#tea<33< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[bigbadwolfwood]

hello my wonderful aims ! i love the new url, very very cute >^.^<

TEA !!! <33 i always smile sm when i see you in my notifs :3 but thank u !! hehe i wanted to change it to summ else but landed on this for now ^_^

[tea-tuesday]

06/18/2024

haven't journaled in a while and i was feeling a little burnt out/sick of desks so i decided to sit in a chair and journal on my laptop case/on my lap instead of at a table. please enjoy this very soothing green plant in natural sunlight🪴💚 i really took delight in resting my eyes on it hehe...

[starsandwriting]

Inviting my besties to the tea party and it's the most depressed and suffering trio of prophets you've ever met

[Image ID:

Two venn diagrams. The first is about Faulkner and Paige and says, "I accomplished what I set out to do and it's the worst thing in my life. I hate the role I've trapped myself into" in the overlapping section.

The second diagram is about Val and Faulkner and says, "I've done a lot of bad things but it's fine, the end result will be worth it guys I promise this had to be done hey-"

End ID]

[kimdokjas]

I want to go back — Gregory Orr

dedicated to phos ♡ @squidokja [insp.]

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

can you do a hockeyplayer!geto x reader au drabble plsssss 🙏🙏 ???

HOCKEY PLAYER!SUGU MY BELOVED <3333 i’d like to write for him someday…. i have no idea when though. my sugu wips are piling up as it is 😭

but …. wahhh. he’s just so good? your soft, polite academic boyfriend who turns into a BEAST on the field. he doesn’t play dirty, obviously, but he’s just. rough. he plays to win. and every time he scores a goal you catch a glimpse of his wide, giddy grin, all teeth. he’s like …. a big wolf . you know? and then as soon as he’s off the field he’s shooting you a warm smile and a kiss + heading to the showers so he can hug you properly once he’s all clean.

after winning a particularly important game he just scoops you up and spins you around though … he’s all sweaty and his heart is beating so fast you can hear it and he lets out this breathy, raspy laugh. he’s just so excited and giddy and running on adrenaline and he’s crushing you a little but you can’t seem to mind. he’s delighted. it’s a good look on him.

… yeah . he’s just very good

[madaqueue]

just put milk in my tea which one of you brits is gonna come kiss me about it :3

[theperksofbeingstupid]

spiderbit fluff or fright day 6. prompt: nightmares. i repurposed an unfinished wip for this and i'm a big fan of how it turned out <33 apologies for it being sad, but the kids being missing is a nightmare in and of itself.

The whirring of the chainsaw is still buzzing in his ears when he feels a hand land on his back. Cellbit tries his hardest not to jump, but he can't stop the flinch he lets out at the touch.

"¿Cellbo?"

He knows that voice. He knows that he knows that voice. It's just taking a moment for his brain to process that he's not actively bleeding out after getting run through with a chainsaw and skewered by a spike trap.

The hand slowly moves to the centre of his back and starts rubbing circles into his skin, gently tracing the outline of the scar that rests under his sleep shirt. Bit by bit, his shoulders lose their tension until Cellbit can push back into his husband's touch.

"What time is it?" he asks, voice raw and untethered.

Roier replies by sitting up and pulling Cellbit into his lap, burying his face in between Cellbit's shoulder blades. His hands find their way under Cellbit's shirt and come to rest at the centre of his chest, fingers splayed out as if to cover as much skin as possible. Cellbit breathes in and revels in the press of Roier against his back.

"Te amo," he whispers into the darkness of their bedroom. He's not sure who he's saying it to. Roier's grasp tightens before his hands drop entirely and they untangle themselves from each other and the bedsheets.

"What was it this time?" Roier's voice is steady when he speaks. Cellbit pretends he doesn't see the tear tracks on his face.

"Chainsaw again-" Roier's face twists into a grimace "-Richas was there." At this, Roier swallows hard. Cellbit watches his hands clench into fists as they twist in his lap.

"He was there when I got downed. He was there, guapito."

Something painful flashes through Roier's eyes, but he's closing them tightly too soon after for Cellbit to tell what it was.

"I miss him," he mutters, afraid to speak any louder, as if that would mean his son is really gone. Cellbit rubs at his own chest, for a moment the ache in his heart has nothing to do with old scars.

Roier opens his eyes eventually, and seems to gather his strength before standing. "Come, Cellbo. Comamos algo," he says, rising from the bed like an apparition, sheets sliding off him as if melting from his skin.

Cellbit takes the offered hand, stumbling when his feet hit the ground but being caught before he can fall. The stone of the castle is cold, and the slow-rising sun tries its best to dispel the chill from the air to no avail.

Their steps echo loudly as they descend the stairs. The hallways are empty, and the dining room is even emptier.

"Sit," Roier orders, and leaves Cellbit standing like a stranger in his own home at the edge of the table. He stays still for long enough that he can hear Roier turning the stove on and the kettle beginning to creak in protest. There are far too many seats for two, and Cellbit forces himself to look away from the far end of the table and pull out the chair nearest to the kitchen.

Roier returns a few moments later, carrying two mugs. Cellbit inclines his head at the chair in front of him, pulled out and empty. His husband rolls his eyes but sits obediently, carefully placing the mugs on the table, and then reaching out a hand behind him to the still-standing Cellbit. He forces his legs to move, and is pulled gently into Roier's lap, who immediately tucks himself around him and plants his face in the back of Cellbit's neck.

He misses the unrelenting din of their home and an ever-rotating cast of visitors. He misses complaining about being bothered by tiny pattering feet and ink stains on the carpets. He misses worrying every morning about whether or not he'd be able to complete inane tasks to keep his son alive. He misses being a father. He misses being needed.

"Where do you think they are?" Cellbit asks.

"Estan tiesos, bien muertos," Roier replies, not lifting his head from Cellbit's hair.

Cellbit smacks him weakly, hand barely making contact, "Calate."

Their tea is getting cold, and after a few more minutes Cellbit starts wiggling, his legs crossed too uncomfortably to be sitting in the same position for this long. He picks up his mug and swirls the liquid around. He doesn't even like tea.

"I don't even like tea," he whispers solemnly, and Roier snorts.

"Yeah, I know."

Cellbit drops his mug back on the table and twists himself around to stare his husband directly in the eyes. "Why the fuck did you make tea, then?"

Roier doesn't even seem bothered by the change in position, he just smiles softly and lifts a finger to tap him gently on the nose. "Caffeine is bad for you, gatinho. How are we gonna sleep if you're all-" and then he squirms and flaps his hands in the air and makes a screeching noise that Cellbit didn't even know humans were capable of making.

Instead of responding, Cellbit surges forward and presses a kiss to Roier's lips. "You're ridiculous."

Roier grins at him wildly, cheeks flushed and eyes barely visible. "You looove meee," he sings, and Cellbit kisses him again, because he does.

Eventually though, Cellbit's knees hurt too much to keep them bent under him, and he pokes at Roier until they both get up. They trail into the kitchen, mugs of lukewarm tea forgotten on the dining table. The wedding cake atop a counter looks appetising in the weak light of the rising sun. Cellbit's hand clenches around Roier's and the metal band of his wedding ring seems to burn at his skin. He's so happy he got married.

Roier makes as if to go to the drawer where they store the coffee but he's stopped in his tracks by Cellbit, hands still wrapped tightly together.

"¿Qué pasó, gatinho?"

Cellbit swallows around the dryness in his throat, tea is sounding a lot more enjoyable now. His foot is caught on the edge of the elevator, the glass far smoother than the tile of the kitchen floor. He wants to go, up and up and up, until he can be with his son and his husband, away from the fear and the pain, and he can be free once and for all.

Instead he brings Roier closer to him and takes them up two floors to Richarlyson's atelier.

The quiet is oppressive. Cellbit can feel it every time he breathes, choking him. Roier's hand is warm in his, though, and it brings him some modicum of comfort. The light beaming through the stained glass windows catches on the dust floating through the air, spiralling like snowflakes. They're not going to be here when the first snow comes. If it does come- Cellbit's not sure it even snows on this island.

There are unfinished paintings lying abandoned on the easels, paint crusted into brushes, bristles long-dried. 

"Saudades, filho." Cellbit trails a hand along the tops of the canvases, tracing a line around the room. Roier watches him go from the elevator, arms wrapped around himself.

"We'll get them back, gatinho. Lo juro," he says, and finally steps forward. The dust flutters around him, surging like a wave as he walks before resettling.

Cellbit rests his forehead against Roier's, breathing in his air. "We will," he promises, and he means it. 

[bloodof-leaves]

Ok that last post was fuckign stupid now that we haev that out of the way.

Poopy sketchbook slop <33

[pineappical]

transfem trent forever and ever <33

[maladaptivedaydreamsx]

The Littlest Lelouch

Characters: Clavis Lelouch, unnamed wife, OC (baby), brief cameos

Rating: pg13 (?)

Genre: Saccharine fluff, dash of angst, humor (sfw)

WC: 1,296

Warnings: Mentions of battle/blood/death (none happen on-screen), mentions of pregnancy and birth (none graphic), afab oc/insert and female pronouns, (are babies a tw?), humor of the aerin variety, not proofread, potential minor Clavis route spoilers?

Request?: Yes (currently open? also yes. pls see pinned first!)

Summary: As it would happen, having to work with the bloody beast means often having to pick up after said beast, or even indulge in the sins of war. Unfortunately for Rhodolite palace’s resident mischief maker, the call of his duty could not have come at a worse time.

A/N: Apologies if it is a bit OOC or would benefit from better pacing, I haven't read Clavis' route in a bit and he's a little tricky to nail at times without me getting cliché. (Sorry this one isn't gender neutral, for the folks familiar with my general fluff.) I worked to the best of my current ability, as the request was a bit vague. Feel free to stop by and request again sometime, nonnie!

          Clavis’ wife was due soon, expecting their first child amidst the frills and flowers that come with Spring. And excited they were to welcome the newest member of the Lelouch gang when Clavis suddenly receives summons for a round table meeting. It isn’t until much later that he returns, brows furrowing as he walks through the doors to the couple’s shared room at the palace.

         “Dearie me,” Clavis starts, running a singular gloved hand through his lilac locks, boring holes into the wall as he figured out how to best break this to his very pregnant wife. No amount of trying to haggle with the court would get him out of this, much as he tried. Hesitantly, Clavis’ wife pipes up, wanting to console her husband who seems he may fray at the seams any moment.

         “What’s wrong, Clavis? Cat got your tongue?” She jokes, waddling over best as she can, causing Clavis to fret and meet her halfway. He is far too overprotective sometimes, she feels, but understands he is that way out of sheer love for her.

         “Council was held today.” Clavis starts, receiving an acknowledging hum from his wife. At his uncharacteristic pause, she nods, gently trying to urge him to continue his train of thought. “I will have to be away for a while,” and in true Clavis fashion, he tries to soften the blow the best way he knows how.

         “Oh, but don’t you both go missing me too much. I know just how to console my lovely, dearest wife-”

         “Clavis.” If he insists on acting fine, then she will shoulder it for them both and allow him to save face.. this time. “I’ll miss you too, darling. Please come home safe.” With eyes that look like he is trying his best to hold back tears, Clavis dons his most convincing smile, gently pulling his wife in as closely as he comfortably can by her waist.

         “I knew you couldn’t resist your handsome husband,” he murmurs, pressing a loving kiss to her lips, fitting every apology known to man in the sincere way Clavis cherishes her so. Pulling away, he rests his head atop hers, cursing his fate and drasted brother for nearly ruining yet another special occasion in his life.

…

         As the fateful day comes, Clavis parts from his beautiful wife, reassuring her he will be fine just as much as she does him. Riding off atop his royal steed, he waves farewell without looking back, steeling himself and all of his best inventions to end this damn thing as early as physically possible. In his plan, he hopes to lure out the enemies and confuse them with his myriad of (smoke) bombs, so that he and Chevalier may be able to finish with time to spare.

         “If I miss my child’s birth, this time I really will kill you,” Clavis threatens. At this, Chevalier simply scoffs and rides away. Cyran shakes his head, a mundane ordeal when it comes to these two.

         As fate would have it, back at the castle, just a few days after the second and third prince had set out to quell skirmishes along the borders, his wife goes into labor. It would seem the third prince’s child was not a very patient one, wishing to meet everyone as quickly as possible. Panic spreads, the early arrival of the baby having the maids rush to get everything together shortly after her water breaks. Though her husband is not present in body, he is present with her in spirit, and in all of the reading they had done together to better prepare themselves for their little one’s arrival.

         After many painful hours, a cry is heard, and thus the third prince of Rhodolite and his wife welcome a tiny baby Lelouch into the world. Hardly visible for how light a color it is, there are the smallest tufts of the signature lilac stands upon her head, and piercing eyes of gold. Having already decided upon possible names beforehand, his wife holds baby Felicia (a tribute to Clavis’ late mother Leticia) in her arms, exhausted but moved to tears over the life they created, together.

         It isn’t until two full days later, that Clavis returns home. The congratulations he receives upon his arrival is both the best and worst of news, for he is grateful they are both alive and well, but terribly distraught to have missed the birth of his first child (and being unable to support his wife as she always does him). He quickly stops by the baths, not wanting to greet them with blood still on his person.

         Gingerly, Clavis makes his way to where he finds both of his Lelouch girls, heart caught in his throat at the sight. Upon his arrival, their daughter is waving her hands around, trying to grab at her mother while she rocks her gently and sings. The gentle smile on her face brings back bittersweet memories, and an ache for a loved one he will never see again. He knows how loved their child will be, even in the most cursed depths of the royal court, and vows to never allow a hair on their heads harm, lest their enemies summon the nightmare that is Lelouchian fury above them. (Assuming they can read the warning letter.)

         “Welcome home, Clavis.” Having spotted him out of the corner of her eye, Clavis’ wife brandishes her grin his way, the glow apparent from what he could only describe as “the light of a thousand- no, a million- no, a hundred million suns!”

          “And say hi to your daddy, Felicia,” she coos, patting the baby’s back gently as she sits up further in bed. “But please don’t learn from his example.” Clavis theatrically slaps a hand over his chest, looking exasperated, as if he hasn’t the faintest clue what she could be referring to.

         “What better example would she have to learn from, aside from my most lovely wife?” Clavis sits at the edge of the bed by her side, leaning in to place a kiss to her forehead, lingering at her scent. “Would you rather she learn from one of my brothers?” At her grimace, he laughs, husky and warm and everything deliciously Clavis.

         “I was hoping Sariel could tutor her the way he did me,” she jokes, enjoying the look Clavis shoots her. “I’m kidding, love. Honestly.” He is still grimacing when she stifles her laugh. “Would you like to hold her?”

         Nothing in the world could have prepared Clavis for the reaction of finally getting to hold his beautiful, delicate baby girl in his arms… only to have her immediately begin wailing. Clavis tries everything he can to get her to stop crying, but she is only finally comforted by the feel and smell of mom, who she has become most acquainted with in her two shorts days on this Earth. A true connoisseur knows how to relish in the saltiest of tears, but these in particular left a sting in his heart. But no matter, he won over his wife’s heart, and he’ll win over his daughter’s affections. Clavis understands the appeal of being in his wife’s arms, he must admit, only slightly jealous of all her attention not being on him now.

         And if there’s anything that made Clavis happier than his wedding and the birth of his child, it’s that his little girl would prove to show her affections with signature Lelouch pitfalls. Clavis-patented, Yves-tested, Felicia-approved.

[angelofsmalldeaath]

like real people do — a.h.b.

cw: drug use (weed), suggestive content, shotgunning kinda, yapping (a lot of it)

smoke curls around my fingers in the moonlight. it’s 2 am on a summer night, the heat’s not blistering but it’s warm enough that we sit on the balcony with barely any clothes on, his hand on my thigh, my hand around a spliff.

“d’you think if we were on a different planet, or–or the moon, i dunno, you think we’d be on a balcony somewhere, pointing at the earth?” his voice sounds deeper to my ears than it usually does, the words floating through my veins as sluggishly as the blood. 

it’s a thought that takes my mind to interesting places. 

i snort. “you’re so high right now.”

he mimics my snort, eyes crinkling. “and you’re so far away right now, c’mere.”

i want to point out that our thighs are touching, my knee nudging his every few seconds when one of us moves. but then his fingers trail up, up, up—roughened pads of his index and middle fingers against the smooth skin of my thighs and suddenly i understand. he’s so far away. 

it’d be nicer if i could climb inside him and make a home in his chest cavity. right next to his beating heart. 

“thoughts,” he taps my head, “so many of them. what are you thinking?”

“about you, about your chest.”

“my chest?”

he turns fully now, facing me, body angled towards mine while his face looks half-amused half-confused. instead of answering, i take another drag of the spliff and hold it in my throat until it burns. until my body forces a release. 

“you’re so high right now!” he mimics my words from before in a high pitched voice. a poor imitation. 

“oi! you thought we could have a balcony somewhere on the moon!”

“i still think we would,” he protests. i watch him, enamoured all of a sudden, shivering when his thumb traces my bottom lip gently. “a house just like this. for the two of us. and i think i’d point at the earth, say ‘look at that, look at you and me—’”

“we’d somehow be on earth and on the moon? at the same time?” 

my amused tone makes him roll his eyes. “two versions, darling. keep up please. now where was i?”

“look at you and me—”

“ah yes!” his hand wraps around mine, lifting it up until both our fingers are pointing at a random star in the sky. 

“look at us, happy and content and tanned from the sun. you’d have blonde hair, i think—”

“you think i should have blonde hair?” i gasp at him, mock offended, “you don’t like my hair the way it is?”

“i love your hair. i’d love it even if it was red or blue or green or purple. but that’s not the point, the point is you’d have blonde hair because we’d be in the sun all day, gardening or keeping bees or kissing or—” and this time he waggles his brows like a teenager, “—fucking.”

i giggle. it’s a pretty thought, a distant dream. but in this moment, it almost feels…touchable. with my finger pointing at the star i grab, i curl my fingers until my hand closes into a fist and i feel the pulsating core of the fading dream in the centre of my palm. he smiles too, and brings the back of my hand to his lips. 

“we could do that, be the earth version of ourselves instead of the moon version. i could dye my hair y’know? oooh! we could dye it at home.”

“absolutely not.” he dismisses the idea quickly, before my weed-addled brain can make any plans, and takes the spliff away from me. i don’t protest though—it’s a different kind of joy to watch him indulge, to watch it dangling lazily between his lips until he tilts his face up to the sky and exhales. 

“mean,” i tut. “you’d think for a man with such a sweet tongue you’d be less mean to me.”

“oh, you think a lot about my tongue, do you?”

a flush creeps up my cheeks. it’s the heat in the air running inside me, crawling through my veins. it’s the beginning of a summer thunderstorm, zapping through my blood. 

“i do. i think about you. all the time.”

“even now? when i’m right next to you?”

“especially now. when you’re so close and so far away.”

then i feel his hand on my waist, a small nudge, and suddenly i’m in his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck. my cheek right above his beating heart. 

“better?”

“much.”

“stay like this then. stay forever.”

i smile at the thought of forever, of us growing old and frail right here on his balcony, tangled up exactly like we are, his fingers running through my grey hair, my hand on his wrinkled cheek.  

“open your mouth,” he nudges my chin with his thumb, parting my lips. a moment later smoke surrounds me—exhaled from his lungs, inhaled into mine. warm and charged and sweet. 

the faded dream comes to life, this time tinged with the promise of forever. i smile and bury my face into his neck. 

then i close my eyes. 

[8um8le]

don’t worry comet! If anyone scares or threatens you I and everyone else will gladly kill them for you!❤️ (also 8um8le8ee have you watched murder drones? I feel like you would like it but it’s ok if ya don’t want to watch it. I love your characters and the world you’ve built and I can’t wait to see more of it!Remember to stay hydrated and take care of yourself)

The appreciation for the silly soggy man, comet is so wholesome <33

Also I’ve seen one episode of murder drones, super cute character designs, also robots <33 but I haven’t got to watching the rest yet maybe one day 😂

[tea-tuesday]

travel tales: seoul, south korea

[birdietrait]

lisa bauer for @kashisun's simblr office

mostly keeps to herself

DON'T go through her desk

her girlfriend picks her up after every shift

nobody really knows anything about her...and she likes it that way

[tomoyoo]

since you went away the days grow long, and soon i'll hear old winter's song 🎶

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I NEED TO HEAR MORE ABT UR OPINIONS ON PRINCE!SUGU... it's giving me jinshi vibes........ FROM apothecary diaries......

I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED ANON >:33 HE REALLY IS SOOOOO JINSHI LMAO ………..

prince!suguru is... a handsome, polite man. respected and well-liked by royals, castle workers and townsfolk alike. widely renowned as the king’s favorite child. always in demand, a constant stream of invitations to attend public events, balls and banquets — ogled all the while. nothing seems to catch him off guard; he handles any conversation with practiced ease, charming and composed. you’d feel awfully safe, knowing the kingdom’s future will one day lie in his capable hands….

but all of that is surface level.

when suguru comes home, after a day full of sweet-talking princesses and speaking to the leaders of a neighbourhood kingdom — he slumps down on his bed and rots. depression style. lets out the most weary, disgruntled groan you’ve ever heard, and curls up like a sad shrimp. pouts and whines and mentally debates if he should ask one of the maids for a snack or let the hunger claim him. he’s basically just an introvert with a horrendous social battery and no choice but to act like a perfect prince every day. he’s so tired of it. he just wants to sleep in and drink tea and practice playing the harp :((( poor baby.

i’m thinking reader is his newly-appointed maid. and you’re obviously a little intimidated by him, because how couldn’t you be? but after a while, after spending so much time with him, you inevitably realize that he’s… kind of a loser. a little soggy. seeing how quickly he goes from ☺️ to 😞 gives you whiplash. and he gets very attached to you!!! he likes it when you coddle him a bit…. most of his maids are way older, but you’re just about his age. and he’s a little starved of normal interactions with friends. so he starts requesting your ”help” (it’s really just your company, he’s not as spoiled as you’d think) more than anyone else.

basically !!!! he’s a sad little soggy prince :33 lots of gap moe . on the outside he’s smiling, on the inside he’s daydreaming about a missile dropping down and setting the kingdom on fire. he is hanging on by a Thread. please vote for him in the next royal election.