Maar je hebt een goed hart,

ik merk het aan hoe je praat met vreemden

en wat je zegt

another goal: LOVE ME

   HE’S SILENT FOR THE NEXT moment, taking a long sip of the tea in his hand. The heat burns his tongue, cooling by the time he swallows. He doesn’t peer at the other, doesn’t even turn his eyes from the fixated spot his cold gaze is locked onto. Slender fingers play across the ceramic surface, gliding across its smoothness.

[text: freckled jesus ♥] fuck[text: freckled jesus ♥] FUCK[text: freckled jesus ♥] IM IN THE MIDDLE OF A DEBATE ABOUT GLOBAL WAMRINGSA CSIDJSDL WGA T ARE YOU D ROUING TO ME BODT[text: freckled jesus ♥] BLOCKING YOU

this number has blocked you.

        ❝      hmm  —  ?   this is your    SEAT   ?      ❞     did he really    FUCK UP     the goddamn seatings on the    FIRST DAY    here  ?     jean pulls out the paper he drew before he    ENTERED    the class   :    the number that states where he’s sitting  —   14   —   and frowns  .  he can see the other guy’s holding the    SAME    digits ,  and feels a throb of headache  lightly    TAPPING    the back of his skull  .  jean swiftly nods though , and stands  .       ❝       it’s fine  .  you can    HAVE  IT   .     ❞  / &. @goedheid !

[Text: Freckled Jesus] are you srsly asking me that?[Text: Freckled Jesus] i mean, in what world would I ever say no?[Text: Freckled Jesus] plus, old man misses you. hell yeah, come on over[Text: Freckled Jesus] papa probably wants to see you too[Text: Freckled Jesus] can you stay for dinner? i’ll text ma and maybe we can whip you something good for the night[Text: Freckled Jesus] anyway text asap idc if im in a class rn its boring as hell and im ready to punch this fucker who’s presenting all of the wrong shit

sentence prompts ➝  reign.  //  @goedheid

   Stock still, his body quakes. Somewhere do his recruits SCREAM, does he see the visage of a silhouette over-top of him. Someone calls out ; ghost hands reach for his neck, yanking free his bolo tie. They’re his own hands. Hand. Everything’s faded. Throbs, a distant sound panging. A constant white noise playing in his ears as he ties a tourniquet somewhere far away, as he watches his own body work a function he’s never seen. He’s not doing it. But he is. Instinctual. Responding to trauma. His arm reaches for the reins of his fleeing horse ; he has no arm.

   Another. He stops. Staggers. The Commander peers up at this man, eyes wild, hair caked to his forehead by sweat ; Marco Bodt is speaking to him, but he only sees lips that move. Only then does the shock of the world slowly pass over him once more, do his senses tune back in. Suddenly does the entire world and everything about it wail. His body. His heart. His mind. His soldiers.

   Your life is more valuable than this.

   A heavy breath.

   ❛  You have such a beautiful world in your mind, Marco. ❜ The Corpsman is grasped by the Commander, then. With the surge of adrenaline, of a traumatized body, of the great strength of shock does he pull the younger from his own horse. The beast rears in response, stamping into the grass. By one arm and the weight of his body is Marco pulled, thrown unto the ground in a more violent manner than he means. Erwin stumbles, remaining hand grasping the reins of the upset creature as he whispers in calming. As he kicks his foot into the stirrups. Other soldiers cry out ; someone has a horse for Marco to use. Someone has to stop him.