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@isjustaes
this is an inspo / aesthetic / resource sideblog for isjustice.
a study in : meeting the twins for the first time.
the silence that falls between them is heavy, and for the first time since his return, barry feels like he’s back in the speed force. he sees the tears forming at the edge of her eyes, and he wants so desperately to close to distance between them, to wrap his arms around her and tell her that it’s okay. that he’s home. but he stays rooted in place. he doesn’t know how long he’s been gone for; he is afraid of the answer, afraid of what he’ll find when he wakes up tomorrow. maybe the world would be better if you had stayed gone, a voice says, and barry swallows the lump he feels in his throat. he wills himself to move forward, to do something, and then three things happens at once : barry takes a step forward, iris’ lips part, and a shrill cry breaks the silence.
the sound makes barry’s heart stop. feet remain planted to the ground as head turns slowly towards the sound, and then another cry echoes around the room and his heart drops down to his stomach. no. another cry echoes, and barry stays rooted in his place. it feels like an out of body experience as he watches iris wipe her tears with the back of her hand before turning and heading further down the hall. there’s no mistaking what the sound was, and barry wonders if this was just some kind of trick the speed force was playing on him : that his freedom, seeing thawne and his mother again, was just some kind of elaborate form of torture.
but then another cry, a different one, breaks through his thoughts, and he finds himself standing at the doorway of the spare room. or, the used to be spare room. he white walls were now a soft peach, and where the posters of barry and iris’ favourite music bands used to hang were now replaced with pictures of . . . him. it’s the flash and green arrow, the flash and supergirl, team flash. gone are the shelves of books and childhood memorabilia that used to be stacked against the walls; instead, in its place were two cots on either side, mirroring each other. one had a brightly painted red N hung above, the other a patterned J, colourful and loud.
he leans against the doorframe as realisation sinks in, watches with blurred vision as iris leans over one of the cots, arms scooping up the bundle of blankets. she softly coos, pressing her nose to the cheek of the crying baby, and when barry catches her eye, the look she gives him brings the return of the twist in his stomach. he sucks in a breath and pushes himself from the support of the doorway. footsteps are heavy as he makes his way to the unattended cot, the one that sits under the N, and when he looks down, everything in him breaks.
it’s iris’ eyes staring back at him, full of curiosity and wonder. the pattern on the onesie is one barry is familiar with : it’s supergirl’s emblem, the red a stark contrast against the blue, and when small hands reach up for him, it takes all of barry’s strength not to collapse onto the ground. in that moment, all he cares about are the two babies in that room : the sums of the best parts of him and iris. with shaking hands, he reaches into the cot and gently wraps his arms around the small bundle, lifting as slowly as he can. he feels iris approach behind him, and when she places a hand on his shoulder, he stills, noting just quiet the room was now.
❛ her name is nora. ❜ the words are spoken quietly, and barry feels the tears flowing fast as he moves to cradle nora in the crook of his arm. her eyes are fluttering to a close as she snuggles closer to him, one tiny hand resting on the fabric of his suit. a gloved finger moves to brush strands of loose hair away from her face and barry slowly turns to face iris, a silent question written in the way he looks at her. she wears a small smile on her features as she shifts the baby in her arms. ❛ his name is joseph. ❜ at the sound of his name, joseph stirs in iris’ arms, eyes half open as he lifts his head slightly in barry’s direction, only to fall back into iris’ the next moment, eyes closing once more.
barry watches as iris makes her way back to joseph’s cot, slowly lying him back down on the mattress. he shuffles for a brief second before settling, and iris covers him with a blanket ( the green arrows printed on the fabric a dead giveaway to which of barry’s friends that was from ) and kisses the top of his head. when she makes her way towards barry, who remains unmoving, still holding a now sleeping nora in his arms, he silently reaches out to take one of her hands with his, interlacing their fingers together. it’s a gentle squeeze to tell her that he loves her, that he’s proud of her for what she had to go through, that he’s sorry for her having to do it all without him. she gives him another squeeze in return : she loves him too, and she knows that what he did was inevitable, and she forgives him.
in a few hours, barry finds himself slipping out the comfort of his bed and having iris sleeping next to him, quietly tiptoeing down the hall and into the twins’ rooms, and it’s where iris finds him the next morning : curled up on the chair in the corner, both twins sleeping peacefully on him.
a study in : realising he was in love with iris.
there was no big epiphany, no invisible lightbulb that sparked, no a-ha ! moment, of when barry allen realised he was in love with iris west. it was a gradual feeling. it was something that’s always been there; like the stillness of water, quiet and unassuming. it’s the classic trope; best friends to lovers, and it’s the little things that pile atop each other; the way her eyes lit up when a new story knocks on her door, or the way her nose scrunches when the pancakes she tries to make out come out burnt and inedible, or the small but knowing smile she wears when a gust of wind blows past her and she feels the charge of lightning in the air.
the first time he gets the feeling was before he even knew what the word meant. they’re nine years old, sitting on the park bench side by side, fingers coated in the ice cream that melts down the cones they grasp. feet dangle from the ground beneath, and there’s a feeling of weightlessness that envelops them. the sun shines high above, blanketing the city in warmth and brightness, and it’s days like these that barry loves summer. there’s no voice at the back of his mind that reminds him of the homework that’s due, or the test he needs to study for. it’s just endless days of sleeping in and going out for ice cream, and whatever crazy shenanigan iris has thought of for the day. he sits there thinking of what they’re going to do for the rest of the day : the hours of sunlight are still plenty, and they have yet to exhaust everything on their imaginary list of things to do, and it’s only when he hears iris laugh beside him that he loses his train of thought. barry turns to look in her direction, a silent question posed in the way he tilts his head, and she only laughs even more at his confusion. the question sits at the tip of his tongue but before any sound can leave parted lips, she reaches over to wipe the remnants of ice cream that sits at the corner of his lip. it’s not a grand gesture by any means; there had been countless times where they would catch the other with something embarrassing on their face ( and even more times where they wouldn’t tell the other, just to see how long until they’d notice ), but the small gesture is enough to make barry’s heart skip a beat and a twisting feeling to fester in the pits of his stomach. he doesn’t think too much of it, though, choosing instead to focus his attention on the fact that the ice cream is melting faster than he’d imagine, and his attempts at salvaging the melted mess only makes iris’ laugh ring louder in the air.
then comes the first time he almost tells her. it’s the night of their junior prom. he isn’t a fan of dancing, and to do it in front of people? that didn’t make it any easier. but he went, at the insistence of iris ( he never could say no to her, no matter how outlandish the request ). so here they are, sitting at one of the disastrously decorated tables, empty cups covering more than half the surface. his fingers toy with the sleeve of his jacket, something to distract himself from the words that threatened to break through. head lifts when iris calls his name, and he catches the concerned look in her eyes ———— knows the words she’s about to ask even before she does. ❛ i’m fine. ❜ she flashes him a look of uncertainty, and before she has the chance to speak, barry’s lips part. ❛ actually, iris ———— ❜ a pause, then : ❛ you’re my best friend, you know that? ❜ he offers her a smile, hopeful that it is enough for her to drop whatever question she was going to ask. and it is; she tells him the feeling is mutual, and at that very moment, he wishes, more than anything in the world, that he had said the three words that so eagerly wanted to escape : three words with the baggage he wasn’t even sure he was ready to unpack.
the moment he knew for sure, where there isn’t a reprimanding voice at the back of his mind telling him that he was just being childish, that if he waited it out the feelings would go away, was seeing her at jitters. it’s no surprise that she is the first person he looks for after waking up from the coma; no surprise that his feet take him through the streets of central city on their own accord. his mind is racing at a million miles per hour, and it only stops when he steps through the door and sees her. the moment his eyes find hers, the feeling is back in his stomach : the same feeling he felt when they were nine years old, except now, he knows what it means. he hugs her with an intensity unlike anything, and with her palm splayed over his heart ( it’s still beating, he tells her ) he knows that no matter where he goes, he will always come back to her.
a study in : realising he was in love with iris.
there was no big epiphany, no invisible lightbulb that sparked, no a-ha ! moment, of when barry allen realised he was in love with iris west. it was a gradual feeling. it was something that’s always been there; like the stillness of water, quiet and unassuming. it’s the classic trope; best friends to lovers, and it’s the little things that pile atop each other; the way her eyes lit up when a new story knocks on her door, or the way her nose scrunches when the pancakes she tries to make out come out burnt and inedible, or the small but knowing smile she wears when a gust of wind blows past her and she feels the charge of lightning in the air.
the first time he gets the feeling was before he even knew what the word meant. they’re nine years old, sitting on the park bench side by side, fingers coated in the ice cream that melts down the cones they grasp. feet dangle from the ground beneath, and there’s a feeling of weightlessness that envelops them. the sun shines high above, blanketing the city in warmth and brightness, and it’s days like these that barry loves summer. there’s no voice at the back of his mind that reminds him of the homework that’s due, or the test he needs to study for. it’s just endless days of sleeping in and going out for ice cream, and whatever crazy shenanigan iris has thought of for the day. he sits there thinking of what they’re going to do for the rest of the day : the hours of sunlight are still plenty, and they have yet to exhaust everything on their imaginary list of things to do, and it’s only when he hears iris laugh beside him that he loses his train of thought. barry turns to look in her direction, a silent question posed in the way he tilts his head, and she only laughs even more at his confusion. the question sits at the tip of his tongue but before any sound can leave parted lips, she reaches over to wipe the remnants of ice cream that sits at the corner of his lip. it’s not a grand gesture by any means; there had been countless times where they would catch the other with something embarrassing on their face ( and even more times where they wouldn’t tell the other, just to see how long until they’d notice ), but the small gesture is enough to make barry’s heart skip a beat and a twisting feeling to fester in the pits of his stomach. he doesn’t think too much of it, though, choosing instead to focus his attention on the fact that the ice cream is melting faster than he’d imagine, and his attempts at salvaging the melted mess only makes iris’ laugh ring louder in the air.
then comes the first time he almost tells her. it’s the night of their junior prom. he isn’t a fan of dancing, and to do it in front of people? that didn’t make it any easier. but he went, at the insistence of iris ( he never could say no to her, no matter how outlandish the request ). so here they are, sitting at one of the disastrously decorated tables, empty cups covering more than half the surface. his fingers toy with the sleeve of his jacket, something to distract himself from the words that threatened to break through. head lifts when iris calls his name, and he catches the concerned look in her eyes ———— knows the words she’s about to ask even before she does. ❛ i’m fine. ❜ she flashes him a look of uncertainty, and before she has the chance to speak, barry’s lips part. ❛ actually, iris ———— ❜ a pause, then : ❛ you’re my best friend, you know that? ❜ he offers her a smile, hopeful that it is enough for her to drop whatever question she was going to ask. and it is; she tells him the feeling is mutual, and at that very moment, he wishes, more than anything in the world, that he had said the three words that so eagerly wanted to escape : three words with the baggage he wasn’t even sure he was ready to unpack.
the moment he knew for sure, where there isn’t a reprimanding voice at the back of his mind telling him that he was just being childish, that if he waited it out the feelings would go away, was seeing her at jitters. it’s no surprise that she is the first person he looks for after waking up from the coma; no surprise that his feet take him through the streets of central city on their own accord. his mind is racing at a million miles per hour, and it only stops when he steps through the door and sees her. the moment his eyes find hers, the feeling is back in his stomach : the same feeling he felt when they were nine years old, except now, he knows what it means. he hugs her with an intensity unlike anything, and with her palm splayed over his heart ( it’s still beating, he tells her ) he knows that no matter where he goes, he will always come back to her.
Q. WHAT CHESS PIECE REPRESENTS YOU?
A. WHITE ROOK. you are a white rook. as a piece that can move inwards and outwards, you’re a master of self-reflection. you know what needs to be done and when to do it. you’re a protector, and would willingly take someone’s place in danger in a heartbeat because you know you can handle the pressure. but even castle walls crumble. for all your chivalry and fortitude, everything must come to an end. will you be there to see the final stages of the war? or will you have already been discarded in the battle?
Q. WHAT COLOUR CHARACTER ARE YOU?
A. DARK BLUE CHARACTER. dark blue characters are kindhearted and responsible, driven to care for others around them. they are good at strategising in the heat of the moment, but are also quite impulsive and rush into things without a plan when they are fired up. while calm people and patient teachers, they are quite hotheaded and not afraid to stand up for what they believe in. their sense of morality guides them, both into battle, and into healing. they get along with a wide range of people, but do have a temper that causes them to get into short-lived disagreements. they don’t like to be seen as inferior, as much of their strength comes from the softness inside of them. they like being needed and helpful, and want people to agree that they know what’s best for them, although others can get annoyed at what they perceive as nagging. they take turns being the voice of reason and the reason for the voice. they can hold their own, and believe in respecting everyone as long as everyone is respectful in turn. they often had to grow up fast and mature early, which they both take pride in and resent. they are likely to join a just cause on a whim, and do what it takes to develop the skillset they need to best help the cause, although they prefer to be at the center of the action. if they feel no one is doing anything and it needs to be done, they’ll step in. they are often close to prodigies, having some sort of incredible skill that they can expertly hone. they are inspirational and have a lot of emotional maturity. they can both manoeuvre people through their hardships and inspire them to rise up. they can often ignore their own feelings and needs in the process of being a sort of martyr for others, however, and can grow resentful when no one pays attention to them like they do for others. dark blue characters need people in their lives who will encourage and uplift them in whatever cause they choose to support, as well as give them space to talk out their feelings. they also need others who will recognise when they are taking too much responsibility on, and take some time to give them care and support and affirm their willingness to care.
tagged by @speedprofessor
(◕‿◕✿)
Q: WHERE SHOULD YOU BE KISSED?
A: PALM — you give and give. you are a gentle heart, broken but still standing… always lending a hand for those who need it, expecting nothing in return. you deserve someone taking your hand and kissing your open palm, the hands which have selflessly helped so many others.
a study in : sacrifice.
heavily inspired by this poem.
𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.
the decision comes easy to him. there is no hesitation, no second guessing, no pause of reconsideration. it’s not like a final piece of the puzzle, the one that made you breathe a sigh of relief knowing it was over it’s the single piece that makes the puzzle clear, the one that gives you an understanding of the picture you’re trying to form. he knows what he has to do, and in that moment, everything falls into place. the flash has to die. the words echo in his mind, a vicious reminder that on path he travels, there is no happy ending. it was never in the cards; a finish line he could never cross, no matter how far or fast he ran.
𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒂𝒓.
he thinks of the people he leaves behind: oliver, who carried his darkness with him and wore it like armour, whose flame burned the brightest and longest. kara, who held up earth like atlas, who even despite everything thrown her way, continued to carry hope in her heart. cisco, a brother in all aspects but blood, who he would trust with his own life, who he would be honoured to have by his side in a fight. wally, who he leaves with his legacy, and he knows how selfish it is to place such a burden on such young shoulders, to watch him live up to something so much bigger than himself.
he thinks of everyone else; joe, caitlin, ralph, felicity, sara. and so many others. he thinks of the citizens of central city; the ones who looked at him with awe in their eyes, the ones who excitedly shout out his name when he runs by, the ones who fluster around trying to find a pen and paper for an autograph whenever he stopped for a moment. even the ones that look at him with nothing but fear and disgust, knowing that whenever he was, trouble would soon follow. he thinks of the city he grew up in, the buildings that he helped built, the roads he helped clean up after one of the rogues’ rampages.
and finally, he thinks of her.
𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕.
iris. her name is enough for a calm to wash over him. it’s a mantra he recites in his head; her name, over and over and over. iris. he sees her smile, hears her laugh even though she is miles away. he thinks of the truths she uncovers and tells the world about, the dangerous leads that she follows ( because she knows he will always be there to catch her ), the way she is as much of a hero as he is.
i’ll come back to you. i promise. the last words he says to her, a promise broken as soon as it’s spoken. after all, rare were the moments where they were allowed the luxuries of fulfilling a promise, and even though he always found his way home to her, he knew this time was different.
i’m sorry. the words he wished he could tell her right now, but he knows the words will get back to her. it will be too late by then, he will be long gone, vanished into thin air, but she will know. she will understand.
𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚𝒓 𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆.
barry allen has always known that when his time was up, he would greet death like an old friend, so when he feels the power of the speed force pulling him apart, there is no agonising scream, no shouts of pain. it’s a familiar sensation; like a thousand jolts of lightning striking him at once ( how poetic, he thinks; lightning was the thing that started this life of his, and now it is the one that’s ripping him away from it ).
and then it’s over.
it’s a flash of white and when he opens his eyes, he’s standing in the middle of his childhood bedroom. everything is just as he remembered; every action figure perfectly where he left it, every paint chip visible on the drawers, every mark on the wall as clear as they were the day he decided to draw them on.
standing there, alone and surrounded by all the memories with nothing but silence filling the room, the ache in his heart grows. it aches for a life long gone ( the picture of his smiling parents that sit on his nightstand a painful reminder ) and for a life that has barely started ( a picture of him and iris on their wedding day sits on his desk, the only piece of his life that didn’t fit in with everything else in this room ). it’s at that moment that his resolves crumbles: the tears flow freely, and he crumbles onto the floor, arms wrapped around himself so tightly that one might think he would break apart if he were to let go.
… 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈?
they can’t.
you can’t save the world world, you know? not the whole world, just the little part with you in it.
bonus:
and i didn’t like the ending. ft. @istruth
and i am the fastest man alive.
my name is barry allen.
forever and ever, darling; you’re my lover. ft. @istruth
i’m the fastest man alive, but no matter how fast i run, my heartbeat always has a steady rhythm. but when i’m around you … it skips a beat. that’s because no matter how powerful the speed force is, how i feel about is greater. you’re going to meet a man who just wants to run back home to the people he loves. i know this because after my mom died, that’s all i ever wanted … and i was lucky to find my home the day i met you. yes, the lightning gave me the speed force, but it wasn’t the power that gave me life. that was you. iris, you brought yourself into my world. i didn’t have to go back in time to create what i was missing – you taught me that i could build a new future, and even though i won’t be able to share it with you, i’ll do everything to protect it. because in the end, all you need to know is that if i’m ever lost and looking for home, i only need to find you.
perfect storm, the flash #44. (via isjustice)
although sometimes you risk letting people down, that must not keep you from moving forward. no matter how bad it gets or how many hits you take, keep trying.
this love left a permanent mark. ft. @istruth