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curtiscmarini · 1 year

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When did I subscribe to a YouTube channel?

SubPals

SubPals –

I recently scrolled through the list of YouTube channels I’m subscribed to, and the result surprised me. First, I’d subbed to more than a hundred channels. And second, they were dozens of channels I barely watched anymore, and some others that their creators seemed to have abandoned.

Maybe—just like me—you’re wondering, “When did I subscribe to a YouTube channel”? Or perhaps you want to know which YouTube channels you first gave your hard-earned money to?

Perhaps you’ve had a few channels that you subscribed to at different points in your life, and you want to know when you subscribed to each one. Or maybe you’re just curious about what your YouTube subscription history looks like.

In any case, if you want an in-depth study of your YouTube subscription history, this guide will show you how.

We’ll explore where to find information about when you subscribed to your favorite YouTube channels and the minor details of your YouTube subscription history.

So if you’ve ever asked yourself, when you subscribed to a YouTube channel ID, the answer is right around the corner!

But before we get into it, here’s a simple rundown of what we’d discuss.

Can you really check how long you’ve been subscribed to a channel on YouTube?

The simple answer is yes; you can easily check how long you’ve been subscribed to a particular channel ID on YouTube.

Every YouTube user can look back and view their entire YouTube subscription history, walk down memory lane, and revisit some old classic YouTube videos they’d forgotten about.

That said, here are two reliable ways you can check when you subscribed to someone on YouTube.

Use Google ‘My Activity.’

Courtesy: Google.com

Looking back and seeing when you first subscribed to that particular YouTube channel you’ve been following for years is like a trip down memory lane!

I recently did this with one of my favorite YouTubers, Mrwhosetheboss. And trust me, it was pretty exciting looking back three years and reflecting on all the great memories I’d experienced watching his videos, especially the video on ‘How THIS wallpaper kills your phone,’ released way back in 2020.

That said, with Google’s ‘My Activity,’ you can view your YouTube channel subscriptions, explore the timeline of your favorite channels, and even rewatch and relive the videos and moments you experienced along the journey.

Courtesy: Google.com

All you have to do is open Google’s ‘My Activity,’ click on ‘Interactions,’ select ‘Channel Subscriptions,’ and Voila! You’ll get a complete summary of the exact date and time you subscribed to a Channel.

One of the best part of using Google’s ‘My Activity,’ is that you don’t need to make your subscriptions public.

Use xxluke.de

Courtesy: xxluke.de

The second step is using xxluke.de. This site performs external websites scan that lets you dive deeply into the fascinating world of YouTube channel subscriptions and view your personal YouTube subscription history.

With xxluke.de, you can quickly scan your YouTube channel and get valuable insight into your YouTube subscription history, find out when you subscribed to your favorite YouTube channel, and how long you’ve been subscribed to each of them.

Is xxluke.de safe to use?

Courtesy: xxluke.de

Yes, xxluke.de is a safe website for exploring your YouTube subscription history. You see, xxluke.de uses state-of-the-art security measures to protect your data and information.

The platform requires you to log in with your Google account, then it performs an external website scan and accesses your personal YouTube subscription history, so your data is always kept secure.

Besides having an active SSL certificate, xxluke.de also has a strict privacy policy ensuring your data is never shared with third-party companies.

Some people get worried when they see xxluke.de’s domain. And that’s mainly because the site has a weird domain name and doesn’t use a ‘.com’ extension. But take it from me; with xxluke.de, you can be sure that your YouTube subscription history is safe and secure.

So, how do you use xxluke.de?

Step 1: Make Your YouTube Subscription History Public

To get the most out of xxluke.de, you need to ensure your YouTube Subscriptions are public. Your subscription history is private by default, so it’s essential you make it public to use the website and get the most accurate view of your YouTube subscription history.

Once your subscription history is public, xxluke.de can offer valuable insight into your YouTube subscription timeline.

One pressing question we often get from folks is, “how do I make my YouTube subscription public?”

Well, to make your YouTube subscription public on your computer, you’ll need to first go to your YouTube settings.

Courtesy: YouTube.com

Once you’re there, click on the “Privacy” tab. You’ll then see an option to make your YouTube subscription public.

Click the toggle button to the right of “Make my subscriptions public,” and then click “Save Changes” at the bottom of the page.

Once you’ve made your subscriptions public, go ahead and start using xxluke.de to view your subscription history.

Stage 2: Copy Your YouTube Channel Link

Courtesy: YouTube.com

You can get your YouTube channel link by going to your account settings.

Once you’re there, click on the “Overview” tab and scroll down to the end of the page.

You’ll see a field called “Channel URL,” which contains the link to your YouTube channel. Go ahead and copy the link.

Step 3: Paste the Link into xxluke.de

Finally, launch your browser, go to the address bar and search for xxluke.de/subscriptions history.

Paste your URL into the area under ‘Your channel,’ then press Enter or select the CONTINUE button.

Once you’ve done this, xxluke will display all your subscribed channels and the specific date you joined them.

Courtesy: xxluke.de

Yes, xxluke remains one of the best ways to check how long you’ve been subscribed to someone on YouTube. That said, don’t forget to make your subscriptions private once you’re done with the tool.

What if you’re on the YouTube App?

If you’re on the YouTube App, and wondering “how can I view all my subscriptions,” know that you can still check if you’re subscribed to a channel.

Simply click the three dots to the left to copy the link of your own channel. And just like on a computer, you can go online and paste your channel’s link into xxluke.de and get your subscription list. Just remember to make your subscriptions public.

That said, here are other ways you can check when you subbed to a YouTube channel.

Scroll back to the channel’s first videos.

This method isn’t very reliable, but you can open your subscriptions tab, click on the channel’s icon, and scroll back to the earlier videos of that specific channel to decide when you subscribed to it.

The YouTube app lets you explore the channel’s complete video history, making it simple to scroll to the very beginning of the video history timeline and see when the channel began. This way, you can estimate when you subscribed to the channel.

Get started today!

Following the methods in this article is like unlocking a time capsule! The only thing it takes is a few clicks, and you can take a trip down memory lane and explore your entire YouTube subscription history.

From my experience, scrolling through your subscription history is like indulging in all the fantastic moments you experienced while subscribed to your favorite YouTubers and getting an in-depth insight into all the channels you’ve subscribed to and supported over the years.

Remember, you can always view your entire YouTube subscription timeline easily. It doesn’t matter whether you choose to use Google’s ‘My Activity,’ xxluke.de, or rely on your memory by scrolling back to the channel’s first video.

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#computer scientist #experimental roboticist #university of denver #assistant professor #computer sci

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dominickbviv265 · 2 years

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17 Superstars We'd Love to Recruit for Our Payday Loans Cash Team

Brenda Procter has actually been combating the great battle against payday lending institutions for twenty years, and boy does she have some stories to tell. For beginners, Procter a Missouri state extension expert and professor of individual financial preparation at the University of Missouri can state how a local payday lender really propositioned an undoubtedly cognitively impaired member of her financial therapy group while he was in the drive-through line at Taco Bell, only to be rebuffed by the caseworker being in the motorist's seat next to him.

" And he did go away," Procter recalls, "but I think the ethical of that story is no matter what, they're still going to follow you." She'll likewise inform you about how the shadiness of the Cash Till Payday market drove a former payday providing business worker into the University of Missouri's doctoral program so that he could work to help remedy the injustices he when assisted assist in.

https://i.ytimg.com/vi/XQ-VClzagxA/hqdefault_496033.jpg

" In my experience, these loans are not created as a short-term, one-time solution as the companies like to say they are however are instead planned to keep individuals trapped in a cycle of debt and to prey upon the elderly, handicapped, poor and minority populations," he told WalletHub. "We were trained to push people towards larger loans and motivate them to pay them back as slowly as possible.

It did not matter if customers had loans out at other payday financing shops or were living off little repaired earnings. Credit worthiness was not really essential." While they're definitely interesting, those of you who are unknown with payday loans may fail to comprehend the significance of these tales. So, let's take a better look.

Payday loans are billed as a short-term option for short-term cash-flow problems, however they're not always marketed or used for that purpose. Part of the issue that contributes to a borrower's ultimate failure to pay back the loan within a brief duration is that lending institutions generally do not examine their customers' credit or ask about a customer's monetary position.

This leads to a continuous cycle of financial obligation. Just consider the following statistics from a recent Bench Charitable Trusts research study: Twelve million people get payday loans each year, investing $7.4 billion at the same time. While the average payday loan requires repayment of more than $400 within two weeks, the typical debtor can just pay for to pay back $50.

The average payday loan is for $375, yet leaves the debtor indebted for five months and on the hook for $520 in interest. "Seven out of 10 payday loan borrowers utilize the loans to pay for things like lease and energies and other recurring expenditures," adds Nick Bourke, the director of Bench's Safe Small-Dollar Loans Research Job.

Ninety-seven percent of payday loan volume goes to people who are repeat users they use 3 or more loans annually." Simply put, we have a product that's seemingly meant to offer a short-term financial bridge, yet whose marketing by loan providers and ultimate use by consumers are typically straight at odds with that intent.

Many on the consumer side of things are likewise calling for increased policy. To date, 15 states have prohibited payday loans while others have passed legislation to considerably restrict their effect. But why stop there? Procter believes payday loan providers simply have excessive at stake and are too effective at both lobbying and skirting the spirit of laws while at the same time adhering to their letter for additional guidelines to move on.

They're likewise well-known for a practice understood as "license leaping," which basically includes tweaking their items simply enough to keep them both legal and just as predatorily successful as before. Payday loan providers are likewise significantly moving operations online in order to prevent regional limitations. A lot of physical stores stay, nevertheless, and they're usually clumped together in low-income urban areas, essentially searching in packs.

" In Missouri, you can just renew one payday loan 6 times. So, if you remain in a store and you have actually type of worked that customer for all you can get out of them and they still can't pay since that usually is what occurs then they'll probably state something like, 'Well, possibly you could get another loan.'" And so, Procter states, "they'll go to the shop across the street, next door, or whatever" to take out yet another in a growing line of payday loans used to pay off responsibilities related to those that preceded it.

It's not uncommon to see individuals with several thousand dollars in payday loan financial obligation, and all they've done is pay interest approximately that point." Most recently, payday lending institutions have begun affiliating their companies with Native American people, which are unsusceptible to certain federal and state regulations, as another strategy to prevent their states' usury laws.

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hiriajuu-suffering · 2 years

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Texas Midterm Elections 2022

Disclaimer: I'm Libertarian, not a Democrat. You saying I'm a snowflake liberal just shows your internalized notions of white supremacy, whether you, yourself are white-passing or not.

it's been awhile since Texas Democrats have put forward a gubernatorial candidate that could really challenge the redness of the state.

too bad the smear campaign against him seems to be effective. Abbot, Patrick, and Paxton have too much corporate fascist money. all riding on the prosperity Rick Perry is really responsible for. the state government is growing more Islamophobic day-by-day.

The DFW area is a little too misogynistic for a female liberal to take the helm, that's the mistake left-leaning politics made last time

Lizzie probably represents more of what I want to see out of Texas policy than other major political race going on, but the smear campaigns and tough on crime puffing chest rhetoric are really infuriating. calling Hidalgo and her office out as enabling criminal behavior when they're using non-enforcement and nullifying status as a political tool is just disingenuous. I feel much safer in Houston than I did 4 years ago, not to mention how much I respected Lina when we were both high schoolers in Debate on how she competed in Student Congress.

I know the gubernatorial race indicates the lieutenant and attorney general races as well. I actually have less problems with crony Abbott than the Islamophobic Patrick and Paxton, I need Collier and Garza to win to preserve my rights, personally.

The races that are really important for rights preservation in general: turn our courts bluer to show Texans aren't crazy fetus-worshiping zealots like Abbott is.

As a Libertarian, I've always supported Tom Oxford, but he's going against the better judge in his race in Erin A. Nowell

Who else matters to me? Well, I hate Dan Crenshaw with a passion, since he represents all the concentrated racism in Montgomery County. The Nehls brothers represent everything wrong with Texas because they've tried to arrest people for exercising free speech against Republican rule. I had hope Jacey Jetton would be decent, but he's just another Republican puppet, so vote for Daniel Lee on that alone. However, my state district got rezoned to one of the few Republicans I actually agreed with, Phil Stephenson, but he got primaried by the neoNazi Stan Kitzman and won, so I'll be voting for Larry Baggett since Mike Miller has no chance of getting my district because of how anti-3rd party my local politics have gotten.

Is it so much to ask for Republican candidates that respect my 1st Amendment rights, as a non-white Muslim American? or ones that don't want to actively control women's bodies as an extension of toxic patriarchy? Beto O'Rourke stands for something, and even though I don't totally agree with his policy leanings, it's better than treating brown, black, and feminine bodies as less than. Fletcher stands for the rational Texan that I feel represents the informed political consensus of the greater Houston area. Lina Hidalgo has been unafraid to enact the right policies for Houston in spite of the predictable backlash she knew she would get for it and I trust her more than Mayor Turner at this point.

Dan Crenshaw, the Nehls brothers, and Stan Kitzman would prefer we go back to a pre-Civil Rights era Texas, with white supremacy as the law of the land. People like Jacey Jetton enable that behavior through their loyalty and worship of Republican institutionalism.

Local politics are ruled by extremists and cushy moderates, we might never achieve real directional consensus if don't hold Republicans accountable for the anti-American values they've co-opted during the Trump administration.

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justcoins · 2 years

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Shuttercount 5dmiii

#SHUTTERCOUNT 5DMIII FULL#

#SHUTTERCOUNT 5DMIII PROFESSIONAL#

On paper that immediately made people think that the old tepid 5D2 AF system had been rehashed and reused.īut these things didn’t tell the whole story. The other thing that received a lot of publicity was the dumbed down AF system, with only 11 AF points and only one hyper sensitive one, the center point. The reason for that will become clear in a moment. These are things exceeded by my 60D, and are clearly moves designed to provide separation between the 6D and 5D3. Yes, there were some head-scratchers of clear “dumbing down” moves by Canon like a lower maximum flash syncing speed ( 1/180th of a second, not 1/160th as is commonly reported) and a maximum shutter speed of 1/4000th. But that wasn’t the conclusion being drawn by those that were actually reviewing the camera and taking time with it.

#SHUTTERCOUNT 5DMIII FULL#

Some even referred to it as the “Rebel” of Canon full frame cameras. You see, the early word on the forums and even from the blogs/review sites was that the 6D was nothing but a stripped down bargain full frame camera. I like reading product reviews, so I started clicking links. Then, in January, I was trolling the photography sites every day, primarily looking for that deal on the 5D3, when I started seeing reviews of the 6D coming out. I’m a serious photographer (or so I think), why would I want “entry level”, even if it is a very expensive entry level camera? The 6D was not on my radar. The 6D had been announced, speculated on, and then released a few months ago. I had the money set aside to purchase a 5D3 – I was just waiting on a sale to drop the price a couple hundred bucks so that I could feel good about getting a “deal”. I just wasn’t using my 60D anymore, although I truly loved the camera. My intent was always to move the to the MK3, and after making the changes to my kit, I realized that I wanted to replace my surviving crop sensor body (Canon EOS 60D) with a second full frame body. I had to go through the process of re-orienting my lens kit, eventually selling all the crop only lenses (EF-S 15-85mm, EF-S 10-22mm, Tamron SP 17-50mm f/2.8, Sigma 50-150mm f/2.8 ) and replacing them with full frame equivalents during this time frame. My MK2 has served me very well over the past year and a half, and has produced many of the best images that I have ever taken. I still feel that this was a good decision, for although I was initially disappointed in the MK2 for its (aged) handling and AF, the great image quality won me over. I bought a MK2 instead, deciding that I would use it in the interim until the MK3 price dropped somewhat. Then Canon’s projected price started hitting the news streams, and I realized that the approximate $4000 price tag here in Canada after taxes was more than I was interested in paying. As I was getting close to having the money together, I realized that the MK3 was coming soon and that I might as well wait for it. I stopped buying lenses (always hard for me!) and started putting money aside for a full frame body.

#SHUTTERCOUNT 5DMIII PROFESSIONAL#

I was doing more and more professional work and felt that the improved image quality and low light performance would be worth the added bulk and cost. Going back almost two years ago I had decided that I wanted to transition from my crop sensor DSLRs to a full frame body. I don’t earn my living from photography, but I do have a policy that all new camera gear that I purchase must be funded solely by photography proceeds. So why in the world did I choose Canon’s new “budget” (if you call a camera that costs more than $2000 budget!) full frame DSLR over the “serious” choice of the Canon EOS 5D MK3? I have been asked this very question multiple times, so that I felt that it was appropriate to respond here in a more extensive fashion.įirst, a little history. I have a fairly extensive kit of expensive equipment, and have the means to purchase a new camera body of my choice (although I don’t feel that I have 1DX money). Beyond that, I know from the response of those that I consider very accomplished photographers that my work is good. I’ve been published more times than I can count on one hand and get regularly asked to do paying work. At this stage I am a somewhat accomplished photographer. I do photography for both pleasure and for profit, so I call myself a “semi-pro” photographer. Not on my RadarĪs many of you know, I am a full time pastor and a part time photographer. Updated on April 24th, 2013: I have enjoyed my 6D so much that I have now sold my 5D MKII and purchased a second 6D body.

#Shuttercount 5dmiii

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rocorambles · 3 years

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Reciprocate

Pairing: Akaashi x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Mafia AU, Kidnapping, Rape/Non-Con, Forced Impregnation, Objectification, Degradation, Humiliation

Summary: You should have known better than to think you could ever truly escape from him, especially when you carry something he treasures so dearly inside of you.

You reminisce on the early days when you had met the beautiful dark-haired man, when you had been swept off your feet by striking blue eyes and a serene composure.

Akaashi had never been just normal to you and you remember how he had made your head spin with the air of mystery he carried around him, how your heart whipped back and forth between the always surprising mixture of sharp blunt words and eloquent poetry he entrapped you with. He was a man full of surprises, truly multi-faceted and you remember watching in awe at how quickly he could go from easily and agilely maneuvering his toned athletic body in the gym to lazily reading classic literature with a hand posessively but gently wrapped around your waist as you curled up besides him on the couch.

There are many words you could have used to describe Akaashi. But dangerous? Dangerous was not one of them.

Funny how quickly things can change.

Even as careful as Akaashi is, even he can’t foresee unexpected circumstances, especially when you are more entangled in the webs of his life than he ever meant for you to be. And he is forced to reveal who he truly is to you or kill you when you get caught up in things and with people who shouldn’t have ever even known you existed.

You wouldn’t be the first woman he’s killed and his mind flickers to numerous dead bodies, corpses of prostitutes and other unfortunate women strewn about when things became too complicated, when they threatened his position and the safety of his clan. But he can’t bring himself to pull the trigger, can’t even bring himself to think about aiming at you.

You’re not like the other fleeting distractions and for the first time ever, Akaashi Keiji breaks Fukurodani policies by revealing everything to you in the hopes that you’ll accept him as everything he is, that you’ll join him for the long run.

Blue eyes storm over when you don’t look at him with the love and acceptance he expected of you, only fear and disappointment apparent in your eyes, and his hands instinctively clench into fists when you flinch away from him, scrambling to create space between the two of you when he reaches out to reassure you that underneath the terrifying family name and insignia, he’s still just him.

Fine. You’re scared? He’ll give you something to actually be scared of.

His fingers dig deeper than necessary as they roughly drag and shove you, movements harsh and rough enough to make a very clear point, but never enough to permanently mark you. He likes his possessions as pristine as possible after all. And he smiles at how quick you are to go limp in his arms, obediently letting yourself be led when Akaashi’s silky voice patronizingly tells you what a shame it would be for your beautiful body to be decorated with bullet holes.

You know who Boktuo Koutarou is, even if you’ve never physically met him. Everyone in your city knows who he is, his name whispered and murmured in the streets, tales of his erratic temperament and ruthless wildness spread far and wide. The Fukurodani clan has always been a powerhouse in the underground world, has always controlled your city with an iron fist, and Bokuto, even by Fukurodani standards, has more than risen to the challenge of continuing his family’s undeniable reign, garnering respect and fear even among the monsters that share his insignia. So even though you’ve never met him, you know exactly who you’re shoved to your knees in front of, who Akaashi reverently speaks to and asks for permission from to keep you at the base as his pet, and you don’t dare open your mouth or raise your head, absolute terror paralyzing you.

Gold eyes peer at you in interest. Whores aren’t uncommon in the base, lewd moans and slick sounds sometimes making the base seem more like a brothel than the home of illicit dangerous business and Bokuto has always encouraged and rewarded his men with the best cunts money can buy especially after particularly successful or tiresome raids. But for as long as he’s known Akaashi, he can count the number of times the younger man has partaken in those base pleasures on just his fingers and even then, they’ve always been one night stands, brief flings. So he’s surprised, to say the least, when the dark haired man asks to keep you around as his little toy and he has a gut feeling that you’ll become a permanent extension of the family, but how can he deny the man who’s resolutely stayed by his side all these years, who’s pledged his life and loyalty to him? Akaashi asks for so little and if all he wants is for Bokuto to provide protection and surveillance for one more body to be happy, then so be it.

You’re no stranger to sharing a bed with Akaashi, but this is different. You had always thought that he had been holding back with you, swearing that you saw a hint of something darker gleaming behind blue orbs only for it to dissolve away as you were swept away by sensual languid pleasure and gentle, attentive words. And you hate that you were right, voice going hoarse as you scream at the top of your lungs as you’re ruthlessly taken over and over again, a coldness in the eyes you had once loved that pierces deep within you, animalistic possessiveness in the way he marks you, long slender fingers leaving bruises in their wake as he holds your writhing body in place as he thrusts in and out of your abused lower lips.

Day in, day out. All you know is a fitful sumber that exhaustion forces you into and Akaashi. His scent, his touch, his voice. You’re drowning in his essence. Dying. No. That would be preferable. At least there would be an end. And you silently grieve, unable to even cry real tears anymore when you wonder when this will ever end, if this will ever end.

As much as Akaashi would love to permanently lay beside you, duty and appearances do call from time to time and he reclines across from Bokuto, watching the black and white haired man boisterously chat with Kuroo Tetsurou, the current head of Nekoma as scantily clad women surround the two men, dragging fingernails down their chests and shamelessly shoving their breasts into their faces in the hopes of gaining their favor. They sure do seem to be enjoying themselves and Akaashi grimaces when one of the prostitutes begins to loudly moan as she grinds against his leader’s swelling erection which doesn’t go unnoticed by sharp eyes.

“Akaashi, don’t be so uptight. Why don’t I send some of them to your room tonight to help you loosen up?”

Bokuto knowingly smiles in amusement when he’s promptly rejected.

“Ah, that’s right. You still have your cute pet. But you know Akaashi, pets are temporary. Don’t you think it’s time to make it a little more permanent? Maybe put a ring on it? Hell, I love kids. I wouldn’t mind having a few runts running around the base, especially if they’re yours.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a rude scoff and Bokuto snarls at Kuroo’s taunting words.

“Because God knows Bokuto isn’t having kids anytime soon. No woman could stand bearing his kids and listening to his loudmouth for the rest of her life.”

Akaashi tunes out their bickering as the gears in his mind churn.

He had kept you on your birth control pills, not wanting to disturb his time with you as he broke you in and figured out exactly what his plan for you is. He knows he loves you, knows there’s no life for him without you. But he wasn’t a dreamer. He’s fully aware just how dangerous his life is, how impossible it is for the both of you to be able to grow old together, how much more likely it’ll be that both of you end up dead side by side in a turf war gone wrong. Yet now all he can think of is what you’d be like as a mother, how you’d look pregnant with his children and when your pills run low, he tears your prescription to shreds in front of your eyes.

You have more fight left in you than he thought you would and he’s enraged by how much you despise the thought of carrying his children, every desperate plea for him to not cum inside of you while you’re unprotected, a direct insult to him and his love for you. All he sees is red as he breeds you over and over again, stuffing you full of his cock and his seed, never stopping until you’re filled to the brim with the sticky proof of his adoration, stomach heavy and sloshing with his declared affection.

Turbulent emotions ransack you and you wish you could blame it solely on the hormones raging throughout your impregnated body, but you know it’s deeper than that. It had been so easy to become numb to being used, being known as nothing more than Akaashi’s pretty pet, being the victim of a cold, ruthless stranger you realize now that you never really knew. But it’s agonizing to once again see the hints of the man you had fallen in love with and your heart aches at how gentle and considerate Akaashi is to you once more as your belly begins to swell, a comforting hand rubbing your back and holding your hair away from your face as morning sickness has you heaving over the toilet bowl. And you feel something break and shatter into a million pieces inside of you when one night, as your due date quickly approaches, he kneels in front of you, slipping the engagement ring of your dreams onto your trembling hand.

“I know this isn’t how you dreamed of any of this happening, but I promise you, once the child is born, I’m going to give you the wedding you always wanted and do my best to be the husband and father you deserve and want. I love you.”

You sob, tightly returning Akaashi’s embrace, burying your face in his chest, wishing with all your heart that things could have been different, that you could go back to those early days, that everything in between was a dream, a nightmare.

But this is reality and as you cradle your baby bump, you know that you need to do something, anything, now that it’s not just your life on the line anymore.

For the first time in a long time, it seems like fortune is finally on your side as Akaashi relinquishes his leash on you, trusting that your growing bump will permanently tie you to him, that you won’t even think of trying to escape in your current state. And you play your role perfectly, smiling and leaning into his careful touches, accepting the gifts and attention he lavishes you with, looking to all the world like an excited expecting mother perfectly matched with her doting fiance.

Akaashi resumes taking up longer projects and jobs, no longer seeing a need to keep as careful of a watch over you or a need to remind you of your place besides him every night. And seeing one of their higher-ups relax makes everyone else careless, no one paying you much attention, no more armed men outside your door and windows when Akaashi is away.

Really, it’s embarrassingly easy for you to escape, so easy that you wonder if this is a trap, almost expecting Akaashi to appear from around every corner and drag you back to the prison he had created for you, and you shudder when you can almost feel his hands against your skin, his voice murmuring cruel cutting words into your ear.

But no one stops you and you slowly, but steadily make the long journey to Inarizaki territory, discreetly settling in and making a new home for yourself, starting a new life. Inarizaki and Fukurodani have never dealt much with each other, their territories so far apart that it’s pointless to clash or ally with each other when there are so many other enemies and friends closer to both their homes to deal with. You pray that it’s enough to hide you, to allow you to leave your wretched past behind.

It seems like your prayers are answered as month after month passes, as your belly grows and grows, as you give birth to a beautiful baby girl. You can barely remember a life outside of motherhood, your heart overwhelmingly full of love and happiness as you watch your daughter grow. And as you watch her take her first few wobbly steps as her first birthday passes, you let yourself finally believe that you can really move on and look forward, locking the blue-eyed demon of your past behind you once and for all.

Except that demon doesn’t want to be locked up, that demon is far too strong and cunning for your flimsy padlock, and you clutch your daughter to your chest when your door slams open one night and your apartment is swarmed by men with the Fukurodani insignia, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes when one last final figure makes their way past your threshold and you stare into familiar blue eyes.

As if your daughter can sense your anxiety, your fear, your hopelessness, she begins to loudly wail and bawl, wrapping her little arms around your neck and drenching your neck and shirt with her tears and snot, reminding you just how much is at stake right now.

You do your best to fake some semblance of calmness, drawing on your maternal instincts to still the quivering of your voice as you gently whisper soothing words in her ear, telling her everything will be fine, telling her that these are just mommy’s old friends, all the while watching your ex-lover gracefully make his way towards the two of you, subtly shielding her little body with yours as he approaches.

Realistically you know there’s not much you can do if he does mean harm to her, but you’d gladly die defending her to the best of your abilities if it came down to it, already ready to beg for her to be spared and for just you to be punished for your transgressions and your betrayal. You finch when you feel his weight settle besides you on the bed as he sits on the edge of the mattress, heart pounding as you feel his familiar presence, and you quickly turn to face him, only to be completely stunned by the softness in his eyes as he gazes at your daughter.

Relief floods through you and you hesitantly shift, allowing him easier access to see her, something bittersweet trickling inside of you as long slender fingers gently reach out to caress tear-stained cheeks, as your daughter’s sobs die down and curious eyes peer at the stranger who’s touching her. And deep inside you know Akaashi won’t harm her, will fiercely love her, as he tugs her out of your arms and pulls her into his lap, a sad smile pulling on your lips as you watch father and daughter reunite.

Deep inside you also know that you won’t be as lucky and your fears are confirmed when Akaashi stands, still cradling your giggling daughter in his arms, blue eyes pinning you down with a look you recognize all too well. There’ll be hell to pay for your actions.

You feel nauseous, body already aching and throbbing in anticipation of your punishment. But you plaster on a smile for your daughter as she happily plays with one of her favorite toys in the backseat of the car between Akaashi and you, peppering her tiny face with kisses as Akaashi and you tuck her into the gorgeous nursery he’s prepared for her, and wishing her good night as Akaashi leads you back out, continuously waving until the nursery door is firmly closed. And only then does your act drop and you sob as a hand harshly grips your wrist, tears only flooding down more as you recognize the hallway you’re being dragged down, body shaking when you’re shoved into a room and a bed you had tried so hard to forget.

Clothes are being torn from your body and you thrash around as lips descend upon you, a mouth hungrily molding with yours, yelping when teeth harshly bite on your lower lip before pulling apart. You feel so exposed, so helpless, so vulnerable as icy blue eyes glare down at you, Akaashi’s body pinning you in place as he takes in your figure, scrutinizing every line and curve of your body, mapping every familiarity and difference from the last time he’s seen you. But you lay still, wincing when his grip on your wrist becomes bone crushing when you try to instinctively cover yourself from him.

“I trusted you. I love you. And this is how you repay me? Running away from me? Keeping my daughter away from me?”

You open your mouth to stutter out some feeble excuse, but gasp when a hand wraps around your neck, warningly tightening before relaxing. The weight of his palm still against your throat keeps you silent.

“There’s no excuse for what you did. But I promised you that I’d be a good husband, so I’ll forgive you if you show me how sorry you are.”

You nervously watch as he completely lets go of you, eyes trailing after him as he settles his back against the headboard of the bed, beckoning you over to him with a single finger. And you can’t help but feel like foolish prey walking into a trap as you obey, body quivering in fear as he pulls you in and positions you so that your legs straddle his thighs, back arching and a cry slipping past your lips as he teasingly captures one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks.

“Still so sensitive.”

You hate how well he’s trained your body, how easily your body betrays you even after being separated from him for over a year, how well he knows every inch of you inside and out and shame and humiliation lance through you when a long digit easily slides into your already dripping heat.

“I think you’re more than ready, darling.”

Even past your wanton moans, the clanging metal of his belt unbuckling echoes throughout the room and you whimper as something hard presses against your entrance.

“Come on, love. It’s time for you to apologize. Do you know how much effort and time I spent searching for you?”

You yelp as the hands resting on your waist dig into your flesh before relaxing and rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

“But it’s okay because you’re here now, you and our daughter are here now, and neither of you are ever leaving me again. Right?”

You vigorously nod your head as blue eyes sharply stare at you, relaxing when they soften and a small smile plays on his lips.

“Good girl. Now prove it to me.”

You almost wish Akaashi had just forced himself upon you, finding it so much more demeaning to sink down on his cock all by yourself as he impassively sits back and watches you. But you’re sure that’s the whole point of this, for you to show your submission and acceptance through your actions. After all, nothing he ever does is meaningless.

And you truly do feel broken, like nothing more than a good wife, a good pet as you wildly shake your hips, bouncing up and down on his cock in a way that makes your breasts jiggle, pussy clenching even tighter and gushing even more when he orders you to look him in the eyes all the while.

“You’re making me feel so good, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful. You were made for my cock, made for me. Tell me who you belong to.”

In hindsight you’ll be embarrassed by how quick you are to babble his name over and over again in response. But here and now? All you can think about is the warmth in your chest as he praises you, the warmth in your belly as something pleasant and overwhelming builds inside of you. And Akaashi groans at how tightly you squeeze around him as your peak nears, almost cumming from just the hazed over arousal in your lust-filled eyes, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss and swallowing your cries of ecstasy as you reach your high, body convulsing and twitching in his arms as he holds you steady, lips still locked with yours as he thrusts up a few more times before finding his own release and spilling deep inside of you.

You slump onto him, exhausted body collapsing and still twitching from the onslaught of pleasure. But as the fog from your mind begins to ebb away, you involuntarily tense at the whispered “I love you” that sounds like nails scraping against a chalkboard, hesitating too long to respond in kind. And you know you’ve made a huge mistake when blue eyes are coldly regarding you once more, shivering from both the cold and fear as he pulls back from you before shoving you onto your back and settling between your legs.

“Looks like you need a little more encouragement to reciprocate my feelings. That’s okay. We have all the time in the world for me to show you just how much I love you.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere akaashi #haikyuu smut #yandere akaashi x reader #akaashi x reader #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: pregnancy #tw: yandere #tw: impregnation

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

Text

just hold me ~ yungblud

word count: 2206

request?: yes!

“Could you write a fluffy yungblud fic? Like maybe the reader has been going through a tough mental health time, and he helps? 🖤”

description: after a week that is mentally trying, all she wants is for her boyfriend to hold her

pairing: yungblud x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

You know those weeks that just absolutely kick your ass? The ones that absolutely nothing is going right and it feels like nothing will ever go right?

Yeah, that was my week.

It started off by realizing that one of my assignments that I thought I had so much time to do was due that day, and I wasn’t even close to being finished. I tried to give my professor some bullshit reason to get an extension but she wouldn’t hear of it, and because I even tried to get an extension she told me she wouldn’t even take it late and marked the assignment as a zero. Then I got my schedule for work and found that they were starting to take shifts away from me. So many, in fact, that I’d be lucky if I was able to make rent and bills. Besides all of that, school was just kicking my ass in general. I was starting to fall behind in my classes but I was feeling so down about everything lately that I felt as though I couldn’t sit still to do any of my schoolwork.

I found myself hitting my breaking point after a particularly rough day at work. Customers were being more rude than usual and I had been run off my feet the entire day. I was clocking out for the day when my manager pulled me aside to talk to me.

“A customer complained about you,” she said, trying to keep her voice soft as she spoke. I knew my manager liked me enough, but she had this way of talking that always made her sound like she was angry.

“What?” I said. “When? For what?”

“Shortly before you clocked out. They were demanding to see the manager, so Julie came and got me and brought me to their table. They said you were being very rude to them and refused to serve them, and that you made Julie do it instead.”

I could not believe this.

I knew exactly what table my manager was talking about of course. It was a table of four - a man, a woman, and two teenaged looking kids. They were supposed to be my last table of the day before I was cut. I had only been there for maybe ten minutes before they started demanding a new server instead of me. They were asking me questions that I wasn’t too sure of about the food on the menu, and when I told them I could ask the kitchen so I could give them a proper answer, the man freaked at me and called me all sorts of awful names. He told me I was incompetent and he didn’t understand why the restaurant would hire someone who didn’t even know the “simplest of answers to simple questions”.

His poor kids looked so awkward over it. His wife basically ignored the whole situation and continued to look at her menu.

I had tried to remain as cool as I could but I could feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. I asked again if he wanted me to ask the kitchen about the questions he had, and he responded, “No, I want you to get me a server who can actually do their job.”

I got Julie, who had been working at the restaurant for roughly two years. I explained the situation to her and she told me I could get ready to clock out if I wanted to.

I guess between doing exactly what I was told by that rude table and finally getting the clock out, he had complained about me to Julie and to my manager and made up some stupid story to get me in trouble.

“Oh my God,” I sighed. “I swear to you, that is not the truth at all.”

“I know it’s not,” she assured me. “When Julie came to get me she explained the whole situation. Even if she didn’t, I’d know they were lying. You’re too nice and too kind to be rude to even an asshole table like them.” She sighed and gave me a sympathetic look. “But that gentleman was so furious that he demanded some kind of actions be taken. I told him nothing could be done besides maybe a note being put on your professional record.”

I didn’t understand what she was telling me at first, but when it dawned on me my heart fell to my stomach.

“No, no you can’t,” I said, trying to keep back the tears that starting to run down my face. “I wasn’t even rude to them, you can’t write me up for something I didn’t do.”

“And I’ll make a note of that in the write up,” she told me. “But for now it’s all I can do. You had a customer complain about you, it’s our company policy that we give employees write ups when we feel it’s the right thing to do.”

So she thinks it’s the right thing to to permanently stain your professional record, and to push you one step closer to being fired.

Before anything else could be said, I raced out of the doors into the parking lot. I covered my mouth to stifle my sobs until I got to my car. Once I was there, I placed my head against the steering wheel and began to sob.

I was there for at least 20 minutes because I didn’t trust myself to drive yet. I could barley calm myself down, but eventually I just wanted to leave. I didn’t want to risk seeing the asshole and his family leaving the restaurant, and frankly, I just didn’t want to be there anymore.

I started driving towards my apartment, but as my sobbing and shaking began again, I realized I didn’t want to be alone then. I came to a red light and quickly shot my boyfriend, Dom, a text asking him if it was alright if I went to his place instead.

His response came almost immediately. “Of course it’s alright baby! You don’t have to ask!”

I arrived shortly after and let myself in with the key he had given me. I threw my work stuff onto the floor, knowing I would feel guilty about it once I had completely calmed down. I made my way to Dom’s room where I knew he would be. As usual when he wasn’t recording or touring, he was sat on his bed watching Netflix. He turned to greet me with a smile, only for his smile to drop when he saw my face.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, starting to get up from the bed.

I shook my head and held a hand out, stopping him from getting up. As he laid back down, I took off the hoodie I had been wearing and my work jeans, which were now basically stuck to me with sweat, leaving me in just my t-shirt and my underwear. I climbed onto Dom’s bed and rested my head on his chest.

“Just hold me,” I said. “Please.”

He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. I began to sob yet again, thinking over all the bad that had happened to me this week. I felt so tired, both mentally and physically, and I just wished there was a way to take a break from it all.

Dom ran his hands up and down my body, trying to soothe me into some form of calm. Eventually, my exhaustion got the best of me and I fell asleep in Dom’s arms.

~~~~~~

Some time later, I woke up alone under the covers of Dom’s bed. I rolled over to look for my phone to check the time, only to find that it was nowhere to be found. It was dark outside, which meant it was still nighttime, and yet Dom wasn’t asleep next to me.

I was still in my t-shirt and underwear from when I had arrived to Dom’s, so the day before, unfortunately, wasn’t a dream.

I heard some sounds coming from the bathroom and got up to see if that’s where Dom had gone. Sure enough, I found my boyfriend knelt next to the bathtub, filling it with water so hot that I could see the steam coming from it.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

He seemed startled when I spoke, and turned to look at me. “Oh no, I wanted to wake you when I had the bath ready for you.”

“Well, I’m glad I caught you, because that water looks way too hot,” I teased and reached around him to turn down the hot water and turn up the cold instead. “Why are you running me a bath at like...I don’t know, kinda late at night? And where’s my phone?”

“I have it with mine,” he responded. “Which is in a hidden spot, because you need to take a break from your phone.”

I couldn’t argue with him there. “What’s up with the bath then?”

“You always say that a hot bath helps you to relax after a hard day,” Dom explained. “And obviously today was a hard day, so I’m running you this bath and I have that gold bath bomb you like so much.”

“When did you get that? I haven’t left any bath bombs here in a while.”

“I bought it in case of emergencies.”

I smiled at Dom and sat on the toilet seat lid to watch as he finished filling the bathtub. He had me test the water before pulling me to a stand and helping to take off my clothes. Even though it wasn’t meant to be in a sexual manner, there was something extremely intimate about Dom pulling my shirt over my head and my panties down my legs.

I got into the water and sighed as my body sank down till the only thing not underwater was my neck. Dom got the gold bath bomb from under the sink and gave me the honors of dropping it into the water as that was my favorite part of bath bombs.

“Are you joining me?” I asked.

He smiled cheekily and began to undress. “That was my original plan, but I decided to wait and see if you wanted me to join.”

I sat forward, giving him room to slip into the tub behind me. Once he had settled himself, I leaned back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and began kissing my neck and shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked as his lips continued to trail over whatever bare skin he could reach.

I sighed. “Not really, but I guess the only way to work past it is to talk about it.”

I told him everything; about school, about work, about the asshole customer that fucked me over. He listened for however long I talked without interrupting. Once it was clear that I had finished talking, he spoke.

“That guy is a fuckin wanker,” he said. “I can’t believe people like that exist. You were just trying to do your job and he fucked you over like that.”

“It happens,” I said. “Hasn’t happened to me before today, but all my co-workers have stories of assholes who will complain to the manager for the littlest of things. We had someone complain once because their food didn’t look like it did in the picture on the menu and they wanted it for free. That’s usually all people want - free food.”

“I can’t believe your manager is going along with that,” he said. “Even if she makes a note that you did nothing wrong, that’s still looking bad on you.”

“I think they want to fire me,” I admitted. “That’s the only reason they would be giving me less shifts. They want to slowly get rid of me before they straight up fire me.”

“I don’t think they’ll do that, babe.”

“I think they will. I’ve probably done one too many things wrong and now it’s my time to get the boot. It happens so often that whenever someone gets a few less shifts a week we panic.”

Dom squeezed me a moment before kissing me behind my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Well, if they want to fire you then we’ll look for a new job. You don’t have to stay there and take shit from assholes and let your managers treat you like dirt to keep the assholes happy. There’s hundreds of restaurants you could work at instead.”

For some reason, this thought hadn’t occurred to me.

“I’d like that,” I said. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? I’m starting to relax, I don’t want to get worked up again.”

“Okay, baby.”

We were silent for a moment, just the sounds of the water shifting around us filling the room. I leaned my head back enough that I could look up at Dom. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For...for being you.”

He smiled at me and kissed my head. “Thank you for being you, too.”

I smiled and settled myself against him again, allowing myself to finally relax for the first time all week.

#yungblud #yungblud imagine #yungblud x reader #dom harrison #dom harrison imagine #dom harrison x reader #dominic harrison #dominic harrison x reader #dominic harrison imagine #imagine #request #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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tanadrin · 2 years

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I feel like the concept of the “populist dictator” requires effectively conflating “populist” with “would kill middle-to-upper class people if they could”. The irony being that those populists are most often middle-to-upper class people who fetishize poverty and working class culture (with or without “white”), like Thomas Frank and Amber A’Lee Frost. Less “bougie vs prole” and more “nobility vs clergy”

First, let's clarify terms. In modern political parlance, "middle class" usually means something like "middle of the income bell curve." In historical parlance, "middle class" means "wealthy property owners who are not nobility." If I understand Marxists correctly, this is usually what they mean by "bourgeoise," with the "petty bourgeoise" being those who bear some affinity to the wealthy non-noble class, but aren't wealthy enough to be capitalists or large-scale property owners--high-status professionals like lawyers, for instance. Possibly this category overlaps with the more recent "professional/managerial class," though I think that one's a bit narrower in scope.

Lazy discourse, purity politics in the left, and outdated political tracts might leave you with the impression that, like in 19th century Britain, the majority is by some distance is what we think of as "working class" is the sound majority, with the other categories forming a narrowing pyramid toward the top, with the aristocracy being somewhat supplanted by the historical "middle class," in keeping with the abolition of that class in republican states and 20th century tax policy in countries like Britain.

In fact, "working class" people in the US constitute about a third of the population. The "lower middle class" constitute another third. The real equivalent of the poor working class of the 19th century--people who earn poverty wages in today's society--is less than half the size of the working class population as a whole, although in Britain in Marx's day, it was significantly larger (can't find a rough ballpark in a quick Google search, but Wikipedia suggests the proportion earning below subsistence level--which is a much harsher standard than the modern poverty line AFAICT--was 25% at the end of the 19th century).

(Note that the US has had, especially in the 19th century, a small population of poor urban workers relative to its size bc of its different material circumstances; and for much of that period its equivalent of the poor rural worker class--the peasantry of Europe--was, well, slaves. So the US political dynamics around socialism have always been a bit weird.)

Two points suggest themselves to me. First, the political left has, in most of the world, made huge advances or won outright a significant proportion of its battles since it began to coalesce at the end of the 18th century. Our world is far from perfect, but it's a testament to the tenacity and effectiveness of gradual reformists and revolutionaries alike that huge strides have been made in the last 200 years. I say that neither to invite complacency or discount injustice that still runs rampant in the world, only to support my second point, which is this: anybody who stakes out a position that nothing can possibly get better unless and until the far left has vanquished all its enemies utterly is full of shit. The gains of the last centuries have to be protected and improved on, but the idea that you need untrammeled power in the hands of a Lenin or even a Robespierre to do that is just transparently hogwash.

As to your ask specifically: yeah, I think that's part of the purity politics dynamic of leftist rhetoric. An affective argument for an equitable economic system collapses for some people into the working class, or even only the poor, being somehow pure and noble, and the middle income class (by extension from the bourgeoise) being dupes, or outright decadent and corrupt. It's taking the ingroup/outgroup logic of nationalism and just applying it to class instead, and doing so at a really weird dividing line: like, in the orthodox analysis, AFAICT the difference is basically between people who work for a living and people who make income solely off accumulated wealth, which is a much higher bar to clear. But if you are frustrated and resentful that people who "should" be on your side don't immediately adopt your politics and worldview, and you refuse to understand why, you start coming up with reasons why they're really malicious or stupid or evil and don't deserve your sympathy or pity. It's yet another politically agnostic phenomenon--of course right-wingers do it to, that's one reason it's dumb as hell. You'd think you'd prefer to avoid the tactics the howling bigots depend on.

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artsy-hobbitses · 3 years

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I'm getting very curious about Malaysia... what's it like there?? Culture, living conditions, etc.

Pretty loaded question!

Off the top of my head, some specifics:

- Very much a melting pot. Malay, Chinese and Indian ethnicities mingle pretty freely, interracial marriages are not uncommon (I’m quarter Chinese on my mum’s side) and the modern Malaysian slang is often a mishmash of Malay, Chinese and Indian words. You have a choice between public, vernacular (usually caters to a specific race ie. Chinese/Indian as a stronghold of the language/customs, however I had Malays friends who went to Chinese Vernacular schools) international, private and religious schools (mostly for the Muslim-Majority Malays). Public holidays are designated for all three major races (big ones are Eid, Deepavali and Chinese New Year) plus more specific ones in Sabah/Sarawak for the indigenous population, and it’s normal for say, Malays to be invited to a Deepavali gathering or for Chinese to be invited to Eid open houses. We’re usually chill about it like that.

- Despite this, racism exists. It’s not loud and proud like in western nations though (except for your occasional Malay nationalist politician) it tends to be more of the passive-aggressive sort. Some parents discreetly warn their kids about not being friends with [X] race at school, some house rental listings with single out [X] race, though we’re coming to the point that we’re not bothering with Asian decorum anymore and publicly shitting on that behavior. On a historical aspect, the potential reason it takes on a more subtle, passive-aggressive tone here was that on 13 May 1969, sectarian violence broke out between urban Chinese and Malays in Kuala Lumpur due to unrest over the general election, and this resulted in the deaths of 600 people, mostly Chinese (My mum lived through this time at the heart of the incident). Basically the nation’s been scarred and has feared a similar event ever since, so those spouting open racial violence get slammed down pretty quick and “Remember 13 May” has often been used as a warning for whenever tensions flare up. Or when politicians want us to keep our grumblings down. We tend to have a don’t-rock-the-boat mentality here on the basis of trying to keep the peace for everyone—-it doesn’t always work. Malay Privilege/“Ketuanan Melayu” is a thing you’ll hear often from some sections of Malays here, who tend to argue that since they’re technically the original inhabitants if the land (don’t quiz ‘em about the Orang Asli), they should get more rights than the others.

-Living conditions vary. I live in Selangor—the state surrounding the Capital Kuala Lumpur—-which has the highest density of denizens. Here, it’s pretty modern. My husband and I rent a two-story terrace house, my parents who are a little well-off have their own bungalow. Places like Penang, Perak and Johor also tend to be more in the modern side. You’ll find more rural areas and kampungs as you go deeper into the heart of country (Pahang), the East Coast (Kelantan, Terengganu) and the country’s rice bowl (Kedah, and by extension, Perlis). This is within the Peninsula—-Sabah (I lived here for about four years) and Sarawak have a combination of modern and rural areas and tend to take life at a much slower pace than the Peninsula states (They also want none of Peninsula’s religious tension bullshit). My father’s kampung is in Pahang, and while I was never close to my paternal grandparents, I do have fond memories of cooking outdoors and plucking rambutan bunches from the trees they grew.

- Wet. Very wet. Monsoon season/‘Musim Tengkujuh’ at year end interspace with mid-year. Fucks with the income of local fishermen who are barred from going to the ocean on the account of rough waves, Flooding is an annual occurrence for rural areas, though we get flash floods in cities too. Common enough that “check for crocodiles” isn’t a weird request when you come back to clean your homes from mud and silt. (Houses near flood-prone areas will employ walls or be built on stilts to withstand the floods).

- 9 Sultans for 9 states, they take turns becoming the Agong (Chief Sultan I guess?) every five years. They’re mostly there the same way the British monarchy is. Don’t really play a big role in politics unless there is a need for them to decree something when politicians can’t work things out between themselves.

- Political leapfrog. It’s. A thing. A politician you see from one party today can be a member of another party tomorrow. It’s gotten so bad they’re considering legislation to punish it. We do call them literal frogs (Katak) when they do this (Sorry frogs, you deserve better!)

- Food. All the fucking food. Melting pot = all the deliciousness. There’s no culturally appropriating cuisine here, everyone’s eating everyone else’s stuff with great gusto. Roti Canai/Chappati (Indian) for breakfast, Nasi Campur (mixed rice, mostly with Malay dishes) for lunch and Wantan Mee (Chinese) for dinner is an example of the food culture trip you go through on any given day. You’ll have Malays who adore Chinese food, Chinese who adore Malay food, and no one fights when they’re eating, that’s all there is to it. Places like Penang are a haven for food and people will make trips just to eat there.

- Islam is the main religion. However, it’s not strictly enforced in most cases, I’d dare even say that we’re quite secular, to the teeth-gnashing of the Facebook army. I’m a Muslim who doesn’t wear a headscarf (except on special occasions), I know Muslims who rescue and keep dogs (My hunter grandfather apparently caught and kept a Dhole as a house guard way back), and I know some who’re LGBT, albeit somewhat discreet about it.

- Speaking of LGBT, the country is not friendly to the community, but neither is it as hostile as sections of the US tend to be about it. As an example, gay conversion therapy isn’t really a thing there (presumably because that would entail the govt admitting that there’s enough gay people to require it at all), workplaces generally do not have a policy targeting people based on their sexualities, like you’ll find butch ladies serving you drinks at Starbucks and gay men working with local theatre productions, and violence against LGBT members is pretty rare (though I imagine this is more because most people here mostly do not want to kick up a fuss in public, what more a fight, and just judge from a distance). Basically, the majority of the public will tolerate LGBT existence—whispering behind their back——until there starts to be a call for rights.

- Good degree of English command. English is understood, if not spoken, by a lot of us here from cab drivers to stall owners, so you won’t be hopelessly lost if you decide to visit. A big majority of us are at LEAST bilingual (In my case, I speak English and Malay, and can understand some Arabic). Quite a number who come from interracial marriages are trilingual.

- Cheap healthcare. There’s a reason we’re one of the top destinations for medical tourism. You have a choice between private and government hospitals which provide a form of universal healthcare. Govt clinics/hospitals offer subsidized healthcare and meds to all members of the public, and most doctors will start out in government hospitals before moving to private practices (like my sister-in-law). Uninsured, a trip to a normal clinic for a consultation will set you back maybe twenty to thirty bucks, fifty if you need meds or a small procedure like stitches. I do have insurance but have never used it for doctor visits since the amount is pretty trivial. I have, however, used it for a hysterectomy surgery + 1 month hospital stay at a private hospital which set me back about RM30,000-RM40,000 (USD7000-USD9500) which I managed to get covered. Ambulance Fees are like, RM200 (USD47) for private hospitals and RM50 (USD12) for govt hospitals. Consultation fees, blood tests and X-Rays go as low as RM1 (24 Cents) in govt hospitals. If you get hurt here, we got you covered.

And that’s just off my head! If there’s something specific you’d like you know, feel free to ask further ouob

#inbox #long post #Malaysia

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

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I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.

this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!

Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.

To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.

He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.

His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.

What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.

He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!

So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.

But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!

(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)

So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.

Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN

(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)

And then they're mates.

And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.

and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.

She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.

Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.

But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.

Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.

It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.

The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.

Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.

Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.

But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.

But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.

Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?

Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.

If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)

But Cassian lives.

Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.

And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.

Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?

And then the massacre happens.

And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.

The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.

(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)

It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.

It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.

Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.

He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.

(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)

Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.

Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.

There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.

(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)

(He is, in fact, far worse)

When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.

Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.

The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.

His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.

It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.

Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.

And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.

A circle closed.

But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.

Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.

When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.

He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.

They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.

It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.

It has to be worth it.

#Rhys is deadset a huge narcissist #and in the middle of a breakdown the entirety of daylight #he's SO HURT #But's turning all that hurt into anger #and an even stricter paranoia #its all catching up to him #everything from imperialism #to the shitty way he treated his friends #to the Winter Massacre that yes was absolutely him #this is more of a Shoreless Concept but all of feysand can be summed up #by Feyre making teary BUT WE'RE FAMILY demands and Rhys immediately committing a literal warcrime #and like #I do think Rhys hates himself too #but for wildly the wrong reasons #and never more or in a real way that overcomes how much he thinks everything he does is right #Cassian's death was a cost to them #as Nesta tells Feyre: what's done cannot be undone. Rhys chose wrong #the truly bonkers Rhys thing in canon #will always be that he's both represented as Most Powerful Ever #and the wrongly ignored underdog #when in fact he throws around power constantly for petty shitty reasons

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jessbakescakes · 3 years

Note

random prompt: donna’s niece/nephew has to stay with her for some reason and josh drops by her apartment randomly so they all end up spending the day together :) thanks!

This took me an age and a half, but here it is. Let’s call this sometime post-snowballs, pre-finale Season 4 Josh/Donna. Also, it got ridiculously long and I have no idea why, but... yay?

Josh tries to be productive on his first Sunday off in recent memory. He gets a few things done around the house, and then he finds himself feeling bored. That feeling is rare; he hasn’t been this bored since he was recovering from his injuries after Rosslyn. There’s no shortage of things to do in the office, but Leo has banned him (and Donna) from the property for the day after a 38-hour shift. Soon the feelings of boredom propel him out of his apartment, and he finds himself standing outside of Donna’s place about fifteen minutes later without a plan. There’s a part of him that wonders if she’d even want to hang out with him on her day off, but all the other people he would invite are at work.

So, Josh knocks at the door.

They could always go to the movies; Donna’s been mentioning a new movie she’s been wanting to see. The thought of the two of them sitting in the back of a darkened movie theater while she gets invested in some sappy chick flick isn’t exactly his idea of fun, though, so his mind wanders to other possibilities.

The plan is almost formulated in his head when she opens the door, but it all goes out the window when he notices a little girl run toward the door and wrap herself around Donna’s legs. “I can’t come into work today,” Donna insists.

“Hi, Josh, it’s so great to see you,” Josh says in his sarcastic ‘imitating Donna’ tone.

She sighs. “Hi, Josh. You shouldn’t be going into work, either.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask you to come in today. Who’s this?” he asks, glancing back and forth between Donna and the little girl, who looks like a miniature version of Donna, but with brown hair instead of blonde.

“This is my niece, Caitlin.”

“Francesca’s daughter?” Josh confirms, ensuring that his memory of Donna’s conversations about her nieces and nephews was correct. He vaguely remembers Donna telling him something about a political argument that her sister Francesca got into with another parent while she was chaperoning a trip for Caitlin’s kindergarten class a few weeks ago.

Donna nods. “She had a last-minute meeting with a client she’s trying to land for the D.C. branch of her company. So Caitlin and I get to spend the day together. Caitlin, this is my friend Josh.”

Caitlin gives Josh a toothless grin and a giggle. “Hi.”

“Hey, Caitlin,” Josh says to Caitlin, giving her a wave. He turns his attention to Donna. “I was thinking about how I owed you a new shirt after the coffee catastrophe. Figured I’d come by and ask if you’d like to collect on that today. But...”

“Well, you can help me babysit, and we’ll call it even,” she says, motioning for Josh to come into her apartment.

“Your sister won’t mind?” Josh asks, crossing the threshold and taking off his coat.

“She’s met you,” Donna reasons. “You work for the President of the United States. I think you’ll pass muster. And besides, I’m here for when you inevitably screw up.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he sighs.

He looks toward Caitlin, who has abandoned Donna in favor of what she’s working on at the coffee table. There are art supplies everywhere; markers are scattered across the table (and a few have rolled onto the floor), a pair of child-sized safety scissors sits on the corner next to some tape, and tubes of glittery glue in several different colors are gathered in a pile in the middle. “What’s your favorite color, Josh?” she calls, without lifting her gaze from her project.

“Uh… blue, I guess,” Josh answers, approaching the couch and taking a seat.

Caitlin reaches for a blue sheet of construction paper and begins to cut an unrecognizable shape into it. She pauses after a moment, then lifts the paper and wraps it around Josh’s wrist, attempting to ensure that the piece she has cut is big enough. “I’m making a superhero bracelet,” she declares, making a face when she realizes it’s too big. “You can shoot stuff out of it and get the bad guys.”

Josh glances toward Donna, suddenly conveniently busy in the kitchen, and then back at Caitlin. “Sounds… interesting.”

He’s never been bad with kids. In fact, kids seem to like him, as a general rule. He’s just never been entirely sure what to do to replicate that experience from one kid to the next. This is Donna’s niece, so there’s a little extra pressure to seem impressive and interesting.

Donna is a natural with kids, at least from Josh’s perspective. Working in the White House doesn’t really give them a lot of opportunities to spend time with kids, of course, but the few times he’s seen her interact with them, it seems to come easily to her. They’re drawn to her in an inexplicable way.

Caitlin returns to her work. “This can be your bracelet. I made Aunt Donna a crown. Wait! Do you want a crown or a bracelet? Boys can wear crowns, too. They can be princes.”

“I’ll take the bracelet,” Josh says, motioning to the mangled piece of paper she has in her hands. “Did you say you made Aunt Donna a crown?”

He says the last part loud enough for Donna to hear in the kitchen, so Donna looks up at him and shrugs. “I’m a princess, apparently.”

“Don’t you think you should be wearing it?” Josh teases.

“It’s drying,” Donna says, motioning behind her to the counter, where she’s placed a crown made of pink construction paper covered in glitter.

Josh darts into the kitchen and gingerly lifts the crown, poking at various spots with his index finger. “Hmm, seems dry to me. What do you think, Caitlin, should she wear it?”

“Yeah!” Caitlin agrees enthusiastically.

“You want to come in here and put it on her?” Josh offers, holding out the crown.

Caitlin shakes her head. “You do it.”

Donna slides a finished grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate and turns around. “Don’t you dare squish it on my head,” she warns under her breath, her arms crossed. “If you get any glitter in my hair…”

“Donnatella, this isn’t my first coronation,” Josh huffs.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling at him. “Where was your last one, Burger King?”

“Medieval Times, actually,” he says, gently securing the crown on Donna’s head. “There.”

Donna reaches up and pats her head. “He didn’t give me a bump in my hair, did he?” she asks, turning around to allow Caitlin to check.

“Nope,” Caitlin confirms, approaching Josh with his superhero bracelet and about a dozen long pieces of Scotch tape. She attaches it to his wrist and steps back to admire her handiwork. “Now you both have something!”

“We certainly do. Come wash your hands and we can have some lunch,” Donna instructs.

Caitlin, Josh, and Donna chat over grilled cheese and tomato soup. When they finish, Donna clears the table while Caitlin pulls Josh into the living room to clean up the crafting supplies. Caitlin is entertaining to talk to, as far as six-year-olds go. Of course, she’s not about to debate the intricacies of domestic policy with him, but she asks questions about the President - she seems primarily interested in the idea of him being funny. Caitlin also wants to know if the President has a dog (she seems disappointed when Josh tells her he doesn’t) and if he intends to get a dog (she seems even more disappointed when she hears this answer).

Soon there’s a lull in the conversation. Caitlin seems to be focused and hard at work, slowly gathering the art supplies to clean up.

“Your Aunt Donna told me that you went to the aquarium a couple of weeks ago,” Josh says tentatively, unsure of what topics are interesting for six-year-olds, but making an effort anyway.

“I got to pet a stingray. You do it like this,” Caitlin explains, holding up her index and middle fingers together and sweeping them in the air.

“Oh, yeah? That must have been cool. What did it feel like?”

“He was kinda slimy. But there was an otter that was swimming up near the spot where I was standing at the otter place,” Caitlin says, shoving some markers into their box. “I love otters.”

“Oh, really? Otters are nice. What do you like about otters?”

“Otters… the otters hold hands while they’re sleeping so they don’t float away,” Caitlin explains as she clears the last of the paper off of the table. “Then they would be sad and all by themselves.”

“That’s smart of them,” Josh answers. “Don’t want them to be lonely.”

Josh discovers that Caitlin knows a lot about otters. She explains that she checked out several books from the library about otters after her trip to the aquarium, and has done some extensive internet research. By the time the living room is clean, Josh has been informed that otters have the thickest fur of all mammals in the animal kingdom, and baby otters are not able to swim on their own.

Caitlin is about to explain the ins and outs of keeping a baby otter safe and secure while its mother goes out hunting when Donna enters the living room with a bowl of water in one hand and a Ziploc bag in the other. “What are we up to in here?”

“Otter discourse,” Josh says, stacking the newly collected art supplies in a pile.

“They hold hands,” Donna says with a knowing nod, as though she’s heard this piece of trivia before. “Okay, Caitlin, you wanted to look through my stash of tattoos, right?”

Caitlin nods and takes the bag from Donna’s hand. She dumps out the bag and looks through the temporary tattoos that Donna has acquired. There are flowers, hearts, butterflies, and various animals and characters to choose from. Caitlin flips over each tattoo, grouping them by color as she deliberates.

Josh looks to Donna. “Does this sort of freakish organizational skill run in the family?”

Donna pokes him in the arm and Josh yelps, rubbing the spot as Donna moves to expedite the process by flipping over the tattoos.

Caitlin finally selects several different tattoos, sliding one in front of Donna and another in front of Josh. “Those are for you,” she says.

Josh shoots Donna a look, but Donna rolls up her sleeves. “Where should I put mine? On my hand, or on my arm?”

“Hmm,” Caitlin says. “Your hand.”

“Do you need help with yours?” Donna asks.

Caitlin nods. “The last time Mommy and I did these, mine got all messed up ‘cause I pulled it off too fast.”

“Oh, well we can’t have that,” Donna insists, dipping a washcloth in the bowl of water. “Josh, start thinking about where you want your tattoo.”

“I think he should do it right here,” Caitlin says, tapping the inside of her forearm.

“You think so?” Donna asks.

“You have to do it on this arm though,” Caitlin says, grabbing Josh’s left hand. “That one has your superhero bracelet.”

Josh sighs. “Do I get a say in this at all?”

“No,” Donna insists, turning his arm over so his palm is facing upward. She grabs his left hand in hers and pushes up the sleeve of his sweater with her right hand.

“You’re holding his hand. Kind of like the otters,” Caitlin points out.

Josh is certain that what Donna was doing was entirely platonic, operating on instinct under the watchful eyes of an observant kindergartener. But he wonders if she can feel his pulse hammering the same way it did outside her apartment in the snow a few weeks prior.

“Well, we wouldn’t want him to float away, would we?” Donna teases before letting his hand go and removing the plastic cover of a purple butterfly tattoo.

Caitlin approaches them and supervises as Donna applies the temporary tattoo, impatiently waiting for the reveal. Donna is about halfway through peeling the paper backing away when Francesca walks in the door.

“Mommy!” Caitlin shouts, launching herself at Francesca.

“Looks like I’m interrupting the makeover portion of the afternoon,” Francesca says. “Hey, Josh, it’s good to see you.”

“Hey, Francesca,” he says. “It’s good to see you too. I didn’t know you were coming to D.C. this weekend, or I’d have given Donna a chance to spend some time with you.”

Francesca waves her hand. “It wasn’t planned. I had a thing come up, and I was going to leave both the kids with Chris, but Caitlin heard me mention D.C. and all bets were off when she remembered that’s where Aunt Donna lived.”

“I made Josh a superhero bracelet,” Caitlin says. “And Aunt Donna has a crown.”

“I see that,” Francesca smiles. “Why don’t you and I head back to the hotel for a little bit? I’ll take you swimming at the hotel pool before dinner if you want.”

Caitlin darts across the apartment, gathering all of the things she brought over earlier in the day. “Can Josh eat dinner with us?”

Francesca grabs Caitlin’s pink backpack that’s sitting by the door and turns to Josh. “You’re welcome to join us, I was taking Donna out to dinner as a thank you for spending some time with Caitlin while I was in that meeting.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll let the three of you spend some time together,” he says.

“Next time,” Francesca says. “Caitlin, what do you say to Aunt Donna and Josh?”

“Thank you!” she says, nearly knocking Donna over with a hug and climbing onto the couch to give Josh a hug with equal enthusiasm.

“Thank you again. Both of you. Six-thirty?” Francesca asks Donna.

Donna nods. “Perfect. You don’t have to run off, though, I don’t mind --”

“No, no, I know,” Francesca interrupts. “It’s totally fine. We’ll see you at dinner.”

Francesca helps Caitlin get her coat on and Donna sees them out. As Donna says goodbye and Caitlin and Francesca leave the apartment, Josh can hear Caitlin chatting to her mom.

“Aunt Donna was holding Josh’s hand, like the otters.”

Donna shuts the door and turns to look at Josh. Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes dart to the floor. “She really likes otters.”

“I gathered that.”

“Probably should have warned you about that.”

Josh laughs. “You could have warned me that I’d be peeling pieces of tape off my arms, too, but you just threw me to the wolves.”

“Hey, now. You survived!”

His forearm is still stretched out as the temporary tattoo dries and becomes less sticky and more prickly-feeling. “I also wasn’t exactly planning on getting a tattoo today. Or… probably ever.”

“Not a tattoo guy, huh?”

“Why, are you a tattoo girl?” Josh pushes his sleeve down over his forearm.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Donna says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Josh stands up from the couch. “Want me to, uh…” he gestures around the living room, not sure where to dive in to help clean up.

“I think I can manage,” Donna says. “Thanks for today. Caitlin had fun.”

“Yeah. It’s no problem. Just remember that next time when Aunt Donna isn’t the favorite anymore and she goes on and on about how great Josh was,” Josh teases.

Donna crosses her arms and lets out a laugh. “Like that would ever happen.”

“You underestimated me before,” Josh points out. “You’ll see how popular I am when Caitlin asks you about me at dinner tonight.”

“And you think if she did, I would actually tell you about it?”

“I know when you’re lying, Donna. Your mouth does this weird thing.”

“A weird thing?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but I know it when I see it,” Josh insists, putting on his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Donna says, opening the front door for him.

Josh stands there for a moment before he leaves, looking at Donna. The pink crown is still on her head, and her shirt has spots of pink glitter on it, presumably from aiding in the decoration of the aforementioned crown. For the briefest of moments, he wonders if this can’t be their future - if it can’t be their kid who tapes a superhero bracelet around his wrist with too many pieces of tape or insists on giving him a butterfly tattoo.

He pushes the thought out of his mind until later in the shower when he attempts to scrub the tattoo off his arm. He’s had more moments like this since he took a cab to throw snowballs at her window -- or more accurately, ever since Commander Wonderful and his thirteen buttons showed up. The images, oddly domestic compared to most of his fantasies, play on a loop in his brain.

He knows he can’t indulge them, can’t enjoy these fantasies. She’s his assistant; he’s her boss. They’re friends, and that’s all they can be for another four years. Of course, that’s assuming that some gomer doesn’t sweep her off her feet and give her what Josh can’t, at least not yet. But he doesn’t know how to stop them, and they’re coming with more frequency than the nightmares he’s grown accustomed to having.

The idea that she could have all this with someone else is more terrifying than the nightmares.

#josh x donna #my fics #this was almost finished for like a week and I finally got it done today #sorry it got super long #also #sorry it took me so long to do this

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haliyam · 3 years

Text

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

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