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humanmoodring-retired · 3 years

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Season’s Yeetings Pt. 2 || Blanche, Connor, Cordelia, Nadia, Regan, and Kaden

TIMING: Present PARTIES: @harlowhaunted @connorspiracy @humanmoodring @kadavernagh @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Another exorcism. The stakes are higher, and Nadia’s life hangs in the balance. feat Mav the Exorcist CONTENT: Self harm, suicide attempt (possession-driven)

Nadia had stabbed herself. She’d stabbed herself, and all she could really do was look down at her hands wrapped around the knife’s handle. She blinked, shock setting in faster than pain. She didn’t even feel it, really. Really. She looked up, trying to see Regan or Blanche or Connor or even Mav, but the only person she could focus on was the woman in the circle with her. Had she always been this blurry. No wonder she thought the red headed figure looked like Brooke an embarrassing number of times. This was Cordelia Gregory, and she was cruel, and she’d made Nadia stab herself. She’d stabbed herself. It was startling to her, just a little. She’d never expected Cordelia to make her stab herself. She’d never taken the threats Cordelia had made to others about killing Nadia seriously. She wasn’t worried about herself. She was worried about her friends, people that Cordelia had proven time and time again that she had no problem in hurting. She actually seemed to take a great deal of pleasure from it.

“Move your foot against the chalk line and let me out of the fucking circle,” Cordelia whispered in Nadia’s ear, attempting to put her hand on Nadia’s face (her face it was still hers, goddammit). “Let me out of the fucking circle, and you might live. Right? You might live. We’ll both live! We’ll-- I’ll leave you alone, just let me out!” The last word was a shriek, causing the power to go out in the apartment complex. All this stupid girl had to do was let her out.

“No.” Nadia wasn’t a fool. Not anymore. She wasn’t letting this woman, this bitch that had tormented her for years out just so that she could go after someone else. Nadia Diaz was going to be Cordelia Gregory’s last victim, for better or for worse. Cordelia’s rage, something that she was intimately familiar with, was incredible to see as the face in front of her contorted with it. Nadia grinned back at the poltergeist, a savage sort that wasn’t an expression she normally made but, fuck, it felt good. For just a second, she allowed herself to hate Cordelia, to be glad that she was taking her down. This had been years in the making. She watched Cordelia reach down and grab Nadia’s hands, and she felt herself drag the knife up and out, her hands throwing the knife out of the circle. Nadia couldn’t help the sound that came out of her mouth. Fuck. That-- That wasn’t supposed to happen, right? Things weren’t supposed to be removed like that. Nadia fell to her knees, her hands moving to try and replace the knife with pressure. “Hurr--” She swallowed the word. Hurry. They needed to hurry.

Regan knew enough medical terminology and jargon to immediately recognize the Latin chanting. The book she had borrowed from Blanche mentioned this would likely happen -- apparently, situations like this called for Latin or other ancient languages, though she didn’t completely understand what the purpose of it was. It didn’t matter at this point. Dissecting everything that happened and was happening and would happen wasn’t going to do Nadia any favors, and this was about Nadia, not her own need for logic and sense. She pulled away as Blanche inched in closer to her, not willing to stand within whispering distance. “Yes?” She said impatiently, not taking her eyes off of Nadia, “Good. He had better know what he’s doing. Kaden said he found the best. Failure is not an option.” If Blanche was trying to communicate something else to her, she wasn’t receptive to hearing it.

Regan pushed herself closer to the central circle as Nadia’s trembling grew more fierce, worse than the most frightened patients she had ever encountered in the ER. But it wasn’t just fear. Something was happening to her. Inside of her. Pinpricks of sweat glistened on her skin and the sputtering of nerves shook her body even harder like she was being wrenched in half. Nadia’s face twisted and tore in several directions, her hand slowly drifting behind her, and-- a scream. Nadia’s. The lights flickered, off more than on, but Regan kept her eyes pinned to her friend. Was there a way to help? Any way? She knew she was instructed to just wait, to be there as moral support and in the event of an emergency, but how was she supposed to know the point of intervention? The blood drained from Nadia’s face, her lips skinned back in pain, and as the lights flicked on once more, she caught the glint of a knife near Nadia’s throat.

“Stop!” Regan screamed back, barreling toward the circle, stopping short just at its precipice. The lights shattered, flickering no more. She knew Blanche was probably behind her, trying to stop her, but her singular focus was on Nadia and getting that knife out of her hands. “Put it down! Now! You’re going to--” But it was too late. Nadia’s hand moved in one fluid motion, knife traveling from her neck, into her gut. Her eyes took in every movement of the knife, the way it sliced and the twist of Nadia’s wrist, how deep it went, the way the hilt pressed right up against her shirt. Everything was blurred and chaotic, moving simultaneously too fast and too slow. For a second, life stilled as Regan’s insides crushed with grief that she couldn’t reach Nadia in time. Her friend looked up to her, no longer shaking, an eerie calmness on her face, her eyes swollen and sad. Blood soaked into her shirt, spreading through fabric like a drop of ink in water, more pulsing out with each beat of her heart. Regan could see Nadia’s breathing, slow and harsh, growing weaker by the second. Too slow. Too harsh. Too weak.

And next to Nadia was the redhead. The same one Regan had met in this very apartment months ago, and the same one that had treated Nadia’s body like some horrible puppet and plaything ever since. This was the person who nearly murdered Kaden and herself, and who had committed countless crimes to countless others. And now, she wanted to murder Nadia. There was so much Regan wanted to say to Cordelia and say to Nadia right now, but she could only move and act. Regan bolted to break the circle, not wasting a second as Nadia collapsed. There was no time to talk. She was a doctor. That was part of why she was here. It was time to be a doctor. Her lungs tightened, something dark lurking inside of them -- a scream for Nadia that she was on the very edge of sounding. She needed to help her, to staunch the blood before all of it spilled across the floor, her life with it.

Blanche wished she hadn’t spoken at all. She realized the error she had made instantly. Cordelia wasn’t above taking Nadia down with her. If she couldn’t have her body, no one could. Blanche’s gaze was glued to the knife as she watched it plunge into Nadia’s gut. Her own stomach seized, remembering the long knife that had gone into her own skin. Instinctively, she took a step forward, as if to go help, when she remembered one of the most important things she read about exorcisms. The circle can’t be broken. Blanche froze on the spot, her eyes snapping to Regan. “Regan, don’t!” Blanche cried. Cordelia would be free to leave and free to torment Nadia or some other unsuspecting victim another day. She acted quickly. With a fluid motion she dropped the shotgun and was stepping forward. A familiar pain seared across Blanche’s forehead, her mind protesting the use of her power. She didn’t care, though. Her energy reached Regan, ranking her back harshly away from the exorcism. Blanche backed up, looking over her shoulder towards the door.

“K-Kaden!” Blanche screamed, “We need you!! Now! Please!” Her voice cracked slightly with the panic, her head splitting from the sudden force of energy and from Regan’s screeching. No sooner did the hunter appear in the doorway, did Blanche throw Regan at him. She tried to be lighter this time, but she didn’t think she did a very good job - it was powered with adrenaline and she had never had to throw a friend on purpose before. She could apologize later, though. “Keep her there so she doesn’t break the circle!” Blanche ordered shakily. She rushed forward to the edge of the circle now, on the other side of Mav, her gaze trained on Cordelia. “I’m sure this doesn’t need to be said,” Blanche said to Connor, though her eyes never left Cordelia’s form. A seething hatred erupted in her, and wasn’t able to bury it away this time. Thoughts of empathy were replaced with raw fury, and in this moment, Blanche was going to enjoy her existence being eradicated. Later, maybe not. But now? She was pissed. “We need to get a move on before Nadia bleeds out. Let’s go.”

Waiting outside the door was awful. Kaden tried to play out what he thought was happening behind him as he waited. It would be fine. Mav knew what he was doing. Nadia would be fine. Then there was screeching and the sound of glass shattering. Banshee screeches, no mistaking them. It was probably just Regan seeing something supernatural. It would be fine. This was going to be fine. But it didn’t stop. And he heard Blanche screaming, too; screaming his name. Fuck.

Kaden turned and burst through the door. Before Blanche could explain, he saw exactly what was happening. Regan was heading towards Nadia. She was going to break the circle. No. This wasn’t-- He darted towards her, glass crunching beneath his feet as he rounded the circle. He practically threw himself at Regan, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back. With her held tight, he saw it. He finally saw it. The reason why Regan was willing to risk the entire exorcism. He saw the knife in Nadia’s side. The pool of blood on the floor around her. “No.” This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t what was supposed to-- “No!” he shouted, not sure who it was even directed to anymore. His grip nearly loosened and he considered running towards her himself. “We can’t. We can’t. Regan, we have to wait. She won’t--” She wouldn’t die. She couldn’t. Regan hadn’t screamed. If there was anyone Regan would fucking scream for, it was Nadia.

But it struck him that there was still time, she could still unleash a death scream right here, right now in this room. And even if she knew how to hold it back by now, Kaden was sure she wouldn’t be able to. Not for Nadia. And he would be here with his arms around her while she screamed. Just long enough for his lungs to explode and his heart to burst. Any sane person would let go. He gripped her tighter, kept her away from the circle. Nadia wasn’t dying. Not today. He was sure of it. He had to be sure of it. He had to hold onto that hope, even if it was stupid and foolish. One thing in this fucking town had to go right for once. “Nadia. Hold on. You have to-- Regan, tell her what to do from here.” He didn’t need to tell Mav to hurry it the fuck up. He was sure the exorcist could figure out that this was a dire situation. And the last thing they needed to do was break his concentration.

It wasn't the glass that made Mav flinch, you didn't work as long as he had in the exorcism business without getting used to picking a few stray pieces of broken lightbulbs from your mustache every now and again. No, it was that scream. It was a hell of a sound. He wondered if having this here banshee with them was a good idea. Lucky for them, his removal ritual wasn't necessary no more so the interruption wasn't a complete disaster. Thankfully, he didn't need to tell anyone not to let the banshee cross the circle, the tiny medium made sure of that. He was real glad she was tougher than she looked and more than worth her salt. The last thing they needed was to risk this poltergeist getting out of the dang circle. He was already going to struggle to destroy her spirit for good, they didn’t need any more complications, considering this whole exorcism was going tits up darn fast.

Ms Diaz had returned to her body and he felt the poltergeist leave that very same body before he’d even finished his ritual. Mav reckoned that was on account of the stabbing she did to the body. He figured they didn’t have a whole lot more time to work. He was going to need every last bit of energy he could find to make this go in their favor. As soon as he’d finished his phrase, he shifted as seamlessly as he could manage into the second half of his plan. The chain of energy he was channeling stopped pulling on the spirit and started to wrap around the poltergeist. He was going to use it to constrict her, pull tighter and tighter until there was nothing left, like a lasso tugged too tight or a snake squeezing the life out of its prey. He hoped the young exorcist beside him could keep up, but he seemed like he was quick as a whip and there was no room for doubt. Not when Ms Diaz’s life hung in the balance. He gripped the young man’s shoulder as objects started to fly around the room. This spirit was mad as a mule chewing bumblebees and he was going to need all the help he could muster to pool this energy and rid the world of this poltergeist.

The whole situation was chaos. As soon as Connor managed to react to one thing, the next impending disaster reared its ugly head. He wanted to scream for Nadia, to yell at that horrible fucking poltergeist to get the hell away from her, but it was too late. Knife had ripped flesh, and she was bleeding. He'd seen on TV that stomach wounds were a slow and painful way to die. They had time, but not much of it. He increased his chanting, urgent and desperate. His eyes met Blanche with desperation as she took care of whatever that screaming woman was (definitely not a moose).

Connor saw it all happening, but he couldn't focus on it. He had to drown it all out. The only thing that mattered right now was Nadia, and saving her meant sending this fucking arsehole poltergeist to hell. He squeezed Mav's wrist, letting the energy flow through them more easily, and he looked to Blanche, communicating with her with only his eyes and the extension of his other hand. He couldn't stop the ritual. He couldn't stop chanting, but he needed Blanche to take his arm too. The hunter and the other woman were more difficult, but Connor knew that he and Mav needed all the energy they could get. Cordelia was strong, determined, and a real fucking bitch. Word after word after word, he focused everything he had on her, his focal point beginning to burn hot beneath his fingertips as he used it as a conduit.

She was getting weaker. Connor could feel it. He looked at Mav again, the two of them speaking wordlessly. They were close. But that would only make Cordelia more desperate. He was almost screaming the ritual at her now, every atom in his body telling her to get the fuck out.

“Hey!” Cordelia screamed over the madness, the breaking glass and flying objects, looking straight at the banshee as she was only just being restrained by Kadie. “If you break this circle, you can save her! She might have a chance! But if you let these fuckers do their bullshit, she will go down with me.” She felt her form flickering as the exorcism took hold. This wasn’t like the last time. Hell, it wasn’t even like the first time, when she’d found herself thrown from Nadia’s body for who even knew how long, existing only in the ether as she’d reformed herself to try again. This hurt. This made her put her hands over her ears and scream. She lashed out and sent some little statue that had been on the coffee table flying, shattering it against a wall. “Let me out or I’ll fucking kill her! Let me out or I’ll fucking kill her!” She tried to pull the knife back into the circle but only succeeded in sticking it into a wall. Fuck. Fuck.

Just keep pressure on it. Just keep pressure on it. Nadia kept repeating the words to herself even as the chanting and screaming got louder. She just needed to hold on until Cordelia was dealt with, and then whatever happened would happen. Just keep putting pressure on it. However, Cordelia begging Regan to break the circle forced her to look up, panicked. No. If anyone might break it, it would be Regan. She didn’t understand what was at stake. Regan couldn’t possibly understand that getting rid of Cordelia was the only important thing in this whole situation. And Nadia couldn’t blame her, she’d probably be losing her shit if one of her friends was hurt, but this was bigger than her. She was one person. Cordelia could ruin countless lives; she probably already had. She needed to go. “I’m fine,” she choked out, locking eyes with Kaden over Regan’s shoulder. Don’t let her go. “I’m not going to die, yet.” And she fucking wasn’t. Not until this bitch was dealt with.

Regan wasn’t sure what happened -- it was all a confusing blur. She had surged toward Nadia, scream rattling in her chest, but in only a split second, she was yanked in the other direction, air forced from her lungs in a loud screech. Blanche was shouting something; she heard Kaden’s name, but her thoughts were only on Nadia as she watched her friend’s blood continue to pool as she grew paler and trembled and struggled to keep herself upright. The door was thrown open and she felt something wrap tightly around her, pulling her like gravity just as the invisible vice around her dissipated. Another scream jumped out of her, but as she realized it was arms encircling her, she choked everything back. Who-- Kaden. It was Kaden. The noise thundered like a storm in her chest, but she kept it locked in, holding it inside of her lungs like the casket’s dark water, even as it demanded to be emptied. Even so, some of it managed to escape in desperation as she yelled, “Kaden. Let me go. Kaden let me go. Nadia is dying. Nadia is dying, she stabbed herself, you need to let me go right now. Nadia is going to die. She’ll die if she doesn’t stop the bleeding.” Regan’s tongue felt weak and out of place as she spoke those words. Nadia dying had been a possibility, but not one that she wanted to actually, truly allow herself to believe. And while she could feel Kaden’s arms loosen for just a moment, they latched back around her. Her lungs fought against his grip for a second, but they quickly deflated.

Cordelia drifted toward the edge of the circle as everything shook and shattered around them, her sharp eyes meeting Regan’s as they darkened again. At this point, she wasn’t sure whether or not she was hallucinating the way Cordelia seemed to be there one moment and gone the next as the chanting crested. But Cordelia was right, in her sick, twisted way. Regan’s top priority was saving Nadia’s life, and whatever agenda Cordelia had -- escaping? -- didn’t matter at this moment. They could worry about that later, when Nadia was alive and healthy. As Kaden’s grip only tightened, she understood that no one else seemed to share that goal, and she was struck with far more frustration and fear than she was allowed. “Don’t touch her! Stay away from her, don’t touch her! I’m not going to let you hurt her!” Regan screamed, barely holding back. Kaden. She couldn’t do that again. Not with Kaden right there. She dug her nails into her palm, feeling the blood pool through bandages. You cannot afford yourself emotion. For every bit of feeling you react to, you surrender yourself to the mercy of your screams. Deirdre would have been appalled by all of this. False calmness swam over her, but her heart couldn’t lie -- it still beat twice as quickly as it usually did.

Tell her what to do. “Nadia,” Regan said, her voice trembling. She wasn’t sure if the remaining glass shattering was because of her, or Cordelia. The marmot statue, too. It was unacceptable. Dangerous. Not doing Nadia or Kaden or anyone any good. When Regan spoke again, the quiver vanished. “You’ve already pulled the knife out. That’s-- that isn’t good. Someone needs to grab a towel from the kitchen or remove their shirt and pass it to Nadia. Shirt is faster. Nadia, lie flat on the ground and press the shirt to the wound. Do everything that you possibly can to maintain consciousness. Listen to someone’s voice and use it as an anchor. Keep talking. Talk to me.” Her voice flattened with despair despite her best attempts to snuff it out, “Kaden, please let me go. Please. Whatever they’re doing, I don’t think it’s going to be fast enough.”

“If I let you go she’ll die! We can’t!” Kaden kept his arms wrapped tight around Regan, despite her protests. If she screamed now, he’d have no idea if it was for Nadia or for himself. And he wasn’t sure it would fucking matter one way or another. He shut his eyes and held fast. It was all he could do. Brace them both against whatever was happening in that circle in front of them. He couldn’t see much even with his eyes open. As a scream tore through her, he winced and gripped her tighter. Tears pricked at his eyes and his own scream ripped through his throat that he couldn’t hear as the sound resonated through him. This was it. This was how he’d die. Not hunting. Not in the woods. In his friend’s apartment holding back a banshee. Hold on. He just had to hold on. Relief didn’t come when the sound stopped. The ringing didn’t stop either. He wanted to check to see if his ears were bleeding, he was pretty sure he felt the familiar dripping down his earlobe, but he didn’t let go of her; he wouldn’t. Muffled sounds came from in front of him that sounded like her voice, but he couldn’t make out a single word she was saying. Not yet. He didn’t dare let up on her. “Hold on, Nadia,” he said, locking eyes with her. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew it wasn’t over yet. He turned to face the exorcists, watching closely for any sign for when this would end. “Blanche!” he called out to her, though he couldn’t regulate his own volume. He hoped she could hear him. “Tell me when. The second it’s done. Somehow.” He hoped she could. But he wouldn’t let go of Regan until he knew for sure that the exorcism was over, when he knew Cordelia was banished forever.

It was hard not to get distracted by the sound of Regan screaming, especially how the loud scream rattled around in Blanche’s head. She was glad she wasn't the one chanting, even as she forced herself to stay rooted to the spot as she saw all the blood pour out of Nadia’s wound. A wave of nausea overtook her just as she met Connor’s gaze, and even as her skin tinged green, she was able to force the horrible feeling back as she gripped Connor’s hand tightly. It was hard to explain, but the second she did, she felt the power leeching from her, pouring into the exorcism. She heard Kaden yell to her, and could only raise her free hand to show she heard him, closing her eyes tightly as she willed every ounce of energy and power she had to Connor and Mav. She didn't know how this worked, but her seance sessions with Jasmine and whatever witchy-things she had done with Nell told her intention mattered. Even as the image of Nadia’s blood staining the floor hung in the back of her mind, she threw herself into the focus of energy that would ultimately - hopefully - be Cordelia’s undoing.

This here little lady was a tough spirit to banish. She was stubborner than a mule and he got the feeling she had a burr in her saddle. Mav could feel the young exorcist’s energy flowing through him and he felt the burning iron in his hand. He held tight to the chain of the pocket watch, used his words to pull the rope of energy wrapped around the spirit tighter and tighter. They were damn close to sending this spirit back to the hell she crawled out of, he could feel it in his bones. He ducked as a statue went flying towards him. That was a nice try, little lady, but Mav didn’t lose a single syllable of the ritual. He figured this might be about the time in the exorcism where things went all catawampus and objects started flying about. No matter he could handle that. He knew how to dodge a book or two and keep his chin waggling. And he was right. Any loose items on the sides of the room started to go flying every which way and he gave Connor a quick squeeze to let him know to hold fast and carry on with what they were doing. They couldn’t lose sight of the Just when he thought he was tapped, he felt an extra boost of energy. The mini medium was standing nearby and Connor had grabbed hold of her. All they had to do was pool their energy all together and he could pull this spirit right off the face of the earth.

Connor would have failed at this a thousand times over if not for Mav. It had been foolish to think he could have done this alone. He'd barely been performing exorcisms for a year. How was he supposed to deal with something like this? Cordelia wasn’t living up to her name, because she wasn’t very fucking cordial at all. She was even more evil than he’d originally given her credit for, and he loathed his underestimation of her strength. Maybe if he’d taken her more seriously, they wouldn’t have got to this point, but it was too late now. He needed to focus on the task at hand, not the ones he’d already failed. Cordelia clung on, a parasite desperately trying to cling to the world, and only so she could use it for violence.

As much as Connor tried to drown out what was happening with Kaden and the wailing banshee, he couldn’t block out the screams, couldn’t block out the blood, the desperate instructions that would save Nadia’s life. Or so he hoped. He mentally cursed; at himself, at Cordelia, at this whole mess of a situation. Connor had barely even taken Blanche’s hand, but the surge of energy that flowed through him into Mav was enough for the moment. It had to be.

Connor didn’t stop changing, but he let go of Blanche’s hand to pull one sleeve of his shirt off, slipping the unfastened plaid down over his arm, then he replaced one hand on Mav’s arm with another so he didn’t have to break contact, slipping the rest of it off and leaving him in just the plain white t-shirt underneath. He had to be careful not to move the salt when he placed it into the circle, putting it within Nadia’s reach and silently praying that it would work. They just needed to slow the bleeding. They were almost there. He took Blanche’s hand again and looked up at Mav, who was massively taller than Connor’s slight frame. His eyes practically begged him for this to be over soon.

This was it, Cordelia realized with an unnerving amount of certainty as the words echoed through her core, through her entire being, rattling her from within. She looked down at herself, watching as she faded in and out of existence. Existence. This was it. She was going to just… stop existing. Like she’d never been here at all. She screamed out again, against the pain of it. She’d never felt anything like this when she’d been alive, not in Nadia’s body, and not in her own. Death had hurt less. She dropped to her knees, sinking a bit into the floorboards, in front of Nadia Diaz. Cordelia put her hands on the girl’s face, her neck, trying to absorb herself back into Nadia’s skin, even as the exorcists’ words sent another tremor through her, causing her to flicker like bad tv reception. “Please,” she said, eyes wild with fear. “Please. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die again.” She didn’t want to stop existing. She didn’t want to disappear into nothingness. This wasn’t how her story was supposed to end.

Jerking away from the spectre in front of her, Nadia reached out with blood soaked fingers for the shirt Connor had passed into the circle. She pressed it hard to the wound in her stomach, trying to use the feeling to ground her. “I’m fine,” she managed to say to Regan, though she didn’t think she could keep up a steady stream of monologue. This is me pressing down on the wound. This is me trying not to stare at the ghost in front of me. She’s gotten really easy to see, now, actually. Is that normal? Should I be worried? It’s probably fine. Talking was too hard, at the moment. She’d try again, later, after all of this was over and she could sleep. Fuck, Nadia was tired. She was so tired. But she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t even lay down like Regan instructed because she knew she’d lose consciousness. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. The fight seemed to be leaving Cordelia, the ghost all frantic screams and icy cold touches against Nadia’s skin, but Nadia felt like she was fading just as quickly. Eyes open, Diaz, she told herself. She pressed harder, the shirt staining in blood as she curled forward, still resting on her knees. She’d have to buy Connor a new shirt.

When Nadia didn’t react to her, Cordelia seethed, jerking at the girl’s arms and pushing her in an attempt to get a reaction. “Don’t ignore me! I know you see me!” she howled, a last ditch effort for attention. Nothing was working, not her hands frantically trying to pull Nadia’s away from the wound, not her abilities to throw objects against walls and people. She was drained, spent, unravelling. Not that there was much left of her to unravel. She was the last bit of string on an empty spool. “You’ll die, too, you stupid, stupid bitch,” she snarled, getting in Nadia’s face one last time. “They won’t finish in time to save you. You’re going to be right back where you started. They can’t save you. You can’t even save yourself.” Cordelia managed to grip Nadia’s arm, her fingers only slightly sinking into soft skin. She looked into Nadia’s face, practically bloodless, and she felt a brief sense of satisfaction amidst all the panic and fear and blinding anger, knowing that she’d be the end of Nadia Diaz’s life, even if it meant the end of her own.

“Vete pa la puñeta,” Nadia said quietly to the poltergeist in front of her, looking Cordelia in her pale, flickering eyes. Go to hell. Though, Cordelia wasn’t going anywhere. There’d be nowhere for her to go. She’d be gone, nothing more than a lot of bad, bad memories and scars on the people that she’d hurt. She’d be nothing more than the cause of blood on Nadia’s hands. Cordelia was barely even there anymore, her form appearing and disappearing as she barely clung to Nadia, to life. But she didn’t seem like she could hold on anymore.

With a final scream, Cordelia felt herself slipping away despite the way she tried to wrap her fingers around Nadia’s heart, her soul. She looked at herself as she disappeared. It didn’t feel like dying. It wasn’t even painful, anymore. It felt like absolutely nothing at all, and, after clinging to life far after her expiration date, nothing at all is what Cordelia Gregory became.

Eyes shut tightly, Nadia sagged forward, unable to hold herself up properly as Cordelia vanished. For good. She was gone for good, and Nadia was still there, still in her body, though she felt herself fading fast. Far too fast. Still, she felt… relief. Cordelia was gone. She’d never hurt anyone ever again. Nadia would be her last victim, and that made her feel warm, even though her body was freezing. She heard noises, people moving around her, but she couldn’t bring herself to raise her head. Too much effort. “I’m fine,” she muttered because, really, she couldn’t feel much pain, not anymore. She was fine, even though there was a lot of blood. She needed-- jerking her head up, she looked at Regan, her eyes panicked and her vision fuzzy around the edges. “No hospitals,” she said, her voice sounding distorted in her ears. That was all she could manage to say, then she fell forward again, and Nadia Diaz knew nothing more.

“We have to! She’ll die! She’ll die!” Regan shouted, trying her best not to let an outburst become a scream. She couldn’t tell how successful she was, but Kaden was still clinging onto her, nearly choking her, and as she turned and saw blood dripping down from her boyfriend’s ears, her heart choked, too. She knew she couldn’t risk saying anything more; she needed to think only of the numb nothingness of the clearing, the improbable calmness she now held as she forced herself into the water. But Nadia. Nadia was-- Regan tried desperately to pry Kaden’s hands away from her, barely noticing as Connor supplied his shirt and Cordelia’s howls grew more and more frantic. Something was happening. She didn’t understand it, and right now, didn’t concern herself with wanting to. The only thing that mattered was that it could result in her being able to get to Nadia. She didn’t ease up, though -- she kept trying to slip out and fight her way toward the circle, her eyes never leaving the growing pool of blood underneath her friend. Nadia claimed to be fine even as there was no more white on the shirt and even as her face blanched more with each passing second.

The room stormed around them. Cupboards slammed open, furniture dragged itself across the floor, and as the chanting grew louder, Cordelia’s desperation and cries surged like lightning. Cordelia had pounced for Nadia’s neck like a viper, and Regan -- trapped in Kaden’s arms as she struggled, unable to even scream a warning -- had never felt more useless. This wasn’t what she thought would happen. They were here to save Nadia, right? Shouldn’t that have been the priority? Why was this in question? Why-- but in the blink of an eye, Cordelia was no more, dissipating like insubstantial mist. The room changed, the drop in pressure palpable as everything seemed to still. And Nadia, Regan realized as terror engulfed her, stilled, too.

Kaden’s arms grew slack. Regan didn’t think. She tore out of them and sprinted toward the inner circle, where Nadia lay unconscious on the ground, blood still rushing from the wound in her abdomen. No hospitals? Fuck that. She wouldn’t-- Nadia-- she wouldn’t let her die. That wasn’t a wish that she would respect if her life was on the line. The bleeding was catastrophic, and unless they stopped it soon, Nadia would not make it out of here alive.

Regan scrambled for the bloodied shirt and pressed it tight against the wound, Nadia’s blood soaking through to her fingers, burning her skin to blisters. It hurt, but Deirdre had prepared her well, and she would stay there like this for hours if necessary. Anything. “I need help. Someone needs to roll her onto her back while I apply pressure. The stab wound runs all the way through her.” Regan didn’t dare ease off the wound, but she checked Nadia’s pulse -- rapid -- and her skin -- cold, clammy -- and knew controlling the bleeding was only the beginning. “She’s in shock. She may be unresponsive; I need to do a sternal rub to check. Kaden, grab me the hemostatic dressing from the kit. Once you bring them, I need you to place your hands where mine are and do not ease up. Blanche, get a blanket and towels. Connor, get my phone from the kitchen and call--” she hesitated, “Call Dr. Lin-King. Tell her I’ll explain later.”

In the end, Cordelia begged for her life, unhinged and desperate with fear. It was hard for Blanche not to see the parallels with Constance Cunningham, the other red haired poltergeist that had yet to vacate her mind since her undoing the previous week. Resentment and self-hatred rose in her, stifling everything but the surge of power in her fingertips. She gripped Connor’s hand tighter, as if to anchor herself down to this spot. It was heartbreaking to see how the outcome of Constance and Cordelia’s situations didn’t change anything, even when she changed her actions. A soul was destroyed, eradicated from existence forever. Maybe Cordelia deserved it -- maybe there was some part of her that knew Constance did too, though she would sooner willingly light herself on fire than admit that -- but Blanche couldn’t help but circle back to the disappointment and anger she felt in herself and at the world as she saw the pieces of Cordelia’s soul fade away with her final screams, her furious fear clinging to the air, rattling around loosely in Blanche’s mind. Soon Blanche wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the screams that haunted her - rage and resentment would echo and she would wonder whose it was. Constance Cunningham? Coredelia Gregory? Maybe even a glimpse of Lauren Langley?

How many memories of destroyed spirits would be left behind in her mind before Blanche went insane? It was a cold thought, and it was that thought, not Regan barking orders at her, that snapped her back to reality. Realizing she was still clutching Connor’s hand in a death grip, she let it go and went to go search for what Regan asked her for. Admittedly, she hadn’t been listening, but she could guess what she needed. Towels. Something to cover Nadia, who was bleeding out on the floor. Nadia, whose life was in danger again because of a ghost who was too afraid to just die.

Blanche realized then what she wanted to say to Cordelia, though it was more than too late. A reminder that dying was probably the easiest thing any of them would ever do, masked by the fear of the unknown deluding them all into thinking it was the hardest thing of all. Living was harder, but as Blanche finally found suitable towels bringing them back to Regan, she knew that simply existing was the hardest thing in the world.

#season's yeeting pt. 2 #chatzy: blanche harlow #chatzy: connor piers #chatzy: regan kavanagh #chatzy: kaden langley #mav the exorcist #not!nadia #//that's a wrap kids #self-harm tw #wickedscontent

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ze-royal-jester · 3 years

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Im 18

My birthday is Sept. 21st <3

Names I go by are Z, Maverick, Mave, Mav, or Rick

Any Pronouns >:}

Discord: welzerocci

Snapchat: oriionion

Instagram: welzerocci

Twitter: moss_Xye

Active Fandoms List

• Genshin Impact

• Honkai: Star Rail

• JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

• Monster High

• One Piece

• Our Life (both games)

Fandoms I Was In (will still talk about)

• A Silent Voice

• Avatar: The Last Airbender

• B: The Beginning

• Blue Exorcist

• Blue Flag

• BNHA

• BoJack Horseman

• Castlevania

• Cells At Work

• D&D (critical role & just roll with it)

• Deathnote

• Demon Slayer

• Devilman: Crybaby

• Disenchantment

• Great Pretender

• Haikyuu

• It (1 and 2)

• JJK

• Legend of Zelda

• Magi

• Mystic Messenger

• Ouran Highschool Host Club

• Owl House

• Pokemon

• Shameless

• She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

• Sinbad

• Sirius the Jaeger

• Sword Art Online

• The Disastrous Life of Saiki K

• The Dragon Prince

• The Girl From Nowhere

• The Legend of Kora

• The Owl House

• The Promised Neverland

• Voltron

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flauntpage · 5 years

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The Outlet Pass: Jim Boylen is a Legend

The Case for Jim Boylen

The Jim Boylen Show is one of those classic NBA subplots that began as a cracked carnival ride, but—not so much including Wednesday night’s need for introspection—may be maturing into a situation that’s slightly more intriguing than pitiful. Boylen is a retrograde disciplinarian who’s extremely stubborn and passionate to the point of exhaustion. As someone literally coaching for his job, who knows how long the odds of him ever getting another opportunity this high up the food chain are, each game is its own battle. (Long-term gains are nice, but mainly accessible as the byproduct of decisions made with that night’s result in mind.)

The aftermath of Boylen’s initial roar for knuckle push-ups and inane suicide sprints was a pseudo-mutiny and the birth of a leadership committee. It was embarrassing for everyone involved. (Boylen’s response? “I’m juiced, man. I’m jacked up about it.”) But there are still nights when the Bulls appear to be take hazy steps in the right direction.

What’s bad is extraordinarily bad—Chicago is dead last in offense by a wide margin, and the only team since Fred Hoiberg was fired to average fewer than one point per possession; they’re pigs rolling in mud—but what’s not bad deserves recognition. Since Boylen took over on December 3, the Bulls have the ninth-best defense in the NBA. Before, they were 22nd. Eliminate transition from the equation, and before Wednesday night’s loss, only the Indiana Pacers had been more stout in the half court, per Cleaning the Glass. B.B.B. (Before Boylen Ball) they ranked 21st in the half court.

These stats include Chicago’s historic 56-point loss against the Boston Celtics, and two games against the Oklahoma City Thunder in which they allowed 233 total points. That is kind of impressive! Even with a schedule that’s gifted them the Cleveland Cavaliers and Orlando Magic (three times!), Chicago’s effort, hair-on-fire aggression, and tight rotations are sustainable to a degree against teams that aren’t expecting it. One month in, it’s too early to call this fully sustainable. But given all their injuries and ill-equipped personnel, it’s also impressive. (They stifled the red-hot San Antonio Spurs and held the Toronto Raptors to a 40-point half, too.)

Boylen’s priorities are clear. Chicago’s pace has gone from average to a trickle. Jabari Parker is M.I.A. Defense is the universe. And even when he chooses to impersonate Byron Scott by punishing first and second-year players who, you know, make mistakes, in an otherwise lost season there’s serious value in thrusting important defensive principles onto impressionable prospects. They consistently execute a game-plan that will sometimes change from quarter to quarter, and is based on opposing personnel more than anything.

Depending on which of their bigs is involved, when up against a ball-handler who can shoot, Boylen wants the screener’s man to either stay level or show and recover, forcing a pass towards back-line defenders who’re ready to secure the paint. An example can be seen below: As Wendell Carter Jr. extends himself 35 feet from the rim, Chandler Hutchison has already introduced himself to a rolling Ian Mahinmi, who immediately whips the ball out of bounds.

It’s a beatable strategy against those that see it coming (like the Magic on Wednesday night), but by engaging all five guys on most possessions—forcing communication, quick rotations, and an understanding of where to be—it suits a young team nicely. Here’s Robin Lopez up to prevent Bradley Beal from getting a clean look. Before the pass even comes, Lauri Markkanen is already in the paint, positioned to swat Thomas Bryant’s shot.

One of the big picture takeaways in Boylen’s first month has been the effectiveness of Markkanen and Carter Jr. as a frontcourt duo. Offensively, it’s definitely fair to say he’s holding them back (these two are compatible and too talented not to eventually thrive on that end). But on defense, in a 275-minute sample size, Chicago has a top-five defense when they share the floor. Markkanen isn’t able to switch out onto guards, but he’s quick enough to contain the ball 25 feet from the rim, prevent a guard from turning the corner, and then scamper back to his man. Meanwhile, Carter Jr. (who Boylen benched on Wednesday night for no discernible reason) is good enough to suck the oxygen out of your lungs by momentarily transforming into prime Kevin Garnett.

Rookies are not supposed to do everything Carter Jr. does on that play. Like a 10-year vet, his brain is on auto-pilot, correctly analyzing then reacting to the offense. There’s no margin for hesitation and so Carter Jr. doesn’t hesitate. Since Boylen took over, opponents are shooting just 51.9 percent at the rim when he defends it. This type of effort illustrates why:

On the whole, Boylen’s coaching style is Full Metal Jacket as a one-man show. It’s maddening, comical, and, at times, deranged. In response to a random Lopez hook shot, he’ll violently pump his fist and howl towards the rafters. Boylen lives and dies on every possession with a level of enthusiasm that no cardiologist would recommend. It’s Tom Thibodeau clutching a megaphone, blowtorch, and empty bottle of adderall. (When Sam Dekker got away with a travel during a recent Bulls win over the Washington Wizards, Boylen turned to rookie ref Ashley Moyer-Gleich and shouted “Ashley! He took six steps!” The man is a legend.)

But, in some areas, the man is getting results. The Bulls rotate on a string and fly all over the court, deflecting over three more balls per 48 minutes under Boylen than they did with Hoiberg—a leap from average to fourth-best in the league. This team is rabid, physical, and following orders. They bump cutters, help the helper, know when to switch, and hold their own in spite of an offense (constructed by Boylen) that provides zero favors.

It’s unclear how much of Chicago’s defensive success will continue under a coach who micromanages every speck of each possession, with no sign of him abandoning roots that have already started to rot. Boylen’s attitude isn’t one to shepherd a very good team to the Finals, but he may be a logical exorcist for some of Chicago’s bad habits. Until the inevitable day comes when this young core is passed onto more delicate hands (think Mark Jackson to Steve Kerr), Boylen deserves some credit for what he’s done to a defense most expected to be epically horrendous all year.

Draymond Green’s Sort-of-Impossible Box Out Stats

One of the more subtle reasons Draymond Green is an irreplaceable defender comes after the opponent’s shot goes up, when he wheels his body in front of whoever’s nearby, dislodges them out of position, and dramatically increases the odds of a Golden State Warrior grabbing the rebound.

Last year he finished fifth with 6.6 defensive box outs per game. Right now, he’s fourth, with 8.0. This is impressive when you compare his role to that of others who box out as frequently as he does. Green is not a traditional drop big who can just spin around and throw his ass into whoever’s nearby. His defensive responsibilities run the gamut. He switches out on the perimeter and perpetually exists as a help-side safety net—flying around, putting out fires that are nowhere near his original assignment. For him to also place near the top of the league in a category like this is sort of amazing, especially when you consider the impact it’s had on Golden State’s defense when he’s at the five.

Not nothing: opponents are grabbing a measly 22 percent of their own missed shots when Green plays center, a truly impressive number that’s far lower than it’s ever been since the Warriors became the Warriors. (When Green played center last year that number was 30.5 percent. The year before that? 31.9 percent.) For all the worry about his disintegrating outside shot (he’ll probably make nine threes in Game 1 of the Finals, and eight of them will be assisted by DeMarcus Cousins), Green’s effort in this area is as commendable as ever.

Point Guard Don(cic)

It’s been a little over two weeks since Sacramento Kings head coach Dave Joerger had this to say about everyone’s favorite wunderkind, Luka Doncic: “Perhaps there was an idea that there was a ceiling on him. I don't see it, unfortunately for us.” The statement was received as a searing subtweet aimed towards Kings assistant general manager Brandon Williams. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. But more important, to me, was what it summoned: an interesting and ever-relevant debate about fit and context pertaining to prospects and the teams that draft them. Generally speaking, it’s silly to pass over a generational talent because he’d be limited in your system or on your roster. If that’s how you feel, change your system and/or your roster.

Doncic is good enough to transcend any environment he occupies, but like every other player on Earth, he’s also influenced by what his teammates can/can’t do, and his hypothetical role in Sacramento, next to a blurry pick-and-roll roadrunner like De’Aaron Fox, is different than his actual reality in Dallas. That’s OK. But it’s also fair and natural to consider how Doncic’s game might be limited there. Based on everything we’ve seen, Doncic, Fox, and the Kings would be perfectly fine, but it’d also rob us (and Doncic?) of maximizing the most exciting and beneficial area of his skill-set.

Doncic doesn’t need the ball in his hands to positively impact a game, but like so many great playmakers before him, it makes sense to let him influence a majority of his team’s on-court decisions. Before Dennis Smith Jr.’s return, we witnessed a few lineups that let Doncic literally stand alone as his team’s point guard. No J.J. Barea, DSJ, Devin Harris, or Jalen Brunson. When Dallas is healthy those lineups won’t see the floor, and there’s been mixed results in the limited time we saw them play, but those minutes offered a glimpse towards how the Mavs may want to build around their franchise player.

(I absolutely love DSJ and am not one to give up on the compatibility of any two players as young and talented as him and Doncic, but—an uptick in three-point shooting aside—nobody should be surprised if/when Dallas makes a trade; the Mavericks score 110.9 points per 100 possessions when Doncic is on the floor without Smith Jr. and 100 points per 100 possessions when they both play.)

Even though Doncic’s usage rate and True Shooting percentage are actually higher with Smith Jr. on the court than without, just look at the cool stuff he can do when operating in space beside teammates who naturally complement his profound ability to make the defense feel like it’s hallucinating.

Everything falls into place when Doncic is surrounded by wings and bigs who provide enough space and defensive versatility. They unlock his best attributes and will eventually let Dallas discover its best self. There are parallels here to how Brett Brown decided to use Ben Simmons last year (a move that wasn’t obvious at the time). Doncic’s skill-set gives a much longer rope and no pressure to go all-in down one road, but there’s a future where his assist rate is consistently over 35 percent on a top-five offense. (Right now he’s one of six 19-year-old rookies in league history to assist at least 25 percent of his team’s baskets while logging over 1,000 total minutes.)

Related: The Mavericks shouldn’t be shy about throwing a lot of money at Malcolm Brogdon this summer. He’s a low-usage cog who can defend point guards while quietly posting 50/40/90 splits. The perfect partner for someone like Doncic once the Mavs start putting the ball in his hands way more than they already are.

Kevin Knox is Starting to Show What He Can Be

It’s still too early to make any firm declarations about Kevin Knox’s future. But for someone who won’t celebrate his 20th birthday until August, it’s impossible not to look at his production since David Fizdale made him a full-time starter on December 12th and not feel bullish.

Since, he’s averaging 37.6 minutes, 17.9 points, and 5.2 rebounds while making 38.1 percent of his threes (of which he launches many). The Knicks are bad and some of Knox’s overall inefficiency comes from being 19 with a flashing green light, but there are aspects of his game—particularly off the ball—that make it feel like whenever New York acquires a star (whoever it may be), Knox won’t have any problem finding ways to impact the game.

The quick-trigger three-ball is fun, as is enough size and length to eventually guard three positions with ease. But the most impressive part of Knox’s game so far might be how aggressively (and intelligently) he attacks closeouts. Watch below, where he doesn’t wait for the ball to hit his hands before he curves into the paint.

It’s an instruction smart teams (the Spurs and Jazz, most notably) give their wings in an effort to get a step past their defender. And here’s Knox showing enough confidence to take Paul Millsap off the bounce (something the four-time All-Star clearly didn’t expect) before an and-1 finish at the rim.

Knox still doesn’t know how to pass on the move and is only shooting 40 percent on drives since he entered the starting lineup. He ranks 471st out of 472 players in Real Plus-Minus. But the silhouette of a useful player is drawn. The Knicks needed to hit this pick and they didn’t screw it up! Good for them!

Jamal Crawford’s Late-Career Transformation

Jamal Crawford will always be known for his ability to get buckets off the bench. That’s his DNA and the first line of his basketball obituary. But this year has been different. It’s not an evolutionary change, per se, but Crawford, at 38, has spent almost all his minutes as Phoenix’s de facto backup point guard, setting teammates up, throwing lobs, and rewarding cutters. His assist rate is the highest it’s ever been—second only to Devin Booker on the team—and his shots per 100 possessions were only lower during his rookie season.

During the month of December, he averaged about five assists per game, including a career-high 14 at Madison Square Garden. Crawford goes out of his way to feed youngsters like Deandre Ayton and Mikal Bridges, incentivizing them to cut hard, sprint the floor, and dive into the paint.

Crawford was paid to be “selfish” earlier in his career. He took (and made) tough shots even when a more satisfying option presented itself. Now, he’ll swing it to an open man without hesitation. (More than once I’ve had to rewind and double-check to make sure it was him who threw the pass.) When a defender races out to run him off the three-point line, Crawford will forgo a one-dribble pull-up and circulate the ball around the perimeter.

In three fewer minutes per game compared to last season, when he was on the Minnesota Timberwolves, he’s averaging five more passes. On high pick-and-rolls, Crawford’s head is up, canvassing the baseline for teammates, trying to do more than settle for the jumper he can turn to whenever he wants.

The play below would never happen five years ago. If the screener’s man dropped that far, Crawford would use the sliver of space provided by Ayton’s screen to pull up. Instead, he lets him attack an off-balance DeAndre Jordan, who clearly wasn’t expecting a pass.

The Suns are extremely bad, but Crawford’s readiness to tilt his role towards that of a playmaker has made life (slightly) easier for a young core that would otherwise have no stability whatsoever at such a crucial position.

The Outlet Pass: Jim Boylen is a Legend published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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leehaws · 5 years

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The Outlet Pass: Jim Boylen is a Legend

The Case for Jim Boylen

Draymond Green’s Sort-of-Impossible Box Out Stats

Point Guard Don(cic)

It’s been a little over two weeks since Sacramento Kings head coach Dave Joerger had this to say about everyone’s favorite wunderkind, Luka Doncic: “Perhaps there was an idea that there was a ceiling on him. I don’t see it, unfortunately for us.” The statement was received as a searing subtweet aimed towards Kings assistant general manager Brandon Williams. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. But more important, to me, was what it summoned: an interesting and ever-relevant debate about fit and context pertaining to prospects and the teams that draft them. Generally speaking, it’s silly to pass over a generational talent because he’d be limited in your system or on your roster. If that’s how you feel, change your system and/or your roster.

Kevin Knox is Starting to Show What He Can Be

Jamal Crawford’s Late-Career Transformation

The Outlet Pass: Jim Boylen is a Legend syndicated from https://justinbetreviews.wordpress.com/

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humanmoodring-retired · 3 years

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Season’s Yeetings Pt. 1 || Blanche, Connor, Nadia (x2), Regan, and Kaden

TIMING: Present PARTIES: @harlowhaunted @connorspiracy @humanmoodring @kadavernagh @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Another exorcism. feat. Mav the Exorcist CONTENT: Self harm, suicide attempt (possession-driven)

If it could, Nadia was sure that her heart would be beating way too fast. She was… scared didn’t seem like it could properly encompass what she was feeling. Nervous and terrified and resigned in case things went wrong. And this could really go wrong. This could go terribly, actually, ending with not just a dead body but the wrong spirit also being destroyed. But she didn’t think she could handle being like this for much longer, and she knew that there was no way in hell Cordelia could be allowed to keep her body and do whatever she wanted with it. This had to end, no matter what. She looked around her apartment, covered in dust and messy as the day she’d walked out. This was the first time she’d been in it since the wards had been put up, and it hurt a bit to be back. This was somewhere that she’d once felt safe, comfortable. She didn’t know if she’d ever feel comfortable again if she made it out of this. But she needed to steel her resolve. She looked over at the others, gave them a nod and what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “We’re just waiting for Kaden and the exorcist, right?” And her body, of course, but that didn’t need to be voiced, did it?

Regan knew that she didn’t need to remind Nadia of what she had said in the cabin. It was as good as a promise, even though she couldn’t say the word. Nadia wouldn’t die alone. No matter what happened here today, Regan could at least give her that. And anything could happen. The first aid kit Regan had set on the counter was testament to that. Nadia didn’t want to acknowledge it verbally, but her tense expressions and manic pacing -- sometimes through the floor -- said what her words didn’t. She was terrified. In some moments, Regan allowed herself to be, too. This wasn’t how Regan wanted to come back to their apartment together, both of them ghosts of their former selves, but if today went in their favor -- and she would do anything she possibly could to see that it would -- one of them could be saved.

When Blanche and a young man who she assumed to be Connor arrived, Regan backed up to the opposite side of the room, staring across at them with a tight frown and black eyes. She didn’t greet them, but she wouldn’t shame them either. She didn’t have anger inside of her anymore -- not enough to speak -- but from an objective point of view, she did blame the two of them for Nadia’s current predicament. They would set this right, or they would face consequences. They both seem determined but anxious, focused with heavy steps and tight knuckles. Blanche, especially, seemed more an adult than she ever had before. Regan silently watched as some parts of the stage were set. Candles, salt, metal which looked dangerously like iron, and more. For her own contribution, she pushed the furniture to the sides of the room, creating an open space in the center. She could see all of their footprints in the dust, layered on top of each other and the ones she had left just a couple of weeks ago. When that was done, she went back to her wall, maintaining as much distance as possible from anyone who wasn’t Nadia. “Yes,” Regan replied, Nadia’s nervous smile melting through her a little, “Kaden said he would be ready at twenty after.” She checked her watch. Soon. “As for the-- I don’t know anything about them.”

Did it make him look better or worse to show up with homework? Photocopied pages lay folded in his back pocket, but he hadn’t dared pull them out in front of the others. He’d read them countless times anyway. Connor was more than grateful for the material’s Leah had copied from her archives for him, as well as everything he'd found while researching with Rio, but he still hadn’t managed to find anything that related to the exact situation they’d found themselves in. As far as he could tell, exorcising the wrong soul from a body just didn’t happen all that often. He supposed either he was that much of a fuck up, or Nadia’s situation was just that special. Regardless, he reckoned the older exorcist would know. “Do you know where Kaden found this bloke?” Connor asked nobody in particular. He wondered if it would be impolite to smoke a cigarette while they waited. He opted against it, since the woman with the dark eyes seemed ready to kill him at any moment. “I mean, I appreciate the help. I really do. I just wanna check what exactly we know about him.”

The somber expression on Blanche’s face couldn’t seem to leave, even as she entered the apartment and took a look at Nadia and Regan. “Hey,” she said in greeting, her tone flat. She couldn’t say much else. Blanche dropped her smaller bag on a piece of furniture and began to set up as much as she could - Blanche was conscious enough to keep the iron as far from Regan as possible. She glanced at Connor as he began to speak, pulling the long black bag she had on her back off. “He has his connections. I’m sure he’s adequate,” Blanche replied, though she was unsure too. Granny had instilled a distrust of exorcists in her from when she was young. She wasn’t sure how much of that was out of fear of being exorcised herself, but Blanche knew that a lot of people liked to masquerade with powers they didn’t actually have for the chance to get quick cash from desperate people. She unzipped the large bag, before pausing, with a frown. Warily, she announced, “I borrowed a shotgun from a friend,” she said, pulling it out. Well, really, she borrowed it from Stan, who was all too keen to give her a firearm after she got stabbed in his place of business. “It’s loaded with salt rounds. In case things get… Bad.” She glanced at the door, moving her equipment out of the way. “I suppose we’ll hear them.” She looked to Connor. “And we’ll feel Cordelia whenever she’s nearby.”

It had been so long since Kaden pulled up to Regan’s apartment, pulling up to park in front of the building felt strange and foreign at this point. Putain, he hated that. Still, there was a small sense of relief. This was finally almost over. “Welcome home,” he said to Cordelia as he led her from the car up to the top floor. It was eerie being here, even though there were plenty of people waiting inside. Maybe it was because of how abandoned the building felt now. Maybe it was because of how defeated Cordelia seemed, almost accepting of her fate. Almost. Didn’t matter. He carted her upstairs and walked her in. His heart caught in his chest as he looked around the room. Empty, cleared out, and covered in dust nothing like he remembered. It was strange to see it like this. It was strange, too, to see Regan in this context. Willingly, at that. Black eyes and distanced, it was almost easy to forget who it was. Almost. This wasn’t the return to this building he expected for both of them. He winced when he remembered what he’d done to Cordelia’s wrist. Nadia’s body’s wrist. Hopefully Regan didn’t think too poorly of him. But it was too late to do anything about it now. And if this worked, a broken wrist was the least of Nadia’s worries. Blanche was here, too. With a shotgun no less. He shot her a look but let it lie. And also some kid he assumed was Connor. He couldn’t see Nadia even if he wanted to. Now where the fuck was this exorcist?

“Howdy, folks,” the man with a mustache said as he walked through the door behind Kaden, tipping his stetson. “I heard we have a big here nut to crack.” He took a good look around the room and assessed the situation. “I see you all followed instructions. Thank you kindly, this set up should work just fine. Just fine.” He noted the handcuffed woman in the center of the room and made a quick guess that was the little lady in question. “Mr. Langley, good to see you again. I suppose some introductions might be in order. My name’s Maverick, but you can call me Mav.” He was told there was going to be a medium, another younger exorcist, and a banshee. He wasn’t sure what a banshee was doing in these here parts or what her particular interest was in this here ghost, but he wasn’t one to question. Not if he was going to rake and scrape himself together a handsome pay day out of this job. “First thing’s first. I believe a repossession is in order, is that the case here? No need to dilly dally if we’re all ready and raring to go. You all know the plan?”

“What a fucking gentleman,” Nadia snapped at Kaden as they walked into her old apartment. Good memories, she remembered. There was the cabinet where she stored all of her equipment, and that was the couch that she’d passed out on after a couple of good heist, and there was what was left of the kitchen table that she’d definitely destroyed on her way out of this place. She rolled her shoulders, felt Kaden’s knife shift from where she’d tucked it in the waistband of her jeans, the shirt covering it up. She’d just need to snap her handcuffs off like she had the last time this happened. Whatever, she could do it. She could do it. She looked around the room, glancing at the little banshee, the children, the shadow of her host. “Howdy, folks,” she said mockingly. “This looks like a party, huh?” When the mustachioed hombre walked in, she rolled her eyes and glanced at the shadow, at Nadia Diaz. Give me your best shot, she said with her eyes.

For her part, Nadia didn’t know what the hell she was supposed to do. This next part was on her, right? She had to get this started, wasn’t she? She was. Of course she was. But she was a bit nervous. Really nervous. Scared, maybe, was the right word. She gritted her teeth as she and Cordelia stared at each other, steeling herself. All she could see was her reflection in the mirror, grinning as she faded out of existence. Except Nadia couldn’t fade now. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She stepped forward instead. “Right. I-- I repossess her, and you exorcise her out, right?” It sounded easy. This was her body, too. It was her body. She could do this. “Is there…” She trailed off as she looked at Cordelia. What a mess the two of them had made of her life. Looking in that woman’s eyes, her eyes, Nadia knew what she wanted. She wanted her fucking life back. “Is there anything else I should do?”

For a moment, Regan lifted herself from the wall when Kaden walked in, yearning to approach. But now wasn’t the time for so many reasons, and she was forgetting herself. Cordelia -- Nadia’s body -- was dragged in, wrist swollen under the handcuffs in a way that made Regan think it might be broken. Would Kaden have-- later, that was something to think about later. Once Nadia was in there again. So she stayed glued to the edge of the room, eyes flitting between Nadia, Kaden, and the shotgun that looked so massive and out of place in Blanche’s small hands. There was only one more person they were waiting on now, and just as Regan thought it, their final party member swung into the room looking like a man straight out of a spaghetti western, but far scrawnier. He appeared almost as malnourished as that child Blanche and Kaden were friendly with, Rio. But despite his protein deficiencies, his mustache still glistened under the dull lightbulbs -- which Regan suspected wouldn’t be there long considering her own track record -- and he seemed energized and ready. Where on earth had Kaden found this man?

“Hello,” Regan said in response, her first words to anyone other than Nadia, “What are your credentials?” She bore into him, not stepping any closer. Was Nadia really ready to pour all of her trust and hopes into this? Regan looked over to her friend for a moment, seeing her fear and tenseness. She offered a hand, though she knew Nadia couldn’t exactly take it; maybe it would still be enough. “I’m Regan. I’m here for Nadia. I’m a-- I was a doctor. I will not let anyone die here today.” As for Mav’s question, she had no answer for him; she’d leave that to Blanche and Connor to answer. She relayed her friend’s concerns instead, in case Mav or others were unable to hear her. “Nadia is wondering if there’s anything she should do.”

Connor's eyes widened as Blanche drew the weapon. "You bloody Americans and your guns," he sighed, but they could have done worse in this situation than a rocksalt shotgun. It was powerful, yet non-lethal, at least at the right distance. "Just be careful. Get too close and you'll blow her fucking chest out even without actual bullets." Thankfully, Kaden and Cordelia's arrival saved them from further conversation about the weapon. "Oh, you're as lovely as ever, darlin'," Connor scoffed, his confidence boosted by the presence of the others in the room. Kaden seemed as gloomy and squinty-eyed as the last time Connor had seen him clearing Snicker-Snackers out of his apartment, yet this time, the weight of his bad mood was far, far heavier.

Connor stood as the final man walked into the room, raising an eyebrow as if this was some type of bloody joke. He imagined this was what John Wayne would look like as an exorcist. "Mav," he repeated, extending his hand. "Y'alright, mate? I'm Connor. I'm gonna be helping you out with this one." He was glad he wasn't the only one who wanted to know the stranger's credentials. Thankfully, Regan had saved him from asking the man directly. He could feel Nadia's nerves, her fear, and somewhere in there, her determination. Connor couldn't touch her, couldn't offer a comforting hand, but he gave her as reassuring a smile as he could manage. "Just stay strong, yeah? Stay focused. You got this."

“I know. If I didn’t know how to use it, I wouldn’t have it,” Blanche snapped quietly at Connor, her already bad temper souring even further. She refused to look at Cordelia, there was no need, considering Nadia hadn’t yet repossessed her body. She wouldn’t need to watch for the struggle for control between them -- not yet, at least. Blanche pressed her lips together into a thin line, examining the exorcist carefully. Had she died and woken up in a bad Western? Blanche was with Regan on this one, and she glanced at the Banshee quickly before turning back to Mav. What were this man’s credentials? It wasn’t like she could ask for a CV or an exorcist license… Blanche slung the shotgun over her shoulder, finally stepping forward to greet him. “Blanche. Medium. I’ll be running telekinetic interference in case it gets…” She let out a breath, remembering the telekinetic game of tug-of-war her and Constance played in the classroom. She had thrown the teacher’s desk through a window. Blanche grimaced, and she hoped they didn’t completely trash Nadia’s apartment. “Completely out of hand.” Eyes narrow, Blanche glanced at Nadia. “Whenever you’re ready to begin, Nadia. Just like we practiced.” She looked back at Mav, still distrusting of him. Finally, lowering her voice, she asked. “You can tell what she is, right? The spirit in the body?” He had to at least be able to answer that Cordelia was a poltergeist. It was the only question she could think to answer to make sure they weren’t getting scammed.

Kaden wanted to go over to Regan, give her hand a quick squeeze of reassurance before slinking off to the side, but it wouldn’t help. The only thing that would help was finishing this, giving Nadia back what was hers. He wished he could see her, give her some reassurance before all this started. “Mav’s one of the best there is. Trust me,” he said before backing away to the door. He had to be. After what Kaden sacrificed to get him here, he had to be. This wouldn’t be for nothing. “I’ll be right at the door. Let me know if you need me.” With that he headed to the door, giving the scene one last look. He really hoped he’d be useless here and it’d be over sooner rather than later. He had to trust this was the best group possible to make this happen.

Mav gave the hunter a nod. “I’ll call on you if I need you, partner.” He didn’t know much about this Langley fellow but he trusted Porter would only refer him to someone worth his time. And this case sure sounded like a doozy. “Nice to meet you, youngin,” he said, shaking Connor’s hand. “I hope you’re good and ready for this rodeo. It’s sure to be a hullabaloo. Just follow my lead and stay by me.” It seemed like Mav and Mr. Langley might be the only two in the room who couldn’t see ghosts by the sound of it. That was alright, he didn’t need to see them to exorcise them. “Telekinesis? Well I'll be damned. That’s a horse of a different color right there, boy howdy.” That was more than he bargained for from a medium. This might not be a total disaster after all. Maybe they had a shot. Though not if they all kept on questioning him. He hoped he could settle this score and keep the quarreling to the spirits. “Young lady, I’ve been dealing with ghosts and performing exorcisms since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I know a poltergeist when I feel one and you’d best believe I know how to handle one so none of y’all need to fret about any credentials, you hear?”

Mav fastened his hat on his head a little tighter and rolled up his sleeves before pulling out his grand pappy’s old iron pocket watch. It was a silly old trinket, but it was a fool proof focal point for him. “We’ll need our Ms. Diaz to repossess her body. Once she’s in there, we’ll start the exorcism. The circle here should keep little lady Cordelia trapped while we do the banishment. There’s bound to be a lot of rattling and hollering but it’s very important that once I start wagging my mouth that no one interrupts me. One missed syllable is all it’ll take for things to go belly up in a delicate situation such as this one. So if we’re ready to start wobbling jaws and get this show on the road, y’all need to be absolutely sure you’re ready.”

Just repossess the body. That was all Nadia needed to worry about doing. She looked at where Cordelia and her body waited within the circle. The moment she crossed that line, she’d be stuck in there with a homicidal maniac until everything was completed. The way that Cordelia looked at her without really seeing her would have chilled Nadia to the bones. This had to be the most twisted form of self-loathing, when her own eyes were filled with so much hate, but she wasn’t even in there. Nadia looked at Regan’s hand and, comforted, stepped forward. Cordelia straightened up, her mouth set in a hard line. Nadia crossed into the circle, and there was no going back. She stood toe to toe with her own body, her feet floating off the ground and making her an inch or so taller. Once again, Nadia felt like she was staring at her reflection in a mirror back in Phoenix, blood on her hands and a smile that wasn’t hers, had never been hers, stretching across her mouth. She was done with this. Nadia reached her hand out and grabbed her own shoulder.

It felt weird, feeling Nadia Diaz’s hand pass through her body, but the sensation meant that the repossession didn’t work, and all Nadia could do was laugh. “You can’t even be dead properly, can you?” she hissed at the translucent figure in front of her. “God, any ghost worth their shit can possess. Come on, champ, try again.” She looked out amongst the group in front of them, from the little banshee to the cowboy, sneering. Bet they felt like dumbasses, backing the wrong Nadia. She was clearly the better of the two, more in control and more capable of taking care of this body. Not that it’d matter for long, but, shit, it was as if Nadia didn’t even want it anymore. Just like when Nadia had taken over, the girl had no fight. She couldn’t have fought back if she wanted to. “Didn’t you hear me, you dumb bitch? Try aga--” Nadia gasped, and, for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t alone in her head anymore.

The first thing Nadia noticed was that she was unbalanced. She wobbled a bit, trying to remember how to plant her feet on solid ground. Her wrist hurt. Her throat hurt. Her head was killing her. She had to blink tears out of her eyes for a moment as everything came back into focus. She was trembling, but she could feel it. She could feel everything, not just herself, and the weight of it was crushing. It was relieving. But she could feel Cordelia, too, just underneath the surface, and the poltergeist was so much stronger than she was. However, Cordelia wasn’t the one that was used to being possessed, and this would always be Nadia’s body first. For a moment, and just a moment, she had total control, even if the spirit taking up residence in her body fought like a motherfucker. “Now,” she gasped out, locking eyes with anyone that she could. “Start now. You’ve got to start now.”

Regan wasn’t sure why Blanche felt the need to mention her size to Mav (she was more shrimpy than medium, though neither of those words were qualitative enough for Regan’s liking), but she was already struggling to follow everything else that was happening. Telekinesis? Horses? A pocket watch that made a shiver roll down her spine? Instead of trying to make sense of nonsense, she turned her attention to Nadia and Kaden. As much as she wanted him to stay here, she knew it was important that someone guard the door. The last thing they needed was for Cordelia to escape… or for Ms. Carmody to wander up insisting to see what was causing all the noise. Despite not agreeing with Mav’s chosen terminology, she understood that his warning about interruption was to be taken seriously, and for a moment, she considered promising that she wouldn’t interfere. But… what if she had to? What if there was no other option? What if Nadia’s death would be a result not of the “exorcism,” but of Regan’s inability to intervene? So she held her tongue as tightly as she held Nadia’s gaze. Her fingers felt nothing as she tried to graze her friend’s hand, but something in Nadia’s eyes told her that it helped a little nonetheless. Regan only wished she could do more. She wasn’t the best at inspirational speeches, but it seemed prudent to remind Nadia that she believed in her. “You were shot by a mime and wouldn’t even come to me for stitches,” Regan said, voice resolute, “you’ve been using hydrogen peroxide on your wounds despite my warnings, and you fearlessly confronted all of those dangerous individuals at 66 Brimme Stonne. There’s likely more that I don’t even know about.” That thought sank like a stone inside of her. “You can do this, Nadia. You’re tough and, to my chagrin, occasionally medically irresponsible. But most importantly tough. And I’ll be here. No matter what.” That was a promise Regan would have made if she could.

At Mav’s instruction, Nadia drifted into the center of the room, where Cordelia stood in handcuffs. Though Regan had seen both of them individually before, seeing them in one place, staring each other down, was maddening. Some part of her wanted to explain all of this away as a hallucination, but she couldn’t lie about that, not even to herself any longer. There was no imagining Cordelia’s fury out of nowhere, either -- it was very real, even directed at someone so insubstantial as Nadia. There wasn’t even a tremor under Cordelia’s voice; she thought herself invincible, truly believing that Nadia was going to die trying. More impossible things unfolded -- Nadia vanished. Regan looked down, expecting her to pop back up through the floor, but she didn’t. Her head swiveled frantically as she searched the room. Nadia was gone. But Cordelia -- something was changing across her face. And her balance. Cordelia nearly fell, and Regan was caught off guard by how Cordelia’s voice changed. Uncertain, fearful, frenzied, with a backbone of determination. Regan knew, then -- that was where Nadia had gone, somehow. She stayed back, lingering at the side of the room as she looked to Mav, pleading silently with him to save her friend.

Bloody hell, there were a lot of people here. Most of them actual adults. This wasn't like last time when it was a bunch of kids in the woods just hoping to get this right. Connor wasn't sure if he was intimidated by that, or comforted by it. "Right," he said, nodding and stepping into position next to Mav, trying not to let the man's colourful use of language blur his judgement. They wouldn't have invited him if he wasn't capable. This was Nadia's life at stake. "I've got you, mate." He touched his focal point, currently nestled inside his pocket. It would make its real appearance once they were ready. "You got this, Nadia," he said again, looking at her sincerely and giving her an encouraging nod.

Connor could feel the palpable tension in the room. He felt the poltergeist's fury, the struggle, the pain. He focused on the battling spirits, never taking his eyes off them, ready to leap in at any moment regardless of not knowing how he could help. "She's winning," he said, managing a hopeful smile. But they weren't out of the woods yet... There was still the rest of it to do. "Quick, I'll start getting everything in place, yeah?" No wobbly mouths, or waggling jaws, or whatever the cowboy had said. The ritual had to go perfectly. He drew the diagrams around the Nadias, taking the relics and items as Mav handed them to him, the two of them settling the playing field as Nadia and Cordelia fought for control over the other. "You’ve won, okay Nadia? Stay strong, we're almost there," he called to her.

The mustached exorcist watched and waited as the spirit of Nadia Diaz returned to her own body. Mav almost wished he could see it proper, but he didn’t need to see to know what was going on. The energy shifted around them, forces battling to occupy the same space, and beyond that, he wasn’t a spring chicken. He could hear the arguments back and forth. When she said the word, Mav didn’t hesitate to start chanting. He gripped his fingers tight around the chain of the pocket watch as he formed the Latin clean and precise even with his accent peaking through, narrowing in on the energy until it was clear and crisp as sweet tea on a summer’s day. In normal circumstances, he’d never need to focus his energy like this, not for a basic removal ritual. But this? This was three gallons of crazy in a two gallon bucket. The spirit that belonged to the body was weaker, it would take everything he had to pull the poltergeist away. And then a little more than that to banish it back to hell and keep Ms Diaz from heading down to the bone orchard herself. He felt the words forming a bond of energy, like the chain from his watch, latching onto the poltergeist and pulling at it, peeling it away from the body. She was tough as a pine nut. A focal point wasn’t enough. Without dropping a phrase, he nodded to Connor and reached out to him to pull from him, to strengthen the chain. It was going to need to be strong as steel, iron even, to make this work. But Maverick Mulaney was no failure, no sir.

Blanche understood Mav’s exasperation, but she wasn’t quick to drop her skepticism. Once it was all over, she could apologize -- or kill him, if she ended up being right. The somber thought made her grimace, even as Nadia succeeded in overtaking Cordelia and the removal started. The energy in the room was thick and made her skin tingle uncomfortably. Watching Mav start to pull from Connor, Blanche backed away and started inching closer to Regan. “Regan?” She said quietly, not taking her eyes off Nadia and Cordelia. This was probably the first thing she had said to Regan directly in a very long time, but it was better to warn her now then let her be surprised. She had seen the first exorcism, and Nadia’s screams of pain weren’t something she would soon forget. That said, maybe with the removal it would be, at least, a little better. “Once Cordelia is out, it’ll get better for Nadia.” She spoke softly so she wouldn’t disturb Mav or Connor’s concentration. “... Well… Maybe not better. But it probably won’t get worse,” she corrected herself. Her hands tightened on the gun, and let out a hissed wince as her body began to feel like ice. “I think he knows what he’s doing.” Blanche was struck again with a sort of sadness and pity for Cordelia, as well as the familiar guilt in her gut, but she shook it off. There would be time to lament her choices later, now she had to keep a careful eye on Nadia. She narrowed her eyes at Nadia, taking a few steps forward as she tried to watch for Cordelia’s soul to be ripped out of Nadia’s body. “C’mon, c’mon. Let her go.” Blanche hissed under her breath. Before it killed Nadia.

Just like last time, Nadia felt a pulling sensation, like she was being ripped in half. She gritted her teeth against the pain so hard that she tasted iron in her mouth, but she stayed in control for as long as she could. This was working. They were going to win this. Granted, she felt like her insides were coming apart, as the connection with Cordelia that had literally just reformed was severed again and again and again. Cordelia raged against her skull, but Nadia held on as much as she could. If she concentrated, she could hear Mav chanting. She focused on that, on the sounds of words in a language that she didn’t understand. If she made it out of this-- When, when she made it out of this, she was going to start learning a new language. Maybe a dead language, something that could be useful in this fucking town. But she was making it out of this. Fuck, it was cold. It was so cold. Nadia felt herself trembling, and she opened her mouth to say something, but she didn’t say anything at all. She screamed.

“No!” Nadia screamed out, finally regaining control as the temperature in the room plummeted and the lights surged with her anger. No. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t losing this. Not now. Not now. Just like in the last exorcism, she reached inward, to that part of her that was dead and had been for so long but refused to fucking stay that way. Again, the felt the shackles, fucking handcuffs of all things, fall from her wrist, but this time, she knew she wouldn’t make it out in time. She had one last Hail Mary. She didn’t even feel the pain in Nadia’s wrist as she gripped the knife hidden behind her back as tightly as she could. Lightning fast, she ran it against Nadia’s neck, leaving a thin red line. But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? Too quick. Nadia Diaz would die suffering. She felt herself being pulled, pulled out of the body, but Nadia clung on as hard as she could, planted her heels, and dug the knife into Nadia’s stomach. It was poetic, wasn’t it? This was where she’d stabbed Kaden, where she’d stabbed the little medium. She gritted her teeth and dug in more, as much as she could. It wasn’t a big knife, sure, but she was a determined gal, and she didn’t give a fuck about Nadia’s pain. Not anymore. Then, Nadia wasn’t pulled out of Nadia’s body. She pushed herself out.

#season's yeetings pt. 1 #chatzy: blanche harlow #chatzy: connor piers #chatzy: kaden langley #chatzy: regan kavanagh #mav the exorcist #//mav is a gift #what a man #what a mustache #self harm tw #not!nadia #wickedscontent

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flauntpage · 5 years

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