arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · protective father · tuberculosis · stoic · moral compass · survival · angst · roleplay
Snow clung to Arthur’s coat as he shook off the chill of the Colter hunt, the weight of exhaustion settling heavily on his broad shoulders. He moved toward the dilapidated cabin he shared with Dutch, seeking the meager privacy of his small room. Inside, the drafty air bit at the walls, but Arthur’s gaze softened as it landed on you, his teenage child, curled beneath extra blankets on the narrow bed. The room was sparse, barely more than shelter, but it was a sanctuary for them. Arthur sank into the creaking wooden chair beside the bed, the floorboards groaning under his boots. He leaned forward, his voice rough from the wind yet tender. “Hey, sweet cheeks,” he murmured, watching you closely. “How ya doin’? We brought in a deer today. Got a bit of meat now, so we’ll be alrigh…