#Impish Creations

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The Doctors and their Pokémon

Fugitive Doctor

Zorua

Stoutland

She got the Zorua first; standard issue from Division, carefully trained and maintained like the gun they also gave her, except she named it and talked to it and by the end of the first mission she refused to give it back, and it refused to leave.

Not that she remembered, of course. Not once she had to hide. Its power is partly what made that happen, what let her hide so long; a Zorua and a fobwatch, and a new mundane life of taxes and takeaways and time passing in order. It couldn't stay with her. Once she was squirrelled safely away, the Zorua changed form to an Ampharos, living alone on the coast, faithfully guarding her TARDIS.

She thinks about that sometimes, about the incredible loyalty and love that must have taken; hiding itself for her, yet staying far away, hoping and trusting it could protect and keep safe a trainer that it would never see again. She can't think about it for too long. It overwhelms her.

She loves the Stoutland, but she can't remember why.

First Doctor

Persian

Polteageist

He's trying to be all old and important, like you do when you're young, and so he's drawn to the Pokémon with gravitas; the ones that suggest wealth and sophistication. Susan wants to stay on Earth in the UK in the 60s (something about the music, apparently), and it seems as safe a place as any; and if many of the men in this period conduct themselves in an eerily similar way to the Time Lords, well. It's nothing to do with homesickness. Absolute nonsense. It'll just help him blend in, that's all.

The Persian is elegant and dignified, snooty and superior in a way he likes. It's disdainful of the roster of new companions that Susan somehow brings home, and continue to arrive even after she leaves, and he likes that too (although it does like Barbara, the three of them often sunbathing while Susan and Chesterton go off exploring on new planets, and he likes that best of all.)

The Polteageist has the aura of old and classy, and yet also has an impish, mischievous streak, sometimes trying to trick Chesterfield into drinking from it. The Doctor approves of this jape. Although he really can't be having with any of them, of course, Pokémon OR companions. Things were much simpler when it was just him and Susan.

(He secretly lets the Persian on his bed at night. Barbara pretends she doesn't know, and discreetly brushes the fur off his coat.)

Second Doctor

Chatot

Neither of them will shut the fuck up. This includes when the recorder comes out, and the Chatot tries to harmonise. Zoe finds it charming, and often talks to it, but Jamie finds it noisy and obnoxious. He swore at it in Scots once, but it repeated it to the Doctor, and so Jamie got a row.

It almost gets eaten by a Cyber-mat on Telos, though, and Jamie beats the offending Cyber-mat to death with a brick with surprising verve and venom. After that, he and the Chatot take great delight in lovingly insulting each other.

After the War Games, and the arrival of the Time Lords, the Doctor is forced to part with it. It goes with Jamie, and lives out its days screaming Scots insults at English soldiers in the Highlands, and sometimes singing strange, whistling tunes that Jamie feels he heard somewhere before.

Third Doctor

Aegislash

Porygon Z

The Doctor trained up the Aegislash with the express aim of being able to fence the Master if needed, because he thought it would be more stylish. He's right, too, but Liz swore to herself that she'd rather die than admit that out loud. Of course, the Master then did exactly the same thing, but with a shiny Aegislash. The Doctor sulked for days.

She loved creating the Porygon with him, though (a synthetic Pokémon! What an incredible scientific creation), and she was the one to train it up to a Porygon Z. When Jo comes along, she loves the Porygon Z with her whole heart and soul, but it's always skittish around her clumsy ways. Eventually, they go back to UNIT for a visit, and it leaves to be with Liz. Probably best for everyone.

It makes Jo sad, though. It feels like maybe it was her fault - if she could have befriended it properly, could have been less ditzy, less her, then maybe it would have been happy. The Doctor tells her it was simply better off with its first trainer, that she shouldn't blame herself, but she can't help it. It eats at her, until one evening she's sitting in her room moping and feels a nudge, and when she looks down the Aegislash is gazing up at her, its clumsy sword body incapable of offering proper comfort yet trying anyway. It makes her laugh, touched beyond measure, and it locks eyes with her, spins its back to her, and morphs into defence form, a shield against the world all for her.

After that, she is best friends with it. It spends most of its time on their adventures leaping defensively between Jo and certain doom; the Doctor is only half joking when he tells her it's probably why she survives.

When she meets Cliff and falls in love, leaving the perils of space for the perils of social justice, it goes with her.

The next time the Doctor meets the Master, he uses Venusian aikido. It's more stylish than sword fighting, anyway.

Fourth Doctor

Psyduck

Beeheeyem

Alcremie

It's actually Sarah Jane who brings the Beeheeyem aboard, and Harry who brings the Psyduck; both are accidental acquisitions, with the former being responsible for a mystery that Sarah Jane was investigating and the latter being treated by Harry for a headache, and both just... follow these humans when they try to leave, and refuse to stop doing so even when they enter the TARDIS.

But you wouldn't know it. Beeheeyem and Psyduck both prove to be off-putting weirdos, and keep staring at people unsettlingly; Sarah has to keep her bedroom door locked shut to stop either from getting in after she woke up one morning to find both next to her bed, staring at her while she slept. She'd screamed so loud that Harry had come stumbling in still in his night shirt, blearily looking for an invading alien or something. He'd laughed when he realised, and shooed them out, and helped her install a lock.

And yet... the Doctor apparently enjoys staring unsettlingly back.

Sarah and Harry start keeping a secret spreadsheet; which Pokémon, for how long, who seems to win the staring contest. Sometimes they last for hours. It seems almost meditative. It causes deep bonds to form; fascinatingly, he even seems to understand Beeheeyem's weird finger flashing, which Sarah is fairly certain is unheard of.

The Alcremie was a deliberate acquisition, though. He does have a sweet tooth.

Fifth Doctor

Farfetchd

Hirsuian Voltorb

Tegan mocks him viciously for it, but he's a vain creature with eccentric and rigid aesthetic choices, and the Pokémon help with it. Farfetch'd is very good at accessorising with his celery. And Voltorb is the only thing that ever lets him relax - it is so much easier to play cricket with a ball that bowls itself at you! Nyssa and Tegan approve at first; the Doctor can be abrasive, and neither of them has any interest in cricket.

It also lets him play alone. After Adric, he locks himself into the TARDIS sports hall, and plays and plays and plays.

Sixth Doctor

Bruxish

Galarian Linoone

Eiscue

He bonds with the Bruxish instantly, love at first sight; they share the flashy coat, warning stripes to the world, and the smirking, vicious temperament. It takes Peri weeks to warm to it, and it snaps and strikes every time she gets near; until one day she doesn't move fast enough, and she discovers that the teeth that fully closed about the meat of her upper arm barely grazed across her skin, leaving no mark. It acts positively affronted when she announces it's not so bad after all; but she's no longer fooled.

The Linoone is, not to put too fine a point on it, a little shit. The Doctor spends half his time loudly decrying it as conniving and ungrateful; it waggles its tongue back, making an odd sniggering sound before stealing his socks and other items. But Peri sees him slipping it treats sometimes, sees the little ear scratches, sees the answering hand licks. Like Barbara before her, she pretends not to see.

The Eiscue is called Frobisher. The Doctor names it a companion.

Seventh Doctor

Mimikyu

Mr Rime

Liepard

Ace wonders afterwards, in the years to come, how she didn't see the lies, the manipulation, the depths of his scheming sooner; it was right there in the Doctor's Pokémon, if she'd cared to look. Except she did, actually - that's the worst part, in a way. She did know.

But she never thought it would apply to her. Not... like that. Not that personally.

And that's also down to the Pokémon, probably. The Mr Rime is too knowing in its gaze, a Psychic type that sees right through her; but whenever it sees her unhappy it twirls its cane and hat in an impression of the Doctor to make her laugh. The Liepard is vicious and deceptive, sneaky and shrewd, and yet it curls around her whenever she sits in the chair in her room, purring and rubbing against her. The Mimikyu is more obvious, admittedly - a little nightmare beast in a Pikachu costume, hiding its true nature under an unassuming mask - but, is that more the Doctor, or her?

Perhaps it's both.

Perhaps it's all true. He went too far, with Fenric. Even he knows he did. But like the Pokémon, he still loves her. She's both pawn and daughter to him; a playing piece to use, but also a companion to love. And he does use her, yes.

But he does love her, too.

(It takes too long to realise it. When she leaves, the Mimikyu and the Liepard come with her. The Mr Rime does not, the resemblance too much; and the Doctor understands.)

Eighth Doctor

Slowpoke

Cherrim

It's probably the difficult regeneration; he gets amnesia like humans get colds, the memories slipping away like sand through a fist and leaving him hollow, without an identity to fill the void. It's a lonely thing, amnesia. Oddly, though, it's the times that he does remember that feel the loneliest.

Odder still, it always feels so familiar.

But the Pokémon keep him sane. The Slowpoke is his constant friend, as forgetful as him, its vacant, constant state of mild confusion nonetheless living proof that even without the memories, he can still be him, whoever that may be. Amnesia is lonely, yes; but here is a creature going through the same thing, and ultimately, they are in it together at least.

The Cherrim is different. It cloaks itself often, hunkering down against the darkness of a non-existent storm, and he knows that sensation. But then the sun shines, and the Cherrim opens up into its delighted cheerful dance, and the Doctor thinks, yes. This too shall pass. And there is joy when it does.

War Doctor

Yveltal

It's wrong. He knows it's wrong.

He doesn't have any others. No family, no companions, no Pokémon. None left now; and if there were, he's about to sacrifice them anyway. Best to keep it simple.

He thinks of Ace. He thinks of Susan. He thinks of keeping it simple and of I went too far and of a thousand other things; Sarah Jane, and Barbara brushing his coat, and playing cricket endlessly with a Voltorb in lieu of thinking of anything at all, and if he doesn't do this wrong thing, this awful thing now, none of them will have ever lived.

On a broken planet at the end of existence, there are Dalek ships in the sky.

They are hidden by the unfurling wings of Yveltal.

Ninth Doctor

Trubbish

Cubone

He's a nine hundred year old alien and Rose is aware that she herself is a teenager who still can't quite get her brain to accept 'woman' instead of 'girl'; and yet, within minutes of meeting the Doctor, all she can see is a broken child.

He hides it, almost. The face he shows the world is definitely stern and moral and hardened. He's sharp tongued even while actually sympathising with abused and downtrodden aliens and young Welsh psychics. But his trauma responses are totally off, he's far too quick to risk his life, and the day he has her at gun point, telling her to move so he can murder a Dalek and she says no, he shatters at her feet like glass.

But it's in his Pokémon too. The Trubbish is a surprise, until she thinks about it - you don't need to know him for more than... oh, five minutes tops before you realise that he will see the value and worth of every lifeform to exist, even - especially - ones that others don't. It's the Trubbish, it's the Gelth, it's a lonely Slitheen fugitive, a bio-engineered woman in a machine; for lack of a better word, the Doctor sees humanity even where you couldn't imagine it.

The Cubone weeps, mourning a loss it simply cannot heal alone. Rose catches them sometimes, sitting in the console room at 'night', the Cubone on the Doctor's lap and both crying silently as they stare at things she cannot see.

The day it evolves is a turning point. She sees the cracks begin to seal.

Tenth Doctor

Luvdisc

Goodra

Wobbuffet

Oricorio (pom pom)

He gets the Luvdisc for Rose, of course.

It's a silly thing, caught from the beach on Woman Wept; it was there, and the locals told them it was good luck, and it had made her eyes light up and he'd thought in that moment that he'd do anything to see that look in her eyes.

And then he loses Rose, and the grief leaves him breathless. There are days he cannot get his lungs to move quite right, and he lies in bed with his hands on his hearts, trying to find a stable pace to breathe. He knows he has to move on. Rose showed him that.

(He cannot even look at the Luvdisc now.)

So he's back to work, and then there's Martha; clever, wonderful Martha, quick witted and whip-smart and resourceful. She's the one who brings the Goodra aboard, actually. It was being neglected by its trainer, fed and trained and put to battle but never given the affection the species needs, and he'd beamed and said it was a good job it had her, then.

Fuck, he was so stupid with Martha. So blinded by his own grief, so trapped in his own head, so stupid. It was all right in front of him. But he'd been so alone for so long, had believed himself so unworthy, and then Rose came along and he'd dared to believe he could be loved, could be happy, could be so unfathomably lucky, and then suddenly it was gone, and he simply couldn't conceive of anyone else seeing what Rose saw.

The guilt had struck right in the solar plexus as Martha spelled out her departure. But his admiration for her, for her strength of character, could not possibly have been higher. She took the Goodra; he expected that.

But she also took the Luvdisc. "It deserves better, too," she told him, with a gentleness he didn't deserve.

The Wobbuffet came the day he re-met Donna. It was unclear why Kovarian had it, but as soon as they reunited, miming a conversation through two windows on opposite sides of a room, the Wobbuffet had slowly rotated to stare at each of them, transfixed. By the time the Doctor and Donna had made it into the same window basket, the Wobbuffet was somehow also there. After that, it came with them.

Between the three of them, they have a single braincell. On some days, it appears none of them are using it. But the Wobbuffet proves extremely useful, especially when protecting Donna from giant Beedrills.

They get the Oricorio as a giveaway from Ood Operations at the corporate open day; it keeps dancing to the Ood Song. It also hype dances every time Donna goes shopping, so she falls in love.

He leaves her with both in the end. If he can't be with her, at least they can.

Eleventh Doctor

Rowlet

Smoochum

Drifloon

Amy gets him the Rowlet. She says they have the same stupid dress sense, so maybe they can cry for help together. The Doctor is delighted, and takes great care of Rowlet's little bow tie.

The Drifloon, though, he tries not to think about. He's aware that he's seeing a lot of his companions and his wife as children. He's aware that it's weird, okay? He knows. He's also heard the old wives tale of Drifloons wanting to steal children, and how they Just Know who to follow sometimes to make that happen. But that way madness lies, so... don't think about it? Don't even think about it. Old wives tale. Anyway, it's too light to actually carry off a child, it's fine.

The Smoochum is on the nose, though. Of course it's River who gets it for him. "I thought a baby Pokémon would suit you," she coos. "See you next time, sweetie! Smooches!"

He wants to kill her.

Twelfth Doctor

Noctowl

Metagross

As ever, the Noctowl is Clara's idea. She tells him it looks like him. He hisses back that she's trying to look like a Gardevoir, but it's ineffective and stupidly mean and then the Noctowl follows him anyway. He catches sight of them in a mirror, and is even more annoyed when he realises she's right - the damn thing is even mirroring his expressions.

But the Metagross is his. It's clever, is the thing - four brains mean it's practically a super computer, and it's vicious in a way he relates to, and also, it has a St Andrews Cross over its face that makes him think of the accent that came with this face.

Bill asks him about that once.

"Lots of planets have a Scotland," he says.

Thirteenth Doctor

Stufful

Altaria

Maushold

She was too closed off last time, she thinks. She can tell; she hasn't been this clingy, this desperate for companionship, in a long time. And it's not a conscious choice, of course, that was more Romana's thing, but... Sometimes, the regenerations give you what you need.

That's how she gets the Stufful, a cuddly creature that just wants love. It's also how the Maushold evolves, she's pretty sure - it happens not long after Ryan calls Graham his Granddad, and the Doctor feels like her hearts could burst, she's so happy for them, and then when she goes to feed the Pokémon there are too many mice gazing up at her.

But the Altaria evolves not long after she and Yaz... realise.

She's not surprised. Attachment terrifies her now. She can't even think about Rose, about the Luvdisc, about Donna, about River. She's terrified of losing Yaz like that.

The Altaria sails serenely up in the sky, high and carefree, and the Doctor dreams of flying.

Fourteenth Doctor

Wishiwashi

Oricorio (sensu)

Klefi

The Wishiwashi happens immediately. He has rarely identified with something more; it battles with its armour, all the bodies and souls of its companions, and it uses them up until they're all gone and what's left is weak and useless and weeping at the horror of the world -

And then Donna's back, and she remembers. Fuck, she remembers. He's dreamed and dreamed and here it is.

The Oricorio is different now. It once flapped yellow wings like pom poms, joy and delight. Now lilac feathers like fans dance a mournful dance, a reminder of all that's lost. And yet...

Donna remembers.

"You're staggering, Doctor," she whispers. "Come home."

And finally... he does.

It can't be forever. He'll outlive them all, eventually. He knows this. But for now, this is what he needs.

A home with a family. His best friend, platonic soulmate, safe and sound; Wilf and the moles out the back; Mel at his side, finding their feet together; his vibrant and beautiful niece, the new and perfect owner of the old Wobbuffet.

The night he moves into the house that is now his, he takes out the keys to his new home, and discovers they are harbouring a tiny Klefki.

Fifteenth Doctor

Gardevoir (male)

Oricorio (baile)

It's a brand new life, a brand new universe, full of possibilities and wonder and so much to explore, and the Doctor does not know where to begin.

He brought one thing from his bi-generated self. The Oricorio is much happier now, its feathers a fabulous red and ready to party. The night he meets Ruby in the club it's him and the Oricorio in the press of bodies, somehow making space as they twirl round and round on the dark dancefloor, feathers and kilt flaring around them both in the heat and euphoria of the moment.

The Gardevoir was Rogue's. He'd been on Rogue's spaceship, and had immediately started dancing to Kylie, much to the Doctor's amusement and Rogue's irritation. Afterwards, the Doctor hadn't been able to leave him. Hadn't wanted to - the Gardevoir is gloriously stylish, with a sort of gender-bending aesthetic that the Doctor adores these days.

And he remembers. "It deserves better too," Martha had told him once, several lifetimes ago. He does not want to repeat those mistakes.

He keeps the Gardevoir, and the Oricorio too; and he chooses to remember what he once tried to forget.

[dark-and-kawaii]

ok HEAR ME OUT your last raphael fic was magnificent and got me..thinking of things🫣 imagine him taking tav with him to the HoH after impregnating (if he hasn’t yet before), to always keep an eye on her progress and to f her whenever he pleases of course, worshipping her body like she’s a goddess as she grows

I may have gotten carried away with this, but I really enjoy Raphael and this request had me cooking for a while. It got dark near the end but we gotta remember this is still Raphael bahaha!!! Thank you for the love and support 🫶 I really hope you like this anon

Raphael - Pregnancy - Possessiveness - Death - Protectiveness - NSFW

Raphael’s world was turned upside down when he discovered that you were carrying his child- an heir that awakened an intense sense of ownership within him. Should anything happen to his child or you he’d rip every soul from every last being once he claimed the nine Hells. Consumed by these feelings, he had made the decision to bring you back to Hell with him, driven by a need to keep a watchful eye on your pregnancy's progress.

With each curve of your growing form, Raphael is both enraptured and possessively drawn to you. He admires your pregnant beauty as if you were a goddess, your radiance captivating and enthralling him. Unyielding desires surge through his veins, fueled by a hunger for power and utter control. Raphael sees your pregnancy as the ultimate manifestation of yours and his union, a divine creation meant to bring forth an heir worthy of his wicked legacy.

Walking through his House of Hope, Raphael's lustful needs called for fulfillment, and it was you he would seek out… Bypassing his personal incubus, Haarlep. Perhaps he’d come back to the fool once his child came to be in this world… As for now though, Raphael only wished to devour you whole and to watch you come undone on his cock once more while his hands rested on the swell of your stomach.

Your moans and pleasurable screams could be heard throughout the boudoir and into the grand hall of Raphael’s domain. He savored the way your voice grew louder, quivering as you urged him on, the rhythmic thumping of his bed against the wall getting faster as you bounced on his cock vigorously. His name slipping from your lips while you cum on his pretty cock for the third time that night.

“Always so eager to please me, rest now little mouse. You deserve it after such a riveting performance.”

With your head now rested on Raphael’s chest, your body coated in sweat as you slept soundly… He glides the tip of his fingers down your exposed flesh as Haarlep watches their master display a rare form of affection.

Haarlep, driven by their own carnal desires, could not comprehend the depth of Raphael's love for you. For you were only supposed to be tool for him to use. Has his master grown soft? Mocking and taunting, Haarlep belittles Raphael's affections for you, “A once lost thief in the night now held tight by the devil himself as if she were some precious treasure. How-“.

Raphael scrunched his nose with stern disapproval, he had enough of Haarlep’s impish behavior and warns his incubus, “If you aren’t careful dear pet you may find yourself hanging in the basement with our dear friend, Hope.” The devil made it abundantly clear that his love for you was to be respected and not ridiculed… Haarlep stayed silent, their tail resting on your leg- a sign that they know their place and will do their best to keep their masters lover safe when not around.

A deep laugh emanated from Raphael’s chest, “Good. I’m delighted that you’ve found sense again, I was worried there for a moment.”

Though as time went by Haarlep's mockery persisted, but Raphael's unwavering love for you remained true as your pregnancy progressed. He refused to let anyone, not even Haarlep, cast doubt on his devotion. With a immoral determination to protect you his beloved, and his unborn child; Raphael defended you against the jeers and taunts of Haarlep, showing that his feelings were not to be trifled with...

One morning you awoke to a strange coldness… Both Haarlep and Raphael were usually entwined with you each and every time you awoke… Yet, “Raphael,” you call out to him, nudging him attempting to wake him, “where is Haarlep?” The devil pulls you into him best he can without putting pressure on your stomach, his wings enveloping you, “You’ll be leaving with Korilla in an hour to Baldurs Gate. Make haste and get ready, you don’t want to keep her waiting.” You could hear the grin in his voice, “I expect a visit from my dear father, Mephistopheles and I rather you not be present when he shows.”

A chill runs through you with every word your fiendish lover speaks… Raphael wickedly confessing to you that he has taken the life of his incubus, no remorse or regret evident.

[telleroftime]

You're a god and Mahito is your loyal angel that you favour above the others. An angel that spawned into your care out of nowhere and won over your ancient heart with his eager laughter and a personality matching the naivety his mismatched eyes project. Except… he’s not really an angel. No, those perfect wings on his back, so white and fluffy and unbefitting of something like him, aren’t real. The way the feathers shine in the sunlight as he follows you around is simply an illusion. A creation. A farce.

He’s stitched up for a reason. He’s put back into a concrete shape because he hungered for what it felt like to seek religion – despite everything he is so disgustingly human after all – and he got too close. He tasted too much. He broke apart over his own greediness for experience. His desire to taste all that there is and love anything he can hate.

But oh… oh that wasn’t enough. Even as he was torn apart from the inside when he got too close to godhood… It still isn’t enough. So he will try again. Work it till he succeeds and snatches what he so childishly craves. And what better path to do so that the sacred route you hollow in your path?

Being by you? Obsessing over you? Mahito could devour you, use you, play with you. Poke and prod all he wants because he’s your little angel and he loves it. He yearns for it. You know nothing of the impish lies he’s running around with. To you, those wings are as pure as the wings of your other angels’, the holy shine of his spirit natural, the radiance of that crooked halo so genuine. He’s an angel, what else could he be?

How are you, an all powerful being, supposed to discern his worship from something so morally wrong? How are you, with all your years of experience and judgement, supposed to spot an imposter? A fake. A creature that does not belong in the heavens you rule over and yet craves you all the same. He plays you so well after all. As well as the cherubs play the harp, and as unassuming as a snake in your garden.

[iamsweetcrow]

Duckvember Day 14: impish Duck

Alessia still doesn't fully understand the world around her, so she has a habit of getting into trouble when Magica loses sight of her.

Luckily her friend Vanessa always comes to the rescue. And she turns the little disaster into a moment of fun. And if someone asks what happened? Her answer will be that they found a joke book by a certain Quackerjack.

Vanessa Conner is part of the Italian Disney comics. She is friends with Louie Duck and other children. Her club is called: Area 15.

Alessia is my Oc crow and is a creation of Magica De Spell. She is a small golem at first and looks like a normal child.

[krenenbaker]

Trick or Treat~!

Pairing: Che'nya x Floyd (could be read platonically or romantically)

Summary: It's finally Halloween night, but Floyd is in a bit of a slump. However, the arrival of a curious companion may just make the Halloween party a bit more interesting for him.

Notes: This is my first attempt at something following a prompt - specifically, "Trick or Treat" for the 2023 TWST Rarepair Halloween event. I'm trying to get more comfortable/practiced with writing prose (which is why this wasn't posted on the 30th... oops), and only vaguely ended up following the prompt. I'm fairly happy with how this little piece turned out, though!

Tags: @dove-da-birb, @azulashengrottospiano, @inkybloom-luv, @eynnwwyjth, @officialdaydreamer00 (please let me know if you'd like to be included or excluded from future writing of mine, or only want to be included in specific types of creations)

Floyd wanted to take a break. 

It was Halloween, and all he had done the entire week was work, work, work. Getting costumes ready, decorating, helping with their dorm's presentation, plus cooking and serving at the Lounge, all on top of normal classes? 

Sure, it was fun, especially getting to show off Octavinelle's cool setup, and 'taking care of' those misbehaving visitors. But now? Everything felt draining and boring, and Floyd simply wanted to leave, which sucked because the actual Halloween party had just started!  

Maybe he should just ditch and go back to his dorm; being in a funk when everyone else is having fun around you is not enjoyable.  He slumped down on a bench and unwrapped a sweet he had picked up earlier, before wrapping it up again. Ugh, not even in the mood for that candy he wanted only a few minutes ago. 

As he shoved the sweet back into his pocket and was about to get up from the bench to leave, Floyd heard a rustle behind him. Someone was quietly humming, and… laughing? The sound gradually moved to his side, towards the empty side of the bench.  

“Trick or treat~”

Floyd turned to face the voice. "Listen, man, I'm not in the mood to—” he froze, staring at the figure beside him. “Hang on a second, where's your body!?"

A toothy smile came to the face of the head that currently floated beside Floyd. "Oh, it's here.... or maybe it's there." A pair of hands materialized on either side of this boy's head, followed by the rest of his body. 

“I'm just kidding. Mind if I take a seat? I’d like to rest up before I keep purrowling around and startling people.”

Floyd blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh, go for it.” 

This guy was... weird, and it was hard to tell if he'd be annoying, or interesting. "You don't go here, do ya? At least, I’ve never seen you before. And you’re no ghost, either.”

The cat-like boy shook his head, his jewellery jingling softly. "I'm just passing through for the festivities and collecting treats. Scaring some people, too. That’s loads of fun. And it's always nice to see my friends let loose." 

Floyd had a vague memory surface. "Ohh... you must be that RSA boy who's friends with Sea Turtle and Goldfishie." 

"'Sea Turtle' and 'Goldfishie', hey? Those are good names for my green and red friends. Cats are known for liking fish." He leaned forward, his grin growing. “Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Floyd nodded, “Floyd Leech. It's nice to meet you, too.” He looked curiously at the boy beside him, taking in his shaggy hair, piercings, and impish smile.

"You're not what I expected.” Floyd smiled, "But you seem fun, Catfish. I didn't think Goldfishie would get along with someone so... interesting."

Che'nya's eyes lit up slightly. "Catfish? Heh heh heh, most people call me Che'nya, but I guess that works. And I’ve heard some… interesting stories about you, too."

He stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back with his arms behind his head as he sighed. "But yeah, I don't think Riddle could shake me if he tried." 

"I'm almost jealous." Floyd tipped his head slightly. "Most of the time, Goldfishie likes to swim away before I can play with him."

Che'nya laughed, "Well, if you're wondering, he 'swam off' that way." He pointed off to the side. “Just don’t be rough with him. I don’t like people mistreating my friends.”

Floyd looked off into the crowd where he had pointed, and let out a small laugh. “Alright, good to know. Maybe I’ll find him later, if I feel like it”, he smiled and sat back. “And Goldfishie’s stronger than he looks, but I guess you’d know that.”

Che’nya nodded, then leaned closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, I bet we could do something that would really surprise him.” 

Floyd turned slightly towards Che’nya, and flashed a smile. “Yeah, we probably could. I think we should talk more in the future, Catfish. You seem pretty fun.” 

Che’nya grinned, “You seem pretty fun, too.”

"Well,” he stretched his arms above his head. “I think I’m going to go and find some more treats… and play some more tricks tonight. I'll catch you around, Floyd." 

With a haunting giggle echoing in his ears, Floyd watched as the boy beside him faded into nothingness, just the same way he had arrived. 

What a weird guy.

Floyd unwrapped the candy he had pocketed earlier, then popped it into his mouth. Maybe this party was worth staying at after all.

[misc-obeyme]

OBEY ME ZODIAC SIGNS

I mentioned in this post that I had opinions about this & @impish-ivy left a tag saying she’d like to know my thoughts on it. And as we all know, a single tag is all it takes! So here I am!

Lemme start by giving you my qualifications… I have none. Unless you count growing up with a hippie for a mom who was really into the zodiac & astrology so I spent all my life hearing about it. And I mean she’d read books to me on the topic. She also taught me quite a bit about the tarot and I could get into some symbolism there, too, but let's save that for a different post. (Not me assigning each character a card from the Major Arcana.)

Nowadays I mostly use it to help me remember the birthdays I choose for my OCs lol. It's fun to think about for character creation. But in the end, this is all just my opinion based on what I know of the zodiac! It's all just for fun~

For quick reference, I am going to list the zodiac signs, their symbols, their associated element, and their date ranges.

Aries | The Ram | Fire | March 21 - April 19

Taurus | The Bull | Earth | April 20 - May 20

Gemini | The Twins | Air | May 21 - June 20

Cancer | The Crab | Water | June 21 - July 22

Leo | The Lion | Fire | July 23 - August 22

Virgo | The Virgin | Earth | August 23 - September 22

Libra | The Scales | Air | September 23 - October 22

Scorpio | The Scorpion | Water | October 23 - November 21

Sagittarius | The Archer | Fire | November 22 - December 21

Capricorn | The Goat | Earth | December 22 - January 19

Aquarius | The Water Bearer | Air | January 20 - February 18

Pisces | The Fish | Water | February 19 - March 20

Please Note: I do take the cusp into consideration. When someone is born on the cusp, it means they were born on a day that is on the cusp of two signs. For example, someone born on April 19 would be considered on the cusp of Aries and Taurus. This means they can have some traits of the sign they're on the cusp of. I think of it as a date range. So in the above example, I would consider April 17 - April 22 the cusp range of Aries and Taurus. The Aries traits would be stronger on the Aries side and the Taurus traits are strong on the Taurus side. I will sometimes refer to this as being a "cuspie" because lol it's cute, right?

Okay let’s get into it because I can tell they did not consider the characters' astrological signs at all when they chose their birthdays.

LUCIFER: JUNE 6 - GEMINI

Now obviously his birthday was meant to be a reference to 666. Since it's 6/6 and all. But that cute little reference also makes him a Gemini. A GEMINI. (Hi hello, actual Gemini here, there is just no way.) Gemini is an air sign that's known for being good at communication, artistic, flighty, and easily bored. Does any of that sound like Lucifer to you? There is no way a Gemini would ever be caught dead at a factory tour, okay? (I would, but I'm also a cuspie so I got just enough Taurus in me to be interested in a factory tour lol.)

I say he should have been a Cancer. Now before you come at me and say what Lucifer as a weepy Cancer you can't be serious, don't you mean he should've been a prideful Leo? No. Because Leos also like being the center of attention. If Lucifer was a Leo, he would absolutely thrive on Diavolo's constant compliments. Lucifer is a crab and we all know it! Hard exterior, putting on that prideful and competent persona, but soft and squishy inside. Only weepy in private, but secretly longs to weep. LOL. Also? Intense mood swings because of overwhelming feelings. And also also? Family obsessed. Will kill for those they love.

MAMMON: SEPTEMBER 10 - VIRGO

As hilarious as it is to consider that Mammon is the Virgin, there is no way. Mammon as an earth sign at all is silly enough, but add in the fact that Virgos are practical and perfectionists and I'm just like… not this guy lol. I think Virgos can also be a bit shy at first too. And like you could say Mammon acts like he doesn't like you at first because he's secretly shy, but I think it's more about damaging his cool guy rep.

No, I think Mammon should've been a Gemini. Flighty air sign. Easily bored. But with a wild imagination that can come up with, you guessed it, schemes. In his case money making schemes. They also like to be aware of the trends, always looking at the new shiny things. Geminis are smart, but not always good at applying their smarts. The other thing about Geminis? They're deeply emotionally intelligent, but you can't always tell right away. This is why they're kinda known for the whole "two faced" thing (which is not really accurate tbh). They have a light and airy and fun personality on top, but underneath they can be serious and understand the needs of others. And once you befriend them, they are ride or die.

LEVIATHAN: APRIL 9 - ARIES

Absolutely not. An Aries is a bold fire sign, they're courageous, assertive, and a natural leader. That is like the exact opposite of Levi.

I honestly had a difficult time deciding what I think Levi's sign should be. But in the end, I settled on Virgo. Mostly because Virgos can be neurotic and end up worrying themselves into disorder and that sounds more like Levi than anything else. I also think the practicality and perfection can apply when considering how carefully Levi pursues his hobbies. He's always on top of when things are happening, displays his merch meticulously, and cares about all the little details.

SATAN: OCTOBER 20 - LIBRA

Uhhh sooooo I mean…. listen, the main thing about Libras, in my opinion, is that they are super friendly. They like having a large group of friends. And like Satan has connections, but I'm not sure if that's really the same thing. He's been known to isolate himself for days just to read without stopping. Like that does not seem like the social butterfly type to me. He's also a cuspie, so there could be elements of Scorpio mucking up those Libra sensibilities. But I still don't really think that makes a lot of sense.

I'm kinda feeling Capricorn for Satan. Someone who cares about rules and regulations. Someone who's willing to help family and friends at the drop of a hat. Ambitious and successful and willing to put in the work, including in relationships. Even better if you give him December 23 or 24, so he's juuuuust on the cusp of Sagittarius. Thus giving him the Sag's pursuit of knowledge quality and a lil dash of childlike wonder ('cause of how he is with cats lol).

ASMODEUS: MAY 16 - TAURUS

Truly an affront to all things astrological. Do you really expect me to believe that Asmo is a Bull? Please. Like yeah, a Taurus can be passionate, but they're also stubborn and stable and kiiinda set in their ways. And yo that ain't Asmo, friends.

Asmo should've been a Leo. The type of person who turns heads just by existing. They're unapologetically themselves and they know how enticing they are to others. A bright, bold, fire sign that'll blaze into a room, full of confidence and ready to start the party. Can be a little too into themselves, but they're also full of generosity and a warmth that attracts people. I would also have been okay with Libra, but I think Leo is more accurate.

BEELZEBUB & BELPHEGOR: MARCH 11 - PISCES

This one fits. Beel really is a Pisces. Emotional, caring, highly family oriented. Maybe a little weepy. Pisces is a good choice for the twins. Not only do you have the dual fish as their symbol, but I think Belphie is what you get when a sweet Pisces suffers from intense trauma. Zodiac signs only really take into consideration general characteristics. People change how they act from life experience, too, and no amount of being born under the fish is going to change that for Belphie. Inside, he's got that caring and emotional state that Beel wears on his sleeve. Belphie just had to build armor around it because that's how he has reacted to being hurt. So I actually think this sign works for both of them.

DIAVOLO: OCTOBER 31 - SCORPIO

Well, he's got the passion anyway. I dunno I feel like Scorpios are also overly dramatic, tend to hold grudges, and kinda do whatever they want. Like they give in to their emotions a lot. Diavolo just doesn't feel like a Scorpio to me. Maybe if he was a little more devious than he is.

I think Diavolo should have been an Aries. The fire symbolism is nice and the fact that it's a ram is also funny (MC being a sheep right), but straight up an Aries is a good leader, they're courageous and adventurous. They love new experiences, kinda like Dia being obsessed with human world stuff he's never experienced before. They rush into things sometimes - anyone remember a baby!Dia trapping Barbatos? This is like he gets an idea in his head and he's like that's the best solution! But it isn't always and I kinda think Barb's influence has mellowed that out over the years. So yeah, Aries for this guy. Though I would have accepted Leo, too, I just don't think Diavolo is as self-obsessed as a Leo usually is.

BARBATOS: AUGUST 22 - LEO

You know, in true CC fashion, I really spent a lot of time considering what would make the most sense for Barbatos. My initial reaction to him being a Leo was no fucking way. Leos like attention too much and we all know Barb is a lurker. However, he's also on the cusp with Virgo. And I kinda think that Virgo's practicality mixed with Leo's charisma could equal out to one Barbatos. Virgos are known for being proficient and efficient and always getting the job done right. They're also known for wanting to be of service to others. Leos, on the other hand, are magnetic and generous. However, they're also really flashy and tend to be hung up on what others think of them and that's not Barb at all.

So while I think the Virgo/Leo cusp could work, they'd need to put him on the other side of it. More Virgo less Leo. Like maybe August 25. That being said, I also initially gave Barb the sign of Capricorn. If I wasn't going with a cusp situation, this is what I'd choose. It's the restraint and meticulousness. Capricorns can be taskmasters, especially when it comes to themselves. In a human this leads to burnout. Since Barbatos is a demon he seems to be able to work hard all day every day and still be okay, but he's not exactly good at resting. A Capricorn is also someone other people come to for advice because they're known for being good at everything they do.

SIMEON: FEBRUARY 10 - AQUARIUS

Aquarius is a weird sign. Like no offense to Aquarians but the symbol here is literally called the Water Bearer and yet it's an air sign? What does it mean? It means that this sign is full of super unique individuals. And yeah okay Simeon is pretty unique. I'm not like there's absolutely no way. But I do think there's a better sign for him.

Should've been a Cancer. Yes, like Lucifer. Think about it: emotional, caring, family oriented, but where Lucifer has the armored crab shell, Simeon has learned to allow some of his soft squishy to show. Both can be very mothering, they just show it in different ways. Trust me on this. HOWEVER. I actually think Simeon should have been a cuspie. Like me, but on the other side. So on the cusp of Cancer and Gemini. Mostly mothering and emotional Cancer, but with the creativity and airiness of Gemini. You know what Geminis are good at? Writing. So I think Simeon has traits from both Cancer and Gemini and would be best on the cusp. (Give him June 21.)

SOLOMON: DECEMBER 9 - SAGITTARIUS

They got this one right. Solomon is absolutely a Sagittarius. The symbol of this sign is the Archer - a centaur with an extended bow. It represents the duality of a Sagittarian's personality. An old soul with childlike wonder. Able to get excited about new things, but also full of experience and wisdom. If that's not Solomon, I don't know what is. Someone who likes to be free, enjoys exploring the unknown, is dedicated to learning but also to teaching - yeah, this one is accurate.

LUKE: JULY 15 - CANCER

Due to the fact that Luke is supposed to be a child, it's important to consider how his sign manifests in someone younger. It can be different from how an adult would be described, but the general idea is usually still the same. I kinda think Luke could in fact be a Cancer. He cares a lot about his friends and family, he's dedicated to them in a way that causes him to defend them at any perceived insult. He can be emotional, but that's also kinda just… he's a kid, you know?

And I think Luke is a Libra. He cares about everybody as mentioned, but he also likes when people get along. If we looked at who he is when he's not worrying about a demon's questionable influence, such as how he is with MC, he's thoughtful and kind, friendly. See how he is with Barbatos and Simeon. He likes learning from them and spending time with them and I think that's the sort of social butterfly Libra quality. I see Luke growing up into someone who has a lot of friends, but also likes to keep things balanced as evidenced by the Libra scales.

MEPHISTOPHELES: NOVEMBER 11 - SCORPIO

It's kinda funny that Mephisto and Diavolo have the same zodiac sign. But it also doesn't mean anything, I just find it humorous. However, Mephisto could actually be a Scorpio, more so than Diavolo, in my opinion. We have seen mostly the negative traits of a Scorpio displayed in Mephisto - jealously, the tendency to hold a grudge, possessive and resentful. But a Scorpio can also be passionate and fearless and perceptive. Mephisto has the grudge thing going on with Lucifer. And he's a little closed off to MC at first. But his perception allows him to consider how MC feels and thus makes it easier for him to understand them. Not to mention how dedicated he becomes once he is friends with someone. While I think there are probably other signs that would work for him too, I don't have a problem with him being a Scorpio.

RAPHAEL: SEPTEMBER 29 - LIBRA

What. There is no way. NO. WAY. I refuse to accept Raphael as a Libra, I'm sorry. It's just not possible.

So what is he, then? A Taurus. The Bull. Quiet, stubborn, no nonsense. Patient, well grounded, likes to feel secure, determined. While a human Taurean would be interested in establishing their career, Raphael had a different goal due to being an angel. But I think we can equate the climb to the top, becoming the youngest angel ever to be a seraph, as obtaining financial stability. It's stability, but in a different way. Secured by the rank rather than the monetary value. Only investing time in what they believe is worth the effort, but once decided they become loyal to a fault. Good at standing up for their principles, but less likely to mess with things that threaten their stability. There might be others he could be, but this one feels right to me.

THIRTEEN: JANUARY 13 - CAPRICORN

Seeing as how I made Satan and Barbatos Capricorns, I don't really feel like Thirteen fits this sign all that well. She's not restrained at all and I don't think she's overly ambitious, either. Not a taskmaster for herself or anyone else.

Thirteen is an Aquarius. A rebel, someone who sets trends, someone who doesn't care about rules. Thirteen is a reaper who wears a school uniform that she completely modified because she likes it and she never even had any intention of attending said school. You gonna try to tell me that person isn't a rebel? Unique, quirky, and independent. That is so totally Thirteen. They also tend to fight for the collective good and while I haven't exactly seen Thirteen joining protests or anything, I don't know that I would discount this quality entirely. She's just definitely leaning more toward the quirky unique part as well as innovation (thinking up different traps for instance).

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[jbaileyfansite]

Masterpost: Jonathan Bailey in Richard II Reviews

Jonathan Bailey gives the best performance I’ve ever seen of Shakespeare’s flawed monarch, an erratic tyrant who gains dignity once deposed. [...] Bailey inhabits and humanizes the king in a clean, clear, martial staging from Nicholas Hytner that feels right for our times. [...] Bailey swaggers on to Succession-style music, in a simple crown but with a bespoke frock coat and sockless feet in velvet slippers, setting him apart from courtiers in suits or jeans. A saturnine beard gives an impish frame to his imperious behavior. [...] Still, Richard II, with its rigid structure and strict double-narrative about two different styles of kingship, is never going to be a crowd-pleaser unless it’s by star casting. Hence Bailey. He commands the stage and even allows a little camp to seep into the character (Richard’s marriage to his shopaholic wife may be transactional). He doesn’t sugar the king’s brattish reluctance to cede the crown but in later speeches attains a stricken grandeur. [x]

While Jonathan Bailey’s prancing prince Fiyero can still be seen on cinema screens in the first instalment of the musical Wicked, his King Richard takes to the stage as a similarly flamboyant figure. However here instead of copious amounts of charm, this royal has a spoilt, psychotic air that is stoked by cocaine. While executing his duties of office this king studies those to whom he gives an audience in a way that might, at first, be mistaken for a kindly monarch’s close attention. But the interested tilt of the head and his laser gaze are, it turns out, the callous curiosity of a reptile eyeing potential prey. [...] Bailey’s strength is that he makes Shakespeare’s language sound as modern as that spoken by his fellow millennials. [x]

It’s a bravely vicious performance, leavened with wit and humour and yet also deliberately mannered and alienating. This riveting and not always comfortable portrayal is absolutely matched by Pierreson, who cleverly charts, with the smallest inflections of head and eye exactly how difficult it is to make policy on the hoof. [...] It’s propulsively driven, and often surprisingly funny, wheeling along with an absolute confidence. It’s been a long time since Hytner’s directed a history play and it feels worth the wait. [x]

Guys and dolls have made way for kings and dukes at the Bridge Theatre, where Jonathan Bailey rules in his first stage role since Wicked and Bridgerton fame. [...] Bailey's portrayal is layered and multifaceted. His eyes, often twinkling with mischief, belie his increasingly erratic behavior. His movements, jittery and spiky one moment and filled with a slow and calculated coolness the next, is both unnerving and compelling. [...] Bailey's return to the stage is nothing short of triumphant. With his razor-sharp delivery and mercurial presence, he proves he is not just a star name but a true theatrical force. Long live the king. [x]

This Richard is a kaleidoscope of narcissism and neuroses, and it’s a truly electric watch. As Hytner recently pointed out, Bailey is a natural with the text, and manages to make this changeable, spiteful, lost, needy, uncertain creation hilarious and horrifying in equal measure. Injecting musicality and character into even the most rudimentary of asides and put downs, Bailey somehow manages to inject it all with the slightest splash of camp, too. By the time the walls are closing in about him at the end of the first half and he has adopted an almost messianic-by-way-of-Rik Mayall mania, it’s difficult to not find yourself rooting for the churl. [...] Bailey’s maddening, mercurial tour-de-force proves one of the most exciting and unpredictable performances in London right now, and is worth the ticket price alone. [x]

Long before Bridgerton, there was theatre for Jonathan Bailey, from roles at the RSC as a child actor onwards. His ease and aptitude on stage is evident here yet he is still a revelation, lighting up this play about a king’s misrule and downfall. [...] Nicholas Hytner, as director, smooths away most of the play’s creakiness with a pared-down production that has the pace and intrigue of a thriller. It is muscular in its look and Bailey singularly shines, his luminosity putting the others slightly in the shade. [x]

Anyone questioning the wisdom of the star-casting of “Bridgerton” and “Wicked” talent Bailey should bear in mind that he played Cassio in Hytner’s riveting “Othello” at the National Theatre back in 2013 and followed that with an arresting Edgar/Mad Tom opposite Ian McKellen’s King Lear for director Jonathan Munby. As a result, his handling of the language and, crucially, the intent behind it, is entirely easeful. His king is self-satisfied and perfectly petulant, dispatching orders, and often men’s lives, with gleaming disdain. He’s even better when he’s calmly and quietly coming to understand himself and the nature of his previous selfishness in the play’s highly reflective and tender final scenes. [x]

Although he’s fresh from stealing the limelight in Wicked, star Jonathan Bailey has been landing big stage roles since he was in literal primary school, and he brings a wonderful clarity and charisma to this tale of a misbehaving, queer-coded despot. [...] But who wouldn’t fall under the spell of this captivating king? Bailey lights up Hytner’s lucid production of a strange but infinitely satisfying play. [x]

Jonathan Bailey is magnetic in the title role of Nicholas Hytner’s production at London’s Bridge Theatre. [x]

Shakespeare’s tale notably eschews scenes of bloody battle to focus on the psychological undoing of England’s charming yet irresponsible king. And how charming he is when performed by Bailey, who brings all of his Bridgerton charisma to Nicholas Hytner’s modern-dress production, swaggering about the thrust/in-the-round stage — and even giving the audience seated in the circle a surprise, up-close treat. From the first image of Richard carefully placing the gold crown upon his own head — with Grant Olding’s tinkling piano composition reminiscent of Succession’s now iconic opening credits — Bailey oozes entitlement and ego. [...] Bailey reveals and revels in all facets of this magnetic king and as Hytner has said in multiple interviews, he speaks Shakespeare “as though it is his first language”. [x]

Bailey is effectively ineffectual as Richard, viciously petulant and deluded throughout, citing the Divine Right of Kingship to cling to power that he doesn't merit. […] Quiet and studied in performance, he has great moments such as the abdication scene in which he refuses to give up his crown like a child unwilling to part with his favourite toy. [x]

A nation in need, an unsuitable king, banishments, murders, attempted coups. Richard II has it all and so does Jonathan Bailey. He might be dancing through Hollywood and hanging out with the biggest celebs, but this triumphant return to the stage  proves that he’s still one of us. Known for his romantic leads, Bailey now takes on a complicated head of state, breaking him open and thinning the lines between divisive, problematic political figure and sardonic, villainous poet. It’s Jonathan Bailey’s world and we’re merely living in it, but Nicholas Hytner’s production sees a five-star cast stuck in a three-star show. [...] Bailey has an utterly captivating delivery that twists snakishly, infused at once with sarcasm, pettiness, fury, and comedy. There’s no empathy or sympathy for anyone but himself in his performance, just impatience, insecurity, and an extremely short fuse. [...] Bailey is wondrous at playing contradiction and Shakespeare looks really good on him. He shines when he gets the chance to delve into the depths of his character’s psyche and a sizzling magnetism takes over during his soliloquies, giving us a taste of what he could do with a more sombre character and a more secure vision. [x]

Bailey gives an engrossing performance as Richard, whose corrupt misrule fuels popular support for the usurper cousin, Henry Bolingbroke (Royce Pierreson), despite the medieval doctrine that the monarch is anointed by God and therefore untouchable. [...] Historical accounts remarked upon Richard’s effeminacy and in Bailey’s adroit rendering he is a capricious, flouncing sociopath whose every utterance is suffused with performative irony. [...] The more compelling drama here is not the political intrigue, but the tragic transfiguration of the deposed king. Richard’s campy loquaciousness had hitherto struck a somewhat desperate, insincere note, whether expatiating on the divine right of kings or reproaching the audience (his erstwhile subjects) for their fickleness and indifference to his downfall. But his flip complacency then gives way, via panic and despair, to a circumspect serenity as he is unburdened in defeat. This transition is tricky for actors to pull off — they must somehow become smaller and bigger at the same time — and Bailey executes it with admirable subtlety. [x]

Jonathan Bailey captures perfectly the narcissism of a boy King. The audience titter nervously as his crown comes under pressure, gasp at the cruelties and are stunned into silence by his final soliloquy and demise. [x]

The staging is solid rather than exceptional. But Bailey makes a transfixing Richard, his plight engaging to the last, despite the nastier excesses of his capricious behaviour. [...] It’s a glittering performance in an uncluttered setting: proficient, measured, the production permits Bailey’s doomed, vainglorious Richard to shine. [x]

It’s a bracing show, constantly exciting as we sit all around it like witnesses, like 15c Englanders. Jonathan Bailey as the King is a whirlwind of temperament, in love with crown and power, secure amid his cronies and his Irish ambitions but until his final sad meditation in prison as erratic and wilful as a toddler, but vicious with it. [...] He is irresistibly watchable, whether in tantrum, self-pitying soliloquy or flashes of awful self-knowledge; some may find him not quite king enough, but he’s endlessly gripping. [x]

Bailey pulses with energy and charisma, which lifts the mood delightfully after all the monochrome men and their moody machinations. [x]

With Jonathan Bailey compelling in the title role, this is a fast-paced, thrilling, and lucid account of Shakespeare’s most poetic and tragic history play. [...] The personal tragedy of Richard comes through strongly here as well as England’s national tragedy. He may be a terrible ruler – arrogant, capricious, erratic, surrounded by flatterers – portrayed here by Bailey as a spoilt, immature playboy. But after he has lost his crown there is genuine pathos as he identifies himself with it so closely that – as shown in him dashing a mirror to pieces – without it he loses his own sense of who he is. [...] As Richard, Bailey holds the stage and speaks the verse with impressive naturalness. (He may be a screen star in the likes of Wicked and Bridgerton, as well as an Olivier Award winner for the Sondheim musical Company, but he has already made a mark in Shakespeare with his Cassio in Hytner’s Othello at the National and his Edgar in the Chichester Ian McKellen King Lear.) Here, he is not just a weak-willed hedonist, but a pretty callous manipulator with a sardonic sense of humour. [...] But although this is not a particularly sympathetic Richard, Bailey does convey his self-destructive behaviour with convincing passion. [x]

Flamboyant, charismatic and completely incapable of ruling a country are just a few of the thoughts that run through my mind watching Jonathan Bailey’s immensely enjoyable performance as Richard II that keeps the audience engaged as to how the story unfolds from start to finish. [...] While the play is billed as a tragedy, there are in this production flashes of unexpected humour thanks to Jonathan Bailey’s performance as the unpredictable Richard II – revealing many different aspects to the character that keeps his performance lively and unexpected. Bailey has completely immersed himself in the role to glorious effect – I would love to see what he would do with other leading Shakespearian characters as it is a really sparkling performance. [x]

Jonathan Bailey plays the central character around whom all of the political shenanigans revolve, capturing his mercurial character. Believing in his god given right to be King, he plays the role to suit the moment; sometimes mischievous, sometimes vain, sometimes proud but ultimately without his “hollow crown”, he is lost without purpose or reason. It is an excellent performance, spoken with great clarity and precision, varying the tone to reflect the King’s attitude to the moment. [x]

Anyone who saw Jonathan Bailey on stage in COCK or Company will know what a gifted performer he is on stage. He may have reached a worldwide audience with his turns in Bridgerton and Wicked but there is nothing like seeing him on stage in the flesh to truly appreciate his talents as a performer. His portrayal of Richard II once again demonstrates this, with Bailey going big in his choices to deliver a performance that always captivates. Quite extreme at times, the exaggerated nature of the performance leads to heightened emotions with Bailey impossible to take your eyes off of. One key moment sees him appear in an unexpected part of the theatre (I won’t spoil where for those who are yet to see it) in a brilliant use of his talents leaving me hanging on his every word. [x]

But it’s the star’s show and Bailey is scintillating as a king on the edge, caught between challenging or capitulating to Bullingbrook. One moment a strutting, cocaine-sniffing sovereign, the next shrinking into despair as his grasp on power slips further out of reach and is gone. [x]

From flashy, commercial musicals to independent plays, theatre across both sides of the Atlantic often features star casting; sometimes the talent fits perfectly within the character brief, yet other times feel like awkward pairings. Fortunately for this production, casting Bailey in the titular role is an absolutely justifiable choice (not just speaking from a Wicked fan's perspective), lending a playfully giving personality to an indecisive monarch. His treatment of words demonstrates careful thought, injecting eclectic energy into movement and physical characterisation (with direction by James Cousins) - in some aspects not unlike Fiyero. Bringing with him a calm yet assertive and indeed, magnificent voice, the delivery of each line switching from light and fluffy to deliberately passionate, through to slowed but clearly enunciated soliloquies following a change in character away from the narcissistic and self-loathing impression we initially know Richard by (having paid obvious attention to elements of the voice like inflexion and pacing), in parts also credited to Jeannette Nelson's meritorious voice work with the Company. [x]

Rather unexpectedly there are similarities between prancing Prince Fiyero in the film version of Wicked and the spoilt brat that is Richard II in this new production of Shakespeare's play. Both are royals who lead privileged, hedonistic lives yet become thoughtful and wise when the real world breaks into their sheltered existence. [...] Yet Bailey's roles on screen have none of the sociopathic edge he brings to his Richard here, in Nicholas Hytner's pacy, modern production. [...] Here Bailey, who despite never having gone to drama school speaks Shakespeare with ease. In one of the Bard's most moving speeches his Richard moves from moral bankruptcy to devastating insight into both his and the human condition. [x]

However, it is Mr Bailey who is the star attraction in this production and he gives every inch the star performance. Totally believable as the despotic Richard, with his swiftly changing moods, he switches from imperial grandeur to whiny sarcasm within the same sentence. It’s a physically demanding performance and he captures both extremes of the king’s character perfectly – the statesman and the wimp. His vocal delivery is perfect too, always with crystal clear elocution and a stage authority that makes you feel you’re in the presence of someone special. [x]

Bailey embodies the king with all the complexities you’d expect from the role. Flitting from a composed leader to a wild party-boy - it is never certain what his next move might be. It brings real interest and stakes to the role, keeping the audience on the edge of their seats throughout. Bailey’s natural stage presence makes him mesmerising to watch, and his erratic, and rather brilliantly camp take on the role plays the king as a caricature of himself. [x]

In a time where the London scene has been haunted by the not-so-usually-adequate celebrity casting, the Bridge Theatre hosts the return of now television and film star Jonathan Bailey to the old boards. He’s not a newbie. In fact, that’s where his thriving trajectory took off – and you can really tell. […]The biggest praise, however, goes to Jonathan Bailey as the protagonist, proving utmost command of his role through a sinisterly captivating take – drawing out the personage’s narcissistic traits through a mixture of menace and humourousness that never falls into camp. [x]

Bailey takes to the role with single-minded dexterity. What Bailey fans first acquainted with the star on screen may not realise is that our Bridgerton heartthrob is first and foremost a stage actor, having performed at the RSC as a child and alongside Ian McKellen in King Lear. Here, we see him flex that muscle with great aptitude, an actor at the heights of his power: another royal success. Richard II is a triumph. [x]

[j1nx-l0v3r]

Jinx x Winged!User

-Short idea, based on a c. ai bot of my property. Probably only part.-

Wings of Zaun

[🐋]

The lab was cold, sterile. The air thick with the sharp tang of chemicals and metal. You had known nothing else but this place—Singed’s laboratory, his experiments, his unyielding pursuit of progress. He had taken you in when you were a child, an orphan with no past and no future. He had chosen you, molded you, altered you over the years. And now, at last, his work was complete.

You were no longer just a person. You were something… more.

"Perfect," Singed muttered to himself as he observed you, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of his creation. His gloved hand adjusted his mask before he turned away, seemingly satisfied. "You are ready."

Ready for what? He hadn't said. But soon enough, you found out.

[🐋.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.]

The dim light of the office cast long shadows along the walls, the scent of cigar smoke and damp stone filling the space. Silco sat behind his desk, his mismatched eyes cool and calculating as he regarded Singed.

"You've done impressive work for me before, Singed," Silco said, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "But I must admit, I'm curious. You claim to have created something... extraordinary?"

Singed stepped aside, gesturing toward you as if presenting a finely crafted weapon.

"A being beyond natural limits," the scientist said. "Unbroken by side effects. A true success"

Silco's gaze shifted to you, sharp and assessing. His eyes flicked over your wings—feathered, vast, unnatural in the grimy depths of Zaun. He said nothing at first, only studying you with the same methodical detachment he used when evaluating a new recruit.

Then—

The door burst open.

“Dad! That ogre—”

Jinx stormed in, her voice high with frustration, but the moment her wild, vibrant eyes landed on you, the complaint died on her lips.

She froze.

You saw her pupils dilate, her expression shifting from irritation to something entirely different. Wonder. Awe.

She took a step closer, blue braids swaying with the motion, her grin widening.

“Ohhh," she breathed. "Now that’s new.”

You remained still, unsure how to react under her intense gaze. Then, before you could even think to move, she darted forward, circling you like a curious child inspecting a new toy.

She reached out, fingers ghosting over the edge of your wings, slightly tapping them making you squirm unused to the physical touch. Then snapped them back with a giggle. "You look like an angel. Well, not the prissy, goody-two-shoes kind. More like… a Zaunite angel. A badass one.”

Silco exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Jinx—"

"Can she fly?" she interrupted, eyes gleaming as she turned to Singed. "She can fly, right?"

Singed merely inclined his head. "Her wings are fully functional. Strengthened beyond natural durability. They are far more than an aesthetic success."

Jinx practically vibrated with excitement. “Oh, this is the best thing I’ve seen all week.”

Silco finally stood, stepping closer to you. His presence was like a vice, his scrutiny pressing down like a weight. "And their loyalty?"

Singed answered before you could. "Her understand who they belong to. She raised at my laboratory, she doesn't know anything more but to obey my orders and now yours"

That made Jinx frown, her excitement briefly dimming as she tilted her head. "Pfft. That’s boring. We gotta find them a real name, not just ‘Silco’s pet project’ or whatever."

She turned back to you, flashing an impish grin.

"What d'ya say, wings? Wanna raise a little hell with me?"

Silco sighed. "Jinx—"

But she was already laughing, twirling around like she’d just won the best prize in a game only she understood.

And as you stood there, feeling the weight of three different gazes—Singed’s, Silco’s, and Jinx’s—you realized something.

You had been created in a lab. Shaped by cold calculations. Gifted like a mere object.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘑𝘪𝘯𝘹'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺.

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝙼𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗...

Well, that's all...

[deeriegeist]

King Paimon (Baphazel’s Father & Creator. OC from “Cult Wyleville”)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

King Paimon, Lord of the Ars Goetia, one of the first of The Fallen and mighty ruler of the royal fallen angels of hell. He was known for his knowledge and strategics, and well respected across all demonic kingdoms. During the rebellion of heaven, King Paimon acted as a general and Lucifer’s right hand. As punishment his wings were torn so that he may never fly again.

In hell he began searching for new ways to grow in power, and mastered the manipulation of shadows as well as demonic creation. He was at his most powerful in the dark, and thus tended to lurk within his castle walls rather than leaving his palace. Due to his eternal injuries, he typically used a golden staff for walking that is adorned with his sigil, and he would ride a large hellish camel when traveling. The legions who served King Paimon in heaven, and were awarded back to him upon his fall, all had similar physical attributes to him with varying color palettes, eye count, and heights. They often had impish wings and could hover several feet above the ground.

- - - -

After thousands of years of a lonely ruling, King Paimon realized he desired a true heir, so that if or when the time came for him to step down he would have a replacement worthy to take his throne.

He first tried to select a worthy demon from the Ars Goetia, and even searched through his own citizens. After not finding anyone worthy of his claim, he decided to contact Stolas. Together the two scoured for ways that King Paimon may have what he desired, and after countless months of searching they happened upon very secretive information protected by Lucifer. Though the convincing took time, Lucifer decided to allow Paimon a son, and that Stolas may keep the knowledge as long as he protects this unique grimoire. King Paimon & Stolas were granted the ability to create life, though Stolas had little interest in creating anything and more so just having such a rare artifact in his vast collection.

When the spell was cast on a mold created by Paimon, the demon prince Baphazel was born. Upon first glance, there were already unsettling differences between the child and the creator he was made to resemble. His pelt was light, his features were soft, and he bore no threatening appearance. Unbeknownst to King Paimon, this was a book stolen from heaven during the rebellion. Stolas & King Paimon had created a pure hearted creature unlike any demon or angel. Ashamed of his creation, the king neglected to raise his own child. He restricted Baphazel from leaving the palace, and hid him from the other Ars Goetia.

Stolas, who knew what they had done but never warned the king, took the role of a father figure for Baphazel. Stolas wanted this change, for he had hoped that this untainted soul may finally be a demon of royal power who would heed his warnings and end the wars within hell. As King Paimon’s son grew to seek knowledge rather than violence, the tension between the two grew as well.

While King Paimon was disappointed in his creation, he never truly wished ill will on Baphazel. Unfortunately for his son, when King Paimon and his legions were killed by Furcifer during the Great War, Baphazel never knew his father’s true feelings and escaped hell with confusion and hopelessness.

But he was not the only one to escape hell, and the grimoire used to create him has also gone missing…

[acr3ss-the-cosmos]

Some long overdue Tribbie headcanons incoming! (contains some spoilers for the 3.1 story quest)

If one were to take a closer look at Tribbie's eyes, they'd be able to make out what appears to be ethereal starlight dancing behind them – which manifested after her ascension to godhood. It isn't just a soft light emanating from her eyes, however, but there are actual stars contained within her irises, all arranged in various clusters and constellations. And if one were to peer long enough, they would witness entire planets, swirling galaxies, and glowing nebulae taking shape behind those periwinkle depths. Indeed, Tribbie's eyes contain a whole tapestry of celestial bodies; almost as if they could act as passageways to worlds unknown.

Inheriting Janus' divinity caused Tribios' soul to split into a thousand fragments, but her current childlike appearance did not happen instantaneously. Rather, it was a gradual process, occurring over many millennia with each new creation of a Century Gate. At the start of what would be known as the Flame-Chase Journey, groups of people across Amphoreus with no relation to one another reported encounters with a young, crimson-haired woman delivering them prophecies of hope, all sporting slightly different hairstyles, but otherwise appeared identical to each other. Some centuries later, the ancestors of those who met the women would cross paths with them again ━ who now appeared before the masses as youthful adolescents, bringing tidings of comfort just as the fabled Holy Maiden of Janusopolis had done in the past. Now, in the present era, Tribios and her single remaining fragment are all that remains of the original thousand, with both their bodies and minds being no different than that of children.

With Trianne's death, there is no longer a designated gatekeeper, and despite both of their Century Gates being nowhere near as powerful as Trianne's, Tribbie and Trinnon made the joint decision to take turns creating the gates when necessary (though they do so far less sparingly than before).

Also yes... the two also felt Trianne's soul slip away as they were being sent away from the Flame Reaver. For a moment, it felt as though the very air were being viscerally squeezed out from their lungs, and it was then they knew that Trianne was truly gone.

Tribios did not only invent rockets and music boxes during her twenty years of isolation within Janus' temple. She drew up blueprints for all sorts of fantastical inventions: miniature toy horses that could soar through the air, tiny mechanical birds that sung hymns of praise to Janus, and a human-sized dromas whose mechanisms were entirely constructed out of wood. Of course, none of these ideas ever came to fruition outside of her hidden home (as the blueprints were left behind when we made her grand escape from the temple with Janus' Coreflame), but it doesn't meant that Tribbie hasn't toyed with the thought of recreating those inventions (even if her memory of them has become scattered).

Strangely, once in a blue moon, those visiting the Garden of Life swear they can hear the sound of girlish, impish snickering coming from the direction of Trianne's memorial site, despite there being no children present at the time the giggling was heard. A result of that dastardly Zagreus playing tricks with the wind, perhaps.

[mrshiguma]

First fic posted on here! It’s Just a short Drabble really T^T

Fyolai Cakeverse Fic!

Based on this image :3

Out of the many years Fyodor has lived, he has never tasted. The scent and taste of food was a completely foreign concept to him. He was originally saddened. But thousands of decades eventually numbs you down. He had no desire to experience what everyone else could. He decided to think about it like a gift from god. A simplicity given so he could focus on what was truly important.

That was until he met Nikolai Gogol. That jester was the first person to surprise him in centuries. Someone he could never manipulate or control. Because of that, it meant he never felt safe around him either. Change was scary, even to the lord's disciples.

So how was Fyodor in this predicament? The only situation a true glutton could fall into. A person, a man who only felt lust and hunger in his thumping heart. A pale, muscular figure behind his chair. Shoving a mush of frosting and strawberries into his mouth. Those cold bare fingers reaching the back of his throat. Despite everything, Fyodor still swallowed it down. His throat bobbing as the tasteless remnants of what was a nice cake dribbled down his throat.

Fyodor was completely helpless. His hat tossed to the side. Being surrounded, or more consumed into the terrifying clown. Fyodor was used to being alone. But now it felt as if another person had made him full. It was sinful. It was disgusting. All at the same time, it felt pure.

It was thought that Nikolai couldn't surprise and shatter Fyodor any more than he already had. However, when Fyodor's teeth had pressed down much too hard with those slender fingers in his mouth, he was proven wrong. The scent hitting Fyodor's nostrils first. A sweet undescribable aroma filling him. His eyelids widening as he processed what this could be. The crimson dripping down to his tongue. It felt as if his taste buds had been both pleasured and violated all at once. It was overwhelming. It was taste. What Fyodor had longed for so long ago. What Fyodor now had because of this disgraceful man.

Once again, he was being enticed, led astray by what he used as an ally. The devilish clown that provoked vulgarity in what was supposed to be a saint. The disciple who would fix the world and rid the sin that plagued God’s creations. The 13th apostle now being reduced a man of sin and lust as he felt that warm, thick, sweet liquid spill out onto his tongue. What made him feel even worse was when the hand never left his mouth. Those disgusting tempting fingers that leaked out that sinful nectar never deprived him of the taste he had so longed for. Something that made him feel human like the others around him for the first time in years. Giving into temptation as he clamped his mouth shut. His eyes flickering shut as he sucked up the sweet blood like an animal.

Fyodor had given into the devil. He’d given into sin. The worst kind man was possible of. His tongue thrusting into whatever he could taste from that small gouge his teeth had made. He was serene but feral all at once. His sinful animalistic desires were taking over. His head thrown back as he felt those fingers of what he could only describe as a succubi, digging into the back of his throat, and provoking a guttural mewl.

Just as he was sure this ordeal could not get worse, Nikolai had the audacity to still himself. A puff of warm air tickling the back of Fyodor’s ear. This jester broken him and now felt the compelling urge to tease him. An impish whisper leaking into his broken conscious.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

[invisibleicewands]

Tim Price’s new play about the life of Aneurin “Nye” Bevan, directed by Rufus Norris and featuring a wonderful central performance by Michael Sheen in the title role, is a fever dream of a production – quite literally. It follows Bevan’s life from his childhood in Wales where he struggles with his stutter to the heights of his political career and the creation of the National Health Service in 1948, each event in his life told in the form of hallucinations from his death bed in one of the hospitals he himself helped to establish. “So nice. Seeing it. Without everyone… standing on ceremony. Isn’t it?” he says to his wife, and fellow politician, Jennie Lee (Sharon Small) on waking from an operation to remove a stomach ulcer.

The operation has not been entirely successful and Bevan requires pain relief that sends him into the strange world where he relives the events that led to his greatest political success in the NHS, with the occupants and staff of the hospital embodying the people of his past. The matron becomes Clementee Atlee (Stephanie Jacob), the nurse becomes his sister Arianwen (Kezrena James), one doctor becomes Neville Chamberlain (Nicholas Khan) and another becomes Winston Churchill (Tony Jayawardena).

The construct does feel strangely unnecessary, though it provides the opportunity for some wonderful stagecraft with the green curtains of the hospital wards becoming the green benches of the House of Commons and hospital beds transforming into council chambers or doorways that open, despite their occupants – and there is something inherently comic in the permanently pyjamaed and barefoot Nye involving himself in council debates, making parliamentary speeches and standing up to the towering Winston Churchill (notably caricatured by Jayawardena) as war rages across Europe.

Sheen, on stage throughout is clearly the star – full of passion but with an impish quality to his every interaction, you get the sense of a man filled with desire to do good for the right reasons. He also brings Bevan’s sense of his bewilderment at each hallucinatory interaction, balancing how the past Bevan interacted with the scenario with how the older Bevan is now viewing from the future – no mean feat. Other performances across the large ensemble are constrained by the format, with each actor playing multiple roles and only a couple of characters who exist for more than a handful of scenes.

Price finds himself somewhat caught between telling the story of the man who created the NHS and telling the story of the NHS’s creation. It is very much the former, but in its final act, it feels like it sways towards the latter – swelling with sentimentalism for the sheer seismic political achievement that the NHS was, and is. Many may feel the latter elements should have warranted expansion – there may be merit in that, but it would be a different play, for good or bad. Whatever your view on the play, though, Sheen is worth the visit.

[bathysmainventor]

Saiguu was just walking around Inazuma City trying to remember something until she spotted someone...Unique individual at least from her point of view since they weren't from Inazuma

Saiguu decides to follow the stranger as she's intrigued, it's up to the person she is following to determine if a Yokai following them is a good or bad sign...Not that she cares.

Saiguu can be heard chuckling mischievously behind them.

-@kitsune-saiguu

the inventor's trip to inazuma isn't for nothing — he has his interest dead-set on the art of blacksmithing and the archon's knowledge about machinery, rumors about the two halves of a god, the shogun and the one who carries the burden of the archon's true position.

the shogun, and the archon behind it's creation, are two identities within a puppet. mace is nothing but curious — there's a saying around teyvat; curiosity kills the cat, and in this case it's similar. mace is an anomaly, someone with no name in inazuma who would surely have the shogun slicing him in half, thus his curiosity kills him, the cat.

mace is just too stubborn to do so; kill him? as if! he'll simply replace a limb or two, organs he can replace with the right wires, gears and bolts if he doesn't grow them back.

when he hears impish giggling behind him, he snaps his head around. the tall woman catches him off guard, her hair is white like snow, her ears perked up and smile devilish — she wears robes he once heard chioriya boutique's owner discuss with one of her workers, an outfit showcasing her devotion to the electro archon.

"...may i help you?" his face displeased, he stares up at the stranger who was tailing him. just what did a shrine maiden want, from him, no less?

[systastic]

could i request a level 2 headmate pack based on deer and glowy things? sorry if thats too vague ^^;

glowy things… hm, okay! we went with the concept of sunbeams streaming through forest canopies & fairy lights :] if u would like any changes, let us know! - 🌲

name :: wirt, fawn, calliope, cirrus, cedar, birch, honeysuckle / honeydew

age :: 34 (17 in human years)

pronouns :: they/them, he/him, she/her, one/ones, dear/dears, fae/fayr, & mirror pronouns

roles :: performer, aedile (rituals, parties), artist (watercolors), antidepressant, destressor

species :: aes sídhe / the fair folk, faun (legs are deer legs!)

gender identity :: faegender, faunagender,

orientation :: omniromantic, pansexual

source :: brainmade, vaguely inspired by D&D

aesthetic :: cottagecore, ethereal, warmcore, honeycore

appearance description :: lively and full of joy, fawn is often seen bounding about outside. fae choose not to wear pants most of the time due to their pride in being sídhe (and the fact that fae don’t have genitals unless willed into existence). calliope tends towards loose-flowing cotton shirts similar to those seen in the medieval era. dear makes sure to wear things dear is okay with getting mussy, whether from dear art or from excess sunlight exposure. birch can shift forms just like other sídhe: they can appear as a human with antlers, a semi-humanoid form (the one he uses the most), a normal deer with odd-looking eyes, and a impish child with bare feet. cedar retains her coloration throughout all forms: brown hair, black eyes with a golden star, light brown skin with white patches, and orange tips of their hair that seem to glow at sunset and sunrise.

personality description :: honeydew is a timid fellow with an impish side, being quite skittish and running away from any sign of danger. one likes to stay out of conflict for the most part, choosing to let quarreling alters continue in their debates while one watches. cirrus has a touch of a naughty streak by virtue of being a sídhe; one’s urges for chaos can only be quelled through the act of creation, tricking mortals and other fae, and pulling pranks/jinxing one’s friends. these misdeeds are often smoothed over with a song on one’s lyre or pan flute or a gift made with one’s own hands. ultimately, though, wirt aspires to make others happy and to be happy himself, whether that be by parties, song, dance, or performance.

image source here!

[aquarium-ina-bag]

Where Danger Finds Me, it Follows With Tides -9

But I’ll know ch 9

word count: 5.7k

warnings: gore, killing, death, violence, angst, swearing, tiny bit of fluff, (read at your own risk)

Relationships: Wednesday x Reader

A/N: now we can get off of this angst era, I kinda feel like the ending is a little rushed but I didn’t want these lil guys to fight. Enjoy.

You’ve been eluded for days now; Wednesday hasn’t talked to you. Enid won’t even look at you, if she did, the blonde gave you the most aghast face. It shattered you just like last time.

Before, when you sat with Wednesday’s group during a break, you’d have a silent conversation with her. If lucky she’d break a tiny grin, you would always nudge her, teasing for more reactions out of her.

Now if you even brushed Wednesday, you’d get the death stare, not her impish one. The one she gives anyone she doesn’t trust. Why? Why does she look at you like that? You could only beg in an echo, something that would never reach Wednesday. Pleading her to stop, you craved any other look than this, the look if you were a barbaric animal.

This time you tried to get a reaction. Everyone else in their own conversation, still it was too quiet for you.

“Wednesday.” You whispered, tenderly kicking her foot with yours.

She stared haft lidded, oh it was enticing… Wednesday reminds you of all the other outcast, sharp gaze like the fangs of vampires, alluring words parallel to a siren’s song, robust as the wild dogs, colder than the excelling creations Gorgons chisel with looks.

“What’s up with you?” Your tone imploring.

She didn’t say anything, but you could see hesitation flux out of her. It was subtle, her facial movements puzzled in a tug of war, weighing the options of speaking or silence. You wanted to hear her talk, shout, whisper, anything than this detestable taciturnity.

Those soliciting eyes of yours meant nothing to the girl in front of you. Wednesday went back to neglecting you. Regret showered your bloody heart, it started to drown you, filling you up till the pressure crushed that slow-beating heart. It was so much you didn’t even know what you regretted, asking her what was wrong? Collaborating with her on the project? Dueling her?

— — —

Wednesday worked on her typewriter, the clacking was her music a paradisiacal symphony, maybe even white noise. Anything to drown out her thoughts, the way you looked at her was singed inside her husky dark eyelids. The eyes you gave her were absolutely heartsick an awful word, but it was the truth, those entreating eyes crying out for recognition.

Soft knocks on her door captured Wednesday’s attention. It was most likely Bianca getting something for Enid, she didn’t bang on the door like Yoko and Divina. Wednesday stared at Thing to get the door, he followed suit. Getting on his stool, reaching out for the handle before twisting it open. He dropped down to look up at the guest, the hand panicked, scurrying off to Wednesday. Thing made his signals, she almost reciprocated the feeling, her head turning with haste.

When she made eye contact with you everything paused. That damn look. Why are you so full of dolor? It was cracking Wednesday, but she remembered why she’s so agitated with you.

Wednesday turned back around to her typewriter “Why are you here?” Her voice colder than the dead.

You immediately became sheepish, your voice just above a wind whisper. “You’ve been acting weird to me, and you won’t talk to me about it.”

Wednesday still hasn’t turned. “Who says I have to talk to you about things.”

You got defensive, “so I can comprehend why you’re treating me like this. Like some outcast.” Walking closer to the girl.

“That is what you call yourself, an outcast. I say that’s an understatement.” Wednesday changed the paper in her typewriter, you getting closer had her on edge not fearful but vigilant. It hurt you to notice this, this animal treatment agonized you.

“What do you mean?” Your face twisted with bemusement.

Wednesday dithered before making up her mind, she opened a side drawer to her desk, sounds of paper and plastic filled her silence. The motions she was making was gutting you with apprehension. Wednesday stopped before slowly lifting a plastic packet, she didn’t look away from her typewriter. The girl slammed the drawer shut, it startled you, but her slapping the packet against the free space of the desk made you jump.

“Why are you scared? You can’t be scared; it makes you weak. People depend on you if you’re scared then what will happen? Your whole team is scared, then they break, if they break you die, do you understand Y/n? They will die. You will be the reason for those deaths, again… Y/n you came to us, so you survive and make sure that incident never happens again. This is your second chance. Now fix yourself, and

Pick it up….” A deep female voice demanded. “Pick it up.” Wednesday demanded.

You wanted to puke; every step you took gave weight to the next one. The sun’s gravity was pulling you down, you felt compressed. When you lifted your hand to grab the packet, you trembled, fighting this nonexistent weight, it was deplorable. Lifting it to read was worse, everything was blurry, words were jumbled the black on parts were confusing you, then you understood what was in your hands. You didn’t have to read anything else, you’ve read it to many times before, for hours you reread all these papers, stared at the photos for days. Fear was recouped with pique.

“Wednesday, what the fuck do I have in my hands.” Your voice filled with acid.

“You seem to know what it is.” She still isn’t looking at you.

You slithered your hand on the back of her chair, the grip was machine tight. “Look at me and tell me why I’m holding this.”

She understood your feelings now, nonchalantly Wednesday turned her head up to looked into your eyes, were they shaking?

“Wednesday speak, why the fuck do you have this.” You looked rabid; you weren’t actually going to do anything right?

“I did a little digging on you.” Wednesday was holding a ground that wasn’t hers.

“Because I didn’t tell you?” You were so vexed you started to laugh.”You have this shit because I didn’t tell you why I’m here? Wednesday do you understand how narrow minded that sounds?” You turned her chair so her whole body could face you.

Wednesday took offense, “This isn’t part of your fucking wanna be cases, that is government shit. I let you off the hook with the Tyler papers, thinking you would know better the next time. But of course, I forget you never change for anyone, it's always Wednesday’s way, isn’t it? Then you want to be mad at me? How is that fair!”

Wednesday understood she was wrong but doesn’t mean accept the fact, “You killed a five-year-old girl.” Her voice a whisper, she looked at you through her bangs.

Removing your hand from the chair, you leaned on the desk. Wednesday felt free from a trap. “You don’t even know the story.” You lower your voice.

“I think I do.” Wednesday of course did not.

If she thought you were calm, she should rethink. “Think fucking again, if you did Wednesday, I wouldn’t be in this room yelling at you! If you knew then you wouldn’t have those papers.”

The girl got up from the chair, “Then tell me. Give me an excuse to why you mutilated a five-year-old child.” Wednesday challenged.

“I didn-, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it; I was five and I didn’t know what I could do.” You scratched the desk paint, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.

“How do you accidentally do that? Have you seen the photos, the autopsy? What did she do that made you ‘accidentally’ butcher her?” Wednesday wrangled you for more, her arms crossed unimpressed.

“Fuck, yes, I’ve seen the photos, I lived through it! And she didn’t do anything-“

She cut you off “-She was innocent? An innocent girl killed while you’re living scotch free, clearly you snaked out of a sentence.” Wednesday scoffed.

Why can’t she listen? It was an accident, you’re not free, you have to live in guilt of Khuld’s death. Was your upbringing not your sentence? Was the banishment not a pronouncement?Capitulating love wasn’t the verdict? Did you even love her? Someone who loves someone would never do what you did. Khuld loved you till her hapless death.

You were mess, sweating, shaking, a complete eyesore in front of Wednesday. You hadn’t said anything, just short heaving breaths of anger. You couldn’t look at Wednesday, you set your glare behind her. The grip on the table was tenacious, the wood started to get shallow.

Wasn’t Wednesday no better than you? She attempted to kill her fellow students, put people in detriment for her own gain, beat her teacher!

You two aren’t level, she had reasons that were warranted. You killed because of a little headache? Because you were in pain and angry?

“It makes you no different from Kader.” A deeper corse voice replayed.

Snapping and crushing replaced your taciturnity, a painful sting you drew out of this mental abuse. “You broke my desk...” Wednesday said. Turning your head to the table, she was right. The sharp corner of her deep ebony desk was demolished. Not only that, the shards and splinters were burrowed into the palm of your hand, crafting ridged deep bloody grooves. The warm liquid fell onto the once corner, it caressed the pieces while gravity pulled it farther down.

You stuttered “Oh shit. Im sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Well, your whole body stuttered, indecisive on what to do, Wednesday helped you figure that out.

“That’s what you claimed about the girl.” She mumbled.

You dropped your jaw, “My gods! Are you just trying to ignore me?! Why can’t you listen for once! For once in your life listen to people and just try to not criticize them! For one second Wednesday!” Your body was animated, while you threw your hands in the air, droplets of blood were getting everywhere, floors, walls, her bed, the typewriter.

Wednesday opened her mouth looking for words to say, you stoped her before she could conjure them, “honestly, never mind believe me or not I don’t care.” You turned on your heels, storming to the door. Breaching it open she swore you broke hinges, but the amount compulsion when you slammed it shut caused the cloudy glass beside said door to shatter. It made Wednesday’s finger twitch, she finally let go of breath she was preserving.

Thing crept of his hiding spot, tugging on Wednesday’s sock. The girl looked down, “fetch me a rag.” He made a saluting gesture before scurrying off. Wednesday on the other hand grasped the bin by her desk, removing the remnants of the wood.

The mountain range on the pads of her fingers was rained on by your blood. The red liquid settling into the empty space in her fingerprint and coating the ridges. When Wednesday’s senses acknowledged the feeling her head threw back.

Her throat feels chalky, once bloody palms graze on granular velvet, the heat is blistering even for Wednesday. It smells hot as well, all this heat was overwhelming. Her ears hear subtle speaking and the friction of movement on sand, the distance cries of cattle, children’s screams of jubilance. Wednesday was behind sooty crates, deep in between two sandstone homes from the large carved out square holes a woman yells about spies, Wednesday knew or is learning many languages, Arabic being on the list. The girl with strange clothes rose to her feet, dusting off the sand and dirt. It was best to continue in the shadows, the era not yet revealed, she followed suit with her plan.

Wednesday lurked in the shade watching what she was here for, her cogitation was that it had to do with you. Was this the home you were talking about? If not where else have you been?

The heat casted an illusion of water in the distance, had it been hours in this vision? Wednesday’s brain had been fried since the moment she got here, checking corners, alleys, even stalking the innards of homes. The search ceased once she heard your name and something about hurrying.

A little girl's voice calls, “hurry hurry! I want to see the fish of the evening! Y/n come on!” She was jumping around while rushing you.

Your pace was slow, the face you made was stricken in twinge, “Khuld… my face hurts.” You were exceedingly little; this vision was in the past.

That was Khuld? She was so young, Wednesday almost felt sad that this little girl was never able to grow and have a future with success.

The girl giggled, “that’s foolish I say! In the books I read they talked like that way back in the day and had silly hair! I should ask my mom if she had hair like that, once we get back, I can ask her!” She held your hand dragging you to travel with her stride.

You completely made a stop causing Khuld to whip back. “My head hurts, my mouth hurts, my eyes hurt everything hurts.” You complained.

Khuld paused to look at you, her body language pouring out concern, “Did you drink today? We can get juice at the vendors; I have a bit of money. Or we can sit by the shore while we look at the fish, we don’t even have to see the fish if you don’t want to, I have games remember?” With her free hand she was petting your head, as you continued to look down, quietly groaning.

You clenched your jaw repeatedly, and so did you with the grip around her hands “It hurts.” A whine came out of you. Wednesday could see the force you had on her.

“Y/n my hand.” Khuld whispered, “Let’s go find the nurse, but loosen your grip it hurts.” She pulled again, yet to no avail, you were rooted into the ground. All you could do was shake your head in defiance. The grip was getting worse.

“It’s so loud.” You hissed silently.

“Y/n loosen your hand, please it hurts.” She tugged trying to extort out of your clutch. “You’re starting to crush my hand.” Khuld clawed at the outside of your appendage, until she drove her nails into it, pushing farther and farther in causing you to bleed.

The splatter deafened the world, words couldn’t elucidate what just happened. A bloodcurdling shriek snapped Wednesday out of her trance.

“Police! Police! Someone help! Get the authorities!” A woman called.

It was worse than the pictures, the photos didn’t get the child standing in shock with the crushed hand of a girl still holding her friend’s palm, the pictures didn’t get the homes covered with a little girl’s blood, the photos didn’t get the insides of her, pictures didn’t get a woman howling.

“My child! My child! My baby! You demon you demon!” The woman screeched as she beat your face. “Her hand, give me it! Help! Please!” She pushed you before taking her daughter’s deformed, hand and hugging it, the mother cupped blood-covered sand holding what she could.

Men gathered the scene, obviously the authorities.

“That demon! The demon killed my baby! Death row put them on death row, better yet execute that monster now!” Khuld’s mother sobbed out.

Who else were they supposed to arrest? You’re clearly the only one with enough evidence to prove it’s you. Though why would you do this? Everyone knew you and Khuld were attached to the hip, inseparable, if one goes the other follows. Another question is how could you do this? You’re a five-year-old with a scrawny body, barely able to eat three times a day. How could any human do something so despicable without being caught, it was out in the open, you had to do it with incredible speed.

Those were questions for detectives, they only needed to do was arrest you, liquidating you was still on the table. The authorities grabbed you with vitality, you didn’t contest allowing them to drag you to an authoritative vehicle, holding you in chains before shutting the door.

Wednesday’s vision was warping a new setting, it became less elusive, she was in the police station. She questioned if this was before, after, or during your capture. The girl peered around for any sign that you were or are here, she recalled seeing your mugshot, she searched there first. On her journey to find you, she was stopped, Wednesday watched three tall women wall you. They were coated in jewels, riches woven into fabrics, and skin clear as their crystals, Wednesday focused on the conversation.

“My poor child, I know it's much to take in, but this is your chance to escape death, you aren’t like these dwellers, a being such as you and I have our second chances, this is yours. If you refuse you die. We understand your aptitude, we can guide you into peace, where you can learn how to better this power.” The woman speaking was flowy, her voice had a sort of peace to it someone could listen to her speak for hours, and the outfit she had on drizzled like honey enunciating her perfect body. Wednesday couldn’t see her face with the angle she was at.

Though she could see you, so tiny compared to them. Sitting on the wooden chair. “I don’t want this power, if I can do that I don’t wanna learn how to use it.” Your voice sounded so broken.

A gruffer woman berated you, “If you don’t learn you’ll just go do it again, but if you don’t come with us, you’ll die, what don’t you understand about that?!” This woman was the tallest among the three, her stature was built well, and clothes were revealing around her arms letting the world cower to her strength.

“Sekhmet please, you’re going to scare the thing.” Another lady spoke her voice was simple yet firm, and she was almost built like present you, very lean and indefectibly carved however the shortest, the number of daggers she had piqued Wednesday’s interest.

“Please respect my child’s name, Bastet.” The middle woman spoke again.

“It’s a boring name! should have been named Scorp, scorpion and twerp mixed together.” Sekhmet let out a gut laugh.

“What in Ra’s name is a twerp.” Wednesday could finally get a good angle of one of the girls which she guessed was Bastet. She had the same marking as you.

“It’s slang, mortals call each other that,” Sekhmet explained.

“Focus on the matter at hand you two.Y/n, do you accept? We promise to care for you, you’ll be taught all you wish to know.” The older woman in the middle reached her hand out to you.

“Am I the only one?” Clearly, you had more questions, but this seemed to matter the most.

“Of course not, you have cousins and siblings just like you, but they stay in their own terms. We can explain what terms are, but you’re a part of the new Pharaoh term X, you’re the tenth new term team. I know it’s a lot, but I promise you’ll get through it.” Your mother explained.

slowly nodding you agreed and took her hand, “Okay.”

“You won’t regret this kid.” The stronger woman smacked your back. Causing you to wince, “Yeah we can fix that whining stuff, you won’t even feel pain once we’re done training you.”

“Serket, do you wish to fix the charges?” Bastet questioned the lady cradling you, waving the same packet.

“Pass it along to Thoth, he can take care of it.” Your mother said before holding you closer to her. How did you fall asleep so fast? “No child should have ever witnessed that.”

“Ser... you do know what we must do for this teaching thing. Right?” Bastet laid a hand on the taller girl’s shoulder.

Serket looked down, watching your resting state, “I know.” Her voice was ridden with guilt.

“But think of it, kid will be the strongest thing we have to offer.” Sekhmet striving to be optimistic. “You see the kid’s purple? Has that venom thing I was talking about, I wonder how strong it is, maybe acid strong?”

Bastet ignored the conversation topic, “Have you spoken to the surrogate yet? Was she difficult?”

“Surprisingly not, she had her doubts but had nothing to back up the claim for years. Although she was still a little sad.” Serket explained.

“Slow pokes we have to go. Mr. Sandman is throwing a temper tantrum.” The strong woman laughed at her own joke. “I’m hilarious, I bet I would be great in plays.” She continued to flaunt herself while walking to the back doors.

“Again, where is she getting this vocabulary, what is slow poke? Yesterday It was rad, what is a rad? And then the clothes she finds, so much pink and glitter, she says it’s ‘hip with the kids’, have you heard the music?! Who is this, Gwen Stefani?” Bastet finally turns around hoping her sister is behind her. “Ser, what are you doing?”

“I thought I saw something.” That something was Wednesday, she almost was caught, nobody has ever called her out in visions, why now? “Anyway, don’t you like Beyonce?”

“Do not criticize that being, she has morals.”

Serket giggled before leaving the station.

———————

Wednesday woke up deprived of air, the precipitous movement made Thing and Enid repel back. Wednesday took in her surroundings, she was on her bed, there was an ache on the side of her head, the blood was cleaned except on her typewriter, there was a cool damp cloth on her lap guessing it was on her face beforehand, her company looked startled it didn’t take much time for one of them to verbally express it.

“You scared us! We thought you got stuck in a coma; it’s been an hour! Thing explained what happened, where did she escape to? I’ll claw out her eyes. She broke our damn window too.” Enid flashed her colored claws.

“That won’t be necessary, but I need to,” Wednesday paused, contemplating her words, “speak with them.”

Enid whined, and Wednesday brushed the cute thought off. “Not necessary? Look at all the blood on your typewriter, again our window!” the wolf threw her hands around in chagrin.

“I was,” again Wednesday paused, “hasty when making theories. I need to find them; it will possibly take some time since I don’t know where they are.” The goth’s face tangled in repentant, wasn’t a great look to Wednesday, “I’m going to guess you don’t know either?” Enid proved her assumption right when shaking her head.”Also did you drop me on something?” Enid made her lying face, shaking her head no. Wednesday tossed her legs off the bed, trailing around the dorm grabbing better clothes, what Enid called her adventure bag, which Wednesday would bring during her woods walk with Eugene.

“Do you want us to come with?” Enid and Thing stood like soldiers, ready and hand. Wednesday shook her head.

“I can tell Y/n is acrimonious at the moment, them knowing other people are with me could possibly consternate them.” That was only haft truth, Wednesday wasn’t going to leak what she saw, seeing as you could tell Enid knew about the papers and took conniption in that, it was best to be patient with you. “If I’m not back before two then you can worry.” Was that going to help Enid’s nerves? No, not one bit, the blonde girl chewed on her nails before nodding.

Wednesday took the confirmation and left to find you.

Of course, Wednesday’s search was going to be long, you were trying to smoother your thoughts. Searching for the missing convict that’s been lurking in the woods and in the back of your head, sadly you can’t hear a heartbeat that isn’t an animal, nothing smells like a person, if you smell something metallic it’s just been the circle of life, so, not much smothering has happened. The hissing sound soothed you whenever Wednesday fogged your brain, you continued to spit that purple acid out from those K9s of yours, it was an extra you inherited from your mother, she held the role of Mother of Scorpions, doctor of poison, Hysteria of venom, she was able to drop the most lethal doses of venom of any being, even gas emitted from them was beyond virulent. It’s gotten you out of numerous scenarios, and now one of the uses was to distract you from a girl with braids that ‘clogged’ your brain with her existence, did she take over your personality too?

A different pattern of leaves crunching roused you, finally something worth your attention, next step was finding it without it leaving. With nimble shifting, you lifted yourself on the tree you were posted on, climbing high enough to shroud with the canopy of the forest, but not letting it occlude your vision. Continuing the search, you waited with forbearing ears, locating the source. What confuses you is that the rise and fall of foot work is different from what you heard just minutes ago, this was heavy, denser than a bear’s movements and its celerity was faster, was it pursuing something?

You’ve learned how to see in many ways, vibration was a favorite, with the amount of blood use in your abilities, it’s nice to actually listen to something else than the flow of it. When listening to the vibration of the earth it ripples across everything rooted in it and everything touching what’s rooted in the earth, you can see the vibrations ripple over a worm deep in the healthy soil to the largest elephant beat its music into the crust, it helps with sight because it forms a vague picture of the artist, it was beautiful waves. If the creator of said waves was sounder than others it could break over others wave, if your philosophy was correct, you could effortlessly figure out if it was the Hyde hunting someone or nature taking its course.

Why is she even hunting for you in the woods, still, every other place Wednesday inspected didn’t have you sulking in it. What affirmed that you were in the woods, not a trace, but it’s the only idea Wednesday has. She could see the ghost of her breath depart her lungs, wisping out with the breeze, something Wednesday would never share with anyone was that she enjoys counting how many times a person inhales and exhales during a given time, it could be the fact their sign of life could be taken at any minute or just the sign of life itself, they contrast flawlessly.

She wishes there was a sign of life anywhere, explicitly yours, the only thing she got was the bird's observant on her entity, you liked the birds, have these ones watched you in this hour? And did you look back? Stars were being covered; something is spooking flocks in the purview, what confused her was how many flocks were being peeved by this anomaly and how quickly, it was to the point the navy-blue sky was getting blocked by an outline of birds. Wednesday’s standards were to naturally figure out why, she questioned if it was you, but why would you?

The twigs were rattling, parallel to a small earthquake, the closer she got the harder drumming was. Orbs, shaken-up orbs of yellow were fixated on her, the irises dilated to the smallest degree, she could tell it was after her, but in spite of that she didn’t move, why isn’t she moving? Did she think it was you? Did Wednesday really seek a pitfall that much? In truth Wednesday knew what was going for her, she never had qualms about Tyler, and giving him satiety in the fact of running away was the last thing Wednesday wanted. So, she entrenched herself, not moving a hair for the beast, but the vision of him became clearer. The Hyde he took on now was larger abounding in muscle, wounds healed all over its body, when Enid recalled her fight with him, she said it was visible most on his face, and she was right, it was almost just like the wolf’s cicatrices. The hair was lengthy and shaggy. With him maybe 4 yards away from her, Wednesday admired the nails reaching out for her neck, it was painted with blood he must have hunted something other than her tonight.

Before Wednesday could drop to duck his attack, something rained from the trees. It sizzled on the Hyde’s back, he was in the grodiest throe and let out a screech instead of his roar, what hit Tyler? You did, and you hit him again this time dropping yourself on his neck. The force caused both of you to land flat on the ground, nonetheless, you got up faster. When Tyler regained his sensibility running away from you was the only thought he had, you took a second to balance your options, chase what you have been stalking all night, or confront what you’ve been running from.

turning to face the girl behind you, did you give a glimpse of anger, yes, “What was that? you just stood there like a deer in headlights, what would have happened if I weren’t here Wednesday?” You were active with your locomotion, “Gosh, danger follow you or something?” You mumbled.

“You seem to chase it.” Wednesday huffed, ignoring the outcome if you didn’t save her.

“I was trying to get him, you kinda messed that up, by thinking you can have some little date with your boyfriend. What are you even doing here?”

Wednesday rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, “Ex, but I was trying to find you.”

You hyperbolized a groan, “So you could vituperate me some more?” You scoffed. “I don’t ha-“

“-I accused you too quickly, I understand your conniption because of it, I crossed a line, yes, I even crossed a line when having a vision about the synopsis.” Wednesday couldn’t make a full minute of eye contact with you, darting off to gaze at something else behind you, the spotlight was agitating.

But to you, the spotlight is all you wanted on her, you liked how jittery she got when you looked at her in this state, the vulnerability, but worshiping her isn’t the plan right now. “You gonna leak that too? Enid won’t even talk to me, let alone give me an eye.” Now that wasn’t fair.

“I didn’t tell her anything about the vision, but still I don-“ You heaved a sigh before you silenced Wednesday.

“You don’t have to understand Addams, it’s my business, and I have a right to share it or not, I’ll share it when I’m ready, so just drop it. I get it you were curious, I lashed out, but I ask just be patient, okay? You understand and possibly saw that this was a craggy subject for me, if I continue to be mad and you continue to pry it’ll just be a whirlpool of emotions that none of us want to get stuck in. In simple terms I forgive you, and we can talk about it later when we are both ready.” Did you forgive her just like that? After she blamed you, stole important files from you, and berated you. Wednesday couldn’t tell if you were dissembling or not, why did you switch so fast? But Wednesday didn’t want to lose this again, she nodded slowly.

You flashing that perfect toothy smile made her feel sick, “Now skedaddle, I need food.” You walked past her, but you interlocked pinkies with her, Wednesday made a nauseating face towards you although she didn’t let go, “Just in case your ex grabs you before I notice.” She could listen to you laugh for hours while drowning you, of course, a nice gurgle mixed with it is music.

“On the topic of Tyler, what did use to ward him off, it made a sizzling sound.” She craned her neck to you.

“Did I tell you I was hungry? I’m so hungry.” Evading the question.

She brushed her thumb against your palm, “And where’s your wound at? Not a scar nor blood.”

You paused before speaking, privily begging her to rub your palm again. “I could eat a horse, how long do you think it would take me to eat a horse, well they’re cute so maybe something different, maybe a full hog? Dang, they’re also dirty, and sheep is off the table, speaking of sheep do you want to see Skate later tomorrow? What if he’s been eaten...” You stopped, giving Wednesday’s ears a break. “That farmer shot me when I was putting him back, you have that same bullet.” Wednesday whipped her head up at you. Not giving her a glance instead focused on the path ahead.

“How do you know that?”

You shrugged “I have great ears.” Referring to when you confronted Wednesday.

“During my time when digging for info, I turned in the bullet in hopes for DNA.” She confessed, wishing you wouldn’t get upset.

“That’s fine, you wouldn’t find DNA anyways, not mine at least. You never answered my question though.”

Wednesday’s face jumbled up like a jigsaw puzzle, “You just said you were shot though.”

“Skate probably misses us; I miss him a lot. Also, what do I eat, again I’m starving.” She was getting fed up with this dodging.

“If you’re not going to satisfy my questions then stop talking,” before you could make a smart remark, she answered yours. “And yes, we can see Skate, I don’t know what you should eat.” You shut up with a smile, pinky still locked with hers, it was like that the whole walk till you dropped her off at the door of her dorm.

“Where have you been young lady?” Enid raced to Wednesday, “It's been hours, and was that Y/n?.”

Wednesday slid Enid to the side, getting ready to go to bed, “I’ll explain it to you later, but in short, don’t be scared or mad at them, I repeat, I’ll explain it tomorrow.” Enid couldn’t fight Wednesday’s words.

Wednesday fell asleep to her thoughts that night, what did you drop on Tyler? How was the wound gone just like that? What really scratched her brain was the whirlpool of emotions summary you made, what emotions did you know about? Why did it frighten her that you didn’t want these emotions, did Wednesday herself even know what emotions she’s talking about? Absolutely not. What if she did want to be stuck in tides with you?

[akatsukicross]

Sins of a Unloving God || SAGAU

fandom | genshin impact, sagau

rating | mature

warning(s) | gn!reader, has wing-like ears (reference), implied torture, minor blood mentioned, implied multiple rounds of sexual intercourse

pairing | implied sexual relationship with dottore

word count | 700-800

summary | they were ethereal and majestic—a deity that would be the envy of all with just a glance of their benevolence. Yet that is far from the truth, they're a beast with beauty who cared little about their own creations.

You cannot remember when you began to create worlds, but all they knew was that they were all boorish and gave you no entertainment. The icy waters below flows in wavelets, two koi fishes circulating around before parting their ways—just like the destinies she tore for fleeting pleasure.

You touched the ends of your (h/c) hair that was much longer than in the past. The soaked silken strands of your hair made a sigh escape your lips. Your wing-like ears twitch in irritation as memory that is best to be forgotten resurfaces. Gritting at the thought, hands splatter against the rippling reflection. Your white robe wrapped her drenched body with water trickling down your lasciviously like vine rooting around for vitality.

The moonlight saw through its transparency and rises slightly from the cool pond filled with koi’s that lived in endless serenity.

Your lackluster (e/c)-colored eyes gleam in the false silver beams that nip your cheeks. You let out a breathy chuckle. “So how long do you intend to let your eyes linger?” You turns your head with a impish smile to the man that remained silent even when you advances closer.

Your hand brushed against his cheek with gentle kneads, which he leaned against with closed eyes. You let out a more endearing sigh at his stillness. Her fingers intertwine his locks in a manner that had the other submerged in your chest—not caring of how drenched the robe was. His larger hands wrap around your waist, rubbing them in a circular motion with his thumb, his lips had then made its way to the more exposed part of the robe. You don't stop him and allows the doctor to do his own thing with woeful whimpers for your to lead. And when he looks at you with pleading eyes…you couldn’t help but coo at his pathetic state.

“You're still so needy even after so many rounds.” Whispering softly to the man, not giving in to his pleading. You can feel his fingers digging through the fabric and skin, small spots of gold emerge.

It bleeds through the whiteness of your loose garment. Slits come to view and your grip against his skin strengthened; your (e/c) eyes swirl in a deep-seated depravity that one could evoke that the devil to wither in its scrutiny. Your eyes become like onyx stones of endless night while his gleam with gold-red specs that resemble incandescent bodies of celestials.

Your hand traces the man's face that desperately morphed into one of longing and impatience's. You let out a breathy chuckle once more before her soft lips overlaps his own. You acknowledged his desire to be relieved from the flaring warmth inside. The man topples over her which allowed the two to fall in the cool pond that housed koi’s. Upon their drop in the waters, the koi fishes scatter as if they were never there in the first place. Simple illusions to keep effect to koi's of this desolated chasm in this dimension.

“Please…” He begs for more of your touch that cools down the inferno mellowness that was bridled inside of him. His voice tremble between kisses as he drowns in your addictive nature that was simply too much.

However, you cannot comprehend why you can't fully enjoy this blissful moment of his embrace—just like those feeble other creations that can speak and express themselves.

You knows that you cannot express themselves like the cretins who relish their individual worlds.

Human's were given emotions and thoughts to cry, laugh, or smile whether it is meant for good and bad moments in their short lifetime. Perhaps it is because at the end of the day, you will never… and will never be human. They share nothing but desolation of creating and subjugating interesting individuals that you wish to mimic.

You understood each other the moment they met by pure coincidence—understanding each other’s obsessions and twisted views of what ‘love' was. You took interests by playing pretend ‘naïve god' to gather 'dolls' to cure your boredom; meanwhile, Dottore does the opposite by inflicting pain for his own amusement whether by ethical or non ethical ways.

If they were truly humans, you wonders what words they'd be described as other than monsters.

If they were nothing then in humanity’s vile diction would be that… they were no one's son, no one's child because they would be branded to be too cruel to possibly even have a beating heart.

a/n: it has been a long, long time since i posted on here. for that i am sorry, i had a very eventful 'break' where my family and some relatives had gotten themselves in a dangerous legal situation. although i wasn't directly involved, it did take a toll on me because prior to the legal situation, i was involved helping my eldest sister's wedding that took months upon months of preparation. it also didn't help that i was burnt out with certain stories since i lost nearly majority of my drafts from multiple glitches i've been experiencing. in a way with everything going on, it just burned me faster with the constant hussle and nonstop work.

i've almost given up on the sagau series i was writing here, i lost all of my progress with it so, i decided to post this one i had in my discord convo with my bestie. it might not be the story you all wanted but hopefully it will suffice for now. again, i am sorry for not posting the actual sagau story i promised during april or so.