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zeroone-eleven · 4 months

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Scorching Cold; Bela Dimitrescu (Resident Lover):

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Requested? ☑

"Take me back to you, into your wild heart."

Summary: Bela's iconic outfit isn't suited for all climates, as she finds out by letting her hubris get the best of her.

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

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After getting her heart back, Bela is finally able to really feel cold. She keeps shuddering even indoors once the colder season hits, Bela does her best to play it off but the shudders do not escape your notice. It was when Bela tried to suppress the reaction to the cold inside her private study room- That she now shares with you- When you decide to suggest an outfit change.

"I think a leather jacket would work with a hooded long sleeve underneath. If you wear a dark toned hoodie, it'd make your eyes and your hair pop!"

Bela scoffs, straightening her back before elegantly running a hand through her hair. "I'd sooner catch a delirium inducing fever than switch out the outfit I'm known for."

You raise an eyebrow at how she's willing to brave the cold just for an outfit before chuckling to yourself in disbelief, shaking your head as you playfully bump shoulders with Bela.

"Don't put your foot in your mouth, pretty girl."

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The next day you wake up with a groan as sunlight shines into your window. The crook in your neck from spending so much time hunched over papers had carried over from the day before. You take a moment to let your mind wake up before checking your phone.

3 texts from Jassmine

10 texts from Angie

1 text from Bela

You go through all of them, answering Jassmine's questions and doing your best to decipher Angie's hammered typing style. The last message had you jumping up from your bed before you could even register the fact that you were in pajamas.

The oldest Dimitrescu is stuck in her apartment. She did infact, catch a delirium inducing fever last night when the temperature dropping significantly lower than normal yesterday.

Daniela wastes no time in tagging along, she was already on the couch drinking a mug of coffee when you throw your door open, offering nothing more than a "Bela's down with a high fever.". The heterochromic Dimitrescu runs and drags you to MJ's dorm building to commandeer her bike before telling you to hop on.

Daniela paddles as fast as she can and you get to her older sister's apartment in what can possibly be counted as record time.

(The roommates currently sharing half a braincell end up throwing themselves onto the curb infront of Bela's apartment when Daniela squeezes the front brakes instead of the rear ones first.)

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The bedridden Dimitrescu sits up in her bed, looking at the pair by her bedroom door. Squinting and sniffling as though trying to discern who the roommates are.

"Oh hello there pretty eyes! Daniela, Hiiiiiiii!"

Bela smiles at you, lovestruck and red eyed and sniffling before every other word she utters before she flops back down on the bed. Groaning with regret when the mattress shakes due to the impact.

Daniela's jaw falls open in shock, arms crossing before her shocked expression turns into a light hearted scowl when stomps her foot in indignation. "Hey! I have pretty eyes too, you know!"

You leave Daniela to watch over her sister, patting her on the shoulder while heading to the kitchen to cook up a pot of chicken soup- It's found to be an easy task, with how Bela keeps her pantry organized. You smile to yourself as a fleeting thought pops up in your head:

It's easy to move around like it's second nature because I know her now.

It takes just as much time as you'd anticipated it to take, even if you moved around the kitchen in a hurry. You come back to the bedroom to find a scene that would've made one hell of a story if only anyone who would listen could even find it in themselves to believe you.

Quite frankly, you doubt that even Angie would believe this story once you get the chance to tell it.

"That's not tissue! Let go! I'll find you some more, I swear!"

"If it's not tissue, then why is it so soft and nice!?"

"It is nice and soft because I take good care of it! Hey stop, that's my favourite jacket- HEY!"

The shock wears off soon enough, allowing you to really take in the scene of Daniela pushing Bela's head away with one hand while using the other to try and pull her beloved jacket out of her older sister's grip. Bela keeps trying to bring the hem of Daniela's jacket to her nose, and Daniela's sweating with effort while looking like she's seriously considering throwing her sister out of the apartment window- If only she could figure out a way to carry the blonde without being treated like a piece of tissue paper first.

You quickly set the tray down on the night stand before Daniela can find a way to act on her thoughts, you jump into the fray. Getting to work on pulling the sisters apart.

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The of you eat chicken soup in silence.

It took a lot of coddling and an infinite amount of forehead kisses to convince Bela to drop the puppy dog eyes and let Daniela's jacket stay untainted. The redhead quietly lamented that she's in warshock after witnessing the normally stoic Bela Dimitrescu beg for you to help her pry the jacket off of her own sister's shoulders.

At that point, Daniela's just thankful to have been saved by you.

Bela's trying her best to look seductive, slowly slurping her soup without breaking eye contact with MC. She sneezes into the soup and Daniela goes from looking weirded out from witnessing Bela's delirious antics, to choking on her own soup because of it. She laughs even as her sides hurt, and she laughs even when Bela chucks a pillow at her sister's head.

You wipe Bela's face clean of soup droplets, valiantly trying to force the laughter bubbling behind your lips only to fail despite your best efforts. Your girlfriend crosses her arms in indignation, and you're almost thankful for the fever because all it takes is a kiss to her cheek for her scowling to cease and be replaced with a lovestruck smile.

Daniela places her own bowl onto the tray before lifting it off the nightstand, replacing it with an unopened tissue box.

"I'll go ahead and wash these up and take my leave. You sure you can handle her, MC?"

A mischievous smile makes its way onto your lips, and you can't find it in yourself to feel sorry for the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

"Better than you and your precious jacket can, Daniela."

The youngest Dimitrescu flips you off over her shoulders before closing the bedroom door. With a shake of your head, you look to Bela who has her arms outstretched towards you. "Now what am I gonna do with you, huh?"

She grins, bright and hazy eyed due to the fever. "You could give me my well deserved cuddles!"

You smile, taking her hands in yours before slipping into bed with her and laying her head down on your chest. In her current state, she deserves to be spoiled- What are you to do but obey when your blonde haired Goddess asks something of you anyways?

The teasing about the chicken soup incident can come tomorrow when the fever breaks and she's back to being fully conscious of the things that are happening. But for now? Small wins are still wins.

"It's a deal sweetheart, but only if you start wearing layers once you're all better."

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Attention all Bela stans: 01-11 has rung the dinner bell. Tonight's course consists of Fluff-infused chicken soup, thank you and enjoy.

#resident lover #resident lover bela dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil bela dimitrescu #Resident Lover MC #Resident Lover Bela Dimitrescu x MC #Resident Lover Bela Dimitrescu x Reader #Bela Dimitrescu x Reader #Bela Dimitrescu x MC #Daniela Dimitrescu #Resident Lover Daniela Dimitrescu

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mygreatadventurehasbegun · 11 months

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Something I’ve been thinking about lot lately are movies that I would introduce to people who haven’t seen many (or any) movies from Classic Hollywood. If a friend came to me and asked me to recommend old movies, what would I choose?

What do I consider Old Hollywood “gateway movies”?

*Originally was going to stick to movies made before 1960, but one 60′s movie could not be ignored.*

Roman Holiday

I’ve heard this referred to as a “reverse Cinderella story” and I think that’s a great description. It’s about a woman who just wants to get away from her stressful life and have fun...even if for only one day. It really has it all...it’s lighthearted, funny, romantic and bittersweet. And while these are in no particular order, this would probably be the first movie I’d suggest to someone.

On The Waterfront

To me, this works as a great introduction because it actually is a bit of a transition movie for Hollywood...and by that I’m referring to the acting style. Nearly every actor in this movie came from The Actor’s Studio, bringing the more grounded, realistic approach to acting that modern audiences are used to (compared to the more presentational style of the 30′s and 40′s). So, this movie is a great way to ease them into Old Hollywood. And the story still feels relevant today...trying to find the courage to stand up to the big guy who has his foot on the back of everyone’s neck...and risk alienating your friends in the process.

The Adventures of Robin Hood

Of course, I was going to recommend this one! This movie is just...so much fun...even if a person is new to Classic Hollywood, they are guaranteed to find something they like about this one. Even if it’s just the swordfights or the score...but honestly, everyone I’ve shown this to has really enjoyed it (even people who don’t like adventure movies).

Casablanca

Yes, this seems like an obvious choice, since it’s one of the greatest movies ever made. But there’s a reason for that. The acting, directing and writing are iconic and you really can’t ask for more. Plus, one of the main points of the story is about sticking it to the Nazi’s. I think we can all (hopefully) agree that that’s a point in this movie’s favor.

12 Angry Men

Another movie that still feels timeless and relevant even after all these years. It discusses themes of class, parent/child relationships, justice, ignorance and so much more, you’d believe it was written today. And the performances from every single actor in that room is outstanding...there are some scenes that are so electric as you feel the tension rising.

How to Steal a Million

Another Audrey movie! This is a perfect option is someone wants to watch a fun, fluffy comedy. It’s light and relatively low-stakes...it almost feels like a send-up of heist movies, except they don’t wink at the camera. It’s just that instead of stealing something because the fate of the nation depends on it, or to stick it to the man...Nicole just wants to steal back something she already owns. And the way they go about it is absurdly hilarious. The chemistry between our two leads helps a lot, as they are so much fun to watch.

Summer Stock

If I was only going to recommend one musical from back then, I’d have to recommend Summer Stock! Not just because it’s one of my favorites, but because I do think it’s a fairly good choice to ease someone into older musicals. It’s not super elaborate and grand...no Busby Berkely musical numbers or elaborate sequences...just a bunch of people trying to put on a show. And the love story between Joe and Jane feels so real and grounded...no love at first sight, no enemies to lovers...just two people who happen to be perfect for each other, and were lucky enough to meet. This is Gene Kelly and Judy Garland at their best and I want other people to see it.

Rear Window

And if they wanted to see a Hitchcock movie, but maybe aren’t super into horror...I think I’d start them off with Rear Window. This isn’t a traditional scary movie...as with most Hitchcock movies, it’s all about the tension. But it isn’t released with jump scare and music stingers. And around the tension, you have this romantic drama between James Stewart and Grace Kelly, which is so fun to watch (and we can’t forget Thelma Ritter and her one-liners!)

And once they become hooked, the next round of films I’d suggest would be: A Streetcar Named Desire, The Maltese Falcon, Psycho, The Philadelphia Story, The Heiress, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and Meet Me in St. Louis.

Any that you would add?

#roman holiday #rear window #summer stock #on the waterfront #the adventures of robin hood #how to steal a million #casablanca #12 angry men

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 4 months

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1957 Chevy

The Legendary “Black Widow” 1957 Chevy: A Piece of Racing History

When it comes to legendary cars, the 1957 Chevrolet, also known as the “Black Widow,” holds a special place in the hearts of car enthusiasts. However, few people know the intriguing story behind this iconic vehicle. In this article, we will take you on a journey through time and explore the fascinating history of the Black Widow.

The Secret Support Behind the Scenes

In the 1950s, car manufacturers were prohibited from directly promoting racing. Nevertheless, behind closed doors, Chevrolet found a way to support the racing community. They collaborated with a company called SEDCO to build a limited number of race-ready 1957 Chevys. Only 18 of these incredible vehicles were ever produced.

Unleashing the Beast

To create the ultimate racing machine, Chevrolet started with the lightest model available, the no-frills 150 utility sedan. They then equipped these cars with high-performance drivelines that would leave their competitors in awe. The Black Widows proved to be astonishingly fast, setting records and securing multiple victories on the track.

Restoring the Legend

One particular Black Widow has undergone an extensive body-off-frame restoration, meticulously recreating its original glory. The attention to detail is impeccable, resulting in a pristine body that is arguably even better than when it first rolled off the factory floor.

Exquisite Exterior

Painted in the iconic Black Widow colors of Onyx Black and India Ivory, the exterior of this restored beauty is nothing short of breathtaking. Every panel is laser straight, and the gaps are precise. There isn’t a hint of rust or damage to be found. The flawless paint job has been polished to a mirror-like finish, allowing you to see your own reflection. It’s like holding history in your hands.

Interior Simplicity

Inside the Black Widow, you’ll find a minimalist design that emphasizes performance over luxury. There are no frills, not even a back seat! The rear windows are stationary, and amenities such as armrests, visors, and even a dome light are absent. However, this simplicity only adds to the car’s authenticity and racing pedigree.

Attention to Detail

No aspect of the Black Widow’s restoration has been overlooked, including the trunk compartment. Painted in glossy white, it exudes cleanliness and attention to detail. A reproduction mat, seat divider, and weatherstrip have been added to complete the authentic look. Even the spare tire matches the original style with its 6 lug pattern and reproduction Firestone tire.

The Heart of a Champion

Under the hood lies a highly detailed engine compartment that exemplifies show-quality craftsmanship. The 283 cubic-inch V8 engine has been built to its original 283 horsepower specifications, complete with a correct factory fuel injection setup. Not only does it look stunning, but it also performs flawlessly. With a responsive throttle and a distinctive idle, this powerhouse truly embodies the spirit of a race car.

A Masterpiece Underneath

The detailed restoration extends to the underside of the car as well. The chassis has been meticulously prepped and painted in a smooth gloss black finish. Every component has been rebuilt, replaced, restored, and detailed to match the original specifications. The Black Widow features front and rear sway bars, as well as the unique duplication of two shocks at each rear wheel for enhanced performance.

A True Muscle Car

With its completely rebuilt brake system, all-new fuel system, and Flowmaster dual exhaust, this Black Widow not only looks and sounds like a classic muscle car but also performs like one. The spotless Chevy Orange engine block, lower plug wire shielding, canister-type oil filter, restored starter, and dated 1957 transmission all contribute to creating an authentic driving experience. The floors, braces, and rockers have been meticulously restored to their original factory red oxide primer finish.

#1957 Chevy #car #cars #chevy #chevrolet

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superstar-nan · 2 months

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Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 8

Summary: Springtrap finally gets some action, and it only took 8 chapters.

Words: 4,869

Fun stuff: Gore, violence, and blood. Descriptions of undead bodies. Swearing. Toxic relationships. This one's heavy on the toxicity, but it's mutual toxicness.

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Something cold and spongy stroked your head. The touch was slow and tender; you were warmed. You stirred just slightly, leaning into the gentle touch, but that stopped it. It withdrew from you and you sighed against the pillow.

After a few moments, a weight left your side. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was dark when your eyes fluttered open.

You were better rested than you thought you’d be. You sat up in Michael’s dark room. The bathroom and the living room were obscured by shadow, and Michael was nowhere to be seen. You checked the time.

1:37 AM

That bastard left you.

You bolted up with life, stumbling into your shoes and snagging your cell phone. You rushed into the living room and swung your heavy tote bag over your shoulder. You checked your pockets and bag for your keys. You flipped on the light, shielding your eyes from the brightness for a moment, before checking the counter. No keys.

You opened the door. Your car was gone. That bastard left you and took your car.

You slammed the door shut, the force shaking the whole living room. You ground your teeth as you pulled out your phone. If Michael thought for a single second that he could dissuade you from facing Springtrap by stealing your car , he had no idea how stubborn you were.

Or how easy it was to call for an Uber.

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You were still seething in the back of the Uber by the time it pulled up to Fazbear’s Fright. Your arms were crossed as you glared out the window.

“...This is where you want to be dropped off?” The driver said, tentatively.

“Yeah.”

She looked at your mysterious heavy duffle bag through the rear view mirror, then to the abandoned building, “Okay...”

You made sure to tip her very well.

You stood in front of the building with your duffle bag over your shoulder as you waited for the Uber to drive out of sight. It was as unexceptional as ever, lights flickering with a dull buzz. You couldn’t stroll through the front door. It was locked and you doubted Michael could abandon the panels long enough to let you in without Springtrap murdering him. And that would be if he’d let you in at all.

Though, while Michael couldn’t let you in, you knew who would.

You unzipped your duffle bag and pulled out your axe as you made your way to the back door. You were as still as a statue as you stared at the entrance. It was only your third night at Fazbear’s Fright (which was already shocking, it felt like your eighth night at least!), but with each night your apprehension waned. Instead, something strange was slowly replacing it: a dark and grim excitement. That in and of itself stalled you.

However, your feelings were never the forerunner of your actions. If they were, you would have never returned to this place.

You knocked on the door.

You held your breath.

The dull buzz seemed quiet compared to the pounding in your chest.

The lights flickered just a touch too long.

The door clicked.

Your stomach flipped. You would be a fool to rush for the door now, and yet you wanted to. You were being hunted again —you knew this. But this time, for some unknown ungodly reason, it felt like a game. You looked at your tote bag, filled with all kinds of traps and tricks to hurt him, and you knew it was a game. A deranged, dangerous, sure-to-end-in-someone-dying game, but still a game. Maybe it was always a game for Springtrap. Now, it was your game as much as it was its.

And it wanted to play even more than you did.

You pulled out your best friend’s phone out of your pocket. Your resolve hardened when your eyes landed on the shattered background of the two of you. You tapped on the tracking app and hovered your thumb over the earbuds icon.

It was still here at Fazbear’s Fright... The audio would likely attract Springtrap to it—the killer or the robot. As much as you’d love to plunge your hand into his chest again (and you really would love to do that), you didn’t imagine you could pull that off a second time without getting caught by someone at the attraction or Springtrap’s deadly claws. You would have to start and stop the audio as you approached it, estimating where to find it... and maybe where you’d find your...

You swallowed, thickly. You tapped on the earbuds icon. You grabbed the door’s handle and pulled it open in one quick, wide swing.

There was no sound.

You used your hand to soften the noise of the door closing behind you and then checked your best friend’s phone again. A small picture of earbuds hovered over Fazbear’s Fright, and a little audio que was right next to it? There should have been a noise playing, but you were only met with the static buzz of the poor ventilation system.

You quickly and quietly moved away from the exit. You knew how the game was played. You played it before. You set down one of your toys, silently, as you moved deeper into the attraction.

Listen, scan, step, listen, scan, step—

Your heart beat was drumming wildly against your chest. Where was the sound? Could the animatronic have already found it? No, that wasn’t right. Even if it had, you would have been able to hear it in his chest.

You gently put down another toy— Listen, scan, step .

The app showed that it was here . It was here, somewhere in the building. It just... It just had to be too quiet. That was the only explanation that you could think of: it was too quiet and was drowned by the buzz of the ventilation.

Listen, scan, step, listen— Speaking of too quiet...

You weren’t far into the attraction, but you already felt like you were losing. You were too distracted. Too comfortable , if that was possible. Sweat dripped from your face. Every shadow was a monster and every sound was a threat.

The pressure was heavy. Your breathing, no matter how much you slowed it, felt too fast. You swallowed, dry as sandpaper, to calm your nerves. And then you remembered your toys.

Even if you didn’t know where he was, you still wanted to try them out. Oh, how you wished you could be there to see him fall for it, but even your bravery had its limits. You slowly pulled out the remote of the first toy you set down.

Just like the night before, a childlike song played, muffled with distance. You didn’t hear mechanical steps trudging toward it, no matter how you strained. Fear struck like a spear in your heart, but then you heard heavy movement in the vents, slowly dragging toward the song. Still, your brow furrowed. The song shouldn’t have been much louder than the noise from the earbuds. Where was it?

You were startled by a distant but loud SNAP , then immediately a striking ZAP . Your smile widened.

Even as you passed the Chica head, the presents, the arcade machines, the dangling stars, the Bonnie torso , you heard only the droning of the ventilation. And when the ventilation turned off, you heard nothing. Each step you could feel yourself losing focus for panic. It didn’t make any sense! It couldn’t have been in the vents, you would’ve heard it echoing across the walls and floors and-

... Inside the walls was somewhere you hadn’t checked. They looked thick. Maybe thick enough to hide noise. It didn’t make too much sense, how could something get in the walls in the first place? Wouldn’t an employee notice a hole in the wall? Though, a spark of hope lit in your chest. Your best friend, clever and quick, could have hidden in the walls to escape the animatronic, and their earbuds just slipped out while they were hiding. Or, they could still be there , trapped somehow behind a soundproof barrier. That would explain their disappearance. That would-

You were grabbed, violently . Pain burned against your neck and your arm from behind you. You swung your axe with everything you had with your free arm, burying it into a rotten, metal foot. Something vicious and rasping hissed behind you, and you were let go.

You grabbed the axe with two hands and pulled, tumbling forward. You whipped around. You weren’t paying attention! You should’ve listened closer! You should have set another toy off! You should have been more alert, how could you be so stupid! You should have-

Springtrap, rotten and evil , was holding your tote bag. Your face paled. Your palms tightened around the axe in your hands. It was your last defense.

He dumped the toys, remotes, and tools out on the ground. His grin never moved—it couldn’t—but Springtrap’s silver eyes bore sharp and annoyed daggers into you, if being annoyed could be so cold. It was fantastic .

A bitter grin stretched across your face, “What? Were my toys too shocking ?” God, you were hilarious. You looked at the toys you rigged to electrify scattered across the floor, and your grin turned into a vicious grimace, “I hope it hurt. ”

You wanted to see it furious. You didn’t care how dangerous it was, you wanted to see rage in those too-human eyes, not just cold annoyance. You wanted to provoke its anger, but you hadn’t. Instead, robotic eyes scanned you soullessly. Subtle clicks of metal ticked behind its silver eyes. Your breath quickened. The longer it looked at you—burying its unrelenting and vile eyes into you—the more difficult it was to hold onto your rage in place of fear.

And then it took one loud , mechanical step. You couldn’t stop yourself from startling. Your warmth and bravery drained from you. You stepped back. You could’ve sworn the thing’s grin widened somehow. Fear crashed through your veins. You tightened your grip on your axe.

Another loud mechanical step. You stumbled back again. Your face grew hot. Silver eyes looked pleased . That was the last thing you wanted. It wasn’t fair the fear this thing instilled in you. It wasn’t fair that your anger couldn’t overpower your fear. It wasn’t fair that with all your hatred and fury, you couldn’t weaponize it.

One last mechanical step, and you bolted. You pushed off the floor as fast as you could away from Springtrap. You weren’t fast enough. It grabbed your arm and threw you against the wall. You slammed against it hard , breath forced out of your lungs. At the first sight of dingy green, you used both arms to swing your axe downward. A sharp, piercing hiss stung your ears.

Somehow, you cut something—his arm. You didn’t get a moment to celebrate. You lifted the axe again, and he grabbed your arm. Suddenly, the world spun around and you felt nauseous. Your arm was twisted painfully behind you. Your axe clattered to the floor. Your back was to Springtrap. You were kicking and clawing at him to let you go, twisting madly to loosen his grip. You vaguely heard an artificial child’s laughter in another room, but that didn’t matter. You were making too much noise. Even if you weren’t, now that Springtrap had you it could just drag you with it.

Your struggling all stopped when a large, rotten set of claws lightly grazed the sensitive skin of your collar. You froze, deathly still. You stopped breathing. Your heart hammered wildly in your ears. You were certain he could feel it, too. You heard the whirring of machinery behind you. It was worse that you couldn’t see him.

Metal nails like daggers trailed up your jaw. You tilted your head up, conceding to the claws so close to puncturing your skin. You shuddered against its touch; too light to give you the reprieve of pain but too heavy to let you forget. The mechanisms in the suit behind you clicked and burred. You slammed your eyes shut as you swallowed against his claws.

Two sharp clicks sounded beside you. A strange, crackling and vintage noise came and then fizzled out beside your ear. You furrowed your brow. It was only when it came and failed a second time that you realized it was Springtrap’s voice box.

The grip on your arm tightened, and you winced. Instead of trying to speak a third time, sharpened claws idly and softly drew something onto your skin. You didn’t respond after he finished—how could you? You were too busy puzzling out what he was doing—and that was a mistake. He twisted your arm painfully behind you. You inhaled sharply against the bend and strain, contorting your back in a strange arc to alleviate the pain. You felt your bones creak under your flesh. You went pale at that.

The animatronic didn’t slacken his iron and immovable grip or move to give you any relief. Instead, it slowly began drawing again. The threat was clear: pay attention or he will snap your arm in half. You paid very close attention this time.

Its “drawings” were letters:

“ Beg? ” You said, and your breath was gaining weight. Subtle gear clicks came from the animatronic behind you. He didn’t make any move to lessen the pressure on your twisted arm, but it didn’t matter. The pain was completely lost to you. You were no longer pale, you were hot. You saw red . You could have laughed—as if you would ever beg! As if he could EVER do ANYTHING to make you beg for HIM! But you were too angry. You couldn’t even let out a chuckle.

You tilted your head completely up to where you could look the animatronic in those cruel, vile, silver eyes of his. At least seven feet tall, Springtrap towered over you. Its eyes looked expectant. Impatient even, like you had taken too long already. You felt venom on your tongue.

“You’ll see hell before you ever hear me beg.” You hissed between your teeth.

The animatronic didn’t look angry or surprised. Instead, there was a pretend disappointment—lidded eyes slanted in faux sympathy, a slight tilt to his head, gentle clicks of metal mimicking tuts . He was a parent scolding a child instead of a monster terrorizing victims. His mockery made your blood run hot.

Suddenly, he forcefully tilted your head to the left, a sharp pain shooting along your jaw. Cold, putrid, impossible breath tickled your exposed neck. There was no way it needed to breathe. He was trying to scare you.

It worked.

You started to thrash against him, renewed urgency fueling your fire. But no matter how much you kicked and scratched and twisted and fought, you couldn’t shake its iron grip. You heard more whirring machinery, and then a strong, loud click.

You froze at the sound of decayed flesh against metal. You were so close to him. You could hear the corpse inside the suit. Sticky, wet peeling and squelching with mechanical ticks. You felt sick.

And then you felt pain.

You screamed. Lacerations like fire made you lose your mind. From your arm to your neck, pain stabbed into you. It throbbed in a shredded anguish. You convulsed against it, but that only deepened the piercing pain. Tears rolled down your cheeks as your scream crumpled into a weak cry. You opened your eyes. The rotten rabbit’s head was beside yours. Blood soaked your chest.

He bit you. He bit you .

The pain numbed and burned, and you were crying and you hated that you were crying. When your body stopped twitching, its teeth released you in a wet, slick squelch. It hurt sharp and quick. You swallowed a sob.

...He bit you, so why were you not dead?

Your head was lowered as the animatronic supported your weight. In the blinding pain, he had let go of your twisted arm, now his large metal claws keeping you upright by your waist. His other hand was gently holding your arm, the arm he bit that burned and throbbed . The way he held you was strange. Before, he was clutching you like an animal to be slaughtered. Now, he was soft in a facsimile of affection; your body a fragile doll to be handled with care.

As if to mock the point forward, he caught your tears with soothing, rotten fingertips. Even as tiny sobs left your lips, he wiped the tears away soft enough to be caring—or rather, a twisted imitation of caring.

You leaned into the touch, and the animatronic froze.

You let out a soft, shaken sigh against his fingertips. You caressed his hand in turn, your fingers so small compared to his giant rotten claws. You let your breath warm the cold of his metal and rot, gently rubbing the tears from your cheek on his slitten, soiled palm. You leaned softly into his grip on your waist. In your weakness, you melted into the false affection from the terrible, vile creature.

Machinery clicked and ticked in a way that seemed stunted. His body didn’t move, only letting you lean into him as invisible mechanisms maneuvered beneath his second skin. You vaguely heard the crackling of his voice box, popping as though it was short circuiting.

You surprised him. Good. You would surprise him again.

You slammed your jaw down as hard as you could around his fingers.

After spending so much time with Michael, you were used to the rancid smell of decomposing flesh. What you were not used to was the taste. Putrid and foul, mold seeped onto your tongue and you were tasting disease incarnate...with a hint of iron. It was so awful, you started to retch against your bite. However, when Springtrap flinched, he became the best thing you ever tasted.

Springtrap grabbed your arm and threw you to the floor. Your teeth were sore from being ripped away so forcefully. You scrambled back, kicking one of your toys so that it slid across the floor far away from you. You didn’t dart off the floor in a sprint, no matter how much your legs begged you to. Instead you kept your eyes trained on Springtrap—tall, rotting, and terrifying—as he stalked toward you, one loud mechanical stomp after the next.

You didn’t make any effort to hide the fear in your expression as you backed away from him, as silent as you could. As much as you wished it were an act, it wasn’t. He truly terrified you. Of course he did, and he wanted that. You knew he needed your fear. He was entranced by it; drunk off it. You didn’t think you would ever see so much desire in someone as you did Springtrap when you were afraid. You didn’t think anyone could want you as much as Springtrap did when you were covered in blood, cowering from him.

And so he took his time, his jaw dripping in your blood and hanging low, hinting at the corpse beneath the suit. He was drawing out your fear with each anticipatory step just like he had your first night at the attraction. Your back hit a wall and you pressed against it; it was a support to you. From the moment he slowed his steps that first night, slamming against arcade cabinets to taste your fear, you hated him. Now, you still hated him, but his slow steps weren’t frightening you. They were buying you time.

His fingers were inches from your face when you pressed the remote in your hand.

Springtrap froze when the toy you kicked away lit up in bright colors and loud music. A grin stretched across your face, your fear giving way to smug satisfaction. Even the throbbing of your bloodied neck and arm couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, and it only widened when his fingers shook—desperate to stay in control.

You weren’t safe. William could somehow wrestle enough control to grab you. He was holding out pretty well, struggling to remain in place despite the music loudly singing behind him. That couldn’t stop you from gloating. You feigned surprise at the noise, a hand coming to your silent gasp. You overacted a pout, as if you were so sad to see him go, waving him goodbye.

Silver eyes were livid . Rage emanated off of him like smoke . You could see how desperately he wanted to bury his hands into your organs—to soak in your blood.

It was incredible . Your head felt light from his madness, and you would have laughed if you could. If your fear made him drunk, his anger was your drug.

An audio cue from Michael in the same direction as your toy was Springtrap’s turning point. Human eyes became robotic ones; anger ceded to coding. Curiously, the robotic eyes scanned you once over, and it was enough to wake you from your satisfaction. You furrowed your brow as eyes that held nothing human stared at you intently. Why wasn’t it moving? You hadn’t made any noise. Was there something else in its coding that you didn’t know about, or...?

You got a weird feeling.

Finally, it turned, forced and unnatural. Its eyes stayed on you as you slipped away quietly, using the animatronics loud steps to mask your own.

Your steps were nothing more than quiet taps against tiled floor as you hurried to the front office. As much as you wished you could continue the search for your best friend, your wound began to burn fiercely without the adrenaline of fear and excitement. You needed to assess the damage in a safe place.

You tried not to think about Spring Bonnie’s bizarre pause, but you couldn’t help how nervous it made you. You shouldn’t have been separating Spring Bonnie and William in the first place; they had been fused together so long they were a new creature. But it made dissecting Springtrap’s behavior easy, so you did.

William was predictable: he wanted to scare you, hurt you, and then kill you in that order. Spring Bonnie wanted to play and to be where the party was, so why did it ignore the party for so long? You knew for a fact that it wasn’t William staring at you; if not by its robotic eyes, then by the lack of sweet rage in its features. Did it... want to keep playing with you? Could the animatronics gain favoritism? You would have to ask Michael when you get the chance.

You held your shoulder. You looked at your hand, coated in blood. God , Springtrap was so disgusting. You would have to dump a bottle of hand sanitizer on your wound just to keep it from getting infected. Hopefully, Michael kept first aid supplies with him and not just by his bedside.

You heard your toy shatter in the distance, but no zap. You ran faster.

You flew past the office window, spying Michael ducked in front of the camera panel. You didn’t realize how tense you were until the relief of seeing him washed over you like cool water. You hurried into the office.

“ What are you doing here?! ” Michael’s harsh whisper stung almost as sharp as the bleeding wound on your chest. So much for relief.

You ignored his venomous whisper as you went to grab the control panel, but just as you were about to take it, Michael snatched it away. You looked at him, offended, but he kicked his backpack to you.

“Bandages. And antiseptic.” He couldn’t take his void eyes off the screens—frantic scanning and stressed swiping.

You grabbed the control panel anyway, and he almost stopped his focus just to grab it back, “I can do both.” You said, and you really could. It wasn’t that hard to tap reboot every couple of seconds, especially when you weren’t concentrating on playing hide-and-seek with a killer.

Michael narrowed those sallow eyes of his, dark and glancing, “You’re covered in blood.”

You sat down by the trash can. You tapped the panel to reboot the audio and then dragged Michael’s backpack to you. “Thanks for the heads up,” you rolled your eyes, your tone a little sharper than you anticipated, but who could blame you. You were bleeding out, afterall. “Also, you stole my car, asshole.”

“You should have stayed home,” He said, eyes darting from camera to camera. For a brief second, you found it odd that he referred to his place as ‘home’ instead of ‘my home’ or ‘my place’ . You didn’t know why that stuck out to you.

You shuffled through Michael’s bag. You pulled out a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a few cotton swabs. You didn’t want Michael to know you were glad you came. Yes, you had disgusting, throbbing gashes all along your neck, chest, and arm—that wasn’t great. But you figured out a theory of where your best friend could be, you successfully tested out contraptions that gave you the ability to outmaneuver Springtrap, and—most enthralling and terrible of all—you made Springtrap boil with rage. Besides being bitten into, the night was a success. And even being bitten wasn’t so...

You rebooted the ventilation before inspecting your wound. You hissed when you used your fingers to prod at the gashes. They weren��t that deep, but they were deep enough. You took out your phone and used the reverse camera to get a better view. You were almost startled at what you saw. There wasn’t just one set of teeth marks, but two . One large set of uniform-like marks encircled smaller, jagged and uneven ones right at the crook of your shoulder.

It wasn’t just the animatronic that bit you. The corpse did too.

You waited for the rage to wash over you, the anger to burn like a fire through your veins. It didn’t come, however, and you were beginning to understand why.

“How...” Michael had briefly glanced at you, a slight crease to his dark brow. You looked at him, your expression without cold or heat. You rebooted the audio again, before returning your gaze to encourage him to continue. “ How are you not dead? ”

Your eyes widened slightly. Michael had so many secrets and knew so many mysteries that you were shocked you knew something he didn’t. You dabbed antiseptic on cotton as you said, “Isn’t it obvious?”

Michael shot you a quick, annoyed look. You ignored it as you began to wipe the blood from your shoulder with a hiss of breath. It stung, sharp and sour. It was better that it burned than festered, however.

“I’m fun. He likes me.”

Another sharp glance came from Michael, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” You could see how your statement sounded like a joke. However, you knew it was true, and you knew it because you weren’t angered by two rows of teeth marks. “Spring Bonnie likes to play and your dad likes to chase. I’m terrified of him, but I still take risks. I wander the attraction like a carrot on a stick, but I keep escaping death just in time. I’m fun . He likes me, so he wants to keep playing the game.”

Michael looked horrified —his brow twisted, his mouth open in shock, and his void eyes blown wide. You had never seen an expression so clearly written on his decayed features, but underneath the horror, you could see understanding in his eyes. He knew his serial killer father, and he knew you were right.

He didn’t know how right you were, however. As you dabbed at your stinging wound, you knew that while everything you said was true, it wasn’t all of it. You were fun to it and he did like you, but there was something more; the reason you weren’t angered by two rows of teeth marks.

There was... a strange intimacy between you and Springtrap, one you were loathsome but compliant to admit. It was an intimacy that replaced romance with hatred and sex with violence, but the desire and elation remained. It was why your head felt light when thinking about him in pain, and why you didn’t hide the scars he left on you. It was why you weren’t acting when you leaned into his touch, caressing his claws as they dabbed at your tears. You believed he wasn’t acting either when he gave you faux tenderness.

And the icing on the twisted, corrupt cake? While you were in deep (too deep for your liking and sanity), Springtrap was in deeper . You knew this because of one simple fact: You were alive . He had the chance to kill you when he took a bite of your neck, and he didn’t . You had no doubt, no hesitation that if you had the chance to kill him, he would be dead where he stood .

That was his weakness. He wanted to keep playing, but you wanted to win.

You knew this ‘intimacy’ was poison. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from drinking it. Your anger was a fire, and you would happily be consumed by it if it meant so did he.

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vintage-tigre · 7 months

Text

Grace Kelly playing piano, 1954

#grace kelly #hollywood glamour #aesthetic #vintage #old school cool #50s icons #50s pinup #50s movies #50s fashion #piano #music #rear window

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diabolus1exmachina · 1 year

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Alfa Romeo Disco Volante by Touring Superleggera

The Disco Volante is a two-seater Gran Turismo. It is based on the Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione coupé with its front-central mounted 4.7 litre V8 engine and a transaxle rear drive with unmodified specifications. Each unit, of which the construction requires 4,000 hours of manual work.The present Disco Volante celebrates the myth of the 1952 style icon. The new design briefing required to blend ingredients as innovation, emotion and aerodynamic properties into a timeless and essential shape.During the development stage, Head of Design Louis de Fabribeckers and his team cooperated with the engineers on an almost daily basis. “We focused on the preservation of the design essence. – says de Fabribeckers – Once the design frozen, we had to understand the manufacturing problems and solve them right away without compromising the design.”In consistency with the car’s design philosophy the interior has a ‘science fiction’ feel to it. Part of this ‘spaceship’ atmosphere was created by elements like the red LED interior light profiles. Also, aeronautics has been the inspiration for parts like the dashboard, instruments and seat adjustment lever.The Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione chassis was chosen for its light and rigid structure and its outstanding dynamic properties. Therefore it forms the perfect basis for the coach-built bodywork of the Disco Volante, integrally conserving the rolling chassis and drive train.The Alfa Romeo 8C’s steel space-frame and other structural elements were retained to guarantee torsion stiffness, high performance and the quality standard. The frame members and the central carbon cell remained unchanged. Elements of the underpinning and the body, such as the engine bay and firewall, the windscreen and cowl, the a-pillar and the locks and hinges have been retained too, just as the dashboard and instruments, the pedals and the steering wheel. Parts like doorframes, the roof frame and the c-pillar have been modified to match with the new shape.The layout of a front-central mounted engine, a transaxle transmission and rear-wheel drive offers an optimal weight distribution of 49-51% between the front and rear axles. To ensure excellent handling the front and rear double-wishbone suspension scheme is combined with hub carriers of forged aluminium and additional trailing arms for the rear suspension.The lightweight and compact 4.7 litre V8 engine delivers 450HP and 480Nm peak torque. It is coupled with a six-speed sequential transaxle gearbox with electronic control and paddle-shift gear selection. Together with a limited-slip differential and a state-of-the-art braking system with large diameter, ventilated discs a precise, dynamic and proactive drive is ensured. The Disco Volante can accelerate from 0 to 100 km/h (0-62 mph) in 4,2 seconds and has a top speed of about 290 km/h (181 mph).

All new and modified components of the Disco Volante have been CAD designed. In this process, which covers feasibility, safety, homologation, aerodynamics and structural analysis, the most advanced IT tools and simulation techniques have been used.

Since torsion stiffness and noise reduction are of critical importance, special attention has been paid to the under-body structure and its elements, like the tubular frames supporting the rear wings and bumper, and the roll bar joining the c-pillars. Other complex design issues were the tailgate hinges, the 3d-cambered door window, and the front wheel covers.

The Disco Volante was then submitted to a CFD aerodynamic study to enhance the airflow and ensure optimal downforce in the rear section. After that, FEM calculations were run to assess resistance and rigidity of all parts subject to homologation.

Touring Superleggera is synonymous with the manufacture of lightweight bodywork. The weight advantage of aluminium is one of the assets of Touring Superleggera’s construction methods. Nowadays however, the craft of hand-beating aluminium panels is combined with the use of carbon fibre reinforced plastic (CFRP). For the Disco Volante, Touring decided to use this combination of aluminium and CFRP. This has been the result of a study conducted to define optimal use of materials for the bodywork in terms of weight, resistance, precision, finish and quality, and ease of repair in case of damage.

The CFRP is used for specific components like the front bumper and grille, the bonnet, the skirts, the boot lid and the integrated rear-window frame. The bonnet and the boot lid are sandwich-built with Nomex filler in-between to obtain a better stiffness/weight ratio and to dampen vibration and noise.

The aluminium panels are hand-beaten using an epoxy mould. Since the inner frames of most parts of the bodywork are made of CFRP, this requires gluing of aluminium on carbon fibre. This technique adds to the rigidity as the glue has structural properties.

The body panels are pre-assembled on a laser measurement platform using a jig. This ensures that the strict tolerance required is respected. After adjustment, the panels are either welded or glued. The body-in-white is then used to preassemble and fit all trim components, brightware and moulding.

#Alfa Romeo Disco Volante #touring superleggera #8C Competizione

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toomanybandstocare · 2 years

Text

{Pictures of You, The Cure}

Program: Moving on is so much fucking harder than everyone lets on. Even you do try to work through your feelings and still hang out with your best friend, the new addition to his life can't let you truly feel like you have a place in his life anymore. It's just another night crying in the arms of the one person you stayed with you through it all.

Pairing: Best friend! Eddie Munson x GN, Heartbroken! Reader, Platonic(ish)! Steve Harrington x GN, Platonic(ish)! Reader

Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, Learning to move on

Warnings: couple of swears, pet name (babe, dove, missus referring to Chrissy), references to weed, allusions to sex (nothing graphic), heartbreak, trying to move on, slight jealousy, angst, unrequited love

Length: 2316w

Series Program | Camp Upside Down Masterlist

Counselor Notes: Again, thank you so much for the love on the last two parts! <3 I think there's going to be one more part as the finale, and it's probably going to hurt.

Camper List: @girlsvvish @darklingbrekksov @couseland @thoughtfulsweetsharmony

The familiar engine hum and musky scent of lingering THC and nicotine should have welcomed you as you sank into the beat-in passenger seat. Instead, the cacophony of wistful scents now clash with an unbearable ring that vibrates through your skull. Swallowing deep breaths to hold yourself together, the heavy aromas sneak into your system and longing squeezes your airway.

Your lost home on the road, once littered with cigarette buds and cassette cases, now proudly brandishes a green ribbon tied on the rear view window. A varsity cardigan hastily thrown into the back seat when Eddie picked you up that afternoon.

You fidget and sink deeper into the seat, wishing it would swallow you whole and spit you back into the safety of your home, as you take in the new addition to the van. Eyes focusing on your fingers wringing together in your lap, bouncing to his knuckles rapping on the steering wheel, and landing on a polaroid of the future you pined for.

A photo of a young woman, wearing the iconic devil baseball tee, lays on Eddie’s bed and holds his Warlock guitar. You used to dream for the day he would use it to serenade you. Securely tucked onto the main dashboard, it solidifies your place in Eddie’s life.

You pull your gaze away to watch the blurring tree line outside the side window and rapidly bat the runaway tears trying to escape their confinement. He really didn’t have a clue, did he? Or maybe he’s just cruel enough to ignore your pain to hold onto the fading memories of a best friend.

Scoffing at the sudden remembrance of all the promises to hang out, you quickly cover up your contempt with a cough.

“You okay? Got some water in the back seat if you need it,” Eddie reaches behind your seat with one hand on the wheel.

You roll your eyes and grasp his arm with little emotion to stop him. “I’m fine, Eddie. Just some dust,” you pause and send him a slight shit eating grin, “Or maybe it’s the fact you never air out this goddamn van. Nearly got hit with a wall of your stench.”

He barks out a laugh and moves his arm out of your grasp to point at you, “Don’t talk about her like that. You know you love her just as much as I do- hell, I even remember saving you from close calls with curfew when you lost track of time at parties.” Eddie playfully slaps your thigh, leaving a faded fuzz in its spot when he puts his hand back to the wheel.

“Yeah, sure,” you wince at how hoarse your voice sounds. Gulping, you try to even out your speech, “I swear I’m being fucking hot boxed from just the accumulated smell of weed.”

Pulling into the turn off for Lovers Lake and parking the van so the back faces the water, Eddie squints at you in dramatic thought. Comically sniffing the air and then pulling his jacket up to his nose, he pauses and slowly turns to look at you. Eddie moves slightly out of his seat and over the center console to invade your space. Tucking his head against the base of your neck, everything stops for a moment. His curls burn with their soft tickles against the column of your throat. The long missed proximity jumps your heart into a frenzy. Oxygen stops as it concentrates in your lungs to feed the fire rushing in your veins. His deep, warm gaze connects with your wide eyes.

“I think it’s just your rank attitude, dove,” he jokes.

The light headed buzz bursts with the flick of his finger hitting your forehead.

Your jaw drops as you watch Eddie climb out of the van and close the door without a second glance. Fumbling with the latch, hot waves of anger wash over your body. He better have something to numb every ounce of pain he’s caused, whether unintentional or not. Nearly falling out of the van, you march to the back and open your mouth ready to unleash hell.

Whirling the corner, all words dissolve on your tongue and leave a melancholy taste.

Eddie sits on the back ledge, bundled in the blanket the two of you used to build sleepover forts. Next to him, a cooler packed with each of your favorite drinks and snacks.

Eddie watches in giddy excitement as you recognize each piece of his surprise. The polaroid camera you gifted him after Corroded Coffin’s first gig sits in his lap. Opening the blanket bundle, Eddie invites you to join him, “We got a lot to catch up on, huh?”

A searing nervous glee stings as it concentrates on your lash line. You stumble into the embrace you long yearned for and shake your head. “I’ll let your little attitude comment slide. But, only because you got the watermelon ring pops.”

With ease, the two of you settle into lost routine and share stories of the past few months. The scowl scarring your face slowly smoothes into a sincere smile.

Your grin grows as Eddie animatedly recalls how Gareth managed to get stuck on top of a wire fence when they were on the run from a busted house party.

Laughter dances with the descending sun. A staged gasp slips past your aching lips as Eddie reenacts the final moments of the club member’s characters against Vecna.

The tension locked across your shoulders snaps when you throw a nerd for your friend to catch. With the dull collision of his head against the van’s wall, watching as the candy bounce off Eddie’s chuckling form, your heart fills with childlike joy.

Searing flashes blind you from noticing darkening sky and the pom poms tucked behind the back seat. The whirligig gears grind along with shared giggles. Terrible selfie attempts with half a face missing and secret candids piles between the reunited friends.

Whispers sing with the cricket symphony as you and Eddie point out the constellations hanging above. His arm outstretched behind you, so he can hold himself up and direct you to the new one he learned. The scent of worn leather and cinnamon cloud your mind.

You can’t help that Eddie holds your attention better than the unforgiving night sky. The deep hum of his sleepy voice depicts far more happy stories than what the stars have in store for you.

Stopping mid sentence, Eddie looks to the owner of the fervent gaze bruning into the side of his face. Catching you mid-stare, an amused smile forms across his expression as you jump a little. If he can distract you from whatever is causing you so much turmoil, then he’s happy to steal you away from reality for a bit. Pushing onto the forest ground, he stretches to release the growing ache settling in his arms and ruffle his hair to help him wake up.

Unable to stop your eyes from following the rise of Eddie’s band tee, you can’t look away from the faded scratch marks spanning the expanse of his lower muscles. Written declarations of commitment and adoration to a lover that would never be you.

Breaking your gaze and shuffling through the photos laying in your lap, tears silently stream down the side of your face and slip onto the smiling Eddie staring up at you.

“Ready to head back, dove? I gotta get back to the missus- promised we would watch a movie tonight,” Eddie calls from the front seat. The sappy tone of admiration slaps you back to reality.

You slowly push away the lukewarm blanket and place the polaroids on top. Not taking a single one. “Yeah, just making sure we got everything,” your airy response wavers.

Lumbering into the passenger seat, the engine’s hum comes to life as well as the numbness resting in your bones as Eddie shares his date night plans. His rambling, that you once adored, now scratches the back of your mind like nails on a chalkboard. Originally feeling slightly guilty, you now feel grateful for making your own movie night plans.

As he pulls into your driveway, the distinct pang of jealousy flares in Eddie’s chest as the sight of a well known burgundy BMW. Swallowing the bile lump solidifying in his throat, he turns to face you to inquire why Harrington’s car is here. A cold freeze halts his actions when Eddie witnesses you wiping your eyes and withholding sniffles.

The coolness of hard, metal rings sizzles against your flaming cheeks. Softly, your watery, defeated expression is forced to meet the concerned gaze of your best friend. Eddie gently rubs his thumb against your puffy face, “Hey, what happened, dove? I thought we had a good time. A nice walk down memory lane.”

A sob racks through your crumbling form, and you weakly push Eddie’s hand away. You can catch your own tears. He doesn’t get to wipe away the tears he caused.

With a wobbling smile, you release a wispy chuckle, “That’s exactly it, Munson. I just really miss you.”

Eddie leans his forehead against your own, constricting your lungs at the closeness. “Dove,” he calmly cooes, “I’ve missed you too. So much- you have no idea.”

Another broken sob escapes from your sealed lips, and you force out a light laugh to follow. If he really doesn’t know what he’s doing to you, then you won’t let him in. As Eddie reaches out to hold you again, you turn away noticing the porch light flash before the van. Like a moth to a flame, a relieved breath frees itself from your aching lungs. Steve’s tense stance leans against the porch pillar.

Meeting Eddie’s strained expression, “Thanks for today. I miss hearing from you.” You wrap your trembling arms around his neck for a quick hug.

Eddie tightly holds you as close as he can. An unnerving sense of anxiety shoots through him. Every shaky breath that slips from you hits hard against him. The trembling fingers pressing into his neck pierce through his heart. What happened to you? When did the inseparable duo refer to you and Harrington rather than the pair of you?

“We have all the time in the world now. We’ll get through this together, yeah? It’s you and me, dove. Whatever you need, I’m just a phone call away, and I’ll be on my way in a heartbeat,” Eddie promises.

“Thanks, Munson,” you whimper, “You have no idea what that means to hear you say that.”

With a final hug of the evening, you clamber out of the van and hurriedly walk to your awaiting home.

Dragging yourself up the porch stairs and tripping on the slightly shorter one than the rest, Steve catches and pulls you into his safe hold. He waves back to Eddie’s van, not sparing a glance at the still parked vehicle, and tucks you under his arm. The scent of warm vanilla mixed with Earthy undertones clears the lingering hold on your mind from the uncomfortable smell of cinnamon and leather.

As Steve guides you into your house and up to your room, he lists off the movies he brought and what take out places still deliver this late. His voice desperately tries to sound collected as he watches you visibly shrink and curl into yourself.

“Babe, I’m right here,” he holds you in a tender embrace, “Please, don’t lock me out again. I’m here to catch you. I will always be here for you to come back to.”

Dazed, you nod slowly. Processing his words. Memories of identical, past situations flood your mind. Steve held you as sobs choked you after the night out at the roller rink. He’s never left. He’s still here. He’s here now.

You deeply inhale through your nose, the stinging in your chest fizzing out as you push it out your mouth. It’s just you and Steve.

“Can we get pasta and cake from Enzo’s? And watch The Lost Boys?,” you whisper.

Your voice so quiet, Steve has to lean closer to make sure he doesn’t miss your pleading request. “Yeah, of course,” he softly promises. “Want to start it now or wait for when the food gets here?”

You wade past Steve to your desk area and search for a particular cassette. “Can we listen to The Cure while we wait? I’m sorry- I haven’t asked you about your day. How was it? Any particular bad movie picks from customers? Or was it mostly just love-sick Robin rambling about Vickie?” you weakly joke.

Popping the cassette tape in the player, you turn to see Steve already laying relaxed on top of your bed comforter. Mirroring his posture, you lean against the foot rail of your bed, to be able to face him, and clutch a pillow to your chest. The warm scent of vanilla mixes with the remnants of your signature scent that you sprayed on earlier in the day.

Steve sends you a sympathetic look that turns into a weak smile as he chuckles. “Sounds perfect. I was wondering when you would hit this phase of heartbreak- I was worried I’d have to force you to listen to them when I drive you around,” he jokes. The sympathetic look shifts to a soft smile of pride when you allow for your tears to freely fall and let out a watery laugh. “Oh,” he exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. “You will not believe the argument this group had over their movie night,” his voice returning to a lively volume, “It had me and Robin in stitches by the time they left. Christsake, it was a mess. I’ll tell you about it after I call in for food.”

Reaching for the phone on the bedside table, he gently grunts, “What’s the song of the night then, DJ?”

“‘Pictures of you’,” you weakly hum.

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