Read it on Ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143344/chapters/32594997
Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej Characters: Mentions of other BF employees, Conan O'Brien Additional Tags: Demon Shane Madej, Demonic Possession, Exorcism, Haunting, Sexual Tension, Pseudo Witchcraft, Some scary images, Dark Comedy, Angst and Humor, Sex, Syriac legends, pre biblical demonic lore Summary:
Ryan gets it in his head to try a non traditional exorcism episode, but even with all the research involved, few translations or texts could prepare him for the machinations of a demon with a simple game in mind.
PreviewÂ
“…So we’re gonna try an exorcism,” Ryan announced.
Shane’s reply came in the form of the wrinkle of a brow over a steaming mug of tea. “Didn’t we already do that…like a few times?” He was stretched out beside Ryan in their mini conference room; he did that in spaces he absolutely had no business doing so. He could do that; would lounge about in audacious comfort in cafe booths, all limbs, sarcastic remarks and mocking smiles. It was really the only reason Ryan could think of as to why Shane had to get up all close to him over the table of papers stretched between them with his endless legs spilling into another chair as his right arm hung lazily over the back of Ryan’s chair.
“Not like this.”
Ryan had done the research. He was always researching. His work space, his home, and any available surface was a grand landscape of fluorescent page-savers and sticky-notes. This time was going to be different anyway. The exorcism was the least of it; it was the perspective.
“Perspective,” he told Shane. “I got the wrong perspective.”
“We gonna look at the demon from a panorama view or…”
Ryan barely registered this. He couldn’t find the draft of his treatment for the next episode and while he colour-coded, he’d gotten over excited when he laid all this out and Shane was touching things now, basically stealing all the air around them. Ryan inhaled like he’d forgotten to, got a whole lungful of Shane.
Shane. Who always smelled like he’d just got out of a forest fire, singed and metallic; a little musky like he’d wandered into a Mumford and Sons recording session and they’d all harassed him with hugs and mugs of black coffee. Sometimes Ryan went home and his t-shirts smelled like Shane. It was stupid.
