grimoireofkenji

Sick Day With Jam 2

Tue, 18 Jan 2022 00:06:35 GMT

"Ah, sick again, huh?" Your achy eyes open slowly to find a mop of white hair draped over your face, obscuring your vision. Fogged-up, oversized lenses and a pale, freckled face sits uncomfortably close to you.

"It happens. I'm only human, you know." You reply, stretching.

"Shall I make you some more soup?" Jam asks, a hint of eagerness in her cute monotone voice.

"You mean cup noodles? Did you wait several months to make me cup noodles again?"

Jam's cheeks turn a little red, and she holds two arms behind her head playfully. "Maybe?" She says.

"Do you remember how?" You ask.

"Of course!" Jam replies proudly. She's playing a Gameboy advance with her other two arms. She has a heavy sweater on, so you can't occupy yourself counting her freckles or whatever it is you do. Of course, she isn't wearing pants.

"Well, then yes, please."

Eventually, waiting for your eldritch freeloader to make noodles takes too long, and you feel sleep taking you. In your dreams, you imagine horrifying, twitching tendrils, and dark sludge pervading every crack and crevice in your house. Your mind races as you struggle to escape. You feel tendrils wrap around your legs as your body, wracked with pain, fights in futility. You break free for just a moment, long enough to escape your bedroom. As you approach the kitchen, panting heavily and leaning on a wall for support, you see Jam, perched on a kitchen stool, like some kind of kitchen gargoyle, crouching over a cup of noodles on the counter. Steam rises from within, as well as…

Tendrils. Squirming, monstrous appendages wriggle back and forth, springing out of the cup as if they were always in there and waiting to be awoken.

“Jam!?” You manage to choke out. She turns to you in shock.

“Human!” Steam from the noodles coats her glasses, but you can see a toothy smile on her face. She grabs the cup of noodles with two of her hands and offers it out to you, her hands stretched as far as they can go, still perched on the stool.

As she does so, tentacles fall from the cup to the ground, leaving an inky black trail across the dark kitchen floor. Before you can react, they’re upon you. You’re entangled and despite how much you try to struggle, you’re far too sick to fight back. Your vision grows dark,

Eventually, you wake up. Your eyes shoot open to find your oft-unreliable girlfriend standing at the doorway, noodles in hand.

"Human!" Jam looks at you, puzzled by your state. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, better now. What a horrible dream."

"Ah, well, I don't have dreams."

"I'm sorry." You reply.

"It's alright! I enjoy being awake all the time. Plus, dreams are for those who truly sleep."

"Like humans?"

"Right. You're only human, after all." Jam giggles, sitting down your cup noodles on the end table, and kissing you on the cheek gently.

The cold of her lips against your cheek is surprising, yet totally expected, like the touch of winter against uncovered arms.

From the corner of your eye, you think you can almost make out something dark and wriggling retreating through the doorway and out of your room.

"Thanks, Jam."

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Sick Day With Jam

Wed, 26 May 2021 20:47:14 GMT

Jam tending to you when you have a cold, but she can't make cup noodles to save her life, and when you weakly whisper to her to hold you, she turns bright red. She proceeds to wrap all four arms around you from behind. Immediately, you feel a shocking cold, almost painful. Despite this, you feel warmer than you've felt all day. The comfortable feeling of CRT television static fills your body.

"You can... tell me to let go, human, I don't produce any body heat." She says, sighing. Her mop of white hair drapes over your face gently.

“Since when have you cared what your body temperature is like?” You try to quip, coughing a little.

“Since we’ve been growing closer.” She replies. Despite her usual monotone, she sounds bashful. And while it’s true she has been more… handsy than usual, you didn’t notice until now.

“Jam…” You start. Through your clogged nostrils, you catch a whiff of what smells like your usual shampoo. Jam doesn’t really need to bathe, let alone use your toiletries. She’s bragged about as much to you.

“Yes, sickly human?”

“Is that my shampoo?”

You feel all four of her thin arms tense up at once.

Immediately, one of your Elder God roommate’s cold, freckled hands releases you, and you hear an indescribable sound.

“Human.”

“Yeah?”

“I made some cup noodles.” Jam replies, proudly.

“Oh, is there some alternate timeline where you can actually steep cup noodles?” You say, laughing a little.

Jam’s cheeks puff up in a cutesy pout and her yellow eyes flash with mysterious intent,, before returning to normal.

“I could reduce you AND these forsaken noodles to DUST.”

“You won’t.”

“And why NOT?”

“Because this is the first time you’ve ever successfully made cup noodles. I doubt you’d destroy the results of your efforts for nothing.”

In the past year or so you’ve lived together, you’ve repeatedly shown her how to make them. With all the timelines the two of you are together in, it’s likely in the millions.

Jam grimaces in acknowledgement, one of her free hands scratching her head as she thinks of what to say next.

“Human. I am going to play Phantasy Star IV. You are going to watch.” Jam says, matter-of-factly. The very idea of playing a loud 16-bit JRPG hurts your sickly head, but if it’ll make her happy to know she’s successfully changed the subject, it’s fine by you. You prop yourself up, feeling a body ache. To your dismay, it doesn’t go away once you’re nestled in Jam’s bony, freckled arms, but you feel a little more comfortable. If this is what a selfish eldritch deity wants, then it’s hard for you to imagine what it’d be like if she were more generous. You slurp at your cup noodles, and Jam steals a glance at you, her sharp teeth bared in a full grin, before turning back to the game’s prologue.

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Arcade Night

Sat, 19 Dec 2020 19:06:09 GMT

“You are not to close the doors of this theater until eight o’ clock, is that clear?” My boss’ warning tone reverberated in my head as I started to shut off the projectors one room at a time.

“Screw him.” I thought to myself, picking up the pace and eating a stale pack of Twizzlers. The dark corners of the dimly-lit theater lobby created shadows in the glow of the bright red exit signs. It wasn’t just spite that drove me to close the theater early. There was literally NOBODY here. Why would anyone visit in the middle of a pandemic, anyway?

I took a deep breath and braced myself for the hardest job of the evening, before heading over to the register to count the till.

“Fourteen whooole dollars.” I said, to nobody in particular. “I’m really glad I didn’t lose count.”

If you’re wondering, yes. I do talk to myself from time-to-time. What else could I do around here? I barely got reception in the lobby. I’m not going to go outside into the late December air just to shitpost on Twitter. Not only that, a storm was reported to be blowing in within the hour. Weathermen are never exact, I’ve learned.

I stretched and exhaled loudly, heading over to the old-fashioned clock-in machine and turning the switch on the side until the time said 8:13, and sliding my timecard in for a stamp. I didn’t use it to give myself more hours. I just wanted it to look like I had closed at eight. I’m not that shitty.

I was pulling on my coat and headed for the entrance gate to the theatre to close down the big metal gate when a noise caught my attention.

The thing is, my mall is dead.

Not just in that it had no customers. The mall is failing. There’s two open stores, an arcade that seems to lose machines every month, and the movie theatre. But as I stepped outside of the theater, I definitely heard something that wasn’t the rattling of the gate. I slammed it shut and heard the click of the lock. As the sound reverberated through the large, hollow halls, another sound joined it.

A machine beeping. A tune, perhaps? It sounded eerily familiar. To the left of me was the exit to the outside, and my car, sitting under the only parking lot light that still worked. Every night, I’d run my cowardly butt across the desolate parking lot to my car and sit inside my car, hoping nobody’d approach the driver’s side window like they tend to do in all those stories I read online.

I shook my head and snapped out of whatever weird trance I was in, deciding to investigate the sound. The dimly lit emergency lights of the mall guided me down the huge walkways. Within a few moments, I found the source of the noises.

The last store, at the very back corner of the mall.

The Arcade. Quarter Up. Just seeing the sign lit up gave me a weird, foreign feeling in my stomach.

Wait.

Why was it lit up?

I approached slowly, pulling my jacket tight, as if it were going to provide me some sense of security. The noises grew even louder as I did so, and a second later, I could pretty clearly identify individual ones.

It was the sound of an arcade. A bustling one, at that. Arcade machines played their little theme tunes, designed to entice children into jamming their last quarter in. The flashing lights above some of the cabinets could be seen even outside the shop’s limits. It sounded like a busy night at Quarter Up. More busy than it’d been since I was a child.

“Uh… H-hello?” I stammered out in confusion, approaching the doors, the handles of which were shaped like two halves of a quarter. No response. I figured, since it was so loud inside. But, looking through the clear glass of the arcade, I could see it wasn’t lit up at all. So where had all those lights come from? Where is the noise coming from?

I resolved internally to yank open the door and find out the source of my dissonance. It was driving me insane. I pulled it open quickly and took a few steps inside, not sure what to expect.

Quarter Up was indeed bustling. There were kids of all ages, and even a few adults, taking up all the cabinets. There were more cabinets in there than I had ever seen, even as a kid. Most of the classics and even some of the machines I had never gotten to play on because they were a bit too old. I was floored at the sight. Didn’t any of these people care about what was going on outside? I remember the arcade always closed late because the owner knew the mall’s manager, but it had been closing early every day since the mall had started declining.

I walked across the floor, weird moving leds illuminating spots at my feet on the space-patterned carpet. The foreign feeling from earlier was spreading throughout my body. I felt warm all over as I gazed in dumb wonder at the carefree arcade fun everyone was having. I kept walking til I reached the help counter I had found myself running towards repeatedly as a child. I expected to see the owner, Charles, sitting behind the counter and cleaning extra joysticks, as I had seen him do so many times in the past. I didn’t.

Behind the counter was a tall, pale girl.

She had a mop of messy white hair, and it looked as if her ears were pointed. I couldn’t make out anything else, as she had her back turned.

Not for long, though.

“H-hello?” I stammered nervously, still confused about the situation, and hoping to be elucidated by this mysterious somebody.

“Oh, a new human!” She turned around quicker than I expected and I almost fell on my ass in shock.

“Yeah, aren’t you?”

She giggled. “Let me take that for you!” She grabbed my jacket with one of her sets of arms and handed me a roll of quarters with the other.

Wait.

“Y-your arms… You…”

“Hmm? Speak up, Human.” She responded. She wore huge spectacles, and even in the low light of the arcade, I could tell her face was peppered with freckles.

I opted to say nothing. I was already worried enough. Now she had my jacket. My car keys were in there. If I could just get to it again…

But I couldn’t. As I stared at her, dumbfounded, She hung up the jacket on the coat rack behind the counter. I remember Charles would do that so none of the kids would lose their coats zig-zagging between the rows and alleys made of arcade cabinets.

“Incredible.” She said, turning back to me.

“Huh?”

“You’re at an arcade, I’ve handed you a roll of quarters. You’re just going to stand there? You’re just as dense as he is.”

“Who?”

“Another Human. You needn’t know any more.”

I nodded.

“Anyways, go play! I suggest that one, right there!” She was pointing towards a brand-new Smash TV cabinet. “It just arrived today, after all!”

“Wait, today? Today as in… December 13th, 2020?”

“Huh? No! Today! December 13th, 1992!” She said with a smile, “Or, did you hit your head somewhere here? Human memory loss isn’t something I can reverse without you going insane.”

I didn’t know what to say. The room was spinning around me at her confident declaration. I gazed around. The people playing on the machines didn’t seem bothered at all that they were stuck thirty years in the past, if that is what happened.

“Hey, mister, move it! I gotta get more quarters!” a kid behind me pulled on my shirt rudely.

“I… okay.” I stumbled, almost drunkenly, towards the machine she’d pointed to.

As soon as I touched the twin joysticks for Player One, a warmth spread throughout my body. The foreign feeling that had been plaguing me for the past few moments had risen to a fever pitch.

I unwrapped the roll of quarters and popped a couple into the machine, and played a few rounds of Smash TV. Before I knew it, the quarters were used up. I snapped out of whatever trance I was in, and as I stood up straight, I realized I had broken a sweat.

“Hello, human.” Said a voice behind me. I turned around to see the odd… creature? Girl? Whatever she was.

“I have a name, you know.”

“And I don’t care what it is.” She responded, curtly. Her voice was somehow monotone, despite all the emotion she had been showing up to this point.

“How did you do this? How did you… The arcade…”

“I just snapped. Everything in this arcade is… exactly as it should be, for 1992. Well, except for you. You don’t look quite old enough.” She laughed. Her voice was raspy, but cute. Looking at her more closely, her mop of white hair had a few strands of solid black, right in the middle. It looked so natural I couldn’t tell if she had dyed it or not. I say natural, but honestly, I don’t think anything about this girl was.

“Tell you what, human.”

“Y-yes?”

“I need someone who is actually familiar with these to play with me. Seeing as you did pretty well on Smash TV, I’ll cut you a deal. I won’t trap you here forever if you keep playing until I get bored.”

“what?” I was taken aback. How could she say something like that so nonchalantly? Trap me here forever? I immediately got off the arcade machine and scrambled for the door, pushing past several kids who were waiting on line for a chance at Street Fighter II Turbo. The room was spinning as I tried to pull on the arcade doors.

“It’s a push, Human.” The girl’s voice spoke directly in my head. She wasn’t behind me, but it sounded like she was. I could hear her clearly over all the sounds in the arcade.

I pushed as hard as I could, and it wouldn’t budge. “Is this some kind of weird joke?”

It was then that I realized I was pushing nothing but air. I rushed my way forwards and into the Smash TV arcade cab. I fell on my ass again as I looked up and saw her.

“You can try all you like. I’m not going to let you go til I’m satisfied.” She said, shrugging both pairs of arms. “Besides, I have your car keys.”

“What’s your problem!?” I responded, my fear and worry giving way to anger.

“My problem, Human, is that you’re speaking to me like we’re equal. If you’re trying to ask why I’ve locked you in an arcade, it’s a long story. I don’t suppose you’d want to listen to an explanation as to why I’ve revived an obscure arcade in an even more obscure mall solely to spite my human roommate who told me not to break and enter to use arcade machines because I’m upset with him?” She responded in the verbal equivalent of a run-on sentence.

I’m going to be honest, I didn’t process a word of it after the first sentence.

“Eh? Huh?” I replied, my previous bluster gone.

“That’s what I thought. Now, you’re going to play Streets of Rage 2 with me, or you’re going to live in an arcade trapped in the 90s for the rest of your life.”

“Are you some kind of arcade ghost? A Gremlin?”

“A damn Gremlin? Are you kidding me, Human?” She looked offended at this. I shut my mouth.

Our play session seemed to go on forever. After Streets of Rage 2, we moved on to Lethal Enforcers, and then to Golden Axe. She definitely seemed to take a liking to the Sega machines more than others. At times, she would push me aside, and play a game on both players with all four of her long, lanky arms. She was thin and flat-chested, but she didn’t look young. Well, she looked young, but as if she were young for her age. She was taller than me, even, and I fancy myself a pretty big guy. She had been hunched over or sitting every time I’ve talked to her prior to this. As hammered away at the controls, I noticed the phone in her back pocket was illuminated with the phone symbol.

Somebody was calling her. The screen read “Human <3”. Did she just refer to every human by Human?

It was then I realized that I still had my cell phone. Oh god, my phone! I reached into my own back pocket to grab it and began to unlock and dial. She noticed what I was doing immediately, and calmly snapped her middle finger and thumb on one of her many hands. My phone turned to dust in my hands. I let out a weak whimper.

“Few more rounds of Golden Axe 2.” She said, flashing a smile at me. Her teeth were impossibly sharp and white. When you imagine someone having sharp teeth, you imagine shitty, jagged messes of teeth, right? No such thing with her. They were as straight as can be, and locked together like the bars of a cage. But her smile was genuine, despite all this. Her yellow eyes pierced through me.

I reluctantly obliged, and sighed, getting back on the machine with her. It felt like an hour before we were done. I was genuinely exhausted by the end of it. She seemed bored with Golden Axe as well. She walked me over to another, more familiar-looking machine. Familiar in construction, but I don’t think I’d ever seen this game in an arcade.

“Did you know this didn't come out until 1993?” She said, a mischievous smile on her face. She snapped her fingers and reached into what looked like a dark void in the air. She pulled out another roll of quarters. “Just a little rift in space-time, and you too can have a super rare Sonic arcade game in your possession.” She seemed almost ecstatic as it started up. It seemed like she wasn’t necessarily a Sonic fan, but more a fan of the perceived rarity of the cabinet. I myself wasn’t really an expert on arcades, but I had never really seen the machine in all my visits to Quarter Up. She was practically drooling as she pulled out a few quarters from the roll.

I was staring at her in anticipation, and she seemed to take her time hovering the coin over the slot. The tension was broken, however, when a child interrupted her focus.

“Uh, Mister Charles?”

“WHAT DO YOU NEED, HUMAN!? YOU DARE INTERRUPT ME!?” She screamed back, and her voice pierced my eardrums violently. The child didn’t seem to hear any of this.

“Er, yeah? What do you need?” She bent over to look down at the kid. Did the little dude not notice her arms? Did he think she was Charles?

“Yeah, Roger stole my roll of quarters. I’m really getting sick of him.”

“You know what? Here.” She reached into a void, grabbing another roll. “Take this. If he says anything to you, knock him upside the head with the whole roll.” She handed it to him with an approving nod, and her normal(?) unsettling smile.

“Thanks, Charles!” He said, running off. Almost as soon as he left her sight, she turned around and plopped the quarters into the machine. She placed her hands on the trackball controller and began to play.

I settled in to watch her. It seemed she didn’t always need me to participate. She was intense in her focus. It seemed like the whole world had ceased to exist around her.

Soon enough, it had begun fading away for me, too.

Literally. My focus on her snapped when I realized we were playing in complete blackness. There was nothing but me, her, and SegaSonic Arcade, the light from which was the only illumination in the immediate area. It shone on her face, but didn’t reach any further. The only sounds were her heavy breathing and the arcade machine.

I panicked a little, and started to move away from her, to find the exit.

“Almost done.” She snapped her finger and I reappeared right beside her. “Keep watching.”

It seemed like she had lived up to what she said. Within a few moments, Quarter Up faded back into view. But it wasn’t like it was a few hours ago. It was gray. The only lights were coming from the arcade machine. There were no kids. The abundance of arcade sounds was gone. There was just me, and the four-armed girl, who had worked up a profuse sweat playing Sonic of all things. She stepped away from the machine, and looked down at me, one set of arms at her waist, the other two holding and cleaning her glasses. The Arcade was strangely cold, and that warmth I had felt while playing games had completely dissipated. I suppose it was some sort of nostalgia.

“Well?” She said, expectantly.

“Huh?”

“You can go, now.” She pointed to the door. As I turned back to look at her, my jacket was in her hands.

I reached for it, and grabbed it reluctantly.

“Your keys are there. I’ve got absolutely nothing to gain by tricking a human as dense as you.”

I heard them jingle as I put my coat on and backed away, towards the arcade door. I kept my eyes on her, and her, me.

“I… Goodbye, I guess.” I managed to eke out. I was still gathering myself. It felt like only moments ago I was playing Smash TV.

“Don’t forget to think of me whenever you’re running late, Human!” She said, waving one of her arms.

I stumbled out of Quarter Up, half in-shock and half because I forgot that it was a push instead of a pull door.

The mall skylight was covered in a layer of white, so I couldn’t tell what time it was. Not like I had a phone to tell, either.

I reached into my back pocket anyway, and, lo and behold, my phone was there. In good condition, too.

The screen read 6:13 AM. The mall would be opening soon. I rushed out to the side exit, occasionally gazing back at the dim sign for the arcade. Was she still in there? If I went back inside now, would I find that same lively Quarter Up from the 90s? Would She be waiting for me? I pondered over this as I leaned against the side exit door, before realizing escaping the clutches of her bored whims was probably more important than finding out if she was an arcade ghost. Or a Gremlin.

The morning sun and winter cold greeted me harshly. I was so accustomed to the low lights and gentle warmth of the arcade that it hit me like a truck to be out in the cold. I got to my car in what felt like record time and started it up, eternally grateful that it warmed up so fast. As I sat down, I felt something hard under my butt. I got up to identify and move the object.

It was a roll of quarters.

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[ARCHIVED FROM TWITTER] Spending the Day Off With Jam!

Wed, 20 May 2020 18:01:15 GMT

On a snowy evening, as you prepare to leave for work, you get a message from your boss, letting you know the place is closed due to inclement weather. You sigh in relief, and slink back into your couch. "I can get rid of this snow, you know." Jam remarks, relaxing with no pants.

"No, no, it's fine." You reply. You don't really want to go to work, anyway. "Okay, suit yourself." She replies, her horrible posture concealing her full height as she walks back into her room, hair messy and oversized sweater stained.

You call over to her. "Hey, why don't we marathon that anime you were telling me about?" Jam, seemingly caught off-guard, turns to you suddenly, her yellow eyes widening. You didn't think someone with eyebags that deep could emote that much. "I'd LOVE to, especially with you."

"wait, what was that?" You reply, incredulous. "Nothing, human. Just sit right here on the couch, while I retrieve the VHS player" she retorts sharply, probably to cover up how flustered she is. She reaches into a fist-sized portal, and pulls out a bundle of cassettes.

Jam, trying to ignore what just happened, pushes the cassette (the first of eight) into the VCR, and nonchalantly flops onto the couch next to you. As the tape plays, you notice she inches slightly closer to your arms. Within an hour, her head is a few inches from your face.

You, somehow completely drawn in by episode 3 of City Hunter, look down to notice she's basically within reach. You can smell the faint scent of sweat wafting off her. It's subtle, like maybe she showered... A few days ago. You sigh, and wrap your arms around her. It'd be better try and get her to bathe after all this. Plus, it's not like she smells bad. It's kind of inviting, actually.

When the tape ends, you try to make up an excuse to go change the tape. You try to get up and you're stopped immediately. "Don't you dare move, human." Jam says. She snaps her finger, and, in an instant, the next tape is playing. She places two of her arms on yours, firmly. She has surprising strength for such a thin body.

You end up falling asleep, holding your freeloading Eldritch roommate in your arms. She's completely motionless when you wake up, save for the gentle rising and falling of her chest as she breathes. As expected, she doesn't really need to sleep, so she's spent the night watching anime and making sure you never moved your arms from her waist.

You try to stretch and she hisses. "I can see why you like cats so much." You say, yawning. "Just a little while longer, human." Jam replies, ignoring your snark. She could reduce you to dust with a look. Her very presence should have driven you insane. But it isn't. She's instead commanding you to hold her tightly. Why?

You think about it. Is it because you let her live with you, rent-free? You're basically doing it out of fear. Could it be genuine attachment? As soon as you're about to work up the courage to inquire further, Jam finally allows you to release her, and she gets up, her body moving in an unnatural way, joints cracking grotesquely. She lets out a sound that hurts your head.

"was that a yawn?" You ask, kind of shrugging it off. "So what if it was?" She replied, filling up the food bowl by the windowsill she uses to feed the stray cats who make their way to the third floor fire escape every day. "Oh, human?" "Yes?"

"You make an acceptable pillow." "Pillows don't regularly engage in cuddling, but thanks." "Don't push your luck." "Er, sorry."

"but," Jam begins, her thin, bare, freckled legs curling freakishly into some kind of horror version of an pretzel position. You can see her panties. They're polka-dot today. They've been polka-dot for the past two days. You doubt she's changed them since she last showered.

"but?" You reply, waiting on her reply, and hoping she didn't notice you were looking under her oversized sweater. "BUT, I'd like you to serve as my pillow again, sometime." She finishes. Is that a hint of red on her cheeks?

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Jam and the SCP Foundation

Fri, 03 Apr 2020 07:07:57 GMT

It’s been a long, cold spring day. The rain and winds haven’t let up at all. “Perfect for relaxing.” You think to yourself, strolling into your living room. You’ve been holed up in your room all day, reading manga and subsisting off of the various snacks you’ve had stored under your bed, hoping Jam wouldn’t find them, despite you being sure she’s been in there before.

Laying across your couch, bathed in the light of the television, her body taking up the entire sofa, is your Elder God roommate. Most would probably call her a squatter, since she doesn’t pay rent or… Really do anything of value. You kind of set it aside, since she’s cute, most of the time. For all intents and purposes, the being who can manipulate space-time is a smelly NEET.

Jam isn’t really watching the television. She’s laying there, one arm behind her head, one resting on the back of the couch. In her third hand, she holds your cell phone, confirming your theory about her rifling through your stuff. In her fourth, she holds a Zippo you keep on your bedside table. She repeatedly opens and closes the cap idly. As she does so, the outside of the light rusts, and returns back to its former state instantly. She’s aging and de-aging the lighter for fun.

“What are you doing, Jam?” You inquire, your arms crossed. You were really hoping to relax on the couch.

“Well, human, I was browsing this thing called the SCP Wiki on your phone!” A smug smile grows across her face. “Do you think I’m anomalous enough to be contained?” She chuckles lightly. She scrunches up her legs a little so you can sit on the couch. It’s like she read your mind. That, or perhaps you grumbling occasionally finally got to her.

“Actually, yes. You’re extremely anomalous.” You respond, playing along. “As a matter of fact, if you give me back my phone, I’ll probably contact them to see if they can contain you.” You laugh at the idea. Jam can manipulate time and space to her whim. She can reach back a day, or a decade and grab any kind of thing through a hole in the void. There’s no way anything could contain her, let alone a fictional organization.

“W-wait, huh?” The Elder God’s yellow eyes widen. She stares at you, clearly a little spooked. The aging and de-aging of the lighter increases in intensity. Soon, she’s reduced it to dust and reverted it into its base metals in a panic. “You wouldn’t actually, would you, human?”

You stare deep into her bottomless yellow eyes. She seems genuinely frightened by the prospect of being captured by the SCP Foundation. This girl on your couch can tear the universe asunder with a snap of her fingers, or end a timeline with a cough. But here she is, looking up at you in fear she’ll be contained by a fictional organization created from old /x/ creepypastas, her lip quivering meekly. She wraps her four arms around her knees, scrunching up her long legs against her body. “You’re a filthy lesser being, I knew I couldn’t trust you…” She mutters.

“Listen, Jam. I was just kidding. I’d never tell anyone about you! You’re far too important to me.” You say, flashing a comforting smile. You reach out your hand and ruffle her messy white hair gently. Her long, elf-like ears perk up immediately and she seems less upset within seconds. It seems the more anime she watches, the more “human” she acts. Not that you’re complaining. You get a cute girl living in your apartment. It’s well-worth the cost of a family’s supply of Cup Noodles weekly.

The TV in front of the couch continues to cast it’s glow on the two of you.

Jam sniffles slightly, looking up at you. “Am I truly important to you, human?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. You don’t seem to have any friends.” A sharp smile crosses her freckled face.

Typical Elder God. Give them an inch, and they take an entire timeline.

“T-THAT’S NOT IT!” You say, offended and taken off guard. “Humans are just.. We’re not supposed to leave home much! It’s a big flu season, and It’s easy to get sick, and-”

“It’s okay, you can say it. You like being home with me.”

Truth be told, you don’t really mind. There is the issue of Jam not having bathed in about a week, but you’re sure if you keep telling her to do it, she’ll eventually give in.

“I guess I don’t really mind it. You’re cute, after all.”

“I did design this vessel to be appealing to humans, after all.” She replies haughtily. Who would think rows of sharp teeth, horrible eyesight, a tall, lanky body with no breasts, and elf ears was conventionally attractive?

You don’t respond, and pick up the remote. There’s an episode of Ranma ½ playing. After a few minutes, the world’s worst squatter leans her head on your shoulder, watching comfortably. Eventually, a small smile can be seen on her face.

“Hey, Jam?” You say.

“What is it, Human?” replies your permanent home invader.

“The SCP Foundation isn’t real.”

“WHAT?”

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Letters From an Elder God

Sat, 28 Mar 2020 17:51:25 GMT

Jam writes in to an old Sega fan magazine and sends the letter back in time, along with a photo, which she forces you to take of her. You're not even sure if she's ever been captured in a picture before. She excitedly shoves the envelope into a wormhole in front of your mailbox. Looking at the photo, you're surprised she smiled for it.

The next day, you find her laying on he living room floor, on her stomach, rifling through piles of old Sega fan magazines from a box she likely dragged out of her room. She peruses a few, looking at the "Letters from Fans!" section and locates her photo. Her excited smile turns into a frown.

The photo is horribly corrupted. The image looks like something a printer shouldn't even have been able to produce. Just seeing it sends a chill down your spine, and you reckon that if anyone else were looking at it, the effects would far worse.

She sent in her letter under the name "Jam". You didn't expect her to divulge her true name. Actually, somewhere in the back of your head, you were sure it was possible she'd just sign a letter with her true name in all the excitement she was feeling. You look at the photo on your phone, where it seems to be perfectly visible. It's actually really cute. Jam is flashing a peace sign and her sharp, threatening teeth are curled into a smile.

Reading the letter, you can really feel her enthusiasm coming off the page. She mentions stuff about her favorite games, ending the letter with "I hope you guys keep making games forever!" Despite her photo becoming some kind of cursed artifact, and likely driving someone insane, you can't help but smile. Jam, now sitting cross-legged on the floor, looks up at you, confused, two of her hands filled with other magazines.

She knows the future. She knows exactly what has happened and what is going to happen. But when you read this letter, and she says stuff like "I can't wait for Space Channel 6!" it's a completely innocent and uneducated assumption. What a bizarre Elder God.

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