#it makes a bit more sense now that i can see the OBVIOUS name/gender disconnect from years past

[thinkofsomethin]

tempted to change my url to something along the lines of THOUGHT OF SOMETHING ‘cause then i can be like “hehe see, i no longer need to think of somethin(g), i have thought of something!!” ... why am i like this

[shurelyasreverie]

Uh uh! How about a injured/hurt reader x ahri? Like reader is a tanuki and usually shy and has a crush on her and Ahri knows that but she likes to play a bit with readers feelings but one day someone/something's is trying to attack Ahri and reader jumps into action to protect her (nearly death experience) And at that point she realized that she could lost the reader.....God what did I write there 😅. It can be a oneshot or Headcanon....what you think suits better! Reader can be female but it's also ok if it's gender neutral.

I really hope that's not too much.. or too specific!

Thanks for the request, anon! I'll let you decide the race of the reader (I don't exactly get the tanuki concept and I'm not sure how I feel about writing non-humanoid readers) but I hope you enjoy!

Ahri x Injured!Reader: True Feelings

You've always let Ahri string you along with her antics, but is there a chance Ahri loves you as much as you love her?

Word Count: 2166

T/W: Mild violence, death

In the fresh morning, you walked through the forest. Greeting the many animals and spirits that you passed, they would acknowledge you pleasantly in return. Finding a deer, you smiled as you patted their head. Settling in a clearing in the forest, the animals and spirits came to surround you. Such a pleasant start to the day, how could it get any better than this?

“Pet.”

Your hand stopped moving as the animals turned to look behind you, some of them immediately fleeing from the scene. Heart racing, you turned to look behind you. There, standing in all her glory despite being in the shadows.

“Ahri...”

“I need your help again,” Ahri stated and you swallowed.

“Of course,” you nodded. She smirked, already turning her back to you and you followed her. After taking a step, the deer took your sleeve by its teeth, sending you a warning look and a message of caution before you continued your way. As you walked out of the clearing, the animals and spirits cleared as well.

Catching up to Ahri, she pouted.

“What took you so long to come to my side, pet?”

“The entities of the forest are anxious,” you frowned. “You've made quite a name for yourself among the mortals, Ahri, and not a good name, either. Hunters are looking for you.”

“Let them,” she sighed in exasperation.

“Can't you stop what you're doing? Surely there's an alternative.”

Ahri sent you a stern look and you immediately averted your gaze. “You know I simply can't do that. We are similar but you should remember I'm not like you.”

Both of you were connected to the forests but what truly made you two stick together was your common ground in your lack of memories. You have no idea where you're from or where you originated. Any family you had must've abandoned you. However you found understanding in the forest. How the forest spirits danced along with you, at the natural cycle of life as the woodland creatures lovingly fostered their young. You understood your place and made this your home. The many creatures accepted you, you were now one with the forest.

But Ahri didn't. For whatever reason, she didn't see the life and love that surrounded her. Had she not felt any love when the icefoxes took her in? No, all she saw here was power. Magic that she learnt to manipulate to ease her prey into a fake sense of security before devouring their essence. It was only through their essence she could gain the moving emotions that you gained through the forest.

You hid in the shadows, looking away as you overheard Ahri sweet talk an isolated man by the edge of a local village. Complimenting his figure, using a seductive, sickly sweet tone in her voice as she worked her magic, you quelled your feelings of jealousy. Ahri never spoke to you like that, unless she was purely joking, laughing in your face every time you were charmed.

You then heard her attack and you grimaced, closing your eyes. Turning your back to her as she absorbed the man's essence and memories, you kept guard to make sure there were no onlookers. That was your role, you had been doing this arrangement with her for so long. But why? Why would you ever agree to letting her take the lives of so many innocent mortals?

“Pet, it was the most remarkable thing,” Ahri gushed as she appeared by your side. Taking your sleeve in eagerness, her fingers wrapped around yours, leaning into you excitedly. As you walked back into the depths of the forest, Ahri had a hop in her step. “He was so happy despite such a humble life. How I felt his mood elate whenever he saw his wife or kids. As much as I loathe taking such lives... it's so addictive...”

Ah... that was why. As you watched her smile softly, in a daze as she went back to memories that weren't even her own. Seeing such happiness on her face was why you always followed her.

You love her.

It felt special, being the only one that could follow her around. At first, you were almost certain that she was going to strike at you when you turned your back, absorbing your life source and memories but she never did. Instead, she found your use elsewhere, as a bodyguard who she managed to wrap around her little finger. You knew it, but you couldn't help it. Even if you didn't approve of what she did, if it's to see that smile... you'd do it all.

“You're quiet, pet,” Ahri observed with a smirk. “Come, amuse me. What's on your mind?”

“You should embrace the forest, Ahri. Maybe then you wouldn't have to feed on innocent souls.”

“Why must you always bring this up?” Ahri's ears twitched and her smirk immediately disappeared. “You know my answer, I tried and I failed. The spirits don't accept me like they accept you.”

“I just want you to be happy-”

“And? The memories of mortals make me feel the most ecstasy than just living each day here. If it's my happiness you're truly caring for, then you should approve of this.”

“That happiness is temporary. There is a happiness that is more, one that you can make yourself-”

“Know your place, pet,” Ahri seethed, her eyes narrowing. You held your head down in submission, your heart cracking as your face burned. You willed yourself not to cry as Ahri walked on ahead.

You heard Ahri deeply inhale and then exhale, her composure recovering. “Now, pet. Where shall we spend the rest of the day?”

Your mouth instinctively opened but you froze. Looking around, you noticed how desolate the forest had become. Where were the spirits? Where were the animals? Even the little animals that would scurry around the forest floor had disappeared. And then you saw it among the bushes. The malicious glint of metal.

A hunter was here.

An arrow was aimed straight for Ahri's heart. You yelled and she whirled around as the hunter emerged from the foliage, standing at full height as he released the arrow. You lunged, tackling her to the ground as the arrow flew towards her. As you hit the ground, Ahri got back to her feet, releasing her magic on the hunter. He fell to the ground. Ahri heard him choke out his final words. “Cursed fox...”

You let out a breath of relief but immediately grimaced as you felt a sharp pain in your chest. The shock was wearing off as you looked down, an arrow embedded between your ribs. Your torso felt warm as your clothes stained red, before eventually feeling numb.

You blinked to try and maintain focus as Ahri fell to her knees by your side. Your eyebrows furrowed, you had never seen her look so anxious before. Eyes wide, she searched your body, locking on your wound as she started to shake her head furiously.

“No, no, no, no,” she said to herself repeatedly. Too afraid to take the arrow out of you, she changed her position to at least give you comfort. She laid your head on her lap as she caressed your cheek. “Why?”

“Why, what?” you croaked.

“Surely there's a healing mage nearby,” she muttered, already trying to lift up your torso but you stopped her.

“We won't make it in time,” you admitted.

“Doesn't mean we can't try,” Ahri argued, only stopping when you coughed up blood. Her eyes looked like they'll almost pop out of their sockets. Tears welling in her eyes as her face contorted in melancholy. She used her fingers to gently wipe away some blood from your mouth. “Why would you do that?”

“Isn't it obvious?” You mustered a soft smile. “You already know that I love you.”

Your hand slowly reached up to try and touch her face. But you lacked the strength to make it, Ahri caught your hand and pressed her cheek to it. Her tears started to flow, they felt warm on your fingers. “How? I... I treated you so terribly... I've... I've used you...”

“I know a good soul when I see one,” you whispered, your voice was now unreliable as you choked through every word. “I'll be watching you up there.”

“Don't say that,” Ahri snapped, now sobbing into your hand. “Please, stay with me, (Y/N).”

You blinked for a second, almost failing to register what she said before your facial muscles relaxed into an easy smile. “You used my name...”

Ahri nodded hurriedly at your small burst of strength, your smile widening.

“I'm so... happy...”

Your final words were said with a sigh before your eyes closed, face falling. Ahri's tears stopped temporarily as she watched you for a few seconds. Softly calling out your name, you didn't stir. Then her tears came tenfold.

She let her tears fall on your face, pulling the arrow out of you and hurling it to the ground in disgust. The arrow that had taken your life... she'd rather it took her instead. Watching you for a few seconds, she tentatively brought her arms around your torso, pulling you into an embrace. She pulled your head into the crook of her neck as she cried into your hair. She didn't even do this when you were breathing... she had no right to hold you now. But now, she wanted to do all she didn't before. Why was she constantly pushing and pulling, keeping you on edge? Why did she never tell you...?

Looking up, Ahri's bloodshot eyes noticed a deer peeping out from the leaves. Ahri swallowed. She had never gotten along with the many forest spirits, she even felt a disconnect with the icefoxes that raised her. But they loved you... she knew that... would that be enough?

“Help me,” Ahri whispered and the deer tilted it's head. “If not me, then help (Y/N). Please. They're not-”

She couldn't finish her sentence. The deer slowly walked into the clearing, approaching Ahri. Leaning down to you, the deer sniffed and nudged your body with it's head. Ahri's grip on you tightened, refusing to let you go. Behind the deer, the animals and spirits started to emerge out into the clearing. Standing in a small crowd away from her, they were motionless, seemingly paying homage to you as some dipped their heads in respect.

“What are you standing round for?” Ahri screamed as her blood started to boil. Her grip on you only tightening in anguish. “Help (Y/N)! You care for them don't you?! They don't deserve this... you know that...”

The green orb of a forest spirit drifted to Ahri and her face hardened. Trying to swallow her pride and nerves, she gently lay you down in front of the orb. “Please... I'll give anything. Just let them breathe again.”

The emerald orb started to swell in size, glowing brighter and brighter until it was too blinding for Ahri to watch directly. Looking away, a flash of green light made her wince. Opening her eyes again, she immediately looked down to you.

You were breathing.

It was slow but shallow. Ahri lifted your bloodied shirt to see a fresh scar where your wound had been. Ahri regarded the forest spirit, now her tears being of joy.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm sorry for doubting or ever misunderstanding you, I-”

You stirred. Groaning under the light as you tried to open your eyes. Your gaze settled on Ahri who cast a shadow over you, heart immediately hurting as you noticed her dishevelled appearance. Wiping the tears off of her face with your thumb, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“I... what happened? I thought I...” you looked down to see your bloodied clothes, but you felt no wound.

“The spirits of the forest love you,” Ahri whispered. “I daresay, almost as much as I do.”

You almost drew your hand back in shock but Ahri only smiled bitterly. “It's quite surprising, isn't it? Don't worry... I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“The memories of so many mortals... how they feel so much fondness whenever they gaze at their partners. I understand it now.”

Careful with your torso, she slowly helped you up to your feet. She giggled at your furrowed eyebrows, jokingly pushing them up with her fingers. You shook your head. Did your temporary death really mean that much to her? Your heart soared.

“I can see you still doubt me,” Ahri held that teasing lilt in her voice again. Turning her back to you, she looked at you over her shoulder, offering you a hand. “How about I show you my true feeling instead?”

Taking her hand, you let her lead you deeper into the forest.

[mcfudgie]

just recording some thoughts bc i’m....

so lately i’ve been pushing more into the realm of masculinity and what that means for me because i felt that maybe my desire to be perceived as more male was an indicator that maybe i might be moving towards transitioning. but in the end i discovered after reading a really good memoir (and packing, changing pronouns) that it was less about becoming male and more about trying to hide or lose my more feminine traits bc they were causing me discomfort.

despite my usage of she/her pronouns in professional and medical settings, i actually really hate being called by she/her or even having my given name used for me. it doesn’t feel like me. it’s like someone is referring to an entirely different person. i’m not a She. i’m not Her. but i feel rude for even trying to push the idea that i don’t want to be called female because it feels like i’m blaming others for not seeing past my very obvious feminine features to see Me. i got tits poking through my shirt. my voice is high-pitched. sometimes i do dress up in feminine clothes. it’s pretty hard to argue and i’d rather avoid having That Conversation over and over again with strangers/friends and how they perceive me. 

so i let the waves of discomfort roll over me while a tiny voice in my brain keeps asking “what if we were born a boy instead?”. i wanted to see how far this desire extended. i couldn’t identify if it was a desire to transition or something else. 

it’s always a worry that my desire to be a boy was sourced from a desire to separate myself from female gender roles because the exceptions of society for women were too much to bear. i didn’t follow it in a traditional sense anyways. much of my childhood was dedicated to avoiding shaving my legs and wearing skirts purely bc those things were uncomfortable. i saw through the whole princess/homemaker/child-bearer shtick and i was not fuckin interested in following a path like that. but society is dumb and it’s honestly what you make of it anyways. sure i like crochet and gardening but not bc i have a vagina. those are my hobbies dammit and it says nothing about what kind of role i play in a gendered sense. there are no boy and girl things, there’s just things and everyone can do whatever the fuck they want. so dumb.

anyways in terms of figuring out if the desire to be male was an aesthetic desire or an identity crisis; turns out it was a bit of both. 

like okay for ages i use they/them pronouns online bc it provides some relief being perceived as an entity rather than a person. i wish it would extend more into life outside of the internet but thems the breaks (see above.) but i think that yeah.... i do want to extend it more into my life. using male pronouns and being called a boy felt like i was overstepping a line into territory i felt i didn’t belong. so at least i discovered that much. yeah...  aesthetically i do want to appear more androgynous tho. and exploring more masculine aspects has given me an opportunity to be more playful with my appearance.

identity-wise, i don’t think the prompts for wondering about living as a man were necessarily trying to point towards transitioning. but it was trying to draw attention to the disconnect i feel when viewing myself as female. in which i don’t see myself as female at all. i can feel Pretty, but not a girl. sometimes i feel less Pretty and more like i want to hide in the folds of a baggy shirt and appear as featureless as a mannequin. i tried to view myself as boy by wearing trunks but alas it was more about the comfort and silhouette rather than the actual thought of being a boy. 

but yeah......honestly being called a girl is enough to make my skin crawl. that’s not me. i can feel Handsome, but not a boy. so i guess i land in the non-binary camp. some might even say genderqueer. i think sliding along a two-sprong spectrum is kind of redundant in my case. from now on i’m gonna do what i always did. exist and try to be happy.

altho i think i’ll try to express myself in more ways outside of just the online spaces. they/them has always been my go-to so i think i’ll push for it more now. i still feel nervous about introducing it into professional settings but i’d rather be happy than constantly being uncomfortable for other people’s peace of mind. i think i’m going to let go of my name. forge a new one that suits me more. 

so in the end...... i figured some stuff out at least. thank you to the people who were patient with me and indulged me by calling me by male pronouns when i asked. it made me really happy to be accepted more than anything else. thank you for showing me kindness.

I think i’m okay calling myself non-binary now instead of hiding behind a female guise for other’s sake. Gonna pick a new name to replace my previous one. And use they/them in public (might even find a nice pin to put on my lapel so it can be recognised). It makes me happy and comfortable. So that’s what I’m doing.

sorry for rambling for so long ^^; i just really needed to get this down to confirm it.... um thank you for reading

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Christie!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character DEDALUS DIGGLE with the faceclaim of Amadeus Serafini! We love reading about your Diggle! He was such a delight. We especially enjoyed the family section, which has been less-than-thrilled with his activism, along with the prejudice section that showed Dedalus not always taking the time to listen to those with less privilege. It shines a particularly real light, right now especially. So happy to have you apart of this roleplay!  

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Christie

AGE: 20

TIMEZONE: GMT+3

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m a uni student who’s almost done with her deadlines so very soon I’ll have a lot of free time and I’d love to dedicate it to further developing Dedalus in this group. This might be subject to change if I actually manage to get a job (fingers crossed) but I’m sure I’ll still have time to do replies and just interact with people in general at least a few times a week. Plus my weekends are free for the foreseeable future so there’s always that!

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Dedalus Diggle

AGE: 26

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis male, he/him. He uses no labels for his sexuality – purely because he’s not currently aware of one that accurately describes him – but is very openly interested in people of all genders. Bisexuality is the term he’d consider closest to accurately describing his orientation, though it’s not quite right either. In modern terms, I’d say he’s pansexual.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: –

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Less is more has never been a philosophy that applies to Dedalus, not in any way, shape or form. He talks big, dreams even bigger, and the catch of it all is that nobody believes in what he says more than he himself does. Optimism or naivete, it’s hard to tell, but he has a great deal of both and somehow, for better or worse, the world hasn’t managed to run him down just yet. He’s open, and friendly, and so very excitable, and as much as that can be a strength, he’s also no stranger to taking things too far. He’s very familiar with social faux pas, whether as a result of not reading the room or simply of a miscalculated attempt to raise people’s spirits gone wrong.

It comes as no surprise that as a former Ravenclaw, his mind is his greatest weapon. Dedalus is very intelligent, though that might not be too obvious just from the way he behaves. Most people would probably perceive him as rather silly, really, if not downright bonkers since most of his ideas are very much outlandish. To say he struggles with expressing his ideas in a way they would make more sense would imply he actively tries to, which simply isn’t the case. He’s perfectly content in saying his piece and letting people dismiss him as somewhat of an oddball if they so wish.

Since his head is so often up in the clouds, however, it’s hard to keep track of what goes on on the ground. Dedalus is very much off in his own Dedalus-land most of the time, seeing and perceiving things purely the way he wants to, and in a sense, there’s definitely a disconnection between him and the rest of the world. He’s not necessarily aware of it either, but that doesn’t make it any less present.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

The Diggle family currently consists of Delia, Samuel and Dedalus, not accounting for a variety of cousins whose names, quite frankly, Dedalus cannot remember for the life of him. Lots of D-names, he’d say at a guess; those always seem to be a hit within his family. And as far as his relationship with his parents goes, he tries not to think about it too much. It’s strained, without a doubt, though Dedalus doesn’t want to consider exactly how strained. They’ve always had their differences, ever since he’d been old enough to express an opinion, but for the past few years, he’s been slowly but surely distancing himself from them and they don’t seem to mind terribly much. They’re letting him live out his ‘rebellious phase’, they say and for Dedalus, that further solidifies the fact they don’t really know him at all. He’s always been somewhat of a disappointment, anyway; it’s no surprise they wouldn’t mind if people stopped associating him too much with the Diggle family.

Thinking back, they’d liked him much better before he’d started thinking for himself – back when he followed etiquette, when he spent time only with people who meant something in the Wizarding World, when he didn’t think too much about muggle-borns, and half-bloods, and all those little things he so likes to talk about these days. Delia and Samuel are much too dignified to publicly admit something as crude as the belief muggle-borns are less capable, less worthy, less, but, well, it’s true, isn’t it? They certainly wouldn’t bring up the topic in polite company, but facts are facts.

OCCUPATION: 

Owner of Dedalus Diggle’s Delights, a candy shop in Diagon Alley that he founded with his parents’ money back when he was twenty-one and they were becoming particularly unbearable with their admonishments and lectures on responsibility. It was simply a clever way to say ‘screw you’ at first – starting and running a proper business is hard work but Dedalus also takes immense pride in the fact that his parents could hardly say they’d expected this; after all, what said childish and irresponsible better than candy? In the past few years, however, Dedalus Diggle’s Delights has developed a bitter rivalry with Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop, though it is unclear whether Dedalus is the only one who really perceives it that way. Grudgingly, he will admit Sugarplum’s seems to be doing better at the moment but, he will also be quick to add, that is, of course, only because he hardly has the time to invest into his shop as he is just so very busy with his other job.

For the unenlightened, ‘other job’ refers to his little experiments, which isn’t really a proper job. Dedalus fancies himself a bit of a tinkerer, an innovator, and he spends most of his days crafting magical items with varying degrees of success. One you might be familiar with if you’ve spoken to him for longer than thirty seconds is his pocket watch. Quite the handy little thing, he won’t hesitate to let you know. Always knows your schedule and reminds you if you’re late for an appointment!

For the enlightened, however, ‘other job’ refers to his work for the Order – also not exactly a proper job, come to think of it. Dedalus is very dedicated to the cause and always eager to help even with the smallest of jobs. Newer members might appreciate the help at first, though conversations with Dedalus rarely end once the job is done so perhaps they’ve ought to know better by now than to accept his help unless they’ve got time to spare. His main job, the way he sees it, is to provide a different point of view, the more outlandish the better. No one can spark a conversation quite like Dedalus Diggle and he takes great pride in that.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER: 

Stepping out of character for this one – because while Dedalus has a lot of thoughts on his role within the Order, he does tend to see things in his own Dedalus way – I’d say that outside of helping wherever he’s needed and filling out empty roles on missions, the biggest asset he brings to the Order is his mind. He’s very good at taking a step back and providing a different perspective – granted, it’s usually a fairly outlandish perspective, but once stripped of its more fantastical elements, other members will often find there’s a lot of value in his input. He’d be perfect for an advisor if he only he was less… extraordinary in his ideas which often err on the side of impractical if not impossible. He personally calls it ‘dreaming big’ but you can see how that line is so easily crossed.

And speaking of big dreams and idealism, Dedalus very much believes the Order will prevail. He finds it easier than most might to shake off the small losses and disadvantages because in his head it’s simply impossible that the Order would lose. He’s very much a good versus evil kind of guy and in his head, the Order represents good and thus will always prevail. It would be absolutely fascinating to explore how bigger losses (ex: the death of James) might change things as far as Dedalus’ belief, certainty and, to a degree, naivete go, and how those potential change might manifest.

While I imagine his dedication and input are enough to qualify him for the Inner circle, Dedalus, unfortunately, is also much too absentminded to be trusted with the most important of the Order’s secrets and decisions. He’s no stranger to slipping up and admitting things he’s not supposed to be sharing, and while it’s usually small things and he’s pretty good at playing up the ’I’m just a random weirdo, don’t mind what I’m saying’ card, I can’t imagine the Order would be willing to risk it. And so he is a mid-level member, but the higher-ups are probably still careful and quite possibly only ever tell him the bare minimum he needs to know.

SURVIVAL: 

As mentioned, Dedalus very much lives in his own world to a certain extent. He sees things the same everybody else does, but his interpretations are almost always positive and optimistic in favour of himself and the Order. This is more in terms of mentality, as far as survival goes, but I do feel that’s also something very important to consider. At the moment, I’d say he’s in a pretty good mental state in the sense that he’s mostly content and the horrors of war haven’t managed to quite make an impact. If he were to become disillusioned – which I personally think is really only a matter of time – that would certainly change things and survival might just become a whole lot harder.

Outside of his own head, he’s got it pretty easy when compared to most. His parents are wealthy and mostly happy to let him have his ‘rebellious phase’ for a while longer which as far as they’re aware consists purely of Dedalus foregoing all pureblood etiquette and expectations. Hardly anyone suspects his affiliation with the Order due to how absent-minded and irresponsible he comes across as, though he himself has had a few close calls with accidentally exposing himself; luckily, people are used to him talking nonsense and it’s not hard for him to cover up his near slip-ups as more mindless prattle.

RELATIONSHIPS: 

If Dedalus had his way, he’d spend days and days just chatting with people. They wouldn’t even need to say anything back – he has more than enough to say on a multitude of topics and he can absolutely hold an entire conversation, an argument even, all by himself. All the better if there’s someone to nod along.

That said, here are some ideas I had after browsing some bios/apps (that are of course just my interpretation and completely a subject to change after chatting with the other writers!):

Gideon Prewett: With how people seem to go to him for advice and how he brings stability to the Order, I think he could be someone to balance Dedalus out. Dedalus has good ideas and even better intentions, but in reality, his ideas are only worth executing after they’ve been sufficiently dialled down and their more outlandish elements have been worked out.

Amos Diggory: Just based off of their jovial, friendly personalities, I think Dedalus and Amos would get on like a house on fire. Dedalus would certainly enjoy his presence, be it for a quick chat or a smoke, and I think they have the potential to be great friends.

Emmeline Vance: Emmeline and Dedalus seem to share an interest in figuring out how things work and it would be so cool to explore their dynamic especially since I also love the contrast between her, who is so easy to overlook, and Dedalus, who doesn’t let people look anywhere but at him.

Hestia Jones: With how good Hestia is at thinking outside the box, I feel she and Dedalus are definitely kindred spirits in that sense. But while her ideas might get shot down, people listen to Dedalus and maybe that can cause some friction between them.

Ndulue Travers: I came across the “Do they have money? Flair? A sense of humour and an ability to hold their liquor? Let’s be friends!” part of their app and Dedalus definitely has all of the above, even if his ability to hold his liquor is a bit questionable. Oh, well. He’d argue it makes things more fun anyway.

Edgar Bones: Similar to Gideon, I feel like he’d be a good foil for Dedalus. Dedalus spends more time with his head in the clouds rather than his feet on the ground so he definitely needs someone who leans more towards the opposite to keep him grounded – or to clash with, though Dedalus rarely if ever looks for confrontation.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: Oh, man, I’d be open to exploring just about any ship with Dedalus. He’s very much a ‘try everything at least once’ type of guy so honestly, he himself is very open to all kinds of romantic and sexual relationships too.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE? 

Dedalus likes to think of himself as a very progressive wizard indeed; he almost makes it a point to always be the most open and accepting he can be. His intentions are good and his actions are genuine though I do imagine it might not come across this way to some – after all, if he’s trying that hard to show everybody how open-minded he is, surely he’s got something to hide or make up for, no? Then there’s also the other side of this double-edged knife – at what point does he become too progressive? For example, he might be pretty quick to forgive a person for calling a muggle-born a ‘mudblood’ if they show some remorse – even if it’s not his place, as a pureblood, to forgive such a thing. Dedalus would be the first to shake hands with a werewolf, the first to loudly point out and draw attention to the accomplishments of muggle-borns – but in a weird way, the last one to think to double-check with them if his ‘activism’ is even wanted.

But come on, does he really mean all that? At his core, Dedalus has very much grown up in a pureblood society, as much as he might’ve been a black sheep in a lot of ways. He’s trying very hard to unlearn those prejudiced ideas, but often they would still be very present in his initial reactions. In a way, his avid desire to always be almost excessively open-minded is indeed trying to make up for something i.e. his previous pureblood habits and values.

This is, naturally, also very connected to the privileges he already has. He is a white man from a pureblood family. Although his behaviour is a far cry from what would be expected of him, he, without a doubt, still retains a big part of those privileges, with his parents and I imagine fellow purebloods assuming the mentality that this is his ‘rebellious phase’ that he will soon grow out of. That said, I do think quite a few people might find his promiscuity quite distasteful – not only does he not hide his dalliances with wix and muggles alike but he almost seems to flaunt them.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I’ve had so many ideas about Dedalus Diggle for such a long time, but unfortunately, I’ve never really had the chance to properly explore and develop him as a character. I think this rp will be a great fit both for the sort of dynamics I would like to explore with Dedalus and for what he has to bring to the table too. I think he’s got very particular energy about him and I also think it would mesh well with the general vibe of this rp.

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL): Generally speaking, Dedalus is always down for a good party and it would be very much in-character for him to host one at some point.

ANYTHING ELSE? –

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST: 

Born as the sole heir to Delia and Samuel Diggle, Dedalus was no stranger to getting pampered while growing up. The newest, shiniest toys, the most expensive, highest quality clothes, pretty much everything he owned had some sort of a superlative attached to it. He revelled in it all, took to luxury like a fish to water, and was perfectly happy to play the role of the polite little heir as long as it got him what he wanted. “What a charming boy,” distant and not-so-distant cousins would exclaim and pinch his cheeks. “How well-behaved, how polite!”

Unfortunately, good manners lost all appeal by the time left for Hogwarts. It was just so boring, being nice and perfect all the time, and Dedalus began to push, trying to see how far he could go before his parents had enough. Apparently, quite far. It was incredible what Delia and Samuel – and, to an extent, their entire society – would excuse as ‘normal teenage boy affairs’.

With time, his clothes turned more extravagant though no less expensive. His circle of friends widened much beyond fellow purebloods and even included a muggle or two. His sexual and romantic experiments were practically public knowledge – his mother had nearly had a heart attack when one of her closest friends had once brought up his muggle-born boyfriend during brunch.

By the time he graduated, Dedalus had more or less solidified his status as the rebellious son of the Diggle family. So, he figured, might as well take it a step further. His beliefs had changed over the course of the past few years and Dedalus had no intention of hiding that. In fact, it was quite the opposite – he spoke up, often and loudly, about how muggle-borns weren’t treated fairly, about how werewolves were misunderstood, about how pureblood ideals were outdated and unfounded. It was easy to dismiss him, with his purple top hat and his fancy waistcoat, and his natural joie de vivre didn’t help his quest of being taken seriously either. But eventually, the right people took notice of him and the Order welcomed him.

PRESENT: 

Currently, Dedalus spends his days one of three ways. If he is needed at the Order or something of particular importance is happening, he dedicates all his time helping. He’s still very eager and enthusiastic about the cause and while some might believe every day brings them closer to victory, Dedalus thinks it’s quite the opposite. But of course, he’d reassure people, every revolution has its troubles and complications. You lose some and then you win some, that’s just how life goes.

And if his services aren’t needed with the Order, he tinkers. He’s always had a quiet passion for tinkering – just about the only thing quiet about him, really – and he’s been slowly but surely perfecting his craft through trial and error. He has grand plans for his creations, from helping the Order to mass-producing some of them one day, and he’s perfectly happy to let his hobby consume all his free time.

Lastly, he doesn’t do this often although he probably should, but Dedalus is known to pay some attention to Dedalus Diggle’s Delights every now and then. Mostly, he just lets other people handle the different parts of the business, but occasionally, he takes some interest in it himself. On these days, he’d be manning the counter and taking every chance to chat more to his customers and get some valuable feedback.

FC CHOICES: Amadeus Serafini, Jack Falahee, James Bay

[enccrypted]

romance headcanons

name:          park tae-joon (alias: kim hyeon)

nickname:          “Joon” !! Though generally the only people to ever call him that were Mila and Mystik.  And “TJ,” maybe, I can see that one being thrown around a bit.

gender:           male.

romantic orientation:          he generally avoids relationships and is not extremely interested in others sexually or romantically, but it all comes down to the circumstances and particularly to how he connects with someone. He doesn’t care about the specifics of sex or gender — I do personally tend to lean towards writing gay relationships, but that’s a me thing, and I want to emphasise that it doesn’t really matter to Crypto. I’m generally willing to try what he is willing to!

preferred pet names:           hasn’t had any to speak of.

relationship status:           single, but might fuck around, might settle down and find happiness in a committed relationship with mirage apex legends, haha just kidding....... unless????

favorite canon/fandom ship:         God I have a few... I know that Cryptage (Crypto and Mirage) is a really big thing for the fandom (fic author once called it a “rarepair” and i was like huh??? are you kidding fam), and I personally love exploring their dynamic with vanishout. They have a rough start, but there’s no other person Crypto loves more... im emotional over Them, and Crypto is honestly so smitten. Their ship make me happy

I am also a big fan of Crypto and Octane! Something I’m messing around with whilst writing with deathchasing. They’ve got a lot of potential to go places, where exactly I’m still unsure, but guess we’ll sort that out later. :)

I am generally interested in shipping anyone with Crypto if there’s enough chemistry or an interesting enough dynamic. The only other characters I have on the brain though that I want to ship Crypto with are Bloodhound, Caustic, and Gibraltar. As of now though, I haven’t really properly discussed a ship with anyone else but Julie and Kabu. 

favorite crossover ship:           I don’t really have any! I can’t really think on the spot of one, either. I haven’t really taken Crypto out of his default Apex verse yet, but I’m willing to try.

opinion on true love:         It exists, that much he knows. Love is what carried Tae-joon through life even as an orphan on the streets with nothing to his name. It’s what helped him survive, because he worked and fought tooth and nail every single day for the people he loved. Mila, and later on Mystik, proved without a doubt to him that platonic love exists and is one of the most powerful forces he could know. Without them, I’m not sure where he’d have ended up. He believes in love, perhaps with more conviction than most things.

BUT as for romantic love... sure, he’s absolutely sure it exists. But he’s convinced it’s just not something he can have. Like... Tae-joon’s been through shit, earnt the life he had before the Games with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He knows full well that he has worth, that he is deserving — but the way the Syndicate directly and indirectly stripped him of everything that he loves and cares about really hit him hard. It’s tough for him to reach out and connect with people, and even tougher to allow himself to love again after he’s been taught time and time again that he will lose everything he has valued so dearly, worked so hard for.

And he’s afraid for the people that might be in a relationship with him; loving Crypto doesn’t just make him vulnerable, he puts anyone who cares about him in direct danger as well. In that sense, he doesn’t think he deserves love. Even if he found it with someone who’s willing to care about him, the guilt of making them a target for the Syndicate... bad. It’ll take a hell of an exceptional partner (willing to put themselves in danger and to convince him that they’re okay with this) for Tae-joon to reach a point where he believes he is allowed to have love, and that he deserves it.

opinion on love at first sight:         "amused at first sight” more like when it came to Mirage. I don’t think he’s really met anyone he instantly feel in love with on sight though, not as Park Tae-joon and certainly not as Crypto... it’s not hard to feed into the craving for human affection and for someone who really cares when he does slowly edge closer to someone. Like, when he actually allows them to be near him and lets them start forging some bond of trust. Honestly, love is never the first thing on his mind when he meets people, not even when he was living a civilian life as Tae-joon; there were always more important things to focus on.

how ‘romantic’ are they?:           Even before the Games, he didn’t really have a great way of going about expressing emotions and communicating how he feels, let alone when it comes to unfamiliar notions of romance. He’s not entirely emotionally stunted, but he has a way of hyperfocusing on work, on taking comfort in things mechanical more than human, and rarely lets people interrupt him when he’s on a roll. He’s fairly aloof, but once he loses his previous life and identity, he comes to a realisation that he took human affection and contact for granted. Unfortunately he has no choice but to live without it after that; I think getting into a relationship, he’d be massively awkward about it to start with, but would quickly warm up and learn to be affectionate. He wouldn’t go out of his way to be, but he definitely would know the importance of even the simplest of gestures. He’d make it a point to show he cares, because he knows it’s not always obvious to someone that they’re loved — even fi it may seem obvious to others. At heart, Tae-joon’s a very soft and very caring person and does try to show it where he can.

ideal physical traits:           Doesn’t matter to him. If he starts to love someone, he WILL find attraction in someone inevitably whether they are conventionally attractive or not.  

ideal personality traits:         he is... weak for soft and kind people. also loves someone who can match him in terms of intelligence and ability, someone who is good with banter. a good sense of competition. people with drive and ambition. there’s probably a tonne more, but it’s just not coming to mind right now.

unattractive physical traits:           Tae-joon grew up on the streets as a child, parentless and homeless. He saw it all. It wasn’t hard for him to learn that there’s far more admiration and beauty to found in other things than in the physical appearance. 

One point I do want to cover though: He thinks the physical result of his own augmentations and implants are unattractive. They’re a huge part of his survival and certainly technological marvels (designed all by himself, though he found outside help to have them implanted). But having to virtually gut and replace so much of himself really dealt a blow to his whole concept of his humanity and physicality. He has trouble seeing himself as a person sometimes, much less an attractive one with the enhancements he’s gone through.

unattractive personality traits:         stupidity. ignorance. unwillingness to learn. taking things for granted, wasting life away. selfishness and lack of empathy / sympathy for others. betraying the loyalty and the trust of the people who love you. complete lack of morals or ethics. acting like you’re something you’re not. people who view themselves above others (even though.. he often does... hahaha)

ideal date:           He doesn’t really have any standard of one, not really having been on one before (though can bet that Mila has tried to hook him up multiple times with a blind date or something, they always fell through or Tae-joon just didn’t want to). 

do they have a type?:        not entirely, I do like to joke around that he’s into himbos though. One himbo specifically, but overall there’s not any real pattern... I guess he would like soft people capable of showing kindness, who are the exact opposite of him in the sense that they still see beauty and value in the world for all the cruel wreck that it is. People who are willing to be kind without expecting kindness back, who is... willing to show crypto that sort of kindness and teach it to him again 😳😳 people who allow him to be vulnerable and understand the place he’s coming from... 

average relationship length:         So we’re making up pure lies and saying that he’s had actual past relationships? Fuckin wig... but I think he would enjoy moderate to long-term relationships when he does actually get into them. Obviously, he’s not going to start something with ease (commitment is a bitch when you’re in his situation), but he’s not going to start a relationship with the intention of dumping the other person early on.

preferred non-sexual intimacy:      i’m thinking he probably values non-sexual intimacy a lot more than sexual actually, especially since i’m exploring current ships where sexual intimacy is involved but human affection and connection isn’t... which, in turn, just makes tae-joon feel a hell of a lot more emotionally disconnected and lonely. He really values the comfort of just being close to someone, around them in close proximity without worry. Being there with them, listening to them speak and paying them attention even if he’s not the most vocal or performative person... there’s a very real comfort in that. Just leaning against someone, I think, sharing contact that isn’t even necessarily romantic. He just wants to feel, and be felt — that simple human connection is Wildly important for him.

commitment level:           Really fucking incredible. Like really fucking incredible if you get him to care enough, help him to open up and allow himself to care.

opinion of public affection:        It flusters him (though I think he could learn to like at least a little bit of it. Having someone he loves and can show off in a subtle sort of way), and he probably doesn’t ever allow it anyway on account of not wanting anyone with their eye on him to pick out vulnerabilities. He’s very careful about keeping any relationships during the Games highly secret — no point in putting someone he cares about in harm’s way, and honestly I don’t think he could stand losing another person after he puts in all the effort to learn to trust and to love again. Affectionate gestures in private though, as said, is all good with him.

past relationships?:           once he talked to a girl on an online mmorpg and they traded items and he thinks he got the better end of the trade so that was pretty epic. But no, he hasn’t had any.

tagged by: @incnspcuous and @deathchasing!!! thanks lads tagging:  @aeiiope / @thunderolled pls bless me with yr girls.... @vanishout, @slature​

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, KENDRA! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Arabella Figg. Throughout your application you got Arabella’s characterization down, but it was your one-shot that really convinced me you were right for the role. Perhaps the most crucial part about writing Arabella, aside from having a good grasp on her personality, is understanding how she fits in between Alastor and Kingsley. Your one-shot really painted the picture I was hoping to see in an app for her, and I’m so glad. 

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

name: Kendra

age: 23

preferred pronouns: she/her

timezone: MTN Standard

activity: Fairly active on the weekdays, I work as a receptionist and we often have long stretches of silence and I do my other work from my personal laptop, so no one minds that I’m on it during the day. Weekdays I’m a little busier just catching up on things but tend to be very free in the afternoons.

are you applying for more than one character?: No

how do you feel about your character dying?: I think this is the kind of role-play where if that did happen, it would play out well, so as long as there’s plenty of communication and it makes sense in the game(and honestly even if it doesn’t because that’s just how things go, sometimes) I’d be fine with it.

anything else?: Nothing! This looks really beautiful and I can tell a lot of love went into it, so I’m excited to be applying!

ic details.

full name: Arabella Fiona Figg

date of birth: 12/27/1952

former hogwarts house: N/A (but serious Hufflepuff potential - Arabella strikes me as a very loyal, forthright person who would have fit in well with other Hufflepuffs and had she had the chance to be in such a welcoming, diverse house, she might have found herself opening up more instead of closing in on herself the way she has.)

sexuality: demisexual

gender/pronouns: cisgender female | she/her pronouns

face claim change: N/A

more.

how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths. +Determined - it took more than a little pushing for Arabella to get into the world that so forcefully shut her out years before and she has done more pushing since. She is not one to take no for an answer, and while she might have to wait for the outcome she wants she gets it in the end. There is something steadfast in Arabella, solidified with each passing day a letter never came. She doesn’t want pity, doesn’t need it, she has what she needs, magic or no, to see things through to the end. +Reliable - If something needs getting done, count on Arabella to see it through. Whether it be finding some obscure ingredient or that stranger’s third cousin, there is a tenacity and specific drive to please that Arabella will run into the ground until she has the end result she wants. She has made a reputation for herself as someone to count on, and she doesn’t intend to let that go any time soon. -Awkward- Even as a child, Arabella was quiet, an observer, a wallflower. Her opinion was seldom asked for nor wanted, and the ensuing disconnect from her peers in school left her with little skill for socialization. Put a goal in front of Arabella and she can talk her way through just about anything, but put small talk in its place and she might be better off mumbling that excuse and ducking out of the room -Eccentric - Growing up between two worlds and the constant reminder you don’t quite fit into either can take its toll on a person. Things that might have been seen as a quirk to a witch are seen as an oddity in Arabella. Her attempts to learn in a community so determined to shut her out directed her to languages and reading ancient runes, memorizing spells she couldn’t use but one day might prove useful to the right person. Any piece of the wizarding community she is able to grasp onto is a gift, one she is excited to share with anyone willing to listen.

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise? In short, Arabella is exhausted. She has put her blood, sweat, and tears into the Order and while sitting still hasn’t always been her strong suit, she is willing to wait, to outlast the remaining shreds of terror, to keep the people around her safe. She sees a numbness forming in the people around her and hangs onto the shreds of light around them. They’ve worked too hard, lost too much, for this to not have been worth it. It has to be worth it, they have to pull through or else what did the people she coerced into this die for? She busies herself with keeping hopes up, keeping spirits light, keeping Kingsley on his feet so he can go just one more day, just one more, in order to make this worth the fight, so it all isn’t for nothing.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why? Arabella is in favor of keeping a low profile in Godric’s Hollow, unable to ignore the pull to protect those she talked into this war. Its hard to look into the same exhausted expressions and want to go in for a final push, let alone try and gather more support for more bloodshed. There is a side to her that wants to fight, wants to push on and finish this before the enemy can regroup, but the harsh reality is there’s a limit to how Arabella can help, and if her help needs to come in the form of supporting Kingsley and her other friends, she’ll do it and keep pressing on until things have at last settled.

When looking for new recruits for the Order, what does Arabella look for exactly? When is she sure someone would make a good fit? There is a certain spark to a protector, a fighter, and while it may not always be obvious at first, Arabella has a reliable gut, and she knowspeople. She can hear it in the way they treat a waitress, when they pause to coo at a cat across the alley, even in that awkward pause between holding a door open for someone just a bit too far away. When Arabella finds that bit of decency, her attention is snatched up and she follows that little bit of intuition until she’s proven right, and once she has a solid grasp, she prods and presses until she has a recruit, someone who stands up for the downtrodden, who sees this war and thinks ‘enough’ instead of putting their head down and hoping the war will pass them by.

extra.

mock blog - https://figgxarabella.tumblr.com/

pinterest - https://www.pinterest.com/teenycactus/hollowed-souls-arabella-figg/

spotify - https://open.spotify.com/user/kglass8/playlist/61gL3WyAiSquFwct118cYm?si=Z7krGnUxSy-i92vMS8YJKA

 I wrote a bit of a one-shot thing to get a feel for it and got a bit carried away -

There was a comfort in the late nights of the Ministry that Arabella found didn’t exist in the little tent community she’d now found herself calling home. Her office was clean and quiet, save the occasional raised voice from Kingsley’s office a few feet away. Alastor was in there as well, and while they often included her in their discussions, tonight the door was firmly shut, leaving her to sort through her own files and photographs she’d been collecting over the past week. Recruitment had slowed significantly as the war grew more perilous and finding willing and able bodies had become a challenge even for her. A slam against the wall closest to her made her jump, another increase in volume from the office nearby, and she settled again, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to focus on what was in front of her, not eavesdropping on whatever confrontation was happening.

It didn’t seem so long ago Alastor had first barged into this office, leaving little room for her protests, getting past her before she could even rise halfway from her chair and closing the door to Kingsley’s office the way it was now. She had been less considerate then, inching and then leaning in her chair to try and make out the muffled words beyond the wall all the while trying to occupy herself with the task of redirecting the Goblin Liaison Office  from their insistence on a meeting. It hadn’t been an extraordinarily long time to wait before Alastor Moody came crashing back out of the office and then out of sight but to this day she couldn’t tell you what meager excuse she had offered Dirk Cresswell that had ended his attempts to gain access to Kingsley. It wasn’t long until she was seeing more and more of Alastor and even less time until she was finding whatever odds and end he needed as well.

There wasn’t a point in trying to eavesdrop now, even if she’d wanted to. This argument was no doubt the same one they’d been having for weeks now. Hide or fight, stay or flee, it was the same every time. They would talk themselves in circles until they tired of it, and the door would open and the tension of indecision would spread to her sprawled out mess of a desk. Looking at it now, she gathered a few of the spread papers and stacked them neatly, shoving records and transcripts into a labeled folder and tucking the folder in a drawer just as the door swung open. She tried and failed not to jump again at the sudden noise, busying herself with making the folders in the cabinet sit against one another perfectly. She felt rather than saw the presence of Kingsley pausing beside her desk, looking down at the remaining selection of paperwork waiting to be sectioned away, hands idly brushing a yellowed photograph, the flickering image of a woman mid laugh, hugging a bundle to her chest.

She straightened up as he found the name on this folder, resting her chin in her hand as the door swung shut behind Alastor, who had gone without a goodbye.

“He wants to fight.” It wasn’t a question, but Kingsley nodded anyway, continuing to thumb through the folder before picking it up entirely, she leaned back in her chair to get a better look at his expression as he did it, but he hid well from her, as he always had. There was a crease between his brow but nowadays there usually was, anyone who knew him knew he was stressed, but that was as far as he let show. For a moment, there was only the slight creak in her chair as she rocked a bit uneasily in it, watching his face, waiting for more of an explanation and receiving none. “He won’t give up easily,” She said finally, the way her voice caught in her throat had him looking at her at last, and Arabella accepted the folder back, flicking through the papers as if to ensure they were all there.

“He won’t,” Kingsley conceded, watching her as she replaced the folder with the others and shut the cabinet door, locking it with a small key, “He just needs to be patient a little while longer.”

“They’re all being patient,” She told him, rising from her chair and dusting herself off; ignoring him when he flicked his wand at his office door, closing and locking it with a simple gesture. It was quick work to finish tidying up, pulling her coat on and preparing to go when she found him watching her. She merely raised an eyebrow, though the quizzical look disappeared when he reached a hand towards her face, eyes closing away from the gesture. Not quite a flinch but noticeable enough to not be anything less, the after effects of a war so steadily going wrong. She heard him sigh, hesitating, and opening her eyes to meet his she didn’t move as he removed the quill she had tucked behind her ear and promptly forgot about, accepting it when he passed it to her.

He opened the door and she ducked out, trying not to feel too embarrassed over her reaction. Arabella hugged her arms to herself as she waited for him to lock up. She wasn’t sure what she had expected when he’d reached for her, it was an innocent enough touch, though for Arabella even those came rarely. When the office was secure for the night, she followed Kingsley through the quiet hall of the Ministry, into an elevator and up to the top floor.

“You’re right,” Kingsley said, interrupting her own desperate thoughts as they raced for a way to break the suffocating silence, “Everyone is being as patient as they can. But this isn’t an answer we can come to with arguing. There needs to be compromise.”

“And if there’s no compromise?” She watched his gaze darken slightly at the suggestion, he’d been thinking of that, too, then. The elevator reached the top floor with a ding and he stepped off, leading the way to the doors, the only sound being the soft click of their shoes against the hard marble floor.

Above ground at last, the street was empty and dark, and though she had flinched from her earlier, she didn’t hesitate to take the arm he offered, gripping onto him tightly as he apparated the two of them to the outskirts of the Order’s new location.

“There’s always a compromise, Arabella,” Kingsley said, steadying her with the practiced ease of someone who had grown quite used to her stumbling at the end of such a trip. She was relieved when she looked up and found that, for the first time that day, he was smiling.

[aekellogg]

Dual

The air is so cold it feels like it’s going to take my nose right off my face and shatter my skin like the surface of a frozen puddle. I’m taking photos of charred-black rafters, burnt linoleum floor, book pages scattered in the snow and crumbling darkly like a scene from Fahrenheit 451. There’s something almost artistic about it that I want to capture, but my phone, at half charge when I began, dies before I get through the front room. Technology is no better at handling the cold than is my California-freckled nose. An orange cat darts across one of the few roof supports left. This used to be a perfectly serviceable home.

My mother is clinging to this plot of land with the tenacity of a winter frost: it's passed through the hands of my evil witch of a great grandmother and my hurricane of a great aunt, and someday it or the profits from it will go to me and my four siblings. Our other plot of land holds a very lovely house whose temporary renters seem to grow worryingly more attached by the week. Down the street is an elementary school where my middle three siblings spent seven months, a bit beyond it is the evening school for high school dropouts which was the only place that would accept me at 18, and around the corner is the kindergarten where my baby brother was finally convinced to speak fluently. My mother wants us to have a foothold here. She wants us to have a place to live, a place to educate ourselves, a place to build a business.

I have trouble expressing to my mother exactly why I don't want to uproot my entire life and settle in Russia. Usually I  spread my hands and say some variation of "isn't it obvious?" Her responses reflect the same flabbergasted tone back at me -- “why wouldn’t you?” -- as she lists all the benefits of not staying in the capitalist dystopia that is the United States. I stutter and respond, “I just can’t live in a place that’s so antagonistic to me,” which is always the wrong thing to say to an immigrant who’s done exactly that.

The seven months that made up my last stay in Russia were in 2014, the year of the Winter Olympics that so many athletes boycotted to protest recent anti “gay propaganda” laws. The way my mother explained it to me, my siblings and I were in danger of saying something too liberal and being hated at school. The way my father explained it, “propaganda” could mean anything that sent the message “gay people exist.” For those seven months, I attended evening classes for the students who were too troublesome to keep in high school -- druggies, delinquents, and one too-cool-for-this-town girl who seemed to have decided to be my friend. Most of them were too old for their grade, but at 18, I was one or two years older than any of them. On my first day there, I was bombarded with questions: most laughably, “Do you have smoking in America?” -- most charmingly, “Do palms really just grow there? On the streets?” -- and most dauntingly, “Are there lots of gays in America?” My cool-girl friend clarified the last question with the follow-up, “You know, pederasts?” I didn’t know how to respond. I was 18, they were 17; if I answered “yes,” I would be an adult spreading gay propaganda to minors. They asked me the question a few times, never once suspecting that I was one of the gays myself. I didn’t know how I could tell anyone, even my cool-girl friend, even the boy who told me in English that he’d “once been like that” but was “all natural now,” that I had tentatively applied the label bisexual to myself in the backseat of a van speeding through palm trees to LAX only weeks before.

(I literally wouldn’t know how to tell them. I typed bisexual into Google Translate later that day, and it gave me dvupol’nyy, a literal translation meaning “two gendered,” which is less than accurate.)

The thing is, I don't know what level of responsibility I have. I feel like my inability to speak up makes me a bad social activist. But I also feel like if I did speak up, I would be trying to change a culture that I'm barely a part of and thus have no right to change. What right have I to tell Russians how to be Russian? My two red pasporta don't mean a thing once I open my mouth and let out the awkward accent. I passed the ninth grade standardized writing exam because my teachers corrected my scantron after hours. Who’s going to correct my grammar as I try to conjugate the Russian transliteration of the word bisexual?

We watched the Olympic opening ceremony live that year, and my mother stood behind my chair with a sour look on her face. “It’s like makeup on a corpse,” she said. “It’s all a fake cover for the turmoil going on in this country.” Seven months later, I saw makeup on a corpse for the first time in real life. I kissed my grandfather’s forehead and told him I loved him in broken Russian, silently raging against my hurricane of a great-aunt for shouting him into the grave. I wore heels to the funeral, shoes that I had packed but been too shy to wear even once. My only black dress ended mid-thigh and that morning I noticed, with a quiet sense of guilt, that my legs looked really good.

My coming  out story is far less brutal than it could  have been. Last summer, my mother wakes up and is running  around the house by 4am, and she sees me and my friend who slept  over sharing the pull-out couch bed. I can't account the thoughts that  ran through her head -- I've always shared beds at sleepovers -- but her suspicions were right I suppose. "I'm not  mad," she told me later, "I just wish you were dating a boy, because I want grandchildren." The joke's on her -- my longtime gal pal-turned-partner is a (trans nonbinary) boy after all -- but we are unavoidably and visibly a queer couple.

When this week is over, my mother and I will head home to greet Christmas with the rest of the family. But I won't be home until a few days later, when I'm back in LA in the roach-filled apartment with the roommates who forbid whispering after 9pm and call me and my partner "very good friends." We’ll do propagandic gay things like hold hands and tell each other how much we love and value each other as human beings. We’ll dress up cute to go places together, and somewhere in the back of my mind I’ll remember snippets I’ve read about queer fashion being an act of resistance.

It feels like a massive leap to compare the people who struggled on the front lines of social movements to me admiring how my own boobs look in a crop top or how shapely my legs are in a funeral dress. No one would call Narcissus a world-changer.

Today, the snow crunches softly under the combat boots I bought at a yard sale and stuck a dozen safety pins through. Hair frizzes around my face in dyed-green strands under a beanie that sits lopsided thanks to my undercut. I have found a thousand small ways to present a queer image, to be in control of the ugly that the world will see in me no matter what. My phone is dead, but I keep looking at these charred pages in the snow like an artist, a tourist, the disconnected outsider that I am. I still navigate the language in a series of surreal Google Translate errors (though thankfully, we’ve both gotten better: bisexual now translates to biseksual, the proper word). Behind me, the house that my great-aunt set on fire threatens to crash down. When I fly home, I’ll pass through the airport flashing the bright red passport that lays out my name in familiar Cyrillic letters, but once back in LA I’ll sink into the comfort of a 65° winter chill.

I think that all I can do, for now, is try to understand myself through palm trees and shoes.

[merelymedia]

Back in Town Ch 6

I backtracked a teensy bit into last weeks chapter at the intro because I decided I wanted to extend the conversation we left off and I didn’t want to split it up. Sorry for the repetition. 

Catch up with the previous chapter.

Or read from the beginning/leave me some love on AO3.

“Hello Harvey, if this is about last week’s session you asked to reschedule I was just about to call you,” Julie said from the other line.

“What? No, that’s not important,” Harvey’s voice was strained. Julie immediately knew he was distressed but said nothing, knowing he would continue. “Something is wrong with my head. I need you to fix this.”

“Harvey, you know that’s not how this works. Why don’t you tell me what happened just before you called?”

“Mike is here and he… I felt.. He’s…I’m not...” Harvey stuttered. Which is something Harvey Specter never did.

“Ah,” The therapist said lightly as she understood what was happening, “so you’ve come to that conclusion have you?”

“What? What is that supposed to  mean?” he spurted confused and angry, although he wasn’t sure who he was angry at.

“Harvey, tell me why you called,” she said her voice still calm.

Harvey was pacing across the balcony, feeling more agitated than he ever remembered being before half shouting, “Because I need you to tell me why the fuck I’m attracted to Mike goddamn Ross!”

“It’s obvious that this is upsetting you. Can you take a deep breath and tell me what aspect exactly has you riled up?”

Harvey did take a deep breath, but didn’t sound any less exasperated when he replied, “Because I like women. And because it’s Mike we’re talking about.”

“I appreciate that this is a really confusing thing to be happening, and it’s normal to be upset when something comes out of the blue like this that goes against how you’ve always seen yourself. But I do want to talk about the fact that this is Mike for a moment. We have talked a lot about Mike, and I know how important he always has been to you.

“This is the same Mike that you said was the first person who really understood your humor. The Mike who made your job enjoyable instead of just goals to check off.  The Mike that taught you it was okay to care about people. The Mike that you said was the person you felt most yourself around. The Mike you would do anything to protect. The Mike that was the first person you were willing to put above yourself. The Mike that you were willing to quit your entire career for. The Mike that made you realize that it was worth lowering your walls.The Mike who believed you were a good person, and finally got you to believe it too. So yes, it is Mike we are talking about here.

“I know that in this day and age there is so much about sexuality and having names for everything. And for some people those labels are a very important part of their identity so that’s great. But the reality is that most of the time, we are just people who fall for other people; because of who they are. Sometimes gender is a part of that and sometimes it isn’t. It doesn’t say anything about who you are as a person.”

“But I’m..This was a mistake, just forget I said anything,” Harvey said shortly.

“Harvey,” Julie began, but was cut short when Harvey disconnected the call.

Harvey walked back through the apartment and rapped twice on the bathroom door, “Mike, you got pants on?” He got a mumbled response which he took as an affirmative, and went to help Mike out of the shower and into the bed. He wasn’t rough, but the tender gentleness from the shower was gone. Once Mike was under the covers he changed into a clean shirt and trousers and left the apartment with his mouth set in a straight line of determination.

The glow of streetlights lit the night as Harvey came up to the high end bar he hadn’t entered in years. Taking a few glances around the building he found the most attractive woman in the room, a blonde several years younger than him, smiling with a confidence that would intimidate many men. He had almost always preferred brunettes, but he was looking for something different and he wasn’t looking to waste any time. Taking the seat next to her at the bar, Harvey waved down the bartender,

“I’ll have your best Macallan, neat, and another of whatever this beautiful woman is drinking,” he said giving her what he considered to be his most charming one sided smile.

“A little presumptuous you don’t think, to assume I’m alone?” she said in a tone that said she didn’t at all mind.

“Well I don’t see you with anyone, which only leaves a few options. Either you were recently with someone and came to your senses and realized they weren’t good enough, they made the biggest mistake of their lives and let the best they would ever get get away, or you are with someone and he is dumb enough to think he can get here late, leaving a woman as gorgeous as you in a bar all alone. In which case he has no idea what he’s taking for granted.”

“And you think you’re different?”

“What I think, is that before I came in, you were in a room surrounded by men who don’t come close to measuring up to your standards, and they knew it.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s so that you and I are both 10s in a room full of 6s and 7s. Well realistically I’d give myself an 8... if it weren’t for the money. And us meeting here tonight is something I fully intend to take advantage of.”

“Hmm,” she looked him over considering, but only for a moment. Harvey briefly wondered if this had always been so easy, and if so what the point of it really was. “You intend to take advantage of it at your place or mine?” she practically purred. With the mention of returning to his place Harvey couldn’t help but think of Mike passed out in their bed. His bed he corrected to himself. Wanting the image out of his head he replied, “yours.”

Sitting in the back of the car, listening to the woman’s babbling as she placed her hand on his thigh Harvey tried to remember a time when this would have been thrilling. The woman was beautiful, and he was sure if he listened to her she would be charming, or passionate, or intelligent; but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was wondering if Mike knew where the painkillers were kept, and thinking he should have left some water and tylenol by the bed in case he woke up. Harvey tried to convince himself he wanted to go home with this woman, to bring pleasure to both of them and move on with his life. To remind himself that he is the city’s greatest closer in more ways than one. But the determination that had pushed him to the bar had left him and all that remained was weariness.  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He felt both relieved and anxious when he read Mike’s name. If Mike was awake already he must have started drinking much earlier in the day than Harvey had guessed.

“Shit Harvey, I’m not sure what happened, but whatever it was I’ll make up for it.” That was all it took to make up Harvey’s mind.

“He can you pull over at this drugstore?” he said to the driver. As the car pulled to a stop he turned to the woman, “I’m very sorry to do this to you. I honestly shouldn’t have ever been here in the first place, there’s someone very important to me that needs me.” Stepping out of the car he added, “for what it’s worth, I hope you meet someone who appreciates you for who you are.”

Harvey stopped in the drug store to buy a Gatorade, but ended up with several because he couldn’t decide which was Mike’s favorite, before hailing a taxi and texting Mike,

“Everything is fine. Go back to sleep, I’m on my way home.”

By the time Harvey returned Mike was once again knocked out. Harvey placed a Gatorade and pain medication on the bedside table, even though this time he planned to be there when Mike woke up.He felt the need to touch Mike, to reassure himself that he was okay. Moving before he could think better of it Harvey reached out and softly stroked the back of his fingers from his temple, down his cheek, and resting briefly on his lips. Looking down at Mike now he knew that he had always cared for him. If that had morphed into something different, well then he would just have to accept it and ride that out. Because this wasn’t something he could run from; not when running from it meant running from Mike. He would never, could never run from Mike.

[theliterateape]

When Intersectionality Runs Amok: The Underlying Misunderstanding that is Fracturing Society

By Don Hall

"Once these angry Rage Profiteers have kids, their kids will look at them and tell them what a mob of bullies they were. They'll be so disillusioned because they thought, by jumping in on the separatist dogma, by leaping into the public shaming online, they were making a difference."

I've had more than a few conversations lately that sound a bit like this. Thinking people who see the current level of Leftist backlash to Trump and the onslaught of Republican rule in this country as wholly negative. Like me, they see the term whypipo as just an attempt to come up with a white people version of a term that strikes offense in the same way that other racially derogatory terms heretofore banned in polite society accomplished for marginalized groups. Like me, they see the term to simply indicate that the users of it are merely assholes (just like those who continue to use gay as a pejorative).

The question becomes simply, why is the idea that one's political discourse is centered on their personal identity has become so divisive?

The trend began with an academic trying to define a broader experience.  

Prof. Kimberlé Crenshaw's work in the late 1980s introduced the term intersectionality. Intersectionality meant that the experience of a person who belongs to multiple identity groups cannot be captured simply by focusing on subordination based on one or the other identity, or even by adding them together.

According to her 1993 Stanford Law Review article, "Experiences of women of color are frequently the product of intersecting patterns of racism and sexism, and... these experiences tend not to be represented within the discourses of either feminism or antiracism." One of Crenshaw's examples is an immigrant woman whose legal status depends on her relationship to a battering husband does not simply experience anti-immigrant prejudice or sexist battering. Her statuses (as an immigrant and a woman) intersect to create a distinctive vulnerability.

This means that an identity can be and often is formed by the intersection of various group memberships, to create a distinctive experience. Being a Black woman is not just like being a Black man when racial issues arise. The intersections, while similar, are distinct. By contrast, the informal (and now more accepted) sense of intersectionality means that various forms of oppression are linked, either as a matter of their actual practice or with respect to the justification for opposing them. To be intersectional in one's commitment to racial equality and gender equality in this sense of intersectionality is to see both racial and gender subordination as manifestations of an unjust white patriarchal power structure.

In other words, the root of the idea of intersectionality was both specific and complex but the newer, more accepted (and I'd argue misunderstood definition) centers on a single villainous umbrella that all subordination can point a finger to as its cause.

Thus, we see less empowerment based upon individual intersections and more embracing of victimhood in the face of an amorphous and almost impossible to pin down bugaboo: White People and the Toxicity of White Male Supremacy. Because it is difficult to fully define what is and is not a manifestation of White Patriarchal power, the default position becomes simpler: anything associated in almost any way with white males is the enemy.

Modern feminism becomes less about working to change the systemic inequities women face daily and more about centering outrage on white men who "man spread" and "mansplain," and proliferating the notion that white men are all predators. This notion immediately places women in a defensive position and grows the view of women as perpetual victims of white male dominance.

Modern civil rights becomes less about working to change the systemic and institutional racism baked into the American experiment and more on exaggerating the harm of microaggressions and the separatist need for safe spaces. As the concept of intersectionality becomes less about the public stance of empowerment, the rationale that racism is an incurable evil that must be destroyed rather than a series of legal barriers that can and should be remedied makes it an argument better suited for the superstitions of churches than the utilization of democratic solutions.

While both definitions of intersectionality have justification and merit, when the two types collide, the clash can result in serious mischaracterizations of the concept and push an already fractured Left into further segmentation.

The result is a Progressive (Regressive) Left hellbent on eating itself from the inside out effectively doing the work for the Right and ensuring their power grab is sustained.

Things get really dicey when the attempt to corral all "correct thinking people" under this umbrella.

When one considers that, according to Gallup, only 25 percent of the entire country even consider themselves liberal politically, it's hard to justify the idea that everyone not white is feeling that particular burn or is looking to destroy things. Given that conservative views tend to favor the status quo, 36 percent are thinking that things aren't that bad and an additional 34 percent aren't that dissatisfied with things.

This either means that things aren't quite as intersectionally oppressive as we believe or we're just shitty at getting the word out. Regardless of which, the most strident of the Rage Profiteers label 70 percent of the country as immoral and unworthy of anything but disdain and destruction.

One could assume that all 70 percent are white and bolster the oppression intersectionality perspective. One would be wrong.

The concept of oppressive intersectionality does not take into consideration that "...47 percent of blacks identify as liberal and 45 percent as conservative..." [SOURCE] or that white women voted for Donald Trump in unusually high numbers but not much more than 50 percent. The broad cloth of oppression politics simply does not account for the possibility of differing opinions within identity groupings and those who do not fall in line aren't listening, need to check their privilege, are racist, sexist and are thus labeled the enemy of the Righteous.

The Big Umbrella approach to intersectionality accomplishes a lack of context in the very identities that intersect. It likewise creates and allows a mindset among the self-righteous best exemplified by the current rash of online mob mentality.

Example Someone posts that someone else is a racist/sexist. Five others pipe in agreeing. Fifteen more who have neither read nor experienced this accused racism comment "I can't believe that person is a racist/sexist!" Forty more who have even less knowledge of the specifics jump on digitally calling for the accused racist/sexist's head (or job).

The simple accusation, with no context or fact, based entirely on the opinion of the original accuser goes viral and we have a full-blown public bullying, all in the name of good intentions yet all proliferated under the Big Umbrella mindset of those who are rewarded for claiming to be victim to the villain of White Supremacy and Patriarchy.

Add to this model a very well known accused party like Joss Whedon—white, cisgender, heterosexual male with billions of dollars—whose angry ex-wife decided to deride, and the virality of the shaming can reach the hundreds of thousands of completely uninformed, disinvolved people with strong opinions nonetheless.

I am not advocating for victim shaming but approaching every accusation with a measure of skepticism. In a court of law, everyone is innocent until proven guilty. It should be no different in the court of public opinion especially as that court, via social media, now has real life consequences. Your opinion does not equal proof any more than the opinion of a GOP Senator about climate change equals fact.

Back to intersectionality, the embrace of oppression intersectionality rather than the intersectionality of identities is also marginalizing the understanding of the country's multi-cultural potential. In a Reuter's Poll taken at the University of Virginia just days ago, it becomes obvious that folks just aren't getting the message.  

According to this poll: • 59 percent agree that "Political correctness'' threatens our liberty as Americans to speak our minds. • 55 percent agree that Racial minorities are currently under attack in this country.

The disconnect is that identity politics and the idea of politically correct speech are at odds, in conflict, and seen as opposites in the spectrum of change. In the parlance of the political, most people agree with the precepts of identity intersectionality but disagree with oppression intersectionality and confusing the two pushes the middle, which, face it, is most of the voting voice, to the right.

As we progress forward, it is those who have been most marginalized who tend to push the boundaries past a point of reasonable persuasion.  

"All white people are white supremists."   "I wish all white people were dead." "White history is the history of colonization and genocide."

Propaganda begins with oversimplification and then cements itself in repetition. The cries of almost non-stop oppression politics by the Rage Profiteers might feel good for them to yawp out but is one of many reasons why these issues are doomed to be ignored in a longer game. And we cannot afford to ignore these issues of systemic racism, fundamental sexism, and the economic destruction of whole identities any longer.

"Once these angry Rage Profiteers have kids, their kids will look at them and tell them what a mob of bullies they were. They'll be so disillusioned because they thought, by jumping in on the separatist dogma, by leaping into the public shaming online, they were making a difference."