thinking about how funny it would be being one of the pa’s favorite reagents so your teammates just use you as a diversion during trials lol 💭 definitely out of character lmaoooo. just let me imagine, okay???? can’t a girl have a little fun?? not proofread i’m a baller. incl. coyle, gooseberry, & franco
🚨 with coyle, i feel like there has to be a sort of self-sacrificing aspect to it because even if you’re his favorite he’s never truly nice… as soon as he spots you among your team, it’s like a drug dog sniffing out its target ^_^; the scapegoat gets left unguarded (much to easterman’s chagrin) as leland goes searching for the cute little reagent that caught his eye. your teammates all keep away from you once your presence is known to him, and he’ll grab you by the scruff of your neck when he finds you sitting all alone. it’s much too easy to bait him!
he obviously doesn’t hurt you toooo bad (debatable), but he’ll definitely prod at you with his taser-thingie, scolding you about how you should’ve never snuck away from him since the last trial. you need to stay under the watchful eye of a trustworthy (👀) police officer like him! he’ll toy with you while your teammates go through with the trial, and they’ll give you some sort of cue when it’s time to get away (i.e: smash a bottle near the room/area you’re in or just shout really…) once (if…) you do manage to flee, he’ll be on your heels the entire time until you make it to the shuttle. it might not be so easy to get away from him the next time you have a trial with him, though…
🪿 when gooseberry catches sight of you entering the trial environment, she’s over the moon that her little gosling has made it’s way back to her! you are quick to separate from your teammates once you hear her musings (or the voice of dr. futterman echoing through a nearby hall). when she actually does finally come face to face with you again, she’ll act like you had been taken from her (even though you literally ran away the first trial you had with her…). with her, i’m not 100% certain that using you as a distraction would be entirely effective. there’s a chance that she could see your teammates as the reason you were taken away from her and go after them. the same could be said about coyle tbh… but i digress!
assuming that her attention is solely on you for the duration of the trial, she may also try and rough you up a bit or scold you for having left. but if you play into her whole gimmick, she’ll just dote on you the entire time. telling you that you don’t ever have to worry about anyone ever taking you away from mommy again (gulp…). i feel like she’d be even harder to run away from since she’d be smothering you the entire time. she’s quick to anger when you do manage to bolt, but if you’re really her favorite, i doubt she’d do anything mortally wounding to you.
🍼 there are two main ways i could see this sort of thing going down with franco. the first way is probably the less physically painful way, which is going along with his whole “baby wants mommy” shtick. this only works if he sees you as someone who can fit into the role of “mommy” though… in which case he’ll just whine and trail you through the environment as your friends work through their tasks. out of these three pa’s, it’s easiest to keep his attention off of your teammates in this scenario. he’ll cling to you if you let him, going on about how mommy’s so bad for leaving baby and you oughta make it up to him (smh.). in this scenario, even when you do have to leave/flee, i feel like he’d be less enraged than he would be in the second scenario.
which brings me to the second way i can see things going: he sees you as a plaything. this route is definitely a lot worse. he’d be sooo freakin sadistic with you. not doing enough to kill you per se but definitely hurting you or scaring you for his own entertainment and pleasure :,) he’ll tease you for being so weak, for walking right into his hands… but hey, at least your teammates can get things done! he’ll grope you through your clothing, messing with the wiring of your esop, he can be a real bully! by the time your team is ready to go, i wouldn’t be surprised if you were leaving without a nipple or something…
🩺 OMGGG dr. easterman is probably mad as hell too if you do this though, you’re exploiting his pa’s… making it harder for him to reshape you… there’s probably more punishment in your future after you pull a stunt like that T_T
Summary: After exchanging gifts, Alistair and Rosalind confess their feelings for each other.
Excerpt:
One starry night beside the campfire Alistair gave Rosalind a rose. It was then she realized that she was in love. Like a poet he compared her to the delicate flower, expressing disbelief that something so beautiful could exist in a world as hideous as theirs. She peered down at the Rose as he spoke, carefully turning the thorny stem between her fingers.
When it was her turn to speak, she looked him in the eyes. “That’s beautiful, Alistair.” Feeling exposed, she turned her eyes bashfully to the ground.
She chose her next words carefully. “You know, I used to think of Highever as this beautiful sunlit garden, a perfect Eden that would never wither. But when my home was taken from me my illusions shattered. Suddenly my sunlit garden had burned to ash. But I’ve realized since then that home isn’t a place it’s a person. For all the world is a garden so long as I’m with you.”
A bright flush bloomed out from underneath his collar going all the way up to the tips of his ears. He chuckled nervously. “I went over this conversation over and over in my mind. Never had I expected you would one-up my romantic speech with one of your own.”
Rosalind looked up at him with warmth in her eyes. “I disagree. If this were a competition, I’d say you won. You never fail to inspire me.”
Alistair placed a hand on the back of his neck. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m not sure what to do with all these compliments.”
She smiled warmly at him. “Save them for a rainy day.”
This is from a very recent but over all scrapped ideas for The Witch Report where our protagonist works as a fashion blogger with a few colorful peers. Though I may not use the idea,I think it still has some potential. I’ve read a lot of of those teen girl books back in middle school and still have a soft spot for them.
Contains mentions of body horror and implied eating disorders.
word estimate: 1100
“Hey, Eve,” Andrew said in between bites of a breakfast bar that has been residing in the bottom of his drawer for lord knows how long. “Francine says the hot topic of this week is if people with mouths on their throats should wear scarves. I mean, personally, I think it’s the quality of the fabric that really matters but you’re the only person I know who thinks ascots are still cool so I wanted your input.”
Eve turned away from her computer screen to meet eyes with her neighbor, twenty-seven-year-old Broadway musical enthusiast Andrew Blake who was roughly five hundred words into an essay about shoes for people with less toes than average and a quarter of a way through his snack.
“That depends,” Eve said. “Are we talking about those light scarves or knitted winter ones?”
“Well, I think, uh, light scarves? Yeah, light scarves.”
“I think anyone should be allowed to wear scarves,” Eve said. “But the people with the extra mouths definitely should invest in one. Did you know that the extra mouth actually derives nutrients from the small follicles and material found in fabric? Like, the microscopic parts human eyes can’t see, they can feed off of it which can warn off their cravings for everyday food. That’s something I learned recently, isn’t it cool?”
Andrew stared at her blankly. “So…yes on scarves?”
“Yes on scarves.”
“I’ll give the good word to Franny when they finally get out of the bathroom. Do you think they deliberately give me trivial questions to answer before they go out for a long time just to mess with me?”
“Franny is kind of weird in general,” Eve replied, looking back at her computer. “You two have been working together long enough, I figured you would know about all their mannerisms at this point.”
“They’re full of surprises,” Andrew said, shoving the wrapper into the bottom drawer saved specifically for wrappers. “And they were full of almonds this morning. I think they’re doing that weird diet where you eat a bunch of fiber products and then shit them out later. Sounds inconvenient but whatever works, I guess.”
“They’re a size negative two, what are they trying to fit in now?”
“A partially opened door.”
Eve had gotten comfortable with all of her department in the span of two years she’d spent at The Real Deal. The fashion department was nothing too big-none of the departments really were-but it paid to know who’s who when it came to your work station.
Running down the list, Eve can recall the full names and primarily roles of the four people, plus herself, who kept the fashion engine running year-round: First there was Paula Steris, the oldest person at forty-one and the most worn and cynical. She’d been a boutique owner in the past, a boutique that specialized in Picasso inspired shapes barely formidable for every day wear. The clothes were so stiff and gaudy that they’d be better off in an abstract museum than on a person’s actual body. The few people who bought them were either just deformed enough to mold into the cubes and spheres constituting the pieces or lazy art students looking to pass it off as passing grades for their final exams.
Paula had a falling out when she fell into bankruptcy and dragged her clunky shoes to The Real Deal to reclaim herself as the one true abstract fashion mastermind. Her keen eye for working the most bizarre of shapes into fabric made her a viable asset for managing stories about the shifting tides of human anatomy and the supply and demand of local stores to create clothing to cater to them. She seemed to derive some sort of amusement from watching business owners struggle to work unique figures into their shops, as if this were karma on all those who casted doubts on her failing business.
Next on the list was Sylvia Sanchez. Fresh out of high school and already thrown into the work force, Sylvia had her sights set on all thing related to headwear. Each day she strolled into the office sporting some new scarf, hat, ribbon, or headband atop her tightly curled black hair. She’d gotten in trouble in school for her need to wear the most flamboyant of headgear during class and assemblies and was clearly reveling all the opportunities she had now to flaunt the best and brightest from her collection. Today’s accessory of the day was-Eve quickly looked over her shoulder-a light up cat ear headband.
Francine Wright, who was still taking their sweet time in the restroom, was a jack of all trades. They were a writer for whatever topic they chose, editor for whatever was worth their time, and a sucker for whatever new diet fad was making the runs…sometimes literally. Francine’s partner of choice was no other than Andrew, an aspiring costume designer who wrote articles about the newest plays coming to a local theater and whatever extravagant pieces they’d be flaunting.
With his admiration for old band t-shirts and camo, he never rubbed anyone off as a fan of performing arts. Granted, it was part of the reason he and Francine hit it off so quickly when their first argument turned into a casual exchange about that handsome new singing-dancing-acting showstopper who was starring in this year’s revival of Grease.
Eve’s primary focus was on all things vintage. She was a fan of the passing eras and took any opportunity to give them a comeback in both her stories and her personal wardrobe. Poodle skirts, belts across the waist, corsets if she ever got lucky-she’d collect it, rework it, and wear it again. Eve was the creative outlet for all the Lolita’s from sweet to gothic, for the teens who wanted to dress like fifty’s housewives, for those who wanted to hail cabs with silk scarves, and for the men who wanted to dress like gentlemen from the eighteenth century as a show of chivalry. It was Eve’s time in world history that truly got her exploring the multiple branches of fashion throughout the years and her essay defending the use of powdered wigs in the modern day was what got her sailing out of class with a B+.
She desperately wanted to know why people didn’t carry around parasols in broad daylight like they did in the Victorian era and where the subtle class of wearing saddle shoes went, as if it were ever going to be trendy when Elvis Presley said so. Eve knew she wasn’t going to make massive waves in the fashion circuit, though the idea that she had made the slightest difference in someone’s wardrobe gave her reassurance she was doing something right.
Okay, so I won’t be posting these in order, but here’s a small part of chapter one of “The Witch Report”, introducing one of my characters, Anna Joan Lewis.
Contains mentions of religion and sex.
word estimate: 1,872
“A touch hasty, but alright.” Anna pulled up her jeans, grabbed her wedges from beneath the bed and made her way out of them room. Miranda didn’t stand up from her bed to escort Anna out, let alone making sure the door ensuring the safety of her apartment was locked. This neighborhood seems dangerous, Anna thought as she walked down a metal staircase. She caught the attention of an older man taking his dog out to relieve itself who seemed surprised to see such a formally dressed woman in this part of town. Or maybe it was-Anna quickly looked behind her.
Good, it was just her outfit this time. Not that she blamed the man for staring, the only bra on her person was being gripped by the straps in her left hand alongside her shoes, leaving her small but perky breasts loose under her thin top and feet bare to the dirt of the outside.
The dog doesn’t care, continuing to idly shit under a bush with tongue hanging out of its mouth as Anna slipped into her car and drove off, feeling the man’s eyes on her as she turned out of the driveway and on to the street. A part of her was insisting she turn back and at least get the man’s name, but another part remembered his oily skin reacting to the harsh morning sunlight like vinegar in a frying pan and eyes that would always look tired no matter how many naps he took to pad a day of unemployment. She’d gladly pass.
Of course, it’s only now that she chose to have standards. She could have used standards when she fucked that guy with far too many chins possible for there to be a neck under it inside a fast food restroom and when she gave that lady at the crossing walk cunnilingus behind a tree so good that the children who passed by afterschool thought she had forgotten her adult diaper that day.
But that was years ago, back when Anna was still adjusting to the fragility of this small, fleshy, sweaty, hairy thing she and many others morphed themselves into.
Anna reached the first red light leading out of the apartment complex, catching herself between a growing line of other cars in the process, and caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror.
When assuming her human form, she had to be highly selective over what bits and pieces she wanted and could do without. She’d think after years of observing humanity that she’d find a template she found worthy of her visage, and yet she had gone through multiple iterations in the past fifty years. This one (number eighty seven) was one she had stuck with for a little over a month and was getting more used to considering her true human persona.
This was the face of Anna Joan Lewis, a woman of lightly tanned skin and green eyes and closely cut hair that fell somewhere on the amber side of the red spectrum in good lighting.
Anna is small and thin, a type of figure that highly contrasts with the looming, gangly body that is her true form. Her true form was a lot of things, one of which being something that shouldn’t be revealed on a Monday morning in high humidity and bad traffic. Anna may be reckless, though her limits started to pile up at the mere mention of shredding open her car and shredding the fragile psyches of multiple humans with as much ease.
No, she’d seen it happen before. Couldn’t risk it just for the sake of feigning off her boredom.
Her car inched forward just enough to see a mere fragment of the road up ahead.
She gritted her teeth.
Even as a human, she can still feel the heat. And it’s not just the warmth of today’s climate touching her skin and baking the inside of her car-the sun’s rays could only hope to compare-but the constant roaring of fire starting from her back, coaxing her spine, and filling her lungs and chest. It was a kind of heat that didn’t hurt, more rested in the confides of her form as if politely asking her suddenly acquired rib cage and muscle tissue to move aside.
Anna straightened herself in such a way that her back was fully submerged into her seat, hoping to ignore her body’s instincts just long enough to keep driving forward. She was going to miss her wings, all six of them, though she supposed being able to see how nice her freshly manicured feet looked as they rested uneasily on the gas pedal. Actually, being able to see in general was a luxury she never thought she’d appreciate this much.
“Where were you?”
“Getting coffee,” Anna replied, placing down two carboard containers still hot with fresh lattes. “We all need fuel for the day, right?”
“I already had my coffee,” Samuel said, picking up one of the styrofoam cups from the table. “But if it’s on your dime…”
“They’re already selling drinks for the fall. Talk about eager.”
Samuel nodded in between sips. “I’m always in the mood for pumpkin spice. You gonna have one or are you sticking to your almond milk?”
“You know I don’t do coffee,” Anna said. “Besides, I felt like treating the staff before they bite my head off for being late again.”
“Can’t you just grow it back if they did?”
“It’s a trick I haven’t tried yet.”
“And if you haven’t noticed…” Sam did a quick gesture around the room that Anna had only now processed as being empty, the acoustics of the three-story building enunciating his voice. “Everyone is a little busy at the moment. Well, accept for the receptionist. Hey, Delia! Want a drink?”
Anna took this as her cue to head to her office, escaping behind the door to slip her bra on and straighten out her hair on her desk mirror. Through the thin walls she can still overhear Sam talking with Delia over the coffee, their conversation soon being reduced to everyday chatter about their pets and plans for the rest of the day. Sam is cordial as ever, letting the elderly receptionist go on and on about her newest puppy rescued from the shelter.
Samuel Reiner had been working at Serendipity Counseling for about one and a half months now, his summer job of choice despite his abysmal testing scores in college level psychology. He and Anna hit it off immediately, having met each other on roughly his third day of work when they locked eyes in between the water fountain and display of self-help pamphlets.
Sam not so discretely ogled the friction between her thighs and skirt and Anna took a long look at the lean physique, dark hair, and big, dark eyes that made him radiant with a certain boyish charm she hadn’t had a taste of for a solid two weeks. They had only exchanged a few words until disappearing into the nearest storage closest and were friends ever since.
Sam had taken the news about Anna being an angel with a certain nonchalant acceptance. Granted, it was her own fault to leave the door to her office ajar while she killed a fly via pressing it into the wood of her desk with a thumb hot with burning embers, her halo partially visible in that way that looked like a blazing half circle against the late sunlight pouring through the window.
No one at Serendipity, including both patients and employees, seemed to care an awful lot about Anna’s angelhood.
One of her clients, a recently divorced harpy woman, seemed to take solace in having an inhuman therapist. Another client, a human man fresh from rehab, was advised to get closer to God to truly complete his recovery and found Anna’s origins in heaven to be just the middle ground he was looking for.
“Better than just reading the damn thing, am I right?” He had said once, referring to a leather-bound bible his wife had thrown into his satchel before his appointment. It didn’t seem like much of humanity ever truly cared about Anna’s actual species, just a touch surprised that behind her clever disguise was a being far beyond their comprehension.
Oddities would always insist that the two of them were on common ground, many of them insisting Anna reveal her true self to them in privacy. Humans were quick to remind her about how long they’ve been Christians and/or Catholics, as if anticipating Anna to strike down on them for wasting her time.
The only reason Anna ever withheld information about being an angel was less to do with the threat of unveiling forbidden truths and more over the audacity of mortals to always redirect the conversations to Him. And talking about Him almost always became about them and their relationship with Him.
Talking about Him so casually went directly into the forbidden truths folder and Anna would often have to bite her tongue to keep His private life private. Anna was only ever allowed to say a handful of slogans that normally kept things in the green:
“Yes, He does love you.”
“Yes, He does forgive you.”
“Yes, He does hear all of your prayers.”
“Yes, He doesn’t wear shoes.”
“I don’t know why He did that, actually. Ask Him for me, okay?”
But of course, that always sparked an entirely different series of questions. Only then do they ask specially about her and what she does, or used to do. The thing was that going into detail about which angel did what required a lot of lengthy explanations of hierarchy’s and the nine choirs the presided in heaven.
And once the fact was in someone’s head that Anna was a significant part of that hierarchy and could provide a much more through Wikipedia page on the topic than anyone else they knew, they’d keep prying for more. Nothing against them, humans were always eager to know all they could about the world.
Knowledge was power on earth and those who had some sort of entail on the secrets of the universe got to live in confidence that they knew something someone else didn’t, eagerly awaiting the day that their once useless trivia would perhaps save a doomed planet.
These hero complexes weren’t too uncommon, while others seemed to assume victim roles instead. Many people became a touch eager at the presumption of having an angel speaking to them, immediately falling on the conclusion that He had sent an angel specifically for their protection for some incoming threat, or perhaps from themselves.
Others took it as a sign of danger, growing concerned at knowing a higher being was walking among the common folk in secret. Some people would snakingly ask if they were dead this whole time.
To this Anna was always taken aback before calmly explaining that the angels were here because they had to be here. Because heaven was broken and God has been stressed out lately and…
Anna recalled from the comfort of her empty office exactly why she had chosen to work here. Once the sessions started, no one expected her to do the talking.
A recent college graduate who seeks a story to inspire her new life as an occult blogger after spending most of her days pampered by her wealthy parents in Southern California. With a fresh conspiracy on her hands and a muse found in the mysterious magic wielding women only known as witches, Eve is prepared to get her scoop in exchange for a few quick freelance bucks. But as she dives deeper into the dark, hidden secrets looming over Los Angeles and its inhabitants, she realizes she is in for much more than she had originally planned.
Yumi Ferris
A witch of thieves who lives in infamy for her dealings with the Black Market and the history of violence and shady bargains that come with it. Snarky and secretive on the surface with a colorful history with Evelyn Grant, Yumi is not the easiest person to trust, let alone approach. Yumi has already had a long streak of getting into business with the worst of people and somehow coming out on top, but her most recent gamble with a mysterious client may be more than she can pull off without losing something in the process.
Demetri Simmons
A god of intoxication who just recently received the honor of being bestowed the gift of eternal life, eternal fame, and eternal influence over the entirety of the Black Market to the end of days. Demetri is more than eager to abandon his past life in exchange for one of glory and praise from humanity, planning to throw endless parties to celebrate his godhood, but even he finds himself unable to escape a creeping fear and loneliness all the luxuries in the world can’t keep away.
Adrian Steel
A crow harpy and current familiar of Yumi Ferris, Adrian is an eclectic artistic mind often overshadowed by a dim and gullible one. Though eager to pursue his short-lived profession as a familiar, Adrian is also personally driven by his need to create extravagant works of art for the viewing pleasures of humans everywhere. Varying from insultingly simple to grand and abstract, Adrian’s projects make for some fascinating landmarks around the city, despite often detracting from his duties as Yumi’s assistant.
Lea Mari Ismail
A powerful but kind nature witch who lives in a magically altered stretch of land known as The Citrus Desert. Lea Mari is an immensely talented and wise figurehead of witchcraft that dates back to experience “as old as the Earth itself.” While unaffected by time due to her eternal bond to the Earth, Mari has years upon years to hone her craft while never making the mistake of getting too attached to her fading friendships.
Cyrus West
An occult hunter who makes a living killing and often times poaching more dangerous oddities for pay from a-mysterious- organization-who-must-not-be-named or whoever is capable of affording his services. Despite a grisly job description, Cyrus is a rather levelheaded and friendly man and only ever seeks out targets that are an active threat to society, even getting along with most witches that summon them in the first place. But there isn’t much that Cyrus won’t do with a paycheck on the line.
Maya Madan
A struggling love goddess who owns a love hotel in Los Angeles as a last attempt to acquire a following. A hopeless romantic and advocate for sparking lasting relationships between her clients, Valerie is an excellent matchmaker with a keen eye for business and pink, but even she knows that her deadline is coming and the time for a new heir is quickly approaching. Despite years of spreading her love all over the world, Maya is forced to make a decision if it means keeping love alive.
Elizabeth Sanders
A wistful but violent sea witch who resides somewhere near the Pacific Ocean, rarely ever communicating with humans beyond sinking their ships, ruining their fishing trips, and drowning them if they don’t paddle back to shore in time. Elizabeth has singlehandedly put people off from going to the beach for years though as to why remains a mystery and has earned her the ire of fellow witches who are left oblivious to her motivations.
Caroline Cortez
A ancient witch goddess that is rumored to be the origin of all magic to witches who worship her. Despite an intimidating presence, Caroline is a civil and pleasant woman who has walked the earth for what is hinted to be eons of time. A terrifying abomination to some, a mother figure to many, and a sign of the encroaching apocalypse to exactly one person-no matter the title, Caroline’s power goes unquestioned by all those who have the honor and horror of meeting her themselves.
Lauren Blanchet
A local art dealer to the public and a witch that specializes in hypnosis in private, the widow of the late Marcus Blanchet is a complex character to anyone who may know her. Stunningly beautiful, charming, and intelligent, Lauren rarely ever needs her abilities to put people under her control, even if it makes things much easier. Despite her popularity with humans, Lauren has earned the scorn of most of her kind due to her unorthodox methods of using witchcraft on an unsuspecting public.
Naomi Grey
A dove harpy and college student who is the recurring familiar of Lauren Blanchet, making her one of few of her kind contractually bound to serving a certain witch willingly. As a practical and headstrong young woman, Naomi is a reliable accomplice, able to perform the most challenging of tasks with ease and still have time for her schoolwork. But Naomi seems to be sticking around with Lauren for other reasons beyond the promise of payment.
Anna Lewis
A seraphim angel who, after the disbandment of heaven, lives among humans as a therapist and open-minded lover to all who step in her office…or anywhere close to her, for that matter. Always harboring interest in humanity and the concept of sin, Anna takes any opportunity she can to dive into the minds, and down the pants, of the most troubled humans she can find. Anna is taking her time on earth rather well, though admits to feeling bored for the long stretches of time she knows she’ll be spending without the ability to access her true self again.
Calypso DeMolay
An equally well-respected and feared archangel, head messenger, and former member of God’s council who now reluctantly lives on earth after heaven’s disbandment. Despite her less than favorable position, Calypso has taken advantage of her keen understanding of humanity to become a worldwide success story and is known now as the mastermind behind a series of popular self-help books. But after years spent trapped on earth, all the wealth and admiration in the world has yet to fully satisfy her and Calypso sets out to do what she believes God cannot.
Beatrice Song
A vulture harpy from South Korea who is hired to work for Calypso as a secretary and all-around private assistant. As a woman of organization, cleanliness, and business, Beatrice strides as a loyal but bitter right hand woman to Calypso’s larger than life ideals, always ensuring that the angel stay afloat and stay wealthy. But Beatrice wasn’t only hired for her sharp intellect, but rather her spotless record as an infamous predator only known as the “Night Vulture”.
Allison Ford
The daughter of Father Ford and the most popular nun of the Catholic Church, Sister Allison Ford is a young lady of questionable behavior and diet. With the church she was raised under going into bankruptcy, Allison has only the witches that fill the town in secret to blame and begins to secretly doubt the faith in both her religion, herself, and her father who is too overwhelmed to give her any proper attention. That is until she discovers a newer, brighter future ahead of her that welcomes her with wings wide open.
Elijah Ramirez
A young deacon who works at the Catholic Church, currently in the midst of trying to make money to keep it from closing its doors forever. Through a humble and private person, Elijah lives out a dangerous profession behind the scenes as a demon exorcist who does odd jobs for those requesting his special skills. Though an average human with an abnormal quirk for communicating with the dead and forgotten souls of the world, Elijah never felt the need to flex his physic muscle to impress people and rather to provide services for the sake of community and payment.
original fiction short story commissioned by @mage0flight
if you’d like a story like this at a modest price check out my info and message me for details.
It’s a cloudy day of early June when they wake up to read a clock that signifies it being half past nine o’clock. There’s a silent arrangement over who’s in charge of breakfast that day, one of them, the taller and stronger one sporting four arms and crimson skin, rushing into the bathroom and having the hiss of the water drown out any of these potential questions.
The other one, frailer and paler by comparison, slinks off to the kitchen that occupies the smallest portion of their shared apartment. He got their best pan from the dish drainer and a spatula from the drawer, grabbing what few eggs they had from the fridge and making a mental note to add it to the grocery list. He cracked his knuckles and reached towards the stove’s dial, but found himself hesitating.
“Oh,” He said to himself, turning his head to lock eyes with his reflection in the coffeemaker. “I almost forgot.”
He dug into the cabinet to grab the beans, grinder, and liners. By the time he finished working the beans into a nice powder, the other man uneventfully entered the kitchen smelling of fresh soap and a late water bill.
“Jamie,” he says, his eyes focused on his phone screen in a narrow squint. “Do you know what…’meticulous’ means?”
“It means to be careful and self-aware of small details, I think.” Jamie replied. “Are you still using that word of the day app?”
“Best five dollars I’ve ever spent,” He looked up from his phone screen for a moment to see Jamie was setting up the coffee machine alongside a gathering of other food related items. They both knew eating was not a necessary aspect to Raleigh’s life-neither was sleeping but that was an act Raleigh had already committed to-but Jamie thrived on the schedule he had put into place some time ago and had no means of budging. Raleigh supposed it gave Jamie some illusion of structure in a world where all ideas of control were hardly meaningful to which Jamie would always reply with a “You’re so fucking pretentious sometimes, man.”
Jamie said, “Raleigh, you can barely afford the dollar menu on a good day, you think those apps are really worth your time?”
“Yes, absolutely, incredibly, superfluously-”
“I get it, smarty pants,” Jamie said through a laugh. “Now start breakfast while I get the coffee started.”
“You’re sexy when you’re demanding,”
Raleigh is such a powerhouse of a man that the roles should really be reversed, but Jamie is interested in what kind of skill a man of Raleigh’s age and…generous arm power can whip up. The guy says he once lived in India and Nigeria, his favorite landmarks for cuisine if he was forced to pick, even if it was during a time when indoor plumbing and heating were yet to be invented.
He’s a bulking form of a demon-hell spawn and server of Satan was nothing short of a slur in his book and Jamie was quick to correct this it if someone asked who the guy occupying his apartment was. To that he would always follow up with a casual, “This is only temporary. He’s got his own place but he’s got…bugs, in his house. Getting it fumigated.”
Bugs was just the word that Raleigh preferred. As to what could be defined as a bug in their world had a very loose definition. Sometimes a bug was a cockroach and other times a bug was a wasp that laid eggs in your mouth while you were sleeping. According to the distress look on Raleigh’s face when he appeared at Jamie’s doorstep with a case of wine and Netflix that heavily clashed with his general demeanor, it appeared to be somewhere near the latter.
Raleigh wasn’t one to be very direct about his feelings, let alone let anyone even be the slightest bit aware that he felt anything besides bitterness and apathy. But Jamie had developed a sort for six sense with this thing. For a man of his age with no special abilities, no third eye or the blood of a mage in his system, it was a shocker he’d sometimes have to literally fuck answers out of Raleigh. Or, Raleigh would fuck answers out of himself, it all depended on the mood.
Maybe that was his super power after all: Jamie and the amazing magic cock. Working the knots out of emotionally gated demons everywhere.
One quick rummage in Jamie’s one bedroom in a one bedroom apartment and suddenly Raleigh is an open book, his back turned away from Jamie’s worried gaze as if he were complaining to the moonlight seeping through the window. So dramatic.
Actually, Jamie liked to think he had two special abilities: his skills in bed and skills in budgeting. Nearly every item that belonged to him was bestowed upon his apartment via trading, couponing, and Black Friday deals. From the rug in the bathroom to the food in his kitchen down to the coffee maker that was the object of his attention at the moment, they had all been obtained with barely a smudge coming to his wallet’s leather build.
Raleigh was only impressed with one of these skills-no prizes for guessing.
Now that he thought about it, the coffee maker was likely the most valuable asset of the house. He had gotten it as a moving in present from Mrs. Baker down the street, a sweet old lady who was a sweet middle aged lady when she had delivered it to his house the day he made the apartment his years ago.
“I know you’re in college now,” She had said. “And if there was anything that got me through the grind, it was grinding beans for this thing.”
“How long have you had it?” Jamie had said.
“A long while,” She replied. “It was my husband’s favorite before he died.”
At this her eyes grew a little sullen and she looked down at the coffee maker with a sort of tenderness reserved for a loved one. “Do you miss him, Mrs. Robinson.”
“I can’t miss him if I convince myself he’s still with me.”
Jamie finally got the beans into a nice powder and poured it into the top. Just enough water, cups and creamer-all ready. All he had to do was press the button and….RRRRRHHHHHGG!
“The fuck?”
“Uh, it always does that,” Jamie assured. “Don’t worry about.”
RGGHHH! The machine screeched violently as if protesting Jamie’s statement. It made a nasty little grinding noise, until violently shaking and forcing out a spray of black fluid from any opening it could find as if it were vomiting. It does this on repeat for a couple more minutes until it stops, a slow and steady stream of gray smoke left in its wake.
It’s a cloudy day of early June when the coffee machine breaks and Jamie and Raleigh exchange a controlled but panicked glance at one another.
“Oh shit,” Jamie says, his voice muffled behind his hands.
“That always happens?”
“No, it’s old but-” He sighed heavily and carefully pulled the outlet out of the wall before scooting the machine over to the sink to empty out the contents. “Fuck, didn’t know this would be your last day, buddy.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,”
“Heh, it’s no biggie. Just gotta settle on takeout until I get a new one.”
“Well now that breakfast is cancelled we can watch that next movie. My Redbox rentals expire today,” Raleigh said. “And you know how angry Redbox can get.”
“It doesn’t have to be canceled,” Jamie said. “Uh, how about for today we go to Starbucks? I’ll pay for it.”
“It’s not really my thing,” Raleigh replied, sweeping some of the leftover grounds on the counter into his hand. “If you want better coffee, you buy a better coffee maker. I don’t trust human engineering, anyway.”
“That’s silly,” Is the only thing Jamie says, already making a mental note of getting a caramel latte and croissant later from the shop a few blocks away.
“And what’s with everything being made in China?” Raleigh continued, a mouthful of grounds already settling in the side of his cheek. “The best thing they’ve made is the Great Wall and even that’s a touch shoddy in my opinion. They build one thing so sturdy and then they come out with this junk.” He emphasized this with a swift pat to the machine that sputtered another spray of black coffee in response.
“You weren’t even there for the building of the Great Wall, do you even remember what it was for?”
“No, but if they were just showing off, then kudos to them.”
Jamie shook his head quietly, unplugging the machine from the outlet and hoisting it off the counter. He would normally request Raleigh’s assistance with the task, a petty human like himself could barely carry groceries without getting winded, but Raleigh was already beginning the morning ritual of staring wistfully out of the kitchen window and would be committed to the action for the next hour. The usual cup of coffee was absent from his hand, replaced with a handful of deep roast beans dribbling from his large hands. A loud crunching noise became muffled as Jamie lowered the old machine next to the doorway.
“Do you think someone would buy it? I could use the extra cash.”
“That old thing? No way,”
Jamie was honestly a little insulted by the assumption. Good old Roasty had been with him so long it may as well had been that pet they were always postponing to adopt. He’d had it since-Jamie thought for a second-the nineties as far as they can both remember.
But it clearly hadn’t aged well. It was bulky and black in places where it was supposed to be smooth and brown, the pot had a permanent yellow offset and the measuring lines were faded to the point he had to write it in with permanent marker. The cord was frayed and sometimes had to be held in just the right angle to generate a reaction from the outlet, generating one of many electrical hazards it was capable of. Only a lowlife just as blinded by coffee addition as them would think to buy it.
It had to be today when his temporarily homeless boyfriend stopped by for some comfort and a bed that didn’t smell like pesticide that one of few of their similar interests literally shattered in front of them. Once they were out of movies and coffee grounds, there was only time for awkward small talk. Not that they didn’t have topics to discuss, but Raleigh was only the type to open up after he’d opened up a bottle of lube the previous hour. And Jamie was a little too sore for that kind of…conversation.
Raleigh is still staring out the window, watching Jamie’s neighbors play with their children at the neighborhood park, dogs pissing on trees, and people starting their commutes to work. So dramatic.
“Well unless staring out of the window is somehow solving our problem, I don’t see how you’re contributing.”
“Jamie?” Raleigh asked slowly. “Who did you get the coffee maker from?”
“Mrs. Robinson, the lady across the street.”
“She’s been a widow for how long?”
“About twenty years,” Jamie said.
Raleigh swallowed the rest of his beans quickly and dusted off his hands. “Then I solved problem,” At that he turned around and looked Jamie directly into his eyes eyes with a sort of intensity he wasn’t used to. “Your coffeemaker is cursed.”
“What?”
“By a witch,”
What?!”
“Mrs. Robinson is a witch and she cursed your coffeemaker.”
“What the fuck?! Look, this is why I tell you not to eat beans straight up like that, it fucks with your head.”
“Look, I’ve been high before and I assure you my conclusions on ecstasy are not that intelligent.”
“I just think that’s a little farfetched. I mean, Robinson is a nice lady.”
“Oh, I’m not saying she’s mean,” Raleigh said. “She’s just careless.”
He walked slowly to the door and gestured for Jamie to follow. “I saw her watering her plants through the window.
“Don’t you think we should give her a warning before dropping by so randomly,” Jamie said, slipping on his shoes and grabbing the coffeemaker up from the floor.
“She knows we’re coming,” Raleigh said. “Why else would she be watering her plants?”
Mrs. Danielle Robinson had a textbook example of an old lady’s house. It was pastel yet clashing with gaudy fabrics and a type of floral print that had no business being on anyone’s walls. The plastic on the sofa could keep out bugs but certainly not stains and the Dora The Explorer rug on the living room carpet placed in front of a tiny TV playing a judge show had a placement that screamed “grandchildren have been here”.
Raleigh was right about her knowing about their visit ahead of time as she already had hot tea and three cups laying out prior to them even exiting the door. But Jamie much rather blame that on her hospitable nature. She probably looked forward to any interaction in her old age, wanted to be prepared in case the mailman wanted to chat her up or something.
Him and Raleigh sat down on the loveseat while Robinson got comfortable on a rocking chair, legs hidden beneath a thick blanket. The coffeemaker sat on the table with no tea offered to it.
“Would you kids like some honey or sugar? This stuff is never sweet enough for me.”
“I’m fine,” Jamie said. Raleigh shook his head.
“Any reason why you brought this old thing?” Mrs. Robinson gestured towards the coffeemaker on the table. “It doesn’t seem to like tea.”
Before Jamie had a chance to laugh at her joke, Raleigh interrupted, “Ma’am, can I ask you something?”
“Oh, uh, sure...” Robinson looked slightly uneasy at this, setting her cup down and maintain eye contact with Raleigh that felt forced. “What is it, honey?”
“Not to be a bother, but our coffeemaker broke and I can’t help but think it’s not because it’s old. Jamie, you think it’s weird, right?”
Jamie quickly gulped down his tea. “Y-Yeah. I mean, I know you gave it to me awhile back, but I figured it had at least a few months left.”
“Oh, well I’m sorry about that. What do I know about new things, though?” Robinson shrugged.
“My point is that I think there’s something else going on here. It’s old but it’s also giving off a certain presence I find uncommon for household objects. You mind elaborating on it?”
Robinson shifted around uncomfortably in her chair. “Not quite sure what you mean by that.”
“It’s cursed,” Raleigh said firmly, pointing a thick thumb at the way the coffeemaker managed to buzz and sputter again despite not being connected to any outlets. “It’s emitting a vibe that I’ve only ever felt from spirits.”
“Cursed isn’t the word I would use,” Robinson said before immediately catching any other words in her mouth. Jamie stiffened his seat, feeling rather gated from the entire conversation. He had lived in his apartment in this particular town for years and had grown accustomed to all the supernatural forces that made up his daily. Hell, he was fucking/dating one of those supernatural forces right now and apparently had another one occupying his kitchen shelf for even longer.
Robinson cleared her throat and added. “Look, it’s obvious at this point that I can’t really hide anything. It was a long time ago and I just…” Her fragile hand made a firm fist into the blanket and Jamie could make out a single tear falling down her cheek. “I’m not over it, okay. Jamie, your parents went to the funeral, you were just a baby.”
Jamie furrowed his brow. “…Are you talking about your husband?”
“I’m no expert,” Raleigh interjected. “But I’ve seen this happen before. You think you’re doing your significant other a favor by giving their soul a second life by putting them into something they love. You think you’re making them happy and giving them some second wind of immortality, but it’s actually hell.”
“Really now,”
“Yes, it’s not fun. It’s considered a form of torture around certain parts and this thing malfunctioning is his last cry for help. I understand you love your husband, ma’am, but you’re doing him more harm than good.”
“I see,” Mrs. Robinson’s answers are short while Raleigh is on a stream of information about ancient witchcraft practices. It’s a strange role reversal and Jamie isn’t certain if it’s the tea that’s gotten bitter or the atmosphere.
“But, he said he really loved me and didn’t want to leave-”
“Take his soul out of the coffee maker, ma’am. He’s not happy.” The last word is gritted through his teeth and Jamie feels the tension undercut the room as Mrs. Robinson stares at them blankly.
After a few long seconds timed by the ticking of the grandfather clock, Mrs. Robinson sighs and gets up, her bones audibly popping into place to assume the position. “If you insist, son…” she says before turning to lock eyes with Jamie. “I’m very sorry about this, Ty. You’re such a nice kid and he was such a good man.”
“I know, Mrs. Robinson,” Jamie watches her drag the machine closer to her on the table and for a minute he’s forced to sit and watch just how sad and vulnerable she looks. She lifts a very frail hand against the ugly yellow pot and shuts her eyes, whispering something to herself as a faint glow encompasses her palm. It’s a simple spell and the transfer from the soul leaving the coffeemaker to over her shoulder is a smooth and somewhat elegant transition.
“I’m so sorry to trouble you, again. Here, take it back.”
“No, keep it,”
“What?” Mrs. Robinson said.
“What?” Jamie said.
Raleigh smiled softly and it’s a look that’s so sweet and genuine it throws them both off guard. “It means a lot to you. Your husband’s soul will drift given a couple days, so keep the machine for when it does. As a reminder.”
For a minute there was silence until smile lit up Mrs. Robinson’s face. “Thank you, young man. But, what will you do for coffee?”
“I have plans,” Raleigh gave a side smile to Jamie. Jamie blinked once until finally connecting the dots.
“Oh,” Jamie said. “Yeah, we’ll get our own someday. In the meantime, we’ll settle for shops.”
“Sounds like fun,” Mrs. Robinson said. “You two stay safe.”
“We’ll try, thanks for the tea.” Jamie and Raleigh left quietly, shutting the door to meet the neatly trimmed grass and plastic flamingos.
“That was oddly kind of you,” Jamie said and Raleigh already began walking down the street separating Mrs. Robinson’s place from Jamie’s.
“Look, if anyone know anything about curses, it’s me. I gotta say, witches never fail to surprise me.”
“We should talk about this over coffee,” Jamie said. “Starbucks?”
evelyn: cute but naive blogger. lonely lesbian in her twenties who shops at thrift stores. la vie en rose. macaroons for breakfast. has a thing for weird shit, especially goth witches.
yumi: a goth witch. will fuck you then fuck you over for money. kind of a hoarder. winged eyeliner. smokes for the aesthetic. a bitch but not really. will cut you.
lea mari: trans muslim vegan witch. likes plants more than people. took over a desert just to get away from society. a hermit but also everyone’s mom.
cyrus: handicap occult hunter. trailer trash but the good kind. likes dogs and beer. nice dude who just wants to eat meat again. bff is mari. probably a mccree main.
caroline: hates you but hates cyrus more. plague doctor aesthetic. probably satan or at least knows the guy. hello darkness her old friend. kills you in spanish.
beatrice: korean harpy secretary. fucking weirdo puts lemon in her coffee. me, an intellectual. turtlenecks in summer. what is humor? fuck you, pay me.
calypso: fake bitch with a god complex. local angel ruins everything. tilda-swinton-in-constanine.jpg. white nikes with a white suit. minimalism aesthetic.
anna: a hoe. fruit and champagne are the two basic food groups. also almond milk. what’s your skin routine? +5,000 instagram followers. chaotic good angel.
lauren: a(rt) hoe. she doesn’t get drunk, she has fun. pretty when you cry.mp3. it’s not kidnapping if it’s for art. only reads french vogue. wants a sugar daddy or a husband.
adrian: the biggest fucking art hoe. hipster. thinks they’re the only person who appreciates radiohead. poor college student. owns a skate or die t-shirt. *bong rip*
demetri: vaporware. you cannot give him any advice. will fucking vape on the pizza. buy my mix tape. #90′skid. リサフランク420 / 現代のコンピュー *even louder bong rip*
valerie: bleach blonde indian love witch. smells like a strawberry poptart. a lush employee in a past life. a feather boa and undies is a complete outfit. her pussy tastes like pepsi cola.
lizabelle: let’s go to the beach, beach. doesn’t like shoes. glitter eye shadow. probs dead but probs not. pink lemonade is best lemonade. knows every song by passion pit.
naomi: blanket cape. every daughter song ever made.mp3. softball lesbian. overalls and snapback. chapstick. eats tic tacs like they’re real candy. blue da ba de da ba da.
allison: young catholic nun eats out local angel. milk protection squad. i sweat to god. bangs. take me to church. probably a bastion main. has one of those pocket bibles.
elijah: a good church boy. is doing his best. exorcises demon in spanish. imagine an older marco diaz. a songbird with a brand new track. thought sword art online was okay.
