#these all ended up water centric! interesting

[tpup]

being naked with your friends is really good for you. it doesn't have to be anything sexual even just like. go to a nude beach together. run through the sprinkler in ur yard giggling like you haven't since childhood. sit in a hot tub together with some drinks and bask in the hedonistic pleasure. have a diy spa day where you give each other massages, a bubble bath, a manicure. help wash each other's hair after a long day. check each other for ticks after a hike. lounge around naked when it's too humid and hot for clothes. take turns posing for figure drawing. play dress-up together. show each other ur butts and hype each other up about how hot and cute you are. do naked yoga. have a water balloon fight. do photoshoots of each other. help ur bestie take some great nudes. cuddle into each other's tits for a nap. it will heal you

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Gift

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Doflamingo x Viola/Violet (mentioned)

Warnings/Notes: My belated Doffy birthday oneshot 😅! Reader is female coded, but no explicit gender/pronouns are referenced (unless I missed one). Language. Age difference. Dubious consent. Male ejaculation, and some actual fluff this time?

Synopsis: Being such a vain and self-centric man, one would expect elaborate public birthday celebrations for Dressrosa’s king. But as the newest member of Doflamingo’s crew, you’re surprised to find that this isn’t the case. And you don’t think that’s right. So you resolve to give him a very personal gift anyway, to quite unforeseen (at least to you) results.

Fic Masterlist

———————————

Doflamingo didn’t celebrate his birthday any longer.

This tidbit of information about your new master was dropped so casually one afternoon as you and Baby 5 worked together to clean blood and viscera off of the stonework. 

The two of you were together in some dark room the Donquixote captain didn’t want the normal palace maids to venture into. A special interrogation space you now dumped another bucket of soapy water over.

It wasn’t your place to ask any questions though. You had only lived in Dressrosa for the last six months. 

You were the payment Doflamingo had taken when your previous owner couldn’t cough up enough for a weapons debt in time.

Yes, your last master had likely ended up in a room much like this one. Because you’d never seen that abusive old man ever again. 

But you were a logia user. And that qualification had seemed good enough for Doflamingo to allow you this new chance within his own ranks instead.

So you did not complain. And you did not step out of line. You only followed orders just as faithfully as all these pirates that had lived with him years before you had. 

But you still wondered.

You wondered why it bothered you that no one was supposed to acknowledge the day their leader had been born.

The one day that should really be his.

You were still so skeptical of this, that you even paid more attention to the goings on in town over the next week. Looking for any hint of even the most subtle celebration plans or decorations for the people’s king.

But there were none.

And within the palace, Giolla was who you most often were assigned to and shadowed. When you realized even she showed no interest in making artwork for the king’s upcoming cumpleaños as they called it here, that was when you finally knew they must be serious.

His birthday had been removed from all outward recognition, both within his own kingdom and private “family”.

It was such an odd notion, for how extravagant of a man Doflamingo seemed to be.

But you supposed you didn’t really know him either. In the entire six months you’d lived within his home, you didn’t think you’d had more than a few words directed at you from his grinning lips. And they had only ever been emotionless commands.

Ones you dutifully followed.

And you were okay with this arrangement. Because you had been purchased fairly. Your life preserved in exchange for being little more than a warm blooded machine. Simply another tool among all his others.

Yet you still kept thinking about him and this erasure of his birth. It felt so wrong to you.

Somehow even more wrong than the toys you sometimes heard crying in the underground port after midnight, or the blood you and Baby 5 cleaned up again and again from those equally hidden dungeons.

You lay awake in your room for hours actually, on the night before his birthday, until an idea finally came to you.

You had a need to do something about your feelings. You were very thankful to have a roof over your head after all. You were thankful to have a reliable supply of food, and you were thankful to be in the aura of this warlord’s protection in the violent New World.

It was a compulsion by that point really, to repay him in even some small way.

So you sat up in your bed and got to work then and there, inspired just the way you supposed Giolla always spoke of being. 

Your hands hardened as you summoned your power, yet also becoming fully transparent all at once while your fingers still moved nimbly.

You were a human made of glass.

Clear and flawless as your creation began to ebb from your own fingertips.

You could shape and alter it as easily as if it were molten. But you didn’t need heat to do this. Everything was still a part of you as you shaped one flower petal after another.

It became a large rose in full bloom. No stem, but the base of the flower was as wide as both of your palms put together soon enough. The candlelight’s glow in your room played through those rippling surfaces, casting prismatic reflections in every direction as you smiled.

But it still wasn’t special enough then. It wasn’t personal enough as you felt it needed a second element. 

Which wasn’t easy. It took you multiple attempts actually as you tried to shape a bird nestled within this blooming rose. 

A flamingo of course. But the neck was so slender, it kept drooping before you could harden it properly. And if you made it too hard, you were afraid it would hold tension and fracture before long.

So you compromised.

You let that flamingo rest its head, smoothing it with your still clear fingertips as you curved the neck down for the bird to lay its beak against its wing.

As if it were asleep. An elegant flamingo, content and peaceful in the bloom of a rose. The final glass was pristine in its clarity of course, with all the facets you’d created catching the light in such a way that it fully sparkled while you cupped it in your hands with admiration.

You loved it.

And the next day when you went into Doflamingo’s empty office as part of your regular task of filing his completed contracts for him, you left this gift on his desk while you took that stack of paperwork in exchange.

Yet you put no note with your gift. You didn’t even leave it in the center of his desk like a focal point, as you would never be that brazen or prideful.

No, you simply left it to the side. It could be little more than an ornate paper weight for all it mattered. He could discard it if he chose to.

And that would be alright. A gift was the receiver’s to do with as they wished after all.

But at least you now knew he would have a present. He would not be ignored on his own day.

And that thought made you very happy.

But hours passed easily within his palace. Neither Giolla, nor Trebol had any further special instructions for you that day. So by the time the sun had set again, you were alone once more in your bed.

Reading by candlelight as you often did. The palace library was available to any of the Donquixote crew, and its contents occupied you well in any downtime you found.

The story for tonight was interesting too, but not so different than those you’d read before. Just another handsome protagonist, and his rather oblivious lover to be.

It was quite predictable, but still enough to make you giggle once the two characters finally found themselves alone.

You knew exactly where this was going.

And you had been turning those pages just a bit faster in that anticipation before your small transponder snail suddenly awakened to startle you.

Of course you still answered immediately, expecting a late night order. Perhaps a request to join your fellow lower ranks in the underground harbor. Sometimes the pirates there got rowdy, trying to back out of prior agreements. But you were much less destructive than Trebol when restraining them.

“Yes?” You had answered in your calm way, ready for almost anything.

“Come to my office. Now.”

Anything but that as the young master’s impatient tone filled your ears instead.

“Yes, sir.” You said anyway.

The snail clicked, disconnecting from his side first as you dropped your book and practically leapt from the bed.

No one kept Doflamingo waiting.

So much so that you didn’t bother with shoes, or even changing.

You were barefoot, just in a nightgown that fluttered to your knees as you pulled a jacket on over it and hurried out and down the hall.

Your master’s office was on a higher floor. Always like ascending to where you would never truly belong as your feet took the staircase two steps at a time.

But there was no one else in the dark palace corridors. Nothing to speak of panic or a rallying of the troops at all to protect the island.

Yet as you pulled down on the golden door handles to open those carved double doors that led to his workspace, you had still expected to see more of the Donquixote crew.

Never once had you been here alone with him.

Until tonight.

“Close the doors.” He ordered.

And you still did so with no hesitation, then walking towards Doflamingo’s desk with your hands clasped subserviently in front of you below your waist.

You didn’t even ask for an explanation. You simply looked at him, awaiting further instruction.

But his large chair was pulled farther from his desk than normal. He was slouched back in it with his shirt fully open and oddly wrinkled.

One of his long legs was crossed over the other. But his foot was moving slightly, bouncing a little like letting out tension the rest of his body would not yet portray.

“Did you make this?” Doflamingo asked in such an odd tone, yet immediate and to the point as one of his fingers tapped the desk.

Your eyes finally broke away from him to look down at that glass rose you’d created with the flamingo still resting peacefully within the spread petals.

He had moved it dead center on his desk now.

“Yes, sir.” You answered simply, your voice still soft.

But that was when his posture changed.

“Why?” He asked you as he straightened up in his chair.

And you felt your hands tighten against one another. Yet, you were simple. You didn’t think ahead, or plan and strategize. Everything was only what it was and nothing more.

You always told the truth.

“I wanted to give you a gift. I’m thankful to be allowed to stay here, young master.”

And you saw his facial muscles contort slightly. 

Like he didn’t know what expression to make.

“But today? You chose today to do this…” He sounded strangely unsure. Irritated too, as only one of his large hands easily scooped up that glass artwork that had taken both your palms to carefully hold.

“Yes.” You again answered honestly. “I wanted you to have something even if we aren’t allowed to celebrate.”

His brow furrowed. But you did not see any bulging vein. He wasn’t fully angry, not yet. He didn’t seem to know what to do. 

And perhaps that was the root of this frustration.

“How old are you?” Doflamingo asked suddenly.

“Twenty.” 

He muttered a curse under his breath at this seemingly unpleasant answer. And you saw his leg shift, that movement of his foot getting a little faster.

“Well…hoy tengo cuarenta años. Es demasiado.” He finally told you in return, switching briefly to the native language of this island as he frowned. Like he couldn’t admit this number out loud, to you or himself otherwise.

And his fingers were still moving over your gift, tracing all those edges while he held it.

“I’ve waited hours today…wondering what to do about this.” He said again then. “I even brought Violet in here earlier to try and alleviate it...” And he gestured unabashedly at the messy state of his clothing that you had noticed on first arrival.

But only then as his arm moved did you see the smear of dark lipstick against his rib cage beneath that open shirt.

And that was the very first thing that finally brought a tinge of heat to your face.

“It’s…just a gift, young master.”

“It isn’t.” He corrected you so surely that you lowered your head like a scolded pup.

And you heard the resulting growl which came from that too.

“You’re too damn innocent.” He lamented. “And I’m twice your fucking age now.”

Said as if this was somehow all your fault.

His crossed legs shifted again too, like he was struggling with himself. “You don’t even have a man in town, do you? You just sit alone in your room all the time…doing what exactly?”

“I read.” You felt that coil of embarrassment in your stomach now rising to meet the heat still creeping downward from your face.

But he scoffed, a much crueler noise. “And think about me as you do? Clearly you must.” He held the glass rose up higher then, almost as if it were indisputable evidence in this sudden trial against you.

He was starting to sound genuinely angry now.

“I’m sorry, young master.” You tried.

“You can’t do these things and expect no consequence.” Doflamingo chided you harshly, as if you really were a fool.

A fool that he owned.

“Come here.” He commanded you in that renewed authority as he set your gift back to the center of his desk.

You followed the gesture of his fingers without question. He didn’t even have to use his strings as you walked around his desk to stand before his chair.

“You can’t show me affection and think nothing would come of it…” He warned only briefly. 

And it felt too dangerous to try and apologize further. You were silent as your eyes watched only those red lenses of his sunglasses. 

You did know enough not to dare look away from him now.

“I’m not going to fuck you. But you are going to let me get this feeling out.” He said darkly. “So just be quiet and we’ll be done soon enough. Then you can go back to your paper fantasies instead.”

There was not even an implication of wanting your permission in his mocking words either. He was telling you what was about to happen just before those long legs abruptly uncrossed and you were pulled between them.

And you still gasped as the clothed erection he’d been hiding this entire time now pressed up hard against your bottom in his lap.

He didn’t even give you time to process. He was already thrusting that sharp bulge against your nightgown within moments.

His large hands fisted within that same thin fabric beneath your jacket as he groaned quietly.

You felt him inhale deeply next, taking in your scent as he curved his spine enough to lean down into your smaller frame.

It was like being encapsulated, a monstrous snake constricting itself around a small prey when the smallest flick of wet met the side of your face simultaneously.

Just the very tip of his tongue, only a tiny taste of you before before those large hands tightened on your hips.

Doflamingo pulled you harder against his own, bruising your skin beneath your clothes you were sure while his pace quickened even further.

“You smell so good.” He practically hissed against you. “You’re so soft too…”

His long fingers easily squeezed into your thighs as well, even as he didn’t release your hips.

And you must still be in some sort of shock really. Because somehow you didn’t feel afraid. 

You just let him do it. 

It was his birthday. He was your master.

And you were what he wanted, in this moment at least.

He never lifted your nightgown though. He never opened his pants.

But you could feel his body heat, and his desperation. A shame that outweighed any you should have had.

It was his loneliness. It was his need.

And it was mercy towards you.

Your master was giving you his rarest gift in return.

He could have taken your virginity here and now. He could have shattered you with his haki on only a whim, logia user or not.

Doflamingo was fully in control of you, and honestly just enough in control of himself that he did not truly harm you.

His breath only quickened as time seemed to draw to a standstill for you. It felt both like forever, and not long enough at all.

And still you didn’t feel wronged. 

The humiliation was only his instead, whenever you finally felt him stiffen further, grunting before he shuddered and that new heat blossomed against the underside of your thighs.

You were still sitting tightly on his bulge, and the wetness of his release wicked through those meager layers of fabric so easily.

He’d fully cum on himself within his pants. The king of Dressrosa had done this in a private moment with you, then hugging his arms around your waist as he rested briefly, recovering from that surprisingly heavy orgasm.

“Happy birthday to me…” Doflamingo chuckled despite himself, still sounding a bit overwhelmed in this instance while he gradually came down.

“Happy birthday, young master.” You answered tentatively, almost in a whisper.

But he allowed it now. He even squeezed you a little more. And it didn’t feel fully sexual then. He wanted something to hold onto.

He wanted comfort.

“Thank you.” The Heavenly Demon said to you, the young one who was surely only another of his many pets.

But he meant it.

And maybe by his next cumpleaños he would be able to do more. Maybe by then you would be ready to be more than just the one he wanted both to consume and to hold tonight.

Maybe you’d been the oblivious lover to be all along. 

Regardless, whatever happened now, you wouldn’t be laughing at those characters in the books any longer.

If you’d even be reading them much at all. Because you might have someone else needing all of your free time now.

Someone far more sensitive than he’d ever let on as he kept you in his lap while he reached for your artwork again, moving it back closer to the edge of the desk so it better caught the light from the small chandelier above.

You watched your master smile, his body relaxing fully before he bent down enough again to rest his chin on your shoulder.

This was just another flamingo, resting his head with his newest flower.

——————————

End.

Thank you for reading! 🎂🦩

[buddierecs]

eddie diaz centric buddie fics

all mature rating!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by: withmeornotatall "eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia" word count: 43k important tags: time loop au, minor buck/natalia, heavy angst, love confessions eddie diaz vs the pta agenda by: mmtion "really, eddie doesn’t care that the pta aren’t his biggest fan. he knows he misses too many meetings, and it’s not like he’s best friends with any of the other parents. it doesn’t affect christopher, so it doesn’t bother him. he’ll pay for the annual fundraising mugs and consider his duty done. but then buck picks christopher up from a class trip and it all goes to hell. like, of course buck is everyone’s dream guy. he’s responsible with kids, and kind, and funny and interesting and hot to touch. that’s obvious. but now eddie’s fighting to keep the pta moms, teachers, and dads, all off an unsuspecting and tempting buck. because eddie is a good friend. right?" word count: 19k important tags: idiots in love, jealous!eddie diaz, oblivious!eddie diaz a thousand ways to say i hate you by: morganofthefairies "five times eddie buys taylor fuck-you flowers, and one time he doesn't need to." word count: 8k important tags: 5+1 things, awkward dates, minor eddie/ana, minor buck/taylor, petty!eddie diaz, pining!eddie diaz light me and i'll burn for you by: woodchoc_magnum "in which an old friend of buck's joins the 118, and eddie does not like him. at all." word count: 31k important tags: mutual pining, soft!eddie diaz, oblivious!evan buckley, team as family save me from the man i've become by: woodchoc_magnum "told through eddie's eyes as he grows up with his uniquely overbearing parents, and gradually learns to accept himself for who he really is." word count: 20k important tags: self-acceptance, angst, growing up, soft!eddie diaz, pre-relationship, getting together love leaves a little runway by: toomanybats "eddie has a problem. a big, huge, ridiculous, gorgeous, mouth-watering problem. evan buckley, man of his dreams and bane of his existence has just arrived at the park wearing a crop top." word count: 8.7k important tags: fluff, pining, getting together, first time wherever you roam (you'll always want me) by: okanus "eddie starts to untangle his complicated feelings about himself, and buck. mainly buck." word count: 28k important tags: character study, catholic guilt, sexuality crisis, slow burn, jealous!eddie diaz, pining tell me about despair by: hattalove "the entity often affectionately referred to as the unrepression fic." word count: 148k important tags: therapy, ptsd, heavy angst, communication, feelings realisation, friends to lovers, slow burn

baby, you look happier (you do) by: frxm_theashes "five times eddie sees buck happy with someone else, and one time he realizes that buck is happy with him (and that, maybe, eddie is allowed to be happy with buck too). word count: 19k important tags: temporary buck/tommy, jealous!eddie diaz, catholic guilt, internalised homophobia, pining, getting together, making out

the persistence of memory by: withmeornotatall "buck gets shot, eddie has to keep reliving the day until he can figure out what the universe is trying to tell him" word count: 58k important tags: time loop, eddie diaz pov, angst, hurt/comfort, temporary character death, gay disaster!eddie diaz, make outs, gun violence

when i was shipwrecked (i thought of you) by: catchingpapermoons "eddie needs to learn how to let himself feel, and one step at a time, he learns how to do just that. (and he falls in love with buck along the way.) word count: 35k friends to lovers, didn't know they were dating, getting together, panic attacks, angst with a happy ending.

[koqabear]

till tomorrow comes [0]

♫: rises the moon, Liana Flores

“It’s official; the human life expectancy is now lower than it was ten years ago— and it’s expected to keep lowering in the future. Humans have become weak, feeble beings; with morale low and the human population lower, you find yourself clinging onto the last hope there is: the news of a new ongoing experiment, hoping to find the cause and restore human beings back to their prime— you’ve been told only good news about its progress. 

What you haven’t been told, however, is just how far they are willing to push the limits of humanity and science.”

ot5 x fem!reader. Beomgyu centric.

▹genre: Zombie Apocalypse!AU, interactive au!

▹chapter wc: 3.7K

▹about this chapter: beomgyu focus, fluff, a bit of angst if you really close your eyes and believe; the tension is there yet its not at all.. but no warnings otherwise. check masterlist for more information

notes: this is the prologue, so there’s no poll that will go along with this! that’ll happen… soon ! but for now, our characters are safe and sound :)

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[0]— There's Always Tomorrow.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

A half-pitied, half-sympathetic look is all Beomgyu can muster to send your way. Your back aches and your eyes have begun to dry out from how long you’ve been sitting before your computer, continuing to tackle the workload that never seems to end. You find yourself pouting at your friend’s lack of response to your dramatics, straightening up and stretching your sore muscles as you glance back from your spot at the kitchen table; your eyes linger on his form, slouched and tired as he hovers over the stove, clearly lost in thought as he stares off into the distance, out the small window placed beside him— and you sigh. 

“Smells good,” you mutter quietly, breaking Beomgyu out of trance, the boy flinching at the sudden sound of your voice; he turns back to you, eyes lighting up playfully, examining your equally tired form, “d’you make enough for two by chance?” 

“As if,” Beomgyu scoffs, but even so, he proceeds to reach into the cabinets to grab dishes— two bowls, two cups, two pairs of chopsticks— the sight garnering a roll of your eyes, choosing to bite your tongue as you turn back around in your seat, back to the essays and assignments that no longer seemed to make sense to you; behind you, a soft clatter sounds— you find yourself softly humming along to the playlist Beomgyu has put on in the background.

“You really should learn how to manage your time better,” Beomgyu scolds you softly, setting a bowl of ramen before you, followed by a glass of water— and he roughly takes a seat beside you, scooting his chair closer, your shoulders bumping as he looks over at your screen, “You’re always procrastinating for no reason.” 

“I know you’re not talking,” you sneer light-heartedly, shutting your laptop before placing it off to the side; you’re mixing the ramen around absentmindedly, watching the steam pour out as you speak, “you’re literally worse than me.”

He tries to refute you yet again— only this time, Beomgyu finds that he can’t say much to that; he’s had an impeccable track record of pushing things back until the very last minute, and the vice of his has burrowed its way into him since high school, much too late for him to be able to change his ways now. You laugh mockingly at his defeat. 

The rest of your meal is mostly spent in silence; it’s times like these where conversations with Beomgyu always seem to dwindle, having already spent so much of your day together to be able to talk about some new or interesting thing that happened— because by the time the sun has begun to set, you’ve already told Beomgyu everything that’s on your mind. But, with the way life has been going for the both of you recently, even that seems to be sparse. Your body deflates at the reminder of your painfully plain life; a sigh falls from you involuntarily. 

“What’s up with you recently?” Beomgyu asks, raising a brow at your sulking posture, “I’ve never seen you so depressed.”

You’re sending a sheepish smile his way, lips parting to give him some generic excuse, unsure of the real answer yourself— but you’re distracted by the sound of Beomgyu’s calm, quiet playlist switching to something much more drastic, the abrupt sound of nature and birds chirping making your brows knit together, glancing at the speaker that blares these noises to you both. 

“Ugh, I forgot you still have ads on your account,” you groan dramatically, leaning back in your chair to send your friend a judgemental look; Beomgyu seems unphased by it, muttering tiredly for you to be quiet; your comment is both predictable and repetitive, yet you never fail to send him a teasing smile after. 

“It’s okay, nothing wrong with being broke,” you tease further, the monologue of the advertisement practically memorized in your mind; you pause for a second to listen, the familiar preaches to take care of the Earth and the people in it swiftly transitioning to the real purpose of Beomgyu’s music break:

“BioGen seeks to bring back what once belonged to the beings of this planet, to bring forward hope, and develop brighter, stronger generations. Join the cause and…”

“This alone was enough to make me buy premium,” you say, standing from your seat to go wash your dishes, “I was so sick of having to hear that ad every five minutes.”

“You learn to block it out after enough times,” Beomgyu replies, coming up behind you and placing his dishes in the sink, just as you were about done— your eyes glare sharply at him yet your hands have already gotten to work, the boy only giving you a triumphant grin in return, “Guess I’m just better than you.”

Placing his dishes on the drying rack, you protest petulantly— he’s just as quick to mock your whiny tone and taunt you, body closing in on you as the two of you going back and forth like children— with no end to the bickering in sight, you go to flick water at him playfully; he yelps, and before either of you can really think things through, he goes to retaliate. 

The kitchen is filled with sounds of screams, curses, and laughter, the wooden floor becoming slippery and the reasoning behind your quarrel long forgotten; Beomgyu’s playlist queues back on in the background all the while.

The night ends with exhausted giggles and another round of cleaning; your shirt sticks to your body and Beomgyu’s hair drips, and you follow the boy back to the bathroom to get a towel to dry off— leaning back on your hands against the counter, you watch him with tired, heavy eyes. 

“Your hair’s getting longer,” you comment softly, watching Beomgyu fluff and dry his hair, his own gaze glued to the mirror in front of him; his eyes flicker over to you before they go back to himself, fingertips grazing the hair that’s begun to grow past the tops of his ears. 

“I’m getting it cut in a few weeks,” is all he says in return, lips twitching at the way you complain at the news.

“What? I thought you were gonna grow it out,” you pout, the sight of Beomgyu shaking his head softly only making you frown, “What happened to the guy that was so desperate to try and get that wolf cut look?”

“Well, that was when I was seventeen and wasn’t allowed to grow out my hair,” Beomgyu counters, raising a brow and throwing you a knowing look, “plus, I did grow my hair out that summer, remember? It was hell to take care of, I hated it.” 

“You were just lazy,” you mumble to yourself, yelping at the smack you receive on your bicep from the words, “It’s true! You barely tried to style it properly.”

Beomgyu simply smiles and rolls his eyes— he doesn’t bother to respond because he knows you’re right. 

“All of us loved it though,” you say quietly, staring down at your feet and tapping to an invisible rhythm— a song from Beomgyu’s playlist that got stuck in your head probably, he did have some catchy songs in there— “We always thought it made you look pretty.”

The boy huffs out a laugh; memories of your friend group cycle through his mind, all the days where they teased him and played with his hair playing like a movie— jabs and jokes followed with gentle hands that smoothed down his head, tucking stray hairs back and calling him a pretty princess with that annoying cooed tone— a small smile finds its way onto his face, a glance back at you showing that you must be reminiscing the same things, eyes alight and lips curved into a fond smile; feeling his gaze on you, you meet his eyes boldly, fuzzy memories of summers past fading from your mind, taking in how the scrawny boy you’ve known since birth has now turned into the man he is today— and your mind inevitably wanders off to the others.

“I wonder how they’re doing,” you confess, not needing to say any names to let Beomgyu know who you’re talking about; Beomgyu’s face softens, and he turns back to the mirror, squeezing out the last bits of water that remain in his hair as he hums softly, lost in thought.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” he reassures you, curious with the way your gaze remains downcast, “You act like we’ll never see them again.”

“Well, I haven’t heard from them in ages,” you complain, head tilting back to the ceiling, letting out a big sigh for dramatic effect, “the group chat is so dead, and everyone’s so busy these days.”

“I know; I almost miss Yeonjun spamming it,” Beomgyu jokes, bringing about a soft laugh from you; the atmosphere around you lightens up, and Beomgyu finishes up the final touches with his hair, fluffing it up before he throws the towel at you; it lands on your head and covers face unceremoniously, and you yelp indignantly, quick hands taking it off immediately.

“We just have to make it to Friday,” he says firmly, innocent grin an instinctive response to the glare you send his way, “Only a week till Friday and we’ll see everyone, right?”

“Right,” you murmur, narrowed eyes following his figure that backs out the door slowly, clearly trying to escape your silent wrath, “Just make it to Friday.”

“Exactly,” he chirps, your eyes trained on him as he starts to step out the doorway, “try not to be so depressed till then.” 

He jumps out of sight just as you throw the dirty towel right where he once stood; it lands with a sad, heavy plop, and Beomgyu’s victorious laugh rings out the hallway as he runs off to his bedroom, a loud goodnight! is the last thing you hear before his door closes. 

It’s silent; your eyes fall onto the towel that remains on the floor, the roll of your eyes contrasting the smile that grows on your lips. 

“Goodnight,” you call out to the empty hallway, throwing the towel into the hamper before you turn the lights off; the house is shrouded in complete darkness, and you make your way to your bedroom with slow, tired steps; Beomgyu’s words echo in your head without you realizing. 

Just make it to Friday.

Taehyun’s place has always been the ideal place for hangouts for three obvious reasons: it’s the most spacious, he lives alone, and of course, he’s the best cook. 

It’s a fact you’re reminded of as you lay back on the couch and glance over at the mess happening in the kitchen— because Hueningkai just had to insist on helping out, the clumsy boy resigned to dish duties after almost chopping off his finger— twice, all five of you practically jumping out your skins each time he let out an undignified screech, followed by the sound of the knife clattering on the cutting board. And though Taehyun had sent the youngest a scathing glare, the relief in his face was obvious by the way he clutched the fallen knife close to his body and shooed Hueningkai away to the sink filled with dirty pots and pans. 

A random drama drones off in the television; it was clear that the show was there for background noise and nothing more, seated next to Beomgyu on the couch as the two of you catch up with Soobin and Yeonjun, listening to them rant and complain about the heavy workload of their classes or angry customers they’ve encountered at their jobs. 

“Did you know the mall is closed down?” Yeonjun says, your surprised gasp and incredulous glance to the boy beside you enough to answer his question, “yeah, some pipes burst and flooded like half the place— they’re closing down for maintenance for the next two weeks.”

“But what about the workers?” you ask, watching as two of the said workers shrug their shoulders dismissively, clearly not as stressed about the situation as you expected them to be.

“We got an email from our supervisors that we’ll probably be paid for the days we were scheduled,” Soobin says, the undeniable twinkle in his eyes telling you that he didn’t really mind this whole situation, “Like PTO, I guess.”

“Wish that place got closed for a month instead,” Yeonjun huffs, a yawn ripping through him as he stretches his arms over his head, letting out a big sigh once they fall limp at his sides, “fucking hate that place.” 

“Same.”

When there’s nothing to complain about and they’ve seemed to have updated you on every miniscule detail of their life— how their finals are approaching, this new snack they’ve recently discovered at the gas station on the way home, apparently attempting to “put you on”— the three turn to you, not expecting the way you shift and shrink into the couch at all; they ask if there’s anything new or interesting going on in your life, and all you can do is clear your throat in nervous thought. 

“Not really,” you say with a sheepish smile, watching as Soobin and Yeonjun send you a curious look, as though they didn’t believe you, “Life’s just… been really boring recently. Nothing interesting has happened.”

Nothing? They echo, humming softly at the sight of your affirming nods; quite unlike you, they can’t help but think, always having something to do, something to say, a new story to tell— Hueningkai’s loud and projected voice calling you all to the kitchen seems to be your saving grace, the tension slipping off your muscles as you all rush to gather around. 

In a big, scary world like this, where your lives are in a liminal state and you couldn’t even bring yourself to confidently talk about how your days have been going, it was moments like these that mattered the most— because even if Taehyun lived on his own, with no family in town to constantly check up and dote on him, his kitchen said otherwise; the dining table was large and full, and his cabinets were packed with more dishes than he knew what to do with on most days— you all pretended you didn’t notice the fond smile on his face as he set down dish after dish, ramen and meat and enough side dishes to leave you all stuffed and drowsy.

“I’m gonna cry, I haven’t had a proper meal in so long,” Hueningkai was the first to cry out, his plate full to the brim yet his chopsticks still reaching out for more, unfazed at the way Soobin and Yeonjun continue to sneak meat onto his dish, “I’ve had to survive off reheat stuff ever since I got that stupid internship, I almost went insane.”

“Awh, you poor thing,” you coo out, a teasing smile on your face as you reach to place rolled omelets on his plate as well, already guessing he’d try to reach over for them anyway, “You gotta make sure you eat so you get big and strong, okay? Don’t skip out on meals.”

Hueningkai scoffs at your jabs— but before he can try to give your teasing a rebuttal, you’re craning your head to where Taehyun sits, on the other side of Beomgyu and completely lost in his own food; he visibly jumps when you call his name, wide eyes peeking up at you mid-bite.

“How is that internship going for you two so far, anyway?” you ask, glancing back at Hueningkai to make sure he was listening, “I keep hearing the stupid commercials about it when Beomgyu plays his music.”

“That’s for another division of the project,” Taehyun is quick to correct, Hueningkai nodding along at his words, “they’re looking for people to test on.”

“What?!” you exclaim, everyone else but Hueningkai as equally surprised as you are, “Is that… safe?”

“I mean, it’s legal,” Hueningkai slowly begins, a bit sheepish as the sight of your concerned frown that forms at his words, “everything is thoroughly discussed beforehand, but with a project like this, there’s obviously bound to be some risks.”

“And people still agree to it?” Soobin asks, his words muffled by the mouthful of food he chews through— he gets a slight jab on the side from Yeonjun because of it. 

Hueningkai nods. 

“We’ve already had a few hundreds go through testing already in groups; placebos, beta products, reactions to certain ingredients…”

“It probably pays good,” Beomgyu pipes up, looking at Taehyun for confirmation, “doesn’t it?”

Taehyun thinks the question through, humming in thought before he finally answers.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says, “but I’m not exactly sure how much it is.”

“Woah, maybe I should volunteer,” you say, watching as Taehyun and Hueningkai turn to you in surprise; a coy smile tweaks at your lips, and you send them a wink with your next words. “But only if one of you is the one testing on me.”

The table erupts into laughs and groans; Taehyun’s grumble of don’t be weird, isn’t lost on you, but soon enough, everyone else finds themselves joining in.

“You should test on me too,” Yeonjun grins, reaching over to try and grab Taehyun’s hand; the said man recoils immediately, “maybe then I won’t be tired all the time.”

“Me too— c’mon, stop gatekeeping that BioGen stuff!”

“You should sneak some of the finished product over to us.”

“Yeah, that’s what true friends do!” 

“Pleaaase?”

“Hueningie!” 

Voices melt and stack in a loud cacophony— you don’t know who’s saying what anymore, or who’s talking to who, but you’ve all erupted in your own conversations, teasing the two smartest members in your group or choosing to talk about something else; it’s lively, it’s restless, and soon enough, all the food from the table has disappeared.

You play rock paper scissors to see who does the dishes; you and Soobin lose with loud cries of dismay. 

“Do you remember that ice cream truck that would always go around our neighborhood at this time?”

Spring must be near; you find yourself thinking that as you lean back against the porch fence, your legs spread haphazardly over Soobin’s lap— all the comfortable lawn chairs had already been taken by the others by the time the two of you finished cleaning up, leaving you to sit on the floor, not that you really minded— you got a better look at the few stars that were still visible in the sky this way, anyway.

“The one that never stopped for us?” Soobin asks, causing you to laugh with a soft nod, “I hated that truck.”

“But it had the best ice cream though,” Hueningkai says, you and Soobin craning your heads back to where the boy sat in the corner, curled up in his chair and staring back with drowsy eyes, “nothing could top it.”

“Maybe ‘cause we had to run down two blocks to catch it,” Yeonjun interjects, smiling at the laughter he gets in response, countless memories seemingly flooding into everyone’s minds— the coin purses or ziplock bags that were clenched in your hands, the relentless sun that shined in your faces as you tried to yell at the ice cream truck to stop— the music must’ve drowned you all out, you think to yourself, because each time the old lady driving stopped for you guys, she always seemed to have a genuine shock that would paint her face. 

Oh my, you guys look so tired!

“I miss that lady,” you find yourself blurting out, unable to stop the nostalgia that drips through your words, “I miss those times.”

The air grows a bit heavy— you gulp, mentally scolding yourself as your friends fall into deep thought.

“This place does look a bit sadder, huh?” Taehyun wonders aloud, eyes drifting along the neighborhood; the once lively streets and lit up houses now barren, now dark, “a lot emptier.”

Silence. Though no one says it, you know they all agree. 

“But hey, that’ll fix itself soon!” Yeonjun pipes up, throwing an arm over Taehyun’s shoulder, shaking him out of his reverie; Yeonjun only grins, sending Hueningkai a knowing look, “we got our two geniuses working on the magic cure. It’ll get finished in no time at this point.”

“I don’t know about that,” Taehyun scoffs lightheartedly, shrugging off Yeonjun’s arm, “it’s a lot more complicated than you think.”

You all recognize that little trail off in Taehyun’s sentence: there’s more to his words than he wants to tell. Beomgyu is curious enough to be the first to bite the bait.

“More complicated than we think?” Beomgyu echoes, cocking his head to the side and raising a brow, “what do you mean? Is there something weird going on behind the scenes?”

“No,” Taehyun quickly says, causing all of you to stare at him in clear disbelief, “Well, I can’t tell you anyway.”

“So there is?” Hueningkai asks— when you send him a confused look, the said man only shrugs. “Hey, I’m in a different department, I’m not directly involved in making the thing.”

All eyes are back on Taehyun in search of answers. 

“Well,” he sputters, actively avoiding all ten pairs of eyes that keep track of his every movement, “I… even I don’t know, honestly; they’re not letting me take too much of a direct part in making the solutions— I’ve never even seen the test subjects they gather.

“There’s like. A division of three people that are directly involved with the test subjects. The rest of us only receive vague feedback and instructions.”

“Creepy,” you shudder, Soobin nodding along at your exclamation, “sounds like they’re hiding something.”

Taehyun doesn’t refute your words; if anything, his brows knit together in thought. 

“They said they’re gonna release an update of the first test subjects tomorrow,” Yeonjun jumps up again, quick as always to relieve a tense mood, “they’re making it sound like it’s nothing but good news.

“This place will be back to normal before we know it,” Yeonjun smiles, eyes falling onto you knowingly, “the future will be better.”

You nod along to his statement, even if you don’t find yourself believing it. A silence falls shortly after, and you’re looking back up at the sky again.

“The stars look pretty tonight,” you mumble.

You hear a scoff behind you.

“What stars? There’s like two out.” 

“Do you always have to try to ruin my fun?”

The bickering is endless between you all— but it’s not malicious in the slightest. No, it feels normal, feels familiar, even as you make faces and gestures and call each other names. 

It feels like home, and it feels like the only thing that makes you hope for the future.

[taglist // bold usernames could not be tagged.] @0x11s @boba-beom @icouldntcareless22 @fairyofshampgyu @heeharmony @yunho-mp3 @yyeonzi @beomfrost @wolfytae-exe @basicallyanothernotebook @archoive @mapofthemazeinthemirror @kaisplushies @agustdiv1ne @matcha-binz @mwahvvis @marksluvr0

[sunbeamah]

JJK Mermaid AU just sitting in my documents-- Yuuji centric!

Naturally, Yuuji is the pearl of his pod-- the most beautiful and strongest mer there. His tail is pink and shimmery, sparkling golden in the light-- but beyond appearances, it's also very powerful. He has mating requests coming in from all the different oceans and seas.

Much to the displeasure of his nine older killer whale mer brothers.

So they set up a system-- in order to even ask to court Yuuji, you have to fight and defeat all 9 brothers, starting from the youngest (Shooso) and ending with Choso. Only 4 mers have ever beaten all 9 brothers. Inumaki Toge, Okkotsu Yuuta, Ryoumen Sukuna and Gojo Satoru.

In Inumaki and Okkotsu's cases, they genuinely wanted to court Yuuji, but ended up meeting and falling in love with one another. (Inumaki took 3 tries to defeat all 9 brothers, while Okkotsu did it in 1). They'd show off for Yuuji and push themselves harder and harder upon seeing the other, until they reached a point where it wasn't about Yuuji anymore. They weren't even thinking of him (no hard feelings though!)

Inumaki's tail is white with navy blue markings down it, his fins are very fine and large, they appear to be wavy as well

Okkotsu's is white at his hips, but quickly fades into black. There are speckles of white decorating the topmost parts, and his fins tend to have white veins running through them

In Ryoumen Sukuna's case, he called Yuuji boring, which offended the brothers and caused them to challenge him. He fought all 9 and won. Yuuji ended up fighting him afterwards, and even though he lost he continues to fight Sukuna whenever they come across each other. Sukuna (though he'll never admit it) enjoys these matches.

Sukuna's tail is a thing of legends. He's a 10-tailed octopus, a bad omen for all those that lay eyes on him. They're a dark pink to match his hair, and have black markings to match those on his upper body.

In Gojo Satoru's case, he wanted to piss the brothers off. He'd heard of their strength, and how they were undefeated across all 7 seas, and thought 'lol I could take them'. Unfortunately, he could. He doesn't do anything with his courting privileges except swim in at random times to hang out with Yuuji and piss the brothers off.

Satoru's tail is pure, blinding white, with a bright blue iridescent sheen to it. The fins are long, wide and appear to be very thin, but there isn't a single scratch or tear on any of them, a pride point for fine-finned mers

There are mers who are allowed to talk to and interact with Yuuji despite not having defeated the brothers, of course. They're a trusted minority, and their ranks include:

Ieiri Shoko

She healed Yuuji when he was sick as a guppy, and treated Shooso and Tanso's wounds from their many fights. Her tail is a murky grey, and the very tips of it are black.

Kugisaki Nobara

Their pods travelled together for a while when they were younger, and they had great fun sparring together. She's his closest friend! Her tail is a classic green (the little mermaid hehe), though she dyes it in gold around her hips and at the veins and tips of her fins-- a modern, fashionable practice

Nanami Kento

Looked after guppy Yuuji after his grandfather passed and before his brothers discovered him, and greatly disapproves of Gojo Satoru, urging him to stop visiting Yuuji. A trusted ally on all fronts. His tail is white and heavily spotted in black. There are blue tinges by his hips, and some parts of his fins are torn

Haibara Yuu

Nanami's pair, who also looked after Yuuji! An honest mer with good intentions that they fully trust. His fins are slashed right through the middle, but he still maintains an excellent swimming speed. His tail is a classic dark blue, blending into darker waters easily

Yoshino Junpei

Despite his obvious interest in Yuuji, it's clear the mer doesn't have the courage or audacity to try to propose any kind of courtship. The brothers trust his cowardliness (they're very dramatic and rude). He's a glowing blue jellyfish mer, though some of his stingers are perpetually bright yellow with electricity

And now for the list of beaten mers, and who they were beaten by:

Mei Mei - Choso

Kamo Noritoshi jr - Shoso (5th eldest)

Todo Aoi - Choso (brutal fight)

Zenin Mai (forced by her clan to fight) - Shooso (2nd youngest)

Zenin Naoya - Eso

Juzo (curse user who wanted to make Gojo into a coat rack) - Sanso (7th eldest)

Haruta (made creepy comments, had to use all 6 miracles in his first fight, tried to run after. didn't work.) - Tanso (3rd youngest)

Toshihisa (one of the curse users who fought Kusakabe) - Tanso

Manami - Kotsu (6th eldest)

a LOT of unnamed mers, usually beaten by the youngest 4. Rarely does anyone ever get up to the eldest 4.

Some mers request to fight Choso straight from the beginning, and he'll honour that request if all his brothers consent to it, but he absolutely DETESTS those that do ask -- he feels that they're disrespecting his younger brothers by not fighting them, or that they don't think Yuuji is worth all the effort of fighting 9 brothers.

Tsukumo Yuki once challenged all the brothers at once, including Yuuji, to offer courtship to Choso. She won.

Now she trains with Yuuji so that if a potential suitor defeats all his brothers, they'll have the hardest time fighting him as well.

Her tail is black with an iridescent sheen of gold, and the tips of her scales are brown. It makes for an eye-catching look!

[svnnyd4ys]

INSIDE THE MYSTERIOUS CUBE x RICHARD SIKEN (except it's just Crush)

some of his quotes that are literally just Inside the Mysterious Cube core (feels very Bubbamiah centric but we love them) (never encourage me to do anything, because I'll never shut up) (would've included his other anthology, War of the Foxes, but Crush fits it so much better anways)

"Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now? There's a bottle of whisky in the trunk of the Chevy and a dead man at our feet staring up at us like we're something interesting. This is where the evening splits in half, Henry, love or death."

"You saved my life, he says. I owe you, I owe you everything. You don't, I say, you don't owe me squat, let's just get going, let's just get gone, but he's relentless, keeps saying I owe you, says Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood, you must want something, just tell me and it's yours. But I can't look at him, can hardly speak: I took the bullet for all the wrong reasons." (this feels soooo pre!ITMC idk) (the way i can hear Sam saying "your shoes are filling with your own damn blood")

both from Wishbone in Crush!! more under the cut (not exaggerating, there's a lot, so good luck)

"Imagine my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots in the slatted light. I'm thinking My plant, his chair, the ashtray that we bought together. I'm thinking This is where we live."

"We've read the back of the book, we know what's going to happen. The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left broken in the brown dirt. And then it's gone."

"Goodbye. Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to see you all in Heaven." (i can hear AJ the president saying this)

"We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forwards. None of us are going back."

(snow and dirty rain)

"You can sleep now, you said. You can sleep now. You said that. I had a dream where you said that. Thanks for saying that. You weren't supposed to."

(straw house, straw dog)

"You're by the side of the road. You're by the side of the road, and you're doing all the talking while I stare at my shoes. They're nice shoes, brown and comfortable, and I like your voice. In the dream, I don't tell anyone, I'm afraid to wake you up."

(i had a dream about you)

"Tonight, by the freeway, a man eating fruit pie with a buckknife carves the likeness of his lover's face into the motel wall. I like him and I want to be like him, my hands no longer an afterthought."

"History is a little man in a brown suit trying to define a room he is outside of. I know history. There are many names in history but none of them are ours."

"It wasn't until we were well past the middle of it that we realised the old dull pain, whose stitched wrists and clammy fingers, far from being subverted, had only slipped underneath us, freshly scrubbed."

"His wounds healed, the skin a bit thicker than before, scars like train tracks on his arms and on his body, underneath his shirt."

(LITTLE BEAST (underrated fave))

"Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more. I'm surprised I say it with feeling."

"I want to tell you this story without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something, that he chased after me and threw me into the gravel. And he knew it wasn't going to be okay."

(the torn-up road)

"I will keep watch. I will water the yard. Knot the tie and go to work. Unknot the tie and go to sleep. I sleep. I dream. I make up things I will never say. I say them very quietly."

(meanwhile)

"You have never experienced anything this ferocious or intentional with another person."

"and he's singing to you, even though you don't know who he is."

"The heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfilment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning."

"This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean, but you're happy anyway, and that's okay, it's a love story after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action,"

"The train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. Or a horse, your favourite horse raised up out of the mud and galloping galloping always towards you."

"You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one safe place where you could love him."

(you are jeff)

"You are going to die in your best friend's arms. And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorised it, it's all you know."

(planet of love)

"Kissing degenerates into biting. So you get a kidney punch, a little blood in your urine. It isn't over yet, it's just begun."

(a primer for small weird loves)

[stu-dyingstudent]

third war continued/Sakura sent to war prematurely fic recs

Okay, I'll be completely honest, this is one of my ultimate favourite tropes when it comes to Sakura-centric fanfiction! Unfortunately, there really isn't too many of these out there and most are not completed, so if you know of any more then please send them my way. I'm begging.

Started: 2024.07.23

Last Updated: 2024.12.14

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

----

Your Move, Instigator (draw your weapon and hold your tongue) - Laysan_albatross || ao3|| third war extended AU || complete

“We are still under wartime policy,” the recruiter had told her parents. He had an envelope in his hand. He sounded sorry. “She has two parents who are successful ninjas. We would be remiss to overlook her potential based upon that alone.” The Third Shinobi War never ended. Konoha needs more soldiers, grabbing anyone who can fight, especially those who can't say no.

You guys, I love this one to death. It's definitely a darker take on the Naruto universe, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. The civilian born shinobi are deemed as more expendable and thus thrown into war while the clan born remain sheltered. I found it quite interesting that the Uchiha were also lobbed into this group, but it was more done as punishment instead. Very raw and properly gets across the devastation that this brings.

.

still waters by Vulpecula_et_Anser || ao3 || gen || M || Sakura sent to war early AU || one-shot complete

Sakura is twelve when she queues up in front a desk with a bunch of other equally-terrified looking shinobi. The ages range from younger than her to old enough to be her grandpa. The man sitting at the desk is stony-faced as he doles out assignments. Sakura obediently shuffles forward when it is her turn, and recites her shinobi identification number in a shaky voice when asked. When the provost marshal looks at her, looks down at his paper, looks back at her, and grimaces, Sakura knows it’s not going to be good. OR How Sakura survives the war, told in bits and pieces.

Canon-fodder! Sakura makes her shinobi debut on the front lines, forcing her to get creative in her means to survive. It's gritty, raw, and the clever use of seals is great! In most of the other works of this type, Sakura is placed on a team of sorts or has some "support" (kinda), but here she is all alone. She is forced to fight for her life, to keep going despite how she feels because ultimately, Sakura does not want to die. She does meet some people later on though and it was great to see. Y'all know this type of story is my personal guilty pleasure (also one of the best I've read thus far)...

.

Find Your Place (whatever it takes) - Dovey || ao3 || third war extended AU || incomplete

The war lasts longer than in canon, and has only just ended. While most of the 'Konoha 12' are clan heirs and thus protected from having to go to war prematurely, Sakura is from a civilian family, with naturally advanced chakra control, and thus is thrown immediately onto the frontlines. Now she's on a genin team in peacetime, and she's struggling to figure out how to live when she's not constantly at risk of dying. Team seven bonds in new weird ways, The Uchiha are actually all dead except for Sasuke (including war-hero itachi) who's got a chip on his shoulder the size of Konoha, Naruto isn't the kyuubi container and he finds Sakura kinda scary. Sakura would just like to have a hobby.

Find Your Place (whatever it takes) is the og fic of this category as far as I am aware. The main difference to consider is that it primarily focuses on the aftereffects of the war and the impact that it had on Sakura as a person.

.

team. - waterpllar || ao3 || gen || third war extended AU || complete

She’s under Neji's command, which apparently means she’s under the Hyuuga’s command. The Hyuuga’s role is on the frontlines, but Neji must be special for a kid from the branch family, because they mostly send him and Sakura out after the big battles are done, to pick off the wounded, and burn bodies. Sakura kind of wishes she had someone to keep her from the big fights, too. Her job is with Neji, taking back kekkei genkai and retrieving important people’s bodies, but she has other assignments, too. She’s given a dull kunai and told to go through the battlefield, dodging blows and jutsus from friend and foe, slashing at whatever isn’t wearing a Konoha headband.(the third shinobi war doesn't end, dragging on for years. konoha is running out of troops, and unimportant children in the academy with even a modicum of talent are snatched up to the warfront. sakura, unfortunately, is one of them. so is neji.)

Such a strong beginning, although, I gotta say that the ending was rather disappointing imo. There was so much potential, but the author admitted to not wanting to continue the story so it was cut short. Hopefully more works of this nature will come to light!

.

Induction - Anonymous || ao3 || M || gen || third war extended AU || incomplete

in·duc·tion /inˈdəkSH(ə)n/ noun: induction 1. the action or process of inducting someone to a position or organization. enlistment into military service.   or; The Third War does not end soon enough. Children pay the price.

Definitely not my favorite take on this trope, but it fits the bill, so it's here! Anyway, tbh I never actually made it far enough reading to get to the actual war part, so I don't have too much to say.

.

Ground Zero - TheIzzatron || ao3 || gen || T || third war extended AU || incomplete

Desperate times call for desperate measures. If this means forcing weapons into the hands of children, then so be it.

AHHHHH I'm praying for the day we get another chapter of Ground Zero!! I really appreciate how we actually get a training arc where we get a base of the characters and how this system works before they properly get dispatched. The characters and their emotions are so well done that you truly feel how unfair the situation is. They aren't heartless, they are children. Highly recommend.

.

Control - Dragonist || ao3 || gen || no rating || Sakura sent to war early AU || incomplete

Kumo kidnaps a child of Konoha. Sakura graduates from the academy only a year after starting it. There's a war going on, and she's obedient enough to stay quiet and follow orders. Then the war ends, and it's unclear who is really giving them. (a mystery from a child's perspective)

I haven't read Control yet, but I really need to get around to it!

Ok I just noticed I forgot to add the link to this one, but that has been fixed!!

Edit: bruh, I’m so mad I didn’t get around to reading this sooner because it seems the author deleted it 😭 if any of you have a link/download, please send (I’m begging)

.

The War ate me and spat me back out - Faircrown || ao3 || gen || E || third war extended AU || one-shot complete

She was a child for a whole six years of her life before being forced to graduate early on and thrown into the war.

Sakura graduates early and is sent to war. On all of her placements she has been one of the only survivors to come out.

.

your war heroes (are my war criminals) - silentpoints || ao3 || gen || E || third war extended AU || incomplete

A girl who was supposed to die young survives to see adulthood, and thus the Third Shinobi World War rages onwards with the odds stacked against Konoha.  Sakura, on the other hand, is one of the many children placed in the Academy's new "Accelerated Program" under the reign of the Yondaime Hokage, who is a man that cannot possibly be human—and she grows up to be really fucking angry, waging her own war against Namikaze Minato.

The fic isn't quite long enough for the story to have properly gotten going. Therefore, I don't really have any comments.

.

The spines of trees we take for dead - FacelesssMoon || ao3 || gen || T || Sakura sent to war early AU || one-shot complete

Haruno Sakura is not special. A war goes on. She does not feel special. They tell her she is. She likes to lie.

Sakura it sent to war at a young age with the justification that she is "special." It is there she meets Minato and Kakashi and chooses to stick by their sides. Pretty short if you want something quick.

.

Under All Anger is Fear - SheepiBoPeepi || ao3 || T || gen || Sakura sent to war early AU || ongoing

Sakura has always known that she's broken, unlike all the other kids. Emotions? They don't come naturally. Blood, pain, and loss don’t shake her. But the war breaks her in ways she didn't think possible.

Assigned to Team Four with Neji and Sai, Sakura faces more than just the external battles of the world. Sakura’s journey is a haunting exploration of what it means to be human — even if she isn’t sure she is one.

This is a story of survival, struggle, and self-discovery, where the hardest battles are fought within.

Basically, Sakura is kinda a weirdo to the point her parents feel it's the best decision to send her to the academy lmao. Anyway, she ends up being conscripted into the war where she later forms a team with Neji and Sai. It's actually really heartfelt to see how the three of them grow to cherish and rely on each other. The dynamic is truly great because they do not get along at first. With Neji as their captain he's stuck trying to deal with the bickering Sai and Sakura. It really makes them feel their age. It's also interesting to see how their growing reputations within the camp affects each of the characters. Definitely try this one out!

---

Please send me more like these!!!!

[evelhak]

I’m curious about a few: Propinquity, Anem and Bitchberg (a great name, lol)

Well, you've already read about Bitchberg by now from the previous ask. :D

Lol, I actually winced a little when I saw you asked about "Propinquity" since it's the current working title of my Akashi centric fic, and I know you don't find him that interesting. It's still just a bunch of "notes" (=bits of monologue and dialogue that come to me and I have to write down so I won't forget). I haven't actively started this fic yet, since I can't really write multiple projects at the same time. I will probably have to finish another shorter fic after The Luminous Things, before I get to this one.

I know the opening lines, though:

Winning is like breathing. Sometimes I wake up, gasping for air, but my lungs seem to have fallen into a partial state of paralysis.

Or something fairly close to that. The idea has been in my head for a long time, because I really enjoy digging up ignored dimensions that kind of naturally follow from whatever is going on in canon.

There is of course one thing in this fic that could interest you: The main love interest is an OC. :) You know some things about Azumi already. Here's a snippet that will probably serve as her introduction in the fic:

I absolutely pretended to be the empress of this micro-utopia, growing up. Not because it was mine to conquer, or control. Because it was mine to know. To pick apart. Explore, taste, and merge with. A little pocket of wonder in this huge city, a bubble with its own rules. That's what I came to realise pretty soon, anyway. About the world. How different, how illogical and ultimately unsatisfying it was, compared to my shrine, my home, my own ecosystem, my island of undisturbed ground. It frustrates me that the rest of the world doesn't know how to do it. Live and let live. Give and take. Circle of life. A system that works. Because I was born into it. An heir to it. Happiness.

Micro-utopias are a huge element in my whole fic series as it progresses, and there are several kinds of them, Azumi's home life being its own example. Utopia is generally something I'm really interested to write about, especially because a lot of people claim you can't write interesting utopia without making it dystopia in the end, and I very much disagree with that, as people are always imperfect, so you don't need to add any intentionally awful circumstances for a story to have conflict, if you're writing believable people. For me, the key to what makes the most out of utopia is to centre it around whose utopia it is and why. This got slightly off topic, these are just themes I really like exploring and since my fics are my playground, I definitely use them for exploration of things I might want to write later in a more polished form in my original fiction.

The working title "Propinquity" came while I was writing a chapter in The Luminous Things where Kagami ends up lost in Kyoto (it's complicated) and spends the night in Azumi's place, where he has many enlightening conversations with Akashi. (Azumi and Akashi are already together in my main fic timeline, their own fic will cover how they got together, among other things.)

Here's a snippet from the chapter also titled "Propinquity", which I haven't yet posted anywhere, so things might still change a little, but for now, Akashi muses something like this in it:

"[Propinquity] is the central theme of this shrine. Things develop, and change, and prosper in propinquity. It rings true, doesn’t it? Right things, wrong things… so it really matters what you surround yourself with. It’s not enough to know and think. You have to see, and taste, and touch… A plant wouldn’t grow from the understanding that it needs water, if it never got it. It would still die from poison, no matter how informed it was. Azumi knew all of this, so bone deep. That’s why she was disappointed with the world. That’s why she retreated back to her paradise. I think that’s what caught my attention at first. How she had a physical place to go to when she needed to get away."

I probably would not have developed any need to write a story about Akashi's love life on my own. (Well, it's not all there is to it, but it is a how-they-get-together type of story). It was the influence of my ex, who's a big Akashi fan, and as I have probably said before, Azumi was originally her OC that we worked on together a lot. Eventually I grew attached to Akashi and Azumi together, and now I have my own version of the story.

I don't think I actually read any Akashi x OC fics myself, but my ex read them and complained about them, usually, and I picked up on two pretty common patterns, which I didn't want to do: I didn't want the OC to be 1) poor, or 2) have a similar family dynamic and childhood trauma as Akashi. This is because I wasn't interested in dealing with the power imbalance that tends to come with very different socioeconomic standing, and I also didn't want to write a relationship where people get stuck in validating each other's trauma, and it takes them a long time to grow beyond that phase because their relationship is centred around how similar their experiences are. I wanted to hit that sweet spot which I like the most, a relationship that centres around growth, having enough common ground, and being inspired by things about the other that you've never experienced before, or even believed really exists in the world. The kind of relationship that makes you feel that you want to fill your own gaps, and a key factor in that is the proximity, or, propinquity to a person you can rely on, because they don't have the same weaknesses as you. I just really love writing about people who are good influences to each other.

A lot of this fic will also be about dissociation and trauma. Yay.

Anem, then, is another original novel I've started multiple times without being completely satisfied. The premise is pretty classic religious cult + good girl/bad girl dynamic, or at least would seem like that in the beginning.

Here's how I seem to have described it on my website at some point:

Dina is a good girl. She picks up flowers every morning, to put on the altar of her family’s home. She’s chaste, she’s beautiful. She fears God. Semira is a “Wild One”, she rarely goes to church, she speaks out of turn. She could be beautiful, if her hair wasn’t so short. Dina doesn’t think it’s her job to save Semira. After all, if the Fathers don’t know how to help the girl, how could she? But Dina keeps ending up spending time with Semira anyway, and the more she does, the stronger the big black swirling something grows in her stomach. There’s clearly something very wrong about Semira. And there’s something wrong about the woods surrounding their isolated village. Dina knows she’s supposed to stay away, but Semira keeps going into the woods.

It has a lot bigger world and anything but clear-cut themes and dynamics, even though it may seem like that in the beginning... and it's one of those early projects that are sort of everything, because you're not good at narrowing it down yet. It's like a dystopian supernatural medieval fantasy horror philosophical cult story I wrote just to barf out everything I was thinking in my early years of studying theology. It's certainly a cult story, but is the cult the big bad or the world around it? It's certainly a queer story, but is it a love story or a hate story? It's certainly trying to say something, but what? No one knows, not even me. It's a big mess.

I'm also starting to feel like I'm dealing with every element and theme I have in this story, in some other story too, and coincidentally someone from my writing group actually just got a book published this year that has a strikingly similar setting and themes, (we both wrote them without knowing about each other) and even though it shouldn't, it does kind of add to my confusion to what to do with this story. I do still want to write it at some point, but it's a big question mark that sort of just pops up from below the surface every time I'm not actively thinking or writing about another project.

Some angsty pictures of Dina, also drawn in my early university years (Oh Lord how obvious my Arina Tanemura influences still were in the way I draw):

Yeah... at least they are accurately dramatic to the story.

Thanks for the ask. I hope there was something entertaining. <3

For anyone curious, here's the WIP list.

[mermaidsirennikita]

As always, I'm hesitant to discuss Bton, but I find this Variety article on toxic fandoms influencing creative decision-making so concerning on a creative level... And the fact that Michaela/Bton is name-dropped and included in the image collage attached is so...

Because it's easy to blame racist, homophobic white fanboys for most of the backlash to the inclusion of people of color and the LGBTQ+ community in conventionally cishet white-centric fiction. I think that probably, the biggest and loudest voices often are cishet white guys, right? The Acolyte comes to mind.

And I do think there's something to be said about media that targets women being treated as something you MUST alter significantly during adaptation to "appeal to a wider audience" (men), whereas there's more of a demand to be faithful to media directed towards men, or to at least incorporate highly anticipated arcs, scenes, into the final product. I grew up with the constant litany of "your girly thing that's being adapted must be changed to appeal to a wider audience". However, again... that audience... was primarily male. And we are accommodating men when we say "Maybe Galadriel shouldn't pick up a sword after all".

BUT. We aren't only accommodating men, and the Michaela storyline is a prime example.

Bton is a show that has a male audience, sure. But we've seen so many thinkpieces, which aren't incorrect, about the power of the female audience for that show. And on a related note, the power of a romance audience that is primarily driven by women.

Except... it seems that the women most often listened in both spaces are white cis women who want to watch a man and a woman OR PERHAPS TWO MEN fall in love. Because I don't think this article just pulled Michaela as an example out of thin air and angry redditors (many of whom, I must say, have been truly disgusting). The article has anonymous insiders giving information. I would not be surprised at all if at least one of those insiders was from the Bton team.

I've said before that while I don't like the show at this point, I think there's a lot of positive things this show could do with Michaela and Fran, both on a social level and a creative level. And I TRULY don't get why people are up in arms about this either way—I don't think the intro was done in a way that forecasts like... great sensitivity, but I'm also at this point so done with the show's choices that I could just be counting my critiques before they hatch. (And truly, how critical can I get if I'm too checked out, etc., I'm aware of some hypocrisy there.)

But at the end of the day, the show has never been a very faithful adaptation, and I'm not talking about the diverse casting. If Michaela had been Michael, you would have had a lot of changes to the plot anyway.

The thing is... if the show listens to a bunch of fans who hate that "Michael" is a Black woman, they're going to downplay the Fran and Michaela story. The series has one CONFIRMED season left. I would be kind of surprised if they didn't get a renewal for more? But maybe not. That season will not be out until 2026. It won't be about Michaela and Fran, at least not at the forefront. And like... what would it say if the show made this big shift to provide LGBT+ rep, in the form of a sapphic interracial relationship at that, and then... gave them a subplot romance.

And again, maybe I'm counting my critiques before they hatch. I can say that some things I saw online circulating about Michaela's casting made me think that she would have a more significant role than "supporting B-plot love interest". And when I see articles like this, I would hope that the response to fan backlash would be "fuck them" and not "oh, let's give the people some rep, but not TOO much rep".

Look—for all my misgivings about how that plot was introduced, I hope Fran and Michaela get a center stage season, and I hope it blows all the rest of them out of the water, and I hope they get to be on posters as a romantic couple and merch, and I hope they get someone to rewrite WHWW so that people who see themselves in that story onscreen can read something that ACTUALLY reflects it.

(And if the show doesn't, I hope they refer people to some of the actual sapphic historical romance novels on the market right now. I know that's pie in the sky, but I'm just putting it out there.)

Most of all, I hope the show's team protects Masali in a way they didn't protect Ruby Barker, or even Rege-Jean Page.

(Ya haven't seen much of an effort to combat the issue yet, a la the way Amazon addressed the ROP issue, and it's been LOUD already.)

I guess it's just articles like these COMBINED with what I'm seeing not only in Bton but in shows across the board that concern me. It would be horrible to think that something was or is in the works, and gets downplayed because of backlash from people who just neeeeeeded to see a fictional character.

Especially when we're in the age of Another White Heathcliff in 2024 and "Dorian and Basil are brothers, actually". It feels like we're going backwards, and it feels like that storyline is going to be a statement from Netflix whether they like it or not. What are they going to do on their Big Romance Show?

[haee-elia]

spence-tober: day 15 - fisherman

pairing: fishermen!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which your husband finally gets to teach your daughter his trade

word count: 1307

warnings: very kid-centric, mentions of pregnancy, commercial fishing, hobby fishing, and scaling fish

spence-tober masterlist

Despite being on a generations old, rickety boat that has seen better days, you considered the scene in front of you one of your favorites.

Being married to a fisherman was interesting to say the least. You had to get used to your husband, Spencer, smelling like fish all the time. You quickly realized that most food you eat was going to be seafood. And you had to fight your initial fears and get on the boat owned by your husband that he used to go out every day and fish.

And it wasn’t like fishing was a hobby that your husband did often, no, it was his occupation. So yes, finding a laundry detergent that would cleanse clothes of the fishy smell was a necessary venture. 

You’re probably luckier than most. You grew up with your father who was an avid fisherman and you were actually just beginning as an assistant dockmaster at a marina when you had first met Spencer who docks his boat at the marina when not in use.

The way you met Spencer was always a great story that did well with other fishermen or anyone hanging around the docks. It was your first day at this specific marina and hadn’t realized they had just powerwashed the dock when you slipped on the wet metal and had almost fallen, while heading towards the office at the marina. 

Spencer, almost like a fairytale prince, had caught you by your waist, keeping you from falling and hitting your head. He was dressed in overalls and dirty fishing boots, having just finished gutting some fish. 

You didn’t start dating right after you met, but with you working as the assistant dockmaster and with him departing and arriving at the dock every day, you had slowly gotten to know each other and then started dating after a few months. 

Now, six years later, Spencer was still commercial fishing for the area and now employed a small crew to help. You had been promoted to dockmaster and managed the marina and the comings and goings. You both had also moved in together, got engaged, got married, and had your daughter in the last six years. 

Your daughter, the perfect combination of you and Spencer and all of four years old, was standing with her father near an open end of the boat so she could see over in the water. She had a life jacket on, of course, and a small kid sized fishing pole in her hand. It was red, at her insistence.

“Alright,” Spencer said, talking to her on her level. He’s crouched down with a life jacket on as well, afterall, your daughter had argued that if she had to wear one then he had to as well. “I’ll place a little piece of bait on your hook and then you’ll cast it out. Remember what we practiced.” He reminded her.

She eagerly nodded her head and watched her father with a smile as he snuggly put a small piece of bait on the hook of her pole. 

It wasn’t her first time ever on the boat, in fact, you had carried her on when she was just six months old, cradled small to your chest as you and Spencer relaxed in the breeze from the ocean. However, this was her first time fishing on the boat and Spencer had determined it was finally time to teach her. 

“Now what do we do?” Spencer asks her with a look of complete and utter adoration towards the small girl. Ever since she had stepped on the boat and you all had sailed towards a small inlet, Spencer has had one of the brightest smiles you had ever seen on his face.

“Fish!” Your daughter exclaimed, nearly swinging the fishing pole right at your husband.

He didn’t mind, just moved his head out of the way as he laughed and nodded.

“That’s right.” Spencer replied. He switched his position to be right behind her and helped her small little form cast her fishing pole perhaps three feet right in front of her in the water.

Still, they both cheered.

Your daughter looked back at you, in a comfortable chair with sunglasses on, a life jacket (it would be unfair otherwise), and your kindle. 

“Mommy look!” She said in her adorable squeaky high, excited voice.

“I see, babygirl!” You say to her, “You did such a good job. Now you have to wait for a fishy.”

“Fishy!” She repeated after you with a loud giggle. Her grip on the pole was light and probably would have fallen right out of her hands if not for Spencer’s hands on it as well.

You knew Spencer had been dreaming about this moment ever since you both found out you were expecting. Since then, he’s always been planning on when and how he would teach his own daughter to fish. After all, Spencer always tells you of his three loves. His daughter, you as his wife, and the art of fishing.

“Daddy where’s fishy?” Your daughter asked, quickly turning her attention to her tall father.

Spencer uses one of his hands to carefully grip her hands around the pole and the other to point into the water, “Fishy is in there, sweet bean.”

Bean, a nickname coming from what you both called your daughter when you were pregnant and before you had known the gender. It was fitting as well, since your daughter was on the smaller size when born. 

“I catch fishy.” Your daughter says, confidently, in a matter of fact tone.

Spencer smiles widely and you sneakily bring your phone out to film the sweet moment between father and daughter.

“Yes, you do, sweet bean.” He confirms, pressing a kiss onto her unruly brown hair. 

She giggles wildly at the action, “And you catch fishy.” 

Spencer nods, “I do catch fishy, lots of fishies.”

“We eat fishy.” She also says.

Fishy was her first word, much to Spencer’s delight. However, she did say mama before dada so that was a win in your book. 

Spencer nods again, “We do.”

Even so young, you and Spencer had done a good job about teaching her about how fish are caught and eaten. It became imperative to teach her this when her daycare read her The Rainbow Fish and she had exclaimed loudly to the rest of her small class that they ate fish. That and how before she was in daycare, she often joined you at the marina where you worked and would quite commonly see large buckets of fish on ice or men and women scaling them right on the dock. 

Her cute doe eyes turn to her dad, “We eat my fishy?” She asks, her bottom lip wobbling.

Spencer shakes his head hesitantly, “We don’t have to eat your fishy, sweet bean.” He confirms.

While Spencer went out and fished every day to bring back and sell, when he would hobby fish on the boat he often let go what he caught. 

Her face lit back up again, “Yay!” She cheered.

She kept her attention on her dad, “But no keeps.” She affirmed.

Spencer nodded and she cheered again for remembering her father’s teachings. “No keeps.” Spencer repeated.

Another thing the two of you had taught her was the different between pet fish and fish you caught in the ocean. It was a confusing pet shop trip, but Spencer has always been incredibly patient with her and eager to teach her all about fish. 

As you settled into your chair and kept your phone camera on your small family, you’re reminded of the years spent with your husband and with your daughter.

“Fishy’s pulling!” 

“Come on, sweet bean. Reel it in!”

“Fishy! Mommy look!”

“I see, sweetheart, you got a fishy!”

Yes, these were definitely your favorite days.

a/n: i was feeling a little burnt out writing so many of the same scenario of meet cutes so i mixed it up a bit. i know kids aren't for everyone, but this really refreshed my creativity for the rest of this October so enjoy!

[sorcerous-caress]

I’m back with more~😏

I mentioned our masked human leader in a party with super horny non-human party members but let’s add a little spice~

Like we’re not just talking about our disguised/masked human leader who’s likely never bedded a non-human before. We’re talking about one that’s never bedded/been bedded by anyone period. When the leader first mentions them having never bedded someone before (before the party finds out they’re human), no one fucking believes them. I mean this was their cool and reliable leader who was also super charismatic with how they spoke for the group and settled disputes, the whole party even had a secret bet over who would be the first to get to sleep with them, what do you mean they’ve never bedded someone?

Leader mentions that it has nothing to do with a celibacy oath or anything like that. The reasons they had ranged from never being that interested to simply being too preoccupied with their goal/mission to pay attention to that sort of stuff which is why they feel super out of place when they all talk about their human-centric bedroom fantasies like it’s the opinion on the damn weather.

The party understood that the dirty talk they had wasn’t for everyone so they did stop for some time. At least until they found out their leader was human. In fact they began to talk about their fantasies regarding what they’d do to a human even more in hope of enticing their dear human leader to their tent/room at night.

After all, this wasn’t just a simple little bet over who could bed the leader first anymore, this was the opportunity to be the first person to bed their gorgeous leader, to be the one that introduces them to a world of pleasure, to be the one to help them form their pretty little kinks and fantasies. Now that, that was a bigger deal especially since every human any of the non-human party members had taken to bed before already had their first experience with another human for comfort reasons. Who knows what they’d do to woo their leader over? 😉

-🦑anon

Good fucking food anon good food, you're really living up to your emoji.

Virginity kink is really something mixed with the human kink because since other races live so long and have different social norms, it'd be pretty rare to end up being someone's "first"

But it is pretty common in humans who are rushing through all of their lives and barely get free time to fuck around, who keep jumping from one responsibility to another.

Especially their dedicated leader who is the one responsible for getting them all together, who helps them work out their differences. Who convinced the wood elf not to kill the drow and encourage the gnome to befriend the wise dwarf in the party.

Some of them would want to go slow and gentle, teach you the ropes one by one until you're ready for them. All pretty and spread out on the softest bed they could afford, this nights need to be perfect or at least in their imagination it is.

Others would rather throw you whole in the water to teach you how to swim. What's a better way to introduce you to sex than to give you the fuck of your life and overstimulate all night until you pass out from exhaustion. That sure will be a more memorable first time than going slow.

Yet some of them...actually want you to remain the way you are, especially the Aasimar in the party who gets off on the idea of you being a virgin. Who can't help but wonder how'd you react for the taste of their cum, would you even recognise it if some ended up magically in your food by accident?

So pure and untouched, absolutely untainted. None of these degenerate perverts deserve you, so you should stay with this totally not perverted angel who keeps insisting on you sitting on their lap as they read you the holy book of their chosen god.

Is their big chest pressing against your back? Their tits almost hugging your face? Don't worry about it human just focus on the lesson impeded within this book, ignore the way they're rubbing their thighs together under you.

Or maybe instead of that, their chest is flat and hard behind you. And there is something equally hard poking from under you and making you squirm. Their hands clenching hard on the book the more you keep squirming, their voice becoming shakey.

[burberrycanary]

What's your sticky spot for the old Hollywood fic? It's so interesting to me where things get stuck.

Thanks for the ask! And also for the incomparable @booksandabeer, who asked after this as well 😘

I can’t let this Stucky Old Hollywood idea go—the aesthetic alone! 

I’m not an AU writer so the only way I could do this concept is as canon divergence where the Barnes family moves to Los Angeles rather than Brooklyn when Bucky is a kid—and Bucky becomes a child star. So Steve and Bucky don't meet.

I’ve been slowly working out the concept and completing the foundational research, but lately I’ve fallen into a really meta place around the question: would Bucky still have been drafted? 

The quick version of the historical context is that, unlike later drafts and most iconically the Vietnam draft, WWII-era conscription was conducted by local boards that assigned each registered man a lottery serial number (not the same as an army serial number) after all the completed registration cards were shuffled.[1] Bucky would have registered in October 1940 under the Selective Training and Service Act[2] and could have been called up in any of the three drafts: 29 October 1940, 17 July 1941, 17 March 1942.[3] If Bucky was in a different part of the country—and in consequence subject to a different local board’s instance of this random number assignment process—odds are he would have been assigned a different random lottery serial number, which means he could have been selected in an earlier draft, the same draft or not at all. And there’s no logic for how he would have ended up with the 107th.

And here’s where it gets meta. Because narratively Bucky is drafted to be a foil for Steve, who can’t join the military despite desperately wanting to. And Bucky becomes a POW to motivate Steve into the action that transforms him from a performer to a combatant, thereby achieving Steve’s—and the narrative’s—vision of idealized masculinity. And Bucky falls off the train to push Steve into more radical action against Hydra, which culminates with him putting the plane into the water. Bucky isn’t doomed by the narrative. He’s doomed by Steve’s narrative. In the original work, the pre-TFATWS MCU, Bucky’s suffering only has narrative meaning because of its effect on Steve. And you can argue that things only occur in a story if they have narrative meaning. 

Without having to be a plot device and motivator for Steve, Bucky is theoretically relieved of the narrative requirement of being a POW. He wouldn’t have to fall off that train.

But, at heart, fanfiction is a rejection of this model of narrative meaning. As soon as you create a Bucky-centric reading or write a Bucky-centric version of canon, then his suffering has the potential for intrinsic narrative meaning. And Bucky’s story of victimization and heroic resilience speaks deeply to a lot of people, myself included. Bucky lacks the protagonist’s halo of always beating the odds, of the doors always closing just after safely jumping through, of being able to close that gap and grab the hand reaching out for him, and of being looked for by friendlies and discovered as still alive in the cold. Of course, if Bucky was a protagonist, the serum would have kicked in faster; he would have broken his own restraints; he would have rescued himself and the remnants of the 107th. 

But that’s not Bucky’s narrative function. 

Bucky is so fascinating to me because his story doesn’t follow the pattern of male-hero-protagonist. He has a sympathetic villain’s narrative arc but then refuses to become a villain. So, in this revisionist analysis, Bucky is doomed and saved by his own narrative. And this is why I’m leaning toward Bucky still being drafted, even if his experience of the war plays out differently, but not making him a POW so long as the part of Bucky’s story that's about being controlled and dehumanized by larger forces can be transferred to a different part of the narrative. 

I’ll sign off with this piece of inspiration about Mickey Rooney, an iconic child star of the era:

Mayer naturally tried to keep all his child actors in line, like any father figure. After one such episode, Mickey Rooney replied, "I won't do it. You're asking the impossible." Mayer then grabbed young Rooney by his lapels and said, "Listen to me! I don't care what you do in private. Just don't do it in public. In public, behave. Your fans expect it. You're Andy Hardy! You're the United States! You're the Stars and Stripes. Behave yourself! You're a symbol!”[4]

Sources:

1. World War II Selective Service Draft Registrations

2. The Selective Training and Service Act of 1940

3. Wood, Richard G., comp., Records of the Selective Service System, 1940-47 (PI 27); National Archives (NARA), 1951.

4. Wayne, Jane Ellen (2005). The Leading Men of MGM. Carroll & Graf Publishers. p. 246

[aerequets]

sugar, spice, and everything nice

ao3

rating: G

genre: fluff, humor

synopsis: After the fifth time Loid turned around to see Yuri feigning immense interest in their coffee table, he sighed, long-suffering and in disbelief of what he was about to say. “...do you want to come see what I’m making?”

a/n: this is the first fic i'm posting that was not written in one sitting past midnight :D milestones yall! also i think the first fic which isn't twiyor centric? anyways i know some people love yuri and many, many people loathe him. i'm more on the neutral end, where i acknowledge he's a funky guy and if i ignore the weirder aspects of his love for yor and pretend its just intense attachment issues due to trauma etc then i think he's swell. i didn't really know how to write him since in the series itself he's used more as a plot device than anything else, and loid's view on him reflects that, so hopefully this doesn't feel too weird. also ending fics is hard im sorry 🙏🙏

anyways i've talked enough, one last thank you for everyone who leaves reviews and kudos, i don't get to respond to them but i do read them all and appreciate the love <3 enjoy

...

“Yooor!” Yuri sang as he shoved the door to the Forger residence open, bouquet of flowers in hand. “I got off work early so I decided to come… and…”

His voice petered out as he took a better look inside the apartment he’d just forcibly entered. The chihuahua girl and her polar bear of a dog were in the living room with some noxious cartoon blaring on the TV set. That damned Forger was in the kitchen, messing around with something that definitely didn’t smell good whatsoever. Most importantly, there was a glaring, offensive lack of Yor!

“Where is Yor?” He asked, accusingly pointing a finger at Loid who finally looked up from his work. “What did you do to her?!”

Loid’s eye twitched. What made Yuri assume he could just barge in whenever he wanted and find Yor waiting for him? “She got called out for a late night shift.”

“Don’t lie to me, you—” Yuri’s other senses finally caught up and he begrudgingly confirmed that whatever Forger was messing around with did smell good. Really good. And vaguely familiar? He sniffed the air deeply, trying to figure it out.

Anya looked up from her cartoons. “Are you acting like a dog, Unkie?”

“I’m not the dog here!”

Loid debated with himself as Yuri stood in the doorway, neither coming in nor leaving. The polite, Loid-Forgerly thing to do would be to invite him inside to wait for Yor to come back. That was what upstanding gentlemen, good members of society—far from the blacklists of the SSS— acted like; gracious, affable.

The thing was, he didn’t really want to.

He watched Yuri argue with Anya about dogs (“there’s an actual dog, and then you, chihuahua girl. I am a normal person!”) and groaned. Come on. What would Yor think if she heard Yuri came by and I turned him away? It would be no good if he displeased her. He had to do this for the sake of Strix.

“Would you like to come in?” He called from his spot in the kitchen, none too welcomingly.

(Doing it for the mission didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.)

Yuri was torn from his impassioned argument with a literal first grader. “Tch… I guess since I’ve brought flowers, I might as well put them in water,” he muttered. “No other reason!”

He came in. He split the gargantuan bouquet up into six different vases. He made some comments about how Anya’s cartoon was impossible according to the laws of physics. Then he just stood in the living room, trying—and failing—to act like he wasn’t peering at Loid’s activity in the kitchen, still loudly sniffing the air. Really, even if Loid didn’t have senses sharpened to a knife’s point, it would be difficult not to notice Yuri. To make matters worse, every time he turned back, Yuri would suddenly whip around and act like he definitely wasn’t loitering, the way they did in bad sitcoms. Is this the way the SSS carry out their own covert operations? he wondered.

Aside from Anya’s cartoon playing in the background, it was painfully quiet, the only sounds coming from Loid's activity in the kitchen. It seemed like Yuri wasn’t going to strike up a conversation, and Loid wasn’t inclined to, either. But then why is he just standing there?

 After the fifth time Loid turned around to see Yuri feigning immense interest in their coffee table, he sighed, long-suffering and in disbelief of what he was about to say. “...do you want to come see what I’m making?” 

 Yuri squinted at him like he was affronted at the mere notion. “Hmph. I guess I could.” The speed with which he made his way to the kitchen offset his haughty tone. He glanced down into the various bowls Loid had set out on the counter, one filled with sliced apples, another with some uncracked eggs, and a third with flour, sugar, and spices laid out, but not yet combined. 

 “Apples,” Yuri said, almost dumbstruck. He forgot to keep the scowl on his face as he picked up an aniseed from the third bowl and brought it to his nose. It seemed like he finally found what he’d been sniffing around for. “You’re making apple cake?”  

 “Close,” Loid said, surprised by Yuri’s flip in demeanor. “Apple streusel pie. Do you make apple cake?”

 “Not me. But… this smell is…” Yuri mumbled, smelling the anise. “I don’t really remember, but this thingy smells familiar to me.”

 “It’s star anise. And people often say that smells are stronger links to memories than visuals,” Loid offered. “Maybe it’s something you used to have.” 

 Yuri’s eyes widened. “Oh. Now that I think about it…” He held the aniseed up to the light. “I think Mom put this in apple cake once, on Sis’ birthday.” He cut a glance to Loid. “Apples are her favorite.”

 Loid knew—that was why he was making apple streusel. But he was more astonished at the fact that Yuri brought up an old memory to him at all. Right now, with Yuri looking at the aniseed with an almost wondrous expression, it struck Loid how much of a kid Yuri was. 

 Yuri was only twenty years old. When Twilight was twenty years old, he was still new to WISE, training hard and getting his ego beaten down even harder. He’d thought he knew everything there was to know back then.  

 Could he blame Yuri for thinking the same way? 

 For the first time, Loid found himself regarding Yuri with something that wasn’t annoyance. Sure, the guy was more attached to Yor than superglue, but again, could he be blamed? He was a kid clinging onto the only thing left from his childhood. 

 Yuri turned to him with a grim expression. “I think I should take over this baking project of yours.”

 Any feelings of tenderness were dashed in an instant. “What?”

 “Apples are Yor’s favorite, and I know her best, so I should make the apple cake.”

“Apple streusel. ”

 “Whatever!”

 Loid resisted the urge to physically kick Yuri out of the kitchen. Don’t tussle with an SSS officer. Don’t tussle with your wife’s brother. Don’t tussle with a kid! “Are you forgetting the last time you came and destroyed the kitchen?”

 “You may have won then, but I won’t back down from this fight,” Yuri hissed. Loid gaped, a headache building in his temples. Since when was this a fight?

“Is this round two?!” Anya’s voice suddenly piped. The two of them turned to see her standing by the counter, looking strangely excited. She’d abandoned her cartoons to stretch up onto her tiptoes to see the counter. “Papa versus Unkie?”

“We aren’t doing that,” Loid said at the same time Yuri declared “I’m going to wipe the floor with him.” They turned and glared at each other.

Bond trotted up to Anya and nudged her with his nose. She paused, turned to the dog, and then brightened up.

“I just thought of a way better idea,” she announced. “Let’s all bake for Mama together!”

“What?!” The evening was spiraling way out of control. All Loid had wanted was to make some apple streusel for Yor since she was working late so often and deserved a treat (because if she got too tired or fed up, it would reflect badly on their fake marriage). Now he was meant to bake with her hyperactive brother and his equally hyperactive daughter—two people with an entire lack of abandon in the kitchen?

“No way,” Yuri sniffed, and for once Loid wholeheartedly agreed—until he continued, “I'm gonna make such a good apple streusel Yor will forget why she ever married you."

“This is not your kitchen,” Loid said, patience evaporated. “You aren't making anything, not here at least.”

“What, are you scared?”

“I'm not going to argue with you about this—”

Anya sighed loudly and tutted as if she were an exasperated adult. “Mama will be happiest,” she said slowly, “if we all make it.”

That got both men to pause. Well, thought Loid, I am making this to cheer her up in the first place. Anya's not wrong…

Agh. If it makes Sis happier, then shouldn't I…?

Anya smiled in satisfaction. In the snippet of the future she read from Bond's mind, it seemed like everyone was getting along and Mama was smiling really wide, so Papa and Unkie had to stop fighting in order for that to happen. As fun as round two sounded, that future seemed better.

(Also, in that version of the future, everyone was too distracted and happy to notice Anya sneaking extra dessert. Double win!)

“Yay! What do I do?” Anya asked, eagerly hopping up on a stool. “Can I put the crumblies on top?”

“It's not time for that yet,” Loid replied. “Though you can help me make the topping if you want. Er, Yuri, if you want to get started on the custard, you can crack the eggs…”

“Right, eggs,” Yuri repeated before picking one up and smashing it into the bowl, shell splintering. Loid and Anya jumped.

“Not like that!” Loid cried.

“Even I learned how to crack eggs,” Anya unhelpfully supplied, leading Yuri's face to glow red. Loid felt a tinge of pity (he knew how Anya's words could burn firsthand) and cautiously asked, “Did you ever learn to crack an egg, Yuri?”

“It was fine to do it this way before Yor ate your food,” he mumbled in response. Loid was silent for a few seconds before turning to the fridge and pulling a fresh egg out. “This is how you do it.” He demonstrated over the bowl, noting how Yuri carefully tracked the movement. “Tap gently enough to make a crack in the shell. Then pull it apart like you're opening it. Yor learned this way too.” He threw the empty shells away before adding, “Not everything has to stay the way it was before, you know.”

A muscle in Yuri's jaw jumped, but he said nothing and instead set to cracking the other eggs, a little clumsy but decidedly better. Loid then got Anya to whisk the powders together ( “Gently,” he insisted, since it seemed Anya had some sort of floury vendetta) and he cut the butter in for the streusel topping. Yuri began haltingly asking for instructions on what to do next, which Loid was glad to provide.

Time passed like this, with Loid and Yuri slowly warming up to each other via baking. During the process of whisking, mixing, pouring and arranging apples, it seemed like Yuri forgot to be thorny with Loid, and Loid forgot to be cross at Yuri's presence. Anya, too, quickly forgot why she was helping at all and went back to watching cartoons, in wait for when the streusel would be ready for her to eat.

It was when a warm, cinnamon-sugary smell was filling the apartment and Loid and Yuri were cleaning up that the front door opened. Yor trudged in, tired and sore from the night's assignment and ready to collapse into bed. She froze upon seeing six fresh vases and a very familiar pair of shoes in the doorway.

The TV was playing one of Anya's cartoons, but the living room was void. Yor, weary and blood still pumping, immediately assumed the worst. Oh, no. What if Yuri came and got in a fight with Loid? What if he found out we're fake married?! Where's Anya? And—

She, too, had to pause and finally breathe in the mouthwatering scent hanging in the air. There was just something about it…

Abandoning all caution, Yor slipped inside, keeping her steps light just in case something really was wrong. But it smelled too good for there to be any real damage—was that sound logic, or was she just hungry? In any case, she made sure not to draw attention to herself as she poked her head into the kitchen. 

“And for pots that have a lot of gunk in them, you can just boil a bit of water with soap and vinegar  and wait till it foams. Makes it easier to clean,” Loid was telling Yuri. “Yor taught me that, actually—oi, Anya, don't open the oven yet.”

“Makes sense.” Yuri was scribbling something down in a notepad, punching down on the dots and lines. “I'll triple-star that one since it's a tip from Sis.”

“Is it ready yet?” Anya was alternating between excitedly jumping in front of the oven and plastering her face up against the glass. Bond, too, was sat next to Anya with his tail furiously thumping on the ground. “It smells sooo good!”

“It'll be just a minute. Come on, back up from there, both of you.”

Yor was so shocked at what she was seeing that she dropped her purse, alerting everyone of her presence. They all gawked at each other; Anya and Bond were the first to react, scrambling up from their spots. 

“Mama! You're back!” Anya exclaimed, hugging her mother's knees. Bond barked and Yor pet his head absentmindedly, still trying to process what she was seeing. 

“I am,” she said faintly. “Yuri…? When did you get here?” 

“Sis!” Yuri said, also snapping out of his stupor. He sheepishly tucked his notepad away. “Um, a bit ago, I guess. I came to visit you, but you were out, and…"

“Did you guys bake together?” Yor asked, daring to hope. Yuri and Loid exchanged a glance before Loid smiled.

“He's a quick learner.”

"Loi-Loi is an okay teacher, I guess,” Yuri reluctantly added. “We made apple streusel. Do you remember Mom's apple cake?”

Yor inhaled, closing her eyes. The memory was fuzzy, but distinctly sweet, as if the taste of the cake remained. “Yeah. This smells really similar.”

“Yuri had the idea of adding cloves and cardamom,” Loid said. “It worked out quite nicely.”

“Yeah, it was my idea,” Yuri said proudly. Loid rolled his eyes but said nothing more on the subject. No wonder it smelled so familiar, Yor thought. She could hardly believe Yuri even remember the apple cake. Or that he'd shared enough about it with Loid that they were able to replicate some of it in the streusel.

Something warm and sweet  was filling up in Yor's chest. Was it the sugar in the air? She breathed it in, cheeks apple red and sore from how widely she was beaming, previous tiredness all but forgotten. She hadn't realized how much she'd subconsciously wanted Yuri to warm up to her family before. Her family. His family now, too. It didn't have to be just the two of them. 

“Ah—are you crying?!” Yor's eyes had gotten a little shiny, which naturally led to Yuri bursting out bawling. “I missed you toooo!”

The oven dinged and Loid pulled out the streusel as Yor joined them in the kitchen. As the adults got to chatting, Anya snuck around and victoriously stabbed a forkful of the piping dessert, blowing on it vigorously before chomping down. She grinned around her fork. 

 

Victory was sweet. 

[lime202]

Songs that reminded me of KNY dynamics and possible writing prompts, PT1

If anyone is interested in taking any songfic opportunities, here you go!

This post has manga spoilers. And, all of these prompts are angst, whoops. (This list is not limited to romantic dynamics, either—just dynamics that are interesting to touch on.)

Hakuji x Koyuki — "Stay Close" by SYML (Hakuji-centric)

"I know mourning is mourning and we heal differently / Right now it’s all I see" (Describes Hakuji falling back into his habits of violence after losing loved ones, with mourning being "all [he sees]" instead of finding true peace.)

"I want to keep you forever my love" (He says after her marriage proposal, and says once again as her pulse slows until it's nothing under his fingers.)

"I need somebody to save me" (Koyuki saved Hakuji from a life of ruthless violence, while Hakuji saved Koyuki from a life of loneliness and sickness.)

"If there’s no cure and there’s no medicine / Do we count the days until the end?" (No cure for the poison, no medicine for his father, and life is seeming to become more colorless and bleak.

Counting was the only thing Hakuji learned with his lack of education: the days left, money needed, grams of medicine needed, rations of food, punches thrown, hairpins needed to keep up his lover's hair...)

This song (literally all the lyrics, but I can't fit all of them in here) can also be applied to most of Hakuji's relationships, considering how tragic his past is.

Giyuu x Shinobu — "Take me Apart" by SYML (Giyuu-centric)

"Looking to start a war" (referring to the war of Humankind/Demon Corps vs Demons) "Wondering how it ends"

"I'm lucky he was a friend" (It's the only sentence that Giyuu can fully say about Sabito when confiding in Shinobu. She understands. As a slayer, she is someone who truly understands.)

"Take me apart and I'll flow like water" (A part of Giyuu's internal monologue, thinking about Shinobu's curiosity of him and her eagerness to pick him apart, while also insinuating his forced disconnect from the past and how he "floats above himself.")

These lyrics can apply to the canon also. They fit for a hypothetical scene about the aftermath of the war and Giyuu's perspective on being a survivor and the majority of the Corps' deaths.

Ruka x Shinjuro — "Lost On You" by LP (Shinjuro-centric)

"Burnin' like embers, falling tender / Long before the days of no surrender years ago" (The disease was prolonged, reducing his lover to a dying bonfire. Shinjuro knew what would happen, his children knew, and he could only hope that it wasn't as painful for Ruka to know as it was for him.

He knew he would never surrender to demon, but he couldn't have prepared for such a human circumstance to make him surrender his title as a Hashira.)

"So smoke 'em if you got 'em 'cause it's going down / All I ever wanted was you" (Her willpower remained strong and fiery until the end, but his own was made into a rapidly thinning smoke.)

"I'll never get to heaven 'cause I don't know how / Let's raise a glass or two" (His grief only came out as aggression. The way he treated his, her children was unworthy of forgiveness. Before he knew it, a few moderate glasses of sake increased to the whole bottle.)

My interpretation slightly deviates from the more accurate meaning of the song, but it still captures Shinjuro's full awareness of the inevitability of his wife's death and "end" of their relationship.

Kyojuro & Senjuro — "I Feel It in the Wind" by Smith & Thell (Switching perspectives)

"If you can find a drop in a drying sea / You'll find light in the darkest creeks" (Kyojuro always supplies his baby brother with happy words, acting as the source of light for their mostly dark, empty home.)

"You told me / I feel it in the wind my dear / The sun is gonna reappear / Good days are gonna come along / Hold on" (Hold on a little longer, is what Kyojuro used to say to Senjuro during harder times. The same words fall from Senjuro's lips as he weeps over Kyojuro, who lies overwhelmingly silent with endless injuries.)

"I feel it coming, the tide is turning / I feel it coming, you just got to wait and believe" (The tide is turning against the demons, they will surely meet their downfall, and you will live without needing to encounter any, Kyojuro insists, to both himself, and his brother weeping over him.)

This song wholly embraces the dynamic of Kyojuro always feeding Senjuro optimism during disheartening moments. Senjuro remembers every word, because any one could be his last.

Kyogo x Shizu — "Labour" by Paris Paloma (Shizu-centric)

"The calloused skin on my hands is cracking / If our love died, would that be the worst thing?" (Her hands were beginning to wear from chores, labor, and work. Their roughness made them appear less capable of love/physical affection, but that wouldn't stop her from cradling her children lovingly.)

"As the silence haunts our bed chamber / You make me do too much labour" (The bed is either silent with the lack of her lover or silent with unspoken anger. It eventually becomes dead silent when she is made into a widow.)

"All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid" "24/7 baby machine / So he can live out his picket fence dreams" (Her body was small, but she underwent endless labor and painful childbirth without a second thought for his sake.)

Love eventually turning into abuse. The whole song speaks for itself.

Genya & Sanemi — "Once in A Dream" by In the City (Sanemi-centric)

"I can't stop, I can't break, I carry the weight for you" (The Hashira can't stop until the last of his family is able to live in a world free of demons. The weight of being made into a demon-killing machine is nothing.)

"It’s the loneliest road, road I know, I know, I know" (Sanemi knows this most of all as he pushes Genya away, but Genya dying to demon because of him would be even lonelier. It is lonelier, he finds out.)

"When I’m awake, I hide all our chains so you aren’t afraid" (The older brother pretends, has been pretending ever since they were little, that Genya had nothing to be afraid of as long as he was there.

His promise of protection used to mean that they would always stay together. Now—knowing his blood attracts demons left and right—it meant that he had to act more like their father to get Genya away from danger; if Sanemi was the scariest thing there was, then anywhere away from him would seem safer, because it was safer.)

I know you expected "Brother" by Kodaline for the Shinazugawa brothers... open books, all of you. (My fingers still ache from restraining myself from typing and using that song.)

[annaraebananawriter]

It’s Stupid, Really

Well, well, well. What do we have here? Why, it’s another oneshot based off of some tweets from @dreemurr-skelememer, this time about Dream having a panic attack/ptsd episode in front of Nightmare, how interesting!

I did change a few small details, but the overall idea is the same. I just got into a flow while writing it and rid the flow until the end. 

Also, fun fact: I had planned to write this in January. I got all the dialogue written in my document and everything and then never touched it until now. I had originally planned to do it from Nightmare’s POV, but apparently that was the wrong move, because I looked at it again and decided to write from Dream’s POV instead, and I kid you not that the exact second I made that decision, I knew how to do it.

All the motivation I was missing came flooding in.

So, maybe all that advice about scenes maybe needing to be written from a different POV than what you planned is true. 

And the pacing of this might be fast, maybe too fast, but I think it reads well. Reads like you’re short of breath, I think.

Now, I...I don’t have much else to add. Happy reading, I guess!!!

Fandom: Undertale/UTMV

Characters:   Dream, Nightmare (Who belong to Joku), and mentioned Ink (Who belongs to Comyet), mentioned Bad Sanses, and mentioned Blue (Who belongs to P0pcornPr1nce)

Warnings: A panic attack and/or a PTSD episode, calling a panic attack and/or PTSD episode ‘stupid’, and self-hate, and I think that’s it. Let me know!

Summary: “ A party with a big crowd of people triggers a panic attack for Dream, who gets lost in memories of the Apple Incident. Luckily, or unluckily, depending, Nightmare is also at this party and is also the closest person available for Dream to cling to. (UTMV, Dream Sans Centric)”

Word Count: 3240

~oOo~

Dream tries to hunch himself over to appear smaller. Maybe he can blend into the crowd and can slip out of here soon.

Ink had heard of a party in some AU and really wanted to go. He tried to get both Dream and Blue to go with him, but Blue already had things to do. Dream, on the other hand, had a rather boring day planned of lying in bed and thinking for hours, and he felt bad because he wanted to say no but didn’t have a real excuse, so he ended up saying yes. Ink was excited, however, and they arrived rather early.

One would think that arriving early would help him get used to the size of the crowd, but the more skeletons he watched enter, the worse he felt. He was offered a drink multiple times and could politely deny only a few times before people got suspicious, wondering if he was alright. He grabbed some water to make people stop asking. It seemed to work, so his next problem was getting lost in the crowd until he could escape to a quieter part of the building. It made him uncomfortable, being surrounded by people, but he forced himself to work through it, sipping at his drink.

Oh, look. An exit was right in front of him, and only a few skeletons were in the way.

He sighs in relief, clutching his drink like a lifeline.

“Hey, Dream!” A Sans he’s only seen a couple of times from an AU he can’t remember the name of shouts, leaning on him. He grabs Dream’s drink out of his hands. “Why’re you just drinking water? Let me get you a real drink.”

“Oh, no thank you, I…” Dream starts, but the Sans stumbles off anyway. He cringes, sighs, and backs away, aiming to huddle into a corner and be invisible until the end of the party.

On his way, more people shout, gleeful about something happening further into the crowd, and he flinches. People shift, aiming to get a closer look at all the commotion, and he tries to elbow his way through as gently as he can. He stumbles and gets dragged into the crowd, people pushing him multiple ways.

He cringes again, trying to escape, but can’t find a gap to squeeze through. Is it just him, or is it really hot in here all of a sudden?

“You absolute beast!” Someone shouts, sparking laughter—

No, no, not laughter, jeers. People whisper to each other, nasty things about his brother—

No, no, no, not about his brother, just comments on whatever is going on—

No, wait. More people are shouting, some proclaiming that they knew it, some hurling insults, some just scoffing in disbelief—

In disgust.

Someone in front of him shifts to the right. He catches a glimpse of a skeleton huddled on the ground, curled up by the base of something—

A tree, Mother—

No, stop, stop being stupid—

And something rolling on the ground in front of them—

An apple—

Stop.

Dream’s breath hitches.

He steps back, turning, trying to get away from it, telling himself it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. It was the past. He wasn’t there anymore, he left long ago. This wasn’t happening. Someone shoves at him—

And if this wasn’t real, would he still feel that? He can’t tell.

There are more leers and someone whoops, throwing something in the air—

Rocks rain down on Mother.

Nightmare tries to talk over all the noise, frantically explaining himself, but no one is listening.

Dream tries to fight his way through, get in front of the crowd, in front of his friends. He’s confused because they never acted this mean before. They keep throwing rocks, and he knows being hit with a rock hurts, so why are they throwing them at Nighty?

Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong.

The wrongness fills him in rhythm with his footsteps. He’s breathing heavily, using all of his efforts to get out of this blasted crowd and find Nighty and get him away from all of this noise. His brother doesn’t like loud noises anymore. He doesn’t know why, but that doesn’t matter, because this is a loud noise and Nighty hates it here, he’s sure of it.

They need to get out.

Dream runs—

Stop, stop, stop, get out of here, this isn’t right, move on, move away—

Find Nighty and protect him, find him and protect him, find him and protect him—

Hurry, hurry, hurry—

With a final shove, he steps out in front of the crowd and looks up frantically, searching.

Only, Mother isn’t here. Neither is Nighty.

Blinking, he turns, facing the crowd of villagers, but this crowd is warped, wrong. They are all wrong. He doesn’t recognize any of them. He backs away from them, confused and worried and alarmed. His back presses against a wall and he stops breathing.

He can’t move.

He can’t move.

He can’t move anymore, something hardening his body and making him numb—

No, no, no, no, no. Not happening. You’re not there.

Stop being stupid.

He needs to find his brother. He needs to find him. They’re in danger. Nighty’s in danger. They need to find each other and run before it all goes wrong. They need to escape.

Where is his brother? Where is he? Where—

The word looks dizzy, he feels dizzy—

There’s someone beside him and—

“Dream?”

—They know his name.

Dream blinks.

The breath he was holding escapes him in a gasp.

The person beside them is dark and blurry. He can’t make out many details. Something moves behind them. Another villager? Then that means this is a villager. Not one that he recognizes, though. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe they can help.

They might know where Nightmare is.

“Dream, what…” the villager starts, confused, and concerned. Dream jolts into action, frantically grabbing onto their shoulders. His hands slid, almost like he was grabbing at oil. That’s odd. It’s familiar, too. Odd. He tightens his grip. “Hey! Get off—”

They don’t like that very much. Dream doesn’t care what they do or don’t like as long as they help him. “Have you seen my brother?”

The villager stills. “Huh?”

Frustrated, his fingers twitch. He glances around as the villager takes a moment to reorient themselves.

No Mother, no brother. Still the same.

His chest is beginning to tighten again.

“What?”

“My brother.” Dream exhales sharply at the villager’s confusion. “Looks like me, exactly like me. Just wears purple instead. It’s his favorite colour.” He doesn’t know why he mentioned that. The villager didn’t need to know that. Can’t he do anything right? “Have you seen him? I need to find him. I need to find him. Fast.”

The villager laughs harshly in disbelief. “Is—Is this a joke or something? Dream—”

“It’s not safe here. Not safe. I need to find Nighty. I need to get to him. It’s not safe here.” Dream explains, glancing around again. No change. Has it gotten hotter? He feels like he’s sweating a lot. “We’re in danger. Very bad, bad danger. He’s in danger. I need to find him. Have you seen him? Please tell me where he is.”

“Dream…”

Though he hears the villager try to speak, Dream rushes over him, impatient. “Tell me, please. Tell me, tell me, tell me. Please. I need to get there in time. I can’t be late again. Things—” He chokes on a breath and something pricks at his sockets, the edges of his vision darkening. “I can’t lose him. I can’t. He’s all I have. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please…” His voice cracks and he repeats the word over and over.

Please help him, please, please, please—

Please save Nighty, please, please, please, please—

Please, please, please, please—

He’s being led somewhere. Is the villager helping him?

Please, please, please, please—

The music—when did that start? Where even was he?—fades the further they get.

Please, please, please, please—

Doors shut behind them.

Dream can’t see anything anymore; he’s panicking too much.

Where was he? Where is Nightmare? He needs to find Nightmare.

The villager makes him sit down. He frowns, trying to get up. He can’t rest now, not when Nighty needs him. The villager doesn’t let him up.

“Breathe, Dream.”

He is breathing. Isn’t he? Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s dead and that’s why this place is so unfamiliar and Nighty wasn’t here and, and, and—

“Breathe.”

He’s breathing. He’s trying.

He wants his brother.

“I’m right here. Keep breathing, slowly. Match me. In…out. Good. You’re not in the village, Dream. Okay? You’re not there.”

But wasn’t he just…?

“You haven’t been there in years. We’re both safe. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay.

He needs to—

“Keep breathing, focus on breathing.”

Dream wants to scowl. He wants to frown and complain that he is doing all of that and it’s not helping. But he doesn’t, he instead inhales—

And his chest lightens a bit.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and exhales, trying to do as ordered.

His chest continues to lighten, cracks appearing in the stone as patches fall off of him—

You’re not there. You haven’t been there in years. Focus, Dream.

But it all feels so real.

And he can practically taste the apple on his tongue, the smell of negativity in the air—

And he inhales—

And the feel of a smooth staff in his hand, fabric clenched in his fist, tinging in his legs as he’s turned to stone—

And he exhales—

And the sound of wind and silence and manic laughter—

And he breathes—

And he sees—

And he—

And…

And he blinks, sockets aching.

And he sees the darkness in his vision fading. It bubbles away, letting his surroundings take its place. He’s sitting against the railing of the balcony of the building. One of them, at least. The bars bite into his back. There’s a faint breeze, carrying the smell of flowers from the garden below. It’s nice.

And Nightmare is in front of him, kneeling, hand outstretched and hovering.

Dream blinks in surprise.

Nightmare looks concerned, eye wide.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Brow furrowing, Dream clears his throat, craving a glass of water. His voice is hoarse. “…Nightmare?”

Nightmare shifts, hand lowering. “Yeah.” His brother relaxes a bit, still watching him.

Something drips off his fingers.

Goop the same colour as the goop that covers his brother covers his hands. It’s slimy and gross and the minute he notices, he wants to wipe it off, but it feels awkward and inconsiderate of him to do that in front of his brother.

Dream glances around, avoiding looking at him. Shame begins to heat his face and he internally sighs. Of course. He just had to get this way in front of Nightmare. This is like, the worst possible thing. But it’s just his luck. And now he’s left here afterward, wanting nothing more than to teleport straight home and sleep the next week away.

But doesn’t he owe it to Nighty for an explanation?

“Sorry…” His voice cracks again, and he coughs. “I—”

His mouth continues moving, but nothing comes out.

He frowns, trying again. “I—”

“Hold that thought.”

Dream looks up as Nightmare stands, walking back inside.

Well, if he really wants to, he could teleport away now and not face the humiliation surely coming his way. Nightmare will probably return with one of his guys and then a fight will break out, taking advantage of his weakened state. He doesn’t want to fight right now, doesn’t even want to move. If he could, he would just flop over and sleep right here. Then all of the aftermath of this can be dealt with once he wakes up.

But, no, he’s a big boy, and he will face it now as he should.

He wraps his arms around his legs and buries his head in his knees. God, he’s such an idiot. No, he’s weak. He knew coming to this party with Ink would be a risk. He felt the panic at the start, the minute they arrived and people were still pouring into the big, big room, but he swallowed it back and tried to forget about it. It was only when the crowd pulled him along that he got lost in his head. Everyone he pushed in his fight to get away must be so confused, and they must’ve talked about it with their friends and now everyone was probably wondering why he was acting so weird.

Hopefully, no one noticed the terror he felt, but he has a feeling it might’ve been obvious…

This will be such a big mess to clean up. Why did his brain have to betray him like this? Why did he give in so easily? It was like he wanted to get lost, and he never wants to get lost. He always says that it’s the last time he’d ever feel like this, but there always ends up being another thing that triggers it again. He doesn’t know how to stop it besides avoiding anything he manages to clue in on, like crowds.

And yet, here he was. Here he fucking was.

A hand grabs his wrist. Dream’s head snaps up. He watches, eyes wide, as Nightmare holds his hand and runs a damp washcloth over it, cleaning it. For some reason. Why? Why would his brother come back just to clean him up?

This wasn’t his mess to deal with.

This…this, the cleaning, reminds him of patching Nightmare up under Mother. It brings the aching longing he got sleeping in branches and walking through the woods to the front of his mind. It hurts and hurts and he’s unable to shake it off.

“Are you alright?” Nightmare asks, focusing on his task.

Dream swallows. “I’m fine.”

His brother looks up, unconvinced, raising a brow.

“Really, I am,” he insists.

Nightmare’s eye flicks over his face, searching for a lie.

Dream prepares himself, resigned at explaining. The words are on the tip of his tongue, ready, when—

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“Okay.” Nightmare goes back to cleaning. He’s ruing a perfectly good washcloth just for Dream. He doesn’t know how to feel. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The words feel foreign to him. “Oh…Thanks.”

Nightmare hums.

Odd.

Dream’s not used to being told he doesn’t have to talk about things if he doesn’t want to. The villagers always wanted to make sure he was happy, asking him again and again if he was and flocking to make him feel better if he said he wasn’t. Even now, people prefer to know everything about his job. Most of the conversations he has with people besides Blue or Ink or a few others are one-sided questions about himself.

He's relieved that Nightmare is giving him a choice. He wants to stay silent and let them both forget this ever existed. If they can, that is. Still. He wants to keep any of what he was thinking about to himself, as much as he can. His brother is still his enemy, after all, and giving away all his vulnerabilities will only result in more difficult battles.

He doesn’t want to say anything, and yet he does.

For some reason, having a choice makes him want to tell Nightmare something even more. “I don’t like crowds. Specifically, not, um…big ones. Or loud ones. Or big loud crowds crammed in a small room. Whenever I’m in one for a long time, it…” He swallows again, glancing up and catching Nightmare’s eye. “It brings back bad memories,” he whispers, feeling childish that he’s avoiding saying anything specific.

Nightmare watches him for a moment. “Okay.”

His face is expertly blank. He can’t tell what his brother is feeling.

“I apologize that you had to deal with this.” Dream sighs. “I usually handle it.” He chuckles, tired. “It’s stupid, really.”

Nightmare still doesn’t say anything. Still blank. He’s finished with his task, setting the washcloth aside so he can fiddle with his fingers.

Dream starts, “I—”

“I don’t like apples.”

He blinks, forgetting what he was going to say. “…What?”

“I don’t. Brings back some bad memories. So, I don’t buy any or eat any. And that’s fine. I’m sure my boys know my dislike of them, too, ‘cause they never bring any home when they go shopping.” Nightmare pauses. “They may not…understand, exactly, but they don’t need to. They’re my friends. They accept it and live with it.” He looks right at Dream. “We all do.”

Dream blinks, looking at his hands. There wasn’t a speck left on them. Even all the dirt from the week, the build-up of grime he hadn’t had the energy to wash off, it was all gone. It felt strange to see the white bones underneath, marred by scratches as they were. He clenches them and opens them, admiring them.

Nightmare wasn’t talking about himself anymore. In his own, roundabout way, he was offering some advice that Dream really needs to hear. Stuff he has told others to do—trust those around you because the fact they were still there meant they cared far more than you realized. Friends lean on each other; no friendship is one-sided. Communicate, and you’ll have a better relationship. Whenever he had given the advice, he always felt he was lying, spouting facts he didn’t know were true. His brother seems to say it with such belief, and he probably does because he's learned all of it himself.

While Dream was stuck in stone, Nightmare was growing and moving on. He already knew this but it still surprises and pains him when he sees what that really means firsthand.

And yet…for all of his moving on, his brother still helped him today.

His brother could’ve just left him to his panic attack, let him make a fool of himself in front of everyone. Let rumors spread across the multiverse about him, watch his reputation and others’ trust in him crumble. Let him be weak. That was his goal, right? Beat him and give him a taste of what was owed to him, a sliver of what happened to his brother all those years ago? Why help his enemy out of a vulnerable spot, why not take advantage?

Dream wants to say it’s because, despite everything, they were still brothers, and that took priority over anything else.

With a new surge of confidence, Dream clenches his fists. “Right…Night, I—” But when he looks up, Nightmare is gone. He falters, looking around the empty garden as if his brother was simply hiding from him, but he knows he is gone.

He doesn’t sense him in the AU anymore.

Sighing, he stands on shaky legs. He’s disappointed, yes, but not surprised. He’ll just have to tell him another day how sorry he was about what happened, how much he misses him. Ask if he feels the same way. Ask if he wants to be brothers again in more than just title. Maybe, just maybe, Night’ll listen to him and maybe he’ll even say he wants to as well.

For now, though, Dream steels his resolve and leaves.

He’ll explain to Ink in the morning that he doesn’t really like big crowds, parties included.

[markantonys]

Hi!

I just started WOT and I’m about halfway into Eye of the World (that handful of Perrin centric chapters) and I’ve just gotten really bored with it. Does the series get better after EOTW?

hello! now this is a question. at the end of the day, WOT is a real YMMV Reading Experience, so i will provide you the general opinions and then my personal opinions!

does the series get better after EOTW? both opinions agree: yes it does. EOTW is a pretty basic storyline and a slow start to the series, as well as being a LOTR knockoff in many ways, but in the next few books, the story expands, the characters become more complex and interesting (and we unlock more POVs so it's not just 70% rand 30% perrin each book), and things get Funky and Wheel Of Time-y. i've often heard it said that WOT doesn't start feeling like WOT until book 2/3/4 (varying opinions on when exactly it starts hitting its stride).

general opinion is that books 4-6 are the best in the series, with some people including 3 and/or 2 as well. for me personally, it was a drag to get through EOTW (but not terrible seeing as i'm an avid rand/mat shipper and so their endless roadtrip was a delight to me haha), but i read books 2 and 3 pretty quickly because the pace picked up and i liked the storylines of those books a lot more. so for me i'd put 2 as the book when i really got into the series! i'd also agree with general opinion that books 4-6 are my favorite portion, though with the caveat that these books are looooong (esp 4&6; i think 4 is the longest of the whole series) and do take some time to get through, which may be painful if you're not feeling it.

my personal series review:

book 1: i enjoyed 50% of this book

books 2-6: i enjoyed 80% of each book

books 7-14: i enjoyed 20-30% of each book

as you can see, a big nosedive for the later books. various reasons for this, some generally-agreed-on (pacing becomes glacial and there's a glut of minor characters & subplots eating up pagetime while the main characters & main plots tread water; books 8ish-11 are infamously known as "the slog" in WOT fandom lmao) and some personal taste (two romances i despise get a huge amount of pagetime in these books, like the characters are literally constantly together and it's impossible to escape, while most of my favorite romances & relationship dynamics from earlier books are barely present because all the characters split up too far into individual plotlines and never fucking see each other anymore).

so, overall i would say this: i am glad i read all 14 books and i don't regret the time spent, but i enjoyed less than half of them and would never read the series a second time, although i miiiight be willing to someday reread parts or all of books 1-6 (though i would probably skip every single perrin chapter on a reread djfkgh). the high points are very high, but the lows are very low! i started with the show, and even most pro-show readers tend to say that the books are Even Better than the show, but after having experienced both myself i can say with my whole chest that i like the show a LOT more and probably always will.

you could probably skim or read chapter summaries for the rest of EOTW because i think a lot of it is not essential for the future (and some stuff gets retconned anyway), then take a stab at books 2&3. if you're still not vibing after those, then the series probably isn't for you. no shame in that! it is most definitely an acquired taste (my uncle is the biggest fantasy nerd i know, but even he said he's never been able to get all the way through WOT haha so i did feel pretty proud that i could one-up him there! but i never ever would've managed to get through it myself if i hadn't already been so attached to the characters from the show.)