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✧･ﾟ(   artemis + hunter schafer + trans woman   ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !!  have you seen (   morrigan ‘mora’ driscoll  ) around ? (   she  ) has been in kaos for (  four months  ). the (  twenty year old  ) is a (   college student   ) from (   dublin, ireland   ). people say they can be (   vindictive   ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be (   protective  ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of (  jeans ripped in the woods, the scent of the forest, dirt smeared across hands   ).  ･ﾟ✧  (  penned by chris, 19, est, she/they  ).

STATS

name: Morrigan Driscoll

nickname: Mora

age: twenty

pronouns & gender: trans woman, she/her

sexuality: lesbian

birthday: july 1st

BIO (TRANSPHOBIA TW, VIOLENCE TW, DYSPHORIA TW)

What an angry little thing. Your mother said the day you were born. No matter how she held you, no matter how long she let you lay, no matter how much you ate, no matter how much she tried to soothe you, you screamed and screamed and screamed. She said it with a smile on her face, a sweet and affectionate thing, as she thought that, perhaps, this would grow into passion. ( It did, but the angry remained tucked behind your ribs, messily entangled with your passion. ) 

What an angry little thing. Your first teacher said the first day of school. Another student called you a boy. It was not malicious, and at the time, you did not yet know why that word applied to you left your emotions a mangled mess of anger and pain and despair. Nonetheless, you lunged at the boy. It was written off as the result of too much energy. 

What an angry little thing. Your mother said the day you yelled and yelled. Now, you were a preteen at the time, and you felt wrong and wrong and wrong. All you knew, you wanted to do something to stop the feelings that paralyzed you. You needed her to do something, to stop it, to help you. 

What an angry little thing. Your father said when you first put a pin on your bag. Newly sixteen, newly legally named Morrigan, and newly moved into an apartment in Dublin with your family, you had no qualms about putting a transgender pin on your book bag the first day at your new school. We already moved all this way. He said. You really got to flaunt it here too? And you cannot remember anything other than the anger and the tears as you spat insults his way as you stormed out of the apartment. 

What an angry little thing. You said as you cleaned up a cut. It was a long and thin angry red line above your brow. A protest gone wrong, really. An act of rebellion gone wrong, really. Gone wrong when a counter protester got too bold and you got caught in the crossfire. ( Of course, you had been in quite a few fights before then, your angry always likely to propel you into a clash of fists. )

What an angry little thing. Your first girlfriend said after she dumped you. The relationship had been a long one, at least to the standards of two high school seniors. Days before graduation, while you voiced your angry about your father, about the kids in you class that didn’t understand you, about politicians that cared more about staying in power than people staying alive, watched you, took in your righteous anger and your over-exaggerated hand motions. She narrowed her eyes, something akin to annoyance crossing her face. I don’t see why any of this fucking matters. She interrupted. Can’t you just let this dumb shit go? Minutes later, you stormed out of her house, swallowing rage and wiping away your tears.

What an angry little thing. Your mother said after you packed your bags and stormed out of the house. You loved her, you really did. While you father wanted to ignore you, pretend that you were not different in a way he could not reconcile with the image of the world and the image of you he held, she offered you love and support and helped you get what you needed to live as the person you were. Except, maybe she never understood you, never understood the angry that beat in tune with your heart, and maybe she never would. He’s trying his best, Mor, can you try to see things how he does? ( Three time’s a pattern, you thought as you threw your bags into the cab, wiped the tears away, and tasted iron. )

Your anger is a good thing. A pretty girl said against your lips. And maybe that was the only the second time someone had praised your angry and the first time that you could remember. It’s fucking hot. It wasn’t the validation you craved, exactly, but it was enough for you that first year of college. You kissed her and you kissed her and you convinced yourself that you were in love with her not because she thought your anger, something that pushed you away and away and away from most everyone else, was something to be admired, something hot. 

Your anger is a good thing. A college professor told you after a lecture about declining ecosystems. Animals and plants and microorganisms were dying off. They were not dying to put food on the table, they were dying because of the avarice and carelessness of humans. When called on, you could not bite your tongue, could not stop the spiel about the injustice of it, the horror of it, and the ways the world was being ruined. Another pin, one calling for more environmental protections, was added to the collection of pins that adorned your bag. 

Your anger is a good thing. You thought as you packed up your bags, leaving to studying the wildlife on a Greek Island over the summer. A professor had suggested it, handed you a pamphlet for the aboard program for a summer research program for undergrads and a fall semester spent there hosted by your university. You applied nearly as soon as you got back to your dorm, and when you found out you got into the program, your excitement was nearly palpable. You would be helping out with research that might change the world, might help save a burning planet, and you could not imagine a better summer. 

Your anger is a good thing. You reminded yourself as idyllic life on Kaos made you consider staying. It lulled your anger into a dull thing, sometimes, on the days you had off from the research program. The beaches and the green and the sleepy smiles of the native residents of the Island, it left you with lowered blood pressure, and you wanted, perhaps selfishly, to never leave the beautiful beaches and the quaint village. Of course, of course, you forced yourself to remember the flaws of your world, the animals elsewhere that were dying for no purpose, and the people that were dying because of hate alone, and you knew, deep down, that you could not stay there for the rest of your life.

PERSONALITY EXPANSION 

adventurous→ Deep within your heart, there has always been a want, the all-consuming and clawing kind, to find excitement wherever and whenever you went.

fervent→ Your passion is a sort of undying thing. Once you set your mind to something, you are unshakeable in you convictions, and, with words or your fists, you will fight for what you believe with a fiery passion.

loyal→ While you are not the most friendly person, once you begin to care about someone, it’s almost impossible to chip away at the affection you feel for them.

protective→ Perhaps it is only natural to want to see those you care about out of harm’s way but, with you, it is an all-consuming thing, something that keeps you up with worry and forces your hand when someone you care about has been hurt.

aloof→ There is a distance between you and most people, a need to keep you heart safe from the many ways that people have hurt you before. To you, it is basic cost-benefit analysis that led to your decision to keep people at arm’s length rather than something more akin to fear.

argumentative→ Biting your tongue has not been your strong suit since you left the halls of your second-level school. University has thought the value of your words, even as you voice raises and blood pressure spikes, especially when your voice raises and blood pressure spikes.

irascible→ Burning alongside your passion is anger that you cannot ever seem to tame. Perhaps it is you anger, the way an injustice causes you blood to boil, the ache in your fists when men get a bit too creepy with a woman, the metallic taste as you bit you tongue in your youth, that fuels your passion.

resentful→ A bitterness runs through your veins, coloring the world a grey-tinted red, only made worse by the ways the world and basic human decency seems to crumble all around you.

TLDR  (TRANSPHOBIA TW, VIOLENCE TW, DYSPHORIA TW)

Morrigan Driscoll was born in Galway, Ireland on July 1st, 1999. She spent most of her life in Galway, growing up there and going to school there until she was sixteen.

Her deadname is not important, so unimportant that I didn’t bother to think one up so please don’t ask about it. 

Mora was always an angry child, prone to fighting and arguing with just about anyone she ran into. While her early fights were centered a lot about how she fight a disconnect between how she felt and her assigned gender, later it was also about how people were treated in society. 

When she was fourteen, she came out to her mother as trans and began to transition, even if Irish law wouldn’t have let her legally change her gender identity. While her mom was entirely supportive, her dad was less so, not ever really understanding why she needed a big deal out of this gender stuff. 

In 2015, a month after the end of the school year, Mora and her family moved to Dublin to avoid the stigma that she had been facing in Galway at her school since she started to transition. This was something that her dad held over her, acting like it was just more proof that she was being ridiculous about the entire thing. 

This was also the year she legally changed her name and gender since Ireland passed legislation that year. 

As supportive as her mom was, she never really challenged Mora’s father’s ideas and how he talked to Mora, so that led to a pretty strained relationship with both of her parents until she moved out for college. She doesn’t really talk to her dad much anymore but she does talk to her mom from time to time. She’s not really a part of Mora’s life but Mora’s not exactly that torn up about that. 

She goes to Trinity College, getting a degree in biology, and summer research and fall semester hosted by the school brought her to Kaos three weeks ago. 

While she’s on the island, she’s staying with Jonas !

She’s always been the activist type, going to protests and advocating for the causes she took up. Trans issues, women’s issues, and environmental issues are particular important to her but she does what she can for most causes she supports.

And similarly, she has always been a fiercely protective person of people who she think need, and those she is close to. 

Her anger is still very much a thing getting her in trouble. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS