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@eremikaweekevent
As one season fades, another begins, and once again, your heart remains with me.
This July 20-27, 2026, follow Eren and Mikasa through every season of love, as we celebrate 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬: The #EremikaWeek2026 🌸☀️🍂❄️
More details below.ᐟ𖹭
PROMPTS | GUIDELINES | FAQS
20 days more for, 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬: The Eremika Week 2026 🌸☀️🍂❄️
Join us!
𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔
⤷ 𝐅𝐀𝐐𝐬 .ᐟ𖹭
𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔
⤷ 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 .ᐟ𖹭
𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔
⤷ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.ᐟ𖹭
✦ As one season fades, another begins... ✦
This Monday, the first signs of change arrive.
Santa baby
A cosy eremika chistmas drabble, inspired by this fanart.
For the record, it had been Eren’s idea from the beginning. As it usually was when something cheesy, mildly embarrassing, and deeply sincere was involved.
Willow Yeager—also known as the calmest and most beautiful baby in the universe, according to her very reasonable and not-at-all biased parents—had reached that dangerous age where Christmas stopped being decoration and started being an event. At four years old, she no longer let things slide past her unnoticed. She stared at lights until she had to be carried away. She waved at inflatable snowmen like they might wave back. She asked why songs were louder this time of year and why people smiled more in grocery stores.
Eren clocked all of it. And once Eren clocked something, it was already too late.
“I am going to be Santa,” he announced to his wife over breakfast, mouth full of toast, like he was sharing a perfectly normal thought.
Mikasa paused mid-sip. “You are going to choke and die if you keep talking with food in your mouth, my love.”
“I am serious.”
She lowered the cup slowly. “I know. That is what worries me.”
“For Willow,” he added, pointing with the toast for emphasis. “She is ready.”
Willow perked up immediately. “Santa?”
“Not right now,” Mikasa said sharply, kicking Eren under the table.
“Ow—why?”
“She does not need details at breakfast.”
“She asked!”
“She heard the word ‘Santa’. That is on you.”
The decision was apparently irreversible, because the day before christmas, a massive box arrived. Eren dragged it inside with such effort that Willow thought it was a new piece of furniture and tried to sit on it.
“Do not open that here, Eren,” Mikasa said, already reaching out to steady Willow’s eager hands as the little girl bounced on her feet, eyes fixed on the package that had just come through the door.
Eren snorted. “Oh, so now you support my plan?”
“I have supported you from the beginning, my love,” Mikasa replied calmly. “But I cannot let you ruin the whole day beforehand.”
Willow frowned at the box. “Is it for me, mama?”
“No,” Mikasa said instantly.
“Yes,” Eren said at the exact same time.
Mikasa turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
“Yes,” he corrected himself, squatting down in front of Willow. “But it is a later present, sweet girl.”
“How much later, papa?” Willow demanded.
“Later-later.”
Mikasa rolled her eyes and scooped the little girl up before her husband could mess everything up. “Go wash your hands. Santa does not visit children with sticky fingers.”
That worked. Willow ran off at full speed.
The second she was out of sight, Mikasa pointed at the box. “Bedroom. Now.”
“Bossy,” Eren said fondly, dragging it down the hall anyway.
That night, after dinner, a very serious debate about whether Santa preferred milk and cookies or beer, and Willow finally tucked into bed, Eren cracked the box open like he had been waiting his entire life for that moment.
The costume was… a lot.
A thick red coat, a wide belt, boots, gloves, and a beard that looked like it could legally count as a small animal.
Mikasa stared. “You bought the professional Santa.”
“I wanted to commit,” Eren said.
“You look like you are about to rob a mall.”
He rolled his eyes, offended. “Help me put it on.”
The coat went on first. It was heavy, warm, and made him look even broader than usual. He tugged at the sleeves, then turned to face her, clearly waiting for feedback.
“Well?” he asked. “Be honest.”
“You look like Santa who flirts with mums,” she said flatly.
He grinned at her, his green eyes ogling her body covered in a thin, purple nightgown. “Excellent.”
The beard came next. The moment it was tied, Eren grimaced. “Oh,” he said immediately. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“It itches.”
“I warned you.”
“It is actively attacking my face!”
Mikasa stepped closer, fixed the hat, then kissed him without thinking.
Instant regret.
She pulled back, frowning. “Eren. Your beard is itchy.”
“I know.”
“You knew and still let me do that.”
He smiled, hands sliding to her waist. “You did not have to.”
“And yet you did not stop me.”
“Never.”
Mikasa sighed, then kissed him again anyway, slower, clearly adjusting, fingers curling into the coat. He hummed, smug and delighted.
“You are enjoying this far too much, Santa,” she murmured.
“Of course,” he replied. “This is my season.”
She laughed softly, forehead resting against his chest.
And then—
“Mama…”
They froze like teenagers caught misbehaving on the couch (which, to be fair, had happened once, but that is a story for another time).
Mikasa turned first.
“Mama,” Willow mumbled, rubbing her face. “Why are you kissing Santa?”
Oh. Oh damn.
Mikasa’s brain did that thing where every thought tried to speak at once and none of them made it past her mouth. She opened it anyway. Closed it. Looked at Eren.
Eren, for his part, went completely still. Not heroic still. More like, ‘if I do not move, perhaps I will become furniture still.’ Ridiculous, truly.
Meanwhile, Willow swayed in the doorway, eyes barely open, hair flattened on one side, clearly operating on muscle memory alone. She was not awake-awake. She was the kind of awake that wandered into rooms and forgot why halfway through a sentence.
Mikasa reacted on instinct. She crossed the room and scooped Willow up before gravity could make any decisions of its own. Willow immediately melted against her, cheek pressed to her mama’s shoulder, the question already losing importance.
“Shh,” Mikasa murmured, rubbing her back. “You look so tired, baby. Let’s go back to bed.”
Willow hummed, fingers curling into her mama’s shirt. “Santa was… red,” she mumbled, words slurring together.
“Yes,” Mikasa said seriously. “Very red.”
Behind them, Santa remained frozen, beard slightly crooked, arms still half-raised like he had been caught mid-crime.
Willow cracked one eye open just long enough to squint in Santa’s general direction. She did not focus. She did not analyse. She simply accepted the information and filed it away.
“Mama kisses… everything,” she decided.
Mikasa bit the inside of her cheek. “That is true. Now let us go back to bed.”
Willow nodded against her shoulder, already slipping again. “Night.”
She was asleep before Mikasa reached the hallway. When she returned to the bedroom, Santa was still there. Same spot. Same posture.
“You can move now,” she whispered.
Eren finally exhaled, hands dropping to his sides. “Oh, god. I saw my life end.”
“She did not even know what she was saying,” Mikasa said, amused now. “She thought Santa was a colour.”
“That is comforting.”
She stepped closer, fixing his hat again without thinking. “You really look ridiculous.”
“You kissed me anyway.”
“I was distracted.”
“Twice.”
She smiled despite herself, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to his cheek, careful of the beard. “Next time,” Mikasa said softly, “Santa waits until everyone is deep asleep.”
Eren grinned, arms slipping around his wife’s waist. “Still worth it.”
Eremika Week 2025 Day 8 | Crash Landing On You 🪂
Submits for Eremika Week 2025 Day 8 "Free Day" @eremikaweekevent
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Open skies, wandering hearts, and stories that refuse to end… Day eight of Eremika Week 2025 drifts in freely, the last breath of a week we never wanted to let go✨
Tag @eremikaweek and use #EremikaWeek2025 and #Eremika so we can share your creations with everyone!
Eremika Week 2025 Day 7 | 10 Things I Hate About You 😡♥️
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An Eremika short snippet as my participation for day 6 for @eremikaweekevent, this will be later posted to AO3 once it’s fully done.
This might contain few errors so I apologize for that, I wrote part of this at 1am/2am so I was quite exhausted sometimes lol but I hope everyone enjoys this snippet beses in the pottery scene of Ghost film which is one of my fav movies!! This snippet is based on the pottery scene btw!
Day 6 All Is Fair in Love & Poetry: Ghost
Raw clay on the potter wheel spinning hypnotically, sensuously, pumping the pedal when needed. Mikasa’s wet fingers cautiously pressed into the center of the formed clay—one hand shaping the outdoors and the other indoors the fresh molded clay to bring the clay to life transformed as a pot. Pore over her brainchild without turning her head.
Her head fidgeted like a potter wheel hours ago as she fought to veil her exhaustion again but she stood awakened after abrupt and waking from a dream in a restless dream.
Or something more…
A pandemonium.
Fragmented dreams—or visions—unformed and bare, no background nor message or signal. Mikasa couldn’t fathom what those visions meant nor why those visions suddenly manifested into her slumber. Meadows of withered blooms, butterflies and one street under the cold night which was bizarre because it seemed familiar to her, she knew she had seen that street once. An endless loop was inside her head, trapping her.
The migraine was worsening and Mikasa had to stand from the bed, leaving her husband alone because she needed to escape from those thoughts and the endless loop, her mind needed to be distracted and of course, her art studio was the perfect site to relax herself until she felt ready to return to bed and conceal her slumber.
Yet she had lost all sense of time, the minutes blurred into hours. The record player produced a myriad of diverse discos, diverse music genres she listened to although she preferred for serene songs as the current song the vintage jukebox produced: “Unchained Melody.” Such a combination of beauty and melancholy; a love ballad about the deep longing and everlasting connection, somehow the ballad resembled her marriage.
Her head had spinned along with the wheel and the myriad of songs the record-player produced as the time blurred into hours, focused on the pot. Her fingers played with the clay, featherlight touches constantly pinching, coiling and slab building the pottery.
The night was cold, nonetheless her body was embraced with only a white t-shirt, the fabric draped loosely over her frame—oversized but fitting in its own way—onto her clay-embed thighs. Her favorite scent was impregnated onto the shirt; the lasting scent in her husband’s skin. Invigorating cologne evoking the nature and sweetness of citrus and ocean air. His scent was heartwarming to her, enough to mimic his presence and the warmth of his embrace.
Faint barefoot steps approached further towards the studio, she intuited it was her husband who might have missed and yearned her as the warmth in the bed and onto his arms vanished. The steps stopped in an evanescent second, she caught a glimpse of her husband, Eren, glimpsing her with his vivid but still-enervated veridian eyes as he neared. His brown hair disheveled, manifesting the nest of birds. The gilded light from the studio impersonated the daystar upon him accentuating his musculature; his arms crossed foregrounding his biceps and the broadness of his shoulders. His sun-kissed skin, his bare toned stomach and the bones of his hips prominent, the light bathing in gilded the amber hues of his bare skin. The sight was enticing, the sigh before her was perfect despite being a quick glimpse.
She turned her attention to the pot, proceeding with her previous techniques.
“What are you doing?” Asked Eren with tenderness, contemplating her from afar.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Mikasa answered, not parting her sight from the pot.
His steps got closer, taking the empty wooden chair. “Oh boy… I must have passed out.” Eren spoke, and placed it onto the floor to seat beside her. “What time is it?”
“Two AM.” She leaned closer to his face, leaving a chaste yet affectionate kiss on his lips before focusing on the clay pot again.
His hand passed all across his face to fade the exhaustion from him. After, his left arm supported his face, his emerald eyes focused on her, admiring her continuing her piece in silence. He leaned to the left to have a wide view of his wife dedicated to her piece.
Her hand entered inside the clay pot steadily, cautiously shaping it into a symmetrical vessel. She was engrossed with her recreation, never departing her sight from the pot not even to give a quick look to her husband as if she was held by a hypnosis.
And of course, he wanted her attention.
A mischievous smile curved on his lips, his left hand landed on her waist, his fingers traced and massaging it causing tickles and giggles on Mikasa. Her body moved from the tickles and in an attempt to withdraw his hand, her sudden movements created small wrinkles in the external area of the pot. She pulled her hand from the inner-center of the pot to now fix it.
“Eren!” She exclaimed, giggling along with him.
Universe could be immeasurable as curiousness yet this curiousness could become impulsive, something that Eren had experienced on occasions.
His hand settled on top of hers in a brief, descending until his fingers were not caressing her skin but the fresh clay. And as naive as he was with the world of pottery and creation of vessels and any type of sophisticated art that were born from clay, he thought it might be as easy as it seems. He couldn’t help but reach out to touch the spinning pot and when his fingertips entered in contact with the clay, distorting and bending over.
The symmetry once the pot had crumbled and the flawless perfection was now asymmetrical. Mikasa’s arms dropped yet she wasn’t disappointed nor upset at him, instead she smiled forgivingly at him. Those moments of silliest and fond always made her smile and she knew he never did it with the intention to upset her instead more as an action to help.
“Oh no,” he said giggling, “I hope it wasn’t a masterpiece.”
Her hands grabbed the clay and divided the half and saved one half as the other part was now a lump in the spinner. Between giggles as well she said: “Well, it’s not now.”
Her hand scooped in small amounts of water for the lump of clay. Eren couldn’t help but to feel engaged in the art of pottery, perhaps it might be because he felt a genuine fascination or because he was revealed with the view of his wife focused and cherishing her pastime; either reason he just wanted to be part of this experience and to experience this first time with her.
Then, he asked: “Can I help?”
“Yeah!” She answered tenderly with excitement. Both hands took his, placing them side to side from the spinning clay-lump while she damped his hands in short amounts of water to afterwards let her hands rest on top of his to guide and teach him. “Get your hands in here, get ‘em wet.” She explained.
This time, the smoothness and the stickiness of the clay interlaced with the movement of his fingers, following into a pattern of swirls almost as a tornado. The wetness chirped and hissed as it moved and coldness manifested on his fingers, feeling not just a mass of stickiness but coldness on the clay.
Such an interesting texture, Eren felt amused and he couldn’t hide it either since his face expressed his astonishment.
“Now. Just let the clay slide between your fingers.”
Her movements were leisurely and featherlight around the clay, a pattern that must be essential to manipulate bland textures and Eren mimicked them, his fingers now making smooth and tender movements around the fragile shape the clay was taking. His hands traveled upwards to cease on her wrists and travel to her engaged hands now to cover them tenderly above hers, their hands danced together in harmony, interlacing their fingers as they molded the clay.
Dance should come from the soul, to be a desire from the heart and both kindred souls wanted it. Their hands were the only form to dance, their movements were leisurely and tender as the romantic melody of the song. His hands caressed hers into a cycle of patterns; fingers interlacing and caressing over her hands and wrists, getting the mud over her arms.
Subtle gentle air touched her skin evoking faint shivers on her body. The tip of his nose nuzzled against her nape, lips caressed her smooth flawless skin and left one small kiss.
Intimate. This night meant closeness and intimacy between soulbonds and it felt as making love or perhaps this was more further than it. Their caresses weren’t hands caressing the nudity of the body because their hands were touching something further; the nudity and beauty of the soul.
His hands stood motionless above hers to guide her movements upwards against the clay, shaping the top thin and small. Thus, in an instant he separated her hands from the clay, he wanted to feel her skin without anything as an obstacle in the middle and with gentleness, he held her hands to interlace his fingers with hers, repeating a melodies of soft giggles until their lips met in one leisurely passionate kiss, forgetting about the world and the masterpiece they were supposed to give life to only to focus on them, their love and intimacy.
Eremika Week 2025 Day 6 | Bridgetone 💍
Submits for Eremika Week 2025 Day 6 "All Is Fair In Love & Poetry" @eremikaweekevent
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A very spur-of-the-moment entry for @eremikaweekevent's Eremika Week 2025
Day 6 - All is Fair in Love and Poetry
Prompts: Historical, Ghosts
The town is full of ghosts.
They all wear the same face—her face—and rustle out of his sight the moment he turns to chase them. Still, she’s there. Her quiet laughter, her dark eyes, the swish of her dress as she glides through the streets.
“Mikasa…” her name falls repeatedly from his lips, a prayer, a plea, a longing stretching on for so long he’s not sure how he’ll live without it. He cannot anymore. His very being is now defined by that yearning and that is how he’ll leave this world.
Love is pain, and Eren is drunk on it.
There is sand in his eyes and rocks have torn through the bare heels of his feet. The sun beats down with a sweltering glare, waiting to claim his fevered body into its heat. But he refuses to die before his steps come to a halt beside her grave. So Eren walks on.
Murmurs of the living follow him but he has long since turned a deaf ear to them.
People will always talk. They did so too when he first shouted his love into this dusty, desert town, letting the confession run wild across the roads. Mikasa was angry at that but he was past the point of keeping their mutual affection for each other a secret when whispers of her marriage plans brushed by him.
So he spoke of his love, her beauty, their longing, and weaved it into words of poetry.
Now he’s truly gone, the people mocked, for who gives salvation to the singers of ballads and prisoners of the heart?
In the end, no one listened. They only talked. And Mikasa was gone with another man, out of his grasp forever.
The heartbreak was too much for her, so now she lies beneath a headstone in a bed of earth that he's about to follow her in.
Eren’s knees hit the ground near her final resting place and trembling fingers fumble around the handle of his knife. The headstone feels cold beneath his palms as he leans in to carve a final verse of the poem his life has become.
This world is cruel but also beautiful
This world is cruel yet I still love you
There’s a moment before his head falls, a few seconds of stolen, snatched, time, when Eren feels her embrace around him. She’s cold as death itself but her hands are gentle. And that’s the last thing he knows before death swallows him whole.
Lore under the cut
@eremikaweekevent
Day 6: All is fair in Love & Poetry ~Historical
The summer's wild
And I've been waiting for you all this time,
I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me?
“Which vein are you picking?” Hange asks over his shoulder. “Look, they’re all so nice.” He has to examine her arm. Right. Right. It’s toned and so pale that blue veins swirl so clearly under her skin. They’re confusing. They all seem perfect. His finger traces over the path of a nice blue vein residing at the hollow of her elbow, avoiding contact. “This one.” // or: Eren has to draw blood from Mikasa
posting ao3 links is malfunctioning again but alas! I have arrived with what you didn’t know you needed for @eremikaweekevent, which is (cue drumroll…) needles and blood!
Slightly late for Day 4: Repressed Feelings, but here I am, with Eren and Mikasa yearning for one another over blood and needles. Enjoy! I certainly did!
♡ Eremika Week 2025 ( @eremikaweekevent ) - Day 7: School Castes ♡
finally got the chance to draw more school castes fanart again! here's more goth mikasa and normie eren from me!
Commissions open!!
Familiar footsteps, a soft breath, a long-awaited hug… In day seven of Eremika Week 2025 we are returning home.✨
Tag @eremikaweek and use #EremikaWeek2025 and #Eremika so we can share your creations with our ever-faithful flock!
