Lucadina

Choices / Voices

A/N: ereannie, wedding plans

Annie never wanted a wedding dress.

White doesn’t suit her; it underlines the dull pallor of her ceramic skin.

Lace isn’t flattering either; it’s itchy, overly delicate, and looks prettier on virgins.

‘You don’t like this one either?’

‘No,’ says Annie as she hands yet another sample gown to the saleswoman, who asks for a brief outline of the type of silhouette she is searching for— ‘One that suits me,’ she whispers, and the appointment ends there.

But Eren insists that she return the very next day. Annie does her best to protest, but there’s no telling him otherwise once he’s offended: ‘Just pick one. You’ll walk down the aisle in a black dress if you have to.’

Annie daydreams about that.

It starts with her first step onto an ivory carpet runner; she walks down its length, and she’s draped in black— smooth and lacquered. The guests fixate on her, though she pays them no mind, for the only person that matters awaits her at the end of the road.

Dark hair, dark eyes— yet he glows, the sunlight seeping in through the stained glass windows casting rainbow luminescence over his broad shoulders; the sun burns in his gaze, bright and beckoning.

Right before the steps leading up to him, she doesn’t pause— but she turns to the left, to the only empty seat remaining in that entire congregation. She takes it, eyes glued to the floor, and it feels like forever till she can gather enough shame to look up again; and it’s some other woman beside Eren now, but she’s so beautiful in that lace white dress that it feels right somehow to be watching this scene from afar, uninvolved.

It feels right to bury, not marry, the memory of someone she loves.

Annie snaps back to the present, finds herself looking at her reflection in the same mirror as yesterday; she dons a different design, but the feeling is the same.

‘Still no?’

Annie shakes her head, ‘I just don’t think I can wear this kind of thing.’

It bothers her.

She glances at the diamond sparkling on her finger; a testament to the love (?) they’ve shared and the future he wants— and a reminder of her shortcomings. This is supposed to make her happy. But she can’t even fake it.

It hurts them both; so on a particularly cold night, Eren musters up the strength to ask: ‘Do you have doubts about me?’

‘No,’ she answers, ‘I have doubts about myself.’

So he averts his gaze, unwilling to prod further, because he has never doubted her before now.

I was JUST thinking of some ereannie feels and here you are delivering with more of your amazing writing. This was so good!

#ereannie #ereani #eren x annie #annie leonhart #my writing

Thank you so much for your kindness, Naka!

Choices / Voices

A/N: ereannie, wedding plans

Annie never wanted a wedding dress.

White doesn’t suit her; it underlines the dull pallor of her ceramic skin.

Lace isn’t flattering either; it’s itchy, overly delicate, and looks prettier on virgins.

‘You don’t like this one either?’

Annie daydreams about that.

Dark hair, dark eyes— yet he glows, the sunlight seeping in through the stained glass windows casting rainbow luminescence over his broad shoulders; the sun burns in his gaze, bright and beckoning.

It feels right to bury, not marry, the memory of someone she loves.

Annie snaps back to the present, finds herself looking at her reflection in the same mirror as yesterday; she dons a different design, but the feeling is the same.

‘Still no?’

Annie shakes her head, ‘I just don’t think I can wear this kind of thing.’

It bothers her.

It hurts them both; so on a particularly cold night, Eren musters up the strength to ask: ‘Do you have doubts about me?’

‘No,’ she answers, ‘I have doubts about myself.’

So he averts his gaze, unwilling to prod further, because he has never doubted her before now.

What’s Wrong With Me?

A/N: ereannie, intimacy issues

‘You always look a little sad.’

It’s an observation Eren had made in passing; it shouldn’t bother Annie much, but it does— probably because it’s the first time she’s felt seen.

Although, being seen is never a good thing when all you have left are your secrets, the broken bones beneath the scars that burst into wildfire whenever someone cares just enough to look at you.

‘When you space out,’ he had said, 'That’s when it’s like you’re about to cry. But you never do.’

Because I don’t want to cry in front of you.

Annie sometimes wonders why that is.

The answer feels right at her fingertips, tangible when the realises that he’s too good to be true. These moments are brief and unexpected, creeping up on her like morning mist and dissipating to reveal an untold, personal dream of hers: how insane would it be, if someone could love her for real? Past the excitement of her scathing words, beyond the tease of a pale, perfumed neck— how crazy would it be if he actually loved her for all that she is?

He may not love her, but he sees her.

Once in a while, when they’re facing each other over dinner or laying side-by-side in bed, he’ll look at her with intent, with morbid fascination, until the verdant veil of his gaze lifts, and suddenly she’s confronted by his firm judgement.

The verdict is always the same: You think too much, you hurt too much.

'But if I didn’t, then I wouldn’t care about you.’

That always gets him to shut the fuck up, because it’s true. He doesn’t give her much to love and yet she at cares for him; she can’t help it. And that works for him; he doesn’t need to be loved for who he is; he likes himself and that is more than enough. He’s with her because having another person feel for him proves to the naysayers that he isn’t unworthy of affection. That he’s normal, he can do it, he can have it— he’s normal.

Yet at the back of his head, her low voice whispers that he isn’t special. That she chose him not because he’s godly, not because he’s extraordinary— but because he’s familiar.

He is proud and places himself over others; he doesn’t have the tools to love her back; he’s her history reflected back at her without promise of anything better.

He’s honest, and that’s refreshing. She’s tired of disappointments.

So she can do it. She can tough it out where others have cried themselves to sleep.

Bitch was crazy, he had said about the women he’d left torn and grieving.

And that pisses her off because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have a broken heart, a real one. To have that flutter in your chest ripped out, twisted, and trampled over till it’s smashed back into you as this resilient ache, tortuous till you start thinking: maybe it’d be better if it stopped beating.

So she says:

'There must be something wrong with you then, if you fall for crazy over and over.’

'I haven’t this time, though.’

And you never will, she thinks, because you’ll never see all of me.

It’s why she’s so confident. She’s certain that he’s kept at arm’s length, that he doesn’t pay attention when her thoughts throb in her mind’s eye, that he doesn’t think about the reasons as to why she begs to be alone at random intervals in the day. He never asks questions; but she makes the mistake of allowing him to collect too much intel on her tricky character.

In Annie’s preoccupation with distance, she can’t see when he’s close enough to peer into the cracks of her skin. And he sees how she bleeds every day, how wounds never close, and how she stays silent because she thinks she’s ugly when she screams.

Eren watches. Even when she thinks he isn’t, he is.

He catches her when the mask slips. In the bright afternoon, with the light filtering in through the window she leans her forehead on— yet her eyes are midnight.

Eerily still, corpse-white and barely breathing.

He leans forward, a rough palm on her knee: 'Snap out of it, honey.’

Annie startles— 'Huh?’

He tries to smile.

It’s an intimate memory; it should be venerated, just how close they’ve come to each other. Up close, all their (especially her) flaws in full view— it’s spilling out of her like boiling tar. Not sweet or sophisticated— instead, bitter and aching.

She can’t care. He’s just going to leave anyway, and she wishes he’d do it soon before he takes too much of what’s left.

Except, he takes nothing and gives her all he has.

When she pulls away, he doesn’t let go.

When she’s barely holding it together, he looks the other way so she can cry.

When her mind goes a million miles an hour, when she’s thinking herself into circles— his tender touch brings her back.

It starts to tire her out.

Because she begins to wonder if maybe he actually does love her.

That’s impossible. It can’t be reality, it can’t be true, because people don’t know how to love anyone other than themselves. They would if they could, but they can’t; that’s just how it is, and so suffering is a nimbus cloud looming overhead.

And Annie’s fine with that, because it explains everything.

It all makes sense now— why it hurts, why it has always hurt, why it can’t stop hurting.

With each passing day, she teeters on the precipice of heartbreak.

She shares this with him; it moves him. Somehow, he changes, he desires change. And while he likes himself and wants for nothing, he thinks he can do with a little less of what makes him superhuman.

It starts as an effort to be close to her. In the end, he decides it’s better to be flawed and imperfect— it means that there’s space for someone else, even if that someone deems herself too jagged to ever fit properly with another person.

They’re at the beach when he tells her he loves her; they’re lounging on the oat-sand prickling their bare legs, the faraway thunder of the crashing waves lulling them into daydream. As they gaze at the dull stars fighting for brilliance against the maddening colours of a somber sundown, his confession rings inside of her with the steady force of church bells.

Annie feels a surge of heat in her chest; she realises she doesn’t want to be here, next to him, looking on at the endless ebb of ice-water.

She wants to burn with the stars above, to flicker and fall and fade.

She wants to ignore this moment. To get up, turn her back, and forget she ever met him. She doesn’t want to give him the chance to hurt her. But to lose him? She doesn’t want that either. There’s an invisible fear coiled tightly around her throat; she can’t speak. What is she even supposed to say?

And he’s so good, so gracious and understanding, that he tells her that she isn’t obliged to say anything at all— I just wanted you to know, he whispers, and means it.

Her voice is shaky: 'You don’t understand how hard this is for me.’

'I do understand,’ he purposely softens his tone—, 'What I don’t get is how you don’t understand where I’m at.’

'Where you’re at,’ she echoes, 'Where you’re at…?’

'I feel that I’ve earned the right to say I love you. That I’ve proven, in every way I can, that I do— why don’t you believe me?’

'Because you don’t even know me.’

Eren extends his hand, demanding hers (which she doesn’t give): 'I don’t have to. You won’t open up to me, and I won’t make you— despite that, I still want you— doesn’t that mean that I love you?’

She can only watch in silence as he finally takes her hand in his. He thumbs over her knuckles, and her gut coils as it dawns on her that she has never loved or needed anyone the way she does him. It’s worse that he isn’t cutting her open, that he’s waiting patiently for a response, that he sees her for what she is and chooses anyway to commit to what they have— even if it’s a nightmare; and it nauseates her, the idea that there are no more secrets, that she’s fully exposed and for once, she is neither judge nor jury—

'What’s wrong with me, Eren?’

And it’s surprising how much he knows.

IVE MUSSED YOUR WRITING OMG!!

#ereannie #ereani #eren x annie #annie leonhardt #my writing

Ahh thank you so much @nakamatoo!!

What’s Wrong With Me?

A/N: ereannie, intimacy issues

'You always look a little sad.'

It's an observation Eren had made in passing; it shouldn't bother Annie much, but it does— probably because it's the first time she's felt seen.

Although, being seen is never a good thing when all you have left are your secrets, the broken bones beneath the scars that burst into wildfire whenever someone cares just enough to look at you.

'When you space out,' he had said, 'That's when it's like you're about to cry. But you never do.'

Because I don't want to cry in front of you.

Annie sometimes wonders why that is.

The answer feels right at her fingertips, tangible when the realises that he's too good to be true. These moments are brief and unexpected, creeping up on her like morning mist and dissipating to reveal an untold, personal dream of hers: how insane would it be, if someone could love her for real? Past the excitement of her scathing words, beyond the tease of a pale, perfumed neck— how crazy would it be if he actually loved her for all that she is?

He may not love her, but he sees her.

Once in a while, when they're facing each other over dinner or laying side-by-side in bed, he'll look at her with intent, with morbid fascination, until the verdant veil of his gaze lifts, and suddenly she's confronted by his firm judgement.

The verdict is always the same: You think too much, you hurt too much.

'But if I didn't, then I wouldn't care about you.'

That always gets him to shut the fuck up, because it's true. He doesn't give her much to love and yet she cares for him; she can't help it. And that works for him; he doesn't need to be loved for who he is; he likes himself and that is more than enough. He's with her because having another person feel for him proves to the naysayers that he isn't unworthy of affection. That he's normal, he can do it, he can have it— he's normal.

Yet at the back of his head, her low voice whispers that he isn't special. That she chose him not because he's godly, not because he's extraordinary— but because he's familiar.

He is proud and places himself over others; he doesn't have the tools to love her back; he's her history reflected back at her without promise of anything better.

He's honest, and that's refreshing. She's tired of disappointments.

So she can do it. She can tough it out where others have cried themselves to sleep.

Bitch was crazy, he had said about the women he'd left torn and grieving.

And that pisses her off because he doesn't know. He doesn't know what it's like to have a broken heart, a real one. To have that flutter in your chest ripped out, twisted, and trampled over till it's smashed back into you as this resilient ache, tortuous till you start thinking: maybe it'd be better if it stopped beating.

So she says:

'There must be something wrong with you then, if you fall for crazy over and over.'

'I haven't this time, though.'

And you never will, she thinks, because you'll never see all of me.

It's why she's so confident. She's certain that he's kept at arm's length, that he doesn't pay attention when her thoughts throb in her mind's eye, that he doesn't think about the reasons as to why she begs to be alone at random intervals in the day. He never asks questions; but she makes the mistake of allowing him to collect too much intel on her tricky character.

In Annie's preoccupation with distance, she can't see when he's close enough to peer into the cracks of her skin. And he sees how she bleeds every day, how wounds never close, and how she stays silent because she thinks she's ugly when she screams.

Eren watches. Even when she thinks he isn't, he is.

He catches her when the mask slips. In the bright afternoon, with the light filtering in through the window she leans her forehead on— yet her eyes are midnight.

Eerily still, corpse-white and barely breathing.

He leans forward, a rough palm on her knee: 'Snap out of it, honey.'

Annie startles— 'Huh?'

He tries to smile.

It's an intimate memory; it should be venerated, just how close they've come to each other. Up close, all their (especially her) flaws in full view— it's spilling out of her like boiling tar. Not sweet or sophisticated— instead, bitter and aching.

She can't care. He's just going to leave anyway, and she wishes he'd do it soon before he takes too much of what's left.

Except, he takes nothing and gives her all he has.

When she pulls away, he doesn't let go.

When she's barely holding it together, he looks the other way so she can cry.

When her mind goes a million miles an hour, when she's thinking herself into circles— his tender touch brings her back.

It starts to tire her out.

Because she begins to wonder if maybe he actually does love her.

That's impossible. It can't be reality, it can't be true, because people don't know how to love anyone other than themselves. They would if they could, but they can't; that's just how it is, and so suffering is a nimbus cloud looming overhead.

And Annie's fine with that, because it explains everything.

It all makes sense now— why it hurts, why it has always hurt, why it can't stop hurting.

With each passing day, she teeters on the precipice of heartbreak.

She shares this with him; it moves him. Somehow, he changes, he desires change. And while he likes himself and wants for nothing, he thinks he can do with a little less of what makes him superhuman.

It starts as an effort to be close to her. In the end, he decides it's better to be flawed and imperfect— it means that there's space for someone else, even if that someone deems herself too jagged to ever fit properly with another person.

They're at the beach when he tells her he loves her; they're lounging on the oat-sand prickling their bare legs, the faraway thunder of the crashing waves lulling them into daydream. As they gaze at the dull stars fighting for brilliance against the maddening colours of a somber sundown, his confession rings inside of her with the steady force of church bells.

Annie feels a surge of heat in her chest; she realises she doesn't want to be here, next to him, looking on at the endless ebb of ice-water.

She wants to burn with the stars above, to flicker and fall and fade.

She wants to ignore this moment. To get up, turn her back, and forget she ever met him. She doesn't want to give him the chance to hurt her. But to lose him? She doesn't want that either. There's an invisible fear coiled tightly around her throat; she can't speak. What is she even supposed to say?

And he's so good, so gracious and understanding, that he tells her that she isn't obliged to say anything at all— I just wanted you to know, he whispers, and means it.

Her voice is shaky: 'You don't understand how hard this is for me.'

'I do understand,' he purposely softens his tone—, 'What I don't get is how you don't understand where I'm at.'

'Where you're at,' she echoes, 'Where you're at...?'

'I feel that I've earned the right to say I love you. That I've proven, in every way I can, that I do— why don't you believe me?'

'Because you don't even know me.'

Eren extends his hand, demanding hers (which she doesn't give): 'I don't have to. You won't open up to me, and I won't make you— despite that, I still want you— doesn't that mean that I love you?'

She can only watch in silence as he finally takes her hand in his. He thumbs over her knuckles, and her gut coils as it dawns on her that she has never loved or needed anyone the way she does him. It's worse that he isn't cutting her open, that he's waiting patiently for a response, that he sees her for what she is and chooses anyway to commit to what they have— even if it's a nightmare; and it nauseates her, the idea that there are no more secrets, that she's fully exposed and for once, she is neither judge nor jury—

'What's wrong with me, Eren?'

And it's surprising how much he knows.

geoshrimp

New blog for Tumblr! Yeah so a few weeks before Halloween I asked the Ereani Discord what I should make and some people said ‘werewolves’. Artist NJC inspired me with her wolf piece This is late but this is it. Eren, being the dude he is, may have gotten into a fight with the other wolves (Jean mainly)… kind of got knocked out… and the gf had to step in.

Please do not steal, manipulate or repost without credit. All characters belong to Hajime Isayama.

#ereannie #ereani #eren x annie

ririah

Tired

Why did you?

A/N: ereannie, toxicity

Eren's mouth still tastes like ash. His fingers continue to shackle her by the wrists; try as she might to shake him, his weight won't budge. Her father had taught her a number of techniques to use in such a situation, but the fact of the matter is that putting up a resistance does more harm than good when your opponent is built to win. The wrong move could compel him to destroy her; the press of his palm upon her throat is a constant reminder of this.

She tries (and fails) to delude herself into believing that it's love. She wishes she'd fall her it.

'Why do you treat me this way?'

Her question seems to take him by surprise. He considers his answer for a beat, till his domineering voice provides an explanation as useless as the sweetness he whispered into her ear only moments ago, 'Because you allow it.'

Annie inhales sharply. A crippling coldness crushes her bones, as if he's unearthed her scars just to tear the stitches out and watch her bleed all over his chest.

'You think I like it?'

'Not what I said. I said—,' he pulls her to him, embracing around her back, forearm digging into her ribs— a fair warning, '— you permit me to do whatever I want to you.'

She doesn't respond. Remains perfectly still, unfeeling, not quite sure what to think of the umpteenth disappointment he's given to her. Why bother at this point?

She trembles in his arms. In an act of mercy, he kneads the wings below her shoulders gently, too gently, as if soothing an ache he knows exists but can't get himself to give a fuck about. Annie swallows a lump in her throat; a small whine escapes. His jaw sets, and his irritation is impossible to ignore:

'You sound so pained. Fix your tone, I don't want to hear it.'

#ereannie #ereani #eren x annie #my writing

Human’s hidden beneath the monster.

#ereannie #ereani #eren x annie #my doodles

whitepeopletwitter

psychictoastmaker

People in the comments being all bitter. As if the arts aren’t out here giving you a reprieve from all the shit y'all go through. As if the arts aren’t out here making sure you live a little bit instead of just surviving.

miranova23

#psa #important

Ereannie Dark King + Queen AU

ahh thank you so much GeoShrimp (formerly Supa-ata on Tumblr) from the Eren x Annie discord server for collaborating on this with me! She is the kindest, most encouraging person to work with, and it was an honour to work with her amazing art. GeoShrimp did the illustration, so I did the colouring!

I hope it isn’t rude if I ask what moments make you believe that Annie and Eren have a relationship to touch upon! I know that her offering him to train is a big one, but I’m unsure of any others. Thank you

No problem! I love talking about these two so it’s basically a no biggie for me lol

First off, to better understand the importance of Eren and Annie relationship, we have to go back to their very first meeting and how that encounter in itself had moments between the two that showcased their relationship, besides just Annie offering to train with him.

First, after both had their little discussion on the hypocrisy of cadets training in order to become cadets so that they can steer away from titans, Eren has this altercation with Jean over that same issue. It was then that Eren displayed the same martial arts move that Annie used against him when they were sparring,. and uses it againts Jean.

Annie has this look of shock that Eren was able to use the same technique as her after just watching her do it only once. It was at this moment that she genuinely took an interest in Eren and became more open with him, when before she acted cold and distant. Not only that, but I think deep down she was really interested in sharing her connection of martial arts, the only thing that reminded her of her father, to someone who might also be interested to learn.

Knowing what we know already about Annie, she really had no reason to befriend Eren or even associate herself with him entirely. She made an effort to put up a lone wolf persona in front of others so that she wouldn’t have grown any attachments towards the people she knew she was going to betray. Yet she takes a genuine interest in this one boy who not only mimicked her hand to hand combat, but seems to genuinely make an effort to try and be friends with her. Vice versa, Eren takes an interest in Annie and approaches her without any sense of fear or intimidation, even after she basically knocked him flat on his ass the day before. This is one of two occasions in their relationship where Eren see’s past Annie cold demeanor as a facade and looks at her not as some frightening girl, but as a normal person.

I know has been mentioned to death by ereannie fans, including myself, but I feel like this moment right here illustrated the importance of Eren and Annies relationship that I feel needs to be addressed in the coming chapters. Very rarely have we seen Annie show a genuine smile, let alone towards people. Even now in the current chapters we have never seen her show a smile towards anyone besides maybe her father. Yet in this instant, she seems to be genuinely happy with the idea of training with someone and teaching him the same techniques her father taught her. To actually try and form a connection with someone through martial arts, and actually being able to make a friend.

I also need to point out that canonically, Eren was probably the first friend Annie made since she came to the walls. And she has absolutely no reason to befriend him, and it has no baring in her own mission to retake the founding titan, yet she CHOOSES to form a connection with someone.

Which is why it baffles me when I see people online saying Eren and Annie didn’t have any sort of relationship or didn’t show any indication that they were friends, when we literally have moments like this that says otherwise.

There is also the female titan arc, where the it showcases Eren’s unwillingness to believe Annie is the female titan even after all the proof laid out before him He becomes very vocal and agitated when Annie is accused of being a traitor, and visually becomes shaken when he hears that possibility.

Eren doesn’t want to believe Annie is the female titan because he doesn’t want to be faced with the possibility that someone who’m he respected for so long would be able to kill so many people just to capture him. It’s important to note that Eren wouldn’t be in this much turmoil and anxiety if he didn’t share a deep connection with Annie, and while I know some people might say that Eren’s unwillingness to fight Annie and refusal to believe shes the female titan stems from general shock and has no meaning in the relationship these two share, what happens during and after their confrontation proves otherwise.

Even while fighting Eren does not show any hint of anger or resentment towards Annie, and instead laments at the times when Annie showcased her real self whenever she displayed her hand to hand combat skills. He see’s her not as the female titan, but as a person who was his friend and someone who he genuinely took an interest in while they were training together. Like before, he was able to see past her cold demeanor and see her for who she really was, and as much as her betrayal hurt him, he couldn’t look at her as an enemy.

Even after their fight, Eren shows moments where he laments about Annie and you could see his almost somber look when thinking about her.

It’s important to note that Isayama even stated in an interview that when Eren fought Annie, he didn’t feel any anger but doubt over whether or not he should fight her. In contrast, Eren felt deep anger towards Reiner and Bertholdt after their titan reveals, yet Annie became the sole exception after both her and Eren’s confrontation, and even after their fight Eren still seemed to held her in some high regard.

In conclusion, both Eren and Annie did share a deep connection that I feel deserves to be addressed in the story. And there’s enough evidence in the manga to support that notion.

lunarcrystal

don’t you worry love, it’s just the end of the world

#ereannie #ereani #eren x annie #my writing

Synergy

A/N: ereannie, meeting at a party

Annie wishes for more than grayscale.

In her world, there exists no vibrancy. Not in the concrete jungle she lives in, and certainly not in the barren house her father refers to as their home (because it truly isn't). She performs as she is told to, without ever really knowing the reasons as to why, and with each passing day she feels more of her glass body break off into black. There's hardly anything left inside of her.

But something remains, and it aches to claw out of her chest.

It's impossible to ignore it with the downpour of the earth's secrets flogging her back, her face, her shoulders; though she stands in the midst of a crowd, the thin sheets of rain separate her from all the others. She's different and it's lonely, but somehow, this all feels right, connected. The once-unshakeable ground trembling beneath her feet, the beats that eclipses the rhythm of her own unsteady heart— the warmth blooming in her blood that coils with the people's cheers so that her feverish delirium leaves her in ragged breaths, evanescing into the starless sky above.

Annie can't recall the last time she's seen something so beautiful; the flashing lights of the stage meld with the trickling ice-water, throwing rainbows into the night.

She hadn't expected to feel anything anymore, but she does.

It is as real as the prickling of her body as it moves, sways, dances to a tune only she can hear. Within this space where an entire congregation raise their arms to one song, they all hear different melodies. Annie listens to the one that is seemingly made for her, that smashes through the crystalline walls of her mind. She remembers she's alive.

Someone knocks into her from the right. Her lashes flutter open, head snapping to the person responsible for stepping into her territory.

'Sorry,' the man says, keeps her steady with his hands on her waist; his touch is too gentle, too hot against her ceramic skin— and the flickering fire of his gaze smoulders against the darkness, like a flash of lightning peering through the curtains of a storm. While Annie has long resigned herself to an eternity of being swept up by the steady ebb of the forces around her, she reaches for that which goes against this flow.

Someone new, someone unexpected— as if she's struck by thunderbolts.

He tries to make his way past her.

Annie reaches for his shirt. She tugs him down, her enthusiasm sharp on his sleeves; he's quick to get the hint.

He grins, 'I'm Eren,' and his hands move up her back to the wings below her shoulders. Draws her in, presses into her with his weight. Up close, she can see where the rainfall streams down his handsome features; there's no use casting magic in the black of night when the stars glimmer within the ocean-depth of his eyes. Has her shutting her lids, leaning in for his mouth. He swerves to kiss her on the cheek, asks: 'What's your name?'

'Annie.'

'OK, Annie—' brushes his lips against hers once, twice— he's bleeding technicolour, staining her with that which she knows exists, but has not previously known. The pain in her chest intensifies, turns into something sweeter; another piece of music made possible only by this synergy with a complete stranger, whose grip is soft with all the love she's never been given.

He offers it so easily. Like the smile on his face, the interest in his voice.

She's impatient. So she wraps her arms around his neck, pulls him in for a real kiss that sets fire to her frigid bones. She isn't merciful, marks him with scars of hers that he's never seen, but accepts without question. May very well (probably) be because he doesn't know how hollow she is inside that he treats her with so much compassion; she's not complaining when it's his captivating touch that makes her feel human. His hands are laced with salt and medicine, and the halo of thorns around her heart disintegrates into diamond dust.

She hopes that this memory shall be burned to the back of her eyelids.

The rain has stopped— moonlights seeps in through the cracks of the crowd.

And the beat changes, descends into an electronic ballad accompanied by a wash of white over the audience.

They part softly. Annie tries not to look at his face, and expects him to turn his back as quickly as he'd come. But he pulls her into yet another embrace, burying his nose into the dip of her neck. She's certain he can hear her rabbit-heart; if he thinks she's weak, he doesn't tell her.

Her hands come up to his shoulders, hoping to mirror his tenderness, to show in action what can never be captured in words.

To tell a stranger how much it meant that they were kind. To tell him that he's left paint inside of her.

Annie catches sight of the rain-dew sparkling on her fingers; he's left stars on her skin.

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