#its 90 degrees and im suffering | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

berrystrawbs · 4 months ago

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🚨 FUNDRAISER MASTERLIST 🚨

not currently being updated -- still accepting/replying to asks, but they won't be added to this list. percentages will not change.

list updated: 23/07/24, 19:28 EST / percentages updated: 23/07/24, 19:28 EST

all from my asks | if you have information that i've missed (goal/vetting/scam updates, etc) use my askbox or dms | organized by order received

🍉 please continue to donate, reblog, and share! 🍉

@mohammed-atallah | donate (gfm) | vetted by 90-ghost

€5,229 raised of €82,000 goal (6.4%)

"🛑 don't scroll ‼️Hi, I hope you are well. My name is Mohammed Atallah, I live with my parents, six sisters, a little girl named Malak and a little boy named Ameer in North Gaza. I created this link to fund a bone graft in my left hand which was shot by an explosive bullet, to rebuild our destroyed home and to evacuate my family from Gaza to a safe place.And donate any amount to safe life .. I will appreciate your help❤️ Can you please help as much as you can . Press all buttons on my wall , I beg you to visit my page, view it, and donate via the link in the bio��The campaign has been documented @/90-ghost Donate and share widely 🆘🆘 Every euros will make a difference 🙏"

@emanzaqout | donate (gfm) | vetted by 90-ghost

$6,731 CAD raised of $40,000 goal (17%)

"I know for sure that you can't help all families from Gaza that want to be evacuated from here but at least you can help those who come across your life. You have no idea how mentally and emotionally tiring this is. Asking for help is not easy. But when thinking that the price is my family's life and getting out of here safely, it just pushes me more and more to do this until i reach my goal, be able to attend my university abroad and achieve my doctoral degree dream after awarding prestigious PhD fellowship. Please donate and share to support us standing at this hard time."

@wafaaresh | donate (gfm) | vetted by ana-bananya

€3,903 raised of €100,000 goal (3.9%)

"Heloo Im wafaa from Gaza ..i need your help if you can Please donate to save my life and my family 🍉🇵🇸 Asking for help is not easy, I ask for a small donation of only 20€ from each person, 20€ will save my family from death in Gaza 💔 Donate through the link in bio (gofundme) Together, we can achieve our goal within a day and provide crucial support to me and my family in Gaza. Your contribution means everything to us and in these difficult times your kindness is our greatest hope. We are very grateful for any assistance you can provide and thank you for your kindness and generosity in our time of need"

@aymanayyad82 | donate (gfm) | vetted by nabulsi

$27,885 raised of $35,000 goal (80%)

"Hello dear friends ! ❤🤍💚🖤🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸 All positive words can't show how generous you are, especially on the side of sharing my posts to let other donors know about the people of Gaza who are still suffering the horrible circumstances resulting from the injust war on Gaza! 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸❤🤍💚🖤 Thank you from the deepest bottom of my heart for the support you are showing to help Palestinian families stay safe and alive.🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸 Despite the various colours of sufferings and tortures we are undergoing at the moment, your brave stances and support greatly ease and relieve us . Your loud voices and your heroic acts make a great difference to our Palestinian cause. 🖤💚🤍❤🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸 We are fundraising such donations to have the least basic needs of life and to help find safety and peace for the little kids who don't deserve to lead such horrific situations. Thanks to your contribution, my family is on its halfway to reach the goal. All forms of your help make a difference to free the people who have been struggling and paying much for almost 300 hard days. ✌✌✌🖤💚🤍❤🇵🇸🇵🇸 Please keep supporting the fairest cause of the world either by directly donating or sharing the link to let others know. Don't hesitate to help people in tough and dire times till the black days end. https://gofund.me/4eee3d76" NOTE: nabulsi's post vetting this fundraiser tags @/aymanayyad81, which has since been terminated. explanation: "Hello my friend ! Sorry for interrupting but I want to let you know I changed my blog into aymanayyad82 instead of aymanayyad81 because it has been unfairly terminated. Such unjust action affects my campaign badly whole I am in bad need to have a larger audience. Thank you so much for your brave stand with the people of Gaza." (via an ask from their reblogs)

@alhabil | donate (gfm) | vetted by 90-ghost , el-shab-hussein

€15,316 raised of €50,000 goal (31%)

"Hello My Freind 🌹 I want your support My house was destroyed and I am currently living in a tent with my children 😞 My Mom and Dad who suffer from chronic diseases, They need urgent medical care and medications that are not available 💔 Please help my family by donating or reblog my campaign is going very slowly 🙏🍉 ."

@tameraldeeb | donate (gfm) | vetted by 90-ghost , nabulsi , ibtisams , el-shab-hussein , fairuzfan

€22,213 raised of €40,000 goal (56%)

"Hello there, 👋 I am Tamer Aldeeb, a dentist from Gaza. We have suffered greatly from fear, displacement, and the destruction of our home and my clinic, and everything we literally own... We want to save ourselves from what seems like an inevitable death. I hope you can take a look at our campaign on the pinned post on my profile ,and help us by donating or sharing our campaign to reach the largest number of supporters.🌹🌹 Our campaign is verified by @/90-ghost , @/ibtisams , @/el-shab-hussein , @/nabulsi and @/fairuzfan 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸 Thanks a lot in advance ❤️❤️❤️"

@islamgazaaccount2 | donate (gfm) | vetted by 90-ghost and riding-with-the-wild-hunt

€420 raised of €30,000 goal (1.4%)

"Hello there 👋 Islam, a 27-year-old from Gaza, is currently sleeping on the streets without any form of shelter or safety for himself and his family. Their home was demolished by a bombing from the Israeli occupation. While shelter is crucial, they also urgently need food and water. All of their necessities were taken away. Islam tried sharing a donation link, but with limited followers, it wasn't reaching enough people. Thankfully, he created a GoFundMe account, making it easier for those who want to help. Please consider sharing Islam's story and donating to his GoFundMe. Even a small contribution can make a big difference in their time of need. 🙏❤️ https://gofund.me/08ed0b8c This fundraiser is on the following list of vetted ones and has been verified by @/90-ghost and @/riding-with-the-wild-hunt"

@ahmed4palestine | donate (gfm) | vetted by 90-ghost

$12,140 raised of $20,000 goal (61%)

"Hello, I am Ahmed. The war destroyed my life. Can you help me? I need 3 things from you: Share, repost, and donate if you are able to donate. Thank you for listening to me My post link 👇💕 https://www.tumblr.com/ahmed4palestine/756439898525974528/urgent My GFM link 👇🔗 https://gofund.me/1d8bb3df" NOTE: his fundraiser was vetted under his previous account (ahmedtaban22), which has now been terminated. the gfm is the same.

@save-hijazi-family | donate (gfm) | vetted by 90-ghost

€3,484 raised of €20,000 goal (17%)

"URGENT CALL FOR HELP 🍉🚨🚨🚨 Hi everyone I'm Mohammed Hijazi from Gaza 🍉 and I'm displaced from home with my sick father and with my family. I'm verified by 90ghost and northgazaupdate My father needs an urgent surgery and urgent help. And we live in a very hard life conditions in a tent. Please 🥺 stand with us and support us as much as you can Donate 🙏 🙏 Share , reblog my pined post, Do as much as you can to save our life. My family Depends on you 😞🙏" NOTE: mohammed's fundraiser was vetted under the account @/savemohammedfamily. i'm unsure why the accounts are different, but the gfm links direct to the same fundraiser.

@684599 | donate (gfm) | verified by 90-ghost

€975 raised of €100,000 goal (0.9%)

"welcome everybody I am Muhammad Imad Abdel Latif Sharab First, after an aggressive war on Gaza City and its revival, we were displaced from our 3-storey house in which I and my family of 3 members live. My father's family consists of 8 members My grandfather, may God have mercy on him, was martyred by occupation aircraft on 12/14/2023. The one who was martyred while he was leaving the house to check on our house next to him, which could not be reached due to a brutal enemy who does not differentiate between anyone in death, went out to check on our house, which we were not in because of my displacement to Rafah, me, my father, and our families due to the intensity of the fighting in Khan Yunis, and after that A few days ago, our store in which my father and brothers work was bombed by occupation aircraft. He was working to gather his strength from it and meet the needs of our house, which no longer exists due to the bombing. We ask you to help and contribute, even if just a little, by donating to us so that we can compensate for a little of what we lost. Many thanks to you 😢 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 If you do not understand the words well, because I am not very good at English, but I ask you to help me with money so that I can compensate for even a little of what I lost, and I am very grateful to you, my dears😢🥺😢🥺😢🥺🥺😢" NOTE: this fundraiser has been verified by 90-ghost but not yet vetted.

@siiraj2024 | donate (gfm) | vetted by nabulsi

$10,856 CAD raised of $82,000 goal (13%)

"My dear friend, Welcome, I hope you are well *Subject/Invitation to support me in rebuilding the house* When the hope of returning home evaporates, and you become displaced and homeless without housing, for an open period, you feel that all your energy has been exhausted, and terrifying nightmares begin to dominate your mind. I worked long hours and borrowed a lot to complete the house, and I am not happy with it yet. Now all I have is the tent, in which I will stay until an unknown date. My children are living in a state of despair and loss, and how difficult it is to stand in front of them when you are unable to provide them with food, drink, and housing. My goal now is to rebuild the house, and I am very far from the goal that is a dream for us, so how difficult it is to become homeless indefinitely. You can help in the following ways: 1. Provide support and share the last 5 posts on my page. 2. Writing a post about my campaign. 3. Send the campaign link to your friends and family via mail or other social networking sites. 4. Post the question on your page as it is. The campaign is documented by Nabulsi✅ Accept my greetings🌹 Note: Please contact me via messages if necessary https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-sirajs-family-in-rebuilding-their-home"

@momen-alostaz | donate (gfm) | vetted by el-shab-hussein (#125)

€14,408 raised of €70,000 goal (21%)

"momen alostaz, my old account (@/momenalostaz) has been blocked because I am from the Gaza Strip. I hope that this post will spread to the largest number of friends and that the new account will be published to you, with many thanks and gratitude." (from a different ask)

@abdelmutei | donate (gfm) | vetted by 90-ghost

€1,152 raised of €50,000 goal (2.3%)

"Hello, I am Abdel Muti, I am 27 years old. I live in Palestine, Gaza, and I am displaced in southern Gaza. I am married. My wife is 23 years old, and my daughter, Juri, is 2 years old. We are displaced in southern Gaza, and our situation is very, very difficult, and we wish death from the few, because there is nothing for the necessities of life, especially hygiene, and the spread of dangerous diseases, and I am afraid. To my family, and I hope you will help us collect donations so that we can go out of Gazahttps://gofund.me/f285fe86"

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iersei · 8 months ago

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THANK YOU for being able 2 put it into words on that post..... despite s2 having so much of my favorite characters (terry jr and scary) i just... have struggled so hard with caring since the seasons been in full swing and it feels like the world in s2 isnt taken as like... genuinely enough i guess? and season two is very funny and entertaining but thats... all it is. any emotional arcs feel quickly forgotten & almost not at all drawn out and it feels like a mess with how often characters are just straight up forgotten,,, i love dndads and there was such a great setup for season two that i think just. fell flat in execution. even when nicky came back anthony admitted he called him nick Foster because he wasnt thinking at all about it and didnt care, and like. at a certain point even in a d&d setting you have to care about the characters youre making plot relevant at least a little bit, and suddenly the close family arc had nothing to do with season 1 and instead everything to do with stuff that happened completely offscreen (and again, once the dads were charting around with their kids they were often forgotten & added little to any scenes) just. it all got a little careless.

and im not caught up but ive heard about so much junk that happens in the... less than 10 episodes im behind on?? like i JUST got to the titanic part and it ends, what, 9 episodes later ??? i just wish it was more organized and theyd allowed themselves to like. take their time with things. i know the 20 or whatever episodes of glenns arc in s1 is known as 'too long' or super hard to get through but thats also how it made such an impact!! there was ALOT to get through and a lot happened to the close family. yet when alot happens in s2 its like, well that happened, and in an episode and a half it will never be mentioned again . even supporting npcs especially with a lot of potential dont stick around unlike characters like paeden or walter or even erin who got her own wrap up like. i dont remember the last time anyone even mentioned mae hails. yeah theres a degree that its messy and unorganized because thats how teenagers are but theres only so far that goes. and im pretty forgiving in d&d settings because 90% of what actually happens is up to random chance but theres a difference between 'this isnt good because im not actually writing it, and i dont have total control over this story' versus 'this isnt that good because we're not playing it that good'.

anyways. um. hero oak swallows garcia i hope i see you again soon 👍

I THOUGHT YOU HAD TO BE JOKING ABOUT HOW RECENT THE TITANIC WAS UNTIL I WENT BACK TO CHECK THE EPISODE LIST AND. NO. NO, YOU WEREN'T JOKING. THERE'S ONLY 10 EPISODES AFTER THE TITANIC IN THE WHOLE SEASON. WHAT THE FUCK.

these kids really never had any time to rest, and it's actively hurting the narrative tension to the point that i just want them to be left alone </3

i can't fucking believe that they didn't care enough about nicky's whole deal to not even think about the implications of everything that happened to him. that felt like it should've been a core aspect of his character! and they just didn't care!! about that aspect of his family dynamic!!

i think that, at the end of season 1, the close family and the oak family had dynamics where it was understandable for issues to pop up offscreen. and i do think the underlying threads made sense to a degree! but it was so thoroughly unexplored in both families that it just made even more of a mess and all the characters involved suffered for it.

and i'm gonna be honest. i completely forgot about mae hails. man. man.

they all deserved so much better.

#i've already talked a lot about the NPCs not getting their due #so i'm not gonna rehash my thoughts here #but i'm nodding along to all your points #sei says an answer #dysaniadisorder

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transexuality · 1 year ago

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rhe thing about kairi is that she is so underdeveloped to an utmost degree beyond any other kingdom hearts character even though she is the POINT of kh1. yes, sora and riku's relationship is in the forefront of kh1, but sora is searching for KAIRI hes mad at riku for what hes done to KAIRI. but she has 0 agency. she is asleep 90% of the game and for the last 10% she does nothing. naminé and larxene are the next original female characters introduced in chain of memories and immediately we see them have more interesting development and storylines and personalities than kairi. naminé suffers a bit from being a female character written by men who dont know how to write women, but she has struggles and she has her own motivations, she is complex. she feels jealous and wants sora to forget everything and stay with her, but she sacrifices those wants because she knows its for the greater good. larxene is an active antagonist and she is a ruthless villain, with agency and power in the narrative. jump to kh2, naminé has become basically a ghost, larxene is dead, and kairi has been captured again. we get moments in kh2 of some personality from kairi, certainly more from what weve seen, but ultimately she still lacks agency and doesnt do much. riku just sort of gives her a keyblade at the end and then shes there to reunite sora and riku, since finding riku is the point of kh2. they had the chance to make her do more in kh3 and while i appreciate that she at least is given a fighting chance it ultimately falls flat because her character revolves around sora. her existence is to support sora and riku's friendship. shes the case that is replace her with a rock and nothing changes. and im saying this as someone who loves kairi! shes fun! shes cute! shes sweet! shes snarky sometimes! but ultimately her personality is Nice Girl Who's Nice :) and there is an untapped well of potential for her to get some depth and it ultimately isnt there as the writers have made her character shallow that pales in comparison to her counterparts. but somehow people hate her EXISTENCE for this and thats what drives me crazy. even with all of these criticisms i have with the writing i still really like her and think that she needs to exist. and yeah sure sora and riku have much more chemistry and are written with such a beautiful bond that its hard to see it as anything other than accidental gay romance but sora and kairi is still there and its still sweet. soriku shippers hate kairi for whatever reason cause it gets in the way of their gay ship and thats whats frustrating. sora and kairi are clearly intended to have romantic undertones and while yes its a shame that kairis character is reduced to this, people shit on it for the wrong reasons. theres nothing wrong wirh sora and kairi's relationship, and its been there from the very start and its not going away. they both care a lot about each other and its sweet! kairi is hated on for merely existing but people dont take the time to step back and critique the way that she is developed and written, they just go for the jugular and perpetuate the misogyny that is already written into the franchise. you can have a problem with the way things are handled, but just shitting on a female character for existing in a male dominated cast written by men is just not cute. Can anybody hear me

#long post #sorry. does this make anys ense

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raven · 1 year ago

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Im also really brave because im wearing a cashmere sweater even though its 90 degrees its called suffering for fashion

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coridallasmultipass · 4 months ago

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Vent / personal / s.i. / sh mention / long post / extremely negative dont read

I rly wanna fucking stop existing man life is too fucking hard I cant do this shit

My grandpa basically blamed me for the house's electricity usage when i literally only used my computer for one week last month and like 2 days this month. Anything else this month has just been phone charging or running my 2 small aquariums. Idk why i have to take the blame for that just because im a young person when my grandpa literally has been using large machinery in the garage and we rent out our guest house which has an a/c unit running ALL the time (our house does not have a/c or any internal system. Utilities are included in the guest house we rent so we pay for that person to stay cool while we sweat over here lmao.)

Ive been suffering for weeks in the 90-100 degree weather with no fan because my bathroom flooded due to grandpa installing the wrong fixture in my toilet (i literally only needed to replace the flap which required no disconnections! But he insisted, and now my only clean fan has been stuck in my bathroom with the window open letting in all the heat). Like. I enjoy the heat. Im fine with no ac. I tolerate it fine. But i need an occasional few minutes of being in the fan if the windows have been letting in all the heat. Normally id keep my blinds closed and the shower curtain closed so the heat doesnt get extreme but because i need to air out the bathroom i cant do that ((Literally when i lived in nyc w no ac, i would just go out to the living room and turn a/c on for like 1 minute while i stand in front of it, and then off again and i was fine for the rest of the night, i cant sleep with ac or a fan on or else i get hypothermic - i actually started getting hypothermic the other night because my blankets fell off the bed on a cooler night, it sucked lol))

Im so sick of having to wear shoes in my bathroom due to the carpet being pulled back, its uncomfortable to traverse that mess while having an injured back. Im sick of all the wildfire ash thats poured into my bathroom and probably my room too. (I had JUST changed my last air filter the day before the fire started lmao probably used up the whole thing already, i never got to keep my clean air room i had just started).

I had to deep clean the kitchen and deep vacuum the entire house with my back thats been injured since MAY since grandpa wont clean up after himself, and apparently my mom has also not been cleaning for years in her room (and my mom has the nerve to judge me for having a clean but cluttered room! Its her fault its cluttered because im not allowed to have anything of mine except food downstairs!). I havent been able to get treatment for my back because my mom has the only car and shes been out of town for the past month+.

Im fucking scared as fuck because i couldnt get ahold of a doctors office for a prescription for my endo and so now ive been having to take the leftovers i had of a lower dose. I live in a dead zone so a lot of the time i cant make phonecalls, idk if the issue was my end or the doctors and im just too stressed to try again bc if i think ab endo im gonna have a mental breakdown, its already bad enough having EXTREME phone anxiety due to not being able to understand people when they talk especially over a garbled phone connection. Im supposed to quit this med at the end of the month and idk how im gonna survive. I might not. I was completely su// ici// dal during the last couple flare ups. Endo is incurable and apparently im resistant to medication and surgical treatment. So its untreatable for me too.

Then theres my whole depression. This just fucking kicked off a really terrible mood swing and ive been like crying and moping in bed for hours trying NOT to think about where i know the things i used to s.h. before are packed. Bc that hasnt ever stopped being on my fucking mind since before i even started as a teen lmao. I cant stop thinking about how im existing against my will. Theres just no good way to die. Id feel guilty too because of how expensive my jaw treatments are and i havent even finished.

Speaking of, my jaw is still fucked and not getting any better lmao. Im in constant pain and headaches because of the aligners on my teeth. Im making myself sick from eating depression foods because by the time i take the things off my teeth to eat and drink, my mouth hurts, my jaw hurts, my head hurts, my tummy hurts, and after i eat anything i feel sick and tired and lightheaded from not being able to snack or drink when i want at my own pace, and then suddenly having to eat a whole meals worth of food in one sitting. (Not that i do that lmao ive been eating really lightly bc i am not physically up to the task of cooking or eating anything. I CAN cook. Just not physically, or mentally any more). So ive been eating terribly within my already limited diet. (And my jaw wont stop popping and cracking painfully every time i chew anything which is so humiliating and frustrating and painful and i cant eat a lot of foods i used to.)

There just too much going on all at once and im fucking sick of everything. I was already at my fucking limit before my mom fucked off to do pet sitting for a relative and went back on her word that she'd bring the dog to stay at our house. Which means ive gone since May without treatment for my back except for the chiropractor i see right after my therapy appointment. Which i dont think is doing enough. I dont know what more can be done when i constantly have to do back breaking things around the house. And when i told my mom ab how im not able to get the care i need because of her leaving, she turned it on me and said it was my fault for not making an appointment. Fucking gaslighting asshole. How the fuck am i supposed to get to an appointment 30-40 minutes away when i dont have the car? (Because theres no where local that will take my insurance, and i dont think even the places 30-40 minutes away will take it either.)

I dont know how anyone manages to live. Just existing is constant pain due to fibromyalgia and arthritis. Its constant hypervigilance and fear from the endo. Its extreme treatment-resistant depression (i fucking wish antidepressants worked on me lmao but that was the most miserable 5 years of my life trying every class of them). Its gender dysphoria and i cant transition because i cant work or live independently (its not safe for me to come out or transition while living in grandpas house hed kick me out). Its loneliness because i have like 2 friends i occasionally talk to online but no one close and were not on the same circles even, not like i even have a stable internet connection to do anything more than just over messaging. I dont have the mental energy to be friends w anyone either bc i have nothing to offer. Existing while alive is a full time job with no pay or benefits. I dont even know anyone irl thats not relatives (im not close with anyone in my family at all) or a doctor. I dont have a license or car because family wouldnt let me practise when i did have permits and i certainly can't afford the $12k a year it costs to own a car in Cali, let alone to purchase one. I cant work but im not disabled enough to be legally disabled. Certainly wouldnt be able to afford to live in this area/county even if i could do some work beyond an occasional online resale, which sucks because this is where my tribe is and i just wish this area was a better fit for me. Just doing things around the house is what caused my back to go out in the first place and now its a chronic fucking issue, and i can barely walk to the mailbox or do grocery shopping. Its not safe for me to live alone either, probably, even tho i cant handle living with roommates because im too asocial for them.

Im so sick of everything. Why do i have to be blamed for the electricity. Im an artist and apparently using the skills i spent 4 years learning at college and countless hours improving on my own is using too much electricity if i turn on my computer to participate in a week of a drawing challenge. What if i had a fucking work from home job?? (Not like that would ever happen, grandpa wouldnt choose the cheaper and faster internet plan i told him to go with and instead chose a more expensive plan with a different company that has a data cap, so now it sucks for no reason other than that he doesnt want to take advice from either a woman or a young person! [Im not a woman but he doesnt know that]). I cant even try to apply for any kind of work from home job bc of the internet. Its hard enough trying to make a call over data, having to put it on speakerphone and reach my phone against my room window while i lean over the counter. I was already unemployed before the pandemic due to the same mental health issues i havent stopped suffering from.

I wish that i wanted to live and do better for myself but whats the fucking point any more. I dont even want to live. I have no fucking reason to. At all. Im only alive bc there's no good way to die. Every day i think about how much i wish i didnt exist. It sucks and theres no fucking treatment that works. Therapy probably helps but its not making improvements for me when there are too many things out of my control making my life completely fucking miserable, its just damage reduction at this point.

I even exercise. Often. Despite the pain in my back and everywhere else. It does not help when i have fibromyalgia. Im in extreme pain even with the lightest exercise. But ive been exercising since the last endo flare up in fucking march in the hopes itll make my next endo flare up a little less worse if im stronger. Who knows if its working. Guess ill find out after the end of this month. God im so fucking scared.

I dont want to do anything rn im just so fucking miserable. But now my room is heating up since its the end of the day and im sweating too much to keep lying in bed being miserable. Idk what im gonna do. Besides ignore the ideation and knowledge about where my sharp objects are. I was working on sewing but i lost steam because of grandpa blaming me for the electricity sending me down a spiral. As if im not already doing enough cleaning up the whole fucking house and trying to prevent mold growth from the leak he caused and then laughed it off and wouldnt help me move (not my) furniture to prevent water damage.

Fuck i still have to measure the carpet padding so i can buy more later. At least the carpet itself is safe. Its getting dark out and i threw that padding shit outside and forgot about it last week so i dont wanna deal with measuring that right now. Ugh.

What do i even do when im too fucking depressed to do anything at all?? No one fucking prepares you for how fucking miserable being alive actually is.

#delete later / /#depression / /#chronic illness / /#vent / /#Cori.exe #Post.exe

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fraener · 1 year ago

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6/9/23

things have been rough since my last entry. some things good, some things bad. i performed in portland- i think that happened since then. rosie got sick, h and i have been fighting a bit with each other. its always gentle, always internal, always resolvable, but its been pressing on me lately. im feeling very burnt out. yesterday was the last day of school and today it is raining and i feel like im unspooling a little. we’ve had some 90 degree days here and there, the garden is suffering a bit like me. i met a really strange rose bush that el introduced me to that has a link to the old homestead and really wants to eat meat. big old hawthorn too. lots of old strange magic there. this morning i made my bed and put the spare away, called fen, went to the bakery and half a chevre croissant for breakfast, went to the market and bought the first of the stone fruits. some underripe apricot plum crosses and 2lbs of cherries. the garlic scapes are back now too, and i got myself some tomato and pepper starts for the garden. i also bought myself a really beautiful drinking glass thats pale opallitic glass with a scale pattern and blue dots. i’ve been doing that lately, wanting to only eat and drink off of beautiful things. i recently got myself some millefiori cups too since i missed grandma. im going to take bruces class this summer and try and treat it as something fun rather than school, i might also work for a glass artist on the peninsula.. but im still feeling exhausted. i wish i wasnt such a sucker for overworking myself so severely. ive been feeling troubled at night. last night i woke suddenly in a panic, gasping for air and sightless. i feel worried about going for my cancer screening, i feel worried about next year, i feel worried about the year after. i feel worried about h and our relationship, i feel worried about my ability to hold my own without being alone. i think if we break up i wont date anyone again for a very long time. el seems to have really managed to keep her boundaries clear from the start, i feel like i struggle with that. ive only got one thing to finish up before im done for the year with school but ive been putting it off. ive also got to perform again tomorrow evening. i feel all over the place. i really need some space from everyone and everything. of course i asked my dad if i could come stay in the city for a few days and he gave me a vague and negative answer with a really transparently bullshit excuse that i can really only interpret as him not wanting to see me because im an inconvenience. im feeling a bit rueful towards a lot of things and people at the moment. but there is unspooling with rain, there are cherries again, and i can be happy if i really work hard at it.

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itsybitsyparker · 4 years ago

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#its 90 degrees and im suffering #here's a tired mun #o u t o f w e b s // ooc #munday

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while-the-sun-falls · 4 years ago

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We love not having power, air conditioning, running water, or WiFi/Service for 5 days

#we still dont have most if these things #im suffering #its 90 degrees in here

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nemmaemma · 5 years ago

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It’s the same temperature here in Wisconsin as it is in Florida and I’m salty about it.

#it was 88 degrees here with a real feel of 95 #Im so accustomed to the cold #fall and winter are my thrive months #I own more sweaters and long pants than shorts I dont know how to dress someone help me #ive lived here my whole life and yet I havent learned to adapt to get by in the summer #wisconsin #its supposed to get between 86 to 90 degrees this week here #and in flordia its between 87 and 88 #then in california is between 75 to 84 #im envious #every year while i suffer through the cold i forget how hot it gets in the summer #its an endless cycle #the only state thats got us beat right now is texas

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

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72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John!

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic).

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @sevenseasofcats @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @herewegoagainniall @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @allauraleigh @bluutac @johndeaconshands

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

#queen fic #john deacon fic #fic series #72 hours in montreal

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dirt-grub · 3 years ago

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This is going to sound really f-ing stupid but you gotta trust me on this. Tinnitus, my nemesis, I have defeated thee. When you have an episode, loosely cover your ears with your palms so your fingertips kinda overlap at the back of your head/nape area. Then rhythmically tap your fingers, like you're patting your nape. Left, right, left, right, I count to twenty so its 10 taps from each hand. Makes a funny noise, make sure you keep your ears covered, count up to 40 (20 per hand) if needed. My episodes are mild-moderate but they also never survive past when I count to like 14. It sounds stupid. It looks stupid. But living with ringing in my ears sucks more than looking stupid for thirty seconds. It Always works for me and I hope it can help you.

I also have severe ear problems (I say while laying in the dark in my misery cuddle puddle of blankets with a heating pad wrapped around my whole head) but apparently mine are partly related to me having a deviated septum causing bad anatomy? I get fluid buildup behind my eardrum and because of the DS, my ear canals have like a nearly 90 degree turn or some shit so wax build up is the devil. Amazon has ear wax pick kits but get an osteoscope and try to have someone you trust do it since its hard to see Unless you can afford one of the Bluetooth osteoscopes that show the image on your phone. I hope at least a little of this might be new and/or helpful to you and know that I feel your pain and have a great deal of empathy. Ear pain sucks D.

Final tip I have that I just thought of! In ear/over ear headphones trap humidity and heat and in ear push wax into deeper your ears! They're pricey but look at a pair of aftershockz headphones. Bone conducting headphones. Amazing sound quality (audiophile approved) AND you wouldn't BELIEVE the improvement in my ear pain levels after I dropped my over ear and in ears for them. Plus, they all come with like a year warranty and you can purchase them through Sams club for cheaper if you have one nearby. Sorry for the long ask. I just hate knowing that other people suffer from the same or similar pain I'm in right now as I'm typing this. It just...it really sucks, man. I wish you luck.

no oh my god this is super helpful!!!! ive def had problems historically with cleaning my ears so i think itd be good to invest in an osteoscope and like gross ears def doesnt help but i have more problems than just that so the tapping trick is super helpful... im also a chronic headphone user and im sure my my earbuds (that dont have those like squishy things on the end, i lost them all) make it worse lollll

literally you are a godsend thank you so much my stepmom is a nurse but her help is just yelling at me to shut up lol

#connor talks #answered asks #anon chats #i love asks bro! every time i see the little dot my brain lights up #long ones that are helpful are even better im gonna save this for later #also i may just be doing it wrong (im gonna look up a video bc i feel like ive seen one before)#but my hands are too small to overlap behind my head while also covering my ears 😳#my stepmom makes me feel like suchhh a hypochondriac i try to update her on whats wrong and shes like UGHHH #shes one of those mean white girls that became a nurse so #like ofc i shouldnt be scaring myself by looking at webmd but every time theres actually been something wrong #i had to FIGHT just to get looked at #with the adhd she called me while i was in school and tore me a new one for like an hour #then after i was diagnosed and on my meds for a while she was like oh we always knew :)#the cysts i have i also had to fight for which like dude thats scary!#theres a history of breast cancer in my family (particularly aggressive breast cancer too)#and like hell im gonna die young from boobie disease when i dont want them in the first place #but like yeah there WAS something on the ultrasound. im not crazeee #also someone who must not be named had a super rare chronic illness as a child and she was like the kids lying #the kid had something so specific it was like. only treatable in two places in the country #which yay reasons why i have trauma around philly that ive been sneaking into my writing-#anywayssssssssssss i talk a lot. hehee #long post

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smallestclowninthecircus · 4 years ago

Text

Season 3 notes popping off

due to my desire to not completely fail all my classes this year i made myself slow down significantly while listening to this season, and the fact that the other person i'm listening along with had to catch up. We've managed to convert several other people to start listening and its pretty great.

ep 81: what does it even mean to be chosen by one of them? And if he was chosen by the eye. we know Gertrude wasnt? Because she cut the eyes out of the magazines?

ep 82: elias lmao. I understand why people like him so much bahshdhdk i thought he was gonna snitch on Jon but he didnt so he's fine. Ok but how do we think he knew all that stuff. Idk probably just institute connections. I love the fact that the recorder just wants to record stuff randomly bjahsjdhd. Elias feels a lot like Michael in the sense that he knows more than he should and talks in a way that implies he just wants to wait and see how things play out for his own benefit. I understand him knowing the things that happened but his description of her emotions implies something paranormal. Maybe he's connected to one of the entities. Which one I cannot guess.

ep 83: did a file get delivered randomly to the place he's staying at? Probably elias lmao. He thinks the mannequin is related to the stranger. Idk I would believe it.

ep 84: worms? I know he says earth worms but idk. Again? Is she making gordon golems out of trash? Martin popping off. You can tell the statements get to him more that they get to Jon. How come martin is so mad about it? I want to assume he just doesnt want her to get stuck there but idk. Jude Perry. The calliope organ. Jon heard a circus in one of the last episodes

ep 89: he's talking to perry? Like jude Perry? He says ... God? Is that what it is? Lmao. The Desolation. Jon is tired of ppl being vague and not telling him stuff lmao. Oh God Jon is so confused. Compel her? Is she assuming he has some kind of power? Does he have powers? Hmm. im agreeing with jon here please jesus christ why does everyone have to be so cryptic. Just say what you mean. "maybe you get an itchy eye" bahasjkdfklsjdf girl what. Agnes saved her? Oh this is the girl from the cafe story? So theres the Cult of the Lightless Flame? They worship whatever entity this is? The Desolation? Why do they all seem like they sorta worship her then? Is Gretchen gonna die oh god. fuckin michael. a different michael aaah. i see. dont do it shes gonna burn you. sir. please. sir dont you dare do- WHAT DID I SAY what did you think was gonna happen hhh.

ep 90: try to make it less obvious you're trying to get fired big T. Elias that doesnt sound like the most healthy thing to do. oh dear is this gonna be triggering for me. uuuuuh. uuuuuuuuuh. doesnt seem like it ok gonna keep listening. Jared. hmmmmm. Ok we've seen Keay and hotner or whatever his name was.

ep 91: Michael Crew. Oh is this the lightning scar guy. Mister jon sir did you just die. No? God everyone is so fuckin cryptic. Say normal things please. They all just like to go on about pain and agony and j e s u s c h r i s t we get it you got hurted by whatever thing. So theyre avatars? question mark? Jude Perry is an avatar of The Desolation? hhhh fractals. thats a spiral thing innit. Yup. messing with your perceptions. God they all talk about feeding their god and feeding that which feeds them and. hh what does that meann. Leave big J. please. uh oh. is it daisy? how come he has the web lighter still? the tape recorder just turns on sometimes you know how it is. So he can compel people? not that he knows it obviously but. a bit wack. powers go brr i guess? If the eye just wants knowledge i guess he feeds it by getting the statements? b/c i doubt it wants him to murder ppl or whatever.

ep 92: elias you all knowing fuck what do you know. (i guess all given what i just said) Lukas. Heard of them before. Mordecai Lukas. Loneliness. The lonely even. Jonah Magnus. Elias ur sounding like a bit of a dickhead rn. lmao jon's just like "i dont care" elias what is ur deal. Why does he want to tie her in. ohh i see. lmao theyre all just like "elias why" The Unknowing lol seems very much like something the eye wouldnt like. lol elias is gettin all philosophical. what does it really mean to be human. this still doesnt answer why gertrude wanted to destroy the archives tho.

ep 93: bahsjdfh he seems so dead inside rip. awww admiral. i love him already. ghh breacon and hope. purple mold. doesnt sound like anything we've seen so far. I think the funniest explanation for breacon and hope is that they dont actually serve the stranger they just kinda happen to be a random neutral party that cart around random spooky entity related stuff. ooooh. when we hear the slight static of the tape recorder it's cuz he's compelling ppl.

ep 94: the end! listen man they were all just grayed up for 4/13.

ep 95: the end also? death but also savagery/ animalistic shit. aww martin. lmao becerra. she's just been chillin in the corner.

ep 96: return to sender. haha minecraft go brr. prediction: breacon and hope? yup there we go. jon why is there an echo. are you in a stairwell? is he gonna eat it- yup. how did i call it. unsure abt what theyre talking about but ok. they kidnapped someone? Sarah Baldwin. ooooh that guy.

ok im just putting this here so i have notes for when nicholas gets to this part. It seems like (from jon's conversation with jude perry) that the desolation and the eye are kinda at odds with eachother? like i guess not directly but it seems like they dont really vibe? so how could be with both. Cuz if he has the heat powers and shit then we know he's an avatar of the desolation. but then why does he have so much eye imagery. also he got burned intentionally? like jude did when she went on her monologue about the feeling of burning? but then why did he wear the eye pendant. it stops him from being burned all the way which seems like he's not fully accepting the fire or whatever.

Nooooo I lost like a bunch of my notes rip. I keep forgetting to save.

Ep 104: tim gives a coherent statement without jon even being there. Ugh. Fucking robert smirk. Dont like him. Joey. Dont recognize the name. The show must go on. Clown. The spooky circus?

ep 105: total war... shogun 2? jon is just understanding languages again. "if i understood mandarin or cantonese" are you sure you dont big man?

ep 106: havent we heard this one already? mans in space? oh no this is just another episode in space. fairchild... uuuh. cant remember. oh! this is related to that! this is one of the ppl from the other side. sounds like a Vast thing. oh he's the one that the dude saw? but that guy didnt have a face... she's sorta like jon. wanting to dismiss the statements. lmao i love the workplace gossip. ace jon for the win! oh cmon elias dont be a dick. sunny meadows or whatever. thats the place we heard about.

ep 107: oh great is it jude perry again. Third Degree. bahahsdkfj she was arrested. sorry but imagining this old british lady getting arrested is funny. she was trying to resurrect him. using the skin book. he's not feeling well. jon take a nap. i wonder if this is what happens when he uses his powers too much. He gets into The Zone when he reads statements lol. didn't we have a burning train car in anothre statement? is it julia fairchild? bahahahs "kidnapped. Again." poor jon honestly. julia... about her dad. daughter of the murder shed guy? hunting like your dad liked to hunt or normal people hunting. oh hunting vampires!

ep 108: melanie has been suffering. poor martin peter lukas why do you have to be like this. can he not just use the front door? does he have to bother the ppl doing statements?

ep 109: how come he cut her off? kinda rude tbh. its either jon's influence or there was smth he didnt want her saying. is it gerard on the table? this sounds kinda like smth from one of the university episodes. is it the closed eye on the hand? yup. he's like one of the students! if the thing listening in is elias then... he can do that without the tape recorder yknow. plus who's to say it wont just turn itself on again

110: who wants to bet its a leitner?

111: Lukas related to The Lonely. I used to not like Gerard that much but i like him more now. but i thought there were 15? ohhh thats right isnt flesh newer? gerry for the win honestly. finally telling jon things.

112: lol "again" no one ever tells any of these ppl anything. tim and basira are just out of the loop constantly. music, like the war episodes. The hunt or the slaughter? probably the hunt. so Daisy is related to the hunt right? basira likes the reading, she's doing fine at the institute. daisy's getting worried...

113: it just turned on randomly. what is it lol. explossives! oh boy. why do they always assume he turned it on intentionally. melanie youre not making me like you that much. which entity is this about i cant tell. lol he was disappointed it was just the end. The title Breathing Room made me think it was gonna be about the buried but i guess not. So many of these entities deal with death but the end is one that deals in just death. it has no need for fancy deaths, just death is enough

114: more hilltop road statements? the tree. oh boy. ok the tree has 8 arms obviously theres the spider parallels. was she taken into an alternate universe? oh no. jon tries to phrase things so he's not asking questions. thats honestly good. "sometimes i was kidnapped" oh dear. they got gertrude. daisy ur so odd lmao. who wants to bet they dont know the tape recorder's running?

115: silaca? or whatever? antique man? meat grinder... related to the meat is meat episode? oh wow. they buy antiques from him. maybe dont antagonize this creature which can kill you?

116: lol theyre all just so done with elias. music? is it like the one band that if you hear them you die or wtvr. oh its chess? i am very much confused. mmm stranger go brr. gorilla skin? oh shit the dance. woah. this is so good. this is so gender. the words are wonderful. "you can just say tim" lmao trying to fool elias never feels like a good idea.

117: except elias lmaoo. oh shit. leitner getting some use for once idk. bruuh poor melanie she has been thru so much shit. martin you can just say youre worried about jon. lol he's so accurate in his jon impression. lol who was that. was that daisy? lmaoo. oop hi tim. oh god i hope tim doesnt die. i feel like i wouldve heard about that? but im not sure. destroying the source of knowledge is gonna be hard for jon. yay jon! you did a good thing. let him rest.

118: go off martin lmao. awww poor martin. oh god the tape gets that squealy quality and its awful.

119: woah. lots of things happening. uhh. POP OFF TIM!!

120: lmao elias giving a statement about jon's dreams lol. damn jon doesnt even get his own dreams? has to stay Watching even when he's asleep? f in the chat this man goes thru so much shit. oh boy its peter. lol martin my beloved. idk i dont trust peter.

#tma #neptune's tma notes #notes #tma season 3

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