#Like? maybe if i post the united states of america with cocks out? things will be ok?

[solearobservatory]

Hey googhle. Is writing gay porn. an alright coping mechanism still ? Mmmkay

wttt is genuinely how i am coping with the dramatic collapsing of the american empire which sounds fucking ridiculous but. i love the land, it is beautiful. i love the little pieces of culture that have grown in what may as well be different countries somehow still connected. i love the accents and fun sayings and slang. i love remembering how lovely the wildflowers and thistles in northern california were. i love having lived in 5 states and seeing what beauty i could find there. i love telling stories about what i did and saw there. i love the people i know living there. so many of my friends across the country directly influence how i personally draw and portray the states they live in, on top of the base ben has built. it's a light and silly way to touch on the heartache i feel so often.

it sounds stupid as hell because if you look at my art it's so fucking unserious but. that's the point. it's light, it's fun, it's some sort of comfort in the chaos. i like to give life to the parts of the country i do still love.

leaving the country saved me. i was lucky to be able to escape. my doctors once called me a medical refugee. i don't know if i agree with the term because it feels drastic to apply to me, but i suppose it has some truth. i would not be alive if i was still in america right now. it hurts my heart.

some part of me was left in california and playing with silly fuckin dolls a florida man made lets me remember it isn't all bad.

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 15

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

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This story is also on AO3

THE NEXT DAY

GRIZZLIES WEST

Resting a hand on the journal’s worn pages, Dutch hesitated to turn to the next chapter as he thought back on the things he’d just read, wondering where everything went wrong.

Just this morning, he finally took the time to sit down and skim through some of Arthur’s private thoughts, only to end up discovering that they were much worse than he expected.

It was evident from the entries that Arthur lost his faith in their gang years ago. His words had no motivation behind them. No hope. No purpose.

They were all just so... bleak, and so full of finality.

It only made Dutch wonder if things were always meant to end this way. If, perhaps, Arthur was meant to turn on him from the start.

He knew the man wouldn’t be able to stick around forever. No one would. Not even Hosea. But the fact that he lost Arthur so quickly and so easily made Dutch question if there was ever a true relationship between them.

If there was, he would’ve given anything to get it back.

“Boss!” Micah’s voice suddenly barked from behind, leading Dutch to look up from the journal.

“What is it?” He asked, still somewhat preoccupied.

The other man sniffed, strolling in his direction through thick snow.

“...We got a problem, Dutch. It’s Bill.” Micah stepped next to him, letting out a disappointed sigh. “I think... he’s cut loose.”

Dutch snapped his head towards Micah in surprise, furrowing his brow.

“What? What do you mean he’s cut loose?”

Micah gestured towards the horizon, casually explaining his thought process.

“I saw some tracks leadin’ to the south from where I sent Bill to investigate last night. His horse is gone too. You ask me, I think he made a run for it. Probably decided to make his way back to New Austin. Try to survive on his own in the desert. He certainly talked about it a lot.”

“You sure it wasn’t somebody else’s tracks?”

The outlaw chuckled. “Who else could it have been? The Pinkertons? They’re mean bastards, I’ll give you that, but I reckon we’re the only ones crazy enough to actually come out here, Dutch. No... I’m pretty sure it was Bill.”

Dutch firmly shut the journal closed, storming off into the distance. “Dammit...! That goddamn coward.”

Micah gazed after him, shrugging in confusion. “You wanna try findin’ him?”

The older man coughed before waving a dismissive hand. “No. We’re here for Arthur and Isaac. No one else. If Bill wants to leave us behind and freeze to death in these mountains, then so be it.”

“Of course, of course. But you should know, Dutch... it’s gonna be trickier, now that it’s just the two of us. ‘Cause as much as I hate Arthur and his lil’ brat, I can’t deny that them boys know how to fight. I mean, look at what they did to my goddamn eye.”

Dutch glanced down at the journal, mindlessly tightening his grip on it. “...I’ll fight Arthur myself if need be. I raised him ever since he was a boy. I know how he thinks.”

The man coughed a few more times, his strength wavering with every jagged breath as the wind howled loudly around them.

“...Listen, son,” Dutch continued, his tone much softer now, “I don’t know how all this is gonna end. I don’t know if... Arthur will kill me, or if the tuberculosis will, but... whatever happens, I appreciate you stayin’ by my side this whole time. You’ve always had my back ever since you joined us, and I won’t forget it.”

Micah grinned, his eyes dark with insincerity. “Of course, Dutch. You’re practically family to me now. There ain’t much I wouldn’t do for you.”

Dutch nodded in reassurance. “I know, son. I know.” 

Slipping the journal back into his satchel, Dutch walked over to his horse and began mounting up, eager to continue his search for Arthur while the day was still young.

“C’mon, Micah.” He beckoned. “We’ve got one last score to settle.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

NEAR LAKE ISABELLA

“Here,” Isaac said, handing a warm mug to Arthur as the campfire crackled between them. “Drink this.”

The man took the cup in hand, curiously examining the dark liquid inside. “What is it?”

“It’s... medicine, I guess you could say,” Isaac answered. “I made it from some herbs I picked. I was gonna brew it when we got done fishing yesterday, but I never had the chance. It should calm your cough down a bit.”

Arthur raised the mug in appreciation, beaming at the boy. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Isaac held up a hand just before his father could consume the drink, giving him a last-minute warning.

“Oh, um, just so you know -- it’s probably gonna taste like shit.”

Arthur chuckled, bringing the mug to his lips. “Yeah, I figured as much. That tends to be the case with most medicines. Though, it can’t be worse than salted offal.”

He took a sip, immediately grimacing from the bizarre taste. “Jesus Christ, you wasn’t kidding. What kinda herbs did you make this with?”

Isaac smirked at his father’s disgusted expression. “English Mace and Alaskan Ginseng. They’re pretty hard to find in Ambarino, but they’re a common mixture when it comes to curing illnesses. I remember mom always used to make this when I got sick.”

Arthur cocked a brow in interest. “Did she?”

The boy smiled fondly at the memory. “Yeah. I’d always get nervous whenever I saw her makin’ it in the kitchen ‘cause I knew it would taste horrible. But... I can’t really complain. It did its job, after all.”

The older man nodded in a nostalgic manner. “Yep. Eliza always had a knack for takin’ care of people. I remember she’d fret over me every single time I came home, lookin’ to see if I had any stray bullets stuck in me and whatnot.” A sigh escaped Arthur. “Your mother was such a sweet woman. She didn’t deserve the stress I put her through.”

Isaac gave Arthur a gentle look, reminiscing about his times with Eliza. “...She loved you, you know.”

Arthur cupped the warm mug in his hands, setting it down for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mom always talked about you whenever you was away. She could never say much since she didn’t want me to know about your work, but I could tell she missed you. She was never angry, though. She understood why you couldn’t be around.”

Arthur felt a tinge of guilt. “...Did you?”

“Not at the time,” Isaac admitted. “But I do now. You had people to look after. A gang to protect. You couldn’t just abandon them.”

The older man glanced at the ground in remorse. “I guess that’s true. But I still wish I could’ve protected you and Eliza. You were in danger, and I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Isaac shook his head in disagreement. “It was four men against a woman and her child. Even if you had been there, you probably just would’ve gotten shot with her. And trust me, that’s not what mom woulda wanted. For either of us.”

Arthur found some peace in those words. “...Maybe you’re right.”

Falling into silence for a moment, the two of them quietly enjoyed each other’s company as snowflakes gently fluttered down from the sky, painting the ground around them with a new layer of snow.

The weather was getting colder in this region, or so it felt. It was probably due to the fact that they were further up north than before, but the sun seemed to appear less often these days, and Isaac couldn’t remember the last time he saw anything apart from dying grass and naked trees.

It just made the boy wonder how much longer they had until they’d reach Canada’s border. He had never been anywhere outside of the United States, so the idea of finding freedom in a different country was admittedly daunting for him... but he knew they had to do it.

There was nothing left for them in America. Both of their gangs had scattered to the winds, and it was more than obvious that the age of outlaws was finally dying out. 

Civilization was moving on without them, and if they didn’t catch up, they wouldn’t survive. It was a sad truth about their lives, but one they had to accept.

“Hey, Dad,” Isaac said. “I gotta ask. Did you... hear what Bill said last night? About Dutch bein’ sick with TB?”

Arthur nodded, his tone more serious now. “Yep. It would explain why we’ve both been coughin’ so much.”

The boy sighed. “...I’m sorry. I wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

The older man coughed into his elbow a few times. “You’ve done more than enough, Isaac. Don’t go blamin’ yourself, now. We talked about this.”

“I know,” Isaac replied. “It’s just... hard to accept, you know?”

Arthur took another sip of his drink. “I understand.”

Finishing the rest of his medicine, Arthur put the empty mug down and stood up from his seat, stretching out his arms as he began gathering their stuff.

“Hey, Isaac, why don’t you go make sure the horses are ready? I think it’s time we get movin’ again. We’ve been stuck here long enough.”

The boy followed his father’s actions and headed over to the hitching posts, helping to pack up their camp.

“Okay. You think this weather will hold up? It got pretty bad last night. I just hope there won’t be another storm blowin’ through here before we can... we can...”

Stopping mid-sentence, Isaac’s voice suddenly trailed off into silence as the young man noticed something in the distance, leading Arthur to follow his gaze.

“Isaac?” He called out. “Everything okay?”

The man glanced at Arthur, his tone now low with caution. “Dad, I think I see Pinkertons.”

Taking hold of his gun, the older man instantly strode over to Isaac’s side and stepped protectively in front of him, looking to see who it was approaching them from the horizon.

Their uniforms certainly resembled that of the Pinkertons, but unlike before, it wasn’t just Edgar Ross and Agent Fordham. This time, it looked like they had an entire group of men riding with them, ready to take Arthur and Isaac in at a moment’s notice.

Arthur whispered quietly to the young man as the Pinkertons rode in their direction, making sure to keep his movements subtle.

“Keep your gun close, boy. And be ready to ride when I say so.”

Isaac nodded, taking position near the horses. “Got it.”

Standing his ground, Arthur readied his pistol as the Pinkertons got closer to their camp, causing a trail of snow to wildly spray behind their mounts.

So far, no one was shooting at them, so Arthur took that as a sign that the Pinkertons wanted them alive. But based on the heavy amount of security Ross had brought with him this time, he assumed that lethal force was no longer out of the question.

Arthur would have to do his best to keep things peaceful. There weren’t a lot of places for them to hide out here, and if anyone started firing, he and Isaac would be caught dead in the open.

It was unlikely that they’d be able to run away from this without a fight, but for the sake of not getting Isaac killed, Arthur was sure as hell going to try.

He just had to trust that the boy would do the same.

“Mr. Morgan.” Agent Ross greeted upon reaching the camp, remaining mounted on his horse. The rest of the Pinkertons lined up beside him, keeping their rifles at the ready.

“I’m surprised to see you all the way out here,” Edgar confessed. “I didn’t think you’d risk trying to survive out in this cold, but it seems Mr. Bell was correct.”

That caught Arthur off-guard. “You spoke with Micah?”

The Pinkerton casually adjusted his sleeves, straightening the cuffs. “Regrettably, yes. Not too long ago, actually. He was quite the informant. Said he didn’t know exactly where to find you, but that he suspected you were wandering somewhere in Grizzlies West. Looks like he knew what he was talking about. For once.”

Arthur grunted at that. “I’m sure he did.” He coughed a number of times, trying to stifle it as he spoke. “Look, what d’you want? It’s clear you ain’t just here to chat.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not. We’re done giving second chances, I’m afraid. Though, I’ve given you far more than that, haven’t I?”

The agent took a few steps forward, signaling the other Pinkertons to brace themselves.

“Look, Mr. Morgan, I know we’re both tired of having this same conversation over and over again. Lord knows I am. But I need you to listen to me. Ideally, we would like to capture you alive and have you face full justice, but I think it’s safe to assume by now that you’re not the type to cooperate with the law. Or with anyone, really.”

Ross held up a cautionary finger. “This is why I’m only giving you one last opportunity to comply. Surrender your weapons, and come with us peacefully. Do this, and you have my word that you and your son will not be harmed. Not for now, anyway. Once we return to civilization though, your lives will be in the hands of the law. You will both face a trial, and a judge will sentence you. What happens after that is up to them. If you refuse to surrender, however...”

The Pinkertons prepared their weapons, causing Isaac to grow restless in his position. Arthur threw a side-glance at him, reminding him to stay calm.

“...well,” Edgar continued, “I think you know what’ll come next.”

The outlaw scoffed at the meager offer, glaring at Ross in disbelief. “So, my only options are to either die right here, or let you drag me and my son all the way to Blackwater where you can parade us around before havin’ us swing? You really think that I’ll--” a cough interrupted him, “--that I’ll--”

Another series of coughs came bursting from Arthur’s throat, causing the man to keel over slightly as the Pinkertons watched him from their mounts, waiting for a response.

Meanwhile, Isaac stared at his father in concern and felt the need to rush over to him, but restrained himself out of fear of alarming the Pinkertons.

“...That’s quite a cough.” Edgar remarked plainly.

Arthur spat some blood onto the snow, wiping his mouth. “TB will do that to you. I got it from Dutch himself, apparently.”

“That’s a tough disease.”

“Sure. But it makes your job easier, I suppose.”

Edgar rested his arms on the saddle’s horn. “I know you see us as the bad guys, Mr. Morgan. We’re the ones threatening your livelihood, after all. But what’ll it take for you to see that you’re also threatening the livelihood of others? You people are all about violence, and living in the wild. Your code revolves entirely around one man and his gun versus another man. It’s survival of the fittest, put simply. It’s a living hell.”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re talkin’ philosophy with the wrong man, agent. I done some bad things in my time -- that, I won’t deny -- but I don’t care about any of that no more. Right now, only concern is my son. And as much as you and I may disagree, you are right about one thing. You are a threat to my son’s safety, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do that’ll convince me to let you lay your hands on him.”

The agent sighed in disappointment. “Well, unfortunately for you, there’s nothing that can stop us.”

Realizing that it was pointless trying to dissuade Arthur from the inevitable, Edgar decided to put an end to this chase and reached for his gun, swiftly pulling it out so that he could shoot the man.

Just before he could properly aim however, Arthur quickly caught wind of his intentions and hastily fired a stray bullet, shooting Edgar’s horse in the neck. The creature reared in panic and collapsed to the ground, causing the agent to be trapped under its massive body. 

Though, that didn’t stop the man from pulling the trigger. Despite the unexpected turn of events, Edgar still attempted to take a shot at the outlaw, and before Arthur even had time to react, he suddenly felt a sharp pain hitting him in the abdomen.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out what just happened.

“Father!” Isaac shouted in horror, hurrying to Arthur’s side. He fired two bullets into the line of Pinkertons, taking down an agent with each of them. 

Letting out a strained groan, the boy desperately dragged Arthur over to his horse as the agents continued to fire back at him, only to end up shooting a large tree that stood between them.

“Stay with me, Dad...!” Isaac urged, helping his father onto his horse.

Climbing onto the saddle in front of Arthur, the young man let loose another bullet in the Pinkertons’ direction before bolting off in the other, causing Agent Ross to yell after them.

“Goddammit!” He barked. “Don’t let them escape! And somebody help me out from under this horse!”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

NORTHEAST OF LAKE ISABELLA, COLTER

Galloping frantically through the snow as the Pinkertons fervently chased after him, Isaac found himself riding into what looked an abandoned settlement not too far away from Lake Isabella, leading him to come to a halt.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was give the Pinkertons a chance to catch up to him, but with the state that Arthur was currently in, he needed someone to look after his wounds. 

There was already a worrying amount of blood staining the fabric of his shirt, and judging by the roughness of the man’s breathing, Isaac assumed the horse’s sporadic movement wasn’t helping him much either.

He hopped off of Aldo’s saddle, quickly bringing Arthur into his arms.

“I got you, Dad.” Isaac whispered, letting the older man lean on him as he headed inside one of the cabins. “Just hold on.”

Arthur groaned sharply at the pain piercing through him, struggling to keep up with the boy’s pace.

“...What the hell’re you doing...?” He wheezed, pressing a hand on his stomach where the bullet had hit him. “You need... to run...! The Pinkertons--”

“--I’ll worry about the goddamn Pinkertons later!” Isaac dismissed. “I ain’t lettin’ you die. Not like this.”

Kicking the cabin’s flimsy door open, Isaac practically hurled Arthur inside before shutting the entrance again, giving the older man some time to rest on the floor. They couldn’t hear any of the Pinkertons’ voices at the moment, but Isaac knew it wouldn’t be long before they picked up their trail again.

He crouched down next to Arthur, taking a closer look at his injury.

“Shit...” Isaac muttered under his breath, unsure of what to do. He fumbled through his pockets for a minute, desperately searching for anything that could’ve helped. “I... I have some bandages left. Here.”

Stretching the bandages into one long strip, Isaac tightly wrapped them around Arthur’s waist as the man hissed in pain, trying not to make too much noise lest the Pinkertons hear them. 

Blood was already starting to seep through the thin layers of white cloth, and with every agonizing second that slipped by, the more Arthur could feel his energy escaping him.

No, Arthur thought to himself. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t give up. He just couldn’t. Not after fighting for so long. Not after finding his son after all these years.

He had to stay strong. For Isaac’s sake. The boy was counting on him to survive. He couldn’t die now. He refused to.

“...Dammit...!” Arthur cursed through clenched teeth as Isaac pulled on the bandages. “That son-of-a-bitch got me good...!” 

The outlaw’s body shook with another series of coughs, causing even more blood to gush from the open wound.

Isaac immediately placed his hands on top of the injury and pressed down, doing whatever he could to stop the bleeding. But it was no use.

The red liquid only ended up leaking through the cracks between his fingers, and by now, Arthur’s skin had transformed into an alarmingly pale color. 

His eye sockets were almost purple, and judging by how the man could barely walk right now, Isaac knew there wasn’t much of a chance of him getting out of this alive. But that didn’t mean he was willing to quit.

“Hold on, Dad...” the boy pleaded, “...please. Just hold on.”

“...Isaac...” Arthur groaned out, his voice grating against his throat. 

“You’re gonna be fine.” The boy insisted. “Don’t you give up on me now.”

The outlaw coughed weakly, struggling to get his next words out. “...Isaac, listen to me.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” He repeated, but Arthur knew what was coming. “We just... we just need to...”

“Isaac...!” He said more firmly, gripping the boy’s arm this time. “Listen to me.”

The young man fell silent, his eyes glossy with tears. He looked up at his father, fully aware of what the future held. 

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” Arthur said softly, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. I know... this ain’t how we wanted things to end, but it’s what we’ve come to. It’s what we gotta deal with. You hear me...? I need you... to be strong, Isaac.”

The boy gazed downwards, unable to hide his true emotions. 

“I...I don’t know if I can, Dad. First mom, and now you? I can’t lose both of you. Not after we just found each other again.”

Arthur placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, urging the man to keep his composure. “I know it’s difficult, Isaac, but...” a cough rattled his chest, decimating what little energy he had left, “...I know you can still survive this. You’re strong. Much stronger than you realize. You just... have to keep pushing. Just for a little longer.”

Isaac shut his eyes, shaking his head in refusal. “...I ain’t goin’ to Canada without you, Dad. You’re outta your mind if you think I’m gonna leave you behind--”

“--You have to, Isaac...!” Arthur reiterated. “I wish things was different. I do. But look at me. I’m sick, I’m dying... I ain’t much use to anyone in this state. But you... you can still make it. You can still reach the border. You’ll be a free man. You’ll have the chance to start a new life for yourself. One that isn’t full of death, and violence, and fear. It’s the life your mother and I wanted for you.”

“But you said it yourself,” Isaac recalled. “What’s the point of survivin’ if you’ve got no one to care for?”

Arthur’s hand began to slide down Isaac’s shoulder, his exhaustion finally being reflected in his movement.

“You will find other people, Isaac. And besides, life don’t end just ‘cause you’re alone. I’m sure you’ll find someone you love. Someone who... you can start a family with.” A quiet chuckle escaped Arthur. “...Heh. Who knows...? You might even have a son of your own, someday. But whatever happens... you need to get out of Ambarino alive, first. You can’t stay here. You can’t... let me hold you back. You understand?”

Interrupted by the sound of men yelling at each other from outside, Isaac glanced out of one of the windows and suddenly noticed the large presence of Pinkertons closing in on the area, causing Arthur to reach for the boy’s hand.

“Isaac...!” He whispered urgently. “Tell me you understand.”

The young man gazed down at his father, still reluctant to leave him behind. The idea of leaving Arthur alone in the middle of these mountains tore Isaac apart with guilt, but deep down, he knew it had to be done if he wanted to live.

There were far too many Pinkertons for him to fight alone, and if they managed to corner him in this cabin, they’d both be finished.

Isaac would be shipped off to Blackwater to be executed, and all of Arthur’s efforts would’ve been in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“...O-Okay.” The boy finally agreed, his voice trembling softly. “I’ll... I’ll go.”

Arthur appeared content with that and let out a relieved breath, his shoulders now slouching due to the fatigue quickly overtaking his body.

“...Thank you, Isaac.” he murmured weakly. 

Reaching for his satchel’s strap, Arthur slowly pulled the bag off and reached for his gun before handing both of them to Isaac, ensuring that the boy would have some supplies in the wilderness.

“It ain’t much...” Arthur said with a cough, “...but there’re some provisions left in here. They should keep you goin’ for a few more days. And take my pistol, too. You’ll need the extra firepower.”

Isaac cradled the last-minute gifts in his palms, staying quiet as his father lived out his final moments.

“Oh,” the older man remembered, “and there’s one last thing... I want you to take...”

Lifting a shaky hand up, Arthur gently gripped the dented crown of his hat and gave the accessory to Isaac, placing it so that it sat proudly on top of his head.

The hat looked like it was made for the young man, and for just a split second, Arthur almost felt like he was looking at a reflection of his younger self. Isaac had the same ruffled hair, the same blue eyes, and if he looked closely enough, Arthur could’ve sworn he saw some of Eliza’s features hiding behind his expression.

It was the perfect fit, just like when Arthur took the hat from his own father.

“You look just like me when I was younger,” the outlaw reminisced with a faint smile. “...Eliza would’ve been so proud of you. You’ve grown so much.”

Isaac’s sharp gaze softened a bit at the remark. “You think?”

“Well, I know I am.”

Letting his head lean back against the wall, Arthur finally decided to rest and and gazed up at the cabin’s decrepit ceiling, sighing in peace as Isaac stood up from the floor.

This wasn’t quite the death he imagined he would experience, but no matter how cold these mountains were, or how desolate their environment remained, Arthur still considered himself lucky for being able to be with his son in his final moments.

Part of him wished he could simply ignore the pain and follow Isaac out of these woods, but as the edges of his vision started to go black, the more reality began to sink in... and the more Arthur came to accept the fate that had been given to him.

His job in this world was done. His time with Dutch’s gang was over, and his responsibility as a father had been fulfilled. 

Isaac was his own man now. The boy still had much to learn about life and the people around him, but from now on, Arthur would have to trust that he would do the right thing in the future.

It was his journey to lead from this point, and Arthur could only hope that the kid had a better chance at life than he ever did.

It was the only thing he ever wanted for the boy. The only thing he and Dutch ever dreamed of.

Freedom.

“...Isaac...” Arthur whispered, his breath faltering with every syllable, “...if you see Dutch again.... tell him I never hated him. And I’m sorry I weren’t there when he needed me.”

The young man nodded in an assuring manner, trying his best not to break down in front of his father. “I will.”

“...Thank you, son...” The older man said quietly, letting his head tilt to the side. “Thank you.”

On the outside, he might’ve looked miserable to the boy, but on the inside, he was surprisingly content. Arthur found himself flipping through all his memories like an old photo album and recalled the days from when Dutch first met him, all the way to when he finally reunited with Isaac in Tall Trees.

There were so many emotions flowing through him. So many what ifs. So many things he wished he could’ve said when he still had the chance to say them.

He thought about his parents. He thought about Dutch and Hosea -- about their gang. He remembered the days they’d spend riding freely through the open deserts of New Austin, and the nights where they’d share stories around the campfire.

He thought about the years he spent falling in love with Mary. About the life he wished he could’ve had with her.

He remembered the pain of her absence when she decided to marry another man, and the happiness that quickly replaced it when he ran into Eliza a few years later.

But most importantly, Arthur remembered the day Isaac was born. He remembered the feeling of holding him for the first time, and wondering how on earth he was going to raise a family.

The boy was so innocent back then. So pure. He was completely untouched by the troubles of the world, and every time Arthur came home to visit, he’d feel at peace seeing his son’s face again... only to be forced to leave a few days later.

In the beginning, Arthur thought he’d never see Isaac again. He thought that Shay and his men had finished the kid off for good, and that he was condemned to be alone for the rest of his life.

And yet, here he was -- fifteen years later -- a full grown man, and fighting against the world entirely on his own, stronger than ever.

He carried a lifetime of sorrow and remorse with him, but Arthur knew that Isaac was still good at heart. The young man had the same compassion that Eliza held for others, and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder of the boy if he tried.

He loved him more than life itself, but now... he had to leave him behind. One last time.

Finally reaching the end of the road, Arthur welcomed the cold sensation that embraced him and calmly shut his eyes, falling still as one final breath escaped him.

His body was completely motionless now. Completely devoid of life. And the longer Isaac stared at the corpse of his father, the more he could feel warm tears welling up in his eyes. 

He was alone again. After all those years of seeking vengeance for Eliza’s death and finding the strength to move on from it, the process of mourning had reset itself.

It felt like the world around him had stopped turning, and despite the urgent threat of the Pinkertons lurking close by, Isaac couldn’t help but feel nothing except emptiness.

But he knew there was no time to grieve. Not right now. Arthur would’ve wanted him to get out of here safely, and he wouldn’t have wanted him to look back.

So, with one last farewell, Isaac said a brief goodbye to his father before heading for the cabin’s exit, and taking his leave from the abandoned town.

He felt like the same scared, little boy that watched Eliza die again, but this time, he wasn’t going to let others determine his fate for him.

He wasn’t going to allow anyone to control him like Shay or his gang did, and he wasn’t going to lose himself to vengeance.

The only thing he was going to do was reach the border, and he’d be damned if he let anyone stop him.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE COLTER

Stepping back out into the unforgiving weather of Ambarino, Isaac removed himself from the confines of the cabin and began making his way back to Aldo, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed a man waiting for him outside.

The man was clearly a Pinkerton based on his uniform, but unlike his fellow lawmen, he seemed to display no hostility towards Isaac. His gun was resting in its holster, and even though the boy was obviously alone now, the agent showed no intentions of taking advantage of the situation.

In fact, his temperament suggested quite the opposite. The man wore a sympathetic expression on his face, and when his eyes landed on the signature hat sitting on Isaac’s head, a proverbial light bulb seemed to illuminate in his mind.

Isaac tentatively walked towards the man, analyzing his face.

It was Agent Fordham.

“There you are.” The Pinkerton said as he leaned against a wall, keeping his arms crossed. 

The boy kept a hand close to his gun, admittedly suspicious of the lawman’s motives.

“Archer Fordham...? What are... what are you doin’ here? You knew I was in there?”

The man nodded. “Yes. I saw you and your father go inside earlier, but I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.”

Archer sighed morosely, gazing at the snow-covered ground. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Morgan. Your father and I may have been on opposite sides of the law, but it sounds like he was a good man.”

Isaac replied halfheartedly, still somewhat shocked by the sudden death.

“He was.”

The Pinkerton steadily approached Isaac, careful not to alarm him.

“Listen, Mr. Morgan, I know this is a traumatic time for you, but you need to understand your current position. If Edgar finds you, you’ll be a dead man. After that little shootout he had with your father back at camp, he’s fully intent on taking you back to Blackwater as a corpse. He won’t let you walk out of here alive.”

Isaac picked up on the man’s tone. “...But you will?”

Fordham let out a conflicted breath, furrowing his brow in thought. “I believe in a world of law, Isaac, but I don’t believe that a world built on order has to be one without mercy. I’ve read your files. I know you’re only twenty-one years old. And I know that if I alert my superiors of your presence here, they’ll take away everything you’ve worked for. They’ll have you killed.”

The agent stepped closer to Isaac, looking around to make sure no one else was nearby.

“...I know Edgar disagrees with me on this, but I think you deserve a chance at life. It may be the unlawful thing to do -- letting you go -- but I believe it’s the right thing to do. After all, how much is civilization really worth if we reflect the same savagery we fight?”

Taken aback by Archer’s compassion, Isaac found himself at a loss for words and simply stared at the man incredulously, unable to believe his stroke of luck.

“You-- you’re--” Isaac stuttered, “...thank you, Fordham. I doubt your friends would’ve done the same.”

The Pinkerton maintained a stoic demeanor, but Isaac could tell he felt empathy for the young man.

“Just don’t mistake my mercy as a pardon. You’ll still be a wanted man in the United States, and the Pinkertons will take you in if they find you again -- myself included. So, if you have any plans to get out of the country, I’d use them now. This will be the only chance you get.”

Isaac nodded despondently, his mind still preoccupied with Arthur’s final words. “Of course. I understand.”

Archer turned on his heel and walked back to his horse, promptly ending the conversation there.

“Good. Then I think it’s best if you and I pretend we never had this talk.”

Mounting up, Agent Fordham took hold of the reins and clicked his tongue, urging the horse to begin trotting away.

“It’s a shame that it had to end this way, Mr. Morgan, but I wish you luck. For both our sakes, I hope we never cross paths again.”

Isaac watched the man slowly vanish into the distance, holding onto Arthur’s gun as if his father were still around. He was fully aware that the man wasn’t coming back, and yet, part of him couldn’t help but hope.

Strangely enough though, that just seemed to make it even worse.

“Yeah...” Isaac whispered solemnly, his tone burdened with loneliness. 

“...Me too.”

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly recap | July 29th-August 4th

Here’s what I read in the last week! 💙 

You can find my other Weekly Recaps here!

~

Complete

This Has Already Happened by Mollyamory (Molly), Speranza/ @cesperanza (canon divergence | 8K | Not rated): "There are absolutely no circumstances in which I give the Time Stone to you," the Wizard gasps. "None. Nada. Zip. Choke on that, you sonofabitch."

Not Broken, Just Bent by amethystkrystal/ @amethystkrystal, goodmanperfectsoldier (ABO AU | 3K | Teen): Steve teaches a prenatal yoga class, and though he has a soft spot for all his students, he can't help being especially drawn to Bucky Barnes, the soft-spoken — and unmated — omega who just joined the studio.

💙 Ill With Want by thedoubteriswise/ @thedoubteriswise (Pre-war | 27K | Mature): Bucky pretends to be asleep when Steve crawls into bed, too tired to feel guilty over the quivery pleasure that settles in his belly when Steve’s arm brushes his. Bucky doesn’t move him. He drifts to sleep in a comfortable haze and tries not to wonder where this feeling was two hours ago when he had Marie in his lap.

💙 you are the future (series) by greyhavensking/ @greyhavensking (canon divergent, post-Avengers | 6 works, series marked not complete | 33K | Teen): Sweat trickles down from his hairline into his eyes and he irritably swipes it away, a little convinced that the gesture will also serve to wipe away what he’s seeing. But no, that’s definitely a man -- at least judging by the breadth of his shoulders and general body shape -- single-handedly facing off against a trio of enraged aliens.

It's possible that he wants you too by belovedmuerto/ @belovedmuerto (Post-WS | 4K | Teen): “Bucky kissed me this morning,” Steve says, not quite believing the words even as they’re coming out of his mouth. “Wait,” Sam replies. “Back up.”

14-Inch Cock and a Few Hundred Bimbos by verzacefatale/ @verzacefatale (PWP | 3K | Explicit): There are some things in life, Steve muses as he stares down at his crotch, that nothing can prepare you for. Sure, becoming a super soldier was, at the time, the most wild thing he could think of, and sure, his tolerance for ridiculous, catastrophic and immeasurably weird situations has very much grown since then, but this? His dick suddenly growing six inches in length and another two in girth, just because he opened a box in a Hydra dug out that maybe he should have read the instructions on before he did? How was he to know it was literally magic that would make his cock grow huge? 

Hic sunt dracones by stevergrsno (noxlunate)/ @stevergrsno (Medieval Fantasy, Dragon Steve | 5K | Teen): There are stories: Stories of knights and the dragons they slayed. Stories of princes who conquered the great fire-breathing beasts terrorizing their kingdoms. Stories of how they saved their lands and won the hand of fair princesses in battle. This is not one of those stories. At least not in the strictest sense.

To Eat from the Tree by AidaRonan (30′s AU | 6K | Explicit): There is a story they tell in Collinwood, NY. A story of two priests-in-training who fell off the path of righteousness and into each other.

💙 As long as I have a face, you'll always have somewhere to sit by Avaaricious (Modern AU, meet-cute | 5K | Mature): AKA the "My friends bet that I couldn't pick up someone using the worst lines I know, but I actually like you and don't want to screw up" AU

Proud by dixons_mama (TFA | 2K | Teen): While trapped in Azzano, Bucky accidentally confesses to Steve that he loves him. Bucky is sure this will be the end of their friendship.

WIP

Solitary by exclamation/ @jessicameats (Canon divergent | 35/? | 87K | Mature): The Winter Soldier has been a prisoner of SHIELD for about a year and a half, placed in solitary confinement under strict security when it was clear he wasn’t going to respond to the best interrogators and deprogrammers SHIELD had available. When Fury asks a newly awakened Steve Rogers to assist, Steve is hesitant. He doesn’t understand why Fury thinks he would have a better chance of getting through to this guy than all the people who have tried and failed.

💙 This Side of the Blue by notlucy/ @notlucy (Mermaid AU | 23/44 | 83K | Explicit): Tucked against a set of crumbling, stone steps was a tank made of metal and glass, filled to the brim with greenish water, distorted sunlight filtering through and casting strange shadows. Playing tricks on the eye. A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend. Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

💙 Latte Art and Slow Dancing in the Dark by deadonarrival (Modern AU with powers, Daddy kink | 15/20 | 77K | Explicit): Bucky is a somewhat well-adjusted former army sniper that got his shoulder blown out. He took his discharge and went home to finish school and is working on his international relations masters. His best friends and roommates (Nat & Clint) are CIA agents and tip him off that their local Sbux is hiring. He gets a job there and meets none other than the hottest guy on earth. So how does one get a date in the most top secret government location in the US? What happens when that guy is more than just a hot dorito and wants to give Bucky everything he wants? Bucky is going to have to figure out his shit and fast. 

💙 Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends (Shrunkyclunks, canon divergent post-Avengers | 31K | 5/10 | Explicit): Seven years into an isolated retirement after the Battle of New York, Steve has carved out a place for himself in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. He has a best friend (his dog, Lady), a frenemy (a local black bear named Rufus), and a cabin in the middle of the woods, an hour’s drive from the nearest town. As November comes to a close, he heads into town to pick up supplies and ends up with a stowaway.

💙 Cakes & Balances by mambo/ @whtaft (POTUS Steve | 14K | 7/? | Teen): It’s kind of hard to date the cute baker from down the street when you’re the President of the United States of America. But Steve Rogers will make it work.

Bucky Barnes and the Embarrassment of Spidermen by AggressiveWhenStartled (Multiverse, Peter-centric(ish) | 4/5 | 15K | Mature): “Peter,” Steve said into the table. “Please tell me you didn’t bring home someone from Tony’s alternate dimension.” “Of course I didn’t,” Peter said, looking indignant. “I wouldn’t do that. I brought him to your place.”

Re-read

💙 All's fair in [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] (series) by redcigar (canon-divergent, post-WS | 3 works, series marked not complete | 10K | Mature): AU wherein Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers never met, Steve somehow manages to rescue the Winter Soldier anyway, and Avengers Tower ends up with the world’s angriest duckling and a whole new brand of entertainment.

💙 honey don't feed it, it will come back by ellebeesknees (umetnica), thedoubteriswise/ @thedoubteriswise (canon compliant, TFA | 18K | Mature): He lets out a long sigh and watches Bucky. Back home he was always too vain to let more than a day’s worth of stubble build up, but now he’s got about three days of scruff on his chin. He shouldn’t look handsome like this. His eyes are shut, but Steve can tell by his breathing that he’s still awake. The cat is curled up on his stomach and purring like an idling motor.

Learning To Say Hello by heartsdesire456/ @heartsdesire456 (Post-WS, Clint POV | 11K | Mature): In which Hawkeye befriends the Winter Soldier and discovers the Epic Love Story of Steve and Bucky nobody knows about)

Howl Home (Shift for Me) by Menatiera/ @menatiera (canon divergent, wolf Steve, Bucky Cap | 13K | Teen): As Captain America, Bucky Barnes rescued a hyper-intelligent wolf from HYDRA during the war. He makes a good fit with the Howling Commandos - and later, with the Avengers.

💙 The Sweetest Spark by deadto27 (Modern AU, age difference | 73K | Explicit): Steve Rogers runs a successful business. He has great friends and a great life. It seems like he has it all. So why is he sitting in a diner on a Friday night alone? Maybe he's just a little lonely. Maybe Bucky Barnes can help with that.

[the-captains-ayebrows]

I’m intrigued by the therapy one and the studio?

The Studio AU was supposed to be a three-parter Modern AU. The first part is modern deckhand!hook backstory. It’s all him and Milah and Gold. That’s the only part I’ve written so far. Part 2 and 3 were going to be Emma and Henry’s backstories, respectively. All of them are told as flashbacks and the stories dovetail into each other so Killian, Emma and Henry meet at this recording studio where Emma works and Killian is a guitar player. I may post part 1 just on it’s own, since it’s actually finished. IDK.

The therapy one though...Oh lord... *blushes* That sprung from a GIF of Bernard Curry as a high school principal.

The basic premise is that Emma is in court-ordered anger management counseling. Liam is her therapist. Emma has been angrier than usual lately because her new neighbor wakes her up cheering at football matches that air at 4 am. She also may be having a few questionable dreams about said neighbor. Little does she realize the neighbor is her therapist’s brother.

Here’s what I’ve got thus far:

“I don’t need therapy.”

The doctor slid on a pair of reading glasses, and began thumbing through her paperwork. “That may well be Miss Swan, but Judge Spencer seemed to think otherwise. Hence, making it a condition of your probation.”

Emma rolled her eyes. God, this was irritating. “Geez, you slam one slimeball’s head into a steering wheel…”

The doc paused his perusal and looked up at her, blue eyes peeking out over the top of the lenses. “Just the one?”

“I mean,” Emma gestured vaguely with one hand, “there may have been a few skips that I had to get physical with, but they all earned it.”

“Mmhmm. I see.” The doctor closed her file and removed his glasses, sitting up straight to face her fully. “Still, as well-founded as your reasons may have been, the Superior Court of the state of Maine believes that you may have a bit of an anger management problem. And they shan’t reinstate your bail bonds license until I’ve cleared you.”

“So, here I am.” Emma made a sweeping gesture with both hands, encompassing the large tufted leather couch upon which she was sitting as well as the elegant wood-paneled office in general.

He nodded, one corner of his lips tilting up slightly. “So, here we are. Anything you’d care to talk about?”

No. She cocked her head to one side and said the first thing that popped into her mind. “How did America end up calling it ‘soccer’ when the rest of the world calls it football?”

The doc’s eyebrows made a little peak over his nose. “An excellent question to be sure, but I’m afraid that discussion won’t bring us any closer to discovering the root of your anger issues.”

Emma snorted a bitter laugh. Shit. She’d meant to say something random and meaningless. But no. He was infiltrating her thoughts again.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s just…” Emma gave him a tight smile.”You’d be surprised.”

“Ah, well then enlighten me.”

Emma leaned forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. “I don’t have anger issues. I, uh - I haven’t been sleeping much lately. I guess it’s making me kind of…” She leaned back on the couch again and raised her arms helplessly. “prickly.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “And this is somehow related to football?”

“I’m getting to that. I’ve got this new neighbor, see? He’s from your side of the pond, and no offense to your countrymen, but this one’s an asshole.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s all arrogant and smirky and clearly thinks he’s hot. Okay, so he is hot, but the point is he knows it. And he seems to have made it his life’s mission to annoy the shit out of me.”

She didn’t like the way the doc was raising his eyebrows or the tone of his, “Mmhm.”

“Look. All of that I could ignore, but it’s the damn soccer or football or whatever the hell you call it. Apparently my neighbor is a rabid fan of the English Premier League - oh, I’ve googled all of this since I’m fucking awake anyway - and what the hell kind of sport starts at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday?”

“That doesn’t sound too early…”

Emma leaned forward for emphasis, slamming her hands down on the couch cushion on either side of her. “In England. 9:00 a.m. in England which is 4:00 a.m. here. I swear to God if I hear ‘Glory glory Man United’ drunkenly slurred through my wall when the sun isn’t even up yet one more time, I’m going to go over there, tear his scruffy head off, and shove it up his-”

“Right. Got it.” The doc crossed his legs and tilted his head, seeming to study her. “I don’t supposed you’ve tried asking him to keep it down?”

She fidgeted, taking particular interest in a loose thread sticking out from the seat cushion of the couch. “No,” she finally answered.

“Why not? That seems the simplest solution.”

Emma really didn’t like his insufferably reasonable tone. “That would involve talking to him.”

“And that’s bad.”

“Yes. That’s bad.”

Crap, now he was starting to look worried. “Do you find him to be threatening or harassing? If so, I can-”

“No, no no.” Emma waved his concern away. “It’s not like that. He’s not a creep, and even if it was like that I can take care of myself.” Her fingers fiddled with the thread some more. “I could definitely kick his ass,” she added under her breath.

The doctor fixed her with a wry look. “You realize you aren’t doing a lot to convince me about those anger issues, Miss Swan.”

Emma glared at him in a manner that clearly communicated she could kick his ass, too. He raised a hand in surrender and gestured for her to go on. She didn’t know how to go on. God this was stupid.

“It’s just- he just…” She exhaled heavily. “Flirts with me.”

“And you don’t like that.”

Damn, that thread just really needed to be plucked or clipped or something, and how cliche was it for a shrink to have a leather couch like this?

“Miss Swan?”

Emma pressed her lips together. “Hm?”

“You said that your neighbor flirts with you, and I asked if you don’t like it when he does that?”

Emma felt her cheeks warming. She turned her head to the side and gave a nonchalant shrug. When she glanced back at the doc, he was smiling at her like he’d made some big discovery.

“I see.”

Emma glared again, emphasizing her point with a jab of her index finger in his direction. “You see nothing.”

“Miss Swan, do you have feelings for your neighbor?”

Emma huffed in exasperation. “Of course I have feelings for him. It’s like I just told you: anger, hatred-”

“Sexual frustration?”

“Ew!” Oh, God. What am I twelve? Who says ‘ew’?

“Oh, really?” His eyes were wide and it looked like he was trying to suppress another ‘eureka’ kind of smile.

“It’s-” Emma shook her head and looked at the top of the bookshelf behind him. “It’s nothing. I’ve been having kind of a dry spell, and he’s there, and he’s-”

“Hot? I believe you said he was hot. Your word.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve been having these dreams. It’s kind of the other reason I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“And in these dreams…?” he prompted.

This was getting ridiculous. Emma exhaled sharply and sat up, looking the doc square in the eye. “I have wild crazy monkey sex with my neighbor. Who I hate. Anyway, it’s confusing and I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Fair enough, but Miss Swan, you do realize you have to deal with these issues and perhaps get some sleep before you’ll be able to resume your livelihood?”

“I don’t have issues.” Emma’s voice sounded petulant and unconvincing even to her own ears.

“Lass, I’ve known you for less than half an hour and in my professional opinion, you’ve got a fair few. Trust, intimacy, anger management, denial-”

“Okay, okay. I still don’t want to talk to him. Can’t I just move?”

“Disregarding for the moment whether that’s even a remotely psychologically healthy attitude, is moving a financially viable option for you?”

Emma slumped. “No.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to face this.” The doctor shifted in his chair, and furrowed his brow. “Now, you say you’ve been having sexual dreams about your neighbor. Have you engaged in any self-release?”

“Self-re...oh my god.” Emma’s head dropped into her hand, covering her eyes. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t about to get the talk at age 30 from a stuffy Brit in a sweater vest and blazer with elbow patches. He must’ve taken her reaction as embarrassment, and maybe it was, kind of. The second-hand variety anyway. He kept talking. Emma checked out.

“...and that’s why masturbation is perfectly healthy.”

Emma finally raised her head. “Stop. Please. Look, I’ve… self-released before. But, I’m not feeling myself up while thinking about my neighbor. I’m not a creep.”

He extended a hand toward her in what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring gesture. “I’m not suggesting you make it habitual, only that it could be a safe way for you to confront and explore your confusing feelings for this person. Particularly since you seem so resistant to confronting the actual person causing them.”

Wait, that - that actually kind of made sense. “So…” Emma narrowed her eyes. “Like banging one out, only solo?”

“Bit of a gross oversimplification, but yes, I suppose so. Much safer at least than picking up a stranger at a bar and projecting your feelings onto him or her.”

Well, that hit close to home. “Have you been reading my diary, Doc?” Emma asked coyly, trying to make a joke out of it.

He chuckled. “Analysis is my job, Miss Swan. And you, I must admit, are a bit of an open book.”

“Huh.” Emma considered her options. As much as she thought it was dumb and unnecessary, she had to do this therapy thing if she wanted her license back, and this shrink didn’t seem like such a bad guy. A little awkward, maybe a little judgey, but not awful. He didn’t seem put off by her which was unusual enough, and she suspected he might even have a sense of humor in there somewhere. She guessed she could suck it up and deal with this. It was all confidential anyway. It’s not like he can go blabbing on her, right?

“Well, if we’re gonna be discussing every intimate detail of my life, I guess you better call me Emma.”

He smiled again. Not an ‘ah-ha!’ kind of smile like before, but a friendly one. “Very well, Emma. You can call me Liam.”

[quentinblack]

Smoke and Mirrors, Chapter 17: Percy II - Absinthe (link to full story on FF.net) 

Featuring: Percy Weasley, Dedalus Diggle

Word Count: 5,000 words

“You should’ve picked up one of these doughnut-cone ice-creams, Perce,” Dedalus chirped merrily, as he took another big bite out of the remnants of his cone, which had been lavished in both sugar and melted chocolate. “Absolutely marvellous, this is!”

Percy saw that Diggle’s chin was absolutely covered with chocolate. He sincerely hoped the small wizard would clean himself up before long, as by his own calculations of the map he was reading they were not that far from Franz Kafka Square, which was where they were meeting their very first prospective recruit.

He had mercilessly studied Monika Svoboda’s file.

She was in her late twenties.

Her Czechoslovakian muggle parents had left their home country in the late 1960’s, presumably for brighter economic prospects in Britain.

Not much longer than a decade later and their daughter, born with the gift of magic, had set off to harness that gift at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Miss Svoboda’s academic record was nothing short of exemplary.

Her incredible grades dictated that that she was almost certainly a Ravenclaw.

She had been taken on by the Ministry very soon after graduating.

In just eight short years she had very quickly risen to a very respectable post in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but then she had left quite abruptly, opting to take a senior post in the Czech Ministry instead just a few years before it all kicked off in Britain.  

It was Dedalus and Percy’s role and responsibility to convince Monika Svoboda to come back home and help rebuild the British Ministry to its past glory.

Percy was quietly optimistic that they should be able to manage it, after all he felt he was of a similar age to this woman and that they may very well have a few things in common.

She had been Head Girl, he had been Head Boy.

They had both left school and immediately taken up positions in the Ministry.

They were clearly both very intelligent and ambitious.  

Yes, he was quite confident that he could talk her around, very confident indeed.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him some discretion and flexibility around the sort of contracts he could sign for the prospective recruits, with vague outlines of the sort of job roles that they were recruiting for.

Percy felt sure that he could come to some kind of agreeable arrangement with Monika, then he and Dedalus would be off on their travels again to convince the next one and then the next one after that.

Easy.

Although they did have quite a daunting travel itinerary sketched out for the next few weeks.

After the Czech Republic they would move on to Denmark, Sweden and Greece, then onto Italy and Malta to conclude their European trip, before heading further afield to Turkey, Pakistan and India. They had business in Thailand too, before they travelled to North America to conclude their trip with a layover in Canada and then finally the one Percy was really looking forward to – The United States of America.

There was quite a few people they had to meet with in America who had left to work for the MACUSA, but Percy was only truly interested in seeing Penelope again.

The thought of rekindling his romance with Penelope Clearwater had been the driving factor in agreeing to this mission in the first place – and it seemed quite fitting that they were saving the best for last.

He could hardly wait to convince her to come back home to Britain and the Ministry.

They could make up for lost time.

Maybe he would ask her to move in with him.

Yes, that would be splendid.

That would be absolutely-

“Is this us, young Perce?” Dedalus asked rather eccentrically, as Percy was rudely dragged out of his daydream. He was at least pleased to see that Diggle had wiped his face clean of the very sickly looking chocolate that had dirtied it just moments ago.

The building was sign-posted in a foreign looking language, possibly French rather than Czech, but it was unmistakably the right place. The two of them crossed over to the other side of the road on the cobblestoned street in Prague’s old-town district.  

“Absintherie” read the yellow writing on the turquoise painted sign. The windows facing into the bar had a slightly tinted green look to them and there was an old-fashioned bright green bicycle resting against the wall.  

“What is an Absintherie when it’s at home anyway, then?” Diggle enquired with a puzzled look awash his pasty-white face.

“I don’t know, Dedalus,” Percy replied calmly as he pulled open the green wooden door. “But I imagine it is some kind of-

Percy was stopped mid-sentence by the sudden burst of an intense, warm medicinal smell emitting from the place that was almost certainly a very strong type of spirit alcohol.

“Blimmin’ ‘Eck,” Dedalus muttered under his breath.

“She said she would be upstairs,” Percy stated, attempting to take his mind off of the awful smell as he motioned for Diggle to follow him up the wooden staircase.

The upstairs of the bar was deserted, save for a lone table in the far corner, wherein sat a woman with dark-blonde hair and three small glasses of green liquid.

“Miss Svoboda?” Percy enquired politely, as the woman looked towards them and smiled, indicating for them to come and join her.

“Please, call me Monika,” she instructed softly, as she retrieved an ash-tray then lit a cigarette and began to smoke. She motioned to Percy and Dedalus as if to offer them both one too, but they both politely declined.

Dedalus had seemed to momentarily consider taking her up on the offer, but he perhaps changed his mind upon the split-second look of disapproval that Percy had shot in his direction.

However, it had to be said that they were on first name terms already and she’d offered them both a cigarette and got a round of drinks in.

She must be keen.

It was going well.

Percy knew all along that this was going to be a walk in the park.

It had never been in doubt.  

“You must be Mister Weasley and Mister Diggle,” she added, as the two wizards took their seats.

“And these must be our drinks,” Dedalus commented in a very concerned fashion, studying his small glass of green alcohol, which had only two small cubes of ice for company.

“I do not usually drink alcohol as strong as Absinthe,” Monika began, as Percy noticed her piercing blue eyes, which were making quite intense eye-contact with his on a seemingly intermittent basis. “But, as it is the Ministry paying I felt I should make the most of it.”

Dedalus laughed very loudly.

“A lady of my own heart,” he added when he had regained his composure.

Svoboda had bought the drinks under the impression that they would pick up the tab for her. They would of course, but still, she had some nerve and confidence.

Percy in a strange sort of way kind of liked that and thought it was another promising sign.  

Monika then raised her glass.

Percy and Dedalus followed her lead and raised theirs too.

“I am free and that is why I am lost,” Monika said in a quite dramatic fashion, before taking a large swig from her glass.

Percy wondered who it was that had said that.

It sounded like the sort of ostentatious speech closer that a tipsy Albus Dumbledore would trot out before a Christmas feast.

It was not lost on Percy that she had showed no signs of grimacing after the alcohol had hit the back of her throat, which perhaps led both he and Dedalus into a false sense of security over the strength of the alcohol they were about to drink.

“I am free and that is why I am lost,” Percy repeated, chinking glasses with Dedalus as they shared a bemused look before they both took large gulps from their glasses.

The absinthe hit the back of Percy’s throat and he had to bite his cheeks immediately to avoid projectile vomiting right there and then.

It was the strongest and most repulsive thing he had ever drank.

He was determined not to chuck it up though, as he was there in a professional capacity and if he threw it up he may look weak to Monika, who had not flinched in the slightest when drinking hers.

“Merlin’s cock,” Dedalus swore, as he began coughing violently, perhaps not possessing the same ability or motivation to keep it down.

“If you’ll pardon me for just one momen-

Percy watched on in absolute horror as Diggle made an immediate beeline for the men’s toilet, which thankfully happened to be stationed not too far away from their table.

“I’m awfully sorry for my colleague’s-

“I am not offended, Mister Weasley,” Monika began, as she took another thick drag of what Percy’s Mother had always called muggle death-sticks whenever she had caught his older brother Bill smoking one.

“Please, Monika, call me Percy.”

“Very well,” she smiled, as she delicately tapped her cigarette to rid it off the excess ash.

Perhaps all was not lost after all.

She was still smiling.

There was a slight twinkle in her eyes now, as if she was deep in thought and about to say something very profound.

Percy wondered if the alcohol had gone straight to her head, or maybe it had just gone straight to his, but for a split second he felt there was a slight wave of sexual tension between them.

In an hour’s time they could probably look back and laugh at Dedalus chundering as Monika happily signed her contract to come back and work for the Ministry.

“I am not offended by your colleague’s weak stomach, Percy. But I am offended by the Ministry’s arrogant attempt to rehire me.”

Percy was dumbstruck.

“I- I-

“I hold no ill-will to you and your colleague, Percy. You are just doing as you have been instructed to do, as I would have done once upon a time. But you must understand the arrogance that the Ministry is operating under. The letter I was sent regarding this meeting. It was not sent to my home address. It was sent to my office address. Do you not think the inbound international postal workers talk? It’s not every day they receive a letter from the British Ministry for Magic.”

“I’m- I’m sure that was purely due to logistical reasons. We would not have known your personal address, so the only option was to-

Percy stopped briefly as they overheard Dedalus loudly puking up his goulash lunch and ice-cream dessert through the thin wooden walls.

He felt incredibly awkward as he watched Monika roll her eyes as she breathed out some smoke, which lingered in the air for a while.

The mixture of the smell of absinthe and tobacco fumes really was quite odd and not one that Percy found particularly pleasant.  

“The only option was to allow me to have to face the embarrassment of my employers questioning my commitment to them? To let my bosses think that as soon as the war in Britain was over I was looking to pack my bags and go home?”

Monika’s tone had very much changed into one of condescension and indignation.

“Do you know why my parents first left Czechoslovakia?” Svododa asked him calmly.

“Well, I can’t say for sure, but I assume for some kind of economic reasons,” he replied reasonably confidently, as they heard Diggle vomit once more.

Svoboda laughed softly in a patronising manner.

“Of course, you can only think in economic terms, Percy. A wizard like you has never truly known what it feels like to be persecuted,”

Percy felt very offended, but thought it best to remain silent.

“My parents left Czechoslovakia when the Soviet Union invaded in 1968 so it could become a satellite state once more. They left their country with nothing for a better life. For a life without suppression. For a life without conflict. Do you know much of the Soviet Union and their brand of Communism?”

Percy shook his head blankly.

“My father used to repeat a saying that best described what his life was like growing up under communism…he used to say - sometimes there was no toilet paper in the shops, luckily there was not much food in them either.”

Svoboda took another sizeable swig of her absinthe once she had discarded the remains of her cigarette into the ash-tray, leaving perhaps only a mouthful or two remaining in her glass, which had warmed up sufficiently so that one may never have guessed that several ice cubes had once inhabited it.

“He and my Mother found peace and prosperity in England. Lots of food, lots of toilet paper too. They had a daughter, who one day turned out to be a witch. A slight hiccup in their plans, but they had the comfort of their own home and more importantly they were living in a peaceful country free of war, conflict and communism.”

The young witch then took another sip of her drink, before looking down disapprovingly at Percy’s glass that was still half-full.

“They thought they had left war behind them, but little did they know that the magical world that their daughter had thought so wonderful and exciting would be filled with more war than they could ever imagine. I spent my first two years at Hogwarts reading headline after headline of murder after murder. I did not dare tell my parents when they sent me letters asking how everything was going, after all, they were so proud of me. If only they knew what I had unwittingly signed myself up for.”

Percy shifted slightly in his seat, but he had no real argument to mount against her, perhaps she had only agreed to this meeting in the first place to vent her frustrations at someone.

“They told me that The Boy Who Lived had vanquished He Who Could Not Be Named, but he did not. Soon enough, the murders began again. The dark times returned. Tell me, Percy, have you ever read any of Franz Kafka’s work?”

He had no idea who Franz Kafka was, but for the street to have been named after him Percy had assumed he had been a muggle politician or a king.

“No,” he answered honestly. “But if I could just maybe tell you about what fantastic opportunities the Ministry has to offer a woman of your incredible talents and-

“Kafka was born right here in Prague. He didn’t like it much… he didn’t like much of anything, really. The majority of his work was dark and depressing. The stories he wrote were often set in horrific places, filled with fear, corruption and misery. He may as well have been describing what it was like to be a muggle-born in Wizarding Britain during the last few decades.”

Percy could see now that this was well and truly beyond a lost cause, but his professional pride meant that he could not give up on Svoboda without at least one more roll of the die.

“It’s different now!” Percy pleaded. “The dark times are over. You Know Who is gone, for good this time. Harry Potter made sure of that, I saw it myself. I was there. We can forge a new future, one that is free from fear, corruption and misery – but the Ministry needs people, good people, talented people like you, Monika.”

“I do not doubt that you believe that, Percy, but come on, get real! The dark times are over? Do you think that we abroad are not aware that you still have six Death Eaters on the loose? They say that ignorance is bliss, but they are wrong. Those who are ignorant naturally consider that everything is possible.”

Percy could not tell for sure, but he believed from her poetic tone of voice that she was quoting that Kafka fellow again.

She was most definitely a Ravenclaw.

“Wizarding society in Britain is not built for change, Percy. The very foundations of its design is to keep things the same. The-

“It will be different this time,” he relented. “It is different this time. The new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, he is different he is-

“Another pure-blood Minister, is it then? Quelle fucking surprise. He may well have good intentions, but the same mistakes will be made once again, Percy. You are blind if you cannot see it. Tell me, will there still be the same four houses at Hogwarts in the coming school year?”

“Well, yes, of course!” Percy answered indignantly.

“Your reaction is exactly what I’m talking about, Percy. You cannot possibly even conceive of the idea that say for instance, Slytherin house… the very house from which your new… oh so different Minister for Magic was once a Head Boy for… was to be… terminated.”

“Well- well that’s impossib-

“A school which explicitly groups together the most prejudiced members of its society, based on the hiring preferences of a prejudiced ancient wizard who should be doomed to the history books, not held up on a pedestal for young, impressionable children to chant his name and wear his colours.”

Percy didn’t really have an answer.

He was left speechless once again.

It was perfectly clear how Svoboda had flourished so well in the Ministry. She was an excellent orator, clearly extremely intelligent and didn’t give you a word in edgeways, yet still remained very polite in the process.

It was incredibly frustrating as Percy knew he could not win a debate with this woman. She was running absolute rings around him. He almost wished Dedalus would return from the toilet to help back him up.

“In muggle schools in Prague they do not have a house that honours Josef Stalin. They do not wave red flags with gold hammers and sickles on them. In Berlin they do not have school houses honouring Hitler or the Nazis. They do not hang swastikas on the walls or chant Nazi songs at school football matches. Slytherin house remains at Hogwarts because of what, tradition?”

“No- no. Well, yes. But it’s not that simple, Monika. You must understand. I saw you were Head Girl once. I was Head Boy. You must know that the tradition of Hog-

“I know that when I was chosen to be Head Girl I was the first muggle-born Head Boy or Girl for a quarter of a century,” she fumed.

“Almost every other family name that fell before mine in the record books belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Well, do you know what I say, Percy? Fuck the Sacred Twenty-Eight!”

Percy desperately tried to think of a rebuffal to her point, but he was taken aback by her sudden swearing. He felt very flustered and straightened his shirt a little as he felt himself begin to sweat nervously.

The men’s toilet door suddenly flung open and a rather refreshed looking Dedalus Diggle emerged from it, momentarily distracting Percy from his train of thought.

“Well then, what have I missed?” Diggle squeaked as he looked from Percy to Monika in slight confusion.

“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it,” Monika murmured as she finished the last slithers of her drink and stood up. “I was once much like you, Percy. I once held the establishment and tradition on a pedestal… well here’s a piece of advice for you, as well as my answer to your new Minister. Fuck your prejudice… fuck your traditions… and fuck your Ministry!”

Monika Svoboda abruptly fled the table, departed down the stairs and they did not see her again.

“Hmph,” Dedalus muttered. “Not the best of starts for you then, ehh, Perce?”

“I need a drink,” Percy mused. “Something pretty strong…but not that strong,” he added, as both he and Diggle shied away from seeing off their Absinthe.

“You know what you want, Perce? A nice cuppa tea,” Dedalus remarked in his ever boisterous manner.

“Yes, I think that would be perfect,” Percy replied, as he glumly made his way down the stairs.

Dedalus calmly strolled towards the bar to settle their tab with the muggle credit card that Kingsley had supplied them with.

Percy thought he had seen some of Penelope in Monika.

The thought that she may show a similar sense of resolve and reject him too filled his heart with the sort of misery and despair that Monika had described as being present in those Kafka stories.

“We’d… like… to go… somewhere… where… we can… get some… tea…tea…yes, tea! Tea!” he heard Dedalus loudly explaining to the Czech bar-keep in the sort of accent one only makes when speaking to someone whose first language is not English.

“Excellent!” Dedalus remarked.

“He says we can get some tea not far from here, Perce. Follow me. We take the first left and then it’s the forth building down.”

Percy slowly followed his companion across the cobblestoned street as a sense of sombre overcame him.

The meeting with Monika really had been an unmitigated disaster of the highest order.

He really could kill for a nice mug of piping hot tea, just like his Mother would make.

The thought of his Mother made him suddenly feel awfully homesick, which was ridiculous as he’d only been gone for a few days.

He had to pull himself together for Kingsley and for Penelope and perhaps more importantly for himself.

It was all going to be fine.

Monika was just a one off.

The others would all want to come back.

“Here we are, Perce. Looks like a nice quiet café, bet we’ll get a splendid cup of tea in here. That’ll make you feel better.”

Percy agreed with Diggle and followed him through the front door of the fancy looking establishment, upon which they were greeted by a quite large bald headed muggle-man who appeared to be some kind of security guard.

“You pay two hundred and fifty koruna entry each, but you get one free drink inside,” he said in a deep voice with a very thick accent, which Percy assumed must be Czech.

“Seems reasonable,” Dedalus quipped. “Here you are my friend,” he added as he presented the doorman with the money, who happily let them through following this exchange.

As they reached the bottom of the spiral staircase they discovered that the café was very dark and dingy, but it did at least seem to possess some quite comfortable looking sofas.

The ambience itself was not particularly relaxation orientated though, as the speakers within the place were playing some rather flamboyant muggle rock music quite loudly.

POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME

OOH, IN THE NAME OF LOVE

POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME

C’MON, FIRE ME UP

“Might as well get those free drinks,” Dedalus said in a raised voice so as to be heard over the noise.  Percy nodded at him and followed the little wizard to the bar.

Percy thought that the woman serving at the bar was rather scantily dressed for this time of day, but at first he put it down to muggle fashion and culture that he perhaps did not understand.

“Two cups of tea, please! What? You don’t sell- I would like two cups of tea, please!” Dedalus squeaked at the woman serving over the loud muggle-music.

POUR YOUR SUGAR ON ME

I CAN’T GET ENOUGH

I’M HOT, STICKY SWEET

FROM MY HEAD TO MY FEET, YEAH

“She reckons they don’t serve any hot drinks!” a very disappointed Dedalus yelled up into Percy’s ear. “The chap at the Absintherie said it was a Tea Bar!”

That was when Percy first noticed the giant neon sign that was lighting up the opposite corner of the room.

It read “TITTY BAR”.

Percy did not quite grasp what this referred to at first, having never before encountered the muggle slang-term of “titty”, but upon further inspection towards the other side of the room it soon became quite apparent what it was that it referred to.

He felt another sudden flurry of home-sickness again as he wished with all of his heart that George was here to see this.

It would certainly bring a huge grin to a face that so seldom did smile these days.

Percy would never live it down once George found out about this.

“MERLIN’S BEARD!” an utterly astounded Dedalus exclaimed, as he suddenly noticed the topless muggle women dancing on the stage.

[seven-oomen]

Shattered and broken Chapter 1

Since this is a story that is already on Ao3 and got some good response there, I decided to bring it over here as well. I have a few chapters written out and finished and am currently working on chapter 3. However, I do want some feedback on this short work. 

So, I’m going to implement a reward system for this. I have never done this before, but I feel like this might be the only way to move people into action. If I get 5 comments (through replying or asks), 5 reblogs and 10 likes on this chapter I will post the next chapter. Considering I have over 700 followers I think that’s a very fair number.

He was shattered, broken, damaged beyond repair. An Omega’s job in the world was to have an Alpha’s pups. People these days didn’t seem to agree with that world view anymore, but it was impossible to deny true biology. Unless your biology was broken. James Buchanan Barnes was born an Omega, but thanks to HYDRA and their methods of torture he was also barren. He could no longer have pups.

Grey eyes settled on the 72nd East playground just across the lawn. He was sitting under the trees just enjoying his time in Central Park for the afternoon. If Steve saw him now, the other Omega would undoubtedly drag him away and tell Bucky he was just torturing himself. But Steve just couldn’t understand. Steve could have pups, he could give Tony an heir. Unlike Bucky.

Watching the pups playing at the playground brought him a sense of peace. A sense of longing that somehow lessened just a little, just by watching these little human beings run around. He smiled as a little boy with short spiky blond hair ran across the playground to one of his parents. The dark haired Alpha laughed as he picked up his son, holding a hand up high for a high five as he held his pup on one arm. For a moment Bucky could see Tony and Steve’s pup, happy and laughing, with Steve looking on proudly as Tony held their child. Bucky would stand next to them, smiling at the child and fussing over it as a good Omega should. Tony would be so proud of him.

He sighed and shook his head. Maybe he was just torturing himself with things that could never be. Steve didn’t want pups, he made that very clear to both Bucky and Tony on multiple occasions. His fellow Omega was just too into his job, he was busy avenging and being Captain America. And Bucky respected that, he really did, admired it even. But it was still hard to process that he’d never have a family of his own. It just wasn’t meant to be.

With a soft sigh, he stood, briefly looking up at the sky to ponder about his life. He carefully patted the grass and dirt of his clothes and made his way down Central Park and back to Stark tower. He kept a close eye on the families he saw during his walk, wondering if he could ever have a life like that with his mates. He shook the thought from his head and walked on, past the Central Park Zoo where he briefly stopped to look at the Children’s zoo area. He moved on, passing fifth Avenue to head onto Madison Avenue.

Bucky headed South and followed Madison until he hit the corner with East 45th Street. Stark tower loomed up in front of him, standing tall and proud amongst the other Manhattan buildings. This had been his home ever since the fiasco in DC, he’d been lucky Tony had taken him in that day.

*

3 years earlier, Washington DC (Right after the fall of SHIELD)

“Can you, or can you not guarantee that Sergeant Barnes is no longer a threat to the United States government?”

Steve looked his way, eyes wide and begging. He knew in that moment that Steve would go down to defend him and he shook his head. He wasn’t gonna let Steve go down with him, couldn’t do that to his fellow Omega. To the man he once loved unconditionally.

“Captain Rogers?”

The judge looked at Steve with great interest. “You will answer the question, Captain Rogers.”

Steve closed his eyes and looked away in shame, “No I can’t.” The Omega muttered.

“What was that, Captain? Speak up.”

God he was going to strangle that fucking lawyer for badgering Steve like that. His metal hand balled into a fist and he had to take a deep calming breath to keep himself seated in the defendants chair.

“I can’t guarantee that Sergeant Barnes is no longer a threat.”

A murmur went through the courtroom.

“But it’s not his fault, HYDRA-”

“So by your own admission, Sergeant Barnes is a danger to our national security and should be locked away in a government facility.”

“What? No! That’s not what I meant-” Steve spluttered, trying to control some of the damage that the jerk wad of a lawyer was doing.

“No? But you didn’t you just admit that you can’t guarantee that Sergeant Barnes won’t be a national security risk? Or is your Omega brain simply confused by all the chaos and action it recently endured? Are the words I’m using simply too difficult for you to comprehend?”

“Thank you, Mister Johnson, that will be enough. I believe we have more than enough for a sentencing. Unless anyone has something to add to Captain Rogers’s statement?” The judge looked around the courtroom, “No? Then I hereby-”

“Objection, your honor! That was clear badgering of the witness.” A new man entered the courtroom, dressed in a sharp, black expensive looking suit. His short black hair was styled slightly upwards and he had an intricate looking goatee on his face that was clearly neatly styled in some sort of triangle shape. Bucky looked up in the man’s eyes, seeing warm brown, doe like eyes staring back at him. He had no idea who the stranger was, but he was more than grateful for the Alpha’s interference.

“Mister Stark! I hope you have a very good reason for disrupting this trial.”

“Oh, I do your honor.” Stark answered, clicking away on a holographic screen that came out of his watch. “You see, this trial is rigged. Predetermined. And I believe that alone is cause for a mistrial.”

The video screen at the right side of the witness podium suddenly turned on. It showed the judge’s chambers, the judge sitting behind her desk while Prosecutor Johnson stood in front of it. “This man is dangerous, Johnson. We can’t have a HYDRA assassin out on the street. No matter what happens, Barnes will go to a government facility.”

“You want to rig Barnes’s trial?”

“Yes.”

The video ended just as sudden. The room turned to Stark, curious as to what the man would do next. “And here I thought our justice system actually consisted of fair trial and prosecution. Guess we’re no better than the Russians in this aspect.”

“That’s enough, mister Stark! Bailiff, escort this man from my courtroom.”

Nobody moved a muscle and the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. “I guess the good man is on the side of justice.” Stark chuckled.

“I move to declare a mistrial in the case of Barnes vs The United States. If you want to fight me on that, your honor you can contact one of my lawyers, Felix Alvarez. Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers, if you could come with me.”

Steve was beside him before he knew it, helping him out of his seat. “Come on, Buck, let’s go.”

*

Present day

He’d been staying with Tony ever since that day, with Steve at his side. He really wouldn’t have it any other way at this point. He rounds the corner and looks up in surprise as a familiar face enters his field of vision. Old man Stan had been selling coffee near the front door of Stark tower for several years, until he suddenly disappeared a few months ago.

"Good morning, Mister Barnes. " The old man was back to selling his coffee just outside of Stark tower. He'd been gone for awhile and nobody really knew why, so it was a rather pleasant surprise to see the old geezer was still around.

"Good morning, Stan. Haven't seen you around in a while." Bucky stopped in front of the cart and breathed in the delightful scent of coffee and hot chocolate.

“Aye, Mister Barnes. It’s the damn city office meddling with my street permits. Once Mister Stark got wind of it he buried the office under legal work until they restored my permits. But it took a while, you see.”

He nodded sympathetically. “I see, I’m sorry to hear that. But glad to see you’re back in business.”

Stan just smiled at him and offered him a cup of coffee. “Two milk, two sugar if memory serves me right.”

“Oh no, I can’t just-. Here let me pay for that.” He moved to get his wallet out of the front pocket of his jeans.

Stan promptly refused his money. “No, no. I insist. For the mate of my most loyal customer. It’s the least I can do as repayment for Mister Stark’s aid.”

James smiled, the gentle expression just tugging at his lips as his face relaxed. The strong scent of coffee hit him and he closed his eyes in delight as he took a sip from the beverage. “Still as great as ever,” He hummed contently.

Stan grinned at his reaction and continued his earlier tinkering on one of his coffee pots. “Say, there’s something odd happening around the tower today.”

Bucky frowned at the Beta’s words and cocked his head slightly to the side, wondering what the other man meant by that. “What do you mean?”

“Some young lady has been circling the tower for several hours really. Didn’t get a good look at her face, but she’s wearing a black hoodie with the hood up and black slacks.”

“In this weather?” It was the middle of summer and the details of the clothing stood out to him as odd.

“I’ve tried asking her about it, but she bolted the second I opened my mouth.” Stan sighed and looked to his right, gently tapping Bucky on the shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

James watched as the girl made her way to the corner of the building and laid something down on the ground, in the shadow of the building.

“Hey,” He called out, quickly handing his cup to Stan while jogging towards the girl. She looked up in shock and quickly bolted from the scene, he tried to follow but was pulled from his chase by the soft cries of an infant reaching his ears.

James stopped and slowly walked towards the bundle on the ground, gasping as he looked upon a baby of barely a day old. He looked up and tried to find the lady in the street, but it was a moot point. She was nowhere to be found. The Omega gently bend down on one knee and carefully gathered the infant in his arms. “Shhh, It’s okay.”

The infant ceased its crying and looked up at James. The baby had a mop of dark brown hair, one brown and blue eye, a little button nose and round chubby cheeks. The Omega smiled warmly at the infant, carrying him back to the front door where he took his cup of coffee from Stan.

“Well I’ll be damned…” The elderly man muttered.

“I better take it inside before it gets too cold.” Bucky carefully held the infant to his chest and pointed at the door with his cup of coffee. “Can you get the door?”

“Better call the police as well, Mister Barnes. You never know if the babe has any family that is looking for him.”

James raised an eyebrow at the street vendor. “It was just abandoned on the street, Stan. I sincerely doubt anyone’s looking for him.”

“Still, better safe than sorry.”

He let out an inaudible hum and walked inside the building, heading up to the thirtieth floor. He softly hummed along with the elevator music and gently rocked the baby in his arms as they rode up. When the doors finally dinged open, he walked into the hallway and made his way down to the sitting area in the living room. Steve looked up from his place on the couch, the other Omega was currently curled up against Tony while watching movie.

“Hey Buck.” Steve greeted. The baby let out a soft coo, causing the two men on the couch to freeze up.

Tony was the first to speak up. “What in god’s name are you holding to your chest?!”

[localfreshies]

New Post has been published on Local Freshies | Be a local wherever you go

New Post has been published on https://localfreshies.com/are-we-in-for-a-big-winter-winter-weather-predictors-true-or-false-theyre-still-fun/

Are We In For A Big Winter? Winter Weather Predictors – True Or False They’re Still Fun!

Since starting Local Freshies®, we’ve heard many local superstitions of good and bad winter omens. Scientists of course will tell you that it’s a ‘load of poppy cock’, but as you can tell, they’re as good or worse than these time-honored superstitions. For those curious, here’s a few of the ski town natural winter predictors we’ve heard while hanging out at the local watering holes.

Wooly Bear Caterpillar

North America

Image by: Iwona Kellie

For those growing up in New England, you may have heard about this one. While talking to a few local Grand Targhee residents, the gist of the folklore goes like this: the amount of wooly bear caterpillars you see in autumn will tell you how severe the winter will be. The centuries old tradition goes even one step further. Depending on the coat of the caterpillar, how big their stripes are and all sorts of other characteristics, these little wooly wonders will tell you if it’s going to be a cold/snowy winter.

Winter Coats On Livestock

North America

Image by: Deborah S-C

I’ve heard this one from my father in-law and will have to admit it seems to be a good indicator on how cold the winter will be. The earlier the process starts and the thicker that it grows, the colder livestock expect it to be. It takes cattle and horses a long time to grow their coats, so it seems that these animals might know a bit more than the average ‘bear’.

October Snow In Siberia

Eastern United States

Image by: Aleksey Kushnirenko

Supposedly, when the snow cover in October is above normal in Siberia, it translates to a cold, snowy winter for the Eastern United States. The thought is that when the snow is deep in northern Russia, it translates to a negative Arctic Oscillation. And, the flip side is also said to be true… when the snow is below normal, it predicts a positive winter Arctic Oscillation.

Snow In September

Lake Tahoe

Early season snowfall… good or bad omen?

This is an interesting one. We’ve heard from quite a few of our friends that early snowfall, especially in September, translates to a bad overall winter in Lake Tahoe. Last September, we got a decent dusting of snow. While the season may have had an epic Miracle March, the rest of the year it was downright depressing. So, depending on which way you look at it, this could’ve proved it right… or maybe not?

Muskrats Digging Deeper Dens

Interior British Columbia

Image by: Julie Falk

As temperatures dip in the fall and before the ponds or parts of waterways freeze, the muskrats begin preparing for the upcoming cold months. The local lore on the Powder Highway states that in the snowiest/coldest years, they dig their dens MUCH deeper than normal.

Black Rosy-Finches

Aspen

Image by: Jacob Roalef

While this isn’t a season predictor, the ski patrol installed bird feeders at their hut on the top of Sam’s Knob at Snowmass. When Black Rosy-Finches are seen stuffing their faces with seed, this a good indicator that a big storm is approaching.

What Is Mother Nature Predicting For 2018-19?

Will this season be feast… or famine?

While it’s a bit early for many of these, we’ll keep our eyes & ears open to see what happens. For those living in other parts of the country, be sure to let us know what mother nature is saying to you for the upcoming 2018-19 ski & snowboard season. We’re just hoping for a more consistent year in Lake Tahoe than last winter. After 8 years of being in & around the Sierra Nevada, the one thing I know for sure is you can’t predict what it has in store. All you can do is be patient and ‘get after it’ when it does snow because it could be months until the next storm cycle. Here’s to everyone having an amazing season!