#haliyam

[haliyam]

interim (vii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 6

As usual, Reader default name Lucy is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background and family name. But feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension!

Chapter 7

“Zeke?”

Zeke’s door creaks as you gently push it open. It makes more noise than it would if you simply kicked it open, but his eyes are still glued to his book as he leans against his bed’s headboard. 

“Zeke,” you whisper insistently.

You think you see the slightest smirk pull at his mouth, but exasperation is all you find when he finally pries his eyes from the pages in his hand. “What?”

You know well enough now to ignore or really see through his obvious irritation. It’s been a month, or months? since Zeke first started teaching you how to deal with the consequences of your own pride at Magath’s hands using trusty warm compresses and even trustier pain ointment. Unfortunately, Mrs. Yeager caught the scent of the latter on your bedsheets during laundry—and in a bid not to worry her, you asked Zeke if you could stay in his bed instead. 

He didn’t like that at all. As a growing boy, he needed all the space he could get, and adding a demanding little six year old and a pillow between you diminished that greatly. Being the greatest advocate of removing any cause for his grandparents to worry, however, he had no choice but to agree. (Especially since, as a twelve year old, the sole Warrior candidate, and having much more time on his hands, he does his own laundry.)

Of course, Finger—Pieck—has taught you how to swallow that pride since. But that is a recent development. And you’ve grown to like having somebody to chat with before you sleep at night. Zeke’s room feels warmer than yours, and less lonely.

“You know what,” you say.

He sighs. And then he sighs again, before setting aside his book. Turning to face you, he crosses his arms, looking like someone who clearly has the advantage in this situation.

“Fine. But tell me a story first.”

Your pride, still in full force at home, makes you make a face at him. Still, you quietly shut the door behind you and ask, “About what?”

“Lara.”

Your sharp intake of breath is audible. “How do you know that name?”

“And Willy,” he adds. With a shrug, he explains, “you said his name once. But Lara—you say that a lot in your sleep when you cry.”

You find your eyes glued to your feet. Those names are a secret. Even more secret than Mila’s, who has visited you here in their place. You aren’t to tell anybody about them, least of all the Eldian family you’re staying with. Father was very clear about that.

But it seems a small price to pay for company at this moment. If you return to your room alone, you’ll just remember how much you miss them. And isn’t that worse?

Besides, Zeke can keep a secret. You already have one together. What’s another? 

You glance up, feet shuffling a bit. “Lara is my sister. Willy is my brother—Mila’s husband.”

Zeke draws his knees up, one arm on top of the other on them, and rests his chin there so he can comfortably quirk a brow at you. “Why don’t they visit you instead of her?”

“They’re—” not allowed to, you almost say. But what you say next isn’t entirely wrong, either. “They don’t live nearby.”

“But Mila does? Eldians who live in the mainland are all supposed to live in Liberio. That makes no sense.”

You open your mouth to protest, trying to come up with the lie. This was why father told you not to tell anybody anything about your family. Because they would wonder at once about your circumstances. 

But Zeke is quicker than you yet, and he speaks before you can even stammer a reply. “Unless… does your family work for the Tyburs?”

Your eyes widen at him. “H-huh?”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Your startled expression makes Zeke even more smug. “Outside of Liberio, the Tybur family estate is the only place Eldians can work in the mainland. That explains your attitude, too.”

“Hey,” you frown, but you’ve given yourself away. In a fashion. “...Don’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t,” Zeke says easily. You don’t know yet that it’s because he wouldn’t have anyone to tell anyway, besides the fact that he wouldn’t. “What are the Tyburs like?” he asks. 

If Zeke were his usual self tonight, he would point out that your mouth’s been open long enough to let a fly settle in. But he’s as deep in thought as you are scrambling for a response, and again he continues ahead of you. “They’re the only Eldians who have the right to live… to be happy.”

A sentiment that echoes all father has told you all your life, you think, even if you know they’ve never met. You suppose it only makes sense that other Eldians would feel the same, since any Marleyan would know the history of the motherland. Even you still feel the same. 

Don’t you? 

Shouldn’t you?

“...That’s not what you asked me for a story about,” you murmur.

“Oh, right,” Zeke remembers, like he’s waking from a dream. Jerking his head in the direction of the foot of the bed, he says, “Lara and Willy. Tell me a story.”

Squeezing your fists behind your back, shaking the nerves out of them—how much closer could he have gotten to the truth, if he didn’t agree to change the subject? Or not change it, unknowingly?—you push yourself up to his bed. 

He stares at you expectantly, and for once, you look entirely unsure before him. Where do you begin? “Willy is the eldest. He used to spend all his time with me and Lara, until he married Mila,” you say, trying not to let an edge touch your voice as you speak of your sister-in-law. “But Lara…” 

Now you smile. You can’t help it. “Lara is—wonderful,” you beam, until your face falls. “But she’s always been sickly. Before I was born, she and mother fell very ill… but she never got better. It’s why she never really leaves home.”

“Oh.”

You nod, and Zeke is quiet. He usually is, especially when he’s reading, except now he looks like he wants to say something.

When he doesn’t, you wonder if that’s your fault. “...So can I stay?”

Zeke’s eyes snap to yours. The hesitation on his face vanishes for his exasperation again. “Fine,” he sighs, “but don’t hog the blanket. Or kick me. I don’t know how you do that past the pillow with those stubby legs, anyway.”

“Want me to show you?”

“…Go to bed.”

-

You pull the curtains over the carriage window further closed, if that’s at all possible.

Willette sits across you, peeking out of her end with a small smile. You have no idea why she’s so excited, but you don’t resent her for it. There’s something familiar about her demeanor that makes it impossible.

You should leave it alone. Just be silent the rest of the way, get it over with—after all, you’ll get to see Lara—but your curiosity gets the better of you. You never really thought of what happened to everyone else not chosen to become a Warrior candidate; you figured they all returned to their regular lives.

“How did you come to work for the family?” 

Willette blinks when she realizes you’re addressing her. Still pleasant, she says, “I don’t know if you remember me from training, but… I wasn’t very good at all the physical work. But even Eldians are paid better if we serve, even among the regular corps. Sometimes they let us do paperwork. The grunt work of it, really,” she laughs a little. “Eventually, somehow, I—”

Willette clears her throat, trying not to look too proud, but she looks pleased with herself. “I was recruited into intelligence. My recruiting, now superior officer, he… saw my potential. It was still just paperwork, but I did well. And that was when Miss Rose saw me.”

“Miss Rose? …Oh,” you drag on, because you always forget the family’s excuse for Lara’s constant presence outside the estate, “Willy’s, ah… secretary?”

“That’s all right,” Willette nods at your slightly sheepish expression, clearly assuming you’ve simply never noticed her is all. “Miss Rose thought I was someone she knew, but—well, she talked to me one day and asked about my work, and… I’ve been part of the regime’s liaison to the family ever since.”

You forcibly stop your jaw from falling. Lara, talking to anyone else? You only know her as your reclusive sister. A silent shadow to Willy. It does please you to know someone else outside the family knows her as more than that, because she is, but it’s odd nonetheless. 

“…and you like the work?” you eventually ask.

“I do. And Miss Rose - and Lord Tybur, of course - they’ve been very kind to me, whenever I have the honor of meeting them. I was happy to take on the small task of bringing you to see Lord Tybur.”

“I see.” You simply can’t imagine anyone from your life in Liberio interacting with your siblings. It takes you a moment to realize you might come off as rude, or even jealous, so you give her a small smile. “I’m glad things have worked out for you. It’s the least I can hope for - for anyone who was in Warrior training especially.”

Willette eyes you with a warm one herself. “You’re kind, Miss Lucy. It’s no wonder Lord Tybur is so eager to see you again.”

Any flattery at her words in the beginning falls flat to your ears at the mention of Willy. Given the choice, you would see only Lara…

“We’re here,” Willette beams, drawing the curtain open now that you’re safely inside the estate. As the carriage rumbles to a stop, you take a deep breath.

But not even a Tybur can have everything.

-

Like all Tybur mansions across Marley, the one in Liberio is considerably smaller than the main estate near the capital, but it’s still large enough to fit an entire clan built on lies if the situation calls for it. Wandering the wide hallways and ceilings too high even for three of you to reach, you realize you’ve never really stayed here—no reason to, when Lucy Blanchard was restricted to the internment zone—but the general layout is familiar enough that you know Willette is taking you to the drawing room. 

You’re still thinking about how you feel about all this when you find that you’ve passed another large door and are walking along a line of red-clad soldiers. Tybur guards, at the center of whom stands the tallest of them. He’s just emerged, ducked out from the drawing room, and he closes the door behind him.

“Miss Tybur, to see Lord Tybur,” says Willette, in a very formal voice. 

You peer up at a familiar face. In spite of his much sterner features, you recognize him—Markus, one of your brother’s childhood friends whose family has served yours for generations. He was already training to be Willy’s personal bodyguard by the time you were born.

A flicker of a smile flashes across his natural frown, and he nods. “Lord Tybur will be pleased to see you, Miss Lucy.”

You feel as small as ever before him, but you tell yourself it’s just his height. “Thank you, Markus.” You turn to Willette next to you. “And thank you, Willette. If you go now, you might be able to catch up with the others for lunch.”

“That’s okay,” Willette shakes her head. “I think Pieck was just being polite. Besides, I should wait to see if anything else is needed of me here. But you go inside—everyone is excited to see you.”

“Everyone?” you repeat, but Markus has already opened the door. He ignores your questioning glance at him too, so you have no choice but to enter.

This drawing room is comparably small (it’s one of many, if the mansion is to standard), but it’s built that way. With a wide window facing the city, sofas turned to one another crowd most of the space, facing a fireplace on one long end of the room while built-in bookshelves line the rest of the walls. They’re filled with plants and vases and old family photos, though one painting holds a special place above the fireplace mantle. 

Father. His likeness has been captured perfectly; as intimidating as when he still lived. 

But you’re distracted by a most familiar sight—Willy, sitting up straight as he drinks tea on the chaise longue, while Lara stands across him, never too far, a smile on her face as they chatter softly. You were only home not that long ago, but they’d been away then. 

It wasn’t Markus’s height at all. You feel small again, watching them like this. Like it’s still just the three of you, and you don’t know anything about the Warrior program yet, or Mila, or…

“Lucy,” says Lara, the calm expression on her face lighting up. Her voice remains soft, but her joy is unmistakable. 

“Lucy!” Willy beams at you before setting his tea down on the side table. “I see Miss Weiss found you after all.”

His tone reminds you of the last time he scolded you, even if he’s clearly aiming for humor this time, and the homely air about the warm drawing room dissipates, at least on your part. Hackles already raised, you fight down a frown. You don’t notice yourself standing at attention in an attempt to make yourself feel bigger. 

“How did she know where to find me?”

Willy’s smile remains, as though he doesn’t notice either. “You know we leave those little details to intelligence for a reason. But how do you like her?”

It takes you a second to realize he means Willette. Strange shift in topic, but you humor him. “She’s all right. She was in my Warrior class.”

“It was difficult to believe back then, but now I understand what they meant… even Lara and Markus mistook her for you at first glance.”

You blink. “Willette?” You suppose you’re of the same stature. With a similar hairstyle, similar features… but you don’t think you look all that much alike. The fact that this is even in question is starting to frustrate you now. “Wait—” What kind of ridiculous diversion is this? For Lara’s sake, you restrain the emotion with confusion. “How… how is this relevant?”

Lara turns to Willy, who nods and begins, “I believe she would make a—”

“Aunt Lucy!”

The drawing room door opens ever so slightly again, and the illustrious Lord Tybur is interrupted by the one of the few who can afford to do it—his eldest daughter. Fine scurries into the room and practically leaps into your arms as soon as you turn in surprise. 

“Fine!” you gasp, barely just catching your suddenly excitable niece—you set her down and fall to a crouch instead, wrapping your arms around her as you chuckle. “What are you doing here?”

Fine is the spitting image of her mother—her eyes, her nose, her mouth—all she really has of Willy are his hair and his eyes. But she must also be the happiest eight year old you’ve ever seen in spite of her natural shyness, so even the sight of Mila on her face can’t tarnish your fondness for her. 

By now Fine has remembered herself, and her timid nature returns in full force. She stammers as a flush fills her cheeks. “Oh! I - I just thought—”

“When Fine heard we were coming to visit Liberio where her Auntie Lucy was studying, she nearly begged me to let her join us,” Willy chuckles.

Fine shoots her father a little pout. “Papa…”

“Well, I’m glad you came,” you squeeze her small hands in yours, regaining her attention. 

Encouraged now, Fine nods quickly. “We’re staying here until after Papa’s birthday, so I wanted to come. Besides,” she wrinkles her nose, the way only an older sister can, “Alois and the twins are too noisy back home.”

You laugh, only for your mind to go over her words again. “Ah—until Willy’s birthday?” Your eyes snap to Willy, and then to Lara. “You’re staying for that long?”

That’s a week from now. You’ve never known the new Lord Tybur to dwell far from home for so long in one place. At least, not in an old city to no one’s advantage like Liberio.

“I hope you don’t mind too much, Lucy,” says Willy, a small smile on his mouth.

You want to roll your eyes. He knows you can’t complain in front of your niece.

“Of course not,” you say, mirroring his mirth, but it only reaches your eyes when you look to Fine again, and then up at Lara. “You’re all here so early. Were you able to rest during the trip?”

Fine nods. “I slept the whole train ride, Aunt Lucy.” She takes a deep breath, and then nods with a sudden determination. “Do you want to play hopscotch in the courtyard?”

“Hopscotch?” you repeat. You remember hopscotch. Father in particular liked calling them hop squats. Sometimes hop snaps. A snap of father’s finger was a jump and no slower, and every time there were boxes where you could land on both feet, you were to immediately fall to a squat before launching yourself into the next box. It was mostly to test your agility, you realize as you look back now; but then hop squats never lasted long, and father soon graduated you into obstacle courses of his Titan’s making. 

As quickly as the thought comes to you, you realize she must mean proper hopscotch. The kind you saw younger children at boarding school play outside.

Mistaking your confusion for hesitation, Fine quickly says, “P-Papa said you were the best. I’m not very good… but I’ve been practicing.”

“No, no—of course I’ll play with you,” you say, heart breaking at her hopeful expression. You reach out to take her hand, but Willy has approached and places his on her hair instead, gently patting her.

“Fine, why don’t you get your chalk from your room? Auntie Lucy will meet you in the courtyard.”

“Okay, Papa,” she says, though she’s smiling at you. She takes your smile in return as your leave, and walks out of the room as calmly as she can, as you suppose her mother has told her a little lady of eight should, but her near-skips of excitement are difficult to conceal.

Willy is laughing the moment Markus closes the door behind her. “I know what you’re thinking. Father would turn in his grave if he knew I was letting the children taint his precious courtyard with colored chalk.”

He would, but you simply shrug. “Was it really that much better than using his own flesh?”

You purse your lips as soon as you say it. You suppose that’s Lara’s flesh now, and your eyes are wide and apologetic in her direction—but she only stifles a soft chuckle. “Father was never much concerned about this particular estate. I believe he will forgive us.”

You know that’s a lie and so does Willy, but neither of you contests her. Willy only shakes his head. “Thank you for humoring her. She really has been practicing.”

“When she’s come all this way? How couldn’t I?”

Willy’s eyes crinkle in half-amusement. “Does the same logic apply to your…” he pauses, and then motions to himself with a flourish meant to annoy, “dear brother?”

What remains of your smile falls, hanging by a thread thanks only to Lara’s presence. But it’s not entirely Willy’s fault. Now that you’re here before Lord Tybur, all you’ve managed to set aside since your meeting with List at HQ comes back to you. 

You ignore the urge to roll your eyes and purse your lips instead. “Willy, there’s something we need to discuss.”

He pauses at that; considers your expression. Glances at Lara before he looks at you again.

Sighs.

“And it can’t wait for lunch, Lucy? We’ve only just said hello.”

You were only irritated before, but now you’re upset. You scoff. “You don’t even know what it’s about—or did your intelligence man tell you?”

“My intelligence—what would Arnack know of it?” In spite of his question, he relaxes somewhat. “This concerns the military, then?”

The military and not Mila, not the family is what he means.

You cross your arms, glaring to the side almost petulantly—now it annoys you to even speak—when Lara’s hand finds yours. Your gaze softens, shoulders relax when she squeezes your fingers, and you have no choice but to look at her. 

“Fine is waiting in the courtyard. But you’ll tell us when you’re all done playing, won’t you, Lucy?”

Your will to sulk dissipates into embarrassment. You don’t want to give Lara any trouble. “All right.”

Lara smiles.

Sometimes, putting up with Willy is worth it.

-

You soon learn that maybe regular hopscotch isn’t so different from yours after all; besides the fact that there is no father around to insist you can move faster than you are now, the hopscotch Fine knows has 40 squares as well—you both dirty your dresses drawing the blocks and circles together, but you doubt Willy will chastise Fine for it—and she goes forward and backward too. 

Hopscotch goes better than you hope. Fine is very good at it, especially when she stops looking at you to see if you’re watching every few steps so she can focus on the pattern on the ground instead. She’s agile herself, and she lasts several rounds of this, which makes you wonder if Willy had her trained, however silly the notion may be…

But surely he hasn’t. You remember him angrily protesting the decision to send you away to father when you were little, though you hadn’t understood why until you were older. You know you can at least trust him not to do to his children what father did to you, even though he continues to permit the Warrior program.

“Aunt Lucy?”

Still catching your breath, you sit upright from the courtyard bench you laid back on, all sweaty and tired—but a good tired—and glance over at Fine. She’s sitting up too, her dress as much covered in chalk as yours. A stray strip of powder green that matches the color of her fingers is spread over her cheek. 

Before she can say anything, you give her a look of apology. “I don’t think I can go again, Fine. I haven’t moved that much in weeks.”

“Not that,” Fine lets out a little giggle as she shakes her head, though her face grows somber rather quickly afterward. “May I ask you something, auntie?”

You feel your hackles raise again, and you wonder if it’s the Mila or the Willy in her that does it. “Of course.”

She pulls her lips to one side, and then another as she considers her words. “Will I get the War Hammer after you do?”

Absolutely nothing is what runs through your mind as you hear her question. Nothing but terror and alarm, and the feeling of your stomach sinking again. A child shouldn’t have to think of these things. Not the new Warrior candidates, and not your little niece. You feel your mouth open and close just as it did with her mother, and you must somehow get to your feet and approach the bench next to yours. Fine draws her knees to her chest under her dress to give you space. 

It takes you even longer to look at her. “What makes you think I’ll get it?” When she only stares at you again, you tilt your head. “Fine?”

Fine presses her lips together, suddenly she seems as reluctant to speak as you do. She smiles now, glancing around as if to find something else to talk about.

You sigh. Like father, like daughter. 

“Fine,” you insist.

Her eyes quickly fall to her knees.  “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Then it’ll be our secret.”

“Promise?” When you give her an earnest nod, she bites the inside of her cheek, and then nods herself. “Mother said you must have it one day.”

Of course Mila would say that. Though you do your level best not to scoff, that is something on which you both agree, even if she thinks otherwise. “That’s Willy’s decision to make in the end,” you say, a small rebellion of your own, even if Willy’s wife isn’t here to hear it, and Fine is too innocent to know what it is. “Now, to answer your question—” you scoot a little closer. “It’s unlikely, you know. This is another secret,” and Fine nods quickly, “but the head of the Tybur family rarely receives the War Hammer. Not since the early days, from well over a hundred years ago, back in the time of the Eldian Empire. And since you’ll be the head one day, after Willy…”

Fine does not look comforted as you expect. “But grandfather had it.”

You blink.

For all her shyness, your niece watches you with the expectation of any precocious child her age.

She isn’t wrong—you simply never questioned it because father had it for as long as you can remember. The head of the Tybur Family must always, at the very least, bear an heir and a spare (for the War Hammer)... a policy father himself flouted over nineteen years ago. 

You don’t really have an answer for her. Lara was terribly ill at the time, as she always was before the War Hammer, and so you never considered her a candidate, but father did have a cousin or two remaining.

…Who can say? Father was enigmatic to you the day he sent you away, and was just as much so on the day you returned home from Liberio to learn you had failed his expectations and to bid him goodbye in a flurry that felt like the same breath. Lara certainly never speaks of him or of his memories to you. Not even when she told you the truth about the family.

“Father…” you decide to guess, “always liked to take matters into his own hands. He was Lord Tybur when he took the War Hammer. You would have to decide yourself to do it one day—I’m sure Willy would never break with tradition and have the future Lady Tybur inherit it.”

You prefer not to tell her that it’s so unlikely because she has so many little brothers and sisters from among whom Lord Tybur may one day choose instead.

Fine has no protest this time as she considers your answer, and you realize you don’t even know whether this news is good or bad to her ears. After all, you once wept with disappointment when you learned you wouldn’t inherit the War Hammer months before your thirteenth birthday.

“Did you want it?” you ask, taking your handkerchief and wiping the chalk from her face.

Fine presses her lips together again.

“I don’t know.”

That answer alone heartens you somewhat. If nothing else, you suppose, Willy is a man who loves his children.

-

Fine is as ladylike as a little girl can be as she devours her food as quick as she can. Willy had promised Mila that their eldest wouldn’t lose too much time for lessons simply because of the trip, so she is ushered back to her room for her studies not long after lunch begins. 

That leaves you alone with Willy and Lara. 

Even in the early afternoon, the chandelier high above shines starkly over the room. You sit at a long table, fit for several family members, you imagine, as you do in every Tybur estate dining room you’ve visited. The three of you occupy the tail end of the table, a little far from the fireplace with your back to the window. This room is filled with portraits of a select few former heads of the Tybur family, lords and ladies both. From where you sit, the earliest known Lord Tybur stares down at you with his head tilted aside.

You’re wondering what he might have been like through the eyes of his War Hammer when Willy starts.

“I’m so pleased to see your clothes still fit.”

Eyes turning away from the portrait, you glance down at the dress the staff had prepared for you. You didn’t bring your entire wardrobe to the Yeagers, of course, leaving much of it back at the Tybur estate. Especially the prettier dresses Willy bought you which have no place in the internment zone. 

The funny look on your face is too quick to stifle. “You bought me this only two months ago, before the two of you left.”

“I know. But it always surprises me how much you’ve grown up each time I see you again.”

At least Lara looks amused. “Only newborns will change so much in the span of two months, Willy.”

The little chuckle that escapes her throat makes Willy laugh. “I certainly know it now.”

“Now?” you ask with some curiosity.

“Oh, yes. He learned his lesson when you were born,” says Lara, fingers over her mouth as she continues to laugh.

“I’d insisted,” he tells the story, “that our baby clothes were too old for you, and that we needed an entire wardrobe of new baby pajamas despite father’s protests.” 

You can’t help but lean in. “Really? What did mother say?”

The two exchange glances. Lara opens her mouth, and then Willy—saves the moment with another smile. Or he would, if it weren’t so familiar to you. “She was ill,” he says.

Mother always was. A little too often, even to the ears of a child no older than six, but you let it pass without comment as you always have.

Lara clears her throat. Her smile leads you both away from the thought of her. “Imagine our chagrin when father was right, and you outgrew your clothes within your first month.”

“Father must have been so upset,” you gasp, grinning without knowing it.

“He understood,” Willy laughs. Even Lara’s mirth is hearty, and they both watch you as they settle down. There’s something in their gazes you recognize, but don’t, and you’re about to ask what when brother speaks again. 

“Don’t you miss home, Lucy? Just us at the fireplace, reading together? Laughing at the dining table just like this?”

The question surprises you just as much as the immediate answer in your mind does. His question is honest enough, without the underlying needling that you often feel accompanies his others. For once, you set aside the instinct to sneer at him.

But you can’t respond just yet.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

The hope in Willy’s gaze fades, and what remains of his smile is the kind he has always presented to the public. Lord Tybur and annoying brother all at once.

“Of course not. You came because I summoned you. You would never join us at the estate otherwise.”

“No,” you say carefully, and remind him, “I came because the military summoned me almost as soon as I arrived here two weeks ago.”

Lord Tybur’s face quickly sours. “They did what? Under whose command?”

“General List,” you supply. Willy’s expression gives nothing away, so you continue. “They want… a better foothold in the Mid East peninsula, and they want to start with surrounding territories. They think they could accomplish this if the head of the Tybur Foundation denounced the regime’s policies to curry favor abroad, and then used the Foundation to ferry in Marleyan spies.”

Willy’s brow, quirked all this time, softens as he scoffs. “And they think my wife would agree to this.”

You brace yourself. “They think your sister would.”

Willy’s eyes fly to Lara—until, after a moment of confusion, they land on you. 

“You?” he asks after a long pause. “You would chair the Foundation?”

Your gulp is practically involuntary. Your mouth is dry without warning and your mind buzzes to life with anger and self-doubt. Willy has never been outwardly so… so like Mila. 

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Why not? I’m a Tybur, too. And by blood, at that.”

“Running the Foundation takes more than blood, Lucy,” Willy says, setting down his utensils. “What did List promise you in exchange for this?”

You lick your lips in apprehension, but you answer. “I would fulfill the Foundation’s purpose, of course. The Tybur Foundation can show other nations that Eldians are no monsters. Just - just people. And I’m not stupid. I know it’s a carrot List dangles over my nose, but—but why not take this chance? People can learn. The Tyburs have a voice. We can teach them.”

Willy’s flippant expression slips into neutrality as you speak. You don’t know that he’s holding his temper. “Teach them what?” he asks quietly. “That the Tyburs are hypocrites, maintaining their status in the Empire that suffocates the rest of the world with Eldian might while claiming that Eldians are innocent?”

“I - I would distance the Foundation from the regime and the family.”

“And endanger the family?”

“The Tyburs are the furthest from any danger in this world and you know it,” you snap, fists clenched at your lap before you know it. “Are you saying you won’t permit me to do this?”

“I’m saying that this is a fool’s errand,” Willy says, head tilting up, his patience clearly wearing thin. After a pause, he rears his head to you. “You’ve begged me to let you remain Lucy Blanchard ever since you returned from this city. Pleaded with me only a year past to let you take the entrance exams here. Now you want this? Help me understand, Lucy. You’ve never been one for caprice.”

He’s right. You have to answer him quickly before he realizes he is.

“I never said—” you stammer, “I don’t even want—I mean—”

Willy catches your mistake and latches on. “You don’t even want this,” he repeats slowly. “And yet you persist. What is the meaning of this? Is this - is this about going against my wishes? You would put yourself at risk just to—?”

“No!” you insist. “I—I just want the Tybur family to do something! And if,” you venture, the momentum in your voice losing its edge, “if it has to be me,” your hands wring at your skirt, “then…”

“Please, Lucy.” Willy is too dignified to groan, but you hear it in his voice. Exasperation. “You don’t know the first thing about leading the Foundation!”

“And Mila, raised in all her riches here, did?” you challenge. “I can learn! That’s all I’ve done my whole life—learn!” You can’t help but slam a fist against the dining table. The silver all do a little leap and clatter back against themselves in support. “Learn that Marleyans are no better than Eldians. Learn that I’m nothing but a failure after a childhood spent training to kill. Learn that everything this family ever taught me is a lie!”  

“Lucy!” Lara says your name so sharply that it hurts. Not hisses, but almost. She watches you with an expression you don’t recognize, wide-eyed and almost furious, except you’ve never even seen her upset before. You would recognize it as danger, if you knew what it looked like on her face.

You don’t. You at least lower your gaze, but the summer after father died is burned into your memory, and sometimes you remember the Warriors’ first foray into war better than you can recall mother’s smile. Your fire may be doused, but you aren’t finished.

“Please,” you murmur, eyes still on your plate. Your food is unfinished, and your appetite is lost. “It doesn’t have to be me. It could be you, Willy. …Everyone loves you. You could make peace with Paradis. They think they’re the last of humanity. If that king’s will lives on in the Founding Titan as sister remembers it, as our family tells it, then they would find relief in the return of the world.”

“Lucy—”

You interrupt Lord Tybur with more. “We would regain not only the Founding Titan, but the glory of removing what the world believes is the last threat of the old Eldian Empire. And then you could… you could change things. Ease the world into a period away from Marleyan hegemony.”

Willy scoffs, this time with pity. “Naïveté at its finest. Peace is easy to speak of, but all the world wants Paradis for its resources. They would view Marley as competition at best.”

His softer tone is the only thing that helps you maintain yours, though your hands continue crumple at your skirt under the table. “But the world is terrified of Paradis,” you reason. “Marley is the only superpower at present that can hold the ‘threat’ of that island at bay. And then—and then, before the world develops weapons enough to defeat Titan might, we could show them that the remaining Eldians on the island, in the world, can be just as good as the family that bears the War Hammer. If the world might listen to anyone, it would listen to the head of the Tybur family.”

“A century of Eldian suffering cannot make up for the millennia of Eldian tyranny,” Willy says gravely. “The world still cries out for blood. No goodwill for the family will surpass it.”

“You don’t know that,” you frown. “There have to be people out there willing to learn better.”

Willy rises to his feet. Looks down at you to remind you that though he suffers your candor, you are still a Tybur under his authority.  “The Tybur family has survived because we have known when and where to pull the strings. I will not change this policy.”

You glare up at him from your seat. You feel your grip on this argument slipping, and your patience, too. “Of course not.” You never did learn to bite your tongue with him the way you did in the military. “You’ve changed nothing since you became Lord Tybur.”

Willy’s lip curls. You look incredibly alike in that moment, Lara will tell you before you go later—but he reins in his own anger. “We can only do so much to restore the Eldian name, Lucy.”

“The words of a coward,” you spit powerlessly.

“Lucy,” Lara reprimands, but not with the same expression as before. This one is less harsh, but still reproving. Disappointed more than angry. 

Willy sends her a grateful look. His shoulders relax somewhat, and you seize the opportunity to speak.

“Then—then can’t you give the Mid East peninsula something for the sake of peace?” you plead. “Our forces are weakened without the Colossal Titan, and if the weapons abroad really are becoming as powerful as they say…”

“I’ve read the reports.” Willy sounds exhausted. “This… anti-Titan weaponry will take much longer than List would have you believe. But the Mid East desires freedom above all else, in any case, and the regime would never agree.”

“The regime would listen to Lord Tybur.”

“The answer is no, Lucy.”

You feel petulant staring at Willy’s plate in dismay. You have nothing else you can say. If he won’t give you the Foundation, then List’s plan is dust. The Warriors will go on as they have until they pass their Titans to their successors, and so on. Eldians will remain fodder.

You can only turn to Lara. 

“How could you agree with him?” you ask. Before father died, after you came home from Warrior training, she agreed with you. She thought the world could do better.

She takes a moment to think. And then, as though recalling an old memory, she says, “It’s all well and good to care for other Eldians, Lucy. But the family is where our loyalties lie, and we - I trust the decisions of Lord Tybur. I’m sorry… but you ask too much.”

“So what you mean to say,” you mutter in resignation, “is that our choices are to obliterate the enemy in their entirety or to doom our race forever.”

Willy shakes his head. His expression is closed. Isn’t this how each of your fights ends, anyway?

“What Lara meant is she will not risk your life, or the Tybur family, for a chance at peace. Neither will I.”

The dining table is far too quiet for any more eating after that, and Willy claims to have some appointment after lunch soon after. He always happens to be busy after any fight you have with him, so you aren’t too surprised. When Willette promises it’s true, you don’t bother to disagree. Everyone loves Willy too much to imagine he might tell lies.

You don’t return to the zone just yet, even after Lara quietly embraces you goodbye as they go. Fine is still around, after all, and she’s all too quick to ask you to stay and read while she studies in her room. You aren’t inclined to disappoint her, and you’re almost sorry to find that Willy brought a selection of books from your room back at the estate with the hope that you might stay with them a while. 

The answer is no, you think with a little frustration, but also with a little regret that you set aside. It would be far too strange for anyone who knows you only as Lucy Blanchard for you to come from anywhere but the zone every day.

You’re brought back close to the zone in the late afternoon, once Fine is tired enough to need a nap, with a permit that explains away your disappearance. You’re heading down a block toward the zone gates when you catch a familiar face coming your way.

“Kellan?”

You’ve noticed that Kellan’s eyes always look ahead outside of the zone. Around, over, aside Marleyans and never on them, so as not to attract attention. So your voice clearly surprises him, and he double takes before blinking at you.

“Lucy. What are you doing here?” He looks you over politely. “That’s a pretty dress.”

“Thanks. I was on an errand,” you answer, waving your permit in an effort to distract him from your clothes, and then folding it before he can try to take a look. “You?”

“Errand,” he smiles, freely showing you his. You don’t take a look, nodding instead as he glances around. “Do you want to come? My cousins were supposed to join me, but they… well, they’re afraid to leave the zone. The permit was for a few of us.”

You look around too. Marleyans don’t go by this area so close to the internment zone, but you’re not entirely sure where Kellan’s going. Despite everything, there’s safety in numbers, right?

“Sure.”

-

A few blocks later, and you know you were right to join Kellan for this errand. You always walk among non-Eldians going to and from and in the university, but this area is particularly thick with them. It’s only when you turn right toward a smaller street that there’s any room to breathe. 

“It’s not that much different from the zone sometimes,” Kellan murmurs once anyone nearby is too far off to hear him. “Whenever I see it, it’s… odd to think we’re not welcome here.”

You look up at him. “I hope one day we will be.”

His sullen expression lights up just a little. “That’s - that’s what I want to happen by becoming a doctor. I know we’re only allowed to have patients from the zone, but… At least the world will see that there are Eldian hands that heal. Destruction isn’t all we’re good for.”

Pleased by his optimism, you miss the spite in his last sentence. “That’s admirable. Really,” you add, when he measures the truth of your words with a glance.

He smiles now. “What made you want to become a doctor?”

The answer is easy. “Dr. Yeager did. He used to receive patients next door when I was little.”

“Dr. Yeager,” Kellan repeats. “I almost forgot you live with them. …If you don’t mind me asking, why do you? Are they family?”

“No,” you laugh. “I came here from… far away,” you wave your hand at the general distance. “For Warrior selection. I made it as a cadet, but—” you shrug. “No further.”

“You were chosen,” he realizes, clearly shocked. “That’s why you know them so well.”

Some pride goes into your nod. “I spend time with them at HQ most mornings before I return home so we can go to campus.”

“With them,” says Kellan, unable not to repeat your words. “With the Cart, with the new Jaw…”

You nod slowly. You’re starting to wonder where this is going.

“With the Beast,” he rattles off, “and the Armor, right?”

A small pause overtakes your desire to speak when you remember they’re all that’s left. For now, you hope. Only Marcel has really been confirmed dead.

“I… work at the market sometimes,” Kellan says like an admission. “Everyone knows Mr. Hoover’s kid didn’t come back. That girl, too.”

You exhale. You weren’t even close with Bertholdt and Annie, but the reminder still makes you bite your tongue. “Yeah.”

“Doesn’t it bother you, knowing what they do?” he continues. “They make us Eldians even more hated in the world—all in the name of getting to be honorary Marleyans.”

You don’t know if it’s his scoff, so uncharacteristic of how you’ve seen him thus far, or the fact that you’ve had the same thought that silences you again.

“But,” you can’t help but respond, “that would have been me if I’d succeeded. A Warrior.”

“But it’s not you,” he says reassuringly, guiding you across another small street. “You’re studying to be a doctor, Lucy. To help. The antithesis of what they do.”

You know he’s not wrong. He’s absolutely right. And yet… you frown at him, brows all furrowed, gaze almost prickly. He hasn’t seen you this way, either.

His eyes widen again, this time with apology. “...Forget I said that. It’s just… been a long day. And, uh—we’re here.”

You don’t want to think about this right now. You give him, and yourself, the out. You put on a smile. 

“Right,” you say, but it’s still all wrong when you follow his gaze. The alley spills out into a bigger street again, though it’s not wide enough for an avenue. Across the street—

Kellan’s errand was a pharmacy visit?

“Ow,” he yelps when you grab his arm tight and pull him back, just before you enter the main road. Across the street, a line stretches outside the pharmacy. None of the customers are wearing Eldian armbands.

“We’re not allowed at Marleyan pharmacies,” you say. “We have to go.”

He looks at you almost like you’re a stranger until he pats your hand around his arm. When your grip loosens, he reminds you, “They allowed it around five years ago. It was a…” he shrugs noncommittally. “A gift to the Eldians, because the Warriors had gone on their mission to that island. A few months late, but… I would never complain.”

A few months after the Warriors left. After father had already passed. 

You lower your gaze as you head across the street together toward the pharmacy. But just as the regret for your words earlier starts to sink in,  a gruff Ha! distracts you.

At the end of the line heading for the pharmacy, two city guards have accosted a boy wearing an armband. His bangs are all over his eyes as he stupidly tries to break free of the hold one of the guards has on him.

“I—please, I got a permit! See?” he cries out. The Marleyans ahead of the line shuffle a little closer to each other and further away from the scene.

The guard that isn’t holding him looks at a now crinkled piece of paper. “Don’t they teach you anything in that zone? A permit to run errands for select shops is a separate permit from entering a pharmacy.”

“B-but I, I have a - a permit, it’s still a permit,” the boy stammers. He’s only a few years older than Fine and the new Warrior cadets. Certainly not even Colt’s age.

The guard holding him chuckles darkly. He says something else, but—it’s the boy you’re watching. You can already see his face, nose all bloody with his eye swollen and purple. On the ground. An adult’s boot still digging into his side when he’s already curled up in agony.

The guard with the permit raises a straightened hand when you feel your feet move. 

“Ah—Grisha,” you call out, grabbing his free hand to the surprise of the guard holding his other. “This is where you’ve been, you little snot-nosed brat!” 

He looks up at you in fear and utter confusion, but you can give it no more thought as you turn to the guards in dismay. “I’m so - so sorry, sirs,” you try. You wish the tremble in your voice were an act. “I—we told him to get the,” you glance at the small bag dangling from his elbow, “the bottles, and go straight home. I knew when he wasn’t at the gate that he must’ve done something completely idiotic.”

The guards are both sizing you up and glaring at you.

“I’m his—sister,” you explain hurriedly. “We - we have a permit. Don’t we?”

You glance around for Kellan, who is where you left him, still watching you with his mouth agape. When you give him an urgent look, he rushes over to you with a nod. His hands are shaking when he presents the permit, which the guards snatch with a grunt.

Their eyes flit between you, Kellan, the permit, and the boy.

“Much better dressed than the brat here,” one says suspiciously.

You curse under your breath as you look down at the clothes Willy bought. “I…” you do your best to smile, “I just put on my best dress when I leave the zone.”

The guard eyes you from head to toe and back. Slowly. 

Kellan clears his throat unsurely, taking a step forward in some attempt to get in your way. “Um, sir—”

“You’re a pretty little thing,” the guard says, coming close before he can. “But it don’t matter what you look like. Still got pig’s blood underneath.”

Relief and fury fill you at his words. All this time, your instinct is still to raise your eyes to him in defiance, but you see the messy mop of hair on the child as he watches you from the corner of your eye, and you hear Kellan’s trembling breath not far to your side. 

You’re Lucy Blanchard, and you know better.

You release your tongue from between your teeth and set your eyes to the man’s boots, head bowed. “I understand, sir. Please forgive us for the trouble.”

“Bust,” the other guard mutters with disappointment, dropping Kellan’s permit to the ground. “Let’s find another one.”

The guard still has his eye on you when he nods at his friend. “Right. Well. You three make sure you head back to the zone once you’re done here. We don’t need more of you running around where it should be safe for the rest of us.”

“Yes, sir,” Kellan quickly says. You murmur it in suit, and the guards walk away.

When they’re finally out of sight, you let out the biggest sigh of relief you’ve given—probably the biggest since you were selected as a Warrior cadet. Or maybe when Zeke first successfully transformed.

“Don’t,” you say, looking to the boy, “ever wander around here without a proper permit again. You could’ve died. You hear me?” When the boy squeaks out a yes, you hold a hand out for the list of medicine he came for. 

Next to you, Kellan smooths out his permit. “That was dangerous,” he frowns, though it soon softens into wonder. “But—amazing, too. Quick thinking.” Drawing closer, he gently takes your hand and looks the boy, and then you in the eye. “Are you all right?”

You put on a brave face. “At least they’re gone, right? No one - no one was hurt.”

The boy nods meekly next to you, and Kellan smiles, squeezing your hand. “Yeah.”

You smile back, ignoring the looks you receive from the Marleyans. “Can I see your prescriptions, too?”

“Of course,” Kellan nods, letting you go to take it from his messenger bag. 

When he hands it to you, you hold the lists with both hands and fall in line.

Your fingers are still shaking.

-

It feels like months have passed by the time you get home. You parted ways with Kellan and Ben—the boy—not long after you arrived back at the zone. Kellan offered to walk you home, but his house is the opposite direction from the Fingers’, and you didn’t want to trouble him. 

The truth is his words before you arrived at the pharmacy were still ringing in your mind, and the idea of him taking you to Pieck’s didn’t sit well with you. She’s still out when you visit, so you end up helping Mr. Finger dust their living room and bookshelf that afternoon—and resist his desired reordering of it, expressing your misgivings about how Pieck might not like that very much. You manage to distract him by pointing out that the laundry still needs folding, and he had better start with dinner in the meantime.

Pieck is none the wiser about how you saved her system when she comes home, and you enjoy a quiet dinner with them. She tells you all about their lunch - the cadets took over the entire conversation during meal, given how excited they were to have Reiner there, especially Gabi. Mr. Finger is all too happy to listen, and thankfully doesn’t press you about your own affairs that night when you decline the first instance. You and Pieck share a look then—an understanding that you’ll talk about your own day another time, away from her father’s ears.

The Yeagers are in bed when you come home. Of course they have leftovers for you, even when they know you were meant to have dinner with the Fingers today. You resolve to eat it for breakfast tomorrow. You decide you’re too tired to even bathe when you finally get to the stairs.

You know the upstairs hallway well enough that you don’t turn the lights on when you get there, so it’s impossible to miss that Zeke’s door is ajar, the lamp at his bedside table spilling warmth onto the floorboards outside.

His door creaks as you nudge it further open. Zeke is in bed, a book splayed open on his chest while his head is laid against his headboard. Eyes closed, lips parted, Mr. Ksaver’s glasses still on his nose—he must have fallen asleep reading again.

“Zeke,” you sigh, shaking your head. 

You approach his bed and lift one knee over it, reaching over to take the glasses off—when he grabs your wrist out of the air, eyes flying open with suspicion and fear.

“Easy,” you grunt.

His gaze and his body relax with a slouch at the sight and sound of you, and you release each other as he lays back. “Hey,” he says, blinking dry eyes up at you as he briefly lifts his elbow to his mouth for a yawn. His free hand motions to the space by the foot of the bed, though it stiffens somewhat as he takes a good look at you.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink yourself, trying not to look too obvious about the answer. You don’t feel like talking about it right now anyway. “Nothing, I’m just… tired.”

After a scrutinizing pause, he pats his bed again instead of insisting. When you take a seat at the very edge of his mattress - you’re still in your out clothes, after all - he asks, “How was the family reunion?”

You shrug. “I guess… The way we’d expect. They want me to stay with them while they’re in the city.”

Zeke sits up. “Really?”

“I’m not doing that,” you mutter, glaring aside as you think of lunch earlier today. “I don’t know how Willy expects me to play nice after everything. And Lara… she’s no better nowadays.”

Zeke scratches the back of his ear. “But you love Lara.”

The certainty in his voice makes you remember it despite your disappointment. “I - well, I’m having dinner with them, anyway. For Willy’s birthday.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Zeke says dismissively. He’s leaned over a little closer to watch for your expression. 

You whip your head at him in a frown, and he almost laughs. “You know you don’t have to pretend you don’t miss them to me.”

You continue to glare at him, but this time he shoots you a look, straightening somehow to remind you how much taller he is, even when he’s leaned back against his headboard again. He knows you well enough now to see through this. With a sigh, you draw your knees up to your chest under your dress, still sitting as close to the mattress’s edge as possible, and cross your arms over them.

“I do miss them,” you sigh. “But things will never go back to the way they were. They’re just so - so - they’re so—”

Zeke helps you along with a, “So…”

“So different!” you groan, and bury your nose and mouth under your arms in embarrassment for the little outburst. “I know it. I’ve known it for a while. Especially since father died. But…” 

Head against your arms, you look to him as though he can change anything for you. “Why can’t things just stay the same? I know why, but… why?”

Zeke is quiet as he listens to you, lips pursed slightly as if in thought. Suddenly you feel guilt. You’re whining about the good old days when you were happy, knowing full well what he went through as a boy. Knowing your childhood, so carefree, was worlds different from his own.

“Sorry,” you say, wincing at your stupidity again. “I know I’m being selfish.”

Zeke shrugs. “I didn’t say that. I was going to say—” His chest shudders a little as he inhales, but his voice is steady when he opens his arms to you. A promise in a single motion. “Some things can stay the same.”

You hold each other’s gazes, his with the offer and yours unsure of the truth of it. There’s still so much you don’t know, still want to know about these past six years, but you can save that for later. You’ve done it before.

“I’m in my out clothes,” you confess.

“That sounds like a Lucy problem,” he admits in turn.

You smile as he does, and with a grateful huff, you lean closer and dip into his arms, burying your face into his chest. He still smells like—like every good memory you had in the past in spite of every horror you’ve learned since leaving the Tybur estate almost a decade and a half ago. Like Zeke, and like a little more that you refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re not gonna kick me again if I let you sleep in my room tonight, are you?” he asks. Your muffled laugh makes him do the same.

Even then, as his arms tighten around you and you breathe in the scent of him, you both know his promise is a lie. But neither of you cares to pull away just yet, either.

When you finally do, Zeke sets a pillow between you, just like before, and you lay with your head in your arms again, looking up at him as he settles down himself. 

“Do you... want to tell me a story?” you ask. You had a family reunion. So had he, weeks ago.

His gaze shifts to you almost sharply, but the surprise blunts it. You can feel it—that he knows Pieck told you something, and that he knows you know he knows. You expect him to reply with sarcasm, the way he always has when you prod too quickly before he’s ready, but he only shakes his head.

“Another time,” he says, though it’s more of a question between you.

“Okay,” you agree with a small smile.

He returns it… until yours starts to slip. And then he smirks. “Can’t stand being in those clothes, can you?”

The disgust finally makes its way to your face. “It’s awful.”

Zeke lets out a knowing snicker and groans as he crawls off the bed. “I’ll get your pajamas. Think I still have some of your old ones here—you can’t have grown that much, right?”

You rear your foot back in preparation.

////////

I’ve been excited to write this chapter showing the Tybur dynamic forever! I know people might disagree with my interpretation of them, but let’s just say - Lara has a lot going on. As for Willy, for all that he does in the canon story and for all his charisma, my view of him is he very much assists in perpetuating a certain cycle, and that he would have a hard time with Lucy even if he means well.

Yes, Lucy = indecisive hypocrite, but what Tybur isn't? JK I love the Tyburs but I hope you can stick this out to see how things go. 

Thank you for reading despite the wait!

#zeke x reader #zeke x oc #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager x oc #zeke jaeger x oc #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #haliyam #interim #interim vii

[queenofbaws]

Hello!! I just want to say that I didn’t realize it until today when I watched yet another YouTuber play Until Dawn, but your The (Almost)s fic legitimately cured my Until Dawn sadness and is totally how I see the game now. So thank you again for writing that fic. I actually started reading your other fics (about them in the CREPE group heheh) but life caught up with me and I couldn’t review them properly or finish them yet, but my gosh they are such a treat and SO PERFECT. Thank you again!!

aksldjfkalsjflkdjfas omg, you have me crying over here!!!! ahhhhHHH thank you so much, you are way, way too kind 😭 t(a) was such a personal project and quite frankly just sort of my baby for so long, and any time i hear that it resonated like that with someone else, i can't even begin to describe the feeling...and the crepes ghost hunting au was really, truly meant to be a dumb little break for my brain that turned into its own little world when i wasn't looking, ha!!!

thank YOU for reading my stuff - you guys are literally 100% what's helped get me through the pandemic and all my health stuff, i stg!!! i am always so humbled and flattered whenever i hear someone enjoyed something i wrote, and opening my inbox to this just absolutely filled me with the ooiest, gooiest, warm and fuzzy feelings, so thank YOU!!!!! :')

#haliyam #asks #the almosts #ghost hunting au #im over here clutchin at my chest and making dying whale noises you have no idea #all yall supermassive peeps are just too too sweet to me i stg T_T hehehe

[youcancallmeskyy]

mental olaraq berkcanin buneamk reunionundaki haliyam

[riukki]

Colored halfbody sketch commission for haliyams ✨

#artists on tumblr #commission #ffxiv #ffxiv au ra #ffxiv commission #comm

[sialyxz]

Icon+ Commissions for @tiramango, @haliyam, @invaderchauy and @capricornrabies ❤

#artists on tumblr #snk oc #aot oc #dnd oc

[jaloliddin-ravshan]

Top 10 Languages Used On the Internet for 2020 English language is predominant on the internet. The dominance has been relatively historically and is still is.  Internet asrida Ingliz tilining ustunligi va ahamiyati tobora oshib bormoqda. Bu tilni bilish kasbiy va shaxs sifatida oʻsishda maʼlumot olish uchun deyarli har qanday eshikni ocha oladigan kalitga ega boʻlish demakdir. Bizda haliyam koʻpchilik rus tili bilan qanoatlanadi, vaholanki atigi bitta davlatda foydalaniladigan Yapon tilidagi maʼlumotlar internetda rus tilidagidan koʻproq https://www.instagram.com/p/CCEAHeDga8xwtBAGzuax60cSX8ZC35aQAAn2Kg0/?igshid=5jrtilgfx0hl

[bigzippersportsvoid]

Oliy maqsadlaring sari harakatka tushkaningda. Insonlarga axmoqdek ko'rinasan. Hech bir muvaffaqiyatli ish bahslarsiz amalga oshmaydi. 1 Tomas Edison bir vaqtlar xatto maktab o'qituvchisi bu insonni aqli zayifga chiqaradi. Shunga qaramasdan u inson lampochkani ixtiro qildi. 2 Bil Geyts 1970 yilda. 2010 yilga kelib hammani uyida kompyuter bo'ladi deganda butun zal kulib ichagi uzulib qoley degan. Hozirga kelib nafaqat uyimizda qo'limizda bo'lib ketti u ixtiro qilgan dasturli kompyuter. ( Mobile aloqada Microsoft dasturi bor). 3 Donald Tramp aytadi Negadir men boshlagan ishlarni eshitib kulganlar xozir men bilan ko'rishishni orzu qilishadi. 4 Kristiano Ronaldo. Maktabda orzulari haqida aytib berganda. O'qituvchisi futbol bilan oila boqib bo'lmeydi degan ekan. Hulosa sizdan. Bugun agar siz biron bir maqsad qo'yishka qo'rqyotkan bo'lsangiz. Siz yutkazasiz siz haliyam odamlarni fikri bilan yuribsiz shaxsiy fikr yo'q sizda. https://www.instagram.com/p/B-z9ElBgCIO/?igshid=15wpssj6zw16y

[sardorbekmamadaminov]

Rossiyada haliyam qish #q #w #e #r #t #y #u #i #o #p #a #s #d #f #g #h #j #k #l #z #x #c #v #b #n #m #uz #uzb #uzbek #uzbekistan #uzbekiston #tula #rossiya #rus #ru #insta #instagram #love #qor #bahor #april #qish #toshkent #tashkent #sardor #buxara #bukhara #тула #ру #рус #снег #зима #follow #qiziriq #surxondaryo #salom #sardor https://www.instagram.com/p/BwUGLuRB8kx/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1l73x5z47rz1v

#q #w #e #r #t #y #u #i #o #p #a #s #d #f #g #h #j #k #l #z #x #c #v #b #n #m #uz #uzb #uzbek #uzbekistan

[moqina-net-blog]

Makkora kundosh

Uyda televizor ko‘rib o‘tirsam, birdan telefon jiringlab qoldi. Go‘shakni ko‘tardim, xolamning qizi ekan. Qarindoshlarimiz orasida dangalchiligiyu rostgo‘yligi bilan hurmat qozongan Vasila opamning ovozini eshitib, xursand bo‘lib ketdim. — Assalomu alaykum, ishlaringiz yaxshimi? — Ha, zo‘rman, o‘zing-chi? Yuribsanmi haliyam erim zo‘r, undan yaxshisi yo‘q, deb. Qishloqdagi gaplar rostmi? Ering yana nima ish qildi? — Qan... Читать дальше »

#xayotiy xikoyalar

[uzbekkino-blog]

Dilshod Rahmonov – Men seni haliyam kutyapman (konsert jarayoni) 2016 Официальный сайт: Подпишись на новые клипы RizaNova @ Google+ RizaNova @ Instagram

[haliyam]

Asset

zeke x reader/oc, slight levi x reader/oc

summary: Levi slips into the Liberio internment zone during the festival and finds himself distracted. (Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead)

Reader does have a background that’s hinted at, default name Lucy, but if you have the InteractiveFics browser extension, please feel free to use it to change your first name! This is actually part of a series I'm hoping to write (brain willing lol), but this can stand alone too.

AO3 link if you prefer to read there

hello! i haven’t been on tumblr in a while but stumbling back into aot made me need to write something, and everyone’s fics and gifs here are amazing! 

--

Jean looks around, tilting the brim of his hat forward just before they cover his eyes. “You sure about this, Captain?”

“Nothing wrong with making sure they haven’t caught on,” Levi nods, adjusting the lapel of his jacket. “Or that that bastard hasn’t changed his mind and informed on us to his superiors.”

Jean’s eyes flicker to his at the very thought. He spots a familiar hesitation in them, but it’s quickly fettered away with a nod. When Levi is sure he has nothing more to say, he returns it, and Jean departs for the crowd with a casual swagger that belies his doubt.

Levi hasn’t asked them their opinions on this operation. Of course, they’ve all offered it anyway—but Hange has decided, and he trusts their decision. On that point, the Scouts had all agreed. 

Today the internment zone gates are open to all visitors, Eldian or not. Triangular streamers of all colors canopy the streets, and flutes and drums and instruments he’s never heard sound out in joyous cacophony in the near distance, tempting curious ears from beyond the gates. The festival is definitely a trap—but admittedly, a beautiful one. He’s never seen this much cheer since Historia’s ascension, or maybe since they retook Wall Maria. Back then he hadn’t exactly participated, much less left his quarters until it was later and Hange insisted he show himself… but this celebration is in full swing. Between Jean, Connie, and Sasha, Jean was the best choice to bring along. He’s the most likely to stay on track.

...Which is why it shames Levi when he’s caught off guard staring into a stall filled with all kinds of … food, he can only guess. Onyankopon introduced them to new desserts, but this is different. Bright and vivid, the tangy scent of them fills the air, but they’re not lollipops or candy or chocolate. He was supposed to turn the corner into an alley  right before this one when he spotted it, and now…

“Here.”

A packet of one of the strange desserts is shoved into his face so quickly that he almost darts back. He reins it in at the last minute, only fixing a glare upon whoever dared invade his personal space like that, much less present themselves as a threat.

You.

A young woman in a simple dress, hand clasped around a packet of mouth-watering orange-yellow strips of the stuff. 

“Here,” you smile politely, apparently unfazed by the suspicion he levels at you.

“What is that?”

“Dried mangoes,” you reply, taking a step or two closer to let your arm relax. “You were looking at them, right? They come chocolate-covered, too, but I say try these before the other variants.”

He doesn’t answer. The people manning the stalls beneath the vivid tents in the festival have all been  overly  friendly, but that’s par for the course, and they know to turn to their next prospective customer when he quickly walks past. Damn his own eyes. They almost make him regret his rule not to accept anything from anyone unvetted.  “No thanks.”

Now you give him a different look. A curious one, which makes him almost curse under his breath. He’s supposed to blend in; not draw attention to himself. Levi turns away, heading down the road again and meaning to turn for the alley once he’s shaken you, but you’re already walking next to him.

“Have we met?” you ask, still looking at him.

“No.” He thinks he would remember if you had. And this isn’t good. Now you’ll try to commit his face to memory.

But you look away instead as you bar his way once more—down, to be specific, so you can fish a small piece of the dessert from the packet and take a bite. “Not poisoned,” you promise, clearly biting back a grin while you pause to chew. Infuriatingly, you begin to mirror his squint. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

He stares at you, and is still deciding between bewilderment or irritation when you continue, “It’s not a bad thing. I’m glad that you decided to drop by.”

“What?”

At least the look he gives you makes you recoil just a little now. That’s more what Levi is accustomed to. But it doesn’t stop you from talking. “You’re not from the zone,” you answer, motioning to his bandless left arm. “Not many outsiders want to come, in spite of the festival… so thank you for giving it a chance.”

You extend your arm again, your hand and the packet almost touching his chest in this renewed offer. 

He really shouldn’t be doing this. He should be pointing you toward a distraction and leaving, or otherwise putting you off to the extent that you voluntarily leave him alone yourself. But the hope in your gaze is too tender to spoil, reminds him of too many in the past who deserved more than him to be here now—or it’s the festival getting to him. 

With a sigh, Levi takes a strip of dried mango from the packet and watches your lips curve upward into a bright smile. He shakes his head, barely just stopping from rolling his eyes as he thinks about how you probably picked a dessert far too sweet for his tastes—but he’s in for another shock when he takes a bite and finds it sour instead. Well, sweet in parts and sour in others. It’s different, but he doesn’t dislike it at all.

It must show on his face as he chews, which is terrible, because you take it as an invitation to speak again. “They’re from the southeastern archipelago. Eldia never conquered much of that continent—and thank goodness for that,” you seem to add quickly for good measure, “but it did pick up a few of their delicacies. It’s common Eldian fare whenever they’re in season.”

“I see,” he says, just to be forgettable. “Thank you.” It’s likely that being rude will make someone like you remember him more, and that isn’t his goal here today. As he swallows the strip (it was too small), Levi almost doesn’t notice you nudging him forward toward the next stall. But he does, and he gives you a look. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You grin sheepishly, knowing you’ve been caught. “I never meet non-Eldians within the zone. Especially none like you. I'm going to tour you around the stalls a little - I know the scents might be confusing, and the armbands are… well. But there are good, honest people here.”

“That so?” the remark is aimed toward you, because his suspicions remain, but he realizes his mistake when your eyes look even more earnest than before.

“There are. And good food, as you can tell,” you say proudly. You offer him the packet again. “Let me show you.”

He should really get going. He and Jean mean to rendezvous in an hour, and he still hasn’t left the festival grounds. 

But the look in your eyes tells him you’re going to be very annoying if he refuses. Or maybe that’s what he tells himself when he lets you.

This is how Levi finds himself guided around the festival that afternoon, getting all sorts of history lessons on food (and tea) as he tries them - but only bites, and very reluctantly of course, because he doesn’t care to get too full before tonight, when his stomach has already begun to turn. It’s that he knows he has no right to enjoy himself with the novelty of this event, with the optimism in your quiet laughter when he balks at the spicy undercurrent in the skewer of meat you have the audacity to stick into his hand. Not when he knows what’s going to happen tonight. Not when he doesn’t even know your name.

You tell him, finally, when you take a break by a quiet corner in the festival. Over here they’re selling older Eldian art pieces, some painted and others carved figurines, and the scent of lacquered wood faintly invades his senses. He gets a brief respite only when you lean closer to him to let a passing merchant through. Lilies. “I’m Lucy. I thought you should know the name of your tour guide.”

The name sounds familiar. It’s probably a common one he heard during their last visit. 

You’re holding your hand out to him, expectation now in your gaze. He’s clearly spoiled you.

Levi stares at your hand. He doesn’t care to shake it, but again—better to be forgettable. He wracks his mind for a name.

“Kenny.”

Kenny? Levi inwardly sighs.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kenny.” You exchange a good, solid handshake, but you are quick to pull away immediately after. Why? Has he been compromised?

He hopes not, as you give him a reassuring smile and look ahead. At the far, far end of the next avenue is the plaza where the crowds will settle tonight, but you can’t see it from here. “Are you here for Willy’s play tonight?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“Between you and me,” you say, leaning just a bit closer again as you move on from the area and smile at a waving shopkeep, “It’s probably going to be boring. I would leave after the festival.”

Levi looks down at you, meets your gaze with a critical eye for the first time since your meeting. He ignores the way the afternoon sun sets a golden highlight around your hair. “You think so?”

If you notice, you deflect his look with a little snort. “The Tyburs,” you almost spit the name, with a venom not unfamiliar to someone in his line of work but uncharacteristic enough of what he’s seen of you that he spares you a blink. “The Tybur family’s official policy is to leave the rest of the Eldians on the wayside while they live in their beautiful estates. Why speak now?” Your hand, gentle all this time paying the vendors, passing him food, tossing it in your mouth, now clenches at your side. “He’s a coward. So…”

You trail off, biting your tongue as you turn away briefly. Hatred is something far too familiar for Levi to balk at, and so he doesn’t. Because it wasn’t hatred he saw in your eyes, but a strange defeat. He has to wonder, but he stops himself before he can. That will be moot after tonight.

“He’s saying something now,” he replies blankly, letting you hear the shrug in his tone. He doesn’t really care to defend someone with only a few hours left to live, but maybe he feels guilty for knowing even that much. Death has always been a certainty in his life, but the how and the when? “Some people never say anything at all.”

His words break you out of your stupor. It appears you weren’t really talking to him after all, but now he wishes he bit his tongue. The idea of you leaving before the play actually sounds like a good one, and he should not have gainsaid it.

“I suppose you have a point,” you say, looking slightly abashed at your outburst. Sighing, you gesture around the area. “So what do you think? Not bad for a home of devils, right?”

The question has him turning toward you so sharply that you begin to squirm under his gaze. The truth is you’ve been able to deflect his uninterested, even hostile expressions so far, but this one is new. His eyes are walled off for the most part, but a telling indignation flashes across his grey eyes so quickly you wonder if you even saw it. He sees it in the way you search them.

You gulp and then clear your throat. “I lived here when I was younger,” you explain, appearing both frightened and encouraged. Ultimately unable to withstand his gaze, you start to walk again, down the road toward the plaza. 

He hardly notices himself following suit. “You left?” You were allowed to?

“My family isn’t from Liberio,” you admit, slowing to keep apace. “I came here to join the Warrior program when I was little.”

Now the expression in his eyes is indecipherable, but curiosity gives it the smallest edge as his gaze flits to your armband. Pale grey, almost white. 

“I didn’t make it,” you say, quickly, since bringing up Marley’s prized Warriors with anyone from outside of the motherland is an awful idea this soon, “so I was called back home. But I had fond memories of this place, all things considered, and now I’ve chosen it as mine.”

A strange feeling now worms its way into Levi’s chest. He’s already managed to shut off his thoughts and apprehensions about tonight’s operation - they can’t afford doubts, after all, and anyway those have never stopped him from getting the job done - but it makes him uncomfortable.

“Where do you live?”  Will you be spared the worst of it?  

You look surprised, but you smile all the same. “A few blocks from here. An old doctor and his family let me stay with them when I was little, and I still stay there now. Now I… work at the hospital in the zone.”

“You’re a doctor too?”

The question seems to dismay you. “Not exactly.”

He frowns before he can help it. “You’re pretty dodgy for a tour guide.”

Now you can’t help but laugh in what almost looks like offense. “Me? I’m the one who’s been talking about myself, between the two of us,” you say, your indignation diluted with your ringing mirth. It sounds clearly over the din. “I don’t even know where you’re from!”

“You do. Not here.”

Levi feels the side of his mouth quirk when you laugh at such a small remark, but you manage to get a hold of yourself before he can respond. 

You meet his gaze again, shaking your head in disbelief, and something appears to click in your mind as your lips part with revelation. 

“You’re a war veteran, aren’t you?’

Levi graces you with another blink. “What?”

“I won’t ask where,” you promise again, raising a hand in surrender. “You just remind me of someone I’ve met at the hospital.”

He quirks a brow. “How should I take that?”

“Oh! Not as an insult!” you laugh again, covering your mouth, but your lips are pursed, still stifling another smile when you lower your hand. It takes another moment for you to compose yourself. “I meant rather that… you have soulful eyes.”

His soulful eyes stare straight at you, utterly deadpan. “Soulful.”

You stand by it, clearly suppressing mirth again. “Soulful.”

Levi sighs with some exasperation, as if to wonder how his life choices have led to him having to put up with all this, and it must be the most you’ve gotten out of this man since you interrupted his consideration of those snacks. Somehow you can tell that even his irritation should flatter you. “Anyway,” you say, when he seems resigned to all this, “if you aren’t completely sold on watching the play tonight, maybe you can drop by the hospital instead.”

Levi narrows his eyes at you. “Why would I do that?”

“Well… we don’t get visitors often. But the patients always appreciate them.” After a pause, you add, “Not always. But even just sitting with them is something.”

His furrowed brow relaxes. Not that he’ll be able to say yes - not that he wants to - and not that he’s ever cared all that much for bleeding hearts. It’s really more the determination in your gaze that gets him. Like you’re not exactly going to take no for an answer, or worse, and maybe closer to his heart, that you refuse to let the possibility cross your mind. 

“There’s one patient I would love to introduce to you,” you continue, when you catch the hesitation in his silence. “He calls himself K—“

“Lucy?”

A familiar voice calls your name from amid the crowd. The smile that simply illuminates your features as you turn to look over your shoulder draws Levi’s eyes to yours rather than to your mouth this time.

Before you can look, a pair of arms encircles your waist, a beard nuzzling your neck while you squirm and laugh, trying to elbow your way out of the embrace to no avail. It’s token resistance that leads only to his nose nudging at your jaw, mouth grazing your neck. “Zeke, stop!”

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” he murmurs, his glasses nudging your cheek, whisper tickling your skin. “Meeting ran late. You know how Magath is.”

“I know,” you say as you manage to wrangle your way out of his grasp. “But please don’t do that in front of my new—“

You glance to the side with an apology ready for him, but Levi has disappeared. Your hands grasp Zeke’s sleeve for balance as you get on your tiptoes, but you cannot spot his hat among the crowd.

“—friend.” You frown. “He was just here.” 

Zeke quirks a brow. “Who?”

“Kenny,” you say. “He was wearing a dark suit and a fedora. Just a little taller than me, black hair… you didn’t see him? And—are you all right?” You reach for his fingers, kneading at the pads of them with yours. “Your hands are so cold.”

Zeke shakes his head, dismissing your second question. “A little taller than you,” he enunciates instead, withdrawing his hands to make a show of stroking his beard. “So did I see another runt? The answer is no, sorry.”

You give his hip a light smack. “I’m not a runt. I’m taller than Pieck!”

“By an inch.” When you make a face at him, Zeke smiles, hands pawing at your shoulders before running down your back and pulling you to him, your chest flush against the wall of his stomach. “Do you want us to look for your Kenny?” he asks, his thumb ghosting your lip. 

“He’s not my Kenny,” you give him a look, even though he knows his hands are already giving you other ideas. His other one is stroking your waist. “I just thought he looked lost.”

“My bleeding heart,” he says fondly. “You can’t save everyone.”

You shoot him a look that he ignores. This isn’t the place to get into that discussion, so you shrug it off. “I guess I  was  imposing on him. At one point he seemed like he’d rather drink rotten milk than listen to me. I just thought we’d built a rapport...”

Zeke snorts. “Okay, okay. I’ll listen to you.”

You squint at him. “Don’t let me twist your arm.”

He grins, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. “I think I let you do a lot more to me than just that, Miss Blanchard.”

The flush that predictably spreads across your face makes him laugh, that warm, hearty chuckle that makes your knees weak. He bends down to touch your lips with his, smiling when you seek his mouth to deepen the kiss. Your hand fists around his shirt, the slightest hum of enjoyment from your throat drawing him further into your thrall, but the nudge of a passerby makes him pull away after a moment. His lips envy the disappointed pout that seizes yours as he closes your hand around his. Zeke lifts it to plant a more chaste kiss to your knuckles in apology. 

“But before all that,” he says, “how about that festival date you promised me?”

Zeke gives you a questioning look, as though a part of him might actually doubt that you’ll say yes. Really it’s that he wonders if you’ll still gaze at him with those tender eyes this time tomorrow, but you can’t possibly know that. 

You shrug, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’ll let you twist my arm.”

“You let me do a lot more—“

“Yeager...”

“Heh heh.” He withdraws his hand so he can wrap an arm around you instead as he guides you back to the heart of the festival. “I ran into the others while looking for you. The kids wouldn’t shut up about some good wrap nearby—and while their faces were full of pizza. What do you think?” 

You lean against him, unable to help the warmth that you practically radiate as he holds you. He knows it too, pulling you closer. You shrug him off briefly to take a last glance around for Kenny, but he really is nowhere to be found. 

Ducking back under Zeke’s arm, you smile. “Why not?”

Out of sight, trying to stave off the nausea, Levi watches the pair of you walk away from beside one of the many festival stands littering the avenue. How couldn’t he have realized who you are? Lucy is the name of the asset that sack of shit wants retrieved before the operation begins. He had wondered why, thought it some political ploy that would come into play later on. He didn’t expect the reason to be so... mundane.

He can’t believe he almost felt worried. He knew there had to be something strange about you, ignoring how he was clearly trying to get away. Had you been taunting him? A trap, just like this festival?

It hadn’t seemed like it. Your smile appeared to be genuine.

Not that it matters. He gets smiles all the time that he doesn’t care for; why should a beautiful woman’s remain with him or be any more noteworthy than another’s? 

Dismissing the sight lingering in his mind’s eye, Levi turns for his true objective. He’s wasted enough time. 

...And anyway, any person who would take up with that monster probably has some skeletons of her own.

Levi supposes he’ll find out later. 

---

Thank you for reading! :)

The series I mentioned planning should be zeke x reader/oc, but because levi is very tempting, I'm also planning/considering a levi/reader AU (or ending??) of the ending post-rumbling (we'll see). 

EDIT: This is a oneshot which can stand on its own, but if you're interested in a series I've posted the first two chapters of interim, the first of the Zeke-centered fics I mentioned I intended to write! It's a prequel that starts in Liberio after Zeke, Pieck, and Reiner come home post-S3. It'll go into Reader/Lucy's relationship with the Warriors, particularly Zeke, + how exactly they ended up where they are here in Asset. Levi makes a return appearance once we get to the sequel to Asset, going into the Raid on Liberio and onward.

EDIT 2: And if you'd like something completely Zeke-focused in the same year as Asset, here is a short fluff oneshot to accompany art I commissioned of Zeke and Lucy. It will have Lucy's appearance there (and I suppose her appearance is a spoilerish for the family name which you will discover in interim chapter 1), so if you don't want to see what she looks like then don't click it or just scroll down before the art loads. XD these trivial moments takes place some time before Asset, but still within the month that passes between the end of the Marley Mid-East War and the Raid on Liberio.

#zeke x reader #zeke x oc #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x oc #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger x oc #levi x reader #levi x oc #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x oc #slight #eventually maybe #zeke yeager #levi ackerman #jean cameo because i love him #aot #snk #haliyam #asset

[youcancallmeskyy]

her seyi siktir etme ve her seye cox ozenle yanasmanin beden tapmis haliyam, ozum ozumu tekzib edirem cox vaxt

[haliyam]

interim (vi)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 5

After a million years, Chapter 6. Thank you so much for your patience!

As usual, Reader default name Lucy is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background and family name. But feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension!

Chapter 6

You’ve started to grow accustomed to cleanup duty. It’s disgusting, but scrubbing the toilet floor is still respite from constant physical exertion, and the repeated motions it demands allow you to retreat into your mind—though, unfortunately, that still provides you no quarter.

What would father think if he saw you now?

His voice sounds clear in your head, as if you last saw him yesterday. You are a Tybur, or you are nothing, he enunciates in that grim baritone. And if you fail, then you were nothing all along, and undeserving of the Tybur name to begin with.

Is this what he wants? For you to become nothing to become worthy of the name, of the Titan he bears? The thought of his disappointment is terrifying, but you would be lying if you claimed it as the only reason you have begun to lower your gaze from Captain Magath’s during formations.

You are a Tybur, but you are also six years old. No matter the endurance training your father put you through as an even younger child, you are as fallible as any of the Eldian children who are your peers. You’ve learned it the hard way, even if part of you still refuses to face it. It’s easier not to when you have your own survival to consider.

“Hah… hah…”

The white noise of your brush scrubbing across the floor screeches to a halt, as do your thoughts, when you hear the familiar sound of wheezing outside.

No longer bothering to dust your knees as you get up, you tiptoe toward the exit and find a familiar sight. It’s that dark-haired girl who’s been bothering you after training; the one who told you to play a good Eldian for Magath. You never spoke to, much less noticed her before you fell from grace with the captain, but now she’s the only one who still makes eye contact with you. You guess it makes sense. She and a few others are also in trouble with the instructors, only for doing so terribly in the physical exams. You’re the only one stupid enough for insubordination.

You stare at each other, your hand gripping the brush while she has hers to the wall and another on her knees.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Catching my breath,” she answers, obviously but without a tone, even if you still feel dumb for asking. After a moment, she explains, “Nickel… has us doing rounds around the offices.”

Right. It’s supposed to help them build endurance if they train more than the others in the class. Or so the others say, but this girl just looks as tired as ever. Or like she never gets any sleep to start with.

You really shouldn’t care. You should focus on your own survival, on ensuring your selection as a candidate, like Zeke, so that you don’t fail father.

You can’t help it. “...Are you okay?”

She’s still catching her breath. “Perfect.”

“Finger!” a furious bark you now know all too well sounds out in that long stretch between the HQ’s walls and the building. “Who told you you could stop running!?”

Finger freezes in time with you. “Bye,” she whispers, and quickly tries to set out again. She’s made a respectable but still pitiful distance away by the time Instructor Nickel finds you in the bathroom again, trying to pretend you’ve been scrubbing by the door all this time. You can’t help but peek out and watch for Finger’s progress.

“And who told you you could take breaks, Blanchard?” he asks, forcing you to stop when your brush nearly hits his boot. “Was it Koslow? Marras? On your feet!”

You get to them, spreading them apart and folding your arms behind your back when he acknowledges your salute. Much as it pains you, you stare ahead, gaze to his stomach. “Sir! No one told me I could take breaks, sir!”

“Is that so?” Nickel sneers. “Then why is it that—”

Another familiar sound cuts him off. A light yelp, a thud, and the shuffling grunt of someone trying to get up.

Nickel pauses, straightens, and steps outside. You can’t help but follow after a moment.

“Finger,” you gasp, barely thinking when you grip your brush and run over to her, to Nickel’s snarl of protest. You don’t hear him—you’re crouched in front of the girl, brush on the floor as you try to lift her by the arms while she coughs, squinting at you in confusion.

“What... are you doing?” she mutters, still swaying in your grasp.

“You’re all cold,” you frown, feeling her frigid fingertips through your sleeve as they curl weakly around your arm. “You gotta stop or you’re going to faint.”

Even with her lips a sickly pallor, she tries to shake you off. Especially when Nickel’s heavy footsteps draw closer. “You’ll get us both in trouble,” she says urgently.

“But—”

“Blanchard,” Nickel spits darkly, now looming over you both, “you should have just told me you wanted to help Finger so badly. Once you finish cleanup duty, you’ll run the rest of her laps around the offices.”

Just the thought makes you want to vomit right now. It’ll be nightfall by the time you finish cleaning. But Finger is still forcing herself to stand, and she looks paler than she already is shaking her head at you, gesturing that you renounce her in some way to avoid all this.

You really shouldn’t care.

“Yes, sir,” you say, voice trembling not out of fear or apprehension, both of which you do feel, but out of an attempt to control your growing fury. Can’t he see that this girl is about to faint? “But Finger needs to go to the infirm—”

“DID I ASK YOUR OPINION, BLANCHARD?” his voice booms so suddenly that you take a step back.

Your chest rises and falls in shock and fear and fury all at once. You wish father were here, to crush him with just a fist. You have to inherit the War Hammer Titan one day, if only so you can do it yourself.

“N-No, sir! Sorry, sir!” Your pride tells you to ram your head into the wall for that pathetic stammer. You can feel the way Nickel savors the emotion thick in your voice.

“I thought not.” Huffing, he lets the mirth in his eyes dance between you and Finger. “Finger, you’ll finish this lap if you have to do it crawling. Blanchard—report to the captain’s office when you’re done with cleanup. Five extra laps for thinking a filthy Eldian like you gets to bargain.”

You breathe through your nostrils, exchanging a brief look with Finger. Hers is one of gratitude and apology as she brushes your trembling arm and leaves as ordered.

Alone with Nickel, you lower your gaze. “Yes, sir.”

-

Porco is apparently a gossip, because Marras asks you about Kellan the very next day during lunch at HQ. He only shrugs at the look you give him, chewing his food innocently while you insist to your former instructor that it’s only someone helping you with upcoming schoolwork. Marras looks prepared to voice his thoughts when he remembers that Colt is around, and chooses to walk away instead.

Zeke has some top secret meeting elsewhere this morning, so you find yourself eating lunch with Porco and Colt today. Usually the younger candidates or Zeke acts as a buffer between you and Porco, but they’re still in the trenches, so to speak, with Koslow—so it’s really Zeke’s mentee who carries the conversation between the three of you.

“That’s strange,” says Colt, watching Marras take a seat next to another group of Marleyan soldiers. “I didn’t think he would ever be interested in an Eldian’s private affairs. I guess he really does care about you, Miss Lucy.”

You and Porco exchange glances by accident. He snorts, looking down at his plate. “I don’t know about that one.”

“It’s not any kind of ‘affair,’” you insist. “Kellan is just—”

“Helping you with schoolwork, I’m sure,” Porco finishes for you, shaking his head. “That must be why the guy carried all your groceries to your house when he should have been working.”

“Oh,” Colt says, nodding with the same knowing look as the man next to him. He almost sounds like Mrs. Yeager.

You sigh. It’s true that you’re lying just a little, because while Kellan is just helping you study ahead of the year, you also find him appealing in the way everyone seems to expect you to. But it feels like that line of thinking should be off-limits to your friends among the Warriors, like they’re intruding on something that isn’t their business. Which is hardly how friends work—but the commingling of these groups bothers you.

“Well, enough about me,” you insist, setting down your utensils and crossing your arms over the table to peer at Porco. He’s disliked you ever since he discovered you were a Tybur, back when you were all still just candidates, and you’ve never blamed him. (Maybe a little, right as it happened.) In fact, you’ve felt guilty since all those years ago and even guiltier when you returned home, but the ice between you has thawed somewhat since he teased you yesterday. Part of it even felt good-natured, as far as Porco’s insults go. And the truth is, in spite of your animosity as children, you would like to be friends with him again.

And maybe you deserve a little payback for yesterday. “I heard you’re quite popular with the ladies nowadays, Galliard.”

Colt looks at you with alarm, but Porco only frowns. Not that he can help his own interest, clearly, or the hopeful pink spreading over the bridge of his nose when he asks, “What are you talking about now?”

You smile. “Seems you have fans among the would-be Warrior candidates. Right, Colt?”

Colt laughs nervously when Porco glances over at him. “Yeah… My friends always ask me about you.”

“Really?“ Porco asks.

“Congratulations,” you smile. “You have a legion of fans among an entire population of fifteen-year olds now.”

Porco’s hopeful expression turns sour. “I can’t wait for that guy to find out you’re still this obnoxious. Should’ve warned him.”

You shoot him the same look. “Don’t you dare.”

For a brief second or two, Porco looks taken aback. He almost forgot you could get like this, seeing as you’ve played docile for the entire week you’ve been back. But maybe you’re still more alike than you remember, because he’s not one to take a challenge sitting down either. He chuckles, even if he doesn’t look amused. “What a look when she wants to get her way, eh, Colt? Figures, really.”

You remember yourself at those words, and you try to remember that you’re adults now. Or at least you are. Your shoulders relax. “Just stop being a jerk, Porco.”

“Me? You started it,” he scoffs. “And when am I ever a jerk?”

Colt, who has been watching in confusion since he’s never seen you acknowledge each other’s existence for this long, blinks at the question. He presses his lips between his teeth, a look you mirror perfectly, and the silence makes Porco peer at you both.

“Both of you shut up and eat before Zeke grills my ass for letting you starve or something.”

-

You don’t see Zeke for the rest of the afternoon. Even Colt is eventually held up running errands for the Commander, so you decide to leave early and get your books ready since Kellan didn’t tell you which were best to start with. You sit down at the dining table, making a complete list of them to busy yourself until the doorbell rings.

Kellan is at the door. “Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” you smile, letting him inside and leading him to the dining room. He’s wearing a button-down and slacks and holds only his permit in his hand. He must have left his things back at the university, with his friends.

His friends. You remember yesterday’s optimism, but you don’t feel it at the moment. Your last few attempts at friendship in boarding school had ended with little betrayals. Even the less bigoted Marleyans were either far too competitive, or simply convinced by the rest that keeping your company was not a good idea. It didn’t help when you turned fourteen and became a complete nightmare when you had lost Zeke and Pieck in your blind belief in Mila.

“Lucy?”

You glance up. Kellan holds two books in his hands, and you realize he was saying something.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

He only smiles. “Start with these two. This one gives you a better foundation for all the other subjects,” he says, though he places the thicker one beneath the first. “And this one is used by the most professors in your heaviest subject for the first semester. Just give it a scan when you can.”

You thank him, wanting to kick yourself for making him worry, but you put the rest of your books back in your room and head out without further incident. He tells you about his friends—there are a few more Eldians in his year than yours, but their group consists of two girls and three guys, including Kellan himself. Emma and Anna are twins, the former involved with their childhood friend, Ben, and Anna is still in some manner of courtship with Tomas, though they both deny it.

The more you hear about them, the worse this idea seems to be. Not that you’re afraid of anyone—you would just hate to share a table with anyone who disliked you. It was why you learned to put up with your own company back in school.

But Kellan speaks well of them, and fondly. You wonder if it’s optimism—but Kellan must have faced more hardship and adversity in his life as an Eldian in the zone than you can fathom. This is a truth to every Eldian that isn’t a Tybur, after all, so you know that you can trust his judgment. You can only hope his friends like you.

You arrive at the library, and Kellan quietly explains that it’s customary to give Marleyan students the best spots anywhere, whether it’s in class or the library or at the cafeteria. But Marleyans also believe that Eldians are best unseen, and so their group has always managed to reserve a table at the northeast corner of the second floor without trouble. It’s a cozy little area by a large window that you like as soon as you see it, even if the round table is filled with Kellan’s friends.

But it’s all in your head.

The group smiles as soon as they see you, all rising from their chairs to shake your hand as Kellan introduces you with a whisper.

“It’s nice to meet everyone,” you say.

Emma—you think it’s Emma, since she sits next to Ben—grins. “No need to be so formal. Come on, sit next to me and Anna. Ben, move your bag and let Kellan sit there.”

“What?” Ben frowns. Not at you, he immediately clarifies with a laugh, but Emma shoots him a look. He sends one to Kellan in turn, who only smiles as he takes your side once you settle next to Emma.

“So,” Anna reaches over to lean close, and though she’s Emma’s identical twin, she looks almost exactly like Mrs. Yeager at the moment. “Kellan’s cute, right?”

-

To your relief, Emma quickly shuts down any question about men by her sister and proceeds to talk to you about school so far. What you expect, what you should expect, and much more subtly peppers in how much of a role model Kellan has been to all of them. She goes no further than that, seeing as you all dive into your studies and only occasionally get up to walk around, during which one of the girls always accompanies you. But overall the group is welcoming, and you like them. They seem to like you, too.

But the clock eventually strikes much too late to be out, seeing as you have to make dinner tonight. The others linger, but you also still have to get a permit for the next day, and the day after that, though they don’t really hand them out in advance except to students, so Kellan leaves with you and takes you home after passing by the permit office. By then the sun has almost set, casting a grey-blue haze that obscures the way through the zone even when bright streetlamps abound, but you still know the road home so well that it’s hardly a task to make it there.

“You’ll do fine,” Kellan chuckles, adjusting the strap of his bag over his chest as he glances down at you, leaning against the railing of the little porch outside the house. You were supposed to enter as soon as you arrived, but he asked a question before you could go, and you couldn’t help but linger and chat about school. His plans. His friends. You’re equally eager to hear about them. “Ben almost failed that subject and you’re already reading ahead.”

“Maybe,” you can only chuckle, holding your books close to your chest. “My weakness back in school was—”

You pause when Kellan seems distracted, his gaze shifting from you to something ahead, and you follow it to footsteps coming upon the house. Zeke, who appears to have stopped some ways from you. When he catches your eye, however, he resumes his languid pace, eventually turning to Kellan.

“Hey,” he says, letting the y linger. He’s obviously forgotten Kellan’s name, because his wave turns into wagging his pointer finger as he tries to remember. Or feigns it, but you trust Zeke a little too much to suspect it of him. “You’re here again? Are you staying for dinner too, or do they feed you at your place?”

Your mouth drops at that. “Zeke,” you frown.

Zeke has a smirk under his mustache. He’s clearly joking, you think, like he’s done with you, or even with the Warriors, but Kellan doesn’t know that. It’s plain rude to say to essentially a stranger. You don’t realize, or maybe you just don’t want to believe that that’s exactly Zeke’s intention.

Kellan chuckles before either of you can say anything, pushing himself upright from the railing. “No, he’s right. I can’t stick around anyway—I need to help with cleanup with my cousins since I’m getting home early.”

“Great,” Zeke says, still smiling.

Kellan returns it politely before glancing down at you. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you nod, extra pleasant to make up for Zeke’s behavior. “Same time?”

“I can come a little earlier. We can grab a snack from the cafeteria if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

Kellan waves as he leaves, glancing back to do it again after he turns his back, and it’s once he’s finally gone that you cross your arms at Zeke.

“What was that about?”

“What was what about?” He returns your don’t-think-I’ve-forgotten-what-you-said look with a completely guileless one. “I was just asking a question. I’m sure your friend can take a joke.”

“It’s not that,” you mutter.

Zeke looks down at you. “Then what is it?”

“Never mind,” you grunt. “You know what I mean, you’re just playing dumb.”

“Am not. Tell me.”

Since he wants to act like a child, you do the same and make him watch you roll your eyes before brushing past him and walking away.

“That would be a great exit if we didn’t have chores together,” Zeke calls out with a laugh as you resist the urge to stomp up the porch. You’re a terrible sport and it amuses him so much more than it should. “It’s our turn to make dinner tonight,” he continues. “Or did you forget?”

You’re twisting the front doorknob by then. You stop.

“And I had a feeling you’d forget to drop by Mr. Finger, so I did that for you. You’re welcome.”

Now you turn around with a grimace. “I did forget.” You hate the knowing look he gives you when you finally deign to eye him again. “Was he upset?”

“It’s Mr. Finger. Of course he said he’s so happy you’re on a date or whatever.”

“He didn’t say it like that.”

“He should have,” Zeke chuckles, following you up the steps. “So. What are we making for dinner?”

Still sour, you glance away and shrug. “Something with potatoes. Dr. Yeager must have bought an entire basket of them for you. Since when have you liked potatoes that much, anyway?”

“I don’t. Grisha did.”

The little oh that leaves your lips as you meet his gaze again barely encapsulates the feeling of your stomach dropping. When you said you didn’t know how bad things had gotten—you really didn’t.

“It’s fine. I’m not a picky eater,” he says, recapturing your attention when his tone starts to wind up, like he’s about to make a point, “and I know someone who’ll eat just about anything.”

You want to glare at him, but his answer still weighs on you, and you know he’s giving you an out with that smug look. “Oh?” You take it. “Maybe you should skip a few meals and see how you like potatoes then.”

“Maybe,” he grins. “But we both know you like me too much to starve me to death.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you sigh, trying not to smile in relief as you open the door home.

-

Your next few days should start with Zeke over at HQ, after which you can return home come lunchtime and prepare to spend your afternoons at the university, studying around Kellan and his friends. But after two days of Zeke immediately depositing you in his office after arriving anyway, you decide to stay at home instead and help the Yeagers with their household chores. Kellan picks you up earlier every afternoon, which means more time with his friends—but it’s not as bad as you expected it that first day.

In fact, all your apprehensions from then have disappeared. You don’t think you’ve ever met a nicer or more fun group of people than Kellan and his friends, and the experience of studying alongside others is a novel one you can’t help but enjoy. Their quiet laughter in their corner of the library (yours too, Emma says, if you’d like to join them from now on) is real, relaxed, and the mirth they exchange has nothing behind it.

Of course, the fact of your blood colors any Eldian experience, but it’s different. The undercurrent of shame is… shallow, almost. Maybe because there’s hope in what you’re all doing.

That—and there are no painful memories. No knowing silences. No questions you don’t have answers to.

It’s nice. Normal.

There is one moment that interrupts this nice break from worrying about Willy’s arrival. Kellan drops by the Yeagers’ to pick you up right after lunch. As usual, sneers and contemptuous gazes, even by the more passive onlookers, accompany you on the way to campus. It’s regular behavior to you, and really it’s Kellan you’re worried about. But he weathers it just fine, and all should be well, you think, once you’ve found refuge in your little corner in the library.

You don’t make it there before the sound of yelling and grunting stops you in your tracks.

Just you, because Kellan picks up the pace, only stopping when he realizes you have.

Down where the road splits away from the library, there’s a group of other students pushing a couple others around. Ones wearing white armbands tugged this way and that so that their clothes, their armbands, just all of them are completely disheveled. They’re not any students you recognize—you only know Kellan’s group, after all. But the reason for the ruckus is obvious. So obvious and commonplace that most other students, Marleyan and Eldian, simply walk past.

You don’t realize you’re walking again, and toward them, until Kellan holds you back by the wrist. “Lucy,” he says urgently, as if you have anywhere to be, really.

The but! mounting with your snarl dies as a frown when you look at him, see that his brows are furrowed. Suddenly you remember where you are. Who you are. Kellan witnesses the change with confusion, but shakes his head. He knows you know there’s no point, and there’s no reason, he thinks, why you shouldn’t know that by heart. “Look,” he murmurs. “Students like them have a lot of time. Just… I’ll give you a list of routes you should stick by to and from campus. Try to hide among groups, too.”

When he lowers his gaze, you do too. “We should go before they notice us.”

He knows better than you. You know that, but that makes it no less difficult for you to stand down. Zeke’s company has insulated you on the way to HQ since you arrived, ensuring that military personnel only turned away in aversion rather than express disgust. Much less this.

“Okay,” you quietly acquiesce.

When he leads you away, you can’t stop yourself from looking back. Either the Marleyans have had their fun, or it’s the school bell chiming upon the hour—but after a few more blows, they finally leave the Eldian students alone. The latter pick themselves up and go on their way. You lower your gaze, just like theirs.

-

Still yawning, Zeke glances over at you with a quirked brow. “I’m surprised you’re not on a little date today.”

It’s close to the end of your second week here, and you’ve decided to join him at HQ again. Pieck is coming back today, and Zeke promises he won’t be in any stuffy meetings since the higher-ups suddenly decided they were all busy.

“They’re not dates,” you roll your eyes, “and it’s barely 9AM. Do you go on dates at 9AM?”

“I could if I really liked the girl,” Zeke shrugs, because he has an answer to everything.

That alone should earn him another eyeroll, but you find yourself giving him a strange look instead. Zeke, who has one joke and prefers eating lunch alone in his office, going on dates? It’s almost funny, and you’re about to point that out when an unfamiliar voice calls out from among the morning rush.

“Is that you, Zeke?”

Zeke exhales to himself before turning around with a surprised expression and a polite nod. “Mrs. Haas.” You turn too, and find that there are two women behind you. Mrs. Haas, an elderly woman around Mrs. Yeager’s age, and—

“You remember my daughter, Luisa,” Mrs. Haas beams. She gestures to the younger woman next to her—tall and slender with light brown hair, Luisa Haas must be around Zeke’s age. She glances at you briefly before her eyes land on Zeke. A smile illuminates her face, making her look even more elegant.

There’s something about her smile that is more than polite—it’s a little familiar. Familiar but shy, like she knows Zeke but doesn’t, and you realize you’ve seen it somewhere before. On military men who meet Willy knowing who he is. On diplomats who have met Mila outside Marley. On the silly girls who had crushes on your teachers at boarding school.

You follow Luisa’s gaze to Zeke—in confusion at first, until you finally see it. Like shifting your focus from something on the fore to some small detail in the background, you see what she sees, or how—how other women see Zeke.

An Honorary Marleyan.

A Warrior.

The Beast Titan.

The Warchief.

And, uncomfortable as it may be to know it in your mind—desirable.

“Good morning,” Luisa says, and you feel galled by the audacity of it. Not that she has no right to do such a thing, it’s more… the blatant intent behind those words that makes your ears ring. You can only blink at her in protest.

“Morning,” Zeke smiles for her the way he didn’t for her mother.

“Luisa is teaching at the nearby school now,” Mrs. Haas continues.

Luisa nods more at her mother’s hands pushing her forward than Mrs. Haas herself. “I, um—I see Katharina sometimes. That is—Mrs. Yeager.”

“Oh?” Zeke nods, though he gestures to you before mother or daughter can confirm. “This is Lucy, by the way. Lucy Blanchard.”

“Hello,” you say absentmindedly. Still stunned, it takes a moment for your smile to reach your mouth. “Pleased to meet you.”

Luisa takes the hand you offer. “Pleased to meet you, Lucy,” she says, seemingly with the same sweet smile she offered Zeke.

Mrs. Haas looks curious. “And you know each other…?”

“She’s staying with us while she studies at the university,” Zeke answers for you.

“Oh!” Luisa’s mother only shakes your still outstretched hand when you’re about to withdraw it. “Lucy Blanchard,” she enunciates thoughtfully, when your arm has fallen to your side again. “I remember. Katharina was always so worried about you. My, but you’ve grown. Time passes so quickly, doesn’t it?”

Your eyes immediately snap up to Zeke at that. He’s always your first thought when you think of time going by too quickly for your liking. And the others too, of course.

“Speaking of time,” Mrs. Haas continues, “we haven’t seen you along this road in quite a while, Zeke—”

“Things have been busy over at HQ. I usually leave earlier than this,” Zeke says, politely reflecting her look of dismay.

“O-oh?” Luisa blinks. You don’t know why she has to look all innocent and bashful. “Is something going on? But—well, we understand it must be top secret.”

Zeke nods, giving her a grateful smile while Mrs. Haas tries to cut in with another topic of conversation to no avail. “Actually,” he continues loudly, thumping you on the back of your shoulder twice, “I’m escorting this one to HQ today. But grandma sends her regards to the family.”

Right as Mrs. Haas’s eyes narrow at his hand on your shoulder, warm to the touch as he gives you a squeeze, Zeke bids her goodbye and promptly spins you around, practically shoving you away. You’re barely able to wave a well-mannered farewell to them when Zeke pulls you off the main avenue headed to the gate and into one of the alleys he’s always preferred on the way out.

You’ve stumbled and nearly tripled down two blocks in his haste when you decide to shake him off, shrugging your shoulders. “Zeke—I don’t think they followed us here. We were practically running away.”

“Ah.” Zeke lifts his hands away from you like he’s been caught before dropping them at his sides. Looking over his shoulder again, he sighs. “Mrs. Haas tries to catch me almost every morning. It’s why I always take the smaller roads.”

Now that you think about it, everyone save you and Porco got extremely popular when it was announced who would inherit which Titans. The boys loved it as children, but Zeke as the first to be chosen had always shied away from the attention. His discomfort even now is reassuring, in a way, but also a little amusing. “You’re even more popular than before, huh?”

“Huh? ...Oh yeah, I did get pretty handsome, didn’t I?” In addition to the fact that he would never say that kind of thing seriously, his accompanying wink says he’s clearly trying to get a rise out of you—but it does the opposite.

He does look like an idiot, but the question and the ugly stammer in your chest at his wink is surprising enough to throw you off. He notices, and you suddenly notice him noticing, but it’s too late to save face by lurching and gagging now.

You decide to lean into it. Zeke is so used to getting on people’s nerves that flattery from anyone who knows what he’s really like is actually embarrassing to him. “Well,” you say offhandedly, ignoring the turn of your stomach, “you were always handsome.”

It’s his turn for shock. He actually stops walking, which pleases you as you walk past him before turning to smile, going in for the kill. “It’s too bad you spoiled all that boyish charm with that scruffy old beard.”

His mouth falls further agape. “I just trimmed this!” Scrunching his face up at you, he takes two steps to catch up and lead again. It’s all too easy when he’s that much taller. “Besides, I thought you liked the beard.”

You snort on purpose. It’s that preposterous, right? “What made you think that?”

Turning and walking backward now, Zeke gives you a smug look as his hand stretches out over his face. He traces his beard with his fingers in an exaggerated motion clearly meant to annoy. “You wouldn’t stop glancing at me at the dinner table the other night.”

You don’t remember it that way—you were just thinking about how nice it was to see him laughing at the dinner table—but that’s definitely not the kind of answer that’s going to make him leave you alone. “Only because I was sorry to imagine all the bits of food getting stuck in that mustache,” you huff.

“...Amazing,” Zeke gives a long-suffering sigh. “I forgive you just over a week ago and you’re back to the belligerent little brat you were in childhood.”

“I wasn’t belligerent!” you lie.

“Then don’t argue with me when I say the beard gives me an air of authority,” he grins. “I go easy on you, but I’m the Warchief in these parts, you know.”

You take one look at him and then stare ahead, lips pursed. Really pressed between your teeth, because you have to fight not to let out the cackle he’s obviously trying to lure out.

He peers at you with a smile, absentmindedly waving at the gate guards. “You can’t, can you?”

“...I didn’t say anything.” The strain is audible.

Zeke’s triumphant laughter reminds you just how irritating he actually is, and you forget all about that little flutter inside as you leave the zone.

-

“Pieck!”

“Lucy!”

The two of you chuckle as you attempt to crush each other in an embrace, and you’re practically beaming as you pull away. “How was training? Did the Panzer Unit give you any trouble?”

Pieck tilts her head from side to side. “Well... they could benefit from more training, but we’re getting there. After all, there’s—” You don’t notice her quickly glance behind you, brows furrowing in confusion and alarm, before her shoulders relax and she shakes her head. “Anyway, I’m so glad you two have made up.”

“Made up?” Zeke scratches his head in feigned confusion. “Did we have a problem? I make it a point not to pick fights with runts.”

You stare ahead, refusing to grace that with a look. “Pieck, can you tell him I’m a whole inch taller than you?”

Pieck sighs, but her amused smile doesn’t fade. “Not so glad about you remembering why the two of you get along.” When you insist you’re only kidding, she waves you away with a laugh. “I have another surprise for you. How about we head downstairs?”

“You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up,” Zeke says, swiping your books from your arms before heading for his office. Pieck had surprised you by the stairs, so you turn right back around and take your time heading down together.

“So what’s this I hear about a young man?” Pieck grins as soon as Zeke is out of earshot.

Your brows furrow. You don’t know anyone either of you would refer to like that, and briefly you think of Colt, if Pieck is pretending to be wiser than her years. It’s when she waggles her eyebrows the way Mrs. Yeager probably wants to, the way Porco did a couple days ago, when you realize she’s talking about Kellan.

“How did you—?” you start, only to stop with a nod in comprehension. He’s too polite to pry about it with you even after all these years, but of course he would say something to his daughter. “Mr. Finger?”

“Zeke told dad told me,” Pieck confirms with a chuckle. “Thanks for keeping dad company, by the way. So is he handsome?”

“He’s…” Your mind draws a blank. Again it’s odd to think about Kellan here, as Lucy Tybur. It’s Lucy Blanchard he knows, after all. “...nice. Hardworking.”

“You might as well have called him an Eldian in the zone,” Pieck says, giving you a funny look. “Tell me more.”

“There’s not a lot to say,” you say sheepishly. “I just met him last week. Anyway,” you barrel onward, even though you lean your head closer to Pieck’s to whisper, “Zeke told me about some movement in the South. What’s going on?”

Conspiratorial whispers between the two of you come naturally even after all this time, so Pieck leaned in too—but your words make her stand back and look at you with surprise. She’s still deciding which part she’s shocked about when her mouth moves on its own, as natural as the way she’d initially prepared to keep your secret. “I—I can’t tell you, Lucy. I’m sorry.”

Hurt must flash across your face for a moment, because Pieck looks apologetic. But you reassure her, regardless of how you feel receiving her answer. “I understand,” you smile, patting her hand on your arm. You don’t, really—what makes this different from all she told you about the Paradis operation? About how Zeke has a brother, and all that implies?—but she didn’t insist with you before, and you’ll do the same for her now. “So what’s this surprise?”

Her apology disappears with a smile as you hear footsteps turning a corner from down the hall. “Look who’s back in action!” she announces, her cheer audible through her sleepy cadence.

You turn and see an unfamiliar man—head bowed, eyes downcast, mouth set in a thin line—until he hears Pieck’s voice and looks up. His face brightens just a tad, and though his more subdued expression remains novel to you, you realize it’s Reiner. He looks much better, at least relative to the last time you saw him in the barracks.

“Reiner,” you wave, smiling up at him as he approaches. “I still can’t believe how tall you are now.”

He looks at Pieck and then at you for a second. Maybe two. “Lucy,” he says after three, remembering that you’ve grown up too. “You’re still here? I mean—sorry,” he glances away, wincing to himself. “I know you go to the university. I just didn’t expect you to drop by HQ.”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying to smile away his embarrassment. You feel Pieck do the same next to you. “Enrollment hasn’t actually started yet.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“That’s okay,” you offer.

Footsteps again, this time down the direction you came from. Reiner freezes before you, quickly standing perfectly upright as he nods ahead. It’s Zeke—exchanging a quiet nod with him before they both relax. You’re a little curious what that’s about when Pieck claps her hands together once, tugging you closer with the action.

“Great. Now we can have a proper reunion come lunch time,” she says, but looks thoughtful as the four of you start to leave the offices building. Being in the back end of HQ, not a lot of soldiers pass by here.  “That is… if we can find Pock around today.”

“Where is Galliard?” Zeke asks.

“Loitering around HQ somewhere,” Pieck shrugs dismissively. She turns to Reiner with what appears to be a more important topic in mind. “Should we invite the kids? Gabi will be so happy with you around in an official capacity, Reiner. You’re all she ever talks about nowadays.”

He smiles a little at the mention of his cousin. “Sure… I think the candidates are on break today, though.”

That door closed, another one opens—conveniently, right across the corridor outside the offices building where you’ve emerged. The toilets. It’s Reiner who notices the almost imperceptible sound of it creaking open, and the motion of him looking over draws everyone’s attention to two people in uniform slipping out as discreetly as possible.

One is Porco, his hair all tousled and his shirt nearly pulled out of his pants, and the other is a girl, much better put together, who looks very familiar to you. Short and pretty with long, wavy hair and expressive eyes.

Zeke snorts behind you. “Loitering, huh?”

“I said what I said,” Pieck singsongs.

Reiner stares at Porco and the young woman, who must be a year or so younger than you and Pieck, as they do their best to comb their hair down and adjust their uniforms. “That makes sense, huh?” he murmurs. Zeke hums in agreement.

“Huh?” is all you can add to the discussion, because even though it’s less strange than the idea of Zeke on a date, it’s still surprising to see Porco doing things like this.

It’s right then that Porco looks up and catches your gazes, or mostly the sight of Pieck holding a hand to her mouth in quiet laughter. Hazel eyes suddenly wide, he turns to the girl and says something, hands stiffly patting the air between them, then quickly jogs over to your group.

“Hey,” he says to Pieck and Zeke. He only stares at Reiner expressionlessly before his eyes fall to you, brow raised. “You’re still here, Lucy?”

You scoff, if only because it’s the second time you’ve heard that in the last five or so minutes. “I can leave if it’s such a problem.”

“Not too much, no,” Porco replies almost earnestly.

You don’t notice Reiner look at you in surprise when you only shrug in resignation, because Zeke is already talking. He jerks his head in the direction of the corridor he came from. “So are you planning to keep your girlfriend standing there or are you going to introduce us?” Without missing a beat, he leans down closer to you from behind and murmurs, but not quietly, “What did I tell you about 9AM dates?”

“Not a date,” Porco says sternly to each of you, even Reiner, “not my girlfriend.”

The four of you glance at each other, and then back to the girl with some pity.

Porco groans. “Don’t all look at her! You people are so embarrassing.”

The brow you raise at him in turn is judgmental this time. “If she isn’t your girlfriend, what are you…” you wave your hand in his general direction, “loitering around for?”

“Uh, because we want to? She doesn’t come by often,” he says, giving you a funny look. You return it again, and Porco looks even more embarrassed. “Don’t give me that! How come no one said anything when Zeke was doing it?”

Zeke doesn’t know why he suddenly looks at you in alarm at the question, just like you don’t know why you freeze instead. Or why the thought immediately irritates you. This time, you’re the one who inadvertently rescues Porco from the Warchief’s hard gaze as you endeavor to change the subject. You don’t care for this one anymore.

“She looks familiar,” you say, eyes flickering to his not-girlfriend.

Pieck purses her lips in thought. “That’s… Willette Weiss, isn’t it? From our Warrior class, Lucy.”

You open your mouth as you think about the name. “Oh, the—”

Porco rolls his eyes. “Big surprise that you’d forget.”

You frown. “I was just—”

“Can you lighten up, Galliard?” Zeke asks with some exasperation. “Your girlfriend’s on her way.”

“She’s not my—”

Porco was so focused on taking potshots that he didn’t notice Pieck already waving her over. Or that she’s already sidling up next to him.

“Hello,” Pieck greets her. “Willette, right? I’m Pieck. This is Lucy, Zeke, and Reiner.”

Willette smiles, not unlike Luisa did a while ago, but with a little less shyness than the latter. “Willette Weiss. It’s an honor to meet the Warriors of the motherland.”

To your surprise, her words finish with her gaze on you. You can’t help but smile back. You remember her a little better now. For some reason the instructors had always been kinder to her than to the rest of you even if she didn’t perform especially well, but she never acted any differently for it.

“Pleased to meet you,” you repeat from this morning.

Zeke and Reiner practically mutter a “Hey,” in unison.

Pieck just smiles again, turning to Porco. “We were planning to get lunch later today, maybe with Colt—but why don’t you bring Willette, too? We’d love to have her along.”

“I—uh—well, if—” Porco gives Pieck a wide-eyed look of alarm—as if to ask why she’s doing this to him—but Pieck’s calm smile doesn’t falter in recognition of it.

Willette doesn’t look surprised by Porco’s stammering—she seems just as shocked at the invitation herself. “Really? Er—I would love to join you, really,” she says, settling with a smile too, “But I couldn’t possibly. I actually came here on an errand.”

Porco’s mouth snaps shut. He glances at her. “What?”

Willette nods, clearly still happy she was even invited. It takes her a moment, but she collects herself the way Porco hasn’t just yet.

And then she faces you. “I came to collect you, Miss Lucy. You’re being summoned to the Tybur mansion in Liberio.”

////////

Thank you again for reading!

#zeke x reader #zeke x oc #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x oc #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger x oc #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #haliyam #interim #interim vi

[haliyam]

interim (i)

zeke x reader/oc (warning: slow burn with some plot)

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 2

Hi everyone! This is part of the series I mentioned on my oneshot Asset, but it's a prequel. I'd love to continue the season 4 stuff, but I want to see how the manga ends first so I can plot out Reader's part in it all. (Also edit post-139, I've completely fallen in love with Zeke who deserves so much better and while I always intended to take my time with the Asset prequels, I'm in no rush to get to the Asset sequel. I do want to update as regularly as possible though, rl willing!)

The Reader/OC will be a cis-female Eldian character with a set background, as you'll find at the end of this chapter. Reader’s default name is Lucy, just because I personally don’t like writing ‘Y/N,’ but please feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to you or your character’s First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your or your character's First Name. Because reader will have a set background, you'll have a set surname as well.

I will say that Zeke may seem a little OOC/angsty in the beginning of this story, if only because Reader and Zeke were good friends before he became the shitstain we know and love today and Reader is fairly familiar with his true moods even when he is being annoying as hell. (And Zeke is annoying. I swear I do like this guy hahah...)

I hope you enjoy!

--

Chapter 1

It’s strange how easily you fall into step with the soldier ahead of you. 

You don’t march, and your eyes wander stern walls and imposing doors that have long left your dreams, but your footfalls follow only one beat that echoes throughout the hallway as he leads you through it. There’s an almost comforting order to the sound that belies the way your heart tries to hammer its way through your ears or right out of your chest. 

It feels like forever and far too soon when you arrive at a familiar waiting room. Motioning to the chairs around a small round table, the soldier knocks twice on the door opposite where you entered. When no one responds, he simply stands there, and you have no recourse but to take that seat. 

Voices filter in, muffled, from the other room, and you slip your hands under the desk to squeeze your fingers together. Maybe this was a terrible idea after all. You can still leave, pursue your medical degree back home…

“No,” you whisper to yourself, even if you do abruptly stand from your chair. You just need a moment to freshen up. Facing the soldier, you begin, “I would like to—”

Alarm replaces the question in his gaze when two heavy knocks cut through your words. He stares at you a little longer, a new question, and you reply with a deep exhale. 

“Never mind.”

He nods. “They’re ready for you.”

You enter the conference room, which is far too large for the four people sitting at one end of the long table there: an older man with more lapel pins and crow’s feet than you remember, and three others closer to your age—the esteemed Warrior Unit and their commander, Theo Magath.

Six long years later, they all look different enough that under other circumstances, you might hesitate to recognize them. But you know this place all too well, the lighting and their seating arrangement so familiar that you can mistake them for no other than Zeke Yeager, Pieck Finger, and Porco Galliard. 

It soon appears from their expressionless gazes that they can’t say the same for you. Not that you can blame them—they had no reason to expect your arrival, and it’s Commander Magath who huffs at their frigid reception. “Is that how you Eldians treat old friends?”

The three glance at one another. You venture a small smile, and the recognition and surprise that sink into Zeke’s features make Magath snort as Pieck leaps from her chair, shattering the chill in the room as surely as she crashes into you with an embrace.

“Lucy!” 

The joy in her voice sweeps aside your initial fears and brings your excitement bubbling out of your throat in your own laughter. “Pieck!”

She’s talking before you even part and still holding onto the back of your blouse when you do. “You look so… old,” she grins. “That is—me-old.” 

Her languid excitement makes it difficult for you to keep your composure. “I am you-old,” you say, trying not to giggle, but your toothy smile already reaches from ear to ear. 

Before you can say more, Commander Magath clears his throat. “If you two are finished…”

Both of you freeze instinctively at his tone. Stealing another squeeze, Pieck steps aside as Magath rises from his chair. “Good of you to drop by, Blanchard.”

You quickly cross the distance to shake his proffered hand. “Thank you, Sir. And congratulations on your promotion.”

He shrugs, taking a seat and gesturing that you and Pieck do the same. “Still not a far cry from playing nursemaid sometimes.”

Pieck shakes her head. “Don’t say that, Sir.”

“You’re right. I’m at least a pay grade or two above nursemaid,” Magath chuckles just a little, and to his right, Zeke continues to stare at you. 

“Is that really you?” he asks, mouth set in a line under his new beard. 

“In the flesh.” His expression remains neutral through your nervous chuckle. Shifting in your seat, you nod away toward Porco. “It’s so nice to see everyone again. Galliard.”

Though he gave you an appreciative once-over as you entered, Porco is now as uninterested as they come. “I didn’t think you’d still know our names. Thanks for taking the time to drop by, I guess.”

“Oh, come on, Pock,” Pieck teases, ignoring the air of hostility that starts to surround you. As though Porco is only an unruly child, she says in feigned apology, “A few days with the Jaw and he’s already this cocky.”

“Ah.” You can’t bring yourself to mirror her mirth. “I heard about that. I’m sorry about Marcel. And Bertholdt—and Annie…”

Pieck glances away, and because you can’t meet Zeke’s eyes at the moment, you address the commander instead. “What about Reiner? I heard he’d returned.”

“Braun is still undergoing a debriefing.”

A debriefing, you think, when they’ve been back a fortnight already? But it dawns on you easily enough that what Reiner is undergoing is an ideology test. Reindoctrination.

“I see… but…”

“It was on my recommendation,” Zeke cuts in, daring you, a civilian, to protest. His arms are crossed now. “Otherwise he’s in danger of passing on the Armor a full six years too early.”

“I only meant to say that Reiner is the most loyal Eldian I know,” you answer levelly, eyes boring into his. Your nails dig into the cloth of your skirt on your lap as you pretend not to hear Porco’s scoff. Taking the Armor from Reiner? The operation was a massive failure, but that consequence is far too severe... however expected. “After you, of course.”

Zeke tilts his head, obscuring his gaze from your view when the light above reflects off his glasses.

“It’s a good thing, in any case,” Magath explains. “Behind enemy lines for over five years, he—” 

Whatever his opinion, the commander abruptly stops himself from sharing it and clears his throat instead. You know better than to protest when an unsettling pause rests over the room—exactly what you feared would occur.

To your surprise, it’s Porco who comes to your rescue, even if his disdain is palpable. “Why are you here, anyway?” 

“Well,” you begin gratefully, “I’m—”

“I asked her to come,” says Magath, completely ignoring the tension. “But my meeting prior ran overlong, and I have another coming up. Can you come in tomorrow morning? Ten sharp?”

You sit up straight when he addresses you. “Of course, Sir.”

Magath smiles—still a novelty to you—and pushes himself up out of his chair. The rest of you do the same, following him to the door as he speaks. “Go ahead and catch up in the meantime. And Blanchard—it’s good to see you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The rest of you—dismissed.”

He leaves the room with the Marleyan guard at the door. The other three let out a breath of relief once it closes. 

“Blanchard,” Porco enunciates, stretching his arms. “Are we really still doing that? Who are we supposed to be fooling here?”

Pieck sighs, but it’s Zeke who stays him with a light backhand to the stomach. “Settle down, Galliard.”

Porco pushes his hand away. “Seriously? Of all people, you—”

“Your first transformation was pretty brutal, Galliard,” Zeke casually announces. He winces for good measure, like he’s actually worried. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

The hostility on Porco’s face quickly shifts to embarrassment, and you feel for him. “You’ve transformed already?” 

“I wanted to go check on the Warriors anyway,” he says instead, eyeing you with a curled lip. “Nice seeing you again, Blanchard.”

“You too,” you call out, but he’s already stalked out of the room.

You feel Pieck’s hand loop around your arm. “Don’t take it personally,” she says gently. “Learning about Marcel was difficult for him.”

“I can only imagine.” She gives you a small smile at your words, and you understand. Casting a more pleasant gaze around the room, you ask, “How are you two? I thought it might be nice if we could get some lunch together.” You check your watch. “...Very late lunch.”

“I would love to,” Pieck says cheerfully, leading your way out of the room— “Tomorrow. I still have so much paperwork to do.”

Zeke snickers. “The joys of working with a team.”

“Life is unfair,” Pieck declares, but smiles when her hand slips down to yours. “I’ll pick you up after your meeting with Magath tomorrow. It’s a date, right?”

You squeeze her fingers in return. “Definitely.”

Her leisurely footsteps fade down the hallway, and you soon find yourself alone with Zeke. You dust at your blouse idly, but you must eventually look at him. “I suppose it’s just you and me today, then.”

He only eyes you, scratching the side of his bearded jaw. It’s even worse than him outright declining.

“Unless,” you quickly add, detesting the dead air, “are you… training the new Warrior class?”

Zeke snorts. “No. I’ve been busy with other work, but you can check in on their progress if you’re interested. Seems like the Commander wouldn’t mind, seeing as he invited you here.”

You ignore the jab: And you accepted. “What’s kept you busy?”

“Good question.” His smile is a facetious one. “But you know that’s top secret.”

You scoff, but you were braver in front of the others. Now his indifference is too much to bear. 

It’s only after you turn away that Zeke asks, “Why don’t you drop by the house? My grandparents should be happy to see you again.”

“I… actually came from there. They asked me to stay. I hope you don’t mind,” you follow, and regret the words as soon as you say it. It’s like you’re trying to piss him off. “I’ll pay for my share of everything, of course.”

He doesn’t react with anger, but you were stupid to expect him to. “Oh?” he asks instead, managing the most sarcastic one-word question in existence. His voice has gotten so much deeper in the last six years, and somehow that makes it worse. “I would have expected the distinguished Miss Blanchard to prefer better accommodations by now.”

You resist the urge to wince. “Don’t say that. The Yeager household was like home to me for several years. More than home, sometimes.”

There’s a pause where only your footsteps, still in time with one another, are all you hear as you make your way down the empty hall. The thought of Zeke’s gaze right now shames you, but it’s ahead he’s looking when he lets out a whistle. “You’re making this difficult for me,” he laughs. “How can I kick you out after such high praise?”

Your last footfall echoes as you stop, reaching for his arm. “Zeke—”

He yanks it away without even looking at you. “We should head back before the Commander decides he wants something from me after all. Come on.”

Your face burns with humiliation even though there’s no one else around to watch him walk away, his long strides too fast for you to catch up.

--

The Yeagers are pleased to have you over for dinner and beyond, and though you already dropped by before making your appearance at HQ, Mrs. Yeager does not run out of subjects to discuss with you, updating you on several of your neighbors’ lives. Who has married, who has passed away, and whose children have joined the Warrior program themselves, only to fail. Zeke doesn’t talk except to comment on something his grandparents say, or very rarely something you say so as not to arouse their suspicion. They have none. They are too busy doting on you after your long, long absence.

After dinner, when your stomachs are full and your chest is light with laughter, you stand up to collect the dishes and bring them to the sink. “Absolutely not,” Mrs. Yeager says, realizing your intention once she hears the light clatter of tableware. “You’re our guest, Lucy!”

“Please,” you call from the sink. “I miss doing this with all of you around.”

Dr. Yeager sighs in agreement with his wife. “Not on your first night. Zeke.”

Zeke is already on his feet, leaving only everyone’s glasses as he makes his way to the sink with the placemats. Dr. Yeager has brought out their good wine to celebrate your return. “I can do this myself,” he tells you, trying to wave you aside. 

You don’t budge. “But I can help. We’ll get it all done more quickly.”

He levels a look at you—one you haven’t seen since you were very young, from before you were friends. “Sit with my grandmother, Lucy,” he murmurs so that only you hear. “Don’t make her crane her neck just to talk to you.”

Shame and something completely unfamiliar fill you at his reprimand, and you surrender with a nod. You make your way back to the table and squint at Mrs. Yeager. “Only tonight, though.”

Mrs. Yeager laughs, reaching for your hands across the table. You give them to her easily. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” she says. “Your parents must be very proud of you.” You nod with some unease, and Dr. Yeager, even as he enjoys his wine, clears his throat. Mrs. Yeager realizes her mistake. “Ah—I...I’m sorry, dear. I know they passed away several years ago. But I’m sure they would be proud of you now.” 

“That’s all right,” you reassure her. “I hope it’s not too bold to say, but… you and Dr. Yeager were mother and father to me for a time as well, when they couldn’t be. I will always be grateful for that.”

“Oh, Lucy,” Mrs. Yeager smiles, her eyes quickly shining, “That isn’t bold at all. We felt the same way. We only wish you had written more!”

A scoff makes its way from the kitchen. “Grandma,” Zeke reminds her lightly, even as he scrubs the plates with renewed vigor, “you know Lucy has been busy.”

“I know that, dear, I wasn’t trying to—”

“No, it is my fault,” you agree. “I promise I’ll be better about that the next time I go.”

“Next time?” asks Dr. Yeager, suddenly sitting up straight. “Where are you going?”

You blink, turning your attention to him, and attempt to wave the confusion away with your hands. “No, no, Dr. Yeager, I’ll be staying here for a while. I only meant that for the next time I leave Lib—”

“Next time?” Dr. Yeager repeats, his hand knocking over his wine glass as he eyes your left sleeve with intent. It trembles as he grasps at his scalp. “If you’re leaving, why aren’t you wearing your armband?”

The faucet shuts off, leaving only the sound of alcohol dripping from the dinner table to the floor, and Mrs. Yeager turns to him nervously. “Dear—”

“Don’t leave without your armband again, Faye,” he pleads, looking straight at you. He rises from his seat, voice more and more frantic as he swipes at a nearby cabinet with nothing to show for it. “Where is it? Where did you put it?”

Zeke is already wiping his hands on the hem of his shirt, and Mrs. Yeager goes to take her husband’s arm. “Darling, no, this is Lucy, remember?”

But Dr. Yeager is already heaving. It’s not long before tears are streaming down his face and he cries, “Why would you do this to me again? Why did he let you remove your armband, Faye?!”

“Dr. Yeager—I’m Lucy. Lucy,” you insist, hurrying over and tucking your hair behind your ears to show him your face, smiling as you’ve done many times in an attempt to calm him. You hold his arms, trying to jog him back to reality, but by now he is screaming and weeping, digging his fingers into your arms and repeatedly calling out his daughter’s name. 

“...Come on, grandpa.” Zeke pries Dr. Yeager’s hands from your sleeve with his grandmother’s help. Stunned by his sudden lapse, you can only watch—able to follow only when they are already struggling with him by the stairs. 

“Zeke—”

“Stay there,” he hisses with rancor that freezes you in place. Mrs. Yeager apologizes, but of course you shake your head and return to the dining room. Your hands shake as you clean the spilled alcohol from the dinner table and the floor, going over what you could have said to set off Dr. Yeager. 

This is hardly the first time you’ve seen him like this, but it used to take only very specific words to remind him of that event, and so much easier to bring him back from those memories. The memory of his weeping face seizes at your heart, tempting you to launch yourself upstairs and ask after him, but Zeke is right. You’ll only make things worse.

You’re getting started on the dishes again when you hear heavy footsteps plod down the stairs. 

Zeke. You cuff the faucet off, mouth already open when he smiles, reaching over to graze your exposed ear with his thumb and his index finger. “Did growing up damage your ears? I said I’d take care of the dishes.”

The unexpected contact sends a strange rush through you, but it’s the insult you focus on ignoring. Even if you do untuck your hair. “I’m sorry about Dr. Yeager.”

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugs. “It happens more often nowadays.”

“I didn’t know it had gotten so bad.”

“How could you? You’ve been away.”

You gnaw on your cheek at that. “I’m sorry, Zeke.”

For a moment, you finally see it—the recognition of the words you’ve been trying to say since you met earlier that afternoon, and the reason why. An eddy of hurt and confusion reflects in his eyes, pulling at the air around you. You want to rise above it, or else drown, or just beg for his forgiveness, but he knows you, or knew you as much as you knew him, and he cuts you off before you can speak. 

“You really have grown up.” His droll chuckle makes your heart sink into your stomach. “You never used to apologize for anything.”

You make a face. “That’s not true.”

“Maybe. You were pretty damn insolent when you wanted to be.”

“I guess I could be,” you murmur. Your eyes lift to his, on a tightrope’s edge. “Remember when Marras overheard me complaining about firearm maintenance?”

Zeke snorts. “Magath had you cleaning Warrior arsenal for a week.”

You can’t help but laugh. “That was awful. Only Marcel snuck out to help me at night, and that was to impress Pieck. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

You squint at him. Zeke grins, warmly now, and hope almost finds you—but your words catch up with you first, and both of you remember when you really are. 

“Marcel,” you can’t help but say with regret.

“Yeah.” Coursing a hand through his hair, Zeke brushes past you to the sink. “Anyway, I’ll take care of this. You go to bed. You have a meeting with Magath tomorrow—that’s why you came back, right?”

“No, not just—”

The sudden burst of running water from the faucet and the wall of his back means the conversation is over. Again. Clenching your fist, you bite your tongue and slowly breathe out your growing frustration. 

“Good night, then, Zeke.”

You’ve already gone up the stairs when Zeke swallows the lump in his throat, staring at the spoon splashing water upon his palm. He’s been washing it for the last two minutes. 

“Night, Lucy.”

--

Zeke has already left for HQ by the time you come downstairs the next morning. Dr. Yeager is still in bed, exhausted as he gets whenever he remembers his children, but Mrs. Yeager has prepared breakfast. Try as you might, you cannot resist sitting with her and sharing a meal together. You make it to the Liberio military headquarters just in time to hear the new Warrior instructor barking out to the children jogging around the courtyard.

You wander a little closer, unable to help your curiosity—but a nearby guard spots you and quickly corrals you away, back to the offices. “They’re expecting you,” he says, looking you over as he hands you back your permit. “Don’t know what top brass wants with a civilian, much less an Eldian, but...”

“Top brass?” 

The soldier almost sneers at you. As if you don’t know, Eldian, it says, and you’re starting to think you actually don’t.

He’s led you not to the same conference room as yesterday afternoon, but to an office that you distinctly remember as off-limits. When the soldiers standing guard let you inside, you understand why.

Top brass is right. More than Commander Magath, there are a number of higher-ups waiting for you inside - some faces you’ve glimpsed since you were a child, and others you have seen as recently as months ago. One in particular stands out—an intelligence officer who reports directly to your brother. Three are generals at some of the highest levels in the army.

“Blanchard,” Magath calls out. You nearly stiffen at his voice again, but relax in time, to the chuckles of the men in the room. The commander ignores them, staring straight at you. You detect the slightest hint of an apology in his hardened gaze, or maybe that’s wishful thinking to keep your growing displeasure in check. “Glad you could make it.”

“Sir, I—”

A nearby general cuts you off. List. “You can dispense with that, Magath,” he says. “We’re all in the know here.”

“Yes, Sir.”

General List turns toward you. 

“Thank you for coming, Miss Tybur,” he says. There is no smile in his harsh features, but he is not unkind. Careful, maybe. “Please, sit. We have a proposition for you.”

--

So... yes! I admit, part of the reason I wanted to write something in the AoT/SnK series is because I loved and hated the addition of the Tyburs. So I wanted to write a little more about the family but also since I'm thirsty, write a Zeke fic and eventually a Levi one (whether AU or not). Obviously we'll eventually go into why the Tyburs would send one of their own into the Warrior program, among other things, but bear with me for now.

Also disclaimer: This is a Zeke/Reader story set in the AOT world, so it’s a romance with a guy who gleefully murdered a shit ton of innocent people and helped Marley level countries. Please don’t look to this story for a completely morally upright character/reader/OC who makes all the right choices. (Though expect that Reader will take them into consideration.)

Last thing! This is a slowburn with some plot, so while you can definitely expect romance (and smut) down the line, and while this fic does go heavily into Lucy's/Reader's relationship with Zeke, it also features interactions with other characters. I just wanted to give fair warning if you expect it to focus only on Zeke.

Thank you for reading! 

#zeke x reader #zeke x oc #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x oc #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger x oc #aot #snk #haliyam #interim #aot fanfic #aot fic #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk fic #snk fanfic #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

[haliyam]

interim (ii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 3

Hi again! I forgot to note in the first chapter that Reader here is 19 years old, while Zeke is 25. (Clearly, before the developments of this story, there was nothing but friendship there.) For the other Warriors, I put Pieck at 19 as well, while Porco is Reiner's age (around 17/18 that year). Marcel would have been the same age as Pieck and Reader in my headcanon. If you're not comfortable with the age difference, I understand.

Also, about university here so you don't get confused this chapter - I lifted the medical school system for Marley from Germany's current system where after a competitive state exam post-high school, students are able to head straight for medical school for a 6-year track followed by specialization.

Reminder that the Reader/OC, default name Lucy, is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background, but please feel free to set the substitution for the Reader to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension if you’re reading through the browser! So that would be: Lucy = Your or your character's First Name. Because reader will have a set background, you'll have a set surname as well.

Chapter 2

You don’t even get a moment to breathe. General List launches into a speech about the nerve of other so-called nations almost as soon as you sit down. Apparently, those in the Mid East peninsula have grown considerably bold over the last few months, with several navy ships withdrawing from the port of Ichakar and transferring, presumably, to Qali - which gives them a better angle from which to attack the mainland if they so wish it. They’ve also fortified their borders—ground troops distributed across the land close to Marley’s newly acquired cities—which is of course the sovereign right of those nations, but it’s blasphemy to the regime’s unending ambition.

You wish they had given you a brief with all this information before the meeting, the kind you have seen Willy and father poring over in their office in the past, but you get the feeling that the general is unloading information on you with the intent to overwhelm. 

“On the diplomatic front,” he continues with a hint of mockery, because of course he thinks of such things as futile, “they have been making demands. Asking that we keep to our waters when it is they who have encroached upon ours! The audacity—the delineation clearly states—” He continues to ramble until he is red in the face, but your neutral expression must slip into a wide-eyed look at some point, because he regains his composure with a visible wrinkle of his nose. “This arrogance can only mean one thing.”

He stares at you, and you realize he is expecting you to answer. You feel all eyes at the table on you, the Commander’s especially, and clear your throat. “...Weapons research, Sir?”

“Weapons development, Miss Tybur,” he corrects you. “Advanced and more prolific than we may have considered.”

He pauses, and you can’t help but speak. You can tell Magath knows it because he sits up straighter somehow, and in a moment of rebellion, you refuse to recognize the caution in his posture. “With all due respect, Sir, the… armaments race among the other nations is no secret, and on Eldian labor, no less.”

A fist slamming on the desk causes everyone around it to jump in their seats. “It’s what Eldians deserve!” the general next to List says, so naturally that he might have been born saying it. You blink, the heat of embarrassment and indignation crawling up your neck, but it’s only with List’s raised hand that the man remembers that the white band on your left arm is only for show. He glances away. “Present company excluded, of course.”

With the exception of his hand, List continues as though neither of you ever interrupted him. “And now, to the point. We need further information on the status of this little race. That is where you come in, Miss Tybur. You will use your family’s connections to enter the peninsula with our people - the peninsula and beyond, as the exact lay of their operations lies beyond our ken - and retrieve this information.”

It’s one thing to predict a general’s words and another to be confronted with them. You suppose you were still hoping he wouldn’t say it. “General List, are you saying you want a Tybur to be a spy?”

List glances over at Magath. “They were trained for interrogation, weren’t they?” Your old instructor is barely able to nod before the general recalls to you, “Ah, yes, I read the file. You withstood all but the final test. A failure then, but rather more a fluke, in my opinion. An irreplicable circumstance.”

You don’t say anything. You would rather not remember that night. Or that particular moment.

He takes your silence for agreement. “And so I answer, why not? You became a Warrior candidate - unprecedented initiative and involvement by the Tybur family. Why should this be any different?”

“Because—” Because becoming a Warrior isn’t a choice a child makes of their own free will, not really, but a Tybur doesn’t question the decisions of the former head of the family, of father, before all these strangers. No matter that they were loyal to him. You purse your lips. “Sir, I just don’t believe I’m the right person for this.”

“Your file did say you were always hasty, Miss Tybur,” List says, and you both glance at Magath at that. He doesn’t nod, only meets your gazes. He seems as trapped in this as you are, which makes your resentment for him ebb only slightly. “But you should know better now.”

Now you’re getting irritated. The temper that was your closest companion in your early childhood, and then your early adolescence seizes your fist under the table as List continues. “How goes Foundation operations?”

The Tybur Family Foundation. Set up by Walter Tybur when he first became head of the family and operated by the eponymous Tyburs - most often chaired by the spouse of whoever leads it. Your mother first, once, when she cared to, and now Mila. It provides healthcare and educational opportunities for ‘peoples once oppressed by the Eldian Empire,’ as part of continuing reparations for sins the Tybur family did not commit. Or so they say. Many of its employees now are Eldian, part of Willy’s initiative to improve Eldian relations… but in reality it does little when the Foundation is only a grantmaking organization.

“Well enough, Sir.”

“Is that so? From what I hear, the Foundation is unable to set up even offices in several countries in spite of the family’s stellar international relations.”

“And,” you add carefully, “if they ever catch wind of my close involvement with the regime even after all this time, that will not improve.”

“Clearly, Miss Tybur.” His level gaze shifts to patronizing in all the ways you hate. “But say you become more independent. Distance yourself from the military that leads our fine motherland… Say,” he smiles, “that you make overtures of dissatisfaction with Marley’s cruel expansionist policies and express the utmost sympathy for other nations. Perhaps then they will permit you to expand your operations within their borders.”

Your jaw almost drops at the very suggestion. You’ve always thought, since Willy became Lord Tybur, that only the Tyburs have the power to change the direction of Marley. For obvious reasons, not so obvious to the rest of the world, but also for the heritage you represent. If the Tybur family can be good Eldians, why can they not be only one of many good Eldians? Why not introduce the concept that any Eldian can be good, as any other race of people? 

“You…” You rein in your reaction even as your imagination sets off in the direction List has set it—and far more. Especially the part where the Tybur family spreads the good name of Eldians throughout the world. No more ‘special’ treatment, no more interment zones…

No more Warriors.

Maybe. If Marley gets what it wants. 

You would allow that? was your question. But the answer, you understand suddenly, is that they would allow perhaps the chance of it, in exchange for Marley’s continued expansion using Eldian bodies on the front lines. A slim chance of sparing Eldian lives for the certainty of losing them. You feel lightheaded just considering it. You want to help, but you are the last person who should hold so many lives in her hands.

Your eyes refocus on General List. A pleased smile brims beneath his well-trimmed beard, like he’s already read your mind. But he can’t know—you’ve shared your thoughts with no one but Willy and Lara, who have been as dismissive as they have been receptive. In other words, as though you’re still the child father sent away thirteen years ago they expect will eventually forget all her questions.

“Does Lord Tybur know about this, Sir?” You eye the intelligence officer not far from List. 

List clears his throat. “Not as yet. Lord Tybur might be more receptive to such a scheme were his sister to present it to him herself. We are aware that Lady Tybur chairs the Foundation. Her movements are conservative, but she may agree to a more generous, active Foundation on your word.”

Scheme. That’s what it is, but that isn’t what really catches your attention. Willy and Mila, listening to you? You want to burst into laughter, tell them that they have severely misunderstood the dynamics of the Tybur family. But that intelligence officer is here, which makes you think List is lying.

“Why not ask Lady Tybur to head the operation?”

“Lord Tybur would never allow us to risk his wife,” List laughs. The implication of his words is hardly lost on you, but the general tempers his mockery with a compliment. “And we believe a new, younger face for the Foundation - perhaps one our enemies believe to be foolishly idealistic - will better suit it.”

Foolishly idealistic. Like the sort of person who would agree to this plan. Your face doesn’t fall, but your eyes do - toward the table, the way the fingers of each general drum against the wood. Magath’s hands clasp each other, firm as ever. When you look up to List again, you frown. 

“Sir, you know that I’ve returned to Liberio to enter the university’s medical program.”

“Yes, yes, we were quite impressed when we learned of your state exam results, Miss Tybur,” List waves, impatient. He’s been relaxed back against his chair, but now that his certainty is dwindling, he leans forward on the table. “But think. Look at the bigger picture. As a physician you may help a man in need one after the other - years and  years down the line. Six years at the shortest, and if you mean to be a specialist, how much longer? But with the Foundation’s resources, and with our backing at that, you will aid hundreds, thousands - and the motherland most importantly. Within the year. Half, if we move quickly.”

You bite your lip. You want it and you don’t. The Tyburs must do something, or else we are nothing were your exact words to Willy before. But the idea of retaking your name when you have only just arrived here nauseates you, and assisting the expansion, the destruction, under the guise of aid more so. 

“I… would like time to give this some thought, Sir.”

A sigh seems to echo around the room, but it’s only all the men with you and their exasperation. Only Magath is expressionless as List visibly bites his tongue. He gives the commander a glare for good measure, as though it’s his fault you did not agree at once. “Very well,” he says. “But know that prolonging this will only bring harm to the motherland.”

You only nod. Much as you would like to have it, you have no intention of getting the last word here. You avert your gaze from the Commander when you permit the men to leave the room ahead of you.

It seems like the start of a rather miserable day - you’re practically scheduled to overthink all this some time this week, if not this afternoon - when, once the steady march of power has cleared from the hallway, Pieck meets you as you step out of the conference room.

“Boo.”

Your hand flies over your chest, but it’s a chuckle that comes out of you. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“So I’ve been told.” She peeks into the room behind you right as you close the doors. “The brass did not look pleased.”

You wince. “I gave them no reason to be. I hate to get the Commander in trouble, but...” You trail off. You both know you can’t say much more.

It’s Pieck’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“...Sorry.”

“That’s all right,” she shrugs. “I came here for lunch, not information.”

You doubt she knows the extent of the Tyburs’ relationship with the regime, but you can always trust Pieck to know not to pry. “You know, I remember now why you’re my favorite Warrior.”

“Oh?” Pieck grins. “Not the Boy Wonder?”

“Boy Wonder,” you repeat, the way the two of you always have when that name comes up - with a snicker and definitely with no one else around. You’ll never understand how the brass can say it with such straight faces. “So how about that meal?”

She pinches at the skin of your elbow through your sleeve. “Changing the subject doesn’t work on me, you know.”

You sigh. “Can we please eat first? I’m miserable enough without an empty stomach.”

“I guess some things don’t change.”

“Hey!” You half-scoff, half-laugh. With a wink, Pieck slips her arm around yours, and you start down the hallway in companionable silence. 

Or you would, if you didn’t know that you owe her a little more than that. Reaching over to rest your free hand over the arm linked with yours, you look at her. “I’m sorry, Pieck. I really am.”

Pieck waits a moment, and then meets your gaze. She searches yours for the lie, but she already knows it won’t be there. You always were too candid for your own good. With a squeeze at your hand, she nods. “I know. Tell me all about it after that meal. Your treat, right?”

You blink, and then laugh with shaking relief. “Of course.”

--

You and Pieck fall back into the easy rapport you’ve shared since you became friends more than a decade ago. Contrary to her words, she doesn’t press you for answers as you decide on where to eat in the zone. For old times’ sake, you agree on the sandwich place two blocks from the Yeagers’, and you end up sharing a meal in your bedroom. 

Sitting on your bed together, legs dangling over one edge as you nip at your food, you finally work up the courage to speak through your guilt and explain yourself and the past five years—or most of it. And of course Pieck is understanding, which makes you feel even more pathetic. True to form, she picks that up as well and gracefully changes the subject.

You’re the one who brings it back to what still hangs in the air over you when you’ve finished eating. Nothing personal—but though Marcel was the only one with whom you were ever close friends with, Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie were your teammates too. You’d suffered your superiors together during training, and you’d been there for each of their first transformations. For all the experiments too; even their first assault mission. 

“What happened?”

Propped up on one elbow, Pieck is lying on her side, legs tucked under her skirt as you set aside your trash. She accepts the glass you hand her from the table, eyes distant. “Zeke hasn’t told you?”

“Zeke won’t look at me unless he absolutely has to. You know how he is.”

Pieck groans. She knows. “He was so irritating after you stopped writing.”

You click your teeth in a wince. “Really?” 

“Imagine, Lucy—after you all left, I was stuck with him and Porco. The abandonment issues didn’t just double, they were exponential. Multiply that with the ego and the sarcasm? The Commander was my favorite person those days.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “I am so sorry, Pieck.”

“You should be,” she grumbles, but the remark is softened with a grin. When you grimace, she braces herself with a deep breath.

She tells you everything, or most of it: that the people of Paradis were shocked to find others alive outside of the walls, what Reiner and Bertholdt and Annie went through the past so many years, how the latter were captured—and exactly what happened to Marcel. She saves that one for last, and though you are infinitely more curious about the world behind the coward king’s walls, you reach for her hand again.

“I’m sorry, Pieck.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to make apologies all day, you know.”

“Don’t I?” you grin, embarrassed, teeth gritted even when your feigned mirth starts to droop. The dreamy way she speaks throws others off, but you know Pieck. She’s always been the most pragmatic of the Warriors and so she must feel silly, thinking about what could have been, had Marcel returned. Would a childhood crush have become something more between them if things were different? He had promised his family, and her specifically, that he would come home after saving the world. The thought, the regret for a chance not even yours gone, has a weight settling in your throat too.

You clear it and huff. “Well, it’s a great loss. I think everyone was a little in love with Marcel.”

Pieck glances at you.

“...Except Annie,” you add.

The sudden exemption makes Pieck choke with laughter, with tears not far behind. “Except Annie. Of course.”

You giggle, and both of you pretend not to see each other wiping your own eyes. “You know. Annie was always the toughest among us.” You pause. “Is. She is.” When Pieck’s laughter gives way to somber agreement, you ask, “What about Reiner? What has he said? I know what he’s said, but… two weeks of  debriefing… it sounds like a little much.”

“He was there for years,” Pieck shakes her head. “He grew up there, Lucy. He’s… completely different now. Kind of like you.” 

“I think that’s giving me a little too much credit.” You haven’t done anything remotely in the way of serving the motherland; not that you begrudge the others that the way you once did. “All I’ve done is see things and get upset. Until I can get my degree, and then until I can get the War Hammer, there’s nothing I can do.”

That’s a lie. There is apparently the Foundation—but the idea of directly assisting the regime in its efforts is something you cannot consider as you are.

“If you do become a doctor, will they let you have the War Hammer?”

You bite your lip. If only for Lara, you’re still bitter about that. “What was it all for otherwise? Though… I guess if I had inherited it then, there’s no way I’d ever be able to come back and see you all except under specific circumstances. Much less be permitted to study.”

Pieck only sighs, reaching for your hand. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t. And when I think about it… a part of me is glad Marcel didn’t have to see all of what Marley has done. What we had to do in Paradis—and I only saw a speck.”

You know what the others did, but Zeke and Pieck’s involvement apart from retrieving your old comrades is still vague. 

You squeeze her hand reassuringly, but you can’t help it. “What did you have to do?”

 “What we’ve always had to,” she answers with a faint smile. Your friends always had tells when they would rather not say more, and this is unmistakably hers. Given your earlier explanation, you understand why. She intertwines your fingers with gratitude at your silence. 

“So,” you start after a while, “how about some dessert before I walk you back to HQ?”

“Sure. I might as well treat myself a little before we have to head out to the mountains again.” At your questioning gaze, she says, “Training with the Panzer Unit. That’s what all the paperwork was for.”

“Gross.”

She chuckles. “That’s exactly what Zeke says.”

Your face falls at the mention of him. Relieved as you are with your progress with Pieck, Zeke is an entirely different ball game. You hate that that’s the phrase you even thought of.

“You know what?” Pieck sits up smacks her hands on her lap. “I’ll treat you, too.”

You perk up. “Really?”

“For a price.”

“...What’s that?”

“Talk to Zeke already. If I come back after a month to your gloomy faces still, I’m going to go crazy.”

“It’s only been a day,” you mutter. “And I’ve tried to apologize to him.”

Pieck gives you a knowing look. 

“I did,” you insist helplessly, but you both know that’s probably a lie. In Pieck’s case. You know it is absolutely false: when Zeke came upstairs after dish duty, quietly closing the door to his room, you stepped out of yours and stood outside in the hallway, your hand raised to knock on his door. You just couldn’t do it. You can take Porco’s jabs any day, but last night, the thought of Zeke and his silence, or worse, his caustic cheer, sent you scurrying back to your room.

You sigh. “Fine.”

Amused, Pieck gets to her feet for the opportunity to loom akimbo over you. “Good. And if you start to lose heart, try to remember that six-year old who used to glare at Magath like she had nothing to lose. That girl had guts.”

“You mean the half-dead one who wasn’t allowed dinner and got a Warrior class’s worth of cleanup duty alone, whom you specifically told to get over herself if she didn’t want to actually die a few months into training?”

“Exactly. What is Zeke going to do? Tell you to go to your room without dinner?”

Maybe. You sigh. “Sometimes I don’t like it when you’re right.”

Pieck grins. “And when Zeke gets over himself—maybe he’ll tell you about his brother.”

Your shock would be better illustrated in this moment were you sipping a drink you could spit in her face. “His what?”

“Shh. I don’t think he’s told the Yeagers. I think… he only told Magath because I was there when he discovered it. Still,” she says when your eyes remain wide and expectant, “it’s not my place to say. So talk to him.”

--

Medicine is one of the few fields for which Eldians are permitted to pursue higher education. It’s only logical—there are only a few non-Eldians who care to treat pig-blooded devils, and the efforts of those who do are wasted on said filth. And so the regime allows the admission of more Eldians than often permitted under quotas for other majors, even if the number does remain small regardless.

After parting ways with Pieck, you find yourself standing in line in some administrative building in the University of Liberio in the midday heat of summer. The line stretches outside because this is the queue for Eldian students wishing to confirm their intention to enroll over a month from now. That’s all—you need only submit a form and pay a fee, and the line for non-Eldians students has long finished—but of course the line has barely moved for your kind.

You’re clutching your envelope and your permit to your chest, which you quickly realize is a terrible idea. Sweat is starting to trickle down the nape of your neck, and you start to fan yourself with the envelope. Talking to the other applicants in line is prohibited - you must be spaced far from one another so as not to make noise and distract students who actually deserve to be here.

It’s ridiculous. You can’t even leave the line because saving spots is prohibited. Something about being fair.

The frustration crawls up your neck in the form of prickling heat, and you feel a headache coming. You fan yourself more vigorously, trying to calm down. It takes a minute, but the background buzz eventually starts to soothe you, and you begin to accept that you can simply return to the Yeagers’ and change as soon as this is over. The glares your line receives from passing students and the guards watching you, ensuring none of you causes a ruckus (as if any Eldian would dare), fade under the memory of your childhood. You withstood it before, with Magath and the other drill instructors screaming in your face. You can ignore a few nasty looks.

With that as a frame of reference, the line is even almost... peaceful. The heat is dry, not humid, there’s no mud, no blisters in your feet, no rucksack weighing you down, and no rifle either. 

Only the sudden rustle of paper as it slips from your thumb interrupts that peace. 

“No!” you gasp, watching your permit flutter closer to a guard with his back turned. 

Just then a hand swoops in to save it - its owner bent forward, dark hair falling over his face until he rights himself, permit in hand, and glances around. You sigh in relief when you spot the band around his arm and wave him over. 

He jogs over to you, hand already extended with the permit. “Confirming your slot for the medical school?” he asks, brushing away the bangs that fall over his face. He’s got the slightest stubble around his jaw, which he brushes his fingers over when he notices you looking.

You meet his gaze when  you notice you’re looking. “Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. He smiles at once, as if he can tell you’re embarrassed, but he only casts a glance at the line behind and ahead of you. “It was a lot worse during my time. They had us looping around the gate.”

“Ugh, really?”

He nods, but swallows down his grimace to lick his lips. “I’ve… never seen you around the zone before.”

You blink. Smile a little as you glance around the line. “You know everyone in the zone?”

He opens his mouth to respond with a sheepish grin that makes his eyes twinkle when movement behind him catches your peripheral vision. One of the guards watching the line has noticed him and is stomping his way over. Noticing your alarm, he sticks out a hand. “I’m Kellan, by the way.”

“Lucy. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lucy,” he repeats, and you’re barely able to shake his hand when the guard yanks him back. 

“Damn pig’s blood—!”

“I’m going, sir. Sorry,” says Kellan, ending the apology with his eyes on you even as he winces from the shorter man’s grip. When he’s eventually released, he ducks away and walks off. He glances over his shoulder to wave, but another guard keeps him moving with a shove.

The shorter one glares at you when he’s gone, and though you remember Pieck’s words, you know this isn’t the time or the place.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes to the ground as you turn ahead. Once he’s assured of your submission, he leaves too.

The line takes longer than you expect, but you survive the sweltering heat and submit your form just before the offices close. You hurry back to the zone afterward, dropping by the Galliard bakery to call on Mr. and Mrs. Galliard and offer your condolences. They are shocked but overjoyed to see you, and insist that you take your old favorites when they discover that you’ll be dropping in on Mr. Finger afterward.

You don’t stay long, though Mr. Finger is pleased about your choice of future employment. You feel even guiltier at the unspoken regret in his smile, and beg him not to mention it when he tries to thank you for the support the Tybur family has sent the Fingers over the years—the one thing you think Willy has ever done right.

You return to the Yeagers before dark, early enough to help Mrs. Yeager start with dinner. Dr. Yeager is apologetic as always, but you’re able to change the subject by serving the blueberry pie from the Galliards for a mid-meal dessert of sorts, and the dinner table relaxes soon after. Zeke is absent - he still hasn’t come home from work - so you make sure to leave some for him. This time, Mrs. Yeager allows you to take over cleanup, and the couple retires to their bedroom once the conversation fades into a comfortable silence.

You hope to meet Zeke right as he arrives, corner him into talking to you somehow unless he decides to miss dinner himself, but after half an hour of sitting at the dinner table, cleaning anything you might have missed in the kitchen and the dining room, and rearranging anything out of place in the living room, it starts to look like he won’t be coming anytime soon. 

That’s fine, you tell yourself. You feel slimy from being out in the sun all afternoon anyway, and you treat yourself to a relaxing bath. Zeke is still away when you return to your room, and the calming warmth of your evening has you yawning. You have no choice but to change into your pajamas. 

In truth, you’re a little relieved. Not that you’re particularly answerable to Pieck anyway, at least not until she finishes training with the Panzer Unit, but it won’t be your fault that you and Zeke weren’t able to talk tonight. But just to feel as though you’ve tried your very best, you keep yourself up by starting to write to Lara—and then regret your principle when you hear heavy footsteps outside and a soft click of the door across yours.

The word you’re writing skitters off to the edge of the paper in your surprise. Your heartbeat invades the tense silence of your room, but you manage to take a deep breath, folding your unfinished letter and slipping it under the paperweight on your desk. 

Your door is your next obstacle.

Overlapping images of how Zeke will surely reject you race through your mind alongside the words you wish you could say, and you’re able to keep up with about... none of them. You thought that the words would come to you, and maybe they will, but the moment is about to come and you can’t think of a single word to say. 

If you have time to worry, you have time to just get over there and do it, you tell yourself. You shake your head, regretting your own harshness, but also nod as you hastily gulp down the glass of water on your bedside table. Those words in mind, you move, switching one door for another. No longer standing nose-to-panel with your bedroom door, you’re doing it with Zeke’s in the hallway instead. 

Hand raised to knock, you eye the light peeking out from the gap beneath the door.  Knock. Just knock. The worst he can do is turn you away, and you’ll probably want to wriggle under the dirt and cry, but you’ll at least have tried. You owe it to him to try, like you did with Pieck, and you know you’re braver than this. Or you were, once upon a time.

If you’re still the same girl from years ago, you don’t get to find out just yet.

You hear his footsteps coming from the bathroom too late. No, it’s the heat of another and the familiar scent of his soap which alert you to his presence.

That and his voice, still too deep for the older boy you remember. “Aren’t you a little too old to still be knocking on my door at night?”

“Zeke,” you say, trying to pull your heart down from your throat before you turn and meet his flat expression. He’s in pajamas himself, his hair damp. You must not have heard him head for the bathroom you share down the hall. “Hi.”

That’s more than your mind could summon a while ago, but you still want to smack yourself.

His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath. His jaw shifts even as his pale eyes stare down at you in the dim light, as if deciding what to do with you... and then he sighs. He’s too tired to be glib tonight. “Can I help you, Lucy?”

Your lips purse with trepidation, but you stand your ground. “Can we talk?”

He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Looking down at you is clearly work. “I’m listening.”

You hesitate, trying not to make another face. It seems to come naturally with Zeke around, but you resist the urge, and instead tilt your head to the side. There is no light coming from the master bedroom down the length of the hallway. When you glance back up at Zeke, you give him a pointed look.

Zeke sighs again, and then… decides to just brush past you to grab his doorknob.

Your stomach twists with both disappointment and pique. “Zeke,” you whisper furiously, barely just stomping your foot.

He whips his head to face you, halfway inside already. “What?” he whispers back, like you’re nagging him. Then he rolls his eyes, swinging his door wide open and backing into it to give you room. 

“Get in.”

--

Sorry for the dearth of Zeke moments this chapter, but the next one will mooostly feature him and yes we'll finally find out why Zeke is upset. I used to write very long chapters with fics, but that really exhausted me so I'm trying to write shorter now to keep myself from burning out. But I'm enjoying writing in 2nd person! I never used to do it because it was frowned upon long ago, and possibly still is now? But idc anymore it's fun to try.

Thank you for reading!

#zeke x reader #zeke x oc #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x oc #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger x oc #aot #snk #aot fic #aot fanfic #haliyam #interim #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #snk fanfic

[haliyam]

interim (v)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 4

Hi again! Forgive me for this chapter and the next few ones, guys. I offer you this art I commissioned and an itty bitty happy-for-a-millisecond Zeke/Reader oneshot in the meantime 😪 (Please notice this I am so happy with it)

As usual, Reader default name Lucy is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background and family name. But feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension!

Chapter 5

“Why are you helping me?”

You grit your teeth, peering over at Zeke as he lets go of your foot. He was helping you stretch, seeing as you’re too fatigued to do it yourself, not to mention you’re covered in a heated blanket and he’s put hot towels over and under your limbs. 

He ignores you, like he’s been ignoring you since he entered your room with all of these items, asking instead whether you wanted help or not. Like he’s been ignoring you since you arrived as a guest at the Yeagers’.

You don’t really like Zeke, and you’re sure he doesn’t like you either. You’re six, after all, with all the confidence the world can offer a child in your position, and he’s twelve, with all the arrogance of a boy already training to become the Beast Titan when the war in the South is over. 

That’s why his help is so strange. And without Mrs. Yeager forcing him into it, too?  It’s suspect, and you’re not even sure you know that word yet.

“Why—”

“Shh,” Zeke hisses, looking very displeased about having to respond in any way while you glare at him. When your brows unfurrow and you continue to stare at him expectantly, he rolls his eyes. Still, he finally speaks again. “Why are you like this, anyway? Aren’t you Magath’s new star would-be candidate?”

You were, until the ideology tests began. You don’t know they’re called that, but you’ve been doing terribly at the written exams which ask why Eldians are the dirt between the toes of  real  humans. Your answers show a well-read knowledge of Marley-sanctioned history, but distinctly lack the Eldian shame that comes naturally to your classmates. 

This is concerning to the program and to command in spite of your potential, so it’s up to your instructors to beat that shame into you by keeping you running for far longer than the others, leaving you out of meals, or shortening your breaks and then making you stay behind so you can do everyone else’s grunt work, especially after you dared to look Captain Magath in the eye the first time your class fell in to formation after the first round of exams. And every other time since, like an idiot. 

“Not anymore,” you answer, struggling to keep his gaze. You don’t really want to talk about this with someone who now must only wait to inherit his Titan. It makes you feel small, and nobody in Marley should have that authority.

Zeke wrinkles his nose. “That’s not an answer. It just seemed like you were doing great… and now you’re a baby that has to be coddled?”

Your glare returns, shame be damned, but the pain that suddenly pulses through your body as surely as your indignation quickly drains it. Your pride and your strength are depleted for the day, and you need to save what remains for tomorrow, when you have to face the instructors again. And besides—Zeke has already seen how weak you are. What’s the point? Tybur pride will do nothing for you now. 

You lower your gaze for once. “Are you going to tell the captain?” 

Zeke stares at you. “No? Why does Magath hate you now, anyway?”

You know why. Because you’re still a Tybur, and you refuse to be nothing. Even if nobody knows it. Even if you feel like nothing right now.

Zeke sighs again—a concession of his own, though that is unknown to you. “Fine. Just... my grandparents will get worried if they hear you crying because you can’t sleep.”

“I wasn’t crying,” you lie. Your body hurts so much that you haven’t been able to stay asleep for very long. You just didn’t think he could hear you crying.

“Sure,” he scoffs. He’s lied, too. It’s difficult to hear much noise inside your rooms from the hall—but you did pass him on the way to the bathroom with those puffy eyes just a little while ago. “Just make sure they don’t see you as pathetic as you look now—they already have enough to worry about. If you have to be pathetic… only do it in front of me. Understand?”

You still want to glare at him, but somehow, his words are almost as much comfort to you as the towels he’s heated for you. You don’t know the last time you let your guard down since the Warrior program began for your class, and you’re so tired. His words, however cold, warm you in your newfound frailty.

“Okay,” you murmur in defeat, relaxing in earnest. Your eyes are slowly starting to close.

“Hey!” he snaps within a whisper, quickly reaching for your shoulder and shaking it. You’re too sleepy to notice his reluctant concern. “Don’t fall asleep wrapped up in all this. It’s just a few more minutes, and then you have to go to the bathroom and put this ointment on your muscles like I told you. Remember?”

You do your best to widen your eyes and shake your head awake. The effort ends with you groaning in pain, but you eventually manage a nod. “I’ll stay awake,” you promise. When he sighs again and pulls the seat out from next to your desk to sit at your bedside, you murmur something else.

He frowns at you. “What was that?”

“I’ll stay awake,” you repeat, “but will you tell me a story?”

--

Are you surprised that Willy is coming to visit? Yes and no. Over the years, Willy has perfected the art of making his presence in your life known while somehow remaining completely absent. The nature of the new Lord Tybur’s existence in your world became immutable the summer after that fateful one, after you came crying to him and to Lara when you could no longer bear the loneliness of ignoring your friends’ letters for an entire year. Willy’s response, as with everything regarding Mila, was to turn away and change the subject. It was Lara who couldn’t resist your tears and confessed it all to you—what father told Willy hours before he became Lord Tybur, and then all she learned when she devoured him.

The new Lord Tybur was furious. It was only the second time in your life you had ever heard your brother so angry—but he never stays that way with you or with Lara for very long, and wouldn’t you have discovered the truth after thirteen years anyway? In true Willy fashion, he only smiled days later and expected you never to mention it again. The fact that you have, many times hence, is part of why your relationship is so frayed.  That and his tendency to appear, shower you with affection, and then shrink at the first sign of trouble. After all, how can anyone expect you to love a man who can’t bring himself to stand up for you?

Your resignation to this is mostly what keeps you from worrying too much the next morning, when Zeke leaves for HQ and you elect to join the Yeagers for market day. Part of it is guilt—apparently you and Zeke now consume much more than you did as candidates, and you want to make sure that you’re paying your share—and part of it is that you still feel ashamed for letting Zeke see you act the way you did last night. You still have to take care not to groan outwardly when you remember how you shrugged him off when he tried to be a friend, or how much you practically wailed into his chest. Never mind how you hid behind him from Mila when he let you, like the coward you are.

“You’re so pathetic, Lucy,” you mutter to yourself.

Standing not far from you by a vegetable vendor, Dr. Yeager glances over his shoulder. “Hmm? What’s that, Lucy?”

“Er—nothing, Dr. Yeager. I was just thinking to myself,” you smile sheepishly. Drawing closer to avoid getting jostled by the crowd, you search over his selection. “Oh! That’s… a lot of potatoes. You don’t need to avoid other items on my account. I’m happy to pay for my share.”

Dr. Yeager chuckles. “No, no. You know how much Zeke likes them. And don’t worry, Lucy, I can carry them.”

“No,” you say slowly, exchanging a look with the vendor when Dr. Yeager gives his smaller basket a faithful pat. You reach for it instead, tugging a little when he stubbornly refuses. “I’m taking these. You can carry some of the fish, but I’ll be taking most of the baskets. Hand them over and I’ll bring these to Mrs. Yeager.”

Dr. Yeager sighs. “Very well, Lucy. But only because I know how much you like carp from our friend down the road.”

You grin, and he lets you take his basket so you can fill your much larger one with (apparently) Zeke’s potatoes. As you part ways so he can go and buy you fish, you set out to find Mrs. Yeager. She should be waiting outside a little cafe not far from the market—Dr. Yeager likes doing most of the groceries nowadays, and Mrs. Yeager’s one very important task is to buy the household’s favorite seasonal dessert: grapes. Unfortunately, the best grapes in the zone market are sold by an old man who has a bit of a crush on her, and he doesn’t like seeing Dr. Yeager if he can help it. Or Zeke. Or you. 

That should be her only task, which is why you’re surprised when you find her with a man and a basket full of cured meats when you arrive. 

The truth is you almost miss her, if not for the sweet sound of her amused chuckle right as you decide to head inside to find her. Walking around the man blocking her from view, you approach. “Mrs. Yeager?”

“Lucy!” she waves. 

Her raised brows tell you she wants you to meet someone; evidently, the man carrying most of her baskets along his arms, wearing an apron over a button-down and slacks with his sleeves rolled up. You turn toward each other at your name, and after a blink or two between the two of you, you realize that the man’s shock is more familiar than you first realized—probably because it’s your second time bumping into each other this weekend. 

“Lucy?” he gawps at you.

You give him the same look. “Kellan? What are you…?”

He follows your gaze to Mrs. Yeager, and the way it dawns on his face is enough for you to trust that this is another funny coincidence. “Oh—” He gestures to her, “I was just helping, er…”

“Mrs. Yeager,” you help him.

“Right, Mrs... You’re Mrs. Yeager?” he asks, glancing at her. It’s clear he’s seen her unmistakable red armband, but it’s not polite to ask which child earned you Honorary Marleyan status. 

Mrs. Yeager is accustomed to his curiosity, which he soon realizes along with his manners with an embarrassed flush that makes you smile. Luckily, she takes over for him with a pat on his arm. “Kellan here was helping me with the meats I bought from his family’s shop. He was just telling me that he’s studying to be a doctor, and I thought, what a coincidence—but it seems you two already know each other! Isn’t he handsome, Lucy?”

Such a pointed question. You and Kellan meet each other’s gazes with mutual embarrassment. 

“You really don’t have to answer that,” Kellan laughs nervously, which helps you snap out of your stupor and look at him. You suppose he is handsome, even with his dark hair mired in sweat and slicked back today. He’s tall, taller than Zeke and maybe even Reiner, with a strong nose and gentle eyes that watch you hopefully in spite of his words.

The Warrior program and boarding school means no one has ever looked at you like that before, and the novelty has excitement blooming in your chest. Maybe a slight pink on your cheeks, too, which you try to hide with a smile. 

“I think so,” you say, his gaze and then his shock making you feel a new kind of brave. “And I have bumped into him a few times. ...Sorry again about yesterday.”

“That’s all right. Bumping into you isn’t so bad,” he says almost smoothly, very nearly matching your courage until he remembers Mrs. Yeager and, as such, his embarrassment. “...You know, because Mrs. Yeager bought so much. I’ve never seen my aunt so thrilled.”

You’ve never been this thrilled either—attractive boys were a constant topic for your peers at boarding school, but then you’ve never had the chance to meet one. You still haven’t. Kellan is an attractive man, a few years your senior and hardly a boy. And you aren’t a liar. He’s very pleasing to look at, especially when his eyes search yours so intently. 

“Of course,” you say, trying not to look nervous when you take a step closer and reach for the baskets he’s holding. “Well, thank you for helping Mrs. Yeager. But I can take those.”

Kellan withdraws the arm holding her basket, giving you a once-over. “What do you mean?”

“Lucy is our guest at home,” says Mrs. Yeager, who looks far too pleased with herself. “Even if she refuses to let us carry our own things.”

“Please,” you feign a sigh. “I haven’t kept up with some training for nothing.” 

Kellan looks confused as he glances between the two of you, but he’s determined when you meet his gaze again. “Lucy,” he begins, “remember that bookstore I mentioned yesterday? I was thinking—did you want to drop by after this so I can show you which books you can start with?”

“Really?” you ask. Perhaps you were hoping to see him again, make a friend or two at campus, but you didn’t think your encounters could actually move past hello and goodbye. But Mrs. Yeager was right. He is handsome, dark-eyed and tall, and the idea of more of those shy smiles is a flattering one. “Well… I’d like that. But I wanted to bring these home first. And aren’t you helping at your aunt’s stall?”

“I can take a break,” he says easily, smile growing just a little more confident. “And I can help you bring these home! You shouldn’t be carrying all these yourself. Er… If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Yeager. And I’d just have to change quickly. Been out here since early this morning.”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Yeager answers for you, giving you an openly suggestive look. You pretend not to see it, but stifle a smile yourself.

Politely averting his eyes to spare you the embarrassment, Kellan reaches for the basket on your right arm, and for a moment you understand the Dr. Yeager of a little while ago. But you’ve never experienced anyone’s chivalry before, excepting Bertholdt (and he was an angel to just about everybody and he was twelve). You can suffer Kellan’s for now. 

“Thank you,” you say reluctantly. “But only that one. I have my pride to consider, you know.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, readjusting the baskets along his arms. When he shifts them all to just one arm so he can wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his damp hair glistening slightly, you imagine the tales you’ve read of countryside romances at the school library and remember to swoon a little. When he catches you looking and glancing away, Kellan smiles. 

“Where to, ladies?”

--

You find Dr. Yeager with your carp, and he is just as pleased as his wife to have another helper no matter how much he claims he can take another basket of his own. Your fears of Kellan’s talk of med school bringing out unhappy memories in Zeke’s grandfather come to nothing when Dr. Yeager expresses interest in the university system nowadays, and you’re happy to listen to the men converse about Kellan’s plans for specialization on the way home. 

“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Yeager says when you arrive, hurrying to unlock the door, and the three of you file into the house while she keeps it open. To everyone’s surprise, the door to the kitchen is already ajar: Zeke and Porco are sitting at the table, poring over folders together in silence. It seems they didn’t hear you come in.

“Good morning, you two,” Dr. Yeager’s surprised remark shatters their deep focus, and both of them spring out of their seats. They immediately turn the folders over and stack them next to a small paper bag.

It’s Zeke who relaxes first. “Grandpa,” he greets, casually nodding at each of you until he spots Kellan coming in from behind you. He doesn’t notice himself straightening up to his full height.

Before he can ask, Mrs. Yeager beams at the sight of Zeke’s guest. “Porco! What a nice surprise. You rarely come to visit.”

Porco’s suspicious brow slackens into a smile for her. It’s almost sheepish, and if that’s the case, is it really Porco? “Sorry, Mrs. Yeager.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Things have been really busy.”

“What are you two doing here?” you ask, rubbing your arms as you set the baskets down by the counter. You join them standing by the table at Dr. Yeager’s urging. “I thought you worked Sundays.”

It is Porco, because he snorts, only a little more politely since the Yeagers are around. “We were supposed to, until our Warchief realized he left work at home.”

Zeke shrugs helplessly. “It slipped my mind. I hardly ever bring home work.”

Porco remembers that you were the one in a hurry to leave HQ two days ago, prompting Zeke to forgo leaving the files in his office when Boy Wonder decided he would accompany you home, which is seriously stupid because you don’t really need any more babysitting. But then the two of you did pass by the family bakery and Mr. Finger—so he decides to stay quiet for now.

On that matter, anyway. He gestures to Kellan, who is quietly helping Mrs. Yeager unload the baskets. “Who’s the guy?”

You shoot him a reproachful, wide-eyed look. “Porco—!”

“This is Kellan. He’s studying to be a doctor, a few years ahead of Lucy,” Mrs. Yeager interrupts. She hardly knows him and she’s already proud of him, it seems, pushing him next to you by the table. He apologizes when the surprising force of her shove has him bumping into you.

“Right.” You steady him with a hand on his upper arm and are unsurprised to find muscle there. “Uh, Kellan helped us bring the groceries home. We’re heading out in a bit so he can show me some textbooks I can study ahead of time, regardless of which professors I get.”

“Textbooks?” Porco repeats with a chuckle. “Since when do you study, Blanchard?”

“Since a while ago, Galliard,” you say pleasantly, even with your teeth gritted, wondering if it’s possible to burn alive with embarrassment while hoping Porco catches alight himself. When the new Jaw only continues to look amused, you sigh. “Kellan, this is Porco, and that’s Zeke.”

You could announce their last names, but everyone in the zone knows who the Warriors are, and Kellan already seems uncomfortable. You hope it’s not because of Porco’s remark and consider throttling the man.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kellan says anyway, politely offering his hand.

You hold back when Porco shakes it. It goes on for a little longer than you expect and their knuckles are paler by the end of it, but you suppose that’s better than nothing, which is exactly what Zeke gives when Kellan extends a hand to him next.

“The pleasure is ours,” Zeke says in lieu of doing anything else. He’s smiling, one hand in the pocket of his uniform while the other holds half the stack of folders. “Kellan, right? You’re pretty persistent, huh?”

Kellan presses his lips together as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Zeke stares at him a little longer before he chuckles. “Nah.”

You’re not surprised. Zeke always takes his time warming to people, if he ever does. When he meets your gaze, his amusement softens into something a little more natural.

You smile back, unsure why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden when Mrs. Yeager comes up from behind you. “All right, Kellan, thank you for accompanying us home. Now, off you two go.”

You survey the kitchen counters with a grimace. The groceries still need sorting. “But Mrs. Yeager—” you and Kellan start in unison, and then exchange glances. His light laughter is a little more than charming.

“Ugh,” Porco mutters, echoing more than just his own sentiments. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Yeager says before you can notice. She rounds the four of you to pat the shoulders of Zeke and Porco. “I’ve found two new helpers in your stead. You can spare a few minutes, can’t you, dears?”

Kellan looks to Dr. Yeager. “But—”

“We can handle it,” Zeke cuts him off, but he’s decidedly ignored the man, waving at you instead. “Do what you need to, Lucy.”

“Thanks,” you beam at him, feeling oddly silly. Like a child playing adult as Kellan opens the door for you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, kids,” Porco calls out. He chuckles when you glance over your shoulder to shoot him a deadpan look, only to find Zeke giving him the exact same one once the front door clicks shut.

“What?”

--

“I’m sorry about that,” you say as soon as you leave the Yeager household and head down the steps toward the street. You glance back at Kellan, waiting for him to follow. “Zeke and Porco are nice when you get to know them. And vice-versa.”

Kellan nods, looking at you. “You seem close.”

“Yeah,” is all you can say. When you don’t say more, he doesn’t pry. 

He asks to drop by the market again so he can pick up his things and an extra shirt, and you walk in relative silence until you reach it.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, open palms pressing at the air as if you’ll disappear the moment he leaves. It’s cute from someone so much taller than you.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he does too before diving back into the crowd.

You adjust your armband as you back into a nearby building and watch the coming and going of Eldians through the tightly-packed throng. Long ago, during your first foray into one of the zone’s open air markets, you were disgusted and confused. Only your growing regard for the Yeagers and the thought of Zeke’s sarcastic surprise at the little you knew of the world had kept your mouth shut. 

Over the years you came to accept it as part of this temporary home, and market day a time when Eldians could happily interact with familiar faces and keep one another apprised of their trials amid life in the zone. The strong stench of the place became a reminder of this affection you could only find within a community, one completely nonexistent in the grand, empty gardens of the Tybur estate. 

The first summer after you left showed you that to Eldians outside of Marley, the Liberio internment zone—a place you still consider a prison for people you care about, where stepping outside its gates to look for a pharmacy when those in the zone have nothing more to offer can end in a beating—is paradise. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, but it’s your world. The world that the Tyburs have allowed to flourish. 

Alone with your thoughts, you find yourself nervous. Why is Willy coming here? Only Mila was ever permitted to come and visit you—but that was when father was still alive. 

Perhaps if Willy sees Liberio, the place that raised you...

You find yourself hopeful. Maybe it was father all along. Maybe Willy isn��t a coward after all.

“Sorry about the wait. Lucy?”

Kellan stands before you, hair no longer damp but brushed down a little more properly. The apron has disappeared in favor of a new button-down, the strap of his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. 

His sleeves are still rolled up. You like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile, readjusting the purse at your side. “Ready to go?”

Kellan nods, and is much more talkative now that he feels more presentable around you. He apologizes for his silence earlier—his own scent was bothering him, and he was embarrassed—and he starts to tell you about university as soon as you ask. 

The bookstore he mentioned is a little far from the Yeagers’, but it is useful. Many are secondhand, but the store is vigilant about keeping only those published in the last five years. It regularly gets donations, perhaps from sympathetic Marleyans, though how they would know about it you can only wonder.

Kellan advises you as to the best books when it comes to basic medical subjects, which are what you’ll be taking up in your first year. In spite of Porco’s little joke, you’re eager to get started working toward that degree. General List’s words may hang over your head, but now that Willy is coming to Liberio, you have time to wait to tell him instead of putting off writing Lara about it. 

“Wow,” Kellan remarks, once you’ve bought everything. “You really are serious about this.”

You glance up at him with a frown you can’t help. “You thought I wasn’t?” 

“It’s not that,” he says at once, holding the door open for you as you leave the shop. He offers to take the books off your hands, but you hold the pile to your chest, waiting for his reply. “No, it’s more—I thought I was the only one who did this kind of thing. Study ahead of the year if I can.”

You relax somewhat at his words. “You do this too?”

Kellan nods, and when he reaches again, you let him take half your books. “My friends made fun of me, but I mean to become a physician. There aren’t enough Eldian doctors to attend everyone in the zone, and… I want to help.”

“I see,” you murmur. Suddenly, Kellan seems a lot more charming than he is already. “I bet you’re at the top of your class or something.”

Kellan only smiles, and you blink at him.

“Are you?”

He looks embarrassed about it the way you know most men in your life wouldn’t be. “One of my professors said if I wasn’t Eldian, I might have been offered a scholarship.”

“That’s amazing,” you say, a mix of admiration and pity swirling in your stomach. You wish you could help him. Do more for a man like this. 

“Yeah, well…” Kellan shrugs, but he easily replaces his bitterness with a smile when he looks at you again. “You have a good study ethic yourself. You’ll do great.”

You can’t help but laugh at that one. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like passing the state exams was a fluke.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if it were.” It’s his turn to frown. “None of us Eldians would.”

You wish that were true. Of course, you took the exams as Lucy Blanchard, and for all intents and purposes Willy had nothing to do with your results. You studied ridiculously hard to earn your grades and the state exam score—it’s just difficult not to wonder when Lord Tybur has always known what you were up to.

“Look.” He stops, moving to stand in front of you. “I know we just met, but—I don’t like hearing you say that about yourself. Okay?”

You can only smile. You haven’t known Kellan for half a day, but you don’t feel like challenging him the way you would the others if they said that to you. It feels like he deserves more than that. “Let’s just say I was always the more sports-oriented type. But thank you.”

Kellan looks at you as though he thinks you might say something self-deprecating again and he’s ready to gainsay it. When you don’t, he nods with approval and looks ahead. “Uh, so I was thinking…”

“What is it?”

“My friends study with me nowadays on university grounds. We’re allowed to, and the university library does have some books the store might not. The cafeteria has great food we don’t have in the zone, too.”

He glances over at you, and when you continue to wait for his point, he asks, “Do you want to study with us, maybe tomorrow afternoon? We have lectures to attend this summer, but I can maybe… pick you up afterward? The permit office will let you if you show them that you’ve confirmed your slot. If you want to,” he adds.

His offer is surprising and exciting and daunting in equal measure, because of course someone wanting to spend more time with you is nice, even if you’re ambivalent about meeting new people. Of course, the new people you met at boarding school knew you as Lucy Blanchard, the daughter of some Eldian servant for the Tyburs, and they were Marleyan to boot. Kellan’s friends are Liberio Eldians too. Maybe they’ll be just like him.

“I do want to.”

His uncertain expression immediately lights up. “Great,” he beams. “Will you be at the Yeagers’ tomorrow?” 

“Uh… yeah,” you answer, after some thought. You’ll be at HQ most likely, but you can always leave ahead of Zeke. “Just tell me what time you’ll arrive and I’ll have my permit ready by then.”

“Okay,” he says, pleased. “That works.”

You exchange smiles, and he walks you back to the Yeagers with a more relaxed silence than when you left. He hands you your books once you’ve unlocked the door to the house.

“I really have to get back to my uncle’s, but…” He scratches the back of his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, right? Maybe… four?” 

“Yeah,” you grin. When he waves, disappearing down the street, you hurry back inside toward the dining room. But it’s empty, with everything sorted in the kitchen. The Yeagers have left a note on the dining table about going out on a Sunday date, apparently presuming you would be out all day, but there’s another note from Zeke on the folded paper bag he and Porco brought home earlier. 

Crybabies only, it says. You thought it was part of Warrior work, but you open it and find a few jars of your old favorite fruit jam.

“Tch,” you chuckle, fishing out the jars and storing them, but you take Zeke’s note and bring it upstairs with your books. 

You get started on a simple lunch soon after. You want to re-wrap your new books in time for tomorrow afternoon, and make a note to replace Mrs. Yeager’s roll of plastic entirely since you neglected to buy your own. Once you get your permit for tomorrow, it’s still early enough that you have time to visit Mr. Finger, especially since you forgot to yesterday, and you end up sharing his dinner. You were embarrassed about dropping in when he was cooking, but he’s happy for the company, especially while Pieck is away.

To your relief, there are no guards in plainclothes outside the Yeagers’ when you return, and Mr. and Mrs. Yeager are in the living room chatting quietly between them. You greet them and hurry upstairs before they can ask you about Kellan, and allow yourself to linger in the bath when your reflection on Kellan inevitably leads to Mila and the night before. 

Given how angry she was yesterday, you already know what she would say to you if she found out about any man like him. Not that you have ever considered sharing your life with anyone, but surely she would accuse you of trying to find some way out of your duty again, even when she knows that the family made sure—

The doorknob turning to no avail rattles into your thoughts. It must be Zeke, since you share a bathroom, so you hurry to get out and get dressed into your pajamas again. Once you’ve brought your things to your room, you give his door a knock.

He opens it pretty quickly. It seems he wasn’t expecting you, because he looks surprised to see you still drying your hair with your towel. On his part, he’s still in his uniform—just without the coat and the belt, one side of his shirt unceremoniously tucked out of his pants. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile, more pleased than you should be. You feel like you’ve been waiting to see him all day. “Was that you? I’m done with the bathroom.”

“Ah. Thanks. I’m still finishing something anyway,” he nods, and leaves the door open when you don’t immediately turn and go.

You follow him inside, flopping at the edge of his bed while he goes to his desk again. “What are you working on?”

“Warrior stuff.”

Something must have him in a mood, but there’s no use poking him at this stage. “I saw the jam. Thanks for that.”

Zeke turns away from his desk, his serious countenance lingering just a little before it finally falls away for mischief at the reminder of his little gift. “Like my note?”

“No. And only because it means I’ll have to share it with you.”

“Heh. Yeah, sorry—just putting off turning in paperwork I should’ve gotten done before.” He sighs, obviously trying to settle down, at least until he seems to recall something else. He glances back at whatever he was writing, his pen swaying noisily between his fingers as it hits his desk. After a beat, he slides his work a little further away from him and asks, “How was the date?”

You’d almost forgotten about that. “Oh—it wasn’t a date,” you say, and realize how strange it feels to be discussing a boy with Zeke. “Kellan is just helping me study ahead of the semester.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, like a promise. You don’t care to mention that you’ll spend time with Kellan and his friends tomorrow afternoon. That was implied, right?

Zeke shrugs, sitting back against his desk chair. “When did you get so fond of studying, anyway?”

You shoot him a dirty look. “The way you and Porco tell it, it’s like I didn’t know how to read.”

“No,” he laughs, making the denial sound a lot more like affirmation, “I just mean you hated it. Before Bruning knew who you were, you were in the running for either the Jaw or the Armor for a reason.”

You peer at him. When Zeke only lifts a brow, challenging you to deny it, you click your tongue. “I guess. But I didn’t inherit anything, so what was I supposed to do? I was never interested in the varsity teams… not that they would have let me join as Lucy Blanchard. And I wanted to be useful somehow. I mean, actually useful.”

“I know,” Zeke says, watching your fingers lightly pinch at the hem of your pajama top in frustration. It’s almost amusing how your tells haven’t changed a bit, but he can’t deny that it’s endearing.  “Well… I’m glad you’re doing something apart from getting me in trouble for once.”

Your jaw drops. “I never got you into trouble for that long, did I?”

The two of you meet eyes for a moment, knowing the answer to that, but you both choose not to bring it up. He wouldn’t put you through that memory again.

“I don’t know,” he grins. “How long did I stand there getting an earful when you glued Nickel’s belt together?”

You stare at him, genuinely trying to remember—before you burst into laughter, hand over your mouth in sheer horror at the memory, as though you can’t fathom ever having done such a thing. Zeke is shaking his head, trying not to smile, when you finally calm down enough to present your defense. “That—that was Pieck’s idea!”

“No, Pieck said she wanted to do it. You actually did it.”

“But it was funny,” you grin. “And Nickel deserved it. Besides, I paid for that too.” 

“Yeah…” Zeke’s smile falters. He remembers. You had been about this close to being force-fed the glue you used that afternoon, when you found one of Magath’s fellow instructors asleep in his office. “Nickel deserved everything that came to him.”

He remembers what you looked like when they found you, busted lip still stubbornly set in a line, trembling as Pieck shed silent tears when Magath dragged Nickel out of sight. But then your foot nudges his leg, pulling him from his reverie so he remembers what you look like now. Not a bruised or bloody memory that still wakes him at night sometimes, covered in sweat, but Lucy in the flesh, with a knowing expression on your pretty face. Zeke supposes he’s just as easy to read when you know his tells, too. 

“Well... sorry about that anyway,” you say. “Pieck had a name for my brand of stupidity for a reason.”

Zeke knows what you’re doing. He grants it to you with a sigh. “No sense of self-preservation.”

“That. Don’t worry—I’ve developed one since then. Or Pieck’ll really give up on me this time.”

You give him a smile, as if he’s the one who needs comforting when it comes to that night. Why did he have to bring it up? He would put his foot in his mouth if that didn’t remind him of Paradis—of his most recent nightmare. The thought of everything you don’t know makes him feel like an ocean separates the two of you all of a sudden. Like you’re here, and he’s still on that island, a blade jammed into his maw. He shivers. 

You lean a little closer, elbow on the footboard. Of course you’ve noticed. “What’s wrong?” 

Leaving his pen on the desk, Zeke moves over to sit next to you on his bed. If nothing else, he can at least shorten the distance in one way. 

He has a lot to tell you, Paradis foremost of them all. He knows Pieck must have said something, but he’s managed to avoid the topic so far. 

He has a lot to ask, too—what was normal school like? Did you really not have any friends? You seemed to make easy enough friends with that Kellan character.

Zeke looks at you like he wants to say something, and then gets as far as opening his mouth before clearly thinking better of it. 

“It’s Pieck.”

Alarmed at his tone, you inhale sharply. “What about Pieck? Is she all right?”

He was holding his breath himself, but he relaxes with a chuckle.

“Yeah. She’ll be back with the Panzer Unit in less than a week.”

“Oh! Good,” you say, but then stare at him, obviously catching the lie in his old answer now. But he sees it when you shift priorities (Pieck was always one of them)—you’re clearly excited to have her home earlier than she promised, but the why of it is giving you pause. “So soon?”

“Yep.” He shifts away so that he’s moving up his own bed, at least until he catches you giving him a disgusted expression. You can’t stand it when someone still in their  out  clothes wears them to bed, and he knows that very well. That earns you an eyeroll, but you’ve had so many arguments about it at this point, many of which began with well it’s my bed and which ended only because he couldn’t stand hearing you talk any longer, that Zeke only sighs and practically vaults himself off his sheets so he can grab a change of clothes before you can start.

He makes a twirling motion with his finger when you look, and you turn to face the wall. This must be the quickest that Zeke has ever grabbed or changed his clothes outside the rush of Warrior training as a kid. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly conscious with you in the room. It’s just you.

“You know it doesn’t count if you don’t shower, right?” you ask.

Zeke makes a snorting sound as he climbs back onto his bed in a shirt and a pair of pajamas, even if he feels like he’s twelve wearing the whole get-up right now. This time he ignores you until he’s got his back against his pillows and the headboard, legs stretched out over his blanket and his arms crossed over his stomach. “Do you want to know why Pieck is coming back soon or not?”

Your turn to roll your eyes. “Fine.” 

Smiling triumphantly, he pulls out one of his pillows and tosses it on the empty space next to him. You wrinkle your nose at him, but he did give you the clean pillow when he’s given you the other before, so you let yourself fall forward on your stomach and rest your head on your arms, both crossed over his pillow. Your hair looks warmer than usual against the light of his lamp as you peer up at him. “So?”

Zeke looks away and shrugs. He shouldn’t be telling you this. But if his room isn’t safe for secrets, then where is? “One reason. Lots of movement in the south these days.”

Between the old Southern borders of Marley and Ulodana lies its new Southern territories, swept off the board by Marley and into its net in years past through the efforts of the Warrior generation before yours. Mr. Ksaver’s, to be exact, before they started training children. You had heard of minor attempts at guerilla warfare within those former nations in their bid for freedom, but little else. After your summer excursion with Mila, you began to distance yourself from news of the world when it came to Marley’s expansion, the Warriors’ activities especially so. Ignorance was better than guilt back then, but Zeke doesn’t know that.

“The South… you quelled a small rebellion there, right?”

“Yeah, but…” One of his hands drums near your pillow, tugging once at its corner as he asks, “You don’t know?”

“The Tyburs aren’t told everything.”

“Fair enough. Between the two of us,” he says, giving you a meaningful look you return with an earnest nod, “a couple of the leaders escaped into the eastern peninsula. Who knows what support they’ve gotten since then?”

You take a deep breath and hum as you exhale. “...That explains why General List reached out to me.”

“List? He’s the one who called the meeting with you?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Didn’t the commander say he was there?”

“He doesn’t tell me everything. So have you decided?”

You almost look amused. “You know I can’t move without Willy’s say-so.”

He shrugs. Needless to say he doesn’t care all that much for the new Lord Tybur, who sounds just as absent as your old man was back then. “I meant what do you want?”

When your surprise at his question starts to fade, you lower your gaze at his quirked brow, slouching a little. “I don’t know. List wants me to… ‘be the new face’ of the Foundation. Distance it, myself from the regime so we can build headquarters abroad and bring in intelligence. That way we can bring more Eldians into the safety of the organization, but...”

“What?” Zeke snaps, sitting upright all of a sudden, but all the reasons you shouldn’t do it skid to a halt behind his teeth when you recoil in surprise. He pauses, clearing his throat, and reaches up to scratch behind his ear instead. “...would your brother put you in danger like that? What about Tybur non-involvement?”

You scoff, eyes narrowed at nothing you can see here. “That’s not what the general thought. He only said Willy wouldn’t do it to Mila.” Zeke grunts at her name, and you shake your head. “I mean… maybe it’s moot. She would never give up control of the Foundation.”

“Yeah... Maybe.” Maybe it’s enough that you’re ambivalent. General List is one of General Calvi’s close allies, and he’s well-known in certain circles to get what he wants. But even he can’t change the century-old tradition of Tybur ‘neutrality,’ even if part of Zeke is curious to see if Mila Tybur or Hulbart List would win in a battle of wills.

He sets that aside when he catches a distant look in your eye. He’s only ever seen one reason you’ve looked like this. Or two. “She didn’t drop by again today, did she?”

You shake your head. “She had Foundation business yesterday. She must have gone from the city last night the minute she left here.”

“Then what is it?”

You look at him, and now he knows what it is. “I just… ugh,” your eyes fall to his sheets. “I don’t know. I was so pathetic yesterday. I wish I—I wish that I could have said something to her.” Your voice is quieter when you add, face flush with embarrassment, “I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”

“This again,” he says at once. It was difficult not to cut you off from the get-go. “Have you forgotten already? If you have to be pathetic…” He reaches over to graze your chin with the curve of his index finger, tilting it forward so that you meet his gaze. “You can be pathetic in front of me. Understand?”

His soft smile is the same as it was in the hallway yesterday. Warm still, like the solid expanse of his chest when you wept in his arms, but suddenly his finger beneath your skin feels hot. Tingles where he touches you. Like your face, now that he’s looking at you like that. 

That’s not right. Zeke is either an annoying jerk who should shut his face forever or all comfort, blankets tucked up to your nose after a grueling day of work and a warm bath; a good night’s rest. Wrapped up in a hot blanket, the murmur of his voice lulling you into a deep and restful sleep. Not standing over a precipice with only the whim of the wind behind you or the rush of blood pounding through your ears without warning. 

This is not the Zeke you’ve wanted back for the past six summers.

His touch scalds you—or maybe the memories you keep closest to your heart, as if any closer, any longer and it might burn them away forever. 

You tremble, but not with pain, and decidedly ignore it as you stare at him, forcing a slight wince on your mouth. You hope he doesn’t notice you gulp. “That was probably more impressive when I was a kid.”

Zeke lets his jaw drop—it must have been a while since anyone denied him their awe—but he only laughs, so deep and hearty you feel his mirth in your own chest, before he flicks a finger at your nose. “You little ingrate. That was supposed to be touching!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grin, a little too widely for your own good. Batting away at his hand, you sit up and slide off his bed. You’re strangely hyperaware of the way you gulp again once your feet find your slippers. When your eyes meet, he’s pretending to be cross with you. Maybe you like it better that way. 

“But thank you,” you say, rubbing an arm. “Really.”

Zeke only nods, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as you head for the door. “Lucy—you still coming to HQ tomorrow?”

You glance back only once you’ve got your hand on the doorknob. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” he says, but he looks pleased. “All right, get out. Distracting me from work and then telling me I’m not impressive anymore…”

“Spend more time with the kids. They still think the world of you. Good night!”

Zeke could probably chuck a pillow at you when you give him a little cackle before shutting his bedroom door, but he lets you escape with your dignity intact. 

At any rate, he’s in a much better mood when he gets back to work.

////////

If you're worried about Kellan, you can click the fic list link on my bio for spoilers. (assuming you haven’t already read the other oneshots ahahha) 

The flashback at the start of the chapter (as well as the others in the next few chapters) is something of an edited excerpt from a long-ass oneshot I wrote detailing Lucy’s childhood from before she left the Tybur estate, going through her Warrior training, and until a little after the time Lara inherited the War Hammer which I was/am debating with myself about editing&posting maybe after finishing the sequel fic to this which occurs during the Mid East-Marley War. I wondered if I should keep flashbacks out except for 2 crucial flashbacks toward the end of the story, but I’ve been sad about the dumb leaks post-139, having this feeling of ‘what’s the point of all this then if it all ends in that’ (even if this will be canon divergent), and I decided I would like to show the most important bases for Lucy’s relationships with at least Zeke and Pieck before she left, plus editing this in made me happy, so yeah.

Also! I know Zeke was a sweet little boy... but he was alienated by his classmates when he did poorly at first and burdened with expectation his whole life. No doubt that alienation shifted to sudden praise, admiration, or jealousy as soon as he became a candidate, and my hc is it made him a cynical kid when it came to others his age and even older people. Of course, he does eventually learn to be more charming (or annoying) and does have friends (as much as you can have friends in his position and with his life view), but that to me is why he’s like that at 12. Mr. Ksaver is exempt from this obviously as he completely trusts the man.

Another note: This is tagged zeke x reader because it’s in 2nd person POV, but also zeke x oc because reader or Lucy has a set background and family name. If you've gotten this far in interim I'm sure you already know what that is. XD So... please don’t send me hate or frustrations about why she looks like she does in the commissioned art I linked in the top of this chapter. Her family name necessitates that she’s white, I'm sorry. I hate having to say this but I'm not white either, or white-passing or w/e, but as I said in my note in chapter 1 I want to write a Tybur OC. If you’re going to send hate about me making a Barbie doll to complete Zeke or whatever I’m just going to delete it. Lucy is much more than that, in fact Zeke is not an entirely positive force in her life though they may appear to implicitly understand one another, and I have an entire background story and development for her that I‘m excited to write and share. I’m (not) sorry if me taking the time out from that to commission art that makes me happy grinds your gears. Of course I hope that readers will enjoy what I've written for myself but if you don't like it, just click away please. I won't be responding to complaints about that from here on out.

Anyway, thank you as always for reading! Would love to hear what you think. Of the flashback, of Kellan, of Zeke, of Lucy's blatant denial of certain things (I love and hate this), whichever! (Also can you tell I love Porco? He notices everything. Or almost everything.)

#zeke x reader #zeke x oc #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x oc #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger x oc #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #haliyam #interim #slow burn #it'll pick up i promise #heheh