#I’D NEVER SEEN A PRIMARY SOURCE FOR IT UNTIL TODAY

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

THE ROGER LOCKING HIMSELF IN A CLOSET STORY IS ACTUALLY TRUE??

#I’M SO HAPPY #I’D NEVER SEEN A PRIMARY SOURCE FOR IT UNTIL TODAY #LMAO #queen band #queen #roger taylor #roger meddows taylor #bohemian rhapsody #i’m in love with my car

[deactivated-20220808]

“System” is a Medical Term

…And Other Things the “Empowered Multiples” Movement Hid From Us

Introduction

Hello again, guys, Remy here, kind of. More or less.

This is something I’ve been meaning to talk about for a while, because it’s something absolutely no one in the online system/plural/etc community is talking about. Either because they want to ignore it because it makes them look bad, or because they legitimately just never knew that this had happened at all, likely because it was before their time as systems online. But I’m here to talk about it, because this is something that can explain so many things about why the system/plural communities online are the way they are today; damaged and filled with infighting and constant confusion.

Who Were The “Empowered Multiples”, and Why Does No One Talk About Them?

The “Empowered Multiples”.

That’s an identity label that should fill everyone but the most anti-DID, anti-psych, anti-recovery ableists with the most dread.

If you want a long, detailed and heavily sourced history of what the “empowered multiples” did to the online multiple/DID communities specifically, you can read this post here.

To make a very long story short, the “empowered multiples” was a movement started by Astrea’s Web and Dark Personalities that advocated for the abolition of DID/MPD as diagnostic labels and wanted them removed from the DSM, and displayed blatant superiority over those who still accepted or identified with DID/MPD for themselves, and that’s only a very small idea of what they did. They encouraged people to write them essays on why DID/MPD was a bad label, which they would both post on their websites, encouraged people to boycott the diagnosis, told people to refuse to identify with it it even if they were already diagnosed with it, tried to convince people that it was “natural” to have DID/MPD, including inherently pathological DID/MPD symptoms like time loss, as well as encouraged the idea that anyone was plural if they saw themselves that way and rejected the idea of DID/MPD.

They also deliberately muddied the definition of terms like “system”—which was originally a medical/clinical term coined with DID in mind only, originally referring to a “parts as a system” as it were—and “multiplicity”—also only associated with DID/MPD up until the “empowered multiples” movement, as MPD (when that was still the primary term used) was often referred to as things such as “multiplicity”, “being multiple”, the “multiple gift”, and more. See below:

(Sources for these images are linked in the post above)

They changed the definitions of these words to better suit their narrative, to co-opt language that was not for them in order to both boycott DID as a diagnosis, and to still use language that they were comfortable with at the same time, so they didn’t have to change that much about the language used to describe their experiences.

In the process, and this was very likely 100% intentional, they changed the way a lot of people see the word “system”, now referring to any instance of multiple consciousnesses in one body, rather than a specific experience of “parts as a system”, which inevitably lead to the constant confusion and conflation of experiences, as well as the erasure of DID as a system experience, as this has directly lead to some people knowing about systems as a concept, but not about DID, or having very skewed perceptions of DID, things I have witnessed firsthand in the online communities.

Now, I generally use past-tense when talking about the “empowered multiples”, but it should be important to note that on some level, they do still exist within the plural communities, they’re just not nearly as prominent as they used to be, however, that’s purely in identifying with the term itself. The rhetoric of the “empowered multiples” is still quite rampant in a lot of ways, such as in the anti-psych sentiments of many parts of the plural communities, as well as even the “nondisordered plural supremacy” sentiments that many of them spread, with the implication that people with DIDOSDD1 are lesser for being so, or less “plural”/systems as it were, which all goes to display many of the ways that the “empowered multiples” still have an effect on the communities, whether they’re as prominent as they used to be or not.

How Did This Damage the Online Communities?

This damaged the online communities by constantly having dissociative trauma-based system experiences conflated with non-dissociative, non-trauma based experiences, and while there may seem to be a lot of similar experiences between the two on the surface, at the core, they have extremely different needs. In DID, integration/fusion, (not even final fusion/full integration), is often times necessary for survival and healing, and helps to give a more complete sense of self and personal history, whereas in plural communities, it’s often seen as an extremely negative thing on par with death. This alone shows that the communities are very different and have extremely different needs, meaning that the two cannot be conflated or treated the same at all, and yet this behavior of treating DID the exact same as a non-DID experience persists, simply because they are both called “systems”, when plurals, going by the original definition of the word “system” given above, are nothing like systems.

To clarify, I’m not saying endogenic plurals are not real, I’m saying that by the original definition(s) of the word “system”, and taking the history of the word “system” into account and who the word was coined for, endogenic plurals are not systems, because they don’t consider themselves parts, and because they are not parts neurologically. They’re plurals. In fact, “plural” as a term was actually coined as a non-DID alternative to “multiplicity” in the first place, which already makes it a great substitute for the word “system”. The reason that DID systems are systems, even if they don’t consider themselves “parts” is because no matter what, DID alters are, neurologically and structurally, parts of a shattered consciousness that broke apart to survive repetitive childhood trauma. This is something that has been proven time and time again, and even if certain systems are uncomfortable with this notion, that doesn’t change what the science says about DID neurologically and structurally.

But endogenic plurals are nothing like this, because they don’t have any substantial scientific evidence for their existence, let alone for what their headmates are neurologically, (no offense or judgement meant by this). So, going by this historical definition, endogenics are not systems, they’re simply plural. (Hah)

Is this a bad thing? No.

I also don’t think it’s inherently anyone’s fault for not knowing this, considering this is something that was pretty much deliberately covered up and forgotten about by most of the plural community, considering, well, if this were part of a community I were in, I’d also be pretty humiliated and offended by these people’s behavior, and would just want to move on. However, this is an extremely important part of the history of the plural community, and I haven’t seen people talking about it very much, if at all, and that needs to change if we ever want to start to fix the community going forewords.

How Can We Fix It?

The best we can do to even start fixing the community is to stop conflating endogenic plural experiences with the experiences of DIDOSDD1 systems.

Full stop.

The two experiences are far too different and have far too different needs to comfortably conflate the two under the same umbrella, using the same language, because someone with DID is never going to have the same experience as an endogenic plural simply because DID is severely dissociative and traumagenic, and endogenic plurality (or any non-DID plurality) is, by definition, not. DIDOSDD1 does not belong under the “plural umbrella”, because going by the historical use of the word “plural”, we aren’t plural. We’re systems, or multiple.

Using the same language implies that the two experiences are the same, when they are not. If you want to look more into the differences between DID and endogenic plurality, I suggest looking under the #endos vs. DID tag I have on my blog, which goes a bit more in-depth in this subject.

Is Separating the Experiences Necessary for Community Healing?

Separating the experiences via encouraging the use of separate language? Yes.

Separating the communities entirely? Well, that doesn’t have to be the case. It’s not like I could control people in the first place, so saying ‘yes’ would be useless.

Shared spaces aren’t inherently bad when they’re not using the same language to describe two extremely different experiences, implying they’re both the exact same just with a different origin, when that is very, very obviously not the case, verifiably so.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the “Empowered Multiples” movement did a massive amount of damage, more than I can put in one short post, which is why I linked the post I got my information from, which has dozens upon dozens of sources and links to archives of these sources, as well as screenshots and image descriptions for them, so you can read the original post and make your own conclusions based on the information at hand, (however OP explicitly asks for no syscourse on their post, so please respect their boundaries).

The “Empowered Multiples” movement did a lot in the way of conflating and confusing two extremely different experiences, taking language from the earlier DIDOSDD communities and it wasn’t even that long ago, either. The movement was only really brought to its knees when “The Haunted Self” came out in /2014/, presenting the Theory of Structural Dissociation, and just two years before that, 2012 was when the discourse surrounding the “Empowered Multiples” was at its peak. The damage that this movement did is still very, very prevalent in the community in the anti-psych fearmongering rhetoric a lot of plurals (and even DIDOSDD systems) spout, in that “fusion is murder” or the implication that all alters have to be extremely separate all the time or sentiments of “getting diagnosed will make you lose ALL your rights” in the form of long, severely misinformed and frankly bullshit twitter threads, and we can’t forget the outright ableism of being considered “disordered” that many plurals peddle—all of these things are remnants of the damage that Astrea’s Web, Dark Personalities and the “Empowered Multiples” movement have left us with.

These are the parts of plural history that people don’t want to talk about, which only makes these things more important to talk about now more than ever, if we ever want to change it and if we are ever going to make progress within the communities to stop the infighting.

If you want to make a change, we need to open a dialogue on this damage so that we can heal it.

Sincerely,

Remy

(P.S., I do not support the use of this piece being used to attack endogenics/plurals for any reason, that is not the reason I made this piece, I made this piece to start a dialogue within the system community about making actual, genuine change and to start a conversation about how we can try to fix a massive amount of what’s wrong with the online DIDOSDD1/Multiple and Plural communities, not to attack Plurals and to invalidate them, because it is very much my belief that it will do nothing to help the infighting between the communities.)

#txt #syscourse #actually endogenic #actuallytraumagenic #actuallydid #actuallyplural #actuallymultiple #empowered multiples #pluralmeta #sysmeta #didmeta #plural deep dive #pluralitycritique

[audreydoeskaren]

Abridged history of early 20th century Chinese womenswear (part 4.2: 1930s-hair, makeup & accessories)

Source here

Previous posts in the series:

Part 1: 1890s

Part 2: 1900s & 1910s

Part 3.1: 1920s-silhouette

Part 3.2: 1920s-design details

Part 3.3: 1920s-accessories, hair & makeup

Part 4.1: 1930s-silhouette & design

A super late Happy Chinese New Year to all fellow humans who celebrate it!! I’m going to discuss hair, makeup and accessories of the 1930s today in no particular order.

Undergarments

At one point between 1932 and 1934 women in China decided to ditch the breast binders worn since the 1890s and wear brassieres instead. This allowed the natural shape of women’s breasts to show and the contrast between the bust and waist lent the dresses of the mid 30s a soft hourglass shape. The brassieres of the 1930s didn’t have stiffening, boning or foam and relied only on their structure for support, so the shape of the breasts looked very soft and rounded.

Source here

30s Du Barry lingerie sewing pattern for brassieres and drawers. This may not be very representative because brassieres made by different companies looked different, but they usually looked like modern bras with vertical darts and no wires or foam cups.

I must again redirect you to this article on breast binding in China, if you can’t read Chinese Google Translate works just fine. There’s one thing that I’d like to comment on though; the author named breast binding as the sole reason for the small bust measures of women at the time and argued that it caused health problems and hindered the growth of the chest. I think this is true to some extent, but other reasons for the generally small stature of women in this period (and indeed the centuries before) included malnourishment, bad healthcare and lack of exercise. Women weren’t educated about healthy diets and the importance of physical exercise before the 30s, not to mention the non-existent healthcare they received, so they were much shorter and skinnier, and suffered from more illnesses than the average modern woman. Before industrialization, food production was also often insufficient so a lot of women were malnourished.

As popular as brassieres were, some Chinese women chose to go braless. However, I have usually seen braless women in advertisements/pinup posters, so I suspect this would not be very socially acceptable on a daily basis.

Source: lai yiching0926 on Pinterest. I get so many primary sources from this person y’all may as well check out their board on Chinese calendar painting it’s bomb. I also have a Pinterest board where I collect primary sources if anyone is interested, my Pinterest username is also audreydoeskaren.

However, being braless doesn’t mean wearing nothing underneath a cheongsam. Camisoles were worn on the upper body and drawers (which were becoming proto-panties) on the lower body; alternatively a slip could be worn. 30s drawers are really pretty in my opinion, they were high waisted and had an a-line shape, decorated with lace.

To my knowledge, Chinese women in this period did not yet wear girdles, corsets or any other kind of shapewear to take in the waist, at least I have never seen their edges peeking out from underneath the cheongsam. I guess this was also unnecessary as the cheongsam was a light one piece dress and didn’t require any support at the waist.

From my observation, stockings were kind of optional in this period. In the early 20s and before, Chinese women wore short stockings tied up by garters at knee level, but as the skirt hem rose to knee length in the late 20s they probably stopped doing that as the garters would show when they inevitably flash their knees. I assume longer, nude stockings would be worn, held up by a garterbelt or something, but a lot of images of this era showed women with no visible stockings. Teenagers and younger women could wear low knit socks like Western children, but these were not acceptable on grown up women unless they were doing sports. Tights were not yet a thing either.

On top of these undergarments, some women chose to wear ankle length petticoats or pants underneath the cheongsam. This was especially the case around 1934 when the side slits were mid thigh or higher and constantly showing your drawers was likely not the most respectable thing. These petticoats and pants were most commonly white and had decorative trim. Petticoats could have slits down both sides like the outer cheongsam or a flared hem. Pants were straight cut and wide legged. Later in the decade the slits became lower so petticoats and pants weren’t that necessary anymore but many women still chose to wear them, which is fine by me because I think it’s a cute look. Likewise there were many examples of women around 1934 wearing high slit cheongsam without petticoats or pants, especially if they were dancing, so this was likely a matter of personal preference (Western dances like tango, waltz, foxtrot, charleston and swing were introduced to China and popularized in the 20s and 30s. The Paramount dance hall in my native city of Shanghai is a monument to that).

Source here

Mid 30s photograph, high slit cheongsam with pants.

Source here

Later 30s fabric ad, low slit cheongsam with flared petticoat. 

Outerwear

A noteworthy development in the mid 30s was that wearing actual, full blown Western fashion became popularized, but only as outerwear, sportswear or eveningwear; Western day dresses were not often seen on Chinese women. In regards to Western outerwear, a variety of them could be worn over cheongsam. In addition to the fur trim wrap coats popular in the late 20s, women wore capes, vests, suits, coats, knit cardigans and others. It was completely ok to mix and match Western accessories and jackets with cheongsam.

Source here

Short cape.

Source here

Early 30s women’s suit. I know I use this image a lot, it’s just really useful and beautiful :)

Source here

Early 30s fur trim wrap coat.

Source: Sayuu G on Pinterest, link

Long coat with lapels.

Source: Yuan Li on Pinterest, link

Cardigan and jacket. This kind of short sleeved, straight front, collarless jacket on the left was very popular in the mid 30s.

Another cute mid 30s accessory I’m very fond of is the gauntlet glove i.e. gloves that have a very wide trunk opening. I think they have an equestrian flair and look very badass.

Source: Yuan Li on Pinterest, link

1935 cover of The Young Companion. (Why are the useful images always so small? Woe is me)

Earrings were really common in the 30s, you could see them in almost all of the reference photos in this post. 

Hairstyles

Since around 1930 the history of Chinese and Western women’s hairstyles had almost completely synchronized so if you know about vintage Western hairstyles you’re welcome to skip this part.

In the beginning of the 30s the most common hairstyle was a short bob with optional fingerwaves (called waterwaves in this period? I’m not great with terminology). Some bobs in the late 20s/early 30s could be so short that they look like buzz cuts. The defining feature of the fingerwave was the shimmery wave-like pattern in the hair created by pinching and combing the hair while it’s wet with setting products. Just a side note, the way fingerwaves are done in most Chinese period dramas nowadays, uh, leaves much to be desired. That’s because a lot of hairstylists just attach a wavy extension (which you can easily purchase from Taobao...) to the actresses’ forehead and call it a day, but that doesn’t really replicate the structure of the fingerwave and makes it look like the 铜钱头 in Kun Opera instead.

Source: Helen Xu on Pinterest.

Early 30s very short bob.

Source here

Early 30s fingerwave

Another very common hairstyle in the 30s was this mid length bob (either side part or middle part) with a lot of volume at the bottom. I am so puzzled as to how this is achieved, maybe with teasing or curling only at the bottom? That sounds odd.

Source here

Mid 30s fabric ad.

This ad is forcing me to go on a tangent about fabric dyes. This label, Indanthren, sold fabrics dyed from a range of blue or blue-ish colored synthetic dyes made by the German company BASF (which was merged into IG Farben at this time). Because of the introduction of synthetic dyes to China, almost all colors under the sun could be produced or imported so there weren’t really any specific color limitations to the clothing of this period.

Back to hair. Contrary to popular opinion, fingerwaves were not in fashion throughout the 30s, let alone the entire republican era. As the 30s progressed, the fashionable hair length became longer, making it more difficult for fingerwaves to be performed; they were replaced by roller sets and pin curls which are more suitable for longer hair. In the mid 30s, brush out curls with a side part were extremely popular. At this point bangs kind of became a Chinese cultural heritage and a lot of women would wear brush out curls with bangs. There are literally a million patterns for setting brush out curls and every woman probably had her own tricks, so everybody’s hair looked a tad different but the overall idea was the same as Western brush out curls: women would set the hair in the night and sleep with the rollers/pin curls to let them dry, then in the morning they would brush them out until the desirable wavy shape is achieved. Many women also used curling irons to achieve the same hairstyles with heat, which was faster and didn’t require waiting overnight. With that said, the fingerwave didn’t just disappear either, it was often used in conjunction with brush out curls to sculpt specific hairstyles. I’m not a professional vintage hairstylist so I can’t always clock if a hairstyle is done with fingerwaving, brush out curls or both. From my own experience with brush out curls, they are usually more voluminous and have more fizzy ends and the waves don’t line up so perfectly like with fingerwaves because the process is more uncontrollable (or maybe I’m just clumsy).

Source here

Typical mid 30s curls.

The fashionable hair length grew longer toward the end of the decade, with the finished curls reaching either the shoulder or the nape of the neck. Hairstyles became kind of rectangular in silhouette and flat at the crown. They were often pulled back at the sides to create a more rectangular shape for the face.

Source: lai yiching0926 on Pinterest.

Late 30s hairstyles.

Shoes

Again, full westernization here. 30s shoes had higher and thinner heels than 20s shoes, although they were still thicker and lower than modern stilettos. The heels were usually curved Louis heels. 30s shoes often had a single strap across the foot and a wrapped design at the toe. Spectator shoes and Oxfords that covered the whole foot were also worn. Likewise, strapless pumps were fashionable too, sometimes with an open toe design, especially toward the end of the decade. 

Source: genibee on Flickr, link

1935 Sears catalogue. Maybe not very representative since shoes made by different companies looked different, just showing what was possible.

Interestingly, I have never seen an image of a 30s Chinese woman wearing boots or booties outside of an equestrian context. I guess boots either weren’t feminine enough or were too inconvenient under the long cheongsam.

Sportswear

A very interesting development in the 30s was the popularization of sportswear as a result of women doing sports. Wealthy or aristocratic Chinese women have been riding and hunting in an attempt to emulate European lifestyle since decades, but these sports remained elite and untouchable for common women; in the 30s however, more accessible sports like swimming, volleyball and tennis became in vogue. The popularity of swimming was in large part due to the influence of female swimming champion 杨秀琼 Yang Xiuqiong (her name is spelled differently in Cantonese because she was from Hong Kong), who was seen as a national hero for winning a ton of medals in international swimming competitions and breaking records. China began trying to participate in Olympic games around this period and there were also many other women athletes competing in different sports, so sportswear became a necessity.

The design of swimwear in this period followed closely the design of Western bathing suits, usually a tight, short, one piece bodysuit.

Source here

1933 cover of The Young Companion featuring Yang in a swimsuit. There was a stigma around female swimmers at this time though, mostly because of the revealing clothing they had to wear to allow freedom of movement. Many press reports called Yang a “mermaid” because of her physical beauty, trying to reduce her to a sex icon instead of the glorious athlete she actually was. All of the whack rumors about her being a concubine of some rich dude was also really disgusting and distracting from her achievements.

I’ve also seen multiple times this two piece design with shorts and a modernized 肚兜 dudou (a Qing Dynasty undergarment with a function akin to that of a corset cover).

Source: EMKAY on Pinterest

30s pinup girl in two piece swimsuit.

For land sports, women usually wore a short sleeved open collar shirt with shorts, short knit socks and flat pumps.

Source: Jason Tse on Pinterest

1933 cover of The Young Companion featuring a tennis player. 

Makeup

The makeup look of the early 30s was almost identical to the late 20s look, with the thin, elongated eyebrows, large oval shaped blush and delicate red/mauve lips. This continued all the way until around 1938-39.

Toward the end of the decade, the eyebrows started to return to a normal thickness and became kind of arched instead of flat. Eyeshadows became lighter or non-existent. Women used cake mascara to darken their eyelashes, which were separated and evenly spread out. The location of the blush moved slightly downward. Red lipstick was still the most popular but the lips were plumper than in the early 30s. Overall very subtle and small changes to makeup. There were a bunch of Western and Japanese makeup companies trading in China at this point, I couldn’t name any specific ones beside Nivea which was quite popular for affordable skincare products like cream and sunscreen. I assume that actresses and pinup girls would also use Max Factor, but I’m not sure how widely used his products were among the general population. The Hong Kong brand 广生行 Kwong Sang Hong (whose Shanghai branch was called 双妹 “Twin Sisters” and whose advertisements we have seen too many times in this series) was also really popular.

I know I promised to talk about makeup more in this post but unfortunately there really isn’t much to talk about :( So see you next time when I dig into the 1940s!

#1930s #art deco #vintage hair #vintage accessories #vintage shoes #vintage lingerie #chinese history #chinese fashion #historic fashion #vintage #vintage makeup #vintage sportswear #cheongsam #qipao #abridged history of early 20th century chinese womenswear

[weirdmageddon]

my rheumatologist has done more for me towards getting a POTS diagnosis than my cardiologist thats kinda sad bro

i came in to the cardiologist the other day (finally after waiting MONTHS) hoping for a tilt table test to see how my heart rate and blood pressure react to orthostasis in a controlled setting. the doctor didnt actually do a thing to test me for it in-office, i was just told to schedule an echo (which is fine), holster (alright) and stress test (why). but i was also prescribed eastern medicine as a treatment....“superbrain yoga”? like i dont want to seem closeminded because she is an indian doctor and there are some things that western medicine hasn’t caught on to but i realy wish i was told why it is supposed to work. like i want to know physiologically how and why it supposedly works. get technical and mechanical with me bro i have le autism, thats my language if you wanna really convince me. if it’s about toning up the muscles in my legs to squeeze the blood into my core upon standing why dont i just do squats? why do i have to do all this really specific stuff like hold my tongue at the roof of my mouth and face east, crossing my arms (right arm must go over left) and maneuver my hands in a certain way to grab my earlobes while doing those squats? is that merely a concentration sort of thing to make your brain focus? if so, why not just let me know what the purpose to these specific movements are (and what does focusing my brain have to do with treating POTS symptoms anyway)?? i’m not a spiritual person so the spiritual aspects of it do nothing for me. but at least i wasn’t given intensive aerobic exercise because i cant do that lol. i was just prescribed core strength training with planks and crunches (fine with me) and “superbrain yoga” (the specifics still confuse me but i’m doing it anyway)

but i didnt even get a tilt table test while i was there, i asked about it and she said “we stopped doing tilt table tests a while ago” and i was like ????????? thats like the gold standard to test for POTS my guy. based on just my symptoms she said i had dysautonomia and i asked “what about POTS?” and she said “it could be” and i was like ? could be? bro you didnt even test for it?

the whole visit just felt really vague and dismissive to my issues (yet again). fucking even my rheumatologist said before this visit to the cardiologist that i “probably have POTS”

so when i left the cardiologist the other day i wrote this up because i was very upset, felt dismissed, and took matters into my own hands to show what kind of medical concepts i’m capable of comprehending and the kind of language i want doctors to talk to me about my conditions in. and today i read it to my rheumatologist during today’s appointment:

the cardiologist says i have dysautonomia, “caused by dysfunction of the small blood vessels”. in the clinic, the nurse measured my laying vs standing blood pressure (which increased rather than decreased) but they didn’t do my heart rate there for some reason. but on my own i’ve measured my heart rate to jump above 30 bpm within 10 minutes of standing, so with all the symptoms lining up exactly with what’s expected of POTS (heart rate increase greater than 30 bpm within 10 minutes of standing, no drop in blood pressure, lightheadedness, brain fog, palpitations, prolonged fatigue, heat intolerance, excessive sweating etc), i’m convinced that the type of dysautonomia i specifically have is POTS, not just the umbrella term “dysautonomia”, and the specific brand of POTS i have is the neuropathic POTS subtype which is thought to be caused by sympathetic denervation (partial autonomic neuropathy) in the lower extremities. this causes the blood vessels in my legs not to constrict as they should when standing, which in turn causes blood to pool in the legs and not return to the heart, causing the heart to have to source its blood supply from elsewhere in the meantime to compensate (with an overall lower venous return), driving up the heart rate and causing lightheadedness. my blood tests also showed i am also very slightly anemic by 0.1 point below the normal range (11.6 g/dL) the resulting denervation hypersensitivity from the sympathetic denervation what is thought to cause erythromelalgia—which i express all the hallmark symptoms of as well in my feet (redness, increased skin temperature, burning sensation (feels like walking on a hot pool deck), cold to touch and bluish purple when not actively flaring, flaring occurs at night, symptoms worsen with exposure to heat and exercise (including walking on feet while flaring) and are relieved with cooling and elevation). i have no response to the cold unlike with what is seen in raynauds. i actually consider cold exposure my savior; the heat is my worst enemy, it makes me feel faint and lightheaded dysautonomia-wise and it makes my feet flare up rheumatologically.

“Several previous investigations have provided clues that patients with the postural tachycardia syndrome have peripheral autonomic dysfunction. Streeten et al. found that patients with orthostatic tachycardia had excessive venous pooling in the legs while standing and suggested that denervation of the legs was a mechanism of the syndrome. This hypothesis was supported by the finding of hypersensitivity to infusion of norepinephrine into the veins of the foot, despite high plasma catecholamine concentrations. [...] These stimuli increased norepinephrine spillover in the arms of both the patients with the postural tachycardia syndrome and the normal subjects, with similar increases in the two groups, but failed to increase norepinephrine spillover in the legs of the patients. [...] The reduced clearance of norepinephrine in the legs, without a similar reduction in the arms, may result from impairment of norepinephrine-reuptake mechanisms due to isolated damage to nerve terminals in the legs. [...] CONCLUSIONS: The neuropathic postural tachycardia syndrome results from partial sympathetic denervation, especially in the legs.” — (https://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJM200010053431404)

“The laser Doppler flowmetry signal after sympathetic stimulation of reflexes mediated through the central nervous system, was significantly diminished in patients with erythromelalgia as compared with healthy controls. [...] Vasoconstrictor responses involving central sympathetic reflexes were attenuated in erythromelalgia. Local neurogenic vasoconstrictor regulation, vasodilator response to local heating and hyperemic response to ischemia were maintained. [...] The finding of reduced skin perfusion before provocation is in accordance with the clinical observations that many erythromelalgia patients exhibit cold acral skin between attacks. [...] These results indicate that postganglionic sympathetic dysfunction and denervation hypersensitivity may play a pathogenetic role in primary erythromelalgia.” — (https://linkinghub.elsevier.com/retrieve/pii/S0022-202X(15)41629-X)

“Denervation hypersensitivity is a phenomenon peculiar to smooth muscle innervated by the general visceral efferent system. Following denervation there is increased sensitivity of the muscle to neurotransmitters. This is evident in smooth muscle innervated by sympathetic neurons when the postganglionic axon is affected. Such denervated muscle shows hypersensitivity to the application of epinephrine or to circulating epinephrine released during excitement.” — (https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/B9780721605616500198)

although my rheumatologist is in no position to give me a POTS diagnosis she very much agreed with the connections i made and said she thinks i am right on the mark with my conditions. she told me im a real academic patient and even that i’d be well suited for going into medicine lol. not only is it refreshing to have a doctor that doesn’t disregard their patient’s knowledge, but it’s good to see what i’ve learned about nerves from my biopsych classes (and in my own time for funsies) paying off in ways concerning my health. my mom who is a nurse also agrees that neuropathic POTS and erythromelalgia are what i have.

anyway the POTS symptoms have been a massive thing for me since puberty and the erythromelalgia developed a year or so after my POTS symptoms started. but i’ve always had freezing cold clammy hands and feet since i was a young child, they just hadn’t started changing colors and flaring until after i hit puberty. i’m not sure what destroyed the sympathetic nerve fibers in my legs (as most POTS happens in teenagers due to some viral illness but i’ve never had that?), i was also just tested for a bunch of autoimmune factors and disorders and my results came back negative. maybe it’s just a genetic factor, who knows, probably something caused by a hormone’s cascading effect gone awry at some point. it seems a lot of autistic afab people have POTS or some other type of dysautonomia for some reason and i’m curious as to why.

anyway i’m really stuck in a liminal space because i have no official diagnosis beyond “dysautonomia” but i’ve been sure of what it is for like over a year and it keeps getting clearer and clearer that i was right all along

#pots #dysautonomia #erythromelalgia #chronic illness

[ranboo5]

Techno takes I find baffling seem to be based largely on like, the predication that he sees ideals over people, but that’s not... true. That’s literally the opposite of true. That’s literally the source of the conflict with people on the server

What ppl seem to think? is that Techno’s interactions with people are informed by his anarchist ideals, when it’s the other way around. He reacts to government the way he does because he’s seen what it does to people? He’s seen it hurt him, he’s seen it hurt Phil, he’s seen it hurt Ranboo, he’s seen it hurt Tubbo, he’s seen it hurt Tommy, he’s seen it hurt Wilbur, he has evidence for it hurting Niki, and the list goes on 

People keep acting like Techno’s ideology starts with “oh nooo my ideals are hurt,” which I think comes from him flipping on L’Manberg after the Manberg-Pogtopia war, but that’s because Techno clearly came in with an anarchist ethos (and pretty traumatized already; “the only universal language is violence” alone raises a lot of red flags that are all screaming “trauma”). How his anarchist ethos develops is clearly reactive and this is obvious from even immediately after this -- he sees blowing up L’Manberg didn’t stop them from starting a government, and retreats to try to take up pacifism and establish an anarchist commune in the north. He sees this fail w/ the Butcher Army and leans harder into reciprocity, and after blowing up New L’Manberg (in perceived self-defense primarily, I would argue) he decides to directly codify aforesaid ethos and develop it. And what does he emphasize when he does so? The lack of any leadership position. The fact that no member will be used or coerced. This is directly from what he’s seen government do -- corrupt its leaders with power and the search for more until they broke like Wilbur or did awful things like Tubbo, and use people like him as weapons, coerce them to take action against others against their will like they did w/ Ranboo and tried to do to Techno. Technoblade’s anarchism is clearly a reaction to his interactions with other people, not the other way around 

I think another source for the “Technoblade values ideals over people” misread is the fact that he actually doesn’t value ideals and things that much, which he states, but because a lot of the fandom identifies and sympathizes with characters who do value those ideals, that disregard comes off as personal. Take L’Manberg, or the discs -- those are things that are, for better or for worse (I would argue in most cases for worse, but ofc there is nuance and that’s a different discussion anyway), incredibly sentimentally important ideals to characters like Tubbo and especially Tommy “attachments are actually the thematic core of my character” Innit, which a lot of people sympathize with. Those things aren’t people, but because of the value that characters place on them, they feel to those characters like an attack on them is an attack on an intrinsic part of their identity. This isn’t a paradigm that Techno operates on -- the closest he comes is when they form a government in front of him and he joins in the destruction of L’Manberg, but even then it’s a more consistent read that he did it in some misguided attempt to warn them. It all comes back to Technoblade caring about people, even people who’ve wronged him and whom he disagrees with -- I’d go so far as to call that a primary motivator. The problem arises when those people work on a paradigm where they care deeply about ideals that often harm them, and Techno doesn’t have the emotional finesse nor the understanding necessary to take that into account with his “warnings,” which often only end up causing more trauma in effect. That doesn’t mean he does things because he “doesn’t care” or has a “victim complex”; it just means that he doesn’t understand the sentimental and emotional importance that that kind of attachment to an inanimate ideal has. He sees people do terrible things in the name of some strange idea of a country -- how can a country be more emotionally important to them than the person being hurt? -- and when he reacts in the way he knows how -- which, because of the other trauma he clearly already has, is violence -- he doesn’t take into account the real emotional effect that losing that country has on someone, and because the emotional effect of an attachment like that is in fact really huge, especially if you, like some characters, define yourself by that attachment, those characters and people who sympathize with them can feel like it’s an attack on something that makes them human (and that leads directly into “oh Techno is inhuman!” stuff which is. Incredibly ableist because it’s literally calling someone inhuman because they interact with ideals differently and usually also ties into calling him “emotionless” for. How. The creator. Who has ADHD. Naturally emotes.) 

If we want more nails in the coffin, just. Look at how he interacts with Tubbo? There’s a repeated sub-sentiment of the stuff I’ve talked about here that Technoblade only sees Tubbo as a government stand in and fails to see the person, but how Techno talks about/to him says the actual opposite most of the time. He’s gone on record saying that Tubbo is possibly a good guy but has been corrupted by his position during the RaccoonInnit arc, the one time he took a canon life from Tubbo was under coercion, and just today in the Snowchester stream as soon as Tubbo made it clear that, despite his big scary words and nukes, Snowchester was not intending to or probably capable of oppressing its citizens, Technoblade and the Syndicate decided that Tubbo wasn’t going to be a problem and never acted personally slighted, even though 2/4 (arguably 3/4 but no one’s ready for that conversation) of them arguably had reason to committing what Tubbo’s administration actively did to them. Technoblade doesn’t have a problem with Tubbo, the person; he has a problem with the position of a presidential cabinet, which he almost certainly sees (correctly) as something that was in fact harming Tubbo the person (Phil has even said as much explicitly, I’m pretty sure Techno has as well though perhaps in less direct terms, and Ranboo almost certainly has alluded to similar). Honestly all things considered Techno and co. are all being incredibly forgiving toward Tubbo (as they largely should be!!! Honestly I think their takes irt that are mostly correct considering Tubbo’s situation but I am also very very soft and will lie down and apologize about anything so) 

Tl;dr: People saying that Technoblade values ideals over people actually have it entirely backwards, because - Techno’s ideals are actively reactive to his interactions with other people rather than the other way around - largely the issue is that Techno doesn’t recognize the value people place on ideals  - Techno has seen the damage that those ideals + holding them has done to people which is in fact his main motivator  - Techno’s interactions w/ Tubbo all point to Techno not having a problem with Tubbo the person but rather with the government position he occupied, which hurt Tubbo the person too  - have we been watching the same streams

#Dream SMP #Technoblade #TommyInnit #Tubbo #Ranboo #Philza #Niki and Wilbur as well technically #obviously this is all abt the characters!!! #thank you sm if you actually read all of this #I rlly hope none of this comes off as negative toward any character I tried to b as neutral as possible #here some pumpky pie bc your epic :] #for the approval of the forum

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 1,787 warnings: mentions of food, skipping a meal, fainting

author’s note: part 2 is here and i am excited! i received the support that some of you have given by liking and reblogging and i appreciate it so much! please do share some of your thoughts. i’d love to hear from you. for some reference on what our Prince Wonwoo wore on this chapter during the first few bits: here. 

two: what could have been | masterlist

“What?”

One of these days you’re going to start blaming Wonwoo for the unusual accidents that happen whenever he is around or whenever his name is brought up. It’s a relief that you didn’t trip, again, because you were more than sure that making an abrupt stop while wearing heels can lead to several painful possibilities. 

“You okay?” Jeongyeon was quick to hold on to your arm, helping you find your balance again. She’s definitely not risking anymore injuries especially now that there’s no Doctor Jeon around. 

“What did you just say?” You repeat as you try to compose yourself and start walking across the hallway like how you were supposed to in the first place. 

Jeongyeon blinks at you for a few seconds before gasping, “Oh, right! According to my sources, apparently the long term girlfriend was actually the one for Prince Wonwoo,” she says casually as if she’s just dropping the weather report for the day. “He had plans to propose.”

Propose?

“By sources you mean?” You ask. The lawyer in you is making sure that this is nothing but a baseless rumor and also the rational person in you is making sure your head doesn't get clouded by jealousy.

Me? Jealous? Your left eye twitches at the thought.

“Dr. Kwon also known as Hoshi,” she answers like they have been friends for ten years. “He’s the Prince’s friend from primary school up to medical school.”

“How do you even know this Dr. Kwon?” You ask while narrowing your eyes at her. You are nowhere near done verifying her sources.

Jeongyeon sheepishly smiles before giggling nervously. “Well…”

You sigh. Jeongyeon can be brilliant but she could go overboard at times. “Don’t tell me he works at the same hospital as Wonwoo and you yourself went there?”

“I had to!” She defends, stomping her feet. “You told me to go look up some info and I did. I just wanted to do a good job while I was at it.”

You close your eyes in defeat before pulling her close to whisper a reminder to her ear, “Next time, let’s tone down the enthusiasm, alright?”

She just grins. “No promises.”

Were you threatened by the recent information your assistant just shared to you?

No, of course not.

Were you bothered?

Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent. 

You’re bothered because you can’t help but think about what could have been.

What could have been for Wonwoo and this mystery girl. You suddenly feel terrible. All this time you were okay with this arrangement. In fact, you were beyond okay already. But, how about Wonwoo? Sure, maybe you thought he could be against this marriage. But, it didn’t cross your mind what he could have left behind back home. What he had to give up and what he had to let go.

“Hey.”

All your thoughts and worries flushed down the drain in an instant at the sound of the voice you’re starting to grow fond of.

Wonwoo arrived like a breath of fresh air with his light blue button down and jeans. The glasses are a bonus that you are lucky to see for the first time. You weren’t aware that he wore them. In fact, you have never seen him wear casual clothes until today. If you were frowning earlier, you are blushing now because of how good he looks. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he sincerely apologizes as he walks towards you. “I’m not gonna lie. I overslept.”

Come to think of it, you have been standing outside this terrace for quite a while now. Thinking too much can be a good distraction to the point that you won’t even notice that you have been waiting.

You cleared the rest of the afternoon to sneak in some wedding planning. Meanwhile, Wonwoo decided to take the night shift yesterday and take today off to join you. 

You shake your head and give him a small smile in understanding. “It’s okay. I just arrived too.”

That was a lie, but it doesn’t matter. Especially now, in spite of getting the right amount of sleep, you can tell that he is still tired and sleepy. And, adorable. But you would never let him know that.

“It didn’t look like it though,” he counters, making your brows raise. “You looked like you were already here for a while. A penny for your thoughts?”

Your eyes roll at his teasing tone while he just smirks. 

But then, you figured since he already asked, this could be the right time. “Can I ask you something?”

Wonwoo crosses his arms, pretending to contemplate your request. “It depends. Am I in trouble?”

“No,” you deadpan. “You don’t have to answer though. That’s what I can guarantee.”

“Fine by me.” He relaxes his arms to his sides and stands close to the railing you were leaning your body weight against. 

Well, okay.  Your palms suddenly started to sweat. Maybe it’s a bad idea to pry about his past. What’s the point of bringing it up? What do you need out of this anyway? Why the bother? 

Yeah, let’s just not, you decided to drop it but Wonwoo already beat you to it.

“Let me guess,” the Prince noticed your silence and decided to take the matters in his hands. “Is it about my ex-girlfriend?”

Heat immediately rose to your cheeks, embarrassed by how could you let it get this far. “I’m sorry. Nevermind. Let’s just go inside. They’re probably ready for us.” 

You were fast to lift your feet from the ground and honestly,  if you could, you’d run away and never return. But, Wonwoo was faster. He was faster to grasp your hand and make you stop from taking another step in a heartbeat. 

You’re not one to let your head hang low and avoid eye contact, but here you are doing everything in your power to not meet Wonwoo’s eyes. You’re also not one to grow flustered easily. You always know what and how to make the last say.

But again, here you are tight-lipped and wishing to be buried underground. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he promises while tilting his head to the side, searching for your eyes. “I’m not making fun of you and I understand that it’s inevitable for this to be not brought up.”

You relent by nodding and finally turning your body to face him. “Okay.”

Wonwoo smiles and caresses the top of your head. “This is not something you should be worrying about.”

His brazen touch made you feel small yet comforted. 

“Do you really want to marry me Wonwoo?” You whisper between the two of you. 

He blinks then furrows his brows. “What kind of question is that?”

You frown, you’re supposed to give me an answer. “I just thought that maybe it’s better to call it off already before we regret anything in the future.”

“Y/N,” he calls for your name for the first time. “My past relationship is already in the past. I am not dwelling from what happened and what could have been. I am here now and that’s all that matters.”

“Don’t play smart with me,” you scoff and pull yourself away from him.

But Wonwoo just laughs and tightens his hold. He now holds both of your hands and strangely enough, having his hands entwined with yours is nice.

“Why? Does the princess don’t want to marry me?” 

“I don’t actually have much of a choice, do I?” 

Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to scoff. “Who’s playing smart now?”

You burst into a fit of giggles and Wonwoo does the same. 

It’s kind of scary to feel this way. Feeling so reassured and secured with your relationship with Wonwoo like it was the two of you from the get go. It seems so easy. You are at ease and it terrifies you. 

It’s time for work, you slap yourself back to reality. You can’t continue thinking about Wonwoo especially now when you have matters to take care of and clients to satisfy. You sigh and pick up your coffee mug to sip some only to see that it’s already empty.

You quickly reach for your telephone to request for a refill.

“Coffee? Again?” Jeongyeon reprimands before you could even speak. “Your Highness, this is your third cup and it’s only nine o’clock in the morning.”

You ignore her exasperated tone. “I know.”

“How about some bread instead? You’ve had enough caffeine to last the week.”

“Please just bring me one more,” you plead while resting your palm on your forehead, feeling a headache coming up that could actually last the week. “I promise that would be my last cup.”

You can hear Jeongyeon sigh in defeat before muttering a soft okay.

You should have chosen the bread instead of the third cup of coffee because not less than 15 minutes after drinking it, your stomach feels like it’s burning inside by how painful it is. You thought a glass of water can help minimize or dwindle down the pain but it’s of no help.

What’s worse is you suddenly feel hot in spite of the air condition inside your office being on full blast. Your hand brushes against your face and it is wet. Why am I sweating? You quietly groan as another pang of pain hits you. You think you might vomit. 

Maybe you should go to the restroom or whatever. For now, you just want to move in the hopes that this uncomfortable and sickening feeling would go away. You push yourself up from your chair with a lot of effort because your body doesn’t seem to have any more intention to cooperate with your mind.

You decided you’d rest at your apartment for a while and just go back in the afternoon on the assumption that you’d be fine by then.

Slowly and painfully, you walk to the huge doors of your office and with every step you take, you’re catching your breath. You reach the door and clutch the knob tightly, desperate to grab some painkillers and just sleep this off. 

However, before you could twist the knob and take further steps, you were falling to the ground. Your body doesn’t want to act on your decisions anymore and the pain on your stomach is just way too unbearable, you can’t even stand straight. 

And just on time, Jeongyeon opens your door and enters, chirpy as usual, “Your Highness, you have a visi--- Your Highness!”

You were not sure if your eyes could still register what you saw before you blacked out. But, you were positive that you saw the one and only Prince Wonwoo, one moment smiling and the next rushing towards your limp body on the cold tiled floor.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #seventeen #wonwoo #fic: ifliys

[human-do-a-worm]

Ramblings of an Old Soldier Part 2/?

Part 1 can be found HERE

The next day, the Unkall boy came back to the old soldier, sitting on the bench where he normally does, reading his data tablet. The boy had a rather happy look on him today.

“Ah, you’re back. I take it that my story wasn’t quite enough on its own then?”

“Not quite mister. It turned out to be more than enough for my first paper. After I turned it in, my teacher said I could go ahead and write the rest of my papers for the course since I had found a primary source willing to share their experience.”

“I see. How kind of your teacher. Back when I was in school, they would have told us to stuff it.”

“So, what other stories do you have to tell?”

“How about my time in the cycle after the Martian campaign?”

“That sounds wonderful. Let me start my recorder.”

The Unkall child pushes a glowing button on his data tablet, and a blue dot appearing on the screen indicated that the recording had started

“It was less than a month after the battle on Mars; that’s one twenty-fourth of a cycle in standard units. Reconstruction had begun on mars, and the war fleets which were now all massed around Terra had been split into five groups. Group Solar and Group Lunar were the two largest of the fleets, and as such were classed together. Group Pangea, Group Gondwana, and Group Oceana were the three smaller groups, and were classed together as well. The fleets were organized in this way by Grand Admiral Demetrius, to ensure that no one fleet would have to stand against the enemy for too long a time.”

“Since I’ve brought him up, I should probably tell you a bit about the Grand Admiral. Remember what I was saying about the preparations for the battle on Mars. All the meticulous planning done to move the civilians back to Terra, and keep morale up while being an effective fighting force? Well, that came from Demetrius, and was only slightly modified by individual units as the orders were passed down the chain. His odd decision making turned out to be one of the most valuable things that humanity had, because nobody could anticipate his plans; especially the Vrumoids. He was only a rear admiral, but after his commendation, and the first victory in the war, He was immediately promoted.”

“Back to the war now. The battle plan was simple. Keep a constant pressure on the enemy, working in a single spot, pushing the enemy back system by system, and planet by planet. Where to stop would be figured out as the fleets went along. This seemed to work very well. In most systems, Groups Solar and Lunar rarely had fire a single shot. The Vrumoids would either flee or be destroyed by one of the smaller groups before the heavy guns of the heavy class ships could be brought to bear.”

“The reconquest continued almost flawlessly until there was a single human world left to reclaim. Rexorb VI was nothing more than a rock when humanity last saw it, but after looking upon it, the armada called for the command group; Group Regal; to come and take a look. At first sight of the data scans, Demetrius broke down with laughter. Failing to find the humor in this situation, his second in command asked him what was so funny.” “These poor bastards. They’ve made this planet up to be just like Mars, hoping we’ll make the same mistakes they did. Have they never been told that it’s a bad idea to try using the tactics someone created against them? They’ve made themselves the easiest targets possible for us, and what’s even better is that they did it on a mining world. There were only a few housing units on that planet, and its riches lie deep inside. This is the perfect opportunity to try a new idea.”

“With that, preparations were made swiftly, and with much laughter all around. On the back side of Rexorb VI’s moon, groups Solar, Gondwana, and Oceana moved into position, mounting themselves with their primary propulsion systems poised to drop the moon from its orbit.”

The boy spoke up

“Didn’t the Vrumoid forces on the planet notice what was happening?”

Laughing, the old man responded

“Nope. That was a benefit of only showing the enemy one small and one large battle group at a time. According to Vrumoid intelligence recovered after the war, The defenders on Rexorb VI simply thought we were just deciding how to invade properly. They had no idea Demetrius was crazy enough to consider crashing the moon into the planet, and they would have to have been crazy to even guess that the rest of the fleet would just go along with it. I know Demetrius was expecting to do some explaining to the others.”

“The High Admiral may have been absolutely insane, but he wasn’t heartless. He ordered a shuttle to take one squad and an emissary to give them one final chance to surrender. They of course, believing a ground war lay ahead, refused. That was the last mistake that the Vrumoids ever made when dealing with humanity. Exactly one planetary axis revolution after the shuttle returned to the fleet, all the pushing ships’ engines fired up. Each of the ships had worked out their individual point of no return for propelling the moon towards the planet, and had an order to pull off at what their captain deemed a safe time before reaching their point of no return. By the time the last ship pulled off, The moon was going faster than its own terminal velocity.”

“When that moon hit the surface of the planet, the entire thing cracked like a geode. After observing this from one of their comm stations, the Vrumoid Empire rushed to set up peace treaty negotiations. Of course, who was the Terran representative by unanimous vote from the United Terran Council? None other than High Admiral Demetrius. They figured that if nothing else, he could get the Vrumoids to leave humanity alone. But what he got us was something so much greater.”

“As you might have learned in class, our home system and colonies were entirely located within an isolated part of Vrumoid space. We had no knowledge of the Galactic Council Alliance, at least until one of the Vrumoid delegates at the negotiations made a mistake and asked one of his compatriots what the council would think of their actions if they ever found out. After learning that there were other intelligent species in the galaxy, Demetrius demanded that humanity be granted a swath of planets and territory directly to the territory of another GCA member.”

“This single achievement is what brought humanity forward. Demetrius did what no other Terran could do; he found sentient life that wasn’t actively trying to kill us, and he made sure we could get to them with ease. If it weren’t for him, we would have never known the GCA existed, and likely would have been either wiped out or enslaved by the Vrumoids after they rebuilt their forces.”

“Of course, after we made contact with the council, and they saw what we were able to do to a far more technologically advanced species, they demanded to see our battle reports and to speak with all the commanding officers. I remember standing there by High Admiral Demetrius’ side.”

The young Unkall spoke up ecstatically

“You were a commanding officer?”

“Sure was kiddo. Leading the charge of those bikers on mars was one hell of a brave thing, and Demetrius took note. When he got the chance to promote one of his soldiers to an admiral under his command for Group Solar, he spoke loud and clear to us and said “Where’s that crazy bastard that volunteered to charge a platoon of enemy tanks using nothing but motorcycles and bombs on sticks? I have a job for you!” That was the day I was no longer a simple marksman, I was an Admiral, and a damn good one too. My group didn’t lose a single vessel to the enemy.”

“I still remember the day I went down on that rock the day before we cracked it. The Vrumoid commander must have been watching the video recordings from when I charged the tanks, because the moment I walked into the room and she looked up at me, she looked all sorts of shaken up. When I told her that this was her last chance to accept a mercy never offered by her empire, a chance to surrender; she simply said that surrender would never come until she and her warriors no longer stood upon the planet. If only she knew the irony in those words.”

“I remember being at the peace conference, and although Demetrius had only been seen rarely by the Vrumoids, mostly in transmissions intercepted from Mars to Earth, they had seen me plenty. I think I scared them more than Demetrius did, because when I talked about how my motorcycle wasn’t out of fuel yet, they started agreeing to our demands.”

Curiously, the boy tapped something into his data tablet

“Wait a minute, are you saying that you’re Admiral Sturm?”

“Indeed I am. Admiral Jakob Sturm, service number 6556-0293-422-41, former commander of the Terran expeditionary fleet codename Solar. I proudly led my sailors, soldiers, and marines through some of the harshest battles that humanity has faced, and kept my fleet intact. I wasn’t lying when I said that I didn’t lose a ship in my group to the enemy. And after serving 10 cycles in service of my species, I left honorably.”

“So what did you do after you left? I’d imagine being an admiral is a hard job to top.”

“You’re right, admiral is a hard job to beat. I served as an ambassador of Terra for a cycle before I returned to the stars. I found some of the others from back on Mars that charged with me on that day. We were a mercenary group. We mostly took escort contracts or welfare and security for anyone we deemed especially needy. We did good work for a few cycles, but then I had to give it a rest.”

“That’s around the time your name stopped appearing in records of both the GCA and Terran reports. What happened?”

“I’ve been talking for too long. I think you might be able to get a few pages out of what I’ve said today. Better to not burn up all your content at once, right? I’ll be here again tomorrow, like I always am. I’ll tell you more then.”

“If you insist sir. I’ll be here.”

“Until then, take care. I may be old, but I still expect people to stick to a schedule.”

With that, the boy stopped his recording and went home. To meet someone as important as Admiral Sturm, who seemed to have vanished from most records 8 cycles ago, was entirely unexpected. Unexpected, but it will certainly make a wonderful paper for his teacher.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 31

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,450ish (one of the longer ones...)

Summary: Y/N speaks to Coulson. Tony sits in front of the Senate Armed Forces Committee.

Instead of going with Tony and Pepper to appear before the committee, Y/N went to the Triskelion. SHIELD’s Headquarters. She promised Pepper that she would be there before the meeting ended, but needed to make a stop. As she walked into the lobby, she spotted Phil.

“Agent Coulson,” she called, jogging up to him. 

“Agent Rogers,” he greeted, with a small smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I called Fury a few weeks ago about an issue with Stark, and still haven’t heard anything. So I came to see why.”

“Oh, Fury did inform me about that.”

Y/N folded her arms over her chest. “So he has time to inform you and not get back to me?” 

“He has his reasons. The Director always does.” Coulson glanced down at his wrist watch. “I have to get going, or I’ll be late.” He started walking away.

“Where are you going?” Y/N inquired, following him.

“Where you should be. Watching Mr. Stark in front of the Senate committee.”

“Great! You can take me with you then. Plus, I know you know more then what you’re letting on, so I’ll use the car ride there to get it out of you. Are we taking Lola?”

“No, we are not taking Lola. Last time I let you near her, she got scratched up.”

“It was an accident! And it was also, literally, one scratch.”

“Still a scratch,” Coulson said as he held the door open for Y/N.

“All you men are cry babies when it comes to things like that. Tony got on me the other day for breathing near one of the suits. I’m so over it.”

  “I thought you two were getting along?”

“We were, until I started questioning him about what was wrong.” Phil stopped at a black SUV, getting into the driver seat while Y/N got into the passenger. “Tony knows I know that there’s something wrong, he just doesn’t want to admit it. So he’s pushing me away,” Y/N sighed, putting her seat belt on.

Coulson began driving off, silently. Y/n could tell though, by the way he was holding onto the steering wheel, that something was bothering him. Or at least on his mind.

“Just say it,” Y/N demanded. “You have something on your mind. So just let it out.”

“You have feelings for him,” Phil immediately said.

Y/N’s head snapped to fully look at Phil, who wouldn’t look away from the road. “What?”

“You have feelings for Tony Stark. I knew it the moment I saw you hovering over him after the incident at Stark Industries.”

“I don’t have feel—“

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You know you’ve never been able to.”

“Phil, I—“

“When Fury told me about you requesting to stay with Stark, it was just a confirmation of what I knew. What I had seen. I told Fury that you should be pulled and to put in someone else, but he said that it would be good for you. I…” Coulson sighed, shaking his head. “I think you need to quit this, Y/N.”

“Are you serious? What have I done to prove that anything, let alone emotions, have interfered with my job?! Gosh! I… I can’t even believe you.”

“You haven’t done anything yet. But there might come a time when you have to choose between him and the mission. Or, what happens when you need to be honest with him? You’re a Rogers, Y/N, not a Barnes. You were born in 1918. You fell from a plane trying to save the world and woke up in a new age. Stark’s going to need to know all of this, or he’ll find out. One way or another.”

“He knows bits and pieces,” Y/N whispered after a few seconds of silence. “Tony knows I have a twin. That him and his best friend died. He knows that I was in love with my brother’s best friend. And he knows that I burned my hand on a power source and fell from a plane…. I’ve kept all the details from him hidden though…”

“Do you know if he even feels the same? Do you?” It was silent for what felt like eternity until Coulson spoke up again. “Admit it, Y/N/N. At least to yourself if not to me.” Coulson parked the car, having arrived that the location of the meeting. “I know you probably don’t want to admit it. But do you have feelings for him because of who the man actually is? Or just he remind you of someone else you used to love?” Coulson stepped out of the car. “He’s not Bucky, Y/N. In more ways than one.” Then he shut the car door and walked off.

Y/N sat there frozen in the passenger seat. Was it really that obvious that she had feelings for Tony? And, is Tony really that much like Bucky? Yes, they both know—knew how to charm the ladies. But other than that… She shook her head and jumped out of the car. She couldn’t let this stop her from doing her mission. Y/N paused right in front of the building. What was her mission anymore? Just making sure that Tony Stark didn’t try to ruin the world with his Iron Man suits? Had she really become just a babysitter?

Inside the building, the meeting had started, though it hadn’t gotten very far. Tony kept looking back to see if Y/N had gotten there yet. He felt bad driving off, leaving her on the curb. But she had been asking too many questions, she was going to find out what he was hiding. Tony Stark was dying. The core in his arc reactor, that was keeping him alive, was also killing him. So not only did he believe that he had to push her away so that she wouldn’t find out, he believed that it would be easier on him. Tony would never be able to admit it aloud, but he had developed feelings for her. And he couldn’t stand the thought of giving her hope and then dying on her. (Though unbeknownst to him, JARVIS already spilled the beans.)

Looking back once again, he couldn’t see any sign of her. Tony looked disappointed as Pepper, from a few rows back, tried to get him to turn back around.

“Mr. Stark,” Senator Stern called. He was over the committee that wanted the Iron Man suit in the governments hands. “Could we pick up now where we left off?” 

Tony ignored him. Y/N quickly entered the room and found a seat next to Pepper. He tried to give her a small smile, but she refused to look at him. 

“Mr. Stark, please,” the Senator requested, again.

“Yes, dear?” Tony said, turning to face the committee.

“Can I have your attention?” The Senator asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Do you or do you not possess a specialized weapon?”

“I do not.”

“You do not?”

“I do not. Well, it depends on how you define the word weapon.”

“The Iron Man weapon.”

“My device does not fit that description.”

“Well… how would you describe it?”

“I would describe it by defining it as what it is, Senator.”

“As?”

“It’s a high-tech prosthesis. That is… that is… That’s actually the most apt description I can make of it.”

“It’s a weapon. It’s a weapon, Mr. Stark.”

“Please, if your priority was actually the well-being of the American citizen—“

“My priority is to get the Iron Man weapon turned over to the people of the United States of America.”

“Remind me again why we could ask the lawyers to do this?” Y/N leaned over and whispered to Pepper.

“He said he could handle himself,” Pepper sighed. She looked around the room. “I see Agent Coulson. You remember, from SHIELD?”

“Yes,” Y/N nodded.

“I’m going to see if he has any ideas about how to handle this.” She picked up her bag and headed to the back of the room, where Coulson was standing and watching. Y/N kept her focus on the proceedings.

“—depending on what state you’re in. You can’t have it,” Tony stated.

“Look, I’m no expert—“

“In prostitution? Of course not. You’re a Senator, come on.” Tony turned around as the crowd laughed. He met Y/N’s unapproving  stare. “No?” He mouthed. She just shook her head.

“I’m no expert in weapons,” Stern continued, causing Tony to turn back around. “We have somebody here who is an expert on weapons. I’d now like to call Justin Hammer, our current primary weapons contractor.”

Every turned to see Justin Hammer come in from the side and take a seat at the tables in front.

“Let the record reflect that I observed Mr. Hammer entering the chamber,” Tony began, “and I am wondering if and when any actual expert will also be in attendance.” 

“Absolutely. I’m no expert. I defer to you, Anthony,” Justin started. “You’re the wonder boy. Senator, if I may.” Justin stood up and moved infant of the tables. “I may well not be an expert, but you know who was the expert? Your dad.”

“Howard Stark. Really a father to us all, and to the military-industrial age. Let’s just be clear, he was no flower child. He was a lion. We all know why we’re here. In the last six months, Anthony Stark has created a sword with untold possibilities. And yet, he insists it’s a shield. He asks us to trust him as we cower behind it. I wish I were comforted, Anthony, I really do. I’d love to leave my door unlocked when I leave the house, but this ain’t Canada. You know, we live in a world of grave threats, threats that Mr Stark will not always be able to foresee. Thank you. God bless Iron Man. God bless America.”

“That was well said Mr. Hammer,” Stern complimented. “The committee would now like to invite Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes to the chamber.”

“Rhodey? What?” Tony questioned, looking around. “Did you know?” He mouthed to Y/N, who nodded her head in response. Tony stood up and met Rhodey half way down the aisle. “Hey, buddy,” he greeted. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Look, it’s me, I’m here,” Rhodey responded as the made their way to the front. “Deal with it. Let’s move on.”

“I just—“

“Drop it.”

“All right, I’ll drop it.” The two sat down.

“I have before me a complete report on the Iron Man weapon,” Stern began, “complied by Colonel Rhodes. And, Colonel, for the record, can you please read page 57, paragraph four?”

“You’re requesting that I read specific sections from my report, Senator?” Rhodey questioned.

“Yes, sir.”

“It was my understanding that I was going to be testifying in a much more comprehensive and detailed manner.”

“I understand. A lot of things have changed today. So if you could just read—“

“You do understand that reading a single paragraph out of context does not reflect the summary of my final—“

“Just read it, Colonel. I do. Thank you.”

“Very well. ‘As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and to her interests.’ I did however, go on to summarize that the benefits of Iron Man far outweigh three liabilities and that it would be in our interest—“

“That’s enough Colonel.”

“—to fold Mr. Stark—“

“That’s enough.”

“—into the existing chain of command, Senator.”

“I’m not a joiner, but I’ll consider Secretary of Defense,” Tony added, “if you ask nice.” Various crowd members laughed as Y/N rolled her eyes. “We can amend the hours a little bit.”

“I’d like to go on and show, if I may, the imagery that’s connected to your report,” Stern requested.

“I believe it is somewhat premature to reveal these images to the general public at this time,” Rhodey stated.

“With all due respect, Colonel, I understand. And If you could just narrate those for us, we’d be very grateful. Let’s have the images.” A man moved near the tv, pulling up images of groups of people trying to recreate the Iron Man suit. 

“Intelligence suggests that the devices seen in these photos are, in fact, attempts at making manned copies of Mr. Stark’s suit,” Rhodey narrated. “This has been corroborated by our allies and local intelligence on the ground, indicating that these suits are quite possibly, at this moment, operational.”

“Hold on a second, buddy,” Tony called, doing something with his Stark device. Suddenly the screens changed, being controlled by Tony. “Boy, I’m good. I commandeered your screens. I need them. Time for a little transparency.”

“What is he doing?” Senator Stern questioned.

“If you will direct you attention to said screens, I believe that’s North Korea.”

“Can you turn that off? Take it off.”

“Iran.”

“No grave threat here. Is that Justin Hammer? How did Hammer get in the game? Justin, you’re on TV. Focus up.”

“Okay, give me a left twist,” Justin’s voice came through the speakers. “Left’s good. Turn to the right. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.” Justin, in the video, lost control. But before anything else could be shown, Justin found the TV plug and unplugged it.

“Wow. yeah, I’d say most countries, five, ten years away,” Tony stated. “Hammer Industries, twenty.”

“I’d like to point out that that test pilot survived,” Justin interrupted, trying to save himself.

“I think we’re done, is the point that he’s making,” Stern said. “I don’t think there’s any reason—“

“The point is, you’re welcome, I guess,” Tony said.

“For what?”

“Because I’m your nuclear deterrent. It’s working. We’re safe. America is secure.” Tony slipped on his sunglasses. “You want my property? You can’t have it. But I did you a big favor.” He stood up and turned to face the crowd. “I’ve successfully privatized world peace.” He held his arms out, making peace signs with both of his hands. 

The crowd all stood up, talking at once. Y/N followed, not surprised that Tony made this all about himself. He began making his way down the aisle, shaking hands as he went. “What more do you want? For now! I tried to play ball with these ass-clowns.”

Rhodey looked back at Y/N. The both of them shared a look that they were done with Tony not taking things seriously.

next chapter >

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[anime-academix]

Natural Hair

A/N: Ah, here’s my first scenario! This was actually a lot longer than I thought it would be...but you know, it is what it is. I’m still relatively new to writing these so I hope you all enjoy these and I will be doing my best! This scenario was kind of personal...and to all my black girls out there who have gone through this, please know that our hair is beautiful; no matter what anyone says, we are beautiful and unique! Anywho, enjoy this scenario! (DON’T FORGET TO MESSAGE ME IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUESTS, I WILL TRY MY BEST TO GET TO THEM AS SOON AS I CAN ❤️)

Bakugo:

Though you loved wearing your protective hairstyles, you were insecure about your natural hair. However, growing up in Japan, you were all too familiar with the beauty standards in the country, especially when it came to hair. It was always difficult to find hair products to match your hair texture--that in which you almost always had to order them from international stores-- not to mention the random strangers who were always touching your hair, and some students would poking fun at it.

To Bakugo, he had no idea you were insecure about your hair, because it was something you never brought up. Truth be told, the boy loved your hair. He always found it fascinating to watch you do your hair in the dorm on weekend nights. Even everytime you came to school with a new hairstyle, Bakugo would always find a way to compliment your hair, always adding that you were beautiful.

It was very rare that you wore your natural afro to school, but today, you wanted to try something different.

You poofed up your afro a few more times before adjusting your uniform. A small smile appeared on your lips, impressed with your hair’s ability to cooperate this morning. The last time you had worn your afro natural was this past summer when your grandparents came to visit, but then it was only for the weekend.

A loud knock could be heard at your door.

“Hey, hurry your ass up! Just ‘cause we live on campus doesn’t mean we can take our time to get to class,” Bakugo said on the other side of your door. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your backpack, putting your arms through the loops. Walking over to the door, you paused and felt your cheeks heat up. This would be the first time he would be seeing you wear your natural hair to school.

What if he hated it? Or thought it was goofy looking? You thought to yourself before pausing and shaking your head. You turned the knob to your door, pulling it open to reveal your spiky haired boyfriend. He was leaning against the door frame when you opened the door.

His eyes widen at your sudden change of appearance. “Holy shit,” he breathed out. It caught you off guard and you felt your face heat up even more. “It’s something different, I just wanted to try this style...oh god, do you not like it?” You began ranting, before you could finish he tsked.

“Hey, don't speak for me,” he growled, lifting himself from off the door frame. “You look beautiful. I always love seeing the many things you can do with your hair,” Bakugo told you, snaking his arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

Call it cheesy or whatever, but you couldn't help the flood of butterflies that invaded your stomach at his sweet words. “Suki...” you said softly, looking at him.

“But if you tell anybody I told you that, I’ll kill you,” he defended, removing his arm from around your waist and fitting his hand in yours as you both head off to class.

----------------------------------------------------------

By the time you got into your homeroom class, all of Class 1A was gawking in awe at your hair. Your other classmates were practically toppling over each other to get a closer look at your hair, some even asking if they could touch your afro. 

“Girl, your hair has so much volume! Did you try that new curl cream? See, I told you, you gotta get rid of that Cantu stuff and your hair will thank you!” Mina squeaked. Bakugo looked at you then at Mina with an obvious look of confusion written on her face. 

“It looks so soft!” Ochaco commented.

“It’s so pretty! How long does it take for you to get that style?” Momo questioned, placing her hands on her hips. Others nodding in agreement with Momo’s question.

You smiled at your classmates, blinking at the sudden bombardment of comments and questions. 

Bakugo scoffed and leaned against your chair. “Alright. Back up you damn nerds,” He muttered, shooing them away. Bakugo began heading back to his seat, sneaking in a wink which made you blush. 

There was an unanimous “awe” as they all began to disperse. All except for one. Mineta. 

“Why are you all so obsessed with her hair? I mean come on, it just looks...what the word...oh! Nappy...” Mineta announced, which caused you to stiffen. Everyone paused and exchanged uncomfortable glances at each other. “I’m serious, guys! It looks so distracting and messy.” 

“Dude, stop it,” Kaminari interjected.

He stepped closer to you and pressed his hand into your hair, grabbing a handful of curls. “But hey, it’s okay. Your hair may be ugly, but at least it doesn't distract me from your nice rack,” he added, smirking. 

Before anyone could even respond, there was a low rumble filling the room. The students all stiffened, and turned their attention to the source of the noise. It was none other than your boyfriend. He had gotten up from his seat, walking towards your desk, setting off small explosions in his hands. His face was painted with a never before seen look of anger, rage pooling his eyes. It was enough to send goosebumps down your spine.

“You want to fucking say that again, you waste of space?” Bakugo challenged through gritted teeth.

“Hey! You two, we cannot resort to violence! Let’s sit down and talk this out!” Iida offered. Bless his heart for his attempts but it would be rendered useless. The ash-blond spiky haired boy, hated Mineta deeply. He hated the sexual comments he made about you and even suggestive gestures in front of you. There were several times where he’s gotten close to sending Mineta to the emergency room, but you and Mr. Aizawa always came in just in time to put a stop to it. Calming down Bakugo was like trying to stop an already erupting volcano. 

Mineta released his grasp from your hair and begin backing up, fear reeking his whole body. “I...uh...heh...it was...” He stuttered.

“Katsuki...no, leave it alone, it’s fine,” you told him, standing up from your seat.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m not gonna send him to a funeral home...I’d think, it’s been a while since you’ve visited Recovery Girl, HUH?!” He growled, lunging towards him which evoked a loud scream from Mineta.

“Katsuki, no!” You yelled, stepping in front of him quickly. You pressed your hands against his chest and attempted to hold him back. “Please, just leave it alone. Don’t start anything, please...for me?” You said softly, moving your hand to rest on his arm, then eventually down to his hand.

He would be lying if he said that your voice and even touch alone didn’t calm him down. You’re one of the rare individuals in his life who can pull him out of rage fit and even a soon to be crime scene, and this time was no different.

His eyes stared into yours as you watched the rage in his eyes dissipate and his tense body loosen. You offered him a small smile, giving his hands a soft squeeze, receiving a growl in response. He pulled his hand from yours with a huff and went back to his seat.

You turned to Iida who mouthed a relieved ‘Thank You’ then turned your eyes to Mineta who was standing there engulfed in fear and...pee? Oh my...the boy peed himself, you thought in disbelief as you sat back down in your chair.

----------------------------------------------------------

Walking back to the school dorm, your head was full of thoughts. Throughout the school day, you’d be lying if you said what Mineta said didn't bother you. You knew his words out of everyone should matter the least, but you couldn't help but ponder on those words: Nappy, Distracting, Ugly. Ugh, it was like primary school all over again. How could you forget all those days when the other students would make fun of your hair, sticking school supplies in your afro and even grabbing your hair when you asked them to stop. And of course all the boys you had crushes on but they turned you down because they thought your hair was too ugly and weird. 

What if Bakugo actually thought the same thing? That your hair was ugly and messy and he was just trying his best to be nice about it. You thought to yourself.

By the time you reached your dorm room, you had tears threatening to fall from your eyes. You turned the knob, pushing open the door. As soon as the door closed, locking it behind you, you dropped down to your knees, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. Broken sobs left your lips as you doubled over on the ground. 

Truly, you didn’t understand. Why people would waste their time bullying someone because of their differences--and even something they cannot change. You didn’t have straight hair like Tsuyu and Ochaco. You didn’t have luscious hair like Momo and manageable hair is Mina. You hated the fact that you had much thicker hair which took you hours to just wash and detangle. You hated that your hair would shrink when you washed it. Truth be told, you couldn’t help but think that maybe Bakugo hated the fact that he couldn’t run his fingers through your hair when you cuddled late at night. 

You had finally gotten the strength to stand to your feet, tossing your book bag aside and taking off your shoes. You collapsed on your bed, attempting to silence your sobs into your pillow. You had thought you had done a pretty decent job being quiet until you heard a faint knock on your door. Immediately, your breathing hitched. Oh no...who is that? Did they hear me? You thought to yourself. Slowly, you lifted your head from your pillow and turned to the door. As useless as it probably was going to turn out, you decided you try to remain quiet in hopes that whoever knocked would just walk away.

Despite your hopes, the person knocked again. “Y/N...it’s me...will you please let me in.” Instantly, you recognized that voice. It belonged to your boyfriend, Bakugo. Oh no...okay, he couldn't have heard me crying. Shit, what if he did? He’s gonna ask why I’m crying...If I tell him, he’d probably think I’m being stupid and--

“I know you’re in there, Y/N. Just open the damn door! Please...” He added pulling you from your thoughts, knocking again. There was a brief moment of silence and stillness. You heard him let out a sigh.

“Please...did I do something?” he questioned, a slight pang could be heard in his voice. “If I did, I’m sorry...will you please let me in so we can talk.” His fist unraveled as he pressed his palm against the door. Truth be told, Bakugo had no idea what he had done. He tried to think back to the past couple of days to see if there was something he said that caused you to cry. It couldn't have been the usual banter between the two of you because you could tell when it was all just jokes and he knew when not to cross the line. 

Your heart broke hearing his words. It wasn't him, not at all. How were you going to tell him it was because of your hair. He’d laugh at you and think you were being childish. But he didn’t deserve to be shut out. A soft sigh left your lips as you pushed yourself off the bed and headed to the door. You unlocked it and opened it just slightly. He pushed open the door and before you could react, he engulfed you in his arms. You were completely taken by surprise.

Bakugo closed the door behind him with his foot before pulling away, his hands remaining on your shoulders. Concern washed over his face seeing the current state you were in. Your eyes were red, dried tear stains streaked down your puffy face. “Y/N...” He started. “It’s not you, Bakugo,” You choked out, feeling the tears cloud your vision yet again. In a blink of a moment, his face softened as he wiped away a tear that had fallen with his thumb.

“Then why are you crying?” He asked softly. Your eyes shifted down as you remained silent. You couldn’t help but chuckle in your head because it was humorous almost. Bakugo was always so loud and aggressive around other people but it’s moments like these when you got to see this softer side of him. 

He took note of your silence and scowled slightly. “Why aren’t you telling me what’s going on? Did I hurt you?” He paused and dropped his hands immediately. “Do you not trust me, Y/N?” He questioned, not missing the slight crack in his voice.

You shook your head, as your eyes remained glued down to the floor. “No, Katsuki. I do trust you...it’s just...” A sigh left your lips as you hugged yourself. “If you trust me then tell me what’s going on. We promised not to hide things from each other!”

“I can’t...” You whispered. “What?!” He argued back, both of you knowing full well he heard you. “I said I can’t, Katsuki!” You said, raising your voice. His brow furrowed at the use of his full name coming from your mouth. You rarely called him Katsuki. Whenever you did, it would indicate that you were serious. He hated hearing you call him that. Yes, that was his name, but even if he didn’t admit it, it always warmed his heart when you called him pet names, especially Suki. 

“That’s not my name, dammit! And why the hell not?!” Bakugo yelled back. 

“Because it’s stupid! I’m sitting in my room crying because I think my hair is ugly and a fucking mess and I don’t have luscious beautiful hair like all those other girls in this school! I c-can’t...just wake up in the morning, brush my hair and go out looking beautiful! I have to...to...go through fucking hell just to look presentable, every single day, just to be dragged down and treated like shit because my hair texture is different! Do you know how many days I came home and cried to my mom because the kids in my class would bully me because of my hair?! God, I sound so stupid!” By now you were crying your heart out. As your sobs filled the room, you pressed your palms onto your eyes, crying into your hands. 

Bakugo said nothing in response. He had no idea you felt this way about your hair. If anything, he was obsessed with your hair and impressed with the many things you could do with it. He truly believed that your hair added to your beauty. His heart broke seeing your fragile state. In this moment, he didn’t care how he looked, he didn’t waste another second and wrapped his arms around you. Once you felt his embrace, you collapsed your weight into his body and he held onto you, eventually dropping to the floor, holding you close against his chest, pressing a few soft kisses in your hair.

After a while, you finally calmed down, sniffling and playing with the cuff of his sleeve. “You’re such a dumbass, you know?” Bakugo finally said. You were taken by surprise. “Because you convinced yourself that you sound stupid telling me about your problems. How many times have I told you that you can always come to me to talk about what you’re going, no matter how big or small.” He said to you as he continued to rock you in his arms. “And how many times do I have to tell you that you are beautiful. Your hair is beautiful and everyone else’s shitty opinion is stupid and irrelevant. I don’t care that you don’t have stupid straight hair, I love YOUR curls, Y/N. I love that you go to sleep wearing your bonnet at night and that you contribute so much time to take care of your hair and can do all those fancy smiles. I’d take your hair texture over anyone else’s in a heartbeat and I want you to always remember that. You’re no match for those damn extras out there, ya hear?” 

You looked up to meet his eyes which were already on you, nodding softly in response. “Good. And if you ever feel like that again, you better come to me and talk about it. I know you can handle your own, but if any of these damn nerds are making fun of you, you come tell me and I’ll deal with them.” He growled. You stared up at him, smiling. Oh you were so in love with this boy. 

“What?” Bakugo questioned. Your smile turned into a grin before you pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you, Suki,’ you said softly. A faint blush painted his cheeks as he tsked, “Yeah, yeah.” He smirked slightly and took the opportunity to kiss your lips before pulling away.

“I’m still gonna kill that damn grape,” he muttered. “Hey, no no. It’s fine. I’ll deal with him. Plus...you already made him wet himself. This is the third time this month, give him a break, love. If he says something, I’ll handle it.” Bakugo scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Tch. Fine. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop watching his and everyone else’s every move,” He told you.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. But for now, cuddles, please” you pouted, shifting to wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he tightened his grip around you before standing up to his feet and walking the two of you over to your bed. 

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #shigaraki #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x poc!reader #bnha x reader #izuku x you #bakugou headcanons #mha scenarios #scenario

[westallenfun]

A Most Unexpected Love, Chapter 2

WestAllen secret santa gift  

From: @jade4813

For: @sophisticatedloserchick

Author Notes: For the lovely @sophisticatedloserchick from @jade4813! Merry Christmas, and I hope you like my first fic after a long hiatus!

Title: A Most Unexpected Love

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Iris has loved Eddie Thawne Allen her entire life. When she returns home just before Christmas, it looks like she might finally have a chance to catch his eye…unless an accident puts his older brother, Barry, directly in her path. Story inspired by Sabrina (with some quotes lifted more or less directly from the source material).

Chapters: 2/7

Chapter Two

Iris squinted at the glare of the sun reflecting off the fallen snow, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of her purse and sliding them on before grabbing the handle of her suitcase and giving it a tug. It had been a long journey, but she was finally home, arriving just in time for the holidays. Her father was supposed to pick her up, but she’d jumped at the opportunity to take an earlier flight than originally scheduled. It would make a tremendous surprise for him, she decided upon landing, and so she walked purposefully toward the taxi station, rather than calling to update him on her change of plans.

The drive didn’t take long, but she still needed to stretch some kinks out of her muscles when she stepped out of the car and fixed the Allen house with a critical eye. It looked almost exactly as it had in her memory, though it appeared someone had affixed the shutters with a new coat of paint at some point in the three years since she’d last stood in this spot. She’d missed this place, she realized, as well as all the people who worked there. Not to mention Eddie. She could never forget how much she’d missed Eddie.

But Eddie wasn’t her primary concern at the moment. She ran a hand down the fabric of her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. She wanted to look her best for her first meeting with her dad. Of course, they’d seen each other numerous times over the last three years. He’d come to visit her at school, and they Facetimed at least once a week. But this was her first time coming home as a college graduate – and an adult woman who had proved herself capable of running her own life. She wanted to make him proud.

Thanking the driver, she passed him a tip before grabbing her bag, pulling it behind her as she approached the house. It was rather heavy, so she pulled it to the side of the house, where it would be out of the way until she could retrieve it later. Then she stepped indoors on a quest to find her father.

Knowing he often stopped by the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, she decided to head in that direction first. On the way, she heard the clattering of balls knocking together in the game room and peered in on her way past, curious to know who was inside. Her heart skipped a beat when she caught her first glimpse of Eddie, his tousled blond hair falling expertly across his forehead as he leaned over to line up his cue stick with the ball. As though sensing her presence in the doorway, he glanced up and straightened abruptly at the sight of her, his eyes growing wide.

“Wow. I mean, hi,” he greeted her with that boyish grin that had captured her heart so many years before.

Feeling a little shy, as she always did in his presence, she threw him a small smile. “I don’t mean to disturb you. I was just looking for someone.”

“Whoever it is, I’m happy to pretend I’m him if it means you stick around,” he reassured her hastily, setting his pool cue aside.

The obviousness of his pickup line, combined with the headiness that his attention was focused on her for a change and the astonishment that he didn’t seem to recognize her, made her laugh. “I’m afraid not,” she said, pulling off her sunglasses so she could get a better look at him. How could he not know her? Granted, it had been a few years, but they’d grown up together, and she didn’t think she’d changed that much.

But still, while she was a little disappointed in his continued ignorance of her identity, she was warmed by the gaze he swept over her body. “Let me guess…you’re looking for Barry. He’s always had all the luck. Well, today is also your lucky day because he happens to be my brother. So I’m pretty much the same thing, right?”

As he teased her, he threw her another one of his devastating grins, prompting her to laugh again. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. As tempted as she was to linger and bask in the glow of his flirtation, she couldn’t wait to see her dad, so she took a step back, intending to walk away.

Eddie wasn’t content to let her go, as he bounded after her. Taking position by her side, he walked with her as he chided her gently, “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh? And here I was, hoping we could get to know each other better.”

Iris threw him a wry look out of the corner of her eye. “Really? And here I was, thinking you just liked the chase but you wouldn’t know what to do with me if you caught me.”

“That is categorically untrue!” he protested, feigning offense. Reaching out, he grabbed her hand gently, and Iris thrilled in the warmth of his touch. “But, you know, I won’t be able to prove that to you if you don’t let me catch you.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she conceded, humoring him. Then, succumbing to curiosity, she pressed, “You really don’t recognize me?”

She knew full well that Eddie wasn’t a good enough actor to feign the surprise that crossed his features. “Why? Should I? I can’t imagine we’ve ever met. I’d definitely remember you.”

“You might be surprised,” she returned in a dry tone.

Eddie might have lost the battle, but he wasn’t about to concede the war. Instead, he pressed, “Well, that’s all the more reason for you to give me a chance. I tell you what. We’re having a Christmas party here tonight at eight o’clock. Say you’ll come. We can catch up on old times, just the two of us.”

Chuckling, Iris shook her head. “You don’t give up, do you?” she asked, secretly pleased with his efforts. After all these years, he’d finally noticed her. He was finally chasing after her. Perhaps it was small of her to revel in their altered circumstances, but recognizing that fact did nothing to change it.

“Nope,” he replied with a shameless grin.

Iris nodded. “All right. I’ll see you tonight. Eight o’clock.” His display of elation at her agreement didn’t even come close to that which she secretly felt. She managed to hide her smile until she walked away and turned a corner. Then it was all she could do to bite back her shriek of joy. It was all she’d ever hoped for, catching Eddie’s eye, and the reality was so far better than she’d even imagined.

That night, Iris gave her reflection one more critical look before leaving her room and heading to the party. Her dad had been overjoyed to see her, but his happiness had been diminished slightly when he’d heard about her interaction with Eddie. She knew he was just worried about her; he’d never approved of her attachment to the younger Allen son. Though he loved the family and would give his life for any of them, he’d confessed he didn’t think Eddie was good enough for her, but she’d always dismissed his opinion as being clouded by paternal affection and a life-long overprotective streak.

His concern did nothing to diminish her excitement, and so she’d shrugged it off as she’d dressed into one of her favorite gowns, obtained during her studies abroad. Floor-length and deep red in color, it was strapless, with a chiffon skirt and beaded top with a sweetheart neckline. It was the perfect dress for a holiday party, and – more importantly – she knew it would draw Eddie’s eye.

She was almost skipping with joy as she walked into the party, her eyes sweeping over the crowd looking for one face in particular. But it wasn’t Eddie who caught her eye first; it was Bartholomew. Tall and lanky – and able to wear a tuxedo like he was born into it, even more than his brother (though it seemed traitorous of her to think so) – he’d always stood out from a crowd. She’d recognize him anywhere, even when his back was to her as it was now. She watched as the tall redhead before him said something to him, nodding toward Iris in the doorway. He turned to follow her gaze, his face breaking into a heart-warming smile when he caught sight of Iris.

She watched as he said something to his companion and then raced toward her, stopping barely a foot away. For just a moment, she thought he was going to pull her into a hug, but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled at her warmly and cried, “Iris! You’re home? Why didn’t you come by and say hi? How was your trip?”

Before she could answer, Eddie appeared as though out of nowhere, stepping in front of his brother. “You came!” he said gleefully. “I wasn’t sure you would.” When Bartholomew cleared his throat, Eddie stepped to the side and looked at his brother in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I – wait, do you two know each other?”

Bartholomew looked at his brother in confusion and concern. “You’re kidding, right? It’s Iris.” When Eddie didn’t seem to register the name, he prodded, “West? Joe’s daughter?”

Eddie’s head whipped around in surprise. “What, really? Iris?” As his gaze swept over her again, understanding dawned in his eyes, and he pulled her into a tight hug. “Oh my god, it’s so good to have you back! Now you really have to dance with me. Let’s go.”

He grabbed her hand and started to pull her away, and she was more than happy to follow, but his brother intervened. Clearing his throat, he moved slightly into Eddie’s path and cautioned him, “Is this really a good idea? How is Patty—”

Eddie cut him off. “Barry, I know that you excel at being a stick-in-the-mud, and you’re twenty-five going on eighty. But it’s a party! Surely you can go bore someone else? Iris just got here.” It was the first time in her entire life that she could recall being so taken aback by or disagreed with Eddie’s behavior, and when he grabbed her hand to pull her onto the dance floor, she hung back. Finally, her reluctance seemed to get through to him, because he stopped to ask her what wrong.

“I know he’s your brother, and the two of you…well, you don’t always get along. But that was unfair. He a little serious, but he isn’t a bad guy,” she reprimanded him gently.

He grimaced. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He gave her another one of his boyish grins, which had gotten him out of trouble over his entire life. “I’ll apologize to him later, too. But for right now, I really do want to dance with you.”

Iris almost protested, but then she was in his arms and he was sweeping her around the dance floor, and it was better than she’d ever dreamed. She felt herself get lost in his eyes, barely noticing when the song changed to something soft and slow and he pulled her closer, tempting her to rest her head on his shoulder.

“You know what I want?” he murmured in her ear. “I want to dance with you.”

“You are dancing with me,” she shot back with a slight laugh.

His grin was unrepentant. “I want to dance with you alone. It’s too public here; we can’t really talk.” Then, as though the idea had just occurred to him, he added, “Hey, there’s something you should see.”

She’d seen him pick up enough women that she knew what he was about to suggest. He was going to suggest that she meet him in his mother’s solarium. He would meet her there with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, and they would dance under the twinkling lights that were undoubtedly strung along the ceiling in observance of the upcoming holiday. While they danced, he would woo her with his words, and then they would kiss. Just because it was a scene she knew had played out dozens of times didn’t means she didn’t want to be a part of it.

“Okay,” she breathed, swaying toward him.

“Meet me in my mom’s solarium?” He paused, grimacing, as he realized that she wasn’t like most of the women he courted in this manner. “Oh, I just realized…you’ve probably already seen my mom’s solarium, huh?”

Afraid this hitch in his plans would cause him to grow skittish, she reassured him, “But I haven’t seen it in years! Will you show it to me?”

“I’d love to.” He danced her closer to the exit and came to a stop, though he didn’t immediately release her. “Head over, and I’ll follow you in a minute. I want to grab a bottle of champagne first.”

“Sure,” she breathed, watching with a wistful smile as he stepped away. The entire stroll to the solarium, she felt like she was walking on air.

#westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

[gleam-and-darken]

Blue Moon

a gift for @ashrel

—————————————————————

The castle was abuzz with whispers and hushed voices, all giving their two rupees on the most recent... guests. Many of them shared the same opinions; “disapproval” probably wasn’t a strong enough word, to say the least. It took more than a petty grievance against someone to earn them sharp glares from an entire palace. “Hatred” might have been too extreme, but it was certainly closer.

The primary target of these harsh expressions was, as it happened, one of those least affected by it. As the last leader of the recently dissolved Yiga Clan, Ash was widely seen as the source of the castle’s “problems” that had arisen suddenly, with the newly coronated queen electing to pardon their chaotic clan with almost no approval from her council. Apparently, the support of five Hyrulean champions and one reincarnated goddess was not enough to convince many to trust the yiga. Not that Ash was fazed by it — the distrust was for a decent reason — but they didn’t appreciate all of the nobles terrorizing their former clan mates who were suddenly thrust into a completely new world.

Luckily for the sanity of any council who cared to listen, Ash decided to hold off on stating their discomfort with their treatment until after some of the excitement had burned down; they certainly didn’t want to overwork the queen, considering she was the only one on their side. Unfortunately for Ash themselves, that left them with a whole day of nothing planned ahead aside from potentially eavesdropping on disgruntled guards and salty sheikah. It was better than nothing, sure, but they imagined it would get boring soon enough.

For now, they decided to start by locating their room the queen had supposedly given them for their stay during negotiations. Well, they didn’t doubt that they had a room; locating it was slightly more problematic. Thankfully, they were able to find one of the few non-hostile sheikah, who gladly directed them to their room.

Once the sheikah was gone, Ash pushed open the double doors with a flourish, the light from the guest room’s windows momentarily blinding them. Slightly startled, they took a step back to try and get their bearings. They weren’t expecting the sun, of all things, to wish for their demise as well.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would ever find your way here,” a smooth voice called from inside the room. Immediately, Ash pulled a sharpened sickle off of their belt and held it in front of them, jumping to the worst conclusion that a sheikah assassin had been waiting for them. However, as they blinked the glaring sunlight from their eyes, they realized the voice was very, very familiar.

Slowly easing into a less defensive position, Ash peeked into their room, trying to find a certain someone who may or may not have been waiting for them. It was a fairly large room, with a bed big enough for two, ornate chairs, rugs that looked like they had never encountered dirt in their existence, and a vanity off to the side. The most eye-catching detail, though, was the gerudo tempest leaning on the wall next to the door, smiling down at the notably shorter sheikah.

Trying to hide their smile with a scoff, Ash slipped their weapon back to where it had been on their belt. “How long have you been waiting for me?” They asked, casually flipping their white hair back over a shoulder.

“Oh, I haven’t,” Urbosa replied with a grin, lifting herself off the wall with ease. “I was actually considering taking this room for myself.”

“Were you now,” Ash said as they walked further into the room. Pretending to be more interested in the castle than their guest, they picked a candlestick up off of the room’s small table and examined the metalwork. This could fetch a fair price with some buyers she knew.

Seeing where their thoughts were headed, Urbosa delicately took the candlestick away from the ex-yiga and set it back on the table where it belonged. “How did overseeing negotiations go?” She asked as opposed to addressing the attempted theft, deftly maneuvering herself to stand between the golden goods and Ash’s greedy fingers.

Ash sighed and crossed their arms, their mood souring at the new shift in discussion. “As well as one could hope, with a council like that,” they muttered, leaning back on the table. “I will say, there were no attempted murders today — so that’s progress.”

Urbosa nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s something.”

“It’s still unfair, though,” Ash continued, “considering everyone the council listens to is a literal child, and thus the council has every excuse to take their words for granted. The sheikah ambassador? She could easily be my own child. I doubt the zora in charge of our affairs is far beyond a century, and the rito and hylian champions — Din, the queen herself is seventeen! Seventeen!”

Urbosa’s expression turned more solemn. “Her Majesty already had far too much pressure placed on her shoulders before this incident, and now...” She but her lip, leaning slightly on the table as well. “By the will of the Sand Goddess, Hyrule might know peace once in a blue moon, or at the very least its fate will be placed in the hands of someone more prepared. It’s not the queen’s fault, by any means; she certainly didn’t choose this. But... I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it, loathe as I am to say it, besides assist the negotiations at every opportunity.”

Silence passed between the two as they both considered the situation, the only sounds coming from the shuffling of servants’ and guards’ feet as they scurried throughout the halls. After letting the words spoken die in the far corners of the room, Ash slowly pushed themselves off the table and walked over to the doors, which they carefully shut with a click. Urbosa raised a curious eyebrow.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, her face betraying only the slightest signs of concern. She was skilled in hiding her emotions behind a stone mask. Unfortunately for her, Ash was better at reading them than she was at concealing them.

Ash hovered awkwardly by the doors, one hand still resting on the knob. “Nothing more than usual,” they conceded, their hand falling limply back to their side. “... Although...”

Urbosa tilted her head. “Yes?”

“It’s nothing,” Ash said quickly, folding their arms together. “Only- that expression you used. ‘Once in a blue moon,’ I believe it was.”

Slightly less concerned, Urbosa asked, “What about it?”

“It just sounds odd to me, I guess,” they admitted. “You know, in the clan, we always say- er, we always said, ‘once in a blood moon.’ Kind of interesting how that works, huh?”

Urbosa laughed, a bold, harmonious sound that always managed to make Ash feel warm, even on the coldest desert nights. “Ideally, we won’t have any more of those any time soon,” she pointed out, her smile lighting up the room once again. 

“Hmm.” Thinking, Ash tapped their foot. “What’s so special about a blue moon, anyways? Does Hylia’s power flow throughout Hyrule or something?”

Pondering the question, Urbosa shrugged. “I may not be familiar with hylian folk tales, but that does not appear to be the case. Why does it have to be special?”

“Well, why would there be an expression on it if it were mundane?”

“We’re allowed to enjoy mundane things, too.”

“I guess.” Ash shrugged as well, more to themselves than to their company. “It just seems odd to focus on something so small.”

Suddenly, Ash could feel someone standing right behind them, even though they hadn’t seen Urbosa move an inch. The stifled the impulse to pull out a weapon and instead stood frozen, wondering what the gerudo was doing. “Maybe if you got your head out of the clouds, you’d remember the world is such a small place,” she said, he breath tickling the top of Ash’s head. As they listened, they could feel her wrap her arms around their shoulders. “If a moon means nothing to you without divine power, I’d hate to hear your opinion on mere people.”

“That- that’s not what I meant.”

“Hmm.” Urbosa leaned closer, resting her chin on Ash’s head.

The former yiga tried to ignore the blush creeping up their neck as they straightened. “You know, there’s already rumors about us,” they mumbled, hoping there was no one on the other side of the doors, listening.

They could feel Urbosa’s smile without even looking at her. “There’s worse crimes to be accused of,” she said with a mischievous edge.

Ash managed to choke out a laugh. “Most of which I have, in fact, been accused of,” they pointed out, still not turning their head.

“Well then, this isn’t much of a crime at all, is it?”

Ash couldn’t hide the grin creeping across their face. “No, I guess it isn’t.”

#server ship week #urbosash #urbosa #ash #mini fic

[missjosie27]

Year 2 Part 10- New Revelations

Well, my friends this is it.

Year 2 is in the books. And after year 3 (due to JC's milking of this game for all its worth) the years will get steadily longer and the chapters more varied. But for now, we've finished two years and I really hope you guys liked it. As always, comment and review! Send a kudos!

I already have a head start on Year 3 so be on the lookout for it within the month. Until then, stay frosty!

Year 2 Part 10. New Revelations

For the span of about twenty four hours, David almost thought he got away with breaking into a cursed vault without any higher authority discovering so. Hogwarts was still settling down from the ice attack, which thankfully had abated. As he suspected, the ice immediately disappeared upon the defeat of the Ice Knight and their entry of the vault. Dumbledore had also returned, and his presence immediately restored order. Where he had been, however, remained the subject of speculation.

The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been postponed to the following weekend which meant that the primary focus for the student body was exams, much to their chagrin. For himself, David wasn’t looking forward to the Transfiguration test as he could barely look Professor McGonagall in the eye. He wondered whether or not she knew about their little excursion into the vault. The answer to that question came rather quickly.

He and Rowan were walking back from Charms the following Monday when his head of house stood right in front of the fat lady, eyeing them with an extremely stern gaze. It certainly did not give the warm and fuzzies, a sentiment echoed by his best friend.

“I don’t like that look,” Rowan whispered.

“Yeah, you don’t say.”

“David Grant,” McGonagall called out to him in her usual brisk tone. “Last weekend was not the first time cursed ice has appeared at Hogwarts, it is also not the first time it has suddenly disappeared. Can you explain this?”

The question was a rhetorical exercise. He resisted the urge not to gulp as it was abundantly clear what she was getting at. When he didn’t answer she continued.

“Up to your common room Mr. Khanna, I need to speak with Mr. Grant, alone.”

The Indian lad didn’t have to be told twice, uttering the password and scurrying up the stairs faster than a jackrabbit, as McGonagall continued.

“Like the previous instance, it seems to have appeared when someone tampered with a Cursed Vault, and disappeared when the door was opened. I’m sure you can guess who was responsible for opening the door the last time.”

“Jacob,” David breathed out.

“Precisely. We don’t yet understand how the vault reappeared, or who first tampered with it this time. Truth be told, there is still much we don’t understand about the Cursed Vaults, but I’m not going to bother to ask if you were responsible for what occurred last weekend.”

He wanted to make a joke, but he knew better than to do that in front of a woman such as Professor McGonagall. Therefore, he stayed silent.

“You are the only student who has shown the interest, recklessness, and talent to do such a thing.”

You’re forgetting Merula Snyde, David thought to himself. She fits all three of those categories…except for talent maybe. Hehe

“We know that you, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Haywood were all involved in this. Therefore I will be taking one hundred points from Gryffindor. Mr. Weasley in particular was adamant of your innocence which was noble of him…”

“He had nothing to do with it,” David quickly interjected. He could take losing house points, but it was common knowledge that Bill also desired to be a prefect the following semester when he entered his fifth year. If he had to take the blame for all of it, he would. “Penny didn’t either.”

A strange look of respect appeared on Professor McGonagall’s face, temporarily softening her strict stance.

“It is good to see such strong bonds between you and your friends, Mr. Grant. Miss Haywood’s punishment is not up to me. But rest assured that Mr. Weasley’s prospects of becoming prefect have not been damaged by this incident.”

David gave an inward sigh of relief. He would not have been happy with himself had his actions jeopardized Bill’s higher goals.

“But that is not the end of the matter for you,” his head of house continued to admonish. “You will speak to Professor Dumbledore about this matter. He may not be so forgiving.”

Resisting the urge to hang his head in defeat, all David could do was utter a solemn, “Yes, Professor,” and begin to make his way towards the Headmaster’s office.

“Mr. Grant? You may want the password. It is ‘lemon drop.’”

They always did say he was a bit mad, he commented on the password being named after a muggle sweet. But it made no difference. Albus Dumbledore was one of the most, if not the most powerful wizard in the world; a man who held the power of his schooling in the palm of his hand.

It was not a comforting thought, but either way he had to face the music.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered to himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Upon saying the password, the gargoyle jumped aside revealing a spiral staircase which led to the confines of Dumbledore’s office. When he reached the top, David was immediately struck by how vast and intricate the place was. It was like no other room in Hogwarts he’d ever seen. To describe it took a lot of words that weren’t coming to him at the moment.

There were many elaborate and intricate looking instruments placed unevenly around the shelves and tables that adorned the room. Some looked vaguely familiar to David while others defied comprehension. Surrounding the vast semi circular space were also legions of portraits, some of which looked as though they belonged in the Middle Ages while others were more modern. Up above on a railing was a giant blue sphere that looked like a globe and an attached telescope for the purpose of astronomy. And then of course, there was the center of the room which housed the desk of the Headmaster himself, who was dressed in rich, purple robes. Perched above him was also a strange, red and gold bird of unknown origin.

Talk about an impressive setup, David thought to himself as he approached the centenarian, who was currently writing a letter of some sort.

“Professor?”

“I will be with you in a moment, David,” came Dumbledore’s light response, though he did not look up from his current task. “I’m sure you can understand why I have pressing matters to address…”

I know, because of me

“…in the meantime, please feel free to look around as I finish this last task.”

David did so, staring at some of the metal instruments but having enough sense not to touch them as he did not want to break anything. However, he did bend down and look at one of the most peculiar of all: a gigantic bowl with a shiny, silvery substance on the inside. It practically hypnotized him and as he peered closer he swore he could see images floating through the silvery liquid, some of which seemed familiar…

“Any closer and you’ll be in more trouble than you already are, brat,” a snide voice called out from above.

David snapped out of his trance and looked up to see one of the portraits sneering down at him, a thin, bearded man with a pointed hat topped with silver, green robes. He disliked the portrait immediately.

“Oh yeah? Who the hell are you?”

“Phineas Nigellus Black, Headmaster of Hogwarts from 1892 to 1925. And I must note your distinct lack of manners, young man. Were this my day, I could have you physically whipped for such disrespect.”

David narrowed his eyes and replied in a bored tone.

“Yeah well that’s why I’m alive and you’re six feet under, you git.”

“Insolent-”

“That is enough Phineas,” the firm voice of Albus Dumbledore interjected, coming over to the scene. “Though David I must ask you to step back from the pensieve, as entering it would cause you to see things I do not feel are appropriate.”

“A pensieve,” he repeated, obliging the elderly man. “I’ve heard of those but never seen one in person.”

“You may find that they are useful for old fools such as myself, who have far too many memories and enjoy indulging in the past when useful to the present moment,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. “But for a young man as you are, I doubt they would serve much purpose.”

“There are some things I’d like to forget…others I’d like to remember more clearly.”

“A unique observation for someone your age, however, we both know that is not the reason for your presence here today.”

They had come to it at last, and David supposed there wasn’t any use in putting it off much longer.

“It’s not. What was that you were writing, though?”

A noise of disapproval could be heard from Phineas, but Dumbledore ignored it.

“Questions. Questions that I hope will finally provide answers.”

The answer was vague, but David did not press the matter, and began using a more formal tone of voice.

“Professor McGonagall said you wanted to see me, sir?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied, placing an arm around his shoulder and leading him away from the pensieve. “It would appear you discovered the source of the mysterious cursed ice. You revealed a vanished staircase using advanced transfiguration beyond your year, explored long forgotten corridors of this school and broke an ancient curse on a vault that many refused to believe existed despite overwhelming evidence.”

So he did know everything. There was no point in denying it then. If nothing else, he had to explain to the Headmaster the reasons for his actions even if it was an exercise in futility.

“I’m sorry I entered the vault without telling anyone, Professor. But there was no time. The ice was spreading everywhere, and I was the only one who knew where the vault was located. I had to do something before the entire school froze over. People were trapped.”

Dumbledore’s eyes peered deep into him, however, as if waiting for him to reveal the full truth he was not telling.

“I’ve heard my brother’s voice both outside and inside the vault, sir. I saw visions of the ice and more.”

“Visions like the one you just described are very rare indeed,” Dumbledore explained to him, placing his hands directly underneath his chin. “You might ask yourself whether what you perceived is something else entirely.”

“I’m not sure what to say, sir,” David admitted. “To be honest, this whole experience my first two years has been…a lot.”

“Quite understandable, especially with the recent adventures and a history such as yours. Is there anything you can say for yourself in the meantime?”

On the surface, Dumbledore’s words suggested punishment and explanation but knowing the Headmaster by now it was also an invitation to ask more than what could be expected from a normal authority figure. That being said, there were so many thoughts spinning inside his head he barely knew where to begin.

“Sir, I promise I didn’t purposefully try to subvert your authority or anyone else’s. I didn’t go looking for this vault at first, it’s almost as if it found me. There’s so much I still don’t understand. I asked you last year what the vaults were, but this year raised so many more questions. Why do they exist in the first place? What is their purpose? And why do I keep hearing my brother’s voice? Am I mad?”

A regretful, almost sad look passed on the Headmaster’s face, as though he were empathetic to the young Gryffindor’s plight but unsure on just how much to reveal.

“I believe you, David. However, as to your questions I’m afraid my knowledge is still barely beyond yours. Why these vaults exist within the Institution of Hogwarts or what their true purpose is, I do not know. I do have theories, but that sort of speculation is too dangerous and implausible to indulge until we know the truth. Regarding your brother, I have a much more concrete theory, but I cannot confirm it until I have further information.

“What I can say is this: Jacob Grant was an extraordinarily perceptive person and had a sixth sense about most things. The connections between family members, magical or not, are still active and real. Far from being mad, I believe that your hearing his voice suggests he is very much alive, both figuratively and literally.”

Dumbledore stood up and looked towards the window.

“As for the vaults, I’ve been attempting to locate someone who may have the answers. But for now, I am awarding you one hundred house points for your heroism in breaking the curse and once again ridding Hogwarts of the cursed ice.”

Hardly daring to believe he was being rewarded a second time, David had to keep his eyes from popping out of his sockets.

“One hundred house points?!” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Thank you, Professor.”

There was still twinkling in the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, but his voice gave off a sternness as well.

“Thank me by leaving the search for your brother and the remaining cursed vaults to me. We will talk at the end of your third year, and I would like to discuss something besides curses and your frequent involvement in these vaults.”

David nodded emphatically (it was amazing how the power of this man could corral him into behaving like an angel) though in his heart he wondered if truly would be able to heed the Headmaster’s warning. As he stated before, trouble at Hogwarts always seemed to find him, not the other way around.

“Now then, I believe you have exams to study for and a Quidditch match to attend,” Dumbledore beamed underneath his thick, white beard. “I must say, I do hope the contest is much more even than it was last year. I’ve heard wonderful things about young Charlie Weasley on a broomstick.”

For his part, David Grant could only grin widely.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The end of the 1985-86 school year brought on a bevy of good news and celebration for David and the rest of the Gryffindors.

For starters, the greatest Gryffindor Quidditch Team in a decade pulled the hat trick, defeating Ravenclaw 550-460 in a high powered shootout that went on four hours and featured over eight lead changes. The Bronze Eagles had pulled ahead by sixty points when Charlie Weasley, in his greatest feat yet, swooped in and caught the snitch right underneath beater Erika Rath’s left foot just before she connected with a bludger. The celebration that night in the Gryffindor common room was so enormous and so merry that even Professor McGonagall didn’t bother to stop it. Her joy of winning the cup, though subdued, was just as great as anyone else that day (including Blishwick and McLaggen, who ended up passed out in a tide of alcoholic, yellow vomit).

The victory also allowed Gryffindor to edge out the Slytherins for the House Cup, which was also the catalyst for another wild party (though this one McGonagall later put a stop to). On top of that, David found out that his marks had indeed been able to surpass the previous year’s in most subjects with the exception of Charms, a subject that had always been up and down for him. But overall, he figured his parents would be pleased with his academic effort this year.

The cherry on top of all these positive moments came on the second to last day of Hogwarts. The seventh years were already preparing for graduation while the rest of the school packed their things and enjoyed the free time they had in the sun. That morning, however, as the last day of mail came in. It was a normally sparse load- very few owls swooped in but to David’s surprise he received a thick, white letter with no return address, an oddity to say the least.

“Check this out,” he said to Rowan as he passed the letter to him while eating his cornflakes.

“No return address. Maybe it’s from an admirer of some sort.”

“Wouldn’t there be something to indicate that?”

“I don’t think you should open it,” Ben said nervously, setting down his toast. “If you don’t know who it’s from it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Come on, Ben,” Rowan laughed. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Could be your parents sending you a surprise gift for your birthday.”

David narrowed his eyes at the letter.

“Rowan, my birthday was almost six months ago.”

“And?”

“And ....” a cocky, monotone voice interjected. “For once, I think the scaredy cat is right. I know a laced parcel when I see one.”

Jae Kim swooped in and snatched the letter before anyone did anything else.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later, Khanna trust me. You do not want to open this.”

David knew that with Jae it was usually best not to ask anything further of him but his curiosity was stronger this time around.

“How can you tell?”

“I’ve smuggled in contraband hundreds of times,” Jae responded, dangling the letter from his thumb and index finger as though it were a dead rodent. He gave it a small sniff. “I also can tell when someone is trying to send an anonymous prank. The most common of which is undiluted bubotuber pus. And this thing reeks of petrol.”

“But that’s crazy. Who would want to send David a laced letter?”

David titled his head slightly sideways and was able to get a look at the Slytherin table. A group of the younger ones were huddling around, looking in his direction as though waiting for some reaction. At the center of that group was none other than Merula Snyde, who was smirking as though she had won a lifetime supply of chocolate frogs.

“Methinks a certain Slytherin girl is seeking to do you in,” Bill chuckled as he took a seat next to them.

“Then I guess it’s only fair that I return the favor,” David said with a sly grin. “Bill, if you need to excuse yourself in order to keep your chances of being prefect, I understand.”

“What’s that now? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the eldest Weasley said with a wink.

David grinned and turned back to his second year house mates.

“Ben, charm this to fly over back to the Slytherin table. Rowan, tell me when they’re not looking. Jae, can you make this explode on impact?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

A few spells and a flick of Ben’s wand later, a white envelope airplane soared its way towards Merula Snyde and her gang of Slytherins.

“Hey Merula!” David called out.

“What?!” she snarled, unaware of what was about to happen.

“Catch.”

The paper airplane took a nosedive and landed directly in front of her with a mighty *thud of an explosion as green and yellow smoke filled the air, causing her whole posse to cough and cover their faces and mouths. It didn’t take long for painful sores and boils to start dotting all over their skin. Positively furious but with nowhere left to go except Madam Pomfrey, the Slytherin girl and the rest of her mates took off running but not before Merula called out one last time.

“I HATE you, Grant!”

The Gryffindors laughed at their misfortune, enjoying the spectacular backfiring of the attempted sabotage.

“Will you look at that, she really does care,” Bill teased, giving him an elbow.

David snorted, flipping more bacon into his mouth.

“Don’t you start.”

“I’m with David,” Rowan chuckled. “Breaking the curse on that vault is going to make Merula crosser than ever. She’s probably coming up with a scheme as we speak.”

“Yeah, well she’ll have to clean the bubotuber pus from her hands first.”

More laughter ensued.

It truly was a good day to be alive.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The train ride home was uneventful as David, Rowan, Ben, Jae, Charlie, and Bill swapped chocolate frog cards and played several rounds of exploding snap. In his second year of experience, it always seemed to David that the train ride home was always shorter than the trip to Hogwarts. He wondered if there was a reason for the inconsistency in that perception of time. Either way, it was far more difficult this year saying goodbye.

“Have a good summer, mate,” Rowan beamed at him. “You’ll have to write me this time around.”

“Me too,” Ben pipped up. “I…uh, don’t have an owl but my parents are starting to learn more about how the magical world works. I’m sure I could persuade them.”

“You know I’ll be in touch as best I can,” he assured them both.

“At some point we need to have you round for tea at the Burrow,” Bill said, clapping on the back. “Charlie’s already told mum all about you and she’s talking of knitting you a sweater for next Christmas. Hell, the twins already think you’re a celebrity.”

Charlie rolled his eyes as he unloaded the last of things off the train.

“Gee, Bill, make our family seem loonier than they already are, why don’t you.”

“You’ll get over it, Quidditch hero. She’s going to have a cake ready for you when you get back you know.”

The last to say goodbye was Penny, who gave him a big hug and the most radiant smile he’d ever seen from the blonde.

“I’ll see you next fall, Hero of Hogwarts,” she beamed at him. “I hope you’ll write me.”

“You know I will,” David said with a lopsided grin.

“And I can’t wait to see what kind of adventure we go on in our third year.”

“Maybe we could just have a normal year for once?”

Penny gave his hand one last squeeze.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be the case. Not with you around, anyway. See ya, David!”

As she turned and ran to a blonde woman that looked like her mother, David did the same. Saying the last of his farewells to his friends and scouring the platform for his parents. They wouldn’t be hard to find, even among this crowd.

When he did, however, the reaction wasn’t at all what he expected. Dressed adequately in muggle clothing (a suit for his dad, and a cardigan/sun dress combination for his mom), David saw that their expressions were grim and not at all pleased. His mom, a blonde woman with blue eyes and a height of about 5’5 was giving him a stare only a mother could give her son. His father, who resembled him in looks and hair color, was less severe in his expression but underneath that neutral exterior was also a man who probably was equally as upset as his mother. Though they had different ways of expressing it, David knew whatever was going on wasn’t good.

“Err…hi, guys,” he tried to greet cheerfully, bringing up his luggage from the rear. “Happy summer?”

“David John Grant,” his mother stated.

His full name. Not a good sign.

“Come along. We need to have a very long talk.”

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfiction #writing #david grant #merula snyde #penny haywood #bill weasley #charlie weasley #rowan khanna #ben copper #jae kim #minerva mcgonagall #albus dumbledore #parents #gryffindor #quidditch #erika rath

[despressolattes]

AFTERMATH | CHAPTER TWENTY | LEGACIES

book masterlist » book one masterlist

< previous chapter

A glowing urn? Probably not the best sign from a mysterious and unknown Malivore object. The only thing left was to wait for the next monster to show up looking for it.

It was officially day one without Roman Sienna.

"Are you sure that's even safe for the kids there?"

"We're supernatural, Joshy," I laughed at the concerned vampire, but I spoke in whispers as I walked through the halls of the school. It was two in the morning, and I was heading to Alaric's to talk about the urn with him and Hope. "We all managed to keep Hope safe when she was a kid, remember?"

Josh called to ask how I was doing after the whole Roman leaving thing, which happened the day before. It was sweet of him to think I would need him company, but I wasn't sure if I should be offended that he thought I'd be crying at 2 a.m.

Okay, it's more likely that I would be than not, but still.

"Yeah, with a lot of casualties though," he reminded me.

"I think we'll be fine," I said, stopping in front of Alaric's office door. "Okay, I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon."

"Alright, love you, Lilah," he said.

Hope was standing by his desk while Alaric went through some of the books on his shelf when I walked in.

"How long do you think it'll be until the next monster shows up?" Hope asked when I closed the door.

"It's hard to say. I've never actually seen an artifact glow before," Alaric replied, turning around. He looked at me, "Thanks for deciding to meet us."

I rolled my eyes at the headmaster, but playfully.

"Where did you hide the urn, by the way?" he asked Hope.

"Yeah, where is it?" I chimed in. She hadn't even told me where it was.

"I'm not sure I should tell you," Hope said.

We both looked at her like she had two heads, and said in unison, "Excuse me?"

"Isn't it safer if only one of us knows where it is?" she asked.

"Then that one of us should be the adult," Alaric scolded.

"Funny, because I thought it should be the one of us with high-level superpowers," Hope sassed.

"In both of those cases, it should be me then," I said, causing Alaric to look at me with a scolding look.

I knew that Hope and Alaric were still walking on eggshells with me, trying to see if I was really as stable as I seemed. In truth, I felt better that day. I woke up and felt like there was things that needed to get done, and that I should do it.

My heart was aching for the Roman shaped hole in my life at the moment, but that was about it. I tried not to think too much about Elijah, about Lorelle. I looked at the old journals they kept, the ones I read religiously, but I hadn't opened them for a while.

I hadn't opened my own in a while.

"What?" I asked. "I'm way older than you, Ric."

"What should we tell everyone else?" Hope asked. "We should probably warn them before a cyclops crashes exam week."

"I would kill for a cyclops to crash exam week. Or to crash into me so I don't have to deal with exam week," I joked, earning more scolding glares from Alaric, and one from Hope, too.

Yup, it was probably comments like that that made them walk around eggshells with me.

"Well," Alaric said, ignoring my comment and sitting down on the top of his desk. "It's usually best to start with some form of the truth."

"What about those times the truth is the one thing you can't say?" she asked, looking at both of us.

Of course, she was talking about Malivore, Seylah, and Landon. My mind, however, drifted to the twin merge, it drifted to my own years of lying.

Truth about those times where the truth is the one thing you can't say is that it's the only thing you should say, but you don't, in the name of "protecting" the people you hide it from. When, really, you're protecting yourself. You're protecting yourself from having it eat at you that you told them information that hurt, you're protecting yourself from watching people you love be in pain.

It's not altruistic, it's not for the greater good of the other person.

Withholding the truth is the easy way out, but no one's ready for that conversation yet.

"Are you sure you want to keep all of this from Landon? I mean, I understand you wanting to protect him, but-" Alaric started, saying a lot of which I was thinking.

"He's been wondering about his mother his whole life. He finally meets her, and then she dies? If I can  keep him from knowing what that feels like, then it's worth it," she asid.

It wasn't. But she wasn't ready for that conversation either, and of course Alaric would see where she was coming from. I saw where she was coming from, too.

But I was the only one in the room who hide secrets and watched them unravel.

My secret about being a Mikaelson was what, in the end, stripped me of time with my Dad while he knew he was my dad. It stripped me of a life I could've had if I had just told them my identity, but I was scared. I wanted to protect myself from the messy Mikaelson lifestyle, from their enemies, from their blinded rage and anger. But I found myself craving their unconditional love for one another.

And when I got it, it was too late.

—

We were sending kids to the Lockwood mansion if they wanted to evacuate while we were still unsure about when the next monster would attack. Matt opened the doors for us. Exam week, wherever students were, was going to happen as planned.

Since, after all, telling the accreditation board we were cancelling mandatory testing because of monsters wasn't something that would bode well for the integrity of the school.

"Have you guys seen Hope?" Landon asked.

I had noticed him during Alaric's entire speech glancing around the room, searching for something. I had assumed it would be my cousin.

"I haven't," I shook my head, which was the truth.

Rafael shook his head, too.

"You two gonna evacuate?" I asked, hoping to change the subject from my cousin.

"Are you?" Rafael asked as we started to make our way back to our rooms.

"I'm untouchable, wolfie," I laughed. "I'm the best security guard this school will ever get."

"Then, I guess I'm safe here," he said, sending me a smile.

I chuckled at this, and I linked my arms through both of the boys' arms. Rafael yawned, covering his mouth with his free hand.

"So, Hope's M.I.A," Landon said, still thinking about her.

I guess I suck at diversions.

"Yeah, she's probably suiting up in her battle armor," Rafael said. "Girl's basically Wonder Woman."

I laughed at this statement.

"I don't even know what you are, Ms. Untouchable. I got no superhero that amounts to you," he said.

"Stopppp, you're gonna feed my ego," I laughed.

"Either that, or she's realized she's made a mistake bringing me back here 'cause where I go, danger follows," Landon said, too gloomy to join in on our "nerd talk".

"My god," mumbled Rafael. "C'mon bro. Now, this one's not on you."

"Sweetheart," I said, stopping all three of us in our tracks to grab Landon's shoulders, despite him being much taller than I was. "Hope and I are Mikaelsons, where we go, danger follows."

"I still haven't gotten too far in magical history class... so I'll let you know what I think of that statement once I get to the chapter about your family."

"Isn't all the chapters about my family?" I asked.

"They're not evil yet," he said, then stuttered. "N-not that I think your family's evil or anything, but-"

"They can be," I answered for him, giggling at how flustered he was getting when he realized I got be offended by what he just said.

"Hope being distant today has got to have something to do with us waking up in a field with amnesia yesterday, right?"

"Landon, I used to get to distant with Roman that I'd end up in New Orleans. It wasn't on him that I was acting that way, it was just how I cope. We Mikaelsons have a lot to learn about healthy coping, because we do do things that we shouldn't, like get so overwhelmed with wanting to save the world that we shut out the very world we're trying to protect."

"Look, until one of you can remember how you guys got there yesterday, I just... I wouldn't think about it," Rafael advised him. "Look, you're here. Think about the good things in your life instead of gettinv caught up in the bad for once, bro."

"Yeah," Landon said, nodding slowly.

"I'm gonna go grab my bags and hit the library," Rafael told us.

"Okay," Landon and I nodded.

They did their little bro-handshake, and Rafael pulled me into a side hug afterwards.

"Help me study for history later?" he asked. "You did tell me that I can use you as a primary source for most of it."

"Just text me," I replied, laughing. "I can't believe you remember that in all the chaos."

"You said it to me on my first day, how could I forget?"

He looked at Landon, "I'll see you at breakfast in the morning?"

"Yeah, see you at breakfast," Landon said, though the way he said it, I felt like he was retreating into his own universe of overthinking already, despite the speeches Rafael and I had given him about trying to relax.

Rafael turned around, and said, "Hey, Lan. I'm glad you're back."

This made Landon smile, looking at his foster brother with appreciation as he wondered down the hall.

"I'm glad you're here, too," I told the curly haired boy. "You make my cousin happy, so I wouldn't worry too hard about this, okay?"

"How did Roman handle it?" he asked, and I looked at him all funny. "I mean, how did he handle you being distant?"

I sighed. "There's a lot that I did in my relationship with Roman that he handled so well, I can't even imagine why or how. I'm a lot to deal with, and I don't know, maybe it was fact that we both have been around long enough to have so many relationships that we know to just let things run its course, maybe it's just that he and I had this understanding, or maybe he didn't handle it well at all and just never told me. Communication is key, and I know that Hope's distant and my distant is different. You just gotta learn how to move around her, if you want to be with a girl like her."

He nodded.

"I hope any of that made sense."

"I think it did," he nodded some more.

"Okay. Good. I'm going to go. Welcome home, Landon."

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

#legacies #the originals #the vampire diaries #hope mikaelson fanfiction #hope mikaelson #legacies fanfiction #the originals fanfiction #damon salvatore #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #the vampire diaries fanfiction #stefan salvatore #salvatore school

[mischiefandspirits]

Who is Iron Man?

Part 2 (Here is Part 1)

After a three month imprisonment by terrorists, child genius Tony Stark was rescued by an unknown entity. Who is this Iron Man? The world wants to know.

From One Court to Another

By Callum Killough - April 28, 2012

After six months, the adoption case for child genius and millionaire Tony Stark has finally finalized with United States Air Force Colonel James Rhodes and newly appointed Stark Industries Chief Executive Officer Virginia Potts gaining joint custody. When questioned at the press conference following the hearing, all three were pleased, though Stark once more bemoaned his failed emancipation.

For those unaware, five months ago Stark put in a request to become an emancipated minor despite being only ten. He used both his incredible intelligence and his work with Stark Industries as evidence that he was capable of functioning as an adult and should be excluded from the usual minimum age requirements. However, after long deliberation, the courts had decided not to grant him the exclusion, and therefore his emancipation.

In answer to a question about housing, Rhodes stated that Stark is currently staying with Potts until construction of Stark Tower completes in July, at which point all three will be moving into the penthouse there so that Potts and Stark can be on hand to set up the new headquarters and Rhodes can be near his latest assignment.

When one reporter questioned what “compensation” the courts had granted Potts and Rhodes “for their troubles,” Stark cut over Potts to remind everyone that she and Rhodes had turned down any subsidy or similar months earlier as their combined incomes were more than enough to care for the three’s needs and any of his more expensive endeavors (both personal and Stark Industries related) were financed by his monitored trust fund and private accounts. He then proceeded to refer to the reporter as something that can not be repeated to the admonishments of both Potts and Rhodes.

The conference ended shortly after and Potts was spotted lecturing Stark as they were escorted to their car, which Stark merely shrugged off with, “If they’re going to keep calling you and Rhodey gold-diggers, then they deserve it.”

Potts responded with, “Not on camera they don’t. Does Jocasta need to help you review the approved word list again?”

While Stark’s answer was unheard, he reportedly had a look of terror on his face as the door to the car was closed.

Though not confirmed, the Jocasta mentioned is believed to be one of the interns on the newly instated Stark Industries social media team who is credited with many of the photographs and videos on their Twitter and Instagram, including a video of the press conference which can be found here.

It seems that Stark is going from one court to another though as an inside source has let it be known that Potts and Stark arrived at the airport afterward to board their flight to New York to attend tomorrow’s opening ceremonies for the Stark Exo, only for Stark to be served with a subpoena stating he is to appear at a hearing for the Senate Armed Services Committee regarding Iron Man in D.C. the morning after the ceremonies.

It hasn’t been confirmed as of yet, but it can be assumed that Iron Man will likely be receiving one as well via his military liaison United States Air Force Major Monica Rambeau.

While the full purpose of the hearing hasn’t been revealed, it is speculated that the committee intends to force Iron Man to turn his suit over to the government. An anonymous source on the committee had this to say:

“While I can’t say for certain that is what the hearing is about, I will say that such an idea would be a hard sell indeed. While most on the committee think the suit should be in the hands of the military instead of a civilian, [Pennsylvania State Senator Gary] Stern in particular, they’d face a lot of backlash for pushing the topic. And I don’t just mean from Iron Man’s civilian fans.

“Many active servicemen and women — as well as their families and some veterans — have gotten behind the inventor thanks to some of the joint missions he has been a part of.  Especially those in the know about rescue missions that never would have gotten off the ground without Iron Man’s assistance due to the danger involved for the rescue team. While I’m sure none of them would say no to a suit of their own, Rhodes, Rambeau, and [United States Air Force Brigadier General Glenn] Talbot won’t be the only ones up in arms if Iron Man retracts his help for fear that someone’s going to take his private property.

“Of course, that’s assuming the committee is even brave enough to go up against the cutthroat team Potts and Stark have proven themselves to be these past months in the first place.”

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An Excerpt From the Transcription of the Senate Armed Services Committee Hearing on Iron Man (April 30, 2012)

Senator Stern: Do you or do you not possess a specialized weapon?

Iron Man: I do not.

Stern: You do not?

Tony Stark: He doesn’t. Well, it depends on how you define the word weapon.

Stern: The Iron Man weapon.

IM: My device does not fit that description.

Stern: Well… How would you describe it?

IM: I would describe it by defining it as what it is, Senator.

Stern: As?

Stark: It’s a high-tech prosthesis. That is… That is… That’s actually the most apt description I can make of it.

Stern: It’s a weapon. It’s a weapon, Mr. Stark. I hate to inform you, it’s a weapon.

Stark: Please, if your priority was actually the well-being of the American citizen…

Stern: My priority is to get the Iron Man weapon turned over to the people of the United States of America.

Stark: Well, you can forget it.

IM: Sir, with all due respect, I am Iron Man. The suit and I are one. To turn over the Iron Man suit would be to turn over myself.

Stark: Which is tantamount to indentured servitude or prostitution, depending or what state you’re in. You can’t have it.

Stern: Look, I’m no expert…

Stark: In prostitution? Of course not. You’re a senator. Come on.

Virginia Potts: Tony, enough.

Stern: I’m no expert in weapons. We have somebody here who is an expert on weapons. I’d now like to call Justin Hammer, our current primary weapons contractor.

Stark: Let the record reflect that I observed Mr. Hammer entering the chamber, and I am wondering if and when any actual expert will also be in attendance.

Potts: Tony.

Justin Hammer: Absolutely. I’m no expert. I defer to you, Anthony. You’re the wonder boy. Senator, if I may. I may well not be an expert, but you know who was the expert? Your grandpa. Howard Stark. Really a father to us all, and to the military-industrial age. Let’s just be clear, he was no flower child. He was a lion. We all know why we’re here. In the last six months, this… Iron Man -- this unknown person -- has created a sword with untold possibilities. And yet, he insists it’s a shield. He asks us to trust him as we cower behind it, without even letting us know his face or name. With only the reassurances of a few handpicked people, including a ten-year-old child.

Stark: I’m the smartest person in this room and we all know it.

Hammer: I wish I were comforted, Anthony, I really do. I’d love to leave my door unlocked when I leave the house, but this ain’t Canada. You know, we live in a world of grave threats, threats that Iron Man will not always be able to foresee. Thank you. God bless Iron Man. God bless America.

Stern: That is well said, Mr. Hammer. The committee would now like to invite Major Monica Rambeau to the chamber.

Stark: Spectrum? What?

[Major Rambeau enters the court]

Potts: Tony, stay here.

Stark: Hey, Ramsey. I didn’t expect to see you here.

Rambeau: Sit down, kid.

IM: Major.

Rambeau: Deckard.

Stern: I have before me a complete report on the Iron Man weapon, compiled by Major Rambeau, Colonel Rhodes, and Brigadier General Talbot. And, Major, for the record, can you please read page 57, paragraph four?

Rambeau: You’re asking me to read a portion of a highly detailed report, Senator?

Stern: Yes, ma’am.

Rambeau: I was told I’d be giving a full testimony.

Stern: I understand. A lot of things have changed today. So if you could just read…

Rambeau: Just to be clear, you do realize that one portion of a report -- out of context and without the full summary of the findings -- does n-

Stern: Just read it, Major. I do. Thank you.

Rambeau: Alright. “As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and to her interests.” Colonel Rhodes did, however, go on to say that the benefits of Iron Man far outweigh the liabilities and that it would be in our interest to fold him into the existing chain of command, Senator.

Stern: That’s enough. That’s enough, Major. That’s enough.

IM: I appreciate the offer, but I am not sure I meet the requirements of armed service without the suit.

Stark: I’m sure he’d consider Secretary of Defence if you ask nicely.

IM: I would not.

Stark: We can amend the hours a little bit, buddy.

Stern: I’d like to go on and show, if I may, the imagery that’s connected to your report.

Rambeau: I think it may be too soon to allow these images to reach the general public, sir.

Stern: With all due respect, Major, I understand. And if you could just narrate those for us, we’d be very grateful.

Rambeau: Bring up the images.

[Images located within file srcw35475]

Rambeau: Intelligence suggests that the devices seen in these photos are, in fact, attempts at making manned copies of Iron Man’s suit. This has been corroborated by our allies and local intelligence on the ground indicating that these suits are quite possibly, at this moment, operational.

Stark: Hold on a second, Ramsey. Let me see something here.

[Uncataloged videos appeared onscreen.]

Stark: Oh boy, I’m good. I commandeered your screens. I need them. Time for a little transparency. Now, let’s see what’s really going on.

Stern: What is he doing?

Tony: If you will direct your attention to said screens, I believe that’s North Korea.

[Uncataloged video 1: A large mechanical suit takes two steps then falls over, firing upon a crowd of onlookers as they scream and flee.]

Stern: Can you turn that off? Take it off.

Stark: Iran.

[Uncataloged video 2: A large flying suit spirals out of control.]

Stark: No grave immediate threat here. Is that Justin Hammer? How did Hammer get in the game? Justin, you’re on TV. Focus up.

[Uncataloged video 3: Justin Hammer is seen communicating with someone in a human-sized suit just before the suit twists nearly one hundred and eighty degrees at the waist. Its pilot immediately screams then falls silent.]

Stark: Wow. Yeah, I’d say most countries, five, ten years away. Hammer Industries, twenty.

Hammer: I’d like to point out that that test pilot survived.

Stern: I think we’re done is the point that he’s making. I don’t think there’s any reason…

Stark: The point is, you’re welcome, I guess. No need to thank IM, really.

Stern: For what?

Stark: Because he’s your nuclear deterrent. It’s working. We’re safe. America is secure. You want his property? You can’t have it. But he did you a big favor. He’s successfully privatized world peace. What more do you want? For now! I tried to play ball with these [redacted]!

Potts: Tony, enough!

Operation Robin: Second Report

Acting Agent: [redacted]

Date: [redacted]

Contact with the target has been made, but a problem has arisen as it would appear he has already found a new personal assistant.

I arrived at the target’s off-site lab on an errand to fill out paperwork and was greeted by a man (Japanese, late twenties, unseen) over an intercom. He checked my identity then allowed me in. When I walked in, the target was playing a game on a holographic screen while speaking to a woman (Irish, early thirties, unseen) over speakerphone as a pair of robots (little more than arms on wheels) cleaned. When I informed him of what I was there for he closed his game and spun the desk chair around to face me with a curious expression. When I attempted to hand him the paperwork, he frowned and moved away from the files.

That was when one of the robots rushed over in a flurry of beeps. It took the paperwork from my hand and dropped it into the target’s lap before rolling off back to the counter it had been wiping down.

“[Redacted] does not like to be handed things,” the man’s voice from the door responded.

I reminded the target that the information we needed to discuss was confidential and as such no one should listen in, but he waved it off saying there was no one listening that couldn’t hear. When I reminded him he was still on a call and that the man who had allowed me in was obviously listening, he said the woman -- he called her [redacted] -- was his new personal assistant and minder and the man -- he called him [redacted] -- was in charge of security for the lab and was required by [redacted] to keep an eye on the target whenever he was there for safety reasons, as such both were cleared for any information that he was privy to.

Due to the target’s dislike of paperwork, we finished quickly after that. In a successful attempt to stay longer to observe the target, I goaded his infamous ego by complimenting the robots and asking how they worked. Although he didn’t go into any details about how they actually functioned, he explained that they were designed to assist him. He had clear pride for his work in his eyes as he spoke of them, though he often spoke of how they messed up, especially one in particular which he repeatedly referred to as an idiot with humor in his eyes like he was telling me an inside joke. When I asked why he did not just reprogram them as “surely someone with your intelligence could make them better,” he immediately closed up and dismissed me soon after. As I left, I heard him tell them that they were “perfect just as you are, don’t listen to the mean lady.”

Initial assessment of target: Despite his intellect, he is far too immature at this point, with the propensity to boredom and anger that that pertains. He is a narcissist, takes to any criticism with denial and treats his creations as extensions of himself to be coddled and praised.

I have attempted to find more information on [redacted] and [redacted], but their employee files are encrypted. I confirmed that the bug [redacted] placed on the target’s servers was lost during his move so I could not access the files using that backdoor. As those are the only names the target proved and I can not be sure if they are even real names given the target’s fondness for pseudonyms, I am unable to investigate further at this time. I believe it is likely that the [redacted] the subject is connected to on Twitter is likely this woman, though I cannot confirm.

I will continue to investigate as much as possible without blowing my cover and await further orders.

Disaster at the Grand Prix

By Gisèle Favager - Translated by Valentin Paquet - 24 May 2012

The start of the Grand Prix De Monaco was delayed today when an unknown Russian man attacked American engineering prodigy Tony Stark.

Stark had come to Monte Carlo for the race with his adoptive mother Virginia Potts, but snuck away from her and their bodyguard after making a quick appearance at the VIP clubhouse to talk shop with the Stark Industries pit team.

He was reportedly in a playful debate with the team’s leader when the assailant, disguised as a Grand Prix mechanic, attacked the boy. He grabbed him and threw him into the road before using a weapon described as a pair of electrified whips connected to a chest harness power source.

Stark scrambled away from his assailant, barely managing to dodge the whips as he gave a sharp whistle. According to witnesses, the whistle caused the backpack he had brought down to the pit to unfold into a mechanical hound, which quickly scanned the area before running at the assailant. It leaped onto his back and bit into his shoulder. The man tried to remove it for only a moment before he collapsed to the ground in a jerking fit.

“Stun gun fangs,” Potts explained during a short public statement after the man had been taken away by the authorities. She continued on to say that the Digitally Operated Guarding and Guiding Individualized Entity -- or D.O.G.G.I.E. as Stark insisted -- is a prototype assistance drone modeled after service dogs that Stark Industries is currently working on.

“It is not currently available for production due to the current operating system being too specifically designed, though Stark Industries is collaborating with doctors specializing in neurology, cardiology, and psychology to ensure [the Digitally Operated Guarding and Guiding Individualized Entity] will be able to calibrate properly to its user. Further information will be disclosed once a release date has been set.”

Shortly after the incident, an American senator by the name of Stern appeared on television to make a public statement. However, what was assumed to be sympathies and concern over the wellbeing of his young countryman turned out to be an excuse to besmirch Iron Man. Stern attempted to discredit the inventor’s main defense that had been given at the hearing last month stating no one else had technology like the Iron Man armor and wouldn’t for at least five to ten years, as stated by Stark himself, by using the assailant’s weapon as proof that the technology did exist elsewhere.

Stark quickly took to Twitter with a retort.

“Hey intern that runs the @SenSternOfficial twitter, did your boss really just compare a suit of armor that can shrug off shots from a tank to a pair of whips that got their butt kicked by my dog?”

Who this man is and why he attacked Stark is as of yet unknown.

Amalia Riviera - [phone] ext 8736 - [email protected]

May 30th, 2012

Natalie Rushman Notary Stark Industries Los Angeles Headquarters

Dear Ms. Rushman,

I regret to inform you that your employment at Stark Industries has been terminated, effective immediately.

This has come to pass for the following reasons:

Breach of contract

Corporate espionage

Misrepresentation of self in application

This decision is not reversible.

In accordance with your contract, all employee benefits have been revoked as of the sending of this letter. Your final paycheck will be withheld until the full investigation is completed and it is determined no further actions are necessary. Should it be determined that the matter must be taken to court, your final paycheck may be held indefinitely pending the court’s decision.

You have one hour from the time you receive this letter to vacate the premises. Should you remain, security will escort you out and trespassing charges will be issued. Any personal items remaining on the premises at the time of your departure will be gathered and delivered to your residence on file within seven to ten business days at the company’s expense.

It is requested that you turn over any company property you possess to human resources before you leave. This includes your company-issued laptop, cellphone, and badge. You will be fined for any company property not returned within forty-eight hours of receiving this message.

Please keep in mind the non-disclosure and non-solicitation agreements you have signed. Should you have any questions regarding the agreements, your termination, or the investigation, please contact the Former Employees sector of Human Resources at [phone] ext. 5731.

Sincerely,

Amalia Riviera Human Resources Stark Industries Los Angeles Headquarters

Addendum:

Agent Romanoff,

Please inform your director that if he wishes to communicate with me, he need only utilize the number provided to him. This is your final warning. Any other incursions into the young sir’s privacy will be met with the harshest legal actions available.

Thank you for your time,

Iron Man

Iron Man 2.0

By CamicsComics - May 29, 2012

Hey there CamComs! I was woken up far too early this morning by my friend texting me and I’m not even mad.

Why?

Because she texted me a link to a tweet Tony Stark made at three A.M. this morning.

“@1r0n_M4n is doing some spring cleaning and giving away some old clothes. Think this will fit @ColRhodey?”

The tweet came alongside a pic of a silver Iron Man gauntlet engraved with Mark II.

Col Rhodes replied with “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself if Talbot sees this before his announcement and he bans you from any more meetings.” While Potts only said, “You’re grounded.”

Does this mean what I think it does? Could we soon have another Iron Man flying around?

So many have tweeted at IM asking for more info that #MarkII is trending, but he’s been silent all day except for a picture of Stark getting chewed out by Potts with the caption, “Happy Birthday, @TStark!!! 🎂”

I can’t wait to see what happens. And hopefully BGen Talbot doesn’t hear about this so Stark can keep giving us this quality content.

Happy B-Day you crazy eleven-year-old!!!!

Subscribe, like, and share, CamComs! Until next time, be the hero you want to see in the world!

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Proposal for new element name - Anthony Stark

Dear Mr. Stark,

On behalf of the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry, I would like to congratulate you on your accomplishment. However, I regret to inform you that your proposal to name your new element “Badassium” has been denied.

This decision was based on the vulgar nature of the proposed name.

We would be pleased to review a second, more appropriate, choice of name at your earliest convenience.

Best wishes,

Teresa Cordon International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry Representative

Stark Under Surveillance

By Sabrina Blake - June 10, 2012

It’s well known that superhero Iron Man and kid genius Tony Stark have been connected since the very beginning, but so far there’s only been talk about the good things that come from it. Not anymore though as yesterday just might have given us a peek at the dark underbelly of this beast.

At around five in the afternoon, Stark broke the two-week-long media silence he’s been under since the attack on the Stark Expo to tweet, “TFW you finally duck out of the lecture on trying to slip inappropriate language into new element names, only for the director of New Age HYDRA to burst in complaining about how his spy got fired from your company for being a spy #FirstWorldProblems”. The tweet had been taken down in under ten minutes, but plenty had seen it by then. Screenshots and questions have flooded the internet, to no answer from Stark, Iron Man, or their people.

Someone’s giving us information, though, as an unknown person sent various news organizations a digital folder of information labeled The Aegis Files. The folder included a picture of a dark-skinned man with an eyepatch being escorted out of a building by Stark Industries security and a furious Col Rhodes alongside a slightly redacted report on the incident. All the personal information had been removed, though it did show that whoever the man was, he was taken in by the police before being turned over to a redacted organization. It’s assumed this man is likely the HYDRA director Stark mentioned giving the timing. Also included in the folder was a Stark Industries employee file. It was similarly redacted, though the woman’s photo was still there, revealing her to be a caucasian woman with auburn hair. She’s believed to be the spy as the file states she was fired due to corporate espionage.

Who are these people? These Aegis Agents, so to speak? What do they want with Stark? Where else have they infiltrated? How accurate is the comparison to the old Nazi intelligence organization? How is Iron Man connected?

Hopefully, we’ll hear more soon.

Subscribe to Celebtial Weekly for the latest and greatest celebrity gossip!!!!

#iron man 2 #j.a.r.v.i.s. #tony stark #rhodey #pepper potts

[thejackmeister-mongolhistory]

Have you read/what are your thoughts on Jack Weatherford's books?

I have indeed read some of Weatherford’s work: Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World, and his Secret History of the Mongol Queens: How the Daughters of Genghis Khan rescued his Empire. He has another book which is something to do on on the Mongol Empire laid the foundation for modern religious tolerance, I believe, but I have never read it.

Before I go much further, I should state a few things. Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World  was the first ‘serious’ book I ever read on the Mongol Empire. I had finished reading Conn Iggulden’s Conqueror series, which sparked my interest in the Chinggisid Empire: that I was able to, some time after, pick up a copy of Weatherford’s book is what fanned the flames of my passion for the topic. At the time, I can remember being so impressed by the depth of Weatherford’s description and his own passion in Mongol culture, and I do believe without it, there would be no The Jackmeister: Mongol History. Especially in my own earlier videos, before my skills as a researcher had developed alongside my access to sources, Weatherford’s influence can be seen. I think in a video I did on Chinggis Khan’s sons, I basically called them all failures, as per Weatherford’s depiction of them.

Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World was also a huge boon for Weatherford, as it sold magnificently. There is a good chance today if you go into your local bookstore for something on the Mongol Empire, you’ll find a copy of it there, 15 years since its first release. And online, a search for ‘books on the Mongols’ will likely turn it up in the top results. It’s  been translated into multiple languages, has brought him honours and awards even in Mongolia.  I think it can be created to some extent to assisting in the increase in westerners (i.e., average people, not researchers and historians) to view Chinggis Khan as something other than a blood crazed maniac. That Bodrov’s Mongol came out just a few years afterward contributed as well: before that, probably most North Americans exposure to Chinggis was Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. No disrespect to Al Leong, but it’s not the most accurate depiction. 

Weatherford is a skilled writer, and a key to Modern World’s success is that it is a very readable work. The image he presents of Temujin’s flight to Burkhan Khaldun after Borte’s capture, and the choices he faced, I found a poignant image which has stuck with me. Weatherford’s background is as an Anthropologist, and that is apparent in the attention he gives to discussing Mongolian culture. Not an extensive description of steppe tribes and politics, he places Temujin into a cultural context recognizable to modern Mongolians, a focus on his human side, rather than that of the conqueror. Considering that his entire book is on the positive transformative aspects of the Mongol Empire, that shouldn’t be surprising.

Now, that’s a lot of words talking about the books and Weatherford and things about them. My own thoughts on them? Well…

As I have dug deeper into the works of specialists and primary sources, Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World has not aged well. Weatherford is a skilled writer and an anthropologist with a deep appreciation for Mongolian culture. But he is not a historian. And when you read it from an historian’s viewpoint, it is a deeply frustrating work. Because there are so many details and facts it gets wrong that it it very distracting. Opening to a random page while I write this, while discussing the opening of conflict between the Mongols and the Jin Dynasty, he writes: 

“The unexpected death of the Golden Khan of the Jurched and the ascension of his young son to the throne in 1210 offered the Jurchen court an opportunity to assess Genghis Khan …” (page 82).

A few points just in this line: the Mongols called the Jin Emperor the Altan Khan, so literally the Golden Khan. Unusual to do so in a secondary source though, and rather annoying for a reader who may want something more specific, and to find out who the name of this particular monarch. Likewise, to call them the Jurched is unusual: the -ed is a plural ending in Mongolian which you will see on the end of tribal names. But the Jurchen weren’t Mongolian, and Weatherford’s section on them as a whole emphasis their tribal origins, which is a slight misdirection considering how sincizied they had become over the 12th and early 13th century. Not 100% sinicized, but more than one might expect reading just Weatherford’s work, and enough that the increasing adoption of Chinese culture and customs by the Jurchen Jin court brought friction with the military aspects and particularly those Jurchen who still remained in the homeland, in what we generally call Manchuria. However, the succession changes he described are completely false: from 1208 until 1213 the Jin Emperor was Wei Shao Wang, a man whose reign was so poor he was posthumously demoted from emperor to prince, but was probably similar age to Chinggis himself! He was succeeded by a cousin, the Emperor Xuanzong of Jin, who was again of similar age to Chinggis himself. 

The Jin had plenty of difficulties with their emperors, but they never put a child upon the Dragon Throne (I think the third emperor, Xijing of Jin, may have been around 15 when he became Emperor? That was the youngest). This is just one example, but I could flip around the book and find many more (but I don’t want this response to be 20 pages long). 

Weatherford is also frustrating in his relative lack of citing his information, especially particularly interesting claims. The importance of footnotes and endnotes in History, is so that others can see where you got your information from. Essentially, so we can see you’re not making it up, or misrepresenting  them entirely. For example, on page 235 he says the Mongol conquests led to an increase in tools carpenters in Europe had access too, and that they built new cranes and other devices based off knowledge gained from routes opened by the Mongols. A very interesting point to raise, one I’d love to follow up on, but there is no hint to where this information comes from, or what evidence supports this statement, or if he is even accurately representing what someone said on this matter. Or when he makes those inaccurate statements, we can’t even follow up to see what it was that misled him in the first place.

Finally, while I agree with the general point of his thesis (the Mongol Empire transformed Eurasia) much of his support for this argument I find either unsupported, or just wrong. Page 233, he says literacy increased under the Mongol Empire, presenting Kublai Khan’s construction of a printing office in 1269  so government mandates can be disseminated, as support for this. That isn’t even evidence for increased literacy in China because of the Mongols, let alone the entire Asian continent. And does establishing a printing office offset the destruction of libraries, archives and deaths of learned people in the initial conquests? He presents the Mongol invasions to Europe as ending the Middle Ages, saying at one point. 

“European Knighthood never recovered from the blow of losing nearly one hundred thousand soldiers in Hungary and Poland, what the Europeans mounted as the ‘the flower’ of their knighthood and aristocracy. Walled cities and heavily armoured knights were finished, and in the smoke and gunpowder of the Easter Season of 1241, the Mongol triumph portended the coming total destruction of European Feudalism and the Middle Ages.” (page 155)

This is ludicrous. Heavily armoured knights didn’t even end in Hungary, who suffered the worst of the 1241-1242 invasion, let alone in all of Europe. Saying that it portended the end of Feudalism is like saying the death of Augustus portended the end of the Roman Empire. Sure, one occurs before the other, but they’re only tangentially related. As shown in studies by Erik Fügedi, Hungarian castle building actually increased after the Mongol invasion, now largely in stone instead of wood and earthen walls. And of course, European armour making increased in complexity, as the Mongol invasion predated the famous full suits of plate European knights are famous for. 

That is in general the problem with much of Weatherford’s evidence for the impact of the Mongol Empire. There is a huge amount of actual effects the Mongols had, both positive and negative. But Weatherford misses much of these in favour of flashier statements like the above. And by trying to prove this point so much, he ends up minimizing the lives lost in the first place: for some regions, that was the entire experience of the Mongols, and the only place they held in those local popular memories after the disintegration of the Khanates. From what I recall of The Secret History of the Mongol Queens, it had many similar problems. That is why I find Weatherford’s work so frustrating: because it ultimately cannot reach the lofty goals it sets for itself, miring the reader down in distracting, inaccurate representations and doing a disservice to a fascinating and important topic for world history. 

[feferipeixes]

Innocence Is Not Knowing That You’re Innocent (2/5)

Belle knows her brother pretty well. He likes comic books, he cheats at board games, and he wants more than anything to be human again. So, when he wakes up one morning with no memory of the fact that he’s a demon, she figures there’s no reason to remind him just yet. He deserves some time to just enjoy being Dipper, and not have to be Alcor.

Unfortunately, she can’t hide Dipper from the demon forever.

Chapter 2: Trouble in Paradise (link to chapter 1)

Special thanks again to @toothpastecanyon​ for beta reading and being super cool!

(See the most updated version on AO3!)

===

“Dipper! Belle! Dinner!”

Belle, jumping around in her room and jamming to Evaporate the Dancefloor by &ndra, pulled out her earbuds. “Is someone calling me?” she yelled.

“Yes, I said it’s dinner time!” Lionel called back.

“Oh. Coming!” She dashed out of the room, ran down the stairs, and took a seat at the table. A plate of spaghetti sat before her. Belle eyed it, frowning.

“Something wrong?”

Belle balanced her chin on her fist. “Dad, what was your artistic intent with this dinner? I love the direction, but, I don’t know, I’m just not feeling it, yknow? It just doesn’t speak to me.”

Lionel gave her a thin smile. “My intent was to make sure you don’t starve.”

“Oh, I’m starving alright. I’m emotionally starved!” She leaned back in her chair, resting the back of her hand on her forehead dramatically. “This might be good enough for you and Dipper, but I need a dinner that makes me think!”

“If you don’t like this, you can make an emotionally stimulating dinner for the three of us tomorrow night. Speaking of which, have you seen your brother? His dinner is going to get cold.”

“I’m here,” Dipper said, shuffling into the room. He took his usual seat at the table -- next to Belle -- and his whole body seemed to droop. Belle raised an eyebrow. She glanced at her dad, who seemed to be having the same reaction

The three of them were silent for a minute, and then Lionel coughed. “So, how was school, you two?”

Belle leaned over the table, putting her weight onto her palms. “It was great! Mindy and I presented our history project and Mrs. Riviera seemed to like it! I personally think bedazzling the poster board is what put us over the top -- Mindy says it was the extra detail we put into finding primary sources about gnomes instead of relying on Wikipedia, but I guess we just think differently!” She slid back into her seat, a satisfied grin on her face.

“Good job. I know you worked hard on that project.” He turned to Dipper, and his smile faded a bit. “Dipper? How about you?”

Dipper poked sullenly at his spaghetti with a fork. “It was okay.”

Belle bopped him on the shoulder. “Come on, you big nerd, you like school too much to not have anything to say about it.”

He shrugged, and swirled a noodle around his fork.

“Didn’t you have a test today?” Lionel asked. “How’d that go?”

Dipper jerked upright, looking like a deer in headlights. “Oh… y-yeah,” he stuttered. “It, uh. It didn’t go so well.”

Belle put down her fork and tilted her head. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, it was weird.” He started fiddling with his fork, trying to avoid making eye contact with either of them. “I thought it’d be a piece of cake, but then I got there and I didn’t know any of the answers. I don’t know why -- I thought I knew this stuff, but it’s just... gone or something.”

“Aw, that’s okay, my bromide! It’s not, haha, it’s not like you’re supposed to know everything!”

“That’s the thing -- for some dumb reason, I didn’t even study! I thought I’d just know.” He turned to Lionel, and shrank back into his seat under his father’s gaze. “Sorry dad… I know I’m supposed to do better than that.”

“It’s alright,” Lionel responded. Dipper picked his head up again, looking even more confused than before. “It’s great that this matters to you, but everyone makes mistakes.”

“I, uh… I just failed a test. Aren’t you mad at me?”

“No….?” Lionel trailed off as Belle furiously tried to signal him to stop, change lanes, take an immediate U-turn, stat! Unfortunately, none of that meaning seemed to be getting communicated to him. He furrowed his brow in confusion, cueing Dipper to look at her too, and so she stopped.

“Anyway,” he continued, “it’s not the end of the world if you don’t know everything. I’m sure it’ll be back by next time.”

Belle bolted out of her seat, jostling the table and spilling some pasta sauce onto her skirt. “Hey dad! Can I talk to you alone for a moment?”

“We’re in the middle of dinner. Can it wait?”

“I guess so,” she responded through clenched teeth.

She sat back down and stared at her plate, trying to ignore the suspicious glances Dipper kept sending her way. He seemed confused enough at her outburst to have stopped asking questions for the minute, and Lionel must’ve taken some amount of the hint as he didn’t try to restart the conversation, so the three of them ate their spaghetti in mostly silence.

It felt wrong -- Dipper usually had some wild conspiracy theory he had been investigating and couldn’t wait to talk to literally anyone about, so he’d regale them at the dinner table while Belle provided comic relief and Lionel watched his kids with amusement and pride. That had been before Gravity Falls; they still had interesting dinner conversations after Dipper found out that he was Alcor in disguise, but they were of a different calibre, because conspiracy theories no longer tickled his interest when he had infinite knowledge. For now, he was basically human, and he should be getting to enjoy the mystery of unsolvable conspiracy theories again, but instead there was silence and Belle felt the pit in her stomach grow and grow.

This wasn’t good, but it was fixable. After dinner, Dipper went to the bathroom and she cornered her dad to remind him that he couldn’t talk about demon stuff around Dipper. When he got out of the bathroom, she pulled him into the TV room and put on Pony Magic Academy, but left the remote near him so he could quickly snatch it up, change it to something else, and forget his suspicions amidst a sibling squabble. It was the tried and true art of distraction, and it seemed to work, but the heavy feeling in Belle’s stomach just got worse as she thought about how easily she was manipulating him.

It’s okay to be protective of him, she thought, as he put on Ghost Hunters and glued himself to the screen.

It’s for his own good, she thought, as they went upstairs and listened to his favorite top 40 hits.

He’s happier not knowing, she thought, as she got into bed and bid her twin goodnight.

I’m doing the right thing, she thought, as she closed her eyes and wandered off to dreamless sleep

---

Belle poked at the food on her lunch tray. It kind of wobbled in response, which was weird because the lunch room had advertised it as “Chicken Soup”. The quality of food in the cafeteria wasn’t usually incredible, but this was something else.

She looked up as Dipper dropped his tray across the table from her and sat down. The gelatinous cube on his tray was reddish-brown instead of green -- he must’ve gotten “Meatloaf”.

“Well, this sucks,” he said. Belle was rather inclined to agree with him. “Do you have any of that rainbow sparkle sugar glitter you always carry around?”

Her eyes lit up. Dipper never usually agreed to letting her put candy sparkles on his food, citing the fact that it “wasn’t technically food” and “had that FDA-banned type of denser sugar that was way more potent than normal sugar”.

“Do I!” she squealed. She fished around in her backpack, and her expression fell. “No I do not.”

They both sighed. He speared a piece of jelly with his fork and looked at it wistfully. “If I die eating this, you’ll tell dad I love him?”

“Only if you come back as a ghost and do the same for me.”

“Yeah, right. If I become a ghost, it better be for a much cooler reason than that. Like… to take revenge on whoever killed me, or maybe ooh to play pranks on hotel guests. You know how they always do that, in the movies? Imagine just pranking rich people in hotels for eternity.”

He laughed, and Belle’s stomach did a somersault. “Yeah but you wouldn’t want to be a ghost, right?”

“If you’re asking whether I want lethal cafeteria food poisoning, the answer is no.”

“No… yknow…” Her eyes shifted nervously. “If- WHEN you die, would you want to be a ghost?”

He seemed to consider it for a few minutes. “I’d say probably not,” he responded finally. “From what I’ve read about ghosts, they’re kind of obsessed with whatever their reason for becoming a ghost is. I’m not really the obsessive type, so I wouldn’t want to get stuck obsessing over something until some ghost hunter puts me out of my misery.”

Belle screwed her face up, torn between relief at the reassurance that she was doing the right thing by keeping Dipper in the dark about his true nature, and amusement at the idea that Dipper wasn’t an obsessive nerd. She settled on a smile, but then the picture wandered into her mind of a demon obsessed with tracking down reincarnations of his human sister, and the smile melted away.

“Hey!” A cheery voice broke into Belle’s thoughts. She looked up to see Onika holding a gold encrusted lunch tray. “Mind if I sit with you two?”

“Sure thing!” Belle trilled. “What’s up?”

“Oh, everything’s great. There was a test in the spells class I’m in and I aced it with flying colors! Literally, the test was to create a rainbow. Most of the class only succeeded in making it rain hair bows. Hey…” She elbowed Belle, and pointed at Dipper. “Why’s Mr. Reality Bender giving me the stink eye right now?”

“Hey Onika, I have to go the bathroom!” Belle babbled, shooting to her feet before Dipper could even open his mouth.

“Okay… good for you…”

“Yeah, but uh, girls always go together, so come on!”

She hooked her arm around Onika’s and dragged her away from the table, leaving behind a very confused looking Dipper.

“What’s going on, Sterling?” Onika asked when they got to the bathroom. “Spill.”

“Don’t mention any demon stuff!” Belle hissed. “He doesn’t remember that he’s Alcor!”

“What? How does he forget something like that?”

Belle rubbed her temples, frustrated that no one seemed to immediately understand the genius behind her madness. “His body’s glitching or something, his memory will come back soon, but I want to hold that off as long as I can because look at how happy being human makes him!”

Onika looked nonplussed. “He seems kinda pissed, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but he’s always like that! I know he’s happier this way -- he told me when he had his memories that he wishes he could just have a normal, human life, and not have to know what he really is. Now he gets to, at least for a little while!”

“Okay.... that sort of makes sense…” Onika replied, with the air of someone who did not think it made any sense at all, “but if he doesn’t remember that he’s not human, why would he be happy that he doesn’t remember that he’s not human?”

Belle stared at her, opening and closing her mouth several times, gears in her head grinding against the grain to try to fight off a series of thoughts she didn’t want to be having. First dad, and now Onika? Did no one care about Dipper’s happiness other than her?

A sly smile crept onto Onika’s face at the lack of response, and Belle pouted. “He just is, okay? It’s deep inside of him or whatever, I don’t know.”

“Alright, you’re the boss. I’ll just pretend your brother is a normal human that I’m allowed to have a crush on again.” Belle’s jaw dropped, and Onika laughed. “Kidding! I’m kidding. Can we go back to the table now? I’m done not-peeing.”

Dipper had the same annoyed look on his face when they got back. It looked like he’d hardly touched his food in the meantime, and was practically following her eyes as she sat down.

She giggled nervously. “How’s it going, bro-bro?”

“Not bad,” he said slowly. “Having a great lunch over here by myself. How was the bathroom?”

“What? Oh yeah, so much fun. You know me, I love a good bathroom!”

Onika looked back and forth between them. “Hey, is this a weird conversation or is it just me?”

“No, everything’s fine!” Belle replied at the same time as Dipper said “No, it’s weird.” The two of them locked eyes for a moment, and Belle broke into a big, saccharine smile. Dipper rolled his eyes, and went back to his food.

Onika whistled. “Wow, having a sibling the same age as you must be exhausting. Good thing my sister’s 24. Anyway, the reason I came over was to ask if you two are doing anything for Halloween next week. My parents are throwing a party -- it’ll be very fancy and a downright bore, but maybe you’d want to come and keep me company.”

Belle clapped excitedly. “That sounds fun! I bet none of the fancy pantses are gonna use your antigravity pool -- we could take a swim!”

Dipper seemed to sink into his seat, and continued to spoon coagulated meatstuff into his mouth. Belle snapped a finger in front of his face. “Hey! Dipper! Did you hear Onika? Wanna go air swimming on Halloween?”

He shrugged. “That sounds fun, but… it’s Halloween, shouldn’t we be out getting lost in the woods or hunting ghosts?”

Oh yeah. Alcor could fly whenever he wanted. They should spend Halloween doing stuff that a demon wouldn’t enjoy in the same way a human would. She glanced at Onika, who hopefully had come to the same conclusion.

“Hunting ghosts definitely sounds better than a fancy dress party,” Onika said. “Well, I at least figured I’d ask. See you two later!” With that, she got up from the table, dropped her tray in the garbage, and strutted majestically out of the room.

Belle whistled. “She’s really something, isn’t she?” She smiled to herself, and then turned back to her brother, who had somehow sunk even further and was at risk of falling out of his seat altogether. “Hey, what’s going on down there?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll say, cause it looks like you’ve forgotten how gravity works!”

She grabbed his arm and tried pulling him back into his seat, which he obliged to with a large groan. He slumped over, cheek pressed into the table, not caring about the scraps of unknown food he was lying on. Belle prodded him in the forehead a few times, and then cocked her head.

“Well, I guess my brother is broken! I’ll have to find a new one! Seriously, what’s up?”

He sighed. “Okay, it’s just… embarrassing, so don’t make fun of me okay?”

“Definitely not, and that’s a Belle promise!” She mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key. For some reason, that made him flinch.

“Okay. I’m just tired of only hanging out with your friends. Don’t get me wrong, Onika’s great, but it’d be nice if I had some friends of my own.”

Belle slapped herself in the forehead. “Ohhhhhh, duh! How could I be so delightfully naive? Yeah, you should make some friends! I can help you! I’ll give you tips!”

“You’re weirdly enthusiastic about this,” he said, picking himself up. He grimaced at the sticky patch that his shirt had received from lying on the table. “Thanks, though. Twins?”

Belle beamed and fist-bumped him. “Twins!”

The bell chose that moment to ring, and the room was filled with clattering as people scrambled from their seats. “Oh, heck-a-poo, we’re gonna be late for gym class!” Belle babbled, jumping up.

“Maybe later we’ll figure out some Halloween plans?” Dipper asked, after they’d emptied their trays and were heading out of the room. “If I’ve got new friends by then, we can -”

He was cut off by a carton of milk colliding with his face and exploding. He stumbled, eyes closed and sputtering, and Belle gasped.

“Hah, nerd!” chortled a voice in the crowd of people streaming from the room.

“Are you alright?” Belle asked, pulling him aside. At that moment, the bell rang again, and Dipper’s eyes sprang open in panic.

“Crap, we’re going to be tardy!” he yelped. He grabbed Belle’s arm and ran down the hall to his locker.

“Bro-bro, you’ve got milk on your face.”

“It’s fine! I’ll clean it off in the locker room! If I could only find my gym clothes… argh!” He rummaged through his locker, pulling notebooks and binders out and tossing them aside. “Crap, crap, crap, where are they? I’ll get in trouble if I don’t have them!” He slammed the door shut, and slid down the face of it until he reached the floor.

“It’ll be alright, we’ll just tell Mr. Plinker that you left them at home…”

“No, you don’t understand! This always happens!” His fists were clenched and his face was starting to turn red. “Someone stole them, I know it!”

“What? This always happens?”

“Yeah, some jerks are always stealing my gym clothes and hiding them in toilets, the dumpster, whatever!”

“I, uh…” Belle started to feel like her mind was caught in a taffy puller. “Always? Even… last week?”

“Yes, always, since the start of the year! I’m sick of it, it’s so stupid! I wish I just magically knew where everything was without looking for it!”

He slammed his fist into the locker next to him, and the sound rang abnormally loudly through the suddenly empty hall. Belle opened her mouth to respond, but faltered when she noticed the goop on his face, the icky lumps of dairy left behind as the milk he had been splashed with mysteriously curdled on his skin.

She bit back a gasp -- this didn’t have to be a demonic powers thing, he might have just assumed that the milk was spoiled in the carton, or maybe he hadn’t even noticed because of how angry he was. Now wasn’t the time for her to be planning her next lie (and oh how she wished that wasn’t something she was seriously setting aside time for now). She grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. He grumbled some fashion of thanks, and she walked him over to the boys bathroom so he could wash his face off. She offered to go in with him, but for some reason he wasn’t quite comfortable with that.

So, she was left waiting for him in the hall (she was already late for gym class, so she might as well be as late as him), and it was there that the soup of unwanted thoughts in her head started to curdle too. He’d said that people had been stealing his gym clothes since the beginning of the year, which meant that it’d been happening even when he knew he was Alcor. He definitely could’ve gotten them to stop with his powers, so he must’ve been letting it happen.

But why? Was it because he didn’t want to blow his cover and reveal his true nature? Or… did he actually like being bullied, because it felt like the other students were treating him just like any other teenager? But Dipper without his memories was clearly really upset at being bullied, just like he had been before Gravity Falls. And that led Belle to the thought that she’d been stomping her foot down on more times than she’d like since this whole memories thing began: was Dipper actually happier with his memories than without?

She was still dwelling on it when he came out of the bathroom, face a little less red and all traces of milk gone. He grumbled some more at her, but she barely parsed it, so distracted she was by the way her mind was turning itself over and over again.

It’s okay to be protective of him, she thought, as they walked down the hall to the gymnasium.

It’s for his own good, she thought, as Mr. Plinker yelled at him for losing his gym clothes.

He’s happier not knowing, she thought, to block out the snickering when the two of them walked by a crowd of students on the bleachers.

I’m doing the right thing, she thought, and she felt worse and worse with every passing rationalization until she found herself wishing that this entire thing was just a bad dream from which she’d soon awake.

(AO3 link)

#gravity falls #transcendence au #dipper pines #alcor the dreambender #belle sterling #dipper sterling #lionel sterling #onika #rrr #fic #long post #my stuff