#Buying graveyard Dirt

[conjuremanj]

Buying Your Graveyard Dirt.

O, yeah, Graveyard Dirt ... the magical ingredient that so many authors of modern "magic" books might get wrong.

Graveyard Dirt is, plain and simply, dirt that is bought from a grave respectfully and ethically to be used in magical workings with the the assistance and the power of a spirit and spirit world.

"Graveyard Dirt Carries With It The Ability To Work With Spirits By Thinning The Vail"

Some authors have claimed that graveyard dirt is either ground patchouli or ground up mullein. This is false based on their own European systems.

But Whose Graveyard Dirt Do You Use? Of your doing a specific working then picking the right grave is important, you want to choose the right spirit for the right job.

DON'T BELIEVE This: 'Some say to use the graveyard dirt of a very young child because they are easily manipulated to do your bidding. That's writing on Lucky Mojo site. But I'm here to tell you NO real root worker is using anything from a kids grave. Let them rest...

But the important thing to remember learn and do the workings right to accomplish your golds correctly. You don't want a soldier working to get you your perfect mate or lover. Just as you wouldn't want to have the spirit of your mom to help curse someone.

Consider These Examples:

Using the graveyard dirt of a lawyer to win a Court Case.

Using the graveyard dirt of a detective or police officer to expose and put away a criminal.

Using a family members graveyard dirt to help with finding your partner.

Using graveyard dirt from a doctor to help you overcome illness.

This type of dirt from these human spirits will in hance your work but find the right spirit.

How to obtain Graveyard Dirt:

Graveyard Dirt must be purchased. (not just dug up ) rather it's from a specific grave or just anywhere.

Supplies Needed:

Something to put the dirt in.

A small bottle of alcohol or florida water. (not everyone like alcohol)

Any silver coins (get a few)

Flowers (if your going to a specific grave)

A candle (if your going to a specific grave)

A label or piece of paper and a pen to write with.

Process: For Obtaining The Dirt:

(Please remember to check your state law some can't go at night) As I reach the gates of the cemetery, I leave pennies in honor of the spirit who guards all cemeteries. (Some spirits don't want to move on and think there duty is to protect the graves.) Don't worry if you don't have d lot of change use what you have.

Buying the Graveyard Dirt:

Cut out a small plug in the dirt. Then reach down grab the dirt and put it in the bag. Drop the silver coins into the hole for payment. Thanking the spirit.

Give them there offering if it's liquor, pour some into the hole, and put back the plug of sod to cover the hole. (For specific grave only)

Leave the candle to burn on the headstone and place the flowers at the grave. (Check if the neighboring headstone is the individual's spouse and leave flowers there too). Leave the grave knowing that you have that spirit's assistance and his power in his grave's dirt.

Lay out the dirt on a piece of foil or towel and let it dry out for a few days. Once fully dry, sift through the dirt to remove any roots or rocks etc.

For a specific spirits grave dirt I'll I call the spirit by name to assist me. Don't command the spirit you don't control them. (Please don't disrespect the graves and the graveyard)

One last thing.....

Just to clarify, Hoodoo is based in African American folklore in the south, not Northern folklore. It is traditional to buy graveyard dirt with a coins. It is not traditional to leave food offerings if your buying.

[divinesolas]

LURKING !

monsterfuckertober day 2

summary: your life is completely shit. but one day you decide to do a good deed and clean a gravestone. and the ghost is very thankful towards you. maybe a little too thankful

w.c: 1.5k

c.w: ghost!jace, more plot than smut, fingering (fem), reader has a very depressing life, but dont worry jace is there to cheer her up, going based off my own ghost lore, talk of death, not proofread.

monsterfuckertober masterlist

taglist (open) @chimmysoftpaws

you were going nuts. you were so sure of it.

Your life had taken a massive downward spiral within the last two years. Both of your parents had died in a horrible car accident, then you found out your boyfriend of five years was cheating on you with your best friend and the rest of your friend group had chosen them over you and had left you all alone, you had been demoted in your barely paying retail job and could barely afford your bills.

Life was completely shit. spending most of your time alone in your apartment barely being able to afford groceries eating some shitty cheap takeout. You cried and you cried but your life never changed.

Yet it took one day for strange things to start happening to you. The worst thing had happened, after a long grueling shift dealing with annoying customers and shitty managers your car wouldn't start no matter how many times you tried. You cant even bring yourself to cry anymore, simply too wore down from everything going on and knowing you definitely cant afford to fix it or call a mechanic you simply leave it there to deal with another day and start the long walk home.

You end up stumbling across a graveyard you had never even noticed before. A particular gravestone catches your attention, you should just keep walking, go come and take a cold shower, since the heating in your apartment hasnt been working, and cry yourself to sleep but you cant take your eyes off of it.

its so dirty, like someone hasnt visited it in decades, you cant even read the words on it. You dont know what compels you to drop all your stuff next to it and spend your last 15 bucks on some supplies to clean it at a store nearby.

Suddenly you're on your knees scrubbing down the old stone until your wrist grows sore. after far too long and far too much sweat builds up on your body you can finally read the words on it.

jacaerys velaryon

1875-1896

beloved son and brother

you trace over the name with your dirt covered thumb as a sloppy attempt of pronouncing the name leaves your mouth. You don’t know why but a cold chill runs down your back, its almost as if a hand comes to caress your face and you jump back. Youve spent far too much time here you fear you’re starting to hallucinate. You head on your way home, sure you’ll regret the money you’ve spent tonight later knowing youll not be able to afford dinner tonight and sigh.

When you wake up the next day your apartment is warm. It's unusual, knowing the heating in your apartment is broken but when you go over to it you almost burn your hand at the heat of the radiator. did they fix it while you slept? That would be strange wouldn't they need to come into your apartment.

You try not to think about it maybe it was a problem with the building? you try not to think about it and walk towards the kitchen to eat. You freeze when you see a basket of fresh fruit sitting on the counter. you certainly cant afford that, and you get even more scared when you open up your fridge and cabinet and see them packed filled with your favorite foods and snacks.

You think maybe you just blacked out and went into debt buying yourself a bunch of stuff but when you check your account it looks normal. Now you worry, maybe you were still dreaming? but it seemed as real as it could get.

Your eyes hit a bouquet of flowers, red roses contrasting the bland apartment walls. you walk closer to it and notice a small note attached to the top and your breath hitches.

thank you.

now you’re even more lost. were you genuinely going crazy? who would even be able to do this and who would even be thanking you? when was the last time you did something worth thanking.

no. theres no way right? ghosts arent real. and they certainly dont have the ability to be able to do things like this. Maybe whatever higher power was out there was playing tricks on you. It started to feel less and less like a trick when you walked outside to go to work and saw your car there, perfectly fixed up without a scratch.

It grew harder to ignore the strange things that were happening in your life when people seemed to no longer bother you at work, it seemed like your bank account never dropped even when you would buy take out or have to pay rent for the month, the food in the fridge would stay stocked. You actually began to enjoy life, you smiled a lot more, without the troubles of bills or annoying customers and coworkers you actually felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

It also grew harder to ignore the presence that felt like it had entered your life and you didn’t want to. It was a welcome presence to you at this point, you had no clue what it even was, but you could feel the soft caresses on your face, the slight tingle of arms wrapping around you. Its strange, you should run in fear, be scared for your life but you cant help but revel in the airy affection. Its never touches you too strongly though you know it can after some ‘accidental’ grips and strokes onto your skin.

You later on learn its a he, further confirming your idea its this jacaerys though he never outright confirms it. he leaves you little notes along with a fresh bouquet everyday. It was romantic. or maybe you were just so touched starved that you had begun losing your mind and none of this was even real.

one day the tides in your relationship completely change. as your feelings for the mysterious figure in your home grows the more your desires grow. knowing he’s lurking in your home you’ve never taken the liberty to pleasure yourself as your imagination runs wild in the nights you spend in your apartment feeling his hands on your arms. you cant take it anymore.

Its been an especially long shift after work, your clothes are stuck to your skin from sweat, you cant even be bothered with eating right now as you toss of your clothes with a wicked fast pace as you make your way to the bathroom not bothering to check if there were any notes or gifts from him waiting for you.

You sigh as soon as you step in and allow yourself to soak in the steaming water for a good while. you soon enough notice a heart in the steam covered glass and your breath hitches. hes probably seeing you naked right now, it never truly occurred to you he’s probably seen you naked all this time. The idea has your mind running rampant on a track you cant seem to stop.

You cant suppress the whine that creeps up in your throat and you decide to fuck it. Theres nothing he can really do right? hes always around, you have to relieve yourself one way or another.

you leave your back against the wall. maybe you can make it a show for him. Your hands run down your body, giving your tits a light squeeze before continuing to drag them down your body towards your awaiting hole. He makes no move for awhile, even as your hands toy with your aching clit, as you whine and moan out as your insert one then two fingers into you, pumping them in and out of you.

What causes him to finally show himself is when you breathily say his name in a whisper, calling out to him. your fingers suddenly stop as a harsh grip is forced onto your wrists and your hands are ripped away from you. you look up at the empty space infront of you, you almost go to whine and complain before you feel pressure on your clit and throw your head back.

His hand quickly replaces yours, making quick work to shove his fingers deep inside you and pump and press them against your walls. you eagerly accept this phantom like presence as your legs begin to shake, you call out to him like a siren, hangs gripping at your breasts playing with your nipples while he continues to bring you pleasure, releasing with a long shout of his name.

you stay in the shower for awhile longer before exiting with your skin pruned and shaky legs. You take a deep breath as you go to do your skincare in the mirror and your freeze. A man around your age, curly dark hair and stunning eyes looking at your affectionately in the mirror. you turn around but see nothing there.

looking back in the mirror it was odd. finally seeing the man who had been doing you so much good. he was far too attractive, you did not know if he was always naked but he certainly was right now and it bas you throbbing.

you feel him as you see him wrap his arms around you and tug down your freshly put on towel to expose you once again and you allow him too, but this time you wont be taking your eyes off him.

—

sometime during the month ill definitely write them actually fucking LMAO but take this for now lovelies later.

[brainrot-goes-brrrrrr]

School bus graveyard headcanons :D

First sbg post, lets go!! No fastpass spoilers. Formatted on a laptop.

Aiden used to be a really light sleeper. Like if someone were to breathe within his vicinity, he would be up or at least aware that they were there. I think it was because he either had to move around a lot due to his parents and he wasn’t really able to get comfortable in one place, or because he was left alone often and he was aware of his surroundings. It has gotten better after this final move. I do think, though, after the whole deal with Savanna that he sleeps heavier just because he is exhausted

If a store has a sale where it is buy-one-get-one-free, Ben will take full advantage of it. Like the sales at Walmart where you buy a shit ton of single color tank tops or t-shirts for like ten dollars. It would explain his outfit variety, or lack thereof.

I like to think that Logan is stronger than what most people think when they see him. Not like visible muscle, mainly usable muscle that doesn’t really show up. He works with his grandparents like a florist(?), and I think that he does a good chunk of the heavy lifting considering their age. Large bags of dirt, fertilizer, and heavy pots require at least some muscles in order to do it effectively, and if he did it often it is pretty much a work out. [we love Logan here]

Taylor has curly hair, but just straightens it. I have no reasoning for this, I just think it fits her, just trust me on this one. I also think that she always carries a couple hair ties on her wrist or in her bag at all times. Being in the mechanics club she would likely have to have her hair up so that it stays out of her face or so it doesn’t get caught in tools. She also has a couple just in case anyone in the group needs them, mainly for Ashlyn, but I also think Aiden would use them to tie his bangs back or something.

Ashlyn just dies in the summertime because of her hair, mainly due to the heat and the humidity. I used to have long hair, and in the summer it caused me to sweat so much to the point where I felt disgusted whenever it touched me. It gets worse at night too because I’m pretty sure she sleeps with her hair down, at least when she is at home. Don’t get me started on the frizzing, with that much hair it seems like a nightmare.

Tyler is a hallway crush, it is honestly funny. I think it has to do with him being in the baseball club, and the fact that I like to think twins are popular (people just like to talk to them/Taylor is charismatic, and Tyler is considered a “jock”). He knows about it, but he does not get it or do anything about it. He is already too busy with school, his family, and now his friends and the Phantom dimension. Several people have come up to Taylor asking for his number, and she hates it every time.

Both of the twins have several moles/beauty marks on their face, and just in general, however, I like to think they are mirrored. For instance, if Tyler had one right above his right eye brow then Taylor has one above her left. Is this realistic, no clue but I think it is cool.

let me know what you think about these!!

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Vampire X f! reader pt. 1

The Woods PT. 2

Tw: noncon, dubcon,manipulation, mind control, isolation, sexual attraction to blood, blood.

A/N: This chapter is a slow burn kind. Mainly because the second chapter is just going to be smut due to certain circumstances which are revealed at the end of the story.

Kofi: Wanna buy me a coffee?

🍒🍒🍒🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

Your quiet gothic-themed village was never afraid of many things. Not even the bubonic plague scared the villagers. But, something that did scare them was the woods. They called it The Forest of Blood or El Bosque de Sangre. A long time ago, during the medieval ages, a family of wealthy nobles from Transylvania moved to your village. With their luggage were a human-sized coffin and a blanket with engravings of DC on them. They stayed in their castle surrounded by woods until the villager's livestock began to die. Cows and pigs as pale as ghosts with markings on their necks. The only clue was a trail of blood leading into the dark forest.

The villagers took their weapons and marched to the noble's castle, only to find the family in such a horrific condition, not even the graveyard thieves wanted them. Though, others say the family are beings of another name. Some called them Nosferatus, Draculas, Creatures of the Night, Demons, Bloodsuckers, anything but a human being. But that never worried you. What worries you were the girls going missing at the start of every winter, about a couple weeks before the first snowfall. No one knew who would be next, but no one dared to lock their daughters inside. For the last time they did, your village of Verano had mysteriously lost numerous amounts of harvest and livestock. And so here you are, walking to your grandmother's house to keep her company.

It didn't bother you that it's dark as you walk the dirt roads to your grandmother's house. You were used to the dark. It felt like home in a weird way. Even the predators that snatch livestock from the pens respect you as if you are one of their own. Although, it would lead to the villagers thinking you are a witch of some sort. But that didn't bother you either, for you always thought about flying high in the sky and doing witchy things with your friends, especially your friend, Nos, who you knew since that fateful day all those years ago.

"What are you doing behind that bush?"

The boy with pale skin and raven black hair looked at you with shock, fear, and surprise in his eyes.

"Come on, don't you want to play with the other children?"

The boy nodded and took your hand as you ran into the field to play with the village children. You put a flower crown on his head and held both his hands as you began to spin around.

"Nosferatu! Dracula! Demon and Creature of the Night! Everything you'll scream when they bite! Pure as snow! A virgin wearing a white wedding dress! Dye it red and rest in the forest! Be their bride in unholy matrimony!"

Your grandma walked up to you and said to say goodbye to the now-happy boy. You hugged him goodbye and skipped back to her cottage. When you got to her house, your grandma whispered in your ear.

"Nunca hables de los Nosferatus y sus novias. O de lo contrario desaparecerás en el bosque también."

"Bien, abuela."

That was fifteen years ago, and he's been your best friend ever since, even if you could never have adventures in the woods because you feared disappearing from the village.

"Nos, why do you insist on creeping behind me so much?" You ask, turning around to face a six foot three Nos.

"You shouldn't be walking out here so late at night. There are dangerous things in these woods," Nos says, putting his coat on your shoulders. "You should come back to my place and get warm."

"Sorry, grandma needs me to help with the pre-Christmas party," You reply, trying to move through the mud. "Did you hear about it supposedly snowing today?"

"Yes, I did, love. Are you going to start up about those girls going missing again?" Nos asks, walking side by side with you.

"How could I not?! It's supposed to be the first snowfall today, and not a single girl from the village has disappeared!" You exclaim, turning around to face Nos.

"Darling, those girls probably ran away from home. They found someone better in the world and left to explore it," Nos responds, taking you into his arms and dancing you around.

Snow begins to fall, and soon the roads become milky white. You made it to your grandma's house only to find she wasn't there. She had left on an emergency trip to Venice to help one of your cousins give birth. Your grandma had left a centuries-old family cookbook for you if you wished to cook something for dinner.

"It's snowing pretty heavy, darling. How about you stay at my place until it stops," Nos suggests, buttoning up the coat he put over you.

"That sounds fine, but what about you? Won't you be cold?" You ask, starting to shiver.

"I'll be fine. The cold doesn't affect me that much," Nos replies, taking the cookbook and carrying it in his bag. "Come, we can cook dinner and get warm by the fireplace."

You nod and follow his lead until he tries to enter the forest. The dark, snow-covered forest seemed to be staring back at you. Nothing made a sound, and nothing moved. You weren't sure if it was because of the snow absorbing the sound or because this forest was so terrifying that nobody dared enter it.

"It's ok. It's a shortcut to my manor. It's only a couple feet away, I promise," Nos promises, gently holding your hand. "If you feel safer, I'll hold you in my arms the whole time."

"Fine, but don't let me go," You whimper as Nos carries you like a princess.

Nos was known as a lady killer or a charming noble, depending on who you ask. Even though he only came into the village to meet you, he garnered attention from other girls. He got proposal after proposal but kept declining them. The girls eventually got over him, but the female elders couldn't help but notice how no boy or gentleman in the village would ask for your hand in marriage. Their husbands told them to pay no mind to it, but they stopped paying attention to you when predators acted like domesticated animals around them. Though others theorized you were the next Novia de Nosferatu.

"We're here! I'll get you some overnight clothes and make a fire. You can pick out a recipe if you want to," Nos says, handing you your family cookbook.

"I'll choose something yummy," You say, scurrying to the kitchen.

After fifteen minutes, Nos returned downstairs and saw you preparing to cook your family's calzone recipe. He wrapped his arms around your waist and asked if he could help.

"I'm fine, Nos. Why don't you get us something to drink?" You reply, putting the rolling pin away.

"Of course, darling. I'll be right back," Nos says, going to the cellar.

Dinner was ready, and Nos poured two glasses of wine. You brought the food to the table and began to eat with your friend.

"Sorry if the wine tastes bad. I know you're more accustomed to fruity alcoholic drinks," Nos comments, eating a piece of the calzone. "You're still not afraid of these woods, are you? My room has a pretty good view of the trees. It gets wonderful sun and moonlight as well."

"Don't you have a guest bedroom?" You ask, trying not to earn the title of village whore just for innocently sleeping with a guy.

"I'm afraid all the guest bedrooms are-oh fuck it. You've been the light of my life all the way into adulthood. Would you-would you please be mine?" Nos proposes, pulling out a box with a ring with a dark red gem.

The ring was silver with black markings going around it. It was something that only the richest of the rich could afford.

"Nos...of course I'll marry you!" You exclaim, kissing your now fiance.

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure? It's not the alcohol talking, right?" Nos questions, pouring you another glass of wine.

"It's not the alcohol talking. Besides, based on things are for me in the village, it seems you're the only guy who would willingly marry me," You respond, drinking the second glass of wine until it's half full. "What type of wine did you give me? It tastes so metallic."

Nos moves closer to you, eventually capturing you in an embrace. You can feel his muscles twitch, and he kisses the crook of your neck. Nos slips the ring onto the middle finger on your right hand.

"I'm glad you wanted this as much as I did, my unholy bride," Nos whispers, his voice becoming raspy and hissing towards the words of unholy bride.

"Wha-"

You have no time to react before he bites you full force. Your ring extends a needle or blade into your skin and shoots something into you. You couldn't break out of his arms and felt nothing but pain. Your nerves felt like they were on fire, your body began to shiver, and your eyes felt like they were about to explode.

"Sh, sh, sh, it's ok. You'll get through the transformation soon. It’ll be nothing but pleasure from here on out, my love,” Nos comforts, gently stroking your head. “Once you drink my blood, the transformation will be complete, and we can be together forever.”

“Nos…Nosfer…Nosferatu!” You scream, rage and fear flowing through your blood.

“No! Call me Nos. I’m still your sweet, Nos. I’m your wonderful fiancé!” Panic is in his voice as he realizes he’s starting to lose you.

You yowl in pain, and with the newly formed claws, you swipe at Nos. He jumps away from you as you run toward the library. Everything was black and red. There was no other color present. You see a book on a desk and fiercely open it, only to find out some things are better left as secrets.

“The son of the chief of Verano made a deal with the blood devils. One maiden will be the sacrifice for us all and be the devil's future mother. A sacrifice made before the first snowfall, or else we will pay for it all,” You read the page making more anger surface. “This year’s Blood bride is Y/N. Please note that the heir has chosen to court her and then ask for her hand in marriage.”

“Darling, no! Don’t read that book! You’ll get confused!” Nos yells, grabbing your shoulder. “ Your body is tired from the transformation. You need to rest!"

"Don't touch me! I can't believe I was ever your friend! How long?! How long did you plan on doing this to me?!" You rage, tears falling down your cheeks.

"I only- thirteen. I knew you were my bride at thirteen and have courted you ever since. You wanted to stay friends, and I still wanted a relationship, so I abided by your wishes and drove suitors away from you. I didn't want you to find out who I was through force like the other brides of my family. I wanted it to be a nice experience for you." Nos holds you in his arms as your claws swipe at him drawing slow-moving blood. "We can still have a wedding with your family. I'll invite them, and they'll know you're ok."

"Do you know what you've done?! Everyone in the village thinks I'm cursed or a witch!" You scream, trying to get out of his arms. "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

"NO! You don't hate me! It's the vampire venom talking! You love me! You love me just like you did before!" He growls, slamming you onto the brick wall. "Clearly, we need a little couples therapy until that is gone from your system."

He bites your neck, and pleasure goes into your veins. Your legs wrap around his, and your hips unconsciously grind on his crotch. Nos is too strong from drinking your blood to try pushing him away. You can only try to keep your body still as he drinks from you. Your vision goes dark, and you let out a small moan.

When you wake up, your vision is dark, and your naked body feels cramped. You push open the padded ceiling, and something metal moves as light hits your face. Red liquid falls on you from above, making everything but your face smell metallic. You crawl out of the coffin, trying to head towards the backdoor facing the woods. Nos grabs you and licks your cheek, making you shiver.

"I think this will bring us closer together, don't you?" Nos asks, removing his red robes and putting his naked body against yours. "I won't take your virginity until the wedding night unless you want to lose your virginity before then."

"I will never marry you!" You scream, trying to break away but can't due to the wet blood.

"Oh, I love it that you're still stubborn. Let me treat and clean you up, my love," Nos kisses as his hands go straight to your crotch and breast.

He sticks his fingers in you and rubs your nipple as he makes out with you. Nos looks at you, and his brown eyes become bright red.

"Focus on the sensations. In and out," Nos whispers, kissing the previous bitemark he gave you.

You felt like you were losing your mind. You didn't want to follow his orders. Soon enough, you were begging for him to finish you off. He took out his fingers from inside you after you orgasmed. He sucked on his fingers covered in your juices and blood. Then, began to lick the blood on your body. You tried tugging at his pants from below, but he swatted your hands away. Nos licked and kissed his way down to your crotch, where he found that you were bleeding. His face lit up, and you were too euphoric and full of lust to care what would happen next.

"It seems your body has decided that we must have our wedding now," Nos says, taking you into his arms so he can put you in a bath. "We're going to have one bloody hell of a wedding, darling."

[weird-an]

There is a crossroad just outside Hawkins, where corn grows so high it's hidden from anybody's view.

Blood runs down Billy's temple and his head pounds like Neil didn't stop hitting him. Neil who found his Mandate magazine and went fucking crazy.

Billy can't go back. Billy can't go back or he's going to get fucking killed. By his own father. He had never seen Neil so angry - and Neil has always been angry, but not like that.

He has thought about it for a while. It's just some make belief, some hocus pocus, but Billy needs a miracle. He doesn't wear shoes and pebbles tear his holey socks apart. He just grabbed the box and ran.

It's eerily silent. Almost midnight - he thinks. He doesn't have a watch. He digs through the ground with his bare hands. He buries the blue box he stole from Max in the hole. It's a jewelry box she never uses. He has gotten a bit of dirt from the local graveyard, a cat bone from a school's exhibit and an ugly photo from his last school in California where he had to smile while his back was still aching.

A fat drop of crimson blood drips on his fake smile. He wipes his forehead, before he can remember that his hands are dirty.

He stands up. Nothing happens.

It's a cold night. His breath forms little clouds, floating into the night. The moon is gone, waiting to get reborn. An endless circle of birth and death.

"What a surprise." Steve Harrington stands behind him. Same as usual, wearing a pastel blue and pink polo shirt and his ever perfect hair fluffy and only slicked back a little.

"Billy Hargrove needing help?" he scoffs - and it's almost as if they were on the court and not on a crossroad, about to make a deal. "Wanting to gift me his soul?"

There's a red shine in his eyes, but more in the way that it seems like a reflection.

"You're a... demon?" Billy asks. Maybe that's some stupid prank. Maybe that's an explanation why Harrington is so unearthly pretty. "And you're going to High School?"

And sucking at it, is something he doesn't add, but he knows how many classes Harrington is failing. Tommy won't shut up about it. He would have rather expected Hagan to be a fucking demon and not Harrington who now gives him a goofy grin.

"Oh, well..." Harrington says. "Let's say I made a deal a few years ago and then I unfortunately died early."

There's a headline Neil had read out loud to them before they moved here. About a girl, Barb Holland, being thought dead for three weeks - and then rising from the dead, ringing at her parent's door like she just went out to buy some milk.

"God has blessed this place," Neil had said. Apparently Hawkins is about as cursed as Billy feared it is.

"Enough about me." Harrington tilts his head. "What do you want?"

To live, to be free pops into Billy's mind, bright and colorful like a rainbow.

Billy thought about it a lot. First he thought he wanted his dad dead. So that he can never touch him again, so that he doesn't have to be afraid anymore. But if Neil dies, he doesn't have a father or a mother.

The thought is a dark shadow, making him sick.

"I want him to stop hurting me," he says instead. It won't heal the scars, it won't unbreak his bones, it won't make it forgotten, but maybe more bearable. It's what he wanted when he was five, when he turned ten, what he wants to today and what he always wished for whenever saw other people blowing out the candles on their birthday cakes.

Harrington's eyes flicker to Billy's bloody mullet and his dirty socks.

"You need to tell me his name," he says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I'm just a demon, not a mindreader."

"My dad," Billy grits out. "Neil.. Hargrove."

There is pity crossing Harrington's face, something he has always been afraid of, but it's gone within seconds, maybe only been a shadow and gets replaced with a red glow, irises more crimson than hazel now.

"Let's seal the deal." Harrington smiles, teeth shining white. "You know how we do it, right? Your soul for me doing you a favor."

Billy heard the stories. Billy didn't expect to become a part of them. Billy doesn't think he has a soul and if he does, it can hardly be worth anything.

Harrington smells like expensive aftershave and smoke.

Billy presses a kiss on Harrington's soft lips. It's a rush, a relief. He feels something shift, something clicking into space.

Harrington laughs into the kiss. "The deal is already done, Hargrove."

Which means Billy's soul is Harrington's now and Neil won't ever hurt him again. The blood on his temple dries. The cut on his scalp stopped throbbing, there's only a faint sting reminding Billy of its existence. He feels like he just jumped into the ocean on a hot summer's day.

He licks across Harrington's mouth, hungry for more.

"Greed and lust are sins, Billy." It almost sounds like a compliment.

Billy's throat turns dry and he wants to pull away, humiliation burning away the cool calm that has begun to spread inside his chest.

It's just a deal - and that's closed now.

Harrington tugs on his bottom lip, sharp pain joining the sweet sensation.

"If you ever feel like sinning, come and find me," Harrington purrs -

and then he's gone. Billy stands on the road, lips tingling, still smelling Harrington's aftershave on him.

He walks home. It's one of these nights when spring is about to fade, summer's heat lurking around the corner. Still cold, but not that he's shivering.

Cherry Lane is deserted, a few lights flickering when Billy comes home. The door is open. He doesn't hear Neil shouting at the TV.

He washes the blood off his face and goes to bed. He wonders if he can dream without a soul. He wonders if it's working. His lips burn and he still feels Harrington's mouth on his.

[gravedice]

It's the night shift, and Batbo needs help filling in some graves in the graveyard! Help him by dropping rocks, dirt, bugs, and mushrooms into the grave and watch them merge into bigger and bigger graveyard treasures!

Grave Filler is a simple ball drop puzzle game! Earn points and use them to buy Batbo new outfits and dress to impress as you help him with his night shift! Shoveling dirt can be hard when you don't have any fingers!

-🦇🦇🦇-

A little graveyard themed puzzle game I've been working on, and finished just in time for Halloween, that I'm very excited to share with all of you!

Check out Grave Filler here on steam!

[according2thelore]

The best part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam Winchester needs him. The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him.

The best part happens when Sammy takes his first tottering steps towards Dean. It happens when the first word out of his mouth, when Dad is sloppy drunk on the couch watching a football game that Dad can’t count the points for, is a frantic and excited “Dee-n” as he stacks the pile of blocks correctly on rough, scratchy motel carpet.

The best part happens when Sammy scrapes his knee at a soccer game and runs straight to Dean—not Dad—and he see the look in Dad’s eye as Dean wipes the tears from his ruddy cheeks. Dean’s the one that Sam wants, he’s the most important one here. His is the neck that Sam’ll wail into, until Dad pries him away.

Sam needs Dean to teach him how to throw a punch in a dirt-lot in Mobile, Sam needs Dean to reset his dislocated shoulders, he needs him to buy ice cream and save up to buy him toy trucks and pack his lunches so Sam can have food that he likes in schools that he doesn’t. He needs Dean to curl into to fall asleep until Dad suddenly decides that that’s pussy-shit and drag a scream-sobbing Sam away to his own bed.

He needs Dean to tie his shoelaces and cuff his jeans and press a kiss to his forehead. He needs Dean’s old clothing, needs Dean to take him to soccer practice and clap louder than any parent at every single school play, whistling so loud that a few people duck. He needs Dean to embarrass him in front of girlfriends, needs Dean to lend him sweatshirts that Sam can fall asleep with his nose tucked into, eyes sliding closed contented and sun-warm in the Impala’s passenger seat. When Sam’s scared, he goes to Dean first. When Sam’s upset, he goes to Dean first. When Sam’s happy, over the heads of people in school cafeterias and in hallways and sprinting at him across graveyards, he turns to Dean first. In the middle of a hunt—and Dean has no idea if Sam knows he does it—Sam goes Dean, Dean, Dean under his breath when things start to turn south, like Sam can summon him, like the idea of Dean can keep monsters away.

Sam needs Dean because in the winter, his nose starts to get cold first, since it slopes down and away from his face. He liked tucking it under Dean’s jaw when they shared a bed as children, and currently likes shoving his icicle feet under Dean’s thigh when they sit on couches together. He calls Dean a human furnace, but Dean’s secret is he has regularly proportioned limbs. Sam’s too damn big to give circulation to his freak feet, so Dean keeps “finding” pairs of woolen socks that he slips into Sam’s laundry when he’s not looking.

Sam needs Dean for his Blockbuster card (good in all fifty states, fuck yeah) registered under John McClane that the acne-ridden counter guy issued Dean with a raised brow. Sam likes M&Ms in his popcorn because he’s clinically insane, and Dean buys them liter bottles of pop that they can trade lazily back and forth because they can’t afford more than one individual bottle.

Sam needs Dean to take him out when they get to wherever they go next. Sam likes going to the movies and hates hiking and loves public libraries. He leans into Dean, no matter how old he gets, in the darkness of a movie theater, presses his foot against Dean’s under the table at diners, lets Dean throw his arm around him while Dean chats up girls at a public pool, like he’s afraid if Dean’s not touching him, either of them might snap out of existence.

Who else will adore this kid like he does? No one. No one could.

The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him.

The worst part happens when Dean uses his body as a shield to protect Dad or Sam or both from barely restrained blows. It happens when Dean lets Sam rant and rave, when Dean talks Sam off a ledge, steps outside to talk Dad from pushing Sam off a ledge, lets him spit venom about Sam right back. The worst part is being the depository for their hatred and their tempers and their love.

The betrayal in Sam’s eyes when Dean tries to calm him down guts him. The anger in Dad’s eyes when Dean tells him Sam means well is a blow to the skull.

Loyalty to either is a betrayal to both and Dean is sixteen.

Dean is sixteen and he’s got pimples and his bones hurt and Dad won’t stop screaming. Dean is sixteen and Sam won’t look at him most days for choosing Dad, as if Dean is physically capable of choosing anything other than the boy that planted his roots in Dean’s bones instead, when Dean had to prune them from Sacramento and Knoxville and Tampa. 

Sam needs him.

Sam needs him to be in the middle because they need a father.

The worst part is when Sam needs twelve dollars to go on this field trip to the museum that he’s been looking forward to because they’ve been in town long enough to look forward to something. Dean has just spent his last cents at a bar the night before because he’s sixteen and he’s scared, and he’s lonely because Cindy at the bar last night was the first not-Sam person Dean had spent longer than two sentences with in three weeks and four days. The worst part is that look in his eyes, and Dean smiles and plays along to the dumb-drunk-older-brother thing, because if Dean says that he spent the money because he’s miserable and dependent and scared, Sam will—Sam—Dean doesn’t know what Sam’ll do. Dean has never let Sam be that uncertain yet.

The worst part is having nightmares into his pillow, burying his grief and his tears in the motel sink at four a.m. because Sammy is sleeping in the other bed. 

The worst part is being fourteen and Dad hasn’t been back in a few weeks and the twenty bucks on the table evaporated a few days ago.

The worst part is being fourteen. 

The worst part is having to make a shelter out of his ribcage, out of slow smirks and lit cigarettes drooping from drunk men’s fingers, of sweaty, crumpled bills passing over a long-haul truck’s driver’s seat. The worst part trading those bills for Slim Jims and Kraft mac and cheese and marshmallow creme to make it seem like more food than it is, the look that the till girl gives him when she sees phone numbers written over Lincoln’s face. 

The worst part is being seventeen, and something’s got to give, so Dad looks at Dean. Dean’s going to give—of course Dean is going to give, because it can’t be Sam. Sam loves school, needs it—needs other people in a way Dean has trained himself not to want. So Dean drops out of high school in senior year, so Dad’ll stop picking fights with Sam about needing a hunting partner, so why doesn’t Sam just stop going to school?

Dean thinks the worst thing he thought about Dad to that point while he avoids eye contact with the guidance counsellor when he tells him the news. I want to drop out, Dean says, because he has to end it for Sam. What does school have for him anyway? Kids that’ll never understand him? A GED that he’ll never need? Dean hates feeling stupid, hates kids laughing at him behind his back because he had to move when they learned how to do times tables and he doesn’t know what seven times nine is. He hates the prickle of inferiority. 

But Dean thinks: I am the one you created to love you. He is the one you created to hate you. You need both of us. But you only care about one. You crave the challenge of winning—even love, even your son. I never won your approval, so what was it worth?

Dean banishes it as soon as he thinks it, goddamn horrified. That’s awful. It’s ridiculous. It’s pussy shit, is what it is. Dad’s right. Dad’s good. (Dad is right. Dad has to be right, has to be infallible, because in twelve years after Dean has left his eighth teary voicemail to a dead phone line after Sammy starts throwing up after his visions, after he stops eating because he sleeps in blood now it drips from his fingers, he will start to realize and it will undo him—What has it been for? If Dad’s not right—If Dad’s not good—then what is Dean? What has Dean torn up Sam’s roots for? What has Dean lost girlfriends and childhood memories and prom and almost lost limbs for? Dean has ripped himself apart and put himself back together so John Winchester can be right. If he’s not right, then Dean is misshapen for nothing.)

The worst part is being nineteen.

The worst part is the fact that Sam hates him anyway. That Sam rages against the bars of Dean’s ribcage because it might keep the rain off but God, who would want to be trapped next to this heart?

It bangs and slams all hours of the day, and it’s so goddamn hollow—even worse, it’s not hollow at all, it’s just SamSamSamSam—it’s just Sam’s long limbs and fox-slanted eyes and the mole to the left of his nose and the way he snorts when he’s trying not to laugh and the way his mouth looks after he gnaws on it and the way he tries to lick ice cream off his own nose, the way his face looks slack in sleep, the way he’s moulded himself to fit Dean a little, too.

His heart is sickening. It’s rotting, it’s metastasizing the air that Sam needs to breathe.

The best part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam Winchester needs him. The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him. And Dean’s not enough.

The very worst part though, the part that makes Dean eye his pistol sidelong as Sam’s back gets smaller and smaller as he walks away with his duffle bag over his shoulder and he knows—he knows, that at the end of this, Sam will never turn back, it will be Dean on his hands and knees, begging Sammy to come back, Sam will never look at him again if he’s given the chance to look away—

The very worst part about being Dean Winchester, is that Dean needs Sam more than Sam will ever need him.

crossposted on ao3 here

[necroromantics]

🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 2. // (masterlist)

Toby wiped his dirt-stained hands onto his jeans as he stood over the 6ft deep hole he had dug in his backyard, the dark silence of midnight encompassing him. His arms were overworked and weak, strained from endless hours of laboring at the hole. Back where he was from, digging a grave only took about four to five hours, but here in the backyard of his childhood home, he had been working until dusk.

The boy turned around from his handiwork and picked up a dead rabbit which had been rotting on the grass behind him. Grabbing it by the ears, Toby tossed the body into the grave. He stared at the carcass for a moment, devoid of any purpose, before his face scrunched in repulsion. Toby gripped the handle of the shovel, gritted his teeth, and began to cover the rabbit back up with dirt.

Once the dark skies brightened with the morning summer sun, his mother had awoken to see what her son had been doing throughout the night. She caught him sitting in the backyard smoking a cigarette staring out at the forest that wrapped around their home, graveyard dirt on his sneakers and animal blood smeared on his hands. At six in the morning, Connie rushed out and asked him what happened, and demanded he put the cigarette out at once. Her boy only looked at her in a daze, as if death had meant nothing to him. Toby shook his head, brushing his mother off as he pushed past her and headed inside. As Connie looked out at her yard, she noticed for the first time how many dirt patches there were. From that point on, it had only gotten worse as his mother insisted he start to get out more, talk to more people, do more things. Her ignorant attempt at aiding her troubled son.

A jingling melody of a bell filled the air of the corner store as Toby walked in; his attempt at going out more. He looked as he always did, tired and a mess. Feral, ruthless, diseased. He glared through his thick brow at the cashier, something of a warning sign. As he walked past aisle after aisle, the boy occasionally pocketed a chocolate bar or two. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead brought him back to the times he was able to get away with nearly anything, and nobody dared to try to stop him. Without buying anything, Toby made his way out of the store, before being stopped by the man behind the counter.

“You gonna pay for those?” The cashier pestered.

Toby stopped in his tracks, shame turned into anger, and anger turned into violence.

“Pay for what?”

“Those bars you stole. Either you pay for ‘em or I call the cops.”

His jaw clenched as he felt a familiar burning sensation boiling in his chest. It was righteous, it moved him. He took one of the stolen chocolate bars out of his sweater pocket and chucked it hard at the older man.

“Have your fucking chocolate bar then.”

Toby spent his time in the world eagerly awaiting the day he were to wake up from his fever dream of a new life. It itched and clawed at him, a loud sort of desperation for what once was. He needed answers. He knew far too well that he wasn’t built for this world, and he needed to go back to the place he was made for. The world which shaped and molded him with violence into nothing but a weapon. And what is a weapon in a world with no war?

Toby stepped back, gaining momentum before kicking the basement window of the local library in. He wrapped a spare piece of cloth around his arm and pulled out the shattered frame of glass, before crawling his way into the building which was now closed for the night. If he wanted answers, he was going to get them.

The boy walked around the faintly nostalgic library, looking aimlessly for the newspaper archives which he knew to be kept in the back. Toby had been on similar trips to libraries in his days as a proxy. To get rid of evidence, or to find some. This time, he was hellbent on finding any articles that would prove he wasn’t completely alone in this strange world.

Once he found the large filing cabinet that held numerous documents and archives, he slid open the drawers for articles from 1990-2010s. The boy sat on the cold floor of the silent library, sifting through newspaper after newspaper. He skimmed over every word, looking for any evidence. The first thing he noticed was that there was no Jeffery Woods manhunt, which used to be front page on many different papers for awhile back in the late 2000s. The second, was that as he read over an article that used to contain a small segment about a recorded series titled Marble Hornets, it seemed that the entire column had never existed in the first place. The space was now replaced with retail advertisements.

There was a jingle of keys heard from down the hall, and the sound of heavy-booted footsteps, which was slowly approaching the archive room. Toby whispered cuss words to himself as he quickly shoved the documents back into the filing cabinet and snuck out of the room, utilizing his knowledge on stealth to not get caught by the security guard. To his luck, the boy managed to wriggle his way out of the open window he kicked in, and ran out into the night. All he gained was the knowledge that Toby had nothing left of the life he once lived. Or the war he once survived.

It was a constant uphill climb of a life for the boy. A Sisyphian punishment. The boy couldn’t sleep well that night, worse than the previous nights, and the next morning his mother insisted he were to get out of the house and go to the park, or the mall. Toby decided disgruntledly to visit the park, possibly he could find signs there, beyond the trees. The desire for answers consumed him, his light at the end of his tunnel vision. The boy approached the playground, eyeing his surroundings and making mental notes of all the people, and things, in the area. The tall, mighty oak trees painted the surroundings green, the sky was clear and vastly blue. A perfect summers day.

Quickly, he noticed a small group of older boys sitting on and by their bikes, one of which was mocking Toby’s strange twitches and jerks as they whispered and laughed amongst themselves. A real comedian. In that moment he was dragged, tossed, thrown, kicking and screaming, into the past he once lived. Back when he was first seventeen, back in middle school. The hunger for revenge. He may have had the body, but he wasn’t that same kid anymore, Toby wasn’t weak anymore. And he wasn’t going to let anybody mess with him ever again.

Without a second thought, Toby turned around to face the group, fire and fury in his dark eyes. He approached the boys, and like a rabid dog, he tackled the one who was making the jokes to the ground. Toby grabbed a fist full of his hair, and drilled his other fist into the boy's face repeatedly, ignoring the desperate attempts from the older to squirm out from under him, screaming. Everybody looked at the violent scene, mortified.

Back when Toby was seventeen for the first time, he drew clear lines that he wouldn’t cross. Things he wouldn’t do. But as he grew older, angrier, he crossed those lines and gained the dangerous knowledge that the world wouldn’t come to an end if he did bad things. He could hurt people and still wake up the next day. As he continued to scream at, and beat the other boy bloody, Toby could’ve sworn there was a line there once.

The drive back home with his mother after getting picked up at the police station was tediously long. Toby was trying his best to ignore Connie's disapproving silence as he glared out of the passenger window at the passing city beyond them, darkening into evening skies.

“What has gotten into you?” Connie spoke, exasperated. Toby continued to ignore her.

“Well?”

“It doesn’t matter, just drop it,” He responded, irritation growing in his tone.

As the two made their way into the house, Toby was greeted by his older sister leaning up against the kitchen counter. Toby felt words breaking in his throat, he stared at her like an angry bear. Lyra stared back frightened at his swollen eye. They saw each other with a strange surprise. The boy avoided her gaze, turning his head down to look at his feet like a bad dog as he pushed past her and made his way to his bedroom.

Soon thereafter, Toby had begun getting into petty fights with his sister, and often talked back to his mother. One particular evening, Lyra had shouted at her brother for being disrespectful towards their mom. She had made an unsettling offhanded comment about how Toby was going down a terrifyingly familiar path. A path the family had seen his father go down for years before Connie mustered up the courage to kick him out.

“You think any of that shit matters to me? None of this is real, none of it” Toby yelled back, waving his hands around and laughing to himself.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I’m real, you’re real, mom is real. And look at how you’re treating her.”

“You? You shouldn’t even fucking be here right now, you’re supposed to be dead!”

Lyra paused at the cruel words of her little brother. The boy gave her half of his orange one morning, and broke her heart in the evening. They both cross lines they shouldn’t. They’re both afraid of their rage.

“Just… Enough. I shouldn’t even be here right now. So do us both a favor and stay out of my business.” Toby lowered his voice at his sister's surrender and without another word, left again into his bedroom.

That night, as Toby laid silently in his bed, facing his bedroom window, he saw a fraction of light creep onto his wall as his door opened. A small shift of weight pressed down onto the mattress beside him.

“What happened to my sweet boy?” Connie spoke with a deep sorrow in her voice. No words could ever explain to his mother what had happened to him. Nothing he could say would ever make her, or anyone, understand the unfathomable. Toby gave her no response, and minutes had passed before Connie sighed and took her leave.

As his family had laid to rest late into the night, Toby quietly climbed out of his bed which creaked as his weight shifted. Grabbing an empty old backpack, he made his way into the darkened kitchen and began piling in canned foods, water bottles, and money from his mothers purse. He paused for a moment before entering the garage, where he knew he could find a familiar old hatchet sitting idly.

He stared at and took in all of his surroundings, and listened to the quiet ambience of the house. Toby knew that this was a home for a boy, not a killer. He had lost his innocence so early, shaped with horror from before he could remember. Toby wanted terribly to look out at the house he stood silently in and feel something good, something happy, like a distant memory that would make him smile warmly to himself when he thought back to it. But no matter how hard he tried, all he could remember was the battlefield. Constantly fighting to survive, wondering if he would ever make it out alive. Quickly, he scribbled a message onto a post-it note and left it on the fridge for his mother to find in the morning when she realized her son was no longer there.

“I’ll come back this time, mom.”

[evita-shelby]

Friday the 13th

actually part iv of Easier than a Knife(prev)

cw: mentions of past attempted sexual assault, murder, superstition

evacore taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark @zablife

When Shelby threw pebbles at her window again, the last thing she expected was to be standing in a graveyard in her silk kimono robe as Tommy dug up his guns to move them into her house in the same crate she left her home country in.

She had shown it to him, the perfectly sized crate from the Manchester Car Factory that is kept in the cellar where all the mice Bastet is going to kill for her. Then Tommy got this brilliant idea.

“We’d leave faster if you could put your pretty hands to good use.” He wiped the sweat off his face with his shirt sleeve and continued filling the empty grave back.

“And ruin this silk? No, thank you.” she exclaims as if she couldn’t just buy another one. But he was the one who dragged her in the dead of night instead of asking his brothers to go with him.

“I thought you said you were a soldier.” The gangster remarked and kept up the banter to hide his fears of being in a cemetery at the witching hour on Friday the 13th.

“I thought you weren’t superstitious.” The witch threw back with a chuckle. “Is that why you brought me here, to keep the undead away from you?”

“Aren’t witches supposed to take this sort of thing seriously?” Tommy tries to deflect and gives Eva the opening to mention this other alleged meaning for Friday the 13th.

“Some believe it is lucky, associated with the Goddess Freya of the Norse. Supposedly its lucky to fuck on nights like these.” She wants him, he is what she wants in a man and sure he was English, but it wasn’t like he was American or worse, French. Eva likes toying with him, making him earn her because he’s too used to getting any woman he wants by just looking at them.

Grace easily forgot he tried to sell her like a leg of mutton and Lizzie forgets he doesn’t reciprocate her feelings for him. Eva needs him to earn her before she can reward him with her eternal love.

“Are you coming on to me, Eva?” He looks at her sitting on the gun crate he put in the space between this grave and the next with a raised eyebrow.

“If I was, I would’ve mentioned that story of Mary Shelley lost her virginity on her mother’s grave and my wish to do the same.” The dark-haired woman answers knowing the effect her words have on him.

Sex appeal was as good a weapon as a finely made gun or a bank full of money. It worked for the two of them well enough or else they wouldn’t be here tonight. That combined with that bullshit excuse that she loses her abilities should she have premarital sex to avoid getting raped during her time in Pancho Villa’s army ---and avoid punishment for killing her would be rapist--- worked like a charm.

“Aren’t you afraid of disturbing the dead?” he asks, smiling because she’s practically admitted to desiring him. A sign that she does like him as if the kisses they shared about two or three hours ago hadn’t made it obvious.

“It’s an empty grave, there is no one to disturb here. Besides, I hate to be predictable.” And between losing her virginity in a bed or on top of a grave on Friday the 13th, it is obvious what the witch would choose.

“Would be a good alibi, wouldn’t it? Seeing the look in Grace’s face when we get home with the two of us covered in grave dirt and you having the man she won’t ever have.” He plays on her immediate loathing of the blonde. A good move, Eva loves making her miserable.

Oh, what she’d give to kill her!

“You are a cruel woman, remind me not to cross you, Mrs. Shelby.”

“Finish what you’re doing, and I’ll even share my tub with you.” The witch smirked knowing he’d bring down the sun if she asked.

[vcmpiiric]

This candle. Good lord, this candle. If you can find a place to buy it..DO IT! It smells DIVINE!

It's perfect for all 'spooky' kins (ghosts, vampires, ghouls, voids, etc). The graveyard dirt scent is amazing. 100/10

[voidsentprinces]

Adult Drama is weird. Like...even though I work at a gas station and you expect some weirdness. But my first year working here, I got some backrow seats to some weird soap opera drama going down.

The gas station, I work at, had just been renovated and was going through a "soft opening". In that we were accepting customers, getting the store set up by installing mirrors. Getting in iced coffee and getting the stocking and all the random stuff like insurance, gas delivery, food delivery etc. situated.

To begin there was the main manager, the assistant manager, the day shift who wanted to become assistant manager but due to having to wait for the insurance to kick in couldn't because the assistant manager needed to have access to reliable transportation. And without the insurance kicking in yet, they couldn't yet afford subscription glasses to get a license to get a car to get assistant transportation. Which is why even though they were the logical choice to be the assistant manager, the dude who became the assistant manager was someone lets just say...underqualified to doing the job.

So, reiterate, the main manager (works 9am - 5pm), the one chosen to be the assistant manager so we could eventually grand open in March, the person working morning to afternoon who should of been the assistant manager, the morning barista (cooks food from 4:30am - 9am part time gig), the afternoon shift lady, and two graveyard shifts. Alone Monday through Thursday and then working together Friday through Sunday (9pm - 5:30am).

The situation that is important is the assistant manager thingie. Aforementioned but the guy doing the job was more than just half-assing it. Which is why the Manager was waiting for the 1st shift worker to get insurance to eventually replace the current assistant manager. That was...until, they accidentally sold tobacco to an undercover test shopper.

For those who do not know, three bodies: Mystery Shopper, Local Police, and Corporate will occasionally send someone underage to come into a store and attempt to buy tobacco to see if the staff are I.D.ing and denying sale of tobacco, alcohol and lottery for those underage (Tobacco and Alcohol are 21 years for purchase while lottery is 18) in accordance to law.

The company has a strict, one strike your out policy. Because California law can strip any company not following this law of tobacco, alcohol, and lottery sales certification. The person who was to become the assistant manager and take over for the guy who was like...barely doing the job at all. Failed a test shopper and was subsequently fired on the spot by corporate. Leaving main manager to have to function with this newly opened gas station with an assistant manager half-assing the job the entire way through.

Well, Void, I mean you cannot fault a guy for half-assing a job that pays shit in this economy. I mean sure fine yeah, but also like...its kind of difficult for a business to function if said assistant manager isn't ordering important things like...cleaning products, tampons, coffee for morning rush, and soda bibs correctly. So we end up with things that just do not sell? And also spent like...the beginning of their shift in the bathroom, two hours of their shift doing the wrong orders, and the rest of it getting high at the dumpster outside? Its also difficult for me to do my job of keeping the place functionally clean if we run out of cleaning products, gloves to protect me from some chemicals used to clean the pumps to keep grime, oil, and dirt from building up as well?

In any case, due to the previous person ideal to the role getting fired, he's now around for longer than necessary. Which leads to the adult drama ahead:

The barista and the assistant manager. I've told you about the assistant manager but now its time to bring in the barista. Who was a married woman with kids and also part of a JW branch. Because the assistant manager comes in at 4:30am - 1pm and the Barista kind of works as a cashier fill in after they're done stocking and cooking in the morning. The two work close together alone from 4:30am until the Barista leaves at the end of the part time shift at 9am.

She starts using this time to try and convert the assistant manager to the JW religion. But something gets crossed...and they start catching feelings for each other. The manager comes in at 9am to 5pm to work their shift and notices they none too subtly are starting to take their lunches and leave and return with one another. And then they start spending time off shift together.

I am...like...half sure adultry is frowned upon by the JW religion...as are birthdays...and any holiday but putting that aside. This woman is still very much married with near adult children and a husband.

Let me digress by saying, that eventually due to corporate's rules that two people dating cannot work together due to workplace bias. The barista discreetly quits. But the assistant manager STILL goes to his lunch really quickly and drives off in a hurry. And from time to time, the barista shows up to get gas during my graveyard shift. And the assistant manager is most definitely in the car with her.

This all comes to a weird head when the aforementioned husband, one day shows up at my work during the last hour of my shift TO TRY AND THROW DOWN WITH THE ASSISTANT MANAGER IN THE MOTHERFUCKING PARKING LOT.

Since we're in the market for a new barista, the main manager is coming in early morning. So that assistant manager is now the unofficial barista cooking in the morning. ALONG WITH. Me and the secondary graveyard and anyone else pulling up on a Monday morning to witness the spectacle.

Words at exchanged but no fists are thrown because...boy all the witnesses yeah? The husband eventually leaves and the assistant manager comes back in and is all like, "I just wanna live my life man." ...my dude you are helping a woman cheat on her husband and you're surprised the husband has decided to hunt your ass down? But you just wanna live your life and be left out of this drama you are participating in? AMAZING! PLEASE CONTINUE!

The drama does NOT stop there. Because...like...holy shit. We have a regular who comes in to buy cigarettes on a weekly to nightly basis. Now and this will become important in a second:

This man is, for lack of a better definition, the most baby boomer to ever baby boom. Think of a baby boomer man. Old? Putting on the weight? Balding? Chain smoking? Hates his wife? Very weird about his politics to a racist if not bigoted degree? This guy checks all the lists.

I bring him up because he is one of the lucky millions to be kicked out of a cushy office job meant to grant him stability and a nice comfy retirement during the seventeen recessions we had. And now works at a pizza place as a delivery driver.

You know who else works at that pizza place? The barista's daughter.

The barista's daughter is obviously caught in the middle of this clusterfucker of the assistant manager and the barista in a relationship despite the barista being married with kids. And she actually has turned to THIS MAN. AND ASKS WHY PEOPLE FALL OUT OF LOVE! This man is not qualified to give ANY ADVICE TO A YOUNG ADULT WORKING THEIR STARTER JOB AT A PIZZA DELIVERY PLACE ON WHY MARRIAGES FALL APART!

Anticlimatically, the Assistant Manager eventually leaves too because, lo and behold if you do a bad enough job at your...job. Corporate will start laying into you and eventually he leaves. Still occasionally shows up with the ex-barista to drive off somewhere together. Apparently, that entire family has now been ex-communicated from that JW branch due to what transpired. And everything gets quiet again.

So yeah that is...uhh...adult drama is fucking weird.

[blaqcats-fics]

Whispers of the Dead

STWG DRABBLE

PROMPT: QUIET | Steve-Centric

He didn't know how he ended up here.

Maybe, finally, the survivor’s guilt was starting to eat away at him. It was the least he deserved after all. He could have done more. If he had done more, then he would have lived. He would live and Dustin would be happy.

Kate Bush had never felt so relevant.

Oh, what Steve would do to swap places with a man he had only known for a few days all so he could see Dustin smile.

If only Steve were a necromancer like in Dustin’s game. Then, just maybe, Steve could finally do something, anything. But that reality was far away.

Steve squeezed his hands into a fit, taking a deep sigh, breathing out. He sat on the ground, leaning forward, hugging his knees. He stared at the tombstone, a heaviness to him.

“Hey, Eddie,” he spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “I don't know why I’m here. Guilt, probably.”

Steve ran his hand through his hair, scrunching his nose slightly at the grease that came from it. He made a mental note to shower.

“Dustin misses you,” he said. “Dustin said your uncle misses you. I'm sure you know. Dustin said he came with your uncle once. They were probably better company than me.”

Licking his lips, Steve looked up at the moon through the clouds. “Before I started to get to know the kids, after I first saw a demogorgon, I always wondered if I sacrificed myself, would things change? Maybe. Probably not.

I know you died because you wanted to buy us time, but you mostly protected Dustin. That was brave, but God, was that stupid. I can't be mad, though.”

Steve let out a wet laugh, tears filling his eyes. “I would have done the same thing. I would have died for everyone just to make sure everyone was safe, consequences be damned. If only we could see the future, huh? Then maybe things would be different. We could have been friends in another life. Dustin wouldn't be sad. Max wouldn't be in a coma. It was be fine.”

The wind rustled and Steve shivered. The cold wind bit at his skin.

“I should go,” he sighed. “I promised Robin I would stay with her tonight. Nightmares.”

Steve stood, brushing the dirt off his pants. He stood awkwardly, and for the first time in a while, he said a small prayer, for Eddie.

“Bye, Eddie.”

Steve turned away, walking to his car. He pulled the keys out, fumbling with them as the wind picked up again. He unlocked the car door, and froze.

A warmth washed over him and his skin lit up as if it were being burned. It felt like someone was holding him.

‘Help.’

A wave of cold suddenly washed back over him and Steve turned around frantic, eyes searching in the dark, but he was met with nothing but an empty, quiet graveyard.

[conjuremanj]

SILVER DIMES In Hoodoo

Silver Dimes, Aka Mercury dimes were issued between 1916 and 1945.  These dimes were about 95% silver and depicted the of Liberty woth a phrygian cap (winged cap) This winged figure that was thought to be Roman God Mercury is no other then Lady Liberty her self.

Now in the true southern hoodoo not all dimes used were mercury dimes. In reality silver dimes were very difficult for slaves and even some freed Black men or women to get, so they usually had to substitute coins or coin like objects such as metal buttons to perform a ritual. So when you make a payment to a spirit you can use regular coins don't need to be real silver.

When dimes became more available The main types of dime that were used were the Barber dimes, Mercury dimes, and Roosevelt dimes.

In folk magic, images of money can be often used to draw money, luck, justice. These coins is carried to attract a particular essence of luck and money to let the spirit know you need that little extra help. There also carried and used for justice.

Now a lot of cultures from China to Europe, and the United States used silver coins for their magical rituals.

But when it comes to Southern African-American hoodoo tradition dimes were used in mojo bags and also were worn ether around the neck or ankle.

Another myth is that a coin from a leap-day is more powerful. I'm here to say it's not silver in it self is powerful just like gold is and can make a good charm.

In 1967 more than 20 percent of the patients in 4 Louisiana parishes were recorded as reporting to their Nurse or Doctor the use of copper, gold, or silver wires, coins, or rings tied around the neck, waist, or ankle. Today, the use of dime amulets is typically used for spiritual purposes over physical healing and silver is a must in your magical cabinet.

One of the important uses for silver dimes is payment given when purchasing graveyard dirt. (See my post on buying graveyard dirt)

Some Uses For A Dime is to be worn as a anklet or put them inside one's shoes to fear not walking over evil.

Making a charm: Take you mercury dime put in the middle of a piece of red flannel cloth add some money or luck oil. I also add a pinch of success, money powder on top of the dime pull it together and tie with string. This is a good powerful charm to have.

[bianca-0-blythe]

December 12th 1998.

A cold day. At least in the northern hemisphere in any place with rational weather patterns. It was a cold day. Icicles hung from gutter pipes and black ice slicked the roads like glue on a clay tile. It was 9:45 am and sermons were said and attended by those who had faith. Bianca's parents worked as one of the local school teachers and a clerk in the local corner shop. It wasn't much but they managed.

Bianca walked through the chilly town with a note. Making her way down to the dentists office for just a check up as recently one of her front teeth fell out. The Dentist assessed her and assured her nothing was wrong with her gums and that perhaps it just fell out after she banged it against something. She doubted it but paid him with the money her dad gave her anyways.

With some change to spare she wandered the town, hoping to find a friend to hang out with or a shop to spend her change in.

Whilst she found no one she knew she browsed various clothing stores, unaware of anything else within the mall.

She browsed Claires and eventually got her ears pierced, buying matching earrings for herself and her mother. As soon as she stepped out of the store sirens blared. She froze, thinking she had stolen something looking into her bag she didn't fund anything that she didn't pay for, but she realised that everyone was running out of the store and she watched as elevators were shut with gates and stairs were covered with a metal door. The mall was on lockdown. She cautiously walked around to try find out what was going on there was a large bang and a wave that knocked her to the ground. She wheezed. She was winded from the fall. Her ears rang, she couldn't hear the screaming of the stampeding crowds, at least those who could still run. Then the worst part. The shaking. The crumbling. The tilting as the building fell to one side. She felt herself slide against the polished tile of the floor. She couldn't get rid of her mittens quick enough as she slid down the gradient along side many many others. Her feet hurt and bent the wrong way when she tried to stop herself sliding. She felt the floor heat up beneath her. Did she dare look down? No. Time felt like it was slowing down. She felt like she would vomit. She lay there and remembered every little argument she had with her parents. Even the most recent one with her dad about her getting in trouble in school. She regretted it. She should have been telling them how much they mean to her, how much she loves them. Tears stung through her eyes as she kept sliding. It was getting hotter, why was it getting hotter? She finally dared to turn around and all she could see was the blazing inferno of corpses and rubble, and she panicked, beginning to sob. She was 14! She couldn't die yet! She's never had a boyfriend, or even held a boys hand. She was meant to grow old and marry a cute boy, not die this young. But none of that mattered as finally it was her turn to fall into the blaze. She tried to hang onto the edge, but her trousers caught on fire, and the shoes of adult above her dislodged her fingers. She fell onto the rubbed with a sickening crunch, and the surrounding fire caught her hair and jacket. Her hair burned quickest leaving her in the most agony as her head was bleeding. She screamed a blood curdling, serial killer victim type scream. She writhed in pain as the hot flames licked and danced at her skin. She shut her eyes tight and felt her throat tighten as she inhaled to much smoke. Eventually she felt herself passing out. Her face relaxed as tears evaporated as soon as they left her eyes as her skin was so hot. She never woke up. Not in the ambulance once her bodily was recovered. Not at the anguished tears and begging of her parents. Not at the silent prayers as she was lowered into the dirt in the local graveyard.

There she was.

Bianca Bylthe.

Born December 12th 1984.

Died December 12th 1998.

She had burned alive in the local mall after a man tried to murder his ex wife for moving on.

Worlds worst 14th birthday.

[andydona-chan]

Maybe it was because there was a lot of traffic and a villain attack in the area, but when the explosion happened in the middle of the graveyard, nobody noticed. To be fair, it had been a small explosion, controlled and with a purpose, nothing else, nothing more, than a means to escape.

With a lot of effort, Bakugo Katsuki pulled himself out of the dirt. The place was empty, and going by the illumination, it was late in the evening since the sky was already getting dark, but still allowed him to see where he was and make his way towards the exit.

With only one person in mind, he walked out of there, trying to ignore how stiff he felt after getting himself out of a fuckin' tomb from all places!

It was probably the shitty villain attack he could hear in the distance, but there were no people around, and luckily, he recognized the area. He wasn't far from home. If he wanted to, he could have followed the path to his old school or the playgrounds he used to visit with Izuku.

Izuku...

He needed to see him, he wanted very much to know what had happened after the battle and the reason why he found himself burried alive; and he also needed to know if the boy was fine... just because.

Tired and as stiff as he felt, he walked back, mostly because he could barely feel his right arm and didn't want to draw attention to himself by getting hurt with his own quirk!

It was already night by the time he reached the Midoriya's place. He had not encountered anyone in his way here, and if anyone had seen him, they had retreated. He tried to apologize from being all covered in dirt, but found he also had his throat all dry and had no money on him to buy something.

He pressed the button to ring at the door with his left hand and waited. He didn't know what to say or expect. He should have probably gone to his parents' first to bathe and change.

What he wasn't expecting was how Izuku looked once he opened the door, or even how his rival screamed at him, making him stumble back and almost fall.

Deku screamed for a bit, going back into his apartment and shouting to his mom to stay where she was and he was calling a hero to help.

Katsuki stood there, astonished, trying to grunt a response but unable to do so due to his dry throat, which he tried to make work by hitting his chest a little with his left hand and only getting a lot of dust out of his clothes. It would have been easier if he had been offered a glass of water by his very much panicking host! It seemed that his struggles registered on Izuku's mind a moment later. However, he seemed to have called someone already.

"...yeah, no doubt about it... but he's not, I mean, he's just standing there... No, definitely not aggressive at all, just, well, what you would expect after all this time!... Yes, it must have been a quirk incident..."

Oh, right, Izuku looked older, not much, but he was not wearing his nerd clothes and instead looked like he was wearing a suit.

"...kay, I'll try... hold on," Izuku told whoever was with him at the phone. "K-K-kacchan?"

Funkin' finally.

He tried to nod and felt his neck crack, which made him struggle to lift his head back, but allowed him to see the... maggots dropping to the floor... the he'll he had been covered on those the whole way here, no wonder people avoided him.

"...hey!" Izuku tried and failed to use a normal greeting with him, so Katsuki tried to avoid rolling his eyes at him and just grunted in response.

"Listen, I know this is strange, but I guess you were hit by a quirk... and... damn, how do I explain?..."

Katsuki tried to move ahead. He felt weird and needed water since, like yesterday, so he stumbled forward into the greenette's apartment. He wasn't going to bother with his boots. He was probably going to leave a mess behind him anyway.

"Kacchan, wait! This might not be the best idea, " said Izuku, trying to stop him, but not really touching him. He walked and passed next to the mirror they had on the wall near the entrance. He had expected the dirt, but not... everything else.

Stopping dea... okay, that was what was wrong! He turned to look at himself, tired of how stiff he was but almost getting it.

His reflection showed something awful. He was covered in dirt, of course, but he could see that he was missing his right ear, along with a good chunk of the skin of his face on that side. His right eye was glowing red, but it was sunken in his socket, which was cracked like his cheeckbone... that he could see where the skin was missing over his skull.

He tried lifting his hand to touch it, but it was then that he noticed his arm was gone. He was wearing his hero uniform, but there was a big stain on his chest, and some maggots were coming out of it.

Was he...?

"No, Kacchan...!" Izuku had tried to stop the inevitable, but Katsuki was no fool, so he grunted loudly, trying to get an explanation. "Look, I know what it looks like and... well, it is actually what it looks like, but" Katsuki had not been expecting those words, but he could always expect Izuku to cry, however, maybe not like this...

The greenette was looking at him with such sorrow that if he could, he would probably say it broke his heart. It was then that Izuku pulled him into a hug, as gross as he was, and probably smelly, and cried loudly.

"K-K-kacchan, I... I miss you so much! E-every day I think about you! Why?..." Izuku sobbed, "Why did you have to... to die? You were the best hero! I still need you every day and wish I could just...!" He was unable to keep talking after that, and Katsuki, if it could have been possible, would have cried too!

Suddenly, there was a knock on the open door, and Izuku let him go. There, with a look of horror, was Kirishima accompanied by a young boy he didn't recognize but was probably a hero in training. He must have been the person he had called.

There was silence for a moment until the boy seemed to find a way out of his surprise and nodded his head.

"Professor Midoriya? Please tell us how we can help!"

Professor...?

"It's okay, Enigma Boy," said Kiri, lifting a hand to who was probably an intern training with him.

The quirk lasted for 24 hours. It had been a stray hit used by a child who had been kidnapped by the villain earlier that day who did it, allowing Katsuki one last chance to receive a goodbye as a... zombie

Water didn't really help his throat, but his old friends answered his questions (and more, since Izuku still talked miles a minute) and showed him the memorial built after his bravery during the war.

When the time was up, he had a second funeral, one where he actually felt more peaceful and ready...

[normaltothemax]

@therebetterbepie from here

The nightmares weren’t anything new. Sure, sometimes they mixed things up a bit—he’d dream of one terrible memory one night, and another the next—but it was all more of the same. The worst nights, like tonight, were when memories bled into each other.

Opening his eyes to a pitch black wooden box, screaming and shouting and banging on the lid for someone, anyone to let him out. Clawing his way up, trying desperately to reach the surface, choking on dirt and worms, feeling the earth pressing in on him. Only to manage a single breath of graveyard air before green water was flooding his mouth, pushing its way into his lungs. He struggled frantically, but he didn’t know which way was up. He swam and swam and swam, lungs burning, burning, burning, all the while that voice, that laugh echoed in his ears.

Which hurts more? A or B? Forehand or backhand?

A little louder, lamb chop. I think you may have a collapsed lung, that always impedes the oratory.

Just as his vision started going dark, he gasped himself awake, sitting ramrod straight, clawing off the blanket covering him, tangling in his legs. He was shaking and sweating, dragging in deep gulps of air, like he hadn’t breathed in days. It certainly felt like he hadn’t. It took several minutes for him to calm himself down enough to remember he wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t there.

Looking around the dark room, he shuddered, shook his head. Yeah, no way was he staying in there. He wasn’t getting anymore sleep tonight.

Quietly, he made his way into the living room and turned on the TV, turning the volume down in the hopes that he wouldn’t wake up Dean. He made himself some popcorn (something to do that wasn’t associated with any of those terrible memories), grabbed a beer from the fridge (because fuck you, Dean, he wasn’t a little kid and he damn well deserved one), and plopped himself down on the couch, letting the voices on the television wash over him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there before Dean joined him. The bowl of popcorn was set between them before Jason grabbed a handful of his own. “Not sure. Some sort of shopping network. They’re selling weirdly specific shit. I’m half tempted to call in and order something.”

Whatever tension had been remaining in his shoulders eased out with the hunter’s presence. Holding his beer bottle between his knees, he plucked a couple pieces of popcorn from his hand and popped them into his mouth. “You know you can buy a shotgun rack for your mattress?”