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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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Alex Blum Jumbo Comics #81 and Ghost Comics #4 Retooled "Ghost Gallery" Splash Page Original Art (Fiction House Publ., 1945-52)
#Despondent, #inconsolable #shellshocked #utter #disbelief #a few of the words that is sure to be flung around in the #german #camp after a #2-#0 defeat to #southkorea has resigned #germany #the #defendingchamps to an early #flight home from the #fifaworldcup2018. #there will be a strong #inquiry into what went wrong. #heads will roll as Germany after situations like this have always #retooled a new #champion will be #crowned
Retooled
BREAKING: Obi-Wan Series on Hold as Series is Retooled
BREAKING: Obi-Wan Series on Hold as Series is Retooled
BREAKING: Obi-Wan Series on Hold as Series is Retooled
Looks like those pinning their hopes on seeing Ewan McGregor light up the lightsaber again will have to wait a little longer, as The Hollywood Reporterbrings word that Lucasfilm’s planned Disney+ series about Obi-Wan Kenobi has been put on hold. Despite recent rumors that the show was cancelled, the show remains in active development with…
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tools4boards.com is shiny, new and accepts Apple Pay too. #newwebsite #newdigs #refreshed #retooled #mobilefriendly #applepay #digitalwallet #cuttingedge @tools4boards https://www.instagram.com/p/BrTrXTlhZR7/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=5nu1mhjjz96c
THE GIRL flitted between cities as if she were answering some deep tidal pull in her bones, perpetually picking up and putting down and picking up and moving on like a migratory bird. She learned restless honest. From father’s devil-dance kinetic energy. From a mother who left married surname shucked behind her like abandoned snakeskin. From them came a woman forever skidding and drifting in the world’s wake.
VIX IS EVER-MOVING & NEVER STILL.
THE GODDESS is fleeting and impermanent, for Victory is a single crowning moment , after all , and a joyous afterglow — and then she’s speeding onwards, for there are always more ( more and more ) battles to win.
NIKE IS EVER-MOVING & NEVER STILL.
deconstruction: vague sketch of two odd years leading up to now
VICTORIA ANDLEY HAS BEEN PARTIALLY SUBSUMED. She exists in occasional liminal states not so terribly far from sleeping or deep-sea dreaming. It is a place not her own: sandy and scarred, with a severe landscape broken up by spindle trees and the occasional flash of fresh water. There is a woman’s low voice in the distance ( at her shoulder, near her heart ), and she can see the paths she’s carved from her view high on the mountaintop. Siblings, somewhere near but always out of reach two brothers, a sister, laughing-screaming-silent-bellowing across the way. It is not Vix’s place, but it has been loaned to her with all the solemn reverence of one woman handing her well-thumbed Bible over to another. ( The bullet-catcher, Vix hears rather than thinks, and it’s accompanied by thunderclap laughter. )
Nike is at the wheel. She stepped forward when the girl was inches away from breaking, mortal edges frayed and a psyche which begged and pleaded for no more, to turn the lights back on. Vix joined a war not her own in hopes of finding family, home, and she suffered for the decision until Nike moved to the forefront with blood-warm comfort and an older sister’s stern command. She saved the girl from shivering to shrapnel-pieces. She said ’I’ll take it from here, babe’, giving Victoria Andley things to dream of and clutch tight whilst the GODDESS pulled them free of earthen prisons and took them back to someplace like civilization.
Vix regains control, but Nike stays. A receded tide. A second presence that bleeds into her own until sometimes they both forget where the girl ends and the GODDESS begins. And it is a wild arrangement, a confusing one, a sometimes terrifying one, but Nike keeps Vix safe and vice versa, so it is their arrangement. They return to the world from their cozy little hole in the sand, to Uncle Sam and clean sheets on hard beds rather than mom and apple pie. They don’t go home because for Nike home has vanished and for Vix it NEVER EXISTED. They flit from place to place, Vix with her high necked tops to hide the feathers sprouting beneath the skin of her back
( sometimes they grow wrong and she’ll spend days ––weeks––worrying at a growth in the back of her throat , prodding at it with her tongue till it’s formed enough for her to rip it free; gleaming gold & coated in viscera. )
They drum up a sleek black motorcycle, old and with salt crusting the wheels and up its sides, and they ride. Anywhere the tension runs thick and the blood is hot and the road is open. And it’s good, it’s fine, except NIKE stirs now and again to let Vix know she knows: that they’re empty. There’s something missing.
‘Family,’ Nike says, like it’s an obvious explanation. And Vix, who’s effectively been an orphan even when still at her mother breast, doesn’t understand. She wants to know more. ‘Not yet. Soon, though. You’ll see.’