ITS 👏🏼 OKAY 👏🏼 FOR 👏🏼 DUDES 👏🏼 TO 👏🏼 BE 👏🏼SOFT 👏🏼 AND 👏🏼

A Conversation about the Sky (EreMika Fanfic)

Summary: Mikasa doesn't even notice the tightening of her fingers around his arm, or that her breathing is uneven, or that her legs and arms and her whole body is frozen and she should probably calm her heart down, but the only thing on her mind is he is here, a mantra that keeps on repeating in her head. He's here. He's here. He's here. He's really here. A smile lights up upon his face and it makes her cry even more. "Mikasa." He tries to say it with ease but his voice cracks in the middle as though he hasn't said her name for years.

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Warning: Spoilers, Angst, Emotional hurt/comfort, Canonical Character death, References to Depression, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Kissing, Making out.

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The back of a head is the first thing Mikasa sees after she opens her eyes and it takes her a moment before she can register that it is an unruly mess of brown hair on the head. It is too familiar, the shape of the head, the thin strands of the hair and how many times she has searched for this specific hair color in a sea of other colors. And she can just about imagine how it would look tied into a little ponytail as though it was a sixth sense in and of itself.

"Eren?"

She shouldn't say his name, because the figure in front of her could be anyone, but she does anyway.

The figure doesn't move an inch.

"Eren?"

His name rolling off of her tongue has always been a naturality on its own right but right now, it feels strange. As if she should have been calling his name all this time.

But didn't I?

Her arm lifts itself up, or maybe it is of her own accord, she doesn't know anything anymore, other than the fact that there is a sudden desire to touch this figure in front of her. To just have a feel of that hair, or cling onto those tattered-looking clothes, or even just a touch of the nape of his neck.

The figure is startled the moment her fingers come into contact with a little piece of his cloth, shoulders jerking up, and his body tenses up.

"Eren?" Mikasa's voice comes out as a whisper, but he nonetheless hears it. The way his ears perk up at the mention of his name remains the same, and she thinks it is as though he might get a command from someone any time now.

Please …

What? Please, what?

I don't know but please …

"Eren?" Her grip is on his arm now, too greedy for her own good but she must satisfy her hunger. She couldn't help it anymore, she has to see his face, so she twists him around and tries to locate those green as grass eyes of his until she realizes that she doesn't have to search. The pair of eyes are staring right down at her.

Mikasa is unable to open her mouth anymore so she leaves it be, her hands coming up to cover them and she can feel the slight tremble of her lips. Her thumb collects a tear that runs off on its own as a noise that sounds like a cry arose from somewhere. It isn't until later that she realizes it came from her own throat.

Those boyish facials she has spent her whole life looking after, taking care of the many scars and bruises it received due to his reckless habit of jumping face first into fights whether it concerned him or not, and the hair she remembers she based her own out of because it was the closest and only thing she could imagine that could guide the scissor in her hand, the mouth that cried out her name and it was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard.

Eren is here in flesh.

Mikasa doesn't even notice the tightening of her fingers around his arm, or that her breathing is uneven, or that her legs and arms and her whole body is frozen and she should probably calm her heart down, but the only thing on her mind is he is here, a mantra that keeps on repeating in her head.

He's here.

He's here.

He's here.

He's really here.

A smile lights up upon his face and it makes her cry even more. "Mikasa." He tries to say it with ease but his voice cracks in the middle as though he hasn't said her name for years.

Mikasa is vaguely aware of her next movement: the wetness of her hands and cheeks is the first thing she notices but then she finds herself planting her hands all over his face, fingers crawling every nook and cranny, behind the ears, his scalp, under his jaw, half because she wants to make sure this isn't a cursed dream and half because there might be injuries hidden somewhere and she wants to be the one to treat it.

(To read more, go here.)

i just caught a mosquito between my fingers

i have exams on my birthday

arima: *breathes

the ccg: talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show-stopping, spectacular, never-the-same, totally unique, completely-not-ever-been-done-before

A Hundred Promises In One Kiss - erlandwrites - 東京卍リベンジャーズ | Tokyo Revengers (Manga) [Archive of Our Own]

"Takashi?"

"Yes?"

"You've read the latest chapter of my book, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you, by any chance, remember anything from it?" You sniffle.

Mitsuya halts the balance wheel with a jerk of his hand, his foot freezing under the table at the same time. Did he hear that right? Did your voice quaver slightly and crack in the middle of that sentence? And did you just sniffle?

man ive gained a new appreciation and admiration for smut writers cuz goddamn is it hard!!! (pun unintended)

like i have been edging my characters for so long because i do not know how to write sexy scenes

hi im bitter about people not commenting on fics. im sad seeing all these authors get so discouraged because no one comments. it takes like 5 seconds! just do it!! dont know what to type? me neither! heres some handy pre-written comments for you! “I dont know what to comment! That was great! thank you for your hard work!” “That was lovely! I really enjoyed this chapter/fic.” “How dare you?” “AAAAAAAAAAAAA” “Extra kudos because one is not enough!” if you read a fic and dont know what to say, leave the tab open, come back later! see if theres a line you really liked! tell them if it reminded you of something dumb! tell them if your roommate saw you crying while reading it and now your roommate is reading it!!! SHARE WHATEVER. BE INCLUSIVE! everyone wants to hear SOMETHING. silence kills passion. show authors you care! show artists you care!!!! 

“Nine months,” Caleb murmured, staring at the tiny baby in his arms. His baby. Their baby. His eyes were shining with awe—but his voice carried a hint of betrayal. “Nine months inside your mom’s womb… only to come out looking exactly like me.”

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips curling up into a soft smile. Your attention remained fixed on the minimally interesting documentary playing on the TV. “Good job, baby.”

“Good job?” He continued to pace in circles while cradling the baby. Caleb ran a finger along his son’s cheek, gently poking it, amazed by how soft and chubby it was. “It’s not that I don’t like him—he’s cute, and I love him. But I wanted a mini-you running around the house, giving me headaches. Instead, I replicated myself.”

“Yeah, sometimes genetics do that.” You replied, starting to feel a little sorry for your husband. “Besides, he hasn’t even turned one month old yet, maybe he’ll pick up my personality or some other trait of mine?”

Caleb sat down next to you, careful not to disturb the pillows surrounding you. “You think?” He spoke a little too loudly, then flinched as he felt the baby stir, waking up. Slowly, his tiny eyelids fluttered open, granting his dad a glimpse of his purple irises.

There was a long silence between you, the only sound being the narrator’s voice echoing through the room.

You took a deep breath, trying to suppress a laugh. Caleb held one of the baby’s tiny hands, attempting to entertain him. “Your genes didn’t even try…”

Kenma always volunteered to take the night shift with your little one.

You really didn’t mind, it was good to know that when your newborn baby would stir and cry in the middle of the night, that he was more than willing to tend to her littlest needs and biggest cries.

You had teased him, once or thrice, about this just being a cover so he could play his game all hours of the night without any scolding from you or his best friend, hiding it under a fatherly deed. Which he’d roll his eyes with a small blush and shake his head at “‘s not true, babe.”

Really, it was so he could be here like this.

Tiny hands reached up to grab at his blue-light glasses in intrigued, causing Kenma’s face to scrunch up dramatically, “yeah, I know, they were the last ones on the shelf, I already hear it from Uncle K, I don’t need to hear it from you.”

The infant merely blinks up at him. Kenma knows, deep down, that she can’t hear him, she won’t even remember the glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose come the age of two. But there’s a small part of his exhausted, imaginative brain that does convince him that she hears her dad’s gentle teasing; finds it amusing, even.

His thoughts are cut off by the sounds of her little mouth letting out strangely aggressive grunts, and Kenma can only innocently snicker at the sounds. Then, he remembers what they mean, and his face drops back down.

“Are you really popping on me?” He asks, a hand rubbing her belly. “Seriously? You couldn’t have saved that for your other parent? No no, they give you your bottle, so I get the aftermath.”

With that, he rises to his feet to bring her to the changing table, changing her diaper with only a few comments here and there- “no, seriously, how does something so small-?” and “you know, I’m doing this for you, so you better do it for me when I’m old and in diapers.”- but there’s nothing more Kenma would rather be doing. It’s his baby, his little miracle, and for all the months he feared his paternal instinct wouldn’t kick in, they were worth it when his little girl looks up at him and lets out a single, breathy laugh, and he stiffens up.

It was her first giggle.

Tears heat up the corner of his eyes and he picks his now clean baby off of the table, “y-you just laughed- oh my god, you just- you just laughed for me!”

And this is why, he thinks to himself. This is why he spends all night watching and tending to her; he doesn’t want to miss a thing when he’s at work. These are moments he’ll never get back, these small, little things that she’ll never knew even happened, but he’ll remember until the day he dies.

“I knew you thought I was funny.”

This week is Children’s Mental Health Week and Sexual Abuse & Sexual Violence Awareness Week.

Children’s mental health (struggles) and sexual abuse/violence happen everywhere day to day.

To anyone struggling with either of these, I’m so sorry, I send you all my love. I hope it can get better, and that you can escape/get help with these situations, though I know that can be difficult.

Stay safe everyone and have a great day or evening.