#i looked at the meta first cos i do things backwards and. man. what a good reminder that the most vocal fans also are the most stupid

[pigeonliker420]

whatevers wrong with this man i like it

[seokiloquy]

Lost In- What Word? Pt 1 - Akaashi Keiji

AU: Single Parent

Requested

Word Count: 4.5k+

Disclaimer: Fem! Reader, Time skip spoilers, Udai being a meta Furudate insert, just fluff

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Akaashi wasn’t sure if Udai was naturally forgetful, or just held so much anticipation in his smaller form that he glossed over details and didn't realize it. Udai was an excellent author despite not having reached the major public yet. His first published work was short and eerie which most of the shonen reading population didn’t greedily rip off the shelves. Although, those that did read it gave him overwhelming support, maybe the rest of the world wasn’t ready for that kind of psychological horror just yet.

When Akaashi originally applied for a position at the publishing company he intended to work in the literature department, editing lengthy novels and picking out grammatical errors, not reading conversations via text bubbles and looking for continuity errors between images. He never did pick out the exact moment he went from editor to fact-checker and archivist. Akaashi also never knew how many different ways there were to translate a single word until he met you. And once he did, he realized that his eyes would follow you across the office as you ran around and spoke to other editors, helping them furnish their translations so that they flowed properly.

“Tenma, isn’t he meant to be out of the rotation for this panel?” Akaashi couldn’t help but grimace when faced with the utter despair that had pulled on Udai’s typically eased expression. The panel itself was masterfully drawn, taking up two pages and showing off Udai’s immense talent in drawing expressions and anatomy.

“I spent 8 hours on that, only to find out that it needs to be scrapped. What has my life come to?”

The yellow office lights made both of the men’s hair give off a green tinge and made their faces look sickly. Udai frowned as he pushed his chair back and let his chin sit on the table of the small meeting room. His hair curled around his fingers as they gently tugged on the ends of the wavy black stands, straightening them only to let them go and have them bounce back into place.

Akaashi flipped through the printed out pages of the chapter, letting the loose papers lay flat on the table. He pointed to the next pages. “These are fine though. They’re in the right rotation here, so not all is lost at least.”

Udai sighed, as he threw his weight back into the chair, making it spin with his momentum. “That’s all well and good, but I was really proud of that panel. It was going to be the attention grabber.”

Akaashi pursed his lips gently, flipping through the pages once more before tucking them into the pale yellow folder and closing it. Udai’s new story was in its beginning stages, only having a sample chapter that would be published in the following week’s magazine, that is if they got it done in time. 

“It needs to be perfect. I can’t have this not work and starve for the rest of my life.”

Akaashi opened his mouth slightly, taking in a deep breath, ready to spout out his words of encouragement for his colleague when there was a knock on the door followed by the soft creaking of the hinges as it opened.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to ask Udai about some of the uh… what’s the word? Dang, I’m supposed to know Japanese, it’s my job. The— I give up. Help?”

Udai chuckled and waved you over to take the seat opposite him, you shook your head and bowed slightly as your hand raised, saying you were alright, not needing the chair. Leaning down slightly you pointed at the ruff sketch copy in your hand where your current author’s handwriting seemed to over the edges of the text bubble slightly.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but how in the hell am I supposed to translate ‘paisen’?”

The innocent question seemed to brighten Udai’s mood much more than Akaashi’s monotone words of support would have. The older man launched backwards, nearly flinging himself off the chair, in a fit of laughter. His hands gripped the shirt he wore above his stomach and chest as they tried to ease the laughing pains.

Akaashi chuckled at the sight before looking at your somewhat regretful expression, you were probably too used to your co-workers laughing at your in-fluency at Japanese. “You can probably substitute a familiar nickname or a joking reference of respect.”

You sighed and brushed your hand over the back of your neck, “I swear, Himari had the intent to torture me with this last chapter. Thank you, Akaashi.”

Finally calmed from his fit of giggles, Udai sat straight in his chair and sent you a gracious smile. “Well, at least when you join our team I won’t torture you as much.”

You gave Udai and Akaashi a teasing smirk as you reached for the door handle. “I’m not so sure about that,” you said. “Besides, you need to get the attention of the readers before I join your team. No point in translating a comic that doesn’t even get off the ground right?”

You sent them a wink and the door closed behind you with a quiet click.

“Was that a challenge?”

“I believe so,” Akaashi said, handing Udai a blank sheet of paper. “Looks like we have some work to do.”

The office was, as it was the day before, and the day before that, calm. Udai sat in a small isolated office on his own with a naturally coloured lamp hanging over his hunched figure. The rest of his team, including Akaashi and now you as well, sat outside his door in a row of cubicles that led up to a large window that took up the entirety of the wall. In the corner cubicle, pressed against the window and directly across from him, you sat, typing away on your computer as you translated the Japanese text into Wild Words fonted English. 

“Akaashi, is the end of chapter ready to translate?” Your head peeked over the frosted cubicle wall, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips and the corner of your eyes pinching together. Akaashi’s gaze fluttered around.

“Ah, Ya the edits are done so you can finish translating it now.”

The smile you wore only seemed to grow, making Akaashi want to turn away and stare at the same time. The sun’s light contrasted with the dull rectangular lights in the office, making your skin glow. Your fingers tightened on the top of the glass and your shoulders rose to your ears, you narrowly missed knocking over an owl keychain that hung on his side of the wall.

“Perfect,” you said. “I’ll get them done now.”

The day continued like this, everyone working and occasionally calling out to each other through their cubed walls, possibly getting a twirling pen in the forehead followed by a meek apology (coming from you). Every time you spoke to someone you would rise out of your seat to make eye contact with them, refusing to continue speaking otherwise, and even though he wasn’t the person you always spoke to, each time your head began to poke out of your squared corner Akaashi couldn’t help but turn his attention your way, watching as the sun's light danced around you. It didn’t come to a surprise when, like every instance before, Akaashi looked up when you shot up from your seat. Only this time there was a frantic look plastered unevenly on your face, one that the warm light didn’t compliment.

“Please tell me my clock is wrong and that it’s not 4 pm.”

Chiyo leaned back in her chair, setting down her Cintiq’s pen and flipped the watch on her wrist so that the face faced her. “Yup, it’s actually 4:15.”

Akaashi was surprised to hear a not so work friendly English curse leave your lips as you rushed to save files on your computer while simultaneously packing your purse. You continued to swear as you ran out of your cubicle and toward the elevators with a quick “goodbye” being thrown over your shoulder. The office was quiet.

“Does that happen often?” Ena asked as he pulled off his glasses.

The group of artists and their editor sat in stunned silence for a few moments, minds racing over where the young translator had scurried off to. In their collaborative confusion, the team slowly went back to their respective jobs.

Himari came around the corner of the office, coffee in hand, as she chatted with her editor, who was nursing his own mug. The writer looked up for her conversation to see Udai’s team and gave them a polite nod. They were going to meekly return to their work when Himari paused her steps and looked at the empty plush chair that sat rotated and untucked in your cubicle.

“Oh, did (Y/N) leave?” to Akaashi’s surprise, Himari was not.

“Does she do that often?” he asked, setting down his pen on the counter of his desk.

Himari nodded, smiling, “Oh ya, sometimes she gets lucky and her friend can handle it but a lot of the time she has to run out of here by 3.” Akaashi’s brow furrowed slightly as Himari took a sip of her coffee before continuing waving her hand by her head, “Don’t worry too much about it though, she always comes in early to get her work done.”

Before they could question further, Himari was off with her editor sending them a knowing smile.

When the end of the workday rolled around, only 45 minutes after your quick departure, Akaashi found his eyes trailing back to his phone that sat at the corner of his desk on top of a stack of papers. Keeping watch on his phone, he swung his bag over his shoulder and shut off his computer. The device remained silent as the team began to pile out of their seats, toward the elevators and in a fit of contemplation, he reached for the phone.

Your response was quick and vague; Family thing, happens often. I’ll tell you later. See you tomorrow!

After the sample comic was released, Udai was thrown when he received an immense amount of interest for his characters and story, and he was even more excited when he received word from the magazine’s publishers that they wanted him to continue with the path he was on. The months building up to this moment were filled with constant plot revisions, reference excursions, and interviews until they came to a conclusive framework of the story, and continued introductions as new members were added to their original duo to make the workload less hefty. 

Today though was the day that the story’s first chapter would finally be released to the public. 

Akaashi tracked into the office, heading to the lounge to grab a coffee before coming up to his cubicle against the window and setting his bag down, immediately heading to the lounge. 8:40 in the morning, 20 minutes before the expected time of arrival, Akaashi, back at his desk, was just about to take a sip of coffee when a small snore overlapped the sound of the air conditioners, creating a dishonest harmony. 

On the other side of the frosted glass wall of the cubicle was you, head resting on the black mouse pad that had a small plush cushion for your wrist. Akaashi quickly rounded the desks, coming to our side to gently rouse you from your slumber before your co-workers arrived. He was to wake you up gently with a hand on your shoulder, that was the plan. The plan changed when he noticed the small picture frame on your desk, surrounded by various action figures and Funko pops.

With one hand on your shoulder and the other holding the fame, he studied the photo with a kind gaze. He was so enthralled with the image that he forgot that below his other hand, was you.

“He’s cute ain’t he?” you asked, startling the editor back to his current reality as you stretched, arching your back like a cat. Akaashi’s attention was brought back to the current situation as you reached out for another frame in the opposite corner of your desk. “His name is Naoko. Here, this photo is newer.”

The young boy in the new photo looked like you a lot, more so than the previous one where he was just an infant that carried more resemblance to a potato than a human. Akaashi, without taking his eyes off the pictures, pulled the chair out from under Ena’s desk and sat next to you. He didn’t say anything, deciding just to admire the photos he held and letting you decide whether or not he should have the pleasure of hearing a story.

You sighed and yawned, leaning over the armrest of your chair so you would see them too. “He’s six, really quiet. I moved here when I found out. Hardly even out of university, and I was already pregnant with some strangers kid,” you laughed, making Akaashi stare at your features for a moment, wanting to point out which ones could be found on the boy.

“Is he the reason you moved to Japan?” Akaashi was a little taken aback by your willingness to talk, but in hindsight, you didn’t seem like the person to keep secrets, often rattling with your co-workers about your interests. Thinking back, maybe he should have expected something like this, Himari seemed to have known after working with you for several years, happily dancing around the topic of your personal life with your new coworkers when your sudden departure was questioned.

You shrugged, “not entirely, but he sure was a good excuse. I had plans to move to Japan for years before I even got into university. When I found out, I was sort of… uh. English…. Fuck, I need a job. So I applied to be an intern here, moved in with a friend I met online and prepared to have a baby.” Your arms flew about as you talked.

“You act as though it was easy,” Akaashi laughed, placing the frames back onto the table.

You let out a happy chuckle and spun your chair to face Akaashi head-on, eyes not leaving his, “I wouldn’t say it was easy, per se, but I’m happy with how things turned out.” you yawned a bit, “I should also apologize for running out of the office early sometimes, I have to pick Naoko up from school so —”

“You don’t have to apologize for that.” The gentle smile he wore was contagious.

It was 8:50 when the rest of the team came in. Immediately catching sight of Ena, Akaashi pulled away from your side, rolling the chair back to its respective location. He heard a breathy laugh escape you as he scurried around the desks to return to his designated spot across from you, cardigan flailing about.

The rest of your team piled into their seats sending the two of you waves and morning greetings. Ena nearly dropped his ‘don’t talk to me till I’ve had my coffee’ mug as he tripped over his rubber slides just before reaching his desk next to yours.

Sending your friends a smile you quickly slid back into your cubicle to re-adjust the frames on your desk with a yawn. Akaashi gave you a nod when you looked up to his stiff, still standing, form. You made his heart feel much weaker than he’d like to admit and without saying another word, he picked up the forgotten mug filled with brown liquid and handed it over the glass, into your hands.

Naoko was much more reserved than Akaashi expected, definitely a contrast to your more hyper personality. He spent most of the day sitting in the corner behind your cubicle where a table was set up next to a row of cabinets. What the boy was doing, Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure, but there was a small tickle at that back of his brain that made him want to find out.

When you had come in that morning, the group was surprised to see the small boy trailing behind you, holding onto your hand tightly with the both of his. “PD day,” you said. Udai spent the first few minutes of the day gushing over the boy’s cheeks instead of working, only to end up being backtracked and having to cram into his lunch break. Akaashi would be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful for that though.

“What do you have there?” he asked, taking a seat next to the boy and setting down his lunch next to the younger’s bento box.

Naoko curled in on himself, bringing the phone (that was most definitely yours) to his chest. The boy’s knees had pulled up to his shoulders as his feet pushed on the edge of the chair. Akaashi sent the young boy a kind smile and waited. From the corner of his eye, he could see your chair turn around as you took in the sight of your son and co-worker. He watched as you began making large swinging motions with your arms. Akaashi tried not to laugh.

Whatever had been playing on the phone hadn’t been paused in the short time given to do so, making the familiar sound ring quietly around the two of them. 

Akaashi looked back your way for a moment, only to see you tilt your head up in a supporting nudge and turn back around.

“Are you watching a volleyball game?” he asked, rousing a more positive reaction from the boy.

Naoko’s shoulders lowered and he slowly placed the phone down between them. As Akaashi had concluded, a volleyball game played on the small screen. He put forward another question.

“Do you like to play?”

The six-year-old shrugged but nodded before scooting his chair in closer and reaching for his food. Akaashi mirrored him, slipping off his collared cardigan and pulling his lunch closer, still watching the game.

“I used to play volleyball.” This caught the boy’s attention, who turned his head to look at Akaashi, brows raised and lips pursed. “I was a setter.”

Naoko swallowed his food and for the first time, Akaashi got to hear him speak.

“I like playing setter too.”

His voice was rather meek and had a sort of authority to it, but the biggest thing he noticed made him stifle a laugh.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he called gently, making you spin your chair around in question. “Why is Naoko better at Japanese then you?”

“Hey! That’s mean!”

Naoko began to wiggle in his seat, desperately trying not to laugh at his mother’s, your, irritation. You shot a look at your son and gasped.

“Don’t you start laughing at me. I speak English better than you do.”

“You don’t need to speak English in Japan, mom.”

Kaashi continued to choke on his laugher as you pushed the palm of your hand into your forehead. “I’m being teased by my own son,” you cried quietly, turning your chair back around to face the unedited pages.

Naoko giggled and looked back Akaashi’s way. “Can you teach me?”

Akaashi didn’t see you still in your chair, listening.

“Of course I can.”

“Udai, seriously? You promised that you weren’t going to use weird industry term slang stuff on me.”

With a wide-eyed look and hair messily tied back, the man in question rotated his chair around childishly. “I never promised. I just said I'd go easier on you.” It was infuriating really. 

With a pitiful whine, you shook the rough script in your hand making an angry fluttering sound. “You’re so mean Tenma. You know that I have trouble with slang.”

Udai only laughed and waved you off, “It’s a good way to learn is it not?”

You rolled your eyes but relented, giving a wave and closing the door. Once at your seat Akaashi poked his head out, eyes visible over the top of his square-framed glasses.

“He did it again?”

“Ya,” you huffed. “I can’t blame him though. It’s just frustrating that I can’t remember what a lot of the words mean. I should buy a dictionary.” Akaashi watched as you turned your monitor on. “Oh, um, Naoko was asking about you the other day.”

“Really?”

Your hands came together behind your neck, pulling your head down bashfully. “Ya, he’s been wanting to show you how he’s doing and maybe get the chance to learn a bit from you.”

Akaashi gave you a kind smile, so small that it didn’t even crease his cheeks, and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Your cheeks warmed as you beamed up at him before turning your head down towards your computer screen. Akaashi took a second to appreciate how the cool light from the overcast sky made you look. It was silent in the office for a moment. Just a moment.

“Udai! Another one?!”

In theory, so long as you have space above your head, you can play volleyball anywhere. Your apartment wasn’t ‘anywhere’.

The three-bedroom living space was built as housing and not an Olympic arena, and after breaking one too many of your glasses playing around, it was made clear to you, Naoko, and your sport junky roommate, that volleyball shouldn’t be allowed in the house.

“You guys can go play volleyball with Akaashi at the park, no?” Yukie asked, grabbing an onigiri of the large plate on your kitchen counter and stuffing it in her face. You made a large dinner that day, only to have your friend eat most of it, instead of leaving leftovers for Naoko’s lunch. Not that he complained about it, you sure did though.

Taking Yukie’s words to heart, when the weekend rolled around and Naoko was becoming more anxious, you invited Akaashi to your neighbourhood park to play volleyball.

“Open your elbows a bit more, make a triangle with your hand, and when the ball comes just cushion it with your fingertips before sending it out, okay?”

Naoko nodded, staring at his hands that were being moved around by the older player. Akaashi’s form was kneeled by the boy’s side, his head nearly resting on the younger's shoulder as he tried to make sure he was in the right position.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing the smaller than average volleyball off of the grass. “I’m gonna toss this to you, do you think you can get it to hit my hand right up here?”

Naoko nodded again, eagerly waiting for the blue and yellow ball to come flying his way. You watched silently from the park bench as Naoko tried (and often failed) to get the ball to touch Akaashi’s hand accurately. 

“Almost there, you got this Naoko!” Akaashi encouraged.

Earnestly waiting to see the next move, you sat forward in your seat, watching as that ball made a tall arch towards Naoko’s waiting palms. As the ball made contact with his fingertips, he bent his elbows and wrists before shooting them out into a straight line, sending into the palm of Akaashi’s hand before dropping back onto the grassy field.

Your son, as most six-year-olds do when accomplishing something, shrieked. He shrieked very loudly before sprinting directly into Akaashi’s stomach to give him a (breath-stealing) hug. Akaashi coughed as he tried to get air back into his depleted lungs. From the side you giggled, watching as Naoko’s smile grew, head buried into Akaashi’s stomach.

It became standard, going out to the park during your off days. And this day, like the weekends that have come before, the routine of going to the park, ball in hand, continued. But after spending an hour or so watching the familiar movement of the yellow and blue ball fly through the air, Naoko interrupted the serene setting with a loud request.

“Mama! Mom! Can we go get onigiri?”

Looking up from resting your neck on the back of the bench to turn your gaze onto the energetic boy that was hopping around on the grass. “I’m okay with that, but you should probably ask Akaashi along. We don't want to leave him at the park do we?” you teased, picking up your bag and walking toward the two.

Naoko spun again to look at Akaashi, whose hands were now tucked into his jeans pockets. “Please!” he wailed. “Come with us! Please, please, please, please, please!”

Akaashi let out a hearty laugh. “Calm down, I’ll join you.” without saying another word, Akaashi offered his hand out, letting Naoko clutch it eagerly.

“Udai are you sure it’s okay to bring Naoko along? This is meant to be a work trip and I’d hate for him to dis… dic… get in the way,” you gave up at the end, sighing over your tripping words.

Udai gave Naoko, who had been clinging to Akaashi’s arm since all of you had met outside the city gymnasium, a pat on the head. “It’s alright. Besides, he’ll probably be a great resource.” 

You nodded and watched as Naoko rattled to Akaashi about his school team and new things they had been practicing. You pouted. Upon their arrival, Ena, Chiyo and the others immediately began teasing you for effectively losing your son’s favour, which didn’t make your whining any less audible. On top of that, the group of artists found your sullen look to be a perfect reference, taking their cameras out.

“Keiji,” you cried, following behind the rest of the group as they waltzed through the gym entrance along with the crowd. “You’ve stolen my son.”

Akaashi paused for a moment, taking in a calm breath before looking over his shoulder. “He’s your son, I can’t steal that from you.”

Naoko threw a large smile over his shoulder, making your dragging steps falter.

When did it change? The expression on his face. When did it become so happy? Did he not smile before?

You picked up your pace, brows furrowed as you watched your son chatter happily.

When did he start speaking so much? Since when did he have so much to say? Was it something new in his diet? Or maybe the new friends on his volleyball team?

You found your gaze shifting to the hand that held his. Without thinking about it too hard, you quickened your steps to come up to Naoko’s other side. Your heart pounded as you held your closest hand out for him to grab hold of. When he finally did, immediately looking forward to dragging the two adults with him, the smile you gave Akaashi was the largest he’s ever seen coming from you. 

You looked back at all of your interconnecting hands fondly.

When did he become another person’s son?

I tried going a bit of a different direction with this one in comparison to most Single Parent aus. I’ll admit it could have more meat to it, but oh well, things to improve on. 

Question:

Do you prefer weekly one-shots that are shorter in length (like we’re doing) or longer ones with bigger plots and inconsistent updates (Sort of like “Catch Me If You Can” and “Ready Aim FIre” but longer)? 

- Bacon

Posted: 31/07/2020

[megashadowdragon]

coldhands identity is brave danny flint

Could Coldhands be Brave Danny Flint? It sounds crackpot, and very likely is, but the more I thought about it the more it appealed to me. I've done a quick search, one or two people seem to have floated this before but it's never had much in-depth analysis. This is my first meta, so please be gentle and C&C welcome.

The Gender Agenda To start with, I'll start with the elephant in the room - Danny Flint was a girl, Coldhands is male. Or is he? Gilly, Meera, and Bran all refer to him as male, but they have no idea who he is, so would see Night's Watch clothes and assume. He wears a scarf over his face, and while they can see his eyes and that his face is pale, it took Bran's gang a decent amount of time to work out he was a walking corpse, so I'm not sure I trust them to figure out niceties like gender. Leaf's "They killed him long ago" is more of a problem - she's a colleague, she would probably know. My best defence is that maybe Children of the Forest don't do gender in the same way as humans? This feels like a reach, but we have had another magical species with sexual fluidity leading to trouble with pronouns in the series. Otherwise, Leaf tends to hang out in the cave, Coldhands can't get in, maybe they're just not that close. Finally, the main person to ask - Coldhands his or her self. The only other post I could see on reddit about this theory had someone respond with the quote "Once the heart has ceased to beat, a man's blood runs down into his extremities, where it thickens and congeals. His hands and feet swell up and turn as black as pudding. The rest of him becomes as white as milk", but I'd point out this is in third person and a generalization - "a man", not "me, Coldhands, the man".

Okay, now I've convinced everyone my theory is terrible, let's get into the meat of it.

Hands cold as stone This was what got me into this rabbit hole in the first place - House Flint's sigil is "A grey stone hand upon a white inverted pall on paly black and grey". A stone hand would be pretty cold, right? In point of fact, when we first met Coldhands, the final line of the chapter describes "fingers hard as stone." On top of that, the white and black background seems to fit the Night's Watch blacks, pale face, black hands, white snow, etc.

Who the hell else could it be? This has always been the weird thing about Coldhands for me. Honestly, there's a very good chance this is a non mystery mystery, he's a zombie Night's watch ranger riding an elk, do we really need a secret identity? However, "who is Coldhands?" is one of the most commonly asked questions in the fandom, so let's assume it's getting an answer. We know: a) night's watch member b) killed a long time ago, as reckoned by a 200 year old, c) not Benjen. There are essentially 3 historical periods where we know any specifics about the Night's Watch: 1) the long night/age of heroes, 2) Targaryen era, 3) recent history. If we work through these backwards, we can pretty much rule out the recent era for not meeting the criteria of "killed a long time ago". The Targaryen era didn't have much Night's Watch drama, a few kings sent to the wall at Aegon's conquest, Raymun Redbeard's invasion is wall related but the whole point of that story is that the Night's Watch failed to really get involved... the only strong contender from this period is a mysterious magical Targaryen bastard who went to the wall and went missing... but he's the other mysterious good zombie wandering around up north. The long night has a lot of Night's Watch focus, but it was 10,000 years ago. Allowing for this being in-universe exaggeration, it's still ~2,000 years ago, and if Coldhands were that old, I'm not sure he'd be in elk-riding mutineer-killing form, or at least not look passably human to Bran and co. This rules out specific timeline characters, which leaves more folkloric characters like Danny Flint, who isn't associated to any one point in time. There's a song, and she's treated as a well-known tale, which implies a fairly long time, but overall could be whenever. This works for any of the folkloric Night's Watch characters, but the Rat King is already otherwise occupied with a different cannibalistic pseudo immortality, leaving Mad Axe, who does have the massacring fellow brothers down pat, but doesn't feel thematically right to me. This section really grew in the writing, but TL;DR - assuming Coldhands is someone we've heard of before, no specific historical figures seem to match up chronologically, leaving figures from folk tales and songs, which there are only so many of.

Mutineer Massacre For a character we've all obsessed over so much, it's easy to forget how little we've seen of Coldhands. His role in the story has effectively been "transport Sam and Gilly to the wall, transport Bran and co to Bloodraven, massacre the Night's Watch mutineers". Hold up, one of those things is not like the others. During his quest to get Bran to Bloodraven, to awake the messiah and save the world, Coldhands takes a break and makes a detour to kill the Night's Watch Mutineers from Crasters. This is explicitly noted to be something they slow down for, when time is critical. Admittedly, it secures the party some delicious Long Pork when supplies are low, but even in aDwD it seems like there are other ways to get meat than to hunt humans, besides which he kills not one but five mutineers. He claims it is because the mutineers are following them, but Meera points out they've been circling for days - it seems Coldhands deliberately sought the mutineers out. The brutality of the kills also suggests more than utilitarian pragmatism - there are entrails slung through branches and severed heads! All of this to say, Coldhands is deliberately shown as both a member of the Night's Watch, and willing/going out of his way to punish Night's Watch brothers who break their vows and harm their fellow brothers, something Danny Flint might take personally. Basically, it's a classic exploitation movie with an elk-riding zombie as the wronged woman hunting down wrongdoers. Someone call Tarantino to direct this.

A True Night's Watch One of the big themes GRRM loves is the idea that outsiders to an institution can be the truest embodiment of that institution - Dunk and Brienne are the truest Knights, Davos is the truest lord, the Manderlys are the most loyal northerners. Coldhands already seems to tie into this - the Night's Watch are tireless defenders from the Others and their Wights, so ironically the staunchest ranger is undead as well. It would only emphasise this theme if this ultimate Night's Watch ranger was someone who was barred from entry, had to sneak in, and was murdered by their brothers for not belonging. There also seems to be a thematic tie in that Danny Flint had to essentially infiltrate the Night's Watch and keep her cover in hostile terrain, much like Coldhands in the Others controlled north.

Bonding over being murdered by your brothers Coldhands has so far been very much one of Bran's cast, but it's worth noting characters can switch storylines, and we have someone else in the North who can soon relate to being a back-from-the-dead Night's Watchman fighting the Others - I'm hardly the first to note the Coldhands/Jon parallels, but Coldhands being another character who was murdered by the Night's Watch due to their conservatism and hatred of outsiders would add another layer.

Miscellany A couple of quotes I found while researching for this: “Did Mance ever sing of Brave Danny Flint?” “Not as I recall. Who was he?” (ADWD Jon XII) - Tormund and Jon talking, Tormund mistaking Danny Flint for a man, this feels like one of those throw-away lines GRRM likes to include to make a little double meaning once the truth is out, or just seeding the idea of mistaking Danny Flint for a man. “The ranger wore the black of the Night’s Watch, but what if he was not a man at all?" (ADWD Bran I) - again, I could see GRRM giggling as he typed that if this theory were true.

Conclusion Honestly, there is every chance this is absolute nonsense, and I've just lost it waiting for TWoW. I tend to lean towards Coldhands not having a big identity reveal, he's an undead ranger co-opted by Bloodraven and that's enough. However, if Coldhands is to have an identity reveal, I think Danny Flint deserves consideration: there aren't that many viable candidates, her story is emotionally intense enough and has been referred to often enough that a casual fan could be expected to go "oh!" instead of "...let me google that", and it would fit with existing themes of the story. The angle of Jon parallels even gives an opening for the reveal to be natural and facilitate character and thematic arcs, which is what I look for in a theory.

comment on reddit

Yeah, the Flint (of Flint's Finger) sigil literally being a Cold Hand is what sold me on this when I started looking into it. There's also some other intriguing textual stuff about it...

The weird thing about Danny Flint is that she is only mentioned three times in all of ASOIAF. Three! Bran recounts her tale in Bran IV, ASOS; Theon hears Wyman Manderly demand her song in The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD; and Jon discusses her tale with Tormund in Jon XII, ADWD.

This was kind of shocking to me. Danny Flint is a pretty recognizable name to, I’d figure, the majority of attentive readers. I thought she must have been mentioned before the third book, at least, but… nope. Her tale is first introduced to us in Bran IV, ASOS, the Nightfort chapter… Oh, what’s that? Wait, isn’t that… the very same Nightfort chapter where we first hear about Coldhands? (Well, no, actually, he appears at the end of Samwell III before that, but this is the first chapter where he is identified as Coldhands.) Chronologically, Sam meets Coldhands, Bran thinks about Danny Flint, and then Sam introduces Bran to Coldhands, in fairly quick succession.

So it seems GRRM came up with Danny Flint and Coldhands around the exact same time. Interesting. Danny Flint is then not mentioned again until ADWD, when the Coldhands mystery is developed further. Double interesting.

Also, the Bran chapter directly preceding the Nightfort chapter– our first introduction to Danny Flint– is the one where Meera tells him the story of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, another tale of a northern warrior woman dressing as a man and hiding her face in service of some greater goal. Stretch? Maybe.

And why would Coldhands' face be covered at all if there WASN'T some big reveal upcoming? What utility would that have? That scarf clearly seems like a setup for SOMETHING. He doesn't need it for warmth. He's likely hiding a face that would make him recognizable to Bran/Meera/Jojen (and the readers), but died long ago... the only way that reveal could work without a ton of laborious exposition is if he took off the scarf and it was obviously a 'female' face, making it obviously Danny. It also seems likely Coldhands will interact with at least Bran and Meera again, both of whom are somewhat connected to Danny Flint’s story– Bran via his love of stories and legends, and Meera via the breaking of gender roles. So there's thematic levels to it as well.

source www . reddit . com/r/asoiaf/comments/llwm8m/coldhands_identity_spoilers_extended/

[sanrionharbor-blog]

Sansa and Tyrion’s Character Arcs (Part I: Tyrion)

Being a writer, I’ve been pouring through Shawn Coyne’s The Story Grid over the past two weeks. One of the points he makes is that every part of a story–from beat to arc–has the same 5 elements: inciting incident, complication, crisis, climax, resolution.

And being as obsessed as I am with Sansa and Tyrion of GOT in particular, I thought I’d use the hey-day of the series season finale episodes to indulge in some character metas. 

We’re going to (mainly) focus on the inciting incident.

So, not only does GOT have an overarching inciting incident/complication/crisis/climax/resolution that it’s moving towards, but each season has them, each episode/chapter has them, each  subplot has them, and each character has them.

According to Shawn Coyne, an inciting incident promises one thing: “…the ending.”

So let’s dive a little deeper and see what Sansa’s inciting incident and Tyrion’s inciting incident tells us about them. I’m writing separate posts since they’re both long–first up is Tyrion!

Tyrion

To start on a side note that will eventually get to the point:

I really wonder if show-Tyrion and book-Tyrion can come to the same conclusion. 

Book-Tyrion is much more morally grey than show-Tyrion, for one. They make different decisions after the Purple Wedding (in the show Tyrion is notably celibate whereas book-Tyrion hits an all-time low and is not above sleeping with drugged-up, unresponsive prostitutes–though he manages to empathize with them, he still uses them to run from his own darkness). 

Now, I’m equally invested in both versions of the character and believe they have the same arc/themes overall. So on one hand I can see them playing out beat-by-beat, just with different palettes, if you would, but only because of the power of the inciting incident:

So, an inciting incident does more than promise an ending–it sets the character on a path of no return. So, more than a character’s introduction, it’s when their story first goes down an irreversible path.

Furthermore, an inciting incident is called an incident for a reason: it’s not necessarily a decision made by a character, but something that happens to him (but more on that in a minute).

Tyrion’s Introduction

First we’ll note Tyrion’s introduction in the book:

“Jon found it hard to look away from [Jaime]. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Then he saw the other one, waddling along half-hidden by his brother’s side. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Twyin’s brood and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother’s height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs….one green eye and one black one peered out from under a lanky fall of hair so blond it seemed white. Jon watched him with fascination.”

Later, still in the same chapter:

“The dwarf grinned down at [Jon]. ‘Is that animal a wolf?’

‘A direwolf,’ Jon said. ‘His name is Ghost….what are you doing up there? Why aren’t you at the feast ?’

‘Too hot, too noisy, and I’d drunk too much wine,’ the dwarf told him. ‘…might I have a closer look at your wolf?’

…he pushed himself off the ledge into empty air. Jon gasped, then watched with awe as Tyrion Lannister spun around in a tight ball, landed lightly on his hands, then vaulted backward.

Ghost backed away from him uncertainly.

The dwarf dusted himself off and laughed. ‘I believe I’ve frightened your wolf. My apologies.’”

They talk a little more, and it’s interesting to note that Tyrion isn’t threatened by Ghost, merely fascinated, and he correctly deduces that Ghost is more shy than harmful, despite Ghost baring his teeth. This could be foreshadowing that the Lannisters will have dominion over the Starks soon, but Tyrion was never a player in that. Despite his loyalties to his family, he was the one that reached out to Jon when he saw Jon was crying, he was the one who bonded with Jon at the wall and honored Jon’s request to take care of Bran, he was the one who took the time to design a saddle for Bran, and who later treated Sansa with dignity despite every cultural and social protocol having taught him to do the opposite.

No, I think this has more to do with Tyrion’s fascination with direwolves, and perhaps the Wolf, in general. I also believe it’s foreshadowing (not the deliberate kind, but the instinctual kind that most writers aren’t even aware of), to Tyrion’s possible later loyalty/ally status with the Stark’s. More on that when we get to his first POV.

Tyrion’s First POV Chapter

The very first POV that features Tyrion ends on this line (I know most of you have read it before):

“When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment, Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.”

And then there is Tyrion’s first chapter written in his POV–where certain details stand out to me [all emphases mine]:

“Somewhere in the great stone maze of Winterfell, a wolf howled. The sound hung over the castle like a flag of mourning…something about the howling of a wolf took a man right out of his here and now and left him in a dark forest of the mind, running naked before the pack.”

That’s the opening of Tyrion’s first POV. No lion metaphors here. Instead, Tyrion briefly imagines being part of a wolf pack–is he running in front as a leader, naked and free and accepted, or because he’s being chased down, naked and hunted and vulnerable? 

Regardless, the chapter ends here:

“‘My sweet brother,” [Jaime] said darkly, “there are times you give me cause to wonder whose side you are on,”

Tyrion’s mouth was full of bread and fish. He took a swallow of strong black beer to wash it all down, and grinned up wolfishly at Jaime. ‘Why, Jaime, my sweet brother,’ he said, ‘you wound me. You know how much I love my family.’”

For some reason, Tyrion is metaphorically identifying with wolves. These exchanges also tune us into the hint of whimsy and empathy in his character, which co-exists with his book-smart/world-weary outlook. 

Still, neither of these moments include Tyrion’s inciting incident. No, Tyrion’s inciting incident is a direct result of ASOIAF’s inciting incident: the moment Catelyn Stark receives a letter from her sister Lysa Arryn about the death of Jon Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale and Hand to the King.

This is powerful stuff in itself, even if the death had been natural. But we’re about to be lead through a political spiderweb that’s being spun over a dark, fuzzy expanse; and we can only make out what that darkness is when the spiderweb isn’t so clearly in focus: Winter, and not just any Winter, but the Long Night. 

This is all happening at once, and Tyrion is actually an early witness to the complementary foci of ASOIAF:

Myth: He visits the Wall with Jon Snow and, while he doesn’t encounter any wights, he does encounter several people who’re convinced about such things. He’s skeptical, but we learn over time that Tyrion is a closeted romantic. Sure, he’s reading up on the lives of Maesters and pouring through ledgers and history books half the time–but he’s also obsessed with true love and handsome knights and dragons.

Humanity: He’s a casualty of Jon Arryn’s murder and Catelyn Stark’s having been deceived (though Catelyn acts heroically based on what she believes to be the truth). He’s kidnapped by Lady Stark and forced to stand trial for two murders he did not commit. This is his inciting incident. It’s what gets Tywin to declare war on the Starks and what inadvertently puts Tyrion in the pathway of both Bronn and Shae. It leads him to his newfound confidence as a military strategist, even as a pseudo-knight, in subsequent battles–including the one that costs him his nose, and any illusion that his looks could be improved or his stature increased by acting like a knight. Acting like a knight (like Jaime, like the son his father wanted, like the heroes Tyrion grew up reading about) did not win him the approval of Tywin, the adoration of the people, the reality of knighthood, or the true affection of any lady. And we know how his story goes from here.

But none of it would have happened without Tyrion’s Inciting Incident. And he had no choice in the matter either. This was his point of no return.

So, what are the themes established here?

Themes from his introduction:

-Even though he’s compared unfavorably to his brother Jaime, who is described as “what kings should look like,” the POV ends with Tyrion standing “tall as a king.” So, in a word, kingliness. 

-His intro through Jon’s eyes establishes him as larger than life, despite his size. He’s breezy, irreverent, whip-smart, aware of his status (as a Lannister and as a pariah), and even surprisingly acrobatic (or at the very least self-sufficient, and possessing the element of surprise). He’s also empathetic–he gives Jon advice on how to navigate the world and finds common place between them. Remember, he’s a noble and Jon is a bastard. He’s under no obligation to treat him kindly. It’s simply his character; one of Tyrion’s better qualities. 

-In short, Tyrion fulfills a role as: outcast (dwarf) and elite (Lannister noble), adviser (or Hand), jester (“Generations of capering fools in motley…’), and, at least inwardly, a king. And all of these are mythical archetypes and play well into the fantasy tropes that GRRM is exploring, deconstructing, and reconstructing.

-I also highlighted the part about Tyrion’s one black eye and one green, and his hair so pale it was almost white. This has less bearing in the TV show, obviously, but many of these clues not only point out his physical otherness, but can symbolically point to:

Looking at the world from two perspectives

Divided loyalties (the green eyes of the Lannister’s, and that one dark eye–dark like the Stark’s?)

Or does it represent a divided lineage?

B/C, though I’m not sold on the theory, one wonders if the “Tyrion as the third head of the dragon” isn’t hinted through his white-blond hair? Yet another secret Targaryen?

Themes from his first POV chapter:

-Tyrion finds it easy to identify with the Wolf (and yes, with a capital ‘W,’ encompassing the Starks, the direwolves, the archetype). And throughout the story he easily empathizes with the Starks, despite the Shakespearean-level rift between his family and theirs.

-He loves his family. But he is also separate from his family. 

-Tyrion’s strength (and weakness) will be his mind

Themes from his inciting incident:

-I see themes of justice/injustice, truth/deception, and acceptance/prejudice.

-In fact, Catelyn Stark seizes him with these words: “…I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await the king’s justice.”

-To return to Winterfell. 

-To await the king’s justice.

Tyrion: The Ending Is In The Beginning

So this essay has been largely book-focused. The biggest differences between book-Tyrion and show-Tyrion, in the first arc anyway, are simply Tyrion’s sex appeal. Let’s be honest. In the show, his introduction comes by way of brothel (and it’s also a way to introduce the show-only character, Roz), whereas in the books it comes by way of unfavorable comparison with his brother. Peter Dinklage is also very handsome, and I’m not complaining AT ALL about his casting (because I love him), and D&D had a limited range to pick from anyway, but Tyrion in the show is more attractive and that colors several scenes–especially the ones with Shae and Sansa.

But it doesn’t matter that much in the end. Because the point is that Tyrion’s arc isn’t about his overall attractiveness (but physicality, yes). Tyrion is still playing roles that are traditionally given to conventionally handsome characters, not just to outsiders or “monstrous” archetypes. 

So the interesting part is that his looks play a tangential role, but not a main one. His physicality is always at play, but not so much his attractiveness. For example, both show and book Tywin hate that their son is a dwarf; the ugliness of book-Tyrion is just the T.P. at the bottom of Tywin’s ill-fitting shoe. Again, tangential. It changes the palettes of book and show Tyrion’s overall story visual, but not the actual shape of their story.

So regardless of the differences between the show and the book, Tyrion’s ending can still be found in the book A Game of Thrones’. And not only because that’s a universal law of storytelling (the inciting incident promises the ending) but it’s exactly what George R.R. Martin has confirmed. 

So what can we infer about Tyrion’s ending from his beginning?

Here is where we find Tyrion at the end of season 1 of GOT and in his last POV in the first book of ASOIAF [all emphases mine]:

In the wake of Jaime’s kidnapping, Tywin has just told Tyrion he’s sending him to King’s Landing. 

“It was the last thing Tyrion Lannister would ever have anticipated. He reached for his wine, and considered for a moment as he sipped. ‘And what am I to do there?’

‘Rule,’ his father said curtly.

Tyrion hooted with laughter. ‘My sweet sister might have a word or two to say about that!’

That part about Cersei seems more pertinent now that we’re heading into Season 8 of Game of Thrones and she’s a prominent villain. She’s at least a major obstacle in Tyrion’s current story line (and, in fact, always has been). 

But more importantly is his father’s command to rule. Tyrion Lannister is groomed for rulership throughout his story, and this will probably be his destiny: whether that come in the capacity of being king or some other kind of leader. Perhaps there won’t even be an Iron Throne at the end of all of this, but Tyrion, worldly and well-traveled and ruthless and empathetic as he is, could be a spearhead for a new political system. Perhaps the Magna Carta of Westeros is coming? 

Let’s hark back to Tyrion’s inciting incident. He was going to await the king’s justice. What if the king’s justice turns out to be Tyrion’s justice? And Tyrion, after being held accountable all his life for things he had not done wrong (though not being punished for the things he has done wrong–after all, he’s no saint), will find his justice by a king, someway-somehow. Either with Tyrion as said King, or by being Hand to just such a King, or even, tragically, by finally facing a justice he cannot escape–at the hands of a king. (Or Queen). 

Tyrion’s arc will end when he is finally taken off trial. He thought he’d finally made it when he was free of his father’s (physical) shadow and when he found full acceptance (he thought) with Daenerys. But here’s where Tyrion’s theme of divided loyalties comes into play. He’s been struggling with finding where he stands throughout his storyline. Even when he was advising for Dany, he was still hoping that Cersei had the capacity for change. I think what he loved most about Cersei was her motherly instincts, her children (sans Joffrey). And he probably does feel guilt over Myrcella’s death. So Tyrion is seeking justice; he wants Cersei’s baby to live because he loves him/her instinctually, because it “atones” for the other children, because blood runs thicker than water, because he won’t be the reason the Lannister name is snuffed out. 

“…To return to Winterfell and await the king’s justice.”

In Season 8, Tyrion does return to Winterfell. If there were a third trial (orchestrated perhaps by Daenerys or by Cersei), it would probably take place at King’s Landing or the Dragon Pit, but there’s still the fact that Tyrion’s story is inextricably linked with Winterfell. 

He is particularly bound up in the stories of Bran, Sansa, and Jon. And in a series inspired by the War of the Roses, he could be the link that brings the Lannisters (Lancasters) and Starks (Yorks) to true peace. To finally establish justice and resolve the conflict that started this whole saga. 

Tyrion has been denounced in two trials and made to suffer consequences to his agency and reputation, despite the deception at play. His agency and reputation still need restoring. He still has neither of these things with Daenerys. 

He needs to emerge victorious from a third trial. Whether that third trial is literal or metaphorical.  It’s very possible that Tyrion will finally stand trial for a murder he is guilty of: Cersei could put him on trial for the murder of Tywin Lannister, and Tyrion will have to face the spiritual shadow of his father and the reality of his guilt once and for all. 

This third trial will establish Tyrion’s character; it will close his arc. Whether he dies physically or not, he will be spiritually enlightened/restored. 

And I’d have to agree with Peter Dinklage–that would be a really beautiful end for Tyrion Lannister, however it plays out. 

(Please share your thoughts as I am OBSESSED with Tyrion theories). 

(Next Up: Sansa Stark). 

[the-master-cylinder]

The Arkansas native was discovered at the age of 17 by James Bridges, the talented screenwriter of Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970) who had gone on to establish a substantial directing career before his death two years ago. “He had come to Arkansas to shoot an autobiographical piece, but he didn’t have his leading lady,” recalls Blount. “He certainly did not intend to cast her out of Arkansas; they were still trying to find an actress in Hollywood. I literally sat on the doorstep in his motel for days until he would agree to see me it was the only way they could get rid of me.”

The film was titled (9/30/55) September 30, 1955 (1977), the date of the death of James Dean, whose career had had a tremendous impact on Bridges. Despite its realistic tone, the film was Blount’s first brush with the genre, due to a quirk of her character, “a girl from the wrong side of the tracks who thought she was Vampira. When James Dean died, she did not know what to do, so she got herself dressed up as Vampira, because she knew Dean hung out with her. It’s so poignant, so pitiful, to see these kids try to make sense out of the death of this gigantic persona.”

Unfortunately, the film never found its audience. “Universal didn’t know what to do with it: they gave it one of those quickie releases. It’s brilliant, but it was way ahead of its time; I’ve heard some people call it the BREAKFAST CLUB of its era, because it was a cast of unknowns who went on to do very well: Dennis Quaid, Richard Thomas, Dennis Christopher.”

After the location work, the actress moved West to shoot the interiors. “Coming to Hollywood caught me by surprise,” she recounts. “I had left high school real young, because I planned on graduating (college) by the time I was eighteen, and I never really intended to move to Hollywood. Most kids in that part of the country who want to become actors go to New York, which is where I thought I would go. But I had an opportunity to meet people, so I came out here and eventually made it my home.”

Blount’s second feature was Dead & Buried (1981) written and produced by Ron Shusett and directed by Gary Sherman. “In my opinion, it was one of the better horror films ever made, structurally,” claims the actress. “Every red herring pays off. It’s not a gory movie; it’s a horror movie. I played a reanimated person-essentially, a Barbie doll. I was young and cute enough at the time to pull it off.”

“My experience of making horror films is that they’re very difficult and painful. You scream a lot and end up scantily clad in a cold environment constantly,” she explains. “For instance, in DEAD AND BURIED, we had a shot of me nude in the water, off the coast of Mendocino, below freezing. We decided that we would not show breasts, so I had pasties on. I got serious hypothermia, got back where it was warm, and yanked the pasties off-along with all this skin that was attached. And they couldn’t even use the footage because I was blue and my teeth were chattering too bad. We had to reshoot that out in Malibu.

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The film that brought the actress the most attention was An Officer and a Gentleman (1982) a fact she regards somewhat ambivalently. “It gave me an opportunity that so few actors get, to be in a movie that broke box office records, that’s been seen by damn near every person on the face of the Earth,” she reflects. “I was lucky to get that, and I have a kind of love/hate relationship with the movie now, because I’ve been associated with it for so long. When I read something in a magazine about Richard Gere or Debra Winger, it will say AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN next to it; it’s like nobody can shake this movie. It became my middle name: ‘Lisa Blount.’ For the longest time, my goal was that I just wanted a different middle name; I wanted somebody to associate me with something else. I really don’t feel that way anymore; I just think in time people will forget. But if it was not for that movie, I would not have done the other twenty that I had a shot at because of the success of that one, so generally I’m grateful.”

What Waits Below (1984)is an uneven Sandy Frank production about a joint scientific-military expedition that unearths a lost Lemurian civilization in the depths of a bottomless cavern. Fortunately, the film is helped by a talented cast, including Blount, Robert Powell (Ken Russell’s TOMMY), and Richard Johnson (THE HAUNTING). Director Don Sharp is well remembered for Hammer’s KISS OF THE VAMPIRE (1962, a.k.a. KISS OF EVIL), but like many of his later efforts, this fails to fulfill his early promise.

The filming involved another behind-the-scenes horror story, although in this case Blount was not one of the unfortunate victims of the misadventure. “We were down about three miles deep in a cave,” the actress recalls. “We would go into the caverns before dawn, stay there all day, and come out at night, so we never saw the sunlight, except for Sunday. At one point, I was captured and tied up on a little rise inside the cavern. All the extras, as the Lemurians, were out in front of me, and I watched all these people just start silently falling over, fainting, as this wave of carbon monoxide came at them. All hell broke loose. We had little golf carts for transportation, and it was an immediate emergency situation of getting out, but these carts didn’t go that fast. We had very sick people, and it was a matter of determining who got in the first car out-youngest ones first. It was just total chaos. There were sixty people who went to the hospital. I was fortunate; I may have gotten some of it, but it didn’t bother me. As far as I know, nobody was permanently injured. It was just one of those technical problems where the generator running everything backed up and started shooting fumes back into the cave. We had to shut down for a few days because of that, but we got through it.”

Her role in Radioactive Dreams (1985), film which she terms “pure fun.” The low-budget effort is one of many from director Albert Pyun. “I loved this movie,” the actress proclaims. “Now I think this was a good film that did not get its day but that was a blast.”

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Filming still had its share of pain, but in this case it was part of the characterization. “I had to play a woman disguised as a man who later reveals herself to be a woman,” she says. “I worked out and thought I was in good shape. Then I went to costuming, and they gave me a jacket with fake muscles. My skinny little muscles were not quite what they had in mind, so there ! was sweating to death in a 50 pound jacket. But we had a good time on that. They gave me this machine gun that was actually in production-at one time, the L.A.P.D. had considered it. But it kicked too much; it was unpredictable. The special effects people got hold of one, so I got to use it to wipe out about forty people. There was one of those long dolly moves, and because of the way the shot was designed, it just did not look right to put it against my shoulder, so I had to do it free-handed, straight out, and this thing kicked so bad that most people would pull the trigger and go flying fifty feet backwards! I worked and worked with it till I got it to where I could shoot and it looked good. I loved that stuff. It’s not what you call one of your finer points of method acting, but that’s what acting really comes down to so often: learning how to use a prop. I’ve done a lot of stuff with quns, and I go to an annual celebrity shoot now. It’s kind of a hobby for me; it actually came out of working with guns in movies and then saying, ‘Hell, I better learn this shit for real.’ It just looks better if you know what you’re doing. I’m really good with car work, too. I’m challenged by ‘You’re going to fly over this embankment and hit this mark.’ If I can do it, I’ll do it: if I can’t, I let the stuntman. I guess there’s just this macho side of me, but I get a kick out of it.”

Next up was a piece of exploitation cinema from Italian director Ruggero Deodato, who has managed to earn a certain cult status from films with charming titles like CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST. In Cut and Run (1985), Blount co-starred with perennial villain Richard Lynch, who played a charismatic Jim Jones-type character operating a cocaine ring deep in the jungle. Location filming in Venezuela “was without a doubt the roughest thing that ever happened to me,” according to the actress. “I swam in the river, not by choice but because I had to in the movie, with electric eels and piranha. I got my hand sliced up with rusty nails, jumping in and out of canoes, and got stung by things that god only knows what they were. But it was fun, and I survived it.”

What the actress almost did not survive was the monsoon season. “We were shooting out in the middle of the Amazon, in this little place where they could land a plane, and we overshot one day. The monsoon was coming, and we were going to spend the night there with no food and no shelter. We had two planes, and one pilot-he was a local said, ‘I can fly out of this; if anybody wants to come with me, I’ve got three seats.” hopped in, and we were tossed around in the air like a piece of paper. It was just amazing the force of nature There was absolutely no doubt that we were going to be dying. We ended up making an emergency landing in a village of hammock-makers, and these people were so wonderful. They were natives who did the best they could to take care of us until the next day, when we were rescued.”

Stormin’ Home (1986) Gil Gerard Lisa Blount Original TV Promo Photo

“My other horror story of a horror film was working for John Carpenter on Prince of Darkness (1987),” she continues, referring to the director’s underrated horror effort which restated the old Good vs Evil theme in science-fiction jargon. “I jump through a mirror and save the world from the Devil at the end of the movie. Well, the way it was shot was in a swimming pool, covered with a piece of plexiglass, and the camera was looking straight down as I was reaching toward safety. This involved learning to scuba dive. Since it was only the bottom of a pool, nobody saw much need to give me much instruction, so in the shallow end ! learned how to breathe, and they weighted me down with 40 pounds so I would not float. It was all done with light cues, because they put ink in the water, so it was dark down there. They would flash a light; I would take away my equipment, do my scream, blow all the air out of my lungs, then pick up the diving mask and walk out. What they failed to tell me is you should always blow into your mask before inhaling, because water goes into the air line. So I inhaled water straight into my lungs. I couldn’t float to the top, because it was covered with plexiglass. There was a diver down there, and he came to guide me to the shallow end. I couldn’t tell him I was drowning, because it was pitch black. He was walking me slowly out

of the pool, while I was fighting the urge to inhale. The only thing I could do was kick him as hard as I could to get him out of my way so I could scramble out on my own. I puked and coughed water for days. And in the movie the shot is just four seconds of nothing particularly outstanding, and you just go, ‘Well, I guess it was worth it.’ Nowadays, when I see good stunt work, boy, do I appreciate it!”

Along with Catherine Mary Stewart, Blount was one of the acting ensemble playing passengers aboard Nightflyers (1987), a sort of “PSYCHO in a Spaceship” story, with a visual look inspired by ALIEN. The script was based on the excellent novella by George R. R. Martin, but the $3.5-million film didn’t do justice to its source. “That was fun,” says Blount. “It wasn’t a great movie, but I thought it ended up looking good. My problem was it was just a formula script; the actors did everything they could with it, but you just need a good script.”

If drowning and asphyxiation were her other film horrors, in this case the treachery of portraying an airless zero gravity environment proved to be the greatest difficulty. “Flying hurts a lot,” she says. “You’re rigged up forever, and they can’t let you down, so you get little welts. I mean like, ‘It’s bleeding-now can I come down?’ They had us in these space suits with the bubblehead and tubes. Well, whoever built these things forgot we actually had to live in them. The tube was solid, so the only way you could breathe was to lift up the visor, grab some air, then flip it down. So you do your scene and hope you don’t faint before you get your dialogue out, then lift it up to breathe again. So it was not the best way to work.”

Blount’s filmography runs the gamut from box office blockbuster to cult flick. One of the more obscure examples of the latter is Femme Fatale (1991). “I got to play the most wonderful character,” she enthuses, “a lesbian bad filmmaker who considered herself quite the artist. It’s a great cast: Billy Zane is brilliant in it, and Lisa Zane is great. She had to play this character with eight different multiple personalities, and I was her jealous lover. I was chasing her down, trying to still make bad movies, and clobbering the wrong people. It was a hilarious black comedy with a real kind of gruesome edge to it. That was really the take we ended up going with in the whole movie, and it was a good thing. Done any other way it just would have been too stupid, but when everybody doing the movie is in on the joke, you could get it, with your tongue in your cheek. So that’s the way we did it, and it was so much fun. I was there for a number of screenings for the sci-fi community, and people went nuts over this thing.”

Don Murray and Lisa Blount in Sons and Daughters (1991)

In an episode of HBO’s THE HITCHHIKER (Deadly Nightmares, One Last Prayer) series, Blount played a rock singer with a split personality. “She was in touch with who she really was, and she had this rock-n-roll persona. At one point, she divides and becomes in the physical world two people, so we got to do some of that split-screen stuff, where I yell at myself a lot. I was really disappointed in my performance, because I’d never done it before, and it was very difficult to get the timing right. People have done that in movies very often, and boy I’m really amazed when I see somebody do that well, because I tried it and it’s harder than it looks. There are no special courses in split-screen acting, but there should be.”

Blount’s favorite work is not in a horror movie but in the Hallmark Hall of Fame television production,  An American Story (TV Movie 1992). “As much as I enjoyed doing the horror stuff, this was an opportunity to really get down to business,” she explains. “For me, it was very serious. Hallmark does wonderful projects, and this was a subject that had never really been done before. It was about a very small Southern community, where the men are trying to re-integrate into the society, post World War II, and their families are trying to deal with it. It’s very multidimensional, and it took a lot of time for me to find the character: 1 worried myself sick over it; I wanted to do the women justice who had actually gone through these experiences. I didn’t have anything to call upon but my own imagination. Everybody involved gave their all, and it was so well received. I got such glowing reviews, like never before. It was just overwhelming. I think I’m most proud of that.”

Blount’s most recent genre performance, in the Castle Rock adaptation of  Needful Things (1993), went almost unseen, due to post-production editing. “Any Stephen King fan would know that Cora Rusk is an integral character in the novel; in the script she was also integral, so I went to Canada and froze my butt off for three months. Cora’s fantasy was Elvis Presley. She goes to the shop and buys a bust of Elvis, comes home and communicates. We did not do any flashbacks to Graceland or anything; it was all done with me in the bed, with Elvis just talking and singing. Then Mr. Gaunt (Max von Sydow) calls, and tells her that he can make Elvis do more than sing. She will do anything for this, so she is given her Devil’s deed and gets what she wants; then she goes crazy. I had a scene with J.P. Walsh that was absolutely wonderful-I was sitting in a bar, having a conversation, completely out of my mind. They gave me all my material on a videocassette: I’m running around in a see-through negligee in the dead of winter with little booties like house slippers, this tacky old coat, Elvis shades, and kind of a Priscilla Presley hairdo from the ’60s.

One Last Prayer

“Because there are so many characters, it was a bit overwritten and perhaps a bit overshot—the director’s first cut was over three hours,” Blount continues. “It finally got down to Castle Rock saying to Frazer Heston, ‘You can either cut it down, or we won’t release it.’ He called me up and said he did everything possible to keep Cora in. But when it came time to edit, it was a lot easier to take out Cora , because I had so little contact with the other characters-my work was with Elvis in bed. I was very disappointed. There is certainly no blame to be put on anybody, but it hurt, because you like to have your work seen.”

More recently, Blount played the murder victim in a horrific true life story, a television movie called Murder Between Friends (1994). “It was interesting because I have never come across anything like this after all these years of acting,” she recounts. “The filmmakers had in their possession documents from the court. For example, they knew where the murder weapon, a baseball bat, was in the room; they knew there was a bloody handprint on one wall. There were no witnesses to what actually occurred, so the actors had to block out the scene and go through the motions that would have to happen for the bat to end up there and for her to still be alive to crawl over and put the hand print on the wall at this particular place. Going through that was at first sort of technical, but there came a moment that was not so technical for me at all. It was so real to me that this had occurred to a human being.

We were very aware all the way through that these were real people, it was not a fictional situation, and we gave it all due respect. But to be on the floor. crawling-even though the bat was rubber, it still hurts when it hits you—and to have this man towering over me going through the motions of bludgeoning me was one of the most hideous experiences. I just got sick. It was like the line of reality had been crossed.”

Despite her numerous genre appearances, Blount has managed to avoid being typecast as a horror movie scream queen, amassing an impressive number of mainstream credits. After 9/30/55, she worked with Dennis Quaid twice more, in Flesh and Bone (1993), with James Caan and Meg Foster, and in Great Balls of Fire! (1989), the story of Jerry Lee Lewis. (“I played his mother-in-law, which was funny, because he’s a number of years older than I am. This was in fact pretty much the situation in reality.”) She also appeared with Rutger Hauer (BLADE RUNNER) in Blind Fury (1989), a take-off on the well loved Japanese Zatoichi series, about a blind samurai swordsman. The actress played “a cocktail waitress who got hoodwinked and dragged along into this situation. She could not figure out whose side she was on for the longest time, but in the end she goes for the right side. It was fun, and Rutger’s great. That’s a well-made movie, directed by Philip Noyce. I think it’s the only film I think he’s done that wasn’t a huge success.”

Blind Fury (1989)

Of her work in the genre, she concludes, “Adventure movies and horror movies—I’ve done a lot of both-turn out to be physically demanding in ways that you don’t realize when you see the final product. You know, I thank God for stunt people. I am athletic, and when I felt it was necessary—when I felt the shot would suffer by allowing the stunt person to do it would do it myself. Those days are long since gone. From now on, I’ll do what I have to, but I’ll give these people work and let them do it. I would not trade those experiences for anything but I would not do it again. Once you get to a certain point in chronological age, as well as having done as many of them as I have, the fun wears off.”

Blount was found dead in her home in Little Rock, Arkansas by her mother on October 27, 2010. The coroner told the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette that Blount appeared to have died two days earlier. No foul play was suspected, according to the Pulaski County coroner.

Although the coroner did not release an official cause of death, Blount’s mother told RadarOnline.com that her daughter had suffered from idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura (ITP), in which low levels of platelets keep blood from clotting and lead to bleeding and bruising. “I think that might have been part of the problem when she passed away because when I found her she had a purple look on her neck that looked like blood on the surface”.

SELECTED FILMOGRAPHY 1977 September 30, 1955 1979 The Swap 1981 Dead & Buried   Girl on the Beach/Lisa 1982 An Officer and a Gentleman 1984 What Waits Below 1985 Radioactive Dreams 1985 Cut and Run 1985 Cease Fire 1987 Nightflyers 1987 Prince of Darkness 1988 South of Reno 1989 Out Cold 1989 Great Balls of Fire! 1989 Blind Fury 1991 Femme Fatale 1993 Needful Things  Cora Rusk 1994 Stalked Janie 1994 Judicial Consent 1996 Box of Moon Light 1999 If… Dog… Rabbit… 2002 A.K.A. Birdseye Vicky Sharpless 2005 Chrystal    Chrystal 2007 Randy and the Mob

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY Imagi-Movies v02n03

Lisa Blount: Short Life, Short Career The Arkansas native was discovered at the age of 17 by James Bridges, the talented screenwriter of…

[iamcmims]

Women Of Letters: Case n°000112 (part one).

Co-written with @stormysymphony

A little girl was playing in her room while her mother was preparing dinner and the dad helping her. The little girl looks up, staring at an invisible thing and smiles at it.

“My mommy is downstairs with my daddy.” She said smiling cheerfully.

But if you look around the room there is no one except the little girl who went back to play with her toys. Suddenly a big noise was heard and two people coughing.

“Mom? Dad?” The little girl called out.

“A woman and a man were both found dead in their kitchen. Their five years old daughter is safe and sound.” You could hear this everywhere, television, radio, online. The cause of death was unknown to everyone, the police searched in the neighborhood, a fight between two neighbors happens more than the police like to admit, and sometimes a revenge goes too far and ends up quite badly, but the problem was, there was nothing on the bodies. No wounds, no scratches, no signs of defense. Nothing.

So far all the police had was two dead bodies and a little girl that miraculously survived the attack.

“How can two healthy and young parents die while cooking? We have no fingerprints, no clues, nothing.” Says an inspector.

“Maybe we should try and talk to their daughter.” Suggests another inspector.

“If we can avoid putting the little girl once more into this, then we do it. She lost her parents. She doesn’t need more pressure around her.” Amelia states when she gets near the inspectors.

Everyone turns in surprise to look at the young woman who just appeared behind them.

“Who are you?” Asks an inspector.

“Amelia Joy, FBI. Can I please see Detective West?” Asks Amelia.

“He is in the lab up there.” The same man responds, she only nods.

Amelia turns around and goes to the lab. When she arrives, she sees two men, one of them being Detective West.

“Who are you?” Asks the other man.

“Amelia Joy, FBI.

-What are the feds doing here?

-A case that I’ll need your help on, Joe.

-What’s up?

-Something came up. Could I talk to you in private?

-If this is about your other job you can speak in front of him, he’s-

-I know who he is. But I don’t think he can deal with something like that, not for now at least.

-What? What are you guys talking about?”

Amelia sighs and looks around her. Why did she have to do this alone? Emma really had chosen the right moment to “work aboard” as she called it.

“Nice lab.

-Thanks.

-I know who you are, Barry Allen and not only, I know what you do besides working for the CCPD. But I think we should go somewhere else for this. Shall we?”

Amelia, Barry, and Joe went to the Women of Letters’ Central City base. Barry was looking around wondering what all was about until he saw the symbol and remembered what Oliver and Felicity told him about it.

“Wait, you’re a woman of letters?” Asks Barry but no one answers.

They get into the elevator and Amelia press the “8” button.

“I’m one of the women that created it.

-So what are we doing here?

-There has been this virus going on for three days now all over America. We have the Winchesters in Kansas, two of our agents in Los Angeles, Team Arrow in Star City and we need Team Flash here.

-What do we know so far?

-Not much, that is the problem. We are aware that this virus somehow turns humans into supernatural creatures.

-You mean metahumans?

-No. Metahumans still have human DNA, it’s merged with a meta one, but it’s still human. No… What I’m talking about is humans that somehow doesn’t have human DNA in their system but supernatural creatures DNA instead.

-Such as…?

-Such as werewolves, wendigos, and vampires.

-Wait… You’re telling me they exist?!

-You have no idea what exists in our world, Barry.

-So, how can I help you?

-Joe, I need to have the full support and cooperation from the CCPD on this.

-Wait you’re not really FBI?

-Oh no, yeah I am. Trust me but the FBI side you don’t know, don’t need to, and won’t ever know about. Let’s focus. Joe, this paper is for you. This will help your boss understand he does not have any choices. If anybody asks about Barry, he’s helping us with his forensic science skills.”

Joe nods and leaves the building.

“Barry, I will need team Flash ASAP.

-I will bring them here. What you have here is so much better than what we have.

-Okay go, but don’t take too much time. We have to hurry.” Barry nods, and in a fraction of a second, he was out of the building in his way to S.T.A.R Labs.

Once he arrives there, he puts on his suit.

“Whoa, dude, what the hell?

-Cisco. Where's Caitlin?

-I’m right here. What’s wrong?

-The woman of Letters, Amelia Joy is in Central City.

-Wait, what? How do you know?

-Because she came to the CCPD earlier and asked for our help.

-Hold on; she knows you’re the flash? How?

-Well-

-Forget about it; we’re talking about Amelia Joy one of the women of letters, they know the secret identity of everyone.

-Anyway, she needs us ASAP, so I’m taking you with me on a fast ride to the women of letters’ base.

-Cool!”

“Gravity, what’s new?” Asks Amelia to Gravity on the phone, while team Flash arrives.

“We know that metahumans cannot be infected because of their DNA.

-That’s all? God there gotta be something. How many casualties?

-We’ve reached 50 victims, Amelia…” The whole room stays silent as Amelia sits down in shock.

“Contact as many people as you can, we need help to cover more of America. If you have to form people then do it, I don���t care. I want results; I want answers! We need to exterminate this damn virus, now!

-Okay. I will spread the word.

-Good.

-I… Lux did send a message. She’s alright, but it might take a little more time than we thought… Should I inform her about what’s going on here?

-No. It’s better that way.”

Amelia ends the communication and turns around, seeing Caitlin, Cisco, and Barry.

“Hi, pleased to meet you but we will have to do the introducing talk later. I have this sample of the virus see what you can find on it even if it’s minimal, at least something that characterizes it, a way for us to identify it.

-We’re on it.

-Barry, I’ll need you with me. We’re going to go search the streets and see if we can find creatures.”

Amelia puts on a black eye mask, control her gun, hides a knife in her boots, puts one on the side of her leg and one inside her jacket. What a shame Emma had to leave for South America for another mission… But there was no other choice.

“Cool.” Says Cisco in awe. “I think I might have a crush.

-Cisco, focus.

-Yeah, yeah, uhm, sorry.”

Barry and Amelia leave the building and turn on their headsets.

“Okay, Cisco, where do we go?

-I don’t know, Barry. Just go where there is something weird.

-Yeah thanks, Cisco but we’re in a city full of metahumans.”

A loud noise is heard, making Barry and Amelia turn around. Amelia charges her gun and aims it.

“Cisco do you see anything?” Asks Barry.

“No, nothing.” Answers Cisco.

Amelia stroll where the noise was heard.

“What? Amelia, what are you doing?!”

A tall person stands in front of Amelia and Barry, making them look up.

“Oh boy.” Says Barry.

The tall person hit Amelia, making her fly to the other side of the road.

“Amelia!!” Barry runs to Amelia and sees her lying unconscious on the ground.

“Crap. Cisco, she’s out.

-You gotta do the supersonic punch. This guy is getting taller and taller.”

Barry looks at Amelia and then at the guy, standing up slowly.

“I gotta put Amelia to a safe place first.” States Barry.

“I’m fine, just a headache.” Amelia mumbles.

Barry turns around and sees her standing up, he goes to her and helps her steadying herself.

“That guy’s impossible to defeat.

-Not really. Do the supersonic punch and then we both attack him at different places at the same time while he’s recovering from the punch.

-Okay. Cisco, how far do I have to go and how fast?”

Amelia takes her phone and starts to type on it.

“I don’t know, we cannot see how tall he is, and we don’t know how he got that strong. We know nothing about the virus” Cisco answers truthfully.

“Cisco, says he hits tall-guy in 1/10th of a second, that’s about 2,000 newtons, about 450 lbs of force - so he’d be hitting him with a force equivalent to 450 lbs and does it in 1/10th of a second.

-How the hell do you know that?

-Shut up Cisco, keep going, Amelia.

-That 450 lbs of force are going to leave a mark, this is going to knock him out or at least shake him enough that we can attack him and finish him.

-Yeah, but how am I sure it’s going to work?

-That force is coming from a disembodied Flash hand flying through the air. So if you’re putting all the force of your body weight - let’s say 180 lbs - behind it, that force is going to be way bigger: 73,737 lbs of force. That’s more weight than two Greyhound buses, delivered by the surface area of a fist.

-No mere mortal could survive this.

-But he doesn’t seem mortal, and our goal is not to kill him, but to defeat him. But you gotta be careful, tall-guy won’t be the only one to feel the punch. Force comes in pairs. That’s Newton’s third law so any force will come back onto your fist.

-Thank the speed force for that super healing, Barry. Otherwise, your hand will not be in good shape.

-Good. That’s, reassuring. Okay, let’s go.”

Barry leaves and runs to tall-guy as Amelia calculated. When Barry punched him, tall-guy flew backward to a wall and broke it.

“Woohoo!! It worked! You’re amazing Amelia!” Cheers Cisco.

Amelia runs to Barry and looks at tall-guy being completely knocked out.

“Well. Let’s bring him to W-O-L Base.

-Yeah, sure thing. How?

-I have no idea.

-Good. Great. That’s, awesome.”

That was normally the part where Emma was useful. Even if her plans were quite weird sometimes, they always ended up working pretty well.

Emma was standing in front of a golden door. She was worried for the W.O.L. Gravity didn’t say anything, but it kinda sounded like something was off up there.

If the guys hadn’t given them their family files, she would have probably still been in the bunker. Not that she had read them. She just needed space. A lot of space. Like a few thousand kilometer space.

She pulled her gun out of the Hollister and smiled fondly towards the metal weapon. If there were still some love in her, it would have been for that little object.

Her phone rang making her curse.

“Yeah?”

“Ugh Hi, Lux… It’s Cisco here… We do have little problem with a really tall guy we have to get back to the bunker?

-Cisco? No actually isn’t important yet. Everyone is good? How tall is tall? How far?

-Like REALLY tall… And ugh… Down the street? And yes everyone is fine.

-... In the alley behind the bunker is a black container. The keys are taped under the desk. There’s a tarpaulin and beneath it is a Fenwick. Get your tall guy back. And bring my Fenwick back too.

-Why do you have a Fenwick?

-... Just bring it the heck back and don’t let Aurea get in there and ask too many questions about it. Oh. And don’t you dare touch anything else in there.”

She ends the call with that.

Raising the gun, she readied herself. The sooner she was done here with the Maya calendar, the sooner she would be back home.

Taking a deep breath and shaking away the worries, she kicked in the door.

“Let’s get the party started.”

“What did Lux say exactly?

-She said that you shouldn’t ask too many questions?

-Okay..., anyway. So tall-guy is neutralized. What did you find on the virus?

-We found the first symptoms. If it infects someone, they will somehow have green eyes, full green eyes.

-Tall-guy did not have green eyes.

-He’s just a metahuman.

-Since when metahumans became “just metahumans”?

-Since there is worse than metahumans.

-People with green eyes...do you know what molecule cause that effect?

-Actually, it’s more of a prototype. Our virus is not only made of changed DNA but also of data?

-So you are telling me that someone is controlling the virus from a computer?

-Yes.

-So we can track them?

-Yes, we can but as the data is only half of the virus, it’s not enough to track its IP, it will take longer than that.

-Well… get to it. Call Gravity, send her everything you have on the virus. We need everyone in the streets to find the superhumans.

-How are we supposed to stop them?

-Well, if the virus is half data, we have to find what frequency it’s on to create a higher frequency to destabilize it and bring the superhumans here until we find the cure.”

Suddenly all of the televisions that were showing different news channel in the W.O.L base flickers and showed a man in a black mask.

“I do hope I have your attention. I think you didn’t miss the number of people dying increasing these days! I’m the one who’s to thank for it, or to blame? I created the viridi 9 virus; it’s changing humans into supernatural creatures, sadly, not all of you can contain the virus without dying, now; Lux and Aurea, if you don’t give me what I want, and you know what it is, more people will die.”

All of the televisions returned to normal after that. Amelia was shocked. She dialed Gravity. Gravity’s voice was heard in the principal room of the W.O.L base, where Team Flash was, including Amelia.

“Gravity, please tell me you know who that is.

-I’m searching. I’m on it.

-And about Lux? How is she?

-The last time I heard, she was fine.

-You need to find that maniac. We cannot let people die because he has a grudge against us.”

Amelia hangs up and gets out of the principal room to the training room and kick a punching bag, breaking it open.

Barry walks in in the same moment.

“Woah, that punching bag didn’t do anything to you!”

Amelia turns to face Barry.

“We’re going to find who black mask is.

-Black Mask?

-Cisco’s work.

-At least 50 people died because that guy had something against Lux and me. Right now it’s 50 but how many are coming? Barry, Lux and I created Women of Letters because there was no way under our watch that innocent people would die! Children that had so many things to do yet, mother that will probably not be able to watch their children get married or--

-Hey, stop. You before anyone should know that a crazy person does not need any reason to be crazy. It could’ve been you and Lux or me and Team flash or even Oliver! None of this is your fault.

-Well, tell that to the families that mourn their loved ones.”

Amelia gets out of the training room and goes to another one. Barry sighs, as much as he was trying to help Amelia, she was right, people were dying.

Barry walked back to the principal room and helped team Flash on whatever he could. After an hour or so, Amelia came into the principal room, she had a red mask on, black lipstick, a jacket on that could throw little blades, black pants, a gun attached on one leg, and a knife on the other, black boots that also had knives hidden in it. In her back, her sword was perfectly attached to her jacket, too.

She wasn’t Amelia Joy anymore; she was Aurea.

“So we get to meet Amelia and now Aurea… Cool.” States Cisco.

“Amelia, what are you doing?” Asks Barry.

“I need the Flash. We’re going for a trip.” Answers Amelia.

“What trip?” Wonders Caitlin.

“We are bringing everyone here. Black mask is in Central City, so we’re bringing my agents here.” Adds Amelia.

“What about Team Arrow? And the Winchester?” Asks Barry.

“We need them to help future victims, just in case black mask has more guys in his team than we thought.”

“And Lux?”

“She hasn’t talked to me for the last week. I’ll ask Gravity to contact her.”

Lux was sitting in an enormous golden chair, her legs laying crossed over one armrest. Her fingers were tapping on the armrest. Her eyes fixed on the large golden door lying before her.

“Ughhh… The heck is this shit…”

She had already kicked in the front door. The second one was more annoying. She had to find some levers to pull to get it to open. The third had taken a little more time, the enigma that was written on it not giving any hints away, she had taken a little more than three hours to figure it out. Her annoyance was raising more and more. The fourth had been an even harder enigma, but she had managed to get it open too.

Frustration was already bubbling in her at that point. And now she was in front of the last door. But this one was different. It had some engravings showing some terrible beasts and a sort of tunnel system on the floor, just wide enough for a little flow of liquids.

Emma was terrified, her mind finally making out the start of the story told by the door. But she had no other choice. What she needed was behind the door. And there was no other way than to get it here. Emma was terrified and would have loved to run away and get back home safely. But she wasn’t Emma anymore. Her black clothing, which was a little dusty by now, the white mask hanging around her neck and the two Hollister carrying her guns, such as the blade attached to her right leg were the proof that Lux was sitting nonchalantly on the chair. And not the former good girl.

Her fingers stopped their restless tapping. Something had caught her eye, and she was already regretting her choice.

She closed her eyes for an instant.

“Bloody hell. The fuck have I done to deserve that...!” She stood up.

A prayer leaving her lips. It was something normal, but she added something.

“Amelia, I hope you are ok. I’m sorry for bitching. And I’m glad I met you or I wouldn’t be here now. And sorry for what’s coming next. I hope you’ll understand it later…”

Before she could hesitate any longer, she grabbed her blade and slashed her left forearm open. Blood was running down the little grooves.

It had taken a few minutes before the blood reached the door and for it to open. Lux only stood there, blood still slowly dripping for her arm but what she needed finally reachable. She smiled satisfied until a dark cloud escaped the now open door.

She cursed under her breath, preparing for what would come her unharmed hand clenching around the shaft of the blade.

[thedevildinosaur]

Harriscofest2017: Naptime

Part Four of the Summer Hiatus Series

Thirty-six hours into the current crisis, Cisco crashes. Literally crashes, right into the glass divider between Caitlin’s lab--what used to be Caitlin’s lab--and the Cortex. He doesn’t shatter the glass, but there is a large crack spiderwebbing from approximately where his forehead made contact. Cisco doesn’t even react, staggers back and knocks something off the desk beside him, but he’s too tired to register the hit.

Whatever he dropped lands with a muted thud and a sharp intake of breath behind him. Then he’s got Harry grabbing his shoulders and hissing. Sounds like a drawn-out “Ffffffffffff.”

Cisco turns--is manhandled into turning--to face Harry, who’s blinking past his own pain to peer at Cisco with concern. “Ramon. Let me see.” Tight voice, tight eyes, tight grip, reminds Cisco of that time he saw Harry smash his thumb with a hammer.

“I’m not hurt?” Cisco says, because he doesn’t think he is. He’s just now grasped why he was suddenly propelled backwards.

“No. I don’t see any cuts or redness.” Harry is now cradling his face, inspecting. “Watch where you’re going.”

“What happened to you?” Cisco pokes one shaky finger into Harry’s chest.

“I’m fine. You need rest, you’re no good to us if you can’t even walk in a straight line.” Harry doesn’t leave him much room to argue, already guiding Cisco into the medlab, toward the cots. Nearest flat and relatively comfortable surface. He must be tired too, considering how much weight he’s leaning on Cisco.

“Can’t sleep. Gotta work on…” What’s happening? Oh yeah. Someone’s been leaving death threats in Joe’s mailbox. Seriously, who could possibly hate Joe? The man is the dearest teddy bear Cisco has ever met, though he’d never say that out loud (except maybe once when drunk). The answer is no one, aside from every criminal Joe has arrested. And all the bad metas who’ve seen his face. Okay, an alarming amount of people might hate Joe enough to kill him.

“The human part of metahuman still applies to you. Take a nap. Sixty minutes. You’ll accomplish more with your brain recharged.” Harry, who has had decades to master the whole ‘fight insomnia with coffee’ strategy, cannot possibly be lecturing Cisco on not getting enough sleep. His hypocrisy cannot run that deep.

Cisco realizes this is really happening when he’s shoved unceremoniously into a cot, and Harry pulls himself up to sit on the edge. “Hey,” Cisco says, muffled where half his face is pressed into a pillow. “That's not fair.” He tugs at Harry’s sleeve.

“Sixty minutes. Just obey for sixty minutes--”

“I'm not an obedient guy,” Cisco points out. He does tend to be agreeable when other people suggest things, but there's a difference. He pulls and pulls and somehow Harry ends up lying next to him, glasses askew. Cisco promptly co-opts Harry’s shoulder for use as his new pillow. “Set the timer.”

Harry fumbles his phone out of his pocket. It’s lodged firmly between them, so extracting the phone takes some contortions. Cisco isn’t helpful, remaining glued to Harry’s side, sleepily watching the whole process. When the phone is out and the alarm is up, Cisco jabs at it with his finger. “Sixty minutes.”

“I’m doing it,” Harry says irritably, holding the phone out of reach.

“Don’t cheat me.” Cisco’s finger lands on Harry’s wrist and slides down his forearm, following one blue vein all the way to his elbow. Harry drops the phone on Cisco’s hand.

“Ow,” they say in unison. Cisco quickly snatches his hand back while Harry swipes the device off his chest.

“It’s set,” Harry announces. Cisco is already half-asleep. His hand is jammed against Harry somewhere. He can feel Harry breathing in the rise and fall of his chest, and something against his palm that is either a seam in Harry’s shirt or another scar. Harry has plenty of those, battle scars and surgical scars. Cisco is building his own collection, most recent being that mark on his thigh that still aches when he runs too much.

What does he need to run for, anyway? He has been exercising more since he put on the suit. Slightly more than Iris or Joe, less than Harry. He could cut running from the routine. Wally runs faster than him anyway, and he can make portals to carry him farther and faster than even a speedster can manage. Although he hasn’t put that to the test.

Which reminds him, he still needs to test the new Boot and get it into Joe’s hands--Joe, who was rockin’ that beanie earlier--

Between one thought and the next, increasingly disordered thought, Cisco falls asleep. He wakes up five hours later, groggy and prepared to be pissed at Harry for deceiving him. Then he rolls over and sees Harry in the next cot, with his foot in a cast.

“Dude,” Cisco says. Harry scowls at the opposite wall.

“So, we had to run to the emergency room for the first time this summer.” This from Iris, leaning in the doorway. She looks as exhausted as Cisco feels. “We could really use Caitlin back…”

[i-am-very-very-tired]

Raury Explains Why He Protested Dolce & Gabbana From the Runway BY MARK ANTHONY GREEN The Atlanta musician talks exclusively to GQ about why he whipped off his hoodie mid-runway to protest the fashion brand that had paid him to walk. The most expected thing happened during Dolce & Gabbana’s Spring-Summer ’18 runway show this past Saturday at Men's Fashion Week in Milan: A millennial millennial'd and spoke his mind. Raury, Atlanta native and hippie soul singer, walked in D&G's #millennial-themed fashion show—then went rogue at the very end. For the second season in a row, the Italian house brought in young social-media influencers to wear their clothes down the runway. Dolce & Gabbana, who've dealt with controversy before after Dolce's statements on gay parenthood, had taken fire recently for proudly dressing America's first lady, Melania Trump. In reaction to the criticism, the design duo launched a tongue-in-cheek meta-campaign dubbed “Boycott Dolce & Gabbana” across the label's social channels. In addition to a T-shirt bearing the slogan, they produced a commercial featuring a bunch of kids joyously “protesting” Dolce & Gabbana with Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana. As Dolce told Vogue before the show: “It’s irony! A joke! People use heavy words very easily these days. There is too much aggression." That was before Raury, walking in the finale, removed his Dolce & Gabbana bomber and hoodie to show words scrawled on his chest: PROTEST and DG GIVE ME FREEDOM and I AM NOT YOUR SCAPEGOAT. He disappeared immediately after leaving the runway, not joining the rest of the models for photos. I spoke with him Saturday night (before he left Italy early the next morning) to understand why he chose to protest the campaign from the runway—and to briefly see the world of fashion and celebrity through the eyes of a 21-year-old. GQ: Let’s start at square one. What did Dolce & Gabbana do that you felt was wrong? Raury: The “Boycott Dolce & Gabbana” T-shirt they created completely makes a mockery of what “boycotting” is. Boycotting is the people’s voice. A protest is the people’s voice. It has power. It changes things. When I came out to Milan for my first time walking on a fashion runway, ever, I was excited. I’m a stylish-ass young kid, but I don’t know everything about fashion. I knew nothing about the T-shirt until I was here. I had already agreed to walk for them. [The day before the show,] I Googled “Dolce & Gabbana” so that I could know who was who when I finally met them. I didn't want to be disrespectful to either one of them by calling them the wrong name. When I typed up their names, the first thing I saw was a headline on Fortune.com, “Dolce & Gabbana Is Trolling Melania Trump Critics with This $245 T-shirt.” National Post, AOL, etc. And then I saw a commercial featuring the boycott T-shirt, and it looked playful and lighthearted—it was a joke. It was a troll. Me, as a young man from Stone Mountain, Georgia, the birthplace of the Klu Klux Klan, I really felt this mockery of boycotting. Who knows, if boycotts didn’t happen, if Rosa Parks and M.L.K. didn’t step up…who knows if I would even exist. Boycotting matters. Boycotting is real. Dolce’s entire campaign says it’s not real. I know that if I walk out there and support or endorse anything that sits next to Trump—or support someone who even makes dinner for Trump or whatever—then that means that I support Trump also. I don’t support Trump. So I’m trapped, and I have to let people know that I don’t support Trump and I don’t support those who are trying to undermine the voice of the people. GQ: Stefano Gabbana posted many pictures of the T-shirt and campaign on his Instagram. They weren’t exactly hiding it. Did you guys know about it and what it stood for? R: This is my first time walking in a runway show. There are a lot of other kids here—and it was their first time walking in a runway show, too. Everyone was just excited. Everyone was blinded by the opportunity. First time being in Milan…Dolce & Gabbana giving us free clothes. It’s lit. This is Dolce’s “Millennial” campaign. But a lot of millennials didn't know that Dolce & Gabbana styles Melania Trump or had made this T-shirt mocking boycotting. But my nerdy ass looked into it. GQ: Why “I am not your scapegoat”? R:I wondered why I was picked to come out here and support them in a time when they’re going through some heat. So here I am, about to be like, Dolce & Gabbana is cool, but I didn’t know what they had done. And a lot of [models in the runway show] didn’t know what they had done. I felt like Dolce & Gabbana was literally trying to use the youth to wash their hands of any sort of heat from anyone who wants to protest against them. GQ: To be clear, when did you find out about them proudly dressing Melania Trump? R: I found out a day before. GQ: You were already in Milan? R: Yeah, already in Milan. Already done some of the shots and rehearsed through shit. Already made some cool friends and had a good time, and dapped up Dolce and dapped up Gabbana. I already had caught a vibe. “They had, like, a bar of security in front of the door. I had to run, like, 300 feet up and away from them.” GQ: So what ran through your head initially, right when you read that news blurb? R: I was up against so much confusion and fear. I was confused by the fact that none of us knew this. Did anybody care? Should I say something? Should I not say something? If I say something, will it ruin any opportunities in the fashion world because I’m unpredictable or some shit like that? I didn’t know if I was going to do it or not. But then there was a moment backstage when they started passing out the shirts, when [the models] didn’t have any context for what they meant. They were coming out of the shower and the robes, after getting makeup put on, to someone saying, “Hey, now put this on and let’s start Snapchatting.” They were making us represent something that only I knew what it was about. These kids are about to co-sign this, and they don’t even know what it means. They’re using the shit out of us. We’re not scapegoats. You are not about to wash your hands with us. They were really pushing for me to wear it, too, specifically. GQ: To be fair, anytime an influencer or celebrity partners with a brand, it’s a business relationship. They get paid and the brand gets a new representative. Isn’t this just the nature of agreeing to something like that? R: That shirt had so much heat on it, and the kids didn’t know that. And Dolce & Gabbana knew the kids didn’t know that. I knew. Why? Because I couldn’t type in Dolce & Gabbana without seeing a lot of negative energy around this shirt. It’s a whole different ball game. I believe our contract didn’t say anything about that. I agreed to walk on a runway and show up to some parties. Backstage, they kept approaching me and asking really particular questions. The most alarming one was when someone came up to me and said, “Hey, can you put on this shirt and say, 'Hi, my name is Raury and my heart belongs to this and this and Dolce & Gabbana.’” They tried to put words in my mouth. I have a soul, I have a mind. I don’t make my living off of shapeshifting and being what people tell me to be. So when that happened, I just hid in the bathroom. I didn’t want them to think they could manipulate me. I pulled aside some friends that I had made while in Milan. Ryan, Michael, Fucci…I just wanted to talk to them to see if I was tripping. GQ: Did they know by then, an hour before the show started, what the shirt meant? R: No. Michael didn’t know. Fucci and Ryan didn’t know. They were like, oh shit. I told them what I was thinking of doing, and they said I shouldn’t do it. They told me not to ruin it for myself. It’s us versus a giant corporation. GQ: What happened after you took your shirt off and did the reveal? R: I knew I had to get out of there. I didn’t know what could happen to me. I was dealing with a lot of energy. I was thinking: Oh shit, what does this mean? This is their city. They're some of the most powerful people in this city. This is fueling something against them, and who knows how ruthless they are? So when I walked out of there, I made a beeline to the exit and a security guard wrapped me up. I juked his dumb ass but got stopped at the door. I kept saying, "Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. The only person I will talk to is my manager, Che." Che brought me my clothes—I took off all of the Dolce & Gabbana clothes I was wearing and tried to leave. They tried to stop us. They were trying to keep me in there. Why? I’m not stealing anything from you guys, you have everything you gave me. But they had, like, a bar of security in front of the door. I had to run, like, 300 feet up and away from them. GQ: Then you stopped and talked to a crowd of people, right? R: The sad thing is that even as I talked to them, I felt like they weren’t listening. I was afraid that, after all of that fear and maybe never working with a fashion brand again, what if it doesn’t even matter? GQ: Should designers and fashion get into politics? Or keep them completely separate if possible? R: Honestly, fashion, music, movies, art, people, construction workers, human beings, everyone mingles with politics at work. That’s life. Show your true colors. And if you show your true colors, shit like this might happen to you. That’s just the truth. If your message is cool, then it’s cool. But if it ain’t, millennials are going to come and let you know. And we won’t let up. GQ: Do you think Dolce & Gabbana had good intentions? R: It was very insulting to know that Dolce & Gabbana was selling all of this millennial, pro-forward shit, but everything that they’re doing and saying is a step backwards. They’re speaking for the 1950s. They’re saying our voice doesn’t matter, and they fuck with Melania and Trump. It’s sad. But the future is now. I actually felt like they were asking me to do it. A part of me was like, does Dolce know Raury is going to go up there and do that shit? [laughing] Was it a test to see if millennials weren’t about shit? That was another thing racing in my head. I felt like if nothing happened, then they would be right. And that T-shirt would be right. Dolce would think they can talk shit about people boycotting, support the first lady of a president who is very parallel to Hitler, and bring the millennials and put them in that shit and nothing would happen. But it’s basic math. One plus two equals three. And this is what will always happen.