#majormeyer

[chvxnov-blog]

“That’s called "stealing,” you know.”

The Mummy trilogy starter sentences — Always accepting !

Hands are still clutching the MP-40; has yet to reel it in, has yet to claim it as trophy. The voice behind his back freezes him in place with his fingers tightly coiled around the cold steel of the gun. All he dares to do is look at the figure via peripheral view.

Then he turns his head — tense, probably extremely embarrassed too but pride is a hard thing to swallow and so his lips begin to peel back into a grotesque grin. Chvanov’s shoulders shake when he scoffs.

Fucking bastard won’t be needing that any time soon, both of them know that. (And maybe it will be two Germans who won’t be needing their guns.) But in the moment he is a cornered rat with glimmering biddy eyes and toothy smile, and like a rat he isn’t going to stand still and wait for death without a chase.

Whatever inkling of sanity existed within his head evaporated. In the next split seconds he tugs the firearm towards himself. He wouldn’t rise the firearm further than his chest before he fell to the dusty ground of the skeletal building, by sheer choice or by sheer force. Vision leered as his head hit hard and bounced. The steel helmet saved him from a cracked skull, that was, if he wasn’t already bitten by death elsewhere as he laid on the ground, chocking on ash and the insulting cyka stuck on his throat. He wasn’t sure yet if he had been shot or tackled — by him or another.

[kwiiatmoc]

@majormeyer

     “Officer,” he stresses. “I wouldn’t have called you for a couple of shattered pots...” The florist is antsy, as he’s been since he arrived to his store that morning. Minor vandalism was one thing, but Florian was beginning to feel intimidated by others.

     “I’ve been left notes. They’re... not to be repeated in pleasant company, but I’m really sure I’m being threatened. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

[gopniik-blog]

@majormeyer │♡

Thump ! Thump ! Thump !

The Russian could feel that thump every time his foot hit the concrete and reverberated up his leg bone toward his chest, and finally pounded on his head. He actually enjoyed it in a bit; this adrenaline rush of not knowing what would happen the next second, how things would end or if they would indeed end, if he came out victorious or lost. He rounded the corner picturing ever possible exaggerated scenario of what would happen. What if he was suddenly shot ? B a n g ! He’d fall down. Be caught. Maybe die too. Fuck, real life doesn’t have extra lives or continues.

Truth was, he never minded the cells of jail, but not minding never meant he would be an easy take by the law. Especially not after he had been recently freed from his two years imprisonment for having set a man on a mascot suit on fire. (On his defense, the guy has deserved it.)

The cop must have been a newbie to have fallen for that. Or the gopnik had just been too fast when his fist collided with the officer’s nose and left the other holding his leather jacket in his hands after he slipped himself off. Which was a shame. He loved that leather jacket.

Now he was running through the streets in an early cold, August morning of 201—; jumping over any obstacle and throwing down trash cans or anything he could use to impede his pursuers path in a cheap mock action movie scene.

One glance back.

The sound of a siren reached him along the first few yawns of the bustling city of Berlin. What stood out clearly however were not them, neither the bark of a dog as he passed by it's guarded fence, but rather that pounding of his own feet and huffed out breath. Those two sensations were the only things, besides the idea of freedom, that spurred him forward. He just needed to reach the alley connecting the old field, climb up the tattered fence…he can loose them there. Just…

[kaixdxn-blog]

@majormeyer

Deep down he knew the Officer was right, that the behavior from (self nicknamed) Sticks shouldn’t be left for granted. He needed the rehabilitation, but what good was it ? How many times had he just mentioned he had caught the man red handed and thrown behind bars only for him to fall back to his delinquent behavior.

This was only meant to be a fling that would end as soon as he returned to Tokyo, and while certainly Sticks did his best to not be a bother to Kurosawa he had given him enough headaches than necessarily needed, adding further to his list of frustrations and untampered negativity he kept well under lock.

He’d taken the news well for a man of his caliber, not bating a single eyelash throughout the whole conversation outside the hospital door, the pastel, baby-blue colored curtain blocking the inside view of what little the ajar door left to view. They’d kept their voice a low whisper all the while, himself taking more a role of listener than active speaker, head bobbing up and down with small breaks of added yes (not a western yes of full agreement but the Japanese yes of I am listening, but might or not care neither agree or accept); turning first his gaze then his neck towards the room when he heard Sticks speak inside. Then back to him with a seemingly lackluster interest. But this wasn’t about interest or emotions, it was about handling matters as should, like some sort of business transaction that required a through over view and delicate handling. He was a stoic man who rarely seemed to smile, of a strict, iron upbringing that left anyone to wonder how the addict inside room 3567 had earned as contact. Especially such that marked them as close when his number laid scribbled on a Call in case of Emergency card.

When the German finishes is when he speaks, and when he does his soft voice is firm, almost strangling in it’s emotionlessness. ❝ Your suggestion is a rehabilitation center. ❞ A statement, not a question.

❝ Without offense, Mr…. ❞ his gaze dropped over to the name tag on his breast. ❝…Meyer, if I am to sign anything, I want results... ❞

[soldierforfreedom]

★

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You arefamily // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // You’re nice // You’re mean // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[waffenkind]

"It’s not courteous to ask personal questions."

          “I just thought I’d ask. I’d rather get to know people before we’re all dead.”

[eloiseclarke]

►, ♪ , ☺

Modern Elle | Accepting

►  (Netflix): Eloise’s Netflix would be filled with anything regarding WWII. A history buff, she can never get enough of it. She also is a fan of the TV show ER, and loves its graphic portrayal of nurses and doctors at Cook County Hospital. Also M*A*S*H. She loves its humor and its serious side of working as a nurse/doctor during war.

♪  (Five Playlist Songs): 

Africa - Toto

Single Ladies - Beyonce

X Gon’ Give it to Ya - DMX

I Wann Be With You _ Mandy Moore

Drunk - Ed Sheeran

☺ (Online Profile):

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WebMD

Reddit

Buzzfeed

Gmail

Wikipedia

[waffenkind]

❝ STOP SCREAMING! ❞

          “BLOWN IN HALF!” The horror is splattered across the boy’s face like the blood that also adorns it. It seems Hamlet has never been acquainted with the effect of a tank round on a human body.