reasons to drink tea

music and lyrics yoongi for @auriee happy birthday, cutie~ 

Oblivious-To-Love Starters
  • "I had the biggest crush on you, it's embarrassing now that I think about it."
  • "I know this is silly but thank you for not making a big deal out of my crush on you, you never even mentioned it once."
  • "My boyfriend/girlfriend/partner doesn't like me seeing you because they know I still have feelings for you."
  • "How could you not have known how I felt? I thought everyone knew."
  • "I was so tempted to kiss you back then..."
  • "Everyone knew I had feelings for you, how could you not?"
  • "I kissed you on the cheek and you didn't say anything about it, I assumed you weren't interested."
  • "Are you kidding me? You seriously didn't know?"
  • "We kissed. I know it was small but it still meant something to me."
  • "You mean this whole time I've been flirting with you, you've not been interested at all."
  • "Of course I was flirting with you, I don't give compliments like that to just anyone."
  • "I told you I left my bedroom door unlocked, how could you not get the hint?"
  • "Of course I liked you, who the hell sends platonic love letters?!"
  • "Of course I wanted more. Nobody invites anyone over for coffee at 2am."
  • "Are you telling me that the whole time this has been one-sided?"
  • "Of course there was sexual tension, you just never reacted to it so I assumed it was only me."
  • "It was supposed to be a date, I didn't ask you out just to drink tea for no reason."
  • "I used to go home every night cursing myself for not having kissed you. Kind of wish I had the courage now."
The Adventures of Todd and Granny

(Alternatively: “I Saw Granny Ethel with the Devil”)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Unexpected Guest

Today is a good day for Todd—though they mostly are, as of late.

He’s heard people, mostly the damned, mention the “good ol’ days”; these must be his in the making.

By the end of the afternoon, he’s improved greatly on his stitch counting and his triple crochets and, especially, in mastering how to properly turn his piece so his rows are no longer frustratingly mismatched. It’s still a work in progress, but Granny Ethel’s lessons are wonderful as always. Next up is learning how to incorporate another yarn color for bright, fun designs—or in his case, dark and atmospheric—after their midday break of coffee and desserts, of course. Because as fond as she is of his preferred black yarn, she insists he has to branch out from solids eventually. There’s no growth if one always remains in their comfort zone.  

Instead of coffee, however, Granny Ethel is in the mood for tea—and just as with everything else he’s inherited from her lifestyle, the art of brewing tea presents a difficult learning curve.

She doesn’t take her tea from grocery store boxes and tiny sachets—she doesn’t buy those in bulk because they only go to waste and sit stale in the cupboards. When she drinks tea at all (that is, when she isn’t in the mood for espresso), it must be fresh, and from organic, homegrown ingredients. For this reason, tea isn’t an impulsive choice of drink. It must be planned. It’s another lesson she’s instilled in him during his stay, and, the week before, they’d spent an entire morning identifying each of the specific herbs thriving in the back garden, and which parts were best used in which blends. Of course, he is well acquainted with the rosemary and sage, the lavender and thyme, the basil and juniper, and the chamomile and anise. But lemongrass is new, and it grows in abundance in the planters set on the windowsills.

Because it’s such a novelty, he chooses it as the main note and adds in chamomile blossoms to offset the citrus tang. It’s a challenge to balance it just right so neither is too overwhelming, nor too bland, and he doesn’t expect this to be a great attempt, but Granny Ethel is honest with her evaluations and generous with encouragement. There’s also the matter of heating the water to a proper boil, and not overheating the mix, then steeping it for the right amount of time…

Well, there’s a reason he never apprenticed to a potion brewer and enlisted in the debt collecting department for souls instead.

But for Granny Ethel, he tries his best.

The kitchen counter, small as it is, is a difficult surface to work with. The kitchenware is tiny in his hands, and if he isn’t careful when he moves, his horns scrape the ceiling above, sending a fine powder of popcorned drywall down like snow out of season.

Water sloshes out of the kettle and spills across the granite, some trickling down onto the tiles, and the small, fragile jar he mixes the herbs in cracks beneath his claws, but doesn’t shatter. He scoops out the blend with care and packs it loosely into a metal tea strainer, but even so, most of it ends up scattered across the counter. Grass and petals bounce and dive out of the tea ball as he fumbles to secure the latch, and by the end of the struggle, only a small portion of what he’d placed remains within.

He tries once more—and again. And once more, just until there’s an appropriate measurement of herbs trapped inside. Then, ever-so-carefully, he sets the tea ball into Granny Ethel’s favorite tea cup (the special one, decorated with playful kittens and ribbons and an elaborate, golden cursive “C”) and pours boiling water over it to steep.

A freshly-baked apple pie waits on the small, round dining table, taken fresh from the oven only an hour before. A sliver of the circle has been removed for tasting—and it is delicious. Slicing two pieces of the pie is a far simpler task than brewing tea, and Todd makes sure that Granny Ethel’s piece dwarfs the plate it sits upon, because she deserves the best. And bigger is better.  

The two dessert-filled plates sit across from each other, equidistant, on the table, on finely crocheted doilies that serve as placemats. The pastel yellow tablecloth covering the table is riddled in fragile, embroidered daisies and winding leaves and it screams spring despite the heat of summer weighing heavy in the air. He’ll have to find another to replace it with, soon. Maybe one with sunflowers.

As he considers this, the doorbell rings.

It isn’t something he thinks twice about anymore. Not since their new friend from the supermarket made it habit to participate in their weekly Yahtzee or domino nights, and their bi-weekly trips to the bingo hall.

Neither does Granny Ethel—he can hear her call to the door from the living room, remaining in her seat, “Come in, dear! The door is unlocked.”

But it isn’t a game night, or a bingo day.

It’s midafternoon on a Tuesday and the only thing scheduled for the remainder of the day is a rerun of one of their favorite TV dramas about two women in law enforcement.

The door creaks open—it’s something Todd’s been meaning to fix, though the home is sorely lacking in tools and hardware necessary for the job. If there was hinge lubricant around, it would fix it right up, but he may have to resort to cooking oil as a quick fix.

Curiosity gets the better of him. Carefully balancing the teapot and teacup in both clawed hands, he approaches the carpeted hall between the kitchen and living room to take a peek at the mystery guest. But multitasking, pouring the tea and looking at the same time, proves to be a mistake and in hindsight something he should have avoided.

The tea, so carefully prepared and brewed, overflows from the fine china cup, spills onto the matching, chipped saucer and steadily splatters the floor. Todd doesn’t even move, doesn’t blink, as it saturates the floral rug beneath his claws. The drips are the only thing moving in this scene removed from time, and all else stands still, even the dust in the air.

Neither of them expected a guest today—neither of them ever expected this particular guest. Mostly because one believes he is already present, and one believes he is too selfish to ever even have the passing thought to visit, much less call or write.

“Oh no, Todd, the carpet! Hurry now, dear, hurry, go and—no, I’ll go and grab a towel, I know where the cleaning ones are!”

Granny Ethel is the first to break free from the frozen atmosphere—though she refuses to acknowledge anything aside from the growing stain on the living room floor. Todd quickly rights the white china teapot hanging from his claws and holds his other hand steady to prevent the flooded teacup from dripping more hot tea to the puddle below. It doesn’t work—seems to make it worse, actually. It’s a vain task, so he gives up and cradles it all in his large hands, doing his best to keep the remaining tea contained in his palms. 

“‘Todd?’” says the clean-cut young man standing in the open doorway, a jarring juxtaposition to the black clothes and heavily-blackened eyes and metal accessories from familiar photographs—but even in the full Sunday suit, those downturned, bright eyes are unmistakable, and they are fixed unblinkingly on Todd’s decidedly un-Todd-like form. “Who are you?

I’m you, but better, doesn’t seem like an appropriate response, no matter how true it is. Todd the demon holds his silence and doesn’t break the gaze, because it feels like a challenge.

This man is the human Todd, and he’s come to visit.

Today is a….strange day, for Demon Todd.

Tea time is no longer a pleasant, cozy time. Not with their extra guest, seated between them at the small round table with a (small) slice of pie of his own and an untouched glass of water—no tea, no coffee, for him. He’s tall—a bit too large for the small table, though Demon Todd is one to talk. But being who he is, it’s only natural he dwarfs everything around him. This Human Todd, though… just what is his excuse?

Granny Ethel hasn’t spoken a single word to the young man the entire time and her silence is strange. She’s usually such a chatty, friendly woman.

So they eat in silence—but not Human Todd. He sits still, staring with narrowed, mean eyes, on edge. But not entirely frightened, like the general public tended to be in his presence. It’s odd. Perhaps it runs in the family.

As he sits in the silence, he wrings his hands together—clean hands, like one unaccustomed to frequent physical labor. No dirt in sight underneath his nail beds. Not even flecks of old nail polish hinting at remnants of a secret grunge lifestyle never quite grown out of. Whatever he has grown into certainly isn’t that of someone who toils in the underworld or its culture, like his counterpart.

No, rather, it reeks of money. Given—not earned. And possibly taken, too.

Demon Todd has an inkling of why Human Todd is here. After all, he didn’t come alone. Accompanying his arrival were three large, expensive suitcases, stuffed full. Still sitting in the living room, out of place.

At long last, as the last crumb falls, Granny Ethel speaks.

“Well, dear, speak up, speak up. What brings you here?” she asks the young man as she pats at the corners of her wrinkled mouth with a cloth napkin, and she avoids speaking his name despite the fact that she must know who he is.

The words, though, aren’t entirely conversational. With the three of them sitting at the small table, it more resembles a conference—no, a hearing. Especially when she pulls up the thick, round spectacles hanging from crocheted strings around her neck and sets them atop the bridge of her nose to better see the new visitor.

Human Todd’s eyes drift warily from the long, sharp claws tapping silently on the tabletop, and he clears his throat before looking to his grandmother, wearing a sickly sweet and fake smile as he does. “Well, it’s been so long. So, so many years, Gran. I’ve missed you, see. Dad was in the wrong, and he treated you terribly. I understand that now.”

“Ah, Arthur…” she replies faintly, setting the napkin down on the table and folding her hands across her lap. Yes—she knows exactly who Human Todd is. But the behavior is still so unlike her. No joy, no sweet smiles. All gone, drained, as empty as the teacup set in front of her, but not even leaving the dregs of what she once was behind.

Demon Todd briefly considers kicking Human Todd to the curb.

“He said awful things about you, and I listened. I came here by way of apology, to take care of you, but,” briefly, and not without a flinch, his eyes wander to Demon Todd, and linger on the dark, hand-crafted shawl perched on his spiny shoulders, “it seems like you’ve already gotten that under control.” His gaze lingers, fixed in a poorly-concealed grimace. “Who are you, by the way?”

Granny Ethel speaks for him, and for a moment her cheer returns. “This is my wonderful grandson, Todd! He’s such a polite young man. And it’s true, life has certainly become easier, and better, since he arrived and helped out so, so much.”

Demon Todd can only nod, but if he could smile without it looking like several rows of craggy, sharp teeth gnashed together in malicious threat, he would.  

Human Todd wrenches his gaze away, and pulls at the collar of his pristine white shirt. His hairline shines with sweat, and it isn’t due to the cozy temperature Granny Ethel prefers to keep in the house.

“Then…who am I?” he ventures quietly, eyebrows furrowed in an odd mixture of confusion and shame. Ah, the bafflement of mortals.

“Why, dear, I couldn’t say. In fact, I’d say that depends entirely on you! Actions speak louder than words, don’t you know.”

The sweat creeps down his temples, shining in the faint light. “Right, I…I see.”

“But if you’d like a name…I would insist on Theodore. What do you think, Todd, dear?”

Demon Todd nods once more, pleased by the way the conversation unsettles the man. In fact, the situation is much like naming a pet. Although something fluffy and small, or covered in feathers, would be preferable to this sweaty human.

“Theodore it is, then!”

Human Todd—now, Theodore—switches his gaze between them, fingers tugging at his shirt collar once again. “Alright. Theodore it is,” he agrees, as if, perhaps, it has been his name all along, and using a shortened form of it had been a way to rebel, once upon a time. A memory lost to time. A privilege denied. “I guess I deserve that.”

“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way, Theodore, dear, how long are you planning on staying? I must warn you, showing up unannounced means Todd and I haven’t been able to prepare for guests. I’m afraid that means you and Todd will have to share a room until we’re able to make other arrangements.”

Theodore gulps audibly, Adam’s apple bobbing. He refuses to meet Demon Todd’s—just Todd, again, something of a victory—eyes. “Y-yes Gran.”

“And you must be aware of the house rules. Everyone contributes in any way they’re able.”

“Actions speak louder than words, right?” Theodore asks, shaky fingers reaching for the glass of water set in front of him. Not quite making it and falling still on the table, instead.

“That’s right, dear.” Granny Ethel smiles, at last. Full of her old joy again, as she should be. Renewed. Her eyes, large and owlish behind the clouded lenses, turn to Todd. “Now, Todd, won’t you be a dear and show our new house guest to his room?”

Todd looks to the dirty dishes on the table, caught between wanting to tend to them before taking care of any other, less important, duties.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the dishes.”

Well, Granny Ethel’s word is law.

He rises to his feet—careful, always careful. Barely resisting the urge to let the ends of his horns graze the ceiling above Theodore so he gets a nice, healthy dose of powdered scrapings on his painstakingly slicked-back hair.

The man follows, cautiously, and keeps three steps behind as Todd leads him out of the kitchen and into the living room to scramble for his luggage, then down the hallway to the guest room, not making a peep, and not even stepping hard on the floors just to startle his counterpart a little, because one, it would flatten the carpets into ugly tracks, and two, Granny Ethel would want him to be a good host.

Theodore knows who—what—he is. Yet even when Granny Ethel is out of sight and out of earshot, he doesn’t question it. He simply goes about his business and does his best to ignore the hulking beast standing in the doorway, watching.

Though, between the two of them, Todd isn’t sure which one is the real monster.

It’s a conversation for another day.

Take Two (Part Two)

*summons this part in the series from the depths of hiatus* Surprise! ;) <3

Take Two (Part One)

^This is part of longer ‘extra’ scenes from a full series. Link to all current previous parts above! <3

Also on ao3 here

Content warning for: brief mention of alcohol and drunkenness 

Patton has been one of the few certainties Logan has ever had. In a world of changing variables, there he is, an always.

Which is probably why Logan finds it so terrifying that he could get things wrong and lose him.

Logan remembers the feeling starting slowly and simply. It’s a fleeting, in the moment thing- like trying to capture the sun as it darts behind clouds.

He remembers entering the kitchen one night and finding Patton still up, staring at a blank word document. He reasons that perhaps even Patton can get stressed, sometimes. Judging by the lateness of the hour, and how Patton’s lifting up his glasses to rub at his eyes, Logan thinks the time for work is over.

He boils the kettle in preparation for tea and is in the middle of reaching for his mug when he asks Patton if he’d like a drink.

Patton turns off his laptop, and just shrugs and smiles. “Whatever you’re having.”

“But-why would-” Logan grabs his mug and searches for Patton’s, quickly hiding a smile behind his hand. “Patton, you don’t even like tea.”

He debates whether or not to make Patton a hot chocolate since he knows he definitely does like that, at least, but worries if the sugar will keep him up. The decision is taken out of his hands when, after stirring his tea, he looks up and sees Patton’s head tilting sideways.

“Patton?” Logan goes over to the couch and it’s only when his hand has already reached out to carefully support Patton’s head that he realises he’s done it in the first place. What on earth…?

Keep reading

ladybug friend: actually chill, likes to bake, drinks coffee 24/7, genuinely jazzed to be here, fake but pretends not to be, sunshine and rainbows, zany smiles, “i forgot”, doesn’t cry easily, likes sweet-smelling flowers, gets competitive over board games, tap dances in the grocery aisle, says they’re not going to get into it but always does

firefly friend: really nice but will fight if you push them, exclamation points!!!!, summer breezes, hopeful even when sad, loves comics, writes in caps, orange blossoms, notes of encouragement, dark past but you wouldn’t know it, gives the best hugs, Eyebrows of Doom, sparkly jewelry, knowledgeable about weird trivia facts, thinks YA is deepest of the deep

butterfly friend: tragic™, tries to be chill but is really shy, owns a billion candles, pretty but has Too Many Problems, knows about Art, wine and whine, makes bad decisions, cries five times a day, does it perfectly or doesn’t do it at all, daydreams about closet space, texts you at 3 am to tell you their dream, winter sunsets, believes in love at first sight

luna moth friend: secret geek, “the rules are there for a reason”, sarcastic but honest, not as chill as they act, drinks tea, doesn’t understand poetry, has actual trash taste, binge watching master, pretends to be an intellectual but actually isn’t, shares memes with you, thinks yoga pants are valid, still uses XD, s'mores and firepits

lacewing friend: sCIENCE, wishes scrunchies were still a thing, constant research on multiple topics, brings up topics that shouldn’t be allowed but are interesting, romanticizes cacti, doesn’t actually sleep, baffled by people who are hurt by bluntness, space aesthetic = anthem, would lick a rock without even being dared to, owns Too Many mugs, makes friends with trees, 80s music

bee friend: nice stationary, can’t sit still, the Mom friend, quietly judgmental, drinks coffee but it’s full of sugar, reads the label on food, uses highlighters but only because they think it looks nice, can’t dance at parties, listens to jazz, can’t watch action movies because they’re Too Much, thinks Tom Hanks is bae, freesia shampoo, highkey about hygiene 

dragonfly friend: always down to eat your leftovers, pretends to be chill but has no chill, pizza and crazy stunts, “are we there yet”, ripped jeans and ponytails, the smell of the ocean, will Protect You™, dRAGONS!!!, rock paper scissors is a viable way to clear up disagreements, takes music Very Seriously, sparklers at night, actually understands difficult theories but doesn’t get into it, snuggles in their sleep

I apparently started writing this within the last few weeks. I swear I don’t remember doing it, but it exists in my Google Docs, so I guess I did. So … some Perc’ahlia fluff for your Monday, I suppose!


Percy notices a lot more things about Vex now. Not that he didn’t catalog her every movement, hoarding her smiles like treasures, before … well, before, but now he has context for things he never had reason to think about before. Such as the sharp, tangy smell of the tea she brews once a week, a packet she continues to get from Sherri, even now that Gilmore’s shop is (at least temporarily) out of service. The scent makes his nose itch, but she often brews it before bed when he’s with her, likely because their nocturnal activities remind her of its need.

(He could write chapters, an entire novel, on the things he now knows about her thanks to these activities. Those things, he keeps stored in a corner of his mind to warm him in his colder moments.)

Keep reading

some snape headcanons

  • pulled a reverse harry potter at his sorting: the hat told him he’d do well in gryffindor and snape went “uh no thanks”
  • greasy hair is due to his upbringing - they were always too poor to afford soap/shampoo and snape went so often without that he doesn’t use it out of habit
  • asexual
  • better than most wizards with muggle things - he was brought up in a muggle household, he knows how the stuff works
  • likes muggle music
  • dislikes ravenclaws more than gryffindors bc the little shits always try to correct him and/or think they know better than him
  • didn’t want lily to date james bc he thought james might hurt her
  • keeps journals
  • messy researcher type
  • so much of what harry sees is a carefully and methodically constructed Persona made to help his spying 
  • aims to wound, not kill
  • almost ravenously curious and intellectual
  • makes a decent wage as a teacher, but spends almost none of it - years of poverty have made him careful with his money
  • suicidal
  • doesn’t drink alcohol
  • read whatever he could get his hands on as a kid, which included dictionaries - there’s a reason he’s got an expansive vocabulary
  • actually pretty chummy with mcgonagall - they drink tea together sometimes and they have a friendly rivalry
  • duels with flitwick to keep sharp
  • night owl
  • has ptsd and depression, gets panic attacks
  • forgets to eat sometimes when he’s on a roll with research or distracted
  • cuts his own hair
  • until he hit puberty he had this squeaky ass voice
  • wears all of his mom’s old hand-me-downs - doesn’t get his own clothes until he is in adulthood and can buy them himself

7 Reasons to Drink Tea:

1. Tea contains high levels of antioxidants, which aid in cell regeneration and some studies indicate they may prevent cancer.

2. Tea speeds up your metabolism, particularly green tea. This is an added bonus to the fact it contains no calories.

3. Tea can calm you down when you’re nervous. A nice, hot mug of tea at the end of a long, stressful day can do wonders for your state of mind

4. Your skin will look better. Studies indicate that the antioxidants in tea may help to keep acne at bay.

5. Tea helps boost your immune system. If you are looking to get sick less often, tea is the beverage for you.

6. Tea can help you sleep at night. Insomniacs should try rooibos at night before they go to bed.

7. The tannins in fluoride and tea help fight tooth decay. Drink more tea, end up with a better smile!

anonymous asked:

I work at the golden arches and for a while we've had any size soft drink for $1. For some reason many people are under the impression tea is a soft drink and are upset when they order a large sweet tea and it is $1.19 (like, do you think coffee is a soft drink too?) Having to say "only fountain drinks are $1" 500 times a day is irritating, sure, but you get used to it. However every once in a while a customer will get pissed off and start yelling at me over $.19. I don't set the prices people!!

Gibbs Prompt Request

This was requested by anon: 69. “I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’.” with Gibbs?

(gif belongs to of-badges-and-guns)

You were sitting in Pride’s kitchen, drinking a cup of tea.  The only reason you were in New Orleans, was to get a break from D.C..  When Pride offered you a place to stay for a week or so, you weren’t going to pass that up.  He was good friends with your boyfriend, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Pride stood in the doorway of the kitchen, offering you a friendly smile.  “Someone’s here for ya [Y/N],” Pride informed you.  “Ah’m gonna head to my bar for the night.  Call if ya need anythin’.”

As you rinsed out your mug, you heard a pair of footsteps coming into the kitchen.  You looked up, noticing that it was Gibbs who had entered the room.  He had to be the guest that Pride was talking about.

“Hey [Y/N],” Gibbs said lowly as he stopped in the middle of the kitchen.  

You came around the counter, approaching the Marine slowly.  “Hey Jethro,” you replied.

There was a certain aspect in your tone that led Gibbs to believe that you weren’t particularly thrilled that he was in New Orleans.  He knew he was the reason you were here in the first place.  Guilt is what brought him here in the first place.

You let out a long sigh when Gibbs didn’t say anything.  “Good talk I guess,” you muttered, brushing past him.

Gibbs turned around and reached for your wrist, pulling you to a stop.  “I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’,” the Marine said in a hushed voice.  “I came here to ask you to come back home.”

“Is that so,” you asked, raising an eyebrow at the agent.

Gibbs let out a small breath as he took a step closer to you.  “I’m sorry [Y/N],” Gibbs apologized.  “Home isn’t home when you’re not with me at the end of the day.”

Your face softened as you met his gaze.  “I wanna be mad at you, but you’re making it so damn hard,” you murmured, fighting a smile.  “Let me go get my stuff and we can go home.”

Gibbs released your wrist from his hand.  He knew that this wasn’t the end of the discussion.  Even though he wasn’t a fan of talking, he would bear through this one for the sake of your relationship.

Tag List: @saranasai, @becauseflife, @profiler-in-training, @haeminhee, @holding-on-to-francis, @lizbeth-loves-bobear, @maybe-mikala, @starlight-showers6380, @line-viper, @moose-on-the-l00se, @massivelyunsteadyposter, @spaceemonkeyyxd, @jez-zolnierz, @pocketcow, @shadycollectioncoffeeuniverse, @mija-novella, @trashforwinchesters, @emilyymichelle, @ivvitm1109, @girl-next-door-writes, @flufy07, @gabriels-trix, @rayleyanns, @myplaceofthingsilove, @mycuddlycorner, @mogaruke, @super–who–locked, @greieba, @wanna-see-my-lease, @lapsissolaregina,


nov 14/ starting the week off strong! went to my favorite place, got a lot of coffee and got even more work done. i studied for a few quizzes i have coming up, got caught up on reading, and finished an essay i have due next week. it’s getting colder out which makes me even more productive, and gives me more reason to drink tea, so i’m not complaining ☕️

Making it’s debut onto the list for cringest PLL moments, here is 7x11’s ending posing as a strong contender for a top 10 spot! Reasons being:

  • The shakiness and drinking from a painfully, obvious empty tea cup
  • The reality tv confessional style set up as if she was about to explain her life story on Lifetime’s “I Survived”
  • The afterlife-looking lighting
  • The randomly slamming of the book on Jenna’s knees
  • The fact that AD’s gameplay book is that thick to begin with
  • Jenna’s fingers swiping wildly at the braille as if we are supposed to believe she is reading anything when she’s jumping lines like she’s giving that page a $3 massage
  • Whispering “endgame” as MK & Co. shamelessly continue their attempts of making that a thing in this show’s last dying days

What would you rate this on the cringe scale?

i’ll start us off with a headcanon: the waverider gets a coffee machine. you may wonder why it didn’t have one before and to that i say, uh, duh, rip only drinks coffee when he’s hungover, otherwise he’s strictly on tea. so gideon has always fabricated coffee

and you’re probably like oh but what about kendra she’s a barista?? and kendra is like uh i just worked a coffee service job im FINE if i dont have to look at another coffee machine THANK YOU

and meanwhile i think, last counted, rip had accumulated 1923 different teas in the storage room. people come on this ship not even liking tea and are left with no choice and also, we have no room for anything else in the storage room. the more tea the team drinks the more storage space they get, but ANYWAY

so sara, probably bc she’s still feeling very petty, buys a big ol’ fucking coffee machine and hoists a bag of coffee right in front of the storage room door and she’s like i don’t know about you but I, personally, not for any petty reasons, want coffee, so now we only drink coffee
amaya: i like tea-
sara: we only drink coffee
stein: coffee will literally destroy my bladder

so a few things happen with this fun new machine:
1. sara got it at a yard sale and it SUCKS
2. it’s probably haunted
3. ray hasn’t let himself have coffee in 10 years but now he has started again and this is causing a PROBLEM

at some point zari is like you guys ray is literally running on about 2 hours of sleep a week and i think we should get rid of the coffee machine and mick is like fair but, the coffee machine may have put a curse on the ship, i don’t know if we can get rid of it

nate is like guys i think we’re looking at it the wrong way look at all the stuff ray’s gotten done without the need for sleep in his life! his adhd is soaring to new heights
ray: i’ve found a cure
nate: for what
ray: s i n 
nate: we should get rid of the haunted coffee machine

anyway they try to get rid of it and the old lady in the coffee machine possesses ray and they have to perform an exorcism whatever and when rip does eventually come back he’s like why is there a bag of coffee beans in front of my tea closet and sara just yells from the other room GO FUCK YOURSELF