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@loyaelst
carrd under co.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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countdown to ugly happy 4/7 - from brother by the interstate by k.c cramm
They fuck you up, [โฆ] They may not mean to, but they do.
Philip Larkin, from This Be The Verse (via violentwavesofemotion)
Mikasa helicopter momโing Eren abroad is only entertaining when you look at it from an โEren is a misbehaving puppy and Mikasa is the exasperated keeperโ perspective tbh
nobody move

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
โฆI thought of your body as one thinks of murder.
Anne Sexton, from The Complete Poems;ย โChristmas Eve,โ (via mournfulroses)
@loyaelstโ said:ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย โiโm so close.โ + 36. for one muse to sit on the otherโs face
Keep reading
the monstrous feminine: wounds and rage
euripides, from โhippolytos, grief lessons: four playsโ translated by anne carson // โthe madwoman in the attic: the woman writer and the nineteenth-century literary imaginationโ sandra gilbert and susan gubar // @girlinterruptedpdf // catherynne m. valente โdeathlessโ // safiya sinclair // aleksandra waliszewska // anne carson // โwhite oleanderโ janet fitch // anne sexton @heavensghost // @blacklodgelesbian // โcrazyโ jasmine mans
I canโt stop thinking about how Mikasa never got to process her OR talk about trauma growing up. Erenโs a lil punk that 1) doesnโt talk about shit and 2) wasnโt even going to bring her along anyway without the influence of his older ! paths self. As kind as Grisha and Carla are to her, I donโt see them really knowing to help her after everything sheโs been through. She has to cope with this alone. She compartmentalizes until sheโs functional, but at the cost of well... Everything.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Send me a scene that happened in canon and Iโll write in detail how my muse felt in it!
I feel my heart to which rest will not come
Liu Che, from Oh The Sound Of Her Silk Sleeves in โSelected Translations By W.S. Merwin: 1948-2011โ (via adrasteiax)
some mikasa ackerman headshots โจ๐
โThe field where my brother died โ Iโve walked there since. Weeds and grasses, some chicory stalks; no trace of the scene I still can see: a father and his sons bent above a deer theyโd shot, then screams and shouts. Always I arrive too late to take the rifle from the boy I was, too late to warn him of what he canโt imagine: how quickly people vanish; how one moment youโre standing shoulder to shoulder, the next youโre alone in a field.โ
โ Gregory Orr, โA Momentโ from The Caged Owl, New and Selected Poems
โ 666 โ

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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@loyaelstโ said:ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย [ SCAR ]
It still looks like a cut. He knows how it looks, a dark line, razor straight, spanning the column of his neck. Sheโs taken a red string and tied it around his throat twice. He still sees her, his rampaging executioner, burying her blade in him, letting it eat what her teeth fail to grip. Now, in the distant light, they look so much like children. Her outburst was brutal and precise, but she hesitated even in the throes of her suffering, every realization, every failed promise breaking apart around her. She hesitated, and the sword that should have felled him only struck him to the ground. The blood was thick and hot in his mouth, gurgling down into the cramping bellows of his lungs.ย
He remembers her over him, trying to correct her mistake, erase him like pouring ink over a line she regretted ever writing down. Couldnโt do that, either. And all the worse, maybe, that Mikasaโs last labor of love was destined not to leave a mark. His throat does not remember the blade. His skin has never felt the touch of her sword. These earlier centuries of their history are blotted out, only oral tradition. And what does oral tradition amount to, in a silent house?
What was a warrior, once, and now is nothing, lies still beneath her. He prays to her bent form, the tent of her sharp-edged, muscled body. Always correcting mistakes, that seems to be her lot. She runs after the willful hateful bumbling cruelty and wrests from it some meaning. With stoic, Sisyphean patience, she forces her way. Even years after the fact. How pleased she looked, when he yielded his throat to her at last. When he invited her blade again, and she came to press the thin razor into his skin. No lethal intent, no intent at all. She only drew the line again, made sure his body wonโt forget where they have come from, what blood must be marched through to make it to the dusty sink, the cracked mirror and the sunlight on the tiled floor.ย
With Mikasa the intimate architect of this blemish, it must seem to her such a foolโs errand when Bertholdtโs hand comes up to cover it. The bed frame creaks like a crying child as she stretches him out upon it. He cups the side of his throat to feel the welt beneath it, the brand that she repaid him with. Do not forget who you were because that is what you are. Did it please her, too, when the wound she cut into him did not close on its own accord? When it bled and bled and bled, and she hung on his neck like a vampire, kittish licks cleaning along the length of his piano-wire tendon.ย
Of course, it did.
Her cool hand slides into place above his own and pries his palm from the scar. Bertholdt does not resist her, the way she tugs on his strings as if he was tied at every joint to her whim. It is her handiwork. She has a right to it, the way he has a right to the gash in her cheek. A thief, such a thief, heโs stolen this, too. Heโll eat her own moment at a time, gorges himself on her ruined life, as if he could help in the aftermath. She isย fucking her own parasite. โAh, he never wanted to be that for her.ย
Mikasa pins him down, renders him puppet. As she crouches on top of him, there is something so wholly inhuman to her pleasant, glacial mask that he shivers towards it. His shoulders tense and his heart constricts with tender longing. She has torn this wound and it belongs to her; that is where the light gets in. He imagines her gloating, lording her victory over him. Slayer of goliaths, god-killer girl. What is he, compared to her ugly, awful brother? How can this prize whet her appetite after such sublime horror?ย
Berholdt does not ask, and she would not have answered. He lets her look at him, his naked form, taut like a bow thatโs long been overdrawn. The wood is straining, threatening to break. And yet she keeps him, yet she keeps restringing him. The scar on his neck aches tenderly, as if her gaze is a touch that bruises. Called forth, her dark crown descends, and Mikasa finds him where he is sore, where he is raw, where she has placed her beautiful red necklace around his throat. She kisses the mark with her tongue. She sucks and bites as if to worry the knitted skin apart, as if to open him up again in her thirst.ย
Thatโs when he finally says her name.
๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ย / breeze lifting ink black hair from her cheeks as the honed weapon of her body pirouettes effortlessly through the air.ย She watches him, as she watches them all. OBSERVING SILENTLY WHAT COMES TO HER AS NATURAL AS BREATHING. The subtleties in body language that allow her to predict her opponents next move. The pinch of muscle, micro-expressions, and shift in positions a book in her hands. A book sheโd read a thousand times over as she spares a glance towards her charge. He faces off against Reiner, his preferred opponent in all things. His back is to her so he misses the exasperated roll of eyes as the older boy one more slams him to the ground like a pup... Like sun and moon, Bertholdt is Reinerโs antithesis in training and on fieldย ย โโย he seems to hold back against every assailant, even her. it would be laughable if it didnโt irritate her so.ย ย HE IS SWIFT AND AGILE AS A CAT,ย lithe limbs corded with muscle that served him well. Well enough to make the top five amongst their peers. Even Annie gave her all, which required little effort on her part. WHAT IS IT YOUโRE HIDING?ย Dark eyes peer down at him, curiosity veiled as all things were on her face. Bertholdt is sprawled once more at her feet, observing with equal passivity.ย ย โ Youโre pulling your punches. โย /ย ย @massensterbenโ