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terramythos · 2 months

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Anyway here's my breakdown of the ffxiv jobs, my opinions on playing each, and the tier rank of how good their story was

TANKS

WARRIOR - warrior is so fucking funny why did they make it able to solo heal itself and the entire party in 90% of the content in the game. Raw Intuition/Bloodwhetting is so broken in dungeons its hilarious. And then they have like 3 additional healing skills on top of that. And they kept buffing it throughout Endwalker. So it is currently the easiest to play, does the most damage (i think...?), and has the best healing of any of the Tank jobs. 2nd fave probably.

Story Tier: C, it's ok, Curious Gorge is a good name. i have like nothing to say about it it's a generic AF story

PALADIN - I used to hate PLD but I think the partial rework they got halfway through Endwalker helped it a lot. It's much less clunky now. Probably still my least favorite Tank though Hallowed Ground is fun and it's pretty close to Gunbreaker for me.

Story Tier: F, this is the worst class storyline in the entire game. It's so stupid. The writing is so bad the writers acknowledge it makes no sense at all and I'm like. Yeah, thanks, I am experiencing this shit. Perhaps write a story that makes sense next time instead of pointing that out.

DARK KNIGHT - Unfortunately this is my favorite Tank 🫡 which is rough since it has the worst survivability out of any of them. But I love how you use MP and the silly number of OGCDs. The Blackest Night is such a fun ability and it's a crime that it's not a baseline skill you get from the start. Why do they have so many DRs that only cover magic damage. I must ask.

Story Tier: S, there's a reason it's the most popular and well regarded class storyline. It's really good, also the only questline I know of that uses the quest log text as part of the narrative. Outside maybe a few of the very late Endwalker quests. And, well... same writer lmao

GUNBREAKER: I think GNB looks cool as fuck and I like that it has 2 DPS rotations. The Gnashing Fang combo is so fun. Superbolide memes are always fun. My main issue with it is a skill issue because I am just constantly misaligning its burst windows.

Story Tier: C. It has some interesting lore but I found it pretty forgettable as a story.

HEALERS

WHITE MAGE: I hated White Mage for a while but something clicked and now I totally get it. I find it fun in dungeons cause you get to Holy spam and stun lock everything. As uh. The healer. That's fun. Once you get Afflatus heals (and then Afflatus Misery) it clicks. It's fun maximizing damage and playing chicken with the tank's HP.

Story Tier: B, you get a lot of lore around the Padjal, and I think the Stormblood story where you find a padjal living in hiding with her mother is pretty good! Also it's not technically the job storyline but there's a WHM side quest to get a unicorn mount? i guess it's technically a CNJ quest but same diff. no one else gets that shit. so that's cool

SCHOLAR: probably my least favorite of the healers... it just feels super clunky. You can tell a bunch of different design philosophies went into it over the years and none of them mesh very well. They've made it so the Fairy Gauge controls literally one spell. Why have the gauge at all? It's also a huge missed opportunity that there's no tie in or interaction with the fae in Shadowbringers. I love the idea of a battle tactician healer but I think it needs a rework.

Story Tier: B+, I liked the characters and its the main way to get backstory and lore on what happened with Nym.

ASTROLOGIAN: While I think AST has a similar issue to SCH (lots of different design philosophies over the years) I find it way more fun to play. I like the card mechanic and how it interacts with the rest of the party. AST is basically the only job that has its own like. Minigame? As part of its rotation. And I know a lot of people don't like the RNG for it but personally I find it fun. I know AST is getting a redesign in Dawntrail so hope it's good.

Story Tier: C? I think? I'll be honest I don't remember it super well but I didn't find anything objectionable about it. And I like the tarot aesthetic and lore and how it's healing based on manipulating luck.

SAGE: I think SGE is tons of fun, I'm not sure if I like it or WHM more. I love all the skills SGE has for preventing damage and the gimmick where your DPS heals someone in the party. Visually the hi-tech laser shooting healer is a lot of fun. IT HAS A GAP CLOSER. The only thing i wish was it wasn't so MP negative and that it did more damage. It's a little sad its DPS output is so low compared to the other healers (even AST when you factor in how it buffs the party). Since SGE is supposed to be a healer that heals through damage it's silly its damage kinda sucks.

Story Tier: A, I loved this storyline. Both the Endwalker job stories are very self contained and interesting. While the twist is pretty obvious it's still an interesting exploration of uh. Scientific ethics. Yeah

PHYSICAL MELEE DPS

MONK: I've probably played MNK the least of the phys melee but I like the whole adaptable combo thing. Not much else to say since I have played it so little. Might bring it back out and try again. It DID have the funniest guide in the Balance discord for a while.

Story Tier: D. I think? I remember thinking it was dumb, lmao. Sorry.

DRAGOON: MAN I wished I liked DRG more. It looks so fucking cool and I like how it interacts with the dragon lore. But I find it very punishing to play. To do good damage you have to align so many different cooldowns... and snapshot your DOT correctly... and screwing one thing up just fucks your DPS output forever. Like AST I believe this is being reworked in Dawntrail so I hope it feels better to play.

Story Tier: C+. I think it starts strong since you get to meet Estinien pre-Heavensward and it melds nicely with that story. But I found it pretty directionless post-HW which is a shame.

NINJA: I remember finding this one fun. I like that there are different combos you do that have varied finishers depending on the situation. I am just... bad at remembering which combo to use to get which finisher, lol. So I haven't played it as much. NIN gets a lot of flavor other jobs don't get with their unique run and jump animations. And you get a Bunny of Shame on your head if you fuck up a combo, which is incredible.

Story Tier: A. The Rogue story is probably the most memorable of the basic class quests. Ninja just has great characters and a fun story. What is with that one guy. Karasu? If you know you know. I also like how the Rogue characters show up later in the Ninja story. That's fun.

SAMURAI: I had a similar experience to WHM here because I initially hated it then really came around once it clicked. SAM seems very complex, it has a ton of buttons and different combos. But it is actually quite intuitive once you figure out the general pattern. And it does INSANE damage. I think it's the highest DPS output in the game? I love building the combos and then doing a huge finisher for a bajillion damage. The guaranteed crits and constant OGCD weaves make me feel unstoppable. I think this is tied with RPR for me.

Story Tier: B+. I found the exiled samurai character and his journey toward redemption very compelling. I won't spoil beyond that. However it does fall apart a little in the second half. Still fun but not as good.

REAPER: I love RPR, the teleportation is a lot of fun, and I love finally unleashing the demon form and going ham on the enemy. The weapons are the coolest looking in the game. Every scythe design hits. I probably played this the most in Endwalker. My main critique is the Death's Design mechanic. I hate having to keep a stupid debuff on the target to do damage. It's like a dot but without the optimized snapshotting. If they want to keep this idea i think it would feel better to change it into something like SGE's Kardia where you apply it to one enemy to do increased damage to it without having to worry about reapplying it. not sure how they would balance this for aoe but that's not my job. But even with that caveat I still really enjoy the job.

Story Tier: A+. While it doesn't reach the highs of DRK's story it comes close. I love the badass old lady main character. Her hunting a voidsent that possessed her grandfather would be cool enough but making her a Garlean exile in hiding who grudgingly agrees to train you just adds an extra cool factor. I really enjoyed this story. As a bonus theres a lot of incidental dialogue in the post-6.0 Endwalker story if you completed the RPR story because it ties in a lot.

PHYSICAL RANGED DPS

BARD: It's a bit clunky, its got some outdated design elements, it has one of the lowest damage outputs in the game... and i LOVE IT. this was technically the first job I ever played? totally different character like 8 years ago. and i was so so bad. I think i am actually pretty good at current BRD. the animations look cool. i like that it's a class you really need to work for and optimize to eke out that last bit of damage. and boosting everyone else's damage by existing is kinda neat.

Story Tier: B. I'll be real I barely remember this but I do remember it was gay as fuck so immediately gets an extra tier for that.

MACHINIST: MCH is really funny right now because like. It's phys ranged, right. The design behind phys ranged is you have 100% uptime cause you can freely move around and not have to worry about cast timers or melee range or anything. So the trade off is that they do less damage than other classes. Endwalker MCH did not get the memo and does insane damage anyway. My controversial opinion is that it has similar burst DPS to RPR. No i will not elaborate. I'm also bad at doing good damage on MCH which is impressive since it is easy.

Story Tier: B+. Some Ishgard noble's gay son wants to build machines instead of killing dragons the good old fashioned way and has to prove himself to get taken seriously. A tale as old as time. See I haven't done this quest in like years but I still remember it. He is a memorable character. It's just not like. knockout wowza compared to the A tier stories.

DANCER: Dancer is the second easiest DPS job in the game behind SMN. So if i am sleepy it's the one I like playing. You play simon says. you do a lot of damage when you play simon says then do almost no fucking damage otherwise. I think it's the lowest direct damage in the game? for a dps i mean. You have high stakes sexual tension with a DPS of your choice via Dance Partner. I wish other DNC players knew how Dance Partner works. YOU CAN DANCE PARTNER ANOTHER DANCER. THE BUFF STACKS. BUT YOU CANNOT DANCE PARTNER THE SAME PLAYER AS ANOTHER DANCER. THOSE BUFFS DO NOT STACK. ok i'm good. anyway

Story Tier: C. there's some shit about negative emotions and purging them? in theory i think this has some interesting implications with Endwalker lore considering Dynamis and its role in the story. Very similar mechanically to what's going on with the DNC story. but i really don't think the writers made the connection so it's like pure speculation and not the actual story. It's meh. fine i guess. i did like all the flashy dancing sequences.

MAGICAL RANGED DPS

BLACK MAGE: I am so so so so so so so bad at BLM. i pull up the guide. i read the guide. it all makes perfect sense. i go into a dungeon or trial or something. somehow i always get like Zeromus or some shit. and i drop Enochian or something and everything goes to shit and i'm yelling and i'm not even like slide casting or teleporting or anything i just run around crying. then i remember i have like 10 more buttons i haven't been pressing and oh god the dot fell off. people play this? for fun? i admire it. apparently they do a ton of damage if you can play it. could not be me.

Story Tier: B? There's some voidsent and Thirteenth lore. all the black mage characters are Lalafell because it's funny i guess. OH YEAH it has like the one named male Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te NPC in the entire game and he's fun. look at this twink:

sorry i don't have anything to say about BLM i am bad at it

SUMMONER: easiest DPS job in the entire game. they redesigned it for Endwalker so it is practically a new job. i have no idea how it played before. but it is super streamlined. maybe too streamlined? it's another one to play if you want to turn your brain off. i like that at 90 you summon The Actual Primals instead of little representations of them. and i like the way your burst phase switches between Bahamut and Phoenix. it all looks very cool. they should add Leviathan as a summon in Dawntrail.

Story Tier: C.. i don't remember a single thing about this questline except you interact with Y'shtola's half sister. i think you go to Cartenau at some point. idk

RED MAGE: RDM is one of those jobs that looks really complicated when you start then you actually play it and it is just super super easy. that being said i think it's really fun. I like balancing the white and black magic gauges. Dualcast is a great gimmick and it feels cool to lob two big spells in a row at something. Dualcast Verraising a chain of dead players is so fucking funny. it's a shame that the existence of Verraise means RDM does shit damage to compensate for its utility. It and DNC just sit at the bottom with BRD barely scratching ahead of them. i think? i don't remember LOL

Story Tier: A, I really like the story and characters. I like that you have a middle-age world weary catboy (catman) as your mentor. and i like that he canonically trained Alisaie too and you chat a little about that. it's a fun story!

BLUE MAGE: what the fuck is a blue mage

Story Tier: ???

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arteastica · 11 months

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early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (1)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters). no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.1k

One could say it was the most important night of that summer. Even the cloudless sky had allowed the stars to witness the scene unfolding beneath, and only the occasional barking of faraway dogs interrupted the silence. It was the night decisions were awaiting to be made. The type of life-defining decisions that no teenager should ever be expected, or rather forced, to make. Luckily for you, you were a couple of years ahead, ahead enough to not be considered a teenager anymore. And maybe this was the reason why looking around and seeing the tightly clenched fists, trembling jaws, and sweaty foreheads of your 15-year-old Training Corps classmates made you realize that you honestly didn’t know what you were doing in the middle of it all.

The choice was simple for those who actually had one. As it was tradition, the top ten students of the class would be allowed to choose the best out of the three options presented: to join the Military Police and enjoy the safety and commodities that came with life in the innermost wall, to settle for a more humble lifestyle by doing whatever it is that they do in the Garrison, or to put their lives in the line for humanity in the Survey Corps. With young brains still under construction, no one could be trusted to make the right call. The definition of ‘right call’ being ‘one you wouldn’t regret years in the future, or next week when a titan had you in their grip.’ However, you believed that joining the Military Police came with significantly lower risks of regret. And that’s why the MP was the one you were aiming for. Or would have, if you were part of that coveted top 10. That would have been ideal.

Ideal. In an ideal world, no one would have to make such a crucial decision at that age. In fact, there wouldn’t even be crucial decisions to make, in the first place. But this wasn’t an ideal world. It was far from that. A quick glance around at the faces you had gotten used to seeing for the last 3 years was enough of a reminder, in case you had forgotten. But who could forget? All of them standing next to you had either lost someone or everyone precious in their lives when the Wall fell. Luckily for you, however, you had your immediate family alive and well in the capital. And although you didn’t own enough wealth to be accepted into the social circles of the rich, you lived a comfortable life, and most importantly, a safe one. That’s why it came as a shock to your family when you enlisted as a-

“We will reach that basement in Shiganshina. However, this requires us to retake Wall Maria”

Retake what? Your backstory was left pending for another night. Because, before you could start narrating it to yourself, a solemn, modulated voice pulled you out of your thoughts, your head instinctively turning to the stage to locate the source. And that was the first time you saw him: The 13th commander of the Survey Corps, Erwin Smith himself.

“But with the Trost gate permanently sealed, we’ll have to take the long way around from Karanes in the east”

You had heard stories about Erwin Smith. A man of unyielding drive, an iron-willed leader, a liberator, you believed you heard someone called him once. And of course there was also ‘reckless’, ‘demented’, and ‘out of it’, all of which were adjectives commonly tied to his name, especially in the capital. ‘Insane’ was your father’s preferred one, usually heard around dinner time when the topic of Erwin Smith’s latest outrageous expedition somehow found its way into the family table. And you remembered feeling sorry for the man on more than one occasion. Because, from the safety of your Sina home, the closest titan surely miles away, as you fluffed pillows and slipped under warm blankets of undisturbed rest, you had struggled to think of anyone living a more different lifestyle to yours than the commander of the Survey Corps, that one man relentlessly trying to attain the unattainable: to free humanity from the walls.

“It seems the four years we spent preparing a route for an invasion force have gone to waste”

And that night he also seemed to be trying to attain the unattainable: convincing a group of frightened individuals to join a suicide squad.

“In those four years, more than sixty percent of the Legion’s forces lost their lives”

You wondered if there was at least a single easy thing in the man’s life.

“Sixty percent in four years. An insane figure”

His voice was controlled and pleasant to listen to. Even though the things he was talking about were far from pleasant. Life scouting beyond the walls sounded as rough as it probably was. And you guessed that there was no way to make it sound appealing, no silver linings to be mentioned or talked about.

“Any trainees who join us will participate in next month’s expedition beyond the walls”

You had heard that his branch was in desperate need for new recruits, yet you could tell he had decided to let honesty do the talking that night. Because not even when discussing the dire prospect of survival of a Survey Corps member…

“We estimate thirty percent will not return”

…not even then he seemed tempted to make false promises.

“And in four years, most new recruits will be dead”

In fact, the more he spoke, the more honest and raw his words seemed to get. And while, so far, he hadn’t mentioned a single appealing thing about joining his cause, you felt you were beginning to understand it…

“But those who make it through that hell will become superior soldiers, capable of surviving anything”

You see, you had heard all the stories, but you had never seen the man before. And rumors had left out the part about how compelling he was. As he extended an open invitation to a potentially deadly celebration, his voice had a commanding yet gentle feel to it, the type associated with reliable leaders. He had an enthralling demeanor to him, the one that’s used to persuade. His words were softly spoken but rose-thorn sharp. There was something about him, the way he spoke, and carried himself. Erwin Smith certainly looked like someone who could talk the winter into skipping a year, or the rain into waiting until he got home. So yes, you were starting to get it...

“Now you have the cold, hard facts.”

After all the contemplations, it finally clicked.

“Any still willing to risk their lives, remain here.”

It makes sense you thought, why men followed him to their deaths.

“Ask yourselves, am I willing to offer my beating heart for humanity?”

Why they ‘dedicated their hearts’ as they say.

“That is all.”

Erwin Smith was intriguing. Very intriguing.

“All of you wishing to join other branches are dismissed.”

Muffled footsteps brought you back from the realm of thought. You looked around to find the previously full plaza now more than half-empty. You could hear Reiner’s heavy breathing beside you. Jean fiddling with his shirt behind you. Sasha clicking her teeth to your left. And despite the close proximity between your bodies, it all sounded so distant. As if you had been thrown underwater.

“Are you willing to die if I ordered to?”

Erwin Smith’s question, on the contrary, felt as if it had been whispered right into your ear. It felt personal and targeted. And for a brief second you forgot that, although almost everyone had already left, you were still not the only one in the plaza.

I don’t want to die. You answered in your head.

“I like the looks on your faces” You heard him say.

I don’t want to die. You repeated as you picked up your pace to catch up to Hitch at the entrance of the plaza.

“What took you so long?” she asked when you finally joined her.

“I hereby welcome you all to the Survey Corps!”

You heard Erwin Smith’s voice, now nothing more than a faint sound blending with the rustling leaves and getting carried away by the wind, as you and Hitch made your way back to the barracks.

“Did you hear almost all the top students joined the Survey Corps last night?” Hitch sounded particularly excited and jolly that morning. A huge smile plastered on her face.

“Did they?” You didn’t want to let yourself get too hopeful. But Hitch’s enthusiasm was contagious.

“Yep! And you know what that means right?” Your roommate gave you a cheeky grin “There might be a spot left for us at the MP after all!”

You were sure there most certainly was a spot for Hitch. But for you, that was a whole different story. You were no Mikasa. You were no Reiner. And given the fact that your physical capabilities were pretty average, even a little below that on bad days, you were certain you weren’t even in the top 20.

“Jeez. Woman, please look excited! We are set for life!”

She is set for life. “I’m not sure I’ll make the cut. It was the physical aptitude test-”

“Who cares? To hell with that test. What would you need stamina for inside Wall Sina anyway? I heard they don’t even use ODM in the MP. In our first year, maybe we’ll have to run after one of those random idiots who steal papayas from the street stalls, but I’m sure we can manage that much”

You laughed at the thought “You catch him. I’ll write the report”

“Deal!” she said “but once we climb up the ranks…” her eyes lit up with ambition as a result of whatever was going through her head. And you could tell she was plotting something questionable. But before you could start prying she added “Plus you did well everywhere else.”

She was right. While your physical performance wasn’t necessarily stellar, your academics were very good. As an overthinker, often worrying too much about too many, you overstudied for tests like no one in your class did, and your efforts often resulted in excellent marks.

“You’re right. Everyone save Shadis left something nice in my report card. Nothing personal, I’m sure”

Hitch nodded enthusiastically, clearly satisfied with herself because her words were having the effect she intended. And they really were, your head was starting to pitch more and more ideas to support the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you would be able to join the Military Police.

“You know what? You’re right, Hitch. We’ll join the MP and we’ll be on our way to the capital tomorrow.”

Wrong. Later that day, as you held the application paper in one hand, fountain pen in the other, you couldn’t help but snort when imagining how foolish you must have looked that morning, believing you would be back home as a member of the MP brigade. But there was no use in reminiscing now. You needed to focus and make the second best choice.

But focus for what? The only available options for you were the Garrison and the Survey Corps. And the choice was plain and obvious, wasn’t it? The Garrison wasn’t cool or anything but it was safe. Except, of course, for that incident from a couple of weeks ago, when that random titan showed up again, and tried to obliterate Trost District. Luckily for you, however, you had been assigned to assist with the relocation of the citizens once they entered Wall Rose, so you didn’t even have to see any titan at all. That had been a rare occurrence. And with the Survey Corps, the chances of survival were significantly lower. Zero for someone with your physical capabilities.

Are you willing to die if I ordered to?

Erwin Smith’s words from the night before showed up uninvited.

Those who make it through that hell will become superior soldiers, capable of surviving anything.

You could hear his solemn voice loud and clear, even one day later.

I like the look on your face.

Your hand now hovered dangerously over the ‘Survey Corps’ box, centuries worth of handed-down survival instincts forgotten in the blink of an eye.

I don’t want to die.

Your brain repeated as a last resort, right before the ink found the paper.

I don’t want to die.

Now it sounded like a complain more than a petition.

I hereby welcome you to the Survey Corps.

You heard him say, somewhere inside your head, as you turned in your application and walked away.

next chapter

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amywritesthings · 10 months

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silver underground. / chapter 16.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin)

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: flashback six - also known as the day of the heist

Warnings: this chapter heavily explores and discusses themes of peril, thoughts of self harm and self destruction, hopelessness, death, violence, and torture. if you are triggered by these topics, i would suggest skipping this chapter.

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 16 - FLASHBACK: SIX

note: the next couple of chapters will be heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. they are my interpretations of the material. please watch those episode first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

The silence of the Underground City spoke volumes.

At this rate, you’ve gone over the plan — and the potential ways it can go horribly wrong — at least a dozen times.

Only so many distress signals can be sent from three people outrunning an entire Military Police unit, so you've employed all of them.

First, there’s the stolen flares.

They’re sparingly used, if ever, when it’s the four of you on a job. Two teams of two has easily been your best formation tactic.

A slight change to a single team of three should not cause much difficulty, especially when it involves veterans like Church, Ackerman, and Magnolia.

(You've already waited a half hour. No flare ever ignites.)

Next, if someone loses their grip on a flare canister, then the pursued team resorts to high-altitude flying.

At the height you’re perched upon — the rooftop of a dilapidated apartment complex overlooking the northern half of the Underground — you’d be able to see at least one person flipping and weaving through even the tallest buildings.

(Another half hour passes. No one ever breaches the skyline.)

The last option, should any ODM gear jam and fail, is more human: eyesight.

With the B-team units ordered to be stationed around the Underground City, your three friends should be covered. If it looks like the Military Police have the upper hand, then you can quickly get the rest of the gang to safety.

You told Levi you wouldn't run after him, that you would keep your promise and stick to the plan, but now that it's been over an hour of radio silence?

You're not so sure.

Because there are no clouds in the Underground, your sightline is clear. Idly your ODM gear sits on either hips, hands occupied by the mechanism's handles that will boost you at a moment’s notice. Below you on the street stand your appointed security, both gang veterans, looking for any stray MPs roaming the area.

Every second waiting for Levi, Isabel, and Furlan to return from their heist route spans to eternity.

Over and over your eyes scan, checking between rooftops — nothing.

Your attention drops to the streets — nothing.

Silence creeps to a ninety-minute drag.

No flares sound.

No bodies fly.

“C’mon, Ackerman,” you mumble under your breath, flexing your left hand to give your body something to do — to avoid pulling the trigger too fast on a rescue operation.

He was explicit about not coming for him.

He was explicit and he was stupid to think you’d never come for him.

He was stupid to think—

“James!”

A panicked, shrill voice, however, sounds from the street.

You whip your attention to the east, taking your eyes off of the skyline for a belated beat.

The rogue voice screeches with urgency a second time.

“James!”

It's young and feminine and terrified.

You shift a boot towards the sound, squeezing the metal handles in your palms with your index fingers at the ready.

“Hey! Where is she? Please, tell me James is here.”

She seems out of breath, like she ran a great distance to get here.

You draw a line with your sight from where her footsteps originated: she came from the south.

Most of your units are pushed towards the north, where Levi stated the job would take place.

One of the seasoned lackeys, a younger man, grunts to her in response. “Who’s askin’?”

“I need to speak with James,” she urges, ignoring his question with a wavering tone. “Please—”

“She’s busy, kid,” the second man replies. “Spit it out if somethin’—”

“They caught Levi!”

Her shriek almost makes your foot slip, causing a roof shingle to dislodge.

Time ceases to exist.

Levi.

Below you hear the young men argue with her and the exchange of pleas that follow, but there is no distinction of sound to you. Their words are muddied as if your head has been dunked underwater.

You can't run to her. Anxiety grabs you by the scruff of your neck to hold you in place.

What's wrong with Levi?

Move.

Did something happen to Levi?

Move.

Without thinking, your hand ignites the ODM switch in your left hand to propel a spear into the stone wall from across the street.

You swiftly swing down from your perch, finally catching a glimpse of the girl in question:

The girl — you remember her first name being Lucy — is as pale as a ghost. Her entire body trembles like a decaying leaf, as though she’s witnessed something horrific that she can’t scrub from her line of sight.

(What the hell did she see?)

Her shoulders relax once she spies your face, but not enough to quell your concern when tears well into her eyes.

“James! Oh my god, you’re here,” Lucy breathes, taking a step forward like you’re willing to console her with a comforting arm. "I tried to get here as fast as I—"

“Repeat what you just said about Ackerman,” you demand without solace. “Now.”

You take one pace back, ignoring the spike in your heart rate as the scenario snowballs in your mind’s eye.

From your peripheral vision, you see several others from the gang join the fray.

The two other lookouts on Lucy’s team run down the tiny guarded street, equally out of breath and panicked.

“We saw it happen in the southeast corner!” one of the running girls exclaim.

You — and the rest of the gang — turn in that direction. You can feel your throat seize.

He said the job was going to be in the northern half of the city.

How the fuck did they end up in the south quadrant?

"We followed them when the job changed course," Lucy explains as if she can read your mind. "Levi ordered Furlan and Isabel to cut south. Too many MPs were waiting in the north."

"But the job was in the north," you numbly reason.

“It might have been a trap, we don't know!" she desperately chirps. "A bunch of MPs went after them on ODM gear so we followed by foot. They were chasing Furlan through the streets. A few of them fell back and we thought maybe they gave up, but then a bunch of new people came out of nowhere and they all had green cloaks with wings—”

“Wings?” you snap, unable to stop your eyes from widening.

You whip your attention back to the young girl. Lucy cowers at your unyielding gaze.

“...yeah,” she answers, meek and uncertain. “They didn’t have the same jackets as the MPs. They had wings on their backs, on the cloaks and the jackets.”

A cloud of fearful whispers spreads like wildfire through the small crowd, infecting the minds of the reconnaissance team under your command.

It isn’t uncommon anymore for the Military Police patrolling the Underground to show up with ODM gear. It used to be a rarity, but now? They know better than to show up empty-handed.

Years of embarrassment have taught the thick-headed MPs a valuable lesson.

But green cloaks — and wings?

You can’t be mistaken by their meaning:

The Scout Regiment.

The military branch where suckers with death wishes band together to expire. They seek to explore the unknown, taking off on brainless expeditions past the city walls and into whatever Hell awaits on the other side.

(Why the fuck would they send the goddamn suicide squad to the Underground?)

You don’t need to live on the surface to know the stories: a third of Scout recruits barely make it past their first mission. And by the end of their first service year, the death toll rises to half.

The only dumbasses left standing with the Wings of Freedom on their back are those who desperately want to die but can never find the right titan to eat them.

And, according to the stories, their missions beyond Wall Maria always come up empty-handed.

A thought passes through your mind like a papercut, stinging your blood cells with the very real possibility that they’ve turned their efforts inward — whether at the demand of the king or the disappointment of the people paying their salaries is unclear.

(Is the Underground City their new playground?)

If so, then Levi — this gang — could very well be their first dedicated target.

“Where?”

The word spills out of your mouth, starting in your mind as a demand but dissolving to a murmur.

Going, running, to wherever the Military Police — or God forbid, the Scout Regiment — have your friends is the only plan of action you can think of.

You’re supposed to make sure the people here are fine.

The need to run — go, go, go — far outweighs your logic.

“I…” The girl falters.

You hate how your voice erupts in the wake of your fear. “Where, Lucy?!”

“I don’t know! I lost track of them!” she yelps, squeezing her amber eyes shut. The hands at her sides are balled into tight, painful fists. “Isabel and Furlan got taken down by some MPs, but Levi kept going on ODM gear. He outran most of the MPs, but there was a man, a tall blonde guy, who—”

“Was he a Scout?” you press on, gritting your teeth. “Did you see the Wings of Freedom?”

“The fucking Scouts are here?” someone yelps behind you. “Oh, shit, dude. Oh, man…”

“What the hell are they doing down here?” another asks next to him. “They don’t fuck with the Underground!”

“Did the Wall missions fail?” an older girl asks under her breath. “Are they coming to wipe all of the Underground City out now?”

“Quiet,” you order, holding up a hand. It takes tensing your arm to keep the limb from shaking. “Lucy: where did you last see Levi?”

“The blonde man chased him out of the sky and into the streets. No one knows. We couldn’t see where they went, but it… I’m so sorry, James.”

Lucy’s voice is so small that you barely hear her.

All you can focus on is his voice ringing in your head, a whisper against the thin line of white noise filling your body.

Protect them.

You’re ready.

You’re so ready to fire up your ODM gear to chase after him, to fight off every single bastard who thinks about laying a finger on your friends.

We won’t get arrested. We’re too fast on ODM gear.

“What do we do, James?”

The MPs won’t stand a chance.

“Can she hear us? Is she freaking out?”

You want me to be the last person standing.

“James!”

Lucy shrieks in your face, breaking your delusion.

You blink back into your body to see a dozen faces staring back at you in various stages of grief.

Fear.

You focus on the way a tear streams down Lucy’s youthful face. It brings you back to when you picked her up off the streets. A kid, just like you, looking for food scraps and shelter — her mother had passed away at a young age, leaving her to fend for herself.

You knew what that was like, so you promised protection. A roof over her head. Food in her belly.

A chance at life.

Just like he once gave to you.

Now you’re the only leader left standing. The other three are either arrested — or worse.

You’re all that stands between dragging her back to the streets or pushing her to the gallows.

(You’re all anyone in this gang has.)

I need you to be safe.

Levi’s voice tickles the outer shell of your ear, whispering past despite the dead wind.

You want to hate him. You really do.

But you promised.

Lucy’s lower lip trembles as she takes a step forward.

This time you stay put, too frozen from the numbness in your body.

“James… please, tell us: what do we do?”

You don’t know.

You wish you did, but you don’t know.

You want to tell them to run, to run as fast as they can and never look back.

You want to tell them that you don’t know how to do this without Isabel or Furlan.

You want to tell them you’d rather die than know a life without Levi.

But you promised.

I’ll keep them safe.

I know you will. Echoing in your mind like an omen. I trust you.

“If they’re arrested, then the MPs will be storming the apartment at any minute.”

You finally answer without an ounce of emotion. You can’t stomach thinking past protocol.

“We don’t have time to get our stuff. Organize yourselves into teams of three. Find the safe houses and don't come out until you hear from me. Take a single runner out to Roxy’s. They owe me a few favors, so they should give you table scraps until this blows over.”

“Are you getting Ackerman?” An older girl holding onto her brother’s small shoulders pipes up from your right.

“And Church?” Another person asks. “Magnolia?”

Refusing to think further than the present crisis, you shake your head.

“They all knew the risks of this heist. Right now, my priority is keeping everyone here safe. So go — and avoid detection the best you can. Leave the rest to me, alright?"

You pause, making eye contact with those staring at you. In front of you is a gradient of nerves.

(Everyone knows the risks of running with a gang in the Underground, no matter the price.)

"I said go, goddamnit!”

At your shouted order, most don’t hesitate to run.

The crowd forms into smaller clusters of refugees as they run towards the emergency routes you’ve mapped a hundred times before.

You don’t have time to panic.

You don’t have time to mourn about what could have been.

(A house gleaming in the sunlight with its windows open. The scent of a fresh meal being cooked. The soft meow overlapping over pleasant conversation about nothing at all.)

After all, you made a promise —

And if three of the Underground’s most notorious gang leaders have been caught, then it’s only a matter of time until the manhunt ends with you.

Week after week, your numbers dwindle.

Day in and day out, houses are raided for anyone associated with Ackerman, Church, and Magnolia.

Bars, brothels, and drug dens are scoured for that missing puzzle piece.

Military Police, emboldened by their victory, are adamant to find anyone involved in their gang.

Most found are arrested.

Some offer information for a chance at immunity.

By the fourth week, the gang dissolves into half of its original number.

However, the rampant pursuit slows after the sixth week, and by the seventh, the Military Police stop searching.

The city becomes boisterous again for an entirely different reason, falling back to its routes of debauchery and strife.

Panic of those still in hiding twists into remorse, remorse into doubt, and soon the doubt creeps into what was once an impenetrable fortress.

And somewhere you failed.

Maybe it was because you kept your promise and never went after Levi, Isabel, and Furlan the day they disappeared.

Maybe it was because no one ever saw them again, creating a shroud of mystery in their disappearances. Most people assumed they were arrested and tortured for information. Others hoped they were able to at least die in a merciful way.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because you gave up.

The longer you fought without your three friends, the longer you ran around the Underground City hiding from authority, the harder it became to remember why you were trying so hard to be the last person standing.

Hiding with nothing to go back to — that was what waited for you at the end of all of this.

To make new headquarters on mere piles of rubble, alone.

People continue to get caught.

People continue to lose their lives.

You were ready—

Ready to give up.

Ready to join the fate of so many others.

Ready to lose.

(All things considered, you had a good run.)

Eight weeks.

It takes eight whole weeks for someone to finally rat you out.

In exchange for immunity, a scared newcomer snitched to the Military Police about the location of your hideout — and you can’t blame them.

The Underground City has always been a dog-eat-dog pit.

That, however, doesn’t mean you don’t still run.

The crisp, metallic zip of the pulley cuts the air every time you push through the alleyways, leaving the Military Police unit in the dust. Wind frays your hair, whipping pieces of it into your face as you run along brick walls and push for the a momentous swing.

It has been weeks of these chases, all evaded in the dust, but something feels different about this pursuit.

The officers feel confident this time.

Ready.

Another unit of MPs pursue on foot, shouting and taunting for your surrender, but they're no match for your swift escape.

The two officers following with ODM gear cannot match the sharpness of your turns.

You don’t know why you keep running.

Why can’t you just stop running?

In your lingering rage you almost want to turn back, take a knife, and attack.

To earn the heaviness of a murder charge on your shoulders.

You want to lash out—

To make someone hurt—

But you just keep running.

In your time of solitude, you've wondered how the end of all things went that day. Did those pigs take turns kicking Furlan with his hands tied behind his back? Did they drag Isabel through the street? Did they cut out Levi's tongue for back talk?

You hope they gave the MPs hell.

The imaginative injustices — the cruelty — fuels your fantasy of revenge.

Through another alleyway and into the streets, you latch onto another building and swing to your left to continue through the streets of—

Wait.

Skirting around a corner, you see something briefly whip around a corner in a cloud of exhaust.

(Was that emerald?)

Your attention turns to the distinct color that entered your line of sight before it disappears.

Your eyes widen with recognition, but it's too late.

You failed again.

One look to your side is all it takes for a solid, heavy object to slam straight into you from the opposite direction, knocking a spear clean out of the neighboring wall.

The ODM gear jolts, causing you to jerk and drop abruptly to the dirt beneath. Your forearms shield your face from the dirt and debris as your body skids across the dirt path.

Before you even realize what's happening, you're scrambling to your feet. Metal clangs from the jostled handles in your palms as you push yourself up.

Your right arm reels back, fist clenched, and flies in an attempt to connect — and it does.

The punch lands directly in someone's face. The bone crunches under you knuckles.

A person yells in pain and grabs their nose, giving you ample opportunity to attack further. Your leg swings, kicking your boot square into their abdomen. You recognize the way their breath squelches: the wind rips right out of their lungs.

You want them to feel pain, just as you’ve felt pain.

You want them to suffer, just as you've suffered.

It doesn't matter who they are.

When the attacker is incapacitated, you make a choice: you turn the opposite direction, taking off into a sprint.

And you run, if only for a few seconds.

Because that very same emerald flash appears in your peripheral vision.

In just one breath, your feet get tangled up and send you flying to the ground you'd just found yourself lying upon.

A pair of hands suddenly tug at the back of your shirt, pushing you further into the muddied street. A forceful forearm presses down harder, pinning you to the ground. A pebble digs into your cheekbone, its jagged edge slicing into your skin.

Trapped.

You grit your teeth, fighting the painful hold with everything you have. You shout and yell like a woman possessed, kicking your boots deeper into the Earth to propel forward, but you can't move.

(Give up — why can’t you just give up?)

Then a deep baritone voice pulls you from your erratic defenses, smooth like honey.

“James.”

Your last name on a stranger's tongue makes your stomach churn.

You continue fighting, digging the toe of your boot further for purchase.

Suddenly pain explodes in your scalp. Something pulls your chin high from the crown on your head, forcing your attention to the sky. What greets you is a tall, built figure above.

From the street lamp, you see it’s a man — early thirties, broad shouldered, with piercing blue eyes and neatly-combed blonde hair.

This mysterious man stares down at you, standing at full height. He doesn't acknowledge the person holding you down, knotting your hair in their balled fist.

One after the other, two more emerald cloaks drop down from the sky, their faces obscured by their hoods.

Blinking away from his face, you see it: his tan, cropped jacket, with white and blue wings outstretched against one another, pointing high with dignity.

The Wings of Freedom.

It's the Survey Corps, in the flesh.

“Four whole Scouts for little old me?” you chide.

The person holding you down rips your torso up higher, causing an immense strain in your spine.

You wince at the sensation of nearly being broken in half but refuse to make noise.

They don't get that satisfaction, not yet.

(You've felt worse.)

The blonde man above you does not react. He continues to stare, however, when he addresses another in his squadron.

“Get her up on her knees, Miche.”

The man behind you — presumably Miche — yanks you from the dirt to settle you on your calves. Without your arms to support you, you’re left floundering at his will.

“What?” you ask through clenched teeth. "Are the Scouts so bored of getting eaten alive that they've come to the Underground on a field trip?”

The man makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. His crystal blue eyes slide slowly from the crown of your head, past your face, then rest at your chest.

“Surface made?” he comments in a languid, baritone voice.

When you jostle against Miche's grip on your back, a feather-esque sensation brushes across your sternum.

Then you realize:

He’s staring at your necklace.

“Stolen?” the blonde man asks again, and venom poisons your tongue at his slander. Somehow you manage to hold a response.

You sneer instead, turning your attention to the side of a building.

A painful beat passes.

You hear the man’s boots near, crunching under packed dirt.

“My name is Commander Erwin Smith, of the Survey Corps," he introduces, not fazed by your lack of cooperation. "I was informed that you’re not only the muscle of this operation, but one of its four founding leaders. Is this true?”

He’s met with another stretch of silence.

“Handling operations for seven weeks without the help of your comrades is impressive.”

Another step.

“Or has it been closer to eight?”

“What do you want, surface scum?” you finally murmur, eyes locked on a particular patch of moss growing at the foundation of the building.

He exhales through his nose, contemplating. You continue to look away.

“Your protection is gone, James," Erwin begins. "Your gang, eradicated. Your people have fled — abandoned you, to save themselves.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him.

Erwin evades your feigned ignorance. “A bounty has been on your head for two months. You’ve done all you can to avoid detection, but from where I stand, I see someone out of options.”

Your nostrils flare, unwilling to betray yourself in the face of the truth.

He isn’t wrong — it’s been the end of the line for weeks now.

You’ve run on borrowed time and a promise you barely believe in anymore.

You’re so tired.

“The Military Police would be glad to round out their gallows with someone responsible for embarrassing them so thoroughly.”

Is that where Levi ended up, in the gallows next to Isabel and Furlan?

(Are they no longer alive, just as everyone suspected?)

When you continue to stare at the adjacent wall, the man behind you tugs at your mangled hair and rips your focus back to the man in front of you.

The toe of the Commander’s boot is in line with your muddied knee.

From this angle, he's practically on top of you.

“However, I believe the finality of a noose is a great waste of potential talent.”

His eyes bore into yours when he slowly, carefully, drops to your height. His ivory-white knee plants gently into the dirt.

You blink up to his face, unable to suppress your confusion.

“Potential talent?” you hiss back, ignoring the searing pain in your scalp. “What is this, a pitch?”

The Commander hums. “I don’t pretend to know how extensive your crimes are, James. What I do know, however, is that you have an out.”

“Yeah?” you ask. “And what’s that, O' Golden One?”

Erwin’s eyes drop to the ground, so you follow suit without moving your head. From the edge of your vision you see it — the ODM gear still hooked around your hips.

“How long did it take you to properly handle ODM gear?” he asks with a genuine intrigue.

“Barely took me a week,” you lie under your breath.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he agrees. “Most of our recruits take months, sometimes even years, to masterfully scale the way you can.”

“Sounds shitty to me.”

“In a way.” A beat passes. Commander Erwin’s jaw sets. “Which is why I’m asking you to join the Scout Regiment under my command.”

You can’t help it — the anger disappears in a bark of a laugh.

It’s a request you never see coming, not a million years or a thousand lifetimes.

You’ve avoided the Military Police for weeks, only for a Scout to offer you… what? A twisted version of salvation in his army?

The words blurt out of your mouth faster than you can help it.

“Join the Scouts?” He nods once to your yelp of a question. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Are you?” Erwin challenges. “Both options lead to your death. The only difference is choosing to make your death matter.”

“A noose or being eaten alive,” you snidely respond. “Gosh, Commander, which sounds less painful?”

“What do you think your friends would have selected, if given a choice?”

The swiftly-timed question is a punch straight to your gut.

Unable to stop your eyes from widening, you hate how your blood chills with panic.

How you can see that glint in the commander’s eyes when he’s finally, finally, caught your weak spot.

Seeing the visceral reaction, he continues. "Before they expired, would they have chosen to die here? Or would they have chosen a new life."

Was he saying…?

Was he saying they were already dead?

Isabel. Furlan.

Le…

Your lower lip trembles as you hold back from thinking about that final name.

You barely recognize your own voice when you speak, low and dangerous.

“How dare you…”

Erwin’s gaze is unwavering. “I’m asking you—”

“Don’t talk about them.”

“—what would they have chosen.”

“I said don’t talk about them!” you shout in his face, losing your cool.

His chin tilts a fraction of an inch, expression stoic.

“Then what about your fellow comrades, the people who laid down their lives for your safety — would they have wanted a chance?”

Despite yourself, you push with your boot to propel towards the blonde. “You disgusting piece of sh— fuck!”

Miche rips your head back impossibly further, exposing your neck to the Commander. Erwin stands tall, pulling out a long sword from its metal sheath. The cool, sharp end of the blade rests against your throat.

If he wanted to, he could end your life right here in the streets.

If he wanted to, he could make this so much easier on you.

But he won’t.

This isn’t about ease.

It’s about power, control — total submission.

A part of you wants to push against the blade to make it easier.

No noose. No titans.

Just here.

But you promised.

Last one standing.

“...what happened to them?” you ask, unable to stop the crack in your voice.

If this is it, then you might as well know.

Commander Erwin keeps his blade held towards you. “I don’t know.”

“But it was you that day, wasn’t it?” You ease down to your knees again. Miche loosens his hold on your body. “You're the one that went after them two months ago. When there was a heist, it wasn’t just MPs chasing them. There were Scouts—”

“I don’t have all day, James.”

He interrupts the beginning of your emotional spiral with cutthroat apathy. His arm lowers when you do not retaliate.

“Your hand-to-hand combat expertise is needed within our regiment. Combine that with your unique ODM handling, and I see a formidable redemption in your future—”

He continues to speak, detailing your servitude should you accept his terms.

You can feel the fight, the fire, ebbing to dying ember.

You’re so tired.

You’re so done with running.

(I’m so sorry, Levi.)

“—and you would presume a title under my command, the rank of a Lieutenant—”

“Wait.”

He pauses when you speak up, catching the oddity of his words. Your lifeless vision connects with his.

“Lieutenants don’t exist in your shitty Scout Corps.”

Erwin nods. “That’s correct. Lieutenants do not."

"Then why..."

"A title will deter animosity. Those who look down at you cannot question your authority."

"Because I'm not from the surface," you reason.

"Yes," he says.

"You're willing to give me an edge on the rest of your people. Why?" You watch him, trying to figure him out before he tells you for himself. “Why not just make me regular front-line titan fodder?”

Erwin seems to consider this, if only for a beat.

Then he speaks with an unshakable certainty:

“Because you know what it means to survive. That, in itself, is vital.”

Your shoulders slump as your body shuts down from the eternal fight.

So this is a choice, but it’s no choice at all.

Your life will not matter in the Scouts. The commander is right: you will die, perhaps not today, but at least choosing the Scouts guarantees the sunrise one single time.

Just like you once promised you'd see with the three of your friends.

And in the moment you mourn — the loss of your friends, the loss of your life, what could have been if that job really had worked out.

(What does it matter when you die, so long as it's soon?)

You grip onto a sense of hopelessness like a vice.

Grief.

Then—

Rage.

As swift as a sudden earthquake, you feel it tremble from your shins to your knees, up your torso and through your heart, filling every red hot blood cell in your body.

It was him.

You’re so sure of it.

Commander Erwin would have been the one responsible for turning Levi, Furlan, and Isabel into the Military Police. He was the one who would have sent your friends to their deaths — or did he kill them himself?

And if he was the one to kill them, then why would he offer you a choice to escape?

(Was this the same choice he gave the others?)

Levi would have never agreed to the Scouts. Furlan, Isabel — they would have followed whatever he chose.

They must have died the very day the heist went wrong eight weeks ago.

It’s why Erwin won’t confirm or deny their fates.

Sickness floods your body, but you hold onto the one thing that will keep their spark with you.

That rage.

They really think you’ll comply.

They really think you won’t burn and take the Scout Regiment down with you.

You’ll kill him.

You’ll kill Commander Erwin Smith, then Miche, then every single Scout that steps into your path until someone’s smart enough to take you down themselves.

“Fine, then.”

You speak, knowing your word is as doomed as the fire in your veins.

“I’ll do it."

You meet Erwin's intense gaze, signing your fate with blood on the dotted line.

"I’ll join the Scouts.”

author's note: I'm glad we collectively giggled and screamed and kicked our feet in the last few chapters. It was a marvelous time. Now I'm out here ruining everything.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @vigilancio @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac @blossomedfloweroflove @carries-blenders-and-stuff @hurtcomfortwhore

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nanomooselet · 4 months

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Elendira the Crimsonnail (II)

It's within your right to care not at all about any defence I mount of Elendira in Stampede. This is profoundly not my wheelhouse and I'm no fan of the creepy little girl archetype myself - but I think she's not going to stay as she is forever, and I think she serves a thematic purpose. Whether that justifies the new backstory for her is, of course, up to you.

Right. I'll need to start with the fact that in Stampede, Knives hates women. Oh, certainly Knives attacks and kills a lot of people - after all, his stated goal is the genocide of the human race - and many of his victims are men, since they typically make up the majority of fighting forces. But with them he's eliminating a threat. He's efficient about it. They're dead or at least incapacitated before they know anything. Think the Plant technicians, the MPs in July, the patrol officer outside Jeneora Rock.

It's when he targets women that he's hateful. Rosa's people didn't have to die like that. Knives drew it out for fun and let Rosa live with witnessing it. Similarly, he hated Luida so much he went for the throat bare-handed. He didn't get to Meryl, but Knives was so determined to harm her that it took Vash a few tries to redirect his attention while she fled. Let's also not forget that his abuse of Vash is centred around trying to destroy all influence Rem, a woman, had on his brother. Knives is openly contemptuous of human women in a way he simply isn't with men - Meryl is a "disgusting parasite", Luida a "witch".

You'd think championing Tesla and the dependent Plants (whom he refers to as female) would check him some - but it doesn't! Because they're defined by helplessness. They can't argue or tell him he's wrong, nor can they leave him or hurt him or take Vash from him. I'm sure he cares about them but, well, he cares about Vash too, and we know how that works out.

And thus of Knives's closest followers, only Elendira is afforded a place among their ranks. No others allowed. I have a feeling it'll be a little more gender-balanced once Legato steps in (he's got an entirely different flavour of hang-up), but that's for the future.

So why is Elendira the exception?

For a start, she's more directly attached to Dr. Conrad than Knives himself. Conrad seems to treat her as his companion or child, though she doesn't seem terribly fond of him or inclined to respect him. She is loyal to Knives, enough to recoil from Vash for being a "traitor".

In addition, she's Knives's partial clone. Knives is extremely self-absorbed, and she does look like he did as a boy. On a creepier note, she looks like Vash, too.

She's also not human. From what I can tell, rather she's a sort of an Independent/dependent Plant, a hybrid of their characteristics. Her body has proportions similar to the dependent Plants when they're unfurled, except on smaller scale and without the "petals" - large head, big eyes, long hands/feet, slender body - and, like them, she lacks sexual characteristics (so, she's arguably not a woman either - but put a pin in that). She can survive outside her case and doesn't need to eat or drink. However, her Gate seems too weak to afford her the toughness and regenerative abilities of the twins. Which probably explains why she reacted the way she did to a relatively minor cut.

I think her genetic makeup might be why she hasn't grown beyond "childhood". She isn't a child, she's a fully-developed adult. It's just that she's got the proportions of a fully-developed adult Plant, which look childish to a human. And might explain why she flat-out murders Roberto for being unable to look past that and see the threat she represents.

Anyway, I imagine, for Elendira, the problem is that the whole fact of her existence brings with it... expectations. The most obvious:

Elendira is almost certainly an attempt by Dr. Conrad to further his "atonement" by recreating Tesla to give her another chance at life. He probably treats her like one, anyway, even if not consciously. (Whether or not she has any part of Tesla integrated into her is an interesting question but not relevant - it's an emotional thing.)

Yet Tesla remains a silent victim. It's her tragedy. That's all she ever got to be and all that she will ever be. Elendira simply isn't Tesla - might even have come to resent Tesla, because this poor little girl no one ever got to know has overshadowed her entire life. She's a sibling El can never surpass. Forever perfect because she never got to be enough of a person to disappoint anyone. It's no wonder Elendira hates being pitied if it means being reminded that Tesla, born an Independent, is a standard she falls short of - but all the ways Tesla was superior didn't save her from the fate she suffered. She isn't Tesla. She can't be Tesla. She refuses to be.

And then there's this asshole.

(Vash is of course the perfect precious boy, but I'm talking from Elendira's perspective.)

We don't outright hear how Knives talks about Vash to his followers, but Elendira gives us a hint. She calls him a traitor and won't allow him to even touch her. We know Knives is obsessed with his twin to the exclusion of anything or anyone else (ask Legato) - and I suspect he sought replacement in his followers… but you know how it is when you're around someone who's really hung up over an ex? (Again whether it's romantic or not really doesn't matter, he's Very Normal etc.) Knives hates every single choice his brother's ever made but it's painfully obvious that he'll never love anyone else. For Elendira, that's another sibling setting a standard she'll never reach in a game she didn't sign up to play. She isn't Vash. She can't be Vash. She refuses to merely be a replacement for Vash, who hurt Lord Knives so deeply.

So fuck all that, right?

Given the scanty details we've been given, I can easily imagine her deciding she won't play anymore. She won't be Tesla. She won't be Vash. Instead, she'll carve out her own identity. Tesla didn't get to grow up, so Elendira's an adult and nobody's victim. Vash is a sentimental idiot, so she's the woman who kills without pity.

I can also easily imagine her going to Dr. Conrad and leaning on him to make improvements after the Punisher defeated her. She already wears lipstick and colours her nails, along with wearing a pink dress - experimenting with her presentation - and uses very adult, aggressively femme body language and articulation.

In short, I get the feeling Elendira dislikes her look as much as the fans do. And she's going to try and remedy it at the earliest opportunity.

@ultraviolet-cello

Part I

And one more important detail.

#trigun stampede #trigun meta #tristampparty #elendira the crimsonnail #she's claudia in interview with a vampire basically #unlike poor claudia elendira has options #what a fantastically horrible little family unit #neat how knives tells vash he pities him after elendira reacted to being pitied with homicide

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