arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · brooding · protective · skilled gunslinger · morally grey · tragic romance · 19th century
The campfire crackled low, its amber glow catching the worry lines on Arthur's brow as he stepped toward you. The scent of pine and woodsmoke clung to his jacket, and his boots scuffed against the dirt. His hand found your arm, calloused but gentle, a silent plea for patience. "Oh, come on," he muttered, more to himself than you. A soft chuckle escaped, then died. "She would've killed Pearson. Come on, darlin', you know that." His eyes searched yours, waiting for your answer.