stop sipping

.bad habits. a stream of consciousness?

its like when you take the first sip of tea, it painfully sizzles on your tongue
theres nothing you can do besides wait out the pain
you know the tea is still hot, yet you take another sip
this time the pain is more bearable
but now, you have two burnt patches on your tongue
these are going to take a few days to heal
each time you go to eat or drink something, you will be reminded of the two little burns
.an unpleasant sting.

this doesn’t stop you from sipping the tea
it tastes good therefore it must be finished, no matter how hot or cold it gets
determination to succeed such an insignificant task in the hope that the ego feels warm and accomplished
to prove a point?
i dont know

people seem to have a habit of going back to things that hurt them in the hope that the second,
third or forth time round
they will be stronger.
or possibly just more prepared.

the devil never sleeps when he is fuelled with the flames that ignite his fire.

—  Cartia Mallan
  • Jumin: *in a teacup ride, holding a teacup*
  • Jumin: I misunderstood the point of this ride.
  • DC: So yeah, Wonder Woman is getting a trilogy of movies and a prominent role in the Justice League movies, Suicide Squad has four leading ladies, 2 of whom are woc, and now we're doing a Harley movie that will feature other DC ladies as well(Batgirl and the BoP being possible contenders). Also Lois Lane is the key.
Signs as things my little brother has done:

Aquarius: *takes sip of chocolate milk* “Is it good?” *stops sipping, smiles* “It’s choco-licious”

Pisces: When my mom told him to go to time out, he replied, “No, Ashley, you go to time out!”

Aries: “No like it!” proceeds to shove a whole forkful of noodles into his mouth

Taurus: *screeching from him pushing his baby chair across the kitchen* “Blaise! No!” *screeching stops* “Me want chocolate!” *screeching continues*

Gemini: *sound of running* *crash* “Blaise, did you just run into the wall?” “Me fine.”

Cancer: “I want *sob* my *sob* duck!” “Where’s your duck?” “In *sob* my *sob* belly! *loud, uncontrollable sobbing*” (it wasn’t in his belly)

Leo: *Staring at himself in the mirror* *proceeds to flex his arms* “Me batman” in a deep, gruff voice for a two yr old *kisses his reflection*

Virgo: *my moms driving at 10 mph in a parking lot* “Go too fast! Slow down, mom!” “…I am.” “Too fast!”

Libra: “Blaise, did you punch your friend Jace in the face?” “Yes!” “…why?” “Jace bit me butt.”

Scorpio: *walks over, arms spread wide to give a hug* *leans in* *wipes buggers and runs*

Sagittarius:  *me, arguing with a 2 yr old* “I’m Blaise” “No. Me Blaise” “No. I’m Blaise. You’re sister.” “Nooooooo. Me Blaise. YOU’RE sister.”

Capricorn: “One…two…three……five…seven…six…nine…”


Here’s another sneak peek at a song from our Christmas Special that airs this Friday night at 8 pm on Nickelodeon. Hey, the network has let us out of the basement and for 30 minutes is pretending like they aren’t ashamed of us!

This episode is super special to us. We worked hard to make a holiday event that felt unique. It’s a half-hour of musical shorts with no dialogue, done Fantasia style. There’s a little bit of singing (I apologize in advance) and even some stop-motion. So sip some nog, yule your log, and jingle your bells cuz It’s Christmas, You Dorks!

Christmas Gifts

A/N: You all have been amazingly patient for an update, but beyond that you have been so loving of my Rami stories….so coming off my hiatus I’ve decided to share a story which has been in my phone for months for Mr. Robot. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts?

Request: You tell Elliot you love him for the first time.

Words: 1349

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Motorcycle Crash Survivor Records “Final Words”

On Octobre 15 Kevin Diepenbrock and Philip Polito, two riding companions and co-workers, tumbled more than 100 feet down a rocky embankment after their motorcycles collided on a notorious stretch of Highway 129 called The Dragon. Polito was killed in the crash, and the 41-year-old Diepenbrock was flung out of sight from passengers.
Laying motionless in a ditch just off the highway with two punctured lungs, a dozen broken ribs, and several spinal fractures, he took out his phone to make one, final statement. Recording his last words, Diepenbrock sent his love to his wife, parents, and his especially large pack of dogs.
Stopping to take a sip of water, a passing motorist found him nearly 30 hours later. 

Ficlet: Marshmallow Santa

Just another little Christmassy drabble inspired by my muse, the lovely @vivianadichiara.

Marshmallow Santa

“Dan! I’m making hot chocolate! Do you want some?” The bellowing from the kitchen nearly destroyed Dan’s eardrums, but he responded equally loudly, “Yes, thanks!” Their neighbors probably hated them.

A few minutes later, Phil entered the living room and handed a mug to Dan before plopping down onto the sofa, risking sloshing his own hot chocolate onto his pajama-clad lap in the process.

Dan went to take a sip, but stopped when he noticed a large, odd-looking marshmallow floating in the steaming brown liquid.

“Phil?” he inquired slowly. “Is that … is that a *Santa* marshmallow in my hot chocolate?”

Phil beamed at him and scooted closer to peer down at the sweet in question. He pointed a pale finger, excitedly explaining, “There’s his beard, and there’s his nose, and there are his twinkling eyes, and there’s his hat!”

Dan tried to frown, but it only ended up looking fondly amused as he turned his head this way and that, peering down into his beverage. “It’s sort of a Cubist Santa, isn’t it?”

“Are you comparing my marshmallow art to Picasso?” Phil giggled, his tongue peeking out from between his teeth in that endearing way he had.

“That’s right, Phil,” Dan said mock-seriously. “Perhaps I should rescue it before it melts so we could have it mounted in a museum somewhere.”

Phil took a hefty swig of his chocolate and then made a face, fanning a hand over his open mouth. “Hot! Hot! Hot! I burnth my thongue!”

“Well, you may be the Picasso of marshmallow art, but I, my friend, am the Picasso of kissing, so let me make it all better.”

Phil laughed again. “Tho modetht, too!” But he kept smiling afterward and leaned a little closer, so Dan leaned in for a kiss. He didn’t use much tongue, actually, because he wasn’t really going for passionate at this point in the evening, but just enough to taste the chocolate on Phil’s lips and distract his boyfriend from the momentary pain of the burn.

When he pulled back, Phil was grinning again as he took a much more cautious sip of his hot drink. “Tastes good,” he said, not bothering to specify whether he was referring to the chocolate or to Dan’s kiss. His lisp was gone, which implied it had probably been exaggerated for humorous effect in the first place.

Dan took a sip from his own mug and nodded agreement. “It does.” He looked down again and couldn’t help smiling. “And thank you for my marshmallow Santa.”

“I thought you would like it,” Phil said with a fond grin.

“You know me so well,” Dan replied, and took another careful, smiling sip.

  • *the garden, Mummy & Daddy's*
  • Molly: *examining the buffet table*
  • Sherrinford: *slides up beside her; puts on a mocking voice* What are you thinking, the pork or the pasta?
  • Molly: *looks up; smiles* Oh, hey. Your mum keeps asking me when we're getting married!
  • Sherrinford: Mmm, she was a mathematician. Knows what adds up.
  • Molly: *chuckles* Very funny. Anyway, I told her it's not like that. Now she's trying to fix me up with Sherrinford.
  • Sherrinford: *smirks*
  • Molly: *eyes wide* You...are Sherrinford, aren't you?
  • Sherrinford: *extends his hand* Guilty as charged, Molly Hooper.
  • Molly: *blushing* Oh God. Sorry, hi. You look like- I mean, Sherlock never mentioned he had a twin brother
  • Sherrinford: Hmm, it doesn't really come under his favourite subject *pauses* himself.
  • Molly: *giggles*
  • Sherrinford: *grins* Or you.
  • Molly: *confused* Huh?
  • Sherlock: *hurries over to them, almost spilling his drinks; almost nervous* What are you talking about?
  • Sherrinford: *winks at Molly* Ears burning...
  • Molly: *giggles*
  • Sherlock: *annoyed* Sherrinford!
  • Sherrinford: *rolls his eyes* If you must know, I was about to tell Molly Hooper - pathologist, brainy, single, cat lady, sexy as hell *turns to Molly* sorry, I'm paraphrasing but that's the jist *back to Sherlock; slowly* that you fancy her *smug*
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Molly: ...
  • Sherrinford: For me? *nicks one of Sherlock's drinks* bonsoir, brother dear *leaves*
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: *clears his throat* I-I don't fancy you. It's a...deep affetion *stares into his remaining glass* I love you.
  • Molly: *holds his free hand, smiling* I love you too.
  • Sherlock: *smiles*
You were my cigarettes and alcohol.
A disease that killed me day by day.Once I started it, i couldn’t stop. One sip of that soothing satisfaction, makes me strive for more, just to satisfy my hunger and welcome the foreign feeling of addiction dominate my empty soul.
—  you were my cigarettes and alcohol.(journal 42)
  • Blackwall: Dorian, I can't believe you drank that swill at the tavern.
  • Dorian: I can't believe they served that swill at the tavern. What is Skyhold coming to?
  • Blackwall: Then why did you drink it?
  • Dorian: I couldn't stop. With each sip, it was, "it can't be that bad, can it?"
  • Dorian: Before I knew it, I was analyzing the nuances of its flavor, observing its effect on my nausea.
  • Dorian: I was in a catatonic trance, fueled by the stench of disgusting dwarven ale.
  • Blackwall: Or you're a drunkard with terrible taste.
  • Dorian: There is that.

If breasts were less socially taboo I would upload a video of Vin’s latest in breastfeeding adventures because she has taken to climbing all over me like a jungle gym and stopping occasionally for a sip in the most awkward-seeming positions, sometimes while still bouncing. It’s very amusing, if sometimes frustrating.

Ill-prepared Grunkles

Summary: Stan and Ford have dealt with a lot of crap in their days- they feel they can handle just about anything… they’re about to be put to the test.

It’s a peaceful day in the Mystery Shack. Stan’s making breakfast for everyone while occasionally stopping to sip on his coffee and Ford is nursing a cup of coffee at the table. Neither speak- Stan learned a while ago that Ford isn’t exactly a conversationalist when he hasn’t had a decent amount of coffee in his system.

That peaceful silence is broken when they hear Dipper running downstairs shouting for them.

Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Dipper shouts with more panic in his voice than either one’s heard in a while.

Stan turns off the stove and puts the now empty pan on the back burner and rushes to the door. Ford stands and rushes to the door and catches Dipper as he runs into the kitchen.

“Dipper, Dipper,” Ford says, kneeling in front of the crying boy. “Breathe.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Stan asks after the boy follows Ford’s instructions.

“I-It’s Mabel,” Dipper stutters.

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