#tactile tour
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Tactile Tour en Ré
Tactile Tour en Ré
Le “Tactile Tour” de l’Association Valentin Haüy s’invite sur l’ile de Ré du 1er au 30 avril 2024 au Musée Ernest Cognacq à Saint Martin de Ré.
Un voyage tactile et sensoriel pour tous, à découvrir au musée Ernest Cognacq !
“Tactile Tour“, une exposition à toucher. L’accès à la culture et à l’art pour les personnes aveugles ou malvoyantes est au cœur des actions de l’association Valentin Haüy…
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#art#artiste#clin d&039;art#exposition#ile de ré#Malvoyants#musée ernest cognacq#non voyants#saint martin de ré#tactile tour#Valentin Hauy
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who the fuck decided that the spongy-ass “silent” strumbar on the rock band era guitar controllers should be the standard. i’ll fucking kill you
#my wife just got an old World Tour controller and i’m like GOD I LOVE YOU CLICKY STRUMBAR I LOVE YOU TACTILE FEEDBACK#I LOVE KNOWING IM ACTUALLY HITTING NOTES#i don’t fucking care about clicky buttons making the guitar experience ‘less immersive’ im playing a goddamn rhythm game with a plastic toy#you know what ruins my immersion?? feeling like i have to slam the strumbar as hard as possible#because i can’t tell whether or not my timing is off or if im just not hitting the strum hard enough for it to register#ok i’m a GH genwunner. sorry
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Different Spaces
Pairing: Bangchan x reader
Genre: friends to lovers, smut
Summary: Chan has just returned home from tour and you hope you aren't wrong that something has changed between you. Only one way to find out...
Word count: 3.1k
Warnings: one (1) handjob, little bit of cum-eating, that's pretty much ya lot!
AN: YES, she's a MULTI BLOG NOW. And obviously it's Chan. It was always going to be Chan lmaooooo. Anyway, this idea crept into my head last night and then I wrote it today to put off writing something else 😅😅😅 I HOPE YOU ENJOY! It's unbeta'd (except for @minttangerines reading it to make sure it didn't suck lol) so forgive the typos please!!!
ETA: you can now find part two HERE!
*~*~*
It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable. But it was different. It was definitely different this time.
Chan sat in front of you, between your legs, his back against your chest and his head in the soft space between your shoulder and collarbone. You leant against the arm of the sofa with your hands on his stomach-
That was different. You had the hem of his T-shirt between your fingers, toying mindlessly, while your other hand rested on his warm, soft skin beneath it. He had one hand resting over yours, his fingers not exactly entwined with yours, but not exactly not.
You’d held hands before. On occasion. Entirely casually, platonically. Except for the part where you wished it wasn’t casual, wished it wasn’t platonic.
You’d had feelings for Chan for as long as you could remember, since you first set eyes on him. Honestly, you were used to it. Comfortable with it even. You knew you weren’t going to do anything about it and that meant it didn’t worry you. It would be your little secret and you would soak up all the time with him you could, you would enjoy all the friendship privileges he offered you and you would clutch them close to your heart in the absence of any actual body to hold.
It was only before he went away this last time, a couple of months ago, that you felt something change. Something about how clingy he had been the night before he left, a little more tactile than he usually was. He was ants-in-his-pants fidgety and wouldn’t sit still. He was wrestling you into a hug one minute and then pushing you to the other end of the sofa the next. He held you so tightly and for so long when you hugged him goodbye that you had joked it was like he was going off to war. He had laughed only half-heartedly, which, for Chan, might as well have not been laughing at all. He had pulled back and looked at you intensely with his hands still on your waist and you had waited and waited for him to say or do something else but he just kept looking.
“Are you going to like, actually leave?” you had asked.
He snapped out of his trance and ruffled your hair.
“Course I’m going! Why? Trying to get me to stay?”
You weren’t, because you knew he was going to leave, anyway, that he had to go, but he sounded hopeful (or were you imagining it?).
“Yeah. I did consider locking you up for a second, but taking care of one animal is enough; I’m not sure I could cope with having to feed and care for you, too!”
He had done a proper laugh then and you were reassured that whatever had just happened, it was a blip, a glitch, nothing more. He had hugged you one last time, shorter, looser, and then turned to leave with a salute.
Then he was back, hugging you just as hard, fresh off the plane (rather unfresh, actually, and he had the cheek to ask to use your shower!).
And it was the same as it had ever been.
But it was also different. Because he had told you so many times while he was away that he missed you; he had said ‘wish you were here!’ so often that you actually believed it; your gallery was full of ‘found you!’ photos of ugly statues and ‘thought you’d like this’ shots of architecture and souvenirs—souvenirs he’d actually bought and brought home for you. He didn’t usually do that.
And now, there you were, with your hands on his skin and your cheek resting lightly on the top of his head and he was laughing at the film you were watching and taking your hand from the hem of his top, crossing it over his torso and holding it there. He closed his fingers over yours. Holding hands. You flattened your palm over his stomach and stroked sideways, the circle of your arms tighter around him, and you wanted to ask what this meant. Did it mean anything? Had he just been lonely on the road? Did he just want some physical contact? Were you just... there?
You weren’t one to be stuck in indecision. You didn’t have the patience for it. You decided, when you first met, that you weren’t going to act on your feelings because trying to date an idol was an insane thing to do. And you didn’t need the stress.
But you also didn’t need the long, drawn-out stress of a ‘will they? Won't they?’ scenario with one of your closest friends.
And, if you were going to be really honest, you kind of did need a good fuck. And you’d thought about fucking him a lot, one might say too much. And if he was interested, if something had changed and he saw you differently now, well, then the bedroom was calling for you.
“Chan?” you said quietly.
He twisted his head a little.
“Yeah?”
“Can I... touch you?”
You drew your fingers back, softly grazing your nails against his abs. He giggled.
“What do you mean? We already are touching!”
You slipped just the tips of your fingers beneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms and the waistband of his boxers.
“No, I mean... touch you.”
“Oh, sh-… Uh.”
You didn’t move your hand; you felt his heartrate quicken, thumping back against your chest.
“You don’t have to say yes. It’s ok if the answer’s no.”
“Yeah, no,” he said. “I mean, the answer’s yes. It’s ok.”
“Are you sure?” you asked.
He swallowed and nodded and put his hand over yours, carefully encouraging it lower.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
His hand left yours as it disappeared beneath the fabric of his clothes and you couldn't breathe as your fingers ran over the velvet skin of his soft cock, which twitched on contact. As you pushed his trousers and his boxers down, you almost couldn’t look, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, after all this waiting, after every fantasy, but you needn’t have worried. Of course, it was fucking perfect. Just like the rest of him. You wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length and he shifted.
“You don’-” Then he hesitated.
“Don’t what?”
“Uh, you don’t have to be gentle...”
Then he wrapped his fingers around yours, squeezed a little tighter, and your thighs squeezed, too. You chuckled, a little embarrassed, a little shy actually, a little over-awed.
“Channie likes it rough, huh?”
You didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing; you could feel the heat radiate from his cheeks.
“Um, well, uh-”
He was stammering now and you were amazed that he could be bashful with his cock in your hand, shy even though he was directing you.
“I like it,” you whispered and you felt a shiver go through him.
He kept his hand over yours and you smiled to yourself because you should have expected this. Control freak Chan, perfectionist Chan, Mr ‘I’ll just do it myself’ Bang. It was cute. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it. You let him control you, let him show you how he liked it, let him get himself to the point where his breathing was heavy and his bottom lip was bitten between his teeth and his brows were furrowed.
“Hey,” said, nudging his head with yours. “Who exactly is giving this handjob? You want me to just leave you to it or...?”
He spluttered and stopped and immediately let your hand go.
“Sorry, I-”
“You don’t have to apologise; I know you. But I want to do this for you, y’know?” You turned your head and gently bit the top of his ear before pressing a kiss to it.
“Yeah, got it. All yours.”
“Thank you.”
You had him panting again in seconds, because he had already given you his secrets, and when he tipped his head backwards and whined, it made your cunt pulse.
“Ok, you’re right, you’re right,” he gasped. “This is better. Fuck... Oh shit.”
He was moving like he couldn’t help himself, his hips snapping up, fucking himself in your fist and you could feel his thighs twitching, feel the tension coiling in his body.
It was building in you, too, as you soaked through your underwear. He wasn’t quiet and every moan, every grunt, every gasp of your name made your head spin. You hoped it wouldn’t stop here. After all this time, something was finally happening and you needed it to keep happening, you needed him to feel you, too. A moan fell from your own mouth as you imagined him fucking you, imagined that it wasn’t your hand around his cock but your cunt. That he liked it even rougher when he was inside you. That the deep black intensity he had inside him came out. That he fucked you like he danced, with every inch of his body and every ounce of strength.
“I’m-.. I’m-…"
You didn’t need him to tell you.
“I know, babe. Go on, make a mess. Make a mess for me.”
With a shudder and a cry trapped low in his throat, he came, over your hand, over your fingers, over his stomach and his T-shirt. He was gulping in air with his eyes closed and a hand clenching and unclenching at his side.
“Oh, shit,” you whispered as you swiped a finger through the mess on his skin. “Who’s going to clean all this up?”
You raised your hand and brought it almost to your own mouth, then pretended to think twice before pressing down on his bottom lip. It was a bold move, you knew, but you were feeling emboldened.
Then he opened his mouth and took your cum-sticky fingers in without a second’s hesitation. Would the night’s surprises never end? He licked your fingers clean and ran his tongue over your palm before he swiped his finger through the mess on his stomach and lifted it to your lips. You laughed.
“I can do you one better.”
You shuffled and climbed out from behind him, pushing him down and straddling him. It was the first time you had been face to face; you both blushed when your eyes met and you couldn’t stop the giggle that rose in your throat. He giggled back and you recognised that you were on the verge of hysteria; if you let that giggle become a laugh, it wouldn’t stop until you were both crying. You tried to rein it in, this strange, self-conscious shyness that was gripping you, this wild giddiness that made you want to scream with laughter and cry ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!’. You were looking at Chan and you knew he felt it, too; his eyes glittered and then all but disappeared as his smile widened. He bit his lip to try to keep it in, but it was no use.
He snorted and covered his face with his hands as a loud laugh bellowed forth. You never could resist his mirth. You were helpless to it at the best of times. He was curling over, his whole body shaking, and you were climbing off him, flopping to the floor, weak with it, the laughter sapping your strength and overriding any capacity for being serious. It was too absurd. That this had just happened. That one day—one moment—you were friends and the next you were making him come over himself, that he was licking his own cum from your fingers. That you had wanted this for such a long time and sworn off it. That you had no idea it might be something he wanted. That you never even thought to ask! That it could have been this easy? All this time?
Your brain was elsewhere as your breath shuddered and tears streaked your cheeks. You thought you had got yourself under control: your breathing was shaky and your stomach hurt but your eyes were dry and you sat yourself up. Then you looked at Chan, face also tear-streaked, flushed with glee, and you both collapsed again.
“Don’t look at me,” Chan said, his voice thick and wobbly with laugher some minutes later. “Don’t look at me, please, I can’t laugh anymore, but can you get me a fucking tissue or something?”
You shut your eyes, scrunched your face, and pressed your fist to the bridge of your nose; you couldn’t laugh anymore, it would kill you. But you knew that if you turned to look at him, helpless and messy on his back, that another fit would catch you. You crawled to the end table and threw the box of tissues in his direction.
“Thanks.”
You leant back against the edge of the sofa and let your breath resume its normal rhythm, let your heart slow down, let Chan wipe himself up and tuck himself away. You felt him sit up as his knee knocked your shoulder and you turned so you could just see him out of the corner of your eye. He looked down at his cum-stained T-shirt and gingerly pulled it over his head. Then he looked at it, displeased.
“This was clean on like, an hour ago.”
“Oh, shit, sorry, dude. You want me to take the handy back or something?”
He looked alarmed for a second.
“Do you want to take it back?”
“No.”
“Good, neither do I.”
“I would kind of like to know where the fuck it came from though.”
“What are you talking about? You started it! You offered!”
“Chan, you were holding my hand. We don’t hold hands! Look at all this shit you bought me!” You gestured broadly to giftbags and boxes, trinkets and jewellery on the coffee table. “Besides, I’ve always wanted it; you haven’t.”
He stared at you, mute, looking like you’d just asked him a long division question.
“You always wanted it?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?!”
“Because you didn’t want it!”
“How would you know?! You never asked!”
“Ok, well, did you?”
He looked up; he looked down. He looked thoughtful. He looked a little apologetic.
“I don’t really know,” was his eventual answer.
“Well, there you go. That’s why I didn’t say.”
Silence reigned and you didn’t want this to collapse, to fizzle into awkwardness.
“Do you want it? Now?” you asked.
“Yeah.” At least he sounded sure about that.
“What changed?”
When he looked at you and caught your eyes, there was a look there you hadn’t seen in them before. It was almost painfully soft, tender in a way that pierced your heart. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you like he was looking at something precious, something sweet. Then he shrugged.
“I’ve never been away from you that long before.”
“And?”
“I didn’t want to be. It made me not want to go at all. And I couldn’t work out why it mattered so much. I’ve been away before. I’ve been here, even, and just been busy and not seen you for a while. But it felt different this time, somehow. I really didn’t want to go. And I talked about it and everyone told me I was like, the world’s biggest idiot. They all apparently thought—or knew?—I had feelings for you already and they all just said ‘tell her! You’ve got to tell her! Go for it!’ and I wanted to. I was going to, the night before I left, but then I realised I’d be confessing all that stuff and then just... fucking off. I didn’t want to do that. So, I... did nothing, I guess.”
“Fair enough.”
“You wanted it all this time? Me, you wanted me?”
That he even had to ask was adorable, broke your heart a little. Who wouldn’t want him? He was everything you could have asked for and more; he ticked every box; he made your sad little heart sing like a songbird. And he still had to ask.
“Since the moment we met.”
“Shit.”
“Shit.”
“I had no idea.”
He looked like he meant it, too: a little dazed, a little confused, just a hint of wonder on his face.
“So, what now?” he asked.
You shrugged.
“You mean right now, or general future ‘now’?”
“I guess both?”
“Can I be honest?”
“Yeah.”
“Right now, I would really like to do something about how badly I want to fuck you.”
And he was bashful Chan, again, his eyes wide and the tips of his ears pink, his mouth slightly open with surprise. You watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed.
“I... am amenable to that.”
“Want to try that again with something even slightly sexy?”
And he blushed bright, covering his face with his hands.
“Fuck, ok, give me a second.”
You laughed and moved from the floor to sit opposite him on the sofa, your knees touching. You waited patiently for a second or two, then tapped his leg.
“I’m flustered, ok!” he cried. “You’ve got me all... flustered. I don’t know... I-.. Agh. I swear I’m not this bad usually. I promise. I just--… this has really taken me off-guard! Fuck, I didn’t know. I-”
You interrupted him to climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifted his face to yours and you kissed him, just a light peck on his petal pink lips.
“How about you let me lead, then?” you asked, your voice soft and low. “Can you do that? Can you let me take control?”
He looked at you pleadingly, his eyes round and wide, and you were worried that it meant no, that he was going to say he didn’t want that.
“Yes, please.”
Fuck.
With your hands on either side of his face, you pulled him closer and kissed him again, deep this time, deep and slow and breathless. He tasted of honey butter chips, which you had never liked before that moment. His tongue rolled with yours, soft and sweet and every bit as good as you had imagined. He whined quietly, just barely, when you pulled back, when you sank your teeth into the plush pink of his lower lip. When you looked at each other, nose-to-nose, his eyes were wide again, sparkling and bright and looking at you like you were the whole world.
It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable and it wasn’t awkward; it didn’t feel like crossing a line or pushing a boundary; it felt like you should have been doing this all along. It was different for the two of you, sure, it was different. But you’d been ready for this change since you learnt his name, since he held his hand out to you and smiled politely. This different was good. This different was everything you’d ever wanted.
#bangchan x reader#chan x reader#bangchan smut#bangchan fic#chan smut#chan fic#skz fic#skz x reader#skz smut
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Noah is canonically the youngest of eight sibling. Eight.
You don't grow up in a family that large, as the youngest and therefore the favourite victim, and not have a super casual relationship with touch.
This guy is light enough to be literally blown away by a strong breeze; if you think even for a second that his family didn't take turns carrying him around like a briefcase and abducting him from whatever he was doing into a Family Pile™ then you're objectively wrong.
(You also can't convince me that he wasn't spoiled rotten as the baby of the family.)
So frequent platonic touching is pretty normal for him, expected even, and he tends to be more tactile than his personality or demeanour would suggest.
He gives Owen side-hugs and pats on the arm every time the two interact, and wilfully flops himself onto Eva whenever he's overwhelmed and wants the company of someone comparatively quiet (she always uses it as an excuse to carry him to the gym and encourage him to bulk up, though it never works). He tries to tire out Izzy's boundless energy by play-fighting and grappling with her (much to his chagrin) despite him essentially ending up as her glorified chew toy, and often times passes out due to being a stick insect in human form.
It's unexpected, just how casually clingy he is to the people he trusts/likes.
But you know who isn't used to physical contact?
Cody E.J. "my parents forgot my birthday" Anderson
This wet noodle of a boy bigs himself up as a ladies' man and a hot commodity but wouldn't know what to do with himself if someone held his hand. The concept of affection of any kind is so foreign to him, especially positive physical contact- I wouldn't be surprised if he could count the amount of hugs his parents had given him on one hand.
And this is backed by his canonical desperation for acknowledgement! Every time he pursues Gwen, even when he's directly shot down and sometimes harshly rejected, he still tries to win her affections and festers the delusion that she likes him. After all, everyone who's supposed to care about him does the same! His parents, 'friends' or lack thereof, ect.; they all ignore/rebuff him so it must be a sign of endearment.
Additionally, he sleeps with a stuffed emu at the ripe age of 16/17- as stated by Sierra, which he never denies (not that there's anything wrong with that, stuffed animals are top tier imho). You know who else sleeps with stuffed animals? Touch-starved people.
Cody is incredibly attention-starved, touch-starved and, post World Tour, in all likelihood somewhat touch-averse- at least when it comes to other people initiating contact.
To elaborate; Sierra is constantly breaching his personal bubble non-consensually, which would inadvertently condition anyone into being at least a little haphephobic, but Cody himself is more than happy to instigate contact with people he trusts (i.e. hugging Alejandro when he protects Cody from Sierra overnight in Rapa Phooey!).
...See where I'm going with this?
We see these two cuddling twice in canon; once in the Awake-a-thon and again in the Celebrity Manhunt. Once is happenstance, but twice indicates a pattern or coincidence but I'm going to gloss over that for the sake of this post.
Plus, with their consistent proximity during Action, they had plenty of time to form some type of relationship be it friendly or more.
(Wouldn't you want to at the very least get some closure from the guy who kissed you/you kissed for the world to see? It would be awkward to completely ignore each other, and they literally shared a cabin at one point so it's not like they were strangers either. So of course they're at least cordial from Action onwards.)
Then, as Noah becomes more comfortable around Cody, his tactile tendancies come to play.
Cody, predictably, reacts skittishly at the alien phenomenon known as friendly touch and tries to play it off to preserve his cool-guy image. Except Noah's not falling for it. He's observant, if emotionally illiterate, and watching the guy you just backpatted in greeting jump five feet into the air and screech like a falcon is a flashing red alarm for even the most empathetically challenged people.
Eventually, Noah gets Cody to divulge his issues with human contact and offers his assistance to the brunette. If giving his pal a hug every now and then, and letting him in turn initiate whatever he's comfortable with, would help him overcome his rocky relationship with touch then Noah is more than happy to oblige. It's not like it's out of the norm for him, so he doesn't mind at all.
Then, gradually, Cody loses his touch aversion.
But a lifetime of isolation won't be magically cured that easily, and he finds himself craving Noah's embrace more and more. Again, the taller of the two is content to give him what he wants. Their agreement evolves into the duo napping together and feeding into Noah's sleep-hugging habit, or just spending quality time in a heap of pretzeled limbs under a weighted blanket.
(Whether their relationship is platonic or romantic is entirely up to interpretation, though I'm partial to the two being friends who are just Like That since it allows for the funniest potential character interactions. The bromance is real.)
That's as good a place as any to end the post, before I end up writing a whole drabble.
#long post#cody's canonical neglect always has me frothing at the mouth. the angst potential. the headcannons.#he's too relatable. what a slay 💅#been thinking about the noco dynamic a lot lately. it's very scott pilgrim and wallace wells-coded in my mind.#a lot of homosexual undertones in their friendship that they pretend not to notice because of The Incident™.#maybe even something queerplatonic? 😳#it's a grey area. interpret it however you'd like.#total drama#td noah#td cody#noco#silly headcanons#thoughtless posting#ophe rambling#kinda drafty in here (posts from the drafts)
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Very excited to finally tell you what's kept us so busy recently: I’ve had the unique honor of directing/creating the first-ever tour visuals for one of the greatest live rock bands of our generation and a hugely formative part of my Seattle youth: Pearl Jam.
I haven’t worked in tour production/design since NIN 2014, but I always said I would go back to it one day if the right artist and the right creative connection came around. There’s a short list of musicians I’d drop everything and rewire a year of my family’s entire life to make art with, and Eddie Vedder is absolutely one of them.
Ed and I hit it off immediately and discussed an inspiring, experimental approach to creating textural video art inspired by the Dark Matter theme using decidedly tactile and analog methods, with the the album’s light-painted artwork as a jumping off point (I wasn’t involved in the album art / promotions, that was all underway when I came on board). My wife and collaborator Steph, who produced the project, set up a raw studio space here in Tacoma and assembled a lean local camera crew, and we spent two months filming in the experimental, open-ended, DIY style that I like to work. With macro lenses and the 1000fps Ember slow-motion camera (made by fantastic local Washington company Freefly), we followed paths of inspiration through elements and states of matter: Light refractions, chemical reactions, fluid dynamics, incandescent projections (including an old overhead projector that ended up in the show) and other experimental setups tracing the connective tissue of the universe. It was prolific and intense, and wouldn’t have been possible without Steph’s rapid problem-solving and a talented camera, animation, and post-prod team.
A grueling month of editing/programming/rehearsals later, the Dark Matter world tour is out on the road now, with two shows under our belt in Vancouver last weekend.
I’ll have a lot more to say about this production, the unique analog practical VFX we employed, and of course videos to share as more people start to see the shows and I maybe get ten seconds to breathe. For now, I’m off to Portland - show number three is tonight!
#pearl jam#eddie vedder#dark matter#concert visuals#production design#Rob Sheridan productions#rob sheridan
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Calcinidae Bay Lot Tour: Marine Discovery Centre
I finally got around to picking the terrains I wanted to use for Calcinidae Bay's subhoods, so the Bay now officially has a(n as-of-yet unnamed) Downtown! Yay! Let's take a look through the only currently-finished lot there, the Marine Discovery Centre and Aquarium.
First I wanna shout out @dirtfauna for suggesting I build an aquarium and getting me thinking about this in the first place! As I was putting on the finishing touches I was also inspired by seeing @lolabythebaysims's gorgeous lot influenced by the Belle Isle Aquarium.
Before I get into the lot, I need to show the original Sims 4 shell for reference. It's "what the.. shell?" uploaded to the Gallery by simbellaz, and as you'll see, it was both perfect for and wildly impractical as the basis for an aquarium.
I don't normally go for shell challenges that have so many internal walls, but all those little 1-tile-wide hallways were practically SCREAMING to be made into fish tanks! The external "walls" you see added to my TS2 shell are all either actually half-walls, fences, or just windows placed with moveobjects, all of which are allowed within a standard shell challenge. It may seem like a cop-out, but it's more limiting/challenging than you'd think.
But enough preamble. Let's take a look inside!
The entrance is also a small gift shop. It seems like every aquarium I've ever been to has also sold jewellery. Don't ask me about my tiny penguin earrings.
I really wanted a "fish tank tunnel" vibe, and the effect was... almost perfect, lol. Close enough for a shell challenge IMO. I so so badly wanted to break my CC-free rule to place some fish shaders, but I'm glad I stuck to my guns because I think the solution I came up with looks goofy but effective. (Plus you wouldn't see them in build/buy anyway.)
Ooohhhh jellyfish tank ooohhhhhh they're so lifelike and graceful
I have my fun.
That little "airlock" room is a fun pirate-y undersea exhibit that connects to the outside and is probably where school field trips would loop around rather than heading upstairs.
Through the pirate's cabin is a touch pool and tactile play room where kids can inspect rubber anatomical fish models. I like to imagine the TV plays a short looping movie featuring a B-grade celebrity talking to a cartoon bass about the water cycle, fish spawn, and pollution.
The outdoor area is where the field trip groups would probably eat their packed lunches, fill out activity sheets, and take a commemorative photo with the world's worst greenscreen that's supposed to make it look like you're underwater but just ends up eating half your hair and shirt.
If you're not a student and you're just here for the love of fish, you'd probably head upstairs to get a closer look at the fish tunnel, smaller specialty tanks, and the squid/octopus models. (This room is technically considered outdoors thanks to the shell so tbh I'm not sure how lighting/temperature would behave during gameplay.)
The third floor has more tanks, some hands-on displays about aquatic plants and marine ecology, and finally a room with the actual floor-to-ceiling aquarium objects.
I thought this would be an interesting lot to run as an owned business, so I included a small employee area tucked behind the guest toilet block on the ground floor. It also helped to naturalistically answer "how would Sims feed themselves if their outing wouldn't stop complaining they were hungry," a concern I keep in mind whenever I make a lot I think would be a nice place to take a date.
And here's the floorplan! This lot had a pretty severe ugly stage but I'm really really happy with what we ended up with and the vibe I achieved without any CC. Hope you enjoyed reading this far and that it could give you some decorating inspiration!
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When You Feel Safe, When You Feel Warm
WC: 1,4K
Relationship: Swiss/Rain/Dewdrop
Tags: Hurt/comfort (the hurt is just being tired on tour), fluff, very mild pet regression (i generally don't think it should count but tagging just to be safe? ig), kitty dew if you will, they're soooo in love <3
Touring is tiring, and all the exhaustion makes Dewdrop a bit… different? All the cuter, if you ask Rain and Swiss.
Read under the cut or on AO3.
He was exhausted. Again.
They all were, obviously, touring was extremely tiring, but Dewdrop was on a verge and everyone could see that.
It was always the same.
First, he was getting snappy, lashing out at everyone for no reason and feeling bad about it, because they didn’t deserve it. They treated him like a fragile piece of glass, if anything. Most of the time Dewdrop hated it, but when he was already too tired to even let out a snarl after tripping over Swiss’ phone charger, he secretly appreciated it. He wasn’t an asshole on a daily basis, like so many people seemed to be sure of, but it was one of the stages of his exhaustion.
Then there was a shutdown.
Dewdrop’s packmates were lucky if they heard one word from him during this stage. He didn’t have the energy for speaking, or anything else, anymore, he had to save all of the small bits he had left into playing the shows. His mates would have to force him to eat and drink then, too, because the only thing he knew was playing.
Something weird happened after that. First few times everyone thought it was Dewdrop getting better, maybe he slept better, but no, it was the highest possible level of his exhaustion, and they learned it quickly. He would start speaking again, smiling, laughing even, being more active in general, but the way he was doing all that wasn’t exactly how he carried himself normally.
Getting off stage after a ritual Dew would all but glue himself to Swiss, Rain or both of them, nudging their shoulders with his head, trilling quietly. This was a small alert, but an alert nonetheless. He was tactile, yes, but he wasn’t a fan of showing affection so openly in public, as they were, only really doing so during the rituals, claiming it was for the show.
When someone would take off the fire ghoul’s helmet, his own hands feeling borderline useless, he’d start chirping, rubbing his face against them, their arms, chests, necks and faces (if he could reach) and whining if his request for attention wasn’t fulfilled.
In the dressing room, the first thing Dewdrop would do was drag someone, ideally Rain, to the couch, making him lay down as he situated himself between his legs. His face would drop to the ghoul’s belly as he purred, claiming his spot for the next fifteen minutes at least.
No one really knew why that was Dewdrop’s exhaustion response, but no one complained. They hated that he was so tired, yes, but extremely clingy cat-like fire ghoul was something they all did enjoy experiencing. Very much so.
Today everyone knew what version of Dew they’d get after the show. He was still quiet before it, focusing on the preparations, but he noticeably started to switch during the performance already. So then, of course, he ended up doing what had been done by him so many times before.
The fire ghoul rubbed his helmet, instead of his hands which was more usual, all over Rain for the better part of the ritual, whispering and laughing into his ear whenever he could. He didn’t pick up much of it, but even the slivers of Dewdrop’s voice after practically not hearing him at all for the last few days made his heart ache in the best way possible. He stayed glued to the water ghoul’s side during the bows, abandoning his typical spot next to Mountain. His happy chirp when he got placed between Swiss and Rain could be heard by them even over all the still overwhelming noise, making them giggle to each other at the simple yet so adorable display of his love for them.
When they were free to go backstage, Dewdrop wrapped both his arms around Swiss’ own, headbutting his shoulder. Rain stayed close behind the two, not wanting to risk Dew panicking, but also refusing to let them out of his sight for his own selfish reasons.
Before they reached a dressing room Dewdrop started muttering something under his breath and whining, his head rubbing against the multi ghoul more frantically, from time to time getting it tilted back or to the side and shaken. Swiss, with one of his arms effectively trapped, couldn’t do much but Rain was already on it, elegant fingers undoing the laces on the back of Dewdrop’s helmet. He dragged the balaclava down too, and when his mate was free, his glamour slowly wearing off too, he let out a happy sigh, his eyes slipping shut for a moment as he melted against Swiss. He chuckled, reaching to run his fingers through the mess on Dew’s head that they usually called his hair. He gave him a gentle scratch behind his ear, spot they knew the fire ghoul loved, and was rewarded with another pleased trill.
“Let’s get you inside, love,” Rain pushed him forward gently, a few steps and they were in the room. The water ghoul put Dewdrop’s helmet and his own away, taking off as much of his uniform as he managed before his mate started whining again.
Finally, when Rain plopped down onto a radioactive looking couch by the wall, Swiss got freed as Dewdrop launched himself into the water ghoul’s open arms. He crawled on top of him, ending up with his face buried in his chest as Rain gently, as to not tug on the sweaty knots, played with his hair. Swiss managed to change, in the meantime, grinning incessantly at the beautiful background noise that Dewdrop’s loud purring was. He prepared some comfy clothes for Rain and Dew too and packed up some of their stuff.
“Okay, princess, we can get going,” the multi ghoul announced, addressing Rain.
“Pssst, love,” he leaned down to whisper into Dew’s ear, hooking a stubborn strand of golden hair behind it. He moved his head up, resting his chin on Rain’s sternum as he blinked at him sleepily, “we gotta head back to the bus.”
Dewdrop half whined, half grumbled, tightening his arms around his mate’s waist. Swiss giggled above them, crouching down to run his big hands over the fire ghoul’s back, “Come on, I’ll carry you, doll.”
A bit reluctantly Dewdrop peeled himself off of Rain, only to be immediately scooped up into Swiss’ arms. Another trill sounded from Dew, as he shoved his face into the multi ghoul’s neck and let himself be carried through the venue’s seemingly endless corridors.
The next thing Dewdrop knew he was being tossed into a small bunk on their bus. His eyes widened and he let out a small panicked sound when Swiss’ arms left him for a moment.
“Shhh, you’re okay, I’m not going anywhere,” he assured and soon he did crawl into the tight space after his mate and wrapped him up in his arms. Swiss turned them so his back was to the bunk’s wall and Dew’s to his chest.
Before the small ghoul settled fully, though, “Mhm… R- Rainy?”
“He's coming, bug,” Swiss mumbled into the crook of his neck.
True to his word the curtain was peeled back again after a moment and Dewdrop was met with a sideways view of Rain’s smiling face, “Hi, love.”
“Hi,” Dew giggled and he suddenly got hoisted back and turned again by Swiss’ arm across his chest. With how much, or rather how little, space there was in those bunks they had to really work to make it work for them three.
Swiss laid down flat on his back, Rain curled into his side and Dewdrop sprawled out on top of them both, all their tails tangled. He had his face buried in between his mates’, both Rain’s stubble and Swiss’ moustache tickling his cheeks in the best possible way.
At one point Dewdrop's hands drifted down from where they were curled around his mates' necks, one landing over Swiss' soft tummy and the other on Rain's bicep. He moved them up and down for a few moments, as if he was shy to get to what he actually planned on doing.
He did, though. Dew slowly started squeezing his fists and pushing them down, soon fully kneading his ghouls, relaxing all three of them even more.
“Hey, Dew?” the multi ghoul whispered before any of them truly dozed off, nuzzling his nose into Dewdrop’s hair. His mate perked up at that, cocking his head to the side, a quiet ‘mrrp’ sound escaping him, making both Swiss and Rain absolutely melt. “God, you’re so cute. I love you so much.”
“You’re like a little kitten,” Rain mumbled from his spot where he was partially hidden by a curtain of gold, “you know that?”
As if it was supposed to be an answer, Dewdrop chirped happily and let the noise bleed into a steady purr as he rubbed his face against Swiss’ shoulder. Both his mates chuckled and kicked up their own content rumbles, tightening their hold on their sweet little kitten.
When they’d wake up the next day, Dewdrop would still be tired, they all would, but with a prospect of spending all their days like this together, again, they’d survive.
#hypnone writes#the band ghost#nameless ghouls#dewdrop ghoul#rain ghoul#swiss ghoul#fanfiction#fluff#kitty dew
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SECRET’S OUT
masterlist
→ pairing: graham dunne x reader
→ description: you and graham have been secretly dating for months now, having decided it was better to keep things between you guys for now. one moonlit night and a love song were all about to change that.
→ warnings: a little swearing, fluffiness galore
Graham had been nervous all day — leg tapping constantly, all short sentences and quiet hums in response to every word that anyone had to say.
You’d have been concerned, if not for the fact that Billy had mentioned something about him wanting to show the band a song he’d written.
He seemed to spend a lot of time writing songs since he’d met you — but he never showed anyone. Not even you.
But this song he was particularly proud of.
You had been secretly dating for months now, and a matter of days ago you had made a moonlit confession of just how deeply you had fallen in love with him in that time.
Of course, he was head over heels for you too. Hearing you say it first, though, was something he didn’t think he would ever get over. You, Y/N Y/L/N, loved him, Graham Dunne. He wouldn’t ever get tired of thinking of the moment you first said it.
The days since had been blissful, but had made it all the more difficult to keep things between you a secret from all of your best friends.
You weren’t sure how nobody had noticed what was going on between you anyway, given how tactile you were with Graham and how much time you spent together. But the whole band were so wrapped up in their own shit that you sort of understood.
The night you told him you loved him — leaned against the tour bus with the glimmer of the moon in your eyes and your windswept hair blowing in the evening wind, he’d waited until you fell asleep (flush against his chest on the bus couches, meaning he had to carry you to bed as he so loved doing) and put pen to paper to immortalise an evening he’d never forget.
And now he’d marched into rehearsal determined to show off the song, without a single thought for the consequences of sharing what was so blatantly a love song about a partner nobody knew he had.
“Dude, that was fucking awesome,” Warren gawped, standing up from where he’d been perched to slap Graham across the shoulder as he finished the song.
But Graham was only looking at you — trying to gauge your reaction to the lyrics that were so clearly laced with every feeling he’d felt for you throughout your relationship.
You were silent, crimson-cheeked and grinning from ear to ear as you caught his intense gaze. God, you were so fucking in love with that man.
“It was, but are we going to talk about who the fuck it’s about?” Eddie interjected, crossing his arms, “You don’t even get laid, and now you’re writing like you’ve met the love of your life or some shit?”
It was then that you heard Karen scoff, “Because he has, dipshit.”
The whole room turned to look at her confusedly, you and Graham included, as she chuckled to herself and locked eyes with you.
It was like a switch flipped, and you practically flew to your feet towards your boyfriend.
Your hands tangled themselves in his curls as you pulled his face towards you, kissing him with such passion that for a moment he was too taken aback to respond.
But within no time he swung his guitar on its strap to sit behind his back instead, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you back.
“What the hell?”
“Y/N?”
“Niceeee.”
“Look, I know there’s been a lot going on. But if you haven’t seen — or heard — him and Y/N then you must be crazy,” Karen laughed, paying no mind to you making out, “I know they think they’ve been super secretive, but it’s clear as day how they feel.”
Everyone else buzzed with excitement and confusion as they pondered how the hell they didn’t notice.
“Alright, alright,” Eddie called over to you after a short while, “We get it, you do get laid.”
Karen bit her tongue, though she really wanted to make a comment about the very clear crush Eddie had on you that was to blame for the bitterness lacing his words.
“How long has this been going on?” Billy asked, a warm smile on his face at the notion that his brother had found happiness with someone he really trusted not to break his heart.
You pulled back, resting your hands on Graham’s shoulder and then perching your chin atop them as you looked around.
“A few months now,” you beamed, “We wanted to keep it a secret to start with but… Well, I don’t think I could do that much longer anyway.”
Graham dipped his head to kiss your forehead softly, “So you can keep your eyes to yourself now, yeah Eddie?”
Eddie rolled his eyes, lifting his hands in defeat, “Ouch, man.”
You lightly nudged your boyfriend, flushing red again at them addressing Eddie’s crush on you.
“Anyway, if that song isn’t on the album I’m going to be furious,” you hummed, moving the conversation away, “Genuinely furious.”
“Don’t worry, babe,” Graham singsonged, confident with the reaction he’d gotten, “I think it’ll be on the album.”
You leaned up with a smile, whispering a small “I love you,” in his ear. He tightened his grip on your waist as you pressed a kiss to his temple in appreciation.
“I love you too,” he kissed your jaw, pulling back with a smile as he saw Eddie fake gag out of the corner of his eye.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’m going to get out of your hair now,” you giggled, pulling away from Graham’s grip and twirling towards the door, “Let you guys get on with it. I’ll see you all later.”
Graham fake pouted, following you out of the door for a moment to say goodbye and ignoring Warren’s teasing comment about him being obsessed.
“Thank you, Graham,” you practically sung as he took you in his arms again, leaning you against the hallway wall, “It’s… The song was beautiful. I love it. And I’m glad everything’s out in the open. Secret’s out!”
Graham nodded, kissing your forehead, then your lips, “I love you. And me too, even if Eddie’s jealous as fuck and the others don’t like the public displays of affection.”
With a laugh, you pulled out of his grip again. You kissed him once more as you leaned away, “Maybe we will have to tone that down.”
“I’ve had to pretend you’re not mine for months,” he shook his head, “No way am I hiding it now.”
He captured your waist with both hands and pressed his lips to yours one actual final time, turning to head back to the studio.
“Yeah, you’re right,” you grinned, “They’ll get over it.”
———
this was requested so i hope it lives up to what you wanted !! i’m not super happy with it but i got major writers block part way through but refused to give up !
feel free to request more, the more ideas i get the less i struggle to write :-) in the meantime here is my masterlist
#graham dunne imagine#graham dunne#graham dunne x reader#graham dunne x you#graham dunne fluff#daisy jones#daisy jones and the six#daisy jones imagines#djats#eddie roundtree#eddie loving
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Five (5) 🖐🏻Disabled People from History that I wish people knew at a 5-year-old’s level
History is complex, and we need to discuss it with a far more nuanced view than we do.
But Disability History is lacking at even this most basic level, and you have to start somewhere. So:
1) Stephen Farfler
Was a paraplegic watch-maker. In 1655, he made a three-wheeled hand-driven cart for himself, inventing the crank, chain and gear mechanism that is now part of all modern bicycles.
[Image description: a contemporary black and white illustration of Stephen Farfler using the three-wheeled hand cycle he’d invented, demonstrating how the hand crank turns the front wheel. Description ends.]
2) Harriet Tubman
Harriet Tubman was severely injured when she defended a fellow slave from an overseer, and was hit in the head with a heavy metal object. Although this caused her pain and dizzy spells for the rest of her life, it did not stop her from working becoming a “conductor” on the Underground Railroad, nor did it stop her from being the first woman to lead an armed expedition in the American Civil War.
3) Louis Braille
Blind since childhood because of an accident, Louis Braille invented the tactile writing system named for him at the age of 15.
4) Margarete Steiff
Margarete Steiff contracted polio when she was a year and a half old. Her sisters and neighborhood friends helped her get to school by pulling her in a hand cart. When she grew up, she had a dress-making business, and made stuffed animals for children. Her most famous stuffed animal was a bear with jointed limbs that her nephew designed. It was the first Teddy Bear.
5) Justin Dart Jr.
He contracted polio and had to use a wheelchair in 1947, just before going to university. Even though he earned his degrees in history and education, and wanted to become a teacher, the university wouldn’t let him have his teaching certificate, because he was disabled. Many years later, he was appointed vice chair of the National Council on Disability, and led other government councils after that. He toured the USA with his wife twice, visiting each of the 50 states, and meeting with disabled people to learn about their struggles and how they were fighting for their rights. He helped write the language of the Americans with Disabilities Act, which was signed into law in 1990
---
There are many more things I wish people knew about, such as the intersection between class and disability, and between race and disability, and how the ADA isn’t strong enough to protect disabled people’s rights in the way they need to be protected.
But these are five reference-points that I figure are child friendly.
#Disability History#Disability Pride Month ♿#people we should learn about#bicycles teachers and bears oh my!
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Snow Over Hawkins
A/N: Another holiday fic? From me, after not posting in months? Who would've thought. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday or simply a peaceful winter! Thank you for reading! This jumps between 1996 and 1986 (the events of S4). Reader does celebrate Christmas in this and there is a lot of Christmas imagery. Also, I make Eddie a rockstar. Because it is what he deserves. :)
Pairing: Eddie Munson/F!Reader
Rating: PG-A soft little, melodramatic thing
Word Count: 10.4k
Summary: Perhaps coming to your ten year high school reunion was a mistake. But, as a blizzard rolls in just in time for the holidays, you may have to confront a specter from your past: Eddie Munson.
**1996**
Oh no.
There were too many people. Maybe if you just…turned right around and left, no one would know you had even come and-
A shout of your name quickly quashed that plan but your shoulders fell a fraction from around your ears as you spotted Robin weaving her way through the crowd to get to you. She was quick to throw her arms around you in a tight hug as if she hadn’t just seen you when she dropped you off at the hotel an hour ago and you two didn’t have a standing agreement to get together every two weeks at the little café down the street from your apartment in New York.
“God. Why did we come here?” She mumbled into your hair before pulling back.
“You were the one who said we should rub it in everyone’s faces that we are rich and successful and they peaked in high school.”
Robin groaned. “Must you remember everything I said?”
“I must.” You sighed and glanced over her shoulder at the milling crowd. The gigantic Christmas trees were bleeding green and red lights all over the large space. The event center for the reunion was an abject holiday wonderland, complete with fake flickering candles and artificial snow. Christmas songs were playing over the speakers, muted beneath the conversation between old classmates. Even the sign that read, “Welcome back, Tigers! Class of ‘86!” was made of red and green paper. “Nancy said she and Jonathan would be here, too. Have you seen them? Their flight left before ours.”
“Not yet. But you know who I have seen?” There was a conspiratorial gleam in her eye that had you frowning.
Before she could answer, someone darted by you with a squealed, “oh my god, I can’t believe it! I thought they were on tour!”
Your heart dropped to your feet. “Robin-”
“Nothing has to happen. He just happens to be in the same room as you for the first time in over ten years and-”
“And it changes nothing. He’s still…” The words trailed off as you dropped your chin to your chest. Robin rubbed a hand on your arm with a hum, she was always tactile with you, knowing when you most needed a friendly touch. “Pathetic, right? Ten years and thousands of miles and he still makes me feel like a little girl with an unreciprocated crush.”
“It has always been more than that.”
You winced. “That doesn’t help, Robs.”
She linked her arm with yours and started tugging you toward the table set up with hot chocolate and all the fixings, dodging a hulking pair of men in ill-fitting suits who you were sure never went to Hawkins High. Someone had been “kind” enough to leave little bottles of alcohol in a messy pile, too, so anyone could spike their own drink if wanted.
A glance back at the crowd nearly had your heart stuttering, already bruised. A headful of dark curls and warm eyes immediately caught your attention and suddenly you were a teenager again. Turning your head away felt like a herculean effort and you reached for one of the small bottles of whiskey and dumped it into your cup.
**1986**
Your head was spinning. There were monsters in Hawkins. …or not in Hawkins, but in a different dimension that you were currently trapped in. Running the school paper with Nancy was supposed to be a safe extracurricular activity—something to bolster your applications to your dream university. But after watching Fred fucking
levitate
and hearing his bones snap under the power of something unseen, you were sure it was one of the worst decisions you’d ever made. And now you were here after jumping out of the boat, your hand in Nancy’s. At least now you know why Robin and Steve had been extra cagey about the mall fire over the summer.
“You’re bleeding a bit,” Eddie said, crouching near you as you huddled beneath Skull Rock.
“What?” Your voice was hoarse from all the screaming you’d just done, arms aching from beating the damn bat creatures with a broken oar.
Eddie said nothing as he tore at his shirt and then pressed it to your temple, wincing alongside you. “Sorry, sorry. Just didn’t think you’d want a bleeding head wound in a place like this.”
You almost snorted. And it was probably the head wound and the adrenaline coursing through your system but your tongue didn’t tangle as it so often did around Eddie. “Oh? You come here often?”
Eddie’s cheeks bloomed with color, visible even under the grime. “Oh, c’mon. Can’t have a pretty girl bleeding.”
**1996**
“Gimme a sip of that,” Nancy said instead of a greeting as she stormed to your side. She took a hearty swig of your spiked hot chocolate and nearly spat it out. “What did you put in that?”
“Whiskey.”
“Jesus!” She wiped at her mouth, eyes watering.
Jonathan was a few paces behind her, wrapping his arms around you in a quick hug before doing the same to Robin. “Seems to be quite the turnout even with the storm rolling in.”
“Imagine if we all get snowed in. Trapped with all these people,” Robin said, dread dripping from every syllable.
“I’ll walk back to my parents’ house in the snow. I don’t care,” Nancy said, only relaxing when Jonathan stepped to her back and wrapped an arm over her shoulders.
“Tough day?”
“My editor called and said he wanted a rewrite by midnight for this article-”
“You got it done,�� Jonathan quietly murmured.
“But I shouldn’t’ve had to do it at all! No one else’s articles get that kind of treatment. Goddamn Greg can write a puff piece about when to watch the cherry blossoms in each borough and use the wrong ‘there’ but he doesn’t even get a sternly worded email.”
You and Robin wore matching winces and hid behind your hot chocolate. “Didn’t you say The Economist was trying to poach you after your big editorial about that governor?”
Nancy nodded and sunk a little further into Jonathan’s grip. Her engagement ring sparkled in the twinkling lights. Their long-awaited engagement party just a few blocks from your apartment had been hosted a handful of months ago where you’d readily accepted Nancy’s invitation to be a bridesmaid. It certainly took them long enough. “And I’m considering it. But we’d have to move to London.”
Another twittering laugh drew all of your attentions and you saw Eddie stand and wrap and arm around someone you vaguely recognized as someone from the debate team as another person took a picture, the flash of their disposable camera nearly blinding even across the room.
Nancy’s blue eyes quickly zeroed in on you. “Have you talked to him?”
“No. He’s surrounded. Has been all night. I don’t want to be…that girl, anyway. Probably doesn’t even remember me.”
**1986**
“Look, I’m all for you, like, actually telling Eddie how you feel but maybe you could think of a more romantic setting for all this?” Robin nearly hissed as you continued on through the rotted forest of the Upside Down.
“What are you talking about?”
“You are making googly eyes at him—and he’s reciprocating! That guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you once since you beat that bat to death.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what really gets him going, Robs. Sure. Keep your voice down!” You grumbled in return, trying to ignore the heat in your chest.
You’d had a crush on Eddie since last year when you were paired up in History for your final project. Your sessions in the school library had become the highlight of your week pretty quickly after you realized how kind and funny he was, how brown his eyes were, and how they really sparkled whenever he spoke of something he was passionate about (which was never history, but you would let it slide because you loved his smile). You didn’t even mind that he gently teased you about your favorite song, Flaco’s “Rock Me Amadeus” and promised to “teach you about real music.” After passing the final project with flying colors, Eddie had gifted you a mixtape with a shy smile and pink cheeks “Just to say ‘thanks,’ you know, for helping me pass. I might not graduate this year, but I don’t have to repeat this class again and that was all because of you. But here’s your first lesson on real music, Amadeus.” Before you could say anything, he kissed your cheek and turned away, letting you get swallowed by the moving bodies of the hallway. And Robin, who you’d befriended while working at the mall over the summer (you worked at the lingerie store right next to Scoops Ahoy) had been your first confidante about your feelings. Steve, bless him, had guessed correctly after you came into the ice cream shop moping one Wednesday after you’d watched Eddie flirt with the bartender (again) at The Hideout during a Corroded Coffin gig. And then he was offering his “advice,” too, and telling you that your secret was safe with him, even if he didn’t really understand your feelings for “The Freak.” At all.
The feelings that hadn’t faded for over a year.
Steve and Robin hadn’t judged you, as so many others would, and you had earned Robin’s secret in return, an easy friendship blossoming right before the mall burnt down. As your senior year started and you once again found yourself at Eddie’s side more often than not in the hallways and shared classes and your easy comradery with the three-peat senior developed into inside jokes and more mixtapes disguised as ‘lessons,’ Robin and Steve had always encouraged you to at least try. And you never did. You’d rather have him as a friend than nothing at all. And he was…he was your friend. A good friend who always smiled at you from the stage at The Hideout, who seemed to actually do his homework when you jokingly said you wouldn’t hug him anymore, who always made you smile when you had a shit day. Confiding in each other about your shitty parents (his were felons, yours were drug addicts) and then being raised by others had been another thing that bonded you. You had your aging grandparents and Eddie had Wayne but you both knew that it was different. Always. He’d hold your hand when you cried about feeling like you were missing something and you always told he’d amount to more than his parents when he struggled, too. You were there for each other in ways your other friends couldn’t understand. And that almost made it worse.
“All I’m saying is that he is obviously into you. Like a lot. But maybe wait until we aren’t in the sixth circle of hell to act on it.”
“This isn’t the sixth circle…this would be, like, the tenth. I think.”
Robin smacked the back of her hand into your arm with a pointed look “You’re avoiding the topic.”
“I’m avoiding nothing except these stupid vines!”
Eddie jogged to your side with a tired smile. “Hey, think we’re getting close to the Wheeler house?”
You nodded and glanced ahead where Nancy was leading the way, ignoring how Robin pinched at your side. A quiet shout of Robin’s name had you all turning and Steve was waving her back to his side and she darted away, leaving you alone with Eddie. Heat bloomed in your chest as he smiled at you, as it always did. A comforting warmth like settling in front of a roaring fireplace on a cold winter’s night.
Eddie knocked his shoulder into yours as you all continued on, another smile on his face. Only Eddie would be able to smile in a place like this. “You know, I’m glad you’re here with me in all of this.”
And now you had to smile, too, despite everything. “In the Upside Down?”
He blushed and stuttered something unintelligible before knocking his shoulder into yours again, pulling a quiet laugh from you. “Yeah, next time we have to fight monsters, I’ll make sure we’re at Enzo’s.”
“It’s a date.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you wanted to shove them back down your throat. Dammit. “I mean, you know, not a date, but yeah, we can keep fighting monsters together.” You winced at your messy jumble of words. Great. “I’m…For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here with me, too.”
**1996**
“What do you mean you didn’t listen to any of their music?” Robin asked, taking your hot chocolate away from you.
“I tried! But then he started singing about this person’s pretty eyes and wanting them to leave lipstick stains on his throat and I turned it off.” You sounded like a petulant child but you couldn’t help it. Hearing about how Eddie wanted something like that with someone who obviously wasn’t you hurt. It ached like a dull knife twisting between your ribs. The years hadn’t lessened the pain at all.
Robin and Nancy looked at each other, some silent communication that had you gritting your teeth. And then Jonathan patted your shoulder like you were some sort of idiot. “You really should have listened to it.”
“It wouldn’t change anything,” you muttered. “It has been ten years. Look at him.” Waving a hand at the ever growing crowd around Eddie, you tried to ignore the burn of tears at the back of your eyes. “He is a rock star. How many Grammy’s does he have?” (You knew he had two.)
Despite avoiding listening to any of his music, you had watched his meteoric rise to fame with a bittersweet happiness. It was what he deserved after everything. Being accused and then cleared of murder actually seemed to bolster his image as a rock god and helped Corroded Coffin land their first record deal. There was always a quip about it in every magazine or gossip rag that interviewed him or ran an article with his face at the center. It was part of his “mystique” as one journalist called it.
And the town that had always hated him now celebrated his success as their own. There were former football players and cheerleaders waiting their turn to get his autograph or take a picture with him, arm slung over his shoulder as if they were old friends. As if they hadn’t tried to hunt him down after Jason fucking Carver branded him a vessel for Satan. The lights caught on his hair, shining and soft, and a little shorter than it had been in school. Red then green then red again. Still so handsome. Even more so now, with a bit of stubble lining his jaw. He’d always be handsome, wouldn’t he?
Just as Bing Crosby started to croon, a woman with an orange tan stepped onto the small stage and tapped the microphone. “Hi everyone! My name is Tina-”
“We’d never forget you, Tina!” Someone shouted from the middle of the crowd.
She laughed and the microphone protested, screeching with feedback for a moment. “Well, as head of the Hawkins Alumni association, I welcome you all back to Hawkins. Can you believe it’s been ten years?”
As she prattled on, you and your friends grabbed seats at a table toward the back. She started to go through a slideshow of pictures from your senior year, taking an overly dramatic pause “in remembrance” for “Jason’s” victims and everyone else who died or was injured during the earthquake. Nancy’s foot knocked into yours beneath the table and you both rolled your eyes as Tina wiped a tear from her eye. Then, to your horror, she clicked onto the next slide that was a picture of you, holding Eddie’s leather jacket, exiting the hospital covered in bruises and blood and the grime of the Upside Down and patched up like a terrible pantomime of healthcare.
“But we have always been a class of survivors!” She continued on, speaking about the “tragedies” that befell Hawkins as if she knew anything about them. It was all a dull roar in your ears as she clicked through a few more pictures of the town being rebuilt. She’d just glossed over one of the worst days of your life as if it was nothing. Just another picture for her welcome speech.
“I need some air.”
Nancy squeezed your arm as you stood, slipping out of the room without a look back.
**1986**
You handed Dustin his nail-riddled shield and watched him and Eddie pretend to block invisible enemies, laughing with each other. You wanted to join in. Wanted to laugh and revel in being alive a little longer but the sinking feeling in your gut kept you from doing anything other than continuing to batter nails in through a trashcan lid and hope it would be enough.
Would it be enough?
Even if you all lived through this, would the alibi you and Nancy cooked up to cover for Eddie be enough? It was already set in motion when the police had questioned you after Fred’s death and you made no mention of Eddie, but would they believe you?
“Hey.”
You looked up, fingers curled painfully around the hammer, to see Eddie standing in front of you. The dying sunlight framed him, casting an ethereal glow around him and piercing your chest. Beautiful.
He moved to sit on the carton beside you, knee bumping yours as he swiveled toward you. “Gonna tell me what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours, Amadeus, or should I guess?”
Despite everything, you felt your lips curling up the slightest bit at the sound of the ridiculous nickname. “Guess.”
He hummed, stroking his chin with a dramatic flair. “You’re wondering if I have any weed on me and the answer is yes.” Then he pulled a (decidedly damp) baggie from the pocket of his jacket and dropped it onto your lap. “I wouldn’t smoke that though. I’m not entirely sure what lake water and…those spore things have done to it.”
You tossed the bag back to him and he almost caught it. “Try again.”
And so, he tried again and again, his guesses getting more ridiculous as the time passed until you were giggling, heart a little lighter and the final shield finished.
“Would the fair maiden take pity on her poor jester and tell him what made her so sad?” He asked, his warm hand curling over your knee and squeezing twice.
Tears stung your eyes as you shook your head. “Just worried, ‘s all. Worried about Max. Worried about Robin. Worried about Nancy. Worried about Dustin. Worried about Lucas. Worried about Steve. The only person I’m not worried about is Erica—she’s going to rule the world one day, I know it.”
“Worried about me?”
And that just about broke you. “’Course I’m worried about you, Eddie. I’m always worried about you. Even without Jason and Vecna looming over everything, of course I worry about you.”
He squeezed at your knee again until you looked at him and then he was reaching out to cup your face, thumbs gently swiping against the slope of your cheeks. “Always, huh?” His grip didn’t falter even as you nodded. “Well, it sounds like you have enough to worry about, don’t need to add me to your list.”
“Eddie-”
“Hey.” Gently, he angled your face up so he could look at you properly, dark eyes staring into yours. “I promise you, I’m going to be fine. And you are, too. All of us are getting out of this.”
“Promise?” You whispered, the syllables cracking in your throat as your shaking hand covered his.
Eddie leaned forward to press his forehead to yours, your eyes fluttering shut. “I promise.”
**1996**
One look out the window let you know that this snowstorm was probably one for the history books. Giant white flakes were falling in a rush from the dark sky, already sticking to the sidewalks and hazing the light of the lampposts. The outdoor Christmas trees just a few feet outside the window were nearly covered, too, the snow making their lights glow like candles. It was pretty. Sure, you’d grown accustomed to the holidays in New York, but snow in Hawkins during the holidays? Almost nothing could beat it.
Nat King Cole’s voice echoed down the hall, providing a soft melody to the quiet moment, and nearly had your wounded heart calming. Nearly.
The door opening behind you pulled a sigh from your throat, expecting to hear one of your friends call out to you. Instead you heard a loud giggle and the tapping of heels against the linoleum tiles, steps unsteady and uneven. Nancy knew how to sprint in heels and Robin didn’t own anything other than sneakers and brightly colored flats so it wasn’t them-
“-can’t believe how she just got up and left!”
“I know! So rude!”
While obviously drunk, the women who probably called you names in high school for being a little socially awkward and not having the newest clothes, were not high on your list of potential “catch-ups.”
God. Why did you even come here? All the people you wanted to keep in touch with from high school, you already did. You had a small group of them in New York and you had scheduled phone calls with Steve and the kids, too. You didn’t need to come here. You definitely should not have.
But it didn’t matter now anyway. As the voices grew louder, you skittered further down the hall and wrenched open the nearest door and all but threw yourself inside, leaving the door open just enough to let a bit of light in, waiting to hear the women pass. You nearly stepped onto a tangle garland as you slunk into the shadows. The closet was filled with extra decorations. Stockings, wreaths, and tangled bundles of lights lined the shelves and had you flinching as something snapped beneath your shoe.
“Oh, but did you see Eddie?” One of the women asked. You immediately hated her tone. It sounded like something you’d accidentally come across late at night, when a few of the channels played more risqué films.
“How could I miss him?” There was a strange noise, it almost sounded like groan. Was it supposed to be a moan? “If I had known he’d be a rock star and looked like that, I wouldn’t have called him a freak in high school.”
“Oh, shut up Carol, yes you would’ve! Probably just not to his face!”
Their answering cackles echoed down the hall and you grimaced behind the door—the one small victory was that they seemed to be walking away from you, rather than toward. Still, you didn’t understand how people could still be so needlessly cruel. Eddie had always been handsome. Always. And he’d never been a freak. He just liked his roleplaying game and making his music. Sure, he was outspoken and a little abrasive to some…but he was a good man. He had always been a good man.
And those women obviously learned nothing from how they’d treated him in high school.
Your forehead knocked against the door as you continued to hold it barely open, and you tried to suck in a steadying breath. You never should have come. Even without talking to him, Eddie was still looming like some sort of Ghost of Christmas Past.
You sounded pathetic, didn’t you? It had been ten years since you’d parted ways and lived separate lives. You were one of the curators up at the Met in New York; your dream job in a vibrant city. You were paid well and had an ironclad support system with your friends. But Eddie still ached, a pain with a beautiful face. Wasn’t it time you moved on?
Yes. It had to be. (But how many times had you told yourself that?)
Straightening your shoulders, you moved to open the door only to have the knob ripped out of your hand as the door was thrown open and then you were all but shoved into a stack of wreaths and the door shut with a sharp snap.
“Jesus!” You nearly shouted, scrambling to stay upright in the dark and only mildly succeeding, your palm slapping against a shelf and toppling a neat stack of ribbons.
“Oh shit. Sorry!” A familiar voice answered and your heart leapt.
In the dim light of the closet, you recognized the curls and the soft cut of his jaw. “Eddie?”
**1986**
“Don’t try to be cute.” Steve’s warning only made you roll your eyes, pushing at him to rejoin Nancy and Robin.
“You’re the one who managed to accessorize before going into battle, Harrington. You’re cute enough for the both of us.”
Steve huffed and tugged at your wrist to press a hard kiss to your forehead. “Take care of Dustin, okay? Take care of both of them.”
“I will. Take care of my girls, too.”
“Hey, Steve?” You both turned at the sound of Eddie’s voice to see him take a few steps forward, mouth set in a firm line. “Make him pay.”
Steve nodded, intentions clear. But, just before he turned back toward Nancy and Robin, he reached for you again. “Tell him. Tell him and fight like hell so you can actually do something about it.”
And god…you wanted to scoff, tell him that now as definitely not the time for confessions of any kind. You were trying to stay alive! But you couldn’t scoff. Couldn’t roll your eyes. All you could do was tap at his chest with a grimace you hoped looked like a smile. “Stay safe, Steve. Come back. All of you. We’ll see you on the other side.”
Then, he was jogging back to the others while you turned to see Eddie and Dustin waiting for you. And their hopeful smiles were a knife between your ribs. “Let’s get this started, okay?” You said, clapping your hands together. As you busied yourself with trying to fortify the Upside Down version of the Munson trailer, you tried to tell yourself that this was going to be fine. Everything was going to be fine. In a few hours, you could walk into the police station, clear Eddie’s name and no one would realize how close you all came to apocalypse.
But it didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel…safe.
“Hey…”
You nearly jumped out of your skin when a warm hand closed over yours, halting your attempt to screw in a bit of sheet metal over a window. Your next breath wheezed out of you as you looked into Eddie’s molten brown eyes. “Eddie.”
“You okay?”
“I’m, yeah, I’m fine. As fine as we can be, about to provide an absolutely insane distraction so our friends can kill an interdimensional super villain. Yeah. Fine.”
Eddie stepped a bit closer, gentle hands sliding up your arms to cup around the back of your neck, pulling you closer to rest his forehead against yours again. “I made you a promise, didn’t I? We are going to be fine.”
You could tell him right now. Just open your mouth and say it. But the words turned to molasses at the back of your throat and you could only nod, tugging at the bottom of his vest and zipping it up properly.
“C’mon, sweetheart. We’ve got a concert to play.”
**1996**
“What’re you doing in a closet?”
“What are you doing in a closet?” You quickly retorted, embarrassed heat starting to curl around your throat.
“If I had to take one more picture with someone who called me a freak in high school, I might actually set something on fire.”
You laughed, clapping your hands over your mouth before the noise could truly escape. “Jesus, sorry. I thought you…were doing well.”
“I just needed a break.” You could hear the exhaustion dripping from each letter. “Gimme a crowded stadium any day over that.”
Before you could do anything else, you were nearly knocked onto your ass by Eddie abruptly turning and throwing his arms out, fingers dragging against the wall in search of something. “What’re you doing?”
“I need a light. I want to talk to you in the light—need to see your face.”
Oh, the heat was nearly suffocating now. He could still make you feel like a teenager. When it seemed he wouldn’t be finding the switch, you went to open the door and then felt your heart drop to your toes. “Eddie.”
“What, Amadeus?”
Despite the smile you felt pressing at your lips, muscle memory and Eddie’s ineffable charm slotting between your ribs like a missing piece of a puzzle, dread pricked at the back of your mind. For good reason. “I think we’re locked in.”
Eddie was quiet for a moment before his warm, guitar-string-roughened hand closed over yours as it continued to jiggle the door knob and then he tried, too. “Shit.”
“Shit,” you agreed.
“J-just hang on.” He stepped back and you heard him rummaging blindly in the dark before twinkling white light nearly blinded you. Somehow, he’d found a strand of Christmas lights and an outlet, illuminating the cramped closet in their butter yellow light. “There we go,” Eddie said, sounding more than a little pleased with himself. He stood straight, still holding the bundle of lights like something precious. His dark brown eyes reflected the soft light, almost making them sparkle.
And your poor heart could scarcely handle it.
“God, Amadeus. It’s been too long.” He moved forward like he wanted to do something else, maybe hug you, but stopped short.
Your smile faded as you glanced down to the cluttered floor beneath your shoes. “Yeah, um, ten years or so. B-but you’ve done well for yourself, Mister Rock Star.”
Eddie’s cheeks bloomed with color but he did not look away. “You listened to my music?”
If the world could open up and swallow you whole, you would appreciate it. But apparently Hawkins had had enough of earthquakes and you were forced to tell Eddie the truth, your feet on solid ground, in a small closet filled with Christmas light. “I…I couldn’t.”
His smile wavered. “Oh.”
“I-it isn’t that I think you make bad music. I actually quite like it! It…it is just…” God. Stupid. So stupid.
“You still prefer your pop nonsense, yeah?” Eddie drawled, dropping the bundle of lights onto a shelf.
“I mean, yeah, but tha-that isn’t what I’m trying to say!” You turned away from him, trying not to hate yourself more. You missed the days when you could talk to him easily. You missed the early days after everything blew over and the gates were finally closed and you’d talk for hours on the phone after you settled at NYU, trying to keep each other up-to-date on the happenings in your lives. They’d been a highlight of your week, dashing to the phone in your dorm at exactly six o’clock to make sure you’d never miss the call. But the calls had dwindled after Corroded Coffin’s first single topped the charts. You tried not to feel rejected when he missed more and more calls. But the nail in the metaphorical coffin had been when Wayne, good and sweet Wayne, had picked up the phone and told you, gently, that Eddie was going on tour and wouldn’t be back again. You received a postcard here and there after you graduated from university, from different cities around the globe where Corroded Coffin was touring. The ink would be smudged and faded by the time it got to you, but you kept all of them just the same. Pressing your fingers against the messy handwriting, stilted letters saying he missed you, as if that would be enough. And it never was. And then those stopped, too. He’d left you behind.
“You just have it all, Eddie. And I don’t know how you ever...” The words trailed off and you shook your head. None of this mattered now. He’d moved on. You were a ghost to him, too. Fruitlessly, you tried to open the door again with the same result: you were still locked in. And then the closet was too small, too warm all at once. The handle jiggled uselessly in your grasp. Were the walls inching closer? Had the lights caught fire? “Can you open this lock?”
“Just because I can hotwire a car, doesn’t mean I can pick a lock, Amadeus.” There was almost a hint of a tease in his tone. Almost. “Must’ve missed that lesson.”
You nodded, eyes trained on the unopened door. “Right. Sorry.” You needed to be let out. Needed to run far, far away before you made a complete ass of yourself.
“Good to know what you think of me.”
You turned abruptly, nearly falling—again—as you reached for him with uncoordinated fingers. “That isn’t what I’m saying, Eddie! I…” The words were sticky toffee at the back of your tongue. Unmovable and hard. “I…”
“Why didn’t you listen to my music?”
**1986**
Everything had gone wrong in a matter of moments. You had watched, heart in your throat, as Eddie played his heart out—you recognized the song. It had been on the tape he’d given you just last week.
Lesson 17
was scrawled across the shell’s spine alongside a smudged demon. Eddie had been glorious and every inch a rock star and the plan had worked and it still all went to shit.
The bats were coming too fast. There were too many of them. You and Eddie all but shoved Dustin up the knotted rope and then Eddie made sure you went up next. But then he had the stupid, beautiful, tragic idea that he needed to be a hero. He was already a hero. Had always been a hero. But he still cut the rope as you and Dustin yelled and pleaded for him to stop.
He didn’t.
Then you were dragging the small table near the door under the gate and leaping leaping leaping until you could grab at the edge and haul yourself up and through. The world swam in front of your eyes as your skull bounced on the dirty floor but you still got to your feet and rushed out with a scream of Eddie’s name. Bats swarmed in the distance, too preoccupied with something else in the distance—and you knew exactly what it was…or who.
The first bat nearly took you off your feet with a screech, tail looping around your ankle. But you pushed forward, even as another tore at your neck and another burrowed between your jacket and your shirt and ripped through the fabric like a red-hot knife through butter. But you only saw Eddie. You continued to push through until you could fling yourself over his prone form. The serrated teeth of the demobats continued to try to devour you both as you tucked Eddie’s face into your neck and hope it was enough. Even in your scrambled state, you tried to keep the important parts covered.
And you hoped.
Because that was all you could do aside from scream.
Blood coated the back of your throat, either from the force of your screams or from the blow to the face you’d taken earlier. But it didn’t matter when you heard the bats suddenly go silent before falling to the ground in a terrible downpour. The last one hit the ground with a splat and you were surging to your knees to look Eddie over.
“C-can you stand for me?” You asked as you knelt beside him, already shoving your hands beneath his shoulders.
Eddie struggled for a moment, blood-caked teeth gritting, before falling back to the ground. “Just…give me a minute.”
This was not good. Not good. Even if the bats dying meant that the plan might’ve worked, Eddie was still… You shifted, putting his head in your lap as you pressed down against the larger of the bites on his chest, feeling his blood soak your skin immediately. “Take all the time you need, okay? I’m not…I’m not leaving without you.”
Eddie made a noise. It almost sounded like a laugh. “Was just trying to buy more time.” Each word had his chest heaving.
“You were trying to be a hero, Eddie,” you almost scolded. “You didn’t need to do that. Y-you were already a hero. You already helped.” Tears started to blur your vision but you blinked them back, trying to keep him in your sight even as the strange spores, the bastardized Upside Down version of snow, started to coat you both. You wouldn’t take your eyes away from him. Not now. “Silly boy.” You pulled him a little closer, trying to ignore how slick your hands felt, pressing tighter against whatever you could reach. “You made me a promise, Eddie,” you whispered. “You promised.”
“I know.” The words were garbled. Wet. Teeth stained red. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
The tears stung and burned but you didn’t have the energy to will them away this time. He could feel it, too. “Dust-Dustin’s on his way. He can help. And Steve an-and Nancy and Robin. They’ll be here soon, too.”
Eddie nodded and you could feel his next breath stutter and stall beneath your hands. “I’m…I’m glad it’s you with me.”
“Eddie. Don’t. Don’t talk like that,” you pleaded, voice cracking. Your vision blurred even as you pressed tighter, crimson bleeding across white. You just needed him to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer. You could help him get better if you just had a little more time. “You’re going to be fine. You have to flip off Higgins, remember?”
“Y-yeah, Amadeus. I remember.” He sighed and his dark eyes found yours through your tears. “But at the end of the world? I’m glad I get to see it with you.”
“We can see everything together. Okay? Anything you want, we can go see it together.”
He nodded and then a shaking, bloody finger reached up to barely graze against your neck before falling back down to the ground. “You’re hurt.”
The adrenaline was keeping most of it at bay, you were sure. The bats had done a number on you. But right now? Right now it didn’t matter. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Eddie’s mouth opened, some retort on his tongue but all that came out was a wet wheeze and you felt his heartbeat stutter beneath your palm. “Eddie, no, Eddie, no, no, no. You gotta stay with me, okay? Stay with me!” You pressed harder at his chest and looked out to the grey horizon, hoping to see your friends, hoping to see some sort of salvation. “Help me,” you screamed. “Help!”
But all you saw was the strange snow.
**1996**
It was a simple enough question, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you listen to his music? Maybe now really was the time to move on. Your hand slipped from the doorknob and you crossed your arms over your chest as if that would protect you or offer comfort. Bing Crosby was singing now, muffled behind the door.
“You are a rock star, Eddie. I always knew you’d make it. Always. You were destined to be one of the good ones, one of the greats. Do you remember me bribing the guy at The Hideout just to let me in because I was underage? I just wanted to listen to you play. I wanted to see you the happiest I’ve ever seen you. I sang every song. I studied every mixtape you gave me like my life depended on it. And then you…made it. You made it, Eddie. And you left me behind.”
Eddie’s face fell, all traces of anger draining away in a second. He murmured your name.
But you weren’t done. “And I told myself that it was okay. It was okay because I just wanted you to be happy. And I thought I could, I don’t know, move on or something. I got my dream job. I live in the best city in the world. I have good friends and my grandparents finally got out of this shitty town and are living it up in Albuquerque.” You hadn’t even realized you were crying until Eddie reached out to you, gentle yet roughened fingers pressing at your cheeks to catch your tears. And your poor heart stuttered at the simple touch. How long had it been since he’d touched you like that? “And I heard about your adventures through Jonathan or Steve. Nancy even did an editorial on your band the first time you headlined at Madison Square Garden, remember that? But you never asked for me. Never reached out.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, still holding you close. His voice was low but strained, like he wanted to pull away but couldn’t force himself to do so, as if his fingertips had seared themselves to you. “You could’ve asked any of them for my number, my address, anything-”
“You were the one who stopped taking my calls, Eddie.” The simple sentence was ripped from your throat between sobs, over a decade finally cracking open. “And then you were singing about girls leaving lipstick stains on your throat and it would never be me. Never me no matter how much I loved you.”
Eddie’s face twisted and something you didn’t understand flittered across his face, something almost like heartbreak. Something almost like betrayal. Something almost like self-loathing. “You think I don’t-”
And then the door opened.
**1986**
Hawkins had been ripped open. While Vecna had been killed by Nancy and Eleven, he’d made one last ditch effort to bring the Upside Down to your world and had cracked open three gates; earthquakes shattering the small town.
Max’s knee was broken and she’d need physical therapy to walk normally again.
Lucas had a concussion from his showdown with Jason.
Steve needed a skin graft.
You were finally able to pull the three dozen stitches out of your skin after a few weeks but the doctor’s harried voice had echoed cruelly in your mind, “if that cut had been any deeper, you would’ve been dead in seconds.” Comforting. You’d been all but shoved onto a hospital bed and rubbed down with alcohol pads before dozens of stitches were sewn through your skin and you were told to leave to make room for others. The hospital had been a mad house when you’d stepped out into the hall, filled to bursting with people needing attention, battered and bruised and bleeding.
But it had been okay. It had been okay because your little ragtag team of friends had won and Eddie was alive and he gave you a slow, sleepy smile as you slipped into his room. “Hey, Amadeus.” He didn’t seem to care about the handcuff chaining him to the bed.
It didn’t last long, anyway. Your and Nancy’s alibi, Jason’s mysterious disappearance, his goons’ ramblings about seeing Max lift into the air, coupled with the well-timed reappearance of Chief Hopper helped the town begrudgingly accept that Eddie was innocent. There were still whispers, of course. Some thought that Eddie used his “satanic powers” to possess Jason into killing Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick, but you made it no mind after the cuff around his wrist was removed and you sat in his room, waiting for him to wake up between surgeries. You passed the time by doing the take home work your teachers had given you with the promise that if it was completed, it would take the place of any final exams and you’d graduate with no problems. Then, when that was finished, you did Eddie’s stack, too. You met his Uncle Wayne and he gave you a small smile when you introduced yourself, like he knew something you didn’t. He had been the one to give you Eddie’s jacket, saying he knew you’d keep it safe, on the first night at the hospital.
“He’s gonna be mad when he learns you did all that for ‘im.”
You shrugged and took the proffered hot chocolate he got for you at the hospital cafeteria. “He can be mad at me all the way across the graduation stage.”
“He did say you were a stubborn, sweet thing.”
The pencil nearly fell from between your fingers and you gaped up at Wayne before looking at Eddie at the bed, looking healthier by the day and just out of his third surgery. “He said that?”
Wayne only gave you that same, secretive smile. It was the same smile he gave you as Eddie dragged you over to take a picture, your green graduation caps and gowns shining in the summer sunlight. Your grandparents were close behind, each brandishing a camera and telling you to smile. It was redundant as you hadn’t stopped giggling since Eddie flipped off Higgins, as he’d promised. But, just as Wayne raised his camera, Eddie pressed a kiss to your cheek and knocked the breath out of your lungs.
“That’s a framer,” your grandfather said, clapping Wayne on the back and inviting them to a celebratory lunch.
Their acceptance was on the tip of their tongues—you knew it—but a man in a dark suit loomed at your side and drew everyone’s attention. “Edward Munson?”
Questions upon questions ricocheted in your mind. Who was this man? Was Eddie in trouble? What-?
He held out a small card with a smile, looking at Eddie over the rim of his probably-expensive sunglasses. “I’ve heard good things about you and your band.”
**1996**
The two hulking figures you’d spotted earlier were crowding the doorway and all but pushed you aside to reach for Eddie. You stumbled, elbow knocking against one of the shelves and pain rippled up your arm with a hiss. “Jesus.”
Eddie was quick to grab at your other arm, trying to keep you stable and you hated how you liked how warm he felt, even through the thick bulk of your sweater. “Guys, c’mon, be carefu-”
But they paid you no mind. “The party’s over, boss. You can get your dick wet later. We gotta get out of here before…” The rest of the sentence was drowned out in the scuffle as he was yanked out of the closet and into the surprisingly busy hallway. Elvis was warbling about a Blue Christmas but you barely heard it over the bustle of everyone leaving in a rush. You blindly stepped out into the hall, feeling like someone had stuffed rumpled tissue between your ears. The entire world felt off kilter as someone ran by you, knocking into your shoulder. What was Eddie going to say? Why had finally telling him how you felt leave you aching?
A hand wrapping around your arm pulled you from your reverie and you looked up to see Steve Harrington giving you a familiar, soft smile. “Time to go, sweetheart. The others are waiting.” He quickly explained that Robin called him, asking him to pick them all up after all the taxis (not that there were many in Hawkins) had refused to take them anywhere in the storm.
As soon as the others reached your and Steve’s side, a feat considering the mad rush toward the door, he was all but shepherding you out to the startlingly white parking lot, the snow now up to the middle of your calves. Robin claimed the passenger seat, leaving you, Jonathan, and Nancy to squish into the back seat. The others chattered about how ridiculous the reunion was as you all waited your turn in the long line to exit the parking lot, more than a few cars already sliding or getting stuck in the snow. Steve was patient enough. You knew their conversation was mostly just to pass the time, to let you know they wouldn’t pry (yet), giving you an escape. You gave an anecdote or two, making them laugh when you mentioned how drunk everyone seemed to be. Steve nearly beamed as you commented on how nice the car seat digging into your leg was. “I read, like, six different books about what the best car seat was! The little lady loves it,” he said, using the nickname he was fond of for his daughter.
Robin was the first to be dropped off, after chattering about her PhD program, giving you all awkward hugs from her seat so you wouldn’t have to get out into the cold. She suggested that you all go to Paris the next time a reunion comes around, “you know, so I don’t want to contemplate murder again,” before scrambling out of the car and into her parents’ house. The snow had nearly blotted out the simple line of Christmas lights along the roof, but still shined through in twinkling greens and reds. You took her seat with a sigh, crawling over the center console as Steve shouted about seatbelts, sounding like the mom you knew him to be. Nancy leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your cheek as soon as Steve slowed to a careful stop in front of their hotel—they’d told you, repeatedly, that they were not about to stay at either of their family’s houses for the holiday, no matter how much they loved them. Jonathan squeezed your arm and the pair murmured their thanks to Steve and they reaffirmed the plans to get together with all the kids at the Byers-Hopper house tomorrow, weather permitting, for the party you knew had been planned for months.
That left you alone with Steve and it took exactly forty-two seconds for him to ask, “so, you and Eddie in a closet, huh?”
“It-it wasn’t as salacious as you’re thinking, Steve. We both went in there to hide—separately, you know—and then the door somehow got locked and it was just a…fucking mess.” Slowly, an embarrassed heat pooling in your neck, you told him everything about how you’d finally, pathetically, told Eddie what you’d felt for over a decade.
Fat, white flakes continued their downward parade and the windshield wipers provided a steady beat to your disjointed story until you fell back into your seat, drained and tired. You could spot a few Christmas trees lit up behind half-closed curtains, their decorations a festive break against the growing snow. You frowned as Steve clicked off the radio, Wham’s Christmas earbug suddenly halting. He leaned over and grabbed something from the glovebox.
“Steve?”
He popped a tape shell open and pushed it into the tape deck before tossing the shell onto your lap. You turned it over to see a familiar album cover—it was Corroded Coffin’s latest album. Will Byers had been the one to draw the artwork, filled with bats and broken guitars. “Just listen, okay?” Steve asked, hand on the volume dial.
It wasn’t as if you had a choice, was it? But maybe it was time to finally do it, another way to close the chapter. So, you nodded, and Steve cranked the dial as soon as he fast-forwarded enough to the song he wanted.
The music started low and then quickly roared with heavy guitar and bass and an incessant drumbeat. It was all Eddie. It was Eddie. It was all Eddie and your fingers almost hurt as you clutched the little plastic case. The lyrics were good, and you could imagine this song getting your stuck in your head for weeks, painting a story about the a looming apocalypse, something you knew well. Then, Eddie’s voice came through, clear as day with the chorus, “at the end of the world, I’m glad it’s you…”
Oh.
Oh.
Shaking fingers pressed to your mouth as the song continued on, filled with lyrics about blood and darkness and looming death…and the saving touch of someone’s hand.
“I’m glad it’s you…”
“I’m glad it’s you…”
You flipped the case over and cursed the tears that blurred your vision as soon as you spotted the name of the song. The only song it could be.
Amadeus, at the End of the World
It was for you. But then Steve ejected the tape and put another in before you could truly let it sink in, a million and one thoughts coursing through your mind.
“Remember when you held me close with bloodstained hands?” Eddie sang on another song.
“Remember when you kept me breathing?”
When that song finished, Steve switched to a different track.
“Who worries over you, my girl?”
“Let me be the one to feel your heartbeat…”
And then he switched to another tape, never taking his eyes off the road.
Through raucous rifts and a bassline you could feel rattling your bones, Eddie sang, “you’re sunlight sweet and I’m your freak-Just give me your lips!”
Steve clicked off the radio as the song ended and you wiped fruitlessly at your cheeks; the tears had started during the first song and hadn’t stopped. “I’m so dumb.”
“You both are,” Steve agreed with a smile. He even patted your arm in consolation. “He asked about you all the time and then swore us to secrecy about it. He kept saying that if you wanted to reach out, you would have.”
You sniffled, the burn of the bright snow blurring. “I didn’t have his number. I don’t even know where he lives.” There was a small mess of tapes and their shell cases in your lap by the time turned the Christmas music back on and you fiddled with each of them, as if the pieces of plastic would let you turn back time and make different choices.
“Don’t worry about that,” Steve said with a conspiratorial smile.
It was only then that you realized you weren’t anywhere near the hotel where you were staying. “Steve?” You were clear across town, actually, near the newer developments and high end houses that had been built after the earthquake and property prices had plummeted. Now, years later, you were told that these houses were easily worth over half a million dollars. Each were spaced out, with plenty of land, with brick and mortar mailboxes near the street.
“Just trust me.” He pulled down one of the long driveways and parked in front of a tasteful, craftsman-style home. Sparkling white lights were looped around the porch’s banisters and bloomed soft light across the growing snow. The large bay window near the front door had its curtains opens and a large tree was at its center, decorated with ornaments that looked homemade and adorable. But that wasn’t what caught your eye.
It was Eddie, adjusting the sparkling tree-topper as he chatted with someone you couldn’t see.
“He has a house here?” You asked, feeling even more stupid.
He shook his head. “He bought this place for his uncle after their first album won him that Grammy. Apparently, Wayne was almost too proud to accept it. But you know how stubborn Eddie can be.” He turned to you and gently squeezed your arm, comforting. “Go in,” Steve said. “I can come pick you up, if needed.”
You sniffled and nodded, giving him a watery thank you and another promise to see him tomorrow for the party, before climbing out, the tapes still in your hands. The snow crunched beneath your shoes and you nearly stumbled at the top step of the porch but continued on until you knocked at the front door. Your cheeks were cold but at least your tears had stopped. You must look a mess. But there was no turning back now. The door swung open a few moments later and Wayne stood in front of you, eyebrows pinched. As soon as he recognized you, he was quick to grab at your arm and urge you inside with a murmured, “now what’re you doin’ outside in this kinda weather?” Familiar affection dripped from each word. The door shut with a soft snap behind you. The inside of the house was beautiful and warm; a wall filled with hats and mugs almost had you tearing up again. Eddie must have never stopped buying him those for every birthday, Father’s Day, and Christmas. One of Burl Ives’ Christmas albums was playing on the record player in the corner and two mugs of hot chocolate were set on the table near the tree, steam curling above.
“I…” You rubbed at the end of your cold nose, jostling the tapes in your hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude-”
A smile started to push at Wayne’s face as he noticed what you were carrying and then glanced at something behind you. “Well, you know I’ve always been happy to see you. But I don’t think you’re here for me.” He waved a hand and you turned to see Eddie a few paces away. The light from the Christmas tree was behind him, making his curls and waves nearly glow. His dark eyes darted down to the jumble of tapes in your hands and then he looked back up at you.
“Can we talk?” You asked.
“‘Course we can, Amadeus.” Gently, he took your hand and pulled you into the living room. A handful of presents were under the tree and two stockings were hung over the roaring fireplace. Wayne, bless him, shut the door quietly and made himself scarce.
You sat on the edge of an overstuffed leather couch and Eddie settled beside you. One by one, he took the tapes out of your grip and set them on the cushion beside you before reaching out to curl one of his hands over yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles softly, the simple touch making you shiver.
“Eddie, I…” You shook your head. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, ever. I-I just-”
His gentle grip tightened a fraction. “I think we both have been a little less than stellar at this.”
You laughed, a low raspy thing. Your other hand folded over his and you tried to keep your heart from lodging itself in your throat. “Did you mean all of it? All that stuff you sang?”
Eddie moved a little closer on the couch and his knee knocked into yours. “Every word.”
“It’s been over ten years, Eddie,” you whispered, not moving your gaze away from his face. His dark eyes reflected the lights on the tree and you almost wanted to cry again. He’d always been so handsome.
Eddie raised your joined hands to press a kiss to your fingers and your poor heart hammered behind your ribs. “It’s always been you, Amadeus. It will always be you.”
You sniffled and winced but didn’t pull away. “God, I’ve cried too much today.”
Eddie, gentle as ever, dropped your hands to grasp your face and wipe your tears away. “I’ve never wanted to make you cry.”
You shook your head and sighed. “And I never wanted to hurt you, either. Those songs…god, all those songs, Eddie. They were beautiful.”
“Not your pop nonsense,” he teased, thumbs smoothing against the half-moons of skin beneath your eye. “But you like them?”
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I really did.” You paused, licking your lips. Now or never. And you didn’t want to wait another ten years. “I love you Eddie.”
He chuckled, low and soft and your heart jumped. “I know, Amadeus. You told me in the closet.”
A terrible, familiar heat burned at your throat and you went to pull away but Eddie’s grip tightened just enough to keep you still. “Eddie-”
“And I have loved you since you sat next to me in history class, humming that awful song. And I will write you another six hundred songs if it meant you finally believe me.”
He loved you.
He loved you.
He had always loved you.
“We certainly wasted enough time, didn’t we?”
He smiled and it’s as bright as the lights on the tree, near blinding. Heart stopping. Perfect. Then, slowly, he leaned and brushed his lips against yours. Finally, finally, finally. He tasted like peppermint chocolates and smoke. And it was fucking perfect.
**1997**
It was snowing again. The weatherman said to expect another six inches before dawn and for the roads to be a nightmare for a few hours, too, before the plows were able to clear everything up. But you didn’t mind. You adjusted the star atop your Christmas tree right before a familiar pair of arms looped around your waist. Lips skimmed up the back of your neck until you were giggling and squirming in his grip.
“We’re gonna be snowed in, sweetheart. Just you and me for days. Maybe even a week.”
You swatted at his hand with a laugh, loosening his hold just enough for you to turn around and sponge a kiss to his jaw with a hum. “Nice try, big shot. There’s no getting out of Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding tomorrow. It’s just up the street. We can walk.”
Eddie groaned, melodramatic, and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Remind me why we have to go?”
“I am a bridesmaid and you are a groomsman. There’s also going to be lots of fancy food and all of our favorite people are already in town and will be there, too. You promised Nancy that you’d keep Dustin in check. You know how he gets about weddings.”
He sighed and you bit back a smile, knowing he was teasing. “I’m not convinced.”
So, you leaned closer and pressed another kiss against his jaw, and then another and another until you made your way up to his lips and steal a kiss there, too. Eddie chased your mouth to kiss you again, smiling against your lips. “And, my bridesmaid dress is really fucking sexy. If you’re good-”
“I’m always good,” he whined, halfheartedly pinching at your side just to make you squeak.
“-I’ll let you peel me out of it as soon as Nancy and Jonathan leave the reception. Deal?” You squealed as Eddie suddenly dove for your neck, kissing at the scar over your pulse. You sagged in his grip and moved to kiss the matching scar on his neck, too. It was a strange routine you’d settled into by accident. A gentle reminder of what you’d come through. Together.
“But what about tonight?” He whispered into your cheek, the beginnings of a smile pressing into your skin.
“Well, tonight…” You started to tug him away from the tree with a smile and toward your shared bedroom down the hall.
(Eddie’s plan worked. You hadn’t spotted the small box he’d hidden in the branches of the Christmas tree. He’d waited over ten years to finally call you his. He could wait a few days more.)
A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things#eddie munson#female reader
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in defense of 1989:
the breathless, wailing anguish with which she howls "take me HOOOOOoooooome" as she finally gives in to her vices, her weaknesses, knowingly but willingly. because she's so tired of doing the right thing, the smart thing, so lonely, so hopeful, and soooo horny she's helpless against self destruction. A song so unflinching in its awareness of that while also unapologetic in her choice to fully throw herself into temptation.
and even still the continued breathless, endless questioning in out of the woods. is this it? is it finally over? when it be over? when will someone just love her, and when will she stop doubting that they don't? when will this cycle of searching and heartbreak end? the way the song ends, so desperate is she for guidance that her voices harmonize together in a nearly religious choir, calling to the heavens for an answer. utterly lost, screaming into the forest doubting everything she remembers, was it real? can she even remember herself?
In I wish you would, how she turns a quiet, fleeting moment of laying in bed, watching headlights crawl across her bedroom wall though the gap in her curtains into a bombastic tour through all the regrets and dashed hopes that fly through her head. how you can mentally run through the span of fifty emotions over the course of ten seconds.
wildest dreams where the song is paced using her own heartbeat i mean what a clever way to quite literally let you into her heart
also in wildest dreams, giving into the idea that maybe this is what she deserves maybe, all she deserves. it's all she'll ever be, just a memory to someone and so in that fatalist acceptance, she's determined to at least make sure she's a phenomenal memory. and she asks them to lie to her, just this once. she doesn't ask for anything else, just to be told one time that she's worth remembering. an incredibly vulnerable thing to admit about how you see yourself and how dark of a place to be mentally.
the murky, wobbly synth and wistful whispery voices on this love. the whole song sounding like a fog or like wading in the tide as it ebbs and flows. so tactile in how it renders the feeling of wading through the fog a breakup or dissolution. not sure what the right thing to do is, to turn around and fight for them, to let them go, to move on. a song where she's so lost, she surrenders her fate completely and accepts whatever happens will happen and completely succumbs to the current, wherever it takes her and whatever it brings. she has to believe they'll come back on their own because there's nothing else to do now. she's done everything she could and it's just up to the tides of fate.
i mean clean?? hello??? one of the most apt metaphors for breaking up with someone when the relationship was intense and maybe codependent or manipulative. how addiction can be a person, and all the same trappings apply. how the whole album was her struggling through that. revisiting it over and over, how hard it is to try to live without them, as if it feels like drowning. but ultimately finding a baptism of self in the drowning, being the one to save herself for the first time, realizing she could save herself. revolutionary idea for the person who wrote all 4 prior albums, a monumental moment of growth. while still acknowledging that the itch to return to them will always linger, but recognizing that that's not love or fate or destiny like she once thought it was. it's just her insecurities trying to drag her back into bad habits, ultimately pulling the monster out from under the bed and in the harsh light of day, seeing it for what it is and rendering it unable to fool her anymore. one of the most pivotal moments in her mental and emotional growth as a person that she's ever discussed in her art. Where she completely abandons the fairytale idea of fate and destiny and begins to embrace her autonomy.
bonus of YAIL being one of the quietest, most intimate and mundane stories of love she’s ever written. how poignant for it to come after the bombastic pop and clashing synths of the sweeping and tragic romances regaled on the entire album. as if to say nah, real love, true love is in the quiet, unremarkable moments. the synths and echoes used again here but in a more dreamy, ethereal way, as if it's not happening quite yet but it's a wish for something totally different than she had before, something she should have wished for all along. a beautiful contrast!!
also just i'm sorry but blank space was so clever, maybe you had to be there but for her to come out with this song after the Red era and just.... absolutely destroy the pervading narrative about her with a sledgehammer but in the most tongue and cheek way, the most above it all way. like look how stupid you sound? this is the person you think i am? do you hear how ridiculous this shit is? get a grip! she not only made them into the fool and came off smarter and savvier than anyone else, she made BANK off of their stupidity. slay of the century!!!
basically 1989 is the rawest and most honest depiction of a woman in her 20s at some of the lowest points your 20s can bring. how through that time, as you figure out who you're supposed to be as an adult, you completely lose sight of who you are, and because of that you feel the lowest about yourself you may ever feel in your life. You let yourself get treated horribly and you begin to wonder if this is all there is. and it's awful and it feels endless and so lonely because you feel like the only person going through it, that everyone else knows something you don't, and that you're pathetic and worthless for falling so behind everyone else. but at the same time your 20s are soooooo fun and exciting and liberating because of your first foray into independent adulthood, so to lay unapologetically pop instrumentals over these crushing feelings is genius. it's the whiplash of that time in your life, the oscillation making each feeling of euphoria and devastation that much more potent. And how she emotes on this album is unlike anything else! She’s theatrical with her syllables and delivery as if she might never get the chance to say any of this again!
but also, the perhaps unconscious metaphor she presented that so many people, fans included, seem to fall victim to. the idea that oh, it's just pop music, it's not that deep, it's soulless and vapid. only serious music can actually be emotional, when the words she's saying and the hard truths about herself she's conveying are raw and bleeding open wounds. repetition isn't laziness, but a manifestation of anxiety and building tension. heavy synths and electro-pop stylings aren't soulless compared to guitars, but a way to unground you from reality and give you that atmosphere of disorientation and so as she grapples with losing her bearings, so do you. it's a musical allegory for how in your twenties someone can outwardly be having the time of their life, but inwardly be the lowest they've ever been. it's the eternal duality of your 20s, rendered so beautifully and harnessing musical stylings so masterfully to convey this experience. i'll defend it forever for that reason and implore people to reexamine their view of pop music and pop instrumental compositions as less artistic achievements and less emotional than acoustic ballads. sadness isn't the only vulnerable emotion. confusion, anger, anxiety, frustration are all profound and loud emotions that deserve an electric guitar because sometimes words aren't enough for how much you're feeling, and it's up to a cacophonous soundscape of electric guitars and moog synthesizers and your own cathartic screams to fill in the rest.
#1989 hive stand up#i get it that like you can not like it but to say it's her least deep body of work?????#you need to REALLY reexamine how you listen to music!!!#I’ve been putting this off cuz it gets me heated and for SOME REASON people write it off as a silly album like#OPEN YOUR EARS AND YOUR BRAIN#pop prejudice stops with you#self righteousness is the ugliest of all human traits yea but every now and then#I gotta unleash a self righteous tirade because I have reached my LIMIT#I’m back to being normal again I promise#I get one a year and this is the one I chose for 2023#it’s less self righteous and more debate club rebuttal to be fair to myself#also I feel like I always have to say this but it’s not about anyone in particular#just a general tumblr sample trend#my irl friends all stan 1989 I’m just trying to spread the good gospel here
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Tactile Tour à La Rochelle
Le “Tactile Tour” de l’Association Valentin Haüy s’invite à La Rochelle du 3 février au 1er mars 2023 à la Médiathèque Michel Crépeau.
Tactile Tour Valentin Haüy © Tous droits réservés
“Tactile Tour“, une exposition à toucher. L’accès à la culture et à l’art pour les personnes aveugles ou malvoyantes est au cœur des actions de l’association Valentin Haüy depuis sa création il y a 130 ans. De…
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#art#artiste#arts visuels#aveugles#charente maritime#clin d&039;art#déficients visuels#exposition#La Rochelle#les yeux bandés#Malvoyants#médiathèque michel crepeau#permis de toucher#tactile tour#Valentin Hauy
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hello! i’m sorry to bother you, but i’m kinda new to the fandom and would like to know your opinion on something …how much do you think the affection that alex and miles showed each other during the eycte tour was natural/spontaneous and how much of it was something crafted (known the effect it has on fans)?
Hello anon !
Alex and Miles have always been very close, very tactile and very affectionate towards each other even on stage.
Miles can’t stop touching Alex whenever he’s with him.
It always felt intimate and spontaneous
Then comes the EYCTE tour. Only the two of them. They totally looked like they were in their own little bubble.
Alex has never looked so happier than during these gigs.
They were there, teasing each other, night after night. Performing for each other more than for the audience.
[“It’s almost sometimes as if you’re performing for one another… as well as the audience.”
— Alex Turner on the ‘complicity and chemistry’ of him and Miles on stage. Virgin Radio Clermont-Ferrand Interview, June 2016 https://vk.com/wall-39416577_69786 ]
Of course, they know very well the effect it has on fans !
And they seemed to be playing with it, looking for their limits
And sometimes... 😈😏
They are very comfortable with their bodies. Their gestures to each other are very intimate! Even more than a kiss!
It seems impossible to me to pretend like that!
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can you share 3 takeaways from the press tour
1) Austin is a very “tactile” person lol and I didn’t expect that with how reserved he can come off at times.
2) The thing that stuck with me the most though was when Flo was talking about sitting with Austin and eating crepes in Budapest. In particular how she was surprised when they got recognized. It speaks to their level of fame and how it is rapidly rising but in my mind I tied it back to Z’s Elle article and how she can’t go back to that level of normalcy? Fame is weird.
3) Anytime DV talked about his creative process (in particular why he chose infrared lenses to shoot Giedi Prime. I had been wondering about that since the first trailer dropped) or when actors talked about his process. That’s my bag!!
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When my cat is misbehaving, I threaten to give her hugs and kisses, until she runs and hides, so... TD Noah AU, where the ONLY thing that can truly scare Noah is getting hugged, kissed and shown affection in public... When Noah tries to skip the dodgeball challenge, Owen (his best friend) playfully threatens to cuddle Noah on the sidelines, unless Noah helps the team... Noah quickly agrees to help with a grumpy blush on his face... Alejandro thinks that this fact is hilarious! 😸
I can see this. Noah's got a reputation to uphold, after all. A reputation of being an insufferable know-it-all asshole, sure, but it's a reputation none the less. Letting people know that he likes being hugged? Mortifying. His worst fear- it goes against His Brand™.
Him being afraid of PDA, platonic romantic or otherwise, is a pretty funny idea when you consider the fact that his best friend Owen is more-or-less infamous for dragging people into his arms at the drop of a dime. He lives under the constant threat of an Owen-brand hug attack, anywhere, anytime, and that fact terrifies him.
Actually, in this scenario, I think Owen would be a little more conservative with his clinginess concerning Noah - he's not that inconsiderate, and he'd know that Noah's not a fan of public affection (but secretly just as much of a hugger as he is). Not that he's be any less tactile, he'd just be quicker to apologise for unthinkingly showing his best buddy his affections.
To bring it back to the Dodgebrawl episode:
By this point in the series, Noah and Owen have shared a cabin for (assumedly) six nights and had around a week to build their friendship. They're not as close as they are in World Tour, but that's more than enough time for Noah to know about Owen's cuddliness and, in turn, for Owen to know about Noah's physical evasiveness.
But, at this point I think Owen would be under the impression that Noah's entirely touch averse as opposed to just PDA averse. It's during this challenge that his initial assumption starts to shift towards the truth.
Owen notices that Noah's refusal to participate is getting him some negative attention from the rest of the team, and in a moment of quick thinking volunteers himself as the next person to sit out before Noah can make his "keeners" comment. Noah's a little ticked off by this, and tries to argue that Owen would be a more useful team member then him, but Owen comments something about Noah needing to get some team spirit via "motivational hugs" (or something along those lines) and suddenly Noah is very much okay with not going anywhere near Owen or the benches.
Curiously, Owen notices, Noah hesitates at his offer for a hug. For a moment he looked almost considerate, before his face flushes with embarrassment (which he staunchly denies afterwards, since Noah's adamant that he doesn't get embarrassed) and he vehemently denies needing one, quickly resigning himself to actually helping the team instead. It's just enough to get the cogs turning in Owen's mind; apparently, hugs work as negative reinforcement for Noah.
Owen's more than happy to abuse this fact to prompt Noah into actually trying during challenges. Talent show? Owen subtly threatens to hug Noah unless he, at the very least, tries to showcase a talent. Phobia Factor? Owen offers moral support via affection to motivate Noah into facing his phobia (whatever it may be) and the threat of being publicly coddled is enough to have Noah disregard his fear entirely and complete the challenge. Ect ect.
Owen has his suspicions, but things aren't cleared up for him until after Island is over and done with. Wherein Owen confronts Noah about the quirk he's pick up on, and Noah- now reassured that his every action isn't being recorded and potentially broadcast for the world to see- admits that he actually kind of likes being hugged, but doesn't like public displays of affection. It's a secret he'd only share with his best friend. So Owen promises to keep quiet about it (which as we all know isn't something Owen's very good at, but he tries his best) and resolves to save the majority of his tactile-ness for when they're in private.
Leading to World Tour, where Owen utilises this same trick he used in Island to have Noah pull his weight on the team. Like he's a border collie wrangling the world's grumpiest sheep.
Alejandro's quick to pick up on this repeated exchange, and quicker to connect the dots. Somehow, the threat of affection seems to motivate their laziest team mate into picking up his slack; of course he too takes advantage of this fact.
Noah, understandably, is pretty pissed off that two of his team members are now using his completely rational aversion towards PDA against him, and eventually snaps.
If it's Owen who tests his last line of patience, Noah would be a little more considerate in his confrontation. He'd ask why Owen's so intent on trying to smother him to death with hugs (especially when he knows that Noah doesn't like the public aspect of it), to which Owen would sheepishly answer that, whilst he's always been a pretty physically affectionate guy, he's also been using the threat of cuddles to motivate Noah into trying his best. Noah would be torn between being genuinely impressed by Owen's cunning and absolutely mortified that he's been playing into his best friend's scheme for so long. And Owen would reassure him that there's nothing for him to be embarrassed about and that he knows that Noah's "afraid of PDA" and Noah would outright deny that accusation because he's not afraid of PDA, that's absurd, he's just reasonably against it.
To which Owen would challenge him into proving he's not afraid, because he's a little shit who's intentionally tricking his best friend into giving him a goddamn hug. Which works, of course, since Noah's pretty prideful and wouldn't take an attack against his ego sitting down (which is something we see in his boy kissing denials in Haute Camp-ture), so Noah ends up being the one to initiate a hug with his chubby buddy. And Owen takes the opportunity to literally smother him in affection, and Noah quickly forgets his hesitance in his enjoyment of Owen-brand cuddles, at least until someone else walks in on the display and comments on the novelty of Noah actually letting someone else touch him.
The scene can play out however you want from there.
If it's Alejandro who breaks Noah's last straw the confrontation would be a little less cordial , Since Noah and Owen already have an understanding between them, whilst Alejandro just sort of jumped on the band wagon as he saw fit. Noah wouldn't appreciate the sudden change in behaviour and he's sharp enough to know exactly what Alejandro's playing at too- that is, using Noah's obvious aversion to PDA against him. It's a coin toss as to whether Noah figures out that both Owen and Alejandro are playing him, or if he just thinks that Alejandro is being a dick for the sake of, well, being a dick.
In this scenario, I imagine Noah either recoiling away from Alejandro trying to do something that just pushes the boundary between casual and overly friendly, like a one-armed hug or trying to hold his hand, and/or outright punching him away. Because he's not about that energy, and Alejandro's been testing both his boundaries and his patience for far too long.
So Noah would put his foot down, demanding to know why Alejandro keeps being so tactile with him. And Alejandro would in turn explain that he's just a touchy person, since he's shown a tendency for such in his many flirting attempts, and Noah would immediately call his bullshit because he knows that Alejandro only ever gets up close and personal with other people when he's trying to seduce them and- wait.
Is Alejandro trying to seduce him?
To which Alejandro immediately denies, because that really wasn't his intention at all, he was just utilizing Noah's avoidance towards physical touch to motivate him into being a better teammate- and he's just admitted his (and Owen's) whole scheme to the guy himself. As a result Noah is even more upset; not only is Alejandro making him uncomfortable, but he's knowingly doing so. As a strategy for the competition they're in.
Again, a small part of him is astounded by the play, but for the most part Noah's just incredibly pissed off. Alejandro tries to mitigate the situation by turning the absurdity on it back at Noah; why is he so against something as negligible as human contact? His prickliness is a detriment to himself and their team, Alejandro's simply doing him a favour by getting him accustomed to others' proximity. Is Noah really that scared of a hug?
And again, it plays out like the Owen situation where Noah denies being scared at all, because he's far too prideful for his own good, and Alejandro challenges him into letting himself be held and not punching him again because Alejandro is also too prideful for his own good and sees Noah's constant rejection of him as a direct insult to his charm.
Cue a scene where Noah irately subjects himself to actually hugging Alejandro as petulantly as possible, only for his secret love of physical affection to get the better of him.
Alejandro is surprised, to say the least, when the stiff and uncooperative form of Noah seems to melt in his arms after a few moments of their spite-fuelled hug. Thus Alejandro becomes the next victim of the Noahla Bear- a creature hellbent on trapping others in his vice-like embrace.
(And as a treat, maybe add in some touch-starved Alejandro here? Who's torn between the internal battle of "I should be doing something productive with this free time, not letting the resident twink cuddle me to death" and "yeah, but have you considered the fact that you've never felt this safe and secure in someone else's arms since you weren't held as a child?")
#lots of hugging happening in my inbox for some reason#odd but i guess it's cute so i'm not complaining#anon's so right about noah being a grumpy cat who runs away at the first sign of affection#kin assigning Miette to noah so i can make characters kick him like the football#total drama#td noah#td owen#td alejandro#nowen#alenoah#others' ideas#replies#kinda drafty in here (posts from the drafts)
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Yet the unadorned rigor of this stage-trained actor, who recently completed a tour de force Vanya run on the West End, remains firmly evident. He embodies Strangers’ Adam with an intricate attention to physical detail. “You don’t want somebody pretending to be a boy, but you want a sense of the vulnerability of a child, and also somebody who is learning to fall in love as an adult—and how those things are intertwined,” he says. “I don’t know if that is apparent in watching, but it’s a very, very tactile film…. Even the way he is able to be embraced by his parents, and then learns to be the embracer of Harry, it’s something that I had to map out silently for myself.” One lovely scene later in the movie finds Adam back in his childhood home, wearing pajamas and curling up into bed alongside his parents—with, again, all three actors in question roughly the same age. It’d feel absurd, bordering on campy, if not for Scott’s gentle verisimilitude. “I feel very proud of it,” he says of the sequence. “It takes work.”
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#andrew scott#all of us strangers#vanya#andrew haigh#paul mescal#vanity fair#awards season#little gold men podcast#long post#Spotify
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