#have you ever considered quitting exorcism? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

butterbabyflapjack · 1 year

Text

GIF by daniel-bruehl

Brat chapter.3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

sexual content, sexual tension, dominant ghost, power dynamics, messy feelings, voice kink, mask kink, glove kink, dom/sub, indirect daddy kink, biting, rough sex, begging, brat breaking, voyeurism, just a dash of possessive choking, forced eye contact, oral fixation, tactical gear kink

Taglist: @ahoycaptainautumn @your-highnessmarvel @wolfgalsniper @confuseddipshit @prettynalilgay @merzkihstuff @alfie2401 @emberwolfgames @willowbrookesblog @meujias @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @magicgal @verios @flrwpwr @jewelsisurmom @imjusthereforghostsmutt @circuskatt

Chapterlist: chapter.1 - chapter.2 - chapter.3 - chapter.4

You’ve been acting like a brat, and Ghost has had enough of it.

“You can consider this punishment. Can consider it me spoiling your bratty behavior. But you wanted my attention, and you’ve gotten it. So tell me now if you don’t want me to bend you over this desk and fuck you until it breaks, otherwise I’m taking what I want from you, and you’ll accept everything I give like the greedy fucking whore you’re pretending so hard not to be.” He pauses, as if for your reply, though your tongue won’t move, your heart won’t beat; all of you tangled and drunken and warm; your stomach clenching almost painfully tight as you hear his hoarsened hum. “I need an answer, love.” “I…” you swallow, hard. Unable to deny that your panties are steadily soaking through for him, though still you somehow manage to stammer, “I’m not a whore you asshole…!” You hear the smirk behind his mask. “You will be for me.”

Chapter 3

Authors Note: This is NOT the angsty-possibly-(probably)-smutty follow up chapter to what happened last time with Ghost, not yet. I just couldn't resist showing the gangs reaction to you being exorcized by Ghost in the next room first :p Also… things aren’t messy enough. Not yet. So let’s make them messier 😏

This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but I’m having fun with it so you’re getting your very own codename <3 You’re henceforth known as Hush ~

(also I’m making up a few teammates for you because I want to embarrass you in front of as many people as possible <3)

Mortified is an interesting term.

Though it doesn’t quite cover the sheer amount of embarrassment you feel when walking into the kitchen later that night. Later, after the whole, uhm…

Well.

We won’t get into that.

Your heart squeezes into a fist just thinking about what Ghost did to you on his desk.

Anyway–

You don’t want to brave the kitchen right now – not that you’re terrified of pots and pans or anything, but with how tiny this safehouse is, and with how its tiny living room is attached to its miniscule kitchen, by heading in there you’ll also be confronting anyone residing in said spaces. And you’re pretty sure everyone on this temporary little task force of yours is in there, seeing as how there’s nowhere else to go, not with how you’re all locked up in here, and not with how that old tv in the living room is the only real source of entertainment in passing these days that never seem to end.

You’re really not sure you’re ready for this. Facing everyone. But here you are tentatively sleuthing your way down the hallway toward the kitchen, anyway – which you’re only doing because you’ve been holed up in your room all damn day and your stomach’s about to collapse in on itself like a dying star if you don't eat something in the next five minutes.

In the end, you’re left with few options. Try to sneak into the kitchen like a ravenous forest creature, or die of starvation in a shitty Amsterdam apartment. And though, given just how loudly you might have been screaming Ghost’s name just hours ago, the later choice is tempting… you eventually opted for the former. Straying from the safety of your room, which is separate from the only other room in this place that all the rest of the guys are crammed into. Praying to every god you’ve ever heard of that there’s a possibility your teammates suffered temporary deafness earlier, or that maybe they never had fully functioning ears with the ability to hear things to begin with. Things, like…

Well.

We won’t get into that.

Preferably, we’ll never get into that. Because you hardly even know what that even is, beyond something undoubtedly messy.

As you sneak your way toward the hallway’s bend, tendrils of Soap’s deep, sonorous voice reach out to greet you, echoing lightly off the walls as he seems to be bragging about something, while Gaz’s voice chimes in to call him a ��cocksure idiot’; the whole array spotlit by a few laughs from whoever else is in there watching the Soap-and-Gaz show. And the second their voices reach you, suddenly your feet feel leaden, dragging you to an abrupt halt just outside the kitchen.

Shit. They’re all in there, it sounds like.

Maybe even Ghost.

The thought of facing him again, of feeling those dark eyes sear into you from the skull-like sockets of his mask, has you reeling, and you nearly turn heel and bolt back to your room again. In fact, it takes a whole lot of mental pep-talk, not to mention your stomach reminding you that it will try to kill you if you don’t give it what it wants, before you’re finally able to take a breath deep enough to force yourself forward again.

You’ve never wanted a flash grenade more in your life – you could just blind all these idiots, grab some canned spaghetti or whatever prepackaged filth they’ve scrounged from the cupboards to cook up, and get the hell out. But maybe it’s better you don’t approach social gatherings like potential warzones.

Gods, how is this more nerve wracking than a warzone…?

You grit your teeth, fighting to keep your expression neutral. Calm. Unaffected.

Just… ignore them, if they say anything. Ignore everyone. This is a mission inside a mission. Get food, get out.

It’s a decent enough plan, given the circumstances.

Too bad it slips your mind entirely the very second you slip out of the hall and inside that kitchen. Because the very moment you wander into view, the stagelight that previously shone down on the Gaz-and-Soap show is unequivocally, violently shifted to you.

You.

Standing there.

Forgetting how to walk. How to breathe.

The proverbial deer in headlights.

Them.

Gaz. Soap. Fuze. Blight. Ash.

Everyone but Ghost, which even through your petrification you feel a flashwave of relief upon noticing, and you would notice him if he were there, he stands head and shoulders above everyone else for christ’s sake. He’s like a militarized watchtower become man, and if you have to face everyone else right now, at least you won’t also have to also face him.

Still, even without his intimidating presence, it’s not like this is some comfortable cozy arrangement you’ve just stumbled upon.

Time stands still. The air shifting. And you could hear a pin drop with how suddenly quiet the room becomes, all conversation dropping.

Soap and Gaz are standing in the middle of the tiny kitchen. Soap, slowly turning to face you fully; thumbs loosely hooked near his collarbones within the straps of his beige tactical vest. Gaz, leaning casually back along the counter with arms folded, though his posture perks up a bit at sighting you standing there. And the three other guys – Fuze, Blight, Ash – they’re all sitting on barstools behind the counter beside them. All their eyes undoubtedly focused in on you.

Soap is the first to really react. A subtle curl slowly tugging at one corner of his lips.

“So…” he muses; accent dragging the syllable long. “You’re alive.”

Some part of you’s relieved he hasn’t said anything else – anything more, well… taunting, maybe. Accusatory, even. Or at the very least teasing. But relief is short-lived when that sharpened glimmer in his eyes promises many things.

Regaining the ability to function somewhat like an actual human being and not a petrified doe, you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, not wanting to look away first from whatever this is – this, with him staring at you like that, squaring you up head to toe, his measured expression never changing.

“Yeah…” you say, sounding more casual than you feel, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Soap is quick to return, with far too clever a husky lilt. “You’ve been holed up in that room of yours for quite a while now…”

He nods to the guys sitting behind the counter to his left, though his seawater eyes remain fixed on you.

“Fuze thought you might be dead,” he says.

“I didn’t think shit,” Fuze argues bluntly, “not about that, anyway,” to which Soap steels himself in eyeing you.

“Fine,” he amends, “I thought you might be dead.”

He seems… weirdly tense. Which is strange, given that it’s Soap, and given that he’s maybe been presented a silver-fucking-platter of ammo to tease you until the end of time with.

Since when does Soap not playfully prod you in the ribs first change he gets?

“Well… here I am,” you murmur around the knot in your throat, forcing yourself to walk toward him and further into the room even as you lose your staring contest with him, glancing away from his iron-blue intensity, “very much alive, and very much hungry for whatever delicious shlock Ash’s cooked up for us this evening – so if you’ll excuse me–”

You make to slip past him toward the stove and whatever leftovers remain atop it, but the kitchen’s already small, made especially smaller with two guys like Soap and Gaz filling it, and instead of sliding from your path Soap doubles down, folds his brawny arms across his chest, digs in. Blocking your path so that you’re forced into something of a standstill with him; blinking up at him as he stares down at you like he’s about to interrogate the enemy.

…Fuck.

“Move,” you say, but he doesn’t. So you roll your eyes and treat him like a military machine instead of a man, “Codeword: move the fuck out of my way, Soap.”

“What were you and L.T. up to in his office?” he asks you, point blank, and you feel a specter of panic slip across your features, your eyes widening at his brashness, heat hinting up your cheeks as you hear someone chuckle

You hear Gaz from somewhere beside you mutter, “Woah there, down boy,” though he’s apparently still intrigued enough to keep on watching.

Your teeth clamp down on your lower lip before you manage to mutter up at him, “That’s none of your business.”

“Debatable,” he returns, eyes passing over yours, “seeing as how you put on a very public show for us.”

Irritation ticks along your nape. “What, are you pissed you didn’t get an invite?”

Something almost imperceivable cracks along the edges of his composure, though beyond the way his broad jaw tenses, it’s impossible to notice.

“C’mon, man,” Gaz says, though neither you nor Soap look over at him. “You know damn well what they were up to.”

“I wanna hear her say it,” Soap says. That flicker of amusement in him gone. The intensity in his gaze enough for you to finally unhinge your stiffened jaw enough to force a scoff.

“None of you know what you’re talking about,” you mutter – which is definitely a lie but you’re not about to explain yourself to them, and especially not to Soap even if you normally might’ve confided in him, but you definitely won’t now, not with him grilling you like this.

Jesus, what the fuck’s come over him?

“I mean…” you hear Fuze mutter from the sidelines with bearish mirth, “We’re not deaf, sweetheart. These walls are made of paper, and you put on quite a show.”

When you toss a glower at where he’s sitting, the broad man offers a simple shrug.

“Don’t look at me. You’re the one fucking our lieutenant in front of an avid fuckin’ audience.”

The amount of heat that creeps up your face could likely start the damn place on fire.

“I… I didn’t fuck anyone–!”

“I suppose you were just spooked by an actual ghost, then,” Soap returns smoothly, his usual brand of amusement creeping back in. The sinews of his forearms flexing against how he’s folded them across his muscled chest. “‘Cause you were definitely screaming for one.”

Your hands curls into unsteady fists, though you refuse to look away from how he’s watching you, how he’s assessing you. Like he’s looking for something possibly hidden there. Trying to get a reaction, to read you.

You’ve seen him like this before, when he’s questioning people, usually captives or enemies. Have seen it enough times throughout your years of knowing him to know when he’s fishing for information, for something left unsaid. And though you really don’t like that he’s using that technique on you, you’re so flustered you can’t really think straight, can’t formulate some kind of gameplan against his efforts.

“I don’t know what you’re talki–!”

“Oh, Ghost,” he mimics over you in an obscene, high-pitched moan – and it’s actually kinda mortifying how closely it resembles you even with how fucking deep his voice is. “Ghost! Ghost! Oh, fuck – Ghost!”

The other guys all snigger, even Gaz, while you feel your blood boil so hot steam must be fizzing off your ears as you glare at him. Resisting the extreme temptation to either punch him square in the face, or fold in on yourself and disappear from center-stage entirely.

“Fine, I fucked a ghost,” you eventually huff at him. “I fucked Casper, and he has a bigger dick than any of you. Happy? We done with the twenty questions?”

Soap eyes you a moment longer, mirth upon his lips.

“I guess,” he relents, at length. Seeming content about something. That playful glint in his eyes lowering into deep, blue embers of heat. “But you know…”

For once in the entirety of this far-too-public inquisition, he deems it necessary to make things more private. To bow down to your level. To murmur softly against your ear.

“In all seriousness,” he breathes, “m’not sure I’ve ever heard you so desperate before, Hush. You really put your codename to shame, moaning and mewling like that…”

His amusement warms your skin, and though you should likely stop resisting the temptation to punch him, your arms won't cooperate.

“And with Ghost, no less…” he says smoothly. “Gotta hand it to’im… The man clearly knows what he’s doing, playing you like that…”

You hear his smirk; his words so quiet only you can hear them, though you feel the way everyone’s ears seem to crane in without anyone actually moving.

“Did he take the mask off?” he asks, and you snort. Not seeing the point in playing dumb to just him, seeing as he clearly already knows what you and Ghost were up to.

“You know he didn’t,” you mutter, and hear his spreading grin.

“Ah,” he breathes. “So he really is ugly, then.”

He laughs a bit as you tense in protest, though you don’t actually spare him a response, seeing as how you’re not even entirely sure why you’d protest in the first place. It’s not like you’ve ever seen Ghost before, not like he’d ever let you. You don’t even know his real name. And a man like him is far from needing anyone’s protection.

“Shame, really – that mask hindering things. As a friend, I feel I oughta tell you there’s a helluva lot more a man can do with his mouth to make a lass scream,” he rumbles, and you don’t bother to fill him in that you’re very much acquainted with your lieutenant’s tongue, if that’s what he’s getting at. Maybe not in the ways he might be thinking about right now, and maybe not in those sticky little ways currently tangling your thoughts until you can barely think – but still.

“Well… if you see any men fitting that description around here, do let me know,” you say back at him, fighting to maintain your composure, and hear his lowered chuff. “Seems I’m surrounded by a bunch of schoolboy idiots.”

“Oh c’mon,” Ash pipes up from the sidelines. “Speak the fuck up, yeah? This is the second most interesting thing to happen all day.”

Soap ignores him, though you hear him expel a short, amused breath; maybe at the thought of whatever must have been the day’s first most interesting occurrence, which your gut says is whatever Ghost let them hear of you breaking for him and is absolutely what has an embarrassed flush creeping up your neck.

“All I’m saying, lass,” Soap murmurs, “is that if you were looking to be fucked senseless, you could’ve come to me. If a brute like L.T. can make you sing like that, I can only imagine how sweetly you’d sing for me…”

When all you manage is to blink, that one motion drags like an eternity.

…What…?

Why is…

…Is Soap actually coming on to you…?

Like… not in a joking, ‘we’ve been friends forever’ way… not in a silly-fun ‘I’m just fucking with you’ way… but like actually coming on to you…? In front of everyone…?

Even as bewildered as you are, his voice, his words, their suggestion – they all sink tendrils of heat curling down your spine, spreading out into the very tips of your fingers and toes.

No… No, he’s kidding.

He has to be.

He shifts back just enough to look at you, to read your expression as his gaze hangs unwaveringly above your own. And it takes exceptionally longer than it ought to to remember you aren’t the only two people in the room. That an ‘avid fuckin’ audience’, as Fuze so lovingly put it, is very much watching you and Soap’s every move, trying to figure out why you’re worrying your lower lip like you want to bite it right off, why Soap’s studying you like some elusive creature he’s only now come close to catching.

This is… this is too much. You can’t handle this right now, or maybe ever. You can barely even wrap your head around finally giving into what may be your feelings for Ghost, and you’re not about to let Soap keep stringing you through the mud for his and everyone else's amusement right now.

You came here for some goddamn spaghetti and you’re going to get it.

“Hold that thought,” you tell him, as offhandedly as you can. Ignoring that steady heartbeat in your stomach, like your ribs spilled open. Forcibly pushing your way past him, to which he grins the second your hands are on him, even if it’s just to shove the stubborn brawn of him aside in forging your way toward the stove behind him.

Just as you suspected – there’s a scuffed little pan of what used to be warm spaghetti sitting on the stovetop, a serving spoon buried in the mush, its handle jutting to one side. And you grab it without really thinking, scooping up a large spoonful of that room-temp slop as wetness shlocks around your utensil.

You’re fast, because you have to be. You know Soap’s reaction time is uncanny – he’s on 141 for a reason, same as you. And the very second he’s turned around enough for his gaze to follow you – you’ve already lobbed that oily wad of spaghetti at him.

You really are a better marksman than Price. And the second you hit your mark, spaghetti splattering Soaps face right below one angled cheekbone, a satisfying chorus of ooo’s and impish cackles accentuates the room. Pasta painting his scruffy, chiseled jaw a lovely tomato red, something resembling a meatball sticking to his skin a moment before dripping off onto his chest, staining his form-fitting tee, as gradually, what was once his boyish smirk becomes his tight-lipped scowl.

You’d actually been aiming for right between those scowling seawater eyes of his, but pasta’s a tricky ammunition, and I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.

“Shit, mate,” Gaz leers at him. “You hungry?”

Everyone’s giggling, and oh, it’s lovely, seeing Soap like that. Those heavy brows of his furrowed, pretty eyes narrowing. You’ve never seen something so beautiful in your entire life.

“Red’s definitely your color,” you lark at him, unable not to grin.

He bluntly wipes the spaghetti off his cheek, ignoring everyone but you. Watching you close as you stick your spoon back in the pan again before taking the whole thing with you, attempting to slide past him in making your escape, now that justice has been served. And even though this sludge looks disgusting, you’re more or less content to wolf it down straight from the pan in the safety of your room.

Maybe you were an idiot for thinking Soap’d let this all slide that easy.

The second you’re narrowly slipping past how his body fills the tiny room, he catches your waist in one hand, redirecting your escape attempt in bumping straight into him; his other hand smearing the greasy pasta sauce that’d one graced his statuesque jawline across your flabbergasted cheek, instead.

His hands are so warm. It’s the first thing you notice, when you should likely be a little more preoccupied by the fact he’s fingerpainting you with goddamn pasta sauce. And when you gasp aloud, jolting in his grip as if stricken, your widened gaze whips up to find him already grinning.

“Aye,” he muses. Eyes dancing across your own, across your lips, across the mess he’s made of you. “It definitely suits you, too.”

Something like a knot twists in your stomach as he watches you. As you feel his dense fingers coil around your waist just enough to lightly indent your curves, just enough to tug you a fraction closer. Watching you like he’s hungry. Like he’s resisting the urge to lick that sauce right off your skin.

And, fuck – the fantasy is in your head before you can stop it: Soap burying one hand in your hair, fingers knotting, tilting your head back just a bit, just enough so he can lean down close, can run the flat of his tongue up your cheek. Thrumming, savoring like a dog. Slow, wet heat along that red-painted corner of your lips.

You’re left imagining what his tongue might feel like; your pulse sent unevenly, inexplicably racing.

And it gets worse.

Much, much worse.

Because in the span of a single second, your lust-distorted mind also has you picturing how you might return the favor, so to speak. How you might just as equally fluster him, because he definitely deserves it. How you might take his calloused hand, raise it to your lips. How you might slide his fingers into your mouth, one by one, sucking each offending finger clean, working your tongue around them while his blue eyes smolder as he watches.

Oh, god, what the fuck, what the fuck – !

What the fuck is happening!

You need to get out of this goddamn kitchen.

Gods, why is he looking at you like that…?!

You need to get out of this goddamn kitchen now!

You need to lock yourself back up in your room before any more horrible ideas can sneak their way inside your head.

“Are you guys having a food fight?” Gaz asks, “or is this some weird-ass kinky spaghetti shit I’d rather not be subjected to?”

He lifts a brow at the two of you. At how you’ve both been staring at one another as if the entire world around you no longer exists – though you’re definitely sent on a crash-course back to reality at his saying so, with you blinking so rapidly your head spins.

It takes a few hazy seconds for you to tear your eyes from Soap’s; gliding them to whatever safety the floor might give you.

“‘Scuse me,” you mumble thickly, brushing past Soap, who surprisingly – at least with how this evening’s been going – steps aside to let you.

A dark, barren hallway has never looked so inviting, and you scuttle through it whilst clutching that pan of spaghetti to your chest.

Voices from the kitchen echo on the walls, trailing after you.

“What the fuck was that?” you hear Gaz ask – and though you’re pretty hellbent on fleeing, your pace still stumbles a step, ears craning back to listen.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, mate,” Soap says.

You hear some soft, sucking sounds, like he’s licking his fingers clean, and you nearly trip and fall face-first over your own feet.

“Just teasing the lass.”

“Eye-fucking her, more like.”

“Nah, mate. Just wanted to see where her head’s at.”

“Okay… and where’s that?”

“Not in a relationship.”

A pause follows, in which you forget to keep walking; all your senses honed in on even the smallest of sounds.

“Ghost might say otherwise.”

“Well, Ghost’s not here, is he?”

“I wouldn’t fuck with his girl, mate; that’s all I’m saying.”

For whatever reason, it twists your heart into a painful knot when Soap says, “Seems to me she and L.T. don’t share much of anything worth labeling.”

Author Note:

Messy feelings and messy food. Yum~

😘~💕 thanks for reading

#cod ghost #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #fanfic #fanfiction #cod modern warfare #mw2 #cod mw #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #mask kink #tactical gear kink #brat

474 notes · View notes

2n2n · 3 months

Text

ch. 110

brutality, no survivors.... incredible suffering for the girlies (you, me, JP twitter)

and here I thought shenanigans would continue... this promo image was an immediate punch at 6AM

and yet this was all things considered the easy part...? ugh, but... please a moment to drink it in... all of my beliefs in the true power exchange... it's so satisfying to see it like this. it's easy, simple to still Tsukasa, isn't it... towering, presiding older brother.... his joudai trailing... touch your seal... the virtue by which you are kept safe, kept his. Poor Tsukasa. covetous object...!

a rascal....! uhh I love pocket-sanding Akane with old man parts ... amazing technique ahaha, Tsukasa knows how to make people lose focus huh? he's in such a good mood isn't he~ not as resentful as he was towards Mirai pestering him...

mirai explode lol.... I can't say I feel much personally, I guessed she might do this ... it's sweet of her to protect Akane, but I can't think much of it, beyond what it contributes to how we should feel about her. Noble rat after all? not so dumb as Akane had said before?

Mirai holding the yorishiro makes sense, for why she's typically locked in their boundary without any freedom. sure... easy. another key to haunt us! more keys why NOT

I like to see Natsuhiko being cool like this ... ♥

but this is so interesting...

I'm never sure how much Mitsuba really understood about the Broadcast club's greater plans... I wonder if Natsuhiko is being literal here, and Mitsuba DID know what he had to do, but had settled on his suicidal ennui.... ah, having to analyze your life for something precious is grim... he has an issue of not appreciating what he has while he has it, and being unable to state it...

.... and there's nobody to correct him. This is such a manga about... 'reasons'....

among the things even possible.. that poor keychain was destroyed. I wonder if there were a few things going on in Mitsuba's mind even then...

I really like... that mysteries, kaii need something anchoring them... I like that it's not enough, to exist... I like that the body naturally dilapidates, 'wants' to move on or become something else. It's a great metaphor....! In this manga... the most important thing, is loving something. If you don't love something, you can't stay alive. You won't....

I'm still wondering if the original thing Kou gave Mitsuba back in vol. 7 will ever come back around... or if it just gave him a complex or curiosity about the 'old' Mitsuba (who he snoops on in PP after this, so....) ... and can't itself be precious so much as worming...

anyhow... I like this turn of events, but it is so shocking we're stacking handling No. 3 and also No. 1!!!! I can't believe it!!!! IT'S ALL HAPPENINGGGG?????!?!? We haven't stacked mysteries like this before ~~!!!! It's so exciting.... I like Natsuhiko a lot in all of this ♥ I don't know... like with Tsukasa and Mitsuba, I believe him that he found it all charming in its own way, and that he wanted to offer what he could to Mitsuba for the timebeing. It's not as if there are other options, here... Mitsuba... really was never doing the things that needed to be done.... or letting others know what he needed to do.

I suppose Natsuhiko could wake up Kou to watch this if he wanted, but I find it much funnier if Kou just has to wake up at the end of this and Mitsuba is eradicated... lol...

can't say I really understand Teru's position about the mysteries...

you understand the mysteries are a kind of structural pillar for this region, but the pressure that was weighing on Hanako at least seemed to be the Minamoto ... it was that imperative the Broadcast Club's been taking advantage of. The rumors created an excuse to justify the sense of mistrust in the mysteries. But I'll never quite know what Teru is even capable of ... since he shouldn't be able to touch yorishiro ... but directly threatens to exorcize mysteries. Can you have extant yorishiro without the mysteries utilizing them.... ??? Well, I just don't understand it yet.... must put it aside.

back to what really matters...

I love how peaceful, relieved, serene he looks here.... finally, you've been so patient, Tsukasa... every little step of this has taken so long.... holding the last yorishiro in your hands... trusting Amane to handle you, after... it must feel good. The end in sight....

I really love this reach for Amane's knife...

back in this position, are we?

ah.... poor Amane. For a moment... I appreciate what he's trying to do, here. He sounds patient... he sounds like an older brother. Explaining so cleanly...

you want to be sure Tsukasa understands... maybe you think-- he hasn't thought this through, or he doesn't get the consequences, he's being childish, or reckless, maybe he's misunderstood how it happened before ... I love to hear Amane, say something so direct as... won't see you again.... won't be able to save you ... everything he did last time! to ensure... that you wouldn't be apart! the binding of their souls! tying Tsukasa down to him like a ship in a storm! protection, mooring... keeping you, where he can see you! remaining together, at all costs! that's important to you too, right, Tsukasa? don't you want to see each other?

it's as if you're saying you don't want to be together, don't want to be saved... what do we do with people who don't ask you to save them? why must they insist on leaving you behind?

Mitsuba won't ask Kou to save him. Sumire wouldn't ask Hakubo to save her. Aoi didn't want Akane to save her. I wonder if Tsukasa didn't ask Amane to save him, but Amane did it anyway... her certainly wasn't asking for a hero in the Red House, or to live on coming back.

it's a kind of rejection, isn't it? When someone is so ambivalent about the life you love so much... the life you want with them... it's as if they're saying, "I don't want to be with you enough to live for you."

Of course, every time, they're really saying ... "I just don't know what I mean to you." Mitsuba doesn't feel valuable to Kou; only a replacement, a reminder of something he once cared about. Best to give up. Sumire imagined Hakubo was only placating her, and could only wish not for his earnest sadness, but for him to pretend to be sad for her. Best to let death happen. and Aoi didn't feel Akane knew the real her, imagined he would reject the real Aoi, only in love with his grand projection of her. Best to step away now.

Of course, Tsukasa thought his brother hated him, so...

It all feels so simple and logical! It's saving trouble, right?

Amane made such a gesture last time... in their shinjuu... he tried, he really tried, to say something ... to Tsukasa.

but, the message didn't go through...

but I can only be so sympathetic to Amane, as he's an incredible hypocrite. Of course, Amane has put Nene-chan through everything Tsukasa puts him through.

You also try to grant your beloved a wish for a future that explicitly doesn't involve you, and make her feel rejected, abandoned, given no choice...

Amane...

oh, Yugi twins....

.... why can't you understand when you're precious? Why can't you understand how bad it hurts, to abandon somebody? Amane-chan really suffered without you, Tsukasa. You're always the one leaving him, and getting to feel sacrificial about it. He's trying to tie you down....

.... it's a natural response... to lash out. Rejected... misunderstood... abandoned... why is Tsukasa asking you to give up on him? Why can't he understand, even with that seal on his cheek... even as you died with him....

兄の思いは届かず…

I really love that for the chapter's end.

Amane's feelings never did reach Tsukasa. It wasn't understood, what he had tried to do, his sadness now. But... Amaneeeee....

maybe you could use a taste of your own medicine....

we think we know just how to make someone else's wish come true, don't we?

isn't it such an insult! WHY!!!!!! """"WHY""""""??????

..... I'm out of images, so I'll continue in a reblog, for a couple more thoughts I'm having ....

but for this post... ahhhh. It's unbelievable we're at least starting to tackle... this. I feel bad for Amane, I really do... I feel bad for Tsukasa, too. It's hard to not hurt someone you love ... in an attempt to only hurt yourself. If we hurt ourselves, we hurt the thing our lover adores ... we spit on their love for us.

I can understand why and how Amane can say "I hate you" ... to Tsukasa. As much as Akane could childishly say it to Aoi ... and you know, it is that same unimaginable love which makes it possible. Years of familiarity, it makes you more liable to lash out. There is such a greater sense of betrayal, when you've expended so much effort... when you try so hard for someone... when you're in so much pain about them....! After all I've done... you CAN'T say this or that to me.... etc, etc! Those intense emotions... can make you feel entitled, to never be hurt... you can't hurt me, after all I've hurt for you!

and I do think it's being said extremely childishly... daikirai... he's just, unable to be any more constructive with his feelings, he's so... hurt, mad. As much as Nene-chan is so mad, hearing Hanako spit on all of her efforts she made to reach him... BIG SLAP!!!

Amane, he's maybe endured 50 years of effort and an awful lot of physical suffering for Tsukasa, and it's not gotten through... wwww! I'm sorry, I'm worried Tsukasa might have a PROFOUND amount of suicidal urge. Might be an uphill battle, Amane... you might just need to save Tsukasa because you are selfish, and you want him for yourself. There might be no easier reason ... to keep him by your side. We can't make Tsukasa beg to stay with you... but you won't beg him to stay, will you? I think that would actually do a lot of good, Amane... but you really won't do that....

meanwhile, I love the juxtaposition of Nene-chan's incredibly childish DAI DAI DAISUKIII and this daikirai lol... we all have big feelings don't we lol....! well...

#avvy's JSHK

42 notes · View notes

pocketramblr · 5 months

Note

AU where students from the same middle school aren't placed in the same class at UA

I guess it's a good thing that no middle schools get more than two kids into the hero track then...

1- Sorry Bakugou and Mina, you're getting put in 1B to separate you from people you know. (This has got to be a weird social experiment for Nedzu, giving his students "fresher" starts maybe? He did that to poor Tamaki and Mirio too huh) In their place are Ibara and Awase. (It should probably be Ibara and Nirengeki but 💙 Awase is a favorite 💙)

2- Mina and Itsuka are the Big Sisters team of Class 1B, the vice and class representative respectively. Mina is the cool big sister who lends you makeup and cheers you up, and Itsuka is the big sister who fixes your haircut and covers for you from Mom. Anyone in class 1B would kill for either of them. The reverse is also true. Well...... Almost anyone in 1B would kill for them... Mina is also going to make sure that 1B has the most fabulous culture festival on record for UA, ever.

3- Bakugou considers his class a bunch of extras and dislikes how him being the entrance exam winner did not win him the class election automatically, nor how Monoma pivots to being open about disliking him after a few hours of knowing him. ("It's tragic, but better one bad member of a class than twenty of them, 1A. Well, one bad member and a TRAITOR, MINA, I SEE YOU HANGING OUT WITH DISCOUNT TETSUTETSU."). That said, he slowly begins to respect some of his classmates: Itsuka (for controlling Monoma), Shishida and Honenuki (raw power + composure), and Setsuna (good test of power.) He thinks Vlad is an ok teacher, and he does excell at increasing the raw damage his students deal on the battlefield.

4- Ibara, in contrast, gets more training from Aizawa about dext and using minimal vines for the max purpose, rather than as much as possible. She has tea with Tokoyami and Momo often, and Momo reports that she isn't sure if the other two are on the same page or not, because their speech is very dramatic and they're either portending doom or debating spiritualism. But either way they keep meeting so?? Friendship I guess?? She and Sato bake for the dorm every week, and Izuku goes to her for help with Black Whip (she only tries an exorcism once)

5- Awase is just so cool so everyone in 1A loves him too I think this is a very unbiased opinion for me to have. He's got a friendly rivalry with Sero, likes to spar with Ojiro, and has the most incomprehensible arguments with Kaminari when they should be going to bed. Izuku gets excited to work with him and his quirk in groups, (his sharp language is familiar, but warm, and there's something else about him that's familiar, at the back of Izuku's mind, where he can't quite reach... ) and Awase appreciates him.

#oh hey spiky hair bandana awase with that hero costume wonder what you make Izuku almost remember. anyway.#how nice of ibara to help Izuku with bw #and honestly because of Mina and Kiri 1a and 1b interact more. because Mina WOULD NOT STAND for them going after the other class after usj #but there is kinda an effort to keep the other two former classmates from interacting much yeah.... it's awk and not a great time for anyone #pocket talks to people #deusverve #ask game

46 notes · View notes

loquatenjoyer69 · 21 days

Text

Natori and Wavering

Foreword:

As it is my tendency to over explain, I will mark my actual conclusion with “TL;DR” in bold, so anyone who doesn’t want to read all the context I provide can just see what I think. The following is a collection of scenes from the manga that are relevant to my conclusion, summarized and interpreted by me. Also, if you read this, I will assume you have read up to chapter 116, as I include the arc which ends there as a large part of my analysis.

This all started with the Miharu arc, once again. After Natsume asks Matoba the famous question, (have you ever thought about quitting exorcism?) and hearing Matoba so confidently state he's never considered it, he thinks

「名取さんは堂だろう。いつもゆらいでいる優しいあのひとは」

"What about Natori-san? That kind person who is always wavering."

The verb being translated as “wavering” is 揺らぐ. This word refers to a swaying or rocking motion, something going back and forth, or shaking/trembling. The reason this line stuck out to me is that it made me wonder "Why is Natori wavering? What does it mean to be wavering?" Thankfully, my questions were answered when I went back through the past exorcist chapters.

The concept of Natori feeling unsteady or his world feeling unsteady comes up in special chapter 15. When Matoba tells Natori about the history of the Natori clan, how even though they should have been especially able to deal with kami, they still fell, so "you never really know what will happen," Natori responds with "The Matoba clan might not always be on top either," and Matoba laughs and says "Who knows… I won’t let it fall."

This is probably when Natori stops seeing Matoba as merely the spoiled prince of a wealthy family, one who has everything Natori wanted growing up, and realizes what kind of burden he has on his shoulders. Indeed, after this exchange, Natori thinks "I don’t have anything like that resting on my shoulders. Maybe that’s why this unsteady/shaking/bubbling world seems to waver." (This is not how any English speaker would say this, but I want to convey the picture that’s being painted. He uses the onomatopoeia ぐらぐら which denotes boiling/wobbling/unsteadiness to describe the world). Again this verb 揺らぐ comes up when Natori says the "world seems to waver." Natori feels like he doesn’t have a defined place in the world the way Matoba does. He doesn’t know what kind of person he should or will be, unlike Matoba, who probably grew up seeing exactly what he would become in the previous clan head, down to the long hair and eyepatch. For Matoba, the world is steady, unmoving, and almost preordained. For Natori, everything is uncertain, including his own identity.

I’m going to take a brief detour from the “wavering” idea to touch on something Yorishima said to Natori in chapter 80. Seeing that Natsume is emotionally affected by the story of the enchanted scarecrow, Yorishima remarks that Natsume’s heart has been pulled in by ayakashi, or in other words, he’s become emotionally involved with them. He tells Natori "A savage exorcist like you shouldn’t drag a (this kind of) kid around," and then "Natori, lately you’ve come to resemble the Matoba brat." Keep this idea in your back pocket. It’s a surprise tool that will help us later.

Then, as I said before, in the Miharu arc, after Natsume hears Matoba say that he’s never considered quitting exorcism, he wonders how Natori, who "is always wavering," would answer. And of course, later in that arc Natori himself asks Matoba the same question, though this time Matoba doesn’t answer. Although the focus is usually on Matoba’s answers to this question, I’ve also thought it significant that Natori asks Matoba this. He seems to initially want to ask it after Matoba ponders about the previous Matoba head who failed to protect the Miharu family, but gets interrupted by the spell on the room.

When Matoba starts going on one of his "you should make use of useful things" monologues, he asks it for real. It’s still not entirely clear to me what makes Natori want to ask him if he’s ever thought about quitting, though all I can really think of is that hearing Matoba talk like this reminds Natori of how tiring and cutthroat this life can be. Natori, the one who wavers, has probably thought a few times about giving up, and hearing Matoba talk this way makes him wonder, "Haven’t you ever thought about quitting?" Just like how Natsume asked Matoba after Matoba told him how many people are out to usurp the Matoba clan.

Finally we come to the Younger Cousin arc. When Mitsuru tells Natsume about how she met Natori, she says that she didn’t care whether she was going to be exorcised or not, she just wanted to know (and say) Natori’s name, so when he saw her, she told him her name (which is Mitsuru, but written differently than either of the names that would have been given to Natori’s cousin), and she saw herself reflected in his eyes, "wavering" (揺れて). So Natori’s heart was shaken, to put it another way, when it seemed for a second that he could have what he had always wanted. For a moment, he hesitated, and this was the weakness that the ayakashi latched onto. She read his mind and created a false reality where she was the cousin he wished he’d had.

Natsume believed she was not malicious, and went to hear her out before Natori could exorcise her for real, but Nyanko-Sensei warns him "Those who can’t heartlessly dedicate themselves are unfit to be exorcists. If you support ayakashi, Natori is just gonna waver." Here, he uses the verb ぐらつく which is related to the onomatopoeia from special chapter 15. Nyanko-Sensei is telling Natsume that if he tries to stand up for ayakashi, Natori will just become more conflicted and eventually be unable to "heartlessly dedicate" himself to exorcism.

When Natori and Mitsuru finally face off, Mitsuru tells Natori that she just wanted to help him. Natori tells her

「親切ごかしはもういい。どちらが化物だかわからなくなりそうだ。」

which is something like "Enough playing nice/Stop pretending to be nice. I might not be able to tell which of us is the monster." Mitsuru then makes the final offer for Natori to stay with her in the illusion and be happy together, but Natori, now firm in his resolve, says that he was weak for wanting a cousin who could see the same things as him, that he doesn’t need that anymore, and that Mitsuru is an ayakashi, which is what he’s chosen to spend his life fighting. This is where Natori makes the decision he faltered on when he first saw Mitsuru. He throws away what might have been, knowing that it never could be, and decides to stay firm on his path as a heartless exorcist.

At the conclusion of this arc, Natsume apologizes to Natori for trying to stop him from exorcising Mitsuru. Natori smiles and says "Ah, you really couldn’t be an exorcist," probably realizing now that he’s set himself on this path, that Natsume could never be "heartless" enough to follow the same path. Natsume seems to pick up on this difference between them, because he starts to ask about Natori, who tells him "Don’t worry. It’s not something I’m burdened with. It’s something I chose. I’m not bound by anything." By the way, he uses the same "burden" word here that he uses when he tells Matoba in the Miharu arc that he doesn’t know the weight of inheriting a burden.

TL;DR:

So, after all this, what I think happened is this: Natori is "wavering" from the beginning, unsure of what he should do or who he should be. Even as an exorcist, he has doubts and hesitation, which eventually causes him to slip up and be taken advantage of by Mitsuru in the Younger Cousin arc. Having been confronted with his "weakness," he decides finally to "heartlessly dedicate" himself to the path of exorcism. In this way he has become more like Matoba, which Yorishima seems to have had noticed the beginnings of much earlier. A savage, heartless exorcist: something Natsume could never become. After I originally came to this conclusion, I wasn’t sure if I was reaching, but then I read Midorikawa’s afterword for the Younger Cousin arc, which I translate thusly:

"...I’m glad I could draw the world that Natori-san, for whom the boundary between ayakashi and humans wavers more than even Natsume, sees even a little, as well as how ayakashi see it. Natsume has really only had limited experiences in his small world, and in contrast, Natori-san has a greater deal of freedom, but feels trapped. If I was able to draw the path that Natori-san came in on, and the path he’s going on, I’ll be happy."

This pretty much confirmed to me that I was right about Natori’s arc, provided I am interpreting Midorikawa’s words properly here. I believe she is saying that Natori until now has been much more unsure of himself and how he should feel about ayakashi and humans, even more than Natsume, who also has this issue. Appropriately, this issue was resolved in the arc which also highlights their similar beginnings. And it sounds like Midorikawa also wanted to show that a significant event has happened now with regard to the path Natori is taking. Like I said I believe he has become more set on being an exorcist and all that entails, but Midorikawa doesn’t say, so I’ll just have to see.

#my meta #natori shuuichi #WHOOF.#again i feel like this wasn't written very well but oh well #having a hard time making the thoughts flow but this is my basic thought #hope it was not too hard to read #also please let me know any thoughts or disagreements or agreements or anything #i worry i write these things and people are either like 'yeah everyone knew this already' or 'wtf are you talking about'#anyway! yeah lol

29 notes · View notes

deus-and-the-machina · 6 months

Text

MCYT Yuri week day 3 - hurt/comfort

Hello again! once again this is for @mcyt-yuri-week, it's also on ao3 so if you enjoy it please give it some interaction! comments and kudos are incredibly motivating <3 This one's a bit shorter since I am currently sick but I like how it came out still.

Cleo glanced down at her feet where her eternal annoyance, the water witch Prismarina, sat sobbing into her hands.

“Oh god, well this is awkward.” With a sigh, they bent down and tapped Prismarina on the shoulder. “Look, I don’t know what’s got you down in the dumps, but my tower doorstep isn’t your moping spot, alright?”

Prismarina stared upward, eyes filled with tears. A moment later, an almost comically shrill wail erupted from her as she continued to cry louder than over.

It was a pretty pathetic sight, but it wasn’t exactly increasing Cleo’s sympathy for the girl. Seeing as this might take a while, Cleo placed herself down on the tower steps and slouched over, watching Prismarina begin to blubber.

“Stupid, stupid demon thing! And she–she doesn’t believe me and my date’s ruined and it’s all that wretched demon’s fault, why can’t I just be normal! Why does everything have to go wrong.” She broke down again at the last sentence, becoming illegible.

Cleo waited for her to calm down some, which took quite a few minutes. Occasionally, they’d reach out to pat her shoulder and mutter an irreverent “there, there.” The water witch was a snake and a liar, but Cleo would feel like a bit of a jerk if she did nothing.

Not to mention her interesting comments. Once Pris’ bawling began to quell into quiet full body sobs, she spoke. “Did you say demon?”

Her tear-stained face scrunched up at the mention of it, but she remained relatively calm. For her at least. “Yeah…It’s been possessing me and–I dunno, it’s all so confusing and it’s ruining my life and it ruined my date and AAAARRRRGH.” She grabbed at her hair, now more angry than mopey. “I don’t know the first thing about exorcism! How am I ever gonna get rid of it!”

Cleo tapped at her chin. “...This could be a problem.”

“What could?”

“The demon? The very one you just mentioned?”

Prismarina’s eyes lit up. “You…you believe me?”

They shrugged. “If you’re trying to trick me, I’m sure you already know how badly that would end for you. So for both our sakes, I’m going to assume you’re telling the truth. Not to mention that if this is an act,” she gestured to Prismarina’s whole mess. “You’re one hell of an actor. Forgive me, but I don’t believe you’re that good.”

The water witch huffed, but said nothing.

Cleo continued. “If one of the contestants is possessed, I feel like that can’t be good for any of us. Like, what if it uses you to become supreme? Less than ideal.”

“So…can you do something about it?”

“Aside from reversing time and creating a new timeline where you aren’t possessed, which would be very convoluted and wouldn’t necessarily solve this you’s problem, not really. But,” she added quickly after seeing Prismarina’s face fall. “I have a coven member who knows some things about demons.”

She groaned. “Not Scott! He hates me even more than you do!”

“I’ll talk to him. If it’s coming from me, he’ll consider it.” Letting herself soften a bit, she reached out and wiped one of Pris’ tear stained cheeks. “Not feeling as though you’re…yourself can be harrowing. I wouldn’t even wish that on you.”

Her eyes gleamed, though with hope instead of tears this time. “God, this is the nicest anyone’s been to me all day.”

Cleo snorted. “That’s sad! I’m just doing the bare minimum, not to mention looking out for myself.”

Still, Prismarina didn’t take it to heart and grabbed her hand. “No really, this means a lot to me, seriously. I…haven’t always gotten this ‘bare minimum’. Oh, you’re such a lovely sight I could kiss you!”

Cleo smiled. “Well, not right now, thank you, but I can take you to Scott’s right now if you’d like. Something tells me it wouldn’t be good to leave you on your own if this demon persists.”

“Thanks–hey what do you mean ‘not right now?’’

They rose, gesturing behind for Pris to follow. “You can interpret it however you like. Now let’s get you some help.”

#witchcraft smp #timeflow #cleo x prismarina #mcyt yuri week 2023

18 notes · View notes

coffeecakecafe · 2 years

Note

Can you tell more about about the Guardians of Atlas verse? Like how the Magic works and what kind of creatures the heroes have to face

Ok so I’m going to have to follow up with a Separate Creatures Post but I come bearing Magic Lore! Thank u for asking about it it’s been on the brain lately so I have,, a Lot.

(first image ID in alt, if someone can image ID the second image pls send me your ko-fi info or something idk how to do a chart TvT)

Okay so I've been working on the magic system a lot - you may or may not have seen it under Riley's readmore with extra labels for the cool illegal magic he does because he don't need no rules, but society at large kind of follows this layout.

Healing magic is almost entirely relegated to alchemy - healing doctors work alongside more real-world equivalent modern medicine as well, since healing magic doesn't work on some select people. Alchemy is the magic of knowing what you're doing and what the components are, so it's the safest to perform on people. Other classes of magic depend more on the strength of the caster, or their current magic levels, or their ability to visualize an outcome, or or or - you can understand why most of that isn't allowable in a wider sense.

Necromancy and Spirit magics are highly illegal, with the exception of conjuration-spirit being where most exorcism type magics exist. Necromancy is frowned upon for respect of the dead and cultural taboo reasons, but also because it can be a massive drain on the user's life force and runs the risk of going rogue if the caster is taken out of commission. Spirit magics deal with ghosts - which are not quite the dead - and other magical monsters. Trying to cast on or with them means contending with another possibly-sentient and definitely powerful life form and it's considered too dangerous for people to attempt.

Divination magic can only occur in Mageborn - and only one or two people with that kind of magic are born every so many hundred years. At the beginning of the worlds, when everyone was new it was a helpful survival tool, but only New souls can see the future. As more and more souls were reincarnated and the Soul Sea filled up, it became less necessary for new souls to be created as often. (In a related vein, it's also really rare for souls to cease to exist - it's a slightly slower rate than the birth of new souls.)

Honestly I could kind of expand on most of this but those are the ones that strike me as most interesting/weird! If anyone wants to know more specifics you can always hmu I will talk lore forever and ever.

The worldbuilding for Guardians of Atlas also applies to my other story, Cross & Nightingale! C&N takes place a little under a decade before GoA, and some of this comes up more in one or the other.

#my art #my lore #guardians of atlas #cross & nightingale #vcg #worldbuilding #magic systems #asks #anonymous #links

148 notes · View notes

kermitbread · 2 years

Text

because I'm evil, I'm making the ancestors(?) lore angst hehehehe

some violence is involved, just a heads-up

in regards to the previous ask about them, the last time there were yugi twins before the current generation were even born was in the taisho era, so quite a bit far back. twins born in the yugi clan didn't happen too often for them, even lasting for years, and as such if any were born they were considered good fortune. all the previous twins in the family always turned out to be skillful exorcists, elevating them in the same vein as the minamoto clan.

this era's twins were brothers. they were prodigies, and like every generation before them, they were passed down lighting swords. unlike the minamoto's sword, theirs had the guise of an ordinary sword, so no apparition would ever suspect it had exorcism properties.

yashiro's ancestor(?) is a human, but with the ability to see possible futures. this has made her an outcast from her family. she has an aunt who's pretty much her only family left that cares for her, though she lives far away from where she is, due to her job. she's left alone with a very cruel mother and two siblings. (you can probably guess where she got that eye injury from in this one)

and the moment she sees the older twin in her hometown, she knows trouble was about to start. though she can read futures, she only has vague, out of context visions of them. they're usually easy enough to understand, but in this case, it was strange. why did all the possible futures showed her at death's door, with that older twin next to her? it disturbed her, understandably. so she didn't want anything to do with him.

alas, their paths still crossed regardless of all the measures she's taken. the older twin had figured out her ability, and has self-proclaimed her to be his assistant in his exorcism jobs. she could help him get prepared for every possible scenario when dealing with supernaturals. first she was hesitant, but when she saw the opportunity to be free and come see her aunt, she joined him.

"I'm not your assistant! Don't call me that!"

"Ah, and yet you've compiled this list of possible futures when I go face that yokai in the woods for me. I'd say I'm not too far off the mark."

they grow closer as time goes on, but she hasn't told him about the vision she's being constantly haunted by, afraid it would ruin their bond. everyday she stays on edge, hoping that future wouldn't happen. hoping she was doing something to alter that singular fate.

well, it didn't work out like she hoped. in the heat of battle with a powerful yokai, and the older twin's badly wounded, she forgets about her vision and rushes out to protect him before he gets hurt even further. she's impaled in the stomach by huge claws, right in front of him. he's absolutely mortified at the sight of her dropping down on the ground like a ragdoll, coughing out blood.

"...tell me... you knew this would happen, right? Why didn't you say anything?! We could have... I could have..."

she dies in his arms. right even before they could even express their feelings to each other. they're left in that eternal longing that will never be satiated.

it's the pain that he carries to his grave.

and now, whenever amane looks at nene, he's left wondering why there's that hurting feeling in his chest that lingers for a second.

he'll probably never know.

#toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #yashiro nene #yugi amane #hananene #swap au... but not really #✌️ lol

62 notes · View notes

not-poignant · 9 months

Note

For the ask game, 4., 9., and .38

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Ohhhh, I don't know! Maybe the good old classic gay realisation 'oh' lol.

Anam Cara did for a little while as well, because Game Theory. As did sweetness.

Also when writing dubcon, the word 'force' goes a long long way. :D

It's not any fancy words really. Like, I love words word like petrichor etc. and pavonate and brontide, but I have to be careful how often I use those.

I'll probably think of a thousand other words later x.x

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

I sort of do and I sort of don't. I'm like... not especially passionate about it, and I'm skeptical about most people's experiences, but I've also had some experiences, and I think it's possible that some kind of energetic residue could be left behind by the dead.

As a kid I was introduced to a belief system where we have multiple souls instead of a single soul (which is actually quite common in many strains of animism), and in that belief system, a ghost is just one of those souls, where 90% of the person's soul/s have departed, and about 10% is left behind. I've been taught exorcism and cleansings of homes and done them, but I'm very 'eh' about it these days!

This is a weird response. It's like, yes, I have learned skills to deal with ghosts and spirits. Yes, I have used those skills for myself and been paid by other people to use them. No, I don't really think most of ghost-hunting is legit. No, I don't even know if they're real, or if the ritual of cleansing and exorcism is what helps more than it proving the existence of the departed. I'm on several fences, lol, I sort of hop on them and off them.

I guess you could say I'm open-minded but also fairly scientifically-minded at the same time, and I'm pragmatic. Like, I was a professional tarot reader for a long time. Are the tarot really connecting to people magically? Or am I just using a psychological tool to tap into their consciousness to help them consider things that have been floating in the background but just need some focus? Probably the latter. And that's okay. :)

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

You know, I used to think a lot of my writing process was really weird!!!

I didn't know anyone else doing it my way. I literally have never met another person who runs a Patreon that's like... moderately successful, releasing original stories chapter by chapter on AO3 of all places, where it's literally against the TOS to mention any kind of paid site like Patreon or Ko-Fi. And for a long time I felt like a fucking idiot for doing it my way, and probably the nice version of that is 'really weird' lol.

I was like, mocked by a few other writers, and the ones who didn't mock me mostly didn't get it, and it was only very few authors who kind of thought what I was doing was a good idea. And by 'very few' I mean 'authors who were already my friends and they're just supportive people by default.'

But then over time, I realised actually it was a great way to do things. AO3 is where all the best people are! I get to still write fanfiction! It's an amazing site and I don't ever have to worry about my works being censored! I can break all the novel-writing conventions and people will still turn up for a 780k story about a guy growing into a better version of a guy! And it also means that the people who find my Patreon generally wanted to find out more about me and my writing, which is great!

These days, I don't know if there's much about my process that is really weird, but I do think parts of my process are different, and they are:

I don't have a daily wordcount, I have a monthly wordcount, and I only count the words of finished chapters. Any unfinished or half-finished chapter doesn't ever count. I also log that monthly wordcount in my Discord status for accountability.

I have to increase the size of the font to 140% in Word when editing. I cannot edit a font in the same size that I write it, and it's made me a much better editor before my chapters flow to Silvia.

I do a lot of editing in my head. That is to say - I have usually played through and 'stress tested' around 2-10 ideas in my head per chapter before I actually sit down and write. I didn't realise that until recently, but that's a fairly crucial part of my writing process and not just 'daydreaming.' I say I don't plan most of my stories and I don't, but you'd better believe I have mentally stress-tested many micro and macro-scenes per chapter before I sit down to write it. That's not weird though.

I don't think actually I have anything that weird now that I think about it. The weirdest thing for me is that I don't really get writer's block anymore. I've kind of come through to the other side of that. Now, if I get writer's block, nearly 100% of the time it's just burnout, or something is broken in the story and I know that and fix it quickly. That's the Really Weird thing. It's a little lonely, because it means I no longer relate to the majority of writing memes lol.

I don't think cats say much about us at all. I think they say a lot to us, and then mostly just do their own thing :D

From the Weird Writing Questions meme!

#asks and answers #memey goodness #pia on writing #wow every song on the playlist i'm listening to currently is such a fucking banger #yeah the Really Weird thing is like #no there's nothing really weird like #i have met so many different kinds of writer #and so many different processes #nothing is weird to me anymore #but i do know things that i'm doing #that i don't know if many other authors are doing dsalfkajs

7 notes · View notes

thefertilewitch · 10 months

Text

Important Info on Malevolent Spirit Attachments

Is life kinda hectic or almost like a bad dream? Have you tried everything or thought a where it could be coming from? Tried every practical and spiritual trick and things are still very weird and you feel your life is out of control?

Have you ever considered there could be a bad spirit attachment? Well you should, as a practicing Witch with over 20 years of experience and being a psychic medium, my advice would be to check on if you could be being haunted. Yes I said haunted! I was born with a lot of different spirit attachments and the people around me, not even my parents understood what was happening.

I discovered almost 10 years into my practice that bad spirits cannot be transmuted and that they must be banished. I don’t believe in just banishing bad spirits, I believe in putting them somewhere so they can’t just come back to you or your neighbors, family members or random people, to find out more about the work I offer please visit my website www.divineservicesapothecary.com

but if you need some free advice, please keep reading. Every witch has her own way of banishing bad spirits but I personally have quite a few ways of banishing them however when dealing with the really bad ones that have a reason for their attachment or a vandetta I prefer to start with some type of image of the spirit or spirits.

I really love using my printer to either print a picture of a known spirit or creating a picture of it based on my intuition. I’ve even used AI, a popular AI to create images is an app on Discord.

Yes using a printer to print an image works because paper is made from trees, which trees are apart of earth and is very magically significant.

I print the picture and consecrate it for my magical and earthly purpose, dress it with the appropriate herbs, oils and definitely sulfur, salt and I perform an exorcism incantation and command the spirit to leave, if the spirit refuses, I will go straight into astral travel to take it where I want to. Again, if you don’t understand, I wouldn’t attempt to do this work yourself and you should contact myself or someone else you can trust will handle the situation.

Some oils I recommend are camphor, rosemary or eucalyptus oil, all of these oils will connect you with the spirit realm so you can meditate and see the spirit clearer, you also should be burning rosemary, copal, dragons blood or frankincense.

Once I have either banished, secured the spirit at the appropriate place and reconnected with my body and mind, I then burn a black or white candle to ensure all of the energy of the spirit is gone, although any color candle will work as long as you tell it what you need it to do.

I allow the candle to burn down completely and then I burn either in my fireplace or fire pit the paper and all of the wax and herbs to ensure the spirit is gone!

I know this seems like it’s simple but it really isn’t as simple as it seems because every banishment is not going to be the same.

I believe an important aspect that is missed once a banishing is done is healing work right afterwards. To heal is to make while again and you may have anxiety, depression and just feel like crap after being haunted or harassed by a bad spirit. Also to heal means to restore your power, your spirit and feed yourself with the elements and herbs. I always use a candle and write a healing petition for this. Taking a warm bath or shower afterwards helps as well while healing.

I hope this crash course helps, especially witches who are being haunted, I do not recommend someone that doesn’t feel comfortable or someone that doesn’t know what their doing to even attempt to deal with a malevolent spirit, contact someone who knows what their doing who specifically knows about spirit banishing and working with spirits, for example someone with knowledge of necromancy, otherwise it can make things worse.

Spirit attachments can happen for many reasons, all spirits shouldn’t be allowed in your astral or earthly spaces.

Be aware that invisible forces that have nothing to do with “God” can and will manipulate your reality, they do this to alot of people, especially unaware people, they can trick and fool us into believing they are helpful but if you have long term bad luck or long term struggle, it’s not always that witch or Christian that hates you, you could be being haunted.

For more info, feel free to contact me at 770-686-7461or visit my website and schedule a consultation www.divineservicesapothecary.com

Blessed be

#witchcraft #Bad spirits #Banishing #Spirit attachment

7 notes · View notes

spook-study · 1 year

Text

I’m not sure how many people would qualify The Wonder as a horror movie, it sits itself quite prettily in the ‘period drama’ section of Netflix, but I’ll be damned if I don’t give it a fair shake as what I felt the movie truly was, and that’s a horror film. Normally I’d put an enticing gif here of something, but either the title is too vague or the movie hasn’t hit its stride yet, so unfortunately my words will have to suffice.

Right off the bat: the framing device is weird and I didn’t like it, so let’s choose to ignore it here because it proved itself entirely pointless and useless. It’s barely a couple of minutes at the beginning and end anyway. As if the movie wasn’t artsy enough with its popular gray washes and dirt and a sense of ‘naturalism.’ Head’s up: If you are looking for a colorful piece of cinema, look elsewhere.

The Wonder is an inverse exorcism movie. Not quite on the same level as the Shudder original Anything For Jackson, the term inverse is most applicable here, while Jackson is more reverse. The question of what that means is easily answered: Wonder isn’t about a demon, it’s about applying divinity to someone and wanting it to be there beyond reason. It’s characters wish to put Holiness into someone rather than remove, or in Jackon’s case insert, the unholy from within.

It is an intelligently made twist of the religious horror genre, and garners emotions of a different stroke. If we consider exorcism movies to be horror, then so too should The Wonder be considered horror. It plays on the same tropes, the same pace, the same escalation, yet does not view the phenomenon as of the devil, but rather of Christ.

This movie is horrifying. Perhaps it’s the fact that genre star Florence Pugh is in it, or that the whole cast is made up of experienced actors of genre across the board, but it’s unfathomable how anyone could see it as anything else. Set in the late 1800s just after The Great Hunger in Ireland, something generally accepted as the fault of the British, the plot follows Pugh as English nurse Elizabeth, or Lib, sent to watch and investigate whether or not Anna, a fasting girl who apparently hasn’t eaten for several months, is legitimate and ‘a wonder.’ To quote: “[They are] eager to see the wonder in every ordinary child.”

Her investigation is thorough, and without spoiling anything there were definitely one or two details that took me by surprise. Wonder places itself in the new age of horror, this age of what I prefer to call “emotional horror,” where fear is derived from character reaction, intense feelings exchanged, and the revelation of secrets. It is belief in this movie, faith, that are the chains that bind. To be frightened of someone’s faith, and of what that faith may mean, is certainly not a new idea, but one not usually applied to Catholicism or any derivatives of Christianity.

To the modern film, Christianity is the true ‘holy’ faith system. How often have we seen Louisiana Voodoo, or Judaism, or Islam put on the brutal chopping block of horror’s worser, racist tendencies towards faiths? Or villains? Black people, practitioners, Muslims, Jewish characature, Romani peoples, indigenous populations, all victims of the horror genre. But here we have an unspoken fear, universal all in its own right, but decidedly white and European. Unlike other pieces of Catholic horror, however, we don’t deal with devilish nuns or lesbian affairs or dancing in the wood at the witching hour. This movie is about belief, holy faith, and nothing devilish ever graces the text. It deals with the female self image through the illness of anorexia miribalis, which is exactly what it sounds like. While men are allowed to pay penance through self flagellation or other pains of the flesh, it was this way in which women were found to seek holy suffering.

It deals with literacy and understanding through Kitty’s plot, played by Niamh Algar from Censor, which I loved, and the abuse of youth and women. A nun is present to watch young Anna as well, but who is she to speak out against the parish priest? The question the movie begs is simple, yet answered easily enough. There’s a question of complicity. After all, “All over the empire, are not children left to die in ditches and gutters every night of the year?”

Fire is used as a purging thing, a holy flame, and the setting allows for us to naturally draw parallels to the burning of witches, and constantly makes reference to the eternal burning of Hellfire. You can hardly go a minute without the reminder that the ‘miracle’ girl Sarah is sure her brother is burning forever, and the mystery to why is definitely a hardy gut punch. Even if you read the film right, it’s still rough as Hell, pun intended.

The Wonder is smart that way, clever, slow. Very slow, at times. It builds, of that there is no doubt, but it wouldn’t have suffered 15-20 minutes shaved off. Much like we stare at Pugh’s ever-dirtying dress, the sound of Pugh’s feet plodding along through the mud can be rather indicative of the pacing. As mentioned, it’s a gray, almost bland looking film, alternating from overcast outdoor settings to dimly lit candlelight vigils. The use of lighting is, thank god, meticulously designed, which feels like a dying art in this day and age. You can see, but you can also not see. And such is the dichotomy not only of the visuals, but of the concept of the holy spirit. It makes the viewer question who is right, and who is wrong. Darkness so often represents wickedness, or even two facedness. But does it here? Or is it those who are seen in all their glory who are the evildoers? Those who hide in the shadow versus those who are bathed in light.

If you like religious horror, this is a movie for you. If you’re new to religious horror, this might be a really great starting point. There are no jump scares, no gore, no demonic possession. Just plain old human dread. I’ve always liked the feeling of dread in my horror.

Completely pointless framing device aside, The Wonder was a good, if jammed movie that was just a little bit too long. There are a lot of things to think about here; probably being worth a second, or maybe even a third viewing, depending on your taste. The acting was sublime and did in fact live up to the promise of the opening monologue that every character on screen truly believes what they are experiencing is real, an astoundingly bold claim for a horror movie, a genre not exactly known for its groundbreaking performances. Still, there is not one performance, not one moment that fell flat, or felt unbelievable.

Shortcomings aside, it is still worthy of a definite 4/5*

#the wonder netflix #horror #film #movies #review #spook study #writing #4/5*#The Wonder #the wonder 2022 #movie review #my writing

29 notes · View notes

collectionoftulips · 2 years

Text

This is not a fic update. This is an exorcism. This chapter has been haunting me and I had to get it out of me. It's a really big chapter, both in terms of length but also events. I would really really really appreciate any feedback you might have. It truly brings me a lot of joy. Thank you to everyone who is reading this 'Kate is Anthony's mistress' AU.

Title: at first i thought you were a constellation (7/?) Rating: Unrated so far but maybe M eventually? Summary: Kate is Anthony's mistress, but things get complicated as Edwina and Mary arrive in London for the marriage mart season and Kate has to try to keep her secrets from completely unravelling the fragile life she had built for herself in London.

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five / chapter six /

Chapter Seven: Echoes Of The Past

Anthony thought that if he ever discovered the identity of Lady Whistledown, he would personally petition the Queen to have her thrown in prison.

Naturally, he did not read her blasted paper, but he had quickly caught onto the fact that Lady Whistledown must have made him an item in her most recent issue, if the jeers and comments from his siblings were anything to go by. Some increased concern was felt when men at the club would come up to him and offer their congratulations. Such misinformed felicitations could, of course, be brushed aside. The gravity did not settle in until a few days later, when the footman announced correspondence from Lord and Lady Sheffield. Apparently they had taken the scribblings of Lady Whistledown as confirmation of an engagement and were inviting the family to dine with them and the Sharmas at the Danbury residence.

He had to read the letter twice and then let his mother look it over as he tried to rein in his shock. "They cannot be serious?” He looked at his mother in disbelief, "There has been no proposal, nothing - nothing but the ramblings of a mad woman and now apparently I’m engaged!” He quelled the urge to throw something off his desk. Engaged? To Edwina Sharma? He had never heard anything more ridiculous. An image of Kate made a brief, unwelcome appearance in his mind. Surely, she would know it was all nonsense? She had to. His heart began to race, his fingertips tingled, and his breath felt uncomfortably shallow and fast. Taking a second, staring straight ahead at nothing, Anthony ignored the flicker of feeling and impressed himself with his ability to freeze his expression to something that felt neutral.

"Well, dearest, you have been quite marked in your attentions to the young lady,” Violet offered, puzzled by the letter.

"I have barely spoken three words to her!”

"Be that as it may,” Violet continued, "Their letter is certainly presumptuous but I’m not sure whether it is possible to refuse their invitation. They never come into town and considering the fuss that Lady Whistledown has made about you two -” Anthony was about to object when Violet continued with added emphasis, "however unfounded it may be - it is natural that they would want to inspect the potential suitor of their granddaughter, especially as I imagine they will be the ones to provide a dowry.”

"So we have no option, then? We must go?”

"We could go as a limited party, perhaps only you and I, and that might cool the impression somewhat,” his mother suggested and Anthony felt like she might be onto something. A larger family affair would mark interest - something smaller would be the bare minimum of politeness and would hopefully stop this whole nonsense of an engagement in its tracks.

It was for this reason that he found himself in a dinner jacket at Lady Danbury’s being introduced to the two Sheffields by Lady Danbury one Thursday evening. The Sharmas had yet to enter the room but upon his mother’s enquiry, Lady Danbury assured they would be down any moment. Upon their introduction, what felt striking about the pair was the absent of warmth. But it was just a fleeting impression and something he quickly brushed aside. They were perhaps just uncomfortable at the circumstances. Unused to society.

There was not much conversation as the arrival of the Sharmas were expected any moment. He glanced over his mother who readily began to enquire after the state of Lady Danbury’s garden. It was the type of trivialities that were almost never exchanged between the Bridgerton and Danbury households but sufficed for their current predicament. Lady Danbury was about elaborate on the assessment of her flowers provided by her gardener when they were mercifully interrupted by the last members of their party.

Mary Sheffield-Sharma arrived first, her expression distinctly absent of any familiar feeling and a severe gaze as she looked upon her parents. Barely a greeting passed between them. Immediately, Anthony knew that this would be nothing like a Bridgerton dinner. Some aspirations for the evening not being a complete torture were awakened when Miss Edwina came in, as the Sheffields greeted her with all the love and attention reserved for what seemed like doting grandparents. In the flurry of compliments regarding Edwina’s dress, the feeling of heightened awareness that Anthony had now learned to identify as the presence of Kate demanded his attention.

To say that she was beautiful would be like calling the sky blue, it was unnecessary and felt insufficient. Anthony considered that perhaps the word striking was used to describe the way in which the sight of her seemed to strike something deep within him. Their eyes met and instantly Anthony knew that something was amiss. She was not happy for some long-awaited family reunion. Instead, there was an anxiety in the depths of her eyes and something that seemed a lot like fear as she looked upon the Sheffields.

As he followed Kate’s gaze towards the guests of the evening, Anthony realized that the Sheffields had failed to greet her. Then, he caught sight of Lady Sheffield’s eyes briefly flickering to the final member of their party and Anthony felt something violent within him stir as he saw Lady Sheffield sneer and an expression of evident loathing on full display towards their eldest granddaughter.

The Sheffields were without a doubt the most despicable human beings that he had ever had the misfortune to encounter. Unfortunately, politeness dictated that he pretend that he could not perceive their insolence. Which became a task as they were seen to the dining room and the Sheffields had the nerve to turn their back on Kate as if she was not even there.

The conversation at dinner was as uninspiring as their presence and there were comments about shooting and visits that Anthony could supply replies to without so much as a thought as to what was actually being said. The placements at the table meant that he had been seated in opposition to Kate, which occupied the majority of his attentions. Normally, he would struggle to focus on anything that was not the shape of her neck or the outline of her smile. Today, however, he found himself occupied with more unpleasant considerations. Particularly the way that Kate, who always commanded every room she ever entered, seemed to shrink in the presence of her sister’s grandparents. She had not said a word all evening but he knew that she longed to be anywhere else.

The tenor of the evening soon entered into shaky territory, as the conversation somehow veered into the subject of Kate’s father. Anthony had gathered enough from the gossip to understand that the match had been scandalous and the evident displeasure at the memory still seemed to occupy the majority of the Sheffields’ attention.

"- and ran away with a clerk with a child from a previous marriage to God-knows who. We could not show our face in good society for years,” Lady Sheffield begun unpleasantly but now seemed to revel in her own tirade. The way that Kate sat there, silently, as she besmirched the memory of a mother that he knew she barely remembered but had loved immensely, spoke volumes about the Sheffields’ character. For as horrid as he found them, they truly had to be revolting to cause the most spirited woman he had ever known to stay silent. "Not that she would care - she simply sailed away from us with that man, robbing us of our grandchild-”

"Grandchildren,” Mary interrupted, her eyes fixed on her wine glass but firm. "I have two daughters, with whom you have had every opportunity to form a connection but you only recently chose to enter our lives. We have endured your conditions regarding Edwina’s dowry-”

At this Lady Sheffield snorted, her eyes narrowing at Kate darkly. "Evidently not.”

Anthony felt confused, but whatever had been implied by the odious woman’s comments, it was profound enough to silence the room. Kate was refusing to so much as look in the direction of the Sheffields despite now commanding the attention of all. The silence was chilling.

"What do they mean?” Edwina asked, her voice suddenly sounding small and fragile. Her gaze was fixed upon her sister.

Lady Sheffield turned to look at her youngest granddaughter. "We stated the conditions of your trust fund plainly. Our money will provide for our blood upon your marriage to an English gentleman. Yet, this… rat remains in your household,” Only the most intense rage that Anthony had ever felt in his life prevented him from speaking as Lady Sheffield’s eyes returned upon Kate, "She should return from whatever sinful backwater she came from.”

As soon as the final syllable was uttered, Kate immediately walked out of the room, evidently running away from the entire conversation. It happened in an instant and Anthony wanted nothing more than to run after her. Yet, he could not. He turned to Lady Sheffield, deciding that whatever politeness meant it could never - should never permit this. Politeness be damned and he would be dead before letting an insult of such gravity remain unanswered.

"That is enough!” He broke the silence firmly, feeling his every cell radiating with rage as he summoned whatever power he could to not physically hurl them out of the dining room himself. "I can only imagine that you have been exiled from good society because of your deficient manners rather than any other sin. Since the moment you have arrived, you have failed to show the proper respect for the Sharma family and I will not stand for it.”

"I do declare-” Anthony could not believe that Lord Sheffield was about to defend himself.

"I will not stand for it. Lady Mary has two daughters, who are intelligent, kind, loyal women, who are a credit to both their parents. The very picture of grace and honour, who have suffered through your insults all evening with saint-like composure. Since you do not want to risk the association, I suggest you leave at once!” The words were flowing out of him with seemingly no end. He was barely cognizant of speaking to begin with. There was about to be another interruption from Lord Sheffield and Anthony found the notion of another second in their presence insupportable. He turned to the servants, "Please send for Lord and Lady Sheffield’s carriage. They can wait outside.”

He turned to look at the subjects of his ire once more. "And trust, Lord and Lady Sheffield, that this will be the last time that we shall ever be in the same room. I shall refuse any invitation that contains your presence and should we by chance ever meet in public, I will not see you, I will not acknowledge a word of your conversation. You may keep to what you call good society, but I will insist that any company that wishes my presence shall have to forgo yours.”

At the end of his speech, the rage burning in every fibre of his being had settled into something like a quiet resolve. If he had the power he would banish the Sheffields from the face of the Earth but he would settle for this. Never had he seen such blatant disrespect, such cruelty. Thankfully, the Sheffields had sense enough to realize that he was determined and it was only after they departed that Anthony realized, gradually, that he had just thrown guests out of a house that was not his. And he found he did not care in the slightest.

As they left, he stood there. Frozen. He looked upon the devastation in Edwina’s face and the way that Mary’s complexion had grown extremely pale.

"Anthony-” his mother’s voice seemed to indicate some concern for him but Anthony dismissed the notion that he required any attention and focused instead on the remaining Sharma family, his eyes fixing on Mary.

"I will not apologize for my outburst,” he said with a voice not quivering with emotion but with the certainty that if he was ever a man of principle, if he ever stood for something, he would stand for this, "I can only apologize for not speaking sooner, for having you endure the presence of the two most reprehensible people in England. I deeply regret any difficulty that this may cause, but you have my word as a gentleman, that you will never lack of friends, or support.”

He knew that the Sharmas were dependent on the good will of the Sheffields, something he had undoubtedly just ripped from under them. If there was one thing in this whole ordeal that he was sorry for, it was perhaps that. But he had money enough to fix it and he refused to believe that anyone considering themselves a gentleman would let such injustice be born by such good people.

Mary blinked, but Anthony was not sure she had heard a word he said. "We had no idea,” she said suddenly. Her eyes finally left some imaginary spot of where her gaze had been fixed. As if not knowing where else to turn, her eyes found his. "She just left one day, we didn’t know- we just thought-”

Anthony did not know if others understood, but he did. He had known that Kate had come to London on her own, under painful circumstances of which she had never shared. He did not think that the estrangement between Kate and the rest of her family was known to his mother, but he understood perfectly the depths of the Sheffield’s manipulation, what they had taken from their daughter and the ruin that they had caused with their demands. He wanted to tell Mary that he knew, but he could not. Because as far as the ton was concerned, the acquaintance between Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sharma was too fresh for him to ever comprehend the pain on Mary’s face.

"We should also take our leave,” he took his mother’s arm and tried to give each of the Sharmas some attempt at reassurance.

As they waited for their carriage, Anthony found that he could not stomach the ride home. His mind kept falling back to the pain in Kate’s eyes as she had endured the every slight and insult from the Sheffields. He thought of the way he had been so slow to act, the way that he had bid his tongue, starting at their blatant disregard for Kate’s entrance earlier in the evening. The shame he felt was so profound that he did not know what to do with himself. His body was demanding activity, something to rectify his inadequacy. A walk was the only avenue for short-term relief and it had to suffice.

Before he knew it, he could spy the Serpentine in the near distance. A memory emerged of Kate giggling against his chest in her bed, as her fingers traced some invisible pattern on his chest. They had spoken of their favorite places of refuge. He had said that his was her bedroom, which she had taken as a joke. In sudden seriousness, she had said that she enjoyed Hyde Park, the lake reminding her of those of her childhood in India. As she had not been satisfied with his initial answer, he had finally offered Aubrey Hall, which she found to be a more acceptable answer. He had proceeded to pull her close, telling her of his childhood, of every nook and cranny of the ancestral seat that he imagined she might enjoy. He had shared all of this, envisioning her in Aubrey Hall so clearly as if she belonged there, as if she would one day see it for herself.

Maybe…

He walked faster, rushing up towards the Serpentine. After a few moments of searching in the dark, he could spot a figure on a bench, looking out at the water. As Anthony approached Kate, his heart ached. He thought seeing her cry was the worst, but it turns out that it was much worse catching her trying to conceal her sadness.

He was gripped by the urge to fall at her feet, to take her hands in his, and tell her that she would never have to see those people ever again. That she would never have to suffer anyone’s insults ever again. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t his place.

He wanted nothing more to kiss every one of her tears away until he could hear the sound of her laugh again. But as he sat down next to her, sharing the silence on the bench with the world quiet around them, he recognized that that was what he needed. So he sat there with her.

At first, they remained as they were. Kate’s eyes fixed in front of her as if he was not there. Then, gradually, she turned to him. Her eyes were overwhelmed with emotion and cautiously, as if she was afraid she might spook him, she leaned towards him and let him embrace her in his arms. He hugged her to him, wishing to press the knowledge of all the things he couldn’t say into her bones. He lets her cries vibrate through his chest and her tears stain his coat. He found he did not care, he did not care for anything but to offer whatever morsel of comfort he could. He did not care if they were seen in the park, for he found that he would gladly marry her on the spot if it gave him just five more minutes to comfort. The situation with the Sheffields had made him begun to realize that she had never really had that, or at least not in a really long time.

"The Sheffields left,” he said suddenly, "Mary threw them out.” He did not feel particularly gallant or honourable in his behaviour, so he lied.

Kate at first looked at him as if she did not understand. "Why?”

He almost scoffed. Why? "The way they spoke to you,” he answered, a bit confused because surely it was the most evident thing in the world, "The whole business with the trust fund.”

Her confusion did not cease. "What do you mean?”

Anthony was at a complete loss for words. Had they been at the same event? "What do I mean-”

"If it’s about the dowry, Mary and Edwina knew. The Sheffields were going to make it very clear-”

Unable to stop himself and against his better judgement, Anthony interrupts, beginning to sense the disturbing direction the conversation was taking. "They did not know that the dowry was predicated on you leaving.”

Far from reassuring, Kate grew insistent. "I don’t understand; I wrote them for months. They would only provide for family,” she spoke slowly, as if he was the one struggling to comprehend the situation.

"When it came time for them to offer it to Mary, they conveniently left out the part pertaining to you. They knew Mary would never accept in a million years if…”

Suddenly, Anthony could see something in Kate break and her cries felt wounded and deep. Not sure what else to do, his fingers began to brush through her hair. He whispered words that he hoped were soothing and he caught himself placing feather-light kisses on the top of her head. There was nothing he wanted more than to ease the pain that now seemed to swallow her whole.

"They never told Mary,” he added so that there would be no confusion.

"They said they would,” she said between sobs, "They said that I would see, that between the daughter of nobody and the material comforts they could provide, the choice was evident. I waited, and no one came.”

Anthony could see it now; a young Kate, barely older than he had been when his father had passed away, deceived by two of the most odious people on earth, waiting on family that never came. It was almost enough for him to consider that he had been far too kind on the Sheffields and maybe something more permanent had been better, consequences be damned. She must have been so alone. He could see her, traveling to a foreign land alone, with no friends and no support. He could not imagine how she had done it. When his father had passed, he had felt as though the world had ended, but he still had had his family and he hadn’t had to worry about money. Kate had truly lost everything, yet here she was. That took more strength than Anthony could fathom.

"I may have only met Mary recently, but I can tell with absolute confidence that she would not accept a penny from the Sheffields if it meant losing you.”

The pain in her face was exchanged for horror, her sobs suddenly stopping. "Oh god, if they didn’t know. I just left. They must hate me.”

Anthony considered Mary. "If you had seen her face when the Sheffields left… If there is one thing that I know, it is loving families. She loves you.”

He could sense that Kate wanted nothing more than to believe him, but could not. "She has barely spoken to me. She can barely look at me.”

"Sometimes,” Anthony whispered softly, staring into her eyes in the hope that she would see the conviction reflected in his, "I think, the fear of losing our heart’s greatest desire might prevents us from seeking it in the first place.”

As the words settled between them, Anthony found that he understood it. That someone might abstain desires entirely so as to never risk the loss of them, when it really mattered - when it was really important.

His thumb caressed the outline of her cheek, brushing away her tears. Something within him relaxed when he realized that at least she did not recoil at his touch. His throat constricted with words he wished he could say. There was so much and yet it did not feel nearly enough.

Her face softened and a light returned to her countenance. Anthony wished he could swim in the ocean of her eyes, wanting so desperately to say that she did not have to be alone, that she was loved. That he knew with the same certainty as he knew his own breath that there was not wealth enough in the world for Mary to give her up.

Something shifted and the air began to feel heavy, charged with something at once familiar yet exhilaratingly new. Kate’s eyes drifted from his to his lips and Anthony found himself wanting so much that something in his chest ached. For him to once again feel her lips against his, the ghost of her smile against his skin. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to provide whatever comfort he could. For her to feel what he knew; that she was important, that she was…

"We should return,” he had never had to force himself to say a sentence more in his life, ”I think you need to speak to your family.”

Kate blinked as if pulled from somewhere far away. Whatever had been on her mind floated away as her features were schooled into an unreadable expression. Quietly, she nodded.

She remained near him on the walk back to Danbury House, but Anthony could not shake the feeling that she was slipping away, that he might awake one day and she would be gone. And that frightened him more than he dared to admit.

///

As she re-entered Lady Danbury’s house, Kate felt so disoriented that despite the fact that she had grown accustomed to the splendour of the rooms, she felt as though she was walking a dream, that the situation she had found herself in could not possibly be real. For years, she had known that her family had chosen to accept the Sheffields’ money, to do what they had to survive. She had even grown to be okay with it. She understood. But today, Anthony had been so certain… Yet the possibly he had been right, that was somehow the most terrifying of all. If what he was saying was true, they must believe her to be the worst person to have ever lived. They would have to have spent years believing that she merely up and left for no reason. They would have never understood that nothing but the firmest of assurances could have caused her to abandon her family, that they would be safe, that they would be taken care of.

Kate took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was behind the door to the room that Mary and Edwina shared. If Anthony was right, how could she ever begin to beg for their forgiveness? Would she ever be able to forgive herself? That at least, she could safely say would never happen.

Slowly, filled with fear but doing it anyway, she opened the door to their room. Immediately, her eyes fell to Edwina, sitting by the window sill and she could see Mary hovering nearby. They had been waiting - she could tell. Whether if it was for news or for her to appear, she did not know.

Kate brazed herself for the onslaught that she rightly deserved. She did not know where to even begin to ask for their forgiveness, but she had to start somewhere. She was about to start when suddenly, she was interrupted by Edwina embracing her with such force that her little sister almost tackled her to the ground. Momentarily stunned, Kate did not know what to say.

Edwina’s eyes dashed up to her, "Didi, are you all right?” The way her voice was so warm with concern made Kate’s heart simultaneously swell and ache with pain.

"I-” Her words died on her lips as her eyes fixed on Mary, who was still lingering at the back of the room. Edwina was so good as to forgive anything, but Mary could not - would not. It was blinding, the way she wanted nothing more than for Mary to be her mother again. It felt impossible, but she had told the Sheffields to leave… "I’m sorry.”

The words were so wholly insufficient and yet they were the only ones she could say.

For a moment, the room was startling in its silence. Then, fearing that her words had echoed out into nothing, Kate’s thoughts were interrupted by Mary’s gradual approach. She could not quite believe the fierce warmth in Mary’s eyes.

"You have nothing to apologize for,” she said firmly.

There had been no decision to cry, Kate had thought she had cried enough tears, and yet she could feel the tears fall down her face, in spite of herself. "I shouldn’t have believed them, I should have-” The sudden urgency to make Mary understand was pressed upon every syllable and just seemed to fall out of her. She just needed them to know that she had never wanted to leave.

"You were a child,” Mary replied in a tone that invited no discussion, "You were grieving and the Sheffields saw a chance to spread their poison.”

Kate was about to challenge the generosity of Mary’s assessment but Mary continued with increased emphasis: "You had just lost a parent, for the second time, and you were placed in an impossible position. If you are about to say something to absolve me of the responsibility I have towards you, I will not hear of it. You are my daughter, Kate, and I have spent the past few years heartbroken thinking that you did not know it.” Mary cradled her face, caressing her cheek and the gesture’s maternal gentleness exposed a wound in Kate’s heart that she had not known needed to be healed. "I looked for you everywhere. I searched for you all night and I couldn’t find you.”

"We didn’t stop looking for you, Didi. We looked for months,” Edwina confirmed, her hand now caressing her sister’s arm, "and when you wrote to us from England, we finally knew where you were. But we didn’t have the money to make the journey, so when the Sheffields offered to pay for our trip for me to find a husband in England-”

"What do you mean?” Kate didn’t understand what she was trying to say.

"We came here to find you, Didi,” Edwina hugged her again, if possible, even fiercer than before, "and now that we have, we are never letting you go again.”

If she was being honest, Kate struggled to believe them. It felt too impossible, too good. But there was something in the earnestness of Edwina’s embrace that felt undeniable. "You didn’t say anything,” she managed, pressing the words out between her tears.

"I lost my nerve,” Mary said as if admitting something shameful, "Seeing what you had managed to build for yourself, on your own- seeing the strong and capable woman you had become… I worried that you wouldn’t want us here.”

Kate could not imagine a world, not even a fraction of a possibility, that there would not be a day when she did not wish to be with her family. To love them, protect them. For them to love her in return, that felt like the greatest gift that she would endeavor to deserve for the rest of her life. And yet, here it was - the thing she had wished for every day since she had let herself believe that her family would be better off without her. It was so beautiful, so precious, that she could not bring herself to question it.

Instead, the Sharma family cried, a lot of happy tears, embraced, and slowly but surely, it felt like, together, they were banishing the ghosts of the Sheffields out of their lives.

TBC

Authors note: This chapter has haunted me. Haunted me. Have had it in my head for days and obviously it's a big chapter. It's a lot longer than others but yeah... also big in terms of content. please feel free to leave comments in the post regarding the fic with your thoughts and commentary. I'd really love it. I'm always nervous that my writing style is crap etc so seeing nice comments really warms my iceberg of a heart. (Tumblr prevents me from replying to any of it because I cannot confirm my email address despite getting the link (it is awful and I'm in a position where I can't fix it), but I read all the comments with joy.)

#kathony #kanthony #bridgerton #fanfic #this is not a fic update but an exorcism

44 notes · View notes

wickedsrest-rp · 1 year

Text

Name: Lilian Ballard Species: Medium (Exorcist) Occupation: Cashier at the Bread Cemetery / Exorcist Age: 27 Years Old Played By: Addie Face Claim: Moon Ga-Young

"Sometimes you have to be the monster of a few people’s stories to be the hero in others. It’s just how it is."

TW: Emotional abuse, domestic abuse

Lilian Ballard was the next in a long line of celebrated exorcists, a fact that her father, Jacob, seemed to drill into her head since she was big enough to understand the words he was saying. Her twin, Jonas, wasn't going to be one, though. It had taken her a long time to understand that, especially with how gentle he was with ghosts. How they listened to him and even talked to him. She always thought it was magical and wondered why they wouldn't speak to her.

She tried to tell her dad, but she didn't really have the words to convey her meaning. He thought she was talking metaphorically - or, more likely, she wanted to be like her twin, even if he couldn't understand that. It took him seeing one scream in her face and her not so much flinching back to realize that she wasn't just mirroring Jonas. Then he realized Lil never talked to the ghosts or responded to their questions. Instead, she always looked to him to tell her when to begin the exorcism.

Like her twin, Lil was fundamentally different from her siblings- a disappointment. However, unlike Jonas, Lil didn't escape his careful training. After all, hearing the dead was helpful in mediums but not exorcists. She didn't need to know what they were saying to her. Further, as she started to succeed in her studies, he realized maybe she could transfer into a demonologist - hiding that she couldn't hear what was happening. She would need to give up on the dearly departed and train away from the family.

He never really considered what Lil wanted to go into that equation. June, though, saw her daughter in a different light. How her youngest daughter would stand resolutely between Jonas and the outside world when it got too much. She was attentive to her siblings and the other kids she thought were being bullied. How she tried her hardest to fit in, not quite knowing how to do so but eager to talk to others. Although Lil could be so brave, she didn't have the resolution that you would need to fight demons. She was too temperamental, prone to anger and over-protectiveness that would only lead her to fights that she couldn't hope to win. Lil kept shielding Jonas from the information, not letting their father tell him - instead getting loud and abrasive so he would yell about her behavior instead of telling Jonas. Still, although Lil seemed to hide it well, any time Jacob talked about Lil going away as soon as she turned eighteen, she freaked out.

After all, Lil knew that as soon as she left, she couldn't take her twin with her or anyone else. None of her family would know where she was, and she'd be truly alone. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to do. So, with the help of June, Lil told Jacob that she wasn't going to do it. Instead, she was going to stay in town, and continue being a ghost exorcist.

Their father, however, had a different idea. Lil never quite understood how he had done it. Still, after convincing her that they were back to their normal after the talk - a rapid acceptance that Lil only understood in hindsight- he brought her into another exorcism. For what it was worth, Lil didn't know the ghosts weren't poltergeists as she carefully exorcized them. She didn't hear them screaming for her to stop. She didn't know the fallout that would happen - how her once clean record blackened as Jacob turned her in. How she targeted spirits. How the card she'd worked hard to get was cut in front of her while she tried to explain she couldn't hear the ghosts - something that they didn't believe. Lil saw him smirking after, telling her that her reputation was ruined and that she might as well be a demonologist. That continuing as an exorcist would do nothing but destroy the rest of her life as she would always be seen as a reaper - exorcizing both spirits and poltergeists indiscriminately. No one would ever trust her once they knew what she had done. Once she turned eighteen, he would send her off to become a demonologist, and she would stop disobeying him.

On the car ride home, Lil was resolute that she wouldn't do what Jacob wanted and started a plan to get away from him. To show him that she wouldn't do what he wanted. She was sure that he would stop all of this if she wasn't around, and maybe they would have some sort of peace. She just needed to disappear from their hometown for a while, so he calmed down on this stupid idea. Still, how much better would it be if she was alone anyway?

So, with a twinge of guilt, Lil asked Jonas to leave with her. Without hesitating, Jonas agreed, and while furious at the beginning, over time, their father seemed to accept that Lil had outsmarted him (or, more realistically, was more trouble than it was worth). Soon, although strained, Lil would take jobs from him across the country, still furious at what he had done to her reputation. Now, most of the jobs she took were dubious at best – that most exorcists wouldn’t take. She took all of them, knowing that her reputation was one of dealing with any kind of ghost.

Still, for the next ten years, she was happy on the road. That was until recently. Lil hadn't accounted for the fact that the Ballard’s always seemed to bring about tragedy. First, it was Blue, a Barghest who attached herself to Jonas. Then, Lil got the call that their family was gone, all of them disappearing from their hometown in a night. Now, with Jonas and Blue in tow, Lil has returned to the town, trying to find out what happened - and most importantly, how to get her family back.

Character Facts:

Personality: Persistent, amiable, heroic, judgmental, reckless, stubborn, over-protective, angry, trustworthy

Although Lil can see ghosts and sense them she can’t hear them which causes a lot of frustration on both sides. She tends to pretend she can hear them though relying on Jonas to sign to her what they are saying.

Since Lil has been blacklisted from the Ghostbusters, she is weary of working with other exorcists and tends to push them away. She’s pretty bitter about it, but if it came down to it she’d help.

Lil is trying to find her missing siblings and is often in weird areas trying to find clues.

Lil knows a lot of languages both dead and still spoken, however she relies on Latin rituals for her exorcisms. Notably she can be seen signing ASL words as she talks, mostly out of habit.

Lil doesn’t mind helping supernatural folks, and often will perform exorcisms / modify exorcisms to properly help them.

#bio #taken #taken medium #taken human #medium #human #moon ga-young #emotional abuse tw #domestic abuse tw

15 notes · View notes

momobani · 2 years

Text

NIGHT AFTERNOON AT THE MUSEUM

If Your Winter Is Hard - Chapter 2 - 14.4k

medium!minghao x exorcist!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Warnings: mention of hospitals, exorcism(duh!); discussion of ghosts + death, reference to death of family members, light violence/ fighting, mention of guns, mention of grief, death scene, depiction of trauma, emotional whiplash idk (?)

Sum: You find that you’re going to need more help with your job; even some unsolicited help from an old friend.

Song rec: A Thought Is Haunting Me - Raphael Lake & Royal Braggs

Point of reference for series: Sell Your Haunted House (and Hotel Del Luna but to a lesser extent, both amazing dramas, go watch).

Disclaimer: lot of creative licence here lol, influenced by and used a lot of ideas from Sell Your Haunted House (e.g the setting, certain plot points and prop ideas) with some adaptation, some general/ stereotypical things about exorcism you can learn from mainstream media, nothing too intricate. [seriously go watch SYHH cuz it’s incredible and underrated af and I just had to pay homage to it somehow, so here’s a whole ass fic inspired by it haha]

A/N: welp, i’m a little worried no one’s gonna read it since it’s so damn long but oops i had a lot to say in this one, and i had a lot of fun writing all the different parts to this one. enjoy!

Your alarm rattles you awake the next morning and you know it’s not even early when you feel the rare caress of light on your face streaming through your bedroom window. You hardly ever get sunshine here in the basement but you leave your curtains ajar on the off chance that you might.

You usually slept in after an exorcism, needing to treat yourself. Your bones are cracking and your limbs feel like they weigh a tonne each. You groan and roll over to slap your phone, in an attempt to shut the beeping off.

You’d had dinner last night with Hoshi and Minghao, some late night takeout because you were too exhausted to cook. You’d insisted that Minghao take your bed and you the spare room since it was way too late for him to leave and he was still recovering from the exorcism but you’d ended up arguing with a wall. Apparently he liked sleeping on the floor. Weirdo. You just let him make his own decision; he was your guest after all.

Hoshi lives in an apartment building down the street from your house, having moved there a year after working with you. So last night, you and Minghao had half-walked, half-carried Hoshi’s limping ass the hundred metres or so distance to his place, making him promise you that you’ll go to the hospital for a check up tomorrow. Well, today.

It’s a process but you get ready, staring at the dark circles under your eyes in the mirror, and you don’t think about it but you mutter a ‘fuck off’ under your breath, to who, you had no idea.

When you knock on the door of the spare room, the one that used to be your sister’s, you’re not expecting to find it empty. When you enter the kitchen, you find your dishes washed and a note scribbled on the edge of the takeaway menu you’d ordered from. As much as you hated it when someone meddled in your kitchen, you were quite grateful as you picked up the note.

“Thanks for the help and the offer, I’m okay, goodbye. - MH”

You stifle a laugh at the way it’s written; the words take up the space in the thin margin and turn a corner when he ran out of space. Like a little artistic, note snake. You leave it on the table where it was and grab your keys.

Hoshi is standing and grinning outside his building in grey sweatpants and a big coat, underneath which you spot a tiger patterned button up. You click your tongue, for a moment re-considering unlocking the passenger door to your car.

You spend hours at the A&E with Hoshi, sitting together waiting his turn since they’d found Hoshi’s injuries aren’t too serious and the doctors had to deal with more pressing cases. The first half hour you manage to just sit quietly and try to ignore being in a crowded room. You hated being around this many people at once - it was a constant flurry of movement around you, like being stuck in the middle of a flock of hummingbirds or the inside of a beehive.

It’s not long until Hoshi pulls out his phone and offers you an earbud to some random wildlife documentary, which you take with a slight sigh. It’s a distraction. The truth is that you hated hospitals. It was a deep rooted but mostly irrational repulsion, without a doubt related to the fact that when you saw all these injured and/ or sick people, your heart clenched as you imagined the number of potential ghosts in the hospital instead of living humans.

Call it an occupational hazard.

Eventually it’s Hoshi’s turn and you go with him to stand in the department waiting area. You have no interest in conversing with the doctor; at this point you’re braindead, still stuck in some mountain region in Central Asia where the tiger population is dwindling and endangered, and here’s how you can donate and adopt a tiger today-

Hoshi emerges from the doctor’s office supported with a set of crutches and your eyes almost pop out of their sockets. Your mouth hangs agape as Hoshi offers you the spare shoe from the foot that is now bandaged and supported by a petite brace.

“What the fuck?” You manage, unable to disguise your astonishment.

“Sprained ankle. Should be fine in a few weeks.” He says, nonchalantly as he starts to walk, a little dysfunctional as he gets used to the crutches. You snap out of it and follow him, clutching the shoe.

“But nothing else is wrong, right?” You press him, worried.

“Aww, Boss, are you concerned about me?” He glances at you somewhat snidely.

“Of course I am, you dummy. I saw the way that ghost tossed you around like a rag doll!” You lower your voice at the second part as you walk through the hospital entrance.

“Well, I have a few scrapes and bruises here and there but otherwise I’m fine.”

“Beside the crutches.” You say sarcastically as you open the car door.

“Beside the crutches.” Hoshi confirms. “Eh, don’t worry about me, I’ll recover quickly.” He says as you help him hop in the back seat and stretch his leg. “And you can just work with Seokmin or Minghao in the mean time. You seemed to like him.” He chit chats as you get to your seat. You click your belt and pause. Did you hear him correctly?

“Me? Like him?” You turn back to Hoshi, your face contorted in confusion. “You must have hit your head too, we can still go back and get it checked while we’re here?”

“Oh come on, you didn’t hate him though, did you? You guys totally hit it off,” He pokes his head between the two seats. If it was any narrower it would squish his cheeks. “I could feel it through my spidey senses.”

“We definitely did hit each other a few times.” You murmur, remembering last night’s action. You shake your head. “Enough, Peter Parker. You’re a medium, not a superhero. Let’s take you home.” And you close the case.

After you settle Hoshi at home, cook for him and eat some of that meal together, you get back to your own place. You hadn’t done any work today so you make a cup of coffee and look through your emails. It’s almost as if you’re a normal office worker.

Your laptop sits on the kitchen table and you open and close a few different ones, mostly follow ups on finished jobs and paycheques from the Council of Exorcists and whatnot. There’s another one from the Council HQ sent only about an hour ago. You click on it with a sense of curiosity but are left confused when you find the slew of attached documents.

It looks like a new job as you skim the first few lines of the email. If the Council is calling directly and there’s no client to meet, it means it’s important. You notice you’re not the only recipient of the email too. That means it’s going to take manpower.

Shit.

You were one medium down right now since Hoshi was out for at least five weeks. The ankle might not take that long but he would probably need some time to fully recover from all that.

You sip your coffee and read the rest of the email. Your suspicions are confirmed when you read the last line:

“Please inform a representative of the Council how many mediums you may be employing at this time, thank you.”

Your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up and you don’t need to look to know who’s calling. The other recipient of this email. You pick up the phone and hold it to your ear.

“Hey, Seungkwan. You’re looking at it too, right?”

“Yup.” You hear him pop the ‘p’ on the other end of the line. “As if we didn’t have enough on our hands. Vernon and I are swimming in paper work as it is.”

“I have quite a few jobs soon too, I’m going to need Seokmin over the next few weeks, is that okay?” You ask, leaning back in your chair and you hope that he can’t hear the obnoxious squeak.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well, Hoshi’s injured and I have a couple of immediate projects that need completion.”

“Jeez, that’s crap, I hope he’ll be okay soon. Yeah, I mean, I was going to call Seokmin up but you can ask him.” Seungkwan replies.

“I’ll touch base with the Council and see if there’s anyone else that can come through, maybe Jun. I haven’t seen him in a while.” You say, only just thinking of calling him up. You didn’t feel close enough with him to ask for big favours though, and he was incredibly in demand so you’d probably call in vain.

“We need to figure out a response to the Council email soon, did you read through everything yet?”

“Not yet, I’ll bet it’s mostly public reports and statements but those are always vague. I did look at the location; some unfinished apartment block in the south side of town, did you see?” He hums a quiet yes. “It could be a really hard ID process. Might have to ask the Council for more resources.”

“Oh?” Seungkwan shuffles over the phone. “So you can call up Jihoon? You know he’s not the only representative that we could talk to.” You hear the teasing lilt to his voice and roll your eyes.

“Shut up. I meant in general. And you know he’s reliable and gets things done.” You counter.

“Any excuse to see him, huh?” Seungkwan guffaws through the speaker. “He is indeed very reliable and can do a lot. Maybe including you.” He adds quietly, mischief clear in his voice.

“Boo Seungkwan! Please be serious.” You snap defensively. You didn’t know what he was trying to get at. It’s not like you were that obvious about your fondness of Jihoon; you’d only met a few times for work but Seungkwan was acting like you openly drooled over the guy. As if. If you ever did drool over someone, it would most certainly be in private.

“I’m very serious, so serious that I called you as soon as I saw the email, chief.” He says with fake sincerity. If he was next to you, you’d kick him under the table.

“Whatever, we need to talk about this in person. Text me if you’re driving over soon, okay?”

“Sure thing, I’ll read through all the information and then we can discuss the next step.” He replies.

You’re about to reply when your doorbell rings, the echo coming from upstairs where the office is. You’re not expecting anyone so you wonder who it could be, and at this hour. A part of your brain thinks it might be Minghao, your confusion growing.

“Cool, I gotta run, see you later, Boo.” You hang up and go to answer the door.

It’s an unexpected visitor and you try process your feelings only for a split second; were you disappointed? Annoyed? Who knew.

You hit the breaks and skid to a halt, your body lurching forward slightly. You slide the car to park quickly - you finally found a goddamn parking space after circling the block at least four times. It was such an impossible neighbourhood. You’re ready to scream in frustration as you get out of your car, unable to resist slamming the door a little.

You were on a scouting mission for an exorcism, the latest project from the report you received from your mystery visitor yesterday, unusually alone since Hoshi couldn’t walk. You couldn’t believe that the first obstacle of this case was parking. Then again, if that was the only road block in the end, you’d be grateful, but you had never been an optimist. (Or stupid).

The museum stands grandiose and majestic in front of you, an architectural mystery, something caught in between late industrial revolution Europe, almost palatial, and what you pictured as Brooklyn suburbs, its fusion lost on you since you weren’t here to admire it but search for its weaknesses.

The way you had to perform an exorcism was simple; do it in the shadows.

It was for everyone’s safety and how you had to live within society’s parameters. That’s why you had to prepare so meticulously and would visit each site multiple times before attempting the exorcism at all.

Moreover, the world was full of sceptics, ordinary people who couldn’t wrap their mind around the existence of spirits, the naysayers who firmly believed that “no hard evidence” meant “non-existent”. Sometimes you’d think that those who denied it, did it to shield themselves; a world where there were no ghosts was probably safer in their opinion, so they deluded themselves into thinking it was like that - a world without apparitions was a better one.

At times you wanted to be like that. Oblivious and happy. A little fool in the wide, wide universe.

That’s not what life had given you. It had given you eyes that could look beyond and in that same breath, it had taken away your opportunity to live like the others. You tried so hard not to dwell on it, so hard to convince yourself that it’s better to know the world for what it is than to see a filtered version that had never been real. But it was difficult not to feel the occasional pang of resentment.

Usually you could keep the feeling at bay, but since the other day, it had been bugging you. You’d been thinking, letting your mind dance away with obtrusive thoughts that were utterly unconstructive to your reality. And you knew exactly why it was bothering you.

You’d met Minghao.

Here was someone who could see but had lived his entire life walking the line between seeing yet not knowing what he saw. Now that he finally knew the truth, he still had the option to walk away from it. Was there resentment here too? Envy?

As you strolled around the museum you tried to put yourself in his shoes. You thought about what that must be like to suddenly have the great, big illusion shattered. Or maybe a lifetime of questions answered. Perhaps you’re not the worst off. At least you had the explanation but he hadn’t. And he’d been all alone, whereas you had your family to help you.

At least he hadn’t been hurt, you conclude.

It’s about a couple of hours that you’ve walked around the museum’s four floors, and your feet are complaining, a dull ache echoing back to you with every step. You’d found several spots that could potentially be set up with a salt cage, areas where if aggression was necessary, no exhibits would be harmed.

Your current favourite was the basement level. It was a solid room, reflective black tiles lining the perimeter, where all the artefacts were protected by a wall of plexiglass encasing each length of the room. There were lights above the artefacts themselves, running along each wall of the room as the casing did. The middle of the room was mostly empty, only a rectangular table exhibit covering a quarter of the space. It was basically perfect.

The ghost described to you, was that of a tour guide. Your visitor had been a student who’d been frequenting the museum for a project and had heard a woman’s voice talking about one of the exhibits when there was no one standing there.

You had asked the staff if anyone had died recently and it turned out that one of their guides working at the museum had died in a hit and run accident on her way to work a few months ago. According to them, she’d actually hated her job but liked being around all the museum goers despite that.

No wonder she’d retained her voice as an apparition. It was rare but not impossible. It was more likely that during an exorcism, once a ghost has entered the medium’s body, they could speak through the medium. If a ghost was able to speak without the medium, that meant their voice was extremely important to them when they were alive.

While on your expedition, you kept an eye out for a glimpse of her the whole time but didn’t hear even a whisper. Probably since it was still mostly light outside and not quite evening. Ghosts preferred to move around at night in the dark, a phenomenon whose explanation was disputed by many professionals.

Satisfied with your initial findings, you decide to call it a day.

You’re leaving the museum and trudging back to where your car was, taking in this area. It’s deep autumn, the evenings are darker and harsher every day, the sun having already set for today. It was an unfamiliar neighbourhood to you, you’d hardly ever been here, maybe for a coffee or to run an errand years ago but you’d never taken a walk around. You round the corner to where your car is and almost trip over your own feet.

No way.

That’s not him.

“Ah, sshhhit.” You hiss under your breath.

Approximately thirteen feet away from you, stands Minghao, bolting a door and locking it with a jiggling mass of keys. You glance at the faded writing over the side of the door and find it’s a-

Martial arts studio, of course.

You’re frozen in your spot, awkwardness seizing your body. What do you do? He’s totally going to think you’re some psycho who’s been looking for him. What are the odds you run into him so randomly? Like in all of this stupid city? Like none.

Do you just walk past him? Do you say hi? What you do do is hope he doesn’t notice you and turns to walk in the other direction but that’s wishful thinking.

In the split second that you have this multitude of thoughts, more like mental exclamations, Minghao is finished with the door and the heavy metal and swivels his body in your direction, walking two steps before he takes you in and cuts himself short.

You gulp and just stare at him.

He stares at you, as if he’s trying to analyse the situation at hand. Does he run? Have you already seen him? Getting back in the studio isn’t an option since the door’s locked.

At least you imagine that’s what he’s thinking.

“YN?” He asks, putting the gaggle of keys in his jacket pocket. You were too stunned to speak, but your lips form a sort of awkward smile, teeth and all. You think it’s all good, you can get through this, your socially inept self can do this, then: “Oh my god, you’re a stalker. How did you find me? Have you been following me for two days?” The appalled look on his face greets you like a punch in the gut.

You scoff, suddenly annoyed with his response. Did he think so little of you, like you had no life? You were a busy, in-demand exorcist, you didn’t have time to stalk anyone, except ghosts.

“Pfft, no. I’m here on business.” You reply, standing a little straighter. “I was just leaving, actually. Goodbye.” And you don’t hesitate walking forward. Just as you’re passing him, Minghao stops you by grabbing your arm. It’s not a powerful movement, just enough to get you to stand still.

“Wait,” he says, his hand heavy on your coat sleeve. “Are you sure you’re not here to try and recruit me?” You look down at where he’s holding on to you. No one gets in your personal space like that unless it’s because of supernatural possession. You’re reminded fleetingly that he’d been much closer than that before.

You look back up to his face. There’s no antagonism coating his features, just curiosity. You retract your wrist gently.

“I’m not, it’s your choice. I told you it’s dangerous. It’s really not the most pleasant work in the world.” You say, well conscious that that was sugarcoating it.

“But someone has to do it.” He replies quietly. You’re taken aback, to say the least. The uncomfortable awkwardness you felt just a minute ago is replaced by sheer surprise.

“I guess, but it’s not your responsibility so you don’t have to.” You think of all the exorcists who are born into the duties. If you came from an exorcist family, you were supposed to learn the craft and pass it on.

There was no way to learn it otherwise; it wasn’t like going to school, even mediums could be given a crash course and learn as they go, but exorcism was something you had to observe and practice to master. Like an apprenticeship. It was very rare for someone from a normal family to become an exorcist. You did know someone, but he was an exception to everything.

“Don’t think about it too much. Just ignore the ghosts you see and keep that ring on. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home.” You give him a polite nod and move to leave.

“How?” He asks.

“With my car, what else?” And you make a face at him, as if he’s missing the obvious. He leans slightly to look past you.

“What car?” He asks innocently. The question makes your heart palpitate.

You swish around and yell out, hands flying to clutch your face like a cartoon character.

The street is completely empty.

You swear you’d left your car here, right in front of the laundromat. There’s no way you made a mistake, right? No, it was definitely the laundromat, you remember seeing the 25% off sign as you got out of the driver’s seat. You feel faint for a fraction of a second.

No way this was happening.

“Hmm, I guess they really do tow around here.” Minghao muses next to you. You’re about to collapse with delirium, your head starting to ache already. You really hadn’t checked any of the parking regulations on the street signs, had you? You mentally kick your own ass, imagining one of those dismembered metal fists flying at your face.

“Nope, this isn’t real. I’ll wake up tomorrow and my car will be in front of my house.” You start to reassure yourself, feeding yourself lies to cope with the situation. “Ughhhh!” You’re groaning into your hands, covering your eyes, better not look at the massive nothingness directly.

“I guess it’s meant to be, then.” You hardly hear Minghao say beside you. “Hey, you need a ride?” He says, loud enough to get your attention. You drop your hands.

“You have a car?”

“Better. C’mon.” And he’s leading the way around the side of the door he’d locked, revealing a dark alley between buildings, illuminated only by a tiny streetlight above a dumpster. To the left of the dumpster is a motorcycle. Nothing incredibly fancy but it’s a modest, metallic black Suzuki, shiny under the light. You catch the make which reads ‘Bandit 650’. You had no idea what that meant but it sure looked cool.

“You drive a motorcycle?”

“Yes, why? Do I not seem like the type?” He turns back to you.

“I don’t know you, so you’re not any type to me yet.”

“That’s good, I don’t like being anyone’s type.” Minghao says as he walks toward the bike. Your mind lags behind in the conversation, trying to make sense of what he said. Clearly, you’re still in shock over the loss of your vehicle. “Oh shit, helmet. Hang on, I’ll go get an extra.” He leaves you in the alley alone.

You look up at the streetlight above you, trying to ignore the smell of trash drifting in the alley. There’s several bugs flying close to it, a couple of moths and something else from what you can make out, no doubt attracted by its heat and its light. It fascinates you when the moth gets too close and almost bounces off the bulb when it touches it.

Scalded. Yet it stays there, fluttering around it.

“Got it.” You hear Minghao’s voice behind you. He moves quickly, closing the space between you and before you can react, he clamps the helmet over your head and secures the strap under your chin, his fingertips grazing your skin. You don’t say anything as he flicks the visor down and everything is filtered by tinted glass.

With one fluid motion, he swings a leg over the body of the motorcycle and adjusts his own helmet. You’re still standing dumbly beside the dumpster.

“What are you waiting for?” His voice comes out muffled by the material.

“Nothing.” And you scramble to sit behind him. It’s not easy settling on the back of the motorcycle but you manage with some shuffling and bouncing. You’d never ridden one before, never been badass enough to try anyway but your brain doesn’t stop you. You blame it on the fact that nothing else could bother you for the night. You’d already let a whole car disappear so you figured, whatever happens, happens.

“Hold on tightly.” Minghao warns as he turns the key. You don’t need to be told twice so you hook your arms around his waist. You hold your breath in anticipation as the motorcycle roars to life and he revs the motor, speeding away into the dark.

The night city zips past you or you zip past it, you’re not sure which, as you hold on to Minghao, your body leaning when he leans, the motorcycle flying down the street smoothly.

This would be kind of fun if you weren’t filled with the existential dread of having your car confiscated ‘cause you can’t read.

You close your eyes and block out everything and for a moment you feel like you’re just a consciousness floating in the ether. It makes you relax so you don’t even notice how Minghao weaves his way through the city to your place without instruction. It’s only when the motion stops that you realise you’re at your office doorstep.

It’s clumsy and unbalanced but you manage to get down and stand on your own two feet again, reaching to discard the helmet. You don’t want to imagine what kind of rats nest your head looks like after that but it’s dark out so you shrug off the discomfort.

Minghao is standing too, his dark hair perfectly neat after shedding the helmet and you narrow your eyes. Some people are just born to be models, you guess.

“Thanks for the ride. You want to come in for a bit?” It’s the second time your mouth runs on its own accord this week, and both occasions whenever you talk to Minghao.

The previous incident flashes through your head: ‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’ Your voice rings out in your memory. You resist the urge to cringe at yourself. You sure did sound obsessed with ghosts.

“Sure, why not?” He shrugs. You weren’t actually expecting him to say yes but you lead him down the cement stair case to the basement entrance.

You invite him to sit at the table, offering to cook something quick but he declines, citing having eaten with some of his students after a sparring session.

“How about a cup of coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please. That tea from before was great.” He says sincerely.

“Yeah, it’s pretty special. It has healing properties. My aunt grows it out in the mountains.” You reply, your hands fishing out the right containers and setting things up on autopilot. You don’t know why you mention your aunt, but it makes the corners of your mouth fall slightly.

“Oh really? What does she do?”

“She helps run a small plantation, the people who work there are mostly former exorcists or mediums who wanted to retire somewhere rural. There’s a residential area and everyone hangs out and they do normal things like play bingo or watch soap operas.” You explain, thinking back on it. You’d only visited twice and it struck you how young some of the retirees were.

Maybe you could go there one day too.

“Ah, got it. It sounds nice. I guess there’s not a lot of ghosts in the mountains, then.”

“That’s why they go there.” You say. “To live quietly and never see another apparition again.” There’s a clang when you accidentally drop the spoon against one of the mugs while you pour out some tea for the two of you.

There’s a short silence as you turn off the heat and put the pot to the side, and bring the tea to the table, sitting adjacent to Minghao.

“Thanks.” He says when he accepts the mug. He smiles when the soft aroma of the tea reaches his nose.

You watch him as he takes a sip, entranced by how still he became, letting your eyes wander. He sits there and you’re overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu, as if you’ve been in this exact situation before. Minghao just looks as if he belongs there, at your weathered, old table, drinking tea in a comfortable silence. It’s unsettling.

“So where’s Hoshi?” He asks after a moment.

“He’s not here, he’s at home.” You take a sip of your own tea. The hot liquid scalds your tongue but you ignore it, enjoying the burn, letting it warm your body after being out in the cold.

“Is he okay?” You feel a sense of dread settling over you and you’re not sure it’s Minghao’s words. You want to ignore the feeling for now but you stiffen, suddenly alert.

“He’s a little banged up, but he’ll be fine soon. He has a sprained ankle so he won’t be working for a while.” You explain, pursing your lips. The office had been so much quieter without Hoshi that you’d started to miss his humming and constant quips about this and that.

“Right, he’ll be oka-” Minghao pauses. In that moment you feel a cold breeze behind you and your heart sinks.

Not now.

You close your eyes and open them again. She materialises behind your back, shape moving in your peripheral vision and then she floats to your left. You’re sure Minghao sees her too as she’s directly in front of him bar the table, his eyes following her as she crept up on you. He doesn’t say anything as he looks at her.

Your sister’s ghost is interrupting your conversation.

You sigh and turn your face towards her, eyes pleading, but pleading for what? She’s faint as always, a transparent and levitating form of her former self and you wish she hadn’t shown up right now of all times. It’s as if she feels you don’t want her there, she evaporates, leaving some cold air as she disappeared.

“You were saying?” You prompt Minghao, as if nothing had happened. You’re grateful when he doesn’t pry, his long neck craning back to you.

“Actually, there’s a reason why I asked if you were there to recruit me.” You look up at him in surprise, meeting his eyes. “I thought about it. I think I want to try being a medium. I was still contemplating calling you but then you showed up so I decided it must be fate.”

“Don’t use that word lightly.” You tell him, almost as a reflex. You take a long look at him, really staring him down, calculating if he’s being genuine. He was incredibly serious as he spoke, therefore you’re inclined to believe he means it. “Are you definitely sure you want to do this? Quitting is harder than joining.”

“I am. I want to help those souls, now that I know what I’ve been seeing all my life, I realise they were just lost. No one deserves that, they should get to rest properly.” He says this with conviction and it puts you a little on edge; you hadn’t heard anyone speak like that about your job in three years.

No one but your sister.

There’s a fleeting strike of panic coursing through you and you grab Minghao’s hands, eyes scouring his fingers for the ring. He sits rigidly across from you for those two seconds when you locate the ring and sigh in relief. He was wearing it the whole time. You feel the weight of his inquisitory gaze and you quickly put his hands down.

It occurs to you within that time that you could have just looked at his eyes to check his iris colour, but it’s already too late. But he didn’t know that, a voice in your head chides. Yeah, but he will soon, dipshit, you reply.

“Sorry. I just had to-”

“Make sure I’m not possessed?” He finishes for you. You nod slowly, lowering eyes to your tea. “It’s okay, I get it. I mean I don’t know what made you want to check but I understand your worry. You didn’t know whether or not I was wearing the ring.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You concede. You’re thinking about what he said.

He surprised you once again. You were so used to knowing everything before a mission, being in control of the situation. Then he showed up and things started getting unpredictable. All those days studying schematics and floor plans, looking for names and faces and considering every other variable - but Minghao was the one variable you weren’t prepared for.

There’s a part of you that’s impressed he made the choice but the other part of you, the part that was trying to keep him away from all this, is disappointed. You clearly didn’t try hard enough to put him off.

Mediums didn’t have it as hard as exorcists in terms of career moves in the industry, it was easier for them branch out or to leave than an exorcist, but they did put themselves in way more risk during exorcisms.

“You’ve made up your mind, then.” You conclude.

“Yes. I feel like it’s the right thing for me to at least try.” He says. You nod once, resigning on trying to make him think again. He still had the opportunity after his training.

“Okay. I’ll get you a spot for the medium programme at the Council of Exorcists. It’s only a few days and you just need to learn some basic things like how exorcism works, how to take care of yourself and that sort of thing.”

“Cool, when do you want me at work?” He asks expectantly. You’re taken aback. You hadn’t wanted to assume he’d work for you but now that he asked, it begged the question of where else could he go except for here? Seungkwan had Vernon on his team and Seokmin between you, Hoshi was out and so naturally he would have to take that spot on your team.

“Um, I’ll text you the details, just show up when I tell you to.”

“You have my number?” he narrows his eyes sceptically. You’re reminded of his earlier outburst and accusation of stalking. You sigh.

“No, you have mine, but you can just text me first, genius.” You take an irritated sip of your tea, thinking it was obvious.

“Fine. I’ll just ask them to teach me how to read your mind too while I’m there.” He retorts.

“You do that.” You shoot back, your words lacking venom.

You’d shipped Minghao off to the Council a couple of days ago, after a brief and professional conversation with Jihoon over the phone. You were accustomed to his customer service voice, arranging details for you every once in a while since you were friendly, though being friendly was a bit of a stretch when it came to Jihoon.

The Council Head Quarters, which was pretty much the heart of your industry’s administration and organisation, was a good a three hour journey away from your city. You’d offered to drive Minghao after you’d managed to track down your car and pay a small but still really frustrating fine, but he insisted that he wanted to take his motorcycle. Something about wanting to clear his head.

You were familiar with the feeling, so you let him go.

You were deep into a meeting about your museum project, about an hour before you were expecting Seungkwan and Vernon to show up for another meeting on your apartment case. Your conference room, one of the two rooms beside the open office space on the ground floor, was filled simply with one large, oak wood table and a handful of chairs. You rarely hosted more than four or five people here but it still made you feel important when you stood at the head and took charge of a meeting.

Today you had Seokmin, a cheerful and energetic medium and absolute chatter box, and Wonwoo, one of your friends on the police force, over. You’d started research with Seokmin about identifying your tour guide but after that you’d stumbled into a road block you were anticipating:

How to get into the museum.

It wasn’t like the gallery where you had a window of opportunity; the museum shut and that was that. Doors locked, no way in or out, even as staff members cleaned. Security system armed and guards kept to a minimum so they don’t trigger the alarms during the night.

Essentially your problem was that you needed to bypass the system, so naturally you called the only person you knew could do that.

Wonwoo.

He was a team leader in a cyber crimes department and had a background in coding; at least that’s what he said on paper. He also had a bucket load of experience with his humble roots in hacking and you knew that because you’d caught him right in the act several years ago whilst on a preliminary scouting mission for your sister.

He was in the middle of an undercover, but slightly rogue, operation to catch some dark web arms dealers. He hadn’t believed you when you tried to fool him with the truth delivered in a sarcastic overtone until the ghost messed with his laptop and made it fizzle out sparks in his hands. He’d pouted cutely at your smug smile and you’d decided that you wanted to be his friend.

Since he works in the police, he made a deal with you to provide you his hacking expertise in exchange for intel if you ever came across any crimes during an exorcism. So, here you were, asking your friend for a favour. (Hoshi had maintained that you had no friends except him but he’d stopped the teasing after he’d met Wonwoo.)

Your oak table was covered by three different types of floor plans, including a guide to where every CCTV camera was, blueprints of the museum’s electrical and pipe systems, and a merry bunch of gadgets connected in a crazy contraption and hooked up to Wonwoo’s computer.

The conclusion was that you’d have to have Wonwoo on site with you to directly disarm the system and help you sneak in to the basement level.

“How long do you need to complete the exorcism?” Wonwoo asked, fingers hovering over his keyboard.

“About half an hour in total. We need to set up a salt cage, lure the ghost and exorcise it, then pack up.” You said, listing each step on a finger. “It does depend on the ghost’s cooperation however, some ghosts are harder to lure so it could take longer.” You explain.

“I’ll give you a clean thirty minutes, including getting out. Anything longer is riskier, especially with the security post near the staircase. They might hear and decide to investigate.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Wonwoo.” You smile at your bespectacled friend.

“No problem, but you know my services aren’t for free. If you find out anything linked to the accident then let me know.” He instructs as he packs up the million papers from the table. “Oh and buy me chicken.”

“Hey, me too, I want chicken. Exorcisms make me hungry.” Seokmin pipes up as the three of you exit your conference room. You roll your eyes.

“Fine, chicken on me when we’re done.” You’ll allow it since you wanted some too.

“Now, what’s this I hear about chicken?” You locate the source of the voice in front of you and find Seungkwan and Vernon entering your office, the door still open.

“Hello to you too, Boo.” You say. “Hey, Vern.”

“How’s it going?” Vernon gives you a little wave as he perches on the edge of your desk as you help Wonwoo tuck a stray blueprint into his bag.

“You guys know Wonwoo, right? Wonwoo this is Seungkwan and Vernon, they run the firm’s other office.” The guys greet each other as you stand somewhat awkwardly in the middle.

You say your goodbyes to Wonwoo as he heads off, then you break for a bit, catching up.

Unlike before, your conference table is littered with juice boxes, snacks and a projector and a couple of laptops.

“You know you could just introduce me as your business partner.” Seungkwan pouts as he peals a banana. “Unless you’re embarrassed.”

“Oh my god, not this again.” You sigh as you chomp in a piece of shortbread. “It’s only loosely a ‘business,’ you know that. We’re technically civil servants, sorta.”

“You just want them to think you’re the boss. Well, you can’t be the boss if you have no employees, I might just open my own practice.” He retorts, voice full of accusation.

“If you get emotional, you lose.” Seokmin reminds him. You smile at the interference.

“Think what you want, it doesn’t mean it’s true.” The words roll off your tongue but in your head you hear them in your sister’s voice. You almost stop short, shocked at how easily it came to you.

You don’t look up from your computer screen as you pull up the file of notes you’d made after reading through the paperwork you’d received. With a click on the tiny remote controlling the small projector on your table, the image appears behind you on the white wall.

“There’s several things we need to discuss.” You continue. “Firstly, the location. That unfinished apartment block is a building project by some incorporation, Platypus or something.”

“Platis.” Vernon corrects.

“Thanks. Platis. There’s rumours they’re restarting work on the building. They originally started that project about four years ago but stopped unexpectedly about a year after. The workers went on strike but there’s hardly any record of it.”

“Does it matter?” Seokmin raises his eyebrows as he munches on a cookie.

“It might. I probed further into the location and it turns out the building displaced a small cemetery. Hmm?” You wait for him to connect the dots. None of the men sitting at the show any sign of understanding. “What if the builders were scared off by the ghosts?”

“Pfft, there’s not enough evidence to conclude that yet. Some ghost is probably being disruptive and the locals noticed.” Seungkwan replies.

“It’s still suspicious though, the workers refusing to go on. You’d be surprised how scared grown men can get.” You say pointedly, not meaning to glance at Seokmin, who takes it personally.

“Hey! It’s pretty scary when a ghost is coming at you!” He sulks, finger pointing at you for emphasis. You honestly had no idea what kind of ironic karma he had in life to be a total scaredy cat but be cursed to see ghosts and on top of that have medium abilities.

“Why did you even become a medium?” Seungkwan takes the thoughts right out of your brain.

“It pays good as a side hustle. I can’t just work at the theatre, that doesn’t pay at all.” He shrugs.

“On today’s episode of what people will do for money…” you mutter. “Anyway, back to the ghosts. If it’s a cemetery, chances are it’s a group of ghosts. You know how it works, clinging to the past and all that. Our first job is to count and ID the spirits.”

“Okay, the two of us can do a preliminary scouting mission.” Seungkwan suggests, indicating himself and Vernon with a wave of his half eaten banana. “You guys have that museum job to take care of tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, we do. You might need an extra pair of hands though, but Hoshi’s still on crutches.” You purse your lips. If only Minghao was already here, then he could give you a hand. Hold up-

he’s new, it’s not like he’ll be much help. You think that but at the same time you don’t believe it; he seems to be intelligent and you’re under the impression he has enough common sense to be in this line of work. You’ll find out soon.

“We’ll manage alone, unless you want to give me Jeonghan’s number.” Seungkwan says hopefully. Your hand freezes over the mousepad of your laptop. “We might need his help later anyway, why not ask now?” He continues. You feel your jaw clenching involuntarily.

“No. We’re not doing that.” You say, hearing your voice as if it’s detached to your body, as if someone else was saying it next to you.

“But what if it turns out it’s a group of ghosts? We’ll need more exorcists then.” Seungkwan argues. You’re getting fed up with the topic already.

You knew why he brought it up though; in your sphere, Yoon Jeonghan was kind of infamous. He was currently the only exorcist to be born out of a normal family and had mastered the skill. An exception amongst tradition. He was also kind of a half-retired, outcast but that hadn’t always been like that.

You knew him well.

The rumours that had spread three years ago had only added to his reputation. People thought he had exorcised a demon and called him an elite but you knew the truth. The truth that haunted you to this day.

It had been your sister who’d exorcised the demon.

And he’d encouraged her to try it, his morbid ambition getting the best of her too.

You blamed your sister for listening to him. You remembered the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d clung onto his every word. Your whole family had been conned by him; your sister for thinking he cared about her, your aunt for taking him as an apprentice and even you for thinking he was your friend.

You hadn’t told anyone, so his name rang out in admiration when it found its way into conversations. Despite the bitterness you felt toward him, the resentment, you couldn’t find it in yourself to say what you thought and ostracise or damn him like that.

You were irked but you put your feelings aside and tried to appear less aggressive than you felt.

“Just say you want to call him ‘cause you’re a fanboy.” You huff. “We don’t need him. He barely works these days and if he does, his prices are much too high for the work, it’s kinda gaudy.” You clear your throat as you carry on. “Anyways, we need to find out more about group exorcisms, could you look through your family archives, Seungkwan?” You ask.

“As if we’ll find anything there. You’re more likely to have some kind of data on that here.” He protests. “You know there wasn’t much ghost activity where we lived. So little that we had to close our office. It’s pointless wasting time on that.” He sighs.

“Fine, we’ll go through my archives here first. Look up a place to stay, you can’t commute the two hours all the time.”

“Eh, you guys can stay with me.” Seokmin interjects.

“Are you sure about that?” Vernon asks. Seokmin nods excitedly, his eyes lighting up.

“Of course!” Seokmin grins. “Wooo, sleepover!” He cheers. You watch him, aware of the creeping envy over your mind. The pure positivity and brightness that Seokmin radiated always made you wonder how it’s possible to exist like that. It must be nice to see the world the way he does.

Your meeting is interrupted by your phone buzzing on the table. You glance at it and see Minghao’s name flash up unexpectedly. The puzzled face you make gets the others’ attention since they stop talking in anticipation too.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m outside.” His voice is raspy on the other side of the line.

“Oh? Ah…just a sec.” You throw the guys a ‘gimme a minute’ over your shoulder and leave.

You swing open one of the double wooden doors of your office and find Minghao standing there, a rucksack slung over his shoulder and his helmet in his hand. You’d be surprised at his arrival but you’re slowly getting used to him surprising you on a regular basis since you’d met.

“You’re back early?” You say as you lead him in. He smells of the cold outside, the way you can only feel it during the last few months of the year, damp leaves, dew and dissipating daylight.

“I’m a quick learner.” He replies curtly. When you enter the conference room, three sets of eyes zero in on the two of you.

“You must be Minghao!” Seokmin grins immediately, standing up and offering a handshake. If Minghao’s overwhelmed or startled by the enthusiastic welcome, he doesn’t show it as he politely shakes Seokmin’s hand.

“Hi, everyone.”

You take the opportunity for a break to make introductions, Minghao sitting in the last empty chair in the room, next to yours at the head of the table.

“How was your training?” You ask.

“Oh right.” Minghao seems to remember something. “You stabbed me!” He exclaims, suddenly offended by your previous actions.

“I didn’t stab you, I stabbed the ghost.” You say defensively. “It’s how it works.”

“But what if I wasn’t possessed?”

“You were. Obviously. It’s fine.” You reassure him.

“YN, you can’t just go around stabbing strangers.” He nags resolutely.

“Listen, you might have done your training but you’ve got a lot to learn about this job.” You scoff at his audacity. He’s been here two minutes and he’s already telling what to do. Maybe you should have held a proper job interview before hiring him so thoughtlessly.

“What’s his na- Jihoon said I was a good student.” Minghao insists. “I’ll prove myself. When’s your next job?”

You only just now take a gander around the room, finding a trio of perplexed faces staring back at you.

What were they looking at?

Seungkwan looks like he’s observing ants fighting over the bigger breadcrumb, Seokmin as if he’s about to pull out a bag of popcorn and Vernon, well, he may or may not be sleeping with his eyes open. You could never tell.

“As a matter of fact, Seokmin and I were going to work tomorrow. If you’re so keen, talk it out between yourselves on who’s coming with me.” You retaliate. That seems to spur the others back into life.

“Forget it, bro, that’s my job, I need the money!” Seokmin cries immediately.

“Eh, Minghao, you can come with us instead.” Seungkwan offers.

“What do you mean?” Minghao asks. You realise you hadn’t caught him up yet completely yet.

“Whoever doesn’t do the exorcism, can do the scouting mission instead.” Seungkwan explains. Minghao considers it for a moment.

“I’d rather do the exorcism, I need to practise how to do it properly.”

“Then you come with us, Seokmin.” Vernon suggests. You nod in agreement, shrugging. It’s all the same to you who comes with you to get the museum ghost.

Actually- wait a minute.

You were starting to remember that Minghao was a trained martial artist and that last time you’d had your hands quite full when he was possessed. Actually, he’d been kind of hard to beat. Was your memory distorted or were you just stupid? Why did you hire this guy, again?

You shake yourself internally. If the ghost is a chatter box then you didn’t need to combine that with another chatter box, it might have dire consequences. (For Seokmin, not for you.)

“If you’re worried about the money, I already wired it. You did the research with me. Seungkwan will pay you overtime.” You tell him in an attempt to dissuade him from coming along. You’d rather take a few extra hits than have to verbally wrangle with the ghost.

“Really? Hold on, so I get paid and I don’t have do the exorcism?” He asks, voice and eyebrows rising in tandem.

“Yeah.” You confirm.

“Hah, it’s all yours buddy!” Seokmin laughs and smacks Minghao on the shoulder. “Have fun getting your ass kicked.”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of other exorcisms you can do.” Vernon reassures him innocently. You’re not sure that’s what Seokmin wants to hear though.

“That’s the thing about this business; people never stop dying so there’s always work.” Seungkwan deadpans at no one in particular. You sigh, partly because you now realised you hired a medium to spar with for who knows how long, but mostly because he’s right.

“Call that mortician’s humour.” You shrug, turning back to your laptop screen.

“It wasn’t funny.” Minghao mutters. It’s quiet but you catch it nonetheless.

“Exactly.”

“Are we ready to go?” You ask.

You’re sitting in your car, Minghao in the passenger seat and Wonwoo in the backseat, your car’s dome light switched on momentarily. It was almost midnight and you’d been waiting for the last janitors to leave so that you could begin your mission.

“Ready when you are.” Wonwoo says. He shuts his laptop and puts it back in his backpack. He’d been able to hack the server for the security cameras remotely and check for the last staff member leaving, which was about five minutes ago. “We can go in now. I’ve looped some security footage to play while we’re there. I’ll take care of the locks and alarms inside.”

“Don’t forget the fire alarms, please. I’ll be lighting incense.” You reply.

“Got it.”

“Minghao?” You glance at him.

“I’m good.” Minghao replies, emotionless. You expect him to be nervous since this is his first official exorcism but you can’t trace a hint of anxiety on his face. It was probably because you didn’t know him that well yet - you couldn’t read him.

You take in the three of you; dressed in all black, turtle necks and beanies, and it reminds you of those slapstick burglars you see in budget films. You’d texted the guys a quick dress code since you could never be too careful and it would help you blend into the shadows as you went about your business.

“Right. Before I forget.” You reach into your jacket and produce a small amethyst crystal and extend it to Wonwoo. “Take this. I know you can’t see ghosts so you’re not a medium, but just in case.”

“Thanks.” He pockets the item swiftly. You didn’t have any other protective talismans at the moment, only some of the crystals your aunt had collected over the years, some of which were posted in random places around the house.

You’d learned since the gallery. Even if you thought you had considered every variable, you could be and were probably wrong.

You feel Minghao’s critical eyes on you and you can almost see the judgement radiating off him like a heater, a ‘would it have killed you to do that last time?’ probably sitting on the tip of his tongue. Hmm, maybe you could read him a little.

Regardless, you try your best not to linger on your mistake, even if you were responsible. You remind yourself though, that this time he volunteered.

The night greets you sharply as you step out of your car, the frosted air nipping at your skin. You adjust your own beanie, tugging it closer to your scalp. Autumn was creeping dangerously towards winter now and the cold seeps into your clothes, then bleeds down to your bones, ruthlessly chilling you from the inside out.

You make your way, three shadows skulking towards the rear end of the building, following the bricked path behind the museum where it lead to a trash storage area, presumably all the waste was from the cafe and such. Your entry point was on the father side of the dumpsters lined up against the wall; the garbage door.

Wonwoo fished out a tiny trapezoidal device from his pocket, looking over his shoulder each way before sticking it to the small access lock pad mounted on the wall adjacent to the door. He connected a wire extending out of the device to his phone and tapped away for a few seconds.

The machine whirred then beeped as a green light flashed on the lock pad. With a gloved hand, Minghao opened the door and waited for the two of you to get inside. Wonwoo lead the way to the closest control panel located down the corridor in a janitor’s closet, with you and Minghao on his tail.

The inside is quite spacious, filled with several heavy duty shelves stacked with cleaning products, paper towels and other miscellaneous items.

“Do you see the panel?” Wonwoo asks. You’re looking around and spot a metal pane around your knee height.

“There!” You point. Wonwoo wastes no time in taking out his laptop and sitting down in front of the panel. He reaches into his pocket and brings out a Swiss army knife, opening the panel with ease. All you can do is stare in awe at Wonwoo in action, his nimble fingers fiddling with wires, unplugging and plugging them and pressing buttons on the panel before starting to type furiously on his laptop.

You have literally no idea what the hell he’s doing but you make a mental note that he’s mega cool. Cooler than you during an exorcism at least.

“Okay, the alarms are disabled. Set your watches; it’s exactly 11:43.” You obediently tap out thirty minutes on your phone alarm. “Go, by the time you get there, I’ll have the doors opened.” He says without looking up or stopping his tirade of typing.

“Awesome, you’re the best, Wonnie.” You sing song as you turn to leave, Minghao already out the door.

“If you’re really thankful, you know what to do.” He calls after you.

“Chicken, I know!” You reply as you shut the door and catch up with Minghao. He turns his head to throw you a look, a smirk loosely forming across his face, if your eyes don’t deceive you.

“Thanks, Wonnie! You’re the best, Wonnie! I’ll buy you chicken, Wonnie!” He raises his voice in pitch, sounding akin to Mickey Mouse while he mocks you.

“Shut up, that is not what I sound like.” You snap but you’re not annoyed.

“That was literally what you sounded like just then. Not kidding.”

“Whatever, be quiet, we’re nearing the guards.” You tell him. “But for the record, I don’t sound like that.” You whisper, wanting the last word. Minghao shrugs as the two of you stop to survey the area. You’d both memorised the blueprints of the museum, having learned several escape routes in case of emergency.

You find yourselves just before the bend of a cross section of pathways near one of the big staircases in the museum, a duo of security guards posted in a tiny cabinet near the grand entrance of the whole building. You need to cross three metres to get to the stairs from where you’re now crouching at the end of the corridor you walked down.

On the second scouting mission you’d done with Seokmin the other day, you had double checked that the stair case was just out of the guard’s line of vision but you were still going to play it safe. You shift forward, taking the backpack of equipment off your shoulders and putting it to the floor. You exhale and then push it, aiming to slide the bag to the other side.

It reaches it’s targeted spot and you sigh in relief as you wait several heartbeats in case any guards emerge from the office. You then brace yourself and move. You roll sideways, a slightly clumsy tumble but you make it across swiftly and stand up, waiting for Minghao.

He rolls silently, folding and extending his limbs with grace and stands up in front of you with one fluid motion. You stumble backwards as the proximity shocks you and would have tripped over your bag if it weren’t for Minghao’s lightning fast reflexes, his arms shooting forward and grabbing your hips. He underestimates the force of it since the movement pulls you toward him and you collide, your forehead making contact with his chin.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream as a hand flies to clutch your forehead, your body shrimping as Minghao massages his chin with a glare. You slap away the hand that remains hovering on your side with a ‘shoo’ motion and yanking your bag from the floor, turning and walking down the stairs.

Somehow this mission was turning out more dysfunctional than the ones you’d done with Hoshi and that was saying something.

It’s only when you close the door to the basement level that you whip around to Minghao.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You ask, dropping the bag enough to start unzipping it.

“My problem? You’re the one who tripped over the bag, I was just helping!”

“I wouldn’t have tripped if you weren’t about to collide with me.” You shoot back, incredulous. It wasn’t your fault you had self-preservation instincts.

“You’re kidding, right? My roll was perfectly executed to the centimetre.” He argues, bringing together his pointer finger and his thumb for emphasis. You shake your head.

“We don’t have time for this.” You state. “Here.” You take out one of the salt dispensers and chuck it to Minghao, who catches it easily. You take out the second one for yourself. “Alright, pop quiz, hotshot. What are the three golden rules of salt cages?”

“Pfft, easy.”

“I’m listening. Intently.” You add as you uncap it and twist the lid to open the hole where the salt comes out.

“Utilise the space, close it only after the ghost appears, and don’t disrupt the lines.” He lists off confidently. You nodded.

“Good, now let’s draw one.” The space is exactly as you remember it, the sleek black tiles reflecting an infinite number of yous and Minghaos where there’s a gap in the exhibit casing.

“How do you want it?” He asks. You hesitate. No one tends to ask that; usually your mediums just start drawing even if it means you have to correct them occasionally, but then again your mediums were Hoshi and Seokmin; you had to break it down step by step for them.

“You said it yourself; use the space.” You look around, it might be even be too much. “Cut off over there, where the arrowheads are.” You point in the direction of an exhibit that has a lot of writing around it, a series of arrowhead artefacts mounted in a display behind the plexiglass.

You do your best to deal with the salt quickly, you drawing for a while then leaving it to Minghao to finish while you set up the incense and double checked your gun was loaded properly. You’d brought two different incense pots, old but reliable, with elaborate designs on the lids. They might have been your grandparents’ or even your great-grandparents’, you had no idea.

You light the incense and blow on it to attempt spreading the smoke faster. You’d spent a good few minutes on the salt cage and you wanted to stick to the time limit. You check you have no messages from Wonwoo on your phone before you retrieve the exorcist’s blade from where it was strapped to your leg, most of it hidden in your boot but the elaborate metal handle design sticking out.

“Done.” Minghao says from a few feet away. He’s left a deliberate gap in the salt line, about a foot wide, which is what you might call the industry standard.

“Good job.” You say sincerely. “Now we wait.”

And you do wait.

It’s a few minutes and you’re starting to worry. The room is hopelessly silent. Minghao is sitting and meditating while you stand tapping your foot. Was it because you were all the way down in the basement? Where was the ghost?

You check your timer; you had less than fifteen minutes left. You tried your best to stay calm but in these situations, you usually had to act quickly and prevent any disasters from happening.

Worst case scenario you had to stand outside then close the salt cage and then complete it by shooting salt bullets at each side in order to erect walls. It was the only way to dissipate the salt without cleaning it up manually. That would be a nightmare.

It’s when you start thinking of alternative plans when the ghost finally appears.

You feel the unmistakable cold breeze settle in the room as an air of dread washes over you. Minghao opens his eyes, clearly feeling it too, and you motion for him to stand. He picks up the salt dispenser, crouching next to the gap, in preparation to close it at your signal.

“…and if you follow me, we’ll make our way to the underground floor, where we’ll explore the Ancient Roman world.” You hear the voice of the ghost echoing through the room. The thought flies through your brain; was she late because she was giving a tour upstairs or something?

Nah, no way.

The spectre of the tour guide lady is floating near the entrance to the staircase. She’s wearing a uniform complete with a little silk neck scarf. She looks more like a stewardess than a tour guide in a museum. It’s when she starts to walk that you hold up your hand. She’s still floating but walking in mid-air, in a slightly distorted attempt of putting one foot in front of the other, struggling as if she’s walking in water.

You gesture at Minghao when she finally makes it over the line of salt. He closes the cage quickly and gets ready to slip off his ring. You raise your gun, finger steady on the trigger.

The ghost has walked farther enough inside the salt cage so you fire rapidly, aiming a bullet at each of the four lines of your rectangular salt cage. Squares or rectangles were easier to draw than circles but with a circle you only needed to fire one bullet. It was a personal preference from exorcist to exorcist what you chose.

The walls materialise as each bullet hits its target, faint ripples of energy crystallising then fading to transparency as you’re sealed in, containing the spirit.

“Now!” You call out to Minghao. He takes off the ring and before it hits the floor, the ghost gets sucked into his body. You’re standing a few feet away, observing if the possession is complete, blade in hand. Minghao stumbles around, looking a little lost, but you see his irises start to shine with the delicate silver light that signposts a ghostly presence.

He suddenly stands up straight, his back rigid. He smiles at the air in front of him, teeth on show, and clasps his hands together with a quiet splat. It’s almost creepy because you know it’s the ghost working him mechanically from the inside out.

“Good afternoon, adventurers! It is my pleasure to welcome you to the West Metropolitan Museum.” He starts to walk in the opposite direction. “As you can see for the first part of our tour, we’ll be entering the Ice Age. Did you know that scientists have predicted the temperatures during that period of time were up to five-” He holds up five fingers for effect as he walks further along the confines of the cage “-degrees Celsius lower than they are today?”

“So much for the Romans.” You murmur under your breath, acutely aware of the exhibits that surrounded you. Minghao must be walking you through the elementary school tour on the second floor.

“That’s ten degrees Fahrenheit!” He says, voice full of possessed (or just fake?) enthusiasm. “Isn’t that just freezing? Brrr.” He says, playfully crossing his arms and holding onto his biceps as he makes a shivering motion. You clap your mouth shut to stop the boisterous laugh that bubbled up in your throat as you shake silently instead. You couldn’t wait to clown him later.

You get a hold of yourself and quietly walk up behind the ghost. Minghao is strolling in that slow, guidely pace that you hated when normal people used on the sidewalk. It was irritatingly languid and carefree, as if there was all the time in the world.

“If you look to your right, you’ll find our incredibly detailed replica of a mammoth family. Down here, we’ve got the baby mammoth,” he pauses to gesture towards the floor. “Then up here we have Daddy mammoth and Mommy mammoth. Why don’t we say hello as we pass by.” He waves at empty air ahead of him.

You really badly want to howl with laughter but you bite your lips. Instead you locate the closest CCTV camera and point at Minghao, mouthing ‘Are you seeing this shit?’ to Wonwoo if he’s watching.

You sigh as you realise you have to move this along. It was fun while it lasted.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” You call out imitating the Mickey Mouse voice Minghao mocked you with earlier. Minghao turns to you.

“Yes, dear?” He asks expectantly, giving you that shiny teacher-esque smile. You twirl the exorcism blade in your hand, face hardening. You hated to interrupt the lady giving her last tour, but you currently didn’t have time to hear her out.

“Unfortunately, it’s almost past my bedtime.” You say and lunge forward, blade at the ready.

“Oh my!” Minghao yelps but successfully blocks you with a strong forearm. You don’t hesitate to resist him whilst grabbing that same arm and kicking the thigh closest to you. He barely crumbles to one knee, his hand curling behind your knee and using that as leverage to push you backwards, you back thumping to the ground with Minghao’s weight on top of you.

The impact of the fall smushes you two together, noses brushing for a split second. You stare up, his face inches from yours. You’d never seen the possessive light this close up before and for a moment you’re fascinated by its brightness. Minghao’s body moves on its own accord, his slim fingers wrapping around your throat and starting to squeeze.

Not good.

You’d clearly managed to irritate the ghost to the point of fighting back, but now it was ready to kill you.

Usually ghosts who weren’t aware they were dead yet, like this one, were more sensitive and responded more extremely than other spirits. You’d anticipated something like that, having to wrangle the seemingly sweet tour lady, but now that you were actually doing it, it was Minghao’s martial arts instincts taking over, wrangling you instead.

Your brain switched gear, letting your own fighting intuition take over.

With your free hand you reached up and tugged on Minghao’s hair, his screech giving you a chance to swat his hand away and roll the two of you over. You felt the whiplash of déjà vu yet again as you straddled him but before you could stab down, one of Minghao’s legs hit the back of your head. It knocked you slightly to the side and he used the opportunity to throw you off completely.

“Maybe I should have let Seokmin come.” You groan, once again on your back, feeling stuck like a turtle. Not a split second later, Minghao is pulling you by the leg and you’re sliding toward him. When you get close enough, you kick out with your other leg and make contact, then roll to the side and onto your feet.

He seems stunned for a second and you grab the closest arm and twist his body, jabbing your knee to the back of his thigh when he turns. This time you’re ready and you put Minghao in a headlock when he falls down to his knees.

He struggles a little but you stab the tool into his chest.

“Go peacefully.” You say, voice barely coming out as you pant and keep holding your arm around Minghao.

The blade burns up into fine particles and floats away. The world slows down and you’re suddenly outside, lying on cement, unable to move as you watch a red car drive away. You’re not sure you’re feeling pain or you’re numb but your body is on fire and your brain sluggish.

Then it’s over and you’re back.

You’re still standing behind Minghao, your arm trapping him in a headlock, the smell of his cologne in your nose. It’s pineish and earthy, and it makes you think of the woods. You shake your head, trying to focus.

Now your brain is clear, you recognise the make of the car, the image somehow crisper.

“Hyundai.” You breathe out and slump against Minghao’s back. You had evidence. You could catch the tour guide’s killer.

“What?” You can feel Minghao’s voice vibrate as he speaks. You let go quickly and look at your timer. You had a few minutes left. Perfect.

“I’ll tell you later. How are you feeling?” You check on him, examining his face. He seems as unfazed as he was in the car.

“I’m good.” He says in the exact flat tone. He’s fine, you conclude.

“Find your ring and let’s go.” With a swish of you coat, you turn around and look for the incense pots and your bag, hiding your smile as you remember Tour Guide Xu’s introduction to the Ice Age.

You rejoin Wonwoo as he exits the janitor’s supply closet, backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s smiling as he greets you.

“Not gonna lie, that’s going in the top 10 coolest things I’ve ever seen.” He says, falling into step with you, Minghao leading the way out. “I definitely believe in ghosts now, like before I still had my doubts but that was really cool.”

“Exorcism is actually so cool. Like so cool, it’s cold.” You smirk. “Like the Ice Age.” You meet Wonwoo’s eyes and you share a quiet snicker. Minghao doesn’t turn around as you exit the building and Wonwoo takes his gadget off the lock.

“Yeah, five or ten degrees colder, brr.” Wonwoo does a fake shiver and you lose it, the laugh ripping through you shamelessly. This time Minghao throws a judgemental look over his shoulder at the two of you.

“What is wrong with you people?” He asks, mostly to himself. You continue giggling even when you get to the car. “Stop it, you’re being weird.”

“Okay, whatever you say, Daddy mammoth.” You reply as you fish out your keys.

“Oh right, Mommy mammoth, I’ve got a file to send you.” Wonwoo gives you a sneaky wink. You furrow your brows for a second as your brain catches up.

Oh my god, he recorded it.

Your face reverts back to a smile.

“Ah yes, that very confidential thing you were telling me about, aha. Do send it.” You nod as you walk to the driver’s side, Wonwoo following you so he can sit behind you. Minghao’s already sitting in the passenger seat, oblivious.

You offer Wonwoo a quick fist bump, which he reciprocates then proceeds to get into the car.

The others are already back at the office by the time you walk through the doors. You’d agreed that you’d meet just to check in with each other before you called it a day. You hear a bunch of voices from your conference room and you head towards the sound.

You catch the tail-end of what Seungkwan is saying when you lean on the door frame.

“…I’m telling you, I might become a ghost, but I won’t be a vengeful spirit ‘cause you know me, I don’t hold grudges.”

You can’t help but cackle at the ridiculous suggestion, as both Vernon and Seokmin do. It alerts the others to your presence.

“Oh hey, you’re back.” Seungkwan gives you a wave.

“Yeah, you beat us to it.” You say as Wonwoo and Minghao enter behind you. “How did it go?”

“It…went.” Seungkwan says hesitantly. “We found at least eight or nine ghosts. It’s definitely a cluster. We’ll need to look into group exorcisms after all.”

You notice the others have gone quiet and are twiddling their thumbs at the table, somehow giving off nervous energy if you’ve read the room correctly. Had they seen your sister’s ghost around the office or something?

“It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. No need to be scared.” You reassure them, the idea bugging you somehow, if they had.

“We’re not scared.” Vernon says as a matter of fact. But the statement doesn’t match the look on their faces and the way they all sit sheepishly.

“Then what’s with this vibe. Is something wrong?” You press, stepping to stand behind Seokmin’s chair. He was the easiest to crack for information.

“Does something have to be wrong?” Seungkwan laughs awkwardly. You’re starting to feel uneasy. They were certainly not telling you something but you couldn’t fathom it for the life of you.

You’re thinking hard, running through the possibilities but your ears pick up a noise. The sound of a door shutting downstairs. Was there someone in your house? Was it your sister’s ghost making a racket?

Your question is answered as you turn around toward the door again.

Your heart all but stops.

He stands equally still, long black coat buttoned up, a six pack of beer cans in one hand, no doubt from the convenience store around the corner. His short blonde hair is now a deep vermillion red, reaching to his nape and framing his face.

You haven’t seen him in what feels like forever. Not since the funeral and after he packed up his things from the office and left. It’s been so long and yet only a blink of an eye but you find yourself face to face with Yoon Jeonghan again.

“The spare key’s still under the camellia.” He says simply. It’s where your sister had left it.

You’re scared if your voice might tremble but you speak anyway, words smothered in venom.

“Why are you here?” And it’s starting to sink in. Your body heats up, blood starting to boil under the surface, jaw tightening as you look at him. He looks just the same as ever, stuck in time, no signs of ageing on his face in the past three years.

“Because you need my help.”

“I never asked for your help.” You feel the rest of the world fall away and it’s just you, ready to rip Jeonghan apart. He remains nonchalant, calm, acting as if there has never been any wrong ever.

“You didn’t but,” he pauses and nods toward someone. “He did.” You follow his line of vision and land on the man who’s starting to shrivel up in his chair like a raisin.

“Lee Seokmin!” You hiss, outraged, betrayed even.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims, the panic rising in his voice. “I just wanted everything to go smoothly!”

“So you called Yoon Jeonghan?!” You spit out, stupefied by the notion. If anything, it was a perfect way of making sure everything became a mess.

“Hey, I came all this way, I’m here to help.” Jeonghan crosses the threshold into the room and sets the pack of beer on the table.

“You live across town, you drama queen.” You retort. “And I said I don’t need your help.” You’re holding up better than you thought, being as adamant as you can muster through the shock of seeing Jeonghan in the flesh again.

“Eh,” he sighs. “You used to, kiddo, what happened?” He asks wistfully. What was once a term of affection now stings like a jibe of belittlement. You’re not sure how you managed to stand there for this long.

“You happened.” You answer, legs carrying you mechanically as you storm out of the room. It wasn’t fair. He just showed up like this. There’d been a period of time after he left, when he called, texted, even visited but you always told him to go away. Now, he just showed up, as if he never did.

“Tale as old as time, blame Yoon Jeonghan for everything.” You hear behind you, his voice just reaching you as you throw open the doors and let them slam behind you.

It felt counterintuitive to leave the house, knowing your sister’s ghost was there and you definitely didn’t want him to see her. He’d pry, looking into you with those mischievous eyes of his, waiting for a little scrap of information.

You wish you could go back in time.

Back to stop your sister ever going to that soccer game in college. Back so you could take her hand and pull her, tugging her away from the oncoming ball, its trajectory destined for her and only her.

Back before he bewitched her with his charm, with his words, with a smile, those angel eyes sparkling at her. Then at you too as he came into your house, your aunt welcoming him with open arms.

He was part of your family. Except, he wasn’t.

You took your car and drove, not caring where the darkness of the night was leading you, running completely on autopilot. It was all streetlights and nothing but the whir of your engine. You just needed to get away for a while; away from all the work that had bombarded your office, the hundreds of ghosts that stalked you every waking minute but most of all, you needed to get away from Jeonghan.

The minute he’d walked through the door, it all came flooding back, a gust of torrential rain breaking through the cracks in the dam built around those things that you’d tried incredibly hard to forget or at least not think about.

The years you’d lived before time stopped. It was so vivid and so harrowingly real that you could almost reach out and touch the memories running through your mind, the way you reach out your hand when the skies are pouring themselves out.

By the time you ended up arriving at the beach, you were chocking back your tears and screams. You’d made it there purely on intuition, robotically steering through the streets and to the ocean.

It was all too much. You couldn’t stop it from possessing you.

You barely turned off the car before throwing the door open and hauling your body out the door. You landed on wet, sandy cement, your hands instinctively cushioning your fall if only a little.

It was all in front of you again. That night.

It’s freezing, your breath coming out like smoke out of your mouth. You’re hiding, curling up in a black parka two size too big. Maybe you’d picked up one of Jeonghan’s coats instead of yours.

“Don’t go to the warehouse no matter what, kiddo. It’s dangerous and you’ll just distract us.” You hear your older sister’s voice echoing in the back of your mind-

You felt the hot sting of salt escaping your eyes as your vision blurred.

You saw the swords and daggers sticking up in the ground, like a crooked array of giant candles. Then through the gaps between the doors, you see the black fog swallowing your sister’s body, crawling up her figure, engulfing her from head to toe-

Sobs start wracking your frame and you felt like you were practically retching out every tear that slid down your face and onto the ground.

You hear a gut wrenching shriek then a series of inhuman whispers, the language foreign, ancient and heavy in your ears, as if its source is right next to you. You don’t need to know what it is to be certain it’s demonic. You shrink further into yourself but not before seeing your sister’s body float into the air-

You’re positively howling, your voice breaking, each sound more powerful than the last, screams scratching your throat raw, hands thumping against the ground, your fists hitting it in vain, skinning your knuckles, as you relive that moment:

She raises her hand, exorcist blade in hand and stabs.

There’s a bolt of lightning.

Panicked, desperate screams, Jeonghan and Joshua’s voices in the distance, then a wall of fire obscures your view through the cracks but you don’t need to see the rest.

You know she’s already dead.

You’re gasping for breath, gulping great, big pockets of air, chest heaving as the night offers you no comfort but the roar of the wind and the nearby crashing of waves breaking against the shore.

You don’t know how long you wail into the void of the night, every fibre of your existence screaming out, but eventually there are no more tears and you collapse on the ground, your body feeling heavy and spent, unable to do anything but lie there under the stars.

As you stare up, eyes half-closed, you picture her face, trying to hear her voice in your mind again. It’s getting harder to conjure up realistic images of her these days, as if she’s fading away; all you have is her ghost roaming around the house, materialising out of nothing and then disappearing the exact same way.

But of course it’s not really her.

If only you’d stopped her from trying it.

If only she’d told you exactly what they were planning to do in the first place.

If only Jeonghan and Joshua hadn’t talked her into it.

“If only…if only…” you murmur into the ether.

“If only what?” You hear somewhere around you. Your eyes focus on the figure above you and you can just about make out who’s standing there.

“Minghao?” you croak. You make no move to shift, your body stiff. “How did you know where to find me?” You manage.

“The photograph; I recognised the beach and thought you might be here. C’mon, it’s almost 2am, let’s get you home before you get sick.”

You don’t complain when he reaches and grabs your cold hand in his warm one and hoists you up. You try to stand on your own but you lean on to the car as soon as you’re upright.

“We’re going to have to do this a different way.” He sighs, you’re not really taking in anything until he picks you up bridal style, your eyes widening slightly but too exhausted to object so you pathetically hold on to him as he carries you to the passenger side.

A/N: thanks for reading!! feedback is always appreciated <3

#seventeen #xu minghao #the8 #minghao #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #the8 imagines #the8 scenarios #seventeen fics #seventeen angst #seventeen slow burn #momobani.writes

32 notes · View notes