Michael Laidlaw, MD: I'm a board-certified endocrinologist, practicing in private practice for the last 16 years. I've been studying and publishing in this area for the last 5 years, including peer reviewed journals such as Journal of of Clinical Endocrinology and Metabolism, and others. I also have a patient who is a detransitioner.
I think it's important to note that studies are shown that desistance, or growing out of this condition, of children by adulthood is very high. It's some 50-98%.
I want to be sure before I give someone a very powerful hormone like Insulin that they in fact have diabetes.
What about cancer? Before we give any powerful agents such as chemotherapeutics or surgeries, we certainly want to have physical evidence of this problem, such as biopsies or imaging.
Now, the gender affirmative therapy treatment proposed by WPATH gives very powerful hormones and surgeries on what basis? Where can we find the gender identity to be certain that these children will not desist by adulthood? Can we use imaging of the brain or blood tests, genetic testing, are there other biomarkers to ensure that we are correct? There is no such thing.
Julia Mason, MD: The Endocrine Society put out guidelines in 2017, and they were very careful in the guidelines. One, to point out that the evidence was of low and very low quality. And they also said in the guidelines that they have no idea how you identify which kids are trans and require this treatment.
And then the American Academy of Pediatrics the next year just leapt into that void and said, oh, oh, we'll tell you how you know which kids. You ask them.
Prior to 2018 I had maybe one trans patient. But then there was another one. And another one. And another one.
It wasn't until later that I started asking questions like, wait, every single kid I send to the gender clinic gets put on puberty blockers or cross-sex hormones. Just, it was happening immediately.
Patrick Hunter, MD: This affirmative model of care has spread wildly in the last 8 years. Now we have objective, unbiased systematic reviews. These systematic reviews tell us the evidence for youth transition is poor quality, and with very low certainty for benefit.
In JAMA Pediatrics, there was a study reported from Northwestern University in Chicago. Patients ranged in age from 13 to 24 years. The authors concluded that mastectomy was beneficial and should not be delayed in youth. What lead them to that conclusion? The finding that 3 months after surgery, the 36 patients were happy with their flat chests. They lost 9% of their surgical cases to follow-up. Nine percent. In 3 months.
It is absurd, meaningless to draw any conclusions after 3 months.
This paper is indicative of the quality of research we have in this field, published in our most prestigious journals.
An attempt at humor, but somehow got infected by angst. Inspired by @jojo56830 ’s @linkeduniverse. An answer to the Discord prompt, “Music.”
I also hit some of the bonuses, but not all.
- 3k+ words: Yes, I only doubled it this time.
- Sing, Sing, Sing!: Sort of; I made up my own lyrics to a silly song, and one of the characters sings it.
- Tiptoe Through the Tulips: No.
- Lose Yourself to Dance: Not quite. I’ll just allude to it in a brief sentence. :)
Warnings: Magic, minor Bullying, gruesome masks?
Other Warnings: My take on River Zoras, a stupid made up song, made up magical item, two non-cannon invented song titles, lazy research, personal head cannons implied as fact for the sake of plot, side character OCs
Summary: Warriors isn’t like the others; but maybe that’s OK.
Characters owned by Nintendo, given life by JoJo, ruined by me.
Hyrule’s land is one of peace and quiet, they have discovered. The big-bads have been vanquished and the Shadow has yet to taint the smaller ones. They fought some keese and zols earlier, but they were few in number and now that it is night they are lounging around the campfire enjoying themselves. Warriors is watching as Twilight and Wild play-wrestle, the others cheering on the two as one tries to knock the other out of the circle they’ve drawn in the dirt. Warriors believes Twilight will win, as he is the stronger of the two, but Legend’s money is on Wild. Why he thinks the smaller stands a chance, Warriors doesn’t know.
“C’mon, Twilight! Push him out!” he cheers. Twilight is doing an admirable job at just that, Wild’s deer-skin boots digging small furrows in the ground as he fights to keep his position. Twilight himself is barefoot, not wanting an “unfair advantage”. Wild has yet to protest the arrangement, and Warriors suspects he is the kind to take any quarter. Wild is a survivalist, and if he can exploit a weakness, he will.
But ultimately Twilight is stronger. Brute force and taking things down are what he is built for.
In a move Warriors would never have calculated, Wild ducks under Twilight’s arm and twists behind him. Then with a shove he uses his mentor’s own momentum against him to push him toward the outside of the circle. The whole crowd gasps, Warriors included, but Twilight is able to stop his toes just before they leave the boundaries. Twilight gives a low, gravelly growl and whips around just as Wild moves forward to give him another push. He stands his ground, widening his stance and grabbing Wild around his waist, slinging him over his shoulder. Wild yelps and tries to find purchase anywhere where he can either free himself, or even better switch their positions. He ends up digging his fingers into Twilight’s sides. The elder Link releases him with a howl of laughter, but quickly recovers and blocks Wild’s attempt to ram him out of the ring.
“It’s nice to see them in a friendly competition,” Four says quietly beside him, nearly scaring Warriors out of his skin. He’s never figured out how he can move so silently. “Things were getting a bit tense there for a while.”
Twilight and Wild have been on the outs ever since Wild jumped in front of an arrow for him a week ago. Twilight has been upset that his protégé felt the need to protect him, and Wild has been miffed that Twilight was trying to make decisions for him, especially when it was his job to protect people.
Sometime between then and arriving in Hyrule’s world they have come to an agreement, and are once again palling around like nothing has happened.
“You’re telling me,” Legend snorts, watching on with folded arms. He is the most excited about Twilight’s almost-foul. “It’s about time those guys made up.”
There is a sudden cheer as Twilight pins Wild to the ground, his shoulder landing outside their boundary. Warriors grins and holds his palm out to Legend, who grudgingly gives over the fifteen rupees they bet on. Warriors pockets the jewels and turns to see Twilight giving Wild a hand up. Everyone laughs and smiles and Wind jumps up on a boulder, his face glowing in the light of the fire.
“Now I must sing a pirate cheer for the winner,” he crows.
Ho! The champ has the glory,
Whose enemies he’s victor’d o’er,
Who’s beaten them sorely,
And scared them to the shore,
Who’s blown down their captain,
Thrown the skipper o’erboard,
Crimped all the crew an’
Then became their lord!
Everyone laughs and claps along with Wind’s song. Warriors joins in, being able to keep the beat as long as everyone else is, too. Wind spins around and raises his knees high, stomping and smiling the whole time. When he is done, the claps scatter and Twilight bumps shoulders with Wild teasingly. Wind sits down and Sky pulls out a lyre. That seems to be some sort of signal as Time and Legend both dig into their bags and pull out ocarinas.
“Hyrule has a flute, too,” Four calls out. Hyrule sends him a mild glare.
“It’s just a recorder. And Four has an ocarina,” Hyrule accuses. “Maybe he should play it.”
“You don’t have to get out an instrument if you don’t want to,” Legend says smugly. “Just leave this to the professionals.”
Warriors almost sighs. Now Hyrule has taken that as a challenge and is removing the not-flute from his shoulder bag. His fingers are awkward on the instrument, as if he is unfamiliar with the handling. Four still refuses to get his out.
“No, you have fun,” he says. “I’ll listen.”
“You guys know the Overworld March?” Time asks.
“Ooh! I do!” Wind says, “But I don’t have my flute, so I’ll just sing!”
“I don’t know it, but I can probably pick it out,” Sky admits. “Chords are pretty easy.”
“I’ll sing with Wind,” Twilight offers. “And Wild can, too. He’ll help us keep a beat.”
“I don’t…know the words,” Wild hesitates.
“It’s not hard,” Four says quietly. “I can sing, too.”
Their conversation continues, and Warriors relaxes and begins to drown it out. He instead concentrates on the light shining on their faces, and how happy they look to be with each other and to be making music together. He doesn’t realize Sky has been trying to get his attention until Legend nudges him.
“What?”
“Do you play anything?” Sky asks.
“Oh, no. I never learned.” Warriors isn’t too sorry he’s never learned. He’s never had the time, and has always been more interested in tactics and fighting techniques. And appearances, of course.
“Maybe you can help keep a beat,” Hyrule suggests.
“Oh, no. I’d probably mess you up,” Warriors smiles good-naturedly. “I’ll just listen.”
“Come on, you can at least sing. If I have to keep the rhythm, you can at least help with the words.”
“Nah, you don’t want me singing.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Coward.”
“Really?”
“Why not?” Wind whines.
Warriors shrugs and jokes, “I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
Everyone is silent; the atmosphere has become tense. All Hylians have a natural tendency to be good at music, and if not with an instrument, then at least they can all sing. There isn’t much more they can say to convince him to join in.
“…But, no one can carry a tune in a bucket. That’s impossible…”
“It’s an idiom, Sky.”
“You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to.” Time cradles his ocarina. Everything has gotten quiet and awkward.
“Guys! Go ahead and play!” Warriors says, exasperated. “I enjoy just listening.”
The others look at each other, and then Time quietly blows a couple notes into his ocarina, Legend joining in with the harmony. Sky soon picks up on the cords and Wind and Twilight are starting in with lyrics. Hyrule is playing a few notes, struggling to keep up with Time, and wincing to himself whenever he misses a cue. Wild is singing, too, and hitting a couple of stout branches against the hollow log he’s sitting on. Soon a beat rises up, and those who don’t have a wind instrument are smiling and joining in.
Warriors doesn’t mind. He likes to watch the glow of his friends’ faces, and even though he has trouble hearing what is making Legend wince as they play, he picks up a little on the melody and the tempo and taps his foot to Wild’s rhythm. It becomes its own kind of symphony. He is sure to make his humming as quiet as possible. He doesn’t want to mess anything up.
Warriors is a tiny little thing, standing a half a head shorter than the rest of his class, even as a first year student. As such, he tries to make up for his stature by being as loud and obnoxious as possible. The need to be seen, to be recognized, overrides his teacher’s exasperated commands to be “quiet or you’ll be sweeping the floor tonight.” Warriors has become quite adept at using a broom.
He has “friends,” but they are mostly amused at him, and not really friends. He takes being the butt of their jokes in stride; he doesn’t mind as long as he gets some attention. He tends to get noticed by adults more than by other kids. He’s such a cute kid, and has such beautiful blue eyes. He’s such an annoying brat, always talking loud and being disruptive in class.
It is springtime, and the king will be riding in with his daughter, Zelda, to inspect their town. Warriors is excited, because he has heard stories about the bravery of the king in battle from his father, and his mother has told him that Princess Zelda is his age. He can’t wait to meet her.
As is customary, the students of the school have to learn “Saluting Zelda”, Hyrule’s national anthem. The choir is made up of all the children in the class, and each class has to sing a different part. Warriors is particularly excited.
Their teacher has them memorize the words line by line. Warriors sets to committing it to his mind as soon as he gets his copy, running home with it to his mother and using his evenings to pour over the lyrics. He knows them better than anyone in his class.
One day his teacher brings out a strange instrument called an accordion. She starts off with the first couple notes, telling the children to wait until the intro finishes playing before they join in. Warriors starts too early, and all the kids laugh at him. The next time she starts, he’s sure to watch from his periphery for the intake of breath the other students take before they begin.
But somehow that goes wrong, too. The teacher tells him to behave and sing properly, or he’s getting detention. Warriors tries, he really does. He has the words down, and he doesn’t think he’s singing wrong, but somehow he finds himself sitting in the classroom after school with his head on the table, waiting for his mother to come and pick him up. He’s never cried in school before, but he’s close to it today. He feels so humiliated. He would rather not be seen by everybody, now.
His mother takes him home, and Warriors doesn’t tell her what’s wrong. He stays in his room through supper and bed time, only emerging the next morning to go back to school. He is quieter in school that day, and ends up just letting the other children talk and laugh around him. The end of the day draws close, and he dreads what is coming.
His teacher begins to play again, and again he waits for the children to take a breath before he starts (though he is beginning to get the timing down, now). He can now hear the melody, the notes, and the cacophony of his own voice against them. He thinks maybe, if he can adjust his voice, he can sing properly.
It doesn’t work, and the teacher gets after him particularly harshly. Warriors bursts into tears, and yells that he’s trying, he just can’t get it to match. His teacher takes him by the shoulders, looks him in the face, and sighs.
“It’s too bad,” she says. “Such a pretty face. I still want you standing in the front, but don’t sing. Just mouth the words.”
And so Warriors does. He spends the rest of the practices mouthing words he’s memorized by heart, and trying to hum quietly to the tune when the others are practicing a particular detail over and over and over again. He thinks maybe if he can get it right, he can sing. But he never does, so he doesn’t.
The day comes shining bright and glorious, as is befitting a king and his daughter. Warriors is still in the front, but it is no longer just his class. They are lined up along their main roadway and Warriors panics when he realizes his teacher isn’t carrying her accordion. One of the older students informs him that they have to wait for the sound of trumpets to start. He calms when he sees the others beginning to heave in a breath. He does so as well. Just as in practice, he mouths the words.
The crowd roars and Warriors jumps, not expecting the sudden noise. People cheer as the knights come in first on their stallions, waving to the crowd. Warriors beams when his father rides by, careful to keep his mouth moving. His dad gives him a wink, his blue eyes sparkling and bright smile flashing, and then is gone. People start going down on their knees, and Warriors just barely remembers to do so, too, keeping his lips moving the entire time. The king comes in on a great chestnut stallion. Warriors can’t see much of him except his boots and the bottom of his red beard. A chariot follows after, and he catches a glimpse of pointed ears and corn-yellow hair between drawn lace curtains, and then it too is gone.
It is so fast, Warriors is almost shocked out of singing (mouthing). That’s it? He isn’t going to be able to hear the king give a speech, or ask Zelda what it’s like to live in a palace? He tries not to let his disappointment show.
Masking his feelings becomes something that Warriors grows adept at.
Hyrule splashes Wild as they “fish” with their hands in a calm, shallow section of the river. Somehow it has turned into a war, the two scaring more fish than they are catching. Upstream, well away from their antics, Time, Legend, and Twilight fish with actual poles. Wind is tending a fire not far away, Sky helping him smoke their catch so far. Warriors is laying in the sun, working on his tan, and Four is dozing nearby. Warriors considers joining him in dreamland.
Their day is progressing much the same way as their night before did. It’s actually- really nice. Warriors wouldn’t mind it being like this all the time. He closes his eyes and stretches his arms back, trying to get the soft white underside that he hardly ever exposes, because it’s too vulnerable of a position. He can see the red of the sunlight, even behind his eyelids, and revels in the warmth soaking through. Birds are singing their melodies to the noon sun, and laughs and conversations drift up from the banks of the river.
Suddenly there is an explosion, interrupting the peaceful quiet. Warriors cracks an eye open and glances downstream, expecting to see dead fish raining from the sky and Wild and Hyrule somehow in the middle of it all. What he doesn’t expect is Wild and Hyrule thrown back on the ground, not far from where Four is now jumping to his feet. What he doesn’t expect are giant creatures with decapitated reptile heads covering their faces rising from the water. He definitely doesn’t expect a hag clothed in seaweed to rise as well and push out a wave of magic with a blue aura.
He doesn’t expect to fall asleep without any warning.
There are excited voices when Warriors gains consciousness. Some of them sound familiar, and more upset than happy. He blinks a couple of times, watching as scaly giants with lizard head masks come toward their… well, box. Hyrule and… Legend? … are already up, the latter spewing foul language and the former trying to negotiate with their captors and jabbing Legend in the ribs with his elbow for instigating rather than helping. One of the creatures lifts a lithe tube up to its mask and blows on the end. Something small comes out as a blur and flies through the blue barrier, hitting Legend in the neck. He falls to his knees and begins to mumble the same curses, but more quietly.
“That was uncalled for!” Hyrule shouts. Warriors groans. He did not want to wake up to this.
Warriors pushes himself up onto his knees and shuffles over to where Legend has already pulled the dart out of his neck and is trying to fight sleep.
“If you don’t calm down,” the monster says from within the gruesome mask, “you’re going to get one too.” Warriors finds himself somewhat surprised that it can even talk; by the sound of it, it is a “she”.
“Enough, Mantah,” the hag says, her features obscured by a mask of green. “We want them all awake when the Queen arrives.” Warriors doesn’t know who this “queen” is, and he doesn’t particularly want to find out. If she’s as hideous as these creatures, there’s no way he will ever want to see her.
As they wait, Warriors sits down next to Legend, who is holding his head groggily. Hyrule is trying to wake up the others, shaking them and earning sleepy mutters of “what?” and from Sky a “five more minutes.” Several of the giants that caught them are off to the side, conversing quietly and pointing at them as if gleeful of the novelty of it all. Warriors barely catches, “Hylians! Can you believe it?” They seem quite excited about their prey. The captives are locked in a magical energy field of some kind, down in an impression in the stone. There is what appears to be a large throne carved out of the rock, larger than any of the giants present. A set of stairs leads up to its dais, a path of tile spreading out from its base. They are in a large cavern, conversations and sounds echoing and amplifying in its rotunda.
Suddenly all other sound is drowned out by a blast of strings. They are far louder than any natural stringed instruments Warriors has ever heard, and by the time the ringing dies down, he notices that all of the water creatures have dropped to their knees. There is a procession of a dozen or so guards, similar to the ones that captured them, and then there is a group of unarmed footmen carrying a giant litter with what appears to be an enormous… sea slug, with tiny arms and legs, and wearing flowing robes.
The others are awake by now, Time and Hyrule up by the front of the cage, glaring out at the monsters. Warriors tries to drag Legend further back (he somehow hasn’t fallen asleep again), but even in his groggy state he is able to slap Warriors’s hand away and insists that he’s, “not gonna let some demon fish intimidate” him. Warriors huffs and readjusts his hold to pull him behind Sky, who is just now getting to his feet. He ignores Legend’s struggles and sits with him on the floor next to Wind, who is blinking sleepily. Wild is also groaning; his joints popping as he stretches and rises, Twilight hovering anxiously nearby.
“They’ve taken our weapons,” Four informs quietly, his hands twitching as he looks anxiously at the pile of sharp metal and heavy armor on the stone not far from them. Warriors feels his stomach drop. They are in more trouble than he’d originally thought. The master sword glows angrily from where she has been thrust into the pile, her indignation nearly audible as a low buzz.
The sound is drowned out by a crier, whose face is bare of a mask. Warriors starts in surprise as he realizes that the monsters are actually Zoras, just with horrific headpieces. These merpeople aren’t nearly as friendly as the one he met due to Cia’s meddling.
“All hail the Ruler of the Zora, her Majesty Queen Scallopa. All hail the Queen!”
“All hail!” A myriad of voices fills the room just as the litter bearers crest the top of the stairs, straining under the weight of their burden. Warriors realizes that this must be the Queen. He has to squint and turn his head to even recognize something Zoran about her.
A small eternity seems to pass as she is maneuvered onto her throne, and Warriors (almost) feels bad for the poor Zoras now arranging themselves to stand at attention by her sides. There is absolute silence through the hall. Then, a sudden booming voice comes from the Queen. “What have you brought me, Kelpit?”
“Oh Queen Scallopa, may you live evermore,” the hag bows, her seaweed-covered head tilting back to reveal the sharp nose and dark eyes characteristic of the Zora. “I have brought you these fine young Hylians, to sacrifice their voices and abilities for your harp.”
“Ah yes; Hylia’s people, who have all inherited her talent for music,” the Queen’s face shifts slightly, and Warriors realizes she is trying to tilt her head. “Very well. You cannot go wrong with them. Bring out my greatest creation; bring out the Harp of Spirits!”
“Kelpit” seems strangely pleased with this answer, and a low rumble can be heard as a large, ornate harp is pulled in on a wooden cart. It is at least as tall as the tallest Zora there, excepting the colossal Queen, and has a dark blue color, similar to Time’s ocarina. Intricate gold swirls decorate it, and even Warriors, unskilled as he is in the ways of magic, can practically smell the stench of it coming off of the instrument. Hyrule’s nose is wrinkled, and he’s looking at the thing in apprehension, palms pressed on the blue barrier.
The plain hero yelps as the surface below his hands is lost. He falls forward rapidly, Time reaching out as if to grab him and keep him from face planting, but his hand is blocked by a blue shield replacing the one that was lost. Instead, Hyrule is left trapped in a bubble of the blue stuff, where he is brought closer to the hag. The harp is finally pulled to rest in front of their enclosure, more Zoras carefully lifting it from its rolling platform and setting it down into a groove cut in the floor. The bubble around Hyrule coalesces to form a set of cuffs at his wrists, forcing his arms behind his back and trapping them there. He is shoved to his knees before the harp, and the witch raises her hand.
“He has a flute in his belongings,” Mantah says, and Warriors barely hears Hyrule correct her:
“It’s a recorder.”
The witch grabs Hyrule’s face and examines it closely. Warriors thinks he hears Wild growl to his left, but he can’t be certain. Mantah hands the witch the recorder at her request. She releases her grip on the teen’s face, and the wind instrument lights up with a blue glow, which connects via a faint string of light to Hyrule’s fingertips. Their light is even duller.
“No, he is not skilled enough with it. I will not sully the harp with his greenness. His voice will have to do.”
Hyrule’s mouth opens without his control, and the harp begins vibrating. His eyes widen and a scale of sound starting (somewhat) low and increasing in pitch is forced out. Warriors may not be able to hear melodies correctly until the fourth or fifth time around, but even he can tell that Hyrule’s voice is beautiful: not a crack, not a hesitation. The harp glows greedily, sucking in the sound and leaving Hyrule winded. The witch carelessly flicks her wrist and Hyrule is thrown back into the cage where he is left gasping for air. Sky helps him up and the younger hero tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Hyrule pales, his hand flying to his throat. The Queen seems pleased, and requests that the harp play. The strings move expertly, guided by invisible fingers, and a haunting melody pours out, the cries of several dozen voices that were taken from their bodies too early.
Warriors shouts and abandons Legend on the ground as Wind is ripped from them next, struggling and pulling at the magic shackles as he’s lifted toward the harp. He swears, young voice cursing up a storm of words he must have learned from the pirates he was always telling stories about. The witch doesn’t even try to ask for any skill this time. “He’s too young,” she scratches out, “any skill he has is not fully developed. We can try again another time, after he’s been trained. His voice, though, will be sweet and tender; a beautiful addition to our collection.” She lifts her hand. Warriors rams his shoulder into the barrier in hopes of breaking it, and can feel Time and Twilight doing the same not far from him, but he can do nothing as Wind’s voice, high and beautiful without the depth of maturity to age it, is stolen from him and stored in the harp. Instead, he moves to catch his little brother as he’s tossed back in like a ragdoll. Wind’s eyes are wide and his body trembling. All Warriors can do is hold him closer as the monster takes her next victim.
Warriors’s mother finds him crying in his room. He is lying on his little bed, holding his pillow close to his face. “What’s wrong, my bairn?” The bed dips as she sits on it, her fingers resting on his scalp to comb through wavy gold locks.
“I don’t know!” Warriors wails, burying his face deeper.
“There’s always a reason,” his mother pauses. “Is this about the parade?” Warriors doesn’t answer. He feels shame rise in him. He’d been so excited, even after he was told not to sing. But now he was just tired.
“Your papa was there,” she says. “Weren’t you happy to see him?” Warriors nods.
“Yeah,” his voice comes out shaky, but his sniffles are dying down. “He winked at me.” He’d almost forgotten that, how his father had left decorum to show some warmth toward his son. Appearances are incredibly important to his dad.
“That was something good, then,” she says. Warriors rolls over to look at her and she removes her hand. Her brown hair is tied up in a loose bun and she’s smiling at him tenderly. He sits up to scoot closer and be welcomed into her embrace. “Let me guess; the king and princess weren’t as amazing as you were hoping they’d be.”
Warriors’s eyes widen. He has no idea how she knows. He voices it as a question.
“It’s not that hard to figure out,” she laughs, the sound bubbling from her throat. “I’ve been to a couple of them myself.”
“We’ve been practicing every day for weeks,” he says. “I memorized every word; I still remember all of them.”
“I know.”
“It was over so fast! They just rode by, like it was nothing!”
“I know.”
He pouts, his arms crossed. “I didn’t get to sing. I just had to stand there and mouth the words and ‘look pretty’.” His mother’s arm stiffens and she bends to look him in the face.
“So that’s why you’ve been so down the last couple a’ weeks.”
He looks away from her, ashamed. “Everyone else sings,” he says sullenly.
His mother sighs and pulls him onto her lap. “I’m afraid you’ve inherited your mother’s musical abilities,” she says.
He sniffs and wipes his eyes. “What do you mean?”
His mother smiles ruefully. “Hylians are all able to sing. They are naturally musically inclined. They can pick apart the inconsistencies in tone and pitch, and can quickly adjust accordingly. A lot of humans can, too, though not to the skill level of Hylians. But some humans have a harder time with music. It’s a genetic thing, and sometimes it can be trained out with a lot of hard work. You have to ask yourself, though, if it is worth it.”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s important to you? If you want to teach yourself to sing or play an instrument when it’s incredibly difficult for you, then great, you can do that. But so can every Hylian that lives in Hyrule, and to them it comes naturally. But you aren’t everyone else; you’re your own individual. It might seem like a good idea to be like everyone else, especially when they prize something you don’t have, but in the end it just steals your life from you. You work hard for something that may never measure up to their standards, and your hard work doesn’t end up paying off. You become miserable rather than liked. And you end up disliking yourself.
“What’s important to you, Link? What do you want to spend your time doing?”
Warriors smiles. That’s easy. “I want to spend time with you!” he exclaims. His mother laughs. Warriors loves his mother’s laugh. Her brown eyes smile.
“You are quite the wee flatterer, aren’t you? C’mon, help me get dinner ready for your papa. He’ll be hungrier than a bear when he gets home tonight.”
Warriors is the only one left by the time the witch gets to him. All the others are silent, their voices having been taken, and in certain cases their skills as well. Wind has (mostly) recovered, and is sitting tensely nearby. Legend is extremely pale, like the harp took out an enormous chunk of his soul. He’s shuddering and glaring at the others in an obvious, “stay away” fashion, but Sky has somehow been able to break through his barrier and is resting a hand on his shoulder. The others appear dour as well, though Wild doesn’t look nearly as heartbroken. He’s signing something to Time. Warriors has no idea what, though.
Four is thrown back in, landing with a thump on the floor. Wind goes forward to console him, (though he looks fairly well put together) and Warriors feels the tug of energy on his body. He is yanked forward, and the Queen is sitting in complete bliss as she listens to the harp hum with the lost voices of his friends. To him, it doesn’t sound beautiful: it just sounds like they are in pain.
“Last one,” Kelpit murmurs, and his hands are locked behind his back. “No instrument, Mantah?” she asks. Mantah replies to the negative, and the hag looks at him curiously. “Odd. I would have thought that by now one as old as you would have at least tried something. Very well. He is a Hylian; I suppose his voice will have to do.”
“I can’t sing,” Warriors says quickly. There is a moment of complete silence, and then the entire court erupts in laughter. The hag’s shoulders shake, too, a twisted grin showing broken teeth.
“I have to admit, I haven’t heard that one before. You’re funny. Perhaps, if I had let you keep your voice, you would have made an excellent jester. But we’ll never know.” Warriors feels the tug of magic on his vocal chords, and he suddenly understands why the others were so distraught. Sounds begin to leave his throat, and even he can tell that something’s not right. The harp, rather than humming in pleasure, is trembling as if withstanding an awful gale that is shaking its very foundation.
“Stop!” the Queen commands. “Stop it this instant!”
“I’m trying,” Kelpit is weaving her hands through the air frantically as if there is an elusive fairy she has to catch.
There is a loud crack which echoes through the room. Strings break and snap under the weight of Warriors’s sound. He can’t stop it, and at this point he doesn’t want to. Something like pleased retribution rises in his gut as the Queen’s greatest achievement becomes nothing more than a frame with broken wires and splintered wood. There is the briefest moment of silence as Warriors’s dissonance tapers off and the harp still stands, albeit decrepitly. The whole room seems to hold its breath. Suddenly there is an explosion of blue light and a hundred screams louder than the crashing of many thunders. Warriors turns his face to the side and covers his eyes as it blasts throughout the room, its boom making little rumbles in his chest. When the dust clears, the hag has been knocked on her back and Warriors has been freed. He glances over his shoulder at the others who have left the enclosure and are now going to their weapons.
The Queen seems particularly distraught. “My harp! My glorious harp!”
“I did warn you,” Warriors says, pleased to have his voice back.
“You!” she seethes, turning toward him. “You’ve ruined everything with that awful thing you call a voice. I’m going to rip out your vocal chords and feed them to the Dodongos!”
“No, you won’t.” Time moves forward with his sword in his hand. Without their witch, the others are able to take down the Zoras easily. The guards aren’t prepared to shoot darts out, and many of them are lying stunned on the ground from the harp’s explosion. The litter-bearers aren’t warriors, and scattered the moment the heroes got their hands on their weapons.
The Queen screams in frustration, commanding her guards to wake up and recapture their prisoners, but it’s too late. Time and Hyrule are grinning as they hold their swords to her fat chin. Legend has finished off his foes and is stomping on the remains of the harp, as if rendering it to dust will somehow sate his rage.
“You pathetic rodents, how could you? You destroyed a masterpiece of art! A legacy that would have been passed down to generations of Royalty!”
“I’d be quiet if I were you,” Sky says from where he’s tying up stunned guards.
The monster’s pale grey eyes turn to him, and Warriors feels the weight of her stare. Oh well. He’s used to stares. “It’s impossible! How - I don’t understand! You’re Hylian! How could you be so horrible!??”
“I’m half human, you giant ugly sea-slug,” Warriors gloats. “Some of us have notoriously bad voices. Your time on the stage is over; I think it’s time for you to take a bow.”
Four comes up beside Warriors and puts a hand on his arm. “As much as I’d love to dethrone this tyrant, we have to be mindful of the power gap that may be left behind. Zoras have a strict line of succession, and –” he is cut off as the Regent’s eyes widen and her blob-like form tips forward. She screeches as she rolls down the steps, leaving behind Wild and Legend, who high-five.
“How’s that for a dethroning?” Legend trumpets.
“Help me! Help me up!” She’s relied so long on the servitude of the smaller Zoras that she no longer can raise herself.
“Help yourself,” Hyrule mutters, and sheaths his sword. They are done.
Warriors is walking with the others back to their camp, which had been left in disarray. Twilight quietly pads beside him and watches the others run and laugh as they approach the clearing where their fish had been left to dry in the sun. Warriors feels warm and light. Being with the others is something he will never take for granted.
“You can sing with us, you know,” Twilight says suddenly to his right. Warriors looks at him from the corner of his eye. “None of us care how you sound.”
Warriors can feel the surprise on his face. “You heard me; you heard how horrible I was!”
Twilight shrugs. “Not really. I’ve heard worse. I grew up in a village of humans, I know horrible singing.” He grins and turns to Warriors. “Though, you are pretty bad…”
Warriors gasps and holds a hand to his chest dramatically. “How dare you!”
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Twilight grins. Warriors shoves at him with his shoulder. The sturdy farmhand isn’t fazed a bit, and Warriors ends up bouncing back the way he came. Twilight’s laugh is low and gravelly, and Warriors is surprised to find it isn’t much different from his singing.
“But seriously,” he continues after his chuckles have died off, “you don’t need to be ashamed of your voice. Don’t ever feel that way. Everyone should be able to enjoy singing, whether or not they are the best at it.”
“I’m not sure the others will feel that way,” Warriors says dryly. “Legend seems a bit persnickety when it comes to music.”
“He’ll get over it. If he doesn’t, I’ll wrestle him into the ground.” Twilight smiles, but Warriors gets the feeling he’s serious.
“Thanks,” because no Hylian but his father has ever given him quarter when it comes to his pipes.
“Now,” Twilight claps his hands, “let’s get back to the others. I overheard Wild talking about a fish daikon stew, and I can’t wait to try it!”
As Twilight jogs to catch up, Warriors smiles. He has a hard time with melody, it’s true. Today has only cemented that fact more firmly in his mind. But he isn’t deaf to beauty. His friends laughing, talking with and enjoying one another, that is music to his ears. As he hurries to catch up to their group he chuckles to himself. He is more than ready for that kind of symphony.
Do people with severe depression have a right to accurate information about antidepressants? I suspect most people would answer “yes”. There is a general understanding that individuals who suffer from medical conditions are in a vulnerable position, making them susceptible to misinformation. There is also increased awareness of the influence that the profit motive can have on how medical research is funded, undertaken and communicated to the public.
But for some reason, this basic principle doesn’t seem to apply to the hyper-politicised subject of gender medicine. On one side, Republican states are attempting to ban youth gender medicine — and, in some cases, to dial back access to adult gender medicine. On the other, liberals maintain that there is solid evidence for these treatments, and that only an ignorant person could suggest otherwise.
Whether or not you agree with the GOP’s stance (I do not), the latter view is simply false. The trajectory of youth gender medicine in nations with nationalised healthcare systems has been relatively straightforward: these countries keep conducting careful reviews of the evidence for puberty blockers and hormones, and they keep finding that there is very little such evidence to speak of. That was the conclusion in Sweden, Finland, the UK, and, most recently, Norway. As a recent headline in The Economist had it: “The evidence to support medicalised gender transitions in adolescents is worryingly weak.”
Yet despite this evidentiary crisis in Europe, and despite multiple scandals vividly demonstrating the downside of administering these treatments in a careless way, liberal institutions in the US have only become more enthusiastic about them. In recent years, everyone from Jon Stewart and John Oliver to reporters and pundits at the New York Times, The Washington Post and NPR have exaggerated the evidence for these interventions.
The logic seems to be that if activists, doctors and journalists repeat “The evidence is great!” enough times, regardless of whether the evidence actually is great, the controversy will go away — as though the state of Arkansas could be shamed into reversing its policy on trans youth because Jon Stewart made fun of them. Meanwhile, as I can tell you from experience, if you openly question these treatments or highlight just how little we know about them, you’re going to have a bad time.
But look a little closer, and it swiftly becomes clear that the evidence for both adult and youth gender medicine is frequently drawn from alarmingly low-quality studies. Almost invariably, when you examine the latest study to go viral, there’s much less there than meets the eye — whether because of serious overhyping and questionable statistical choices on the part of the researchers, outright missing data, flawed survey instruments, more missing data, or just generally beyond-broken methods.
Since any individual study or group of studies can suffer from these issues, serious researchers know that you can’t just take a few that point in the right direction and herald them as evidence. Rather, you need to sum up the available evidence while also accounting for its quality. This is what European countries have done, and they have all come to roughly the same conclusion: the evidence supporting these treatments isn’t there.
But even at the level of sweeping summaries, America’s conclusions are often distorted. A prime example came in a recent New York Times column by Marci Bowers, a leading gender surgeon and the president of the World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH). Bowers paints a very rosy picture of the evidence base:
“Decades of medical experience and research since has found that when patients are treated for gender dysphoria, their self-esteem grows and their stress, anxiety, substance use and suicidality decrease. In 2018, Cornell University’s Center for the Study of Inequality released a comprehensive literature review finding that gender transition, including hormones and surgery, ‘improves the well-being of transgender people’. Nathaniel Frank, the project’s director, said that ‘a consensus like this is rare in social science’.
“The Cornell review also found that regret… became even less common as surgical quality and social support improved. All procedures in medicine and surgery inspire some percentage of regret. But a study published in 2021 found that fewer than 1% of those who have received gender-affirming surgery say they regret their decision to do so… A separate analysis of a survey of more than 27,000 transgender and gender-diverse adults found that the vast majority of those who detransition from medical affirming treatment said they did so because of external factors (such as family pressure, financial reasons or a loss of access to care), not because they had been misdiagnosed or their gender identities had changed.”
Here we have a leading expert (Bowers) citing a leading institution (Cornell) and relating astonishing claims (what medical procedure has a 1% regret rate?). The case appears to be closed — until you actually click the links and read Bowers’s sources. (Bowers and WPATH did not return emailed interview requests.)
Let’s start with Cornell’s data. According to a summary at its “What We Know Project“:
“We conducted a systematic literature review of all peer-reviewed articles published in English between 1991 and June 2017 that assess the effect of gender transition on transgender well-being. We identified 55 studies that consist of primary research on this topic, of which 51 (93%) found that gender transition improves the overall well-being of transgender people, while 4 (7%) report mixed or null findings. We found no studies concluding that gender transition causes overall harm.”
If you are familiar with systematic literature reviews, you will find the above unusual. Researchers don’t generally ask whether a procedure works or not in such a vague a manner, then tally up the results. To usefully gauge the level of evidence, a review has to carefully define its research questions, and factor in the potential biases of the existing studies. The Cornell project does none of this.
I emailed Gordon Guyatt, one of the godfathers of the so-called evidence-based medicine movement, to ask him whether he thought the Cornell project qualified as a systematic literature review. His response was: “It meets criteria for a profoundly flawed systematic review!” When we later spoke, he explained why he didn’t trust it. “Presumably, they are trying to make a causal connection between what the patients received and their outcomes,” he said. “That is not possible unless one has a comparator.” In other words, if you’re only tracking people who received a treatment, and don’t compare their outcomes to another group not receiving the treatment, you simply can’t learn that much. Guyatt offers the example of someone taking hormones and saying afterwards that they feel better. “That does not mean that the hormones have anything to do with your feeling good.”
This is a very basic, very well-understood problem in both medical and social-scientific research. If all you have is before-and-after measurements of how someone who received a treatment changed over time, there are all sorts of potential confounds, from the placebo effect to regression towards the mean to the possibility that receiving the treatment coincided with some other salutary intervention, such as therapy, that wasn’t accounted for.
Because the Cornell team made no effort to even evaluate the risk of bias in the individual studies it evaluated, the final product tells us very little. It’s roughly analogous to coming upon a pile of coins and trying to determine its worth simply by counting how many coins there are, rather than sorting the pile by denomination. When I raised this with Nathaniel Frank, the head of the Cornell project, he said via email that “we don’t publish traditional systematic reviews”, but rather web summaries of important research questions. So the first words of its overview might confuse readers: “We conducted a systematic literature review.”
If Bowers had wanted to cite a carefully conducted, peer-reviewed systematic review of the gender medicine literature, she actually had one at her fingertips: her own organisation, WPATH, funded one a few years ago. The results, published in the Journal of the Endocrine Society in 2021, revealed that there is almost no high-quality evidence in this field of medicine. After they summarised every study they could find that met certain quality criteria, and applied Cochrane guidelines to evaluate their quality, the authors could find only low-strength evidence to support the idea that hormones improve quality of life, depression, and anxiety for trans people. Low means, here, that the authors “have limited confidence that the estimate of effect lies close to the true effect for this outcome. The body of evidence has major or numerous deficiencies (or both).” Meanwhile, there wasn’t enough evidence to render any verdict on the quality of the evidence supporting the idea that hormones reduce the risk of death by suicide, which is an exceptionally common claim.
Oddly, though, the authors of this systematic review conclude by writing that the benefits of these treatments “make hormone therapy an essential component of care that promotes the health and well-being of transgender people”. That claim completely clashes with their substantive findings about the quality of the evidence. So, when Bowers cited the Cornell project, she was citing a review that is of very limited evidentiary value — while also ignoring a much more professionally conducted, and much more pessimistic, though strangely concluded, review that her own organisation paid for.
But what about the study which, she claims, “found that fewer than 1% of those who have received gender-affirming surgery say they regret their decision to do so”? Here’s where things get downright weird.
The study in question, published in 2021 in the journal Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery Global Open, has dozens of errors that its nine authors and editors have refused to correct. Indeed, it appears to have been executed and published to such an unprofessional standard that one might ask why it hasn’t been retracted entirely.
Before we get into all that, though, it’s worth pointing out that even if it had been competently conducted, the review could not have provided us with a reliable estimate of the regret rate following gender-affirming surgery: the studies it meta-analyses are just too weak. Many of those included did not actually contact people who had undergone surgery to ask them if they regretted it; rather, the authors searched medical records for mentions of regret and/or for other evidence of surgical reversals. Yet this method is inevitably going to underestimate the number of regretters, because plenty of people regret a procedure without going through the trouble of either reversing it or informing the doctor who performed it. In one study of detransitioners — albeit one focusing on a fairly small and non-random online sample — three quarters of them said they did not inform their clinicians that they had detransitioned.
The studies included in this review also failed to follow up with a very large number of patients. The meta-analysis had a total sample size of about 5,600; the largest study, with a sample size of 2,627 — so a little under half the entire sample — had a loss-to-follow-up rate of 36%. If you’re losing track of a third of your patients, you obviously don’t really know how they’re doing and can’t make any strong claims about their regret rates. And yet, the authors don’t mention the loss-to-follow-up issue anywhere in their paper. No version of this meta-analysis, then, was likely to provide a reliable estimate of the regret rate for gender-affirming surgery.
Even so, the version that was published was particularly disastrous. Independent researcher J.L. Cederblom summed it up: “What are these numbers? These are all wrong… And these weren’t even simple one-off errors — instead different tables disagreed with each other. The metaphor that comes to mind is drunk driving.”
To take one example, the authors initially reported that the aforementioned largest paper in their meta-analysis had a sample size of 4,863. But they misread it — the true figure was actually only 2,627. They also misstated other aspects of that report, such as how regret was investigated (they said it was via questionnaire but it was via medical records search) and the age of the sample (they said it included some juveniles, but it did not).
Not all the errors were significant, but they were remarkably numerous. And because of the abundance of issues, the paper attracted the attention of other researchers. “In light of these numerous issues affecting study quality and data analysis, [the authors’] conclusion that ‘our study has shown a very low percentage of regret in TGNB population after GAS’ is, in our opinion, unsupported and potentially inaccurate,” wrote two critics, Pablo Expósito-Campos and Roberto D’Angelo, in a letter to the editor that the journal subsequently published. In her own letter, the researcher Susan Bewley highlighted what appears to be an absence of vital information about the authors’ method of putting together the meta-analysis.
The authors and the editors decided to simply not correct any of this. They did publish an erratum, in which they republished seven tables that still contained errors, while maintaining that all those errors had no impact on the paper’s takeaway findings. But the paper itself remains published, in its original form, complete with those 2,200 ghost-patients inflating the sample size.
Bewley and Cederblom have continued to ask the journal to reveal the process that led to the paper getting published, and to address why so many of the errors remain uncorrected. In an email in January to Bewley, Aaron Weinstein, its editorial director, claimed that because critical letters to the editor had been published, and because the corrected data was reanalysed by a statistical expert, “the Publisher and the ASPS [American Society of Plastic Surgeons] feel that PRS Global Open has done due diligence on this article and this case is closed”. He also claimed, curiously, that he had no power to force the authors to address the many serious remaining questions raised by the paper’s critics, saying “there is no precedent for an editorial office to do so”. Neither Weinstein nor the paper’s corresponding author, Oscar Manrique, responded to my emailed requests for comments.
Finally, there is Bowers’s claim that “a separate analysis of a survey of more than 27,000 transgender and gender-diverse adults found that the vast majority of those who detransition from medical affirming treatment said they did so because of external factors”. This is technically true, but is also rather misleading because the survey in question — the 2015 United States Transgender Survey (which has profound sampling issues) — was of currently transgender people. It says so in the first sentence of the executive summary. Research based on this survey obviously can’t provide us with any reliable information about why people detransition, because it is not a survey of detransitioners. If you want to know how often people detransition, you need to follow large groups of trans people over time and check in to see if they still identify that way later on — and we don’t have high-quality research on that front.
It’s also worth bearing in mind that the vast majority of studies being discussed here concern adults, while the legislative discussion mostly centres on adolescents. The most recent version of WPATH’s Standards of Care is very open about the lack of evidence when it comes to the latter: “Despite the slowly growing body of evidence supporting the effectiveness of early medical intervention, the number of studies is still low, and there are few outcome studies that follow youth into adulthood. Therefore, a systematic review regarding outcomes of treatment in adolescents is not possible.” Again, WPATH is Bowers’s own organisation — surely she is familiar with its output?
Despite the backbreaking errors of that nine-authored paper, the severe limitations of the Cornell review, and the near-utter-irrelevance of the United States Transgender Survey, all three are chronically trotted out as evidence that we know transgender medicine is profoundly helpful, or that detransition or regret are rare — or both. It’s frustrating enough that these lacklustre arguments are constantly made on social media, where all too many people get their scientific information. But what’s worse is that many journalists have perpetuated this sad state of affairs. A cursory Google search will reveal that these three works have been treated as solid evidence by the Associated Press, Slate, Slate again, The Daily Beast, Scientific American and other outlets. The NYT, meanwhile, further publicised Cornell’s half-baked systematic review by giving Nathaniel Frank a whole column to tout its misleading findings back in 2018.
Why does such low-quality work slip through? The answer is straightforward: because it appears, if you don’t read it too closely, or if you are unfamiliar with the basic concepts of evidence-based medicine, to support the liberal view that these treatments are wonderful and shouldn’t be questioned, let alone banned. That’s enough for most people, who are less concerned with whether what they are sharing is accurate than whether it can help with ongoing, high-stakes political fights.
But you’re not being a good ally to trans people if you disseminate shoddy evidence about medicine they might seek. Whatever happens in the red states seeking to ban these treatments, transgender people need to make difficult healthcare choices, many of which can be ruinously expensive. And yet, if you call for the same standards to be applied to gender medicine that are applied to antidepressants, you’ll likely be told you don’t care about trans people.
As Gordon Guyatt, who has done an enormous amount to increase the evidentiary standards of the medical establishment, told me: “You’re doing harm to transgender people if you don’t question the evidence. I believe that people making any health decisions should know about what the best evidence is, and what the quality of evidence is. So by pretending things are not the way they are — I don’t see how you’re not harming people.”
I've seen Andrew Tate mentioned in a variety of posts on social media and referenced in comments and other such things, but I haven't actually looked up who he is. So far I've gotten the impression that he's either a celebrity, a politician, both or neither. He may or may not be a conspiracy theorist, homophobic, an idiot, transphobic, the president of florida or whatever the state representative is called or a cult leader. I am not gonna actually look him up because I think it's funny trying to figure out who he is based off of people saying "average andrew tate fan" under memes. Oh, another idea I had was that he might be the second coming of Trump.
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I honestly don’t like this human name. Ignoring the Kirkland surname (you all know of my personal gripes with that surname), why the name Iris? It’s a Greek name and while it is a pretty name, it is not a suitable name for an Ireland OC. I’m trying to understand why this name was chosen. There’s simply nothing Irish in this human name.
Nickname: well, with such name you don't need a nickname ;)
Sex: Female
Physical age: 18-19 years
Much too young, how is she the same age appearance as America and younger than England when Ireland has a culture that is most likely around 3,000 years old?? She’d have to be older than England and America, I don’t understand why she would look so young.
Real age: ~1500 years
...double that figure and you’ll be closer to the actual age of Ireland. At the very least, Ireland would be over 2,500 years old.
Birthday: December 29th (irish constitution from year 1937)
Well... I’ll admit I haven’t seen anyone use this date as Ireland’s birthday before. The date is significant as it is the date the Constitution of Ireland came into force... however I’m not sure why Ireland would regard this date as her birthday? While the Constitution of Ireland is the fundamental law of Ireland, the date it came into force is not celebrated. I just feel it is an unusual date to choose as Ireland’s birthday.
Appearance:
* height 1.62 m
* hair: caramel blonde/cinder, long, wavy
* fair skin
* heterochromia: green (left) and aquamarine (right) eyes
* has a curl
Personality:
* condescending compassion
This trait confuses me quite a bit. Why would her compassion come across as condescending? Isn’t she being genuine when she is showing her compassionate side? The trait is not being presented in a good way, as if Ireland can’t be genuinely compassionate towards others.
* claustrophobia
* arachnophobia
I’m curious to know why she has those phobias. Are there reasons these were chosen?
* cheerful
* stubborn
* magical
* musical
Clothing:
* green dress
* minty ribbon belt
* light grey ballet flats
* celtic pendant
Family: England, Scotland, Wales (older brothers), Seland, Northern Ireland (younger brothers), Celt (grandfather)
*sigh* No, no, no... well if anything, this shows that you didn’t do a lot of research on Ireland’s history. You would at least know that England and Scotland are younger than Ireland, their cultures are younger than hers. Wales also has a younger culture.
Also Celt has never existed as a single entity.
Weapon: Magic, Sword (rapier)
Why would she need weapons? Why a rapier??
Friends: America, Monte Carlo, Andorra, Copenhagen, Prussia, Wales, Poland, Austria, Hungary(Eli would be Iris' BF if not Monaco O.C)
Okay, I am a little puzzled by the fact that Ireland doesn’t consider Scotland a friend, especially when these two are so culturally close. It’s nice to see though that she considers Wales a friend. However why is she friends with the city Copenhagen but not with Denmark? Also Andorra, Monte Carlo and Prussia are odd choices, seeing as I can’t think of any significant historical or cultural interactions they’d share with Ireland.
Enemies: Norway(?), France, Russia
Okay, there’s one nation here that definitely should not be considered Ireland’s enemy: France. If you had done any kind of research, you would know that Ireland and France have had positive interactions historically and are on friendly terms today. Norway used to be hostile towards Ireland (Viking period) but these two nations get on fairly well now too? And Russia... well he and Ireland don’t interact that often with each other. It seems strange that she’d consider him an enemy.
Additional:
* Ireland, just like her brother England, is magical and sees supernatural beings (like awesome flying mint bunnies :3 )
* she and Monte Carlo like to argue with each other quite a lot despite being friends
I’m still questioning why she and Monte Carlo are close enough to be friends.
* Ireland and Prussia like each other, which pisses off Austria
...why? Why would Austria care? Also I don’t think Ireland would be so friendly with Prussia, there’s very little historical interaction between the two and what little interaction I have found on them, it didn’t sound very positive. (and even then, I haven’t been able to verify the little information I found on the instance when Prussia and Ireland would have historically interacted with each other)
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