charles-smith-pillow-princess

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

a boyfriend is just a guy you can sink your teeth into for recreational purposes

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

RDR2 Meme Pack • Charles Smith

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Could you do just a small fluff scene in Charles’ and Arthur’ life?

Winter in Canada was always a long, bitter affair. The cold was a living thing, a vicious creature that bit hard as any teeth and snuck in every chink and gap in the small wooden cabin that Charles and Arthur called home. 

February of 1903 was the coldest month the two men had wintered through yet. Which was why, despite the first rays of sunshine beginning to gleam at the edges of the shuttered windows, Charles was content to continue lazing in the honeyed warmth of his and Arthur’s bed. 

That was until a draft of frigid air hit the bare skin of Charles’ back, rousing him. Before he could turn to protest, Charles yelped, flailing under the heavy covers as icy fingers tickled the crease where his thighs met his ass. 

“Shit—” Charles cursed, rolling to face his attacker. 

Arthur stood bent over his own side of the bed, laughing, bare hands braced on the worn knees of his snow-dusted union suit.

It was clear from the flakes in his hair and beard that the other man had gotten up to use the outhouse. As was his habit, the lazy bastard had suffered through the icy wind of the blizzard outside in his long johns and sockless feet shoved in boots, rather than bundling up for the short trip. Which explained why his hands felt like the frozen touch of death.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur wheezed out between guffaws, sounding anything but. “You just looked so peaceful—”

“You’re gonna be sorry,” Charles grumbled, seizing his husband by the wrist and yanking him onto their bed.

After a brief scuffle Charles had Arthur pinned face down against the bed, firmly wrapped in one of their blankets like a child swaddled against the cold. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Arthur huffed, struggling under the casual sprawl of Charles’ weight on top of him. “Lemme make it up to ya—”

Charles snorted, burying his face in Arthur’s neck as he adjusted the covers over his shoulder. He had Arthur effectively trapped, icy death-fingers neatly neutralized by the layers of quilt binding his delinquent cowboy from neck to knee. 

“You put another one of those ice blocks on me and I’ll bite you,” Charles grumbled, snuggling his arms around Arthur like the other man was his own personal hot water bottle. 

Arthur snorted. “Just wanted to thaw them out a little, darlin’,” he whined, squirming. It was a useless exercise—Charles was a warm, heavy weight against him, perfectly distributed to keep Arthur from getting his knees under him or wriggling an arm out. “Just made sense to reach for the hottest little hole I ever—“ 

Charles cut Arthur off with a forceful, biting kiss, rolling him so Charles sat astride Arthur’s hips, hands pinning Arthur to the bed by the shoulders.  

“Filthy,” Charles admonished, amused despite himself. His hair was half-escaped from the braid he wore it in for sleep, tousled by their roughhousing. 

“You’re a filthy, dirty man, Arthur Morgan,” Charles purred, lips close enough to brush Arthur’s own. His warm, sleep-sour breath puffed against Arthur’s cheeks, melting the last of the flakes caught in his short beard. 

Arthur smirked, craning his neck upward to peck a sweet kiss to the corner of Charles’ mouth. 

“You like me dirty,” he challenged, bucking up as best he could against the perfect bulk of Charles’ ass cradled against his hips. It was a freezing morning, but the look and feel of Charles settled snug across his lap had Arthur feeling as eager as a buck in spring.

“C’mon, sugar,” Arthur wheedled. “Lemme warm you up, show how sorry I am for terrorizing’ ya this early.” 

Charles hummed, sitting back as he considered the troublesome man he shared his bed with, who he called husband. 

“Alright,” Charles said, bending to settle against Arthur so their chests pressed together, the heat of their bodies trapped under the covers in a perfect, lazy simmer. Charles nipped against the bare, scarred spot on Arthur’s chin, dragging his lips through the bristles of Arthur’s beard. Lips tingling, he pressed his mouth against his husband’s ear, taking the lobe between his teeth with a gentle scrape.

Arthur keened, finally freeing an arm from his bindings. He ran his big, warm hand down the smooth skin of Charles’ back, calloused thumb caressing the dimples right at the base of his spine.

“You wanna warm me up, cowboy?” Charles teased, rolling his hips down into Arthur’s lazily. Arthur whined underneath him, free hand groping lower to catch Charles under his thigh, pulling him in tighter.

Charles pressed another kiss to the soft, greying hairs at Arthur’s temple. He cuddled close, lining himself up to Arthur hip to shoulder. He trailed his lips back to the shell of Arthur’s ear, warm breath moist against the skin. 

“Then put the coffee on,” Charles whispered, then stole the rest of the covers as he dove back to his side of the bed, bundling up against the cold. 

Arthur lay beside him, audibly sputtering at his husband’s sudden and completely predictable betrayal. 

“You’re a cruel man, Charles Smith,” Arthur grumbled, struggling free of the single, measly quilt left to him. He huffed, glaring down at the incredibly smug lump of blankets beside him. 

The lump shifted as Charles snugged up tighter in his stolen covers, not deigning to grant Arthur a response. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, resigning himself to properly starting the morning. There was always a chance he’d sneak a little sugar out of his man once the cabin was warm and breakfast was started.

Arthur got up with a groan, slipping his feet into the warm moccasins Charles had sewn up for him three years back. 

He put the coffee on.

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

At first I was like "Mmmmm Red Dead Supernatural AU" as a joke, but bro... I don't think it's a joke anymore.

I may have gone a little overboard with Charles' wings...

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Real canon pages out of Arthur's journal

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Talking about the way people treat Charles Smith, in greater detail this time

Charles is always a carer in many, many fics involving Charthur, if not almost all of them. Because Arthur always needs to be taken care of???? For some reason??? Arthur is thirty-six years old. Charles is twenty-seven/twenty-eight.

I think a lot of people have that "big, Afro-Indigenous man with no emotions is made for taking care of his slightly smaller partner" stereotype for Charles. Charles is his own person. He's not an accessory for you to slap a therapist label on. I mean no hate to this writer- but this is proving my point. This is the exact thing I was talking about.

Charles has his own problems, his own worries and issues that people seem to always ignore. Charles has, in my opinion, one of the saddest backgrounds for a character that I know. Raised by an alcoholic and most likely abusive father after his mother was taken away from the government because she was Native American, running away from his home as a child, a *literal child,* and living alone for the large majority of his life until he joins the gang. If that doesn't scream emotional baggage, then I don't know what does.

I see it a lot in many fics, where Charles is taking care of Arthur; the difference in the number of fics is proof enough that people seem to view him as a big, strong protector, and not a fully fleshed human with actual emotions. Because that's what he is. He's not a trauma dumping ground.

Smut fics, too, are no exception to the rule. Because Charles is *slightly bigger,* people seem to think that he has to be some hulking sex god with all the knowledge in the world, while Arthur is a frail, submissive UwU bottom. I highly doubt that Charles has had much sex, if any sex at all, due to growing up alone, raising himself and having the sexual experience of a pineapple; whereas Arthur was *engaged,* and had a *child* at one point. I think it's pretty obvious who'd be more experienced.

Filtering bottom Arthur vs bottom Charles, with the charthur tag, gives you this result. Surprise surprise.

Let Charles Smith be vulnerable. Let him be held, let him cry or be patched up after an incident or let him take a goddamn dick up his ass.

Thanks for coming to my Ted talk 💋

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Could you do just a small fluff scene in Charles’ and Arthur’ life?

Winter in Canada was always a long, bitter affair. The cold was a living thing, a vicious creature that bit hard as any teeth and snuck in every chink and gap in the small wooden cabin that Charles and Arthur called home. 

February of 1903 was the coldest month the two men had wintered through yet. Which was why, despite the first rays of sunshine beginning to gleam at the edges of the shuttered windows, Charles was content to continue lazing in the honeyed warmth of his and Arthur’s bed. 

That was until a draft of frigid air hit the bare skin of Charles’ back, rousing him. Before he could turn to protest, Charles yelped, flailing under the heavy covers as icy fingers tickled the crease where his thighs met his ass. 

“Shit—” Charles cursed, rolling to face his attacker. 

Arthur stood bent over his own side of the bed, laughing, bare hands braced on the worn knees of his snow-dusted union suit.

It was clear from the flakes in his hair and beard that the other man had gotten up to use the outhouse. As was his habit, the lazy bastard had suffered through the icy wind of the blizzard outside in his long johns and sockless feet shoved in boots, rather than bundling up for the short trip. Which explained why his hands felt like the frozen touch of death.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur wheezed out between guffaws, sounding anything but. “You just looked so peaceful—”

“You’re gonna be sorry,” Charles grumbled, seizing his husband by the wrist and yanking him onto their bed.

After a brief scuffle Charles had Arthur pinned face down against the bed, firmly wrapped in one of their blankets like a child swaddled against the cold. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Arthur huffed, struggling under the casual sprawl of Charles’ weight on top of him. “Lemme make it up to ya—”

Charles snorted, burying his face in Arthur’s neck as he adjusted the covers over his shoulder. He had Arthur effectively trapped, icy death-fingers neatly neutralized by the layers of quilt binding his delinquent cowboy from neck to knee. 

“You put another one of those ice blocks on me and I’ll bite you,” Charles grumbled, snuggling his arms around Arthur like the other man was his own personal hot water bottle. 

Arthur snorted. “Just wanted to thaw them out a little, darlin’,” he whined, squirming. It was a useless exercise—Charles was a warm, heavy weight against him, perfectly distributed to keep Arthur from getting his knees under him or wriggling an arm out. “Just made sense to reach for the hottest little hole I ever—“ 

Charles cut Arthur off with a forceful, biting kiss, rolling him so Charles sat astride Arthur’s hips, hands pinning Arthur to the bed by the shoulders.  

“Filthy,” Charles admonished, amused despite himself. His hair was half-escaped from the braid he wore it in for sleep, tousled by their roughhousing. 

“You’re a filthy, dirty man, Arthur Morgan,” Charles purred, lips close enough to brush Arthur’s own. His warm, sleep-sour breath puffed against Arthur’s cheeks, melting the last of the flakes caught in his short beard. 

Arthur smirked, craning his neck upward to peck a sweet kiss to the corner of Charles’ mouth. 

“You like me dirty,” he challenged, bucking up as best he could against the perfect bulk of Charles’ ass cradled against his hips. It was a freezing morning, but the look and feel of Charles settled snug across his lap had Arthur feeling as eager as a buck in spring.

“C’mon, sugar,” Arthur wheedled. “Lemme warm you up, show how sorry I am for terrorizing’ ya this early.” 

Charles hummed, sitting back as he considered the troublesome man he shared his bed with, who he called husband. 

“Alright,” Charles said, bending to settle against Arthur so their chests pressed together, the heat of their bodies trapped under the covers in a perfect, lazy simmer. Charles nipped against the bare, scarred spot on Arthur’s chin, dragging his lips through the bristles of Arthur’s beard. Lips tingling, he pressed his mouth against his husband’s ear, taking the lobe between his teeth with a gentle scrape.

Arthur keened, finally freeing an arm from his bindings. He ran his big, warm hand down the smooth skin of Charles’ back, calloused thumb caressing the dimples right at the base of his spine.

“You wanna warm me up, cowboy?” Charles teased, rolling his hips down into Arthur’s lazily. Arthur whined underneath him, free hand groping lower to catch Charles under his thigh, pulling him in tighter.

Charles pressed another kiss to the soft, greying hairs at Arthur’s temple. He cuddled close, lining himself up to Arthur hip to shoulder. He trailed his lips back to the shell of Arthur’s ear, warm breath moist against the skin. 

“Then put the coffee on,” Charles whispered, then stole the rest of the covers as he dove back to his side of the bed, bundling up against the cold. 

Arthur lay beside him, audibly sputtering at his husband’s sudden and completely predictable betrayal. 

“You’re a cruel man, Charles Smith,” Arthur grumbled, struggling free of the single, measly quilt left to him. He huffed, glaring down at the incredibly smug lump of blankets beside him. 

The lump shifted as Charles snugged up tighter in his stolen covers, not deigning to grant Arthur a response. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, resigning himself to properly starting the morning. There was always a chance he’d sneak a little sugar out of his man once the cabin was warm and breakfast was started.

Arthur got up with a groan, slipping his feet into the warm moccasins Charles had sewn up for him three years back. 

He put the coffee on.

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

catch me in vegas, catch me in tokyo 🏃🏃🏃

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Charles my beloved

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Ama Codjoe, from "The Bluest Nude" [ID'd]

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

wildlife park ranger/firewatch charles is sooo real to me . more realistically he would be talking on a ham radio but IDC im EVIL 

smoeone should animate him dancing to caramelldansen

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

adding my best buddy friend mr smith to the ever growing list of characters I'd willingly put my life on the line for

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

I was supposed to post this on Saturday but I became incredibly busy since I now have a job for the summer 🥲 No worries tho cause I already have content for weeks to come! Now for the piece itself, I actually enjoyed drawing it!! I love how the colours came out and this is pretty much the start of me just colouring my sketches cause who cares about line art come on 🤧

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

back in my rdr era

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

for you @panaceabro ^_^

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Mary Oliver, "When Did It Happen?", Felicity

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

There is love in holding on and there is love in letting go.