cleanest of the clean

I’ve seen people make these three friends and it’s so pure and wholesome that I just have to agree

therefore: casual hangouts~

APWOA: Chapter Three

The third chapter of A Penny’s Worth of Affections, my Claire / Jamie AU that takes place during WWI!

Customary shout out to the fabulous @internallydeceased because without her this would probably be a hot mess. And a most exuberant a shoutout to @marlosbooknook who’s legitimately the cutest person ever. Both these ladies have really great fanfictions going right now, and I highly recommend you read them at some point (after reading this one, obviously 😉)! You can read them here and here, respectively. 💙

Let me know what you think of this chapter! I love hearing your theories!! ✨

Previous entries: 
Prologue: A Penny ; I. The Red Man ; II. The Blue-Stockings



III. Heroic Acts and Twisted Scars

Edinburgh, Scotland

28th April 1914

Following an extremely pitiful attempt to move the gigantic red-haired man, Claire, with the help of Murtagh the barkeep, managed to get him standing. The pair of them, standing on both sides of the patient, were able to guide him carefully into the recluse of the cabinet particulier so that Claire could provide him with the care he so desperately needed. Claire knew the customary uses of such a room, given the cornflower-hued baize settee that sat in front of the large expanse of the fireplace, but resigned to ignore the conclusions that came to mind. The mental images of what had taken place in that room prior to her visit could stay locked away in her subconscious until after the injured man was seen to. But until the doctor arrived, La Dame Blanche would have to suffice.

  Settling her patient onto the settee, she glanced towards the burly older man behind her, pushing the sleeves of her cream-colored dress up to her elbows. “I’m going to need a bucket of the cleanest water you can find, a couple strips of linen—also clean, and as long as you can make them. A bottle of the strongest alcohol you have, a pair of tweezers, and some tea—along with some ground willow bark, if you have any.”

  Murtagh raised an eyebrow skeptically, but nodded and turned out of the room without a word.

  Claire swiveled around to face her patient. He laid on the settee serenely, almost as if he had gone there on his own volition. His eyelashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks, hued a dark scarlet that faded to blonde at the roots. His eyes fluttered underneath the lids as he dreamed, and she saw the small sparks of blue veins striking across the pale surface like lightning.

As she attempted to help free him of his restraints (consisting of an ebony jacket, a gray waistcoat and a white collared shirt), she realized just how young he truly looked. As monstrous as his frame was, his face aged him significantly younger. Looking upon his bulky, sleeping form, she thought he looked more like a babe placed in the trundle by his mother than a heroic man of action.

She imagined a woman with hair the same fiery shade as his own, lulling him to sleep with a lullaby sung from honeyed lips, serenading him into the arms of Morpheus*. The innocence of his stoic face compelled her to reach forward, stroking the side of his face with her left hand.

The texture of growing hair on his unshaven cheek was like that of an old-fashioned couch: rough against the grain but soft the other way. His lips turned upwards slightly into a smile, and she thought she heard her heart burst, like the fiery blaze emitting from the fireplace a mere foot away from where they sat.

  Realizing that she had lost her right mind, she shook her head once and resumed her intended duty. She reached for his jacket so as to remove it, but the boy jerked away from her icy cold hand. He said something harshly in a language she didn’t understand, but she didn’t need to understand it to know it’s connotation.

  “Good morning to you, too,” She retorted sharply, reaching back for his arm to pull the blood-soaked jacket sleeve away from his trembling body. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked at her intensely with no more utterances escaping his lips. His eyes focused solely on her own, the flicker of recognition shining as brightly as sunlight reflected off of the bluest of waters of his irises.

  The fixed look broke when the door reopened. She turned her eyes quickly away from the unnamed man and towards Murtagh, whose hands were piled high with the different items she had requested. A small form emerged from behind him, a mug of a steaming liquid held between both of his tiny hands.

  “For you, mademoiselle,” the boy said, setting the cup at her feet before scurrying away.

  Claire raised her right brow quizzically at the retreating form, but did not dwell on the matter, turning towards Murtagh and smiling benevolently in thanks.

  The man nodded, setting the items on the floor by her feet. He turned towards the man on the settee, of whom was still grunting softly in pain, and asked, with a twinge of fury, “What in God’s name were you doing out so late? What if ye’d been caught?”

  The boy seemed amused by this statement, for the corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly, despite his pain. “I’m afraid the word if implies that I had not been caught.”

  Murtagh, evidently angered with this information, turned his head away and stomped towards the fireplace. He stared at it intently, watching the flames flicker slightly from where he stood. Impatient to wait for his next revelation, Claire turned back towards her patient.

Not sure what else she could say, she simply murmured matter-of-factly, “I need to check your arm.”

  The boy nodded, his eyes returning to hers once more. She felt an odd shiver run up her spine, but chose to ignore it as she helped him out of his coat, vest, and shirt. It was then that she saw what the issue—or, rather, issues—were.

  “You’ve been shot?” Claire questioned, carefully reaching toward the bullet wound located on the back of his upper right shoulder. The form by the fireplace shifted, but did nothing else.

  Wondering if the bullet had exited elsewhere on his body, she delicately placed her fingers near the reddened edges of the entry wound. A low hiss pressed past the patient’s teeth. I suppose that’s my answer, then, she thought to herself wryly. She inspected further, pulling his shoulder forward in order to inspect the cavity in better light. Staring into the mass of blood, tissue, and cartilage, she finally saw what she had been looking for.

  “Fuck,” She whispered, praying that neither men in the room had heard the unladylike profanity that passed her lips. The shoulder beneath her hand started to shake slightly, as if it’s owner was laughing. Peering over, her assumption proved true as she watched the boy’s face, contorted with mirth.

    Through his laughter, he managed to sputter out, “That bad, is it?”

  “That bad and worse,” She replied, moving from her position so that she could look him in the eye. “The bullet didn’t pass through the tissue, so I’m going to have to extract it. Then I have to go about setting your shoulder—that’s out of joint, mind you—which is a different endeavor entirely.”

   He nodded, his eyes not leaving hers for a moment. The dilation of his pupils, the slurring words of his speech and the inconsistent fluttering of his eyelids told her exactly what was needed: she turned towards the pile of necessities next to her foot and grabbed the steaming cup of herbal tea, pouring the packet of willow bark in and mixing it a few times with the forceps. She then thrust her arm forward forcefully and commanded her patient to drink.

  The smile didn’t leave his lips as he did as he was bid, drinking the entirety of the brew in three long gulps. She rolled her eyes as she turned towards Murtagh, asking in the most authoritative voice she could manage, “I need you to hold him steady.”

  The man was by her side in an instant, wrapping his small form around the patient. Claire almost laughed at the sight, but suppressed her mirth.

  She looked back into the boy’s crystalline eyes, murmuring softly, “This is going to hurt.”




After extracting the bullet, cleaning out the wound—of which the patient only emitted soft grunts of pain in response—and resetting the dislocated joint, Claire had only the wrappings left to complete. Sitting behind him on the settee, she wrapped the linen cloths tightly around his damaged shoulder, but not too tight to completely limit his range of motion.

  As she wrapped, her mind began to rehash the words that Murtagh had uttered earlier. Curiosity was getting the better of her; she leaned forward slightly so that he could hear her better and inquired, “What, pray tell, got you in such a compromising predicament, sir? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  He smiled at her over his shoulder, not moving too much so as to keep the bandages applied to his tender muscles in place. “Just a ‘bit o’ heroic acts, ‘sall. Nothing like a few good punches and a bullet wound to put a few hairs on a man’s chest, aye?”

  “I suppose so,” She murmured, her lips turned upward in a smirk. “But really, what happened? Tell me honestly.”

  A moment passed between them, the air thick with humidity. The windows had been opened partially to let out the smoke of the fire, and the sticky Highland air wafted towards them in large waves, as if they were standing directly on an open shore.

  “There was a lass,” He had said finally, pulling Claire from her wandering mind. “No’ much more than sixteen or so. A man was pursuing her against her wishes. I figured I’d do something about it.”

  “You were sticking up for her?”

  He nodded, “Aye. There wasn’t anyone else ‘round, and I couldna just walk away, could I?”

  “No, I suppose not.” Claire smiled wider, averting her eyes back to the bandages on his shoulder. She pulled another piece of folded linen cloth to it’s full length and began wrapping it around his torso.

  “Ye’re a kind woman, Miss Beauchamp,” He said a moment later, after Claire had managed to secure his bandages. “With a good touch.”

  She smiled at him. Trying to keep their relationship strictly professional (despite becoming increasingly more unsuccessful with each word that was exchanged between them), she said instead, “This isn’t my best work, but I suppose the doctor’s going to take it all off, anyhow.”

    He stared at her, discernibly bewildered. “I thought you were my doctor, Miss Beauchamp.”

  Claire was charmed by the notion, but shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m not yet licensed, you see. I have experience, but not the kind that quantifies me as a medical professional.”

  “Ah,” he nodded. His eyebrows drew together in confusion, the space between them creasing deeply. Claire wanted nothing more than to press her lips to that crease and make it disappear. “Wouldn’t any work ye’ve performed count as legitimate experience?”

  She shook her head, moving from her spot behind him to the floor at his feet. “No, not exactly. I didn’t have a very conventional kind of schooling. Nor a conventional childhood, for that matter.”

  Claire paused. She didn’t even know this man, yet she was about to confide in him the complete tale of her origins? What was it about him that made talking seem so easy, as if they had known each other their entire lives?

  “My parents passed away when I was five,” She began, trying to keep her voice as deadpan as she could.

  He reached forward, taking her hand in his own. Squeezing once, he murmured, “I’m verra sorry for yer loss, Miss Beauchamp.”

  Claire’s lips twitched upward in a pained smile.

  “Claire,” She said a moment later. “If I’m about to tell you the entirety of my adolescence, you might as well use my Christian name.”

  He nodded, her hand still encapsulated in his own. “Claire.”

  It took her another moment to continue, but once she started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop. She told him everything, from her unusual expeditions with her archeologist Uncle, the medicine woman in Zambia, Uncle Lamb’s colleagues and La Dame Blanche, all the way up to the present—leaving out the personal burdens of Gillian Edgars, of course. He listened to the story in it’s entirety, showing the intended emotions for each of her tales, enthralled through the entirety of it.

  When Claire finished, she looked down at her lap, where their woven hands rested. She was kneading and pressing out the kinks in his left hand when she noticed a deep scar that crawled down his middle finger.

  “What happened to your hand?” She implored, tracing the scar lightly. It ran from his knuckle to the distal interphalangeal joint, weaving across the digit like a river on a map. She noticed him shiver slightly at the touch.

  Seemingly unsure of what to say, he murmured softly, “You’ll find out, someday.”

  She looked up then, meeting his eyes, darkened to a saturated sapphire by the firelight.

  Each time she looked at him, she noticed something different about his appearance. How his eyes — as pellucid as the waters of the Cape — always shone with the same astute glow, like the cogs of his mind were always turning. How his lips were the same hue as a cut of salmon, and that they were always turned slightly upward, as if his mood was in a permanent form of contentment. How his touch — despite the calloused texture of his palms, worn from years of hard labor — was just as soft and light as the petals of a Rosa banksiae*.

  The air in the room seemed to rise in temperature, causing Claire’s face to flush. She broke their eye contact and slowly pulled their hands apart. Confused by this development, he attempted to speak, but was cut off abruptly as the door swung open forcefully.

  Claire barely had any time to react before a figure stood between her and her patient, bright green skirts flowing about her face and shrouding her in a silky, pastel veil. Understandably vexed, Claire stood bolt upright, straight as a steel rod as she stared at the mass of skirts enveloping the injured man seated on the settee.

  Claire stared menacingly, not making her feelings ambiguous as she snapped, “Pray, do announce who the bloody hell you are!”

  The girl, jumping at Claire’s words, shrieked as if an apparition had just appeared before her. Hand flying to her barely-covered breasts, the girl sputtered out a reply in deep Scots vernacular, “And who en God’s sweet Alba* are you?”

 “I am his—” Claire cut herself short, realizing the ridiculous nature of this situation. Here she was, the man’s blood splattered across the chest of her dress, her pale hands faded to crimson at the fingertips and her hair, falling out of its delicately tailored updo, forming a riotous cloud around her head; she was sure she truly did look like a wraith of some kind.

 The girl raised her eyebrows expectantly, glancing from Claire to the settee. Are you genuinely that inane? Claire thought to herself.

 “She’s my doctor,” The patient chimed, catching the attention of both of the young women standing before him. His eyes met Claire’s from across the room, tinged with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

 “Yer doctor?” The girl spat, as if the word had meant whore rather than medical professional. She scoffed, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling before placing themselves back on Claire.

  Despite the six-year difference in their ages, Claire felt a bit intimidated by this girl. Not by her mein* — for a short, blonde girl with green eyes did nothing to strike fear into Claire’s heart — but instead by her body language. So confident she stood, adamant that Claire really wasn’t doctoring the young man beside her.

  “I dinna ken there were lassie doctors in Scotland. From whom did ye learn yer craft?”

 Claire, after a moment’s composure, straightened her spine even more than she had before, a flagpost standing tall in the midst of battle.

  “Northern Rhodesia,” she said, to which she got no response. She tried again, “Africa, from a Dame Geneser. She taught me everything I know.”

  “She’s a ban-druidh*, Laoghaire,” The man said at last, not taking his eyes off of Claire.

  Whatever he had said, it had resonated with the girl, Laoghaire. Her eyes widened with shock as she backed away from Claire, murmuring a few words in the same Scots tongue that her patient had used a mere moment before.

  Gaining her composure once more, Claire looked the girl up and down once and said, “That’s right. And this ban-druidh suggests that you make yourself scarce,” She looked back at him again, noting the look of amusement bright in his eyes. “Lord knows you’ve done enough damage already.”

  Laoghaire’s face turned to a pale white as she turned out of the room, her dress a flash of bright green flowing after her. Claire immediately felt a pinch of sympathy for the poor girl; she obviously had an infatuation with her rescuer, and understandably so, given his heroic persona and pleasant appearance.

  Was it empathy that she felt, then, given her own attraction to this man?

  “What ails you, Claire?”

  His voice brought her from her reverie. Realizing she was standing in front of the fireplace — how had she gotten there? — and walked back towards the man on the settee.

  She smiled at him shyly, “Thank you for defending me.”

  He mirrored her smile. Realizing what she had intended to do, she stepped closer and inspected the bandages on his injured shoulder. “She didn’t maim you any further, did she?”

  “Och,” He dismissed, the very Scottish noise causing her smile to grow ever wider. “No. At least, nothing I couldna handle myself.”

  Claire nodded, not sure how to respond. She probed softly at the area surrounding the wound, making sure the tenderness of the area hadn’t spread, to which he made no sound. A good sign, then, she noted.

  Suddenly, Claire had a revelation. “You have yet to tell me your name, sir.”

  Her patient, realizing this as well, went to stand. Claire, nervous about his shoulder wound, lurched forward to stop him, but when he held up a hand, she remained stationary. When he was standing upright, he bowed gallantly before her.

  “Fraser,” He said softly. “James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Jamie, though, if it pleases ye.”

  Her eyes met his for what seemed to be the millionth time that night, a vibrant whiskey engulfed by a vivid blue flame. He filled the space between them, murmuring, “And yer servant, madam.”



continued here


*Morpheus: the Greek God of dreams.
*Alba: the Gaelic word for Scotland.
*mein: a person’s look or manner, especially one indicating the character or mood.
*ban-druidh: the Gaelic word for white lady, taken from pg. 146 of Voyager.
*Rosa banksiae: a yellow rose, native to central and western China. Also called a Lady Banks’ rose.

Ereri Headcanon #15

In Levi’s opinion, Eren is the cleanest and the best at cleaning. When he finishes a job he’ll usually get rewards like extra food or a day off. No one except Eren gets these rewards and everyone starts getting jealous. When cleaning day comes, Levi is surprised to see everyone working extra hard. Eren ends up slacking off because they were doing his job for him so Eren wouldn’t get any rewards. In the end, he ended up getting rewarded anyways and he just devilishly smirks at everyone because he knows, somehow, he ended up winning Levi over.

violetsparklezz  asked:

I know why asian people order hot water! It's usually to clean out the bowls or cups. So they put a bit of hot water in a cup/bowl, mix it around, dump the water into a different bowl, and then wipe it clean! They do this because sometimes the dishes arent the cleanest so it's just a way to ensure that their dishes are clean

omg THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED

(is my family weird cause we order hot water to drink haha)

A Real Date

Dean Winchester x Reader

1850 Words

Summary: After Dean had been gone for a hunt, he surprises you with a date. But as usual, things don’t go as planned.

Author’s Note: This is something I had written quite a while ago, and finally decided to upload. Maybe not my best writing, but…

Music echoed off the walls of the bunker, loud pop type music that usually never played in the bunker. Dean hated that type of music, so the only time you played it was when you were in the bunker, alone, doing research. The boys had left three days ago, on a routine salt and burn hunt. You had stayed back, helping them with research when they called. The rest of the time was spent cleaning (the boys weren’t the cleanest people in the world,) baking in the antique kitchen, watching movies, and dancing in your underwear.

It was the third day they had been gone, and you were really starting to miss your boyfriend of six months, Dean Winchester. He and his brother, Sam, were regulars at the diner you used to work at. That was until a Demon decided to mess with it. They killed the Demon, and offered you a chance to stay with them, learning to hunt, and giving you the opportunity to fall hard and fast for a certain green eyed hunter. It was the best decision you had ever made.

Keep reading

Yuanfen - Part 2

Characters - ??? x Reader, Steve, Bucky

Word Count - 1727

Warnings - Language

A/N - This is an AU! 缘分 (yaunfen) is a Chinese word that has no direct English translation and (roughly) means “A relationship that is brought together by a force such as destiny or fate.” I decided to go with a prompt that I saw on this list by @sincerelysaraahh for this part. Feed back is encouraged, tell me what you think!

Yuanfen Masterlist

“Damn, Y/N,” Steve let out a muffled chuckle around the pasta stuffed into his mouth, “you were a bit harsh on the guy. Why not just give him a chance?”

Glancing down at the bowl in your hand, you pushed around a piece of chicken and shook your head lightly. Sure, you felt bad for being a dick to your neighbor but, you really weren’t interested in starting a new romance any time soon. Ever since you were a teen, you’d spent your life in one relationship after the other; you were always with someone, depending on their company and support. Because of this, you never got a chance to really figure out who you were.

Now, you’d been single for almost two years. At first, it was difficult and you found yourself looking for replacements for the last guy but over time you stopped going out and spent more time with your computer…and Steve but he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

can you do the excessive headcanon thing for preston?? lov that man

Me too anon!

  1. What does his bedroom look like?
    Very empty, he lost a lot of his personal belongings while trying to take care of the minutemen on his own. It is fairly clean, but not the cleanest. He has a desk where he does most of his work covered with mess, and his clothing is falling out of the drawers. That man always seems to be in a rush when he’s doing stuff. His walls are also covered in half finished charcoal and pencil drawings of anything you can find in a settlement, ranging from still life to gesture drawings.
  2. Does he have any daily rituals?
    Yes, he always goes around the settlement he is currently in and checks in on everybody. He also plays around with the local children, if there are any. He likes to make sure everyone else is doing okay before he worries about himself. He also carries around a small journal and a pencil with him always, asking settlers to pose for him for a drawing. He tries to do a drawing a day, but sometimes he’s far too busy to.
  3. Does he exercise, and if so, what does he do? How often?
    He doesn’t really worry much about exercise, for he is often always on his feet doing something. If he was to do any sort of exercise though, he would do something calm and prolonged like planks, maybe even yoga.
  4. What would he do if he needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?
    He would just patiently wait, maybe even start conversation. He gets along with anyone and everyone so it isn’t even hard for him to think of something to talk about, and he doesn’t really mind the wait. He might even get some of the meal the other person was cooking for just being him.
  5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)?
    He might not get time to shower every day, but he makes sure he is not filthy. He hates it when he smells and also hates the feeling of being unshowered. His clothes are almost always clean, or used only twice. He also tries his best to brush his teeth daily, for he hates the pain of cavities and smelly breath. His work space tends to get a but cluttered and disorganized, but not to the point where he cannot function there at all.
  6. Eating habits and sample daily menu?
    He loves eating meals made by the locals and the foods they have prepared. He never has set meals, he is always provided new foods by the settlers. He is always honored.
  7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time?
    He doesn’t always like wasting time, but he sometimes feels like it would help to. He likes to just sit down and draw for hours on end if he feels the need to waste time, and is supportive of others who waste time for similar reasons to his. He hates people who waste time just for the hell of it and never help out.
  8. Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging?
  9. Makeup?
    Nope.
  10. Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?
  11. Intellectual pursuits?
  12. Favorite book genre?
    He doesn’t read ‘actual’ books often, he prefers comics, so no genre.
  13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?
    Pansexual. Doesn’t think about orientation stuff often, it isn’t all that important to him.
  14. Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)
    He has scars across his chest, facing the same direction as the scar on his cheek. They seem to have been given to him by the same creature that have him the scar on his cheek.
    He has frequent bloody noses, he finds them quite annoying.
    He has a bit of a dust allergy, which you can imagine can be a big deal out in the wasteland. He often has a scarf on and up over his face when he’s exploring particularly dusty places that bother him.
  15. Biggest and smallest short term goal?
  16. Biggest and smallest long term goal?
  17. Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress?
    He likes his minutemen uniform and old hat, but if he can’t wear that, he is fine with any old larger jacket and nice fitting pair of jeans. He does not like baggy clothing, however. He doesn’t feel comfortable in it. He also really likes scarves and enjoys collecting them and wearing them with whatever outfit he has at the time.
  18. Favorite beverage?
    He loves Nuka Cola Cherry.
  19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?
    He thinks about how happy he is to finally be safe and to finally be in the actual Minutemen who do their duties instead of ignoring their responsibilities like the former Minutemen. He will never get tired of that fuzzy feeling he gets when he thinks of how far they’ve gotten.
  20. Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?
  21. Turn-ons? Turn-offs?
    He likes it when somebody is selfless, giving up meals or their bed for other people. He also likes it when somebody goes to lengths to be nice to people, even if not asked.
    He hates anybody who would bring harm to another person, especially children. He also dislikes people who just dislike children in general. He particularly hates people who waste resources just for the hell of it.
  22. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?
    The paper would be covered in doodles of everything around him. Animals, settlers, flowers, wildlife, you name it. He has a very nice and very realistic art style. 
  23. How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?
    He is fairly organized. He is better at organizing plans for missions and settlements, rather than his own personal belongings and materials.
  24. Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?
    He was always good at art, which is not at all an intellectual pursuit. He never really liked the local schooling he had received in his childhood, but he did try hard. He does think knowledge is important, and advocates for good school systems for the settlements. 
  25. How do they see themselves 5 years from today?
    He sees himself as a hardworking member of a large settlement set up by him and the Minutemen General, working hard to keep it safe and protected. 
  26. Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?
    His only plans are to keep the settlements good, happy, and functioning. If things don’t work out, he has no idea what he will do. He can only hope they do work out.
  27. What is their biggest regret?
    He regrets all the deaths that happened while he was leading the survivors of the minutemen for that short while. He still beats himself up about that.
  28. Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?
    He sees his fellow minutemen as his best friends! He cares about them all a lot. His worst enemy is anybody that poses a threat to him and his friends and the settlements he worked hard to set up for the settlers.
  29. Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)
    He is acting as quickly as possible, he wants to make sure everyone stays safe and the settlers hard work is not destroyed. He may even get himself hurt in the process, but it’s worth it if he saved others and prevented them harm, right?
  30. Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)?
    He tries his best to deal with it himself, but if he finds himself overwhelmed by it, he will go out and find a very close friend to talk to.
  31. Most prized possession?
    His old hat.
  32. Thoughts on material possessions in general?
    He thinks that they are very important and empathizes with people who have lost all of theirs. He knows how it feels to loose everything.
  33. Concept of home and family?
    His home is any minuteman settlement and his family are the minutemen around him.
  34. Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)
    He doesn’t tell people too much information, but is very social. Everyone knows something small about him, like how he likes Nuka Cola Cherry or that he draws constantly.
  35. What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?
    He enjoys wood carving, but he isn’t the best at it. He only considers it a waste of time when he messes up, but he thinks the opposite when he successful carves a good toy for a local child.
  36. What makes them feel guilty?
    He feels guilty when he sees people who have nothing and nowhere safe to go. He feels like he is lucky to have the Minutemen, and tries his best to make sure he can help everyone he can.
  37. Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?
    He is more emotional, which also tends to hurt him in the end. He always takes stuff too personally when he does, and he hates it.
  38. Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?
  39. What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?
    Chatting with local settlers and working on tasks given to them by those settlers. Also, a good nap always helps, especially when it is somewhere warm and with people chatting and living comfortably.
  40. Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?
  41. How misanthropic are they?
  42. Hobbies?
    He enjoys wood carving, drawing, reading comics, etc.
  43. How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?
    He got a little formal education from the settlement he was raised in. It wasn’t the best school and he wasn’t the best student, but he learned a lot.
  44. Religion?
  45. Superstitions or views on the occult?
    He is a bit superstitious, yes. He finds himself believing in silly little things that usually doesn’t bother most people and is a little embarrassed about it.
  46. Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?
    Deeds and words! He likes making sure everyone is understanding him, as well as knowing that they are appreciated!
  47. If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?
  48. How do they express love?
    Through words and actions. He would make sure to tell you that he loves you, and he would step a bit out of the way to make sure you feel loved by him, either platonic or romantically. 
  49. If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?
    He would rather not get in a fist fight, but if he was forced to, he would likely try to stun the person or pin them down in any way he can, unless the person is truly dangerous. Then we would try knocking the person out with blows to the head or neck.
  50. Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?
    Yes, of course. He fears that being one of the last Minutemen of his time, his death would also kill off their values and beliefs. He worries that without him there to make sure everything is going well, that they will collapse and fall again, returning to the selfish cowards they were.

anonymous asked:

Can I request RFA + V and Saeran with MC who likes to keep things /meticulously/ clean and in order, please?

Yoosung

  • Yoosung is a college student
  • This boy doesn’t have time to keep his things clean and oraganized his life is hardly clean and organized and you expect him to have his house like that???
  • Well, quite frankly, yes you do expect that.
  • It’s not absolutely horrid but you hate it anyways
  • “It’s organized chaos”
  • organized chaos. more like bullcrap
  • He has his mom nagging him to clean it though, and he does get it clean sometimes in bursts of motivation, so you don’t clean his house for him…
  • He was honestly in disbelief when he saw your home. Cleaned, organized, nicely set. Everything in its place. It set your mind at ease like that
  • “How in the world do you keep it like this??”
  • “How do you not? It’s neat and organized. Everything belongs somewhere and looks nice.”
  • “It really is nice. I feel like I’m gonna mess up something by just looking at it! Haha”
  • “Just make sure anything you touch gets put back where you found it. It’s easy.”
  • it’s not that easy
  • You are constantly correcting Yoosung when he touches something or sets something back down. He just doesn’t get it
  • Poor baby
  • He’ll learn

Jaehee

  • Jaehee isn’t as meticulously clean as you
  • But she is quite clean and organized
  • She’s actually the cleanest in the RFA. She can’t stand a mess, and even though she’s not home much, she keeps it clean for when she does get home and she can just relax.
  • although Elizabeth ruins her efforts whenever she stays over
  • You are like partners in crime
  • She’s amazed by your cleanliness, and you can appreciate her organization and neatness
  • Whenever Elly stays over you team up to conquer every little hair
  • And whenever she’s too busy you help clean up in her home
  • She is so appreciative
  • She helps out with you likewise, whenever someone comes and messes up your organization she’s one call away
  • She will be there within minutes with all her cleaning supplies from a purse-size stain remover to carpet cleaner
  • She totally understands you
  • And it makes her so happy someone else understands how hard she works to keep clean and organized and nice looking 

Zen

  • Zen isn’t clean and organized so much as he is minimalistic
  • He doesn’t have a lot and he doesn’t keep a lot, so it’s easy to keep organized because there’s hardly enough to make a mess
  • He’s not crazy about cleaning though, he leaves out pizza boxes and the sink still has soapy water from a couple nights before, still soaking dishes
  • To say the least you have been helping clean up there
  • His empty pizza boxes and wrappers no longer decorate his table and countertops
  • Plastic cups are cleaned up
  • Dishes are done and the sink emptied and cleaned
  • His bathroom is even clean which is a miracle for anyone;;
  • He is amazed by your work
  • But he’s always protesting ‘cause you’re not a servant, you shouldn’t be doing this!!
  • You disagree
  • And keep cleaning

Jumin

  • It’s not that his house isn’t clean
  • It’s that he isn’t the one cleaning it
  • His maids take care of all of his mess. He’s grown up with that
  • If they weren’t there, you would find out how much of a mess he truly is
  • Oh gosh this boy would be such a mess;;
  • maybe even worse than seven
  • You don’t witness it at his house so much as when you are out together. Eating out, him visiting you, anything
  • He leaves stuff out for others to clean up
  • It’s as if he expects his maids to clean up at your house.
  • Jumin. They don’t. Stop leaving everything everywhere that they don’t belong;;
  • You might actually blow up at this boy
  • But instead you take the opportunity to start showing him to clean up after himself
  • He doesn’t like it, he says that’s work for others
  • But you do it anyways
  • And you clean up for yourself whenever you’re out with him anyways
  • He starts picking up on your habits subconsciously
  • You feel so accomplished

Seven

  • Seven is a mess. He doesn’t take care of his trash and he leaves clothes around
  • He’s actually the worst.
  • It’s not that it’s a bad mess; It’s mostly just trash and clothes spewed everywhere.
  • And then a whole bunch of Dr. Pepper stains and chip crumbs everywhere
  • There’s just so much of it
  • You are determined to make sure his house is clean and he honestly doesn’t care
  • “Go for it”
  • “Be happy”
  • “You do you”
  • You’re always nagging at him to clean up after himself
  • (You don’t want to be the only one cleaning)
  • He acts like it’s such a hassle and makes a huge fuss about it
  • but he loves seeing you get flustered and argue with him about cleaning
  • He does get to it
  • Then gives you a kiss
  • Such a sweetie

Saeran

  • Oh dear heavens
  • This boy is a mess like his brother
  • (Maybe worse than his brother?)
  • Except the problem is he doesn’t see the point of cleaning. Whenever you clean up he’s always questioning you
  • “Why are you doing that? It’s only gonna get dirty again”
  • “Because it looks horrid. It looks worse than you do in the morning.”
  • You are so salty about him not caring about cleaning
  • He doesn’t even try to clean up either, even when you ask him
  • Saeran is going to be the death of you with his messes
  • He leaves trash everywhere. Dirty clothes and clean clothes are mixed together. Stains are everywhere. There are stains on stains.
  • And that murky gray curtain was supposed to be a pale blue.
  • HOW DOES THIS BOY LIVE LIKE THIS
  • He just doesn’t get it

V

  • He isn’t messy
  • But he isn’t absolutely clean and spotless
  • He’s at a comfortable middle ground.
  • It surprises you that he’s pretty organized, considering he’s blind
  • He must’ve memorized where everything goes.
  • You let him keep his organized system because it does look pretty. Him and his plants and simple yet neat cozy home.
  • But you do keep everything cleaned
  • Sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, stain-removing
  • You do all of that for him without letting him know about all of it
  • He can’t really appreciate the cleanliness ‘cause he doesn’t see the nitpickety details like you do
  • But he does thank you often
  • And you can appreciate the cleanliness
  • It makes you happy that he lets you clean and doesn’t bug you about it
  • And thanks you for it
  • Precious bean

~Sunflower (:

i cleaned my bathroom today and it’s genuinely the cleanest bathroom in the history of clean bathrooms like… literally no bathroom has ever been as clean as my bathroom is right now

anonymous asked:

Hi Anna, I remember you were one of the skeptics who thought that they might go with the "not his" narrative right? Do you still think it's possible? I agree that if they choose to end the showmance in this way it may be able to end it for good (i.e. he doesn't have to pretend to visit the kids, etc), but wouldn't it make him a fool in the public's eyes. I mean, it's probably going to be one of the very first things people think about when they think about him...which is 'damaging his image'?

Nonny, I think ANYTHING is possible when it comes to this particular showmance.  

I do think the cleanest way for him to wipe the slate clean would be to go with a “not his”, and I still think that’s an option; especially given the conception date in case they’d want to ever confirm the birth date for Pilo 2.0.  I also think Pilo 2.0 would make it even easier for him to claim a not his for both imaginary children.

BUT… I also can’t help but take in what @gnanon has been insisting on for months now.  Perhaps Ben will never go with the big scandal and the crazy tabloid stories a “not his” would involve.  Perhaps this was always meant to end with a whimper rather than a big bang.

I know I’d enjoy the drama and the finality of a “not his” which would shut Weirdo up for good and not give her any room to play games.  Ever.

I also know Showsie keeps telling me the smartest thing for Ben to do would be to just end this as quietly as possible.

So yeah… given that we don’t even know if this showmance is really on its last leg at this point, I have no idea what they’ll go for when the time finally comes to end this.

But I do like the fact that the narrative that’s been set up is such that it’s leaving all of Ben’s options open.

crowleys-crossroads-inn  asked:

Do you clean the place yourselves or do you employ a cleaner? and if you clean it yourselves - who is the cleanest person?

Sehun: We clean ourselves, every morning after the club was open. Our guests know not to make a huge mess of the place but it happens anyways. It’s not that big of a deal to clean the bar, floor, and walls. Glasses go into a huge dishwasher etc. We don’t need to hire anybody. 

The cleanest persons are probably Xiumin and Lay really, the rest of us is messy or a slob XD


Engraved Chat Time

Turn Down the Heat - 18(Leonard Snart/Reader)

Part One Part Two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five  Part Six  Part Seven Part Eight  Part Nine Part Ten  Part Eleven Part Twelve  Part Thirteen Part Fourteen  Part Fifteen  Part Sixteen  Part Seventeen

Originally posted by scofields

You rolled in a street tumbling to a halt. You laid there for a moment before sitting up letting out a scream. Holding yourself you just knelt there crying in the middle of the street. You’d rather go through physical pain a hundred times then keep getting ripped away from him.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes snapped open when you heard a low gruff voice. You looked over seeing an older man looking at you. His arm was missing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat.

It was then that you started to taking in your surroundings. Trash and ruins. You stood up only to stumble back down, your leg had not caught up yet. He stepped toward you, but stopped when you pushed back away from him, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.” You told him staring at him, “Where am I?”

“Star City…” He told you stepping back. You could tell he was trying to put you at ease, “Where did you think you where?”

“Central City…” You sat there looking up at him, “I’m always in Central City…why am I…what year is it?”

The man got a strange look on his face, “Wh…2046.”

“2046.” You repeated slowly a small realization rippling over you, “If he’s here…then the others…”

He watched you scramble to get up noticing the deep gash on your arm, “You’re hurt.”

You looked at yourself and saw the gash oozing down your arm, “It must’ve happened when I fell.”

“It should be cleaned. Our city isn’t the cleanest…” He told you quietly, “If you come with me, I have some supplies.”

You stared at him, “How can I trust you?”

“You can’t.” You saw a small flicker of a smile that fade quickly, “My name is Oliver…once we get you cleaned up we can look for your ‘he’.”

You stared at him a moment longer before nodding. You followed behind him looking at the city, “What happened here?”

He glanced back at you, “…Deathstroke…He overran the city allowing criminals to rule as long as they stayed out of his way.”

“That’s awful.” You frowned looking at him, “Is that…how you…”

He stopped looking at you making you stop talking, “Stay close.”

“Right.” The rest of the trip was silent as you descended below the street into darkness. You began to feel nervous until he flipped the lights on and whispered, “Welcome home…”

You looked around the space seeing what once was a pretty impressive set up, “What was this place?”

“Once it was the strength and protection of this city…now it’s just a sad reminder that it didn’t work.” He told you reaching over for a first aid kit, “Sit…please…”

You complied looking at him, “But…you live here so there must still be hope, yes?”

His eyes met yours but he didn’t say anything as he cleaned out the wound. Finally he sighed, “I didn’t get your name. I was too busy trying not to scare you.”

“Sorry…it’s been a rough couple of days…My name’s Y/N.” You told him making a face as your arm began to sting.

He looked at you again looking at the dress you were wearing, “What are you doing on the streets dressed like that? Are you trying to get noticed?”

“I…” You didn’t know what to tell him, “I’m not…from here.”

“That much is obvious.” He told you as he wrapped a bandaged on your arm, “But you’re looking for someone.”

“Yes…” You smiled a little, “Wherever I end up he’s always there. Every time. Maybe you’ve seen him and his friends. They’re not from here either and they probably stand out a little.”

He stared at you, “Are they traveling with a Sara Lance?”

Your eyes grew wide, “They are here…please you have to tell me where they are.”

“You’re looking for them, but why aren’t you with them?” His eyes narrowed on you.

“It’s…a very complicated story involving a lot of time travel…please.” You stood up looking at him, “I need their help. Please, Oliver.”

He sighed, “I’ve…just seen them…I sent them to a warehouse…they’re probably still there.”

“Is it far? Can you take me there?” You fired off quickly.

He sighed in frustration, “I’m not getting involved. They’re looking for a neural interface…which…by your face must be extremely important.”

“Please tell me how to get there. I need to help them just as much as I need their help.” You stared at him pleading.

He nodded walking away for a moment and came back with a data pad, “This will guide you there. Do you need a weapon?”

“Weapon?” You looked at him watching him shut his eyes as more frustration set in, “I’ll…manage…”

“Just…take this.” He pulled out a small pistol from his waist. As he held it out his thumb pointed out the safety, “Keep it out and at the ready, switch off the safety, then shoot and run. Hide. Cover will be your ally.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” You looked at him, “If I can do anything…”

“Just…fix whatever it is…you have a couple of good friends on that ship.” He nodded slowly turning from you, “Go now, and you’ll catch them.”

You nodded looking down at the pad before walking out the way you came in with him. You were going to find them, you had to this time. If you lost them, you might never get any help.

You were glad that Oliver had given you a gun. While violence was not your first choice, you felt a little safer knowing you had something to at least deter people away from you. The warehouse wasn’t as far as it seemed and as you approached you began to hear a fire fight.

You rushed forward taking cover by an abandoned car as everything started to quiet down. Slowly you peered around the corner of the car to see who was coming out as you heard an engine come to life. You saw Sara come out first looking around followed by Rip on a quad with something fuzzy you couldn’t make out.

Then your heart stopped as the final member came out. Cold gun in his hand he swept the area as Sara mounted on the quad.

It took you a moment to find your voice as you stood up, “L-Len!”

His head swiveled quickly toward the sound of your voice. He stood there staring at you until you took off running toward him, “Y/N…”

“Oh my god…” Sara whispered as Len took off toward you.

“Y/N!” He shouted again running toward you. Your bodies collided knocking the breath out of both of you. His arms wrapped around you tightly and yours around him, “You’re here…you’re really here.”

You looked at his face nodded, “I don’t know how…long…I don’t…I’ve been here an hour already.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He shook his head putting his forehead against yours, “I’m not letting that happen again. I’m not letting you go.”

Rip pulled up next you both, “I’m sorry to make this short lived…but we have to go.”

“What did you do to my ship?” You glared at him.

“Your ship! I…” He stopped himself looking away, “Please get on…”

Sara shifted over patting the seat next to her smiling, “I bet you have a long story.”

You looked at Len, “I suppose we do…”

He shifted Mick over on the back and sat down not once letting your hand go. It was one of his theories that you needed to be anchored. You stayed longer when you were closer to him. When things weren’t rushed.

He would slow everything down if it meant keeping you by his side. He looked at your arm as Rip drove, “What happened?”

You looked at the bloodied bandaged he pointed at, “Apparently when you shift time and space in a moving vehicle you don’t stop when you cross over. I’m lucky that’s all that happened.”

“How did you find us?” Sara gained your attention. You smiled feeling Len’s hand squeeze yours as you looked away.

“A man name Oliver found me outside of his home. He said he ran into you and gave me directions…” You stared at Sara, “You know him?”

“Know him.” She took in a deep breath, “I dated him once upon a time…”

“Oh…oh…” You looked back at Len, “That’s what he meant by goods friends.”

“I’m sure there’s more to that statement…I want to hear all about once we’re on our way.” He told you bringing your hand up to his mouth kissing your fingers, “We have…business…we need to talk about.”

Indeed…the last time you spoke with him there was a discussion he started, that he never finished. You smiled a little blushing, “You’ll have no argument from me.”

“Oh please…gag me…” You heard Rip mutter.

anonymous asked:

Can you post some hc of yoongi and bts?? (I'm sorry if this is annoying of me to ask)

(noo you’re not annoying don’t worry! i’m sorry if i get annoying with my long ass answers though TT) 

hmmm i’m gonna assume this means bts in general and not in relation to any AUs of mine?

ok i’m gonna go by member

(btw these are my own headcanons and you don’t have to agree if you don’t want to ^^)

((although most of them are based on things bts has said, done, talked about, etc))

Keep reading

Cuts, Bruises, and Messy Hair

Summary: Jyn and Cassian are alone after the battle. She’s feeling like a mess. He’s broken and bruised. They help each other fix their cuts, bruises, and messy hair. 

AO3

A/N: So @dealingdreams gives me prompts which I cry over so I have to share this cuteness with you. Have fun.

Jyn, utterly ruined and feeling like she was a walking shell, sat down in the cargo bay of Rogue One. Everyone had emptied, so now it was just Jyn, her chest aching and her feet unable to take her any further. Sand and dirt were scattered in her hair, blistering all over her face - in reality, she was a mess.

Keep reading

Best friend! Wonwoo

Originally posted by wonyeols

  • can I just say that chokers look reaalllly great on wonwoo? 
  • SO
  • you know that friend that doesn’t really like to go outside that often? aka me
  • Yea that’s what I see Wonwoo as 
  • like 
  • it would be so chill
  • just spread out on the couch and lazily watching movies
  • eating popcorn 
  • and the at some point you’d just like have a mini food fight with the popcorn but in the end you’d just clean it up
  • cause he’s the cleanest member
  •  and he likes it clean
  • not messy
  • eyyyyyy get it?
  • But then like
  • somehow
  • you’d two end up watching the  “Miracle in Cell No.7"
  • and he’d cry
  • and you’d cry
  • cause like
  • whyyyyyyyyy??
  • it’s so saaaddddd
  • and like 
  • it would just end up as a crying party
  • and you’ll be eating ice cream and tissues are everywhere
  • and then the other members walk in 
  • and they would think someone had died
  • but the they saw what was on the TV 
  • and probably would join ya
  • it’s a good movie okay?
  • Reading together
  • like you’d go to the closest bookstore
  • and just pick a few interesting books 
  • rent them
  • and go to the closest cafe or coffee shop
  • and just sit there for hours reading the books
  • occasionally chatting 
  • and then back to the books
  • it would be really comfortable
  • really chill
  • books and chill 
  • but not like netflix and chill
  • cause
  • you guys are bros 
  • just books and chilling while drinking hot cacao or coffee 
  • whatever you prefer 
  • I honestly prefer cacao, cause I don’t like coffee….
  • and then you’d just discuss the plot of the books
  • and the characters
  •  and pros 
  • and cons
  • and 
  • yea you get it
  • him recommending you books
  • and you recommending him books
  • just a lot of books okay?
  • You probably have to protect him from the local dogs
  • cause he’s afraid of ‘em 
  • not that I blame them 
  • not a big fan of them either
  • SINGING
  • Like his deep ass voice just like singing softly and you just like humming
  • when you’re bored
  • and like
  • he’d be like “Bro”
  • and you’d be like “Bro yes”
  • and then you’d be writing a song together
  • and calling yourselves the “awkward beans”
  • and recording the song for just the heck of it
  • and then a month later you find it and
  • crINGE 
  • TELLING HIM ABOUT MEANIE
  • Like just imagine it
  • imagine his face
  • just DO IT
  • and then magine Mingyu just popping out of NO WHERE
  • and then Wonwoo just like glaring at him 
  • and Mingyu being like 
  • “Bro what I do?”
  • and Woo’d be like
  • =_=+
  • and Mingyu’d be the clueless puppy as always
  • and you’d just be laughing your ass off in the background
  • and then as revenge he’d be giving your crush REALLY OBVIOUS CLUES that you like them
  • but somehow your crush would be oblivious to the hints??
  • and then you’d feel disappointed yet relived at the same time??
  • and then Woo’d be there with a bucket of ice cream ready for you to eat while you rant to him how can one be so oblivious???
  • and also a hand full of movies for you two to watch 
  • most likely one or two of them are horror 
  • just because
  • Halloween is almost here and he’d like to get in the mood
  • and besides
  • he prefers horror to comedy soooo
  • So in other words you’d have a sloth as a best friend !
  • I honestly want that to be real like 
  • sloths are really cute in my opinion 
  • okay that’s enough 
  • bye