#Plane of Mud

[justavulcan]

Airmark's Guide to Planar Vegetables: Oblivion Yam

These huge, black-skinned tubers are among the few edible vegetables native to the Elemental Plane of Mud, and have evolved defenses to account for this. Tall and wide as the average humanoid, oblivion yams have soft reddish flesh within that has a starchy taste. They are best cooked, as raw their flesh is quite hard.

Oblivion yams grow leafy stalks above ground level when sedentary, and tolerate waterlogged conditions well; however, when threatened, the tuber breaks off from these stalks to burrow away from would-be attackers. If they cannot escape, they fight by spraying a complex acid in precise bursts from the broken stump of their stalk. Left to escape, oblivion yam stalks grow back at a ferocious rate, growing taller than a standard humanoid within only a few days.

However, the most remarkable feature of the oblivion yam is its mud-armoring ability: tiny roots all over the tuber collect sediment and other harder elements of their surroundings when burrowing to form a tough shell to protect the tuber from damage. Despite their slow speed, oblivion yams being pursued have few reasons to stay still when under attack, so they can refresh this protective coat.

[callhimnowmarisamylove]

NICOLE KIDMAN and HUGH JACKMAN 'AUSTRALIA' (2008) dir. Baz Luhrmann

[mortysmith]

doubt ill ever finish this, but ghost and mosca yayyy

[hana-bobo-finch]

what a precious little guy. i hope nothing bad ever happens to him

[danothan]

everyday i log onto the internet i am forced to fisticuffs combat the halbarry default yaoi allegations. THEY’RE NOT A BASIC BRUNETTE/BLONDE JOCK/NERD DYNAMIC THEY’RE MORE THAN THAT (coping)

[teraluceo]

"Ah well you see-"

Oh no special interest activated.

"There is an infinite amount of me and yet still only one here. The multiverse is infinite and ever expanding. Some look like me and talk like me, but families would be different. Some may be women, men, none of the above or more fluid. Some might not even be human, there might even be a Wooper me running around somewhere. There might even be me's in worlds where Pokemon don't exist. There could even be a me who doesn't like Wooper- no, no. I think that's the defining Rika Factor to be honest. I haven't tested it but let's be honest, am I really me without some muddy cute baby boi?

"But if you want Rika sense you just gotta work with enough dysfunctional people and put up with enough bullshit that You Just Know."

[lovely-bibically-accurate-angels]

if you get this, answer with three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs! anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog <3 (absolutely no pressure)

I like teeth and eyes, kinda covered in 'em

Deer and ram are my favorite animal

Im both too tall and not tall enough, a wiggly middle.

[justavulcan]

Airmark's Guide to Planar Vegetables: Sludgy Sundew

This small, low-growing plant rarely grows higher than a foot tall or across.  Midnight blue with dark veins running the length of the leaves, sludgy sundew is aptly named, as the leaves are coated with short hairs capped with a sticky black substance that serves as an excellent foundation for glue when dried.  Due to the poor quality of soil on its home plane, this plant is carnivorous, feeding on insects and other small creatures by snaring them in its sticky leaves, which then curl up and exude digestive juices to nourish the plant.  It can be a hazard to travelers, but mostly to their footwear- they stick to the feet of many larger creatures, which can cause a loss of traveling speed as they drag their root mass along with them.  Insufficiently treated leather can scar and suffer damage from their digestive juice if unattended, and travelers are advised to bring alcohol with them to dissolve the plant’s sticky sap.

[pellucid-constellations]

If You Cared to Ask

Azriel hasn't been listening. You got hurt. Sometimes, an argument can't be boiled down to just one instance.

Part 2

“You never listen! I have tried over and over to get you to understand but it’s like you don’t even care.”

Azriel’s brow twitched in irritation, the only tell on his otherwise passive face. “That is not true. We have sat down and discussed this at length, y/n. I listen.” 

You laughed, an incredulous pressure weighing down your shoulders. “Okay, fine. You listen, but you never hear me, Azriel! I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall most of the time.” 

“I can reiterate every word you’ve ever said to me. I hear you and I listen to you.” 

Anger twisted through your gut at his nonchalance. You clenched and unclenched your fists and tried to ignore the heat slowly encroaching upon your ability to remain composed. Although, compared to Azriel, you were not even close to the picture of calm. 

“Tell me why it bothers me then,” you seethed through clenched teeth. “Reiterate it for me, Shadowsinger.” 

Azriel’s jaw shifted as he clasped his hands together in his lap, the faelight in the kitchen clashing harshly with the planes of his face. He leaned back in his chair and let out a tortured sigh that almost sent you reeling. 

“You seem to believe,” Azriel began, his voice a low drawl. “That I am blatantly avoiding you—that I am choosing to serve my high lord in place of spending time with you. Both of which, I am not doing. I simply have a duty to this court, y/n. You know that.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Azriel,” you rolled your eyes. “Making this about duty and honor. Making me seem like I’m the crazy one for being angry when you promised me—” 

“You know there is little I can do about promises,” Azriel snapped, a hint of anger finally showing through in the darkness of his eyes. “You knew when we were mated that I have responsibilities that go beyond our relationship.” 

You pushed back from your seat at the table and set to pacing in the kitchen, fighting the urge to tug at the roots of your hair. “Yes, obviously, Azriel, but this was so important to me. I needed you there and this isn’t the first time I’ve been abandoned without even a word.” 

“Abandoned,” Azriel scoffed. “I would hardly call not showing up to your clinic at the camps one day abandoning you. Rhys needed me to—” 

“I needed you!” you shouted, your hands pressed to the countertops and your gaze frantic as you stared at Azriel’s unmoving figure. “I needed you, Azriel. I had every eye on me in that camp and when Devlon’s men had me yanked from the clinic for what I was doing I needed you to—” 

“He did what?” 

“Oh, don’t act like you care now.�� You waved off the staunch posture he had adopted and rolled your eyes for a second time at the piercing hatred that had taken over his expression. “Don’t you dare act like you have the right.” 

“You are my mate, y/n. If anyone put their hands on you—” 

“Well, they did. Bruised up my arms and everything. But you were so busy with your duty to your high lord that you couldn’t give a shit until after I was thrown into the mud surrounded by the women I was supposed to be helping up there.” 

Azriel’s hands turned white as he clenched them in his lap. His lashes fluttered and his brow furrowed and he looked utterly lost at the situation—unable to formulate any kind of response to what could be considered his failure. 

“I thought you were simply setting up the back rooms. I didn’t know you were starting the practice or speaking to the camp,” he croaked, eyes downcast and searching the floor. 

“Except I told you I was. I told you two weeks ago and then again right before I left.” 

“I—I can’t remember you saying that.” 

“Of course you can’t. Because if it isn’t Rhys giving you orders or Cassian leading training you’re absent. You stand right in front of me and you’re not even here.”

Azriel finally looked up from the ground and met your eyes with the same torture his sigh made you privy to earlier. But this time it was rooted in something else—this time, he seemed to finally grasp the weight behind your words. 

But you were utterly sick of trying to get him to this point. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he expressed, pain in the furrow of his brow. “I hadn’t realized—with Rhys just returning to Velaris I’ve been so caught up in—” 

“I’m sorry too,” you cut him off. 

Azriel froze. “What?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the dread begin to rise. You knew you were going to hate this part, but you hadn’t expected Azriel to apologize. He hadn’t apologized for anything in months. You’d been alone in this relationship and he chose the day you’d packed your bags to show remorse.

“I can’t do this, Azriel. Not right now.” 

“Can’t do what?” 

The silence in the kitchen was oppressive. Azriel had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and you were on the other side of the kitchen counter, protected by a barrier you knew you should have put up weeks ago. Your eyes never left his. 

“I can’t do this with you.” 

Azriel breathed in sharply, his eyes widening. “No,” he stressed, heaving up from the chair. “No, y/n, don’t—what do you mean you can’t do this? Explain it to me.” 

Your mate attempted to round the counter and reach for you, but you weren’t going to accept the affection…not when you had been begging for it for months. Not when he was only ready to give it to you now.

You backpeddled until you reached the hall. Azriel didn’t follow, afraid you would take off. 

“I’ve been telling you this was a problem for months now. I thought it was just an adjustment period—I knew that having Rhys back would change things at first and I was okay with that. Your brother returned from hell and you needed to be there to support him. To support your family. 

“But I’m your family, too. And you forgot that. I can’t—I can’t be relying on someone like that right now. I’m doing too much at the camps for you to… forget about me so easily. I can’t keep building you up in my mind just to be disappointed and hurt.” 

Azriel's jaw quivered. 

“Emotionally and physically. I would’ve asked someone else to come to the clinic with me yesterday, but I chose you. And you forgot about me.” 

Azirel looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach, his shoulders caving in with his anguished breath out. You pressed your lips together as you watched him, all of your anger morphing into a twisted sort of guilt that didn’t sit right in your gut. 

“Please,” Azriel whispered. His hands shook at his side. “Please, I’m so sorry, my love. I never wanted—Please, don’t leave me.” 

“You don’t get to have both, Azriel.” Your voice was as weak as his. “You don’t get to have me and treat me like I’m something you deal with on the side. I matter more than— 

Azriel shook his head and broke through your words. “You matter more than anything. I’ve been a fool. I know I’m an ass. Please, let me fix this, my love. Please don’t leave.” 

You clenched your fists so hard your nails embedded into your palms. 

“I need time to be alone.” 

Azriel was quick to nod. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll leave and—” 

“No, I need… more time than that. I have some things packed. I’ll be back, but… I need to leave. I can’t think clearly around you.” 

A choked cry left Azriel’s throat and the sound burned at your waterline. “Where?” 

You only shook your head. 

“Tell me where. Please. How am I supposed to know you’re safe?” 

“How were you supposed to know before?” 

Part 2

[hardlyinteresting]

Stop in the middle

Jake Seresin x reader

Two sides of the same coin; they were joined at the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”.

So much wine by Phoebe Bridgers  Somewhere else by Indians Abbey by  Mitski

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, (call sign Angel), with no physical description, crash landing, wilderness survival, major injuries (non-graphic description), discussions of death, happy ending though (I promise!), hurt/comfort, idiots in love, possible Navy inaccuracies, (please let me know if you'd like me to add anything else)

Word Count: 4.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

 Laying in the snow she watches the sun rise inch by inch over the tree line. The sky bathed in a soft orange glow that warms her skin for what she can only assume will be the last time. He’ll hate her for leaving him without saying goodbye, but her voice has already left her and her arms are too weak to shake him from his slumber. 

In the distance the cotton fluff clouds rest on the peaks of the mountains; tremendous contrast so perfectly balanced. She feels each of Hangman's breaths expanding the firm plane of his chest as her breathing grows slower. Two days ago she never would have imagined dying in the arms of Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin. 

---

They had taken off at the barest crack of dawn breaking. 0600 hours. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Take off from the carrier. Fly over. Survey the valley below—report anomalies. Continue the flight path, and land at a nearby ally airbase. Refuel. Return to the carrier. They'd been tasked with flying similar paths for the last two weeks as part of a larger peacekeeping and security effort. As far as deployments go, they were lucky to have been selected to be the joint task force; and more fortunate to not be engaged in active combat. 

Though Hangman would loathe to admit it with his two confirmed air combat kills, she knows herself that no pilot wants to be under enemy fire or in a position to take a life; it's an unfortunate consequence and frequent reality of the job. 

In the time they’ve known each other, she’s heard Jake speak frequently about his mother and her homemade pie waiting for him in Texas. He tells stories about the boys he used to play football with in high school, and family reunions with little nieces and nephews running about barefoot. She’s heard him making plans to buy a home and settle down. He dreams of a future. Anyone paying attention knows that beneath the outwardly cocky exterior, and adrenaline rushes, he's afraid of dying. 

It wasn't enemy fire that took them down two days ago, but rather sudden major malfunctions that left them without any navigation system, defective coms, and an aircraft almost completely unresponsive to pilot commands. Their saving grace had been Hangman's quick thinking to point them towards a clearing in the tree line, and her decision to dump their fuel as they descended rapidly toward the ground. Flying too low to eject safely they braced themselves for impact, an apology for something he could not have stopped on Jake's lips. 

The sounds of alarms and rapid beeping tones woke them. The smell of burning jet fuel startled them into action again. Jake's head stayed lulled forward his eyes slipping shut again before his limbs burst into action with a level of urgency that forced her to react with equal fervour. She watched wide-eyed as Hangman pushed open the canopy pulling himself up and out of his seat, rolling sideways out the opening. Only in watching his exit did she notice the awkward angle the jet had landed at. The nose crumpled by the force of the impact, their wings clipped and lost somewhere in the trees or across the clearing; the body had slid half on its side, a couple hundred feet through revealing mud beneath and leaving a wake of burning grass melting through the powder white snow. A sharp pain threatened to make her lose her breakfast as she clambered from her seat and the tangle of buckles and straps that had saved her life. She tumbled with purpose but little grace out into the frozen valley. 

“Alright?” Hangman asked standing with his back straight as she doubled over trying hard to catch her breath. She nodded but he didn't make any effort to speak or move giving her a moment to collect herself. 

Sucking in the ice-cold air she ignored the searing pain tearing through her rib cage. Her attention drifted from herself back to Jake who swayed on his feet, the soft crunch of snow sounding beneath his feet as he tried to find a place to stand steady. Watching him pale she only grew more convinced Jake was concussed. 

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Dizzy for sure”. 

“Well, we'll thank our lucky stars we crashed in allied territory. Once we find shelter, I'll run a concussion protocol for you.” 

Their non-functioning radios had left them no way to communicate their mayday calls. They had tried in vain to transmit their approximate coordinates as their headsets filled with static. Their navigation system ran haywire, the coordinates too impossible to be accurate in any case. 

His brows furrowed as he turned to survey their crash sight. His usually bright smile had been pulled into a firm line that confirmed to her they'd be stranded for a while. 

A gust of wind reminded them of how exposed they were in the clearing. While enemy scouts wouldn't be an issue, the potential for hypothermia would be. 

“Map. Compass. Let's grab the chutes from the seats as well,” she suggested. Hangman was uncharacteristically quiet in his agreement, giving her a nod of affirmation as they collected what they could from the jet. 

The sun was still high in the sky above them providing decent light though filtered through bare branches and evergreen limbs. Somewhat guarded from the biting wind they allowed themselves to settle for a moment hoping to find their bearings and build a solid plan for their survival. 

Before they began to plummet they had been about a quarter of an hour's flight from the air base on the other side of the valley. Plotting their estimated crash site on the paper map they found themselves nearly 250 miles away from their destination, walking sun up to sun down would still mean a 2-and-a-half day walk. 

“Look alive sunshine,” she teased as Jake's eyes began to droop. He'd let out a laugh his smile surprisingly bright as he tilted his head back to look at her. “You're so bossy,” he complained. 

“I'm about to get bossier, I've got to make sure you don't have a concussion”. 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. 

“Don't sass me Seresin,” she warned, though she tried to keep the tone playful. 

For years they'd played this game; pushing each other's buttons skirting around the edges of flirtation and toeing the line of verbal bullying. Ribbing him was how she had learned to be affectionate towards him. Giving him a hard time made him flustered, or it made him laugh, and either reaction was a well-welcomed sight that had left a fluttering in her chest. The lighthearted back and forth they'd learned to communicate through made it easier to ignore the sidelong glances, and yearning that had begun to take shape beneath the surface. 

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling the tiny flashlight out of her belt, “eyes on me”.

“They usually are,” he smirked. 

With the light, she checked his eyes and got promising results: no abnormal dilation. Both pupils were even and responsive to light. “Today's date?” She asked him. 

“February twelfth”.

“Your date of birth?” 

“October twenty-first. Nineteen ninety”.

“Any headache, nausea, persistent dizziness?” 

He responded no to all the symptoms and she allowed some relief to fill her knowing the initial symptoms had dissipated and not worsened. Finally, she held one finger up waiting for his eyes to focus. “Follow me,” she said her hand moving to the left, his eyes followed. 

“I'll follow you anywhere,” he said as her hand moved to the right. 

“Don't flirt with me, Hangman”. 

“Wouldn't it be stranger if I didn't? I’m just proving I’m not concussed”. His point was somewhat valid but she didn't let him know she thought so, continuing her evaluation in silence.

He's like this with everyone. She'd been telling herself the same thing for years. You're not special. He'll flirt with anyone. A painful truth that's helped her ignore his beautiful green eyes and warm countenance. 

---

Laying on her back in the snow drawing her last breaths now she wishes she could see those eyes one more time as her vision begins to blur. The blue sky swirls into the emerald pines, the colours lightened by the soft sunlight. The colours like sea glass make her think of him and tears begin to gather behind her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she wants to say but only a pathetic whimper leaves her. She wonders if she would have been kinder to him if she had known she was going to die. Would she have been more honest with her feelings? Or pushed them down deeper in some foolish attempt to protect him? The sun continues to rise and she knows he will wake soon. Selfishly, she hopes she’s drifted off before then, unwilling to see him hurting on her behalf. 

---

“Not concussed, but still a pain in my ass,” she had teased him, pushing his hair off his forehead, double-checking for any wounds. He took her words as permission to keep moving. Each of them threw a parachute pack over their shoulders and continued their walk northeast through the woods. 

By 1900 hours the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and the sky above turned a deep blue dotted by tiny spangling stars. Breathtaking and brilliant it had been easy to forget, just for a moment, where they were. She slung the chute of her shoulders towards the ground hissing at the movement. She hadn't had the time to check herself over. Best case her ribs were bruised, at worst she'd find out they were broken, and there would be nothing to help her until they had access to a medical bay anyway. 

“Are you sure you're okay, Angel?” Hangman asked, using her call sign letting her know he meant business. He was not asking as a friend, he was asking as her teammate. 

“Yes,” she lied. The pain was tolerable, only worsening with sharp or sudden movement. Nothing she couldn't handle, and nothing she would force Jake to worry about. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn't be opposed to stripping you down to check for injuries,” his flirtations softened the conversation in an attempt to get her to tell him the truth. 

“In your dreams,” she responded instead, moving along the base of a nearby tree in hopes of gathering some firewood and kindling.

“Quite frequently, actually,” the wink he shot her way repeats in her head even now piercing through the fourth wall of the masquerade they had built, an honest and boyish confirmation that their feelings for each other were something beyond friendship. 

The plethora of fresh fallen snow meant finding water wasn't an issue of concern. Finding food would be more difficult and that first night under the stars they sat watching the flickering flames of the fire they had built, their empty stomachs rumbling with nothing to fill them. 

Stretched between two trees, one of the parachutes they liberated from their wreck was used as a windscreen, protecting them from the cold. The second one lay draped around their shoulders as an extra layer. 

Proximity wasn't an issue for them. They had spent enough time in cramped cockpits together to be familiar with the sounds of each other breathing. They had sat shoulder to shoulder in briefings enough time that she had memorized the smell of his cologne. And yet, when he put his arm around her to pull her closer in their makeshift cocoon her heart stuttered. How could his hands be so strong when her own wouldn't stop shaking? How could a simple touch warm her from the inside out? His fingers brushed along her side with no real pressure, but still prompted a gasp to escape her. Tears left glass trails on her cheeks in the firelight. 

She tried to turn away from him, to feign sleep but he wouldn't have it. “Hey,” Jake caught her attention, waiting for her to look at him before he continued, “We're going to be okay”. 

She believed him. 

---

Everything about their uniforms has been painstakingly designed to keep them safe. 100% cotton undershirts and pants because the material won't melt to their skin in the event of a cockpit fire. But the surprisingly soft base layers have never stopped the blaze burning inside her. From the moment she laid eyes on Jake Seresin she knew he'd be the beginning and the end of everything. He pushed people away with his cocky attitude, somehow convinced that his refusal to be vulnerable would keep him safe from forming meaningful bonds; that he might get further ahead if he had fewer people to let down. But, he'd let her in. He'd let her break down his walls and climb over the fences he'd tried to put up. She'd held him when he got the news his father had died. On a ship thousands of miles from his home he'd told her about his brother dying when he was a child, and growing up in his shadow. He told her how badly he wanted to make his parents proud and how lonely he had made himself in the process. He'd kissed her forehead as they parted that night, and her world changed forever. 

What had been an embarrassing schoolgirl crush she couldn’t shake had become a push-and-pull relationship neither of them could do without. She knew how to put him in his place when he took a joke too far. He knew how to goad her into showing everyone what she was capable of, refusing to let her slip into the background when he knew she deserved more. 

Two sides of the same coin, they were joined a the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”. She wishes she would have said it. Lying at death’s door she remembers being told that you often regret the things you haven’t done more than you regret the things you did. “I’m in love with you, Jake Seresin,” she whispers to the wind. 

---

Their second day of walking was far more painful than the first. Jake had startled himself awake, his eyes wild as he fought to remember where it was they had ended up. The acceptance of their reality hadn't seemed to comfort him and he grew uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up their makeshift camp. The pine trees towering above them had been kind enough to shed some of their cones while they had lay sleeping in shifts. Though they hadn't offered many, they were able to harvest a handful of pine nuts between the two of them for breakfast. It was nowhere near a meal, but the snack had managed to quiet their angry stomachs for a few minutes.

The ache in her side had grown to become a constant agony. What had started as a negligible strain was now a torment that threatened to collapse her with each footfall. Despite the subzero temperatures, a sweat had broken out across her brow, and the heat spreading up the back of her neck left her wanting to strip off her cold weather jacket and flight suit. 

“Have you ever had rabbit?” Jake asked around noon. His footsteps had slowed enough for her to catch up with him. His voice had startled her after all the silence. 

“I can't say that I have,” she answered. A gunshot pulled her from her thoughts and she realized she hadn't ever answered out loud. Jake stood a few feet ahead of her, his service pistol in his hand. The world around her was spinning. The trees blurring together as a sudden wave of nausea filled her. She could hear her name being called; muffled and distorted. Jake. His face soon filled her line of vision. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he told her, but her mind still struggled to put the pieces together. For a moment it felt like she was underwater, all her breath gone from her lungs and all she could feel was the scalding pain burning from the inside out. Momentarily she entertained the idea that it was her who had been shot until she spotted the rabbit lying lifeless in the snow. 

“We need to eat,” Jake spoke again, “you're going quiet on me and I don't like that-- we’ll get some energy in you again before we keep moving”.

The very idea of eating anything threatened to leave her dry-heaving, but she took advantage of the moment to rest. He didn't mention her lack of assistance building a fire or preparing the rabbit, but she watched with incredible focus his hands moving with precision and surprising gentleness for the task at hand. 

She can recall him telling her stories about his childhood, standing on step stools to reach the countertop in his mother's kitchen rolling out pie crusts and later on slicing apples. He once told her that it was his mother who had taught him patience and gratitude while they baked together; two traits he had neglected to exhibit far too often in his adult life. 

She listened to him thank the rabbit for its life as he cut away pieces to feed to her. There was an unmistakable love in the way he moved, his eyes cast over his shoulder to check on her. Slowly, she realized that she was not doing a good job hiding her suffering. In a fleeting thought, she imagined Jake having to carry her lifeless body for the rest of their journey. In their line of work, it had never been considered morbid to have funeral plans from a young age. Flying with him for years she had learned to trust him implicitly, despite the call sign he'd earned and worked tirelessly to recover from she knew early on that he'd do right by her. Challenging authority, but always following the rules; complete and unwavering dedication to whatever task he had at hand; precision and perfection in the execution of his duties be it laundry or taking down a fighter jet midair. As her energy continued to leave her she took comfort in knowing her life would be in Hangman's hands. 

“I'm not hungry,” she said to him. 

“You need to eat,” he insisted again but didn't push any farther. With a longanimity he forgot he possessed, and a magnanimity he couldn't credit himself for carrying he cared for her; making the executive decision to make camp early as her seemingly catatonic state worsened. She managed to chew and swallow bites of the gamey meat, her body grateful for the nutrition.  

Night fell too soon after and the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustle of creatures that may have been lurking left both of them far more on edge than they had been the night before. 

“Scoot closer,” she whispered to him, and he complied without complaint. Neither of them was warm, but their proximity to the fire helped them imagine they could be. His shoulder bumped hers and she leaned her head against him. “Put your arm around me?” She asked. He complied again this time with more hesitation. 

“You know if you wanted to snuggle with me you could've just said so,” he teased though she could tell his heart wasn't in it. 

“I'm scared,” she confessed, a half-truth. She was terrified, feeling her heart rate starting to slow by the minute, her vision slipping in and out of focus. 

“We're going to make it home,” he whispered, both arms wrapped around her now, his lips pressed to her hairline. Tears blurred in her eyes and she gave up fighting back a sob, body shaking and heartbreaking. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he said so sincerely. She cried harder knowing she had already broken that promise for him. 

She had realized she'd lost feeling in her fingers and toes when he'd begun to trace shapes on her back. Her digits buzzed with needles and pins and her limbs had began to feel heavy. Bile rose in her throat choking her as she scrambled to get her distance before dinner made a reappearance. Jake didn't make a fuss, or make his worry known, but she could tell that her perturbation had begun to seep beneath his calm, cool, mien. His hand shook as he rubbed her back hoping her coughing fit might free her off the anxiety and discomfort that had overtaken her. 

She can remember almost every time Jake Seresin has touched her. The memories float suspended in golden warmth, kept safe from the things theyve done, and the things they’ve seen. She holds those moments of fleeting, passing goodness, near to her heart. The smallest reminders that Hangman has a heart; and it’s full of love to give, and on some occasions, she has allowed herself to believe she could be worthy of that love. 

He used to sit beside her in the mess hall no matter how many seats were available; his broad shoulders bumping her own, his elbow knocking at her ribs, their hands brushing as he slid his mashed potatoes onto her plate and she slid her green beans onto his. Silent and symbiotic in their bond, determined to look out for one another. 

The first New Year's Eve they were able to spend together off base was spent with as many friends as possible and too much liquor to handle. Neither of them got a midnight kiss because she was spilling her guts in the alleyway behind the bar, Jake by her side saying “I told you not to do shots after drinking a glass of wine”.  But his satisfied smirk was overshadowed by the genuine concern in his eyes and the steady warm hand he'd placed on her back. “There you go, you'll feel better once you get it all out”. He was drunk himself, his words half slurred but no less encouraging. She had thought then that he was seeing her at her worst. She knows now that she was wrong. 

By some miracle they had been deployed together more often than not. At first it was pure coincidence, but over time it became clear that together they were a dynamic duo with a combined force and efficiency they're commanding officers could not deny, and were often interested in capitalizing on. They had become two halves of a whole, a packaged pair anyone would be disinclined to separate. Still, they had not been permitted to bunk together, and neither of them had ever been interested in breaking the rules of the institution so they never pushed it. But on nights when the creaks and groans of the 900,000 pound ship kept her awake, and the rocking of the waves around them was too much to ignore she knew she'd be able to find him lurking around the corridors as well.

 “I couldn't sleep,” she'd say. “Me neither,” he'd respond. Sometimes, when the world felt too heavy on his shoulders and they'd been away from home for too long they'd find their way to the floor together, his back pressed to hers, their arms circling their knees, and he'd sync his breathing to hers convincing himself that so long as she was their he had some piece of his real life with him. A part of Jake Seresin that wasn't just a pawn in battles bigger than him, he was a man with thoughts and feelings, and dreams outside of his role worth achieving. 

---

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

The parachute that isn't being used to block the wind is still draped over the two of them and she hopes it keeps Jake warm until he wakes. His walk to the base will take him longer now dragging her weight behind him, he'll need his sleep. 

She lets the sound of the wind lull her and she finds that she's not afraid anymore. Just sad; angry even; but not afraid. Her pain is excruciating, and she’s honestly welcoming the relief of a permanent slumber. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wind gusts come steadily, growing louder and ever closer. 

Jake stirs beneath her, sitting up her head falling to his lap. “Well would you look at that! No more walking for us,” he grins. Her eyes have shut but she can hear it in his voice, the boy like wonder bursting  the surface. “Angel, wake up,” he shakes her shoulder. The joy that had filled him moments ago has been replaced with a more serious tone, “they sent a chopper for us, honey,” he says, shaking her again, “you've gotta get up,” he pleads with her, but she cannot answer him. His hand is surprisingly warm on the side of her face, and the world goes dark and silent. 

Death is softer than she expected. It's dark still, but her head is resting on something plush, and there's a feel of woven fabric at her fingertips, it reminds her of the blanket Jake's mom had sent to her last Christmas. Her back and her legs feel stiff and she makes no attempt to move them uninterested in exploring this darken world she's found herself in. Her ribs ache but far less than they did back in the snow, the pinch she feels with each breath is like an echoed sound, a pallid reminder of her last moments. 

There's a humming; a mellifluous tune. It drifts in and out, bookended by murmuring she cannot decipher. Come back to me. The words become clear. Angel. Guilt fills her, petulant and helpless as emotion overwhelms her. She wants to move towards the voice, to apologize for leaving but she's not sure she can. I need you honey. 

Jake. Oh, it's so clear now. Jake. 

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Jake's hands brace her shoulder, and just above her knee willing her to stop flailing her panicked limbs. Her eyes shoot open to meet his; golden green and brimming with tears she wishes she had the strength to stop. The insistent beeping that had filled the room quiets as she relaxes back into the pillows. 

The Navy infirmary isn't anything fancy, but it's far more comfortable than the nights she spent with her back up against the bark of a tree. She has so many questions but they fade out of her mind as quickly as they spark in. Blips of clarity overriden by the need to speak to Jake who is looking at her with more wonder than she's even seen. The man has seen the world from 40,000 feet but he's looking at her like she hung his stars in the sky. 

“Jake,” she manages. 

“Yeah, Angel”. 

Her throat feels like sandpaper, her voice scratchy and raw with disuse, but she fights through it, 

“I'm in love with you,” she says, sucking in a breath that makes her cough. Her lungs feel like they're on fire and she works desperately to inhale and exhale as the ache in her side is reawaken. 

Jake offers her water that manages to swallow down, and when she takes a few shaky breaths without wincing, he sets the paper cup aside. 

She gives him a gentle nod, refusing to meet his gaze. He doesn't let it slide, his forefinger tilting her chin up so she can't hide from him. She envies his confidence, his ability to simplify a scenario. 

“I'm in love with you,” he tells her too. 

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 

wc — 1k

tags — confident reader 

He lets you loop your arms around his neck and whine for kisses, gifts, everything he has. With an unlimited budget and the deep pockets of a man in love, he spoils you rotten. 

Here’s the problem with being the strongest: you will always be the strongest. From the day he was born, there was no competition. Gojo didn’t even have to begin to outstrip his peers. He was simply born better than them. 

But eventually, even that level of talent grew exponentially until he went from being simply unbeatable to untouchable. His growth was incomparable, leaving him a lonely god on his own plane of existence. 

That’s why he needs you: sweet and soft and demanding. Everyone else had it all wrong. 

The Gojo clan spoiled their young head rotten. Knowing that he would bear the burden of the world from the moment he was born and those blue eyes opened, his mother demanded her child grow up in peace. Nothing was asked of him, no demands, no pleas for help. 

The outside world relied on Gojo as their saviour, but within the Gojo compound, he was just a spoiled little boy whose mother adored him. 

The way he acts within the walls of the Gojo stronghold is a carefully kept secret. He’s as soft as a newborn kitten, hair carefully washed by his childhood nurses and left out to sun in a patch of light. He’s sleepy and warm and mellow, hardly the strongest anymore. Without knowing any of this, you somehow bring that back out in him years later. 

An auxiliary manager in training, you first met him when you were tagging along with Ijichi on one of Gojo’s missions. Ijichi was flustered, even more so than usual, at the thought of having to care for a mentee when he could hardly take care of himself.

It only made matters worse that your first mission would be with Gojo. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, despairing at how he would inevitably fail to shield you from his barbed comments and wicked teasing. 

In the end, he needn’t have worried. The two of you turn the tables on him. 

Poor Ijichi. 

It started off as a way to bully him more, because Gojo could be such a little tyrant. 

“Come on, Ijichi. Let her tag along, what’s the harm!” 

“You heard him,” you had announced self-importantly, and thrown yourself promptly into the passenger seat. 

That was usually Gojo’s seat, but he was willing to give it up for some amusement. 

You hadn’t been given permission to go on this mission, but you had insisted. First you wheedled, then you whined, finally you outright demanded. You wanted see the powerful Satoru Gojo in action. 

He leans forward, arms draped over the back of your seat. He pokes your cheek playfully as he says, “Oh, are you a fan?” 

“As if!” You scoff. “I don’t care about you, I care about your cursed technique.” 

Gojo takes your bluntness in stride. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about his technique (he caught you demanding details on Hollow Purple from Ijichi once) or maybe it’s the way your cheeks puff out when you pout. He knows you’re lying. Part of your assignment to Ijichi is because you begged Masamichi to be placed where you could watch Gojo work. 

It’s easy work for him. The curse is vaporized in seconds. He makes it look so weak you wonder why they even bothered with it at all until you remember that this curse had been failed to be exorcised by a first grade sorcerer who had come back licking his wounds. It’s not that it’s weak, it’s that he’s too strong. 

“Anyone up for lunch? My treat,” Gojo says, still immaculate as ever. 

Ijichi, who had been standing so close he got covered in some strange muck, not even from the curse but from Hollow Purple cutting through the mud, looks at him suspiciously. Gojo is never this nice. 

You have no such reservations. Ijichi yelps and protests when Gojo brings you to a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Tokyo without a reservation, relying on the strength of his name alone. He doesn’t even eat much, content to watch you order whatever you like on his dime. It amuses him, the way you’re so confident about it, as if you know he won’t refuse you. 

He won’t. 

By the time you order dessert - for you and Gojo, telling him he’ll like whatever you choose for him - he can’t bear the burning question that’s been lurking in the back of his mind anymore. 

“Smoke break!” He demands cheerfully. 

“You don’t even smoke!” Ijichi says, terrified, as if Gojo is some high school bully dragging him out under another pretense to shake him down for cash. He might, just for fun. 

You smile and wave them off. You wouldn’t let Gojo do that seriously, but Ijichi is just so fun to tease. You’ll come rescue him later if it looks like he’s really miserable. 

“Alright, spill the beans,” Gojo says, leaning against the doorframe and blockading Ijichi from going back inside. “What’s her deal?” 

Ijichi just stares at him slack jawed, open mouthed, terrified, clearly still waiting for some kind of attack. 

“Oh, come on! I’m not that mean to you, am I?” Even Gojo can’t resist a twitchy smile at what he’s saying. “Who is she? Where’s she from?” 

Ijichi blinks. “She’s just some girl. Masamichi hired her.” 

“She’s a right little princess,” Gojo murmured. “What, is she the daughter of a clan head or something? Maybe even the Three Clans?” 

Ijichi sighs. “You would think so with that attitude, but she just comes from a normal non-sorcerer family.” 

“Her?” Gojo asks disbelievingly. “A girl like that? Impossible.” 

“It’s true,” Ijichi says. “I don’t even know where Masamichi picked her up.” 

Gojo returns to his seat with a overly sweet parfait waiting for him. You’re right, he does like it. Or maybe he likes it because you’re finally giving him your full attention, waiting with rapt delight to see if he’ll give it full stars. 

He thinks he might take you out to dinner more, if it gets you to look at him like that. You might not be a clan princess yet, but he can’t wait to make you one.

[sarebearcares]

[ID: a screenshot of a wikipedia page with three unopened toggle sections reading nests, food, and airplane incidents. End ID]

wikipedia on mud dauber wasps

[hardbeingcasual]

better off — lottie matthews. . . fem reader

warnings. plane crash, blood, losing a limb, typical yj stuff, angst, first fic in like 10 months so dont judge plssss, not proof read

summary. before the crash lottie shut you out, the only time she spoke to you was for soccer, until… you get hurt in the crash and she starts to regret her actions.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

A few hours ago you were nervous for nationals, but now you were nervous for your own life.

You were perched up against a tree, Misty right in your face trying to convince you that you were going to be okay as you clutch your arm thats bleeding… badly.

But you didn’t believe her. Why would you believe Misty?

Your arm was soaked in blood, it was disgustingly unfixable.

You knew it had to be amputated, like Coach Ben’s leg moments ago. You suck in a deep breath, tears falling freely down your face as you look up to see that most of the team (the alive ones) were stood there looking at you sorrowfully.

Your eyes land on Lottie, and you don’t even fight the eye roll. Your eyes move to Misty, more tears falling down your cheeks from the pain you’re feeling.

“Do what you’ve got to do.” You tell her in utter defeat. You just wanted the wilderness to swallow you up whole right here. Misty nods at your words.

You scream so loud at the pain, your vocal cords straining as the pain in your arm increases as Misty begins to amputate your arm. The group can’t help but just watch as Misty hacks your arm off.

Lottie wanted to go over and hold your remaining hand but she was frozen. A frown on her face as she watches you squirm in pain.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

A few days had gone by, you still hadn’t been rescued, it was getting tougher and tougher to get used to having one arm.

You were currently sat on the grass away from everyone to get some peace just for a little bit, you liked to take breaks from the group, just sitting alone with your thoughts when the group got too much.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard a twig snap behind you, whipping your head around you were face to face with Lottie.

You ask, “What do you want?” In a not so kind tone, but the tone was honestly deserved.

Lottie shrugs like she was a deer in the headlights, “Thought you would’ve wanted some company.”

You scoff at her. “Didn’t think you were talking to me.” You honestly felt offended, now that you had no arm she wanted to speak to you? Whatever.

She sits next to you on the grass, picking up with a stick and starts poking it in the mud anxiously. “How is your arm?”

“Still gone.” You say bluntly to which she nods awkwardly.

“Sorry.” She mutters, still digging holes into the ground as she never held eye contact. Your lip trembles, from the pain of your arm but also your heart.

“Why did you stop talking to me? Why did you shut me out?” You questioned, swallowing the lump in your throat as she finally lifted her eyes from the ground to look at you.

“I was ashamed.” She confesses.

Your eyebrows raise “Of me?”

“No, of me. Of what I was feeling. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship—”

You cut her off. “But you already did that, by shutting me out and ignoring me, Lottie.” Her name felt like venom on your tongue.

“When you kissed me, my parents saw us,” Your face falls at that, Lottie continues, “They told me not to see you again, so I listened, because I was scared on what was going to happen and I’m sorry, okay?” A few tears slip down Lottie’s cheeks as she tells you, tears pool in your eyes also.

“I thought I did something wrong.” You frown at her, as she holds your hand.

“You could never.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

requests are open !

[cafffine]

boy and the heron … a father providing for his family by producing war planes a wizard building what he thinks is paradise but might be hell Tokyo isn’t safe there’s swarms of dirty people the swarms of toads and catfish speak to me from the mud they beg me to come with them when the children mature they fly off to be born again Kamikaze are noble I promise, at least they had a good meal before they left the dead can’t kill anything I do it for them I have the same self-inflicted wound as you!!!!!!!!

[sai-int]

hi angel! I love your writing so much, I loved your daryl fic <3 could I make a request for rick smut? you could write anything about rick and I'd love it <<3

hi hun! my brain instantly went to some "we shouldn't do this" smut and that's kindawhat i conjured up :] hope u like it!!

rick grimes x f!reader, oral (fem!receiving), ricks shlong, 1.6k words

The rain started just after noon, a slow drizzle that quickly escalated into a downpour. By the time you and Rick realized the herd was closing in, the storm had become a deluge, turning the forest paths into rivers of mud. The walkers were relentless, forcing the two of you to sprint through the trees, your boots slipping on the wet ground.

“This way!” Rick shouted over his shoulder, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. His hand shot out, grabbing yours as he pulled you toward a narrow path. The chill of his touch shot through you, grounding you even as the chaos pressed in.

The cabin appeared out of nowhere, half-hidden by the rain and overgrown foliage. It was old and weathered, its shutters hanging crookedly and the roof sagging in places. But it was shelter, and more importantly, it had a door that locked.

Rick shoved it open with his shoulder, ushering you inside before slamming it shut. He shoved a standing closet across the door, catching his breath once he knew the both of you were secure. You leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath, your clothes soaked and clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, dripping water onto the creaking floorboards, the storm raging outside. Rick turned, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries.

“You good?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” you managed, though your pulse was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, brushing a hand through his damp curls. “We’re lucky this place was here. Could’ve been bad out there.”

“Could still be bad,” you muttered, glancing at the foggy windows. The walkers weren’t far behind, and the flimsy-looking cabin didn’t inspire much confidence. But for now, it was quiet—no groans, no shuffling footsteps.

Rick moved further into the house, crouching to inspect ashes left in a fire place. “Looks like someone’s been here recently. Should be enough to get a fire going.”

You watched as he worked, gathering scraps of dry wood and kindling from the corners of the room. The way his hands moved—quick, efficient—was almost hypnotic. You’d been on enough supply runs with him to know he thrived under pressure, but there was something different about seeing him like this, in a rare moment of quiet focus.

Once the fire caught, warmth began to seep into the room. You sat cross-legged on the rug, holding your hands out toward the flames while Rick shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair to dry. His shirt clung to him, damp and outlining the broad planes of his shoulders, his strong biceps and chest. You tried not to stare, but your eyes had a mind of their own.

“We should stay here tonight,” Rick said, breaking the silence. “Let the herd move on.”

You nodded, though the thought of spending the night alone with him made your heart pound for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. The unspoken tension between you had been simmering for weeks—glances that lingered too long, the occasional brush of his hand against yours, words left unsaid.

The rain intensified, battering the windows and drowning out the world outside. You both settled into an uneasy quiet, the crackle of the fire the only sound.

It wasn’t until later, after the initial rush of adrenaline faded, that the weight of the day’s events truly sank in. You were sitting on the couch now, stripped of your sopping jacket with Rick beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. His head was bowed, his hands clasped together as he stared at the floor, his leg bouncing ever so slightly–in concentration or anxiety? You couldn't tell.

“You ever stop pretending, Rick?” you asked apprehensively, your voice barely above a whisper.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You know what I mean,” you said, your heart thudding in your chest. “You act like none of this means anything. Like we’re just two people trying to coexist, and that that’s all it’ll ever be.”

Rick exhaled sharply, standing abruptly. He started pacing, his boots thudding softly against the floor as the firelight casted his shadow across the room. “We can’t do this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It’s not right.”

“Why not?” you challenged, standing too. The both of you illuminated by the warmth of the fire as it warmed your skin, your voice rising above the droplets that hit the roof. “What’s stopping you? The rules? Rick, there are no rules anymore... Didn't you say that to Shane?"

He turned to face you, his expression torn, conflicted. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rough. “We’ve got a group to think about. Responsibilities. I have Michonne, I think, This—this would only make things harder.”

You stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “You’re absolutely right,” you said quietly, your voice feigning sincerity with every ounce of your being. “We shouldn’t do this...”

The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken words. Rick’s breath hitched, his eyes searching yours for a hesitation he wouldn’t find.

He surged forward, his hand cupping the side of your face as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was all tongue, teeth, and desperation, all-consuming, weeks of suppressed feelings erupting all at once. You balled your fists into his damp shirt, pulling him closer as you both stumbled back onto the couch.

“Goddammit,” he muttered against your lips as his hands found your waist, his voice raw. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then stop,” you whispered as one hand tangled deeper in his damp curls and the other held the rippled muscles of his back.

The firelight flickered as clothing flew across the room. You peeled off his shirt while shimmying out of your pants, his hands dipping beneath the fabric of your top before yanking it off entirely. His touch was both rough and tender, his hands exploring the skin of your chest like he couldn’t get enough. He kissed his way down the soft skin of your neck before marking it as his, stubble scraping deliciously against your flesh. His tongue swirled around your nipples, giving them both enough attention to make your cunt flutter around nothing.

Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the cabin, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you—your breathless whispers, the heat of the fire, the way his name fell from your lips like a confession.

His lips traveled further down your stomach before he scooped up your thighs and placed them around his shoulders. Without warning, he licked a fat stripe over your clothed core, your back arching immediately as you practically grinded on his tongue. Lord knows it's been a while since a man's had his mouth on you.

But none of them were as good as Rick. His baby blues met yours as he pulled your panties to the side, feeling his cock twitch against his zipper at the sight of your glistening arousal. He lapped up your juices, moaning at the taste of you as he swirled and sucked your sensitive bud. You squealed as he held your legs impossibly tight, restricting your movement as he ate you nastier than a starving walker would have.

He eased a finger into your tight hole, slowly massaging that gummy spot inside of you that made heat burn in your thighs and stomach.

"Gotta get you nice 'n ready for my cock, Baby, hmm? How's that sound? Gon' get nice 'nd ready for me?" Rick was on another planet as he babbled, obsessed with the way your hole took his finger so well. He eased in another, his hips automatically pistoning into the couch at the sound of your moans, imagining just how well you would take his cock.

"R-Rick please... Need you so bad, please..." You were in tears as he played with you. He gave you enough stimulation to bring you to the brink of cumming, but never enough to throw you over. You pawed at his curls that were between your legs as he looked up at you. He almost looked drunk as he pulled his eyes away from your cunt.

"What'd ya need, Sweetheart?" He cooed at you as he sat up. His frame rising up above you as he unbuckled his pants, his eyes never leaving yours. "You need somethin' from me?" His mocking didn't cease.

"Yes, Rick! Fucking please..." You pleaded as you watch him work his belt out of the loops of his jeans at a agonizing pace. He pulled his pants down just enough to free himself from his boxers. The sight made your mouth water.

He was thick with a slight upward curve, thick curls at the base, and his tip was an angry red, pre smeared all around it. You reached out to take him into your hands but he moved away, your hands retracting.

"Keep those hands where I can see 'em. You wanted my cock so bad, right? You're gonna have to ask real nice for it, Sweetheart." He said, dragging his hands across your stomach, scorching the skin beneath his fingers.

You huffed as you stared at his cock as he teasingly tapped it against your perked clit, each little nudge making your hole flutter. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, whispering his name like a prayer through whines and whimpers of desperation.

His hand reached out and rested on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "So sensitive... If I had known that I would've fucked this pretty pussy weeks ago.." His thumb slipped into your mouth, his cock drooling as your lips immediately tightened around it.

"Since you like to whine so goddamn much, you can suck on that while I fuck you stupid."

mlist

[sansaorgana]

Can you write a Buck x innocent reader? Not smutty but maybe Buck finds it endearing how innocent she is?

hiii, thank you both for the requests! this story is the longest one [almost 5k words xd] out of all those "short fics" 😂 because I decided to go somewhere else with the plot this time... 👀 the Reader finds Buck hiding in her barn after his plane was shot down but I don't specify what country it is exactly (one of the occupied ones) 💝 she is sweet and innocent and shy and she saves his life so, like, how can he not be crazy about her? 😁

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

The sound of the American and German planes above you was common these days but it terrified you each time. Living in the countryside had many privileges – like being away from the main bombing targets – but it also could get dangerous when the burning planes would fall down from the sky. Your father was standing outside and watching them carefully, making sure they weren’t coming too close because you’d have to evacuate quickly if they did.

You were standing inside by the window with your mother – both scared and hoping it would be over soon. Then, a sound of loud explosion made you startle as you squealed and hugged your mother closer.

“It’s over,” your father finally went back inside and held you both to help you calm down. “The American plane went down in the forest. I’ve seen the parachutes but it’s none of our business,” he reminded you both.

“If the Germans come, what should we tell them?” Your mother asked. You had never had a plane go down so close.

“We haven’t seen anyone,” he pursed his lips.

Your father hated the Nazis but he also wanted to survive more than anything else. He didn’t want to get involved in anything that would bring death to his family. However, he still hoped the Allies would win.

In the evening you went to the barn as usual to check on your cow and to close it for the night. You approached her and patted her neck to caress her gently. You usually preferred animals to humans. They were so quiet and calm and they didn’t start scary wars with bombing planes, tanks and rifles.

An odd noise made you look around, scared. You were easily startled at anything these days and usually it would just be mice so you tried not to panic.

However, you spotted a few mice nearby and they were not in the same direction the sound was coming from. And the sound was nothing any mouse would make. It was… breathing. Sharp, muffled breaths.

“H-hello?” You asked and you swallowed thickly as you approached the dark corner of the barn where most of the straw was stored.

Your steps were slow and careful and then you saw something moving slightly and you spotted a pair of eyes looking at you… a pair of human eyes without a doubt.

Your whole body froze as your heart skipped a beat and your hands got cold and shaky. There was a man in your barn and you were terrified, not knowing what to do. You wanted to scream for your father but you were scared of what that person would do. You could run away but what if he was faster and would catch you?

“Hello?” He answered in a weak, raspy voice. “Please, don’t be scared,” he added but you kept standing there, petrified. “Do you speak English?”

You swallowed thickly. He had to be an American, you thought. One of those that had been shot down earlier that day. You had heard stories of them showing up to people’s houses like that. The Nazis wanted everyone to contact them immediately when such things would occur.

“I… I do speak English, yes,” you whispered. “My dad’s an English teacher,” you explained and you finally gained the courage to approach the man.

He was sitting on the floor in the darkest corner of the barn and he was holding one of his arms as his face winced out of pain. He was quite young and you could see his golden hair under all the mud and straw.

“Are you alright, sir? You’re American?” You asked.

“American, yes. I’ll be fine, just… Water, please,” he pleaded and you bit on your lower lip, not knowing what to do.

You should tell your father, no doubt about it. But what if your father would call the Nazis? He didn’t like them but he didn’t like the prospect of being killed either.

“I’ll bring you something. You just wait here,” you told him and he nodded.

He was completely at your mercy now, you realised. He gave you his trust, because you could just run out of the barn and call for the Gestapo. He trusted that you wouldn’t do that. He had no other choice.

You sneaked inside the kitchen to make sure your mum would not see you and you grabbed a bottle of milk and some cheese. Then you took a bun out of the bread bin and you went back to the barn.

“Is milk okay?” You asked as you crouched down next to the man to hand him the food. “I also got you cheese and a bun. I’m sorry the bun is not really fresh.”

“It’s more than I asked for… Thank you,” he took the food from you and you watched him eat it like a starving man. You noticed him wincing once in a while and that his shirt was torn on his arm and lots of dry blood around it.

“What happened to your arm?” You asked, quietly.

“I fell down when I landed and I hurt it,” he explained.

“It doesn’t look good. It should be disinfected,” you pointed out.

“I don’t want to be a bother. I will sleep here… if you let me… and I will leave in the morning. I don’t want to be a problem for you and your family,” he promised.

You remained silent. You felt bad for that man. He shouldn’t be travelling in his state and he was an easy target for the Germans in his uniform, especially being slowed down by his injury.

“I have to go before my dad checks on me,” you told him and he nodded.

You closed the barn and went back home with a heart feeling heavy in your chest. You had to tell your father about it and if he’d want to call the Gestapo, you’d just beg him not to.

“Papa, there is something I have to tell you,” you started as he was sitting on the sofa and reading a book. He raised his eyes to look at you and so did your mother, crocheting on the rocking chair.

“What is it, love?”

“There’s an American in our barn,” you announced and your parents looked at each other, terrified. Your father closed the book loudly and put it away. “I gave him some food. He is hurt.”

“You talked to him?” Your father stood up and you took a step back, scared. You were afraid he would get angry at you.

“I’m sorry, he is hurt… And he was thirsty and hungry…”

“You gave him our food? We barely have any!” Your mother was not pleased.

“Just a bottle of milk, an old bun and some cheese!” You tried to explain yourself. “I can skip breakfast tomorrow morning for that,” you offered.

“Enough. No one’s skipping breakfast,” your father furrowed his brow as a deep wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “Let me speak to him.”

“Be careful!” Your mother stood up and followed you both to the front door as she watched you walk towards the barn. Your father was carrying a candle with him.

“I will go first and tell him about you,” you whispered. “He might get scared seeing you and I saw he had a gun.”

Your father nodded and you pushed the door leading to the barn carefully.

“Hello, it’s me again,” you started. “Please, don’t get angry.”

“I am not angry,” you heard a voice from the darkness.

“I brought my dad with me. I had to tell him, I’m sorry… But he won’t hurt you,” you promised. The man did not answer. “Can I bring him inside?”

“It’s his barn. You don’t have to ask me,” he told you and you waved at your dad to come inside.

The candle in his hands made the whole room a little brighter and now you both could see the American sitting by the wall better. 

“Who are you?” Your father approached him as he asked.

“Major Gale Cleven, sir. I was shot down earlier that day,” he explained. “Please, let me stay here for the night and I will leave tomorrow morning. I don’t want to be a problem.”

“You already are, son,” your father pointed out.

“Papa…!” You extended your hand towards him but he shushed you.

“If they find you in this barn, they will immediately know who you are. Come inside,” your father said and you widened your eyes. So did the American Major.

“A-are you sure, sir?”

“Yes, come,” your father handed you the candle and he helped Major Cleven to stand up and they slowly began walking towards the house. You closed the barn and followed them.

When they were inside, your mother was clearly unhappy but she didn’t say anything.

“Bring him some of my clothes. We have to get rid of this uniform and you have to take a look at his arm,” your father told her. “And you,” he pointed at you, “run him a bath.”

“I really don’t want to be a bother,” Major Cleven protested.

“That’s the least we can do to help any man fighting those monsters,” your father said and you sighed out of relief. For a moment you feared that he had lured the American inside only to tell you to call the Gestapo a few moments later.

You were proud to be his daughter.

You all went to sleep very late because of the hassle with Major Cleven. He was sleeping on a sofa, his arm was bandaged, he was washed and he had some of your father’s clothes on him. You woke up first and went downstairs to prepare breakfast for everyone but from the corner of your eye you watched the American asleep on the sofa in the living room which was connected to your small kitchen.

He was a handsome man and it was bringing heat to your cheeks. You had never expected to meet a real American pilot. Not here, not in this European village in the middle of nowhere. You thought of all the American things that you had known of – beautiful Hollywood actresses, pin up girls, Coca Cola, New York buildings… It all seemed more like a dream than a real place and this man sleeping on your couch was coming from it. It felt surreal.

You turned around to focus on preparing coffee and sandwiches with anything you could find in the fridge. You were so deep in your American daydream that you didn’t hear him waking up and walking inside the kitchen.

“Hello,” he greeted you and you jumped a little before turning your head around. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he smiled softly.

God, he was gorgeous. Like from a movie.

“It is fine. I am… How do you say it… tamid?” You stuttered out. You felt awkward not knowing how to say it.

“Timid,” he chuckled. 

“Timid, yes. I’m sorry,” you looked down.

“You don’t have to apologise to me. Your English is very good,” he assured you and your face lightened up at that compliment.

“How do you like your coffee, Major?” You asked.

“Call me Buck, please. That’s how friends call me,” he extended his hand.

“Buck? What does it mean?” You shook it.

“It’s just a nickname,” he explained. “And what’s your name, miss?”

“Oh, yeah, my name’s (Y/N). So, how do you take your coffee, Major?” You introduced yourself and quickly changed the subject.

“Black – no milk, no sugar,” he answered.

“Well, I’m glad because we don’t have sugar,” you chuckled softly. “We haven’t had it in a long while now,” you explained.

“Your family is very generous,” Buck took a cup of coffee from you and your fingers brushed for a brief moment. You felt butterflies in your stomach.

“My father is against the Nazis,” you told him. “He has friends in the local resistance, he will introduce you to them. But we have to wait for your arm to get better first.”

“Thankfully it looked worse than it truly was. Your mother is skilled with these things,” he gave you yet another dashing smile.

Was it an American thing to do to smile so much…? Either way, you didn’t mind.

“She is a nurse,” you told him.

“And you?” He raised his eyebrows and you looked down again.

What were you supposed to tell an American pilot? It felt embarrassing.

“I want to be a teacher like my father… But now I can’t study much, I have to help around the farm. We have our cow, some chickens and a small garden. We used to have a boy coming here to help us but he’s… Well, he’s been killed. It’s difficult,” you explained.

“I’m sorry to hear that… But hey, being a teacher sounds great,” Buck patted your shoulder and you looked up at him in disbelief. He still had that charming smile on his face as he sipped on his coffee. “It’s so good, thanks,” he winked at you, trying to cheer you up a little.

“Y-you’re welcome,” you felt your cheeks heating up and then you heard footsteps on the staircase so you went back to preparing sandwiches since your parents had already been awake.

Buck stayed at your place for a week to let his arm heal. In the meantime he had written a letter addressed to his British base that your father had handed to his friends from the resistance. Buck wanted his friends to know that he was alive and safe.

He was helping around the house and since both of your parents had their regular jobs in the town nearby, you would spend most of your days with him. He was helping you around the garden and with your cow and chickens. He was a funny and charming man and you couldn’t help yourself but to fall in love with him.

You were a shy girl from a small village, you were nothing like those stunning American girls you had seen in the magazines. Your English was not perfect and your stories were not even half as exciting as his. You knew very well that there was no chance that a man like Buck would ever even see you as a woman in a romantic sense. He was a gentleman and he always treated you with respect but nothing more than that.

One time when you were in the garden with him, you spotted a familiar German soldier approaching you and you panicked inside.

“Don’t talk to him,” you told Buck as you faked a smile at the soldier. “Hello, sir!” You greeted him.

“Hello, hello, I’ve been around, decided to check on you. I saw your parents in town and thought to myself you must be all alone here,” he leaned on the fence and squinted his eyes at Buck. “Who’s that?” He asked.

“My cousin,” you explained as your heart was pounding in your chest. You clasped your hands behind your back to hide your nervousness.

“Cousin, huh? Hey, cousin!” He called for Buck and he looked up but he didn’t say anything as you had told him. He couldn’t understand your conversation anyway. “What is he? Mute?”

“Actually, yes, he’s…” you lowered your voice, “...you know, not quite right. In the head, I mean. They sent him here to help around the house because his family is sick of him. His sister got married and she doesn’t want him around at that time, you get me…”

You felt awfully bad for this lie but it was the only way to explain why Buck wouldn’t speak a word. If he tried to speak your language, he would be immediately exposed as an American. He’d be taken to some captive camp and your family would be killed. Or he’d get killed, too. It depended on the German, really. And this one was known for being quite nasty.

The soldier looked you up and down and then he chuckled to himself.

“Sure, sweetheart. Well, have fun with your cousin then. See you around.”

“See you around, sir,” you waved at him nervously and you watched him walk away.

“What happened?” Buck asked quietly.

“Nothing. He wanted to know who you are,” you explained with a soft smile. “I told him we are cousins and that you can’t speak because you’re, well, slow,” you admitted with a shy giggle, afraid of his reaction.

Buck found it funny, though. He laughed and shook his head.

“And you came up with that lie on a spot?” He asked.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? By the way, this German keeps coming around all the time and talking to me. I’m glad you’re here because every time he comes by when I’m alone, I get scared,” you admitted. “He’s like that with lots of girls ‘round here. He only talks but it’s still scary,” you gasped and Buck furrowed his brow. “I think he likes it when we’re scared of him. He asks questions and all that. He’s known for being a brute when things get serious.”

“Yeah, I don’t like it that you’re stayin’ here all alone,” he admitted with a nod and your cheeks heated up in an instant.

You were waiting for your father and Gale while sitting on the fence with your ankles wiggling in the air. You were worried about them because every time your father would visit his resistance friends, it could end badly. Especially now, when he was walking with an American by his side.

And as much as you wanted Buck to go back to his friends, you were also sad that it was time for you to say goodbye to him. You knew it was selfish, but you hoped he would stay for a longer time.

You saw them at the horizon and you sighed out of relief. You jumped back on the ground and ran up to them.

“And? And?” You asked, excitedly.

“We’ll talk inside,” your father gave you a scolding look. Buck smiled at you and you smiled at him.

In complete silence you walked back home and sat by the dining table together.

“Major Cleven leaves tomorrow morning,” your father told you and you faked a huge smile, although your heart broke. You really hoped you would get a few more days with him.

“I’m so happy for you, Buck,” you told him. “I wish you all the luck on the way.”

“Thank you,” he nodded.

“(Y/N),” your mother looked down at you while squinting her eyes. You had a feeling she had known about your crush on Major Cleven. “It’s time for you to check on the cow and lock the barn.”

“Yes, mama,” you sighed and left the table to go outside and straight to the barn.

After a while, Buck joined you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him with a sad smile, trying to hide that you had been crying silently.

“Well, it might be my last evening but I’m still here and I want to help,” he told you.

“I can handle that,” you shrugged your arms. “I can handle everything on my own. I had used to before you showed up,” you added.

Buck didn’t say anything to that. He looked down and blushed a little. You looked away and focused on caressing the cow to calm yourself down.

“I feel bad for leaving you here,” he admitted.

“But what does it change?” You asked and he looked up, furrowing his brows. “I mean, really. What does it matter at all? You’re from a completely different world and I’m… well, me,” you swallowed thickly, trying to fight the tears forming in your eyes and ignoring your throat squeezing tightly. “I am just a village girl in the middle of nowhere, from some place you cannot even pronounce properly. I have never tasted Coca-Cola, never seen a Hollywood movie, only seen pictures in the magazines. I’ve never had lipstick or rollers in my hair. I’m less than ordinary. But it’s fine. It’s how it is here. And you…” you hesitated for a while before taking a deep breath in. “You’re from a different world. You’re so confident and so charismatic and so brave and so… American,” you chuckled through the tears. “So what does it matter that you feel bad about it? You have to leave. This is not your world. You would leave sooner or later.”

You tried not to look at him but his silence forced you to lay your eyes on him. He looked like a beaten dog and it made you feel bad.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised but he approached you and held your shaking hand in his. You looked up and he leaned in closer to your face but he visibly hesitated as if he had no idea if he could do what he wanted to do. Your heart was pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe that it was happening.

You weren’t confident enough to give him a proper kiss. You only pecked his cheek delicately and he smiled gently at you.

“You’re such a sweet girl,” he raised his free hand to caress your cheek, “and none of the things you said were true. You’re not less than ordinary. You’re very special but you don’t even know that.”

“Me? Special?” You sniffed your tears back as you shook your head in disbelief.

“You’re a girl one in a million, I mean it,” he brushed your chin with his fingers. “I will never forget you.”

“I will never forget you,” you told him sadly, knowing perfectly well that it would be you who would truly mean your words for the rest of your life.

A man like Major Cleven would move on easily. But you couldn’t blame him for that.

It was the autumn of 1945 and you landed your first job in the local school. Since you weren’t qualified to teach regularly yet, you were supposed to look after the younger children. Either way, you were glad for this job opportunity which would bring your family extra money and some job experience for you.

You often wondered what Buck was doing. Had he come back home? Had he been caught? Killed? You didn’t want to think of that possibility. Had he met someone…?

You didn’t have his picture; you hated how you almost forgot some details of his face already or the exact sound of his voice. You promised to never forget him and you were sure you wouldn’t ever forget a man named Buck. But you couldn’t help forgetting all those little things that were making a real person and not a vague concept of an American you had known a long time ago and loved… Like you were an old woman telling stories to her grandchildren.

The bell rang and all the kids packed their bags before running outside. You were slower with your things as you had no things to be in the hurry for. You walked outside and took a deep breath in, enjoying the fresh, crispy air and the cool breeze on your face.

“Miss (Y/L/N)! Who’s that man?” One of the boys tugged on your cardigan and you looked down at him.

“Hm? What man?” You asked.

“That man over there! He looks like those American pilots I’ve seen in the newspaper!” The boy widened his eyes and your heart skipped a beat as you looked in the direction he was showing.

It couldn’t be him, could it?

You spotted a man leaning on the school’s fence. His golden hair was slightly ruffled by the wind, he was wearing sunglasses and chewing gum nonchalantly. What made him look like an American pilot the most was his leather military jacket, though.

“B-Buck…?” You whispered to yourself as you ran up to the man.

“Need a ride home, doll?” He greeted you with a smile as he pointed at the car behind him with his thumb.

“Buck…!” You screamed as you opened your arms and hugged him tight. He picked you up and spun you around as you giggled. “What are you doing here?!” You asked when he finally put you back down.

“You thought you’d get rid of me so easily?” He teased and you burst out in happy tears. “Shh,” he cupped your face and lifted it gently to make you look at him. “Hey, hey,” he took his sunglasses off and looked deeply into your eyes, “hey, I’m back. I’m fine. Are you fine?” He asked, worryingly.

“Y-yes,” you nodded through the tears. “I’m just… I’m just happy,” you confessed. “There was not a day I did not think of you…”

Buck smiled at that and brought you closer to his chest. You breathed in his scent and sighed.

“Please, tell me it’s not a dream,” you sobbed again. “Because I’ve dreamt it a million times before already.”

“It’s not a dream, my sweet girl. I promised I wouldn’t forget about you.”

“But you didn’t promise to come back,” you pointed out.

“I didn’t want to make promises I was not sure if I am able to keep. I didn’t know if I’d get out of this whole mess alive,” he rubbed your back and moved away slightly to look down at your face again. “Hope you haven’t married anyone in the meantime?”

“Are you crazy?” You laughed at him through the tears.

“I mean it, doll, have you met someone?” He asked and you shook your head. “Good. Because I really, really, really, would like to take you out on a date,” he told you and you felt butterflies all over your body.

But… It might have not been a dream. Yet it still felt too good to be true.

“Why me?” You asked with a more serious expression on your face and he furrowed his brows. “I mean, why? Why did you come back for me? I’m sure there are dozens of beautiful and kind women that would love to go out on a date with you. And you didn’t have to cross an Ocean for them.”

“Why you?” He asked as if he couldn’t believe the question because the answer was obvious. It wasn’t obvious for you, though. “You saved me. Your kindness, your generosity, your big heart – they saved me on that night. You could have left me there in the barn or call the Gestapo on me. You were terrified of me, I could see that. But you were too good to let me die, you were so brave. You saved me. And I’ve never met a girl as sweet and kind and beautiful as you,” he caressed your cheek with his thumb to wipe some tears away. “And I know you don’t feel this way about yourself, doll. But I’m gonna change that. I’m gonna tell you this every day until you believe me.”

“This is all very sweet, Buck, but… What I said back then, it’s still true. We are from two different worlds. The war might be over now but it doesn’t change the fact I’m just some village girl from Europe and you’re an American hero,” you shook your head.

“I’m not a hero,” he laughed softly. “And America is not that different, my sweet one. It’s not like in the magazines you’re reading. Anyway, I could stay here, too.”

“You don’t even speak the language,” you laughed.

“I’m a quick learner,” he shrugged his arms. “And I wouldn’t mind working at the farm while you teach. I just want to be with you,” he admitted casually as if he hadn’t just devoted his whole life to you and you only.

Your eyes widened at him. He really did mean that.

You threw your arms around him and let him spin you around once again as you giggled.

“Miss!” A whiny voice made you both turn around and look at the annoyed little boy. “So is he an American pilot or not? How long do I have to wait?!”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST