#jonny are you aware of how you describe men

[nat-20s]

Honestly obsessed with posts that are like "The Magnus Archives will bi your sexuality" because that literally happened to Jonny Sims himself. Love that for him

[branwendaughterofllyr]

Branwen reads ASOIAF (again) - AGOT JON I

It’s finally time for Jonny boy. Turns out he is a mess and a half.

The boy is left without adult supervision for half an hour, and he is about to get wasted. 

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

What are the benefits of being a bastard? Unmonitored alcohol consumption by a minor. (Also, if we get a similar version of this line for a different situation, I’ll cackle.”There were times - not many, but a few- when Jon was glad he was a Targaryen”) 

The best bit of descriptive writing award for this chapter really has to go to the paragraph describing the Great Hall. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon’s crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

Listen, I am an absolute slut for the food porn in these books. I own the official A Feast of Ice and Fire cookbook and I cook from it regularly. Give me more, George.

Also, I love that the atmosphere is so visceral, the dull roar of all the noise, with smoke and food. Love it!

Also, not pictured is Sansa going absolutely feral over the singer after Jon leaves. Between the prince, and singer, and no doubt her best dress, the kid must have been this close to passing out from sheer joy the whole time. 

(I’m pretty sure this singer is NOT Mance, since the high harp is not his instrument of choice, but correct me if I’m wrong.)

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king.

Damn, I would have probably tapped out by this point if I’d been drinking as much as Jon is. Especially if I was 14.

Jon’s brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen.

lol, the children’s table. Good to know family dinners never change. 

In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that.

And this is the last sensible monitoring of the alcohol consumption of children that we will see for the rest of the books. After this, it’s nothing but swords and wine skins for all the kids!

Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for. And he was finding that he had a man’s thirst

Look, Jon’s already ahead of the curve. Him and all the other unsupervised teenage boys are also getting drunk. 

He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king’s offspring.

Sour grapes, Jon? I mean, you’re probably right, but this entire chapter is Jon telling us that he’s totally not jealous! How dare you say that! He’s not crying either, leave him alone. 

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

AH, Cersei and her emeralds. A classic combination. Also, I am absolutely on team “Jon is much more observant and aware than people think” but it’s also possible that Cersei’s smile is so fake everyone can tell. You can pick which one is funnier. Also, I do wonder if there’ll be a future situation where Cersei wishes she had gotten a better look at Jon Snow. 

Next had come King Robert himself, with Lady Stark on his arm. The king was a great disappointment to Jon. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Jon saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.

Jon ABSOLUTELY roasting Robert. But also, I never want anyone to complain about Sansa judging people by their appearances ever again. Look at this boy and his head full of fancy and songs! (This is even funnier when we get to the Jaime description.)

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.

Awwww, Rickon is too cute. He wanted to stop in the middle to see his brother. Aw. 

Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

Damn, Jon! What did Myrcella ever do to you? Also, look at Jon being bitter and Robb and Myrcella coming up with ways to prove that he’s not bitter, lol. Arya comes up with Tommen, and Jon is neutral lol. 

Okay everyone. It's about to happen. Let’s all stay calm. In my personal opinion, George does not start writing Jonsa foreshadowing until the end of AGOT/beginning of ACOK, possibly later. I think that all the examples of Jonsa in AGOT are “hindsight foreshadowing,” something that George notices and goes back to later with his gardening style of writing, like with Janos Slant. That all being said:

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

RADIANT!? 

What a word choice!

I really think this is supposed to be Jon being jealous of Joffrey, who looks just like Jaime (who Jon thinks looks like a king should), trueborn, and a prince expected to inherit everything, and is also taller than him (big lol on Jon being dismayed by that). Joffrey doesn’t even seem to appreciate all he has, and he doesn't appreciate WF, all cardinal strikes to Jon. But Jon can’t actually think about being jealous, because that would mean acknowledging all his feelings, and we can't have that. He’s not hating on Sansa, because she’s not the problem here, Joffrey is. Sansa is absolutely right in the next chapter, Jon *is* jealous because he's a bastard, this entire chapter is all about establishing that Jon is limited by being a bastard. 

But also. Calling Sansa radiant is hilarious. And I think George noticed this. 

"How is Cersei? As beautiful as ever?""Radiant." Fickle. "Golden." False as fool's gold.  Jaime V, AFFC

Teehee.

Look how smoothly that was made into hindsight Jonsa. 

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which.

To be far to Jon, it’s basically been confirmed that the only entertainment in WF is Old Nan. This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to Jon, ever. 

Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed. 

Jon is not immune to appearances. We are all extremely lucky that Jaime never ended up as king, but it’s funny that Jon takes one look at Jaime and thinks “yep, that's what a king should be like.” (Just like Sansa with Cersei,) Also, compare how he describes Jaime to Joffrey, who look very similar and probably are equally disdainful of WF, lol. Also, Jaime is not even bothering to dress like a KG. More hilarity. 

I’ll have more to say about the Jaime and Jon parallels when we get there. 

Then he saw the other one, waddling along half-hidden by his brother’s side. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin’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. His head was too large for his body, with a brute’s squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. Jon watched him with fascination.

Leave Tyrion alone Jon. He’s been punished enough by being a Lannister. (but in all seriousness I just listened to Peter Dinklage’s promo interview for Cyrano, and he had a lot of interesting things to say about ableism and visibility, so go have a listen if you have some time. Also watch Cyrano. It made me cry.) Jon gets to learn to see pass appearances by meeting people and befriending them, Sansa has to be a child bride and threatened with rape. Basically the same thing!

The last of the high lords to enter were his uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night’s Watch, and his father’s ward, young Theon Greyjoy. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by. Theon ignored him utterly, but there was nothing new in that.

Love Benjen, but the Jon-Theon rivalry never fails to crack me up. They're foils AND parallels, outsiders who want dad Ned Stark to be proud of them. and also maybe become Starks by marrying Sansa

Jon had started drinking then, and he had not stopped.

he’s fine. No one check on him. 

Something rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon saw red eyes staring up at him. “Hungry again?” he asked. There was still half a honeyed chicken in the center of the table. Jon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in savage silence. His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

Ghost is a good boi, even when convincing Jon to sneak him food. Also, Jon telling himself that everything fine, and he's not repressing anything!

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke.

He’s not crying! It’s just the smoke in his eyes! 

How do people not realize that Jon’s whole hobby is lying to himself and repressing his emotions? (He gets it from Ned.)

Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal.

Okay, there’s something going on here. Is this the Greyjoys fucking over WF, Theon specifically? Something to do with the Hound? Generally establishing Jon as a stubborn underdog (wolf?). Something else entirely? Idk. 

Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf’s. “Yes,” he said. “His name is Ghost.”

Adorable family. Hope nothing happens to it!

Benjen Stark straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup out of Jon’s hand. “Summerwine,” he said after a taste. “Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon?” Jon smiled. Ben Stark laughed. “As I feared. Ah, well. I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk.”

This is so funny to me. Drunk teen Jon. And how old was Benjen? I’m assuming    he was not being supervised by Lyarra. 

His uncle was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but there was always a hint of laughter in his blue-grey eyes.

Great description, but also blue-grey eyes. Hmm. Just thought that was interesting. Also, Benjen goes in the not handsome Stark pile. 

Benjen watched Ghost with amusement as he ate his onion. “A very quiet wolf,” he observed. “He’s not like the others,” Jon said. “He never makes a sound. That’s why I named him Ghost. That, and because he’s white. The others are all dark, grey or black.

I mean, we’ll pretend it’s not for foreshadowing reasons. Also, love the reasons the Starklings give for naming their wolves. Jon: “He's white and quiet. I’m naming him Ghost.” Arya is winning (mainly because I named my cat Cleopatra when I was also nine. Me and Arya really are kindred spirits).

“There are still direwolves beyond the Wall. We hear them on our rangings.”

HE’S GOING BEYOND THE WALL, BAY-BEE. We hyped for the Wall plot yet? I am!

Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. “Don’t you usually eat at table with your brothers?” “Most times,” Jon answered in a flat voice. “But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them.” “I see.”

Cateyn is both right and wrong. Wrong for excluding Jon, but absolutely right that Jon would be taken as insult, especially by Cersei. The chances of her pitching a fit if a bastard was seated with them are far from zero. 

His uncle glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall. “My brother does not seem very festive tonight.” Jon had noticed that too. A bastard had to learn to notice things, to read the truth that people hid behind their eyes.

Sure wish the show remembered this. Also, whenever Jon is purposely obtuse, it’s him burying it. Which makes ADWD that much more sad and also kinda funny. 

Also, the idea that Jon is forced to be better at reading people as a survival mechanism is interesting to think about. Especially since it seems relevant when comparing him with Robb and Theon. Food for thought. 

His father was observing all the courtesies, but there was tightness in him that Jon had seldom seen before. He said little, looking out over the hall with hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Two seats away, the king had been drinking heavily all night. His broad face was flushed behind his great black beard. He made many a toast, laughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him the queen seemed as cold as an ice sculpture. “The queen is angry too,” Jon told his uncle in a low, quiet voice. “Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn’t want him to go.”

Glad to see that literally no one but Sansa is having a good time (I guess Robb and Myrcella are also vibing). Also Robert pointedly ignoring Cersei while she stews in anger is pretty much their marriage in a nutshell. Amazing she didn’t try to kill him before this. 

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. “You don’t miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall.”

Benjen agrees with me! Why is it that one of Jon’s earliest established characteristics always gets ignored?

“Take me with you when you go back to the Wall,” Jon said in a sudden rush. “Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will.” Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.” “I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.” “That’s true enough,” Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth.

Benjen is also on the “time for the fourteen year old to man up” wagon, but he’s not as bad as Ned, lol. He thinks Jon is too young still. (Isn’t there a callback to this in the Alayne chapters? I can’t quite remember)

“Daeren Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes. “A conquest that lasted a summer,” his uncle pointed out. “Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn’t a game.” He took another sip of wine. “Also,” he said, wiping his mouth, “Daeren Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?”

Boy, oh boy. We get introduced to a teenage king losing a war this early on? smells like foreshadowing to me. I mean, we already know where this is going, just pointing it out. Also Jon stanning the Young Dragon is both funny and sad. 

“I forget nothing,” Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. “I want to serve in the Night’s Watch, Uncle.”

He’s trying to be taller. My boi. 

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb’s bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

Big lol at Arya going south to marry and become mistress of a castle. But also, yeah, what place could a bastard hope to earn? What’s the career plan for Jon, Ned??? Was it always going to be the NW?

“You don’t know what you’re asking, Jon. The Night’s Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.” “A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. “I am ready to swear your oath.”

Oh, Jon and honor, the beginning of a storyline we must pay very close attention to. 

“You are a boy of fourteen,” Benjen said. “Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.” “I don’t care about that!” Jon said hotly. “You might, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said. “If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.” Jon felt anger rise inside him. “I’m not your son!” Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.”

Man, when Benjen is right, he’s right. Jon has no idea what he’s giving up, and its not just about sex. It's everything. 

Also, does Benjen know? He might know. Discuss below whether Benjen knows about Jon’s mom or not. 

“Come back to me after you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own, and we’ll see how you feel.” Jon trembled. “I will never father a bastard,” he said carefully. “Never!” He spat it out like venom. Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet. “I must be excused,” he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry. He must have drunk more wine than he had realized. His feet got tangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor. Laughter boomed all around him, and Jon felt hot tears on his cheeks. Someone tried to steady him. He wrenched free of their grip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night.

Oh, Jon. That was mortifying. Kudos for not straight up dying of embarrassment  like I would have at 14, after basically screaming one of my greatest insecurities, almost crying in front of everyone I know, AND knocking over a waitress with drinks on the way out. You are truly stronger than I. 

Also Jon, you just foreshadowed yourself into something. Good luck with never fathering a bastard! Make sure she knows about moon tea.

A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. He looked bored and miserable as he huddled there alone, but Jon would have traded places with him in an instant.

No wonder after what just happened. Literally everyone is probably talking about you right now. 

Otherwise the castle was dark and deserted. Jon had seen an abandoned holdfast once, a drear place where nothing moved but the wind and the stones kept silent about whatever people had lived there. Winterfell reminded him of that tonight.

BAD JON! DOn’t you dare foreshadow the destruction of WF like this. You’re as bad as Ned, I swear. 

See, this chapter is full of solid foreshadowing, some of which has come to fruition, some of which has not.

The sounds of music and song spilled through the open windows behind him. They were the last things Jon wanted to hear. He wiped away his tears on the sleeve of his shirt, furious that he had let them fall, and turned to go.

That’s right Jon, shove your emotions down so you don’t have to feel. There’s no way this will backfire. 

“Boy,” a voice called out to him. Jon turned. Tyrion Lannister was sitting on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, looking for all the world like a gargoyle. The dwarf grinned down at him.

Again, I will be pettily remarking on everyone who negatively comments on Tyrion's appearance and don't need to become a hostage child bride. 

“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. “I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother.

I always forget that I do like AGOT Tyrion. I know, I know, a crime, but it’s true. I only remember when I’m actually reading AGOT, the rest of the time all I can think about is his downward spiral. Still! This is funny, and I say that mainly because I’ve said almost the exact same thing in my life, and I’d like to cling to the delusion that I am funny. 

Might I have a closer look at your wolf?” Jon hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Can you climb down, or shall I bring a ladder?” “Oh, bleed that,” the little man said. 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 onto his legs.

WTF!?

This is the first and last we shall see of acrobat Tyrion. We get a light retcon about it in ADWD, but other than that, we will never see him again. 

Talk about early installment weirdness. 

Ghost backed away from him uncertainly. The dwarf dusted himself off and laughed. “I believe I’ve frightened your wolf. My apologies.” “He’s not scared,” Jon said. He knelt and called out. “Ghost, come here. Come on. That’s it.” The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon’s face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl. “Shy, isn’t he?” Lannister observed.

Ghost disliking Tyrion is very funny and not talked about enough. Trust the wolf. Always trust the wolf. This seems like solid Jon vs. Tyrion foreshadowing for the future. 

“Sit, Ghost,” Jon commanded. “That’s it. Keep still.” He looked up at the dwarf. “You can touch him now. He won’t move until I tell him to. I’ve been training him.” “I see,” Lannister said. He ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost’s ears and said, “Nice wolf.” “If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it would be. “In that case, you had best stay close,” the dwarf said.

We can only hope! Also, prehistoric killing machines that are also just there for the Starklings to love on. 

“You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?” Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing. “Did I offend you?” Lannister said. “Sorry. Dwarfs don’t have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head.” He grinned. “You are the bastard, though.” “Lord Eddard Stark is my father,” Jon admitted stiffly. Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.” “Half brothers,” Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf’s comment, but he tried not to let it show.

Look! Jon calling the other Starklings his half-brothers! Not just that, but correcting Tyrion when he calls them his brothers. Tell me how Sansa is evil for calling him her half brother instead of her bastard brother again?

Also, this further confirms my theory that this entire chapter is about establish Jon's great overarching internal struggles. He doesn’t want to be a bastard, but he still loves his brothers, he likes it when people compare him to Ned, but he can’t covet what belongs to his brother, but he wants, but he's a bastard-

You see where this goes. 

“Let me give you some counsel, bastard,” Lannister said. “Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.”

Look. Sometimes Tyrion gives decent advice. We all have to live with this. And Tyrion genuinely does show a lot of unselfish kindness and compassion for Jon, and later Bran. AGOT is really peak Tyrion. And this is indeed really solid advice. Jon is really just going to have to deal with his bastardy because it’s inescapable in Westeros. 

Jon was in no mood for anyone’s counsel. “What do you know about being a bastard?” “All dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes.” “You are your mother’s trueborn son of Lannister.” “Am I?” the dwarf replied, sardonic. “Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he’s never been sure.”

We’ll talk about Tyrion and Tywin. Just not right now. Also, if Tyrion is a Targaryen bastard, Varys is a mermaid. 

“I don’t even know who my mother was,” Jon said. “Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are.” He favored Jon with a rueful grin.

HMMMMM

I wonder.

“Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.” And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. 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 THUS, a thousand theories about King Tyrion are born. 

So, final thoughts. I feel Jon's entire storyline is heavily foreshadowed in this storyline. This is like three characters who I feel like we can say their opening chapters were mini-journeys through their stories. Jon is broody boy with a whole complex about being a bastard and Not-A-Stark(tm), and he has foreshadowed himself into some trouble. 

[tmisaccidentreportbook]

MAG002, Do Not Open

Case #9982211, Joshua Gillespie Release date: 25 March 2016 First listen: 13th Oct 2020, on the walk into work

Right, so I’m listening and writing this while under the effects one of Mr Jonathan Sims’ favourite plausible explanations: head injury. I’m fine, just took a tumble at work and the headache’s starting to creep in.

- Joshua Gillespie! Return of the King! So sad never really got to hear what became of him. (she says, fully aware that whatever is coming at us at the end of the month could be ANYTHING)

- With the introduction, there’s one unifying theme between the 2 statements we’ve had so far, and that is the unpleasantness starts with a ‘lads on tour’ energy. A night drinking in Edinburgh, a boys’ holiday to Amsterdam. So far the demographic, and ok we’re 2 episodes in, for victims seems to be male students… Have been a student myself, and not a male one, a rather unkind part of me thought it nice for the background radiation of terror to shift for a while. It did also tell me that I needed to take care on any stag trips I may attend.

- For clarification, I’m a cis woman and yes, I have been on stag weekends. We went to Thorpe Park and did The Crystal Maze Experience, I had a lovely time.

- Yup, very white/cis/het/male energy here, heading out in a foreign city on your own, presumably not telling any of you’re party where you’re going. Granted, it was the 90’s but still.

- Cardiff! Cardiff gets a mention! Another city I have lived in for a spell.

- The mysterious ‘John’; hard to describe or picture. And I imagine that a lot of men my adopt the name ‘John’ while in Amsterdam. The odd phrasing and the fact that he said he was from Liverpool has always been strange to me, I don’t know if there’s been a pay off there that I’ve missed.

- Huh… The Buried weighing him down. Just thinking about what could weigh you down in this instance; student debt, obligation to your own word, dread.

- Done some maths because this is who I am apparently… £10,000 in 1996, with inflation, would be £20,864.13 today.

- Bournemouth… been there…

- So hopeful. So naive. The Entities don’t need you address or name mate.

- And the first appearances of everyone’s favourite cockney delivery men, I say from under my ‘Breekon and Hope of Nottingham, Handle With Care’ fleece throw. I’m feeling delicate, I need handling with care.

- Jonny Sims has spoken about the importance of pulling tactical sickies, Joshua also subscribes to that wisdom.

- When an unknown coffin is dumped in your living room in mysterious circumstances, what do you do? Tea. Yeah, you can tell this is a British production.

- So the vessel for an eldritch horror becomes a coffee table. I’d take it over IKEA.

- The scratching and singing: It makes no sense, it is impossible and that makes it all the more terrifying.

- ‘Some might call me a coward’, Sir, the fandom calls you a King.

- When the melodic moaning started, I don’t know why but the first thing that came into my mind was ‘mermaid’. I’ve never watched ‘Pirates of the Caribbean, on stranger tides’, or what ever it is but I’ve got the vague image memory of a mermaid in a glass coffin like cage. And with the strange singing, I thought ‘mermaid’. And not your Disney models of mermaid. Lamp like eyes and teeth.

- ‘Goes to show you can get used to anything if you have to.’ Well wasn’t this a doozie of a line to hear some 8 months into a global pandemic… ‘It’s funny how fear can become as routine as hunger.’ Jonny, I just want to talk. Thing is, I had another storm on the way and we had no idea.

- The freezing of the key. Genius.

- When he opened to door to John and Breekon and Hope and they saw that he had not succumbed to The Buried. In my head, that moment became when ‘The Sacrificial Lamb Refused To Lie Down’.

- ‘When the screaming started...’ gotta pay the piper John. The Buried wants its numnums. I mean, he was described as having an odd density to him, but he was also short and up against Breekon and Hope, he wasn’t winning this fight.

- ‘I got a new job and moved to London’. Ho SHIT, DID HE MOVE INTO PETER LUKAS’ APARTMENT BUILDING!? He was already primed for The Lonely, spending all his free time alone in his flat as the coffin didn’t really lend itself to entertaining. Does anyone have a date on when Lukas’ The Silence ritual was meant to take place? Is it post 1998?

- Huh, forgot Jon was a Bournemouth local boy. I’ll probably talk about this at some point, but my home stomping grounds are pretty bare of statements. And that could be read a number of ways.

- Timothy Stoker. My boy. My fun time boy. ‘Despite Tim’s best efforts.’ Oh and his efforts are the best aren’t they.

- Hearing about the fact that he was the only tenant in the building at the time and no one has lived there since… Oh boy, you are ripe for The Lonely.

[ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife]

MAG 019 - Confession (part 1)

Summary: Jonathan reads the first half of the statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding “his claimed demonic possession.”

Our first two-parter! Not that I realized that when I listened to the episode the first time, despite it being right there in the title, because I have the observational skills of a blind muskrat...but I’m excited because I know there will be more multi-parters in the future. I like the episodic format right now, but I know that as Things Begin To Happen, I’ll appreciate the increased breadth and depth of longer stories.

89 Bullingdon Rd is the third street address featured in the series so far, the other two being 93 Lancaster Rd in episode 5 and 105 Hill Top Rd in episode 8. Unlike the first two, however, this one actually exists - kind of. According to google maps, the house numbers on Lancaster Rd in Walthamstow run from about 1 to 85, and the numbers on Hill Top Rd in Cowley run from about 1 to 75. But 89 is right in the middle of the range of house numbers on Bullingdon Rd in Cowley, and while google maps says there’s an 89A but not an 89...it’s close enough. On one hand it’s super cool that these locations are relatively real (the towns are real, the streets are real, it’s just the exact buildings that aren’t). On the other hand 89A is a little too close to 89, and I wish Jonny had picked a number completely outside the range of addresses like he did with the first two, just to avoid crazy fans descending on real people’s houses.

It is definitely worth noting the proximity of 89 Bullingdon Rd to 105 Hill Top Rd. They’re only about half a mile (or about a kilometer, since this is in the UK after all) away from each other as the crow flies. And for both of them, the location itself seems to be tied to the paranormal happenings of the episode(s) they’re featured in. In episode 8, Ivo Lensik feels that unnatural burning start when he’s alone inside 105 Hill Top Rd, which stops as soon as Father Burroughs arrives. In this episode, Father Burroughs feels that same unnatural burning start when he’s alone inside 105 Hill Top Rd, and it only stops when Ivo uproots the tree. And in this episode, Bethany claims her problems are being caused by the Bullingdon Rd house itself, though she doesn’t explain what made her think that. But it’s very concerning that she can’t seem to see the only creepy thing about the house that we’re aware of: the old Latin word written in faded blue paint on the exposed wall.

The word “mentis” is Latin alright, but Father Burroughs translates it as “mind” which...isn’t quite right. “Mentis” doesn’t strictly mean “mind”, it means “of the mind”. The endings of Latin nouns change based on how they’re used in a sentence, so if you’re talking about the word “mind” as the subject of a sentence (or as the word in general) it is “mens”. “Mentis” is specifically the possessive form of the word. I don’t know whether this was deliberate or accidental on Jonny’s part, since if you look it up the dictionary entry shows “mens, mentis”. (It’s standard practice to include both the “subject” form and the “possessive” form in the dictionary since they’re different.) It makes me wonder if this word was part of a phrase and if there were other words hidden under the wallpaper. (Also, small shout-out to anyone reading this who is also a Latin geek, and I hope I explained it well enough that the non-Latin-geeks also understand that explanation.)

On the subject of language, this isn’t the first time Latin has appeared in connection with the paranormal. Ex Altiora, the Leitner found in episode 4, was written entirely in Latin (including the title), and the Lord’s Prayer was written in Latin on that long strip of singed paper found in the second trash bag in episode 5. It’s interesting that the same constellation of details from the trash bag incident are also in this episode: Latin, Christianity, and burning.

Latin isn’t even the only dead language to make an appearance this episode. When describing his experiences performing exorcisms at the beginning of the episode, Father Burroughs recounts: “I was once cursed at in Sumerian by a young man who was illiterate.” In episode 12, the phrase muttered by the hospitalized man that seemed to summon the “lightless flame” contained the word “Asag”, which is the name of a Sumerian demon that could boil fish alive in their rivers. Father Burroughs doesn’t appear in episode 12, but if he had been at that hospital, I think he would have pegged that guy as possessed and wanted to have an exorcism performed. So is there a connection between Sumerian and possession and burning? And how do all the different dead languages that have appeared so far (Latin, Sumerian, and Sanskrit) fit together?

I am also very interested in that nurse, Anna/Annie/Anne Kasuma/Willett. (Seriously, how many names does one person need?) For my purposes, I’m going to call her “Annie” because she seems to go by that. In this episode’s statement (made in 2011), Father Burroughs gives her surname as Willett, and in Jonathan’s wrap-up at the end of episode 8 (which he recorded in late 2015 or early 2016), Jonathan gives her surname as Kasuma. As an older, fairly conservative Catholic (she was a member of the congregation at Father Burroughs’ church, fully believed in demonic possession, etc.), it is highly unlikely that she changed her name for any reason other than marriage or divorce. Ivo Lensik described her as “Malaysian”, and Kasuma is an Indonesian name, whereas Willett is found overwhelmingly in predominantly white countries (the U.S., England, Australia, and Canada are at the top of the list of countries where the name is found). So it would make the most sense to me if Kasuma were her maiden name and Willett a married name. BUT when Jonathan mentions her in the wrap-up to episode 8, he calls her “Mrs. Kasuma”. Since everything else fits with the idea that Kasuma is her maiden name and Willett her married name, I’m thinking Jonathan just messed up the honorific, since he also referred to “Miss Popham” at the end of episode 15 when “Popham” was very clearly Laura’s married name. (This overly detailed surname analysis brought to you in part by my ongoing obsession with genealogy. If anyone reading this has anything resembling a passing interest in the subject, feel free to hit me up about it. I will gush.) All of that nitty-gritty was not without purpose: I think she’s important somehow. I could be reading too much into things, but why would Jonny give her a name change if it weren’t somehow important? Even I realized the nurse from episode 8 and the nurse from episode 19 were the same person on my first listen-through, when I missed or forgot 90% of the details in any given episode, so I don’t think he was trying to trip us up. And she has a direct connection to 105 Hill Top Rd: she grew up on that street, and had a lot of information on the property’s history dating back to before she was born, possibly indicating her family lived on that street even longer. But we haven’t met anyone else with either surname, so for now that’s where it stands: possibly a lead, muddled with a probable mistake.

I was so glad when Father Burroughs made the differentiation in this episode between perception and will: “Bethany told me that her will was still her own, but she could no longer trust her senses, and had found herself doing much that she did not understand.” She tried to eat a small slab of slate, and she apparently couldn’t perceive the word “Mentis” that was literally written on a wall. This might be the first time that the author of the statement calls attention to the recurring theme I’ve been calling “altered reality”. This “altered reality” is a heavy presence in the second part of this two-parter, but I’ll wait to talk about that in that episode’s post. Coupled with this “altered reality” is the “eating of something you really shouldn’t be eating”. In this episode, it’s Bethany trying to eat a slab of slate before being abruptly pulled back to reality by Father Burroughs, only then realizing what it was. Hinted at in this episode, and shown in more detail in the next one (minor spoiler, I guess?), is Father Burroughs eating human flesh and only realizing what it was when the police arrived. The only other time I remember these two themes working in tandem is in episode 3 when Graham Folger ate a notebook. No one stopped him or made him realize what he was doing, so we don’t know for sure that his reality was altered, but it makes the most sense to me that he, like Bethany and Father Burroughs, truly didn’t realize what he was doing. I’m not convinced that the events of this episode (and the next one) are actually related to the notebook incident in episode 3, but it’s an interesting parallel.

On a completely unrelated note, I’d like to talk a bit about Father Burroughs’ “possession” itself. First off, I get that Bethany saying “I’m so sorry...it wants your faith” was supposed to be an ominous line, but why is that the only thing she said throughout the entire attempted exorcism at the hospital? She couldn’t even say, “Hey, man, this isn’t working”? All she could do was look at him with pity and say that? I’d be OK with those being her only words if whatever was “possessing” her also affected her speech the way it did to Father Burroughs later...but she specifically established that she was free to speak and act as she wished, it was only at certain times that her perception of reality was altered. So I’m a little annoyed at her for not giving Father Burroughs (or us) any kind of useful warning or helpful information during the failed exorcism.

I was really confused by the apparent theft of the sacramental wine, too. What was the significance of that? Was it just an example of something weird Father Burroughs noticed that keyed him in to the fact that All Was Not Well, or was there something more to it? (This is only a semi-rhetorical question - if the answer to this was said outright or implied in this episode and it isn’t a post-S1 spoiler, please do fill me in. I sometimes miss stuff that’s super obvious to other people.)

I also find it interesting that he can say “God” towards the end of this episode. He stumbled over it, but by contrast he was completely unable to say “Lord” and “Jesus” at the very beginning. Not sure if this is significant, since there’s no real difference between the words “Lord” and “God” in my estimation. Jesus is specifically Christian, and while “Lord” tends to be associated with Christianity, it’s not exclusive. “God” is the most general of the three terms, yes, but in context he is very obviously referring to the Christian “God”, so his difficulty with getting certain words out isn’t based solely on their contextual meaning. Jonny could have written it without him getting out the word “God” at the end and I think most people listening would have understood that’s the word he was going for. It’s either some kind of clue, or Jonny just got sick of stuttering.

Father Burroughs’ call for protection is the point at which he knows something is Very, Very Wrong, as he feels his lips move even though he himself isn’t moving them. But, as with so many of these stories, Things Were Bad Long Before You Realized It. Bethany told him “it wants your faith” years before the Hill Top Rd incident. He himself admits that his pride led to his downfall, since he initiated an exorcism/blessing on Hill Top Rd when he wasn’t supposed to be doing them at all. But it wasn’t just his pride - it was something taking advantage of his pride. I think that, as much as any person can be, Father Burroughs was a victim of whatever possessed him. He made mistakes in his life - his sins, if you’re looking at it religiously, as he did - but he never wanted to be evil or commit crimes like cannibalism. Like the characters in so many of these stories, I don’t think he deserved what he got, and I mostly just feel bad for him.

His call for protection, he says, was answered by something that was not God, and when Jonathan reads the words that Father Burroughs’ lips were forming (“I am not for you. I am marked.”) we once again hear that creepy static or interference. And I still can’t decide if this is supposed to be some kind of clue or if it’s just to make things creepier. It feels like a clue, but I can’t figure out what exactly it’s supposed to mean. Most of the times I’ve noted it appearing (probably not a complete list - I’m working on it) it appears during a specific quoted phrase or instance of someone speaking: “Can I have a cigarette?” in episode 1. “Isn’t it funny, Amy, how you can live so near and never notice. I’ll need to return the visit someday” from not-Graham in episode 3. “Some hungers are too strong to be denied” from Angela in episode 14. Laura’s sister Elena asking her “how lost I was, in a low, grating voice” in episode 15. If the examples were limited to things like this, then I’d say that it occurs whenever some as-yet-undetermined otherworldly monster is given a human voice to speak through. But it also occurs the first time Ex Altiora is said in episode 4 and the first time The Boneturner’s Tale is said in episode 17, as well as two different moments during the recounting of the story inside TBT. So how is it connected to the Leitners? It didn’t occur when Jonathan read the title Key of Solomon in episode 4, which is implied to be a Leitner. And there’ve been a few other occurrences where something obviously supernatural is happening but that doesn’t involve speech or quoted words at all: When Laura describes the light changing from appearing like an approaching candle to sunlight (which it still wasn’t...) in episode 15, and when Jonathan reads the description of the bleeding books in episode 17 (”red dripped and pulsed from the cart”).

I don’t know what to make of the creepy static yet. But my specific concern with the most recent instance, when Father Burroughs “said” “I am not for you. I am marked” is: Who are the “I” and the “you” referring to? Is the “I” supposed to be Father Burroughs, or the thing “possessing” him? And who on earth is the “you”?

This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims…thanks for listening!

[nev3rfound]

the show must go on : b.b

brief summary: based on the movie age of adeline, you’re unable to age and live your life in new york. until one day, you’re spotted by two of your oldest friends. 

word count: 2.7k requested: nope. this is an idea I’ve had since april and finally put it into writing. i’m not sure if this will just be a oneshot or a series, but do let me know what you think! warnings: not any i’m aware of 

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

* masterlistin’

* commissions

** permanent taglist **

With every single card laid out before you all you had to do was pick whichever one would be most suited. Your fingertips roam over a series of them, quickly discarding a selection due to the date of birth making you now too old. 

You sigh quietly before picking one of them up, checking the birth date before slipping it into your purse, exchanging it for Hadley Wilson. “I guess Amelia Kingsley will have to do today.” You mutter under your breath as you take the rest of the ID cards and slip them back into the shoe box. 

Amelia Kingsley, aged 26, born in Michigan. 

Today was going to be a good day, you needed it to be. 

Shuffling across your floor of the apartment, you lift the creaky floorboard up and place the box back inside, out of sight. Beside the shoe box remains your most precious memories from your original years alongside some emergency cash and supplies. Everything you kept hidden away were the only things you truly cared about, everything that remained on display in your apartment was simply for show. You could easily pack everything up into one large box and move to another place when the time came, not if. 

You rise to your feet as you dust off your jacket and pull your hair out, allowing it to fall over your shoulders. Taking your keys and purse, you head toward your front door, just allowing yourself a single glance at your reflection.

Seeing yourself in the mirror wasn’t surprising. You never woke up looking at yourself with a shock. You had seen in films where the protagonist wakes up a mess, scared to see their state in the mirror. But for you, there was never anything different to be scared of. In all of your years, not a single detail or feature has changed.

There weren’t any signs of wrinkles, of greys appearing or age spots. Your skin was still youthful, your hair full and smile bright. You hadn’t aged a day over 25 in nearly a hundred years, and you were sick of it. 

Closing your front door, you make your way down the stairs holding your uniform in your bag. Amelia had a part-time job, you knew she could just turn up and they’d accept her with open arms. 

Exiting the building the doorman nods as always, never saying a single word, just a simple nod. “Have a good day, Henry.” You cheerfully reply as you take your handbag and whistle out for a cab and watch as one quickly pulls up. “Guess some things never do change.”

New York, the city you once grew up in has changed more than you could compare. The streets are covered in lights, illuminated by advertisements and sounds of languages you had yet to learn. It was amazing, beautiful, but forever haunting you of what you’ll never have.

Unlike New York, you’ll never get to change, to evolve and grow old. It was a freak accident you can’t explain, no one could.

In your long life, you’ve lived in nearly every state of America. You travelled abroad briefly but felt too unsafe to allow yourself to settle. Part of you knew you’d always end up back in New York, maybe not in Brooklyn where you were raised, but it was the closest to home you had been for a long time. 

“Just here, thanks.” You tell the driver as you pass him the cash before climbing out of the cab and walking toward the small building.

Opening the door, you could already hear the sound of high heels clacking against the wooden floors and the claps of the rhythm being rehearsed. A small smile plays on your lips as you listen to the sound of music playing, the soft melodies you grew up hearing. 

“Amy, hey!” You turn around, seeing Lydia running toward you already made up in her costume. She wraps her arms around you tightly, not giving you a second to adjust. “Where have you been, it’s been a week?” She questions, pushing her black curls out of her face. 

You shrug your bag off of your shoulder, walking alongside her toward the dressing rooms. “I just got busy, had some family things to deal with.” You lie, but she’s never one to question. 

“Everything alright? Your parents doing okay in Michigan?” She asks sincerely and you simply nod, trying to remember that you’re Amelia Kingsley, that your parents are in fact still alive.

Placing your bag down on your dressing table, you slip your jacket off as she takes the spot beside you, touching up her lipstick. “They’re doing alright, just worryin’ about me.” You say with a light laugh as you roll your eyes. “You know how parents can be.” 

Lydia scoffs lightly, nodding in agreement. “Tell me ‘bout it.” She sighs as she slumps back into her chair as you begin to change into your attire. “Jonny’s Mom wants me to go over and cook for Thanksgiving. Like, she has it out for me I swear.” Her New York accent remains thick as she talks which makes you smile, realising there are still some oldens around. 

“But isn’t Thanksgiving two months from now?” You ask as you slip the tights as you pull the short dress on.

“Exactly.” She says with a huff as she passes you the underskirt, watching as the excessive fabric fluffs out the short dress, accentuating the curves of your body. “But she knows I can’t cook, and she doesn’t like me bein’ with Jonny as it is.” 

You continue to listen to Lydia’s rambles as you pull the tighs up over your legs, adjusting them underneath the dress as you slip the short black heels on, doing the buckle up. 

“What’s tonight's routine?” You interrupt as you loosely curl your hair before finishing your makeup off, watching a series of girls walk in wearing the same outfit, smiling and waving to you as they do the same.

“Usual. Just gotta do the normal dance then into the crowd, sing the songs and that’s a night.” She rounds up and you nod, knowing this routine all too well that you could do it with your eyes closed.

A loud knock on the door causes everyone to go quiet. “You all decent, ladies?” A man calls out and unison of yes follows. 

The door is pushed open and there stands Jonny, chewing his gum loudly as always. “You look lovely, ladies.” He looks around at everyone, his eyes lingering on Lydia. “Now, we gotta show to do.” 

All of the girls file out as you pull the white gloves up over your forearms and adjust your soldier's hat. 

“Good to see you, Amy.” Jonny winks to you and you politely smile, ignoring the feeling of your skin crawling as you walk toward the stage, standing behind the thick red curtain. 

Your hand rests on Lydia’s shoulder as you listen to Jonny in front of the curtain talking to the crowd. “Okay now for tonight’s main event, who is ready to see Captain America’s girls?” He calls out and a series of cheers commence. 

The mention of his name never gets dull with the crowd as they have all lived through it too. They watched the poor attempted shows that Captain America had to do and at the time, booed him and demanded the girls to return to the stage. But now, these retired veterans eat this up, they love the nostalgia. And you love the chance to be reminded of the life you lost. 

Music begins to play as the curtain rises. Your smile remains bright as you try and look out into the crowd. Immediately you can see some of the regulars sitting at the front row, giving you all a nice wave and smile. 

The dance begins as normal as you all flutter around the stage, lip-syncing some of the songs as you keep in time to the beat. 

As the first song comes to an end and the next begins, you walk out into the crowd in a single file, all walking off in differing directions. During each show, you’re assigned an area and tonight you’re working the back right corner.

Wandering over, a spotlight follows you as you stand on top of the table, singing delicately to the men around you with a smile. You look around the room, feeling two pairs of eyes refusing to part with you as the spotlight on you fades away. 

Turning to face the longing stares, the spotlight illuminates Lydia on their table. But no one is staring. You shrug the paranoia off and carry on with your set.

All of you file back toward the stage, and as you’re in line you hear a voice mutter. “Steve, it’s not Y/n.” You can feel the hairs rising on the back of your neck as you keep your eyes set dead ahead, refusing to glance and see who it is.

You finish the routine with a heavy breath as the curtain falls and the sound of cheers is something you can barely hear over your own heartbeat. 

“Amy, you alright?” Lydia calls out as she watches you rush back to the dressing room, grabbing your things and throwing your coat on. 

Standing in front of her with wide eyes you nod. “Yeah I just, I gotta go.” You mutter before walking past her, not even stopping to chat to the regulars like you normally would. “I’ll let you know when I’m next free.” You call out as you keep your head held low, your trainers hitting the ground hard as you pass by the stage.

Most nights, you could sit for hours and talk to them about the 20′s and 30′s. How they describe it as a world you would never recognise with the technology you all have these days. You would laugh with them, smiling and playing along.

“Hey,” A voice calls out from beside you, and you stop. “sorry, Miss.” 

Turning you look up to see their faces and you try and focus. “Hi?” Your voice is barely audible as you stare at the faces of your former best friend. “Sorry, can I help you?” You mutter, feeling your body beginning to burn up under his gaze. 

“Sorry, it’s just, you look identical to an old friend of mine.” Steve states with a smile playing on his lips, barely believing the sight before him. 

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you shrug your shoulders as you recollect yourself. “Oh, I get that a lot actually.” You try and laugh it off, but Steve is looking at every feature. 

“It’s just uncanny, really. Her name was Y/n Yl/n.” Steve tells you and watches a flicker in your eyes. 

You smile softly to him, tucking your hair behind your right ear. “Y/n?” The name plays on your lips as you watch him nod. “She was my grandmother, I get told that a lot.” 

Steve’s smile grows across his face. “Is she, is she still with us?” He licks his lips, and you let out a small sigh as you force yourself to shake your head. “I, I’m sorry. She, she was an amazing woman.” 

“She truly was. How, how did you know her?” You ask him as you look around, seeing a tall figure with dark brown hair hovering by the notice board. 

“She was an old friend of mine, and of his.” He motions to the man by the notice board, and your breath hitches in your throat. “Sorry again for bothering you,” He pauses, realising he never got your name.

“Amy.” You tell him quietly, watching as the man begins to turn but you push open the front door. “It was nice meeting you.” You call out as you turn the corner, not wanting to be faced with the tall figure. 

Steve remains still, watching you disappear out of sight as Bucky stands by his side. “So,” Bucky asks Steve, watching his smile falter. “was it her?” Bucky tries to hide the hope lacing his voice.

“No.” Steve quietly admits, not wanting to see the disappointment fall on Bucky’s face. “I’m sorry, Buck. Y/n’s dead.” 

Bucky releases a heavy sigh before pushing the front door open. “Let’s go home.” He mumbles sadly, unaware of you walking just out of his view. “I guess it was just too good to be true.” Bucky states quietly to Steve as he stands with his hands in his pockets, walking in the opposite direction to you. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees as he glances back, seeing your long trench coat behind him as your curls bounce behind you. “I guess it was.” 

*

“Evening, Henry.” You hold back your tears as he opens the door, forcing you a small smile as you head straight to the lift.

As the doors close on you, you feel the tears falling down your cheeks. His face is all you can picture, the young boy with the dark brown hair swept to one side, his cheeky attitude and his attempts at being suave. He never failed to make you laugh, or try to cheer you up. 

Pushing open your front door, you slip the trench coat off, catching sight of the mascara staining underneath your eyes as you collapse down by the creaky floorboard.

You force it up, pushing it to one side as you reach down to the old biscuit tin. A thick layer of dust coats the top as you blow it off, coughing as you inhale more than intended. 

Brushing your fingertips over the top, you lift the lid open hearing it clang on the ground beside you causing you to jump lightly as a small lamp brightens the spot above you. 

As delicately as you can, you look through some of the photographs you kept. When the accident happened, you realised you were only going to be able to keep a selection of treasures. If you carried photo albums from the 30′s with you containing photographs of you with well-known faces, you knew suspicion would arise. As a result, you kept only the photos you didn’t want to forget, the people you’d never see again. 

Your thumb brushes along the photograph of you and your family. It was taken when you were just a little girl sat between your two older siblings. Your Mother was so beautiful, and your Father was stern, but you knew he did it because he cared about your safety. The next is when you’re older, around the age of 17. You’re wearing one of your sisters dresses as she couldn’t afford a new one for you to wear at her wedding. 

A series of photos pass by, and then you land on the one you were looking for. For a brief moment, you were worried it was lost in transit from Atlanta. 

Leaning back, you rest against one of your cabinets as you feel tears forming in your eyes. Despite the changes, you know it’s still them. 

The three of you are standing outside of the local dance hall, all smiling as they hold you close in their arms. Steve is tiny, the broad man you spoke to earlier isn’t the same one you remembered. His smile is still bright, but you remember having forced him to go with you so you wouldn’t feel left out in case Bucky wandered off. 

And then there’s Bucky. 

You sniff lightly at the sight of him, his height towering over you as his hand ghosts around your waist. He was always so delicate with you, never wishing you any harm. You can remember just after the photograph was taken that Steve had a coughing fit, resulting in the three of you going home early. 

As you and Bucky helped Steve into his house, he insisted on walking you home. 

Closing your eyes you can still picture it, hearing his laugh as he twirls you around in the dark streets of Brooklyn. 

A small smile rises on your face as you flip the photograph over, sighing as you hold it close wishing you could go back. 

‘Bucky, Steve and Y/n. 1927.’

permanent taglist :

@psychicforest 🌙 @lourightm 🌙 @mywinterwolf  🌙 @perellith-chronicles🌙  @supermoonchildbroski​🌙  @xrosegoldwolfx🌙 @courtneychicken

[looselucy]

Fifty six - Dainty

The tattoo place Harry had chosen was a little bit grotty to say the least. It wasn’t what I had imagined for him, really. With all the money he had earnt, I thought he may have chosen one of those highbrow places that looked pristine and expensive, giving the illusion that they weren’t going to charge you for technically damaging your skin. But that place was nothing like that.

It looked as though the floors hadn’t had a good mopping in years, I doubted they had a window cleaner as light could barely even find its way inside through the ever building dirt and dust, and the walls were covered in pictures of tattoos, that I presumed were done there. I looked around at them, seeing the various artwork that people had etched into their bodies. Strange really, how one person can find something so unappealing but to another, it’s worth having it on their bodies for the rest of their lives. I kind of liked that about tattoos, they’re such personal pieces of art. I wondered how people could dislike them so strongly when it was such an intense thing, such a beautiful form of art that could often only be understood by a select few people, maybe only one person. Tattoos are a form of art like no other. They’re there for one person, on one body, and the intimacy of that is something I would always admire. Harry had pressed a buzzer that sounded through the building, so we waited patiently for someone to arrive as I continued to look around at the various pictures that clung to the wall. It was then I spotted one I was particularly fond of. Harry’s tattoo; the heart on his arm. I smiled at the picture, nearing it and really studying it, realising that Harry had clearly been there before, and though it may have looked like a bit of a dive, whoever worked here could certainly produce some beautiful work. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite customer.” A deep ruffled voice caught my attention. I turned to see the man, who looked just as I had pictured him in my head. Long black hair tied into a ponytail that dangled down his back, his beard seemed just as lengthy, coloured with a few grey strands that stood out. He wore a ripped-up denim jacket, basically clothes that looked like they should have been thrown away years ago but the look suited him fantastically. And of course, he was absolutely covered in tattoos. Harry moved to him, and the two men became locked in an intense hug, including the obvious pat on the back and deep manly chuckles, just to toughen up the moment for them. I smiled at the interaction, because it was so incredibly genuine, I could see the two men had a lot of time for each other. It seemed like a friendship to me, rather than Harry just being a customer. The hug came to a friendly end, both of them asking of each other’s wellbeing before they turned around and looked to me, Harry’s hand placed on the man’s shoulder. “Jonny, this is Anna. Anna, Jonny.” He smiled. “Ahh, miss Dainty herself.” Jonny raised his brows. I tried to smile to him, remaining friendly and greeting him appropriately, but that comment had just thrown me and left me confused. I shot Harry a look, but his bashfulness forced his eyes to the floor, unable to look at me as I processed what I had heard. He was getting the tattoo with me in mind. I realised quickly I was being impolite as I tried to brush past the moment, moving to them and reaching out a hand to Jonny. “Nice to meet you.” I shied. “None of this hand-shaking bullshit.” Jonny laughed. “Get in here!” My body collided with his as I was pulled into a tight embrace, shocked and unsure where to place my hands as the man who must have been in his early sixties held me tightly, gently swaying us from side to side as the hug played out. Harry grinned to the floor beside us, and for some reason I could tell this guy’s approval of me meant something to him. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Jonny pulled from the hug. “All good, I presume.” I spoke to Jonny but focused on Harry. “Too good! If he’s not careful, this guy’s going to have no skin left thanks to you.” I had never seen Harry looking quite so shy as he continued to fixate on the floor and shuffled his feet. But I just continued to stare at him, kind of wanting some answers to the ever-growing amount of questions that were clinging to my brain. “Oh really?” I questioned, turning my gaze to Jonny, the two of us rather smug as we teased him. “Thanks to you, I did one of my favourite pieces I’ve ever done.” He pointed to the picture I had previously been staring at, the heart tattoo of Harry’s. I was completely taken a-back. I had absolutely no idea that tattoo had any reference to me whatsoever. I knew others had. The anchor, the book on his arms, but they were different. Those tattoos were there to cover feelings that I had changed, to alter old emotions that I had transformed. But the heart? Harry had never even implied that I had anything to do with that etching. And dainty? He hadn’t even had that tattooed yet and I was learning that too was because of me. I knew Harry had many stories decorating his skin, all with different meanings. Some didn’t mean much, just silly little pieces that Harry wanted to engrain, but I still couldn’t help but feel like it was momentous that he was getting things to do with me. Of course it was significant. He was scarring himself for life with things that reminded him of me. He was digging me into his skin, and not just mentally. He was physically making sure I was within his skin. I stood completely wordless, and I think Jonny sensed the new atmosphere he had created. “I’ll wait for you upstairs, Styles.” He smiled, removing himself from the room. I practically stormed up to Harry, hitting him on the side as he faked pain, still hardly able to look me in the eye as I gave him a practical death stare, if my eyes could have physically turned into daggers, now would be the time they did. “Harry!” I shot at him. “What?” He cooed shyly. “What are you doing? Why didn’t you tell me?” “Because I knew you would react like this.” He brushed my arms softly with the back of his fingers. “Like what?” “I knew you would freak out!” He shot. “I knew you would be all… practical… and worrying if we broke up and wonder what I would do since the tattoos are for you!” “Can you blame me?” I cried. “Do you plan on breaking up with me?” He raised his brows, half joking, half serious. “You know I don’t.” I breathed. “Then what’s the issue?” “It’s just so... It’s for life.” He placed his palm over my cheek, soft skin on skin faltering my hard exterior and making me breathe him in, loving how soft and gentle he was with me as he gazed into my eyes, green combining with blue and making me weak. I closed my eyes and nudged a little closer to his touch before he spoke. “Honey, aren’t we for life?” “Harry...” I gasped, trying to remain strong. “My tattoos mean so much to me, Anna. And they’re mine. For a while… they felt like the only things that could be mine, y’know? They were the only things I had control over. I dunno if that seems a little foreign to you, but it makes sense to me. You... the tattoos... it all just makes sense in my head. I need you decorated on me. Is that okay?” As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t ignore the feeling in my stomach thanks to his words, thanks to my new knowledge of his tattoos and the meaning behind them. It made me see things a little differently, the way he was so open about them, he saw it as art and feeling rather than permanent scarring. I thought I saw them the same myself, but even I wasn’t quite as open as Harry was. “Dainty?” I questioned next. “It’s my word for you.” “Why?” “I’m not sure. It just feels right, when I think of you.” I pushed up and placed a soft kiss to him, feeling his plump lips press beauty to mine, his hand placing on the small of my back as he held me close. The moment was pretty special for us, it was distinct, I began viewing us like art at that point. I saw us as etchings, faded lines and bold colours creating something that I couldn’t describe as anything other than a masterpiece. As permanent as the work on his skin. The kiss came to a tender end, Harry smiling cheekily down to me as he realised that I had gone passed my stage of panic about his tattoos and I now admired them, admired our relationship. “I love you.” He told me for the millionth time. “I love you too.” I blushed. “Come on.” He nudged his head towards the stairs. “We won’t be here too long, it’s only a small tattoo.” Then my heart spoke on my brains behalf, my mouth not even aware of the words that had stumbled from it until it was too late. “Maybe I should get one.” The look the crossed Harry’s face was almost smug, as well as surprised. I think he enjoyed that he had rubbed off on me so quickly, that suddenly the way he viewed getting his tattoos was transferring to me, and suddenly I wanted one without even having given it too much thought. I just wanted something new on me, something to represent the two of us. I didn’t even know what I wanted to get. But according to the words that had slipped past my lips without a slight bit of hesitation I was going to get one regardless. “Really?” Harry beamed. I shook my head and widened my eyes, stumbling over myself, still in shock by what I had just said. “Apparently.” I shrugged. “I love you more now. If that’s possible.” He grinned.

Couples night. Never in my life did I imagine I would be someone who sat in and had a couples night with a bunch of people I knew. But there we all were, sat on the floor of Harry’s back room, all of us sprawled out over various sheets and cushions with giant pizza boxes in the middle, which Louis had brought as promised. I grinned at the company, stuffing my face even though I had had more than enough. Me and Harry. Louis and Eleanor. Liam and Sophia. Zayn and Perrie. Rachel and Alex. And possibly my favourite couple of the evening, Ed and Niall. They were probably the cutest couple there, let’s not beat around the bush, and they were keeping up the act incredibly so, which was making me laugh no end. I wiped away a few happy tears as I watched Niall feed Ed another slice, Ed faking almost orgasm noises as he took a hefty bite, causing the whole room to burst into laughter once again. Alex had relaxed, thankfully. When he first arrived, I think he was very aware that he spending his evening with a boyband and their girlfriends and I knew he wouldn’t think it was quite his scene, but Alex actually deep down wasn’t half as pretentious as he would like to think, and sooner rather than later he realised the company was actually very decent. He eased to it, and he was chatting to everyone without an issue, and I liked that. Rachel seemed like she couldn’t quite believe she was there, I would catch her glancing round the room and I could just read it in her eyes that she couldn’t quite believe the company. She was having a hard enough time coming to terms with the fact she was with Alex, now she was in a room full of people previously only seen in the internet, and I could see how much that was affecting her poor trembling body. I stared her way until my eyes burned her enough so that she turned to face me, and I playfully stuck my tongue out at her, trying to make her comfortable, because I could tell she wasn’t. A fake smile was sent my way. I shoved the rest of the pizza into my mouth quickly before standing myself up, and reaching a hand down to her. “Come with me.” I smiled. “Where are you going?” Harry questioned. “Christ, Styles!” Louis groaned. “I’m sure she’ll be fine out of your grasp for a minute or so.” I looked down to Harry who was shooting Louis a dark look, not really appreciating the humour, but that only seemed to egg Louis on more. I giggled at Harry, Rachel wearily grabbing my hand a standing up. “Seriously, I think she’ll be okay.” Louis continued. “Shut your mouth, Tomlinson.” Harry shot back. I tittered, taking my glance towards Louis, who shot me a wink. Louis loved to wind Harry up, but the bottom line was Louis understood exactly why Harry was so protective, and all the reasons for it. I liked that he decided to try and be playful about it, and even though he was receiving death stares from Harry I knew it was all in jest really. If anything, I think Harry appreciated it. I pushed Rachel towards the door, leaving us both stood in the garden, the sun finally disappearing as the day met its end. She turned around to face me, looking as though she already knew what I was going to be talking to her about. “You need to chill out.” I smiled. “HAVE YOU SEEN THE PEOPLE WE ARE SAT IN A ROOM WITH?” She cried. “I CAN’T COPE. IT’S TOO MUCH. I CAN’T DO IT.” “They can probably hear you.” I chuckled. “I don’t care!” She whispered that, seeming to prove the opposite of her statement. “It’s fine, Rach, they’re all very nice people.” “I know.” She breathed. “But it’s like too much famousness and attractiveness in one room and I’m having a difficult time dealing with it.” I couldn’t not hug her. I just moved and wrapped my arms around her, still laughing lightly as I did. I hadn’t spent enough time with her, I hadn’t been honest enough with her. The bottom line was, I had missed her. “Love you!” I pulled from the hug. “You’re like... my big sister. I dunno… I guess you’ve been like… the sibling I needed. Nathan died and then... you were in my life. If anything was going to make me believe in fate, it would be that.” I didn’t mean to make her cry, but I did. I was just being as honest as physically possible; I didn’t even really think of how much meaning there was behind my words until I saw her eyes well up and her bottom lip quiver. “You’re my little sister.” She blubbered as the first tear fell. I tried to hug her again but she shook her head and furthered herself from me, probably knowing she could possibly just have a breakdown if I hugged her. It was one of the nicest moments we had shared for a while, our bond seeming to grow even more with the moment of realization that she was like my family. Literally, the moment Luke left my life, she entered it. I felt like there was something deep behind that, and I never really believed in fate, but that really did make me question it. A few moments later, Alex popped his head out of the door, staring at us both. “Don’t mean to go all Styles protective-” He joked. “FUCK YOU!” Harry interrupted from behind. “-but why are you making my girlfriend cry?” He finished. I giggled and signalled to Alex that he should probably comfort her. I made my way back inside as Alex wrapped his arms around Rachel and held her tight, and I closed the door to give them privacy. “What did you do?” Eleanor gasped. “Just let her know that I’m going to die soon.” The only person who laughed was Harry, a loud splatter escaping his mouth as the rest of them just gazed to me with lowered brows. “That was... a joke...” I trailed off. “Obviously not a good one.” As I sat myself back down next to Harry, the rest of the group brushed past the moment and continued chatting merrily between themselves. Harry tucked me under his arm, kissing my cheek and then staying close to get my attention fully. I turned to him, our lips incredibly close and the rest of the room seeming to disappear as we looked into one another’s eyes. “I thought it was funny.” He cocked his eyebrows. “And you have a shit sense of humour, so I feel no better.” I rolled my eyes playfully. Harry reached his and stroked the far side of my ribcage, brushing over the spot gently with his thumb as he just stared at me, love sparkling his eyes. “How’s the tattoo?” He asked tenderly. “A little sore, but okay.” I placed my hand to his ribcage, at the far side of his body. “How’s yours?” “I love it.” He whispered. I bit my lip and smiled, the image of the word dainty marking his body so beautifully just a few inches below his armpit. Mine was in the same place on the left-hand side of my body, his on his right. I couldn’t believe how impulsive I had been, but I definitely didn’t regret it. The tattoo I had gotten was a heart, similar to Harry’s but smaller, the shading was different. But to anyone, really, it looked like we had matching tattoos. We did really, there was no denying, but I loved it of my own accord and for my own reasons, it wasn’t just to do with Harry. “Copycat.” He nudged me, smiling. “Shut up.” I stuck my lip out. “I’m kidding. I love it. I love that you got it.” He placed a soft kiss to my lips, resting his forehead against mine as he pulled away. He looked to me with a lustful paint colouring his features, and it really did feel like we were the only two people there in that room, I had completely forgotten about our company. All there was, was me and Harry. We continued talking between ourselves, unintentionally ignoring the rest of the world. The only thing that took us from our trance was a knocking on Harry’s front door. Obviously attached Harry couldn’t go answer it on his own, dragging me with him as he pushed me towards the front door, only to pull me back to him and wrap his arms around my waist as we waddled over to the door, kissing my neck from behind. I chuckled at his light touches, slowly yanking the door open as Harry lifted his eyes to see his new guest. I didn’t recognise the man ahead of me, but Harry lifted himself from me and just stood staring to the man who smiled his way, shooting his eyes down to me for a second, and then back up to Harry. Before I could begin to question who he was, Harry uttered one word and I knew. “Dad!” He gasped.

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews… Untucked (S09E06) Snatch Game Airdate: April 29, 2017 @wowreport Ratings: 593,000+ on @youtube as of 6/15/17 Score: 8/10

**********SPOILERS BELLW**********

I made a specific contestant a promise I would go ahead and watch Untucked to not only highlight the juxtaposition of my styles of writing when it comes the two totally different series (one competition, one what’s morphed into a show of spirit and sense of community), but also because Drag Race is simply a tough one for me to review. I have a lot of respect for everyone that comes on the show and demonstrates that ‘fire’, and I get caught up in trying to both critique ‘Drag Race’ as the competition style calls for and pad my blunt critiques with humor that can be sometimes taken the wrong way. Last week’s 'Untucked’, I focused heavily on Nina, I recognized a pattern, certain tendencies, withdrawing fro. The group, and a look of the eyes that I know all too well because I myself have battled depression, addiction, dependency, a slew of shit (as most of us have) and had to figure out how to maneuver life without throwing up too many buckets of water on myself when I start to get white hot. It’s not easy, but for some people it is… And sometimes those very people want to say, 'Get over it’, 'Suck it up’, or write you off… Depression, self doubt, all these things that plague us in the cycle of the human condition are not something you can just wipe off the mirror like lipstick… But I see you Queens struggling with that too, so…

We start this 'Untucked’ off with a bit of fun, the same fun we aren’t exactly seeing translate to VH1 on the 'Main Stage’… Then again VH1 was the network that picked Wendy Williams to host the between breaks 'Viewing Party’. Just ask our buddy Jonny McGovern & his friend Erickatoure why that’s not the best move… Better yet just go subscribe to his channel on YouTube. 'Hey Qween’ is literally just waiting for you, calling your name, just sitting on YouTube Red’s digital shelf waiting for you to watch until your eyes turn glossy & red, leaving you pupils dilated to the size of mega saucers… And when you finally emerge from your house everyone will assume your either a tweaker or from Wilton Manors.

Apparently Trinity Taylor, God Bless her Floridian soul, has never seen 'Bad Girls Club’ or been the only white girl in the room… As she has no clue what 'edges’ are. I can’t tell you why this is so damn funny to me, maybe it’s Shea’s earnest and surprisingly highly detailed & accurate attempt at educating Trinity on the matter (This is emerging as Shea’s specialty, not the history and extensive knowledge of edges, but breaking things down in articulate manner that anyone can follow - plus she’s talent personified)… Maybe it’s Valentina’s adorably juvenile delivery of the line she delivers to Trinity explaining to her that she has her own form of edges, 'that black spray stuff you be spraying, DUH!�� But as god as my witness, there are simply no words to describe the laughter this scene inspires!

Trinity still doesn’t get it, she’s 'from the south’ she says we don’t use words like 'Edges’… Tho, again, I’m gonna have to break something down… South Florida and even parts of Central Florida aren’t really the south. Consider us more of the North Caribbean, hell we aren’t even really a part of the United States, thats just what it looks like on the map so everyone including your parents and teachers have told you so. But yeah, 'edges’ are most definitely still a word down here in the 'North Carribean’. Valentina’s adorableness continues… Her Hispanic background leads her to really appreciate Trinity’s astonishing ability to be 'so evil and so nice at the same time’. See, that’s how we do it here in South & Central FL… We love you, but we simply don’t have time to dance around your feelings. We’ll give you the shirt off of our backs then have you lay down in a mud puddle so we can walk over you. I’m kidding, of course. We’d obviously pick you you up and give you a peck on the cheek, dust off the mud and take our fn’ shirt back. It’s just the way the bottom half of Florida works, and that’s why I 'get’ and love Trinity Taylor so very much. Now that we got some proper Florida representation, maybe S10 we can get South Florida’s legendary 'Daisy Deadpetals’ finally on this show! Ru, please?

Enter the tops and the bottoms… Tho Alexis clearly states, 'This top is versatile.’ Told you, Alex, we could have so much fun. Tho for me it’s always much more about the passion and connection than it is about the final act. We’re getting way off topic. Sasha and Alexis go back and forth telling the others how much the judges praised each other… There is a deep respect between the two and though I absolutely loved Sasha’s 'Marlene Dietrich’ and did pad my opinion with a bit of comedy on the 'Main Stage’ review… I do want to set the record straight and say Alexis’s Liza was most definitely a highlight. Seeing the top two sit across from each other with their dignified 'Northern Poise’ is quite the scene… And Alexis’s shape from the side is nothing short of astounding. If the hair was different and the dress were pants, it would be spot on to my favorite Madonna… 'Bedtime Stories’ Madonna, particularly 'Human Nature’. Either way, I love it and for some reason Sasha’s poise is so proper I can’t help but keep rolling the word 'Yankee’ through my head… I don’t know how to interpret that for you, but I have it on pause and can’t stop laughing.

With VH1 taking the show in such a vastly different direction, I can’t say how much I appreciate this 'Untucked’ enough. Alexis, Shea, and Sasha look to immediately focus on Nina who needs a bit of love after the strange exploitation of her depression reared its ugly head the episode before last of 'Drag Race’. It’s clear Nina is feeling a bit better at this point but those kinds of battles are never over. These three obviously are aware of that and I want to show love to all three of them, particularly Shea who goes the extra mile for her and really tries to continue to hammer things back into perspective for Nina. This is the 'Drag Race’ I want to see. People have criticized the show for being too 'best friend race’ as they have with Slice’s RHOT… But we do enough of beating each other down, especially when you are in a high pressure situation constantly trying to squeeze every last drop of creativity that you can for the next challenge and the next and being paraded around on a runway and criticized, by both the judges and the world… I’m happy to see (however you want put this) the brotherly/sisterly… Straight up human empathy shining under the bright stage lights of television.

The bottoms… Peppermint, Cynthia Lee Fontaine, and Farrah Moan speak next. Peppermint is frustrated that she nailed Brittany in a prior challenge, but couldn’t nail Nene Leakes. It’s much different when you are given a character with lines & direction than when you literally have to create one from scratch… Then again, everyone knows 'Snatch Games’ is coming, so they really do need to be prepared. Farrah looks stunning, and is clearly saved by her fantastic runway look, I’m still curious as to who Gigi was or why anyone would care… Then again I’m in my 30’s and an ex-athlete, Ginger Cub who thinks the thicker the better… Im not scouring the internet for makeup tips. Either way, Farrah is just very young for this competition. Bring her back in 5-10 years and she’d be a massive threat. Her talent is there, it just needs a few years of experience before she can really show what she’s made of.

I often find myself very frustrated with Cynthia Lee Fontaine. This is a competition, I want to see the best of the best battle it out. This is Cynthia’s second time on the show and she’s screwing up essential Drag Race portions of the show… But here, she’s just so defeated, but she instantly goes through a horde of emotions within 2 seconds and is all the sudden firing herself back up with her own words, and it melts me. Despite any critiques I give as a judge would in my reviews of the 'Main Stage’, I’m a softie on the inside and nobody does Cynthia like Cynthia Lee Fontaine. I just don’t think a 2nd stent on 'Drag Race’ was in order, but there is something about that fighting spirit Cynthia displays that I feel needs to be seen, not just by this younger generation, but by everyone. Alexis takes note and proposes a toast, “L'chaim”, bitches!

World Of Wonder, come through! If VH1 has the producers focusing on the negative, then WOW always has their own freedom with 'Untucked’ to make up for that… And they do. Our girl Nina needed this video message from her mother, and that soft, loving, and tender look Nina shoots the screen that you can see if you pause the show right at 13:49 is all I needed and wanted for Nina. Keep pushing, girl… And listen to Shea! That’s a true friend, and there aren’t that many of those in the world. Like I keep saying, you can always tell who the strongest men and women in the room are… They are the ones lifting everyone up, instead of tearing them all apart.

Before I close out yet another long-winded love letter to World Of Wonder’s 'Untucked’ and all the contestants in this show… As I’ve explained in the past, I’ve always had an extremely tough time with the gay community. I sold myself at Johnny’s in Ft Lauderdale for years and nearly destroyed myself after my Aunt (who was like my sister) took her own life. My past experiences made it difficult for me to separate sex and shame, I will not point fingers as to why, but I’ve opened up about it in other reviews and will continue to do so as I sort it out as I go along. My critiques for the main stage of 'Drag Race’ are always difficult to navigate. I have a deep respect for the art form and contestants of Drag Race from Jaymes Mansfield to Nina BoNina Brown to Alexis Michelle and everyone in between, but like Trinity Taylor I try to tell it like it is from a loving place. I enjoy writing about the show. I enjoy watching the show. And if I’ve ever offended a contestant or said something that crossed a line or was taken the wrong way, I apologize. I fight to kind of hold onto the gay community in a weird way through this show, because my experiences with said community have been mainly negative in real life… Whether I was selling myself on stage at Johnny’s or Boardwalk… Or being introduced to methamphetamine at an early age.

I write because it’s my passion, and I’m starting to make a nice living at it and turning my dreams into reality. I said something in my last review of 'Drag Race’ and attempted to pad it with humor and the person who it affected respectfully came to me and talked to me about it directly. I appreciate that… And I think we were both able to see where each other were coming from and hopefully a friendship will come of it. But then this morning I wake up to death threats, 'kill yourself’, and a variety of hate speech from a community that I’ve never been able to find that true piece of love and acceptance I needed… One that for some reason is the hardest on me than any other community or subject I write on. I’m not over here crying about it, but all that nastiness will get you blocked real quick. My Spotlight Saga project, which is growing fast, and I’m happy to tell you all is being built into an online magazine slowly but surely - as well as a place where people can share perspectives to open hearts, minds, mouths, and ears, is my baby and I will fight for it till the end of time. There’s nothing in this world that I do half assed, my momma sure of that. So show love, address each other with respect, and fools… Don’t come at me crazy, cuz I’m not throwing the towel in anytime soon.

[dimblrtrake]

THE # JONNY ARE YOU AWARE OF HOW YOU DESCRIBE MEN IS SENDING ME

Honestly obsessed with posts that are like "The Magnus Archives will bi your sexuality" because that literally happened to Jonny Sims himself. Love that for him