#Yeehawgust fic

[dilf-din]

Yeehawgust Day 1: Gather the Posse

Cowboy!TLOU AU

WC: 1550

Characters: Sarah, Joel, Tommy, Tess, and a surprise guest

Rating: T

Warnings: gun violence, language, David is a creep, author was not a horse girl

A/N: hi friends! Happy Yeehawgust! I’ve got big plans for this month and the prompts we were given. I can’t promise to post every day, but I will do my best! I’ll create a section in my masterlist for all the fics I post this month. Enjoy this little Miller fam beat down that @ellies-little-gun helped me workshop 🤠

Shit. Shit shit shit. Of course the one night she needed him, he decided to head home early. Sarah cursed once more as the door to the sheriff’s office slammed shut behind her. Her boots pounded down the faded white steps into the dusty street below. Her palomino mare whinnied from the post she was tied to, her coat a few shades lighter than the red dirt beneath Sarah’s boots.

“We’ve gotta go find daddy, Harlow,” Sarah explained swinging herself up and into the saddle. Dust flew in a steady stream behind them as they raced to the whitewashed cabin on the edge of town. Every cloud that rose from Harlow’s hooves gave them away like a breadcrumb trail. The sun had faded into a blood red pinprick on the horizon behind her leaving them with nothing but navy skies and a quickly descending chill in the air. Goosebumps danced down her arms as the last rays of warmth retired for the evening.

“Don’t take your eye off her,” she had hissed at Tommy before hurrying out to find Joel. She knew the girl would be safe for now, but if David and his men made a move, there was no way he’d be able to hold them all off alone. She was racing the clock, making every second and stride count.

Within minutes, the grey roof of their homecame into view. She quickly made out Tess’s figure taking their linens down from the line Joel had carefully strung up for them. The white of the sheets was as bright as the stars coming into view with dusk’s arrival.

“Whoa, slow down,” Tess said, holding a hand out and catching Harlow’s chest as the pair came to a stop, a sheen of foam and sweat visible on the mare’s coat from the ride.

“Is dad inside?”

“Yeah, what’s goin’ on?”

Sarah practically flew up the steps, her hat falling off of her curls and hanging around her neck by a thick, leather cord.

The front door was open, leaving only the screen door to separate their living space from the swarm of summer bugs. With Tess on her heels, Sarah entered the house and looked around for her father. He was at the kitchen table propped up by an elbow, a decanter of bourbon uncorked beside him, his boots set neatly in front of his aching feet.

“Might wanna put those back on,” she said gesturing to his boots as she pulled her shotgun down from the rack beside the door.

“Now hold on, what happened baby?”

“That orphan girl we’ve been seein’ around town? She’s at the saloon tonight. David’s been giving her the eye. I was up there with Uncle Tommy. He’s on it for now, but I don’t like where it’s headed.”

“I’ll grab the horses,” Tess nodded after exchanging a quick glance with Joel.

In a second, he had pulled his boots back on and was beside Sarah.

“You know we can’t go in there guns blazing on a whim,” he said with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“He’s not layin’ a finger on her without losin’ a hand,” Sarah said icily, her jaw set in the same way his did when he had his mind set on something.

Joel nodded and followed her out the door.

Back at the saloon, Tommy sat in the corner sipping a mug of beer, eyes carefully following the situation unfolding in front of him. The girl was at the bar with her back turned to the buzzing room. She was scarfing down a plate of food that Sarah had slipped the bartender a few coins for. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in days, wiry frame, wide brown eyes, disheveled curls sticking out every which way. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen, he reasoned.

It started with a whisper, an almost imperceptible smile across his snakelike features. The red headed man had gestured at her with his pale blue eyes, pointing her out to the taller brunette man always at his right side. Everyone in town knew David’s reputation, the way women disappeared with him never to be seen again. Joel had spent the last several months hunting down a gang of raiders who had been picking off of their herds leaving David and his men to terrorize the townspeople. He wasn’t happy about it, but it was what it was for the time being. He had been waiting for a chance to wrap his hands around that man’s neck.

Tommy sat tight lipped as he saw David push back from his table and start making his way to the bar where the girl sat. Words falling like honey covered venom fell from his tongue as he placed a hand on the small of her back. A chill ran up her spine from the touch, causing Tommy to shift his weight on his stool. He slammed back the rest of his beer, readying himself to approach and intervene. The girl ducked and pulled her head away, no doubt trying to avoid his rancid breath, each exhale laced with the smell of death and alcohol. Tommy saw a glint in his eye he could’ve sworn was a vertical slit, fangs bared to strike in the low light of the saloon. He took a deep breath and strutted over, leaning onto the bar and enveloping the girl in his shadow. She shot him a look that was half thankful and half terrified.

“What’re you doin’ Miller? Stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong again?”

“That’s your favorite pastime, innit?” Tommy smiled, thick mustache curling up over his lip.

“Eat shit,” David spat at him, turning his attention back to the girl, “Where were we darlin’?”

“You were telling me about your massive house and all your riches,” she said in an unimpressed tone, still trying to wriggle her shoulder out of his grasp. Tommy didn’t even bother to hide his chuckle.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go get you cleaned up,” he said firmly, trying to tug her from the bar stool.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, creep ass,” she elbowed him hard in the ribs and made a run for the door.

Tommy grasped David on the shoulder to hold him in place, but two of his men followed her out without her knowing.

“Sorry,” Tommy said.

“What for?”

“This,” he slammed the man’s face into the bar nose first and rushed towards the exit without waiting to see the aftermath. Tommy wove through the raucous room, dodging drunk patrons and red lipped waitresses. He burst through the double doors shoulder first to find the space in front of the building empty save a gaggle of horses tied up by the water trough.

“Get off, you motherfucker!” he heard the sound of the kid, her teeth gritted coming from the alley between the saloon and the post office.

Everything that was about to transpire would happen in a matter of seconds.

Joel, Tess, and Sarah thundered up to the front of the saloon, dismounting quickly as David stumbled out the door with blood pouring down his nose and chin, coating his teeth. Tommy ducked into the alleyway after the girl. The two men were blocking her exit from the way she came with one more bringing up the rear. The one behind her was James, David’s top guy. She backed into him with a start and whipped a switchblade out jabbing it between two of his ribs.

The attack caught him off guard, sending him to his knees. Tommy took the opportunity to tackle one of her other assailants, slamming him into the wall. Joel was beside him in a second connecting his fist with the other man’s jaw. Tommy could tell by the glint of moonlight out of the corner of his eye that his brother had slipped his brass knuckles on on the way here.

“Nice.”

“Thanks,” Joel huffed.

Out front, Sarah wasted no time stopping David from joining the fray. While he staggered down the steps, she hoisted her rifle up and slammed it against his neck, pinning him to the wall.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” she snarled.

“None of your fucking business,” he strained.

“What are you doin’ trying to pick up little kids?” Tess asked with her lip turned up in disgust.

“Oh I’ve got big plans for her,” he smiled, yellow teeth stained red from the blood that was still pouring.

“Wrong answer,” Tess said casually, lazily raising her revolver to fire a round straight into his knee.

He howled in pain while Sarah strengthened her hold on the length of the rifle to make sure he didn’t budge.

Back in the alley, Tommy drew his revolver and alternated aiming it at the three goons they had disarmed.

“Why don’t y’all get out of here ‘fore things get uglier?” he suggested, a fake sympathetic smile on his face.

The three men blinked at him wordlessly until he fired a warning shot into the dirt at their feet, and they scrambled away like a pack of scared dogs. When Tommy turned around, Joel was on one knee talking to the kid.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt ya,” he said softly. “I’m Joel, I’m the sheriff. What’s your name?”

“Ellie.”

Taglist: @ellliemilller

[in-my-loki-feels]

Title: Just Like Runaway Horses Rating: E Fandom: Loki (TV) Relationship: Loki/Mobius M. Mobius Some Additional Tags: Western AU, Sheriff Mobius, Outlaw Loki, Enemies, Porn with a bit of plot, Massages, Sexy shaving, Quickies Word Count: 6.3k [complete]

Summary:

Loki had been a thorn in Mobius’ side since he took over as sheriff. They’d been playing cat and mouse for weeks, but Loki’d never sought him out like this. Catching him unawares once, Mobius could shrug off, but twice—without taking the shot?—that, he didn’t understand. 

This cowboy AU started as an ask prompt fill and then I kept writing, but it's serendipitous because The Automat server's creative challenge prompt for this month is "crossover" and I've also just learned about Yeehawgust. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little bit of fun! 💚🧡🤠

[twosides--samecoin]

long time running x @yeehawgust day 18: don't fence me in

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences And gaze at the moon 'til I lose my senses And I can't look at hovels and I can't stand fences Don't fence me in

[ryuzatodraws-archive]

His face is covered in thick black and white skull-paint,the same sort of grease paint they used in Vaudeville acts,Copia didn’t know animal skulls very well but it reminds him of a ram’s skull.

Day 1 of Yeehawgust: Gather the posse!

Im basing this whole month’s prompt for Copper and Iron fic specifically!

[copper-skulls]

yeehawgust 28: gunsmoke

THAT'S HIM!! THE GUY!! HE'S GUNSMOKE

Gaster aka Gunsmoke from @silverskye13 's undertale western AU fic, A Good Ol' Fashioned Hell-Raising! feat. blaster blaster blasters blasters bl

this was an absolute blast(GET IT) to work on, gosh

hd sneks

[unknownuncut]

Title: Ain't No Love In Oklahoma

Week 1: First Rodeo

Notes: There's no real way to summarize this because it's just taking Greek Gods and throwing them into a Western AU of some kind. It's just for fun so I hope you enjoy and have a wonderful day/night!

[waywardwizzard]

Nervously, Wash pulled at the collar of his shirt and smoothed down his hair, running a hand over his face last minute. Calloused fingers slid over the smooth skin of his upper lip and he tried not to pull a face.

It felt weird not having his moustache, but it would be worth it. At least, he hoped so.

Slow footsteps echoed on the gridding of Serenity's ramp and Zoë stepped onto the sandy ground, her dark green dress glittering in the soft moonlight. A few wayward curls that fell out of the hairclip fluttered in the soft summer breeze and her dark brown eyes met his.

Definitely worth it.

"I see you shaved," she said, walking past him.

After a while, she stopped and turned back to look at him, lifting an eyebrow.

"You comin'? Or am I goin' on my own?"

Stumbling, Wash ran to catch up with her, awkwardly holding out a small bundle of wild flowers he had picked earlier.

Gently taking them, she smiled and the two of them made their way to the nearby town, their shadows prancing together in the moonlight.

☆☆☆

Author's note -

Ngl, I missed yelling at y'all in the notes. I was trying something new but I realized I didn't like it, so. Back to my regular not-really-necessary notes it is!

Also, have any of y'all read the newest Firefly comic called Firefly: Verse' What if? Because damn, it was so good, it scratched an itch I didn't know I had and it made me cry. I really recommend reading it (Google's Play Books has it as far as I know). I'll also make a post about it later this month

[walker-extended-universe]

Like a Pheonix, We Rise, Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Relationship(s): Hoyt Rawlins & Cordell Walker, Abigail Walker & Cordell Walker, Cordell Walker & Original Characters

Tags/Warnings: Inspired by Jared's Cameo, Immortality, Immortal Cordell, Immortal Hoyt, Adoption, Grief/Mourning, Difficult Decisions, Character Death

Summary: Cordell just needs one more lifetime with his family.

Written for @yeehawgust Day 10: Undead Cowboy

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

--------------

Cordell couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a mother.

He’s sure he had a biological mother at some point, but that was easily a millenia ago, if not longer. He didn’t remember anything about her, nor a father or any siblings he might have had. He didn’t remember anyone else who might have served a motherly role for him. Again, he was sure there must have been someone, some kind soul who wanted to take in a youngster with nowhere else to go.

But it had been a long time since he’d had something like that. It had just been him and Hoyt for years, to the point where they’d taken care not to die at the same time if they could help it.

Having a mother was strange. But Abigail Walker made a fine one and Cordell didn’t think he could ever repay her for that, nevermind her insistence that she was repaying him.

Abby treated him as one of her own children, something that didn’t change even after she actually had children of her own. She even brought Hoyt into the fold when he added another death to his tally 10 years later.

Cordell had 20 good years with Abby. He helped her start up the family ranch, looked after the little ones when days got busy (he had a particular fondness for her youngest daughter, Coraline), and even taught her a few of the recipes he’d picked up over the years. Then, his mind started wandering. He’d never stayed in one place for so long. He’d started to make friends and feel like part of the family. It should be a comfort but it just made him antsy. He could tell Hoyt was feeling it too, though neither of them would dare say it to Abby’s face.

At least she was literate. Leaving a note was always easier.

The immortal friends planned their departure in hush whispers under the light of the moon. There was no need to alert anyone to their plans. They packed some necessities and carefully penned a note expressing their gratitude.

It was almost too easy to leave when the night finally came. Hoyt and Cordell grabbed their bags and made their way to the door, leaving their note on the dining table on their way. Hoyt’s hand turned the knob and-

“Cordi? Where are you going?”

Cordell sighed and turned to see Coraline wiping the sleep dust out of her eyes. “I’m just going to check on the horses, sweetpea,” he said gently. “What are you doing up this late anyhow?”

Coraline sniffed. “I had a bad dream….”

Cordell’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. Here, let’s just get you back to bed, okay? You’ll feel better in the morning.” He cast an apologetic look to Hoyt over his shoulder and set his bag down so he could pick Coraline up.

He just couldn’t leave her with a bad dream like that. 

He stayed up until Coraline fell back asleep and promised Hoyt they’d try to leave again in a few days.

But in a few days, the family buggy broke and Cordell had to fix it, leaving him too tired to escape in the middle of the night. Then one of the older sons, Jared, fell ill and Cordell had to pick up his slack. Then there was a bad storm and Cordell had to help rebuild part of the barn and a few of their neighbors’ as well.

At least, he felt like he had to. Because this had become his home, his family, his friends.

He couldn’t just leave when they needed him, no matter how annoyed Hoyt got.

“You know this isn’t going to end well,” Hoyt told him one night. “They’re all gonna die one day and you’re going to be left alone. Again.”

“I know that,” he murmured. “I know. I just…. Aren’t you tired of running? Of constantly moving around, never having a place to just rest?”

“Yeah, but that’s just our life. We can’t have homes or families. We either have to leave or we get run out of town for being witches or demons or something. The longer we stay, the bigger the risk. You know that.”

He did know that. But that didn't keep him from hoping for the better.

“Would it be so bad to try, just this once?”

Hoyt sighed. “Look, you can get your heart broken if you want to. I can’t stop you. But I’m not gonna stick around longer than I have to.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying….” He sighed. “I’m saying I’m gonna go, but I’ll come visit you. If you want to stay, you can. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I know how you get when you wanna do something. Just…. Be careful, okay?”

Cordell swallowed hard. They hadn’t split up since they found each other centuries ago. They had to be there for each other. No one else would be.

But now…. Now they were at an impasse. Cordell wanted to stay, to keep the life he’d started to build. And Hoyt wanted to leave, to keep going on as they always had. A part of Cordell wanted to follow his friend, just in case something happened to him.

But he really wanted to stay. He wanted to watch Coraline grow up and help Jared take over the ranch when Abby got too old. He wanted to help the neighbors with their harvest and share gossip with the Mulligan sisters at their store.

Just this once couldn’t hurt. Just one lifetime that felt normal couldn’t be so bad.

“Don’t stay away too long,” he requested. “I’ll…. I’ll miss you.”

Hoyt hugged him. “I’ll miss you too. I’ll always be around when you need me.”

The next day, Hoyt left, and Cordell stayed. Abigail understood and wished Hoyt well. She told Cordell that he would always have a place with her family, for as long as he wanted it.

So he stayed for a lifetime. He watched weddings and funerals pass by. He helped wrangle children and grandchildren and horses alike. He kept the ranch running when the others got ill and kept his distance from anyone who might want to make him an honest man.

It was one thing to become part of a family; it was another to be foolish enough to make his own.

About 20 years after Abigail Walker passed, Cordell had a bad horse accident. For the first time in a long time, he died alone. When he woke up again, he expected to still be alone. He expected that he would have to find his own way out and look for Hoyt again, as he always did.

He didn’t expect to find Coraline rocking him and humming a melody Abby used to sing.

Apparently, unbeknownst to him, Abigail had already passed on their story to her children. “She wanted you to always have a place here, if you wanted it,” Coraline explained. “You’re a part of the family, Cordi, no matter what.”

No one had ever done that for him before. Even the few others he had trusted with his secret were usually happy to see him on his way once he was no longer helpful. No one else had ever really wanted him around so badly before.

He decided then to stay one more lifetime. He couldn’t bear to break Coraline’s heart after such a  kindness.

One lifetime turned into two. Then three. Hoyt always floated in and out, offering to give him a ride out of town if he wanted it. And Cordell always thought about it. Part of him did miss running around the wild plains without a care in the world, living on the edge as if there was no tomorrow. 

But he had a life here. A home. A family, even. He wasn’t ready to give that up yet.

Just one more lifetime, he always told himself. One more lifetime, then I can go.

There would be plenty of lifetimes for him to run wild once he was done here. But for now, a little boy named Bonham needed a big brother to show him the ropes, and Cordell was more than up to the task.

[aaaghhhhhh]

yeehawgust day 2: greener pastures

It is nearing sunset before Law and Tang make it to healthy grass. It is a subtle, creeping event that had snuck up on him all the same. Tang had been picking her way through the dried, withered grass, Law half-asleep in the saddle, when the rush of energy had hit him. He’d bolted upright to a field of vibrant green shortgrass, the air crisp and fresh the way Punk Hazard had been caked in smokey gloom. He’d nudged Tang to a walk then and looked around and back, to the despairing brown fields with splotches of green that they’d passed through. Breaths a clean sigh of relief.

They make camp a short while later, in a clearing by the side of a boulder far from home. An odd spot out here, but Law’s grateful for the shelter all the same. Grateful to pitch his tent and build his fire and cook his rations with a windbreak. Grateful to be out here, in the greener pastures. Strong again.

Punk Hazard was a dead land, the grass struggling to survive, Caesar stripping the soil of all its magic for his—Doflamingo’s—schemes. The soil and Law with it, the Fruit within him drained. That was the bargain of the grass: you ate its fruit and tapped into the power festering within the roots. As long as you were in the grass, you were something more than human. The grass had saved his life, once. And in Punk Hazard he’d been without it, barren as the land. Empty.

(Fleavance had been dead too, deader, the grass bleached white by the lead. They’d been proud of it, the streets lined with enough lead and iron to choke out even the greatest of roots. Hadn’t had a clue, sitting in the shadow of the mountains and their looming fate. Back then, he hadn’t eaten the fruit, hadn’t known what was waiting.)

Now, he twists his hand, DEATH flipping over, and lets the Room expand just for the hell of it all, blue stretching across the prairie. Lets the hum soothe him. There’s a lot left to do, a whole plan to execute. But at least now he has the grass on his side again.

[ctrl-alt-em]

An Unconventional Steed

“I’m not getting on a horse.”

The posse was gathered in front of the town stables. The plan had been to rent four horses and pick up Humble Ned so they could head out on a short bounty as a full team. That plan turned out to be a bit too ambitious.

“Come on, Silas, I’m sure it will be fine. The new stableboy said this is the gentlest horse they have,” said Edie, gesturing to the old mare named, fittingly, Sweet Pea.

“Nope, I’m not doing it.” Silas crossed his arms and leaned against the stable, looking away from all the horse. “I’ll walk behind you guys.”

“You actually reckon you could keep up with a horse?” asked Delacy from on top of Humble Ned.

“I think he’s exaggerating, hun,” said Edie, stroking her own horse’s soft nose.

“Why can’t we just rent a cart or a coach like last time?” gumbled Silas.

Garnet patted her horse on the neck. “We’ll be faster and harder to catch without a coach, Silas.”

“Well then, I guess this will just have to be a four person job.”

“I have an idea,” said Nate, stepping forward. His horse munched on whatever grass it could reach behind him. “You’re only afraid of horses, right?”

Silas glared at the old man. “I’m not getting on no godforsaken pony either.”

“And I ain’t suggesting such. You all just wait here while I go speak with that stablehand again.”

Nate returned a few minutes later leading a donkey. “Silas, meet Churro.”

“A fucking donkey? Really, Nate?”

“Why not? It’s not a horse or a pony, not even a mule!” Nate gestured grandly to the donkey. The donkey gave Silas a bored look and made no efforts to move beyond a flicker of the left ear. “I even gotten the fella for cheaper than a horse. Saved a whole five dollars!”

Silas dragged a hand over his face. “This has got to be your stupidest idea yet.”

–

An hour later, the posse rode down the trail. Garnet and Silas taking the lead, Edie and Delacy in the middle, and Nate taking the rear.

“How’s Churro treating you, Silas?” called Nate with a grin.

“Shut up, old man.”

[dilf-din]

Yeehawgust Day 3: Wanted Poster

Rebelcaptain Western AU (Outlaw!Jyn & Cass)

WC: 1450

Characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso, Syril Karn

Rating: T

Warnings: typical western violence, light language, playing god with star wars canon and added western elements

A/N: howdy y’all! This one was fun, I’m definitely going to be doing a few more mini fics for them this month. Barely proofread so sorry for any typos. Without further ado, please enjoy the misadventures of Fulcrum and Stardust ✨

Order. The Empire craved order. It needed order to survive. It relied on systems and balance and people who could keep everything in check. It relied on subdued civilians with the fight beaten out of them. A list that extensive took cold and competent people, and Syril Karn was one of the best.

Syril was the head of a system of sheriff’s departments located in the desert colonies. It wasn’t a glamorous station by far, but it was a busy one by way of crime, and being entrusted with it was a high honor. He was due for a promotion soon and had been prepping his case to present to the council the afternoon that everything transpired.

He awoke just like any other morning, five minutes before his alarm, ever the overachiever. He shaved his already smooth face, buttoned his shirt all the way to his ivory throat, and secured his gun at his hip, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. He had a plain breakfast of toast and eggs and listened to the morning news broadcast over the crackle of his radio. He checked the watch on his wrist and double checked it with the clock over his stove before pushing back from the table. Just one more day’s work to get through before his meeting with the council. He smiled smugly as he locked the door behind him, and headed down the walk to his barn.

His dark dapple grey horse stood dutifully in his stall, all saddled and ready for a day of patrolling and intimidating civilians.

“Good morning, Zero,” Syril said with a nod, dismissing the stable boy who assisted him in the mornings. “Today’s the day,” he whispered into the stallion’s ear, causing it to flick against his cheek.

The toe of Jyn’s boot drug lazily against the wooden floor, tracing a series of crooked lines in the dust as she swayed back and forth in her hammock. Her left arm hung down as she rolled out the cylinder of her worn revolver before swinging it shut in a repetitive motion. The sound of metal against her leather gloves soothed her as she waited for Cassian’s return. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the wood casting beams of pale yellow light through clouds of dust. Jyn had her bandana pulled over her nose to keep the dank, musty smell out. As far as hideouts go, this definitely wasn’t the worst place they’d landed. Cassian’s old friend, Ruescott, had opened up his attic space to the pair as they were currently on the run.

“Just one more job, then I promise we’re out of here for good,” Cassian had promised. Their days spent trekking across the continent with a string of livid Imperial officers on their tail were coming to a close.

People easily fit into two categories around these parts, those who disagreed with the Empire, and those who were pissed off enough to do something about it. Jyn and Cassian fell into the latter category.

The truth was, Jyn didn’t mind this life. She would’ve been bored being a housewife on a homestead somewhere. She liked the thrill of the chase, the disguises, the planning. She lived for the adrenaline rushes, the lies, the cons. Robbing those bastards blind was her reason to get out of bed in the morning. To spit in the face of the people who had killed her parents, killed Cassian’s family, left them alone in the world until they found each other.

Jyn and Cassian met back to back in a shootout trying to pinch some artifacts getting delivered to an Imperial temple. Apparently their informant had slipped up and given the tip to both of them. They took down an entire swarm of Imperial grunts in no time and escaped with their loot in tow. They hadn’t parted since that day, finding more than just a convenient partnership.

But Cassian was growing tired from running for so long. He had planned this last heist for months now, detailing everything down to the meter, the second, the dollar amount. They were planning to clear out the vault of the Aldhani treasury, a nearby town infamous for its heavily guarded store of Imperial wealth and weaponry. It was an affluent little offset in the midst of desert poverty, a real diamond in the rough. They had been waiting for the cattle drives to start making their way through town to set everyone into action, spending the last few weeks holed up in a sloping room that was somehow too wet and too dry at the same time. The prior night, Cassian and Melshi had gone to set charges on a nearby bridge that allowed the passage of the steers into town, hoping that the commotion would draw the law enforcement away to deal with the buildup of livestock and people alike. He had headed out to check and see that everything was falling into place while Jyn waited behind. The likelihood of them being recognized while they were together was high. Their faces were plastered on wanted posters across every nearby town. “Fulcrum and Stardust, wanted dead or alive by the Empire.” Jyn took to cutting her hair and pilfering new outfits as much as she could. Cassian, on the other hand, was a little harder to conceal.

Just then, she heard footsteps below her plodding into the house. She straightened herself and waited for the attic stairs to drop down and that crown of dark hair to pop through the opening in the floor.

Cassian ascended the creaky stairs and clambered into the small room out of breath.

“Well?” she asked impatiently. His face broke out into a wide grin under the thick mustache he had grown out.

“It worked. It couldn’t be more perfect. They’ve got a lot of the regular sentry men helping redirect people to another bridge on the east side of the river. Almost everyone in town is out there watching the commotion.” He took her cheeks in his hands and pulled down the black bandana to reveal her lips slightly parted in awe at the report.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Jyn. We can go anywhere, build a home, hide out from all this shit.”

She was now mirroring his toothy grin with one of her own and leaning forward to place a quick kiss to his lips.

“Let’s go get our prize then, yeah?”

Syril’s route today had changed. The commotion at the Aldhani bridge was drawing in support from all over. He saw it his duty to go supervise, nose turned high in the air, cheeks burning from the spring sun, none the wiser to the fact that one of the biggest entities under his jurisdiction was being bled dry just a few minutes away.

Cass had somehow commandeered a wagon and hooked it up to their two steeds. It was pulled up behind the treasury being piled high with sacks of coins and other valuables. Jyn was waiting in the wagon to tie everything down and throw a blanket over top while Cassian made a few more trips. She had discarded the white bonnet she had been using to shield her eyes from the sun, and had used one of her knives to cut her skirt off at the knees giving her easy access to her boots and thigh holsters. Cassian’s last trip consisted of two new rifles, a couple of explosives, and as much ammo as he could carry.

“That it?”

He nodded, and shed the officers coat and cap he had taken, leaving them next to Jyn’s discarded garments. He was left in gray trousers, overalls, and a loose fitting white shirt that he rolled the sleeves on before hopping up onto the bench. He lent a hand down to Jyn who swung up next to him just as they heard the sound of voices coming from inside the vault where they had left the back door cracked open.

“That’s our cue!” Cassian snapped the reins, and the horses took off.

Jyn’s braids whipped wildly in the wind as she turned to see two officers emerging from the dark room and shouting. She aimed her revolver and hit one dead in the chest, and the other in the shoulder. He cursed as he fell into the sand, blood streaming through his fingers as they grasped his wound desperately. She blew the smoke from the tip and twirled it on her finger before setting it on the bench between them.

“You’re crazy,” Cassian said with a wide grin.

“We both are,” she laughed right at him.

[heart-of-gold-outlaw]

Ace High (Ineffable Husbands Yeehawgust)

Playing matchmaker to two outlaws wasn't how Aziraphale had imagined spending his time in America. Pretending to court Crowley hadn't really crossed his mind, either.

Falling in love with him? That definitely wasn't part of the plan.

June, 1889

As a general rule, Aziraphale tended to avoid America. It was a very young country, and as such, had a lot of growing up to do. The people, especially out here in the "Wild West" as they called it, weren't the nicest bunch. Aziraphale had dealt with his fair share of ruffians and vagabonds and other undesirables—God knows the French had plenty of those. But there was something... different about America's breed of troublemaker. Quite a few of them had a penchant for murder, and while Aziraphale could excuse the occasional white lie or stolen loaf of bread, he drew the line at murder. 

But Head Office said there was a minor miracle to perform in America—something about a total solar eclipse. Aziraphale didn't particularly see why that mattered, but he'd done it... Well, rather, Crowley had done it, having lost the coin toss. They'd gone for a lovely lunch afterward: a remarkable little Spanish cafe in San Luis Obispo. Aziraphale quite liked Hispanic cuisine. The spices were absolutely to die for. It never ceased to amaze him, the creative things humans did with food, and he supposed that the Americas could have bragging rights for that. 

Crowley had returned to Soho, as far as Aziraphale knew, with the intent of sleeping for at least a year. Aziraphale, though, wanted to see some of what this young little country had to offer. The murder and crime, he could ignore in exchange for the amazing landscape paintings and wonderful natural scenery. As such, he found himself in Colorado, in a small mountain town called Telluride. The Rockies were beautiful this time of year. Colorado in general, Aziraphale was quickly learning, was just a beautiful state, and he was quite fortunate to be able to see it.

He'd just had lunch at a tavern (rather, a saloon, as they were called here), and was enjoying a stroll down the main drag, when he accidentally bumped shoulders with a man walking in a hurry in the opposite direction. Aziraphale stumbled, threw out his arms to catch himself, and probably would have face-planted into the dirt had the stranger not reached out and hauled him upright. 

"Good heavens, my dear fellow!" Aziraphale exclaimed as he petulantly straightened his coat. "That was quite a catch!"

The stranger looked at him apologetically. He was a tall man, at least a head taller than Aziraphale, with broad shoulders and a strong frame. He wore a buckskin jacket and a gambler hat, underneath which flaxen blond hair stuck to his forehead in the summer humidity. 

"Sorry about that," he said. "Didn't mean to mow you over there." He leaned back and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You okay?"

Aziraphale brushed away some dust on his arm. That was the thing about the West: it was absolutely filthy.  

"Nothing a miracle won't fix," he said, then, catching himself, changed the subject: "What on earth has got you in such a hurry?" 

The stranger looked relieved to see Aziraphale wasn't hurt. He shook his head, blinked, and glanced across the street. Aziraphale looked too, but aside from the saloon and the bank, didn't see anything. 

"I'm s'posed to be meetin' someone here pretty soon," the stranger said, sounding relieved. "Thought I was gonna be late."

"Oh?" Aziraphale couldn't help but be intrigued. "Friend of yours?"

The stranger, who Aziraphale realized was really quite young, maybe in his early twenties, looked down with a smile. The tips of his ears were red.

"Something like that," he said. "We ain't seen each other for a while, so I ain't sure he's even gonna show."

Aziraphale thought of Crowley, then, how the demon always managed to show up whenever Aziraphale was in need of some company—or some rescuing. Although the solar eclipse hadn't exactly been dangerous, it had been nice to share the experience with someone else. He remembered the look of concentration on Crowley's face as he snapped his fingers and pointed at the sun, calling the moon to pass in front of it. He remembered how their shadows had danced together, how beautiful the sky looked in between day and night. There was quite a bit of beauty in darkness, he'd realized. Quite a bit indeed. 

"Oh don't worry," Aziraphale assured. "Friends have a funny way of showing up at just the opportune time." 

The young man smiled, seeming relieved. He held out a hand for Aziraphale to shake.

"The name's Roy," he said, "but I go by Butch." 

"Well, that's rather unusual," Aziraphale said, but shook his hand anyway. "Then again, what's in a name? I'm... Ezra." He tried not to look too guilty at the pause. "Ezra Fell. I run a bookshop in London."

Butch laughed, loud and friendly, and leaned against a hitching post for support. Aziraphale watched him for a moment, confused, before the young man straightened with a few residual chuckles.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, still grinning from ear to ear. "It's just... you look like you run a bookshop. No offense." 

Aziraphale brightened at the compliment. "None taken, my dear fellow."

Before he could say anything else, Butch looked over Aziraphale's shoulder and promptly seemed to forget he was there. There was a look on his face, now, like he'd just watched the world's grandest play, or, perhaps, seen a solar eclipse. Aziraphale turned around to follow his gaze. Across the street, a rather sullen-looking young man leaned against the wall of the saloon. He had dark, straight hair that had clearly been flattened by his hat, which he gripped with both of his hands. He was slender and wore a black jacket that did little to keep the dust at bay. And despite the looks from a couple of the saloon girls, he seemed to be waiting for someone. 

"Now see, I told you he would show," Aziraphale said to Butch. He turned back to face him, only to find that he was walking away... in the opposite direction of his friend. "Hey—wait!"

Aziraphale hurriedly chased after him, having to half-jog to keep up with his long strides. Butch kept his hands firmly shoved in his pockets and didn't look at Aziraphale once.

"Now just where do you think you're going?" Aziraphale demanded, already slightly out of breath.

Butch shook his head, eyes intently focused on the ground in front of him. "This weren't a good idea." 

"Not a good idea?" Aziraphale was thoroughly confused. "But... you were the one who wanted to see him in the first place! And now you're just going to... let him stand there?"

Stopping so abruptly that Aziraphale nearly ran into him again, Butch whirled around and threw his hands up in exasperation. 

"Look pardner," he said. "I ain't gonna get into this right now with you. Just trust me when I say that this weren't a good idea, okay?" He ran a hand through is hair, tugged at it, then let out a deflated sigh. "Now I'm goin' home."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Butch was already walking away, and at a much faster pace this time. A few seconds later, he'd disappeared down the street. Aziraphale knew he had no hope of catching up to him, not without running, and he didn't particularly feel like doing that at the moment. 

He got himself out of the middle of the street and sat heavily on a bench outside the bank. It didn't make sense in his head, Butch's behavior, and it most certainly didn't sit right with him to let his friend stand by the saloon all by himself. Butch had seemed so excited—and so nervous. Why in Heaven's name had he seemed so nervous? It was almost the way teenagers behaved when they were in—

Oh.

Oh dear. That made quite a bit more sense. 

Aziraphale wasn't stupid. He knew the world's current, rather barbaric stance on such things. He also knew, though, how precious of a thing love was, how people who weren't supposed to fall for each other tended to do so anyways, in spite of the danger. It was humanity's greatest gift. Perhaps Heaven and Hell could learn a thing or two...

Best not to think about that, he quickly decided. Even still, he knew what he needed to do. Heaven would probably think he was wasting his time, helping out humans when there were no orders from his superiors, but the way Aziraphale saw it, he was fulfilling his most basic duties as an angel: doing good.

He rose from the bench and walked quickly to the saloon. Butch's friend was still waiting, looking more sullen than before, and he eyed Aziraphale with the same distrustful look he gave everyone who walked by. Aziraphale smiled at him and gave a little wave.

"Ah yes, hello," he said. "You appear to be waiting for someone."

The young man frowned. "What's it to you?"

Aziraphale smiled again. Gotcha.  

"If you're waiting for Butch," he said, watching with delight the way the young man's face brightened ever-so-slightly, "he sends his most sincere apologies, but he can't make it today. Something about..." Aziraphale looked around quickly, and his eyes fell on a mail courier delivering packages across the street. "Something about delivering medicine to a sick family in need. You know how he loves to help people."

It was a gamble, but Aziraphale considered himself a decent judge of character, and Butch had seemed nice enough. The young man looked like he was considering this, then rolled his eyes. 

"That sounds like him alright." Then, hiding his disappointment well: "... Did he say anything else?"

"Oh yes!" Aziraphale said, nodding enthusiastically. "He said that since he can't make it today, he'd love to reschedule for tomorrow night. He'll let you know the time and place vis a vis letter. Now, where exactly are you staying?"

The young man blinked, caught off guard. "Um," he looked decidedly confused. "Golden Creek Hotel. It's..." He gestured around the block. "Right over that way."

"Marvelous!" Aziraphale smiled his most winning smile. "Well, he'll be in touch. Might I know your name, dear fellow, just in case anything pops up?"

"It's..." The young man bit his chapped lips. "Well, just call me Sundance."

Aziraphale held out his hand as if that wasn't a strange name. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Ezra Fell. I run a bookshop in London."

The young man let out a brief chuckle and shook his head. Then, shaking Aziraphale's hand: "You look like you run a bookshop."

Lighting up at the second round of the compliment, Aziraphale sent him on his way. It was only then that he realized just how in over his head he was. For Heaven's sake! He wasn't a matchmaker. He didn't know the first thing about courting someone, let alone getting two people to court each other. And now he had two hopelessly in-love young men who needed him for guidance. Him!  

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said to himself. "I do believe this is a bit of a mess."

But there was one person he trusted to always help him out of a mess, no matter the stakes. After all, getting Aziraphale out of trouble was sort of a favorite pastime of Crowley's. It hadn't even been a week since Aziraphale had seen him, but somehow, he knew the demon would be up to the challenge. 

As it turned out, Crowley hadn't gone back to Soho. He was in Denver, in fact, when Aziraphale found him, having a drink at a local brewery. Aziraphale didn't much care for beer. He preferred wine or sherry, something that was a little less... gross. Not that all beer was terrible, but he supposed it would be years before the Americans caught up with the Belgians in terms of brewing. 

Crowley didn't look surprised to see him. Then again, he rarely did. He wore a long black duster tonight that nearly reached the floor, and it would have looked ridiculous if it wasn't currently in style. He was sitting at the bar, swirling his beer rather than drinking it, and he glanced over at Aziraphale when he took a seat next to him.

"Right," Crowley said, setting his glass aside. "What have you done now?"

Aziraphale tried not to look guilty. "Why on earth would you assume I've done something?"

"Because I know the faces you make." Crowley reached for his beer and drained half the glass in one go. "This is your I've Done Something face."

"But that's preposterous!" Aziraphale said indignantly. "I'll have you know that I haven't done a single thing."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, the first hint of a smile on his lips. He watched Aziraphale for a few seconds, leaning back on the bar stool, waiting for the angel to crack. 

"Oh," Azirphale said as his shoulders slumped. "Fine! I did something. Happy now?"

"Extraordinarily." Crowley signaled the bartender, an older gentleman who looked like he hated his job, and ordered a round for the two of them. Then, noticing the way Aziraphale wrinkled his nose: "Oh come on. It's not that bad."

"For you, maybe." Aziraphale hesitated when the bartender handed him his glass. He took a small sip and tried not to make a face until the bartender's back was turned. 

Crowley, whose glass was already half empty, inclined his head to one side. "So what is it that you've done?"

Aziraphale sighed and dropped his face into his hands. How in Heaven's name was he supposed to explain himself? It wasn't his job to play matchmaker among humans. There was nothing in the Almighty's plan about that. And yet, he couldn't just sit by and watch two perfectly good men squander what could be their only chance at love in a harsh, harsh world. No, he had people counting on him now, and he couldn't let them down. He wouldn't.

"I might have..." He began, trailed off, then continued a little stronger: "I might have told a young man that the... object of his affection, as far as I can tell, is going to meet him for dinner tomorrow night. The problem is, said object of affection has no intention of doing so."

Crowley groaned. "Unrequited love. Sounds like a him problem."

"No no," Aziraphale corrected. "They're absolutely head over heels for each other. Butch is just very, very nervous. I don't think he's ever, well, courted someone before. I don't think either of them have."

Crowley rolled his eyes and reached for his drink. He didn't look particularly excited about the situation.

"So what are you suggesting, Angel?" He asked. "Because if you're going to ask me to help you play matchmaker, the answer is—"

"Oh come on!" Aziraphale interrupted. "You love meddling with humans! These two are practically begging for it, for goodness sake!"

He gave the demon his best pleading look, the one he knew, for whatever reason, always made Crowley cave. Crowley considered him for a moment, expression unreadable behind his dark glasses, before he finally turned away with a scowl.

"Fine!" He hissed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "What do you suggest we do?"

Aziraphale smiled gratefully. That had been rather easy. 

"Well," he admitted, "that's actually where I'm a bit stuck..."

Crowley threw his head back and groaned, then turned to face Aziraphale, who shrugged sheepishly.

"You mean to tell me," Crowley said, "that you don't even have a plan?" 

"Well..." Aziraphale, remembering what usually happened whenever he had a spur of the moment idea, bit his lip. "Maybe not as such. But I did get Sundance to agree to dinner! Butch just... doesn't know he's going yet."

Sighing heavily, Crowley swirled the last of the beer in his glass. He looked thoughtful. Then, when Aziraphale was about to offer a penny, said: "Why don't we each take one and, I don't know, shadow them or something? Act as their wingman. That way when the time comes for the dinner, we can be there to make sure nothing goes wrong." 

Aziraphale considered this. While it wasn't the most complicated idea in the world, it was pretty foolproof. He would take one, Crowley would take the other, and together, they'd make sure the two men realized just how much they meant to one another. 

"That could work," Aziraphale said, "but what if they see us conspiring? We need some sort of excuse, just in case we're seen together."

"The two of you could pretend to court one another," the bartender said as he polished a glass behind the counter. "I did that with my friend, once, to make my partner jealous. Worked like a charm."

Crowley glared at him. "How long have you been listening?"

"No no!" Aziraphale exclaimed and excitedly gripped Crowley's arm. "That's perfect! That way, they won't get suspicious if they see us being, well, us."

"Angel..." Crowley sounded uncertain. "I don't know if this is—"

Aziraphale was hardly listening to him. "Right. Which one do you want to shadow?"

For a long while, Crowley didn't say anything. He just stared first at Aziraphale, then at his glass of beer, which now held only the dregs. Eventually, though, he heaved a deep, heavy sigh, and tilted his head back.

"What are they like?" He asked, resigned. 

Aziraphale beamed at him. "Butch is really quite friendly. And Sundance is... well, rather moody." 

"That one." Crowley said immediately. "I'll take the moody one." 

Trying not to look too relieved, Aziraphale smiled at him and got up from the bar. Dropping some money, plus a decent chunk of change for a tip on the counter, he gently grabbed Crowley by the arm and pulled him toward the door. They had quite a bit of planning to do if they were going to make this work. 

"We're gathering together a right posse!" He exclaimed on their way out the door. "I never thought I'd be excited about something like that."

Crowley gave him a look. "You do know that posses hunt people down, right? Not play matchmaker."

"Well, I suppose we can take some liberties with the word." Aziraphale turned to face him with a wide grin. "I'll see you in Telluride, my dear fellow."

[disastrouscanasta]

Yeehawgust day 15!

[ryuzatodraws-archive]

Dewdrop on guard duty

Yeehawgust Day 8 : Patrolling the Mojave

[baubeautyandthegeek]

I think of two young lovers a-running wild and free//I close my eyes, and sometimes see//You in the shadows of this smoke-filled room – Kyle/Nica Pierce, Nica Pierce/Tiffany Valentine, Kyle/Nica Pierce/Tiffany Valentine, past Andy Barclay/Nica Pierce.

A/N: Day 10 for @yeehawgust . Another western AU for Child's Play/Chucky.

“You look lonesome…” Kyle’s voice breaks into Nica’s thoughts, her sigh soft as she looks at the other woman. Blondes. She had to go and love them. She’s quiet for a time, watching Tiffany amongst the regulars. Nica knows she shouldn’t care, this is just Tiffany’s job after all, flirting and carousing with the locals, but it still hurts. She can remember when she was Tiffany’s one and only. “I could always ask her to come bartend?” The offer, kind as it is, has Nica shaking her head, her laugh low, rusty, almost sad. “She’d drive you insane and we both know it.” Kyle’s smirk is soft then, warm, almost caring. “Not if it means you stop lookin’ like someone shot your dog.” “Someone did, remember?” Nica teases, glancing at Kyle. She’d never really meant to end up between Tiffany, a hard, headstrong, woman who knew what it was to use her sexuality as a weapon, and Kyle, who seemed to not even know how strong and beautiful she was, even now.  Still, she had to admit, running into the woman who shot the damn coyote she’d kept around for no real reason, had been a blessing in disguise… she may sit under a neon moon, drinking her sorrows, but at least she’s not alone in her lonely home anymore. “Coyotes ain’t dogs.” Kyle retorts, pouring her a new drink as she drains the first. “ ‘Sides… at least you know your Tiff ain’t gonna get pawed at too much with us here.” Nica’s sigh is soft then, her voice low and warm. “Our… Tiff. She’s fine anyhow.” She murmurs, drinking a little more scotch and risking a sideways glance at Kyle. “You really haven’t figured it out yet, huh?” “What?” “It’s not just me and her no more… we both care ‘bout you too.” Kyle shrugs, moves to leave her to her drink and Nica’s hand closes over both wrists, quick as a shot. “I mean it, Kyle. You belong with us.” “Maybe I do… still gotta serve these drunks.” Kyle teases, pulling away and hiding her truth under a laugh that’s rough and husky as she serves the other barflies, leaving Nica to drink and think. There’d been a time, Nica knew, that they ran free. Tiffany making her money where she could, how she could, Nica knocking over a bank or two on their way through town. They hadn’t ever meant to settle, not here, not like this and certainly not with a barkeep so downtrodden she almost faded into the walls of her own bar… but they were here now and she had a choice to make. Settle, let Tiff ply her trade and keep Kyle company on the bar, or turn tail and flee like she used to.  Andy and Chuck, she thought, they’d have known what to do. Chuck had died rescuing Tiffany from an overzealous preacher and Andy… she could still hear his voice sometimes. She knew if she closed her eyes and just listened she’d see him in the crowded, smoke-filled bar. She does, for a second, indulge in it, then sighs as she opens her eyes. There’s no point mourning someone dead and less mourning missing men. She had work to do. She drains her glass, slipping the money to Kyle along with a ridiculously large tip and slinks from the saloon bar, catching Tiffany on her way out. “Stay with Kyle tonight, I’ll be back…” She needs, for her own sake, to figure where Andy went, at least Kyle’d keep Tiffany safe as she looked. Well, she hoped so anyway. She finds her answer late, near dawn, the man’s body hanging from a noose. He’s got a message pinned to his chest, aimed to the thieves who’d been robbing banks. ‘Hung for thieving.’ She’d laugh if she could, instead she retches, moving to the side of the worn tracks, gulping air like it means something before wiping her eyes with worn shirt cuffs and heading back into town alone, she’ll slip wearily between Tiffany and Kyle on getting home, sleep off her hangover and work on forgiving herself… somehow. Andy had been her person for long as she could remember, before Chuck, before Tiffany and long, long before Kyle. Now she was here, held safe between two blondes who thought her safe, a good person… she only hoped she could be.

[unknownuncut]

Title: Hidden within the Desert Sky

Week 2: Country Love Song

Summary: With the cattle gone missing, Hermes searches for them but gets into trouble along the way. Meanwhile, Aphrodite and Hephaestus is wrangled into some of their own trouble.