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plutoisaplanet16 · 4 years

Text

21 Reasons to Love Someone

(Damien Haas x reader)

#1. Their Smile

Word count: 1,644

Warnings: none (SFW)

Buy me a coffee

Two words: Defy Media.

At first excitement coursed Damien’s being as he thought about the prospect of having a job where he could sit around and play games all day. However, it did not take him long to feel the same way everybody else in the office did. You knew the pressure took a toll on him when the first thing he did after work was sleep. Damien’s personality shined through on camera, but being the entertaining ball of sunshine for so many videos each day overwhelmed him. When he came home he would say a mindless “hello y/n” and perhaps jokingly say “hello my baby geese” to Freyja and Zelda, but after that he would close the door to the bedroom and plop down on the bed. Sometimes he wouldn’t even bother to take his shoes off. Usually you would just leave him alone for a couple hours until you finished making dinner or the postmate had arrived.

“How was work?” you would ask as you handed him his meal.

He would always tell you, “It was good, but I won’t go into detail. Too much happened today; I’ll probably miss something if I try to tell you.”

Damien would always laugh it off and pretend like it was nothing, but you knew better than to buy into his nightly act. After nearly a year and half of dating, you knew what Damien did when something bothered him. Comedy was his coping mechanism, but after the bright laughter ceased, his face fell into a blank expression: the sparkle in his eyes dulled, his normally rosy complexion seemingly drained in an instant, and lastly, silence filled the room. It was quite frankly the most bizarre phenomenon to behold. All you wanted to do was grab his soft face and kiss his forehead to try and convince him that everything would work out, but this wasn’t a fanfiction or a cheesy romantic comedy. People are more complicated than that.

So that’s how you ended up awake at 3:17 a.m. scouring the internet for Harry Potter house robe cat costumes. Your dry eyes and blurry vision did not deter you from finding that one Esty shop that would grant you wish. Was each costume going to be $45 plus shipping? Yes. But did that stop you? No. This was a mission of love, and for Damien, you would go any distance to see that adorable goober genuinely smile.You were just about to place the order when Damien’s arm pulled you closer into his chest as he looked over your shoulder. Without thinking, you stupidly threw your phone across the room. Luckily it landed in a soft, plushy chair in the corner of the room.

“Y/n, what was that about?” Damien shook his head.

You struggled to find an answer, “Um...uh...”

“Do I even want to know?” he chuckled, “As long as it’s not Tinder I don’t care enough to lose any more sleep.”

“I would never cheat on you!” you exclaimed.

He sleepily mumbled, “I know. I’m too sexy.”

You laughed to yourself as you left the bed to go retrieve your hopefully-not-cracked-phone. You quickly placed the order and crawled back into bed. It was rare that Damien ever complimented himself like that. It reminded you of the Damien you knew before Defy... the Damien who ruffled his hair and smoldered at the camera for a selfie. It was so nice to hear Damien still have his moments of confidence. It gave you hope that your plan would actually work.

5:15 pm. It was almost time.

You had just finished making dinner, and you rushed to set the table neatly. To be honest, what you made shouldn’t even really be considered dinner because it was more or less a buffet of different movie food such as: M&Ms, twizzlers, chips and homemade dip, tiny sandwiches, and of course popcorn. You arranged them into a deliciously looking spread in the finest plastic bowls the dollar store had to offer. (Neither one of you would really want to do dishes anyway.) Once it looked perfect you turned towards the living room to hunt down Freyja and Zelda. You had the costumes neatly folded on the top of the grey, cloth couch. Luckily Freyja was napping on the cushion below them; you petted her gently and unfolded her Ravenclaw house robes. She yawned and stretched right as you were about to wake her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she sniffed the robe. Freyja backed away and her big, glossy eyes moved back and forth between you and the costume.

“It’s for Daddy, okay? Work with me here, please Freyja.”

She meowed back like she understood, and from then on she was compliant. Next, you had to hunt down Zelda. It honestly amazed you how well that chonky cat could hide. You called out her name for what felt like forever until you yelled that Damien would be home soon. A small meow came from underneath the couch.

“Just what am I to you guys?”

Zelda came out and before she even knew what was happening, you squeezed her into her Hufflepuff robes, “Finally.”

Everything was almost perfect; the last thing you had to do was put on your own house robes and get all eight Harry Potter movies out of storage. Sure you would never be able to finish them all in one night, but both of you would give it a valiant attempt. Digging the movies out of the bin would prove to be a challenge because both of you were giant nerds that for some reason decided to just throw all your nerdiness into several boxes and NOT label them. In the fourth of six boxes is where you found the first three movies, and the rest were at the bottom of the fifth box. You decided that after all this was over you and Damien were sure to be doing some serious decluttering for the next week or so. Meanwhile, you had to go light some spooky looking candles, somehow avoid going ahead and digging into the scrumptious food, and put the first DVD in the console.

As the first movie finally loaded, Damien unlocked the door and walked in, “It smells like a theatre in here. What happ-”

He stopped dead in his tracks when saw you with the Sorting Hat on your head and your Harry Potter robes. His face was full of wonder and confusion as he took a couple seconds to slowly look around and examine his surroundings. He giggled at the spooky yet romantic lighting as well as Hedwig’s Theme rattling the walls of the apartment. You hoped you two wouldn’t get noise complaints...again. Damien walked closer towards you, but soon Freyja and Zelda ambushed him by rubbing themselves up against his legs.

He looked down in disbelief, “Freyja...Zelda? Y/n?”

“I’m glad you know all our names,” you teased.

“What is all this? Their costumes? The candles? The food? Harry Potter?” he sat down on the floor next to you.

“Listen Damien, I know something has been up with you these past couple of weeks. I know you love Smosh and your job, and it doesn’t make sense to me why you would be hiding how you really feel from me,” you said.

“Y/n,” he sighed, “It’s complicated, okay? Half the time I don’t even know what’s going through my head when it comes to talking about my day. You are right. I love my job, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. However, I’m having a tough time right now. There are a lot of videos we film in one day, and for someone like me it can easily become too much. The biggest issue is our parent company itself never listening to us; it is so frustrating. I don’t like spreading that kind of negativity so I shove it away, but it seems it has still affected you. It’s hard for me to talk about, and honestly, I just want to figure it out on my own. I don't want to bring you down with me.”

You were kind of hurt that he didn’t feel comfortable telling you everything but you had to respect him, “It’s okay Damien. I won’t push you, but please let me in on some things. I hate sitting here watching you be miserable not being able do a single thing about it. I want to help you, and that’s why I did all this. Sometimes you walk in here, and it’s like I don’t even know who I am looking at. I believe you will find your footing at Smosh, and everyone will soon adore you. I know it didn’t take me long to fall in love with you.”

Damien blushed, “Oh really?”

He smiled. He actually smiled. It was a complete 100% authentic goofy Damien smile that spread from ear to ear. He felt happiness deep down inside because of you, and that is all you could ever ask for. Being the ooey-gooey romantic person you are, you threw yourself onto him and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. No, that kiss wouldn’t really fix much, but it made both of your hearts melt. When you pulled away you looked at his face again; he was still smiling, but it wasn’t the same as it was a moment ago. Instead of bright and bubbly, it was a small adoring grin. His eyes bore into yours, and it was like everything else around you two disappeared.

“Y/n?” he asked.

You answered, “Yes?”

He pulled you into his chest and tightly wrapped his arms around you. His soft heartbeat became like white nose to you, “How come you fell in love with me so fast?”

You pulled away from him and kissed his lips, “How could I not with that smile of yours?”

---------------

Hello! This is my first Smosh fanfiction I have ever wrote. I’m not new to the fanfiction writing world. I’ve had two wattpad accounts and even wrote on a BTS fan app for a while. I dropped this hobby of mine to focus on my senior year of high school. Recently though I have come back to writing due to being stuck in the house and my school year being pretty much over. I decided to start this prompt series because I was bored and itching to write something again. I hope you all have enjoyed this short imagine. It is part one of a twenty-one part prompt list that I have made up myself.

This specific list will, for now, only include past and present Smosh members, but if you would like to see any of these prompts for other fictional characters or real people please let me know in my inbox! I have no requests, and I would certainly love some. Thank you all for reading this!

#smosh #smosh pit #smosh damien #smosh games #harry potter #damien haas #damien #fanfic #fanfiction #damien haas x reader #smosh fanfic #smosh fandom #smosh fanfiction #smosh games fanfic #smosh games x reader #smosh games fanfiction #damien haas fanfic #Damien haas fanfiction

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klove0511 · 5 years

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The Angel With Nine Lives

Pairings: Sam/Castiel

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Summary: In the wake of Dean and Gadreel's departures, Sam and Cas return to the bunker to search for a way to track Metatron. When Castiel vanishes and a cat invites itself into the bunker to stay, however, Sam must figure out what has happened to his angel.

Fic on AO3

Art Masterpost (go give them some love!)

Huge thanks to my wonderful artist @dmsilvisart for their lovely art prompt and header! I had a ton of fun working on this project, and I have to say, I rather enjoy the story that came out of it. Also a big thank you to everyone that looked this over for me before posting--dmsilvisart, MTC5, and my ever-patient wife. It's definitely a better story thanks to your feedback. And thanks to @sastielbb for hosting this event!

If you like the art, go to the art masterpost and give dmsilvisart some love!

Fic under the cut

Dust flew as Sam opened another box in the storage room. Everything in here was unorganized, marginally controlled chaos. It seemed like the Men of Letters had received the two dozen boxes as a bulk shipment shortly before they were destroyed, and so no one had had the time to sort the new magical items. Everything had documentation somewhere, but whoever had packed the boxes clearly had his mind on other things because none of it was with its intended item.

Sam coughed and reached into the box. He hoped something in this room would be helpful in tracking angels, because he and Cas had scoured the rest of the bunker over the last week and come up with nothing useful.

Cas was upstairs retreading old ground in case they’d missed something, leaving Sam to sort and brood in peace.

He didn’t want to think about Dean or what Dean had done, but it was difficult to think of anything else. Instead of presenting Gadreel as an option, giving Sam the choice to choose to live, Dean had decided Sam couldn’t be trusted to make the “right” decision. Again. He honestly wasn’t sure if it was the mind rape or the lack of trust that hurt worst, but both had given him nightmare fuel for days, interspersed, of course, with memories of his own hands burning out Kevin’s eyes.

Sam pulled out several books on demons and set them aside, trying to divert his train of thought. It led down a dark path, one Castiel had already pulled him off once. ‘Nothing is worth losing you,’ he’d said. Sam couldn’t say he agreed, exactly, but he thought Cas had made the right call during the grace extraction. It was doubtful they would have had enough grace for the spell regardless, and then Sam would have died for nothing. The least he could do was make his death meaningful.

The box was empty, having contained only books. Several looked interesting and useful for hunting in general, but nothing appeared to be relevant to their current mission. He sighed and cracked open the next box, coughing and waving away the accompanying dust. Pausing before he dug into the contents, he took a moment to marvel at how remarkable it was that Castiel, angel of the Lord, could place such high value on the life of someone like Sam. He couldn’t have really meant what he’d said, right? Not literally. Then again, Cas was the most literal person Sam had ever met. The words ran through his mind again. ‘Nothing is worth losing you.’ It made Sam wonder, just a bit, if Cas could, if Cas did feel more for him than friendship, than brotherhood. If he might look at Sam the way Sam had seen him for years.

Sam pulled a statue of a veiled woman out of the box and frowned at it. The hair on his arms stood on end, and the air was heavy, like trying to breathe soup. The statue emanated power. The Men of Letters were usually good about properly packaging cursed objects—he’d found several curse boxes already and set them aside until he could find the documentation that went with them. Theoretically, that meant that whatever this thing was, it at least wasn’t cursed. He was placing it on the table beside the box when Castiel entered, and he turned to face the angel, statue still in hand.

“Did you find something?” Sam asked.

Castiel frowned at the stack of empty boxes in the corner and said, “Sam, when is the last time you ate?”

Sam shrugged. “This morning, I think. Why?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “What day is it?”

Sam looked at the angel, perplexed. “Tuesday. Cas, what’s going on?”

Cas sighed and glared at Sam. “It’s Wednesday morning. I assume you’ve been down here all night?”

Sam looked around at the piles of boxes. He didn’t feel like he’d spent a whole day in here, but it was always possible. He’d certainly gotten a lot done.

Cas pressed his lips into a line. “I’m going to the store. What food we have left has gone bad. Should I bother suggesting you rest in the meantime?”

One side of Sam’s mouth tugged upward into a fond smile. “You’re right. I’ll go grab a nap and a shower, then something to eat. Deal?”

Cas nodded and stalked away. Sam huffed a laugh. He didn’t try to annoy the angel, not like Dean did, but Cas was pretty adorable when he was irritated—like a disgruntled cat. His mother hen impression was pretty cute too. In any case, Cas was right. Sam checked his phone and confirmed he’d been awake nearly thirty hours. Finally setting the statue down, he went and crashed in his room. He was asleep almost instantly.

Four hours later, Sam’s stomach angrily grumbling woke him from a nightmare where he was being chased by a Lammasu—a winged lion he’d read about in some textbook somewhere but he’d been lucky enough to never encounter in person. He shook off the remnants of the dream and grabbed some food from the kitchen—Cas had obviously made it back from his grocery run at some point—then stopped for a quick shower before making his way back to the storeroom to keep working. He hadn’t seen Cas, but the bunker was big and it was easy to spend hours alone when there were only the two of them around. As he got back to work in the storeroom, Sam set an alarm on his phone so he wouldn’t work through the night again.

Barely an hour later, he heard a banging that seemed to be coming from the front door. Curious and wary, he went to open it, pulling his gun as he went.

He opened the door, leveling the gun at…nobody? Confused, he looked around, then down as alarmed meowing started. Sitting in front of the door and looking extremely put out was a Siamese cat with cream fur except where it darkened to a rich chocolate on its legs, ears, face and tail. It blinked stunning blue eyes at him and grew quiet as he slowly lowered his gun.

Baffled, he moved to close the door and return to his work when the cat darted inside, nearly tripping him on its way. It started its chatter again as it descended the stairs, and Sam could swear there was intelligence in its eyes as it stopped and looked at him with a quizzical head tilt from the doorway leading to the bedrooms, then padded away down the hall.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. Apparently he had a cat now. Dean was going to be pissed when he finally decided to come home.

Two days later, Sam stared at his phone, willing it to ring. Cas was missing and not answering his phone. After the third voicemail, Sam had made himself stop calling, busying himself with researching cats and purchasing supplies, but there were only so many catnip mice and string toys he could order before he remembered that his brother had betrayed and abandoned him and his best friend had vanished without a word. He’d noticed yesterday morning when the angel hadn’t appeared for his usual cup of coffee, but he honestly wasn’t sure how long the angel had been gone. He hadn’t seen Cas since he’d left for the grocery store. The fresh food meant he’d returned, but there was no sign of when he’d left again.

The cat had made itself at home in the meantime, mostly following Sam around and staring at him with its unsettling gaze or meowing loudly at him when he didn’t go to bed at a reasonable time. It was an affectionate thing, though, always purring at the slightest touch from Sam and pushing its head under his hand. In fact, it knocked Sam out of his reverie by jumping onto the seat next to him and head butting his arm. Sam idly reached down to scratch behind its ears as he decided to try Cas one more time.

Pressing the phone to his ear as he waited for it to connect, he absently stroked the soft fur next to him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Cas’s phone ringing. Looking around for the source, he realized after a moment that the cat was ringing. Sam sat, frozen, glancing between the ringing cat and his phone. The cat rolled its eyes, then mashed a paw against Sam’s phone, ending the call. It just looked at him before giving him an exasperated meow.

“Cas?” Sam whispered.

The cat chirped and trilled, arching its back before slamming its head into Sam’s side.

Sam was bewildered. Of all the crazy things that had happened to them, this might be the weirdest. Even that time Dean had sort of turned into a dog he hadn’t literally turned into a dog. He knew Cas wasn’t going to be able to answer him, but he had to ask. “Cas, how did you get turned into a cat?”

Cas could not figure out what had happened. He was certainly not a cat, but Sam persisted in his assertion that he was. Sam was not ill or hallucinating, as Castiel had checked—several times, in fact. The only other feasible explanation was that there was magic at work. But who would bespell an item to make one perceive others as felines?

His research into tracking Gadreel and Metatron was going to have to wait until he fixed whatever had happened to Sam, who was out searching for leads he was certainly not going to find. Cas sat at one of the library tables, surrounded by books on illusion magic, and he stared at his phone. Dean would want to know his brother was under the influence of a spell. He’d be angry if he found out something had happened to Sam, but he would be furious if he didn’t hear it from Castiel. Still, if Castiel could fix whatever was wrong before Dean found out, then he would never need to know. He was sure Sam would prefer that option, though Sam was still unaware that he was the one under the influence of magic.

The angel still hesitated, thumb hovering over Dean’s name. No. He would fix this. Dean would be angry if he found out, but Sam would never forgive him. Not now, when the human was already so vulnerable. As Sam had said, they got this.

Sighing, Cas pocketed his phone and pulled one of the books toward him. Sam would be unable to help research this, so Cas ought to get started. He tried not to think about how good Sam’s hand had felt ruffling his hair before he’d realized it was Cas he was petting.

Sam was exhausted. He’d canvassed half of Lebanon trying to figure out what had happened to Cas. No one had seen anything suspicious, though several people remembered the “handsome man in a trench coat.” Two had inquired about whether Cas was single, and three had told him they hoped he found his boyfriend soon. Sam wasn’t sure what had given them that particular impression, but he didn’t question it. People thought he and Dean were a couple all the time.

His next step was searching news outlets for anything that sounded like witches or cursed objects, his two leading theories at the moment. If that yielded nothing, then it was time to hit the books again.

Three days and four failed spells later, even Sam could admit he was running himself into the ground. He could scarcely protest when Cas decided to lay across the books he was reading (rereading), effectively interrupting his research. The angel twitched his tail and released a low grumble when Sam attempted to dislodge him. Admitting defeat, Sam raised his hands in surrender and pushed back his chair.

“You’re right; I need a break. I’m going to go watch a movie or something in my room. You want to join me?” At least Castiel could still understand him, though he missed the sound of the angel’s voice.

Cas tilted his head in a manner so familiar, Sam almost laughed. Then he hopped off the table and trotted past Sam, briefly turning and waiting at the entrance to the library. Sam grinned and followed the cat to his room.

Castiel was glad Sam had decided to spend the evening relaxing, but he was unclear on the social protocol of where he should sit now that Sam perceived him as feline. Normally, he would use the desk chair in Sam’s room, but for reasons he could not articulate he found himself reluctant to sit so far away. Perhaps it had something to do with how much Sam had begun touching him the last few days. Even now that he was aware that the “cat” was Castiel, Sam seemed to instinctively want to reach out and pet, running his hand through Castiel’s hair or down his back. At one point he had hoped that the spell would be unable to resolve the impossibilities that physically touching created—he was, after all, decidedly NOT covered in fur—but that hope had been dashed days ago. Still, he was enjoying the proximity to one of his favorite humans and wished for it to continue.

Sam ultimately settled the matter for him by patting the bed next to his leg, inviting the angel to join him. Castiel hesitated a moment longer, knowing that Sam was unaware of just how little space there would be on the bed with both of them there and wondering if indulging himself was strictly ethical in this case. Then, he decided that he ought to take the invitation at face value and settled himself shoulder to shoulder with Sam.

A few minutes into the movie (Castiel had not bothered to pay attention to the title. There were people doing illogical things and very few explosions) Sam began absently stroking Cas’s leg alarmingly near his groin. The angel whined in a most undignified way as arousal jolted through him, and he wondered what noise Sam had heard because he has immediately snatched his hand away as though burned.

“Sorry,” Sam said. “I don’t—I wasn’t thinking.” He held himself stiffly, staring at his hands in his lap and picking at one of his cuticles.

Cas’s inability to communicate with Sam had never been more frustrating. Worse was that he had no idea how the spell would interpret anything he said or did. Still, he had to try. Seeing Sam look so guilty was heartbreaking. He liked when Sam touched him. In theory, that ought to be simple enough to communicate. Gently, he lifted Sam’s hand and replaced it on his leg.

Sam stared at his hand for a moment, then began to stroke again. Castiel sighed in contentment. Sam looked surprised, then pleased.

Sam looked at the purring cat draped across his lap. He may have no idea how to turn Cas back, but he would figure it out. In the meantime, he could let himself enjoy this. Words seemed to get in the way so often, and with Cas in this form, well, things seemed easier. He kept petting Cas on accident, which would have been a problem if the angel didn’t seem to like it so much. Sam, for his part, was enjoying the physical contact more than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t had much of that in the last couple years.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the movie drone on while he relished the warmth of the cat on his lap. The soft rumble of Cas’s purring stirred something Sam hadn’t felt in a long time. So long, in fact, that he had trouble identifying it, but he thought it might be happiness. As he ran his fingers over the soft fur, he wondered if Cas would also enjoy an evening like this in his usual form.

Cas read the spell description for the fourth time. It had taken days, but he had finally found a document in that chaotic storeroom Sam had been unpacking that seemed to explain Sam’s affliction. It was a spell of true sight, designed to help one describe their feelings for another. A magical metaphor, as it were. A naïve young witch had cast the spell on a statue, a gift for her beloved, and it had bounced from owner to owner, wreaking havoc until the Men of Letters confiscated it. Castiel had found his answer. He just wasn’t sure he liked what it implied.

Many had denigrated his relationship with the Winchesters over the years. Mostly angels, but Crowley and others too. He’d even heard himself referred to as the Winchesters’ pet on occasion. He had simply never thought Sam thought of him that way. He’d certainly never expressed such a feeling in Castiel’s presence.

It was painful, realizing his affection for the younger Winchester was one-sided, but it didn’t change anything. He would figure out how to break the spell on Sam, then he would go find Gadreel and Metatron. Find a way to make them pay. He would take what affection he could get, even if it was just as a faithful pet.

Sam stared down at the spell bowl in disbelief. That should have worked. He’d been sure this time. He’d finally found a spell claiming to dispel all transformation magic. It had been powerful but surprisingly simple. He hadn’t screwed it up. Which meant Cas was probably going to be stuck in this form forever.

He sank into his chair, resting his head in his hands. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t losing the only friend he had left to a stupid spell. Not when ‘Nothing is worth losing you’ kept ringing through his head. Sam wasn’t so sure about himself, but nothing was worth losing Cas.

As if on cue, the cat angel hopped up on the table and headbutted him. Sam automatically began to pet him and scratch behind the ears. It was soothing, and so was Castiel’s quiet, rumbling purr. Unfortunately, it was also a reminder of Sam’s most recent failure. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t give up. That’s not what they did. That’s not what he did. There was an answer out there, somewhere. It just obviously wasn’t in the Men of Letters library. He tried not to think about how that significantly lengthened the odds of his finding a way to save Cas.

Running his hand down the length of the cat’s back, making Cas arch up into his touch, Sam pushed himself away from the table. “Come on. Time for bed.”

Settled in Sam’s room as they’d done every night for the last four days, with Cas pressed up against his leg and purring contentedly, Sam couldn’t help murmuring, “You really do make a fantastic cat, Cas.”

The purring stopped, and Cas lifted his head to look at Sam, wide blue eyes unblinking.

“I mean it,” Sam said. “I read that scientists think they domesticated themselves, just decided they liked people and moved in. And they’re all tiny badasses, stupidly brave even in the face of an overwhelming threat. I must’ve watched a dozen videos this week of cats chasing off bears, snakes, even an alligator once. They’re incredible, just like you.” Sam smiled fondly, then sighed, picking at an abused cuticle. “Look, I know this sucks, but I promise I’m not going to let you be stuck like this. Cats are awesome, and you are such a cat, but you are so, so much more than a house pet.”

Sam blinked, and suddenly his bed was much more crowded. Their bodies were pressed together in a long line from shoulder to knee, and Sam’s hand was resting remarkably high on Castiel’s thigh. Cas blinked up at him, a dopey, pleased smile on his face. Sam was proud of himself for not startling so badly that he fell off the bed.

“Cas? What the hell?”

Confusion flashed across the angel’s face, then his expression grew serious. “Sam? Can you see me?”

“I could always see you.”

Cas glared minutely. “But now you see me, not a cat. You can understand me.”

Sam nodded, still trying to figure out what had broken the spell—a delayed reaction from his spell, maybe?

Cas ended up explaining but made no move to leave Sam’s personal space. Sam, for his part, was still too stunned to trust his legs.

“So, you’ve been sleeping in my bed like this the whole time?” Sam said.

“You seemed to enjoy my presence.” Cas was matter-of-fact, unapologetic, and it made something flip-flop in Sam’s chest.

He grinned. “I did. I do, but, Cas, this bed isn’t really big enough for both of us.”

“Oh.” Cas frowned, doubt and insecurity playing over his face for the first time in the conversation. Awkwardly, he began to roll away until Sam snagged his wrist.

“Maybe tomorrow we can get me a bigger bed?” Sam said cautiously. He wasn’t sure Cas would understand what he was proposing, if it was even something an angel could want with someone like him, but he was feeling brave.

Confusion flicked across Cas’s face before understanding dawned. “Oh. I would like that very much.”

Sam smiled. “Right. Good.”

Cas shifted awkwardly again. “What, um, what would you like me to do tonight?”

Sam looked at their feet, how they barely fit side by side on the small bed. He imagined, for a moment, what it would be like without the warm line at his back that he’d been enjoying for days without really thinking about it. More comfortable, probably, but oh so lonely. “Stay. If you want. I’d—I’d like it if you stayed.” He hoped he hadn’t sounded too desperate.

Joy lit up his angel’s face as he replied, “I would like that very much, too.”

#sastiel #sastiel reversebang 2019 #pre-slash #fic i wrote #fluff #light angst #magical transformation #cursed object #case fic #season 9

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peachcitt · 7 years

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back from the dead at last with chapter 27!! did ya miss me? @gigiree @luvclick @megatraven

holy hot dang it’s been a hot minute hasn’t it? i stopped updating mid-marching season which was like in october so like lemme just say. im sorry. since then school has kicked me in the ass with a bunch stress regarding the future and i was like. well. gotta spend my time not writing oops and here we are. in the ripe of march in a new year

i gotta say this chapter is relatively normal and i considered making it a monster of a chapter to make up for the time i’ve been gone but then that would just ruin the rhythm of the lengths of chapters and stuff and also i reached a good end so like?? bear with me i know you all probably thought i abandoned this but!! i love it!! i just can’t wait until we get to the juicy bits of angst that will be happening i promise

but anyway hi hello i’m back and i’m not gonna go on an unplanned five month hiatus ever again

Read from the beginning/where it’s originally posted here

Story description: They say curiosity killed the cat. But it can do a whole lot more than that. [In which Marinette falls into an unfamiliar place with strange inhabitants]

Chapter description: Marinette and Chat take a breather at Nathaneal’s house. There’s a lot of art involved because Nathaneal is a ghost with talent.

Rated: T (because there’s some violence that may not be suited for some audiences... injuries from the last chapter and scab mentions in this chapter btw)

“Oh,” Nathaneal said, seeming to drift away a little. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Wait!” Marinette called, forgetting for a moment that she had an extra hole in her body as she broke away from Chat. Immediately after leaving his support, the both of them collapsed, sending a wave of water to flick gently at Nathaneal’s feet, which floated an inch or so above the surface.

“I just keep making it worse,” Nathaneal whimpered, wincing a little. “I just thought I heard your voice, but…” He trailed off, looking back in the direction he came. “I should probably just go.”

“Please don’t,” Marinette said, trying her best to stand. “You didn’t do anything wrong; I promise.” Nathaneal was the first real friend Marinette had made in the Underground, and she wasn’t eager to see him leave so soon again.

Nathaneal chewed on his lip, looking away from Marinette and seeming to notice Chat for the first time. “Oh, hey, Chat. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Glad to know my presence isn’t as domineering as I thought it was,” Chat grunted, clutching his side and offering a grimace to Marinette when she shot a glare back at him. “What, so you’re allowed to make snide comments when you’re near death, but I’m not?”

“No one’s near death, idiot,” she hissed. “And I don’t do that.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Blood loss was making Marinette a bit dizzy, which she figured was probably not good. Nathaneal cocked his head at her, noting the way she glared down at the water in an attempt to regain a bit of focus. “Are you two injured?” he asked after a moment, looking over at Chat, who was also looking a bit dazed.

“Only a little bit,” Marinette said, finally gaining enough focus and strength to stand and help Chat struggle to his feet. “We’ll be fine if we get some rest and food, though.”

“Well…” Nathaneal looked back in the direction he came once more. “Maybe I could help with that.”

As it turns out, Nathaneal lived in a somewhat slouching house in Waterfall. He led Chat and Marinette, still leaning heavily on one another, to his house, careful to float slowly so that the both of them could keep up.

“Nino called and said that the two of you would be passing through,” Nathaneal rambled, patting his pockets for the key to his front door. Marinette wondered why he needed a key when he was a ghost. “I figured I should keep an eye out, but I didn’t notice you guys were already here.” He pulled out a ghostly key and stuck it into the keyhole. It didn’t seem to do anything. The door creaked open.

“I’m a ghost, so any food I have probably won’t help you guys,” he said, shrugging a little. He floated into his house, leading them to a living room-like area with what seemed to be two over-stuffed dog beds in the place of a couch. There was no coffee table. “But I can offer you a place to rest.”

“This is wonderful, Nathaneal,” Marinette said, somewhat collapsing on one of the dog beds and dragging Chat along with her. “Thank you.”

Chat let out a soft groan, looking down at the hole in his side and glancing at the amount of blood that had coated his glove. “I’m sorry if we stain anything,” he said weakly, trying for a smile.

“I-I could go to one of the shops and get you guys some proper akuma food,” Nathaneal offered, glancing worriedly between the two.

“We have some,” Marinette said, shifting her weight more to her uninjured leg and pulling out her yo-yo. “But thank you.”

He didn’t seem satisfied until Chat and Marinette had split a bicicle in half and eaten their respective pieces. The burning pain on Marinette’s leg dulled to an ache, and she saw that the hole that had looked in on bare muscle and torn skin had healed to a large, but less scary looking, scab. She looked over at Chat, and saw that the same was true for him, except his scab didn’t look as fully healed as Marinette’s. She frowned.

Nathaneal seemed to be placated for the moment, though, so he drifted away from them. “Now that you aren’t in danger of becoming, well, something like me, I think I should leave you alone to rest,” he said somewhat timidly. Though he seemed to be gaining confidence in himself and how he spoke the longer they stayed in his house.

He drifted up the stairs before either Marinette or Chat could say anything else.

Marinette turned to Chat. “Why isn’t yours healed like mine?” she asked, pouncing on him the moment Nathaneal was out of sight.

“Seems like my initial wound was worse,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of one of his many zipper pockets and wiping his bloodied hands off. “But it doesn’t matter. It feels fine.”

“Liar,” Marinette said. Chat gave a little shrug. “I’ve got a unicicle left and that Nice Cream that Stormy gave us back in Snowdin,” she said, rooting around in her Miraculous.

Chat shook his head firmly. “Save that for yourself. One solid cat nap and I’ll be good as new,” he said, putting his hands over Marinette’s and making her close the storage compartment. “No good to waste that kind of stuff on me.”

“It’s not wasting if I want to do it.”

Chat gave her a look, and she put the Miraculous away with a sigh. “Fine. But the next time we have the opportunity to stop for food, I’m getting something specifically for you.”

“Looking forward to it,” Chat replied easily, though he gave a little wince when he flopped back on the fluffy dog bed, turning on the side that wasn’t injured. “Speaking of naps,” he said, his eyes seeming to close of their own will. “It seems like this cat could use one.”

“Don’t sleep with one eye open,” Marinette warned.

“Ha, very funny,” he murmured, the last word drifting off a little as he let himself fall asleep.

Marinette wondered how anyone could fall asleep that quickly.

She was feeling a bit tired herself, but she wasn’t about to lay down and immediately pass out like Chat had. And she was never one to look forward to the dreams she would inevitably have.

So instead she got up from the dog bed and wandered around Nathaneal’s house, only giving a slight moment’s thought to wonder if it was considered rude to do so. That didn’t stop her, though.

Her leg throbbed dully every time she had to take a step, but she ignored the slight pain and examined some artwork that had been hung up on Nathaneal’s walls. There were portraits and landscapes, all with a sort of whimsical but edged style to them. Marinette liked it.

Aside from the dog beds and artwork, there was really nothing else in the living room. The floor was clean and polished red wood, as if no one had stepped on it before. What with the fact that Nathaneal was a ghost, that was certainly a possibility.

A glance into the connecting doorway that lead to the kitchen told her that the kitchen was also bare like the living room was. There was more artwork on the walls, seeming to center around food, but the stove and countertops were wiped clean and gave off a sort of shining quality. The fridge was covered in drawings done in crayon that didn’t match the style of the other pieces, and Marinette assumed they were kids’ drawings.

“Nino introduced me to this daycare in the capitol,” Nathaneal said from behind her, and Marinette squeaked, jumping a little and letting out a small whine as a bit more weight fell on her injured leg. “Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice soft and timid.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Marinette said, turning around and shifting her weight onto her uninjured leg.

Nathaneal’s gaze flicked down at the scab on the side of her thigh. “That doesn’t look good.”

“Oh, it’s not,” she replied without thinking.

His shoulders drew up, and he chewed on his bottom lip, floating into the kitchen and grasping the handle to the fridge. His hand seemed to grow more opaque at the contact to the solid object as he pulled the fridge door open.

“I must have some sort of regular food from one of Nino’s or Chat’s visits,” Nathaneal muttered, taking out several ghostly sandwiches and a few of what looked like sparkly cans of motor oil. Marinette chose not to ask.

Nathaneal’s feet rose a couple more feet into the air as he dug deeper into the fridge, his body now horizontal. “I’ve got” – he pulled himself out of the fridge, still seeming to lay sideways in midair – “I’ve got a chocolate bar.”

“Um.” Marinette took the chocolate bar. It was wrapped in sparkly pink foil and only had the initials CB on it. It also seemed to be half-eaten. “Thank you.”

Marinette decided to save it for Chat.

---

Chat dreamed he was fighting the dummy with Marinette again. Except at this point, he knew that his dreams weren’t dreams anymore but his mind catching him up on what he missed when a Jump occurred.

He really hated that this was happening again.

Marinette was being her normal stubborn self, refusing to heal up when Chat told her to. His chin was smarting from the burn of a magic attack that he had just managed to block, but he was more concerned with how Marinette’s arm seemed to be falling apart.

“You need to heal up,” he said, but Marinette refused.

The fight continued, and Chat was so absorbed in trying to defend himself that he didn’t notice that Marinette had gotten hurt again until the dummy pointed it out.

“You have three holes in your body!” it yelled, and Chat finally turned to her, a million emotions running through him all at once as he saw the way she was barely able to stand up straight. “What kind of monster are you?”

She let out a little breath, easing her weight more to one side than the other and clutching her injured arm to her chest. “Um. The determined kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the dummy had said, and Marinette cast a glance at Chat, giving him a searching look. “This just means I have to work harder to end you.”

“Please don’t,” she said, tearing her gaze away from Chat to look at the dummy. Chat could feel the dread pool in his gut.

“Heal up!” he called to her, knowing how this would end. He could feel it in the air, in the way Marinette was already having trouble focusing on what was in front of her.

“Please don’t yell at me,” she near whimpered.

The dummy said something to Chat, but he wasn’t listening, trying in vain to figure out a way to get them both out alive. Missiles zoomed its way toward him, but he just twirled his baton and the missiles collided with the metal instead of his skin. He thought he heard a scream that sounded like a mix of his name and absolute despair and something fall into the water, but the explosions from the missiles had blinded him temporarily.

When he was able to see again, Marinette’s SOUL was completely defenseless as a missile launched toward it.

“Marinette!” he yelled.

He watched her SOUL explode.

---

“What were you saying about that daycare?” Marinette asked, keep her voice low as they walked through the living room to get to the stairs that led to Nathaneal’s room.

“Oh.” He cast a small glance to Chat, who was curled up on one of the dog beds with a slightly troubled expression on his face. “Um, yeah, Nino introduced me to a daycare in the capitol,” he repeated, seeming to try and get his thoughts in order.

The staircase led up to only one room, and that was presumably Nathaneal’s. More artwork littered the walls, but it seemed to be more personal. There were a whole lot more portraits.

Nathaneal gestured to a pile of pillows in the corner of the room, and Marinette gratefully sank down into a sitting position, thankful to get some stress off her leg. Nathaneal perched carefully on one of the only pieces of furniture in the room: a rolly chair by a long and cluttered wooden desk.

“I was visiting the capitol for one of my annual follow up therapy sessions.” He said this casually, and at Marinette’s confused stare, his cheeks became more opaque, like he was blushing. “All akumas have to go through them.”

“Because of the…?” Marinette’s question remained unfinished, but Nathaneal nodded anyway.

“Anyway, at that time Nino was still stationed within the capitol, and we ended up talking a little bit.” Nathaneal touched a toe to the floor and twirled the chair back and forth idly. “I said I liked to draw a lot, and he told me about a daycare that was low on staff. Said they’d probably need someone to step in and teach all the kids some arts and crafts.”

Marinette tried to imagine Nathaneal around a bunch of kids, all demanding attention. It was a little bit funny.

“I didn’t want to at first, but one of my friends convinced me to do it.” He did a full rotation on his chair. “She said I didn’t get out enough. So, I took the job. And for some reason the kids liked to give me their drawings when I praised them, so I decided to hang them up on the fridge.”

“There were a lot of drawings,” Marinette said, remembering how the surface of the fridge could hardly be seen underneath the masses of paper. “You must praise them a lot.”

Nathaneal’s cheeks again seemed to grow opaque. He did two full rotations on his chair. “I like all the drawings they do. And it’s only natural to praise a kid’s hard work.” He shrugged, moving the chair back and forth again. “I go a couple of times a week since I’m only a part-timer, and I show the kids some painting and drawing techniques and then they give me their art.”

“That seems fun.”

A small smile pulled at his lips and it seemed to tug his whole body into a something that let out a pulse of happiness. “It is.”

The quiet that descended over them was something comfortable and warm, and Marinette took the time to gaze at the portraits on the walls. Without getting up, of course.

There was one of Nino, bubble wand in hand, his headphones flipped out and music notes and bubbles surrounding him as he laughed to some joke. Next to his was one of Chat, head resting lazily on his hand as he stared straight out the portrait, his smile hinting that he knew something that Marinette didn’t.

Marinette recognized one of Rose, the shopkeeper from Snowdin, standing with a girl she didn’t recognize. Next to that one was one of Ali, Rose’s friend who owned the Inn in Snowdin. There was also a portrait of Ivan and Mylene, the two akumas responsible for Marinette’s first death experience. She didn’t really blame them or hold any grudges towards them, though. Under normal circumstances, Marinette thought they may seem like fun people to hang out with.

There were many more of people Marinette didn’t recognize, but she still enjoyed looking over Nathaneal’s rendering of them. One in particular caught her eye, and something caught in her throat.

It was a portrait of a man in a black and purple tux standing next to a woman in a red bodysuit wearing a red domino mask. Marinette surged to her feet, her eyes fixed to the portrait. The woman and the man seemed to be happy, their arms wrapped around each other, but Marinette couldn’t care less about the man. It was the woman who had caught her attention.

She turned to Nathaneal, something inside her making her breathless. “In this portrait, who is-”

“Marinette!” Chat stood at the entrance to Nathaneal’s room, the top of the stairs, a look of desperation on his face. He seemed to relax as he saw her though, his whole body seeming to let out a breath. “God, I don’t even know what I was thinking when I woke up and you weren’t there,” he muttered, taking her hand.

She couldn’t help but notice that he guided her gently away from the portrait she had been so fascinated with.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Marinette said, her eyes still drawn to that portrait. For the first time, she noticed that the portrait next to the one with the man and the woman was one of Tikki. Suddenly Marinette’s heart was heavy. She no longer wanted to look at those portraits.

“Hey, Chat,” Nathaneal said, twirling idly on his chair. “We were just sitting and thinking about how much we felt like garbage.” Marinette stared at him. He seemed to blush. “Or at least that’s what I was doing.”

“Did you sleep well?” Marinette asked, sitting down on the cushions again and pulling Chat down with her.

His eyes scanned her face, and he took her hand, squeezing it a little. Marinette understood that he meant that no, he did not sleep well at all. She furrowed her eyebrows and looked at his side. There was no sign of any sort of injury, nor proof that there ever had been one. The leather of his suit looked completely without blemish.

“Have you been working on any new portraits lately?” he asked Nathaneal instead of giving a verbal response to Marinette’s question. She pursed her lips, but said nothing.

Nathaneal turned to his desk, sifting through the clutter of CDs, paper, and general art utensils and picked up a thick sheet of paper. The piece looked near finished, the portrait taking on a soft sort of quality because of the water colors and the way the girl’s expression was portrayed.

“Is that…?” Chat trailed off, looking between Marinette and the beautiful girl on the paper. Nathaneal nodded, his entire body seeming to grow more solid as if he was blushing all over.

“That’s me?” Marinette asked, leaning closer and scrunching her nose up. The girl was far too beautiful to resemble Marinette at all. “It can’t be.”

“Of course it is,” Chat said, taking the paper from Nathaneal and showing it to her so that she’d get a closer look. “It’s the spitting image.”

“I try not to glorify anything,” Nathaneal piped up, his cheeks very opaque.

Marinette wasn’t convinced.

The girl in the portrait did in fact resemble her, sure, but she was wearing the clothes that Marinette had fallen in when she first came to the Underground. It didn’t seem like those clothes really fit the current Marinette anymore. In both a physical way and a metaphorical way. Not to mention that the girl looked happy, her hand reaching for the person on the other side of the portrait. If the girl in the portrait really was Marinette, she had no idea she could make an expression so content.

“It’s from when I first saw you. Back in the Ruins,” Nathaneal said, getting up from his chair and taking the portrait. “Now that I’ve seen you again, I don’t think it matches you well enough,” he said, chewing at the inside of his cheek and giving the portrait a scrutinizing look.

Chat was staring at Marinette, as if trying to see the girl in the portrait in her. Marinette wondered if he could see it.

“You seem different now,” Nathaneal said, almost as if to himself. “Not bad different. Just more…” He paused, holding the portrait up and looking between it and Marinette. “More like you know where you want to go.”

He opened a drawer in his desk, revealing a bunch of unfinished portraits. Marinette got a glimpse of one of a neon-colored robot girl. She also thought she caught a glimpse of one of Chat in a lab coat, but she couldn’t be sure.

Setting the unfinished portrait of Marinette in with the other unfinished ones, Nathaneal turned back to his desk and sifted through the miscellaneous items to find a blank canvas. “I’ll start another one,” he said to no one in particular.

“You haven’t rested,” Chat whispered when it was clear Nathaneal wasn’t interested in conversation anymore.

“I wasn’t tired,” Marinette whispered back. “And where did your injury go? Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” she said, noticing the indignant look on his face. “I even saved a chocolate bar for you.”

She pulled out the half-eaten chocolate bar in the shimmery pink wrapping paper. Chat made a face.

“Were you the one that ate the other half of it?” he asked, taking the chocolate bar gingerly and peeling away the paper. It looked like flakes of glitter were actually inside the chocolate.

“Nope.”

He set aside the chocolate bar. “Then forgive me for not trusting an already dodgy brand of chocolate.” He seemed to make a face at the initials ‘CB’ on the wrapping paper.

“You didn’t answer my question though,” Marinette said, choosing to ignore Chat’s strange reaction to the chocolate bar.

Chat placed a hand on his once injured side, almost self-consciously. “I’m an akuma, Marinette. I heal differently with magic attacks and all that.” He pressed down softly on where the wound would’ve been and winced. “It still hurts, but there’s no wound. Soon enough the pain will go away.”

Marinette had no reason to not believe him, but she still found herself unsure. She didn’t ask any more questions, though.

Somehow Chat ended up next to her among the pillows, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulling her close to his side. Nathaneal had snapped out of his art trance long enough to put a CD into an old beat up CD player, and soft electronic music with no real lyrics or choruses started to play.

“You need to rest,” Chat murmured into her hair, and at the sound of his words, Marinette realized just how much her eyelids were drooping.

“I don’t want to dream,” she whispered, her voice slurring just the slightest. Her eyes drifted to where the portrait of Tikki was. And where the portrait of the man and the woman was.

Chat rubbed her shoulder soothingly, the evenness of his breath lulling her closer to sleep. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The statement almost seemed like a jab at her for leaving him alone while he had been sleeping. But the tone of his voice didn’t suggest any hard feelings, and she fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the music drifting from Nathaneal’s CD player.

#miraculous tale #miraculous tale fic #yooooooooooooooooooo #im real sorry that i've been away for so long it was sorta an accident? forgive me #just had my spring break so i was able to lounge and relax for a solid week so im pretty okay rn #but like #idk why i was so stressed for a while? it just kinda happened and i waslike hahah what the fi ck #but now i don't have to worry about late night band rehearsal #(note: this is a lie. im lying straight to your faces. concert season is a bitch with practices almost every day of my life)#but the point is that im back from the dead #i can't wait until this universe's mettaton is revealed because i puT SO MANY REFERENCES TO THEM IN THIS CHAPTER GOT DANG #honestly i can't wait until all the back story is revealed because im sooooooo antsy to spill everything but im like no.#you and gigi made a P L A N #nothing can be revealed until all goes to shit and then gets fixed again #also i had to reread literally everything from the beginning because?? jesus christ i couldn't remember what style i had written this in #i hope this chapter isn't different from the others style wise but i think idid a pretty good job #also i had spring break online math hw but i don't wannnaaaaaa #im already behind on it and i haven't done shit since spring break started rip me #other than rewatch black butler and catch up to book of circus and boOK OF MURDER WHICH BYTHE WAY IS MY FAVORITE ARC #like i really like book of circus but that arc is just a whole bunchof SAD like it ends SAD and im SAD #and SNAKE is my love #but i loved book of murder in the manga and i was bit iffy on the arc being put into two movie-like episodes with no op #kinda sad i wanted a sick ass op with murder #BUT I STILL LOVED IT BECAUSE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #just the whole concept of book of murder is so!!!! to me #also VOLTRON IS GREAT I LOVE MY SPACE BOYFRIEND LANCE #also if you're into yuri on ice youshould read this fic called until my feet bleed and my heart aches bECAUSE #HOT DAMN WHATA WORK OF ART #I ASPIRE TO CREATE SUCH A MASTERPIECE #thecompanion fic comes out soon and guess who's excited!!!!!!! me!!!!!!!!

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dashdotdashbackslash · 7 years

Text

Well, here in my little University town, it is officially move in day for the residence students. That means that not only is campus flooded with new students and their folks, but the 7-11 I go to every freakin Sunday for my junk food meal of chicken wings and a corn dog is going to be beyond packed and utterly destroyed. That also means that Casa del Failure is packed again.

Once again it’s me, your favourite failure, with my precious Bowser Kitten and the Amazingly Awesome Boyfriend taking care of the place. I do most of the general cleaning int he common areas and small repairs; AAB does all the yard work, the really dirty work, and scrubs out rooms when people move out; and Bowser Kitten is in charge of pest control. We have our quirky and quite strange roommate A, who failed to learn how a slow cooker works in his 46 years on this planet (at least I think he’s from this planet), on the main floor with us. In the basement is our young student C, who Bowser absolutely adores right now, taking up the most recently vacated room. And our newest addition is a recent masters graduate we’ll call J, whose girlfriend was my next-door neighbour and babysitting charge more than 15 years ago in a whole other city.

Yes, once again I am living in a house full of dudes. This is a two ovary household still.

So far, things don’t seem too bad. The only real problem we had was with the people moving OUT of rooms. Over the years that I’ve been here, our basement has become quite the collection of randomness that people seem to think I either want or have a burning desire to get rid of for them. Seriously, our little storage area in the basement (which is really just a wide open area when you first come down the stairs with no organizational structure at all) is beyond filed, with things spilling out into the basement common area (where we keep the really really comfy couch).

Yes, that is a random tire, a whole bunch of styrofoam, an old broken fan, and a box of old used beer pitchers. Seriously, what the hell do people think I’m going to do with this crap? It’s not like they left it behind and said, “I don’t have access to a truck to haul this off to the dump. Can I leave it here so you can take it the next time you go?”. They just left it behind in a big pile down there. And that’s not all that’s been left behind over the years, either.

That right there is most of a Christmas tree, a treadmill, a box of Christmas lights (which I am actually keeping and putting up in the living room because the lighting sucks in there), and a box of Christmas ornaments. A few of those ornaments were made for the guy who left them here by his freakin son! So now not only do I have to find a way to get all of this crap to the dump, I have to haul a fucking treadmill up the ridiculously awkward basement stairs!

It gets worse too, Sunshine. When AAB moved in here, the landlord cut a deal with him and paid him to clean out the rooms and bathroom in the basement. Why? Because the last tenant who lived down there (who left the tires, a box of wires and chords, and a few old alarm clocks) was a huge pig. It looked like he had tried to sweep before leaving, but just left piles of dirt and debris all over the bedroom floor. There were old McDonald’s bags from months before, random school papers everywhere, and the bathroom hadn’t been cleaned once in the year he was living down there. AAB spent days down there hauling up garbage, scrubbing layers of mold off the bathroom shower, and basically sanitizing the entire basement.

Sad thing is, this isn’t the first or last time this has happened. The most recent dude to leave here left behind the tree, Christmas things, random end tables everywhere (who the hell has so many tables for no reason? I mean besides me now), and just garbage everywhere. And of course, no one can forget the guy who lived in my room before me who didn’t vacuum for more than a year. Even after vacuuming the carpet multiple times, I wound up having an allergic reaction to something that had been ground in there and was covered in hives for 94 days.

Yes, 94 fucking days of hives. In the middle of summer, when sweat made the hives worse.

Living in a house you don’t own doesn’t give you free reign to trash the place or disrespect the owners (or your roommates). There are so many simple, little things that you can do to avoid pissing off everyone and someday ending up on some random person’s blog as their Roommate From Hell. So, here for your reading pleasure, I give you…….

The Failed GrownUp’s Guide to Not Being a Complete And Total Ass Waffle of a Roommate

#1: Clean Up Your Fucking Messes

This doesn’t just mean “scrape the berries off the ceiling after you try to make a smoothie in a blender with no lid and cause a giant purple delicious explosion in the kitchen”. Did you use the kitchen counter? Then grab a rag, or a clean sponge, or one of those disinfectant wipes, and wipe the fucking thing down. Use dishes? Fucking wash them!

It’s not rocket surgery here, but it’s the one thing I hear the most complaints about from people I know who are living with roommates. There’s nothing worse than coming home at the end of a long day, wanting nothing more than to throw a bunch of shit into a pot on the stove and make random deliciousness, and finding out that every fucking pot in the damn house is dirty and sitting in the sink. What makes it even worse is when you realize you haven’t touched the pots in days, they were clean right after you used them, and it’s the same fucking roommate using up everything all the time and just leaving it for you to clean.

This isn’t just in the kitchen, either. I could’ve avoided 94 fucking days of hives if someone had just picked up a vacuum every now and then and ran it across the carpet. It’s not a huge room, it only takes a few minutes. Hell, I got a shitty little handheld vacuum with a hose attachment to spot vacuum when I need it in here!

Just generally, clean up after yourself. You know all the shit your parents always bitched at you for, like picking up your socks and not leaving wet towels on the floor? I mean that shit. Pick up things you drop on the floor. If you take stuff into a common area, unless there’s a specific place you can put it, take it with you when you leave. I’m fucking horrible for this, always have been. I’ll take a pile of books, papers, and pens and just leave it somewhere when I leave the room. It’s something I consciously try to avoid doing, though, because I don’t want to be an asshole.

#2: Unless You’re Actually Trying to Wake the Dead, Pipe the Fuck Down

The student life is fucking weird, and you keep the most bizarre hours sometimes. I can remember staying up for like 36 hours sorting through research once, taking a nap at like 10 am and then waking up at 2 pm to start writing for the next 5 hours. Between the classes, the class work, working a job or two, volunteering, clubs and societies, parties, and some semblance of a social life, you find yourself doing strange things like going to 7-11 at 3:30 am for coffee and a RockStar, and then going back again at 3:30 pm for the same thing. There is no one set schedule that all, or even most, students live on. That’s why it’s so damn important to pipe the fuck down.

If you have roommates, unless you’re sitting in the same room together right this very second, you don’t know if they’re sleeping. Or, at the very least, trying to sleep. I once had a roommate who had this big old tv in her room, which was right next to mine. She didn’t care if I worked late the night before, or was up all night writing papers. By 10 am her TV was on and cranked as loud as it would go. I could go downstairs to the living room, turn on the tv down there, and STILL hear her TV. I couldn’t sleep during the day in my own room, let alone take a quick nap unless I had hit the point of total exhaustion where I could sleep through anything.

I admit that I’ve been the loud and annoying roommate at times. Sometimes, if I know everyone is awake, I love to blast some tunes in the shower and sing along. And just so you know, the Bowser Kitten has a better singing voice than I do, and he’s a fucking cat. Still, I now try to do that only when I know everyone is awake and most (if not all) of them are out of the house.

You generally don’t know when someone is sleeping, or napping, or trying to concentrate. I’m not saying you have to tiptoe around the house as quiet as a fucking mime. Let’s be honest here, mime’s are fucking creepy and I would never tell you to act like one! Just be a little considerate. Keep your shows and music at a somewhat reasonable volume.

Why am I sounding more and more like my mother while I write this?

#3: Not Everyone Is Your New Bestie

I’m a pretty solitary person usually. I practice voluntary hermit-ism. If it wasn’t for AAB, I would only leave my room to go to work and take a shit. I’m not totally anti-social or anything. I mean, if I run into a roommate while we’re both in the kitchen or something, I’ll chit chat. I’ve had roommates before who I was friends with, and we would sit around at night and watch tv together. I’m not living here to make friends, though.

All those TV shows where random people live in close proximity to each other and instantly become inseparable best friends for life are a lie. A bold-faced, spit in your eye, slap you across the face, help you move into a new apartment while they fuck your girlfriend in the closet at your old place, LIE! Living under the same roof does not instantly make you best friends.

My one roommate “A” is constantly trying to strike up a conversation with me. If I’m chilling in the kitchen, I’ll chit chat for a bit while I cook. That’s fine with me. But just a few minutes ago I was cleaning the basement out. I was picking up mattresses and throwing them into a pile, moving the junk people have left behind, and “A” came downstairs. So there I am, hoisting a mattress up over my head while trying to walk around piles of junk, and he just starts rambling on to me about something-or-other. Next thing I know, he’s trying to push mattresses around back into the spaces I was pulling them out of! While I’m pulling stuff out of a tight spot, he’s pushing against and just rambling on about random bullshit.

I know, he’s lonely. He’s always trying to talk to anyone within earshot around here. I’ve taken to hiding when I hear his door open sometimes. It’s just annoying. Like, I just wanted to throw some old mattresses around and check all the Christmas lights that were down there in total peace. It’s my procrastination from writing. I clear my mind, blow off some steam, and lift heavy things over my head for a bit. I didn’t need him undoing my work while rambling my fucking ear off.

Don’t think that everyone in your house will want to sit around and let you talk their ear off. I have had roommates that I grew to be good friends with, some that I actively hate, but most of them were just sorta here. We didn’t chat, or hang out, or go out anywhere together. Sure, we talked when we were in the same room. I can tell you a few things I learned about each of them, and we had some laughs. Hell, I had a roommate I never spoke to outside of our kitchen who I bonded with over a few very large bottles of red wine while we tried to learn about wine tasting in an effort to sound smart at networking events (we failed massively and wound up very hungover instead). He’s moved out since then, and we don’t keep in touch. It’s not a big deal, we’re just not friends.

When you’re renting with random people or people you don’t know very well, don’t try and force the friendship. You might wind up friends with some of them, you might not. It’s no big deal, you don’t have to be everyone’s friend.

And NEVER, under any circumstances, try to force a new roommate into a “fun-filled” night in with you and all your favourite things. A friend had a new roommate try this, and said roommate pitched a fit when my lactose-intolerant vegetarian friend wouldn’t sit around eating burgers and drinking milkshakes for hours during one of the busiest weeks before exams.

#4: Is That Yours? Then Why The Fuck Are You Using It?

Years ago I had to walk home in the pouring rain, and the only thing that kept me going was the thought of grabbing my biggest pot and making ALL the pasta for me and a friend. Like, we were walking in the freezing cold, rain soaking through our clothes, umbrella ripped to shreds from the wind, and all we could talk about was smothering pasta in butter and sopping up the butter with fresh hot bread. Pretty sure the rain was washing away massive amounts of drool. We finally get to my place, change out of our wet clothes, head to the kitchen to start cooking……. and all my pots are gone. I had four fucking pots, and they were ALL gone! A few minutes of snooping and we found all four of them, full of my roommate’s food, used up in the fridge.

This wasn’t the first time, or the last time, this particular roommate took my cookware. I’d come home from class and my stuff would just be gone. When I announced I was moving out, he actually had the nerve to try and hide some of my stuff from me! In the end, I did lose a few things in the move because of him. He grabbed stupid random shit (a toaster, a fan, frying pan, three plates and a bowl from a 4-person place setting) and locked it in his room for the week while he was out of town. I couldn’t get them before I left.

If you’re my roommate and you ask me if you can borrow something, 99% of the time I’ll let you. I can’t help it, I’m Canadian to a fault and way too fucking nice to say ‘no’ to someone in need. All you have to do is ask. And I know a shit tonne of people who are the same way.

If you’re the one who needs to borrow something, don’t just reach for it unless you know you can use it. Don’t assume that just because your roommate doesn’t hoard their things in their bedroom, they’re fair game for everyone to use. This kinda brings us to my last point for the day……

#5: Treat Everyone’s Shit As If It Was Your Shit

An old roommate had a bunch of roommates over the years in his house. Most of them were pretty chill, easy enough to live with. One turned out to be a disrespectful piece of shit who cost my friend and his landlord money over the time of this guy’s lease. Carpets had to be replaced because he never vacuumed them or cleaned up spills. He would burn cookware and just throw it back into the cupboard. He’d borrow a jacket or a sweater and just leave it somewhere random. He peeled paint off the walls, left food to rot on the counters, and even put holes in one of the walls. Nice enough guy, just a fucking nightmare to live with.

You’re paying money to live in someone else’s house. Don’t treat it like you’re Motley Cru and it’s a hotel room in 1986. It’s someone’s fucking property, their home. How would you feel if this was your place and someone treated it that way? Nevermind the anger from being disrespected, you’d probably be fucking pissed off about the money you’ve got to shell out for repairs!

If you borrow something from someone, treat it like it’s your own. Take care of it, wash it, give it back in one piece, and if something does happen to it then you damn well better replace it. Don’t treat your place and your roommate’s stuff like this is your personal playground.

All in all, if you want to not follow any of these tips, just remember one thing: someday you might need a reference. Most of the apartments in this area require AT LEAST one former landlord as a reference and more and more are asking for references from former roommates. So if you’re a giant dickwad to your roommates, lose and destroy their things, destroy the room you’re renting, and are just a horrible fucking human in general when it comes to renting, what are the chances anyone would want to give you a good reference?

Well Sunshine, the sun aint’ shining anymore today. I’m going to grab my sandwich and a glass of whiskey, throw on the comfy pants, and throw on a horror movie or three. Hope any of you moving for the start of the school year made it through the move safely, and without losing your shit (literally and figuratively).

The Failed GrownUp’s Guide to Not Being a Complete And Total Ass Waffle of a Roommate Well, here in my little University town, it is officially move in day for the residence students.

#cleaning #garbage #moving #new roommates #respect #roommate #roommate problems #roommates #Roommates from Hell

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