#(if i missed something that tells that he was sleeping with other people before armand i'm taking the first part of this post back) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mschievousx · 5 months ago

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now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

ix. nine: need your love

loraine did not sleep a wink at all. writing only a quarter of the piece for her father yet, she was too tired to lift her fingers anymore. it was a surprise that the family did not ask her about playing the piano last night. they must have missed the way she slammed her fingers on it. that or they chose to be silent about it, respecting the girl's sorrows.

when the sun showed up, the bridgertons coming down one by one, she simply pretended she woke up earlier than them as they crossed each other on the stairs on her way to freshen up.

after they have all done their individual activities and had breakfast together, lady bridgerton ushered her children in the drawing room. the young silva had told her yesterday that she wishes to inform the others too, if it was okay with her. she believed that they deserve to know as well, considering they had their moments with her father too.

"why are we gathered here?" eloise asked, noting the expressions of the people who already know.

violet lightly coughed to compose herself and get their attention, "we have something to tell you all, eloise."

she turned to the young silva, gesturing for her to continue. the girl nodded, pausing to herself and thinking the right words to say. but there really was no easy way to say it, is there? the person they once loved is dead. there is no way around it.

"my father has passed."

she uttered in one breath, the second daughter walking to her at once with a quiver, "oh, raine."

violet's lips formed a thin line as she turned to her other kids, "armand's death is a complex situation, so i ask you all to not let the news leave this home."

her two youngest nodded forlornly as francesca was the only one who found her voice despite the news, "of course, mama."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the three people in the center of this battle settled in anthony's study once again. it has been their office, the only place they can plan with no worry of listeners.

"we must plan our course of action." anthony voiced with tenacity in his eyes.

the lady turned to him as she took a sit on the couch, "we, anthony? no, you are not involving yourself on this."

he regarded the silva in a scolding tone, "there is no need for you to go through this alone. we can help. we can ask lady danbury, the duke of hastings—they will be willing to help."

she could understand his earnestness to be of any form of aid to her. her family was there for him all those hard times before. but this one, she was adamant to let him stay out of this.

"i am not involving civilians in this, anthony. if i could, i will not even involve father's soldiers."

raphael turned to her at the mention, the look of disagreement clear on his features, "raine, with the general gone, we are all at your disposal."

"and this is me saying i will not dispose of you all!" she looked at him directly in the eyes with firmness, placing no room for arguments. the young silva's voice has never been so clear and intact than that.

their heated exchange was interrupted when a knock on the door resonated in the room. major thorpe informed them of his presence before the viscount responded for him to enter.

the soldier acknowledged the two men before going straight to the girl, passing her a letter with the highest legislature's seal. she opened it with unfavorable feeling as gilbert stepped back and out of the room.

raine slowly stood up, eyes still on the paper as raphael walked to her and peered at the paper. his breath hitched at the contents he read, turning away as he raised his head with closed eyes in defeat. the girl dropped her arm hopelessly.

"the parliament has called for our presence."

anthony shut his eyes closed at that. now that the higher government is involving themselves, it will be much harder to find a way out. raine continued in disbelief, "tomorrow afternoon."

"it will be my death." the colonel stated, acceptance and denial mixed in his tone.

"i will go alone." she declared firmly to him once again.

raphael wanted to scoff but he could not bring himself to do so at the graveness of their situation, "absence is punishable for high treason. i am dead either way."

"they have figured we know." she said in realisation, ignoring the former's disagreement of her idea.

the government knowing that they now know of the crown's atrocities to its own people is the most terrible thing that could happen in their current position. they are being left with almost no move or strategy to execute.

"you cannot go." the viscount expressed his thoughts, "there will be a ball tonight. you can attend and we can use it in our advantage to get the ton on our side."

she really appreciated the fact that anthony was so invested in helping them get out of this, but there was simply things that are hard to get out of. she let out an exasperated sigh as she ran her fingers between her hair, muttering to herself, "how did things turn to this?"

raine wanted to tear her hair so much, punch someone, or run yards away. she badly wanted to release the tension that has been building up in her for days, and now this on top of that.

she looked at anthony, "i will not go to the ball, but you must. your absence will reach them and they will link you to use, extending the target to you and your family."

the girl was trying to control her breathing. one problem at a time. she chanted to her head, but fate had other plans. because just after she is trying to deal with one, another came in the form of a newspaper.

gilbert came in, not bothering with a knock this time as urgency in this one is much higher. he immediately handed her the newspaper, announcing the news himself.

"it is out, my lady. they have released the death of the general.

"what?!" raphael exclaimed in immense anger, head noticeably heating in fury.

raine read the headline with incredility in her tone, "they are claiming my father betrayed the crown."

in just a span of a single night, the government had managed to turn the story around. this is very disadvantageous for them. the government releasing what happened first would mean them getting the support of the people first. and the support of the people, no matter how uninformed, is a monstrous force.

raphael continued to read the contents of the column aloud, "they named us under suspicion as well as the rest of the troops."

raine passed the newspaper to him as she sat down in weariness, head casted down in deep thinking, "fuck, they have pushed us to a corner."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the bridgertons have already left for the ball tonight. loraine situated herself in her guest room, joined by raphael as they go through different ideas and strategies on what to do for tomorrow.

they needed a very good plan, or else no one is getting out alive. and so far, there has not been one good plan at all.

"we must parade then, on our way, to sway the people's favor." raine pitched, focusing on turning the people to them so that at the very least, the government could not do anything rash immediately.

the colonel clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he shook his head disapprovingly, "they will not be swayed by a single parade of traitors."

the two have been at this for hours now, their ideas getting more and more desparate as the time passes. he looked at her solemnly as he continued.

"you must understand, we are not under suspicion, raine. they have decided we are traitors and we will be written in history as such."

the young silva wanted to tell him otherwise. she wanted to tell the man that the life they have spent on defending the country would not go to waste—that their legacy would not be reduced to something as shameful as treason.

she bit her lips as she herself shook her head in worry, "we can at least try—put on theatrics so that we will at least leave alive after, no matter the sentence."

there was no way out, raphael knew. hence, he admired the girl for trying so hard to save him, to save the soldiers, to save herself.

he inhaled before throwing a pitch of his own, one he was sure the girl would strongly disagree, "we could play like i have taken you hostage as we exit. this way, you will be free of their suspicions."

she placed her pencil down harshly and turned to him, "while you take the fall? no!"

he sighed resignedly, leaning back on his chair, "stop trying to find a way for me to live. no one will believe i do not know anything about the general's plans."

the girl was about to respond, when he continued, "raine, what we should be planning for must be directed on ensuring that our story will not fall on deaf ears. there is no getting out of this unscathed. the thing we must fight for is the truth."

he pushed himself away from the table. he stood with a notable grief on his step, ruffling her hair childishly—the only little act that would bring them the smallest joy in this moment, "we can talk about it again in the morning."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the miserable planning earlier took a toll on her. even the room could not offer her any comfort. and so, she stood up and made her way to the balcony. perhaps, the fresh wind would greet her gently.

raine has been awake for two days straight now, and although she can clearly feel the exhaustion, she had no intention of sleeping. depending on how tomorrow goes, she might not even come out of it alive. there is no point in sleeping now if she will have an eternal one soon. and so, she would like to relish the little moments.

however, her peaceful silent conversation with the night is disrupted when a rushed sound of footsteps grew louder and louder, nearing her.

a certain second son appeared on the balcony.

benedict placed a hand on his chest as he bent down, catching his breath as cold sweat run through his features.

raine looked at him in confusion, "what are you doing here? is the ball done?"

"you must not go tomorrow."

he ordered pointedly as if a command as he stood up straight, chest still heaving deeply. the young silva scoffed at what he said, finding it utterly idiotic.

"i will not if i could."

he paused, trying to think of other things that could convince her, but he knew that she really could not. doing otherwise would mean execution. and so, he tried to calm himself, jumping to the other side and chose to comfort her this time.

"you will be okay. in truth, you really did not know anything about it in the first place." if she could not avoid it, then at the very least there would be not a lot to worry much, "you are not a traitor."

however, they should really worry—extremely. because everyone knows that when your enemy is the crown, there is almost no way to win the match.

"my father was not and look what they did."

"then you cannot go!" he exclaimed in distress and angst as he walked aimlessly near her.

"they know we are staying here, evidently by the letter." her voice began to increase in volume at the persistence of the man, "it is a form of intimidation. they will make you all traitors as they did to us, and i will not let that happen!"

"i will not let you go as well." he defeatedly respond, almost beggingly as he reached for her hands.

"you already have!" raine took her hands from his immediately, as if repulsed by his actions, "in the gardens two nights ago!"

"then i will not this time!"

benedict declared with striking determination, unwaveringly. he let breaths to come in between them before he continued in a softer manner, like an artist that does not know what to paint next.

"this urge to run away from what i love is a sort of sadism i will no longer pretend to understand."

raine wanted to slap him. to punch him. to shoot him. he dares to say such words in misleading context. she was right; he really was exhausting. she looked away, trying her earnest to not let the tears fall from her empty eyes before turning back to him.

"this has always been you, ben. you say one thing today and different the next. you never make up your mind."

"well, this is me." he offered with a gesture presenting himself, "i am here to make up my mind for the first time."

raine has heard it before, when her parents were sitting at the balcony. her father said, thank you for loving me when i still tasted of heartache and war. it was then she saw her mother crying and realised it can also be a form of happiness.

and she wanted to cry because of happiness at his reciprocation. but, she fears it was too late for that.

"is it fun for you to see me chasing and crawlimg for you? declaring my affections rejection after rejection?" she found her voice getting stronger once again, despising the way he acts as if their exchanges before can be simply shrugged by his presence now, "loving you has always been as easy as breathing, but tonight, i am gasping for air."

at her accusing tone, he could not stop himself from defending his person. unknowingly to him, his own voice were laced with malice as he retorted.

"that is because you surround yourself with fire, raine. despite the close proximity, i cannot cross." he took a step back, completely in contrast of his attacking words, "is it fun for you as well? to make a fool of me by the childish notions of your love."

raine gritted her teeth harshly at his words. she can accept his rejections, no problem. but to call her love fake? to call it childish? she stepped forwards to him, pushing his chest with her index finger, rage clear on her features against the good night.

"i am tired of explaining over and over again. just like the fire, my love for you burns!" she stopped the action, throwing her arm back harshly as she directed all her will to her voice, "it will always because it must!"

"and you think me not burned?" he stepped closer, ire and passion blending in his sharp voice, "raine, i am ablazed! its flames are scorching me day after day. you haunt me! your presence screams, even in my dreams—especially, in my dreams."

benedict looked at her piercingly in the eyes, "i dare not love you just as humans should dare not travel the stars. i am not worthy of such heavenly body."

he charmed, his voice gradually becoming smaller, trying to find the peace within him. he ran his fingers between his hair, looking away in utter shame of his words. he sighed heavily, opening his eyes to catch sight of her once again.

"i have seen you since you were an innocent young. i have been with you throughout everything." his voice small, like a child confessing his sins, "i have seen you grow into such a fine lady as you always were, even as a child."

the realisation of his words did not come to him, seemingly decided to divulge his side of ugliness and his twisted love—his deviant nature, all for her to see.

"does that not make your bones curl?! does that not disgust you enough?! for goodness' sake! the voice in my head is a monster, raine. he does not whisper. he has been screaming for me to do things—to grab you, to seize you, to put you under me. do you know how hard it is to drown him down?"

raine could do nothing but watch the man she has yearned for all her life reveal his innermost aberrant tendencies. it was a kind of undressing.

"i held lady arnold in my arms, her mouth exploring myself and all i can utter is your name, just as i have always done with other women. is that not sickening enough?"

he gazed at her beggingly, as if a cry for help—a cry for her to free him from whatever this is. he took a step back from her defeatedly, like a man afraid of touching what he loves in fear of it breaking.

"like the fire, i cannot touch you."

and at his final confession, she walked towards him, steps evident with striking determination and eyes filled with passion.

"then let me."

she took a hold of his collar and pulled him to her, their lips connecting desperately and mouth starving for each other. maybe, there was nothing more to say. perhaps, she has said everything.

his hands and lips moved in reflex, deepening the kiss as he pushed her back on the wall. she grasped on the back of his head as he lifted her leg, his lips brushing her ear as he settled on her jawline. his other hand explored her harshly, his mouth dangerously grazing her purity.

they took themselves away from the wall, lips longing for the other again as he guided her slowly inside, fighting for each other's taste. playing their aggressiveness in front of the door, he wasted no time in turning the knob, pushing themselves inside.

in contrary to what edgar allan poe said, years of love were not forgotten in the hatred of a minute. it was amplified.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @omy0 @idek-what-to-put

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict is a fox #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton

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monstersinthecosmos · 8 months ago

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September 30, 1973

He’d gotten in late, and had sort of a queasy feeling as his feet touched down in the United States again. It didn’t fill him with some patriotic relief, some lust for home, as much as it made his fucking skin crawl. But he’d splashed water on his face in the airport bathroom, and lingered in the terminal long enough for a shitty vending machine coffee, and by the time he’s in the back of a cab twenty minutes later it’s at least settled down to a quiet vibration. He doesn’t chat with the driver, like he might have a month ago, just asks for a motel, and picks at his cuticles and stares out the window for the whole ride.

Does jetlag count when you’re this fucked up? It probably doesn’t apply. Time zones haven’t mattered in weeks, really. His body is still in that shitty room with Louis. The exhaustion is bone deep, though. He passes out the moment he flops onto the hotel bed.

The housekeeper knocking on the door wakes him in the morning. Slept like shit. He wakes enough to tell her he’s fine, and then lies there, staring at nothing. He considers turning on the TV, and stares at the glossy black screen, and it’s like a window to the world he’s left behind. There’s news inside, and kids shows, and music, and things to learn about. It doesn’t feel like his world anymore, though.

His head lolls to the side, and he stares at the telephone.

Somewhere near the Cincinnati airport, which means he’s in the same time zone as his parents again. It’s been a long time.

It’s early still, which gives him the excuse not to call. He gets out of bed long enough to pull the curtains closed, and then goes back to sleep.

So his stomach rumbles, waking him, telling him it’s lunch time. One eye cracked open sees the clock on the nightstand. A little past ten.

For the first time in weeks, he knows what day it is, and it centers him. Makes everything feel a little more real. His cab driver had made a comment about it last night, filling the silence with small talk until he realized Daniel wouldn’t entertain him. Said something about all the kids out on Saturday nights.

Ten on a Sunday morning. He considers turning the TV on. Johnny Quest should be on, if that hasn’t changed in his absence.

His dad will be off. Mom probably putzing around to catch up on some project. He looks at the phone again, considers calling them. Tries to imagine how the conversation would go, and whether or not anyone has noticed him missing.

The two outcomes echo on either side of his head.

His mom asking if he’s coming for Thanksgiving, like it’s any other day, like Daniel is still just being flaky. Or maybe she’s crying in relief, saying things like thank god you’re okay, I was worried sick.

And his father, too. Pissed off and disappointed as always, or covering his emotions with anger, demanding to know where Daniel is.

He curls on his side, his back to the phone. Closes his eyes again. His stomach hurts, but the darkness feels comfortable.

An hour and a half later and he’s dragging himself to a greasy diner down the block. Together enough to get it done, and he doesn’t panic when he talks to people, but orders it to go. He smokes a cigarette and bounces his leg at a booth near the kitchen door while he waits, and thinks he should plan the next few days better. Maybe the next few weeks. Unsure how long this will last before he’s either dead or Armand gets bored. Maybe those two things are one and the same.

They’re listening to King Crimson in the kitchen, and bits of it wisp out every time the door swings open. It makes Daniel smile, just a little, before he catches himself. That first album had really blown him the fuck away and he’d gotten a little obnoxious about it. In his past life he thinks he’d have the energy to intrude into these guys’ space and start asking questions about it, find out who put it on. Find someone to interview.

He’d listened to it so much in his senior year of high school. His dad called it heroin music, and asked him to keep the volume down. His mom walked in on him getting high to it one night, because it was too cold outside and he didn’t feel like sneaking around.

She’d had that look on her face. Conflicted about it, but didn’t want to make it a big deal, because his dad would’ve turned it into a whole thing. It ruined his buzz, and he apologized, but he continued to sneak smokes in his room for the rest of the year until he moved out. For a while he thought he’d gotten better at it, but maybe his mom just got too exhausted to say anything.

The bass melody flows through the kitchen door as someone steps out with a paper bag, cocking an eyebrow and handing it over. There’s barely time to even mumble a thank you before they’ve retreated back, and the music is swallowed again as the door swings closed. Daniel sits for a moment, letting it circle him, feeling the heat through the bag in his lap. He looks from one end of the diner to the other, counting the people inside, orienting himself with the exits, even though the sun is still up.

There’s a payphone in the back, near the bathroom, and the urge to call almost overtakes him. Like he should just do it now, get it over with before he changes his mind again. Not sure what he even wants to say, except to apologize. He won’t be coming home again, they’re past that. But maybe…

Anxiety ripples through his insides, and he feels in his pocket to see if he has enough change. If he has to ask a cashier first he’ll lose his nerve. How much is the long distance charge, anyway? He might lose his nerve if he has to talk to the operator first.

It feels like enough coins in his pocket. They click together, between his fingers, and his heart skips as he decides to do it. And the paper bag crinkles in his fist as he stands, and his mouth is dry and he’s not sure why he’s doing this but—

Someone slips past him, breezily, someone else with a call to make. His ears ring as he watches, as they lift the receiver to their ear, as they drop a coin inside. He sees the way their mouth quirks into a grin as they say hello.

Not here.

Don’t do this here.

He turns away. He bumps into someone on the way out. The sun hurts his eyes and he can’t catch his breath, and it takes a moment to remember which way the hotel is.

A sob crawls through his ribs, and he stands there on the sidewalk, rubbing his chest until it goes away. He chews the inside of his cheek and his appetite is gone, and his stomach hurts but he can’t tell what’s hunger anymore.

The food is kinda soggy and cold by the time he decides eat. It feels fine, though, as he lays it out on the little table in the hotel. Not sure why he thinks he’s a person who’s ever going to enjoy food again, anyway, so he shouldn’t be picky. It’s just nourishment.

He’d dragged the phone over to the table, too. Just set it there, the cord swaying gently where it dangles back to the nightstand. He picks at his food in little bites, staring at the ugly view of the Ohio River outside.

And he’d dug the number of the publisher out of his bag. The one he’d sent the manuscript to. It’s laid out flat on the table, and he thinks he’ll call them first. But this nagging voice keeps begging him to call his mother.

For what?

He remembers the day the military car drove up to Ray’s house. Daniel had known, immediately, when he saw the uniforms walking up to the door. And he’d just stared for a while, after they’d gone inside, and he’d felt so numb that he thought Well, this isn’t so bad, I guess.

He’d shut his blinds. Laid down on his bed. Listened to King Crimson a little bit too loud. The reality rolled over, and over, a tiny ball in his head, and he could picture himself cradling it in his hands, examining it, checking for sore spots.

Never lost a best friend before. Not sure how it’s supposed to feel. But it wasn’t so bad. For that first little while it felt survivable.

The phone rang downstairs, a couple hours later. He couldn’t make out any of the words from up in his room, just the near-hysterical pitch of his mom’s voice. He listened to her come upstairs, and go into the bathroom, heard the water running for a long time before the quiet knock on his bedroom door. And he saw the hurt in her face, the puffiness in her eyes that she’d tried to wash off.

All the pain came later. And their moms hadn’t handled it well. Neither of them.

“Can you imagine…” his mom said, staring out the car window after the funeral. In the cemetery still, waiting for the cars ahead of them to pull out. Daniel looked up the hill, to the grave. So many fucking flowers.

Nothing in the casket, of course. They’d still buried one, and Daniel wasn’t sure who it was supposed to help.

“Not knowing where your baby is,” she said, and her voice cracked, and she hid her face behind a handkerchief. Her fingers wiggled as she tried to calm down, and then she turned to look at Daniel in the back seat, with her glassy red eyes. “I��m so sorry, Danny.”

It’s his old life, and he knows he can ever go back. And maybe his parents will bury an empty casket one day, filled with mementos that remind them of him. Would anyone else even throw in? Alice, he supposes, and her parents. Maybe Ray’s family. He doesn’t think he left any other close friends behind. Everything always felt so temporary. Really, looking back, he knows he never quite fit.

Will people remember me? Will people from my high school remember their classmate that disappeared when they were twenty and supposed to be enjoying college? Is it one of those spooky local tragedies?

If I tell my mom I’m okay, is that a lie?

He rubs his eyes.

They’ll never get my body back.

He pushes the food to the side, and his heart races, and he thinks he can do it. Reaching for the phone before he can lose his nerve.

And he doesn’t want anything from them. He won’t ask for help, or put them in Armand’s path. And he doesn’t need to come home. And he doesn’t need their money. And it’s not exactly a goodbye, but…

A tiny part in him just wants to hear her voice, and he can’t admit until he starts dialing. He squeezes around the phone, only able to hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and leans his elbow on the table. Rocks in his seat and closes his eyes. The sound of the phone ringing, a moment later, makes him want to throw up.

Just once, just this last time. Hear her voice, let her know he’s okay, she might not hear from him for a while, no no it’s fine I just didn’t want you to worry, I’ll be fine—

And don’t follow me. Don’t look for me. I’ve become something else, and I don’t want to drag you down with me. He can’t tell her that, though. Just, no. Don’t worry. I’m okay. I’m okay.

Heart in his throat, and he draws his hand away from the phone, covers his eyes like it will make it easier, plunging himself into darkness. Breath shaky through his nose.

And then the click.

The half-second of background noise. The TV blaring the evening news. The gravely half-cough of a smoker clearing his throat.

“Hello?” his father asks.

Daniel’s teeth grind. The crackle of nervous energy snakes through his whole body—the pinch at his kidneys, and up through his jaw, and his fingers are numb. He even feels it in his nipples, at the roots of his hair. It tweaks through his shoulder socket.

“Hello?” his father asks again. Sharper now, because that’s how he is. Impatient.

He remembers his dad being softer, back when he was a kid. Before Daniel had fucked up too bad. Because you grow up, and your dad is less colossal. One day you realize that he’s just some fucking guy, that he isn’t special. But…

There’s a rattling breath, like he’s going to say something, launch into a lecture or say something nasty, demand an answer, and tell you to stop fucking around, and call you a disappointment, and—

Daniel’s jaw aches all the way up to his temples. His face feels hot. Bile rising.

He hangs up the phone.

[previous day] | [read on AO3]

#vamptember 1973 #daniel molloy #stuff i wrote #OKAY IT'S DONE LMAO SORRY IT TOOK 6 MONTHS #my adhd and various personal tragedies got the best of me

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minaharkerdailymirror · 5 months ago

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Mina struggled to rein in her anger. She should just leave, this was a mistake. She should tell him to burn the tapes. the Vampires would take him anyway and listen to them and while it probably wasn't something they didn't already know due to how easily Armand could dig in minds, it wasn't something she wanted them to hear.

But there was still a chance.

She grabbed her chair and went to the other side of the table and plopped it next to him and sat down so he was staring at those 200 missing and murdered.

"When vampires drink from each other, it's a way for them to have sex," she told him, "Hell, it might be their only method of sex. I've never been that curious to ask."

She tore her eyes away and looked at him, "So you can imagine what it feels close to when a man invades your room at night, pins you down with his mind in your bed, drains you of your blood and forces his own into you."

She glared at the wall, as if she wasn't seeing it, "It happened for weeks. Long after Lucy was finally put to rest. He thralled my husband to sleep through it. I couldn't even wake him up, he had my mind and I couldn't even tell him what was happening as I grew weaker and weaker."

She shook her head bitterly, "The thing is...it would only take once to turn someone. He dragged it on for all that time simply because he could. Like itw as a game to him. When they realized what was happening, they tried to pull me from the brink, they covered me in garlic and holy water and prayers and they all stood watch around me. And I would recover for a time until he found a way to get past all of it to get to me again."

her hands were shaking, she put them in her lap, "When I started hunting to protect people, I could not understand why most vampires were not effected by the things Dracula was. It has been until recently I learned that he was never hurt by those things. It was just part of the game to him. It was all mind games."

She looked over at him, the pain in her eyes, she turned off the recording "So I will ask you again, Mr. Molloy before I continue my story and I pull all this back up from within me again...why would you want this risk?"

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

#immortalmolloy #I didn't see you updated #and then accidentally just wrote a book

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aramisinaskirt · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on “Friends and Enemies”

Note: Spoilers galore abound below the cut, and this is going to be an extremely long post, as most of my episode reactions will be.

The opening scenes of this episode go by so fast! It had been a while since I'd seen it before I started to try watching it again. I'm honestly surprised by how well d'Artagnan fights, for a character who is supposed to be a farm boy from Gascony. Watching his father die in the rain is an incredibly moving scene, for which I give full credit to Oliver Cotton.

I almost immediately feel sorry for Athos. The ice bucket scene, while it makes sense as a quick way to sober up, will never not be funny to me. One thing I love about what the series did is how well it summed up all of the boys personalities in one or two scenes, almost as if they wanted to contrast the things the fake Musketeers were doing.

God, the scene with Porthos playing cards with Dujon. The "Ooh. That's slander." when he's accused of cheating gets me every time. It makes me want to laugh but also makes me wince because I know l couldn't have fought off a Red Guard with a fork for a weapon. I do love that Porthos acknowledges Dujon is a confident man, and that they highlight Porthos' tendencies as a thief. It's established early that Porthos is close to Aramis, and therefore is expected by Athos to know where he'd be. The look that accompanies "Tell me he's not that stupid!", is everything.😂

I'm a big fan of Santiago Cabrera (If you've been following my blog for a while you know that I swoon over him pretty much on the regular.😍🥰). I know a lot of people have varying opinions on Aramis, and I understand and respect that. I do have to admit that I facepalmed, hard, seeing who he was sleeping with. I mean, Adele is beautiful. Her cajoling "Poor Aramis" as she traces his scars highlights the kind of character he is. But, of all the women he could have had... Did he really have to choose the Cardinal's mistress? At the same time, I guess because I feel an affinity with him, I think I might have slept with Adele, too, if given the chance. The scramble to hide his pistol is also hilarious. It surprises me that he falls for the “If you love me, you’ll jump.” line from her. I never tire of the “Have you seen how far down that is?!” or the reluctant, “The things I do for love.”) Aramis reunites with the other Musketeers. He gets back to be immediately called on a mission to Chartres.

The choice to switch viewpoints at this point to d’Artagnan and then to Louis is a bit of a headspin, but I understand that the Musketeers travel might be a bit boring. I do find the innkeeper hilarious as it seems everything important to a man costs extra if you’re staying at the inn. The introduction to Louis paints him as a spoiled brat who can spend all day shooting pigeons. The line about birds being “born to be shot, like rabbits and poets” says something. (Wait for it... just wait for it...)

The scenes with the Musketeers riding through cold and snow are pretty intense. The introduction to Milady, while cold, also gives us a side of d’Artagnan that we’ve yet to see. He agrees to duel Mendoza (which, in hindsight, oof!)

Armand shows up to visit Adele (also how did I not notice that she was hiding Aramis’ pistol and Richelieu saw it on my second watch through?!) I love that he realizes what he’s fighting. And it’s obvious he’s a control freak. Now comes the part I hate. d’Artagnan and Milady. The promise of killing the man she loved comes too soon for me. Mendoza’s death before getting to duel d’Artagnan and the fact that the latter is blamed sets up perfectly!)

At least we do get to see d’Artagnan’s clever escape (although I wouldn’t want to be him landing in whatever that really was.) But this leads to us getting to see Constance and her fiery temper (”Touch me again, and I’ll gut you like a fish!” never misses me), but then her kindness takes over. She offers him the way to the Garrison before he passes out. d’Artagnan is given some grand lines here. (”I’m d’Artagnan. Please think kindly of my name, if you think of it at all.��)

We arrive back at the garrison to see that d’Artangnan has found the Musketeers, which gives him an introduction that reminds me a bit of Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride. (”My name is d’Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony. Prepare to fight. One of us dies here.”-- and Aramis is right. It’s one hell of an entrance.) The ensuing fight and the Musketeers defense highlights the classic “All for one” mentality without ever needing to speak the line. My shock when Treville comes in to arrest Athos could probably be felt from miles away.

The trial is clearly a set up and a shambles, and Louis is just naïve enough to believe it. It’s interesting to me that we don’t see Athos given any time to defend himself. We also see him seemingly accept his fate as he refuses a last confession from a priest after telling him about a woman he loved who died by his hand.

Milady meets with Richelieu and reveals she was hired to retrieve the letters from Mendoza. Aramis’ pistol shows up again in the Cardinals hands. Meanwhile, Louis and Richelieu discuss the letters, proving just how vulnerable Louis is. This cuts to one of my favorite scenes-- Porthos and Aramis working the guards for information. The final fight is everything you’d expect it to be-- Musket fire, swords, Constance dressed as a whore for a distraction. . . and the ensuing chaos leads d’Artagnan to his father’s killer. (huge sigh of relief breathed here for all). This leaves just enough time for the crew to save a resigned Athos, while Milady hovers above. The final scenes nearly made me cry, as we see Richelieu luring Adele to a frozen spot where she is executed with Aramis’ forgotten pistol. True to tragic form, Adele declares her true love (”I love Aramis, and I love him with my last breath!”) True to form, Richelieu cannot get his hands dirty--he can’t even bear to watch her be shot. She dies repeating her mantra, “I love Aramis.” I was honestly shocked that I didn’t cry here, but knowing how Aramis’ character is set up, I expected it. I was a bit stunned to see that Richelieu barely flinches at the idea of Adele being shot. The Musketeers celebrate a win as Richelieu ties up his loose ends by killing Dujon with poisoned wine while promising his freedom, and implicating himself.

Aramis shows up at Adele’s only to find her gone. (This scene almost made me cry given what we’ve previously seen of his interaction with her. I don’t believe he loved her, but that pain!!)

The last, chilling shots of the episode establish Milady as truly heartless. She goes to confession only to be told by the priest that she is “a child of the devil..an abomination.” She then chokes the priest by his rosary and flees the church (”You don’t understand, I’m not looking for absolution. I want revenge!”) That ending gave me a shiver, and I am honestly terrified of what she’ll do next!

#aramisinaskirtreacts #bbc the musketeers #reaction blog #long reads

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princelestatdelioncourt · 3 years ago

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Ok I just need to say this.

Someone mortals mentioned Armand is more mature than I am. I am not going to rant and scream and cry as you might wish but there are some points that people I am sure missed when while reading both my book and Armand's.

And what I will say here is none to make Armand or myself better. Or like its said...Armand more mature than I am.

So let me explain, it all started with this:

“I’m trimmed in memories as if in old furs. I lift my arm and the sleeve of memory covers it. I look around and see other times. But you know what frightens me the most - it is that this state, like so many others with me, will prove the verge of nothing but extend itself over centuries” ~ Quote from Armand taken from the book ‘The Vampire Armand’

Then comments began

"Armand is more mature than Lestat. Lestat is not mature at all. Armand is fully matured becasue all he went through. Lestat was born with a silver spoon in Lestat mouth. Aristocrat. This is why Lestat will never be mature. Armand was poor and had a poor family, Armand is more humble that Lestat will be"

Oh Really? Again I am not saying Armand is not mature. Hell, how long has passed since he was born? 600 years ? Some maturity should he has that sad icon painter. But to say I am not mature and never will? Really?

Let me tell you this.... Have you forgotten I was raised poor with no food even if I was the Marquis son, with no money to even get a glass of wine? Have you forgotten how many times I was beaten by my father and brothers when all I wanted is to be happy and get away from that misery dark cold in ruins castle where I could do nothing but to stay there and swallow their words and hate? Have you forgotten by the age of 13 and 14 I had to do the duties my father should have done, which was hunting and providing? Have you forgotten how so many times we had no food and I had to go hunting everyday and good look if there was something I could get and provide? Have you forgotten that I only had 1 pair or pants, boots and shirt and slept on a straw matters and that the first beautiful garment I wore was that red clock and boots Nicolas's father made for me after the wolves? Have you forgotten I wanted to do good and learn and I was sent to the monastery and when I wanted to stay they got me back by force and took my books and locked me in my room? Have you forgotten that I was beaten repeatedly when I went acting becasue I wanted to do good making people to forget about their lives and give them happiness on that moment to make them forget about their pain? I was never happy, Never. Every time I was everything was taken from me. Even after I was given the dark gift. I was happy with Nicki and once again alone and trying to figure out things by myself.

Armand suffered as a kid, yes he did but still as mortal he had this beautiful life when Marius rescued him and he lived with him in luxury, he had food and beautiful clothes and brothers that loved him and Marius teaching him things!! He had a father and a teacher!! I had non of that, NONE. He was able to read and write and paint. Me, 21 and still had no clue how to read of write, what a shame and I had Nicki to read everything for me. No one had the patience to teach me anything but I had learned things by myself, when I went hunting, when I tried to escape, when I did things either if it was good or not, it was Me, no one else, I was trying! I wanted to do good and learn and know. I was my own teacher and pupil.

I am not complaining on Armand, again yes he has suffered, absolutely he did but so I did. He had Marius and he loved Armand and Hell just think about it how much I wished I had a father like Marius, a maker like him!! To give me the blood and staying with me, a guide!! I only had Magnus for 1 hour and what I learned from him. Go to sleep in that sarcophagus every sunrise and stop drinking before the heart stops and here is my treasure and spread my ashes. What else? What i should do? what was going on?? Why me!?? Call me reckless, brat, narcissist....whatever you want...just dont forget all I had to go through as well.

Each an everyone of us, has its own story. Maybe all of us are narcissists, possessive, brats, etc ...we all have had our own pain, doubts and we have learned from experiences and situations.

I have done some many things since that first night that I was given the blood. I went to discover, to know, to ask, to do something other than to hide in the darkness and complain to why I am this now. So many ups and downs. Surrounded by my beloved ones then left alone again. I have done some good things and some bad things but at least I have discovered. I moved on. I did something, I learned and yes I have matured.

I love you mortals, I really do but these things said are no true and you know it. I just hate some just want to see what you want and not the whole picture just because it appeals more this person or that. We all have our issues so do not judge saying someone is not mature becasue we are in a world of discovering and learning things and we will have mistakes, so we are all no mature and we will mature while discovering. Understand?

I am open to discuss this on a mature way. Ask me if you wish. I am here, ready. Go ahead.

=============

//I am sorry I had to write this. I am not disrespecting anyone. Lestat has his own pain as well. All of us love our characters so much and I understand we will defend them or discuss them becasue X reasons. I personally have been called immature and I know how much that hurts. Is not fun and for me, having this character of Lestat as part of who I am, becasue I have quite a few things in common, I felt this was while reading that. I am not trying to make this drama, I just hope that people understands that even if its only characters should not be disinterested. I dont know how to describe it so it makes sense and does not sounds like I am crazy. Perhaps all of this was said with no intention to hurt anyone and I took this to the core becasue it happened to me. I should have not interfere my life to just a characters life. But sometimes I cant. I might be just crazy. And again, I am not blaming anyone here. Perhaps just take it as if Lestat saw that and he is just writing about it. This is a blog after all and we are the owners of it and we publish whatever we want right?. So here is mine for today :-)

I love you all!!!

#I just needed this out of me...

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years ago

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Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: Angst, Death (y’all knew it was coming)

A/N: I am so glad I went on vacation! I’ve got a renewed interest in this story and I knocked out several new chapters over the last few days. I am also feeling the other stories I’ve got half cooked up. I need to take a mini vacation more often!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld , @lilkermit14 , @tortles [please message me to be added or subtracted]

Part 4 – Good-bye is so Harsh, Just Say See You Later

“Dammit!” Agent Fitzgerald slammed his fist on the table, startling everyone in the room. Agent Armand peered at him over her glasses and he ducked his head under her steady, motherly gaze. Everyone went back to the work in front of them as Pike and Carmichael came over to see what the fuss was about.

The junior agent sighed as he leaned his head back. He had been working to clear up some surveillance video they got from a museum in Wisconsin who had reported a piece stolen in the 1990s. It took him three days to piecemeal the tape back together, which had deteriorated over the years due to bad storage. Then it took another week to render it clear enough to see what was going on. While the original notes state that the tape was grainy, the original agents didn’t clarify that the video looked as if someone smeared Crisco over the lens.

But finally, Fitzgerald had it watchable and as he peered closely at the tape, a subtle changed occurred, causing his outburst. When he looked up and saw Pike and Carmichael, he waved for them to sit down and started the digital video again.

“Tell me what you see?” The two agents watched the tape as the gallery sat devoid of people for the entirety of ten minutes. They sat back when the video ended and looked at the man watching them. “You missed it, didn’t you?”

“Missed what?” Questioned Carmichael, curious as to what he was talking about.

“The jump.” They looked at him and he gave a sardonic chuckle, knowing that they missed what the original agents missed back then. He rewound the tape to about the halfway point and started it again. This time, the partners leaned in and stared closely at the video. Fitzgerald knew when they saw the skip because both sets of eyebrows shot up at the same time.

“Whoever this crew is, they know where the cameras are and how to alter them.” The man leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “And they know how to make it look seamless. Although the analog video was grainy, I didn’t catch it the first time I saw it digitally.”

“I think we need to get all the rest of the videos that we can review.” Pike sat back, his brain already working up a plan. “How long will it take you to review all the tapes?”

“I’m not sure, not more than a couple of days, assuming I don’t have to fix them like I did this one.” Came the reply. The special agent nodded, his eyes unfocused as he began to add this new information into his mental files.

“Pike, what are you thinking?” Carmichael stood up, waving over Agent Horacio. She mumbled to them that she needed all the tapes from all the cases gathered up and given to Fitzgerald. They nodded and walked off to begin the task at hand.

“I’m thinking we need to go back and ask people about their surveillance systems. If we can prove even the private collections had tampered videos, then this isn’t an inside job like we originally thought, it might be more. And we need to recognize this is more sophisticated than we’ve been giving them credit for.” The two agents looked at him and nodded with a shared smile. After working on these cold cases for months, they had something to go on – finally.

-*-

“Hey Carmichael, I’m going to run out for lunch, you want anything?” Pike stuck his head into her office, eyebrows slightly raised. She poked her head up, her dark eyes look dull and bleary. “You look exhausted, maybe you should go home.”

“Maybe you should be quiet for a moment Pike.” Her voice sounded scratchy and lower than normal. “And come here for a second, I need another pair of eyes.

Her partner walked over to the desk, taking silent note that she looked smaller and the exhaustion was etched into her face. Taking up a spot next to her chair, Pike leaned over to read what she was pointing at. One of the junior agents had created a compilation of quotations from the original interviews in each of the cold cases and then a list of ones from the new interviews they had been conducting since June. She watched him as he skimmed the papers and as his eyebrows rose higher on his forehead, her tired smile got bigger and bigger. He glanced over at her.

“Is this all true?” His voice sounded excited and she vigorously nodded. “Oh my god, Carmichael!”

“I know Pike! I had Horacio and Fitzgerald both review this before I looked at it. Every single one of these cases were executed the same way. This is one team we’re hunting, and they were responsible for every single case.”

Pike started to laugh in relief. There had been concern among him, Carmichael, and Armand that they were looking at unrelated cases or possible copycats, which did little to narrow their search. But the interviews showed the same pattern every single time, the original agents just never cross-matched their case with any open ones.

“They’ve been able to actively do this since, what? 1982? I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s the same group but may have had different people over the years. No way someone who was forty in 1982 is still out here robbing the say way almost forty years later.” Pike looked at Carmichael.

“You’re probably right but let me take it a step further and say they kept their theft team the same as long as they could. Someone new comes in, they learn the ways of the crew and as old members died or went to jail, new members came in. But I bet at least two-thirds of the crew were long-timers and so that’s why there was little to no deviation from case to case. The newbies become the experts by the time more new kids are recruited.” She paused. “Which I think is how all these cases ultimately were executed in virtually the same way over such a long period of time.”

“So, what we have is a sophisticated theft ring that spans nearly forty years and at least seven countries. They are so good that not one of the thirty pieces stolen have been recovered nor had the cases been connected until recently. And of course, they are all still out there, not having been caught for these specific crimes.” Pike stood up and scratched his jaw, the dark stubble rough under his fingertips. “What does that sound like to you?”

Carmichael closed the folder and sat back in her chair. The dull look to her eyes gave away to their more familiar sparkle as she bared her teeth in a bright smile.

“Sounds like mafia to me.”

---***---

Rosemary shifted in the bed, letting Banana wiggle his way between her body and Robert’s emaciated frame. In the week since she had dinner with him and Fern, his progress went downhill rapidly, and Rosemary rarely left the room. Although the late September day was chilly, all the windows were open because he wanted to smell Saugatuck.

As the dog got comfortable, she laid her head back down on the pillow and rested her arm on his warm body so she could take Robert’s hand into hers. The last forty-eight hours had been the hardest as he delved further and further into delusion, speaking in a foreign language one moment and in English the next. Sometimes he spoke of names that were unfamiliar to her, as if he were remembering a time many years ago.

The sun was lowering in the sky when Robert turned his head and glanced towards the young woman next to him. For a long moment they looked at each other, the silence between them worn and old and comfortable. But something in Robert, his old self, fought to the top and through the delusion to speak to her, his voice cracking under the strain.

“I love you Rosie. I always have. You are my daughter as sure as if I fathered you myself.” He could see the tears forming in her eyes and her throat moving as she tried to swallow them, not wanting him to see her cry. She nodded at him.

“I love you, Robert. Thank you for being in my life.” He smiled and closed his eyes, sighing. They laid like that for another hour before he opened his eyes again and looked at her. He scanned her face as if trying to memorize her freckles or her hazel eyes or that weird scar on her forehead. He finally looked her in the eye and smiled.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. And as the sun set, he was gone. Banana lifted his head and began to cry as Rosemary let her tears flow. She scooted over and wrapped herself around Robert and cried and cried. A small part of her seemed to die with him as she felt empty – far emptier than when Pops and Grams died.

She was truly alone now.

---***---

“Rose?” A soft knock came at the bathroom door, Amy’s lilting voice on the other side sounded muffled through the wood. “Honey?”

Rosemary sat on the toilet, slumped over and her face in a daze. Her hands rested on her thighs, gripping at her sleeping shorts mindlessly. She didn’t say anything, her throat raw and sore from her crying. When Amy opened the door, she bit her lip at the scene before her.

After Robert finally passed, Rosemary laid with him for an hour before pulling herself from the bed to call the funeral home. When Benson Harwood arrived with his assistant, they immediately went about preparing to remove the body as she stood by the door, arms wrapped around her torso. She shivered as she watched the two of them work, but when they zipped closed the body bag, rendering Robert from sight, she dropped to her knees and began to keen loudly.

The assistant, who was new, jumped back at the sound, but Benson had been around long enough to know what to do. The heavy-set man with kind eyes sat down on the floor next to her and held her in his arms. Rosemary cried Robert’s name over and over for nearly half an hour. When she couldn’t cry out loud anymore, she pulled away from Benson and curled into a ball on the floor, blocking the door.

“Rosemary, we need to take him. It’s time for him to go.” The funeral director rubbed her back, recognizing the shock of loss in her eyes. Like others, he knew of her close relationship with Robert and had told his wife that he was glad the old man had someone with him in his last days. He looked around the room before his eyes laid on her cell phone on the bed. “Rose, can I call someone for you?”

She laid there, practically catatonic when the assistant touched Benson’s shoulder. He looked up and nodded at her before she walked over and got the phone. He asked gently for her to unlock it so he could call her friends and her shaky fingers took three tries before her home screen popped up. When he saw the group text, he pressed dial for the first name he saw in the chat.

After explaining the situation, Amy Anton agreed to come help with her distraught friend. When she arrived, she was able to coax Rosemary off the floor, who merely crawled into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. The three looked at each other and Amy finished with Benson so they could leave. After texting Fern and Tina, she knocked on the door.

“Rosie. . . “

“No. That was his name for me. No.” Her voice crackled with rawness, her vocal cords in screaming pain at the movement. She turned her head to look at Amy and the tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’m alone. Alone.”

The crying began again and as if all sensation left her body, Rosemary slid off the toilet and hit the wall. She seemed impervious to pain, but Amy still shrieked out at the sight. She couldn’t muffle her own tears as she dropped to the cold tile to scoop up her friend in her arms. Tina and Fern’s footsteps echoed through the house as they arrived, and both stopped when they found the duo on the floor.

Without a second thought, the two women dropped down and enveloped their sobbing friend and held her for what seemed like hours. Eventually, they convinced her to get into the shower and then into bed. As Amy cleaned up Robert’s room, Fern called her paralegal to begin the post-death legal process, and Tina took Banana for a walk before curling up in bed with Rosemary. Sleep avoided the four women that night and for the first time in a long time, Rosemary dreaded the morning sunlight.

#Agent Marcus Pike #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #the mentalist

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buckbarnesjames · 6 years ago

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Chapter Two

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: more discussion of sugar baby/sugar daddy relationships. swearing. alcohol. mentions of sex. steaminess.

Word Count: 3351

A/N: Taglist is OPEN. Feedback is appreciated.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

There was no turning back now. You’d agreed to be James Barnes’ sugar baby. The prospect both excited you and made you feel like you might throw up. You had no idea what he would truly expect from you and it left you reeling. The sound of phone chiming interrupts your rumination.

Your car has arrived, a text reads on your phone. You’re confused for a moment as you’d never ordered a car. Then you realise the text is from Bucky’s driver. You quickly grab your work bag and exit your apartment. Walking through the lobby of your apartment building you notice, through the large glass windows, that a black Mercedes-Benz is parked with a man standing at the back passenger door. You walk out of the building and are greeted by the man, “Miss Y/L/N?” You nod and he opens the passenger door. You stand still for a moment, apprehensive. You know that if you get in the car, then your life as a sugar baby for your boss official begins. You take a deep breath, smile in thanks at the man, and enter the car. To your surprise, Bucky is already there.

“Morning Y/N.” He greets you, a thousand watt smile on his face. He’s wearing an all black suit, an obvious favourite of his considering he often wore it to work, and he looks delicious in it. You bite your lip as you drink him in, and he smirks at you as if he knows what’s going on in your mind. “Johnathan, head towards fifth avenue” he says to the man who’d opened the car door for you and who was now situated in the driver’s seat. It takes you a moment to notice the fact that Bucky hadn’t directed Johnathan to head towards the office. “We’re not heading to work?” you ask, finally finding your voice. You were so uncomfortable. Firstly, because this was the most you’d ever seen Bucky outside of work and secondly, because he was now so close to you that you could smell the expensive aftershave he was wearing. Fuck, he smelled good and looked good. A double threat. Given half the chance, you’d probably have jumped his bones right there in the back of the car. You subtly share your head to dispel the obscene thoughts. “Not today. Today, I want you to take this and I want you to spend it on a new wardrobe.” He hands you a black amex card. His fingers graze yours as you slowly take it from him and it feels like a million volts are shooting through your body. You’re sure he heard the gasp that passes your lips as, when you loop up at him again, he’s wearing his signature smirk. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” you ask. It’s the first thing that comes to your mind and so naturally, you blurt it out. “Nothing” he says and you notice the way he subtly licks his lips, “but, like you said to your friends, you want designer clothes and don’t want to pay the price” he winks at you as you glance between him and the black card in your hand.

Before you know it, the car has stopped. The driver gets out and opens Bucky’s door. He smiles at you before stepping out onto the street. A few seconds later, the door on your side opens. You’re expecting to be greeted by the driver but instead it’s Bucky, and he’s offering his hand to you. You steady yourself before taking his hand, the electrical feeling spreading through your body once again the moment your skin meets his. You step out onto the street. It’s bustling with people - half of them on their morning commute, the other half carrying shopping bags. “Welcome to how the other half lives,” Bucky jokes, smiling down at you. You respond by rolling your eyes playfully.

You spend the morning driving around and browsing all the places New York has to offer you. You’re apprehensive to use Bucky’s card at first. “Don’t fight it, Y/N,” he had said, standing behind you and placing his hand on yours, “Here. Close your eyes”, You do it immediately, “And swipe it,” he says as he guides your hand to the chip reader. It doesn’t do much to stop you from feeling uncomfortable at spending so much money, but he does succeed in making you laugh. You were enjoying this new side to him.

Half-way through your shopping spree, Bucky links his hand with yours and begins to drag you towards an expensive looking cafe with the suggestion that it was time for a coffee break. He stops suddenly when he realises what he’s doing. “I’m sorry” he stammers, quickly dropping your hand. “For what, Mr Barnes?” You say, trying to calm him. You can see he’s worried that he’s crossed some unspoken boundary, but you’d actually quite enjoyed the feeling of your hand in his. “For holding your hand. I don’t want to break any boundaries you may have,” he answers your question. You shrug, telling him you don’t mind. Then, you smirk at him and re-link your hands together and start back towards the cafe. Bucky looks down at you, the hint of a smile on his face. Confidence looked good on you. And maybe, just maybe, the attraction was mutual - given the way that you’d reacted to him this morning and how you’re now squeezing his hand as if trying to reassure him. After a coffee - or two - and some lunch, which Bucky easily spends a hundred dollars on without batting an eyelid, you go back to shopping.

You finish up shopping a few hours later. “I’d like to take you back to my apartment, if you don’t mind?” Bucky asks as you’re walking back to the car. “I wanted to discuss some more things with you about this arrangement.” You can only nod in reply, nervous at the idea of being in Bucky’s home - his personal sanctuary. The drive to his apartment is silent, but it’s not uncomfortable. You’re still holding his hand and every so often he would run his thumb over yours, you presume the action is just an instinct for him but it still comforts you.

Bucky’s apartment would be better described as a penthouse mansion. You’re in shock as you stop through the front door. You thought you had a nice place but your apartment pales in comparison to this. The decor is dazzlingly black and white but it’s not as uninviting as one would expect once you spot the little home touches that had been added. “Elizabeth?” Bucky calls out as he leads you through the apartment towards an open-plan kitchen with an adjacent lounge area. A woman, who looked to be in her late fifties, perhaps early sixties, appears by the kitchen island. Bucky smiles at her, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and you immediately recognise it as his professional smile. “Could you help Johnathan unpack the car and take the bags to the guest room?” He asks her. She smiles and utters a ‘yes, Mr Barnes’ before exiting again. “Guest room?” You ask him, swallowing. The thought that Bucky wanted to have sex with him now that he’d spent all this money on you - a grand total of $54,000 - made your stomach turn. You were undeniably attracted to him, that much was sure, but you don’t think you could bring yourself to sleep with him under the guise of a transaction. You could feel tears welling in your eyes and you clenched your jaw, willing them away.

“Calm down, Y/N. It’s not what you think,” Bucky says softly. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about. Well that, and a couple other things. Would you like a drink?” He seems so calm about the whole situation, although you’re not sure why, it eases your mind a little. You nod to him, still unable to speak. Your mouth is dry at the prospect of what he may or may not suggest. Bucky produces a bottle of Armand De Brignac from his wine fridge. He places two champagne flutes on the kitchen island and pops the cork. As he pours the champagne, you step towards the kitchen island, keeping yourself on the opposite side of it so there is some distance between the pair of you. He slides on the flutes towards you, a warm smile on his face. You take it and sip at it tenderly although every fiber of your being is telling you to down it and just ask him for the rest of the bottle. Bucky clears his throat before speaking again, “I’d really like it if you were to move into the guest room for however long we continue this arrangement. Of course, you don’t have to say yes right away, and you can keep your own apartment for when you need space from me, and I’ll gladly take care of the rent” he pauses a moment to take a drink, “I just feel that I can take care of you and spend more money on you if you’re here...with me.” He looks at you expectantly as he continues to drink, you can see the tension in his shoulder disapparate now that he’d said his piece. “Take care of me, Mr Barnes?” you ask. You’re still not sure whether he’s implying sexually or not and your stomach continues to twist itself into knots with nerves. “Yes. I know you don’t need to be taken care of, Y/N,” he addresses you informally, something you hadn’t quite gotten used to. “But, it’s what I want to do. I want to spend my money taking care of you and giving you whatever you desire and more.” The room is thick with tension as he watches you contemplate everything he’s saying. “Mr Barnes, I have to ask…” He politely interrupts you then, “I think we’re past formalities, Y/N, given the circumstances,” he says, smirking slightly. “You can call me James or Bucky - whatever you prefer at any given moment.” He finishes off his drink and pours himself another as he waits for you to ask your question. “Okay, James...I have to ask if this...is this a sexual thing for you? Like, do you get off on spending money on girls?” He laughs. Outright laughs at you. You do your best to scowl at him but the sound of his laughter lights up inside and makes you feel warm. It’s not often that Bucky laughs in your presence and definitely not a full-blown stomach clutching laugh. In fact, you think you’ve only ever heard him laugh three times in the office.

“No, Y/N. It’s not.” He notices you’ve finished your drink and offers the bottle to you. You pour yourself another and take a sip before continuing your line of questioning, “Then what is it?” He places his glass on the kitchen island and slowly moves around it, towards you. When he sees that you’re not hesitant about him being near you, he walks at a normal pace. “It’s practical,” he says, now standing in front of you. You look at him in confusion, doing your little confused head tilt at him. Fuck, he loves when you do that. It makes you look so cute. A stark contrast to what you really are and the context of this conversation. “It’s practical in the sense that attending events and being seen publicly with a woman, will stop people speculating about my relationship status all the time.” You giggle softly, you know it annoys Bucky that people would rather focus on whether the ‘eligible bachelor’ was taken than the work he did at Barnes Industries. “Oh, so basically...you’re using me as a deflection?” you joke, raising an eyebrow at him. He decidedly likes this side of you. Your witty, sharp personality poking through your currently shy demeanor. “You can think of it that way if you’d like. So, what do you say? Will you move into my guest room?” You pretend to mull the idea over in your head for a moment. In reality, the minute he’d mentioned it - and you were sure it wasn’t a sexual thing - you were ready to agree. You’d do anything to be closer to him and see more of his personal side. He waits patiently for you to answer. You definitely drag it out longer than need be but you liked watching him squirm a little. “Yes,” you finally answer. He smiles brightly, his eyes glistening at you. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the smile was that of a man in love. “Perfect. We can discuss a weekly itinerary if you’d like?” You nod , and he re-fills the champagne flutes before leading you to one of the seats in the lounge area. You spend a good hour discussing things such as meal plans, weekly activities and time away from each other. “Of course, you can still have your Saturday drinks with Wanda and Nat but I’d love it if you were to have dinner with me beforehand and that you were to message myself or Johnathan when you’re ready to come.” Bucky says as you discuss how weekends would work. “I’d love to have dinners with you. And of course I’ll message one of you when I’m ready to leave. It’ll save me waiting for a cab,” you joke. Bucky laughs at you. He really does enjoy how much more humorous you had become with him since the fateful conversation yesterday. “How about dinner tonight? I know the chef at Del Posto, and we could have a table ready for us in an hour,” he offers. Wow, dinner with Bucky at a Michelin star restaurant. He really was spoiling you and you’d done nothing to deserve it, he’d simply overheard you and your friends conversing at lunch. You accept and he shows you to the guest room so you can get ready whilst he makes the phone call.

An hour later you’re dressed in a black, one shoulder Saint Laurent dress and matching heels. You kept your makeup simple with a red lip for a little flare. Bucky had a penchant for black and you’d indulged him whilst shopping. Your new wardrobe consisted of mainly black clothing with a few white items here and there. As you re-enter the kitchen, the sounds of Doris Day fill your ears from the surround sound system. Bucky’s back is turned to you, he’s busy typing away on his phone. You hum ‘dream a little dream of me’ as you walk towards him. Your hand gently caresses his back as you turn him around to face you. “Wow, you look amazing” he says as he takes in your appearance and you notice the way he bites his lip. You look to the floor shyly, you’re not used to his eyes on you in this manner. Or perhaps, you’d just never noticed it. He uses a single finger to tilt your head up to look at him, and you’re greeted by his beaming smile as you loop up at him through your lashes. “Hungry?” he asks, the question is fully-loaded with sexual tension but you just hum an affirmation as he wraps his arm with yours and walks you to the front door.

On the drive to the restaurant Bucky is holding your hand again, his thumb rubbing yours. Physical contact was quickly becoming common between you. You wondered if it comforted him to be touched by you as much as his touching you brought you comfort. “Here. I forgot to give you this,” Bucky says, pulling the Tiffany & Co box from yesterday out of his suit pocket. He opens the box and you gently pick the necklace up and unclasp it. “Would you?” you say as you hand him the necklace back. You move your hair away from your neck, and he places the necklace around it. His fingers brush against your neck as he re-clasps it and you sigh at the contact, fireworks exploding exploding across your skin. You turn to face him once the necklace is in place, a smile on your face. “Beautiful” he says, and you know he’s not referring to the necklace. The car comes to a stop and Bucky’s door is opened by Johnathan. He steps out and rounds the car to let you out, offering his hand again. You take it and link your fingers with his as you walk into the restaurant.

You and Bucky are led through the restaurant to a private dining area. Once you’re both seated, he speaks. “I know this is all new to you, so I thought a private area would be better for us.” You smile at the gesture and thank him. The waiter arrives and Bucky orders for the both of you, “We’ll take the chef’s recommendation for the pasta dish, two salads, two of the vegetable-parmigiano, two of the beef roll with the morels, spring onions and hazelnuts and two mascarpone truffles. Oh, and we’d like the wine pairing too”. The poor waiter scrambles to write everything down as Bucky rattles off the order. “The wine pairing is an extra ninety-five dollars per person as well as the one-hundred and sixty-four dollars per plate, sir. Is that okay?” the waiter asks, Bucky nods and hands over the menus that are on the table. “Ninety-five dollars for wine pairing? One hundred and sixty-four dollars per plate? Per person?” You ask, incredulously once the waiter is out of earshot. Bucky smiles at you and tells you to trust him, that it’s worth it. Of course, he was right.

You arrive back at Bucky's apartment a little after midnight. You’re both giggling, buzzing from the alcohol you’d consumed. He’s pouring the remainder of the Armand De Brignac into two fresh glasses when he catches you admiring him. “See something you like, Miss Y/L/N?” he teases you, trying to address you professionally but the drunk gin on his face just makes you both laugh. “Maybe I do”, you say. You’re not sure if it’s the three glasses of champagne from this afternoon or the four glasses of wine at dinner but you’re suddenly emboldened. Bucky moves around the kitchen island towards you and the stool you’re sat upon. He’s right in front of you, so close your chests are almost touching and all you have to do is reach out to him. It’s intoxicating. You’re not sure who moves first but suddenly you’re kissing. It’s a mix of teeth and tongue with little moans from you. Bucky picks you up from the stool, his lips are now attached to your neck and you wrap your legs around his waist. Giggles and sighs tumble from your lips. “We shouldn’t do this. We’re both drunk,” Bucky says, halting his actions but still keeping ahold of you, his breath hot on your neck. “I know but I’ve wanted you since the moment I first walked into your office,” you confess. He kisses your neck again, muttering that he’s always felt the same. He pulls away from your neck to look at you, “Are you sure you want this, Y/N?” he asks and you nod, “I need to hear you say it,” he says. His breath is warm against his face and your nerve endings are on fire thinking about what was to come if you consented. “Yes, Bucky. I want this. I want you.” The way you say his nickname brings something primal out in him, and he’s kissing you again. It’s a mixture of rough and gentle, slow and fast. I” want you right here on this kitchen island. Does that sound good to you?” he whispers as his lips ghost over your exposed shoulder. “Yes. Fuck, yes,” you moan before pulling his face to yours and crashing your lips back together.

If anyone had told you how great sex with James Barnes was going to be, you’d never have believed them.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #ceo!bucky #bucky x reader series

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awfully-sadistic · 5 years ago

Text

Week 1: Oct 3rd

The Adventures of Dottie and Dodger A series of linear prompt one-shots.

By now, I know this has gotten too ambitious. But I’m stubborn and I want to see my dreams realized.

“Are you guys almost done?” Dot called out over her shoulder in the middle of shutting her suitcase. It was the ungodly hour of seven in the morning and due to Stephen Strange, and Stephen Strange only, she found herself up at the ass crack of dawn so they could hit the road. Whitecrest wasn’t far from Ashbourne as she had told Doctor Strange yesterday; it was a three-hour drive to Whitecrest if traffic was good and a two hour drive back.

She took another look around the space to see if she was missing anything. The office space was looking more and more like home. Dot figured that was a good thing considering she might be spending more time at work than home, it should feel comfortable enough to be a second one.

After Stephen’s visit yesterday, Dot went through the office space and all of its furniture to see if they could find a nice armchair for him in case he visited again. She didn’t know why but a good armchair just seemed to suit him. She managed to find one that passed her inspection and set up a nice little seating area near a wide window with a nice view out towards the city. She had Dodger push over a couch, a coffee table, and threw a nice rug on the ground to finish off the area. She hated open spaces so the office was beginning to reflect that.

Past the receptionist area was the main assembly of cubicles and desks. They still didn’t need that many but it didn’t make the room look empty so it stayed. The breakroom consisted of a room with a functional kitchen that hooked the corner as soon as you entered the main office space, which Dot has been fond of calling The Pen just like in a police station. She had no idea what else to call it and she wasn’t going to refer to it as “the big space with all the desks” so The Pen it stayed. Surrounding The Pen were varying office rooms. If The Pen was a square, the office rooms starting from the breakroom corralled it in. There was a hallway in the back that led into a storage room and a men’s and women’s bathroom.

Tucked in the corner behind the Receptionist area was the spot with the seating area she hoped to one day serve tea or coffee like a fancy person to Doctor Strange.

Or any other guest, she supposed. She knew fuck all of what to do with the other rooms but it’d come to her and Dodger when the time came. There was still a huge ass room across from where she stored her clothes she didn’t know what to do with, either. Maybe she could convert a couple of rooms into sleeping spaces if they were going to pull all-nighters but the thought of having to drag beds into the office just worn her out.

It was a good thing Dodger could carry shit the size of an elephant.

“We’re finished!” Armand called from beyond The Pen. He came out of Dot’s closet space wearing what looked like one of her outfits. He even had a little suitcase in his hand. Dot did a double take before laughing.

Armand was wearing what looked like one of her sundresses with a matching sunhat. She hasn’t worn that outfit in ages and it was only for an afternoon Derby she and Dodger had been undercover for as the jockeys claimed their stables were being haunted. The case required the both of them to infiltrate an exclusive club and they had to look the part. Dot didn’t own anything stuffy nor appropriate enough to match the Derby’s dress code so she went out and bought a floral-printed, faded yellow sundress and a big, floppy bowknot sunhat with sandals. It was partly a joke, when was Dot ever going to wear something like this out and about normally?

Apparently Armand didn’t have to wonder the circumstances. He stopped in front of Dot and when he beamed, it seemed to radiate like sunshine. He seemed proud as he declared, “Look, I dressed up as you.”

His waif-like appearance and androgynous features made it uncertain whether Armand had masculine features whatsoever as Dot studied him. It was harder to tell since he wore his hair long and it looked as soft as silk and flowed just as easily. His limbs were long and delicate looking but his hands were masculine. But his broad shoulders and narrow hips also hinted that he wasn’t entirely feminine after all. The sundress was a little short on him and that was expected since he was taller than Dot. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

“You really did,” Dot smiled as her giggles died down. “you look great, honey. Do you like the dress?”

“It’s really nice. And when I twirl, it tickles my legs.” he said, doing just that. Dot had to laugh again then gestured at the suitcase. She had an idea but she wanted to ask anyway since Armand didn’t really have a wardrobe to call his own.

“What’s in there?”

“I hope you don’t mind but I borrowed another outfit.”

Dot could feel her smile widening. She was possessive as hell especially over her clothes but she found that she didn’t mind one bit that Armand wanted to wear any of her stuff. In fact, she felt proud and a sensation that was like watching a child trying on their mommy’s clothes.

“That’s absolutely okay. If you want to borrow anything else, feel free. I’ll bring more stuff from my closet so you always have new stuff to rotate.”

Armand’s smile brightened just as Dot’s, the two already knowing they were going to make a thing out of sharing Dot’s wardrobe.

“Why are you two looking at each other like that?” Dodger asked, interrupting their moment. He had finally finished packing. Since his wardrobe was at home, he was tasked with packing the equipment they might need to help them with their case.

“Just wondering when you were going to get your slowpoke butt in gear,” Dot teased. “Are you ready?”

Dodger nodded lifting up the two items he had in his hand; they were hard-case briefcases specially made to carry their equipment so it wouldn’t get damaged when they traveled. Dot nodded in approval as soon as she noted them and gestured with her head, grabbing her own suitcase.

“Let’s head out, loves.”

Armand gently took Dot’s suitcase from her hand as she turned to lock the office doors as soon as they were outside. When she turned to take it back, she saw that Armand was already helping Dodger put everything in the trunk of their “company” car; a Hummer H3 the color of royal purple with black accents Dot affectionately calls Leviathan. She smiled at the scene before tacking up their “OUT OF THE OFFICE” sign on the door just in case they get another prospective client. It was a simple form telling anyone that they’d be back later in the evening and if they wanted, they could leave their name and number and someone would get to them as soon as they returned.

The trip to Whitecrest was as expected; traffic was condensed in the city as people were on their way to work. The further out they got, it became sparse and Dot was allowed to drive as far as her foot can go down on the gas. Dodger eased her back to a reasonable speed before she would slowly start to overtake cars again and eventually he gave up.

Armand paid special attention to the scenery and Dot had to wonder if it was the first time he was seeing any of this stuff. He seemed entranced by everything he was witnessing unable to tear his gaze away from the window. He asked questions about nearly everything and Dot was glad Dodger had someone to impress with his wealth of knowledge because she sure as fuck didn’t know half the time. Dodger spouted off information about the trees they were seeing as the concrete of a bigger city with its skyscrapers bled into trees just as tall. It was wilderness now and despite it crawling towards ten in the morning, the trees casted shade that made it seem like late in the afternoon. Once Armand’s questions died down, the silence was replaced with Dot’s music; her iPod the DJ of choice whenever they made long trips.

When they finally arrived to Whitecrest, they knew it instantly.

“Why the fuck is there water everywhere?” Dot asked, glad that her H3 was an off-road vehicle. She knew Whitecrest was categorized as “different” since the Great War but she didn’t expect there to be this much of a difference from a three-hour trip out of town. The entire area was a marshland and she had no idea. Trees were now overhead and plenty casting the region in a perpetual state of gloom. Dot had to turn her headlights on in order to see in front of her. Apparently Whitecrest was a valley made up of rivers and ponds bordered by three sides of mountain. Dot had hoped that the road she was on was taking them to the town. It didn’t seem like the town even had the sense to pave it; she was driving on a dirt path now and it seemed like the only path she could take, the H3 rolling and bumping along as it ate up old waterlogged trunks that had fallen in the road.

Dodger had taken out his laptop and flipped it open. From the corner of her eye, she could see that he had changed his wallpaper to Dot and Armand standing in front of their new office building, posing as if it were a grand opening. So that was why he wanted to take a picture. Dot smiled before asking, “What are you doing, Dodge?”

“Looking up information about Whitecrest. In all the excitement from the Doctor’s visit, I forget to do it.”

Dot perked an eyebrow. Dodger never forgot to do anything related to accumulating new facts. Doctor Strange must have made a very good impression on him. She remained quiet and focused on steering the Hummer through the marshland while listening to Dodger’s fingers fly across the keys like its own musical orchestra. It had always impressed her that Dodger had designed their database filled to the brim with sprawling information from everything to articles to mundane tidbits from around the world and he was always filling it with something new he learned; information was literally quite at their fingertips aligned with as much as Dodger knew. Dot wagered it must be a lot. She had only skimmed the database herself able to find what she was looking for with just a simple phrase input through the search engine. Much like an iceberg, she knew there was more below the surface but she wasn’t that ambitious enough to make full use of the database. Not when Dodger did it himself.

Besides, it seemed complicated. Maybe sophisticated was a better word. She was afraid of touching something wrong and breaking the entire system. Dodger had reassured her many times that she could never break it, but for the most part, she entrusted him to do the fact checking. It made sense to her considering before they were partnered, he was doing the paperwork for the Agency.

It occurred to her that he must have learned a lot about their data system in order to create his own for their company. Yeah, sophisticated seemed the right word. Dodger’s system was a lot more sophisticated than the Agency’s. She wondered when they were going to realize the loss they took when Dodger went with her. Not that he’d want to go back.

Or like she’d give him back.

“The database states that Whitecrest was once a harbor city but has been flooded since the Great War.”

“D.I.D. has information about Whitecrest? When did you do this?”

“D.I.D.?”

“Uh, Dodger’s Information Database,” Dot laughed.

“I like it,” Dodger said before continuing, “Anyway, D.I.D. does have information on Whitecrest. I upgraded the system with a feature that implements the accumulation of articles around the internet by typing in a keyword. Pooled with the knowledge I had input from everything I have known and remembered as I’ve read it, it pulls every known article or piece of information based on the two worlds to structure the best article of information we might need to know if we’re going to be working on a case in an unknown area.”

Dot remained quiet for a moment, head turning over what she just took in. “So, it’s like Googling something.”

“Yes. But instead of pages of sites you have to wade through to get to the information you want, the algorithm I’ve developed pulls pertinent information from sites all over into a comprehensible guidebook. It’s sort of like a Wikipedia page but without the banner that’s asking you to donate every three months.”

“Is it reliable?”

“Naturally.” Dodger boasted. “The AI I’ve developed factchecks over everything, it’s 99% accurate. It’s what decides is pertinent to share and what’s useless information.”

“…You’ve developed an AI?”

“It’s not that hard. Especially after reverse engineering the Glass—”

“I’m not going to get into that right now. I don’t know this, I never will. I don’t even want to be a witness,” Dot shot before asking, “So it’s like a wiki page without room for human error is how I’m understanding this. That’s aside from the fact that’s where our records go from the cases we take from this point forward, right?”

Dodger made an affirmative hum, adding, “The beauty of it is that we add personal experiences to the areas we’ve been. Especially if we need to bring back a record of it as pristine as we’ve lived it. That’s why our reports of events are going to be important and it gets bolstered with the video we always take on our jobs. We won’t ever recall anything wrong though, with our memory combined, it’s already nearly impossible. It’s to reassure our clients, more or less.”

“The Agency’s never had anything like this.” Dot said with a sense of amazement.

“They never will.”

There was a moment of appreciative silence as both mull over the conversation. Dot’s head was still reeling with the improved search function, it was about the only thing she used on D.I.D.. She couldn’t believe Dodger felt the need to upgrade it, now she was going to feel like she was going to break that, too.

The silence was broken when Armand spoke up. “I’ll admit. I have no idea what you two are talking about.”

Dot laughed. “Sorry, hon. It’s alright. Just computer stuff. Dodger’s still teaching you how to use one, right? Especially since you’re going to be our receptionist?”

“Ah!” Armand sounded cheerful, “yes, he’s been teaching me. The both of them! The man in the computer is really helpful.”

Dodger turned to explain as Dot gave him a puzzled look, “My attendant director is going to be his assistant so he’ll have an easier time. You know, the AI I was telling you about.”

“Your fucking—” Dot still couldn’t wrap her head around it. “Attendant director?��

“He helps me with stuff.” Dodger said. “Think of him as the head butler of D.I.D.”

Dot laughed before she got excited, “Oh! Oh! DAD. Call him D.A.D. Dodger’s Attendant Director.”

“You’re pretty good at that,” Dodger chuckled in appreciation. “right on the nose with acronyms. D.A.D. it is.”

“Well, if I couldn’t hack it as an agent at the Agency or a Private Investigator, I would have had a lucrative job as a writer. It was my dream, you know.” Dot divulged. She missed the surprised look Dodger gave her before he turned to his laptop to write something down.

After he was done, he picked up on the line he had been reading before. “As I was saying about Whitecrest, the former successful harbor town was just one of the many causalities of the Great War. A Glassing attempt was made on the city which contributes to its change today.”

“What’s Glassing?” Armand asked from the backseat.

“Glassing is a term attributed to the terrain change caused by the Dovirs. It wasn’t enough that the Alien fleet was trying to annihilate us or use us in their war, but they were trying to alter the terrain by bombarding it with their alien weaponry. It’s unclear what they used or what procedures consists of Glassing as it took place primarily in orbit. As you can imagine, Human and Supernatural settlements alike had no way of defending against such a devastating attack.”

“That’s so terrible. So many people must have died…” Armand sounded sad and Dot had a hard time trying to focus on the road. She wanted to tell Dodger to switch to something lighter but she needed to know this too.

“It’s alright, love. As you can see, Whitecrest is still here.” She held off on adding the sarcastic remark about as much as it could be, half-sunken in the sea. She couldn’t help but point out something tragic as the realization came to her. “Glassing happened all over, right? I never knew Whitecrest was one of the places that had been targeted. We were so close. It could have been Ashbourne.”

“Rest assured, this took place hundred and hundreds of years ago,” Dodger said, looking at Armand and then at Dot. “Whitecrest came out of it as many other settlements that were dire victims of Glassing.”

Dot noticed he didn’t mention the ones who didn’t. But then again, he didn’t need to as the air hung heavy with the unsaid. Dot cleared her throat and asked Dodger to continue with the history of Whitecrest. He did.

“Since then, the harbor has experienced strange phenomena with the ocean.” Dodger paused as he added his own input. “Which isn’t unusual now. Since the introduction of Glassing to our planet, it’s changed the shift of the oceans. Nowadays, we experience quite the odd assortment of weather on seas. Weather patterns are more extreme and just a few years ago, the Agency were able to prove the existence of Sea Monsters. Apparently, they were woken up by the Great War and haven’t went back to bed since.”

“Apparently the Dovirs have never heard of the expression of letting sleeping dogs lie,” Dot said dryly.

“I thought they were Sea Monsters.” Armand said, sounding confused.

Dot laughed, “It’s a saying, sweetheart. It means to leave things as they are.”

Armand then asked, “Why did it take the Agency so long to verify the existence of Sea Monsters?”

“Good question,” Dot smiled. “I’ll answer this one, Dodge. You see, Armand, Jr. The sea is a huge and vast place. Our planet is mostly made up of water. Long ago, I think the verified percentage was 71%. Now, it’s 77%. It rose a little but that little is a lot. It’s unclear what exactly changed but a lot suspect Glassing and that tear that connects us with 616 did a lot to shift our world. With our planet being mostly water, that gives these Sea Monsters a lot of room to hide. Not just to hide but live; the ocean is incredibly deep. It’s like a whole other world under there. I guess, one day, like the rest of the Supernaturals, the Sea Monsters decided they didn’t just want to hunt in their own territory but make the entire sea theirs, too. Last I remember, the Agency wasn’t even sure how many species of Sea Monster there were and how big they can get. One day, I think that’s going to bite us in the ass.”

“That’s… so terrifying.” Armand said, eyes round and complexion looking a lot pale than normal. Dot thought it was adorable; not scaring him but that fact that Armand gets scared even though he could phase through bodily harm. She nodded in agreement.

“It’s a fascinating subject.” Dot admitted. “The ocean is so amazing.”

It was around this time Dodger figured there wasn’t any more information they’d need about the town since they were so close to it anyway. They could see the top of a building with a roof that looked built with clay shingles. There was a slight tower that pushed past the cacophony of trees but didn’t look like it’d stay that way for long. Give or take a few more years and that too would be covered one day. Dot pulled the H3 on a patch of dry land; she wasn’t about to step out into the mud.

From what she could see, the town wasn’t very large at all. It seemed to be all condensed in a town square, flooded to the ankle with water that was coming in from the sea. She made a face as she opened her door. “I hope to god we’re not stuck wading around in water all day…”

“It looks that way,” Dodger answered, opening his.

The area they parked was a safe haven of dry spots. Out in the open, they could see that there were few safe havens but trees mostly took up the space. Old houses and establishments were flooded as far as the eye can see but that didn’t seem to bother anybody in town. It was still morning so they didn’t see a lot of people out and about, but who they could see were either inside or sitting in rowboats that littered the square.

“Are people living in some of those rowboats?” Dot whispered, not wanting to make a bad impression. She learned quickly that you can say what you want to say out loud but if you start insulting anyone, it gets hard to get information out of them. For the most part, she made snide comments to Dodger and that seemed to satisfy her enough without compromising anything.

“It seems so.” Dodger said with a stoic mask slipped into place. Dot was amazed how he could look like he passed no judgement on anyone. But she could feel the cautious energy on him. He turned to Armand, mentioning, “You might want to change your shoes, lass.”

Armand took a sweeping look around after coming around from Dot’s side. His face fell. “Oh yeah. I don’t want to walk on that.” then he asked, “What if I hover?”

“That’d be suspicious.” Dodger answered. “We don’t want to spook anyone immediately.”

“Sorry, love. I’d feel better if you wore something to cover your feet, too.” Dot knew it was silly to fret about a ghost feeling cold or getting its feet wet but Armand didn’t fall in the umbrella of indifference now. She felt responsible for him and wanted to make sure he was taken care of.

The trio went to the back of the truck and started to unload. Dodger gathered the equipment with the spare suitcases they were going to check into the inn. He carried it like it was nothing. That was okay with Dot because it gave her the time to suit Armand with some boots; she kept a spare on hand in the back, somewhere, and while Armand was seated on the trunk bed, she changed his shoes for him.

“Did you want to keep your dress on?” she asked, wondering if it was a good call. There was no telling what this case might entail. Armand seemed to have the same thought.

“I should change, huh?”

“That’s fine. You can just wear a pair of leggings underneath,” Dot smiled. “I have those in spare, too.”

That seemed to light Armand up and it was decided. He had to take his boots off again but once he slipped into a pair of Dot’s leggings, boots on, the look was complete. Sort of. Given all the shade, the place was especially chilly in the October air. She knew Armand could not feel the cold, corporeal or not, yet she still didn’t like that he looked cold. She tied a scarf around his neck and placed one of her light jackets over his shoulder. It was a little tight around the shoulders and sleeves, but otherwise, fit him well enough. He didn’t complain about it, either. In fact, he looked downright thrilled to be wearing more of Dot’s clothes.

“There, now you’re good.”

Armand surprised her by doing the same. “So you don’t get cold, unlike me.” he grabbed another light jacket and placed it around Dot’s shoulders, too, making sure to zip it up the front. Sometimes with him being so naïve, he caught her by surprise by being aware of things like this, too.

She smiled, a touch shy, and nodded. “Good, we’re both ready.”

“And Dodger?” Armand asked, turning to see for himself.

“I’m always dressed for cold weather,” he mentioned. True enough, he was already in a coat and actually wore some gloves. But Dot wasn’t surprised.

“He gets cold easily,” she explained.

Whitecrest looked incredibly soaked. Deeper within the town square, the ground could not be seen unless it were raised. Dirty sea water was kicked up by Dot, Dodger’s, and Armand’s trekking footsteps, the trio careful not to trip over anything unseen. Once or twice, Dot could make out small fishies swimming by and she couldn’t pick between an expression of surprise or disgust. Why did they insist on staying like this? It looked like they were keeping most of the water at bay by sandbags but wouldn’t it be easier to pack up and leave?

“I guess there’s a reason why no one mentions that Whitecrest is half sinking into the ocean,” Dot muttered, lifting her right knee and shaking her foot out. “I hate the feel of my socks getting wet. I swear, if I step on a frog out here, we’re leaving.”

“What are you going to tell Doctor Strange?” Dodger asked while lifting his own knees with every step he took. He had the sneaking suspicion that they were sinking along with the town.

Dot didn’t answer mainly because she couldn’t entertain the thought of letting down Stephen whatsoever. Instead, she muttered, “Shush.” And continued to lead the way towards the biggest building she thought was important. She had hoped it was the inn so they can drop their stuff off in what was hopefully a second story room.

Somebody coughed turning Dot’s attention to the right. There was a grizzled looking man about in his forties slumped against a wall of sandbags. He puttered in place for a while, his actions looking sluggish and uncoordinated. Clearly the man has had one too many but Dot couldn’t blame him if he lived around here.

“I’m going to ask him for directions,” Dot said, nodding her head towards the old man.

Dodger made a noise of protest. “He could be the town drunk for all we know.”

“That’s better than nothing which is all I’m seeing.” Dot indicated around. There wasn’t anybody else to ask. Dodger didn’t protest any further but he did take Dot’s back and stuck close. Armand seemed to have the same idea, flanking Dot’s other side. Dodger might have his hands full if the town drunk seemed violent.

“Sir?” Dot asked, leaning forward and tilting her head towards the man’s movements. As soon as he realized Dot was in front of him, he gave a start, muttering a muffled cry of an old man clutching his chest.

“Gave me a fright,” he replied with a tone like an old grandpa. Part of his speech was muffled by the striped yellow and brown scarf he had wrapped around his neck that partly covered his mouth. His wool coat was tattered and Dot wasn’t sure if his gloves were meant to be fingerless. “Are ya new here in town?” he asked, sizing the trio up.

“Yeah, we’re doing a favor for someone. But we want to check in at the inn first. Can you tell us where that is?”

The man extended a hand which pointed across the street. It was a two-story building with a blue shingled roof and an entrance way that didn’t even bother with a doorway. Dodger made a noise at the back of his throat that indicated he wasn’t happy with the look but he didn’t say anything else. Dot didn’t blame him.

“Thanks,” she smiled. She was about to usher the group towards the inn but had a thought, turning back around. “And do you know where we can find somebody named Fitzsimmons?”

“The name’s First-Mate Fitzsimmons.” He drawled.

“Excuse me?” Dot asked, leaning in as if she mistaken.

“First-Mate Fitzsimmons and ya found ‘im.” He said with a hiccup. Dot drew back at once as soon as the gnarly scent wafted in her nose. She resisted the heavy urge to curse and shame this guy before she felt Armand draw her back, guiding her by the shoulders to his side.

“Can I ask what ya want wi’ me?” he asked, having no indication with how close he brushed with death. Dot swallowed her disgust and launched into work mode.

“Like I said, we’re doing a favor for someone. As far as we were told, we were supposed to seek out this Fitzsimmons. And then I guess from there, we help…” Dot knew she fell flat at the end there. She didn’t know what else to say and she didn’t want to waste words with a man who was probably too drunk to comprehend what she was saying.

The man suddenly wailed and it looked like he was about to go off in a fit. “That’s me! I’m tellin’ ya that’s me!”

“That wasn’t the issue here,” Dot said through nearly clenched teeth. She took in a deep breath, safely away from the drunkard. “Can you tell us why we were directed to you? Were you the one who made the request to Doctor Stephen Strange? If you’re confused about why we’re here instead, I can reassure you we were entrusted this task by him personally.”

The man settled down, slumping against the sandbag wall and Dot thought he might have passed out on his feet. His head was ducked and his eyes were close and Dot wasn’t tempted to really check.

“I hope Doctor Strange didn’t get a bogus request.” Dodger murmured.

Armand was still adamant on keeping Dot at his side. But he was intently watching with curious eyes. Dot could bet this was a strange scene. But there was no one else on the street and this old bum seemed to be the client of their client. Poor Stephen. Well, poor them, now. She was about to nod off at the group to recollect at the inn when the old man started talking again. At first, she thought she was mistaken because the sound came as a low rumble that caught her attention just as she was about to suggest leaving. When she faced Fitzsimmons again, his head was still bowed but he was definitely speaking now.

“I was once First-Mate on the Ocean Spray. One of the most magnificent ships ya’d ever lay eyes on, proud of our vessel we were. We were part of the trading fleet of Whitecrest’s boomin’ business. The Doomed Fleet. Didn’t think we’d hit out last voyage, sunk out at sea while on duty. I was the sole survivor.” He moaned, lifting his head. His eyes were watery and Dot could tell there was real emotion behind them without having to read him. The sensation of sadness hit her like waves next and she wondered if the Ocean Spray was met with similar ones. She could feel a lump settle in her throat and she cleared it, trying to get a line on her own emotions. Grounding herself was a good way not to get swept up in the emotions of others but sometimes, people’s emotions got strong. Thankfully, because Fitzsimmons was drunk, his memory had to be cloudy enough to prevent him from recalling the memories in vividness.

Still, it was hard to tell what Fitzsimmons wanted and why Stephen Strange had been called out to this small, flooded town for something that didn’t seem important. She couldn’t guess he was called in to deal with drunks now.

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss but I’m not clear what you want.” Dot gingerly put before the moaning interrupted her.

“I canna go on! Not without me drink!”

Dot looked stumped before she realized he was withholding his story in order to get another fix. “The hell?” she asked, not bothering to keep up her polite demeanor; especially if anyone thought she could be used. “What does that have to do with your favor? You called us for help, right?”

Apparently beggars can be choosers as Fitzsimmons seemed to ignore what Dot said, moaning pitifully, “Bring me my mead, lass. It’s in the cellar of the tavern o’er yonder.” He pointed towards the building next to the inn. They followed his gesture discovering that much like the inn, the tavern also lacked a front door and was also flooded before turning their attention to Fitzsimmons again. “It was taken from me, I canna go there an’ retrieve it.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Dodger said dryly.

“It’ll probably calm him down.” Dot sighed. She was weighing the options over in her head and it didn’t seem like they’d get very far if they didn’t fulfill this stupid request. “I don’t see him telling us anything else unless we get him something to drink. Since we’re going to the inn anyway, we might as well stop by the tavern.”

Dodger didn’t argue with that. The trio moved away from Fitzsimmons who was trying to find a good spot to settle against the sandbags. There was no doubt he’d wait there for his drink.

The inn, lacking a door, looked much like the outside in terms of the flooding. Except, brightly lit, you could see the wooden flooring. Right upon entering, there was a long desk and a sleepy looking female clerk reading a newspaper as she sat in a chair. She had faded red hair done in a sloppy pinned up-do and wore clothes that looked too modern that matched with the town’s appearance. She looked to be as old as Fitzsimmons but the stern expression she had on her face made her look older. Whether she was short or the chair, it was hard to tell. Her head barely cleared the counter as Dot walked right up to it. She looked up, lowering her glasses to take a good look at the trio.

“Yes—"

Armand rang the little bell.

The clerk looked annoyed but Dot’s gaze dared her to say something about it. The clerk continued after deciding that it was best not to pick a fight with a mother hen, “Can I help you?” even her tone sounded stern.

“We’d like a room to store our items. Does it cost anything to use a room for a couple of hours?” Dot asked. She surely wasn’t going to let anyone stay the night. She was also apprehensive of the clerk’s answer considering the impression they made on her didn’t seem to be a good one. But she surprised them.

“For a couple of hours? Thirty-five bucks.”

Even so, Dot thought that was still pricy given the condition of the inn. And the town.

“We’ll take it,” Dot briskly said. If the clerk had any questions about them, she didn’t ask. She rang up the order and gave them a single key as soon as Dot paid with the company expenses. Of course, they didn’t take a card but it was a good thing Dot carried cash on her, too.

Dot looked down at the key in her palm. It wasn’t a hotel keycard, but a bona fide brass key. She didn’t think anyone gave out room keys like this anymore. In an automated world, it was something of a shock.

“Rooms are up top.” She indicated with a jerk of her head and went back to her newspaper. It was a painless transaction for the most part.

The rest of the space that consisted of the inn was scattered with a sitting area with couches and chairs and coffee tables that surprisingly looked dry in the middle of a flooded room. Dot still wouldn’t sit in them and she wouldn’t allow Dodger or Armand to either. Beyond the seating area were a set of stairs and that was where they headed, heavy wet footsteps landing on the first solid floor they saw since arriving. The stairs turned into a hallway, lit by candlelight and veering off into many rooms behind closed doors.

The number of their room was numbered on their key.

13.

Dot held it up with a laugh, “Bad omen?”

Dodger breathed out through his nose. “This entire town is a bad omen.”

Dot laughed. “Preach, honey.”

Dot opened the door and though it didn’t make sense was glad to see that it wasn’t flooded. The interior was decorated as any regular motel; two beds, a dresser, bathroom, and a desk. There didn’t seem to be a television or a closet but that was alright. They weren’t going to be needing anything to entertain themselves and they didn’t expect to fully unpack. Dot wanted to do the job and get out. The day was still young and who knew where this was going to lead them? Hopefully not the entire day.

Just in case, she’d have to inquire about extended time if that’s what it took.

Dodger put down the suitcases, “I’ll make a quick run next door and grab the drink.”

Dot nodded, “Alright. It doesn’t take all three of us to do that job. We’ll meet you at ol’ Mr. Drunky-McDrunkface.”

“I thought his name was Fitzsimmons.” Armand inquired with sincerity.

Dot placed a hand on his cheek. “Oh honey.”

“First-Mate Fitzsimmons,” Dodger corrected before he ducked out the door.

Dot shook her head and started to haul their equipment briefcases onto the bed. Opening with a click, the sophisticated equipment looked impressive enough that Dot refrained from touching them. Much like DID, Dot was afraid of touching something and fear that it would break. Dodger worked on these items himself and so often handled them that she’d feel incredibly bad if it fell from her hands. Of course, he always insisted they were durable and tested one by dropping it to the ground.

It succeeded in making her laugh and instilling a bit more confidence in allowing her to handle some of the meters and cameras. There was no telling what they were going to need here, so she left everything as it was. She was just double-checking over the inventory despite knowing Dodger was thorough in everything he did.

Armand sat on the other side of the bed, bringing his leg up and exhibiting a wet boot. “What a strange sensation. It’s really uncomfortable.”

“I know but I’d advise not to change your shoes yet, love.” Dot said. “We still have to go back out and talk to Fitzsimmons unless you’d rather wait in the room for us.”

There was nothing to do and she didn’t want to stick Armand by himself even if she allowed him to play with her laptop. She thought she’d offer in any case. She was relieved when Armand shook his head.

“I want to stay close to you guys.” He smiled.

“And we want you close.” Dot smiled in return. “Now, come on. Let’s go see if Fitzsimmons remembered to stay still.”

Armand waited as Dot locked the door to the room and kept the key in a safe place on her persons. There didn’t seem to be anymore takers at the inn, so she felt everything would be relatively safe. Leading Armand through the waterlogged inn and outside once more, she was pleased to see that Fitzsimmons was still at the same place he had been before.

Dodger met up with them a few moments later, holding a silver flask in his hand. Without a word, he handed it to Fitzsimmons who unscrewed the thing in a hurry and seemed to gulp down whatever was in it. It was like watching a man who had been dying of thirst.

“Ah! That hits the spot!” he belched which earned him a grossed look from Dot and a startled jump from Armand. “Now I can continue on wi’ me tale.”

“Please do,” Dodger said without humor.

Bolstered, Fitzsimmons seemed like a new man as he recounted the tale that couldn’t have gone on without his dumbass drink. “As I were sayin’ before, I’m the sole survivor of the Ocean Spray. About a year ago, there wus a terrible upheaval in the waters that sunk us, wrecked off the coast of Whitecrest. Ah, so close to ‘ome, we were!” he took in a shuddering breath and continued, “The entire thing was disaster. But not too soon after, I be hearin’ things. It’s th’ wind, they say but nay! I know. I know them cries. For you see, among our goods for trade, we were burdened with a great treasure, a terrible treasure, and I suspect it’s the eerie powers that it yields that keeps the souls of me brethren trapped within’ the ships rottin’ remains.”

Now it was beginning to become clear why Stephen had been called. But at the same time, Dot wondered why the task wasn’t just passed onto the Agency if there were simple reports of a haunting. But then again, nothing was ever simple when it came to the Supernatural.

Fitzsimmons continued to moan, “I’m haunted by ‘em, day and night. M’best friend, Soggy, he calls for me.”

Dot had to clamp a hand over her mouth from laughing at the name Soggy. Was it in bad taste to make a joke about how ironic it was to be shipwrecked and have that name? Dot mentally waved the thought from her head and continued to make a straight face. The only indication that gave her thoughts away was the twitch in the corner of her lip. She met Dodger’s gaze and knew that he knew.

Fitzsimmons took them all by surprise as he grabbed Dot by the shoulders and started to shake her, “Please help me! Look for ‘im by the wreckage and… and… just tell ‘im to leave me alone!”

“Whoa, whoa whoa!” Dot exclaimed, trying to pull herself away from Fitzsimmons grip. It surprised her that he was stronger than he looked. She could tell that Dodger and Armand were bristling, kicking into action the instant Fitzsimmons had moved; Dodger gave Fitzsimmons a harsh shove in his chest with just enough strength to take him by surprise but not overpower him. Armand pulled Dot away and pulled her behind him.

“We’ll do this for you,” Dot stated from around Armand. “just calm down. We’re aware of how scary hauntings can be, just calm down.”

Fitzsimmons seemed to be appeased by the agreement, a hand over his sternum which was no doubt bruised thanks to Dodger’s freakish show of strength. He nodded mutely, seemingly submissive now. That shove must have sobered him up some.

“Thank ye, lass.” Fitzsimmons said quietly. Dot didn’t feel bad for him but was pleased to see he had the sense to be grateful for their help. Stepping out from around Armand, she gestured towards the docks. “Is the wreckage that way?”

Fitzsimmons nodded, helping further by pointing out the direction. “Along the coast, ya can’t miss it. It’s run aground. Should be half on the land.”

“Well, that does simplify things.”

The trio break away from Fitzsimmons to head towards the dock. They were surprised to see that it was floating. It wasn’t very comforting to Dot in any case. “I don’t know how they can live here,” she said with a sense of wonder. She couldn’t wrap her head around what could be so great about this place.

“Maybe they just don’t have anywhere to go,” Dodger reasoned.

“That’s ridiculous. The world isn’t confined to this one space.”

“That’s true.”

Instead of chancing the trip along the dock, Dot deemed it safer to go by land. And she didn’t really want to fall into the ocean. In order to walk along the coast, they had to walk out of Whitecrest and circle around. Dot reasoned they should stay close to the border of town because the rest of the area was marshland and she did not want to be stuck out in it. But first, they needed some of their gear. If this was ghost hunting, they needed it.

Heading back to the inn, Dot and Dodger passed equipment back and forth at each other.

“We don’t want anything too heavy.” Dot said, “We just need something to classify the entities so that means the Glasses and meters so we can see if they’re even around.”

Dot gave Dodger a weary gaze as she took spare Glasses from his hand. He had said earlier he reverse engineered them and was able to develop his own AI from what he had learned. There was a reason she had been so adamant on not being a witness to what he was saying. It was rumored that Tony Stark from 616 developed a sophisticated system of his own and much like the entity the government was, fought to acquire said technology. Apparently it wasn’t the first time Stark Tech had been requisitioned. It was a messy battle with the introduction of the 6969 government which was the benefactor of the leftover Dovir technology on the planet. Everyone wanted a piece of Stark’s technology which had utilized Dovir tech in order to create new equipment that aided the production of an upgraded Iron suit. Since the Dovirs had left technology on both worlds, it was more like a custody battle which eventually met a truce in the end. Mr. Stark would develop a blueprint for the governments to use but rumor was that he input a “dumb” AI to replace his sophisticated one: A.R.T.I.I. and he wasn’t budging on releasing specs on upgrading them; he did his part and washed his hands of the rest.

So, the Agency was the first to acquire usage of these A.R.T.I.I. Glasses. Who knew where else they flew to, but Dot’s experience with them had been with the Agency. They were quite useful; an automated system that allowed one to verify whether the entity you were looking at were Human or Supernatural based on previously collected data. That was all they really did, otherwise.

Funnily enough, rumors say that A.R.T.I.I. stands for A Really Tacky Intelligence Inside.

Dot was just worried that if word got out that Dodger was able to upgrade the specs himself, he might be in serious trouble. It was unclear which kind, too. They might arrest him and force him into giving up his own secrets or worse, what if Tony Stark finds out? Dot was tempted to ask for certain about D.A.D. but Dodger had moved on, explaining the camcorder functions to Armand.

“Armand’s going to be our camera guy?” Dot asked with a grin. She was clipping a taser to her thigh. The Agency’s lower level entry Agents didn’t use guns and she implemented the feature feeling guns were too much for her to use. If anything, she’s always felt more at home with a stun baton in her hands. If she needed anything for range, she had her taser gun and that was as close as she was getting. Besides, bullets didn’t harm ghosts. And she didn’t like shooting Supernaturals anyway; tasers did just as much damage overloading ghost energy or stopping a Bigfoot in its tracks based on the voltage. She often found she didn’t have to use these items, though. But Dodger insisted on taking them especially for her safety.

“I had entertained the idea,” Dodger admitted. “I’m giving him the easier ones. I’ll keep the Go Pro for myself.”

“Ah, of course.” Dot laughed. “I don’t even use the Go Pro.”

“You could. I could teach you, too.”

“I’m fine sharing the one Armand’s going to use,” Dot winked. Armand smiled and Dodger shook his head, his own good-natured smile beginning to take form before he got into serious mode. He patiently explained to Armand about the features of the camcorder he was entrusting in his hands. Armand was a fast learner and before Dot realized it, they were ready to hit the shore.

Leaving the inn behind, Dot lead the group to their planned trek out near the town’s border, walking along it and careful not to step into anything that could impede their progress.

Soon, their boots began to hit some solid ground more frequently than wading around in straight water. The coast was in their sight and the horizon of the ocean greeted them, sun shining brightly overhead. Dot had forgotten it was midday. It was like a new world out here. Dot continued to lead the group in silence, everyone concentrating on their footsteps and making sure they didn’t trip over any exposed roots or fallen logs and rocks.

Armand surprised them by breaking the silence with asking, “Do you think it was important that Doctor Strange solve this case?”

Dot and Dodger looked at each other as he was helping her over a large log. Dot had the thought before but now that Armand had said it, it was a good opportunity to reflect on it as a team.

“I’ve had the same thought,” Dodger admitted.

“Me, too.” Dot chirped in. “It’s a case the Agency could solve, no problem, so I wonder why the Agency didn’t get the call but Stephen did.”

“There has to be more beneath the surface,” Dodger said with certainty.

“Perhaps,” Dot said with a thoughtful tone. All it did was tell them to keep their guard up and as the saying goes, nothing is what it seems. Dot caught the sight of a mast poking out the mess of trees that blended in along the coast. “I think I see it.” she announced.

Surely enough, the Ocean Spray was drudged up on the coast. The mast Dot had seen had once held beautiful sails but they looked as ratty as ancient curtains, eating by very large moths. A shadow of its former self, it seemed cast in a constant state of shade. It lent the affect that the place was as dreary as it looked in solitude against a lively vibrant ocean. Waves were brushing up against its faded and forgotten wood, barnacles attached underneath occasionally peeked into view with the receding waters. Stepping closer to the wreckage filled one with a heavy air of apprehension. It looked older than a year old wreck which set off red flags in Dot’s mind. She was about to comment on it when Armand pointed out towards the horizon.

“There are more ships out there,” he said.

Dot and Dodger followed his gaze. The ocean was calm, its waves the only disturbance against the shoreline even as the scenery of several masts peering out of the water marked them like grave markers. Dot had no doubt underneath the waves rested an ominous ship graveyard.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this place,” Dot couldn’t help but utter. “It’s cold. Feels detached.”

Dot was talking about the emotion behind the wreckage. She could feel that there was a heavy air attached but it was hard to explain. Armand must have thought she meant she was physically cold because he took off his jacket and wrapped it around Dot’s shoulders.

“Oh, no, honey.” Dot laughed, shrugging out of it and wrapping it around his again. Looking at his bare arms really did make her look cold and she worried about it even though she knew logically, he couldn’t feel cold. “I meant, the feeling of the place. It’s a sad place. Definitely haunted like Fitzsimmons said.”

Armand frowned, his delicate brows coming together to complete the expression. His hands came up looking for something to do and landing on the collar of Dot’s jacket. He pulled them together as he asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

“They’re not strong emotions,” Dot smiled, touched at Armand’s worrying. Dodger stepped closer, nudging her to get her attention. She looked up, seeing he had his gaze on the ship.

“We might want to search it before it gets too dark.” He said, hinting at a great fear. Dot’s eyes widened in realization and she nodded with newfound resolve.

“Absolutely.”

The best thing to do was to search where they could on the dry land. Dot didn’t even think about going below the surface. The Ocean Spray was laying half on its side which made the top deck pretty accessible and that was where Dot wanted to search.

“We’re supposed to find somebody named Soppy?” Dodger asked.

Dot laughed, “Soggy.” She corrected.

The trio stopped in their tracks as soon as the air changed. It was Dot who turned around and saw that there was a figure standing behind them, further inland. She cleared her throat and Dodger and Armand’s gazes followed.

“I think we found him.”

“Okay, Armand, record everything from this point forward.” Dodger instructed as they started to walk towards the lone man near the tree line.

Soggy was clearly an apparition. The A.R.T.I.I. system picked up on that much. Not to mention, he was see-through. Faced with ghosts nearly every day for their job, it never got easier seeing one. It was especially jarring when they showed up out of nowhere. Armand was the only exception and even then, he couldn’t really convey what a Ghost was and why they did what they did. Even now as he was recording, Armand didn’t put off the normal appearance of a Ghost.

As they reached him, they could see he looked as weathered and old as Fitzsimmons; he had a long beard and mustache and a wool cap that fit over his head. His straggly hair was grayed and fell over his shoulders like stringy shoelaces. He had the appearance of someone who had lived their entire life on the sea. A rightful ol’ salt dog if Dot had ever saw one. Other than his ghostlike appearance, he didn’t seem threatening. As soon as he was ready, he started to speak.

His voice sounded like he was trapped underwater. But it wasn’t too hard to understand him. If they needed help, A.R.T.I.I. or D.A.D., Dot wasn’t sure at this point, had real-time subtitles scrolling along to guide them.

“Fitzsimmons must have sent ye, hah?”

Dot looked between Dodger and Armand before nodding at the apparition. So, there was some stock to what ol’ Fitzsimmons was saying.

“He told us he’s been hearing the wails of the deceased. Your wails.”

“He should.” Soggy said, thoughtful. Or as much as he could underwater. “The sailors of the Ocean Spray are damned. Damned and cursed to wander the shores in agony.” He sounded irritated, upset. Dot and Dodger exchanged a heavy glance at a certain word but before they can ask him to elaborate, he continued. “Fitzsimmons and his anguish are one in the same as ours. We be tied together; as long as we suffer, ‘ee suffers wi’ us. There canna be no rest for ‘im, not before ye end the sufferin’ of my crewmates.”

Dot swallowed thickly, not liking where this was heading. “…How can we do that?”

Soggy doesn’t answer but instead, disappeared. It left Dot in a stupor before she got irritated herself. “Why do they do that?”

“Because they live a hard life and want to make our lives hard, too?” Dodger suggested. The annoyance was in his tone and Dot laughed at that. “We have no idea how to end the suffering of his crewmates. But I’m not put off to a good purge.” Dodger continued. “Also, Armand, did you happen to get all that?”

Dot shook her head but Armand nodded. Then he asked, “Will the spirits be upset with us?”

“I don’t know how anyone can ever be upset with you,” Dot sighed but answered more seriously. “They’re not upset with us but just upset. They’ve been anchored to this realm for a long time, they’re—” Dot’s eyes widened. “Cursed.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” Dodger sighed, then added, “And it suddenly becomes clear why Stephen Strange was enlisted.”

“That’s…” Dot was at a loss for words. “Not even the Agency messes with Cursed items. I thought there was a special department for that.”

“There was a rumored special department for that.”

Dot worried on her bottom lip, looking lost. Dodger had pretty much taken the same expression, looking pensive and dark. Armand was the only one who didn’t understand.

“What’s wrong?”

Looking up, Dot explained, “Curses are bad news. They’re powerful because it can come to harm anyone indiscriminately. They can be triggered by anything, cast by anyone, and can be absolutely devastating. Curses are classified as unknown power with an even bigger unknown power set and aren’t dealt with in the Agency because they weren’t equipped to handle them. They didn’t even have a place to put Curses even if they could because then, the Curse would be attached to that area. I don’t know if the Agency did have a department that handled Curses but I know they didn’t handle them at all in the main office. If they popped up, they were never heard from again. I thought they got thrown out, something like, tough ass shit. We can’t do anything about it. And that was that. But apparently, I guess they were handed to Stephen or perhaps other Supers that had more knowledge and a way to deal with the Occult than we did.”

“You have to remember that the Agency is a fairly new organization and so is the fragile peace between the Humans and Supernaturals,” Dodger added. Then he sounded thoughtful, “It makes sense, though. A Sorcerer would be equipped to handle Curses especially if he had somewhere to put the items or a way to break them.”

“Are Curses items?” Armand asked.

“Usually. They need the items to be wished upon. Sort of like how Poltergeists need anchors like items or people to draw their power from. How Ghosts are attached to a place or item or a person to exist—basically, I’d say half of Supernatural aspects all revolve around objects. But a more powerful entity or Curse do not need items. That’s how you know shit is fucked. It’s nearly impossible to get rid of them unless you can purge the entity itself—but Curses are different. They aren’t entities. They’re wishes and you can’t purge something without a form.”

“The area becomes a Black Site. Nothing’s able to grow on the land and misfortune follows its inhabitants.” Dodger interjected, turning to Armand to further explain. “It could cause people to commit suicide, hear voices to drive them to do heinous things, or anything else to carry out its will.”

“Curses sound like serious business,” Armand stated, looking out towards the shipwreck. “If these sailors are Cursed, how do you expect to help them?”

Dot took in a deep breath. How indeed? She knew she promised Stephen that they’d accomplish what the Agency couldn’t do. Curses are a big deal but she didn’t want to go back on her word. She couldn’t imagine seeing the disappointed look on Stephen’s face when they have to report that they’ve failed.

She made up her mind.

“First, we’re going to have to find that item.”

Her resolve caused both Armand and Dodger to look at her; Armand even lowered the camera a little, peering out of the side. They were searching her expression. By now, they knew the dangers of Curses as well as Dot knew them herself. But she figured if they were careful, didn’t act like fools, they could come out of this thing on top.

“Alright, I’m in.” Dodger said, earning a grateful look from Dot.

Armand was also nodding along, looking as always, willing to help. He even lifted the camcorder higher as to emphasize his point. “Me, too!” He said, “I’m a Ghost, so I don’t think it should be hard for me to get out of sticky situations.” He paused and looked at Dodger, “Did I use that right?”

“Yes. You’re learning.”

“Ghost or not, we don’t want to put you in any danger, either.” Dot argued. “Just because you can go through objects doesn’t mean you’re entirely invincible. We still don’t know what can and cannot hurt you. This Curse might be even more dangerous to you because you’re …” Dot trailed off, not wanting to bluntly say Armand was dead. He seemed to understand though.

“Then I’ll be careful,” he said with a warm smile on his face.

The group now had the spooky task of searching the wreckage with the fact of ghosts looming over their heads. Dot didn’t want to think about it as Dodger pulled her up after climbing up to the top of the deck. He lifted her with ease and it never failed to surprise Dot when he did; where did he get his freakishly strong strength from? Armand was next and when the three of them took the time to realize where they were, it was time to put their serious faces on.

Dot looked out towards the horizon, the sun still shining brightly overhead. Dodger followed her gaze then met her eyes. “It’s still hours before dusk. We’ll be long gone before then.”

Dot half-smiled, grateful for the reassurance.

“You can stay above while I check further down if it makes you feel better.”

Dot shook her head, “I’m okay. As long as we’re not going in the water, I’ll be fine.”

Armand looked over, wondering what they were talking about. Dot explained.

“I have a fear of dark water. Like I said before, as long as my head is above or I can see the ground in a body of water, I’ll be fine.” Armand nodded, giving her a sympathetic expression.

“I’ll be with you.”

Dot smiled. “Thanks.”

True to Armand’s word, he stayed with her. Dodger took the lower quarters while Dot stayed one floor below the top deck. There were plenty of places to look around on top and Armand stayed by her side throughout the search while making sure to film for their records. The sentiment was doubly sweet as she soon discovered that the sailors were finally making their appearance. Since the only light provided was the sun and the ship barely had any windows or cracks for sunlight to filter through, Dot had to rely on the sweeping beam of her flashlight to help her search. She’s been in spooky and dark rooms before but something about a ghost ship filled her with dread. She wasn’t sure whether it was the knowledge of the Cursed item hanging over her head or expecting something to jump out at her which startled her more.

She and Armand were searching a room that looked like it had once held a navigator’s effects. The space wasn’t as cramped as the other rooms, providing a huge oval table in the middle with a tattered map on top. The furniture was old and dusty but that rang the same for the rest of the room, too. Cobwebs strung from various places like Halloween decorations and she decided the scenery wasn’t much different from a haunted house. The only sounds coming from the room were her own breathing and Armand softly shifting paper around on desks. There was plenty of paper in this room, too.

What first got her was when a stack of sheets fell, the familiar sound of a dozen or so sheets falling one after another slowly at first and then outward, like a fan. She jumped, turning around and meant to shine the light on the source but ended up face to face with an apparition that apparently had been standing behind her the entire time. She couldn’t help it, she squealed and swung her flashlight outwards in an arc that sent the apparition dispersing like smoke.

Armand was at her side in seconds, looking around, “What was that?”

“One of the sailors,” she wheezed, trying to catch her breath and slow her racing heartbeat. Her Glasses were giving her warnings about the activity level in the room. She slid them up to rest on the top of her head. “God, I hate when they do that!”

From then on, it was always out of the corner of her eye because she had learned not to turn around as fast as she had previously. If they weren’t moving objects in a shockingly short jerk or slamming doors from other rooms, they were whispering at her neck and touching her on the leg, on the shoulder, tugging her hair. It was aggravating but never failed to make her jump a little. She was never prepared for the touching. Eventually, Armand was standing at her back and they seemed to stop.

By then, she realized they had searched everything they could below deck. “Hopefully Dodger is having better luck,” she said, leading to the way to the staircase Dodger had taken below. It was darker down here and she was hesitant on going down. How the fuck was Dodger doing this by himself?

“Not quite,” he said as he emerged from underneath. Dot blinked in surprise as Dodger gestured for her to follow him. With apprehension, she and Armand went further below.

Much like above, there were plenty of rooms that was meant to serve as a trading vessel for a full crew. The galley was down here as was the Captain’s quarters and where the sailors slept. When their feet starting sloshing in water, Dot paused.

“Wh-where are you taking us, Dodge?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. Dot was about to remark about how that wasn’t an answer when she noticed he had stopped leading them and was now staring down at the ground. When she followed his gaze, her chest tightened. There was a little square opening that quite obviously had a ladder going down. It was where the water was coming from. There was another level and it was completely submerged.

“I’m willing to bet it leads to the hull and it was probably where they placed the goods.” Dodger explained. But Dot couldn’t tear her gaze away from the murky depths of the sea below. It was almost black and when she shined her light on it, she could have sworn she saw an eye dart away.

“You are NOT going down there,” Dot protested immediately.

Dodger was already taking off his jacket and boots and handing Armand his Glasses. As he was rolling up his sleeves, he said, “Don’t worry, I won’t be more than five minutes. I can hold my breath for fifteen. I won’t drown.”

“That wasn’t what I was worried about! Didn’t you see that eye!?”

Dodger shined his light on the hole and the trio stood in silence. “I don’t see anything.”

“It was there!”

“Are you sure you didn’t hallucinate it? Your fear of dark water, mingled in with the ghosts of the sailors—”

“I did not imagine it!”

Dodger stared at Dot, weighing her answer. She was emotional, yes, but she was also worried about his safety. The look on her face couldn’t lie to him and he had never known her to. “I believe you,” he said. Dot was relieved. “But I have to check.”

“Dodge—no—!”

Dodger had sat on the edge of the opening and slipped in like he was swallowed by the sea. She could see the beam of his flashlight sweep across from in the little opening before his head broke the water and he quite simply said, “I don’t see anything down here. I’ll be back.”

She couldn’t fight with him if he couldn’t hear her as his head went back under. Dot sighed heavily, like an upset mother, ranting to Armand about how he never listened to her. “He thinks he’s so brave! …I mean, he is but being brave doesn’t mean he’s not being stupid!”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Armand tried to reassure her, “If it makes you feel any better, I can go down there with him.”

Dot gripped Armand’s arm, “No! Him going down there is bad enough. You stay here where I know you’re safe.”

And she sat there, gripping Armand’s arm. When five minutes past, she began to panic.

“He said five minutes. He said five minutes, right?”

“Yes,” Armand agreed, patting Dot’s hand. “do you want me—”

“If you say go down there, I’m going to spank you.”

Armand’s eyes widened and he clamped his mouth shut.

Six minutes. Dot knew because she was counting.

Seven.

Eight.

She was contemplating on going herself. Dot broke away from Armand and started to take off her own jacket and propped herself against the wall to start taking off her boots, “I’m going in!”

As soon as she popped her boot off, Dodger emerged. He took a deep gasp for breath, shaking his curls free of excess water and brought his arm up to support himself. “I found it.”

“I hope you’ve found Jesus down there, too,” Dot snapped. “That was nearly ten minutes! What happened to ‘Oh, it’ll just be five minutes, Dot!’ It wasn’t five minutes!”

Dodger looked surprised, “It wasn’t five minutes?” Before Dot could reply, he lugged up with some effort what looked like a medium sized lockbox onto the wooden flooring. Water sloshed off the intricately carved top and rolled down the sides and it shut Dot up. The object was no doubt Cursed. She could immediately feel it.

“It must have been this,” Dodger continued. “I could have sworn I set my timer to go off in five—” Just then, his wrist watch started to beep. “—minutes. See, I must have been stuck in some time-altered space.”

“Good work, Dodge…” Dot murmured. Just being in its presence was uncomfortable never mind what Dodger had been insinuating.

Armand said it in words. “There’s a really unsettling feeling about that thing. It’s really dangerous.”

“I tried to open it but it won’t open. I figured it was safer in the lockbox anyway.”

“Why the fuck would you try to open it?”

Dodger paused. “Hm... you’re right. That wasn’t a really good idea. I wonder if it clouded my judgement, too.”

“Come on, let’s get the hell out of here,” Dot sighed. She helped Dodger up and they both took the time to put their clothes back on. Dodger had asked why she had taken her things off but she just gave him a pinch on the cheek. He still had a look of confusion on his face when Dot told him to grab the lockbox and haul ass out of there.

By the time the trio made it back on the shore, the sun was sinking lower. Dot’s eyes widened in realization. “Just how long were we down there?”

“It couldn’t have been for more than an hour,” Dodger said, looking down at his watch. “right?”

Dot didn’t want to admit it but she cast a glance at the box and knew she’d be glad when Stephen came to take it off their hands. If this thing had the ability to mess with their sense of time, who knew what else it could do. Well, besides curse sailors to a horrible afterlife haunting the ship they died in.

“Let’s see if ol’ Soggy is around.”

It sounded like a good suggestion at the time but try as they might, there was just no sign of him. Dot rubbed her head, feeling stumped. “Well, maybe taking this thing out of the ship brought peace to him and the sailors. Let’s see if Fitzsimmons feels any different.”

Armand was turned around, looking back towards the ship catching the two’s attention. The camcorder off and forgotten in his hand.

“What is it, love?”

“I don’t know. It just feels different.”

Dot took a moment to follow Armand’s gaze and understood. The aura surrounding the ship felt lighter. She gave Armand a warm smile, rubbing his back. “Come on, let’s get someplace warm, soon.”

Once more, they made the trek following the town’s border back into the town square. It was unfortunate the town was still submerged. Since Dodger was walking around soaked, supposing it made no difference to him.

“I’m hella surprised Fitzsimmons wasn’t in the place we left him,” Dot said once they got to where they last seen him. His spot was empty, just a lonely looking sandbag wall and no remnants that he had been there before. “but he’d be crazy to stay out here with the sun sinking as fast as it is.”

It was amazing to them how fast night was approaching. Dot was just glad to be out of the vicinity of the ship at this point. She then suggested the tavern, “He might have been allowed to go back in. Let’s see if he’s there and if not, maybe he’s in one of these rowboats.” She joked.

“That, I would not doubt.” Dodger agreed.

The tavern looked to be busy for as busy as it could get with a population of twenty. It was just surprising to Dot that there was a nighttime crowd even in a place like Whitecrest. She had no idea what Dodger experienced but by his expression, he wasn’t surprised. Or impressed.

She went to the first person she saw who happened to be a barkeep and asked, “Do you happen to know if Fitzsimmons is around here somewhere?”

“Fitzsimmons?” The barkeep scrunched his nose, taking on the appearance of a piglet. He looked thoughtful through his confusion as if trying to recall everyone he’s ever met in his life. “There ain’t nobody ‘round ‘ere a-named Fitzsimmons.”

Dot had that same feeling of dread in her stomach and all those little red flags started to appear again. She just knew something weren’t right. But she had to ask. “Are you sure? I mean, he was pretty drunk when we saw him. Must mean he comes in here all the time. Even said he was kicked out—”

“No, ma’am. Ain’t no Fitzsimmons ‘round ‘ere.”

There was something in the barkeep’s tone that convinced Dot that he had been sure. She exchanged glances between Dodger and Armand who looked just as stumped as she did. Dot gestured with her head that they should leave.

On their way out, they were stopped by a man seated near the exit.

“Did ye say Fitzsimmons?”

His gravelly voice caught their attention if not the name. Dot wanted to feel relief but something was telling her not to relax yet. The group quietly sat down at the table, Dodger turning on his Go Pro, determined to catch whatever information they might need to review. But Dot wasn’t focusing on that right now. She was focused on yet another old man.

“That’s right,” she said. “do you know him?”

“I’m a relative.”

Dot’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh, great. Okay, well can you tell him—”

“A relative of the man of a man of a man of a man who married his daughter.”

“…Of course.”

“Legend ‘round these parts speak of ol’ Fitzsimmons who died a long, long time ago. He might ‘ave been a townee at one point, but ya gotta check the registry to see for certain. Considerin’ not a lotta people live ‘round here no mo’, the registry gotta be, say, a hunnred years ol’.”

“That’s… fantastic,” Dot sighed, sinking lower in her seat. “Well, can you tell us the rest of this legend?”

The man nodded, “Course. Around the time of the Great War, Whitecrest was a burstlin’ harbor. It didn’t look anythin’ like it does today. It was more advanced, for one. It weren’t flooded. But one thing remains the same, we relied on trade the same way we do today. S’what gives this town its prosperous roots. Well, the Dovirs changed that. Much liken they changed most parts. With the Glassing attempt, the seas changed. The day it happened, the seas were the worst they ‘ave ever been and ain’t nothin’ been like it since. Unfortunately, lots of our ships ne’er came back that day. The closest anyone e’er seen was the wreck off the coast, the Ocean Spray.”

There was a moment of silence before the man said quietly, “I wouldn’t suggest goin’ out there. Especially this late at night. Place is real spooky-haunted.”

There was irony in that statement but unfortunately none of them were energized enough to appreciate it. But apparently he wasn’t done there.

“E’ery so often, people like yourself come ‘round and claim they on an errand or whatnot for Fitzsimmons. Somethin’ about wails and cur-sed objects—" he paused, looking over at Dodger as the Cursed lockbox sat on his lap and he seemed to finally take in the soggy appearance. There was another beat of silence before he finally said, “But that’s jes’ a legend, right?”

No one said anything else. Dot stood up and Dodger and Armand followed. They quietly made their way to the inn. Dodger announced he was going to take a shower and no one blamed him. Dot was next but Armand simply changed out of his clothes and laid on the bed next to Dot.

“Do you think this case was a success?” he innocently asked.

Dot tilted her head back, trying to get a better look at him. It was so sweet of him to ask. She was confused and honestly, terrified of what they went through, but she nodded. “I think so. We retrieved an item that was obviously dangerous. Fitzsimmons and Soggy and this weird town, I’m sure we put a lot of their worries to rest. Some might not even realize it.”

Armand looked happy enough with Dot’s answer, content with everything in his little ghost world. They remained in silence for a while, Dot idly playing with Armand’s hair when Dodger returned. He looked renewed and Dot decided she wanted to wash away the day’s endeavors with a hot shower herself.

“Alright, my turn.” She grinned, grabbing her spare clothes.

“Towels are in there,” Dodger commented as she passed and she gave him a peck on the cheek. The door shut and Dodger started to put away the gear. Armand watched in silence before he asked, “Do you think I’m different from these Ghosts? I know it’s been explained that there are all types of Ghosts but Fitzsimmons and Soggy seemed different from the Ghosts in the ship.”

“You are an entire class of your own, Armand.” Dodger said. It might have sounded like an insult but he meant that with all the compliment he could muster. And Armand certainly took it that way. He smiled.

“I think it’s amazing such a little town like this has such a big legend. What do you think? Do you think we caught all the good stuff with the camera? We certainly have proof we spoke to Soggy but… Fitzsimmons is going to be a little harder to prove, huh? It would certainly help Doctor Strange have a better understanding of our story.”

Dodger looked thoughtful before he picked up the camcorder that Armand had been using the entire day. He hooked it up to his laptop and pretty soon, the entire video was playing on the bigger screen. Armand moved closer to also take a look.

It was obvious Dodger had taught Armand proper. As soon as the camera turned on, Armand’s face was in the screen and he was obviously fumbling with it was Dodger could be heard in the background.

“Okay, Armand, record everything from this point forward.”

Then it cut to black. Armand looked shocked.

“I could have sworn I recorded everything.”

Dodger remained silent, watching the black screen before it flickered to life again. They were walking towards the ship. Scenes jumped from when they were being pulled up to searching around in the cabins. Dot’s jump scares were on camera but other than the trio looking shocked or otherwise frightened, there was nothing to show for it.

Dodger made a noise of disapproval and Armand looked guilty thinking it might have been his fault. “Don’t worry,” Dodger reassured. “this might be a common occurrence if a Curse is involved.” He pulled his camera over and repeated the same process of setting it up on his laptop to watch.

It pretty much recorded the same thing and Armand knew that Dodger wouldn’t have made mistakes. It made him feel a lot better knowing the error wasn’t on his end.

“See,” Dodger stated. “It’s alright. If I had to guess, I assume the Cursed objects prevents being catalogued this way. This is interesting. I’ll have to develop a system that’d allow for its capture.” He started mumbling off things to himself Armand couldn’t even fathom and he had no desire to ask.

Instead, he mused aloud, “Whatever happened is in our memories and experiences now. We’ll have to recite everything to the Doctor.”

“Let’s hope he believes us,” Dodger mused. He had taken out a legal pad and began to write down everything he remembered as it happened. Since the memory was so fresh, he had no problem writing down his accounts and then asking about Armand’s and Dot’s since they were separated.

“We’ll present this as a present to Dot,” Dodger suggested. “she hates the paperwork.”

Armand wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not but coming from Dodger, it might as well have been a serious suggestion.

#{{ original drabbles: spooktober 2019

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