#For context middle schoolers scare me more than the police ever could

[hellonoblesky]

All the nervousness I had around being harassed at the store today bc I now have dyed hair on top of the general dykefag punkshit is GONE because I sat down in a seating area adjacent to where a group of middle schoolers were sitting and after 20MIN OF ME JUST SITTING HERE THEY GIT UP ANS LEFT!!!! THE MIDDLE SCHOOLERS FIND ME SCARY!!!! I WIN!!!!!!

[epochxp]

Is Historical Wargaming Inaccessible?

British Historical Games Society

I don’t want to rehash old articles of mine or those of my fellow contributors, but I was wondering something recently; is it because the study of history has become passe, that Historical Wargaming is having issues getting younger blood invested or interested in the hobby? Now more than ever,  history, and the interpretation of history, is a loaded topic. Can we, then, blame young folks, who exist in the hothouse of peer pressure, for shying away from historical games when they have Nazis and Southern  Confederates marching across the tables?

I am not suggesting we censor the hobby. History, at its core, is never a clean or easy thing. Uncomfortable truths exist and should be honestly and competently dealt with by all; not just those who have “Ph.D.” after their names. This applies to game designers and wargamers as well. I’ve never met a WWII gamer who shied away from the truth of the Holocaust, nor an American Civil War gamer who shied away from the Fort Pillow massacre. It’s part and parcel of knowing your period. 

The other issue? It’s an old one. History is, in in my opinion, poorly taught at the primary and secondary school levels. Most kids find it to be a boring litany of names and dates; they don’t see the story behind it. 

Look; I am a Jewish wargamer who games World War II. Do I have SS? Yep, I do, in 20mm. And do I know about the things the SS did? Of course I do, and in horrible detail. I have a responsibility to know the history when I game. Not because I want to be the fun police, but because I want to be careful, to be respectful, and to never those guys or make them into anything more than they were. 

Unfortunately, recent events have made it difficult for any study or any honest look into an actual history context to take place , and I expect HMGS will be in the sights of those wishing to whitewash uncomfortable truths. It’s no wonder younger folks are flocking towards-fi and fantasy instead; “Orc” ins’t quite the loaded term “Nazis” is. And I can understand that.

But this problem (and yes, to me, this is a problem) will not be fixed by the wargamers themselves. We must acknowledge that, one: history degrees are not the types of degrees that will get you a job right out of the gate. STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) degrees are being sold hard right now, and with some good reasons. Not every kid, however, is cut out to be a person in a STEM field. I know I wasn’t.

We need to figure out ways to help this learning process. To help the kids who are not normally STEM capable find a way to make history relevant to them! We need, in my mind, to figure out how to beat back unhelpful revisionism happening in the field right now. Now let me qualify that there absolutely is some damn good research and reporting going on. One is reevaluating the quality of the French Army in 1940? I’ve spilled some of my own electrons on that and others have done a lot more. 

I am also seeing some politically motivated stuff that concerns me. And I know it is scaring away some folks who would otherwise join the wargaming hobby. This needs to be attacked and stopped. I don’t want this editorial to take one political side or the other, but I am not naive enough to think politics does not play a role in historical interpretation.  There comes a point when we become too afraid to pursue hobbies based on what the neighbors might think.  And I am concerned about that. Gravely so. 

I do see good work in the field. Bolt Action and Flames of War are two that come to mind. While many older gamers decry them for, shall we say, questionable historical fidelity, they are to me, great gateway drugs into the wargaming hobby I think both games could do more to push that role even more; perhaps by adding entry-level kits to appeal to gamers in the 13 to15-year-old range. Some miniatures, terrain, simple rules, and paints to get one started. I know I would have loved that sort of thing at that age. Flames of War has done such a thing with Hit the Beach, but I do wish they would expand it even further. 

I think what we really need in the hobby is not just a fun component, but an educational component. And we are trying; HMGS awards scholarships and manages kid’s clinics. But perhaps we could do more?  What if we pick a Civil War battlefield, do a scaled-down staff ride and then run a fast-play simplified game of the battle after lunch? I could see that working very well for middle schoolers. 

In short; we need to get out of the box, and make kids see there can be more to history and historical wargaming than just names, dates and stuffy old guys gathered around a table with painted toy soldiers. If we can get the story out there, then we can bring new blood into the hobby.

As always, Good Gaming, Everyone.

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At Epoch Xperience, we specialize in creating compelling narratives and provide research to give your game the kind of details that engage your players and create a resonant world they want to spend time in. If you are interested in learning more about our gaming research services, you can browse Epoch Xperience’s service on our parent site, SJR Research.

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(This article is credited to Jason Weiser. Jason is a long-time wargamer with published works in the Journal of the Society of Twentieth Century Wargamers; Miniature Wargames Magazine; and Wargames, Strategy, and Soldier.)

[satorisa]

Lift the Veil - Chapter 2

Lift the Veil - Chapter 2: Ocean Eyes

Rating: PG

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

I’m about more than a month late in updating this. I’m terrible at writing and keeping track of things. Please enjoy this extremely late update. 

Chapter 2 – Ocean Eyes

I’m scared; you really know how to make me cry.

My first day back in Azumano, as eventful as it was, couldn’t soften the blow of having to go back to work so soon. After leaving the NHK less than a week ago, I found myself at the Azumano news station the morning after my return home, watching the seniors lackadaisically droop in their respective offices and cubicles.

“Not much of a welcome, huh?” Saehara asked as we passed by a neat table of documents. “Pretty sure you had more fun working in Tokyo. After all, not much happens here anymore, so we’ve resorted to reporting on all these lame stories.” He sighed. “Oh, how I wish Dark Mousy was still around. Pretty sure you do too, deep down inside.”

He winked at me, and I couldn’t help but cringe. Sure, my adolescent self had fallen head over heels for him and yes, somewhere in my head he still fit the image of my ideal man, but bringing him up in that context after ten years?

Saehara, you damage whatever shred of dignity I had left after crawling back here.

We stopped in front of a neat workspace wedged in the middle of messily occupied ones. “This is your cubicle. Make yourself at home and settle in, but don’t sit until your butt leaves an imprint in your chair. We’re headed over to Chief’s to get the deets on anything and everything.”

He winked again, leaving me to my relatively private space. Putting down my box of office supplies, I examined my cubicle once more and smiled. On the shelf, I placed a fake potted flower and a couple of parting gifts from friends back in Tokyo. I hung a couple of photos of me, Riku, Daisuke, and Ritsuko on the wall before arranging the rest of my office supplies. I stood back when I finished, pleased at my personalized touches.

“Oh! That’s nice Harada-imouto,” Saehara complimented, slightly shocking me from his unannounced return. “More plain that I expected it to be, though.”

“Thanks…” I mumbled, grabbing my leather tote and following Saehara out of the dismal news station.

“The police station’s not too far, unless, of course, you’re wearing heels.” He glanced down at my shoes, and I reveled in his expression when he saw the tennis shoes I donned. “Huh. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Saehara, it would be nice if you didn’t project your condescending opinions about me; it’s childish. And everyone knows working at the police station is fieldwork no matter how far it is from the news station.”

I rendered him speechless from my criticism probably because he expected me to run my infamous tantrums until I ran out of energy. Somehow, I had gotten away with them back in high school but, after being displaced in Tokyo, I quickly learned that they wouldn’t fly in the adult world I had, unfortunately, grown into.

He coughed. “So, you’ve done fieldwork before?”

“It was brutal. Try training in Tokyo and get back to me.” It was my turn to wink, and I couldn’t help but chuckle when Saehara’s face blanched.

“Harada-imouto, I think Tokyo’s made you a force to be reckoned with.”

With my signature hair flip, I shot him the smile that once charmed the entire male population at Azumano High. “Well, I had to toughen up for the big leagues, after all.”

Saehara starting barking and hooting, either trying to pump me up or compliment my change from the delicate flower I was in high school. I kept him going, entertained by his energy, until we walked into the police station and was greeted by a blank-faced Hiwatari holding a cup of coffee.

“So, who let the dogs out so damn early in the morning?” he grumbled, taking a sip of his coffee as his cold eyes bore into Saehara.

“Sorry, Chief. I got caught up in the…spirit?”

“Of annoying me? This station was peaceful until I let you camp out here. Let me remind you that I can kick you out as easily as I let you in.”

“Chief, please, humble my presence for I am a lowly plebian that was allowed to beg for stories by your divine grace.” Saehara bowed and then stood up with a giant smile. Hiwatari returned it as best as he could, and the two of them laughed.

“Anyways, good morning, Harada-san. If you need anything, feel free to ask anyone for assistance.” He waved goodbye before disappearing behind empty cubicles into an office wedged in the far corner of the room. After he slammed his door shut, silence filled the air as I attempted to comprehend what I had just witnessed.

“You two get along?” I asked, awestruck at how Saehara managed to get on Hiwatari’s good side.

“Yeah. We’ve been ever since I started working here. I didn’t realize he was such a swell guy until we went out to drink after work. Even since then, we’ve gotten along.” He smirked. “What? Are you jealous?”

“Of that? Please. Get over yourself.”

While Saehara guffawed, I sat down and opened my laptop, starting to review a couple of stories prepared for today’s broadcast. In the middle of a piece about the health benefits of an Okinawan diet, Saehara slinked away only to come back with two cups of hot drinks, yogurt container, and a bowl of fruit.

“Here.” He handed me one of the drinks. “Chai latté, freshly brewed from your premade, neighborhood coffee machine. And some yogurt and fruit á la fridge de la breakroom. I already had my fair share of donuts during my visit there, so don’t worry about me.”

I blinked. “How did you—”

“I bumped into Chief refilling his mug of coffee. He told me you liked chai lattés and couldn’t eat anything heavy in the morning.” He shifted his seating positing, resting his elbows on his knees while cradling his drink in his hands. “Seems like nothing has changed from high school; even now, he’s still looking after you.”

A frown settled on my face as I mixed my yogurt and fruit together. “He’s just being courteous to the newcomer; that’s all,”

“Huh.” He didn’t say anymore, downing his drink before I could express concern over whether his mouth and throat were okay from chugging something that hot that quickly, and hopped up from his seat with his trusty steno pad and pen in his hands. Walking away, he talked to himself about plans to pester the squad until he squeezed every last story, interesting or not, out of them.

I shook my head, astonished that Saehara was still his busy-body self that dotted my high school experience. Taking a spoonful of yogurt, I returned to proofread the files piling up inside my inbox.

“Here.”

On the coffee table in front of me, Saehara placed a paper bag that smelled oddly like Italian. He took out a small container, handing it to me along with a plastic utensil set.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked, removing the container’s lid and seeing a huge serving of carbonara nestled in its plastic abode. As much as I loved this dish, anything smothered in cream-based sauces was too heavy for me. Funny, since I loved them as a high schooler, but living by myself and becoming gravely conscious of my health (and my already slowing metabolism, much to my dismay) changed my preferences in food.

“Your first day on the job. It’s about as good as a welcome as you’re going to get.” He slurped his spaghetti as if he hasn’t eaten in a week, and I felt my face instinctively distort in disgust.

“Thanks, but I feel less welcome after watching you eat like that.” I swirled some of the pasta before enjoying this nostalgic taste. “You’re not going to get a woman with those table manners.”

He smirked, continuing to scarf down his food probably to spite me. “Just because you don’t like the way I eat doesn’t mean my honey agrees with you.”

Too preoccupied with my food, I didn’t pay much attention to his gloating tone and the words that accompanied it. They finally hit me after I polished off my carbonara. Astonished that Saehara, of all people, managed to find and keep a girlfriend, I returned to my laptop and edited the day away, keeping an eye out for the man so that I could grill him for more information. (Hopefully, that conversation doesn’t last long enough for Saehara to pry into my dry well of a love life.)

He returned maybe an hour or two later, tearing a piece of paper from his steno pad, placing it next to my laptop plopping onto the couch and sighing.

“Missing your honey?”

“I’m always missing her.” He sighed again. “Chief’s only got petty crimes to report. They’re not much of a story unless you want to cover bullying in our local schools.”

“Maybe we could do a small story about rampant bullying in our education system? It’s not much of a report, but it’s at least some type of filler.”

Saehara groaned. “Maybe. But I don’t want to be in charge of something as lame as that! I need something with more pizzazz!”

“You could always sensationalize it.”

“And ruin my credibility? Harada-imouto, I’ve told the truth and nothing but the truth ever since I started down this path.”

I stopped typing, raising my eyebrow at him. He shot me a displeased expression and, wholly amused, I returned to my work with a smile on my face. To think that I would not only work with Saehara but also enjoy his company was something my younger self could never bring herself to imagine.

“So, ‘truth-teller,’ tell me about this girlfriend of yours.”

He shook his head at the sarcasm dripping from my tone, but I saw his expression lighten and his eyes glimmer once he got over my sass. God, the poor boy was smitten.

“Akane Himawari: the happy sunflower of my life. I met her at a café I frequented back in college, and she always had her nose in a book. We became friends when I grew the balls to actually talk to her. Didn’t have the guts to move any further than that, so we graduated, and I was no closer to her than I was when I first chatted her up…”

To think that the obnoxious Saehara would actually give a girl he was courting her space was unbelievable. He paused his story and shot me a puzzled expression.

“What are you judging me for now?”

“You did get closer to her, you idiot. You two became friends.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you had waited for me to finish like any respectable human being would’ve, I was going to tack ‘romantically’ after that. Anyways, once I became friends with Chief, we met up at that same café once, and I saw her furiously typing at her computer.

“According to Chief, I wouldn’t shut up about her, so he gave me that look—you know, the one where he’s fed up with your idiocy—before telling me that I was in love with this girl, and that I needed to carpe diem, or I may never get the chance to ever ask her out again. Needless to say, we’ve been dating ever since.”

“Cute,” I grumbled, trying to hide my disdain at Hiwatari’s mention.

“What? Jealous you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Howling with laughter, he got up with gumption, bouncing away in search of some hidden gem. I shook my head, both entertained and disgusted at the sight of such a love-sick person before returning back to my laptop and escaping from my reality.

“I’ll be heading off now!”

“See you tomorrow.”

He waved goodbye, walking out with his messenger bag slung over his slouched shoulders. Outside, the sun started setting, hiding behind the trees and buildings in my line of sight. Knowing how still Azumano became once darkness settled in, the sunset would turn the police station into a ghost town. I still had some stories I had to skim through before the broadcast, so I decided to stay put until Captain said they were ready. I also needed to type up Saehara’s list and see what we could squeeze from it but, after glancing at it earlier, it was terribly dry. At least the station was quiet enough to let me focus.

I didn’t notice that night had fallen until Hiwatari snapped me away from my laptop. “You’re still here?”

Looking up, I saw him, with this trademark poker face, holding a suitcase. My eyes quickly darted from Hiwatari to the night-shift behind him, silently cooped up in their tiny cubicles with their eyes void of energy or happiness. I couldn’t blame them; if I were in their position, I’d probably die a little each time I had to stay up all night watching the clock flit by as I did nothing.

“Work.”

He nodded, and I expected him to leave with a simple farewell. But he sat next to me on the couch, pulling out a novel (Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami: the book that kept me afloat during my first two years at college) and casually reading. If I had to deal with his conspicuous presence any longer than I had to, it would drive me insane. Pulling out my headphones, I turned on my music to distract myself from his slender fingers gingerly flipping through pages that held words dear to me.

When I finally finished, I started packing my stuff quickly, trying to flee before Hiwatari said something or tried to stop me.

“Done?” he asked, looking up from the book.

I silently nodded, hating how courteous I was towards him. He closed the novel, placing it in his bag before standing up, his face as empty as ever.

“Are you hungry, Harada-san?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

I was about to head for the door when I felt a warm hand gently touch my arm. Whipping my head around, I saw Hiwatari’s face. His concern screamed with the slant of his eyebrows, the shine in his eyes and the outline of his lips—

“Risa, please, I insist.”

Taking a deep breath, I brushed his hand off me. “Hiwatari-san, please call me Harada-san.”

I rushed out the door, hoping that the cool night air would calm me down. But I spent the walk home hearing the heavy pounding of my heart, trying not to let my swirling emotions prevent me from enjoying my evening.