#kind of it's the flickering on annie's crystal

[sailorspica]

happy birthday, hitch dreyse! ✿ { may 10 }

[lostinthewiind]

Brave Heart: Chapter Fifty-Seven

Attack on Titan

Rating: Mature

Warnings: sexual themes, death, gore, mature themes, extreme violence, body horror, blood, weapons, major character death, age-gap relationship

"More conflict isn't necessary to solve Eldia's problems," said Eren, his tone and expression flat as if this interaction was just another thing he had to get out of the way in order for his plan to succeed. "Hange and the others are fine. We're just relocating them."

Armin was the first to address the man who sat across from them; the man who looked like their former friend but certainly wasn't acting like him. "Eren ... Mikasa, Vera, and I have been wanting to talk to you too. What were you thinking when you decided to attack Marley on your own?"

Eren's dark irises flickered toward Vera. "I didn't attack alone."

"But you had certainly been planning to," Armin pointed out. "You couldn't have known Vera was there before you-" A knowing glint in Eren's eyes stopped Armin mid-sentence. " ... unless you did know."

Vera's fingertips dug into the top of the table. She knew finding Eren randomly that night in Liberio had seemed too good to be true, but how could she have possibly turned away her friend at that moment? Back when she thought he was still her friend, that is.

"So you knew I was there well before we ran into each other that night." Vera glared hard. "I'm sure it was Zeke who told you."

Eren only nodded.

"I was just a puppet all along, wasn't I?" Vera couldn't stop herself from asking even though she was uncertain whether she really wanted to hear the answer or not. "You used me to get information."

Eren shrugged. "It was easy enough. Once I mentioned Levi, you were ready to cut down anyone to get back to him. I could see it in your eyes." A small, mocking chuckle escaped him. "You, Vera, crave someone strong to follow ... someone to guide you through life. That's why you let Reiner manipulate you so easily, both here and back in Liberio again. And it's why I only had to say Levi's name for you to help me see my plan through ... for me to control you. You are pathetic."

Vera felt the anger rising in her veins, but before she had the chance to do or say something stupid in retaliation, Armin spoke up. "Why do all this?" he asked simply. "Did Zeke and Yelena really win you over to their side?"

"I am free, Armin," Eren answered. "Every single thing that I've done, I decided to do. My actions are governed by nothing but my own free will."

"So even though you secretly met with Yelena, you're saying that this was all you?"

"Yes."

"No way!" Mikasa refused to believe it. "You're being manipulated. The Eren I know would never involve civilians and children in a war, even if they were enemies. And you wouldn't put us at risk either. You care about us more than anyone, don't you? You rescued me from those kidnappers in the cabin and wrapped this scarf around me because you're a kind person!"

As Mikasa spoke, her emotions rose and she stood from her seat, hands leaving the tabletop and gravitating to the red scarf around her neck.

"I said to keep your hands on the table, Mikasa," Eren reminded her.

Defeated, Mikasa sat back down and returned her palms to the white tablecloth. Across from her, Gabi was shaking like a leaf. It was clear she wasn't really listening to what was being said; the fear in her body wouldn't let her.

"Back in Liberio, I spoke with Zeke, brother to brother. Learned a lot of things from him," Eren explained. "Honestly, it seems like he knows even more about how Titans work than Marley does. Armin, what do you think it is that drove you to start visiting Annie? Do you really believe it's your own free will?"

Armin's jaw dropped. Clearly, he hadn't thought anyone knew about his visits to the crystalized Annie kept underground. "What ... I don't ..."

"If memories play a major role in shaping us into the people we are, then part of you has become Bertholdt. Within you is an enemy who has feelings for another enemy. Understand? Bertholdt has gotten into your head. You're the one being manipulated by the enemy."

Mikasa grimaced. "Hey, why would you-"

"You're being controlled too," Eren informed her. "The Ackerman clan was designed to be perfect for the task of protecting Eldia's King. Your Ackerman instincts were dormant until, in that life or death situation, you heard me order you to fight. The strength and certainty you felt in that moment were awakened because your blood mistook me for the host you were made to protect."

Mikasa's hands trembled. "That can't be."

"It can't? Why not?"

Eyes glistening, Mikasa hung her head. "It wasn't a mistake. It's because it was you. It had to be you. You're why I became strong. How could that be a mistake?"

"As an Ackerman with awakened powers, you're apparently supposed to get headaches pretty frequently. The research said this is a side effect of the Ackerman's true self trying to resist being forced to protect their host. Sound familiar?"

Mikasa's eyes grew wide, alarmed. Vera never knew she had suffered from frequent headaches, but then again, they had been apart for four years and she and Mikasa had never been the best of friends even before that.

"You're wrong," Mikasa denied despite the fact her face was pale and she looked sick.

"What I'm saying is, you belong to a clan created to protect and obey at the cost of losing their true selves. In other words, salves."

"Stop!" Armin shouted. "Leave her alone!"

"Do you want to know what I hate more than anything else in the world?" Eren asked without waiting for an answer. "Anyone who isn't free. They're no better than cattle."

Armin's brows furrowed. "Eren!"

"The mere sight of you has always made me so damn angry, and now I finally know why. All of you are controlled by one thing or another." His gaze glided over the three of them before stopping on Mikasa. "I just couldn't stand to look at a slave with no mind of her own. Who always followed orders without question. Believe me when I say this, Mikasa, ever since I was a kid, I've hated you."

Mikasa let out a strained gasp as tears finally began to fall from her eyes and slide down her cheeks.

"Eren! How could you say that to her?!" Armin jumped out of his seat and lunged across the table, fist pulled back to punch him square in the face. Before he could get the hit in, however, Mikasa shot forward and grabbed him, holding his arm behind his back and pushing his face into the tablecloth. She truly was hellbent on protecting Eren, whether she actually wanted to or not.

"Mikasa." Armin stared up at her, shock on his face.

As soon as Mikasa realized what she had done, her entire body flinched.

"See?" Eren used the action to prove his point. "Everything that you've done in your life has been dictated by your Ackerman blood."

"I-" Mikasa let go of Armin immediately and backed away, hands in the air. "I was just-"

Eren smirked. "That blood is all you really are."

As yet another tear slid down Mikasa's cheek, Armin flew into a rage once more and swung again. This time, his fist collided with Eren's cheek, knocking both of them and the table over in the process.

As soon as the two scrambled to their feet, Armin went for another attack. Able to predict his actions, however, Eren quickly dodged before uppercutting Armin in the jaw. Armin now dazed, Eren grabbed him quickly by the jacket and tossed him into the cabinet. Bottles and wine glasses shattered as Armin slammed into them.

Vera jumped up to rush to Armin's aid but Mikasa grabbed her arm, keeping her away from the conflict. Vera wasn't sure whether she was doing this out of her instinct to protect Eren or whether she wanted to keep Vera from getting hurt as well, but either way, she didn't like it.

Seconds later, the doors flew open and two of Eren's men, armed with rifles, entered the room.

"I don't need help," Eren told his followers as he watched Armin push himself up again. "Hey, Armin, the two of us have never actually fought before, have we?"

Grunting, Armin stepped forward and swung his fist again. Eren dodged it easily.

"You know why that is?" Eren counterattacked and landed another hit to Armin's face. He punched the smaller boy over and over again until he was bleeding from his mouth and nose and his face was covered in bruises. "It's because it would never be a fair fight!"

"Mikasa, let me go!" Vera struggled, and just as Armin collapsed to the floor, she was able to break free of Mikasa's grip. Throwing herself down beside Armin, Vera made sure to position herself between him and Eren. "Leave him alone, you monster!" she snapped.

"Please ... just stop," Mikasa begged, her face wet with tears.

Chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath, Eren stared down at the beaten and bruised Armin. "Like I said at the start, conflict is unnecessary—at least not if you tell us where Zeke is. So just come along quietly." He then turned to his men. "Take them. And bring the kid who killed Sasha too."

"Yes, sir."

Wrapping her arms around Armin, Vera slowly helped him back to his feet. "So that's it?" Armin wheezed. "That's all you came here to say? Is this the freedom you wanted? The freedom to hurt Mikasa? You're a slave too and your master's a worthless bastard."

Eren damn near growled. "Who you calling a slave?" He turned his back on everyone. "Let's go."

Mikasa shuddered. "Go where?"

"The place where it all started. Shiganshina."

As Vera and the others were led outside by Eren's lackeys, Hange and Falco were being loaded into one of the last carriages. With a gun pressed to their head, Hange didn't have any choice but to submit. Their green trench coat had been stripped and their hands had been tied behind their back. Soon after, Vera, Mikasa, and Armin faced the same fate. 

Vera looked around frantically for her other friends, but there was no sight of Connie or Jean, indicating they had already been taken.

"Wouldn't want you lot planning anything on the trip home." Floch grinned as he grabbed Vera by her hair and ripped her away from Armin and Mikasa. Then, with a rough push, he forced her into the carriage with Hange and the unconscious boy.

As soon as an armed Jaegerist joined them inside, the door was promptly shut and the carriage began to move. Struggling against her restraints, Vera pulled herself into the seat beside Falco, who was bandaged up but still looking pretty rough.

Gaze glued to the small gap in the thick curtains covering the windows, Vera tried her best to figure out where she and the others were being taken. Halfway through the ride, Falco began to groan and squirm. His eyes fluttered and his jaw clenched.

"What's the matter?" Hange leaned forward the best they could.

Eyes half-open, Falco looked up at Vera. "I feel like I just got shocked by electricity," he moaned as pain coursed through his body. Suddenly, his physical injuries were no longer the biggest concern.

Glancing up, Vera and Hange made eye contact. Their shared look spoke volumes.

"Wait, does that mean ...?" Hange questioned and the guard next to them tightened his grip on his rifle. They knew better than to finish their inquiry aloud, but Vera read the look in their one uncovered eye like a book.

The wine had been tainted by Zeke's spinal fluid, and whatever he had just done, it had affected everyone who had drank some. Thankfully, either because Falco had only ingested a little or because he was so far away from Zeke, his reaction seemed muted for the time being.

Vera felt her heart ache at the thought of everyone who had drank the wine. And more to that point, if Zeke was just now triggering the ones infected with his spinal fluid, did that mean he was no longer under guard? What had happened to Levi? Had he drunk any of the wine?

Vera closed her eyes tight and tried not to think about all the danger Levi could be in while she was sitting there, tied up and captured like a pathetic pawn in Eren's sick game. Pathetic. Eren had called her as much himself. He had also accused her of gravitating between strong men, looking for someone to lead her, guide her, control her.

Vera tried to shake the thought out of her head. She must have looked crazy to everyone else in the cramped carriage, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered except for escaping and making sure Eren didn't succeed in his maniacal plan.

Hange wanted to say something to calm the increasingly panicked woman across from them, but the guard was already staring daggers into the side of their head. So instead of saying anything, they decided to do one better. Without warning, Hange leaned back and kicked their legs against the door of the carriage. The door burst open, shards of wood splintering off where the lock had been ripped through the exterior. Then, before the guard could react, they threw themself against him, trapping him against the other side of the carriage with all of her weight.

"Go!" Hange's frantic expression pierced Vera's soul, breaking through the fear holding her in place and spurring her into motion.

When Vera lunged toward the open door, the guard let out an angry grunt and pushed Hange off of himself. Unable to catch themself from her fall, Hange landed hard on top of Vera and they both fell to the floor.

Just when Vera thought they were done for, Hange leaned forward, their breathing ragged. "Giant forest," she whispered just loud enough for Vera alone to hear. "Find Levi. Stop Zeke. End this."

Then, before Vera had the chance to react, Hange sat up with all the strength they had left and kicked Vera out of the moving carriage. With a hard thud, Vera landed in the street, dust billowing all around her and a dull ache in her side where Hange's boot had dug into her ribcage. Debris in her lungs, Vera let out a few strained coughs as she pushed herself to her feet again without the help of her hands.

"Get her!" someone shouted as the carriages slowed to a stop.

Turning back toward Hange, who was being roughly dragged back by the guard, Vera gave her a firm nod of confirmation and high-tailed it out of there.

Lungs burning from fear and copious amounts of inhaled dust, Vera darted through the side streets of the city, unsure where she was going. The only thing guiding her was the shouting behind her; wherever they were, she ran in the opposite direction. It was surprisingly hard to flee with her hands restrained but she managed. The thought of finding Levi and honouring Hange's trust thrust her forward, igniting strength in her aching legs even when she thought there was none left.

Eventually, the only shouting of the Jaegerists to be heard were the ones echoing in her head. Slowing to a stop, Vera doubled over and gasped for breath. It was then she noticed the metallic taste on her tongue and the burn in her throat. She let out another few coughs and was genuinely shocked when blood didn't splatter onto the dirt at her feet.

Looking around, she took in her surroundings. From what she could tell, she had made it to the edge of the city, closer to wall Sina than she had expected, and she had lost her pursuers.

The sun was beginning to set by then and she needed to find a way to get out to the giant forest. Glancing around herself, she located a rusted pipe and used the jagged edge to cut the ropes around her wrists. She nicked her skin a couple of times, and her hands were bleeding slightly by the time the rope loosened and fell to the ground, but she was finally free.

Rubbing away the blood and soreness from struggling against the ropes on her wrists, Vera inhaled sharply, stilling her racing mind so she could focus on what she needed to do next.

Hand coming up to her chest, Vera rested her palm over her dahlia necklace and exhaled. First, she needed to get a horse and make it out to the giant forest. Then, all that was left to do, according to Hange, was find Levi, stop Zeke, and end this.

Easy. No big deal. Vera could definitely do this. And even if she couldn't, she was certainly going to try anyway. 

[fragilcline]

GOLD DUST WOMAN. fleetwood mac. STRANGE MAGIC. electric light orchestra. NELLIE. dr. dog. SEASON OF THE WITCH. lana del rey. CRYSTAL. stevie nicks. HEART OF GLASS (LIVE). miley cyrus. YELLOW FLICKER BEAT. lorde. WICKED GAMES. the weeknd. RHIANNON. fleetwood mac. TECHNICOLOR BEAT. oh wonder. BACK TO BLACK. amy winehouse. I PUT A SPELL ON YOU. annie lennox. PAINT IT BLACK. ciara. BECAUSE OF THE NIGHT. patti smith. SISTER OF THE MOON. fleetwood mac. THIRD EYE. florence + the machine. STRANGE & BEAUTIFUL. aqualung. LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO. hozier. HUNGER OF THE PINE. alt-j. HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN. lauren o’connell. KIND OF WOMAN. stevie nicks. MRS MAGIC. strawberry guy. 

listen now. 

[caesthetix]

REMAINING TIME

↪Bertolt Hoover one-shot

↪content; slight gore, major character death, canon universe, established relationship

One day, I promise that I will bring you home with me.

There was a flicker of memory. From all the times you remembered that night, it had to be now. It felt like such a long time ago even though roughly four month just passed after the confession and promises that were shared between you. You really missed it, the feeling of security every time he was close to you.

When your days just filled with you complaining about the bland food, when your ears filled with your comrade's laughter that was ringing within the mess hall, when every night made you feel so giddy since you would talk with a certain tall, lovely, dark-haired man.

You were sure that he would go to the Military Police, along with Annie, someone that you often saw his eyes rested on to.

I will be known as a hero, a warrior that fulfilled his duty.

But that time after the top cadet was called (and of course he was one of the top ten, with how good of a soldier he was), he called out to you, saying that he would follow you to anywhere you go, without any stutter, without any red hue covering his cheeks. 

It took you by surprise, all the words that rolled from his tongue. You were the one who usually walked toward him, dragging him around to get some alone time and just rambling about life, you would often gossip about some of your comrades as he was all ears, ready to listen to your theory and spicy jokes.

You remembered how different he was on that last night in the training corps. His hand gently wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to your usual rendezvous place. It was not too far from the barracks, but far enough that no one could hear what was being shared while you were alone with him. 

His smile that was usually timid could not be seen anywhere as he sat on your left side right after you sat. You wanted to ask and perhaps teased him how he was so assertive today. But as he turned to look at your face, with a confident smile and brown orbs gazing at you as if he was seeing stars, you couldn’t push a word to the air around you.

And, and you will be there. 

You were snapped back to present time as you could feel their tug on each of your limbs, locked by their arms, securing you from doing anything reckless. There was no point for your friends to do that though, you couldn't even move a muscle, let alone trying to run to a man who was now too — immobilised under the bright sunlight.

This was not the last memory of him that you wanted to remember. Not something gruesome like this even when everyone would agree that he deserved this kind of death. You were the only one who wanted him to die without pain. Or at least, you were the only one who dared enough to show your real emotion.

You tried to cloud yourself with the memories that you used to share in the past. Particularly, that night when he took your hand to his lap, warm hands engulfed yours on a chilly night. You reconstruct every little detail, refusing to acknowledge his condition in this moment to be the last state of him.

Your mind gave you a vision of how his soft dark locks swayed by the wind, you brought back his voice on your ear as he made a promise with fiery passion dancing in his brown beads, and you felt it again in your forehead too — the softness of his lips as it lingered on your skin for a few seconds that made you feel like you have spent a lifetime with him.

At first I just want to go home, but now,

That color, that hair, your pupils widened when you saw a titan that was too alike to one of your closest friends. It couldn’t be him, that titan couldn’t be Armin. When Jean pulled you away from Bertolt’s body before, you were certain that Captain Levi would inject the titan’s fluid to Commander Erwin.

A bitter laugh slipped from your mouth. 

Wasn't this becoming a lot more tragic now?

Blonde, familiar blonde hair started to crawl toward his numb bodies. And now you couldn’t think of anything but the pain that would ensue next if only he was conscious. That was not fair, you think. What if he woke up all of a sudden, what if he could feel his head crushed in between those gigantic teeth. Your comrades would think he deserved it. 

No, no. There must be more to the story, you didn't want to believe it, he wouldn't do all of that if he didn't have to.

Now my dream grew.

You swallowed a huge lump as every second passed felt like forever. Armin was so close, and you could do nothing but stay still as you would see your friend eat the man that had your heart since day one you started a conversation with him.

From a sheepish smile and cheeks adorned with pinkish tint on his cheek, how softspoken he was and the caring tone that he had every time he talked to his comrades, to the shine inside his eyes as he talked on and on about how he would come back home one day.

You loved everything that was in the form of Bertolt Hoover.

And it never stopped, even now as you knew that he was a traitor, the one who brought sorrow to everyone inside the wall.

But you didn’t care at this point, since you were certain that whatever he felt, whatever affection he used to give — it was all real. 

Please don't wake up, please don't wake up. You could only pray. When those hands snatched his weak body from the rooftop, when the jaw was now wide open as it was ready to devour him like marbled meat, you could only pray that he would keep his eyes shut.

Now my dream consists of you; to be with you as I come back to my homeland.

But brown just decided to meet your eyes.

The grip on your limbs tightened as you let out a pained gasp, heart pounding in your chest as if it would explode at any moment. He smiled, for god sake he smiled. There was relief all over his face when he saw you, when his eyes wandered to everyone.

You wanted to rip off your ear, but with the way your limbs were restrained, you couldn’t do anything to numb your senses.

His scream as he called out to your friends, it was so pure, filled with relief. Somehow deep inside his twisted mind, he thought that he would be saved. Him calling out your name, brown orbs glimmered with pure joy and affection, he was so happy to see your face again. 

But the look on his face slowly changed into a morbid one as he realised that neither you nor the others would free him from the death grasp.

Realisation dawned upon him.

He was alone. He was alone now.

Reiner wouldn't save him, his comrades were far gone, retreating to perhaps the homeland that he always wanted to take you to. Annie was still inside her crystal, avoiding either questions or torture from people in Paradis, saving herself until the time would come when she could meet his father again.

And you, with your limbs locked by Connie and Jean, you could only watch as someone that once promised his heart to you, now paying the sin that he was forced to make. Head slowly rested inbetween wide, pristine teeth, one that belonged to a friend that he had to burn before just so he could come back to his homeland without being afraid of being mistreated anymore.

“Let him go.”

It was Jean, you knew him, he was always good when it came to comforting and giving you some assurance here and there. The words that he said could usually ease you within seconds. Though, right now it didn’t give you any kind of impact, not even a slightest.

You were still trying to free your limbs from their grasps, squirming around as you wanted to do something, anything. Maybe you could give him one last hug, one last kiss. He never tasted your lips and you wanted him to know, to feel as two souls mould into one from a simple contact. He was not conscious before when you captured his lips as you said your final goodbye. 

Before Jean took you away, before Captain Levi shouted out to all of you that he would let Commander Erwin ate the incapacitated soldier. No, warrior.

Still. Tears once again, cascading down your cheek as you wanted to save him, a traitor.

“Let him go, he deserve—”

“No he’s not!” You screamed, though your eyes never left him as his lips now shaped into a soft smile. “You don’t know about it, Jean! What if he was forced?!”

It was no use, there was nothing else that you could do. There were no words that could redeem his crime, and you knew it. As the victim of him and his comrades, you knew it. No one would change their mind. Hell, even though they were, it was not possible to save him as those wide teeth started closing in.

Funny how life works in this universe, how it was so easy to take one life over and over. Sometimes, sometimes it was becoming a task that had to be done, just so they could survive and see another day. Just so he could live, and feeling the blessing of how it feels to be born in this world.

But this time as his brown eyes peered at you, at the last millisecond of his life, he knew that he couldn't bide time anymore, that the devil had now finally pulled him to the deepest pit of hell, demanding payment. There was no tomorrow or even later for him, this last second was the only time for him to take a good look at you.

Maybe it was enough, the past few years was enough for him to know how it feels to live a possibly normal life. As a soldier, as a teenager who learned new things about life, about how turns out this island was not filled with devils.

He got his chance to live as if there was no soul waiting for him in the afterlife to see him suffer for all the blood in his hands that he was responsible to. He got his chance to live without being haunted that he was not worth living in this world for being born as an Eldian.

And from all, he got his chance to live as a normal human, to be in love, to be loved by another human being. By you, an angel that perhaps forgot their place, an angel that spread their wings in hell, just to fall for someone like him. 

You were someone that once made a promise to him on that same night, someone who would love him still despite someday a certain condition would reveal that he was not just a mere soldier. That he was not like what he always said to everyone.

As his eyes locked with yours at this time, he knew that you were the same person, and he knew too from the emotion inside your eyes — he could see that you fulfilled that promise of yours to keep loving him.

Despite all things, despite the remembrance of how he was one of the people who were responsible for the terror that kept lingering in your life.

You were still there, beautiful eyes locked with his with nothing but love, accompanying him to get through the agonizing remaining time of his life.

To assure him that your heart belonged to him, until the last beat of his heart.

And now as you watched how he would be forever out of reach, how the torso that you used to hug as you seek warm was now torn apart, how his hair that you used to run your hand into was now covered with red — you could only wish and pray inside your heart as you screamed in anguish.

That perhaps someday, he would be the one who fulfils his promise to you. Even though that means it was not in this life.

And you hoped, you really hoped, that everything would be so much better then.

↪Back to Wall Maria

↪Send an ask if you want to be a citizen of Paradis!

[cavalierious-whim]

Felix's life is turned upside-down when Sylvain comes back after years away to hustle at his pool hall. #

Ever have an idea that's neat until it grows legs and just becomes 12k words worth of filth? Yeah, that. My google search history suffered intensely for this fic, but now I know that you can use cue stick oil as lube. You're welcome. Read here on A03 for better quality, and for wips, updates and more, follow me here on Twitter!

#

Felix runs a clean establishment which is why the red-headed idiot is the bane of his existence.

Every night, he’s there, running the action for a dime a pot. Making his victims even up before they start a new round. Regulars know that he’s hustling; he makes his targets put the money in the rack and then before they know it, he sweeps them in the last game, taking the pot for his own.

The newbies don’t stand a chance. Everyone else stays to watch the slaughter.

Felix waits before he steps in. He might run a tight ship but he can’t risk his regulars running out because he puts a stop to the usual entertainment. So, Felix watches from his corner spot on the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he scowls.

The idiot has cued up a tricky three-rail bank shot. His opponent looks confident that he’s going to win but everyone else knows better. Ingrid tries to warn the new guy; tugs on his arm to whisper into his ear. The man only smiles at her like she’s dumb, twirling a lock of her short hair around his finger.

When Ingrid smiles back, it isn’t kind.

The idiot takes his shot, the cue ball connecting with all three walls just as planned before sinking the eight like there’s a magnet in the pocket.

The newbie’s cigarette falls from his mouth, Ingrid stamps it out before it can do any lasting damage, and Felix makes his move before things get ugly.

“Sylvain,” he snaps, sliding in near the billiards table and leveling him with an unimpressed glare.

Sylvain’s already snatched up the money, thumbing through it and double-checking even though he knows it’s good. The bills never leave the table, not under his keen eye. Sylvain pauses dramatically and offers him a smarmy smile.

“Felix,” he greets in a low baritone.

“Are you done swindling my customers?”

“Hey, I’m a customer too.”

Felix scoffs. “You’re a leech and I can throw you right out.” The crowd around them is used to the theatrics of it all and begins to disperse, making themselves scarce. Ingrid hangs back for a moment and exchanges a knowing glance with Felix.

She isn’t much better than Sylvain at the end of the night, hustling her own targets in games of Cribbage before clearing the table, but she and Felix have an agreement. Felix and Sylvain don’t. Mostly because the latter is impossible to reason with.

“You won’t,” says Sylvain, back to counting his bills. “If I made this much, you easily made twice that.” He folds them before tucking them into his pocket.

Sylvain isn’t wrong. He might be a hustler, but he’s a damn good pool player, and people will spend all night in the hall just to peek at a game or two. Sylvain makes good change, but Felix takes a better cut off the booze and food he sells as a result.

It’s a win-win and it’s why he’s never actually kicked the man out despite his idle threats. Among other reasons, those far more complicated. Still, it’s the principle of the matter.

Sylvain orders a whiskey, neat, and Felix scowls. When Annie brings him a crystal tumbler, Sylvain gives her a wink. He’s barking up the wrong tree and knows it, but it’s harmless flirting that they throw between them on the regular. Annette finds it cute.

Felix finds it appalling.

Sylvain takes a sip and sets the glass aside, picking up a cue stick and rolling it between his palms. “So, it was a good night, I’m sure,” he says conversationally.

“I don’t talk shop with patrons, least of all you.”

“Here’s a reminder that I bring in money--”

“You could bring in Blaiddyd himself, and I still wouldn’t talk.”

Sylvain whistles lowly. “That’s a bit low,” he says. “Blaiddyd wouldn’t ever step foot into a place like this.”

Dimitri wouldn’t. Felix knows it, but it’s not because his pool hall is tucked into a dark corner of Fhirdiad. It’s because he and Dimitri aren’t on speaking terms and likely never will be again. The red-headed idiot doesn’t know that, can’t know that. He and Sylvain haven’t properly talked in years. Hustling in his hall is a fairly new development and it’s haunted Felix’s dreams for nearly a half-year.

Sylvain’s calling a blind-eyed bluff and Felix lets it ruffle him.

“Insufferable fool,” snaps Felix.

Sylvain shrugs as Felix rounds the table to clean it off, grabbing the wide boar-bristle brush. He sets about sweeping up the chalk marks from the felt because Sylvain’s shit at doing it.

Or, he doesn’t even bother, racking up another game without any consideration. Truly, the bane of Felix’s existence, a constant aggravation, from the way that he hustles patrons in his carefully cultivated pool hall, to that damned smirk that is more attractive than it should be.

Old habits die hard, especially when it comes to the decade-old flame still flickering in Felix’s pathetic heart.

When Sylvain leans against the table, Felix stands up, instantly high alert. When he sits his ass on the rail with his entire weight, Felix nearly has a coronary.

“Off!” he snaps, shaking the brush at Sylvain. “You’ll fuck up the balance.”

“I can fuck up a lot more than that, you know,” says Sylvain. “All you have to do is ask.”

Felix isn’t a mobster so he doesn’t murder the man. But he is a pool shark, so he does the next best thing. “You and me,” says Felix. “Later when the doors close. One-on-one, house rules.”

Sylvain regards Felix with one long, sweeping gaze across the entirety of his body, and Felix almost snarls back. But he doesn’t. Ingrid would be proud.

“I’m a front-runner,” says Sylvain, as though it makes a difference. Of course, he’s a front-runner, he’s likely the best player Felix has ever seen aside from Glenn. But Glenn’s dead and that doesn’t matter anymore.

“I’m no slouch,” says Felix.

Sylvain smiles a curling thing that spells danger. “Oh, I know. I’ve seen you shoot a rack or two.” Or two thousand. Sylvain looks at his whiskey glass, swirling it gently. “And the stakes? A dime? Two?”

“Rights to play here,” says Felix. “You lose and I get to kick you out once and for all.”

“And if I win, you never bother me about hustling again.” Felix opens his mouth and Sylvain cuts him off. “Ah-ah-ah, none of that. You and I both know that I bring in more business than this dusty old place would see without me.”

Felix hates that he’s right and he hates that he doesn’t have the guts to refute it. He swipes the brush over the table angrily. “Fine, I’ll take your damned deal.”

They don’t shake on it, but Sylvain does tip his glass in a salute. Good enough for Felix since the faith of Sylvain’s word doesn’t mean shit.

#

So the thing is, they’ve actually known each other since they were children. Ingrid and Dimitri as well; they’d grown up together during the tail-end of Prohibition, spending their afternoons with Glenn shooting pool on tilted tables with badly balanced cue sticks.

Felix was good, but Sylvain was the prodigy when it came to shooting racks, an absolute monster that no one wanted to challenge. Back then, he didn’t hustle, he just enjoyed the sport. And Felix did too, their days spent leaning over chalk-dusted felt and hand-me-down sticks.

Then Glenn died, Sylvain went pro and Felix turned bitter and angry. And everything between them stretched wide and thin, colored by wanton attraction and the fear of fucking it up.

Dimitri bought this place to relive fond memories. Abandoned it when he lost his mind for fancier clientele. Felix, unable to forget his youth no matter how he tried, stepped in to keep it from shutting down entirely.

No longer in its prime, the place struggled for years, Felix barely paying the bills and keeping it afloat.

Until Sylvain walked back in one day. It’d been five years without a word, and nearly a decade of sore, unbidden feelings. Felix wanted nothing to do with him. Didn’t want to relive those memories.

One problem, though: Sylvain can’t take a fucking hint. Felix has told him to his face that he’s unwelcome and Sylvain just shoots him that signature smirk of his, the one that’s so impossible to ignore, and pretends that nothing was ever said.

Felix never kicks him out because he lacks any resolve, something that haunts his dreams. It makes Ingrid laugh.

“So, house rules,” says Sylvain, sliding up next to him with a smooth swagger that Felix makes a point of ignoring.

“Eight-ball,” starts Felix, but Sylvain tuts.

“Where’s the fun in that? That’s a family game.” Felix doesn’t like the glint in Sylvain’s eye as he leans against the table rail. “Nine-ball. Best three out of five.”

“Nine-ball’s a tournament game,” says Felix. “I don’t do tournaments.”

“You could,” says Sylvain with a shrug. He’s right; Felix can. But he won’t.

“You know that I don’t compete.”

“Anymore,” says Sylvain, a quiet correction that turns Felix’s blood red-hot. Sylvain must see it because he raises his hands in deference. “Not the point, not the point. I’m just saying. We’re playing for a high pot so might as well make the game match.”

Felix doesn’t think that playing for his pool hall is a high pot but there isn’t a point in arguing-- Sylvain’s been bit by a competitive bug and it’s too late to stop it.

“Fine, nine-ball,” says Felix. He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls at Sylvain. “Casual rules, though. Ball-in-hand--”

“Ugh.” Sylvain sounds positively offended and Felix smirks.

“And none of that fancy shit you like to pull.”

“Felix, you wound me.”

Felix levels him with an unimpressed look. “I don’t have time for it,” he says. Then he kicks Sylvain’s shin. “And off the fucking table. I won’t tell you again.”

Sylvain hops off but doesn’t apologize. “I’ll rack--”

“I’ll do it,” cuts in Felix, reaching for the triangle rack instead of the one used for nine-ball. “I don’t trust you further than I can throw you.”

Sylvain pauses, frowning the slightest bit, a tiny little crack in his carefully maintained facade. Felix nearly pauses-- nearly. Sylvain isn’t the kind to wear his heart on his sleeve. He only shows what he wants other people to see. But this here, it doesn’t seem intentional. He’s already off his game, distracted by something.

“I only meant you setting up the game,” says Felix.

“I’ve no qualms about you racking, but you know it means that I get to break.”

A calculated decision that Felix has already considered. Felix isn’t bad at getting a good spread, but Sylvain’s better at it. It’s a risky move to give him the first shot since he’ll likely sink one at the get-go, but it’s a risk Felix is willing to take.

Sylvain pulls a cue from his bag and twists it together, carefully wiping it down with a soft little cloth. Felix watches while he arranges the balls, nine in the middle. He presses his fingers against the bottom of the diamond, pushing them tight into the corner of the triangle. Not a traditional method, but Felix can get a better grip if the rack isn’t in the way of his fingers. Sylvain hasn’t noticed his stare.

Instead, he’s too busy inspecting the tip of the cue that he uses for breaking before chalking it up.

Once the balls are racked, Felix steps off to the side, showing off the table. “All yours.”

Sylvain offers him a smile, something small and genuine and for a second it’s like they’ve gone back in time. All that unwanted shit he’s tried to forget just wells right up from the depths of his heart. Felix pretends that they aren’t friends, that they were never close, that he hates Sylvain quite severely.

It isn’t true. When Sylvain left they’d been sitting awkwardly, hanging strangely in their friendship. Trying to figure out what they were together. For Felix, it’s never been something as simple as just friends.

And it never was for Sylvain either, which is why everything’s so fucked up between the two of them. Sylvain, despite whatever he feels, isn’t the type to settle down. And neither is Felix. But they’d thought about doing it, together.

Feelings can’t save shitty relationships, though, no matter how strong they are. They’re better off like this, frenemies that constantly dog each other.

Sylvain looks slick as he runs a hand through his wild auburn hair. The light above the pool table is dim and casts a shitty glow, but Sylvain looks alive as he takes his place at the south end of the table. He’s focused when he leans over, break cue held loosely in his hand. He lines up his shot, utterly focused on the task at hand, and then he brings the cue back before letting it loose.

There’s a crack as the cue ball flies across the table. The diamond scatters and balls bounce off the rails. He doesn’t sink one on the first shot which is an immediate red flag.

“You missed,” says Felix. “You did that on purpose.”

Sylvain shrugs, unconcerned as he swaps out his break cue for his regular. He chalks it up. “There isn’t any fun in running the table on the first go.”

Felix scowls. “You’re playing for keeps.”

“It’s best three out of five,” says Sylvain. “Might as well make it worth it.”

He’s a hustler through and through. Sylvain makes his bread and butter swindling poor sots out of their coin, pushing and pulling pots as he sees fit. Ingrid’s no better, but she’s already at a disadvantage. No one takes her seriously because she’s a woman, and if her goal is to take men down a notch, Felix isn’t going to be the one to tell her no.

Sylvain, however, doesn’t do it for the money, he does it for the thrill. He’s always been like that, living by the seat of his pants because it’s the only way that he feels things. Like right now. It’s the only reason he even bargained the game to begin with.

Felix only wanted a go at it, a friendly game between somewhat enemies. Sylvain was the one that put stakes on the table.

The cue that Felix uses is old and a little battered, but it’s straight and it’s got a decent weight to it. Nothing fancy, but he doesn’t need fancy, he only needs functional.

The spread on the table is good. The one-ball sits at the bottom left and the nine is at the right side pocket. The rest have enough space to get in a good table run if he plays his angles right. Felix leans over the corner of the table, lining up his shot.

Sylvain watches as Felix thinks it through. Nervousness prickles down Felix’s spine. He might play a game or two alone after the doors shut, but he’s admittedly, out of practice. Felix already knows if he mucks this shot up, Sylvain will spend the rest of the night poking fun at him.

The cue stick strikes true and Felix sinks the one-ball in the opposite side pocket. So far so good. The two is near a north corner, an easy shot. But the three is along a rail, leaving behind a tricky follow-up lie. Felix sighs and sinks the two, the cue ball kicking back to the left.

Not far enough, leaving him in a precarious position.

Sylvain whistles low and says, “Tricky, tricky. Not where I’d want to sit.”

“Shut up,” says Felix, scowling. He chalks up his cue, thinking about his next shot.

Sylvain shrugs, sipping at his drink. “I’m just saying. You’ve always been shit at putting spin on the ball.” Sylvain’s right. Felix never did practice his English much.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve played a game,” says Felix. Not since before Sylvain fucked off. He’s watched him, of course, but Felix hasn’t shot a rack around Sylvain since he came back. “Plenty of time to pick up some skill.”

“It wasn’t ever about skill, you just sucked at it even with how much you practiced.”

Felix would spend hours hitting shot after shot. He’d set up complicated lies and work out the math. He’s good with angles, and he’s decent at putting spin on the ball but it’s definitely his weak spot.

Felix doesn’t answer and Sylvain crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not trying to be rude--”

“Zip it,” cuts in Felix, shushing him. “I’m thinking.”

Sylvain’s quiet for exactly ten seconds before he says, “Lower half, middle of the ball. Put some meat behind it and it should stop dead.”

Felix ignores him on principle, hitting slightly to the right instead. The cue ball connects with the three, then banks to the side, flubbing the shot entirely.

Sylvain snickers from behind his hand, amused.

Felix knew it was a bad shot the moment his arm moved. He’s unsure why he’s so obstinate when it comes to taking Sylvain’s advice on a go. But then he sees the insufferable smirk plastered across Sylvain’s face.

Scratch that, he knows exactly why: Felix refuses to give in to his hustling.

“Should have just listened to me,” says Sylvain, getting up from the barstool and chalking up his cue.

“I’d rather sell out,” says Felix. And he would. He’d sooner leave him a good shot, sitting pretty on the table than give him any sort of satisfaction.

“Thought we were playing for keeps,” says Sylvain, repeating what Felix snarked earlier. “At least give me some satisfaction.” He leans over the table, marking up a shot at the three. He pulls the cue back once, twice, testing the wait of his aim.

“The only satisfaction you want is someone stroking your big, fat ego.”

Sylvain stops right in the middle of his shot, head cocking to the side as he shoots Felix a dangerous look. “Oh trust me, there’s something else I’d rather you stroke.”

Felix turns red in anger, hissing at the innuendo. Here it is, that unspoken thing that’s loomed between them for years. Sylvain’s always been overtly flirty with it, low whispers as he murmurs dark and dirty words into his ears. Felix refuses to be just another notch in his belt.

And it’s hard, so unbearably hard because the worst part is that Felix wouldn’t say no. Ingrid tells him that it’s stupid to hold off, that he should just get it over with and satisfy his fucking curiosity.

Felix refuses.

Sylvain bursts into laughter, shaking his head. “Man, you should’ve seen your face, Felix,” he says, setting up his shot again. He falls silent as he baits the cue ball, his practice strokes smooth like buttered perfection. Then, he takes the shot and sinks in the three, lining up for a perfect hit to the four.

And the five, and then the six. Sylvain cleans the table with little-to-no effort, calling his shots because he knows it pisses Felix off.

“Eight off the seven,” says Sylvain, grinning widely as he surveys the table. “But I’m going to bank it off this rail and nail the corner pocket instead.”

It’s an absurd trick shot and Felix tells him as such. “You’re wasting time with these superfluous tricks.”

“Sit back,” says Sylvain. “Relax. Shit Felix, this is supposed to be fun.”

Felix knew that it wasn’t going to be fun the moment he proposed it. He knew he’d be staring at Sylvain’s long and lean form, bent over the table as he figures out math and angles. Sylvain’s a smart guy, despite what people think. It’s one of the few times that the look on his face is truly genuine.

He’s more handsome now than ever before, something straight from Felix’s most vivid wet dreams. He has a love-hate relationship with those.

“Nothing about this is fun,” says Felix finally. “It’s infuriating.”

Sylvain bites the inside of his cheek in a huff, a nervous tic that he’s never been able to get rid of. “You’re the one making it so,” he says smoothly. “As I said, just relax. We’re here to play a game.”

“That I need to win if I want you good and gone.”

Sylvain pauses at that, still hanging over the table as he looks at Felix. “Is that really what you want Felix?” For once in his damn life, he sounds serious, not his usually mocking tone.

Felix doesn’t warrant the question with an answer. Instead, he just crosses his arms over his chest as he lurks in the corner near his pool cue.

Eventually, Sylvain gets tired of waiting. “Suit yourself,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Felix to hear. He lines up his ridiculous shot and takes a few practice sweeps. The moment he pulls back, Felix speaks.

“Of course I want you to piss off.”

Sylvain fucks up the shot, nearly miscuing. The cue ball lurches to the side, misses the seven entirely, and nearly sinks in the nine-ball instead. That’d be a game lost, one to Felix’s favor, which is greatly amusing.

To his credit, Sylvain doesn’t look angry, despite his swear. He looks dejected. And really, what does he expect? That he’d come back here to find everything normal? Back to the way it was? Felix is too tired for ifs, ands, and buts. He moved on years ago.

Or so Felix pretends. It’s his most practiced lie, second nature at this point.

The look, though, that shadow of sadness that falls across Sylvain’s face is gone nearly as soon as it appears. He schools it into a competitive grin instead, nodding to the table. “Well, here’s your chance,” says Sylvain, leaning onto his stool, cue resting against his thigh. “Knock me out of the game.”

Felix surveys the table. The ending lie of Sylvain’s kicked shot leaves Felix in a decent position. Just enough to smack the seven-ball in and clear the table if he can keep his mind empty. Felix looks at Sylvain again who stares right back. Easier said than done.

He sets up his shot, pulling back the cue a few times. He sinks the seven easily and with the left spin he put on the cue ball, it rolls over to the eight. The side pocket’s an easy target that leaves only the nine left.

“Think it through,” says Sylvain.

“Shut up.”

“Look, I’m just saying. The easiest shots are always the worst, especially when it’s the nine.”

True. Felix can hit a stellar shot and still fuck it up-- there are a thousand ways to lose a game of pool, almost all of them your fault. Felix knows that he should take a deep breath, sit back and think about angles and spin.

But he won’t because he’s too fucking impatient, the absolute worst quality he has.

“Nine-ball, corner pocket,” says Felix, gesturing with his cue. He forces himself to try and take his time, at least, breathing in deeply before letting it loose.

He fucks the shot up royally. Taps it a little too hard and overshoots, the cue ball sinking in right after the nine. A scratch, and the worst kind-- entirely self-inflicted because he’s far too distracted to keep his head in the game.

Felix blames it on Sylvain. Doesn’t matter what part of him-- that handsome, devilish smile of his; the way that he twirls his cue around nonchalantly; the gentle grasp he has around his crystal whiskey tumbler; the ease as he sinks in ball after ball.

It’s all the same shit as far as Felix is concerned.

“Man, you dogged it,” says Sylvain, a badly concealed smirk set across his face.

“You’re taking way too much pleasure in it.” Felix is beyond annoyed.

Sylvain’s expression changes as he raises an eyebrow. “Felix, if I wanted to take pleasure from something, it certainly wouldn’t be you losing.”

“Is that so?”

Sylvain doesn’t answer, he only stares him down, the depth of his face smoldering. And Felix stares back, frozen in place as he worries his lip between his teeth. At least after the game, he thinks. The pool hall deserves that much.

The tension between them is so thick you could cut it; the kind of joke that Ingrid would happily make were she watching their sorry asses dance around each other. Ridiculous, Felix thinks. Utterly ridiculous, how the two of them still act like teenagers who can’t keep it in their pants.

“You nearly had it,” says Sylvain finally, trying to diffuse the tightness in the air. “Next time I can show you--”

“I don’t need your pity,” says Felix suddenly.

Sylvain blinks. “An honest offer,” he says. “No pity involved.”

Felix knows there’s a catch, though. There has to be. When it comes to Sylvain, there’s always an ulterior motive.

They fall silent again for a moment that stretches a little bit too long. Staring at each other, neither willing to make the first move.

It’s Sylvain that finally does. “Rack them,” he says, pulling the balls from the pockets on his end of the table.

Felix says nothing as he sets the next rack, the nine-ball right in the center. He rolls them back and forth, pressing his fingers in between the wood and resin, ensuring a tight diamond.

“Three out of five, one to my name,” says Sylvain as he swipes some of his drink before cueing up his for his break.

It’s effortless as always, the crack of his shot deafening in the awkward quiet. He sinks two balls on the first go, the three, and the seven. Sylvain isn’t playing around this time. Felix knows he isn’t angry. He’s trying to distract himself.

And Sylvain does that by doing what he does best-- sharking pool.

He continues to clean the table in relative silence, intensely focused on the game. He gets like this when he’s thinking about things. Goes weirdly quiet as he formulates what he’s going to say next. Most think he’s inherently suave, an instinctual casanova, but that isn’t it at all.

Sylvain’s the best pretender around, carefully cultivating how others perceive him. Everything he says and does is by design.

Especially when it comes to Felix. It’s a well-practiced game to Sylvain when it comes to whatever the fuck their relationship is. Felix maintains there isn’t one, that there wasn’t ever. But it’s hard to hold to that when Sylvain’s two feet away in the pool hall, hustling right next to him every night. And Felix can’t stop looking, hasn’t ever been able to stop.

Even now.

“It’s hot in here,” says Sylvain, hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt, pulling at it slightly. It is, and a little humid too. That’s what the weather does this far south, as far away from Fhirdiad as you can get.

“You’re the one insisting on being fully clothed,” says Felix.

Sylvain’s usual fare of dress is high-class. Crisply ironed button-downs paired with a well-tailored vest. Sometimes he wears his pocket watch, sometimes it’s a pocket square. He always rolls up his sleeves though, showing off well-defined forearms. Paired with the sleeve garters, everyone can’t help but stare.

Felix included.

“Gotta look the part,” says Sylvain with a tawdry wink. “You know that.”

“You already do,” Felix huffs, “With all the money you spend on those ridiculous brand-name labels.” Because it’s always been the best of the best for Sylvain.

Sylvain responds by reaching up and pulling his tie loose, unfastening the top few buttons before pressing the collar open, showing off his collarbone. And the sheen of sweat that glistens in the shitty glow of the light hanging above the table. Felix finally looks away, settling his gaze onto the wall.

“Nine off the eight,” says Sylvain. “Corner pocket.” He doesn’t point to the corner pocket that Felix would aim for.

Sylvain leans against the table, ass on the railing, the cue behind him. Shooting backward because he’s a gluttonous prick who can’t help but show off.

“Wrong corner pocket, you dick,” says Felix, obstinate as always. Mostly because he can’t stop staring at Sylvain’s ass when he should be watching the game. Between that and Sylvain’s gleaming collarbone on display, Felix is a goner.

Sylvain’s aim is impeccable, so naturally, he sinks the nine, winning the second game. “Rack ‘em,” he says with a smirk, jumping off the table.

Felix snarls before doing as he’s asked. Sylvain keeps smirking, running a hand through his unruly hair, stretching out his neck just so. Because he knows; he’s seen Felix looking and he’s hamming it up.

“Insufferable git,” says Felix, dropping the balls into the triangle-shaped rack and shuffling them around.

“You’re the one who keeps staring.” Felix pauses, looking back at Sylvain. He knows a challenge when he hears one and Sylvain’s looking at him like he’s ready to eat him right up.

“Only because you’re utterly ridiculous,” says Felix finally. “Pompous and loud, cheating my good patrons out of their money. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

Sylvain hums at that, sipping at his whiskey. “Well, if someone’s going to, I prefer it be you.”

Felix nearly throws the rack at him but he doesn’t, hanging it neatly where it belongs under the table instead. Ingrid would be proud of his remarkable restraint. “Your break,” says Felix, turning away.

Sylvain’s already chalking up his cue. Figuring out exactly how he wants to set up his final run. “One more, my favor,” he says. “Better step up your game.”

Felix intends to, tired of this song and dance, of playing cat-and-mouse. They’ve chased after each other for years. It’s time to put an end to it. As Sylvain preps his shot, Felix switches cue sticks, pulling a second one from his bag. Pitch black with mother of pearl accents, but a tad beat up and not well-polished.

When Sylvain turns to him, he goes stock still like he’s frozen in time. Watches as Felix screws it together, brows knitted as recognition sets in.

“You kept that old thing?” asks Sylvain, quietly.

“It shoots straight. Might as well.”

Sylvain’s surprised because he gave the cue stick to Felix. Spent nearly three month’s loose change when they were young and desperately poor. Probably thought Felix chucked it the moment that he fucked off. Felix nearly did, and nearly has repeatedly over the years. Never quite gets there.

There’s one thing that Felix is really, really bad at: actually getting rid of Sylvain once and for all. It’s a complicated thing, full of complicated feelings. For better and worse. Felix and Sylvain were very nearly something all those years ago. Shared a few kisses in dark corners, wandering hands here and there.

Childhood friends to nearly-lovers, then rivals to whatever the fuck they are now.

Felix has caught Sylvain off guard, judging by his unsure expression. And for once, Felix doesn’t know what he’s thinking, can’t really tell. Sylvain just looks at him with this entirely unreadable expression.

“What?” asks Felix, a little more bite to his tone than he wants.

Sylvain doesn’t immediately answer, just rubs at his chin with his fingers. Thinking. But then he smirks, shooting Felix a rather dirty grin, and just like that everything’s back to normal again,  brushed away like chalk from the table felt.

“Nothing,” says Sylvain, swiping the cue ball from Felix’s hand and their fingers brush, Sylvain lingering. Felix is the one to pull away.

But, he can’t look away when Sylvain sets up his break, or the long lines of his frame as he leans over the table and tests the slide of his cue. Draped over the felt like he belongs here, in this dingy pool hall. Right before Felix, just like the days of old.

Felix sighs. He’s tired of longing for the past.

Sylvain’s cue makes great contact and the break spreads well. He sinks the two and four-ball and leaves a good lie for the one. Sinks that, and then the two. Leaves the three, and the five onward. Felix bites at his thumb nervously because Sylvain’s likely about to run the entire table with little effort.

He’s fucked this up.

Sylvain spares a glance at him and pauses, biting at his lip. Then he lines up his shot for the three. Should be an easy shot into the side pocket, incredibly straightforward. Until he fucks it up.  Intentionally.

“Shit,” murmurs Sylvain, “Jawed the tit.” Bounced right off the corner edge of the pocket.

Felix’s eyes narrow. Unlike before, this time it doesn’t seem like he’s giving him a chance to catch up or drag the game out. He’s left Felix with a pretty terrible lie. Whatever Sylvain’s plan is, it’s something else entirely.

Something that Felix isn’t sure he wants part of.

Which is why he doesn’t call it out. Instead, they swap sides, slowly rounding the table. Felix has been left with a shitty option for the three-ball, but still doable. He lines it up and calls his shot, takes a deep breath, and then shoots.

Sylvain watches from the stool on the opposite side, strangely quiet. The cue ball hits one rail, then the second, then connects with the three-ball, sinking it into the left corner. Felix lets out a sigh of relief and Sylvain a low whistle.

Felix makes quick work of the five and six-ball, leaving the seven in a good spot on the side pocket. He freezes, hesitating. The last time he had a shot like this, he fucked it up, leaving the table open for Sylvain to take the win.

And Felix knows that Sylvain won’t risk losing because he isn’t playing to keep hustling, he’s playing to keep Felix at his side. Even if they aren’t anything.

Anymore, Felix’s brain unhappily supplies.

“Think about it,” says Sylvain, just like before.

“I am,” says Felix irately.

“If you want, I can show you a trick. Help you sink shots like that with no issue.”

“I’d win.” It isn’t a guarantee, of course, but a high chance. The spread on the table is in Felix’s favor if he sinks this shot.

Sylvain shrugs and stands. “Fine by me,” he says. Sylvain walks around the table, running his hand along the wooden rail smoothly. Felix tracks the movement. Then Sylvain’s behind him, leaning close.

“Alright then,” he says right next to his ear. “Mind if I guide you?”

Felix nods minutely, words stuck in his throat because he lacks any conviction to say no. Sylvain reaches around him and takes the cue, carefully arranging Felix’s arms. “Loose form,” he says. “Lift your elbow just a bit, yeah, like that.”

Sylvain’s hand isn’t just warm, it practically burns through the sleeve of Felix’s shirt. “From this angle, you want the cue ball to kick left, so you’ve got to put your spin here.” Sylvain slots himself even closer, his pelvis flush with Felix’s ass. One hand on his waist, holding him there gently as he reaches even further to point to the cue ball.

The only thing that Felix can focus on Sylvain’s crotch and-- “Are you seriously hard right now?”

Sylvain freezes but he doesn’t move. “Can you blame me?” he asks simply. Like there’s nothing to it, like it’s completely normal. He doesn’t make any further movements to manhandle Felix, he just stands there nonchalantly as Felix’s gut twists at the thought of it.

Definitely not how this game is supposed to go.

“Yes,” says Felix, “I can absolutely blame you.”

A pause. Sylvain’s mouth is very close to his cheek, Felix can feel the gentle puffing of his breath against it. “Do you want me to move?” asks Sylvain, sincerely.

“No.” Felix’s answer is barely above a whisper and comes far too quickly. Sylvain’s breath hitches slightly as he shifts his stance just barely, his hardness more evident than ever before. “But at least help me finish the shot.”

“Felix--”

“You never give away your tricks,” cuts in Felix. “I’m not letting this opportunity go.”

Sylvain laughs mirthlessly but complies, guiding Felix’s cue to the proper position. “Tap it here, on the right. Not too hard, just enough to kiss it.” Felix swallows, trying not to think of the insinuating verbiage. He doesn’t want to kiss the ball, he wants to kiss Sylvain instead.

Sylvain pulls back but doesn’t move away entirely, still holding onto his waist. Felix sinks the shot and the cue ball kicks back just as it should.

Time slows, the both of them hesitating. Sylvain makes the first move. He doesn’t give Felix the chance to lean into another shot, turning him around and pressing him against the edge of the pool table.

Felix lets him, but says-- very weakly-- “We’ve got a game to finish.” He still has a cue in one hand as the other reaches up and latches onto the tie hanging loosely around Sylvain’s neck, tugging at it slightly. Teasingly, if he were the sort to tease.

Sylvain certainly takes it that way, reaching up to grip Felix’s chin lightly. “The only game I was playing wasn’t pool,” he says, thinking he’s smooth.

“I’m aware,” says Felix. “Noticed it the moment that you undid your shirt. How annoying.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?”

It certainly didn’t help, thinks Felix, but he’d been gone long before that. Before this night, weeks and months ago. He was gone the night Sylvain walked right back into his life.

“I’m tired of pretending,” says Felix. “Of ignoring it.” Because he is. Tired of being the last to leave work because he knows he’ll go home with Sylvain if he isn’t. Of watching from afar, itching to touch but resigning himself to stay on the other side of the room. Of Ingrid’s eye-rolling and suggestive hand gestures. It’s exhausting.

“So don’t,” says Sylvain.

Felix pulls him down and Sylvain meets his mouth eagerly. Felix is risking the balance of the pool table for this, leaning onto it fully as Sylvain presses in close, slipping a thigh between Felix’s legs.

Kissing Sylvain is like riding a bike; Felix remembers exactly how to do it. What Sylvain likes and the amount of pressure. The way their mouths slot together like it’s meant to be. Sylvain moans against his mouth, just a soft breathy sound like he can’t believe this is happening.

Maybe he can’t. Felix isn’t the type to reciprocate and he’s been fighting this for months. Not that Sylvain hasn’t tried his best to unruffle him, to get him to fall back into the ease of it.

Felix finally gives in, tumbling down that darkly lit corridor to chase that tell-tale fire that stokes slowly in his gut.

Sylvain’s lips are soft against his and he holds him too tenderly. Felix responds by yanking at the tie again and nipping at his mouth. Sylvain opens it in surprise and Felix’s tongue finds his, seeking out that wet warmth and comfort.

The sound that Sylvain makes is enough to fill Felix’s cock halfway.

They part to breathe and Felix knows he looks a mess. Flushed and breathing heavily in the hot and humid pool hall. Half-sprawled across one of his carefully balanced tables. He can’t find much care in it, his brain muddled by the sharp press of Sylvain’s body against his own.

“Shit, Felix.” Sylvain runs a thumb across the high arch of Felix’s cheekbone. Just looking at him as it slides across the seam of his mouth. Felix nips at the digit in response.

Their next kiss is a little slower, driven by Sylvain’s persistence to take his time. Felix is impatient but lets him lead, relishing in the softness of his lips. Sylvain slides a hand down his front and pulls his shirt from his pants. His fingers are cold against Felix’s skin despite the heat of the room, splaying smoothly across the planes of his stomach.

But he hesitates, nails just barely scratching at the top of Felix’s waistband.

“Touch me, you imbecile,” says Felix, demanding and needy, kicking his hips closer to drive home his point.

“Right,” says Sylvain against Felix’s lips. “Yes, okay.” He sounds even needier, something that Felix takes great pride in. Sylvain’s stopped kissing him, nose pressed into the nape of Felix’s neck instead, resting there. No doubt savoring the moment or whatever other romantic bullshit that Sylvain thinks when lost in the moment.

Felix’s only complaint is that he isn’t moving fast enough. “Sylvain,” he warns, “I’m this close to shoving you off and taking care of myself in the office.” Not his favorite option and not nearly as fun.

Sylvain pulls back, one hand gripping Felix’s chin. “You wouldn’t,” he says.

“Try me,” says Felix defiantly. Because he definitely would and Sylvain knows it.

And the way that Sylvain looks at him in response, how his gaze smolders as he smirks knowingly, makes Felix want to drown in the heat of it.

Sylvain surprises him by dropping to his knees against the hard ground, grasping Felix by the hips. Nuzzles at Felix’s crotch, where he tents his trousers. Felix lets out a soft moan, fingers finding Sylvain’s hair, scratching at his scalp.

They’d shared kisses in the past and rutted against each other fully clothed. Fevered hands grabbing at each other over rough cotton in dark corners as they roughly jerked off.

Sylvain’s hand is soft as he drags it over the front of Felix’s trousers, the touch somehow still familiar. Then he grips a little firmer, cupping him properly.

“Sylvain--”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Sylvain, fingers already pulling at his zipper instead. “Impatient as always. Just like old times.” Even with Felix egging him on, Sylvain is unbearably slow when it comes to undressing him. “I’m savoring it,” he says when Felix grunts in frustration. “You only get one first time with another.”

Felix can’t dispute that. Still. Felix moves, shimmying his trousers past his ass, letting them drop to the ground.

“That’s one way to do it, I suppose,” says Sylvain with a chuckle. Then Felix’s briefs quickly follow and he stops laughing. Sylvain’s mouth falls open as he stares, hands gripping Felix’s thighs tightly. “Felix,” he croaks, looking at him like he’s a man starving, fingers itching to touch. And do more.

Felix isn’t an angel. There’ve been others. But this is Sylvain, and Felix has never been like this with him, never given him that much.

He would’ve but it never panned out.

Sylvain leans in close, pressing a kiss at the juncture where Felix’s groin meets his thigh. Then to the base of Felix’s cock, his lips lingering there. Felix takes a deep breath, his eyes slipping closed at the sensation.

Then Sylvain swallows him down, his mouth hot and wet around his length.

“Fuck,” says Felix, fingers tightening their grip on Sylvain’s hair. “Fuck.”

Sylvain moans around him as he bobs up and down his cock, tongue flat along the underside of him. Then on the upstroke, Sylvain’s tongue curls around the tip and his hand finds the part of Felix’s cock that isn’t buried in his mouth.

Felix wasn’t expecting this and he tells him as such. “You’re the kind that takes what he wants,” says Felix in a light-hearted jab. Even if this had gone another way, he wouldn’t have complained.

Sylvain pulls off to retort. “Oh, darling,” he says, pressing a sweet little kiss to the crown of his cock, “I never do anything that I don’t want to. And this? I’ve wanted to do this for years.”

“Insufferable bastard,” says Felix, but the insult dissolves into a blissed-out moan when Sylvain’s mouth finds him again, this time sucking around him properly. Felix can’t get enough of it, the tight and wet heat that engulfs his cock. The way that Sylvain works him like he’s trained his entire life for this.

Felix likes to think he has.

Sylvain’s hand moves to cup his balls, rolling them softly in the palm of his hand, and Felix nearly pulls Sylvain’s hair right from his head. He can feel the way that he smiles around his cock, the way that his laugh rumbles up from his throat. How it caresses his dick.

Felix shoves Sylvain’s face off none-too gently, his chest heaving as he tries his best not to come right then.

“Oh,” says Sylvain in surprise. Then his face melts into something amused. “Oh--”

“Shut it,” cuts in Felix. “I’m losing my patience and I didn’t want to finish in your mouth.”

“But what if I wanted you to?”

Felix blinks, the words barely registering. “What?”

“What if I wanted you to come in my mouth?” Sylvain looks up at him, eyes half-lidded and hazy with want. “What if I wanted to swallow it down?” It’s sinful, the earnest way that he says it. The way that Sylvain still cups his balls in one hand and drags lazy circles across Felix’s thigh with the other. Eagerly waiting.

Felix swallows thickly, thinking about the debauched image that fills his mind. Then he guides Sylvain back to his cock, his hands on either side of his face, thumbing at his cheekbones. Sylvain happily accepts it, tongue out and waiting before slotting his mouth around Felix’s length once more.

And he keeps going until the tip of Felix’s cock hits the back of his throat, and Sylvain’s nose is near the coarse hair at his pubic bone.

Felix is going to die, he’s pretty sure of it. Not a bad way to go, all things considered. One hand moves to grab at Sylvain’s hair tightly, the other still cupping his jaw. Sylvain’s efficient in the way that he moves, sliding up and down, tonguing expertly around him. The pressure as he sucks and laps at his cock.

“I’m--” Felix tries to warn that he won’t last much longer. “Sylvain, I’m--”

Sylvain doubles his efforts, letting go of his balls to press his fingers a little further back. Against the smooth skin there, massaging at it gently. Felix curses and spills into his mouth, doing his best to not buck against him. The tightly coiled tension has snapped and Felix does his best to come down from the high of it, but he’s nothing but a puddled mess, leaning back against the pool table. His legs shake like jelly.

When Sylvain pulls off him, he looks triumphant, swallowing Felix’s spend like it’s an expensive delicacy. Which is almost worse, the fucked-out look of it. Seeing Sylvain like this, on his knees before him, lips swollen and face ruddy in the aftermath of spectacularly sucking him off.

It’s almost enough to get Felix going again.

Felix tugs at Sylvain’s tie and he stands, leaning over him again, slotted between Felix’s open legs. Felix doesn’t care where his mouth’s been, he pulls Sylvain in for a kiss. Tastes himself as Sylvain deepens it, licking into Felix’s mouth.

Sylvain’s cock is fully hard and digging into his thigh.

“You’re wearing too much,” says Felix when he breaks the kiss.

“Going to return the favor?” asks Sylvain, his hands braced against the table rails on either side of Felix.

“No,” says Felix. “Not this time. You took too long, indulging as you did.”

“You weren’t complaining about it.”

“And I won’t.” Felix knows he’s being cheeky but Sylvain loves it, the way that he teases. Felix presses a hand to the open collar of his shirt where it’s undone, fingering Sylvain’s collarbone there.

“Irritating,” he continues. “How good you look when you show off your skin.”

“Only for you, babe,” says Sylvain.

Felix scoffs. “That, I doubt.”

Sylvain’s expression changes, softening. “No, really,” he says. “Not in a long time.” It isn’t a lie; judging by the subtle change in his demeanor, Sylvain’s sharing a rare moment of truth.

Felix stares at him for a long moment, and Sylvain stares right back. Then, Felix’s hand shifts down to Sylvain’s vest. “So, no one else has peeled this off you in a while, then.” He toys casually with a button.

“That’d be right.”

“That must’ve been annoying.” Felix undoes one button and then the rest, and Sylvain shucks the vest off faster than Felix can finish his sentence. “Knowing you.”

“I managed,” says Sylvain.

Felix hums as his hand curls into the front of Sylvain’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Must’ve put your hand through the wringer,” taunts Felix. He unbuttons the rest, pulling it from Sylvain’s trousers. Sylvain’s always looked good, but he’s downright unfair now with his trim waist and just-enough-muscle.

“A downright nightmare,” says Sylvain with a chuckle. “Damn near sprained the thing.” Then he leans close, his mouth near Felix’s ear as he whispers, “Last few months especially, with all the thinking I’ve done about you.”

Those are the words that do him in. Felix’s hands drop to Sylvain’s waist, pulling at his trouser band. His hands are steadier than expected he when unzips them. Not so much when he slips his hand in, caressing Sylvain’s cock through his underwear.

The moan Felix gets in response can set him on fire.

“You’re cruel,” says Sylvain through a punched breath.

“Not as much as you with how slow you’re being. Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Sylvain has two modes. The first is the saccharine one where he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, his voice smooth as silk. The kind that makes women swoon at romantic, chivalrous ideas, toes curling in their shoes.

This is the second; the searing hot one where his smile is a devilish smirk, and everything that he whispers against Felix’s ear is dirty and salacious. “Is that what you want?” asks Sylvain, before pressing a kiss just below Felix’s chin. “Goddess knows it’s what I want, you underneath me all hot and bothered.”

Sylvain’s intoxicating in the way that he leans close to him, and the weight of his hard cock pressed against Felix’s thigh.

“You’re all talk,” says Felix, rubbing a thumb across the front of Sylvain’s briefs, relishing in the wet dampness there. The way that his cock tents against the soft cotton there, twitching slightly under Felix’s grasp.

Were he more a patient man, he’d suck Sylvain off. But Felix isn’t, so he’ll save it for another time.

“You wound me, Felix,” says Sylvain, eyes shutting as he bites at his lip.

“Certainly no action,” says Felix, fingers tugging at the waistband of his briefs, letting it snap back into place.

Sylvain groans. “Have you forgotten so quickly? How I was on my knees before you just moments ago?”

Felix’s hands still as he thinks about it. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget such a sight,” he says.

And he won’t. It’ll haunt his dreams for decades to come. Even now, Sylvain looks so delectable; his face flushed, his shirt is open in the front and showing off his pecs, and his sleeves rolled up to the arm garters, revealing perfectly toned forearms.

Felix said it before, how irritating it is; how he can’t help but stare, to drink up and memorize it so he’ll never forget. Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe this’ll be the start of something new and a little more permanent. He won’t hold his breath.

Sylvain’s unpredictable at best and despite his earlier promise that there hasn’t been anyone else, for years, it’s always been the flavor of the week when it came to his interests.

“I’m waiting,” says Felix, tugging at Sylvain’s briefs again.

“Okay,” breathes Sylvain, kicking off his pants entirely. His briefs land in a messy pile on the floor beside them. His hand finds Felix’s hip, squeezing it gently as he looks down. Felix feels the heat of his gaze deep in his gut, his cock already twitching again.

Sylvain smirks as he sees it, hand sliding over Felix’s front and then down, his fingers nestling into the hair at the base of his dick. “Gorgeous,” says Sylvain, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Felix’s neck. “But you know that.”

“Yes,” says Felix. Then pauses, huffing. “Still waiting.”

Sylvain licks a stripe up the side of his neck, then says, “Lube?”

At least he’s considerate. Felix is too impatient to even think about something like that at the moment. “What, none on you? What’s happened to your stellar reputation?” As a player who was always ready. Felix is going to tease him about it until the end of time.

“Wasn’t expecting this to happen,” says Sylvain, looking around the room.

“You practically orchestrated this.”

“Trying to seduce you isn’t the same as actually doing it.” Sylvain’s got a point there. Felix is notoriously prickly. He’d managed to ignore it the best he could for months. Until he couldn’t anymore. Sylvain’s gaze settles on something at the far end of the room. “Jackpot,” he says, pulling away from Felix.

Felix watches his backside with a burning gaze, eyes honed in Sylvain’s perfect ass. Sylvain digs through his cue stick bag before pulling out a bottle. Then, Felix narrows his eyes. “Is that your cue stick oil?”

“What?” asks Sylvain, looking incredibly dumb as he stands there mostly naked and confused. “It’ll work.”

“Sylvain, I’m not--”

“It’s linseed oil,” cuts in Sylvain, “and it’s very good for--” Felix bursts into laughter and Sylvain stops dead. “What now?”

Of all the things they can argue about, it’s what they’re going to use as lube. Not their sordid past, or the awkward shit between them, or hell, why Sylvain even left in the first place. But lube.

Sylvain crosses the room in record time. “I’ve broken you,” he murmurs.

Felix clears his throat and says, “Not yet.” He leans back onto the table and spreads his legs, and Sylvain’s gaze drops right to where Felix wants it. Sylvain’s throat bobs as he swallows. “But I expect you to ruin me entirely.”

“Shit,” says Sylvain, a soft little curse as he looks skyward. “I can do that.” His hands find Felix again, squeezing at his hips, running along his sides, pressing close enough that it’s hard to tell where Felix ends and Sylvain begins.

“I mean it,” says Felix. He’s never been one for dirty talk, but with Sylvain, it feels natural. He reaches out to grab the loose tie that still hangs limply around Sylvain’s neck. Felix’s other hand dips into the open shirt, smoothing over a pec. He thumbs at Sylvain’s nipple and gets a low moan in return. “Make it impossible for me to forget.

Sylvain will, Felix knows it. Can already tell by the way that Sylvain whimpers softly against his neck when Felix’s hand drops to grab his cock. Felix’s fingers finally circle around him after such a long wait. He’s hard and wanting in Felix’s hand, already wet at the tip.

“Turn around,” says Sylvain when he regains his senses. Felix responds by sliding his hand up and down instead. “Felix, move--” Felix palms the crown of Sylvain’s dick and he chokes out a sound that Felix would give his first child to hear again.

Sylvain turns him around and presses Felix’s chest down against the felt of the table. “We’re going to fuck up the table,” says Felix, teasing. He doesn’t give a shit about the table anymore, the only thing that matters is Sylvain’s hands on his ass, settling him into a more preferable position.

“Not as fucked as you will be,” says Sylvain, leaning over and whispering into his ear. “Thoroughly and extensively. Within an inch of your life.”

Terrible, terrible lines that absolutely work on Felix. “Do your worst, then,” says Felix, goading him.

Sylvain smiles against the side of Felix’s neck. Felix can imagine it, the way that Sylvain’s lips are curled dangerously. Sylvain presses a soft kiss against the skin there, directly contradictory to the way that his hands slide across his ass, massaging it gently.

“Is that a challenge?” asks Sylvain.

Felix scoffs. “Everything’s a game with you, isn’t it?”

“Not this.” Sylvain’s voice is quiet as he bites at the back of Felix’s neck. “Never this.”

Felix loves it, the way that Sylvain sprinkles in romantic shit as he touches him. “Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” says Sylvain immediately. Sincerely. Like he’s holding the world in his fingertips. One hand slides around Felix’s front, tweaking a nipple through his shirt that’s stubbornly remained on.

Felix hates how much he craves this kind of attention, those soft-spoken words of attention that he’s longed to hear, even when he was pushing them away. In the end, he’s never been able to say no to Sylvain, even if he tries. He’ll always come back.

Still, Sylvain’s insufferably slow at this, taking his damn time. Fingers skimming across Felix’s skin as he relishes the way he’s pressed into the pool table underneath him. “You’re playing lemonade,” says Felix. Stalling everything intentionally, slowing the pace of the game to a crawl. “Get on with it.”

“Yes, yes,” says Sylvain, pulling back. He spreads Felix’s ass cheeks and stares. Felix squirms under the touch, kicking his hips, trying to get the game on the road.

Sylvain slicks his fingers with the accursed cue stick oil and presses one against him. Felix’s breath hitches in anticipation, huffing slightly as Sylvain carefully circles around his entrance. When he slips the finger in, Felix moans so loudly that it’s embarrassing, practically echoing in the empty pool hall.

“Dammit, Felix,” murmurs Sylvain, working his finger in gently, pressing around inside. “Your--”

“So it’s been a while,” Felix bites out. “Fuck off.”

“No, that’s not--” Sylvain pauses, biting at his lip. “Goddess, I can’t wait to just--”

“Faster then, you idiot. I won’t break.”

Felix knows that Sylvain will still be careful, though, treating him like he’s something precious. Sylvain keeps it slower than Felix prefers, pressing in and out leisurely as he tugs slightly at his rim. Then a second finger joins the first. Felix loves the stinging pressure and the way that it makes him feel alive. It sets his blood on fire as it starts to boil, the pressure mounting deep in his gut.

Felix is hard again, cock twitching as it hangs below them.

Sylvain’s fingers move a little faster, setting a prickling pace. The way that he slips them in, the way he spreads them wide to lovingly stretch him-- Felix thrusts back against Sylvain’s hand, trying to speed up the process.

A third finger is added, Sylvain perfectly attuned to the wants and needs of Felix. Felix moans again, bites at his lip, grips tightly at the table rails below him. Sylvain’s good at what he does, prepping him so nicely.

Then his fingers stroke across his prostrate and Felix tightens up.

“Bull’s eye,” says Sylvain triumphantly.

Felix huffs, trying to seem indifferent. “Took you long enough,” he says, but his voice pitches high, crying out wantonly as Sylvain caresses him there relentlessly.

“Not yet,” says Sylvain. He slows his fingers but he doesn’t stop, moving them slowly as Felix does his best to not buck against his hand. “Don’t come until I’m inside you properly.”

“Give me some credit. It’s going to take more than your half-assed efforts.”

Sylvain’s fingers halt. Then he pulls them out entirely, leaving Felix suddenly bereft, his hole clenching around nothing.

“Half-assed,” repeats Sylvain, opening the bottle of oil once again. Felix looks back, watching as he pours it over his cock. He’s delicious looking, long and hard as Sylvain spreads the oil around with his hand. Then he’s spreading Felix’s ass again, thumbing at his loosened hole, watching with a dark and heated gaze. “I thought we weren’t playing games?”

“That was before you decided to take too long. I think I’ve already threatened you about that.”

Sylvain laughs before pulling Felix’s hips back. He nudges Felix’s entrance with the tip of his cock. “Ready?”

“A decade ago,” says Felix. It’s a double meaning, they both know it. They’ve wanted to indulge in this for far too long which is why Felix is so tired of waiting. He has to commend Sylvain on his valiant show of constraint because if it were Felix in his position, he’d have already lost.

Sylvain slides in like it’s second nature. He fills Felix up like he’s always belonged there. And maybe he has, maybe this is what Felix has been missing for so long. The heat and pleasure of what’s probably the world’s most perfect cock.

The man attached to it isn’t so bad either.

“Fuck,” says Sylvain, leaning forward once he’s fully seated, pressing his brow into the back of Felix’s neck. Waiting. Trying to ground himself. His fingers grip Felix by the hips, nearly bruising as he hangs on.

“You aren’t yet.” Felix can’t help the banter and Sylvain chuckles. Presses a kiss to his neck and then moves.

The slide of his cock is smooth. Sylvain’s lazy in the way that his length drags through Felix, a carefully maintained pace that’s just gentle enough. The kind of pace that’s wholly satisfying but not nearly enough.

It’s Felix’s turn to curse; filthy words, Sylvain’s name, anything that he can remember at the moment. He presses back, meeting Sylvain’s thrusts eagerly.

“Are you going to come like a clean shot?” asks Sylvain, his lips finding his ear, tongue licking around the shell of it. “Without me touching you? Like you’ve sunk the nine-ball without any interference.”

Felix should hate the ridiculous pool analogy on principle. He doesn’t, tightening up in response to the jargon. Felix moans at the words, biting at his lip and Sylvain smirks like he’s just won a new pot of money. Felix feels so satisfyingly full. Sylvain’s cock hits in all the right places as he moves over him. In and out. Pulls at his rim with stinging satisfaction.

Sylvain lifts Felix’s leg slightly, the angle changes and suddenly, Felix is seeing stars. Blinding white pleasure now that Sylvain’s cock has direct access to his prostate. Felix is mostly sprawled across the table now, his cock pressed into the soft felt of the table. Dribbling precome pathetically all over it.

“The table’s wet,” whispers Sylvain naughtily into his ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. Felix knows he doesn’t mean the humidity of the room and how it can fuck up a game. Sylvain reaches around to grab Felix’s cock, hand sliding along the length in time as he thrusts into him. “Felix, look at the mess you’ve made.”

“More,” says Felix, needily. He barely recognizes his own voice, too busy chasing the high that’s coursing through him. He can only focus on the thrust of Sylvain’s hips and the way that he fills him so perfectly, setting his nerves alight with every touch.

Sylvain delivers, pressing in as deep as he can go. He’s got a slick grip on Felix’s cock, fingers curled around it loosely as he jerks him. Sylvain bites at the meat of Felix’s shoulder, marking him up, and Felix moans, craving it.

“Felix, fuck.” Sylvain sounds so gone, his hips dragging against Felix in stuttering motions. He’s close, Felix can tell. And Felix is close too, the heat in his groin tightening more and more with every touch of Sylvain’s hand over his dick.

“Inside,” says Felix.

Sylvain pauses. “What?”

“I said to come inside me, you bonehead, not to stop. As in--”

“Yeah, yeah,” murmurs Sylvain. “Shit, Felix. You’ve got a way with words don’t you?” Then he lets go of his cock, leaving Felix feeling stripped of pleasure and entirely on edge. “Think you can do it? Come from just my cock?”

Felix can and he will, wholly determined. It’s perfect, Sylvain’s perfect; from the heat of his length, to the way that drags at him-- Felix can’t think of coming any other way. “Yes,” he says, his voice cracking like the word’s been punched straight from his gut. “Yes.”

Sylvain leans back, fingers digging into the meat of Felix’s waist. He doesn’t speed up, but he thrusts in hard and deep, sweeping strokes that aim to finish this off quickly.

“Look at you,” says Sylvain, “Taking me so well. Always knew that you would.” He spreads Felix’s cheeks, watching as his cock slips in, watching the way that Felix’s rim is stretched around him. Felix can imagine that satisfied smirk on his face, the kind that he gets when he’s won a pot.

Felix is the first to come, his cock just barely touching the felt of the table as Sylvain ruts into him. He tips over the edge, crying out Sylvain’s name and a litany of curses. None of them bad, all of them deserved. He feels rung out and limbless, legs shaking as he collapses onto the table.

Sylvain’s right behind, thrusting in only a few more times because he comes deep, filling him up.  The resulting sound is downright sinful, Sylvain’s moan the kind of thing that Felix dreams about every night.

Even his dreams can’t compare. Sylvain lives up to the hype, thinks Felix as he breathes heavily, awkwardly folded against the pool table. His only regret is that he’d been facing away, that he wasn’t able to see Sylvain’s face in the throes of his orgasm.

Next time.

Sylvain’s careful when he pulls out. He’s gone for only a moment before he’s back with his polishing towel, splashed with lukewarm water from the tap. He cleans Felix up with a soft touch, pausing to look at his work. Felix can feel his spend leaking out of him. Moans when Sylvain presses it back in, his thumb lolling around his hole with smug satisfaction.

“Was it an adequate ruining?” he asks Felix.

Felix shoots him a rude gesture back, too tired to say anything else. Sylvain only chuckles, finishes wiping him up, and then leans in close for a sweet kiss against Felix’s sweaty head.

“For the record, I think you ruined me more,” says Sylvain. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Felix won’t either. After a few minutes, he finds the strength to move, pulling back from the table. Then he sees the absolute mess he’s made all over the felt. Felix pinches the bridge of his nose, hissing at the idea of it.

Sylvain looks over his shoulder, wincing. “That’s, uh--”

“It’s ruined,” says Felix. “I’ll have to get it re-felted.” It’s his fault, though, not Sylvain’s. Not entirely at least. Felix was so gone he didn’t even think about it, lost entirely in their passion. Felix sees Sylvain’s expression and he reaches out, grabbing him by the shirt sleeve. “It isn’t a big deal.”

Sylvain’s flushed and sweaty, his cheeks pink and his hair mussed. Looks like he ran a marathon. Might as well have; Felix put him through the wringer. But then Sylvain smiles like he’s found the meaning of life, a wide grin that makes Felix’s heart stutter.

Felix leans back against the edge of the pool table gingerly and pulls Sylvain close. Sylvain follows, his hands immediately finding purchase on his waist. “Does this mean I’m not kicked out?” asks Sylvain quietly.

“You do bring me a lot of business,” says Felix.

“Oh, so this is all business then?”

Felix is quiet for a moment, fiddling with Sylvain’s collar. “No, it isn’t all business. It’s definitely something more.”

Sylvain cups his cheek, looking at him seriously. Felix pulls him down for a kiss, the kind where lips linger because you want them to. He doesn’t want to forget the way that Sylvain tastes.

When they part, they clean up. Felix limps about slightly, resulting in more raunchy innuendo from Sylvain. He’s never going to hear the end of it.

But Felix doesn’t want to, smiling softly when Sylvain isn’t looking.

They leave the pool hall tired and satisfied, fingers melded together as they walk hand-in-hand. Sylvain stays the night at Felix’s shitty apartment and it’s surprisingly chaste; they fall asleep fully clothed, shoved into a too-small bed, and wrapped around each other.

The next night at the pool hall is the same old bullshit.

Sylvain’s hustling Felix’s customers, stripping them of their money by winning pot after pot. Felix stands against the wall not far off, arms crossed over his chest as he watches. His expression is disgusted as usual. But his demeanor is entirely soft.

Ingrid notices. “Something happened,” she says.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” says Felix, obstinate as ever.

Ingrid levels him with a look. “You and Sylvain. Spill.”

“We played a few games last night.”

“Did you win?”

Ingrid sits on the edge of the doomed pool table. It’s covered that night and entirely off-limits. Felix isn’t sure that he’ll ever be able to look at it again, his face burning red at the mere thought of what he and Sylvain did there.

“You--” Ingrid’s mouth falls open. Then her gaze drops to the table which usually isn’t out of commission. “No,” she says. She jumps off it. “ No.”

Felix doesn’t confirm nor deny it, just sips at his well-deserved alcohol as he looks back at Sylvain. He’s dashing as ever, despite the shitty lighting, sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. He isn’t wearing a vest this time and the collar’s undone, showing off what Felix would consider his biggest fucking weakness.

He swallows thickly and Ingrid makes a disgusted noise.

“I mean, about fucking time,” she says, “But really, Felix? Here?”

“It wasn’t planned,” he says truthfully.

Silence stretches between the two of them, relatively comfortable. Sylvain wins another pot, leaving behind an angry victim. Looks like someone’s about to go fisticuffs.

“You should go stop whatever that is,” says Ingrid.

“Yeah,” murmurs Felix, pushing away from the wall.

Back to normal, thinks Felix as he tries to talk the scorned gentleman down from punching Sylvain right across the face. Except that it isn’t. Things have shifted entirely, almost like they’ve both gone back in time, and moved forward. The start of something fresh and new.

Felix can think of worse things.

[stardustpug]

Title: Process Chapter: 1/1 Fandom: snk/aot Pairing: jeanhitch (more friendship than romance) Summary: Late night conversations may not help them process their deaths, but it can lead to new friendships. AO3 | FF.Net

He tugs the long jacket adorned with the Wings of Freedom off, draping it over his chair. He lets out a heavy sigh, catching a glance of himself in the mirror. He looks beyond exhausted; heavy bags sit beneath his eyes, his frame almost looks smaller, as if he hasn’t been eating enough. Things keep getting more complicated, more convoluted, and he can’t keep up.

A light knock on his door pulls him out of his thoughts. “Come in,” he says, sitting down the wrong way on his chair, letting his arms rest atop his folded jacket.

Hitch steps into the room, her footsteps softer than usual. “Hi, Jean,” she says, letting the door shut behind herself.

“Hitch,” he says, “Hi.” He couldn’t quite piece together why she was here. It’s not that it’s a problem, but they don’t really know each other all that well.

“Sorry to come so late,” she says, her eyes flickering to the window, where the outside world was completely dark as clouds obscured the moon’s soft glow.

“It’s fine. What’s up?” he asks, watching as she crosses the room to seat herself on his bed.

“I have a question for you.”

When she doesn’t continue, he raises his eyebrows. “Which is…?”

“Sorry,” she says again, leaning back against the wall, the bed squeaking ever so slightly as she shifts her weight. “It’s kind of hard to ask, I guess.” She pauses and stares out the window. “I’ve heard the stories.”

“The stories?” Jean questions, “Of what?”

“You. In Trost. That day.”

“Oh.”

“I… that day is the reason you’re in the Scouting Legion, isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Because your best friend died.”

“Was murdered,” Jean corrects.

“Right. Does it… I mean, how do you handle it?”

Everything clicks. She’s asking how to get over the fact that her best friend is dead. Jean feels a pang in his chest. His answer isn’t going to be much help. “You don’t,” he replies.

Hitch sighs, her eyes dropping to watch her fingers twiddle. “I mean, obviously. I guess that’s not what I meant to ask. How can I…” she shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, “how can I distract myself from it? I feel like all I’ve been doing is guarding Annie in her crystal, and she’s not exactly a conversationalist, especially inside of that thing.”

“We were thrown into the war headfirst right after Marco died,” Jean says, “so I never had much of a chance to focus on it. The most I even processed it was deciding to join the Scouting Legion, and life has been moving non-stop since then.”

Hitch nods in understanding. “Alright.” She stands, running her hands down the front of her jacket to remove any wrinkles. “Maybe I’ll talk to Annie enough to annoy her out of the crystal as a pastime.” She heads towards the door, “Sorry to bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me,” Jean says, causing Hitch to stop.

She turns to face him again. “You know, you’re a lot nicer than you act out there,” she says, her thumb motioning towards the door.

“What can I say, it’s my job.”

“To be a dick?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

He laughs, “It’s technically not in the job description, but I take pride in my asshole personality, I’ll have you know.”

She smiles and rolls her eyes, “Okay, that made me feel a little better. Guess I need more friends, is all. Most of the others in the Military Police are assholes. Real assholes, not pretend ones like you. They’re not easy to get along with.” “They sound stuffy,” he rests his chin on his palm, “Glad I didn’t join them.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“Having second thoughts?” he asks. His tone is playful, but something about him comes off as serious.

“No. I mean, yes, but I think I would join the Wall Garrison over the Scouting Legion after Marlow....”

“That’s fair,” Jean says. “For what it’s worth, I think you would be great at kicking ass on the battlefield. Titan and human.”

“Thanks, your vote of confidence is definitely going to make me switch.” She smiles at him. “I know you’re busy, but if you ever have some free time, I’m pretty much never busy.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that sometime,” he replies as she steps through the door.

“Goodnight, Jean.”

“Goodnight, Hitch.”

The door closes with a soft click.

[imagine-attackontitan]

Stay (Chpt. 1: Hope)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Original Female Character

Word Count: 5,950

Warnings: ??

AO3 link posted under xOblivion_is_Gracex (yes, this is my sad collection of fics)

A/N: So, this was my very first time writing Attack on Titan. I’m still fairly new to the fandom, but I fell in love with the characters (especially Levi). The beginning of the fic will be set in 844, so there won’t be much Reiner, Annie, Jean, etc. until later on. Chapters will be posted on AO3 before being posted here.

Chapter 1: Hope

Year 844

The stone wall I sat upon was far from comfortable, but that one spot gave me the best view of the sky. Plus, it was far enough away from the rest of the soldiers that I didn’t feel so suffocated. Isabel and Furlan sat on either side of me as we stared up at the night sky together. They had been upset with me for wanting to go on the expedition alone, leaving them behind in the process. I knew that it wasn’t fair of me to ask them to have blind faith that I would make it back unscathed, but I had to limit my losses somehow. I knew that talking Hope out of going was out of the question because wherever Erwin went, she wasn’t very far behind. The two of them were practically connected at the hip, stirring up some foreign feelings in the pit of my stomach whenever I saw the two of them together. If I couldn’t get her to stay behind, I knew I would have to focus all of my energy on keeping her alive, so I couldn’t pay much attention to my friends. Keeping an eye on three people instead of just one was a much larger job than I was prepared for, but it was easier for me to just tell Furlan and Isabel that they couldn’t come along instead of trying to explain why , which was what Isabel wanted to know. In the short time we had been a part of the Survey Corps, we came to realize that the majority of the soldiers were skeptical of us and only one welcomed us with open arms, ready to take on the titans with us by her side. It was an odd behavior, but it was a refreshing one at the same time.

“Levi,” Furlan spoke, his voice full of purpose. My eyes met his in an intense stare, and I knew that it was his final attempt at trying to convince me to let them come along. He stared at me as Isabel remained completely silent, the only sound coming from the wind rustling the leaves on the trees just beyond the outermost wall of the fortress. His eyes flickered with optimism as he continued, “believe in us”

I nearly jumped in shock at his request. It was far more emotional than I was used to. I never liked talking about my feelings or opening up to people in the first place, and he was urging me to place my complete trust in them. My trust had been there from the very beginning because I knew they would’ve died for me the same way I would for them. To hear Furlan pleading with me to believe in their abilities was something I had never experienced before. After the initial shock wore off, I smiled and gave a single nod, resting my arm on my knee that had been propped up on the stone wall I sat on, “alright. I’ll believe in you”

Isabel’s head fell back as she smiled widely. I didn’t even have to look at her to know that she was filled with joy. That girl was so expressive that it almost worried me. She never tried to hide her emotions, either, which was something I did more often than not. If she was angry, she would flat out tell you that she was angry if you hadn’t figured it out by her simple actions, “yay!” she beamed before focusing her full attention on Furlan, “bro sure is a stubborn one, ain’t he?” she asked

Furlan chuckled, “ especially when it comes to admitting he has an adolescent crush on a certain someone ” he teased, referencing the young woman who I refused to admit had a hold on me like no one before, a hold that I didn’t even understand myself.

As soon as they mentioned her name, time seemed to stop completely as I stared up at the stars, my heart racing, thudding against the rib cage that helped hold it in place. It was as if the organ was trying to burst through my chest just so it could take a breath of fresh air, something I hadn’t known the taste of until the moment I met her. Erwin and his team had been the ones to drag Isabel, Furlan, and I to the surface with the promise of not charging us for our crimes as long as we joined the Scout Regiment. Even though I first breathed the open air when I reached the surface, it was...different once I met Hope. Meeting her only hours after being brought to the surface made it feel like I hadn’t breathed in my entire life. Only after meeting her did I realize how sweet the air could taste. She changed my mind on the one thing I thought I had been certain of for my entire 26 years of life-that humanity was all bad, that there were no good people. The moment we met, her very first actions toward Furlan, Isabel, and myself were removing the handcuffs that left us restrained on the way to the base of operations that the Survey Corps used. She had chastised her superiors-Erwin included-without fear of being reprimanded, scolding them for restraining us “like animals.” Many of the others looked at us like that’s what we were: animals. However, she saw us as people no different from the soldiers she served with. Her action of removing the cuffs could’ve had deadly consequences, but just like they put all their trust in her, she put all her trust in us. In her eyes, the moment we set foot inside the walls of the fortress, we were a part of the team, and she treated us no differently than anyone else.

Her name alone, Hope, had surprised me when she first introduced herself. It was a strange name to hear, especially coming from a place where there was none of it. We had always wished for a better life, but we never had any real hope that it would become a reality. Yet, she was the embodiment of what that word meant, and it even showed itself in her physical features. Crystal blue eyes that bled into a thick and piercing violent ring surrounding the blackness in the middle, matched in both power and intensity as the young section commander and the man I was destined to kill-Erwin Smith. Their eyes were not exactly the same, though, as her eyes held the most perfect mixture of both innocence and pain that I’d never seen before. It was clear that she had experienced a great deal of her own trauma, but it didn’t destroy the faith she had or the kindness she had to give. Her eyes were warm and inviting, like the fireside in the bitter cold, but they were also careful, calculating, and withdrawn. The warmth she had to offer was filled with sorrow because it was clear that her love was born like a flower in the spring, having to endure the harsh winter before being able to bloom. Her hair fell in thick and wild pure white waves, snowy strands whipping around her fair-skinned face every time I watched her practice with the 3d maneuver gear. One of the soldiers she seemed close to, Mike, had commented that it would be a terrible shame for her to have to cut it, which was the truth. Her eyebrows reminded me of Erwin’s, thick and full yet perfect with no maintenance. Hers were longer, though, much like her thick and dark eyelashes that sat so delicately atop the eyes that captivated me from the moment we met. It was like staring up into the sky as the sun set on the horizon.

She was a wild beauty, unlike anything I had ever seen before. I had been so used to the angry lifestyle that everyone led while in the underground city. However, she was so different. She was kind and compassionate, delicate yet strong. She had an intense love for humanity that spread like a wildfire, but there was a fire of animosity in her eyes whenever the titans were mentioned. There was this exceptional grace within her as well as a desire to do good, to bring peace and harmony to all those who surrounded her. There was also an unparalleled desire to protect Erwin, which was making my mission to kill him even harder. If I betrayed her and killed Erwin, she would kill me or I'd be forced to kill her-something I could not and would not do. She was the one who accepted my friends and I into her way of life without missing a beat. She was the one who smiled at me as she cleaned the leftover mud from my face-something that had been left there despite my request for it to be wiped away while travelling to the surface. She was the one who scolded Flagon when he degraded us while explaining that the barracks needed to stay clean. If I betrayed her by killing the man she was closest to, I would be sentencing myself to death by her hands. Even if she didn’t kill me, the guilt I’d feel over the sadness my actions brought upon her would. However, if I betrayed my friends and didn't kill Erwin, we would be prisoners of the Survey Corps forever. All we wanted was to live freely on the surface, and our newest employer was willing to grant us that if Erwin Smith was killed and the document was retrieved. Just picturing the way she would kneel over his lifeless body with tears in her eyes-the world having crushed her once more-sent a shiver down my spine.

“She is beautiful, though” Isabel said, pulling me from the endless and jumbled thoughts of Hope that ran through my head all day long. She laughed, holding her stomach as she stared over at Furlan, “I think I even have a crush on her”

“Levi’s is a little different. Isn’t that right?” he asked, elbowing me in the side

I shook my head and clenched my jaw, trying to suppress those feelings. Just thinking about her made my heart beat faster. Hearing her name made my whole body feel lighter. It was a constant struggle to maintain a certain level of composure, “I don’t feel anything for her” I argued, not wanting to explain to them the feelings I had because I wasn’t even sure what they were.

Furlan narrowed his eyes, always able to tell when I wasn’t telling the truth. He told me so many times before that I did small things, which gave me away. He was perceptive when it came to the people around him, making it almost impossible to lie to him and get away with it. I should’ve known not to try it, but I did. As expected, he called me out on it, “so you don’t stare at her during meals when she’s not looking? You don’t smile when you hear someone say her name? You don’t watch her from the window in the barracks while she’s outside with the horses? You don’t find yourself at a loss for words when she’s around?” he asked, pointing out all the times that my relationship-for lack of a better word-with Hope was suspicious. He continued, “you’re the one with a silver tongue here, but you can barely speak to her at all. It’s like every time she talks, you’re hanging onto every word. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but the girl has something to do with it”

“Hope! Her name is Hope!” I snapped, clenching my jaw tightly. After a tense moment of silence, my eyes widened as I realized what I had just done. There was no harm in Furlan calling her “the girl,” but it sparked some kind of fire within me-one that had lain dormant for so long. I shook my head again, wanting to move right past what I had just said. I cleared my throat, “there are plenty of explanations for each of those, and none of the explanations are that I like her because I don’t ”

“Sure it’s not, bro. It’s because you love her” Isabel laughed, clapping a hand onto my shoulder as her body trembled with unchecked and refreshing happiness. The two of them loved to tease me about anything and everything, including my need for a spotless living situation. It was a contradiction. I was from the underground city, the dirtiest place known to humankind, and I was a “clean freak” as Isabel put it. It was all harmless fun, and I was happy to be the punchline of any joke if it made the two of them happy. As her laugh died down, she snickered, “just make sure to invite the two of us to your fancy wedding”

I rolled my eyes, “we’re not getting married”

“Who's not getting married?” a voice sounded from behind us. Not just any voice, either. That voice.

My eyes shot open, wondering how long she had been standing there listening to our conversation. I didn’t want her to think anything just because Isabel and Furlan were teasing me. The last thing I wanted was for her to be repulsed by me, and it was obvious that she was with Erwin. I had no place to come into the fold and tear down whatever it was she had built with him just to satisfy some of my own desires. Deep down, I knew, though, that there was something sacred blossoming between the two of us, something I had been fighting since the day we met. It was like meeting her suddenly filled this hole I never knew existed up until that day. Before I had the chance to greet her or even turn around to take in her unparalleled beauty, Furlan beat me to it, “oh, look who it is! Hi, Hope!” he exclaimed, turning around to face her with a wide smile. Even though we weren’t planning on sticking around long, it was impossible for us not to find her somewhat alluring. My way was just more...intense than Furlan’s and Isabel’s. Instead of damning myself by turning around to face her, knowing that I’d be unable to hide my excitement, I stayed facing away from her. Without hesitation and seeing the route I was trying to take, Furlan challenged me again by standing up, Isabel following him in perfect synchronization. I sucked in a harsh breath as he continued with a smile, “we’ll give you two some time alone”

“I’ll see the two of you in the morning. Sleep well” she said in that voice that sounded like velvet falling from her tongue. It was like hearing the birds singing their sweet songs first thing in the morning. It was a gentle voice which captivated me just like her eyes did. When I turned around to see my friends walking away, I couldn’t help but watch her. Every time she bid farewell to anyone, she would grasp their right shoulder with her right hand while offering them a warm smile. There were no words spoken, but it was one of her ways of offering respect to the people around her. Erwin did the same thing to people, and I wondered if she had been the one to pick it up from him or vice versa.

Before he left, Furlan turned back to smile at me, standing behind her so she didn’t see the mischievous look in his eyes, “behave yourself, Levi” he warned, cocking an eyebrow. It was clear to see that I wasn’t the only one who had this conflict, since Furlan seemed to be pretty taken by Hope as well. However, he wasn’t afraid to admit that it was an adolescent crush. He was open about how he felt, and he flirted with her pretty often. She always gave it back to him, but I knew that it was a part of their playful banter. Still, it didn’t keep me from feeling jealous. As my friends, Isabel and Furlan just knew that my feelings for her were serious.

She smiled back at him as the playfulness reached her eyes, “I’ll keep him in line” she joked. With one final bow of his head to her, Furlan disappeared with Isabel, leaving me completely and utterly alone with the goddess of a woman. It was like they wanted to see me fail at this point, which made me regret my decision to disclose certain...personal information to them. She turned her attention back to me, gliding across the stone like she was floating. Before I could process what was happening, she took Furlan’s spot and dangled her legs over the side, clasping her hands on her lap, “they tease you quite a bit, don’t they?” she asked, locking her gaze with mine.

“Mhm” I nodded my head, too afraid to speak to her in the moment. More often than not, I was able to compose myself and take everything in stride. Not much bothered me, but her presence always caused me to lose my composure. My insides felt like they were trembling every time she was around, and I couldn’t help the gentle quaking of my hands or the heat that rose in my throat. She captivated me to the point that I couldn’t formulate a single response until I was able to pull myself back to reality. Her mere presence felt so surreal that reality didn’t even matter to me in the moments we were alone together.

Her voice both pulled me back to reality and lightened my heart, “it’s because they care. Erwin does the same thing to me, and I do the same to him”

I grimaced, thinking of the man who had her all to himself. It was the first time I was ever truly jealous. Just like my freedom, Erwin robbed me of her as well. She was by his side at all times, listening to everything he said and hanging onto every word, much like what I did with her. They were inseparable and practically attached at the hip. They were so similar but so different at the same time. He was far more cold and calculating than she was, but there was a warmth and a twinkle in his eyes that came alive whenever she was around. It was subtle, but I noticed everything. I clenched my jaw again, staring down at my hands in my lap. I took a deep breath, calming my heightened nerves as I spoke, “the two of you are...together?” I asked

She grimaced, clearly disgusted by the mere thought of it, “of course not! That’s...disgusting”

“Oh” I breathed out, feeling both relieved and discouraged by her answer. I was relieved that the section commander hadn’t taken everything from me, but I was far more discouraged that I had absolutely no chance of being in her company in a...romantic way. If she wasn’t with Erwin, the most handsome man in the entire Survey Corps with his perfect everything , there was no way she would be with me, a criminal and thug from the underground city. Her answer only reinforced why it was better to not even try to form any kind of relationship with people like her-good people. While I didn’t like Erwin, he was a noble and humble man who gave himself freely to the Survey Corps. He lived by a code, and he treated people with respect. He had been willing to give my friends and I a chance on the surface, which only spoke to his morality. If anyone was worthy of her, it was him. I could think of no one more unworthy of her than me, so all I could do was watch as she inevitably fell in love with Erwin. Besides, I was destined to be alone from the start.

*Hope’s POV*

As soon as Levi’s dull blue eyes-which always seemed to look grey under the moonlight-flickered away from mine, I could sense the shift in his mood. Erwin had made it crystal clear that he didn’t want the newcomers to know that we were related, and I couldn’t bring myself to disobey my older brother’s orders no matter how much I wanted to. Without knowing that we were related, Erwin and I would’ve looked like a couple. There was a side of him that only came to life when we were together, and it was clear to see that others noticed that, too. Levi was perceptive, so I shouldn’t have assumed that he wouldn’t catch onto the fact that there was something between Erwin and I. I just didn’t want him to think that it was anything romantic, which he did. As the moonlight lit up his fair skin and youthful face, I couldn’t help but stare. He was stunning in an unconventional kind of way. There had always been something between Mike and I, and Erwin always made his support for that relationship very clear. Still, we were never together, but it was one of those “maybe” relationships.

Levi and Mike couldn’t have been more different from the outside looking in. Levi was short with straight, raven black hair with an undercut and dull blue eyes. I hardly ever saw him smile, but I couldn’t expect much given his history in the Underground City. There were only terrible stories that I had been told of the living conditions down there, which must’ve been why he usually wore an expressionless face. Around his friends and I in private, he was much more open and willing to show a grin now and then, but it was obvious that the world had beaten him down. It took one to know one, though. Mike was the polar opposite. He was more than a full head taller than I was with beautiful short blonde hair that he parted down the middle. In almost all ways, he reminded me of my older brother and the man I loved most in this world. Mike was stern, and nothing seemed to faze him. He was a great soldier and an even better friend. There was never a time I didn’t feel safe while I was with Mike because I knew that if I failed to protect myself, he would step in and do the job for me; however, I always protected myself, so I never had to test his loyalty. Mike wanted to start a family at some point, which was great because he showed his talents when it came to children. Levi, on the other hand, showed no interest in starting a family of his own, grimacing as the children played within the walls. Even when he saw a loving mother with her child, he became distant, almost like it disgusted him. Where Mike was passionate, Levi seemed apathetic. Where Mike was warm and inviting, Levi seemed much colder and more abrasive. Still, I couldn’t shake the way my heart raced or the way my lungs tightened and refused to allow air into them whenever I thought of the man sitting next to me. Seeing that my response to his question seemed to trouble him for some reason, I shook my head, wanting to explain myself a bit more, “it’s not that I think Erwin’s disgusting because I don’t. He’s a handsome man, which is pretty obvious to every person who has seen him. The two of us are close in a different way. He's my best friend, and thinking about being with him in any way other than that is...unimaginable” I added, seeing the very hint of a smile spreading across his face. His eyes brightened as if he was coming alive ever so slowly. I swallowed hard, “I know you two don’t get along after...what had to be done to get you here, but he’s a good man. I just hope that one day, you can see that, too”

“I do” he replied, his voice deep and coarse. It was rough but oddly calming at the same time, and whenever he spoke, I was left completely speechless, unable to interrupt a voice like that, “he cares deeply for you, and he keeps you protected no matter what that means. I can tell from your interactions now that it’s been like that for a long time. I respect him for that reason and that reason alone”

Biting my bottom lip, I couldn’t waste time reading into the meaning behind Levi’s statement, but I knew it was inevitable once I returned to my room. Instead of trying to explain the countless other reasons why he should respect my older brother, I moved on to the reason why I came up to the roof in the first place. Aside from spending time with him, I was curious as to why he had been so withdrawn today, barely speaking to me or anyone else. He was even unnaturally quiet when it came to Furlan and Isabel. It wasn’t that he was as talkative as Furlan and Isabel on any other day, but he was usually much less upset. As he continued to stare up at the stars, I pulled my legs up to my chest, hugging them closely, “was everything alright today?” I asked, my question getting nothing but a silent nod in response. I never knew that a simple nod could hurt so much, but it was like he was trying to push me away at this point. My jaw tightened as I narrowed my eyes at the stubborn man next to me, “look at me, Levi. Talk to me” I pleaded

He shrugged his shoulders, snapping his head to the side to stare down at me. His eyes were narrowed and much colder than I expected. I nearly jumped back when I saw how bitter he looked, “I don't know what you want me to say”

I shook my head, “it's not about what I want you to say, it's about what you want to say” I explained, my heart aching because it felt like we were taking two steps back. I swallowed hard, “if you don't want to tell me what's bothering you, that’s fine. I won’t pry. However, I do know that something isn't right. All I’m trying to say is that you should know that you can talk to me about any of it without fear of judgement”

He closed his eyes, almost like he was fighting back the urge to open up to me completely. I could see the conflict on his face, but I promised I wouldn’t pry. As he let out a deep breath, his eyes finally opened once more and locked with mine, “I don't want you going on the expedition with us” he confessed

My eyes widened, and my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Of all the things he could’ve been upset with, that was what set him off? That was why he hadn’t said more than two words to me the entire day? I would’ve expected almost anything else. He looked rather distraught by the thought of Erwin and I being together, so I figured that would’ve been somewhat of a reason. Mike flirted with me in the hallway earlier with Levi in earshot, so I even would’ve pegged that as the reason for his sour mood. However, the simple fact that I was going on the expedition with them was what upset him the most, “why?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief. Once again, my question was answered with less than one word, and he just grunted instead. It was one of his typical ways of communicating when he just didn’t know how to respond. This was another one of those times, but I didn’t know why. I shrugged it off and stared back out at the sky, “well, you haven't seen me fight yet, so if it's because you don't think I'm strong enough-”

He cut me off, “I'm sure you're plenty strong enough, but titans are always stronger” he retorted, his eyes flickering down to his hands in his lap. He was struggling again with how to continue, so I gave him his time, watching wisps of his black hair blow gently in the breeze. He swallowed hard, grasping his knees and squeezing his trousers tightly, “Flagon told us about the low success rates and the heavy casualties that come from these expeditions”

“I won't die” I assured him, but at the same time, it was also to assure myself. There was only so much Erwin could do to keep me from going with them. Ever since I joined the Survey Corps, he had been trying to keep me off to the sidelines, not wanting me to risk my life the way he did. However, I wanted to follow him wherever he went, no matter what it entailed. I would live at his side, I would fight at his side, and I would die at his side. Try as he may, Erwin couldn’t convince Commander Shadis to pull me from any expedition, and I never requested to stay behind. My place was fighting alongside my fellow soldiers. Commander Shadis knew how deadly I was when it came to the titans, so including me on the expeditions only boosted our chances of success.

Levi’s voice interrupted my train of thought, “no one plans to die, but it happens to all of us” he mumbled, “I’m glad you’re here right now. I want you out here on this roof with me because I don’t want to be alone on what could be my final night on this Earth” he confessed, shining a light on his fears and insecurities for once. He wasn’t afraid of dying, but he was afraid of being alone, of being abandoned. Weren’t we all, though? If nothing else, Levi and I had that in common. He turned his full attention back to me, his voice suddenly filled with renewed vigor and purpose, “what I don't want is for you to go on the expedition...because it's dangerous”

“I'm just as dangerous” I argued, wishing that he would stop treating me like some damsel in distress. I had a total of 12 solo titan kills under my belt, and I was only 19. Of course, the abnormals and the variants were a team effort because it was far too dangerous to try to kill them on your own. I saved others from becoming the titans next snack, so I could take care of myself. If I couldn’t protect myself, then I had already accepted my fate. I wanted to die a hero, and I couldn’t do that by sitting behind the walls and hoping that my brother and friends would come back safely. I could ensure their survival as long as I fought with them. When Levi remained completely silent, not making a single sound, it finally sank in. It wasn’t because he thought he would have to look after me and make sure I didn’t get myself killed. The simple and unbiased reason why he didn’t want me to go was because he cared about me. Of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead saying that word when the object of his care was me. However, it was clear as day. He didn’t want me to get hurt because there was a part of him that cared genuinely about my health and well-being. The man so many people thought cared about nothing and no one aside from himself was the one who cared most. The revelation came as a complete shock to me because I was sure that I was the only one who had any sort of...feelings for him. Clearly, that wasn’t the case, “it's the same reason why I asked Erwin to reconsider having you come along” I murmured

His breath hitched in his throat, and he narrowed his eyes at the trees beyond the wall of the base. It was the most determined I had ever seen him before, “you'll make it back alive. I'll make sure of it” he promised, those piercing grey eyes locking with mine.

“I'll be watching your back, too” I promised him, knowing that I would keep it no matter what. I desperately wanted to grab his hand, to feel his smooth skin against my own, but I had seen his reactions when people touched him. He wasn’t a fan. I stared back out at the leaves of the trees dancing in the wing, trying to make sense of my own feelings, “this won’t be your final night on this Earth” I assured him

“Why do you even care?” he asked, clearly skeptical of my reasoning.

“Why does the sun rise in the morning and set in the evening? Why are there stars in the sky?” I asked, gazing up at the sparkling lights in the sky that were scattered across the vast expanse of the sky where the moon wasn’t. My mother told me stories about the stars when I was younger, telling me that my father-a man I never knew-was always fascinated by the stars. She would always remind me that the darkest nights produced the brightest stars. When I was young, I understood it in a very literal sense. When the moon failed to show itself and the night was darker than ever, the stars compensated for its absence. As I got older, I realized that her words of wisdom were not only about the stars, but they were about me as well. Erwin carried on the tradition of watching the stars with me as our father did with him and as our mother did with the two of us until she died when I was only five years old. Just looking up at the stars reminded me of her, reminded me of the kindness and love she gave so freely, and it caused my eyes to gloss over with tears. I blinked them away and swallowed back the lump in my throat before continuing, “when you can answer those unanswered questions for me, I'll be able to explain the unexplainable to you”

“The sun rises because that's just always what it has done. It has been like that long before you and I were ever born, and it will continue long after we are gone. There are stars in the sky for the same reason. They're there because they've always been there” he answered

“And I've always cared about you” I replied, glancing up into those fearful grey eyes, like I was about to tell him the worst news. He looked terrified of my confession, but I proceeded as if I didn’t notice, “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve cared about you long before you and I were ever born, and I will continue to do so long after we’re both gone from this world. It’s as natural as the flowers blooming in the spring and the sun rising at dawn. A part of me feels like I’ve known you since the very beginning of time itself, but it’s just taken me this long to find you. That’s okay, though, because you’re here now, so I won’t dwell on all the time I’ve wasted looking for someone to fill the void that only you could” I added, not taking into consideration the fact that my feelings for him were completely inappropriate or the fact that Erwin wouldn’t approve of such an arrangement. Mike was the safe option, but Levi was the one I wanted.

I would choose him. Forever.

[caranfindel]

Recap/Review 12.23: "All Along the Watchtower"

THEN: Carry on, my wayward son! BMoL, nephilim, etc. Family hug! Not shown: Single-layer Sam in a torn bloody shirt, or anything involving hammers, so to Hell with the THEN.

NOW: We open on a beer commercial, with inspirational music and a man looking over a crystal clear lake. Oh, no, wait, it’s Cas. He turns toward a small house. Inside the house, Kelly Kline looks to the heavens and asks God for help. Oh, no, wait, she’s on speakerphone with the IKEA helpline, trying to put a crib together. That was actually a pretty cute little fake-out. Sven from IKEA joins the long list of people who are completely unable to help her. Cas chastises her and says he was going to put the crib together because he’s very good at following instructions (ha ha ha ha NO) and she should be resting, but she insists on doing this. Since she won’t be able to raise her son, she wants to do this one thing she can do for him. Aw, Kelly. I’m starting to resent you less. That’s usually a bad sign. Cas assures her that he will “give my life for your son, and I will raise him,” and you know what, Cas? Those things are kind of mutually exclusive. Unless you plan on raising the little spawn and then giving your life for him. But there’s no reason to worry about that right now, is there?

Meanwhile, at the bunker, Sam explains how Lucifer is loose and Crowley is dead. Or, allegedly dead. As Dean points out, Crowley’s a “freakin’ cockroach,” and he’ll believe he’s dead when he sees his body.

Pop that booty, Dean.

Right on cue, we cut to a crane shot of a patch of dirt, and a familiar rat, and a flashback of Crowley smoking out of his vessel and into the rat right before Lucifer stabs him without noticing the cloud of red smoke or the lack of flashy lights.

Okay. If you’ve read Misery, (or seen the movie? I think it’s in the movie too) there’s a part where crazy Annie complains about the serial movies she watched in her childhood, where a character would be placed in peril at the end of one movie, and would be shown surviving at the beginning of the next one because of something that clearly didn’t happen earlier. Like, their car would plunge down a cliff into a river, and in the next movie you’d see them fly out the open door, even though that didn’t happen in the previous movie. She hated that, and I do too. I mean, I’m not going to tie anybody to the bed and take a sledgehammer to their legs over it, but it is pretty annoying that they’d play it this way, when they could have easily shown Crowley and the rat and then panned away to show no one looking at them, instead of what we actually saw, which was that Crowley was being watched during the time he allegedly smoked out of his vessel.

However, having said that, I’ve got to say Crowley thrusting his hand out of his grave is a nice parallel to Dean clawing his way out of his own grave in “Lazarus Rising.”

(Essay question: Compare and contrast the following: parallel, homage, and blatant rip-off. Give an example of each.)

Carrying on.

Sam says they don’t need Crowley, they need Rowena, because she’s the one who can re-cage Lucifer. But when he calls her, we cut to her phone (I’m disappointed Sam doesn’t have his own ringtone) on a blood-spattered table in a blood-spattered room that contains a charred corpse. Aw. Fuck. Also in the room, holding a long red curl: Lucifer. “Oh, hey, Sammy,” he answers.

Title card!

Sam is understandably horrified, and puts the phone on speaker. Lucifer gleefully informs Sam of Rowena’s death, but you can’t blame him, because he can’t raise his son from a jail cell. He also pulls a blonde voodoo doll out of Rowena’s belongings. I don’t know if this is supposed to be a Lucifer doll or what. He asks if they know where Cas is, and Sam tells him to go to Hell. “Witty,” says Lucifer, “I’ll use that in the future.” He tells Sam he doesn’t matter, since he doesn’t need the Sam suit any more, but come on. Mark P. is pretty great, but that Sam suit… that’s a once-in-a-lifetime, absolutely gorgeous bespoke suit. You’re gonna want that. Lucifer tells the guys that they can’t kill him, and with Rowena gone they can’t cage him, so they don’t matter. Bye bye!

This scene reminds me of why I love Mark Pellegrino, and why I tend to love characters when they’re pitted against the Winchesters. Lucifer mocking Crowley? Meh. Lucifer mocking Sam and Dean? Glorious. Especially Sam’s little freaked-the-fuck-out face.

Mmmm. Especially.

Back at the lake house, Cas and Kelly have gone shopping. They pull up with the crappy old truck full of diapers. Kelly is struck by a pain and rests her hand on the truck. A yellow glow appears under her hand, and as Kelly and Cas walk away, the glow floats off in a yellow cloud. Hmm!

Bunker. Dean’s still limping. Sam suggests they find Cas and Kelly and keep them moving, so Lucifer can’t find them. Because the way Lucifer finds you is by physically walking around. Sam hopes they can still siphon off the Lucifetus’s grace, and if not, they’ll “figure something else out.” And Mary’s always wanted to punch the Devil in the face. Hmm! They figure that since Kelly is due soon, weird things will be happening around her. Storms, plagues of locusts, etc.

Lake house. Kelly is painting the nursery. In a few minutes we’ll see she’s painting a mural with a rainbow and apple tree. An apple tree in Lucifer’s son’s nursery, for fuck’s sake.

Why not paint a serpent at the bottom while you’re at it?

While she does this, Cas notices the glow outside. It now looks like a strip of fire, floating in midair. He pokes it, as one does, and finds himself transported into different world. A gray world, full of weird spires and storm clouds and red lightning. He’s quickly attacked by a snarling, horned man, and before he tries to defend himself, the horned man is shot by a hooded figure carrying a machine gun. “You,” Cas says. (Who? We’ll have to wait.)

Kelly plugs a USB drive into her laptop and starts recording a message for her son, who she’s named Jack. She tells him she loves him, and that he’s being watched over by an angel so she knows he’ll be okay. And we know that’s true; it worked so well for the Winchesters.

Bunker. The Winchesters are on the hunt for weirdness. Nothing they’ve found is weird enough. Sam says “Whatever this thing is, it’s gonna be big and bad -”

“You rang?” interrupts Crowley. “Hello boys.”

Dean immediately punches him in the face, which is all kinds of awesome, and is also a nice reminder of the time he met Samuel Campbell after having promised to kill him the next time he saw him. Welcome to next time, indeed. Dean draws the demon blade out of his pocket before Crowley even hits the floor, puts it to Crowley’s throat and asks “did you do it?” and I like this. A lot. Crowley appeals to Moose for help, because he knows who’s the rational one here, but he’s probably disappointed when Sam points out they should see if he knows how to work the cage spell. And if not, then they can kill him. See? Rational.

And ironically, wearing that shirt that makes me completely irrational.

Crowley’s surprised to hear that Rowena is dead. Surprised and maybe doesn’t believe it? He explains why he kept Lucifer, thinking that having the Devil on a leash would stop usurpers from challenging him. But his tenure inside a rat gave him time to think about how much he actually hates his job. Sam asks why he’s there, and he says “Whenever there’s a world-ending crisis at hand, I know where to place my bets. It’s on you. You big, beautiful, lumbering piles of flannel.” And Sam does this cute little thing looking down and it’s probably not supposed to be that he’s embarrassed to get a compliment from the King of Hell but I’ve decided I’m going to take it that way, because I love “aw shucks” Sammy. He loves you, Sam! He wants you without the flannel! Your brother is still Not Moose on his phone!

Yes, they are big beautiful piles of flannel.

If they’ll forgive him, and let him help cage Lucifer again, he’ll seal the gates of Hell, locking up every demon except for himself. Because they’ve stabbed him in the back, so “I’ll happily stab them in the front, the sides, and right up their little black-eyed asses.” (But what about the crossroads demons, with their red eyes?)

Lake house. Kelly can’t find Cas, and she’s in a lot of pain. He comes up behind her in an alarming way and as Kelly has another labor pain, the lights flicker and the portal of fire flashes outside. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he says.

Sure.

Bunker. All three Winchesters are tapping away at computers. “Is this what you do when I’m not here?” Crowley asks. “Type?” Sam finds a report of a massive power outage in the Pacific Northwest. “They tracked the outage to a house in North Cove, Washington, to a house currently being rented by one James Novak.” Oh, dear god. Seriously? They couldn’t think of any more realistic way to explain how the Winchesters find Cas? (Also, if a massive power outage had been tied to one particular house, wouldn’t we see lots of power trucks there?) I’m disappointed. They really could have done this better. Sam could see Cas or Kelly in the background of a crowd photo in that news story. Dean could remember Cas’s password and read his email, revealing the delivery address for the IKEA crib. Oh well. Carry on. Now that they know where they’re going, Crowley’s eager to hit the road, and he and I are both surprised when Dean pins his hand to the table with the demon knife and tells him he’s not going. Surprised because Dean tried this trick before, last season, and it didn’t work. But I guess hope springs eternal.

Lake house. It’s nighttime. Kelly’s in bed, breathing through her contractions (or pressure waves, as Cas learned in his online doula class) and Cas is not being particularly helpful. But he’s trying, and he’s sweet. He peeks out the window to check the fiery portal, and it’s still there.

Later, Kelly’s in more distress, and she asks Cas to tell her again what he saw, what the Lucifetus showed him. “I saw the future. I saw a world without pain, or hunger, or want. I saw the world that this child - that your child - will create. And it is a world without fear, and without suffering, and without hate. I saw paradise.” The lights flicker, which is probably the Lucifetus laughing at how well he tricked Cas, because really, Cas? It didn’t occur to you that Lucifer’s baby could lie to you in order to stop you from killing it?

They’re interrupted by the rumble of a familiar car. Cas goes downstairs and is surprised to see all three Winchesters, who ask if the house is warded well enough to stop Lucifer. “We’ll work through our crap; we always do,” Dean says, “but right now we’re here to get you, get Kelly, and get gone.” Unfortunately, Kelly’s too far into labor to be moved. If they really did plan to extract Lucifer’s grace from the Lucifetus before it was born, now would be the time to do it. But no one brings it up, so I guess that’s not the plan after all. I wonder how they thought they were going to save her life, then?

Dean asks if Cas would be able to torch Lucifer the way he torched Dagon, and Cas doesn’t know, since he was channeling the power of the Lucifetus at the time. But he does have enough juice to heal Dean. Dean seems kind of surprised by that, even though Cas was clearly able to heal Sam’s “s'mores foot” earlier. But maybe the healing itself is different, since it has a yellow light instead of blue, and it makes a high-pitched ringing noise.

The guys go outside to check the warding and are all, hey, why is the eye of Sauron in your backyard? Cas explains that it’s a “tear in space and time,” which is wonderfully explanatory, isn’t it? It’s a doorway to another world, an alternate reality. The brothers accept this immediately, since they’ve been thrust into an alternate reality before, where Sam was a polish actor. Apparently the power of the Lucifetus is “puncturing the fabric of our universe.”

And what is on the other side?

You don’t want to know.

Probably. But we need to.

I love that Dean is so resigned. Not freaked out, not scared, just yeah, here’s some MORE weird shit I’m gonna have to deal with, awesome.

Cas touches the portal and they all find themselves in AU!World. It’s daytime now, but nicely unsaturated, much like Purgatory. And everyone looks hotter in Purgatory. The ground seems to be covered with ashes, and we can see corpses scattered about. Cas tells the Winchesters they’re on an Earth locked in an eternal battle between Heaven and Hell. On a scale of 1-10 in terms of badness, Sam declares this an 11, and Dean agrees.

Oddly enough, Dean isn’t a mechanic in this AU, and Sam isn’t an asthmatic working in a bookstore.

Cas says there’s nothing to worry about, because he has faith that the Lucifetus will close the portal he opened. Dean says he’s a dumbass. It’s possible they’re both right. But the conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Cas’s “friend” from earlier, his head covered by a scarf. The Winchesters draw their guns and the veiled figure draws closer and closer and only his nose is visible and I’m sure it’s Dean. I know this guy is going to pull his scarf off and it’s going to be AU!Dean. He pulls the cover aside and oh! It’s Bobby! Bobby’s here, y'all. We didn���t have a Bobbyless season after all. Thank you baby Jesus! (The Husband clutched my hand at this point. He knew how important this was to me.)

Maybe I misjudged you, Lucifetus. Maybe you ARE going to give us a better world. A lovely, desaturated world with Bobby Singer in it.

AU!Bobby doesn’t recognize Sam and Dean, and it’s cute that Sam is so surprised. Kind of like he was surprised to meet an angel who hadn’t heard of the freakin’ Winchesters (waves to dead Metatron). Dean takes it right up, assuming this Bobby in a world they didn’t even know existed will recognize them as soon as he hears their last name. The only Winchester AU!Bobby has ever heard of was a man named John who died 40 years ago, leaving behind Mary Campbell, who told stories about her lost love until she was killed by Azazel ten years ago. Come on, guys. You know this is an AU. You know how they work. Same names, different plots. They’re not all coffee shops.

(Sidebar: I want a crack fic where the guys step through the portal into a post-apocalyptic AU world where mankind’s last stand is a coffee shop. The Starbucks at the End of the Universe.)

Cas explains what happened. “This is a world where you were never born. It’s a world you never saved.” And yes, the camera is on Sam when he says this, since you asked. You did save the world, Sammy.

Hold me.

(Essay question: Did Lucifer and Michael find other vessels, or were they forced to fight without vessels, since theirs hadn’t been born? Discuss.)

Lake house. Kelly’s labor is going strong. Mary asks how she’s doing, and Kelly says “I’m dying. But that’s okay. Because wouldn’t you die for your sons?” Yes, Mary would. She’s already tried once. I mean, she also basically sold one to the Devil, too, but she didn’t know that’s what she was doing at the time, so we’re not going to hold her accountable for that.

AU!World. AU!Bobby says that when the portal opened, it set off alarms at his place (I desperately want to see AU!Bobby’s place). He calls Cas’s attacker a Tempter Demon, but I didn’t find anything tempting about that demon. Angels seem to be equally unsavory here in AU!World. Apparently they wear necklaces made of baby ears. Ew. Who’s having babies in this hellhole? AU!Bobby adorably goes on about killing angels - his hobby and his passion. He shows TFW his gun (Rufus!!! It’s named RUFUS!!!) and Dean geeks out over his angel-killing bullets, which is kind of like when he proudly showed off his witch-killing bullets to Max, the witch. At least he gives Cas a guilty look.

The gang emerges from the portal back into this world to be greeted by Crowley, who once again escaped from Dean’s pin-the-demon-through-the-hand trick. Who would have guessed he could do that again? But they’re lucky he did, because he’s the answer to all their problems, or so he says. Cas goes up to talk to Kelly alone, while Sam and Dean arm themselves. We don’t get to see his conversation, just the end, where he tells her not to worry, everything will be fine. Meanwhile, Dean says: “You know, Cas has faith in this kid, and I hope he’s right. But me, I have faith in us. You, me, Mom, Cas… and Crowley, sometimes. This is gonna work. It has to.”

I don’t know what Crowley told them, or what Cas told Kelly, but it must have been something along the lines of “Lucifer is right behind me,” because no one is surprised to see him when they go back outside. Dean looks angry, Cas looks scared, and Sam looks freaked-out-but-holding-it-together. Sam tells Lucifer that, whatever he’s planning on doing, God will stop him. I don’t know how Sam could actually believe this, and I think maybe he’s just stalling, or bluffing. Lucifer finds it amusing and isn’t the least bit concerned. “See you on the other side, boys,” says Dean, and Cas lunges forward with an angel blade. Lucifer laughs and easily swats him aside. The Winchesters exchange a frightened look and then take off like the six-fingered man fleeing Inigo Montoya. Lucifer follows them behind the house and finds them standing next to the portal, which they immediately vanish into. He follows.

In AU!World, Dean has AU!Bobby’s angel-killing machine gun. “Say hello to my little friend,” he says, and opens fire on Lucifer. He claims they had a bet on whether this gun would kill an archangel, which seems like a sucker bet, since normal angel blades won’t kill an archangel so there’s no reason to think bullets made from normal angel blades would work any better. But as Sam meets Crowley behind a rock, we see it’s just a way to hold Lucifer back while they perform a spell to seal the portal and lock Lucifer in AU!World. Thanks to Crowley for stopping to explain that to Sam, even though Sam was obviously part of the planning, because otherwise we wouldn’t know what was going on. Seems like a mean trick to play on the residents of AU!World, though. Dean runs out of ammo, and as he gets the stuffing beat out of him - it’s a good thing Lucifer always like playing with his prey before he goes for the kill - Crowley tells Sam they need one more ingredient for the spell: a life. Hmm! He then interrupts the beat-down, and Sam runs in and drags Dean away, which is awesome.

So much better than a coffee shop.

As the Winchesters watch from the portal, Crowley tells Lucifer how much he hates him, and how much he’s going to enjoy wiping the smug, self-satisfied look off his face. He then draws an angel blade, which doesn’t scare Lucifer, turns to the Winchesters to say “bye, boys,” and plunges it into his own gut. And this one does look like an actual death. Well! I guess that completes the spell. The flame in the spell pot flares up and the portal narrows and I really think the guys need to be running through it. I really do.

Suddenly Cas steps out of the portal, with his own blade, and stomps toward Lucifer. Dean tries to stop him, but Sam yanks his brother back into the portal. Was this part of the plan? It doesn’t seem to be part of the plan. As the Winchesters tumble onto the ground, Kelly screams through a push, gets veins of yellow light in her face, and suddenly becomes peaceful. She says “I love you” and her hoohah explodes with light and knocks Mary onto the floor.

AU!World. Cas sinks his blade into Lucifer’s gut. Lucifer’s eyes glow red and he doubles over in pain. Is this it? Is the power of the Lucifetus going to supercharge Cas to the point that he can kill Lucifer?

Back at the lake house side of the portal. Cas bursts through, but just as Sam greets him joyfully, a blade protrudes from his chest because someone is right behind him, stabbing him in the back. Why yes, this is exactly how you killed Billie, isn’t it, Cas? Light streams from his eyes and mouth, and from the wound, and he collapses to the ground, revealing Lucifer behind him. “That was fun,” Lucifer says.

Not fun.

But before he can smite the brothers, Mary shows up. Lucifer is pleased to see her and thanks her for all the help. Mary’s hands are behind her back, and we get a shot of the Enochian-engraved brass knuckles. I’m glad she got to keep those. She tells the boys she loves them, and then punches Lucifer in the face, marking that one thing off her bucket list. She keeps punching, pushing him closer to the portal, and Lucifer falls through it, grabbing and dragging her with him, just as it closes. Just like Swan Song! The last we see of them is in AU!World, with Lucifer yelling “no!” and getting glowy red eyes and Mary realizing that things are well and truly fucked. But I’m not worried about her. AU!Bobby is out there to save her.

Back at the lake house, the brothers are horrified and grief-stricken. Sam notices a bright light upstairs in the house and runs off to investigate, while Dean kneels in the mud next to Cas’s body, and we get an overhead shot just like All Hell Breaks Loose. The first time I watched this, I thought, “That’s stupid. We know he’s not dead. There aren’t any wings.” And then I got on Tumblr the next day and saw wings. Huh. In my defense, I really had to adjust the exposure on this cap to get them to show.

And why are they coming out of his head?

Upstairs, Sam enters Kelly’s room, which is no longer filled with light. Kelly’s lying on the bed, arms crossed peacefully over her chest, not sweaty or bloody. Either Mary straightened her up, or the Lucifetus did it, just like he freshened her up after she tried to kill herself. Her eyes are wide open, though, so Sam closes them. He hears footsteps and walks out into the hallway, where he sees a set of footprints burned into the floor. Terrified, he follows the trail into the nursery (complete with apple tree, for fuck’s sake) and sees someone crouched in the corner. Someone adult-sized, with a creepy smile and glowing yellow eyes. I guess that truck full of diapers is going to waste.

Oooh, maybe there’s a serpent under that tree after all!

Well then! In my pre-finale poll on LJ, only Xparrot responded that the finale might have something to do with Game of Thrones, and yet here we are with our own version of the Red Wedding. (Sidebar: 14 of you correctly predicted the grenade launcher would be involved, but only two of you voted for “a plucky group of hunters, possibly led by Claire and Jody.” Hmm. Come to think of it, I feel fairly prescient for even coming up with that option.)

That is, if you actually believe they’re really most sincerely dead. My completely unspoiled opinion is that Rowena is probably dead, and yet I won’t be surprised at all if they bring her back somehow. Lucifer was still holding onto a lock of her hair, and he’s not the sentimental type, so there must be a reason. That uncharred hair is going to have some regenerative properties, perhaps, and she’ll grow back from the roots. If this is the end, she deserved better. She deserved an onscreen death.

Crowley? I’m 50/50. I do think he’s meant to be dead for good, because he got to be a hero, he got to say goodbye, and he got to tell us he didn’t like being the King of Hell anyway. But again, even a demon who lit up when she died (looking at you, Ruby 1.0) was able to come back, so I’m confident they could bring Crowley back if they chose to.

Cas? Ha ha ha ha ha no. Even unspoiled, I have no doubt we’ll see the little tree topper again.

I’ve read a couple of theories on Tumblr. One theory is that at some point, Dean went to an AU!version of the lake house instead of the real lake house, so the Cas who died there is not his Cas. I don’t really buy into this one. Dean was always with Sam, and this theory uses some subtle points of Sam’s behavior to show that he’s an AU!Sam instead of real Sam, so I don’t see the logistics of it.

The other theory is that the Cas who died is actually an AU!Cas from AU!World. This makes more sense, but it doesn’t explain how our Cas and AU!Cas switched places. But maybe angels in the other world have wings growing out of their heads. That would explain at least one oddity.

I’m sure this is going to be an unpopular opinion, but I’d be okay if Cas died. The Cas I love is from seasons 4 and 5, when he wasn’t the Winchesters’ lapdog. When he wasn’t always on their side. When he was a BAMF who had his own agenda that didn’t always mesh with theirs. When he couldn’t be counted on to solve their problems. I’d truly love a Cas who served a Bobby-like role; there as a mentor and occasional resource but not a Cas ex machina. But even later-season Cas is fine as long as he’s involved in the Winchester plot. I find his heavenly B-plots boring as fuck.

And Crowley. Well, I love the Limey bastard, but only when he’s with the Winchesters. As foe or friend, I find him delightful. As King of Hell with his own storylines, I find him tedious. Same with Rowena. I love, love, love her when she’s fighting for or against the Winchesters. But I’m not interested in her otherwise.

Anyway. I have questions, of course. Why did Cas to back to AU!World to attack Lucifer? Surely that wasn’t part of the plan? What was the bright light that drew Sam upstairs? It wasn’t the birth of the Lucifetus, because Mary was already outside. Was it Jack growing to full size? Because there’s no way Kelly was carrying that being we saw in the corner.

In general, I was pleased with this episode. It feels odd saying that, since some of my friends disliked it so much that they’ve literally sworn off watching the show. But I’m satisfied with much of it. Mary is off the board, and yet saving her may end up being an interesting storyline. I’m sure Cas is coming back. Crowley got a nice send off. Sam and Dean were both instrumental in the end. Really, there was a lot to like.

So, as Dean said, see you on the other side. And please help me remain spoiler-free for anything that’s already known about season 13!

[archivezosia]

As the World Shifts /// Flashback ( About 10 years ago )

Juxtaposed to the erratic behavior of her heartbeat, Annika’s gaze that settled upon Zosia remained inexorable. You might say that her eyes’s were almost addicted to the image of the reader —- it certainly wouldn’t be an exaggeration. No matter the subject of which they spoke, she was sure that the urge to stare would be impossible to overcome. Should they lapse into a comfortable silence, still, upon the other her eyes would stay. So she watched and wondered what might be happening inside that seemingly beautiful and riveting mind. “If we find ourselves unsatisfied, as I predict we will, we can always jump on a plane to my homeland. It’s only an 11 hour flight.” Spreading her tone with a thick layer of sarcasm, Annika bit her lip and cocked an eyebrow as if to say ‘how about it?’. It was a ridiculous idea, but one that played regularly in the reel of idealistic scenarios in Annika’s imagination. To take Zosia, who had kindled her affections so brightly, to the place she theoretically kept her heart —- as cliche as it was, really would be a dream come true. The suggestion of becoming a painter too set Anni’s heart fluttering. It might have been a fleeting comment from Zosia but of course, the poet naturally read into it and saw it as the kind of suggestion she would follow with ‘you’d do that for me…?’. She bit back the hopeless hopefulness and instead possessed a sheepish and daft grin. “My Godfather was a proper advocate for Plaid Cymru so being around his political rants naturally inspired me. Don’t let it frighten you though —- I’m pretty passive about it. I don’t really know how that works, but it’s how I chose to play it. Opinionated but chilled about it.” The redolent hope that lingered in her coaster themed sentence was left hanging in the air. Annika felt her stomach flip. Something had changed, but layers down, buried deep beneath their perceptible connection. A pea had been lodged underneath the hundreds of mattresses that was their desire for conversation and contact. Except it wasn’t a pea, and it certainly wasn’t something insignificant to their budding relationship. To Annika’s horror, Zosia held in her hands a scrap of paper she had trusted to the wind to carry somewhere safe. And it had found her. Was this fate? That she had discarded it somewhere so rural, so distant to where they were now —- but it had made it’s way to the very subject herself? Millions upon millions of questions percolated her conscience, her ability to see clear. “This…where did you get this from?” Quietened to a whisper, sheer anxiety lurked in Anni’s shaky voice. The embarrassment of it all. These were not just words. This piece of paper had the poets very soul bared upon it. She could lie —- the idea flashed in her head and she winced at it’s interference with her ability to think straight. The poem did not name anyone. Rapid plans of fibs scrabbled her sense and she was blinking so fast her eyes were beginning to water. It was useless. She could not lie at the best of times, let alone to the face of her deepest desire. Yet, it took everything she had to compose herself and admit that those words were, in fact, about the woman before her. “I didn’t want you to find it. I threw it to the wind, Zosia. On the camping trip… It was supposed to fly away and be lost. It was supposed to be cathartic, for me and only me…but it found you. I don’t know if that is a good thing or not.” Completely clueless as to where to take her words, which of the many emotions beating behind her forehead to expose, Annika’s fingernails nipped lightly at the skin upon her opposite hand, gaze refusing to plant anywhere in the room. “I don’t know what to say. What do I say? I confirm that I wrote it about you. I’m not sure whether it was right or wrong or what. You could call it self preservation —- it’s like a coping mechanism. It’s how I come to terms with things. I needed to figure it all out, get it into words, what I was —- am feeling.” Flickering emerald eyes hazily drifted to meet Zosia’s, alight with so many embers of sentiments. “That’s what it translated as. That’s how it is. …Is that okay?”

”Hypothetically,” making sure to heavily precursor the adjoining sentiment with a solid foundation of that plain and uncommitted nonchalance she had mastered so well to accommodate the upheaval of emotion Annika dredged up within her, Zosia allowed herself to sneak in a bona fide nod of affirmation, “I think I’d like that.” The agreement resonated with a sincere sense of hope she could only hope was overshadowed by how it was presented; in a place built on a city of fables, populated with streets named ‘what if’ and ‘maybe someday’. Impossible and improbable universes that neither of them had the blessed fortune to occupy together. The idea of such a spontaneous adventure preyed upon the reader’s suppressed passion for the pastime of travel. To visit the land Annika hailed from, where cement and plastic clutter were not part of the daily sight-seeing routine, was a suggestion she struggled to find a sane reason to refuse —- theoretically or not. Speaking with crystal clarity was easy around someone such as the woman she sat by. It made Zosia daring enough to let secrets less noticeably slip into speech, with a simple turn of phrase, that could be a double edged sword of truths or open up a pandora’s box of misunderstandings. Around anyone else in her peer group, she would have done it with confidence, knowing certain inflections and references would fly over most of their heads. Under the discerning reception of Annika’s intelligent ear, the line was a much finer one to walk. Giving too much credit to the poet seemed an oxymoron. Frankly, Zosia was more at risk of giving too little. “Ah, of course. I should’ve guessed your bloodline was enriched with spirit.” An entire thesaurus’ worth of terms could have been substituted in the place of ‘spirit’. Holding this belief more like a fact, she momentarily needed to carefully study the Annika’s features to ensure she hadn’t accidentally voiced a more intimately-sourced adjective. With her voluminous thoughts trafficking so noisily inside her skull, it grew increasingly difficult to tell what she verbally let out into the ethers anymore. To posses an intense deep affection for another was to love. For a word so strong, linked to how humans often haphazardly threw it around like bullets, it felt as though shrapnel ought to have littered the earth’s surface. Surely, it would have littered the floor in a perfect circle around where Zosia sat. Was she so foolish to try and convince herself that a particular sensation of ‘deep affection’ was not the exact summary that described her inner disposition? Would it really have been so preposterous to suggest that the very mention of Annika’s name had the reader’s brain instantaneously linking along a poem [ it was love that had me and held so fast, I was trapped like a moth to the flame, wise men have said true love never lasts, when in love you’ll burn again and again. ] which had kept those three syllables company for over above a fortnight? Gripped by infatuation, that was for certain, but were the depths of these feelings fleeting —- like a pool in the heat of Summer doomed to be emptied by the end of the season —- or as unprecedented and unpredictable as the bottomless ocean? Placing the letter in her lap, Zosia nearly held her breath as she sat silently to listen to what reasoning she would hear from the other woman. Palms pressed together, lifted with the sides of her index fingers pressed to her lips, she was caught somewhere between willing herself not to say anything, and trying to summon some cursed higher power to alleviate her shackled mind. Staring at Annika with a mixture of trepidation, admiration, and loss, she quietly mumbled, “I was given it.” Despite purposefully omitting details of identification, she could practically hear Maya’s voice ringing in her eardrums; imagine an expression of disdain; and the brutal disapproval of even the reader’s quietest consideration of entertaining the dreams she had pertaining to Annika. The terms between Zosia and her supposed ex were unclear, murky as the waters of a lagoon —- however, in comparison ( which did nothing to ease the stress on her conscience ), Annika presented no more clarity. Though, one factor was for certain: the pier of safety the music maker represented was far more anchored than it’s hurricane counterpart. A hopeless ache chipped away at Zosia’s heart like a hammer and chisel took to stone, leaving behind a cave of wonder and insecurity that waves of Annika’s touching sentiments gently lapped up against. “You didn’t want me to see it.” Emptily echoing the impression she had absorbed from the tone of the writer’s elaboration, the literary aficionado failed to ward off the indignant sense that arose when confronted with such a notion. Fingers protectively tightened their hold on the flimsy letter as she imagined a scenario where the discarding of it had being successful, disheartened by the possibility of the note never seeing the light of day, consumed by the forest forever. How could she dare do such a thing? To deliberately keep Zosia blinded from a truth so mockingly blatant she had actually needed to read it on paper before she’d understood the muted refrain of her interest was not a one sided arrangement. They were singing a duet, of coasters and teacups, no less. Of course, it made absurd sense. Nothing quite permeated the reader’s daydreamy grasp on the world other than the physical presence of the written world —- a place her mind could escape to forever, even if the outcome of their meeting mounted insignificantly. Annika could have downright laid a kiss onto Zosia and she likely still would’ve internalized it, analyzed the hell out of it, and then brushed it off as accidental. A rare and situationally dependent gesture, at best. Too good to be true. “Why would it not be a good thing?” Because who was Zosia to receive the gift of this enchantment’s attention? “Why hide it? It was —- it is… beautiful, Annika. I didn’t… I wouldn’t have imagined you saw me in such a light. I…” A defeated sigh escaped her lungs, briefly preceding a rapidly spoken line of French she was grateful wouldn’t be understood, “Vous êtes comme un rayon de lumière sur mon horizon. Mon cœur souffre pour vous , ma chérie. Comment pouvez-vous pas savoir…” Shaking her head, poignant hazel eyes escaped the vibrant green shade of their captor’s to avert to the nearest wall; being able to truly concentrate depended on it. “First of all, you must understand that is okay. More than…” Trailing off, she felt suddenly concerned and self conscious with how much that she said or did when it would be permanently on the record. “It’s just… inconvenient.” A strained thread of pent up frustration lined her tone, eloquence uncharacteristically escaping her as she struggled in more ways than one, “It’s welcomed and it’s inconvenient. I feel it matters little what I want to really say, as in no reality could I say that this is impeccable timing, Annika.“

To be continued…