#Basic Training

[professorwerewolfmcwerewolf]

Okay okay, y'all. Imagine Jay during this.

He knew neither of his parents were gonna show up, and Will was in New York, so maybe Jay didn't even tell him about it. He didn't wanna distract from med school. But one of Jay's friends (probably Mouse, but idk if they went through basic training together or just deployment, but it also sounds like a pretty Mouse thing to do) calls Will in advance.

Jay thinks he'll just have to stand there at attention and listen as most of his fellow soldiers reunite with family until a kind person taps him out with a look of sympathy or, worse, pity. He's not looking forward to it. At all. Sure, it means he completed basic training, but it's not much more.

Will's there. He was grinding even harder at school the past week or two so he'd have less to worry about while he missed. He has enough unused absences to miss a few days. (Ngl I'm applying community college knowledge to ivy league medical school so I don't actually know the ins and out of missing a few days of classes.) But he's not gonna miss this.

He's not shocked when he's waiting there as family members of everyone else arrive, and his parents are nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t been sure if he was going to try staying with them, but he's sure it's not a good idea now. He would not keep quiet about them missing this. Hell, he'd love to go tell dad off about it anyway. But that's not what he'd want to come home from, so he's not gonna stress Jay out. See, he can, in fact, take the high road.

So once the family side of the field (or room?) is free to go tap out their loved one, Will silently makes his way over to stand in front of Jay, whose face impressively shows no indication of whether or not he can feel someone standing there, and knocks on his chest lightly. Jay's arms relax as he opens his eyes, and the default appreciative half smile he was gonna give a stranger only appears as a flicker before excited shock takes over.

Will grins and pulls him into a tight hug. He's not actually thrilled about his little brother wanting to ship out and risk his life, but that'll never stop him from being anything but proud of him.

[ungoliantschilde]

“Basic Training: How to Make Your Heroines Sultry”, from Wizard Magazine # 94, by Adam Hughes.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🚨 AIR FORCE TRAINEE, 1997: I WANTED A DONUT. I GOT SMOKED INTO THE VOID. 🚨

I joined for structure and benefits. I got PTSD from a powdered donut and a man named Staff Sgt. Painstroke.**

It’s 1997.

Clinton’s president.

Titanic’s in theaters.

And I, in all my 18-year-old glory, just got off a C-130 straight into military basic training brain rot.

I’m talking shaved head, eyes wide, pants too big, and dreams still intact.

Spoiler: they wouldn’t be for long.

This is the story of how I—brilliant, brave, and deeply dumb—got annihilated in front of the Snakepit for chasing donuts like some sugar-starved raccoon.

🥯 ENTER: THE SNAKEPIT

The Snakepit is not a place.

It’s a military fever dream built from the collective trauma of everyone who’s ever disrespected chow hall etiquette.

You think it’s just a table.

Wrong.

It’s where MTIs (Military Training Instructors) sit like apex predators.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hunting.

And on that fine Texas morning, I—newly shaven, spiritually soft—decided to waltz up to the dessert tray like I had f*cking rights.

MTI: “TRAINEE! WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU THINK THIS IS, A GODDAMN BUFFET?”

Me, mouth full of Boston cream: “…Sir?”

I didn’t chew.

I didn’t blink.

I just stood there, frosting leaking out the corner of my lips like a war crime.

A half-bitten donut in my hand.

And three MTIs rising from their thrones like wrathful calorie-counting demigods.

🧠 THE FEAR HAD A FACE

They say you’ll never forget your first kiss.

I say: you’ll never forget your first smoke session in front of a hundred other terrified airmen while a Boston cream donut mocks you from the floor.

“TRAINEE! YOU WANT DESSERT?! DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!” “TRAINEE! THIS AIN’T NO GODDAMN HONEYMOON!” “TRAINEE! I DIDN’T KNOW WE SERVED PASTRIES IN COMBAT ZONES!”

They were yelling in acronyms, bro.

Like war ASMR.

“WHY YOU AT MY TABLE, EATING MRE—MINIMUM RESPECT EXPECTED!” “YOU WANT A PTC?! A PERSONALIZED TRAUMA CYCLE?!”

🇺🇸 “AIR FORCE IS EASY,” THEY SAID

Yeah?

Then explain how I got verbally waterboarded for 12 minutes straight by men who looked like they were carved from rage and powdered protein.

I walked into that chow hall thinking it was Golden Corral.

I left like it was Vietnam.

I wasn’t even hungry anymore.

I was spiritually full.

Full of shame, regret, and what may have been PTSD sprinkled with powdered sugar.

😵 “YOU GOT DONUT BALLS, TRAINEE?”

Yes, an MTI actually yelled that at me.

Not “balls.”

Donut balls.

Like it was a slur.

And I knew, in that moment, that I had become folklore.

Future trainees would whisper, “Remember the kid who reached for dessert on day three?”

That’s me. I’m dessert-boy. I’m pastry-shame legend.

📉 THE DONUT TO DEMORALIZATION PIPELINE

Let me break down what happens when you fck up at the Snakepit:

You approach the forbidden zone.

You spot the tray of innocent-looking glazed goods.

You forget that the Air Force doesn’t give a single flying f*ck about your blood sugar.

You reach.

The table erupts like a Marine birthday party—just without the cake or celebration.

You die inside.

The worst part?

The donut was mid.

I got publicly executed for mid.

🥵 THE PUSHUP APOCALYPSE

“FRONT LEANING REST POSITION, MOVE!”

If you’ve never done pushups with three MTIs in your face calling you “Gordon Ramsay of stupid decisions” while your buddies look away like witnesses to a crime scene—

Then you haven’t truly served.

They had me doing flutter kicks while screaming,

“FLY, DONUT BOY, FLY!”

I swear one of them started beatboxing cadence:

“Down, up, pastry pump, down, up, donut dump—”

💡 BUT THE LESSON?

Never get between an MTI and his f*cking reputation.

Because when I reached for that donut, I didn’t just grab dessert.

I declared war on discipline, decorum, and decades of chow hall trauma.

I disrespected the ritual.

And in the military, disrespect is punishable by:

Immediate regret

Pushups in Hell

Nicknames that follow you until retirement

🤡 THEY NEVER LET ME FORGET IT

For the next six weeks:

I was “Krispy Kreme” on every roster.

Every time I passed a vending machine, someone whispered, “You good, man?”

During chow line, MTIs would fake-reach for donuts and say, “Hey Trainee, wanna relive your war crime?”

I became folklore.

Not because I was brave.

But because I was hungry. And dumb.

🏁 THE AFTERMATH

Years later, I still wake up sometimes, hearing:

“DONUT BOY! WHAT’S THE GLYCEMIC INDEX OF FAILURE?!”

But you know what?

I made it.

I passed.

And I’ll never forget that moment of deep, personal shame wrapped in a golden-brown shell and filled with disappointment custard.

🧠 REBLOG if you’ve ever committed a food felony

👣 FOLLOW for more shame-soaked flashbacks

🗣️ COMMENT if your spine curled reading this

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is written for the purpose of artistic expression, cultural commentary, and psychological exploration of social and gender dynamics. It does not condone or encourage violence, harassment, or discrimination of any kind. Any references to power, strength, restraint, or critique are metaphorical, symbolic, and rooted in historical and cultural analysis. This is not a call to action — it’s a cultural mirror. If you feel offended, ask yourself if it’s from actual harm — or from seeing something you hoped no one would say out loud.

✨ TL;DR: If you're mad, it’s probably not because it’s wrong — it’s because you know it’s true.

[avonne-writes]

What about before they became close during basic training. They had fighting training (they practice fighting with each other). Buck vs Bucky and Bucky is joking around about how much smaller Buck is than him and being his loud self and Buck just puts him on his back and place a foot on his throat in legit 5 seconds. This is the moment where Bucky knew it was love. Buck only had to say “Alright down there Egan?” And Bucky replied with a “you can put me on my back and use me anytime you need”.

That last line lmao 😂 Bucky loves wrestling with Gale for sure.

Not quite the same, but I wrote a similar scenario in Reverie:

He threw his arm around Gale's shoulders out of habit. It was as if he had been conditioned to touch Gale if he was within arm's reach, he couldn't have resisted even if he had tried. Usually, Gale took it without any outward reaction. He didn't tend to touch Bucky back or push him away playfully, but that day, in that moment, his resolve must have been weaker than usual because he reached up and grabbed Bucky's wrist. Their sweat-soaked hands pressed against each other, and Bucky's grin widened. He tried to twist his wrist so that he could reverse their position and hold Gale's wrist captured, but Gale fought back, and soon enough, he was out of Bucky's embrace and they were wrestling standing up. “You little -” Bucky grunted through a smile but Gale managed to kick his legs out from under him before he could finish the sentence, and he ended up flat on his back on the ground. Grass and dirt stains decorated his white PT shirt, which stuck to his abs like a wrinkled layer of skin. Gale stood over him, his head blocking the sun as though he had taken its light as his personal halo. “I win.”

Bucky closed his eyes and sighed, still grinning. “Double or nothing next time?” Gale kicked his foot lightly. “I wouldn’t bet on a sure defeat if I were you.” “You don’t make bets at all.” Gale snorted. “No, I don't.” It was the beginning of Bucky’s descent into the madness of denied want. It seeped through his pores, tingled on his tongue, made his muscles jump with an overflow of energy.

[somersetpark]

"YOU GOT A FRIEND IN ME"

Camilla's POV

Buying a pony for your daughter is never easy. You want a pony who can give her fun and good experiences, but you also want no harm to come to her, so you need a safe pony as well. That's how we ended up leasing Rosie!

She is a mix of Dales, Shetland Pony and British Spotted Pony, and has an unusual long neck for a Shetland mix. She is a good egg though, careful with her feet and always up for training in any capacity.

Rosie hasn't done much else than basic training, and has taken a few obstacles, but the last at least 2 years she has just been pasture buddy to her owner's nervous show gelding and the geldings buddy at shows as well, so she has seen a little bit of everything, which will be a plus, if or when Amy wants to start shows with her.

Amy tried her today, and warmed her up thoroughly. Yes, she was a little out of breath by the end, but she is also pretty out of shape (just look at how thick her stomach is! xD), so when in better shape she can endure more!

She even felt safe enough to cool her down after some rough canter work in trot and long reins! I think we have found the perfect pony, for our eldest, but we will be leasing her the next few months just to make sure!

[thomaswykes]

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

I don't think y'all understand the Choke hold my TigerGhost Air Force AU has on me right now.

Sneak Peek Under Cut

The barracks were loud with the shuffle of boots and the murmur of names being called. Danny adjusted his bag on his shoulder, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves as he waited in line. His name was near the end of the list, so he had time to glance around at the faces of his fellow recruits.

"Rivera, Manuel," the instructor barked, his voice cutting through the noise.

Danny’s gaze flicked up as Manny stepped forward. For a moment, he didn’t recognize him. The shaved head threw him off—gone were the wild, unruly curls from the bus. Instead, Manny’s sharp features and scar stood out more prominently, giving him a stern, almost intimidating air.

"Fenton, Daniel," the instructor called next. Danny stepped forward, falling into line behind Manny, who carried himself with a quiet confidence.

They reached their assigned bunks, neighboring spots near the center of the room. Danny hesitated, shifting his duffel before deciding to speak up. "Hey, Manny," he said, keeping his tone light but friendly.

Manny turned, his brown eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing him. There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of something guarded behind his gaze. "Fenton," he said, his voice neutral.

Danny smiled awkwardly, trying to bridge the gap. "So, uh, looks like we’re bunk mates—or, well, neighbors, I guess."

Manny nodded, his posture rigid. He was weighing Danny, measuring his tone, his expression, and his intent. "Yeah," he said simply, his words clipped.

Danny shifted again, rubbing the back of his neck. The awkwardness was already settling in, but he refused to let it take over. This was his fresh start. He could do this. "I almost didn’t recognize you without the curls," he said, trying for casual. "You look... different. In a good way, I mean."

Manny’s eyebrows raised slightly, and for a second, Danny worried he’d overstepped. But then Manny’s expression softened just a fraction. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, forming the barest hint of a smile. "Gracias," he said, the word quiet but genuine.

Danny blinked, almost not believing the gentle expression he’d managed to coax out. He’d expected indifference or annoyance, but this? This was unexpected.

"You too," Manny added, surprising himself as the words slipped out. He gestured vaguely at Danny’s buzzed hair. "You don’t look the same either."

Danny laughed, the sound light and a little self-deprecating. "Yeah, first time my hair’s ever been this short. Feels weird, but I guess we’ll get used to it."

Manny gave a noncommittal hum, but the slight curve of his lips lingered. Danny didn’t miss it. He also didn’t miss the way Manny kept his movements measured, his gaze sharp despite the faint smile.

As they settled into their bunks, Danny caught himself stealing another glance at Manny, marveling at how different he seemed now. Polished, guarded, composed. Yet there was something else underneath—a quiet intensity that made Danny curious.

Manny, on the other hand, glanced briefly at Danny before turning away. There was something disarming about the other recruit’s awkward friendliness. Manny didn’t trust easily, and he couldn’t afford distractions. Still, he found himself strangely endeared by the way Danny fumbled through the interaction, trying to make a connection despite his own nerves.

The lights dimmed, and the noise in the barracks faded to a low hum. Danny lay back on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. He didn’t know what it was, but something about this place—and about meeting Manny again—felt like the beginning of something he couldn’t quite name yet.

[lets-imagine-fanfics]

I w

I woke up today and realised if I was in twilight, and I had one of the Pack imprint on me, I'd assume they were trying to bring me into a cult. And that they were stalking me.

Like from the outside where you aren't away of any of this that goes on. And you just have a group of guys with a leader, and like the whole imprint thing being explained.

Everyone who writes about Jacob imprinting on reader, Sam's there whispering in his ear and then leaving with the rest of them. Why does he whisper in his ear anyways the have superhearing right? Surely he could just be stood up still where he was and just whisper like that??

As someone not in the know that would be weird to witness.

Even if they showed me the wolf form realistically I'd be sus, I'd be like mmmm holograms, I'd be a doubter for sure, I'm not about to join a cult.

Especially with their puppy attributes in the film where they surround Bella (if I'm remembering correctly).

The only way I would be like yeah sure, is if I met Emily like okay the girl seems happy they treat her nice, but that'd mean going to a secondary location.

But also twilight mythology: this would never happen because the imprint works both ways, you feel the pull to the other person too. That's why Emily is with Sam if that wasn't the case, Emily's a bitch who broke girlcode and a homewrecker because they could just be friends or protectors.

And because of Bella's pull to Jacob too shows that imprinting goes both ways just stronger on the wolf side.

But yeah if it weren't for the inprint pull (which I still might be sus of, like is this a drug???) I would assume it was a cult within the tribe.

I think my brain has been fully transformed due to Dark!Peter parker and everyone in Basic Training fic about a cult that kidnaps woman/partners and holds them hostage. It's amazing, I love it, and it's truly scared me to cults, like I was already scared but yeah.

[thatbanditqueen]

A Basic Training Snippet

Life has been very cruel and gotten between me and my favorite pastime... writing delusional scenarios in which I, I mean my original characters, dated Elvis Presley. So I thought for fun I would just share a very short snippet from the chapter of Basic Training I am working on, in which Elvis invites Bess to spend the weekend with him in Waco at the house of his friend, DJ and TV host Eddie Fadal.

This is very rough, I am not sure if it sounds like Elvis, I need to go back through it once I finish the chapter. I haven't even had anyone alpha this. However, I had at one point told @be-my-ally I would participate in the writing prompt "weather" and post Sunday (yesterday) and so this is my very pathetic attempt to just post something that at least mentions weather in passing...

If you want to read or catch up on this WIP you can find it here

“Well, you know I’m mainly a legs and ass man, through and through, but boy oh boy, Bessie is stacked. I tell ya what. Fa sho. I don’t know how it's possible, but they’re even bigger when you got ‘em in ya hands. Why you nodding Lamar, you ain’t ever gotten to second base, quit lyin.”

The rain had stopped by the time Bess opened her eyes again to find the bed empty, though she could still hear the drip drop of water through the hole. There it was, like an inverted nipple in the middle of the new glossy pink wall, a perfect round sphere with layers of drywall caved in around the edges where the firework had shot through. The smell of cigarettes wafted in from outside, along with a set of men's voices.  Bess was about to call to them when she heard Elvis say the word “Anita.”

There was laughter, then the sound of slaps and skids along concrete, as if a scuffle had broken out, followed by more laughter.

“Shit, but you’re wrong, Rex, cuz there are really only two types of girls. See, with ‘Nita, she is a good girl, but she puts it all on the table. If I’m happy, she’s happy, that’s all she wants. She let's it all hang out. All I gotta do is look at her and smile and she’s gonesville. But then, then there are the ones who keep it all tied up. You know, you saw it Lamar, when I come down here, Anita was ballin her damn eyes out. Now Bess, Bess’d never let you see her cry. Not if she can halp it. She plays it cool. But when you touch her you can feel her vibrating underneath that ice, jus enough to know her motor's running. And boy, when you get it going, what a motor. When she cries out, man, you know ya really earned it. Know what I mean?" 

There was some muffled laughter, and Bess couldn’t quite hear everything, but what she did hear made her face flush a deep crimson red.

“Oh, well I found out last night.  I swear, Bess tastes so fresh and sweet, I know I’m the first guy she let touch her.”

“Nah, a college girl?”

“What do you know, huh, lardass? Reckon I been with seventy five, no, I mean a hundred or more girls. Trust me, I know women, that girl spent college with her nose in her books.”

“Now you got your nose in her - OW - what the fuck?”

“I don’t wanna hear you talk bout her like that, got it?”

“But you just -”

“But you just, but you just, just mind ya goddamn manners.”

Bess sat there, unsure if she wanted to keep listening, but as she turned she was distracted by a dark set of eyes staring her from the doorway. She pulled the strap of her nightie up, and smoothed her hair back as she smiled at Janice Fadal.

“Mommy told me not to wake you up, so I’ve just been sitting here waiting. Ready to do my make up again?”

Bess nodded, relaxing as she stood and patted the little girl’s head.

“Sure, just let me get dressed, huh?’

Then Janice’s slick little tongue curved up and licked the bottom of Bess’ wrist.

“I don’t think you taste like ice cream at all. More like salt. “

*******************************************************************

more to come, let me know what you think....

@whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @from-memphis-with-love @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @moonchild-daniella @richardslady121 @ab4eva @i-r-i-n-a-a @eliseinmemphis @kingdomforapony @everythingelvispresley @dkayfixates @artlover8992 @freudianslumber @amydarcimarie @toreigh @18lkpeters @yynneessmons @ashtag6887 @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @returntopresley @rjmartin11 @bigromansgirl @louisejoy86 @notstefaniepresley

[ungoliantschilde]

Basic Training: How to Draw Batman, by Tim Sale

[gingerbredman1989]

Jacked military recruit at basic training.

DALL-E

[sportsandlaughs]

[eretzyisrael]

Source

[rhymey-workshop]

Feel free to skip. TW: I'm joining the military.

Growing up is really hard, and I don't think we realize that until we're on the verge of a big change, standing on the border between two parts of your life, balancing on a precipice before you take the swan dive known to many as change.

I'm packing my things. My dad finally brought home boxes and storage tubs and I'm finally packing my things, and that makes the passage of time so much more real.

I'm packing my things. My mom opened the door to tell me to watch my sleeping brother, and said nothing about the fact my room is a mess, or that I was just staring blankly at the cardboard box I just taped the bottom of. That box is ready for my craft books and paint stuff, my origami paper, my reading stand, my books on how to make stuff like children's books and animation. She made no mention of it all, just made that same pinched expression she has for weeks and then schooled her expression into something more neutral as she nodded towards the bedroom where my brother is and after a moment I got up and stumbled in, sitting at the foot of the bed to type out some kind of vent on Tumblr.

I'm packing my things, and I'm stuck between wanting to cry and finding myself unable to cry. I'm leaving home. I've been dreaming of getting out of here off and on since I was 13. At times I had a countdown of years, months, weeks, days that I had to stay, that I had to wait for the day I could finally leave. It made being angry or sad or any other complicated emotion easier. It made hardship easier to cope with. It made it easier to get through the hard times because I knew I could leave and nothing could stop me.

I'm packing my things, slowly, piece by piece, and I'm starting to understand the weight of what my dad said, when he said I was the first person on either side of my family in generations to not run away from home before turning 18. My mom left home at 17, my dad spent more days out of the house than in it as a teenager and left the god damn country. My bio paternal family has these issues too. My maternal family is full of people that ran off, that stayed away from home and didn't look back. My mom only speaks to one sister, and can't speak to her brother as long as their mother is alive. I didn't leave. I finished high school, I got my diploma, I took my time and I didn't leave before I was a legal adult.

I'm packing my things to leave home, and it's hard. It's scary. I've never been away from home for very long, and here I am, getting ready to do something more than just "Move out".

I'm packing my things, putting my life into boxes, sorting what's going to stay, waiting for me to return, what's getting tossed, what's going to get donated or given away. I keep finding things and remembering shit related to them. I keep finding things and remembering who gave them to me. I keep finding things and remembering which parent smiled when I got it.

I'm packing my things, and in a way I'm also processing a kind of grief I didn't know existed.

I'm leaving home for something I thought through for 8 months, and I'm coming up on the one year anniversary since I made my decision. It's been just under two since I signed the dotted line, swore in, and came home to congratulations and a sureness that I'm doing the right thing for me.

In 5 days, I'm going to my last meeting. Getting a send off from a group of people doing the same thing. A couple of them doing the EXACT same thing.

In 9 days, I'll spend the last full 24 hours I've got with my family, eating a fruit tart and playing putt putt. I'll say good night and that'll be the last time I see them for months at the very least.

In 10 days, I'm hiding my key on the porch and walking out the front door while everyone is asleep. They'll wake up and I'll be hundreds of miles away from them. In 10 days, I'm hopping in a big unmarked government van (and this will never not be funny to me) with like 5 other people and we're all doing the same thing. We're going somewhere and we have no idea what is really waiting for us.

In 11 days, I'm not in civilian limbo anymore. As it stands I am subject to the UCMJ but I'm not a sailor yet. In 11 days, I'm a recruit, and that's fucking dizzying to think about.

I'm getting ready to start a new part of my life and it's going to be exciting and new and I'll make friends and I'll go a couple places and I'll have stories to tell my brother and family. I think I'll be better, when all is said and done.

But right now, I'm packing my things into boxes and tubs, and right now, I want to cry.