#with the henries being just emotional volcanoes erupting

[kineticallyanywhere]

Monkey’s Paw pages 152-157 ( START HERE || ao3 || previous || next ) AU after episode 62. The Omega Dads try a more desperate gambit, but   careful what you wish for. Our dads find alternate versions of themselves in a strange dreamscape. If you die in the dream,doyou die in real life?

Is Freddie's commitment to the non-magic bit so important to me? yes. its so freaking funny.

is it also fun to let glenn be a 16th level bard. also yes.

Anyway! Welcome the GEEZERS to the big ol bottle of chemicals I'm shaking. this time place your best on which one is about to get got :))))))

[raging-violets]

⭐ + anyfic. I am just curious what your favorite is

What’s a scene/paragraph you’re proud of?

Riley: I’m kind of cheating as I’ve used this in a recent ask, but I’m really proud of this one. Chapter 49 of Fuel to the Fire. I freaking love this scene because of the emotion that is filled within it. I watched it over and over to get the idea of how Barry was feeling visually, to work it out in narrative. I think it turned out well.

And just like that, Zoom rammed his hand through Henry’s heart. Blood splattered along the walls, across Barry’s Cadence’s, and Roy’s faces, dripped to the floor, stuck to Zoom’s finger tips along with tiny shreds of Henry’s heart.

“NO!” The pain of Barry’s scream ripped through his throat. Tore through his body, causing more damage than a bullet could. He blacked out. He didn’t see Cadence and Roy attack at the same time, a fireball straight to Zoom’s face and an arrow to the shoulder. He didn’t see Zoom’s roar of pain as he backed away to stumble into the wall where he frantically tried to rub at his face and pull the arrow form his shoulder.

Barry fell to his knees, cradling his father in his arms. “Dad? Dad?” He frantically ran his hands from his father’s head to his shoulders, trying to find the best way to hold Henry to him. “Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” Henry’s eyes rolled towards Barry as he gasped for air. Frantically swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly. Tried to speak. Blood bubbled at his lips, rolled down his chin, a stark contrast against his pale skin. “Dad, don’t leave. Don’t leave me. Not again, not again.”

Henry’s movements came weaker, his hand reaching up to brush Barry’s cheek. Missed. Barely got his arm. Barry grasped Cadence’s arm and pulled her down to her knees next to him. He was surprised to find tears already falling down her cheeks. “Cade. Cay, please,” he said. “Please.” He couldn’t get the words out.

Heal him. Help him. Anything that could get him back on his feet. Anything that’d take him from being so lifeless, so pale so…

Cadence shook her head.

“Please!”

“Barry, I can’t,” she finally said. “His heart…”

Barry looked down and saw the truth. “DAD!” Barry shouted at him. “Come on, come on. It’s alright. Dad?” Henry stopped responding, stopped moving. And Barry continued to scream the word ‘dad’ over and over again before he broke, sobbing over his father’s lifeless body. He was gone.

“I told you family was a weakness,” Zoom murmured, standing above them. Immediately, Barry turned a murderous glare towards him. Zoom let out a surprised laugh. “You feel the anger don’t you, Flash? And now, you’re just like me.”

‘NO!“ Barry screamed.

He slammed Zoom into the wall and started to punch him over and over. Raced out of the house after him, ran as hard and fast as he could. Ran ‘til it felt like his head was exploding, ran till blood poured out of his nose. At one point Zoom ran so fast he split in two, one copy of him going one way, the other splitting off. When Barry caught up with the one copy he grabbed onto Zoom and continued to beat him mercilessly.

“I got you, Zoloman!” Barry growled, throwing him around the alleyway. “I got you!”

Zoom tilted his head back and looked Barry in the eye, allowing Barry to rip off his cowl and look him in the eye. “Use your power, Barry!” He taunted. “End me!”

Barry gasped when Zoom was ripped form his grasp. No, not Zoom. Jay. Jay Garrick. The Jay had had betrayed them. The time remnant. Zoom stood behind him, holding the cowl of Jay’s suit back, choking him. “I no longer have a need for you,” Zoom said, shoving his fist through Jay’s chest before tossing his lifeless body aside. Zoom pulled off his hood and hissed, lips pulled back into a sinister smile. “So close, Barry. So close and yet so far. So I killed my time remnant, but what does that mean for you? You can do it, too. You just have to be ready to kill yourself.” His eyes shifted over Barry’s. “Yeah, you’re almost ready.”

Zoom ran past Barry, thrusting him into the dumpster beside him and streaked out of sight, leaving a lightning trail behind him. Barry watched after him, chest heaving until his volcano of emotions erupted. Until he was left was bawling, screaming, crying out for the pain to go away but knowing it never would.

He screamed and cried so hard he didn’t notice when it started to rain, didn’t notice when Cadence grabbed him and pulled him onto her lap, rocking him back and forth and holding him as she cried, too, didn’t notice how much his heart was slowly breaking.

Rhuben: My choice also has to do with death, but with my Mighty Ducks fanfic, Flying Solo. But, I’m going to cheat a tad and show two parts: both a part of the overall scene, though. Adam and Charlie are two of my favorite characters (whose isn’t?), and I really wanted to showcase in that moment how different they were, yet how similar with how they reacted to the news - especially given what we saw in the movie.

It was all so weird; everything still looked normal, and maybeAdam did too, but inside, he felt like a part of him was missing. At the sametime, he didn’t really believe it; it was a strange idea to wrap his mindaround that one minute Hans was there and the next he was gone and wouldn’tever be seen again. He was so lost in thought, Guy had to shake him to tell himthat they had made it to their stop.

“Where should we go first?” Connie asked as they stepped offthe bus. She slid her hands into her jeans pockets before reaching out a handto take Guy’s.

“You want to, maybe, go check out Hans’s shop?” Guy asked. Hisupper lip curling just slightly at the suggestion. “I don’t know if that’sweird.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Adam agreed with a nod of his head. Withthe fading light guiding their way, the hockey players silently made their waythrough town.

“Remember when Hans let us go on a shopping spree in hisstore?” Connie asked with a little laugh in her voice. “We went running up anddown the aisles looking at everything we could get our hands on. Peter nearly gaveKarp a black eye when they were boxing with gloves.”

“That was probably a mistake on his part,” Guy said,laughing at the memory. “We left that store in shambles.” A smile came to hisface. “But, he was happy to do it.”

“I wouldn’t be a Duck if it wasn’t for Hans,” Adam said ashe kicked at a rock on the ground. He watched as it bounced down the sidewalkbefore disappearing into the shadows. “I don’t think I ever thanked him.” Guyand Connie were silent for a moment.

“I don’t think any of us ever thanked him,” Connie admitted.She let out a loud groan, grasping handfuls of her hair. “That sucks! If anyoneever deserved all the thanks in the world, it’s him.”

“I don’t think he was ever looking for one,” Adam said,patting her on the shoulder.

“Yeah, I think its ok,” Guy agreed, gentlybumping her opposite shoulder with his own. “I don’t think he’d accept it,anyway.” Adam and Connie muttered a quiet “yeah” in response.

and

Everyone fell silent. The sound of running water reachedtheir ears. “That better not be what I think it is,” Connie said before runningtowards the back of the showers. She was the first to reach the humid area,finding one of the showers with its curtain drawn shut. “Charlie?”

Adam and Guy grabbed a handful of the shower curtain andpulled it back. They all gathered around the stall to find Charlie slumped intothe corner, soaking wet. His legs were pulled up to his chest, arms droppedinto his lap. The shower water fell onto him, pushing his hair into his face,over his downcast eyes.

“Charlie!”

Charlie slowly lifted his eyes, looking up at his friendswith eyes shiny and red rimmed. They watched as his face slowly crumpled beforehe opened his mouth. His jaw quivered before he let out an echoing sob.

[Send us a Writing Ask]

[myzoofelixlestrange]

JURASSIC WORLD

Jurassic World is the 2015 American science fiction dinosaur themed movie, also known as the modern reboot/ continuation of the classic Jurassic park trilogy.

similar to the first movie, this ones open with the introduction of a zoo like park involved of only de-extent dinosaurs. however this time around the park is open to the public and has been for quite a few years. now u see a whole generation of children that grew up with the existence of dinosaurs. Another big difference from the first movie is that they've had another breakthrough with the dinosaur biogenetics science; this time around they've created a new attraction featuring the Indominus rex. this dinosaur is a mix between a t-rex and raptor, as well as a few other splices of animal DNA which is later found to give it special abilities such as complete camouflage from sight and heat sensors. the role of this creature was to create a dinosaur that would shock this new generation of children who have been numbed by the existence of dinosaurs.

the plot begins with this Indominus rex escaping is paddock, however she does this all on its own due to its heightened intelligence. instead of someone's selfish intentions like in Jurassic park, this time the dinosaur uses its camouflage skills to appear completely off the radar making the humans believe she's already escaped. this is emphasised with fake scratches on the walls. humans are sent into the paddock to inspect which leads to the dinosaur to escape into outer park. 

After releasing carnage on many other dinosaurs on the island, she finally makes her way to the public along side a pack of raptors and a swarm of pterosaurs which were released from the parks Avery. within the chaos, the  geneticist Dr. Henry Wu privately evacuates with the embryos, escaping the island. 

after a fight with the Indominus rex vs the raptors and the iconic t-rex. the rouge dinosaur is finally taken down by the gigantic water dwelling Mosasaurs. ultimately the survivors are evacuated and the island is abandoned again.

The Containment and The Faults that lead to Escape.

Unlike the original Jurassic park, the technology in this time period is way superior that the previous park. the enclosures are way more secure and there's also an evacuation plan put in place for an escape. they have trackers and access to trained soldiers/ weapons. but chaos happened so what went wrong?

1- the Indominus rex’s intelligence. The starting catalyst for this carnage was the fact that the dinosaur was smart enough to escape their paddock. this extended to being able to rip out her own tracker (which she remembered being placed inside her) as well as the event of persuading the raptors to join her.

2- the evacuation plan. this plan was smart and was very much needed in order to save lives. the only problem was they failed to use this plan. This was because Claire Dearing, the operations manager/ protagonist, wanted to capture and contain the Indominus rex so the parks reputation would die from needing to evacuate. unfortunately due to the later incident, it would have damaged less if they evacuated as soon as the Indominus rex escaped. this risk led to the deaths of 100s of people working/ visiting the park. 

3- military help. unlike the first Jurassic park movie, the park now has a lot more tech and gun power in order to keep these dinosaurs in control, they even had a last minute plan to use the raptors to hunt down the Indominus rex but this failed quickly when the raptors went on the to indominus’s side due to the shared respect of DNA. but why did the previous attempts fail. there was quite a few attempt that went into capturing the dinosaur which lead to loosing many lives. the main attempt was sending a group in but they didn't have guns, only tranquilisers. this was because the primary goal as to capture, not kill. its unclear whether or not they would have been able to capture or even take down the dinosaur purely because of its skill and intelligence. 

The Results

So despite all the resources the park had, many many lives were lost during the movie. this was because of the humans, the dinosaur defiantly shouldn't have been created without total agreement in the park, not just the lead geneticist dr wu. The very delayed evacuation is also at fault, i understand the reason of not wanting to evacuate but the risk was way too big. it was also very clear since the beginning of the escape that the escaped dinosaur was only killing for fun due to the huge trail of dead yet not eaten dinosaurs.

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

in summary- this movie heavily inspires my idea for this project. unlike the first Jurassic park movie, i want to focus more on the terror of blood-thirsty creatures that are let loose on a huge crowed of people, and this is something this movie goes into way more than the original. more death the better. 

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

JURASSIC WORLD: FALLEN KINGDOM

in the second movie of the Jurassic world series. the movies plot follows the story of the volcano on the island erupts leading to the evacuation of one of every dinosaur in order to continue the existence so there isn't another extinction. however the protagonists were tricked as instead of the dinosaurs being allowed to live peacefully, they're instead being auctioned off to rich people. the dinosaur villain of this movie is a new genetically modified dinosaur called the indoraptor, part indominus rex, part raptor. specifically the intelligent raptor, blue, from the first movie who was the most intelligent and capable of human emotions. they wanted this dinosaur to weaponize for war. the movie follows the escape of this dinosaur, however unlike previous moves, there's no capture result. the movie ends with the dinosaurs being released into wild to live amongst humans and other animals.

This is an interesting ending as it sets up a completely different plot for the next movies, whats going to happen to the world? will human and nature come out on top or will the dinosaurs reclaim the world. its unlikely the humans will loose due to there violent nature, but its still interesting to think about and would be something to include in my project. what will happen after my creatures escape? will they live on in the wild or hunted to extinction by the humans?

[ggypsykaate-blog]

      “I used to think if I photographed someone enough I could never lose them”- Nan Goldin                                   —‘To what extent can a photographic image ever really represent the reality it visually embodies?’—        

The photographic image is commonly thought of as a method to preserve the memory and existence of a person or thing. It’s the art of selection, choosing a single frame of the moment and deeming it significant and worthy of immortalisation. In a very literal sense, through a process of science and light, photography allows us to physically experience the past again, but to what extent can an image ever really be honestly regarded as a true representation of the reality it visually embodies?

-The legitimacy of the Photographic Image- Since its invention, photographs have been used as a thing of evidence, something unlikely can be validated by showing an image of it occurring. Beginning in Paris 1871, where the Paris police used photographs in the murderous roundups of communards, cameras have been used to record and incriminate. The use of camera in surveillance would suggest a honest and contextual validity in the referents, images possessing the ability to condemn by actualising tangible evidence of a moment existing. Though when, admittedly debatable, a photograph only can represent one singular moment in time how reliable can its narrative of the entire story be? Regarding the photographer as the story teller, they can only give the viewer a fleeting glimpse of life making it almost impossible to accurately capture reality from that snapshot. In my own work, I have toyed with both the ideas of the snapshot and extended moment. Inspiration from artists like Henri Carter-Bresson, who manage to, in the ‘decisive moment’,  capture such an obviously fleeting second led me to focus on the immediate, the temporary and my ability to form an accurate representation of that. Using what Martin Parr referred to as ‘processed nostalgia’, I experimented with shooting on instant film trying to emphasise the individuality and uniqueness of every shot and therefore every moment. Polaroid as a method arguably can be considered a more trustworthy option compared to its digital counterparts which are susceptible to editing. In one of Wim Wender’s newest projects ‘Instant Stories’ he discusses the power of the instantaneous image. He reminisces on its ability to turn the intangible moment tangible in a fraction of a second with a sense of nostalgia that correlates with its decreasing popularity. Instant film seems to effortlessly produce a significance and guarantee of individuality and the snapshot aesthetic which is symbolic of one place in time, alluding its power to honestly represent the moment it captures.

At at talk at the Tate gallery recently, an audience of 150 people were asked how many of them believed a photograph could be real. Just five people put there hands up. As society and technology develops it does become harder to have trust in the photographic images we see. With technological advancements like photoshop and other editing programs comes the most obvious way of falsifying an image, for example in the media where we are constantly bombarded by these ‘air-brushed’ images. Now more than ever, we are having to scrutinise photographs for misrepresentation of reality  and debate how much this photorealism replication of the fragmented moment really matters. The instinctive acceptance of what ever a photographic image shows having physically occurred is now naive, I could sit down in front of my laptop for five minutes and create an image which presents me standing on top of a erupting volcano but there is no legitimacy in this.  Despite still being a visual representation of a moment, photography is now no longer universally trustworthy, our faith must be in photographers to present their own and societies truth.

-The Taints of Nostalgia and Emotion on the Photographic Image- Photographs, being visual representations of memories, are associated with a bittersweet reaction and reflection, which can catalyse and provoke emotions of joy or more commonly melancholy which affects the way the images are interpreted. Susan Sontag writes “Most subjects photographed are, just by virtue of being photographed, touched with pathos.” Its not surprisingly that most images are impacted by the passage of time, they act as a reminder of times and things gone, thus creating a common characteristic of being emotionally loaded throughout photography. It is possible for a photograph to become liable to this taint of nostalgia, limiting its ability to truly represent an accurate version of reality due to the high connotations of emotion. Photographers and viewers alike can attach emotional meaning to images, impacting the way the image is viewed and accepted by the individual. Nostalgia can work as a punctum in several cases, the wounding prick of the image being the acknowledgement of the passage of time and the change inevitable with that. An image of a loved one becomes more precious after you lose them, or an image of a child in the late 19th century become more haunting when you acknowledge they’ve lived and died by now. As an outsider and an observer I can partake in the mourning of a stranger through their photograph. On the news the story of the person, who has no relation to me, murdered seems to resonate more when you see their smiling portrait next to it.  Sontag writes “ To photograph is to take part in another persons (or thing’s) mortality.”, implying the awareness of the photographer of the fragility of life compared to the preservation of the photographic image. She also describes photography as ‘the inventory for mortality’, taking photographs documents mortality, visually showing the implications of time moving on, like the process of ageing. This could start to explain why people take pictures, the fear of forgetting is lessened when you have a photo album of reminders. To “take part in another person’s (or thing’s) morality” the photographer must also be aware of the fleeting nature of the moment, similarly to Henri Carter-Bresson’s ‘Decisive Moment’, the frame exists for one moment alone and then disappears into the abyss of the past. A photograph eventually ‘drifts away into a soft pastness, open to any kind of reading’, generalised as history and tainted by nostalgia it blurs into a sentimental fragment lost in a time it no longer belongs.

Feelings of nostalgia and reminders of human mortality have extensive emotive powers over individuals due to a fundamental fear of change and death, images have this partial preservation ability that can consequently catalyse strong reactions. The past as a punctum is especially effective in provoking a response due to the emotional hold it can have on individuals. Some of the most emotive photographs I have ever taken I can pinpoint to one of the most emotional weeks of my life. The images themselves are nothing spectacular and an outsider would probably judge them unremarkably mundane but each time I revisit them I am surprised by the hold they still have over me. Looking at the photographs has the ability to rekindle and recreate the emotional state I was in at the time I took them, suggesting the visual representations, which are  consequently reminders of the memories, are loaded with the emotional connotations of reality. There is something evidently valid in the interpreted reality of an image which can transport you emotionally to when it was taken. Due to the varying emotional capacity images can provoke, its possible for individuals to interpret images differently and therefore the version of reality accepted is never consistent. In the preface of ‘The Picture of Dorian Grey’, Oscar Wilde wrote “It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.” I find tremendous truth in this, regardless of what part of life the artist had the intent to hold the mirror to, if any, in their work, it is always down to the individual viewer to what they will take from it and relate it to themselves. How the reality of an image is presented and therefore processed will also always be liable to the opinion and judgment of the photographer. A subjective image is an interpreted reality, but surely there is no such thing as an objective one?

-The Influence of the Photographer’s Gaze-                                            Presumably a photograph must always be subjective, due to the control of the photographer. Photography is the art of selection compared the art of creation. In photography, the photographer begins with the entirety of the world and then focuses the camera’s frame to disclose and select what they want to present. The viewer is experiencing the world through the photographers eyes, its what they’ve seen, deemed worthy and chosen to compose in a certain way.  Whilst some photographers may share similar styles of taking photographs, no two people could take the exact same image when dealing with the same subject due to the unique artistic eye of the individual. If we can imply that all images are subjective then we can’t generalise that all photographs honestly represent a universal reality of society but instead a photographers individual truth. After looking at various artists, all with their own styles and subjects, I sincerely think a considerable amount of the way photographers present their own individual truths is consequence of their involvement with their referents.

In Nan Goldin and Bruce Davidson’s work I see the spectrum of subjectivity in regard to taking the photographic image, though both seem like honest documentations of society, I believe the differences in their work derive from their contrasting execution and engagement. Goldin’s work radiates the intimate connections she had with the world she photographed, whilst in relation Davidson’s images seem to give an objective insight into the people he documents, like fly on the wall his position as an outsider is apparent. An ideal example of this in Davidson’s work is his body of work from 1959 where he followed around a young gang from Brooklyn called The Jokers. From their first tattoos to beach days down at Coney Island, he documented their lives in their very own New York subculture. Reading about them in the newspapers first, Davidson ventured down to Prospect Park to attempt to gain access and insight into the group. He wrote, “My way of working is to enter an unknown world, explore it over a period of time and learn from it.” He referred to himself as ‘ a kind of explorer’ and a majority of Davidson’s work all share a systematic nature to the way he stays with one area until he is satisfied he has captured the sense of it, with and without the camera. On the other side of the spectrum is Nan Goldin’s photographic style which seems which exudes the emotional connections she already had with her subjects before photographing them with a raw frankness. She commented “I didn’t care about ‘good’ photography, I cared about complete honesty.” Which confirms her devotion to the truth and her ability to represent it. Her writing suggests her need to assemble these true replicas of people deriving from her own personal loss, “I lost the real memory of my sister…I never want to lose the real memory of anyone again.”   Her images have become iconic representations of the obscure sub-cultures she lived and loved in, shots of groups previously taboo like the transvestite community in NYC have defined her career. Famously in one interview she said “I don’t think anyone has the right to photograph a stranger.” Which is a clear indication of her relationships with her models, the gravity she places on each image and unlike Davidson, her central place in the world she photographs. Though whether an objective, outsiders perspective or the insiders privilege produces the most honest portrayal of reality is controversial.

- The Paradox of the Photographic Image- As much as we wish it could, the photograph will never be equivalent to its subject which resides in the realm of reality. No matter how much its visually resembles the referent or how real the emotional load of it may be, it will always be solely an image. Magritte confronted this idea of representative realism in his surrealist paintings, exploring the line between reality and illusion by making the viewer really consider what they are looking at. In one of his paintings ‘The Treachery of Images’ he juxtaposes a representation of a pipe with the comment ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe.’ which translates from french to ‘This is not a pipe.’ This painting was surprisingly controversial but ultimately he is correct. It is not a pipe, it is merely a painting of a pipe. Magritte commented “if I had written on my picture ‘this is a pipe’, I’d have been lying.” showing his understanding of the unavoidable gap between the real and the recreated. Comparing the photographic image to a dream, Barthes comments on photography’s inability to ever really capture and recreate the referent. “I know I am seeing her, but I am not seeing her” exposes it for the superficial, purely two dimensional way it replicates reality. Like in a dream, the viewer is consciously aware of what they are seeing and able to identify it as a member of real life, but also present is the subconscious knowledge that this pastiche of the person can never equal to the actually being. In grief you may seek out images of lost things to console pain but the referent of an image, despite being familiar, can never provide adequate  comfort as it will always fall short. I believe part of the bittersweet paradox of photography resigns/resides in  essentially being a optical illusion, enticing people with the promise to preserve the moment but never able to fully do that. In the end, the photographic image is a reminder of the memory, it is not the actual memory and it is not the actual subjects, just a joyful or melancholy catalyst. The full quote of Goldin’s is “I used to think if I photographed someone enough I could never lose them. In fact they show me how much I have lost.” Eventually the spectator is looking through the photo albums of their past is creating their own private view of loss; Nan Goldin says a prayer for each of the dead as she flicks through her ‘Ballad of Sexual Dependency’.

Ultimately I do not believe a image can ever truly represent a universal reality, nor do I believe it is its duty to do so. When an image alone can only ever represent a singular fragment of an infinite possibilities of moments, to have faith in the ‘decisive moment’ to be consistently regarded as a honest portrayal of all society is unrealistic. In a modern society the photographic image is liable to numerous factors that could taint its perspective and gaze on reality, obvious methods of this would be falsification and editing. Though more subtle impacts on the photographic image include the taints of emotional and nostalgia which can manipulate the way the photographs individually are accepted by a viewer. Each spectator, including the photographer, attaches their own meaning and associations to every piece of art, as each person has their own experiences and specific realities  which determines their internal schemas and information processing. Despite this, the photographer’s role will always have a degree of control over how they present a certain stimulus, by composing the image the spectator views the subject through photographers perspective. Due to this and the indisputably fact that photographs will never be fully equal to their subjects, I don’t believe photographs have to be, or should be fully regarded as their physical counterparts in reality. Instead the photographic image represents the unique truth of the photographer not society, its their eye and their gaze which produces images that aren’t just visual imitation but allude to how they scrutinise the their world

[raging-violets]

FicWriter’s Week - Day 5

@ficwritersweek

Day 5||Verbatim||Fuel To The Fire

Writers: Share your favorite quotes from your fics - There’s always those passages that you’re the most proud of writing. This prompt is so you can proudly showcase them to your readers!

-

"It's poetic, returning to your childhood home," Zoom rasped to Barry. The merry light in his eyes made Barry curl his fingers into fists. He was so preoccupied with Zoom, he didn't notice Cadence and Roy appear behind him, Roy with his bow drawn and pointing an arrow directly at Zoom.

No. Barry lifted a hand and stretched it towards Zoom. He stepped forward, foot pressing into a squeaky floorboard. It was the only other sound in the otherwise silent room. Even Henry stood still, watching his son. Barry's eyes shot to his father's. Don't worry, I'll save you. "Don't do this," Barry whispered. "I'm begging you. I'm begging you." He thumped a hand against his chest. "Take me. Take me instead." He licked his lips, swallowed hard. Throat as dry as a furnace. "Kill me. Kill me!"

"No!" Henry shouted.

"Barry," Cadence said from behind him. She exchanged a glance with Roy, he continued to hold the bow directly at Zoom, fingers slowly starting to tremble from the immense strain of pulling the bowstring tight.

"Look at me," Henry said to Barry. Barry shifted his gaze to his father. Shook his head. There had to be something else. Anything else. But Zoom was as fast as him, faster…Words were the only weapon now. "Look at me, son." Henry sucked in a deep breath through his nose, spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't take your eyes off me."

"Barry," Cadence repeated. This time with more force. The tension in the room immediately rose.

"You still won't believe me that you and I are the same," Zoom growled. "That there isn't anything that separates us from each other. That you think you're better than me."

"Come on." Had he said it out loud? Had he whispered it? Yelled it? Each word sounded like a bomb dropping. Shattering everything in sight. But the walls stood tall around them, waiting for the final nail removal that'd take them down. "Come on, Zoom."

Zoom continued as if he hadn't heard Barry say anything at all. "So I'm going to have to make you believe me."

"No," Barry whimpered. His lower jaw started to tremble. Eyes stung. There had to be something. Anything that could be done. Anything other than what was about to happen. His heart rammed against his throat. He knew what was about to happen. His blood went cold. Every part of him turned to ice.

"Whatever happens," Henry said firmly. "You've made me the happiest father."

"Dad," Barry gasped. His jaw shook fiercely. Body equally turned hot. He felt itchy, wanting to tear off his skin, wanted to tear off Zoom's head just as badly.

"This time." Zoom showed all of his teeth as he grinned. A Cheshire grin that couldn't be contained. "You're going to watch your parent die, just like I did."

"No. NO!" Barry shouted.

"This is what's going to make you just. Like. Me."

Father and son's eyes met.

"Your mother and I love—"

One last time.

"Zoom!"

And just like that, Zoom rammed his hand through Henry's heart. Blood splattered along the walls, across Barry's Cadence's, and Roy's faces, dripped to the floor, stuck to Zoom's finger tips along with tiny shreds of Henry's heart.

"NO!" The pain of Barry's scream ripped through his throat. Tore through his body, causing more damage than a bullet could. He blacked out. He didn't see Cadence and Roy attack at the same time, a fireball straight to Zoom's face and an arrow to the shoulder. He didn't see Zoom's roar of pain as he backed away to stumble into the wall where he frantically tried to rub at his face and pull the arrow form his shoulder.

Barry fell to his knees, cradling his father in his arms. "Dad? Dad?" He frantically ran his hands from his father's head to his shoulders, trying to find the best way to hold Henry to him. "Hey, hey, hey. Look at me." Henry's eyes rolled towards Barry as he gasped for air. Frantically swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing repeatedly. Tried to speak. Blood bubbled at his lips, rolled down his chin, a stark contrast against his pale skin. "Dad, don't leave. Don't leave me. Not again, not again."

Henry's movements came weaker, his hand reaching up to brush Barry's cheek. Missed. Barely got his arm. Barry grasped Cadence's arm and pulled her down to her knees next to him. He was surprised to find tears already falling down her cheeks. "Cade. Cay, please," he said. "Please." He couldn't get the words out.

Heal him. Help him. Anything that could get him back on his feet. Anything that'd take him from being so lifeless, so pale so…

Cadence shook her head.

"Please!"

"Barry, I can't," she finally said. "His heart…"

Barry looked down and saw the truth. "DAD!" Barry shouted at him. "Come on, come on. It's alright. Dad?" Henry stopped responding, stopped moving. And Barry continued to scream the word 'dad' over and over again before he broke, sobbing over his father's lifeless body. He was gone.

"I told you family was a weakness," Zoom murmured, standing above them. Immediately, Barry turned a murderous glare towards him. Zoom let out a surprised laugh. "You feel the anger don't you, Flash? And now, you're just like me."

“NO!" Barry screamed.

He slammed Zoom into the wall and started to punch him over and over. Raced out of the house after him, ran as hard and fast as he could. Ran 'til it felt like his head was exploding, ran till blood poured out of his nose. At one point Zoom ran so fast he split in two, one copy of him going one way, the other splitting off. When Barry caught up with the one copy he grabbed onto Zoom and continued to beat him mercilessly.

"I got you, Zoloman!" Barry growled, throwing him around the alleyway. "I got you!"

Zoom tilted his head back and looked Barry in the eye, allowing Barry to rip off his cowl and look him in the eye. "Use your power, Barry!" He taunted. "End me!"

Barry gasped when Zoom was ripped form his grasp. No, not Zoom. Jay. Jay Garrick. The Jay had had betrayed them. The time remnant. Zoom stood behind him, holding the cowl of Jay's suit back, choking him. "I no longer have a need for you," Zoom said, shoving his fist through Jay's chest before tossing his lifeless body aside. Zoom pulled off his hood and hissed, lips pulled back into a sinister smile. "So close, Barry. So close and yet so far. So I killed my time remnant, but what does that mean for you? You can do it, too. You just have to be ready to kill yourself." His eyes shifted over Barry's. "Yeah, you're almost ready."

Zoom ran past Barry, thrusting him into the dumpster beside him and streaked out of sight, leaving a lightning trail behind him. Barry watched after him, chest heaving until his volcano of emotions erupted. Until he was left was bawling, screaming, crying out for the pain to go away but knowing it never would.

He screamed and cried so hard he didn't notice when it started to rain, didn't notice when Cadence grabbed him and pulled him onto her lap, rocking him back and forth and holding him as she cried, too, didn't notice how much his heart was slowly breaking.