#how can i use dowsing rods to contact you again
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The way people you know, friends you were once close to, literally sometimes just dissipate from your life like an apparition, is absolutely bat shit insane.
#like were you just a figment of my imagination#was our time even real#how can i use dowsing rods to contact you again#did i kickflip into an alternate universe that doesnt involve you?#the way the hold years and years of memories just to feel like they chucked it up into a garage sale with a .50 sticker#like i miss you i know you but i dont know THIS you#im clutching the version of you that held our laughter from hangouts and hugs and thinking that wed be friends forever#ive tucked these memories of you away carefully just to pull out and reminisce and miss you all over again#an endless loop of happiness and nostalgia and grief#we all have those people dont we?
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Touhou Ship Week 2023 Day 3: Creativity
Another boring day at the temple, Shou Toramaru thought to herself. She had just finished reading that book from the Outside World that Mamizou had gifted her and was largely out of things to do. So what was a youkai to do other than to loiter around the Myouren Temple grounds and perhaps look to see if anyone was being a worse Buddhist than she was. Because if there was one thing she was good at, it was reprimanding people.
“Hmm. Don’t see anything…”
The grounds were remarkably quiet this early in the morning. Kyouko Kasodani was off cleaning her section of the yard as usual; Shou couldn’t help but admire her work ethic, as much as Byakuren seemed dedicated to eliminating whatever leisure time she had. Besides her, she only saw a handful of monks and monks-to-be training outside, nothing too surprising given that the sun had barely risen. Yup, seemed today was going to be a perfectly quiet, ordinary day.
And then she heard a squeak.
“Huh?”
Shou turned and looked around for the source of the squeak, but to no avail. It wasn’t to her left, it wasn’t to her right, and if it were at her feet she were sure she could feel it. Which probably meant she was going to have to go on a little journey to figure this out.
Shou began to wander the grounds, specifically looking for where the squeaking would be loudest. Wandering out to the gate, she caught absolutely nothing, and so she wandered back around to the building: There we go, there’s the squeaking again. That confirms that whatever she heard was coming from inside. Taking this knowledge and running with it, Shou walked into a side door, where she would begin walking through the halls in an attempt to locate the source.
Eventually she would come across a door to her right. Oh, the squeaking was real loud coming from there, the chances of her turning, entering, and seeing some giant mass of rats were very suddenly not zero. Only one way to find out though, so Shou soon turned and poked her head into the room next to her.
“Hello?”
Ah, so there was the reason the squeaking was so loud. It wasn’t a mere mouse or rat, but a group of several. They were all scurrying around the room, a few either carrying dust clothes or sliding around on them. And who else would be among them but the giant rat… err, mouse… that makes all of the rules? Nazrin, a youkai like Shou, was currently using her dowsing rods for a variety of purposes: The one in her right hand had a dust cloth attached and was cleaning a high shelf that even the massive Shou had a bit of trouble reaching, while the one in her left hand had some cheese on the end and was leading some mice along a lower shelf.
“Nazrin?”
The sound of Shou’s voice visibly caught the mouse youkai’s attention. Nazrin swiveled around to face her tiger partner and looked up for eye contact; truth be told, the height gap between them was pretty much entirely a result of Shou herself being incredibly tall, maybe around two meters tall.
“Yeah, love?”
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m just cleaning. I know you get annoyed when I don’t pitch in to help take care of the shrine whenever I stay over, so I thought I’d have a little fun with it.”
“Oh, you’re being charitable?” Shou cracked the smallest of smiles at that. “Thanks Nazrin, I appreciate it. Mind explaining how you’re doing it then? This all seems pretty complicated, and lady Hijiri’s already gotten on my case about drinking too much.”
“It’s quite simple, dear Shou!” Nazrin walked forward and held her hands out to her sides, briefly twirling. “As you can see, these kind mice are manipulating their dust cloths, quite handily in fact. Because there’s so many clothes and so many mice, even if they retread ground they’re not about to drag any dirt around because they can just pick it back up! And for those who lack motivation… behold!”
Nazrin held up the cheese-ended dowsing rod, waving it in front of Shou’s face. The tiger could very clearly tell she was just doing it for dramatics, but hey, who didn’t like a little dramatics once in a while?
“Food rewards! You and I both know that mice aren’t particularly motivated by the possibility of being reborn in a better standing in the next life, they just wanna live a long life now, so I’m motivating them with food. Not even just this cheese either, I have a whole stash lined up.”
“A stash, huh? That’s quite interesting.” Shou fidgeted with her sleeves as she though of what to say next. “So, uh… would you mind telling me where you got that food?”
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? I, uh… I have my methods. Which I’m not sharing, so there.”
“...I see.” Shou could take a wild guess as to what Nazrin meant by that; as much as she liked her, she knew Nazrin wasn’t exactly a morally upstanding character. “And, uh, besides that high shelf, have you done any of the cleaning yourself?”
“Mm? Myself? Why would I need to worry about that? They’ve got a hang of it, don’t you think? And it’s not like I’m not doing anything Shou, I’m still leading them. There’s nothing you need to worry about love, I’ve got this all under control-”
Nazrin’s sentence was very suddenly interrupted by a crash. The noise causes the mouse to leap back and toward Shou, practically leaning against her to seek some sort of comfort. Sighing, Shou patted her partner on the head and looked to see what broke; as it turned out, it was a single ceramic bowl that had broken into a few pieces. Nothing too unmanageable. All of the rats had already scattered to the other end of the room.
“...so, great Napoleon,” Shou remarked, “how did relying on the mice to do everything work out for you?”
“Eurgh, it was fine until that happened. And who’s Napoleon?”
“Someone in the book Mamizou gave me.” Shou casually avoided mentioning that Napoleon was a military leader whose hubris was his ultimate downfall; truthfully, the height had nothing to do with it, as even the book mentioned that Napoleon wasn’t particularly short.
“Sure, sure. Uh… I’ll… I’ll clean that up-”
“No, no, I’ll get it.”
Shou walked over to the mess and knelt down to pick up the large shards of the bowl. With a groan she stood back up and disposed of the remains of the bowl into a waste bin, then turned back to Nazrin, who was already in the middle of trying to feed the visibly shaken rodents. Sheesh, Shou thought, maybe her little jab was a bit insensitive. With that thought in mind, she walked over to Nazrin and stood next to her.
“Hey, points for creativity,” Shou told the mouse. “It wasn’t practical, but I can only imagine how much effort it took to orchestrate all of that.”
“A fair bit, actually,” Nazrin admitted with a groan as she finished distributing the food, then snatched Shou’s arm. “It’s a lot harder to motivate mice when the food reward isn’t immediate. But, uh, what do you think of the finished results?”
“Hmm? What do I think?” Shou took one quick look around the room. Actually, there was hardly any dust at all, if there even was any. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to judge the mice for the one mix up. “Looks good. Give the mice my regards, but first, let me give you mine.”
Shou leaned down and gave Nazrin a kiss on the cheek; the intimacy was enough to turn Nazrin’s face as red as could be, almost as red as her eyes if you wanted to exaggerate. Shou couldn’t help but admit to herself that seeing her flustered was fun, both because it helped to deflate her ego and also because she just found it cute.
“So how about some breakfast? I hear Ichirin’s cooking.”
“F-fine, fine. Probably beats what I had before getting here.”
With that, Shou helped Nazrin out of the room and off to the temple kitchen, while the other mice dashed out of the room to parts unknown. It was kind of a miracle that Nazrin was able to figure out how to wrangle them all, Shou thought to herself.
She supposed they didn’t call her the Tiny Clever Commander for nothing. Even if she really wasn’t that tiny.
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A View To A Winchester (Part 8)
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Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.
A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.
Section Word Count: 5,483
Section Content: fluff, flirting, arousing, kissing, R-rated language, drinking, more Spice Girls references
~~~~~
The doorbell chimed at 8:03 pm. Julie had been pacing in the entryway since 7:50 pm. Unsure as to which entrance Dean would choose, she’d closed the curtains to the sliding door. Mood lighting had been set to a somewhat romantic minimum. She still wanted to be able to ogle the man.
Every thought and decision that day had in one way or another circled back to Dean. She’d even dreamed about him that night. The mild annoyances of work texts and emails, when she made the mistake to check her inbox, did little to sidetrack her from the tasks leading up to this moment.
There’d been no calls, no texts from Mr. Winchester since the night before. And she’d made a point to avoid staring out her office window or back door every five minutes. A quick trip out to the backyard to toss some garbage found the Impala still in his driveway. Tingles of excitement rushed over her skin. There was a very real probability that Dean could be keeping an eye out for her. That he’d been doing it for weeks produced a grin on her face throughout the day.
Now, her gaze lingered at the imposing shadow outlined against the beveled glass of the front door. A check in the mirror produced a nod. She inhaled and took in the surrounding scents. The perfume was not overpowering. The other aroma filling the air had her the most anxious. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction.
Julie pulled on the door and braced herself, leaning against the edge for support. Thank goodness she had. Spotlighted in a golden wash of technicolor, Dean stood at the base of the step up in a radiant glory. The man was actually glowing.
He was still taller than her by a few inches, even with her temporary height advantage. It afforded her the opportunity to only tilt her head up in a slight nod to gaze at his face.
His mouth cocked up the side in a sassy grin. It fell away as he gave her a once over, top to bottom. Have at it, Mr. Winchester. I’m going to revel in the constant blushing you’ll be causing tonight. There it is, that damn lip licking. Good God. His gaze rode its way up her body back to her face. His grip on the neck of the wine bottle tightened. “Evenin’.”
“Hi.” Her mouth managed to spill out the one word greeting. She stepped aside to welcome him in.
Dean stepped up into the entryway, now towering beside her. He took the lead to close the door with one hand, offering the bottle with the other. “Wine.”
She grinned. “Thank you.” She grabbed the bottle at the base, intent on avoiding any skin. She might jump his bones right there if they made contact. “Have a seat if you’d like.” Her nod pointed to the living room.
His nose twitched. A deep inhale followed. His posture straightened, gaining inches of stature. Julie pursed her lips and squashed a grin. “What’d you make?” he asked, eyes wide and hopeful.
This man standing in front of her was so other level, so beyond reachable and enigmatic in terms of attractiveness and attitude. Top shelf and bottom of the barrel somehow all at once. A tailored three-piece suit mixed with a leather jacket worn out to perfection. But there was also something so approachable and knowing, as well, that made her willing to put herself out there.
Is this what they mean by chemistry? It’s been so long, I forgot what it felt like. She ripped the imaginary censor tape off her mouth. “You may have entered this house a single man, Dean, but, by the end of the night...” She trailed off.
A genuine, unadulterated smile lined his mouth. “Don’t tease, sweetheart.”
She laughed. “Why not? Can’t take what you so easily dish out?”
“Not where pie is concerned.”
“Sit. Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
He nodded and wandered toward the sofa. Those damn bowlegs and swagger getting all her attention and throwing her off her train of thought. Dark, midnight blue jeans and a deep forest green button up shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, hugged his figure. And the man was wearing cowboy boots. Fucking cowboy boots. Kill me now.
Before he could turn around to catch her staring, she ducked into the kitchen to catch her breath. The white wine went into the fridge. Cool air from the open door skirted over and bathed her already goose-pimpled skin. “Can I get you something to drink?” She called out.
“Sure.”
“Bourbon?”
“You’ve got bourbon and pie?!” She couldn’t quite make out the muttering that followed the quizzical exclamation. “That’d be great,” he said in a louder volume that carried clear into the kitchen.
Julie came back with two tumblers a minute later.
“You drink bourbon?” he asked. His fingers wrapped around hers as she passed the glass. His eyes lifted in what looked to be mild surprise with the touch.
She let the warmth of his rough hand permeate and wash under her skin. “No, actually. But, I figured you did.” She sat next to him on the couch, careful not to spill the small amount of liquor in her glass.
“Was it your goal to check off all my favorite things tonight?”
She shrugged and crossed her legs. “Wouldn’t say goal. Hope.”
Dean toasted in mid-air and took a sip. Brows rose. “Hm. Well done with the bourbon.” His gaze trailed over her floral print dress. The fabric had the right amount of flutter over her sleeves and flounce around her chest for Julie. The knee length skirt rested a tad high up her thigh, thanks to an intentional tug of her fingers when his eyes got to that destination. A lick of his lips, when the stare halted at the revealed skin, had been the hoped-for reaction. She sipped to hide the giddy grin. The liquid sliding down her throat was velvet fire. It forced her mind to concentrate on the sensory effect of something other than Dean Winchester.
His silent assessment resumed. But whether it had been seconds or minutes Julie could not be a reliable witness. He stopped again at her favorite nude-colored, closed-toe, strappy heels. She twirled her foot. Only one of Dean’s eyebrows rose that time.
The ensemble had been the easiest decision she’d made that day. It made her feel sassy, sexy, confident, and every ounce a woman.
An unexpected dart of his eyes shot back to hers. Held breath zapped out of her lungs like a popped balloon. She hoped the reaction didn’t look as ridiculous as it sounded. But there was no laugh or throat clearing from him. “You look really nice tonight.” He added, in that beguiling baritone, “But, I don’t think I’ve seen you not look nice.”
She smiled at how good he was at covering all bases. “Thank you.” Her fingers danced over the tumbler’s etched glass. “You mentioned asking me out on a proper date, but having no clue what that was.” She shrugged. “I’m a little rusty in that department. Thought this might ease us both into the idea.”
He smiled and thumbed the rim of his glass. “Rusty is not how I would describe it. So, why no dinner?”
She laughed. “Hey, I made dessert.” He returned her laugh with a chuckle. “I don’t know. Don’t tell Brigida I flat out refused to make you dinner. I’ll get my wooden spoon taken away as punishment.”
That produced an even deeper laugh out of Dean’s throat. Composure regained after another sip, he studied her through a side stare. “It’s almost like you had something else in mind that would be occupying our time.”
“Just talking.” She tried to flash him her most innocent smile.
“Riiight.” He dragged out the word. “Did your friends have a lot to talk about when I left last night?”
“So much… I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Hm. Catherine’s cute.”
Julie smiled. “She is.”
“So, I got the stamp of approval?”
“With some cautious reservations.”
“Sound like good friends.”
“They are. I don’t see them as often as I’d like to… you know, everyone always seems too busy to get together. But, Karen’s been checking up on me since she heard about Steve and...” She trailed off. Great, already mentioning the ex.
Dean nodded and cut her off, “Were you all in a sorority together? Did you have sexy sleepovers?” He raised his brows in a quick and comical gesture.
Julie laughed at his levity and the obvious attempt to bail her out with a topic change. “No sorority. We just all ended up in the same hall of our dorm. Bonded over Spice Girls and Sambuca one night. That was all she wrote.”
A frown. “Spice Girls?”
She shrugged. “I’m a Pop girl. But, I do appreciate classic rock.”
“Appreciate? Do you listen to it? Make a concerted effort to seek it out? Speak the truth, sweetheart.” His tone was serious, demanding, and kind of pushy. Damn. If he gets this worked up about music…
“Not really.”
He sighed. “Can you name me one Zeppelin song?”
She shook her head.
He clutched at his heart. “Confirms it. You aren’t the perfect woman.” Another sigh escaped those full lips, longer and drawn out this time. A heavy nod followed the resolved expression. “I should go.” Forlorn, puppy dog eyes met hers.
Jesus. Dramatic much? “If that’s really the deal breaker, then I guess you should go.” Julie played along.
He raised a finger. “How about this? You let me give you a crash course in classic rock one day. And, you promise never to subject me to the Spice Girls.”
Julie laughed. “I can’t promise that. But, I won’t intentionally play it in your presence, how about that?”
He produced a “Meh” and downturned his mouth.
“Are you quite the professor of rock and roll?”
“Oh yeah.” She found his eyes gazing with intent at her lips. “I could teach you a lot.”
The static charge was catapulting a frenzy of sexy into the room. Her body was drawn to his like a dowsing rod to water. Her ass shifted. Fingers rubbed over her neck, feeling the warmth. I’m probably beet red.
Dean’s hand that held the tumbler rose. One of the fingers popped free from the grip and did a swinging point at her face. “No glasses.”
“I went with contacts tonight.”
He grinned, “And, you wore your hair down again.”
“You said you liked it...”
He leaned in a few inches. Her thought cut off at the action. His visage turned to stone; eyes almost primal in their focus on her mouth. Again. “I like a lot of things.”
Holy shit. She froze in place. Could only stare at the beauty. Freckles. How did I not notice those before?
“This is dangerous, Julie.” He pulled himself back.
“W-why? What’s dangerous?”
“You are doing everything in your power to push all my buttons.” He shook his head. “It’s sexy as hell. But it’s only going to end one way.”
“What way is that?” Please say sex on this couch.
“Told you. Me turning into a jackass.”
Way to be a downer, Dean. Her lids narrowed. “Do you really believe that?”
He shrugged. “Decades of experience.”
“Can we just enjoy this?” Her plea was firm in its tone. “I’ve been through a crappy divorce from what turned out to be a turd of a husband hiding his yearlong shitty and adulterous behavior.” She closed her eyes. “I’d like to believe that we are two damaged adults that deserve some flirting and feel good times right now. I’m trying not to ‘what if’ you into the circling drain of catastrophic proportions.”
When she opened her eyes after the rant, she found him smiling.
She nodded. “Pie?”
His grin spread. “Pie.”
~~~~~
Three more glasses of bourbon on Dean’s end had loosened him into a comfortable heap on the sofa. He was on his third piece of pie, too. Julie had been mindful and stuck to the one glass. The pie, however, called out for a second slice to be cut. The conversation had shot into that wonderful galaxy of transitions and rabbit holes, where struggling to find the original thought only led to more discovery.
“Okay,” Dean shifted in his seat, “tell me one good thing about your ex.” He dusted some crust from the side of his mouth back onto the plate.
“Ugh,” she frowned.
“You just said you try to find one good thing about anyone and anything.”
“I didn’t think you were going to call me out on it.”
He smiled. “I’m sure you can. It was ten years, right?”
She eyerolled, turning pensive. “Steve always put the seat down.”
Dean laughed. “Gotta give him more than that.” He pointed at her. “Or, I blame you for staying that long.”
She sighed and plucked an apple with her fork. “He was a hard worker. He loved my mom, even though she always rode him for not being ‘the man’ she thought he should be. Not that my mom has a great grasp of a healthy male/female dynamic, mind you. He always tried to make her happy. And, by extension, me happy.” She went deeper. “He was romantic, even when I’d try to mess up his plans and be a grump. He was big on romance, for a long time.”
She caught Dean inspecting whatever reaction washed over her face. His gaze softened. “What happened?”
Julie shrugged. “Maybe I took him for granted. Maybe he took me for granted. Maybe a mid-life crisis turned his brain to mush and he thought he’d find happiness with a twenty something yoga instructor. I don’t know. He never offered an explanation. And, I didn’t want to hear one, anyway.”
“Yoga instructor?” Dean grinned.
Julie grinned at Dean’s grin. “You’re thinking about how bendy she is, aren’t you?”
He chuckled. “I dated a yoga instructor. I know how bendy they are.”
“Do tell.”
His eyebrows rose. “You want details?”
Her bare feet, having long kicked off the heels, slid onto the sofa cushion and nestled under her ass and skirt. “All the details.” Another bit of pie slid into her mouth.
“She was pretty amazing.” He grabbed at the glass on the floor beside his spot and took a gulp. His reminiscent stare into the liquor heated Julie up again. He grinned, not meeting her eyes. “She could get into these positions… well, it was… awesome.” He returned the glass to its spot and focused on the pie plate. “Lisa was great on lots of levels.”
There was a palpable warmth to his memory. How long will it take me to think of Steve with even an ounce of that fondness? Will I ever be able to again? “Were you with her long?”
“Little over a year.” He stretched a bit and brought his eyeline back up to meet hers. “When I tried the normal life thing.” His eyes rounded like saucers. “God, that was like... over a decade ago. Ben’s in his twenties now.”
“Ben?”
“Lisa’s son.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“Nah. It was better to cut ties. Have them move on, like I’d never messed up their life to begin with.”
“I’m sure you didn’t…”
“I did.” Dean nodded with certainty. “But, it was better after me, I guarantee it. What about you, though? Ten years. I mean, how are you doing with that kind of change?”
“Does it sound bad if I say it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be?”
Dean smiled.
“I mean, the betrayal, the dishonesty, the collapse of my marriage. Yeah, that was devastating and had me on the fast track to a pint of Ben and Jerry’s every night. I cried for weeks… tried to keep my work life together during the day just to come home, wrecked, to an empty, fucking huge house… because he was staying over at Chelsea’s apartment until he got a new place.”
His face deadpanned. “Her name was Chelsea?”
Another eyeroll. “Yeah. And, our ‘marriage’ friends hightailed it out of existence… probably because most of them had known and didn’t want me to know that I knew that they knew.” She watched Dean try to process her ramble. She laughed at how absurd she sounded. “It was tough. I started to go to therapy again.” She waved a hand in the air. “Then, I found this place.” She slowed her breathing. “I had something that was mine again. Just mine. I don’t know, it kind of centered me.”
His cocky grin returned. “I hear the view’s pretty great, too.”
“The view is awesome.” Julie giggled.
“Oh, man.” He let out a huge yawn and leaned into the crook of the sofa’s corner. He slid like a serpent on his back, molding into the cushions. His legs draped over the edge. The empty pie plate and fork rested on the center of his chest, teetering a bit. “I’m feeling really good right now.” A beefy, muscled arm raised over his head. He clutched the armrest. His eyes closed.
“I bet.” Julie mumbled, staring.
An eye shot open. “Open invitation to come on over and find out.” He teased and knocked a knee against one of hers.
The ping pong game of flirting had been ongoing, with neither one missing a return yet. “But, I might take advantage of you, in this drunken state of yours.”
“Take, woman, take.” He grumbled and shut his eyes again. “Seriously, though…”
“Hm?” Julie deposited her empty plate on the side table.
“Did your husband not eat? Did he hate sweets? Cause, just as an act of self-preservation and I don’t know… non-stupidity… to give up ever eating your mom’s food… or, taste your baked goods again…” The brows twitched suggestively above his closed eyes.
Dirty, cheesy jokes. He’s lucky he’s so damn good looking. “Maybe Chelsea’s a good cook?” Julie offered.
Dean’s eyes batted open in a lazy gesture. “Yeah, and I’ve won the Nobel friggin’ Peace Prize.” He wagged a finger. “Now, if he’s anything like my brother, I might understand the short sightedness on his part.”
“Is your brother an asshole?” Julie grinned.
He chuckled. “No. He’s very fond of kale, though. He could resist your food charms.” Dean licked his lips, his chin to his chest, eyeing her. “But, he’s not blind. And, if he wasn’t already in a committed relationship…”
Julie gave him her best sexy side eye. “What?”
“We’d probably have to rock paper scissors for it.”
She tilted her head. “For what?”
“The chance to try out our best moves on you.” Dean rose up in slow motion to a sitting position, mansplaying into her half of the couch. He slid the fork and plate onto the nearby coffee table.
You got this. Julie was keenly aware of how her entire body thrummed to her heartbeat. And how soaked her panties were. Just talking to him and being in close proximity is wrecking me… what would happen if... She readjusted her sitting position as well, crossed her legs, and clenched her thighs together. Got me slippery enough to slide off the damn couch. “Do I have a say in the matter? What’s your brother like?”
“Oh, he’s a total nerd. Living in San Jose, trying to finally get a law degree from Stanford.”
“Lawyer material, huh?” Julie gave him an impressed nod.
“Okay, calm down.” Dean raised a hand in jest. “Like I said, he’s taken. And, you wouldn’t like him.” Dean shook his head with certainty.
Julie giggled. “You don’t know that. I consider myself somewhat of a nerd. Maybe we’re kindred spirits. What’s he look like?”
Dean sighed and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. Julie marveled, realizing that neither one of them had glanced at a phone over the past hour. The television had remained off as well. His finger tapped and scrolled for some time before showing her his screen. “That’s him and his girlfriend, Eileen.”
Julie’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. Your family gene pool is quite impressive.”
“Well, thank you.” He smirked. “But, still, I think I’d have a better shot. I mean, look at his hair.”
“Very bouncy. Really cute.” She noted some slight agitation from him as she continued to stare at the picture. He pulled the phone away and slipped it back into his pocket. Pushing ALL of his buttons was turning out to be very entertaining. “My brother and his family live in San Francisco. Not too far from San Jose. Maybe I should pay him a visit the next time I find myself over there.”
“Yeah, well… he’s a bit high maintenance. Me, on the other hand… ready to go at a moment’s notice.”
“So, you’re easy going?”
His lips jutted out into an exaggerated pout. “I don’t know if I’d say ‘easy going’. Easy maybe.” He winked.
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em type then?”
“Pretty much. But, there was an underlying reason. It wasn’t all about me being an ass.” He took another swig of his drink. “That’s why…” his tongue smacked against the roof of his mouth, “I really shouldn’t be here. The family business I was in for so long... It put anyone my brother and I got close to in danger. It was better to stay unattached.” He tilted the glass in her direction. “And, you haven’t lubricated me with enough liquor, or dessert, to get more info outta me on that.” The gaze dropped into his glass.
You’ve got me lubricated enough, you full time fucking flirt. Julie screwed her lips together. She took some time to gather her thoughts. “Is that what happened with Lisa? She ended up in danger?”
He clenched his jaw. That was enough of a response.
“But, your brother has a girlfriend now.”
“Yeah. Goin’ on two years.”
“Something changed then, when you moved on from the family business?”
He nodded, a grin slow to form as he looked back up. “You could say the family business went out of business. Our services weren’t needed as much.”
“So, he isn’t worried about his girlfriend’s safety? Your brother?”
“She was in the same business for a long time. Can take care of herself. I don’t think she’s a Spice Girls fan.” A wicked smirk unfurled.
Julie took silent offence at the dig. She nodded, processing the information to continue her original line of questioning. “Danger still out there?”
He shrugged and dropped the glass. “No, not really. I mean, not like it was. Every so often there’s a blip. But, I’d say it’s been the quietest I’ve known in… well, forever.”
“You are only making me more curious, you know that, right?”
Dean leaned in. One hand dragged along her dangling calf. Those rough, calloused fingers lit her up like flint against a match. Her nose scrunched as she tried to maintain some composure. The smile on his face sparked up into his eyes. Those damn crinkles multiplied. “Are you getting frustrated?”
“No.”
“Cause I’ve seen you make that face when it looks like you were frustrated.”
She sighed. “Maybe a little frustrated.”
He slid along the seat, bending his leg like snipping scissors to get closer. The oh so warm calf wedging along her thigh. An arm snaked behind her on the couch. Nostrils flared, sniffing the air like a hungry bloodhound. “I can take care of that for you, Julie.” He whispered. “All you gotta do is ask.” He teased out a smile. “Tell me what you want.” He paused. “What you really…” Another long pause. “Really.” Even longer. “Want.” The word slipped out of his mouth, slow and tasty, with a click of his teeth at the end for even more dramatic effort.
Awareness of what he had just done made her grin.
His head tilted. “I may have come across ‘Spice World’ on cable a few times while channel surfing. Being in the middle of a Baby and Ginger sandwich might be fun.” He inhaled deep again and a quick dart of his gaze fell to her lap before coming back to scan her facial features.
Shit, can he smell how wet and excited he’s making me? “What do you want?” She held his stare, desperately trying to keep some control of her faculties. Even though every cell in her body was begging to give in to the temptation that was Dean Winchester. “Are you looking for a woman that knows this mysterious family business like your brother’s girlfriend?”
The focus of his hypnotic green, glassy eyes traced over different spots on her face. She admired his ridges and furrows and planes up close. The slope of his nose was a perfect angled dream. Evidence of a hard life lived was scattered all over amid the youthful, sin-full lips and speckling of freckles. There was earned wisdom in his eyes behind the golden flecked irises. She couldn’t remember the last time she was in the presence of anyone so very handsome and beautiful. And? There was something else she’d been trying to pinpoint since she chanced on him, in the dark, that first night. The words slammed into her mind. Tragic. But, not just that. Heroic.
He remained quiet, stoic. Not answering her questions. Only wrecking her with his inspection, intent on getting her to concede. She pushed through, answering her own query. “Cause, fun little fact, I’m probably not that kind of woman. I’m guessing that woman is badass.” His fingers traced the skin by her sleeve. She was melting, drowning. And it was heaven. Ah, fuck it. “Now, if you’re looking for a one and done type situation…?”
He shook his head. “No. Not with you. I’m pretty sure I want to have you all sorts of ways. Not just one and done.”
The vocal confirmation made her lips twitch up. “Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of like your chauvinistic, caveman style.”
“Oh, I’m telling everybody.” He whispered, even closer now. Bourbon and cinnamon-apple breath danced over her lips. “But, for clarification,” the tease was still stroking her calf, “what exactly is my chauvinistic, caveman style?” He gave her a little head tilt. “You know, when I tell everybody.”
“Hm, well, you walked me home that one night.”
“That’s just looking out for your safety. I’d say that’s the opposite of caveman. Otherwise, I’d just drag you back by your hair to my lair.” He urged for more details with a roll of his fingers on her shoulder.
“But thinking I can’t look out for myself could be considered…” She slammed her mouth shut. I really don’t want to get into a debate on feminism with this man right now. His stare was far away and centered all at once. One finger stroked the upward curve of her neck, just under her earlobe. The gaze broke from her eyes, now interested in the same spot as that finger. His entire body leaned into her right side. So fucking close. “Um,” she hesitated.
“Come on. You gotta give me more than that.” His nose nuzzled into the wavy curls against her neck. He inhaled. An almost imperceptible moan emerged from his throat on the exhale.
She sighed and leaned into the enticing action. “I guess it’s not a style exactly. More like an aura?”
His posture tipped back, enough to brush his cheek along her jawline. His scruff rubbing like fine grit sandpaper. And, goddamn, his lips were so close to hers for a fraction of a second. “Aura?” The one word released in a jagged, hot breath. He dipped back toward her neck.
“You’re very… male…”
He chuckled against tender flesh. Goosebumps formed. She twitched at the almost touch. “I hope so.”
“I don’t know. You seem so… strong… capable… take charge. I think you’d make a very lucky lady feel safe. If you gave yourself the chance to try.”
And then, she felt it. The pressure of his soft, full lips rested at the base of her neck. They sizzled, lit the fuse. His hands wrapped around her in an instant. He gripped her into a bear hug of the hottest proportions. Their chests melded together, his muscles pressing into her soft curves. Firm, unmoving. Even his lips remained still. His heartbeat, however, that pulsed through her own skin.
She jolted at the sensation of his tongue teasing out from his lips, tasting her. His smile seared into her skin. Then, light kisses ran up her jaw. She tilted her head up, providing him full access to whatever the fuck he wanted. He trailed the outline of her chin with his lips. She dared open her eyes when his mouth retreated.
She had not been prepared for the look of want. His fingers tangled into her hair and clutched the back of her scalp. He moaned, low and deep, a second before his lips crushed her mouth with a coveting force and ownership. He brushed into the red and raw underside of her own lips, producing a wet, slick heat and easy undulations. The sway of his mouth back and forth, slow and prodding, opened her to him. The introduction of his probing tongue had her gasp. She felt the sound travel down his throat.
She hooked arms under his massive biceps and latched onto sharp shoulder blades, holding on for the ride. The stronghold manipulated her like a ragdoll with every kiss and suck and lick. He broke from her mouth and rested his forehead against hers. “You OK?” She smiled at how out of breath he sounded. He leaned back and inspected her face. She nodded, noting how fast her heart was beating. “Cause, I can stop… like, right now. It’s probably better if I do that. And, maybe, we try that proper date… before things get too out of hand.”
“Is that what you want to do right now?” She tried to catch her breath.
“Hell, no.” He smiled. His fingers massaged her scalp and pressed into the small of her back. “But, maybe… I should give myself the chance to try.”
She groaned. “Don’t use my own words against me.” She bit her lip, then mumbled. “You feel really good.”
“So do you, sweetheart.” He brushed his lips along her forehead. “So do you.”
She unfurled her arms from his back. “Going to be all adultish.”
“I know. Adulting sucks.” He sighed. “When do we do this date thing?”
“Soon.”
A childish grin curled up his lips. “Sweet. Well,” he licked his lips, wiping away any innocence, and peeled his body from hers, frowning as he did so. “Let me take you out to dinner one night, maybe next weekend? No food or dessert prepared by you. And, I’m not going to even think about taking you to an Italian place.”
She smiled. “Good call.”
“Steak?” His eyebrows rose.
“Sounds good.”
“Awesome.” He stood up and grabbed his drink, finishing it, then picked up his dessert plate. “I’ll make a reservation and let you know when.”
“But, you might have to cancel if work…”
He raised a finger. “Then you have permission to slap me if I stand you up again.”
She laughed, then frowned realizing his current intention. “You’re leaving?”
“Too much temptation if I stay.” He stared down at her. “I mean, all I want to do right now…” He shook his head. “Going to go put these away.” He darted to the kitchen.
She stood up and adjusted her skirt. “I was going to give you a piece of pie.”
“Ohhh, I know you were.” He called from the other room and ran some water in the sink. When he rounded the doorway, he donned a wide, toothy grin. “Save me a slice for later?”
“Let me just...” She started to walk toward him and the front door.
He raised his hands. “Nope. Nope. Safer if you stay there.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs, drawing Julie’s attention to the rather impressive bulge in his jeans. “Cause I’ll want to give you a kiss goodnight…”
“And, it won’t end there?” She strolled over.
“Really, Julie.” He backed toward the front door. “I won’t be responsible for my actions if you keep it up.”
“I’m supposed to consider that a threat?”
He laughed. “Thank you. Good night.” The door opened from behind his back and he slid out with a wave and a wink.
Julie pressed her lips together. The phantom tingle of his mouth lingered. Her tongue ran over the top lip. Bourbon puckered her taste buds. She sighed and headed to the kitchen to clean up with her half-eaten pie slice. She could feel the stupid smile settling into her face for the rest of the night. “I’m in such delicious trouble.”
Part 9
Series Page
#dean winchester fanfiction#spn fanfic series#supernatural fanfiction#spnfanficpond#dean x ofc#dean winchester fluff#spn fanfiction
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Puppy Face 🐶
So, I had some very lovely individuals request another Markus/Lucien drabble and, for some reason, that freaked my poor anxiety-ridden brain right the fuck out, and I couldn’t do it. 😅
Therefore, I went ahead and worked with Illyn and @0idril0 ‘s amazing OC, Clint, from her Nico series!
I now have a solid idea for what I want to do with Markus and Lucien and, hopefully, I can get another drabble up today or tomorrow. My lovely requesters, @starrywhump @castielamigos @comfy-whumpee @imagination1reality0 , please bear with me!
Edit for Masterpost
****
Illyn paced, hands in her hair, smoke from her altar fouling the air. Her latest fucking failure. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know who to call. Usually, she would call Markus, but that wasn’t an option.
Obviously.
She gave her messy blonde hair a vicious tug and swallowed a sob of frustration. Crying wouldn’t help anything. She turned sharply on her heel, feet sinking into the fluffy carpet, and stalked back to the myriad of books that lay stacked and open to various pages. There had to be something there that she could try, something that she hadn’t thought to use.
If Markus was here he would know what to do. He would open right up to a spell or a dowsing rod and he would have the answers. He was a genius at this shit. Illyn was too new, inexperienced. Her talents lay in different directions.
The old books were musty to her stopped up nose and their leather bindings crinkled as she shuffled through them. Her eyes were burning and she brushed away tears as they fell onto the vellum pages. She didn’t even know what she was looking at. Glyphs and diagrams swam in front of her vision, carefully drawn botanical depictions blurred together, and she squeezed her eyes shut to get away from them.
Markus had been gone for 40 hours. Almost two fucking days.
In that time, she had been able to make contact with him once for all of two minutes before she couldn’t hold the spell any longer. The only information she had was that he was still within a fifty-mile radius of his shop and he was being kept in a concrete room with florescent lights.
She had nothing.
All subsequent attempts to contact him had failed. She barely understood the spell that she used the first time well enough to get it working and had no idea why it wouldn’t work again. The police weren’t an option. Pretty much all supernatural incidents were ignored unless they had to do with a human. She and Markus didn’t have many friends here in Salem and the friends she had that could help her were half a country away.
Her hands tightened in the overly large flannel she wore over her nightshirt, pulling it up to her nose to suck in the rosemary and sage smell. She’d taken the flannel from Markus’s work station; he wore it constantly and she never let the chance to make fun of it get away from her. She hadn’t changed her own clothes since Markus’s call had woken her up in the middle of the night.
She stank. Her hair was greasy. She was exhausted.
She couldn’t do this.
Illyn’s lip trembled and she bit it to quell the oncoming sob-fest. She sank to the floor and hugged her knees, rocking slowly, back and forth.
All of the information that she had didn’t give her any new leads, any new direction to go. She’d found Markus’s cell phone, the crumpled remains of the demolished electronic were exactly at the GPS location Markus had texted her.
She’d driven as fast as she could, screaming, hitting her steering wheel. Breaking every traffic law that she knew in order to get there as fast as she could. And she was still too late. All there was was the fucking cell phone. A small spatter of blood from Markus’s fucking bullet wound that didn’t lead anywhere. There weren’t any footprints on the asphalt. Nothing.
Her rocking sped up and her hands sank back into her hair. A noise bubbled up in her throat and she didn’t fight the agonized wail that escaped her lips. She pressed her face to her knees but it did nothing to muffle the heartache.
Illyn didn’t let herself break down for long. Great hiccuping breaths followed after a few moments and she tried to pull herself together. The meat of her palms pressed the tears away, and she stood. She’d run very option through, now it was time for someone else to step in. As much as she didn’t want to call. Face what she’d done.
Hands trembling with fatigue, she dug through her purse and found her phone. Still charged like a miracle in and of itself. Her favorites list was only two clicks away and she pressed the nickname “Puppy Face” with the dog emoji.
The phone rang twice before a deep masculine voice answered. “Hey dumplin’, mind if I call ya’ back? In the middle of tryin’ to tie up some loose ends.”
“Clint.” She squeezed the name out of her tight throat, eyes burning, and her entire face scrunched up of its own accord. “Clint, I need your help. Please.”
“Illyn? What’s wrong?”
She sobbed, recalling those same words coming out of her mouth. “It’s Markus, he’s been taken. I can’t find him. Please, you have to help. I’ve tried everything. Scrying, dousing, spells— there’s a spell in here that calls for the damn lens from a fly’s eye, not even the whole fly. Is says specifically not to put the whole fly in there. Can you fuckin’ believe that? There’s another—”
“Illyn— Dumplin’, you’re rambling. Slow down. What do you mean Markus has been taken?”
Her shaking hand moved to cover her mouth, to stop the random deluge of information, and she took a deep breath. Right. Priorities.
“I mean that he called me at two o’clock in the morning almost two days ago and I’m pretty sure that he was kidnapped by something that showed up on one of my augers. Something that scared the shit out of me.”
“Two- Two days ago.” There was a deep breath over the line and what was possibly a suppressed growl. “Illyn you know the first 48 hours are the most important in these situations. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
Guilt rumbled through her body like the subway overhead at midnight. She bit her lip and sank back down to the floor. Fighting tears. She pressed her back into the cabinet, grounding herself. “Ca-Cause it’s m-my fault.” Her breaths hitched in her chest, oxygen lacking from every inhale. The knobs of her spine dug into the wood behind her.
“Explain.” The word was short, to the point.
A whine made its way out of her mouth and she hated how pathetic she sounded. How pathetic she was. “I-I borrowed Markus’s gr-grahm, Clint. I-I was scared and a-asked if I could buh-borrow it and copy it. And—And he didn’t have it—“ she sucks in a wild breath, trying to make the dark spots gathering in front of her eyes go away “—he didn’t—“ she couldn’t say it again. She curled in on herself, her head pounding with tears.
Clint’s voice softened, just barely, “Dumplin’, this isn’t your fault. Just tell me what happened.”
She sniffed, snot and mucous slurping up her nose, as she told him what happened. “. . . I swear, Clint, I tried to get there. But he was just gone. He screamed and—and he just wasn’t there. . . . “ She trailed off after giving him all of the information. Her forehead rested against her knees. Exhausted.
“Okay,” Clint sighed. She could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to head up there as soon as I can, but there’s someone closer to you that I think will be able to help. Illyn, I need you to do something for me, okay?”
“Anything,” she begged.
“Go take a shower and a nap. You’re exhausted and ya’ can’t help if you’re dead on your feet.”
Illyn rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Okay,” she mumbled, “okay.”
“Illyn,” Clint said, voice catching her attention. “We’ll find him, okay?”
She swallowed. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’ll talk to you soon Illyn”
“Bye Clint.” Illyn hung up the phone and dropped it to the floor with a thump. There was nothing else she could do.
#my ocs#my writing#Markus/Lucien series#guilt#Illyn#@0idril0#searching#Illyn tried really hard#she's made some mistakes#she knows she could do better#Everybody's human#this is short#ugh#stupid anxiety
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13x08: The Scorpion and the Frog
Then:
A bunch of stuff happened. This is just a pretty picture of Dean. You’re welcome.
Now:
Cambridge, England
7:45 on a Friday
A dodgy acting woman enters a museum and proceeds to make her way to a vault in the basement.
She tries entering a room with a passcode, but doesn’t seem to have the right code, so she goes in the old fashioned way --busting it open. Man, pilates really does work. She grabs what she came for, but not before getting caught by a security guard. It appears our thief is a demon and she smokes out to possess the guard.
Once outside, if the smoke possession didn’t convince us hijinks were in action, the strategic light across the eyes and billowing night fog should really tip us off. Another dodgy demon meets the security guard and takes the mysterious documents. The security guard wonders how Asmodeus will reward them --with an angel blade to the heart, my friend. Then demon #2, let’s call him Barthamus, calls Dean! On speed dial.
At the bunker, stressed-out Dean is over cleaning his gun, when Sam walks into the kitchen. Sam’s got no news on Ketch, no news on Jack, and -get this- is the one talking to Cas. I love the speculations out there that say Asmodeus has to talk to Sam because Dean would know in a second.
Anyway, Dean gets his call from Barthamus, where Bart indicates he has info on Jack. They should meet him at Smile Diner.
On the way to the diner, Dean clarifies his stance on the meeting. “You know, after Crowley, I told myself no more demons.” Lololol, this is a gem of a statement. Yes Dean, we know you had your Summer of Love with Crowley, and that you did extraordinary things to triplets together. Let those demons go.
Once at the diner, Bart tries kissing up to the brothers by offering Dean pie and calling Sam the smart one.
He also has a spell to track Jack. He tells them he’ll be in touch and takes off. Dean eats the pie. Sam does research, and finds out the spell checks out. Dean’s reluctant, but Sam convinces him to work with Bart.
They meet up with Bart and his associates, Smash -a safecracker extraordinaire- and Grab-a demon who can bypass supernatural security.
“What is this, a heist? Hold up...is this a heist?” Yep.
Their target is Luther Shrike, a collector of supernatural objects, who has a trunk of Bart’s. Bart would get it himself, but he needs the blood of someone who’s been to Hell and back: Dean. At first I was confused since both brothers have been to hell and back, but a nice Twitter exchange with Meredith Glynn, the writer for this episode, makes it clear why it had to be Dean.
Bart makes it clear to the brothers that if they don’t take his deal, he’ll contact Asmodeus. The brothers take the deal. Shrike will never see them coming!
Shrike, getting a visit from one of Asmodeus’s minions, sees them coming.
The night of the great heist, Sam pulls up to Shrike’s house in the Impala (Dean and Smash hidden in the backseat). Uh, way to go undercover dudes? Don’t tell me the Impala isn’t instantly recognizable by anyone related to the supernatural.
Dean and Smash head their separate way from Sam, who heads to the main house to talk with Shrike.
While working on a Grab summoning spell, Dean and Smash bond over Jolt Nerve Damage. It’s like she’s the little sister he never wanted. Once Grab arrives, he tells Dean that the vault is cloaked, but Dean is a vault compass, and with a simple spell his arm is leading the way.
Back inside, Shrike pours Sam a glass of homemade gin while they talk over his collection. Judging by Sam’s face it’s DELISH. He shows Sam his prized “fang of basilisk.” Sam picks it up… Great. Yes. Get your finger oils all over priceless artifacts, Sam. Though Sam correctly identifies it as a gorgon tooth...so I’ll overlook it. So will Shrike, as it turns out. He asks to see what Sam brought from his family collection. Sam opens the box and OH MY GOD it’s Ruby’s blade. I mean. Maybe this is less precious in a world full of angel blades but DUDE. The stakes are suddenly raised.
Meanwhile, Dean is still trapped in the comic relief portion of the evening, walking around with his dowsing-rod-arm leading the way to the vault.
They find the vault hidden in a cellar and after some cajoling, Dean leads Smash down to find the safe. First they’ve got to get through the blood-hungry door.
Up in the house, Sam starts to wrap up the deal with Shrike. Clearly nervous because he’s been far less of a distraction than he’d hoped to be, Sam agrees to whatever the terms of payment he can get. Shrike pulls out a big stack of money, then says, “We both know you’re not really here for this.” Sam tries to play dumb and Shrike picks up the demon killing knife and attacks Sam. The knife gets knocked away YES but Shrike picks up a shotgun NO. Sam knifes Shrike but it does nothing. “As long as I’m on my property I can’t die.” He picks up the fossilized gorgon tooth and knocks Sam out.
Back with adorable comic-relief-Dean, he faces down the Most Perilous Peril. He’s got to stick his hand in the stone mouth on the door. His hand gets pinned by some seriously cool machinery and Dean gets his blood sugar test done, satisfying the door that he’s human.
Wounded only by a finger prick and the scorn of a young woman, Dean leads the way inside the vault.
Inside is an Indiana Jones level booby trapped hall with trigger plates set into the floor that set off poisonous darts. (I’m just going to sit for a minute and picture Wanek’s face when he got the script.) Dean Bean being the bestest in all the land sees the dart fly in slow motion towards Smash. He pulls her back just in time.
So this turns out to be a little hitch and they pause to ponder the problem. Grab shouts down to the clubhouse to check on their progress, when Shrike sneaks up on him and kills him with the demon blade. There goes one chess piece. Shrike surprises them in the vault and Smash knees him and races past him to the door. Nicely done, lady! Good survival skills, there. Dean Bean’s left alone with Shrike. “Awesome.”
Señor Sweatervest confronts Dean and it’s a regular gun v. knife-wielding-immortal fight, Dean firing fruitlessly into his chest until Sam interrupts. (Interrupting Sam to the rescue!) Sam drops that Shrike’s immortal and Dean punches his lights out. “Good thing he’s got a glass jaw,” Dean says. RIGHT???? <3
After the commercial break we cut back to the Winchesters and Shrike. They’ve tied him to a post and ordered him to help them...and then they’ll let him go. Shrike’s not willing to help them crack the riddle.
Smash (aka Alice) races for the gate where Bart’s waiting. She begs to do another job - any other job - rather than go back and face certain death in the vault. He’s unwilling to renegotiate her deal, however. Aw, she made a deal with the King of the Crossroads. :(
Back at the vault the Winchesters scratch their heads over the puzzle. Dean proposes just...flying by the seat of their pants. Sam’s shocked. SHOCKED.
“These aren’t like the lasers in Entrapment,” Sam protests. Hmmm. HMMM.
“Did you just say Entrapment?” Dean asks, glad to catch Sam enjoying pop culture like the rest of us. Sam hatches an idea.
They load up Shrike in a cart and push him right through the middle of his booby trapped hall. He makes the whole run and soaks up all the poisoned darts. Good job, kids. Sam and Dean ponder the safe when Smash shows up. She’s ready to finish the job and stay alive and outta Hell. She pulls out a stethoscope and cracks the safe in less than a minute.
The Winchesters grab the trunk and head out the door where they discover that Shrike’s gone missing. “Who cares? Let’s blow this pop stand.” They load up the Impala and head for the hills. On the road they’re confronted by Shrike in a anger-red pickup. Dean does some fancy reverse driving while Sam shoots out the tires.
Shrike tells them they’re working for pure evil and they learn his story. Shrike sold his soul to save his son but his son died from an accident a few years later. When the hounds came to collect, he made a new deal. He’d located Bart’s bones and threatened to burn them if the hounds ever came for him again. “You’re on the wrong side,” he tells them and before we can fall into too much introspection a machete slices Shrike’s head clean off. It’s Bart! Man, he’s good at sneaking up on people.
“You never should have left the house,” Bart tells a now quite dead Shrike.
Bart pays Alice then pulls out the second half of the spell for the Winchesters. Sam and Dean decide to renege on the deal...and Bart grabs Alice. He threatens to snap her neck before he goes up in flames. Reluctantly they hand over the trunk to Bart. Bart sends Alice to pick up his trunk and she apologizes to them.
“You gotta take care of you, right?” Dean asks, his EYES TELLING A WHOLE OTHER STORY. There’s a lighter in the bones… Alice understands Dean’s woo woo mystical eye language and lights the bones on fire. Alice is saved but the spell goes up with Bart (no thanks to Sam’s roundly mocked fire-putting-out skills).
Cut to a bus station. Alice thanks the Winchesters, tells them she’ll see them around, and heads for the bus. “Hey Alice,” Dean says. “Stay weird.” <3 <3 <3
Back at the bunker the Winchesters debrief and decompress. Dean’s looking on the positive side of life these days and consoles Sam. They saved someone, they’ll figure out another way to find Jack, and the world will keep on truckin’.
En-Quote-Ment:
Hell Street, Hell Avenue, just Hell really.
“The famous Winchesters!” “Some random demon.”
You’re a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo.
Twinsies.
I’ve seen this movie a thousand times.
Hey Winona. Nineties called. They want their shoes back.
This is all on you, hand puppet.
There was supposed to be a safe and not some dollar store Indiana Jones crap.
Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!
#spn recap#spn picspam#spn 13x08#the scorpion and the frog#dean winchester#sam winchester#supernatural season 13
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I just wrote this up to send to a podcast, but I thought some of you might enjoy it too!
The place I'd like to tell you about is called Snyder Cemetery. It is a tiny plot of land on a dirt road in the middle of one of the state forests in my area. It is simply where a small family was buried in the late 1800's and early 1900's. You can read about it here - x
My first encounter of hearing about this place was when I was in college. I wanted to know every haunted location in the area, especially after living in a haunted dorm. I was told by my current boyfriend nearly four years ago now, that if you drive down the dirt road at midnight you will come across a woman in white right outside the cemetery gates who will chase you out of the woods. My roommate and a friend at the time decided we had to check the legend out. I have always been affected by and interested in the paranormal, but I had to convince my then roommate (a crybaby) that it was a good idea. I didn't particularly think anything would actually happen as legends are usually just that. Admittedly, we got to the road's entrance after dark, but I don't think it was quite midnight. We were just coming back from shopping and I suggested that we stop.
The road itself is already off of a back road that does not have street lights. There is no sign for the cemetery or the state forest from here, so I had a tendency to miss it a few times over the years. The road starts out paved, but once you cross into the woods it turns into a dirt road with no winter maintenance, and there is always water corrosion from the streams along the road. It's a bumpy, barely one-lane ride, with no fast way in or out. There are a few homes before you cross into state land, but they are also in the woods and do not offer any light source. When we pulled onto the dirt road it was pitch black on a moonless night. The eerie silence cut through all of our thoughts and none of us said a word as I piloted us down the road. Once I had reached the straight where the cemetery entrance was approaching, my roommate yelled “Stop!” and pleaded that we not go any further. We sat there for a minute and I said “Okay, I’m going to turn off the headlights for a second and we will see if anything happens.” I did, and the feeling of we need to get out of here just got worse and worse. I felt like we were trespassing. The forest stared down at us and we all felt really uncomfortable, like it was going to close in on us. “Okay that’s enough” I said, as I flipped on the headlights and turned us around. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and I dared not look in the rearview mirror. In the end nothing happened, but we all felt incredibly uncomfortable until we reached the end of the road.
Fortunately or not, the story does not end here.
I became drawn again and again to the cemetery. I had checked out some of the other areas that were rumored to be haunted where I live, but nothing really came close to the energy there. Another good friend from college was interested in the paranormal and agreed to come with me to the cemetery after dark to take pictures. We went exploring whenever we could, from abandoned frat houses to old foundations in the woods. On this particular night neither of us were very creeped out, but I’ve noticed that the energy in this place changes frequently and dramatically. We walked around the small plot and took pictures with our digital cameras. Both of us caught dozens of orbs and light anomalies inside the confines of the cemetery walls. To my knowledge these pictures still exist, but I am in the process of moving and can’t necessarily dig them out. We said our goodbyes to the residents and moved on, quietly talking about the tragic nature of it all.
Another day, my boyfriend, I and a few friends stopped at the cemetery in daylight. There’s a good fishing spot nearby, so it’s near tradition that we stop here on the way out. What we found was complete disrespect. Dowsing rods and pennies were left on the grave markers. This wasn’t really the bad part beyond littering, but instead were the Satanic symbols we found carved into the graves that still stood. I highly doubt that whoever did this knew what they were doing and just thought it would be creepy, but as I touched the headstone I felt immediately sick. I laid my hand on the stone to offer comfort, but was met with a harsh reaction. My mind was in turmoil and I needed to get out of the cemetery as soon as possible. No one else felt my discomfort, but I was riddled with fear and stomach pain for the next hour or two. I could feel how upset the family was that someone would deface their resting place in this manner. It wasn’t that I was afraid of them, but now starkly aware of their reaction to people always coming through looking for a good scare. After this moment, I felt a responsibility to take care of this place. I didn’t want the spirits to feel alone, and as if no one cared about their existence.
My next experience here was a year or so later. I had now been studying witchcraft and spiritualism more in depth. I learned that it is respectful to leave offerings to the inhabitants of cemeteries, but also to the gatekeeper. Not all cemeteries have gate keepers, but I felt in this particular area that if there had been one, it had given up on keeping people out as there had been so much disrespect over the years. It was a very grey and windy day when I made the trek out. I already felt uncomfortable, as if I was being carefully watched getting out of my truck. I brought a trash bag with me and as I reached the entrance made the announcement that I came here out of respect to clean up the area and say hello. As I made my way down the walkway, my sadness and anxiety grew. There were cigarette butts everywhere. To my horror, I found a ripped up home-made ouija board in the woods slightly behind the graves. It was in multiple pieces, and I grabbed them all and threw them in the back of my truck. I don’t think that spirit boards are inherently bad, but there needs to be respect. The cemetery felt empty, but too alive. Whatever visitors had done here had thoroughly upset the occupants. Something else had been here that was not supposed to be. It’s energy still lingered. My breathing started to become choppy as I gathered as much trash as possible. The wind was picking up and I felt hundred of eyes on me, waiting for me to do something they didn’t like. I near whimpered “I’ll be gone soon, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help!”
I practically ran out of there and started my truck, peeling out. I wouldn’t look in my rear-view for fear of whatever was attached to the ouija board following me, but that’s exactly what I wanted at the same time. I wanted it out of this family’s sacred ground. I was in full-blown panic but forced myself to drive as slowly and carefully as possible. I was convinced I was bringing this awful energy with me and didn’t know if anything bad would happen because of it. There really wasn’t any explanation for my anxiety. I’ve been there before and felt normal, but as I said, the energy shifts dramatically based on what people do there. I just kept breathing, driving, and praying for safety. I took all the back roads home to try and avoid contact with anyone else. Once I got home, I threw the pieces and garbage in the community dumpster, didn’t look back and went to my apartment. I lit some incense and practically sat on the floor for a couple hours in a daze. I was still breathing heavily, riddled with anxiety. I’ve had anxiety attacks before, but they only last 30 minutes or less. This was hours of panic and labored breathing. It had been the afternoon when I got there, and by 11pm I was still having feelings of fear. I didn’t sleep well at all that night, waking up every hour thinking someone was at the window looking in.
The next morning I felt fine, although not really refreshed. My emotions were stable and I didn’t feel as though I was in danger. Since then I have visited and felt welcomed. It’s become my self-proclaimed duty to clean up trash any time I am there, and I speak to the spirits with kindness. I always say aloud what my intentions are and ask them to let me know if they do not want me there. I still unfortunately find trash and spiritual remnants there, but I can’t honestly think of a way to keep people out. I just try to balance out the energies of people’s intentions. I’ve contemplated trying to contact the property owners and asking if I can put decorations in there, like bird baths or perhaps lay a better walkway down. I think it’s a shame that such a heavy-traffic cemetery isn’t taken care of landscape-wise, and that people abuse it’s energy and space consistently for a little scare.
Basically my message here is: I know that it’s exciting to try and get a good scare at a notoriously haunted place - and honestly that’s okay! But defacing property, littering and having utter disrespect for a family’s resting place is not how to go about it. I don’t know what other people’s experiences have been here, but I know for me that bearing the emotional weight of the after effects of using a place of rest for fun, even if just for a day, can’t be anything compared to what turmoil the spirits go through in the process. Treat the dead as you would the living. They are still here, helplessly watching as people invade their privacy and trash their grounds. Be considerate and help them out when you can. They’ll really appreciate it.
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The Fall of Ghost Television, and the Rise of Internet Ghosts
I’ve long said that Ghost Adventures is the best ghost investigation show on television, and the best that I’ve ever seen. Its first few seasons were dedicated to getting factual, consistent, and clear evidence of the paranormal, with a dash of humor. You could really tell that Zak and his crew put a lot of time and effort into the show, to make it as real and raw as they could. I’ve always wanted a ghost show that didn’t have a huge television crew included, and Ghost Adventures was my dream come true.
It’s been sad to watch the decline of this once great show. I’ve written before about the lies that the show creates in order to make good television, which I discovered after talking to people who work at one of the places they investigated. I always cringe at the irrefutable evidence they keep mentioning over and over again, especially by Zak, who keeps having overwhelming emotions and small possessions which just look like bad acting. Worst of all was their Zozo demon episode, where they heavily relied on Internet creepypasta stories and ignored basic common sense and logic about how spirits, demons, and Ouija boards work. All of this has slowly led into a downward spiral of what the show consists of now.
This current season (14) has not just been one of the worst Ghost Adventures seasons, but one of the worst ghost hunting seasons ever created. It’s clear that the places they’ve been to this season have not had a lot of activity and evidence, and have relied heavily on Zak’s acting and feelings. In one episode they didn’t have access to the building they were investigating because it was dilapidated, so instead of packing up and leaving like any investigation would, they decided to play the Ouija board in the only room deemed safe for them. I’ve said multiple times that if your paranormal expert relies on the Ouija board to contact spirits and get evidence, get as far away from them as possible. Ouija boards are toys that anyone can use; it is not meant for serious methods of spirit communication. They wound up having a typical Ouija board game and played it up like they were speaking with super dark, terrible demons that haunted the location. It was completely moronic, and the fact that it took up a quarter of the episode was appalling. Getting spirit information from a Ouija board is like getting financial advice from Monopoly.
Then there was S14E06, in which the crew went to help a family who seemed to be haunted by a demon. At no point in the show did anything demonic seem apparent, so instead of reassuring this family that they had a typical haunting and had nothing to worry about, they panicked the entire family and called in an exorcist. They should have all known better that what they were dealing with were just spirits, but that doesn’t make good television. It also just goes to show how low the show is going, in that they are resorting to investigating random peoples homes and not sites of historical interest. I mean, they’re on the Travel Channel, they’re supposed to be encouraging tourism, not making house calls. It’s clear at this point that they are more about sensationalism and scare tactics to keep the show going, instead of real evidence. I don’t know if it’s the Travel Channel pushing this, or the GAC themselves, but either way it’s ruining this show.
Ghost Adventures is now going down the path that a lot of other ghost shows have traveled down: Make Everything Spooky. Somebody has a haunting? It must be demons. Heard a funny noise? Replay it ten times and make it scarier each time. Witnessed something paranormal? Panic and scream and run for your life. Make. Everything. Spooky. I mean, people tune in to these shows to be scared, why not scare them? The problem with that is it perpetuates the idea that all paranormal things are terrifying and should be treated like it’s the end of the world. When those of us who actually deal with the paranormal know it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Ghosts are idiots that bump into things. Spirits are just regular people that are invisible, struggling to be seen and heard. Poltergeists do not mean that you are about to be dragged into Hell through a demon portal, but just basic spirit activity that can be dealt with easily. Nothing about it is scary, we’ve just been taught that it’s scary through religious extremism, Hollywood movies, and Make Everything Spooky ghost shows. Shows like these can cause actual anxiety and irrational fears for some people, all for the sake of ratings.
Thankfully, there’s a light at the end of this tunnel. Internet ghost investigation shows have been emerging lately, and they’re the best and most realistic look at hauntings I’ve ever seen. Not only are they not Making Everything Spooky, they are showing real evidence, or even a lack thereof.
The first I want to show you is Queer Ghost Hunters, in which an all queer paranormal society goes out in the search for queer spirits and ghosts. Nothing like this has ever been done before, and it’s incredible. The episodes are funny and interesting, and you learn a lot about history as well. They do not have a lot of really technical equipment, and rely mostly on dowsing rods to communicate. Dowsing rods are a very old method of spirit communication that can provide yes and no answers from a spirit, but unlike the Ouija board, they are not very spooky or have a creepy history associated with them. I’ve never seen a paranormal show use dowsing rods, and I realize now that it’s because they aren’t Spooky. You really can’t scare people with two rods spinning around. Queer Ghost Hunters use these tools to talk casually to a spirit, and don’t try to make it terrifying or Spooky. In fact, they treat any potential spirit they contact with a lot of respect, even if a spirit is being angry or threatening toward them. As someone who identifies as queer, and someone who deals with spirits regularly, I cannot recommend this show enough. Please watch this show, and better yet, support them on Patreon if you can.
The other Internet ghost show I love is Buzzfeed’s Unsolved series, which has its own paranormal specials. This is as real as a ghost hunt can get. Most episodes capture little to no evidence, which is entirely realistic. They also don’t have any fancy equipment whatsoever, and rely on their eyes, ears, and cameras. The best part to me are the investigators themselves, Ryan and Shane. Ryan is a true believer (and at one point we see the footage of a paranormal incident that made him that way) and Shane doesn’t believe in ghosts whatsoever. I’ve always wanted a ghost show that involved a skeptic, and Shane is not only critically thinking about the causes of paranormal activity, but he’s also hilarious and has a healthy, optimistic, and funny approach to the concept of spirits. At one point they make contact with a spirit who can turn a flashlight on and off on command. While Ryan panics, Shane thinks it’s amazing and a little funny. His reaction is EXACTLY how one should react to a paranormal incident. It’s not something to run and scream from, but something really interesting and cool. This show is also, hands down, the funniest and most entertaining ghost show I’ve ever seen since Ghost Adventures’ very first episode at Bobby Mackey’s.
Internet ghost shows are going to be the future of paranormal investigations, since they don’t rely on viewer ratings in the way TV shows do. These two shows present exactly what it’s like to be on a real ghost hunt, and how you should appropriately react to paranormal activity. Ghost Adventures could learn a thing or two from these shows, but I’m afraid it’s already too late. Every ghost hunting show on TV right now is following the Make Everything Spooky formula (including, sadly, Ghost Brothers, which has the potential to be an incredible show). There is now not one TV show I can recommend people to watch in order to understand the paranormal, but I can’t emphasize enough how perfect Queer Ghost Hunters and Buzzfeed Unsolved are. Go watch them instead, and please, let’s all agree that Ghost Adventures is dead, long gone, totally over, and so deceased that you can’t even talk to it through a Ouija board.
(I run a Ouija board advice blog. Feel free to send any questions you have about them my way, I’d be glad to answer. Also, if you want a post that goes more into detail about why these most recent episodes of Ghost Adventures are horrible, let me know. I edited them out because this post was already massive. And again, thanks for everyone’s patience while I deal with recovery from surgery due to a broken arm/elbow, and thank you for all the Get Well Soon wishes!)
#ghosts#spirits#paranormal#paranormal investigations#spooky#haunting#poltergeists#demons#zozo#ouija#ouija board#ghost adventures#gac#zak bagans#queer ghost hunters#buzzfeed unsolved#buzzfeed#theouijagirlblogs
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I had been hoping to film part of my eighth YT Pagan Challenge video outdoors in one of my on-campus sacred spaces, but it seems the weather is just not willing to agree with me. So, so I can give you all a bit of a visual, this post will be jam-packed full of pictures of the places I was talking about in the video.
First thing’s first: my on-campus sacred spaces. I am blessed to be going to a university that is filled with small garden spaces and has a sprawling expanse of wooded ravines hugging along the side of campus. In my five years here, I’ve been able to find a number of places to relax, be one with nature, and perform a few rituals and magical workings in. Three of the major places where I tend to hang out and do my workings are the arboretum, the garden behind the religious center on campus, and a grove back in the ravines behind the art building.
In each of these spaces, I’ve found little places to leave offerings, quiet spots to sit and meditate, and have even done a few rituals there.
The arboretum is full of places to explore, and I admittedly spend a lot more time there than anywhere else. There’s a stump I’ve found a short distance off of the path that I use frequently for spell work, and have left offerings at over the past few years. It happens also to overlook a ravine in a pretty straight shot to the grove I’d found in the woods as well.
In the little garden behind the religious building on campus, there’s a statue of St. Francis that seems to have a presence and an energy all its own. I’ve made a habit of leaving little offerings in the hands of the statue whenever I go there to write, drum, meditate, etc.
And then, of course, there is the grove in the ravines. It’s just off the path, and was shown to me by a good friend who graduated a couple of years ago. It’s often where I go if I’m looking to communicate with the Wylde Hunt while on campus, and has been the site for a couple of rituals. There’s a large three-trunked oak that sits in its center, and there are a few places to sit in little nooks between its roots. I like this place because it is a little further away from the main part of campus, and therefore quieter. You can’t hear the bells from the clock tower and are a lot less likely to see people wandering by. There’s also a fantastic view of the stars on clear nights.
Aside from these natural spaces, I do tend to do much of my ritual / meditation / etc. within the safety (and warmth!!!) of my dormitory bedroom, as well. My room is almost always decorated with pictures that are sacred, beautiful, inspiring, etc. to me and I try to create a warm and welcoming atmosphere for myself to live/study/rest/etc. in and for my friends to visit.
My altar space is situated by the window, which overlooks a little courtyard and the woods beyond.While I’m at school, this is the most sacred space to me, and I work really hard to keep it that way while I’m here.
Of course, when I’m home for winter / spring / summer break, I have places where I go to practice as well. Due to the nature of the space situation in my parents’ home, most of those places are outdoors.
In my own backyard, I am again blessed to have a great expanse of land full of trees and a big ol’ forest beyond. In particular, there’s a small grove hidden among a bunch of pine and cedar trees where I do some more private rituals, and then there’s Treebeard, a cottonwood tree where I leave offerings, prayer ribbons, etc. and spend time enjoying the space on the shady hill just beneath him.
I’m also blessed to have other little places of beauty within my hometown such as the local state park, my local witchy shop, and my aunt’s gorgeous and wild garden. These are places that really make me feel attuned to the energies of the universe and the natural world, and where I like to perform tarot readings, have debates about different witchy/spiritual topics, etc. with my friends.
And of course, there are a number of places in Michigan that have spiritual significance to me. The biggest one is the Boyne/East Jordan/Charlevoix area up in the northern part of our lower peninsula. Over the years, it has been a place full of childhood memory as well as shared memories and explorations with one of my best friends, Mark.
Being a pagan who follows a primarily Celtic path and lives within the United States makes it a little difficult to visit holy sites associated with my practice. There are, no surprise, remarkably few here in the states. There are Native American sacred sites, but because that runs along the slippery slope of what is culturally appropriative and what is respect for the culture and traditions associated with those sites, you’ll note that none of the places I’ve shared above are tied to those places. I was fortunate enough, four years ago, to visit the United Kingdom and places like Stonehenge, Avebury, and Glastonbury. These are memories that I hold really dear to my heart, and feel very privileged to have experienced in my lifetime.
Two of my very favorite memories from my trip to the UK came from my experiences on the weekend we went visiting various sacred sites. While in Chalice Well Gardens, I’d sat down by the well head to meditate and get away from the rest of the crowd of students I was with for a while, and man and his young daughter sat down alongside of me. The little girl had to have been about 4 or 5 years old at most, and as most 4-5 year-olds are, she was a little rambunctious and was bouncing around a bit. Rather than be upset with her, or harsh, I heard her father very calmly explain this was a special place, and saw (much to my amazement and admiration really) her nod in understanding, and sit down to meditate with him.
The second vivid memory I hold dear from that trip (as far as sacred space and that goes) occurred while we were in Avebury. It was rather late, the sun was setting, and we really didn’t have much time to spend there, but I remember it being a much more tangible feeling of presence there. Perhaps it was because we could actually approach the stones; maybe it was just the liminal time of day we were there or the place itself. I couldn’t quite say.
As we wandered about the stones, we saw an older gentleman with rather wild grey curls sitting at the base of one of the smaller stones. He had candles, incense, etc. and was using dowsing rods. The rest of our group gave him sort of a wide berth, and I (as the sort of unofficial pagan authority of the crew) stood a respectable and out-of-earshot ways off, explaining to my roommate that he was probably using the dowsing rods to look for ley lines in the area. He then turned to look at us and asked: “Have you two got good imaginations on you?” We were a little surprised, but answered that yes, we supposed we did. “Do you know where the word imagination comes from?” We honestly weren’t sure. “I. Magi. Nation. A nation of magicians. Merlin is one of my guides, you know.” He then proceeded to tell us this tale about Merlin performing his first magic trick in the stone circle in which we stood: he’d turned a friend invisible and was unable to turn him back again. He also told us about how the Druids had used that place as a place for their initiations. I wasn’t at all sure on the historical accuracy of those things, but in the moment, you sort of wanted to suspend your disbelief. Awen was flowing, and you could almost see what he was describing in your mind’s eye. He then looked at us again and said: “I get Druid from both of you.” I was a little shocked because, of course, I was. I told him so, and he simply turned, and went back to his business of dowsing as though it had never happened. And for the life of me, I swear no one else seems to have seen or heard him say these things but my roommate and I. That is no doubt a mystery and a feeling I will remember for quite some time.
And finally, the last part for this prompt: circle casting. I’ll be honest, I don’t perform circle casting in my own work. For one, I’ve been studying off-and-on with a Druid organization for some time that doesn’t utilize them in their ritual formats. But, more importantly I find them to be distracting and a waste of energy and time. Circles, to my understanding, function for a few general purposes:
To contain and thereby magnify energy raised during a working until it comes time to release it at the end of the ritual.
To protect the individuals within and the magical working from the influence of any nasty / negative energy.
To create a sort of liminal and marked out place in which a ritual can occur and entities (spirits, gods, whatever) may be more easily contacted.
However, as I’ve mentioned above, I don’t generally feel a need to do this. For starters, I always cleanse a place before I use it, and if appropriate might make small offerings to any outside spirits that might be poking about to say “Hey, please let me use this space for a bit.” I don’t perform rituals in places where negative energy is hanging about, and I certainly am confident enough in my own ability to raise and manipulate my own energy to not feel a need for the circle of protection, or the circle that focuses energy in an external space. I also work with many liminal deities. I think it’s very safe to assume I don’t need liminal space for them to get messages across. When I do a particular magical working, my own personal energy field acts in the way a circle might: raising, containing, and releasing energy for my working. It eliminates the need for a physical circle- which means less time/resources marking it out, and I don’t need to cut a door in it should I forget something (which I often do!). It also helps hone in my focus on the working at hand. I often find that by the time I draw and cast a circle, call the quarters, etc. I’m quite distracted from what I was originally intending to accomplish.
Please note, I’m not bashing on anyone who uses circles. They can be quite useful to one’s practice especially when you’re just beginning! I just don’t feel a need to use them.
And, thus concludes a very long blog post. Thank you for hanging in there and reading if you’ve made it this far.
Love and blessings to you all
-Rachel
YT Pagan Challenge: Sacred Spaces, Holy Sites, and Circle Casting I had been hoping to film part of my eighth YT Pagan Challenge video outdoors in one of my on-campus sacred spaces, but it seems the weather is just not willing to agree with me.
#Avebury#Chalice Well#Chalice Well Gardens#Charlevoix Michigan#circle casting#druid#druidry#Glastonbury#Grand Valley Pagans#holy sites#Michigan#Michigan pagans#pagan#pagan ritual#pagan sites#paganism#PatchworkCrow#personal#ritual#sacred space#Stonehenge#The Patchwork Crow#witch#witchcraft#YouTube Pagan Challenge#YouTube Pagans#YT Pagan Challenge#YT Pagans
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Satanism and necromancy via /r/satanism
Satanism and necromancy
Hi, I am paving my own road towards the left hand path and I just wanted to share what I know so far. This path I am following consist of symbolic representation of the Grim Reaper, rather than the devil, and yes it has necromancy in it. I have done great detail in search of answers of how to describe ancient necromantic rituals in a psychological sense. One being a more modern approach would be the Ouija board, pendulum, and dowsing rods. Many see these as superstitious and mystical objects, but hear me out for a second. Science has already given an answer why these things move on their one and its simple.
The ideomotor effect.
The ideomotor effect is when we as individuals use these and they move by them self. But they don't actually and it is actually unconscious movements from our unconscious mind moving and directing them by our own will.
Scientist has also proven how our own mind can develop answers to some of the questions we come across. A group of researchers gave a Ouija board to a group of non-skeptics and told them the precise details on what the ghost looked like and acted like in a haunted house they were going into. They did the expirment without knowing that what the researchers told them was all fabricated. So by the power of their own mind they got the same exact results on what the ghost looked and acted like with their Ouija board. Fascinating isn't it?
The same thing can be done with pendulums and dowsing rods because they work with the ideomotor effect as well.
You may wonder then whats the point if its all fabricated? Well let me tell you...
Though what we may experience is not real we can still contact our dead loved ones if we knew them in life. Why you may ask? Because them being such a vital role in your life has ingrained their personality, their likes or dislikes, their behavior, into your psyche of your unconscious mind. Even though you are not aware of it doesn't mean it can not be brought up during a Ouija board reading.
I am sad to say that those who wish to contact a dead relative they never met will get a fabricated story told to them by their own beliefs on what that dead person could say to them. Just like the non-skeptics in the story I told you. The best way to get actually communication from someone is from someone you knew that died.
It may even sound a little bit magical if you asked where a lost item is and they tell you and you find it. It isn't magic but you yourself have forgotten where you misplaced it, so the dead, being in your unconscious mind, can retrieve that memory for you.
Scrying can be another way to contact the dead. Have you ever look at the clouds and saw a picture? Thats scrying! And those pictures are symbols that are trying to tell you something from you unconscious mind.
There is another more ritualistic way, but I don't wan to share that one. It isnt magical or anything its just that its a personal ritual.
Another big part of my path is the afterlife.
No I do not actually believe in an afterlife, but I do use it to amplify my rituals. In this made up afterlife called Oblivion or the sometimes I call it the Void, is where the dead go to die again. The more remembered they are in the realm of the living the more alive they are in the void. Though as time goes on their flesh of their souls begins to rot and decay and they become more like mindless zombies seeking flesh to rectify themselves from rotting. Quite gruesome I know.
Thats where ancestor veneration comes in. It isn't for saving actual souls from rotting because thats only for show. Its to honor your loved ones, even the ones you never knew. My father passed away two years ago after struggling to fight for his life after getting hit by car. I certainly do no believe my father is rotting away or in pain, because he is not. But trust me you guys having an ancestral altar for your deceased loved ones is very therapeutic. I write poems and letters in the form of ritual and burn them to symbolically cast my pain away. It helps tremendously with grief. You can talk to them like they are still here and give them food they use to like when they were alive as a form of respect.
The grim reaper is just a symbol I use to help me alter my state of consciousness. I say "Hail to the Reaper!" instead of "Hail Satan".
I just wanted to post this to see what you think of this path and any tips telling what else should I do with it? Thanks :)
Submitted February 29, 2020 at 03:07PM by DLedoux98
via reddit https://ift.tt/2PDdQJc
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Hello Fellow Truth Seekers
I am new to blogging. I am trying this in an attempt to bring together people who understand the importance of fact-based information when identifying paranormal activity. I ask that you not share anything I post without my consent. As a believer in the paranormal, and someone who has had personal and shared experiences throughout my life, it has been a struggle to get skeptics to believe there is something more than what we can physically see. One reason for this has been a lack of good tools to prove the existence of spirits. We do have some tools that are helpful, but technology is still largely unable to prove without question the existence of life after death. When people use tools that do not provide consistent fact-based results, it hurts the reputation of everyone who investigates paranormal activity, and it is that much more difficult for all of us to appear credible.
I recall taking my girlfriend on a “ghost walk” tour. We walked past an area where in the 1960s two women had been murdered. The tour guide handed out dowsing rods in the form of metal clothes hangers bent into L shapes. People took a pair of the rods and began walking around the area. Some rods did not move, while others would move in one direction or the other. When we were done, no one was any closer to making spirit contact, and my girlfriend questioned how this activity was supposed to make her a believer. I understand her skepticism; these rods, which are also known as divining rods, or willow witching, are made from different materials. Depending on who you talk to, some believe they can find water, others believe they can find minerals, and still others think they will direct us to spirits.
I don’t post this for the purpose of offending anyone. Nor do I want to get called out by someone who tries to convince me this is an effective tool. My point is many of us want skeptics to understand there is something after our physical existence. In order to do this, we must employ methods that are credible. Rods made from different materials designed to detect different matter sounds more like guesswork or old wives tails, and using this tool to convince a skeptic that ghosts exist is very unlikely.
Another reason for this blog is to help people develop a mindset of requiring evidence before believing something they are told. The more I learn about psychology, the more I realize just how much social engineering we are subjected to. What I mean by this is people and businesses know how to say and do things that make us think or believe what they want us to. Grocery stores place items in strategic places so we are more inclined to purchase them. They place items low and at checkout counters where children will see them and ask to have them. Main profit items will likely be placed on middle shelves where they are easiest to see and reach.
Most if not all casinos are monitored by a gaming commission. The gaming commissions require these casinos to meet a payout requirement on slot machines. Not all machines are set at the same payout level. These payout percentages may also be casino-wide, meaning different machines can have different payout percentages and those percentages are averaged over long periods of time, not the short time a person is playing a machine. Many of these casinos hire a person who is trained to understand the psychology behind social engineering and how we think. They help casinos place the lower payout slot machines in locations where guests are more likely to play them.
I realize this is not a very thorough example of the social engineering we are subject to on a daily basis, but I offer these examples to make a point. Many of us who are interested in the paranormal chomp at the bit to learn of a new haunting or an interesting story. Because we want this, we are inclined to be affirmative when receiving information through a good story. We want it to be true, so if the person tells the story well enough, we find no reason to doubt it. I see people go out of their way to build credibility for the person telling them the story, when true evidence has not been provided.
I recently had to face that fact that I had done just that. Portland, Oregon has a tour that outlines Portland’s Shanghai Tunnels. It is a rich story of how merchant marine ship captains would pay bar owners to get patrons drunk, drop them through trapdoors to the basement where the men had their shoes removed and they were forced into a makeshift cell until bartenders could sell them to ship captains. The ship captains would go out to sea and then offer the kidnapped person an employment agreement. If the person refused, they were sent overboard. If they accepted, they worked on the ship for the duration of their agreement and were let off wherever the ship happened to be when time was up. Women had it worse. They were kidnapped and sent away on ships to be sold into the sex trade, never to be heard from again. The dirt floors had broken glass on them, so if a kidnapped person escaped, they would cut their feet so law enforcement, who was on the take could track them down and bring them back.
The tour is touted as a paranormal tour if the group prefers. This history is still told, but the tour guide adds the many ghostly experiences people have had. The tour spans the length of one to three basements of some businesses. During the tour, they show a tiny area that is said to have been an opium den, a tiny closet where a kidnapped woman was kept to “break” her, the area where men were held, and a trap door where patrons fell through when a lever was pulled.
The story goes, decades ago, a young boy spoke to an old merchant marine who told him the story. He took the boy to a tunnel and told him that the shanghaied men and women were walked through it down to the water where they were put aboard ships. The boy ran around Portland looking for underground tunnels and upon growing up, he presented this piece of history. The tour guides tell a great story and they let everyone know about the museum where the artifacts of the basements are kept, such as old shoes that were taken from each person shanghaied. They suggest patrons take a lot of pictures and to let them know if a ghost is photographed.
The two times I went, I remained at the back of the tour, often spending time away from the group so I could hear and smell anything out of the ordinary. I took dozens of pictures. Unfortunately, all I had to show for my time was photographs of a dark basement with dust particles and the enjoyment of being told a fantastic story along with a wish that something would have happened. Each time, I went to work or chatted with friends and shared the shanghai story with them and suggested they attend. I did this a couple of months ago, as did my girlfriend, who remained a non-believer. I felt foolish when my girlfriend came home from work. She told a coworker about the experience. I will not mention her coworker’s name because I don’t have her permission. She said that she investigated the shanghai tunnel story for a college project. She learned the group of people who put on the tour are the only ones who tell the shanghai story. She learned that no other historian has ever found any credible evidence to support the shanghai story.
I have not personally investigated this allegation, so I am not stating that the shanghai story is false. What I am saying is I make a point to verify facts before passing on information, or I specify that the information is not confirmed. In this case, I thought I had been providing historical information to people, when that may not be the case.
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