Life has been on the difficult side lately, and work at my irl job has been spotty, so I need to take on a lot of emergency commission work to be able to pay the bills. If you could share this around, that'd be really appreciated! 💛
The previous post I had was a bit outdated, so I wanted to make a new one!
🌱Here are my current prices and info:
🌱Aside from the price list, I also have this budget option!
✧BW sketch bust 30 USD
✧BW chibi bust 10 USD
Example are from a previous commission!
🌱 If you're interested in either the commissions available above, or the BW sketches, please send me a DM! 💛
✧I'm also currently taking commissions on VGen if you'd prefer that!
I think we need to appreciate this part of Brennan Lee Mulligan's WIRED interview a lot more:
"The evangelical right in this country needs to manufacture outrage to hold onto its voting block. [The satanic panic about DnD] was arbitrary, as the targets of their outrage always are. Fight the power."
Dollar Per (RDR2 Fanfic, LH Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)
Summary: You had borrowed twenty dollars from an unscrupulous looking man when your debt was called in. You paid that off, and had been taking odd jobs (and maybe pickpocketing a bit) to make that money back to pay the loan within the time limit. Two dollars short on the day of the repayment, and a man appeared before you, tall, dark, and scary as fuck. What option do you have?
Author’s Notes: What could possibly pull me out of retirement? Pure unadulterated horniness.
You heard your name in a deep rumble, rough as stone. Slowly turning, you swallowed as you took in the sight of a man, a head taller than you, wearing a dark duster coat over all black attire. Jeans, boots, shirt, vest, hat, all dyed the color of midnight.
You jutted out your chin with far more bravado than you felt. “Who’s askin’?”
He silently pulled out a contract and held it in front of you. “I believe you owe a Mr. Strauss twenty dollars.”
You swallowed. You were two dollars short, despite working your ass off to make the money back before the deadline. A week ago, you were grateful for the quick loan from an older gentleman who seemed a bit weasely. You just wanted to get yourself out of hot water with the barkeep at the saloon, after he finally called in your tab.
You did odd jobs around town, nearly anything to make up that money. To your surprise, the same barkeep let you work as a saloon girl at night, as if he knew that you had made a terrible decision.
Now, as the intimidating debt collector stared you down, you realized why the barkeep had taken pity on you.
Maybe I can just pull a fast one and skip town for a bit.
You reached into your purse and crushed your cash together before pulling it out and handing him a crumpled wad of bills. “That’s all of it,” you said in a rush as you turned to walk away. “I never want to see you again.”
“Wait.”
He wasn’t very loud, but his voice was imbued with command. Your body stopped, despite the urgency you felt to leave before he figured out what you had done.
He sauntered around to stand in front of you. As you looked up, he started to count each bill, his eyes flicking to you occasionally.
“...Seventeen, eighteen…” he trailed off when there were no more bills to count. His gaze slowly drew up to meet yours. Your heart raced, your mouth dried up, and your eyes widened.
“Yer two dollars short,” he finally said.
“I must have miscounted,” you quickly said. “Give me another couple of days and I’ll have the last two dollars.”
He shook his head. “You agreed to pay today, didn’t you?”
“What’s another two days?” you said, immediately wishing you hadn’t when his eyes hardened.
“I can’t babysit you fer two days. And if I don’t, ya might leave town.”
“You can’t trust me?”
“No.”
Frustrated by this immovable mountain of a man, you threw your hands up in frustration. “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? I don’t have the two dollars.”
Arthur tilted his head, considering your predicament. You saw his gaze trail down your body before a small smile appeared on his grizzled face. He stepped a little closer, clearly trying to intimidate you with his size, forcing you to look up at him.
“W-what?” you asked, your voice rising an octave.
He hummed contemplatively before finally giving you a facsimile of a kind smile. “I’ll cover yer two dollars”—he leaned in, his nose ever so close to yours—“if you give me somethin’ in return.”
It took you a moment, but only a moment. A flush of heat, and a vision in your head of naked bodies, his large one covering yours, undulating hips and low moans. You gasped and pushed him away. His chest felt solid under your palms, but he backed off at your touch.
“Yer choice,” he said, shrugging casually. “Otherwise you’ll have to pay back forty next week.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Didja read the contract?”
You swallowed and nodded timidly. You had read it, but you had so much confidence that you could pay the amount back in time that that clause about a double penalty if it was late didn’t even cause you a lick of concern.
Now it caused a great deal of concern.
He started to turn away. “One week to double the repayment.”
That was too much. You watched as he took one, two steps away before you reached out and grabbed his arm.
“I…” you swallowed and tried again. “I'll make a deal with you.”
He smiled, his expression smug. “Wise choice, darlin’.”
***
He led you, your hand on his muscular arm, to the saloon. When the barkeep saw you and the man together, his eyes widened for a moment before he got his shit together.
“One room for the night,” the man said, handing over the payment.
The barkeep complied, not looking at you.
His silence is enough to know that he ain't goin’ to help me now.
You held your head high, as if you wanted this, and followed the man up the stairs, down the hall to the last room on the left. Ushering you inside, he locked the door, the click sounding loud and final.
He followed you closely as you walked toward the ancient looking bed. You turned and sat down with a huff, a small plume of dust flying off the covers. Looking up, you watched him tilt his head and look down at you curiously, as if he was observing a small creature.
“Well?”
“Well what?” he asked back.
“Take off your clothes.”
The man scoffed softly. “I don’t think you understand how this works, li’l lady.”
You sputtered as if you were offended, desperately trying to hide the fact that you, in fact, did not understand how any of this worked. “Then how do you want to do this, mister?”
“Arthur.”
“Mister Arthur.”
“Just Arthur,” he said, his tone shifting to something ever so slightly softer. He reached out with one hand and gently ran his knuckles along your cheek and down your jawline before grasping your chin. His thumb ran across your lips and you could feel the callouses on your skin.
“On yer knees, darlin’.”
You were so mesmerized by the heat in his gaze that it took you a moment to register his command. “Wait, what?”
“Kneel, sweetheart.”
“Why?”
His hand went away from your chin and grabbed the back of your neck. With an iron grip that you could not extricate yourself from, he steadily dragged you off the bed and down onto your knees. When you looked up at him, the smirk on his face grew, the satisfaction on his features was somehow both attractive and infuriating.
Arthur’s other hand was already loosening the placket of his jeans. “Keep lookin’ up at me like that,” he murmured as he released the last button of the placket and moved it out of the way. You watched as he took his thick cock in his hand and stroked, long and slow, grinning with anticipation. “Open yer mouth.”
You balked at the thought of having his manhood in your mouth; you’d never done such a thing before. What would that be like?
“I ain’t a patient man,” he said, grabbing the back of your head. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Slowly, you opened your mouth. He pulled you closer to his cock until the head slipped between your lips. You began to suck on him.
He moaned softly. “That’s it, keep goin’.”
Spurred on by his sounds of pleasure, you continued, learning as you went. He guided you, instructing you on how to use your hands to pleasure his balls and his shaft while you tried to take more and more of him into your mouth.
Suddenly both his large hands held your head still as he started to fuck your mouth, growling like a beast possessed.
“Such a good fuckin’ mouth,” he mumbled, lost in pleasure. He panted harshly, ignoring your whines as his cock went deeper and deeper, nearly choking you. You slapped his thighs and screamed around his thick length.
He finally released your head and pulled away. As you caught your breath, he knelt down and cradled your cheeks. “Sorry darlin’, I couldn’t help myself. Yer such a fine toy to fuck.”
“I choked, goddammit!” you wheezed at him.
He chuckled, clearly amused at your complaint. “I stopped, didn’t I?” He grabbed your hips and lifted you up as he stood. “Now, take yer clothes off. Let me see all of you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, you turned away from him, unable to look him in the eye as you stripped down to your combination underwear. But before you could turn back around, he stopped you with his hands on your shoulders.
“You ain’t done yet.”
You bit your lip. “I took my clothes off.”
“Then what’s this?” he asked, pulling at the shoulder strap.
You paused for far too long. Arthur moved forward, the heat of his body against your back, his hands sliding around to your chest. He gripped the fabric and pulled, buttons flying as he exposed your breasts to the cool air.
“AH—”
He immediately clamped one big hand around your mouth. “Hush, darlin’,” he crooned into your ear as his other hand snaked down to the slit in your underwear. His fingers found their way past the fabric and brushed your inner thighs. You tried to squeeze your legs together, but he slapped your skin lightly.
“Legs apart, girl. Let me feel you.”
You forced yourself to stand a bit wider, letting his hand caress your pussy. When his fingers found your clit, brushing against the sensitive bud, you nearly collapsed in his arms.
“Hold on,” he commanded, gripping you tighter against him. His hand was still around your mouth, muffling your moans as he stroked you intimately. You could feel his cock against your backside, his hips rocking against yours as he fingered you, driving you towards something, a precipice that had your heart racing.
“Enjoy it, sweetheart, ride that feelin’,” he encouraged in a low voice. “Let go and take yer pleasure from my hand.”
The spiral of pressure, so tightly wound, suddenly came undone as you screamed into his hand, your body going rigid for a few moments before shuddering with a release so complete that you collapsed backward against him.
“Good girl,” Arthur praised as he easily manhandled you onto the bed. As you lay there on your back, your mind blissed out, it took you a few moments to realize that he was stripping you naked.
“Hey, wait!”
“I want to see you,” he snarled, lightly smacking your hands away. “I told you I wanted all of you.”
You couldn’t stop him in time; he had removed your underwear, fully pulled it from your body and slid it off your legs. And then he paused.
You covered your face in your hands. You didn’t want to see his reaction.
“Who did this to you,” he asked quietly, his fingers carefully tracing the long scar, running from under your left breast, across your abdomen, to your right hip.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It was a long time ago. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and didn’t get outta the way fast enough. Fortunately a doctor stitched me up, but now I gotta live with this scar forever.” You looked away. “That’s why I didn’t want to take it all off.”
He nodded. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I got scars too.” He pulled back and started to take off his shirt.
You watched his skin being exposed to the lamp light, the puckered skin of scars of differing depths and ages forming a history of violence on the canvas of his body. You sat up and reached out, touching him, exploring him, understanding him.
You looked up, realizing he had just been watching you, letting you touch him so freely. He gave you a wry smile, and it tugged at your heart, just a little bit.
“You had yer fill?”
You nodded, swallowing as you leaned back, slightly ashamed of your unabashed curiosity.
“Good. Now let me fuck you.”
The tender moment had gone out the window, replaced by lust. Arthur took off the rest of his clothes at lightning speed before prowling towards you. Still in a bit of tonal whiplash, you let him get too close, before realizing what he was about to do.
“Wait!”
“I’ve waited long enough.” Gripping your hips, he flipped you over and lifted up your hips. You felt the tip of his cock nudging your channel open.
“Give yerself to me.”
“Wait, I said wait!”
He paused. “You ain’t made yer two dollars yet. We stop now, you owe me another dollar fer givin’ you that pleasure.”
You looked back at him and snarled, “That ain’t fair!”
He leaned over you, gripping your chin to keep your head in place as he leaned forward, his lips barely touching yours. “It ain’t fair that I ain’t had my pleasure yet.” Letting go of your chin, his fingers trailed around to the back of your neck and he gently yet steadily pushed your face into the mattress.
“You goin’ to be good?”
“Um-hmm,” you acceded, your voice stifled.
Without another word, Arthur gripped your hips and pushed into you, inch by inch, letting out a soft groan of satisfaction as he took you. Your muffled cries only seemed to make him grow harder.
“Fuck, yer tight,” he gasped as he hilted inside of you. “Goddamn.”
You felt him slowly start to slide out a little bit, then in. Steadily building a pace, forcing you to stretch, to take his girth. And your traitorous body loved it, the pleasure once again coiling inside. Unable to help yourself, you pushed your hips back toward him.
He chuckled and slapped your left ass cheek. “Nice sound,” he commented, as if he were talking about an instrument. He spanked the other side of your rear, the slap resounding in the room. Both of his hands squeezed your ass.
“I love yer backside,” he mumbled before slamming his hips against you. “So fuckin’ sexy.”
As he continued to rail you, you became louder and louder, and your hips shook with the impending wave of ecstasy. You could feel it building up, more and more.
Suddenly, Arthur’s hand gripped your head, pulling you back. His hips rocked faster, his cock slamming into you with ruthless abandon.
“That’s right, that’s a good girl,” he crooned. “Yer so wet, I’m thinkin’ you actually like this.”
You moaned. You hated that he was right, you were enjoying his harsh treatment.
“Admit it, you like this,” he growled, his hand moving from your head to the back of your neck.
“Fuck you,” you snapped on instinct.
“What d’you think I’m doin’ to ya right now, huh?” Arthur suddenly pushed you back down into the mattress, your ass still up in the air. He gripped your cheeks with both hands, railing you even harder. “I’m fuckin’ you like yer in heat, and you love it.”
The desperate cries coming out of your throat were lewd, uncontrolled, and sounded nothing like you. And yet, with each unrelenting thrust, you fell farther and further down, your mind blanking to only the pleasure his cock was giving you, and to the sound of his deep, gravelly voice.
“Take it, girl. Take all of it. Lemme hear you beg for my cock.”
You whined. “Please, please, take your pleasure from me!”
“Yer damn right I will,” he growled. “I’ll fill yer mouth full of my spend, and you’ll love it, won’t you, sweetheart?”
You were too lost in the rhythmic pounding that you didn’t quite understand what he was saying. And when he reached around to stroke your clit, you nearly lost consciousness as pleasure blinded you, white hot ecstasy enveloping you with warmth and bliss.
You slowly slid off his cock, lamenting the empty feeling. After a few moments to catch your breath, he turned you onto your back. It only took a moment to notice that his cock was still rock hard, glistening.
He smiled down at you, a look of greedy anticipation as he straddled your shoulders. He reached down and guided your head forward.
“I told you, I’d fill yer mouth. Open up, sweets.”
You obediently opened your mouth and immediately he shoved in his cock. Stroking himself while you sucked on the tip, you looked up and saw his face, his mouth slightly open as he panted with exertion. His intense stare bored into you, made your heart leap into your chest. A drop of his sweat slid down his face and splashed onto your forehead.
“Fuck!” he suddenly shouted. You could feel his legs tighten around your shoulders, and then a gush of his salty, bitter spend filled your mouth. You quickly swallowed, not knowing what else to do, but there was so much that it spilled from your lips, coating his softening member.
Slowly he pulled away from you, laying himself down next to you. Propping himself up on one elbow, he smeared his essence off your lips with his fingers, then traced circles around your nipples, one after the other.
“Such a good girl,” he praised, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Yer worth far more than two dollars.”
“So does that mean—”
“No, I’m takin’ all yer money.” At your pout, he chuckled. “But if you want more of what I just gave ya, you let me know.”
You watched as he got up and put his clothes back on. “I’ve paid fer the room, so you stay here and get some rest.” As he put on his hat, he leaned down, captured you by the chin, and kissed you gently, lingering on your lips. “I’m more than willin’ to bail you outta trouble again, if it means more of mountin’ yer fine backside.”
You tried to slap his arm, but he swiftly dodged. “Keep me in mind, sweetheart,” he called over his shoulder as he left.
You stared at the door for a few moments, trying to stay angry, but you soon realized, with a sore twinge in your lower parts, that you had thoroughly enjoyed the price.
“Well, shit,” you muttered to yourself. Guess I’ll have to make some trouble then.
--------------------
End Notes: It’s been a while, eh? Like I said, horniness led to more writing. This might not be up to my previous standards, but I hope you enjoy!
Commission/Gift for my best friend @itsmajel! :D She wished for a romantic Gale/Astarion artwork. I've never played the game so I just went for the most basic romantic pose lol.
As someone who recently picked up birding, and have been super casual about it. I second this. I've just been enjoying looking at the birds around me and learning how to notice them more. Even if I can't identify anything, or I'm unsure because two or more species look similar, I still enjoy just.... Watching nature come and go (including while I'm working at my day job on the 4th floor in a downtown office. So many birds on the windowsills and I don't have time to identify them. Just noticed and appreciate them!)
Fun tips for anyone who wants to get started with identification!
1. Download this guy:
It can identify bird calls and there's a step by step visual identification thingie
2. Do NOT listen to snooty old white man birders who will expect you to know everything about birds, and who care more about getting a good picture than enjoying the experience. I saw a whooping crane a few months ago (!!!!!!!) and I was SO excited, and when I mentioned it to some snooty old white man birders they were like "Yeah I've seen one." I was literally in tears when I saw this bird, and they were such spoilsports about it.
3. Birding has become a lot more popular with both young people and people of color, so if it's something you'd like to do with other people try to track a group down in your area. I personally like to go out alone, but you can learn a lot from other people (who aren't snooty old white men).
And 4. Even if you don't get serious about it it's a great way to appreciate the world around you! You can't tell a chickadee from a blue jay? That's fine! But just noticing the wildlife around you absolutely makes the world feel just a little more magical.
The trick with old white guy birders is to ignore the snooty ones and find the ones who will consensually kidnap you and take you to see cool birds.
A guy I worked with told me about the time he was an incredibly awkward teenager living in the middle of nowhere with no friends back in the late 90s. He liked being outside, so his parents forced him to join the local birding club for birding walks every Saturday. He was the only person under 60 so the whole group ADORED him and were super excited to show him all the ropes. He ends up getting really into it and joined the club for real.
Fast forward a few months and he's called to the principal's office where he's informed that there has been a family emergency and Grandpa Ron is coming to pick him up. He's thoroughly confused and worried because he doesn't have a Grandpa Ron.
He's just about to saying something to the principal when up pulls Ron from the birding club along with several other members. Apparently there was an incredibly rare bird seen several hours away and Ron had gotten permission from my coworker's mom to break him out of school and drive halfway across the state to go see it. His mom had called it in as a family emergency because she didn't want his attendance impacted.
My coworker ended up seeing the rare bird as well as watching a batch of the snooty birding types nearly come to blows over descriptions of the wing bars on said rare bird.
“After everything you’ve done, how do you sleep at night?”
"Next to my wife."
yeahhh... here's a different kind of one from me. Arthur POV, unnamed, nondescript wife. Also I am in early chapter 2 of my replay, so Arthur is a violent boy.
Don't mind me as I discover Epic the musical (where the above line is from).
The snowmelt had turned the ground to mud. Cold, dense stuff that pulled at Arthur’s boots and deadened the sound of each step as he moved through the trees. The sun had barely started its slow crawl over the ridge, throwing gray over the forest as if the world hadn’t quite woken up yet. Good. Jobs like this were always easier when the marks were still half-asleep.
Arthur adjusted the rifle strap on his shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of his Lancaster settle against his back. Dutch had wanted him, Bill, and Javier to hit the courier camp before they packed up and started moving cash down toward Valentine. “Strike first,” Dutch had said. “In and out, scare ’em, take what we need.” Arthur knew the difference between scare and kill in Dutch’s tone by now. He didn’t argue. They needed the money, and after the long winter and the constant pressure from O’Driscolls, no one was feeling particularly generous.
Besides, Arthur needed it too. Back at camp, in the worn canvas tent whose flaps barely held against the mountain wind, his wife was trying to mend a coat that wouldn’t last another season. They’d been saving toward a decent horse for her, maybe a tent that didn’t leak every time clouds even thought of rain. Money was thin.
Last night he’d told her he wouldn’t be long. She’d kissed his cheek and said she knew.
Then he’d come out here.
And now there was smoke curling above the treeline.
“Three men awake, one still sleeping by the fire,” Javier whispered, crouched beside Arthur behind an old gnarled pine. “No lookouts. They think they’re safe out here.”
“Reckless,” Bill muttered. “Idiots deserve what’s comin’.”
Arthur ignored the comment and squinted toward the camp. Canvas tents. A couple of horses and a mule tied to a post. One of the men fussing with coffee over the fire, steam lifting from the tin pot. They were relaxed. They’d never see it coming.
He felt the familiar quiet settle into him- the cold, steadying sensation before he was about to unleash violence. It wasn’t hatred. It wasn’t even adrenaline. Just focus.
He glanced at Javier.
“You take the one by the mule,” Arthur said low. “Bill, get the fella at the fire. I’ll handle the last two.”
Javier nodded. Bill cracked his knuckles.
Arthur adjusted his hat and readied his repeater.
---
The first shot broke the quiet morning. Javier fired clean into the first man’s chest. The man dropped without even a shout, his coffee tin clattering uselessly from his hand. Before the others could react, Bill charged forward like a bull and slammed the butt of his shotgun across one man’s jaw, snapping it sideways with a sickening crack.
Arthur was already moving. He fired twice, hitting the closest man in the shoulder and spinning him backward. The last one - still half tangled in bedroll and blankets - scrambled up, reaching for a pistol at his hip.
“No, you don’t,” Arthur muttered.
He closed the distance in seconds and slammed his boot into the man’s wrist. The pistol skidded across the campsite and vanished into the mud. The man cried out, tried to roll away, but Arthur grabbed him by the collar and dragged him up to his knees.
The camp had erupted into chaos - shouts, curses, the crackling of fire as logs shifted.
Bill’s opponent was already down, blood sheeted across his face. Javier finished his wheezing target with a quick, merciful shot to the heart.
Arthur shoved the kneeling man forward and kicked him square between the shoulder blades. The man toppled, coughing, hands scrambling through dirt.
The one Arthur had shot earlier moaned somewhere near the collapsed tent, clutching his shoulder.
Two still alive. Both would need to be dealt with.
Arthur didn’t enjoy killing, persay. He didn’t relish it. But jobs like this, necessary jobs, didn’t leave much room for preference. If survival meant he had to shed blood, then so be it.
“Come on,” Arthur said darkly, stepping over a spilled crate of salted pork toward the wounded man. “Let’s get this done.”
The wounded one looked up, face streaked with dirt and panic. “Please - please, I ain’t got anything to do with those others,” he gasped. “I just… just cook for ’em, don’t - don’t shoot-”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. He hated when they begged. It didn’t make things easier. It made them worse. But the man had seen enough to be able to rat them out to the law. There wasn’t anything his begging could have done to save him at this point.
“Should’ve found better company,” he said, voice flat.
He lifted the repeater.
The man sobbed.
Then Arthur pulled the trigger.
The forest swallowed the sound.
-
When the echo faded, only the last man remained alive- the one Arthur had thrown into the dirt. He was on his side now, coughing, hands clutching uselessly at the ground as if there were something there he could hold onto. Blood dripped from his nose. His lip was split. His shirt was torn where Arthur had grabbed him.
Arthur walked over.
Behind him, Javier and Bill were rummaging through crates, checking for the lockbox Dutch promised would be here. Arthur tuned them out.
The man rolled onto his back, gulping air. His eyes flicked up to Arthur, then darted around the ruined camp. Bodies sprawled. Supplies overturned. Smoke drifted like ghosts around them.
“You-” The man wheezed, swallowed hard. “You slaughtered them. We - we weren’t even armed. Not proper armed. You-” He coughed again, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “You ain’t no man.”
Arthur crouched in front of him, one knee sinking into the mud.
“Then what am I?” he asked, his voice dark and sinister.
The man’s breath hitched. He lifted a shaking hand, pointing weakly at the blood-soaked ground, the dead, the ruin.
“After everything you’ve done,” he rasped, voice torn open by pain and disbelief, “how do you sleep at night?”
Arthur looked at him for a long moment. The wind drifted through the pines. Somewhere far off, a crow cawed, sensing the fresh death.
He thought about the question.
He thought about his wife back at camp - her soft voice in the early dark, the way she curled against him for warmth, the steady way she breathed when she slept. He thought about the way her hand rested on his chest, grounding him in a way nothing else ever did.
He thought about the fact that no amount of death haunted him more deeply than the love he was afraid of losing. That he lived in two worlds: the one where he killed, and the one where he came home.
His eyes met the bleeding man’s.
A shadow crossed Arthur’s expression - one part truth, one part cruelty.
And he answered darkly, voice like gravel scraping over stone:
“Next to my wife.”
The man stared, eyes wide. The answer hit him harder than a bullet.
Arthur rose to his feet.
And fired once.
The man’s head snapped sideways, body going still.
Silence fell.
-
Javier kicked open a small wooden chest and whistled. “Found it.”
Bill laughed. “Told Dutch he was right. Bastards didn’t even try to hide it.”
Arthur holstered his gun, breathing out slowly through his nose. The cold morning air stung his lungs, clearing the taste of gunpowder from the back of his throat. His hands were steady. His pulse barely raised. That was always the worst part - how used to it he was.
“You good?” Javier asked, glancing over as he stuffed bills into a burlap sack.
“Fine.”
They gathered what they needed: money, supplies, anything worth taking, and doused the rest of the camp with the mule’s water bucket. No evidence. No trail. Just bodies cooling in the mud.
Arthur took one last glance around before grabbing the saddlebag and walking away through the trees.
---
The ride back to camp was long and quiet. The air warmed as the sun finally rose, melting the frost from the grass and turning the mud slick. Arthur’s thoughts drifted, not to the dead men, not to the gunshots or the begging or the last man’s question, but to the tent waiting at camp.
To her.
She always woke early. She’d be sitting near the fire with a cup of tea, one of his coats around her shoulders, hair loose from sleep. She’d look up when he returned, eyes scanning him in that careful way she had, not assuming the worst, but checking for it all the same.
She’d ask, “All right?”
And he’d answer, “Yeah.”
The trail bent, leading down into the valley. Smoke rose from campfires below. He could already hear the faint murmur of voices carried on the breeze- camp waking, pots clattering, horses snorting.
He rode in slowly, tying his horse beside the water trough. Bill and Javier rode ahead, laughing about something. Arthur didn’t join them.
Instead, he walked to his tent.
The flap rustled.
She was there- sitting in the low canvas chair, wrapping a blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes lifted when he stepped inside the ring of shade cast by the tent. Relief softened her expression.
“You’re back.”
“Yeah,” he said, voice low, tired.
She stood, stepping closer. Her hands came up to his face, brushing his jaw, checking him like she always did. “Any trouble?”
“Nah,” he grunted, noncommittally.
She nodded, though her eyes lingered on him, searching for the things he didn’t say.
Arthur leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead.
She let him, smiling once she caught his eye again.
“You get some rest,” she murmured, touching his cheek. “I’ll fix you a plate.”
He nodded and sank onto the cot. She moved about the tent, soft and steady, the opposite of everything else in his world.
He watched her.
And he knew the truth.
He slept at night because of her. He woke each morning because of her. He walked back from jobs like this because she made him believe he still could.
But he also knew the other truth - the darker one.
He murdered for her. Countless, countless men. Their blood could carve rivers through a mountain pass.
Arthur stretched out on the cot, letting exhaustion pull him down. His eyes drifted closed.
---
She slipped into the tent after a few minutes, the canvas stirring with the faintest whisper of cold morning air. Arthur hadn’t entirely fallen asleep, but he kept his eyes closed until he felt the soft dip of the cot beside him.
Her hand brushed his shoulder. “Arthur,” she murmured, gentle as a warm lamp in a winter cabin.
He opened his eyes.
She was watching him, concern quiet in her face but not pressing, not prying. Just there, the way she always was when he came back from something bloody. He reached up and touched her cheek, and she leaned into his palm without hesitation.
“You should rest,” he said, though his voice was low, already softening under her touch.
“So should you.” Her fingers slipped into his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. “Come here.”
He did. He didn’t need prompting. He slid his arms around her waist and guided her down to lie with him on the narrow cot. She kissed him slowly - warm, patient, reassuring - and the tension in his shoulders gave way under her mouth like winter ice breaking under a spring sun.
Their bodies found each other easily, without hurry, without hunger. Nothing frantic, just two tired souls closing the distance the world kept trying to put between them. She cupped his face as he moved over her, as he breathed her name like a prayer, as if he were a godly man.
When she pulled her blanket over both of them, the cold morning vanished. There was only the quiet rasp of their breath, the slow rise and fall of their chests, the steady rhythm of them finding each other again and again.
At the soft peak of it - when Arthur’s breath hitched against her shoulder and his hands gripped her waist like he was afraid she’d slip away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered into his ear:
“I love you… so much.”
Arthur froze, trembling in a way he never did in a fight, never did with a gun in his hand. The words washed through him, warm as a summer stream, sweeping away the last clinging pieces of blood from his blackened soul. He pressed his forehead to her collarbone, breath shuddering. Then he buried his face deeper against her chest, into all that warmth, all that softness, all that love he didn’t deserve but needed more than air.
They finished together quietly, as if the world outside the tent had vanished, leaving only the small space where her hands held him and nothing he’d done could ever reach him.
When it was over, she stroked his hair, slow and sure. Arthur stayed where he was, head on her chest, breathing her in.
He hadn’t lied to that man he killed just an hour earlier. Death and killing were not something that kept him up at night.
