Respite on Black Oceans

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/45649444.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Category: F/M
Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Relationship: Levi Ackerman/Reader, Levi Ackerman/Original Female Character(s),
Jean Kirstein/Reader, Jean Kirstein/Original Female Character(s)
Character: Mikasa Ackerman, Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, Grisha Yeager, Hannes
(Shingeki no Kyojin)
Additional Tags: Yandere Levi Ackerman, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-03-11 Updated: 2023-03-25 Chapters: 3/? Words:
10693

Respite on Black Oceans

by McMae

Summary

The secluded winter town, Shiganshina, sits on lonely, violent shores, seldom touched by
any foreigners, save for the occasional transport vessel. The wind is enough to cause
frostbitten fingers and the water is capable of death; it’s no wonder this place houses those
whose families have resided here for centuries, and nothing more. But to you? To you, it’s
home. The waves — rippling and aggressive — bring you peace, and your lighthouse is a
safe haven amidst war-torn lands. You can’t imagine a life beyond this. It’s impossible to
fantasize when your parents told you to protect this structure with your life, that the light at
the very tip is just as much your lifeline as it is to ships drifting along the island’s coastal
reef, shrouded by a black ocean. Everyone has a purpose. This is yours, right? At least,
that’s what you think, until a military ship docks and a new, fresh hell unfolds. The soldiers
seem nice enough, except for that short one with the permanent scowl and piercing,
miserable eyes. Maybe your purpose is far greater than you were raised to believe.

Notes

Hello old and new readers!

This story is a revamp of the first story I ever posted back on Quotev called White Pearl,
Black Oceans. I have a lot of it plotted and have changed quite a few things. I have a lot of
love for this story, so I hope you guys enjoy it, too. This is a bit of a slow part, but I had to
get some world-building out of the way so I can work up to the juicy parts hehe Updates
will be slow, as this is my lil intro back into creative writing after a long time off, but
hopefully steady. Thanks for your patience and not bugging me about updates <3
Appreciate your support!
As an added note, I have other active stories that I've put on hold due to my lack of
motivation and inspiration. I haven't abandoned these. This story is an attempt to kick my
creativity back into gear so I can finish those off. Please don't ask me for updates :)

Keep in mind that this is 18+ work and I'd rather not have minors reading or interacting
with it. Thank you very much for respecting my space :)

-Mae
 Océan Noir
Chapter Summary

Summary: The stars kiss the horizon at four in the morning in the heart of winter. You
peer out of your lighthouse with tired eyes, wringing your hands together like a maiden
in waiting. Except you’re not. You’ve never been. And you never will be. That’s your
plan, at least, so long as no one throws a wrench in it.

It’s dark. So dark. You can’t tell if rubble is crushing you to death or if it’s the anxiety from being
embraced by a psychopath. Either way, you’re doomed.

You hear him speaking to you in soft coos. English, maybe. French. It’s hard to make out. All you
know is that you’re alive in some sense of the word — conscious in a realm. You don’t know
where you are or who you’re with. Rational thought has left you. It might be the pain in your head,
the constant thudding of your temples and eye sockets. Once again, it’s hard to say.

Earlier, you had been running. It had been dark then, too. Dark and wet. And… there had been
others there with you. Other men. Another woman. Mikasa…? You don’t know. Probably. It
sounds right somehow, despite your amnesia. Mikasa, Eren, and—

Your hands feel sticky, like there’s a thin coating of syrup on your fingertips. You shift and hear
the gentle tumble of rocks. That confirms your suspicion about rubble covering your body. Your
leg doesn’t feel okay. Your arm doesn’t, either. Or your head. Or your heart. It’s all overwhelming.
You feel like you’re swimming in a blind galaxy, weightless and in a state of utter agony. You
can’t feel it yet, though; the pain hasn’t struck. It’s only a matter of time.

His voice gets louder. It’s familiar and dreadful, but you can’t put your finger on who it is. Their
name escapes you. Their appearance eludes you. Their presence is foreboding, though you aren’t
sure why.

A hand touches yours, and that’s when the sparks hit you. Tiny fireworks explode across your
body — everything else follows.

Your eyes snap open. You’re drenched in sweat despite the cool temperature of your bedroom, and
your mouth is gaping like a baited fish. You’re sitting up. Did you fall asleep like this, or did the
shock jolt you into this position? You glance at your lap. No book. You conclude that the dream
did this.

You press a clammy hand against your chest. Even through the cloth, you can feel how warm your
skin is. It’s lucky the weather is as frigid as it is; otherwise, you might have overheated in your
slumber. At least if you’re cold, you can cover up. What does one do when it’s too hot, stick their
head in the freezer? You’re not a fan.

You swing your legs over the bed, checking them for sore spots. In your nightmare, you had an
inkling that they had been crushed by some type of disaster. Your arms, as well, and yet you can
find nothing to indicate that you had been thrashing. Strange. You’ve been having a lot of these
lately, where something terrible happens that you’ve forgotten. It feels so real. Your brain makes it
so vivid that you’re immersed into the experience, making it challenging to determine the scope of
reality. You wonder if they’re prophetic in some way. Probably not.

Stepping onto the cold wood floor, the bottoms of your feet take the temperature drop less
favourably. You cringe as you stand. Squinting through the darkness, you struggle to read the
clock, illuminated only by the dull gleam from the windows. You’re lucky snow is reflective. It’s
five past four in the morning.

You hobble over to the window with a grunt and stare outside. The sun isn’t up yet, but even if it
was, the stormy clouds would shroud its handsome shine. Harsh waves collide viciously against
the mountain of rocks that snuggle the sandy shore. No one ever considers the ramifications of the
water peeking up over the barrier one day. Childlike in its erratic behaviour, no one ever considers
what would happen if the waves disobeyed the rule of the protective rocks and smashed the land,
instead. You’ve read about one or two of these occurrences. Tsunamis, they’re called. There’s
never been one here, but you think the island’s days are numbered; you think it’s only a matter of
time.

The wind picks up, and a mess of rain and snow whip across your windows, painting the building
like a free canvas. Your eyes dip down to gaze at the snowy earth, and you wonder when you last
saw the green grass that lies below. Does it still exist or has it been lost to the malevolent weather?
Maybe you’ll see it again one day.

“Maybe not,” you grumble, voice raspy from slumber.

This storm has been raging for days, though it feels more like weeks. Bunkered down in your
home, with little to do except chores, you feel yourself going stir crazy. You’ve been alone for
many years now, but even still, prolonged silence does things to people; it makes them long for
company.

Your hands press gently against the cool glass of your bedroom window. Instinctively, you quiver.
Thankfully, the boiler is still functional, but for how long? Your luck hasn’t been superb lately.
Just yesterday, for instance, you went outside for a brisk walk and wound up falling in the snow.
Had you been far enough from home, you might have gotten frostbite; wet clothes can be
detrimental in an extreme environment such as this. You sigh and try not to think about what else
can go wrong during this tumultuous flurry.

A bolt of lightning strikes the water and you gasp. It’s uncommon for thunder and lightning to
accompany snowfall. If you were more of a religious person, you might have thought that God is
angry with His people. After all, the world is in a constant state of disarray, managing levels of
cruelty that the faint of heart can’t stomach. Perhaps it’s too late for even a deity to preserve the
future of this planet. When you were young, your mother told you to do right by others so that right
can be done by you, but what would she say if she saw the state of affairs now? This isn’t the world
she and your father had expected. Sometimes, you think it’s a blessing that they died before they
could witness such a vast conflict.

You move away from the window and stare at the portrait of them by your bedside. You and your
siblings were in their arms. The expression on your face was distant and pouty. You don’t recall
what had preceded the photo to make you so sour, but it was likely something your older brother
had done to irk you. Everyone else was smiling.

It’s been two years since the demise of your mother and father. Your father had been the first to go,
sickly and pale on his deathbed; then, your mother had followed, passing away from what the town
doctor had called “a broken heart”. He hadn’t put that on her death certificate, however. It turns out
the medical field only accepts causes of death that are scientifically verifiable.

After their departure, your siblings had been keen to leave, as well — through more conventional
means, of course. Your sister had landed in Sina to pursue greater things in an industrious society,
full of rich stuck-ups and snootiness disguised as class. Your brother, on the other hand, had sought
out a position in the military. You aren’t sure if he ever fulfilled his dream of being a grunt on the
frontlines, but deep inside, you prayed not. Selfishly, you don’t want to lose him. It doesn’t matter
that you two were never close, that you two don’t talk regularly, or that he spent most of his
childhood bullying you. You care for his safety and you think that’s perfectly reasonable. You
share the same sentiments for your sister, as well.

You’ve been alone here for six months. Your siblings had stayed for a while after the death of your
parents. They had been weary about leaving you by yourself, though not so much so that they
didn’t want to seek out their own dreams. You don’t blame them. If you saw a purpose for yourself
outside of this place, you might have joined them and forsaken your family’s keepsake; alas, such a
fate isn’t in the cards for you.

And contrary to popular belief, you aren’t mad about it; you leave the salt to the sea. Besides, you
wouldn’t have met such great friends if you had left. In a way, you were grateful to have this
burden on your shoulders. Can a burden really be called a burden if it makes you happy?

Living alone means doing a lot of things on your own. With the lighthouse being in your family
history for years, and your job as a lighthouse keeper under your belt, you don’t have to pay rent.
Groceries aren’t free, though, and neither are other essential supplies. You have to procure these on
your own. Odd jobs and the generosity of others is how you’ve gotten by thus far, but you know
you’ll have to find other work eventually. It turns out the government doesn’t pay much to
lighthouse keepers.

Weekly excursions to town keep you alive. They’re also how you wound up meeting your three
best friends, Mikasa, Eren, and Armin. While the four of you have lived on this island for years,
your parents had been protective; thus, you and your siblings hadn’t been permitted to enter town
much, and when you had, you were always accompanied by them. It hadn’t left room to meet other
kids. Thankfully, those days were behind you. A hermit no more!

The encounter had been driven by pure chance. One of your grocery bags had split open during one
afternoon of chores. The only person who had bothered to help you was Mikasa. You had seen her
around prior, but you hadn’t approached her. A resting bitchface is as much a deterrent as unkind
words, it seems. Well, that event had taught you not to judge a book by its cover. She had picked
up your food wordlessly until she handed you the last apple. After muttering your thanks, she
cracked a smile.

“Don’t mention it.”

But you would, to the very next person you went to visit that day.

The island’s doctor, Grisha Jäeger, is the only physician in Shiganshina. As it turns out, he’s also
Mikasa’s adoptive father. So, when you entered his office to pick up some medicine, clambering
away about how a kind young lady had aided you in your plight, you had been shocked to hear the
praise he had for his daughter.

“Mikasa’s shy, but she has a real heart, doesn’t she?”

And she does. It’s clouded by her judgement sometimes, but she does.
“I guess,” you replied. “First time meeting her.”

His smile was genuine when he faced you.

“I’m sure you’ll meet again.”

At the time, you hadn’t read much into his promise, content to believe he was just being pleasant.
The thing about Dr. Jäeger is that he’s quite charming. He’s good at his profession, too. But there’s
a deeper part of himself he doesn’t let anyone see. If you had to guess, you’d say it’s darkness.
Could be anything, though; you don’t claim to know him like that.

Upon leaving his clinic, you recall taking an alternative route to avoid a drunken group of men.
This decision was a life-changing one. Shifting around the corner, you encountered Mikasa again.
This time, she was with two other men. They all glanced up at you immediately. You’re not sure
why you froze.

“Oh,” Mikasa said. “It’s you.”

The dark-haired man turned to her.

“The lighthouse girl?”

The question could have easily been directed at you, and more politely, too.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen her before.”

They had evidently been speaking about you prior to your arrival.

“Me, too,” the blonde man affirmed.

You stood there, out of place and shocked. You knew small news got around the town fast, but you
hardly considered yourself a spectacle. There’s nothing about you that’s particularly fantastic,
aside from your occupation.

You debated continuing on your way; normally, you would have. You aren’t sure why you stayed.
Probably the look on the blonde’s face. It was warm and tender. This place was filled with toxic
masculinity, so to see such a gentle expression on a man was reassuring.

“Uh… hey.”

The dark-haired man was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You gulped, unsure what would
come next. Much to your surprise, he extended his hand forward.

“I’m Eren.”

It took you a few moments to accept the gesture. When you finally did, you gripped his palm in a
strong hold and shook. Your father taught you that. If you want to be taken seriously, make sure
your handshake is powerful.

“And I’m Armin,” the blonde offered afterwards. “Nice to meet you after all these years.”

Eren nodded.

“Yeah, we’ve heard a lot about your family.”

Having such a small population of people, Shiganshina should be more close-knit than it is.
Unfortunately, bad blood is rampant amongst its inhabitants. As a result, there’s a rather prominent
air of distrust. There’s no danger that you know of — no people trying to enact violent vendettas
— but it sure does make you weary of others.

Your parents had been protective, in that they had requested that you and your siblings remain
close to the lighthouse; this is why you’re unfamiliar with a small minority of the folk in town.
Mikasa, Eren, and Armin’s families had been a good example of this. It isn’t as though your parents
had disliked them by any means — they just hadn’t gotten the chance to know them. Perhaps that’s
your task in their stead.

“I’m (f/n),” you mumbled hazily. “Um… wh-what have you heard?”

“That your great great grandmother helped found this place,” Armin responded. “She was an
Eldian.”

Eldians are a type of early people who once populated various ends of the Earth. It’s said that
there’s a place called Eldia somewhere out there, covered due to the rising water levels, and that
the first humans inhabited the island long ago; nevertheless, there’s no current evidence to back
this claim. You know that your family is supposedly of Eldian descent, but you think everyone
existing in this region probably has this blood coursing through them. It’s impossible not to, right?
If these people really were the first humans.

“That’s right,” you confirmed. “She was.”

“Cool!” Eren beamed. “That means she fought in the first war.”

You quickly learned that Eren is obsessed with war history and the military. In his mind, battles
are where the action lies. Conquering one’s foes is something to brag about. Saving the fate of
humanity, as we know it, is a source of pure pride. You disagree. You don’t think anyone wins in
conflicts that are facilitated by powerful, governmental entities, who select others to fight in their
place. There’s pride in helping others, but not at the cost of human lives; no one really wins.

“I guess so.”

“Eren,” Mikasa grabbed his upper arm, like a mother who was gently restraining her child. “Let her
breathe.”

“Yeah,” Armin chimed in. “I don’t think she wants to talk about her past after she just met us.”

“Right,” Eren grumbled, shaking off his adopted sister’s hand. “Uh… sorry.”

You shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

The silence amongst you carried on for a few seconds, gradually making the atmosphere stagnant.
You were about to bid them farewell until Armin piped up again.

“Are you up to anything tomorrow?” He asked. “We’re going to head to Hannes’ Pub.”

Taken aback by their warmth, you bit your lower lip and deliberated. You aren’t much of a drinker.
You’re not a smoker, either. Your parents had greatly discouraged alcohol and nicotine. One time,
however, you caught your father enjoying a cigar by the shoreline, when the weather had been
mild. Maybe one beer wouldn’t hurt.
“Sure,” you said. “I-I mean yeah, if… that’s okay?”

“No problem,” Eren confirmed. “We were just thinking it’s getting a little boring, just the three of
us. Not much to do around here.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” you chuckled.

“Oh, yeah. You live in the middle of nowhere, right?”

“Technically we all do,” Armin interjected.”

Eren rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

And that was your first introduction to your current friend group. From there, your bond with them
has only blossomed further, shaping into something you never knew you wanted. Friends don’t
have to be your family members; in fact, you’re of the opinion that it’s better when they’re not.
Sure, Eren might act like your brother sometimes, but he never crosses your boundaries; likewise,
Mikasa has traits that are similar to your mother, but despite her matronly nature, she knows better
than to try and govern you.

Yes, you quite like the arrangement you have with them. If only your siblings could see you now.
Maybe you’ll send them a letter about the ties you’ve formed since their departure; that way, they
won’t feel guilty for leaving you anymore.

You yawn, feeling exhaustion lull you into half-consciousness once again. You suppose it’s time
you got back to bed. You have things to do tomorrow, weather permitting. Hell, even if it isn’t,
you’ll probably wind up risking the journey, anyway. It’s New Years Eve, after all, and this is your
first time having people to celebrate it with. You can’t miss the occasion.

You smile and begin to turn away from the window. That’s when something catches your eye, and
rest evades you for a little longer. If your eyes don’t deceive you, there’s a ship on the water.

You look at the clock, squinting through the darkness. Four thirty-five. It’s abnormal for any
vessel to be headed towards Shiganshina at this hour. Of course, it isn’t completely unheard of for
ships carrying food and drinking water to drift in at odd hours of the morning; nonetheless, you
don’t think that’s the case here. A dead giveaway is the sheer size of the thing. With sails as large
as your hand from several kilometres away, this seems like a bigger deal than supplies. Military,
perhaps. But why? To your knowledge, there’s no signs of war unfolding in this part of the world.

You hum to yourself. Well, there’s no use in waiting around for it to dock. It’s not like you could
even leave your home right now if you wanted to, what with your state of dress, the lack of light,
and harsh weather conditions. Besides, you’re not nearly as nosey as Eren. You can always check it
out tomorrow if you really want to.

And you kind of do.

With a heavy sigh, you trudge towards your bed and slip under the covers, grateful for the instant
hug of warmth. Strange things are happening in this world. Nothing is beyond the realm of the
unexpected anymore. It feeds your growing anxiety, much like it does to almost everyone else
existing through these times. There’s no peace anymore. Maybe there never was. It’s easy for the
dominant population to claim the presence of a resounding happiness when they aren’t the ones
suffering.
As you drift off on this miserable note, you try to remember to ask your friends about the ship
when you see them tomorrow evening. You have no idea the ghastly plot that’s creeping up on
you, prepared to swallow you and your little port town whole — bones and all.
 Champ de Neige
Chapter Summary

Summary: It’s New Years Eve, and you have a celebration at Hannes’ pub on the edge
of town. Unfortunately, a couple of lonely soldiers in a barren, snowy field have other
plans for you.

Warning: 18+, masturbation, near-death experience, violence.

Chapter Notes

Author's note: Thank you for the positive reception on the first part of this story! It's
lovely to return to writing again. I feel like I'm getting my feet wet and it's definitely an
exciting feeling. This chapter was already written, so I thought I'd release it early to get
the plot rolling. Please heed the warnings and enjoy!

You had been correct earlier this morning, when you thought you would go out for New Years Eve
festivities even if the weather was poor. The landscape outside makes every single tree look as
though it has great piles of thick snow as its prickly leaves, and the mounds covering the hills are
thick enough for an adult to be engulfed by the dark spirit of Jack Frost himself. Anyone else might
be intimidated to enter such an unforgiving environment in the name of fun, but you? You’re used
to this terrain by now. You have nothing to fear.

Moving away from the window, you trot over to the outfit you have on your bed. The record player
hums a sweet, orchestral tune in the background, and memories of your father dance through your
mind. He had always loved this genre. Sometimes, he would play his favourite symphonies while
you all ate dinner together. You can still see him sitting there — eyes closed and lips turned
upwards. It brings you a miserable joy that you’ve grown painfully familiar with. You sure wish he
was still around, but spending time with him during your early years is a gift you wouldn’t trade
for anything.

A navy blue dress stares at you from the mess of sheets atop your mattress. It has white accents
around the collar and across the hips, making the garment look as though it’s hugging your figure.
The collar stops just above your breast line, leaving room for a bleached cravat in case you want to
accessorize. The sleeves are loose and short, stopping at the centre of your upper arm, much like
the length of the dress. It’s not as long as you would have liked; nevertheless, you’re keen to wear
it because it was made by your sister. Keeping a piece of her with you tonight makes you feel safer
for whatever reason. The reason might lie in how much she had been there for you when you two
were younger, defending you from your brother or your parents, teaching you how to mend
clothing and cook decadent meals. Of course, things are different now.

You pick up the dress and turn it around in your grasp. You’ve never worn this before. You hope it
fits. If it doesn’t, though, it’s not the end of the world. You have other cute outfits in your
wardrobe, if all else fails.
Glancing at the clock, you realize it’s already six fifteen in the evening. Your plan is to meet up
Mikasa, Eren, and Armin at Hannes’ pub for eight-thirty. If you want to make it on time, you’ll
have to hurry.

You toss the dress onto the bed and head for the bathroom, shedding your current garments as you
go. You shiver when your feet meet the cool tiles. The worst part about living here is that the
bathroom is less insulated than the rest of the lighthouse, save for the basement. You think it has
something to do with your relatives having to create this space themselves. From what your father
told you, the room used to be a small bedroom, but an outhouse isn’t exactly feasible in such harsh
weather, so your great great grandfather built one inside. You can’t imagine what it must have been
like to pee outside and seldom bathe.

You crank the tap all the way to the left. It takes a while to warm up, but when it does, this place
becomes a sauna.You shut the door to keep the steam inside as much as possible, silently
promising yourself it won’t be cold for much longer.

Stepping into the basin, you waste no time lathering up with shampoo, soap, and conditioner,
giving yourself a good wash. You want to be clean and sweet for whatever happens tonight. You
have no plans to meet someone, but if you get a bit too drunk and something happens with a
handsome visitor? Well, you’re not opposed to it. And you want to be prepared.

You run a razer up your legs, removing the hair that’s accumulated there. You don’t bother to
shave them regularly. Why would you? It’s not like you’re wearing shorts, skirts, and dresses in
this terrain. Besides, hair is a natural part of the human body.

When you finish grooming, you let yourself relax for a bit beneath the gentle jet stream. Releasing
a breathy sigh, you feel your shoulders ease and your gut untwist. Your lids drop close. The hot
water feels phenomenal, and after a restless night like the one you had, it’s a small blessing.

You let your hands fall to your sides, though not before trailing one down your stomach. A
fingertip grazes your clit. You don’t mean for it to happen. The burst of instant pleasure forces a
gasp from your lips. You’ve been pent-up. You haven’t catered to yourself in days. It’s no wonder
you feel so much stress coursing through you. You clearly need some self-care.

You touch yourself again, this time with purpose. Your poor womanhood throbs for attention, and
you have no choice but to feed her. It’s a punishment that you withheld from this for so long. You
never meant to neglect her.

You spread your labia with your digits, exposing the bud. It twitches with anticipation, making
your knees quiver. You shift towards the source of the water and let it rain against the nub,
whimpering when it makes contact. The effect is instantaneous.

“Oh,” you groan. “Hell.”

You remember the nights you used to spend with one of the townsmen,before he ran off to join the
military. You remember how he had stroked every inch of your body, leaving you unashamed of
any insecurity you may have picked at in the past. It hadn’t been love — just pure, unbridled lust.
That was how both of you had wanted it to be, anyways, though you suspect he developed feelings
for you at some point. Why else would he have cared about your pleasure, about the passion
involved in your trysts, about treating you to a meal beforehand on a few occasions? Men don’t do
those things unless they love you; at least, that’s what your mother always said.

You lean back against the wall, tickled by the water pelting your clit. Unhooded and dripping, it
resounds with a deep, turbulent tremor, which starts at your toes and ends at the tips of your
nipples. You reach up and softly tug on one of your pert knobs. That’s what sinks you further into
the abyss of temptation. Soon, you can’t control yourself. Memories of the last time you had sex
plague you, and all you can focus on is getting off.

You moan, rolling your clit beneath your fingertips while plucking your nipple. Occasionally, you
slip a digit into your tight canal and relish in how slick you are. You think it’s this that puts you
over the edge.

Hips bucking and throat hoarse from crying out, your walls convulse over and over again, until all
you feel is the peak of your orgasm. It arrives. It rocks through your figure, commanding you to
stand at rigid attention as it absolutely ruins you. The warmth in your belly builds, and then it’s
released. A loud scream parts from your throat, and just as quickly as it came, it’s gone again. The
aftermath, like an earthquake, leaves you in a state of disarray. Unlike a natural disaster, however,
this state is welcome. You ride it. You see how far it takes you, how much more you have within
yourself.

You don’t leave the shower until five minutes past seven.

----

You’re not angry about taking an extra long shower; in fact, you welcomed the occasion when it
arose, acknowledging that touching yourself would be a good way to relieve stress and calm your
growing anxiety for the festivities this evening. Drying off and styling your hair takes a good
twenty minutes. Your makeup takes another fifteen, with the few palettes you have at your
disposal. You don’t live a life of luxury. Makeup and skincare products are difficult to find for a
cheap price tag here. You use what you have sparingly.

You trudge back to your bedroom to keep warm and get dressed. You pick up your outfit and slip it
on, making sure it’s prim and proper. You check yourself in the mirror and flash your reflection a
coy smile. If your sister were here, you know she would have made a comment in passing.

“Stop trying to appear to be that bitch. You’re doing too much.”

But you don’t think you are. In part, maybe; there’s fun in appearing to be that bitch when you’re
in a room full of people. You want to look and feel your best. After all, it’s your opinion that
matters, right? You’re doing just enough.

You look at the time. It’s five minutes to eight. If you don’t leave within the next five minutes,
you’re going to be late. It takes anywhere between fifteen minutes to half an hour to hike across the
snowy, slippery environment towards town. The weather hasn’t let up yet, either. Snow continues
to whip and you know you’ll be partially blind when it comes time to venture outside.

You bundle up. Two scarves. Two layers of socks and mittens. A toque. Two sweaters. A pair of
winter boots. Mindfully, you bag up the heels you intend to wear at the pub. There’s no way you
can walk through this mess with your toes exposed. Shit, you might even have to redo your makeup
when you arrive.

“This is a whole ass endeavour,” you mumble, embarking towards the front door. “I can’t believe
I’m doing this.”

You’re excited, though. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t dare leave the lighthouse this evening. You
have a funny feeling in your chest that something special will unfold. Whether that rings true or is
merely an unfulfilled hunch, you will see.
Snatching your purse, you stuff your heels into the large pouch and check for your keys and wallet.
Everything seems to be in order. You throw on your hood with purpose. It’s time to head out.

Exiting your home is just as much of an adventure as you had expected it to be. The door — heavy
and made of reinforced iron — is blown out of your grasp. It slams on its hinges and you cringe,
praying it hasn’t broken. You manage to shut it behind you, and hearing the lock click above the
gusts brings you security.

There’s no visible path for you to navigate. It’s up to you. You know this land like the back of your
hand, so you already understand how it twists and turns. Anyone else might have gotten mixed up
after several metres, but you? A few flurries won’t stop you. You zip up your jacket with haste and
start to jog.

------

You feel yourself sweating as you reach the halfway point of your journey. You wish you brought
your watch with you. The best you have is a small flashlight to illuminate the way. It’s old; so old
that you have to crank it to generate any sort of brightness. It’s a lot of effort for a little solution.

You squint through the bustling snow, trying to take in the hues from the town on the horizon. You
can’t see anything except snow and ice. The sky isn’t clear enough.

You stumble and blame your lack of focus. This sucks. If your heart had been any less in it, you
would have turned around by now, forsaking your mission entirely. That’s not your style, though.
You like to rough things out for the payoff at the end. You know when to give up, but this? This
isn’t worth exchanging a night of fun for an evening at home. You persevere, cursing thickly
beneath your breath.

“Fuck,” you pant. “I hate this.”

The alternative to you making this trek on your own had been your friends coming to retrieve you;
in fact, Eren had almost demanded it.

“C’mon, don’t be stubborn,” the brunette growled. “The weather’s probably gonna be crap.”

“Like it always is,” Armin chimed in. “We really don’t mind coming to get you, (f/n).”

But you don’t want them to travel in these conditions. Whereas you understand the climate and the
lands, they don’t. There’s more risk for them, even in a group of three. Thankfully, you had
managed to reassure them that you would be just fine. You’re still not sure how you had gotten
past Mikasa’s protective nature. She had been the most insistent.

“I’ll show up at your lighthouse and accompany you,” she demanded. “You know I’ll be fine.”

As much as you want to agree with her, you don’t. She’s a beast in her own right. She’s strong,
guarded, and smart. Even she can’t conquer unfamiliar environmental forces, however; the town
gets blizzards, but they’re nowhere near as bad as what you get by the water. You’re grateful that
Mikasa respects you enough to believe in your ability to hike into town; it might have even saved
her life.

So lost in thought, you don’t notice the mound in the middle of the field until it’s too late. Your
foot catches on something and you stand no chance of staying upright. You sail to the ground,
sinking several centimetres upon impact. Face crushed into the thickness of the snow, you groan
loudly. Of course this would happen to you. You’ll definitely have to touch up your makeup when
you get to the pub, now.
“Why?” You moan. “Ugh.”

You get up and glare at the small incline you tripped over. That’s when you notice something
black peeking out of the white mass. At first, you think it’s soil. After a few cranks of your
flashlight, though, you realize it’s much more sinister than natural earth and uprooting. It’s a body.
You can make out the lapels of a jacket.

Your blood feels colder than the temperature. Gooseflesh appears all over your body, prickling you
like a thousand tiny needles. The way your skin clenches only increases your anxiety. You had
been sweating before; now, you’re freezing.

You hesitate. There’s no way this person is alive. Why do you feel driven to check? Maybe
because it’s what your father would have done. He was a man of science. He wanted to be sure of
the result instead of accepting it blindly. Obviously, you’re your father’s daughter.

You inch closer to the person and reach out. There’s no warmth emanating from their body, but
that doesn’t account for much in this weather. You crank the flashlight to see if you can see them
breathing, however shallowly. Nothing. You’re going to have to check. You’re going to have to
touch this corpse.

“Oh god.”

You can barely stomach this. All thoughts of New Year's Eve have departed, and what remains is
macabre and disturbing. Whoever this is must have come from the town. But why? The only thing
that’s out your way is the lighthouse, the cliffside, and a lonely dock. It strikes you, then, that this
person might be someone from the ship last night. This won’t be the first time someone has
perished on account of Shiganshina’s unforgiving conditions.

You begin to dust the human off. You don’t know what you’ll find, but you pray it won’t be
grotesque. He’s wearing a green scarf around his neck and face. It’s likely he bundled it up higher
when his risk of freezing to death increased. He really thought a flimsy piece of cloth was going to
protect him.

His skin is as white as the snow he’s buried in. The only thing that offers any pigment, aside from
his clothing, is his light brown hair. You wonder what colour his eyes are, and if they’re the most
brilliant part of him.

You notice a patch on the front of his jacket, as you turn him around to appraise the rest of him.
You deduce that his name is Jean Kirstein. You’re not familiar with the origin, nor do you know of
anyone by that surname. Is it French? German? He must not be from this continent, as evidenced
by his tag.

A lightbulb ignites in your mind. So, that vessel you saw last night was a military ship. Confirmed.
Good to know. Eren might have more information for you later tonight — if you even get to your
destination. You’re not sure if you can stomach a night out if you’re handling a dead body right
now.

“Fuck,” you hiss, shaking your hands as though there’s some substance on them — some poison
— when it’s just the feeling of a freshly frozen corpse. “God.”

You’re never going to physically recover from this; you know it. What you don’t know is how this
person is starting to move despite not having a pulse.

You throw him aside and scramble backwards, shrieking into the night. You’ve heard of this.
Zombies, they call them. You’ve read about them in popular media, but you had no idea they
actually existed. This is certainly a twist.

You’re panting under your breath as you try to get away from this being. He’s rising as you move,
inch by inch, stretching his deceased body and shaking off the snow that did him in. Of course it
would be you that discovers an undead thing; of course it wouldn’t be anyone else. How are you
even supposed to defend yourself against something that defeated the throes of death and doom?
Run, you suppose. They’re slow beasts, zombies. You can outrun it.

You observe it from a distance for a few moments, far enough away that you feel some semblance
of security. But when it turns to look in your direction? Well, that’s when fear strikes your heart.
Instead of fleeing, though, you’re immobilized. You shut your eyes preemptively. This could be
curtains. If you can’t find the will to move, if you can’t defeat your terror, you stand the chance of
dying. Then, you’ll be a zombie, too. A worse fate? What’s that?

“Hey...”

The voice is hoarse and heavy. Your eyes snap open. Can these creatures speak? That’s not what
you read.

“Hey… help me.”

That’s when it hits you. He’s not dead. He’s not undead, either. This is a living, breathing man, and
he’s in grave danger.

As if on cue, he keels over, unable to keep himself upright any longer. You gasp. It’s unclear how
long he’s been here, but you don’t have much time to get him medical help. In these temperatures,
he’s lucky he hasn’t already succumbed.

You’re on your feet in seconds, flying over to his form with clumsy purpose. You’re muttering
beneath your breath.

“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod—”

He’s not responding, but upon closer inspection, you see that he’s still breathing. How could you
have missed that the first time? So clouded by your belief that he was dead, you hadn’t even
bothered to check thoroughly. What a sloppy error.

“Okay, okay… stay with me.”

You can’t carry him. You would be a fool to attempt such a workout. You’re strong, but you’re not
that strong. It’s still about ten minutes to town in this mess.

“You hear me?! Stay with me!”

Your only chance is to rouse him. If he can’t move, you’ll have to find aid yourself, and he’ll most
certainly die during your absence; he can’t defeat the odds forever.

“Listen to me!! I can’t lift you!! Wake up!!”

Shaking him does no good. You can see the whites of his eyes, even in the dim light. You think
this is probably it for this soldier. It isn’t until you hear the subtle crunch of footsteps directly
behind you that a new fear overtakes you, and you forget about Jean for a split second to worry
about your own wellbeing.
You twist your head around to look at the newcomer. Quite a distance away, your flashlight lies
discarded in the snow. You wish you had kept it on you. All you can tell from this person is that
they’re short and they have their arms crossed. There’s no way of knowing their gender or any fine
physical features. Your mind leaps to the concept of zombies again, but this notion is swiftly
dismissed.

For a while, no one speaks. The only whispers you hear are those which come from the wind.
Then, you hear him.

“What do you think you’re doing with one of my men?”

You’re taken aback. This must be one of the man’s superiors. Had he watched him tread out this
way and followed, or had he initiated a search party? It rubs you the wrong way, though you’re not
sure why. But you don’t understand the circumstances in which Jean wound up here, so you should
save the conspiracy theories until you have more information.

Your mouth flaps open and closed like a hooked serpent. At a loss for words, a gargle escapes your
throat. Hopefully it’s lost in the breeze.

“Well?”

The prompt kicks you back into gear.

“He’s dying,” you blurt out. “I found him here.”

“Is that so?”

You don’t know who you’re addressing, but it’s clear that they hold themselves to a high regard.
The deep timbre in his voice drips with authority. Just his tone alone is enough to make someone’s
back go rigid in his presence. It’s no wonder he’s a man of the military.

He steps around you to get a better look at his soldier. You take the opportunity to move and grab
your flashlight. You figure the light will help all three of you.

As you guessed, the man is short. He has dark hair styled in an undercut. His figure is lean and
muscular, albeit smaller than you expected, and his skin is the same shade of pale as Jean. He’s
wearing a green jacket with a symbol on the back. You’ve seen it before. It’s the Wings of
Freedom — a special ops force that was established near the beginning of the ongoing war.
Immediately, alarm bells go off in your soul. There’s no reason someone of his status should be
here unless there’s something you don’t know. Maybe your town has been compromised. Worse,
maybe the enemy plans to strike your continent to gain more land on the opposition.

Yeah. That’s all you need. Titans on this island with you and your friends.

You squint through the shadows, trying to decipher what’s scribbled on the man’s patch. He never
introduced himself. You didn’t either, mind you.

“Hey.”

He leans down next to Jean, grabbing him by the shoulders. He starts by shaking him gently;
however, the gesture soon turns aggressive. Within mere seconds, he’s rattling the young male’s
brain around in his skull with the sheer force in which he’s jostling him. Once more, you’re at a
loss for words. You want to scream at him to stop, that stressing Jean’s body any more could be
enough to leave him comatose. You don’t know why you can’t find your voice. It’s not like to be
this helpless.
“You hear me, Kirstein? Snap out of it or you’re fucked.”

Surprisingly, instead of putting him into shock, the brash technique actually works. You watch in
awe as the soldier’s eyes open slowly, like a breath of life kissed his tired lungs. He dribbles spit as
he forces himself to respond.

“S-s-s-sir! F-f-f-frozen!”

“I can see that.”

The ordeal commences until the commanding officer knows he’s completely conscious. When that
happens, he releases him. Jean nearly sails back to the ground but manages to hold himself up.
You’re impressed by his grit. You don’t think you’d have the same amount of energy if you were
in his shoes. Perhaps Eren is onto something when he speaks on joining the military one day.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice sounds foreign and mousey. For a second, you aren’t sure the words came from your
mouth. It’s only when both men stare at you that you know for sure they did.

Jean takes time to respond. You watch him through the light of your flashlight. It must look
comical, you standing there turning the handle. His eyes are tracing over you, taking in his saviour.
It would have made you feel uncomfortable, were you not wearing so many layers. Your real outfit
is concealed, along with all the skin you plan to show tonight.

The lull in conversation allows you to get a good view of both men, as well. The shorter one’s
patch reads Levi Ackerman . Somehow, that name

“You hear her?” The officer sneers. “She asked if you’re okay.”

The soldier perks up.

“Uh… y-yeah. Thanks.”

“That’s it?”

“....hm?”

“She saved your ass and you say ‘thanks’?”

Your eyebrows rise. It’s not a huge deal. Sure, it scared the shit out of you in the moment, and your
imagination may have run wild with the concept of dead bodies and the undead, but you did what
anyone would have done in a situation like this. You couldn’t have just left him.

“It’s okay,” you say. “Really. No problem at all.”

But Levi doesn’t accept your answer at face value.

“Look at her,” he hisses, gripping Jean’s collar in his pastel hands. “She’s a mess because you
decided to be a fucking tough guy.”

You can tell he’s angry. At what, you’re not sure. It could be related to Jean’s safety or it could be
on account of how he inadvertently involved you, a citizen, in his own affairs. You still don’t
know why he was all the way out here, in such little clothing to keep warm, but it’s likely he has a
solid reason.
“I’m okay, though,” you insist. “I’m heading to town anyway. It’s not like this took me out of my
way.”

It’s not wholly true. Of course it delayed you, and your friends were probably worried sick. You
know you’ll never hear the end of this from Mikasa when you do eventually arrive at Hannes’.
That said, there are worse outcomes to face, and you’re glad that no one had to die here tonight.

Levi glares at you. He seems upset that you’re not willing to be a hard ass with him. It’s not your
style, though; you prefer to keep the peace, if you can. Meanwhile, Jean looks petrified.

“I-I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” he stammers. “Uh… I-I—”

“Enough.” The dark-haired man silences his subordinate. “Save your energy and shut the hell up.”

Jean does as he’s told, like the disciplined human he was taught to be. Self-restraint is difficult to
find in an individual. You admire this in him. It might be a dumb observation, but to you, it makes
him more attractive.

Not that you’re into him or anything.

Or are you?

Whatever. No. It’s too soon to tell.

You shift focus. There’s no need for you to be romanticizing a hot guy you just met; it’s gotten you
into trouble before, and it’ll get you into trouble now. Thankfully, Levi seems to have his own
agenda.

“You live in the lighthouse,” he states, less like a question and more like a fact. “That’s why
you’re out here.”

You nod.

“That’s right.”

“You’re the keeper?”

“For generations.”

You want to facepalm. For generations? You’ve made yourself sound like some immortal spectre.

“Uh, I mean… I haven’t been here for generations… but my family—”

“You have our thanks, then,” Levi says. “For helping our navigator dock without crushing the
bottom part of our ship.”

There’s a vicious coastal reef that lines the outer shore of your island. Without the lighthouse,
many vessels would have smashed into it, sinking to their bitter demise. This was the purpose of
your family, back in the day, and it remained your purpose at present. It’s your duty to protect the
waters.

“There’s no need to thank me for doing my job,” you explain. “It’s not hard work. It’s been in my
family for—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He quickly quiets you. Your lips feel as though they’ve been temporarily sewn shut.

“There are people in this world who are content to do the bare minimum, fucking around at the
cost of other’s lives. If someone in your position were to do that, we might not have made it to
shore last night. For that, you deserve our gratitude.”

It’s direct, for sure. Crude, yes. Enlightening? A little bit. You’ve never thought of things quite like
that, and dare you admit, it feels good to be recognized for your dedication. You have no choice
but to relent.

“Thank you, then.”

He doesn’t leave it there, though. You catch a small glimmer in his eyes, amidst the darkness
swimming around in his pupils, that puts you on edge. It may be the fact that he’s a stranger, or
you might be picking up on something else. You aren’t the most intuitive person in the world, but
you wouldn’t say you’re the worst at inferences, either. Your guard is up.

“I’ll escort you to town,” he claims. “I have to get this idiot to the doctor anyway.”

You can’t deny the offer. You’ll be going in the same direction, and it wouldn’t hurt to have some
extra protection. You do, however, make a mental note to accept your friends’ offers next time.
What’s unfolded here this evening isn’t common; nonetheless, you’re beginning to understand that
there truly is power in numbers.

“I appreciate it.”

You steal a glance at Jean, who you find to be doing the same thing to you. Bashfully, you both
look away. It’s cute, you think. Maybe you weren’t jumping to conclusions earlier.

What you don’t know is that both men have their eyes on you, and one’s gaze is far greedier than
the other’s.
 Misère
Chapter Summary

Summary: Through your eyes, you’re human. Through his eyes, you’re an angel his
catastrophic soul craves to possess.

Warning: 18+, angst, misogyny, power abuse, sexism; mentions of abortion, slavery.

Chapter Notes

I’m getting my motivation to write back, but by bit :) this story is reviving me!

The hike to Shiganshina is easier than you anticipated it would be. Not even two minutes into it,
Jean had collapsed; fortunately, Levi had been present to carry him. For such a short man, he sure
has an abundance of strength. It’s no wonder he occupies a high rank in the military.

According to him, he’s a lance corporal. You’re not sure what that means. He explained that he
commands a special unit during times of war. Formerly, they were known as The Scouts ; now,
they’re called The Wings of Freedom . Interestingly, there’s no arial squad for this unit. You think
it makes their title rather deceptive. You want to ask him what the name means, but you’re too
intimidated by him. You witnessed him treat one of his own men as though he’s stupid. You don’t
know much about Jean, but he seems to have a good head on his shoulders. If Levi thinks he’s
dumb, how would he view you? You think it’s better to keep your mouth shut for now.

He doesn’t tell you much else about himself, aside from his rank and military career. Once again,
you refrain from asking. You just met the man. Nervousness aside, it’s in bad taste to be overly
invasive, particularly when the circumstances of your first encounter were unplanned and macabre.
He does ask a little about you, though; this helps to fill the awkward silences. You’re not opposed
to sharing.

“You’ve lived here all your life?”

You nod.

“And you never tried to get out of this shithole?”

You flinch when he insults your home. You don’t think he means it offensively, however; he’s
naturally crude. This is merely how he communicates with others. In response to the unintentional
jab, you shrug.

“Where would I go?” You ask rhetorically. “This is all I know.”

He hums softly. The noise is almost engulfed by the wind. It’s contemplative. You can tell he
wants to say something more. Part of you wishes to encourage him, but you stop yourself from
doing so. He’s not the sort of person who can be governed by others. If he wants to speak, he will.
When you finally step into town, you’re relieved. Safety, at last. The wind is duller here, and you
can see more than a metre in front of you.

“Do you know where the doctor is?” You inquire.

Levi bobs his head. You’re not surprised. He probably scoped most of this island out upon arrival
so he could locate its essential services. He seems efficient at his job.

You follow him to the middle of town. There are lights on in every building you pass, despite no
one daring to brave the cold outside. Grisha Jäeger’s home is the tallest of them all, boasting two
floors and a cellar. He makes good money from the government, being the town’s sole physician.
A few years ago, he wanted to move away. They paid him to stay, for who else would take care of
the people here? There would be death and disease like never before if he departed.

To you, the idea of being confined to a place is sad. If you ever wanted to leave Shiganshina, you
know you could. Your siblings did, so why not you? Everyone should be free to roam the ends of
this earth, seeking reform and belongingness.

Levi raps on the door loudly, shifting Jean’s body. He must be exhausted. It’s been a long hike in
unforgiving conditions. Thankfully, it’s as if Grisha senses this unrest and hurries to the door. He
opens it after only a few seconds. It’s a breath of fresh air to see his aged, concerned face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks gravely. “Lance Corporal Levi and—“ His eyes trail to you, standing
close behind the pair. “(F/n)?”

You open your mouth to speak, but Levi has other plans.

“Grisha Jäeger,” he begins. “Can you treat one of my men?”

The doctor stares at the scene for a moment; then, he nods. You don’t know what flashed through
his mind there. Perhaps he was assessing the situation further, or maybe it’s something unrelated.
He’s difficult to read.

“…of course. Please come inside.”

He steps aside to welcome all three of you. As you pass, you notice him gazing out at the storm,
glassy-eyed. He smells faintly of whiskey. Probably just a drink or two for him tonight, in case
there’s an emergency. You sure hope he’ll be able to perform as usual.

Levi lays Jean onto a table in a manner that’s more gentle than you expected. It’s as though he’s
just putting on a tough front to save face. You’re not sure that’s the case, though.

The wounded soldier stirs but doesn’t awaken. His eyes are scrunched shut with such ferocity that
his forehead is creased. You imagine he’s in a tremendous amount of pain. Frostbite isn’t kind, and
there’s no telling how else he’s injured himself, either. Could be internal damage. Could be a
broken bone or two. You gulp, unable to fathom his agony. Compared to a man of the military,
you’ve had a sheltered life.

Grisha enters the room with surgical gloves and his long brown hair tied into a messy ponytail. He
adjusts his glasses and makes his way over to his workbench. He’s only there for a short time when
he speaks again.

“Who is this man?”

“Jean Kirstein, infantry soldier.”

A foot soldier. Makes sense.

“And what’s caused him to lose consciousness?”

“The snow,” you reply. “I found him in the field, about ten minutes from town.”

Grisha hums grimly.

“Any reason for him to be there?”

You see Levi contemplate his response. It strikes you as odd. He doesn’t seem like the type to act
reserved. The truth is the truth, isn’t it? Why is he hesitating?

You shift to glare at the lance corporal, only to find him staring right back at you. It makes your
heart leap. You weren’t expecting this. Instinctively, you look away, cheeks burning for no good
reason. The silence weighs heavily on your shoulders for a little longer; then, he answers.

“He was drunk. It was a dare.”

“A dare?”

Levi sighs.

“I was doing paperwork at the time. They were celebrating a safe docking. They don’t usually do
stupid shit like this but I guess the sea scrambled their mush-for-brains.”

Grisha blinks.

“How long were you sailing for?”

“Long enough,” Levi replies. “From Sina.”

Your brows rise. That’s where your sister lives — or, at least, that’s the last town you received a
letter from. Have her and Levi crossed paths there, you wonder? It’s a silly thought. Sina sounds
big. You doubt very much that they have. Despite that being the military capital, you’re sure Levi
has better things to do than wander the streets, checking out small clothes vendors.

You see the black-haired male gazing at you from the corner of your eyes. Swiftly, you fix your
face. He doesn’t comment on your expression, which is for the best. You don’t want to share
ridiculous notions with a no-nonsense man.

Grisha slices through Jean’s uniform, freeing his upper torso. He does the same to the rest of him,
leaving the man with nothing but his underwear. He turns to you.

“You can go now, (f/n),” he says gingerly. “I know Mikasa is waiting for you.”

They all are. You know it. Mikasa is likely the most worried, however. You’d be fortunate to find
her stationed at the pub patiently when you finally arrive, rather than with her snow gear on, ready
to hunt you down. You should get going.

“Right,” you mumble. “I-if that’s okay.”

“You’ve already done more than enough for Mr. Kirstein.” Grisha reassures you. “Go.”

You nod slowly. He’s right. You have no reason to stick around. You can’t administer complex
first aid. Besides, it feels like an invasion of privacy for you to be present while Jean is effectively
stripped. With that, you decide to accept the offer.

“I will, then. Thanks.”

You gather your purse, discarded near the doorway, and clear your throat. You glance at each
person and bid them goodbye. When you reach Levi, you freeze. You want to ask if he’ll let you
know whether or not Jean pulls through, but that seems inappropriate. You don’t know either of
them. All you did was help a little. If you want to discover the soldier’s fate, you’ll have to return
in a few days and inquire; that’s the most respectful gesture you can enact.

“Goodnight everyone,” you announce with a wave. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Grisha waves. “Be safe.”

“Thanks for your help,” Levi hums. “I owe you one.”

You smile. He doesn’t owe you anything. Neither does Jean. What you did wasn’t altruistic; it was
purely human.

“It was nothing.” You reassure him, disappearing around the corner. “Take care.”

Levi watches you leave. He knows where you’ll be tonight. If you’re going anywhere, it’ll be
Hannes’ Pub, the only shithole in town that’s large enough to accommodate more than six people.
It’s too bad you had to meet him this way. He could have made an appearance at your festivities
this evening and introduced himself that way, instead; but who is he kidding? He’s not very good
at socializing. Perhaps this all happened in the best way possible.

He sees you make your way around the side of Grisha’s house. The snow is whipping in your face.
You didn’t bother to zip up or pull your hood on before darting out the door. How careless of you.
If he could have, he would have escorted you to your destination and kept you warm along the
way. Women like you need to be tended to. You can’t take care of yourself; you need someone
who can. While Levi likes self-sufficiency in his troops, he doesn’t quite care for it in a potential
match. It might be the protective, power-hungry side of him — the part that he tries to keep
swallowed.

You’re very pretty. He wishes he got to speak with you more. Surface-level traits only go so far.
Beauty fades. Intelligence dims but it doesn’t go away. Devotion is stable over time, too — at least,
when it’s instilled properly. It’s of no consequence, though; he’ll make some excuse to visit your
lighthouse within the next few days and get a better opportunity to learn about you.

“She’s too young for you.”

Levi perks up at the man’s tone. How long was he lost in thought? Long enough for the nosey
physician to notice, that’s for certain. His eyebrows scrunch and he grimaces. Orbs as cold as
Shiganshina’s terrain, he glares at the brunette.

“Protective, are we?” He asks, a bite in his tone.

Grisha shrugs.

“She’s my daughter’s friend.”

Silence fills the room as the two men go about their business. The doctor pokes and prods Jean
with a few peculiar instruments while Levi gazes out the window. There’s nothing more to be said,
until the eldest of the pair decides bygones can’t be bygones.
“I saw the way you were looking at her,” he says. “And I know how you men of the military are.”

Hungry. Dominant. Hunters.

When they see a woman they want, they take her for themselves. She mothers their children. She
remains a housewife while he fights for the sake of the world. He doesn’t come home to a cold,
lonely bed anymore, and she wants for nothing — nothing except her freedom.

In this world, men own their wives. Women are property when they’re tied down with children or
married off. Divorce is illegal. Abortion is illegal. They’re modern slaves in the eyes of the
government.

Levi’s brow raises. His visage is emotionless, save for the brief twitch of his right cheek. He has a
bad temper, as disciplined as he is. He’s been lucky enough to have reeled himself in all these
years, keeping his anger chained in the recesses of his mind. Of course, being able to release it in
the heat of a good battle has helped ground him in daily interactions; in fact, this mode of stress
relief is the only reason he hasn’t lost his shit at this invasive physician.

“You have no goddamn idea how I am,” he growls. “I don’t care what you think you know.”

It’s a warning. Both men know it. Levi won’t hurt him physically, but he has other means of
enacting vengeance on civilians who disrespect him.

Grisha knows the story of Levi’s uprising quite well. Born in the slums, his mother died of an
illness in his youth. His father was never in the picture. His uncle took him in after a few months of
him surviving on his own. Intending to introduce him to a life of crime, the man tried to train Levi
to be a proficient thief, killer, and swindler, much like himself. Fortunately, things hadn’t turned
out that way. Instead, Levi joined the military, aimless and tired of living in poverty. All of his
friends had died on the streets, so Grisha understands his thought process. Who wants to face death
every day of their life without payoff? At least being a soldier he got warm meals, some pay, and a
bed.

But what strikes him as strange is that tragedy seems to follow Levi like a persistent plague. He
made international headlines after slaughtering a whole platoon of enemies when they killed his
former team. That same year, a couple of government officials, known for butting heads with The
Wings of Freedom wound up assassinated in their homes. Uncanny, if you ask him; suspicious,
even.

Interestingly, people claim to have filed complaints against Levi’s conduct as a superior officer —
some civilians and some former colleagues — only to report being bribed by the authorities. The
current party in power supports the military to an exponential degree during the throes of this
treacherous war, so it’s no wonder they don’t investigate these cases. Levi has been revered as the
soldier that will lead humanity to victory against the Titans; he can’t be sacrificed at any cost.

And that’s what scares Grisha. Levi is practically untouchable. He can do as he pleases, and he
knows it. The question is, will he waste his influence on some no-name doctor residing nowhere
near the mainland of Sina? He supposes it depends how vindictive he is. To prevent anything
unnecessary, regardless of how unlikely, he decides to relent.

“My apologies.”

He knows it’s for the best.

“I spoke out of turn.”

For him and his family.

“Let me tend to your subordinate and send you on your way.”

The reply seems to settle Levi’s nerves. That’s good. The last thing he wants is another
consequence on his shoulders.

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