discodinosaur

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Mountain Hymns and Whiskey Sins

Chapter 1: Poor Lonesome Cowboy (628 words)

LowHonor!Arthur Morgan x oc (Odette Ward)

Chapter Warnings: None for this chapter :) No Arthur this chapter - he'll be in the second chapter 🤍

Mountain town, late autumn — 1897

The town, its name not worth remembering, was built with more splinters than it was stone. Crooked fences, no roof was ever truly complete, and a muddy street that split the town like a scar.  It consisted of a general store, a stable, and a saloon. 

Inside the saloon, the air was filled with smoke and the stench of cheap whiskey and dirt. There was a quiet, almost strange, hush that settled like dust when she stepped next to the piano.

Odette Ward.

A creak of the floorboards was her introduction, and the small swish and fix of her dress. The satin red and cream dress caught the light of the scattered lanterns. Her hair was down, dark waves trailing down, and a single white daisy tucked behind her ear. She looked like silk and sorrow. The kind of woman you remembered without knowing why.

The piano player cleared his throat and pressed the first keys. Three chords. That was all it took, and then she began to sing. 

“I’m a poor, lonesome cowboy…

Poor Lonesome cowboy…”

Her voice slipped through the room, like water finding cracks when it fell from cliffs. It was ghostly, yet gentle. Beautiful, but it hurt. It made you think, made you remember, made you feel what you wanted to forget.  She just stood still,  like the song was something that weighed on her, something she carried across every town, every mile of dust behind her wagon wheels.

Five men sat at a table near the window, hiding in plain sight, almost. They weren’t locals; the locals watched them, though. They were too quiet, ironically too clean, and too well-armed. They hid but stood out in a town like this.

One was an older man who had kind eyes and watched everything around him. One dressed as a businessman fiddled with his rings and demanded the presence of the whole saloon. Another had a black ponytail, tapped his fingers along to the song. One of the men was larger, calm, peaceful, but watching her nonetheless. But the fourth? The one with the wolf’s posture and the hollow blue stare? He watched her.

Arthur Morgan didn’t smile. Not really. His lips twitched, faint and unreadable — more reflex than warmth. But he kept his eyes on her the whole damn time. Watching, studying.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

“I ain't got no father…

I ain't got no father…

I ain't got no father to buy the clothes I wear.”

The men around him were quiet. Javier was still tapping his fingers on his glass to the beat. Hosea looked thoughtful. Charles watched with his usual stillness. And Dutch… well, Dutch seemed far too interested in the shape of her mouth when she hit that last note.

Arthur saw something else.

Maybe it was the way her eyes didn’t search the room for approval. Perhaps it was how she sounded like a woman who’d already buried everything worth losing, yet still craved for it to walk through the saloon doors. 

She finished the song, let the final chord hang, and bowed just enough to pass for polite. Not a word spoken. Not a thank-you given.

The men clapped softly, awkwardly, unsure if they were allowed to, but they did. Some looked sad now, some looked lonelier. Arthur just tipped his chin, a slow nod acknowledging her, and when her gaze finally brushed his, he offered her a crooked smile. Empty of emotion. No flirtation. No kindness. Nothing. Empty. Broken. Etta didn’t return the smile. 

His smile did not show cruelty. The two mirrored each other, almost. Two ghosts passing in the quiet. Odette blinked once. And then turned her back. The next song was slower.

But Arthur has already gone. Part of her wish he had stayed. 

dividers by @deltamel, @saradika-grapdividers

Critiques, comments are all welcome!

If you'd like to be tagged, lmk.

I have a prologue on AO3, I will probaby post it here too soon :).

AO3 Link

Taglist: @arianmock13-blog  @appalachiancowboy99  @photo1030 @arthur-morgans-wife @colterblues @arthurmorganist @thedilfdiaries @sleeplessmidnight

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gulps . hi

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Red dead depression

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boss you don't understand. this is a category five fandom event

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It was supposed to be a modern au john marston but whateverrrr

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he's just two apples tall

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sometimes i open my wip just to scroll. not to write. not to read. just to observe it like a cursed object that belongs in a museum under glass with a sign that says “do not touch. unstable.”

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a gentle soul

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Saw a meme of this and couldn’t help myself ok

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I love you, fandom. I love you, writers. I love you, artists. I love you, fanwork creators. I love you, podficcers. I love you, translators. I love you, fellow fans. I love you, readers. I love you, commenters. I love you, kudos-leavers. I love you, rec list makers. I love you, short stories. I love you, long stories. I love you, niche fandoms. I love you, big fandoms. I love you, ships with 200 or fewer fics, mostly written by the same 7 or so people. I love you, ships with tens of thousands of fics going back decades. I love you, incomplete works. I love you, complete works. I love you, WIPS. I love you, oneshots. I love you, multichap fics. I love you, fests. I love you, servers. I love you, group chats. I love you, headcanons. I love you, funny tags. I love you, author's notes. I love you, crossover fics. I love you, pieces of media that my friends love, but which I'll probably never try. I love you, fandoms that gave me more friends. I love you, fandom friends with whom I've lost touch. I love you, fandom friends I talk to regularly. I love you.

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i did make time for myself to draw him in his cozy coat cuz it makes me happy

look at the stinky man

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John Marston in Saint Denis

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Red Dead Redemption Ⅱ(2018)

modern/killers au. ugh

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Evening ride 🐴

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not arthur sitting next to his own bounty poster

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MY LITTLE GUYS!!! (and dutch) will be turning these into stickers and maybe keychains :DDD

which person from rdr2 would you really like to see here? :]

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an excuse to draw john marston ass/legs ok byeeee