#teaclothing

[spark-circuit]

yaaay yippee yaaaaaaaaay!!!!! :D

[wandringaesthetic]

Me: why am I so much more sore than usual what did I do I didn't do anything different

Also me: you have added at least one extra exercise to all of your workouts this week that is plenty of explanation you teacloth

[fals3nd]

@melnchly said ; oh, good. you're awake. (meg to jo!)

sleep is still being rubbed from her eyes and jo's awakening is heralded by her footsteps thumping noisily down the stairs before she rounds the corner into the kitchen in search of the scraps of a breakfast that was likely served hours ago. the sun had already been cresting over the horizon when jo finally slipped from the attic to join beth in bed this morning - - - it truly had been morning rather than night - - - and the late bedtime has resulted in a late rising.

"is marmie still out?" jo asks rather than truly replying as she pulls a teacloth off a plate to peer at what's below it. resting dough - no breakfast. she resorts to hunting down a slice of bread to butter, which will have to do until hannah makes lunch.

[morimatea]

Come along and share the good times while we can. . . . #teaart #teatable #outdoors #weekend #outside #freshair #goodtimes #teagirl #teashower #beauty #sunshine #niceday #fineart #exquisite #teaclothing #gaiwan #gongdaobei #cuppatea #gongfucha #blacktea #jinjunmei #wildblacktea #lapsangsouchong #wuyishantea #sweet #springtea #teaceremony #joyful #happymoment #morimatea https://www.instagram.com/p/CBWfeTvAgO9/?igshid=1ghgdoo46c4tq

[mezimraky]

my grand-aunt and grand-uncle went off during this visit like "we see you are twenty two now, here is a trashbag full of Useful Things For Home"

[highqueenseleni]

Today on the #teablog I write about this #tshirt from @omg_weloveit as well as the trials and tribulations of being autistic and dealing with clothing texture! #teaclothing #allyouneedarebooksandtea #autismproblems #clothingreview

[dayenurose]

Writer’s Month Prompt (written for @writersmonth )

Day 6 - Married Life (Romy)

Rogue woke up slowly. With the blackout curtains drawn, their bedroom was plunged into a murky darkness which made determining the time difficult. She knew she’d slept in, but wasn’t certain how long. Since neither she nor Remy had X-Men related responsibilities today, they’d turned off their alarms in hope for a proper lie in.

Dragging sheets and blankets with her, Rogue rolled towards her husband’s half of the bed. Instead of snuggling against Remy’s back and feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin material of his t-shirt, she found herself alone.

Well, alone might be a bit of a misnomer. Lucifer, Oliver, and Figaro filled the space vacated by her husband. Their company, while affectionate, really wasn’t what she’d been after.

“Hrrmph,” she sighed, blowing the white fringe out of her eyes. While the bed was warm and comfortable, staying here alone wasn’t how she wanted to spend her day off.

Stretching languidly, she raised her arms high over her head and arched her back. She’d surely be giving the cats a run for their money, if they’d been motivated to do more than lounge lazily on the bed. Lucifer briefly opened his eyes and mewed in irritation as if her movement had all been in an attempt to hustle the cats out of bed. She smiled fondly at the trio.

“Fine with me if you want to sleep in, but I’ve got things to do, a husband to find.” Rogue slipped out of bed and slipped on her robe. The inviting aroma of frying back and brewing coffee beckoned her into the kitchen.

Bacon and coffee appeared to be only the start of the morning offerings. Remy had prepared a full on southern breakfast—including (but, not limited to) fluffy scrambled eggs, savory white gravy, and from scratch biscuits, still warm from the oven and waiting in a teacloth covered basket. If she wasn’t mistaken, further down on the counter, in the bowl he used most often for beignets, there was dough on rise.

While she might not be much of a cook—especially compared to her husband—she was no slouch when it came to making a classic southern breakfast. She knew there was nothing quick about making such a feast. The beignets alone took a couple of hours to rise before they could be fried.

“Mornin’ sugar.” Rogue drawled. Coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and breathed in his fresh, clean scent of his skin. He definitely been up for a while.

“Mornin’ chère.” The deep thrum of his voice sent delighted shivers to dance up her spine. Remy turned and raised an eyebrow in a silent query. She nodded, letting him know she felt secure in her control of her powers, then lifted her face towards his. The unspoken conversation was so routine it passed without conscious thought. In a fluid motion which hadn’t ceased since he began his turn, Remy brushed a quick kiss across her lips before turning his attention back to the crowded stovetop.

A small whine escaped her lips at the loss of his touch. While she might wish to prolong the kiss, it was either turn off the burners and continue the embrace, or postpone the kiss and finish cooking. Since breakfast appeared moments from completion, and her stomach grumbled in a Pavlovian response to the heavenly aromas, she could wait a few moments to finish the embrace.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Instead, Rogue kept her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against the planes of his back for a moment later. She relaxed into the familiarity of his presence and found a modicum of peace in the steady rhythm of his movements.

“I tried.” He chucked. “Mais, you took exception to the hour and took a swing at me.”

“No,” Rogue gasped in horror. Grabbing his arm she forcibly turned him away from the stove so she could get a better look at his face. Freshly shaven and as handsome as ever, Remy appeared to be none the worse for the wear. There had been a few unfortunate instances since they started sharing a bed when she accidentally punched or kicked him as her limbs flailed about in her sleep. What for most would be a minor annoyance, for her it could be dangerous when her subconscious mind failed to regulate her super strength.

“‘M fine, chère. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got quick reflexes and managed to duck out of the way before any damage was done.” He turned off one of the burners before taking a moment to wrap his arms around his wife and press a kiss to the crown of her head. Grinning at her, mischief danced in his eyes. “Though you did say something about popping me one if I didn’t leave you be.”

Rogue buried her face in her hands and groaned. “I swear, I was asleep. I don’t remember any of that.”

“I thought it was cute.” He grinned cheekily and turned back to attend to his last burner. “Figured that the scent of breakfast would eventually draw your lazy bones from bed.”

She made a face. “My bones aren't lazy.”

“I know.” He gave her hand a squeeze as he lifted it to press a kiss across his knuckles. She never tired of his touch. “Do you mind setting the table?”

“Course not, swamp rat.” The reminder of how easy it was to hurt him played heavily on her mind as she gathered silverware and napkins. After a few trips between the kitchen and dining room, the table was set save for a few items. She placed the plates beside the stove, so Remy could fill them as he finished cooking. As for the coffee, her husband had already helped himself to a serving, so she poured her own mug and leaned against the counter. She watched him work with easy, competent movement.

“Rems, I’m serious. I could hurt you….” Her body held the possibility of easily hurting him and their happily ever after could be finished before it scarcely begun.

“I’m fine, mon coeur. I know the risks. It’s not like living with me is safe as houses either. I've got days too when control seems beyond my grasp.” He began to plate their breakfast, filling their dishes to near over flowing. “Besides, you know I don't mind cooking for you. In fact, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to spoil my wife.”

Her stomach growled again. Rogue pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the noise. Seriously, it wasn’t like she never ate. Then again, Remy’s food really was second to none and it had been far too long since they shared a meal like this. Of course, in her ever so humble opinion, even a single day without her husband’s cooking was far too long a gap. And he was right, it had been a while since they'd been able to have a relaxed meal with each other. Their schedules rarely lined up these days and she missed him like a piece of her soul was missing.

“Go on, have a seat,” he urged. “I’m right behind you.”

“Love you too, Rems.” Knowing full well that he was watching, she put an extra sway to her hips as she walked.  

Remy groaned. “That’s it. After breakfast, we’re going back to bed.”

“Good. That’s the plan.” Rogue grinned at her husband. The ‘v’ of her robe loosened and gave him a glimpse of the swell of her breasts under her pajamas. At the sight, his eyes widened and he gripped the back of his chair until his knuckles turned white.

Coming up behind her, he set the plates on the table. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, then traced feather-light his fingers down the lines of her arms, until his thumbs rested lightly over her palms. The movement brought his face down towards her. When she tilted her head back, she stared directly into the red depths of his eyes. Her husband peppered her lips with kisses. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“Bon appetite, Mrs. LeBeau,” he whispered in a breathless, husky voice. His fingers ghosted lightly over her wrists.

At his cue, she released a trickle of her powers and absorbed the freely given swell of his emotions and memories. She wished she could feed her own memories back to him so he could experience the same heady rush of love and connection.

“I love you too, Mr. LeBeau,” she murmured between kisses, trying to steal a few more before breakfast grew cold.

Despite the struggles of powers and an X-Men schedule determined to keep them apart, Rogue would trade married life with Remy for the world.

[nescafes]

i wish i knew you because you're fascinating as fuck

what makes you say that bubba?

[storybookcreatures-blog]

Current Status. ————————————————————— #storybookcreatures #vibes #weekendvibes #living #redcup #teaclothing #beach #beachbody #livingherbestlife #family

[briscrochetunderground]

Daisy Garland Teacloth Pattern #9

[kismetknits]

#memademay ... the girls not the dresses or hats. Ps the big one is going to be 3 next week! 😳 . . #green #hats #inspo #knittersofinstagram #knitting #summer #kismetknits #massachusetts #fairhaven #dscolor #dcfloral #floral #teaclothing #spring #igknitters #hippy #knitter #hygge #livefolk #iloveknitting #knitting_inspiration #knittingaddict #vibes #hipster #stitchbystitch etsydiylovers boots #flowergirl

[he4rtstrun9]

Another Bulbi variant 😊😪 . Is this something you'd have in your home? ...Or would you throw the teacloth over it every time the doorbell rings?!?! 😅😆 . . . #artsculpture #arttoy #collectibletoys #handmadetoy #designertoy #sculpt #resintoy #resinfigure #toydesign #dollartistry #chibiart #customtoy #artdoll #figurine #miniature #3dsculpt #characterdesign #creepycute

[tokutenshi]

A Meager Satinalia

[excerpt from chapter 6 of “I Shall Weather The Storm”]

A knock at his door broke him from his troubled thoughts. Normally, an interruption so late at night would have greatly irritated the man, but Cullen was desperate for a distraction and pulled open the door without a second thought. Ebrisa started a little, rattling the dishes on the covered tray in her hands as she stared straight ahead. Her mouth dropped slightly and her cheeks reddened, standing motionless in the corridor outside his quarters.

“Ebrisa?” Cullen asked cautiously, confused to see the woman in the officer wing. His voice snapped her to attention and she redirected her gaze to his eyes, looking suddenly guilty. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” She quickly rushed out. A beat later she shook her head and tried again. “I mean, you didn't come to supper, so I brought you something.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, trying yet again to not think of that evening. “Thank you. There's space on the desk.” Cullen took a step to the side, allowing the woman room to pass through. Ebrisa hesitated, hovering a foot over the threshold before finally pushing forward and walking briskly to his relatively uncluttered desk.

She pulled back the teacloth after setting down the tray, twisting the fabric in her hands as Cullen came up beside her to inspect her offering. Ebrisa stiffened as he reached around her to pick up the bowl of stew and cast her a small smirk when he discovered it was still warm.

Ebrisa rubbed at her forehead, laughing awkwardly for being caught. “I may have used a little magic. If the hard-working Knight-Commander can't have a hot meal on Satinalia, then truly I have failed this holiday.”

“No one blames you for the state we're in,” he reminded, scooping his spoon through the stew and trying to guess its contents. The room fell quiet while Cullen silently ate, wondering both why Ebrisa remained and what was making her so nervous.

Once he was nearly halfway through the stew, Ebrisa spoke up in a quiet, timid voice. “I was going to bring this to your office, but the sentry said you'd left hours ago. Why didn't you come to the dining hall?”

Images of the nobles dancing flooded his mind and Cullen made a particularly angry swipe around the bowl. “I rarely do. Didn't think it would matter.”

“It did,” Ebrisa mumbled, pulling at the fraying edge of the teacloth. “I had something I wanted to... I was going to...” She sighed dejectedly and looked over her shoulder to the rumpled sheets on Cullen's bed. “Did I wake you? I was trying to be considerate in bringing your meal, but perhaps not.”

The man finished the last of the stew and shook his head. “No. I tried to sleep, but was too restless.” He turned back to the desk and set the bowl on the tray, pausing as he saw his bare arm and suddenly remembered he was only in a loose pair of trousers. He glanced to Ebrisa, now understanding her nervous fidgeting and flushed skin as he felt his own start to heat from embarrassment. “Your, um, your gesture was well appreciated.”

She turned back to him, eyes running over his bare torso before meeting his own, looking just as guilty as when he first opened the door. He understood that part now, too.

“Was it alright?” Ebrisa asked softly. “The food, I mean.”

“You didn't have any?”

She shrugged a shoulder and rubbed her fingers. “I was too nervous to eat before supper, and I was too busy to eat during.”

Cullen bit back the snarky remark his jealous mind wanted him to voice and somehow managed to say something else. “Why were you nervous?”

Ebrisa shifted on her feet, still rubbing her fingers. “I played the harp during supper to lighten the mood. People seemed to enjoy it, but... but I wanted you to hear it, too.”

“Oh.” It was the only thing Cullen trusted himself to say at the moment, knowing that any comment he made about her enjoying herself would come off as accusing and bitter, and Ebrisa was undeserving of either. She was allowed to have fun without him. She was allowed to pursue other men.

A tight whine broke the silence and Ebrisa's face twisted in mortification as she recognized the rumble in her empty stomach. “O-oh... um, pardon. I suppose nerves are no longer suppressing my hunger.”

“A rather desperate cry for attention,” Cullen chuckled. He glanced back at the tray to see what else the woman had brought him when she should have been feeding herself. “Here.” Cullen held out the honeyed roll, amusement pushing away the negative thoughts that had hounded him all night. “Happy Satinalia, Ebrisa.”

She took the roll with a small, embarrassed pout. “Thank you.” Ebrisa stared down at the gift for a long while, then looked up at Cullen. There were no lingering glances on his exposed chest this time and she gulped down a very obvious breath as Cullen leaned against his desk. She took advantage of his shortened height and pressed a light kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment after. “Happy Satinalia,” she whispered, her breath caressing his skin like a second kiss.

Before Cullen could respond or even really process what had happened, Ebrisa rushed out of his quarters and down the corridor. He hovered his hand over his cheek, not wanting to actually make contact and taint the sensations Ebrisa had given him. A wide smile pulled across his face as Cullen contemplated giving Ebrisa more baked goods in the future.

Read previous chapter here

Read full chapter here

Full story series here

[morimatea]

A great life doesn't happen by accident. A great life is the result of allocating your time, energy, and hard work towards what you want your life to be. . . . #tearoom #teapot #teacuplove #cuppatea #teascoop #kungfutea #bamboo #teatowel #teacloth #handmadeceramics #ratten #strawplaited #beautiful #wonderful #chadao #chaxi #peace #zen #quietness #teaart #tealady #teaspecialist #grâce #elegant #exquisite #teaculture #greatlife #timefortea #enjoymoment #morimatea https://www.instagram.com/p/CTTEwF0Bxqz/?utm_medium=tumblr

[vintagereveries]

Edwardian Filet Crochet Pattern from 1917

This entry is part 5 of 7 in the series The Modern Priscilla - April 1917

The “centerfold” of this April 1917 issue of The Modern Priscilla magazine was a detailed pattern and instructions on how to crochet filet pattern lace and create bridal teacloth, napkins, pincushion, scarfs, scarf ends, and doilies.

Edwardian Filet Crochet Pattern from 1917 was originally published on VintageReveries - Vintage Fashion and Ephemera Blog

[dk-thrive]

Just that there was light and a lightening, a lifting, and when I stepped outside the air had the slender, quickened and hopeful spirit that is in the word ‘April.’

Sunlight was flooding in. Like a blessing, the sunshine had come in time for Easter and that springtime remedy which in Faha was called airing... Now, every window was open. Curtains, by pyjama cord, trouser belt, braces, frayed lengths of sugan, were tied up, not only to let the fresh air in and the dust out, but also to let go of the wintering, because God, whose mercy was never in doubt, had finally forgiven what sins the parish had amassed, and turned off the rain. Not that it was a magnificent day now. I don’t mean that. Just that there was light and a lightening, a lifting, and when I stepped outside the air had the slender, quickened and hopeful spirit that is in the word April. Since early morning Doady and Ganga had been emptying the house of all clothes and soft furnishings. As though parked there by flying Persians, mats and carpets were lying about the yard. Blankets, pillows and cushions were scattered along form-benches. Across every bush were spread not only sheets, towels, teacloths, but, with an absence of restraint and even an air of display, knickers and underpants, slips, tights and other sundries. Drawers had been emptied. Things hitherto unseen were disporting themselves like sunbathers, the entire garden colourfully draped and looking as though partaking in a pagan custom, like the hanging of lights on trees.

~ Niall Williams, “This Is Happiness” (Bloomsbury Publishing, December 3, 2019)