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#Shingeki no Kyojin
kokicalypso · 2 days
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THIS IS THE CUTEST FUCKING THING EVER NO ONE TALK TO ME FOR AT LEAST THREE DAYS-
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idrawr16yt · 3 days
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gravesecret · 2 days
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At least they have each other to get through the night. And the next. And hopefully the next.
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imjustsomebodyelse · 3 days
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tinies 🖤
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i really wanted to draw the new designs from isayama's latest illustration and then decided to spend my days while attending a con to add as many characters in the black uniform as possible
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7m7n7 · 2 days
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bluray version growing on me, definitely more accurate
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addiej01 · 3 days
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Sketch
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happybird16 · 2 days
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Look at him!!! Look at him posing with his cute little blushing plushie self
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immanime · 1 day
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Attack on Titan
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lucysarah-c · 10 hours
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I promised to post the full colour version!
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Ps: I know the pose look weird... it's missing half of the art yet lol
Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @mariethesley @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @s0meb0dy-0nce-t0ld-me @l3visthighs @littlerequiem @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @sixpennydame @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @saranootnoot @an-ever-angry-bi Wanna join my tag list? Here!
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vialesanaaa · 2 days
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lenok993 · 2 days
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heliiacus · 17 hours
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tags: armin x reader, cheating accusation, jealous armin, hurt reader, insecure armin, hurt/comfort, quick resolution
content warnings: cheating is mentioned! no actual cheating involved
When Armin, amidst his insecure emotions, says something he should not have, the both of you find the situation quickly escalating.
word count: 1.2k
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The simple fact of the matter is that you simply can't expect how someone might react. You may try to, through delicate deliberation, or the catalogue of behaviours registered neatly within your memory, but there are days – plentiful ones – where it simply might not work.
Today is one of those days.
Here are the simple, rudimentary facts about your relationship with Armin Arlert. Your relationship is eleven months young. You tell him everything on your mind. He is a restless sleeper. You both hate Italian cuisine. You know that he tends to feel insecure, and he knows that you know.
Simple things. Predictable. Lovely, and easy, and fond within your heart.
You don't argue. You figure things out. You don't assume things.
And yet.
"I," you begin, your throat thick with confusion and, quite frankly, hurt. The two of you sit before one another, legs crossed and shoulders tense. He looks at you, eyes wide and vulnerable and upset, and he tries to shake it off, you can tell that he does, but he fails each time he attempts it. "Jean is a friend," you tell him calmly. "You know that."
It's not that he'd said it outright. He didn't accuse you much of anything. It's just the way he'd said it; eyes averted, dark with something pained and brimming at the corners, words muttered under his breath. And you were with Jean, of course, he'd told you then, or told himself, really, and that is when time pulled itself still.
You knew – and you do know, that he worries. That he is insecure. You just didn't; you wouldn't think–
His hands glide across his jaw, then sink deep into his hair. "I know," he says. "Of course I know. I’m sorry, I.."
It hurts you. He had implied little, but it was enough. That he could, in his own fear, think of you this way; this shallow, and low, and disloyal. You think, for a brief moment, to feel undignified; to feel angry, above all else – but you can't. You sit there, stock-still in your own vision of him, so small and helpless before you, eyes rimmed with red already, unshed tears filling, and you can feel, with a near physicality to it, your own priorities shifting rapidly.
You grasp at your phone blindly, afraid of taking your eyes off of him, and you reach out towards the man, now pale and stricken as he looks at you. It lands in his lap and lays there quite placidly, and then you both just stare at it, quiet in your own, respective ways.
It has no password – and he knows that. He has never been on it, or through it, really; save for the few times he'd had to check your gallery at your behest, or pick up a call when your hands were busy, or to order food when you were too lazy. He'd never gone deeper, not once, and you wonder now, in a spiral of your own, if he wishes that he had.
You wonder, then, if it will be enough. If it will soothe this bastardly fear out of him; if it will kick this fearful, scarred look within his face out to the curb and gone forever. You watch him now, as his gaze lay still upon your phone, and you wonder at how awfully pale he is. He looks sick. Your stomach twists.
He picks the phone up, and he hands it back to you. His hands shake. His eyes gaze into your own, unaverting and wavering.
"I don't need to," he murmurs, although his voice trembles slightly. The twisting shifts into your guts, spreading like a strange, suffocating vice.
"You don't think it will help?" You ask, and he, himself, looks nearly sick as he shakes his head at you; you watch, with this soft, all-present quiver in your chest, as he gnaws on his lower lip, looking for the words.
"I thought," he begins, gasping ever so gently in a lack of air, "that it would. For just a moment. But you– I don't think you're unfaithful, and I never did. You're not capable of it." He holds your gaze, the blue swimming in the pearlescent shift between his pooling tears. He looks, for this moment, as if he would say something more; as if he would be brave, and say it with his full chest, and take hold of it with a fierceness.
Instead his gaze falls, and his voice is quiet, and your heart thrums painfully at the sight. "It's not what I’m scared of," he tells you simply.
"Tell me then," you plead, your voice low, gentle in ways even you had not expected it to be. You reach for him; in a small gesture, featherlight, afraid of holding him in risk of spooking him like a skittish fawn – you lay your hand on his, and he turns his palm, the skin of his meeting yours in return. "Tell me what you're scared of."
"That you will leave," he admits to you then, unbridled and yet shaking, and quiet, and private. He looks not at you, but at the both of your palms, touching in an earnest. "That you will leave because I am inadequate," he continues, voice tremulant in his throat, "because I can't do enough for you."
Then he does, he does look up at you – silver tears breaking through the rim, rolling quietly down the slope of his cheeks, and you let go of his hand, you pull yourself forward, and his hands dig tight into the back of your shirt as you pull him to you.
"You stupid boy," you tell him in earnest, and he cries, apologies murmured into the skin of your throat. "Enough apologising," you plead with him quietly, hands stroking at his hair. "You did nothing wrong."
"But I–" he begins, voice weak and hiccupped, and you hush him as gentle as you can, holding onto him tightly; fervently.
"You are the best person I know," you interrupt him, taken with this ardent, terrible feeling in your chest; painful and hopeful, seizing your throat all at once. Your body threatens you, with what even you are unsure, but it pulls, and it pushes, and then all the words come out of you unrestrained and impassioned: "You are smart beyond what's good for you, and you're kinder than anyone ever has been to me, and you are good, Armin." You cling to him this way, holding back tears of your own, even as his own cry turns into a comforted whimper. You want to pull at him, you want to look him in the eye, but here, like this, you are afraid of it.
You do it still. You push away and you cradle his face in your hands, and you look at him, eyes red and cheeks tight, and he looks at you with this mercurial, defenceless expression and it has you breathless; it has you wondering, in a fit of delirious, desperate need, if it's too early to know that you will love him for the rest of your life.
"I’m not going anywhere," you tell him then, soft and breathless and so certain, and he must feel it, he must see something in it, for his own gaze softens, and his hands loosen, his desperate, needy hold growing demure and warm. "I’m not going anywhere," you tell him again, trying, somehow, to tell him what you really mean.
"Okay," he replies, chest rising, slowly; then falling. His lips part, words ready for you, and then his chest rises again. "I believe you."
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dividers by cafekitsune
tag list: @arlerts-angel @sukunascrustyfinger @levistealeaf @nilaaaas @supersupper @dilfkentolover @arminarlertssword @bel-https @layla240 @katestrophes @er3nscottonpicker @siiyoko @ryoiii @lemontrees-things
reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 armin with a pregnant partner coming hopefully next week!! and dadmin the week after that <3
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i am SCREAMING 😭🩵
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Sometimes I love twitter
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dreamingon-forever · 2 days
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New Levi, Eren, Armin, and Jean Chibi Illustration
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madebydun · 2 days
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Loosely inspired by @ic3-que3n and @theearlgreymage works and dedicated to them :3 check out their amazing stuff on ao3 <3
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