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after-witch · 1 year

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Horrorfest: Give Me Something Good to Eat [Yandere Nikolai Gogol x Reader]

Title: Give Me Something Good to Eat [Yandere Nikolai Gogol x Reader]

Synopsis: Nikolai arranges for a special session of trick or treating for you... emphasis on trick.

For Horrorfest request:

hello!! could i please request trick or treating(with a deadly twist or something) with nikolai gogol from bsd?

Word count: 4059

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, torture, extreme graphic violence and gore (not against reader); a bit of vomit and throwing up; reader has a boyfriend;

“It’s so simple! All you have to do is say trick or treat at every door…”

Nikolai gazed at you with his singular visible eye and a sweet, terrible grin on his face. He was decked out in an elaborate jester costume--though perhaps it was not so out of sorts with his ordinary clothing.

Tonight he sported a purple and black concoction with dramatic patterns and bells sewn onto the sleeves. It was almost identical to the jester costume he made you wear tonight, except your bells were not on the sleeves, but on a collar he’d strapped around your neck. It made you feel, in turns, like a prisoner and a pet.

Perhaps, to him, you were both.

He snapped his fingers in front of your face, regaining your attention.

“Do pay attention, kukol'nyy, it would be so boring to repeat myself.”

You acknowledged him with a grimace that made the carefully applied face paint on your cheeks crinkle. The feel of it was stiff and sticky, but familiar--not just because he had a habit of dolling you up, but because it reminded you of the Halloween costumes you used to wear in childhood, always smeared with some kind of paint on your face.

“One,” he said, ticking up his fingers as he went on. “You have to knock on every door. Don’t be naughty and skip any!”

The doors in question were not the doors of some neighborhood houses--you’re mildly grateful for that, considering the fact that the man in front of you was not above killing innocents --but the doors of a hallway in the compound where you were currently being kept.

“Two,” he continued, flicking away a bit of hair from his forehead. “You have to say, ‘trick or treat.’”

His expression seemed to take on a peculiar amusement, but you didn’t dare ask for an elaboration. Elaborations, you’d learned, were often disturbing. Or painful. Or both.

“Three…” He hummed, and tapped his chin theatrically. “How about, have fun? Yes, that will do nicely!”

He clapped his hands together and thrust something into your arms, which you grabbed at instinctively. It was a large plastic bag with a Frankenstein pattern on it, the kind children carried around in droves on Halloween night, unless their parents gave them musty pillowcases instead.

You stood, dumbly, until he gave you a nudge towards the hallway. Your legs obeyed the awful instructions your brain gave them, though your brain would have much rather run in the opposite direction. You knew this would not be some ordinary trick or treating. It couldn’t be, with the man behind you.

Or was he still…

Goosebumps sprinkled up your arm the moment you turned around. He was gone.

Fuck.

The hallway was dimly lit and bare, like every room in this compound except the one Gogol kept you in, which he’d draped in all sorts of mismatched blankets and decorations. You preferred the sparseness everywhere else, though, because at least it didn’t remind you of him.

You sighed. Nothing good would come of this. It made your stomach churn, but what else could you do? If you didn’t play his games, he hurt you. And you got the feeling that there were only so many times he would tolerate your refusals before he got far too annoyed to keep you around, no matter how much he seemed to enjoy punishing you for not obeying.

It opened slowly, almost comically slow, like something out of a cheesy horror movie.

So you swallowed against the tightness of your throat and knocked on the first door.

The door opened to reveal that Gogol stood there, and for a moment you thought--run--before he simply pulled out a large bowl heaping with candy.

“Treat!” He said, beaming, and dropped a fistful of candy into the bag you were holding. His fingers lingered on your own, dancing across the top; the bells on his sleeves rang, a hollow sound in the still hallway.

And then the door shut.

If you had only been recently taken by him, you might have thought: this wasn’t so bad! Maybe he just wanted some Halloween fun. Maybe he would be content with silly trick or treating.

But you weren’t so naive anymore. He knew it, too, which made you wonder why he bothered with such displays. Maybe he genuinely enjoyed doing a nice thing now and then. If handing you candy instead of, oh, making you tell him which of your friends you’d rather he kill was a “nice thing.”

Or maybe he enjoyed pretending that you were lulled into a false sense of security before doing something awful.

You knocked on the second door. It opened, and again you were struck by the almost comical nature of the creaking, but this time Gogol wasn’t standing there. There was only a muddy darkness, hiding everything but vague shapes and shadows inside the room.

A smell came from the room. Something faint but distinct. Metallic and earthy with a sweet rot underneath. The smell had your innards feeling tight and light, a primal knowledge that made your senses start to prepare for what might be in store.

“Treat or treat,” you said, breathy, to no one in particular.

And then Gogol’s voice called out jovially into the darkness: “Trick!”

Your stomach seemed to yank itself inward just as a light bulb was pulled on in the center of the room, one of those old fashioned things you usually only saw in warehouses and basements, complete with a dim, flickering light.

But it wasn’t the light bulb that you focused on. No, no, no.

It was the scene in the center of the room, which your brain couldn’t fully comprehend at first. It was worse when it did finally catch up with what your eyes were visually processing, because instead of seeing vague blobs of red and black, you were able to genuinely see what was in front of you with awful clarity.

There was a scarecrow in the center of the room, but it was immediately clear that the scarecrow was actually a corpse. Or part of one. The head was stuffed burlap, but the face--the skin of it--was real, stretched out and stitched on with slapdash stitches.

The torso of the scarecrow was death-bloated underneath a plaid shirt, the skin all mottled, looking like it might begin to ooze all sorts of biles and pus at any moment. You could practically smile at what was hiding underneath all that bloat, stretching the stomach, begging to be released and spill onto the floor.

Acidic, earthy rot, tinged with something your nose processed as sweet.

There was nothing sweet about the scene in front of you.

Your eyes raked in the rest of the creation.

The hands were blackened, hanging slack. Maybe he’d been tied up until Gogol made him into this morbid decoration. Did he die fast or slow? Gogol could make both types of death sickeningly cruel, you’d found, so perhaps it didn’t matter.

There were no feet hanging out of the trousers of the scarecrow. Did Gogol cut off the legs and leave them for the dogs to eat? A sick thought, the result of being all too familiar with corpses by now, came: maybe the corpse was old enough that the legs had simply fallen off when Gogol picked it up. Rotting flesh wasn’t terribly hard to tear apart. Under the right conditions, it might come off like pulled pork.

Maybe so.

But it was the head of the scarecrow that interested you most, or rather, the face. The human face, dead skin, pulled and contorted over the farm-friendly burlap sack. Cartoonish white and blue eyes were painted underneath the holes cut where eyeballs had, no doubt, once rested.

Somehow you could sense an expression of agony on that face, although the lips were stitched shut to resemble a smile. If there had been real eyes underneath it, they would have been wide open, pupils blown, darting to-and-fro in a search for mercy.

There was no such thing as true mercy once Gogol came into your life.

The face skinned and sewn onto the burlap probably would not have been recognizable, except for one distinguishing feature that remained: a large mole on the cheek which almost resembled two moles side-by-side.

The corpse was your boss. Well. Your former boss, in more ways than one.

You’d hated him (but you didn’t want him dead) because he liked to pinch your ass and suggest you come to his office before you left work, an offer you never took him up on.

Maybe you’d complained about this in earshot of Gogol, when he was stalking you. Maybe Gogol saw your boss do one of these things. It was hard to say. Either way, he’d been targeted. Was he more deserving of death than the others in your life who had fallen victim to the monstrous jester who took you captive? You pushed such thoughts away--they were useless.

Food lurched from your stomach into your esophagus as you turned around to leave, but you swallowed against it. He wasn’t the first person Gogol had killed and brought before you, like a cat leaving a dead bird on his owner’s kitchen floor.

He probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

You shut the door behind you and found yourself mildly relieved at the loss of the smell.

There was nothing to do but keep going.

You knocked on the third door, but you couldn’t muster up the energy to say trick or treat when it opened. You’d already seen a horror tonight, so what else might be in store? Thoughts slid into one ear and you forced them quickly out the other, flashes of the corpse of your friend, then your father, a favorite professor…

Someone pinched your arm, hard, and you gasped. A whisper of his voice tickled your neck.

“Play by the rules,” the voice murmured, before whisking itself away.

Your mouth was dry and sticky as you forced the words out:

“Trick or treat.”

You didn’t hear your own startled scream over the sound of the party popper being launched in your face, but you did see Gogol’s face, grinning, laughing, as you fell back on the ground with a hard thump to your ass.

“Trick!” He said. He looked down on you, eyes appraising, and then the door slammed quickly shut.

As you gathered yourself up, hand hanging limply onto the candy bag, you thought: only two more doors. Only two more doors and tonight can be over. But it didn’t reassure you, because there was no way to be reassured when you were in Gogol’s control. All it did was keep you from collapsing, mentally and physically, before the night was finished.

Your fingers trembled when you knocked on the fourth door.

“Trick or treat.” Your voice was louder, but shook, all the same.

The door creaked open on its own into the darkness, which was the first sign, really, that it was going to be something awful.

Another corpse, put on display? Maybe this time it would be someone you cared about. A police detective who reassured you that they would catch your stalker or your best friend from elementary school whose picture was in one of your photo albums or your childhood crush, all grown up and rotted.

But when a light switch somewhere in the room was pressed on and the space was flooded with bright lights from the overhead fixtures, it was not a corpse displayed plainly or artistically or horrifically.

It was not a corpse at all.

It was your boyfriend, handcuffed to a chair in the center of the room, a duct-tape gag slapped over his mouth. Like something out of a horror movie.

It took him a few moments to recognize you, but when he did, his eyes widened and he began to speak muffled words from behind his gag. Begging you for help. Telling you to stay away. You couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter, because every instinct in your body was telling you to run to him.

Stupid body, of course, but you couldn’t help yourself, despite knowing it was a stupid move. You rushed forward, heart pumping, tossing the bag of candy to the ground as you fumbled with the handcuffs around your boyfriend’s wrists and ankles.

“Don’t worry,” you said, words full of sweet reassurance that you had no right to give. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get you out of here. I love you, I missed you,” and your voice cracked on those last words. You never thought you’d see him again--alive.

And then the door slammed shut behind you.

“Trick,” murmured Gogol, who was now standing in front of the closed door. Though only for a moment, because he flashed a grin and began to approach you almost comically slow. Step, step, step. Taking his sweet time so he could savor the moment and terrify you even further, no doubt.

“Please don’t,” you said--stupidly, like everything you’d just told your boyfriend. You had no right to beg Nikolai Gogol when you knew it was fruitless. But you did it anyway, because you were in love, because you were scared, because you wanted to save him. “Please, please, Nikolai--”

By the time you were begging him silly, Gogol was standing in front of you, hands on his hips. He pouted and looked cross. “No, no, no, you don’t beg for him. That’s not how this should go.”

He sighed and brushed past you, forcing you to step to the side while he stood in front of your bound boyfriend. He casually reached out and ripped the tape from your boyfriend’s mouth.

“You beg her,” he said, addressing your boyfriend. The space around his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Go on.”

Your jaw began to tremble when your boyfriend slowly turned his head towards you--and then you saw his own jaw trembling before he began to speak, words almost slurred, helpless, horrified. He’d never come up against such things before.

“Please help me,” he said, eyes wide, mouth red and raw from the tape. His cheeks were glossy with tears. “Please help me get… get out of this,” he continued. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell with his increasingly frantic breathing.

In front of him, Gogol sighed. Impatient. Annoyed.

“No, no, no,” he said, and the teasing drawl that crept in his words had your arms prickled with gooseflesh. “You shouldn’t beg her to help you. You need to beg her… not to kill you.”

The words came from your lips and the lips of your captive boyfriend at the same time: “What?”

Gogol didn’t bother looking at your boyfriend anymore. He turned to you, giggling, voice choking with laughter as he repeated his awful words.

“He’s going to beg you not to kill him! Isn’t that fun?”

You knew better than to argue, to insult, to fight. But this was

“I would never hurt him. Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You’re sick.”

Bells jingled--yours and his--when he leaned forward and grabbed the silky top of your jester costume and pulled you close to him.

“I’m not.” He murmured softly in your ear, smiling against it. “I’m really not.”

He grasped one of your hands and slowly peeled back your fingers. An odd gesture. But then he reached into his pocket and put something in the flat of your palm. You didn’t realize what it was at first, because it was such an impossible thing to see there. And yet there it was, in your grasp:

A knife. A big long kitchen knife.

There’s some primal part of your brain that shrieked--STAB THE BASTARD--but you weren’t fast enough for it. You heard the noise and felt the pull and before you could do anything, you saw a whirlpool forming behind your boyfriend.

You didn’t know what it meant, until you felt Nikolai grab your arm and saw a matching whirling portal in front of you then oh, God in heaven, you did know--

“No--”

Your arm went through the portal, static and tingling. Gogol reached behind your boyfriend and grasped your fingers, keeping them wrapped around the knife as your arm hung out of the second portal.

The worst part wasn’t the realization of what was happening.

It wasn’t the way that your boyfriend made some vague, confused sounds. Questions, all tinged with fear and the sound of him desperately trying to break the cuffs keeping him to the chair.

No. The worst part was the way that you couldn’t take your eyes off Nikolai Gogol, all painted up for Halloween, smiling at you with pure glee.

“Ready for the trick?” He asked, voice lilting.

You shook your head slowly. It felt like you were moving through something sticky and heavy, like syrup.

“Too bad!” His grin flashed white, practically stretching across his face, as he gripped your hand and moved his own, forcing your hand to bring the knife down into the soft flesh of your boyfriend’s side.

You felt it. You felt the way the knife sunk into his flesh, like stabbing a thick cut of meat or a hard melon. But there was a softness to it. A wet sound.

And the noise--the noise your boyfriend made. It wasn’t the noise a person would make. It was an animal sound, a cry that forced its way out of his throat without a care.

Your free arm gripped at the shoulder of your captive one, tugging and tugging. You knew it wouldn’t budge, but at least if you tried, you could take some of the blame away. You could pretend that it wasn’t your fault that he was here. That he was tied up. That he was being stabbed to death with a knife.

The bells on Nikolai’s sleeve rang when he tugged against your wrist, pulling the knife and your captive fist away. Blood oozed from the wound, staining against the light color of your boyfriend’s shirt. Nikolai cooed appreciatively. You felt the world spin.

And then he brought your hand down again, this time into his stomach. This time, your boyfriend squealed--like a hog, you thought, and you hated yourself for it--as your captor forced you to pull the knife upwards, dragging against something that kept tugging against the knife. Organs or intestines, maybe.

The wound bled more than the first. You found yourself staring at the blood, at the flesh you could see through his cut shirt, split open, almost flapping.

“Please…”

Oh. Oh no.

Your boyfriend bubbled out the words from his sobbing lips. Each one stung you like a hornet.

Behind him, Gogol giggled.

“Please don’t kill me.” He said your name, then, he said your name and looked at you and begged you not to end his life.

“I--I’m sorry,” you mumbled. You wished he wasn’t here. You wanted him back home in his bed, fuck, you wouldn’t even care if he got over you and was dating someone else. You didn’t want him here, mixed up in all this, watching you in horror as he was stabbed by your own hand. You swallowed hard against the awful tightness in your throat.

Gogol’s hand moved your own until the knife was at your boyfriend’s throat. He dragged it lightly across, and a thin rivulet of blood dripped down from the blade.

Your boyfriend hung his head low, though all it did was press the blade deeper into his skin. “Then stop fucking hurting me! Please…”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, voice choked.

Didn’t your boyfriend understand? You didn’t have a fucking choice.

Which is why you could do nothing as Nikolai gripped your fingers and brought the knife down with a renewed flourish into your boyfriend’s shoulder. His side. His back.

Again.

And again.

And again, until his shirt was soaked with blood and his cries were feeble and wheezing. No more pleas for mercy. No more begging. Just awful grunting sounds, whining, the sounds an animal makes when they are at the end of their life.

Gogol snapped the fingers of his other hand and you dully looked up at him.

“Mmm, this is getting a bit repetitive, don’t you think, kukol'nyy?”

You didn’t respond. If you opened your mouth, you thought, you might just projectile vomit all over the scene. You didn’t want to throw up on your boyfriend, you thought, stupidly. That would be mean.

If Gogol minded your silence, he said nothing. Instead he hummed and pivoted your wrist just above your boyfriend’s face. His weakened, weeping eyes suddenly went wide. The pupils were like blown glass.

“I love you,” you said, pitifully. You hoped he didn’t hear you, because he didn’t say a thing. It was better to think he didn’t hear you anymore, but could only focus on his own agony. Better than that the thought that he heard you and didn’t care, that he hated you, that he blamed you for all this.

And then the knife plunged directly into his eye socket. And then further, into his head. Into his skull. Into his brain. He made a sound, surely he did--but maybe it came from your own mouth and his jaw only hung slack and silent. A guttural cry, the end of a life.

The knife stuck when Gogol tried to pull it out, so he had to yank your hand back with some force. Your boyfriend’s eyeball was stuck to the tip of the blade. Visceral gore stuck behind it. Bits of brain, perhaps, if you were to get technical.

Gogol released your fingers, which had long since begun to throb and ache, and you dropped the knife on the ground. The portals disappeared and your arm was back to yourself, muscles aching from the fervent exercise required to brutally stab someone to death.

You fell to the ground and had the presence of mind to whirl around and fling open the door, so that when you fell to your knees and opened your mouth to cry, the vomit that came flying out was in the hallway and not in front of your boyfriend’s brutalized corpse.

When nothing but bile came up, the sobs were finally given time to shine. Ugly things that wracked your chest and pushed snot and remnants of vomit bubbling out your nose.

Eventually, the door opened, and Gogol’s footsteps came to rest beside you. He pushed at your side with his foot. You thought about the knife going into your boyfriend.

“Don’t be lazy,” he teased, as if he didn’t just force you to commit murder. “Only one more door! It’s almost midnight!” Something dropped next to you and it took you a few moments to look and see what it was: the bag of candy.

Ah. Trick or treating. You had to finish it, didn’t you? You… didn’t have a choice.

And so you forced your leaden body upwards, sidestepping your own throw-up, to get to the final door.

Your arm that was finally your own again reached up to knock on the door, and you had to pause. Your hand was covered in blood. Dried, globby. Sticky.

You knocked anyway.

“Trick or treat,” you said hoarsely. You could still taste vomit in your teeth.

The door opened slowly, but you realized that you no longer had the ability to worry about what was inside. It couldn’t be worse than what you just went through, so it didn’t matter.

But there were no corpses or tied up loved-ones. Only Gogol, who smiled sweetly at you, and grabbed the belled collar at your neck to pull you close to him. You jingled with the motion.

“Treat!”

He kissed you, pressing his mouth against yours, moaning at whatever taste he found there. Perhaps bits of blood that had spattered onto your lips overrode the acidity of vomit in your mouth.

He tasted like candy, chocolate and sour gummy worms. He must have been popping them all night.

When he pulled away, you noticed the matching spatters of blood on his cheek. What a pair you made--two jesters covered in the blood of your loved one. Sour candy and horror-borne vomit.

“Happy Halloween, my kukol'nyy,” he whispered, before pressing a smooch to your nose.

#yandere nikolai gogol #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere gogol #yandere #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest #my foot hurts so there's violence. that's how this works apparently.

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warehouse-staff-blog · 1 year

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Lot 4059 リンガーT 【2023 S/S】

こんにちは名古屋店コジャです。

2023 S/S Lot 4059 リンガーTEEの新作も届きました。

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4059 リンガーT SHEEPSHEAD ＼6.490-(with tax)

カレッジ物。

字面通り、高校の体操競技に携わる指導者（コーチ）が着ていたプリントでしょう。

フットボールやベースボール等の競技と比べると見かける頻度は少なめではないでしょうか？

しかし爪先までピンっと伸びた綺麗な倒立ですねぇ笑。

リンガーTEEだからこそ、このプリントがよりマッチしてますね。

. . .

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4059 リンガーT ALMOST HEAVEN ＼6.490-(with tax)

こちらもカレッジプリント。天国のような良い高校と銘打っているのでしょうか？

ライフルを携えた髭おじさん。

マスコットキャラ？？クレーン競技？？なんにせよ、ノンビリしたおじさんを見ていると心が和むのは私だけではないでしょう。

. . .

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4059 リンガーT DEATH FROM BELOW ＼6.490-(with tax)

2023 S/S Lot 4059リンガーT予約人気NO.1はこちらのミリタリープリント。

潜水艦＋髑髏というハード目なデザインは特に男性のハートを掴んでいるようですね。

. . .

今季も良いプリント揃いですねぇ。先日御紹介したLot 4601プリントはかなりのスピードで無くなっております。

リンガーTEEは入荷した今なら割と在庫が御座いますので是非店頭で御覧になって下さいね。

では失礼致します。

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

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《2023.7.2.現在の営業時間》

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WAREHOUSE&CO.直営店からのお得な情報や、エリア限定のクーポンなどを配布しています。

LINE公式アカウント開設にあたり、 2019年3月26日（火）以降、提供しておりましたスマートフォンアプリはご利用できなくなっております。お手数をおかけしますが、今後はLINEアカウントのご利用をお願いします。

ご利用されるエリアのアカウントを「友だち登録」して下さい。 ※WAREHOUSE名古屋店をご利用頂いているお客様は【WAREHOUSE　EAST】をご登録下さい。

※直営店のご利用がなければ【WESTエリア】をご登録下さい。

☞[リペアに関して]

弊社直営店で行っておりますジーンズ等のリペアの受付を休止させて頂いております。 ※ご郵送に関しても同様に休止させて頂いております。再開の日程は未定です。

ご迷惑お掛け致しますが、ご理解下さいます様お願い致します。 ※弊社製品であればボトムスの裾上げは無料にてお受けしております。お預かり期間は各店舗により異なりますのでお問合せ下さい。

☞WAREHOUSE公式インスタグラム

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☞“Warehousestaff”でTwitterもしております。

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WAREHOUSE名古屋店

〒460-0011 愛知県名古屋市中区大須3-13-18

TEL：052-261-7889

《2023.7.2.現在の営業時間》

【営業時間：平日 12時～19時、土日祝 12時～19時】水曜定休

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weirdsatellites · 1 month

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Dispatch #4059 from GPS III-SV05 (L CLEARANCE) 1. Hotel of Noise

#surveillance #weird #maps

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muppet-facts · 30 days

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Muppet Fact #1190

Mama Bear originally had curly, brown hair, but she currently has straight, blonde hair.

Sources:

Sesame Street. Episode 3018. November 25, 1992.

Sesame Street. Episode 4059. April 7, 2004.

#muppet facts oc #jim henson #the muppets #muppets #muppet facts #fun facts #sesame street #childrens tv #behind the scenes #mama bear

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slythering-snake-boys · 1 year

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Old Friends (Sebastian Sallow x Reader/MC x Ominis Gaunt)

Characters: Sebastian Sallow x Reader/MC x Ominis Gaunt

Words: 4059

Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, can be read as platonic or romantic, spoilers for the game, mentions of death, somewhat of an AU because of certain major events not matching what happens canonically

A/N:

Without spoiling too much, I love adding this character, especially since it didn't seem fair to only have one of them

Solomon is alive

Halloween was fast approaching and the entirety of Hogwarts was excited for this year's festivities. And despite everything that had happened during your fifth-year, you were somewhat excited as well. After all, the wizarding world was currently safer, including all your friends. Though it all came with a price.

As you got ready to go downstairs to the Great Hall, you looked into the mirror one more time. There were bags under your eyes even now. No matter how much you slept, it didn't help. With a sigh, you looked through your trunk by the bed, getting a beautification potion that you'd managed to brew specifically for such cases.

The effects were immediate, the bags disappearing and more colour filling your cheeks and the rest of your face, making you appear livelier. The downside was that the potion didn't help your eyes change - they still looked quite distant and held a pretty faraway look in them. But who could blame you, really? You'd fought Ranrok, watched Sebastian almost murder his uncle and witnessed the death of your mentor, Professor Fig. You weren't too sure the nightmares would ever go away.

As you applied just a little bit of lipstick and looked over your dress one more time, you thought about what you might possibly see this year and what you'd do afterwards, in the future. The excited chatter and giggling from outside the girls' dorm room made your train of thought derail. With a sigh, you straightened up and left, going downstairs and leaving the common room.

"Took you a while, MC." You looked up as the entrance to your House's common room closed behind you, seeing Sebastian and Ominis. They were both dressed nicely, but more leisurely. "But I can see why." You laughed at Sebastian's words, seeing a teasing smirk grace his face. Which promptly left and turned into a pout because of Ominis elbowing him in the sides. You couldn't help laughing at the two of them playfully bickering, relieved to see their friendship was still intact and, hopefully, stronger than ever.

You were glad that you'd managed to stop Sebastian in that tomb. Otherwise, who knows what might've happened. Right now, Sebastian had pretty much given up on the Dark Arts, finding his new chance of curing Anne in you. It had taken a lot of persuasion and arguments, but in the end, you and Ominis managed to get him to stop pursuing that dark path.

"Keep your hands to yourself at least for tonight, Sebastian." Ominis sighed before turning towards you with a smile. "Hello, darling. I'm sure you look beautiful, if the girls fawning over you as they were leaving was of any indication." You felt yourself flush a little at his words, seeing Sebastian smirk. You jokingly glared at him before coming closer to the two Slytherin boys.

"You two look really nice this evening. And my, oh my, Sallow. Is that...cologne? Old Eau de Confringo not attracting the ladies anymore?" He pouted and glared at you playfully while Ominis snickered.

"You're never gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope. After witnessing 7 people describe one of the scents in Amortentia as Confringo, for lack of a better word, during Professor Sharp's lesson a few weeks ago... You can't really blame me, can you?" The brunette huffed and crossed his arms, the blush on his face highlighting his scattered freckles like little stars.

"Well, as much as I'd like to take the day off and make more fun of Sebastian and his fangirls, I'd like for the three of us to go and enjoy some Pumpkin Pasties and Butterbeer. After all, you two have been badgering me about this for the past month, so we better not be wasting time. I still have to write my paper on Felix Felicis for Tuesday." Ominis explained as he got up, his wand already glowing as he looked in your direction. Sebastian got up as well and you linked your arms with his then with Ominis'.

"Don't worry, Ominis. You'll be a lot more relaxed after tonight and you can write your paper tomorrow, after a good sleep. I have to get some information for Professor Shah's class, but I'll do it tomorrow night since it's going to be clear. Tonight is all about relaxing and enjoying ourselves." Sebastian grinned and nodded at your words, flexing his arm enough for you to feel it and look up at him with a smile.

"Exactly. I don't want to hear about homework for tonight, thank you very much. That can wait. For now, though, Butterbeer is in order." He commented, already mentally drooling at the thought of all the treats commissioned by Hogwarts from Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks. It was the same every year, but there was always a new product, as some sort of a thank you for most of the clients being Hogwarts students.

With those words, the three of you walked towards the Great Hall, talking and laughing along the way. And the party was in full swing, with friends and classmates laughing and mingling. The scent of different Honeydukes sweets and Butterbeer permeated the air and made your stomachs grumble. With practised ease, Sebastian moved his arm around your shoulders while Ominis' hand barely touched your lower back as they both led you to the refreshments table.

The next few hours were spent socialising, laughing, drinking and stuffing yourselves full. You were almost never without any of the two Slytherins, especially since Sebastian had told Ominis about some of the other students ogling you and seeming ready to come and ask you either to a dance or on a date. Some bolder ones had tried, but the look in the two boys' eyes, with or without your knowledge, made anyone turn tail and walk away. It wasn't that they were jealous, no. They just...hated the idea of you being asked out just because of your status as the 'Hero of Hogwarts', as they had agreed in the Undercroft. Yeah, that was it, no other reasons, surely.

"Everyone, if I may have your attention, please!" You all turned towards the podium, seeing Professor Weasley, who smiled at the crowd of students having a good time. "As you may be aware, Headmaster Black is currently engaged in other business with the Ministry until next week. As a result, I will be the one to make some special announcements tonight. Let's start with the first one: the Ghosts of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, who have graciously accepted our suggestion of dancing for us tonight. Let's give them a warm welcome!"

Everyone started clapping as the aforementioned ghosts glided inside the Great Hall through the walls and open doors, some passing above the students, others through, making them shiver. Everyone made room for the ghostly residents of the castle and Hogsmeade as they danced in sync, echoing laughter intertwining with the music played by both the enchanted instruments and the musicians' portraits, whose residents had been invited to accompany them. You all watched the ghosts dancing, the two boys flanking you from either side.

Ominis froze and turned his head around a little, his wand able to somewhat sense the commotion, curious before feeling a smile overtake his face. When the dance was over, everyone applauded. You and Sebastian talked about it before you saw him flinch and yelp comically. You looked at him with a chuckle as he looked back, his jaw becoming slack. You turned as well, seeing Anne. She still appeared a little pale but you were more overjoyed to see her than anything. Sebastian, you and Ominis all hugged her, happy to see her back at Hogwarts.

"What are you doing here?" Sebastian asked her, beyond curious.

"Professor Weasley invited me. Told me there was a special occasion tonight and that I shouldn't miss it. Uncle Solomon is just over there, talking with her." You all looked where she was pointing, seeing the older man as he greeted several of your teachers. Sebastian scoffed a little but didn't say anything else, not when he felt you squeeze one of his hands reassuringly.

His relationship with Solomon hadn't improved much, especially after he almost cast the Killing Curse on their uncle. Still, with a bit of coaxing and many, many promises and reassurances from you and Ominis and plenty of begging from Anne, Sebastian was allowed to visit Anne and Feldcroft again. Though he wasn't allowed to bring anything he thought might cure Anne - not without proper research, official clearance by a professor or a doctor, and certainly not without him present.

Sebastian had protested immediately and promptly left the house, taking his frustration out on the training dummies outside. You all left him to vent, but he knew he couldn't win. And with you and Ominis coming out after a while to discuss with him, he finally relented. And as much as he would've tried to sneak past his uncle, you and Ominis had put your faith in him and told him so. Which made the brunette feel guilty and actually respect his promise.

"Did she tell you anything else about this special occasion?" You asked the girl, effectively ending the awkward moment the four of you had found yourselves in. Anne shook her head.

"Nothing. I tried to ask her and even Uncle Solomon, but he didn't know anything either. But I'm glad to be back here nonetheless." You both smiled at each other and hugged before the boys did the same. She asked you all questions about classes and your adventures, and you all told her different anecdotes, making her laugh so hard until her cheeks had gained a rosy, healthy colour.

"Is it me or does it seem a bit more crowded this year? Or is my wand not doing its job properly?" Ominis asked with furrowed brows. You and the twins looked around, noticing how many ghosts were actually gliding and dancing around and above you.

"There are a lot more ghosts here, that's certain..." Sebastian mumbled, his height offering him an advantage as he looked over most of the heads of those around him, noticing that there were indeed more ghosts than usual.

"What's going on?" You asked as you looked around and then at Sebastian.

"I'm not entirely sure..." He whispered, looking above almost everyone else's heads curiously.

"Attention, everyone!" Professor Weasley's voice once again made everyone turn towards the podium. Seeing that everyone's attention was on her, she smiled and continued talking with a smile. "Given that tonight is Halloween and there are so many of us gathered here, I'd like to announce another special event that will be taking place shortly. You may have noticed how many otherworldly guests are here tonight. There is a good reason for that." Her eyes almost seemed to lock on your group of four and she smiled wider, almost motherly. "They have been able, in their own unique way and thanks to the latter's strong bond to Hogwarts, to help us call forth some of our former and beloved teachers who have left us too early. Mainly, Professor Fig and Mr and Mrs Sallow."

At the sound of those words, the three of you froze and felt everyone's eyes on you, whispers starting to raise in numbers. The sound of quiet voices from behind you made you all turn in that direction. At first, you couldn't see anything, though soon you heard Sebastian gasp, watching as his eyes filled with tears and his chin and lower lip trembled. Your hand involuntarily squeezed his hand and you felt him squeeze back.

The students and other ghosts moved to the sides of the Great Hall, enough to make way for the three special guests. You felt tears well up in your eyes at the sight of the transparent figure of your former mentor who was smiling, nodding and greetings those he passed by. When his eyes locked onto yours, his smile widened and you felt the tears finally slide down your cheeks as you smiled back. He stopped in front of you, looking down at you proudly with a big smile on his face.

"It's good to see you again, my young friend."

"H-Hello, Professor Fig. It's great to see you again, sir." You sniffled, unable to stop yourself from crying and wanting to hug him, despite knowing you'd go right through him. Seemingly uncaring of such trivial things, he came forward and hugged you, making you shiver at the cold feeling passing through you. But you tried to give him a hug without going through him, happy to know that he was still somehow there.

You looked to the side, seeing Anne and Sebastian crying as their parents talked with them with smiles on their faces. The twins were both red in the face from all the crying and your heart ached because of how clearly they missed their parents. But you were glad to know that they managed to see them again, even if it was after quite a while.

"Mr Gaunt! My boy, you've grown taller than me!" Professor Fig leaned back, looking at Ominis with a wide smile. Ominis smiled and bowed his head, coming to sit by you as one of his arms went around your waist, half embracing you.

"I have? That's good to know. Sebastian always tells me I'm shorter than him." You chuckled, your voice sounding watery, but you leaned into Ominis' side.

"Don't worry, this will be our secret." Professor Fig winked, making you smile.

"Mom, Dad, these two troublemakers are MC and Ominis, my best friends here." You, Ominis and Professor Fig turned around, watching the Sallow twins come to stand by you, presenting the translucent figures of their parents.

"Hello, Mr and Mrs Sallow. A pleasure to meet you." Ominis bowed politely and you nodded and smiled, watching them.

"Likewise. It's good to finally meet the two of you. Thank you for taking care of Sebastian and Anne all those years." Their praise made the two of you flush, but you smiled nonetheless. You knew that they had most probably been watching over their two children, despite not being alive for so many years already.

"By the way, who are you calling troublemakers, Sebastian? Last time I checked, you were the detention master here, not me and MC." Sebastian flushed and pouted.

"Surely your parents already know about your...reputation here, Sebastian?" His parents nodded and Sebastian pouted even more, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away with an obvious blush. Anne giggled and patted his back.

You spent the rest of the night talking with most of the invited ghosts, including Jackdaw, who was thrilled to see you doing well and still alive, especially knowing that you'd survived what had brought his early demise. Even Professor Fig and the older Sallows talked with others, students and ghosts alike, though your eyes were almost always going to them for fear that they'd disappear. You and Ominis stayed close to Sebastian and Anne, understanding that they were suffering even more since they'd lost their parents and were finally meeting them again after around 10 years.

"So... You're only here for tonight, professor?" You asked Professor Fig as you looked up at him before glancing towards Mr and Mrs Sallow as they were back next to Sebastian and Anne. He nodded, smile dimming a little.

"Until 4 AM, I'm afraid." You visibly deflated. Twenty more minutes. And from what you'd understood, their ghosts had to leave. Probably forever. This had been a special, unique opportunity. You didn't know if something like this could ever happen again.

"The witching hour, huh?" He nodded at your almost silent words, looking at you with a sad, pitiful smile.

"Sadly, yes... I could become another one of Hogwarts' ghosts, but..."

"No, no, sir... You've chosen...because of Miriam, right? And Mr Osric." Your mentor nodded. You smiled, happy to know that he could now meet those dear to him again. "I'm glad to know that you have been reunited again. I know how much you missed her..." Professor Fig smiled and nodded.

"I can see that Mr Sallow and Mr Gaunt are both keeping a close eye on you." You felt like blushing, but schooled your emotions and only smiled before glancing at the two young men in question. They were both on either side of Anne, talking with the Sallows.

"Sebastian and I have been on many adventures together... And Ominis has tagged along quite often, more out of worry for us than anything. But he's had his share of fun with us, especially when we were saving captured beasts."

"They both care a great deal about you and I can see that you care about them as well."

"They are some of my closest friends here. Along with Poppy, Natty and Amit... We've all had our share of...dangerous adventures. But we've only come out stronger in the end." Professor Fig smiled proudly.

"I know that your fight isn't over. If what the Keepers have told us is true...it will never be truly over. But I feel relieved knowing that you aren't facing everything alone. And I am very proud of you for how brave you are. For how far you've come. And for how much you're staying true to yourself. I know you'll do great things. But please, remember to also take care of yourself. Let others take care of the world and recover. Physically, mentally and emotionally." He was as caring as always, trying to take care of you and offer you advice even from beyond the grave.

"Thank you, Professor Fig... I will." You nodded. You could almost hear the minutes ticking by. He will leave soon, you thought. I won't see him again.

The thoughts made you tear up and a lump started forming in your throat. A hand on your shoulder made you tense before looking back, seeing Sebastian, Anne and Ominis, along with Mr and Mrs Sallow. The twins were both smiling, though their noses and cheeks were a little red and their eyes red-rimmed and filled with unshed tears. Ominis came to your other side and took your hand in his, with Sebastian and Anne on your other side as he held onto your other hand while also holding onto Anne's. The twins' parents stood next to your former mentor, looking at you all.

"We are very proud of you. All of you." Mrs Sallow said, looking at each one of you four. You heard Anne sniffle. Sebastian straightened up, breathing in deeply to keep himself from crting even more.

"I'm glad that you're all watching over one another and I know you'll be there for each other no matter what." Mr Sallow followed. You squeezed the boys' hands, feeling them squeeze back.

"And we will always watch over you, rest assured. You'll never be truly alone." Professor Fig smiled at all of you. You all smiled and nodded in response.

Mrs Sallow came a little closer, har hand trying to brush both of their cheeks. The tips of her fingers went through and Anne had obviously felt the coldness. The knowledge that they couldn't feel each other's touch, whether a hug or a pat on the back, made Sebastian swallow thickly.

"Sebastian... Anne... Oh, you two have grown so much... I'm so proud of you for how we'll you're doing..." Mrs Sallow whispered, visibly getting emotional. "We love you two very much. Never forget it." Mr Sallow only seemed to pull her closer as he smiled at his two children.

"You'll be okay. Both of you. We have faith in you." He added. Anne sniffled and hugged Sebastian's side tightly as he nodded, tears brimming his eyeline.

"We love you, too. Please, w-watch over us." He said with a slight stutter, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from bawling out like his twin sister.

"Everyone!" Professor Weasley's voice pierced through the air. "It is almost time for our guests to return. I would like to thank them once again for gracing us with their presence and for their help in allowing us to see those we've lost once more. As a final thought for those who will be leaving us... For being in our lives... For making us better versions of ourselves... For offering us advice and helping us grow up... For believing in us. Thank you." Everyone clapped, the sound echoing while a few of those in the audience cheered loudly.

Professor Fig and the Sallows all smiled at the four of you before you saw their translucent figures gradually disappear until they became as small as a pale blue match flame. They lingered for a few more seconds before the blue wisps turned even smaller and started floating away, along with the other ghosts who weren't Hogwarts residents.

It was quiet between the four of you as you stood there, stuck to the same spot almost in a daze.

"Anyone else in need of some fresh air?" Ominis asked tentatively, to which you all agreed quietly and walked out of the Great Hall, feeling a few people staring at your figures. Once outside, you sat down on the nearest benches, staring at the barely cloudy sky, watching the stars glinting on the inky sky. The air was cold enough that you could see your breath every time you exhaled.

"Are you two okay?" You asked Anne and Sebastian quietly. Sebastian was staring at the sky with a blank look on his face while Anne was wiping her nose with a handkerchief.

"I wish we had more time..." Sebastian whispered, feeling tears well up in his eyes again. You got up and came over to him, hugging him tightly as he embraced you back, soon hearing him sniffle as the top of your dress soaked up his tears.

"I know... I wish for the same thing. But it's okay. Now...we know that they're there, watching us. And we got to see them. To talk to them. I..." You licked your lips as you took a shuddering breath so you wouldn't start crying again, your fingers going through his now unruly locks while Ominis scooted closer, rubbing his best friend's back comfortingly. "I'm glad we were able to do this. It feels like a part of me is back." Anne sniffled once more before breathing in and out to clear her head. She stared at the sky for a moment before smiling and nodding.

"You're right... I never thought I'd ever see them again and now... Now I feel as if we got some sort of...closure." You nodded and kissed the top of Sebastian's head. You felt his arms tighten around you and bury his face more into your chest, seeking more of your comfort and warmth.

"Seb? Are you alright?" He had stopped crying and was only taking deep breaths. Instead of answering, he leaned back a bit, his eyes, nose and cheeks evidently red from all the crying. But he nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"I'll be fine." He answered simply. "Thank you for being there for us, you two." Anne beamed at you and nodded while Ominis and you only smiled back.

"What about you, MC? How are you feeling after all this?" Anne asked you. You sighed before smiling.

"I actually feel...good. I managed to tell Professor Fig a lot of the things I didn't get to. I feel more at peace with the situation. And I'm glad he and Miriam are together once again." Anne and Ominis nodded thoughtfully, though the smiles on their faces indicated that they were relieved you were feeling better. True to your words, you seemed to be carrying yourself better now. As if you felt lighter, like a burden had been taken off your shoulders.

Sebastian embraced you once more, though he didn't start crying again. Anne came closer and put her arms around her twin brother, having him put an arm around her in response. And you pulled Ominis closer, hugging him as well. Merlin knows you all needed the comfort.

"We're going to be alright." You all nodded, squeezing the other a little tighter.

#bomi's stuff #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy x mc #hogwarts legacy x you #hogwarts legacy x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x reader

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previousloversandmuses · 1 year

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FREQUENCY: Episode 3 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY: A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 3: “Elkwood, TN”

WORD COUNT: 4059

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Drugs, death, and mentions of suicide. Foul language, mentions of sex, or sexual innuendos. Slow burn starts now. (Sorry)

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns.

Masterlist | Taglist

When Vought had relocated me to Appalachian West Virginia, I didn’t know anyone. I was moved into a wooded mountain home, and watched over by two local park rangers. Both men, both never had been married. They had no idea how to take care of a young girl. But, from fourteen to eighteen, I struck up a bond with both of them that I had never experienced with another human being.

Jim was an older white man, maybe in his late fifties. He’d take me out on his gator and drive me all around the national park. He’d play me John Denver, as he’d smoke a pack of camel crush. He always told me never to smoke. That it was an awful habit he had formed. I told him he wouldn’t ever have to worry about that. I could always taste the pesticides.

I always swore Jim had been gay. He had the quintessential straight man behavior. He shot guns, smoked, watched sports, and enjoyed shitty, cheap beer. But, he was handsome. He was over fifty and had never been married. He isolated himself in the embrace of the forest. He would sit outside on the back porch, and paint the sunset. On holidays I’d ask him why he wasn’t with his family, he told me his job was to watch me, so he couldn’t be. But that wasn’t true. He never liked talking about home. He had no photos up from his childhood. And he never, ever reminisced on simpler times.

Wahkan was cherokee. He was from one of the reservations in East Tennessee. He moved up to West Virginia after getting offered more money to watch the lands up there. He accepted, of course, and funneled most, if not all of his money back to his family. Hell, the only reason he took on the challenge of raising me was so he could take the money from Vought, and send it back over to the res.

I’m always fortunate I was able to go with him to the reservation. I used to sit in the long grass with the other girls my age, and make jewelry from creek rocks, and turkey feathers. The sun would set in the distance, and a crackling fire would billow up into the sky. They’d have buffalo roasting over it. Its hide laid out, and drying in preparation for a warm winter coat.

When I decided to move back to the city after I had turned eighteen, it was a hard goodbye with the both of them. They watched as I got loaded back up into the same black Escalade that dropped me off all those years ago. I had waved goodbye with misty tears in my eyes. I wasn’t much of a crier, but watching them become smaller as the car drove away changed that.

A few months after I had gotten settled, things felt uneasy. I would communicate with some of the girls from the res on Facebook. Wahkan, and John hadn’t been answering me. They said they hadn’t heard from them either. That day I sat outside of Vought tower on a bench, and listened in on crisis management. From the sounds of it, there had been a data leak that was traced back to somewhere a few miles away from the town I used to stay in.

I hopped in my car and drove straight to West Virgina, only stopping for gas. I got there around nightfall. The cabin was dark, and quiet. That wasn’t normal, I had thought. I listened in, hearing one slow heartbeat. Thank god. He must’ve been sleeping. I let out a sigh of relief, and started back to my car— until I smelled it. Fresh, hot blood. My face went white, and my heart sank. I sprinted up to the front of the house, and noticed the door had been left cracked open, a trail of red footprints staining the wood.

I kicked the door open, screaming, seeing if I’d get any response. I flipped the lights to the house on, and looked around until I saw John’s body laying at the start of the kitchen. He was lifeless, and had been for an hour or so. They were just here. I searched frantically for Wahkan, trying to locate the sound of the slowing heartbeat I had heard earlier. My eyes landed on him. He was on the floor next to the couch.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “It’s not safe, if they find you, they’ll kill you.”

I fell to my knees, rushing to his side. I placed my hand over the wound on his stomach, firmly pressing down to stop the bleeding.

“I don’t understand,” I cried. “Where’s the phone? I need to call an ambulance.”

“Too late,” He added, his voice barely above a whisper. “They cut the lines before they left.”

I reached into my pocket, going to pull out my own phone, but he placed his hands on mine, and stopped me.

“No,” he shook his head. “This is my time. It’s alright.”

“This is all my fault.” I said, as I felt hot tears streaming down my face, and neck.

“Don’t make this about you.” He laughed, soft and weak, putting a bloody hand against the side of my face.

“They’ll never get away with this.” I demanded.

He just shook his head, taking a deep breath. His eyelids were getting heavy. He didn’t have much time left.

“Just be…gentle,” He said. “And if you ever need a place to stay…a place that’s safe…a place where you can think of home…the reservation will welcome you with open arms.”

He wiped a tear away with his thumb, as he took his last breath. His body going limp. At least he was at peace.

Driving down the interstate with Uncle Sam by my side, I knew exactly where we would settle ourselves at. Elkwood is a tiny town a little ways from Gatlinburg, nestled at the bed of a beautiful valley. It’s quiet, and everyone knows each other. Like, if someone was throwing a small get together, you best believe the whole town was showing up. Whether it be the people who lived on the res, or just plain mountain folk.

I looked to my side, he was hunched over, my registration from the glove compartment settled in his lap. He’s snorting from a small pile of benzos he made me stop for earlier. He catches my gaze.

“Want some?”

“No thanks.” I chuckle.

“Suit yourself.” He says before diving back into the freshly crushed powder.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as I speed quickly down the highway. His hair, and beard are wild, and disheveled. He looks close to normal though in the sweat suit I gave him. I smile to myself, picturing him in that campy army green uniform. What a fraud, I think. The man was never a real soldier, they might as well have him look like one.

“You’re a pretty good driver for a woman.” He states, wiping off his nose, scooping his powder back into a ziplock bag.

“Thanks…” I say, rolling my eyes. He was much nicer when he wasn’t talking.

“So what's your thing?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your thing, like, your power, I guess. I don’t fuckin’ know. You said you were a supe, right?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately? You must have some shitty power then.”

Some shitty power, I think. Rolling my eyes again.

“I get it,” He says smiling, leaning into me. “They forced it on ya while you were just a baby, huh?”

He reaches down, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He puts one up to his lips and lights it, inhaling deeply. He blows the air out through parted lips as he continues his conversation.

“Seems like you bastards that had baby V are all just a bunch of freaks.”

I look over at him, raising an eyebrow. Now I know why they wanted to keep this guy fucking sedated.

“Say, what's your name anyway? Can’t go around just calling you a freak bastard.” He chuckles smugly.

“Actually,” I grin. “That is my name.”

He squints his eyes at me, pulling his cigarette away from his lips. He leans back, taking me in.

“Some parents you have calling you Freak Bastard, huh?”

“No,” I say, laughing now. “Just Freak, short for Frequency.”

He holds a finger up, tipping it at me. “Ah, but that's your Supe name, what's your real name?”

My real name. I go to change the subject.

“So, do you want to know my plan? The reason why I’ve rescued you? What I need your help with?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you sweetheart, I don’t usually go by a plan. I just wing it, and it happens to work out in my favor.”

“Right,” I nod. “That's why you ended up back in the ice again, huh?”

He glares at me, I beam right back at him.

“So,” I start. “Over the Summer Vought is throwing this huge party in celebration of Temp V.”

“What the fuck is Temp V?” He asks.

“...Temporary Compound V.” I say blankly.

“Right, I remember the cock sucker talking about that. Wait…When the fucks the Summer? And what the fuck year is it?”

“It's April. And it’s only been a year since they put you back in that chamber.”

He stares off into the distance, a solemn look on his face. I couldn’t even imagine having missed thirty years of life. Being put to sleep at the birth of the computer, and waking back up at the dawn of AI.

My empathy for him is short lived.

“Wait, you’re tellin’ me I got to wait,” He counts on his fingers. “Three fuckin’ months before we do this?”

“That's three months of freedom to you.”

“It's not fuckin' freedom if I’m gonna be on the run from these people finding me for Christs sake! Also, last time I fuckin’ checked, you’re practically holding me hostage!”

I scoff at him. “Oh please, you said earlier you could kill me, then leave at any time.”

“Yeah, well, that’s before you brought up family.”

Fuck. I think. I forgot about that.

I don’t say much else as I stare out at the road ahead of me. I feel my blood pressure going up, my arteries tightening at just the mention of my shitty lie. I’d make a horrible villain, I think. I feel guilty for everything, and everyone. I sigh, reaching down to the radio. I fiddle with it until it reaches a mixed station, classic hits from then and now.

“Well,” I say, pressing my foot harder onto the accelerator. “We can try and catch you up on everything you missed over the past thirty years.”

I turn up the dial as “Wonderwall” sings through the speakers.

We are about two hours from Tennessee now, he's fast asleep in the passenger seat. I got him a cheeseburger earlier, and picked up some hair shears from a dollar store on the same exit. I think he had worn himself out trying to trim his own hair and beard. He gets frustrated easily. I had offered to help, but he insisted on doing it himself.

As the gas pumps in my car, I look down at my phone. There had been no news alerts about a break in, or that Soldier Boy was missing. Vought must be doing a good job with crisis management. Or the CIA simply never let them know. I had no texts from anyone either. See, it isn’t out of the ordinary for me to disappear into the middle of nowhere. In fact, even the likes of Butcher knew I often found myself back home in the South to escape the sounds of the city.

Before I left I remembered to leave my debit and credit cards at home so I wouldn't be tempted to use them. I always kept a significant amount of cash in the safe anyway after years of training. I had turned on auto-payments for my rent, and obviously didn’t cancel any sort of subscription service like Netflix or Spotify. I thought if someone had been on my trail, the first thing they'd check would be my bank records. I made sure to turn off all location tracking on my phone, and decided to keep my VPN on 24/7. That wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to anyone either, again, considering my past in security.

The pump thuds, signifying it's filled up. I grab the handle, and pull the nozzle out. I always have to make sure to cover my nose with my sleeve in these instances. The fumes have made me pass out in the past. Benzene is so pungent that a normal human nose can even smell it if there's just 1 part per million in the surrounding air. I get dizzy just thinking about it.

We get close to Elkwood now, maybe twenty minutes out. I look over to him as he puffs little snores out into the air. His heartbeat is steady, his blood pressure normal in comparison to when I woke him up earlier.

Ever since he trimmed his hair, made himself look more presentable, I found myself not blaming women for being so attracted to him. I mean, he really was a beautiful man…As long as he kept that fuckin’ mouth shut. He has a light dusting of freckles across his nose, which is a stark contrast to his hard exterior. His eyes are a sweet shade of green, one that matches that awful uniform of his.

I pull up to the outskirts of the res, some of the younger kids had ended up building their own homes around this area. I walk up to Ama’s trailer, leaving him back in the car asleep to avoid any unwanted interactions. Before I can knock on the door, she goes to open it. Ama beams at me, as beautiful as ever, pulling me into a tight hug. She's the one I had been keeping in touch with on facebook after all these years.

“Welcome home.” She says smiling.

I smile back. Looking down I notice a small child wrapped around her legs, and a man standing up from the couch.

“You’ve been busy!” I exclaim, waving at the little boy hiding his face behind his mother, giggling.

“I have been,” She gestures to the man behind her. “This is my boyfriend, Asher.”

I put my hand out for a shake. A white guy, I think. I give her a look as he grips onto my hand. She looks back at me, beginning to laugh. I remember all of them always making fun of the Wasichu. Something catches her gaze in the distance. I turn around to see Soldier Boy leaning against the door of my car, lighting a cigarette.

“Who is this?” She asks, walking over to my car to inevitably meet the man I so desperately need to hide. Fuck, I think. What am I going to say about this?

He turns to her as she walks towards him. He puts on a big smile. She opens her arms wide for a hug.

“I’m Ben,” He beams. Ben. I swear his teeth glimmer in the light for a second. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Bastard. I think. He knows what he's doing.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ben,” Ama wraps her arm around my shoulder as I walk over to the both of them, grinning awkwardly. “She never told me she had a man back home.”

I flush at this. Damn it. He looks down at his feet kicking at a little rock. He acts bashful, like he's been caught doing something naughty.

“What, she didn’t mention little ol’ me?” He asks.

“Nope, not even a peep.” She elbows me in the side.

I scoff at her, gesturing down to the little boy who had followed us over to the car.

“I’m sorry, last time I checked you have a fucking child!”

She leans into my neck, whispering to me through gritted teeth.

“The elders don’t want others to know…” She raises her eyebrows.

Ah. I nod. At least she has an excuse.

“Well,” She says, clapping her hands together. “Let's get you two home!”

She still has her hands wrapped around my shoulders, walking us towards my new abode for the next few months.

“He’s so hot. I didn’t know you were into older guys.” She whispers under her breath.

I elbow her in the side, my face heating up with some color. I could hear him smiling behind me. I wasn’t the only one around here with good hearing anymore.

The trailer is cute, small but cute. It’s painted a gentle powder blue, and the shutters contrast a pale yellow. It has a little porch with two adirondack chairs outfront, as well as a little bench swing hanging questionably from the wooden awning. Ama had made a note to put a bunch of potted flowers on the outside, knowing how much I like the smell of them. It also may have added to the overall aesthetic of the home.

She unlocked the front door for me, and then handed me the key. SB and Asher were behind us talking about something to do with the house. This is dangerous. He knew nothing about anything these days, let alone how to even have a conversation with a modern man. If you were to ask him who the current president was, he wouldn't have an answer. If you were to tell him we have had a black president, he’d probably pass out on the floor.

“Alright,” She says, showing off the place. “This is it.”

It's cute, small, but cute. I can't help but worry about the fact that neither of us will probably be able to stand each other at the end of this, but hey, let's think positively.

“This is the living room, which is obviously attached to the kitchen.” She goes over to the couch, gesturing to it. “Pull out if he ever ends up in the dog house.” She clicks her tongue, winking at him.

The living area has a floral print sectional, and a leather recliner. In the center is an old wooden coffee table, and a big ass TV across from it, mounted to the wall.

“Cable, Netflix, ESPN, you name it.” She adds.

The kitchen has smaller versions of standard appliances, and every sort of pot and pan or baking dish we may need.

“The second eye on that stove doesn't work, so don't even try it. Oh, and unfortunately it is gas. If it really starts to bother you we can get you an electric.”

“Dont worry about it,” I wave my hand to her, brushing it off. “A little methane never hurt anybody.”

She laughs, turning to Asher. “No need for a carbon monoxide detector with this one in the area.”

I look over at SB, he looks thoroughly confused. Standing here now I realize I still never told him the gift compound v gave me. I’m sure he's just utterly bewildered by this point. He looks between Ama and I like we’re fucking crazy.

“Shower, bath, toilet. Don’t flush, and run laundry or do dishes at the same time.”

Bathroom, much like the rest of the house, is small. But again, it has everything we may need, so I can't complain. Also we lucked out with having a washer and dryer on site. The last thing I want is having to drag him to a laundromat.

“And the best part, the bedroom!” She kicks the door open, displaying a very comfortable queen size bed. Only one. I think. Thank god for the pull out couch.

“Drawers line the walls over here under the TV, and there are some more underneath the mattress.”

“Awesome,” I beam. “Really Ama, I can't begin to thank you enough.”

She smiles, pulling me into a big hug.

“We’re so happy you're here.”

She goes up to SB, resting a careful hand on his shoulder, smiling at him tenderly. He nods to her, thanking her as well.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, and text me if you need me.”

“Will do.” I say, following her over to the front door, and closing it behind them.

I take a deep breath, pushing my back against the door, sliding down onto the floor. I jolt my head up, pointing at him.

“He didn’t say anything you didn’t know, did he?”

He shrugs, moving over to the sectional and plopping himself down on it.

“So you're telling me I have to stay in this shack with you for three months?” He ignores my question.

I narrow my eyes on him.

“You got anything better to do?”

“Yeah, fleeing the country to sunny Costa Rica.” He counters.

I scoff, standing up, and walking over to the sink. I grab a cup from the cupboard, and pour myself a glass of water from the tap.

“They make it pretty hard these days. Y’know, crossing the border.” I add.

He smiles, a weak, weary expression on his face. He looks down at his hands.

“For the time being, I don’t mind being here. As long as you promise no one is gonna find me.”

“They won’t, and they never will. I told you, once you help me with this, you are free to go. I will get you out of here, family in hand, no problem.”

He stares at me for a moment. It’s silent. He watches me with squinted eyes.

“What's all this about gas stoves? You pyrokinetic?”

I start laughing, in fact, I start laughing really hard. So hard I have to bring a finger up to my eyes to wipe.

He chuckles now too, watching me.

“What?” He says.

“No, I’m sorry. It was just funny, the way that you said it, I mean.”

“So, you are?”

“What?”

“A pyrokinetic.”

“Oh, God no.”

“Then what the fuck is your deal with gas stoves, little girl?” He grills, concerned.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not a little girl. I am an adult.” I gesture down to my obvious adult body.

“Yeah, whatever. You’re at least a hundred years younger than me, so.”

There is silence, until.

“It’s my senses, by the way. Since you’re curious, I mean.” I say suddenly.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“My five senses, they are all heightened.”

“What, like taste and shit?”

“Yes, taste and shit.” I snort.

“You smell colors or something?” He jokes.

“Sometimes.” I say, shrugging my shoulders. I begin to walk off into the bedroom.

“Wait, what?” He glares at me questionably.

“I’m going to sleep.” I ignore him.

“I’m sorry, did you say you could smell colors?”

“Goodnight, Ben.” I put emphasis on his name, knowing he never told it to me. He grins. I start to close the door, he shouts to me from his spot on the couch.

“Leave the door unlocked, I’ll be in there in a few.”

“Nice try.” I say.

“A queen is plenty big for two!”

“So is that pullout couch.”

He groans as I close the door behind me.

As I fall asleep, I can only hope for the best. As God as my witness, I would never mean to lie about something as big as family. Especially since I don’t even have one to enjoy. I’d do anything for that. At this point though, my game plan would be; get revenge on Vought, face the consequences from him, and inevitably die. That sounds like a dream. I’d go out with a smile knowing my success in Vought slaughter. May he blow me up into a million little pieces.

Masterlist | Episode 4 | Taglist

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