radio a transistors

Alright kids buckle up this is gonna be a long one

Viktor owns a dacha that he inherited from his family that’s way out in the middle of Butt Fuck, Russia on the shore of a lake the name of which Yuuri cannot pronounce. 

Yuuri finds out about the dacha because the key to the place is an actual skeleton key and Yuuri asked about it while holding Viktor’s keys for him one day.

“Oh, that’s just the dacha,” Viktor took the key and spun it around in his fingers, contemplative. “I haven’t been there in years, not since the deed was put in my name. Maybe I’ll take you there someday.”

Keep reading

Once Bart realizes that Ken is practically some sort of technology wizard, she spends the next few months of their road trip bringing him things that she thinks he’ll like (broken transistor radios people have left by the side of the road, phones that she stole from people after murdering them, a shitty motel room television that she snuck into the car when Ken wasn’t looking).

See some of the stunning turntables in MoMA’s design collection. Making Music Modern: Design for Ear and Eye opens Saturday. 

[Dieter Rams. Portable Transistor Radio and Phonograph (model TP 1). 1959. Plastic casing, aluminum frame, and leather strap, 1 ¾ X 9 ¼ X 6″. Gift of the manufacturer]

richie x eddie

I haven’t gotten any requests in ages, but if anyone wants to submit one my ask box is always open (click here) x

Eddie slowly trudged along the aged pathway, the back of his neck beginning to grow sticky from the humidity in the air. It was going to rain soon, he could tell it. The air was thick, and it was causing his cheeks to get hot and redden. The small bushes littering either side of the pathway brushed against his legs as he walked, occasionally giving him small cuts which would later grow itchy.

He could hear music up ahead, and he felt a smile spread across his cheeks at the familiar sound. It was Richie’s little transistor radio, a staple item for when he and his friend’s hung out. Eddie couldn’t even remember when it had first been brought along, but the atmosphere always felt wrong without it’s presence. At least that’s what Richie said. Ben had a newer, better model, but when he’d tried to bring it along Richie was quick to object. Eddie chuckled at the memory.

He could see the clearing up ahead, and soon he could spot where the clubhouse sat. Of course, it was covered with twigs and leaves to keep it hidden, but Eddie could easily point it out. They all could. Henry Bowers was too stupid to find it, which was lucky for them.

The first thing Eddie noticed was that the iconic radio wasn’t hanging from it’s usual branch beside the clearing. Instead, he recognized that the sound was emanating from within the clubhouse, which now sat about fifteen steps away from him. He made his way over, the dry leaves crackling under his soles and his fanny pack bouncing against his hip.

He’d made it no less than two meters away when he heard a small sniff. Eddie stared at the scattered shrubbery before him, the corner of a wooden board just visible to his left. Was someone crying? Then the quietness hit him. The radio wasn’t even that loud, and yet he couldn’t hear the comforting, familiar banter from his friends. Not even Bev’s humming could be heard, and she always hummed along to every song. No, he thought, something’s different.

Cautiously, he walked the last three or so steps, his mind subconsciously attempting to make each footstep quieter. He slowly bent down and curled his fingers under the visible wooden plank, his brain trying to come up with a possible explanation for the occasional sniffles coming through the gaps in the planks. 

Eddie gently lifted the door up and peered inside, his eyes trying to make out the situation below. He could see the transistor radio leaning haphazardly against a pair of grey converse, and he followed the wearer’s legs up until Eddie spotted a mass of dark messy brown hair. Hands covered the person’s face, and Eddie could see their shoulders shaking unsteadily. Their knees were tucked closely to their chest, hiding the damp shirt sticking to their stomach.

At the rush of light pouring into the club house the hands left the face, and through the fingers Eddie could see the red, sticky face of Richie Tozier. His messy fringe had been plastered to his forehead with tears, and his cheeks were so wet that it looked as if he’d been swimming in the river. 

Eddie stared down at Richie, his hand still holding onto the wooden door as his mouth hung agape. Richie’s dark brown eyes peered back up at him, his coke bottle glasses magnifying the fresh tears sitting on his waterlines. Eddie couldn’t help but gape at the boy, his Hawaiian shirt sleeves beginning to grow crusty from the snot wiped on them.

“Richie?” Eddie finally whispered. The other boy looked embarrassed.

“Hey, uh, Eds,” Richie replied, breaking the eye contact between them hastily. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, especially not Eddie.

“Are you, um… okay?” Eddie asked, ignoring the nickname Richie had used without a thought. He usually snapped at the use of it, but it went right over his head as he peered down at the shaking boy beneath him.

Richie quickly tried to wipe away his tears, but to no avail. His shirt was already soaked through from his crying, and his hands were sticky with snot. His glasses dangled at the edge of his nose. There was no point in pushing them back up, they’d just slide down again.

“I’m jeest foine. Don’t ye worry, just a sad song come on this ere radio,” Richie attempted to speak in his Irish Cop’s Voice, but failed dramatically. His voice cracked halfway through, and Eddie could tell there wasn’t anything funny behind Richie’s humor.

Richie put on his best smile to try and seal the act, but Eddie wasn’t having any of it. He swung his legs over the edge of the clubhouse entrance and shuffled on his bum until he could turn around and lower himself down with his arms. Slowly, his feet touched the dirt beneath him, and he gently closed the hatch above him soundlessly.

It was dark at first, as Eddie’s eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the clubhouse’s dim light. But soon he could make out Richie’s figure, and he carefully made his way over to the shaking boy. He made an effort to not hit the radio on his way over, but he kicked it slightly whilst sitting down beside his friend. Normally Richie would kill him, but he took absolutely no notice of it.

Eddie had no idea what to do now. He’d never been much for comforting other people, and the shock of seeing Richie Tozier so distraught was still lingering in his mind. The boy beside him was now giving off small hiccuping sniffs, a lame attempt to hide his crying. Now that Eddie was sitting shoulder to shoulder with him he had no way of masking his shaking sobs.

“Richie, what’s wrong?” Eddie whispered. Richie was quiet, and for a second Eddie thought the crying boy hadn’t heard him over the radio. He was about to repeat the question when a shaky voice replied.

“It doesn’t matter. You should probably just go, Eddie, I don’t want to have to bother you with my dumb problems.”

Eddie frowned, his brows creasing above the bridge of his nose. He’d known Richie for far too long, and none of his bullshit was going past Eddie. He scooted closer, realized his fanny pack was dividing their hips, and unbuckled it hastily. He threw it somewhere nearby the radio, and he heard his medication shake inside the bottle as the pack hit the floor.

Reluctantly, Eddie completely closed the gap between the two of them. Eddie slowly stretched his legs out in front of him, admiring the space in the underground room without five other people in there. He lay his hand awkwardly over Richie’s shaking shoulders, immediately regretted the action, but felt uncomfortable moving it away. So there it stayed.

“You can tell me anything, Richie. You know that right?” Eddie whispered, and then felt like that was too cliche and added: “I won’t even beep you.” He let out a small, nervous laugh and hoped that Richie wouldn’t decipher the awkwardness in his voice.

Richie let out a long sigh, and Eddie’s arm moved upwards with his shoulders as he let out the deep breath. He suddenly felt relieved that Eddie was here, and felt his heart give a tug at the sudden realization of the small boy’s arm draped across his shoulders.

“Do you ever just feel like nothing is going your way?” he asked, and when Eddie didn’t reply he went on. “I don’t know, I just feel like there’s a lot of things I really want, and I just can’t get them. No matter how hard I try.”

Eddie wasn’t exactly sure what Richie was getting at, but he nodded his head anyway.

“What sort of things?” he questioned.

Richie sighed again. “So many things, Eds. There’s big things, and then there’s silly simple things. Like my mum not letting me listen to rock n’ roll, baby.”

Richie hoped that joke would lighten the mood slightly, and he felt himself grin slightly at the sound of Eddie’s giggling. Richie loved Eddie’s laugh, and as much as he loved the support from the rest of his friend’s, Eddie’s laughter was always what he really strived towards.

Eddie was just thanking God that it was dark in the clubhouse, as his cheeks had turned bright red at Richie calling him baby. It was just a joke, Eddie said to himself. But deep down he wished otherwise. 

“That’s not what you’re crying about though,” Eddie’s voice was so quiet, and he found himself leaning closer and closer to Richie with each sentence. 

Richie reluctantly nodded, and then for the first time looked at Eddie without breaking eye contact. He stared into the brown eyes of the small boy sitting beside him, one skinny arm laying across his stomach, the other over Richie’s shoulders. His t-shirt was sticking to his collarbone slightly, and Richie wondered if it was from the humidity or if somehow the boy was nervous. A smile spread over Richie’s mouth at the later thought, and Eddie was quick to notice.

“What?” Eddie giggled, Richie’s huge eyes staring straight at him as he smiled. It was a loving smile, and Eddie absolutely adored it on him.

“Nothing,” Richie answered, and the smile dropped ever so slightly.

Eddie cocked his eyebrow at him, demanding the truth. He wasn’t stupid, and Richie knew this all too well. Richie made a mental note to learn how to lie better.

“I just like you a lot, Eds,” Richie muttered, so quiet that Eddie almost didn’t catch it. The nickname sent shivers down his spine, and Eddie felt warmth spread through his stomach. He loved the feeling, and all of a sudden he felt a wildness inside him that he’d never quite felt before.

Without giving himself time to review the pros and cons of the situation, Eddie leaned toward Richie’s freckled face and planted a tiny kiss on his cheek. The boy’s skin felt wet and warm against him cracked lips, and only as he started to sit back did he fully realize what he’d just done.

Richie’s face was flooded with color, his already rosy cheeks turning a bright red that seemed to glow in the darkness. He wanted to hide it, but he couldn’t stop. Eddie’s tiny peck on the cheek had released a thousand tiny butterflies into his stomach, and there was no way of calming them down. 

Richie looked up at Eddie to see his lips curled into a bright smile. Richie could see every mole, every pore, every freckle that decorated Eddie’s pale skin, and he seemed to fall in love with each and every one. He stared at Eddie’s pale pink lips, feeling an urge to connect them to his own but holding himself back. 

“W-What was that for?” Richie stuttered, not being able to pick his words and stumbling over them like his friend Bill. Eddie only giggled in response, his white teeth casting a glow through the dim clubhouse.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was a kick start towards one of the things I really want,” Eddie whispered back, and Richie felt his heart skip a number of beats. He felt the need to kiss Eddie again, but he was worried that his lips were too snotty for any of that.

Eddie slowly lay his head on Richie’s smooth shoulder. His nose was overwhelmed with the smell of the freckled boy’s sweat, as well as the laundry powder his clothes were washed with. He smelt fresh. He smelt like Richie.

Eddie’s head fit perfectly into the crook of Richie’s shoulder, like that of a jigsaw puzzle. And this is how the two boys spent the rest of the afternoon, Richie occasionally twirling Eddie’s brown hair on his index finger as soft music played at their feet. Slowly, tiny droplets of rain began to patter on the wooden planks above their heads, and miraculously the boys inside stayed dry. Richie silently thanked Ben for his incredible construction skills, because without them the two boys would have to move out of the rain. And Richie was perfectly happy staying where he was.

After Prom

(Based on the adorable prompt someone gave me!)


~ Richie threw his head back and let out a large sigh. “I’m a little tipsy.” he confessed, mostly to the sky. Coming to block his view of the sky was a glaring blue sign. 

“No shit, Rich.” Beverly giggled and hiked up her dress to hop up the curb. She clutched her heels in her right hand. “That’ll happen when you spike the punch bowl.” she bumped his shoulder and caused him to stumble right onto Eddie. The seven of them were in the midst of living their prom night to the fullest. They’d gone bowling right after, which proved to be a bad idea. Richie had charmingly picked up the blue and black bowling balls and proclaimed ‘Hey look my balls are black and blue!’ Eddie had slapped him. She glanced down at her watch, 2 am. It was Mike’s idea to come to IHop. 

“You only got a few drops in before Mr. Fletcher started to come over and you watered it back down with more punch.” Stan chuckled at the memory and held the glass door open for everyone. He smiled at them as they passed him to get inside. Beverly was hiking her dress up to avoid tripping over her bare feet. Ben followed after her with a tilted bow tie and a hand jetted out to take her shoes from her. Bill and Mike were exchanging the cheap bunch of photos they all took at the prom. And Richie was leaning down with his chin on Eddie’s shoulder whispering something with a smirk. Stan did not want to know what he was saying, he cringed as he followed after him. 

“I’m gonna get those pancakes with the funny face on them.” Richie whispered in Eddies ear who shook his head and pushed him away. 

“What are you five?” Eddie asked with a small grin as Richie bumped his shoulder. 

Mike swore he saw the hostess cringe as their large group entered. He gave her a polite smile and bit his lip. “Table for seven?” He asked, embarrassed. She shook her head and gathered menus and gestured for them to follow her with a swish of her ponytail. The restaurant was for the most part, empty. The orange tint of the lights flickered over a few customers who followed the Losers with distaste. The hostess set the menus down at one of those large curved booths. Beverly slid into the booth, dress rubbing against the shiny seat and Ben came after her. Richie and Bill were on the end seats. Bill with Stan to his right and Richie huddled up to Eddie on his left.  

“So how was everyone’s prom?” Beverly asked with a wide grin and tapped her fingers on her chin. She pulled her feet onto the bench, siting with crossed legs and let her dress cover her lap. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“-Yeah! You tripping over Beverly’s dress was definitely the best part!”Stan pointed his napkin covered silverware at Richie. “Richie Tozier face-planting will always be my favorite part of anything we do.” 

Richie reached his leg out from under the booth and started kicking at Stan’s leg and the two were swept into a full out battle. They were only stopped when their waitress came over with a large platter and a glare in her eyes. Everyone’s mouths fell open and watered. Beverly finished her sip on her coffee and grasped her plate with wide eyes. “Thank you.” she licked her lips. 

Richie’s plate was set down in front of him and he wasted no time to start digging into the funny face made out of whip cream. Eddie looked at the pile of disastrous sweets from his own more bland regular pancakes with a disgusted face. Richie gave him a wide smile. “I’m surprised your appetite hasn’t killed you yet.” Eddie cringed as Richie stabbed his fork into it. 

“This’d be an ok way to die by me.” Richie slid the fork into his mouth and hummed. “Y’know it’s ok to eat like this every once in a while, Eds.” He glanced down at Eddies boring plate. He cut a large chunk of his food and waved the fork in front of him. Hesitantly, Eddie opened his mouth and Richie fed it to him. 

“Get a room!” Mike teased from next to Eddie and scooted closer to Beverly. 

“Would if I could get rid of all you guys, the collective third wheel.” Richie chuckled and felt Eddie kick him from under the table.  The group was swept into a large burst of laughter when the kick thumped Richie right off his end seat, making him fall on his ass. Mike swallowed the last bit of his food and cleared his throat while Richie sat back down, throwing chunks of food at Stan and starting a small food war, arm over Eddie to protect him from the line of fire.

Mike raised his glass of water, the sweat dripping into his hand as the food war settled. “I propose a toast.” He smiled and felt Richie toss over his toast, winging his shoulder. He smirked at Richie and tossed it back. “Anyway, I want to toast to our prom and our last days of high school.” 

“To the Losers Club!” Ben shouted and clinked his orange juice glass to Mikes and soon there was a heard of mismatched cups and glasses raised and clinking together. Bill smiled as he watched all of his friends. 

“I l-l-love you guys.” He clinked his mug to Stan’s. And there was a collective “We love you too, Bill!” that made him laugh. 


When Bevs head fell onto Ben’s shoulder and everyone’s plates had been cleared, they decided it was time to move on. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They decided the best place to go to say goodbye to the night was the park. It was mostly still dark as they stood in the grass. “Oh!” Richie suddenly remembered something and went back to Eddies car. When he came back, he had his small transistor radio and a wide grin. 

“You keep that in my car?” Eddie asked with a furrowed brow and Richie pulled out the antenna and tapped it gently on Eddie’s nose. 

“I keep it in your glove box.” He smiled and started playing with the dials until he found what sounded like a slow song channel. And as the last song finished, a killer saxophone kicked in. “oh!” Richie lit up and started pretending to play the saxophone. 

“You know someones cool when they play the air saxophone.” Ben shook his head and everyone kicked into laughter while Richie gave him the finger with a smile. 

Richie held his hand out for his smaller date, who gave him an unimpressed look. But took his hand away. Being that same-sex couples were not permitted at their prom, the two of them were only able to dance when no one was watching. They had been able to get through a whole slow song with the rest of the Losers Club dancing around them. 

 "I’m never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm, Though it’s easy to pretend I know you’re not a fool.“

So The Losers club danced in the middle of the park at 4 am. 

2

A NIGHT ON HORROR ISLAND // listen
a mostly alex-centric oxenfree playlist - a mesh of other playlists because i couldn’t find any i really liked. i will be adding songs to it as time goes on !

dead hearts - stars // substitution - silversun pickups // spaceman - the killers // turn this boat around - matt & kim // am/fm sound - matt & kim // ghosts of things to come - clint mansell & the kronos quartet // time alternate version, 2004 - ben folds // ocean breaths salty - modest mouse // call them brothers ft. only son - regina spektor // meet me in the woods - lord huron // this house is full of water - thrupence // the speak it mountains - gorillaz // dandelion - boards of canada // ghost - mystery skulls // always gold (acoustic version) - radical face // dear sister, your brother - meg lynch & talain blanchon // brother - mighty oaks // king and lionheart - of monsters and men // transistor radio - cloud cult // amy aka spent gladiator 1 - the mountain goats

Rationals as TV Tropes

All tropes found on tvtropes.org

ENTJ: Magnificent Bastard
“If there was ever a character that deserved to be called “Magnificent”, that character is the Magnificent Bastard. The Magnificent Bastard is what happens when you combine The Chessmaster, The Trickster, and the Manipulative Bastard: bold, charismatic, independent, audacious and genius. Capturing the audience with their charisma, incredible intellect, mastery of manipulation, and boldness of action, this character is a show-stealer, demanding your reverence at every turn.”

ENTP: Gadgeteer Genius
“It doesn’t matter if they’re 7 years old or 700, they’re the greatest scientific genius in the universe and can prove it by building a 50,000-horsepower battle robot out of tin cans and an old transistor radio. Overnight. Sometimes their creations failwith entertaining explosions, but they always work for at least a little while. In Anime, the Gadgeteer Genius is usually female, and often still in grade school. In Western depictions the gadgeteer is usually male, and can be of any age. Either way, any morality applies, as sometimes does MacGyvering.”

INTJ: The Chessmaster
“Chessmasters tug at their strings of influence, patiently move their pieces into places that often seem harmless or pointless until the trap is closed, and get innocent Unwitting Pawns (who else?) to do all the heavy lifting. The best will also have layers upon layers of misdirection and backup plans in case some unexpected hero appears to gum up the works.”

INTP: Absent-Minded Professor
“This Stock Character is a brilliant scientist, but, uh, very flighty, often forgetting things like the date, people’s names, meetings, eating, people’s names, etc. His mind tends to run a mile a minute, he can often struggle to hold a normal conversation, and it’s typical for him to become so engrossed in his work that he loses track of just about everything else. Good thing he (and it’s very often a he) is good at what he does and often has perfect memory for scientific details or mathematical values. With a little prodding from the heroes to focus on the matter at hand, he rarely fails to create the tools necessary to save the day.”