#PLEASE TELL ME THATS NOT THE ENDING

[nemotakeit]

please tell me he's not lying down in an inferno he created to destroy the world he built and himself with it

please just tell me i belong in an asylum

[fanaticalthings]

❗️SPOILERS FOR BATMAN #148❗️

dc killing off my boy again lol :')

ty chip zdarsky for another unoriginal story arc

[elsecrytt]

masochist gojo. gojo who's in love with pain, so much that it feels like pleasure, he can barely distinguish between the two anymore.

gojo who's so starved for touch. who's had an infinite space between himself and the whole world for so long, for so many years, every day in and day out.

gojo who's survived off glancing presses when a barista hands him a coffee, the rare hug from his students (who are mostly orphans) that he can't bring himself to decline.

gojo who craves more but can't bring himself to accept it except in fleeting moments with strangers or students.

his hands that long to be held. he wants it so bad that he teases a cursed spirit, laces his fingers with its own, right before he utterly crushes the being in battle, untouchable all over again.

gojo whose skin is hungry for someone else's. he hasn't felt the warmth of a hand in his own in so long. not since - since his youth.

gojo who sometimes wishes he could get hit. who sees the impact of curse techniques on his infinity and feels a wild, strange desire for them to go straight through and strike him.

he imagines it, vividly, being impaled by a long spear (inverted spear) that goes straight through him. how it would lance his flesh so cleanly.

being struck so hard, across the face, in the stomach, enough to knock the wind out of him.

enough to feel it with his whole body.

gojo who wants to be touched so bad he doesn't even care if it hurts anymore. infinity couldn't protect him from geto's betrayal.

gojo who keeps infinity up not because he doesn't want to get hit, but because he's terrified of what he might do when it happens.

gojo who got hard whenever geto sparred with him. he still doesn't know if it was because of geto, or because he had no infinity back then, no way to block the strikes.

he dreams of his youth. bruises littering his pale, pretty form like kisses, proof that he was human, there, that there was someone who could reach him.

dark purple things that turned pretty colors as they healed. he remembers pressing into them, relishing the hurt, feeling like he was getting hit (touched, reached, connected) all over again.

nothing ever touches him again. not like that. not like anything.

he never feels it. he never feels anything.

satoru gojo who wants, so very very badly, to feel something.

pain is a choice for him, always a choice. he alone has the privilege of deciding whether or not anything can touch him.

he could try to let more strangers touch him. one night stands, discreet arrangements. he had a pretty face and a body to match. there was no shortage of willing partners.

he lets them touch him, lets them hurt him. lets them drool over his body and use it at their leisure. they tell him he's beautiful, and he believes them.

white hair, blue eyes, sprawled out with a lean, unmarred body full of bare flesh for them to bite and scratch and bruise. he finds people who will do it, do it hard, fuck him up until he's lost entirely in the feeling of being touched, having someone against him, with him, above him.

it makes him feel like a piece of meat. it makes him feel good.

or he thinks it does, anyways.

sometimes, when he's gone particularly long without sleep, when his partner has gone particularly hard, he gets a real rush.

heart racing out of his chest. a cold sweat that overwhelms him. breaths coming in labored gasps. he can heal himself, he's physically fine, so this must all be in his head.

he acknowledges that information, distantly, like it's not happening to him. it doesn't help.

it feels like part of his body has been ripped away from him, something vital and important, and it's about to get up and run away.

always, always, it happens when his partner is no longer touching him. when he lays alone in the sheets, by his own volition, because of course these partners are not meant to be attachments.

love is not a privilege, though, not for the strongest sorcerer. it's a curse.

it's the only curse which infinity cannot protect him from.

so gojo stays untouchable. distant.

but the hunger doesn't go away. never.

he likes to imagine that suguru swallowed this one last curse before he died. something sweet and bitter, like losses at the arcade, sunny days at the beach, walking together with shoko, nanami, haibara.

but even suguru couldn't have absorbed this curse. it's in his bones, deep, longing and wanting even after he's dead and gone.

gojo is hungry. he is so, so hungry. and he has nothing to eat that will not leave him just as empty as before.

touch-starved. love-starved. pain-craving.

if someone could hurt him then it wouldn't matter that he was terrified of attachment. they could latch onto him, into his heart, under his skin. bury themselves in his chest like they belonged.

they could kill a hundred and twelve people and it wouldn't matter, because he wouldn't be able to kill them.

gojo is hungry, so hungry.

please feed him.

[ollylotl]

a dream of home

[deoidesign]

Thinks about my next series again... I drew the icon for it!

I'm planning to have it launched within a year! I'm hoping for summer 2025. I want to make a prelaunch page before Time and Time Again ends so people can subscribe if they're interested, but I'm worried the series return would be too early...

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[silverprism-s]

i have a lot of thoughts bouncing around in my mind but... i think gojo got exactly the ending he deserved. and... thats not a bad thing.

[tamaharu]

"Isn't that what you always wanted?" "That's not what I want!"

Revolutionary Girl Utena (1997) / Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

[nikolas-ghostbusters-fixation]

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how everyone thought Egon had gone insane. What Happened that made them think that. They've fought a gigantic Stay Puft Marshmellow Man TWICE (counting the 2009 video game because iirc it's canon? Correct me if I'm wrong), fought an interdimensional god, fought a blood thirsty ruler that killed thousands and was hated by all that was trapped in a painting (and managed to get in to beat him by making THE STATUE OF LIBERTY start walking down the street with slime that reacted purely based on vibes), found an underground abandoned transit system full of the moodslime, had a bathtub try to eat Dana and her baby, fought a giant murderous black widow lady, fought the fisherman ghost who turned an entire hotel floor into the bottom of a ocean, and that's not even mentioning them getting trapped on an island that randomly raised up from underwater that had been abandoned for decades created by Ivor Shandor who worshipped Gozer. So what did he do or say that made everyone else think he'd gone insane?? All I can think is maybe he was acting strange / eratic before, but he's always been like that to some degree.

I don't know. It's something that I've been thinking about. The correct answer is 'it's not that deep and they needed a reason that the others weren't together anymore and weren't aware of Egons death or know what was going on,' but also. What Was He Saying that prompted everyone, including Ray, to think he lost his mind when he'd been right almost every time before that.

I'm genuinely so curious as to what he was up to before this. What was he doing. What insane idea was working on prior to this or was he even working on anything at all??

Also want to clarify this post isn't negative 😭 I really love the newer movies and their lore / the newer storyline / characters, I just like thinking about small stupid things like this. Gives me something to think about / speculate about / figure out an answer to.

[wexhappyxfew]

Okay these prompts were so good. It was so hard to decide. After much thought, I humbly present to you “Don’t ever leave my sight again” for Annie and Brady? I feel like the scene you’ve set up for them in the camp, this would really fit for them, but of course only if you think so!

HELLO SWEET ANON!!! thank you so so much for this annie x brady prompt is was an absolute delight and treat to write!! the annie x brady storyline for me has just been continously building and it offered me the opportunity to write their reunion in the stalag and it was a JOY!!!!! i really fueled it with so many heartfelt emotions and i just truly hope you enjoy. writing this made me immensely happy and filled with a lot of emotions, so truly, THANK YOU!!!!i can definitely agree that the camp set up a *perfect* opportunity. and to everyone - here it is! THANK YOU AGAIN!! PLEASE ENJOY!!! <33333

gone to the earth

(a/n): ITS THE ANNIE X BRADY REUNION PIECE YALL. COME AND ENJOYYYYY!!!! let's just say this has been sitting around in bits and pieces for a WHILE and this prompt absolutely gave me every inkling of an opportunity to write the reunion and to say the least, it came out exactly as i was hoping, with the energy i was hoping to portray. i sincerely hope you all enjoy - annie and brady are so special to me as characters and in their connection to one another and i hope to have done them justice for this piece especially; please enjoy!! (also: annie you are so real for thinking of brady in the way you do).

The drainage of color from what must've been a once bright and shining landscape was utterly depleting. The gray sky above hung like a heavy tapestry, fighting to keep whatever light that could've been shining in, out, and the sight of the camp, with its rows of bunk houses, and barbed wire crawling up the sides of the borders were enough to make her shiver.

The unknown was enough to make any person uncomfortable to any sort of relevant extent - especially in wartime. War seemed to bring out all the possibilities of uncertainty and the unknown, and it seemed to be staring her in the face with this camp.

As she struggled to keep up behind the few USAAF POW pilots who were in front of her, she could see the clouded outlines of POWs currently inside the camps, their faces smudged with dirt and grime, hair under beanies and crusher caps, heavy coats and jump gear still strapped up on them with their boots covered in crusted mud and clay.

Squinting her eyes, she could see the looks on a few of their faces as the convoy neared; enough grief, numbness and exhaustion to last a lifetime. A look that might never disappear.

Annie had been limping ever since they were sent marching this direction, the shove on the ground a few days prior, only to be hauled up by her twisted shoulder and dragged on the ground until she could get her footing, had left her feeling limp like a rag doll, her body nearly giving out under the weight. Her entire form ached from exhaustion, lack of food and water, and having spent the last few nights, ever since jumping out of that B-17, almost entirely awake, for fear of someone attacking her as she tried to sleep.

She couldn't trust a soul as far as she could throw them; she was in enemy territory now, in Germany. She was in a place so few seemed to make it out alive in, where they could have her head in seconds and do whatever they pleased with her. Because to them, she was their enemy. Recognizing that would forever feel like a punch to the gut.

Two nights ago when she'd shoved herself in the corner of the room they'd been keeping her in, she'd crafted a makeshift sling to keep her shoulder in place, the ache deep and slightly dulled now by the time she was moving more. Her body couldn't seem to figure out where to place the pain - her heart or her body and she was almost regretting letting herself worry as she had.

Where were Bessie, Kennedy and Margie?

Conditions like herself or worse?

Would they run into the others who were downed?

Or were they dead, gone to the Earth like a last fleeting resource and expense of the war that they were all expected to pay?

An air-raid siren seemed to open up the second the gates to the camp were shoved apart from one another, the immediate rush of pilots inside the camps, flushing themselves against the wiring and metal caging about the borders, their fingers latching onto the sides, immediately yelling out to familiar faces in the crowd, once lost but now found.

Annie lifted her head as the calling out continued, in an almost last-resort hope that somehow in all of this, someone from the 100th was here and alive and well. A desperation latched onto her, the sudden want to see someone from the 100th overwhelming her being as she looked from side to side, keeping herself in line as she continued walking forward towards the second set of gates.

"Annie! Annie Bradshaw!"

The sound of her name mixed in the swirl of other names being yelled, with cheers and call outs, made her suddenly locked up with more emotions than she thought she'd feel.

"Annie Bradshaw! Here! Annie!"

Turning her head to her left, through the crowd of pilots clinging onto the barbed wire, she saw the smiling face of Bucky Egan appear through the crowd, pressing up against the wire and watching her, calling out her name once more as she limped closer with the group.

A certain look in his eye was enough to make her freeze up for a moment - a split second of 'Why are you here? You shouldn't be here? You should be back in Thorpe Abbotts'. And then a mix of 'I am glad you're here and nowhere else now that you're in Nazi Germany'. Suddenly her mind raced - Bucky had gone down with Brady.

Her Brady.

"Bucky!" she called back, weakly, picking up her limping pace forward as she did so, watching that grin grow onto Bucky's face again as he watched her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he called out to her as the group continued to move forward towards the second gates, and the yelling grew louder and more invigorated, "You should be back in the sky!" She watched him, trying to get her response strung together into a well-thought out sentences and came back with nothing but a puff of air as the realization of just what the last few days of life had been like for her.

From the plane and the flak, to dropping out, being on the run, lost and slightly terrified out of her mind, to captured, in interrogation, lacking sleep and any source of food to here. And she was here. She'd made it here. And Bucky Egan was right there. Some members of the 100th had made it.

Annie tracked Bucky until she'd gotten through the second set of gates - people immediately started coming forward, helping some who were dragging along others who couldn't walk, along with greeting friends and fellow pilots. Something cathartic about it all hit her as she turned and watched Bucky come right towards her before anything.

Maybe in another lifetime, she would've knocked his lights out, but standing here now, the only thing she could grasp onto was the boys from the 100th. Bucky pulled her into his arms quickly, the hug short, but meaningful enough that tears entered her vision at the feel of him right there. Pulling back, Bucky held her at arms length and stared at her long and hard, like trying to figure out what to say and why she was here.

"Bradshaw…." he started, but she just shook her head.

"Your eye." she managed out, catching the blues and blacks mixing around his eye that had evidently been wiped clean of what blood and grime had been there, "Are you okay?"

"Hell, Bradshaw, I should be asking you that," he said in a slightly strained and choked voice, "what the hell happened to you?" What the hell did happen to her? She could barely even get her facts straight of the last few days, let alone talk about it. All of it. The bad, the ugly, the horrid.

"Did any of the others make it….?" she asked him, the sudden realization of her, Silver Bullets' pilot standing there, smacking him in the face, "Kennedy, Bessie and Margie. They split up Silver Bullets, we were losing crews left and right and with a whole lot of new replacements, they needed vets to step in. We all went down somewhere over near Berlin. Did they….? And….and your guys? Anyone?" Bucky watched her for a moment, his gaze both pensive and thick, as if trying to put the pieces together while dissecting her all at once, this shell of a girl, a half-made used-to-be pilot who was now in shambles in front of him, downed and trapped.

"Let me take you back to barracks." Bucky said both calmly and assertively, "Get you some food and water, too." He gave her an extra-long stare. "And a blanket, you're shaking, Bradshaw."

For a split second, she was almost ready to argue back, meeting his gaze, holding up that strong front she had built up the last few days when she'd been alone and struggling to survive under the watchful eyes of the Germans. But now, despite the conditions, this was someone from the 100th, someone from the place she'd started to think of as 'home' and she knew she had to trust him. That opening her mouth would only do more in this moment than was even needed.

"Okay." she said quietly, letting him turn and wrap his arm over her shoulder, his hold on her tighter and more confident than she had ever experienced. Like a sudden need to protect and guard - and if it didn't give her an indication of what she was stepping into, she didn't know what would.

Something in the way he walked, with her tucked into his side, like he didn't want to let on that it was her beside him, a female pilot on her lonesome, there in his protective and caged side. But there was something about the way he didn't talk that scared her.

Bucky Egan was always talking - he practically never even came up for air. So the fact he wasn't talking, wasn't even making a mention of her previous questions and had digressed immediately to discussing going back to the 'barracks' made a small pit form in her stomach enough to make her feel slightly sick.

They came upon barracks with two wooden doors, to which Bucky released his hold on her a bit, leaping up to pull open the doors for her and letting her inside. It smelled musty, like dampened wood and cigarette smoke, along with charcoal and death, and there was enough of a bitter tinge to the air for her to shiver as Bucky came to her side again to lead her down the long hall.

"We're just right in here…." Bucky started to say as he pointed to a doorway that led to a small room, lined with bunks on all sides, half of a table peeking out in the center of the room and a potbelly stove going in the corner. A few people sat around the table - she saw a pair of feet at the edge of one bunk and a head on another.

Annie slowly moved forward into the room and it was almost like a light had been turned on with how quickly heads seemed to turn towards the threshold she had just stepped over.

"Annie?"

"Lieutenant Bradshaw!"

"Bradshaw?"

"What the hell you doing here, Bradshaw?"

Immediately, she was rushed by a hug from someone she couldn't quite find the head to, but then the person pulled back and she was met with the brightly smiling face and shiny eyes of Bessie Carlisle, who was staring at her like she were starstruck.

"Annie Bradshaw, how'd I know you'd find your way back to us?" she whispered quietly, reaching up her hands to softly cradle Annie's head, holding her gently with that smile of hers. Annie met Bessie's gaze, the sudden realization that she had her navigator back, alive and well and very much here, in front of her, and couldn't help but pull Bessie into another hug, filled with relief, joy and a whole swirl of emotion.

"Didn't think I'd live to see the day." Annie opened her eyes as Bessie pulled back and there coming towards her was Kennedy Farley, a slight limp to her walk but a smile on her face and it was enough for Annie to completely disregard the salute Kennedy was about to perform and pulled Kennedy right into her arms. She held onto her like some sort of lifeline as Kennedy's arms immediately went to latch right around Annie right back, the two girls holding each other with tears in their eyes.

"I'm so glad you're here," Annie whispered quietly into her flash of ginger hair, pulling back to look up at her face, "you're both okay?" Annie looked from Kennedy to Bessie who both nodded, before glancing sidelong at one another.

"Margie never showed." Bessie started, "Yet." Annie's gut sank a bit as she looked between both their sets of eyes again and nodded, before looking back to Bucky, who stood by, watching with a solemn look written on his face, enough to hide, but enough to tell at the same time.

Looking back, around Bessie and Kennedy, she was met with DeMarco and Murphy and Hambone, along with Buck and a few unfamiliar faces that didn't exactly hit her memory. There were hugs, there was some laughter, there were even some warming gazes that made her feel more content than she had been in days. But something in her gut was ticking like a clock as she pulled back from DeMarco's warm hug.

"Did Captain Brady make it?" she asked aloud, her voice sounding hollow and strained as she felt her mind turn to turmoil - Bucky was here, he'd gone down with Brady, so how could Brady not also be here right now?

"He did." Buck said almost immediately, "Murph, go get him. He's been out getting some food with a few of our guys for a while now." From the moment she'd heard the words 'He did' fall from Buck's lips, her entire body seemed to freeze up just at that thought. Brady was here and he was in this camp and he was alive. A bubble of relief grew inside her stomach at the mere thought of him. He was alive and here. Murphy hurried out of the bunk room leaving the place in a disarray of a mix between new arrival and long-lost friend.

"Well," Bessie said stepping forward and making way to wrap a blanket around Annie's shoulders, "let's get you situated with some soup and water, huh? No doubt you haven't eaten anything of substance lately."

"Thanks, Bes," Annie said as the navigator helped her settle into a chair with that leg of hers, wrapping the blanket more comfortably over her shoulders and letting her for once sit down. Annie couldn't remember the last time she'd been properly sat down and felt both safe and comfortable that wasn't Silver Bullets.

"It's not much," Kennedy said coming over from Hambone where a bit of soup had been scooped into a plate, "just what we could find. Potato soup."

"It's perfect." Annie said, her eyes slightly widen in hunger as the bowl was placed in front of her, along with a metal spoon, "God, I can't even remember the last I put food in my mouth."

"You want water?" Bucky asked moving towards some of the canteens stacked against the stove as she nodded.

"Thank you all," she said as she took the water canteen from Bucky and sipped the water thoughtfully, "you don't know how happy I am to know you're all here." Annie looked around the room at the people who meant more to her than anything right now, their faces bringing an immense amount of comfort to her trembling form, their presence enough to make her feel safe enough to eat and drink.

"We're happy you're here, too," Bessie said, exchanging glances with a few others around the room, her voice dipping into something broken and lodged with emotion, "worried us when you didn't show. We didn't even know if you'd show. At all."

"Me either." Annie managed out, her throat feeling as if a piece of bread was lodged inside and she couldn't get her words out.

A beat of silence seemed to eclipse them as Annie tasted her first bit of the soup, which was quickly followed by her taking in a larger bit of soup, savoring the watery broth and the stiff potatoes.

But it was food and it was damn-near luxurious to take in right now when her stomach had been empty for days. Her mind was moving a thousand miles a minute though, stomach twisted in anticipation in seeing Brady after all those weeks, after Francis had broken the news.

Francis. Francis Montez.

Annie's heart fell at the realization of just what situation they were in with Francis experiencing the loss of another pilot; another Birdie.

A frenzy of footsteps echoed out from the hallway into the bunk room, a chatter of low voices following, causing heads to turn from the bunk room to the threshold.

As Annie looked up in that moment, there around the corner, stopping to freeze in the doorway was John Brady.

The first thing she took in about him with her spoon half-raised to her chattering and chapped lips, was his eyes, so intently focused on her own, the mixed hues of blue with gray flecks holding her own, his gaze so fixed on her own, she didn't realize that the spoon of soup was falling out of her hands, knocking against the table as it clattered to the ground.

His hair was in his eyes, stranded and hanging over his forehead, parted more down the middle, something she'd only seen from him when they'd been out at the officers' club or when they woke up side by side that one time all those weeks ago. His overcoat was clinging to his body, his boots caked in dirt, his hands filled with, presumably, sacks of the food he'd been scrounging and his entire frame facing her.

"Annie."

The second her name had fallen from his lips, that strong semblance she'd built for herself had quickly fallen in a matter of seconds. She'd stood, with the blanket falling from her shoulders and practically, between a mix of stumbling and limping, launched herself into his arms, meeting him halfway between where he'd been standing and she'd been sat.

Maybe launch wasn't the entire right word, but whatever it was, their arms were locked around one another in a way she couldn't even describe in her mind, her hands reaching up into his hair, trying to hold him as close as physically possible, his own hands tracing up and down her back, lingering on her exposed neckline as he held her there. Her eyes were welled with tears as she felt his hand moving up and down her back in that familiar and comforting, synchronized motion.

It made her think of that last time they'd seen each other - side by side in her cot, his hand rubbing her back as she had curled under the covers and wished him good night. A fateful 'stay safe' lingering on her lips.

Somewhere near her neck was his face, breathing her in, his lips brushing her sensitive skin sending goosebumps across her entire body, suddenly aching for him in more ways than were possible, longing for his hands to be on her longer, tucked up under her shirt, pressing against her cold skin, warming her up and keeping her safe.

"Let's give them a minute…." Annie heard Kennedy briefly say from somewhere behind her, a few muffled voices in response, a few coughs following as feet shuffled out of the room, to God knows where. For a moment, all that mattered to her was that Brady was in her arms at this very minute and safe.

Slowly, they peeled apart from one another, like cracking at a piece of stone to split open, arms still very much wrapped up in one another, their faces still close to each other when they finally locked eyes again, slightly breathless and pink in the cheeks, neither saying a word beyond staring right at one another like it'd be the last time. Annie couldn't help but let a hand crawl to his cheek, her heart pounding inside her chest as she brushed her thumb over his skin, feeling a part of him she hadn't dared to touch back before his plane had gone down. When she'd been scared. Fearful. Locked away.

"You're here." he whispered out, his voice so delicate she was sure she could lose it right there in his warm embrace, "Annie, you're here."

"I am." she said quietly back, continuing to brush his cheek gently, her thumb tracing underneath his eyes that had sunken into his face a bit, yet not dimming that look in his eyes that made her want to burrow right under his arm to hide. A sudden sense of boldness struck her as she stood there, drinking in the sight of him and his face and that look in his eye that made her feel slightly insane and swallowed.

"I can't tell you how much I missed you," she managed out quietly, "after hearing you and Bucky went down….I….." Brady softly cupped her cheek from the other side and offered one of his classic lopsided grins and watched her, eyes painfully brimming with an emotion that hit her in the heart, as she felt the tears build up in her eyes and a sob escape her lips. Her hand came back from his head to instinctively cover her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"It's okay now," Brady said with a small smile that quivered at the corners of his lips, "you're okay." Annie felt a small whimper escape her lips as she cracked open her eyes and looked to him again, reaching out her hand again to let her fingers dance over the scar above his eyebrow.

"Look at you," she whispered softly, her voice hoarse and filled with a quiet serenity in a way that she didn't quite expect, "did they hurt you?" Brady shook his head gently and continued to rub his hands on her back.

"Don't you worry about me, I'm fine," he whispered, "I'm worried about you." He let his finger dote on her cheek on the bruise from where the ground had met her when she'd passed out. "What about this?"

"I passed out after their interrogation, I'm fine though, really," she said quietly, her voice still strained as she tried to wrangle her emotions in a way she could speak, "I missed you so much." Hearing those words fall from her lips again without so much as a question to repeat those words made her heart ache as she stood in front of him, having him there in her arms.

"I missed you, too, little birdie," he whispered back, a nickname that made her insides twist, before he was pulling her closer to himself, "shit, you're freezing."

"It's cold out." she managed out back with a small smile, to which the corners of his lips grew upwards into that glorious grin of his - the one she'd yearned for and missed day in and day out, all those sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling, wondering where he'd been, what he'd been doing, if he was alive. Something that ate at her core and thrived on the very fact she was worried over someone she would've never met if she never became command pilot of Silver Bullets. If Birdie had never lost her life. The world worked in ways she would never understand nor comprehend. She felt lucky to even know him. Be here with him. Know John Brady for the man and leader he was.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asked her quietly, his eyes darting over her shoulder towards her bowl and water canteen, "Here." Slowly, his hands traveled from her back to her hands on his cheeks and he slowly led her back over towards the bench, lowering her down gently, before reaching down to grab her fallen blanket and spoon.

In a matter of seconds, he was pulling the blanket over her shoulders and wrapping his own arm around her form, his palms rushing up and down the blanket over her shoulders and forearms in an attempt to warm her up. Even in a moment of being again in one another's presence, he couldn't help but take to doing what he did best. And that was care for her when she could hardly care for herself.

"I didn't mean to make you drop your spoon." he said as his gentle movements up and down her arms made her feel warmer than she had in days. She slowly looked up at him with a smile, catching his gaze under the softly lit light above them.

"Just seeing you there, I could've cared less about a spoon on the floor or not." she whispered quietly to him, her eyes holding his. Staring at him, his warmth and her own minimal bit combined, she couldn't help but reach out with her cold hand to cup his cheek again, his firm facade melting at the touch of her embrace there on his cheek again. Tears lingered at the corners of her eyes again as she stared at him, feeling this, all of this around her.

"I thought you were dead." she admitted, her voice sounding weirdly distant from herself as she spoke, "When they told me. About your plane. I thought you were dead. I just….I didn't want you to ever leave my sight again after that." His grip tightened on her as his hand wandered up to her cheek to wipe at that stray tear that struggled to leave her eyes. "And after everything just, sitting here with you….." Her words failed her as they watched one another, her heart pounding at the feel of his hand there on her cheek, cradling a part of her that no one had touched in any way beyond caring for the sick and wounded.

Annie watched his eyes explore her face, seeing the new parts of her that he'd miss in the time they'd been separated, his grip close and tight, like letting her go would make her disappear.

A part of her lingered closer, her eyes darting down to his softly parted lips, the stubble appearing on his cheeks, those strands of hair in his eyes that made her fingers want to start at his chin and dance their way up and across his face to tuck them back from his blue orbs.

An ache built inside her as she softly moved to cradle his face tighter, his head tilting as she felt herself inch closer, his palm pressed against her own cheek as their noses brushed and their eyes closed.

Every part of her was begging for him to come closer, to touch her, to feel her, to pull her as close as physically possible and let her know this was real and they were sitting here side by side. Because one hour ago this was far from the reality and a painful lie of life. But now, she was sat here with him and he was inches from her and she wanted him right there, hands in her hair, across her skin. Her nose brushed his again as a siren suddenly pitched out across the camp, Annie's eyes flashing open in an instance as she looked up from Brady's face and towards the window - an air-raid.

There was one at the other camp too, in the middle of the night, where she'd been curled in a ball on the stiff cot, staring up at the moonlight as the siren went off, over and over throughout the two hour expanse. Her body had shook with each distant bomb drop and in this moment she felt her body freeze, her mind draw blank as footsteps rushed inside the room and voices eclipsed her mind.

"Alright, everyone remain calm." Buck called out to the people of the room rushing in, Annie briefly meeting Bessie and Kennedy's tired gazes from the doorway, "No doubt they're bombing Berlin, or close enough to it to where we can hear it."

"Just stay calm." Bucky said, leaning up against one of the barracks, glancing out the window with a distant look in his eyes, "Those fucking bastards are probably getting what they deserve."

With silence falling around the room, the sudden realization of the spoon in Annie's hand, she looked back to Brady who was watching her with that quiet look still, that soft yearning and gentle touch she wanted to be wrapped in again.

Where his lips had almost touched her own - they'd been as close as their noses brushing - had it almost been more?

Would she have kissed him then and there, and allowed his lips to press against her own, letting herself become undone with his touch, now back beside him?

Her mind raced and her hurt thumped in her chest as her body felt the warmest it had been in days as Brady's hand reached down to pull her free hand into his lap, fingers tracing the delicate parts of her skin, over her knuckles and over each curve and nail. It was enough to make her insides feel funny and she focused her best on taking in more water and potato soup as everyone sat around in the room, the air-raid siren went off and Brady's fingers traced her own.

In a different time and place, she wasn't sat in a POW camp with an air-raid siren going off - she was in a little blue house, on the front porch, staring at the blue skies and the beautiful world around them without war. She was in a different world that wasn't her current reality.

Glancing over towards Brady, she held his gaze as the air-raid siren continued to drone and his hand continued to trace against her skin.

For a moment, she thought in her mind - she had wanted him to kiss her.

Right then and there, side by side, lips inches from one another in that tiny bunk room.

But all she could do was stare at him and plead for another moment where she got to stare at those blue eyes in a world like this.

[moeblob]

What Deacon thinks: what did that mean? did he want me to wear a collar too? why else would he mention my neck? i mean, if he /asked/ me i would wear one but he didn't so would wearing one be weird?

What Ymber meant: It's nice to be near someone who isn't tethered to this world to serve it with a physical reminder for all to see.

[runningatypufullspeed]

I AM BEING FORCED TO ROLEPLAY AS SCYTHE FUCKING GODDARD FOR MY SCHOOLA SISIGNMRNT CAN SOMEONE END ME PLEASE END ME NOW

[ratatatastic]

or alternatively dweeb meets other dweeb more news at 11

LIGHT. LIGHT IN HIS EYES. LOOK AT EM BIG OLE EYES. LOOK AT HIM TOUCH HIS JERSEY.

GLORY BE TO THE MIKKSY SIGNED JERSEY RAAAAAAAAA

CanesWear Signing | 7.1.24

[mellotronmkll]

Can we also talk about how they trade off who's singing the falsetto part here

[b4kuch1n]

dip pen ink comm batch 4 complete! for Ezechiel, @ohwwhuv, and Leo :]

[faaun]

ok let's catch up quickly