Pinned
reach out if you’re interested in working together!!
Reblogged pinep-ne
reunion
Reblogged
One of the things that absolutely wrecks me about Charles is the fact he does not see the goodness he brings to others. He talkd about how he feels that he exists to hurt others and to suffer himself, meanwhile John writes that he sees Charles as an "unsurprising pillar of strength," similarly Arthur calls him "the best man I have ever known."
Reblogged pinep-ne
trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
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They’re halfway back from rescuing Trelawney when Arthur waved Charles off the side of the road, dipping down into one of the hundred forest trails scattered around Rhodes.
Arthur’d been quiet since they parted from Trelawney, opting to take the long way around to camp. It was probably stupid, staying together instead of splitting up. Foolish.
Foolishness had become a habit of Charles’ for a while now. Since he’d joined up with the gang. Since he’d first laid eyes on the thief currently leading him to a hidden clearing, deep in the woods.
“What’s up?” Charles asked, dismounting Taima and cocking his head as he watched Arthur pull his bedroll from Bodicea’s back. "We’ve got plenty of time to get back to camp before nightfall.”
“Need to talk at ya for a bit,” Arthur said, spreading the rolled horse blanket he used for a ground pad over a patch of grass. “Lay down.”
Charles blinked, then crossed his arms. “Excuse me?”
Arthur looked up from where he crouched in the grass, blue eyes burning under the rim of his worn leather hat. “You deaf?”
“Why do you want me to lay down, Arthur?”
“Wanna thank you for saving my life,” Arthur said, hand going to his throat. It was decorated with a vivid red mark, the physical accompaniment to the rasp in his voice that was the only remainder of the man who almost put an end to Dutch van der Linde’s eldest son. “You gonna let me?”
Charles hadn’t done much fumbling with other people over his life. Opportunities had been few and far between.
But he wasn’t stupid.
“What makes you think this is the kind of thanks I want?” Charles asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Tried to figure out if maybe the bounty hunters had got him, instead. If he was laid out under the hot Lemoyne sun in that cornfield, bleeding out while his dying brain played out a fever dream.
Arthur smirked at him, shockingly superior for a man on his knees. “Come on, angel,” he said, raspy. Arthur reached for Charles’s hand, tugging it, coaxing him down to the makeshift bedding.
Charles shocked himself by following, mind a blank white buzz of anticipation, rimmed red with desire.
Arthur arranged Charles to his liking with sure hands, every touch confident. Damn near proprietary, like Charles giving in to him was a forgone conclusion.
“Some men would kill you for this,” Charles managed over the thrum of his own pulse in his ears. His mouth was dry and tacky as he let Arthur scoot between his legs, knees pressing against Charles’ calves.
“Not you, angel,” Arthur said, smoothing one gloved hand up the inseam of Charles’ trousers. “Been watchin’ ya. Knew you’d roll over for me. Known that for a while now.”
Charles gasped, leg twitching in Arthur’s grip as those fingers inched towards the join of Charles’ thigh, warm pressure inches away from where Charles’ cock had begun twitching in his jeans.
Arthur held Charles still with perfect self assurance, easy as scuffing a cat.
“That so?” Charles asked, dazed, as he shakily got to his elbows, looking down to watch what he was allowing Arthur to do to him.
“Sure, sweet thing,” Arthur drawled, casually unlacing Charles’ boot. His thick fingers were clever on the laces, practiced in a way that spoke to years of experience taking other folks apart at the seams. There’s always been something slinking and predatory to Arthur, a wild beast licking its chops.
Charles found, with the warmth of Arthur’s torso settled between his knees, the fresh smell of crushed grass wafting up around him where Arthur’s borne them down atop the spread saddle blanket, that he liked the look of those teeth. That the nervous, twitchy thrill that started in his belly and zinged all the way down to his toes liked the look of that coyote smile.
“Cute lil’ thing like you,” Arthur drawled, massaging up the muscle of Charles’ calf to the dip of his knee. No one had called Charles little in over a decade, let alone cute. Still, Arthur seemed to be earnest enough with the compliment. Well, as earnest as the man was about anything.
“Clear as day what you really need,” Arthur continued, shuffling closer so Charles had no choice but to spread his legs further, letting the man work up between Charles’ parted thighs.
“What you’re really after when you roll through camp like our personal storm cloud.” Arthur tugged his gloves off with his teeth, bright white against the dusty leather. The other man let the gloves drop to the side, grin a wicked snarl of hungry avarice beneath his mustache.
Charles swallowed, breath hitching as Arthur hefted his left leg over his shoulder, fingers curled tight to secure the weight. Arthur’s other hand danced up the side of his right thigh, thumb flicking the little brass clasp that kept his thigh holster in place open.
“What is it you think I need?” Charles asked, biting his lip as Arthur’s hand snuck up under his thigh holster, thick fingers burning hot.
Arthur leaned in close, grin filthy as he took the thin leather strap between his teeth. The other man leaned forward, pressing Charles’s thigh into his chest as he tugged the strap slowly down Charles’s leg , breath damp and burning through the thin denim. He followed the movement with his fingers, caressing the jumping muscle of Charles’ thigh as he slid the holster off, satisfied as a groom slipping the garter off his bride.
“Need a little rough handling,” Arthur said, tucking the leather strap into his back pocket. His free hand wandered back up the length of Charles’ quad, fingers smoothing against the thin, dark denim of Charles’ jeans, pressing against the heavy muscle. “How long has it been since someone’s seen to you, proper like?”
Charles blinked, heart clenching in his chest, suddenly remembering to breathe. His cheeks felt like they were burning, even in the cool of the shade. “I’ve never—”
“Oh, angel,” Arthur said, pupils blown wide. He looked at Charles, covetous, like he eyed a gold brick or a new gun, shiny with gun oil and engraved with silver. “You shouldnta said that.”
“Why?”
“I was gonna go easy on you,” Arthur said, fingers digging greedily into the soft flesh of Charles’ thighs. Arthur’s eyes seared into him, hungry, devouring flames that promised to burn Charles down to his foundations and fuck him senseless in the ashes.
“Was just gonna blow off a little steam. But if I’m first?” Arthur laughed, a short jackal’s yelp. He surged forward, pushing Charles’ knees up until pressed practically to his shoulders, cutting his air.
Charles still hadn’t made a move to throw him off. He felt like prey, somehow. And he wanted nothing more than to stay caught.
“Gonna wreck that sweet ass of yours, gorgeous,” Arthur promised, humping forward so Charles could feel the long line of Arthur’s cock through two layers of denim. It felt enormous, hot and thick around as two shotgun barrels. “Ruin you for anyone that comes beggin’ after, so you can’t help but think of me anytime you spread these pretty thighs.”
“Big words,” Charles bit out, swallowing. Adrenaline surged through him, like the ramp up to a fight. He’d never been less interested in getting another man off of him. “Sure you can back ‘em up, Morgan?”
Arthur grinned, leaning in to take Charles’ mouth in a messy, wet kiss. He was all tongue and teeth, not giving Charles any quarter to catch his breath. When they parted, he seized on a patch of exposed skin at the base of Charles’ throat, bared by the neck of his open collar.
Arthur sucked the salt from Charles’s skin, teeth tugging at his flesh, sharp and perfect. The man worried at the spot like a mongrel, working up a bruise Charles couldn’t hope to hide when they eventually returned to camp.
Charles buried his hand in Arthur’s shaggy hair, pulling at the root until Arthur relented, releasing his mouthful with a wet smack.
“Imma fuck you till you cry, Mr. Smith,” Arthur promised, running his tongue over his teeth, chasing the last remnants of salt. He looked ravenous. “By the time I’m done? You won’t remember what state we’re in, let alone your own name.”
(to be continued but I needed to exorcise the horny demons)
Reblogged pinep-ne
charles smith strikes me as a man who you'd have to flash a neon sign in his face that reads "i am romantically interested in you and asking you out on a date" for him to realize he's being flirted with. arthur could bashfully ask him to join him on a hunting trip for a few days, and itd be clear as day to arthur what the implication is and charles is like "why are you acting like we don't go out and hunt together all the time??"
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Hhuhh wrote a quick little charthur poem last night,, first time posting anything of the sort on here so I hope it's. Adequate LMAO
I've never actually dedicated a poem to them in all of three years but after this I hope to write more in the near future.
I wrote a little brief analysis for this thing,, copy-pasted from messages I'd sent to a poor friend. I'm honestly not bothered enough to read through so if there are incoherent parts or mistakes I am very sorry. It was like midnight and I was spewing shit on the spot LMAO
Anyways. Just wanted to put this somewhere. Gave me a mad headache but it was very fun to delve into.
Reblogged
the thing I really love about early-stage charthur is that it really requires a lot of courage on both of their parts.
besides the inherent danger of being in a m/m relationship in 1899, there’s just a lot of EMOTIONAL risk they’re accepting by admitting feelings for one another. like, Arthur has had *terrible* luck with love, canonically, and by all indications Charles is either very inexperienced or has had a similar track record. he talks about how he’s been alone and feels he was born to hurt, so if he’s ever loved we know it ended poorly
so much of the intimacy in their relationship is born out of the fact that they’re incredibly open with one another in ways they aren’t with other gang members (esp Charles) but like, the jump from platonic to romantic is still something that would require a lot of hope and courage for either of them to reveal their feelings
I don’t know they just bring out the best in one another in so many ways and I love that any romantic relationship between them would be a continuation of that mutual support and trust they really were made for one another
Reblogged pinep-ne
something very interesting to me in rdr2 is how arthur is repeatedly referred to using more “feminine” like terms, usually in a negative context. like the most well known one is when he gets called “pretty boy” in the fight with tommy, but emmett granger also calls him “girlie.” both of these times, it’s men who are actively provoking him, masculine men, who are telling him this. however, whenever arthur is talking to algeron wasp, a much more “feminine” man, and wasp asks him if he’d like a corset, arthur’s only real complaint to the idea was that he rides horses and that the whale bone would dig in.
now, arthur’s masculinity is something that he clings to heavily in the game. as progressive as arthur’s ideas are for the time period he’s in, he still holds the basic idea that women need to be protected and cared for, that a man should more of the heavy lifting, etc. in chapter six, he overcomes this idea a good bit, especially with sadie adler and charlotte balfour, but it’s still a core part of his character because it’s the year 1899. arthur’s masculinity is something that he uses to make himself appear, in the words of hosea, “big, dumb, and angry.” he uses this idea of toxic masculinity to make himself appear tough, as one of the gang’s enforcers, as the debt collector, as the one who yells at a grieving family because they’re in his way. arthur hides his journal, one of the few things that shows his softness, which could be perceived as “feminine,” and never lets anyone touch it until he dies. even his art could be considered “feminine,” because, in his eyes, it’s an expression of softness.
then you have charles. charles, who has extremely long hair that he takes great care of, and who i, personally, believe is just a little bit vain (which isn’t a bad thing). charles, who talks about his mother and her people and everything that he loves about both of them. charles, who lived on his own for years and had to take care of himself, be both mother and father for himself in his late teen years.
charles is masculine, yes. he’s tall, and broad, and takes care of others, whether that be through doing brunt work or through more violent means. however, he expresses his own softness frequently. how he only kills when he has to. how he believes arthur isn’t as tough and dense as he acts. how he isn’t afraid to show appreciation for others, shows his appreciation towards animals while both hunting them and caring for them, express his opposition towards dutch as early as chapter 2.
now, back to arthur. as the game progresses, arthur slowly moves away from this idea of toxic masculinity and becomes softer towards others. still masculine, still thinking about the women and children first, still strong (even as he grows sicker and sicker), but softer. he comments, both in his journal, that charles is one of the best men he knows. i think that charles was one of the key points of reference whenever arthur was trying to become a good man. that, even though arthur had it in him the entire time, he still looked to charles as a grounding perspective.
i think that, had arthur lived, maybe he would’ve been able to become that much softer in age and in settling down. maybe even branch out towards more “feminine” traits, take greater care of himself, if only he was told that those things weren’t shameful, if he was told that he wasn’t just big and dumb.
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“Charles is the level headed one.” MY Charles. The one who threw a chair in a random direction as soon as the bar fight started? My dude who didn’t hesitate to shoot a poacher and was pissed if you didn’t kill the other one? Mr. stomped a bounty hunter to get him to talk? THE CHARLES THAT THREW MICAH LIKE A RAG DOLL?! My guy, Charles is just quiet. Sure he’s not the one to just fight random people, but he sure as hell is ready to throw hands when the situation arises. His full name is Charles “catch these hands” Smith and we respect it here.
Reblogged sophsicle
