#amachja

[tobebrutal]

she’s an outlier by choice.    skirts the edge of conversations with watchful eyes and a will to pick at collected information to find what could be useful in the middle of it all.    ymir is a scavenger.    the crane-necked buzzard who feeds when the drought takes out her prey, even if, in the moment, the drought in question were the people who huddled around sasha, milking her of good will and a nauseating penchant to please.    until the scene goes sour with rot and a barren field is her landing ground, the impact of which isn’t meant to go unnoticed.

“  howdy pardner,  ”        it agitates its way into the air, knocked loose while she rocked from heel to toe, hands buried deep in hole-riddled pockets.    fox’s slyness on display, there ought be no surprise when she bares teeth..   admonishes her with a crooked grin to say she’d done it again.    had been doing it all morning, strained and otherwise.

               “  ——you really can’t help yourself, can you ?  ”       /  @amachja​

#amachja #iwasmine #i. iwasmine & amachja #( hello she is here to bully )

[massensterben]

Runs very fast and hug tackles him to the ground, a puppy in girl form. Is he a full head taller? Yes. Considerably stronger? Yes! Do physics matter? No, never heard of them. Let them be happy, dammit.

taptaptaptAPTAPTAPTAPTAP—

"Hm?"

—IMPACT!!

She tears him off his feet before he can so much as gasp her name. Arms half-outstretched, ready to catch her when she jumps, he makes the perfect target for a girl to launch herself at. He stumbles back and lands hard on his backside before the remaining momentum blows him over. Very suddenly he lies on his back, buried under a giggling Sasha who's got her arms wrapped around him so tight he can barely breathe.

"Sasha...?" He croaks, a coy laugh tinting the edges of his voice, softening it. She isn't letting him go, is she? Her hair tickles his nose and her laugh is soaking all the way into his chest. Bertholdt is so shocked, he barely registers the moment his heart catches up to his head, and somersaults as well. A giddy, half-forbidden warmth spreads through his chest, tightening it. Before he tightens his embrace.

"I missed you, too."

#i would do anything for them #amachja #;;sh. bertholdt & sasha : amachja — wie das andere ende des waldes. #theyre back babbey!!

[foreverascout]

@amachja​ liked it x

“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.

“How?! I beat my record by five rabbits and you still win?”

#;ic #amachja #awaah thank

[austerulous-a]

✦  @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.  

On top of that, living in Marley as an Eldian was already traumatic.  Against this backdrop of human suffering – and later the horrors of Paradis, of which she was an instigator – Annie is unlikely to identify the abuse she endured at the hands of her father as particularly damaging.  Gabe always said she would have suffered far more if he had not taken her into his care, that only bad things would happen to an unwanted, orphaned Marleyan-Eldian half-breed (his choice of words) and Annie is inclined to agree with him.  At least under his roof, she was alive, kept fed and clothed for the most part, and had some semblance of a family.  It is only much later, likely post-Rumbling and through the process of developing romantic / intimate relationships, that Annie will begin to realise how deeply the violence of her childhood has affected her.

#shout-out to best boys bertholdt and marcel #thanks for these questions cha - i feel like in answering them i learned more about annie! #♡ #✧ answered — ❛ i feed your words through my buttonholes / i pin them to my fingerless gloves ❜ #amachja

[ausdauer]

@amachja​ liked the starter call x

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. 

“So yer good with horses” Isabel mused, looking at Sasha with a grin, riding up beside her, “Y’wanna race?” a grin spread across her face, why not give the horses a sprint, she had every faith that Greg would win the race though, he had never let her down yet. 

#amachja #lets race #;ic

[vvasilisa]

With Pieck sat across the table, chatting away and digging into her cake, Sasha watches intently, awaits her opening. It comes when Pieck bites into a strawberry; impeccable huntress reflexes, she leans forward, catches the other half of the fruit with her teeth, fingers guiding her chin (no escaping; it is revenge, after all), lips barely brushing against the Warrior's, a drop of strawberry juice caught between twin mouths. She pulls back, cheeks a light pink. "Happy birthday, miss Finger." :^)

〈 * 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.  

                                   ＇ let me know if you want seconds. ＇     

#amachja #this is the most graphic kiss i prob have written lmao #pieck vc: i want seconds ma'am uwu #⎛ I’M BURNING THE LETTERS. ⎠ ◦ ━━━ 〈 ANSWERED. #⎛ DEATH MADE ― A SHELL OF EVE. ⎠ ◦ ━━━ 〈 FINGER. P. ◞ IC. #ask to tag /

[curieuxs]

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.

“ I hope i’m  not  making  you  too uncomfortable  on  your  own  room, Braus. “  Hanji stated  as she  turned to look at  her with  what is  remaining  of  her eyes.  “ As soon as  Levi  is  satisfied  with  my  recovery, I promise  that  your  original  Roommate  will  return. “

#. HANJI #. SASHA #amachja #i hope this is okey #ahhhhhhhhhh #yess #finally #them interacting

[dehducer]

                           @amachja​ said   :    🌸 𝐏𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫   ♡

 𝐇𝐞𝐫  𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲  𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.  Sitting  among  a  field  of  blossoming  flowers  that  were  like  nothing  she  had  seen  before,  the  colours  and  patterns  upon  all  the  different  petals  completely  enthralling  her.  They  didn’t  have  these  kinds  of  flowers  back  in  Marley  or  Liberio,  they  still  had  flowers,  but  none  felt  quite  this  wild.  They  were  completely  exotic.  Pieck  found  herself  running  her  fingers  between  all  the  different  kinds,  pulling  apart  some  of  the  flowers  just  to  see  how  they  broke  and  bent.  What  colour  would  bleed  from  their  stems  as  they  snapped  between  her  fingers.

 Moments  like  these  were  what  caused  her  to  struggle  here,  on  this  island  of  devils.  The  closer  she  grew  to  them  though,  the  less  they  fit  that  demographic.  It  scared  her.  Confused  her.  Kept  her  awake  late  at  night  and  yawning  the  next  morning.  Though  she  was  doing  no  favours  to  make  the  hole  she  had  dug  for  herself  any  less  deep.  Pieck  lunged  at  the  opportunity  to  follow  Sasha  to  her  home.  Watching  as  she  hunted  while  animals  like  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  she  could  do,  try  her  own  hand  at  it  too  though  she  fell  incredibly  short  in  comparison  to  Sasha’s  efforts.  For  a  few  hours,  Pieck  wasn’t  the  child  undercover  in  some  grand  diabolical  scheme,  she  was  just  Pieck.  She  was  17.  She  was  just  a  girl.

 “  They  don’t  look  anything  like  this  where  i’m  from—”  The  words  fell  from  her  mouth,  faux  patched  together  story  held  together  by  paper-thin  strands  of  twine  trembled  in  her  hands  as  she  tried  to  remember  it.  Hours  spent  alone  reciting  it  aloud  so  she  never  faltered  if  questioned.  Pieck  had  it  carved  into  her  flesh,  it’s  edges  jagged  and  blood  covering  her  body  like  a  silken  nightgown.  Testing  how  long  before  the  steam  would  curl  from  the  wounds  and  behind  to  mend  her.  The  tendrils  of  smoke  were  like  the  fingers  of  a  seasoned  doctor,  leaving  no  scar  or  evidence  of  ever  being  there.  She  hated  it.  She  loved  it.  Pieck  didn’t  know  what  was  up  from  down  or  right  from  wrong.  But  what  she  did  know  was  that  she’d  been  cut  off  from  her  sentence  by  the  feeling  of  Sasha’s  fingers  brushing  her  hair  back  behind  her  ear.

 It  almost  shocked  her,  bringing  her  back  to  reality  and  the  colours  of  the  flowers  in  the  field  felt  brighter.  She  could  smell  them,  too.  Pieck  could  feel  the  blood  rush  under  her  cheeks  as  Sasha’s  hand  dropped,  feeling  something  stuck  between  the  back  of  her  ear  and  the  hair  that  had  been  tucked  there.  Her  own  fingers  raised  to  feel  the  petals  that  brushed  against  her  hair,  how  soft  they  were.  The  smell  from  that  flower  seemed  particularly  pungent,  or  was  that  just  Sasha?  She  felt  frozen  in  place,  roots  growing  from  her  feet  and  planting  her  among  the  flowers.  “  Did  you…  ”  Fingers  plucked  the  flower  from  her  hair,  holding  it  before  her  eyes,  twirling  it  around  to  see  how  the  light  affected  its  colour.  “  It’s  so  pretty.  ”  Breathing  out,  her  words  were  as  soft  as  the  sun  that  warmed  their  skin.

 She  put  the  flower  back  in  its  place,  eyes  scanning  the  field  around  them  until  one  landed  one  that  caught  her  eye.  Its  petals  were  the  most  vibrant  periwinkle  and  it’s  pollen  a  deep  yellow,  she  plucked  it  from  it’s  home  among  the  field  and  held  it  between  her  fingers.  Was  she  hesitating?  Should  she  be  doing  this?  Was  this  crossing  a  line  she’d  drawn  in  the  sand  all  those  years  ago?  Pieck  paused,  eyes  concentrating  on  the  flower.  The  line  was  so  far  behind  her  at  this  point,  she  wasn’t  sure  if  she  could  even  see  it.

 “  Here.  ”  She  reaches  up  on  her  toes  to  place  the  flower  in  the  same  spot  on  Sasha.  Fringe  tucked  behind  her  ear  as  the  flower  nestled  between  it,  Pieck  smiled.  She  needed  to  get  off  of  this  island.  She  would  get  off  of  it.  Not  today,  but  soon.  “  It’s  pretty.  ”  She  comments,  her  smile  was  warm  on  her  face  but  it  was  concealing  a  world  of  hurt.  Of  twisting  emotions.  Next  time  we’re  beyond  the  walls,  leave.  The  words  were  resounding  in  her  head,  her  mission  clear.  𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐤  𝐡𝐚𝐝  𝐭𝐨  𝐠𝐨  𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞.  Forgive  me  Sasha.  She  grabs  the  other  girl’s  hand,  squeezing  it  tight.  “  Thank  you.  ”    

I’m  sorry.

#amachja #in character. #𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 : where the devil's roam. #// ha!!! #// hahaha!!! #//i'm fine!!!!!

[massensterben]

@amachja​ said:             “ were you full of hate? “ (your choice of verse!)

There’s some stuff you can’t talk about after it happens. The memories are clear, stenciled into the inside of your eyelids. But the words won’t align to give the images form. It remains a rushed picture show, flashing by too fast to describe. The same applies here, applies to the last battle Bertholdt did as himself, as something approaching himself, before he was erased. He recalls the boy, how he screamed at the top of his lungs for someone to come and help them. And how the boy was silenced and ignored. And then the black came rushing in.

Bertholdt watches as his fork slowly scrapes over the plate. He doesn’t eat, even as his stomach growls. He is filling up in other ways, swallowing down every glance, every question and shift of Sasha’s weight. They don’t often eat together and now he recalls why. Sasha has always been a lively presence. Even when retreating into her anxious depths, she had an energy about her that dispelled mute avoidance. Engaging, he used to call it. She made him want to take part, be part of something. It was the wrong thing, in the end. But he knew that.

“Sometimes,” Bertholdt’s voice rolls out of him like coin drops into a well. He doesn’t need to answer that, he knows. But even now, Sasha works her magic. Perhaps the trick is very simple. Who else has ever asked him the things that she asks? Who else could judge him on this matter but the victim? Even now, he holds her hostage with some mongrel son of good intentions. And yet she has never been unkind. She has not chained him, made him point a gun, fire a shot. There seems to be something owed. An admission.

“Not most of the time. When it happened, it didn’t feel like something I could control. It felt like someone else put it there. Towards the end, there were those moments.” He sets down the fork, wary of sharp instruments. He has such a history with pin pricks, with incisions. Everything is dug out of him, one way or another. What is one more confession? “But hatred was never the point. It was always bigger than that. Most of the time, I felt sorry for you. But it’s really damn difficult to feel that way now.”

#amachja #;;v. god of destruction

[foreverascout]

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

@amachja​

#dare on #go on #B) #amachja

[austerulous-a]

✦  @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.

Given that she struggles to express herself effectively, silence is easiest for Annie and often preferable.  Conversation can strike her as superfluous, and she has little tolerance for small talk.  It is enough for her to sit in the presence of someone she is comfortable with / fond of, to share their space and enjoy their company.  That being said, there are a select few that she likes to speak with – or listen to, at least.  For them, she will gladly forgo silence.

#thank you for this cha! ♡ #✧ answered — ❛ i feed your words through my buttonholes / i pin them to my fingerless gloves ❜ #amachja

[spezialistin]

“Everyone needs help sometimes.” - @amachja​

     “That is ironic coming from someone I came to get from the hospital.”  The young woman replied while finger tapping the wheelchair’s handle. It was more a precaution than a necessity. And Mikasa was not going to risk her friend’s well being, especially after the scare they had. She and all of her friends thought the brunette wouldn’t make it to Paradis. At the time, the young Ackerman was terrified, so much that she wished she was the one who took that shot. The thought hasn’t left her mouth, she was not about to burden her with anything more.

     However, Mikasa knew she wasn’t talking about herself. As intuitive as always, of course she would notice something was wrong. But couldn’t they pretend just for a minute than their world wasn’t falling apart and everything was in disarray? “If you behave you can have my plate.” She continued in a desperate attempt to deviate the subject from herself and her own inner turmoil.

#amachja #rp #answered #v;saving the world