Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

For those of you who write military fics

bisexualdavidjacobs:

stephrc79:

eveanyn:

If you have never been in, or aren’t around people who’ve been in, I would dearly love to give you a few pointers.

Let me preface this: I love it when people write military fics (be they AU or canon-fic). I love the characterizations, the story arcs you create, and the love with which you create the stories.

But I’d like to help you make the actions of military personnel as accurate as possible, so someone who’s actually in doesn’t start to read your fic and roll their eyes at some of the things you unknowingly write.

-First off, you do not salute in civilian clothes. It’s actually unauthorized. There are only two exceptions to this rule: the President is allowed to salute in civvies, and if the national anthem is playing outdoors, combat veterans are now allowed to salute. (That came about in 2010, for accurate reference.)

-Do not salute indoors, unless during a formation (but I doubt people who don’t have intimate knowledge of drill and ceremony would bother writing about a formation, so that point is mostly just thrown in for shits and giggles). 

-The army and air force do not say, “sir, yes sir”. That’s a marine thing (I’m not sure about the navy, since I’m not in the navy, but I’m sure someone else could help out if there’s a question about it).

-Saying “black ops” isn’t really something we do. For the army, you’ve got SF (which is how we refer to special forces–the guys you’re probably thinking about (”green beret” is an old term for them that’s not really used anymore)) and Rangers for the two big special operations forces. SEALS are the navy force, and I apologize, but I don’t know the other branches’ special forces. Again, ask someone who’s served in that branch.

-People don’t usually refer to themselves (or others) by their ranks. Exceptions are usually made if hanging out with people from your unit speaking about a superior, such as “Yeah, LT and I were talking the other day and …”. 

-Sergeants are not referred to as “sarge”. You have no idea how many people got the shit smoked out of them in basic for that error.

-Army goes through Basic Training (or Basic Combat Training now; BCT for short), and marines go through Boot Camp. Yes, there is definitely a difference in terms. Army people tend to refer to their initial training as simply “basic”. I don’t know about marines or other branches.

-Calling someone “Soldier” is really something only done on TV/film. It’s usually mocked by people who are in.

-In the army, it is against regulation to just stick your hands in your pockets. We mockingly call them “Air Force gloves”, though I don’t know if they typically put their hands in their pockets. There is also a big stigma against wearing “snivel gear”: the poly pro cold-weather protection gear worn underneath your uniform.

-The everyday Army uniforms are called ACUs (Army Combat Uniform). They are never called anything else, but especially not fatigues. If you’re going back to 2003 or earlier, the uniform was BDUs, or the Battle Dress Uniform. The tan uniforms worn during the Gulf War and first few years of Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) and Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF; Afghanistan) were called first chocolate chips (gulf war-era) and then DCUs (Desert Combat Uniform). 

-The dress uniform is called something different depending on what time period you’re going for. Saying “dress uniform” is usually a good bet, because you’ve also got Class A’s, Class B’s, ASUs, Dress Blues, Khakis, etc. 

-Typically when meeting someone else who’s in, the first things you ask are, “What’s your MOS (military occupational specialty–your job)? Where were you stationed?” Giving out rank and deployment backgrounds out of the blue don’t usually happen. 

-Time spent in the military is usually referred to as simply being “in”. “How long were you in for?” is heard way more often than “how long did you serve for?” That question is usually asked by civilians. 

-There are enlisted, and there are officers. Enlisted are those who start out as privates, work their way up through the NCO, or non-commissioned officer ranks: sergeant (called “buck sergeant” in a derogatory term for someone who has been freshly promoted), staff sergeant, sergeant first class, and eventually get to first sergeants and sergeants major after fifteen to thirty years in. Officers also usually start out as privates and specialists, then graduate from college and commission as second lieutenants (the derogatory term is “butter bar” and is usually used in reference to said officer’s lack of experience and knowledge) before working up to first lieutenant, captain, major, lieutenant colonel (”light colonel”), and colonel (”full bird”). The general timeline is making captain (”getting your railroad tracks”) after about 5-8 years for competent officers, and spending 5-10 years as a captain. 

-We do not stand at parade rest unless forced. Ever.

-Or at attention.

-When talking to an NCO, a lower enlisted will stand at parade rest. When talking to an officer, an enlisted will stand at attention.

-The highest ranking NCO is lower ranking than the lowest ranking officer. 

-If you want to throw in some humor, if there is a lower enlisted (E-4 (specialist) or below) joking with an NCO, and the lower enlisted says something, the NCO can snark back with, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you because you weren’t standing at the position of parade rest.” It’s a dick move usually to call people out for that, but it happens often enough that if you put that in a fic, someone who’s in will likely laugh at that for a few minutes.

-There is a term for a slacker in the army called POG (pronounced “pohg” with a long o). It stands for Personnel Other than Grunt, meaning everyone who’s not infantry. The term has transformed to mean anyone who shirks their duty or is kind of a shitbag and should be kicked out. 

 -There’s also a bit of a stereotype that infantry are made up of dumb guys, because you don’t need a high GT score to get that MOS. Their nomenclature for their MOS is 11B (eleven bravo), which is often referred to as an “eleven bang-bang” when trying to insult them. 

-If someone is making someone else do push-ups, they do not say “drop and give me x number”. They’ll tell them either to push, or tell them to get in the front-leaning rest. The front-leaning rest position is the starting position for the push-up. 

-Usually referring to basic training and AIT (advanced individual training, where you learn your military occupational specialty), you get “smoked” on a regular basis. This refers to PT (physical training), usually in the form of push-ups, flutter kicks, and sprints. It’s not fun. One of the least favorite phrases to hear in basic is, “Platoon, attention! Half-left face! Front leaning rest position, move. In cadence! Exercise!” Because that is the full command for getting people to do push-ups. There is literally no other reason for the half-left face movement. It honestly exists only for push-ups.

-It is awkward as fuck to be told “thank you for your service”. It’s wonderful that people want to show their support, but it is very difficult to respond to that without sounding like a douche.

I know I said a lot about basic training in there, but that’s because I tend to read a lot of fics that are either about basic or about deployments. I can give some pretty firm answers on basic, but everyone’s deployment is different, and I also could be violating a shit-ton of OPSEC (operation security) by telling you guys specific details about deployments. Everything I’ve told you is information you can look up on your own on the internet, but this is a bit more insider’s culture for you to help make your stuff more accurate.

And if you ever find yourself writing a military fic and have questions, by all means, inbox me. I’ve been in for almost nine years and I do have one deployment under my belt, so I can give you accurate army info. I’ve never served in any other branch, though, but I can probably give you a little bit more accurate info than what the movies do if you’ve got general questions.

Also, if you’ve got questions about PTSD, I can help with that. It’s not the cake walk that a good deal of fics portray it as, and it doesn’t always involve nightmares and aversion to touch. It can present as depression, intense anger issues, pulling away from loved ones, driving in the middle of the road, freaking out over pops, bangs, crashes and other unexpected noises, being easily startled by things other than noises, hypervigilance, the inability to sit with one’s back to the room, sudden bouts of anger, depression, tears, silence, or mood swings, among many others.

-Also, please, please, if you’re going to write about someone with a disability, or something that gave them a medical discharge, talk to me about the VA first, unless you’ve got a lot of knowledge about them. Not only am I in, but I’ve also worked professionally for the VA, some of that time in enrollment and eligibility, so I know a lot about disability pensions, who would qualify, what type of benefits they would qualify for, etc. I also know the ways that people can accidentally get screwed over from the VA. (It’s actually one of my long-term professional goals to change some of those things, so I am very passionate and very knowledgeable about it.)

TL;DR: I know shit about the military and the VA. Ask me if you have accuracy questions.

This is AMAZING. Thank you,. OP!

Thank you for offering up this info! It’s honestly where I end up hitting a wall a lot of the time.

(via bronzedragon)

agavebadger asked: Could I ask about the drunk zombie geese story that only 35% happened?

vrabia:

Ah yes, the drunk zombie geese story.

This one only 35% happened because it happened to my grandparents’ neighbours like 50 years ago and I heard it from my dad. So since there are so many go-betweens that I can’t personally guarantee to you that this otherwise exceptionally hilarious story is true, I’m going to play it safe with modest percentages.

Also, it involves mentions of dead animals (spoilers: they’re not really dead, which is kind of the point as you’ll see) SO if this is something that upsets you, it’s probably best if you don’t read it.

Like pretty much all of my other rl stories, this one also involves Evil Commie Land and food shortages, except it takes place in a village. The thing with romantic countryside living in Evil Commie Land is that it was both worse and better than living in the city. It was worse because the State took your land and declared it Official State Land and then made you work on it and only gave you a fraction of what you produced, and that pissed people off (we’ll get to that in a bit); but also better because you could raise some chickens and maybe a pig or two for yourself, so you wouldn’t have to go around working the Official State Land while malnourished.

Once upon a time when my dad was a small, carefree and, judging by this story, a tad impressionable child, my grandparents’ neighbours had a bunch of lovely geese which they loved because these geese laid eggs on the regular and occasionally became soup. And the way they kept these geese fed was, like pretty much everyone else, they’d let them loose to graze on Official State Land while the administrators either looked the other way or were forced to confront a cheerful, intractable innocence of the ‘Why comrade, they’re just a bunch of dumb animals that wander off sometimes’ variety.

So these geese would go out in the morning, spend the whole day eating and then come back home in the evening the same way they’d gone, which they knew by heart because they’d been doing this every single day of their placid lives. These geese didn’t get lost because they weren’t smart enough. So one evening when they didn’t show up, my grandparents’ neighbours went looking for them, and about halfway they found the whole flock lying limp, motionless and apparently very dead in the dirt. Cue oh no, our beautiful birds, what shall we do come winter etc. etc.

What they didn’t know was that someone in the village had made moonshine that day and thrown away the leftovers - we’re talking fruit that’s been fermented to shit in a giant barrel for weeks, distilled twice in someone’s basement and then thrown out in a ditch with other leftovers. So any wandering, say, birds that were used to taking their lunch anywhere they could find it might be excused for helping themselves.

The geese weren’t dead. The geese were blackout drunk.

In the absence of this knowledge though, my grandparents’ neighbours thought their birds had been struck dead by some terrible insta-kill virus and decided that, food shortages be damned, they’re not about to eat things that had died in such mysterious circumstances. But this was also a time when people had learned to waste as little as possible. So my grandparents’ neighbours picked up every goose and, with minimal physical contact, plucked them. But like, not completely. They just took the little soft down feathers that are so nice and comfortable in pillows and left the patchy, half-plucked and still apparently super-dead geese in a ditch outside village limits.

And as the story goes, the geese woke up sometime the next day, decided that since they were in surroundings other than they familiar yard it meant that they probably had gone out to graze, so they ate for a while and then went home as usual. So now imagine a bunch of patchy, half-plucked, supposedly dead as fuck geese that the entire village had heard about because my grandparents’ neighbours were really upset. Imagine them waddling home all well-fed and chill and completely oblivious of people’s utter horror because zombie fucking geese

Hungover zombie geese.

So, that’s the story. Presumably.

genuinewarmdecentfeeling:

Consider this: Finn stealing a fry off of Rey’s plate because he heard that’s a cute thing couples do and he wants to balance out their “I’LL SAVE YOU!” emotional intensity with some cute things, only Rey freezes and Finn’s like, shit, I just stole food from someone who grew up without it, what Attack Mode did I just activate. But then she just fucking dumps all of her food on his plate all “I’LL FEED YOU, YOU’LL NEVER GO HUNGRY WITH ME” and they’re right back in the emotional intensity, and Finn doesn’t even like fries that much.

(via bonehandledknife)

flawlessastrology:

cubanflagemoji:

hey if any if you want to donate cases of bottled water to residents in flint, send them to:

Triumph Church
1657 Broadway Blvd.
Flint, MI 48506

omg please do, they can’t even bathe without getting rashes, let alone drink water. this hits too close to home

(Source: redsatinsheets, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

PSA to anyone going to any doctor.

nocturnalvisionary:

This is REALLY important. This is for any doctor appointment. Whether it be cuz you are sick, or disabled, or ANYTHING. Unless it’s a MRI, Xray, Catscan, etc where NO ONE can be in the room with you (cuz of machines and radiation etc), you do not have to listen when someone says you can’t bring someone back with you.

You are the patient. This is YOUR body. Don’t let them tell you it’s ‘a small room’ don’t let them tell you that it’s not common. This is YOUR body. If you are more comfortable with someone in that room with you- INSIST. Insist multiple times if you have to, be REALLY upset, show that you are upset.

As someone who has been in PLENTY of different doctors offices and procedure rooms, the only real reason to not allow someone else in that room is if it’s because of sanitation/safety reasons (ie - surgeries, MRIs, X-rays, Catscans). Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

^^  Very much this.  I usually take a great deal of pride in being able to deal with anything alone, and I’m old enough now that it’s strange for me to bring people back with me.  BUT I was severely traumatized during a dentist appointment when I was seven and I still REALLY NEED to have someone with me who knows me well enough to tell a dentist (or literally anyone who puts me in a chair and comes at my face, really) to back the fuck off in the event that I start to panic harder than usual.  So hell fucking yeah, you better believe I tell them my mother’s damn well coming back with me, and when they give me shit I trust her to press the point.  If you’re too anxious or unwell to argue with a medical professional (the stress of visiting a medical professional makes me lapse into old behavior patterns in which I view any authority as a direct threat, which is AWESOME and super helpful), discuss it ahead of time with the person you want to bring with you.  It’s so much easier to defend someone else rather than yourself, and a good friend or a trusted family member can make the whole experience less painful.  

(via ripleytwd)

Anonymous asked: Through plot device of your choice, Kylo Ren has a child. Given the history of relations between the generations in his family, he decides infanticide is a great option. Unfortunately for Kylo, this goes about as well as infanticide usually goes in stories. So, if you'd like, tell us this kid's story!

wildehack:

….anon, I love me some dark shit. you know that, I know that. however, the first thing that my brain offered up upon hearing this beautifully fucked up scenario you presented me with was this: 

The mission went south with Finn still inside the temple and a bomb about to detonate. “We’ve got six minutes before this whole island is space dust,” Poe yells down the comms, powering the ship back on, sensors be damned. “Get back here.” 

“Shit!” Finn yelps into his ear, followed by the sound of blaster fire. “I’ve got the plans, but–shit!” 

“Finn?” Poe demands. “Finn!” 

“Poe,” Finn’s voice says, a little dazed. “You’ve got to come to me.” 

There are five big guns and two walls between Poe and Finn, and five minutes to get away from the impact zone. “I’m on my way,” Poe says grimly.

Four absolutely insane minutes later Finn runs up the gangplank, curled defensively around something in his arms, and Poe guns them straight up, miles into the sky, the island exploding into light and heat beneath them. Poe lets out a whoop of exhilaration and sails them directly into hyperspace, laughing with relief. 

He stops laughing when he hears the baby crying. 

He turns around, and there is Finn, looking vaguely stunned, holding a baby. 

“That’s a baby,” Poe manages, his mind utterly blank. 

“They were gonna kill her,” Finn says in a soft voice, adjusting her carefully in his arms. “They left her on the altar, like some kind of–they were just going to leave her, Poe. I couldn’t leave her.” 

“No,” Poe says faintly. “Of course not.” 

There are three days between them and base. The baby is Human, blue-eyed, black-haired, toothless, and horrifically prone to wailing, which makes Poe want to weep with sympathy. 

“I don’t get how you’re so bad at this,” Finn comments, rescuing Poe from a shaky attempt at bottle-feeding, one day into it. “It’s like you’ve never seen a baby before.” 

“Only child,” Poe explains, wiping spit-up off his shoulder with a wince. “All my cousins are older. How are you so good at this?” 

Finn smiles. “We all had creche duty, before final conditioning. I was the best at it,” he says, a little pride creeping into his voice. 

“Clearly you have a gift,” Poe comments, because the baby is dozing against Finn’s shoulder now. 

“We can’t just keep calling her baby,” Finn says, ignoring that. “You should name her.” 

Poe laughs, a little unsteady. “I don’t know if I’m up for the honor.” 

“You named me,” Finn says reasonably. 

“I had something to go on, that time,” Poe says. “Besides. She might already have a name. Maybe they’ll be able to find her parents, or her home planet, back at base.” 

Finn seems to take that seriously, giving the baby a searching look. About three months old, head full of curly hair, abandoned in the ruins of a Sith temple by the First Order. Not much to go on. “Who are you, little girl,” Finn says softly, and Poe rubs a hand over his mouth to distract himself from the abrupt ache in his chest. 

“Let’s call her niña for now,” Poe suggests. “That’s ‘little girl’, on Yavin 4.” 
 
Finn smiles at him, and the ache intensifies. “Niña,” he tries. “I like that.” 

It takes six hours for “niña” to become “Nina”, and apparently that’s what’s sticking. 

–

The General comes running as soon as they land, blaster on her hip, her eyes wild. “Where is he,” she rasps, looking past Poe to Finn. 

“Sir?” Poe says, and she shakes her head abruptly. 

“I thought I felt–” she breaks off with an indrawn breath, her eyes falling on Nina. 

“Lieutenant Dameron rescued her, sir,” Poe says, his hand falling automatically on Finn’s shoulder to offer support. “I’ve got the full details in my report.” 

The General swallows. Twice. Her eyes are full of tears, and Finn’s shoulder tenses under Poe’s hand. “You’d better take her to the medic tent,” she says in a hoarse voice, and then nods once. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Commander. You’ll report to me directly, once she’s safe.” 

WOW FUCK YOU TOO.

further thoughts on names

wildehack:

Ben Organa, not Ben Solo. Because Leia’s the last Organa, you see, and Han’s got something like twenty first cousins alone, and she and Luke are more or less quietly agreed that he should be the last Skywalker. (It’s “Ben” because it’s the only serious suggestion Luke made during the infamous What To Name The Baby argument that took place the week after Ben was born, and Luke’s opinion was the only compromise Han and Leia could make between “Jacen” and “Val”, and Luke was mostly incredulous that they were just calling him “baby” for so long.) 

Finn Dameron, as the entire rest of tumblr has produced some very compelling arguments in favor of. 

Rey goes through a cycle of surnames, but the one she settles on is Kenobi. Because once she finds out who her parents were, she wants desperately to take their name–to feel a connection to her past, even though every trace of it is gone. (At first she accepted Finn’s invitation to join her as an unofficial Dameron, and later she called herself Rey Skywalker just as an easy shorthand, since nobody knew what “Padawan” meant anyway, and Chewie told her very somberly that she had a right to “Rey Solo” if she wanted it, as well as Chewie’s own last name, which she couldn’t actually pronounce. Life debt stuff.  But she keeps Kenobi.) 




 

(via ifeelbetterer)

Please Stop.

zetsubonna:

Okay, but the first HP book came out in 1997. That was almost twenty years ago. No, JKR was not fully aware of her white/straight/cis privilege at that time. She has had 20 years to get better. She also wrote the first draft on table napkins while working as a single mother of multiple children and receiving public support.

We are allowed to retrospectively critique her lack of inclusivity. We are also allowed to think that perhaps her awareness of the lack of said inclusivity has improved.

Just as a goddamn FOR EXAMPLE, in 1997, if Rowling had tried to pitch Dumbledore, a school headmaster, as openly homosexual, her book would never have been published. Want some evidence? I can do that.

Regulations were introduced for discrimination protections on sexual orientation in employment on 1 December 2003, following the adoption of an EC Directive in 2000, providing for the prohibition of discrimination in employment on the grounds of sexual orientation.

Right, so he (Dumbledore) could have been fired for being gay at any point prior to 2000, even assuming Wizarding law was keeping up with Muggle law, which is a goddamn stretch considering how shoddy trials and evidence are maintained throughout Auror procedurals.

And, regarding “she could have made more students of color in the first place,” um:

The Race Relations Act 1965 outlawed public discrimination, and established the Race Relations Board. Further Acts in 1968 and 1976 outlawed discrimination in employment, housing and social services, and replaced the Race Relations Board with Commission for Racial Equality^[3] that merged into the Equality and Human Rights Commission in 2004. The Human Rights Act 1998 made organisations in Britain, including public authorities, subject to theEuropean Convention on Human Rights.^[4] The Race Relations Act 2000 extends existing legislation for the public sector to the police force, and requires public authorities to promote equality.

After 2000, some argued that racism remains common, and some politicians and public figures have been accused of promoting racist attitudes in the media, particularly with regard to immigration, however race and immigration although related are not the same concepts.^[5] There have been growing concerns in recent years about institutional racism in public and private bodies. Although various anti-discrimination laws do exist, according to some sources, most employers in the UK remain institutionally racist including public bodies such as the police^[6] and the legal professions.^[7][8]

I’m not saying “JKR has always been conscious of her White Privilege.” I’m not saying “she intended this from the start.” I’m saying, she started this fucking series when she was 25, she got it published when she was 32, and she is now fifty and has millions of dollars, resources, and feedback.

Hey, check it out: she’s had twenty-five years to learn.

Jo Rowling is a white British woman with a Bachelor of Arts in  French and Classics from the University of Exeter. It may very well have taken her this much time and this much exposure to the greater, wider world- outside her very white, very British influences in Tolkien and Dickens- to realize, “Oh, shit, I could/should have made my books more diverse, that’s such a lovely idea, my fans are so wonderful, I love their headcanons, they have taught me so much, I’m really lucky to have learned all of this.”

We want people to grow, don’t we? We want them to expand their minds and change. So can we please stop hating on people who weren’t born into the movement for finding it later?

Thanks.

(via johanirae)