#but when it comes to Claudia-I will never not be mad

[thoughtsandfiction]

Maybe watching 7&8 together was a bad idea. I find myself mad on Claudia's behalf yet again. Yes, turning her was thee great sin. Louis should not have asked for it, Lestat shouldn't have damned her to keep Louis. We know this. The new version of it is especially harrowing, but it's not just that that makes her hate him. It's a big part of it, but it's not all there is. From her own recollections, he treated her horribly! That was her experience of him! From her own diaries! It wasn't just turning her! It's Charlie in the incinerator, it's "you are built like a bird because you are a mistake," It's "what did Charlie taste like, like the love you'll never know?" It's the train. It's the lies and the omissions. It's conspiring with Antoinette to kill her! I'm glad that the attempted murder gave him some clarity and he can go up for her in the middle of rehearsing her public execution (🙄) but no, I'm not gonna buy that as some indication of the great love he has always had for her. Where was the grand heart-wrenching apology for all that Claudia endured?!

She has been turned to ashes, and the grief of it will forever cripple them. Wonderful. But, in the case of Lestat, there seems to be this idea that the depths of that grief disproves what we have been told was her experience of him. That is, he has proven himself to be a more emotionally open, vulnerable creature than the insecure, petulant, abusive one in her diaries because he can shed tears for her now. This is the "real" Lestat. But I take Claudia's position on this, fuck these vampires and their redemptive hindsight.

They may be haunted, but they can hold each other in forgiveness and find understanding absolution in the others' eyes. They can come together and kiss away the blood of grief, but her anger keeps me from appreciating it. Her precise and sorrowful rage is what has stuck to my ribs. And the crazy thing is that I knew it was coming, but I was not ready for how this version would wreck me.

I'm gonna have to watch eps 8 again. I'm too Claudia rage brained for any of this right now. I can not join the transformation of their embrace. She will not let me.

[pynkhues]

I’m confused by what you mean when you say that Lestat was “cast out of the house” after the drop in 1.05, as this is not what the show tells us. Lestat left of his own will — he wasn’t thrown out. He beat Louis half to death and then ran away, as evidenced here — “Lestat had disappeared after that awful night. Vanished out of a profound sense of shame he would later confess to” (Louis, 1.06). Louis was in no fit state to throw anyone out of anywhere: as mentioned previously, Lestat had just beaten him half to death.

Apologies if I’m misinterpreting, but in instances like this you seem to paint Lestat as a somewhat of a victim — poor Lestat, banished from his house by his uncaring, domineering husband — when in actuality he was anything but a victim. He was the aggressor, the perpetrator of horrific intimate partner violence, and so to twist the narrative to imply that he was hard done to leaves a very sour taste in my mouth. 

Another instance of this is in your Byronic Hero post, where you suggest that Louis “decides when Lestat gets to live at Rue Royale”, in reference to him being “one of the monsters who’s controlling the household”. We’re talking about someone that has just spent months recovering from a brutal attack by their partner; Lestat chooses to not return because he is ashamed and he knows that Louis has not forgiven him. Louis is not forcing anything on him — and he certainly doesn’t have the power to keep Lestat from RR.

Can you understand why assertions like these are problematic? I understand you wanting to explore the push-pull power dynamic between L&L, but in doing so you seem to be missing the essential through-line in 1.06, which is that Louis and Claudia cannot leave while Lestat lives. Any power they may have once held is overshadowed by Lestat’s absolute control of the household, so to place Louis on level with Lestat as “one of the monsters controlling the household” is at best misguided, and at worst displays an unsettling disregard for victims of IPV. 

(x)

I mean, with all due respect, anon, you're responding to a series of tags I wrote last night that I specifically said I would later clarify and better articulate, so I'm not surprised you're confused and yes, you are misinterpreting me (again, I suspect, as I think you may have sent me asks like this before). I've been clear for months now that the drop is a singular act of violence on this show, and it's not one that I'd ever diminish or underwrite, and as a result, this feels like a pretty bad faith read of something I've both spoken about already and explicitly said I would be talking about again soon. Instead of paying me the respect I extend to all of you by giving me the time to reply in the way I've signalled I would, you've used my tags to make assumptions about what I will say and frankly made some pretty unkind accusations as to my character.

It takes me time and energy to write up replies, particularly replies on this sort of topic that require greater attunement, sensitivity and nuance than others. It's something I do for free, and at the sacrifice of other things in my life, and it's something I do with my name attached, unlike anons. And look, I enjoy doing it - I do - but if you follow me, you should know that my sister - a survivor of recent IPV and her two small children are currently staying with me, after I was a witness in her courtcase against her ex-husband in October - real people, not fictional characters - something I've also been open about, and so you telling me that I have an 'unsettling disregard for victims of IPV' feels like a particularly cruel thing to say to me right now.

I will answer the other anon's ask, as I said that I would, but I'll do it in my own time, and in the meantime, I'd ask that you perhaps don't put words in my mouth or mount arguments to things you yourself say you are confused about or feel you could be misinterpreting. I'll clarify, again, as I said that I would.

[kabuki-writes]

The Laugh of Nero

chapter: 4 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 5

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: General Acacius faces the consequences of his conspiracy, while his daughter unexpectedly meets Emperor Caracalla alone for the first time.

warning(s): mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: -

word count: 3.6k

Romans loved the story of old philosopher Seneca. He was once the teacher of Emperor Nero almost 200 years ago and although body was dead, his life continued through writings: one of it being the drama 'Octavia'. It was a popular play in the amphitheaters of Ancient Rome and beyond. And it was a favorite of yours.

The plot focused on three days during which the Emperor divorced and exiled his wife Claudia Octavia and married another, his lover Poppaea Sabina. It was indeed a tragedy, that gave the audience a glimpse into the madness of Nero, the wisdom of Seneca and the tragedy of Octavia. Oh how you could relate to Octavia. The divergence between her fear, hatred and sadness against her will to withstand and be wiser than what was thrown against her, it intrigued you. Somehow you felt the same in your current situation. On the one handside you feared the future and displeased the attention of the Emperors on you, yet you wanted to do everything to persevere. In a way, the stoic nature of Seneca's character in this play gave you some kind of guidance too. Stoicism, maybe you needed to stick to that even more as you were not able to control your surroundings as it seemed?

You took your seat in the upper-ranks of the amphitheater, accompanied by two of your closest friends. Cicero was one of the grandsons of senator Gracchus and now served as one of the senate’s transcriptors for as long as he was not old enough to candidate for a political mandate himself. The other one was Lydia, the daughter of General Britannicus, who fought alongside your father countless of times and was now fighting with his legions in the far north of the Empire. "Oh, i hope Scato is going to play Octavia this time! The last time i saw him in the role of Electra - it was just mesmerizing. He is just so handsome", Lydia sighed, as she always seemed to be that actor's number one supporter. You and Cicero laughed in response before you gave your friend a small pat on the shoulder. "I already heard that you approached him after the last play. Beware actors, Lydia. They might be charming, but they're also free spirits," you explained with a smirk on your lips, before Cicero added. "Oh everyone would run, when they hear about her father."

"Come on! Stop it! I am just daydreaming! I know he will never let me spend time with someone that isn't a boring military officer!" Lydia turned her face away because she turned completely red, but as she did, she noticed the black armory of the Praetorian guards, who escorted one of the Emperors to the royal box of the Amphitheater. "y/n, Cicero, look!"

You quickly turned your eyes to the scene and your face went pale in an instant, when you saw the luxurious decorated robe, the blonde-ginger hair and the golden laurel wreath. That profile, the curved nose and the make up... you instantly noticed, which brother was here to witness the play of 'Octavia'.

Nero.

In that very moment, he turned his head in an attempt to take a look at the crowd and you tried your best to keep your head low, while your sight was locked to the stage in front of you.

"Is everything alright, y/n?", Cicero asked irritated, while he tried to make sense of your sudden change of behavior.

"Yes, yes i just... i've never seen Emperor Caracalla here."

"Really? He comes to the theater quite often to watch plays", Lydia managed to say, before the crowd slowly fell silent as the first actor slowly walked on stage. The young woman next to you blushed and you could feel Lydia's hand clinging on your arm as if she needed something to hold on - the actor was indeed Scato and the costume he wore was 'Octavia' - a flowing robe with a long, curled wig and extravagant make-up that captured the sadness of her character perfectly.

But you couldn't really focus. Your eyes went to the royal box, the best place to watch the play in a comfortable isolation from the rest of the spectators. Here he sat, accompanied by an entourage of 'friends' and a little monkey which sat on his lap. Suddenly his eyes went from the stage over the crowd and suddenly, he saw you. Your heart sunk to your feet and you instantly turned back to the stage to witness Scato's monologue. He had seen you... and what you were not able to witness now was how he turned to one of his Praetorian Guards, to which he whispered an order.

You tried to keep calm as you stared at the stage, where Octavia was now accompanied by a chorus, who wept for the terrible treason she had to endure when Nero decided to take another woman as his wife. Meanwhile your fingers clinged into the fabric of your toga-styled dress as you gathered your thoughts. You still recalled the words you'd talked with him at the Collosseum - the way you had his attention. Women would kill for what you were able to get if you just continue - but then you heard the words of your father, you saw his worried eyes in front of you and you knew something was terribly wrong.

You were so encaptured in your own thoughts that Lydia grabbed your arm again, but this time it was not because she was about to fall for the man on stage, but because a Praetorian Guard was standing right at the side of your seats and pointed at you. "You. Follow me," he ordered in a very demanding tone, while your friends looked at you in shock. They didn't know what you'd witnessed before, so you grabbed their hands and just gave them an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about me, we see each other soon, alright?", you whispered before you stood up and followed the guard upstairs to the place where Emperor Caracalla had his seat.

_________________________________

"y/n, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here! Please, take a seat!", you heard the voice of Emperor Caracalla as you stepped into the royal box of the amphitheater and bowed to him.

"Leave us, Go!", he hissed quickly to his entourage, who - without a word - got up from their seats and left as quickly as they could, but not without giving you a two-faced look. It was almost as if they already knew something you didn't, as if they both pitied and envied you at the same time. You hold their glances to not give in to any mockery they might've had in their minds and would speak out to each other when they were gone. Then it was only you and the young Emperor,... and his pet monkey, which was seemingly busy eating grapes from a bowl of fruit.

With slow, careful movements you approached the seats in the front and sat down beside Caracalla, his eyes never leaving you as you did. "A funny coincidence, is it not? I remember that we talked about 'Octavia' and here we are now", he chuckled, while he leaned back and for a moment, he watched the stage, where Seneca approached Nero about the divorce of his first wife.

"A coincidence, indeed", you answered and followed his glance. There he was, the mad Emperor, who complained about the unfair treatment of him through his own mother, which he cursed over and over again. At that point she was already dead - believed to be murdered by an order of Nero himself.

"You haven't fully answered me back then, when i asked why you see yourself as Nero". The question came from your mouth while you still followed the actor's movements in his luxurious decorated robes, a red wig on his head - it somehow reminded you of Caracalla.

"The play is written to portray him as a monster, am i sitting next to one?"

Maybe it was almost too bold to ask that. You already regretted speaking those words out loud, when his view instantly switched to you, his blue eyes digging into you like a sharp blade. Suddenly, he simply burst into a resounding laughter, that made your lose your breath for a moment, as you stared at him with irritation.

"Gods, you're really amusing", Caracalla grinned wide, showing off his gold tooth. Nonetheless he gave you an answer. "It depends..."

He raised his hand and let his little monkey climb on it. When he reached his shoulder, Caracalla took a grape and fed it to the animal, before it started to groom his wild hair. Not caring about it, he continued. "Everyone views Nero as mad for breaking the chains that his mother and his predecessor layed on him. He never loved Octavia, yet he had to marry her. He never wanted to be Emperor, yet he became one. His mother tried to control him, so much so, that he needed to get rid of this old hag." The last words were almost a hissing tone, as if he was speaking of something he could truly relate to.

"Now everyone is plotting against him, the Gods, his damned first wife, his teacher, all of Rome, only because he started to follow his own path and married the woman he loved. A tragedy, truly - not just for Octavia, don't you think?"

He looked straight into your eyes, waiting for your answer and you sensed that this was a key moment, where you could say something wrong. In a way, you could see what he meant, but there was something he didn't see. Nero broke the chains, yes, but he broke them with cruelty, murder and terror.

"Isn't everything in our lives a tragedy?", you asked and it seemed to please Caracalla, as his bright grin returned, before he turned to the stage once more, crawling his pet monkey while he followed the next scene.

Oh how he could relate to those words. No one could understand the tragedy of his own life, always being seen as the underestimated, 'weaker' and younger brother. But he enjoyed this talk more than he was willing to admit. And he was sure that you were able to understand him to a certain degree, the first woman to do so.

Suddenly, his pet jumped over to you, climbing onto your shoulder and taking a strain of hair to look at your curls.

"Dondus, no! Don't hurt the fair lady!" In an instant, Caracalla jumped from his seat, but before he tried to take the monkey again, he noticed your sudden yet beautiful laugh and how you reached out to pat Dondus carefully, softly, with your filigran fingers. How he wished that those fingers would touch him in that very moment, while his hands stiffened.

"It is fine, please - don't worry", you said quickly, since the monkey didn't hurt you in any way - in fact the way he climbed on your shoulders, touched your hair with his tiny fingers and groomed them with interest in his dark eyes, was very cute. And your reaction was honest.

"I think, he likes you", Caracalla mumbled, while he returned to his seat, still watching you how gentle you were with Dondus, one of his only 'real friends'. It was his own pet, his alone and caring for him often calmed his mind. Just as you did in this very moment since no word came from his mouth - he just watched. Why, just why does he have to share you with Geta soon...

Slowly he reached for his cup of wine and poured it down in an attempt to numb his thoughts over this damn fact.

"You said you see yourself in Octavia, but you could be Poppaea", he whispered, his eyes locked on yours.

"I could be," you responded, the focus laying on 'could', while you were still playing with the little monkey. In a way you started to find your path in this game. "Either way my fate would end in death then."

Caracalla laughed boisterous once again in response to your words, while he raised his cup. "And yet you would live in delight instead of agony. Let us toast to the inevitable death of us all". You took your cup and followed his toast.

"To the tragedy of us all." As you drank a first sip of your wine, you still saw how he looked you straight into the eyes. It was clear that he just waited for the next chance to say something and this time he was closer than before, leaning over the armrest of his throne. The Emperor was close enough for you to smell the scent of his perfumes and the wine on him.

"I just know we will have a lot of fun, once we see each other more often," he chuckled. His words hit you, but you tried your best not to drop your mask of neutrality. You'd almost began to enjoy this conversation up to this point. What did he mean by that?

Should you ask? No, it would be terribly impolite to question something like that in the presence of an Emperor. Only your lips parted, while you searched for your next words. Caracalla was the one to grin again, his gold tooth shimmering in the lights that came from the stage of the theater. And his next words rang through your ears like a bell.

"Don't forget to thank your dear father, once you're back home."

_________________________________

Marcus Acacius walked through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, escorted by the Praetorian Guard. He was not in chains, but wore his dark brown leather armor with the wine red whool cloak and his helmet under his arm - the armor of a General. In fact, he didn't really know why he was even here in the first place. It was quite early for a new war campaign, but he stopped to question them long ago anyways. It wouldn't be a surprise, if the Emperors had already found a new target for their obsession. The mere hunger for expansion was enough to never satisfy both Geta and Caracalla, who simply took military like Acacius and moved them on a map as if they were simple toy figures. The glory of Rome was what they promised the people, yet all the older man had seen was death and despair over and over again - even though he always came back with a victory laurel wreath on his head. What an irony.

The fact that everything was like the last times he was called to the palace, made him unobservant to the fact that he was walking straight into a trap. He was sure that his secret was still a secret - that he and the senators were safe in a way. Maybe safe enough to carry out their plan once the time was ready for it. How wrong he was on this...

When he stepped into the throne room, the guards behind him closed the door and he greeted Emperor Geta according to the protocol in situations like these. "My Emperor", he said with his fist on his chest and his eyes locked on the young man, who stood in front of one of the two elaborately designed thrones, which were placed on a platform at the center of the room.

"General Acacius! It is good to see you again. Come forward...," Geta called and his waving hand was a signal for him to move, to come closer. As he did, Marcus noticed that the other twin was missing, but this wasn't a surprise too since Caracalla was often 'occupied' with other things. In reality, he simply hated politics and rather threw himself into diffent forms of pleasure in an attempt to escape the stuffiness.

They were not alone, a couple of Praetorian guards stood at their distinct positions as they always did and therefore the general simply ignored them.

Meanwhile Geta had to force himself to keep a straight face, when the traitor approached him as if nothing happened at all, as if he was not about to put a sword into his neck with those filthy senators - just as Julius Caesar got betrayed by his kin and the senate as well. The young Emperor would not let this happen again.

"Tell me, General, why did i call for you?"

Acacius brows furrowed, while he looked to the map table, which was standing alone in front of the great window. It was untouched.

"I thought you might answer me that, your Grace. The last time we talked, you granted me a pause before i will regroup my legions in Ostia and start the next campaign in Numidia."

Geta's laughter filled the room in response to the General's words and it took him even more strength to not scream at him.

"Oh, don't worry, Acacius. This plan hasn't changed yet."

Yet. A feeling of unease creeped up his body, as he stood still, his eyes locked on the pale, gingerblonde royal, who stood in front of him in a toga of black and gold.

"But let us be honest now, shall we? I question your loyality to me and my brother, to Rome. As i know, you're meeting with members of the senate," Geta called out and even though this was true, Acacius kept a straight face, hiding his fear in trained perfection.

"As you know, my dear wife is the daughter of senator Galba. Is it now regarded as treason to meet with my father-in-law?"

Geta stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Acacius in an instant, while his jaw clenched in anger. His mind was like a volcano, ready to erupt at any second.

"Do you think we're fools!?", he hissed with an even more aggressive undertone that grew louder with each word. Marcus had to tackle the urge to say 'Yes', in fact there was even so much more he wanted to say right now. That they were tyrants, mad, arrogant and overall spoiled little brats, which he cursed at every given second of his life.

"We know what you're up to Acacius - a snake amongst the men we regarded as the most loyal to our father and to us. How dare you turn against us and plot with those maggots from the senate, even though you've seen that they were not able to rule an Empire for yourself! Have you no respect for Emperor Septimius Severus, who gave you all what you're now!?"

It was too late, he obviously knew. And Acacius was not even able to put in words how much he hated himself for not being able to keep it as a secret long enough. It not only put his own life in danger but the rest of his family too, his wife... his daughter. His jaw clenched at the mere thought of the consequences that might errupt in the aftermath of this audience. Yet he couldn't hold back what was laying under his tongue for so long: "You father still holds my greatest respect and loyalty even after his passing... may the gods grant him peace in elysium. But i've seen your shortcomings many, many times. You lack the wisdom and restraint he had, yes maybe even the love he had for Rome and its people. You and your brother are not worthy of the crowns he placed upon your heads."

Geta's eye twitched and he grabbed a dagger, placing it right in front of Acacius' throat. His whole body trembled in pure wrath at the audacity of that General's words.

"I should kill you now Acacius! I should kill you and all those filthy senators for that treason!", he screamed at him, while his opponent only responded with a cold and collected gaze. This look alone made him Geta even more aggressive and hateful towards Marcus, but killing him would only create another problem - so he went with the path he had already planned in his mind.

"My brother was right, you are a Brutus. But we're not Julius Caesar", Geta hissed against Acacius, leaning his head to the side for a moment, as he studied his stern facial expression. Oh how much he hated it that he didn't fear him. The Emperor wanted to change that.

"We should start all over again, shall we? As a hero of Rome, the people won't be pleased with you being crucified publically... But we can still kill your wife... your daughter?", he started and noticed how - even for a second - the corners of Acacius' mouth twitched, as if he wanted to say something against this. Now there was fear, something Acacius tried desperately not to show, but Geta still noticed.

A wide, knowing smile appeared on his face and he nodded in silent agreement. "Ah, now you see the consequences. Yes, i am not above killing you kin and let you watch... but it would be such a shame, such a waste... especially for your beautiful daughter. I wonder how you will explain to her, that you threw her young life away because of your pride"

The blade of his dagger was dangerously close as the tip touched his skin at his neck, while Acacius stood in an almost frozen position.

"I have a proposal for you, Acacius...it is the only option to safe your own life and the ones of those you love the most - wed your daughter to me."

Geta's word hit Marcus like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened in response to the request of the Emperor in front of him. And his heart broke in that very moment.

"I will not sell out my daughter like this", he answered with a firm tone in his voice, but Geta only smirked and leaned forward, whispering in his ear with an amused undertone. He knew that Marcus wasn't able to say 'No' in any way. He loved his daughter too much to watch her die.

"One option, General. She either becomes my wife - and i will make her Empress of Rome. Or she will be crucified alongside your pathetic senators..."

He would always choose her life, but at what cost.

_________________________________

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[pitchsidestories]

when grumpy met sunshine II Kika Nazareth x Reader

part 2 I masterlist I word count: 2382

It was the first day of training after the summer vacation marking the start of pre-season. With the new players coming in on the one hand and on the other hand the familiar faces it almost felt like the beginning of a school year. Everyone was buzzing.  

One of the fresh signings approached you quickly once she recognized you, her face lit up with joy and excitement.

“Hi y/n, I love your playing style and can’t wait to play with you!”, Kika Nazareth greeted you. God how you hated that footballer and her stupid smile. Also how dare she is saying that after what happened a year ago.

“Uhu, sure. It seems like you forgot what you did during the Champions League group stage games.”, you answered coldly.

“Huh, what do you mean?”, the Portuguese woman frowned confused.

“Forget it.”, you waved it off and rushed off leaving a very bewildered Kika behind.

“Don’t take it personally she never forgets anything really. Come on you need to meet the rest of your new teammates.”, Mapi padded empathetically the shoulder of the young forward.

“But I don’t get it, Mapi. What did I ever do to her?”, the brunette asked the defender, while her brown eyes followed you across the room. S

he was genuinely excited to play with you, if you hadn’t stopped her so abruptly the Portuguese might have said even more. How Kika loved the way you looked and.. she should stop thinking any further you clearly were mad at her, but why?

“I don’t know.”, the older Spanish woman shrugged equally as clueless.

“Weird.”, the forward mumbled.

“Let’s go the others are so thrilled to see you.”, Mapi tried to cheer her up.

“Hey, everyone.”, Kika begun anew, beaming at the teammates. Hoping, no praying, she wouldn’t cause a reaction like yours earlier. The dark haired forward didn’t want to ruin the first day at the new club anymore.

“Hi, welcome to the club.”, Claudia replied grinning.

“And thanks to special agent Aitana for this transfer who sadly can’t be here right now.”, Mapi continued, trying to soothe the fresh signing. It worked Kika did feel more relaxed in front of them.

“Guys calm down she still hasn’t proven herself in the team.”, you commented rolling your eyes, suddenly appearing next to Ingrid.

“I’m aware of how good this team is. But I’m sure I can help.”, the Portuguese swallowed hard, trying to sound as optimistic as possible.

“We’ll see about that.”, you shot back.

“Don’t worry you’ll.”, she promised. The football player was waiting for a response but once more you vanished without a trace. What a strange behaviour Kika thought to herself.

Thankfully Ellie delivered a much-needed distraction.

 “Kika? Ewa and I wanted to ask you if you’d join us for a coffee sometime soon? As we’re all new to the city.”  

“Yes, sure, I’d love that.”, she nodded happily.

Ellie beamed: “Wonderful.“

“Can’t wait.“, Kika smiled back at the young goalie.

Once again, you rolled your eyes and turned away from them to focus on your warm up.

You were one of the last to leave the pitch two hours later, thinking that you would have the dressing room for yourself. You did not expect Ingrid and Mapi waiting for you there.

“So?“, Ingrid said with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

You didn’t want to talk about your new team member so you decided to play along: “So what?“

With a half smile she finally formulated a question: “Why are you pouting?“

“I’m not pouting. Just annoyed by that smiley…“, you stopped yourself. You couldn’t come up with the right word for her anyway.

Mapi shook her head: “You’re not annoyed.“

At this point, you were starting to get annoyed with these two as well.

“Yes, I am. We didn’t need her in our team.“

“That’s not our decision though.“, Mapi shrugged.

You were about to say something but Ingrid was faster: “Y/n?“

You turned to her: “Yes?“

“Tell us why you’re mad at her.“

You heaved a frustrated sigh. They were worse than your parents.

“Remember when we drew against Benfica in Lisbon?“

Both of them nodded. Of course they would remember last years UWCL games. “Yeah?“

“What happened there? Why can’t you move on from it?“, Mapi asked.

Her girlfriend added: “Come on. It can’t be that bad. You can tell us.“

They looked at you with those soft eyes, all parent-like. Almost like your team psychologist.

The sudden urge to tell them disappeared completely so you just shrugged and grabbed your bag: “Whatever.“

You could feel their eyes on you as you left the dressing room, still in your workout clothes.

Ingrid looked at her incredulously: “Well, that was strange, Mapi.“

“Very.“, she agreed slowly.

As you went back to your own place, Kika and the other new players sipped on their coffees at a tiny little coffee shop.

“No, I’ll win her over with my charm, Ellie.“, Kika announced confidently. Even they had noticed the awkward tension between the two of you.

The English goalkeeper nodded slowly: “Sure you will, Kika.“

“Anyone wants some cake with their coffee?“, Ewa changed the topic. She had been eyeing the tasty looking sweet treats on display right from the start.

The Portuguese striker nodded: “Of course.“

“Can’t say no, they look delicious.“, Ellie laughed.

“We have to celebrate. It’s our first coffee date in our new home.“, Kika laughed.

Ewa stood up and agreed: “We do.“

She quickly returned with three different slices of cake so all of them could try.

“Knowing we play for such a prestigious club now feels great, right?“, she said as she sat the plates down on the table.

“This feels like a dream come true.”, the goalkeeper agreed with a dreamy look in her blue eyes.

It has always been something the blonde fantasized about since she was a little girl, playing for that club and now the fantasy turned into reality which she was forever grateful for.

When Ellie continued, she sounded serious. “Especially after the last year that I had.” The other two women knew about the stroke the English player had suffered.

That was why Kika pulled her into a soft hug whispering into the ear. You deserve to be here so much, Ellie.”

“Thanks. I’m happy that I got to start with you two.”, the goalkeeper smiled at her new teammates.

“Same. I’ve a feeling this will be a fantastic first season for us.”, Ewa replied enthusiastically.

“And we got each other if it’s getting hard.”, the Portuguese striker added.

“Yes, plus I’m sure even grumpy will like you eventually, Kika.”, Ellie remarked.

Immediately the smile vanished from the brunette’s face. “Not so sure about this. Apparently, I must have done something to her during our UWCL match last season.”

“But you don’t remember?”, Ewa questioned curiously. Quickly Kika shook her head.

“No.”

Although she tried her hardest to think what the striker could have done which made you hate her so much. Usually everyone warmed up under Kikas positive radiance, but you were her first exception, following her into her dreams.

In training Kika and you were much to your dismay supposed to be partners.

“Kika, I think Ill swap with Esmee.”, you declared.

“You can’t swap training partners.”, Mapi interjected in a tone which didn’t allow any dissent.

“Fine.”, you groaned. Even though you had played a few years in the first squad of Barca now aged 21 the defender was still like the big sister you never had, and you didn’t want to disappoint her. Even if it meant you needed to work with the person you disliked.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.”, Kika observed, wearing a huge smile on her lips.

“Yes, with the one who showed me the middle finger last year.”, you muttered under her breath. Unfortunately, it was still loud enough for the striker to understand the words you were saying.

“I never did that!”, she objected loudly.

“Yes, you did.”, you responded.

“No way, I’d never do that.”, Kika insisted.

“And when you said something about the way I played.”, your voice trembled.

“That’s not true.”, the striker denied strongly.

“What’s true?”, you wanted to know.

“Nothing of what you think happened is true!”, she stated passionately.

Hearing her statement made your heart pound hard against your chest. “Are you saying that this is all a huge misunderstanding?”

Obviously!“, Kika said with emphasis and the slightest undertone of anger.

“Oh.“

You didn’t know what else to say. Was she telling the truth? Did it really only look like it at the pitch? Was it a gesture to you or her own teammate?

All the Champions League games seemed to blur together in front of your inner eye. Now you weren’t sure anymore.

“Wait… so you don’t hate me because I’m here and could potentially take your place in the starting squad?“, Kika asked.

You frowned at her: “No, we play two different positions. So why should I be afraid of that?“

“Because I know that you like to push forward too.“, she explained.

You stalled once again. You found it impressive that she had already analyzed your playing style.

You shook your head: “Yes. But I don’t hate your for that. I’m used to tough competition, Barca is my childhood club.“

“Okay… wow.“

“What?“

Kika started laughing: “I really thought you hated me because you had a good reason.“

At first you just glared at her for making fun of you but her laugh was incredibly infectious and you suddenly found yourself laughing with her.

“Stop laughing. This is a good reason!“, you told her as you playfully hit her arm.

“That’s not a good reason.“

“Come on. Focus on your exercise.“, you reminded her, still smiling.

Kika raised her hands defensively and grinned: “Okay, okay. Can’t make you mad at me again.“

“No. Also I have to maintain my grumpy status.“, you replied and tried your best to keep your face serious again.

Kika giggled: “Sorry, of course.“

“Good.“

“Don’t worry. I think I can handle your grumpiness.“

You squinted at her: “Might need some sunglasses to deal with your sunshiny attitude.“

“I know you love it.“, she winked at you. She really dared to wink at you!

You shook your head: “No, you’re still the most annoying person around here.“

“You don’t mean that.“

She was right. You didn’t.

Still, you continued to tease: “Are you sure?“

She flashed you a confident smile: “Yes.“

“Dream on.“

Kika shrugged casually and focused back on your partner exercise: “If you say so, y/n.“

After your talk, you didn’t feel that intense anger towards Kika anymore. Everything was a bit lighter once the misunderstanding was cleared up. It went even so far that you didn’t react with pure disgust when she asked you to room together at your first pre-season match against Hoffenheim.

“Can’t believe we’ve to share a room, Kika.“, you joked as you sat on one of the beds.

Kika threw herself onto the other one: “Quit complaining, you grump.“

You shrugged with amusement: “At least it’s just for one night.“

The Portuguese striker smiled: “You will survive. I’m a quiet sleeper.“

After you both changed into your pyjamas and brushed your teeth you happily let your head fall on to the soft pillow.

“Good night, Kika.”, you mumbled.

“Night y/n.”, the striker hummed.

Yet something was off, the heat in that southern part of Germany still hung in the room, plus Kika hasn’t stopped moving in her bed. 

“Can’t you sleep?”, you asked her with a heavy sigh.

“No, what about you?”, she returned the question, directing her gaze straight at you.

“Me neither.”, you admitted. There was some restlessness and tension between the two of you, it was almost unbearable.

“Do you want to talk?”, Kika offered kindly.

“Sure.”, you agreed softly.

“So, what keeps you up?”, the Portuguese wanted to know.

Even though the moonlight enhanced her features and made you think thoughts again you tried to avoid you started with a less heavy confession.

“The adrenaline of the win. I think I’ll never get tired of that feeling, what about you?”

You waited for her response, did you imagine it or did her cheeks turn red, it was hard to tell in the dark.

“Oh, yeah, I get that. I love it too. But there’s something else that keeps me awake.”, the brunette replied nervously.

“There’s? Are you missing Portugal?”, you listened up.

“A bit yes, but that’s not it. This might be a bad start for the new season, but there’s someone in this team that I think I’ve a crush on.”, Kika confessed.

“You do?”, you answered stunned.

“Yeah.”

For a moment you paused before the realization hit you hard.

“Wait, it’s me, right?”

“It’s yes.”, she confirmed quietly.

“That’s too bad because I.”, you begun.

“Oh, you don’t have to say anything, I get that. I didn’t want to ruin anything.”, the striker interrupted you quickly.

“No stop talking for a moment.”, you begged her, placing a finger of yours onto her lips. God, that woman really loved to talk, even though now the time clearly was for listening as you tried to demonstrate to her.

“I fell too.”, you added in a whisper.

“You did? Am I not way too annoying for you.”, Kika frowned.

“Yes, you’re and yet I’d like to kiss your mouth who loves to annoy me with it’s yapping.”, you grinned.

“You should give it a try maybe.”, she smirked.

“Maybe you can sleep better afterwards.”, you suggested playfully.

“Maybe we both can.”, your teammate wiggled her eyebrows.

“I’m sure of it.” First the kiss was cautiously before it was getting more intensely until you heard the door open loudly.

“Oh my god!”, Mapi yelled.

“Mapi, get out!”, you shrieked.

“I didn’t see anything. Promise!”, the defender gesticulated wildly. With that said she was gone as quick as the older woman came.

“This news will run like a wildfire, right?”, Kika chuckled.

“Yes, by tomorrow morning everyone knows.”, you groaned as she pulled you into a hug.

“I don’t mind that. They can know that grumpy and sunshine always belong together.”, she announced solemnly placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (10)

Originally posted on my old account. Uploading twice weekly :)

The following morning I woke up to a pounding headache, Keira sleeping peacefully next to me. My eyes hurt, a tell tale sign that I’ve been crying. My suspicions were confirmed when I made my way to the bathroom. Red, swollen eyes. The memories were a little fuzzy, I remember dancing with Misa and Alba, Alexia pulling me outside, she was mad? I remember she said she loved me. 

Alexia loved me. I loved Alexia. 

As I paced back and forth in the bedroom, unable to stop because my brain was going so fast, Keira slowly woke up. 

“Milly what are you doing? What time is it?”

“Tell me she didn’t say she loved me outside the club last night?” 

Signing as Keira looked at her phone “it’s only 6am, please come back to bed. It’s too early for this.”

“No no no no. Keira this can not be happening. This is bad. Very very bad. I shouldn’t have come back.” 

“Hey Mil. Stop. You love her. You always have, so what’s the problem?” 

“The problem? The problem is that I can’t love her Keira! It’s not a fucking option. I need to go. “ 

“Milly wait!” keira got up as fast as she could. But it was too late. I was gone, out the door. I couldn’t go home, that was the first place she would go. The gym would be the next, the beach would be the last placed she go, especially considering it was raining now. 

After I had left, Keira rang Lucy panicking. Lucy rang Ona, who rang Claudia, who rang Patri, Patri rang Mapi and Mapi rang Alexia. It’s safe to say everyone started to panic. Thinking I was running away again, the thought was there but I couldn’t do that to the team. 

Surfing was freeing for me. Sitting on the board, pretty far out gave me a chance to think without anyone around. I loved Alexia, but this didn’t feel right. None of this felt right. I had always dreamed about some fairytale ending for us but it never happened. Maybe if I had listened to her and not married Emily, things would be different. We only lasted a month, does that even count as being married? I wasn’t particularly interested in catching the waves, just wanted to think without anyone around to disturb me. As I made my way back to land, I noticed her. Drenched, sitting in the wet sand. 

“Everyone’s looking for you.” 

“Well tell them to stop. I’m not lost.” My tone was harsh, I didn’t mean for it to be. Not really. 

“Mil, we need to talk about it.” 

“Talk about what Alexia? You being jealous last night? You and Olga breaking up? You being in love with me? Me being in love with you? Pick a subject and I’ll talk.” 

“You love me back?” Whispering, She looked at me wide eyed, almost as if I’d take it back. I would. 

“Pick a different one.” 

“No. I want to talk about the fact that you’re in love with me too.” 

“I’m not doing this.” I tried to walk away. I couldn’t do this. 

“Don’t walk away from me Amelia!” I stopped. Not turning around to look at her, I couldn’t. “Please stop running away from me Mil.” The last few words came out broken. She was crying. 

“Why can’t you just let me love you? That’s all I want Mil!” 

“Because every time you say that all I see is her! I could’ve let you love me before Emily! But I didn’t. Instead I’m the reason she’s dead and the reason your heart was broken. All I see when I look at you is the pain and destruction I’ve caused but you look at me like I put the stars in the sky. So full of love and care. I can’t do that Alexia. It’s too much.” 

Suddenly arms wrap around me, not alexia’s because she’s standing in front of me. “Hija, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Eli. The mother I never had. 

“It’s too much Eli please.” 

“Come. I will take you home. Alexia, let’s go please.” 

“Mami no.” 

“Now Alexia.” 

Alba was waiting at my apartment when we arrived. It was all too much. Alexia’s family treated me like their own, despite the pain I’ve caused, the devastation I’ve caused. They were soft, too soft. 

I headed straight for the shower. Ignoring the way Alba looked at me, or the way Eli called out to me. I needed to be alone. This isnt what I wanted to have happened. I hoped that after all this time Alexia wouldn’t love me and I could pretend to not love her. 

The shower was scolding hot. Even through my clothes which I didn’t bother to take off. I thought it would make me feel better, feel something. I didn’t realise how much time had passed until Alba came in. 

“Mil? Are you okay?” Silence. “Milly?” No response. “Amelia I’m coming in.” The alarm in her voice got the attention of Eli and Alexia. 

“Milly can you hear me? Fuck this water is boiling.” Alba tried turning it off but it was too hot. 

“Move Alba. Get me a towel.” Alexia turned off the water, taking the towel from her sister. “Can you get me some clothes for her and give us some space please?” Without even realising it, Ale had picked me up and taken me to the counter. 

“I’m going to undress you now, okay? If you need me to stop tell me and I’ll stop straight away.” All I could muster was a nod. 

There was nothing sexual about it. She moved as quickly and carefully as she could. Removing my shirt and bather top, drying me then putting an old oversized shirt on, carefully lifting me up to remove my skirt and bather bottoms. I flinched when she did that, hoping she didn’t notice but she did. 

“Do you need me to stop?” She pulled away quickly, noticing my eyes screwed shut. Shaking my head, she continued. She quickly pulled my underwear up, then lifted me up and carried me to bed. As she was about to leave I stopped her. 

“Ale please stay. Don’t leave me, please.” I begged. 

“I’ll be right back bebé, I’m just getting some water.” 

She was right back, putting a water bottle on my side, plugging my phone into the charge, then making her way to the other side. Climbing in and pulling me onto her chest. That’s how I fell asleep. The exhaustion of what happened last night and today hitting me. 

[asthedeathoflight]

I wonder if theres a meaningful split of opinion between people who were familiar with the plot of interview with the vampire before they watched the show and those who went in blind when it comes to ascribing blame for Claudia's death. Just because I see a lot of people who are very concerned with whose fault it is and holding those characters accountable, which was never something which really stuck out to me as particularly important? But I also knew Claudia was going to die going into the show. Being mad at Armand or Lestat for her death feels like getting mad at Tybalt for killing Mercutio. Like yeah in universe its murder but I live in the real world and in the real world its a tragedy and Claudia was going to die no matter who did it. Anne Rice killed Claudia. It doesn't really matter what weapon she used. We can talk about blame for sure but "accountability" or "punishment" seem pointless to me. But maybe I'm just numb to it bc I knew it was coming, and if it took you by surprise you'd probably feel different.

[yearnerspermit]

The thing I keep coming back to about the finale is how much the writers get it

Anne Rice wrote the book because of the loss of her daughter. It grew and developed a world and life of its own in the years and decades after that, but at its core, Interview With the Vampire was born from a death. And doesn’t that just make so much sense? For vampires, where birth and death are inextricably linked?

And again, even here in adaptation, no matter how much else is changed:

Louis tells the story. He’s the perspective. It’s filtered through him, remembered imperfectly by him, shaped by him. And Louis is shaped by Lestat, there’s no denying it

But at the end of the day, the story is about Claudia. Lestat only matters here because he became her maker, Louis only matters as far as being the one who initiates that change, and the one who recounts it all

Because what story is there to even be told, without her? Without her life, and her anger? The unfairness of her existence and the unfairness of her destruction? The tragedy that at every step she could have been helped, this could have been avoided, but the only way to avoid it entirely would have been her never entering the narrative?

That truly the only way you could ever avoid the death of the one you love is if you never had them to begin with. And would that be better? For them? For you? It feels like logically the answer is yes. But emotionally? Even considering erasing someone you love from your life feels worse than being the one to kill them. I cannot say even now that I regret Claudia

Every important beat after her introduction — the good, the bad, the ugly — is motivated by messy, imperfect love for her. The story only exists for the love of Claudia, it’s only told for the love of Claudia. The story is Claudia

The tragedy is that they can’t forget her. The tragedy is they can never remember her as she was. Memory is a monster because it’s an incomplete, blurry copy of the people we love who are gone, and it can never be killed, even if you wanted to. But we never really want to, do we? So you cling to that monster, keep it, make it part of you

And at the end? Louis and Lestat, meeting again?

It’s perfect. It’s them, broken. It’s them, on the threshold of learning how not to be. It’s not about romance, its not about betrayal. It’s not about them

It’s two parent, grieving a child. It’s two parents, looking at each other, knowing how badly they failed that child, and knowing how much they loved her still. It’s two parents, embracing and crying and grieving a loss that only they will every truly understand

Because the story is about Claudia. And even when she’s gone? The story is about learning to exist without her. Her absence is still a presence, though. The space she filled, the space it left behind, matters. Because it will never go away, and it will shape them and what happens next, forever

Whatever madness and plot and love and hate spirals out from here, it started from the love of a child, and the loss of a child. And whatever happens next, that will never go away

The story will always be about Claudia

[mc-i-r]

Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn��t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

[mapiforpresident]

How Could You Do This Part 2

Part 1

Claudia Pina x reader

warnings: angst

Summary: Claudia tells you the truth

Not proof read so let me know if you see any mistakes.

~~~

Patri was heartbroken at the sound of her best friends soft cries. She thought about what Claudia could have possibly done to make you so upset that you refused to even be in the same room as her.

"Did y/n find out about the surprise?" Patri asked once she heard Pina's crying turn into quieter sniffles.

"I don't think so. I know she doesn't like when I spend a lot of money on her, but I don't think she would have this strong of a reaction."

"Ok well when did she first show signs of being mad at you?"

"She was fine at the beginning of my interview. I let her tik tok on my phone and she was fine with sitting there and waiting for me to finish, but when I was done with the interview I couldn't find her until I heard her crying in the bathroom. I don't know what happened."

Patri realized that this was all her fault. You had seen her text messages from that morning. She had no idea that you would be on Claudia's phone and would be the one that would see her texts. She knew she had to fix this.

"I... I think I know what happened. I think she saw the texts I sent you this morning about meeting up with the agent."

"What texts? I didn't get a text."

"Yes, I texted you this morning that you should tell y/n before she finds out."

Claudia then went and looked and saw the two texts that her best friend had sent her and checked the time of them and it was in fact during the span of time that you had her phone.

"Oh my god... she thinks I'm cheating on her doesn't she. Thats why she was so upset. These texts look so bad. She didn't have any context about who you were talking about. What am I going to do... she doesn't want to talk to me and Alexia won't even let me near her."

"Ok... ok we will figure this out. It will be ok. Its just a misunderstanding. I will call Alexia and try to get her to listen to me and explain the situation. You get the surprise ready and you can show y/n and explain to her what was really happening ok. I will call you back in a little bit after I talk to Alexia," Patri said before she hung up with Claudia and called her captain.

~~~

"Patricia Guijarro you better not be calling me right now. I don't want to hear from you right now."

"Wait, wait hold on, let me explain please. Claudia did not cheat. She never would do that and you know her she is so in love with y/n."

"What happened Patri, and you better not lie to me or leave out a single detail."

Patri then explained the entire situation and let Alexia in on the surprise that started this entire mess. Alexia had no idea what to do. She believed Patri and deep down knew that Pina would never do anything to hurt you. Claudia was so in love with you and Alexia was beyond happy for the both of you. She knew she had to help Patri try and resolve this situation.

"Ok Patri, tell Pina to come over here in thirty minutes and plan a romantic date for them, I will take care of the rest."

"No problem, thank you so much Ale and I really am sorry for causing y/n to be so upset."

"It's not your fault, lets just fix this before it gets any worse."

~~~

"What did Alexia say, can I go talk to y/n. God I can't believe this is happening, I love her so much and I just want to make things right. Hopefully by telling her about the surprise now, she will understand what the texts were about," Pina said as she paced back and forth behind the sofa where Patri had been talking to Alexia.

"Alexia is still upset that we hurt y/n, but she said that you can go over there in thirty minutes and take y/n out on a date to explain the whole situation to her."

"Oh thank god, I'll call and make a reservation at our favorite restaurant."

Claudia quickly made a reservation at the restaurant where you both shared so many memories, including your first date where she was so nervous that she spilled her glass of wine all over you. Claudia thought back over all of her favorite memories with you and knew she had to sort this out quickly before she lost the best thing thats ever happened to her. Finally, it was time to leave, and she hugged Patri goodbye before she headed over to Alexia's apartment.

When Claudia arrived, she was met with a wary glance from Alexia. "She's in the living room," Alexia said softly. "Good luck, Pina and please don't hurt her anymore. It kills me seeing her heartbroken like this."

Claudia nodded and walked in to find you sitting on the couch, hugging a pillow tightly to your chest with old game highlights on the TV. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying. Seeing you like this broke Claudia's heart all over again.

"Y/N," Claudia began, her voice trembling slightly. "Can we talk?"

You looked up, hesitant but nodded. "I don't understand, Claudia. I thought we were happy, but then I saw those texts and..."

Claudia moved closer and gently took your hands in hers as she sat down. "It was a misunderstanding. Those texts were about a surprise I was planning for you. I would never cheat on you, ever. I love you more than anything."

You looked into her eyes, searching for the truth. Pina was always a terrible liar and looking into her eyes you relaxed slightly knowing she was telling you the truth. "A surprise?"

Claudia nodded. "Yes, a surprise. Patri helped me find a new real estate agent after the last one was not meeting any of our requirements. I was meeting a real estate agent because I wanted to buy us a home. A place where we can move in together and build our future. It has everything we both want, including the pool you always dreamed of."

Your eyes widened in shock. "A home? For us?"

Claudia smiled softly. "Yes, for us. I know you don't like it when I spend a lot of money on you, but this is something I really wanted to do. I want to build a life with you, Y/N. If its ok with you I was gone pay the down payment today."

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time they were tears of happiness. "Oh, Claudia. I was so scared. I thought I was losing you."

Claudia pulled you into a tight embrace. "You will never lose me. I promise. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

You hugged her back just as tightly, feeling the love and sincerity in her words. "I love you, Claudia."

"I love you too, Y/N. More than anything. Now do you want to go tour our new home and then go to dinner?"

[cece693]

My Little Dove (Lestat de Lioncourt x M! Reader)

This is something quick I came up with since I feel like Lestat is just a lonely soul who covers it with sarcasm and anger. You can use either Lestat (movie or TV show), but I envisioned it to be from the movie.

Summary: M/N was tired of being a prisoner. He longs to explore the world, but his sire, Lestat, has other ideas. What could be the reason behind this behavior?

tags: typical Lestat, the reader wants to see the world, mentions of Claudia and Louis but they don't impact the story too much, takes place before the duo flee to Paris, happy ending?

"You can't keep me locked up like some type of animal!" M/N screamed, glaring daggers at Lestat's back. It was the same old argument; when Lestat had bestowed the dark gift upon him, M/N believed he had been granted freedom—a chance to transcend the limits of mortality and explore the world. But once his eyes opened to this new life, M/N found himself a prisoner.

The vampire couldn't fathom why his sire forbade him from stepping outside. Louis and Claudia came and went as they pleased, why couldn't M/N do the same? He'd already spent a decade stuck inside the house, his only connection to the outside world being stories told by Louis and Claudia. "I thought you said I was free." M/N continued, his voice trembling. "But this isn't freedom. This is a gilded cage."

Lestat finally turned around, his gaze softened with something akin to regret before morphing into indifference. "The world is not as kind as you imagine. There are dangers you cannot fathom. I only seek to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" M/N shot back. "From living? From feeling the wind on my face and the thrill of the hunt? I would rather face those dangers than rot away in here."

M/N felt himself stiffen when Lestat's eyes turned cold. "Someday you'll understand why I do this, M/N." Lestat hissed, the monster inside him dangerously close to the surface. "But right now, you're led by these ridiculous emotions that cloud your judgment."

"Maybe emotions do cloud my judgment, but they also make me feel alive." M/N defied. "You, Lestat, have clearly forgotten what it means to feel." Turning to the door, M/N was set on spending the remaining night locked in his coffin when Lestat flashed in front of him. His gaze was piercing, maddening.

"You think I don't feel, M/N? You think I'm some heartless creature devoid of emotion?" He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "My emotions toward you are what drives me to be this monster. You, my little dove, are a treasure I cannot risk losing."

M/N's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen Lestat so raw, so exposed. The monster was indeed close to the surface, but so was the man who loved him with a ferocity that bordered on madness. M/N reflected on all of the vampire's actions through a different lens, coming to realize that Lestat indeed loved him—or at least what he perceived to be love. The shared coffins, the piano lessons, the talks under the firelight in the living room.

"I—I didn't know..." M/N stammered, his mind racing. What else could he say? He couldn't confess that he returned Lestat's feelings, fearing it would only intensify the vampire's overbearing nature. "But it doesn't change anything. Lestat, for the first time, I'm begging you to let me see the outside world. Even if you become my shadow, I long to see the town and its delicacies."

Lestat's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, his resolve wavering. The weight of centuries of caution and control clashed with the raw, desperate plea before him. He took a deep breath, the tension in the room thickening.

"You truly want this?"

"Yes. I need this, Lestat. I need to experience life beyond these walls, to feel the world with my own senses." A long silence followed, each second stretching into eternity. Finally, Lestat nodded, a reluctant acceptance in his gaze.

"Very well." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will grant you this freedom, but I will be by your side. No objections."

Not being able to contain himself, M/N smiled before embracing his sire. Lestat stiffened at first, taken aback by the sudden gesture, but then he relaxed, wrapping his arms around the other male.

Lestat felt a torrent of emotions. The warmth of M/N's embrace, the genuine gratitude in his voice—it stirred something deep within him. If granting M/N freedom brought them closer, perhaps it was time to reevaluate his approach. Could he protect M/N while allowing him the autonomy he craved? The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating.

[atlas7seo]

TDP season 7 spoilers***

Ok just it was good. It was good I enjoyed it. It seemed a lot more focused than previous seasons but like I'm also really annoyed. I know they wanted to have an arc 3 but it genuinely feels like they set up all these things and then they didn't resolve any of them. They spent so long in previous seasons lollygagging just to not follow through. Like Aaravos is dead but not really and Claudia is somewhere waiting for Aaravos. But like really? It feels like more of a cliffhanger than arc one and really unsatisfying. I mean like come on! I want an arc 3 and I know a bunch of people do too, but genuinely I don't think it will happen man. I wish the ending was a little more fulfilling.

Such as Callum's sacrifice, you cannot spend a good 10-20 minutes soley on the devastation that it is to just not follow through or leave some consequences! Like I know that if Aaravos comes back, he's vulnerable but like we might never see those sacrifices! And it feels cheap to build it up and just do nothing with it. They keep teasing us with Dark Magic Callum and I need them to follow through for once.

When they said people might die, I thought people we really connected to would die. Like Lujanne! But no! Only the Archdragons. (and Karim, but he's stupid) and like I love Zubeia as much as the next person but like COME ON. How did Lujanne not die!? It's like they introduced stakes but never actually pulled away from the kid friendly plot armor. WHY ARE WE GETTING HARROW BACK!? THEY'VE MOVED ON! Is it not cheap to bring back all of the main casts' parents? There are no consequences from season 1! I get bringing back Runaan, but Harrow too? Just let them grieve and move on! Let people stay dead! (I am glad that Viren is staying dead tho.... like it's about time)

Also Karim is as infuriating and boring as always. Like I'm so glad that if arc 3 comes we don't have to deal with his bs again. Like I saw the getting crushed twist a mile away but like fair enough.

I'm sure some people are annoyed about the ships but like it's fine. They had moments but honestly I was more invested in the Aaravos.

Ezran made me mad but in a good way. He frustrates me but I'm glad he got some character development for once. But like bruuhhhhhhh the Nova blade made me so mad. They're just squeezing Ezran into the plot at that point. Like oh shoot , Ezran should be at the final battle! Let's uhhhh give Zym super speed. Obviously it was cool but also unnecessary. Why introduce the Nova Blade if a dragon bite can kill him? It seems a little redundant.

I know this is a lot of complaints but I genuinely really enjoyed the season. The ending is what really got me worked up. It was fun and I think they've finally found the perfect middleground of weird filler ish stuff and actual plot. I do really hope there will be a 3rd arc.

[kradogsrats]

@dragonprincedrabbles prompt Harrow + Damian, Breathe

—

A particularly nasty cold works its way through the castle, the first winter after they move in. Even Sarai gets the sniffles, though fortunately no more than that. Being sick and six months' pregnant would be truly miserable.

Callum stays healthy, thanks to diligent hand-washing and restriction from the areas of the castle where germs are most freely spread, but he grows moody and standoffish. He was already struggling to adjust, obviously feeling like an out-of-place guest in the castle and seeing Harrow as more like a distant uncle than a stepfather. Sarai knows he needs time—the only way encourage growing into a home and family is to allow the space to do so, and then step back. She just hates seeing her son unhappy.

Then Claudia, the one playmate he's truly grown close with, gets sick enough to spend a week in bed, and he starts acting out in ways he never has before. Not even when Damian was dying.

Harrow spends most of that week with Viren, who is understandably beside himself over his daughter's condition, mild though it is. Once she's undeniably on the mend and Harrow's able to escape, Sarai shares her own frustration and worries about her son. Always thoughtful, he suggests that they go to the lodge—there's a blanket of fresh snow on the ground, and a change of scene and activities will do Callum good.

It's a fantastic idea, one Sarai is embarrassed she didn't think of herself. Of course, she's not exactly used to having an entire lodge to retreat to for relaxation.

The first few days go better than she could ever hope—he and Harrow sled, build snowmen and snow banthers, and have snowball fights more epic than any Border skirmish. Sarai joins them sometimes, though she feels a little too pregnant for some of the more vigorous activities and is content to watch from inside, sipping hot cider. Callum runs to her pink-cheeked and laughing when they come back inside, happier every day than he has been in weeks. In the evenings, he falls asleep on the couch, nestled between them as Harrow reads aloud in his deep, soothing voice.

Then the castle cold catches up with Harrow.

Sarai suddenly finds herself caught between overseeing regular deliveries of hot soup and honeyed tea to her husband and near-constant tantrums from her son. Everything becomes a battle—getting up in the morning, what food he'll eat for any meal and when, putting on warm clothes before going outside, baths, bedtime. After a particularly bad fit over wanting to go ice skating—it's not cold enough for Sarai to trust the pond's ice without it being checked—she gathers him up into her lap for a talk.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" she says, rocking them both gently back and forth while he snuggles in her arms. "I can tell you're having a lot of big feelings—are you sad or mad that Harrow can't play anymore? Do you miss the castle?"

He shakes his head against her chest, but says nothing.

"Did something happen that scared you? Have you had bad dreams?"

Callum hesitates, then buries his face in her shirt, clinging to her. "I'm sorry, Mom," he says through fresh tears. "It's all my fault, I'm so sorry—"

She shushes him soothingly, stroking his hair. "I'm right here. It's okay to be overwhelmed. You haven't done anything wrong."

He takes a hiccuping breath. "But I did! I—I wished that King Harrow would die, so we could go home. I just wanted everything to be like it was before, with Dad. Now he's—I don't want him to die!"

He's crying hysterically again, and Sarai holds him tight. All the pieces suddenly come together—this year's cold takes root in the chest, leading to a wet, hacking cough. Harrow's coughing fits, while already subsiding, had been loud and frequent for the first few days. Loud enough to be heard from nearly anywhere in the lodge.

She and Damian had kept the worst of his condition from Callum, but not everything could be hidden, especially if Damian was to have any kind of life in his remaining time. So Callum saw when he coughed convulsively until he strained to breathe, air barely wheezing in and out of his lungs. Even if that wasn't the case, he'd heard his father's labored, rattling breaths at the end.

"Oh, sweetie," she says. "He's not going to die, I promise. He'll be just fine in a few days."

Callum shakes his head wildly, clinging to her. "I'm sorry," he sobs again.

"It's okay," Sarai soothes him, rubbing slow circles into his back. "It's okay, Callum. Sometimes, when we're angry or scared, we think or say things we don't really mean. There have been a lot of big changes, and that can feel scary and unfair. I wish we could have done things differently."

She swallows around the lump forming in her throat. "Your dad—I was angry and scared for a long time, when we found out how sick he was. I was angry that he wouldn't get to see you grow up, and I was scared of what life would be like without him. I had a lot of mean thoughts about people who I knew loved me, and were only trying to help. I didn't let those thoughts take root, and I know you won't, either—you'll breathe, and let them out."

She inhales deeply through her nose and exhales slowly through her mouth, repeating until Callum was breathing with her. His crying slows as he relaxes.

"Harrow can't ever replace your dad, but whatever he becomes to you, I know he loves you very much." She hugs him close, smiling when he hugs her back. "How about this? We can toast some cheese sandwiches and bring some soup up to him for lunch, like a picnic. He'll be happy to see you."

Callum nods, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. Sarai pokes it lightly. "Then, if the Crownguard say the ice is safe, we can go skating."

"Maybe, instead of skating," Callum says tentatively, as he hops down from her lap, "we could play a game from the game room this afternoon."

So Harrow can play, too. All of us together. She smiles, levering herself up from the couch. "That's a wonderful idea, sweetie. Go pick one out, and I'll start the sandwiches."

She's still smiling as he scampers off excitedly, and she heads for the kitchen. Lunch and games with all three of them, together—it looks like they just might be becoming a family.

[dxxtruction]

Louis' "You're boring!" Could mean so many things, but I think what's most apparent about that line is that Armand takes no initiative just for himself. He's not really anybody, because he never goes out and finds himself or gets attached to anyone but Louis. Without Louis as his guide he's literally just sitting on a couch picking lint! That's the thing.

He orbits constantly around what would make Louis happy, and never really fully going what would make me happy? Ultimately that drive to please Louis is what drives him to torturing Daniel, not so much that he'd care to just do it. Ultimately, not giving proper care to Louis is just a way to make sure Louis knows he has to orbit around him as well, with shoving Lestat onto him just that other nail on the coffin. So, even if he fails to figure out how to make Louis happy with him, he still knows what Armand is good for, and better than.

That dependency is what drives Armand's abuse. It really just comes down to that. Armand doesn't even realize how suffocated he is by his own dependency. This is just how life is to him. (It shouldn't be lost either that dependency is a theme considering this episode also deals with addiction).

Daniel's fascinating because he's just so driven to be somebody. He's largely independent, he seeks things because he wants them. It's his drug to poke and prod at all the things that he shouldn't. Daniel's exciting because he lets Louis in to something different, lets him in to all this potential in another person that he can also do the same with for himself. It's a real connection. A two way street. It's easy to tell how Armand can be smothering then because he's never introducing him to anything really new, and most the ways both of them connect are all painful and traumatic. It's never just fun because there's always that layer of that pain. Fun died with Claudia.

50 years on they've gotten to a lot better place, both of them, but it's still that same shit. No seriously, "How is this any different from last time, Louis?"

Well... Because Armand's going to be, at the very least, making one [1] decision only for himself - and that's to hold power over Daniel's life. Fucking sick foreshadowing.

They aren't driving each other to the brink anymore but "The vampire is bored" STILL. Maybe it's even worse, despite being in better places, because Louis' sort of just been defeated by it. (I mean, can he even really leave this either?). He's accepting the dependancy cause he kind of has to. He'd literally ended up letting all the enjoyment be up where he can't reach [The book shelves]. Armand so desperately wants Louis happiness but what really ends up happening is that Louis ends up having to give Armand all his own. He's got no one or anything else to get it from. But like an iPad and an over the top eating ritual. Two extremes of what's just more lint picking.

This whole relationship is one I find just tragic inside and out. You have to just pity it, really. There's ways in which you can find yourself feeling bad for both of them. But you can only really be mad at Armand for any of it. Armand, who isn't even 'free' in any sense, having so little concept of his own independence, but is at the same time so controlling over other's. It's a tragic cycle. It's an infuriating one.

Louis at least has the mind to know when enough is enough. If just needing that extra push to get there. Armand's too scared of it being over to even try.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Can I ask is it true do you think that Lestat’s rockstar Lestat is to take the heat off of Louis following last season? I’m aware he is interested in music but how much of it is his interest in music and performance versus purposely having attention from fans the public etc to protect Louis from vampires he fears will come after Louis? He will be touring and busy so unless Louis is there with him which I don’t really see in the first half of the season he must be extremely worried since he isn’t around Louis. He is aware that Louis doesn’t need a protector but he still worries right? They already lost Claudia so if he potentially lost Louis too it would break him. I don’t see them back together but maybe talking and in contact and taking things slow. Louis is off doing his thing and Lestat does his music but I can see an air of ‘I’m patient and I’m giving you space but I love you and eventually there will be a point when I think we can try again’ with the two of them next season

Well, I mean... Lestat doing that is literally book canon:

The Vampire Lestat

I wondered how many of our kind had "noticed " the book. Never mind for the moment the mortals who thought it was fiction. What about other vampires? Because if there is one law that all vampires hold sacred it is that you do not tell mortals about us. You never pass on our "secrets " to humans unless you mean to bequeath the Dark Gift of our powers to them. You never name other immortals. You never tell where their lairs might be. My beloved Louis, the narrator of Interview with the Vampire, had done all this. He had gone far beyond my secret little disclosure to my rock singers. He had told hundreds of thousands of readers. He had all but drawn them a map and placed an X on the very spot in New Orleans where I slumbered, though what he really knew about that, and what his intentions were, was not clear. Regardless, for what he'd done, others would surely hunt him down. And there are very simple ways to destroy vampires, especially now. If he was still in existence, he was an outcast and lived in a danger from our kind that no mortal could ever pose. All the more reason far me to bring the book and the band called The Vampire Lestat to fame as quickly as possible. I had to find Louis. I had to talk to him. In fact, after reading his account of things, I ached for him, ached for his romantic illusions, and even his dishonesty. I ached even for his gentlemanly malice and his physical presence, the deceptively soft sound of his voice. Of course I hated him for the lies he told about me. But the love was far greater than the hate. He had shared the dark and romantic years of the nineteenth century with me, he was my companion as no other immortal had ever been. And I ached to write my story for him, not an answer to his malice in Interview with the Vampire, but the tale of all the things I'd seen and learned before I came to him, the story I could not tell him before. Old rules didn't matter to me now, either. I wanted to break every one of them. And I wanted my band and my book to draw out not only Louis but all the other demons that I had ever known and loved. I wanted to find my lost ones, awaken those who slept as I had slept. Fledglings and ancient ones, beautiful and evil and mad and heartless-they'd all come after me when they saw those video clips and heard those records, when they saw the book in the windows of the bookstores, and they'd know exactly where to find me. I'd be Lestat, the rock superstar.

Canonically Lestat does not know where Louis is when he wakes and sees the book. We'll see if he will know in the show. But I can see a similar setup, with Louis maybe off somewhere in the vaults of the Talamasca trying to regain his true memories. Or he and Lestat meet from time to time during the tour. We'll see :)

But in any case the reason for Lestat to become rockstar in the first place will stay, I would bet real money on it :)

[heatherchasesyou]

Weird SH3 dream I had + a sketch page to illustrate some bit of it

pls read this u wont regret xd

OK SO I don't even know how to start it because it's always hard to tell when dream stories start 😭😭 but I can only remember of a BIG and WIDE library scenery. I felt very surprised because something told me it was a whole new "story expansion" that went in the SH3 HD collection (how specific of my brain, never played that version if u wanna know) almost like a discovered secret (so discovered that I remember coming to Twitter shouting like "WDYM THERE WAS A GODDAMN STORY EXPANSION IN AN HD COLLECTION HOW DIDN'T I KNOW THAT WTF". All of this in the dream, with the whole emotion LOL).

The funniest and weirdest point of the story in the game is the characters, more specifically Heather, Claudia n Vincent, the three fuckers were all in the same room aka the big library, but something about their interactions was very… different.

More specifically towards Vincent, dude was ABSOLUTELY STRESSED, he wasn't being the same slightly passive-aggressive he was with Claudia in the real game, or doing his common gaslight with his stable and concentrated voice tone, nah dude, he was COMPLETELY MAD, idk why, idk who hurt him but bro kgkgkfjgkgj he had no patience while taking to both Heather and Claudia, y'know that scene where Heather is about to get out of the same room as Vincent in their first meet and he shouts "WAIT, I'M NOT FINISHED TALKING"? It sounded pretty arrogant and aggressive, right? Now imagine it multiplied by 10 and we have Vincent having the worst day of his life, don't talk to him or else you die.

As a result, both Heather n Claudia was becoming as stressed as he was, mainly Heather in this case, dude was getting so arrogant that she had enough of that shit, she literally THREW HIM ON THE FLOOR, LITERALLY PICKING HIM ON THE ARMS AND SHIRT COLLAR N THROWING HIM ON THE FLOOR LIKE A… IDK LIKE A JUDO WRESTLER??? ISTG IT LOOKED SO FUNNY YET SO UNCANNY, IMAGINE HEATHER BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED (y'know that eerie feeling when you see irl ppl fighting and you're like "omg why are they doing this pls STOP", that's how I felt on the dream seeing such scenery, but as we speak now I can't help but LAUGH LOUD like kdjfksjsek I LOVE REMEMBERING THIS, I LOVE 2 SEE MY MAN GETTING BULLIED IDK WHY).

There was also that confusing information that was inserted into my brain that the story was actually a SEQUEL of the events like??? Vincent received the backstab but didn't rlly die??? Neither Claudia??? But they were in there… As if nothing happened (maybe that was the reason Vincent was so distressed, he couldn't believe such a thing happened LOL). After Vinny got completely ROASTED by Heather, he was there on the floor trying to get up, he was as mad as before but he couldn't do a thing, only look at Heather with his eyebrows working the RAGE that was inside of him.

Jeez, I loved that dream, hope I can have more of this in my future nights ����

[blue-violin]

The dragon prince season 7 spoilers

Season 7 got me so mad (happy new year, by the way)

•Seeing Ezran almost fall into bitterness was heartbreaking. No one supported him the way he should have been supported.

(Can't really blame them. Everybody was fighting their own situations)

•I loved Rayla from season 1 to season 6, but the way she acted when Ezran refused to forgive Runaan was annoying to me. What was she expecting? "Oh the one who took my father from me? Oh Yeah he can go, bye!!"

Hopefully, she makes it up. She's still Rayla <3

•Aanya being loyal is everything. Since her first appearance, she did nothing wrong.

•Zubeia did Rex Igneous dirty by distracting him bruh :/

•I just knew what Aaravos would do to Karim because we know he hates people blinded by power and traditions. It was SO satisfying.

•Callum went through a lot. He needs the biggest rest. I was a little disappointed because his plan didn't work and now we've got to wait 7 years. Obviously, I'm glad he is still alive. I don't think I've ever been mad at something Callum did. In this season he decided to give Rayla support for her whole family thing. He knew he would come back for Ezran. I just hope we'll see more of their fraternity, just like season 1 and season 2.

•Rayllum still did its work this season. We stan

•Zym being stressed around Ezran </3

•Zym SPEAKING ???

•So we just had to give Ethari back his partner to be alright

•I never thought I would prefer Viren over Claudia. He realized all he did was wrong. He tried and looked for redemption and a new life and forgiveness. He tried to convince Claudia to change and leave the darkness behind, and She refused. She chose her path. Yes, Viren was the one showing it to her, and he tried to make up his mistake. Claudia claims to be the same nice girl and she is convinced of it. At this point who can help her ?

Her own father wants her to leave him alone.

Aaravos is now a father figure to her, someone who could make her keep going the dark things, which is something I suppose she grew up with. I don't even get her goal anymore.

Her brother leaves. Her father leaves. Her boyfriend leaves. I mean, even I would question myself.

•Oooooh and the plan of making an illusion of her mother was so annoying. Of course, they didn't have the time to look for Soren and Claudia's mother but could have at least tried. I felt bad watching it. It was straight-up manipulation :/

•And let's be honest, the plan of Aaravos of tormenting the high stars thingies is confusing I didn't even understand. It won't even bring back his daughter.

•King Harrow? Hello ??