Hey you! Yeah, you!

Do you write Stucky fic? Do you know next to nothing about the US Army in WW2? Would you like to know more? Would you like to read a textbook written for soldiers at basic training in 1943, described by its authors as “packed with military information, written in the language of the trainee, who is learning to read and write, whether he be illiterate or non-English speaking”? 

Then check out Private Pete Learns To Be A Good Soldier, a publication of the United States Department of War. 

Peter R. Smith became Private Peter R. Smith, 32399282 [note draftee serial number, with no hint of opprobrium — stoatsandwich], on July 1, 1943. At Fort Leavenworth, Kansas he raised his right hand and said: “I, Peter R. Smith, do solemnly swear that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the United States of America; that I will serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies whomsoever; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of officers appointed over me, according to the rules and Articles of War.”

Pete knew that now he was a soldier in the Army of the United States, the best-fed, the best-clothed, the best-cared for, and the best-trained army in the world.

He put on his uniform, and he was really proud that now he, Peter R. Smith, was a part of his country’s great Army. His mother and dad and his girl friend would be proud of him when they saw him, too.

Pete stayed at the Reception Center for three days before he had his orders to come to the Special Training Unit. He was sent there to start his army training. He knew that he could be a good soldier only if he knew the real job a good soldier must be able to do. To become a good soldier, he must learn how to drill and how to fire a rifle. He must know how to wear a gas mask and how to protect himself from gasses. He must know how to pitch a tent, how to care for his equipment, and how to train and care for his body. He must know what laws he must follow in the Army. These laws he would soon learn are called the Articles of War. These things and many more Private Pete must learn In this book that follows is an interesting story about each of the military subjects that he must know and understand. Let’s see just what Private Pete is going to learn while he’s here in the Special Training Unit.

how to make friends and hate green binders :: part 1

universe: harry potter sixth year, canon divergence, trans!draco (ftm), trans!harry (ftm), mentioned trans!hermione (mtf), asexual!harry
pairing: harry/draco
warnings: coarse language, implied drug usage and distribution, implied transphobia
notes: i’m an impatient fucker and this is only like the first half of what i have planned to write, so i’m just going to put it up and see what happens. it’s a little cracky, a little OOC, but in my defense i was like half asleep when writing this. also i don’t have a beta so blame all my mistakes on me lmao

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Draco growled, tugging miserably at the binding on his chest, “I’m going toliterally burn this piece of shit off of my body. And if I die in the process, then so fucking be it!”

He was standing, clad in only a pair of boxers and the horrid contraption that was his binder, in the locker room, after have just gotten off the Quidditch pitch. Their team’s practice had gone terrifically, meaning, he had got to shout and scream at a lot of people, and those people had no choice but to listen to his shouts and screams, and it had made him happier than anything.

(He supposed that the fact that he finds pleasure in ordering people about like slaves should be concerning, but he didn’t mind, and as long as no one confronted him about it, he would continue to not mind).

Draco had been completely covered in and stinking of mud, sweat, and other various icky things, and it was that disgusting that he’d gone straight to the showers to rid himself of the pain that was being smelly.

Unfortunately, his binder had decided to remain practically glued to his skin. The wet, freezing tiles under his feet didn’t help his situation much, either, nor did the gash on his leg that he couldn’t even remember getting. Oh, gods, he’d just wanted a shower.

“Oh Merlin, am I dreaming?”

Keep reading

a new life, RP w/theholydragonslayer

Douglas Murdoch solemnly approached the doors of Sabertooth. For a moment, his foot stopped, he considered turning back. But, remembering that there was nothing to turn back to, he kept going. Stopping in front of the door, Douglas tapped his fist against the oak, waiting for someone to answer. Eventually, the door opened to reveal Yukino. “Douglas?” she asked. “Why are you here?” Douglas’ face turned a bit red, and he scratched the back of his head.

"H-Hello, Ms Aguria," he greeted with a bow. "May I…speak to you Master. I…I want to apply for a job." He wanted nothing more than to bite out his own tongue. But he needed money, and freelancing wouldn’t get him the money he required. And he was NOT working for lockjaw!

"O-Oh. Yes, right this way." Yukino stepped out of the way, letting Douglas inside.

The 1970s Feminist Who Warned Against Leaning In

Forty years before Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In, there was Sheila Rowbotham’s Woman’s Consciousness, Man’s World.

Hailed by Simone de Beauvoir as one of the most interesting feminist thinkers of her era, Rowbotham didn’t always think of herself as a feminist. Growing up in 1950s England, she associated the word with “frightening people in tweed suits with stern buns,” but she was always countercultural, drawn first to the bohemia of the Beat movement, and later to the moral certainty of Marxism.
Within these movements, Rowbotham began to think critically about her experience as a woman. She reeled at the socialist men who “solemnly told everyone that drugs and drink and women were a capitalist plot to seduce the workers from Marxism,” and the passivity of the ideal Beatnik “chick,” who was “serene and spiritual … with a baby on her breast and her tarot cards on her knee.” But she also felt a sense of solidarity with the women she encountered, from girls “with no academic protections” who earned their financial independence by dancing in clubs, to Beat women who organized “co-operative sewing schemes” for artists. “They weren’t like me,” she writes in Woman’s Consciousness, Man’s World. “But they were enough like me in a different way for me to respect what they were doing.”

By the end of the 1960s, both the U.S. and British Left were in a state of fractious expansion, as the burgeoning black power and women’s liberation movements demanded a new politics that took into account identity and difference. Rowbotham was at the forefront, co-organizing the landmark National Women’s Liberation Conference, held at Oxford in 1970.

In Woman’s Consciousness, Man’s World, first published in 1973 and re-released by Verso books last month, Rowbotham brings her feminism and socialism together, arguing that capitalism shapes and upholds the gender divide: Men’s earning power depends on having someone, typically a woman, do a whole lot of unpaid work in the home. (In recent decades, that housework and child care is increasingly done by immigrant women and women of color for low wages.)

Rowbotham’s critique of capitalism is scathing, but she also acknowledges that capitalism provided the conditions for second wave feminism to emerge. Liberating technologies like the Pill — and the capitalist philosophy of the self-actualized individual — enabled women and children to be seen as people with their own rights and desires beyond the family unit.

In an age of #GirlBosses chasing a vision of success defined by men who relied on the support of stay-at-home wives, Rowbotham’s arguments feel both provocative and immediate, calling into question some of the sacred cows of 21st-century pop feminism. So I called three of my favorite young feminist writers, Laurie Penny, Reni Eddo-Lodge, and Jacob Tobia, to talk about what we might learn from Rowbotham’s work today — from the new wave of feminist consciousness raised (sometimes painfully) over social media, to the problem with measuring gender equality in the bank account balances of America’s richest women.

To read the rest of the article, visit Buzzfeed

My orchestra is playing a medley of Harry Potter soundtracks and yesterday at rehearsals the conductor was like: “okay now, let’s play it from the top! And remember… *he cleared his voice and said very solemnly and slowly* there will be no foolish bow-waving or silly intonations in this performance.”

Made my day.


agents of shield meme: 5/5 relationships

     → The Team

The world needs us. HYDRA is out there, we cannot let them win.We—we cannot let them define us. Do you understand that? We are not agents of nothing, we are agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and that still carries weight!

"My heart… is broken," he declares, slowly turning away.

"I can fix it," she answers solemnly.  But she can’t.  She dropped out of medical school the day before they learned how to fix hearts.