#I look in peoples windows like I’m some deranged weirdo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lootkey · 1 month

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Now first listen of the Anthology tracks!

Overall thoughts: I probably won’t come back to these as much? But, I am very much a more full production girl so those who like the guitar centric and piano ballad songs are going to love these. The one outlier here is “imgonnagetyouback” not sure why tf that’s in here and not on the main album bc it doesn’t match the rest of the anthology tracks but it may be my favorite on the album as a whole idk

Fave 3

imgonnagetyouback

So Highschool

The Prophecy

Best 3

Cassandra

The Bolter

The Manuscript

The Black Dog

Oh we are sad again. Oh wait are we sad? The beat is picking up? OH SCREAMING oh back down? This production is throwing me but I get that it is intentional lmao. “Play him” actor shade. I think this song is what we all expected for this album. Also “esoteric joke”? Part of me wants to believe she wanted to write “making fun of me with an esoteric bloke” but I (like Taylor) am delusional sometimes. Sell my house 🥺 8/10

imgonnagetyouback

This production screams The 1975 at the beginning. Yes girl, know you’re hot! OH MY GOD THIS CHORUS. The classic “get you back” entendre. “I’m an Aston Martin”???? OMG. Loving the synths in this. This song was made for me and me alone. HOLY FUCK. we stan Jack Antonoff in this house. 100/10

The Albatross

The plucky type strings in the back are nice. I think this one is going to have to grow on me? It isn’t resonating with me on this first listen. Again Taylor Swift and threatening men, I love to see it. 6/10

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

First of all this song title is ridiculous. Saw me with someone who looked like they would bully you in school? LMAO. Did she just say “needed drugs more”??? Oh my god? Oh this one is hurtful? She changed to do anything for him and the way to break her heart is to say “I loved you as you were” … as a people pleaser I am sobbing on the floor. 7/10

How Did It End?

I’m going to need to research these lyrics more but this is interesting since it seems to be critical and self aware of how the public devours her pain. Also, this song must be a favorite of hers because all good chunk of the lyrics we got as part of the rollout are in this songs. D-Y-I-N-G????? Oh girl. The pen is penning here. 8/10

So High School

Not the Spotify vertical video being football lights, girl you are not subtle. Also this production sounds like something but I can’t place it??? Honestly this and 3am by Halsey are in the same genre. STIFLE YOUR SIGHS?!?! yes ma’am!!! You know ball, I know Aristotle??? You know who you wanted and you got her??? OH MY GOD. I do wish the production was a little quieter? But overall I like this!! 8/10

I Hate It Here

Sister song of the Lakes? She does love the word precocious doesn’t she. I wonder where the here is? 1830s but without the racists???? Girl what??? This song also would have done numbers on 2014-2015 with girls stuck in midwestern small towns. I can tell this is one is going to grow on me 7/10

thanK you aIMee

Bronze spray tan statue????? Oh my god we are coming out swinging out the gate. The definition of the bad times make us better. Yeah FUCK YOU AIMEE with the happiest fucking guitar in the background lmao. Oh mama swift!! WISHING SHE WAS DEAD?!?! Oh fucking get her Taylor lmao 8/10

I Look in People’s Windows

The slight echoing on her voice is interesting. Also you can tell Aaron Desner is all over these tracks. Taylor is in her peeping Tom era now. Like I’m so deranged weirdo? yeah that’s going to become a viral tiktok audio at some point lol 6/10

The Prophecy

Oh her delivery is in that cadence that scratches my brain again!!!! Oh the yearning is so painful here. Wanting so badly to be someone’s first pick, wanting to be loved so badly. Going directly to the pain. playlist oh my god 9/10

Cassandra

The backing piano reminds me of something but I can’t tell. BURN THE BITCH????? Oh my GOD. Cell with snakes??? The imagery of this is so fucking good. This is also shots towards Kimye. I’m glad we got this retrospective type song vs songs on rep right after it happened. I almost wonder if it’s coming up again because she wonders how much of the fake phone call caused her heartache? Like would she have ever been with Joe and had to go through all this pain if they hadn’t faked that call and she went into hiding?? 10/10

Peter

Vaguely champagne problem chords??? Okay English major!! Not one of my favorites? Not sure honestly because there’s times where I love her voice but piano ballads are never really my jam anyway? So this may just not be for me! 6/10

The Bolter

Singer songwriter vibes!! Honestly is it wrong that I could see someone like Zach Bryan doing really well on this? The vibe of this is so good! 9/10

Robin

Strings tied to lovers? Invisible String?? Way to go tiger?? Huh?? Again another piano ballad at 30/31 songs is a struggle for me to personally get through 5/10

The Manuscript

The reverb (?) on these piano notes!! Oh it’s retrospective 🥺 sex is half as good????? Strollers?!?!? Oh lord have mercy. 30? Oh so this is not about recent events. OH FUCK THIS IS ABOUT JOHN OR JAKE. Oh younger Taylor 🥺 story isn’t mine anymore?? Is this about All Too Well ??? 10/10

#taylor swift #pop music #the tortured poets department #first listen thoughts

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onmidnights · 24 days

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I look in people’s windows like I’m some deranged weirdo btw. if you even care.

#for legal purposes this is a joke #m

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quasimanchild · 29 days

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i’m afflicted by the not knowing

so i look in people’s windows

like i’m some deranged weirdo

#Spotify

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marcsmarquez · 1 month

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i look in people’s windows like i’m some deranged weirdo……..

😭😭😭😭😭😭

#ask #nadya tag

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iknewyouweretroubletv · 1 month

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“I look in peoples windows like I’m some deranged weirdo” I’m still giggling

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 6 years

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You’re My Bodyguard, Not My Owner. (Chapter 29) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

This is it.

It’s over. It’s all over now.

This is how I die.

Those were the only thoughts that ran through Agent Corvey’s mind as he was unforgivingly gripped by the front of his shirt and flung backwards, against the concrete wall. The impact stung a fair amount, but he swallowed the groan of pain clawing up his throat out of fear that making a sound would piss off your bodyguard even more.

Yeah, right. As if that were possible.

Brendon was angrier than he had been in a very, very long time. Quite possibly ever. Most of that anger was toward the useless man he had pinned up against the wall, practically shivering with fear, but a fairly large chunk of that anger was towards himself.

He had one job – that job was to protect you – and he failed. You were gone, and despite S.H.I.E.L.D’s best efforts, no one had been able to find so much as a breadcrumb to lead them in your direction. For all he knew, you could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. You could be trapped in some weirdo’s car or hotel room, about to become the next victim of a deranged serial killer. You could’ve been captured by Hydra. You could be being tortured right at this very moment. You could be- Fuck.

Brendon shut his eyes tightly for a moment, chest heaving as he tried to clear his mind of all those errant thoughts. He didn’t want to think about any of those possibilities. He couldn’t. If he allowed himself to, he would be giving in to the notion that you were gone, never to return. And there was no way he was going to give in to that.

Not now, not ever.

Instead, he would do everything in his power to find you and bring you back. Heck, he’d search all fifty states on foot if he had to. He had promised you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and he would destroy anyone that threatened that promise.

Starting with the stupid fucker that was whimpering under his hold like an abandoned puppy.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t toss your sorry ass out of that fucking window right now,” Brendon jerked his head in the direction of the panoramic window of the helicarrier.

He kept his icy gaze fixed on Corvey, who was making a concerted effort to form some sort of an answer, but struggled tremendously to do so. All he could manage was a few strained syllables, none of which were at all comprehendible. This only made your bodyguard livider, and he tightened his grip on the lesser agent’s shirt as he minimised the space between them in one swift motion; Corvey flinched, shutting his eyes and preparing for the hit he was certain was about to come.

Fortunately for him, The Director chose that precise moment to intervene.

“Agent Urie, that’s enough.”

Brendon reluctantly slackened his hold, allowing Corvey to stand on his own once again – as opposed to being held up by a wall – but he still fastened his colleague in place solely with the icy blizzard raging in his gaze.

The Director stood up from his seat on the opposite side of the room and crossed over to his agents. He gave Brendon a blank stare before turning his attention to the other one.

“How,” he started calmly, “did this happen?”

“I… she… I just…” Corvey stuttered, voice shaky as he wrung his hands anxiously, “She said…”

Brendon let out an impatient groan and let his head fall backwards before he gripped at his hair in frustration. “I swear to God, Corvey, if you don’t form a proper sentence in the next three seconds-“

“She swiped my key card!” he eventually got out; the prospect of suffering through Brendon’s wrath (again) was clearly enough to kick-start his vocal system. “She-she must’ve done it when we were in the break room. I don’t know how…” he frowned, looking down as if trying to remember, but shaking his head when he couldn’t, “I have no idea how this happened.”

“Mm.”

Brendon’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he looked at his superior. “’Mm’? That’s all you’re gonna say to that? ‘Mm?’” your bodyguard enquired in disbelief, shaking his head lightly. “Sir, he’s the reason she’s missing right now!”

“No, agent,” The Director snapped, pivoting his head to give Brendon only the slightest bit of acknowledgment, “We’re the reason she’s missing right now. This is on all of us. And it’s gonna take all of us to fix this. So forgive me if I’m not tossing him around the room,” he turned his head fully now, eyes raking over Brendon, “but while he did fuck up quite spectacularly, he’s not the only one who did. If anything, all three of us should be tearing ourselves apart right now. But we’re no good to her broken – as individuals, but especially as a team. So push your dumb-ass testosterone overload to the side and channel your energy into what’s important right now.”

Brendon shook his head as he turned around and started pacing, hands clenching and unclenching in an absentminded attempt to alleviate his uneasiness.

“I should never have left her,” he mumbled, more to himself than either of the other two, “Especially not with him. I’m her bodyguard. I should’ve been there with her. Assigning a temp was the worst idea.”

“Agreed. And believe me,” Fury glanced over at Corvey, “I won’t be making that mistake ever again.”

The slighter agent cast his gaze downwards, head hanging regretfully. It was clear that he knew that most of what had happened was his fault. Good, thought Brendon. It’s about time he realises his own stupidity.

Fury was about to speak again but was halted when a dishevelled, wide-eyed Agent Hill rushed into the room.

“Sir, we might have something.”

The Ritz hotel. Chicago, Illinois.

Doctor Aaron Ross’s slender fingers worked to fasten the buttons on his suit jacket as he walked through the elegant corridor adjacent to the conference hall where he’d concluded his seminar just a little over an hour ago.

The final nights were always the busiest; a hundred different camera flashes going off simultaneously, reporters shoving microphones in faces and yelling out prying questions, everyone asking you to stop and take a picture with them – it was to be expected that he wouldn’t be able to get out right away.

And he had a duty to fulfil. Appearances had to be kept up, reputations needed to be bettered and people needed to be pleased in order to ensure future successful events, such as the one just held.

So Aaron grinned and bore it, his fingers massaging his jaw as he walked along in an effort to reduce the painful side effects that accompanied smiling too much.

He was treading through the longue area now, eyes focused on the elevator on the opposite side of the room and thoughts occupied by the wonderful bottle of Jameson that was waiting for him up in his suite.

Then, for some mystical reason, Aaron’s eyes fluttered over to the bar for a tiny moment, and what he saw robbed the whiskey of his attention completely.

You had your drink raised to your mouth, lips slightly parted and ready to receive the liquor, when your gaze met his. He had stopped in his tracks and was now staring at you; it was evident by his facial expression that you were quite probably the last person he had expected to see tonight.

Nevertheless, he must’ve been rather pleased with your sudden appearance, since after you flashed him a bright smile and slight wave of the fingers, he switched directions and strolled over to you.

“Doctor Aaron Ross,” you smiled when he was near enough to hear you, and lifted your one leg to cross it over the other, “what a pleasure to see you again. I’m not sure if you remember me; I’m-“

“Snowflake,” he interrupted with a devilish smirk. His eyes gleamed dangerously as he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, all the while maintaining eye contact with you.

You raised one brow and pursed your lips infinitesimally, pretending to be impressed. “You do remember.”

He chuckled, and it was the kind of chuckle that was created for the sole purpose of charm. But you weren’t here to be charmed. Not tonight.

“How could I forget?” he mused, tilting his head slightly to the side as he studied your face. “Like I said before, you’re exquisite.”

“And you’re a huge flirt.”

He let out a proper laugh this time, one that reached his eyes and made the corners crinkle. He held up his hands in defence and arched his brows. “Guilty as charged. But you needn’t worry; I assure you that it is entirely harmless. I’m well aware that your heart’s already been taken, and while I may be a flirt, I am not one to blight that.”

“Uh,” you chuckled nervously, “excuse me?”

“That brown-eyed fellow that accompanied you in Stuttgart,” he elaborated, a crease forming on his forehead before he too chuckled nervously and it disappeared, “You know, the one who, uh… strangled… me.”

Your eyes went wide. This is definitely not what you came here for. Not at all. “Oh, no, Brendon’s not my…” you started to explain, but found it difficult to do so properly, “I mean, him and I, we’re not…”

You trailed off, hoping he would understand. He shook his head and waved a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry, I get it. No labels,” he winked at you, and you chuckled awkwardly.

So he didn’t get it. Great. You didn’t bother correcting him about the situation, however, deciding it was better to rather let him think that you were dating your bodyguard than to actually try and explain the whole story. That could wait for now.

“Err… right,” you offered a weak smile, to which he responded with a beam of his own, “I must admit, Doctor, that this is not a chance encounter.”

Aaron’s interest had piqued, and he casually leaned against the bar countertop, intrigued expression on his face. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I saw the news report about tonight on a TV in a diner over in North Carolina, and when I saw that it was your seminar…”

“You drove twelve hours just to see me?” The doctor made no effort to mask his shock.

“Yes, Doctor, I did.”

“My, my,” he muttered softly as he mulled over the situation, “Well as honoured as I am by that fact, I imagine you didn’t go to such extreme lengths just so that we could make chit chat in a hotel bar.”

A small sigh passed your lips. “Not really, no. I’m in a very… precarious situation, Doctor. Confusing too. And I think you might be able to help me find some clarity in it all.”

“Say no more, snowflake. I’m hooked,” he smiled again, stuffing his dangling hand into his pant pocket. “I am more than willing to assist you in any way I can.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” you breathed in relief; you had been a bit worried that he’d decline, “And it’s (Y/N).”

“(Y/N),” he repeated slowly, and the way he said your name made it sound exponentially more important than what a name really was – just a group of letters thrown together. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. It was a nice change; a direct contrast to the way Brendon said your name – icy, in a way that sent shivers rolling down your spine. In all honestly, however, you weren’t sure which one you preferred. “I like it. And please, my name is Aaron, not ‘Doctor’.”

“Right,” you grinned, “Thank you, Aaron, I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. I’m interested to hear what exactly it is you need me for, but might I suggest that we head up to my suite? A bar isn’t nearly as personal an environment.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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pale-silver-comb · 7 years

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"Have anyone told you you have the most intimidating nostrils I've ever seen?"

“Yeah, I won an award, junior year,” Derek answers, frowning at his new IKEA (bought and built, all in a soft Henley sweater; Stiles knows, he supervised) book-shelf, like he hasn’t just finished a seven hundred page tome on Egyptian artefacts. A seven hundred page tome on Egyptian artefacts alone.

Derek Hale: epic nerd and assembler of easy-to-build IKEA products. Of course, Stiles thinks, cursing his stupid Professor and DIY kinks. Why not? The worst part is, he doesn’t even think those kinks are sexual. It’s just….a thing. That he has. A Derek thing. The Butterflies That Live In His Stomach were trying so desperately to move on with their lives, too. They’d shopped around. Hired a real-estate agent. They were ready, goddammit!

Derek settles on a book - Stiles is pretty sure it also has the word ‘artefacts’ in the title - and sighs, all feigned nostalgia, and glances over his shoulder. “It was a golden nose, too. Across the bottom it said,” he pauses, grinning, “Stiles Stilinski needs to get a life.”

Stiles opens his mouth, clutches his chest, because rude much? Is it his fault Derek’s nostrils belong in some kind of anatomy museum? Is it his fault his Saturday nights are spent playing video games in his underwear, when his week days are spent chasing down monsters and researching things like how Scott and Erica managed to contract chicken pox when stabbing them does, like, nothing? (Except get Erica excited because she’s a beautiful, terrifying weirdo.) The moment he tries to tell Derek this, however, a copy of - is that Pride and Prejudice? - is thrown at his head.

Stiles doesn’t know if he’s more offended when Derek rolls his eyes when it misses him, or the concerned look that crosses his face when the book sails past him and lands in an empty pizza box, like Derek is worried if it’s okay or not.

And to think, Stiles was going to screw up his courage and finally invite Derek to see a movie this weekend. In an actual theatre. Where people go to be normal. Well, the laugh is on Derek because Stiles is going to buy the big popcorn and he’s going to enjoy it all on his own.

Yeah, that’ll show him.

“Has anyone ever told you your eyebrows could star in a disturbing kid’s movie about caterpillars?”

Stiles is drunk. No, he’s wasted. Hammered. Loaded. Completely and utterly shit faced. Which is probably why instead of ending up on his ass on the floor, Derek just pinches the bridge of his nose, tips his head against the back of the couch and says, “what.” Not even a hint of inflection.

This dude, Stiles thinks, and then laughs because, ohmygod, Derek is this dude now. Not that dude or whoa, what are you doing crawling through my window, dude? but this dude. And that’s kind of beautifully heart warming, in its own way.

Really, Stiles should write into Hallmark. It could be a trilogy. A Gay Trilogy™. Bisexuals on ice. Except, without the ice because Stiles doesn’t know how to skate. Can Derek skate? Stiles totally bets Derek can skate.

Speaking of Derek, he’s got this little crinkle on his forehead now, right between his eyebrows, and man, they really are very nice eyebrows. Animated but nice. A little dramatic but nice. Murderous but nice.

“What,” Derek says again, looking more confused than annoyed by the second. Stiles really wants to kiss him.

Instead, he stares. Stares and stares and stares.

Shit.

Slapping a hand over his mouth, he begins laughing uncontrollably and before he knows it, he’s clutching his sides and has his face pressed against Derek’s chest, because the hilarity is killing him.

Because this is them now. Drinking peach-snaps at Derek’s loft, on a couch filled with throw pillows. Throw pillows. One is even soft and pink and frilly and another has a picture of the pack on it. Granted, no one is looking at the camera but Derek, Boyd and Kira and Derek is not so much looking at the camera as yelling at Stiles (holding the camera) for eating his secret stash of cookies, but it’s nice. It’s a nice picture. There is a plain black pillow too, of course. Somewhere. Stiles might be sitting on it, actually. He figures one can only expect so much when it comes to sour-wolves but Erica glued little cat ears on it last week and Derek said nothing. Fuck, he’d even smiled.

It says a lot about what a secret softie Derek is when it comes to vulnerable, drunk-ass people, because he doesn’t push Stiles away; just lets him laugh and laugh until he passes out, drooling on his chest.

When Stiles wakes up, Derek’s sweater is pretty soaked through but he hasn’t moved an inch. He does, however, tell Stiles he snores like a deranged goose and that he owes him a pastry later.

He doesn’t even ask for a specific kind, Stiles chastises in his head, falling back to sleep. He’s in love with a pastry idiot.

“Do you know when you smile, you brighten up the whole damn room?”

The question clearly catches Derek off guard because he falls head first…into a duck pond.

Stiles’ first reaction is to jump in after him - he hates to admit it, but he gets a little nervous around water when Derek is with him; there have been several incidents where he’s unconsciously grabbed Derek’s hand in order to drag him away from pools and, one time, a very large puddle - but when Derek emerges, wearing his someone is about to die face, Stiles can’t be held accountable for the way he falls to the ground because, yup, that’s a tiny, outraged duckling perched on top of Derek’s head.

“Oh my god,” he yells, rolling onto his back and kicking his legs in the air. He feels like a kid, grabbing his stomach, water practically pouring from his eyes. This was, quite possibly, the best day of his life.

Normally, Derek would be yelling threats - several, in fact, some in Spanish because he’s a show off - but he just stands there….in the middle of a fucking pond. The duckling is still sitting on his head, like he or she plans to set up home there and it’s so adorable Stiles thinks he actually coos out loud.

Still, Derek still doesn’t say anything. Not even when Stiles coos again, very, very deliberately. (And Scott said his middle name could never be Danger, pffft.) Stiles can’t actually guess what Derek is going to do but he doesn’t care. He looks a strange cross between wanting to murder someone - namely, Stiles - and a little kid who was told they couldn’t get a puppy only to get one on Christmas day anyway.

Mostly, he just looks lost. And wet. Very, very wet. Somewhere out there, someone is playing It’s Raining Men and Stiles wants nothing more than to share this glorious moment with them. He’s just in the process of taking out his phone to at least snap a photo to send to the pack when -

“Did you mean it?” Derek asks, and man, those water droplets just keep on running, don’t they.

Stiles grins. “Did I mean for you to fall into a pond and adopt a new feathered friend? No but I think we can all agree-”

“Stiles.”

Derek growls and it would be effective - at least in getting Stiles to help him out of the pond - if it wasn’t for the fact his ears were turning a little pink. A lot pink, actually and -

Oh.

Sitting up, Stiles drags his butt over to the edge of the pond.

“Yeah,” he says. “I meant it. I mean, smiles can’t literally light up rooms, I know that, but when you smile it’s like…” He sighs and flaps his arms, suddenly nervous, hitting Derek in the process. The duckling practically glares at him and Stiles briefly wonders if he has competition here.

Right. Better make this good then. He clears his throat.

“It’s like, everything just makes sense for a little bit, you know? I look at you and it’s not that smiling is rare for you, at least not anymore, but it’s still pretty thrilling to see it and when you do I’m like, that’s some quality shit right there but then I get confused because it’s like, do I wanna punch it? Kiss it? Pet it? Who knows. Usually it depends on what you’re wearing.”

Derek blinks and Stiles groans because, yeah, he just said that out loud. In real time. To Mr McGrumpy himself. Who is currently not reacting.

Great.

“Uh, I mean,” he attempts to correct himself but it’s too late. Derek is already slowly pulling him in and pressing his lips to his in what is the single most innocent, chaste kiss of Stiles’ life - because, you know, duckling and head movements - but somehow, it still manages to be perfect.

“Nice,” Stiles whispers, after, waggling his eyebrows.

Derek snorts and kisses him again.

“Turn it off,” Derek whines, nuzzling further into Stiles’ neck. “This is why I leave my phone in the kitchen. Like we discussed.”

Stiles tries to swat him, ends up kissing his temple. Sue him, he’s tired. “Says the person who can afford to leave their phone in the kitchen. We don’t all have supernatural hearing, asshole.”

Derek whines again. “You also have the worst taste in ringtones.”

Stiles gasps, suddenly sitting up. Well, he tries to. When your boyfriend is made of muscle and is half lying on top of you, it makes moving a lot more difficult. Not that Stiles is really complaining. Much. “I’ll have you know Bushes of Love is a Star Wars parody classic.”

Derek rolls his eyes, Stiles can feel it, says, “just answer it, sweetums.”

“Ugh,” Stiles grimaces, “I already told you I’m sorry for the pet-name thing. It was an accident!”

“Calling me your ‘slutty buddy’ in front of your dad was meant as a pet name?”

“It sounded better in my head!”

Derek groans and wraps an “exasperated” arm around Stiles’ waist. Oh. So. Exasperated. Stiles grins. “Answer. Your. Phone.”

Stiles finds his phone on the fifth try.

He has fifteen missed calls, all from Erica. Texts too. Every single one is a link to some article online, followed by a string of heart and eggplant emojis.

“Young Love and the Ugly Duckling’,” Stiles reads, clicking on the link. “Uhhh, Derek?” He prods him.

“What.”

”There’s a picture of us in the online Beacon Gazette,” looking into each other’s eyes, like a pair of love sick fools, Stiles wants to add because, wow, is he really that obvious when he looks at Derek? To be fair though, Derek isn’t much better and he is the one with an angry bird on his head.

He prods Derek again and again until he finally gives in, makes him look at the phone.

“Huh,” he says, blinking at it. “Fred looks pretty pissed that I’m kissing you.” His face breaks out in a smug grin and Stiles rolls his eyes. Hard.

“You are aware Fred is a duckling, right?”

“Yes.” Derek grins harder, showing all his teeth, although his cheeks do colour slightly when he catches Stiles’ eye.

Stiles sighs, totally not fond. “They couldn’t have come up with a better title, though?” he asks, brandishing his phone. “The Ugly Ducking, really?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, frowning. “I mean, I wouldn’t go as far as to call you ugly.” He laughs and Stiles smacks him across the chest with a loud, “hey!”

They both turn back to look at the picture.

“We look so stupid,” Stiles whispers, shaking his head and biting his thumb. We fit, he thinks. We look like we fit.

Leaning in, Derek smiles at him. “We do,” he agrees, burying his face back into the warmth of Stiles’ neck, muttering something about home and content and stupid Star Wars parodies.

Stiles snaps a selfie, captions it goals, and sends it to Erica.

#summersaltturn #sterek #eternalsterek #fluff #these goobers #em writes fic #sorry I've not been around much #I hope this makes up for it a bit

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cybermoonmoon · 3 years

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"...My Life of Crime"

First of all I should say that I had forgotten these events for the entirety of my adult life. It's memory as so much else was triggered by a dream. "Once Upon a Time..."I was breaking, and entering. Well not "breaking", but most certainly entering. Back in the old days getting into a house was as easy as opening a window,...which I did.

When I was a little boy I used to "enter" other peoples homes. As with all crime this was motivated by want. I "wanted" to know how other people lived what their stuff looked like what weird things they were doing. Also if they had candy. I wasn't poor...well not 'very' poor.

Anyway I didn't get a lot of treats.

So these were part of the temptation. One house I explored turned out to be a Fort Knox of the stuff! However I didn't take any. In fact I never took anything on these adventures. That wasn't the point .I was on the prowl for more 'serious' game. I was an "Other", and I was searching for other Others.

Mind you I could never have explained any of this to my folks or the cops. I didn't yet have the intellectual bullshit, and double talk for that. To the adventure. I chose my homes almost randomly. Hey I was a ten year old kid not a for real cat burglar. The treasure I sought was intangible. The only vague precaution was making sure the houses were empty. This was the early 1960's so most everyone had some kind of job. So the whole neighborhood was fair game.

Block after block of doll houses to explore. I left the homes of friends alone. The houses of strangers was where the real adventure was. The unfamiliar the mysterious. Places of different light touch, and smells. Every structure a new world discovered.

Oh the moral obliviousness of the very young or as J.M. Barrie put's it at the end of "Peter Pan". "When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless." Yep that was me alright. You too so cut me some slack in this story.

In these secret adventures I saw myself as one of the wandering explorers of old. Peary at the North Pole or Amundsen in the Antarctic. Oh dreams dreams, and fantasies. To the Heart of the Matter. Family albums. After a time my hunts focused on these. The photos told me in quick detail what I needed to know about who lived in whatever house I was "visiting". The who what, but sadly never the why of these lives I was searching through.

The albums I found were generally stored in the same place in house after house. The bedroom closet or close by. So there I would sit on a stranger's bed studying their histories looking for my tribe. Again I couldn't begin to explain to anyone what or why I was doing this. It was an instinctual exploration for un-namable things that I needed. That I was in desperate "want" of.

The pictures. I was surprised at how similar they all were. Grandma auntie babies somebody in the Army the beach, and birthday parties. These albums were all just like mine. However on occasion there was a surprise. One time I unknowingly entered the house of a nudist family. I started through their album.

"...!!!!!!"

Good bleeping grief! I literally at that point in my life had Never seen the like! There they all was...auntie mom, and dad, and all the kids Nekkid as hell! These folks was "Other" alright, but not the Other I was looking for,...I think.

Close calls.

Yeah there were a few of these. One time I was quietly moving through this kitchen. Kitchen windows of that era, my usual port entry, might as well have had "Welcome" mats in front of them.

Anyway I'm doing my rounds when I see an old lady sleeping on the couch in the living room. To kids old folks look dead when they're asleep. Which is what I thought she was,...till she moved. I back stepped to the window I came through.

In another I'm on my way to the bedroom to peek through their family album when I hear the front door open. I'm fucked. I'm going to "Juvie" Hall. I'm going to the Chair. I'm going to a firing Squad. I'm going to be forced at gun point to eat my greens for the rest of my life. My heart is pounding through my Mighty Mouse t-shirt. My lunch is coming out'a my nose, and I wanna wet myself.

Damn!

Some lady, and her kid just came home, and is headed for the kitchen with it's open window which I just came through. This is rapidly turning into a nightmare version of "Mayberry RFD". One where Deputy Barney Fife in Klan robes kicks the living crap out of a junior negro perp in the holding cell. Hey I was ten, but I knew the real world score.

Looking back my only hope was that the lady was a Liberal Sociology Professor who would understand my quest, and ask Deputy Fife not to kill me. More likely she was married to a corrupt Teamster with a drinking, and violence problem. My odds didn't look good. My heart pounding lunch coming, and ex-Pepsi running down my legs.

I quickly hid behind an old 1930's screen room divider. They was all the rage once...Google them. Well,...they walked right past me. ????!!!

Oh the perceived safety of the home. No one expects danger or ten year old boys hiding behind old furniture. They went to the kitchen, and I went to the front door left, and ran for my life. To this day that boy must be telling his grand kids about the time he, and their great grandma surprised a deranged killer in their house. Of such are family legends born.

After this earth shattering event I laid low for a time. However being a kid, and stupid though full of grace, and innocence. I went out again.

Several times in fact. I think I "visited" 10 or 12 homes during my life of somewhat disturbed, but sincere explorations. In all these visitations I never found my other "Others". I would have recognized them. I didn't know precisely what I was looking for, but I would have known them when I found them. I don't know what I would have done if I had though. I hadn't thought that far ahead.

...ask to be adopted?

Well these outings ended on an interesting note. I did one more visit. This time it was in the Oort Cloud of my neighborhood. You know that the part of your 'hood that borders the unknown regions. The place if you were there alone you'd be lost.

This one was different. It was a very old frame house. Before this it was all regular Brooklyn Brown Stones like my own home. This one was perhaps a surviving farm house. The borough was partly farms till the turn of the 20th century. No kitchen window this time. I entered through the back door which was unlocked. It was like stepping into a sepia print. The light was dim amber. Peeling wall paper. Pictures on the wall of people dressed as folks did long long ago. Dust, years of it covering dark furniture. There was no one home. No one had been home maybe since before I was born.

The house wasn't abandoned not in the 21st century sense. It was owned...one could tell, but not lived in. It was also cold in that place. I had a chilled tingly feeling standing in there. Much as I, and a friend from school had when we stumbled on an old grave yard in Prospect Park.

When Fredrick Olmsted graded, and arraigned the Park he left certain historical sites intact. A certain Colonial graveyard being one of them. I knew nothing about it. Most still don't, but we stumbled into it. Stumbled in, and got the same feeling I had in that old house, "...Leave". Today I'd say it was spirits. That or what some researchers now think are impressions left on physical objects by persons during extreme emotional events. They say this explains what traditionally are thought to be ghosts. ...maybe.

Anyway the Spirits were saying "Don't Disturb". I didn't. I left. So ended my short life of Crime. I never did find a family of Anarchist Beatnik Weirdos to adopt me. However several years later....'But that's another story for another time.

The End,...mostly.

*(As with all of my personal stories they're guaranteed to be more or less kinda true. In this case I did indeed "visit" peoples homes when I was ten years old. The events described did happen,...mostly. I changed a few details to makes things run smoother, and be somewhat funnier. Even though I wet myself a few times. Otherwise this is what happened. Think of this as a Docudrama.)

Maybe I'll pitch my very odd life story as a series to HBO.

Stay tuned.

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cybermoonmoon · 4 years

Text

“...Crimes”

*This is a long story...an interesting one from my life. Pack a lunch if you're reading it.

“My Life of Crime” First of all I should say that I had forgotten these events for the entirety of my adult life. It’s memory as so much else was triggered by a dream.

"Once Upon a Time…” I was breaking, and entering. Well not “breaking”, but most certainly entering. Back in the old days getting into a house was as easy as opening a window,…which I did.

When I was a little boy I used to “enter” other peoples homes. As with all crime this was motivated by want. I “wanted” to know how other people lived what their stuff looked like what weird things they were doing. Also if they had candy.

I wasn’t poor,...well not ‘very’ poor. Anyway I didn’t get a lot of treats. So sweets were part of the temptation. One house I explored turned out to be a Fort Knox of the stuff! However I didn’t take any. In fact I never took anything on these adventures. That wasn’t the point.

I was on the prowl for more 'serious’ game.

I was an “Other”, and I was searching for other Others. Mind you I could never have explained any of this to my folks or the cops. I didn’t yet have the intellectual bullshit, and double talk for that.

To the adventure.

I chose my homes almost randomly. Hey I was a ten year old kid not a for real cat burglar. The treasure I sought was intangible. The only vague precaution was making sure the houses were empty.

This was the early 1960’s so most everyone had some kind of job. So the whole neighborhood was fair game. Block after block of doll houses to explore.

I left the homes of friends alone. The houses of strangers was where the real adventure was. The unfamiliar the mysterious. Places of different light touch, and smells. Every structure a new world discovered.

Oh the moral obliviousness of the very young or as J.M. Barrie put’s it at the end of “Peter Pan”. "When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter’s mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.“

Yep that was me alright. You too so cut me some slack in this story. In these secret adventures I saw myself as one of the wandering explorers of old. Peary at the North Pole or Amundsen in the Antarctic. Oh dreams dreams, and fantasies.

To the Heart of the Matter.

Family albums. After a time my hunts focused on these. The photos told me in quick detail what I needed to know about who lived in whatever house I was "visiting”. The who what, but sadly never the why of these lives I was searching through.

The albums I found were generally stored in the same place in house after house. The bedroom closet or close by. So there I would sit on a stranger’s bed studying their histories looking for my tribe.

Again I couldn’t begin to explain to anyone what or why I was doing this. It was an instinctual exploration for un-namable things that I needed. That I was in desperate “want” of.

The pictures. I was surprised at how similar they all were. Grandma auntie babies somebody in the Army the beach, and birthday parties.

These albums were all just like mine.

However on occasion there 'was’ a surprise. One time I unknowingly entered the house of a nudist family. I started through their album, and, “…!!!!!!”

Good bleeping grief! I literally at that point in my life had Never! seen the like! There they all was,…auntie mom, and dad, and all the kids Nekkid as hell!! These folks was “Other” alright, but not the Other I was looking for,…I think.

Close calls.

Yeah there were a few of these. One time I was quietly moving through this kitchen. Kitchen windows of that era, my usual port entry, might as well have had “Welcome” mats in front of them.

Anyway I’m doing my rounds when I see an old lady sleeping on the couch in the living room. To kids old folks look dead when they’re asleep. Which is what I thought she was,…till she moved.

I back stepped to the window I came through.

In another I’m on my way to the bedroom to peek through their family album when I hear the front door open. I’m fucked. I’m going to “Juvie” Hall. I’m going to the Chair. I’m going to a firing Squad.

My heart is pounding through my Mighty Mouse t-shirt. My lunch is coming out'a my nose, and I wanna wet myself.

Some lady, and her kid just came home, and is headed for the kitchen with it’s open window which I just came through.

Looking back my only hope was that the lady was a Liberal Sociology Professor who would understand my quest, and ask the Cops not to kill me.

More likely she was married to a corrupt Teamster with a drinking, and violence problem. My odds didn’t look good.

I quickly hid behind an old 1930’s screen room divider. They was all the rage once…Google them. Well,…they walked right past me.

????!!!

Oh the perceived safety of the home. No one expects danger or ten year old boys hiding behind old furniture. They went to the kitchen, and I went to the front door left, and ran for my life.

To this day that boy must be telling his grand kids about the time he, and their great grandma surprised a deranged killer in the house.

Of such are family legends born.

After this earth shattering event I laid low for a time. However being a kid, and stupid though full of grace, and innocence.

I went out again.

Several times in fact. I think I “visited” 10 or 12 homes during my life of somewhat disturbed, but sincere explorations.

In all these visitations I never found my other “Others”. I would have recognized them. I didn’t know precisely what I was looking for, but I would have known them when I found them. I don’t know what I would have done if I had though.

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. …ask to be adopted?

Well these outings ended on an interesting note. I did one more visit just before my 11th birthday. This time it was in the Oort Cloud of my neighborhood. You know that the part of your 'hood that borders the unknown regions. The place if you were there alone you’d be lost.

No kitchen window this time. I entered through the back door which was unlocked. It was like stepping into a sepia print. The light was dim, and amber. Peeling wall paper. Pictures on the wall of people dressed as folks did long long ago.

Dust, years of it covering dark furniture. There was no one home. No one had been home maybe since before I was born. The house wasn’t abandoned not in the 21st century sense.

It was owned…one could tell, but not lived in.

It was also cold in that place. I had a chilled tingly feeling standing in there. Much as I, and a friend from school had when we stumbled on an old grave yard in Prospect Park.

When Fredrick Olmsted, and his crew graded, and arraigned the Park he left certain historical sites intact. A Colonial graveyard being one of them. I knew nothing about it.

Most still don’t, but we stumbled into it. Stumbled in, and got the same feeling I had in that old house, “…Leave”. Today I’d say it was spirits. That or what some researchers now think are impressions left on physical objects by persons during extreme emotional events.

They say this explains what traditionally are thought to be ghosts. ...maybe.

Anyway the Spirits were saying “Don’t Disturb”. I didn’t. I left. So ended my short life of Crime. No as I say I never did find a family of Anarchist Beatnik Weirdos to adopt me. However several years later….

'But that’s another story for another time.

The End,…mostly.

*(As with all of my personal stories they’re guaranteed to be more or less mostly true. In this case I did indeed “visit” peoples homes when I was ten years old. The events described did happen,…mostly. I changed a few details to makes things run smoother. Otherwise this is what happened. Think of this as a Docudrama.)

0 notes