#Formal Semantics

[omegaphilosophia]

The Philosophy of Set Theory

The philosophy of set theory explores the foundational aspects of set theory, a branch of mathematical logic that deals with the concept of a "set," which is essentially a collection of distinct objects, considered as an object in its own right. Set theory forms the basis for much of modern mathematics and has significant implications for logic, philosophy, and the foundations of mathematics.

Key Concepts in the Philosophy of Set Theory:

Definition of Set Theory:

Basic Concepts: Set theory studies sets, which are collections of objects, called elements or members. These objects can be anything—numbers, symbols, other sets, etc. A set is usually denoted by curly brackets, such as {a, b, c}, where "a," "b," and "c" are elements of the set.

Types of Sets: Sets can be finite, with a limited number of elements, or infinite. They can also be empty (the empty set, denoted by ∅), or they can contain other sets as elements (e.g., {{a}, {b, c}}).

Philosophical Foundations:

Naive vs. Axiomatic Set Theory:

Naive Set Theory: In its original form, set theory was developed naively, where sets were treated intuitively without strict formalization. However, this led to paradoxes, such as Russell's paradox, where the set of all sets that do not contain themselves both must and must not contain itself.

Axiomatic Set Theory: In response to these paradoxes, mathematicians developed axiomatic set theory, notably the Zermelo-Fraenkel set theory (ZF) and Zermelo-Fraenkel set theory with the Axiom of Choice (ZFC). These formal systems use a set of axioms to avoid paradoxes and provide a rigorous foundation for set theory.

Set Theory and the Foundations of Mathematics:

Role in Mathematics: Set theory serves as the foundational framework for nearly all of modern mathematics. Concepts like numbers, functions, and spaces are all defined in terms of sets, making set theory the language in which most of mathematics is expressed.

Mathematical Platonism: The philosophy of set theory often intersects with debates in mathematical Platonism, which posits that mathematical objects, including sets, exist independently of human thought. Set theory, from this perspective, uncovers truths about a realm of abstract entities.

Philosophical Issues and Paradoxes:

Russell's Paradox: This paradox highlights the problems of naive set theory by considering the set of all sets that do not contain themselves. If such a set exists, it both must and must not contain itself, leading to a contradiction. This paradox motivated the development of axiomatic systems.

Continuum Hypothesis: One of the most famous problems in set theory is the Continuum Hypothesis, which concerns the possible sizes of infinite sets, particularly whether there is a set size between that of the integers and the real numbers. The hypothesis is independent of the ZFC axioms, meaning it can neither be proven nor disproven within this system.

Axioms of Set Theory:

Zermelo-Fraenkel Axioms (ZF): These axioms form the basis of modern set theory, providing a formal foundation that avoids the paradoxes of naive set theory. The axioms include principles like the Axiom of Extensionality (two sets are equal if they have the same elements) and the Axiom of Regularity (no set is a member of itself).

Axiom of Choice (AC): This controversial axiom asserts that for any set of non-empty sets, there exists a function (a choice function) that selects exactly one element from each set. While widely accepted, it has led to some counterintuitive results, like the Banach-Tarski Paradox, which shows that a sphere can be divided and reassembled into two identical spheres.

Infinity in Set Theory:

Finite vs. Infinite Sets: Set theory formally distinguishes between finite and infinite sets. The concept of infinity in set theory is rich and multifaceted, involving various sizes or "cardinalities" of infinite sets.

Cantor’s Theorem: Georg Cantor, the founder of set theory, demonstrated that not all infinities are equal. For example, the set of real numbers (the continuum) has a greater cardinality than the set of natural numbers, even though both are infinite.

Philosophical Debates:

Set-Theoretic Pluralism: Some philosophers advocate for pluralism in set theory, where multiple, possibly conflicting, set theories are considered valid. This contrasts with the traditional view that there is a single, correct set theory.

Constructivism vs. Platonism: In the philosophy of mathematics, constructivists argue that mathematical objects, including sets, only exist insofar as they can be explicitly constructed, while Platonists hold that sets exist independently of our knowledge or constructions.

Applications Beyond Mathematics:

Set Theory in Logic: Set theory is foundational not only to mathematics but also to formal logic, where it provides a framework for understanding and manipulating logical structures.

Philosophy of Language: In philosophy of language, set theory underlies the formal semantics of natural languages, helping to model meaning and reference in precise terms.

The philosophy of set theory is a rich field that explores the foundational principles underlying modern mathematics and logic. It engages with deep philosophical questions about the nature of mathematical objects, the concept of infinity, and the limits of formal systems. Through its rigorous structure, set theory not only provides the bedrock for much of mathematics but also offers insights into the nature of abstraction, existence, and truth in the mathematical realm.

[ducksarebloodthirstylittlebeasts]

now that's a title

(also a lie, semantics is always monstrous imo)

[sweetlotusprince]

【哪吒之魔童闹海】破亿海报英译：31亿

【Nezha 2】 Box Office Milestone Poster Translation: 3.1 Billion

From top to bottom:

內地影史動画片票房單日冠军 -> Animated Feature Champion Makes History in the Domestic Box Office Within a Single Day

31亿 -> 3.1 Billion

李靖武将：来就来嘛 / 带什么海鲜 -> General Li：You only had to bring yourself along / what did you bring us seafood for

敖光：李兄 / 这个不是 -> Ao Guang：Brother Li / That is not–

新年常见 热热闹闹 -> May we meet often in the new year, in great liveliness and cheer

Suggestions on the translations would be appreciated as I work to improve my Chinese. I would also love to read/discuss other interpretations ☺️

Project Overview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 》

[moonmaiden1996]

A Gift of a Consort

A request for Jinshi x 5th Consort- SMUT

“…It means you will leave this place. You will no longer be the Consort of Harmony. You will be married to the Emperor’s brother.”

A row of solemn men had descended into your private chambers at the peak of the sun, their arrival was abrupt and imposing. They entered in a line as straight and stiff as bamboo, clad in robes of charcoal and ash, each man a pillar of duty and formality baring down at you as you sat atop a raised platform cushioned with layers of embroidered brocade, the subtle lavender scent of fresh blossoms drifting from a nearby vase. Your harp sat at your side, silent as you listened.

“I understand,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart fluttered in your ribcage. You folded your hands in your lap, fingers curled into each other so tightly that the knuckles paled.

“You have served the Emperor with honor. Now that an heir has been secured, you are to be his gift to his younger brother. It would seem your grace is his reward. It is a great honor,” another man crooned, his face as withered and dry as a shriveled persimmon.

“I thank you for giving me this joyful news,” you said with a graceful bow of your head. “Though I am saddened to leave the Rear Palace and the life I have built in service to His Majesty, I am grateful for the opportunity to continue serving the Ka Clan. I will do my best to be a dutiful and honorable wife to the Prince.”

The councilman’s stern expression softened slightly. His lips thinned but curved just enough to betray a flicker of something like warmth.

“You have always conducted yourself with dignity. I expect nothing less. I know the Emperor’s brother is… a recluse, and the rumors of his appearance have traveled far. But he is still of royal blood. You will be treated well.”

“I thank you for your reassurance,” you murmured, gaze still lowered.

“Officers, if you would. We must begin preparing our future princess for the ceremony.” Jinshi's voice was prim and curt.

One of the younger officials chuckled, breaking the heavy atmosphere like a breeze rippling through still water. “Yes, the Prince seems quite eager to welcome his bride into his pavilion. And who could blame him, with such beauty and grace soon to be his?”

The councilman offered a final nod. “I leave the preparations to you, Master Jinshi.”

With the rustling of robes and low murmurs, the men turned and filed out. The polished wood doors closed with a muted thud, and their footsteps receded down the corridor until only silence remained.

“Please,” Jinshi said softly, “leave us. Begin with the rooms downstairs. I will prepare the Princess myself to ensure she knows the expectations of her.”

The maids bowed and vanished with quiet efficiency, too enraptured to finally leave this place to care or bother to spare another glance at you both.

“Consort…Princess?… my love,” Jinshi whispered, stepping closer, concern etched across his usually composed face. The soft light caught in the strands of his hair, his skin looking so perfect in the light.

A delighted laugh burst from your lips as you surged forward. You crashed into him, and he stumbled with a breathless oof as you tackled him to the floor. Your sleeves billowed around you like silken clouds as you landed on top of him, your hair a dark waterfall trailing over his chest.

“Husband," you giggled, you teased, eyes aglow with mischief, your voice as light as spring rain.

“Hush… you are not yet in my palace,” he murmured with a lopsided grin, his breath warm against your cheek, his hands instinctively gripping your waist.

“Semantics,” you whispered, letting your hands settle against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “I’ve been a prisoner here for years—tormented by being so near to you… and never allowed to touch.”

His expression softened. The intensity in his eyes dimmed into something tender.

“We’ll be together soon.”

“But I’ve been so good,” you said, pouting as your fingers traced the lines of his chest, revealed by the loose V of his robe. The heat of him bled through the thin silk. “I’ve played the role of the Consort of Harmony—writing poetry, playing music, painting, enduring the endless ceremonies… and lessons”

“And we will be together soon, but—”

“But nothing,” you interrupted, shifting your hips to straddle him fully. “You brought little Maomao to teach us all sorts of desirable things… and expect me not to suffer? You tease me.” you pouted.

“That wasn’t my intent…” he groaned as you ground down slowly, making him shudder. “I only wanted to… to speed the—”

“The delivery of another heir?” you murmured, a wicked smile curving your lips, you fingers dipping into the bare skin of his chest.

His jaw clenched, a low, needy sound catching in his throat. His gaze flicked aside, but the crimson flush that crawled from his chest to his cheeks betrayed him.

“As that may be,” you whispered, leaning closer, “you left me here… with those books and nothing to soothe the ache in my core.”

You rolled your hips deliberately, drawing a hiss from his parted lips. His head fell back against the lacquered floor, neck bared, golden skin stretched smooth and vulnerable. His long lashes fluttered as he fought the tension crawling over him.

It took all your willpower not to bend down and taste him—let your mouth trail along that tempting, exposed skin.

“I have been so lonely without you,” you whispered, leaning over him and pressing your body to his, lying fully across him. The scent of sandalwood clung to his skin. You nestled your head in the crook of his neck, and he moaned softly, his arms encircling you without hesitation.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The warmth of him seeped through your robes, and for the first time, you felt the entirety of him—not the fleeting touches of fingertips, not the brush of sleeves in passing, but the shape and soul of the man beneath you. His heart thundered against your palm.

But then his breath caught. His arms, once pulling you in, hesitated. “…We shouldn’t,” Jinshi murmured into the top of your head, his voice rough and low, barely more than a ghost of sound against your ear. “Not here… not now.”

You didn’t move. You only clung to him tighter.“Why?” you asked gently, your lips brushing against the delicate skin of his throat. “What is left for us to wait for?”

“I…” He swallowed hard. You could feel the strain in his body—the trembling muscle beneath you. “You’re still under the Emperor’s name. Until the ceremony, you belong to him in the eyes of the court.”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze.“But in your eyes?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His golden eyes widened for just a heartbeat. Then they softened, darkened. “In my eyes…” he whispered, trembling slightly beneath you, “you’ve always belonged to me.”

Your breath caught.

“But,” he went on, jaw tight with restraint, “… I do not wish to deflower you on the floor of this pavilion. I want it to be in our pavilion where you are only mine.”

You stared down at him, reading the tension in his body, the quiet desperation in his eyes. Even now, as your hips remained pressed against his and your hands traced his skin, he fought himself—to protect you, to protect both of you.

You pressed a soft kiss to his throat, reverent, slow.

“I’m not asking you to deflower me now,” you murmured, your lips grazing his skin with every word. “Only to quell the fire that burns within me. I need you, Jinshi. Not as a consort, not as a princess. Just as me.”

His expression broke, his hands cupping your face, eyes filled with love and grief and longing.

“You are cruel,” he whispered, smiling faintly even as he leaned up to kiss your forehead. “You know I would give you anything.”

You curled into him, cheek pressed to his chest as he cradled you in his arms, his warmth a balm to the aching emptiness inside you “Then give me this moment. That’s all I ask. I have been so patient… and not to mention useful to you here.”

His head turned to the side to avoid your gaze but you reclaimed his mouth before he could escape behind reason. Your lips met his with a fervor that silenced thought, with a hunger that stripped both of you down to a desperate need. His breath hitched as you deepened the kiss, the soft gasp escaping him swallowed by your mouth. The velvety warmth of his lips parted for you, trembling slightly as your tongue brushed his.

His golden eyes fluttered closed, lashes dark against flushed cheeks, and his resolve frayed further, undone by your gaze. There was no trace of hesitation in you, only raw need.

“Soon I will be yours, the prince’s wife,” you said, your voice husky against his jaw, feeling the tension in his thighs tighten beneath you. “They won’t hear us. They are too busy preparing for our wedding. Packing makes a lot of noise.”

The words stirred something dark and possessive in him. He gasped, a low, guttural sound as your hips shifted against him once again. His pressed against the inner seam of your thighs through the thin layers of silk and lace. You felt the shiver run through him, the way his hands flew to your waist in a feeble attempt to hold you still, though his fingers betrayed him—gripping too tight, trembling with restraint.

“You’re cruel,” he whispered, head tipping back, throat bared, as you pressed down slightly against the growing bulge in his robes. His voice cracked like splitting ice. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“But I do,” you whispered, lips trailing down his jaw, warm breath tickling his skin as you descended to the hollow of his throat. His pulse fluttered wildly beneath your lips, erratic and wanton. ‘’You do it to me everytime I see you.’’

His grip tightenen. “You should stop,” he said, but his voice was strained, wrecked, breaking apart with each syllable. “You should… but I can’t… gods, I can’t stop you.”

But his voice faltered when you kissed him again, deeper this time, with a hunger that ignited something dangerous in him. His hands slid to your hips as if on instinct, still trying to cling to the last of his sanity.

“Then don’t,” you breathed against his lips, your nose brushing his. “We can’t bear to pretend anymore. I don’t want to.”

His eyes—those stunning golden eyes—searched yours in a silent plea. You saw the war inside him: the crown prince, bound by oaths and duty, and the man beneath, aching for love, for touch, for you. His fingers dug into the fabric at your waist— And then, your hips pressed more firmly down against him and his breath stuttered. The last of his resistance slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

The kiss deepened into something frantic, something wild. He kissed you as if he were starved, lips desperate and bruising, claiming you in silence. His hands were bolder now—one sliding up the curve of your back, beneath your robes, seeking bare skin; the other guiding your hips with trembling precision as you moved atop him.

You felt him shudder when you ground down again, right where he throbbed beneath his robes. Even the thin barrier of silk couldn’t hide how desperately he needed you. His breath came in ragged bursts against your cheek, and his hips bucked upward helplessly.

With a smile meant only for him, your fingers undoing the sash at his waist, each motion slow and deliberate, pulling him apart one layer at a time. Frantic hands pulled at his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. The smooth slide of silk across skin made his breath catch again as you let your hands explore the broad expanse of his chest—the warm, firm muscle beneath his golden skin, the way it rose and fell with each breath. Jinshi fingers traced patterns into the clothed flesh there—tiny, intimate strokes that made your breath catch. With another roll of your hips, your core settled against his cock. You ground down coyly, just enough to make him twitch beneath you, drawing a strangled moan from his throat.

He watched you, eyes glassy with desire and disbelief, as you pushed his robe further open, revealing the smooth golden planes of his chest and the taut muscles beneath that rose and fell with every shallow breath. The heavy silk pooled around his waist, whispering against the floor.

You rocked firmly against him, the thick press of your thighs bracketing his hips. The wet heat of your core dragged slowly along his cock through the thin underlayers—an intimate, excruciating friction that made his body jolt beneath you like a struck chord. He let out a ragged gasp, the sound raw and guttural, drawn from somewhere deep in his chest.

A breathy rumble roared from his chest, the vibration of it humming beneath your palms as your hands slid over him. Even through his layers, he could feel your wetness—a hot, tempting imprint against his aching hardness. Your fingers wandered with unspoken hunger, tugging and pulling at his clothing, desperate for more contact, more skin, more him.

"My love…" he groaned, voice trembling on the edge of restraint, "...as much as I wish to feel for all of you… if you wish me to give you this, we must be quick before someone comes to find us…" His plea turned into a hiss as you rolled your hips drawing a slow, torturous grind against him in hopes of distracting him from your eager hands.

Distant voices echoed faintly beyond the chamber walls, but they felt a world away, drowned beneath the rhythm of breath and skin.

Hands-on hips, Jinshi stilled your movements, his grip both firm and trembling, his jaw clenched in restraint. "My love… please."

But even as the words left him, he rolled his hips up to meet yours in a sharp thrust that shattered you. Your head fell back with a loud moan, hair cascading like ink over your shoulders as you arched above him.

"Oh, Jinshi," you gasped, your fingers digging into his chest as your body trembled with each delicious jolt of pleasure.

“If you want me to do that again,” he said, voice thick and edged in warning, “then be a good little princess and take your pleasure while you can. We won't be able to see each other again before the ceremony.”

You moaned wantonly, the sound echoing in the dim, golden-lit room. You lowered yourself, pouting as he looked up at you with that maddening, satisfied smugness—his golden eyes darkened to molten amber, lips curled in quiet triumph.

With a growl, he did it again—thrusting up into you, rhythm precise and punishing. You bit your lip, unable to stop the cry that escaped you. Again. And again.

Your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the obscene sound that tore from your throat.

"I have waited for you for so long. My beautiful bride. I promise to make it up to you. I will let you strip me bare as much as you want once we are married,” he cooed, wide-eyed and breathless.

His eyes drank you in as you moved above him—hair tousled, lips parted, your body glowing in the soft light filtering through the high-paneled windows. Shadows from the fluttering curtains painted faint lines across his bare shoulders and chest, and the flicker of candlelight licked across your skin, golden and warm.

Pushing him gently back, he surrendered beneath your touch, his robe spread open, tugged at just enough to expose the scent of his skin—musky with desire and tinged with incense—rose to meet you, intoxicating and familiar.

You rocked against him harder, grinding down on his thrusting hips at a frantic pace, the friction dizzying. The sheer intensity of the contact made both your breaths come faster, shallow and ragged. The damp heat of your core dragged mercilessly over the rigid line of his cock sending jolts of pleasure through you with every pass.

You braced your hands on his chest, feeling the powerful thud of his heart beneath your palms—rapid, wild, beating in time with your own. His skin was slick with sweat, the heat radiating from him in waves, mixing with your own as your bodies began to stick together, gliding and catching with every fevered thrust.

You readjusted your position angling yourself just right before you resumed grinding your pussy against the length of his cock. Your slickness left a glistening trail over the bulge straining beneath his underlayers, your folds catching and dragging deliciously over the tip each time your hips circled downward.

Every roll hit your clit perfectly, again and again, drawing whimpers from your lips as a full-body shiver wracked through you with every movement. The pleasure built fast and unrelenting, blooming from your center outward—your body on fire.

Jinshi’s hands twitched at your hips, fingers flexing against your sweat-slick skin as he fought the instinct to grab you, to flip you, to thrust into you again and again ntil he cums deep inside you. Filling you completely, making you only his. But that was for later, for now he let you lead, his golden eyes dark and feverish.

The air grew thick with heat and the heady scent of arousal, the room echoing with gasps, the rustle of silk, and the wet, rhythmic press of your bodies.It was never like this when you touched yourself under the cover of night, curled beneath silk sheets in the suffocating silence of your lonely chambers. Back then, you’d swirl your fingertip in that special place the book had shown you, guided only by inked diagrams and the sheer thought of him. You'd bite down into the corner of your pillow, trying to stifle your moans, chasing a ghost of pleasure.

But now—now everything was different. Now, your body moved above Jinshi like it had always been meant to. Now your skin burned with every roll of your hips, every brush of his cock against your soaked covered folds. The tension that curled inside you wasn’t hollow or lonely—it was full, electric, ravenous.

And you didn’t want to stifle your moans anymore. You wanted Jinshi to hear every broken cry, every desperate gasp you made—hell, you wanted your ladies to hear them too. Let them know. Let them all know exactly what you sounded like in his arms. When you were married—gods, when you were finally married—you wanted the whole palace to hear every noise you and Jinshi made together. A deep, choked moan tore from his throat, unrestrained and beautiful. He was completely undone beneath you, body trembling, eyes half-lidded and dark with desire. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted, hair disheveled against the floor. No one else should be worthy of such a precious creature.

He lazily humped his hips back up into you, rolling them in time with your rhythm, savoring every raspy, breathless moan that spilled from your mouth like spilled honey. His head lolled back slightly, lashes fluttering as though the weight of the moment was too heavy for even his golden obsidenan eyes to bear. His lip caught between his teeth, teeth sinking in to suppress the broken groan that still rumbled in his throat.

The movements of your hips remained frantic and clusmy, your slick folds dragged deliciously over the thick bulge in his robes, heat meeting heat.

Then—your body locked, your thighs trembling as the orgasm ripped through you like lightning. It was not gentle. It was not sweet. It was devastating.

A broken cry tore from your throat as the pleasure crested and crashed in waves, your whole body trembling in its wake. You felt the wetness surge from you, soaking through the layers of his clothing, coating him with your release.

That sensation—the sudden rush of your climax—threw him over the edge. Jinshi’s breath hitched, then shattered into a mess of panting, whimpering groans. His body seized beneath you, hips jerking once, twice, as thick ropes of white stained the inside of his pristine robes. His moan was low and guttural, caught somewhere between bliss and agony, and it was yours—utterly, shamelessly yours.

He clung to you through it all, face buried against your chest as he rode out his own high, his body trembling with the intensity of his orgasm. The heat of him pulsed beneath the soaked silk of his robes, and his breath came in short, shuddering bursts against your skin. 

He cupped the back of your head gently, fingertips trembling with emotion as they pressed into your hair. With a slow, reverent motion, he guided your forehead to rest against his, eyes closed as though praying.

“Soon, my love,” he whispered, voice hoarse with sincerity, “I will have you completely… and I will cherish you forever.”

You closed your eyes, letting your forehead remain pressed to his, your noses brushing, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours in the space between. 

“I can't wait”

I'm trying to develop my smut writing, I dont think I have quite got right but I am getting there so I hope you like it.

@timitosI66p

[lucysarah1875]

Mounting Spring Ch. 12

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Warnings: Omegaverse, age gap, arrangemarriage. Ao3 link to the whole work.

“Did you hear the screaming?” A cadet whispered to Floch, voice barely above a breath, yet just enough to make Armin and Jean glance over.

Floch scoffed, arms crossed. “Who didn’t? Sounded pathetic.” Then, with a sneer, he added, “Did you catch the smell on her? Disgusting.”

“Are they talking about Y/N?” Sasha asked under her breath. Armin only shrugged, uncertain as a beta, but Jean gave a slight nod—so small it was almost imperceptible, careful not to draw attention.

“She needs to learn her place,” someone muttered through clenched teeth, the words laced with quiet resentment, as if the situation irked them more than it did Captain Levi himself. “If she were my omega, she wouldn’t even think of stepping out of line like that.”

The men murmured their agreement, though none dared to raise their voices. No matter how much they sneered at the Captain’s supposed weakness, none of them were stupid enough to let him hear.

Armin sighed, his exhaustion laced with quiet sympathy, while Sasha murmured uneasily, “So… they’re still fighting?” The tension had lingered in the air since their return from the capital.

Nearby, Levi stood, papers in hand, issuing orders as he scanned the lists before pointing ahead. Yet his focus wavered. His mind was elsewhere—everywhere except here.

“Sir.” A cadet approached briskly but without urgency, saluting politely. Levi gave a curt nod, granting permission to speak.

“We retrieved the supplies from your chambers as ordered, sir.”

Another nod.

“Uh…” The cadet hesitated, hands clasped behind his back, legs stiff in a formal stance. His voice wavered as he searched for the right words. “Your… wife.”

The last word came out uncertain, as if the young man sought confirmation.

“Yes,” Levi replied, clipped and impatient, unwilling to waste time on semantics.

“She insists that the pet be taken with her.”

“Yes.”

Silence settled over the group like a thick fog. Several scouts exchanged glances, some rolling their eyes. Even among those who had transferred into the Survey Corps from other divisions—many seasoned soldiers—doubt simmered beneath their obedience.

“Sir…” One of the older soldiers stepped forward, his voice calm but edged with unspoken challenge. “If I may speak freely?”

Levi didn’t grant permission. He simply stared, dead-eyed, daring the man to continue.

The soldier swallowed but pressed on. “The horses may not take well to the animal’s presence.”

More silence.

“And… she doesn’t know how to ride. This could slow us down.”

Levi remained silent, letting the words hang, waiting—because he knew the real reason behind this sudden concern. And sure enough, the soldier cracked under the weight of his stare.

“I’m only suggesting, sir, that if you need us to step in and handle the matter—”

“Are you implying I’m incapable of handling it myself?”

Levi’s tone was flat, unimpressed, yet laced with quiet danger. One hand rested on his hip while the other held up the clipboard, flipping through pages as if this was any other mundane conversation.

A flicker of unease spread among the men. They weren’t stupid. Levi knew better than anyone how quickly rumors spread about high-ranking officers. The moment he raised his voice, the moment he let this conversation turn into an argument, it would become fuel for the fire already burning around him.

He could already hear it. Every alpha who had come across her since their return had caught on to the scent. And Levi… Levi was in no mood for this nonsense. He hadn’t been for months.

His ego had taken a hit—whether he admitted it or not. And no matter how much restraint he practiced, he wasn’t about to let vultures circle, thinking they could pick at his pride like scraps.

“We’re only making a suggestion, sir,” the soldier tried again, this time more cautious.

Levi’s gaze sharpened.

“Limit yourself to doing what you’re told,” he bit out, each word precise and edged with resentment. His patience was already paper-thin, and after recent events, it had only frayed further.

He had explained it to her once—the night they first met. Being Humanity’s Strongest had its perks. One of them was that he couldn’t care less what people whispered behind his back. But another was that very few had the guts to say anything to his face.

That had been true—until now.

For the past two months, the whispers hadn’t stopped. His name, her name, their relationship—it had all become the military’s favorite new topic.

She’s still unclaimed.

She comes and goes as she pleases.

Her scent isn’t his.

It smells like someone else.

The rumors even reached the higher-ups. The military board had questioned whether he was being “demanding enough.” His own soldiers whispered that he was too weak to keep his own mate in line.

For a long time, he had considered himself her only ally in all this. Perhaps she didn’t see it that way.

And maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t have minded enduring the scrutiny, the judgment, if he felt they were working toward something together. If he believed they were striving for mutual understanding.

But now?

Now, his instincts were livid.

‘Walking up to me, stinking of that brat.’

His inner alpha snarled. The same part of him that had allowed her freedom, that let her choose what she wanted from the kitchen, that had tolerated her sitting beside him during training—because she had willingly smelled like him once.

That same part of him was now furious.

Brat. That was all the younger, lesser alpha was to him. Barely past adulthood, and yet still bold enough to challenge him for her.

And she let him.

She had asked for freedom. He had given it. And in return, she had betrayed it. And now, openly, she was challenging him.

His rational mind should have focused on his duties. But instincts didn’t listen to logic. His alpha was restless, pacing like a caged lion, ready to lash out.

Somewhere, the distant part of him—the one that still functioned as a human rather than a territorial beast—whispered that he needed to sit her down and talk. Rationally. Like adults.

But that voice was distant. Faint. Like an echo in a dream that held no weight, no power.

Maybe this was why. Maybe it was the years without a mate. The ruts that came and went without relief. The absence of an Omega in his life.

And now?

For his body, a potential mate in the peak of her youth had waltzed into his territory, an he had provided for her. He had made space for her. He had given her security.

She had shown signs of choosing him.

And then, another alpha—younger, weaker, insignificant—had walked in, pissed on his territory, and acted like he had a rightful claim.

‘You’re one lucky bastard I don’t have you within arm’s reach.’

Alpha monogamy was a curse to some, a blessing to others.

To Levi, at this moment, it was nothing but a slow-burning rage.

Inside Levi’s chambers, the air was thick—not with tension, but something heavier. Something that sank into the skin, clung to the bones.  

Y/N sat on the window frame, perched like a defendant waiting for sentencing. Absentmindedly, she broke off a few crumbs of her bread, leaving them near the sparrow’s nest she had once drawn. The first bit of art she had created here. Now, it held three newborn pigeons, fragile and unaware of the world beyond their small sanctuary.  

She watched the courtyard with a slow, detached melancholy. The sheer number of soldiers outside was surprising—only a few years ago, the Scouts had never been this many. Her gaze trailed to the office, where Levi’s door swung open and shut like a revolving door. Soldiers came and went, carrying boxes, blueprints, stacks of reports.  

They moved freely.  

She hated it.  

Perhaps it was the way they carried themselves—so sure, so certain of what to take. Of what belonged to them. Perhaps it was the simple fact that they had a freedom she couldn’t even dream of.  

A scoff escaped her lips, bitter and quiet. Her forehead pressed against the glass, its cool surface slightly uncomfortable, probably leaving an oily smudge that Levi would notice. That would probably irritate him.  

But by the time he returned, this window—this entire room—would be nothing but a memory.  

She let the thoughts settle, accepted them even as they cut deep. She had ignored every warning sign, every uneasy shift in the air. Maybe a wiser woman would have noticed it sooner.  

A wiser woman—or a better wife?

Wives always knew, didn’t they? The old stories said so. They knew from a stain on a shirt, a change in scent, a hidden bank account.  

Would a better woman—a better mate—have realized that Levi had been planning this all along?  

What was I supposed to compare him to?

The Levi of the past two months was the only Levi she had ever known. There had been no “before” for her to measure against. No habits to track, no patterns to decipher.  

If he changed his scent, how could she be sure it wasn’t just preference?

If he came home late, wasn’t that just his duty?  

If he hid something, how would she even know where to look?  

If Levi had a secret account somewhere, she wouldn’t even know the name of the bank.

But just then, she remembered her last fiancé. A smile tugged at her lips — not one of joy, but of bitter amusement, as if laughing at herself.

‘Maybe I really am as foolish and naive as everyone says.’

Even all of Levi’s wisdom, she thought, might never have led her to any different conclusion.

‘I never thought I’d miss this place.’

Not this place exactly. She had packed quickly, but most of her belongings had remained untouched since the day she arrived. Nothing here had ever truly belonged to her. It all felt borrowed, like slipping into her mother’s heels as a child—too big, too foreign, an illusion of something she was supposed to grow into. Usually kids forget that dream by the time they grow old enough to fill them.

Except this time her mother had long since sold those shoes, and the dream had been lost with them. The dream had vanished before she could outgrow it.

She wouldn’t miss these chambers. What she would miss was the fragile hope that one day, she might have fit into them.  

And now, it was happening all over again.  

The same suitcases. The same hairstyle. The same clothes. The same long journey to yet another unknown destination.  

It was like reliving a nightmare she couldn’t outrun.  

A small bag of essentials sat at the base of the window, packed and ready for the trip. She hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, curled in on herself, knees to her chest, fingers gripping the letters from her siblings.  

‘I’m doing this for you.’

The words echoed in her mind, but the strength they were supposed to bring never came. 

Then, the door swung open.

The shift in sound was subtle, but enough to pull her out of her thoughts. Slowly, she turned.

Levi stepped inside, appearing distracted as he moved toward his belongings, intent on putting away the last of them before their departure. When their eyes met, he opened his mouth—only to close it again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression unreadable.

He hated this. Hated being met with teary eyes and resignation. Anger, he could handle. Defiance, frustration, even hatred—those were easier. But this? This quiet, lifeless acceptance?

Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.  

“You done packing?”  

His voice was steady—too steady. The forced calm surprised even him. Avoiding the conflict was either intentional or instinctive. Addressing it would require emotions he didn’t have the time—or the willingness—to offer.  

Too angry to talk.  

Too tired to pretend.  

“Yes, sir.”  

The words made him freeze.  

For the first time in a long time, his body went completely still. A sharp, unbearable frustration clawed its way up his throat. For a moment, an absurd, childish urge consumed him—to throw himself on the floor, kick, scream, cry like a sleep-deprived toddler.

‘I wish I could just sit there, with watery eyes and expect the world to fix itself. But since I can’t—since I don’t—I'm the bad guy.

Fine. Whatever.’

“Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”  

Y/N slid off the windowsill, her feet meeting the ground. Levi moved around the room, checking everything—closing doors, locking windows, securing whatever was left behind.  

She stood in the middle of the office, watching him move, just as she had on the very first night.  

Curious eyes, like a kitten watching something it didn’t understand.  

Back then, she had stood in this same spot, watching as he rushed around, setting things up. Now, she watched as he dismantled it all.  

Hidden drawers she had never noticed before appeared as he pulled them open, retrieving money, keys, and even a gun. Small things, tucked away in places only he knew existed.  

The only sound breaking the quiet was the restless scratching of her cat in its carrier, desperate to be freed.  

Levi slung his pack over his shoulder, shutting the last of the windows. As the room fell into darkness, the finality of it settled deep in her chest.  

This was it.  

She bent down to grab her bag—but before her fingers could close around the strap, Levi’s hand shot out, gripping it first.  

“Give me that,” he said, hoisting up both her luggage and the pet carrier without waiting for an answer.  

She hesitated before moving toward the door, glancing back to see if he was following. He was—only pausing briefly to shut off the master valve in the bathroom.  

With a final patting at his pocket for the keys, he stepped out into the corridor and locked the door behind them.  

She stood there, waiting.  

It was an odd, familiar feeling. The uncertainty of standing in a hallway, waiting for someone to tell her where they were going.  

‘Like a pet.’

One that would develop an inexplicable fear of luggage.  

‘Or more like a dog,’ she corrected bitterly. ‘One whose only trick is to wait and follow.’  

As they moved through the halls, soldiers instinctively moved aside, pressing themselves flat against the walls as Levi passed. Some carried heavy crates, others stacks of paperwork, but the entire facility buzzed with urgency.  

Outside, the courtyard—once a training ground—had transformed into something else entirely. Carts. Horses. Boxes upon boxes of supplies waiting to be loaded. It was chaos. A military carnival.  

“Wait here,” Levi instructed before disappearing into the crowd.  

‘See? I just need a leash.’

The thought was sharp and cruel, cutting through her remaining pride like a dull blade.  

She watched the organized disorder unfold around her. Soldiers had direction, purpose. Even the ones running back and forth with last-minute additions knew where they were going.  

She did not.  

She was just standing there. Again. Watching life happen around her, but never to her.  

The comparison shifted from a cruel coincidence to an outright insult to her sanity. Levi had left—probably to retrieve the horses—and she was still here.

Just there.

It felt eerily familiar. Like standing on the chapel porch that day—only there was no chapel this time. No empty streets of a forgotten town. No rain.

Instead, the world had been replaced with this—a bustling military facility, an endless sea of strangers, the scorching heat of early summer or late spring (whichever name you preferred).

And this time, there was no blissful ignorance to shield her.

This time, she knew.

She knew that Levi would not—could not—suddenly pull a pretty house out of nowhere. That there was no hidden well of romance waiting to spill from him. That any unconfessed devotion was likely never there to begin with.

At least… that’s what she told herself.

A sharp voice cut through her thoughts.

“Wait—I’ll do it, just—UGH.”

A soldier dropped a box near a cart before rushing off to help someone else.

For a brief moment, Y/N’s eyes flickered with purpose. She glanced at the small package, then at her own luggage. Levi’s luggage.

“I can do that.”

The thought came easily, naturally. It wasn’t as if their belongings were unbearably heavy.

So she moved, loading what she could onto the wagon.

The small box was the last thing left. She reached for it—

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

The scream tore through the air. The shock snapped her out of her daze, and she looked around frantically for the source, nearly dropping the box in her hands. But the moment she realized the scream had been directed at her, she caught herself—tightening her grip just in time to keep it from falling. The soldier, startled, had instinctively reached out in fear, but now ran his hands through his hair, as if trying to comb away the surge of adrenaline.

“Don’t touch that!” he barked, nearly stumbling over himself as he rushed forward. “Those are—”

He snatched the box from her hands with practiced urgency, holding it as if it might bite.

“Thunder Spear munitions,” he hissed, setting it down with exaggerated care. “They’re primed and unstable—one drop and we’re all just a stain on the dirt, you get that?”

Y/N froze, hands mid-air, as if still holding the weight that was already gone. Her breath caught in her throat, and heat rushed to her cheeks—not from shame, but from something sharper, smaller, meaner. Like being scolded in front of a classroom full of strangers.

“I… I was just trying to help,” she said softly, but the words felt like paper in a storm. Insufficient. Drowned out.

The soldier scoffed, checking the box for damage with exaggerated flair.

“Yeah? Try helping by not getting us killed next time.”

“I didn’t know—”

“Clearly,” the soldier snapped. He glanced around with a sneer. “Where the hell is the Captain, anyway? Or is Levi just letting you wander around today?”

That one hit lower than the rest. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. The need to defend herself tangled with the guilt crawling up her spine. Searching for Levi around, as if she was a toddler painting someone’s wall. 

Footsteps behind her. Heavy. Sharp.

The soldier noticed before she did. His spine straightened. His mouth snapped shut.

Levi’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Who the fuck are you talking to like that?”

He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. Despite the height difference, the other soldier averted his gaze and bowed his head in submission.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry—sir, she—”

“She?” Levi snapped. “Who the hell leaves artillery unguarded in this fucking mess? That’s your job.”

His voice sliced through the tension, putting the soldier in check. The few onlookers who’d dared to glance over quickly looked away, pretending not to notice. No one wanted to be next.

“It won’t happen again, sir. I reacted badly, sir. It got the best of me—”

‘Sir,’ she added silently, noticing how the word clung to the man’s mouth like a nervous tic. She stayed quiet behind her husband, watching him take control. Even though the soldier was the one being scolded, the guilt still pressed heavy on her chest.

“I’ll get the best of me if I ever catch you talking to her like that again �� you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

As if multitasking was a reflex, Levi’s eyes caught something near the cart to their left. In one swift motion, he moved over and snatched up the item she had mistakenly loaded. The way he grabbed it — firm, frustrated, controlled — made it clear: he didn’t want the other soldier to have the satisfaction of seeing her get reprimanded.

“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to follow it,” he muttered as she hurried to keep pace with him across the field.

“That wasn’t our cart. It’s this one.”

He tossed the belonging into the correct wagon.

“Get in. You’re riding here too.”

“I’m not riding?” she blinked, confused. From what she understood, the carts were meant to travel behind the formation — slower, delayed. For a second, panic surged through her. Was he really leaving her behind to ride with strangers and supplies?

“You don’t know how to drive it, and I’m not testing your endurance under the summer sun for hours,” Levi said flatly, doing something far too ordinary for his rank as he adjusted the loaded goods.

“You’re going with the groceries,” he added with a faint huff of air as he secured the final piece.

“I’m… not going with you?”

The fear in her voice made him freeze mid-motion. He looked back and frowned.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said bluntly, as if the answer should’ve been obvious.

She tensed, ready to protest — Alone? With them? Her heart began to race. She knew he was still angry, but—

“Of course you’re coming with me,” he added, as though any other possibility was absurd.

‘Maybe if your face gave anything away, I’d have known that,’ she thought, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She climbed into the cart, still unsettled. The wood creaked under her as she sat, eyes narrowed toward Levi as he adjusted a strap near the front.  

"You said the carts were leaving later," she said, testing the water.  

“They are,” he replied without looking up.  

“But we’re taking some now?”  

“Obviously.”  

"Then why are we leaving now?"

He didn’t look at her. "Some go early."

"Some?"

"Necessities."

She blinked, trying to put the pieces together. "So... the rest catch up?"

He gave a nod. Not a word — just that small, stiff movement.

She glanced around at the bundled supplies, the sacks, the wrapped crates. “How far are we going?”  

“Far.”  

She paused, unsatisfied. "Far like... how far?"

Levi's jaw tensed. "Far enough."

“That’s not an answer,” she muttered. “If we need groceries, this isn’t just a patrol, is it?”  

He stood and turned to her. “No.”  

Her brow furrowed. “Then what is it?”  

Silence.  

“Levi.”  

“Maybe.”  

“Maybe what?”  She folded her arms, lips pressing together. "You’re really committing to this one-word thing, huh?"

He exhaled through his nose, clearly deciding whether or not to humor her. “Maybe not a patrol.”  

“You’re exhausting,” she grumbled. “So… how long?”  

He looked at her. Really looked at her, dead eyes whispering ‘Drop it now,’. As he was far too busy for this almost toddler interrogatory.

“Three weeks.”  

Her mouth parted. “Three—”  

Her breath caught in her throat. Three weeks. On the road. She’d packed like they were going to camp out for a weekend, not half a month in motion.

Before she could respond, he tugged the last strap tight and stepped back from the cart.

“Wait at the cart.”  

“What?”  

He was already walking away, back straight, steps purposeful.  She blinked. "Wait, like—wait until when?"

“I mean it. Stay here,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t move.”  

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. He was already gone.

Reluctantly, she sank back into the cart. The curved arch of the roof offered more than just shelter for the food; it gave her a break from the blistering sun too.

“Shh, Clauwy. Behave,” she whispered, nudging the crate where the cat was kept. Sensing the sudden lull in motion, the feline let out a loud, annoyed meow and began rustling around in protest.

‘Three weeks?’ she thought, resting her head against the side of the cart. ‘We’re really going to the end of the world, aren’t we?’

"Knock knock."

The fake door knock made her peek out from behind a stack of crates.

Hange leaned casually over the edge of the cart, grinning. “Enjoying your suite? First class, huh?”

It coaxed a laugh from her, soft but genuine. “Commander.”

“Oh, please. It’s Hange,” they waved off with a dramatic roll of their eyes. “Here, scoot over. I brought you stuff.”

She half-crawled toward them — the roof too low to stand — and held out her cupped hands. Hange, still dressed in their full formal trench coat despite the sweltering heat, began unloading their pockets like a magician at a festival: chocolates, candies, gummies, tea bags — a strange but generous collection of comfort.

She blinked, surprised. “You brought all this… for me?”

“Of course. It’s going to be a long trip, and you’re going to need the calories,” Hange said matter-of-factly, still digging in their coat like a bottomless satchel.

A blush crept to her cheeks as she looked down at the pile of sweets in her hands. “Oh, um… I’m not expecting. Yet.”

Saying it aloud felt like pressing a finger to a bruise.

To her surprise, Hange burst into laughter — warm and unfiltered. “Please! Haha — of course you’re not! I do know how babies are made, you know.” They grinned. “And believe me, you'd be surprised how much Levi actually tells me.”

She flushed deeper. “But—why—?”

“Why am I bringing you snacks and tea like you’re already nesting?” Hange shrugged, smile softening. “Your body’s still adjusting — with the season change, the sudden travel, the stress. Hormones don’t wait for invitations. Eat a lot.”

They gave her a few affectionate pats on the arm and reached into the cart again. “Also brought you a pillow and some blankets. Once we’re past the walls, it might get cold at night.”

She moved aside to receive the bundle — the pillow softer than any military issue she’d touched, the blanket too gentle to be standard gear. “Thank you,” she murmured, touched. “You really didn’t have to—rearranging all this and—”

“Oh no,” Hange interrupted, waving their hand. “That wasn’t me! Levi’s the one who sorted the cart so you’d have space. The pillow and all that? Also from him. Most of those chocolates?” — they nodded to the pile in her lap — “He swiped them from the banquet at the Capital. I just saved them in my coat.”

They tapped the side of their nose playfully. “Don’t tell him I told you. He’s shyer than he looks.”

“Ah...” she didn’t blush this time — didn’t even smile at first. Just let her fingers brush the soft fabric of the blanket, her eyes drifting to the little wrapped chocolates. Most likely free offerings at one of the hangouts.

‘He really did all that?’

She exhaled a tiny, amused breath. “Alright,” she said softly, a smile blooming at the corner of her mouth. “I won’t.”

Hange leaned in closer, resting their arms on the cart’s edge so they were at eye level. Their grin faded slightly into something more sincere.

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” she said quickly — too quickly — eager to help, or maybe just glad to be asked.

“Don’t disappear like that again, okay?”

And suddenly, it wasn’t a friendly favor anymore — it was a reckoning.

Her gaze dropped, fingers tightening around the edge of the pillow in her lap. Her spine straightened instinctively, posture stiffening the way it had back when authority meant punishment.

“Yes, Commander,” she said quietly, the words shaped by shame more than obedience.

Hange sighed. Not impatient — but as someone tired of watching two people tiptoe around their own hearts.

“That’s not what I meant,” they said, softer now but still steady. “I’m not giving you a demerit.”

Still, she couldn’t look at them. Not yet. She straightened a little, spine going stiff — as if she were standing at attention rather than sitting in a hay-lined cart. “It won’t happen again,” she said quickly, automatically. Her tone clipped, formal — the way a soldier would answer a reprimand.

But Hange didn’t smile. Not this time.

“You know…” they started, still casual in posture, but there was something in their voice — a line tightening. “Levi was very worried.”

Her gaze dropped. She didn’t say anything.

“I know why you left,” Hange continued. “And honestly? I don’t even blame you. It’s a lot. Everything’s a lot right now.” Their tone remained quiet, “But next time, let him know where you’re going, alright?”

She swallowed, her fingers fidgeting with a corner of the blanket.

“And I would appreciate,” Hange continued, with a pointed raise of their brows, “if you didn’t make my best soldier that stressed again.”

There was a pause. Just enough for her to feel the weight of it.

Then Hange softened — just a little. The teasing spark in their eye faded, replaced with something quieter. “He’s not just my subordinate, you know. He’s my friend.”

The words landed with surprising gentleness. “I don’t like seeing him like that.”

She looked up, startled by how sincere the words were.

Hange gave her a small shrug, as if trying to lighten the mood but not quite managing to push the emotion aside. “Levi’s not a bad man. He may be... emotionally constipated, sure. Grumpy as hell. But if you want something — and if it’s even remotely within his power — he’ll do it.”

They tilted their head, smirking faintly. “He’ll complain the whole time, because that’s who he is. But he’ll still do it.”

She couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through.

“He’s not that type of man,” Hange said firmly. “He’s not out to control you. Or trap you. Or make you smaller than you are.”

Her breath hitched at that last part. Something in her chest loosened — and hurt — all at once.

"Shorty would rather skip the two hours of sleep he gets to take you wherever you want to go and make sure you’re safe, than forbid you from doing something," Hange said. "So… next time, just ask him. Alright?"

Silence lingered for a moment between them, warm and heavy like the air before a summer storm.

“...Okay?” Hange added, as if not sure whether to break the weight of it or not.

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

”ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!” The brunette gave a few loud strong pats on the omega’s upper arms making her open her eyes open up in shock. “I’m glad we could set this straight! I leave you to settle in!”

Shaken slightly by the motion of the gesture, she chuckled to herself. Just for a second, it all felt a little less heavy — a tiny reprieve from the unresolved tension still pressing on her chest.

She waited. Longer than she expected. But eventually, the telltale sounds of horses shifting and soldiers mounting echoed through the camp. The Scouts were moving. Through the crowds, she began to pick out the figures of the Special Ops squad preparing to lead.

“Y/N!” Sasha’s voice startled her as the girl ran up to the cart, bright-eyed and already energetic. “Since you’ll be in the cart... share your snacks with me?” she asked with a hopeful grin.

“Don’t give her food,” Eren interrupted flatly, walking past with his hands in his pockets. “It’s a trap.”

The titan shifter barely looked interested but somehow still managed to side with the omega.

“No! Don’t listen to them, Y/N!” Sasha cried in protest.

“Did you bring the baby?” Mikasa leaned into the cart, scanning for signs of movement. Her face fell slightly when she saw no sign of the cat.

“Clauws? He’s in his carrier for now,” Y/N replied. “At least until we’re on the road. Maybe you can give him a walk if we stop somewhere.”

That thought made Mikasa light up immediately.

“What are you all doing here?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Jean puffed out his chest, dramatically smoothing his hair with one hand. “I’ll be your driver on this fine journey,” he said, adopting a terrible imitation of a Mitras nobleman. “At your service, m’lady.”

She laughed. “Thank you, Jean. You’re a sunshine.”

“Heh—thank you, thank you,” he said, bowing slightly as if awaiting applause.

Connie and Armin watched him with secondhand embarrassment, as the two male betas of the team. ‘We can see his tail wagging’, they both thought silently.

“Are you excited, Y/N?” Armin asked, shifting the focus with his usual calmness.

Her smile faltered. The tension returned, creeping in under her skin. She turned toward him slowly. “Huh?”

“You’ll be the first civilian to see the ocean!” Armin explained, visibly thrilled. It seemed like he was more excited about it than she was. Maybe because he’d been dreaming of it for years. “It’s the largest body of water in the world. And it’s salty!”

She blinked. “Salty?”

“Yes! And the fish are incredible!” Sasha added, clearly impressed with her own contribution.

“The sea snails are pretty too,” Mikasa chimed in softly.

“They’re called seashells,” Armin corrected kindly, unable to help himself. “You’ll love it, Y/N. It’s breathtaking.”

She nodded slowly, trying to absorb all the information. It still didn’t feel real.

“The animals outside the walls are huge,” Sasha added. “The deer, the bears—they’re way bigger than what we’re used to.”

“Big?” Her stomach dropped slightly. “Like... how big?”

“Oh, nothing compared to titans,” Connie jumped in quickly. “You might find a few old footprints, buried deep in the ground—but no worries. The wild makes everything feel tiny by comparison.”

The excitement turned into unease. Her expression shifted.

“Wait... how far are we going from the walls?” she asked, anxiety creeping into her voice. “I thought we were only going a few meters out.”

Jean laughed. “No, silly! We’re going all the way to the coast. End of the island. We’ll be there for the rest of the year!”

Mikasa’s eyes widened as she realized the others might be saying too much. She started signaling them from behind Y/N’s back—but it was too late.

“We’re building a port and a railway line,” Armin added eagerly. “It’s part of the coastal expansion. Once the ships start arriving from overseas, we’ll have a chance to negotiate with them, explain our intentions—”

“What?” she asked, stunned. “And... What about titans?”

“We eliminated them all,” Mikasa cut in quickly.

But Armin and Jean chuckled, clearly confused by the panic in her voice.

“I mean, yeah,” Jean said. “But some might come from Marley, so you never really—OW!”

Mikasa pinched his side sharply, twisting the skin through his jacket.

“No titans,” she said flatly.

“None. Whatever you say, Mika,” Jean gasped, rubbing his ribs. “Message received.”

The rest nodded awkwardly, pasting bright smiles on their faces.

“Yep! Not even one!” Connie agreed quickly.

“What do we do?” he whispered to Jean as Y/N’s face twisted into a mixture of fear and shock.

“Wait... so we’re not coming back? For a year? GUYS?!”

Before anyone could say more, Levi’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Everyone to your places. We’re leaving.”

The cadets scattered immediately, disappearing like guilty roaches. Levi, unaware of what had just unfolded, approached the cart with calm exhaustion in his posture.

“Come on,” he said, voice quieter now. “Get in.”

But she didn’t move. Instead, she stepped down and approached him.

“Levi, please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go. Not for that long.”

He sighed loudly. “We talked about this. It’s final.”

“Please, Lev—” She gripped his arm, trying to meet his eyes. “Please.”

He froze. His whole body went stiff. He hated this — public attention, the eyes shifting toward them, watching. Her watery eyes, the pleading voice, the touch — all of it made him feel exposed, vulnerable, off balance. “Don’t do this in public,” he muttered. “I already told you — it’s decided. Don’t beg me.”

He placed his hands on her upper arms and gently pushed her back, forcing her to release him. “Don’t make this harder.”

“Levi—” she tried again.

But the pressure was too much. His already-fraying nerves, the constant watchful eyes — it tipped him over the edge.

“Enough, Y/N. Get in the cart.”

There was no softness in the words. Just steel.

The cadets, now a few meters off, watched in silence.

“We fucked up,” Armin whispered.

“Great,” Sasha muttered, “They’re divorcing. We’ll be motherless again.”

“You have a mom,” Jean replied dryly.

“Yeah, but she’s sick of my ass.”

“I wonder why,” Connie added.

“She can’t divorce,” Eren said flatly. “It’s not even legal.”

Legal or not — wanted or not — the formation began to move. Levi and Hange led at the front, just like always.

“What’s the matter now? You two are fighting… AGAIN?” Hange emphasized the word as if the couple’s inability to make it work was taking a toll not just on them but on the general public. Like two parents who refused to let it go, their constant bickering only produced more harm than they believed splitting up would.

The brunette was nearly exasperated—they thought they’d taken a step forward on the Captain’s behalf by giving the girl the items Levi had gathered during the weekend meeting. They’d seen him stuffing everything that was offered for free into his pockets, and when they asked why, Levi’s response had been a mix of muttered excuses—tinged with irritation, pettiness, resignation, and just a bit of shame. The look on his face as he picked things up, claiming he’d give them to her once he got back to the hotel, said it all: “Yeah, I said something bitchy—true, but bitchy—and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Of course, her sudden disappearance—and everything that followed—left the improvised apology gift completely forgotten. Hange had thought they could smooth things over in his favor with the gesture, only to realize their attempt at a single step forward had somehow become three steps back.

”Fuck me,” they muttered exhausted.

Levi, exasperated but in a rush, kept walking, pushing soldiers aside as he slipped through the crowd. “She thinks this is a matter of begging me!”

Hange did their best to keep up with the short man—who, despite his lack of height, was mighty even for brisk walks. “She thinks I’m enjoying this bullshit, that if she keeps begging, I’ll eventually give in!”

“Well—Oops, sorry,” the commander interrupted whatever half-hearted, empty advice they had been trying to come up with, their social obligation as the Captain’s friend momentarily overtaken by nearly colliding with a cadet carrying Thunder Spears.

“I’m not doing this on purpose! It’s not like I’m holding back what she wants just for the sake of it, as if it’s some sick power play. She keeps begging me, like that’s all it takes, like I’m refusing just to be an ass. I don’t enjoy hearing her beg—”

Levi stopped abruptly—not just walking but talking, frowning deeply.

“I’m listening,” Hange affirmed, as if the short man had stopped for lack of feedback.

“Yeah, I know. I just never thought I’d say that about a woman.”

The commander closed their eye and scoffed a chuckle. “You for real? That’s what’s throwing you off in all this?”

“Give me a break,” the Captain said before cursing under his breath. “It’s like hearing Erwin say he doesn’t like being seen as a paternal figure or some shit. Goes against every single fucking kink I’ve ever mentioned before.”

As they walked out to take their place in the formation at the front, Levi somehow picked up the conversation without needing a cue.

“I told you to tell her beforehand,” Hange said, adjusting the strap on their horse.

“I was planning on it,” Levi snapped, yanking his own strap tight. Their faces barely visible over the saddle as they moved, but their tone carried. “I was planning to tell her everything in detail—until she decided to lie to me and disappear for hours with another man!”

“That’s exactly why I told you to tell her sooner!” Hange repeated, echoing words they’d said nights ago. “She’s confused.”

“She’s confused?” Levi scoffed. “Imagine how confused I was, finding out she lied about where she was.”

“You lied too.”

“I didn’t lie. I… avoided certain parts of the truth.”

Hange rolled their eyes so loudly, it was almost audible. “You’re sounding so much like Erwin right now.”

“Don’t bring Eyebrows into this,” Levi muttered, as if the comparison alone—especially in anything remotely romantic—was a mortal insult.

He said something under his breath, but it was completely unintelligible.

“What?” Hange asked, leaning over their horse’s neck with a squint. “I can’t hear you when you grumble like a sewer rat.”

Levi repeated it. The exact same way.

“Stop grumbling and just say it, dammit.”

Finally, after one last gritted attempt, the sentence came out clearly. Hange’s eyes (if they’d had two) would’ve gone wide.

“You didn’t hug her back?!”

“What was I supposed to do?” Levi shot back, climbing onto his horse in one swift motion.

“HUG HER?!” Hange nearly screamed, following suit and swinging onto their own. “WHY the hell did you push her away?!”

“Because it’s hard for me, alright?!” His voice cracked under the weight. “For fuck’s sake—it’s hard. I felt everyone looking at me and I couldn’t — I just fucking couldn’t, okay?”

Hange threw their hands to their face in mock-sobbed despair. “How did a man like you manage to get married with these social skills?!” They asked, sarcasm layered thick. It was meant to tease—one of their usual back-and-forths, laced with roasting affection.

But Levi didn’t fire back. This time he didn’t give a smartass reply, rolled his eyes or doubled the bet.

Instead, he gripped the reins so tightly that the leather creaked under the pressure.

“Because they forced me into this,” he muttered, and for once his voice wasn’t sharp. It was bitter. Broken. “You think I don’t know I suck at this? That maybe I’m aware I don’t have the time or the emotional availability to give?”

Hange went still. That pulled the humor out of the air.

But inside the moment, everything quieted.

“I know I’m fucking it up,” Levi continued, voice low but trembling with restrained fury. “Everyone and their damn mothers keep reminding me. But I’m trying. I’ve been trying since I stepped into that chapel and waited there for hours.” His jaw clenched. “I know it’s shit. But this—” he looked away, swallowing hard— “this is me trying.”

He let out a low, guttural curse. “Fuck.”

The field fell into a quiet so stark it was almost unnatural — the kind of silence that is deafening. The grass rustled. Hooves thudded softly against earth. Somewhere, cicadas droned in the heat.

But all she could hear was Levi’s ragged breathing, uneven and fast, slowly evening out as the fire inside him cooled to ash.

Ashamed, he looked away — not from Hange, but from himself. As if just saying it out loud made it all worse.

But maybe… maybe it didn’t.

Maybe it was the first right thing he’d done.

Hange, who knew all too well what it felt like to be forced into shoes they never asked to wear, finally said, quietly:

“I know.” Just that.

They reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder—firm, grounding, comforting.

“I know,” they repeated.

One deep breath. Then the formation began to move.

At first, the journey was rough. Every part of the cart rattled and shook with intensity as they made their way through the forest, crawling slowly along narrow, uneven paths. The terrain forced the convoy to a near crawl.

Eventually, the structure of the Scouts’ facility disappeared behind them — the same way it had once emerged from the fog during a spring rain. Now, it vanished into the trees with no fanfare.

She remained inside the cart, tucked away in its protective shell. There wasn’t much to hear aside from the rhythmic rustling of wheels grinding over dirt. Then, finally, they broke through the forest and onto a wide, open road.

With most of the road ahead now paved or packed smooth, she opened Clauw’s carrier and let the cat out. Still, she clipped on his harness and leash — just in case. Tight as it was around his furry frame, it didn’t alter his appearance much. Clauw was long-haired and thick underneath — he had never skipped a meal in his life, and it showed.

Despite his newfound freedom, he curled into her arms and stayed there. Maybe because he was old now. Maybe because, for all his size, Clauw had always been a timid cat. He seemed used to traveling — a product of having been dragged with her everywhere since childhood. Their bond had only deepened with time, and his presence calmed her more than she’d realized.

She bent down and kissed the side of his face. He purred in her lap, and she clung to him like an anchor — something steady in all this unfamiliar motion.

Peeking out from the cart occasionally, she began to recognize the route. They were taking the Trost road — the same path described in old newspaper clippings about the retaking of Wall Maria. First Trost, then the elevators leading up to the restored gates.

“Y/N!”

Jean’s voice called out from the front seat, where he’d been driving. “Come on out! We’re about to pass through the only Wall of the trip. It’ll be fun!”

At first, she ignored him. But then, with a sigh, she changed her mind and crawled out to take the seat beside him.

Jean greeted her with an exaggerated grin. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

As a child, passing through the walls had always thrilled her. They broke the monotony of endless countryside views and the mindless rounds of I Spy — back when the entire world outside the window was just varying shades of wheat-gold ochre.

Now, the strong wind funneled by the tunnel blasted against her face. She instinctively held her head and her dress down as they passed beneath the towering gate. She squinted up, just catching a glimpse of the battlements — and then they were through.

The town of Trost greeted them with crowds. People clapped and cheered, shouting wishes for safety and luck. The formation slowed at the checkpoint, where the sealed gates loomed tall and final, the sun already sinking.

To her surprise — or perhaps not — children ran through the streets chasing after the wagons, hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous figures in the lead.

“Captain Levi!” they called. His name echoed with Hange’s and Eren’s, cheers overlapping into one noise.

She noted, unimpressed, the way young women in the crowd blushed and swooned. Her brow arched. ‘From far away, he’s a masterpiece. Up close? Monet.’

As they approached the front gate, the formation halted.

“Are we stopping for the night?” she asked, climbing down to stretch her legs. Jean hopped down too.

“Nope,” he replied. “We’re pushing through. Gonna ride straight through the night and reach Shiganshina by tomorrow afternoon.”

She frowned. “All day? Isn’t that exhausting?”

Jean shrugged like it was obvious. “We’re soldiers. If we can’t pull one all-nighter, we’re in the wrong profession.”

The rest of the squad gathered nearby. Mikasa approached with hopeful eyes.

“Want to let him walk a bit?” she asked gently, already reaching for the cat.

“Please. Thank you,” Y/N murmured, handing Clauw over. The relief on her face was subtle but present.

“Y/N,” Levi’s voice cut through from ahead.

He was a few paces forward, hand extended, arm out — waiting for her.

She took a steadying breath and followed.

“Riko will show you the garrison’s girl restroom so you can freshen up,” he said, barely glancing back. “I’ll bring something for dinner.”

“But...” she glanced around the formation. “What about the rest of you?”

“We’re working.”

“And food?”

“We’ll eat crackers on the move. Just go with Riko.”

His words left no room for negotiation. The grey-haired soldier appeared beside her, already ready to escort.

She nodded and followed.

After washing up with cold water and wiping herself down with a damp cloth, she emerged to find Levi waiting, arms crossed. Without a word, he handed her a wrapped pair of jam-and-cheese sandwiches and a water flask.

She blinked in surprise but accepted them.

The rest of the journey blurred. The sight of Wall Maria — long since restored — was haunting. She’d been old enough to remember its fall and now, seeing it again, there was something almost sacred about it. The ruins that remained felt ancient. Ivy clung to shattered buildings. Window frames sat empty. Still, people worked in the fields nearby, greeting the formation with quiet gratitude.

Compared to Trost, there was a peacefulness here. A kind of countryside calm that felt stolen from a dream.

She stayed awake into the night. Not tired, not hungry — not really anything. Just empty. The summer air was lukewarm, not cool enough to need a sweater, not warm enough to bring comfort.

She shared one sandwich with Sasha and nibbled on the other. It was tasteless, but she forced herself to eat. Eventually, she curled back into the cart — but sleep never really came. Everything woke her: the scratchy blanket, the movement of the wheels, the constant voices outside, the birds, the owls, the night insects.

By the time they reached the next sealed gate, dawn bleeding into the sky, something shifted inside her.

She looked back, trying to see the walls they’d left behind.

But Wall Maria was gone.

Just like that.

Swallowed by distance.

And then the thought came — plain, quiet, terrifying in its honesty:

‘That’s how far I am from home.’

As soon as the realization hit her, it became undeniable—unstoppable. Her chest tightened, her hands trembled. The broken gate had been sealed by Eren’s titan form, and the formation was now being lifted to the top of the walls, preparing to descend on the other side. The very same elevators that had brought them up would now take them down into the unknown.

For the first time in her life, she was seeing beyond the walls.

Fear struck hard.

‘Don’t look down,’ she told herself.

But, of course, she did.

Her breath hitched as she took in the staggering drop from the top of the wall to the endless stretch of grass below. The sheer height made her stomach twist.

And speaking of colossal things—her mind, in a cruel act of betrayal, reminded her of all the horrifying stories she’d grown up with. The monsters beyond the walls. The titans. Every worst-case scenario she’d ever been taught came rushing to the forefront of her thoughts.

Instinct took over. In a blind scramble for safety, she backed into the elevator shaft, clutching her cat against her chest like a lifeline and gripping the column beside her as if it were the only thing keeping her from plummeting into the abyss.

Armin, always perceptive, noticed immediately and approached with concern.

“Y/N… are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I just need some fresh air,” she said quickly. But her wide eyes, clenched teeth, and bone-white knuckles gripping the metal told a different story.

Like ducklings following their leader, the rest of the squad trailed after Armin, equally curious and confused.

“Fresh air?” Jean muttered, frowning. “On top of the walls?”

You could practically hear the collective thought process: ‘There’s no place with more air than fifty meters above the ground, standing on the last wall of Paradis.’

Mikasa knelt beside her, eyes scanning her carefully. “Are you dizzy? Is your blood pressure dropping?” she asked, noting how Y/N was slowly sinking to the ground.

Between ragged breaths, Y/N choked out, “I can’t go out there… I’m not going out there.”

Sasha’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Oh! You’re scared! But there’s nothing to worry about! We’ve been in Levi’s squad for a while now!”

Connie nodded enthusiastically. “The Special Operations Squad! Nobody better than us!”

Y/N looked up at them, still unconvinced. Armin added, “We’ve been serving under Captain Levi for nearly two years. You’re safe with us.”

She hesitated, frowning. Something about that number didn’t sit right. “Two years?” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “What happened to the last squad?”

The air shifted.

The six teenagers exchanged glances.

“Uh…”

“Ehm…”

Mikasa, deciding it was time to intervene, stepped forward, smoothly pushing Armin aside as if shielding Y/N from whatever dumb thing he might accidentally say next.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” she assured her with quiet confidence. “Captain Levi and I are the strongest. If anything happens, I’ll protect you.”

It was meant to be reassuring. But it had the exact opposite effect.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm. “So… there’s a chance something will happen?!”

—

“Captain…”

Levi turned, still mid-discussion over last-minute battle plans when Mikasa’s voice interrupted.

“What?” He frowned, hands on his hips. Whatever it was, it had better be important.

Mikasa hesitated, glancing toward the elevator. “We think you should check on Y/N.”

—

“I’M NOT GOING.”

Y/N clung to the elevator’s frame like her life depended on it, legs locked, refusing to step foot outside.

Levi stood beside her, “I told you, you need to come with us,” he repeated, voice low and firm.

“NO.” She shook her head wildly, gripping the metal tighter. “I don’t want to die!”

Levi exhaled sharply, trying to keep his patience. “I already told you, there are no more titans. I wouldn’t take you out if there were.”

“How do you know?! Have you even looked outside?! IT’S HUGE OUT THERE!”

Levi stared at her, deadpan.

He had spent more time outside the walls than inside them. And yet here she was, explaining it to him.

His pride crumbled. His instincts as an alpha did, too. Only adding to the recent events.

His inner alpha bristled slightly at the scent of her fear. It stung his pride—not just as a soldier, but as a mate. Alphas were supposed to be a source of security, a symbol of strength. Omegas chose alphas based on their ability to protect them and their offspring. Normally, his reputation alone was enough to reassure anyone, let alone his own wife.

Yet here she was, outright terrified, and his presence wasn’t helping at all. But right now, standing beside his mate, all he could smell was her fear.

It was a blow to his pride.

“Y/N,” he said, this time searching for any grain of patience, love and support inside him. His voice sounded almost soft and calm. “I wouldn’t take you if it wasn’t safe.” His tone was measured, steady. If she was his, then she needed to trust him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Without hesitation—without even thinking—she blurted out:

“NO.”

Silence.

Dead. Absolute silence.

Hange, who had wandered over to investigate, let out a wheezing laugh so intense they had to clutch their stomach.

Levi, meanwhile, just stared.

A sharp "Tch—" escaped him as he scratched the back of his head, trying to mask the sting. Ouch.

Hange, still gasping for breath, spread their arms dramatically. “Ah, no worries, my dear! Your fear is simply due to the unknown! That’s perfectly natural! But have no fear—I’ll teach you everything about titans, and I will keep you safe!”

As if spring had just arrived and they were a pair of rutting bucks trying to prove themselves, both alphas now stood in front of her. There was an unspoken challenge in the air. Two alphas—Hange and Levi—instinctively competing to reassure the terrified omega. A display of dominance in its most ridiculous form.

Y/N blinked. Then, in the flattest, most unimpressed tone imaginable, she deadpanned: “How are you gonna keep me safe? You can’t even spot titans—you’re missing an eye.”

Hange’s proud smile froze. Their face fell into an expression of sheer offense and heartbreak.

Levi choked on a laugh. He tried to hide it—tried so damn hard—but his shoulders shook, and a muffled snort escaped before he could stop it.

“Don’t laugh, you asshole,” Hange hissed at him, glaring.

The three alphas—Levi, Hange, and Mikasa—stood together, momentarily humbled. If this were the animal kingdom, they had just been denied their mating rights.

“She’s in shock…” Hange sighed, observing the omega’s state. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her face drained of color despite the summer heat, and her translucent eyes darted around in panic.

“Tch. Let’s just get this over with.” Levi’s voice was monotone, unreadable, his plans undisclosed.

The girl’s grip tightened where she sat, her head shaking in frantic denial. Just as Levi shifted slightly, Armin stepped forward, planting himself between them with his arms stretched wide.

“Give her some air!” he urged, casting a firm glance at Levi before turning to the trembling omega. “I’ll handle it. Let me talk to her.”

To everyone’s surprise, Levi didn’t argue. He simply muttered, “Alright,” and walked away.

That threw Armin off. He had expected resistance—some insistence that Levi knew best how to deal with the situation. But the Captain left without a fight, leaving Armin no time to dwell on it. Instead, he turned back to the girl and knelt beside her.

“I’m NOT going!” she cried, her voice raw with fear.

Armin placed a gentle hand on her back, his tone soothing. “It’s okay. No one’s going to force you. I just want to keep you company.” He paused, studying her trembling form. “Would it help if I talked? Maybe something to help you breathe through this?”

She gave a hesitant nod.

While Armin searched for the right words to comfort her, Levi continued on, ignoring Mikasa as she trailed after him.

“You’re seriously not going to do anything?!” she snapped, as if Y/N were her own mate in distress.

Levi, accustomed to the cadet’s insubordination, didn’t even spare her a glance. He crouched by his belongings, retrieved a thermos, and poured steaming tea into the lid, which doubled as a cup. Then, from a small travel pouch, he scooped in sugar. More than a few spoonfuls.

Mikasa grimaced at the excessive amount. “Ugh.”

Meanwhile, Armin kept speaking. “You know… I froze in shock too. Back in Trost, during my first real battle.” His voice was calm, almost nostalgic.

She blinked, still breathing unevenly. “Really?”

Armin chuckled softly. “Yeah. Some soldier I was, huh?” He shook his head, offering her a small smile. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not going,” she repeated, though her voice wavered. “I want—”

Her lips parted slightly, the hint of a response forming before Levi interrupted, pressing the makeshift teacup into her trembling hands.

She blinked at it, then at him. "What—what is this?" she asked, her voice shaking almost as much as her hands. She looked utterly confused, and Armin, just as baffled, shot Levi a questioning glance.

"Drink," Levi instructed flatly.

Hesitantly, she brought it to her lips and took a small sip—only to immediately grimace, pulling away in disgust. "Ugh! It's sweet. Even for me."

"Good. It'll keep you from fainting," Levi said, crossing his arms as if that settled it.

Armin caught on first. It wasn’t just tea—it was a calculated act of reassurance, a way to ground her and replenish her sugar levels after the shock. Levi was helping in his own way. Armin nodded, subtly encouraging her to drink. Levi, satisfied that his job was done, turned away and resumed his duties.

Minutes passed. The soldiers began to hurry as the descent was imminent. Armin continued talking, filling the space with calm words. “The sea is beautiful, and—” He trailed off, noticing the familiar tension creeping back into her frame. Her breathing swallowed again.

“It’s alright,” he assured. “I’m not going anywhere. Even if you’re not ready, I’m sure everyone will underst— Wait, are you okay?”

She hunched forward suddenly, making Armin’s stomach drop.

“I just… feel really tired…” she mumbled.

Armin exhaled in relief. “That’s from the hyperventilation. You’re finally calming down—”

She had started to slump forward.

Alarmed, Armin reached for her, only to watch as Levi reappeared out of nowhere, catching her effortlessly before she could hit the ground. Her head lolled against his stomach, motionless.

Panic surged through Armin. "Levi—?! Should we—"

Levi, calm as ever, merely shifted her weight with practiced ease. Placing his hands under her arms, he hoisted her up, adjusting her against his chest. One hand supported her back while the other slid beneath her legs, holding her as if she weighed nothing at all.

"Problem solved," Levi declared smoothly, his tone entirely too casual for the situation.

Still carrying her effortlessly in one arm, he reached down, grabbed a small cat that had been loitering nearby, and plopped it over her back.. The cat barely protested, curling into her limp form.

"You too, little shit," Levi muttered at the feline, then turned on his heel, striding toward the designated departure zone.

Armin could only gape. "What—what did you do?!”

Levi didn’t even look back. “Gave her what we give soldiers when they’re severely wounded.” He shrugged. “By the time she wakes up, we’ll be too far for her to freak out.”

It was quite the sight, though the rest found it obvious. Levi, walking around with her perched against his chest as if she weighed nothing—settled along one of his forearms—grabbing his own equipment and barking orders, all while balancing her and the cat on his left arm. He took his place to descend on the elevators, each gust of air that hit them making him scoff and grimace in pure disdain.

Every single time the strong wind swept across their faces—which, considering they were fifty meters above ground, was rather frequent—he caught the stench. The lingering scent clinging to her like a brand, a reminder of his failure. She being asleep, unable to find peace because he hadn’t been able to give it to her. His incapacity to speak the truth. Her scent muddled with someone else’s. Having her so close—her neck right beside his face—was torture.

‘This is stupid,’ he thought sharply. ‘Wasting brain space on this.’

But when he finally stepped into the cart to let her rest, he paused. He glanced behind him, as if someone might’ve followed, then let the intrusive thought win. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he bent down and pressed his neck against the curve of hers, rubbing it quickly —first one side, then the other.

Then her wrists a bit too on both of his neck sides. Brushed them against his skin, just lightly. The places where pheromones lived most strongly.

One last sniff to her hair. A deep inhale.

His scent, now faintly tangled with hers, made something primal inside him settle.

His alpha—restless and bitter just moments ago—nearly purred with satisfaction.

The sensation made Levi want to crawl out of his own skin.

One part of him screamed victory, as though he had just reclaimed something sacred. The other part wanted to grab a mirror, look himself dead in the eye with a judgmental glare, and growl, “Why are you like this?”

Still, he did what he could to make her comfortable. He laid her down gently, adjusting the pillow beneath her head, and pulled a blanket over her sleeping form.

Then, without a word, he turned away and disappeared back into the chaos of duty.

—

‘The patent leather shoes as I jumped the rope, my muddy, stained knees, bruised as I ran through the park. Most of my friends and I would sprint down the streets after being picked up from the girls-only school, racing to see the displays in the fancy wedding dress store, to admire the new designs.

We were wealthy enough for my mother to take offense at the idea of my sisters and me learning how to cook, but not enough to afford private tutors. There was a time I was truly free, saving all my dreams inside the rooms of my dollhouse.

Little by little, I started to grow up, and my freedom disappeared—like the soap bubbles I used to pop in the backyard.

All children born of a traditional Alpha-Omega couple were born with three possibilities. There was always a chance the daughter would present as an Alpha too. A Beta child would be considered a disappointment—destined for the working class.

There was a time I stood a chance.

But little by little, without even realizing it at first, I was told not to run like a savage. That girls like me didn’t do that. That we didn’t ride horses, or climb monkey bars. But what never changed was the thrill of rushing with my friends to see the dresses. One day, it would be our turn. Each of us would have our own design, ones we used to draw in crayon on scrap paper. Mine were always the most praised.

Little by little, I forgot I was allowed to have bruised knees. Forgot I used to outrun my cousins. I began to shrink into the mold, just as the ruffles on my dream dress were ironed stiff into place.

The dress I tried on—the one that made my mother cry tears of joy—made me feel so pretty that I forgot I had ever wanted anything else.’

“Do what he tells you, alright? No sass-mouthing, Y/N,” her mother said, fingers weaving through her hair in the dim morning light.

The cart was already waiting at the front.

“Alright,” she replied, lifeless.

“And try to smile. A happy wife makes a happy husband.”

“Alright.”

“Show interest in what he does... but not too much. When they come home from work, they sometimes want peace and quiet.”

Her mother secured the final braid, her voice soft and far away. Her hands, though warm, moved over Y/N’s arms with a kind of absent care. “...How will I know?” Y/N turned slightly, glancing at her over her shoulder.

“You’ll learn, with time,” her mother whispered. “Learn what he likes, what he doesn’t. He’ll show you when you make a mistake. And you’ll learn.”

“Mom… I don’t want this.” Her voice cracked into a sob. “I’m scared.”

Her mother hugged her then—still her child, no matter how old. Kissed her face gently. “As your mother, it’s my duty to tell you: we don’t get to choose where we live. We live where they let us.”

‘I always thought it would be easy for me. That this was my place, and I’d learned it well. That this was my role by nature.

But if this is my place by nature... why did I have to be forced into it?’

The memories twisted, blended, folded in on themselves. She ran—ran in her little patent leather shoes down the street. Her friends ran ahead, laughing. But she couldn’t catch them. They had already grown out of her reach.

When she woke, she was sobbing.

Disoriented, she scanned her surroundings, panic swelling in her chest. She crawled out from the blankets, her body sluggish with sleep, and found herself in what looked like a campsite. A few tents around her. The sky glowed faintly—dawn was near. Trees towered all around, thick and tall, enclosing the clearing like ancient sentinels.

She turned in circles, barefoot, heart racing. Until she collided into something solid.

“Calm down. It’s all safe,” Levi muttered, standing in front of her. His hands hovered just over her arms, not touching—but close.

Her panic curdled into something hotter. Her eyes widened, her breath coming fast and sharp—and then the fear became anger.

“What did you do?!” she screamed, fists pounding weakly against his chest. “I told you I didn’t want to come! I told you!”

He didn’t stop her. The impacts were small. Harmless.

“There’s nothing out here. See?” he said quietly, like he was trying to reason with her. “You just needed to rest.”

“I’m not a kid! Don’t put me to sleep like one!” she shouted, her translucent eyes turning toward what she guessed must be north.

And there—where walls had once loomed—was nothing.

Kilometers and kilometers of nothing.

He thought the outburst was just anger — fear of being there, maybe. But for her, it was the collapse of everything she had ever known.

Her mind resisted the truth for even a second, but the cruel thought of having to stand this — this nothingness — for an entire year, tore her apart.

“No, no, no,” she repeated in raw denial, sobbing messily as the weight of it all crushed her.

The cries confused him. Finally, Levi gripped her arms — gently, with no real strength — as if trying to shake her out of the shock.

“It’s not the end of the world, brat. Come on,” he muttered, exhausted.

To him, it felt like watching a toddler refuse to go to kindergarten.

But as her emotional state didn’t seem to improve — not with anything he said, or did, or tried — Levi grew helpless.

No one likes watching someone cry like that. There’s no comfort to offer. No quick fix for despair. Just one salty stream after another.

“Don’t cry like that, damn it. No one died. It’s all fine,” he said. “You’ll like it. They’re building houses and all that shit. There’s nothing out here to be scared of anymore.”

But titans were the last of her worries.

And Levi had just said the word that nailed the issue — fear.

She imagined her life like this. Like the past few days — isolated, empty, in the middle of nowhere. With no one to talk to, unless she could tolerate the scrutiny.

“I’m scared,” she sobbed, “I want to go home.”

She was scared of returning home too late, of having missed everything with her mother. Of coming back without a child. Of never fitting anywhere again.

“Y/N, listen to me.” His voice rose, trying to snap her out of it. “There’s nothing out here. What are you so scared of?”

He shook her slightly — not hard, just enough to try and make her focus. But they were speaking two different languages. Living in two different worlds that could’ve been so easily connected, if only one of them had the right words.

His hands gripped her arms again — not roughly — but her skin was already bruised.

She was scared of what he’d do once they were alone, after the scene she was making. Scared of opening the wrong drawer in their shared quarters. Scared of living in a place she was merely allowed to exist in. Scared of stepping fully into her mother’s shoes, of hearing herself one day say the same resigned words.

It felt stupid — ridiculous even — that the very role she had trained her whole life for now terrified her.

“Of you,” she whispered.

Those two words echoed louder between them than any scream.

Levi’s hands, which had been trying to steady her, fell away. Slowly. Like he’d just been burned. Almost ashamed.

It hit him in the heart — a clean, precise shot — and silenced any argument he might have had.

A knot rose in his throat, nearly choking him. His lips pressed into a hard line.

A stupid thought crossed his mind: ‘This would be ten times easier if I were the asshole everyone thinks I am.’  Maybe if he cared less, her words wouldn’t have cut so deep.

The silence of the wilderness was all-encompassing.

“I didn’t want to yell at you,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Not the other day. Not in the bedroom.”

Her sobs quieted. She didn’t raise her eyes, but the words confused her—startled her enough to pause.

“The night with the ink mess,” he continued, “that was me bitching. I stand by what I said, but it was a shitty way to say it.” He exhaled, frustrated. “And my stubborn ass thought I’d find a less shitty time to explain all this crap. But then you lied. You disappeared. And I got so fucking angry—” He stopped himself. “I’m still fucking angry.”

Levi cut off, as if even trying to speak was pushing his limits.

“I know it sounds hypocritical, after I slammed a drawer and shout, but…” he hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not like that.”

The implication hung thick in the air. He ran a hand through his hair, then let it fall to the back of his neck, scratching absently—like he might find relief in tugging out a particularly stubborn hair. A bitter scoff escaped his lips.

“I guess I’ve gotta prove that,” he muttered. “Until death do us part.”

That line — half-joke, half-confession — snapped her out of the spiral she’d been in. It didn’t feel like a demand to trust him. Or a challenge. Or some dramatic vow. It felt like what it was: a quiet promise. One he’d have to prove every single day, not just once, but over and over — to her, to himself, maybe even to the kind of man he wanted to be.

For the first time in a while, she looked up. Met his eyes. And then, softly — her voice scratchy, like it hadn’t been used in years — she said, “I promise you… nothing happened between us.”

Levi let out a humorless breath. Almost a laugh. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m not naive.”

He didn’t smell anything on her. Nothing out of place. If something deeper had happened — more than a kiss, more than talk — her scent would’ve told him. But still… something in his voice hinted at how close betrayal had felt. How easily imagined.

The tone stung. She heard the hurt behind it.

“I… I’ve even been burning his letters,” she added quickly, like it might patch something.

“Letters?” Levi cut in sharply. “Die—? Some bullshit? Diederik? I thought he was a cousin or something with how often he sent them.”

She tensed, shrinking slightly. She hadn’t expected him to remember. Or connect it so quickly.

“You knew he was sending letters to my place and didn’t say a word?” he asked, tone sharper now but not fully furious — more baffled. “The fucking audacity of that asshole to send letters to my house.” He swore under his breath. “Is that how you arranged to meet him?”

“There wasn’t any arranging…” she mumbled. “He left me a note under the hotel room door. I told you — I’ve been burning the rest.”

Levi didn’t explode like she feared. Instead, he just frowned deeply, dragging a hand over his eyes and pressing into the sockets like the pressure might keep his temper down.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You went to meet with a guy who sent you letters you didn’t answer, tracked you to a hotel, left notes under your door…” He trailed off, grimacing. “Holy fuck, you’re alive by a miracle.”

“Well… now that you put it like that,” she said, trying and failing to smile. Her voice cracked. “I—I just wanted to talk to someone. Like a friend. I didn’t know him like that.”

Talk to him… like a friend? Is she stupid? He was completely lost in her train of thought—because he couldn’t recall a single lifetime, or universe, where you could go talk to your ex-fiancé as a friend.

“Didn’t you spend the whole previous day at your friend’s house? Didn’t that help?”

But the moment the word friends left his mouth, she broke eye contact. Her face twisted in pain, sharp and unfiltered. Like he’d just stepped on something raw. As he tried to piece together the last few days, Levi realized he was unraveling a pattern of missing information.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

‘Oh no. We are not doing that.’

He put both hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently backwards until she almost fell onto a loose log. The Scouts had sat there earlier that day. The bonfire was out, the pot left to dry with the serving spoon still in it—cleaned after they’d eaten the stew. Legs spread, Levi sat down beside her with a demanding presence.

“Why did you lie to me? Why’d you say you were meeting your folks when you weren’t?”

Facing each other, Levi studied her tight-lipped, apologetic expression, searching for something real beneath it. “I’m not throwing some shitty punishment at you or anything. I just want to know why you looked me in the eye and lied.”

She hesitated—doubt in her eyes, but no real reason to keep it in anymore, except maybe fear of what might come next. “I thought… if I told you my parents weren’t going, you wouldn’t take me to Mitras.”

“So your parents were never gonna be fucking there?”

She shook her head slowly. Then, as if something clicked, her mind reached for a memory—his words on their first night.

“No…” she murmured, “My family’s at the countryside house. It was too short notice for them to come to the capital.” Her words were sluggish, either from the exhaustion of a recent forced sleep or the weight of everything pressing down on her. “And… my mother’s pregnant.”

Levi frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as the pieces didn’t quite fit. ‘I saw her, what—a month ago? She didn’t even look pregnant.’ Logic kicked in. A woman that far along shouldn’t travel, sure. But something still felt off.

“Ah,” he hummed, a vague noise of forced acknowledgment. “Congrats.” Then, seeing the sadness on her face, he quickly added, “I guess.”

“I need to go back,” she said, fiddling with her fingers in distress, picking at the skin beside her nails. “My mom needs me. She’s having a difficult pregnancy.”

Her voice was steady, but her reasoning made no sense to him.

“And what are you gonna do there?”

“Look after my siblings, of course.”

A hum of mild surprise echoed in his throat. “Ah… You got more than your little sister?”

“We’re seven in total.”

“Seven?!” He reeled back in shock. “Damn. How old is your mother?”

The question confused her. Most of her friends came from big families. “Thirty-nine… almost forty, I think.”

Levi did the math in his head, blinking. “Your mom’s six years older than me and has seven kids?” He looked genuinely thrown, while she just blinked at his reaction, like it wasn’t that strange at all. That only confirmed it. “Holy shit. Your folks really didn’t waste any time, huh?”

That earned a quiet chuckle from her. “The doctor said my mom shouldn’t be having more children… she’s lost too many pregnancies already. Mae was even born premature.” Her voice cracked. “I’m scared she won’t make it…”

Levi softened slightly, trying—awkwardly—to offer comfort. “I’m sure a good doctor’ll find a way to end the pregnancy and make sure your mom pulls through. Don’t worry.”

But the way she looked at him—confused, regretful—made something click.

“‘Cause that’s the smart thing to do,” he added. “Especially when she’s got a bunch of young kids who need her more than a newborn does.”

“My… family believes the more, the merrier,” she whispered. “A child is always a blessing.”

Levi let out a long, heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. The whole situation was simple and infuriating at the same time. “Right. Your dad’s allergic to wrapping it up and doesn’t give a fuck. That’s the real problem.”

Her face turned scarlet. She stammered, “Why would you say it like that? Gosh—” she dropped her voice, “They’re married, after all… it’s normal. Plus, they’re mates. What do you expect them to do?”

“Well, for starters,” Levi said dryly, “I know your family owns two houses. He could spend a week or two a year in the other one and not get her pregnant. Problem solved.”

But even he knew that wasn’t the real issue. That was just surface-level.

“Then again, that’s clearly not a solution for a man who doesn’t give a fuck about his family.”

The blow landed.

“He does care about us,” she insisted, defensive now—though he hadn’t said them, just her father.

“If he cared,” Levi said coldly, “he’d know that his other six brats need their mother a hell of a lot more than he needs to go raw for a week.”

For the first time in her life, someone had said it — had placed the blame on the other party in the relationship.

His words still hurt. Maybe because defending her family’s dynamics had been written into her since childhood, stitched into her with years of quiet teachings and expectations.

But somehow, his bluntness opened a door — just wide enough for her to voice something that had long lived in the back of her mind as nothing more than an intrusive thought.

“To be honest… I don’t think they should be having any more kids either,” she admitted.

The words felt light — like letting go of something she didn’t know she was carrying.

“But it’s done,” she added, quieter now. “And my siblings need me.”

“You know,” Levi said, resting an elbow on one knee, his voice low and rough, “I don’t usually say this to anyone but myself, but… that’s not your responsibility.”

Her head turned, brows creased. “How can you say that? They’re my little brothers and sisters.”

A soft, resigned scoff escaped his nose. Because in her, he saw it — for the first time. That same thing that lived in him. Blind loyalty. Crushing duty. That instinct to carry burdens that were never yours to begin with.

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm but not unkind. “You’re their sister. Not their mother.” He leaned forward, gaze steady. “I know it sounds fucking selfish. I’m sure it does. But if you let yourself become a slave to your parents’ bad decisions… then the day your mother dies, you’ll be the next one in line to be your father’s wife 2.0.”

She played with her ring, turning it around her finger without taking it off. It had become a habit since it used to be loose. Now it fit snugly—tightened by Levi’s makeshift fix. Her breathing was soft, quiet, as his words slowly sank in and took root in her mind. It would take a lot of care and time for that seed of self-identity to grow into something real, but it was a start. Like a frozen pond in midwinter—beneath all the thick, harsh layers of ice, there was still life.

She frowned deeply. “You’re right… it’s just—it’d be easier to feel less useless if I could help, at least like that.” But her voice cracked at the edges. Levi’s mind went straight to how he’d told her she needed to start helping around. He was about to tell her it wasn’t that serious—but then, like the final drop that overflows a full glass, she broke.

“I should’ve used my time in the capital—wasted on meeting Die—to go see the doctor my friend told me about.”

“A doctor? You feel bad?” Levi asked quickly, alert. “Oi—oi, what’s the matter?”

He bent down, trying to get a look at her face. She was sobbing again, wet and broken. She shook her head, unable to speak.

“Why would you go see a doctor if you’re not sick?”

“Because I lost my heat,” she whispered, “and maybe I can’t get pregnant… like my mom.”

“What?” he said. “Why are you saying that bullshit? Your friends told you that?”

She nodded slightly. “Well, fuck your friends,” Levi said immediately. “You’re young. You’re stressed. You don’t need a damn doctor.”

But his words barely scratched the surface of the storm inside her. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap.

“It’s just—” she sobbed, “I can’t even do the one thing I’m supposed to do right.”

“Oi—”

“No, but—” her words stumbled over themselves as her breathing quickened again. “It’s the only thing I’m meant to do and I can’t even do it! Why is my body betraying me like this? If I’m not a mother, then what am I supposed to be?!”

Her hands flew up to cover her face as her cries broke open again, muffled by her palms. She curled forward, shoulders trembling.

Levi sat there, speechless. His gut twisted. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m so bad at this.”

But then—he reached a hand to her back, steady, warm. “This is gonna sound cringe as hell,” he muttered, “but... you can be whatever you fucking want, Y/N.”

She flinched slightly, moving away—not to reject his comfort, but as if she didn’t think she deserved it. Like this heartbreak was punishment.

He kept going, even as she turned.

“Listen to me. You’re young. We’ve got plenty of damn time to figure out if your heat comes back, or if you can get knocked up. And if not? We’ll deal with that. And if nothing works? There’s still a whole lot more in life than pushing out kids. A hundred other kids out there who’d be lucky to have someone like you.”

“Don’t act like this isn’t an inconvenience,” she said bitterly. “An alpha with an omega who can’t even go into heat...”

That short-circuited something in him.

“You think I care about that?” he asked sharply. As she wouldn’t look at him, she wouldn’t answer either. He reached out and gripped her face, gently but firmly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You think I care that you lost a heat?” he repeated. Their faces were inches apart. The raw pain in hers answered for her.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N. I haven’t even thought about that.” His voice was low and rough. “I don’t give a shit. I care that you’re a crying mess because of some bitch you call a friend.”

“Me?” He scoffed. “Do I look like someone who goes around saying shit to make people feel better?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“C’mon, Y/N. Half the time I can’t even say the shit I should say. You think I suddenly got the social skills to lie?”

Between sniffles, she laughed.

Their eyes met. Her cheeks flushed—whether from crying or their closeness, neither could say.

“Don’t you think this all would’ve been easier if I’d had my heat in spring?” she asked, teasing softly now.

“No,” he said immediately. “Have you seen how damn controlling I am? The country’s a mess, and the thought of leaving you behind, knocked up with my kid, while I ride off to the end of the shitty world—” he quoted her, “—is already making me want to rip my hair out.”

She laughed again, and wiped at her face.

“I’m sorry about all this.”

“I’m sorry I wasted money on a cart for you to visit those bitches,” he said dryly. “Next time, spit in their faces.”

“Levi!” she scolded, laughing through the last of her tears.

After a rare moment of closeness, they both leaned forward, gently bumping their foreheads together in silent support. Her breathing was still uneven, but it was calming, slowly syncing with his. Breathing the same air, their scents mingled. His hand, still cupping her cheek, moved to stroke her face gently. He still couldn’t find the right words. But this was something.

They sat there a little longer.

Eventually, she leaned her head against his shoulder. Her fingers played with her ring again, but this time, there was peace in it.

The gold thread shimmered softly in the first light of dawn.

“I should’ve taken the ring to get resized when we were in Mitras,” Levi muttered, annoyed at himself for missing the chance.

But she just smiled, more tenderly this time. “It’s alright. I like it like this.”

Levi frowned, unsure if she really meant it.She held her hand up and spread her fingers, admiring it.

“They say rings match the marriage. That’s why people want the biggest, the fanciest. But I think ours matches us pretty well.”

Silence lingered for a few seconds as Levi squinted at her, trying to process the statement.

“Shitty?” he offered.

She laughed brightly.“No, you idiot,” she grinned. “It’s not meant to fit. But we try to make it work. And that’s more than a lot of people can say about their arrangements.”

He hummed softly, nodding. “Yeah… that sounds way more poetic.”

—

From a safe distance, just beyond the tree line, the remnants of Levi’s squad were half-huddled, half-loitering, trying to stay out of sight.

Or at least, most of them were trying.

Sasha groaned, arms crossed over her stomach. “Can I go have breakfast already? I’m literally dying.”

Behind the cover of a tall tree, Hange peeked around the bark like a spy in a bad disguise. “Give them some time,” they whispered, voice full of mischievous reverence.

Armin yawned as they were supposed to start their duties and squinted toward the couple at the camp’s edge. “Weren’t they, like, screaming at each other last night?” He tilted his head. “And now they’re cuddling? That kind of emotional whiplash causes unpredictable attachment models in kids. Has anyone considered that? I could develop toxic anxious attachment,”

“Dude,” Connie muttered, elbowing him, “don’t blame your anxiety on them. You already had that before the marital drama.”

The group snickered.

As the omega and alpha pair sat quietly under the early morning sky — heads bowed together, peaceful — as they waited for them to be over so they could carry on with their duties.

“So… how’d they make up?” Jean asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hange turned around from peeking, smirking as they casually raised both hands—left hand forming a ring with their thumb and index finger, while the right index and middle fingers thrust through the circle.

A chorus of gasps followed.

“No way,” Sasha whispered, nearly choking on nothing.

Mikasa frowned, blinking slowly. “But… we don’t have a bed here.”

“As if a bed’s ever stopped anyone, sweetie,” Hange said, not even glancing back.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Armin muttered, mostly to himself.

That made Hange turn fully around, eyes glinting behind their glasses. “Look at that,” they said with a satisfied sigh. “Levi was right. The shy ones are the worst.”

They smirked. “And why, dear Armin, were you listening in the first place? Hm? You little voyeur.”

Armin froze, color rushing to his ears. “Wait—what?! No, I— That’s not what I—! I was trying to sleep!”

“What’s a voyeur?” Sasha asked, squinting curiously.

“Eh…” Hange shrugged. “A type of bread.”

Author’s Note 💔: Hey friends 💌 I’m not gonna lie, writing this chapter was bittersweet because… Tumblr nuked my blog. Five whole years of headcanons, over 200 posts, and I was this close to hitting 10k followers. And yeah, I’ve never been one to obsess over numbers—some fics did well, some didn’t—but what I truly treasured was the community we built together 🥺💕 I’ve gotten the sweetest asks over the years. One person told me they used to read my fics while pregnant and now they read them to their kid. Like, hello?? That kind of thing stays with you forever. Losing all of that without warning? It broke me. And apparently, I’m not alone—Reddit is full of people saying their years-old accounts were randomly deleted too. Support won’t answer, and (get this) I even got banned from the support page for just asking why my blog got taken down 🙃 But despite everything, I’m still here. People always asked me, “Will you keep writing after the manga ends? After the anime ends?” And my answer has always been: “I’ll keep doing this as long as it’s fun for me.” And guess what? It’s still fun. So here’s a 15k word chapter because apparently I cannot shut up 📝💀 If you’re looking for me, I’ve made a new (very improvised) tumblr: lucysarah1875 And I also have a lil discord server in case you want to hang out/chat/cry about Levi with me 😭 Just shoot me a message at lucysarahc on Discord and I’ll send you a fresh invite link since they expire faster than Tumblr’s mercy. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love, comments, and support you’ve given me. It means more than I can ever express T-T Okay okay, enough rambling. Enjoy the chapter 💕 — Lucy <3

Tag list! (Please, if you got this notification. I'll be using this blog until further notice): @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr

[raavenb2619]

Tl;dr: QPRs aren't inherently amatonormative, but they are sometimes (occasionally? semi-frequently?) talked about in an amatonormative way, including by aros talking to other aros. And when aros complain about QPRs being talked about in an amatonormative way, everyone (other aros included) should take that seriously.

I've sometimes seen aros talk about QPRs in an amatonormative way. It's hard to say how frequently it happens, but it does happen sometimes, and I'm definitely not a fan of it. That shouldn't be the way that we (aros) talk about them. And if someone says something is amatonormative, we should treat that as a serious complaint instead of brushing it off because "well I'm aro and I'd never be amatonormative".

I'm in a QPR and I try my best to make sure that it's free of amatonormativity, but occasionally amatonormativity has cropped up in my own thinking too, and it takes someone else pointing it out for me to even notice it. Maybe there's a lesson there that "you are not immune to amatonormativity" applies to aros too, even the ones that think they've totally unlearned it. Or maybe, unlearning a societal pressure isn't a one-time thing; it's a continuous process that requires you to stay vigilant, to self-reflect and think critically about your own thoughts and actions.

I also wonder to what extent this is caused by the aro community being too small and not having enough awareness about aromanticism in the queer community/world in general. Because it is worth talking about QPRs and making sure people know that they're an option, but it is super super important too to make sure people know that not being in a relationship is an option, that being nonpartnering is an option. And maybe if there was more awareness and discussion of how aromanticism can be different for different people, aros wouldn't feel so much like they're struggling to tell their own story and have their story be heard.

I'm also reminded of the aro census making me spend 10 minutes choosing between "yes", "no", and "unsure" to answer "are you single?". Even though I'm in a QPR, I still feel an attachment to the idea of singlehood, and making sure that people can know they don't have to be in a relationship is really important to me personally, because "you don't have to be in a relationship" was really helpful and impactful for younger aro me.

In these discussions, I also wonder to what extent seemingly innoculous phrases can have a bigger impact than one might expect? Let's compare (1) "aros can still be in a QPR", (2) "aros can be in a QPR", and (3) "some aros want to be in QPRS, but other's don't". I find (1) to be amatonormative and arophobic, with the word "still" contributing the most to that. (1) feels like it is trying to correct an amatonormative/arophobic assumption held by the listener (maybe "aros are always lonely" or "being aro is sad because you won't ever be in a relationship with someone"), but the way in which it responds to that assumption validates the assumption. (1) feels like it is saying "your amatonormative assumption has merit, but aros can still be happy". I find (2) to be similar to (1), not as strong due to the lack of "still", but generally in the same boat. I find (3) to be the only good phrase out of the three, because the word "some" usually means "some but not all", and "but other's don't" explicitly highlights the diversity of aro experiences. Also, (3) doesn't validate (or even suggest the existence of) a speaker's harmful assumption; it only points out possibilities. (*takes off linguistics hat*)

I think there's a genuine conversation to be had about how aro spaces have begun pushing QPRs in a similar way that amatonormativity pushes romantic relationships onto people but a majority of aros just refuse to engage in the discussion because they see it as an attack on QPRs or people saying QPRs are romantic relationships lite instead of actually looking at the fact it's critiquing how some Aros have begun pushing it almost like an alternative to romance and something all Aro's want.

No one is saying QPRs are bad but rather that there is too much push that the idea of a QPR will fix people's problems. "oh you're lonely? just find a QPR!" "You dont have to be in a romantic relationship you can be in a QPR!" "QPR is MORE than friendship" etc etc.

There's a genuine critique here of QPRs being used to continue to push amatonormativity by again assuming that every aro wants a partner - even if not romantic - and I think we can have a genuine conversation about this rather than going at each other throats over a fake argument of "QPRs bad"

[meichenxi]

The known-ish words of intermediate Chinese, or: What does it mean to know a word?

We all have this intuition, especially in languages like Chinese, that there are words we 'kind of know'. These are the known-ish words. In the case of Chinese, most people would recognise at least three axes:

1) Do I know the meaning? 2) Do I know the pronunciation? 3) Do I know how to handwrite it?

You might answer yes to some, but no to others. Voila! You know the word - ish.

And then you can also add the dimension of passive and active knowledge:

1) Do I recognise this word passively? 2) Can I use this word actively?

Great. Even more ways of kind of but not really knowing a word. But that's far from all. There's also the different domains of listening and reading, writing and speaking.

So passively, that looks like:

1) Do I know the meaning when listening? 2) Do I know the meaning when reading? 3) Do I know the pronunciation when reading?

Once we add in the active dimension, it all starts to get a bit more complicated. This is far from an exhaustive list, but consider the follows ways you could define 'knowing' a word:

1) I can read the word out loud (but I don't know what it means, and I can't use it in a sentence) 2) I know what the word means, and I can use it in a sentence (but I can't handwrite it) 3) I can use the word in a spoken sentence (but I don't know how to type it, or which character it uses) 4) I can recognise the word when reading (but don't know how to read it out loud, and can only guess at the meaning) 5) I can use the word in a written sentence (but not a spoken sentence) 6) I can type the word and recognise the word (but I don't know how to handwrite it) 7) …

Okay. What else?

Chinese is a compounding language.

Have you ever had the experience that you can't recognise a character individually, but as soon as you see it in a familiar compound, you know what it means? So:

1) I can recognise the word individually 2) I can recognise the word as part of a compound 3) I can recognise the word as part of an unfamiliar compound

Chinese is also a language with a long and storied tradition of writing in Classical Chinese as a literary language and a lingua franca across the whole of East Asia - even two hundred years ago, people were writing in Literary Chinese. 'Mandarin' as a concept did not exist.

So often the meanings of familiar characters can be quite different in formal language or chengyu in the modern language, which uses more classical / literary structures and grammar.

Take, for example, the character 次. The first layer of meaning in modern Chinese - the most foundational layer - is its meaning as time, like 'I have been to Ghana two times'.

But its second layer of meaning is secondary, or next best, or just next. For example:

1) 次货 - substandard goods 2) 次子 - second son 3) 次年 - next year

And so on. Many common words have this kind of polysemy.

So we can add another dimension:

1) I recognise this word's common meanings 2) I can use this word's common meanings 3) I recognise this word's less common meanings 4) I can use this word's less common meanings

Add in the reading and listening dimensions, and things get even messier. I am familiar enough with this basic secondary meaning of 次 to fairly quickly be able to understand that it means 'next' or 'second' rather than 'time' if I see it in a written unfamiliar compound or chengyu. But I am most definitely not quick enough to do that every single time whilst listening to the news, for example!

And what about pronunciation? Once you know a fair amount of Chinese characters, you can often guess the pronunciation of new or unfamiliar characters. How?

Because of phonetic components.

For example:

请

清

情

Notice how these all have the same component on the right? This tells us that these characters belong to the largest group of Chinese characters, phonetic-semantic characters. That is - some part of the character gives a clue to the meaning, and some part gives a clue to the pronunciation. In this case, we know they are all pronounced some variety of qing.

But it isn't always that easy. Some phonetic components tell you the tone and pronunciation - some tell you the pronunciation, but not the tone (like qing above). Some phonetic components, to go even further, are only really decipherable if you have a particular interest in phonology or historical linguistics, or learn the patterns. Consider:

脸 - lian3 (face)

险 - xian3 (dangerous)

验 - yan4 (test)

剑 - jian4 (sword)

签 - qian1 (to sign)

捡 - jian3 (to pick up)

There are far more. If you look down the whole list on Pleco, they all show a similar pattern of variation. You can see some patterns, but also numerous exceptions - most end in the -ian final, except for those that are yan of various tones. All begin with l, x, y, j, q. Most are pronounced jian3, but that is far from a rule.

All this to say - you can see a character, and know vaguely how it is pronounced. If I know that a character is pronounced qing definitely, 100%, but don't know the tone - does that mean I know the pronunciation? Or would you only say that knowing it 100% means knowing it? And in that case - how can you account for the fact that learning a character when you already know 90% of the pronunciation is significantly easier than not knowing it at all?

Let me add just a few more scenarios. Bear with me!

1) A character has more than one way to be pronounced. For this word, you read it incorrectly (but you usually know it). 2) A character has more than one tone. Some people pronounce it always with one tone, and some alternate between the two pronunciations. You only knew it with one - but you're half right? 3) You make the same mistake that a native speaker would make with tone or pronunciation of a rarer character.

In some way, these are all more knowing than not knowing anything at all.

And none of this is even taking into account different writing systems, traditional and simplified.

Here are some more scenarios:

I recognise the character in traditional (but not simplified)

I can type the character in both, but I can only hand-write in simplified

I know the Taiwanese pronunciation, but not the Chinese

etc

And of course Chinese characters are used across multiple different languages.

So you could conceivably have these kinds of situations:

I know the pronunciation and meaning in Cantonese and Mandarin

I know the pronunciation and meaning in Cantonese, and the meaning in Mandarin

I know the pronunciation and meaning in Mandarin and recognise it in Cantonese, but know it means something different

I know the pronunciation in Mandarin, but don't know what the whole word actually means in Mongolian (Chinese characters used to transliterate Mongolian words)

Plus there's handwriting and calligraphy!

Personally, I can't read a lot of calligraphy and have accepted my happy illiteracy in many styles. All Chinese learners and heritage speakers know the feeling of sitting in a Chinese restaurant or museum and having a well-meaning friend say, 'Oooo, what does that say?' It's depressing! So let's add some more nuances to our known-ish characters:

I can read this character in common fonts

I can read this character in less common fonts

I can read this character when handwritten

I can read this character when handwritten quickly / by a child / by a doctor

I can read this character in grass script / seal script / etc

Then there's the question of naturalness.

I frequently add words to my Anki decks that I would be able to understand, no question, if I were reading or listening - but I probably wouldn't have thought to say it in that way. So:

I recognise this word, and would have said it exactly like this

I recognise this word, but would never have thought to say it like this

I can use this word, but didn't know you could use it in such a metaphorical way

I can use this word in a metaphorical way, but didn't realise it corresponded so closely to English / was so different from English in its meaning

And finally there's the simple question of memory.

I know I've seen this word before, but I can't remember it right now and I want to drown myself pathetically in the vast uncaring sea

I know I used to be able to use this word actively, but now can only use it passively

I can still type it, but have forgotten how to handwrite it

I can still use it in writing, but I wouldn't be able to use it in speaking

I can recognise it in set expressions, but wouldn't remember how to use it on its own

I can remember the simplified character, but not the traditional

…

So how many ways do you know a word?

I often feel embarrassed to post my vocabulary lists, because I feel that people will be surprised that I don't 'know' certain more foundational words. I think they will be confused as to why I have very 'advanced' vocabulary alongside 'simple' vocabulary. I feel a lot of pressure to be 'advanced' because of the amount of followers I have, but there's a lot of more basic characters I still don't fully know in a holistic way.

And the truth is that all of those characters and words are in Anki for different reasons. I might have a vocab list that looks like this:

略

松懈

星光

缕缕

薄雾

博览

I don't know any of these words in exactly the same dimensions as I know the others! Let's look at my reasons for including each in detail.

略 - lve4 - slightly. I have this word here because although I know it well in set expressions like 略有耳闻 'have heard a little about'，略有受损 'has suffered slight losses' etc, I wouldn't remember the pronunciation if I saw it alone or with another verb apart from 有. I would still know the meaning - but I wouldn't remember how to pronounce it. So even though I 'know' this word, it's still there in Anki.

松懈 - song1xie4 - to relax, lax, slacken. This is a rare example of a totally 'new' word - most of my Anki words aren't. I know 松 already well, but have never seen the character 懈 before: I didn't know its meaning, or pronunciation.

星光 - xing1guang1 - starlight. I know both characters, pronunciation and meaning, and I can easily understand this word. I just never would have thought to say it so simply. I want to use it actively, so I put it in Anki.

缕缕 - lv3lv3 - fine and continuous (i.e. rain, drizzle). I know 缕 already on its own as a measure word for sunlight, thin hair, gossamer, mist, smoke, fine threads etc - I often forget its pronunciation, but I know its meaning reliably when reading. But together the compound 缕缕's meaning isn't quite extricable from just knowing 缕, so I put it in here.

薄雾 - bo2wu4 - mist, fog. I know 雾 well, but hadn't come across �� before (or wasn't sure if I had or not). This is an example where I knew its pronunciation, because of phonetic components, but I didn't know the meaning of the character.

博览 - bo2lan3 - to read widely. I know this word very well. So why is this in there? Literally just because I remembered the pronunciation and meaning of 博览, and when I was racking my brains trying to see if I knew the 薄 in 薄雾, I thought it might be the same character. I looked it up, and it wasn't. So even though I know the word, the meaning and the pronunciation, I had to put it in - because I didn't remember which character was used for the bo2.

When you acknowledge all of the different ways of knowing a Chinese character, it makes sense that your learning after the beginning level is going to be full predominantly of known-ish words.

Accept this! Form your own relationship to it! For me, a huge part in my motivation to return to learning Chinese after a year-long break was just to accept that I was likely never going to 'fully know' most of the characters and words that I partially know.

But that's okay. Think about your native language.

If your native language is English or you speak it very well, consider a word like monadic. Could you say you knew this word? Fully knew it? Like me (I learnt this word in the context of Linguistics yesterday), you might have an idea that it has something to do with one - mono, monorail, monotropism, monologue, monolithic etc. But would you be able to use it in a sentence? Would you be able to explain it to a child?

Or let's say you're learning two new English words: lithology and dreich. (The latter is a Scots word, not English - you would hear it in Scotland frequently.) Neither word you completely know. Which one is going to take you longer to learn?

It's likely going to be lithology. You can form connections with words like monolith or paleothic or maybe even lithium - even if you couldn't say for sure what the Greek element lith means, you're passingly familiar with other words containing it. You also know -ology, and you know how to pronounce the word. If you learn that it means 'the study of rocks', that is probably quite easy to remember.

Dreich, on the other hand - what is there to tell you a) how to pronounce this, or b) that it means 'dreary' or 'bleak', as in, dreary weather? You can't form any connections with similar words at all, and the [x] sound at the end - like in German or Hebrew - might be unexpected to hear if you don't live in Scotland.

That's what Chinese is like in the beginning. All words are like dreich. But the more you learn, the more words begin to be like monadic or lithology.

Learning ten new words a day like dreich would be very difficult. But if you've seen monadic a few times over the last few months, know vaguely when to use it, know how to pronounce it - it's not so hard to imagine that you could learn ten of those a day.

I find all these known-ish words very overwhelming.

And I also find recognising the potential for overwhelm in the Chinese language - because of its unique properties - very helpful in letting me feel less guilty about my current known-ish words. I do know them - ish.

But when I finally get around to properly learning them, all that ish-ness will make them that much easier to remember!

Now I try not to stress out about these types of words. I recognise that, in many ways, they are inevitable. Unless you're a poet who composes out of thin air, you're not going to ever say a literary word for emerald green as frequently as you'll read it in descriptive passages in novels.

It's natural to know certain words in a spiky profile: to know them very well in some ways, but not at all in other ways.

The more you read, the more pronounced this can become.

So here's what I've learnt, and here's the message of all this big, long, rambling post:

Putting 'easy' words that you feel you should know into Anki isn't regressing. It's adding another dimension of knowledge to your understanding of the word. You shouldn't feel ashamed or frustrated when you find you don't know one aspect of an otherwise 'easy' word. I'm still trying to learn this.

Because -

Having lots of known-ish words is not a unique failing on your part. It's a reflection of Chinese as a language and its unique complexity -

And it's part of what makes it so uniquely beautiful.

Have a nice day, everyone. meichenxi out!

[transgenderer]

so like. as i understand it, at any age, if your exposure to language is restricted to a single language, you will learn that language. like it just sort of happens, your brain figures out its grammar, semantics, etc, formal training HELPS but is not required. but this is *not* the case with the language's phonology! people will live in a foreign-phone country for years, primarily exposed to its language, they will understand it perfectly, generate it perfectly, and yet will still have a strong "accent" if not trained how to avoid it. that's weird, right? why doesnt the brain learn the phonology? (and why does it learn it perfectly as a baby?) is it too "low level", muscular-level, and that stuff gets "hardened" while higher level stuff is more flexible..?

[omegaphilosophia]

The Philosophy of Semantics

The philosophy of semantics is a branch of philosophy that explores the nature, structure, and function of meaning in language and communication. It delves into questions concerning how words, sentences, and symbols convey meaning, how meaning is interpreted and understood, and how language relates to the external world. Semantics seeks to elucidate the relationship between language and reality, as well as the ways in which linguistic expressions shape our understanding of the world.

Key topics within the philosophy of semantics include:

Truth and Reference: Semantics examines how language refers to objects, concepts, and states of affairs in the world, and how truth conditions are established for linguistic expressions. Philosophers explore theories of reference, such as direct reference theory, and theories of truth, such as correspondence theory and coherence theory.

Meaning and Interpretation: Semantics investigates the nature of meaning and how it is generated and interpreted within linguistic contexts. Philosophers analyze theories of meaning, including semantic theories that posit truth-conditional semantics, use-based semantics, and inferential semantics.

Language and Thought: Semantics explores the relationship between language and thought, examining how language influences cognition and vice versa. Philosophers investigate questions about linguistic relativity (the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis), mental representation, and the role of language in shaping conceptual frameworks.

Context and Pragmatics: Semantics considers the role of context and pragmatic factors in interpreting meaning. Philosophers study pragmatic phenomena such as implicature, presupposition, and speech acts, which go beyond the literal meaning of linguistic expressions.

Formal Semantics: Semantics employs formal methods and logical tools to represent and analyze meaning in a precise and systematic manner. Formal semantics utilizes techniques from logic, set theory, and formal language theory to model the structure and interpretation of natural language expressions.

Overall, the philosophy of semantics provides a rich theoretical framework for understanding the intricate relationship between language, meaning, and the world, shedding light on fundamental questions about communication, cognition, and reality.

[inthewaytoamultilinguallife]

They gave away many more this year too, and I brought home several local linguistic books + stuff with a few articles on Uruguayan sign language too :D

I even got my hands on an old manual on logic and formal semantic in English :D!!

My university was giving old books away and some of them were in different languages so i took with me one in french, one in portugueses and another one in german because why not :):):)

[ducksarebloodthirstylittlebeasts]

when I close my eyes I see attribute value matrices... type theory with records i hate you

[serpentface]

WARDI WRITTEN LANGUAGE (BASICS).

Couya's full name (properly 'Haidamane Couya') written formally and with common handwriting conventions.

The Wardi written language derives from earlier proto-language systems consisting exclusively of logograms without direct phonetic meaning or grammatical structure. These symbols gradually became simplified and abstracted to the point of many having little intrinsic clarity, and combined to communicate abstract concepts.

The development of a full written language did not occur independently (as very few written languages do), and its phonetic elements (namely its use of syllabograms) were largely derived the 'ancient' Burri writing system, gradually synthesized with native writing conventions, and in the contemporary forms a wholly distinct system. The language's Relatively universalized form is a very recent phenomena, developing within the past two centuries with the region's conquering/unification into a single entity.

The contemporary written language is a mixture of logograms and syllabograms. It is read from right to left and arranged in horizontal columns. The most formal variant of this system contains each character within a square outline, usually separated by a small space. This outline confers little phonetic or symbolic information beyond making distinction between syllables exceptionally clear, and can be (and often is) omitted in handwriting. The separation of words is conveyed through a narrow rectangle or line in formal contexts, and again often omitted in handwriting (instead indicated instead by a wider blank space).

The pure logograms that have been retained in this writing system tend to be those of very common words or specific concepts (most logogram characters for types of livestock, key crops, water, major body parts, etc are widely recognized and in common use). There has not yet been any attempts to fully 'formalize' the language and omit potentially unnecessary logograms, and they remain frequently used as shorthand while conveying the same semantic information.

Many of the syllabogram characters are directly derived from logograms that depicted monosyllabic words. For example, the spoken word 'gan' means 'cow', and the character for the syllable 'gan' is identical to the common logogram for 'cow'.

The name Gantoche (literally "cow-eye") could be written either fully with syllabograms as:

or through logograms as:

Both ultimately communicate the same meaning, but the former clarifies pronunciation (the words gan and atoche are contracted, it's gantoche and not gan-atoche).

It is a relatively easy written language to learn, as the pure syllabogram characters indicate their own pronunciation with little ambiguity and often have consistency to their construction (ie the character for the syllable 'man' contains most of the same elements as that for the syllable 'wan'- the dot placement in particular has indication of the vowel sounds).

The inclusion of logograms in general and many of the syllabic characters being directly imported From logograms complicates matters. These characters lack visual consistency, and can be confusing to the large swath of the public who know common logograms but not the full written language itself. Ie: the word 'ungande' meaning 'liver' will be composed of logogram-derived syllable characters for 'un' (which alone means 'hand') and 'gan' (which alone means 'cow'). Someone who is only semi-literate in common logograms may be confused at the meaning, especially since these same exact same characters may be used elsewhere on their own to indicate 'hand' or 'cow'.

One major exception to this tendency is that current religious doctrine requires established logogram characters describing God to be used in place of syllabic characters. The word for god is 'Od', and has its own unique character (as do each of the Faces, the capital F 'Face', and Its deified pronoun). The syllable 'od' [oʊd] is very common in the Wardi language, and a wholly separate character is used for the phonetic sound when it is not a reference to the deity (ie 'lion' (odo [oʊdoʊ]) does not contain the same character for God in spite of its first syllable having the exact same pronunciation). Names are a bit of a gray area (ie: the name 'Odabi' is very common and carries the meaning of 'gift/blessing from God'). Religious leadership is currently experiencing a mild schism on whether the written character for God is separated due to being wholly sacrosanct (and thus inappropriate to include in the written form of a personal name) or as more of a functional delineation of the sacred and mundane.

[specialagentartemis]

Feel like dropping the rant about how "pre-written records = prehistory" is not a good way of conceptualizing history? It's not my area at all so I'm fascinated.

Hah absolutely

It’s a mix of semantics, and word connotations, and the way history gets presented, and tbh legacies of racism.

So. Part of it comes from the distinctions between the academic field and practice of history, and the academic field and practice of archaeology. The practice of history means analyzing the past through written texts and records; the practice of archaeology means analyzing the past through the material remains left behind. This is fine. It refers to the way you approach information about the past and what tools and theories you use to do so. I have no problem with this part!

Of course, it starts to get more complicated when you also have classicists (who study ancient Greek and Roman history primarily through texts but also incorporate some aspects of archaeology) and Assyriologists (ditto but for Mesopotamia), which have their roots in old-school European practices of formal education. There’s also historical archaeology, which is primarily archaeology but incorporates written records of the time and place for a fuller picture, or uses archaeology to complicate or fill gaps in the records. Historical archaeology is a practice that can be applied to any place and time with historical records, but primarily it refers to archaeology of the Americas post-European colonialism.

These refer to the ways we study the past. Where I start to disagree is when these terms get applied to the past itself.

Historians study history through written texts, so there is often a delineation where history = the presence of written texts, and prehistory = before that. And I have problems with that delineation of time.

For one thing, the connotations of the terms. History, in common use, is important, it’s everything that built the world we live in and led to where we are now. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. While prehistory conjures images of dinosaurs, or cavemen. It implies that the things that happened in it aren’t as important as the things that happened once history proper started. It also feels very, very old—it feels weird to call, say, the Inca empire prehistoric, when the Inca Empire is younger than Oxford University and the first Inca emperor was crowned in Peru after the Norman Invasion of England in 1066—something nobody calls prehistoric.

Because that brings up a more objective issue with splitting time into “history” and “prehistory”: writing was invented at different times in different places, and used to different extents. Writing was first invented in Mesopotamia in the Early Bronze Age, about 5,000 years ago. It was probably independently invented in Egypt shortly afterward, and was independently invented in China 3400 years ago, and in Central America about 2500 years ago. Writing spread across Asia, India, North Africa, Europe, and Mexico/Guatemala; it was not used in North America, South America, southern Africa, Australia, most parts of Polynesia, Micronesia, Australia, or New Zealand at all until European contact. According to the written records definition, this means history starts in very different times in these different places. Not only does this unbalance what we think of as “history” a lot, it ends up discounting or minimizing these people’s own ways of reckoning history, making their history start when Europeans arrived.

This is an incredibly dismissive way to consider whole continents’ worth of people and cultures! It turns them into a “people without history,” and implies that whatever they were doing before Europeans (or Chinese, Indians, or North Africans depending on the region, but mostly Europeans) doesn’t really matter to what happened since. If anything happened at all in that “time before history”; a common perspective of both early colonists and modern pop-history in places like the American West or Australia is that the people there have been living the exact same way for thousands of years, unchanging since the Stone Age. Only upon contact with Europeans did anything change and “history” start. This is hugely dismissive of these people’s autonomy and their past. (You’ll notice it’s a lot of people who suffer from racism who are denied the title of “history”!) It’s also just not true.

I’m an archaeologist who studies the US Southwest/Mexican Northwest region; I focus on Arizona and New Mexico in the 1000s–1400s AD. And one of the things that opened my mind so much in studying the US southwest was just how much things changed from decade to decade and century to century in the past, the same way they did anywhere else in history at this time. There was no written history in this part of the world, but what we do have is very precise tree-ring dates. Using tree rings, we can date when this or that building was built down to the precise year. And because it’s a desert, things preserve well for a long time, so we have lots of ancient tree-ring dates. Because of this, we can see how art styles, architectural styles, settlement patterns, family organization, farming practices, religion, politics, and cultural interactions changed over the past four thousand years. And we can see that they did change, and sometimes they changed slowly and sometimes they changed rapidly. People did things. They had new ideas, they formed new political organizations and adopted new religions, they came together and broke apart, they developed new art styles and new technologies, elite lineages controlled the social order until their power fractured, people moved into new places and adapted their old practices to what they found there, or developed new ones… and because of tree-rings and desert preservation, archaeologists can see it in ways we can’t in cooler and wetter environments. This is history. This is people doing things, shaping the physical and social landscape for the centuries that followed.

And of course, Pueblo and Diné and Apache and O’odham people of the Southwest have their own oral histories that overlap with these archaeological studies. This is true in many, many places that did not traditionally use writing. They can’t be discounted just because they weren’t written down.

So to me, history = writing and prehistory = before writing is a false dichotomy that’s unhelpful at best and racist at worst. To me, history starts when people become socially organized enough that they care about what happened before, what happened where, and why it’s important, and what it means. Every culture has history, whether they wrote it down or not. Studying it may not always be suited to the skillset of historians, but that doesn’t mean it’s not history.

[imagine-sissyphus-smiling]

theres discourse about the polite way to tell a trans person you relate to their experiences or gender presntation/expression -- the discourse is that, if you dont word your statement carefully, then you are actually revealing a deepseated bigotry; your clumsy attempt at gender solidarity is proof that you dont even see trans people as their genders, and how dare you.

i dont really understand this and ive tried wrapping my head around it. i guess its a stolen valor thing? but ive never felt strongly about stolen valor, i dont give a fuck about valor.

like to me --- if im being honest, i wouldnt be offended if a trans woman told me "i wish i had your gender". i would be flattered!

of course, i COULD respond to that with, "well actually my gender is man, so youre saying you want to be a man :) either that or you dont think im a man, which is it". theres a type of semantic formal logic to that -- 'she says she wants my gender but shed never say that to a cis man', sure okay i get it abstractly.

but that seems, i dont know, fucking cruel and pedantic?

yknow what, hell, even if a cis guy told me "i wish i had your gender" i would be completely sympathetic to that. i would take it to mean that he feels like his masculinity/gender is conditional; hes relating to my trans experience for SOME reason, his gender identity wasnt crafted specifically to hurt me

that would be sort of self-centered, right? if i just thought everyones relation to gender was a statement about my own personal identity? well anyway, trans discourse is definitely going to get better and not worse, i can feel it. a good omen. auspicious. god, we are so fucking cooked.

[asktheritochampion]

Pops out of the ground in a puddle of gloom that just… appears, a large bag on both arms and a basket held with both wing-hands… and a large wrapped package tied to his back?? Overkill much. Buuut at least the gloom disappeared basically right after.

“REVERED CHAMPION OF WINDS, MASTER OF THE GALE, AND PILOT OF DIVINE BEAST! IT IS WITH THE GREATEST OF HONOURS- and uhm, barely held in squeals sorry- THAT I, BALALI, LEFT HAND MAN OF MASTER KOHGA, DO EXTEND THIS MOST SACRED, CELEBRATORY, AND SLIGHTLY HARD ON MY SPINE WELCOME! HIIIiiiIiiIiIii!!!” 

She gently put everything down before bowing with a flourish- their feathers basically puffing right up excitedly now that he didn’t feel he had to be so… Formal? Anymore. Which she didn’t in the first place.

“EEEEEEEE!! Okay okay okay- *INHALE* okay- do you KNOW how long I have WAITED for this? Since I was like… Seven! SEVEN! I used to pose in front of puddles- we don’t really have mirrors out in Hebra- flapping my wings like that one painting I saw in the village once! Y’know, the one in the village memorial, where you’re doing REVALI’S GALE! The wind’s all WOOSH SWOOSH right behind you! Uhm, never figured out how to do it myself, broke a leg once trying, lots of bruises! But I doubt I’d be as good at wind magic as I am today if you didn’t inspire me! GASP! Could you teach me? I can teach you how to become immune to gloom!- fine if not of course-“

grabs the basket- wicker, with an embroidered blue and silver ribbon tied in a bow around a white silk (help I forgot the word, cloth?) to keep the goodies inside from falling out in transit. Untying it after placing it in front Revali so that its contents were visible.

“Okay I mayyyy have went a TINYYY bit overboard but uhh, like, look! I made this banana bread myself with some of the last bananas not at the farm because well, yeah, and I added SEVEN spices, none of the others- well the gorons can but they prefer their rock roasts- can stand it because I swear non Rito have no spice tolerance but its SUPER tasty! I tend to make cakes for birthdays here, and bake a lot so uhm, only felt fair-. Bet you have a higher spice tolerance then any Rjto EVER though, Champion and all!”

Said basket also contained a bottle of a vintage berry wine that had been aging since before the calamity, a jar of honey, a large bag of honey roasted chickadoo nuts, an apple pie because welp there’s a lot of apples now, a black leather bound journal with gold inlay on the front declaring ‘Property of Champion Revali- Do NOT open’ (even locked with a key inside the basket), a comb made of bone and obsidian with a small ruby inlaid to keep it slightly warm, a bundle of incense sticks, and a pair of vaguely sparkly black sunglasses.

“Oh and those! Put that fun crinkly paper in the bags so it's a surprise when you open them!”

…

“I mean! Can you BELIEVE it? You’re HERE, in the FLESH! Not only that but you’re contractually bound to be my clanmate- which is kind of messed up I don’t remember us ever doing that must be new- and possibly we’ll become the best of besties EVERER! Which is basically a dream come true! Even if you were uhm, tricked I suppose but uh, semantics! I can at least try to make it enjoyable for you right?”

…

“But really! Truly! Welcome! I know it isn’t what you planned, but it’s not so bad when you get used to it, in fact we have the most advanced therapists in the kingdom- perhaps the world, and everyone’s like concerningly accepting of my identity and whatnot which is cool! Yeah-”

(Other packages contents lol:)

((Bag One: Custom made fancy silk robe with detachable hood and cape- like the formal kind not the bath kind lmao- lots of glimmering threads, beads, feathers, gems, the works. Three jars of spices from the sky islands, one (sundelions) is glowing don’t question it, labeled though. A letter of formal welcome signed by a LOT of people, closed with red wax first ofc. And a terrarium already fully set up, a deep firefly inside.))

((Bag Two: Bunch of survival supplies basically, except it includes talon polish and stuff obv.))

((Mysterious package woagh: A custom made bow that totally wasn’t reverse engineered from the great eagle bow. Just uh, imagine the great eagle bow, but its base is from wood from the depths, glows faintly when it's dark as a result. Has some feathers and gems hanging off it for decor. But wuhoh, whats that? Semi reversed engineered zonai tech! One button emits a laser when pressed, for when you're too close up for a bow to work right, another unfolds a small mirror from it to check if anyone’s sneaking up on you (or just if you need to check your face), and the third when activated lets out a jet of wind when the bow is fully drawn. All can be disabled by pressing again. And a matching quiver ofc // A bunch of bundles of arrows also reverse sorta engineered from said tech! Timebomb based: basically bomb arrows but delayed ofc. Rocket based: whoever gets hit gets thrown in the air, nooot that fun for non rito lol. Homing Cart based: Homing-. Light based: Just emits a lot of light where it hits- either can be used when its dark for extra light orrrr, make someone in an ambush lose all of their advantage at night? Hydrant based: explosion of water lol, could be used in tandem or before a lightning arrow?))

(( @yigabalali ))

...Well....this is....certainly a lot of gifts. Thank you, I supose. It's nice to know I inspired someone....into joining the Yiga clan........that's....certainly something....

I might pass on the banana bread if you don't mind, I'm terribly alergic to- I mean, I find those things terribly distasteful. Perhaps you could hold onto that one. Still I appreicte the baking endevours.

Well now....who am I to disapoint a fan? I supose I shall allow you to show me these 'gloom resistance' techniques of yours. In exchange I shall consider thinking about begining to show you to master the art of the winds - only if I find you worthy, of course.

Before we do that, why don't you give me a grand tour of this secret base and all of it's most high ranking areas - since you're Mr Righthand man himself? A great honour to you to guide someone as incredible as me, I'm certain. As the one and only Rito Champion himself, of course I shall be stepping into a management position immediatly, so I'll have to know all of the passwords, access keys, and most well kept battle plans. How else could I possibly thrive in leading the Yiga to a new era of greatness?

Say, while we do that, why don't you tell me a little more about why you decided to join an evil terrorist assassins organisation in the first place ? You know - since I know why I joined, but it would be interesting to understand why any other proud Rito by their own will would decide to betray their own people by turning to such extremist activity? Purly out of....evil curiosity.

[goodmode]

scholarly bug digifake! pulling together several of my favourite themes and tropes to hopefully settle on a digimon partner after all these years :^) info + name origins below the cut!

LARMON

Level: In-Training/Baby II | Attribute: Vaccine | Field: Virus Busters | Type: Larva

A Larva Digimon that hides in its cloth-like outer garment, using its long antennae to listen to the world around it. This Digimon's movement is limited, so it hitches rides by quietly attaching itself to the backs of larger creatures, which can cause an ominous feeling to come over the host as they mistake it for a haunting. This effect seems completely accidental, however, as Larmon themselves tend to be quite sweet-natured and encouraging if they can overcome their shy nature. Overwhelming situations can cause them to give a nasty bite.

Attacks

Phantom Nip - Gives a nasty pinch from its small mandibles.

Night Light - Produces a soft golden glow from its marking and tail that gently repels those of violent spirit.

Namesake

larva(n.) - 1630s, "a ghost, specter, disembodied spirit" (earlier as larve, c. 1600), from Latin larva (plural larvae), earlier larua "ghost, evil spirit, demon," also "mask," a word from Roman mythology, of unknown origin; de Vaan finds a possible derivation from Lar "tutelary god" (see Lares) "quite attractive semantically." Crowded out in its original sense by the zoological use (1768) which began with Linnaeus, who applied the word to immature forms of animals that do not resemble, and thus "mask," the adult forms. [source]

Lares(n.) - Roman tutelary gods and household deities, worshipped in primitive cult rites, Latin, plural of Lar, a word of unknown origin. Infernal, protective of the state and the family, they could be potently evil if offended. Their shrine in the home was a lararium. [source]

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PUERMON

Level: Rookie/Child | Attribute: Vaccine | Field: Virus Busters | Type: Insect

An Insect Digimon with the self-imposed task of infiltrating Virus type groups and strongholds, and using its unique undercover position to learn everything it can, training itself to be able to restore peace and defend the just. In this way, Puermon is sometimes considered a "pest" infesting the networks of Virus Digimon. Highly industrious, Puermon takes its work very seriously, and can lose its temper with anyone who interferes or risks blowing its cover. Its crystalline sceptre is made of all the data Puermon has absorbed, its helix shape slowly building towards Evolution.

Attacks

Lucidate - Holds its staff high, casting a bright golden light that makes evil Digimon lose their fighting spirit and want to move away, and gives focus and sharpness of mind to those with good intentions. The light from this staff can also help make sense of such things as computer code and Digimoji. Puermon may also call out the name of this attack before simply giving someone a punishing bop on the head.

Namesake

pupil(n.1) [student], late 14c., "orphan child, ward, person under the care of a guardian," from Old French pupille (14c.) and directly from Latin pupillus (fem. pupilla) "orphan child, ward, minor," diminutive of pupus "boy" (fem. pupa "girl"), probably related to puer "child" (and thus probably from a suffixed form of PIE root *pau- (1) "few, little"). Meaning "disciple, student youth or any person of either sex under the care of an instructor or tutor" is recorded by 1560s. [source]

puerile(adj.) 1660s, "youthful, boyish," a back-formation from puerility (q.v.), or else from French puéril (15c.), from Latin puerilis "boyish; childish," from puer "boy, child." The depreciative sense of "merely juvenile, immature, lacking intellectual force" is from 1680s. [source]

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AXLAMON

Level: Champion/Adult | Attribute: Vaccine | Field: Virus Busters/Wind Guardians | Type: Insect

An advanced Insect Digimon that has picked up some high-level programming language. Though lacking the formal training of Witchelny, it reached this level of sorcery through necessity and instinct. Because of this, its reflexes and quick thinking put it almost equivalent with the likes of its Witchelny peers, and it spun itself a similar outfit to lend itself credibility as a sorcerer and to hide its true face beneath its cloak.

Its staff has hardened into the shape of an insect's horns, the light of its gathered knowledge kept between them and giving it strength. This staff can be ridden like a broomstick, letting Axlamon hide its new wings inside the sleeves of its cloak.

Despite its outwardly solitary and ascetic temperament, it appears this is simply a mask over the same shyness it had as a Child-level Digimon, and its secretly-passionate heart can be counted on to uplift others and balance the odds at any cost when things look grim.

Attacks

Kindle - Raises its staff to shine a brilliant light. Allies find their best strengths amplified and their wounds healed, and blackhearted foes are weakened and driven back from the holy beacon. This attack can also make sense of computer code, Digimoji, and sometimes things spoken or written in code.

Sacrosanctuary - Stands its ground and casts an illuminated shield of immutable truths and promises around itself and its allies. Its commitment is equal to the strength of its shield.

Opine Flare - Burns off some of its absorbed information data, converting it to a missile of pure energy to strike with. Some data is lost in the conversion, making direct attacks costly.

Namesake

In entomology, "alate" usually refers to the winged form of a social insect, especially ants[2] [source]

alate(adj.) "having wings, winged," 1660s, from Latin alatus, from ala "wing, armpit, wing of an army," from *axla, originally "joint of the wing or arm;" from PIE *aks- "axis" (see axis). [source]

axis (plural axes or (rare) axiis) - (geometry) An imaginary line around which an object spins (an axis of rotation) or is symmetrically arranged (an axis of symmetry). / The centre of attention within a process (e.g. the axis of investigation). [source]

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uhhh if you read this far thank you for the interest! maybe someday i'll do their Perfect/Ultimate form or beyond but for now i ran out of steam so this lil guy's future is mysterious...

please don't use this fakie without permission, but if you do wanna borrow him for a roleplay or something please don't be shy of asking at least, i'm pretty chill