#ons because I’m a fucking idiot))

[agni-ashes]

i love how jimmy really just went and built himself holiday homes at both his boyfriends’ places, king be real you’re not gonna stay in your little igloo we all know you’re gonna end up in their house

[juniorfor2]

I cannot believe what they are doing to Jace - they really need to make another deliberate mouthpiece, just to make more Team Black characters misogynistic???

I was annoyed when Condal said a year back that it was ‘young, hot-blooded sons who eagerly started wars’ but I was hoping he’d mostly be referring to Aemond - you know, the canonical hot-blooded, idiotic dude who started a war with his kinslaying of Rhaenyra’s son? Not fucking Jace.

He’s the son of a woman who is trying to break into an oppressive system, and betrothed to a badass woman that knows how to use weapons and clearly likes to terrify the shit out of her enemies for fun - why are the writers trying to make it out as if Jace is being super restrictive and disbelieving of his own mother’s abilities???? Is that why they’ve been erasing Baela from the episodes? So they don’t have to confront their own stupidity and racism?

Condal, stop making this a both sides are bad show!!! It doesn’t work, it’s misogynistic, and only reflects badly on you.

Stop ruining one of the best characters of the entire dance just because you can’t stand the fact that Rhaenyra’s council and loved ones actually respected her authority and were dedicated to her safety.

I know you must hate the fact that Alicent’s family - the greens you so clearly insert yourself into - abandoned her without care after the fall of King’s Landing and clearly disregarded her authority the moment they could get away with it, but maybe you shouldn’t be adapting a show if you hate the story it was based on so much. The greens were misogynistic, mass murderer, rapist maniacs who couldn’t get themselves together and only lived as long as they did because of plot armor, so if you could finally get that into your head it would be great. Otherwise, fuck off.

[puppyeared]

Ouhhhh friendship I love friendship……..

[stardust-kitten]

feeling Sad and stuck between feeling like i’m too much but also never enough

[ccherrybloom]

Ashtrays & Antihistamines Pt. 2

oc, m, hayfever + cigarette smoke, wc: 2.6k

Part 1

CW: foul language, hints of religious trauma, crappy/absent parents, smoking

~~

a.n. + summary: …i have no excuse. i busted this bad boy out fast as hell. this chapter includes the men hitting up a local pub, shooting the shit around some drinks, memories of a crappy childhood, and Peter sneezing himself silly. i originally also intended to include Peter’s first night trying to sleep in the motel room and keep quiet, but i felt the pub shenanigans ended in a good spot, so i’ll just include that at the beginning of the next chapter instead. anyway, hopefully you guys get some enjoyment out of this! my boys are stupid, lol.

~~

The four men trudged their way down the cobblestone streets of Cork, hands shoved deep into their pockets as a light misting of rain left small droplets splayed across their clothing and blurred the frames of Peter’s glasses. By the third time the guitarist had to pull them off to wipe them clean, he was more than fed up, instead choosing to take them off fully and hook them to the front of his shirt. He’d deal with the stupid things when they reached the pub.

Unfortunately for Peter, the fresh rain was doing more than just dirtying his glasses. The spring shower seemed to only enhance the earthy smells around them, doing nothing to help the persistent allergy-induced tickle lingering in the back of his nose. The damp air clung to everything, amplifying the scent of wet stone, fresh-cut grass, and budding flowers – all of which seemed to be conspiring against his sinuses. He could feel the beginnings of the stupid itch growing deep within his nose, constantly teasing him with the threat of a sneeze.

Thankfully the pub they were heading to was only a few blocks from their motel, meaning he wouldn’t have to deal with the overpowering outdoor scents for much longer. He sniffled quietly to himself as they rounded a corner, the pub coming into view despite his blurred vision.

“‘Bout damn time.” Peter grumbled mostly to himself. Realistically, they hadn’t been outside for long at all, but the light spring rain and the setting sun were leaving all four men a bit chillier than any of them had anticipated. It felt as though the cold was seeping into Peter’s bones, and he shivered involuntarily. Maybe heading to the pub had been the wrong idea after all, he thought, as his already annoyed mood worsened when another sharp itch prickled tauntingly within his nose.

Peter was the first to reach the pub’s door, pulling it open and gesturing for the others to file in one by one. The warm light spilling out from inside coupled with the familiar chatter of an Irish pub was a welcome contract to the chilly evening. As the others moved their way past him, the guitarist felt his nose twitch, the persisting itch travelling from the base of his nostrils up into his sinuses like an electric shock.

He turned his face away from the door slightly and scrunched his nose, bringing his free hand up to scrub a knuckle into it uselessly. He could feel his breath beginning to hitch and his eyelids start to flutter as he tried his best to keep the oncoming sneeze at bay. Just as the last of the men passed into the pub, Peter felt his control begin to slip.

Acting fast, the guitarist twisted his head away and into his shoulder as he attempted to stifle the itchy sneeze, only being half successful as it forced its way out of him.

“hH’nXGt’Shhiue!” The sneeze was sharp and wet, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake that he recognized as a sign that there would surely be more to come. He shook his head pathetically, trying to will away the lingering itch.

When he raised his head, he was surprised to see Maurice, who had been the last to enter, staring back at him with an unhappy look on his face. The blonde’s hazel eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he had something he wanted to say but couldn’t. Peter just rolled his eyes and trudged inside, giving Maurice a shove to keep moving before giving his glasses a thorough wipe and slipping them back on.

The inside of the small pub was cosy and inviting, a welcome change from the chilly spring shower. The place was lively but not overcrowded, the atmosphere filled with the sounds of drunken conversation, occasional boisterous laughter, the clinking of glasses, and a light beat of Celtic music. Although Peter had never visited Cork previously, the inherent Irish-ness of all the sights and sounds surrounding him left the musician with a warm sense of belonging deep within his chest. Although Maurice wasn’t Irish himself, Peter still wondered if the singer might also feel the same way as he did, considering the Frenchman had practically grown up in Dublin.

The four men quickly made their way to the bar to order their drinks before finding an unoccupied booth towards the back and sliding in side-by-side. Once seated, Peter wasted no time taking a long sip of his stout beer, relishing in the bitterness as it bubbled down his throat. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax, enjoying the smalltalk of his bandmates and the way the alcohol warmed his body and made his head swim. But the momentary break was short lived. The dampness clinging to his clothing combined with the indoor air, slightly musty from the age of the pub, was starting to coax out that all-too familiar tingle in his nose.

The guitarist did his best to ignore it, instead attempting to turn his focus towards Chris who was telling some animated story about a fight he got into a few months back. Unfortunately, Peter could barely concentrate – the itch in his nose was back with a vengeance, causing his nose to involuntarily twitch. He tried taking another sip of his drink, hoping he could simply will away the feeling, but it was getting considerably harder to ignore.

Just as Chris was reaching the climax of his story, Peter’s breath quietly hitched, and he rubbed his nose as subtly as he could, desperate to try and stave off the inevitable. Maurice, who was seated beside him, glanced in his direction, immediately clueing into the other’s struggle. Peter caught his eye in return and gave his head a discreet shake, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but soon realised it was no use as he sucked in a wavering breath.

“HINg’Gsch!” Peter whipped himself away from Maurice and stifled hard into the back of his hand, trying his best to muffle the sound as his breath abruptly caught again. “hH’RRSHhiue!” The second one burst out of him unstifled as he attempted to twist himself away further, crushing his nose harder still, feeling the cold metal of his nose rings dig into the skin of his hand.

“Cheers to that,” Geoff teased as he raised up his glass and clinked it gently against Peter’s. “Alright there, Pete?”

“Fuck, -snf-, shit. Yeah, I’m fine.” He affirmed with a nod, his hand still pressed tightly against his nose. Despite his attempts at reassurance, the annoyed expression plastered on his face told his bandmates otherwise.

“Let’s order some shots.” Suggested Chris with a playful smirk as he tilted his drink towards Peter’s. “Maybe gettin’ pissed will cure you.”

Peter snorted, but it quickly morphed into a sniffle. “Wouldn’t that be lovely.” He grumbled before grabbing his beer and taking a large gulp.

“Maybe ya should get some fresh air, instead.” Offered Maurice, his tone more serious.

“You jokin’, Murry?” Peter scoffed, shooting the singer an unamused look. “Damn ‘fresh air’ is what got me into this mess.”

“Then maybe ya should swing by the chemist and pick up some antihistamines or somethin’.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but another sharp tickle in his nose cut him off, his breath immediately catching in his throat. Maurice just rolled his eyes.

“HAT’SHhhiuew!” Peter sneezed hard into his elbow, letting out a loud, irritated groan immediately following. With a frustrated shake of his head the guitarist took a final swig of his drink before slamming the empty glass down and gesturing aggressively for Maurice to stand up, kicking at his feet slightly from under the table. “Move yer arse, I need a damn smoke!”

Maurice huffed, defeated, and slid out of the booth so the other could stand — he wasn’t in the mood for another argument. Practically leaping from his seat, Peter muttered something under his breath before skulking his way towards the exit.

As soon as he pushed open the door he was immediately hit with the cool, damp air which brought instant relief to the allergic and embarrassed flush that had begun to dance across his cheeks. His nose was still annoyingly itchy, but being back outside made him feel much less on display, which he was grateful for.

He pulled a beat up pack of Marlboro out of his jacket pocket and fished a cigarette out quickly, sticking it between his lips and lighting it with an expert crack of his old, worn Zippo.

The first drag was heaven, and he savoured the way the smoke filled his lungs, the hit of nicotine immediately taking the edge off of his frustration and easing the slight tremor in his hand. He hadn’t realised how desperately he’d needed this.

As he allowed the smoke to drift lazily out of his mouth into the damp evening air, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to his early childhood in Belfast, back to a time when his hayfever was much, much worse. The memories flooded his mind, as vivid as if he were standing back in his childhood bedroom staring out the window at the vast fields of overgrown grass and wildflowers that surrounded their run-down countryside home.

He recalled the suffocating, ever-present itch that would take root in his sinuses from spring through to summer, turning his life into a mess of incessant watering and itching. It had always been worse in the mornings, when the dew still clung to every blade of grass, and the pollen seemed at its most potent. He’d lie in bed for as long as his mother allowed it, dreading the moment he’d have to step outside and walk to school, knowing full well that he’d be fucked by the time he got there.

Of course Saoirse, his mother, never offered him much sympathy. In fact she seemed much more inclined to view his suffering as just another one of his many shortcomings; another thing about her son that she resented. Peter could still hear her cold, nagging voice in his head.

“Stop yer whinin’, Peter. God only gives us what we can handle. If this is His plan for you then you’ll just have to deal with it.”

And so he did. The guitarist learned quickly not to expect help, not from Saoirse, not from anyone. When his eyes were on fire he’d scratch them, when his nose ran incessantly he’d wipe it, and when he’d sneeze his way through a Sunday sermon he’d deal with his mother’s reprimanding with a stoicism much too well-practised for an eight-year-old. There was just no point in complaining — it wouldn’t change anything. Saoirse would just turn up her nose and tell him to toughen up, or throw a half-hearted prayer his way if he would be so lucky. The worst part was easily how little she even seemed to care. It made him tougher in some ways, though he often wondered what his life would’ve been like if he’d had a mother who offered him more than just indifference and disdain. Perhaps things would’ve been different had his father stuck around, whoever that man may be.

Peter took another drag of his cigarette, the nicotine pulling him back to the present as the tickle in his nose flared back up. The combined scents of wet earth and pungent tobacco were like a one-two punch straight to his irritated sinuses. He leaned himself against the pub’s stone wall, his cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers as he slowly felt the sensation begin to build. Initially, he tried to fight it, breathing slowly through his mouth before taking another drag. The itch, however, was relentless, and crawled deeper into his sinuses with every passing second. Before long his eyelids had begun to flutter and his breath hitched in anticipation.

“hH’NGSCHh!” Peter stifled hard into his shoulder again, the residual smoke held in his mouth shooting out of his nostrils with the sharp expulsion. This, of course, sent the tickle in his nose into overdrive and he immediately sucked in another breath through clenched teeth with a newfound urgency.

“hiH’ISHHhiuew! ‘ISSHhhiue! ‘ISHhhu! ‘tIsh!” The sneezes toppled over each other as they forced their way out of him, leaving no room for breath in between, each one forcing him to curl deeper into himself before his head rose back up with a sharp gasp of air. “hHeHh! HET’DSHhhHiuEw!” The final sneeze shook his lean frame and caused his cigarette to slip from his fingers, landing onto the ground with a wet fizzle.

“Fer the love of Christ,” Peter cursed, trying to catch his breath as he picked back up his cigarette, flicked the ashes, and took another sharp drag, more out of stubbornness than anything.

“That was quite the spectacle.”

Peter couldn’t help but jolt in surprise as he turned his head to find Geoff standing in the pub doorway, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“Jaysus Geoffrey don’t go sneakin’ up on a man like that.” Peter scoffed, taking one final drag of his cigarette before dropping the butt to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot. “Nearly shit meself.”

Geoff laughed at this and stepped over to his bandmate, leaning against the wall next to him.

“You alright?” He asked. “I mean, really.”

He nodded, blowing out the last of the smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, grand. Was just tryin’ to have a smoke without sneezin’ me fuckin’ head off.”

“And how’d that fair for you?”

“Go fuck yerself.”

As Geoff threw his head back to laugh, it dawned on Peter how much the bassist looked like his mother. The same fiery red hair, the same bright blue eyes, the same freckled face. Hell, the man was pure-blood English but somehow looked more Irish than he did. His mother had always told him that he was the spitting image of his father, just another reason for her to dislike him, his black hair and green eyes always misplaced amongst her side of the family. But as Geoff’s laughter fizzled, Peter couldn’t help but wonder if his mother would’ve liked him better had he came out looking more like Geoff.

“Anyway,” Geoff started, wiping away a tear. “I just came out to see what was taking you so long. You know Maurice. He’s all in a tizzy.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“He just worries.” Geoff added with a grin, slapping a hand onto Peter’s shoulder as he took a breath of the cool evening air. “But he might be onto something about picking up antihistamines, mate.”

“Don’t you start with that shite too.” Peter shot back, though it was clear his initial resilience was beginning to peeter out. He shoved Geoff’s hand off of his shoulder. “Besides, it’s not like I can pop into the chemist at this hour.”

Geoff pulled up his sleeve and glanced down at his watch, humming in agreement.

“But if it means gettin’ you two eejits off me back, then I’ll go in the mornin’.” The guitarist added, shooting the other an annoyed look. “Alright?”

“Alright.” Geoff echoed with a small smile as he patted Peter on the back. “The pub’s closing soon. Let’s head back in before the others think we’ve run off.”

Peter nodded, giving his nose a quick scrub before stuffing his hands back into his pockets. As much as he hated to admit it, the idea of picking up some allergy meds was starting to sound pretty damn good. Perhaps after one more drink they’d head back, and he could worry about it again when the sun rose.

[thejadecount]

Guys. Guys I just had the most mind-blowing realization. In the 2012 TMNT, two of Shredder’s minions have names that are like, basically synonyms of his. Like Xever Montes? As in sever. And then Chris Bradford/Dogpound gets turned into Rahzar as in fucking RAZOR?!

This is fucking sending me places

[birdy-bird27]

I’m so normal and not overthinking things rn :) I’m the normalest human ever

[vampire-nyx]

I Need to find people that talk about transfem issues and trans women specifically as a group that Aren’t infected with the baeddel poison

It really shouldn’t be the case that not wanting to be around people who are harmful and dangerous to me as a transmasc means I never get to see transfem centered discussion

[peachlit]

can’t wait for the day i can get away from my parents

[priestfrommidnightmass]

the fact that i’m dramatic and delusional really isn’t helping my case at the moment… unfortunately the amount of times i’ve been in total and complete agony over a guy i was (what i considered to be) good friends with and he wanted nothing to do with me because he had a long term girlfriend is NOT zero. unfortunately this is not my first rodeo and i am kind of the worst person on the planet i feel sick

[scarrunner05]

I think it’s very silly when murder mysteries make their little detective people have basically psychic powers and this is partially why I like psych. The best murder mystery to ever do this very sillyly is psych.

the best media to ever exist. I take no criticism I’m sure there’s technically better but something something Im sorry I’ve never had a 3 month long mental breakdown from lack of sleep because any other show suddenly got removed from all platforms and I had no way to watch it about any other show so like. Objectively the best to me. In my heart.

I’m very tired now so I’m gonna go put on episode 5 of season 2 and down the track comes murder in which a jockey is killed and they must prove the innocence of their childhood bully just as I have every night for the past 5 months because I am extremely allistic.

[trashbaget]

tell me your failed/embarrassing flirting stories to make me feel better, i’ll go first: today i said “get out of my way” forgot to say “i’m kidding” then immediately said “bye”

[bitchapalooza]

Why my parents get so pissed when I say I wanna do nothing but rest in bed on my day off is a mystery 💀

[spiderwarden]

Whenever the day comes where I get a little bit of weight to my name where my voice carries weight. I’m shitting on Larian and my cut break up dialogue. And then making their characters in general nicer, like it’s forbidden for some reason for them to say mean things.

[gaywarenn]

.

[deityofhearts]

the moment a character doesn’t act the way you think they should y’all are so quick to call them stupid and useless and claim that you would do better if you were them (I promise you that no, you would not do better than them if you were in the same exact potion as them under the same exact circumstances, it’s bold of y’all to assume you would and I do wish that I had to power to toss y’all in said situations and watch y’all fail tbh)