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Yeehawgust 2025: Stars of the Midnight Range

Time to get back in the saddle, folks! It’s time for Yeehawgust year 7 and there are starry skies ahead.

Yeehawgust features daily art prompts as well as alternative weekly prompts, for those of us who are a bit slower on the draw. Don’t draw at all? No problem! Submit any art at all, be it illustration, comics, writing, fanfiction, photography, embroidery, sculpture, music, or whatever other creative endeavors you might enjoy. What matters is that you made it with your own hands, and all skill levels are welcome! 

Maybe you love media like Red Dead Redemption and Fallout: New Vegas, or you’re a fan of the western genre. Perhaps you want to see your blorbos in boots and spurs, or put your OCs in a Stetson. Heck, you could just like drawing horses. Whatever the reason, you’re welcome to join in, pardner!

Add #Yeehawgust to your work and follow along here on the Yeehawgust blog. If your post isn’t showing up on the blog or in the tag, just give a holler.

Check out the “Reblogging Policy and Q&A” linked on the blog for more info about Yeehawgust. The event is also YeehawgustPrompts over on Instagram, yeehawgust.bsky.social over on Bluesky, and  @Yeehawgust on Twitter... but Tumblr is where we hang our hat at the end of the day. And remember, y’all: be rootin’, tootin’, shootin’, and most importantly, be kind.

Drowning In A Whiskey River - Sarah Connor/Heather Gummer

A/N: Final Weekly fic prompt for @yeehawgust . Treminator but not as you'd expect. That's Terminator and @thetremorssaga .

Originally posted by brandnewbootsandpanties

Originally posted by pamela-rabe

“Buck up Buttercup, it might never happen…”

Heather’s voice breaks into Sarah’s thoughts even as she slides another glass of whiskey across the bar in Burt’s bunker. He’d hate knowing that Sarah was unable to share what she was thinking but Heather gets it, too well to ever tell Burt.

“You okay?”

“Will be.”

Sarah swallows back the whiskey quick as breathing and Heather nods, moving around the bar to lead Sarah away and towards a bunkroom, settling her and tucking her under the sheet easily, her touch soft on Sarah’s bare shoulder.

“Sleep it off Sarah, you’ll be alright, we’ve got you now, you and John…”

“What if…”

“Blanco’d eat the bastards.”

Heather’s quick answer brings a wet laugh and Sarah sighs.

“Thanks Heather…”

A whiskey river has run down her throat and numbed the pain enough to rest, for now it’s enough.

“A month of peaceful nights passed without so much as a glimpse of any beast. But just when the posse had convinced themselves that the danger was long gone, it made its presence known by the light of the full moon.”

Yeehawgust/Cowpoketober day 7: Blue Moon!

Wagon Wheel

Arthur attempts to teach Bonnie Mae how to drive a wagon.

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"Bonnie Mae!"

The girl's head snapped up immediately, golden eyes searching for the one who had called her. She stood from the crate she'd been sitting on, making her way toward the familiar voice.

"Pa?"

"I told you not to call me that..." came the wistful response.

Dang it, she flinched, bowing her head. I messed up again. I really hope I haven't upset him...

"Sorry, Arthur," she mumbled.

"That's alright, girl. Chin up, now," he quickly reassured, nudging her to lift her face once more so she could see that he was not mad. She smiled, that innocent little expression that made him feel a pang in his heart as he threatened to eat his own words.

She was his daughter, after all, everyone knew that. Not by blood, but because she had needed him, and in a way, he guessed he needed her, too. Maybe it was his way of atoning for his past mistakes, taking her in and devoting himself to caring for her. He supposed he hadn't done a bad job of it -- after living with him and the gang for nearly a decade, Bonnie Mae was still, for the most part, unscathed.

She was sixteen now. Arthur couldn't help thinking of another child, roughly the same age, with eyes so like his own...

"Arthur?"

He blinked away the mirage as his gaze refocused on Bonnie Mae. "Huh?"

"What'd ya call me for?" she asked, peering up at him expectantly.

"Supply run," Arthur answered, straightening himself up as his hands came to rest easily on his belt. "How'd you like to come with me for a trip down to the store?"

Bonnie Mae instantly lit up like nothing would make her happier. "Yeah! I--sure!" she beamed, and Arthur felt the ice around his heart thaw just a little. He returned her smile with one of his own, waving her on.

"C'mon, then, go get yourself in the wagon."

With a spring in her step, Bonnie Mae raced to do just that.

"Let's see," Arthur mumbled under his breath, flicking back and forth through the catalogue at the Valentine general store. "We need some more coffee...maybe some supplies for the horses..."

The store owner kept a watchful eye on Bonnie Mae as she poked around the shelves, hushed gasps of "Ooh!" and "Woah!" intermittently coming from her direction, much to Arthur's secret amusement. Always so easily fascinated, that girl.

Once he had listed off all the requested items for the camp, he stepped back from the counter and looked over at Bonnie Mae, who was frowning at the meagre couple of coins in her palm.

"I only have two nickels," she whined, turning to Arthur with the most pitiful sad puppy dog eyes she could muster. He pretended to think hard about it.

"Alright, you can have whatever it is on me," he relented, "but only one thing. Just one, got it?"

Bonnie Mae began to smile, before stopping, the quirk of her lips forming into a conflicted frown. "But...I--I wanna get something for all my friends."

"Well, if you choose wisely, maybe you can get somethin' to share with everyone," Arthur suggested. Bonnie Mae nodded, considering the wares intently once more with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Just one thing? How am I supposed to choose -- there's so much stuff in here! What if I pick the wrong thing and not everyone likes it? I don't want anyone feeling left out. Oh, this is so hard--!

After a while, the store owner cleared his throat, growing impatient for his lingering customers to complete their purchases. Arthur threw an awkward glance his way, putting a hand on Bonnie Mae's shoulder to urge her to hurry up.

"Okay, okay!" she cried, hastily snatching up the first thing she saw and running to the counter.

"I hope the others like these," Bonnie Mae mumbled, scrutinizing the bag of candies while Arthur loaded up the wagon with their goods.

"I'm sure they'll like 'em just fine," he assured her as he secured the last of their cargo. "Get on, girl, I'll be there in a second."

Once he got to the front of the wagon, however, he found that Bonnie Mae was already there, sitting in the driver's seat with the reins seized in her hands and a playful expression on her face.

"Is that right, missy?" he grinned, climbing up on the passenger's side. "Well, I suppose you're old enough now. Guess it's about time I teach ya to drive the wagon. Can't ride li'l old Hinny forever."

Bonnie Mae gave a fond smile at the mention of her beloved mount, the odd little creature Arthur had gifted her on her eighth birthday. Even after she grew big enough to move on to a proper horse, she was still unwilling to part with her dear Hinny. Some members of the gang were vocal in their displeasure about keeping the animal around, seeing it as useless dead weight and just another mouth to feed, but they certainly weren't going to fight Arthur over the issue.

The gang's newly self-appointed stablehand, Kieran, even took the time to care for Hinny alongside the rest of the horses. It was one of the first things that made Bonnie Mae see the young man as friend rather than foe.

"It's dead simple, you'll see," Arthur told her as they prepared to set out for camp. "Just relax, ain't nothin' to it."

"I--I'm doin' it!"

"That you are, Bonnie Mae," Arthur smiled proudly, leaning back in his seat while she drove them along the trail toward home.

This is so much fun! I'll be taking all my friends to town with me in no time! the girl thought to herself, already giddy with excitement.

"...So, P--Arthur."

"Yeah?"

"How old were you when you learnt how to drive the wagon?" Bonnie Mae asked, taking her eyes off the trail ahead of her to look at Arthur instead.

"Heh. Now, that is quite a story," he chuckled nervously. "I was, uh, fourteen, I think--"

"Wow! Really?"

"Sure, and--Bonnie, look out!"

She screamed in surprise as she whirled round to find a giant stag standing right ahead of them.

Where did that thing come from?!

The beast didn't even flinch as the wagon rolled ever closer. In fact, it seemed to stare them down as they rapidly approached.

"What do I do?" Bonnie Mae panicked. "Arthur, what do I do?!"

Arthur couldn't hear her. He seemed paralysed at the sight of the stag, as though he were looking at a ghost.

Knuckles turning white, Bonnie Mae swerved at the last second to avoid hitting the poor senseless animal. The horses spooked and whinnied loudly as the wagon abruptly veered off the road.

The sudden jolt shocked Arthur back into consciousness. They were rattling along the uneven terrain with no signs of slowing. Bonnie Mae was hyperventilating and choking back helpless sobs as she tugged the reins this way and that, desperately trying to steer the horses out of the path of rapidly oncoming trees.

Big, strong arms dwarfed her own as Arthur leaned over to take charge.

"It's okay, I gotchu," he grunted out, his body instinctively curling around hers as he deftly manouevered them out of harm's way.

The wagon finally ground to an abrupt stop when one of its wheels suddenly gave out beneath it, much to Arthur's exasperation. He swore under his breath, muttering something about dousing the "damn thing" in oil and lighting it up himself, but there was really no need to lower his voice. Bonnie Mae could hear nothing over the deafening ringing in her ears.

"Hey--"

She was unresponsive, still shaking and gasping for breath. Arthur frowned in recognition, instantly wrapping his arms around her and rocking back and forth, the way he always used to whenever she'd have a nightmare.

"It's okay now, you're okay," he whispered into her mousy brown hair while she clutched fistfuls of his shirt in an attempt to anchor herself in reality. Eventually, she found the ability to speak once more.

"I--I'm sorry, Arthur, I'm sorry! I--I couldn't--"

"Shh, it weren't your fault."

"I--I coulda gotten us killed!" Bonnie Mae wailed. "A--are the horses okay?" she asked, briefly forgetting her own anguish as she turned her attention to the unsettled pair.

Kieran will be upset if I got them hurt...

"They just got a fright, that's all. No harm done, see?"

He encouraged her to come and check them for herself, calming the faithful beasts and herself in the process. Entangling her fingers into the mane of one of the horses, she eventually took in a deep breath and let it out, signalling that her panic attack had passed. Her forehead came to rest on the beasts shoulder, while her golden eyes turned to Arthur with a sense of maturity in them that she rarely displayed, concealed beneath her childlike defenses.

"Thank you, Arthur," was all she said, an unmistakable weight hanging between the words.

Thank you for saving us. Thank you for being strong. Thank you for knowing what to do. Thank you for putting up with me--

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled softly in understanding, words unnecessary. She gratefully let him pull her into his chest for a bear hug, squeezing him back fiercely.

It was moments like these when her heart screamed to call him 'Pa', even as she bit her lip to stop herself from saying it aloud. It didn't matter that he didn't like to be called so, he would always be Pa as far as she was concerned, and he knew it.

Bonnie Mae pulled away, rubbing at her eyes as she straightened herself out. "I--I'd like to go home now," she sniffled with a feeble smile.

"That's my girl," Arthur said, once again nudging her chin up. "C'mon, help me get this wheel back on and we'll be on our way."

He turned to collect the runaway wagon wheel, stopping short when she called after him, "Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

She attempted a weak, self-deprecating smile. "You do the drivin' this time."

Inwardly, she vowed to herself that she would never take the reins ever again.

They made it back to Horseshoe Overlook with all members of their travelling party uninjured and their wagonload of goods thankfully intact. Arthur and Bonnie Mae both knew they would have gotten an earful from Miss Grimshaw if they had lost the provisions for the camp en route.

They both chose not to speak about the near-miss with the stag as they unloaded the supplies. Bonnie Mae hated those moments when her anxiety got the best of her and liked to pretend they never happened, while Arthur was still creeped out by the animal itself. It had gazed calmly at him like it knew something he didn't. He couldn't make any sense of it, and would only sound like a madman if he tried to explain it, so he let it be.

The wagon unloaded, Bonnie Mae wandered off to the scout campfire where a couple of her friends, Kieran and Mary-Beth, were sitting together, reading. She could hear Kieran tripping over the words as he read from one of Mary-Beth's books.

"Hi, folks," she greeted quietly, still somewhat shaken from her eventful driving lesson.

"Oh, hey, Bonnie Mae!" the two greeted in unison.

"Where did you and Arthur head off to?" Mary-Beth enquired.

"Uh, just into Valentine to grab a few things for the camp," Bonnie shrugged as she took a seat beside the two on the hard dirt. Her hand immediately scraped up some stones to toss at the cold embers.

"Oh, yeah! I also grabbed some candy for everyone," she continued, suddenly remembering the bag of sweets she mindlessly snagged back at the store. "It isn't much," she said hesitantly, "just some peppermints."

"Well, hey!" Mary-Beth piped up. "It just so happens that I quite like peppermints!"

Bonnie Mae felt her heart fill with relief. "Really? You...you do?"

"Sure! What about you, Kieran?...Kieran?"

Kieran had momentarily zoned out of the conversation until Mary-Beth nudged him lightly with her shoulder. "Hm? Oh, yeah, I--I don't mind 'em."

A large smile stretched onto Bonnie Mae's face as she dug around in her pocket for the little bag of candies and readily offered some to the pair. She also popped one into her own mouth, relishing the minty tang.

"Hey, Bonnie!" came a shrill, younger voice, as young Jack Marston ran up to the group. His eyes widened when he caught sight of the bag of sweets. "Is that candy? Can I have some?"

The boy tried to snatch the bag of mints from Bonnie Mae, who held them out of his reach.

"Hey! These are mine, Jack! Wait!" the girl cried. "Wait, wait! I have an idea!"

Jack tilted his head with a pout. "What?"

"Why don't you help me hand these out to everyone? You can give some to your Ma, too!"

"Oh...okay!"

Bonnie Mae tipped two mints into the young boy's grubby little hands and reminded him that one was for his mother, Abigail. Then she skipped off to hand some out to everyone else, starting with Sean and Lenny, then Mr Pearson, Ms Grimshaw, Uncle, Dutch and Molly (who politely declined), John, Karen, Tilly, Sadie and Hosea, who chuckled heartily and made some joke about hard candy being an old man's greatest weakness.

Everyone in the camp was more than happy with their little treat, and she even gave one to Arthur, who at first declined, but gave in when Bonnie pouted. He could never deny his little girl anything.

The rest of the day went by with Bonnie Mae handing out more mints as everyone else went about their daily chores, the incident long pushed to the back of her mind, but she certainly would be sticking with her little old Hinny for a few more years yet.

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This drabble was co-authored by @jazzyowl81, Bonnie Mae's original creator (and my IRL sister!). Bonnie Mae is something of a self-insert, more-or-less based on her creator, so I wanted to work closely with her to portray the character, especially Bonnie Mae's inner monologues, anxiety, and age regression tendencies.

“By noon, news of the attack had reached cattle baron Amos Odell, who promptly hired an armed patrol to guard his herd at night. While Odell promised to ride among them and carry his own gun, Wyatt doubted the baron could draw with much speed or grace, given the rock candy clusters of gaudy rings adorning his fingers.”

Yeehawgust/Cowpoketober day 6: All Hat, No Cattle

“Cattle deaths weren’t unheard of, but it was the state of the steer–both pieces of it–that made Clare suppress a shiver. The head had been ripped from the body and thrown aside, splatters of dried blood mapping its arc across the ground. The horns were still intact, long, curved boughs bearing deep grooves carved by canine teeth.”

Yeehawgust day 4: Longhorn!

Yeehawgust day 2: Running With the Wolves!

Better late than never! I’ve been toying with a werewolf AU for a while now and when I realized it could potentially align with this year’s Yeehawgust prompts, I couldn’t resist. :) I’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do and I’ll be skipping more days than usual but I’m excited to share this one with you all. Here’s a “poster” to start off with, the story begins tomorrow!

Settin' the Woods on Fire

They weren't drinking, or singing, or playing some silly game of banter. There was nothing to distract her from the tenderness of the moment, the way he cradled her and gazed at her as if she were one of those beautifully sculpted marble statues.

His green eyes searched hers as if he were not just looking but actually seeing. She found she was unable to tear herself away, even if she wanted to.

But did she?

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"Ah, there she is! Just the woman I was hopin' to see!"

Karen tried to resist the quirk of her lips at the sight of that stupid grin. Sean had just got back to camp after an evidently successful job.

Behind him, she could see Arthur at the hitching posts, patting down his own mount. It was one of the few instances where Arthur's gentler nature was visible, when he was tending to Caramel, speaking softly to her in a tone that would make any woman envious. But even if she were so inclined, Karen had little time to envy the horses, what with a certain redheaded rogue persistently seeking her attention.

There was a handful of eligible young men in the gang who might make for decent suitors, but, of course, Karen had somehow gone and won herself the affections of the most obnoxious and unpredictable of them all.

"You're lookin' pleased with yourself," she remarked, a cigarette between her fingers as she loitered at the edge of camp for absolutely no reason at all.

"You shoulda seen it, whole bloody field ablaze and smellin' o' burnt moonshine!" Sean cackled, flashing the gap in his teeth. "Ran the whole show meself, I did; ol' Morgan was just along as, uh -- what d'ya call it? Moral support."

He proceeded to let out a colourful exclamation as a large hand came up and smacked him in the back of the head on its way past.

"What the--Arthur! Come on, big man, you know I was just jokin'!" he cried in vain at Arthur's broad back as the latter stalked off to Hosea's tent to report in on the job himself. Karen watched Sean pout for just a second before he picked himself up as though nothing had happened, that impish gleam twinkling in his eyes as he reached to pull her in by the waist.

"Do I get a kiss, Miss Jones?"

She blew her smoke in his face, prying his hand away from her.

"Why should I?"

"Because you're my gal--"

"I'm no such thing."

"And I'm your fine feller," he continued with an undeterred smirk.

"No, you're not!" she scoffed, laughing despite herself.

"I love ya, Karen."

"So you keep sayin'," she responded flatly, lifting her cigarette to her lips once more.

"What, ya don't believe me? Take me for a liar, is that it? You wound me, Miss Jones."

Karen took a long drag, avoiding those sulking green puppy dog eyes. She held her breath, trying to stall the conversation for as long as she could, but eventually she was forced to exhale with a deep sigh.

"Maybe I'd like to believe it," she finally mumbled under her breath, staring hard at nothing in particular. "But I just can't." She tossed the smouldering remnants of her cigarette and walked away.

Sean refrained from darting after her, having learned the hard way that it's best to give her space when she was feeling moody. She had a mean right hook on her, and she wasn't afraid to use it. His hands fidgeted at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as he watched Karen walk away, unsure what to do with himself.

His stomach growled, answering that question for him. He made for the cookfire, hoping that there was still something left in the pot. Thankfully, he was able to scrape enough from the bottom to keep him from starving. It had already gone a bit cold, but it was better than nothing. He retreated to the scout fire, long since vacated, and ate his meal in silence. He wasn't sure how long he proceeded to sit there staring into the dwindling fire with the empty bowl in his hands, but eventually he noticed he was not alone.

It was Karen, surprisingly. An opened bottle was in her hands, but it was untouched. She hadn't taken even a single sip, just cradled it in her hands while she sat there in silence. He turned in her direction, waiting to see if she would say something. She glanced at him, opened her mouth, closed it, and looked away. He tilted his head, setting his empty bowl aside.

"Ya alright, Karen?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly.

"...C'mere a minute."

"Why?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes as he opened his arms to her, gesturing for her to sit on his lap.

"I just wanna hold ya, that's all," he insisted, raising his hands in surrender. "Nothin' untoward, I swear it," he added, with the faintest hint of a smile. Karen fought the urge to wince, remembering just how untoward they had already been with each other. Why was he trying to play the gentleman now?

Karen frowned but nonetheless stood and seated herself across his knee, her arm naturally falling around his shoulders while his clasped around her, keeping her secure. She allowed him to confiscate the bottle from her hands and place it down beside his discarded bowl. Her blue eyes chanced a look at his face and found him smiling softly up at her.

She panicked.

They weren't drinking, or singing, or playing some silly game of banter. There was nothing to distract her from the tenderness of the moment, the way he cradled her and gazed at her as if she were one of those beautifully sculpted marble statues.

His green eyes searched hers as if he were not just looking, but actually seeing. She found she was unable to tear herself away, even if she wanted to.

But did she?

"What are you playin' at, MacGuire?" she whispered as he held her closer. He hesitated, easing his grip.

"...You don't like this?"

"No. I mean, I don't know. I think..." She shifted uncomfortably, hating that she was sober enough to think clearly and yet she still couldn't make any damn sense. "This is...nice," she finally decided.

Sean's hand came up and brushed her blonde hair aside so he could get an even better view of her freckled face. He was leaning in, and Karen was meeting him halfway, her lips slightly parted as they collided with his. The kiss was slow, and careful, not at all like the sloppy, drunken encounters they'd had before. This was deliberate, gentle.

Untainted by the overpowering flavour of whiskey, she almost could've sworn it was love she tasted on his lips. It lingered on her tongue even after they drew away for breath, intoxicating her more than liquor ever could.

"I love you, Karen," Sean repeated yet again.

"Shut up," she breathed, tugging at a fistful of his red hair as she crashed her lips onto his once more.

She woke up in his arms, the both of them lying in the grass amongst the trees behind the scout fire. She was relieved to find that their clothes were still on, thank God, and it was early morning yet -- besides whoever was standing guard, only Kieran was ever up at this hour, making a start on the day's chores before the sun was even up. There wasn't a soul around to see the miserable expression on Karen's face as she turned away from her sleeping would-be lover, dreading the inevitable awkward conversation when he too awoke.

She'd made a damn fool of herself again, and she couldn't even blame it on the drink this time. She'd fallen for his stupid roguish charms and actually gone and stayed with him the whole night after the deed was done, and she'd done it all willingly, not a single drop of alcohol in her system.

She did it because she wanted to, and there was no denying it.

She had to leave, quickly, and save herself the crushing disappointment of having her fears confirmed. It terrified her more than she dared to admit, the thought that he might not have meant all the things he whispered to her in the night, the sweet words that had brought tears to her eyes because she so desperately wanted to believe they were true.

Karen wriggled, trying in vain to escape his embrace and flee the scene before he could stir, but alas, his eyes opened, settling on her with a groggy tenderness that made her freeze like a startled deer.

"Good mornin', love," he greeted her with a smile, voice hoarse with sleep.

"...Hi," she managed, too scared to move under his green gaze. He gently pulled her arm to bring her back down to lie beside him, and she didn't fight it, numbly resting her head on his chest as he thumb rubbed circles on her back.

"What's wrong?" he asked after a while.

"Nothing," she deflected, idly picking at a loose thread on his shirt. As if reading her mind, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head before lying back and closing his eyes, content to simply bask in her company.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," he reassured her. "I'm yours, Karen, ya know I am."

"Stop talking," Karen grumbled dismissively, secretly loving the feeling of his fingers toying with her ringlets as she listened to the rhythm of his heart beating true and steady in his chest. She wondered if Sean could feel the way her own heart pounded, shattering the cold, unaffected facade she tried so hard to maintain around him.

She kept waiting for him to laugh and gloat and reveal it had all been some elaborate practical joke at her expense.

But he never did.

Far too soon for her liking, Sean was sent off on another job, a simple security patrol around Rhodes for Sherriff Gray.

"Child's play," Sean had told her, "I'll be back before ya know it!"

And like a fool, she believed him.

Karen readily granted him a parting kiss, adoring the softness in his eyes when he pulled away.

"I love you," he told her for the hundredth time.

"I...I know," she said, still unable to get the right words out. He gave a half-smile at her attempt. He longed to hear her say those three little words back, but this was a start, at least.

She now accepted his feelings, but she hadn't come to terms with her own yet. That was okay; he could be patient.

He'd wait forever if he had to.

"Go on, then, get outta here," Karen huffed, shoving him on his way. She watched him climb onto Ennis and follow Micah, Bill and Arthur out of camp. Her shoulders slumped as he finally disappeared from view.

She missed him already, from the moment his lips left hers. Her mind raced ahead, impatiently awaiting his triumphant return and their usual tradition of celebrating a job well done, ending in them wrapped around each other, unable to keep their distance.

And this time, she actually found herself looking forward to it.

Maybe she'd even find the nerve to finally just say what she had long since known to be true.

Yes, she told herself. Tonight.

Tonight, I'll tell him.

Cattledog

Just a little vignette of a conversation between Abigail and John following the events of the mission "Trying Again".

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"He's real attached to that dog of his, huh?"

John lingered at the doorway, staring at his twelve-year-old son, fast asleep on a rug on the living room floor, clinging to his beloved pet.

"He was awfully fond of the last one, too, you remember. Cain?" Abigail stopped drying the dishes for a moment, furrowing her brow as she recalled the affectionate stray that had wandered into their midst all those years ago. "Never did find out where that pup got to...Jack was looking all over for him."

"Maybe he just moved on," John shrugged, keeping his arms crossed. "Mutt didn't actually belong to any of us in the first place."

Abigail sighed, resuming her task, carefully wiping and stacking the dinner plates.

"Like you say, the boy's got a real soft spot for his dogs. Can you blame him? He ain't never had any friends his own age."

John stewed silently on his wife's words, watching the boy and his dog breathe in sync while they napped in front of the fire.

"...That was a mighty fine thing you did, John," he heard Abigail say. "Saving poor Rufus like that, I mean. I know it means the world to the boy."

"Of course."

Jack would never have forgiven him if Rufus had succumbed to that snake bite. Thankfully, the dog would make a full recovery, but whether John's awkward, standoffish relationship with his son could be as easily remedied, he wasn't so sure.

When did things get this way? John wondered. A few years ago, his son had been all too eager to seek his father's recognition, but at some point, Jack had grown up and was no longer that wide-eyed little boy. These days, he met his father's attempts to bond with reluctance and suspicion, far too cynical for a kid so young.

I'm trying my best, but...maybe it just ain't enough, John lamented.

Gentle arms wound their way around him and he instinctively relaxed into the warmth they offered, finally prying his gaze from the sleeping pair.

"I know you ain't never been a dog person," Abigail chuckled, resting her head on John's shoulder.

"They're not that bad," John admitted. "They have their uses -- Rufus here might make a decent cattledog someday, who knows."

"He's a retriever, John. Y'know, a gun dog."

"Since when are you the dog expert, ma'am?" John teased, quirking an eyebrow as he turned in her arms to face her.

"I ain't!" she insisted, arms sliding up to clasp behind his neck instead. "Jack was tellin' me so. He's been readin' all about 'em," she told him proudly. John shook his head.

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"He's a smart boy. No telling where he got it from," Abigail smirked, her sharp blue eyes glinting with mischief. John grinned, playing right along with her.

"I'm a fool, no doubt about it," he said, wrapping her up in his arms and leaned in so their noses were brushing each other. "But...you're still here, so I figure I must've done at least something right."

"Hmmm..." She narrowed her eyes and scrunched up her nose as she considered him. "I suppose you ain't completely terrible," she mumbled against his lips, their heads tilting just so--

"Oh, you two are gonna make me sick."

It was Uncle, his timing impeccable as ever, having casually wandered into the room at just that moment.

"Do you mind?"

"What? I live here, too, you know!"

"Keep your voices down, they're sleepin'!" Abigail hissed at the bickering men, pointing out the sleeping boy and dog in the next room.

"Ah, man's best friend. Ain't nothin' more loyal than a good ol' dog," Uncle nodded sagely. "Think you oughta keep this one on a tighter leash, though," he grumbled, jerking his thumb in John's direction.

Abigail wisely leapt in before said dog could bite the old man's head off.

"Oh, go on, away with ya. Shoo!"

Uncle waddled away into the living room for the evening, where he would keep an eye on their young charges. Abigail watched him go, shaking her head with something between a chuckle and a sigh. She turned to look sympathetically at John, who gave a disgruntled frown. The expression was swiftly kissed right off his face, and, as always, he caved to her immediately. He seemed out of breath by the time she released him.

"See, you are a good boy," Abigail whispered, smirking once more. She moved from his lips to purr in his ear. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

She left a fleeting peck on his scarred cheek and turned back to the stack of plates, gathering them in her arms to return them to the cupboard, only to find them swiftly taken off her hands and put in their place by one decidedly more impatient than she. Before she knew it, she was being scooped up herself and carried to the bedroom.

Her soft giggle echoed in the hallway as the door fell shut behind them.

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I sincerely apologise if this one is lacking; the writer's block hit hard ;_;

I do love Johnigail though, they're my second favourite pair after Kierabeth <3

Gila Monster

Four-year-old Jack overhears some of the men in camp mention a horrible beast called a Gila Monster. Seven years later, he finally comes across the dreaded creature for himself.

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The nights were dark at Shady Belle -- too dark, as though a pall hung over it. Jack's mama always said he was a brave boy; he wasn't scared of the dark. But there was definitely something creepy about the big old house that they were staying in now. Maybe it was the stale, humid air, or the alligators that lingered around the marshes, lying in wait to catch wandering little boys unawares.

Shady Belle reeked of death, and not even four-year-old Jack could ignore it.

He was glad to be back and see all his friends, of course. His mama had been so happy when Pa brought him home from Signor Bronte's fancy house. Everyone had smiled wide and sung loudly around the campfire that night. But now that the celebration was over, a quiet unease had set in, as though they were all anticipating the worst.

Jack couldn't sleep. He lay awake in the dark, unable to make out much besides the shape of his mother sleeping beside him. His pa hadn't come to bed yet, presumably still sitting outside talking with some of the others. Little feet met the dusty floor, oversized nightshirt brushing his toes. Jack crept out of the room and down the stairs, careful not to wake Mama.

He passed by the room where Mary-Beth slept on the sofa, but she didn't notice the little boy. She seemed too busy fretting about something, clutching a dog-eared book in her hands, but making no move to read it, her mind elsewhere. He wanted to ask her why she looked so sad, but he didn't want her to send him back to bed, so he kept quiet, sneaking past the doorway and out of the house.

The light of the campfires was comforting amid the pitch black night. Sure enough, some of the men were still up, talking between themselves. Jack made his way over, keeping out of view while he squinted at their faces, trying to see if his pa was among them.

"Don't exactly feel at home with all the gators hangin' round." It was Uncle Bill, sitting at the fireside with a bottle in hand. "Y'all have alligators in Mexico?"

"Alligators? Not really," Javier replied over a cigarette. "Mostly snakes and lizards." He lazily exhaled a drag of smoke. "I knew a guy who died after being bitten by a Gila Monster. Worst pain known to man, they say."

"A monster?"

Jack's eyes were wide as he emerged from the shadows, revealing himself to the pair.

"It's a lizard, Jack--" Javier tried to explain, only to be interrupted by Micah, who sat nearby, gun resting in his hand, his eyes like ice.

"Yes, Jack, a terrible, venomous lizard, big enough to eat little boys whole if they don't do as they're told," he sneered, relishing the way the child shrank back in fear. "Now, get out of here!"

Jack turned to run back to his room, only to crash into someone standing just behind him.

"Pa!"

"Everything okay, son?" John asked, glaring daggers at Micah all the while.

"You really oughta keep a better eye on that boy of yours, John," Micah drawled. "Something might happen to him. Oh, wait," he laughed, "something already did! Thought you would've learned your lesson after those Braithwaite boys snatched him from right under your nose."

"Hey, back off, Micah; let him be," Bill spoke up.

"Nothing's gonna happen to him," Javier vowed solemnly, turning to look at Jack and his pa. "We've got your back."

John nodded in response, steering the boy away toward the house.

"Come on, Jack, you oughta be sleepin'."

"...Pa? Is it true, about the monster--?"

"I don't know," John sighed tiredly as he shepherded the four-year-old back to bed. "This world's full of monsters, Jack, but ain't none of them gonna hurt you, okay? I promise."

He tucked the boy back in next to his ma, whispering one last word of reassurance:

"Everything's gonna be fine."

Except it wasn't.

Jack didn't get to ask Mary-Beth what she had been thinking about that night. Those bad men, the O'Driscolls, attacked the house the next day. He couldn't seem to recall much of what happened; only that he had been afraid. He remembered hearing her scream, and then there was yelling and shooting all around him. Later, he saw Mary-Beth crying by herself behind the house. Her smile never seemed to reach her eyes after that.

Everyone got real sad and one by one, they all left. The gang fell apart, his big, strange family broken and scattered. It had been weird not having everyone around. Even seven years later, he still missed them, the folks he had called his honorary aunties and uncles.

Speaking of which...

"Dammit, John! Picking on the elderly, huh? You're somethin' special."

"Why are you even still here, old man?"

"Because, my dim-witted friend, if it weren't for me, you'd be squatting in that god-awful shack with no wife, no son, and no dignity."

"Shut the hell up," John snapped, picking up a bucket of feed and shoving it into Uncle's hands. "Here, make yourself useful and refill the horse troughs. And Jack," he called, prompting the boy to look up from the book he was reading on the porch.

"Yes?"

"Don't go easy on him. If he starts fussin', you let me know."

"Sure," Jack replied, promptly returning to his favourite hobby as his pa walked away. He could hear Uncle grumbling to himself as he stood from his chair -- not without an exaggerated show of difficulty -- and trudged over to the ranch's feeding station.

The story was just getting to the good part where Saint George confronts the dragon, when suddenly Jack's attention was diverted by the coarse sound of a dog barking.

"Rufus!" he called, but the dog did not cease. Jack reluctantly got up and followed the sound. "Rufus? What is it, boy?"

He soon found the labrador barking in alarm at a small, mottled black creature as it slowly crawled over the dry earth.

"Whoa!" Uncle yelled, making his way over from the nearby horse troughs. "Careful, son, that's a Gila Monster!"

Jack turned back to stare dumbfounded at the sluggish little lizard.

"That's a Gila Monster? But--I thought..."

"...Thought what, boy?"

"I don't know," he mumbled, feeling foolish as he kicked at the dirt. "I remember hearing some of the men in camp talk about 'em once. I guess I was just expecting them to be more, well, terrifying. Like...like a dragon, or something."

Uncle just laughed.

"Well, I've been around for a long time and I've never seen no dragon! Maybe I just ain't looking hard enough."

The boy watched the lizard meander away as Rufus finally stood down.

"...he said they were big enough to eat a man whole..." Jack grumbled.

"Who told you that?" Uncle scoffed.

"Micah."

"Ah." Uncle's expression soured. "I don't think an honest word ever came out of that rattlesnake's mouth. Now there's a serpent to watch out for, Jack," he warned. "The slippery kind of men, all evil eyes and forked tongues. Won't find a more venomous creature on this earth than the likes of old Micah, I can tell you that."

It was rare for Uncle to offer up such sober advice, so Jack knew to take it to heart. The old man was wiser than he let on, always playing the fool, not necessarily because he was one, but for the sheer love of the game, apparently.

"...Thanks, Uncle."

"Don't mention it, kid," Uncle chirped back, setting the empty bucket down, having fulfilled his chore. "And don't mention this, either -- to your pa, that is -- but I'm gonna go find a nice place to sit and do absolutely nothin' for the rest of the day. All this work is terrible for my back," he complained, hunched over pathetically. "I've got lumbago, you know."

"I know, Uncle," Jack smirked, stifling a laugh. "I know."

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Also includes a little bit of angst (THAT mission). Four-year-old Jack had a front-row seat when that horse pulled up :(

I personally headcanon that the image scarred him so much that he actually repressed it, and the Shady Belle shootout is a big blur that he doesn't remember clearly.

Headin' Down the Wrong Highway

Lenny and a hungover Sean join Kieran for an impromptu fishing trip.

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"Ughhh, I feel like dog shite..."

"Yeah, you look like it, too."

Sean didn't even have the willpower to respond to Karen's snark. He had a splitting headache and couldn't see straight. All he could do was groan, flopping over in his seat.

"Get off o' me, dammit!" Karen yelled as he dropped all his body weight against her. She shoved him off and whirled round, impulsively raising her hand to smack him, but the impact never came. Her face fell as she finally got a good look at him. 

He really did look terrible.

Well, more than usual, she thought to herself.

"Sean? How much did you drink last night?"

If he could think clearly, he might have reveled at the note of concern in her voice. Instead, he simply groaned again, his head pounding. Someone was chopping wood, the dog was barking, Grimshaw was yelling at Arthur for turning up to camp encrusted with dried blood...there was just too much noise.

"Hang on--"

Karen disappeared for a minute, returning shortly with Hosea in tow. Sean cringed, already sensing the unimpressed look the old man was giving him.

"What am I going to do with you, boy?" Hosea put a hand to Sean's forehead, staring into his unfocused eyes to gauge just how bad his condition was. He slapped the boy's cheek lightly a few times, earning a wince as each strike reverberated in his skull. "Come on, Sean."

"Pipe downnn...too loud," the ginger whined. Karen crossed her arms and looked to Hosea, who tutted and reluctantly called for Lenny.

"Lenny," he said as the boy came running over, "can you take Mr MacGuire here out of camp for a bit? He needs to rest somewhere quiet until his hangover wears off."

"Sure," Lenny agreed immediately. Hosea gave an appreciative nod and left the inebriated Irishman in his hands. Karen's blue eyes lingered on Sean a moment longer.

"Watch out he doesn't keel over and die on ya," she told Lenny, but the bite just wasn't there. Lenny wasn't sure what to make of it. After Karen had taken her leave, he crouched to wave a hand in front of his friend's face.

"Hey, can you hear me?"

Sean slurred Lenny's name, laughed, and immediately regretted it, letting out a string of curses as he was hit by a sudden dizzy spell. Lenny made a face -- this wasn't going to be easy.

He slung one of Sean's arms over his shoulder, hoisting the man to his feet and dragging him along to the edge of camp. Sean was in no condition to ride, and Lenny didn't fancy sharing saddle and risking his passenger throwing up on his shoulder. Nope, they'd have to take the wagon.

The pair stumbled by the horse station, passing Kieran as he dutifully brushed the gang's mounts. He looked up and immediately voiced his concern.

"Uh, everythin' alright over there, fellers?"

"He'll be fine, just hungover like you wouldn't believe," Lenny assured him, even as he huffed under his companion's dead weight. "I'm just gettin' him out of camp for a bit. Hosea says some peace and quiet'll do him some good."

Kieran noticed him struggling and hesitantly asked if he needed a hand. Lenny paused, glancing at Sean, who groaned pitifully, barely able to keep his eyes open. He turned back to Kieran.

"Yeah, actually -- help me get this fool in the wagon."

Together, they hauled Sean onto the back of the wagon and laid him down gently. The lad promptly passed out and they tossed a blanket over him, making him as comfortable as they could.

"Heh, thanks," Lenny smiled as Kieran stepped away from the wagon. "For a skinny feller, he sure weighs a lot more than he looks."

Kieran just nodded, taking that as his cue to leave.

"Hey, you wanna come with us?"

"Eh?" He stopped in his tracks, looking back at Lenny in confusion. 

Had he heard right? Was he actually being invited to be part of something?

"I know you don't get out much," Lenny pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "And besides, he's hardly gonna be much company," he snorted, gesturing at Sean's unconscious form. Kieran's lips quirked into a small smile.

"Well, uh--I mean, yeah, alright," Kieran answered, nervously optimistic. "Where are y'all headed?"

Lenny's eyes turned skyward as he hummed in thought.

"Ain't sure yet...just has to be quiet, away from the towns and away from trouble." 

"Hm..." Kieran scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "Wait! I think I--I might know just the place. Just...give me a second--"

He took off, comically dashing over to where his few possessions were stored. Lenny watched as he scrambled around for something, buckets clanging as Kieran knocked them over in his excited haste. He soon returned with an armful of equipment, loading it carefully into the wagon. 

Fishing tackle, Lenny noted, glancing curiously over his shoulder. He'd never been particularly keen on the sport, but he wasn't going to tell Kieran that. Not when Kieran was beaming with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. He leaned over to offer a hand, pulling Kieran up onto the wagon seat beside him.

"Okay, then," he said, flicking the reins. "Let's go!"

"It's just over here, down through the trees."

Lenny followed Kieran's directions, carefully manoeuvering the wagon down as close to the shore as he could get it.

"There's a real catch lurking round here. Massive bluegill," Kieran told Lenny as the wagon pulled to a stop. "Arthur and I were down here the other day but we didn't manage to snag 'im." He jumped out of the seat, rushing to grab his fishing equipment, a determined grin plastered on his face. "Here's hopin' today's the day!"

Lenny had never seen Kieran so carefree. It was decidedly refreshing -- his personality was coming through, no longer squashed under layers of fear. Maybe he could actually get to know the guy a little, now that he was opening up.

"Arthur went fishing with you?" The surprise was evident in Lenny's voice as they got situated at the edge of the lake.

"M-hm," Kieran hummed, setting a bucket down by his feet and assembling his fishing rod.

"Well, damn. Seems you're really settling in, then, Kieran," Lenny said, taking a seat on one of the big rocks scattered along the shore. "If Arthur reckons you're okay, that's good enough for me."

Kieran paused to look over at him.

"Yeah?"

"I mean, I don't really know you, but you don't seem like a bad fella to me," Lenny shrugged. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you gotta be the most unintimidating outlaw I ever met."

Kieran huffed a bitter laugh, looking down as he resumed fiddling with the rod.

"I never exactly meant to become one, you know. An outlaw."

"No one ever does." 

A silence settled between them while Kieran readied the special lake lure Arthur had tossed at him, saying it was just a little something he'd found and that Kieran would probably get more use out of it, keen fisherman that he was. 

He heard a faint rustling sound and looked over to see Lenny opening a book he'd brought to pass the time. Kieran's illiteracy had never bothered him too much before but he couldn't help but feel inadequate now, enviously watching Lenny turn the pages as his dark eyes chased the words across the page. His thoughts fell out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"...You close with Mary-Beth?"

Lenny lifted his eyes, making a face at the random question.

"We're friends, sure...why?"

Kieran kept his attention on the lake as he pulled the rod back to cast a line.

"I don't know...you both love reading," he said, shrugging meekly. "You got something in common is all."

"I mean, sure, we both like reading, but it ain't really something we bond over," Lenny told him. "I read to learn. She reads to escape. You know what I mean?" Kieran wasn't entirely sure he did, but he gave a vague nod, recalling a snippet of an earlier conversation.

"So, the only thing that makes you happy...is being in your head somewhere else?" His silly little comment had made her laugh, flashing a wide, genuine smile that crinkled her blueish-green eyes. She was so pretty, he almost felt unworthy to look upon her.

"We ain't that close," Lenny's voice assured him, bringing him out of his memory. "Besides, rumour has it she's got her eye on someone." 

Kieran whipped around so quick he gave poor Lenny a fright, the book almost toppling right out of his hands.

"What...? Who?"

Before Kieran could pry any more information out of the poor kid, the pair were startled by the instantly recognisable sound of someone forcibly emptying the contents of their stomach. Turning, they found Sean sitting up, leaning over the side of the wagon as he gagged and puked.

"Charming," Kieran commented, wincing at the sight. Not for the first time, he was glad he didn't drink. He'd tried once or twice, but it had never ended well; he was appallingly lightweight, blindsided by just a couple of bottles. 

God knows how many Sean had in his system.

After a few minutes, the Irishman wiped his mouth on his sleeve, slipping down from the wagon. They could hear him cursing under his breath as he stumbled over to the beach.

"Well, look who's finally awake. Nice of you to join us."

"Sod off, Leonard," Sean spat. He squinted at Kieran's face, shaded by the brim of his hat. "That you, O'Driscoll?"

Kieran shot him a dirty look. He'd thought by now they were past that stupid misnomer. He grit his teeth to keep from snapping.

Gettin' mighty sick of this.

"My name's Kieran."

Sean scoffed and rolled his eyes, giving him a half-hearted shove. 

"Keep yer shirt on, Duffy, I'm just messin wit' ya." He plopped down onto the same perch as Lenny, leaning his elbow on his knee. "Moving up in the world, you are. Playin' wit' the real big boys now," he snickered.

"Uh-huh," Kieran muttered, not at all convinced considering Sean had been lying comatose in the back of a wagon for half the day. 

"So, gents. Heh. What're we doing here?" Sean asked, finally registering his surroundings. Kieran took it upon himself to fill him in.

"We were only really out here on account of you being drunk as a skunk and needin' somewhere quiet to rest your head."

"Ah," Sean laughed nervously. "Got the lot of us out of doin' chores, though, didn't I? Eh?" 

"You really oughta quit drinking so much, y'know. Ain't good for ya." 

"I appreciate yer concern, Duffy, but I'll do what I like, thank you very much," Sean retorted, conjuring a hidden flask out of his pocket.

"Hey--! Jesus, Sean, give it a rest!" Lenny scolded, snatching the flask away before Sean could bring it to his lips. "He's right, you'll kill yourself this way. Ain't you ever thought where you're gonna end up in a few years' time?" Lenny may have been the youngest of them, but in that moment, he sounded an awful lot like a disapproving parent lecturing a child. Sean just scoffed at him.

"Pfft, no. I'm a man o' the present, Lenny, I live in the now. Got no time to be worryin' what tomorrow'll bring." 

He tried to act brash and unaffected, but there was a note of doubt in Sean's tone. An uncertainty that they all felt but tried not dwell on too much. The silence settled in again, until--

"Whoa--!" 

All attention was on Kieran now as he perked up at a tug on the line. "I think I've got the big one, alright!" he cried, straining to fight against the pull. He struggled for a while, furiously reeling in the line when he was able to catch a break. Whatever he'd hooked wasn't giving up without a fight.

Kieran's boots were dangerously close to losing their grip on the shore. Another fierce jolt and his footing slipped.

"Shit--!"

"Gotcha!" Sean caught him by the shoulder, keeping him from tumbling into the water. "Tryin' to go for a swim, eh, Duffy?" he laughed.

"Shut up," Kieran smirked. "Help me out here." He continued wrestling with the line with Sean on standby to anchor him. "I...think I've almost...got 'im..." he grunted. "Almost--"

Lenny appeared on Kieran's other side to keep him steady as his feet threatened to slide on the bank once more. He and Sean watched on in amazement as Kieran finally reeled in his catch.

"Yes! I got it!" Kieran cheered, hauling in the biggest bluegill they'd ever laid eyes on.

"Would ya look at the bloody size o' that thing!" Sean hollered in disbelief.

"Not bad, Kieran," Lenny praised, clapping the grinning fisherman on the shoulder. "Pearson's gonna love this."

Kieran was brimming with pride. Actively bringing in food to put on the table was bound to earn him some respect from the gang. This could work out really well for him.

"I uh, think I grabbed some spare rods, if you fellers wanna try for yourselves," he invited the others as he unhooked his catch and tossed it in the bucket. Lenny and Sean looked at each other for a moment.

"Eh, what the hell, not doin' much else anyway...bet I can nab a better catch than you, Summers!" 

"Oh, yeah?" Lenny challenged. "Tell you what, you're on, and if you're wrong, you're gonna sit your ass down and read. Ah, don't try to back out now!"

They returned triumphantly that afternoon, all three of them crammed into the front seat, bantering like the best of friends. Sean was still sulking about losing the bet, Lenny was feeling very smug for the same reason, and Kieran, in the driver's seat, was feeling more hopeful than he had in a while. The smile hadn't left his face, seemingly stuck there while he basked in the feeling of being accepted and having everything go his way for once. It felt too good to be true.

Kieran parked the wagon, and they all clambered out. He happened to glance toward the camp and catch the one and only Mary-Beth looking over at him. If he didn't know better, he'd think she were blushing as they locked eyes, but no. Her cheeks were always rosy, weren't they? 

"Rumour has it she's got her eye on someone else."

She smiled and waved at him, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He was still riding the day's high and couldn't even find it in him to second-guess her kind gesture. He could fret about Lenny's words later. For now, he offered a lopsided smile of his own, returning her gesture without a qualm.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he faltered for a split second, worried that Javier or one of the others had seen him wave at Mary-Beth and come to threaten him for pushing his luck. He was very relieved when it only turned out to be his companions, thrusting the bucket of fish into his hands and steering him towards the chuckwagon.

"Well, come on, then; we can't take all the credit!" they laughed.

Kieran smiled and allowed himself to be ushered away. He glanced at Sean and Lenny out the corners of his eyes as the three of them walked along. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had actual friends his age.

The long, lonesome highway he'd been travelling all these years was behind him now. Maybe, just maybe, his life was finally headed in a better direction.

The company was certainly better, that was for sure.

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Yes, this was literally just me looking for an excuse to have this trio hang out.

No, I'm still not quite sure I've figured out how to write them all accurately. Constructive feedback is welcomed :)

Legends Never Die

Mary-Beth publishes a semi-autobiography based on her and the gang's story. She pays a visit to an old friend to personally share the news.

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It had been a week since the publication of her latest book, and already it looked set to be her most successful to date.

She had taken a risk with this one, writing for herself, from the rawest and most real parts of her heart. This wasn't one of the typical romantic fantasies she had come to be known for. It was a deeply personal memoir that carried more weight than her readers would ever likely understand. The story was truly hers -- she hadn't even bothered to hide behind a pseudonym, publishing it instead under her own legal name: Mary Elizabeth Gaskill.

Mary-Beth stroked the cover of the crisp, newly published edition on her desk, feeling a strange, bittersweet feeling in her heart. It was a relief that the book had been received well, and she was very glad to have published it, but it had been no easy feat and stirred up a bitter longing inside her for something long since lost to the past.

The very first copy off the printing press was immediately gifted to Mrs Tilly Pierre, signed by the author with unending gratitude. Dear Tilly had wholeheartedly supported her from start to finish, firm in her belief that they deserved to have their story told and their hardships acknowledged.

"A good story lives forever," Tilly had told her on one occasion. "People will read and remember it for years to come. Legends never die."

If Mary-Beth played her cards right, the book would serve to honour every struggle they had endured and every loss they had suffered along the way. Motivated by this sentiment, Mary-Beth had poured herself into her work, aspiring to do justice to everyone concerned. As she found her work adorned with bestselling status yet again, it seemed she had accomplished her mission.

She gathered up the book, leaving her Saint Denis residence. There was one more old friend she wanted to visit and personally share the news with.

Her horse faithfully carried her out of the city, heading west past Caliga Hall, then turning south, eventually stumbling into a quiet, sunny meadow. Mary-Beth turned her head this way and that before her eyes settled on a familiar form in the distance.

"Ah! There you are."

She walked the horse over, dismounting as they drew near.

"Hey," she called softly. "It's me again."

Her friend didn't return the greeting, but she didn't mind.

"I wanted to show you my new book," she said, pulling it from the horse's saddlebag. "See?"

She sat down in the grass, smoothing out her skirt as she did so. It was one of her simple old ones; she had forgone all her finery in an attempt to avoid being recognised as she slipped out of town. Usually, she didn't mind too much, but today, she really hadn't wanted to be apprehended by a throng of her adoring fans -- she had a very important date to keep.

"This one's a bit different from my usual romances -- there's still love and suspense and all that, of course -- but I suppose this is more of an adventure?" She scrutinised the book's cover as she rambled on, trying to summarise exactly what the premise was.

"It's based on a true story. Well, mostly. It's kind of like a semi-autobiography. The female lead, Meredith Gavill, is, well, me, basically. You'll probably recognise the other characters, too, even with the fake names."

She scrunched up her nose with a laugh, thinking about how strange it had felt to refer to her dearest friends by unfamiliar, made-up aliases. She could just imagine Karen scoffing and insisting that she would rather be outright named and shamed than be forever known as "Katherine James".

"There's a loud-mouthed scallywag from Ireland, and a kindly old sailor with dubious culinary skills," she said with a fond chuckle. The smile faded just a little as she went on. "There's also a poor but gentle stable hand that our heroine grows terribly fond of..."

Mary-Beth's voice grew quieter as she dazedly caressed the cover of the book.

"I changed the ending," she mumbled, biting her lip as she felt it tremble. "They ride off together in the middle of the night and never look back. They run far away to California where they get married and live happily ever after...ain't that nice?" she smiled shakily, looking up with blurry eyes.

The silence stretched on and she sighed, knowing it was foolish to wait for a response that simply would not come.

"...I still think about you every day," she whispered, voice cracking as she did so. She held on for a moment more before a choked sob burst from her throat. "God, I miss you!"

The grass rustled in the gentle breeze and the flowers swayed as she wept softly. After what felt like forever, she took out her handkerchief to dry her eyes, sniffling as she then used the tear-stained cloth to carefully dust off the simple wooden grave marker.

Mary-Beth had considered using her earnings to erect new headstones for her fallen friends but ultimately decided against it. There was something intimate about the personally handmade graves that couldn't be replaced. She had settled for installing a memorial plaque in the Saint Denis cemetery for poor Miss O'Shea, but the others' resting places she simply did her best to preserve as they were. Though, admittedly, she did lavish extra special care on this one in particular.

She tenderly traced the letters of the name carved into the wood. In her story, he was called by a different name, but in her heart, he would always be Kieran Duffy.

Oh, how her heart ached with how much she missed him. She missed the warmth of his presence beside her as they sat together reading in the afternoon sun, and the genuine smiles he only ever seemed to wear around her, those greyish-blue eyes lighting up anytime she was near. She missed his gentle voice and the sound of his laugh when they were alone together, talking about anything and everything. She missed him.

"Oh, Kieran...I wonder all the time what it would be like, if things had ended differently," she sighed, clearing away the wilted bundle of wildflowers she'd left last time to leave a fresh bouquet in their place. "I--I'm happy, but...I just wish you were still here. With me."

A stray tear slipped down her cheek as she dared to imagine all they could have had, a whole alternate life playing out in her mind in a single moment. She picked up the book once more, clutching it to her tightly. She hadn't been able to help herself, rewriting their story so that she and her sweetheart could be together as they always should have been. In her imagination, at least, there was a happy ending waiting for them, and no one could take that away from her.

"Anyway," she sniffled, getting to her feet. "I should probably head back soon, before it gets dark. Never did like it much around here," she shivered. And yet, she knew that she would be back again at the same time next week, and every week after that, without fail. Always.

"Love you," she murmured, pressing a kiss to her fingertips and trailing them over his name one more time. "Bye for now," she said sweetly, mustering a soft smile as she turned to retrieve her grazing horse.

"Duffy--!" she called. The horse whinnied, faithfully trotting over to his mistress. She patted the pretty red dun, brushing her fingers through his copper mane. He was a sweet thing. Her eyes crinkled fondly, and she kissed the gentle creature right on the nose.

"Come on, boy. Let's go home."

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Oof canon compliant Kierabeth ;_; I may or may not scribble some accompanying illustrations for this.

(In personal news, I tried on my wedding dress for the first time, and it is honestly a dream come true! I'm so excited <3)

Outlaw State of Mind

Molly is concerned about Dutch's mental stability and seeks a second opinion from the one who knows him best.

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"...Hosea?"

The voice was one that rarely addressed him, and he looked up from his newspaper with raised eyebrows.

Sure enough, there she stood, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Hosea tilted his head, wondering what she could possibly want from him.

"Miss O'Shea. To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?"

Dutch was away from camp seeing to some business in Valentine, but Molly typically kept to herself when her lover wasn't around. Hosea could count on one hand the number of times he could recall himself and the red-haired woman ever making conversation besides the usual curt, passing greetings.

He didn't exactly think himself to be someone she would reach out to, yet here she was, tugging at the shawl around her shoulders and biting her lip as if she were just bursting to say something.

"Molly...?"

She hesitated for only a second more before rushing to sit across from him at the table, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

"Please, can I talk to you about Dutch?"

Hosea flicked the newspaper dismissively, his eyes already falling back to the printed text.

"It's hardly any business of mine what the two of you--"

"Not about us," she cut in sharply, "about him." Her green eyes were pleading, begging for Hosea to lend her his ear. "...I'm worried about him."

There was a pause, and then a soft rustling as the newspaper was folded and put aside. Hosea drew his mouth in a straight line, giving a stiff nod.

"Go on, then."

A grateful, relieved smile briefly flickered over Molly's freckled face. She looked around cautiously, leaning in to whisper.

"I don't think he's well, Hosea. Up here," she elaborated, tapping her temple.

"What do you mean?" he squinted.

Molly's eyes lingered on the wood grain of the tabletop as she spoke.

"He doesn't seem like himself...he's different, somehow. I don't know. Something's changed in him, I can just feel it."

Hosea leaned back in his seat.

"I've known Dutch for nearly thirty years. There's a lot you probably don't know about him, my dear," he mused. "Maybe it's not a matter of him not being himself, but that you've simply never known him for who he really is."

Molly frowned, unsatisfied with that answer.

"You know him best, Hosea. What do you think?" she implored him.

The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, stealing his own discreet glances to ensure their conversation was private before he spoke his mind.

"I'll admit, I've had my own concerns for some time now," he finally said lowly, his tone melancholy as he stared off into the distance. "We used to be partners, he and I, but these days, he's calling the shots all on his own, it seems..." He shook his head. "First that fiasco in Blackwater, and then this business with Leviticus Cornwall...I'm not sure what the hell he's thinking, if I'm quite honest."

Molly nodded silently. It was a relief to know that her qualms were not entirely unfounded, but for Hosea of all people to express doubt about Dutch's leadership...this might be more serious than she had first believed.

"I'm not so sure of anything anymore," she confessed, chewing her lip so hard that Hosea expected her to draw blood at any moment.

"Well, my child, there is one thing of which you can be certain," he told her, leaning to rest his arms on the table.

"We are outlaws, my dear. And that's not a lifestyle that is easily left behind. It's a state of mind." His face was pensive as he continued, "I tried to change my ways and settle down, but I couldn't fight my nature. My wife -- God rest her -- was able to accept that, and we made it work."

Molly tried not to feel a surge of envy for the Matthews' happy marriage. She could feel Hosea's wise eyes regarding her solemnly.

"The question is, Miss O'Shea: Can you? Is that a compromise you are willing to make?"

She held her lip in her teeth. Hosea didn't expect her to answer that very moment, and she didn't. She would definitely need some time to think it all over.

Hosea softened his gaze. The poor girl was clearly in well over her head; she was not at all cut out for this kind of life. Frankly, he was amazed that she had coped this long. And that was without all the emotional turmoil that her personal entanglement with the gang's leader entailed.

Yes, it was her own naivety that had got her caught in Dutch's web, but Hosea wasn't quite so cold-hearted as to look upon her without pity. He slid a hand across the tabletop, reaching toward her as a subtle gesture of support.

"No one is forcing you to stay, Molly," he reminded her gently. "It's up to you, whatever you decide."

She finally lifted her eyes from the table, meeting Hosea's patient gaze. A shaky sigh eventually left her.

"Thank you, Hosea," she nodded, rising from the table to go isolate herself in the main tent and contemplate everything they had spoken about.

Hosea returned the awkward little gesture, redirecting his attention back to the New Hanover Gazette, only to stop short and frown at the top headline. Dutch's little train robbery had made the front page.

Of course it had.

While publications of their earlier exploits had been promptly cut from the page and kept as mementos, Hosea had ceased to find any semblance of pride in their recent escapades. Every headline now loomed like a death sentence. Sooner or later, their luck would run out. Blackwater should have been proof enough of that.

He tossed the paper away with a huff.

He didn't have much time left on this earth, that much he knew. And he'd be damned if he wasted a second more on this miserable outlaw business. The career had long since lost its lustre anyhow, sullied by false promises, treachery and far, far too many losses.

Hosea had already made up his mind some time ago that he wanted to see folks settled before he passed. John and his little family, especially, and all those young folks with so much of their lives still ahead of them. He had to make sure they made it out of all this safely and made something decent of themselves.

If he achieved that, he told himself, he could die with no regrets.

The age of outlaws was coming to an end, and as far as Hosea Matthews was concerned, not a day too soon.