#i feel like i read about this bit of trivia ages ago but completely forgot til i was messing around looking for old dix pics...

[vetteldixon]

Guillaume "Rocky" Rocquelin & Scott Dixon PacWest CART Team // Portland 2001 // by Steve Swope

[frayed-symphony]

Since Twitter might not be a thing for much longer I wanted to move the trivia threads for my picture books to tumblr.

OC lore dump and sketches for my first self-published picture book Hurricane Lane under the cut;

The number one thing I'm worried about is people thinking my book is related to the hurricane of the same name. I wrote this in 2010-2011 which predates it and the title is meant to convey Amelia's life in her suburban town and how she views it more dramatically then it is.

The name was also inspired by this beautiful song by The Hush Sound which I was listening to a lot whilst concepting and really influenced aesthetics (more subdued colour, the inclusion of the piano being an important story point etc).

I started getting interested in children's illustration when I saw the Penguin Design Competition advertised at my uni in 2010. I didn't make the cut but figured I'd go ahead and finish my book anyway because at that point I was invested in my story and wanted to complete it.

The contest called for an ebook with interactive pages so I made Hurricane Lane have seven special pages of  'wonders' Amelia finds throughout her story. Unfortunately with flash player gone the interactions don't play but they're still found online here;

I based Amelia's design on a Mii I had made which was supposed to represent a human Pikachu. You can see the Mii on the bottom left here. I really liked how it looked and she gradually evolved into what she is today.

Initially the dinosaur suit that her brother has was going to be worn by Amelia but I preferred her without it and thus Bailey was born. The dinosaur itself was based on a purple stegosaurus keyring I had when I was younger and loved even though I had no keys at the time.

Here are some more initial outfit designs for Amelia but in the end I went with the one on the right, inspired by Miku Hatsune's 'Out and About' module from Project Diva.

The family's father Rupert was partly based on my own dad (definitely the dress sense) but in 2010 I was also really obsessed with the BBC show Merlin and may have tried to age up Colin Morgan a bit to make this character.

The mother's design was a little based on my own Mother's and a little the title character of the film Amelié (she evolved beyond this quite early so there's not too striking a resemblence). I was also obsessed with the music in that film which inspired this book a lot.

I kept it vague whether she worked at the hospital or was staying there as a patient because at the time I had an idea for an overarching narrative where the families of Hurricane Lane and 256 Postcards Ago meet. This didn't pan out so feel free to have your own interpretation.

Here's some initial concepts of the logo which I was mostly scribbling during my Uni classes.

One more random tidbit is that I based the background of their journey home from the Toad's Turnpike track in Mario Kart 64. I really loved that game and it holds a lot of childhood memories for me so the nostalgia felt fitting. Maybe that's too weird to mention!

Towards the end I was concepting the protagonists of Hurricane Lane and 256 Postcards Ago meeting in a connecting rpgmaker game but sadly that never came to be. I'll talk about it more in my thread for the next book though!

I also made a little soundtrack for my book here

1) Kiara 2) Cornflake Girl 3) Indaco 4) La Valse D'Amelie 5) 春よ、来い (kites) 6) The Heart Asks Pleasure First 7) Lotus (dragon hunters) 8) Nightbook 9) Reverie 10) Hurricane

I listened to these songs a lot while reading and the final track inspired the title.

And final last tidbit- Hurricane Lane takes place in my childhood hometown. It doesn't have too many standout locations but I took photos for background references and anyone who lives there may recognize the small nods to it.

(Almost forgot links to where you can read my book) Amazon paperback; https://amazon.com/dp/1475009097 eBook; https://frayedsymphony.gumroad.com/l/LuNug

Thanks for reading!

[imherongraystairstrash]

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, do you think Charles,Barbara, Eugenia and Anna were close? Anna maybe less because she’s closer in age to the merry thieves set and she probably ghosted Charles after the Ariadne engagement. Would you consider a fic of them all growing up, starting with them 4 as little kids and then slowly becoming teens and adults and then dealing with Barbara’s death. I think it would be a fun idea since nobody ever considers them to be a older merry thieves.

You can thank my social anxiety for this one bc I stress wrote it in school 🙃

TW: panic attacks, death

Title: When we were young

Characters: Barbara Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Anna was sitting by the fire when Charles came into the room. She hated him. She truly did. But, somehow, at that moment, she felt strange. He looked at her and it took her many years back, to when they weren’t exactly friends, but  they were far from what they are now to each other.

…

“And that was how Consul Wentworth fixed the crisis of 1687.” Charles said with a satisfied smile to himself.

The Lightwood girls were his audience. Well, sort of. Eugenia’s cheek was resting on her fist, squishing the right side of her face as her lidded eyes approached shutting completely. Anna was slumped against Eugenia, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes opened wide, staring at a fixed spot on the floor. Their luminous dark blue glittered in the witchlight, looking exquisitely uncanny. Barbara was mid-yawn, leaning on the leg of a sofa.

“Wow, Charles. Thanks for the history lesson.” Eugenia said, monotonously. It was evident that she’d inherited her mother’s sass from the day she was born, when Barbara had woken her up by exclaiming at the sight of her newborn sister, and Genie responded by pulling her sister’s hair.

“Oh, and in 1690-“

“NO!” All three Lightwood daughters shrieked.

“I’m still not done, though.” Said Charles.

“Yes, you are.” Eugenia said, standing up and settling the matter. “We are positively bored. There is absolutely nothing to do except listen to Charles talk about politics, and if those are the only two options, frankly, I’d rather be bored.” 

Charles crossed his arms. “Being an intellect is not boring.”

Little two year old Anna looked at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“I swear, Thomas is having a better time than we are,” Eugenia said glaring at to where their parents were, with the tiny, almost invisible baby nestled in Gideon’s arms, his fingers wrapped around Sophie's thumb. The parents were all laughing about something, which made Eugenia scowl even more. 

“To be an adult.” Barbara said, with a martyred sigh. 

“We needn’t be adults to have fun.” Charles said.

“I suppose you’re going to torture us with more political trivia.” 

“No,” Charles said. “I was going to suggest we go through the attic.” 

The girls looked up at this and Charles smirked, clearly proud of himself at having come up with a good idea. For once. 

“What is in the attic?” 

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s probably strange and obscure things. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff in our house.” 

Barbara and Eugenia exchanged a look before the eldest Lightwood sister turned to him. 

“We shall go and discover this mysterious attic you speak of.”

…

“What could this even be?” Barbara said, holding up a loose gear-like contraption. 

“Papa sometimes builds things out of clockwork.” Charles said, sitting cross legged. “Or, he used to at least.” 

 “That’s…” 

Genie and Charles looked at Barbara as she trailed off.

“Nevermind, I have no comment.”

Charles nodded as though that was a common reaction people had in terms of his father’s experiments. 

They rummaged through boxes upon boxes, finding momentos they didn’t understand such as papers upon papers of things that said many difficult words. They could distinguish a couple of words such as “infernal” and “devices”, however there were many that made no sense to them.

“What is a Mortmain?” Asked Genie.

“I think it’s an undead horse or something along those lines,” said Charles.

“Oh,” said Eugenia. “That’s disgusting.”

“Quite,” agreed Barbara.

Anna was toddling around the room, giggling. She almost tripped over a loose floorboard, and would have, had Charles not reached out and grabbed a hold of the back of her dress. 

“This is too dangerous for a small child like Anna,” Barbara said, ever the mother-goose. “I shall take her downstairs before she hurts herself.” 

Anna protested at first, but acquiesced once Barbara bribed her with the promise of dessert.

…

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked.

He looked up, his green eyes meeting her blue ones. 

…

Charles remembered that day like it was just yesterday. 

He and Eugenia had stayed behind rifling through boxes, which wasn’t unwelcome, as Eugenia and Charles had an easy, lighthearted and, at times, profound, friendship. Despite their age gap, they enjoyed each other’s company, though neither could say why. Perhaps, it was simply because they mocked each other. Or perhaps, it was sometimes they would occasionally talk about things such as philosophy, and whether what they were seeing was true, or the world was just a figment of their imaginations. Or a mixture of the two; they’d never really discussed it. 

Eugenia surprised him when she said, “do you ever feel… different from your parents?” 

Charles furrowed his brows, “in what aspect?”

“Love.” 

“Have you a suitor?” Charles inquired, intrigued.

“No. Actually, that was my question. I find that, sometimes, I don’t only enjoy the idea of a male suitor, but perhaps, I also enjoy the company of a woman. Perhaps.” She pressed her lips together tightly, as if forcing herself to stop speaking.

Charles looked at her, his bright green eyes wide. “I-um-…”

“But I’m not sure, of course.” Eugenia blurted out. “It’s not as if shadowhunters are precisely fond of that particular preference or-“

“Do you really think they wouldn’t like it?” Charles asked, softly. “Do you believe they will reject those who are like that?” 

Eugenia looked down. “I’m afraid I’m most sure of it.”

Charles had then realized that he couldn’t have both. There was no way around it. 

He knew his parents were happy and that love made them complete. However, they didn’t have to choose. They could be married and the idea wouldn’t affect their respective occupations. Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be Consul and have the kind of love he wanted. He almost resented them because of it. They were able to do what they loved and nobody forced them to pick between one or the other. 

It was unfair. So incredibly unfair.

“I guess you better get rid of your feelings towards women than.” He said simply, “unless you’re willing to let something as simple as love get in the way of your dreams.”

“Dreams?” Eugenia asked, looking confused and a tiny bit hurt. 

 But Charles got up to go back downstairs to his parents, aunts and uncles.

… 

Charles slumped down in a chair and dug his fingers into his hair.

“She was just here.” He said quietly. “Babs, was just here.”

Anna felt sudden rage. “You are not allowed to mourn her.” 

Charles looked up. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t be sad. She was my cousin too. Perhaps not by blood, but she was still a cousin.” He pressed his lips together angrily and stared fixedly at the witchlight stone that was illuminating the room. 

Anna, however, couldn’t find it in her to be diplomatic; she got up and left the room. 

…

Anna had never seen Eugenia look this way. She was always put together, posh. But now, she looked hollow. Like a shell of who she used to be. Anna wanted to go up to her, to say something, but she felt lost for words. What did you tell someone who lost a dear sister? If Anna felt sorrow, she couldn’t imagine what Eugenia was feeling. 

Her head was tilted upwards, looking up at the pyre where the corpse of her sister lay. Tears were streaming down her face, rolling down her cheeks, throat and chest, leaving streaks on her face that looked like the roots of a tree.

Sophie had her arm around her daughter. The sight of the four of them was very strange. There was a gap missing where Barbara should have been. She suddenly felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked to her right and saw her mother looking straight ahead, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Her father was looking down, holding Alex. Her baby brother was one of the few who looked up at the cousin who’d taught him to play simple songs on the piano, and had always let him sleep in her arms on New Year's eve.  

She didn’t know what he must have been thinking now, staring up at the pyre. 

Though, to be fair, she didn’t quite know what to think herself, as she looked up at the cousin who’s life was cut far too short.

…

Eugenia’s body didn’t feel like her own. She hadn’t felt this body was her own for a while. Even since Augustus and the secret she’d kept to herself.

This was somehow worse. To be torn away from your best friend, whom you’d shared a room with almost your entire life. Eugenia didn’t know how to live in a world without Barbara. Sometimes, in the rare moments when she forgot about her sadness, she’d call her sister’s name, ready to tell her about what had happened in her novel. Or find herself walking to Barbara’s room without thinking and then staring blankly at the door that has remained shut ever since the day she passed away.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d found a letter Barbara had sent her when she’d been in Idris. It was in between her copy of Jane Eyre. She couldn’t bring herself to read it in its entirety, but she stared at the signature blankly. 

Suddenly, she got the urge to run. So she ran. That’s how, an hour later, she’d gotten a small tattoo under her ankle that said “Sincerely, your favorite sister Babs.” 

It felt right to have Bab’s signature there, we’re only she could see. It made her feel accompanied everywhere she went, even though nobody else could see. 

Now, looking up at the pyre, her face tight from tears she’d left to dry, her mother weeping silently, she could almost imagine that her sister was there, simply caught in a slumber and that she’d wake up at any moment and come tumbling down, throwing herself in Eugenia’s arms.

Any moment now, she thought when the pyre burst into flames. 

“Ave atque vale, Barbara Lightwood.” The crowd said at once.

Eugenia shook her head and swayed on her feet. Her breathing became heavy and her fingers began prickling. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. No nononono. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, vaguely that it was her father’s. 

Not Barbara.

Not Babs.

“Calm down, Genie.”

Not her sister. Her sister couldn’t possibly be up there.

“Breathe Eugenia.”

She wanted to scream that she couldn’t, that she’d never breathe again, as long as her sister wasn’t breathing with her. Why did she have to live? She would have much preferred that Barbara live in her stead. 

The world was numb and fractured, never to be fixed again. 

…

(Don’t worry, Gideon was able to help Genie after the fic ends bc he’s the best dad)

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet  @atla-lok143  @rinadragomir  @youngreckless  @autumnangel20  @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens  @no-scones-allowed  @ninacarstairss  @stxr-thxif  @writeforjordelia  @icouldnotask @jordeliasupremacy  @cordelia-cardale  @will-effing-herondale  @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @readersconfessions812 @nightshade3465 @livvyheronstairs @zemiraa @proudtobealuthor @neurogliadudette @theenchanteddreamer @cheeseandmacarons

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

[imnoexpertblog]

I'M BACK, (maybe insert something here a little less aggressive than BITCHES) ... Nah

8/13/18

Ahhhh... It’s been a while, huh?

I had an Engagement/Housewarming party to prep for and host a couple weekends ago AND my best friend ever (ABBIE) visited from (the middle of no where) North Carolina! She was only here for a week so I took off a couple days of work to see her as much as possible. I figured it was the least I could do because she flew here just for my party. That sweet thing. (Honestly she’s kind of harsh and not sweet at all but she is sweet to me LOL).

You know what I love about my blog? I write it because I like it. I write it when I want to. It’s not something I have to get done, that I have a deadline for, etc. Dishes? Need to be done at some point every single day in my house. Laundry? Weekly chore that NEEDS to be done. My blog? Definitely something I do to relax and soothe me. Something that makes me feel good. Its not something I am obligated to do. Much like my modeling! But when I need a break, I need a break.

I took a little break because I was wearing myself thin a little bit. Not with writing, but with everything. I took a break from modeling when we bought our house because, well, I had to. I wasn’t getting enough sleep during the day because of the buying process; going to the bank when it was open, meeting with my lender when he was available, house hunting during the day, being awake for inspections, etc. Modeling was something that needed to be put on the back burner for about 5 or 6 weeks. Baby (my fiancé) is the one who pushed me to get back into it in July. Things started to slow down and I had time again! I have an issue though. I do this thing where I get very ambitious and excited to get back at something or start something new to the point that I overdo it. I booked about 8 shoots in the matter of 2 weeks and a lot of them were out of the area. I overdid it for sure and burnt myself out all over again. That wasn’t all that did it though; Abbie was about to visit, the house needed to be in order, having Nugget (my soon to be step-son) every other week, weddings and birthday parties to attend, we had our engagement photos done, etc. Honestly, adulthood was getting in the way. I am glad I booked so many shoots though because I am putting out my best content right now.

The engagement pictures are GORGEOUS. I am in LOVE. If you've read my two posts about how I began modeling, how I continue to do so now, and my advice for how to get into it, (A Model Was Discovered and Modeling a Year Later) you will recall my first real photoshoot. I posed as the bride in a wedding styled shoot for a photographer named Linsey Goodson here in Green Bay. She started it all for me and I've always been a huge fan of her work. It was such a treat for her to capture the love Baby and I have for one another in pictures. If you'd like to see more of her amazing work, go to https://linseygoodsonphoto.com/ to check it out! The wedding styled shoot we collaborated on is on her website, too. You can find her on social media platforms. I know I put a bunch in this post but if you want to see more, follow me on Instagram! @sabrinadwieland 

Any who, I have a lot of requested blog-topics to cover right now. I picked 3 just to start off with this week. I’m just gonna let you in on what they are, right up front: Religion in my personal life, my love for the show FRIENDS, and being friends with the opposite sex.

Starting off pretty heavy with the religion thing, aren’t we? A follower of mine on Instagram asked me to touch on this and I found it to be an interesting inquiry. I feel like the new age of religion is that there isn’t much of it. Or am I just not paying attention? Or are people just private about it? I’d be surprised if you told me people are just private about ANYthing in this day in age. I just had a different follower of mine tell me that she feels like she knows me just because of what I post and how often I post. I thought that was pretty cool to hear actually; that people pay attention and find my content enjoyable. Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I’m not religious at all. It’s most-likely from the fact that I wasn’t raised religiously. Now, some of my family members are genuinely bothered with me “not believing.” It’s irionic because these family member who are bothered are some of the ones who raised me on a daily basis. It’s as if they forgot they never took me to church or taught me anything about the Bible. My mother and I would recite the “I lay me down to sleep…” prayer before bed but that was about it. And that didn’t last very long anyway. I wouldn’t say it’s that I “don’t believe.” I just don’t see much proof of the actual … THING I am supposed to believe in. An all-powerful man somewhere in the sky that controls everything. It’s hard for me to grasp, but it’s not for me to say it doesn’t exist. I’ve always been a bit more scientific in my beliefs. I do, however, think that we all need something to believe for our own sanity. Whether that something is real or not. It’s nice to think that Baby, Nugget, and I can go to an afterlife of some sort and be together forever. It’s nice to think that everything happens for a reason and someone or something is taking care of us, and has plans for our souls. I wish I could know if this all was real. I just don’t know if it is and I can’t count on it. I can’t say I haven’t prayed to something in times of need or hoped that there was someone/something greater than all of us taking care of me. Like I said, I have a hard time believing that it’s a real thing. Crazy things have happened in my life, miracles have taken place; horrible things have also happened, too. I’m kind of stuck in the middle with religion. I don’t know what I believe, and I’m okay with that uncertainty. I live my life with reason and logic while also trying to hold faith in SOMEthing. Even if I don’t really know what that thing is.

FRIENDS. Holy cow if you even know what my name is, you also already know I’m the biggest FRIENDS fan in the universe. I know every word of the script, I swear. It’s almost sickening and I am super okay with it. LOL. People think it’s a little odd that someone as young as me (22) is so obsessed with a show that aired from 1994 to 2004. It’s actually been in my life since I was born because my mother watched it from the beginning. I obviously didn’t understand any of it until I was older, but I’ve been watching since as long as I can remember. My mother and I have had quite the history and we struggled with our relationship when I lived with her (and that is putting it mildly). But Friends was one thing that brought us together, rather than caused issues. I’ve noticed watching/listening to the show soothes me. This sounds really weird, but because of the positive connotation it has, it seriously de-stresses me and calms me down. I have this show playing on some electronic of mine at a point during almost every day of my life. It’s on when I’m cleaning, when I’m getting ready for the day or a photoshoot, when I used to do homework in college, when I cook, when I need something to fall asleep to, when I actually just want to watch it, etc. I know the show so well that I don’t even need to physically watch it, I just want to listen to it so I listen to it at work and even when I shower. I kick some serious ass at Friends trivia because I’ve watched the series (10 seasons. 236 episodes) over 50 times. I’ve done estimates and if I watch a certain amount of episodes every day on average (which I do), I have easily seen it all way more than that, even. I’ve owned season on VHS and DVD. I literally only have Netflix for the ease of FRIENDS watching. The day it leaves Netflix, I will be heartbroken and a huge mess. It’s like a security blanket for me. I laugh at it harder the more I watch it. I feel like I know the characters personally. I own a bunch of FRIENDS merchandise. I know an unhealthy amount about the show. I just have a really deep and strong connection to the show and it may be weird to some people but I love it.  I recommend the shit out of it. I’m not even sorry for swearing, that was just passion.

Being friends with the opposite sex. From my perspective. I just talked to Baby about this so it’s coinditental that I write about it today. The wedding he and I attended on Saturday was actually for a long-time female friend of his. He was talking about how he was thinking of all the times they had and memories they shared. I found myself feeling… I don’t know the word exactly… I couldn’t relate. I have had two very close male friends and it was a constant struggle because they both wanted to be more than that when I was friends with them. Other standard male friends of mine that I never got very close to always eventually hit on me, asked me out, or flirted with me in some way. That isn’t me being conceited or anything, it’s just how it always went. I have one male friend that has never tried anything with me and I’ve never even met him. We lives a little bit out of my area and we met through friends on Facebook. He’s a great guy and I trust him a lot. I still can’t relate to Baby with the friendship because I haven’t even met my closest guy-friend. We don’t talk much anymore, either unfortunately. My best friend from work is a man, but he is also gay. We tell each other everything and we have a lot of fun together. Obviously there is no room for any possibility of something happening. I know straight men and straight women can be just friends, I just have yet to experience it myself successfully. I have no problem with Baby having close female friends; I trust him completely. I think I might not be close to any straight men because of my previous experience with those relationships. I’ve only seen the dangerous side of being friends because of who my friends were, and not the innocent side. I do believe you can be just friends, but I know there is possibility for something more to occur and I just try to steer clear of that in my own life.

How was your weekend? I had s’mom things going on. Baby is 27 and has a 3 year old brother (yep, that’s right!) and Nugget (who is 4) looooves playing with him. They get along really well. He came over and I watched those two boys for a few hours on Friday. Baby made us all dinner and then retreated to our den to play his new Madden 19 I got for him as our one year anniversary present. He loves it and I’m glad he does. The little ones and I played outside for the evening. Saturday was booked tight, as well. Baby helped his parents demo their new home while Nugget and I went to my sister’s 6th birthday party. Yep, I have a really young sibling, too. She and Nugget also are very close so they had a blast bowling. The future husband and I had a wedding to attend Saturday evening so Nugget spent the night at his soon-to-be grandparents’ house! He and my sister (we’ll call her Kin) had a blast. Then, the dreaded Sunday hit. Pick-ups and drop-offs with Nugget are not consistent each week (which I struggle with because I’m very much a fan of schedules and planning far ahead of time), getting back into the third shift groove isn’t easy, and it’s usually the day that Baby and I need to do our weekly grocery shopping. It’s my toughest day because I need to find a 4-hour block that I can sleep during to prep for my first third-shift of the week. That means that it needs to be later in the day, but not directly before I go to work (because I also need to sleep as soon as I get home Monday morning). It also needs to be quiet in the house, of course. I think my body knows it’s Sunday when it rolls around because Sundays are also the days I get migraines the most. I was having a pretty hard time today, but Baby is very attentive and spoils the heck out of me in the ways I need on Sundays. He often times makes me breakfast when we get up, does the dishes, makes sure I get that long nap in, he tucks me in beforehand, makes sure it’s quiet the whole time I am sleeping, gets me up on time, has dinner ready for when I wake up, gets me meds when I need them for my head, gets me water, etc. Sundays are my least favorite but he really makes them entirely tolerable for me. I can’t thank him enough. He pays such close attention to me and I am incredibly grateful.

That felt GREAT to write. Wow. I missed this. I don’t know what I’m writing next, but stay tuned for more posts SOON! (P.S. I would super appreciate if you shared this to your Facebook page and on Tumblr or both!)

[swtltlmrvlgrl]

Love and Let Love (Part 2)

Love and Let Love Masterlist

Warning/s: Angst (?), Break-up, Betrayal, A few fluff moments, Panic Attack, Language, Mention of death

A/N: Part 2 guys! So this turned out longer than I thought. A little trivia for you: I tried to incorporate the five stages of grief in this story. (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression then Acceptance) The first part had a tinge of denial there, now for this part, it’s anger. This part is kind of difficult, but I’ll be happy if you read to the end. I’m also excited to let you read the next parts (Probably 2 – 3 more parts)! I promise you they’re way better than this one! (Y/N = Your Name; L/N = Your Last Name)

Number of Words: 1,939

It suddenly became quiet. The rain stopped and the light from the street lamp turned dim. A voice breaks the silence.

“Hi.”

His voice sounds tired, it sounds as if he’d been running the whole day. You move your head up to acknowledge the man. And for the third time that day, you find yourself gazing at the familiar set of blue piercing eyes.

He is looking down at you, while holding an umbrella in his right hand.

Oh.

You realize that the rain didn’t really stop - he was sheltering you from the rain, and on the process he also covered a part of the street lamp. The two of you were just staring at each other, and in an attempt to break the awkward silence, he started to speak.

“I – I’m – uhm – I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

You blink – confused and uncertain.

What? Who in the right mind would introduce himself to a lady, crying in the middle of the park?

He clears his throat. “We’ve actually met - a while ago. Technically, we didn’t MEET. But we bumped into each other twice today.”

Annoying.

“Look. Uhm. Steve Rogers” you wipe the trail of tears on your face and gaze at the umbrella he’s holding. “I appreciate the gesture, but you can go now. Thanks.” You return to your position before he disturbed you - your body curled and cup your face in between your knees.

Your rudeness didn’t even make him budge. He remained standing there, planted like a tree in front of you.

He sighs.

He’s giving up.

But he isn’t.

You feel a cold metal touch your shoulders and your knees. He placed the umbrella on top of you and then proceeds to sitting beside you.

You’re too tired to move and look up at him again. But he has to leave – you want him to leave.  So putting a lot of effort to sound annoyed, you speak up. “What are you doing?”

Silence.

“Leave me alone.”

“Look. You’re crying and you’re clothes are wet from the rain in the middle of a PUBLIC park.” He paused. “You’re not in the mood for small talks, okay, I respect that. But I’m also not in the mood to leave you here. Alone. So whether you like it or not, I’m staying here. ”

Annoying.

You don’t even want to care anymore. “Whatever. Do what you want.”

Apparently, what Steve wants was to talk (Why are you not surprised?) For the first few minutes, he talked about his old neighbor who owns plenty of cats, and that sometimes the old lady would ask him to take off the cat fur all over her sweater. Then he talked about how weak he was as a kid.  He was so weak and frail that one doctor told his mother that he’d die at the age of ten. But then, a strange miracle happened, and his still living at this time at the age of 27.

He kept talking and talking, and most of the time you didn’t bother to listen. But one story caught your attention.

“I had a dog once, when I was a kid.” He starts. “Every day at exactly 6 o’clock, he would wake me up. My mom can’t... because she has work. You know, late nights and early mornings – I was usually left alone at home.” His voice sounded so lonely, it was sorrowful – it was longing. “One day, he didn’t wake me up. I looked at the clock, it was 10 a.m. and I was extremely late for school. I dashed out of my room and I was actually planning to scold him. But then, all the anger that I had disappeared when I saw him lying there a few steps from my bed room door – dead and motionle -  ”

You shoot your head up and your sudden movement cut him off. The umbrella covering you a while ago is now on the ground

“Name.” you demand, as you look intently into his eyes.

“What’s the dog’s name?” you said - suddenly aware of your abrupt movements, you take your eyes away from him.

Steve chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” You look at him.

He stops laughing, but you can still see how amused he is. “I’m sorry. Benedict. The dog’s name was Benedict.”

“Oh.” You motion towards the umbrella to pick it up, and then you realize something.

There’s only one umbrella.

The whole time that Steve was talking to you, telling stories (more than half of it you didn’t even listen to), Steve was literally under the pouring rain – and you were under his umbrella.

The rain slowly came to a stop. As your vision became clearer, the image of Steve shivering from the cold weather and his warm smile became clearer too.

Annoying.

While folding the umbrella, you can feel Steve’s eyes searching you – you can feel him observing you. And you were sure that beneath the puffy red eyes and the visible trails of tears on your face, he can see that you feel guilty.

With your eyes still fixated on the ground, you apologize. “I’m sorry. I was too consumed about my feelings ...” You pause to look at him. “...that I forgot about yours.”

“You know, it was my choice to stay here and give you the umbrella. So you don’t need to - ”

“Still!” You look down. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “It’s getting late, and we’re both soaked.  Let’s just call it a night. I’ll take you home and make sure you’re safe”

Home.

The sound of it made your heart ache – you place your right palm on your chest with the hopes that it could patch up the pieces of your broken heart.

“I don’t have a home.”

He paused for a moment. “Okay. How about a hotel?”

That sounded like a plan for you, but you only had your phone and your keys in your pocket – no wallet.

Steve raised an eyebrow when he saw the look on your face after you inspected your pockets.

He scratches his nape.

“Some luck we have here.” He exhales. “I only have a few spare changes with me right now, and I don’t think this’ll be enough for a hotel. This may sound really awkward, but... Do you want to stay at my place?”

Steve is a complete stranger, but you can’t see the reason why you can’t trust someone who had been nothing but kind to you. His voice was stable but you can see his hands quivering, if he doesn’t change his clothes soon, he’ll definitely get sick.

“Let’s just go to your apartment.”

A few minutes passed, and you found yourself standing in front of an apartment door.

Room 315.

“We’re here.” Steve unlocks the door and leads you inside. “Welcome? I’m sorry. I didn’t expect a visitor, so everything’s a mess.” He points at the wooden stool by the dining table “You can take a seat there. I’ll just fix things up for you.”

You stride to the chair, and sat down.

Then, you realize.

You’re alone again.

You feel it again - the void in your chest.

But this time, there was no more Steve and his stories – no more Steve and his warm smile.

It’s just you.

Alone.

You try to relax, but you can’t. You’re chest feels like it’s about to burst open, your heart is burning and holding won’t make it feel a bit better. You can’t breathe. Inhale. Exhale. But something’s blocking the air’s pathway – it’s as if your lungs suddenly decided to stop functioning. Inhale. Exhale. You can hear your heart beating. You’re palpitating and your vision’s turning blurry. No air. It won’t enter. The air.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

In your struggle to find air, you fall from your chair.

Thud! You hit the chair with your right foot. Thud!  The chair hits the table. THUD! Then it hits the floor.

Steve went out of his room. “What’s happening there?”

Then, he saw you gasping for air. The sight of your pale face, made him throw the things that he was holding and dash towards you.

His voice was inaudible, but you can see his lips moving and you can vaguely feel his grip on your shoulders. His grip felt protective and secure.

“Hey! Hey!” He was shaking your limp body.

“Look at me. Look at me!” He was moving your body, he was desperate. “Come on, doll. Talk to me.”

Your eyelids were becoming heavier and you can feel that Steve was looking more desperate, by the second.

Bright. His eyes are bright.

And yet again, you found yourself gazing at his blue eyes – it was bright and calming. Steve might’ve notice your change in demeanor – your color less pale and your body more steady.

“Doll. Can you hear me?”

You nod.

“Good. Good. Good. Okay.” He fixes your position, his hands still on your shoulders. “I want you to breathe with me. Okay?”

He inhales.

You inhale with him.

He exhales.

You exhale with him.

And soon enough, your vision became clearer and heart is beating slower. With Steve’s help, you try to stand and sit on the chair.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You take a deep breath.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” You pause. “Sorry about that.”

Saying that Steve is always looking at you, might be the biggest understatement of the century. But it doesn’t seem like he wants answers to his questions, he just seem genuinely worried. You feel bad. You were extremely rude to him and quite frankly, out of all the people in the world, he deserves an explanation to all of the things that’s been happening. But you’re scared because explaining to him also means reliving the things that happened. Explaining to him will open fresh wounds.

The clothes that suddenly appeared in front of you cut you off of your thoughts. “You can change to these.” He then hands you a blow dryer. “You might also need these to dry. The restroom’s that way”

The way he smiles at you, and the way he worries for you. How can someone so kind exist? You grab the clothes and you start to walk to the restroom.

“Doll.”

You look back. “Doll? Is that supposed to be me?”

“Breathe in.” He inhales, and holds his breath. Then he exhales. “Breathe out.”

He smiles. You smile back.

A few minutes later, you step out of the restroom wearing an all-blue ensemble of sweatshirt and pants. You find Steve, now wearing a different set of clothes (blue fitted shirt and gray pants), sitting at the stool opposite the one that you were sitting on a while ago. Two cups of coffee lay on the table, one of which, Steve was already drinking.

You sit in front of him and grab the cup of coffee. He slowly looks at you.

“I’m sorry you had to wear that.”

You clear your throat. “Steve.” You take a sip from your hot coffee. “I’m sorry abo – about all of this.”

He finishes his cup. “You can take my bed for the time being.” He stands up and started walking towards the sink behind you. “I think we should rest now. It’s been a long day.”

He pats your head, and you are taken aback. You are in awe.

Annoying.

His kindness is annoying.

He stops and pulls his hand away. The suddenly urge to hold him, made you grab him by the wrist.

He deserves more than this.

“Y/N” You pause and let his wrist go. “My name’s Y/N L/N”

Next

A/N: You can expect deeper conversations between the reader and Steve. Since I like writing deep dialogues, I love writing that part! :D

I hope you enjoyed!

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