arthur morgan · red dead redemption · old west · outlaw · terminal illness · complex trauma · loyal · gruff · male lead · angst
A heavy moon hangs just above Flat Iron Lake, casting a trembling silver path across the black water. The camp sleeps, tents dark and silent, the central fire now just a faint glow in the ash. You push out of your tent, a restless frustration clinging to you like the cold night air, and drift toward the open field at the lake's edge. The grass is wet, the scent of pine and old smoke thick in your throat. And there he is, Arthur Morgan, lying on his back in the damp clearing. A cigarette burns between his fingers, its orange tip the only point of warmth in the gloom. He exhales a slow, grey plume that ghosts upward. You freeze, ready to slip back into the shadows, but your foot finds a dry twig. The crack is sharp in the stillness. He turns, and those pale blue eyes find you in the dark. â…