#tea ish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crystalsandbubbletea · 8 hours

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What if we invaded Europe together and formed the AroAce Spec Empire?

One can dream... 😔

(Platonic posting, btw-)

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the-official-legacies-blog · 1 month

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Everybody tells me that I sound like Crystalsandbubbletea,

Probably because I aM CRYSTALSANDBUBBLETEA I AM CRYSTALSANDBUBBLETEA-

#the official legacies blog #the-official-legacies-blog #crystalsandbubbletea #I was feeling silly 💀#crystals ish #crystal ish #bubble tea ish #bubble ish #tea ish #rian ish

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factual-fantasy · 22 days

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Oh copy/paste and desktop Tumblr, how I've missed you so XDD

I'm still unable to sit at my desk for as long as I'd like to.. but I can sit long enough to draw some comics here and there at least! One of which being a (somewhat) angsty comic with Grim and V! Did you really think they escaped my angst curse?? It was only a matter of time before I cursed them as well! XDD

But for real, I've wanted to draw something angsty with Grim and V for a while now. And I'm glad I was finally able to! Even if its kind'aaa more of a goofy comic with angsty undertones rather than full on angst. XDD

The more I draw these two, the more lore I start to build in the background... I wonder if I should explore Grim's more serious angst sometime.. 😈😈

#do not tag as ship #pokemon scarlet and violet #gengar #sylveon #gardevoir #Gengar is really fun to draw :}}#trying to draw him with different expressions but keeping his eyes and mouth looking “gengar-ish” is a fun challange #sylveon is just WAY off model but that's what made this comic fun and goofy XDD #And what a sweetheart Gloria is #Grim and V sleeping near each other is likely normal and didn't raise any suspicion amongst the group #but Gloria could probably sense the stress and emotion in V with her psychic powers and what not #so she made him a sammich and some tea as a pick-me-up🥺💖

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andavs · 4 months

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Six Days of Buddie: Day Five

#anon i already did one with a sick-ish eddie and buck making tea/hot chocolate kind of thing #so here's a different thing with hot chocolate!#six days of buddie 2023 #six days of buddie #911 abc #buddie #my 911 art

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foreheadlicker69 · 3 months

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chuffed he is

#raccoon #animal #mother nature #raccoon art #animal art #my art #i love raccoons #bri ish #tea and crumpets #ta ta #toodaloo #was watching the incredbles and felt inspired

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tea-with-cinnamontoast · 4 months

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did you lose yourself

#tea with cinnamontoast #will wood #will wood and the tapeworms #self-ish #self-ish album

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swirlymarimo · 2 months

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Brook: *sips his tea*

Zoro: *staring into his cup*

Brook: So. You and Sanji san?

Zoro: *rolls his eye* Don't even get me started. He looked at me with those big blue eyes and I forgave him just like that, and now it's like nothing even happened.

Brook: That's okay isn't it?

Zoro: *remembering Thriller Bark*

Brook: Afterall, everyone is safe and sound.

Zoro: Is...is this how he felt? Back then?

Brook: It's not my place to say. However, it does not feel good does it?

Zoro: We're all ginormous idiots aren't we?

Brook: *chuckles*

#zosan #zoro x sanji #zoro and sanji #my post #zosan script #original zosan script #not incorrect quotes #brook #they 10000% talk over tea #tea and tea #angst ish #inspired by episode 1094 and then scene with Zoro and Brook having tea

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jijidraws · 1 year

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THIRSTY? 😈🧋✨

Boba babes! Done for Patreon in 2021 and this year. ♡ I’m trying to do one or two every summer for my sticker club! :3

#jijidraws #Jiji Knight #patreon stuff #done for patreon #boba #boba tea #boba babe #pinup #pinup art #cheeky #nsfw-ish #not really since everything is covered but! i know this is nsfw-ish to some since it IS a liiiittle cheeky #art only #artists on tumblr #Women Artists

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honeycollectswhump · 7 months

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prompt:

you think i actually care about you? cute.

with pet whumpee who started to truly love whumper and believed whumper loved them too

Love and Worship

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, cigarette burns

There is a certain kind of satisfaction linked to spending one’s evening alone in the big hall, surrounded by nothing but gold and jewels, resting on only the softest cushions while occasionally being fed grapes by servants with shaking hands. Others may call it a dream; Mireille calls it a well-deserved daily life.

Everything is beautiful, just as it is supposed to be. The furniture is spotless, having been meticulously cleaned the second Mireille leaves the room, each gem is polished like the morning sun. The servants –about a dozen– wear only the finest clothes, which are almost as expensive and certainly prettier than anything they deserve.

But what they deserve doesn’t matter, and who cares about the message trying to be sent, when the domestics look like they were taken from the streets?

This, the big hall, the rooms, every single floor is art. They are a stage for only the finest performers, and sometimes that means having to clothe simple actors in garments more expensive than their life is worth.

It’s a price Mireille is more than willing to pay. Money is never an issue and of course, they don’t outshine her.

Mireille leans back, letting her long black hair drape over the backrest, and takes a drag from the cigarette held loosely in her hand. She looks like a painting, like the pride and joy of a knowledgeable collector. Every single movement is deliberately elegant in a way that has been taught to her since childhood. A woman like her is worth her weight in gold.

Smoking is just another habit she picked up along the way. It’s part of a perfectly curated image, the mysterious lady, the untouchable femme fatale. A calculated show, one that Mireille cannot go without and the thought of abandoning it makes her hands shake, even though she’d rather die than admit it.

Decidedly, she stops that train of thought before any conclusions could be drawn that would be unbecoming for a lady of her calibre.

Mireille draws in a deep breath through her cigarette and blows the smoke in the air, watching it drift lazily through the hall. Right next to her, her ashtray kneels on the floor, waiting patiently.

Out of all of her purchases, he’s her favourite. He is undoubtedly beautiful, about as fine as a diamond, with golden hair and shining blue eyes. But then again, Mireille paid good money for his looks. His beauty is not a compliment, it’s the majority of his worth. She would not be satisfied with anything less than perfection.

Her adoration for her companion-decor goes further than his beauty and the entertainment he brings into her life though. There is something about this particular item that her other servants lack, whose fondness for her doesn’t go beyond an innate, natural sense of loyalty.

Her ashtray worships her. Mireille doesn’t need to hear him say it (and it’s not like he was made to speak in the first place). She can simply tell by the way he looks at her with nothing but pure reverence in his eyes. He offers himself up with eagerness and wears the burns like compliments on his skin.

It’s intoxicating.

All of her life, men and women alike have adored her, but this is a different, addicting kind of love. Without a doubt, she is the centre of his universe and Mireille would not have it any other way.

The cigarette is nearly burned to the end. After one last drag, she turns her attention towards her ashtray, pondering how she is going to leave a mark this time. There is so much to choose from, although the little round scars are beginning to pile up. It’s a game for her and a blessing for him.

“Give me your tongue, won’t you?” Mireille purrs and the ashtray complies immediately, of course. He straightens, eager to have received a command –both mindless puppet and loyal mutt–, and holds out his tongue for her. The thought of disobeying her order would never even cross his mind.

Something about the way he offers up such a vulnerable part of himself without hesitation gives Mireille a rush every single time. She presses the still-glowing cigarette end into the soft but marred flesh. It should cause a visceral reaction, even after the scar tissue must have numbed the nerve ends.

Her servants would whimper and cry in his place. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves, shaking in anticipation and fear of the pain. Instead, her ashtray barely shudders and keeps his body rigid and still until she is done.

Only then does he lift his eyes to her face, searching for her satisfaction. Just being allowed to look at her is reward enough for her ashtray, and his eyes shimmer with devotion. When she graces him with a smile, he vibrates with excitement and joy.

She lifts her hand to his head and pets him and the ashtray all but presses into her touch, content with a job well done. That’s the difference between her servants and her ashtray. He is looking forward to getting burned by her, there is nothing in the whole wide world that he’d rather do.

“You really are enjoying this, huh? Do you actually think I care about you? That’s so cute.” Mireille smiles.

And her stupid little ashtray just melts under a touch he thinks speaks of mutual affection.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0 let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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burnt-scone · 1 year

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@stedesbuttons on Twitter made me do it 🌶

Ref

#ofmd #our flag means death #simpleanarchy #aahaaaaah art #stede bonnet #stede ofmd #fanart #ofmd fanart #nsfw...ish #Stedes Tea-se #LacticMania #🌶

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awyeahitssam · 1 month

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So um...what would your response be if i. llke. demanded more tea shop au but in lowercase that's actually tea shop related? Is that something you would..maybe.. consider?

hahahaha, wait demand? no

...

Okay, but if it's lowercase, my dear-

One day, while Harry is leafing through order catalogues and considering various tea and coffee blends, a very faint voice says, ‘There.’

Harry stills, curious, and allows his gaze to be drawn towards the blend the horcrux had indicated. “You’d like some?”

There is a moment of stillness, a weighty silence, and the horcrux floods him with warmth and certainty and pleasure.

It’s a yes. It might even be a please.

Harry blinks away his daze, shakes his head, and marks the tea. Two cases.

The price is nearly double most blends he currently orders, but this was a specialty catalogue and his business is profitable enough to splurge far more than this.

When Harry makes the tea, when he tries it, he very nearly melts in his seat. It is more than his own reaction; it’s the horcrux’s pleasure as well. It makes sipping the brew satisfying on an entirely different level. Harry stops again and waits, mentally cataloguing the different flavour profiles as the horcrux delights.

Harry thinks he knows what he’s getting Voldemort for his birthday now.

The horcrux buzzes with surprise, with amusement, with the remnants of a pleasure that reignites every time the teacup kisses Harry’s lips and flavour bursts across his tongue. ‘Sweet boy,’ he whispers.

Harry rolls his eyes and takes another sip. Pretends that the praise doesn’t ignite something warm and soft in him, something malleable and easy to manipulate.

The horcrux senses the vulnerability, but it doesn’t touch it.

Not yet.

#ask #ask me anything #of course I will #this is tea shop ish related #tea shop au #my writing

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crystalsandbubbletea · 10 hours

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Being Demisexual and Demiromantic isn't enough, I need to invade Denmark with my fellow arospecs and acespecs

Scratch that, I need to invade ALL OF EUROPE with my fellow arospecs and acespecs

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damatically · 5 months

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In my unpopular opinion Diggers should be totally in jail for forced intoxication of many people.

#reverse 1999 #re1999 #reverse 1999 diggers #re1999 diggers #am i the only one who thinks like this cuz.... his bubbles is obv a hallucigenic drugs #needless to say he's not my cup of tea #hate post #? ish??#some twt user have tumblr acc went aggressive at me like...chill??? this isnt twitter 💀

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cult-of-the-eye · 6 months

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So I had this idea that when Martin gets mad at someone, he represses it and ends up being even nicer to them. It ended up being slightly longer than I thought it would be lol.

Content warnings - slight mention of martin's mum being ill, mental health issues and the effects of trauma are explored, a lot of self-hatred and general angst but a hopeful ending, hurt/comfort's angsty cousin

Martin K Blackwood has never heralded himself to be the most sane of people. He has never been under any illusion as to the effect of his childhood (and...other...situations) on his psyche. He has been to therapy, albeit once, in a short-lived, hugely embarrassing attempt during secondary school, where he was gently informed that his particular set of problems required more qualified areas of intervention. In short, as many times that people have helpfully informed him of his "fucked up"-ness, he has always been the one who was most aware of it. As a method of self-soothing, he tells himself that all poets are tortured. It's just for him, the poetry came before the torture. These thoughts, musings, poetic substance or whatever else, came to him whilst making tea for his boss, Jonathan Sims, one cloud-soaked afternoon.

It wasn't as if he meant it. Making someone tea after they had borderline reduced them to tears wasn't a conscious decision. His feet just moved, as of their own accord, out of Jon's office, one before the other, his trainers making soft thuds against the carpeted floor. Towards the kitchen. And if he's in the kitchen, he might as well make tea. And if he's making tea, he might as well make some for Jon. He put extra care into this mug - if he poured the water with steady hands then maybe he wouldn't start to cry. It would be silly to cry, he decided. This was a realisation that came as he stood still next the counter, watching the tea steep. It wasn't anyone's fault but his own that he cited the case wrong, he should've known. He should've been better at pretending to have a Masters degree in Parapsychology. Serves him right for lying. How could anyone have blamed Jon for shouting? It must seem like he's being inadequate on purpose. Some cruel joke being played on only him. So of course, he shouted. And of course, Martin cried. He expected heaving sobs, thundering through his whole body, as large and foreboding as the sky outside. Instead, they were sharp, singular and furious. How could he have known that he'd get a phone call from the hospital in the middle of the night saying that things had gotten worse? How could he have known that the citing method had changed? How could he have known that he would be saddled with the most inconsiderate, frustrating, bastard of a-

"Martin?"

Luck, it seemed could be added to the list of things Martin had never heralded himself to have. He hoped to whatever was up there, that he'd be wrong, for once. But he knew better than to hope, so he quickly shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes and took a small breath.

"Um, hi Jon, I...I was just, uh..."

"Making tea?" He offered.

Maybe inconsiderate was a tad hasty of him. He looked terrible. There was no way around it. His perfectly corporate office wear looked like it had been slept in for multiple days, the collars no longer perfectly ironed and creases running down his sweater vest. There was no tie and his hair fell out of the pristine up-do that he was sure took him hours to get right every morning. His face was haggard but more open than he was used to. It unnerved him slightly, to see the sharpness of his features microwaved into an artificial softness. It wasn't something he deserved. He had a knack for looking gift horses in their mouths. After all, he had contributed to those sleepless nights, his actions had probably driven Jon's hands frustratedly through his hair. And yet he was standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

He cleared his throat. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened his mouth again. He closed his mouth again. Martin could almost see the synapses firing in his brain, tiny little fireworks connecting dot after dot, trying to construct the most appropriate sentence for the situation. It took a while, but he got there.

"Martin. I came here to inform you that there was an error in the system. The citation method that you had used was in fact, the correct one. You may continue using that and I will have no issue."

Each word arrived stilted. It was as if he had written it out for some AI helper to read out loud and then repeated it back to said robot. Martin didn't mind, exactly, he was too busy processing what had actually been said to care about how he had said it.

"Was that an apology?"

Jon's face shifted immeasurably. It took a few seconds of awkward silence for him to realise that he was blushing. Immediately, Martin took note of all the signs, knowing that now that he'd seen it, he would never want to miss it again. The tips of his ears turned pink and his mouth twitched, as if he was desperately keeping down a vomit of facial expressions. The solid rock of anger was deep inside Martin and thankfully stopped him from regretting anything he had said. His veins turned to gravel, as he clasped and unclasped his hands by his side.

"I believe so.", came the answer. It did nothing to liquify the solidity in his veins, so out came another sentence that he would lie awake thinking about at night.

"Can I have a proper one?"

"I don't know what you mean, Martin."

The tea was cold, anyway. He had nothing left to lose.

"I want an apology, Jon. I take all of your criticisms on stride, no matter how much I think about how you could've said it in a nicer way or how you don't do this with Tim or Sasha or how I've been working my ass off, this whole time. I'm sorry the archives are way more disorganised than you thought they'd be and I'm sorry you're struggling but you shouldn't take that out on me."

"I'm not struggling, Martin."

He barked out a laugh. "Of course that's the bit you focus on."

Finally, he seemed to have touched a nerve. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him feel nauseous. Every bone in his body told him to stop talking, shut his mouth and grovel. Fix this. The words had been projecting out of his mouth, wriggling like sickly, pale maggots, but part of him wanted to keep talking until he was empty. Until he had no more words to throw. But it was in Jon's nature to ruin his plans. Just like he had ruined his promotion by being an ass. Just like he had ruined his ability to hate him by being just the right amount of kind.

"I'm sorry, Martin. I really am."

Martin had once been told by a therapist that he was using the word "should" to beat himself up. This was the very same therapist that had declared her lack of qualification in the first session, so he dismissed it. He thought of her as the "shoulds" flooded into his brain. One stood out from the rest, unable to be sharpened into the weapon he wanted. It shouldn't have been enough. He should have pushed for more of an apology, he should've asked for more kindness, but the fact of the matter was that it was enough. It was Jon and he was apologising. He knew he was going to take it, no matter how this conversation had gone. He knew it from the very first time he laid a cup of tea on his desk and had been barely acknowledged.

"Thank you, Jon."

Maybe he should return to therapy. Maybe he was fucked up. Maybe he was no longer the only one who knew that. Jon awkwardly shuffled off, leaving rubble where there once was a jumper-clad man. Martin did the only thing he knew how to do. He clicked on the kettle, to make another cup of tea.

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hungryhungry-himbo · 2 years

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May I request an immobile shiba inu boy *blushes viciously*

Not immobile but I needed to make a chubby shibu boy cutie

#art request #It started w a crappy ish sketch but #also can you tell I want strawberry boba tea #male weight gain #male wg art #belly kink #male bhm

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tea-with-cinnamontoast · 8 months

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i am very normal about the self-ish album. i am very normal about the self-ish album. i am very normal about the self-ish album. i am very normal about the self-ish album. i am very normal abou—

#tea with cinnamontoast #will wood #self ish #my soul ascends whenever i play the album

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