A blog where I can just blatantly thirst over Arthur Morgan! Very much a ship and let ship kind of person, when I write a ship post please exit stage left rather than tell me why my ship is "incorrect". She/her. 30. A volatile pansexual. 18+
Howdy everyone, there's going to be a few changes around here! I will be frank, I'm struggling to find the motivation to write headcanons and fics kind of on demand. And that's definitely not to say that people's ideas aren't great and I wish I could just tap into my old creativity well and write them. It is very much a me thing! I'm incredibly busy with my own writing (working on a novel and a script) so that is kind of taking away a lot of my attention, creativity and requires me to stick at it if I want to get anywhere.
So from now on my inbox will be opened-ish. You're welcome to pop by and suggest an idea, but from now on if I don't feel like writing it I will share it with the wider world (the rest of tumblr) and ask if anyone else would like to take it on. There are a couple of things I'm going to work on from my inbox, but my main focus will be on working on my long form Red Dead Redemption 2 Fanfic - The Only Compass I Need and my Red Dead Redemption rewrite (work in progress).
Thank you to everyone for being lovely and supportive. Please don't ever hesitate to drop by with your thirsty thoughts of the day or even, dare I say it, your VDL Gang height discourse opinions!
”If you ever need to talk, my ears are all yours. Any part of me is yours, should you wish.”—Halsin, Act 3.
Halsin x inexperienced!fem!reader
PWP
word count: 653
NSFW/MDNI below the cut
The puffed seam of your sex was exposed. And throbbing with need. You widened your legs with wicked intent, granting Halsin a generous view of what the handling of his turgid member had done to you, unable to resist snaking a slender hand down to stroke your neglected pearl.
He smelled of herb gardens rather than musk, not at all like the scent you had expected from the many bawdy stories, all of them claiming that human men possessed a distinct odor in their most private regions.
Not elves, it would seem.
In fact, there were no signs of advanced years below his waist. As you were given the opportunity to look, feel, and taste him up close, you found him divinely sculpted: from the weight of his balls to the immense, graceful curve of his cock. It pulsed in your grip, swelling further until it seemed impossibly hard and firm.
You admired the veins running along its dorsal side and the way his uncut foreskin rolled back to expose his substantial glans: the lovely mushroom-shaped head with a purplish tint and delicate indentation. Pearlescent, milky beads of precum gathered at the slit beneath your ministrations, glistening against his skin.
The act of devouring his seed.
Rather than spilling into a waiting womb, it would be subsumed and broken down, reduced to the nutrients and vitamins vital to the creation of life. It was a selfish act. A blasphemous one.
And the fact that the former Archdruid wanted you to do it—that he had willingly offered himself up for you to wine and dine upon—was unbearably titillating.
The wet suction of your mouth and the deep, shameless swallows echoed obscenely through the cavernous space. You grew bolder. Greedier. Saliva gathered faster than you knew what to do with, some of it slipping from the corners of your lips, displaced by the girth of Halsin’s cock as you fed him into your mouth with every bobbing movement.
Further and deeper you dared to take him, feeling his twitching head nudge insistently against the entrance to your throat. Then, suddenly, you slipped, and he plunged.
Your swallowing reflex seized, rippling along his shaft and massaging his crown.
Halsin groaned loudly, the sound breaking into a gasp. The hand tangled in your hair tightened painfully, urging you deeper before he caught himself.
It had been instinctive. A momentary loss of control.
You were unused to such stimulation. You gagged and were forced to retreat, coughing softly as you caught your breath. Halsin did not seem to mind. If anything, his dark, blown-out eyes and parted lips suggested that he had liked it far too much.
You were certain he had experienced every manner of lover: skillful artisans in the service of Sharess who could take a fat cock all the way without so much as a blink, and partners like you, innocent to the many ways of carnal expression and desire, still learning the ropes.
The thought did something unexpected to you.
There had been other souls who had taken pleasure from his cock, who had sought him out and greatly desired him, knowing he promised a night they would not soon forget. Rather than stirring jealousy, the thought thrilled you. You enjoyed watching the way others perceived your lover: the way Halsin moved confidently in a crowd, the way their eyes followed his stride, the way they yearned.
Because you knew that all of this was yours.
It filled you with pride. It made Halsin even more desirable and unbearably attractive.
Your appetite sharpened. You moved faster, curling your tongue along the underside of his length to collect his salty taste before hollowing your cheeks once more and sucking down hard.
Halsin growled.
His strong hand tightened in your hair again, guiding the movements of your head and neck. Faster.
You mewled around a mouth far too full to answer him.
I thought babies made cute, babbling, goo goo gaa gaa noise and meanwhile I'm putting my laundry away and can hear my 8 month old son growling in his crib! 😂
In the most appropriate way I can ask how'd you feel wjen you heard the original take of Arthur talking too his horses
I'd only ridden male horses for the longest time, so when I heard the re-recording of 'Good girrrrrrl' with a female horse I nearly fell off my sofa! I was like a Victorian woman on a fainting couch! When I heard the original my brain turned to mush! 😅🥵
Halsin would've been proud of me today because I rescued a massive bee from a train carriage! Fly free huge fuck off bee! Hope they made it home safe because it must've been pretty wild to travel for a few mins and end up miles away!
Omg, the cuteness and hilarity! I think my son recognises the voices and music from Baldur's Gate 3 because I played it so much while he was in the womb, that he now finds it soothing. He's stopped fussing and is watching me play it. XD
I just know Halsin would be there for Tempest through everything, from pregnancy to birth. And when the moment comes, he’d draw their daughter into his bare hands as Tempest makes the final push, unwrapping the umbilical cord and becoming the first to hold their newborn daughter—Beorna Half-Elven.
With tears blurring his vision. He’d breathe her in before anything else, unbothered by the vernix and amniotic fluid smeared across his face and chin. Committing her scent to memory, letting her imprint on his in turn, knowing him as a source of safety.
He’d keep her close in those first days, rarely setting her down—curled in his hands, tucked into the crook of his arm, or sprawled warm and heavy against his chest. Fully content to stay at home as long as Tempest will allow it, tending to them both with quiet care.
The first year belongs to Tempest, of course, but Halsin never strays far. He notices the small things: when her eyes start to close, when her grip loosens. Gently taking the baby before sleep can claim her too deeply.
And when their daughter wakes hungry, he doesn’t wake Tempest if he can help it—just gathers them both to him, one arm secure around her, the other guiding the baby. Helping their daughter find her way, nudging, steadying, until she latches. Only when he hears those first strong pulls does he allow himself to relax.
Their firstborn has Tempest’s brown eyes (pre-curse), with Halsin’s freckles dusting across soft skin. Born with a full head of straight, dark hair that slowly turns to curls as she grows. A sturdy, dimpled thing—wide-eyed and early to move, always reaching, always watching.
Beorna adores him, crowing the moment she sees her father, bouncing in a jumper he (of course) built and fitted himself. Chewing on everything she can get her hands on, including her parents. And when teething turns her relentless, Tempest passes her off without ceremony—Halsin taking her just as amused, letting her mouth and drool on his forearms without a second thought.
He steals her away often, just to hold her—pressing his face into her fine hair, breathing her in, covering her round cheeks and button nose with slow, absentminded kisses. Sometimes long enough that Tempest ends up watching them, just a little put out when the baby starts reaching for him instead.
And when they play peekaboo, the babe laughs—this sputtery, snorting, breathy little 'ssch–schh', limbs flailing with delight. A ridiculous, perfect sound.
A happy baby from the start. Always curious. Offering gummy smiles to anything that catches her eye—people, plants, creatures. Animals especially seem drawn to her; deer lingering close, bunnies bold at her feet.
And Halsin carries her through all of it, tucked into a sling against his chest, moving through his day with her anchored to him—like she’s always been there.
Made this while listening to the 500 miles song bc I thought of him wishing to be back home as a boy again with his mama when life wasn’t such a mess for him.
GENERAL NSFW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN
𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐈 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓.
𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖: ✓ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄: ✗
ARTHUR MORGAN.. who is thick and long enough to slap his own stomach when sprung free from the constraints of his denim and various buckles.
ARTHUR MORGAN.. who is well aware of the size and girth that he is endowed with, careful on who to share it with— unable to yet find a girl who could take it without tears welting in the edges of her eyes in the beginning, begging for more but still pleading for a break. it wasn’t ever easy for the man.
ARTHUR MORGAN.. who still chooses to take it slow and steady anyway, patient and kind to the lucky lady who happened to be you. splitting your legs with his prying knee, climbing on and in between your body to look at the stunning display that was so rarely a sight to see— savoring it, he tries.
ARTHUR MORGAN.. who hasn’t done this in a while, but still remembers what women like and yearn for— a caring and kind man.
ARTHUR MORGAN.. who is a gentle man and gentler lover, who glows and glistens in candlelight with handsome features that can easily turn you slick. whose anticipation alone drives you wild with desire in awaiting what he’s going to do to you.
ARTHUR MORGAN.. who knows just how to split you open, steadily slapping the tip of his cock into the folds of your cunt, readying you for him. looking down, he spits onto your simmering skin to ease the push he’s going to make.
ARTHUR MORGAN.. who has to bite his bottom lip from the memory flooding him of how great it feels, fighting his flesh as the muscles in his back begin to tighten in an attempt of not cumming already.
You know what's weird that I realised recently, so many history books and shows act like it's so weird people back in ye olde days would dress their babies and kids in the mini version of adult clothes. But like we do the same! It's not like jogging bums naturally occur in the wild!
