mine, ‎ ‎ all mine.

so, ‎ ‎ when i die, ‎ ‎ which i must do...

[epitaphed]

#𝗲𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗱 ─── is a private roleplay blog associated with maggotcreek, please do not interact unless you are part of the group! summoned by jj, twenty5, they/them, eastern standard timezone. all gif credits go to their respective creators.

𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦 ─── the grave. courtney eaton. she/they. twenty9. witch.

[epitaphed]

* ⤷ closed starter, for @prcphetgirl ─── july 2nd, in a corner booth at fryday's.

even after six years, half a decade of lettie's existence not only being in their per-view, but at the forefront of loretta's own mind, they still sat restless, shifting amongst the squeaky, cracked vinyl of fryday's booths. love in action, love in blood, but never words — loretta was never good at those. " how are you... — how are you doing? " a wide, unblinking stare, words punctuated by a clearing of their throat. after twenty-something years without a concept of family, it was still an uphill battle to just be. though, what they meant to say was: have you seen anything? the air has been thick, stinking of something they couldn't exactly put words to yet. but, their cousin's powers remained something short of taboo — loretta knowing all too well what it felt like to have conversations centered around ability, rather than simply being. " i saw a new cat outside the house yesterday — left 'em a can of wet food, but they were too skittish to take it. 'm hoping the food's gone by the time i get back tonight. thought you'd want to know. "

[epitaphed]

* ⤷ closed starter, for @griefbound ─── july 3rd, tucked away at the devil's pass.

" the view's nice. " not once had their eyes met matteo's eyes tonight, not truly, only opting for peeks of his silhouette, so as to not seem completely detached. she doesn't know how to sit with it — this specific type of grief, preemptive, the type that only comes when someone is still and will still be alive. loretta knows death much too well, but the living? an eternal mystery. they've only seen it, as of recent: prying questions into their own abilities, one that felt more like an interest in what they could do, versus who they were — the burden of potential, a luxury they weren't afforded prior. so, here they were, unable to sit with it, seeking purchase in days long lost. " 'm surprised you were brave enough to get your truck out here — nothin' in town's been... right lately. " a shrug, their brows meeting into a centerfold. " doesn't just smell different — feels different, too. more than usual. i mean, shit's messed up as it is, always has been, but somethin' isn't sitting right with me, you know? " the environment could always be to blame for their lack of ease, rot that bleeds into relationships, burns down the wick of friendship's flame.

[epitaphed]

* ⤷ closed starter, for @tomeslain ─── july 6th, amongst the waters at the hawthorne pier.

" don't get too close to the edge. " it wasn't spoken as a threat, nor an omen, rather as words passed on, said to them by elders passed and now ingrained within their instinct. she, too, was called upon by the allure of water; sprawling pools of deep teal under moonlight, this patch unshaded by the growth of willow trees. loretta held their hands up, palms outward-faced to counteract the potential threat of a sudden approach. their footsteps, for once, didn't creak atop the wooden planks, hidden by summer's cicada song. but, they knew too well that thalia, if anyone, could hear their approach coming from miles away. slayers were known for that — all human, but their keen senses were anything but. " to the water, i mean. i've heard... stories. " folklore taken as fact, or fact dismissed as mere folklore, both equal in their forms of self-preservation, that specific type of delusion that keeps the folks of magnolia creek sane. " i'm surprised to see you out here. "

[epitaphed]

* ⤷ closed starter, for @heartfled ─── june 30th, in the stacks at twice-sold tales.

hidden amongst the stacks, accompanied by the skittering noise of wood rot and a creaking foundation bleeding into the white noise whirr of a shoddy air conditioner, it wasn't the ding of the front door's alert bell that had loretta craning their neck, but rather, the presence that accompanied it. it was one known far too well, for better and for worse. rhythmic clack of heels upon wood planks forced a straightening of her posture, fingers still postured within the pages of her current read — some herbalism research, whose content did not pose nearly as much interest as this new addition to the store's occupancy. " hm, " barely an acknowledgement the moment their eyes met, the first time in a while, having near-successfully avoided each other since ece's return. " you're upset; i can see it. " they couldn't — a bold faced lie, only meant as a taunt, a jab straight to the facade of pleasantry the other had always worn so proudly. " you're still waitin' on the welcome back parade, aren't 'cha? " a click of their tongue, sucking air through gritted teeth, " how's it feel to be old news? can't fall back on that good ol' high school popularity anymore... "

[ormundshightower]

YELLOWJACKETS — S3E4: 12 Angry Girls and 1 Drunk Travis

[inkpressedpetals]

[stars-bean]

Sabrina (1954) dir. Billy Wilder

[hymnfell]

[gacougnol]

Marina Demeschenko

[misandriste]

BLACK SWAN 2010, dir. Darren Aronofsky

[epitaphed]

✧ THE GRAVE. COURTNEY EATON. NON-BINARY. SHE/THEY. ─── can you feel it, LORETTA LOWE? it’s starting again. something’s coming up the creek bed — and soon, there’ll be nowhere left to hide. but i can tell by your eyes, you’re not the running type. yeah, you’re too LUMINARY and ABRASIVE for that, aren’t you? just about what i’d expect from a WITCH. so you’ve been in magnolia creek about YOUR WHOLE LIFE now? word travels fast in a small, dying town like this — i hear you’re TWENTY NINE years old and AN ANTIQUE STORE CLERK. don’t think that’ll help much in a fight against the hunger, but at least you’ve got your FIRE POKER. that’s more than i can say for most. i’ve seen this cycle turn before, and i think i know how it ends. you think it’ll end THE SAME? well. we’ll see. i’d love to be proven wrong in all this.

⁰¹ˑ appearance. ⁰²ˑ musings. ⁰³ˑ threads. ⁰⁴ˑ pinterest.

full name. loretta jean lowe. nickname(s). lolo, rhett, all of which they don't mind. age. twenty9. birthdate. january 21st. gender. non-binary. pronouns. she/her/hers + they/them/theirs. orientation. bisexual, biromantic. species. witch. ethnicity. maōri, chinese, white. hometown. magnolia creek, wa. currently living. magnolia creek, wa, near the outskirts of town in the attic of one of one of their coven members. education level. high school graduate, hoping to go to mortuary school, but has yet to scrape up enough money to do so. religion. initially raised christian, now pagan. spoken language(s). english, very basic latin only for ritual purposes. occupation. full-time antique store clerk and stocker. traits. luminary, abrasive, withdrawn, crass, dedicated, loyal, justice-oriented.

faceclaim. courtney eaton. height. 5ft 11in. eye color. brown. hair color. black. handedness. ambidextrous, but primarily writes with left. piercing(s). multiple ear piercings that they never take out, left ear inspo, right ear inspo. tattoo(s). none yet.

parents. david lowe (unknown status, abandoned), leona lowe née li (unknown status, abandoned), a rolling roster of foster parents. sibling(s). none. significant other(s). none. other family members. violette 'lettie' devaux (cousin). other(s) of note. beatrice dewitte (former mentor, deceased), coven members (adoptive family).

abilities.

death perception: the smell of rot is undeniable. it’s a similar olfactory sensation to how decay smells once it has set in, long after the soul has left and the vacant vessel of someone who once was is now slowly returning to the earth. only, you can still smell it as they still walk this earth, as their heart still beats, and as their lungs fill with air. it’s your form of a ticking time bomb, handle with care. you shoulder this burden of knowledge, knowing that once death has made their mark, their timeline is inescapable, and there are no negotiations for when someone is planned to cross. it smells sweet to you, sickeningly so, curling the edges of your nostrils once a shallow breeze carries even the faintest whiff of such. over-ripened peach, molasses, spoiled milk, grass, and ichor — that’s what it smells like to you. you smell it everywhere these days; grocery stores, gas stations, movie theaters, parks — death follows, and soon will the rot.

osteomancy: a very new ability they’ve only started to learn. unlike their cousin, visions do not come naturally to them, nor does divination. it was with their abilities that loretta decided to seek out a fellow member of the coven who specializes in divination. tarot, mediumship, tea leaves — none of it seemed to work. it was only when bones were in play did it finally feel like a conversation, rather than a struggle to reap answers from something, or someone. at this point in time, it’s still weak, producing vague metaphors that they can’t guarantee to completely have a grasp on, but it is there, and it is being tended to.

─── read the application. / read the skeleton.

extended info.

since they could remember, loretta has been part of the foster system, passed through the same handful of eligible parents since she was twelve. prior to that, they were living within 'group homes for parentless youth,' or whatever the legal jargon was at the time. basically, the modern-day equivalent of an orphanage or boarding home.

their abilities manifested gradually, beginning at the age of fifteen. initially, it was physical, presenting itself as health issues such as constant migraines, upset stomach, and being more injury-prone. they felt attuned to more, sensitive to things they hadn't been prior, noticing signs and coincidences that felt much too routine to actually be coincidence. prayer actually seemed to come true, more so than it did before. but, it didn't take long for them to realize it was more so manifestation, their own power, than leaving their fate to god.

she did not begin practicing until found by the coven at age sixteen. she accidentally stumbled upon one of their rituals, taking place in the late hours of the night on the field of grass next to the town's main cemetery. they were out as escape, trying to find solace after an explosive fight between herself and their foster parents at the time, trying to find some respite. only, she found their forever home instead.

beatrice was the first to officially welcome her into the coven. she'd only hung out with them before, entering her home as nothing more than someone extending open doors to a kid in need, one who needed guidance and training with these newfound abilities on top of the pre-existing need for a stable home.

loss and death no longer became synonymous with beatrice's teaching. part of loretta knew this; all of those who have left have been alive. it was, admittedly, scary at first. being part of a small community, one wrought with the effects of death, the taboo nature of it was peddled to every magnolia creek resident.

only, until it didn't — beatrice's own death, reasons still unknown, kept from loretta by the direction of higher coven members. without answers, they were only bound together by death, grief manifesting into devotion in hopes that their favor within death's eyes would save beatrice's soul from damnation, so that the rot may be gentle upon her.

years of training, marred with blood, sweat, and tears, all of it culminated into a new loretta, something that made everything different down to each synapse — their posture, eyes that were now able to hold a gaze, and a newfound temper that felt relentless, a caged animal now on a rampage, righting the wrongs they have felt.

leading up to halloween, the usual scent of magnolia creek heightened — the rot became more pungent, inescapable to loretta. she didn't know it then, that no one else could smell it but them, not until the coven hurriedly called a meeting following the events of that fateful autumn night. something would be coming, or something is already here — they could only prepare. loretta only knows when it's much too late, when death had already provided its sentence.

headcanons.

it's been years since that halloween night, and loretta has grown into their powers, able to control the side effects provided to them by death perception while practicing osteomancy in order to potentially know before death has already done their bidding.

they are not nearly as volatile, but more so protective, leaning into their darkness under a more dignified, worn-in manner, especially now that they feel protective over their cousin, a newcomer to town.

she takes care of a black cat named lilith, originally a stray that they found in their backyard.

very bad staring problem that tends to get them in trouble, and always has. it's this big, unblinking stare that is only out of curiosity.

[doyoulovemenoww]

[epitaphed]

tags!