#i was going to doodle but still feeling a bit bah

[axvwriter]

Bobo would be a bit disappointed to learn that she can't see the stars as well as Jaxon can. Though if he tries to suggest that she needs glasses, she'd just stubbornly reply that he has unusually sharp eyes. How long do you think it would take for Jaxon to realize that he could try finding some crisp pictures of stars to show her? I don't think it would quite cross Bobo's mind that they could try using an imaging device to help her see them.

Hmm, with Jaxon learning about Bobo's sight and if he gets a good grasp of how far is too far for her vision, I could see him teasing her. He just points at something in the distance and asks her who's that. Bobo tries to guess but Jaxon's rigged it.

"Malleus?" Bobo squints at what Jaxon's pointing at.

"That's a tree." Jaxon is indeed pointing at a young/short dark-colored tree.

"A tree? That's not fair! You said who! As in a person!" Bobo half-heartedly gives Jaxon some punches. No power behind any of them so they don't even hurt.

I wonder if Ortho has any recordings of the shooting stars from the Wish Upon a Star event. Though it would probably be from his point of view, I'd imagine it would still look amazing to see a bunch of wishing stars descending upon the planet from space.

Oh would Jaxon get mad over how Bobo and Grim have to share a wishing star since they're technically one student? Or would he not get worked up about it upon seeing Bobo so willingly give her star to Grim? It's a little sad that the game didn't really give the player a choice, but it actually works for Bobo. She wouldn't be able to decide on one wish plus the things she thought of for the wishing star feel a little too far-fetched/impossible to fulfill.

Dang it if Jaxon were to try to ask why she gave it to Grim and tried to pry into what type of wishes she had in mind... probably end up with them both being sad.

Dang it Deuce is so sweet in that event but he talks like he's so certain that the player won't leave. Bobo certainly had some feelings upon hearing Deuce wanting her to see him achieve his career goals. I think I have a vignette story planned to cover Bobo giving up her star and her reaction to Deuce basically acting like there's not even a chance she'll go home. I know I have notes on stuff, but I'm too lazy to look.

I once said that Bobo would enjoy stargazing with Jaxon, but I’ve gotten the idea that most of the people from her kingdom, including her, are near-sighted to some degree. Which means things in the far distance are blurry.

Not sure how sound my logic is, but trying to look up irl cave aquatic life has shown me that quite a bit of them are blind. So perhaps humans that live underground in caves may slowly evolve to a similar blind state? Not purely blind as I recall reading that blind cavefish can still detect light… but if caves are limited in fields of view where the sky could reasonably said they aren’t limited at all��� then is far-sight all that needed?

So I wouldn’t say Bobo is as near-sighted as I am, but things do get blurry at a certain distance. I have no idea what distance, I need to figure out how I want to word that into google. I just tested with myself by going outside to look at the stars with and without my glasses on.

The very few stars I could see without my glasses were like shiny smeary dots. Like they produced more light / seemed bigger/wider than with my glasses on. Then the moon seemed like a shiny blurry sequin.

Bobo doesn’t have prescription glasses as I’m thinking if most of her kingdom’s population is near-sighted, they probably don’t think it’s a situation where glasses are needed and/or could help. Heck I already have it that most written/printed text is in braille due to low-lighting.

So instead of Bobo stargazing with Jaxon. I propose the idea of Jaxon watching the stars, refusing to sleep while Bobo stares up at the night sky, wondering if he just really likes the color of dark blue. She does love the day sky for its blue color.

How long do you think it would take Jaxon to realize she can’t see any stars?

:O I love that tho the little details like that about what things are like in her own kingdom are so cool!

I imagine both of them sitting in silence for many nights looking up at the sky for different reasons. Jaxon is admiring the stars and constellations and Bobo is just loving the deep blue color across the sky. It would probably stay like that for a while until one of them says something about it.

I see Jaxon commenting something like "the stars are starting to align" or "hmm a shooting star" and Bobo is SO confused about it. That would probably be how Jaxon finds out, and from then on may even try to briefly describe the sight and constellations to her. His descriptions aren't the greatest and he struggles from time to time, but he's trying his best. Jaxon wishes Bobo could see the stars too. When he had no one, he had the stars over him at all times. They almost became something important to him and he wishes she could see how wonderful they are

but for now he'll settle for describing them

[anonymoosen]

ZIMPAI SHIZPOST STORY PART 5: REALISATION 🤯⁉️

(WE’RE GETTING REAAAL CLOSE TO THE LAST PART GUYS-)

(THE LAST PART WILL BE RLLY SHORT CUZ THIS ONE IS PRETTY LONG KSSKDK)

Our lovely majestic tsundere green lizard boi ELEEEGANTLY pranced over to Dib-chans house with the cherry blossom petals blowing as intensely as ever.

“DEEEB-STINKKK BAH-KAAAHH!! I HAVE RETURNED AND- BLEHHH WHY DO THESE PINK FLOWER THINGIES KEEP HITTING MY FACE!?!”

Dib-chan immediately crashed through his own window from his room and landed on top of Zimpai, “accidentally” pinning him to the ground like that romantic move a lot of people use in movies.

The big headed boy giggled cutely with the usual sparkles in his eyes, “Ooooh woopsiess!! I totaaally didn’t know this cliche romantic trope would happen!!”

The alien rolled his and blushed deeply from the close proxZIMity and the way his crush’s voice sounded like the most adorable thing in the whole world— even cuter than their old class pet hamster, Peepi! (hehehehe peepeepoopoo)

Wait- NO! This is a disease! A CURSE!! The Dib-thing wanted me to fall prey into his hands this whole time!! Zim immediately shook his head and pushed Dib away. Dib-chan looked to the ground and wondered worriedly if he had gone too far in invading the invader’s personal space.

(HELP I JUST DOODLED THIS ON MAH PHONE SO BADLY 5 MIN AGO-)

Zim-kun tried not to feel bad about Dib looking a bit saddened and growled, “GRRR YOU’LL NEVER CURSE ME WITH THAT STYOOPID FEELING!”

Dib sighed and tried to hold back his once again returning sparkling anime tears. Of course it was one sided. Of course he got rejected by even the most annoying alien in the world. Who would even want some creepy weirdo like Dib?

Meanwhile, Gaz was eating popcorn while the whole cheesy but slightly angsty in a way Fanfiction scene played out. “Why are they acting even stupider than usual?” The whatever-colour-her-hair-is girl asked out loud. The question was then answered by a familiar British voice. “Innit!” Gaz blinked.

“Uh- what?”

“WAIT WHERE DID THAT BRITISH STEREOTYPE OF A WORD COME FROM- I MEAN-” The dark purple / indigo / dark blue (HELP IM BAD AT COLORS) alien girl continued, “Ahem, I meant that this whole anime stupidity Fanfiction scene was all part of my revenge plan! MuahahahAAHAHAAHHA!!”

Gaz face palmed. Was the hideous not-so-new girl, Tak, the one who she once viewed as the biggest threat to earth, THIS pathetic??

“Dude- you’re STILL plotting your revenge on these idiots? And you’re doing it by zapping them with some in-real-life-anime gun thingy??” Gaz asked, trying not to sound slightly intrigued by this. Tak saw the undeniable interest in Gaz’s eyes and smugly nodded. The shorter of the two gave up and shrugged. At least she had some show to watch! (even though it was too cheesy and stupid for her liking sometimes)

Back to the main drama going on, Zim noticed Dib trying to hold his tears and gulped. Why the heck did he even feel bad about his ENEMY?? He’s supposed to HATE that big headed dork! The dorkiest dork ever! The cutest- WAIT-

The alien tried to look away. However, it couldn’t be helped. The so-called ‘curse’ was too strong, like the big-headed boy was a magnet pulling Zim’s eyes to look at his adorable face.

Could it beeeee… that the feeling Zimpai was feeling…

WASN’T a curse?!11!1?! hOW ShoCKiNG-

NO!! (Z)IMPOSSIBLEEE!! Invaders needed NO ONEEEE!

…But no one is perfect, and Dib can be his no one-

“LIEEESSS!” The alien desperately screeched out loud on the top of his lungs (or whatever aliens had). Dib raised an eyebrow in confusion, distracting him from the overwhelming sadness he was trying to hide. “I…uhhh- didn’t say anything…?”

———

WELP ZIM IS SLOWLY (SO FRIGGIN SLOWLY) REALISING HIS FEELINGS FOR DOBBLE DIBBY BOO BOO BEAR MIGHT BE REAAL!1!1!1 HOW UNEXPECTEDDD!1!1!

(HELP ME IM RUNNING OUTTA IDEAS SO IM MAKING THIS A VERY VERY SLOW PROGRESS FOR THEM FIRKFK)

———-

FIRST

PREV

NEXT

[janetbrown711]

Thunder crashed and roared outside of a tall bell tower in France.

Magica had successfully made her way to the realm of the living, but lacked a way of tracking down the princess, until she had sent Poe out to find a clue, to which he returned with a newspaper with the headline "LOST PRINCESS FOUND IN PARIS" with a picture of the young Webbigail attached. Magica grinned.

"Poe, you must find me some perfume and a comb. I wish to look my best before I destroy my greatest rival's bloodline," she grinned.

"That might take a lot of work," Poe commented on her rotting flesh, but Magica was in too good of a mood to be bothered.

"Then hurry up and do it! We are going to a party!" She told.

"A party? You? But you haven't been to a party in ten years and look where that got you," Poe pointed out.

"Bah. I will let the Grand Duchess Webbigail have her moment and then I will strike her down! Right in front of everyone! Even her Grandmother!" She laughed.

"Kill her? What happened to the whole party idea?" He asked.

"That's when we'll kill her imbicile," Magica scoffed. "We're going to crush her in front of absolutely everyone!"

"Won't someone recognize and at least try to stop you? Why don't you lure her away like you did with the boat?" Poe asked. Magica stopped to ponder.

"That does seem more likely to not end with me dead..." she said.

"So..?" Poe egged on.

"Alright, fine. I'll do your plan. But it'll be a whole lot less fun."

.o0o.

Webbigail laughed alongside her grandmother as they looked through old memories together in Beakly's mansion. Being reunited filled them with joy that neither had felt in years. Looking theough photos, paintings, old doodles, and writings of the past made memories come flodding back to Webby. She picked up a photo of her and her sibilings and sighed.

"I remember now... how much I loved them all," she said. Beakly put a hand on the photo.

"They would not want us to live in the past, now that we have found each other," she soothed. Webby smiled and nodded. Beakly looked back to the basket of memories they had been examining and pulled out a drawing Webby had done right before the ball when she was eight.

"Oh my- would you look at this?" Beakly laughed and showed it to Webby, who laughed too.

"Odette made me so mad! She had said it looked like a pig," she snorted. "Well, she was right," she said as she put it down. Beakly laughed and stood, helping Webby off the ground too.

"In your laughter, I hear my Nicky, your dear father, once again," she smiled and took her to a mirror before going over to a box and taking out a giant crown embedded with hundreds of diamonds. Webby gasped at how beautiful it was.

"But you have the beauty of your mother, Alexandria, the Empress of all Russia," Beakly said as she placed the crown on Webby's head. Webby looked into the mirror and couldn't help but feel like her whole family was there cheering her on. It was like the past had been made right, but at the same time she felt like it wasn't over, that nothing was over yet.

"Now, let's get you dressed for the ball of the decade," Beakly said.

A dress, yes. That must've been what was missing. Beakly took Webby over to the fitting room and before Webby knew it she was getting dressed into the most beautiful dress she had seen in her life. It was yellow and pink as well as sparkly, which she felt like added a special touch. On top of all of that, she wore the blue sash of her father.

The crown of her mother and the sash of her father.

She was quite literally carrying the legacy of her family. They lived on with her.

"Oh my dear, look at you. You look like a Grand Duchess if I have ever seen one," Daisy clapped at her presence.

"Thank you," she smiled and twirled around in it happily. This was probably one of the happiest days of her life, but still there was something missing. Something unfulfilled that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but she figured she'd figure that out later.

.o0o.

"You sent for me, your grace?" Louie bowed for the Dowager Empress.

"I know you kidnapped me, and forced me into a strange hotel against my will, but it did bring me my granddaughter and a promise is a promise. Ten million dollars, as promised with my gratitude," she revealed a suitcase full of money on the table by her side.

"I accept your gratitude your highness... but I don't want the money," Louie said.

"What do you want then?" She eyed him suspiciously, which if she actually knew him would've been a fair response.

"Nothing you can give, your highness. Now if you'll excuse me, I must start packing my things for home," he bowed once more before starting to leave the room.

"Young man, where did you get that music box?" She asked, stopping him in his tracks.

"You were the boy, weren't you? The servant boy who got us out?" She asked. Louie looked away and avoided eye contact.

"You saved her life and mine, then you restored her to me, and yet you want no reward," She puzzled.

"Not anymore," he sighed.

"Why the change of mind?" She smirked, starting to theorize.

"It was more of a change of heart," he corrected tiredly. He paused before saying, "I must go," and leaving the room, leaving only a smirking Beakly by herself.

Louie made his was toward the exit when he ran into no other than Webbigail herself, though she'd always be Webby to him, dressed in a ballgown worth of an Empress. He was star struck once again at the sight. Webby looked back at him with an expression he couldn't read. Gratitude, anger, happiness? Perhaps a mix of all.

"Hello Louie," she said.

"Hello." He shook out of his star struckness and returned to his sharp and witty protective outershell.

"Did you collect your reward?" She turned bitter too.

"My buisness is complete," was all he said before moving down the stairs. A butler stopped him though.

"Young man, you will bow and calm her 'Your Majesty' when talking to the Princess," he said.

"No, that's not-" she tried to stop.

"Oh no, please. Your majesty," he bowed. "I'm glad you found what you were looking for."

"Yes. I'm glad you did too," she said, a bit puzzled at his genuineness.

"Well then... goodbye your highness," he bowed one last time, took a good look at her, sighed and walked away. Webby waved a little before sighing to herself.

She realized that was likely to be the last time she would ever see him, and her feelings still hadn't gone away.

"Goodbye..."

.o0o.

Donald hummed happily to himself as he readied himself for the night's ball. He was placed back on the imperial court by the request of Daisy and on favor of the Dowager Empress out of gratitude. He was in a room alongside Lena, who was given a little something to wear for the ball too, since Webby had insisted on the dog coming to the ball too. It was a little unorthodox, but they did it anyway.

"Lena, do you mind? Oh, of course you don't. You are a good dog," Donald patted her head and took a metal off the little sash Lena had on and pinned it to his shirt. Just as he was doing it Louie entered the room. He had to clear his throat to get his uncle's attention.

"Well... if you're ever in Saint Duckburg, give me a call," Louie sighed.

"You're going back?" Donald asked.

"I've already made up my mind, so don't try to change it," Louie said. Donald sighed before going and hugging Louie, who for once in his life accepted it.

"So long Uncle Donald," he said.

"Ah, my Louie," Donald sighed and put a hand on his nephew's face. "You are making a mistake. Trust me."

"No, trust me. This is the one thing I'm doing right," Louie stuck his hands in his pockets, and started to walk away when Lena of all dogs started to whimper. Louie sighed and crouched down.

"So long mutt," he said with a small crooked smile. Lena would've normally bit him at the remark, but instead she just whimpered and begged him to stay more.

"I can't stay. I don't belong here," he explained. It broke Donald's heart to hear him say that. Donald hugged Louie one more time before Louie walked out of the room forever.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[cherubsoda]

!!!!! 38 for Medic and/or 41 for Dante! [DC] (I'm not even putting this on anon why am I leaving my signature lmao)

ok so i went ham for no reason @dizzycoyote i apologize,,, this was supposed to be a doodle yikes,, also i wrote a fat fic for it so ,, its like my first time writing a real fic? sucks fr bro

hruggnn tagging @tibbygetsrekt, @sundewsunset and @heartstringsymphoniesbc i am,,, gay

under the cut

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HakfW2av-gRiemn39g8cVh8wKG8cFOXVH6u-mo9OF28/edit?usp=sharing

Medic 38: reunited/ “haven’t seen you in a while”

I shake my head, finding myself spacing out again. A few more transfers and I’ll be there… I have time to think. Old thoughts started resurfacing, things I haven’t thought of in months. How was he? I would give anything to hear from him again - to see him again. I don’t think we would need to speak; being next to each other again would be enough. ‘I wondered if he’s ever thought about me…’ I shifted to get comfortable. 

‘I’ll just rest my eyes’, 

I can remember what it was like before you left,

———

“- a job where they’ll let me practice what I please!”

My eyes shifted up from my plate to look at you — you’re practically ready to spring up on your feet, excitement evident on your face and in your voice, I smiled,

“That sounds perfect for you! When do you start?”

I saw the curl of your lips twitch and the corner of your eyes crinkle,

“Ah, in a couple of months — the beginning of spring — I begin a ‘test trial’ at this…establishment. Bah, there is just so much to prepare…” you trailed off and turned your gaze upon a suddenly interesting looking glass. I tilted my head a bit and raised my hand to catch your gaze again,

“I’ll help you pack or plan- whatever you need, I’ll do it with you!”

I smiled when I stumbled over my words, hoping that it did enough to distract you from seeing the sadness on my face or hear the hurt that I felt. I seemed to forget my woes for a moment when you smiled up at me again, 

“Thank you, my friend”

———

We began packing a couple days later — I came over early and we packed away the trinkets you couldn’t bear to part with and we laughed while boxing the ones to give away. I wonder if you still have them. Minutes turned to hours and morning turned to midday. I looked at the clock hanging on your wall: 4:37. We agreed that we’ve done enough for today and went to a diner a few blocks away. The meal was quiet, a few comments here and there, but you were quiet. I couldn’t help but wonder what you were feeling. ’Probably just tired from all the packing … or maybe he’s actually upset that I called that ceramic piece was ugly … maybe he’s just as sad that he has to leave-‘. I downed the rest of my water.

You drove me home, walked me to the door and said good night. You didn’t leave until I waved out my window.

———

I plopped down on one of the armchairs you were taking,

“I think it’s time for a break,”

A month passed and the majority of your things were packed and ready to be shipped off.

“I think we’re both stressed from all, this” I gestured to the boxes stacked around us. It’s been on my mind for a while, “Let’s visit some of your favorite places before you leave” I suggested “make some new memories to take with you.” You straighten your back and let out a sigh,

“I suppose you’re right about a break,” you massaged the bridge of your nose,“but what place did you have in mind?” you looked at my slumped over form,

“Anywhere.” 

“Anywhere?”

I sat up straight and watched you reminisce.

———

We went to the museums you promised you’d visit one day, walked through the gardens in the heart of Stuttgart, you got me drunk at your favorite bar, watched plays you never thought you’d see, and we sat in parks you had played at when you were younger. I listened as you rambled on about what changed and what stayed the same — I stood aside when you ran into an old classmate — when they introduced their wife and daughter to you, I smiled and looked away. 

———

Your departure inched closer and closer. I think you could sense my desperation, my fear — but you never said anything if you did. You promised to call or write to me when you had the time. You reassured me that you’d visit during holidays and would keep me in your thoughts all the time. You walked me to my door and waited for me to wave. But you didn’t say goodnight.

Just a couple more weeks until you leave.

You spent a week with your family. 

Just about a week left until you leave.

You came home exhausted.

Just a few more days until you leave.

“Did you get to see and do everything on your list?”

We sat on a park bench, the cool winter air sent a shiver down my spine. I turned to look at you, a bittersweet smile adorned your lips paired with a wistful look clouded your eyes — I wondered what you were feeling, maybe for too long; your mouth moved but I couldn’t hear you, as you grabbed my hands and led me back to your car. We drove, and we parked, then you finally turned to me and spoke,

“We’re here,” voice low and soft, I peered out my window and saw my porch, my door, my house…

You opened the car door and led me up the steps, my gloved fingers fumbled with my keys, I finally managed to find the right key and push the door open. We’re greeted by Archimedes’ enthusiastic chirps.

“I think they’ll miss you the most,” I giggled, walking over and opening the cage. The white dove happily hopped onto my finger and made its way up on my shoulder,

You let out a soft chuckled as he flew to your shoulder instead, “Do you really think so?” you asked while petting his side.

“They were always very fond of you…” arms crossed, head slightly tilted. I smiled “Take him with you.”

Your eyes quickly found mine across the room, staring at me; a confused, worried look flashed across your face.

“What are you talking about?” it seemed like Archimedes was looking at me the same way you did,

“Please, take him. He always liked you better,” I teased, pacing a bit “besides, it’s the least I can give you as a — a going away gift.” I tried to smile, my voice cracked and I wish you didn’t hear it.

You sent me a bittersweet smile from where you stood,

“My friend, will you miss me?” you asked as if you were waiting your whole life to get it out. I let out a sob. Of course I will.

———

That night, you drove. Parked. Led me up the steps. You walked inside with me. You didn’t wait for me to stand by my window and wave, so, I cried. I cried and you held onto me and spoke in hushed tones and made promises I wish you had kept. You stayed the night because this time you’d be saying goodbye instead of goodnight. 

———

My mind was blank but racing at the same time. Archimedes’ made no noise in his cage — I promised I’d see him off, so I called a taxi and drove to the train station. The ride was brief but gave me time to think: I wanted to apologize for that night; how awful I must’ve made him feel. I paid the fare and waited for you to arrive.

You pulled up in a similar taxi and I helped you with your luggage. I gently put the dove on a bench and we stood there watching trains that weren’t yours rush by.

Everything that I wanted to say couldn’t wait any longer but there will never be a perfect moment to tell. I will never be brave enough. I’m grateful it’s winter; to excuse my shaking shoulders and hands; grateful that the trains blew my hair every which way to cover my warming face; grateful that the cold, nipping air stopped oncoming tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me,”

I glanced up at you, you were watching as people trickled out of the train,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-” 

“That you were going to miss me — that you were this upset,” you cut me off.

I gaped but closed my mouth. How selfish of me to try admit that I’d miss my one friend here.

“I’m sorry,” I shook and mumbled out in the cold air “I’m sorry for getting so worked up that night. I just — I’ll miss you I didn’t want to say it because…” I don’t think you could hear me or cared. I bit my lip.

How selfish would I be if I said I loved him so much I felt like I was being torn apart?

“Do not miss me.”

My eyes snapped up, this time you were looking at me, a smile in your eyes,

“You make it sound like I’m dying!” you laughed, a real laugh. “I will always be a phone call away, my friend, remember that,” and your smile widened as you put a gloved hand on my shoulder. I let out a choked sob and you held me.

I wish I had said I loved you, that you had leaned in so I could meet you half way. But how could I confess when I knew this was your dream? That I was the reason you got held back-, I cut my thoughts off when your train arrived; I shifted my weight. I passed Archimedes over to you with care — I suppose it was a foolish dream of mine to be with you. This time I waited until you were inside. You stood by the window and you smiled and waved. I finally said goodbye.

———

I wake up with a sudden jolt. I look around and ran a hand down my face

‘I dozed off… I must’ve been exhausted.’ 

After a couple more stops, a ‘ding’ signified I’m at my stop and brought me out of my sleepy daze. I quickly gathered my belongings and trudged out the train station. I checked my watch for the time; 9:17am, ‘hopefully I make it in time’. I take a taxi to another nearby town, some place that seems more desolate, more… rustic I suppose. ‘They should be here any second now.’ I look around at the stores nearby, when something bumped into my shoulder. I jumped, throwing my hands up and taking a few steps back; white feathers clouded half of my vision. I gingerly put a pair of fingers under its feet and turned to face it, hoping it doesn’t attack again. The bird - dove - begins crooning, pecking at my hair, 

“Archimedes?” ”Archimedes!” a distant yell overlapped my voice, other voices followed but were drowned out by the approaching man’s voice,

“There you are Archimedes! You shouldn’t fly off like that!” he scolds, “Ah haa, so sorry about-” his sheepish smile drops as he makes eye contact with me,

“Ludwig…?” I let out a surprised laugh, “Wha-“

“Schatz, what are you doing here?!” He takes a step back and quickly looks at me, he shifts around a bit, unsure what to say, “Why - How —“

I couldn’t help but stare. How long has it been since I’ve seen him? His hair is greying much more than before, his cheeks sunken in a bit more, the worry creases on his brow deepened, but he - he’s stayed the same. What about me? I must look like a mess - freshly woken up after a who knows how long train ride, my hair unbrushed and —

“Lay, you’re crying,” his accented voice gently pulled me away from my thoughts; I haven’t heard my name used so tenderly in years. I didn’t realized that he had slightly bent down to look at me. My tears ran freely. I let him wipe them away and took in a deep breath. I let my forehead rest against his cheek, while he held my hand in his, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. He gently nuzzled his cheek against my hair and placed a kiss on the crown of my head; letting out a soft laugh that shook his chest when slid my hand over his shoulder to the back of his neck. He finally leaned in and I met him half way. I closed my eyes and I can remember what it was like before you left.

[itsnotdavid-blog]

MY VILLAINOUS LAIR

TL;DR - I’m indecisive and I don’t know if I want to live in a large house surrounded by friends and family, or if I’d be better off hiding away in isolation inside some tiny, walled off excuse of a home. No to cars, yes to gardens. Fuck yeah, nature!

-

Nothing’s more fun than being tasked with writing a blog post for a class activity. To start things off, I’d like to apologize beforehand for this needlessly long wall of text. I don’t expect you to read along, and I certainly don’t expect you to remember all the itty bitty details, but I do want you to know is that I’m what the cool kids call extra. We were expected to draw one house and my stupid self ended up coming up with three. If that doesn’t give you an idea of what kind of person I am, then I don’t know what will. 

The question still lingers: what exactly do these houses represent? If there’s one thing I’ve learned today, it’s that all these seemingly insignificant little doodles form a bigger picture. Isn’t it exciting - a big picture made of little pictures? Like one big mosaic where each tile delves deeper into the myriad insecurities that stir within me. My inner optimist says it’ll paint something pretty, like a field of vibrant sunflowers, or a horde of zombies getting ravaged by a pack of fire-breathing velociraptors. Then again, there’s also the possibility of this picture taking the semblance of a donkey’s sphincter, or possibly even Mama June after a hot, sweaty yoga session. 

Either way, the picture isn’t what’s important. 

What’s important is that I’ve got three houses, each more pointless than the last, and it’s my job to figure out what these doodles mean. Even as the professor spoke and told us to put our pencils aside, I simply couldn’t keep mine off the paper. It was like there was this odd, supernatural force compelling me to finish what I started. But why? I don’t even put this much effort into waking up in the morning, so what’s gotten me to go full-ham on something entirely fictional and meaningless? The more time I spent on the drawing, the more I began to realize it was wholly unrealistic.

So I started again.

Scratched that one after five minutes. Too small, too unambitious. This one didn’t seem right to me at all.

So I started again.

Eventually I ran out of time, and was ultimately left with three unfinished houses; all distinct with little-to-no similarities save for the essentials. Needless to say, I was devastated. How could I fail something as simple as drawing a house? This was the unassuming sort of task you’d give to a five year old and I’m sure they’d manage to get it finished one way or another. I’ll bet their houses even have dinosaurs. Life isn’t fair.

The first house I drew was far larger than the other two - the perfect home for a less-than perfect family. There’s even a small patch of land in the back that’s dedicated to growing fruit and vegetables, it is fucking awesome. Despite the sheer size of the building, the rooms totaled to four, and that’s only if you don’t count the garden and the backyard. Think of it this way: if a house is big, you can assume it’s got a lot of rooms, and if it’s got a lot of rooms, it’s got a lot of space for inhabitants and/or guests. Generally, some of the more introverted people prefer returning to a lonelier home after a long day of work, faking smiles and chatting up people they’d never interact with outside the office. The last thing they’d want to deal with at home is even more needless social interaction. 

With that in mind, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to conclude that an introvert wouldn’t want to live with other people unless they absolutely had to. The second house drawn seems to represent this on a deeper level. Let’s pretend for one minute that there’s more to me than meets the eye. It’s not totally unreasonable to assume that a self-proclaimed introvert would want some company every now and then - there’s no shame in wanting to be alone, but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to enjoy spending time with friends and family. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.

Though it might not be clear, given my abysmal skill with architecture, house planning and all things creative, I poured a lot more passion into this house in comparison to the others. Even if I firmly believe that what other people think of me is none of my business, I still feel as if my appearance matters in some way. I’m all for sticking to the status quo but there’s no denying that I’m, as I said before, what the cool kids call extra. For better or for worse. 

It’s strange. I’d never admit it in person, I do actively try to distinguish myself from the crowd for whatever reason… but at the same time, I resent the attention that comes with it. It’s a hard duality to put into words, so you’ll have to pardon my inability to explain it. I don’t quite get it myself, you see. Even if everyone in the world’s special and unique in their own whimsical little ways, people are too busy concerned with themselves to notice this about others. It’s an easy to trap to fall into, perceiving someone as dull simply because they’re not good conversationalists; because their quirks are of the subtler sort and only tend to shine once you truly get to know the person. 

The tragedy is, people won’t ever invest enough time to see that side of them.

This is only highlighted by the sheer difference between this house and the two drawn after it. It could be argued that the first home - the larger home - represents the side of me that wants to be surrounded people, and stand out by towering over all the others. This is in stark contrast to the other two, which arguably fits the size of an apartment room than an actual house given its scale and lack of a second floor - a claustrophobic little hovel that’s more fit for a gremlin than a man. I’d imagine it’d be like living in a trash compactor. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good living. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re living in a trash compactor.

Still, I get the feeling I’m only scratching the surface and that there’s so much you can take from the size of the two houses alone. Maybe it represents my desire to live in isolation in my villainous lair, walled off from the rest of the world. Looking back on it now, there’s no way I’d survive in a house like that. I’d go insane, mainly because there’s nothing to do but also because I’m a bit of a claustrophobe. What was I thinking?

Just by looking at this house alone, you can already tell I’ve started to lose a bit of steam. There’s a reason why I don’t do interior decorating - it’s because I’m absolutely dreadful at it. Look at this. What kind of madman puts the bathroom next to the kitchen and not the bedroom? It’s hilariously inefficient, if you ask me. Takes a certain kind of idiot to come up with a house like this and even bigger one to want to live in it.

Bah! It just gets worse and worse!

If there’s something all three of these houses have in common, it’s a kitchen. Funny. You’d think the bedroom would be something I’d prioritize, but apparently food comes first. In all fairness, the only reason I didn’t include a bedroom in the first doodle was because I lacked the time. It’s strange though. I haven’t exactly cooked a proper meal since I moved here just a little over a year ago. Perhaps this the brain’s strange and subtle way of telling you to start cooking once again, though it’s also possible that my brain’s simply calling me fat. Either way, it capitalizes on my love of food. 

On the other hand there is something that all my houses lack and the only person I can blame for that is myself. There’s no fucking garage. Whether it was a simple overlook or a subconscious desire, it’s given me a lot to think about. I’ve never been fond of cars, and I’ve never exactly wanted to drive either so it’s only natural that there’ll be nothing in my house related to such things. Still, every family ought to have a vehicle. They’ve got to get around town somehow. Walking simply isn’t an option in this day and age, as fun as it sounds. Speaking of oversights, I’ve also failed to make any note of what house would look from the outside. All I’ve got is a top-down view: a simple outline that maps out where the furniture’s supposed to go. 

Not that I’d end up following it anyway. 

[our-legacy-rp-blog]

BAH has been accepted for the character MIRA ORPINGTON

I’ve never seen an application so thorough from start to finish, Bah! Reading the headcanons alone, I got such a strong sense of who Mira was, and the rest of her biography didn’t disappoint. You have such a wonderful grasp on who Mira is already, and I can’t wait to see where she forges her path next. Please find the checklist HERE, and welcome back for another round of Our Legacy!

OOC name & pronouns: Bah, They/Them/Overlord Age: I’m Old Timezone: GMT -3

IC INFORMATION

Character’s name: Mira Orpington (Full Name: Mira Jane Annaelise Pyxis Vauxhall Orpington)

FC: Shailene Woodley

Position request: 6th Year Prefect & Quidditch Beater

Birthday: July 23 (Zodiac: Leo)

Wand: 9’9’ (25cm), Elm, Dragon Heartstring

Patronus: Common Welsh Green Dragon – A wyvern-like, 12ft tall patronus is the be-all outburst of Mira’s power but it also means quite a lot. The Orpington’s crest sigil and a mirror to grandmother’s patronus. She’s always been in love with the very idea of dragons, not only the power and strength they represent but the fact their freedom can rarely ever be kept from them, animals impossible to tame and so on, she’s always seen herself in them. She saw her grandmother’s grandiose Antipodean Opaleye patronus as a child and while the Welsh Green maybe isn’t as beautiful or as mighty, it’s just as meaningful. It’s a hard patronus to maintain in a corporeal form and Mira has only ever managed to produce it fully once, during her O.W.L’s.

Boggart: Alternatively - the dead, bloodied and disfigured image of her parents, laying in a pool of their own blood because she’s failed them somehow. (OR) Her parents standing proud and away from her with disapproving faces, then again because she’s failed them. Mira’s whole being is focused on living up to family expectations and letting them down after everything she’s done is her worst nightmare.  (OR) Most commonly, herself but with distorted features, staring back, looking somewhat akin of a monster, wand raised and face twisted in a gnarly smirk, red eyes and demonic-like features. Mira is terrified of becoming a monster and it manifests like that.

Headcanons:

(Of Pure in-Breed) The concept of “blood purity” is a confusing one but when it comes to magical lines, there is at least a common denominator. The more direct magical ancestors a wizard has in their family tree, the “purer” they are. And it also means direct inbreeding. Mira is the result of intertwining wizarding families and while no one will challenge their ancestry, the Orpington’s along with the other handful of families standing on top of the Old World’s magical lineages, they have married and remarried cousins and even siblings, limiting their genetic pool to a dangerous extent.  Mira as the most recent apex of said families turned out a powerful witch but just like when it comes to dog’s pedigrees, she is as damaged internally as she is “pure”.  Her magical streak is powerful alright but it borders the ‘out of control’ zone, an explosive mix of a small body withholding immense power. The newest generations of the “Purer families” are genetical abominations that of course, the old-timey concepts of the wizarding world refuse to acknowledge since they deny any form of “non magical” study but these kids should not exist. Growing up as a child Mira wasn’t sickly per say but there were some scary episodes, magic outbursts in which she’d hurt others or herself when in anger or distress or like a faulty machine her body would overheat into uncontrollable fever, shortness of breath or nose bleeds for a few hours before breaking it down.

(Of Attention Disorders) Attention deficit and hyper-active disorders are muggle and fairly new psychiatrically concepts and that’s why Mira will probably go her whole life undiagnosed, living under the guise of just “having too much energy”, “strong” and “spirituous”. Brimming with magical energy, the reason for her hyperactive disorder is probably sourced where her magic is. Of course, everything a powerful family would need from a heiress. But also a problem when it came to studying. Her physical inability to sit still for long time spans turned school into a challenge during the girl’s first year. Mira is stubborn and needs to put twice, thrice the effort the others do in order to achieve the results expect of her. While magic comes easily anything that doesn’t fall in the “practice” but in the “theory” realm has a high demand from her. It’s easy to see Mira biting into her quills or doodling in the corners of her parchment during classes, sometimes making origamis or furiously fiddling with whatever jewellery she’s wearing. Professors learned that’s how she actually manages to pay attention. During her first and second years, Mira was taken in for tutoring by the professors on the weekends or free school nights but eventually she learned to keep herself at bay. Exercising regularly (adding quidditch to it) and a strict studying discipline helped her spend the overflowing energy she’s got to spare.

(Of Mind Reading) Legillimency to most wizards isn’t a natural-born-with skill but one developed with years of hard practice and studying. Some, however, have a penchant for it – are born with it built in them, such as Mira was. She’s still too young to fully understand or properly control, she hardly has the discipline to sit down and pour herself over the long and boring books and theories or practice the dull mind exercises for endless hours. “Mind reading” isn’t as much as reading someone’s mind like a book but more prying through thoughts and memories, pieces and bits, emotions, feelings, sensations. As a child that power manifested on her as a high sense of empathy, she’d always be fine-tuned to everyone else’s emotions around her, always aware of how the whole room “felt” in a way. It was only during her third year in Hogwarts that she realized it wasn’t just a strong sense of imagination and empathy, that she indeed could know certain things. She knows when someone’s lying or deflecting, she can tell when they’re being honest or when someone’s uncomfortable. Sometimes when most vulnerable in her sleep she can “break into” her dorm mates dreams or people she’s got a strong emotional connection with if they’re both asleep. She’s still too young and unexperienced to yield any control over her legillimency but uses whatever she can get from others as a way of shaping relationships rather than controlling. Professor Merkle has taken into tutoring the girl ever since her fourth year and while Mira is much more driven towards other areas of magic, she understands her legillimency is something that at least requires good control. So far the only person who knows of her potential for it is Professor Merkle, keeping the girl in a short leash to make sure she won’t misuse the power.

(Of Flawless Records) While Mira Jane has quite the temper she has never warranted a detention in her life. Her whole life has been threading the fine balance of the tightrope between being her own person and being the person everyone else expects her to be. She knows her parents and extended family and even business relationships could be affected by her acts and how she’s perceived, so Mira needs to be Perfect. She hates it, is deeply unhappy about having to watch her every step, extremely self-conscious and self-aware of having to do so, but she was groomed to be like that. People can’t hold things against you if you don’t give them weapons – Mira has never made out with anyone, public or secretly, Mira has never openly said anything compromising, keeping her innermost thoughts to herself or the probably two closest friends she’s got, people she’d trust to not stab her in the back. Paranoia is also one thing that kind of behaviour triggered on her.  

(Of Lions and Loyalty) Mira is what one can call textbook Gryffindor – joke among the Orpington’s that she proves their blood descends from Godric himself. Headstrong, chivalrous, brave, stubborn and loyal to a fault, someone whom never backs down in the face of adversity. She’s exactly like her father is and her grandfather before her, though the Orpington’s have produced most Gryffindors and Slytherins through the ages, they’ve all had their fair share in the other houses. Still Mira is directly a third generation Gryffindor, proud of her House and also wanting to make her House proud of having her.

(Of Sports) Mira loves Quidditch, she learned to ride a toy broom before she even learned how to count properly, she’s been in love with the freedom and the thrilling emotion, everything that comes with flying around. Her grandmother would often say Mira was just like her, born with the Orpington’s dragon blood in her veins, to be powerful and free. She always had an array of cousins to mock-play quidditch in the family’s estate property, carefully watched closed by the house staff. So when first joining Gryffindor’s quidditch team during her second year, no one was surprised she was a good player. Always with too much energy and ready to get up on her feet and play, Mira is the kind of dedicated player who doesn’t mind scorching sun or ice cold rain, she’ll play until someone calls game over, and the next day she’ll be there practicing again.

(Of Beauty Standards) Mira Orpington wears makeup like one wears chainmail, she wears the finest clothes like one wears an armour for battle. She’s always been a free, wild spirit. She’d rather spend her days wearing jeans, loose shirts and smeared with dirt from Quidditch practice and Dragon Rearing. But alas she can’t, she was properly tamed down by her mother and understands her image isn’t hers alone, but her family’s as well. No one can see the chinks in the armour, they can only see polished steel and gold. She hates makeup, tight dresses, high heels, jewellery and tiaras but she wears them all with pride, blinding herself to the outside world, being whoever her family needs her to look, whoever they need her to be. Often Mira loses her sense of self, the person she sees in the mirror is a stranger, a distant acquaintance at most, but she swallows her pride and hurt and strides forward. Still, in whatever she can be herself she is, she owns so much makeup her luggage has a specific setting with an extension spell so she can always have it at hand.

(Of Government Issues) As the textbook Gryffindor she is, Mira is loyal to a fault, that’s both a quality and a defect. She grew up with the constant presence of Lowell Tegus whom she deems her uncle, part of the extended family and all. When she was a child and Tegus climbed upstairs, leaving the Department of Mysteries, it was often she’d spend some of her afternoons in his office, coloring with crayons and waiting for her father to arrive or one of her uncles or aunts or even her mother who’d eventually work with the international cooperation department. To this day Mira is Lowell’s greatest ally when it comes to Hogwarts, she trusts him to do what’s fair and right, she confides in him and badmouthing the ministry in front of her is a sure way to go into her watch list. The “mission” she got from her “uncle” during her third year was also a good way to give Mira something to do that’d also put her political grooming to good use.

History:

Estella Vauxhall and Neal Orpington never really loved each other – no more than third cousins that were raised together do. They never did and never would, they were friends at best. There was never a spark, there was never anything remotely romantic between them. But both loved their families and had a sense of duty only two Gryffindors would be known for. With only a few years between them, they understood their place in the society they lived and understood what their marriage meant to both their families. Both powerful and talented wizards, it wasn’t so much about their blood but what their blood and names meant together.

Partners in crime, friends even if not in love with one another, there was never hatred or resentment either. Estella accepted the fact Neal was the only suitor that matched her in power, blood purity and dignity. Neal considered Estella the only one on his level as well so they made a formidable pair in all aspects, of course. At some point it was more necessary as a statement than anything to have a heir, whether someone to keep the Orpington or Vauxhall legacy, to cement their union and so on.

Mira came along three years into their marriage – while her parents marriage was loveless in a romantic sense, while the two of them were more friends than anything else, they loved their daughter more than anything in the world. She was the real accomplishment behind their marriage, a symbol of purity, power and a future with the Orpington name in it. Both loved Mira with all the feelings they did not have to spare on each other, everyone in the Orpington estate also loved the child that was born to be the new face of their family until the next generation started coming along.

Mira Jane Annaelise Pyxis Orpington Vauxhall, born in the middle of Summer on a dry and hot morning, under the stars of Leo and the Pyxis constellation according to her star map. She was loved from the moment she came into life and for most of her life, knew only that – love and kindness.

However fruit of inbreeding, her magic showed signs even before she learned to talk or even sit up properly, as a baby twice she transfigured the mobile figurines above her crib. The first eight months were quite the suffering for the young parents and everyone who worked in the house – an energetic baby with powerful lungs, she was. But the one person Mira took more to was her grandmother, her father’s mother, a widowed soft woman with a kind heart who held the utmost respect from the wizarding society for having fought during wars and remained as kind and good as she was in her youth. Baby Mira and old Mira were inseparable during the girl’s first years of life, best friends as they came.

Mira grew up surrounded by love, care and of course as it should be, demands and expectations. She was the heiress to the Orpington’s, everything would eventually be hers – the name, the legacy, the power, the influence, the properties and money. She would be groomed into being worthy of what her name and legacy meant, beaten into shape if necessary. Let it not be said either of her parents did a lousy job – but truth be told, they had the best material to work with as well.

Mira’s powerful nature only grew although not only that. Always full of energy, sometimes too much energy, creative, brash, loud. Her father was laid back when it came to his ‘little princess’ but her mother was relentless, knowing her daughter would have to show to their whole society that she deserved the pedestal she was put on. If Mira had been born a man then maybe Estella wouldn’t worry so much but alas she was not and knew her daughter would have to grow up strong.

That never seemed to be a problem. Mira was strong in every sense of the word, with a personality of her own, vocal, stubborn and active, never ending energy that would tired her mother and the gaggle of maids and nannies hired to keep the little girl. As a child she had more leeway with the mischief and shenanigans but as she grew older, Estella had to reign her in to make sure Mira would have the strength to bear whatever the future held for her.

The Trace breakings were several and often in the years before Hogwarts, especially after she turned seven years old where her powers were bursting at the seams. Curious, intelligent and imaginative Mira always seemed to have a knack for getting herself in trouble along with her cousins, extended family and even the child friends who’d always be around the Orpington estate. Her father however never really minded all the breaches, he’d take her into his office and have long talks with Mira about her potential, about her power and the future and how proud he was and how he expected her to do great things.

Sometimes pressure felt too much and she tried not to let it get to her.

In two different circumstances, one at age eight and another at age eleven right before she left for Hogwarts, Mira’s magic backfired horribly. The first time it happened she hurt herself, accidentally creating fiendfyre while playing in the woods by the Vauxhall estate when one of her cousins pushed her, almost killing said cousin and herself. Both herself and her cousin almost died that day but thankfully there were enough adult wizards to subdue the inferno quickly. It wasn’t only a break of the Trace but many were very impressed with the girl’s ability to cast such a powerful curse by accident, Neal was greatly praised while everyone overlooked the fact Mira could have easily killed herself or someone else and the strongest magic she naturally produced was, well, rooted in dark magic.

A month before going to Hogwarts for the first time, however, while having a nervous breakdown related to the incoming party at the Orpington estate to celebrate summer, Mira destroyed her whole room and killed her own cat, compromising the entire west-wing of the Orpington estate. Inconsolable for weeks, Hogwarts came as a relief for the little girl, a beacon of hope where she’d learn how to harbour her magic and not hurt anyone anymore.

Hogwarts was where her old life gained new parts – a world of opportunities, not having her overbearing mother hovering over her shoulder and giving her orders all the time anymore, sure she still had to be very self-aware but at least now she could relax a little. Make friends, play Quidditch, tend to dragons and magical creatures and finally learn how to control her magic. Gryffindor fit Mira like a glove and it was like she had been born inside the castle, drifting always as the alpha of her social circle, unable to tell if it was her nature or if she had been especially groomed to act like that. Popular, requested, loved, hated – Mira held her head barely above the high waters she had to thread. She carried the name and public image of her family, for an eleven year old that’s a harsh predicament.

Throughout the years Mira solidified who she was in the face of the wizarding society – summer parties at the Orpington estate, travelling with Hogwarts classmates during Christmas and Easter breaks. Looking after her House mates, studying diligently, partaking into clubs and helping professors without being asked – all of that while trying to look as natural as possible. With the passing years it all turned more convincing rather than the pretending she forced herself through.

Now:  

Mira rose above the challenge imposed to her face – she had to be Perfect. Outstanding. If she had been born a man no one would mind about mediocre grades or half-asses magic but that wasn’t her case. She loves Qudditch, being in the pitch is truly the only moment she can feel she can be closer to her true self, along with the Dragon Rearing club and Wizarding Politics, the subjects she excels without effort. However outside the pitch she’s not herself, she’s the Orpington heiress, the Little Princess, prim and proper. It’s not nearly enough to be just a Prefect, everyone expects her to become Head Girl as soon as she enters her seventh year, they expect her to score perfect grades in her N.E.W.T.s. She works twice as hard towards everything, grades, quidditch, clubs – Good isn’t Outstanding and her mother made that pretty clear. Mira takes the current turmoil in the British wizarding society in stride, she’s supposed to be a future community leader so reigning in her colleagues at Hogwarts is the perfect opportunity to show what she’s there for. Of course, one of those things is to be quite loyal to the Ministry and Lowell Tegus, keeping an eye out for other students and Hogwarts’ staff.

But like they say, Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion of a crime as much as she is free of the crime itself.