Crimson

hospitals are never fun

^Barry impatiently waiting for Pippin to get out of surgery

This picture is so perfect for this chapter
(I mean all pictures that have Grant Gustin in them are perfect)
but when I saw his eyes, and the face, the faceeeeee, I had to

This poem serves to show how flabbergasted I am at how we reached so many reads and votes so here goes-
The Flash Suit is red,
Felicity's eyes are blue,
We're up to 13k,
I can't express how much I love all of you

Cue another emotional section of Pippin's backstory

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Golden sunlight streamed through the window, lazily, casting shadows around the small room.

A blonde stretched out on the cot, playing with the bandages on her knuckles.

She ran her fingers over the cloth over and over again, her eyes stuck on the badly-plastered ceiling.

She could hear footsteps slowly climbing up the winding staircase she could picture in her mind.

Her fingers paused on the cloth as the door opened, then continued again.
The woman that entered didn't say anything before a long sigh echoed around the room.

"I just finished talking to the police."

The girl didn't look at the speaker, hearing springs creak as the woman sat down.
"They say since you technically didn't start the fight that you won't have to go to jail, but it is going on your record."

The blonde could hear the faint Russian accent, barely detectable under the well-spoken English.

"Why do you do these things?"
The woman questioned, her voice exasperated as she threw her hands up in defeat.
The girl didn't answer, her finger moving faster as she stared at the ceiling.

"Alexandria,"
The blonde flinched, her gray eyes flicking towards the woman in a steely gaze.

"Don't call me that."
She whispered, her voice hoarse and gritty.

"It is your name. The name your parents gave you."
The woman answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes, right before they left me in a box on the steps of an orphanage."
The girl sat up, frowning at the stinging feeling that started to bother her eyes.

"They had no choice, you know they didn't."
The woman's tone softened before the girl's eyes darted to her, an angry frown decorating her forehead.

"Everyone has a choice."
She snapped, running her fingers again over the bandage.

"And you chose to fight?"
The woman's scoff echoed around the room, mockingly.

"They called me a Ублюдок (bastard)."
She murmured, her eyes flashing angrily at the last word.

"ничего не стоит сирота (worthless orphan),"
She added, staring at the spot of crimson on the bandage.
"They kept chanting it over and over."