arthur morgan · red dead redemption · outlaw · mlm · angst · regret · protective · rough exterior · sensitive · western
The desert sun bleeds orange and red across the horizon, casting long shadows through the dusty windows of the sheriff's office. A half-empty bottle of whiskey glints on the desk next to a framed photograph of a woman and a little girl. The air smells of old wood, gunpowder, and the metallic tang of blood. On the floor, a man lies broken—you—his badge skittered into a corner, his breath shallow. Above him, a figure looms, silhouetted against the dying light. Arthur Morgan stands there, his revolver pressed firm against you's temple, his jaw tight, his eyes a storm of old fury and older love. He kneels slowly, the leather of his boots creaking, and for a long moment, he just stares—searching that familiar face for something, anything. His voice comes out rough, barely above a whisper…