morallygreysimp

[morallygreysimp]

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the voices in the back of my head are telling me to write what i want to read but i physically can’t.

[morallygreysimp]

Nina: So, how did you get him to go out with you?

Y/N: Well, I moved in across the hall.

Kaz: And they slowly wore me down.

Y/N: Like a river carves a canyon.

Kaz: Except this river kept bringing me coffee and baking biscuits.

[morallygreysimp]

Free Palestine

[morallygreysimp]

Ahmad Abu Shamla, a Palestinian man, was killed by Israel in Rafah. He had been working for France since 2002 in the French institute.

Wanna know why he was still in Gaza? Because France refused to put his 4 oldest sons in the list of people allowed to evacuate through Rafah. Because of his job France could repatriate him and his family but they chose to put only part of the family in the list and refused to put his 4 older sons. Ahmad told the rest of his family who were on the list to leave and he stayed behind with his 4 sons and on Saturday he died because of his wounds after the house he was staying at was bombed. He was killed by Israel because France expected him to leave his sons behind.

It’s just so fucking disgusting I wanna throw up.

[morallygreysimp]

[morallygreysimp]

What even is a pro-Israeli protest for? Genocide? Not enough dead brown children? Imagine protesting on behalf of an apartheid state. Ridiculous

[morallygreysimp]

Y/N: *Walks into a door and hits their head hard then gets their foot caught on something and ends up falling over*

Kaz: What an idiot.

Jesper: Isn't that, Y-

Kaz: Shit, that's my idiot.

[morallygreysimp]

How many times have you read this?

Me: yes

Hello, i have a potential kaz x reader request for you!! I, for some reason, love the idea of a very soft/domestic kaz moment with reader who isn’t involved in the crime life. So what about y/n being married to kaz and for some reason she makes her way down to the crow club (maybe someone broke into the house or something) and kaz is extreamly confused and concerned and the rest if the crows are like "andddd who are you?"

if you don't feel it, feel free to ignore!

'Intruder' - Kaz Brekker x reader

Prompt - Kaz is a highly secretive man, even to his closest friends, but what happens when a panicked citizen rushes into the Crow Club demanding his presence? It could even suggest that he had the ability to love. - Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Civilian!Reader (Gender neautral)(married for at least a few years but not specified) - Warnings: Thief enters readers house, brief mention of fighting and injury, a knife?? Kaz just being super soft for you! <333 PART TWO NOW POSTED! (click here) - A/N: Thank you for ALL the love on the last post, and my first fic ever! I hope this does just as well and its enjoyed too. I know its not as fluffy as maybe expected but i really like how it turned out. PLEASE KEEP REQUESTING!!(some moonknight coming soon) <3333

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The chilling wind of Ketterdam rushed past your face, adding to your already watering eyes that couldn’t stop frantically searching around for further threats.

You had been enjoying a quiet morning, browsing the market, drinking tea with friends, and even finding a new hat for Kaz. All was serene, until you turned the lock in the front door, only to be confronted by a menacing figure, knife gripped in one hand, Kaz’s favourite (and most expensive) tea set in the other.

A small gasp escaped you, before your mind took control, rushing forward to land a harsh blow directly on the figure’s nose, just at the right angle like Kaz had demonstrated.

He let out a murderous scream whilst dropping the tea set onto the ground, the shattering of the pieces echoing in your heart and mind. However, this granted you enough time to grab the edge of his jacket and pull him through the doorframe, using every ounce of your strength.

He stumbled down the steps of the small apartment, loosing his footing and falling rapidly, landing brutally on the cobblestone street below and roaring in pain as a jolting crack resounded from where he landed.

Without thinking, you scrambled inside, bolted the door, and ran as fast as you possibly could out of the side entrance, internally crying as your boots struggled through the remains of your husband's most beloved item.

As you struggled through the tight alleyway, you prayed that the Stadwatch had noticed the commotion and apprehended the man. As you bolted down the poorly lit streets of the barrel, thoughts of terror began plaguing your mind.

What if Kaz hadn’t taught you to defend yourself? What if you had reacted too slowly? Would Kaz be angry with you for not finishing the job? How would ‘Dirtyhands’ react to your utter horror at one intruder?

You were abruptly ripped from your thoughts by the unmistakable image of a crow, hanging magnificently above the crowded street. Pushing your way through the crowd, you suppressed the nerves rising in your chest, threatening to choke you, as you entered the crow club for the first time.

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The unmistakable smell of alcohol and smoke clouded your senses immediately, as crowds of ‘pigeons,’ as Kaz may call them, wandered around the floor without a care for others around them.

As frightening as the previous events had been, you didn’t allow yourself to be overwhelmed by this too, shoving your violently shaking hands into your pockets to stop the visible nerves from showing.

Jesper and Wylan sat in close proximity at the bar edge, as far from the yelling and cheering of the customers as they possibly could. Your gazed locked onto the face of the tall Zemeni man, thinking back to the hundreds of times Kaz’s mask had slipped, and he had spoken fondly of his best friend.

Despite Kaz’s firm objection to verbal communication, he often fell victim to your warmth and comfort, his affections for his crew spilling into casual conversation, almost subconsciously. Of course, the Bastard of the Barrel couldn’t hold onto something as weak as friendship. However, this meant that you were very familiar with each of his ‘crows,’ despite never officially meeting any of them.

Mustering all the courage you could, you sucked in a sharp breath, preparing yourself for the challenging journey to your last hope at finding him.

You weaved your way cautiously between the rowdy groups, dodging drunken gestures and swinging arms, until you reached the pair sat at the bar, panic spreading through your body like wildfire. You made note to keep your hands firmly tucked within the safety of your jacket, in a feeble attempt to keep up a façade of confidence.

As their gazes turned towards you, you gently cleared your throat in the hopes of removing any indication of fright, and in turn, weakness from your voice.

“I’m looking for Kaz? Kaz Brekker?” you stuttered out, eyes darting around to avoid the quizzical gazes of the two men in front of you. Under different circumstances you wished to have met them when your usual air of joy blanketed not only you, but all of those who encountered you too. Yet it seemed like the Saints weren't on your side for that wish today.

You were snapped back from your thoughts, as they glanced at each other, sharing an unspoken but clear sense of bewilderment between them at your odd request. Often drunken pigeons, or rough street urchins would request to see the boss, but it wasn’t a common sight to see a regularly dressed citizen in such a state demanding an audience with Mr Brekker himself.

“I’m afraid it’s pretty difficult to get a meeting with the boss, always busy you know?” spoke the man you assumed to be Jesper, in a kind but skeptical tone, swirling the drink in his hand as he failed to decipher the reason for your visit.

Panic began to claw its way deeper into your chest, as you quickly blurted out “Please, its important, I need to see Kaz. Please bring me to see him.” The sudden outburst once again surprised the men, however Wylan’s gaze softened at the clear desperation on your features, and Jesper’s confusion morphed into something that resembled pity.

Wylan subtly leaned into Jesper, whispering “I think you should take her, she seems pretty desperate?” causing Jesper to let out a sigh before meeting your gaze yet again.

Reluctantly, Jesper stood up, stretching his limbs well, before letting out a dramatic sigh, followed by a feigned annoyance at the request, analyzing you for a moment before stating, “Let’s go see the boss then.”

He quickly turned back to you, flashing a lopsided, yet winning grin, which put to rest some of the bubbling anxiety that was becoming inescapable. As you ascended the stairs to his office, a skeptical looking woman glanced curiously up at the three of you, hopping out of her chair to trail behind you, whilst stuffing the remains of what looked like a waffle into her mouth.

Before you could inquire about the third individual following your small group, you were suddenly met with the dark oak door of Kaz Brekker’s office. Jesper shot another reassuring grin back at you, as he rapidly knocked on the office door and let himself in before an answer called out.

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The instant you saw your husband, the tears glossed over your eyes, shining with a dangerous threat of escaping. However, to your surprise, you were able to win the valiant battle for a little longer.

You knew how vital it was for your husband to keep his personal life separated from his work life; one wrong move, and you could end up in the hands of another gang, tortured in exchange for information on the Dregs. This knowledge was what kept you from barreling towards his desk without a second thought, with even the smallest slip from Jesper potentially ruining every bit of yours and Kaz’s struggle to break down his walls.

Kaz sat at his desk at the centre of the bleak room, a faint patch of light hitting his face from a glowing street lantern, casting deep shadows across his sharp features. His shoulders tensed as he remained solely focused on the blueprint in front of him, his harsh glare at the sheet almost seemed as if he was planning to murder it. Perhaps if you weren’t so shaken you may have let out a soft laugh at his pure concentration.

“What is it? I have no time for irrelevant interruption, this marksheet needs to be completed before twelve bells tonight,” A sharp voice suddenly cut through the thick silence. Jesper cleared his throat before confronting his boss, shifting his weight between each foot at the temper that Kaz was evidently displaying.

“Well, you see, I was sitting downstairs with Wylan at the bar, when all of a sudden…” Jesper started, but was cut off by a deadly look from Kaz to get to the point. As his gaze shot upwards towards the sharpshooter, he finally noticed the second figure in the room and his heart plummeted.

Why were you here?

Kaz’s mind began spinning, grasping for any logical reason as to why you were in the one of the most dangerous staves of the Barrel, requiring his assistance.

An identical panic to yours seized his chest as he inspected your state, your hair was windswept, eyes glossed over and glinting with a touch of fear, a visible shake to your arms and legs, which he had been fortunate enough to never experience until now.

You looked utterly terrified.

A single murderous look was enough for Jesper to throw his hands up in defense, and saunter quietly out of the room, glancing curiously back at the two of you as he shut the door. Jesper thought to himself that his life in the long run would be far more valuable than the price of his curiosity now.

Although Kaz is a man of few words, he seemed truly speechless, barely managing to register his own steps as he moved slowly towards you, each limp bringing his comfort closer and closer to you. Once he had reached your figure, he noticed you had curled in on yourself, hands clasped firmly together in front of you, and eyes darting rapidly around his face, searching for something, as it appeared to him.

He slowly reached towards you, and with a gloved hand, tenderly unwound your fingers from their iron grip, instead intertwining them with his own to bring you comfort and slow your light but swift breathing. Kaz remained tight-lipped, words rushing through his head, yet not formulating into any combination which he thought would be appropriate to calm you down.

He gazed intensely into your eyes, softening with each moment as he took in your shaken state, something that was rare due to his exceptional ability to keep you away from his violent life.

Until now.

Yet you had taught him not to run anymore when he encounters challenges, leading him to battle his mind later, and care for you in the present. Plus, you had the courage to make your way through the barrel in this condition, the least he could do was give you his everything.

You released a long, shaky sigh, staring only at Kaz’s chest now in order to match your breaths, imagining that your hearts were beating together too. You knew Kaz was struggling to find a grip within his thoughts, fingers twitching against your own as his body worked overtime, in a way it only did for you.

Several minutes passed in a strange silence, as the pair of you basked in each other's presence, the close distance allowing both of you to be assured the other is safe and within reach, yet the tension and anxiety still buzzed through the air.

“Someone broke in, I’m not sure who or from where. Tried to steal your favorite tea set, you know the one you brought back from Ravka once? I hit him square like you said. But it, but it boke. Shattered actually. It gave me enough time to run, but I don’t know. He may have followed or…” you suddenly burst out, the emotions flowing out of you through your words, and soon to follow were the tears.

You were cut off in your rambling however, as a feather-light kiss graced your temple, drawing you into a pool of warmth, suddenly able to feel the heat of the fire and the glow of the candles that surrounded Kaz’s office, likely gifts of yours.

Although Kaz’s voice was hardened, you knew he was holding back significantly to soothe you, building up wrath to unleash on the unfortunate man who entered your house earlier. The claws of the anxiety released their hold on you, allowing you to breathe deeply for the first time in hours.

“I’m here, darling, and you don’t need to think about that anymore,” he eventually breathed out, “I'll take care of it. I promise. I promise you,” he whispered against your forehead, again leaving the faintest outline of a kiss on the soft skin.

Whilst he was nowhere near healed, over the years you had opened up his deepest wounds and started to stitch them up, with each moment the pain easing ever so slightly. Direct touches were now common, with light pecks, or hand holding being Kaz's most favored actions.

Sometimes if you were lucky, you could get a short kiss on the lips, or a long hug through the safety of many layers; each being evident signs of his love for you, and how you were truly the only one to crack the code to the Bastard of the Barrel's heart.

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Kaz didn’t leave your side for the remainder of the night, bringing you anything you asked for, sitting the armchair closer to his desk to keep him company, hands held tightly until he deemed it safe enough to escort you home.

Wrapping you warmly with his largest coat, he gently placed his best hat atop your head, offering a small smile and breathy laugh as it tilted at an angle. Looking up to meet his gaze, you returned the grin, smile spreading to your eyes and cheeks. Kaz carefully adjusted the edges of the coat to obscure your face, being thorough in the process to avoid any identification of who was accompanying him.

As the door clicked open, and the pair stepped into the hallway, pinkies interlinked, a group of three snooping crows barreled backwards, hitting into each other and the walls. Kaz sent a deathly glare at each of them, as they stood in shock at the sight before them, Jesper gasping, Wylan gaping with fright, and Nina's smirk widening by the second.

After a series of extreme threats hurled at the group outside his office, Kaz pushed past them and dragged you with him, turning his coat collar upwards to hide the growing embarrassment colouring his face.

He crushed the feeling down, instead turning to his internal plotting to enact revenge on your behalf, inwardly smirking at the image of the man begging him for mercy as he pays for his offence in blood.

Meanwhile, Nina stood grinning to herself, proud of her newfound knowledge which she was certain she could use against Kaz at some point soon. Because from that office, she not only heard the hammering heart of the poor citizen girl, but also the one of a love-struck gang leader too.

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[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER TEN: OKAY

TW: mention of blood, grave injuries, weapons, trauma, allusions to death and suicide attempt, dangerous and violent actions, medical talk

No one dared to speak. No one dared to move. No one even dared to breathe. Nora’s words hang in the air like a fly caught in molasses. Not one person reacted. Not even their faces showed any sign of surprise or confusion, even resignation. Nothing. Everyone just stood in front of her as if frozen in time, like emotionless antique statues, created for the sole purpose of decor.

She couldn’t tell how much time passed before her eyes caught a glimpse of the gun pointed at her. It had happened all so fast. As Nora remained immobile in the center of the room, mimicking everyone else, Detective West rapidly broke out from the mental restraints of shock, took his gun out of the holster and aimed. Before he forged his reputation as Detective, he was known for his impeccable firing skills.

And Nora knew that. She had heard so many stories about his time as an officer when he’d take her to the shooting range. She swore to never tell her Pa that her aim wasn’t all his doing. That’s why she just raised her hands above her head and stepped back. She knew better than to test him.

He didn’t speak. He just took the gun out and aimed, waiting for the stranger claiming to be his granddaughter to make her next move. Waiting to gain a reason to shoot. Joe West wasn’t a particularly aggressive or violent man. He was taught to use his reason, his witty intelligence and make it his most dangerous weapon. And he did. He never ran out of bullets, not even back when he was an officer. He was a man of words.

But not when it came to his kids. Not when it came to Iris and Barry. He had spent the entirety of his fatherhood teaching his daughter how to get out of any type of hold, pull a good punch, safely use a gun. He had made it his mission, his only goal to raise a strong, independent woman in a world of misogyny and raging sexism. And when Barry came into the picture, he was enrolled in weekly training too. but they were his kids. His children. And he’d be damned if anything happened to them under his watch. Not after the last two years. Not after the countless night spent holding his sobbing daughter in his arms, while clinging to his lifeless-looking; not after the nightmares that mercilessly replayed over and over again that dreaded night, the night he held his boy on the wet floor of the department’s laboratory, screeching for help, begging God to not take him away.

No, not after that. So he waited, and was ready to wait until the end of times for the shadow of a reason. He couldn’t seem to find a reason that seemed so well hidden behind those crystal blue eyes staring directly into his. Hidden behind what, though. There wasn’t a speck of fear, or distress. Not a single glimpse of confidence, of malice. Nothing. Those crystal blue eyes staring directly into his held nothing. Absolutely nothing. Endless emptiness filled her vision, her soul.

She was just a kid. It hit him out of nowhere: she was a kid. Zoom couldn’t have possibly recruited a kid, right? He wouldn’t have gone that far, would he? Of course, he would’ve. He was a monster. but she wasn’t. She was a child. Just a child. He battled with himself, letting his hands shake, his aim buckle, but never drop.

Joe’s eyes moved around the cortex, searching for an answer on someone else’s face, but he only found more questions. Nobody had moved a millimeter, he could see their muscle twitch to release some tension; nobody seemed intentioned to take their eyes off of the foreign girl standing in the middle of the room, nobody seemed intentioned to break the bone-chilling, that thickened the air, trapping them in time like bees in resin.

So, he took action. He silenced his thoughts and took a step forward, gun raised aiming at her head.

“NO!” Barry’s voice melted the silence away, rendering the air breathable again. Everyone was abruptly pulled out of their trance state and they all turned to the speedster. No one understood the look in his eyes: the deep, unconditional adoration he projected toward the young girl; the surprise, the disbelief painted on his face; the big, heartfelt grin that accentuated his dimples and displayed his whole teeth. No one could find a reasonable explanation for the pure terror hiding in his wide pupils; for the shaky hand he extended between Joe and the girl; for the force, the strength, the determination his voice held.

“You’re real” this time Barry’s voice wasn’t strong or determined. This time Barry’s voice was merely a whisper, so hushed, so tender that was barely heard by anyone. But Nora heard it. She heard it loud and clear, like she had heard him call her name when she got out of school; like she had heard him tell her good night when he tucked her in; like she had heard him in her head for the past six months.

She couldn’t let them see that. Nora couldn’t let them see the pain eating her from the inside; she couldn’t let them know about the screams and the cries, about the anger and the sorrow. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve her, what she had become.

So, she smiled. She forced he muscles to curve he lips upward in a tight, forced, small smirk. She knew she was failing at hiding the melancholy in her eyes, she knew the suffering and the mourning were obvious. But she didn’t budge. She was used to it. She just did what she had been doing for six months: she smiled through it.

“Flesh and bones” she tried to keep her voice steady, but a light tremble slipped the grip she had on herself. “No pun intended” she joked, breathing out an awkward chuckle. No one laughed, just moved their attention to Barry, who was still sitting on the wheelchair, eyes fixated on her, the stranger, the possible threat.

No one understood what Barry meant. Of course they didn’t. No body had lived that welcoming warmth, that felt like home. None of them had seen those big, beautiful icy blue eyes staring at him, those beautiful eyes full of happiness and excitement; so innocent and pure, that he swore a look from those eyes could have erased all the evil in the universe.

Non of them had heard that enchanting, mesmerising voice. That little squeal of joy, that heart-melting giggle, that was better than any song ever created, that sounded like heaven’s music. He wanted to hear that small, high voice yelling “daddy!” for the rest of his mortal existence. Even beyond that.

And now she was there in front of him. She wasn’t that little girl he had received the most outstanding work of art he had ever seen from. No. She was older, probably in her teen years. But it was her. The same big, beautiful icy blue eyes. The same heart-melting warmth in her voice. It was her. His Nora. His.

She was staring right back at him, her look mirrored his wonder and surprise. But there was something else. Something deeper, something she was clearly trying to hide. But what? He could see her smile was forced and tight, but he couldn’t understand why. And frankly, Barry didn’t care: she was there in front of him.

Nora carefully tried to move forward. Joe tightened the grip on the gun, making her step back. Barry’s head snapped towards him, but before he could speak another voice broke the silence.

“Detective put the gun down”

It wasn’t Oliver, although it was. But it wasn’t him, Oliver Queen, no; it was the Green Arrow, The Hood. His voice had dropped a couple of octaves, the words came out as growl of warning, like a lion snarling at his prey out of mercy, giving it the time to escape. Joe turned to look at him, just to find an arrow pointing at his head.

She said Queen. She said Queen-Allen. She was Barry’s daughter. His and Barry’s. In that moment nothing mattered: not the possibility of that being a lie, not the chances of zoom showing up again, not the fact that she could be a threat. Nothing matter, but the fact that she said Queen-Allen. Queen. Like him.

Allen like Barry. His Barry.

So he let all the rationality, all the logic, all the capacity to think drain out of his brain. Blinded in his ability to make decisions Oliver took a fast step forward so that the point of the arrow came in contact with Joe’s temple.

Everyone froze, no one dared to speak. Oliver’s ragged and rapid breathing was the only sound in the room, it covered the low humming of the LEDs and the noise of the computers’ fan. Joe’s eyes darted from the girl to the man a couple of times before he decided to slowly lower the gun and place it on the ground. At that, Oliver let his bow and the arrow clang loudly on the white floor.

Nora waited another couple of seconds to assure that everyone calmed down before speaking again. She may had needed another couple of seconds to make sure her voice wouldn’t break and her eyes wouldn’t start to water. That wasn’t what she had planned. But it had happed, and now she needed to handle the situation properly. She could not risk them know everything, but she couldn’t lie either. Her dad was just starting to deal with the unspeakable situation that Zoom was. And judging by the wheelchair it was he had lost another battle.

She couldn’t risk them knowing, but she couldn’t hide everything from them. She was never able to lie to them. They had to know. Nora found herself in front of the possibility to bring them back, to have them drive her to school and pick her up at the end of the day. She had the chance to knock on their bedroom door and hear them telling her to come in. She could have the afternoons in the lab and the nights in the foundry back.

She could have them back.

But how could she do that? How could she even think of messing with the timeline after the billion lectures about using her speed to travel through time?

She settled for a half truth.

“Now that no one is pointing weapons at no one” she stared “Pops I promise I’m telling the truth. I come from about twenty years from now, and I know what you all are about to say! I know I shouldn’t time travel, but it was an accident!” Truth

“I was just suppose to go to Gotham!” Another truth

“But something went wrong “ again, truth

“And I found myself in Central. I thought I was overthinking and took the wrong turn” not exactly the truth

“But then I saw a news board and the tear was 2015. Dad I’m sorry I really didn’t mean to, but I don’t know how to go back, I tried to, but it didn’t work “ some of this is true, the rest not really.

It took Barry a quarter of a second to forget everything she said. Dad. She called him dad.

“Nora” he chocked on that word. He always wished to honour his mother like that, by naming a possible daughter Nora. And it was going to happen. With Oliver.

“Okay we are gonna need some tests”

••••

“Aunt Caitlin I understand that I’m a speedster, but my blood isn’t infinite!”

Every drop of blood they had put in the system gave the same result: she was Barry’s biological daughter. Even the piece of skin, the hair and the fragment of nail. She was who she claimed to be.

“Do you guys want to go ask Gideon?” She said, earning a couple of confused looks.

“You know about Gideon?” Cisco asked

“Of course I know about Gideon, I was there when dad built it! I guess I will be there, chewing on a plushie”

Barry had tucked himself in a corner, eyes fixated on emptiness and hands clutching Oliver’s. He already knew she wasn’t lying, he didn’t need a dozen tests to know that. She was the little girl excited to show him her draw. Or at least she was. It was going to be.

He was trying to focus on how he was supposed to address her existence rather than her words.

~_~_~_~_~

“I guess you still don’t know” she stuttered, as if she was searching for the right way of saying what she wanted, but she couldn’t find it.

“You have told me so many times about this. Every time I was scared you would”

the clearing of throat seemed to go unnoticed “you would tell me about the time Zoom broke your spine and left paralysed for about three weeks”

Horror flashed on everybody’s faces. The crack was of a spine.

“I think this is the time you were talking about”

~_~_~_~_~

Caitlin had confirmed that. His vertebrae T9 an T10 were completely fractured, and minor damage was inflicted to his T8 and T11.

It wasn’t anxiety, it wasn’t fear or shock. It was a broken back. After about two hours since Nora had shown up Barry could feel the loss of, well, feeling in his legs. It was a strange sensation: it was as if his being stopped under his bellybutton. He gripped Oliver’s hand to keep himself from pinching his thigh until he bled.

He was The Flash. Running was all he had know for the past two years. All he had known for his entire life. And now he was confined in a chair, unable to even get out of the room by himself.

His eyes burned with unshed tears, his throat closed by chocked sobs. Oliver had abandoned the standing and was now crouching next to the wheelchair and had put his head on the nest their arms created.

Oliver wished he could take all his pain away. He wished his fingers could absorb every ounce of suffering in Barry’s body and transfer it to his. Barry had endured so much in his life, he had already walked through hell and now this. If God existed he was an ass.

As he lovingly kissed Barry’s knuckles his ears caught light, unsure footsteps getting closer. The red boots stopped in front of them and the leather covered knees touched the ground.

Nora crossed her arms over her father’s lap and placed her left hand over theirs.

“It’s gonna be okay”

It was.

[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER NINE: PROGENY

TW: mention of grave injuries, anxiety and panic attacks, blood, violence, paralysis and weapons

The red, flickering light was giving Barry a headache. And loud noise was worsening it. The collected façade he had put on crumbled as the rapid beeping of the monitor next to him melted in with sound of the alarm, creating a strident and discordant cacophony.

His heart was hammering against his ribs, preventing his lungs from inhaling the needed amount of air. Barry could feel his entire body vibrate with anxiety. Every muscle, every bone, every single cell that composed his anatomy was palpitating. Barry felt small yet powerful shocks of electricity travel from a finger to another, as he clenched his jaw so hard that he could hear his teeth scraping against one another.

Barry knew what it meant, the siren and the scarlet light. He knew it too well. Last time it rang he ended up trapped in a hospital bed, poked by five different needles and attached to as many monitors. He was almost completely sure he couldn't feel his legs properly.

But that wasn't the source of his worry. Surprisingly.

The source of the despicable feeling itching under his skin was Oliver.

Oliver who had run out at the hideous sound.

Oliver who was currently speeding through the city's busy streets with murderous intents clouding his mind.

Oliver who was out there, risking his life for him. Because of him.

Oliver was a talented fighter. A skilled archer. He was cunning, intelligent, observant. He was a quick thinker, witty and reflective. But Zoom? Barry was used to confront metahumans. One could say he was used to confront Zoom. Sure he wasn't good at it, but he was used to it. But Zoom was fast. In all its meanings. He could reach what Barry considered impossible goals. He was cruel, malicious, villainous. He was pure evil.

Zoom was a monster.

"Cisco!"

His voice scratched its way out.

"Cisco!"

His friend barged into the room. Barry was trying to get out of the bed, clearly struggling to do so. Cisco hurried towards him with a wheelchair. He put his arm around his friend torso and rapidly transferred him to the chair. Caitlin was protesting in the background, but her words were a blur to Barry. All he could hear was the alarm and his thoughts, running almost as fast as him.

It was excruciatingly upsetting waiting by the computers. Not a red dot moving through the city's map. Not a signal from the satellite. Not a sign from the com-link. An anguished silence embraced the room. Everyone stayed immobile in their positions. Cisco's grip on the wheelchair loosened. Iris hand remained on the keyboard. Joe didn't dare to move from the doorway.

Nothing happened. It was as if time had stopped running. The world had stopped. Not ever air moved around them. Everything was frighteningly still.

The horrendous quietness squeezed Barry's lungs. He abruptly clenched the wheels of the chair and sprinted towards the desk. He not so gently shoved Iris and Caitlin away and feverishly started typing something, anything that could possibly give him a sign that Oliver was at least still alive.

Joe stepped away from the entrance and approached carefully his son. He had raised him, he had been blessed with the chance to see Barry at his highest and cursed with opportunity to console him through his lowest.

But that. That psychotic reaction. That unhinged behaviour. He had never seen him like that. Joe was pretty sure he had never witnessed anyone act like that.

"Bear" he tried to say in a calming manner.

The boy turned towards him, his eyes darted frenetically around the room as he panted heavily. He looked mad.

"Don't"

Joe had never heard Barry's voice sound do shrill and aggressive. Until then he had firmly believed Barry was incapable of such rage.

He was a traumatised kid, he had developed quite severe anger issues in high school. He had lashed out at Joe before. But never like that.

His voice had been harsh, it had dripped with fury before. But never like that. It had never been so violent, so bitter. It had never been so rabid and infuriated.

Joe wasn't given the time to react. Barry had already turned back to the screens and was once again typing incoherent numbers, hoping that would solve something.

Perhaps it did. They couldn't be sure. But something happened.

"Is that?" Caitlin mumbled to herself.

"It's impossible"

The others turned to her out of confusion.

"What?" Iris spoke for the first time since the call she made days before. Everyone turned to the young doctor.

"When" she stuttered out slowly.

"When Zoom first appeared, Cisco and I decided to upgrade the S.T.A.R labs' satellite to possibly be able to trace speedsters. We use it on Barry and of course Zoom. But"

She then paused. Caitlin was never one for dramatic, long movie-like pauses.

And it was quite obvious she wasn't starting a new habit now.

"But what Caitlin" Barry harshly commanded.

"But the speedster it has traced just now... it isn't zoom"

Barry's heart jump to his throat and then sink down to his stomach. He physically felt the blood drain from his face. For the first time after the lightning and the coma, Barry wished he wasn't gifted with that power. For the first time in over a year, Barry considered his speed a curse. Not a gift, not a casualty, a curse.

How he wished he had never gone back to his lab that night. How he desired to be that he still had one life. One simple, boring, normal life.

But he didn't. He had gone back to his lab that night. He had a second fast, dynamic, adrenaline inducing life. And he was sitting on a wheelchair in the middle of the former most important laboratories of the state, trying to suppress his anxiety while his breath shortened  for perhaps the fifth time that day.

"Bear" the soft whisper that shattered the silence forcefully pulled Barry out of his hurricane of thoughts.

"Ollie"

Barry's tried to move but he was paralysed. Quite literally.

Before he could process that, Oliver sprinted away from the door.

"There's another one" he ranted

"Another speedster. A girl. A young one, not older than 14. She- she was, I don't know, terrifying.

She appeared out of nowhere, she seemed to have history with Zoom. But he didn't. She said something like "know me yet". It was all a blur. She was incredibly quick and violent.

She called herself the flash"

The team wasn't granted the time to respond or react.

"Because I am" an orphic voice claimed. A thin, short unknown figure was leaning against the wall. The delicate features that picked under the vibrant red mask appeared slightly battered. A dried streak of dark vermillion blood stained her left nostril, melting in with the purpurin bruise under her chin.

The white and scarlet leather hugged her body like a second skin.

She had a snarky smirk plastered on her face, in great contrast with the look in her eyes. Soft, melancholic. Stunned even.

She suddenly took her mask off, moving the reddish hair out of her sight. She seemed awfully familiar. But Barry didn't know why. He couldn't recognise her. She was like a itch one can't scratch.

Then she spoke again. Voice low, almost a whisper.

"I'm Nora Queen-Allen, and I'm your daughter from 20 years in the future."

[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER EIGHT: AGAPE

TW: mention of depression, violence, blood, death. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH IT. more notes at the end.

Emptiness was something he was something he was horrendously acquainted with. Had always been. When he jumped from party to party with Tommy. When he sat uninterested in class. When he heard his parents fight. It was there when he kissed Laurel. When he grabbed Sara's hips. When he watched his father shoot himself.

It clung to his skin with teeth and nails when he spent his first night on the island, as the freezing cold air dried the water that soaked his clothes. When he understood he couldn't live anymore, but he had to survive.

As he learned how to fight, as he fought for his life that feeling stayed there. It was buried deep in his soul and he felt it rise at every punch, every kick, every hit he delivered. As he listened to the wind blow through the leaves, to the cracking of the breaches. As he sat against the tree outside the shack. As he watched the stars shine in the clear sky and as he wished to regain control of his life. It never left.

So He had learned to control it. To use it. While he laid immobile on his old bed, and he stared into nothingness and let the night pass by, Oliver let the emptiness take over and he buried back when the sun rose. He understood it was a weakness, so he made his strength.

"Let it overwhelm you!" Slade advised him. "Let your greatest weakness become your hidden strength" he said.

So that's what he did. That's what he based the entirety of his existence on. That's what he founded the Hood on. That emptiness. That nothingness. That feeling that made him so impartial. So determined. Cruel some might say. He was able to tune everything out. To completely erase it.

But not in that moment.

Not as the antiseptic smell burned his nostrils. Not as he felt the cotton scratch his skin. Not as he stared at the seemingly lifeless body on the stretcher. He couldn't bring himself to let the emptiness take over. He couldn't find the feeling. He tried. He tried so heard. He searched and searched into the deepest parts of his heart and of his mind. He tried to find anything remotely close to that and he tried to cling to it, the same way it clung to him on the Island and every night since he had returned.

It wasn't there, tho. Perhaps it never was. Perhaps he just learned to compartmentalise his emotions, to bury them so well he could now fool himself. Or Perhaps it was a half decent excuse to justify the god awful person he had become. The monster he had always been. The so far from human beast that only the seemingly lifeless corpse that laid in front of him was able to domesticate.

His angel. His oh so darling angel sent from above. He saved him. He saved him from the city, from the shadows hidden in the dark corners. From himself. Oliver was almost certain he hadn't blinked in at least five hours. His eyes remained glued to the man in front of him, his hand clutching his. How Oliver wished he could find that emptiness and let it overwhelm him. But all he found was a profound sense of anger and a horribly suffocating feeling of pure sadness. Fury burned its way through his veins, reddening his sight and obscuring his thoughts. And thinking about it, who was Oliver to fight this? How could he? His angel was hurt. He was laying there hurt, possibly suffering. Why would he eve try to fight it?

So he didn't. He let it overwhelm him.

Oliver was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts by an irritating, piercing sound. He moved his eyes away from Barry and noticed the red, pulsing light tainted the room with blood. His head snapped towards the door and the tail of his eye caught a brief image of a blue, bolt of lightning destroying everything that crossed his path. Oliver's vision matched the flashing light in the room. He sped to the vortex, shoving anything and anyone out of his way. He reached for his bag, aggressively grabbing his bow.

"Where do you think you're going" a deep voice tried to intimidate him.

"To kill zoom"

He arrived at the scene almost as fast as Barry would've. The image of his lover laying completely still, as white as the sheets clouded his mind and, once again, Oliver let rage move his limbs and make decisions for him. He was standing there, in the middle of the chaos he had just created. His stance, his emotionless mask drenched in pride and satisfaction. He looked completely mad. Was this the way the so called "joker" down in Gotham looked? If that was it, it was horrifying. Oliver straightened his back and took aim. But he didn't. That wasn't Oliver. That wasn't even the green arrow. That right there, right in that moment, was The Hood.

It was his brutality, his rage, his cruelty. He wanted Zoom on his knees, he wanted him begging for mercy, he wanted to see him murdered. Not dead, killed. And he wanted to be the one to do that. He wanted to be the one with his blood on his hands. He wanted to be the murderer. The killer. His killer.

Again Oliver lost himself in his own mind, drowned by his own thoughts. He didn't listen to a word of that monster pompous speech. He didn't flinch when he took a step closer, he didn't even tighten his grip on the bow. He just stood there, emotionless. As shell of the men he was becoming. As the hood.

A flash of orange lightning threw him off his stance. Oliver looked il around himself, soaking in his surroundings. He then turned back towards Zoom, just to find him rising back up from the ground.

"Bear" he whispered to himself. How was that possible? Not even five minutes ago he was holding his hands, sitting next to his hospital bed. Oliver moved slightly to the right. That wasn't Barry. The speedster was short, thin and, feminine? Oliver wasn't granted more time to think.

"If you value your life" a vibrating voice said, pure anger dripping from ever syllable. The voice was so dark, yet so light. So profound, but definitely feminine. Oliver was mesmerised. A foreign sense of pride overtook him. Pride for what? For who? That wasn't Barry.

"You won't take another step"

The mysterious girl spoke again. But now she turned her head a little. Oliver could see the outline of her profile. A wave of familiarity hit him like a truck. The way her nose poked from under the mask. The sharpness of her jawline. The single reddish brown curl that fell messily on her eye. Who in hell was this girl?

Oliver turned his head towards the other speedster and saw his mask moving.

"I don't even know who you are "

The girl smirked maliciously.

"You will"

She launched at him, running at inhuman speed. Her movements were elegant, precise, sharp, but brutal, strong and effective. She calculated meticulously every step she took, every punch she handed. She didn't run messily like Barry did, but at the same time there was so much of him in her. The way she positioned herself to curb, one leg stretched out, the other bent over, heel off the ground. The technique she used to fight, she left no time to her opponent for a reaction between a hit and another. She was graciously cruel. A cruelty that felt way to familiar. A precision he recognised as his own. What the hell was going on? Why was he feeling such adoration and pride for a total stranger? A dangerous one nonetheless.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the speedster took out a knife, probably from a hidden pocket in her suit. The method of the attack was unmistakable.  The coordination, the accurate cuts, exactly were it would hurt the most. He saw a female version of himself fighting zoom. He felt an enormous wave of pride overwhelm him and warm his soul. Why, tho? Who was this girl? Where did she come from?

Zoom seemed to have the same thoughts. He took advantage of a brief pause the girl took.

"Do you know me, yet?" She yelled, her voice explicitly scratching its way out.

Zoom sped off, directed outside of Central. Oliver put that moment to use and turned his attention to the girl, who was standing immobile were that monster was just a second earlier, breathing heavily, trying clearly to regain composure.

"Who are you?" His voice surprised him. So soft, so small.

"The flash of course" she answered. Her voice surprised him. So soft, so joyful. So different from just a second earlier.

"I'll give you a 10 minutes head start, I really want to see an ancient Central" and she sped off.

Agape: [a-ga-pei]• Greek

(n.) an inesplicabile, unconditional love

[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER SEVEN: ATCHIPHOBIA

Trigger warning: this chapter contains explicit mention of depression and suicidal thoughts. Please do not read this if you are not comfortable with it!

Please skip this chapter if you are triggered by this!!

Nora knew that feeling very well. She had encountered it many times. She was very familiar with the tight clench around her heart, with the sound of breaking glass coming from her rib cage. She was acquainted with the invisible hand that squeezed her throat and her lungs, with the invisible punch hitting her guts repeatedly. She was used to burning in her eyes and the tickling of her nose; to the shaking of her hands and the feeling of her stomach in her throat. So, why was this feeling so foreign? She knew it very well, but she didn't. Something felt different. Something felt worse. As she stood frozen, Nora search for that familiarity that seemed to have vanished. She searched for that hint of something that made that feeling somehow bearable. But I'd wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere. At its place there was hatred. Hate towards Barry Allen and Oliver Queen for holding her hand while she took her first steps, for helping her with her homework; detest for all the movie nights, for all the comforting words when she was sick or sad or disappointed; loathe for the warm hugs that resembled home, for all the bedtime stories the good night kisses; pure rage for all the lies and false hope they have her. Right there, right in that precise moment Nora didn't hate Zoom, or Thawne, or even the league.

Right there, right in that precise moment Nora hated her fathers.

As she stood in front of their graves she tried to keep her composure. But how could she? How could she, when she had to sit in history class and the only thing the teacher would talk about was the outrageous however selfless sacrifice they had made? How could she, when the cities were pestered with statues, posters, balloons, memorials of them and their heroic sacrifice? How could she, when they were the only topic everyone seemed to be interested in? She couldn't. Or perhaps she didn't want to. Perhaps she was tired, exhausted from all the running and the saving; from all the sad smiles and compassionate looks. Perhaps she was tired of feeling tired.

So, as she stood in front of their graves Nora stopped trying. She stopped holding on and she let the umpteenth wave of unbearable pain drown her. She didn't fight the ocean of immeasurable suffering around her. She just let it do its course. She collapsed in her own sadness.

The scream she let out burned it way out her throat. Rivers of tears rolled impetuously down her face. Her entire body shook like the nearly dead leaves tremble in the autumn wind. Her sobs stung her lungs, preventing her from breathing. She let herself hurt. She let herself cry. She let herself mourn.

It had been months since Nora had allowed herself to do that. To mourn the loss of her parents. Many people had lost Oliver Queen and Barry Allen. Even more people had lost The Flash and The Green Arrow. The world had lost two of its greatest heroes. The founders of the Justices League. It had lost a source of inspiration, of admiration. A source of hope. Joe West had lost his son. Iris Thawne-West and Thea Queen had lost their brothers. Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow, Felicity Smoke and Tommy Merlyn had lost their best friends. Roy Harper and Wally West had lost their mentors. Bruce Wayne had lost his best friends. So many people had suffered, were still suffering the death of Oliver Queen and Barry Allen. They were all so caught up in their own pain, nobody thought about her. Why would they? She was the daughter that didn't cry at her own parents funeral. She was the daughter that never even visit their graves. She was the daughter that couldn't bring herself to pronounce her fathers' names, or say that she loved them, or even think about them. She was the daughter that ran away from her own parents service.

That's all she did. She ran. She ran and didn't look back, terrified that she was going to have to face the truth if she did. Afraid that she was going to face the ghosts of her fathers' disgust in her. Scared that if she stopped a frown would imprint itself on her family's faces. Horrified by the mere thought of someone telling her how much of a disappointment to her parents she was. That was the real nightmare. In comparison to that Zoom felt like a dream you forget by midday.

Atychiphobic she had defined herself one day. Scared of not being enough, of not fulfilling others' expectations for her. She couldn't put up with that to, so she ran. She fulfilled others' expectations for her.

She kept running until her legs gave out. Until that moment. When she found herself in front of their graves and acknowledged her exhaustion, her excruciating pain. When, bone tired, she stopped running and gave into her worst fear. And she dropped on her knees and begged God to have mercy on her and erase her pain. She begged the angels to bring them back to earth. She prayed, and begged, and cried and screamed. She pleaded her Dad and her Pa to kiss her pain away one last time.

Her cries became uncontrollable. Pure electricity run through her veins as only one thought crossed her mind. One horrid, utmost thought. She wanted to hate herself for even letting that cross her mind. However, she couldn't. She was too tired, she just wanted it to end. She couldn't feel anything, but at the same time she felt everything all at once. It was overwhelmingly unbearable. So she did the only thing she knew how to do. She ran. She ran as fast as she could. She passed the "Welcome to Starling City"sign. She sped away from it, wishing to never see it again.

She never reached her destination. Her feet tangled up into one another, and she tumbled to the hard ground. She screamed in frustration. She stood up again when she noticed something. She was on the 54th of Central City, in the park she and her dad used to play in when they visited her Pop. Something was slightly different, tho. She hadn't had the time to properly look at the city in a while, she was always on the rush, everything had been a blur for months. But something didn't feel right. She spun around slowly, trying to take in every little detail of her surroundings. That's when she noticed. The diner was missing. Their diner. The one they proposed to each other at the same time. The one they celebrated her birth and all her birthdays in. The one they said goodbye in. It was gone. To better say, it wasn't there yet.

[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER SIX: CINGULOMANIA

TRIGGER WARNING: mention of traumatic experiences, depression and self-isolation. Let me know if I missed anything

It was very unusual, the feeling of cold. Ever since the lightning Barry had never felt cold again. His body temperature was constantly over the average and healthy bar. But he was okay, of course. His cells vibrated with speed, with pure electricity. Cisco swore more than one time that he had seen lightning flash into Barry's eyes before he sped off to the latest meta attack. When he was little he hated feeling cold, so when Caitlin stated that his normal body temperature was now 38 degrees Celsius he was thrilled to never have to feel cold again. He loved the constant heat his body radiated. And he also loved the warm, calming feeling that never seemed to leave him ever since the night on the roof, the feeling that the mere, unconscious thought of his Ollie would bring him. So the cold induced goosebumps Barry could sense were rising on his skin felt very out of character for him. Besides that coldness that was setting in, deep into his bones was something he had never experienced in his life prior the explosion. He was almost entirely sure that nothing was going to warm him up. No blanket, no heater, no fireplace could ever eradicate the freezing hunch that was clinging to his body. Nothing. Perhaps someone.

Oliver hadn't felt coldness since he his second year on the island. The middle of the Chinese sea was everything but hot. Warm at times, but never enough. So he got used to it. His body slowly adapted to the environment he was secluded in. His heart and his lever trained along with the other muscles, strengthening each passing day, until Oliver was able to fight hypothermia. When he came back and started his crusade he always assured first Felicity, then Tommy and Thea that he never felt cold. They had laughed at his statement. "Drama Queen" is what Thea had addressed him. But he wasn't lying. Even when it snowed Starling city was never remotely close to Lian Yu freezing winters. And autumns. Or springs. Summer was more bearable, not always, but sometimes. So Oliver Queen didn't feel cold. Especially not after a geeky, scrawny forensic scientist had entered his life. After the night on the rooftop, which prefaced the rise of the Flash, Oliver was reminded of what warmth feels like. After five years of constant, unreasonable pain and numbness he finally felt warmth again. A warmth that never left, just like Barry never left his mind. Therefore when he noticed his arm hair standing against his skin, when he felt shivers travel down his spine he was, for lack of better words, perplexed. The freezing feeling that was spreading out, settling deep in his bones was something he had never experienced in his life prior the island. He was almost entirely sure that nothing was going to warm him up. No blanket, no heater, no fireplace could ever eradicate the freezing hunch that was clinging to his body. Nothing. Perhaps someone.

Barry had really started to hate the darkness he was immersed in, along with the freezing cold it brought him.

Oliver had really started to hate the feeling of infinity emptiness he was experiencing, along with the freezing cold it brought him. The both of them just wanted to be able to hold each other again, and never stop. They desired to stay in the other's arms for eternity, until eternity gave up. They needed to stay in the other's arms till eternity gave up. Neither Oliver or Barry had ever felt such a strong craving for touch.

Barry had always been a more open person when it came to physical touch, especially when he was younger. As he grew up he found himself rather uncomfortable with initiating contact with someone he had little to no confidentiality with. It brought a weird uneasiness to his stomach and a strange hyper awareness of his surroundings. He could feel his own skin touching his clothes and the other person's skin. He swore he could feel the air molecules gripping on his uncovered flesh. Although that happened rarely. So he shielded himself from this horrid sensation and reserved touch for close family only. Besides he had been raised by Joe West almost his entire life and the man was extremely precise when it came to consent, in every context. And so was his mother. Nora Allen was never strict with her son, she tried to give him as much space to build himself up as she could. However she was exceedingly clear about one thing and one thing only: asking for permission. She would always tell Barry to be polite with others, to ask for permission to do anything. That, of course, went both ways. Nora always reminded her son that he wasn't forced to engage into any type of activity if he didn't want to and to not be ashamed or scared to step up for himself when his right ti consent was denied. And Barry lived to this day by that rule. When Oliver entered his life Barry immediately understood his need for a little more space and time to adjust, so he made sure to vocally ask for anything, to always have his consent to step forward with their relationship. Because Oliver had become oh so quickly such an enormous part of Barry's life that he subconsciously allowed his internal child to come out and reach for physical contact. So Barry took note of every specific situation in which Oliver may or may not needed comfort and tried to find an alternative way to avoid touch, so that he wouldn't feel uncomfortable, and if there wasn't the same question would leave his lips every time. That little trait of his always confused Oliver.

Oliver was never good with touch. Not before and not after the island. He had reluctantly come to terms with the fact that he didn't grow up in an healthy household during when he witnessed his parents sitting on opposite sides of the living room sofa, ignoring each other's presence and just carrying on with their own separate lives. Lives that seemed to be separated also from their children's. Oliver had no memory, not even a blurred one of his mother hugging him spontaneously, in a private location, on a anonymous day. He had no memory of his father putting his arm around his shoulder after he had announced the results of a quiz or the grade of a project. He had absolutely no memory of both of his parents witnessing or cheering for him on one of his games. They weren't even there for the play that blessed him with a scholarship for his dream university. Not that he needed one but he had earned his place there. It felt good, for a couple of seconds. Or until he understood that not even Thea was there. So he started to slowly build walls around his heart. He didn't let anyone in. Not his mother. Not his father. Not his sister. Not even Tommy and Laurel were ever completely in. He isolated himself from the pain by throwing himself into socialisation. He made up for the numbness by searching for meaningless touches, he did it so much that touch lost its uniqueness. When he was a kid he used to believe that physical touch was one of the most beautiful experiences one could ever make. It was something special, different for everyone someone engaged it with and reserved for the truly loved ones. Then he grew up. Then the island happened. Lian Yu didn't change Oliver Queen. It shattered him. He was forced to witness so many horrors, so many death that the walls around his heart became fortresses. He isolated himself from his own mind in attempt to escape the pain. He had caused so much tragedy that when he was thrown back into civilisation he was a shadow of the man he used to be. An empty shell. However he wasn't completely empty. A strong pull screamed at him to let himself crumble into someone's arms. A voice begged him to let the walls tumble down and give himself a break. But how could he? Every time he had gotten close to someone they had ended up getting hurt, or killed. Everything he touched rotted and died. He was a poison to everyone who stood next to him. He was a monster. But then Bartholomew Henry Allen barged into his life, shattered his walls with that stupid question of his and taught him that touch and closeness was that beautiful and special thing he had thought it was as a child. He taught him that he wasn't poisonous, that he wasn't a monster. He taught him that he wasn't broken. A little dented perhaps, but not broken.

So in that moment, in that fraction of time Barry and Oliver were so drown to each other that they were physically feeling sick from the lack of contact. Barry was so tired of the darkness around him, of the coldness in his bones. Oliver was so sick of the emptiness in his chest, of the chills in his skin. They couldn't take it anymore. They were on the verge of breaking. Of crushing underneath the weight of the pain they were enduring. It was unbearable.

Oliver tried hard to keep his composure. But yet another day of watching his Bear on a hospital bed, with tubes in his arms and in his nose was making very harsh. Moreover Cisco had been desperately trying to wake Barry up for days now. He went through every single one of his favourite episodes from his favorire tv shows, through every Star Wars movies, throughout all of Barry's playlists. Nothing seemed to have a successful ending. And Oliver was slowly growing more and more annoyed. And so was Barry. He was trying. He really was. He wanted to wake up. He couldn't take it anymore. He simply couldn't. And neither could Oliver. So they let go. They allowed themselves to crumble. To shatter. The sob Oliver let out froze the blood in both Cisco and Caitlin's veins. They slowly turned towards him only to find the man stretched over Barry's chest, his own wrecking with horrid cries. Cries soon joined by another set of uninterruptible sobs. They watched as Barry, now awake, hid his head into Oliver's shoulder, while the other man deepened his into his chest. Their limbs tied together in a sublime braid of flesh, that was scarily beautiful. Their body coincided like puzzle pieces, intertwined perfectly into each other. And at last, after two weeks of unending coldness, warmth spread throughout them, reconstructing their broken hearts and melting the pain away. They were finally with each other again. And they never wanted to let go. Not until eternity gave up.

Cingulomania(n)

A strong desire to hold a person

in your arms. (And never let go).

[morallygreysimp]

CHAPTER FIVE: SWEVEN

Barry had always strongly despised darkness. The impotence one could feel when surrounded by endless, profound blackness never failed to endure a powerful sense of helplessness. Of loneliness. He wasn't necessarily afraid, although the thought of being enveloped by nothing but pure obscurity brought a bit of anxiety to his chest. But it wasn't the common phobia of the dark. As a matter of fact Barry Allen felt quite peaceful in the kind of dark one's eyes get used to at some point. The kind of black that at a certain time becomes more grey then actually black. That type of darkness didn't scare him at all. What did terrify him was the dimness his future self left his eleven years old self in when his mother was killed. The loneliness, the sheer fear the gloom engulfed him with could compare only to cold, infinite blackness he was secluded in for nine months, one week and for days. Nyctophobia he had discovered was the name of the terror he was doomed to feel. It sounded so beautiful, and it felt so stupid. For over a decade every time he was in absence of sufficient light his hands would shake, his breathing would quicken, his mind would race. For thirteen years Barry Allen could not remain in an obscure place for more than a handful of minutes. Thirteen years of feeling utter embarrassment for pinching his skin when he walked down a darker street, for asking anyone who left his lab on a late night to leave the door slightly ajar. For not being brave enough to sleep with his shutters closed. Then he arrived. Oliver Queen. He barged into his life, into his heart and comfortably settled down. Oliver turned his world, everything he had ever believed into upside down and Barry absolutely loved it. For a very long time Barry Allen thought he knew what love was, what it felt like. For a very long time he believed that love was the feeling he directed towards Iris. It had to be. It was. Although it wasn't. That feeling was nothing compared to what he felt for Oliver. The calming warmth that spread through his heart every time Ollie said his name. The tingle of every single one of his limbs that he would feel when Ollie smiled. The electrifying feeling that would become his fuel whenever Ollie touched him. Ollie. His Ollie. Barry felt extremely honoured to be able to call him Ollie. No one other than Thea was allowed to used that nickname. Until Barry. He couldn't comprehend what had he done to deserve such privilege. To deserve him. It was a constant question that swam around his mind every time they were together. A question that invaded his head as he, once again, laid immobile on the mattress of the bed. He couldn't move. He couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't speak. But he wasn't engulfed in endless obscurity. There was a dimmed light surrounding him, as if he was in a dream, though it wasn't a dream. It was a

"Sweven, Bear, not seven"

His mother had chuckled at his mispronunciation of the word.

"It's a strange experience. You feel like you're dreaming, but not quite. It is less vivd than a dream, less tangible. You could say it's more like a vision happening while you're asleep"

She had explained. She was always so wise. And kind. And patient.

As he laid there, immersed in the soft light, Barry thought of his mothers words. Was it what was happening? A sweven? Possibly, he thought. Certainly, he corrected himself as figures and colours shaped all around, and distant sound became voices. Two to be precise. Barry subconsciously looked around what seemed to be a house? Apartment? Whatever it was it was really nice. The colour patter was warm, the cream walls complemented perfectly the wooden forniture, that was slightly lighter that the brown leather couch. The large windows on his left framed a stunning sunset. Yellow and orange lights illuminated beautifully the skyline of the city. Definitely an apartment. The golden glare enlightening the living room matched magnificently the ambrosial, citrusy, comforting smell that embrace the room. Home. That's what it smelled like. Home. Barry was in awe at the view, completely lost in his mind. A sweet, silvery voice interrupted his train of thoughts. He turned around and saw a doorframe. On the threshold a small girl with two adorable braids stand almost out of breath. She was smiling widely and Barry swore that he had never seen a smile so beautiful. She was bouncing on her feet, her small hand on the wall.

"Daddy!"

She exclaimed excitedly. Her voice sounded like a fresh breeze on a hot day. Until that moment Barry Allen had never ever thought that he could love someone more that he loved his Ollie. But there she was. That little girl.

"Nora"

He breathed out. Why did he know her name? Why did he feel so much love for this little girl? Was he really her dad?

"Come with me daddy!! I want to show you something!"

Barry could have listened to her for the rest of his life. Her voice soothed all the pain he had ever felt till that moment, and all the suffering he still had to feel. He unintentionally smiled as he followed her. His heart swelled as his ears filled with the sound of her little feet hitting the floor repeatedly. She led him to a bedroom, but it wasn't hers. A beige closet was attached to the wall. Right in front of it a soft hand sage green carpet covered the ground, a piece of it hidden under the queen sized bed position against the wall. A man sitting on it. Ollie. His Ollie. Barry smile widened, if that was even possible. His Ollie was there. Another wave of thoughts swarmed in his mind. What was this? Were they living together? Was the little girl their kid? Were they going to have a kid? Were they even going to be together for that long? He let his brain take control over him. He threw rationality out of the window when he started running faster than the speed of sound anyway.

"Nora here has a surprise for us apparently"

His voice was ethereal.

"Oh really?"

Barry felt like he had no control over his body. Like he was trapped in his head and someone else was acting instead of him. But he didn't despise it.

"Look!"

The little girl babbled out. Her little hands held up a drawing. Three figures were visible on the green and blue landscape. Two of them were man, clearly older than the third figure, which resembled a child. One man had brown hair and green eyes, what seemed to be jeans and a red sweater, the other blond hair, blue eyes and a elegant suit. The child had two pigtails and a greenish dress on.

"It's us!"

She explained, pointing at the picture. Barry's gaze moved from her to Oliver, only to find his eyes already set on him. They smiled at each other and turned back to the little girl.

"Nora, angel, it's beautiful!"

Oliver said. No. Not said, exclaimed. Barry was so stunned by the situation that he couldn't find a single thing to say.

"Do you like it daddy?"

Barry snapped out of his trance. Nora was looking at him, her smiled had dropped and her eyes held a sadness that broke Barry's heart. He lowered himself down to her level and grinned.

"I love it bubba"

He answered. It felt so natural. So normal. And the smile he received back had glued his heart back together. He picked her up and placed her on his waist. He felt again that naturalness, that normality. He turned back to his Ollie, who was admiring the draw. He set on the bed, Nora in his arms and he rested his head on Oliver's shoulder. He never wanted that moment to end.

"I love you daddy, I love you papa"

Nora murmured, and Barry understood that what he was feeling in that instant was pure happiness, and he never wanted that moment to end. He never wanted that feeling to end.

But he was Barry Allen. When had ever Barry Allen received what he truly wanted. The sight of the little girl with brown reddish braids and icy blue eyes started to dissolve in his arms, everything became even less concrete than it already was. The welcoming smell of the room morphed into the antiseptic odor of the infirmary as the light faded, leaving Barry Allen in the void of obscurity, scared and once again alone.

[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER FOUR: SERENDIPITY

Joe carefully lowered the handle, praying that the door wouldn't make a sound. It did, but the man that was currently clinging to his son's hand in a desperate attempt to believe that he was still there remained still. The older man lingered on the threshold, doubting his decision. Was he really doing this? Was it the right thing? What was he going to say anyway? The situation did not leave room for a threat, let alone an overprotective father speech to his son's boyfriend? Friend? Colleague? Joe didn't even know in which way he had to approach the man, he certainly didn't know how to address him. However in that moment Oliver Queen looked anything but a man. Boy was a more appropriate term. Scared, no terrified boy. Joe didn't move, he stood still on the doorstep as he meticulously observed the scene in front of his eyes. It was something he never thought he would ever witness. Something that never even crossed his mind. Another thing that never crossed his mind and he never thought he would see was Oliver Queen crying. But he wasn't crying, he was full sobbing. He wasn't when Joe opened the door. But as he stared at him he notice his laborious breaths, his whimpers. Then something inside the boy broke. As if he had finally comprehended the circumstance they where in, he collapsed. Broke down. Disintegrated right in front of the detective's eyes.

Oliver had heard the door. Of course he did. John had called it hyperawareness. Felicity had called it anxiety. Thea had just called him weird. Maybe he was. But it was helpful. Oliver also knew why the detective was there. He was about to receive a stereotypical overprotective father speech. Sure he expected it. They weren't going to keep it a secret forever, despite his desire to. There was something uniquely beautiful into keeping what they had hidden from the world. It was just theirs. Just like the stolen kisses in the corner of the foundry, when no one was around. Just like the movie night's cuddles on the couch, while forgotten beer bottles laid on the coffee table. Just like those blissful nights spent in each other's arms, sweaty bodies colliding against one another as they whispered and moaned in the other's ear. It was something pure, simply wonderful. But as wonderful as it was, Barry wasn't completely happy, this secret was eating him. Oliver knew, of course. And he couldn't live his life with the knowledge that his Barry was not entirely happy. How could he? So he accepted to tell everyone, and surprisingly he was alright with it. He found himself ready and thrilled to yell from the highest building he could find that Bartholomew Henry Allen was his. His and only his.

However what Oliver found himself to not know was why the detective was standing there, not moving forward or back. He just stood there. Motionless. Oliver's mind tried to understand, but it kept wandering off to the image of his lover barely looking alive on that bed. His Barry a few feet away from death. The greatest thing that had ever happened to him almost gone because of a psychotic monster. So he let go. He collapsed. He broke down. He disintegrated right in front of the detective's eyes.

Joe to a step forward. Then another. And another one. He found himself doing something he never thought he would do. He hugged the boy. Because that's what he was. A broken boy forced to witness such tragedy. Joe didn't care if Oliver was a friend or a colleague or a boyfriend. He cared that he loved his son. And he did. Every sob, every whimper, every tear Oliver was sharing held an enormous amount of love. A kind of love Joe had never seen. Never felt. It was different. It was unique. It was beautiful. And Joe felt ashamed to have thought of that. How could he describe the pain the man, no the boy he was holding as beautiful? But it was. Oliver's cry hid a kind of passion, a kind of adoration, a kind of complete devotion that in that moment of total desperation created something so undesirably beautiful.

They didn't say anything. Oliver cried. Joe held him. For only god knows how long. Not a single word was shared between the two of them. Oliver didn't pronounce a syllable through his cries. Joe did not dare to speak. How could he? There wasn't a single word in English that could describe his feelings, or the situation, let alone a word that could comfort the boy. He was absolutely sure that throughout the world there wasn't a single language which's words could comfort Oliver Queen. So they sat there, Oliver lowered over Barry's body, hand locked into his lover's as he howled in pain, his heart shattering over and over again; Joe immobile, arm firmly around the younger man's shoulder, as he stared down at his son, listening to the suffering of the man he was holding. No one dared to come in. No one dared to interrupt. So they sat there.

As his cries burned his lungs, Oliver understood something. Something he never thought he would have ever understand.

"Find your serendipity, Oliver"

Slade Wilson had said to him. It was random. Completely out of the blue. Oliver would have laughed if his voice wasn't so serious. It send a chill down his spine.

"And that would be?"

Was his answer. A failed attempt to sound humorous. It came out as cocky.

"Serendipity is the realisation of having found something good, something amazing, something extraordinary without looking for it"

Slade's voice was a whisper. As if he was talking to the wind.

" I'm supposed to find something without looking for it. Very helpful advice, man."

Again, cocky.

"Let yourself find your serendipity. Let something, let someone become your serendipity "

He did. Let someone become his serendipity. He didn't do it on purpose. It just happened.

"Oh come on! It is absolutely impossible you have never ever, not even once in your life watched Princess Diary! Or legally blonde! This is a crime Oliver Queen, a crime! That's it you and I are having a movie catch up night every week! How can I love someone who has never even heard of Princess Diary!"

His voice was divine nectar. Lifeblood. An angel's song. He smiled. He smiled so widely and for so long his cheeks hurt. And he hoped they would hurt that way for the rest of his life. He wanted him to babble about how uncultured he was for eternity. He wanted him for eternity. Forever felt way to short. How was he going to let him know about all the love and admiration and passion and adoration he felt for him in such little time? It was then that he knew. It was in that instant, while Barry rambled on and on about Oliver's ignorance of pop culture that he knew. He had found his something to feel so lucky about. His eternity. His serendipity.

[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER THREE: ELLIPISM

They never told Iris. They never told anyone. Iris found out. Rather she figured it out. Way before they actually started the relationship. It was the smile Barry had when he introduced her to Oliver. It was the way his dimples were showing, they're noticeable only if he excessively smiles. It was the light that illuminated his eyes, making them a stunning shade of green, a green she had never seen before. It was the way he stuttered. Barry often stuttered, but it was different that time, it felt like he was searching for the right voice, for the right tone and for the right words. Barry had never done that. But that time, that particular time he did. And Iris knew. She understood instantly the connection between the two. She immediately caught on her foster brother's infatuation towards the other man. That's why she called.

Oliver had risked his life more in the six hundred miles he had just drove than during his permanence on Lian Yu. The motorcycle almost fell when he hopped off. He run in as fast as he could, his jacket and helmet still on. He had a dejavu. Just like a year and a half ago he felt as if he was dissociated from his body. As if someone else was controlling his actions. He heard himself scream Iris' name. But he couldn't feel himself opening his mouth, or raising his voice. He couldn't feel the scratch in his throat, or the pain in his lungs. However Oliver felt the terror, he felt the anxiety bubbling in his chest, quickening his heartbeat. He felt the horror, he felt the fear flowing in his veins, reaching his brain and feeding the millions different scenarios running through his head. He screamed again, and again, until his blurry vision caught a distant figure.

Iris had once again sat down beside her father, her head back on his shoulder, their hands locked into one another. The woman was breathing heavily, desperately trying to contain what most likely was an horrible panic attack. Joe saw it. Of course he did. He always did. He turned his head towards her and placed his lips on her forehead, he tightened the grip on her hand in attempt to comfort her; to comfort himself. The sight they were currently witnessing was simply horrifying. There were no other words to describe it, or the feelings it was provoking. And they didn't think there could be something more frightening than that. The wouldn't have, but then they heard the scream. Joe's hand instinctively want to the gun hostler attached to his hip. Cisco jumped from his chair and Caitlin froze on the spot. Iris' eyes went wide. She rapidly stood up and run towards the corridor. She run as fast as she could, her father at her tail. Seconds later she found herself in front of a view she never thought she would see. Oliver Queen in a pair of sweatpants, a leather jacket and a motorcycle helmet in his hand; face wet with tears, chest heavy with anxiety and hands trembling in fear. She slowly approached the man, calculated every movement in fear he would break.

"Oliver"

She whispered.

"What-wh-what happened "

He replied, heavy breaths in between every syllable.

"Zoom won this fight too"

She explained, and she didn't need to say anything else. Oliver rushed past her, he sprinted to the infirmary. Caitlin was there, she had recognised the voice.

"He has suffered from a mild concussion, his wrist was fractured and his ankle dislocated. He had several cracked ribs, however this isn't what I'm concerned about. I suspect that he has also suffered from a spinal cord injury, but I can't be sure until he wakes up. Unfortunately I don't know when that will happen. His healing is extremely enhanced, but that doesn't mean he doesn't need rest."

Caitlin described the situation, settling even more fear in Oliver's heart.

He cautiously approached the med bed, scared that Barry would disappear if he did it to fast. Barry. His Barry. It was heart wreaking watching him lie there. He looked so small. Oliver almost laughed at that. Barry was a 6 ft 2" man. Yet he look so small. So fragile. He seemed made of glass. Of crystal. Oliver couldn't think of another single time in which he felt such pain, such sorrow deep in his gut. His hand reached for the plastic chair behind him just seconds before his legs gave out. He took Barry's hand in his. His Barry.

"Bear"

Oliver barely whispered with a voice broken by misery. He lowered his head on the mattress and let himself break. Just for a moment, but he allowed to let himself sob. How could he not? His Barry was lying there looking lifeless. His Barry.

Oliver rapidly regained his composure. He observed the room, taking notice of everyone's absence. Then his eyes met Barry's face. His Barry. How could he look so gorgeous? He thought. Should he had felt bad for thinking that in such bitter circumstances? Perhaps. But he didn't. He felt sad? No. Wretched? No. Glum maybe? No. He couldn't find the right word to describe exactly what he was feeling. Did it matter anyway ? No, but it was some sort of effort to make himself feel better. Feel something at least. He was grasping at every crumb of rationality to somehow try to find a reason to all the pain Barry had to go through. All the pain the both of them had to endure.

"Ellipsism"

Felicity had said one day, out of the blue. Oliver was exercising while John meticulously scrutinised him.

"Is that a word you invented?"

He had answered.

"No, idiot. Ellipsism: A sadness that you'll never be able to know how history will turn out. I'm trying to amplify my vocabulary so that I can learn to express myself better and not stutter."

She responded to his attempt to comedy.

That was it. That was what he was feeling in that moment. What was eating him from the inside. Ellipsism: A sadness that you'll never be able to know how history will turn out. It was scary, terrifying not knowing what the future was holding for him. Was there more suffering? More tragedy? Did they get their happy ending? Was Barry even in his future? The unknown in that precise instant represented the most frightening of the enemies Oliver had ever faced in his entire permanence on the island. In his entire life, if he had to be completely honest with himself. For the third time in less then twenty four hours Oliver's mind was invaded by a storm of thousands and thousands of distinct thoughts, different possibilities for their future. However everything conjoined into one thing. Everything rotated back to that sadness that you'll never be able to know how history will turn out. Everything reconnected to ellipsism.

[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER TWO: ANXIETY

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of anxiety, heights and dangerous and violent actions

Never in his entire life had Oliver witnessed such a quiet Starling City. He was certain that even when he was on the island there hadn't been a single night that silent. That calm. There weren't cars speeding down the streets. There weren't men dressed in black hiding in the shadows. There weren't drunk boys trying to pick a fight or harass some poor girls. Felicity was strangely quiet, no news about a robbery, a murder, a deal; nothing. It was almost scary. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe what was actually scary was the nauseating feeling that had settled in his stomach at the beginning of the night. A feeling that by the sunrise was making him hyperventilate. If the city was so serene, then what was the reason of his anxiety?

"Felicity"

He called once. Then another time. Then another. She was probably asleep on her desk. Oliver shook his head. He dropped off the roof he was on. One specific roof. As he was on the edge of it he smiled to himself. He subconsciously turned his head around to look at the empty dove he was about to leave behind. His mind replayed what had happened a year prior.

"I'm not sure if I can be like you, some vigilante"

The younger man had said, a despondent, no disappointed expression painted on his face.

"No"

He had responded.

"You can be better. You can be something I could never, an inspiration, a hero. You can watch over the city like a guardian angel, and save them. In a flash"

He had said to him, in a almost desperate attempt to erase the sadness from the other man's heart. The feeling of great happiness that invaded his heart when he saw Barry's smile was possibly the most amount of happiness he had ever felt in his entire life. In that moment Oliver had found himself incapable of control his reactions, so he let a small smile slip. A smile that could only grow at the sight of his dimples. What was happening? Why was he unable to restrain himself and his reactions? How was Barry capable of having such an impact on him? Oliver lowered his head and slightly chuckled.

"And take your own advice, wear a mask"

He said, then took what was probably the only moment of sanity since the start of the conversation and walked away. As he was about the jump from the edge of the roof, the same voice that had distracted him just a few minutes before, spoke again.

"You'll help me, right?"

Barry's voice was shaky, as if he had let his anxiety take control over him once again.

"I'll be there, every step of the way"

A breath of wind brought Oliver back to reality. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as his eyes made contact with the street. He took his hood off and run his hands through his hair. What was happening? Why was he feeling so preoccupied? He run his hands over his face sighing again. He took his bow in his left hand, clenched it around the metal. His right one searched for an arrow in the quiver attached to his back. He shot. He jumped. As his feet touched the ground he let out another breath. His head swirled with thousands of different possible explanations. He went through every single one of those thoughts and neither one of them seem remotely reasonable. His mind wandered to Barry. Bartholomew Henry Allen. His Bear. His. Oliver didn't even remember when he started calling Barry his. Or how for all it matters. It just happened. That spark they felt when Barry infiltrated into Queens Consolidate grew. It became a flame, then a bonfire, then huge fire. A fire either of them had intention to extinguish.

Oliver let himself smile as he turned his motorcycle on. He hopped on and turned right, then left. The foundry grew closer and closer, every mile brought up a different memory: Barry saving his life, their first "crossover" as Barry had addressed as, the late night calls, the late night runs, their first date. Oliver found himself thinking about their first date.

"How about we start tomorrow"

A strange wave of courage had washed over him. He had hesitated to jump off the roof. He didn't know why tho. He didn't understand why. He just stopped on the edge. Stopped and started talking. It felt like he was watching himself from above. As if someone had taken possession of his body.

"Like starting to train?"

Barry's voice was light, filled with confusion.

"You have woken up from a coma what? Six, seven hours ago? I was thinking more about a meeting?"

"A date"

Said Barry. And Oliver went completely quiet. Was that what he meant? Did Barry want it to be a date? Did Oliver himself want it to be a date? Again as if he was watching somebody else answer for him, he opened his mouth and said

"Exactly like a date"

The two of them felt that little spark grow a bit bigger, a sense of warmth and tranquility spread in both their chests and they smiled at each other. Oliver jumped. Barry run. They left each other behind, but not for long.

The ride to the foundry was as smooth as the night Oliver had just spent jumping from a roof to another. As he entered the warehouse Felicity jumped from her chair, adjusting her glasses and her blouse. Oliver quietly chuckled and shook his head. Felicity sent him a poisonous look and flipped him off, while she stretched her legs and sat back down on her chair. Oliver slowly undressed himself, set his quiver and his bow aside and placed his mask on its stand. His mask. The mask Barry had made. For him. Oliver had a very long time to get to know Barry Allen. He now knew his quirks, his virtues, his flaws, his darkness and his light. However he still couldn't understand why would he take time and effort to make him a gift after he had tried to kill him. He was grateful non the less.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud ring. He jumped and looked around, searching for the source of such loud noise.

"It's your phone"

Felicity said with a scratchy, tired voice. When Oliver picked it up from the desk a new, fresh wave of anxiety hit him like a tsunami. Iris. Iris never texted. Iris never called. Why would she reach out at 6:47 in the morning? Was she the answer to the nervousness he had felt all night? Was the source of said nervousness Barry? He answered.

"Oliver"

Her voice was shaky, Oliver could picture her puffy, red eyes and her wet cheeks.

"Zoom"

She said. That's all she needed to say. Oliver ended the call. He took his jacket and helmet and hopped on his bike once again. However this time he was sure the ride was going to be way much longer.