these were going to be small and less of them

alaeevolare  asked:

Hello! I was wondering, what are the differences between modern HEMA and how it was used in actual combat? Mainly in how it is/was taught, the way that techniques are/were used, small battles/skirmishes and fully fledged battles. I'm currently drawing from my own experiences with HEMA (longsword) and I know it's different but I'm not sure what all of those differences are, much less how to write them. Thank you!

Honestly, the best advice I have for that is slogging through the treatises from the masters on Wikitenaur or other sites/books that let you get it direct from the horse’s mouth (as it were). If you’re not a trained scholar or used to going through language from a century ago, much less several, I can see how parsing that might be a little difficult.

The second thing to do is study the historical period in which you want to write your fiction or, if writing fantasy, whatever is adjacent. When you want to write any kind of combat scenario, studying the culture is necessary. Whether that’s one you created yourself or history itself.

You’ve got better access to the HEMA community than Starke or I do and that springboard will make it easier to find what you’re looking for. It’s important to remember that what you’re practicing right now is what we conventionally term a “dead martial art”. Like aikido and several other martial arts now enjoying a popular resurgence, the current version did not really exist in the last century. Combat in Europe moved very quickly, rapid advancement lead to many old weapons being discarded that were no longer usable. German fencing was the only form of longsword fencing to survive, and it too is weighed down by rules unnecessary to the time when the longsword was a battlefield choice. Luckily for you, because HEMA itself is so new in its reconstruction, you’re actually far closer to the source material used to revive it than you might suspect.

If you haven’t broached this subject with your instructor, you should. They might know, or know somebody who knows something that can point you in a better direction. They work with the people who work with the people who are theorizing on the past and how to bring this piece of history back to life.

The other thing you need to do is study history. One of the things we do have a lot of surviving records of are historical battles. Lots, and lots, and lots of records.

Pick your medieval historical figure. Pick a period in history. And get to work.

Also, read Sun Tzu. If there is one great historical text for understanding warfare, it’s Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.

Battles are really broken down by three groups:




I’d throw in strategy and tactics but those are under the culture header. To write battles, you need both an understanding of historical warfare and the ability to contextualize those decisions so you can have your characters make new ones. This means figuring out not just the thought processes of the people of history (theorized by gaining a better grasp of their circumstances), but also how your own characters think in relation to the world’s they live in.

Unless you’re writing historical fiction, you can’t just copy the battles from history wholesale. You have to learn how the decisions were made. This is why I recommend looking at the above groups.


Who they are as a people, their history, who they are descended from, how they see themselves, their commander’s experience with warfare, what kind of armies do they possess (if any at all), how does that work, how do they form supply lines, how do they pay for it, all that annoying bureaucratic minutia which will kill your brain but must be figured out. War is about troop movements. You’ve got to get them from Point A to Point B somehow, you’ve got ensure their fed, and if they’ve got mounts or armor all that has to come from somewhere. War is an expensive endeavor. Someone is paying for it. Where does the money come from, where does it go, and who is getting paid?

This is why strategy and tactics land under the cultural header, the more you dig into history the more you’ll find different cultures through different eras approached these problems differently. They also had different tools at their disposal which brings us to…


Technology encompasses your weapons, your armor, and, well, everything else that came to mind. Much as you need to know where your soldiers come from, you also need to know what tools they have at their disposal. If they haven’t mastered metalwork and smithing then they can’t have armor and the type of metal they work with defines what kind of armor they create. If they haven’t developed saddles then they don’t have mounted cavalry, if they haven’t figured out how to use horses to pull things then chances are they don’t have cavalry in the form of chariots either.

The same is true of the bow and every other kind of weapon available. Your tools define crucial parts of your tactics and strategy. They define what is available to use and what is available instructs us on how we fight. As the options narrow and you find your historical period, the tools will be easier to come by. Then, you’ll be able to envisage the battles better.

Warfare is complicated, but at its base is the element of rock, paper, scissors. You develop B, so I come up with X, to counter B, and then you develop Y to counter X. It is all about trying to develop new ways to counter the available options.

You brought foot soldiers to the battle, I guess this is what you’ll choose so I array my soldiers at your front and position cavalry behind to break your lines from the side or rear. You use pikes, position your soldiers in columns in order to break my cavalry’s charge or bring a cavalry of your own (or both). I position archers to bombard your lines with a barrage, and so on.

If you really have trouble with the concept then I recommend trying some good war games like Mount and Blade or the Total War series that help you see the battlefield visually and get some practice in arranging your troops.

However, in order to sell your tactics, you need…


What kind of environment are you fighting in? What is your target? What natural impediments are in the way? You can study Hannibal’s battle tactics against the Romans all you like, but if you ignore the fact that most of his elephants died on the march through the mountains then you’ll miss a crucial element to why he lost.















The conditions you fight in can make or break. Terrain defines how the troops are arranged. If you’re fighting on foreign soil then it can be the difference as to whether your tools will be of any use to you.

Some of it is flat out just luck.

The best way to learn to write battles is learning to think like a commander, and then follow that up with every other member of the army.

When it comes to historical fiction, I always recommend Sharon Kay Penman’s novels. They’re well regarded and well researched, providing some human context to what will inevitably be the dry reading of historical texts.


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Flat of Angles on ao3

Hannibal counted the ticks of the second hand. Five before Will spoke.

“It’s my stag night.”

Five more before he continued.

“And Beverly has been asking for weeks what I wanted. She gave me suggestions, asked me about my favorite things to do.” He took a step closer, Hannibal took a step back. “And it occurred to me how she and I have been speaking less. How she wouldn’t know what my favorite things to do are because they’ve changed. You changed them. And now all my favorite things to do are things I do with you.”

The foyer had never felt so small. Hannibal was at his most stoic, silent since Will pushed him aside and entered without invitation. They were on opposite sides, hovering near opposite walls. Two animals caged, even without witness they were a spectacle.

“I wanted to give her the names of a few of your overpriced restaurants. Or ask to go to one of those stuffy bars. But the idea of being there without with you seemed,” three ticks, “pointless.”

Two ticks.

“I leave for my honeymoon tomorrow night. That’s two weeks. And when I get home, there’s the move. Then I’m gone.”

Four ticks, Will was looking for a reaction. Any hint to what Hannibal was thinking or feeling. He was given none.

“And when I thought about my last night in this city the only thing I wanted to do was be with you. If you don’t want to stay here, we can go out. If you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to. If you don’t want to be in the same room with me, I’ll sit outside on your steps until sunrise. I don’t care about the circumstances or stipulations. I just want to spend these last few hours with you.”

Sixteen ticks. “I suppose you’ll want something special for dinner? I was planning on duck.”

Relief. “It doesn’t have to be special.”

“Our last supper.” He was leaving the room, leaving Will to follow. “The meal must match the occasion.”

And follow he did. “So must the conversation. Our last, Hannibal - ”

He caught his hand, pulling him to a stop. Hannibal resisted the impulse to pull away, to retreat. Two animals in close quarters, he felt cornered. He didn’t trust himself here.

“Tell me everything you haven’t.”

Will said it like he meant it. Like he’d gladly spend the night listening to every frivolous detail that Hannibal had to offer him. He didn’t understand just how much the man had to tell.

“Everything I don’t know about you. Everything you might have said if we had more time.”

Impulse. “I regret ever meeting you.”

It hung in the air and Hannibal, for the life of him, could not remember deciding to say it. Or ever having thought it in the first place. Cornered animal, spitting and hissing, he couldn’t trust himself.

So he tried again. “I had a sister.”

And Will’s stricken, wounded expression softened to one of shy curiosity. And Hannibal found himself working to undo his blurted mistake. And so he told Will everything.

“I play the theremin.”

“I love the way you are with your dogs.”

“I have a small collection of vinyl.”

“I noticed your hair is three different hues in the sunlight.”

“The duck will be ready soon.”

Will prompted him only once.

“Will you miss me?”

I will miss your company and our conversations. I will miss your criticizing my ‘overpriced’ restaurants and ‘stuffy’ bars. I will miss those dogs and your small house and the smell of you hidden beneath the scent of wet fur. I will miss our walks and your voice and the promise of seeing you the next day. “Yes. I think so.”

“I’ll miss you.” His voice shook. “I’ll miss you everyday.”

Softly. “And I you.”

“I play the piano. I love your laughter lines and your hair when it isn’t gelled. I hate half the food you’ve served me but somehow, when you make it, it’s my favorite thing.” Will glared hard at a spoon he was clutching. “And I will miss you.

Hannibal took the spoon from his hand and replaced it with his own.

Speaking softer still. “And I you.”

Found You (fluffier part 2 to a Jun angst)

Part two to the Jun angst! This was supposed to be fluffy but I’m not fully sure how I succeeded at that..? On top of that I apparently don’t know how to write things short sO… Anyway, this ending won by one vote but I hope everyone enjoys~ Thanks for the help, especially the Anon that suggested it to go more or less like this! ❤︎

You sipped your morning tea, seated by your small dining table, and watched Jun and your best friend pack her things into carton boxes. After “The Incident”, as you referred to it, things had changed a little. Jun and your friend paid a lot more attention to you - of course, they always had, but now it was different. They were practically looking for signs of you not being okay, but whenever they did that, you assured them that you were fine.

Which you would soon be, you told yourself. With the two of them moving out to their own apartment, you most likely wouldn’t see them as a couple as much anymore, and the less you’d see Jun the more your one-sided feelings would fade and the easier it would be for you to breathe, both literally and more metaphorically. You were sad to have your friend leave you, naturally, but you knew it was for the better. She’d get to live with her boyfriend and you’d get some space for yourself to sort things out.

The knowledge of a brighter future made you smile, and upon seeing that, Jun smiled, too, nudging your friend and pointing at you.

Two days later all the boxes were gone, as were all of your friend’s belongings. You stood by the door to her old room and sighed as nostalgia filled your mind. Taking a good look at the empty room, you closed the door, more than ready for the new chapter in your life that was about to begin.

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Body. Confidence.

Two words. Seemingly and deceptively easy to apply. Easier said than done. 

We all have insecurities. We always think we could be slightly more toned, and slightly skinnier, and our teeth, slightly straighter. This is made worse by modern media, magazines and even small ads on the side of the webpage, advocating teas that guarantee to show results in ‘less than 24 days’. It angers me. I was shaken when I saw vulnerable, young girls on YouTube commenting that they would ‘starve themselves for a couple days’ to ‘get the body’ that they ‘desired’ and then stop. As if this was completely normal. As if it was ok. I see young girls commenting on workout videos almost ‘confessing’ that they wanted ‘abs’ and that they were drinking all these teas to help them get there. How is this being let go? These are vulnerable CHILDREN that have been brainwashed by the fake images that are INGRAINED in their impressionable minds. Doesn’t society realise what it’s doing? Why isn’t anyone doing anything? 

People, women, especially, are told everyday, whether it be consciously or subconsciously, that they should not settle for themselves as they are, but constantly aim for something ‘better’ and ‘slimmer’. 

But, even if your thighs are a little juicier, or you have a little pouch that sits happily in between your hips, like a warm bowl of oatmeal (because let’s face it, everybody has this- it’s your body’s cute way of protecting, you know, your vital organs in your torso), who cares? 

Only you. 

You are your body’s potential greatest enemy and its greatest, closest friend.

Please make yourself the latter.

Do yourself a favour. On a warm, cozy day at home, lay on your bed. Run your fingers over ribcage, over belly and just appreciate yourself. Admire the curvea on your legs and the arch of your eyebrow. The twinkle in your eye and the curve of your lips when you smile. Rid yourself of any comparisons that impose themselves on you and just believe that you are BEAUTIFUL, because if you posit confidence and self-love into your mind, no one or nothing can convince you of anything different. 

You literally only have one body for this lifetime. Treat it well. Respect it. 

Because your body loves you. It is with you from the start and to the end. PLEASE love it back.

2 Years

A/N I cried while writhing this so that should give you an idea 

Summary: Angst in it’s purest form

Words: 1000

Originally posted by stanxstan

You had two years, and that was it for you

When you first met him you avoided him like the plague. You couldn’t afford to get close to anyone but you both worked and lived in the Stark Tower.You as an engineer and him as an avenger.  There was no avoiding him.

2 months of begging and he got you to go on a date with him even though your heart knew it was wrong,but you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. Life was to short to deny yourself of small pleasures

6 months later and you were irrevocably in love with him, maybe you always were but you could never admit it to yourself and much less him. You kept your thoughts to yourself and let them run wild at night when he was asleep and the peacefulness of sleep wouldn’t take you. Your heart was heavy as you looked at him.

He would always be your biggest regret.

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He let out a long breath. ‘Would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?’

‘I was wondering when you were finally going to suggest a date,’ they said, shooting him a quick wink before nodding. ‘I’d love to, Albus.’

Requested by Anonymous

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And the way one can find oneself strewn
so inattentively across life, across time.
Those who touch us, those whom we touch,
we hold them or we let them go
as though it were such a small matter.
How even know in truth how much
of mind should be memory, no less
what portion of self should be others
rather than self? Across life, across time,
as though it were such a small matter.
—  C. K. Williams, from “Lessons,” in The Singing
D is for Dancing

Malec Alphabet Drabbles / Oneshots (from A-Z)

Pairing: Magnus Bane / Alec Lightwood
Shadowhunters: The Mortal Instruments (tv show)
Rating: T
Words: 2k

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the copyright for The Mortal Instruments concepts, characters, etc for the tv show or original books.

Summary: Izzy invites Magnus out dancing and he gets the surprise of his life when he arrives early. Tribute to Izzy & Alec’s close relationship. 

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Worried About You

A/N: Here is a short, unedited, proabably pretty crappy Barry Alen imagine, because I couldn’t sleep and my actual assignments for class are going nowhere. Hope this is a small comfort to anyone cramming for finals at the moment. Enjoy!

Originally posted by anassforeverychair

“Alright that’s it.” You barely glance up from your textbook to acknowledge your boyfriend before quickly picking up where you left off. You had finals next week, and there was no way that you were getting less than an A on all of them. And that meant one thing, studying, and lots of it.

You had devoted the better part of your weekend, okay, all of it, to pouring over your textbooks and countless piles of notes preparing. Unfortunately, that left little time for other things, such as socializing and sleep. You were thinking about getting an IV to pump caffeine into your veins to save you the time that it took to get to Jitters. Well, it was between the IV and just moving in.

It seemed that Barry wasn’t a fan of your new schedule. You joked that it was because he was needy and lonely, but you knew that it was because he was worried about you, probably for a good reason. You were known to be a bit obsessive, especially when it came to your studies, but you couldn’t help it. When you wanted something, you really wanted it.

It seemed that your plan to just ignore Barry and continue on reading was not going to work out when he gently lifted it out of your lap and set it to the side. “Y/N” he said softly, cupping your face in both hands. “You have got to take a break.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you pulled away, moving to reclaim your text book for the next hour of studying you needed to get in before you had to be at work. “Barry, I love that you care, but I can’t do this right now.”

“I really think that you can.” Barry said from the other side of the room, waving your text book at you mockingly.

“Give that back” you laughed, moving to take the book from his hands. This was one of the times that you regretted falling in love with a speedster. “Barry, this isn’t funny,” you tried complaining, but your laugh told a different story.

“Come on,” he said from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Just a little one. We don’t even have to do anything. We could just lay here, and I could rub your head just how you like it.”

You smiled and leaned back into him, savoring this moment, because you knew that it couldn’t last forever. “Alright” you sighed. “But just for a little bit.” Even though you were trying to sound reluctant, you knew that it wasn’t working, and so did Barry.

You couldn’t help but think that as you laid down in his arms, you wouldn’t mind not getting up for a while. Maybe all night.

Of course, that had been Barry’s plan all along.


A Princely Bargain


She knew the risks making this trip. The potential reward, however, she felt was worth it. It was at her own king’s insistence that she be much more guarded than normal. She accepted but only because it was an ocean based voyage. She was far less worried about the men of the Southern Isles.

The day had come. They were in sight of the port. They had arrived, but still had a small distance to go. She was frankly glad to be getting used to land again, however briefly. She knew that the entourage would be a sight as it made its way along the road from the port to the capitol and finally to the palace. Spry horses, bedecked with tassels of blue and red, most with coats of black or brown, with clear warriors astride them, dressed for more arid climes. A pair of stocky tan ponies pulled a small cart in the middle, draped with a red and blue banner bearing a gold seal. Toward the front, and flanked by the warriors, was a single white horse, its tassels in blue, black, and gold, with a woman astride, wearing a gown of lapis blue, embroidered heavily in gold, with black beads set throughout to catch the light just so. Her face was covered in a matching veil. Gold jewelry set with gems adorned her fingers, her wrists, and even her auburn hair, which was neatly braided and tucked tightly at the back of her head. A chain of office sat draped about her neck, sitting at the shoulders, dipping low both back and front, and from the front hung a large pendant, a stylized mace, the head of which was set with a single, sizable, black sapphire.

She idly wondered what stories the people would spin as she looked over and waved at a group of children who had come to see the rather obvious foreigners. Perhaps she reminded them of something from their own fairy tales and legends. 

At long last, the group arrived at the palace and the warriors in front parted to let the woman take the lead. She did not dismount, yet, but announced herself properly, as any good ambassador would.

“Lady Tiloa of the house Likhanevala, Head Scribe of the city of Kothbyrn has arrived, bearing gifts for the King and his brothers. Go and tell your king that I am here, and await his permission to enter his home.” For this was a land she had not been able to learn nearly as much about as she would have liked, and so she obeyed the tradition of her land. One must not enter a house where one is not openly welcome.


Requested by anonymous

You let your hair fall into your eyes, you could never really handle being the center of attention, and right now hiding behind your hair seemed to be the best option. Your outfit was a silver jumpsuit that reflected in rainbows. Your manipulation of colour was truly amazing, so you decided to call yourself Prisma. 

Your first mission was with the twins Pietro and Wanda, you had never met them before but you knew that they were also from Eastern Europe. The three you you were waiting in a room to be debriefed. You stare at your hands, trying to make yourself as small as possible. There was a sudden slap and PIetro groaned. 

“Ow!” he muttered. 

“She’s our partner, go talk to her.” Wanda hissed. A thick blush creeps over your cheeks and you look up at the two of them.

The both of them stare at you for a moment, trying to figure out how to make this situation any less awkward. 

“Uh, hi?” you offer. Wanda smiles and waves at you a little bit, but Pietro is suddenly in your face, inches from your nose.

“What’s your name, partner?”

“M-my name is (y/n).” your accent is still thicker than blood.

Pietro’s eyes widen and a grin spreads across his face. “Where are you from, flower?” Your cheeks get hotter again and you swallow. 

“Uh, I’m from Belarus. A small village in the country near the bottom… But they took the name away from me.” You wince as a slight pounding begins in your head just behind your right eye. It always happened when you tried to remember anything that happened before the Avengers came to rescue you. 

“That’s alright, you don’t have to remember right now, we have a job to do. Wanda, come meet our new friend! She’s from Belarus.” PIetro winked at you as he turned to his sister which made you smile a little. Wanda rolled her eyes and glided over to you.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” She said with an outstretched hand and a small smile which you returned.

“Yes, thank you. It’s very nice to meet you too.” you manage. 

“You should pull your hair back, or at least do something about it being in your face all the time, speaking from experience, it’s very hard to fight bad guys when your hair is in your mouth and eyes and general head area.” Wanda said, holding out a hair tie from her wrist. You take it and give Wanda a small smile of thanks which she returns. 

“I can braid it for you if you’d like.” This didn’t come from Wanda. 

Your brow furrows and you look at Pietro. “You can braid hair?”

“How else do you think she braided her hair?” Wanda turned her head so she could show off her long red braid and PIetro held out his hand for the hair tie.


Belated birthday present to theinkedoctopus

I’m sorry I’m so late. I tried.


The loud crowds made Snake grumble, leaning into Jund’s presence more.

“That doesn’t really work when you’re taller than me,” He said with a slight smile as he tried to navigate through the swarm of people. Bodies bumped into them as they attempted to weave through the tiny gaps and Snake held onto Jund’s hand tightly.

“I didn’t know it’d be so crowded,” Snake mumbled, Jund only just managing to hear him.

“I don’t even go to these things and I know,” He answered with a slight smirk. “Strange to see you so unprepared.”

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anonymous asked:

Go check the census yourself. Doubt facts all you like, doesn't make them any less true.

You sent this twice. It’d have to be a small handful of Irish people considering most of them were dirt poor. You can’t be dirt poor and owning slaves. Let me guess, your next point will be I’m racist because a small group of Irish people owned slaves in America and I happen to be of Irish descent?

anonymous asked:

how would the brothers react if their s/o is really fragile ( gets sick really quick, always has bandages everywhere and gets hurt easily) but still stays positive? good job with the blog!!

Thank you~

Osomatsu constantly tried to make sure his s/o was safe. He would make sure there was nothing to hurt them and tend to them immediately if they were damaged.

Karamatsu took over-protection to an extreme. He always had a protective arm around his s/o in public, and if they were hurt, he would ask hundreds of questions about what happened while tending to the wound.

Choromatsu worried a little less than a mother. He still let his s/o have the freedom to do what they wanted without constant supervision, but insisted they take a small first aid kit if they’re going out alone.

Ichimatsu didn’t really mind that his s/o was fragile, although it made it hard to keep cats around. He was always really careful when hugging them, holding their hand, or just touching them in general.

Jyushimatsu was very worried about you. He became much more reserved, fearing that his s/o would fall victim to his flailing and general movements. If they wanted to watch him practice, he would make a bad excuse, since he didn’t want to accidentally hurt them.

Todomatsu tried to act as he would around anyone else, though his worry for his s/o would accidentally show through. He didn’t want to make them feel like he was treating them differently, but he was still overly-protective of them.

First British Tanks Depart for France

A British tank near the front in France, pictured in late August / early September 1916.

August 13 1916, DoverAfter nearly two years of development, the first tanks were ready for deployment to the front lines.  On August 13, the first six tanks left Britain for the Somme.  Haig knew these tanks were coming and had incorporated them into his planning.  By mid-September, he hoped to have around 60 tanks, and believed that they could be a war-winning weapon.  He knew the tanks were relatively primitive and untested in battle conditions, but believed that if they were given simple enough objectives, they could go help the infantry capture the next two lines of German trenches and create a breakthrough for the cavalry–note that such early tanks went at a fast walk, at best.  Haig’s subordinates were less optimistic for the use of tanks, and hoped to use them for small-scale, tactical objectives, hopefully attacking at night to preserve some of the mystery surrounding the new weapon.

Today in 1915: German POWs Escape, Attempt Rendezvous with U-Boat
Today in 1914: Germans Take Three Forts Surrounding Liège In One Day

Sources include: Randal Gray, Chronicle of the First World War; Robin Prior & Trevor Wilson, The Somme.

Killjoys have a highkey attachment to their boots. Whether they received them from a shop in Battery City, or found them laying in the sands of the zones, not many things will force a killjoys to part with their boots. Doc Martens, Steve Madden’s, McRae’s…. no matter what the brand, each boot represents what the killjoy has gone through and who they are as a person. Some have burn holes from stray ray gun blasts, some have paint on them from friends going haywire with graffiti. Frayed stitching is replaced with embroidery string found at Chow Mein’s, and blown out soles are often held together with duct tape. Everyone tries their hardest to keep their boots for as long as possible. The zones definitely wear them out, but there are only three reasons a killjoy would abandon their boots:
1. The boots were originally given to them by a friend/family member who is now deceased
2. There is a less fortunate killjoy (either shoeless or wearing shoes too small)
3. New events had lead them to become a better person, and their boots are a reminder of who they used to be

Making You Notice Me

Description: Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel, but denies it. Sam has had enough and comes up with a plan.

“You can’t keep kissing strangers and pretend that it’s him.” Sam sighs. Sam and Dean were seated in the corner of a small pub after a successful hunt. It was an easy salt and burn case, but tiring none the less. He sees Dean eyeing a hot brunette at the bar and rolls his eyes. The past two weeks Dean had a one-nightstand almost every day.

Sam knew it was because of Cas, their angel friend. Probably a lot more than just friends in Dean’s opinion, but Dean wasn’t going to admit it. Sam wants the two to admit their feelings already and he doesn’t have the patience to keep waiting.  At this pace, neither of them are going to admit anything, ever.

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“My father owns the Safari Zone in Route 121. He used to charge people to enter the Zone and would make them use ‘special’ Poké Balls, which gave everyone the idea that this was where their money was going. In truth, those balls were just plain Poké Balls painted over to look fancy, and my father gets free shipments of those balls from a small Poké Ball factory his brother owns in Kalos. He made a huge profit from charging the visitors, so it didn’t take long for it to get to his head.

“He started raising the entry fees, with fees being doubled in less than a month. Visiting trainers noticed, and their number became less and less each time the price raised. To make up for it, he started cutting the salaries of his workers. In turn, his workers started quitting one by one. The whole situation made him so mad that one day, he made me and Mom pack our bags and move out to Kalos to live with his brother, and we couldn’t say anything to change his mind.

“While we were in Kalos, he tried asking himself what went wrong in the business. He started blaming the workers for leaving, then the trainers for not appreciating the Zone, until he finally realized that there was no one to blame but himself. He knew that he let his greed get the better of him, and as a result, the entire business went down the drain.

“It would be five whole years before we heard anything about the Zone again. My father got a call from one of his old business partners saying that the Pokémon he left in the area turned the Zone into a fully functioning ecosystem. Stricken with guilt, my father came back and reopened the Zone. This time, he removed the entrance fees and asked for volunteers to sustain the Zone’s day-to-day business, with he himself becoming one of these volunteers. He claimed that it was under new management, and he wasn’t really lying—by the time we moved back here, he was a changed man.

“He tells me this story all the time, and one time I jokingly told him that he should write a book about it. Apparently, he took it seriously, and you can get free copies of the book at a stand in the Zone’s entrance. As much as I’m sick of the story myself, it’s an interesting read, and it’ll be worth getting one next time you visit the Zone.”

Thoughts on Shermy Cont.

Okay because I got a billion and one questions about this in one go since I posted my thing less than a half hour ago, here:

  1.  I went to a small school. If parents EVER went to functions, I feel like the principal would know them because they were involved. They would know the parents of the kids. Maybe their high school was huge. Maybe they didn’t have that kind of stuff. But either way it seems weird okay.
  2. “VERY FRANKLY is the only way I speak”. We knew Shermy was a thing because Stanley said so. If the principal fudged up and said “2 sons”, when we know there was a potential third, WHY WOULDN’T THEIR DAD SAY SO? It’s not hiding anything from the audience for the dad, “Mr. Brutal Honesty” over here, to CORRECT THE CRAP out of the guy who is WRONG about his family. If he had 3 sons, he would have said so.

Seriously, this still bothers the crap out of me and I will get to the bottom of it. For now, I think Shermy may have been a girl and was either older or younger than the twins. If it turns out Shermy WAS a girl, I hope we get some backstory.

If not, and if Shermy is the younger sibling, then it’s “Liar Liar Pine Tree on Fire” for Stanley and is the giant nail in the coffin for G4G.

Imagine if we lived in a world where you could only live with other people who had the same job as you…

Like, there’s Lawyer city, Administration Officer Unity Village, Coal-Miner Underground Apartments, Social Work City, Janitorial Town, and of course, Politician Island.

It would be so fucking weird.

What if they made you all live roommate style with a certain amount of other people from your occupation?

What if there were small one-to-two house overlap areas for people from different disciplines to go and meet outside ‘their employment sector’? 

Raising children and having uncomfortable ‘how will we raise them?’ discussions about whether they’ll grow up to be a zoologist or a Chef…

Imagine illicit pairings. 

Imagine the protagonist secretly teaching their friends FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE about a different sector of employment… and praying no one finds out…

Like, you can be as hella gay as you want openly, but don’t you dare mention calculous if you’re a Park Ranger… the only prejudice is occupational.

No job is considered less or more than others.

There are some intersections; a middle city they all work in everyday…

The doctors, the nurses, the surgeons, the physios and dieticians all travel in to be in the hospital; the real estate agents and admin officers all come from different places… 

The retail workers climb out of their pit of suffering to commute each morning. Some dare to learn THE FORBIDDEN INFORMATION at night, hoping to somehow gain access to university studies, or something other than McDonalds when they are older…

It would be fucked up.

And yet…


Oh, oh no… what if you had to live WITH YOUR BOSS… that would be so weird… 

University is in a rural area, away from everything, but you still stayed in study-specific dorms. University is the only place you can move about, or change where you live/the course of your life… but few can afford it.

The old families send their children to occupation-specific universities, perpetuating the cycle. Families try to send their children to alternate universities, but the ones that allow free choice are too expensive…