tea sleeve

Punk (Chap. 5)


Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 2942

Warnings: Same as always

A/N:  FYI on Chap. 4 I had to go back and make a minor change bc of a continuity error.  Bucky’s hair is short (think TJ Hammond style) in this fic and i slipped up an put in a man-bun note (it’s my weakness). Sorry!  Now, back to the story….



Abandoning Wanda in your closet to hunt through the mass of new clothes you’d unceremoniously shoved in there earlier, you raced down the floor towards Nat’s room, ready to call the whole night off after that disaster of a dinner.  You rounded the corner and attempted to stop short but your socks had no grip and you crashed into a wall of muscle.  “Sorry, Sam,” you mumbled.  “You okay?” Sam laughed and steadied you back on your feet.

You heard Bucky snort from behind and winced. Great, he’d just seen you stuff your face full of Chow Mein and apple pie and now he caught you hurdling down the hallway like the giant boulder from Indiana Jones.  “He’s fine,” Bucky clapped him on the back.  “Not even you could crack this thick skull.”  

And with that he pulled Sam’s sweatshirt hood over his eyes and gave him a noogie before guffawing like a doofus and racing past you with Sam hot on his heels.

“Ay yo!  What the hell’s that mean?!” he hollered.  “And don’t touch my hair, man!”  Sam’s voice carried down the hallway as he chased your best friend.  A loud thud and muffled ‘ooof’ confirmed that he’d caught up to him and apparently rugby tackled him in the living room.

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"Victorian clothing was so different from modern comfortable clothes!"

Because high heels, tight jeans, and poly blend everything that doesn’t breathe at all are the Most Comfortable Things right? Spanx, a paragon of ease?

I’m going to get “historical people had to live their everyday lives in their clothes and most of them were not rich enough to be waited on hand and foot” tattooed on my forehead

mesdea  asked:

Can we get more of Knight Qui and his Master Obi? I adored big awkward Qui and want to know how their first date ends up, pretty please. Also I can just see the rest of the temple placing bets on everything these two do.

“I say he ends up tripping in his big feet and falling flat on his face.”

“Naw…not on his face, he ends up spilling something into Master Kenobi’s lap. Ice water or something.”

“You’re all so mean, I’m sure they’re going to have a lovely night out.”

“Oh come off it, its Jinn. Jinn trips over his own feet on his way to the salle when he’s nervous.”

“And we all know Master Kenobi makes him nervous.”

“Can you really blame him? Master Kenobi is…just meow~”

“And apparently taken. He did say yes after all.”

“Could be a pity date.”

“Fifteen credits say its not.”

“Ten on Jinn messing up.”

“…Twenty it goes well and that they get a good snogging session.”

“Fifteen its a one night stand!”

Rubbing his face, Qui-Gon sighed quietly. ‘Well you did know they consider you a clumsy wreck.’ He thought dryly to himself before quietly making his way past the knight dorm hallway with his head held high as he headed towards his former quarters he had once shared with his former Master.

There was a little lull and then a quiet hush from the hall as the conversations continued.

‘I’m not going to mess it up and its not a pity date. Mas-Obi-Wan doesn’t do pity dates. If he didn’t want to go, he wouldn’t.’ Qui-Gon assured himself.

But the idea of tripping over his own feet and spilling something on Obi-Wan did sound like a likely thing.

Oh Force, he hoped not.

He swallowed hard as he stopped outside the door, giving it a soft knock before waiting.

He was just about to knock again when the door slid open and Obi-Wan stood there, groomed to the tips of his hair and smiling up at Qui-Gon. “There you are, I was wondering if you were going to be late.” He teased.

All nervousness drained out of Qui-Gon at the sight of that smile and he smiled back. “Of course not. I just had to find my boots, Tahl hid it under my bed.” He confessed before offering his arm to the other Jedi. “Are you ready?”

“Indeed.”

The two headed for the steps and Qui-Gon felt himself relax with the other at his side, smiling at him. ‘See, its fine, he’s relaxed, you’re relaxed, he’s not expecting the creme ala creme, just some place with decent food so you can talk and perhaps dancing?’

Of course things went wrong.

“…I am so sorry.” Qui-Gon mumbled, face in his hands as Obi-Wan dabbed at the tea stain on his sleeve.

“Why? Its just a sleeve and its just tea, nothing that can’t be washed out.” Obi-Wan chuckled. “So you spilled a pot of tea and almost broke it. You caught the pot and its only fluids Qui-Gon which wasn’t that hot I’m happy to say. I won’t melt for a bit of liquid.” He smiled.

Qui-Gon peeked at the other through his fingers at that then sat up a bit more at the smiling. “…I just really want this to work you know.” He confessed. “I’ve waited literally years for this chance and…and I just don’t want to mess it up with my clumsy big ha-”

Pale elegant hands caught his and gave them a firm squeeze. “Now what have I told you about words like that.” Obi-Wan murmured.

“…That they’re bad for my self-esteem and I shouldn’t do that against myself.” Qui-Gon smiled, rubbing his thumb along the back of his hands gently.

“Exactly, so you’re a bit clumsy, everyone is a bit clumsy now and then. Don’t let nervousness take from you the fact that you are normally not that bad.” Obi-Wan squeezed again.

“You aren’t.” Qui-Gon lifted the hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles, smiling at him. “You’re never clumsy, you’re always well put together and always steady and charming which is why I like you so much.” He grinned.

And then he watched in amazement as a slight flush rose up the others neck and his ears. ‘He’s blushing. I didn’t know Obi-Wan could blush…’ He thought faintly.

“Flatterer.” Obi-Wan murmured then pulled the big hands to him, giving each a soft kiss to the back of the palms. “Don’t worry, you’ll see my flaws soon enough as a boyfriend.” He teased.

“What was it you used to say? ‘Our flaws makes us human’?” Qui-Gon murmured, rubbing the delicate inside of Obi-Wan’s wrists. “I can’t wait to learn then.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan smiled softly, light caught in his copper hair.

Soapy Water: A Rumbelle Dark Castle Fic

Summary: Concerned that Belle is bored with living in the Dark Castle, Rumplestiltskin chooses an activity she doesn’t seem to mind—laundry. But how many dirty clothes can the Dark One make?
Rating: T   WC: 4300
A/N: Contrived fluff for @rumpledspinster‘s birthday!  Thanks to @magnoliatattoo for the help! 

This photo set from @vickyjona gave me all the feels and I had to write this.

On AO3

After hours of soaking, scrubbing, and ironing, all the laundry was finished.

Belle blew damp tendrils of hair off her forehead and shoved the clothing press into the work closet, then heaved a satisfied sigh. It was time to relax and indulge in a book from her new library. Balancing a steaming teacup and plate of cookies in one hand and a fat, leather-bound book in the other, she made her way to the great hall and her favorite chaise, her eyes glued to the pages.

Rumplestiltskin had chastised her about walking while reading, especially when her hands were full, but she was too transfixed to pay his instructions any mind. Her breath quickened with excitement—she’d just reached the part of the story where the bold, adventurous heroine was about to reveal her presence to the unsuspecting hero in disguise, and she simply couldn’t put the book down. Her foot caught, and Belle tripped, landing on her stomach in pile of something soft. Face-down in a familiar navy nightshirt, she looked around with a gasp of dismay. Her tea and cookies had spilled, the cup lay in shattered pieces on the stone floor, and the book that had so captivated her moments ago had flown into the fireplace, its onionskin pages now crackling and popping in the blaze.

So much for relaxing before supper.

Belle pushed up to her elbows with a groan, then twisted around to survey the mountain of fabric that had appeared around her. Another pile of clothes?

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For @jonxsansaremix, Day 3: Book Couples. This is based on Lan/Nynaeve from Wheel of Time. (I haven’t read past book three, so don’t spoil me, please!) Some lines have been lifted directly or rearranged from The Eye of the World.

Sansa ran her fingers over the end of her braid and tugged, ducking her head in a pretense of not looking at him, even though that was exactly what she was doing.

Everyone else was asleep, except for the Warder. Jon was leaning back against the thick trunk of a tree, facing the fire. The point of his sword was sunk into the soft, wet earth. With one hand he held the hilt, and with the other he was rubbing the blade with an oilcloth. It glimmered in the firelight. To others, the sight might have distracted from the man himself. Not Sansa.

He was clearly in no hurry. Yet a feeling grew in Sansa that if she didn’t say something now, the opportunity would slip through her fingers like water, never to be recovered.

That sense propelled her to her feet and toward the fire. There was a half-full kettle of hot water remaining, and she busied herself filling two cups with the ladle while she pretended to ignore him and thought about what she would say.

Sansa thought she felt his eyes on her, a hot prickle on the back of her neck, but when she turned to catch him, he wasn’t looking, and her stomach dropped with disappointment and nerves. I knew he wasn’t going to make it easy on me, she consoled herself. But there’s something there, I’m sure of it. It was a softening around his eyes when he looked at her. Pulling a pouch from one of her sleeves–tea was never far from her person–she made up two cups and settled beside him on her knees.

He dropped the oilcloth to take the cup she offered. When she met his eyes–serious gray eyes set in a long, solemn face that gave nothing away–all her grand plans for what to say flew out of her head.

So she said the first thing that came to mind. “I should have known you’d be a king.”

“Kings have thrones,” Jon said lightly, or as lightly as he ever said anything. “I’m just a man. I don’t even have a parcel of land, or a single piece of gold to my name.”

“There are some women who wouldn’t ask for the land, or the throne, or gold. Just the man.” She kept hold of his gaze, to make sure he understood.

For a moment he was silent. “No decent man would ask that of her. The asking would make him unworthy.”

She took a sip of tea, trying to judge her next words. They came out more petulant than she intended. “Do you mean to make me do the asking, then? Will you shame me so?”

“Sansa.” Her name, softly voiced, and the flicker of his gaze–a warning.

His admonition stung like a needle. “You’ve already made me say more than is proper.”

“You know I have other obligations.” He glanced at the sleeping figures around the fire.

She knew who he meant. There was some mysterious magic between him and the maddening Daenerys Sedai with her silver hair and violet eyes, some force or power–protection, service, fealty, she knew not what. Something that bound him to her, some mission that drew them together. Aes Sedai and Warder, the pair of them. Some part of him belonged to that woman.

“I don’t care for any of that,” she insisted. “I have obligations, too–I mean to go to Tar Valon.”

“And become an Aes Sedai. Aes Sedai seldom marry,” Jon pointed out.

“I’ve told you I don’t care.” It was like trying to argue with the stone face of a mountain, only mountains never gave her that gentle look that made her ache.

“All I have is a sword, and a war I cannot win, but can never stop fighting. The only thing I could give you is a wardrobe of widow’s black.” He set his untouched cup on the ground and rose. “I must check the horses.”

Sansa remained there, kneeling, after he had gone.

Tickle fight (Michelle X Fem!Reader)

Fandom: Marvel

Requested by Anon: Hey love! okay, first the prompts you reblogged are adorable oh my goodness! and second, I was wondering if you could write a one short for Michelle (Jones?) with the prompt about “don’t start a tickle fight when i’m supposed to be mad at you!” Have a great day!

A/N: This took so long! I’m super, super sorry anon <3 this was a little hard to write because I’ve never written a tickle fight before, but ti was fun and I hope it turned out good!

Words: 1.2 k

Warnings: Some swearing


   “Do you think this chapter is too important to use Sparknotes? Would it be that noticeable if just memorized stuff from there?“

   Currently, you sat on the couch holding Jane Eyre, a book assigned to your class for a weekly class discussion. Was reading it necessary so you could get a good grade? Yes. Did you want to spend your Sunday trying to make sense of it all? Hell no.

   Michelle was resting her head in your lap, reading her own copy. She shrugged and closed her book- was she reading it upside down?. You closed your own to peer down at her. 

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