck, I think I’d be really happy there.”

He leans against the counter, facing you with crossed arms. He smiles a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What, your folks wouldn’t pay for it? Or at least help out?”

Something sharp flashes in your eyes, like a rabbit catching the scent of a predator, before you shrug your shoulders flippantly. A well-worn deflection, he notes, right next to the place where he’s got all the places you mentioned are about as far away from California as possible. If you had mentioned somewhere in Europe, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Nah. I wouldn’t let them. Don’t want them thinking they get input into my life because they hold the purse strings over my head.” You turn off the stove and he moves to get the plates out from the cabinets – something to contribute as you made him a better meal than he’s had in ages.

“So, uh, we eat in there?” You glance down the hall to the eerily clean dining room, a place he’s pretty sure he’s never once set foot in after three years of living in this goddamn mansion.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “C’mon, I already have a movie picked out.”

You follow him, plates hot, down carpeted stairs to clearly the only room in the house that Dieter actually lives in. The lights down here are low, much more bearable than the white spotlights of the kitchen. Against one wall, there’s a fully stocked bar, with most of the alcohol halfway empty and costing a fortune. Across from the stairs is a massive record collection, going up to the ceiling, next to a gorgeous old record player — all wood and black vinyl — with big, plushy earphones curled up on a black leather recliner.

But the star of the show is the wall-to-ceiling television, with a brown, mouse-soft leather sofa that wraps like a giddy, up-turned grin in front of it.

And of course, in between the superstar television and the cozy couch, is a low glass table where he had snorted lines of coke more times he could count and where a virgin joint sits, unsmoked and tempting.

Dieter flushes as though he’d been caught by his parents with his pants down around his ankles.

“Fuck, sorry–,” he rushes over, the plate clattering with the glass, and he reaches for the joint, ready to squish it into his pocket when–

You laugh. “Relax, Dee, I know what a joint is. In fact, we are very well acquainted.”

You fold yourself into the couch, legs crossed, grinning at him as you bite into your sandwich.

He swallows, unclenching slightly as he sits down next to you. He watches you eat for a moment, trying to think of something cool to say.

“Sounds like I’ve missed my calling as the fun uncle, getting you high for the first time and all that.”

You snort and swallow your mouthful. “Yeah, by like two fucking years.”

“Oh, what a fucking lifetime. You poor thing,” he says, pouting dramatically and you giggle again, bumping into his shoulder. It sends his sanity knocking around in his brain.

You don’t notice, though, your eyes falling to the joint in the small ceramic bowl. The smile slides from your face.

“Well, you might have missed my first joint, but I’d be more than happy to take this one as my next.”

His eyebrows practically bounce off his forehead. “You’re serious?”

Your eyes slide away from the joint to his, something distractingly dark hiding there. “I mean, if the parties on your Instagram are anything to go by . . . And, well, when in Rome . . .”

You trail off, smirking, gesturing around you as if you had any idea the levels of debauchery that were obtained in this very room. Come to think of it, he halfway considers picking you up off the couch and putting a towel down underneath your perfect ass.

This is how it went sometimes, with the slower hook ups. No wet clothes, or grilled cheese, or bringing up family trauma — but initial touches, curling smiles, and then drugs. Always drugs. As if there needed to be another hand that tore off the cap of the pressurized, fizzy soda bottle. He’d play music then, for them, to show off his vinyl collection and have a plausible reason to rub his dick between their ass cheeks while dancing slowly to something croon-y from the seventies.

Not that any of that would be happening with you.

He wasn’t a complete monster after all.

With a playful grin that he had mastered over many press junkets, he snatches up the joint and lighter, and presents both to you in the flat of his hand.

“First hit goes to you, since you were so kind to make dinner for an old fuck like me.”

You snort and put your plate onto the table, wiping your hands free of crumbs on your black shirt.

“Such a gentleman.”

With deft and practiced hands, you take the joint between your index finger and your thumb, and sparking the lighter, brought the flame to your lips.

Just for one second, one goddamn second, he swears he saw The Look reflected in your eyes. He glances away, his cock fluttering awake like goddamn Lassy hearing the calls of another well-begotten child. He picks up his own plate.

“Hardly. It was all a ploy to get you to admit you follow me on Instagram.”

You burst out coughing, smoke chugging from your nose and mouth. “Dieter!”

He cackles, his tongue between his teeth, as you shove him away from you — do not think about her fingers clenched around your bicep — try to sit up and inhale again. You hang your head and groan.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I said that.”

“Yeah, and for that, I get two puffs,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, the rest of it full of the most perfectly cooked grilled cheese sandwich he’d ever had. He finishes chewing and swallows. “Hand it over, princess.”

You hand over the lighter and the joint, the paper slightly greasy from your fingers, leaning back dramatically into one of the many plushy cup holder seats spread out along the very long couch.

He chuckles devilishly again, far too satisfied, as he lights up and leans back into the cushions.

“And, as gesture of goodwill, I’ll admit that’s a good fucking grilled cheese.”

Your eyes snap open and a wide grin splits your face. “Hell yes! Mayonnaise on both sides, butter on the side with cheese. Best family recipe. Mwah!”

“Fuck, even I know that’s too much cholesterol for me,” he grunts and digs into the cushions, feeling around for the remote.

“Well, that’s not enough cholesterol for me,” you wink as you take the joint from the hand on his thigh, eyes daring you to do something about it. Nowhere near high enough to take the bait, he just narrows his eyes at you as he clicks the button and the entertainment system comes to life with a primordial hum.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, eyes wide, as the speakers roar and the lights dim further and the screen glows, “it’s like I’m in a fucking movie theater . . . in space.”

“It’s great, right?” Dieter moans like a loving father over his first child. This thing is his pride and joy, the only thing he could stomach in this goddamn house.

The DVD buffer for Raising Arizona begins and you squeal quietly, sliding onto your back, the joint dangling between your lips.

“No fucking way, I love this movie.”

Dieter stilled. “Really? You do?”

The few times he felt nostalgic for his old life — his old, old life when he was still a kid from nowhere, a nobody, you couldn’t pick him out of a line up of his sweaty, grubby cousins when they were all cobbled together like crooked teeth in front of Abuela Josefina’s television that still had knobs and bunny ears to watch movie after movie of Nicholas Cage reruns. Even with knees in his back, elbows in his ears, Dieter could quote every single line, his heart swelling.

That’s gonna be me some day.

“This movie is from, like, another century,” he mutters as he watches you settle in, something sickening like adoration clawing up in his chest.

“Yeah and it’s great,” you say eagerly, ignoring the way he plucks the joint out of your fingers. “Put it on!”

He resolutely ignores the pinch in his low stomach at your almost whine and presseS the play button with a little more force than necessary. Then, balancing the joint on the ceramic bowl, he sticks his fingers into his robe, pulls out his glasses, and puts them on without a second thought – just as he always did when watching movies.

It is only when he realizes he doesn’t hear you breathing that he realizes what he has done. Slowly he pulls the square glasses off his face and looks at them, feeling as disgusted as the day his doctor put them in his hands.

Near-sighted. Very common. Happens when people as they age.

“Got ‘em–,” his throat closes again, “got ‘em a few years ago. Only have to wear ‘em to see things up close and, uh . . . Well, I think they make me look old as shit.”

He can’t quite look at you, unsure what he’ll see on your face and knowing for sure that he couldn’t stand it if it wasn’t the way you look at him before. If you just would tease him about it, then —

“No,” you say, your voice very soft and small. His heart nearly punches out his throat, his neck nearly snapping in half as his head whips up to look at you. You sit up on your elbows, the darkness of the room cushioning your soft cheeks and muting the glaze in your eyes as you watch him over the bend of your knees.

“Nah,” you say, your nose scrunching, the weight of the high clearly settling into your skin, “they make you look . . . Uh, they’re cute.”

Dieter sucks in the side of his cheek, nodding slowly and sliding the glasses back over his nose. Cute, he could work with that.

“Jeez, would you start the movie already?” You poke his side with your toe. He doesn’t need to look at you to hear the faint blush in your voice.

He turns the volume up and crosses his arms, smiling faintly. You’re warm next to him, he thinks vaguely, his own high finally starting to sink into his bones.

Cute. Definitely not a word he’s going to obsess over.

The movie goes on.

Nicholas Cage is Nicholas Cage with a mullet.

Your laugh is the clattering of bells in his ears and he can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard his sides hurt.

He’s coming up from bent over, knees almost to his chest, laughter nearly popping his ribs, when he realizes your feet are in his lap. The arches of your soles, the delicate bones of your ankles, the long smooth planes that run up to your gorgeous calves—

They are there, in his lap, and you don’t seem to mind. Head turned towards the screen, face bright from laughing, your arm arched back over your head, pressing your chest up — it’s like you meant for them to be there.

It’s just one hand, right? Two at the most. Just putting his hands down where he had them a moment ago. Up and — down.

You don't flinch. His palm is on the arched top of your foot, the other just above your other ankle.

You do smile, but that might have been because of Nicholas Cage raging again.

And then, during another bout of giggles, he clutches your shin bone, wraps his fingers around your heel, and laughs and laughs and laughs.

You wipe the tears away from your eyes, the end credits rolling.

“Fuck, that’s a such a good movie.”

He swallows, swiping quickly under his glasses before taking them off and chucking them onto the table in front.

“You’re fucking right it is,” he says hoarsely, leaning forward and plucking up the last of the joint. He inhales, letting the smoke ease stifle the tears in the corner of his eyes, gulping down a breath before offering it to you.

You take it, distracted, eyes on the credits, the light from the screen glowing on your cheeks.

He presses up under your ankle with his middle finger. “What? You knew what was gonna happen, you’d said you’d seen it before.”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

He goes for a more direct approach. He pinches your calf, and you scowl, the light back in your eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, a bit sharply. He’s not nearly done having fun with you, not nearly. You take another sip of smoke before setting the joint back on the table.

You huff, settling onto your back, pinching at your nails.

“Just . . . Nothing, it’s stupid.”

Dieter hums. He knows when to let him come to you. He taps the arch of your foot.

“How are you feeling?” His gaze nudges the joint on the table.

You grin. “Really good. Tingly. Warm. Like everything else is a million miles away.”

Just the two of us.

“Enough to tell ol’ Uncle Dee what’s on your mind?”

You roll your eyes and sit up a bit, yanking a pillow behind you.

“Just thinkin’ about the old days, I guess.” You glance up at him from under your eyes. “Not in a bad way. At all. I just . . .”

“What?” If you gave him hell for the last eleven years, then fuck it, he deserved it. He pulls at your ankle. “What?”

With a big sigh, you lean back, something finally breaking and, with it, comes a great big smile.

“Okay, remember when you’d put on those plays with the rest of us kids during those super lame family reunions o-o-or Christmas? Marissa would have everything written out, all the cousins cast and you’d beg her to let you play – fucking – Bear Number 5 or something ridiculous – and she’d fight you on it but she’d relent, always putting on a show of her own – as if a ten year old could be put out like that.” You giggled, biting on your thumb, a sparkling in your eyes that made something in his chest burn.

Yes, he remembers the incredibly stupid fuzzy ears and the bear claw mittens. The fake roaring. TMZ would have a fucking stroke if those pictures of him, baby-faced, were to ever surface online. He smiles at you and basks in the warmth of those memories, his high making them brighter.

“I think it would have crushed her little heart if you didn’t ask,” you said, heavy-lidded eyes on you again. “I know it broke her when you stopped showing up at all.”

His heart actually pinches at that. He knows you’re not scolding him but fuck, maybe he’d feel better if you did. What a fucking idiot he was, for leaving all of that for empty mansions and meals from UberEats and all this fucking gunked up shit in his veins that made him feel older and older every year. Like he was chasing something that was never real in the first place.

“Look, honey,” the pet name is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He’s twisting towards you, both hands under your calves now. “I should have called. Should have made sure that at least you knew where to find me, even if things between your dad and I were fucked.”

“Oh, God, Dee, no. I don’t blame you. I don’t even blame my dad, sometimes. You just were very different people. He’s fine living his life in the same small ass town in the middle of nowhere. But you weren’t. And, fuck . . . I’m not either.”

He frowns. You bite your lip and continue.

“You know, I thought about following you out to Hollywood. Because of those plays. I had the best fucking time doing them and Hollywood didn’t seem so scary . . . with Uncle Dee out here. But, uh, I dunno. I grew up, I guess. Figured I was better at telling stories than performing them. I just knew I didn’t want to end up like my dad. Dying where I lived. Unremembered.”

His gut doubles in on itself. Please don’t say you gave up your dreams because I stopped calling.

“Do you still think about acting?” He asks quietly, trying to fight the faint ringing in his ears.

“Oh God, no,” you wave your hands, dusting away his near-panic that he’d somehow ruined your life. “I really do prefer writing stories, even if they exist only within the pages of a book. Or a really bad pamphlet, once or twice. I tried to continue the plays at home for a few years, after you left and Marissa took up cheerleading and thought she was too old to play with her little cousins anymore. But it just wasn’t the same without her. Or you.”

He realizes all too late that he can feel your pulse under your ankle. Strong. Pounding. Pounding, hard. Like you’re nervous. So struck by the notion that he can feel something so personal of yours, the smoke trapped in his brain lifts only slightly when he catches your eyes looking somewhere you absolutely should not be.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck, he knows that look. You blink at him, then your gaze slowly slides down, down to his crotch, as smoothly you can beneath the weight of the smoke in your brain and he battles between the desire to throw your legs off him or pull you underneath him.

It’s The Look.

Men, women, it didn’t matter. The look was the same.

When the possibility of sex first enters their mind, when that first bloom of lust rushes down their spine and the memory of the physical exertion of fucking – all the panting and the heavy breathing, aching muscles and sweat – comes back, as real as a song stuck in your head. When that spark of imagination threatens to sway from the hypothetical to the actual, it’s a look he knows so fucking well, he might as well be able to carve it from clay, blind-folded.

And you’re giving it to him, right now.

You haven’t really thought about seducing him yet, no, that part hasn’t crossed your mind yet. But you definitely are imagining what his cock would feel like inside you, and you and your imagination and your wide-eyed gaze at his lap all whole-heartedly agreed: that would be a great fucking thing.

You, on your elbows, your heel dangerously close to his half-hard cock, the glaze in your eyes having something to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing, and your short breath having everything to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing.

He was quite sure you were completely unaware of the expression your face was making. Eyes hooded, mouth parted, breath short. Masking your emotions and filthy thoughts is a skill set mastered later in life and perhaps the last time you looked at someone like that, they simply bent you over the nearest surface and railed you till your knees buckled.

What a fucking excellent idea, his libido trilled. Now get off the couch and do something about it. I’m foaming at the fucking mouth here, man.

Dieter silences his inner horny monster, unintentionally squeezing his hand, the one that happens to be wrapped around your calf.

The movement seems to break you out of your dizzying spiral and you blink up at him.

He swallows. With a half smirk on the edge of your lips that you try to not let him see, you take your feet out of his lap, then reach forward, your palm alarmingly high on his thigh as you take the joint from his fingers. Your eyes flash like warning signs.

DANGER. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON. DANGER.

“So, you gonna give me a tour of this place or what?”

End of Part 1 | Next

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction

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mayiwritesomething · 8 months ago

Text

Love is an Unfamiliar Name (Pt. 8)

Wordcount: 2,5 k

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Warnings: angst, just curse words as usual.

A/N: Our reader decides do give a payback, but things won’t go as planned and a little drama takes in, both making mistakes which is quite sad tbh.

And in this chapter, we have Colin Farrell as a reader’s friend. Why? Because i think Colin would be a great friend to have around haha. Have you ever watched his Hot Ones interview or his most recent ones from the Sugar press? If you haven't, just check it out.

> MASTERLIST

————-

The Irishman

On Friday night, you were on your way to Vivienne's penthouse for the show's after-party. Jenny was unusually excited, but you felt a sense of unease, haunted by guilt at the thought of meeting Pedro, especially since you hadn't spoken since his apologetic phone call. He had even texted you in the morning, suggesting a coffee meet-up, but you chose to ignore it, opting instead to scroll through Instagram reels while lying on your bed. As you chuckled to yourself in the car, watching the city lights pass by, you couldn't help but feel a bit childish in your avoidance.

"Why are you laughing?" Jenny inquired, focused on fixing her makeup. She looked stunning for the party, taking it quite seriously.

"Just thinking about how sometimes we just become exactly what we hate," you replied, a hint of seriousness in your tone.

"Wow, that was deep," she said, sensing your subdued mood. "You know, if things go south, at least Colin will be there to have your back," she added with a mischievous grin.

"I KNEW IT!" you exclaimed, understanding why she was giving her best this night. "There had to be a reason behind all of this," you teased, pointing at her.

"Stop being silly," she blushed, even in the dimly lit car.

"Poor Jeff," you chuckled.

"He's now dating Annette from the makeup department," she shared, not caring much. "Great in bed, but not the sharpest tool in the shed... attractive, but better off not speaking," she lamented while fixing her hair. "How do I look?"

"Stunning as always," you complimented her. "By the way, Colin's single again," you mentioned casually.

"Oh, really?" she feigned surprise. "I could never know," she teased back.

You just laughed and continued, “Things with Jill weren’t working anymore; I still don’t understand what he saw in her; gosh, she was so boring.” You always shipped Colin and Jenny.

"Well, she must have been good at something, if you get me,” she laughed. "By the way, don't tell me you chose that backless dress just because you felt like it," she said

"I felt like I should," you replied as the car pulled up to your destination. You could only think of how much that place should cost.

As you arrived, you caught sight of Colin engrossed in conversation with Vivienne. He exuded charm, and you felt Jenny's cold hand grasping yours at your back. You waved to Colin, who signaled for you to join them.

"Hey man," you greeted him with a hug, "it's been a while." You both had met years ago while working on an independent movie project, and you had formed a strong friendship, feeling comfortable and open around him.

"Hey mate, how are you doing?" Colin embraced you, then turned to acknowledge Jennifer. She seemed frozen. Jennifer, the queen of hookups, was caught off guard.

"Hello," she managed to say, her voice a bit shaky. You stood behind Colin, silently prompting her to ask how he was doing. "How are you?"

"Much better now," he replied, his gaze lingering on her as she blushed, causing you to stifle a laugh.

"Good to hear," she said, clumsily adjusting her hair. "Well, I'll go talk to Vivienne and get something to eat; do you guys want anything?"

"I'm good," you and Colin chimed in simultaneously.

Jenny hurriedly departed, resembling a rabbit fleeing from a wolf. You and Colin continued chatting about his breakup, and you shared details about your situation with Pedro. He chuckled at how you would blush at times. Both of you were in fits of laughter when you felt a familiar hand gently touch your back.

"Hi, Pedro," you greeted him, turning to acknowledge his presence.

"Hi," he responded, his eyes fixed on Colin. "How are you?" He then looked at you.

"Doing fine," you replied more politely than usual, noticing his troubled expression you decided to keep the diplomacy. "Let me introduce you guys." Facing Pedro, you gestured towards Colin. "Pedro, this is my friend Colin."

"Hi mate," Colin greeted him, shaking hands with a smile, and Pedro gave him the fakest smile back.

"And Colin, this is Pedro, who is also a friend." You emphasized the word 'friend' with a hint of cruelty. You poured yourself a shot of whiskey, feeling guilty about drinking alcohol around Colin but wanting Pedro to sense the same pain you were feeling.

"Cool, I didn't know you would meet another friend here." Pedro's words carried a sharp edge.

"And I didn't know I had to tell you," you retorted almost immediately.

"Well, I'm talking to her because she is my bridge to Jennifer, man," Colin interjected, pointing at Jenny, sensing the tension rising. He could almost smell the impending confrontation between you and Pedro. Your eyes locked with Pedro's, and he turned to face Colin.

"Is there a problem?" Colin, not known for his patience, inquired.

"We're good, man," Pedro replied. "I guess I'm just interrupting your friendly gathering," his tone tinged with irony.

"Can we just talk later?" You asked, holding his hands, which were shaking, aware of the turmoil simmering within him. Part of you felt a tinge of satisfaction in it.

"Yes, as we should," he agreed.

"Pedro!" Oscar's voice called out to him from across the rooftop.

"Well, I should go," Pedro said as he left.

Turning back to Colin, who was now sipping his sparkling water, he said, "If this guy could just stab me now, he would." Colin said, looking over his shoulder. "What the hell did I miss?"

You shared with him the details of your last time with Pedro, how he had been mean to you, and how he attempted an apology.

"Kid," Colin chuckled, "the guy was just playing it cool, like 'I don't do relationships' kind of stuff."

"He said we're just friends with benefits," you stated angrily. "Friends, Colin, friends."

"Come on, dude's burning with jealousy right now,” he said, looking at Pedro talking to Oscar. “—and you, Mrs., now I understand the emphasis you placed on 'friend' when introducing him. Seriously? How old are you?" Colin's defense of Pedro caught you off guard.

"What?" you exclaimed.

"I'm not stupid; I could see that—and it is obvious you did it on purpose. I'm not a pawn, okay?" Colin said.

"Colin, imagine if Jill had just slept with you, and she tells you it's better not to act like a couple or anything because you're just friends." You vented your frustration. "And to top it off, she says the only thing she misses is your body!"

"Come on, you were both drunk," he pointed out. "Listen to me, both of you."

"Seriously? Come on! Why don't you adopt him then? Poor little Pedro, a grown ass man who can’t answer for his actions," you snapped in anger.

"I already have two children… and that doesn't change the fact that you also made a mistake," he said firmly.

"Oh great, he treats me like a whore, and you just brush it off, saying he was drunk. Now I'm the one labeled as vilain for making him taste his own venom," you said, frustration evident in your voice.

Colin chuckled, shaking his head. "Kid, both of you were drunk when that happened.” He then continued. “Dude called to apologize and asked you for a coffee today — Who the fuck does that with just a fuck buddy? Coffee? On a Friday morning? Wake the fuck up," he urged. "I've lost count of how many times I've done the same thing he did. Pretending to be just friends when I really wanted more."

You listened, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. "And why the hell do guys do this? It hurts, man," you muttered.

"Because everyone’s fucked up and scared, just like you are, just like he is.” He kept talking. “You like him; he likes you too. Why not just try to have a conversation about it with him?" Colin advised, sounding like an older brother.

“You even talk like Jen." You wiped away a tear, nodding. "You and her would make a great couple, you know?"

"Go talk to your guy; I'll find Jennifer and test my luck, deal?"

"Deal!" you chuckled, scanning the crowd for Pedro. Spotting Jenny, you pointed her out to Colin. However, Pedro was nowhere to be found. Then, you glimpsed a figure leaving the bar with two cups—it seemed to be him. Hurrying, you attempted to catch up as he disappeared into a secluded spot on the deck.

Brushing off a greeting, you dashed after him, rounding the corner and calling out, "Hey, Pedro—" only to freeze in disbelief as you saw him making out with one of the models.

Pain.

He looked terrified, clearly not expecting you to show up out of nowhere. Your hands were cold as the world seemed to be in slow motion—his touch, his gaze, his smile, just how he held you. Tears blurred your vision as you stood frozen.

"Hey girl, are you okay?" The woman in his arms asked, concerned. You were mad, but you knew it wasn't her fault. It was his; it was yours.

"Ye—yes," you choked out, struggling to form words. "I'm… I'm just…— I guess…." Tears overcame you. Pedro muttered something incomprehensible as he released the girl and approached you. Anger, guilt, and sadness flooded through you, making you feel utterly foolish.

"I got it man," you said, stepping back, your voice trembling with anger. "Let's just keep things as they are, right? Like they fucking are! It's working out great for you, fucker."

"Oh! You're the one with your Irish friend over there," he retorted, his anger matching yours.

"Because Colin is my friend, Pedro. He's just a goddamn friend," you shot back, your voice rising. "He was the one trying to convince me you were just scared of whatever shit we have going on and that I was being a bitch.” You were now shouting and walking in his direction; you were lucky the music was too loud. “Turns out, he was wrong." Pedro stood frozen, the girl by the wall looking confused.

"I didn't know you both had something," she interjected, trying to calm you down.

"I’m not talking to you!” You now faced her: “I don't give a fuck if you knew or not. HE is the problem here," you declared, pointing at him, your frustration boiling over.

“Babe…”

"Don't you dare call me that!" you shouted as he reached out to you. "You know what? Go ahead, screw whoever you want. I'm done. I'm so fucking done." Tears streamed down your face as he attempted to apologize. "Fuck you! Tonight was supposed to be a great night," you lamented, feeling foolish and angry. "This whole thing—us—it is just a waste of time."

"I’m sorry—I want things to work," he muttered.

"Oh, I can see that," you laughed bitterly. "It works for YOU.” You were now pointing your finger at his face as you spilled all the anger. “You have me or anything whenever you want. We only meet when YOU can meet me.” The tears stopped, and you could feel your face burning. “You never care about MY schedule, NEVER! Everything is about you! You’re so fucking selfish man!”

“You agreed to the schedules! Wanna know why? Because you’re such a control freak! That’s why! —Seeing each other in the middle of the night? It was YOUR idea. Don’t play the innocent girl now,” he shot back angrily. “Who told me, ‘Let’s keep this between us’? Stop being a fuckin hypocrite and act like we were something else, and I betrayed you!” he added, his desperation evident. “You were the one who decided I was your dirty little secret! You cut the cards!”

"Secret?" you yelled back. "Have you ever put yourself in my position? I'm a woman working in a male-dominated industry. Do you know how it is to have people saying you got a job probably because you slept with someone? To have your competence questioned, despite your achievements? To have people assume there's a man pulling the strings behind the scenes? Have you ever had to deal with those things in your life Pedro? HAVE YOU? I don’t think so!"

"You love jumping to conclusions about others without even attempting to have a conversation!"

“Are you sure I’m the one who jumps to conclusions?” You laughed ironically. “Come on, don’t act like you care, man! You said it yourself! You only like the body and the sex, and honestly? You can have this with someone else.” Listening to these words come out of your mouth made you feel even worse. “I am not a sex doll... Maybe we expect different things from each other,” you said coldly as your eyes began tearing up again.

You continued, “I really wanted to be by your side tonight without feeling any guilty, but you found something better to do, and that is okay, I don’t think you betrayed me. I’m just disappointed. Part of me still had some hope that things could be more than whatever I had these last months… At least someday in a near future, you know? But as I said, we want different things, and now I can understand it.”

"I didn’t mean like this. I really thought that you were—oh, damn.” In a moment of clarity, he realized his mistake. “Fuck! I… I… —I ‘m Sorry for messing this up. I really thought you and him... Fuck… I truly…I don't know—" he tried to say.

“I’ll tell you what to do: Have your fun, man. Enjoy your freedom, that’s all that matters to you at the end of the day,” you said, tears streaming down your face.

“Please, I’m sorry…” He tried once again, his hands reaching out to hold yours.

“Go ahead and enjoy your night with whoever this girl is, or whoever you want to be the stallion with,” you said ironically as you watched the girl disappear. You then noticed Colin and Jennifer, relieved to have found you.

“There you are!” Colin exclaimed, though his expression quickly turned sympathetic as he saw your tear-streaked face.

“I’m leaving—Jen, can you keep me company while I wait for my Uber?" Bye, Col. It was nice to see you,” you said, avoiding eye contact as you spoke.

“Of course, come here,” Jennifer replied, offering you support.

Meanwhile, Pedro attempted to follow you but was intercepted by Colin, who advised him to give you some space before trying to talk to you again.

“What happened?” Jen asked as you waited for the cab together.

“He thought I was with Colin,” you said sadly, brushing away the tears. “So he decided to be with someone else too. According to him, I kept him hidden as some sort of secret—where is this darn car?” Your voice was numb with shock, and his words still echoed in your head.

“Oh, my dear,” Jenny tried to comfort you. “He was a jerk, but from what Colin told me, things were already messed up when he arrived.”

“Things were messed up from the beginning of everything, Jen. I don’t even know if I can call that a beginning, because it was… I don’t even know what it was,” you muttered. “I just want to sleep, okay?.”

“Okay, will you text me when you arrive?” she asked.

“I will,” you promised.

“Keep reminding myself

That people are good

And when they do bad things

They're just hurting inside

Keep fooling myself

That everyone cares

And they're all full of love

It's just their patience gets tried”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedrohub #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader

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steampunkforever · 7 months ago

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Imagine you're me, an impressionable young soul raised on cinema classics but not really the new stuff. You're surfing channels (this used to happen) and land on this drama about three escaped convicts during the great depression. Then, as our trio of grimy heroes share roast gopher, the woods around them fill with a white-robed congregation and an echoing rendition of "Down to the River to Pray" fills the air. I was entranced.

It's such a simple scene but this brief segment of the Coen Brothers' adaptation of the Odyssey set in the American South circa 1930something still has such a strong hold on me. Considering how fantastic this movie is, this impact is fully earned. You don't need me to tell you this, O Brother Where Art Thou has seen its fair share of accolades, and it deserved every one of them.

Yet when analyzing the framework of the film, I'm struck with new details every time I watch it. This time around I was reminded of the extreme kindness with which the Coens treat the Deep South. It's an easy place to make fun of. Furthermore an easy target for Hollywood, especially if you want stock characters and a good laugh at the expense of people with funny accents and backwards politics.

The Coens don't do this, almost lovingly portraying the idiosyncrasies of a place still reeling from the devastation of the Civil War, entrapped by the corruption of its own politicians, deeply religious, and altogether its own culture. This isn't the first time that the Coens have put a folksy slice of America onscreen, but I appreciate their decision to explore a world that is more than caricature.

This isn't to say that O Brother Where Art Thou paints a rosy picture of the deep south either. The white-robed singers going down to the river to pray at the start of the film are echoed by the white-robed Klansmen at the end. Prison chain gangs, racist politicians, and con artist preachers abound. One of the main characters is displaced from his home as the valley where he once lived is being turned into a lake by the CCC. This isn't a perfect place, but the Coens embrace it for all its idiosyncrasies, building a vibrant world that enriches the narrative.

It makes this more than just a retelling in a different setting, and on a rewatch so many years later, the movie only gets better. Down to the River to Pray is still one of my favorite spirituals to date.

#filmposting #coen brothers #o brother where art thou #george clooney #cinema #film

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hardkittyprince · 6 months ago

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I watched salaar for the first time cause of one reel and the scene was Vishnu was insulting vardha and when he turned around he saw the wrath on deva eyes I mean deva's like " how the fucking hell you think you can hurt and insult my husband and just walk out of here happyly hell no " ok let's be frank i totally got gay vibes from there so I watched the movie with my sister who liked it and i fucking loved that movie i watched it again two or three days ago and it's still in my download so I am gonna watch it again i am freaking obsessed with them and specially this scene

I mean seriously I am a freaking bl lover / friendship lover i watched all kind of LGBTQ+ content and friends movies shows short film everything specially in South industry I know how much friendship matters but Prashant Neel can't deny that it's not kinda gayish ( not in a bad way ok ) i watched bl drama with mafia and all that shit i never saw a lover like that ok and specially not friends , apart from my bl mind this movie friendship is everything i love how vardha can be all big boy around everyone and the minute he is with deva he is all so small and let go off his insecurities i will watch this movie until next one come 😁

#varadeva #varadeva edit #varadeva text post #varadeva✨#varadha #varadha rajamannar #salaar #salaar devratha raisaar #they are so gay for each other #possessive dog deva #friendship #bestfriend varadeva 😅😗🤐🫢

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askinkiskarma · 2 years ago

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The Archer | Chapter V: This Is Me Trying

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X

Summary: A vision Neteyam sees at the Spirit Tree puts a strain on your relationship and leaves more questions than answers. Another RDA atrocity leaves the Metkayina reeling and sets in motion events whose consequences will haunt you forever.

Pairings: Neteyam x Avatar!Reader

Word Count: 11.6k words

Warnings/notes: smut(18+, minors DNI!), angst, mentions of death, blood, violence, cursing, SPOILERS for ATWOW

A/N: This is it, the chapter where it all goes to shit! I am very excited to explore the second half of the movie and put my own little spin on it. I hope you enjoy where the story is going and are as excited as I am for what's in store. The song the reader sings to Tuk is important for the story, as are all the lyrics I put in it, and if you replace the river with Eywa, it all fitsss! Why am I seeing Eywa in Frozen 2 we'll never know, but here we are. Also, whilst the beginning quote usually speaks to the reader's feelings, this one I felt fit all of the three POV characters in the particular hardships each of them are going through. Ok I'll stop rambling enjoy thank you for asking to be tagged and liking and reblogging and replying ily byee

I've been having a hard time adjusting, I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad, I have a lot of regrets about that

And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound

It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you

You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town

And I just wanted you to know that this is me trying

The next day, the tension between Lo’ak and Ao’nung seemed to dissipate, and you knew whatever happened after Lo’ak took off was enough to mend a relationship you thought was too broken to ever recover. Boys, you rolled your eyes. They would almost kill each other, and it would all be forgotten the next day. You and the rest of the Sullys, as well as Rot’xo, Tsireya and Ao’nung were hanging out by the beach, as Lo’ak recounted his encounter with the tulkun that saved his life.

“I wish I’d been there. The ocean blessed you with a gift, brother.”

“The tulkun have not returned yet. And anyway, no tulkun is ever alone.”

“This one was. It had a…a missing fin, like a stump on the left side.” Lo’ak was looking only at Tsireya when he spoke, like she was the only one there. She was also enraptured by his presence, and fear flashed across her features as the realisation hit.

“Payakan. It’s Payakan.”

“Who’s Payakan?” Kiri asks, a concerned look on her face.

“A young bull who went rogue. He’s outcast, alone. And he has a missing fin.”

“They say he is a killer.” Tsireya looked at your brother almost in pain, pleading Lo’ak to hear her.

“He killed Na’vi, and other tulkun…not here, but far to the South.”

You and Neteyam exchanged a look, worried for your baby brother who was in such proximity with an apparent monster.

“No, he’s no killer.”

Tsireya reached for Lo’ak’s arm, and you watched as he wrapped his hand around her wrist, holding her intimately.

“Lo’ak… you are lucky to be alive.”

“I’m telling you guys, he saved my life. He’s my friend.”

You saw your mate get up from his spot to place his hands on his brother’s shoulder, a desperate attempt to defuse an increasingly tense situation.

“My baby bro, the mighty warrior who faced the killer tulkun, and lived to tell about it.”

Lo’ak pushed himself away from Neteyam’s grasp, evident annoyance and frustration emanating from his whole body.

“You guys aren’t listening.”

Tuk, who was nestled in your lap, spoke in the cute voice that made you melt on the spot.“Lo’ak, I’m listening…”

“Lo’ak, come back…” you tried to call after him, but it was too late.

“You skxawng.” You heard Kiri say as your brother walked away.

You gently removed Tuk from your lap and got up, determined to not leave him alone. He was alone far too often, and you wanted him to know he didn’t have to do this by himself. Neteyam gave you a look, and you knew he felt hurt that you were leaving him for his brother, and hurt that he knew Lo’ak would much rather prefer your presence to his. He always had, ever since you were all children.

You ran across the beach and caught him right as he was getting in the water.

“Wait up, you irk.” He didn’t stop until he hit the water, and you had to physically arrest him with your hand around his arm.

“Lo’ak!”

“Why does nobody ever believe me? Why doesn’t she believe me?”

Of course this was about Tsireya. You smiled a little at your oblivious baby brother.

“She does believe you, you skxawng, she’s just worried about you.”

He turned instantly in his spot.

“You think?”

You rolled your eyes and huffed a frustrated exhale. You called for an ilu and motioned for him to get on his own.

“Come, I want to meet this Payakan.”

You could tell Lo’ak was annoyed he had to wait for you, as you were not as fast or experienced in the water as he was, and needed to come up for air a lot more, but he didn’t complain. As you reached Three Brothers Rocks, he called loudly for Payakan, and you felt like an earthquake engulfed you as the massive creature surfaced. You were still a little scared by the tulkun, holding on tightly to your ilu, but you believed your brother - you trusted him, and you wanted him to know that.

Lo’ak immediately jumped from his ilu and onto the fin of the tulkun, which could comfortably fit a few Na’vi on it. He closed up on Payakan’s eye, and spoke looking closely into it.

“It’s good to see you.” Through sign language, Lo’ak continued speaking to his new friend. “Why are you outcast? What happened?”

You heard Payakan make a trilling sound you couldn’t understand, but you knew from the Metkayina they had their own complex language that you hoped in time you could master somehow.

“I trust you. You can trust me.”

The tulkun gave another trill that sounded quite content, and you smiled at the real connection that blossomed between these two. You saw Lo’ak smile a gummy, wide, genuine smile, and you couldn’t remember the last time you last saw it. The thought made you sad, but you pushed it aside.

“I want to introduce you to someone.” Your brother motioned for you to dismount your ilu and follow him, which you did cautiously.

As you reached his eye, you brought you fingers to your forehead and signalled an “I see you” to the mighty creature and smiled as it pushed its massive head a little closer to you.

“This is my sister.” You saw Lo’ak signal. You were both hanging on the fin when you felt it being lowered, and your brother told you to take a deep breath and hold on.

The next few hours were some of the most spectacular of your life, as you allowed Payakan to carry you around on his massive fin, feeling similar to how you did when flying at high speeds on top of your beautiful ikran. You mostly watched though, feeling as though Lo’ak deserves this moment for himself, deserves this connection that is his and his alone.

Eventually, they returned and you both got on top of him, sunbathing on his back while he floated away peacefully.

“So… Tsireya, huh?”

You smiled as Lo’ak turned purple.

“It’s ok, Lo’ak. You can talk to me.”

“I feel weird talking about this with you.”

“Oh…” you felt a little hurt at the comment, but decided not to push. “You don’t have to, I just thought you might like to. I don’t want you to feel alone, or like you can’t tell me things.”

“I would like to, it’s just, I have loved you my whole life, and for so long I thought that there was a chance that you and I might…” he shook his head, like he was trying to push the idea out of his mind, before continuing.

“It was weird between us, for a while, it was hard for me to watch you with my brother, knowing you were just one more thing he got that I didn’t… just one more thing he beat me at.”

“I’m not a prize you win at a carnival, you know?” You raised your eyebrow in his direction, a little indignant at his comments.

“I know… what I’m saying is that it is just a little strange for me, in light of everything we have been through. But I want to talk to you, if you want to listen.”

Neteyam decided there was no point in dwelling on his brother, or on you, both of whom were adults, and able to make your own decisions - and if that decision meant abandoning him and the rest of them on the day you were all supposed to go see the Cove of the Ancestors for the first time, then so be it.

With a small sigh, he got up from the ground and helped his sister up. Kiri eyed him intently, trying to gauge how bad his mood was, and right now, he couldn’t tell. He just knew he wanted to go, and calm down before he even thought about it further.

“Let’s go, it will be eclipse soon and I think you will really like it.”

He was excited to see the spirit tree, excited to see how it would differ from Vitraya Ramunong. He was excited to see what Eywa had to show him, what vision or dream he would be transported to this time. He tried not to dwell on the last time, the one he saw Auntie Jo and how she told him you were almost dead, tried not to dwell on the memories of seeing you in that room, a small and frail human, tubes protruding in and out of you like a nightmare he couldn’t wait wake up from.

They all got on their own ilu, except from Tuk who got on Kiri’s, and when they were all ready, they left. Neteyam was still amazed at the underwater beauty of this world, so unlike his own, but just as mesmerising, and he wondered if he would ever get used to it - ever not have his heart pick up speed in his chest at all the colours and the fish, at the coral and the reflections of the sun on the surface of the water, on his skin. When they resurfaced, Neteyam saw floating islands, that brought him back home a little, to the miracle of the Hallelujah mountains, although these were a little different, much smaller and flatter, and he thought with a swell of pride that although the beauty of this corner of the world was unparalleled, there still was nothing to top his own.

He took it all in, feeling all the resentment and anger melt away at the sight, arcades reaching peaks he could barely see, and the shift in the air reminded him a lot of the Tree of Souls - he felt Eywa in it, knew she was here, with them, right now. His thoughts lingered on you, on the fact you were missing this, that his brother was missing this, and how much he knows you would have enjoyed it. He imagined your face, glowing in surprise and awe, mouth agape and eyes wide, your ears flickering animatedly and freckles glowing stronger than usual, and he felt the pang of jealousy and hurt return in full force, fighting with his conscious mind that was telling him to let it go.

“This is the Cove of the Ancestors. Our most sacred place.“

Neteyam felt blinded by the sun as eclipse was starting to set in. He put a hand in front of his face to relieve some of the discomfort, and when he removed it, he was once again in unadulterated shock at the seascape beneath him. Bioluminescent glow brought light to the entire cove, purple and pink and blue.

“This is it. This is the Spirit Tree.”

The tree was resting on the ocean floor, and unlike their own, it was adorned with enormous leaves, reminiscent of delicate sea anemone. They dove in, each of them choosing their own, and he reached for his queue, gently bringing it forward to form the Tsaheylu. He felt air fill his lungs as the tree was providing a way to maintain the bond for longer underwater, and he was grateful as he always was, for Eywa and the way this planet worked together to maintain balance and a sense of communion among all its inhabitants.

He felt it instantly, being transported through space and time, through dimensions into a higher one, higher than his own, higher than he’ll ever know until his death.

He woke up outside of the clearing, your clearing, back in the forest, and his heart constricted at the sight. The smell of the wood and wet ground, the moisture in the air from the morning dew, the constant buzzing and humming of life all around him, the feel of the grass on his feet that he wiggled, trying to memorise the sensations it evoked in him.

He heard the unmistakable sound of a guitar, and a song he has never heard before playing, muffled voice breaking through the rest of the quiet sounds. He rushed to it, excited to see you, even in this universe, parallel to his own, you were still the only light guiding him. He was going to call for you, when the voice caught in his throat and his mouth remained agape, too surprised to remember to close it. It was you, but not as he has known you for a year now. It was human you, sick you, pale and skinny, wet from unshed rain, hair clinging to your bony back. You didn’t turn to face him, continuing to play the song that rang painful in his ears now, like it didn’t belong - like you didn’t belong.

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly this summer, it's clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it's just around the corner, darling

'Cause it lives in me

No, I could never give you peace

“Atan?”

You stopped playing and finally turned to him, and he hated seeing you like this, brittle and frail, so unlike the you he knows and loves, so unlike your soul, which shone brightly and stood tall. A kaleidoscope of emotions crossed your features as you took him in, a mix of fear, and happiness, wonder and anguish, all fighting for supremacy on your face.

“How are you here?”

“How am I here, how are you here, Atan? What is going on?”

“It’s good to see you. I missed you.”

Neteyam was so confused, his mind was mush trying to understand what was going on. He saw you slowly wander towards him, a soft smile on your face as you seemed to make up your mind about which feelings plagued you seeing him in front of you.

As you approached him, he tried to not focus on your ghastly features that he still had nightmares thinking about at night before bed, and he thanked Eywa for bringing you back to him, healthy and strong again.

You reached a hand for his face, that you stroke gently, and he couldn’t help lean into your touch, still familiar and necessary, even in this strange world, in this uneasy scenario.

“You shouldn’t be here, Neteyam. I am so happy to see you again, but you need to go.”

You were as tall as him, he mused. Even in your human body, you were as tall as you were in your Na’vi form, top of head reaching his chin, and he took you in his arms and into a hug, that he needed desperately.

“I don’t understand, Atan. What is happening?”

You hugged him back, as tightly as you could in this body that was falling apart in front of him, and pulled back, resting a hand above his heart, a soft tear falling down your cheek.

“Neteyam, I don’t have a lot of time.” You looked panicked around you, and he knew your time together was quickly coming to an end.

“Your life is fast approaching a crossroad and when it reaches, you will have a choice to make. Please, please choose right. And please, don’t think about me again, or about this. You can’t think of me again and you can’t tell anyone about this, you can’t tell me about this, do you understand?”

Neteyam couldn’t speak, couldn’t process what was happening in front of him. He didn’t have to, though, as you brought your face to his and kissed him, salty tears falling all over your face and into the kiss, that he felt staining the taste of you, that he loved so much. The last thing he saw was you walking away, your hand that you were resting on his body dripping in red liquid down your arm and onto the ground, that he recognised faintly as blood.

“I love you so much. I hope we never see each other again.”

He was violently pulled out of his dream by a hand shaking him awake, and the world came bluntly into view once more, commotion happening all around him. He turned to face the cause, and almost drowned as he saw his baby sister shaking aggressively, the freckles all over her body flashing concurrently.

He immediately rushed to her side and pulled her out of the water, by which time she had completely lost consciousness, and called for an ilu. He didn’t even have time to think about his own stirring experience, as every thought was screaming in terror and fear for his sister, who was not responsive at all, and whose previously bright markings were now completely dim.

Neteyam had to clear his mind and think. He’s seen seizures before, as they sometimes appeared in people who had the disease you helped cure. Kiri inhaled a lot of water as she was seizing, and her absent breath brought his own laboured one forward. He knew what to do.Thirty compressions, two breaths, thirty compressions, two breaths. As he continued the CPR, he saw with relief flooding his being that his baby sister gasped for air, now breathing on her own.

“Get her to the village. Hurry.” He thinks that was Tsireya, he was too focused on Kiri to care.

“Let’s go, let’s move.” He didn’t stop to see if any of them were following him, hurrying as much as he could to get her to safety.

You were happy you came with Lo’ak, although guilt was starting to gnaw at you when you thought about Neteyam’s hurt expression as you took off. You blew him and the rest of your family off on one of the most important days here, the day you were supposed to see the Tree of Souls. You knew that, but you knew it in your heart that Lo’ak needed someone to talk to, outside of his new mammalian friend, someone to show him he’s not as alone as he feels every day. Unlike the rest of them, you knew all too well the deep ache that came with feeling all alone, and you couldn’t bear the thought of your baby brother going trough that. You smiled a little to yourself at your conversation, and your now better understanding of his feelings towards the kind Metakyina girl, and you were grateful you were able to overcome a barrier you felt has plagued your relationship for a while.

It was a little past eclipse as you returned to the village and you saw with some surprise commotion happening outside of your tent. Your ilu took you right there in no time, and you jumped onto the platform, where your family was, alongside the Metkayina kids.

You hurried towards the entrance, where you saw Neteyam, and you gasped loudly when you looked inside and you saw Kiri laying on the floor, unconscious, Neytiri huddled on top of her, screaming for her to wake up.

“What the hell happened?”

Neteyam shot you a dirty look, which you recoiled at. Neteyam never looked at you that way, and you knew then he was a lot more upset about you leaving than you thought he would be.

“Kiri had a seizure at the Tree of Souls. She hasn’t woken up since.”

You ran inside and quickly got your medical bag out of hiding. “What have you guys done about it?”

“I gave her CPR because she inhaled a lot of water and she wasn’t breathing. She started breathing on her own, but that was it, she hasn’t woken up.”

“When was this?”

“Maybe 20 minutes ago?”

“Shit. If it was a seizure, she should have woken up by now. This is serious. She shouldn’t still be unconscious.”

“Can you do anything?” You heard Jake say, concern dripping from every word, tension thick in the air that was now hard to breathe.

“I can give her some IV fluids, but I’m not sure, Jake. She might be in status epilepticus, which is when a person seizes for longer than 5 minutes, but I don’t know what to do about it. I’m not trained for this. She needs EEG scans, which I don’t have, and she might need to be put in a medically induced coma so her brain doesn’t get damaged.”

“A coma?” He looked at you like you grew another head.

“I’m not sure, Jake, this is just a guess. I don’t have the equipment to run these kinds of tests. You need to call Norm and Max.”

“It’s dangerous, they are watching the air space, they could find us.”

“If they can help her, we have to try.” Neytiri stood up and came to you, taking your hands in hers. “Please help her!”

“I will, sa’nok. It will all be alright.”

Neteyam was painfully aware of everything happening around him, aware of people going in and out, aware of your presence back in his, making his heart race and breath labour. He was mad at you, mad at Lo’ak, mad that you both were selfish and left them, mad that if you had stayed, with him, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened - maybe Kiri would have been fine. On top of everything, his own experience at the Tree of Souls left so many questions, so much lingering in his mind. Why were you there? What did you all mean? What crossroads? Why couldn’t he think of you? How was he supposed to know which choice was the right one?Why couldn’t he tell you? You were his best friend, the person he told everything to, and most importantly, the smartest person he knows. If anyone would have an answer for this whole surreal experience, it would be you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Neteyam turned his head to see you standing there, looking up at him, a tired and pleading look in your eyes. He felt his anger melt, if only slightly, when looking in those eyes that still shone as brightly as the sun, and his mind flashed to your human eyes, that he saw for the first time in a year. He felt a little guilty for thinking of another pair of eyes than the ones currently staring at him, even if they were still your own.

“How is she?”

You sighed and turned towards Kiri’s unconscious form in the tent. “I don’t know. We won’t know until the morning, when Norm and Max get here.”

Neteyam scowled, not looking at you, but at the tiny flickers of bioluminescent light coming from the water, where fish were peacefully swimming near the surface. Maybe if you had been there…

“Neteyam… there’s nothing I could have done either way. There’s nothing I could have done differently, even if I was there.” Neteyam’s scowl deepened, but mostly cause he was unnerved by your continuous ability to see through him.

“I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t think I had a choice.”

Neteyam let out a mocking laugh. “You did have a choice.”

“I didn’t, Neteyam. Lo’ak needed me.”

“I needed you. You’re never around anymore, you’re doing the exact same thing as you did when you were young. Pushing me away, isolating yourself in this marui while everyone else is trying their fucking best to adapt. Everyone but you.”

Neteyam knew he was being harsh, but his emotions were running high in light of the clusterfuck of a day he had, of frustrations that had built in him for months, that were coming out to the surface now, even if he tried to stop them.

“Stop… you can’t do this. I know you are hurt that I left, and I know you feel annoyed at me, but I am trying my best. I’m sorry if it’s not good enough for you, but it’s the most I can handle right now. I am sorry about Kiri, Neteyam. I will do my best to help her, but right now, there is nothing else I can do. I am sorry about Lo’ak, but you guys always give him shit and you don’t take him seriously and I don’t want him to be alone. I know what it’s like to be alone, courtesy of my abandoning parents and you. You don’t get to blame me for not wanting someone, my brother, to go through what you put me through. I’m sorry I am not out as much as you guys, but unlike you, I didn’t grow up swimming and I am struggling, and I feel like a burden, and I feel like everyone is abandoning me for Tsireya, and I just need some time to deal, I need some time to figure out who I am now, in this new place, in this - yet again - new life, another one in a year. And a little bit of fucking understanding would be nice.”

He was still angry, probably even angrier than he was, at you and at Lo’ak, at your knee-jerk reflex to bring back his leaving whenever you were hurt. But he also felt guilty, because in truth, he didn’t try to see things from your perspective, and understand how hard this must all be on you. Neteyam watched as you turned your back to him and went back into the tent, kneeling over Kiri. That could have gone better, Neteyam thought with a deep sigh.

It was the morning when you heard the unmistakable sounds of a helicopter approaching, and you knew then that Norm and Max have arrived. You felt happy to see them and relieved they were here, as you felt completely out of your depth in this situation where your sister was involved. You didn’t sleep a wink last night, monitoring her vitals and making sure she was getting all the nutrients through the IV. You haven’t talked to Neteyam since then, his harsh words still fresh in your mind.

A swell of happiness enveloped you at the sight of the two men entering the tent, and you jumped up and hugged them, trying not to crush Max’s tiny body in the process. Norm was teary eyed when taking you in, and you found it hard letting go.

“Good to see you, Ace.”

You didn’t realise how much you missed that voice and that nickname until now, like a constant noise you don't realise is giving you a headache until it stops ringing in your ears.

“We missed you, guys. Sorry this is not under better circumstances.”

You watched as the men took out equipment you didn’t have with you, such as a portable EEG, and looked at her brain activity.

“I gave her 5mg/ml of propofol every 3 hours to maintain the coma, but I stopped a few hours before you arrived so you could do this. I’ve been keeping her on IV fluids to maintain hydration and nutrient intake.”

“Good job, Ace.”

You looked alongside the scientists at the scans of her brain.

“There’s no bleed, there’s no fracture. No effects of hypoxia. Her brain looks good.”

“You still have this interictal activity right here in her prefrontal.”

“She’s definitely had a seizure.”

You went outside to discuss this further, while the Sully children and their mother looked over Kiri.

“Look, I don’t think it was a seizure.”

“Ace, it was definitely a seizure. There’s nothing else it could have been.”

“Okay, let me rephrase. Maybe it was a seizure, but I don’t think it’s epilepsy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, guys. It happened while she was plugged into the Tree of Souls.”

“I think the kid is right. I talked to her a couple nights ago. She says she could feel Eywa, she could hear her heartbeat.”

“That is classic frontal lobe epilepsy.”

“Epilepsy?” Jake looked out of his mind with concern, and you shook your head quietly, disagreeing with Norm, but not wanting to interrupt him.

“Yeah.. you see visions, you get states of religious ecstasy, like the kind she’s described. Plugging into the spirit tree is some sort of a trigger. You definitely can’t let her do that anymore.”

“What…? Ever?”

Max interjected softly, trying to be as understanding as empathetic as he could, given the situation at hand. "Jake… if she seizes underwater again, it could kill her.”

Jake turns to look at you, pleading, begging for you to disagree, to give him some sort of hope that this wasn’t as dire as it seemed.

“What do you think, baby girl?”

“I think Norm and Max are understandably looking at this the science, biological, human way… no offence.”

“I think everything you guys are saying makes sense, if you decide to forget who Kiri is. Kiri is not just anybody. She’s special, she is connected with Eywa in a way none of us can imagine. We have discussed about her parentage before and everyone has their theories, but mine is a little different. I think Kiri is Eywa’s child, as much as she was Grace’s. I think Eywa communicates through her, I think Eywa has bigger plans for her than any of us know. When I died, I saw my mother.” At the shocked expressions all around you, you withdrew into yourself a little. You didn’t want to talk about this, but it was necessary. “She was there, in Eywa. Has been with her, in this higher plane, ever since she died. She’s been watching over me. She told me that Kiri was the answer to the virus, that she would know. And she did. She has gifts, guys. I agree that her plugging into the spirit tree is a trigger, but not the one that can be measured by an EEG or treated by some Carbamazepine.”

“I think in order to wake up, she needs the Tsahik.”

You saw Neytiri thinking ahead of you, as she usually did, and closely behind her Ronal was making her way to your tent. You got up from next to the men, and all of you tracked back where Kiri was, and you watched as Ronal performed rituals you had no understanding of, but were fascinated by. Your gaze was fixated on Kiri’s face, as was the rest of your family’s, and all of you gasped loudly as you saw your sister’s eyes open slowly.

“Oh, thank God!” Jake was almost in tears, but couldn’t hold a candle to Tuk, whose face was littered by them.

“Kiri, you’re awake!”

Neytiri took her daughter’s hand in both of hers, bringing it affectionately to her face, as her and Kiri’s pained cries filled the muffled sounds in the room.

“Oh, Kiri, my sweet child. Oh, my sweet daughter.”

You were so happy, so relieved, and you couldn’t help gaze over to your mate, whose eyes were already on you. It was tense, the situation between you, and you wondered if it could be solved with one discussion, if this was really only about you leaving with Lo’ak. Your head moved minutely in the direction of the entrance to the tent, and he nodded at you, understanding instantly.

You left quietly, so as to not disturb the jubilant reunion, and sat on the edge of the platform, dipping your feet in the warm, clear blue water.

He sat next to you, and his body was turned towards yours, his thigh touching yours, his eyes staring down at the side of your face, that refused to look at him.

“Atan…”

“I’m sorry for what I said. It was hypocritical of me to hold your going after Lo’ak against you, when I have been doing that my whole life and getting injured as a result and coming close to dying a couple of times. I’m sorry for saying you are not trying. You obviously are, and I’m sorry I didn’t try to look at this from your perspective. You are doing amazing, you have had to overcome so much and you always come out stronger than you were, and every time I don’t understand how that’s even possible. I need you to know, that nobody is abandoning you. Tuk is still your biggest fan and she talks about you all the time when we are swimming. I think she chewed Tsireya’s ear off about you, and she misses you being around in the water with her. And Kiri, well, she just finds comfort in nature, and you know this, and right now the nature is… well, where you aren’t. You have nothing to be worried about.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his and you saw he looked… off, although he was being earnest in his apology. You couldn’t place what was wrong with him, what happened to him in the last couple of days, and it worried you, doubt eating at you mercilessly.

“I’m sorry for bringing up the fact you left. It was unfair of me.”

“Friends?” You smiled a little, still unconvinced that the situation was resolved, but cooing to yourself quietly when his hand caressed your cheek in the way that made you melt into him.

“Friends.”

Gideon stood behind as everyone was flying peacefully above the forest. He watched them all attentively, all of them, trying to think of everything he knew about them, everything he could use. He needed to figure out weaknesses, possible liabilities. He needed a plan to find you, talk to you on your own. He needed to know all the things he’s missed, needed you to know he would do anything in his power to protect you. This time, at least, he’d make sure he wasn’t too late. His mind flooded uncontrollably with images of his first daughter, Sarah, and how hard she had fought that cancer, how tiny she was, how he wasn’t even there when she died. He gave up everything, his integrity, and power, and life, his future, his family, his peace of mind, to come here and be paid the money that would save her life, but it was too late. It haunted him at night, the knowledge that she died alone. That her own dad wasn’t there to hold her as she gave her last breath. Further guilt brought shame deep in his soul as he realised he also abandoned you - willingly or not, you had to grow up alone. You were alone since you were ten, Spider mentioned, orphaned as a child. You were surrounded by Jake Sully’s kids, so he was hopeful that your life didn’t turn out as miserable as his nightmares painted it. You looked protective over them, they all thought you were all siblings. You had a family, one that he had no part in. It hurt him, the thought, it killed him like poison daggers, slowly, agonisingly. He hoped he could still see you, at least once. Could at least hear your voice, look into your eyes and apologise for all the mistake that lead to this, for all the time he has not loved and protected you the way he should have.

“Boss, long range patrol picked up a radar hit. A rogue gunship.”

“Where?”

“Eastern Sea, 400 klicks North.”

Turns out he was gonna get to see you sooner than he thought, and turns out he wouldn’t be alone. Fuck.

Everybody was really happy that Kiri was awake, except herself, it seemed. Neteyam noted with concern that she ate much less that she normally did, and didn’t want to come swimming with everyone else, which used to be her favourite thing to do in this village. It was early morning when the whole Sully family was up and about, most of them already gone. Later in the day, you would go deepwater hunting and scavenging with the rest of the Metkayina, but for now, you had a free morning. Neteyam peered over at you, hunched over the fire, chatting with Kiri and preparing food for her, determined to get her to eat. You sensed his eyes on you, as you always did, and you looked up, eyebrows raised in the direction of the exit. As Kiri was absentmindedly turned around, in her own little world, you signed to him in the language you now knew fluently. Go. I want to chat to her. Go find your brother. He needs you.

He did as he was told, walking through the village saying hello to all the people he has come to know in the past couple of months. The Metkayina were nice, he concluded. A little strange, but good, kind people once they got past his family’s… unique circumstances. It helped, he thought, that his dad was Toruk Makto, and he saw every day how people treated him almost like a deity, like a king among men. It was hard to think of his dad that way - he’s heard the stories, he’s seen the outcome of his war with the Aliens, he met other clans who he brought together during the time of Great Sorrow, but to him, he was just his dad. A little rough around the edges sometimes, particularly since the RDA came back, but still, just his dad, that used to carry him places and make him fly in his arms as a child, who carved wooden toys for them and taught him how to use a bow in a river near the village.

He found Lo’ak on the beach, deep in thought as he looked somewhere in the distance. Neteyam traced his brother’s gaze to a few girls, having fun in the water, enjoying the sunny day. He smirked when he saw the girl that seemed to take most of his baby brother’s attention recently. A four-fingered hand on Lo’ak shoulder startled him, and the oldest Sully laughed a little at how focused the boy must have been on Tsireya to not even notice his brother approaching at all.

“Bro, you scared the shit out of me.”

“I can see. Poor Tsireya’s ears are going to flame up with the amount you are staring at her.”

Lo’ak’s own ears turned purple and twitched in chagrin. Neteyam took a seat next to his brother.

“Lo’ak, I wanted to apologise.”

That got his baby brother’s attention, who rose an eyebrow expectantly. You and Lo’ak and your fucking eyebrows.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you that Payakan is good. And that I got jealous after you left.”

“You got jealous? Why?”

“Because she followed you. Because you got to stay, a whole year I couldn’t. Because you were there to watch her grow up, look after her when I wasn’t. Because your presence in her life was always positive and filled with laughter and human things I can’t understand, but you seem to, things you like. I think I’ve held a grudge for a long time, and I shouldn’t have. Because it wasn’t your fault. And I am grateful you were there for her, and that she had you. You have a connection with her I never will, and while it pained me watching you give her the Avatar, ask her to be your mate, none of it was on you, and I shouldn’t have let it come between us. I am sorry, Ma’tsmukan (brother).”

Lo’ak was speechless and Neteyam revelled a little at the sight, which was as rare as a new Toruk Makto. He should have done this a long time ago. There were plenty more things Neteyam had to apologise to his baby brother for, but he didn’t want to overwhelm his already disheveled demeanour.

“Bro, you’re going to make me emotional in front of the girl I like.” Neteyam laughed a little and opened his arms for his brother, who more than happily closed the gap and hugged him, just like they did when they were young.

They lay on the soft sand, bathing in the warm sun rays that provided a welcome respite from the constant state of moisture they usually found themselves in.

“Neteyam…?”

“Mmm?”

“How did you know?…”

Neteyam propped himself up on his elbows to look at his brother, that was sitting again, staring again.

“How did you know you were in love?

It was Neteyam’s turn to be speechless. In love? He knew Lo’ak had a crush, but didn’t realise how deep it ran. He thought about it for a long while, mind wandering to you, to your currently messy situation.

“Hmm… that’s a heavy question, brother. It might be a little different for me than for you. You see, I have loved her my whole life. Loving her has always been as easy as the air I breathed - as necessary, too. I don’t actually know the moment I fell in love with her, because it was not sudden. Back when we were younger, every once in a while, she would say something, or look at me a certain way, and my breath hitched in my throat… she’d laugh or smile up and her eyes gleamed in a way I only saw the night stars do, and my mind went blank. But over time, it happened more and more, until one day every touch, every glance, every moment gave me the same sensation, until I couldn’t be around her without turning into a mess of musings and feelings. There was one moment, the first moment, when I remember thinking ‘Shit, I am in love with her, what I am going to do?’. I think we were about 16 at the time, and I had sneaked out of our tent to go spend the night with her. We used to do this a lot, but that night, she fell asleep earlier than she normally does, and she fell asleep on my chest. I could feel her ribcage go up and down every time she took a breath. I think she had a cold, because her nose was blocked and she was snoring a little, and I just watched her. And I had never been happier, than in that moment, just holding her in my arms, and feeling her sleeping on me… and then she said my name. She was dreaming, and she said my name. And it was with love, with yearning, and my whole heart just stopped. And I knew then, that I could no longer hide, I could no longer pretend that what I felt for her was anything less than everything. That I would give her everything I have, that I am, for as long as there is still breath in my lungs.”

“Lo’ak, when you are in love, you will know. And if you are, then I am happy for you, little brother. Because despite the hurt, and the pain and the fights, there is no better feeling in the world. And if she’s the one, then she’s lucky to have someone like you.”

You finish grilling some fresh fish on the fire pit in your Marui to feed Kiri, and if you could actually get her to eat it, you were going to celebrate. You couldn’t blame her, having been in her position one too many times. In fact, if anyone could understand what she was going through, it was you.

“Please talk to me? I know you may not want to, but it’s me… you used to tell me everything. And whatever it is, we can work through it together. We always have, no? It’s always been you and me, the two girls with scientist human mothers and no dads? The two girls who used to watch endless hours of video logs and read through encyclopaedias, the girls who used to theorise about who our dads were, what they liked, what traits we got from them? I’m still the same person… just a little bluer, and a little taller, but still me.”

“I saw my mum… you know? The same way you did.”

Your mouth fell agape, but you tried to focus on being calm, so as to not startle her into silence once again.

“Did she say anything?”

“We hugged… it was so nice. It felt like home. We were back in the forest. I asked… I asked her why am I different. I asked her who my father was. But she didn’t answer. She was just taken from me, pulled from my arms and into the abyss. That’s all I remember.” Her eyes were leaking soft tears, and you went to her side and hugged her. She reciprocated, holding you close. “It was so scary…”

“I know… I’m sorry.”

“You said you had a whole conversation with your mother. Why did the Great Mother not allow me to do the same?”

You thought about it for a second, needing to choose your words carefully.

“I think the Great Mother is very careful as to what escapes her, because the knowledge that our ancestors, the people who have reached that plane have is beyond us. It’s beyond what we’re supposed to know. I think when Grace was about to share something that could potentially change the course of your life, your future, Eywa stopped her. Because I don’t think we’re supposed to know, we are supposed to live our lives with no outside interference.”

“But what could she have told me about my dad that was so dangerous, so monumental that Eywa had to stop it?”

You bit the inside of you lip aggressively and wondered if the Great Mother would strike you down if you opened your mouth in that moment. To be fair, all you had were theories, so maybe you should keep them to yourself.

“I don’t know, Kiri… All I know is that you are special. And that’s something to be celebrated, not hidden.”

A couple of hours later, you were ready to go diving, and a smile broke through as you watched Neteyam and Lo’ak walk back to your tent, laughing and pushing each other playfully. It was good to see them together again, it was good to see them be brothers again, like they used to be when you were all young. Neteyam’s face split in a dazzling smile, that took your breath away, when he spotted you, and your heartbeat rose as you took him in, those beaded braids flinging from side to side, his imposing yet boyish walk that you found so attractive, those piercing eyes and that beautiful smile, all there to make your tail swish furiously, a dead giveaway for your emotions. He didn’t say anything as he approached you, but took your face in his hands and kissed you, like nobody was there or watching, like the whole world was a mere void around you, like it was the first time. You were surprised and a little shy, knowing Lo’ak and Kiri were right there, but you reciprocated, melting into him, as you always did, and appreciating the very rare public display of affection. You were dizzy when he let you go, pressing his lips to yours gently one more time, and you laughed at the peculiarity of the act.

“What was that for?”

“I just really really love you. And I am very grateful to have you. And sometimes I feel I take for granted what we have, this meteor-strike, one-of-a-kind love that somehow beat all odds. I forget how you have been the only constant in my whole life, how you are the only one I have ever seen, in this whole world. I let frustrations get the best of me, and I am bad at communicating, and I am so so sorry.”

You looked at him incredulously, and then at Lo’ak. “What did you do to my mate?”

“Nothing, Angel. He got there all on his own, if you can believe that.”

You had no answer to that, as a loud horn was met with excited yelps and scream from all around you in the marui adjacent to yours. I think, whatever this was, it was safe to assume the deep water scavenging was cancelled.

You saw Tsireya on her ilu, waving her hand with a big smile on her face, as every villager around her dove in and got on their own.

“The tulkun have returned! Everybody, our brothers and sisters have returned!”

You eyes locked with Neteyam’s, and a wave of enthusiasm washed over you, and you took his hand and called one of your new little aquatic friends, wishing secretly it was Neyn instead, so you could share this moment with her. You both got in the water and on top of the same ilu, hurrying towards the spot everyone else was. You felt his hand slide up your thigh to hold you better in place, and as you wrapped your arms around his abdomen and placed your hands flush against his abs, you knew you had more than one thing to celebrate tonight.

The return of the tulkun was a spectacle few words can do justice. The mammoth beings played and breached and barrel rolled in the water, and you watched as their Metkayina brothers and sisters joined them, talking and catching up, sharing secrets and anecdotes gathered in their time apart. Both you and your mate were in awe at the events unfolding all around you, smiling from ear to ear and holding your hands tightly together. This was love, and you knew it too well, you felt it around you and within you, you felt it in him.

This amazing rare encounter marked a time for celebration among the tribe, and festivities would be underway soon and last for a couple of days. Tsireya said it is the best time of the year, with dancing, and singing and communal dinners and communion with Eywa to give thanks for the safe return of their spiritual brothers and sisters.

It was everything she promised and more, and once again you found yourself reminded of the beautiful customs of the Omatikaya, and how much all the celebrations nuzzled their way deep into your heart, to never be forgotten, to always be yearned for. It was unlike anything else, the feeling of community as you all danced together, girls courting their prospective mates, boys watching entranced at the beauty and grace of it all. The drums that beat in sync with your heart, and how your voice filled the void with music from your home planet that the people accepted and encouraged, and then later on, began joining in for. You wondered if these would also start feeling the same in time, the more the forest began feeling like a long forgotten dream.

You and Neteyam slipped by unnoticed in the midst of the seemingly unending celebration. You were chuckling as he was chasing you, tugging playfully at your tail and soon enough, you reached a deserted plot of land, hidden behind some shrubbery. You laid down on the hard surface of a big flat rock, and you both sighed as you positioned your head on his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat and settling breath. You had your fights, and being with him was frustrating sometimes, as you were sure it was for him too, but damn, nothing in the world could ever measure up to this feeling. The feeling of his hand slowly caressing your bare back was sending shivers down your spine, and you raised a leg on top of his, getting closer to being so intertwined no would would be able to untangle you. He turned his body to the side, facing you now, and smiled softly at you, a look of melancholy pushing his eyebrows together. You brought your hand to his forehead and smoothed it out, caressing his cheek when you were done, action met with a quiet, low purr.

“Atan… I need you, so much.”

You kissed him, slowly at first, but as desire quickly overcame your senses, you were putty in the kiss, giving in to him as he deepened it, rolling you both until he was on top of you, one leg in between your own.

Neteyam moaned, overwhelmed as his consciousness was flooded by your scent, your taste, your body. His mind was in shambles as it was trying to understand the intensity of all the emotions coursing through his veins, from the arousal and need for you, to the formidable love his heart was barely able to contain in his chest, to the fear and confusion of the vision of you he was met with at the spirit tree and finally the deep seeded hurt at the unresolved conflicts still plaguing you both, still plaguing his dreams, feeding his insecurities.

As you were hurriedly tugging at his loincloth, trying to untie it without breaking the kiss, one emotion won by a landslide. His cock sprung free as you finally succeeded, slapping messily on your abdomen. Neteyam bent the leg that was in between yours, until it reached your core, and he felt a patch of wetness stain your cloth. You couldn’t help grinding on his leg, and the sight of you writhing underneath him, trying to get yourself off on him drove him mad. Whatever ounce of self-restraint went straight out the window, and he ripped your clothes swiftly away, plunging two digits into your wet core, twitching at your whimpering noises.

“I need you. Fuck, I need you so bad, Atan.”

You reached for your queue, begging to feel him, for some reassurance that you, what you had was alright, that despite all the mess you both made of each other, he was still him, and you were still you, forever intertwined, forever one. He looked at you, slight panic displayed all over his features, but eventually he brings his forth and the connection makes you knees wobbly and your mind fuzzy. It pains you, feeling him, feeling all the contradicting emotions taking over his soul, feelings the hurt and pain, the dread and affection, need and yearning, and trying to make sense of them all. What was on his mind? What could possibly be plaguing him to such an unnerving extent? It couldn’t all come from the past couple days, could it? You hoped your emotions would put his at ease, at least a little. Sure, you were a little upset, and somewhat worried for him, but that always paled in comparison to the ever-growing love and desire that nested deep in you, that started years ago, that will never falter.

You looked at his face, furrowed and pained, and you brought your hand up, caressing it slowly.

“Neteyam… what is wrong?”

He kissed you, forcefully, taking your jaw and holding you in one place, and you were scared of him, for him, you weren’t sure.

“Hey… stop.”

You pushed him away and he rolled over with a frustrated growl. You straddled him and lowered your body until you were face to face. “What is eating at you, Yawne (beloved)?”

He brought an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from you. You waited, knowing better than to push him. Eventually he removed his arm and you saw tears falling down the side of his face and onto the ground. Your heart broke at the sight, at the sight of your mate who was going through something you couldn’t understand, that he didn’t share with you.

“I feel like I’m losing you, like I’m going to lose you.”

The feelings of confusion and fear were perfectly clear on your face that was contorting to accommodate the emotions electrifying your being, but you tried your best to remain calm, as to not hurt him further.

“Neteyam… why would you say that? What happened at the Spirit Tree?”

You were met with silence, deep, unsettling silence, that rang more painfully in your ears than all the music that has been loudly enveloping the village for hours at this point.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me.” Eventually he did as he was told, and with blow after blow, you felt exhausted at his despairing look, that was mirroring the deep-seeded sadness in his soul, that you could feel through your still-intact bond.

You took his hands by the wrists and directed them to your body, on both sides of your abdomen.

“I’m here.”

You kissed him, softly and intensely, pouring your whole heart in it.

“I’m here.”

You took him, his whole impressive length in your hands and started pumping him, slowly, firmly, until he was moaning loudly beneath you.

“I’m not going anywhere. Ever again. Let me show you, that I am here, that I love you, that whatever this is, we will work through it, like we always do.”

You never got to do this - be in control. You never felt the need for it, you loved being his, being owned, wholly and completely, but you needed this now, he needed this now.

You continued pumping him and his look - parted lips, flushed cheeks, eyes tightly shot, ears pushed back, quick breaths and heart racing - drove you wild and the power you felt made liquid pool as you started grinding on him, looking for your own release. It felt good - too good, and sensing his worries melt away slowly only intensified it, and without being able to withstand it any longer, you got up and lined his cock to your sopping entrance and lowered yourself on him slowly, feeling every inch of him, allowing him to do the same. You both moaned in unison, and he got up, aligning your faces, looking deep into your eyes as you bottomed out, wobbly at how deep in you he was, at the maddening stretch that was almost too much to bear.

“I’m here. Do you feel this, feel me? Do you feel what you do to me, how you make me feel? I love you, I will always love you, it’s just you and me. Just you and me, forever.”

“Forever?”

You smiled and threw you head back, overwhelmed by all the sensations you were experiencing.

“Forever.”

You moaned, eyes tightly shut, hair tickling your lower back, that he grabbed and pulled on. You started moving, an agonising pace that didn’t last long as he grabbed your hips forcefully and lifted you off his dick and back on it, over and over, over and over, a ruthless back and forth that made you mewl and whimper, hysterical over how good it felt, how you knew this orgasm was going to rush over you like volcanic fire, leaving nothing in its wake but the ash of your trembling body. He knew you were close when you squeezed around him, and he increased the pace at which he was rutting upwards into you, animalistic desire overtaking his every conscious thought.

“I need you to come in me. I need to feel you in me, feel you filling me up, please.”

You were barely coherent, but he understood you amongst the moans and pleasured cries.

“Come for me, Atan. Let me feel you.”

You did just as you were told, as you always did - his words holding such power over you, and you felt your orgasm prolonging as thick spurts of his cum shot into you, filling you up and sliding down your ass. It was a holy experience, this feeling, this time with him, unlike anything else you have ever experienced, and you were happy to make out only positive emotions in his mind for now. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want this to end, and you stood like this, looking in each other’s eyes, kissing softly, filled to the brim, just like you loved to be.

You came back from your outing and left for the tent, spent and in need of respite. You left Neteyam with his family, and you were surprised to see little Tuk still up. She got on her feet when she saw you and jumped in your arms, which you were happy about, having felt a little disconnected from her recently.

“Hi, cutie, what are you still doing up?”

“I cannot sleep when everybody is away. I want to be dancing, too!”

“Oh, sweetie, you danced all night! It’s past your bedtime, you need to sleep a lot so you can get stronger. You want to be strong like your mummy and daddy, no?”

“I want to be strong like you!”

You let out a small cry at the words, a mantle of surprise engulfing you like a shroud. You needed this, you realise, needed her, needed to know you were still loved, you still had a family that would choose you, despite your many shortcomings, despite being different, despite being nothing new.

“I’m not that strong, baby. I need you to be stronger than me.”

Tuk crossed her arms around her chest in a defying motion, shaking her head furiously, a small pout gracing her beautiful features.

“No. You are strong. The strongest. You are smart, and kind and good with a bow, and a gun. You stand up to daddy even when Lo’ak and Neteyam don’t, and you’re the best ikran rider in the village!”

You laughed loudly at her unbridled praise, and found it funny how unreliable of a judge she was, but appreciative and grateful to know how she saw you, in spite of all your insecurities.

“Don’t say that in front of Neteyam!”

“So you don’t love Tsireya more than me?”

She gasped and circled your neck in a tight hug.

“Never. You’re my second mummy, you always will be.”

“That’s good to hear, baby.”

“Can you sing me to sleep?”

“Of course. Come on, scooch in.” Tuk made a temporary home in your lap, head propped in a comfortable position and legs sprawled all over her woven sleeping mat. You removed her hair out of her face and continued caressing her forehead in a calming motion, the same way your mum used to do for you when you were her age. You remembered a song from a movie you loved from back then, and you decided you needed to show it to Tuk one day, but for now, your singing would have to do.

Where the North wind meets the sea, there's a river full of memory

Sleep, my darling, safe and sound, for in this river, all is found

Yes, she will sing to those who'll hear, and in her song, all magic flows

But can you brave what you most fear, can you face what the river knows?

Come, my darling, homeward bound

When all is lost, then all is found

Gideon stood and watched as Quaritch was burning yet another village in his quest to find Jake Sully. He was sick to his stomach at the damage this was doing to these innocent people. Gideon had no problem with murder. He had no problem with intimidation, or hurting people, but at least back on Earth, it was to protect his country. It was against people who were a threat to the security of everyone who lived in it, a potential threat to his family, to his daughter. He could justify it, the atrocious acts, and it would help him sleep at night. But this, all the things he has done since coming to Pandora, no matter how badly he knew he did it to save his daughter, that he had no choice, it still haunted him, giving him nightmare after nightmare he would never outlive.

“IT’S TORUK MAKTO! HAS HE BEEN HERE?” He winced as the rest of the crew was tasing villagers, as Quaritch pulled roughly on the queue of the Olo’eyktan, that he now knew how painful and connected to the rest of his being it was. He didn’t say anything - he couldn’t. Any intervention would be a risk he couldn’t take, not when his plan would warrant him instant death, not when he was so close to seeing you, to meeting you.

Quaritch came close to him and pulled him to the side.

“This shit ain’t working.”

“No,” Gideon said. “They’re stone-walling us.”

“If we turn up the heat, he’s just gonna keep running. We got to draw him out.”

Gideon looked back from Ikran at the burning village, and felt his own self-hatred eat at him, like a parasite, like a virus that would kill him slowly, driven mad by his inaction, by the feeling is his gut that what he was doing was just as bad, if not worse. The Recoms reached the ship that has been doubling as a home for a while, while they navigated the Eastern Sea and this seemingly never-ending archipelago. Scoresby, the captain of this ship and a grade A asshole was waiting on the deck of the ship, a furious look on his face.

“I’m over it. I’ve got quotas to meet.”

“You want to hunt? Let’s hunt.”

Everyone turned, shocked at the words coming out the colonel’s mouth. Even Scoresby, that psycho, couldn’t believe his ears.

“What? Here? Not here, there’s too many villages.”

“No, no no no.” the scientist, Dr. Ian Garvin interrupted, then hated himself for it, as dread clearly filled his eyes looking at the 10 foot tall solider in front of him. Gideon felt for the man, with whom he had a little more in common than he was willing to admit. A broken man, an alcoholic who came to Pandora with dreams and good intentions, his love for the planet and the science fueling his fire, a fire which was promptly snuffed out when he realised the never-ending depths of the depravity that surrounded this whole company that he was now working for. A marine biologist who had to watch as the beings he adulated were murdered brutally in front of him for profit, and he watched, like a coward, like Gideon.

“Respectfully, sir, you do not understand the kinship bonds between the Tulkun and the Ocean Na’vi. It would be like murdering a member of their family.”

“If we start hunting here, the hostiles will come after us.”

“Exactly. One hostile in particular.”

Gideon prayed Jake Sully was smarter than to fall for this, and he prayed for whatever little remained of his soul after this whole endeavour.

You woke up the next day sandwiched between your mate, who was snug behind you, snoring lightly in your ear, leg in between yours, and Tuk, whom you were keeping close to you, and whose hands you have been holding all night. You felt content, even despite the craziness of the past couple of days, and grateful for the people you were sharing a tent with. Things finally seemed to be looking up, you thought, as your swimming improved, and your relationship with Lo’ak mended, and your insecurities about Kiri and Tuk melted away a little. You were worried about Neteyam, but you hoped he would open up about whatever was eating at him soon, and you hoped you eased his mind a little last night.

You had a pleasant family day, laughing and chatting idly by the fire, enjoying the calming sounds of the rain falling all around you and hitting the water right outside your home. It was a short-lived comfort, however, as Tonowari towered at the entrance, dark haunted look marring his features. You all quieted taking him in, and your mum and dad, as well as you and Neteyam went to check on whatever it was that made him this way.

You were barely holding in tears as you neared the dreaded sight, the dead tulkun and her calf, both of them floating aimlessly, held up by orange floating bags with the RDA logo on it. You felt yourself hanging on tighter to your mate, squeezing your arms around his abdomen and letting out quiet sobs that were drowned out by Ronal’s. You watched as she dismounted her Tsurak and approached the departed pair, climbing so she could look in its now empty eyes. You look to your left at Jake and Neytiri, who had similar expressions to yours, and reached your hand for Neytiri’s, who squeezed it, both needing the comfort and the feeling of companionship in these trying times.

Pained wails escaped Ronal’s mouth as she took in the dead calf accompanying the mother.

“Her name is Ro’a.”

“She was my spirit sister. She was a composer of songs - much revered. We would sing together. She waited many breeding cycles to have this calf. The clan was so happy for her. What is this, Tonowari?”

“WHAT IS THIS?”

“What is this?” Tonowari barked. “Why is she marked?”

You were confused, but tapped Neteyam on the shoulder to take the ilu to where the chieftain was.

“It is probably just a way to distinguish them. A cruel way, but that’s humanity for you.”

You finally reached the other side of the tulkun, and looked at what everybody was appalled at. There was big, red, blinking rod, impaled deeply in her skin. Next to it, there was writing on the underside of the fin, carved with a knife. It was red, from the dry blood that spilled as it was drawn, and scarred slightly, meaning it wasn’t fresh. There wasn’t a lot of blood, or any drippings as gravity pushed it down, so you concluded it was done after the tulkun was killed.

“Can you understand it?” Ronal said in a scathing voice, more a snarl than actual words.

“No, it’s not English.”

You looked at it, and stupor overcame you, but you tried your best to maintain your composure. Breathe… breathe… breathe.

To Jake this might mean nothing, but to you it did. It was a language you didn’t know well, but you knew enough to understand. Your mum taught you some of it when you were a baby, telling you it was the language her and your dad spoke to each other when they wanted to not be heard, when they wanted something for themselves.

“Tonight. Midnight.

10 km E of village, deserted island.

Come alone.”

“Kid, can you understand it? You’re the smartest one here.”

“No, Jake, I can’t. Sorry.”

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