Work Text:
The deepest form of slavery is the
hunger for being understood.
-Fyodor Dostoevsky
“Your generation should consider it an honor.”
Pieck stared blankly at the map spread across the briefing room wall while another Marleyan officer droned on endlessly about sacrifice, glory, and duty.
The words had long since blurred together.
Around her, the room smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, ink, and damp military fabric still carrying traces of titan steam. Warrior candidates and soldiers stood lined neatly against the walls while commanders pointed lazily across maps stained with fingerprints and coffee rings, discussing death counts with detached professionalism.
Pieck’s eyes drifted toward the floor.
Four months.
Four months spent inside her titan with barely enough time outside of it to remember what her own body felt like.
Her spine still ached constantly.
Sometimes she caught herself hunching forward unconsciously, shoulders curving the same way they did inside the Cart Titan’s skeletal frame.
She hated it when Porco pointed it out.
“As Honorary Marleyans,” the officer continued sharply, “you exist to serve this nation. Never forget the generosity Marley has shown your people.”
Pieck’s fingers twitched slightly beneath the table.
Generosity.
Outside the building, Eldian children were still confined behind walls and armed guards.
The title felt more insulting each year.
Beside her, Porco clicked his tongue quietly in irritation.
Pieck glanced sideways briefly.
He looked bored out of his mind, one boot kicked lazily against the leg of his chair, while his jaw rested against his fist.
At least someone here still had the energy to look angry.
Pieck only felt tired.
“You are Warriors,” another officer said firmly. “Weapons chosen to protect Marley’s future.”
Weapons.
Pieck lowered her gaze toward her hands resting silently in her lap.
Somehow, that word felt more real than soldiers ever had.
By the time the briefing finally ended, the afternoon sun sat high over Marley’s streets.
Pieck stepped outside and immediately squinted against the harsh brightness.
The city buzzed loudly around her.
She felt filthy.
Four months inside her titan had left something rotten beneath her skin, something she could never quite scrub away, no matter how hard she tried.
Even after rubbing her skin raw beneath boiling water, she could still smell the dirt and blood clinging to her.
Sometimes, the urge to drop onto her hands and knees still lingered in the back of her mind. To crawl. To become what Marley had always seen her as.
An animal.
Not a soldier, and certainly not a woman.
Someone like her could never understand what it truly meant to be feminine.
As she continued down the street, Pieck could feel the weight of eyes following her through the crowds. Some stared openly. Others looked away too quickly.
Her hand instinctively drifted toward the red armband wrapped around her sleeve, fingers brushing against the fabric as if checking whether it remained there.
Honorary Marleyan.
The title was almost laughable.
No matter how many wars they won for Marley, no matter how many bodies they buried beneath titan footsteps, the people here would always look at them the same way.
Dangerous.
Unclean.
Pieck lowered her gaze and continued walking.
The shopping district stretched brightly beneath the afternoon sun, lined with polished windows and gold-lettered signs. Perfume drifted through the warm air. Women in expensive dresses laughed softly beneath shaded awnings while workers hurried between stores carrying silk boxes wrapped neatly in ribbon.
Pieck felt out of place among them.
Too large. Too rough. Too aware of the blood that lingered beneath her fingernails, no matter how many times she washed her hands.
Then something caught her eye.
She stopped walking.
Behind the glass of a boutique window stood a dress the color of pale gold, embroidered with delicate lavender flowers twisting carefully along the fabric.
Soft.
Gentle.
Untouched by war.
Pieck stared at it longer than she meant to.
She could already feel eyes settling onto her from across the street. Whispers drifting beneath laughter.
Eldian.
As if the word itself carried filth.
A girl like her could never dream of wearing something so beautiful.
Pieck glanced toward the boutique entrance, hesitating.
She had been saving money for months now. Small amounts tucked away from military stipends and allowances, all without any real purpose behind them. There were never many occasions worth dressing nicely for in Liberio.
Still, she found herself wondering.
She watched Marleyan girls wander through the doors beside their mothers, smiling as gloved hands adjusted ribbons and sleeves for them. Others entered in loud groups, laughing while they pointed excitedly toward dresses displayed beneath warm golden lights.
Pieck looked away quickly.
Things like that had never belonged to people like her.
Slowly, she adjusted the red armband around her sleeve, making sure it remained visible.
Honorary Marleyan.
Maybe that title would be enough to let her inside without trouble.
Maybe if she explained she was a Warrior candidate... no, a Warrior now... they might treat her differently. She could tell them it was for infiltration. Military necessity. Something practical enough to justify wanting it.
Warriors were praised like weapons and looked at like a disease.
The contradiction exhausted her.
After debating with herself for several long moments, Pieck finally stepped toward the entrance.
The bell above the boutique door rang softly as she walked inside.
Silence followed almost immediately.
The boutique smelled faintly of lavender perfume and pressed fabric. Warm golden light spilled from crystal chandeliers overhead, reflecting against polished marble floors so clean that Pieck could almost see herself staring back at her.
Delicate dresses hung neatly along the walls in shades of cream, blush, and pale gold. Silk ribbons curled around display stands beside polished mirrors framed in silver.
Everything looked soft.
Fragile.
Expensive.
Pieck suddenly became aware of how heavy her boots sounded against the floor.
Conversations dimmed around her.
One woman quietly guided her daughter farther away after noticing the red armband wrapped around Pieck’s sleeve. Another customer lowered the dress she had been examining before turning toward the opposite side of the boutique entirely.
Pieck kept her eyes lowered.
She had expected this.
It still stung.
Behind the counter stood a saleswoman folding lace gloves carefully between manicured fingers, a perfectly practiced smile resting across her face.
“Welcome in! Is there anything specific you’re looking fo-”
The woman opened her eyes.
The smile disappeared immediately.
“Ah.”
Pieck watched the shift happen in real time. The slight wrinkle of her nose. The tightening around her mouth.
Like the sight of her alone had soured the air.
Pieck swallowed quietly before speaking.
“I wanted to ask about the dress in the front window.”
Her voice sounded smaller than she intended.
The saleswoman glanced toward the display.
“That one?”
Pieck nodded.
“I’m a size zero.”
The woman’s gaze drifted slowly over Pieck’s appearance.
The military coat.
The scar along her arm.
The dark circles beneath tired eyes.
The red armband.
Pieck suddenly wished she had spent more time fixing her hair before leaving home.
“That piece is imported,” the saleswoman said flatly.
Pieck tightened her grip around her wallet.
“I saved enough.”
The woman raised an eyebrow slightly.
“I see.”
The response carried enough disbelief to make Pieck’s face burn.
Nearby, two girls standing near the mirrors glanced toward her before whispering something behind raised hands.
One of them laughed softly.
Pieck pretended not to notice.
“Would it be possible to try it on?” she asked carefully.
The saleswoman stared at her for a moment too long.
“Try it on?”
Pieck nodded once.
“I wouldn’t damage it.”
Silence.
The woman looked almost amused now.
“That dress is made with imported Marleyan silk.”
Pieck’s stomach tightened.
“I know.”
“It’s very delicate.”
The meaning settled heavily between them.
Pieck felt every eye in the boutique slowly turning toward her again.
“I can pay for it,” she said quietly.
The saleswoman let out a short breath through her nose before stepping closer.
“Listen carefully, girl.”
Girl.
Not miss.
Not ma’am.
Girl.
“Even honorary Marleyans should know there are places they do not belong.”
Pieck froze.
“You people always mistake usefulness for status.”
The words landed harder than Pieck expected.
Because part of her had hoped being a Warrior meant something.
The woman glanced toward Pieck’s armband with visible disgust.
“That title on your sleeve does not make you one of us.”
Somewhere behind her, someone muttered:
“Devils really do want to imitate people.”
Quiet laughter followed.
Pieck’s fingers curled tighter around the wallet in her hands.
“I just wanted the dress,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
The room went strangely still after that.
The saleswoman’s expression sharpened immediately.
“And I want you out of my store.”
Pieck stared down at the polished marble floor.
The chandeliers above blurred slightly.
She suddenly became painfully aware of her reflection in the nearby mirror.
Broad shoulders beneath a military coat.
Exhausted eyes.
Hands roughened by war.
She looked monstrous standing among silk and lace.
“Maybe,” the saleswoman continued coldly, “you should return to your district and find something more appropriate there.”
Another customer scoffed quietly.
“Find her a sack.”
More laughter.
Nobody stopped them.
Nobody looked uncomfortable enough to intervene.
Pieck lowered her head immediately.
“Sorry,” she murmured automatically.
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
For a second, the saleswoman almost looked pleased by the apology.
Pieck turned quickly toward the exit before anyone could see the humiliation burning across her face.
By the time Pieck reached the door, most of the boutique had emptied around her.
The bell rang softly overhead as she stepped back into the sunlight.
Warm air hit her face immediately, but it did little to stop the burning humiliation crawling beneath her skin. She kept her head lowered as she walked, fingers tightening around the wallet still clutched uselessly in her hand.
Her chest felt tight.
Stupid.
She should have known better.
Behind her, the boutique workers were already speaking again, their laughter muffled faintly through the glass.
Pieck forced herself not to look back.
Crowds moved around her carelessly along the busy street. Marleyan civilians laughed beneath shaded awnings, carrying silk bags and wrapped boxes beneath their arms as if the world had never known war.
Pieck suddenly felt enormous among them.
Too rough.
Too dirty.
Like titan steam still clung visibly to her skin.
“Pieck?”
She froze slightly at the familiar voice.
Porco was walking down the opposite side of the street, hands shoved lazily into his pockets, before his expression shifted the moment he saw her properly.
His eyes flicked toward the boutique behind her.
Then back to her face.
Immediately, his expression darkened.
“Did someone do something to you?”
Before Pieck could answer, Porco was already in front of her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her slightly closer beneath the shade of the awning.
Rough hands tilted her face upward.
Pieck stiffened instinctively.
Porco’s eyes searched her quickly, checking for bruises, burns, and steam marks. Anything.
“What were you thinking?” he muttered under his breath. “Coming into a place like this alone…”
His grip tightened slightly against her jaw before he finally seemed satisfied that there was no physical damage.
Nothing visible, at least.
“It’s fine, Porco.”
The words came out too quickly.
He scoffed immediately.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Pieck looked away.
Across the street, she could still see the pale gold dress standing untouched beneath the boutique lights.
Porco followed her gaze.
Understanding crossed his face almost instantly.
Then came the irritation.
Not at her.
At the fact that she had let herself hope.
“Why would you even try?” he asked sharply. “You know how these people are.”
Pieck’s fingers curled tightly into her palms.
She hated that he was right.
She hated even more that he had seen this.
“I just…” Her voice caught briefly before flattening again. “I just wanted to try it on.”
The admission sounded childish the moment it left her mouth.
Porco stared at her silently.
Pieck laughed once beneath her breath.
Small.
Bitter.
“Pathetic, right?”
“Pieck-”
“I wanted to feel normal for five minutes.”
The words slipped out harsher than intended.
“I wanted to wear something that didn’t smell like blood or dirt or steam.” Her throat tightened painfully. “Something pretty.”
Porco’s jaw clenched.
Pieck looked down at her hands.
“Sometimes I get tired of wearing the skin of another thing all the time.”
Silence.
The noise of Marley’s streets blurred around them.
Then Porco exhaled sharply through his nose.
“We aren’t normal, Pieck.”
His voice wasn’t cruel.
That made it worse.
“People like us…” He glanced briefly toward the red armband around her sleeve before looking away again. “We’ll never be like them.”
Pieck felt something twist painfully in her chest.
Porco reached forward suddenly, poking the center of her forehead hard enough to annoy her.
“Get that through your thick skull already.”
Pieck slapped his hand away weakly.
“You’re horrible at comforting people.”
“I’m not trying to comfort you.”
A lie.
An obvious one.
Porco clicked his tongue before roughly grabbing her hand again.
“C’mon. Let’s go home, Pieck.”
Pieck hesitated for a moment, still staring toward the boutique window behind them.
The dress remained untouched beneath the golden lights.
Beautiful.
Distant.
Meant for somebody else.
Porco tightened his grip slightly when she didn’t move right away.
“Stop looking at it.”
His voice softened just slightly near the end.
Pieck lowered her gaze quietly and finally followed after him.
The streets gradually became emptier the farther they walked from the shopping district. Bright storefronts gave way to cracked sidewalks and old brick buildings darkened by smoke and winter frost.
Neither of them spoke much.
No trains were willing to transport Eldians without proper authorization papers, and no drivers ever stopped willingly near Liberio unless Marley’s government demanded it.
So they walked.
And walked.
The cold worsened as evening approached.
Pieck could no longer feel the tips of her fingers.
She tried not to shiver.
Porco noticed anyway.
“You look like you’re about to get frostbite.”
Before she could protest, he shrugged off his military jacket and tossed it over her shoulders.
Pieck blinked in surprise.
He had removed the red armband beforehand, keeping it looped around his own arm instead.
Even now, they still had to be careful.
The jacket practically swallowed her whole.
It smelled faintly like smoke, leather, and Porco himself.
Warm.
Pieck pulled it tighter around herself instinctively.
When she looked back up at him, Porco immediately turned his face away.
His ears were slightly red.
Pieck almost laughed.
“You’re blushing.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re definitely blushing.”
“It’s cold outside.”
“Mhm.”
Porco grumbled something under his breath while shoving his hands into his pockets more aggressively than necessary.
Eventually, they stopped beside an empty bench near the edge of the district.
Pieck practically collapsed onto it with a tired groan, exhaustion finally catching up to her all at once.
Porco sat beside her a second later.
Without really thinking about it, Pieck leaned sideways until her shoulder rested against his.
Heavy.
Warm.
Safe.
Porco stiffened slightly at first but didn’t move away.
“Don’t worry about me, Porco,” Pieck murmured tiredly. “You’ve got your own problems to deal with.”
She lifted a finger lazily, pressing it against his lips.
“Boop.”
Porco stared at her in offended silence for two full seconds before grabbing her hand and pulling it away from his face.
His fingers wrapped around hers automatically.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
“Don’t think about those idiots,” he muttered quietly.
Pieck looked down at their hands.
“Easy for you to say.”
Porco exhaled sharply through his nose before speaking again.
“You look pretty in anything you wear.”
Silence.
Porco froze instantly.
Pieck slowly turned toward him.
His face had gone completely red now.
“I meant…” he started quickly, refusing to look at her, “not like that. I meant it platonically, so don’t start thinking stupid things.”
Pieck stared at him for another second before snorting softly beneath her breath.
“Hah.”
Her head slipped more comfortably against his shoulder.
“You’re hilarious.”
Porco groaned quietly and covered part of his face with his free hand.
Pieck noticed he still hadn’t let go of hers.
Porco’s hand remained wrapped around hers as they continued through the freezing streets.
Neither of them spoke much after that.
The city around them gradually grew darker as evening settled over Marley, streetlights flickering softly against the snow beginning to fall around them.
Pieck pulled his oversized jacket tighter around herself.
It still felt strange.
Warmth usually came from titan steam. From destruction. From splitting open battlefields beneath her feet.
Not this.
Not on walks home beside someone who kept pretending not to care about her.
She glanced sideways at Porco.
He was still looking forward stubbornly, ears faintly pink beneath the cold.
Pieck smiled weakly despite herself.
The humiliation from earlier still sat heavily inside her chest. She could still hear the laughter. Still feel those eyes crawling across her skin.
Dirty.
Unworthy.
Wrong.
Her fingers tightened slightly around Porco’s hand before she realized what she was doing.
He tightened his grip back immediately.
No hesitation.
Pieck looked down quietly.
Maybe she would never wear silk.
Maybe the world would only ever see her as a devil pretending to be human.
But for tonight, beneath the freezing Marleyan sky, someone was holding her hand like she was worth keeping warm.
Somehow, kindness felt far more unbearable than cruelty ever had.