Chapter Text
Credit for this Fantastic Art: mlcamaro, Attack on Titan, Mike Zacarius, Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith, Fanart From Pixiv, Pixiv, Fanart, Scouting Legion
Source: https://www.zerochan.net/1984132
Knees kissing your chest, you press your lips together to prevent your teeth from rattling out loud. Another shiver racks your body, but at least that's quiet.
Surely they could have done better than this. You hate to fit the spoiled stereotype of your hometown Mitras, you really do, but you can't help but feel this is some sort of indirect punishment from him. Your back is aching in protest against the cold, hard, lumpy excuse for a cot that the Survey Corps village elders threw into your sleeping quarters. Which are fairly cramped, by the way. How your roommate Sasha has managed to doze off in these subarctic temperatures remains a mystery to you. Perhaps a slab of marble from the Mitras Treasury would have been more forgiving on your back.
Yes, that's a good line. You'll have to remind yourself to rub it in Lance Corporal's face tomorrow. You suppose you knew what you were getting to, leaving Mitras to dedicate yourself to the Survey Corps.
Certain amenities, like hot water, could understandably be considered luxuries. Nevertheless, you are certain that with the regimented Survey Corps legions marching to their deaths each expedition, there must be some leftover budget for half-decent mattresses.
...too soon?
Your sacrifice, leaving the cloistered comforts of Mitras for a life of service to humanity, had not been welcomed with open arms, at least not by everyone. Years of debutante classes had groomed you into a positive delight; while this practiced charm had easily won you over Commander Erwin and Squad Leader Hange, Lance Corporal Levi remained elusive. Not that you were sorry. You weren't particularly fond of dark, brooding, powerful midgets with eyes whose striking shade of blue rivaled the tundra ice.
Honest.
At the sudden sound, muscles seize and heart stops as you flatten yourself against the mattress. Survival instincts kicking in, you go stock-still for a few beats until your wary mind comes to appreciate the random roars in Sasha's snoring.
Stupendous.
Well you could not sleep and knew you'd pay hell for it in morning. For now, you might at least call to mind a particularly irksome memory. Maybe the rage will do you good, warm you up a bit.
Toes curled like ribbons in the tips of your sensible flats, you maintain the calm smile plastered onto your face. Mitras' never-ending social events have given you ample opportunity to practice, adding a natural quality to your performance. You don't know why you're nervous for this interview. It's not like the a legion made of the nation's poor and criminal is spoiled for choice.
But there's a certain sincerity to Commander Erwin that disarms you, a decency that makes you want to gain his approval because it would mean that you could be decent too.
"Miss (L/N), we're quite honored to have you here with us today," the Commander says, voice soothing like warm honey. "Your file is impeccable. Exceptional marks, an upstanding citizen. Intelligent, resourceful, driven. Most impressive."
You allow yourself a demure laugh and mumble a small thanks. Lacing his fingers together, the Commander presses on.
"I'm quite curious. To what exactly do we owe this honor?"
"P-pardon?"
Well damn, you can see why he's the Commander. You're almost rankled you fell for the compliments reeling you in. His bespectacled minion behind him is practically glowing with unholy glee. Squad Leader Hange, you think her name is. You'd almost forgotten about her and the dark haired man in the back of the room, as entranced by Commander Erwin's spell as you were.
"If you don't mind my saying, you have never set a foot outside of Mitras, let alone even laid eyes on a Titan. Yet, you abandon the safest possible location this nation has to offer, to come fight, what must be to you, a terrifying legend? Why? If I were you, I certainly wouldn't!"
That impeccable smile of his will be the death of you, you're sure of it. There's no way you can contradict him now, not without implying that you're somehow more humane and generous than the leader of the world's biggest band of underdogs. He's wedged you into a clever corner.
"Not to mention, it raises questions about your judgement, with all due respect."
You can't be sure, given that you're facing the sunlit window, but you get the distinct impression that Hange is bouncing with delight. The silhouette next to her drives a none-too-subtle elbow into her side.
It's either now or never, either fess up to this cunning Commander or trudge back to your life in Mitras like a stray dog with its tail between its legs.
"You're right, Commander." You declare. "Right about everything. I grew up with three, square meals a day and a roof over my head. We're a lower-middle class family, but my father's name buys us a few favors. It's the only thing he's good for. If I choose to stay, I can look forward to the same life, if not more comfortable. Being paired off to the richest man my mother can convince me to accept, bearing children and working the family tailoring shop, day in and day out until my days run out. A good living. A safe living. But not life.
For (your age) years I've been dead, Commander, dead until I caught whispers of the Titans. That was the only thing that gave me life, gave me hope. The thought that I could reclaim ownership of my existence and use it to actually do something. Something for all of humanity, no less.
Perhaps you're right, in that my intentions aren't completely selfless. However," By now your voice has curled low into a hiss, the Commander and Squad Leader Hange leaning in ever so slightly to catch your next words. You allow your eyes to harden ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of your true self.
"Intelligent, resourceful, driven. Your words not mine. And I will bring to your operation the same determination that propelled me over the ranks of every other student in Mitras. Because Commander, I'd rather die by the hands of the Titans than live another day in that gilded nightmare."
Haunting the corridor outside Commander's office, you strain to catch bits of conversation. The heavy wooden doors betray nothing. They've been in there quite a while, deliberating.
Just as the door cracks open you smoothly slip back, standing against the far wall. You turn your head in surprise, as if you had been looking in another direction all along.
"Quite the orator, aren't ya?!" Hange exclaims, striding over to clap a hand on your shoulder. "Whatever your status ends up being, we'll have to bring you over to rally the troops every now and then!"
At this, you break into your first genuine smile in a while. You rather like Hange, you decide.
"I was almost in tears," she swoons, batting her eyes with flourish. "Anyways, let's roll, shorty. Our renumeration forms won't complete themselves, and apparently forcing cadets to do it is now considered abuse."
"You go on ahead."
They're the first words you've heard him speak, and you're jolted by how deep and smooth his voice sounds. Rumors amd reputation precede this man, and legends champion his name. Whispers about underground dealings and dishonorable origins. Legends about how he singlehandedly brought humanity back from the brink of extinction. And now you're in his presence.
The one and only Lance Corporal Levi.
You turn your beaming smile towards him. Perhaps there's hope for you yet.
A gaze blue and cold as ice studies you, scrutinizing you detail by detail. Spotless and well-pressed clothes, a delicate watch circling your wrist, exquisite leather shoes.
Good thing you took pains to-
A surprised shriek escapes your throat. It's faster than you can detect. By the time you've processed what happened, the Lance Corporal has a fistful of your clean white collar between his fingers as icy eyes completetly fill your vision. It isn't until you notice the stones of the wall digging into your back that you realize he was only waiting for Hange to leave.
"Listen up, you little shit," he snarls.
You sputter. No one you know would use that language in public, least of all with a lady.
"I don't care if Four-Eyes and Eyebrows are dumb enough to buy the crap you spewed out. No one," he punctuates his point by bodily lifting you and slamming you back into the stone "who's got it made" SLAM "up and drops everything" SLAM "because of a bleeding heart."
Wit's last accusation, he flings you down to the floor. Skull crashing into the ground, sparks explode in the corners of your vision as you scrabble to push yourself up and out of his way. Just before you can take flight, cold leather drives your cheek back to the floor.
As the sole of his boot crushes your face into the ground, you direct a furious gaze to the looming Lance Corporal. Tears prick at your eyes, and for the sake of your pride you want to claim that not a single one fell. Rage courses through you as the shells of your ears burn in humiliation. The lowest part of his body, that which carries him above muck and grime and corpses, now reigns supreme over the highest point of yours.
Never in your life have you been so belittled. Criticized by superiors yes, bullied as a child yes but never, never so formally humiliated. Directly in front of the Commander's office, no less. It's impossible that he didn't hear the commotion, you realize, if his standing as an army leader has any merit.
"Get ready to pack those bags and go running home," the Lance Corporal hisses, voice colder than the stones you have been pinned on. "Because I'm not letting some self-aggrandizing, silver-spoon-fed shit put my soldiers' lives at risk for the sake of her vanity. Got that?"
The boot digs deeper into your cheek bone and disgust is forgotten in the wake of pain. Grimacing, you grit your teeth and stay silent. Unabashedly, he drives his boot further down and the sole eclipses the hall, consuming your world. Building, merciless pressure finally forces you to cry out, scream pouring from your lungs. Defeat never felt so vicious.
He relents, but not without a final push for good measure.
By the time you collect your self off of the floor, hands massaging your abused bones, he's halfway down the hall.
"Know your place, (L/N). And this isn't it."
It's barely above a whisper, but in the silence of the abandoned corridor, the threat nearly echoes.