clean never dirty

MBTI Cleaning Squads

It was never dirty in the first place squad: ESTJ, ISTJ, ESFJ, ENTJ

It’s all or nothing! Either we’re not cleaning and it’s a mess or we’re cleaning everything squad: INFJ, INTJ, ISFJ, ESTP

Shoves stuff in a drawer, satisfied with the appearance of clean squad: INFP, ENTP, ENFJ, ISTP

Meant to clean but it just never happened and is never going to squad: INTP, ENFP, ISFP, ESFP

im exhausted……i had to deep clean my bathroom being that my sister is moving out so now it’s actually MY bathroom again

man, it was so hecking nasty just garbage and dirty clothes everywhere it was horrible (none of that was me btw i pick up my shit) but it’s clean now and I have new rugs and a shower curtain~ they’re purple uvu

The stranger

They were an old family, dating back to the sixth century of France, Lestrange (La-strawnge), the strange one, strange they are. While they were noble pure bloods that believed in blood supremacy, were one of the wealthiest Wizarding families in Europe, they were stranger…they were not the Malfoys who were clean, never getting their hands dirty and all about appearances the Lestrange’s cared not for any of that, they dressed well and had lavish living but they preferred strength over appearance, and they were famous for being mentally unstable, usually sadists and rumour has it that every Lestrange estate has a torture chamber and they enjoy it, it arouses them.

Adelard (Ah-day-lahr) Clotaire Lestrange was born in Calais and was the first Lestrange to leave France, he moved to Falmouth, a coastal wizarding village in West Country and on a hill he had built a lavish estate almost as large as his family’s castle, hidden by trees and it had a moat and a bridge, it was named Maison de la Mort which translate’s to Death’s House, a dark place and as tradition goes he build a torture chamber and a dungeon.

Adelard had met a pure-blood woman by the name of Edith Yaxley, they married for Adelard found her beautiful, behaves the way a woman should and comes from the right family (high status, pure-blooded, and shared his beliefs), she was a virgin as well and well Edith had fallen for Adelard because well any woman that wasn’t a French woman wants a French man, and well Adelard also came from an affluent background.

Families approved (Even though Adelard’s were a little put off that she was English, but when they saw how perfect she was they couldn’t resist) and almost right away she was pregnant and her status of his wife and her remaining in his favor was secured when she gave birth to a suitable heir, making her husband’s dreams and ambitions come true, fulfilling the duty of a pure-blood wife, she bore him a son. Rodolphus Adelard Lestrange, Adelard’s pride and joy and Edith’s little heart, and while he was spoiled like Abraxas and Evelyn Malfoy’s (their friends) son Lucius, Adelard raised his son not to be prissy, no Rodolphus was tough from the beginning, and wasn’t afraid of anything when he had a boo boo he did not cry just went to the house elf and demanded they fixed it. Next Adelard’s wife provided him with another joy, a second son, Rabastan Yaxley Lestrange, he was closer to his mother but still stronger than Lucius.

Rodolphus currently is a seventh year his last year, a beater on the slytherin team, best friend to Lucius Malfoy and fiance to Bellatrix Black, and Merlin she’s perfect, at least to Rodolphus or at least that’s what he used to think.

They were betrothed at five and Rodolphus fell in love for Bellatrix is breath taking with her wild dark hair, her wild yet impressionable eyes, pouty lips, a heart-shaped face and a shapely body, Rodolphus was enthralled by her cackling and captivated by what they share in common; sociopathic tendencies. Bellatrix and Rodolphus liked to hurt people, they liked to watch people bleed thye found it funny when people begged for their lives and boring when they didn’t, Bellatrix was the oddest daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black, there was a screw loose and they were afraid a man would never marry their untamed daughter for she will never bow down to any man and marches to the beat of her own drum, she is nothing like the youngest, the angelic Narcissa who was the perfect little pure-blood princess, follows the rules, doesn’t get in the way, attends meetings with the ladies, loves tea time, delicate, soft spoken, well-mannered, and so beautiful, it was no wonder Lucius Malfoy had requested her to be his future bride, he did not understand what his friend saw in such a wild woman.

But Rodolphus was hooked and the sex was amazing, they’d both be left panting and covered in blood (not knowing which one it was), neither had limits but there was something missing…she didn’t love him, she tolerated him, used him, and if he dared to be possessive she’d threaten to crucio him and with Beautiful Bella she meant it. He grew to both hate and love her, she broke his heart everyday like it was a daily routine and he ran back for more, it was horrible and it made him crazier, Lucius did not like what the hell fury was doing to his best friend that he looked at like a brother and had asked his dear Cissy if she could talk to her sister, after all the only person Bellatrix ACTUALLY cared about was Narcissa Black her baby sister that she was overprotective with, but Bella laughed it off because she knew Rodolphus would NEVER leave her and NEVER love another.

Well…never say never…

XF Writing Challenge - Clean/Dirty

He’s never hated himself, not in so many words. But he’s never loved himself either. His own name tastes bitter in his mouth but Scully’s name tastes like salt and chocolate because she dips her french fries into milkshakes at diners and that’s how he has always imagined her mouth will taste.

He doesn’t know. The only time he tasted her mouth, it tasted like gunpowder.

He hates when they have to share hotel rooms. He hates the thrill it gives him. It makes him feel dirty, and he wants to claw the illegal thoughts from his own mind, the lust from his veins. Taboo, he thinks, as he glances over and sees her form rising and falling under the comforter.

He never sleeps when they share a room. He doesn’t trust himself to, so he spends the nights staring at the dirty motel ceilings and clenching his fists. He thinks about chocolate and salt and matches his breaths to hers.

He teases her when she dips her fries in her milkshakes, tells her it’s disgusting, but he thinks if he tasted it from her tongue it would be okay. She tells him she’s seen him eat more disgusting things by far and she’s right. He disgusts himself.

“Scully,” he breathes to the ceiling, puffing it out into the empty air because he long ago discovered the difference between her awake-breathing and her asleep-breathing and she has been asleep for half an hour already. Her name tastes salty-sweet and he forces himself to stop being so aware of where she is in the bed beside him.

After a while, he can’t stand the taste and how it makes his breath feel foreign in his mouth because her mouth is foreign and will not, cannot be introduced to his own, and so he gets up and goes to brush his teeth.

The motel bathroom smells sharp and too-sweet like toilet bowl cleaner. He turns the tap on so only gives out a trickle of water and wets his toothbrush. They share toothpaste when they’re on the road like this, because he always forgets his. So when he sees her coming out of bathrooms with her hair and teeth just brushed, he knows what her mouth would taste like in that exact moment.

He brushes his teeth in the dark and imagines himself licking the taste of this cheap spearmint toothpaste from the inside of her mouth. He wonders how he can be such a damn addict when he has never properly tasted her lips.

He spits, and stares himself down in the mirror as he does so. He smiles at himself and it looks like a grimace.

He doesn’t look like someone who wants to lap the flavor of a milkshake from his partner’s tongue.

But he is, and that’s a fact, and so he shuffles back through the dark room to the bed and lies down beside her. She stirs and sighs and is still.

He knows there’s a toothpaste drip on his shirt but he doesn’t care. It’s over his heart.

He’s never hated himself. But he hates his thoughts and his body’s reactions and the chemicals in his brain that make him feel this way.

When he was in high school, he read a Greek myth called the torment of Tantalus. When Tantalus died, he was banished to the deepest circle of hell and hanged from a fruit tree overlooking a lake. Whenever he bent to drink, the water would withdraw from him. Whenever he reached for fruit, it, too, would pull away.

The word ‘tantalize’ comes from his name.

Mulder hadn’t known what to make of that, when he was fifteen. He thinks he does, now.