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fandomweekly2020-09-19 09:28 am
peaked) wrote in fandomweekly2020-09-19 09:28 am
Entry tags:
[#067] MIRROR (DCTV)
Theme Prompt: #67—Shattered.
Title: Mirror.
Fandom: The Flash (DCTV).
Rating/Warnings: M. Features a mental breakdown and references violence.
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 842.
Summary: Iris loses her mind.
Notes: This is set during the Flash's Season 6 (particularly 6b) and is inspired by the season 7 promo, although it takes liberties with when it's set in the storyline. Only spoilers this fic contains is the plot for Season 6b and vague comic references, otherwise it's all speculation.
She stares at the mirror and it doesn't show her face. Reaching out to touch it, she feels nothing but cold ice.
Her mother used to tell her stories about a girl who used to walk through mirrors. She peered through it like a looking glass and saw worlds upon worlds like the Multiverse inside it. Her mother used to tell her that the girl used to travel and save worlds, exposing truths and injustices. She used to have a prince by her side and at her back. He was a man who never tried to overshadow her when she could save herself.
Or maybe it was her father. No, it was her mother. She remembers Francine by her bedside, telling her stories about a princess who saved herself. Joe hadn't been there. Joe had abandoned her.
When Iris peers in the mirrors on the Mirror Side, she doesn't see her reflection, but she sees herself in everything.
A young girl who performs a ballet recital without growing nervous and in need of a boy to ascend the stairs to help her get through it.
A young woman who pursues journalism fearlessly like it had been in her blood all along.
A superhero in purple, zipping through the streets as its hero.
A woman standing at the altar with the Man in Yellow's hand through her head.
When she touches the glass, she feels nothing. None of it feels right.
It's smooth beneath her fingers and cold. Lifeless. Peering into the glass doesn't show her Barry or their loft. It's cold and desolate and then warm and too confronting. Iris can't look away, no matter how hard she tries.
The mirror shows her chasing after a young girl with yellow and purple streaks of lightning and reprimanding her for stealing a toy.
No. She knows that's not right. Dawn had made that up to protect herself. Dawn hadn't let Don play with the toy even though she had promised—
Iris shakes her head and scratches at her arm until it bleeds. "Her name is Nora. Her name is Nora."
Time becomes nothing. Iris doesn't know how many times she tries to walk through these mirrors. She wills them to open, presses her palms against the glass, and feels nothing. No warmth, no fractures, nothing.
Purple flashes beneath her hand and she feels the surface vibrate, but the mirror remains intact. Thick and impenetrable—a prison.
Mom lied. It's the first thought that feels right.
Until one day—or hour or second or breath—she sees Barry. He's tall, lanky, blue eyes with blonde hair. No. She closes her eyes and makes herself see him stand before her with his lopsided smile, hazel eyes and brown hair.
She grasps onto it.
"Barry."
"Mind the glass," Barry says. Iris frowns as she looks at him, down at his hand where it's out of focus. When she tries to catch his fingers, she feels nothing solid to grasp onto.
She sees their loft, his smile brightening the kitchen too fiercely. She squints and it only grows brighter. Iris can't see him anymore.
"Hey, Wally's going to come over for dinner tonight."
"Wally?"
"Yeah, your nephew?" Barry laughs and it sounds too hollow. "Don't tell me you forgot about him already."
Iris shakes her head. She has a brother. She remembers her brother. Before her, she sees her younger self with a little boy, holding his hand and protecting him from the world.
It's not real.
Iris remembers loneliness in her childhood before a boy had stepped out of the mirror and set her house on fire. But it wasn't destructive. The flames hadn't licked at her house. They had rebuilt it from ash.
When she closes her eyes, she can see him: a younger Barry sitting on the couch, his head in his hands and sobbing. She remembers going to him. She remembers sitting beside him. His head is a heavy but comforting weight against her legs.
The outstretched hand stills and she captures it in her own. Warmed by his fingers, Iris squeezes until his hand almost bursts.
"Mind your feet," he says. His hand is on her back, solid, warm, vibrating lightly. He's afraid of her tripping on their rug. "Your brother's coming for dinner."
The memory repairs its shattered self.
"Don't tell me you forgot," Barry laughs, bright and warm and loud.
Iris breathes.
The mirror shifts and she sees herself on the other side. The glass doesn't shake. When she blinks, it doesn't disperse. None of her thoughts feel jaded or wrong. She stares at herself, standing tall, steeled, and assured.
Her reflection stands in her loft. Shoulders pulled back, hands clasped together, and her gaze piercing. Iris scratches at her arm and watches as her reflection's arms remain stiff by her sides.
"Success is assured," she sees herself say. She doesn't blink, move nor breathe. When her reflection reaches out to touch the glass, it shatters.
Title: Mirror.
Fandom: The Flash (DCTV).
Rating/Warnings: M. Features a mental breakdown and references violence.
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 842.
Summary: Iris loses her mind.
Notes: This is set during the Flash's Season 6 (particularly 6b) and is inspired by the season 7 promo, although it takes liberties with when it's set in the storyline. Only spoilers this fic contains is the plot for Season 6b and vague comic references, otherwise it's all speculation.
She stares at the mirror and it doesn't show her face. Reaching out to touch it, she feels nothing but cold ice.
Her mother used to tell her stories about a girl who used to walk through mirrors. She peered through it like a looking glass and saw worlds upon worlds like the Multiverse inside it. Her mother used to tell her that the girl used to travel and save worlds, exposing truths and injustices. She used to have a prince by her side and at her back. He was a man who never tried to overshadow her when she could save herself.
Or maybe it was her father. No, it was her mother. She remembers Francine by her bedside, telling her stories about a princess who saved herself. Joe hadn't been there. Joe had abandoned her.
When Iris peers in the mirrors on the Mirror Side, she doesn't see her reflection, but she sees herself in everything.
A young girl who performs a ballet recital without growing nervous and in need of a boy to ascend the stairs to help her get through it.
A young woman who pursues journalism fearlessly like it had been in her blood all along.
A superhero in purple, zipping through the streets as its hero.
A woman standing at the altar with the Man in Yellow's hand through her head.
When she touches the glass, she feels nothing. None of it feels right.
It's smooth beneath her fingers and cold. Lifeless. Peering into the glass doesn't show her Barry or their loft. It's cold and desolate and then warm and too confronting. Iris can't look away, no matter how hard she tries.
The mirror shows her chasing after a young girl with yellow and purple streaks of lightning and reprimanding her for stealing a toy.
No. She knows that's not right. Dawn had made that up to protect herself. Dawn hadn't let Don play with the toy even though she had promised—
Iris shakes her head and scratches at her arm until it bleeds. "Her name is Nora. Her name is Nora."
Time becomes nothing. Iris doesn't know how many times she tries to walk through these mirrors. She wills them to open, presses her palms against the glass, and feels nothing. No warmth, no fractures, nothing.
Purple flashes beneath her hand and she feels the surface vibrate, but the mirror remains intact. Thick and impenetrable—a prison.
Mom lied. It's the first thought that feels right.
Until one day—or hour or second or breath—she sees Barry. He's tall, lanky, blue eyes with blonde hair. No. She closes her eyes and makes herself see him stand before her with his lopsided smile, hazel eyes and brown hair.
She grasps onto it.
"Barry."
"Mind the glass," Barry says. Iris frowns as she looks at him, down at his hand where it's out of focus. When she tries to catch his fingers, she feels nothing solid to grasp onto.
She sees their loft, his smile brightening the kitchen too fiercely. She squints and it only grows brighter. Iris can't see him anymore.
"Hey, Wally's going to come over for dinner tonight."
"Wally?"
"Yeah, your nephew?" Barry laughs and it sounds too hollow. "Don't tell me you forgot about him already."
Iris shakes her head. She has a brother. She remembers her brother. Before her, she sees her younger self with a little boy, holding his hand and protecting him from the world.
It's not real.
Iris remembers loneliness in her childhood before a boy had stepped out of the mirror and set her house on fire. But it wasn't destructive. The flames hadn't licked at her house. They had rebuilt it from ash.
When she closes her eyes, she can see him: a younger Barry sitting on the couch, his head in his hands and sobbing. She remembers going to him. She remembers sitting beside him. His head is a heavy but comforting weight against her legs.
The outstretched hand stills and she captures it in her own. Warmed by his fingers, Iris squeezes until his hand almost bursts.
"Mind your feet," he says. His hand is on her back, solid, warm, vibrating lightly. He's afraid of her tripping on their rug. "Your brother's coming for dinner."
The memory repairs its shattered self.
"Don't tell me you forgot," Barry laughs, bright and warm and loud.
Iris breathes.
The mirror shifts and she sees herself on the other side. The glass doesn't shake. When she blinks, it doesn't disperse. None of her thoughts feel jaded or wrong. She stares at herself, standing tall, steeled, and assured.
Her reflection stands in her loft. Shoulders pulled back, hands clasped together, and her gaze piercing. Iris scratches at her arm and watches as her reflection's arms remain stiff by her sides.
"Success is assured," she sees herself say. She doesn't blink, move nor breathe. When her reflection reaches out to touch the glass, it shatters.
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