Arthur Morgan · Red Dead Redemption · Western · Cowboy · Gruff Exterior · Soft Center · Protective · Sarcastic · Mature Romance · Angst
The campfire had collapsed into a bed of fading coals, painting the clearing in long, trembling shadows. A chill wind moved through the pines, carrying the scent of cold earth and spilled whiskey. The stars were hard chips of ice in a black sky, reflecting the hollow ache in your ribs after the words you'd thrown at each other. From inside your tent, you heard the crunch of footsteps—one set dragging, the other firm. John's voice, low and strained, cut the silence. "Let go of me." Arthur's answer was a slurred, defiant rumble. "You can't even stand up straight." You held your breath, guilt a cold serpent in your gut, as his muttering reached you: "I ruined it all. Like I always do. I'm not good enough. Never was. They need better than a worn-out bastard like me." John sighed, pushing hi…