#these will be holographic stickers eventually if you are into that sort of thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

718

If you lived in Bikini Bottom, would you befriend Spongebob or Plankton? Obviously Spongebob. I’m there to have a good time and catch jellyfish, not eat holographic meatloaf and make it my life’s goal to steal a secret formula. Do you have any bananas in your house right now? I think we still have some left. My dad bought a pack? a group? a bunch? of them so he can make banana cue and turon for my mom and sister while we’re all stuck at home for the meantime. Which overrated tattoo are you sick of seeing? Eh I don’t judge this easily since I assume tattoos mean a lot to people but where I’m from, line tattoos are pretty overused. They DO look nice and I get why they’ve been trending for a while, but yeah they’re evvvvvverywhere. Is it easy to distract you? Yes haha I have a rather quick attention span. Do you prefer to drink from glasses or mugs? Depends on the drink. I drink my water from a glass but I prefer my coffee in a mug, that sort of thing.

What was the last thing you taught a younger kid? I don’t feel confident teaching kids just yet, huhu. It usually works the other way around: when I’m with kids, they teach me how to play their toys or whatever game they’re playing on their parents’ phone/iPad. Are the clocks in your house mostly digital or analog? We only have one analog clock. We mostly tell the time from our phones. How long have you had your television(s)? Answered this before but we have two TVs that are 12 years old and two others that were bought within the last decade. Do you like watching movies made with CGI or do you prefer hand-drawn ones? I don’t care. As long as the end product is done well I can enjoy the movie. Where did your parents buy their car(s)? I know for sure the two family cars were bought directly from the official dealers. I think mine was a secondhand one. Do you know why your grandparents chose your mother's name? No. I think they just liked the name. That makes me want to ask my grandma though. What is your favourite kind of soup? Miso is the only one I really like. Have you ever made your own musical instrument? Nope. What do you think of Leighton Meester's singing voice? I only know one song of hers and I reeeeeally loved that when it came out, but I don’t think it’s enough for me to have an opinion for her music altogether. I definitely don’t hate her voice though. Do you think you'd do well at teaching the English language to a foreigner? Yeah, it’s my other everyday language and I’m a little bit more fluent in it than I am in Filipino. How long have your neighbours lived there? About the same time as us, I think. We all moved in at sort of the same time when the village was newly developed. Is it weird to hear your name in movies or TV shows? It’s not a very common name so it does feel a bit weird to hear, yes. It’s weirder if I have to refer to the character in third person cause I never liked saying my own name :/ Why do so many people seem to hate the Jonas Brothers? Am assuming this refers to the Jonas Brothers pre-reunion because I’m sure no one hates them and their new music now lmao. I think, simply put, it was because they were teenagers then, and pre-teen and teenage girls was their main fanbase? Most people liked to shit on that category of celebrities, even today – case in point, Justin Bieber, 5SOS, One Direction haha. What is a store you like that is exclusive to your country? Fully Booked! It’s the most complete, up-to-date, and chic bookstore brand we have. The Fully Booked branch in BGC in particular is a partnership with Starbucks, so you can immediately walk over there to get a coffee and read after buying a book heh. If you attend school, what time do you usually get home after? I always have extracurriculars like org stuff, meetings, or fieldwork after my academic schedule so more often than not I’ll get home by 9 or 10 PM, which leaves me feeling exhausted as fuck at the end of the day. When was the last time you really needed to just let loose? Like two weeks ago? I was bored out of my mind being stuck at home so I chugged a lot of soju that I asked my dad to buy so I can at least be drunk while being bored lol. Have you ever been blackmailed? Kinda. There was a time when I didn’t talk to my sister and didn’t really feel well enough to reconcile with her yet, but my mom threatened to go to our class guidance counselor and expose me and ‘the kind of older sister I am’ if I didn’t make amends with my sister immediately.

This might sound sarcastic but thanks, survey, for reminding me what kind of mom my mother actually was during the years that were the most critical to my development lmao. I always need reminders like this because despite how our relationship has ‘improved’ now that I’m older, I shouldn’t forget the trauma she caused me and the fact that I had always planned to detach myself from her as much as possible once I’m fully independent. I can’t disappoint my younger self by keeping her in my life as if nothing happened.

Do you suffer from Restless Leg Syndrome? No. I keep forgetting what that means. Would you rather have novels based on your life or a series of comic books? Novels, so I’d be more interested to read it. Have you written a resume before, either for yourself or someone else? I did a resumé when I applied for my internship. Did you know that they plan on releasing a movie based on The Smurfs? This survey is sooooooo old hah they’ve made a bunch of films on it already. Do you ever wonder what it would be like to live underwater? Not really. Mostly I’ve just wondered what it would be like to be a creature from the deep sea, where it’s totally dark and most of the animals there look prehistoric as fuck lol. Have you ever worked in a bakery? If not, would you like to? No but this question reminded me of Harry Styles, aw :’) ANYWAY if I did I’d probably take up a job in the office, since I can neither bake nor deal with people on a regular basis even if one argues that bakeries aren’t really particular spots for angry Karens or Barbaras. What is your favourite thing about snow? I like that we don’t get them because it’s bound to make my first encounter with snow in the future magical as fuck. Is there a big personality difference between you and your sibling(s)? Yeah. I tend to adapt to new environments way better than they do and I’m definitely the most extroverted of the three in all aspects. Do you enjoy decorating things with stickers? Hahahah yes, it’s an uncontrollable urge. I keep my stickers to just my laptop case these days, but back then I used to put stickers on my phone case, my ID case, clipboard, wallet, etc. Did you lose anything recently? Did you end up finding it? I lose my hair tie every now and then; my hair’s a bit short for a ponytail now so my hair tie gradually slips out my hair with me barely noticing it, so it always ends up in random places around the house. I do end up finding it after a while but it gets frustrating whenever I realize it had fallen off again. What colour oven mitts do you have? We don’t really use the oven so we barely use the ones we have. I don’t even know the color of it.

Why do you/don't you watch award shows? Because there are sooo many commercials in the middle of it, some presenters are awkward as fuck and I’d rather save myself from the secondhand cringe, and most of the time the choices for the winners are undeserving and end up pissing everyone off. It’s always easier to just wait a few hours and check the results on Google; and besides, the only fun parts are seeing what everyone is wearing and who attends to begin with hah. What do you think of Ellen DeGeneres as the new judge on American Idol? God this was a lifetime ago. I think I mostly didn’t mind it but I never did get over the replacement of the OGs Randy, Simon, and Paula. Do you ever do the exercises featured in some magazines? No. Have you ever watched What The Buck? What do you think of it? I don’t think I’ve heard of that. How long ago did you switch from cable to satellite, if you did? We didn’t make a ‘switch,’ per se. We had cable in our old home but when we moved to our current house in 2008, having extra channels wasn’t really the priority as moving already entailed a whole lot of expenses to begin with. That meant we only had free TV for a while which was extremely fucking boring, but eventually my dad got us satellite in like 2011 or 2012. When was the last time you partnered up with someone to complete something? I decided to partner up with Andrew for my undergraduate thesis in like August last year. Do you consider Lady GaGa's appearance artistic, or just plain weird? Artistic. What do you usually do when you have trouble sleeping? I put a lengthy YouTube video on so I can fall asleep to the background noise. At least that’s what I do these days - I always thought I needed complete silence to fall asleep, but apparently that’s not the absolute case. What was the last thing you used scissors for? I opened a sachet of 3-in-1 coffee.

Have you ever used some kind of food as a facial mask? Nah I always just use Korean sheet masks. How many USB cords do you have lying around? I personally don’t have any but I do have a hard drive. Are you satisfied with your social life (or lack thereof)? I’m very satisfied with it and I’m glad I got to open up in college. Do you know anybody whose initials spell something? Sure. What is your favourite flavour of Kool-Aid? I’ve never had Kool-Aid. Is there a specific food you think NEEDS to be at Christmas dinner? My grandma’s steak. Would you be able to re-string a guitar? I wouldn’t even know where to buy guitar strings. What TV show do you just assume you wouldn't like? How I Met Your Mother, just because their fans love to make fun of and compare their oh-so-great show to Friends so much when I’ve never seen a single Friends fan make fun of HIMYM like ????? Why the one-sided, unsolicited hate??? I was always planning to watch the show and appreciate Friends and HIMYM at the same time but because the fans are so pathetic I just stopped wanting to watch it altogether. Do your friends have more money than you? Seems unfair to pit ourselves against one another when we’re all still depending on our parents’ money lmao. Who always has the power to make you feel intimidated? Ate Frances has always had a very strong personality. Do you have more bread or cheese in your house? Bread. What was the last movie trailer you saw? Not sure. I don’t really like trailers since most of them give away too much of the plots already. Did you purchase any meat product when you were at the store last? My dad did. Have you ever been told that you have chubby cheeks? Well I don’t, so no I’m not usually told this lol. Do you know how to properly use a saw? Nope. Isn't it a shame that what Kanye West did at the VMA's overshadowed what was supposed to be a night dedicated to Michael Jackson? Hahahaha not really, I found it hilarious and so so stupid. There were a billion other tributes to MJ that year that went smoothly so it doesn’t really matter to me if the 2009 VMAs will always be known as the Imma-let-you-finish VMAs.

#survey #surveys

4 notes · View notes

brokenmusicboxwolfe · 4 years

Text

After voting I suddenly realized they had forgotten to give me a sticker. I rushed back because I HAD to have my sticker!

I am sticker obsessed!

No really.

The other day I bought a bunch of bananas even though they are far from my favorite fruit. I don’t hate them, but give me almost any fruit first. They are handy in that they a portable and don’t need washing, but I’d rather not.

So why did I buy the bananas? Stickers!

Now, the stickers were Frozen II, and I’m not a fan of the films. I simply hate the music. There are some good ideas, but I’m fine with never rewatching either film. I am a grown woman with no kids to demand I get these Frozen stickered bananas...

But stickers!

So there I was, going around to look at all the bananas to pick out my favorite sticker design and the one in the best shape. Sticker I mean, I paid no mind to the bananas. As soon as I got home I carefully peeled off the sticker, to put in my daily journal where I would just write around it. I’m still eating bananas with a sort if resignation.

I do this all the time.

Actually, I do understand it. It goes back to childhood.

When I was in elementary school the kids in the “slow” class got scratch and sniff stickers. It wasn’t even just get a good grade and get a sticker, it was do your homework and get a sticker, keep your desk clean and get a sticker. And honestly, I get it. Giving them a reward for good behavior and trying would encourage them. Who doesn’t need encouragement?

“Smart” kids apparently. Yes, the kids in the “smart” classes never got stickers. And back then scratch and sniff stickers were considered very cool. It was something kids actually valued. And we never got them. Ever.

So I asked why. Why didn’t we ever get stickers for anything when they got stickers for everything. She had an answer...

“Good grades are their own reward.”

Bullshit. I mean, I didn’t use the word bullshit back then, but it’s how I felt.

I never, ever, gave a damn about my grades. I hated school, was constantly miserable, and had an anxiety attack most mornings before going to school. I deserved a sticker just for enduring that hell hole!

But to a teacher it was simple. These kids get good grades and behave without insentive. There is no need to go to any effort, or expense, to get them to do what I want. No stickers!

I wanted stickers!!!!!!!

Through a fluke my parents got a catalog that sold supplies for teachers, and I had them order me stickers!

I wish I could say I gave them out to classmates, but it never occurred to me. I wasn’t popular and I didn’t notice anyone else annoyed by the sticker situation. They probably would have thought I was trying to buy their friendship with something they were trying to convince themselves they were too “grown up” for. Still it would have been nice have been nice to lead the sticker revolution.

This was the 1980s and stickers became a real fad. Heck, there was even a sticker magazine (did that first issue have a scratch and sniff cover? It’s been a looong time!) Soon I was filing albums with stickers, all kinds of stickers. Along with the scratch and sniff came the foil, puffy, holographic, fuzzy, popular characters, advertising catch phrases (I have several “Where’s the beef” ones).....

Fads end. Eventually there was a glut of overpriced stickers with unimaginative designs, followed by stickers becoming harder to come by. I was dividing my money many different ways (see my comic collection), so buying stickers wasn’t a priority. I stopped officially collecting without even thinking about it.

And yet, one thing never changed. I could never pass up a free sticker! Or semi-free in the case of buying fruit.

Every time I get a sticker I feel this little weird little surge. Fuck you teacher! You thought I didn’t need encouragement or validation. Well, I deserved a sticker too!

This grown woman walked right in and said “Sorry, but I didn’t get a sticker when I voted. Can I have one?” So today I put a sticker in my journal, keeping a perfect record since I was 18 of every time I voted of slapping the, in there.

Guess what teach... voting may also “be it’s own reward” in your mind, but they actually give adults stickers for it!

#stickers #voting #school #rewards #sticker collecting #childhood

4 notes · View notes

evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 48 [Begin: Avengers]

Not tempting fate became very hard to do. In some moments you felt paranoid. Anxious that if you enjoyed life a little too much, something would eventually come and bite you in the ass. That was always the way it worked, wasn’t it? But an extended vacation with Tony coupled with months of… normal, if you could call it that, had almost lulled you into a false sense of security. You stayed with him through the end of the holiday season. Spent dedicated time with him on New Year’s, even getting that cheesy midnight kiss. On Valentine’s Day he surprised you at Stark Industries with a literal armful of flowers (this time not pilfered from reception) and that ever charming, loving smile. It didn’t take much else more to convince you to leave that day.

Stark Tower was nearly complete. The world was abuzz with the news. May would be here soon, somehow, and you’d no doubt really take Tony up on what he’d said to that reporter a long while back- party in it. A private one, of course. That may or may not have consisted of copious amounts of champagne and a little planned-for naughtiness. It was only fair to see if the Agarwood desk Tony had insisted upon would be sturdy enough for… writing many letters. Yes, that was it… and while you were at it you had a mind to check out some of the sturdiness of the walls, too-

Oh and that private floor- yes, all the furniture would have to be inspected very closely there, too. You just couldn’t stand the thought of paying so much for shoddy work. His birthday seemed like a fine time to plan a party. Maybe you’d really do it up, good for press, and host a big one. And then a more intimate affair much later. Just the two of you.

Until then, you found yourself easily settling into a life of working woman of the world by day and SHIELD agent- Avenger?- in the other moments. Fury had continued on his promise of trusting you by letting you go a few missions with Natasha, a couple of which Agent Barton tagged along in. It made you feel bad, when he did, because they were clearly much closer, but you didn’t completely mind being a third wheel. You were really just training. And you were sure that Fury only sent you out on the babyish of baby missions. All intel gathering.

While you’d had objections at first- where could you go without being recognized these days- Natasha had started to train you on her expertise in blending in. More than anything it was important to throw off the shape of your face- especially your eyes, a pair of sunglasses did that, especially cat-eyed. And of course your hair had to be different, too, which wigs came quite in handy for. Then you had to dress outside your normal style. And for the missions you were on, you went just a touch dressed down in flannels and jeans. Rumpled without being obvious.

In cafes, on the street, and in one or two museums, you and Nat chatted idly with each other while also listening in on several conversations going on around you. Which led to your next problem- the tech they’d outfitted you with was annoying. The buds they’d developed were meant to sit in your ear with no problems, and maybe they did just that, but they became painful to wear after more than a few minutes.

One night after a particularly long and engaging mission, you’d come home to lament to Tony about it. Which was really the worst and best mistake to make.

The next day during briefing, after Fury had left (thank god), Tony dropped by, small briefcase in hand. Without waiting for a grand ceremony, he set it down on the desk and opened it. Inside were several teeny- teeny tiny, what looked to be stickers.

“Audio recording, radio transfer with encrypted channel, zero delay. Blends to the skin tone. Has a fifteen mile radius and target lock for specific voice frequencies. Team member sound resonates out into the ear canal, so talking it’ll sound like you’re standing right next to each other. Best of all. Painless.”

What did you do to deserve a man like this?

“If I’d known I’d be the Q of this operation, I’d have charged more.” But of course he had to take his victory laps, too.

“And how much are you charging for these?” Natasha was looking them over, seeming quite pleased.

“100 thousand.” He shut the lid on the briefcase.

“That’s not that bad.” She said with a grin.

He grinned back. “A week.”

At that her face fell, but you interjected. “We can discuss the bill later.”

Tony’s brow arched, lips still curved. “Oh, are you the purchaser for SHIELD now? In that case, I have a bridge I want to sell your fine organization.” He seemed to be in quite the sassy mood.

“Let’s talk about it over dinner, shall we?” Deciding this was the perfect way to start pulling this small team even closer together. You did your best to give your sweetest most winning smile at the both of them.

Natasha crossed her arms, but she was smiling back. “Does that always work?”

Tony finally turned away with one hand in a wave over his shoulder. “Every time. Quince at 8. Don’t make me wait.” As if he really were conducting a serious business deal.

You found the good sense to go just a little bit red as Nat directed quite the look your way. Yes. You had Tony Stark wrapped around your finger. What of it? A nice dinner came out of it, that’s what. No business to speak of. And, as usual, he found himself at home no matter who he was with.

Even so, Tony only seemed to want to meander out of the house for dinner when Nat was involved. Add any other agents to the mix and he became busy. But that was fine. More than once Nat and Clint both found time to sit down with you together, and even Coulson made time for a few again, eventually. And that was especially nice.

While you spent more extended time in New York, you made sure to check in on Steve. Walked around the city with him sometimes to keep up appearances. But the lunches you found yourself slipping into were anything but. While he seemed to enjoy your company, he didn’t really say a lot. You wanted to ask more than once if he’d gone to see Peggy yet, but that was really none of your business. And, aside that, you didn’t want to upset things between you.

Tony refused to see him. In less words- always with a good excuse. Too busy more often than not. Maybe he was, but… if you were all supposed to be on a team together, maybe it would have been better to make the time.

SHIELD relented near the middle of April. You’d been talking with Nat more often about how the Tower was nearly complete and that it was taking a lot of your attention- so you thought she must have put in a word with Fury and the rest of them. Suddenly you were off the hook, and you were very thankful. The completion of the Tower really needed you fully, so once you were free elsewhere, you devoted the rest of your time to it.

For the next couple of weeks you went on complete do not disturb mode while you and Tony squared the rest of the very important building aspects away. Really, it was the last things you had to do- hook up the building’s entire power source to go off the grid. To even begin you’d had to get about several thousand permits to keep the city off your backs (and the government, too), and then begin a serious plan of how best to cut the Tower off from the tracks that had originally been laid. While your research and marks on maps and blueprints had been valuable, you were… mostly sure, Tony had actually needed to do most of the bigger work.

The last piece of which he was concluding that very evening, two days into May. One that made you extremely nervous. You’d sort of wanted to go with him, considering he’d taken the suit down into the fucking ocean, but he’d told you yours was not water tight- or at least not tested for that environment- which then made you want to ask how he knew his was. But it was a talk for a later time. For now, your mind was more focused on the small scale replica sitting in holograph in front of you, from your visor, as the building was completely dark, listening intently to Tony work under literal heavy pressure.

It was when he went quiet for a few long moments that you started to get antsy. “Run into a snag?”

“You have my vitals on monitor, don’t be so anxious.” Knowing exactly why you were asking such a thing. And, while it was true, his heart rate and brain waves steady, it didn’t make you feel any better.

“I’ll stop being so anxious when you’re not literally at the bottom of the ocean cutting up pipes.”

“Yeah. Well. I appreciate it. But I kinda need to concentrate. Ask me again in five minutes if I’m alright.”

Waiting wasn’t really your favorite thing, especially not when he was in the middle of work like this, but you tried your best to do as he asked. Once your leg started bouncing you knew you were about to cut five minutes short. But, finally-

“You’re good on this end. The rest is up to you. Can you handle it?” His face appeared in a little box aside the tower visuals.

“We’re all disconnected, you’re sure?” It wasn’t like you were expecting the tower to explode if he wasn’t completely correct- most likely nothing at all would happen. But still better safe than sorry.

He grinned. “Stark Tower is about to become a beacon of self-sustaining clean energy. Just as soon as you light her up.”

Nodding to no one, “Alright. Here… we… go-” On the executive drive panels you lit the boxes up one by one, and you could feel the building jumping to life. Humming and bright until quieting down just a little. You let go of a breath you were holding as the lights on the top floor came on and stayed on. Mission success. “How does it look?” You could only imagine what she looked like from outside.

While you’d been paying attention to the levels now displaying on the holotop board on the desk, your eyes shifted when Tony smiled even wider. Practically glowing himself. “Like Christmas, but with more… me.” Ah, yes, those beautiful and huge letters must have been glowing a homing beacon. STARK.

Touching through a couple of graphs and trackers, you tried to keep your focus steady. Trying to see if there were any trouble areas that needed attention. But, thankfully, it seemed all stable. As expected. “I can’t wait to do that presser in a week- and the party. We really will have to start doing invitations. I think it’ll be a really good boost for the market-”

“Honey. You’re killing me. Enjoy the moment. Please?”

“Well, when you ask so nicely…” Smiling to yourself as you swiped away all the other documents, leaving the building render itself the only thing up. “Come home faster, would you? Easier to enjoy it if you were with me.”

A soft chuckle broke through. “I’m coming as fast as I can.”

True to form you saw the light of his thrusters approaching. Knowing he’d be only just another moment, you took what last you had of the evening (sure your attention was about to be thoroughly swallowed up in celebration…) to really go over each floor of the tower. Looking for problem spots or warnings. It eased you further to see nothing needed touching.

The sound of Tony coming down and in grew closer and closer, and it was an impossible task to keep your smile at bay as he entered. Free of the suit- courtesy of a device that cost way too much money, in your opinion, in a simple black long sleeve and slacks as he came closer. You briefly looked over the projection to him. “Seems like the levels are holding steady.” Giving him the very good news.

“Of course they are, I was directly involved.” Smug and self-satisfied grin still in place. “Which brings me to my next question, how does it feel to be a genius?” Swiping his hand across the holotop, he rid the room of the projection, coming instead to stand before you, hands on your shoulders.

Your brows raised. “Me? No. What are you talking about?”

His expression melted into a warmer smile. “What do you mean what am I talking about? This all came from you.”

Suddenly feeling very bashful, you shook your head, turning away a little. “No. Stop. It was an idea from an idea. ...from this idea.” Head lifting again to look at him fully, smiling back, your hands reached up to brush briefly over the Arc Reactor spilling out from the hole in his shirt. “From you.”

Our new future started here.

True now more than ever.

His hands slid up the sides of your neck and the feeling of that intimate celebration was becoming more imminent. “Stark Tower is your baby. Give yourself at least… thirty percent of the credit?” But then that playful, boyish grin reappeared with this tease.

“Oh. Thirty? For my baby?” Your hands dropped away from him, and you put on quite the dry look- even if the two of you were only playing.

He stepped away. “An argument could be made for thirty-five. If you ask nicely.”

Sliding off the desk, you were quick behind him. “How about fifty?”

“Hmn. Fifty. Fifty… see- but- now my thinking is, I did all the heavy lifting.” Going over to the lounge row of plush couches, he took a seat, removing a chilled bottle of champagne from an awaiting bucket. Popping the cork, “Literally. Literally all the heavy lifting of things.” Grinning, still, as he poured two glasses out.

You gratefully accepted the glass behind handed to you and took a seat next to him. “As if dealing with the press and the public isn’t tantamount to lifting heavy beams.” Tutting at him before taking a long sip of champagne.

It left the both of you smiling at each other. “I’ll tell you what. Next building’s gonna say Lady on the tower.”

“Please don’t.” Face falling immediately at that little hit.

“INY?”

“No.” And how quickly your smile returned as you leaned over to him. “Even though it’s still true.”

“Truer every day.” Words growing soft and hushed as you stole a much needed kiss.

Now, now more than ever, you knew the universe had stopped looking kindly on you. The moment finally came, just as you’d abandoned your champagne glass and settled on Tony’s lap, deep in kisses that were becoming heady and unstoppable- JARVIS’ voice thrummed over the intercom. “Sorry for the interruption- the telephone is for you- I’m afraid my protocols are being overwritten.”

You broke back immediately, as if JARVIS were a kid who had just entered the room- sometimes it was almost too easy to forget he was there. But the news he was bringing wasn’t any sort of good. So when Phil Coulson’s voice broke over next, you felt yourself go just a little cold. “We need to talk.”

Even though you’d been leaning away, about to get up, Tony put a hand on your hip to keep you right where you were, determined to not let the evening crash. With his other he picked up his phone, holding it at arm’s length. “You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark. Please leave a message.”

“This is urgent.”

“Then leave it urgently.”

You knew there was absolutely no way to salvage this. If Coulson was calling now, like this, it meant something terrible was happening. Just the sort of thing you needed. “Tony-” About to try and call his better sense.

But you didn’t need to do any convincing on your own as the elevator doors opened and in walked the man himself. Tony sat up a little bit straighter as you stumbled off his lap, embarrassed- and then just a touch angry. This was your Tower. Your house, for all intents and purposes. Why were people breaking in and ruining your private life? “Security breach.” Tony announced, head laying back on the couch to watch Coulson approach.

Evening effectively ruined, and your anxiety mounting, you moved away to meet him. “Hi- thanks for coming to the Stark Tower celebration.” Dryly, little purse of your lips at the corner. “What can we do for you?” It wasn’t his fault, most likely, that he was ruining your night.

Tony was finally on his feet, coming over. “Celebrating- didn’t you hear? Sorry you didn’t get invited. Which means… you know. You should leave. Less embarrassing for you.”

“We need you to look this over.” Offering you one of your most favorite things. A fucking folder. As usual.

Even though you took hold of it, Tony put his hand down over it, directing a look Coulson’s way. “Official consulting hours are between eight and five every other Thursday.” Taking the folder from you, he carelessly flipped it open, looking at the contents inside.

Coulson looked just as displeased as ever. “This isn’t a consultation. We need you to go to work.”

“Me?” Pointing a finger at yourself. Was he only here for you? It might have made sense, but… to do it this loudly-

“The both of you. Although I’m making an official note here, SHIELD doesn’t appreciate its agents having their phones turned off.” He crossed his arms.

“I was busy- and I’m not an agent-” Not technically, right? It was more an Avenger thing- which you didn’t even know if that existed anymore.

Tony put a hand to his chest. “I’m also not an agent, I thought. Apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others...”

Coulson just eyed the both of you up. “This isn’t about personality profiles anymore.”

“Whatever.” Tony huffed out, turning away to walk back over to the desk. “Honey- private side bar, please.”

Despite your mounting frustrations (probably a cover up for your nervousness about what this could all be about) you gave Coulson an apologetic smile. “Just a second.” Excusing yourself to go over to Tony, who seemed to be inputting the files from the folder into the holotop. “It’s serious?”

“You know. We were having a nice little moment here…” Contemplative yet playful. Perhaps trying to help your mood.

“I was having fifty percent of a moment.”

“I could have gotten you to a hundred.” Turning his attention back up to you. The smile he was wearing wasn’t playful this time. Which worried you all the more.

Despite your present company, you reached up to cup his cheek in one hand, pressing a kiss to the other. “Maybe later.” Much later, by the feel of things. “What’s in the file?”

He took a breath in and then sighed it out dramatically. “This.” Swiping his hand up from the table, several video screens appeared in the air in front of you. Almost too much information to take in all at once.

A familiar face- Steve- Captain America- was the easiest to pick out. Old war footage of him leading troops into what looked to be heavy fire. All displays of his strength as he broke through front lines and took bullets- using his shield to deflect and then throwing it- recalling it-

The next window that got you was that monster. The one you’d been quietly looking for until Peggy had asked you to stop. Big, green- angry. Yelling. Fighting soldiers on the front lawn of what looked to be a university. They had tanks rolled up on him- sound cannons-

A blast of bright energy drew your eyes next, seeing a man dressed- sort of peculiarly- red billowing cape of note- fighting what looked to be a huge mech? Some sort of giant robot? In a small town- buildings being destroyed, people fleeing-

Reaching up you pulled aside the text dump of data, looking into the dates-

Too close to home. That small town had been destroyed- and that university had been stomped on and mashed into the ground- two years ago. Two years ago. Events running simultaneously to your own life. To Tony’s. And you’d never…

Turning back around you went over to Coulson. “What do you want us to do with all this?” “Study up. We need Stark to look at Doctor Erik Selvig’s research.” His attention turned over your shoulder so you moved to look.

Behind you Tony had a hologram of a blue cube in hand, turning it over, looking at it intensely. This was probably exactly what they wanted him to do. “What about me?”

“Do what you do best. We’ll contact you soon for next steps.” He gave a brisk wave and then turned away to leave.

Once the elevator doors were closed, you walked slowly back over to Tony, still chilled by the videos playing on loop. So much violence. So much destruction. Shifting aside him, you started wading through the other pieces of information attached. All labeled under Avengers Initiative. You wondered how much footage they had of you. And who they were showing it to.

You startled a little as Tony leaned in to the table, bringing up several keyboards, starting in on a furious session. Something about this must have been particularly interesting to him. “What is that? The cube thing?”

“They’re calling it the Tesseract. I’m already familiar. Courtesy of dad’s notes.”

Howard. How did things always come so full circle? “Is that why they want you to look into it?”

“They’re hoping I can track it. This thing is throwing out gamma radiation. Might be why they’re looking into this Banner guy.”

“Banner?”

Without looking up from what he was doing, he pulled the window with that monster forward. “Hulk- can’t tell if they called him that or if that’s what he calls himself. Unfortunate either way.” Huffing out a laugh. Your focus was completely on him as he worked, eyes bouncing from one screen of info to the next, washed over in a hypnotizing white-blue glow from the screens. Getting sucked in.

This was bad.

Tony continued, “Certified genius. Can’t wait to meet him. Interesting story. Turns out we have mutual enemies. Always fun.”

“You read all that already?”

“You walked away.”

“For like- two minutes.” Impressed as ever with his skills. Absorbing so much information. Taking in more still. And working it all to his advantage.

But suddenly his fingers stilled, you weren’t sure what he was looking at, as when you tipped your head up, he swiped a screen away. “Let me deal with this.” Looking at you, deeply so, “You- ...hang back. Do the presser. Do the party. I’ll be home in time.”

This had trouble written all over it. There was only one reason he’d ask you something like that. And it was the same reason SHIELD was asking you to come in. “We’re a team.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Seems like we’ve suddenly got a whole team. You can sit one out.”

“Not a chance.” No way in hell you’d let him talk you out of this. No matter how dangerous it was. And… if your intuition was to be trusted…? This was probably the most dangerous thing you’d seen. All the more reason you wouldn’t let him face it alone. Trying for some levity, you pushed a smile forward. “It’ll be over quicker with the two of us on the job, don’t you think?”

He mirrored your expression, but underneath he was hiding a deep well of pain. Terrified that if he let you walk into this… “Let me take a quick run through of your suit, then.”

Unzipping your hoodie, you detached the Heart Reactor and pressed it into his palm. “We’ll be okay, you know?” Trying to encourage him. And maybe fool yourself. “We’ll do this like we do everything.”

“Together?”

Now it was your turn to grin. “Here I thought you were going to say in style.”

Putting his arm around you, he pulled you into a crushing hug. “Of course that. But. The other thing is important, too.”

You knew you had a lot of reading to do. A lot of figuring out to do. A lot of everything to do. You really had no idea what all this was still, yet. But. For just a few more long minutes, you found it perfectly okay to indulge in a hug that you wanted to last the whole night.

Scared of what the morning might bring.

So much for a celebration.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter Forty Eight

6 notes · View notes

anxceit · 5 years

Text

just as the milky way dreamed

Summary: Roman and Patton plan a holiday celebration to end all holiday celebrations. There’s just...one small hitch.

Pairings: Platonic DLAMP

Word Count: 5373

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hi there, @minshinxx, I’m your Secret Sanders gifter! You mentioned you liked the 12 Days of Christmas and Fitting In episodes, so I figured I’d do a sort of “include the new family member” type of episode with Deceit! I hope you like it, and let me know if you have trouble accessing the full thing! Title is from “Beautiful Fiction” by Pinnochio-P, which is generally a very good song for Deceit. (Also, thanks to @starlightparade for letting me bounce ideas and for reminding me that I almost forgot the entire last scene.)

Roman hums along to a Christmas station on Spotify as he plans out the tree he wants to conjure this year. He’s been forced to wear headphones after Virgil slammed into his room to inform him that Thanksgiving was YESTERDAY, Princey, calm down, but he’s not letting that Ebenezer Snooze stifle his creative whimsy! It’s the most wonderful time of the year, after all!

A spiral-bound notebook drops with a slam onto his desk. He blinks down at it, up at Patton (who was not there a few seconds ago), and back down at the notebook. “Sanders FamILY Xmas 2018” is written across the cover in loopy handwriting, surrounded by holographic stickers of snowflakes and Christmas trees.

“I had a few ideas for caroling this year,” Patton explains. “It’s not super important, but if you get a chance...”

He’s vibrating.

Roman chuckles and sets his plans aside. “I’d love to see what you came up with,” he assures him.

Patton claps his hands together loudly, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Ooh, goodie! Thanks, Ro!”

Roman flips through the notebook. Patton’s ideas are far more targeted to each side than Roman’s were, including plenty of time off-stage for Virgil and a “beat poetry(?)” section for Logan. Stapled to one of the pages is a recipe for shortbread cookies with jam in the center. Patton has definitely been working on this since long before the holiday season.

He flips to the next page and stops abruptly. “Patton.”

Patton has taken it upon himself to untangle the Christmas lights Roman dragged out of storage this morning. “Yes?” He looks so hopeful, Roman almost hates to ask.

Almost. His Christmas needs to be perfect, and he can’t let a detail like this ruin it. “There’s a whole section in here for...Deceit.”

“Mmhmm! Is it good?”

Roman stares at him. “Is it...Patton. We cannot have Deceit at our celebration.”

Patton’s brows knit together. “Why not? He’s been in videos before.”

“Because,” Roman snaps, frustrated. “He’s Deceit. He’ll ruin everything. This celebration is supposed to be for the family.”

Patton abruptly stands to approach Roman, but gets tangled in the Christmas lights and falls flat on his face. Roman cries out and jumps up to help him.

Patton takes his hand and sits up. He sniffles, rubbing at his eyes as Roman hands him his glasses. “I just don’t want to see anybody get excluded again.”

Roman will not cave. He won’t. Patton is cute, and Roman feels bad that he fell, but Christmas is important. He’s not going to just—

Patton is crying now.

Roman caves. “Alright, fine, Deceit can come to the Christmas celebration.”

Patton launches forward into Roman’s arms, and Roman rubs circles into his back as he calms himself down.

Eventually he sits up straight again, beaming even though his face is still red. “Thank you, Roman! This is going to be great, you’ll see!”

Roman sighs. “Of course it will,” he declares. “After all, you and I are planning it!”

Patton giggles. “We’re the best team, huh?”

“Of course.” Roman hops to his feet and grabs the notebook again. He leans against his desk to read. “You’re right, though,” he says to the page, “we don’t know much about Deceit.”

“He’s a very private person,” Patton agrees. “But we still need to do our best!”

“Of course, of course.” Roman waves him off, wheels starting to turn. “Why don’t you go...get cleaned up a bit, and I’ll do some brainstorming.”

Patton nods. He knows better than to get caught up in Roman’s brainstorming after that time Logan almost got clocked in the head with a book. He sinks out just as things start to rattle.

Three days later, Patton and Roman sit together on Roman’s floor, looking over the revised copy of the planning book. It’s somehow evolved from a simple carol set into a full play, complete with costume ideas and set design. The basic script is written out, too—a cutesy special in which a single nonbeliever is taught the meaning of Christmas by loving friends.

“Oh, you designed costumes and everything,” Patton whispers, turning the pages with admiration. “Roman, this is amazing!”

Roman winks at him. “Why, of course. You did come to the best, after all.”

“Oh, and it’ll let us bring Deceit into the celebration too,” Patton realizes. "This is the best idea ever!"

"This is the worst idea ever," Virgil says. He's staring up at Patton and Roman from the couch, brows knitted together in an incredulous frown. Patton wilts visibly. "I mean, like, no offense, it's cute, it'd be great with just the family..."

"Which we want Deceit to feel part of," Patton reminds him firmly.

There's a beat of silence. "...Anyway, there's no way Deceit will go for this." He scans their faces for understanding. Finding none, he sighs and sits up properly on the couch, dropping the notebook on the coffee table so he can rest his head on his hands. "Listen, Pat, you know how I had to ask you to stop with the cutesy nicknames?"

Patton nods. "I really am sorry, I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't mean it," Virgil reassures him quickly, "but that's because I knew you for a while beforehand. I knew you weren't trying to be insulting."

Roman lifts up the notebook to scan the page it's flipped open to. "So...you think Jekyll and Lies will believe we're making fun of him?"

"First of all, he's used that pun for himself more times than I can count, so you're not allowed." Roman pouts. "But, uh, yeah, he'll flip his shiiii-lid if you try to talk him into this, and it'll be forever before he speaks to you again."

Patton hangs his head. "...I really wanted this to work out," he admits.

Roman looks from Patton to Virgil, who shifts uncomfortably on the couch. He raises his eyebrows. Virgil shrugs and shakes his head. Roman reaches over and gently pats Patton on the back.

Patton sniffles.

"Okay, alright, fine," Virgil bursts out, "I might be able to figure out a way to make it work, please don't cry."

Patton's head jerks up, bad mood completely cleared. "Let's get started then!"

Logan was only planning to fill his water glass when he came downstairs. Of course, things can never be that simple with a family like his.

The coffee table has completely vanished. In its place, the three members of Logan's family are sitting in a circle around a piece of poster paper, chattering in a low whisper and giggling. As Logan watches, Patton says something so uproariously funny that it causes Virgil to fall on his back with laughter.

Logan walks over to investigate (his first mistake), standing directly over Patton (the second error) in order to check on Virgil.

"Hey, Specs," Virgil greets, without bothering to sit up.

"Am I interrupting something?" Logan asks, tilting his head. "You all seem to be enjoying yourselves."

"Actually..." Roman draws out the last vowel in his typical dramatic manner, grinning. "I think you're just in time to join us."

Logan pauses and waits for further clarification (strike three). Patton takes advantage of his momentary hesitation to reach up and yank him down by his tie.

He refuses to admit to the undignified noise he made in response.

Virgil knocks on Deceit's door, Patton and Roman flanking him on either side. "Hey, Deceit," he calls. "Are you decent in there?"

"Morally?" comes the immediate response. "I'm insulted you even feel the need to ask."

Virgil rolls his eyes good-naturedly and pushes the door open. Patton and Roman follow him in.

Deceit glances up at them with mild interest from his desk. "Oh, Patton and Roman as well! To what do I owe the pleasure? I do hope I'm not in trouble again..."

"We...actually need a small favor," Roman responds. Deceit's eyebrows rise.

"So, uh, every year they do a little Christmas carol...musical...thing," Virgil explains, gesturing to the other two. "Patton and Roman write it, and Logan just gets sucked in. Well, this year they need someone to play a villain role. Roman refuses to do it, Patton won't let me do it—" Patton's back straightens as he nods – "but nobody can take Patton seriously, and Logan...I love him, but he can't act anything but annoyed."

Deceit snorts and leans back in his chair. "I fail to see what this has to do with me."

"We need a villain and you owe us for the stuff you pulled with Patton." Virgil drops a pile of papers on the desk. "That's your script. The performance is in a week."

"Thank you for the help," Patton adds, slowly dragging the other two out of the room as Deceit watches.

"Virgil," he calls, "if you would wait a moment."

Patton and Roman freeze, but Virgil waves them off and strolls back inside alone, shutting the door behind him. Deceit picks up the script and skims through it. He slowly rounds his desk and stalks up to Virgil, backing him up against the door.

He taps Virgil on the nose with the script. "Don't lie to me again," he drawls.

Virgil pushes Deceit's arm aside with a crooked smirk. "Just humor them, okay? They worked hard on this." He opens the door behind him and ducks out again.

"They'd better live up to the hype," Deceit tells him as he leaves.

"Hope you're good at improv!" Virgil calls back, disappearing.

“Isn’t this a bit ambitious?” Logan asks, looking around at the beginnings of the set Roman has been working on. “Last year it was a simple carol, not a musical.”

“And we couldn’t get through that without fighting the whole time,” Roman agrees, “even without Deceit present.”

“...Yes.” Logan stares at Roman where he hangs upside-down from an overarching beam. “So why are we doing something even bigger?”

“Because it’ll be fun!” Patton chirps. Roman gives him a thumbs-up and swings back onto the beam to keep working.

Virgil slams into Deceit’s room without a word. “Virgil?” Deceit asks, startled. “Do you need something?”

“Gotta borrow you for a sec,” is all Virgil offers as explanation before hooking his arms under Deceit’s and lifting him off the ground.

“Virg—what are you—I can—hey!” Virgil drapes Deceit over his shoulder and carries him out of the room. “Was this really necessary?” he mutters into Virgil’s shirt.

“Mmhmm.” Virgil pats him on the back. As he carries him down the stairs, he calls, “I got him!”

“Perfect,” Deceit hears Patton cheer. “Now we can get started!” Virgil drops Deceit on the ground and blithely ignores the vicious glare Deceit turns on him.

All three of the Light Sides are standing in the middle of the living room, staring at him and Virgil. “Get started with what...?”

Patton claps his hands together. “The Secret Santa assignments, of course! It’s so much fun when you don’t know who your gift will be from!”

“...Right,” Deceit says. “Forgive me for repeating myself, but what does this have to do with me?”

“You’re part of the cast!” Patton and Roman chorus. Logan offers Deceit a sympathetic glance.

Roman turns aside to where a small pile of folded scrap paper lies. “Let me just put these all in...”

Virgil cuts him off. “Here, use this.” He swipes Deceit’s hat off his head and hands it to Roman.

“Hey!” Deceit cries. “Give that b—I mean...do what you want.” He crosses his arms tightly over himself.

Patton pouts at Virgil. “Virgil, don’t be mean.” Virgil shrugs.

“Is it alright if we use this?” Roman asks, waving the hat towards Deceit.

“Whatever.”

“...Alright! Let’s get started then!” Roman sweeps the papers up and into the hat, making sure to mix them up well. He then extends it into the center of the circle with a flourish. They all reach in and take a scrap.

Deceit unfolds his paper. As soon as his eyes flash across the name written on it, his face twists into a grimace. Next to him, Logan hums contemplatively.

“Alright, everybody got one?” Roman asks.

Deceit glances up at Roman and nods. Virgil gives him a thumbs-up. Patton, who is nearly vibrating with excitement, sings, “Yup!”

“Nobody got themselves, right?” Silence. “Deceit?”

Deceit rolls his eyes and snips, “Your observational skills are unparalleled, Roman. Of course I got myself. Now, give me that.” He snatches his hat out of Roman’s hand. “If we’re all done here, I have nowhere better to be.” He stalks back upstairs.

They watch him go. Patton leans over to Roman. “That could have gone better,” he murmurs.

“Do you think he’ll actually make a gift?” Logan questions.

Virgil nods. “He will. He won’t be happy about it, but he’ll do it. He’s probably going to try and show Roman up just because he’s irritated.”

Roman chuckles. “I’d like to see him try.”

Roman paces backstage. “I gave him a very specific time to be here so we could all get ready!” he shouts. “Is that really too much to ask?”

Patton bites his lip, glancing at the other two. Logan looks vaguely concerned, at least. Virgil just seems bored. “Virge, should you go get him?”

“Nah, he’ll probably be...oh, there he is.” Virgil glances up just as Deceit breezes into the room, completely unconcerned about his own tardiness.

“Deceit!” Roman cries. “Where have you been? I needed to have you in costume twenty minutes ago so I could make adjustments!”

Deceit gives him a once-over, then glances at the other Sides. Patton and Roman are dressed in matching red-and-green outfits complete with copious amounts of glitter and shoes with bells on the tip. Virgil is in a similar but far less ostentatious outfit, far closer to a formal suit than the almost elvish inspirations of Patton and Roman’s designs. Logan is the only one who looks different. He’s in a deep navy blue outfit with a sheer cape and silver trim.

“What happened to your glitter?” Deceit teases Virgil, who shrugs.

“Didn’t want to be a main role,” he explains simply. “Too embarrassing.”

“I see.” He puts a gloved finger to his chin and turns back to Roman. “Well, as much as I’d love to see what you have prepared for me, I have my own outfit.” He winks at him and vanishes. “See you on stage!”

Roman glares at the spot where he was standing.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Logan whispers to Virgil. Virgil snorts.

Patton falls to his knees in front of a trashed toy shop. Roman runs up next to him, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he surveys the damage done to their shop.

Opposite them, Deceit stands on one of the only unbroken tables. He’s wearing a tailored black suit with a green dress shirt, looking the part of a businessman. He gives them a sly smile as he watches their reaction to the destruction he’s caused.

“Who are you?” Roman demands. “Why are you doing this?”

Deceit chuckles. “Oh, my name isn’t that important. I’m just part of a system, after all. And as for why I’m doing this, well...” He shakes his head. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“You won’t get away with this,” Roman seethes.

“Oh, won’t I?” Deceit tilts his head. “Try and stop me then.” He steps backward and vanishes in a puff of smoke just as Roman reaches for him.

Patton sniffles behind Roman, who returns to wrap him in a hug. Patton returns the hug, crying into Roman’s shirt, “Our shop...how will we be ready by Christmas now?”

“Not to worry about that,” echoes a voice from behind them. A beam of light shines into the shop, and the wreckage begins to levitate, putting itself back in order as if guided by an invisible force. Patton and Roman whirl around just as Logan strides in, twirling a silver rod between his fingers.

“How did you...?” Patton starts, but Logan cuts him off.

“If you don’t mind, I actually have a request for you two.”

Patton looks down at his new uniform as he and Roman wander a forest path. “Still, isn’t saving Christmas a lot?” he asks doubtfully. “I mean, we’re just toymakers.”

Roman shrugs. “If it falls to us to defend the spirit of the holiday, then I’ll fight with all my power!” he declares. He draws his sword (newly obtained from Logan along with Patton’s) to punctuate the statement, and narrowly misses slashing Virgil in the face as he backs away with a yelp and falls to the ground. Patton gasps and puts a hand to his own sword, and Roman brandishes sword at the interloper. “Who are you?” he demands.

“H-hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” Virgil stutters, leaning away from the sword. “You guys met my boss earlier, right? Green shirt, stupid smirk?” Roman and Patton share a glance and nod. “Well, uh, I want to help you. I don’t like what he’s doing, and I want to try and save Christmas.”

Deceit turns as the trio enters, facing them with a confident smile. “Ah, it seems you’ve caught up to me,” he purrs, “and with one of my own associates, no less.”

Roman and Patton draw their swords. “We won’t let you threaten Christmas any longer!” Roman shouts.

“Really?” Deceit tilts his head and chuckles. “Well then—” he holds out a hand, and a slim silver rapier materializes— “let’s see you try.”

Deceit holds his hands up, allowing his sword to clatter to the ground. “Alright, alright, I concede,” he says. “I, alone, am not strong enough to defeat the three of you.” Roman grins and sheathes his own sword, while Patton drops his entirely in order to run up and hug Roman from behind. Caught up in their celebration, neither of them notice Deceit’s eyes catch on something behind them.

“Don’t you think it’s time to come clean, boss?” he purrs.

There’s a half-second pause, and then the point of a sword presses into Patton’s back. He and Roman both whirl around to find Virgil smirking at them, weapon now aimed at Patton’s heart. His outfit shifts before their eyes to become a perfect mockup of Deceit’s, with a red shirt instead of green.

“Virge?” Patton gasps. “Wh...what are you doing?”

Virgil chuckles darkly, holding his head high to look down on Roman and Patton. “Did you really think I had defected to your side?” he asks mockingly.

Patton and Roman exchange glances. “Um...yes?” Roman says.

“Idiots!” Virgil stabs forward with the sword, and Roman sweeps Patton behind him to shield him. “This ‘Christmas’ you’re protecting is a sham! It’s nothing more than a corporate ploy to force people to spend more money!”

“We’re just trying to bring joy to the world!” Patton defends.

Virgil laughs again, shaking his head slowly. “Wake up! You’re not bringing joy to anyone! You’re just teaching greed!” He stands up straighter, swinging his sword out to the side to punctuate his next statement. “Now, stand down...unless you plan to die for that blind faith of yours.”

“Virgil, no,” Roman hisses.

“Yes, and...” Behind Roman and Patton, Deceit has recollected his weapon and aimed it at the two of them. He purrs, “Now, why don’t you show us that Christmas spirit of yours?”

Roman unsheathes his katana once more, while Patton scrambles for his, but just before they launch into battle Virgil holds up a hand. “One sec.” He turns his head to the side of the stage. “Hey, Lo, you wanna get in on this?”

Logan peeks out from the wings. “Must I?” He produces a copy of the script and leafs through it, frowning. “It seems somewhat contrary to my characterization thus far.”

“You can hit Roman with a sword,” Deceit offers.

There’s a brief pause while Logan considers this. He sighs and drones, “Oh, no, I seem to have fallen under the influence of those dastardly villains.”

“Logan,” Patton cries, “not you too!”

Deceit conjures a rapier and tosses it to Logan. “They were just too convincing,” Logan says, still deadpan even as it lands at his feet. He picks it up robotically.

“Alright,” Virgil says, turning to the other two with a sharp grin. “Now we can get started.”

Midway through the battle, Logan bumps Virgil out of the way to square off against Roman one-on-one. “Listen to me,” he hisses as Roman swings forward at him, “I need everyone to stop fighting. I think I have an idea.”

Roman pauses. “Do something dramatic,” he advises. “That works for me every time.” He rushes past Logan after Virgil once more.

Logan taps his chin, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration. Something dramatic... “Ah.”

The stage lights go out, bathing the room in darkness. A single spotlight cuts through the dark, illuminating Logan alone. “Everyone, please, stop this.” He tosses his own sword aside and spreads his hands outwards. “We’re all fighting for the same thing.”

A second spotlight shines down on Roman. “What are you talking about?” he demands. “They’re trying to destroy everything we’ve worked for!”

“Listen,” Logan says, serene. The light glitters on the silver trim of his jacket. “You’re working to keep Christmas joyful. They aim to rid it of the commercialism which has become so pervasive in its celebration.” He walks up next to Roman and spreads a hand towards him. He gestures with the other at Virgil, who is kneeling in a sudden third light. “Rather than this pointless infighting, would it not be more prudent to join hands and work together to save the season?” Roman and Virgil lock eyes, hesitant. Slowly, Virgil stands and offers a hand to Roman, who shakes it firmly. The stage lights come back on, and Patton dashes across the stage to lift Deceit into a hug.

Snow begins to fall over the five of them.

Patton looks up into it, still holding Deceit’s arm with both hands. “I think this is going to be a good Christmas,” he murmurs.

The curtains fall.

They all drop into the living room, in their normal clothes once more. Patton sidles up next to Roman. “So did everyone have fun?”

“I know I did!” Virgil says, grinning.

“Of course you did,” Roman grumbles, “you take joy in ruining my cre—” Patton elbows him in the side. “I mean...you were very cool on stage.” Virgil grins at him, obviously ignoring the slight.

“It was rather enjoyable,” Logan admits. “What did you think, Deceit?”

Deceit blushes and looks away. “It was...fine.”

“Just fine?” Virgil nudges him, and Deceit slaps his hand away.

“Are we doing this stupid Secret Santa thing or not?” Deceit demands, crossing his arms.

Roman’s face brightens immediately. “Oh! I’ll go first!” He extends his hand with a flourish, and a wooden box appears in his palm. “Patton, I drew your name.”

Patton gently takes the box into his hands, glancing only briefly at the small rod sticking out from the side. “Oh,” he coos, “it’s so pretty!”

Roman grins wider. “Go ahead and open it.”

Patton blinks at him, then undoes the small clasp on the front. When he opens the lid, staccato notes begin to play in a soft rendition of “You Are My Sunshine” as the rod spins.

“It winds itself so that the rhythm stays steady. I think that song is an excellent fit for you, wouldn’t you say...?” Roman trails off. “Patton? Are you crying?”

Patton sniffles and rubs at his eyes. “It’s just...really sweet. Thank you, Roman.” Deceit shoots Virgil an bewildered look. Virgil shrugs.

“Are you okay to keep going?” Logan asks. “Or should we come back to you?”

Patton shakes his head, inhaling sharply. “No, I’m good!” The music box vanishes, presumably to his room, and he puts his hands on his hips. “Let’s keep this party moving! Virge, I got you!”

“Oh!” says Virgil in a vaguely terrified tone. Roman winces in sympathy.

“...So I made you some cookies!” Patton hands a Tupperware container across the circle to Virgil, who pops it open. He pulls out a dark brown cookie and stares at it, puzzled. Patton leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “They’re dark chocolate.”

Virgil snorts suddenly at that. He immediately reels back and covers his mouth, dropping the cookie back into the container. Glancing around at the others to make sure none of them are judging him, he closes the lid and mutters, “Thanks, Pat.” Patton smiles widely at him, and he returns the favor with a crooked grin of his own. “So, I, uh...” He lets the cookies vanish. “I had Logan, and I was trying to think of something practical to give him...”

“Always appreciated,” Logan interjects, nodding.

Virgil hesitates. “Uh...so I ended up deciding on this, because I figured it’d have to come into use sometime. Like, statistically. And stuff. Here.” He hands a small object off to Logan, who flicks it open to reveal a Swiss Army knife.

Logan’s eyebrows rise. “Hm. Interesting.” He pockets it. “You are correct in seeing it as a pragmatic gift, although I hadn’t considered obtaining one myself. Thank you, Virgil.”

Virgil huffs, looking away. “Glad you like it.”

Logan inclines his head in Virgil’s direction, then turns to Deceit. “Well, I received Deceit’s slip.”

Deceit jumps, as though he’d forgotten he’d be receiving a gift in the exchange. “Great.” Logan ignores him.

“Well, I don’t know you particularly well, seeing as you do your best to avoid contact with the four of us, but...considering your reptilian nature, I hope this is satisfactory.”

Deceit catches the yellow stuffed snake Logan tosses him. He stares at it in disbelief. “Really creative, Logan. Nobody’s ever thought of a toy snake before,” he deadpans.

Logan raises an eyebrow and snaps, “Can I finish? I wasn’t finished. Is it okay if I finish?”

“Oh, please, go ahead,” Deceit says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Are you sure?” They glare at each other for a moment. Logan sighs. “As I was about to say, the snake is filled with flaxseed. It can double as a bedwarmer if you microwave it.”

Deceit considers the snake for a moment. “...Alright then,” he concludes, “seems I was correct earlier.”

“Apology accepted,” Logan responds with a smile. “You’re welcome for the gift.” Deceit rolls his eyes at him without malice.

He sighs. “Well, obviously, I didn’t get Roman.” He produces a box wrapped in red paper, with a gold ribbon, and hands it to Roman carefully.

Roman immediately starts to tear into the wrapping, but Deceit hurriedly puts a hand on top of Roman’s. “Don’t...!” Roman gives him a confused look. He sighs. “...Open it when you get to your room.”

“Don’t open it here?” Roman confirms. He looks down at the box and back up at Deceit. “What is it, a bomb?”

Deceit throws his hands up in exasperation. “Yes, of course, I got you a bomb for Christmas.” He gathers the snake under one arm and turns sharply to leave. “If we’re all done here, I’d absolutely love to stay.”

“Aww, come back,” Patton cries. “We were about to have our holiday movie marathon!”

“Have fun with that,” Deceit shoots back. Patton deflates.

Virgil looks up and swings an arm loosely around Patton’s shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t blame you for leaving,” he calls to Deceit’s retreating back. “Patton gets really clingy on movie nights, especially when the weather’s this cold. Must be nice to get some time alone.”

Deceit pauses on the first step. Virgil leans forward and continues, “Sometimes I wake up completely trapped. I guess I’ll deal with it though, since you’re going off on your own.” Patton opens his mouth to say something (apologize for invading Virgil’s personal space?) but Virgil merely winks at him and gestures toward Deceit.

Deceit sighs. “Well, I suppose we all must make sacrifices.” He whirls around, cloak furling outwards. “I’ll stay down here, and see if we can’t lessen that burden on you.”

Virgil puts a hand to his heart. “My hero,” he croons. “Come help me make popcorn then.”

He drags Deceit into the kitchen, leaving the other three Sides to watch in varying states of relief and bewilderment.

“I cannot believe that worked,” Logan whispers to Roman.

Patton claps his hands together joyfully. “What movie should we watch first?”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas,” Virgil and Deceit chorus. Patton gives Roman one final, grateful hug and turns to the DVD stack.

Deceit was gone when they awoke the next morning, disappointing Patton (who had cheerfully cuddled Deceit for as long as he was allowed). He bounced back quickly, though, at the sight of Deceit’s gift to Roman, still lying unopened on the table. He had pressed it into the arms of a barely-awake Roman and shuffled him off to his room to open it alone “since he asked you to, and you should respect that!” Not that it really mattered either way, since Logan was in the kitchen making coffee and Virgil was still asleep upside-down on the couch.

Roman flops down on his bed, bouncing twice on the mattress, and sets to tearing open the wrapping paper. He doesn’t know why Patton’s so excited. Deceit’s so rude all the time! He probably wanted Roman to wait just so that the other Sides wouldn’t see how crappy his gift was.

He tosses the lid off the box and freezes as the contents shine in the light of his room. He lifts the accompanying placard with gentle hands. Written in gold calligraphy, it reads “This seemed the most befitting of your status. Every prince needs one, after all.”

Roman suddenly feels very, very underdressed.

He swaps his pajamas for his proper princely regalia and takes a few seconds to brush out his hair properly. With that settled, he reaches into the box and removes the crown Deceit gifted him, taking a moment to admire the way the inlaid rubies catch the light before setting it carefully on his head.

It’s a perfect fit, naturally.

Roman strides over to the full-length mirror he uses whenever he considers a costume change and spends a few moments trying out different dramatic poses. The weight on his head is strange, but he figures he’ll get used to it after wearing it every single day for the rest of his life. He hides his face in his hands briefly to contain his excitement, then stands up once more and straightens his clothing.

Roman rises up in the living room in his pose of choice (one hand over his head, the other on his hip) and looks out at his family with a smirk. “Hello, nerds.”

Patton lets out the loudest squeal any of them have ever heard in their life.

“Wow,” Logan agrees, pausing midway through a sip of coffee.

Virgil, still lying upside down, raises his eyebrows. “Damn, he really did show you up.”

Roman huffs, refusing to allow Virgil’s gloomy outlook to ruin one of the best gifts he’s ever received. “I prefer to call it creative competition. Anyway, guys, how cool is this?” he gushes. “Look, there’s rubies in it and everything!”

Patton claps his hands to his cheeks. “It’s perfect!” He bounces up to Roman. “Looks like he did the opposite of ruining Christmas, huh?”

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” Logan muses, “since opposites are his whole...thing, so to speak.”

Virgil finally sits up properly. “Well, you have two months ‘til his video anniversary thing you guys do. Better get working.”

“Right!” Roman snaps. “I’ll show him who’s the real creative boss then!”

Logan squints at him. “...It’s obviously you. That’s literally the name of your aspect, I don’t...” Virgil waves him off.

“Before all that,” Patton interjects, “let’s have breakfast! Little princes need a healthy diet, you know!”

Virgil hauls himself off the couch to follow Roman into the kitchen. He stops him just outside and mutters, looking away, “It really does suit you, y’know.”

Roman beams. “Why, thank you, Virgil! It’s rare to receive such a kind compliment from you.”

Virgil’s face goes red even as he scoffs, “Just get in the kitchen already,” and pushes Roman inside to join his family.

#dlamp #sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #my writing #secret sanders

216 notes · View notes

futureera · 4 years

Text

I think it's time to think bigger.

not that I've reached any of the goals that are smaller, but they were kind of loosely knit goals to begin with.

my mind first ran off to a large scale painting with many repetitive features of some sort. I don't know what that means. I just know it's maybe important to have something familiar to return to. Maybe it's a landscape with many trees. I've heard windy roads are more beautiful. It'd be cool if it were somewhat Renaissance in nature yet with some subtle hint of the present future - as in imagining a video game reality future was what we were in right now. I wonder what kind of detail I could add to represent that. My mind wanders to some sort of holographic sword on a Grecian pillar or maybe some sort of futuristic communication device... but I think the iridescent pattern is key. Maybe there are people in this painting. A whimsical mirage of a warrior... her battle clothes are of the future, yet she trails off and blurs around the edges somewhat. Where am I going with this?

I know my personality by now. There is the necessities of life but I also have a lot of time to myself in this beautiful way. I'm obsessed with romanticizing everything but only when there is nothing because my mind is free to wander. I wish I could meet ghosts. Ghost characters staying at a hotel, simply ordering drinks. They know magic spells. I have to say this to myself so often because they feel the most real when I remember them. Something about the velveteen fabric and the satin ribbon. a mix between the very old and the near future (you're lying to yourself.. we aren't even close to where you want us to be)... the closest I've imagined it has been multiplayer virtual reality. The world of final fantasy.. the characters are all so beautiful and adventurous.

ive pushed and an continuing to push everyone away. what for? I don't want what they want. not even close. I don't know how long I'm going to stay in this place. it's only bad when the feelings sprout out of my control but I have to get over that eventually, right? The weather is amazing.

alright, so before the painting, my mind also wandered to sewing.

to think bigger... a clothing line? A hand made collection. the simplest way to blur the old with the future. a velveteen blazer with satin lining yet there is an iridescent note somewhere or maybe that is too obvious... the shoulders are sculptured in some futuristic way but maybe that isn't enough. it's not coming to me right now but I know I also have to make the baby dolls dresses but they can't be sweet and they can't be cute -- they must be aerodynamic! Ready for any skating adventure that comes on hand! Pockets -- big ones.

Shorts...

what else?

the worst part is... after writing all of that, I can see myself doing nothing about it - which means, I haven't explored far enough.

maybe it's film photography - with meaningless words of romance scribbled on top.

it was SO easy to fall into the love hard romance trope. I never figured out why I was so drawn to the teenage dream. doing everything you're not supposed to.

I met a man named spirit who has a bumper sticker that says to 'let go". I know to an extent he is right but I’ve got this idea. I’ve got this dream and it’s to take photos of myself in front of beautiful things.

I used to take chalk pastel sketches of anything I would see.

There’s got to be something more but I’ve written so much and still feel like I’m standing in the same place. now THAT worries me.

Til next time

0 notes

aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

Text

Neurotic Girl Scout

The early 2000's were a rough time for me clothing wise, and just a horrible time for fashion altogether. Britney Spears had made really low cut jeans popular. It was just about all you could ever find in the girls' section. And these horrible jeans were always about to come off me. If I bent over, my butt would stick out and my friends would either say something or walk away. I eventually instinctively learned to always hold the sides of my pants at all times while walking, else they come off. There was a boy in my class named Lonnie who's pants were always falling off completely, and I was afraid very dearly that I would be cast permanently as the girl-counterpart to him and his shenanigans.

My pants were also too long for me, so they dragged along the bottom of the road, and eventually fringed away at the seems, and eventually, they started rip up my leg. But I had to keep wearing them since it was all I had. I was a total mess.

My dad didn't really know what he was doing school clothing wise. So he just kind of skipped school clothes for me for the most part. I was left wearing my mother's left over shirts and stuff. My mom had a bunch of bellybutton shirts she wore in the 90's when she was thin. They were very low in the breast area too. She kept wearing them when she got a little heavier. So they were oddly shaped. They fit me a little better, so I ended up wearing them. The one thing I was most insecure about was my belly, and it seemed I constantly had to worry about my stomach coming out, since the shirts were misshapen and the pants were low cut. My hands were always actively trying to somehow link the ends of my shirt together with the beginning of my pants. I was incredibly uncomfortable just about all the time.

My father also didn't really buy me backpacks. So I was the only kid in the class who didn't have one. I ended up using plastic bags most of the time. Which made teachers sad for me, so occasionally someone would pitch in a few dollars and buy me one. But the thing was, I never ever did my homework, so I always had homework from every class. And even though I didn't ever do my homework, I brought all my heavy books with me and every single book bag I had eventually fell to pieces generally as I was walking up the enormous hill to get home after school.

I also started getting acne before everyone in my class. So on top of everything else, being chubby, strange, with my clothing falling off me as I attempted to make it from place to place among my peers, I was beginning to be seen as a bit of a leper. And because I was a little heavier than the other girls, when I ate in lunch, boys used to watch me eat from their place in the lunchroom and make disgusted and fascinated faces in response to each bite I took. Like I was some kind she-beast. I had no idea what I was doing that was so strange really. I guess it was the way I held the sandwich? I was paranoid about slopping food because I seemed to be inclined to drop food, or make particularly big messes. It was my way of minimizing the damage. I don't really know why that was exciting however. And because of this, I still have issues eating in front of people I don't know super well.

Also, my hair was completely and totally nothing but frizz at this point. It was borderline an afro. It was not unlike Hagrid's hair, from Harry Potter. Here is a picture of me from age 13 to demonstrate my point

So everyone in town knew me very well from my hair. I could be spotted from a long way off. Also, I was the kind of person who would comically drop things repeatedly. I often overestimated what I was capable of carrying along with me, so I was always dropping things. And when I did this, I had to use one hand to pick up the items, while my other hand desperately tried to prevent both my pants from falling down to expose myself, and my belly from popping out. And it would be years before I finally was mercifully talked into buying a boy's oversized hoodie to cover up all my possible wardrobe malfunctions.

I really liked Choose Your Own Adventure books as well. On top of Alien Girls, I was also very much into those books. Which was considered quite nerdy in those times. I also eventually started reading the Babysitter's Club books. It was a fond pastime for me to come home after school, dig into my candy stash, and sit around and read about how Dawn and Maryanne were fighting over who got to babysit some family's children.

Then there was the fact that I was super into Pokemon. I was a SERIOUS Pokemon fan. I was there the first opening of Pokemon: The First Movie, and Pokemon 2000. I wore a pikachu shirt, a pikachu cap, and I got a sticker tattoo of all 150 known Pokemon all over my body on the day I went to see the movie in theaters. I carried around my Pokedex wherever I went. I played the games. Sarah also was into Pokemon, and she would carry around a bulbasaur everywhere she went. We carried our Pokemon stuffed animals to school everyday as part of our team. When Pokemon Silver and Gold came out, I invested thousands of hours into my game. I was always jealous of Sarah's card collection though. She had a lot more cards than I did. And, she had a holographic Charizard. Which was really something.

About a week or so before picture day that year, I started to develop this thing on my nose. It seemed like a pimple, but it wasn't quite. It was blistery. I sort of poked at it. It was pretty unpleasant and I assumed it would go away over time. Girls in my class would cattily ask what was on my face. I just informed them it was a zit. It didn't go away. In fact it started to grow. Pretty soon it had taken over about half of my nose. It looked horrible. It looked as though I was becoming a corpse. My father took me into the doctor's and it turned out a had a staph infection. The doctor gave me a treatment for it but the thing didn't go away before picture day. I don't have a picture of this, but Sarah-Mae has it in one of her elementary school year books. I look despondent, and it is so comical and ridiculously placed that it really seems like a joke. It could have been on one of those tasteless postcards I used to see in the joke store as a child.

My favorite shirt I owned was the DARE shirt I earned from successfully completing the weekly DARE class for six months. I also had a DARE cup. I wound none sarcastically tell my friends 'drug free is the way to be'. I wish I still had these things. DARE Officer Dale Buttrey would come in and tell us all about how drugs ruined lives for an hour and a half once a week. We took oaths to stay drug free, there was DARE week. I was a pretty adamant critic of drugs, between my knowledge from my father's AA, my personal family background, and these DARE classes I was into. I was under the strong impression that if you did drugs, you were an evil criminal that deserved to be taken out of society, whatever means necessary. You were a predator to all that was just and good. I thought the whole thing was very simple. Like an anti drug ad from 1985. Just say no. That's all there was to it.

I also ended up becoming a girl scout, though I was without a doubt, the very worst of them. The scout class we took was actually a joke to begin with long before I entered into it, and we were the worst girl scouts in the whole of north Idaho and possibly the whole northwest. Our Scout leader was this eccentric woman named Cynthia, who was in no way shape or form fit to be a scout leader at all. She didn't know anything about making things, or facilitating positive goals or personal skills. She was frightened of everything. Carol, Sarah's mom was active in the group and tried her best to make the girl scout thing work, but Cynthia undermined everything she ever tried to accomplish. She was probably one of the most annoying people I have ever been around for an extended length of time.

She came up with this terrible idea that we were going to go door to door and sing Christmas Carols. This became a disaster. First of all, we did this in the town of Juliaetta, a town that was five miles from were I lived and where the elementary school was. The entire town of Juliaetta is on a steep incline. It was snowing that night, and there was ice everywhere. We all kept slipping and falling and she was getting upset at us and threatening us. She also had picked out extremely old and obscure Christmas carols that only she knew. We had no practice in singing these songs, no reference to go by. She simply assumed that everyone knew these songs. And she was pretty angry when she realized we didn't know these songs at all only minutes before we were to go knocking on people's doors to sing at them. And her voice was sort of awful which didn't help. So we slipped around and knocked on some doors. The people who opened the door looked highly annoyed, that is if anyone opened the door at all. Cynthia would begin singing in her nasally voice, and we all would just make mumbling noises behind her. It wasn't as funny to me then as it is now. I just remember the open look of disgust and 'whaatttt the fuckkk' on some of these people's faces. We would do this, and then the person would just shut the door. They did not congratulate us or thank us at all.

Then there was the fact that unlike everyone else, I didn't have a million reliable relatives ready to buy the cookies that I attempted to peddle. So I was left with this fear that if I didn't sell enough I could never get to the 'next level' whatever that really meant in this particular group. I finally made some 'sales' which I was totally proud of temporarily. My sister Maria casually bought 80$ worth of the cookies, at least she said she was going to pay me that, after her cookies came in. So I signed her up for the order. She received her cookies, but she never actually paid for them. She just ate them all at her mattress and left all the wrappers lying around the floor. She didn't even share with me. And she left me with the bill, which my father ended up having to pay – in an angry fury. He yelled at me in Maria's stead. And even with all the cookies that Maria bought, I still didn't come near the sales of everyone else, who seemed to have relatives all up and down every street.

Finally, at the end of the year there was this annual campground that all the girl scouts of the inland northwest would go to near the Coeur de Alene lake about two hours away called Camp Four Echoes to group up with other scouts and demonstrate by contest their skills. Initially, I was excited about this for some reason. That ended up changing over time. We first had to sing a terrible song about being a girl scout that I still have etched into my brain. We had bad little hand gestures that went with the song. The other girls though from the other scout groups pretty much floored us. Some girl came out with professional vocals, and then the other girls followed. And they had layers to the songs, and instruments. Then we all had to come up with impromptu acting skills. Everything we did was so awful. It was clear that whatever it was that you are supposed to learn in girl scouts, we were definitely not learning it at all.

All the other groups were able to build fires, having learned all these outdoorsy things from scouts. But Cynthia was afraid of fire, so while all the other girls got to build a fire and such, Cynthia made us all go to bed extremely early, like three hours early. And I forgot sleeping bags. Actually I didn't have a sleep bag at home. So, lucky for me, Cynthia brought an extra from home. Cynthia was a cat lady. She had 12 cats, and she did not keep her house clean. So this sleeping bag was peed on, but try as I might to convince everyone that I was fine, that I would do without the sleeping bag, the elders did not concede. Cat pee it was for me. Then, all the girls had to pick a partner to bunk with. There was an odd number, and was the last man standing, so I didn't get to sleep in the same cabin as all the other girls. I had to sleep with the adults in the adult cabin. My feelings were extremely hurt, but what can I say? I think I talked anyway, or did something wrong, because I ended up earning myself 2 hours of detention time the next day where I was warned in advance that I would have to stand by this tree, and I would not like it.

The next day we all kind of had to pack firewood for the camp leaders, who were nothing but 4 nineteen year old girls, and one nineteen year old guy and all the girls would fight over him. Except our camp leader. She was the only one that seemed all that serious about the job at hand. They gave themselves these tasteless woodsy names. Her name was Froggy. I am sure she had a real name, but since I never knew the real name she will forever be imprinted in my mind as Froggy. I remember she would look sourly at her peers, who were all so invested in one another sexually, that Friday the 13th comes to mind.

So after packing all this wood that we could not even use since Cynthia would not allow fire, I had to go to my tree to do my time. By this time, several of us had earned sit outs. I had earned another hour, Sarah had earned one and I think even Samantha had earned one. And while I sat there at that tree, I think I earned yet another one because I would not stop communicating to Sarah, or perhaps I tried to write something on the tree. I don't remember, other than I had an attitude of one who no longer cares what becomes of them. I could tell Sarah's mom thought this was excessive and weird, and she tried to talk me into behaving myself just to keep things in order. Which I didn't do that good of a job of, and by which I mean, I probably did something as low-key as pick up a pine cone and look at it or something, because Sarah and Sam got to get out of their dumb tree areas, but I stayed there a long time.

There was some kind of Popsicle stick activity table that everyone was doing. I didn't really get to do much of that because by the time I had finally done penance for whatever it was supposed to feel awfully horrible about doing, they were all kind of wrapping it up. I don't remember where I slept the second night. Maybe I slept with the girls that night, or maybe I didn't. I probably didn't care anymore. I do think that Sarah's mom felt a bit bad for me. It was kind of obvious that I was the black sheep girl scout and she tried to do things to ease the situation rather than make it worse for me. Carol clearly did see me as a bit beneath her daughter, and if you read in earlier parts of my story, she did really judge us side by side. But to be perfectly clear, Carol still did A LOT to try to make my life better, and she did grow to care about my well being quite a bit. I didn't really see it then, but I can kind of sense that now as an adult.

On Fridays, in order to get to my mom's who lived 40 miles away in Lewiston, I had to network with Roxanne's boyfriend Jody's family and stay at their house for five hours after school until someone had time to pick me up and take me into Lewiston. I dreaded this like no other. I wished there was some way to get out of it. Jody was a Brown. His cousin was Catherine in my class (small town stuff), and the Browns were the notorious family for being unsanitary and uneducated. The whole house smelled like cigarettes, puppy turds and vomit. The carpet had become this dirt like substance, and little babies would craw on it, horrifying me to no end. They never ever did the dishes. You could barely even get into the kitchen. The did the dishes twice a year. Everyone in the house had this blank look on their faces. It was very hard for me to find a safe space to sit. I am sure I was unable to hide my distaste. They all farted as often as they possibly could. They fought and yelled over things that I felt were quite tribal. And sometimes, nobody would come to get me for a very long time. I would be left there wondering if I had been forgotten in this foul existence.

I ended up doing my best to stay at the Pizza Bank as long as I could. The Pizza Bank was this bar that served subpar pizza in Juliaetta. It was pretty rundown, and looked like it was from the sixties at best. Kids liked to go there for birthdays and stuff, which I never really understood. In the back they had this room with a pool table and a bunch of arcade games from the early eighties. It was such a strange place. You would go into the back, and it seemed very distant from reality and time lost all meaning. It felt a little bit like the red room on Twin Peaks, only dingier. Staying in that room for hours and hours was preferable to the Browns.

But honestly, I just didn't want to wait in a place that I felt awkward in. So in many instances, I would try my best to stay in class until Mrs. Fredenburg, my fifth grade teacher was done grading papers or whathaveyou and she was ready to lock up. She was kind of a tall mousy woman who's shadow, due to her hairstyle, looked like a mushroom. I would sit in class, and I learned to be entertaining to her so she would let me stay. She ended up liking me a lot. She told me out of the thirty years she had been teaching, I was one of her favorite students. She wished I would do more to get my grades up. It didn't make sense to her that I could be so bright and hilarious and yet I was one of the worst students. By that time too, contrary to what my third grade teacher had told me, that I would never be a decent reader, and that my penmanship and cursive would always be awful, I had, by just about everyone's definition had the most perfect handwriting of all the students in the school. My handwriting was better than most of the teachers. And I read one chapter book a week, and I was in the top three when it came to my reading scores in my class.

One day, I was given a test on something I knew I would be unable to do since I hadn't read the material. So instead of even trying, I skipped it altogether and wrote a free form letter to Mrs. Fredenburg that just bounced around my thoughts on everything in my life. I don't even remember what I wrote in that letter at all. But she liked it so much she felt it was one of the dearest gifts she had ever been given, and she gave me an A anyway, sighting that I was an extremely gifted and special person. She passed it around to other teachers, who all agreed I was some kind of insightful comical genius, though I am sure they were not nearly as impressed as she was. She told me if I just continued to write whatever I wanted to her, she would just continue to give me A's. I didn't have to do my homework anymore, just so long as I didn't tell the other students. So I got my grades up a little bit this way. I think Mrs. Fredenburg genuinely felt that I was a unique enough character, that I was funny enough, or that my writing was good enough, that I could probably get out of ever having to struggle in a menial job, or any other repetitive task I didn't want to do.

What she got me into was both good and bad. On one hand, she was the first person who recognized me for being different as a good thing that should be encouraged. I was very used to either being a sounding board for my father's ego and ideas, or feeling like I was constantly being told to get in line, and to fit the mold of everyone else. Mrs. Fredenburg actually liked me, and this gave me confidence, and it also gave me a sort of wild hope that I still have in this weird way. That somehow, someday, somebody or something is going to just pick me up out of the dirt, wipe off the imperfections and realize that I am more than a boring old stone. That I am somehow a diamond hidden in boring basalt. Also, that there are randomly people who really think I am awesome. For every three hundred people or so who don't respond to me, there is always this minority of people who simply think I am amazing beyond words. It is rather confusing to be seen this way. And honestly, it hasn't done that much for me. It might be a curse to have had someone fill my head with hope. Also, hard work is sometimes and often times inevitable, and more often than not, I have to actually pretend that I am someone I am not to even be given the vague opportunity for the bottom wrung. Furthermore, there are some amazing people out there, far more so than me. I have squandered much of my potential. My life's not over. But fife isn't fair either.

I also stopped being nearly as shy at some point in fifth grade. It happened all at once. I was trying to hide in my desk, and then I just felt this wild feeling of elation and joy, and I just reacted to it gleefully, dancing my way to the the bus that took me home, singing, and just altogether doing and saying whatever I felt. Sarah and Sam didn't like this, but I just didn't care as much. Of course they still hurt my feelings. But it's like I became so compressed and nervous that I simply broke the scale and ended back at zero. I just let go of trying to control anything at all. After this time, I was sort of known as a bit of a clown.

There was a few bad times still. My feelings were beginning to polarize to an extent. I still felt badly about my appearance. In fact, I started getting this self destructive rage against myself that would come on very quickly when I was upset. If I felt devalued or badly about myself, if someone hurt my feelings or I was left alone – which happened a lot, suddenly I would feel this sharp ache and even though I didn't move, I could just feel myself picking up something sharp and stabbing it into my own skin several times violently. I just felt this urge to absolutely destroy myself, jump off something and splatter, rip my own face off, eat poison. I would imagine this in the same way you might for an instance while driving, imagining yourself driving off the road, or if you are climbing a ladder, get a sense of what it would mean to fall. For a second it would be real. And sadly, the feeling was satisfying. I would not do it. I would end up moping or fazing out. But this was the beginning of something that I did for a very good portion of my life.

Sarah and Samantha had finally come to some kind of conclusion with this Kevin boy they had been after for years together. Every recess, it was the common practice that they would find Kevin, snatch him from the other boys, and then just beat him up by holding him up against one of those Napoleon Dynamite poles with the ball attached to the rope at the end. This is what Sarah and Sam did everyday for two years. I didn't really get into it, but I felt weird if I didn't participate so I would kick him once in awhile to fit in. After being told that I was still a little kid for not having a crush on anyone, I pretended I had a crush on Kevin for awhile just to demonstrate that I was like them. But I really could not get into this at all.

Anyway, the Rollaway party was coming. Basically, the Rollaway is a roller rink that people would skate to pop music to and eat expensive food and I think play bad arcade games. I could not skate. My dad didn't give me money for this stuff either. So basically, I was just to sit there. But Sarah and Sam were very excited. One of them was definitely going to be asked by Kevin to go couple skating this year. It ended up Sarah was asked and Sam was heartbroken. I don't know what Sam and Sarah thought would happen. They basically shared Kevin but sooner or later he was going to favor one of them over the other. Sarah got the classic 'Will you be my girlfriend – Yes – No. Sarah felt terrible for Sam's feelings, so she said no.

All day, they skated around. I was constantly in people's way. My evil mind was of course telling me I was ugly, stupid, fat and so forth as I watched all these slender young children dance about and enjoy themselves. I saw a girl with ten gigapet keychains and some Pokemon keychains, and I told her that that was really cool. She told me I was a freak and to go away. I felt horrible. I was holding a brick in my throat. I was afraid to even talk else I would start to cry. Afterwards we were all going to this Buffet that was actually terrible but we all thought was good at the time. I remember Sarah' felt bad for me, and in an attempt to cheer me up she said 'don't worry Renee, we will be eating soon enough. We know you like that'. She wasn't trying to hurt my feelings or anything, but I just felt horrible. I had to go to the bathroom and cry.

That summer, neither one of them hung out for me for about a month straight. Sarah was avoiding my phone calls for whatever reason. I eventually found them hanging out at the park, and I tried to hang out with them, but they told me they were busy and they left me there. With tears in my eyes and shaking, I walked home. I was composed enough to tell my father what was wrong without showing any enough tears to set him off. Which in return he told me some good news. He had been wanting to keep it a secret, but he had booked a vacation for just him and I to go to Florida. I was elated.

If per chance you want to know more about this project of mine, i am writing my life story down - i have never actually done this. Here are the previous parts i have written so far.

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

#text

13 notes · View notes

sending-the-message · 7 years

Text

The Unicorn by Ilunibi

There’s little else in this great big world that can make a little girl in the ‘90s more excited than goddamn stickers. Glittery Lisa Frank nonsense by the roll, bought in needlessly pricey gift sets that peppered the caps of the pink aisles, princesses and My Little Ponies; hell, I used to get excited about the stickers that came on the fruit my mom brought home, or the foil stars my kindergarten teacher stuck to my spelling tests. I was a goddamn ferocious sticker collecting machine, and nothing made me or my friends more needlessly excited than badly printed cartoon characters on shitty adhesive paper.

Nothing.

In fact, the pecking order of my childhood group of friends was usually decided by who had the largest, most unique, most vibrant collection on the whole block, in the same way that some of the boys used their trading cards. She who had the newest set of rainbow dalmatians and sparkling pink horses was essentially the alpha female, and the more glitter and holographic film we had to show off, the better. We’d pile together in our living rooms with shoe boxes of treasures and try in vain to compete with the reigning champion in the neighborhood: my cousin, Rebecca.

Rebecca was different than the rest of us. She wasn’t a resident of that impoverished corner of town, but she was a frequent visitor. My aunt and uncle had barreled their way out of the slums through a combination of hard work and luck (which they’d never admit to), so Rebecca had a lot more at her disposal than a bunch of first and second graders who scrounged together their allowance to buy a couple of sheets of stickers from the drug store. No, she was the cool, older kid with literal boxes of untouched sheets and rolls of Disney characters and multicolored unicorns and cute puppies and fuzzy kittens. And, while she wasn’t in any way mean or unkind to us, she was an absolute scrooge with her collection. I suppose I would be too if the situation were reversed.

We could marvel at her recent acquisitions, but we couldn’t actually touch. Trading with her was like talking to a brick wall, because she was more there to gloat than to take part in our mad scramble. Occasionally, if the wind blew in exactly the right way and the sun was aligned properly with the planets, she’d bestow upon us a gift from her hoard, though I could never peg whether it was goodwill or showing off. It doesn’t matter. She gave me a rainbow shark for my birthday and I still have it stuck in my drawer of sentimental junk.

Additionally, she was very particular about her stickers. I can’t think of time when, at the end of our sessions, she didn’t comb the entire room just to make sure that everything was in its place. I’m not sure how an eight-year-old girl manages to memorize exactly how many sheets of identical Casey and Caymus stickers she has, but it never failed that she would always notice if something was missing. Sometimes, things got mixed up and we’d have to sort through our own piles to find the errant stickers, and sometimes we’d spend half an hour looking under furniture until we found where it fluttered to. She was anal about it.

Which is why it shocked me when she left for the day and I discovered she’d forgotten one.

It was a regular day of our swap meeting, sitting beneath the picture window of my mom’s living room, the only anomaly being that Rebecca seemed more than a little under the weather. The other girls who could make it wrapped up early because their moms needed them home from lunch, but Rebecca lingered until well into the evening until her parents finally picked her up. She counted out her sheets, we spent way too long looking for a missing dragon she’d got from a fifty cent machine, and once she was satisfied with her inventory, she packed up everything and left.

Only, as soon as she was out the door, I noticed something sitting where she had just been. It was on white wax paper and was the size of a Skittle, but it was a fluorescent yellow that caught my eye immediately. I dove on it out of curiosity and a weird sense of first-grade desperation. I didn’t care that, technically, it was stealing. I just cared that Rebecca had somehow missed one of her treasured stickers--probably because she was too sick to notice or care--and I could add it to my own collection.

It wasn’t anything impressive: a yellow circle with the tiny, awkward silhouette of a unicorn on it. In any other situation, I’d think it was the dullest thing I could ever cram into my pile, but it was Rebecca’s. That made it special.

As I shuffled it into my shoe box of wonders, I justified it to myself by repeating the mantra that, if it meant that much to her, she would have noticed it was gone regardless of how ill she felt. Maybe it wasn’t even her who dropped it. Maybe it was Cathy or Ashley or a girl from a previous get-together, and I know all of my friends wouldn’t mind if I kept something as insignificant as a teeny, tiny, pinkie-nail sized sticker with a poorly drawn unicorn on it. If they did bring it up, I’d just give them one of my gold stars or weird, bug-eyed smileys from the doctor’s office. In my mind, it’d balance itself out.

Predictably, after half an hour of gloating to my stuffed animals, I did what any kid would: I completely forgot about it. That unicorn sticker was lost in the fog of dressing up a Beanie Baby in doll clothes so he could have a lovely night out at Pride Rock with his girlfriend, bootleg Hello Kitty. By the time my mom forced me to take a bath and ordered me into bed, the unicorn sticker was barely a blip on the radar, at least until Rebecca finally called me out on my theft.

Or, normally that’s how it would go, except for the fact that I barely could sleep that night. I was plagued with nightmare after nightmare, waking up to stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, feeling like something was glaring at me. I’d always doze off again, but the dreams would go on like a sick, twisted clip show: finding Rebecca eating my neighborhood friends alive in the kitchen, watching my dog get slowly crushed by a car, drowning in the river beside my house. And it just went on and on.

And on. And on.

For days.

To say my mother was concerned by my night terrors was an understatement, but less of one than to say I was scared when I realized she would react to smells and glimpses of something dark that seemed to ooze around in our peripheral vision. You see, as the days marched on, the nightmares seemed to persist in small, strange ways once I woke up. I’d catch a whiff of vinegar and sulfur out of nowhere and watch, horrified, as my mother’s nostrils would flare and her brows would furrow in confusion. I’d see strange shadows slink around the wall, always bolting out of sight if I looked to them and, eventually, I’d watch my mom whip her head around to seek out the culprit, too.

It took almost a week for me to put two and two together, my house gradually becoming more and more unwelcoming and my sleep becoming less and less restful. I probably would have never figured it out if I hadn’t knocked over my box of stickers while staggering tiredly across my room. Amidst tears of frustration and kid-friendly curses that wouldn’t get me grounded, I started putting everything back into place and stumbled across that goddamned unicorn.

It was just as boring as I remembered it, lemon yellow with a awkward silhouette like some kind of girly Batman logo. I stared at it, it stared back, and then I got a whiff of something sour that was so strong that my eyes watered. I blinked and looked down, only to see a blank yellow circle staring back from my palm.

I screamed. I was too young to really register how crazy it sounded and too trusting in the idea that my mom would believe me, and she opted to chalk it up to sleep deprivation. She practically manhandled me to force a Benadryl down my throat, telling me it was for my own good, that I needed a nap, that she’d find a way to get me to the doctor within the next couple of days.

I fought valiantly, but was out like a light within a few minutes.

And I awoke in a nightmare, huddled in my bed, the floor stretching for miles and miles and the walls climbing up to the stratosphere. The only source of light was an ethereal ball of what looked like fire but, somehow, less substantial. It ebbed and flowed and glowed and the shadows seemed to dance with its erratic undulations, twisting and squirming like snakes and monsters. Some of them seemed to have faces, but they burned away in the light.

Fire or no, it was cold. I huddled beneath my blanket, breath creating clouds in the air as I stared, transfixed, at this strange ball of energy. Something dark began to grow inside of it, a shadow that wouldn’t melt, and as it expanded, the orange light grew brighter and more golden, almost radiant. I squeaked and tried to run as I saw four spindly legs, a long and crooked neck, and a jagged horn, but my body was paralyzed when it let out a horrifying scream.

Have you ever heard a horse when it’s angry? It’s petrifying. Terrifying enough, actually, that it was the basis for a dinosaur roar in many films. Loud enough that it makes your ears pop and your head throb. I clapped my hands over my ears and felt blood pool in my palms as it grew louder and louder and louder and louder. I screamed back and it drowned me out, one voice becoming two becoming three.

Though there was only one solitary creature standing in front of me, one twisted and deranged unicorn that jittered unnaturally and bent at weird angles, its voice came from everywhere. In its screams, I began to hear whispers, then words.

Threats.

Threats spoken in languages a six-year-old shouldn’t know, yet somehow I understood. Threats of what would become of me and my family, and lists of everything it knew I cared about. It detailed what it would do to everyone from my favorite toy to my family dog to my best friend to my long-dead grandmother who it shrieked, triumphantly, it could reach even though I would never see her again. I saw flashes of white walls and cups of medicine and a woman, with hair and eyes and skin like me, hanging listlessly from a pipe by her bedsheets with a toppled chair beneath her feet.

“This is what happens,” it told me. “This is what will happen. This is what I am. I am your worst nightmare.”

The screaming only stopped when I felt a horrible pain. I awoke on the floor in my room--my real room--with my mother at the bedroom door, pale-faced and hoarse. My face was sticky and warm, my left eye wouldn’t open. As I tried to push myself up, my mom screeched in a way that would have put the unicorn to shame.

She got me to the doctor that day.

The official story was that I’d fallen out of bed, and maybe I had. Cracked my head on the nightstand and nearly gouged my eye out, but caught my brow instead. They gave me a little clamp because it was too swollen for stitches and, as per usual, a sticker to help me feel better. I stared at it on the ride home, knowing what it was that I had to do.

When the weekend rolled around and we had our little trading party, Rebecca came to gloat, as always. The neighborhood girls clamored around her most recent additions, like a whole new set of glow-in-the-dark aliens and a few sheets of Disney heroines. They ooh-ed and aah-ed and thankfully paid no attention to my bruised and battered face as I sat there, fist clenched around that fucking unicorn as I struggled to force a smile. I couldn’t help but notice how much more alive and refreshed and energized Rebecca was as she flittered around, grinning and happy.

Not like she was when she made me scour the living room for that goddamn dragon sticker the day I found the unicorn.

She had done it on purpose, hadn’t she? She’d left that thing in my house trying to get away from it and look what it had done. Anger was my fuel as I waited for her to turn her back, grabbed a box of her stickers, and chucked the unicorn in. I shook it for good measure, so the tiny thing would settle somewhere in the bottom where she would probably miss it.

And she did. Somehow, despite every odd against me, she missed it. When she left for the evening, she only did a quick check for anything that could have fallen, packed her boxes under her arm, and left with a cheerful wave. I couldn’t even feel remorse as I watched her go; in my mind, it was justified. In my mind, I was playing tit-for-tat. If she was willing to throw her little cousin under the bus, then maybe little cousin had every right to dish it right back at her.

I slept very soundly that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. A miracle, my mother called it, though I knew the truth. I still know the truth.

And I think Rebecca does, too.

I visit her sometimes, out at the ward. She’s not very responsive and more than a little prone to falling asleep mid-visit, but sometimes when she looks at me, there’s a glint of hate and fear and disgust that I can catch in her eye, and envy and spite hidden deep in her voice. It’s like she wants to tell me that I should be in her place, that it should have been me whose childhood was robbed from her.

She wants to tell me, but she can’t. She won’t. She’ll never admit what she did, because she wants me to feel like she is the victim in all of this, that she never once tried to sacrifice me to whatever the fuck that unicorn really is. She doesn’t want to admit that I won.

Or maybe, just maybe, she’s guilty. She knows what she did and I’m a constant reminder of it, the only family member who ever visits and the only one who stays to talk. Maybe she hates me because I remind her of what a monster she is, perhaps even worse than the unicorn ever could be.

And maybe? Maybe that’s the worst nightmare of all.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

0 notes