[ hold it closer? with all this screaming? with no other choice, eren pretends he’s holding an important package rather than, as said, a grenade, and rings his arms beneath the bairn to support its legs. in an instant, the screeching ceases, they’re gifting with quiet, and with a bubbling babble, the plant-child reaches and beckons its grip into eren’s shirt, then a strand of eren’s growing, a little more than shoulder-length hair.
oh, shit. not literally, thank god, but— it just wants to be closer to him, he realizes. eren’s hold is awkward, he’s young, but this is possibly as power as a man holding a baby yoda. anything remotely paternal buds to a light it might’ve never have seen, and his eyes . . . his eyebrows curve up to express sorrow, his eyes seem to melt into a pile of shining goop, and his throat feels tight. he’s without words. ]
no subject
oh, shit. not literally, thank god, but— it just wants to be closer to him, he realizes. eren’s hold is awkward, he’s young, but this is possibly as power as a man holding a baby yoda. anything remotely paternal buds to a light it might’ve never have seen, and his eyes . . . his eyebrows curve up to express sorrow, his eyes seem to melt into a pile of shining goop, and his throat feels tight. he’s without words. ]
. . . Thanks.