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blueyesandleatherjacket · 5 years

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The summertime of our lives, 6/6

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 6/6.

Pairings: Ninetoo x Rose.

A/N: Written for @doctorroseprompts summer bingo. Five summer-themed words: Animal, Boat, Breeze, Magic, Wave (BINGO!). Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” - William Shakespeare.

CHAPTER 6:

The fair was crammed with people. The summer was beautiful and hot and people preferred staying outdoors than going back home where they wouldn’t sleep because of the persistent heat. The Doctor wasn’t complaining. He liked the heat, the summer. After surviving a cold and harsh winter, he definitely preferred summer. But that summer, the first one he was sharing with Rose, was as special as fantastic. He wanted more of them. He wasn’t ready for winter to come back again with its colds and winds and rains. So he was enjoying this warm night out with Rose. They had shared an ice-cream, bought the banana shorts – he had even accepted to wear them tonight – and had had dinner in a nice little restaurant. Since then, they had been wandering around in town. He had been quite uncomfortable surprisingly. With Rose’s hand in his, nothing could go wrong. Just like the old times. Their steps eventually led them to the fair and Rose and acted like a five-year old child around the attractions. As a former Time Lord, this was all trivial pursuits. He had had no time for that when the universe kept calling out for help. Today, he was living a human life and his time was limited. He had to enjoy every minute of every day. He went on the merry-go-round with Rose, rode the ghost train – none of them were scared and they had a good laugh – jumped on trampolines, drove small karts – Rose mentioned something called Mario Kart but he didn’t get the reference. They spent lots of money in many attractions – the bumper cars were fun, especially when he was playing against an expert like Rose, and stopped for giant candy flosses. It was a break in their night of fun. The candies tasted different. He had never eaten something like this before and didn’t know if he liked it or not. It was sour and fizzy. Weird. And the faces he was making were amusing Rose. They were casually zigzagging between people when Rose’s eyes fell upon something that really caught her attention. Since her mouth was full of sugar, she just bounced up and down, a hand holding her candy floss, the other pointing at what she had seen. Her eyes were sparkling with joy and excitement. He followed the direction of her finger and sighed. Of course. Typical. Cliché. This was the attraction all the girls and women loved and every boy and man had to prove themselves on it. Rose was pointing at a giant unicorn plushie which was the biggest prize of their shooting attraction. Grab a gun, shoot the heart of the target and you were the winner. But the game was rigged and it was impossible to win. Here, the targets were replaced by old stuffed toys that weren’t up for sales because of flaws or wears. Small ones so they were harder to shoot. He could see where this was leading him. “It doesn’t fit in the car.” “I don’t mind.” “Do you known unicorns are fake animals created by humans?” “In our original universe, they are fake.” “And not in this one?” “I’ve seen one in my many attempts to get back to you.” “You kidding?” “Nope. The only proof is in Torchwood.” “You brought…” “I would never condemn anyone to that.” She finished her candy floss and tossed the stick in a bin. The Doctor imitated her and joined her in a couple steps toward the shooting attraction. She had such an aversion of Torchwood that she surely knew more about their activities than she was telling him. It wasn’t only because they had tested her. There was something else and she wouldn’t say a word about it. He wasn’t cleared to hear that information. When he would be the Doctor with his TARDIS again, he would dismantle the whole organisation brick by brick. “Win the unicorn for me?” Her aversion was gone. She was back at smiling and pleading him for that huge animal plushie. He could boast about him not doing domestics, about him being a strong male, she would always do all she wanted of him. So if she was watching him like this with begging eyes and batting eyelashes, he would give in without a second thought but with an annoyed sigh. And just with that, she knew she had won. She grabbed his hand and ran toward the attraction. They had to wait until the group of males before them was done with pretending they were any good to finally access the game. Rose dropped money on the counter. “One round for mister Big Ears.” “Oi!” protested the Doctor and Rose at the same time. “Pick your gun, shoot the toys. If you have them all, you win the giant unicorn.” The Doctor looked all the guns on the counter. There were different sizes and models. He picked a Sig Sauer. A Smith & Wesson would have been better, lighter, but it would do. He was given five little fluorescent green marbles. He slipped them in the charger and unlocked the security. He aimed. “Don’t shake like this, mate. This isn’t a real gun.” The man had no idea of what this gun reminded him of. Rose did. She realised she had done a mistake. Putting a gun in the hands of a war survivor, in the hands of someone deeply traumatised by the horrors caused by weapons. She put her hand over his. “Doctor,” she began softly. “You don’t have to do this. I’m sorry.” No. He didn’t want to give up. He wasn’t about to kill anyone. Not ever. He was the man who never carried a gun. His children of Time, as Davros called them, were his weapons. It wasn’t any better. In the end, there always were victims around him. He lowered the Sig. He had to clear his mind. “Sir, it’s just a game. If you don’t wanna do it, I give the money back.” To prove he was a man of his words, the stallholder pulled the money they had given him out of his cash case and pushed it back toward Rose. She was about to take it back when he clenched his teeth, aimed the gun and pulled the trigger five times. Only then did he put the weapon down. “You’d be a very bad killer,” commented a Scottish accent. Alec Hardy had joined them. He was on duty tonight, watching over the town in his grey suit with a messy tie. He was patrolling around when he had seen them. Seeing Maxence Spitz with a gun had caught his attention. He wasn’t an expert but he wasn’t a beginner either. He could hold a weapon but he wasn’t a good shooter. He had missed all the targets. “Would you be better?” the Doctor defied him in return. “I’m not armed, but I’m trained to fire so it wouldn’t be fair.” The detective was showing no hostility to him. He wasn’t entering the game. Had Rose talked to him? Or had he seen that he wouldn’t stand another chance? He simply asked how they were and dropped the news: a suspect had been arrested but he wouldn’t talk for now. This brought memories to the Doctor’s mind. Him, on the deck of a boat, a man above his body. He was sat against the railing, a cigarette in hand, and was meticulously burning the bruise skin of his torso; A laugh was echoing. It was disgusting, revolting. “Doctor?” He snapped back to reality. Rose and Hardy had taken him aside, away from the attraction, from people. Rose had her hands on his shoulders but her voice wasn’t getting to his ears. There seemed to have cotton in there but he could hear the music loud and clear. It was deafening; He cleared his throat. He had had an off moment but he was back. “Sorry, got lost in my thoughts. Happens often.” “No,” refuted Rose. “There was more to those thoughts. You had a memory.” Of course. He should know better than to lie to her. She would always decipher his mind. It was easier now that he was human. His brain was simpler, working like hers instead of working like one of those quantum computers they used in their advanced technology. It was rather frustrating sometimes. “’s nothing. I was on that boat, cigarette in hand and…” he swallowed, mimed the gesture of pressing a ciggy on his chest. “And someone was laughing. Nothing else. No face, no name.” Alec was writing down in his small notebook, Rose was stroking his hand with her thumb. Anger was boiling in her veins but she was unshaken. Except for him, no one could read her feelings. She was tough. Torchwood had changed her. Both in good and bad ways. “Anything else you’d remember?” The Doctor as about to snarl but the detective was just trying to help him. He was doing his job. The Doctor focused, gathered the little memories he had of that failed party. The deck and the laugh came back naturally. He was back on that boat. It wasn’t the yacht Rose and him were sharing. It was smaller. They were several like him, enslaved, compelled to do terrible things but he was alone when he was found. What had happened to the others? He concentrated on the laughing guy. He must have seen something. Anything that could help. The face as always blurred. He couldn’t see the features but there was… “On his arm. The right. He had a tattoo.” He was pointing at his own arm. Up the forearm, right before the elbow joint. A medium dark tattoo. It was representing some sort of logo. Something he had already seen. He drew it approximately on Hardy’s notebook and, from the corner of his eyes, he saw Rose’s face turning pale. She recognised the symbol. “That’s Torchwood. They have a special unit. All the members have this tattoo.” “What’s that unit up to?” “They’re like the SWAT or else, except they’re operating on paranormal stuff.” “There’s nothing paranormal.” “You’d be surprised,” replied the Doctor and Rose. Alec Hardy was too rational to believe in something extra-terrestrial or paranormal. That was better this way. The less he knew, the safer he was. That’s certainly why Rose had kept him in the dark on some aspects of her life. But like everyone in this world, he knew about Torchwood. At least about their activities on the face of it. Pharmaceutical researches and alien experiments. They were playing their cards close to their chest. “If he’s really from that special unit, you won’t get anything from him. He’ll be out before tomorrow morning. They’re untouchable.” That was highly displeasing for the detective. He put his notebook a pen back in the inside pocket of his jacket. He would do his own researches on that case. Rose had to leave them alone for a moment. Leaving the Doctor with Alec wasn’t the best of ideas because of their stupid rivalry but he was the only one she trusted to protect him just the time for her to call someone and settle a score. When she came back to them, the Doctor was hugging the giant uniform plushie with a gleeful grin on his face. Next to him was a moody Alec Hardy. They had spent the time she was gone to win the biggest prize. This was unusual for Alec. She grinned and hugged the soft toy and the two men, thanking Hardy for his work and help, thanking the Doctor for this unicorn for her. Their night of fun was over. The Doctor still needed rest and it was getting late. And Hardy still had work to do.

The window was slightly open and a fresh breeze was stroking their bodies. The night was hot and the Doctor couldn’t find sleep. Neither could Rose. So they were just lying there in bed, talking to each other. It was only light talks, funny words and projects for the near future. It was nice to think of the future. Of a future with Rose. He couldn’t imagine the rest of his life without her. “What about the tattoos?” He had noticed that she had the same and he had insisted on getting back the ribbon he had when he was found on that boat. He was keeping it with the sonic screwdriver. Precious objects. Her tattoos were as fresh and delicate as his. They couldn’t touch it yet. They had to heal first. They were getting itchy. “Oh. Yeah.” It seemed to sadden her that he didn’t remember this part but it wasn’t his fault. None of this was his fault. None of what had happened was his fault. He was the victim here even if this word would never be used in front of him. Calling him a victim would lead to a fight. It would hurt his ego, hurt his feelings. That’s not what she wanted. She wanted him to believe in himself again, to find a real self-confidence he was lacking of. So the word was forbidden. “One of the guests told us he was a specialist in particular weddings ceremonies like hand fastening. Your face lit up like Tony’s on Christmas morning. You said that it was what you wanted for us instead of a formal boring ceremony in white and, to be honest, the way you described the ceremony… I really wanted it. I wanted us to be married forever. And we did it. It was magical.” He could see the tears brimming in her eyes. They were tears of happiness because it had been such a beautiful moment. She found his hand and held it as while she told him the whole ceremony the vows they pronounced, the ribbon fastened around their hands and wrists. The memories were coming back to him – or was it his imagination – accompanied by the soft sound of her voice. Magical indeed. Maybe they had taken this decision too fast but he wouldn’t go back. He was Rose’s husband now and forever. And to seal the magic of the moment, they made sure to never forget that they were bonded by this ribbon, they had found an exceptionally open late tattoo parlour and asked for a matching tattoo. They had been lucky with the result. “What do you think Torchwood was doing here?” “Looking for something. The drug was only working on people not entirely human.” “You were affected too.” “Bad Wolf.” “But they weren’t after us. Or they wouldn’t have left us behind.” “Pete knows my opinion on the subject. If he lays a finger on you, Torchwood goes boom.” “That won’t stop them.” “I know.” “What do we do?” “Make no waves. Lie low. Then, we leave forever.” The Doctor couldn’t help but smile like crazy. Make no waves. As if it was possible for him not to make waves. He wasn’t running into troubles. They were finding him everywhere he was. Even when he was enjoying holidays with his now wife. And despite the inconveniences, it had been the summertime of their lives. One he would cherish for the rest of his short life…

THE END

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AO3 ||TS.

#doctor who #doctorroseprompts #ninth doctor #rose tyler #doctor x rose #dw fic #prompt fulfilment #the summertime of our lives

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

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Team Titans #23

Redwing must have been furious when she didn't make the Birds of Prey roster.

The good news is that I'm almost done reading all of the Team Titans comic books I own. The gooder news is that I'm almost done reading all of the New Titans comic books I own! The most goodest news of all is that I'm still alive somehow. Although that's only good news in the sense that, by being alive, I can appreciate being alive. The news that I were dead would be just fine with me as well because I wouldn't have to hear it. The good news about the bad news of my death is that none of you would hear of it either! You'd all just believe that I got bored of writing comic book reviews and went off to live on a beautiful tropic island full of kittens. After I finish reading Team Titans and New Titans, I'll have to dig out another old series to reread. I'm excited to find out what it will be! I was on Twitter earlier and was perplexed by this person's response to a Tom King tweet. If a smarter reader than me could explain what he meant, I'd truly appreciate it!

My current theories: 1. He's just a Trumpist and knows Tom King isn't a white supremacist asshole so he simply assumes this tweet is somehow mocking Trump. 2. The Tweet didn't delve inside the mind of the protagonist thus relying too much on the reader using their own mind to form conclusions of the protagonist's intent, making it a 'difficult' read. 3. The person replying probably just responds this way to all of Tom King's tweets because Batman isn't punching enough villains these days.

This issue begins with Jensen practicing some of his beat poetry.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Audience nods smartly while puffing nonchalantly on long cigarettes.

Redwing has transformed into a woman with the head of a bird and huge talons on her hands. If any of these Team Titans had a romantic interest in her, they'd probably be thinking, "Did her anus, vagina, and urethra just merge into a cloaca?" But apparently none of them do have that kind of interest because none of them are currently throwing up the way I am after having that thought. But now I'm also thinking of Hawkman and Hawkwoman's sex talk. "Let's kiss cloacae, baby!" While everybody tries to pretend Redwing is still the same person she's always been (except grosser), Chimera reminds the Team Titans that other totally-not-monsters-just-because-they-look-like-human/animal-hybrid creatures are trying to kill them. For some reason, Redwing attacks the other Team Titans. Maybe she's just trying to get them to admit that they all think she's a monster now. If that was her plan, it works because Lapidus is all, "If you're intent on proving you're as much a monster inside as well as out, then you'll have to go through me!" Idiot! You're not supposed to say she looks like a monster to her face! You're supposed to act more like her brother Prester Jon and avoid eye contact and tugging at the inside of your shirt collar and mumbling things like, "Yikes!" At least that allows you to deny your true feelings when she confronts you about why you're acting so weird.

Me at prom.

Sometimes I completely understand that I'm reviewing comic books that never wanted me as an audience. I don't care what young person is infatuated with what other young person, or how much bullshit drama one member of the team can create for no reason at all. If I was, I would be a fan of the Legion of Super-heroes. So if I hate this comic book with such passion that I've certainly spontaneously created at least five kidney stones within me, it really shouldn't reflect on the comic book at all. I'm sure somebody cares that Killowat has a crush on Mirage but he's also a racist piece of shit. I'm sure somebody cares that Terra has littered the Troy Family Farm with stone dildos because Changeling won't fuck her. I'm sure somebody cares that Prestor Jon has an issue with his sister because she doesn't look as human as she used to (while it's okay for him to look like Stretch Armstrong). But that someone is not me. I don't think it ever was me. Half the comic books I own were purchased because of simple momentum. I bought the first issue and felt compelled to buy the second issue and, well, fuck it? Why not just keep buying them no matter how terrible they were?! I know that doesn't say anything positive about my decision making but then I've also never claimed to be good at making decisions. The fact that I read every comic book of The New 52 for six or seven years proves that! Prester Jon refers to Qurac as "hell on Earth" which Chimera has opinions on.

"Hell! What a western concept! But, I mean, you're right and I'm going to go along with that characterization so I don't even know why I pointed that out!" I didn't say she had strong opinions on it.

Chimera mentions that she last met the Team Titans in Team Titans Annual #1. Fuck! I didn't review that issue! I'm sure I own it but it might be stored with all of the Bloodlines Annuals. Well, I guess I can review it whenever I find it during my reread of all of my thousands of comic books from the last forty years!

It's true that I never expected Peter David's Aquaman but I certainly wasn't waiting for it.

Prester Jon tries to discover what caused Redwing's transformation (as well as that of the human/animal hybrids outside) while a young Quraci girl looks at Redwing and cries. I think it's supposed to be touching how the little girl can't communicate but she can feel emotions. Although it would be better if she could communicate because, for some reason, she knows the entire backstory as to how and why people became mutant animal monsters. Something about how aliens crashed in the desert and Circe saw they could be used to make human/animal hybrids but some of the aliens died in the desert and when Cheshire nuked Qurac, the aliens were atomized and everybody breathed in cremated alien space DNA. It's totally the kind of thing a little girl would know all about. Chimera shows Killowat and Terra that the Americans have come to Qurac to save the oil and not the people. That sets off Killowat's Angry Right Wing Logic Centers.

Oh? Is criticizing America's foreign policy of protecting investments considered politically correct? Although doesn't this anger and argument seem tame from a 2019 perspective?

Anybody who begins an argument with "I refuse to believe" is a person with whom I immediately stop arguing. It's a great opening tactic because I appreciate your desire to not waste my time by immediately revealing that you won't be listening to facts and evidence. Also, "I refuse to believe America would rape a country of its resources at the expense of saving the people" may as well be a declaration that you spent most of your time in history class yelling, "Nyah nyah nyah nyah! I can't hear you!" Not that America's public educational system was particularly great at exposing America's imperialistic abuse! There's definitely a reason right wing thinkers believe college educations turn people into leftists. Because it does! Leftists are just rational people who aren't viewing the world through the lens of preconceived opinions! College educations are less about broad generalizations and more about trying to put history in as much context as possible. Patriots are often as blind as people of faith. One of the conditions of being faithful is to not question your faith. It's right there in the word! So any examination of your faith is questioning that which you shouldn't question. Being a patriot is the exact same thing. If you question our government, you're against our government. There's no belief in trying to improve our government because it's an acceptance of flaws in the United States. Of course now that's simply become a way to not ever question anything a Republican does because obviously everything any Democrat does is completely wrong. It's believing in tribe over anything else. I am not a Democrat because I believe whatever the fuck every Democrat believes. Hell, I'm not even technically a Democrat! I am liberal, sure. But I don't support any idea or belief from what would be considered my tribe. And neither are a lot of liberals which is why you have trouble with Democratic voter turnout. Every Republican nominee is practically interchangeable. As long as they spout the handful of talking points important to the accepted base (2nd amendment, anti-abortion, Christian values, white supremacy...I mean states rights!), they'll do. But Democrats have the constant fight over whether a candidate will lose voters if they move left away from center while hardly ever acknowledging how many votes they'll gain as they move left. I've always said they should abandon all those assholes at the center. If you're only voting Democrat because you support their social views but don't want higher taxes maybe you're actually a Republican. Because if the Democratic party moves further left and you abandon it because of taxes to side with the gun toting fetuses who support locking up refugees on our southern border, who the fuck wants you at that party anyway?! Back to the comic book, the Team Titans speculate that the cremated alien DNA has combined with the tainted oil in Qurac and the metagenes in certain individuals to transform them into monsters. So now they've got to destroy all of America's profits by making sure the oil isn't sold all over the world. Killowat is all, "I can't believe we're going to save the world at the risk of America's profits!" I mean, he doesn't say that explicitly. But I can read between his racist and xenophobic lines.

Finally an argument that wins him over!

Look, I get being resistant to truth! Whenever I brush my teeth, I can't help thinking about the Barney song where they mime brushing with huge toothbrushes and sing, "While I'm brushing my teeth and having so much fun, I never let the water run!" And then I just let the water run! I know, I know. I'm a fucking monster! Terra and Killowat solve the problem by putting the contaminated oil back into the ground. That seems scientifically sound enough that I won't bother questioning it like a college-educated leftist. But Killowat assures Chimera that she hasn't won the argument even though her argument was simply, "Maybe you should question your government sometimes, idiot." Meanwhile the animal people attack the other Titans upstairs. The Titans can't kill them because they were once people (although I guess if they had always been sentient monster people, it would have been okay to kill them? Sometimes I'm not entirely sure of comic book superhero rules). They solve their problem by sending them into a Fairy Land via one of Chimera's portals. She was hesitant to do it earlier because she didn't know if what transformed them was catching. But now that Prester Jon somehow did science and figured out what happened, everybody agrees it's okay to banish them to a world where they'll never see their loved ones again and nobody will work out how to save them and they'll probably just turn on each other when they get hungry. Superman throwing every villain into the Phantom Zone has left a terrible example for young heroes to follow!

Oh the 90s! When every time anybody said anything, you had to wait a few seconds to see whether or not they really believed what they just said!

Later Killowat acts like a total jerk. But he acts like a different kind of total jerk than he usually acts like. So after he's done, he says, "Whoa! What just happened?! Is that shadowy person on the ground hiding behind the tree controlling me?! And who might it be?! ZERO HOUR!" Team Titans #23 Rating: B-. They sure used to pack a lot of story and words into comic books, didn't they?! And for only $1.95! That's two dollars less than the crappy comics DC puts out today that have four less pages and far less story every month! And it's three dollars less than Marvel books! No wonder Marvel is more popular. People probably look at the price and think, "Whoa! I'm getting a whole dollar more quality out of this comic book than that stupid DC comic book!" It also might help that Marvel doesn't mind having synopses of the story to help new readers or old readers whose memories aren't that great anymore. DC refuses to do the same, instead relying on the writer wasting two or three pages of actual story where characters think about what happened in the previous issue. A lot of DC books suck in collected formats!

#Team Titans #Teen Titans #DC Comics #DC #Comic Book Review

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squidproquoclarice · 5 years

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Do you take writing requests? I noticed your backstory for Arthur and Abigail and I'm curious if you would be willing to write that out. Can't wait for the next chapter of May The Sunrise!

July 1894Western Minnesota

It was one of the good nights, one of the real good nights. The bank job went over flawlessly that afternoon, and they’d made it back to camp. Whiskey and beer flowing, songs being sung–watch maintained by John and Javier first, though, just in case. She felt good too. She’d been with them only a few months, but they’d become something special to her already. Family, a different kind of family from all the sisters she’d had growing up among painted ladies in Council Bluffs. She had menfolk in her life now too, and as more than transient marks or customers, and more than–well, Uncle sure wasn’t much, whatever he was. A father of sorts in Hosea, and the rest, some aimed to be brothers, and others, there was nothing to be ashamed of a girl having a good time with some fine-looking men. She and Javier had some fun, and Lord, the things that man knew how to do, wicked and gentle all at once. She’d had her share of men before that, but truly, she’d had little idea. Dutch–Dutch had been another thing entirely. She’d ended that night exhausted in the best way possible, but with the oddest sense he was done with her after that, and he hadn’t asked her back to his tent again.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but in her opinion, it did a pussy some good. Far better that she choose like this and enjoy it than it had been in a year of lying back for men who’d paid their fare for a ride, with no choice in that at all. Some of them hadn’t been so bad, but some had. She liked this life, wild and free. She liked these people, who gave her choices and looked at her as something more than something to scratch an itch.

Passing around the south end of camp, taking another slug of whiskey, she could hear Dutch’s happy holler, “–done Jesse James and Cole Younger one better, boys, they got run right outta Minnesota in ‘76–”There was a dry chuckle at that, and she turned. There was Arthur, sitting there on a crate, carefully loading bullets into the empty slots of a bandolier by lantern light. Though from how he fumbled with it a bit here and there, he’d obviously had his share of the bottle of whiskey on the barrel top alongside his project. He looked up, saw her, and gave her a crooked grin. “My God, to hear old Dutch talking, you’d think we knocked over that damn Northfield bank itself that turned back the James/Younger gang, not a little thing like Star Lake. That bank manager? I couldn’t hardly keep a straight face listening to that Swedish accent he got, or Norwegian, or whatever the hell it was.”Laughing at it herself, she sat down on the other side of the barrel. “That accent were funny as hell, right? ‘Oh, Miss, don’tcha know that?’ Thought it’d take him a year to get a sentence out!” She tried picking up one of the bullets herself, threading it carefully into a leather loop. “Other way,” he said, but not angrily. “I’m right handed. Bullet nose goes to the left so I can grab and load real easy, no need to turn it around, see?” He plucked one out, mimed loading it right into a revolver, motion easy and instinctive, even tipsy. Big hands, but deft ones–well, that sparked a wicked little notion in her mind that grew the more she let herself mull it over. “You want ‘em all put the same way for that.” She nodded, untucking the bullet and reversing it.

“You done good in that bank,” he went on. She’d been there playing a customer, keeping everyone quiet and acting terrified, and picking a few pockets in the bargain.

“Thanks.” They worked there together, finishing up the job. She looked up at him in increasingly interested glances. Thirty, just about, and not at all a bad looking man, handsome in that big, broad, bluff and hearty sort of a way. Funny man too, at that. He seemed like the sort of man who could be a good time. The hook of curiosity was there and set. So she went right for the target. “Seems it’s a night for celebrating. Having a good time. So–I wouldn’t mind me some company tonight, if you was interested.” He paused at that, really looking at her then. Brow furrowed for a second, and if he made some cheap remark about Dutch and Javier having had her first, he could fuck right off and jerk off, thank you very much. Then he reached out, took another fairly strong pull on the whiskey bottle. “Well, why not.” He gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Pretty girl like you, I’d have to be a fool to say ‘no’, wouldn’t I?”His tent was right there, and soon enough he had the flaps closed behind them. She wouldn’t light the lantern–last thing this needed was casting shadows on the tent wall and giving everyone one of those Magic Lantern shows. The firelight cut through the tent wall enough to give some faint glow, so she could see enough.

One hand on his shoulder, she pushed him down towards his cot, and he went. Climbing on, straddling his hips, she braced up on those fine broad shoulders of his, leaning down to kiss him. Now here was a surprise–rather than going right at it, Arthur kissed far sweeter than she thought, his fingers weaving into her hair, the other hand on her back, holding her close. Soft and almost wistful, and apparently Dutch’s enforcer had something more to him than she’d thought. Not an unwelcome surprise at that.She kissed him harder, reached down, got the buckle of his gun belt, undid it easily. He reacted like a damn spooked horse, practically freezing up under her, inhaling sharply, hands suddenly tense on her. She laughed at that, but kindly, in a way that was meant to make it all right again. “Been a bit since you had a woman? That’s all right. You work hard enough, guess you ain’t getting much time for pleasure. But you know what they say. All work and no play makes Arthur a dull boy.”

He gave a slow, rueful chuckle. “I fear I make a pretty dull boy no matter what.”“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” She leaned in to kiss him again, but he ducked her lips, turning his head aside so the kiss landed on one stubbled cheek.

He breathed in deeply, then exhaled, breath with a whiff of whiskey warm against her cheek. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Well, she could feel as she shifted on his lap that one part of him certainly wanted to be doing this, and the sooner the better. “Why not? I ain’t married to Javier. Or you bothered that I was with Dutch?”

“Fair’s fair. I figure a woman’s free to bed anyone she wants, if we fellas can.”

“Then really, what the hell is the problem?”

He reached up, touched her cheek, and gave a sad, awkward little smile. “Ain’t nothing about you. It’s me.”

Could he be more cryptic? But she’d seen some of the girls with their customers, men missing some girl they’d lost or couldn’t have, and Hosea had made some wry joke about him pining for a girl. “This about that girl, that Mary I heard about?” She leaned down, kissed him again, lightly. “You missing her? I could make you forget.” A whore was damn good at that, at being the girl they really wanted. She couldn’t say how many women’s names she’d been called by. “Or you can call me by whatever name, if that’s what you need.”“No, nothing to do with Mary. But there’s a girl I damn well shouldn’t let myself forget,” and there was a sudden grim note of iron in his voice. Carefully but firmly, he got her by the hips, lifting her off him, setting her to sit down beside him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even started this.”

There was something else in this now, something within her that she’d almost have to call a sort of fear. She’d gotten swept out far from the riverbank on this one. Gone in expecting cheerful fun with a man who seemed obvious and uncomplicated, and suddenly she’d seen there was a hell of a lot going on inside him, things she couldn’t touch and couldn’t understand. Depths to him that felt unseen and unknowable, and far, far too much for her. Who the hell are you really, Arthur Morgan? “It’s fine. I seen men before who need one woman in particular. They can’t pretend with anyone else. Whoever she is, she’s lucky.”

He huffed out a soft chuckling laugh, looking down at his hands, clasped between his knees. “Oh, now, I wouldn’t say she’s anything like lucky for having gotten tangled up with me.” There was a weary note in his voice that made him think perhaps she’d died, but she wouldn’t ask. “But you’re a good girl, Abigail Roberts. You deserve a man who ain’t in your bed only for the forgetting. Some lucky bastard who can’t barely believe he gets to call you his–calls you by your own name, too.”She shook her head, incredulous. “That right there might be the finest thing a man’s said to me in a long time.”

“If that ain’t sad commentary on the brainless degenerates you been keeping company with, not sure what is.” He gave her a wry smile. “Counting myself among that number, mind.”

“Oh, you’re not so bad.”“A lady having a good opinion of me? That’s rare as hen’s teeth.”She scoffed at him at that. “I ain’t no lady!”

“And I ain’t no gentleman, so here we sit, you and me.” Reaching for the cigarettes on the barrel top by his bedside, he offered her the packet, and she drew one out. Taking one for himself, he struck a match, a tiny flare of light in the twilight gloom of the tent, and lit her cigarette for her. Sitting there beside him, having a peaceful smoke, wishing she could do something for him, sad and lonely as he was, strangely kind as he’d proved. Obviously fucking wasn’t on the menu, but he seemed a little brighter now even just having her sit there and talk, so maybe that helped.

Finishing his smoke, he dropped it, crushing it out underneath his boot heel. “Gotta go take my watch, but you can sleep here if you want. Quieter than bunking down around Uncle’s snores and farts.”

“That, and it lets everyone think we was very busy in here. Gets them off your back about going whoring for a few months, I reckon?”

He smirked, tapping his temple with two fingers, then pointing them at her. “There’s a clever girl. I figured you was one.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. Reached over and mussed up his hair a bit, as if she’d been running her fingers through it, feeling that momentary catch of tension in him again at her touch. Minnesota July air was humid enough, and closing the tent flaps made it even worse, so they probably both looked sweaty enough to sell the idea of having had a pretty vigorous tumble in his tent. “Don’t worry. They ask me about it, you was truly magnificent tonight.”

“Doing me a favor, then?”

“Oh, it’s doing me a favor too. Them boys already gotta push for the standards you been holding them to, right? They think that here’s one more thing you set the bar about impossibly high, they’re gonna have to work all the harder to keep up.” John especially would probably take that as a challenge and a half, given she could see he practically worshipped Arthur.His laugh at that was deep and genuine, covering his eyes with one hand, shoulders shaking. “My God, you truly are something else, Abigail.” Finishing her own cigarette, she lay back on the cot as he went and undid the tent flaps, cooler night air rushing in. He wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t fine living, but it was a bit more comfortable than her pallet underneath the wagon. “Good night,” she said, softly enough she thought he might not hear it. Though from how he paused in the doorway of the tent, and nodded, apparently he had. Then he was gone.

#arthur morgan #abigail roberts #fic prompts #rdr2 #fic from the parking lot #Anonymous #tried to put part of this under a cut but tumblr is being a dick #surprise

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