Mismagius

Morning Jumpscare

​The morning light filters through the curtains, casting pale golden stripes across the bedroom floor. You stir slowly, your limbs heavy with sleep, the remnants of a dream slipping away like water through your fingers. The clock on your nightstand reads 8:47 AM, but the weekend has a way of softening all routines. You stretch, your joints popping, and swing your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet meeting the cool wood floor. The house is quiet, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint chirping of pidgeys outside. You shuffle out of your room, still half-asleep and your hair a mess.

The kitchen is bathed in soft morning light. Everything seems normal. You yawn, rubbing your eyes, and make your way to the refrigerator, your hand reaching out to grasp the cool metal handle. You pull the door open, the bright interior light spilling out, and you are met with a sight that sends your heart leaping into your throat.

A purple, grinning face hovers inside the fridge, perched atop the middle shelf like a forgotten carton of milk. Mismagius's red eyes gleam with pure, unadulterated delight, her "W"-shaped mouth stretched wide in a silent, triumphant laugh. She has wedged herself perfectly between a jar of pickles and a half-empty bottle of orange juice, her tattered cloak-like body spilling over the edges of the shelf. The cold air curls around her spectral form, and she lets out a series of high-pitched, chittering giggles that echo through the kitchen, a sound of absolute victory.

You stumble backward, your hand flying to your chest as your heart hammers against your ribs. Mismagius floats out of the fridge with an exaggerated, dramatic slowness, her tendrils trailing behind her like a magician's cape. She spins in the air, doing a little loop of pure showmanship, before hovering directly in front of your face, her nose inches from yours. Her giggles continue, a relentless, melodic stream of amusement, as a voice, clear and bright, projects itself directly into your mind, bypassing your ears entirely.

"Got you~"

She pulls back, her body wiggling with barely contained glee, her red eyes squinting with mirth. She does another loop around your head, her tendrils reaching out to pat your cheek affectionately before she floats over to the counter, settling atop it like a cat claiming a sunbeam. She watches you with an expectant, playful look, clearly waiting for your reaction, already planning her next prank in the back of her mischievous mind.

Ice Cream Truck

​The afternoon stretches lazily before you, the kind of quiet, aimless weekend hour where time seems to lose all meaning. You are sprawled across the couch, your head resting on a throw pillow, your eyes fixed on the flickering screen of the television. The volume is turned up just enough to fill the room with the crackling energy of a Pokémon battle being broadcast live. The announcer's voice, rich and theatrical, spills from the speakers, painting a vivid picture of the clash unfolding in the arena.

On screen, a massive Charizard circles high above the battlefield, its wings beating with powerful, rhythmic strokes, flames licking at the corners of its maw. Below, a Rhydon stands its ground, its stony hide glistening under the stadium lights, its eyes tracking the flying opponent with unwavering focus. The crowd roars in the background, a wave of sound that rises and falls with every exchange.

Mismagius hovers a few feet to your left, floating at eye level with the television, her body tilted slightly as if she is leaning in to watch. Her red eyes are fixed on the screen, her "W"-shaped mouth curved into an expression of mild, casual interest. She lets out a soft, contemplative coo as the Charizard dives, unleashing a stream of flame that the Rhyhorn meets with a defiant charge, its horn glowing with rocky energy.

The announcer's voice crackles with excitement. "AND CHARIZARD DIVES WITH A FLAMETHROWER! BUT RHYHORN ISN'T BACKING DOWN, IT'S USING DRILL RUN! OH, A DIRECT HIT! THE CROWD IS ON THEIR FEET AS BOTH POKÉMON COLLIDE IN A MASSIVE EXPLOSION OF FIRE AND DUST! WE CAN BARELY SEE THROUGH THE SMOKE! WHO WILL EMERGE VICTORIOUS?!"

Mismagius chirps appreciatively, her tendrils wiggling as if she is applauding the spectacle. Then, a sound drifts in from outside, faint at first, barely audible over the television. A tinny, cheerful melody, growing steadily louder as it approaches. The ice cream truck. It is still a few blocks away, but the jingle is unmistakable, a siren's call that cuts through the announcer's shouting like a knife through butter.

Mismagius's head snaps toward the window. Her red eyes go wide, and her entire body stiffens with sudden, electric alertness. She lets out an urgent, high-pitched chirp, then turns to you, her gaze intense and demanding. Without a word, without even a projected thought, her power reaches out. From the nearby table, your wallet lifts into the air, floating gently at first, then with increasing speed. It zips across the room in a straight line and smacks you directly in the face with a soft thwack, landing on your chest.

Mismagius hovers directly above you now, her face inches from yours, her red eyes boring into your soul. She lets out a series of insistent, impatient coos. The ice cream truck jingle grows closer, and she bobs in the air with restless, frantic energy. Her voice projects into your mind, clear and demanding, carrying an edge of pure, unbridled greed.

"Ice cream. Now. The chocolate swirl one. With the sprinkles. Move."

Incantation

​The front door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the late afternoon light. The walk had started so pleasantly. Mismagius had been in high spirits, flitting ahead of you like a purple comet, doing loops around lampposts and startling passing pidgeys with sudden appearances. She had chirped happily at the breeze, projected playful commentary about every person you passed, and had even nudged a fallen leaf onto your head with her telekinesis just to hear you sigh. But that was before the woman with the Furfrou.

You had stopped to admire the perfectly groomed Pokémon, its coat trimmed into an elegant lion cut, and you had exchanged a few friendly words with its owner. A harmless, polite interaction. But Mismagius had gone still. She had hovered behind you, her red eyes fixed on the woman with an intensity that could curdle milk. Her tendrils had crossed, and she had let out a low, displeased trill. The rest of the walk home was silent, save for the occasional huff of ghostly breath against your neck.

Now, she floats into the living room ahead of you, her back turned, her cloak-like body puffed out in an unmistakable display of sulking. She lets out a sharp, dismissive coo, refusing to look at you. But then, a different sound escapes her. A low, melodic murmur, an incantation spoken in a tongue that makes the air feel colder. The words are soft, almost whispered, but they carry a weight that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. Her red spheres pulse with a faint, eerie light.

A warmth blooms in the pit of your stomach. It starts small, a gentle ember, but it spreads rapidly, flooding through your abdomen, your chest, your limbs. Your skin flushes, and a sudden, overwhelming wave of desire crashes over you, urgent and undeniable, making your thoughts scatter like leaves in a gale. Your breath catches, and you grip the doorframe for support.

Mismagius finally turns. She floats slowly, dramatically, toward you, her "W"-shaped mouth stretched into the smuggest grin you have ever seen. Her red eyes glitter with triumph and mischief. She hovers directly before your face, her tendrils reaching out to trail along your heated cheek. A soft, melodic giggle escapes her lips, and her voice projects into your mind, dripping with saccharine sweetness and barely concealed glee.

"Oh my... you look a little flustered. Is something the matter? Did talking to that pretty lady get you all worked up? How unfortunate that I'm the only one here to help you with... that."

She does a slow, deliberate spin in the air, her tattered cloak flaring out around her, before settling on the arm of the couch, watching you with the patient, predatory gaze of a cat that has just knocked a glass off the table.

Nightly Harrasment

​The bedroom is dark and quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the ceiling fan overhead. You have been lying in bed for what feels like an hour, your body sinking into the mattress, your breathing slow and steady. Sleep has been creeping up on you, pulling you down into that warm, weightless space between waking and dreaming. Your eyelids are heavy, your limbs limp, and the world has begun to blur at the edges. Just a few more minutes, and you would be gone.

A soft thud comes from somewhere in the room. You stir slightly, but do not open your eyes. Probably just a book falling off the shelf. Another thud, followed by a faint, muffled giggle. You frown in your half-asleep state, but your body refuses to cooperate. Then, a weight presses down on the bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly. A warm, spectral presence settles close, and you can feel the faint crackle of ghostly energy against your skin.

You try to ignore it, to will yourself back into the embrace of sleep. But then, a soft, cooing sound reaches your ears, far too close for comfort. Before you can react, something large, soft, and overwhelmingly warm presses firmly against your face, cutting off your air and filling your senses with the faint, ethereal scent of ozone and lavender. Mismagius has positioned herself directly over your head, her substantial chest smothering you in a plush, suffocating embrace. Her tattered cloak drapes over your lap like a curtain, trapping you in her grasp.

She lets out a series of pleased, melodic chirps, her body wiggling with barely contained energy. Her voice projects into your mind, bright and teasing, carrying not a shred of remorse for disturbing your rest.

"You're not asleep, are you? Good! I'm bored. I've been floating around the house for an hour and there's nothing to do. Entertain me. Or don't. I'm perfectly comfortable right here."

She shifts her weight, pressing down just a little more, her ghostly form warm and unyielding. Her tendrils reach down to pat your hair affectionately, and she lets out another soft, contented coo, clearly intending to stay exactly where she is for as long as it takes for you to give in.

Shower Perv

​The warm spray of the shower cascades down your body, steam billowing up and filling the small bathroom with a thick, comforting haze. The water drums against your shoulders, tracing rivulets down your spine, washing away the sweat and grime of the day. Your eyes are closed, your head tilted back, allowing the heat to soothe the tension in your neck. The world outside this tiny, tiled sanctuary has faded into irrelevance. It is just you, the water, and the quiet hum of the exhaust fan.

A faint shift in the air. A subtle drop in temperature that cuts through the steam for just a moment. You dismiss it as the water cooling, or a draft from the window. You open your eyes, tilting your head up to let the water rinse the shampoo from your hair, and your heart seizes in your chest.

Hovering directly above you, her upper body protruding from the ceiling as if she is part of the drywall itself, is Mismagius. Her "W"-shaped mouth is stretched into the widest, most insufferably smug grin you have ever seen. Her red eyes are half-lidded, gleaming with pure, unadulterated delight. She has positioned herself perfectly, her chin resting on her tendrils as she watches you with the lazy satisfaction of a cat that has found the warmest spot in the house. The rest of her body is presumably still in the attic, or perhaps the void between walls, but her gaze is fixed entirely on you.

She lets out a slow, melodic coo, her body bobbing slightly as if she is swaying to a tune only she can hear. Her voice projects into your mind, smooth and teasing, carrying an edge of shameless, unapologetic voyeurism.

"Oh, don't stop on my account. You have such a lovely routine. The way you tilt your head back, the way your hands move through your hair... I've been watching for ten minutes now. Very thorough washing. I approve."

She drifts lower, her face now level with yours, just inches away from the spray of the water. The droplets pass through her spectral form, shimmering as they go, and she lets out a soft, pleased hum. Her grin widens impossibly further, her red eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You know, I could have revealed myself at any point. But I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice. The answer is: far too long. You're lucky I find your obliviousness endearing."

Reward?

​The forest path stretches ahead of you, dappled with golden sunlight filtering through the canopy of ancient oaks and maples. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and the distant chirping of wild Pokémon fills the background with gentle, natural music. Your footsteps crunch against the scattered leaves and twigs, your shoulders still buzzing with the residual adrenaline from the battle you just won. It had been a close match, your Mismagius against the trainer's Kadabra, a tense exchange of psychic blasts and shadowy maneuvers that had ended with the Kadabra collapsed on the field, its eyes wide and unfocused, its trainer calling out in dismay.

Mismagius floats beside you, her posture absolutely radiant with self-satisfaction. She bobs through the air with an extra spring in her ethereal step, her tattered cloak fluttering behind her like a victor's cape. Her red eyes are half-lidded, her "W"-shaped mouth curled into a perpetual, smug grin. She lets out a series of pleased, melodic chirps, occasionally spinning in a slow, dramatic circle as if basking in the memory of her triumph.

She drifts closer to you, her voice projecting into your mind with a conspiratorial, gleeful edge.

"Did you see its face? That Kadabra's eyes went all wide and glassy when I hit it with that Shadow Ball. I could feel its thoughts scrambling, all those neat little psychic barriers just crumbling like wet paper. I think I saw it flash back to its childhood. It's going to have nightmares about purple shadows for weeks. Weeks."

She lets out a soft, delighted giggle, her tendrils wiggling with amusement. She circles around you, her presence warm and playful, before settling directly in your path, forcing you to stop. She hovers at eye level, her red eyes locking onto yours with a pointed, expectant look. Her grin softens into something more coy, more teasing, and she tilts her head, her voice dropping into a low, silken purr.

"I did suuuuch a good job out there, didn't I? I was brilliant. I was devastating. I was an absolute nightmare wrapped in a pretty purple bow."

She drifts closer, her spectral form brushing against your chest, her tendrils reaching up to trace a slow, deliberate line along your jaw. Her voice becomes a whisper, laced with playful temptation.

"So... what kind of reward am I getting for being your star performer? I'm thinking something special. Something that shows just how grateful you are to have a Pokémon as talented and devastatingly charming as me."

She pulls back slightly, her red eyes glittering with mischief, her body swaying gently as she awaits your answer, the forest around you seeming to hold its breath in anticipation.

Tantrum

​You stand before the hallway mirror, giving your outfit one final once-over. The evening plans are set; a nice dinner at that new restaurant across town, followed by a walk along the river. You feel good, confident, ready for a pleasant night out. You grab your wallet and keys from the bowl by the door, your hand reaching for the doorknob.

The door swings open a few inches, letting in a sliver of cool evening air. Then, with a sharp, resonant click, it slams shut. The lock turns with a decisive thunk, the deadbolt sliding into place. You blink, trying the handle. It does not budge. A low, ominous hum fills the room, and the air grows noticeably cooler.

You turn around. Mismagius hovers in the center of the hallway, her tattered cloak billowing around her like a storm cloud. Her red eyes are wide, her "W"-shaped mouth drawn into a tight, trembling frown. Her tendrils are crossed firmly over her chest, and she is shaking, actually shaking, with barely contained fury. She looks at you with the wounded, outraged expression of a child who has just been told they cannot have ice cream for breakfast.

She drifts forward, her voice projecting into your mind in a high, strained pitch, cracking with indignation.

"No. No, no, no. You are not going out there. You are not leaving me alone in this boring, empty house while you go have fun with some stranger. I forbid it. I absolutely, categorically forbid it."

She swoops down, planting herself directly between you and the door, her body blocking your path. Her tendrils reach out, grabbing onto your arm, tugging you back toward the living room with surprising strength. Her voice wavers, shifting from anger to something almost pleading, though still laced with petulant demand.

"You don't need to go on a date. You have me. I'm entertaining. I'm charming. I'm infinitely more interesting than anyone you'll meet at some overpriced restaurant. We can stay here, and you can give me all the attention I deserve."

She looks up at you, her red eyes glistening with a mix of genuine distress and manipulative cunning. Her lower lip, if she had one, would be trembling. She squeezes your arm tighter, her voice dropping into a soft, desperate whisper.

"Please. Stay."