#you don't EXPLAIN bartholomew you just have to meet him

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Ex-Condor Through the Time Machine (Chapter 7: The Main Line)

This is also available on AO3 :)

A/N: I managed to creatively bend my way around all my geography errors! The outline has been changed slightly to reflect this. (Toby will still appear, even though he’s lost his chapter title lead billing.)

Also, I wish I had already been referring to BoCo as “Oh-Two,” which is what he is known as familiarly.

But better late than never. We’ll be starting… now.

Please pretend that I have been doing that all along.

Big thanks to CutCat for the beta read—the help with proofing—and their gracious absence of an “omg, weirdo, bugger off” when I showed up with a draft of 4000+ words. You are a godsend, and the best partner-in-crime—er, collaboration!

1964

Fireman Heaver had fouled something up. He had briefly splashed 5702 with the hose before the driver had interrupted him, and it turned out that the Sudric instructions were “Apply with force, then keep dry.”

Of course, merely translating that much required a impromptu congregation of guard, gangers, shunter, and two porters on their lunch break, not to mention Edward, who was the one who recognized the final word. This was much to the amusement and chagrin of the men, who agreed that their grandparents would be disgusted at the halting show they were making of the mother tongue.

After several minutes it became obvious that something was indeed funny about the area that Heaver had sprinkled with the hose. The wettened area, they said, was peculiarly white and shiny. When they tried to rub it off, it only became more so.

It didn’t hurt, physically. But the mystery seemed to draw only more intense interest from his growing little crowd—and Oh-Two did dislike fuss. The best days of his life so far had always been ones where he’d been left pretty well alone, with his brothers and his work.

Right now, what he had was a growing crowd of railwaymen squinting and rubbing the immovable white stain on his side.

The groundskeeper thought the shape resembled the number 8.

A porter disagreed, saying it was a snake, eating its own tail.

Someone else opined it was the cycling lion of British Railways.

(From the sounds of it, crumpled brown papers from various lunches were tossed at the lattermost traitor.)

Overall, Oh-Two was very grateful when Edward, whose eyes had been fixed above, interrupted with a shout. “There’s our signal!”

The diesel smiled as the crew resumed their posts, and the others backed off. He was pleased, too, when Mr Heaver waved on his way to Edward’s cab. “Never mind. They can paint over it easily enough, at our Works!”

“Other side looks fine, anyway,” agreed the driver, giving it a last once-over. (The fireman pretended to clutch his heart in surprise at this rare word of approval.)

That was the side that would actually be visible to other engines, so 5702 was satisfied. It was good to be off. Edward had been steaming freely for some time, and started as soon as the guard whistled readiness and driver pulled the lever. He chuckled a bit, too, finding that he had braced for much more resistance than 5702 and the several trucks still behind him offered. Many a steam engine over the years had made this same discovery, as the big new diesels were in fact lighter than they looked.

“Now for the tour!” Edward whistled.

5702 had to laugh. “Lead the way.” He liked this steam engine, who had been as anxious as he to put an end to the workmen’s scrutiny, and who proved to be very gentle with his train. Of course, the unbraked trucks trailing him clattered into Oh-Two, making his already sore system ache dully, but there was no help for that. He’d had worse, and in worse company.

The tour did not feature much commentary, perhaps because upon departing they almost immediately encountered the hill. Edward proved as sure-footed as 5702 would have expected a banking engine to be (though he was a strange choice, for a banker—you couldn’t escape that!), but it was hard going, and he needed all his puff for the climb. Oh-Two, for his part, tried to ignore the discomfort of going upwards with no power. It wasn’t the first time he’d needed a ride, but being pulled up a gradient always made him feel sick and swoopy in the axles, and had perforce instilled in him with a deep if secret empathy with trucks.

Even amid his discomfort, he noted that, while the hill certainly was a hill, it also was not the sort of dramatic peak for which the mainland was now accustomed to use bankers. If they were using two engines to move slow freights over this stretch, then this region certainly did need some help, whether from diesels or from larger, Standard steam engines. Even the much-ridiculed Metrovicks had passed harder climbing tests than this, from a standing start, and unassisted.

Though, going down, he was impressed by Edward’s solid control of the train. He reflected ruefully that he himself would probably require a brake tender, should he take any unfitted loads this way.

Donald, he reckoned, would have a field day, when he saw that!

After the hill, they began to pass, and be passed, by other engines. Lots of them. And in an array of shapes and colors that made 5702 dizzy.

None of them were the same design. Oh-Two couldn’t imagine how the single workshop that served Sodor could keep such a great variety of engines in good order.

Of course, some of the engines he saw, especially on sidings situated far from the main line, were likely under private ownership. But other engines going by with their trains were unmistakably North Western, with its distinctive red lining.

They simply came in a rainbow of colors.

5702 was familiar with a world in which diesels sported a variety of bright two-toned liveries and bold hazard stripes—but the ever-dwindling population of steam engines were in black or, perhaps, Brunswick green. Furthermore, the latter’s appearances ranged from scruffy to truly dire. Hardly anyone took much fuss over them these days, and so to Oh-Two steam engines had always looked the part of some grubby piece of black-and-white history that had overstayed its welcome.

Sodor continued to be a revelation. More engines than not were in the region's standard blue, itself a very pretty color, but all the rest seemed to follow no rule besides the whims of their painters. In addition to umber, chocolate, Indian red, and, for some reason, canary yellow, Oh-Two was pretty sure he soon spotted every shade of green that humans had ever put upon an engine.

The only thing the steam engines here had in common was how well-kempt they were. Oh, not in the artificially spotless state of an engine before some grand tour or special—but they were cared-for, and obviously washed down as regularly as the coaches.

Of course, there was one other commonality.

On this busy but modest main line, every engine looked askance at Oh-Two as they passed.

But all in all things were going as well as could possibly be expected. The other engines simply exchanged whistles with Edward, frowned in puzzlement at the diesel, and rattled along. Nothing was said…

… until they met Gordon.

Oh-Two knew it was Gordon, the second he came into view. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

Every engine on British Railways knew Thomas the Tank Engine and Gordon the Big Engine. You couldn’t escape the knowledge... much less their posters.

This, of course, was the latter of the two steam mascots. A grand old Gresley engine, built in the days before there was any interest in a steamlined, much less a light, Pacific. Seeing it in person, the design struck Oh-Two as rather impractical—good grief, how could such an engine ever cope with the Peak Forest bank?—but it was still undeniably impressive, even more so in motion than in stills, with a flair and magnificence that Oh-Two knew very well none of his diesel-burning kind could yet boast.

Yet he bore an expression of shocked horror when he laid eyes on 5702. It was not really all that dissimilar from the terror that Oh-Two had last seen on mousy little Myron… but now, somehow, the expression was almost funny, plastered across such grandeur in almost cartoonish fashion.

“WHAT—is— THAT?!” roared the great engine, as he thundered and snorted by.

Diplomacy be damned. 5702 had to chortle a little to himself. The rattle of the two trains hid it perfectly… but he’d probably have been unable to help it, even without the cover.

He’d been the one replaced, as well as the one doing the replacing, so many times already in his short life. He knew the associated fears were a simply awful feeling, and he had never enjoyed being the one to inflict them. But somehow he didn’t feel a bit guilty this time. It wasn’t like he could ever compete, with that! And the Pacific would learn as much, soon enough.

In the meantime, Oh-Two was strangely grateful for Gordon’s overreaction. For once an engine had managed to render this fraught, sticky situation… ridiculous.

The train chugged along, gaining speed. After the big Gresley’s buoying spot of horror, Oh-Two relaxed and enjoyed himself. Weather fair, tracks firm, and neither catcalls nor jeers—it really doesn’t take much, to keep an engine happy. Edward occasionally called back the name of a village or other landmark, whether something natural like the Standing Stones or industrial sites like the milling operation off River Russagh, and seemed to understand that Oh-Two felt too poorly and unpowered to shout back. The few trucks at the tail of the train started to laugh and sing. They were fairly good-natured fellows, as trucks went, and everyone proceeded content for some while.

After passing a big station called Cronk, however, the path grew steadily more rural, and soon the Up line was reduced to one track. Eventually they were signaled to a siding to wait on a train behind them.

Nor did they wait long. It was a passenger service, racing itself from the middle station through the furthest stretch of countryside on the line.

“I say!” called the steam engine at the head of the train, even as he whooshed by. 5702 was nearly blinded by the dazzling brightness of the passerby’s immaculate—and extremely red—paintwork. “Edward, what are you doing with that disgusting diesel?”

Edward blasted a scolding whistle, but it was no good.

"Phew! At least usually they’re clean! ”

He had gotten a much better chance to examine 5702 than the reverse, and Oh-Two knew at once that the red engine had, despite his rushing pace, noticed the faint outline of his leaked oil and coolant.

“Sorry, mate,” the fireman called back, his human’s voice tinny compared to the rattling train. “S’pose I didn’t clear it up well enough.”

5702 tried to formulate the words to express that he was more than grateful that Mr Heaver had bothered to try at all. Before he’d figured it out, Edward let off steam.

“You did all you could, fireman. Ugh, but he would notice!”

“No escaping that one's eye,” agreed the driver, and threw back an explanation to their guest, sounding resigned and philosophical all at once. “Our number five, James. Was meant to be a fashion mogul, that one, but they got confused, and stuck the poor fellow with a smokebox and boiler instead!”

The red engine and his passenger train rocketed on down the line, and the tracks soon settled back to stillness and silence beneath their wheels.

The shunted locomotives were left at the signal, and both were profoundly quiet. There wasn’t much to say. Oh-Two knew that they both knew very well that Edward’s kind lie about why the new diesel was bound for the Works had just been hopelessly exposed.

At this point, Oh-Two could hardly find it in him to care.

Anyway, he rather thought that, if someone had subjected him to bearing such garish cherry-hued paintwork, he’d not be so free with his criticism about anyone else’s appearance.

“Oh, well,” Edward muttered to himself at last. “At least he can be trusted to not run his mouth about it over the whole island…”

5702 caught the sarcasm. But he was still surprised when the fireman, who was up in the tender leveling out his supply of coal, snorted loudly.

Sensing the diesel trying to reckon out what he had missed, the fireman grinned and clambered to the edge, so that he could peer down at him. “You see, my dear Bo-Co, you’re actually being—”

“Co-Bo,” the driver put in.

“What?”

“He’s a Co-Bo. Not a Bo-Co.”

The fireman was comically slack and blank about it. “’S’ the same thing, innit?”

“No,” said the driver and the steam engine, as one.

“‘Course it is. He’s double-ended . Who cares which way you start counting the bogies?”

“Everyone,” chorused Edward and Mr Sand—who were obviously much practiced in this sort of routine.

Mr Heaver stared some more, annoyed to be ganged up on. 5702 had to smile a bit.

“Are they having me on?” the fireman demanded, turning back to him.

“No, sir. They’re right.”

“Co -Bo.”

“There, now you’ve done and got it!”

Edward’s encouragement was deliberately patronizing, and the fireman struck back at once.

“Ahem! As I was saying . You see, my dear diesel—”

The others sniggered quietly, but 5702 kept a straight face, and was rewarded with the energetic fireman leaning forward and patting him on the roof.

“—fact is, you’re already being pulled by the most gossipy hen on the whole North Western. Don’t let that innocent face of his fool you.”

“No,” said 5702 thoughtfully. “I can believe that.”

“I always heard your kind was pretty intelligent,” said Mr Heaver, all approval. “Without, it seems, having to be know-it-alls about it.”

Edward only whistled.

“Uh, fireman,” said Mr Sand. “We should be getting our signal any moment. And we’re not waiting on you.”

“Shouldn’t dream of it,” Heaver grumbled. He patted Oh-Two’s roof once more before traipsing back down onto the footplate, and, despite the most recent blows to his pride, Oh-Two found himself smiling fully.

He liked the feeling of being allies, even if he supposed it were all in jest.

They did get their signal, though the happy sense of being lost in the journey had dissipated, and indeed Edward had not yet gotten fully back up to speed before they were diverted yet again, at the very next station.

A large tender engine was at the platform with three coaches, yawning and idly hissing weak steam. His driver was fussing at him, but he may as well have been speaking to a nonliving machine, for all the notice his engine took.

That there was some bother about the bucolic little station was obvious. Railway staff seemed to be scrambling to entertain and pacify bored, wealthy tourists who were milling about, looking hungry, and starting to hopelessly wander from the platform for walks into the village.

“Edward, dear chap,” the engine murmured, hazily. He bore by far the most austere livery Oh-Two had seen all that day: black with white lining, with silver accents centered heavily on his valve gear, side rods, and tyres. Altogether, the effect was to draw attention to his unusual 2-6-2 wheel arrangement. “Fancy seeing you down this way. Brilliant timing, you clever old thing. I’m just about out of puff.”

“I’m bound the other direction, Bartholomew.”

There was a warning in Edward’s voice. The engine called Bartholomew did not take the slightest notice.

“What’s the problem? You’ll be lucky if they do hand off my train to you. Pleasant job, this.” He yawned again. “If, I concede, a bit dull.”

“Plenty of work to be done, over my way.”

Bartholomew gave a weak, gentle snort. “If it’s work you’re looking for, there should be as much as you want of it here. Why go rushing about? Grow where you are planted, dear Edward… grow where you are planted.”

“Some of us are engines,” said Edward, with an excessive and sarcastic patience, “and not trees.”

“Why, so you are!” Bartholomew sighed, with a happy simmer, as his already uninterested steam died down further still. “But you run about too much, my friend. You’ll do yourself a mischief one of these days. A fine sight it would be, if you took it easy for a spell.”

“The rest of us would all take it a bit easier,” said Edward, warily eying the stationmaster and the crews, who were in deep and animated conference, “if we didn’t have to pick up the slack for you.”

Bartholomew gave a smile slightly less vague than his other efforts. “If it meant you took a nice afternoon nap for a change, I might even be induced to make a delivery or two.”

“Charmed. But I’m having a very nice little run right now, so be on your way and let us be.”

Bartholomew showed not the slightest curiosity about who “us” referred to.

Unfortunately, stationmaster seemed to have the same idea as Bartholomew. As the engines fell into an awkward silence (huffy on Edward’s part, and sublimely untroubled on Bartholomew’s), they could all overhear the debate being shouted across the tracks.

It seemed Bartholomew would need a long delay before they could raise his steam, and the stationmaster needed their one and only platform cleared out for the Local. Surely, it made perfect sense for Edward to turn ‘round and take the train, which was bound for Wellsworth anyway. And Control had already agreed.

Driver Sand, however, was none too resigned to his fate. “We have to get this diesel—”

“He’s a Co-Bo!” Heaver put in cheerfully. Then, “Ow.”

“—to Crovan’s Gate.”

“Is it urgent?”

“Is it urgent? His entire system’s down.”

The stationmaster gave 5702 the barest, briefest glance, then continued: “We can’t stick this lot on the Local—”

He had clearly determined that Oh-Two was irrelevant to the day’s work. And the worst part was, the diesel couldn’t disagree with him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt inconsequential to the bustle and busyness of the rails. But here, surrounded wholly by steam engines, it was perhaps the most acute such moment in his life.

“This is the special,” the stationmaster continued. “It must get priority.”

“The special?”

“Right! VIPs, all of them. It’s a charter. You know…” The stationmaster glanced all around before explaining, at a lower pitch: “The Boxford party.”

The driver groaned.

“We checked with Control!" the stationmaster went on. “You’re not timetabled until 7:05.”

“That hardly means we’re idle,” objected Sand. “Quite apart from this rescue, we’ve got goods to sort—”

“You know very well that main line passengers are going to trump branch line goods, every time.”

“—and we are assigned a train to bank at four—”

“Yeah. But you already pawned that job off for today, though, didn’t you?”

The driver sighed. It was clear he was used to getting his own way. “Look, what if we just push behind long enough to stir Bartholomew’s fire back to life?”

“If an engine is that determined to not go,” muttered Edward darkly, “there won’t be any making him. Trust me…”

Scowling, Sand gave up. They deposited 5702 and the tail of trucks onto a siding, where the diesel found himself parallel to the stranded steam engine, who was smiling vaguely, eyes heavily lidded.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, opening one eye to lazily survey the diesel. “What a sight!”

Then he closed the eye again, and went back to dozing.

Oh-Two normally didn’t mind avoiding the pitfalls of conversation. But it occurred to him that Bartholomew was on his right-hand side. His eye might well have fallen Oh-Two’s white mystery stain. The diesel wouldn't have minded finding out what another engine thought it resembled. Sometimes humans could be so baffling. He was curious to know whether there had been cause for all that fuss.

The passengers were herded back to the platform and invited to board. After navigating more switches than any engine ever cares to, Edward took Bartholomew’s place at the head of the train, and put on a brave face that lasted long enough to exchange words with anyone who approached him, gracious with greetings and complaints alike. But, as soon as the passengers had all queued to file back into the coaches, he frowned at the track ahead, hissing unhappily at the sight of the line opposite his original destination.

“Once they raise his pressure,” said the stationmaster, conciliatory, “you want Bartholomew should finish your delivery?”

Edward eyed the other steam engine with blatant dismissal. “No, thank you, sir. I prefer it done properly.”

“And a fine afternoon to you too, old chap,” smiled Bartholomew. He still appeared to have his eyes closed, basking in the sun.

“We’ll be back,” Edward called over to Oh-Two. A promise.

“I shouldn’t mind,” yawned the black engine. “Made mostly of aluminum, these buzzboxes, aren’t they? It’s not a hard lift. There’s no point in your rushing back here.”

“It’s not the engine—who has a name,” began Edward, all severity. But the effect was rather lost when Bartholomew deigned to open one eye again, blearily focusing on the diesel’s number.

“Please tell me that you aren’t referring to ‘D5702’.”

“That’s right.” Edward affected to sound mildly surprised that Bartholomew could read it.

But Bartholomew only scoffed, untroubled. “That’s not a name. That’s too many digits. You should get yourself something better,” he told Oh-Two. “Alison, perhaps, or Samantha. You are female, yes?”

Oh-Two glared. Although to humans there is no difference discernible to the eye, rolling stock can always invariably tell at a mere glance. They can’t explain how, but misgendering among their own kind is nonexistent. Well, except for trucks who might care to irritate an engine. “Are you blind?”

“Many have asked, my dear whatever—many have asked. Still, you look more’n a bit like that railcar over Elsbridge way.”

“Bartholomew, if you’re going to nap,” said Edward, who had to let off steam despite the passengers boarding his train, “then perhaps you’d better get on with it, so as to stop insulting our guest.”

“What insult? She’s the most beautiful creature ever placed upon bogies! Sight for sore eyes, that one. He’s a fine fellow, too. Despite that little hammer and sickle painted on his side.” He went on, ignoring Oh-Two’s splutter completely. “Sure and you don’t want me to take him to the Works, once I wake up? Save you a trip?”

“No,” said Edward shortly. “Nice change of pace though it is, to hear you volunteering for anything. Anyway, it’s the mineral wagons behind him that I expect would give you trouble.”

“Oh, dear me, no. I didn’t sign on for them. Owner doesn’t care for me to mess about with freight, you know.”

“We do know.” Edward sounded fatalistic. “I’ll see you in about two hours, 5702.”

“Marcus!” suggested Bartholomew, shouting over the sound of the guard’s whistle.

“No,” said the other two engines, together.

The Boxford party’s charter pulled away. As Edward and the coaches chuffed out of sight, Oh-Two found he had somehow forgotten that this was only his first day here.

Now, he remembered.

Broken down and useless in the middle of nowhere, alone save for the indifferent sleepy engine beside him, he realized his position all over again.

#wake up babe new oc just dropped #i did not get into him in my OC post #i couldn't #you don't EXPLAIN bartholomew you just have to meet him #he's a whole Experience #ex-condor through the time machine #ttte fic #ttte #the railway series #ttte boco #ttte edward #ttte oc: bartholomew #ttte other characters whom i will not be spoiling i guess you'll just have to live riskily #there will be both RWS- and TVS-only characters showing up by the end #charlie sand #sidney heaver #(we can spoil them they have stolen the show in this chapter) #long post #like #ridiculously long #sorry #not sorry to have given edward his own personal nemesis #that was unintended but fun #i did not mean to insult james's paint #i mean #i value my life #but it's fun to see everything through BoCo's very b.r. pov #'no virginia there is not a santa claus' #'we are even suspicious of. like. joy.' #jobeywrites

[fanficwritersworld]

Wild Enough

Summary: You finally show your ex who you are. Will you two get back together?

Pairing: Bart West-Allen x Frost!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings:Godspeed, mentions of gangs of the future, heartbreak, sad Bart, guns, crimes and heart attacks.

Masterlist|Prompt List

When Bart West-Allen broke up with you, you never let yourself feel that pain again. No dating, no boys. And no Bart West-Allen! You did everything to stay out of his way. You were still friends with Nora but never out in public. You needed to keep her safe.

You huffed walking into STAR Labs, gun in hand. You knew from the moment you stepped foot that Nora and Bart saw you and knew that you were pissed. No wonder the heroes didn't try to stop you as you pointed the gun at the siblings.

"Which one of you wants to tell me who brought me here before half of Central City goes up in flames!?" You asked, your voice echoing like your mother's. You had the gun aimed in between the two who look like it was a regular occurance. "Hey, put the gun down!" Frost shouted, her hands ready to fire.

"Nora! I need to be in a meeting in the next ten minutes or else Iron Heights goes'' You looked at the CSI, eyes glowing bright white. "Frost, you're in 2021. Godspeed, the guy whos been fucking up your shipments brought you here to draw Bart out" Nora explained, lowering the gun with the palm of her hand. You huffed, putting the weapon away.

Your eyes stopped glowing as you took off your mask. Bart looked at you in shock, his eyes darting between you and Nora. "(Y/N)!" He exclaimed. "What!" You exclaimed angrily. Bart only looked at you in shock. How did you end up like this?

You looked at Bart with tears in your eyes. "What... I don't understand Bart. Why are you breaking up with me? Did I do something?" You asked, utterly confused about what was happening right now.Bart only sighed, not looking you in the eye. "We don't work, I'm sorry" He said before leaving you in the halls of the highschool, crying softly.

You paced back and forth as Nora explained time travel to you. "So I won't miss my meeting?" You asked, just wanting a definite answer. "No, swear" Nora sighed. You nodded, not being able to rest. No wonder your mother looked so young, why no cop tried to arrest you when you walked the streets.

Nora noticed your painicked state. "You never told him?" She asked, fearing your answer. "He broke up with me Nora! What was I supposed to say?" You asked her. Even though Bart broke off your relationship you stayed close with your only non-criminal friend. She helped you when you got in big trouble and so did Jenna. You hated your job but when the power gap was there, you grabbed it.

Bart walked into the lounge, hands in his pockets. "Hey, sis? Can I talk with (Y/N)?" Bart asked his big sister. Nora looked at you, her eyes telling you to allow it. “Go on CSI” You waved her away, plopping on the couch.

Nora looked at you both before running out as fast as she could without alerting her parents. “So Bartholomew, what’s new with you?” You asked the boy. Bart looked at you as if you grew a head. “You’re Frostbite?” He asked, well more like assumed. You only shrugged at him.

Bart felt like he was a balloon that popped harshly. “How long?” He asked her. “Since Amunet had that heart attack” You told him, a very pissed expression on your face. Bart took a moment, recalling the event that made criminal history. His eyes widened in realisation, the words almost foegien on his tongue. “Two months after I broke up with you” He gasped softly, guilt creeping up his gut. He remembered that day, it was burned into his head. Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake he ever made. He had thought it was protecting you from the truth, from him being Impulse. But here you were, stranded in 2021 because Godspeed wanted him dead.

“I heard about Jay. I sent flowers but I could have done more” You changed the topic, subconsciously and stupidly wanting him to know you still cared. Jay Garrick was nothing but kind to you, he should never have been taken so soon. “Yeah the periwinkles. Thanks” Bart muttered, not sure what to say really. You patted his shoulder awkwardly, walking away from him.

“I miss you, (N/N). I still love you” Bart admitted before you left him alone. You halted, turning your head to see him at an angle. “Then why leave me? Was I not wild enough for you?” You asked before leaving.

You were gonna make that Zoom wanna-be pay.

Nora sighed heavily, trying to help Caitlin and Cisco find Godspeed. You think three geniuses could find one army of superspeed soldiers? Nope, they were nowhere to be found. “Try the speed cameras near downtown” (Y/N) ordered. She had her hair in a tight braid, leather jacket zipped and fingerless gloves holding two guns. “I never understood why no one turned on the speed cameras in the city to register near sonic velocities” She stated, walking over to the suitless mannequin that would hold Barry’s suit.

Her eyes glowed as she blasted the mannequin with ice, shattering it into pieces. Using her foot she made a small gap before using her powers once again till she heard a crack. “What you’re gonna shoot Godspeed?” Cisco asked, seeing the young criminal grab weird ass looking bullets from the small box in the floor he was very unaware of.

“CSI, remember when Eobard’s transfer truck got a little behind schedule?” You smirked at your friend. Nora shook her head, “Unbelievable, you kidnapped Thawne” Nora scoffed at you. You shrugged, “You won’t find proof. Anyways, I had him make these special bullets. Combined with my powers, they can negate any speedster” You explained, the cold air coming from your clenched fist around the bullets.

“(Y/N). I know that look” Nora spoke with caution. You loaded your guns, taking them off safety. You went full Frostbite, your hair going white and skin paling. “I may not be my mother. The infamous Killer Frost. But I won’t be used as a pawn to kill Bart” You spat, your voice ice cold before you stormed out of the room, leaving the trio in utter cold.

No one was going to stop you.

Bart ran after you, his heart pounding in his ears. He had to save you. He can’t lose you, not again. Not like Jay. He sped to the docks, ignoring his sister’s pleas in his ear.

You were just laying there, no longer full Frostbite. Just (Y/N) Frost, lying there on the cold, wet concrete. Bart fell to your side, cradling you in his arms. “(N/N)! Please wake up, please” Bart begged, stroking your face softly. “I hit ‘em… right in the chest Barty” You giggled half-heartedly, your eyes barely open. You had taken bad blows before, but not like this.

Bart lifted you in his arms, feeling something sticky on her waist. He knew what it was and God knows that he wouldn’t let you die. He ran so fast as he held you close to him. You felt a sudden stop, you could hear Bart call your aunt’s name but it seemed so distant when you were in his arms.

“I still love you too” You slurred before your aunt took you from Bart.

Eight hours. That’s how long Bart stayed by your side. Nora begged him to take a break, change, eat or basically anything. Her little brother stayed put, waiting for you to wake up. Nora gave him a take out bag from Big Belly Burger, grabbing a chair and sitting next to him. “I was there. When she took Amunet’s spot” Nora confused, watching the heart monitor go up and down steadily.

Bart looked back at his big sister, shocked by the information. “She begged me not to tell you. (Y/N), wanted to protect you, Just like you when you broke up with her and she came crying to me” Nora gave him a pointed look.

Bart let out a long heavy sigh. “Please don’t remind me of the biggest mistake of my life” He groaned, head in his hands. “I thought that was the science fair project from seventh grade” You voice questioned, an eyebrow lazily lifted. Bart felt a weight lift off his shoulder at the sound of your voice.

He looked at you as if you were the most beautiful person to grace the earth. “CSI, give a minute?” You asked your friend. Nora happily left you both with a small smile on her face. Bart just admired you, wishing he had his glasses so he could do so properly. “You gonna attract flies Barty” You rolled your eyes with a smirk on your face.

Bart held your hand, caressing your thumb. “I only ever wanted to protect you (N/N). I haven’t been with anyone else since us” He told you, drawing circles on the back of your palm. “Same. Nothing steers you off love than your childhood sweetheart breaking your heart” You shrugged, not moving the hand the boy held.

You looked at him, a smile on your face. “When we go home, I’m not gonna stop Barty. I am the most powerful Mob Boss in this side of the country, I can’t just give that up. My mom probably hates me, I have more charges than Thawne, Zoom, and every other villain your family has faced” You told him, tears welling in your eyes.

Bart wiped your tears away. “I know that you haven’t killed, that any money you’ve made goes to charities to help meta kids and families. You haven’t done any evil (N/N), that’s what I love about you. You care more than anyone I know” Bart confessed. “You really want to give us another shot? What if we clash both in and out of the masks we wear?” You asked him, your brain saying one thing and your heart saying the other.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take” Bart said before capturing your lips in a kiss. It was like heaven on earth as the sparks erupted inside of her. Once they parted, you gave him a playful glare.

“Impulsive much?”

#bart west allen #bart west-allen x reader #bart west-allen x frost!reader #killer frost #caitlin snow #the flash season 7 #bart west-allen imagine #nora west allen #godspeed #spotify #Spotify

[hopeaterart]

RWBY HPTR AU: Teacher reunion

Context for the AU for those who don't know: Incredibly self-indulgent. I like doing world-building through it. This one is pretty benign, and could probably fit into canon. Context for this scene: feeling humiliated about being saved by the guy he’s been bullying, Cardin told a teacher about Jaune’s falsified papers. The teacher then calls a staff meeting about it. Basically a prequel to this (which I've revised since I wrote this in the early days of my AU, before I solidified everything.)

TW for: Mentions of fantastic racism (against Faunus) due to Cardin coming up.

Maja Peach walked into the teacher's lounge, nervously twiddling with her fingers. How was she supposed to bring that up? What would Ozpin think? Maybe she could... tell him about it after? No, that wouldn't be fair to the other teachers to not know. Especially since she had been the one to call this meeting. She looked around the room as she picked up the watering pot, going around and watering the plants.

Glynda Goodwitch was revising a stack of papers at her seat.

Peter Port was regaling one of his tales to Aura Lycoris, who seemed to actually be listening as she sleepily nodded along.

Bartholomew Oobleck was next to the coffee machine, chatting with Ozpin himself as the principal added a dry mix to wet ingredients.

Ann Greene and Harold Mulberry talking about ways they could have a joint class this year.

Citrine Liseran in their own world, either grading papers or doing some kind of art as loud rock music blared from their headphones.

"Ah, professor Peach! Just in time for the meeting." Ozpin greeted her, the woman nodding in greeting as she watered a plan near the window. "How was the excursion in the Everfall forest? Glynda told me there was trouble with an Ursa?"

"Oh, don't worry about it sir." Peach reassured him. "... Jaune Arc took care of it." And that was where the problem lied, wasn't it? The boy with faked transcripts had proven himself worthy to be here.

Ozpin nodded at her with a smile. "Alright everyone, take a seat! Glynda, can you take the reins while I finish with this?" He asked, gesturing to the dough he was mixing.

"Of course. So, Peach called a meeting today for... a reason that she refused to disclose." Glynda explained, the red-headed woman taking a deep breath at that. "Maja? If you will."

"Right." She sat down at her seat as everyone else followed. "You all know the first year Jaune Arc, right?"

"Ah, yes!" Port explained. "Brilliant student! Very talented at coming up with strategies."

"I'm afraid your experiences are not universal!" Oobleck exclaimed. "He sleeps often in my class, and does close to no efforts to catch up on himself! His only saving grace is that he does the work he's asked to do."

"I'll have to agree with Bartholomew on this one." Glynda admitted, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "The poor boy has a lot of dedication, but that stops there. The awareness of his Aura is sub-par at best, and his fighting skills are far too underdeveloped for what his transcripts said."

Before Peach could follow up on that, however... "That's because the both of you are completely unforgiving when it comes to academics." Ann Greene noted. "He's not doing too well in the 'Stealth' part of my class, but he more than makes up for it with the 'Security' part. Big heart and pretty good at coming up with strategies, but almost completely useless when it comes to being aggressive. Could be a problem in the future. What do you think, Harold?"

Mulberry shrugged. "I've had worse students. He's clumsy with his weapons and is afraid of experimenting with them, but he puts in the work to maintain them, at least. I think it has something to do with that sword and the shield that comes with it being his ancestor's, or something."

Liseran frowned at that. "Nice boy, I'll agree, but he bases too much of his identity on what his ancestors were. He needs to find his own calling, his own sense of self and the security that comes with that, before he can be a proper Huntsman."

Lycoris blinked. "I- I'm confused. Are we just giving our opinions on a random student now?... also, who is Jaune Arc again?"

"Blond hair, blue eyes, wields a sword and a shield, doesn't have a landing strategy, the leader of team JNPR?" Ozpin pipped up as he poured his batter into a mold. He sighed when more silence answered him. "The team with Pyrrha Nikos in it?"

"Oh! Right." A beat. "Why are we talking about him? Out of everyone in his team, he's the most unremarkable. Did he break a rule, or something?"

Peach took a deep breath. "A student came up to me after the incident in the Everfall forest, and told me his transcripts were faked."

Silence reigned in the staff room, the only sound being Ozpin putting his pastry into the oven and setting a timer. Normally, that kind of claim would gather more scrutiny. But as everyone added up what they've just discussed about... "Well, shit." Mulberry finally said.

"Seems pretty obvious to me what we're supposed to do: expel the Arc kid, and whoever sold him out." Lycoris declared, Port turning toward her with an outraged expression.

"Excuse me?"

"Arc is gonna get himself killed if he stays there, and there's an old Vacuan proverb called 'snitches get stitches'. That kid sold out a fellow classmate, and Huntsmen are supposed to be able to trust one another to not screw each other over?" She asked, one of her eyes rising up like an eyebrow.

Port's mustache bristled. "Why I oughta-! Jaune Arc is one of the smartest students I've ever had, with plenty of room to improve himself! Throwing him out now would do a disservice to his future potential!"

"Arc's future potential-? What about that other student?" Greene brought up. "That kid probably wasn't trying to screw him over, but get him out of here before things got real! Being a Hunter of Grimm is a dangerous job, and students dying on training missions isn't unheard of. We literally have a mortality rate!"

"Everyone, calm down!" Glynda exclaimed, before turning toward Ozpin as the principal finally sat down at the head of the table. "Sir? Do you have a verdict?"

"... I want to hear more for now." Ozpin declared as he looked around the table. The look of pensiveness on Liseran's face caught his attention. "Citrine? What are you thoughts?"

The Artistic Expression professor turned toward his superior, before sighing and turning toward Peach. "The student who told you about Arc's transcripts. Who were they?"

Peach blinked. She hadn't thought of that, and now she thought of it... it was a possibility that could get Arc off-the-hook. She sighed wearily, frowning "Cardin Winchester."

The staff minus Ozpin and Peach- who was already in a bad mood from delivering the news anyway- unanimously erupted into groans of frustration, either throwing themselves back on their chair or burying their faces in their hands. "Forget what I said about him having Arc's best interest at heart." Greene hissed out from behind her hands. "Lycoris was right. He's trying to screw him over."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow at that. "I guess he's a problematic student?"

"'Problematic' is putting it kindly!" Liseran angrily declared. "There is a difference between a student trying their best and simply not getting it, and a student actively making the class worse for everyone, and Winchester falls squarely in the second category!"

"And that's not getting into how he's not only a prejudiced little twat, but proud of it!" Oobleck continued, having outright jumped out of his chair in outrage. "He once made a comment about how Faunus were 'easier to train' while I was teaching about the Faunus War! To my face!" He then gestured vaguely at his head, either for emphasis or to show off the subtle feathers in his hair.

"Can second those 'makes class worse for everyone' and 'racist little twat' remarks." Lycoris added, voice muffled from where she hid her face in her arms. "Also, I'm pretty sure he just likes bullying people."

"Definitely heard him talk finding ways to make his mace hurt more." Mulberry confirmed, rising up from where he had slammed his head. "Grimm don't feel pain like we do. He just wants an excuse to make training hurt more for his opponents."

Ozpin slowly nodded as he listened to his staff complain about Winchester. "Alright, everyone. I think I've heard enough." He started, getting up from his chair. "For starters: I don't think Jaune Arc deserves to be expelled." He rose a hand up to stop anyone from complaining before he could finish. "For starters: he passed the Initiation. That is the only real requirement to be here. The inscription papers are merely for us to limit the people trying to sign up for the wrong reasons. His heart is in the right place, he's working hard to catch up on what he needs, his learning curve in at least the theory is impressive, and miss Nikos needs someone who's not constantly blinded by her reputation."

"You also don't want to have to deal with the backlash that would come with a student being revealed to have faked his transcripts and them getting past you, don't you?" Glynda asked, unimpressed.

Ozpin laughed. "I do believe the one who is supposed to review those transcripts is you, Glynda. If our friends find out about this, you're coming down with me. Anyway, I'll have a talk with mister Arc tomorrow, about his transcripts, figure out whether they're real or not." He declared. "Do any of you have a class you feel he could safely skip upon?"

Aura raised her hand. "I have Study Hall with the first years tomorrow. Period right before lunch."

"Perfect! I'll talk to him then." Ozpin said. "Anything else before I dismiss this meeting?"

"What about Winchester?" Port asked, pulling slight groans from everyone else.

"Double down on the discipline, whatever you think is appropriate. As long as you don't get violent with him, I don't care." Ozpin declared, getting up just as the oven started beeping. "Meeting dismissed."

#writing #my writing #rwby #rwby au #hptr au #rwby fanfiction #rwby peach #rwby glynda #glynda goodwitch #peter port #rwby port #bartholomew oobleck #rwby oobleck #ann greene #rwby greene #harold mulberry #rwby mulberry #rwby oc #oc #my oc #rwby beacon teachers #ozpin #professor ozpin #rwby ozpin

[jessicaroffe]

You know when you have an idea of ​​nothing and you share it with your friend and she tells you that the idea is very interesting? my friend and I had an idea of ​​what a crossover between Sherlolly and Good Omens would be like. We are still working on the chapters but I brought you something to get an idea of ​​what it would be.

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

Between Heaven and Hell

1.

He placed the book in its respective space on the library shelf, sighed in satisfaction as he admired the shelf and saw it well organized, he was proud of his work and one of his greatest treasures; he heard the bell at the entrance of the establishment ring, walked to the free space he had at the entrance of the library seeing Miguel and Gabriel standing like real dizzy cockroaches, Aziraphale felt sorry for his brothers when they walked on Earth, as they did not know about human customs they knew how to behave and when they "tried" to deceive mortals it was very weird.

Gabriel spoke up -We came to deliver a .....

-Fanfic! -Michael added.

-Exactly, fanfic.

Everyone present at the place looked at the two as if they had mental problems, Aziraphale looked around in embarrassment.

-P-please come with me. - went to a reserved area of ​​the place, when Aziraphale confirmed that there would be no one around Gabriel started.

–We received reliable information that the incarnation of Eve and Adam are here in the city.

Such information surprised the angel, Eve and Adam were their first mission on Earth after they left and never heard from him again, the news was really unexpected.

-That ... it's ... it's good ... isn't it?

-Go if they come to the light side. -Miguel replied with pride talking about heaven.

-It was just that? -Aziraphale asked hopefully.

–Aziraphale, you as a good child of God must know that just as the actions of Adam and Eve had an effect in the past, they can have an effect again now, perhaps more drastically than before, there is a prophecy that says that if Eve is not influenced by correctly, chaos on Earth can occur and only the love of your life, Adam, can save you. –Gabriel added.

At that moment Aziraphale was already wondering why Gabriel and Miguel were telling him that, he was going to have to do something, he sure would.

-You have been here on Earth for a long time and have always been efficient in your work, we will give you the mission of making the two stay together, so that chaos does not occur, we had to take such measures, because the opposite side decided to act and interfere with the natural line of events and sent a demon to do the job. –Miguel explained.

-So I will be a cupid?

–What is a cupid? -Gabriel asked.

-Nothing, forget it.

–Anyway. -Gabriel snapped his fingers and a folder appeared in his hand. -We found out the whereabouts of the two and they are here in London, another reason why it was you, their names are Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes, all the details of them will be here.

Gabriel handed the folder to Aziraphale, before leaving the folder in full possession of the angel he warned him.

-We trust you Aziraphale. -The angel swallowed, a little terrified by the subtended threat, he knew that this mission was not just any one, peace on Earth depended on him which worried him, because if the punishments failed, they would be severe.

Gabriel and Miguel left the room and the first one shouted.

–Thanks for my fanfics!

Aziraphale leaned against a table he had there to process the information, what did he get into? He soon remembered that he would be fighting with a demon who would be there to disrupt his plans, he took a deep breath.

-I just hope that the demon is not Crowley.

_______________________

Molly promised herself that she would get back on top with her passion for Sherlock, she would move on and meet other people, she was never a woman to have many dates, she also didn't want to appeal to modern relationship apps, so she thought an agency that held meetings in the dark, made the registration by email, made its due demands regarding the person who would have the meeting, the man could be a little older, nothing more than five years older than her, who had a good musical taste, a good conversation, and was red, yes, red! Molly had even thought that the best way to forget someone who doesn't return their affection for her would be to cut off any resemblance to the next one, no dark brown hair then.

On the day of the meeting he left the office at Bart's and went straight home, he wanted to have at least a few extra hours to get ready calmly, this was his first date after he broke up with Tom, which in the case had been two years since do not go out with someone, I was not nervous, it was something different, perhaps an anxiety, I hoped that those who knew today could give you a thread of hope.

She chose a red skirt and a white blouse with cherries as prints, as it was summer in London, she didn’t need a coat or something, she did light makeup and styled her hair with a braid on the side of her head and her inseparable ponytail, picked up her bag and headed for the meeting place. On the way he wondered if it was the right thing to do, had he not given up on Sherlock more easily? He had already demonstrated a few times that he cared about his feelings, but she couldn't wait for miracles to come from him, there were times when she asked God to send her concrete signs that what she felt for him will one day be reciprocated “maybe not this time. life. ”, the chestnut thought a little discouraged.

Upon arriving at the restaurant where the meeting would take place, he introduced himself and asked the attendant if the person who booked the table with her had already arrived, as the establishment was a partner of the agency, all the attendants were already used to the routine of the place, he led to the round wooden table with a U-shaped sofa where an apparently tall red-haired man with dark glasses (who covered the entire side view not showing any crack in his eyes) then he saw Molly's presence and soon stood up .

"Hello!" Said Crowley excitedly. "You owe me company tonight," he finished by kissing Molly's hands.

- Hello, - he said a little embarrassed. - I'm Molly Hopper and you are?

- Anthony J. Crowley, at your service.

While talking Molly found Crowley very interesting, enigmatic with those sunglasses (which she really didn't know why he was wearing this time of night, would remind me to ask him later), funny, talking about things as interesting as if had lived thousands of years.

- So Molly, what do you do with your life?

- I'm a pathologist at St Bartholomew's Hospital.

- Wow. It must be a difficult job.- he said smiling.

- Until not, the dead are not the problem, the living that appear there wanting information or sometimes clues. Molly said and took a sip of the wine in her glass.

- And this guy would be a coworker or ex boyfriend ?!

Molly laughed at Crowley's questioning and shook her head.

- No, no, let's say he's more like a co-worker than anything else.

Well, if I can say something, he's an idiot. He doesn't really know what he's missing. ”Crowley smiled seductively and Molly bit her bottom lip and let a red appear on her face.“ I don't know about you, but here's boredom, come on.

Crowley got up leaving the money on the table, Moly was confused by his sudden action, but decided to follow him.

-Where are we going? Hooper questioned.

-You must spend a lot of time inside a morgue that doesn't do any good to anyone, let's have fun, do you dance?

"I'm not much of a thing," Molly said sincerely and found it too crazy for a first date in the dark.

- No problem. I'll teach you. Come on.- the redhead held out his hand to Molly who accepted.

Outside Crowley, he made his way to his car. Molly was feeling like a real adventure, a mixture of fear and excitement was running through her blood, she barely knew the guy next to her and they were already going to a nightclub, what if he were to traffic her? Or drug her and leave her on the street? "Stop paranoia Molly" Molly scolded herself in thought.

- So, how do we go to this nightclub you talked about?

 

- Let's go in my car. - The taller looked at Molly, at that moment curiosity hit her, she imagined what such a car would be like an ordinary car like all the others, but when Crowley approached a Bentley Molly she couldn't help but show surprise! - Then? What did you think? - is leaned against the car.

- He's very, very different.

- Is this different good or bad?

- It's a very good different. I never rode such a model.

- Feel free, miss. Crowley opened the door and pointed into the car like a real gentleman.

-Thanks.

As soon as he closed the passenger door he went around and got into the driver's side.

“So where's this club at?” Asked Molly.

- Stay in Soho, I discovered this place a few years ago.

- Hmm looks cool.

Upon arriving at the nightclub that was packed with songs from the 70s and 80s and with all the themed decor of those decades, with lights, a dance floor and everything else that was entitled to a themed nightclub.

Crowley took Molly's hand and led it to the center of the floor where he was playing “Night Fever” by

Bee Gees and making a few steps the redhead approached as if calling to join him in the roar of the music.

- Wow, I ... I like to take a few steps but I'm not much of a thing.- Molly said sincerely and found it very crazy for a first date in the dark.

- No problems! I teach you! Come on.- the redhead held out his hand for Molly to rise from the table.

Crowley insisted on paying the dinner bill and then headed out of the restaurant.

- So, how do we go to this nightclub you talked about?

 

- Let's go in my car. - The taller looked at Molly, at that moment she did not know what to expect, imagined that it would be an ordinary car like all the others, but when Crowley approached an old car model Molly can't help but show surprise! - Then?! What did you think? - is leaned against the car.

- Wow! He's very, very different.

- Is this different good or bad?

- It's a very good different. I never rode such a model.

- Feel free, miss. Crowley opened the door and pointed into the car like a real gentleman.

-Thanks.

As soon as he closed the passenger door he went around and got into the driver's side.

“So where's this club at?” Asked Molly.

- Stay in Soho, I discovered this place a few years ago.

- Hmm looks cool.

Upon arriving at the nightclub that was packed with songs from the 70s and 80s and with all the thematic decoration of those decades, with lights, a dance floor and everything else that was entitled to a themed nightclub.

Crowley took Molly's hand and led it to the center of the floor where he was playing “Night Fever” by

Bee Gees and making a few steps the redhead approached as if calling to join him in the roar of the music.

It was not possible to notice that they were being watched by a certain consultant detective who was sitting on the other side of the establishment.

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

The question now is this ... Does this fic have a future? I'm dying to know your opinion.

#Sherlock #sherlolly #molly hooper #good omens #fanfic

[annaphoenix1994]

Masterlist Here:

Clemons Point - Magicians for Sport

Gareth and Bartholomew caught their breath as they entered the manor, setting aside their shotguns as they scrambled to meet their mother for orders on what to do next. "Ma! Come out, they're gone now!" Gareth panted.

Catherine was escorted by one of her newly paid guards to the entrance of the manor, "Who in the hell was that?" She hissed.

"I-I don't know, ma, but we'll find out!" Bartholomew promised.

"Good. You find out just who they are and what their intentions are," She demanded, her hands on her hips. "If it's the same band of men who took our dear Jim from us, justice will be done on them here; find out."

Her last two sons nodded, "Sure, momma. We're gonna go and get with Charlie and Tom and see if they can help." Gareth explained, referring to the two on-site scouting guards that stayed in a shack just aside the main cornfield.

"Be sure to tell them there's an extra hundred bucks if they find them and bring them to me alive," Catherine added. "We need those horses!"

"Yes ma'am." Gareth nodded, clutching his hat in his hands as he tapped his brother's chest, gesturing him to follow back outside to their frothing and out-of-breath horses.

The brothers loped along the red trail to the shack, seeing Charlie and Tom enjoying their afternoon break, smoking a cigar as it was known that they were accurate bounty hunters through the state of Lemoyne. "Gentlemen!" Charlie waved as he took a new puff of his cigar. "The action from earlier bring you here?" He chuckled.

"Actually, yeah," Bartholomew sighed as he dismounted his horse along with Gareth, the pair walking up to the shack. "Ma wants us to find out exactly who it was and what they're doin' here."

Tom nodded as he listened, "They get away with the horses? We heard all the commotion but we figured you all had it."

"You know these boys ain't good shots!" Charlie teased.

Gareth rolled his eyes, "Yes, they got away with all three of our stallions..."

"They probably took 'em to Clay and Clive down in Clemons Cove," Tom suggested. "Them boys buy and sell horses throughout the state."

Bartholomew raised his brow, "You boys care to ride out there and see what you can find out? Ma said there's an extra hundred bucks if you do..."

Charlie and Tom looked at each other before Tom nodded and stood up from his chair, walking back into the shack briefly before coming back out with two shotguns - one for him and one for Charlie. "Will do, son. Send a couple of the new guys up here to guard the shack while we're gone. I can guarantee we'll have someone by the end of the day." Tom promised.

"Thank you," Gareth nodded, pulling out a bundle of folding money and handing it to him. "The rest will come after. When you catch 'em, justice will be done here and we want you to do it."

"Agreed," Tom nodded as he took the money, splitting it between him and Charlie before putting his take in his pocket as he clutched his cigar between his lips. "C'mon, old man, we got work to do."

───※ ·❆· ※───

The bounty hunters rode to Clemons Cove, seeing an empty pasture with a lone man sitting on the stone wall, his nose buried in a book. Tom squinted as he looked through his binoculars, matching his remembered description of Clay Davies.

"Mister Davies?" Charlie announced as he and Tom rode closer to their suspect.

Clay's brows rose as he looked irritated that he had been disturbed yet again while in the middle of a fond chapter in his new book written by Evelyn Miller. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" He asked.

"We got word of an incident that happened a few hours ago. Somethin' about some horses bein' stolen from a family 'round here?" Charlie said as he leaned forward in his saddle, resting his forearm on the saddle horn.

"Sound familiar," Clay scoffed. "What's it to ya?"

"They were stolen, boy. We need to know where they went and who brought 'em to ya." Tom intervened.

"I took in three horses earlier, but I didn't know they were stolen..." Clay replied.

"Sure ya didn't," Tom scoffed. "Where are they?"

"Look, I buy and sell for a living. Three fellers brought 'em to me, I offered 'em a deal and they took it," Clay shrugged. "As for the horse's whereabouts, my brother Clive done took them to Rhodes to be put on the train to Saint Denis for auction. All is fair, Mister."

"Who were the fellers who sold 'em to ya?" Charlie asked.

"Some Mexican, a scarface fella, and a grumpy bastard. Don't remember names much." Clay shrugged.

"Is that so?" Tom antagonized, pulling out a few dollars from his pocket. "Will this help?"

"Might. As I recall, the feller's names were John and Arthur. Don't remember the Mexican's name. Who knows, he looked Cuban."

Tom and Charlie nodded at each other before Tom tossed the folding money to Clay, "Thank you for your time, Mister. Good day."

"Good day to you too, gentlemen! Oh, by the way, after I bought the horses, all three of 'em rode into the woods over there. By what I can remember, there's a clearin' back through there and maybe, just maybe, that's where they're camped. I could tell by the smell of one of 'em that he stayed outside."

"Thank you," Tom nodded as he and Charlie nudged their horses into a walk back towards the main road. "So, we should split up. I'll get a boat and go down the lake to see if I can spot anythin' towards that clearin' and you go into town and see what kind of stones you can turn up. Meet at the saloon in town after dark."

"Alright," Charlie nodded. "Be careful."

Tom chuckled, "I don't need to watch my back when a low-life band of outlaws are about."

"Whatever you say, friend. I'll see you soon"

───※ ·❆· ※───

Tom rowed the small boat a few hundred feet from the shoreline, rowing south in the direction of the apparent clearing close to Clemons Cove. He had hidden his shotgun by placing it on the floor of the boat and displaying a fishing rod as he did his best to make it look like he was just a lone fellow out on the lake in the afternoon to catch a fish. He spent a few minutes rowing as he looked to his right, seeing a slew of tents and people as his suspicion was now confirmed that there was life at Clemons Point, but for all he knew, it was just a group of gypsies. He stood up in the boat, retrieving his fishing rod as he turned his back towards the camp, successful at fooling the curious pair of eyes looking at him from the dock. 'She don't know who I am...She don't know who I am...' He hummed to himself as he was confident of his plan.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Charlie took a sip from his canteen as he walked the red dust streets of Rhodes, looking around for any signs of suspicious activity, wondering where to start first in his search for the Braithwaite horses as well as signs of foul play. "Ole Davies said that his brother took the horses into town to put them on the train towards Saint Denis..." He mumbled to himself as he started in the direction towards the train station to start his investigation. He adjusted his hat as he walked in, the building smelling of fresh paper and ink. He looked around to see two men waiting patiently for their next train, but couldn't help but eavesdrop on the sing-song British voice talking to the only clerk available in the station.

"Hold on for just one moment, Josiah," The clerk said as he made eye contact with Charlie. "How can I help you?"

"Yes, are there any tickets available to Saint Denis?" Charlie asked as he had always been good at coming up with a lie on the spot.

"There are, sir, but the train to Saint Denis already left a few hours ago. It's due back in town by noon tomorrow." Alden frowned.

Charlie nodded, "Okay. I'll just come back tomorrow. You mind if I rest here a spell?"

"Sure, not a problem! Here's a newspaper that's just been released for your troubles." Alden replied as he slipped Charlie a fresh newspaper that had just been printed in the past twenty-four hours.

"Thank you." Charlie nodded as he walked towards the empty bench closest to where he and the suspiciously dressed man stood, fully available to eavesdrop as to the two men, he looked like less than a threat.

"My apologies, Josiah," Alden apologized, his tone now low as it was the first clue that he and his friend were acting on suspicious behavior.

"Not a problem, dear boy." Josiah replied.

"How did your duty go the other day? I haven't seen you in town to ask!" Alden asked, his high-pitched southern tone making Charlie smirk as it was entertaining to hear as he read the newspaper.

"It went well, Alden. I quite fancy jobs like that from time to time!" Josiah complimented.

"I'm glad to hear that! I haven't heard anything in a couple of days about new opportunities, but I'll be sure to let you know! Who was your friend that was with you the other day?"

"Arthur." Josiah answered.

"Ah, yes, Arthur. Forgive me as I'm terrible with names." Alden chuckled.

"Not an issue, dear friend!" Josiah assured. "Discouraged men!" He joked.

"Right," Alden laughed. "I may have something come up in a few days. That is, if you're still in town?"

"Yes, I should be. I'm renting a caravan just outside of town," Josiah nodded. "However, I'm more into the bookworm work unlike my friend, who's more into the novice gunslinging!" He chuckled.

Charlie looked at the suspicious man as he took in his description: black, swept-back hair, a well-groomed mustache, a detailed suitor's cane, and a tailored three-piece suit. 'He definitely ain't a resident of Rhodes...' He thought to himself.

"Well, it was nice to see you, Alden. I shall see you around from time to time?"

"Adieu, Josiah!" Alden chuckled as he had sounded to catch on to one of the fancied man's phrases. "Good day!"

Charlie kept the man in his peripheral vision as he left the train station, his cane in his palm as he looked to be a resident of New York or Chicago. "I got ya now, you bastard." He said to himself as he had a detailed plan for his future action.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Charlie looked at his pocket watch as dusk was soon approaching. With a long puff of his cigarette, he waited patiently in the Parlor House for his partner, looking around at the working girls as he sipped his whiskey while his cigarette was pinned between his first and middle finger as he looked at the bounty poster of Jim Braithwaite that had been turned back in from another bounty hunter or local who wanted extra cash, remembering at how he scoffed when a young man sitting in the sheriff's office told him that "Minnie Barlow brought him."

"Figured you'd been sippin' away your sorrows here." He heard Tom tease as he finally made it back to town, his face looking a bit sunburnt to add.

"Did you decide to go and get a suntan like the women in California?" Charlie chuckled, referring to Tom's sunburnt face.

"No," Tom scoffed. "I was on the lake for God knows! But I did get some information..." He trailed off as he sat down in front of Charlie at the small table.

"And what's that?"

"There is a group of people livin' up in that clearing next to Clemons Cove-"

"It's called Clemons Point I do believe." Charlie corrected.

"Anyway, there's a bunch of people that are livin' up there. Lots of tents and wagons, lots of women and men and I only saw one child and a dog," Tom explained. "I couldn't tell if they were outlaws or gypsies."

"Only one way to find out..."

"I ain't playin' drunk again." Tom scoffed.

"No, not this time at least. I was at the train station tryin' to get details on where the horses went. Well, they were shipped to Saint Denis, but there was a fancy lookin' feller in there talkin' to the clerk. The clerk himself mentioned one of this guy's "friends" who had the same name of one of them who sold the horses to Mister Davies." Charlie explained.

"You think this fancy feller is runnin' with the thieves who stole the horses?"

"Possibly. He mentioned he was rentin' a caravan just outside of town. I reckon if we get him somehow, we can get him to talk."

"I don't think we can just waltz in there and take him without a warrant..." Tom added.

"Who said we needed a warrant?" Charlie smirked as he offered his friend a shot of whiskey.

"We're gonna get ourselves killed because of you!" Tom laughed as he took the offer.

───※ ·❆· ※───

"What's wrong, darlin'?" Arthur asked Minnie as he came up behind her as she was standing on the dock in camp.

"Nothin'," She shrugged. "Just weird how that guy was in that boat for a while in the same spot..."

Arthur tilted his head as he suspected her to be the type to worry over everything. Stepping closer behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her neck. "I believe they call that fishin'," He chuckled as he placed another kiss on the back of her neck. "You worry too much."

"That may be so, but I don't wanna call a bluff." She shrugged, feeling his lips curl into a smirk.

"Stop worryin', it don't look good on you."

"I hope you're right." She frowned.

"Someone's gotta be." He teased.

"Shut up," She giggled as she turned around in his arms to face him. "You need to shave." She teased as she tugged at his chin with her index finger and thumb.

"So now you're directin' me, huh woman?" He smirked.

"More like advising," She corrected. "And a haircut!"

"Whatever you say," He nodded as he leaned in to kiss her, surprised that she let him as he knew she wasn't fond of kissing him with thick stubble. "I'll go an' shave. I'm overdue anyway." He assured her.

"I was just teasin'." She scoffed.

He nodded, "I know. I'm gonna go get some stew. You want some?"

"Sure." She replied.

"Don't be suspicious of every boat you see now..." He teased. "I'll be back and we can eat dinner right here. It's peaceful tonight."

"It sure is." She smiled as she took a seat on the dock, looking out at the "Golden Hour" of Clemons Point, wondering how much more peaceful it would be if a cabin and a barn were to be in the clearing instead of a bunch of tents, having her morning coffee standing on the dock.

"Arthur! Arthur!" Dutch said as he watched Arthur strut past his tent towards Pearson's fresh pot of stew.

He sighed as he knew Dutch wasn't calling his name for a quick catch-up, "What now? You sweatin' yet?"

"Of course I'm sweating! We're in some disease-ridden, swampy, dixie-whistlin' shithole!"

Arthur chuckled, "I meant about what Trelawny said, about these bounty hunters? Said that they were all over the place in this state when we first got here..."

"Not sweating as such, but maybe a little gentle perspiration. Until we know more, ain't too much harm wasting good liquor on sweating."

"So?" Arthur shrugged.

"So, I think you should pay Mister Trelawny a visit and find out exactly what he knows and who he spoke to. Take Charles with you. Oh, the sight of the pair of you would make a statue sing out its secrets."

"Okay..." Arthur sighed as his evening plans of dinner with Minnie were postponed. He sighed as he turned around to walk back in her direction to let her know what was going to happen, his heart swelling at having to tell her arrangements were paused. "I gotta go speak to Trelawny..." He frowned.

She looked up at him as she was seated on the dock, clear that she had been waiting on him to return with their dinner, "What?" She asked, confused.

"Dutch wants me and Charles to go speak to Trelawny and see what he knows since it's been a few days." He explained.

"Want me to go with you?" She offered.

"Nah, he wants me and Charles to go. We're just goin' to talk to him, nothin' too exciting."

She chuckled, "Okay. Be safe."

"I'll try my best," He replied. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"C'mere," He said as he held out his hand, helping her stand to her feet so that he could plant a kiss to her lips as he felt he needed her touch to get through any battle he was about to go to.

"Come back to me." She whispered against his lips.

"Yes ma'am," He replied before pecking her lips again, flashing her a smile before he walked away to find Charles, not surprised to be seeing him sharpening a stick out of pure boredom. "Charles, I need you for some business in town. Come on?"

"Okay," Charles nodded. "I was waiting on an opportunity to get out of camp to land in my lap!" He chuckled as he and Arthur walked towards their horses. "Where are we going?"

"Dutch wants us to have a... Talk with Trelawny. About these bounty hunters who are apparently coming for us, hoping he can tell us who they are or where they're coming from."

"Okay, and you're deputies now?"

"Somethin' like that," Arthur snickered. "Soon as we laid eyes on that fool of a sheriff who runs that town, I knew Dutch was gonna play him like a fiddle!"

"On the run from one bunch of lawmen, working for another... Interesting."

"Hidin' in plain sight" Dutch calls it!" Arthur chuckled.

"Hmm... So, spirits seem good. In the new camp, I mean."

"We got some space between us and that mess now. Ain't seen no more Pinkertons in a while. There's these bounty hunters of course, but Dutch don't seem too worried about it."

"Can't believe they're still coming after us," Charles sighed. "We didn't even get away with the money!"

"Yeah, but they don't know that!"

"Of course. Trelawny. I've only met him a couple of times, but he's... He's a strange one."

"Fear not. He's just a cockroach in fancy britches, but he gets into nooks and crannies the rest of us can't. We just need to find him before he scurries off again."

The pair reached Rhodes before cantering past the main sign towards the outskirts where the caravans were located. They weren't sure which caravan was Trelawny's but figured with a couple of questions to the locals, it wouldn't be too hard to find. "Reckon it's that one with the fire outside," Arthur nodded to Charles after he had asked a local. He looked down at the floorboards after ascending the steps, nudging a loose article of clothing to the side with his boot. "This place is too quiet belonging to Trelawny." Arthur commented.

"Agreed," Charles said as he walked closely behind Arthur. "Someone got here first."

"So it seems," Arthur grumbled as he had let himself become agitated. He and Charles looked around the caravan, spotting major signs of commotion by seeing random items slung out of their location, an unmade bed, uneaten food, and personal belongings that would have gone with Trelawny if he would have left.

"By the looks of things, it wasn't a social call." Charles said.

"There's some blood here... That ain't good..." Arthur said as he met up with Charles towards the back exit door of the caravan.

"Look here," Charles stated as he pointed to the red dirt. "Fresh horse tracks."

Arthur nodded as he kneeled down, tracing the horseshoe print with his finger, "This looks like a small horse, like a Walker or a Morgan. Trelawny's horse is an Appaloosa – lot bigger..." He continued.

"There's another set of tracks over here. Looks like the same type of horse." Charles said as he pointed to the other set of prints.

"Let's go." Arthur said as he walked quickly towards Dahlia, mounting her and looking down at the dirt, thankful that it hadn't rained in a while as the red dirt held an almost crystal-clear image of the horseshoe prints.

"How's your tracking these days?" Charles asked.

"Alright, I guess." Arthur shrugged.

"Well, lead the way then!" Charles encouraged.

"Alright. Looks like they went down the path this way," Arthur pointed. "Down towards camp a bit."

He kept Dahlia's pace at a short-strided trot as he tried to concentrate on the tracks, aggravated that he was getting older and his eyesight was not the best when it came to focusing at a short distance. "They go off this way, towards the woods." He said without looking up.

"There's a small camp there." Charles said in a low tone, getting Arthur's attention.

Bounty hunters.

"Let's go see what those fellers have to say... Keep it cool," Arthur mumbled as he and Charles dismounted their horses, walking up to the two men confidently, hiding the notorious fact that they were outlaws wanted in three states. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah?" The man retorted, giving Arthur enough time to look around, seeing two smaller-framed horses tied to the trees next to the camp.

"Have you seen... We're uh... We're lookin' for our friend." Arthur explained.

"I don't think he's here..."

Arthur smirked, chuckling in disbelief, "Nah, you seen a strange sort of feller... Sort of formal?"

"Strange, sure," The man shrugged. "Formal, no."

"He uses a cane, looks a lot like this one," Charles added as he bent down to pick up Trelawny's cane.

"Alright, you two, where the hell is he?" Arthur demanded.

"You both better get outta here!" The other man said as he shoved Charles, which was a bad idea on his part. Arthur quickly took action in handling the other man, who delivered a hard punch to Arthur's cheek, infuriating him even more as he grabbed the man's collar before hitting him in his temple, sending his temporarily stunned body to the dirt before Arthur rushed to help Charles as a weapon was drawn.

With his jaw dropped, Arthur watched as Charles quickly regained control over the brawl, flipping the man onto his back as the heel of Charles' boot was pinned against his throat. "Now you stay there!"

"Where is Trelawny?" Arthur questioned as Charles moved out of his way so that Arthur could stand over him, pulling him up closer to him by his collar.

"I-I don't know anything!" He cried.

"Tell me where he is!" Arthur repeated.

"You go to hell!" He hissed.

"Last chance before I put a bullet in ya!"

"A-Alright! They took him to a cabin right by the cornfields..."

"Who's they?"

"T-Tim and Charlie Brooks... They're bounty hunters for Catherine Braithwaite!" He panted.

"Why're you bastards here?" Arthur growled.

"We were sent up here to-to keep an eye on the roads for any other activity that looks suspicious!"

Arthur nodded, infuriated that Catherine Braithwaite had a suspicion about the gang, "Alright," He said before punching the man three times, making sure he was out cold for a while. "C'mon, Charles." Arthur said, his chest puffed with pride as he and Charles walked to their horses.

"Follow me. I think there's a way around," Charles said. "...So we don't have to go through the Braithwaite's place."

"Yes," Arthur scoffed. "I've spent enough time there. Lead the way."

"You okay?" Charles asked as he took note of Arthur's worried expression. He knew as well as he did that things were about to go sour in no time.

"I'm good." Arthur grumbled.

"What do you think they want with Trelawny?"

"Could be any one of a hundred things. Just depends if any of them involve us."

"You think he'll talk?"

"Of course he'll talk. He'd sell his own sister to save a train fare! He don't know how not to talk!"

"I don't know why Dutch still deals with him," Charles scoffed. "Always disappearing for weeks on end..."

"He's got his uses and, well... Loyalty matters to Dutch."

"Of course, but is Trelawny loyal?"

"Kind of. I guess Trelawny ain't exactly disloyal, just got a big mouth. Don't worry. If he talked, I'll goddamn find out what he said." Arthur grumbled as he and Charles had ridden a bit deeper south to make a large loop around the Braithwaite's property line, making their way towards one of the many cornfields that sat on the outskirts of the property.

Cicadas chirped as dusk was approaching. A warm breeze swept across the landscape as Arthur and Charles were ecstatic for the beaming sun to be off of them. "That must be it." Arthur commented as they rode up to the supposed shack just in front of one of the main cornfields, seeing Trelawny being shoved out of the front door by two men – Tom and Charlie.

"Get out there, come on boy," Tom growled as he pushed Trelawny to the ground. By the appearance of Trelawny, he looked like he had been tortured for hours. His normally sculpted hair was ajar, his cotton undershirt was ripped, and his skin was flustered as he had taken a few hits to his cheeks and temples. "The thing is, after that shack, this will be remembered as a good time!" Tom snickered.

"Put the man down, gentlemen." Arthur warned as he and Charles aimed their pistols at them, pulling the hammer back slowly.

"Oh, shit..." They heard one of the men whisper as they looked at Arthur and Charles with a blank expression, Charlie darting off towards the cornfield first before Tom followed after a few moments.

"The lot of them?" Arthur asked as he and Charles rushed to Trelawny's side, Charles cutting the harsh ropes from his wrists.

"I think so." Charles grunted as he helped Trelawny to his feet, assisting him to the nearby rocking chair that was on the porch of the shack.

"So, you're alive." Arthur teased his friend.

"Allegedly..." Trelawny panted.

"Well, don't worry. They won't be for much longer." Arthur assured him.

"Go get them, Arthur. I can handle this." Trelawny sighed as he winced while he tried to rest in the chair. Arthur and Charles nodded as they ran towards the cornfields, doing their best to keep an eye on the two perpetrators who had escaped their warning.

"Don't let 'em get away! He could've said anything!" Arthur said to Charles before they split up to search the fields. He fought to catch his breath as he stopped abruptly, looking at the dirt for any signs of activity before the brief silence was interrupted by the crisp sound of the corn stalks rubbing against each other, confirming the activity. Arthur's eyes widened as he turned around to investigate the noise, only to be surprised by how close Tom had gotten to him before Arthur could have a good chance at shooting him, knocking him in the temple instead, watching him hit the ground before he shot him dead. "One more I reckon," Arthur breathed as he loaded another bullet into his revolver before scurrying to find the other bounty hunter.

"Arthur! You see those birds?" Charles shouted through the cornfield, hoping Arthur had a better visual than he did.

"Yea-" Arthur managed to say before a grunt escaped his lips, feeling intense pressure around his neck as the other bounty hunter managed to sneak up behind him, using a rope around his neck to stop any further movements as his grip was immaculate.

"He's mine!" Charlie warned as he pulled his gun at Charles, who had stopped dead in his tracks to act calmly as he was brewing an idea for Arthur's escape. "Let me take him... You get outta here."

"You have my friend..." Charles said.

"He's not your friend! I'll give you money!" Charlie proposed.

"Oh, be quiet!" Charles hissed as he pulled a slim throwing knife from his sheath on his belt, the knife sticking into Charlie's throat, making him numb for a few moments as his grip on the rope around Arthur's neck loosened, giving him the opportunity to regain control and turn around to push the knife deeper into his neck. "You should have taken the money." Arthur panted, rubbing his neck.

"I know, I'm a fool," Charles shrugged. "Minnie would've killed me." He chuckled.

"You and me both. She would've dug me up and killed me again just to be sure," Arthur agreed. "Shit... Thank you." He said, all jokes aside.

"Anytime." Charles said before the pair shuttered at the sound of new gunshots.

"The gunshots are coming from that barn!" Arthur pointed as he slung his repeater over his shoulder, ensuring that it was fully loaded before taking action. The men thrust through the cornfield and out into the open. Charles shooting at the sniper stationed in the hayloft while Arthur took care of the two men charging at them on horses. They looked to be reinforcements to Tom and Charlie as well as Catherine Braithwaite herself, but he had no time to think about conspiracies when he felt like he was about to be involved in a family feud massacre.

"You alright?" Arthur asked Charles after the shooting subsided, thankful that only a few guards had taken action rather than fifty.

"Yeah," Charles replied. "Never goes easy, does it?"

"Sure don't. C'mon, let's go see how badly they beat up the slippery feller."

"I wonder how much trouble he's brought with him."

Arthur snickered, "I guess we'll soon find out. Ya know, Minnie was tellin' me how she had a suspicion of a feller rowin' in on a boat earlier this afternoon, but I told her that people stay fishin' in the same spot for a while, but she said she had a hunch..."

Charles shrugged, "She does have good intuition. Maybe she can help us figure out through all this mess."

"She's been working on it. She took in Jim Braithwaite, one of Catherine's sons, when me and Sean went to burn the tobacco fields. Took him into Rhodes to collect the bounty Sheriff Gray was offerin'. But I do think that she can help talk Dutch into backin' off a bit from these two families. The more we're involved, the more time it gives 'em to find out just exactly who we are."

"You're right," Charles nodded. "With a background like hers, I think we should trust her intuition more than Dutch's so-called plan he's coming up with..."

"Ya know, as much as I like Dutch, I do believe that line of thought suits us both well, maybe the rest of us, who knows," Arthur commented as the pair now ascended the incline that led to the shack, seeing Trelawny right where they left him.

"Put your feet up, why don't you?" Arthur teased.

"You okay?" Charles asked, ignoring Arthur's teasing comment.

"Never finer." Trelawny breathed.

"So, who was they?" Arthur asked.

"They were bounty hunters attached to Cole Stoudemire." Trelawny replied as Arthur helped him to his feet while Charles stood guard to ensure no other bounty hunters or reinforcements were near.

"Okay."

"They weren't looking for me, per se..."

"What you tell them?"

"Not much. I told them I was an intellectual... Come down here from Oregon looking for a job at the university. Course, they didn't believe me. Seems you stirred up quite a hornet's nest in Blackwater."

"So I keep hearing..." Arthur grumbled after he and Charles successfully helped Trelawny onto one of the horses that belonged to either Tom or Charlie.

"It might be best if I stay with you gentlemen for a while..." Trelawny suggested. "Can't go back to that caravan now..."

"Alright, Charles, you take Trelawny back to camp. I'll catch up with you. I'm gonna go find me a deer to bring back to camp."

#arthurmorgan #arthur morgan #minniebarlow #reddeadredemption2 #rdr2 #rdr2fanfiction

[figsofmyimagination]

Coldflash PotC AU - Prologue

I really had an intense need to read a Coldflash Pirates of the Caribbean AU and I didn't find much on AO3 (and I didn't look elsewhere, so I apologize now if someone has done something similar). So I guess I'm writing it. Prepare yourself for historical inaccuracies, half-assed attempts to research boat, nautical, and clothing terms from the 1700s, and shameless dialogue stealing from PotC: Curse of the Black Pearl.

I finished writing the prologue before I realized there is a waiting list to sign up for an AO3 account, so I'm posting to Tumblr in the meantime. Enjoy and please share if you like it!

Prologue:

The fog lay thick on the ocean so that a teenaged Iris West couldn’t see beyond the bowsprit. Many deckhands referred to it as a pirate’s mist. It was the type of fog that pirate ships materialized from, looting ships, and disappearing just as quick. Like magic. The crew had been antsy all morning as a result.

Iris quite liked the atmosphere. She had always wanted to meet a pirate, go on an adventure, and never take another etiquette lesson again. But that was the life a governor’s daughter.

“Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me,” she sang softly, imagining herself as the pirate captain of her own ship and waiting quietly in the mist to attack an unsuspecting trade ship. “We extort, we pilfer, we sack. Drink up-”

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and Iris gasped in surprise. “Quiet, missy!” said the man Iris recognized as the first mate. She found him odd with his bald head and mutton chops, constantly muttering about various superstitions under his breath. He always smelled of fire too. “Cursed pirates sail these waters. You don’t want to bring them down on us, now do ya?”

“Mr. Rory, that will do,” snapped Lieutenant Eddie Thawne. Iris sighed in relief when she caught sight of her father, Governor Joseph West, following right behind the young lieutenant.

“She was singing about pirates!” Mr. Rory said, pointing accusingly at Iris. “It’s bad luck to be singing about pirates while we are stuck in this unnatural fog. Mark my words!”

“Consider them marked,” Lieutenant Thawne drawled. “On your way.”

“Aye, Lieutenant,” Mr. Rory said with a short nod. As he walked away, he mumbled, “It’s bad luck to have a woman on board, even a miniature one.”

“I think it would be rather exciting to meet a pirate,” Iris whispered conspiratorially. She watched Mr. Rory took a deep swig from his flask of rum.

Lieutenant Thawne smiled indulgently at Iris. “Think again, Miss West. Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them. I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves: a short drop and a sudden stop.”

“What?” Iris asked. She looked over to Mr. Rory who pantomimed being hung by his neck handkerchief, tongue poking out. Iris gasped in disgust.

“Lieutenant Thawne,” said Governor West, stepping in to disrupt the conversation, “I appreciate your fervor, but I’m, uh, I’m concerned about the effect this subject will have upon my daughter.”

“My apologies, Governor West,” Lieutenant Thawne said. “I’ll go check on the crew.”

“Actually,” Iris said, “I find it all fascinating.”

“Yes, that what concerns me,” said Governor West. “No more singing about pirates, please. No need to antagonize Mr. Rory or the crew.” Iris pouted at her father’s back as he walked away. They would probably never see eye-to-eye on the whole pirate thing. Governor West very much believed in doing what was right 100% of the time. As a governor, he had to set an example for his people, he reminded her constantly.

Iris turned back toward the front of the boat, watching the ocean water slip beneath the keel. She smiled faintly as a lady’s parasol drifted past. How had it gotten all the way out here? She wondered. She imagined the lady wearing a white, multi-layered dress. Maybe it had been her wedding day. She had gotten married on the sea and lost her parasol in a strong gust of wind.

As the parasol bobbed away, she caught sight of something else in the water, square-ish in shape. “Look! A boy!” she shouted when the square sharpened into a wooden raft with an unmoving passenger. “There’s a boy in the water!”

Lieutenant Thawne and the deckhands rushed to the edge of the boat. “Man overboard!” Lieutenant Thawne shouted, rousing the others into action. “Man the ropes! Fetch a hook! Haul him aboard!”

Iris scooted toward the edge while the soldiers rushed about to fulfill the lieutenant’s orders. Ropes with hooks were thrown over the railing, then slowly dragged back up heavy with the weight of the boy and his impromptu raft. She watched as Mr. Rory laid the boy on the deck, his heading lolling in unconsciousness and his clothes dripping wet.

“He’s still breathing,” Lieutenant Thawne said when he leaned down to examine the boy.

“Mary, Mother of God!” Mr. Rory swore. As the rest of the crew put away the ropes and hook used to drag the boy in or leaned over to examine their new passenger, Mr. Rory had the misfortune of being the first to see the ominous sight appearing from the mist next: a ship broken in half and burning as it sunk into the ocean. It must have been where the boy came from!

“What happened here?” Governor West asked, brows furrowed in confusion and concern.

“It was most likely the powder magazine,” Lieutenant Thawne explained. “Merchant vessels run heavily armed.” The mast of the burning ship buckled and fell into the ocean.

“Lotta good it did them,” Mr. Rory said. Lieutenant Thawne gave him a disapproving glare. “Everybody’s thinkin’ it. I’m just sayin’ it: pirates!”

Governor West chuckled nervously. “There’s no proof of that!” But he was worried. He did not want his daughter aboard a ship during a pirate attack. “It was probably an accident,” he said aloud, largely to reassure himself.

As the crew, Lieutenant Thawne, and her father were distracted discussing the burning ship, Iris approached the boy. She didn’t get more than a glimpse before Lieutenant Thawne was barking orders again, “Rouse the captain immediately! Heave to and take in sail! Launch the boats!”

A crew member picked up the boy, moving him out of the way of the rushing deckhands. Her father leaned over her shoulder, saying, “Iris, I want you to accompany the boy. He’ll be in your charge. Take care of him!” Iris nodded and followed after the man.

The boy was placed on a flat area of the quarterdeck, a less crowded area toward the back of the ship. Iris settled beside him uncaring of the grimy wood staining her dress. She reached to tuck some of his hair behind his ear, when the boy awoke with a gasp, latching onto Iris’ wrist and immediately alert.

“It’s okay,” she said. “My name’s Iris West.”

“Bartholomew Allen,” the boy said, still panting in fright. “I go by Barry, though.”

She smiled softly at him. “I’m watching over you, Barry.” He blinked several times at her, clearly fighting exhaustion, before dropping his head and allowing himself to drift back to sleep. That’s when Iris noticed the gold chain around his neck. Leaning forward, she tugged the chain out from beneath his shirt line to find a golden medallion.

“You’re a pirate!” she exclaimed as she traced her fingers over the skull-and-crossbones design minted into the metal.

“Has he said anything?” Lieutenant Thawne asked. Iris ripped the medallion from around his neck, hiding it behind her back as she stood up and turned to face the lieutenant.

“His name’s Bartholomew Allen,” she said. “That’s all I found out.”

“Take him below,” Lieutenant Thawne ordered two soldiers standing at the ready. “Have the doctor look him over.”

Iris remained on the quarterdeck. She checked over her shoulder before holding up the medallion to get a closer look. The gold glinted in the weak morning light. Concentric circles radiated around the skull containing curved and angular symbols alike. The skull grinned menacingly back at her.

A black mass drifting across the ocean caught Iris’ attention while she examined the pendant. Frowning, she lowered the medallion and focused on the object. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was massive black ship sailing soundlessly away. It had wide black sails which were riddled with holes and from the top of the main mast flew a small black flag adorned with a skull and two crossed blades.

Iris rubbed her eyes unsure if the ghostly ship was real or a figment of her imagination. When she opened them again, the ship had dissolved back into the mist.

Disclaimer: I obviously don't  own any characters or plot-related things from The Flash or Pirates of the Caribbean. This has been written entirely for my own amusement.

#coldflash #Barry Allen #Leonard Snart #Iris West #Joe West #Eddie Thawne #The Flash #Mick Rory