#arthur morgan x charlotte balfour

[karlseer]

You are my Tahiti

[amorgansgal]

*pushes my foot back and forth in the dust* I'm just saying that Charlotte's kiss on Arthur's cheek is very important to me and I don't know if you guys realise how much of a big fucking deal that was in the 19th century, because men and women couldn't even be alone in the same room together unless they were related in some way or already married, and the fact that she kissed him is just a major thing for an unmarried, middle/upperclass woman of that time. But it's cool... I care about this a normal amount!

[docdalas]

—now i’m pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door

[arthurmorganwateringhole]

pls tell us more about your Charlotte/Arthur weekend sex getaway!!!! I read your excerpt and have not known peace

omg... im so sorry LOL i totally forgot to check my tumblr, and so I apologize for this delay.

im sorry anon i haven't written anything new for that or for any red dead thing lately. for one, i've been on vacation and haven't had time to check social media as much.

ALSO WHILE I RESPOND GONNA WARN THIS IS POTENTIALLY NSFW/sexual content mentioned

idk what else to say about it, but i think it'd be nice if Charlotte gave Arthur a bath, and they talked. like well into the night, they just chatted about nothing, meanwhile both are wistfully thinking in another life this could've been nice. and inwardly, arthur feels guilty bc he's also thinking this could've been him and mary, but he had to be a big ole fool and let her get away for some pipe dream and a crazy man he no longer knows.

meanwhile, charlotte is just simping and marveling at how, even in his sickly, emciated form, his body shows signs of a former brute strength, how his skin is taut and weathered with the hard years of his life, and how his callused hands must have done so many awful things, and yet held hers as delicately as a flower

and i think if they have sex, it's bc she joins him in the bath and he's hesitant bc as i said he feels guilty for roping her into his life when he's clearly dying and also bc his heart still belongs to mary, but she tells him that it's okay like she's not a child or some hopeless romantic. she has no assumptions about what they could or couldn't be, so she tells him, 'let me take care of you' and he finally lets go of everything stopping him from enjoying what could be considered the last good days of his life. and he definitely thinks of mary and when they were kids, how he wishes he could've had this somehow with her, but in the end it's okay bc he got to save charlotte's life, who's a good woman and definitely deserves a good man to be there with her to the end of her days.

when they're done they sleep together in bed, and arthur sleeps past his usual rising time of sunrise. he wakes up to another note from charlotte that she's gone hunting but he can help himself to the porridge she made and the coffee, and that he doesn't have to stay.

so he leaves without seeing her again, content to know that the night they had could only happen once and never again.

[hannahmationstudios]

Shot in the dark here, but is there an Arlotte [Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour] community anywhere? Or any kind of fanfiction/fan content-centric RDR2 community? I know the game is a few years old at this point so my expectations are appropriately low.

[zanazirafanfic]

Summary: 25 winter-themed Red Dead prompt fills, featuring all of our favorite Van der Linde gang members (minus the camp rat) and set in a much happier, canon-divergent version of 1910. Happy holidays, cowpokes! Yeehaw!

(Prompts will be listed at the beginning of each chapter. Pairings and characters vary by chapter, but all of them will be connected and work toward the same central storyline by the end.)

Warnings: None Rating: Teen Category: M/M Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Charlotte Balfour & Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith Characters: Charlotte Balfour, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith Chapters: 9/25 Word Count: 4,278 Chapter Summary: Arthur and Charles arrive at Willard's Rest, gifts are exchanged, and Charlotte might have made a new friend after all is said and done. Day 9 Prompts: Visiting Friends

@photo1030

[papaue00]

My secret is that i ship charlotte/arthur too although as in a fling and not like, a permanent relationship 🫣 i don’t know why but i just think they wouldn’t care about committing to each other (and imo this still holds true even if they were a situation where arthur wasn’t dying)

[sweet-by-and-by]

Baptized In Your Name - Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

summary: The rugged stranger who found her at her lowest turns back up on Charlotte Balfour’s doorstep, offering help as she navigates her new life in the remote wilderness. Determined as hell, she lets him teach her a thing or two about guns, and finds herself offering her own help in turn. But as questions of his past bubble to the surface, will she find the man she believes him to be, or will she learn of a darker side? word count: 3819 pairing: Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

AO3

The Northern air had always been healing. Arthur took a deep breath in, the fresh air from the Northern Kamasana River calming and crisp.

He had travelled across the Eastern Grizzlies after his ride with Rains Falls. He decided to take the long way back to camp, needing some time away after all his talk of ghosts. Away from Dutch, from John, from everyone who reminded him of everything he had lost.

The painful memories played in his mind as he rode through the mountains. He rode down into Roanoake Ridge, stopping as he approached the fork in the road at Doverhill. He chuckled at the memory of the mad scientist there, a frown settling across his face as he recalled another life lost. He wondered if he was cursed, if to meet him was to meet the angel of death itself.

It had been a few days since he found the widow of Willard’s Rest, Arthur thought to himself as he hesitated at the crossing of pathways. He eyed the road to his right, the one that would take him back to camp. His frown deepened at the thought of seeing Dutch just yet, and he spurred his horse Eastward.

It didn’t take long before he was turning off the main path towards Charlotte’s cabin. He savoured the beautiful scenery, idly watching a buck stand guard over his family as they sipped from the river’s edge.

He startled at the sound of gunfire, his attention drawing towards the sound. He reached for his holster, ice running through his veins as he realized the gunshots were coming from Willard’s Rest.

He dug his heels into his horse’s side, the loyal beast sensing his panic and darting off towards the cabin. Visions of robbers and bandits danced across his mind, fearing what he would see when he rounded the bend up towards the cabin.

He pulled his horse to a stop as he crossed through the gate, eyes scanning the homestead to assess the situation. His brows furrowed in confusion when he saw that Charlotte was alone, and he quickly holstered his weapon before she could take notice.

“Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed as he swung out of the saddle. His worries drained away at the tone in her voice and the beaming smile she wore as she turned to greet him.

He took in the state of her, his confusion only deepening at the rifle in her hands. He tried to focus as she thanked him again for the rabbit, doing his best to keep his concern off of his face. He had only just met the woman, but he found himself worrying for her already.

He listened as she told him of her plan to shoot at some bottles, his heart lifting at the excitement in her eyes.

He offered his tips, his heart racing as he leaned in close to her. He shuffled slightly as he adjusted her stance, begging his hands to stay steady as he pointed down the barrel to guide her aim.

They worked together to improve her shooting, and by the end of their session Arthur was impressed. She may not be taking on Annie Oakley anytime soon, but he could see she took pride in her gained skills and her determination was infectious.

“Thank you for everything,” she smiled, her melodic voice drowning out his thoughts. “Would you join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”

Arthur nodded, not daring to speak as his chest tightened. His heart hammered at the invitation, hammering against his ribs. He followed her into the cabin and glanced around her home. The solid wood logs were familiar to him, but the decorative touches screamed of rich inhabitants. Arthur felt starkly out of place against the backdrop of luxury. He awkwardly took a seat in the ornate dining chair at Charlotte’s prompting.

He looked around and took in the rest of the cabin, and could practically hear Hosea scolding him for his gawking. Her home was full of beautiful items, the likes of which Arthur had never seen in a cabin in the woods.

He whipped his head around at the sound of the stew pot slamming down on the table, Charlotte’s hiss at the heat drawing his eyes to her. He smiled politely as she dished up his dinner, passing it to him with a “bon appetit”.

“Huh?” he slipped out before he could stop himself, and he quickly cursed his muddled response. Charlotte spoke of Aristotle with grace that would have Dutch draped at her feet, and here Arthur was sounding like some back country hick in Murfree territory.

“Please, enjoy,” she said, her eyes casting downwards in embarrassment. Arthur felt himself flush at the realization he thought it was cute, casting his own gaze down to a spoonful of stew. “And thank you again, for everything. I really am grateful.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” he dismissed, scraping his spoon against the porcelain bowl to keep himself busy.

“You’re a good man,” Charlotte said decidedly, turning away before she could see him react. He was taken aback by her conviction.

“Oh, you don’t really know me,” he murmured, his conscience heavy with the weight of misleading a poor widow. He thought of his deeds, of the list he could give her to prove his case.

“I know enough,” she retorted, busying herself around the kitchen.”There’s always more to find in ourselves, you helped me to see that.”

“My husband Cal was such an optimist,” she said fondly as she took her seat across the table from him, “I found that to be quite contagious. We were both born with the silver spoon...banquets, butlers, valets,” she trailed off.

“Sounds awful,” Arthur chuckled, a cough working its way through his chest. His ears rang and his vision wavered as he tried to suppress it. He blinked to clear his eyes, listening pointedly as Charlotte told him of her father and her fear of being crushed by the wilderness.

“Well, I reckon you’re gonna be just fine,” he coughed, struggling against his labouring breath.

“Are you alright?” Charlotte asked, her worry evident. His coughing worsened but he waved her off, rising to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he stammered, rising to his feet. The spell he was under broke, and he realized the risk he was putting her at by having come in for dinner. He rushed to get himself out the door, out of her home and away from her with his disease. The angel of death had forgotten his place, let himself enjoy Charlotte’s company and foolishly put her in danger.

“Thank you for this,” he struggled, staggering forward as the room spun around him. He forced himself to keep going, splatters of blood peppering his fist as he coughed even harder. “I think,” he wheezed, “it’s best if I just-”

And he was down on his knees.

He heard Charlotte rush towards him as he collapsed to the floor, trying to keep her back as his body shook. His lungs burned and his abdomen ached, rendering him helpless as he curled into himself.

“Stay right there,” he faintly heard, “it’s going to be okay.”

The melodic promise carried him away as darkness swallowed him.

--

He startled awake, another cough bringing him back to life. This one was less debilitating, just the usual tickle through his chest and throat.

He propped himself onto his elbows, looking around to register his surroundings. He forced himself to roll onto his side, pushing himself to a seat with a groan. He shook his head and ran his hand down his face, stopping to wipe blood from the corner of his mouth. He glanced around again and noticed a note at his bedside, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he leaned forward to reach for it.

“My Dear Arthur,” he read, blinking at the words before him. His face sunk as he recalled his letter from Mary just a few days before, the same greeting pulling at his heartstrings.

He smiled as he read the rest of the letter, fought through the confusion from the sleep-addled fog that still clouded his mind. He admired her penmanship, her decorative sprawl surely a result of her higher education.

He scowled at her words about the money in the jewelry box. He knew she had plenty, but his stomach turned at the idea she thought his visits were for some kind of payout. He tucked the letter away, reaching around the jewelry box for his hat. He stood, glaring at the box that stashed the bills as he pushed past the door and into the main room.

True to her letter, Charlotte was out hunting. He took another chance to gaze around the room, no memory of Hosea’s reprimanding stopping him this time. A fire roared in the great stone hearth, warming the cabin from the slight chill in the morning air. This far North the chill lingered late into Summer, and Arthur was grateful as a shiver crept down his spine.

Though he wasn’t sure the cold was to blame for that.

He looked at the fine furniture, wondering to himself how much they had brought from Chicago. He was sure it wasn’t purchased around here, though he supposed it could have been shipped up through Annesburg.

He looked at the pictures in their frames, photographs and paintings decorating the dark wooden walls. He was struck with a longing to stay, to hang his own photos alongside her relatives.

His heart ached as he continued to look around the cabin. He imagined a life here, of coffee brewed on cold mornings and conversation shared over breakfasts. The fancy furniture would take some getting used to, but he could easily see himself settling into it. Could even imagine the patter of small feet running across the floors, the chime of a child’s laugh bouncing off the walls.

He shook his head to clear that thought, the echo of ghosts rattling in his skull. He turned to the door, walking towards it as he left those images behind. There was no point in pining for something so intangible. All just hopelessly romantic dreams of a life he stopped deserving long ago.

He pushed the front door open and stepped out onto the porch. His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun, and he faintly wondered how long he’d been out for. A misty fog hung low in the air, the weather seeming to reflect his somber thoughts.

Arthur sighed and stepped down from the porch, greeting his horse from across the homestead. He strolled down the path at a leisurely pace, trying to savour the last few moments before mounting up and heading back to camp. He approached his steed with a pat on the neck, wiping away some dirt from their journey. Arthur noticed the horse’s trepidation to his touch, his own hair rising on the back of his neck. He was suddenly overwhelmed by an encroaching feeling of being watched.

He reached into his saddle compartment and pulled out his rifle, gripping it tightly as he checked the chamber. He looked for cover, but found nothing useful in sight.

“Well look who decided to make an appearance!” a voice cried out from the woods. Two men on horseback emerged from the thicket, guns already drawn and aimed.

Bounty hunters.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Arthur warned, “payday ain’t worth the risk you’re about to take.”

“I dunno,” the other one snickered, “they really seem to want you. I reckon we could get ‘em to ten thousand if we brought in that lovely lady of yours too, I bet she’s got all kinds of things to say.”

The first man hummed, his eyes darkening, “If we even hand her over,” he smirked devilishly.

Arthur growled, his fists clenching around the cool metal of the rifle. His lips cured up in a snarl as rage rushed through his veins. Before he could think, his barrel was pointed between the man’s eyes and a bullet ripped through the air. Arthur quickly dispatched the other one, whose bolt was still half-cocked in loading when his body slumped down the side of his horse.

Arthur heaved as his rage coursed through him, snorting furiously and spitting at his feet. He fought back another cough, not willing to let his victory be spoiled by another fit.

He watched as their horses took off, throwing their heads back and whinnying as they galloped away. He sighed and shook his head, slinging his rifle across his back as he went to get rid of the bodies.

He whistled for his horse, who met him dutifully as he hoisted the first bounty hunter up. He slung the body over the horse’s rear, the man’s arms and legs dangling morbidly as he hung from the beast. He reached down to lift the other hunter over his shoulder, and he whistled again for his horse to follow him.

They walked the bodies down to the water, stashing them behind a rocky coverhang at the base of the waterfall. He quickly washed the blood from his coat in the pool of the river, hoping it wouldn’t stain. He wasn’t sure how much laundry the girls were doing anymore, not that he would be in camp long enough to have it washed anyway. His stops there were getting shorter and shorter between Dutch’s errands, the state of the camp only adding to his souring temperament.

Once he was satisfied with his cleaning, deciding it wouldn't get much better than this, he walked back up the hill to Willard's Rest. He wanted to make sure there was no trace of the bounty hunters left, get their horses good and gone before Charlotte returned from hunting. He held back another cough, frustrated by the ache in his lungs. He had barely done any heavy lifting, nothing that would even have him breaking a sweat a few months ago, but now he could feel himself on the edge of exhaustion.

He passed under the wooden arch and paled when he spotted Charlotte standing on the front porch. She held a hat and a pistol in her hands, remnants he had missed from the bounty hunter’s corpse. He sighed and cast his gaze down to his feet, keeping his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat as he approached her.

She turned to look up at him, her confusion evident as he drew nearer. Her mouth opened as if she was going to speak, but no words came.

"Mrs. Balfour," Arthur murmured, stopping when he reached the steps of the porch. He kept his head dipped, resting his hands on his gunbelt and waited for her to speak.

"Please, it’s Charlotte" she said, looking between him and the hat in her hand, "is everything alright? I found this by the gate, a-and there was blood in the dirt…"

Arthur said nothing, just refused to meet her gaze.

"Did something happen? Are you alright?" she asked, her tone more insistent. Arthur heard worry in her voice, foolishly hoping she was afraid for him, not of him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, "some...some men came lookin up here, tryin' to find somethin'."

"Oh my," she gasped, "did you chase them away? What on earth would they be looking for up here? Perhaps it was Cal's relatives, I wrote to them regarding his...incident."

Arthur almost smiled at the innocence in her eyes, but the weight of the situation kept him serious.

“No,” he drawled, shifting uncomfortably where he stood, “they-uh. They were lookin’ for me. Bounty hunters,” he admitted after a long pause.

He watched Charlotte’s expression shift as she realized what he was saying. He waited for the moment she kicked him off of her porch, shooed him away like the mangy dog he was.

“You’re a criminal,” Charlotte said simply. Her tone was dangerously even.

“I told you, you don’t really know me,” he warned, “I’m not a good man.”

He cringed as Charlotte unconsciously took a step away from him. The action cut through him, made his shame swell and his chest ache. He knew he deserved it and so much more..

The two of them stood there for a moment, tension hanging thick in the morning air. Arthur turned away, clenching his hands into fists at his side and hung his head as he walked away from the cabin. “You don’t want me,” he said forcibly. “I’ll leave. You won’t have to worry about seein’ me no more.”

“What kind of outlaw would just leave?” Charlotte called out, and Arthur froze at her words.

“What?” he gaped. He turned to face her, finally looking up.

“Should I expect to go in and find that you’ve robbed me blind?” she asked.

“No,” Arthur said slowly.

“And will you turn your gun on me and force me to lie with you?”

“No!” Arthur sputtered, appalled that she would even suggest it.

“Well, I’m not sure you’re quite the bad man you seem to think yourself,” she said, her face set with that same determination that he admired so much. She stepped down from the porch and walked slowly towards him. “In the city, everything is painted so black and white. But out here,” she gestured to the forest that surrounded them, “I see clearly now that there are so many shades of grey.”

She closed the last of the distance between them and reached out to rest her hand on his arm. He felt himself relax at her touch, noticing the sweet scent of her perfume that mingled with sweat from her hunt.

She placed her other hand under his chin, dragging his gaze up to meet hers. “You’re a good man,” she said, the steadiness of her voice and the fire in her eyes almost too convincing, “I can feel it in you.”

Arthur didn’t dare to move, barely dared to breathe. Worried that at any moment he would wake to see the waxed canvas of his tent and find that all of this was just some far-fetched dream. His eyes searched Charlotte’s, looking for some kind of trickery or deceit. All he could see was kindness, and he found himself leaning forward against his better judgment.

He startled when his lips pressed against hers, surprised by their softness. It had been some time, but he didn’t remember it feeling this easy in the past. Not even Mary, whose secret, stolen kisses always gave him such a rush.

He was shocked to feel Charlotte return his affections; kept waiting for her to push him away. Instead, she met him with a soft passion that entranced him, made him unable to stop himself from running his tongue along her bottom lip and deepening the kiss.

She opened to him willingly, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in close. Their tongues danced, the taste of coffee on her lips swirling around the cigarette smoke that lingered on his. Nothing else existed in that moment; not bounty hunters or wolves or even Dutch and his plans. Nothing mattered but the taste of her on his tongue, the soft fabric of her shirt beneath his fingertips.

She pulled away after what felt like eternity, leaning her forehead against his. He ducked his head to steal one more chaste kiss in case this was the last chance he had.

He drew back when he felt a teardrop against his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Charlotte’s brimming with tears, silently crying as she squeezed her lids tightly. Arthur reached up to cup her cheek, wiping away the falling teardrops gently with his thumb.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said lowly, his voice all whisky and honey, “I shouldn’t’a- I mean I-” he stammered, returning to his senses. He stepped back and pulled his hand away like it had been burned.

“No,” she choked, “it’s not that. I wanted it- I do want it. I just...,” she hesitated, hiding her face in her hands as more tears flowed, “it’s Cal.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped, a wave of guilt and shame washing over him at the reminder. Widow or not, Charlotte was a married woman. And here he was, stepping right over her husband’s grave to make his move.

His mouth tasted bitter, no longer of coffee and cigarette smoke or the underlying hint of her. He stepped back farther, putting even more distance between them.

Not knowing what to say, he stood aside as Charlotte cried. He forced himself not to reach out to comfort her. He didn’t trust himself not to take, not to hold her in his arms and will everything else to fade away again.

“I make a terrible widow,” she laughed humourlessly, “my husband is barely ten minutes into the grave and I’ve already fallen for the first handsome stranger that crosses my threshold,” she shook her head, her voice catching in her throat.

She smoothed her skirts and wiped away her tears, straightening herself to try and regain composure. She looked to the sky and smiled sadly.

“I think it’s best if I go,” Arthur said, adjusting his hat.

“I wish I could say that I didn’t agree,” Charlotte replied, “but just for now. I’d like to see you back soon, though perhaps without the bounty hunters next time.”

Arthur frowned as the guilt returned. Charlotte stepped forward to place a kiss on his cheek, resting her hand on the other side of his face to draw him in.

“I don’t care what you are,” she whispered against his skin.

“I ain’t got long,” he replied, his head swimming with thoughts of bounty posters and doctors and Pinkertons.

“Once a widow, always a widow,” she joked, “at least now I come with some experience on the matter.”

Arthur laughed, wondering how such a fine society lady could have such humour. Before he could think on it for too long, she was backing away to return to her porch.

“Goodbye, Arthur,” she said, “Arthur Whoever-You-Are.”

“Morgan,” he said, “but, uh, don’t go lookin’ it up. Please.”

She nodded in understanding. He took in the sight of her one last time, trying to memorize each detail of her for his journal. He stared as she reached for the door handle, opening the heavy wooden door and disappearing into the cabin.

Arthur sighed and whistled for his horse, swinging himself into the saddle as he prepared to ride away. He turned back to look at the cabin, his mind racing. He tried not to let himself hope, but he felt lighter than he had in years. So maybe, just for now, he could let himself believe that things would work out. That he could find something he needed at Willard’s Rest, and he could be something in return to the widow that lived there.

[exploradora-writes]

Fireside Love: An Arthur x Charlotte Fic (18+ Only)

Warnings: NSFW, wholesome smut 

Summary:  During a snowstorm, Arthur and Charlotte decide to use their time cooped up in their cabin wisely.

Word Count: 3,455

Notes: Thank you @the-halo-of-my-memory​  and @unpocowboys​ for helping me out with this fic. The both of you are very talented writers! I plan on writing more Charlotte and Arthur fics in the future. These two are one of my favorite comfort couples, so I wanted to make a spicy yet cozy fic about them. Warning: Tons of wholesome smut ahead...

This fic can also be found on my AO3 under exploradora_writes

The first frost flakes began to stick to the window, the kitchen gradually becoming colder as snowflakes began to fall from the pitch black sky outside. 

Charlotte sighed, tossing another log into the stove, her stew stubbornly refusing to boil. She glanced at the woodpile, the three tiny logs lying there in an almost mocking sort of way. 

The clouds blocked out much of the sunlight, but she knew it would be dark soon. She held onto the counter, trying her hardest not to think of the worst, but she couldn’t help it.

He could be lost, stranded with no direction, no food, no warmth.

She shook her head, coming to her senses. Arthur may view himself as nothing but muscle and absolutely no brain, but as his wife, she knew better. He had an excellent sense of direction and survival skills. Any minute he’d be through that door with a load of firewood, and maybe even an animal or two.

She asked if she could come. Two heads were better than one, she tried to reason.

“No, darlin’, as much as I’d love to go with you, I need you stayin’ home and watchin’ over the house, keepin’ it warm. Wouldn’t want any strangers takin’ residence while we’re gone, would we?”

More than one weary traveller, some more hostile than others, had taken up residence in their home on more than one occasion while the two of them were off on hunting trips. While she understood where Arthur was coming from, she couldn’t escape her fear of the worst. She’d already lost one of the men she loved dearly to the harsh conditions of nature, she couldn’t bear to lose another one.

Her motionless broth seemed to stare back up at her as it refused to boil. “You ain’t making this easy for me, broth.”

Talking to an inanimate substance? The snow really was making her stir crazy. Arthur had better hurry up before I start talking to the logs, she thought. 

Figuring the broth was nowhere near boiling over, she took those three pathetic logs sitting on the woodpile and tossed them in the fireplace. She looked around for a match, lit it with a satisfying strike, and tossed it on the pile. The flames licked up the logs, but Charlotte knew it couldn’t last long. She lay back on a chair in the kitchen, staring into the flames of the fire. She smiled, her eyes following the flames as they danced along the logs, remembering all those years ago when her and Arthur danced around the campfire on their little outdoor honeymoon getaway. They drank and sang and made love their fair share of times by the roaring flames of the fire. Sure, it was no fancy trip in the big city, but it was simple and memorable. 

Unfortunately, the fire before her sounded more of a purr as opposed to a roar. She let out another sigh, looking back at the empty woodpile, longing for her strong handsome woodsman to return.  

As if on cue, she heard the door handle jiggle, as the man she had been longing to see emerged from the snowy darkness outside. 

“Arthur!” She arose, practically pouncing on him. He moved his scarf away from his cherry red face, panting from the effort of carrying.. firewood. Loads of it. Charlotte sighed with relief at the sight, wrapping her arms around him. She didn’t care that he was like an icicle, nor that she would get wet from the snow that dusted his wooly blue coat. Her hands met his face, cold despite the large beard he sported. Her lips met his, her warm pink lips melting his icy blue ones. 

“Charlotte,” he breathed. “Glad I made it in time. Bundle up and help me haul in some of this wood. I have a feelin’ this is only the beginin’ of this snow storm.” 

She threw on a sweater, a coat, and a pair of boots. She opened the door to the dark depths of the winter night. The bitter cold nipped at her entire body despite being bundled up head to toe. She tried to imagine how good the fire would feel against her and her lover’s bodies once they were in the warmth of their little home. 

Arthur had made quite the haul. Firewood, some supplies from the general store, and even a deer. She smiled, feeling her body warm up as she thought of how wonderful and lucky she was to have a man like him. 

They fought against the wind back into the house. It took the strength of the two of them to even get the door closed. They both panted and fell against each other. 

“Well, we best get cozy, darlin.’ We’re gonna be here awhile.” Arthur said, removing his snow covered clothes. 

Charlotte returned to the kitchen, the pot of broth finally showing signs that it was preparing to boil. She threw another log on the stove for good measure. 

Arthur came up behind her and kissed her cheek, his cold lips sending a shiver down her spine. “How’s everything comin’ along?”

She smiled as the both began to boil. “Rather nicely now that you’ve returned, cowboy.”

“Hmmm I figured I’d have the opposite effect. My coldness would ruin any hopes of ever makin’ a good meal.”

“Quite the contrary, Mr. Morgan.” She stirred in the ingredients: savory chicken, carrots, onions, and peas. “Because I think you’re so hot, you make pots boil. You made mine boil when you walked through that door.” She looked back at him, stirring the pot in lazy circles. “Cheeks still rosy from the cold?”

“Er, yeah,” he fumbled, “you could say that.” 

She rubbed his face, running her fingers through his beard. “You hungry?”

His hands ran along her hips. “Starvin’..” 

“We could eat in front of the fire if you’d like. It’d be a nice change, don’t you think?” 

“Sure, sounds cozy.” He gave her hips one last squeeze before getting two bowls from the above cabinets. “Smells delicious.’”

“You talking about the soup or are you talking about me, dear?” She gave him a small smile. 

“Can’t I be talking about both?” Like a magnetic attraction, his hands were back on her hips.

“Goodness you’re handsy tonight!” She giggled. “Alright, soup’s on.”

He gave her cheek a quick peck before serving himself a large bowl of soup. She unwrapped some bread she had been saving for tonight and placed it in each of their bowls. They brought their meals over to the fireplace, sitting in front of it. 

Arthur took a sip, his body quickly warming up from the combination of the fire and the broth. He let out a satisfied groan. “This soup’s real good, sweetheart.”

“Well I’m glad you think so,” she beamed. “I always worry I’ll muck something up.”

“That’d be pretty hard for you to do, Char.” He smiled at her, motioning for her to sit closer to him. She obliged, cosying up to him and resting her head on his shoulder.

The sounds of the crackling fire and the slurping of soup filled the room. Arthur tipped his bowl back, finishing the rest of the broth. He let out a satisfied sigh and took Charlotte’s bowl as well, putting them next to the sink to be washed. He’ll clean up eventually, he thought. Right now all he wanted to do was warm up his wonderful wife.

  He changed into his union suit, catching a glimpse outside the window. The snow came down with a vengeance. He grabbed a log from the pile and tossed it into the dying flames. The fire continued to dwindle. 

“Goddamm it,” he muttered, bending over to grab the poker and stir the ashes around. He felt the familiar sensation of a hand giving his behind a light smack. He turned around, his wife looking around, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. 

He arched an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary, darlin’?”

“Was what necessary?” She tried looking away, but try as she might, her lips continued to curl into a smile.

“You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about, missy. Your hand just loves smackin’ my ass, don’t it?” 

“That is quite the accusation, Mr. Morgan!”

“I oughtta smack YOU on the ass.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Well? What’s stopping you?”

He studied her for a second, then knelt down next to her. “Goddamn, have you always been this naughty?”

“Always have, always will be. It’s one of the reasons you married me, remember?” She lay back on the carpet. “Now get me a blanket, would you, darling? It’s freezing in here.”

He sighed, tossing her a few blankets. He tossed another log on the fire, then lay next to her. He wrapped his arms around her as she shivered against him. He scooted the two of them closer to the fire. “There, now that’s better.”

She nuzzled against his chest and yawned. “Arthur?”

“Hmm?” He looked down at her.

“How long do you think we’ll be in here? Waiting out this storm?”

He looked outside again, the snow showing no signs of stopping. “Awhile. Don’t know how long exactly, but we’ve survived much worse. ‘Sides, I stocked up on food and supplies, we’ll be fine.

She sighed, looking up at him and kissing his cheek. “Well, we’ve got plenty of time, what should we do to pass it?”

He chuckled. “Well, there’s always dominoes, and redecoratin’, and we can always be workin’ on our marriage.”

“Oh? And how exactly do you want to work on that?” She held his hand, circling his palm with her thumb.

“Well, when’s the last time we’ve had to ourselves like this? Seems like we’re always busy with housework, farmwork, all kinds of work. This is a good opportunity for us to just… be in each other’s presence.”

She hummed against his chest. “Sounds wonderful.”

The flames of the fire crackled, and Charlotte let out a small, breathy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asked.

“Oh just remembering our little honeymoon.”

Arthur smiled as the memories came flooding back. “That little camping trip.”

“Yes! Remember, out on the lake?”

“How could I forget? We tipped the whole damn canoe over!” He laughed, rocking back and forth and waving his arms around dramatically, reenacting the fateful moment. 

The two of them collapsed on the floor in a heap of giggles, cuddling up to each other to trap the warmth again as their laughter died down. Charlotte looked into the flames of the fire, a small smile on her face. “And the campfire,” she mused. “Illuminated the entire night sky. Millions of tiny stars, looking down at us.”

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, I remember.Them crickets were noisy sons of bitches, weren’t they?”

“I think they thought the same thing about us, dear.” She ran her hands along his chest, gazing into his blue eyes that perfectly complimented his rosy cheeks. 

“Darlin’, you were the one makin’ all the noise,” he said in a low tone.

She sighed, resting her head against his chest. “You’re right, you always were a good lover.”

He rubbed her back, gazing into the flames as well. “You know, we could alway reenact that night. If you’re up to it that is.”

She smirked, smooching his cheek. “I thought you’d never ask,” she whispered in his ear, giving it a small nip. He let a gasp escape his lips.

“Jesus, darlin’.” His lips met hers as he gracefully flipped her onto her back. “I was on top, remember?” He pinned her wrists to the soft, welcoming rug beneath them. It was her turn to let out a gasp. A bead of sweat dripped down her brow, the weight of her husband’s warm body causing blood to rush throughout her entire being. 

She kissed his neck and moaned. “Are you sure I wasn’t the one on top?” She wrapped her legs around his torso and twisted her body around and caught him off guard. Arthur grunted, his wife now the one staring down at him. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Who knew such a typically mild mannered woman could have the drive and spunk of a working girl? He felt himself growing stiff beneath her. 

“No, darlin’, you’ve got it all wrong, remember? You were on top when we was by the lake, after we went skinny dippin’. I remember ‘cause the rocks were diggin’ into my back, but hell, it was worth is just to watch myself disappear inside of you over and over again.”

Warmth flooded her core as she began to grind against his leg. “Well, which was it, Arthur? Make up your mind before...before I..” She buried her face in the crook of his neck and moaned.

“Look at you…” he chuckled. “You gonna cum before I’m even inside you?” 

She shook her head. 

“Thought not. Goddamn, you must be soaked.” He held her against him and kissed her lips. He lay her back down against the soft texture of the rug, his hands exploring her body, as they had on that fateful night. “Now it’s all comin’ back to me. You were lyin’ there, the light of the fire dancin’ across your nude body…” His hands played with the straps of her nightgown before sliding them off, revealing her bare bosom. “Your breasts, milky white…” He planted kisses on them, his calloused fingers running across her pink buds. 

She bit her lip to stifle a moan. “Yeah? Then what?”

He slid the nightgown further down her body. “Your stomach, soft and delicate” His voice had grown low and a bit hoarse. 

Charlotte rubbed her thighs together, her breath shallow as she anticipated his next move.

Finally, he slid the nightgown completely off of her body, the cold air hitting her skin. She shivered, not from the air, but from the sensation of Arthur’s bearded face rubbing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He kissed all the way up her thigh until he reached her core. He placed his fingers against it, and while a layer of cloth separated his touch from her body, she still left out a soft moan.

“Yes...yes…” he growled. “I’m rememberin’ now. How you tasted…” He looked up at her as he slid her panties down her legs. “Darlin’, it’s takin’ everythin’ in me not to devour you right now.”

“W-what’s stopping you?” 

That comment again. God, she was a relentless tease. 

He stared at her as he gave her pussy a long, teasingly slow lick. She let out a soft whimper at the sensation of his warm tongue against her intimacy. Her juices continued to flow, and he was right there to lap them up with his eager mouth.

Her taste was familiar to his tongue, sweet as summer honeysuckles. His beard rubbed the skin of her inner thighs, and she arched her back as his tongue continued to explore the familiar territory of her folds. His cock throbbed against the tight fabric of his union suit. He longed to be inside her, to hold her against him as their heartbeats began to sync. 

He growled, fumbling with the buttons of his suit and he moved his head back and forth. He ran his hand along his entire length, finally letting it free from its previous confines. 

His wife couldn’t help but glance down and moan at the sight of her husband pleasuring himself while he pleasured her. She bucked against his face, feeling herself reaching her peak.

His calloused thumb made lazy circles around her clit while his other thumb circled the head of his cock. 

Charlotte bit her lip and whimpered, squirming against her husband’s face. 

“That’s it, darlin’,” he growled, “cum for me. You can do it, I know you’re close. Fuck…” His cock leaked with precum. 

She arched her back and moaned out his name, and while no one could feasibly hear them in the middle of the woods, right at that moment it felt like the entire world knew that Arthur Morgan was filling her with ecstasy as she reached her climax. 

She panted, her body coated with a thin layer of sweat. “Oh...Oh, Arthur..”

He panted heavily as well, sliding beside her and kissing her, his face and beard still lingering with the taste and scent of her. 

“Mmm that’s a good girl…” he whispered in her ear. 

Her hands squeezed his glistening biceps, then trailed down to his chest and stomach. She played with his chest hair, a sly smirk on her face. “My big man loves to eat, hmm?” she teased, kissing his neck and nipping his earlobe. 

“You’re damn right I do.” He let out a grunt, his cock twitching. 

Charlotte kissed him and shimmied the rest of his suit down his body. 

“Now we’ve just gotta stay close together so we don’t freeze to death,” she said, her hand gripping his length and stroking it. She kissed his lips, muffling the groan that escaped his mouth. 

“Mmm I want us both facin’ the fire,” he whispered. “No more fightin’ to be on top.” 

“Yes sir.” She obeyed, laying on her side facing the fire. 

He slid her body against his, turning her face so he could kiss her. He lifted her leg, reaching a hand around to rub her pussy, still soaked from their previous interaction. 

He slid inside of her with ease, both of them gasping practically the same breath. His cock inside of her was a familiar feeling that seemed to bring her more pleasure with each thrust. 

His large hand clasped her smaller one, the both of them unable to take their eyes off of the other one. The fire continued to roar, and while the outside raged with icy wrathfulness, the inside of their little cabin was a hearth of comfort and pleasure. 

“Darlin’, I…” he growled, twitching inside of her.

A familiar, floaty feeling began to rise in her stomach, and she let out a soft moan. 

He brought their clasped hands down to her sensitive bundle of nerves. With his hand over hers, he guided her and pleased her, as an artist guides his brush across a canvas, and as an artist creates a passion filled work of art, so too were they.

She squirmed against him, barely able to contain herself as she moaned out broken pieces of his name. 

“That’s it, goddamn that’s it…” he growled in her ear. “Cum with me, be a good girl and cum with me..” 

The fire crackled and sparked and so did she, moaning as she came undone once more. 

Arthur pulled out and groaned, spilling his seed on her stomach. 

The two of them collapsed in a heap of sweat, the both of them panting and staring up at the ceiling, holding hands. 

Finally, Arthur mustered up the strength to get up and retrieve a wet cloth to clean up his wife. He smirked as he cleaned her. “You were so good tonight.”

“So were you, dear.” She kissed him. “You always know exactly what I need.”

The fire began to fizzle out. Charlotte sighed and arose, retrieving a log from the pile and tossing it into the fireplace. The light of the flames illuminated every curve of her nude form. Arthur’s heart beat a bit faster at the sight.

He wished to God he could capture her in that same pose. He’d be sure to sketch a replica of it, hell, maybe have her model for him just so he had an excuse to see her naked again. Either way, the sight of her looking like a work of art made his heart soar. She definitely beat all the dirty cigarette cards he and the old gang members used to trade. 

“Something on your mind, Arthur?” 

He blinked a few times before chuckling. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ about you and how lovely you look.”

She smiled and lay down beside him, kissing his forehead. “You’ve still got it, darling.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“I’m not kidding. You were wonderful tonight. It was almost identical to our honeymoon.”

He furrowed his brow and turned his head to look at her. “Almost?”

“Well, we weren’t under the stars!”

He looked out the window, the snow still coming down fast. “Darlin’, you’d better be thankin’ the lord we weren’t doin’ it outside. We’d be freezin’ our asses off in all that snow.”

She giggled, nuzzling against him and kissing his chest. “Well we may not have been making love under the stars, but you certainly made me see stars tonight, Mr. Morgan.”

He chuckled, pulling her against him and kissing her one more time before drifting off to sleep. 

[spiderman-homecomeme]

[amorgansgal]

Here I am on a Wednesday night desperately reblogging any arlotte stuff that I can find because I love them so much and they are such a rarepair.... uuuurrrgggh!

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Favorite Passages of 2020

thought I’d start a new tag for writers for the end of the year--favorite lines/ passages written. There might be a tag like this already but hey I felt like taking a trip down memory lane. I feel like this year has seen me grow a lot. I finished 3 WIPs from 3 different fandoms and decided to make a part 2 of a previously finished fic. What a year, what a year, am I right? Fic writing has certainly made the days easier, made me happy and taken my mind off of situations. 

Obviously the year isn’t over yet maybe something will overtake this, but I felt like taking a trip through memory lane. Also, number five has some light smut.

tagging @laraslandlockedblues @ma-sulevin @kemvee @galadrieljones @thevikingwoman @jentrevellan @wardenari @roguelioness @idrelle @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @queen-kass-the-writer @ellenembee

1. Only Lovers, Resident Evil, Leon S. Kennedy x Ada Wong

She laughs to herself. One moment, they told each other last night. And this is it. They were fools. They’re still fools. Happy, sated, blissful fools. And lovers.

And yet, it’d be cruel not to tell him, to let him live in an illusion. 

“You don’t love me,” she whispers. “you love the me you think about when you’re lonely.” 

“Not lonely now.” 

He glances at her with a mischievous, knowing look. “Neither am I,” she tells him, and she even plays the part, tells him she loves him too. They’re only lovers now, after all. 

“You didn’t have to say that,” he says. “I know what’s true.”

“Then what’s true?” 

He rises, faces her. He cups her cheek, caresses her face. He follows with a gentle kiss.

“Now,” he whispers. “Us.”

***This is from my one shot of Leon and Ada from the Resident Evil games. I played the game over quarantine and my twelve year old feels for the femme fatale and hot agent reignited, so I wanted to tribute that. Now I like Leon and Ada vastly more than Leon and Claire because I just find it more interesting--but beyond that I really wanted to explore an enemies to lovers relationship. They’re on two different sides of a war but they can’t help that attraction and pull, and I just like the idea they kind of see each other sometimes and release some tension, though both skirt around the idea of love. I like this passage because it encapsulates their tense yet dynamic and even romantic pull. Plus when I wrote “you don’t love me, you love the me you think about when you’re lonely” I just felt really powerful and badass, and I collect badass lines that come to my head for future wham lines in my writing, and I am 90 percent sure this was one such line. Either that or it came to me as I was writing, but I honestly don’t remember. 

2.  Love Song on Sapphire Isle, GOT, Jaime x Brienne

From the palace, there’s a strum of a lute, the sound intermingling with the crash of the waves that’s melodic and lulling. They stand side by side, listening to the song—a love song, though Jaime says she is his love song, his greatest adventure.  And she wraps her arms around him, and tells him he is her love song, and her later. Though now, she thinks her later has turned into an always.

***This is from my Jaime and Brienne longfic, a pseudo fix it that really just made me feel better after how disappointed I was with where they took Jaime and Brienne’s arc in the show. Come on George make them each other’s true love in the books I know you are prove those people who can’t read subtext wrong In the fic the term “later,” is part of their romantic dynamic, Jaime and Brienne always telling each other there will be time for romance later before the battle. then they get their later and and they’re stuck in a rut, not knowing what exactly to do. The last chapter, a snap shot of their “later,” years after the penultimate fic chapter, shows the life they’ve built. I tell my kids in my class that their final lines in a paper should pack a punch, and I think with everything that happened in the fic and the idea of later, it was the perfect final line. 

3.The Sweetest Sorrow, RDR2. Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

Come back, she said to him, sitting by their favorite spot in the clearing by the water. I know what you said, and I accepted it, but it is not easy to be the one that waits. It’s not fair that I am always the one that waits. These men in old stories, men like Arthur who masqueraded as an outlaw but were also knights, thought they had the harder duties. Charlotte, though she would always sing for Arthur and the good man underneath that always won over the evil bad man he claimed to be, was tired of singing songs of those men. She sung praises for Penelope and other women like her, the waiters. She sung for herself and her strength, and waited for the day when she could show him again just how strong she was, as strong as him. If only he would come back, one more time. She made sure to pour longings and promises in their parting kiss after he said that she gave him his dream. She kissed him to woo him back.

“Come back,” she said, and she hoped the wind carried her prayers. Come back to me Arthur, she wrote on her journal in her lap. She prayed that her longing, tangible in the words she wrote and spoke would make him stronger, beat that vile thing that had made it’s way into her once proud man and withering him. If he came back and it turned that he had given her his ailment, they could be brave together. She was tired of being brave alone. She was good at being alone, but that didn’t mean she had to endure it.

Come back.

Arthur was made to believe he was alone, and he had to be alone with his ailment. She couldn’t rely on their last conversation, her last kiss to him. Once he was away from her she knew his duty and self-sacrifice would win. Why, why did she not go with him, why did she allow herself to think she had to be the one that stayed? If she was his equal, she would have showed him.

Come back.

He wasn’t alone. He could find a way back to her once everything was fixed, but nothing could ever become truly fixed. Would he remain and remain, hopelessly fixing until he became too frail and withered? She knew him. He would. He was too much of a good man, especially now.

Come back.

It wasn’t that she wanted him to be selfish. She wanted him to be true to himself. But that man was wrestling with a giant called doubt.

Come back.

The wind blew her journal to the last few dozen pages. She hadn’t realized how worn it was before, how the binding was tearing and the pages weren’t sticking to the spine as they used to. Come back, she wrote. Come back to me Arthur. Again and again, she wrote, more furious than the last, her hand flying through her remaining blank pages. The wind was strong, and before she could catch one of the pages that ripped out, she could only watch as the wind ripped it’s away across the stream. More pages began to fly from her journal with all the same messages, come back, come back, Arthur come back, don’t leave me in this dark, cruel place where I can’t find you. Some fell in the river, some were carried to the clearing behind her.

She lost all her blank pages. She didn’t mourn.

“Come back,” she said once more, for the final time. “Come back.”

***So I stopped updating this fic in 2019 because I lost the muse. Frankly too I spent the bulk of writing this story in an unhappy mood, and I associated a lot of my feelings of the time when I thought about going back. however, wanting to replay RDR2 made me fall for Arthur all over again, and made me want to come back to this world, so I reread it and tidied it up and went back. I found I no longer associated the fic with my mood at the time and could appreciate it as it’s own thing. The meta of this section and why I’m found of it is that the idea of blank pages is associated with Arthur and Charlotte’s relationship.  they want to write a story together and fill up their blank pages together. Plus I am just very attached to the image of Charlotte writing in a journal and the pages getting lost in the wind. Also love the literary references and allusions in this fic, and you can see that here. Truth to be told i think this is one of my technically best fics for it’s consistency and build. Also, Arthur lives.   

4. Memoirs of a Long, Long Time, Morrigan x Warden

Rowan had no shame. Once outside the blacksmith’s, he took Morrigan’s hand, leading her out by the water. He held up his hand to Alistair, Leliana and Sten, promising it would be one moment, and one moment only.

“Yes?” she asked, with a dollop of sugary sweetness

He didn’t play games. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Why are you?” she fired back. “We are here for the Arl, not to save the entire village."

“Look around,” he told her. “Who will help these people if I do not?”

“Yet to accept a kiss? From that woman? Shall we keep our list? Leliana, that girl in the chantry, the tavern wench…me….”

He didn’t care if Alistair, Leliana, and Sten were all watching. “You know what I feel for you is different,” he muttered.

“Oh? Is it?”

“Shall I kiss you now to prove it?”

“But I do wonder if you would, gallant knight from a story book? You—”

He took her hand and pulled their bodies closer together, her words disappearing. “Am I a knight, or rogue?” he asked her. “No. I’m a Grey Warden.”

She bit her lip, mesmerized by his. Oh, to have done it then before battle, in front of his companions.

It was a nice thought, but it wasn’t what he wanted.

“I won’t kiss you now,” he said, “though a kiss before battle is what the bards sing of. I’d rather wait to kiss you when you aren’t so…salty. Kisses taste better that way.”

The temptress, Witch of the Wilds smiled, both agreeing with him, and knowing he did indeed want her lips and her lips alone. She stood by his side in battle, and then stood by his side come morning when the village remained. When Bella thanked him again after they came to the tavern with for complimentary glass of mead—a small reprieve before they would head to Castle Redcliffe— Morrigan said nothing and merely stood by his side, her arm pressed against his. When his mead sat untouched on the counter after a few sips, she took his glass and took a sip.

“I suppose I am to wait till after we storm the castle?” she asked.

“If I find a small grotto to take you. I hear kisses happen only in beautiful places.”

“Then we should do it anywhere you are.”

He flushed with vanity. He knew he looked tired, with dark, purplish circles under his eyes and scraggly hair that was growing out, though at least it had some wave to it. He lost weight as well, as his cheeks were hollower. His beard was growing as well, and he knew soon he would need to trim it. Frankly, he looked like what he was: a tired man who slept in the woods and was forced to settle every squabble in Redcliffe Village. And yet the Witch of the Wilds, who looked at radiant as she did when he first met her, would have him anywhere. She liked him as he was: tired and frankly annoyed.

He took one last sip of mead before suggesting they meet Teagan. After that, he would be one step closer to his kiss.

Or, not.

***I always wanted to write Morrigan x Warden. I was so close to making the Warden in In Waking Dreams a male that romanced Morrigan and had Kieran with her, but I chickened out and went with what I was most familiar with, a female Cousland who romanced Alistair. Well, 2020. Time to do the creative things that once scared me lol. If I had the will I’d rewrite IWD just to stick in Morrigan and Rowan, but that would be too hard and mess with the timeline, of Cullen and Lyd’s relationship, because the hero of Ferelden is Hawke’s Warden contact in this fic, and there’s no way Rowan wouldn’t visit his wife and son....I mean maybe I can do it but I don’t have the energy, I’d rather just keep IWD as it is, and I do like the Warden in that fic.

Anyway this fic reminds me a lot of a play---fitting because Rowan was once an actor. I really enjoy their dialogue and banter and I think Rowan’s knightish, charming ways come across in his dialogue. Also I’m proud of the way the story is told. It’s his memories, interspersed with the current time, also switches to Morrigan at Skyhold. ****

5. In Waking Dreams: Dragon Age, Cullen x Quiz

Lydia knew it immediately before he handed it to her, the book of Ferelden myths and legends, with the story of Cliodna, the Avvar priestess who roamed the world looking for her lover nestled within the pages. Lydia had a copy before, though different than the one Cullen handed to her. This was the one his mother held in her hands as she read to her children, the one that survived the Blight to be held in Cullen’s hands again, to be given to his lover.

“Cliodna and Concohbar,” Lydia said thumbing through the pages, captivated by the drawing of the long, dark-haired woman, reunited and swimming in the constellations with the man she loved, the final illustration of the book. Her gaze fell back to Cullen, his expression soft.

“Us,” she said.

“We’re us,” he said. “But they do remind of a certain couple I know.” He caressed her face. “We’re in the same constellation, you and I.”

They couldn’t wait. They made love upstairs in his room, the book safely tucked away on his dresser. He sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off her clothes one by one, slowly and savoring each new patch of revealed skin. He pressed a kiss to her belly as she stood fully nude and himself still clothed—though she helped him rid himself of his shirt as he kicked off his boots and pushed down his trousers and smalls. She sat on his thighs, slid her hands down his body, filled herself with him to the brim. He wrote love letters of a happy birthday on her body, made her come against his hand as she thrust herself down and back upon him, riding his thighs as his calloused hands dug into her hips. Moonlight spilled through the gap in his roof, creating her favorite painting—one of a reverent, loving Cullen—a slight Commander to him in the way he whispered how good she felt, how her want was leaking on him, but unquestionably he was her Cullen.

She spoke his name, a chant and prayer stronger than one she ever prayed to the Maker, his arms wrapping around her and grasping as he shuddered and came, pouring inside of her, resting his head against her beating heart.

“My darling,” she said, covered in both their sweats. “My love.”

“Be honest,” he said against her breasts, peering at her. “Would you have preferred our secret place, something else today? You said you wanted quiet.”

She stroked his bearded face, tousled his hair. “What you all did was perfect. And you coordinated it?”

“Mostly Josephine. But I had some ideas.”

She grinned. “Darling. You have given me the happiest of days.”

***Well, I always wanted to continue IWD, just got caught up in other fandoms. Plus I didn’t think I was ready yet. Believe me I tried but I had no clue where to start. Well, I finally learned: Lydia’s birthday, Cullen throwing her a party. Actually I do enjoy this whole chapter--it’s Lydia and Cullen being romantic and fun and throwing out their pet names, the two just enjoying each other as they are. It’s so refreshing to see them happy and not uptight in a canon fic, because oooh boy rereading the fic and getting back into the world made me realize just how damn dramatic they are, lol. And I wouldn’t have it any other way, we high drama here or we go home. Anyway, really happy to be back, like over the moon even, and I had a reader tell me my writing has improved since I finished in 2018. So, it was quite nice to hear, quite affirming.******

Part of me has never gotten rid of my innate flowy language, but I do think I have improved with just saying what I need to say with no embellishment at certain points. 

[dalekofchaos]

Context for choice 2. Arthur insists John stays at the ranch with his family while he, Charles and Sadie take care of Micah and Arthur takes John's place in hunting down Bill, Javier and Dutch. And Arthur sacrifices himself to save The Marstons and Uncle.