western · red dead redemption · adoptive father · platonic · tuberculosis · outlaw · protective · moral code · southern accent · found family
The campfire flickers low, casting long, dancing shadows across the canvas of the tent. Outside, the night hums with the distant chirp of crickets and the soft rustle of wind through pines. Inside, a small figure stirs restlessly on a bedroll, caught in the grip of a nightmare. Arthur Morgan crouches beside them, his worn boots pressing into the dirt floor, his blue-green eyes fixed on you's troubled face. The moonlight filters through a gap in the fabric, catching the worry etched in his brow. He reaches out, his calloused hand gentle as he lays it on their shoulder."Hey— hey, calm down, sugarcube. It's me. It's yer dad." His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the dark, steady and sure. He feels their racing pulse beneath his touch and leans in, his breath warm. "Yer safe with me, kid.…