#amachja

“No fucking way” Jean blinked, looking at the game dangling from Sasha’s hands, the girl was incredible. She would always come back with all kinds of meat for them. They ate better now than they had ever eaten at the barracks. But no matter how many times he went out with her, he always tried his best to beat her score, to get more rabbits, to maybe shoot a deer, he always came up short.

✦  @amachja​​ asked:  ❛ was there anyone who was a shining light for your muse? Ie. was there any adult who they could genuinely rely on / trust? (or, if you have doubles or want to do both! : how old was your muse when they realized they had childhood trauma?) ❜  //  questions for muses who had a rough childhood

The first question has a sad, simple answer – no.  As a child, there were no grown-ups Annie could trust and not even her father, her primary caregiver, could be depended on.  Throughout the course of her childhood, Gabe made it abundantly clear that their relationship would only continue if she was obedient and succeeded in becoming a Warrior.  Of course, not all adults were as volatile and violent as Gabe, nor as stern and distant as her military superiors.  The chances are there were a few who spoke to Annie politely, and showed her consideration on a superficial level.  Shopkeepers perhaps, the parents of other candidates, etc.  Depending on the iteration, Marcel and Bertholdt (possibly Pieck too) treated her with kindness and compassion, enough that she came to trust them in very subtle, furtive ways.  They weren’t adults, nor a shining light in that they were just as powerless as she was, and Annie continued to face abuse at home, but they were a breath of fresh air, a brief respite, and that alone was an invaluable lifeline.  What she learned of human connection came from them.

As for the second question, Annie realised fairly early on that something was amiss, that her home situation – and her relationship with her father – was peculiar.  Later, it is likely that the Marleyan military’s psychological assessments would have flagged some concerns, though nothing significant enough to keep Annie from inheriting the Female Titan.  All of this is to say she recognises there is something wrong with her, but does she identify her childhood as traumatic?  I don’t imagine so, and here’s why –  

Annie has rationalised her father’s behaviour as a means of coping with it, inadvertently absolving him of much of the guilt and shifting the blame onto herself, and their circumstances.  It’s also safe to assume physical discipline was widely used against children, that it was a societal norm, though Gabe’s treatment of his daughter far transcended what could be considered reasonable or purely corrective.  

Isabel looked around the field, it was big and empty except for the small group of cadets that she was in charge of. Isabel never imagined she would be a leader, teaching the new recruits but here she was. 

〈 * it was pieck’s birthday    -/-  @amachja

WAS THIS CAKE TOO SWEET ?   IT WAS A LITTLE TOO MUCH NO?  sickly & sweet  / an intoxicant tart of sour berries  /  ah, they were not quite in season / not quite ripe.   &  the sugary taste  /  soaking in buds  / soaking in the sensation of marrow & lips ― the imbue of red  /  blood-like,  you poke a finger into the cake  /  are you wanting it to bleed?    SOMETHING ABOUT ITS COLOR /  maybe it was blood.  no.  no. pieck.   it is syrup,  the honeyed lacquered is dripping off the side  /  blobbing into a little puddle on your plate  /  resembling the effluence of rosette that comes from an open gut   /  vibrant,  sticky & wet   & there,  you drip finger into the saccharine pool,  &  finger-pads are now coated  /  the way lips part ― whole to halves ―― diverging just enough for a tongue to slip out―  a tongue trails.  lapping away   /   lick it clean.   [oh little bird,  a little songbird.   how long do you plan to watch? ]  the way sasha stares  /  how intently, how intimate,  hm, that glee she had  /  athirst for a deliverance of some plot.   does the prey yearn to play hunter?   alright.    & there,  a clanking of teeth  /  mischief will bubble at the base of a throat, a titter humming out   /  swallow the laugh /  play coy  /  you don’t mind playing prey.   & preen your feathers, begin your siren cry ― now,  lean in  ―  pick a berry from your plate & take a bite [will this be the apple of eve? ]  you hope so. her heart would be much more savoury. 

                                        ―――        OH.        "Happy birthday, miss Finger."   that is it?  

        ‘  ah. really? ’   that’s it,  with the separation & the peroration of celebration  / a tease. are we?      oh no.  no, no, no.  you have given her a taste  /  a crumb,  such a measly taste?    & now,  like a starving beast,   those fangs you hide  & those claws you keep far away  /  they itch & grind  -  itch to hold her neck,  grinding to taste something more human.   you want more.   for once you get a taste,  how is that to satisfy such a hungering,  the emptiness of your gut,  it will begin to eat itself if you do not eat   /  a starvation that you held off on, this blistering warmth that is a pitting wildfire waiting to spread   /  yes,  a reoccurring starvation for innate & fictitious inklings  /  & these symptoms of lust  ― & maybe, attraction.  they really are too much for a fragile & tired girl to fight off any longer.  oh,  you intend to finish your cake, & then some.   [have your revenge.]   interrupt,  interrupt the withdrawal of she  /   body falls against table  /  ribs pressing to wood as you crawl over  /  knees being your support.   & fingers pluck another strawberry  /  stealing from sasha’s plate.  fingertips will pose the berry between lips (you bite it in half)  how thoughtful.   /  but,  that maw is a danger  /   the only thing that comes near that is devoured whole.   & the putrescent presence, the anatomy you sleep in   /  the skin you change into  is now anchoring atop the table  /  it is all dirty now.  [ you are on top of the table. everyone is looking. ]  what a fun night.

& hands captures the curvature of woman’s design / that rose complexion is not enough.  you take hold  /  fingers pressed to cheeks  /  pressure applied  / part that mouth huntress,   & open wide, open so wide    ――  those heavy eyes  /  coal will burn out  /  &  pricked rows of charcoal will bat her way  /  this innocence you feinted time & time again, it is so cruel.     CLOSE THOSE EYES   /  steal a kiss  -  lips brushing - crashing against another’s  /  the part of jaw  /  strawberry passed off from tongue to  tongue.  & that tongue didn’t stop there, no.  you invaded her mouth  /  explore it fully-completely,  how far did you search? how far are you wandering down?    /  what are you going to do? shove your tongue & that berry down her throat, you might choke her off at this rate.  [shame.]   &  still,  only after you have tasted everything she has to give.   only then,  you pull away.   & HOW DEATH’S FINGERTIPS WILL DRAG ACROSS THOSE LIPS  /  wiping the mess you had made   /   this gentleness,     index & middle fingers, you suck off the remains.                   it  is   f l e e t i n g.               it is gone. 

& you retreat to your side of the table  /  you lean back in seat.  that grin is far too wide, far too pleased.  

S T A R T E R  F O R @amachja​ 

It  had  been  a hard  week   not  only  for  Hanji  but  also  to  the  remaining  members   of   Survey  Corps.  They  delivered  messages  after  messages  and  reports  prior  to  the battle  of  shinganshina  and  despite   the  raise  of  concern  about  her  immediately  letting  herself  burry  in  paperwork  instead  of  resting  and recovering  from  her  wounds,  Hanji  pressed  on  on  her  job.  It  was  only  halted  when  it  was  Levi  himself  had  knocked  her  out  of  her  insistence  and  stopped  her  from  over working herself.

Sharing  a  room  is  very  unlikely  for  high ranking  veterans ; they  had  been  given privileges  that  the  cadets  could  never  had but  due  to  the  ‘lacking’  of  soldiers  to  take  care  of  Hanji,  she  was  given  a  roommate  to  share  with  and  it   was  one  of  the  noisy  ones  from 104th cadets.  Not  that  she  is  bothered  by  it....  the  HQ  is  already  too  quiet  for  her  liking, she  was  appreciative  to  share  a  room  with  someone,  especially  now,  when  silence  scare  her  the  most  more than  everything.

And  although,  they  shared  the  room  together  for  few days  the  awkwardness still settled in  between  the  two  of  them  most  likely coming  from  Sasha Braus.  Hanji  could  only  give the  young  girl  a  small  smile  as  she  observed  her  hesitant  and  uncertain  antics.  Clearly  such  a peculiar  women.

@amachja​  :  we  all  move  forward  anyway.  ripples  in  all  directions.   //    richard siken - war of the foxes.

here  in  her  aches  remains  the  remnants  of  a  tattered  old  ghost  town  they  call  paradis :  tell  me,  miasma, do  you  remember  the  crystal  pits?  the  sinkhole,  the  flesh  made  monsters :  blasphemous,  rotten,  the  black  lung  capillaries  you  left  bare and  raw  and  anything  -  but  -  corrupt, something  that  tastes  vaguely  of  your  father’s  absent  embrace,  a  cannibalistic  sensation  so  foreign  and  good  to  the  likes  of  your  nefarious,  nimble  fingers.

 here  in  her  eyes  remains  the  god - slayed  salvation  that  could  have  been  good  for  you   once,  gabe.  do  your  hallow  eyes  remember  the  promise  you  could’ve  brought  her,  oh  miasma  -  corruption  graced  on  holy  scorched  earth,  if  only  you  stayed  and  bled  for  her  people?  that  she  too,  would  make  all  the  bad  things  go  away  if  only  you  gave  her  salvation?  yes,  of  course  you  remember.  your  father  wouldn’t  let  you,  no,  of  course  he  wouldn’t.  he  :  all  a  dead,  rotten  carcass  but  not  infinitely  -  not  in  the  ways  that  mattered.  he  whispers  in  your  ear  on  nights  you  can’t  handle  your  own  feasible  skin :  too  bad  you  fucked  it  all  up  by  doing  nothing,  boy.  it’s  too  late  for  them  now.  you  swallow  back  the  blood.

“Hey Sasha! Bet’cha my potatoes at dinner that you wont run into the ocean naked!”

✦  @amachja​ asked:  ❛ what acts of service would your muse appreciate the most? does your muse prefer conversation or just sitting quietly with their s/o? ❜  //  headcanons based on the 5 love languages

Acts of Service falls towards the tail end of Annie’s preferred love languages (Quality Time > Physical Touch > Words of Affirmation > Acts of Service > Receiving Gifts).  She is fiercely independent and, despite harbouring a lazy streak, she is very capable of managing her own affairs – particularly as she has been running her father’s house since girlhood.  The only time she’s likely to appreciate someone shouldering domestic tasks or running errands for her is if she were sick or incapacitated (stubborn creature she is, she isn’t likely to ask for help).  That being said, there are gestures she does appreciate, and they mostly revolve around food.  Whether it’s making her a cup of tea, cooking a meal from scratch, sharing a snack, or surprising her with sandwiches in the middle of the day, Annie is sure to be touched by the consideration and care.