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Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.
Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.
Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.
Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.
Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.
Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.
Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.
Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.
Once upon a time, stories were gentle.The mothers hugged their children.The heroes won.The pages turned, and the old stains would come from love, not spatters of blood littering the words.Some of those books would have belonged to Historia’s mother.

shingeki no fanfic, Historia Reiss, Zeke Yeager, mine, when I'm bored I think to myself, let's write a thing that literally no one else wants, then let's screw it up so it isn't even what we were aiming for, the wild gen adventures continue

published on: 2019-07-26 07:13:01

visqi:Going through an art block, so have a Sandshrew on its

visqi:Going through an art block, so have a Sandshrew on its

ghostmartyr.tumblr.com/post/186545544790/

ghostmartyr.tumblr.com/post/186545544790/

Frisbee helps with yardwork.

Frisbee helps with yardwork.

Path of Pain is an unrelenting hellscape of thorns and buzzsaws,

Path of Pain is an unrelenting hellscape of thorns and buzzsaws,

ghostmartyr.tumblr.com/post/186708658095/

ghostmartyr.tumblr.com/post/186708658095/

ghostmartyr.tumblr.com/post/186713248285/

ghostmartyr.tumblr.com/post/186713248285/