#the difference between a flower and a weed is judgment

[tking20]

The difference between a flower and a weed is judgment! Think about it 🤔

[cherrypikkins]

Dedue: The only difference between a flower and a weed is judgment.

Dimitri: And appetite!

Dedue: No, your highness.

[unzipcraft]

Digging Deep: How Deep to Plant Gladiolus Bulbs?

Gladiolus Winter Hardiness

The most common zones of hardiness for standard Grandiflora gladioli(your typical garden gladioli) can be found in zones 8 or warmer. It is nevertheless well-known that if you cover the corms with good mulch it is possible to keep the plants alive even in zone 6 or 7 with specific species like "Nanus Hybrids." In cooler climates glad corms need to be removed, dried, and stored until winter months.

To ensure the most stunning flowers, plant glads in full sunlight (6 -8 hours sun every day) in soil that's well-drained and moderately fertile. They'll not thrive in soggy, heavy soil. Add the compost (humus) with your dirt to increase the consistency and fertility of your soil.

When to Plant Gladiolus

Plant gladiolus corms early in the spring, once the risk of frost is gone and the soil is warmed up to at the very least 55 degrees Fahrenheit (13degC).

From the date of your last frost until early summer, you can plant a new corm every 10 days or so. This will lead to constant blooms until early fall!

Based on the type, it will take between 60 and 90 days after the time that glads are planted to allow the corms of the plant to take root grow, develop, and then bloom.

How to Plant Gladiolus

Prepare your garden making use of a tiller or garden fork to loosen soil, which should be 12 - 15 inches of depth. After lifting the soil then mix in two to four inches layers of compost. You can also mix in old manure.

For blooms that are large For large-sized blooms, you should plant corms that measure at least 1 1/4 inches in diameter.

Place the corm into the hole approximately 4 inches deep, with the pointed side facing upwards. Then cover the corm with soil and then press it firmly.

The corms should be spaced 6-8 inches apart.

If you plant gladioli mostly to be cut flowers, place the flowers in rows. It's easier to care for the plants and collect the flowers.

If you are planting it alongside different flowers that are in the borders of beds, place them in clusters of seven or more to get the greatest impact.

The corms should be soaked in water prior to the time of planting.

If you're planting taller varieties ensure that you stake them prior to planting. Be cautious not to harm the corms using stakes.

How to Grow Gladiolus

Apply a 2 to 4 inch layer of mulch around your gladioli in order to keep the soil moist and prevent the growth of weeds.

If you only get less than one inch of rainfall per week, you should make sure to water your plants frequently all through summer. In other cases, you can water them less during growth to ensure that the soil stays damp.

Take out the dead or faded flowers to ensure that the flowers continue to bloom. When every flower on the plant are gone, cut the stem off about 2 to 3 inches over the soil.

Make sure you leave the plant in its original condition so that it will mature and develop the corms for the following season.

Winter Protection for Gladiolus

If you are in USDA Zone 8 or higher place in an adobe layer or straw to provide winter protection. Gladiolus will be kept in the ground throughout the winter months, provided that a strong freeze (28degF or lower) isn't a common occurrence in your region.

In colder areas (Zone seven or less colder) Dig out gladioli corms after the foliage is faded after the first frost of fall. A slight frost could destroy the foliage, but not the remainder of the plant. Make sure you dig up the gladiolus corms prior to an extremely cold freeze (28degF) otherwise the plants may be fatally damaged.

However, many gardeners who reside in "border" zones 6 and 7 have tried putting their gladiolus in the soil and discovered that they survived It's a judgment decision based on your microclimate and the variety of gladiolus and the climate shifts.

Digging Up and Storing Gladioli Corms

To get rid of the gladioli corms to use for Winter storage purposes, use these guidelines:

Make use of a spade to take the whole plant out by grasping the top of the plant to remove it from the soil. Avoid injury or bruising corms when digging. Shake off any dirt (do not rinse it off) and then discard the damaged corms. Cut the stalk to 1 or 2 inches over the corm. Keep the smaller cormels separate If you want to. They will flower within two to three years If you plant them every spring.

Let the corms remain dry under the shade for a day or 2 days if weather cooperates. Remove any soil that is not needed and put corms in wooden flats or tray. Then, let them rest in a warm and airy area for a period of about 2 weeks. Take and dispose of the oldest corms at the bottom (from the base of new corms).

Do not remove the husks from the corms.

Clean the corms by using a chemical called a fungicide ("bulb dust") to prevent health issues. Put bulbs and the dust in a bag of paper and shake it vigorously.

Place the corms into cloth or paper pantyhose bags, old onion bags. Hang the containers on a rack or stack them so that air can circulate among them. Keep the corms in a temperature of 35 to 45 degF (2 to 7 degrees Celsius) at a moderate humidity. Cool basements are appropriate. Don't allow corms to get frozen.

Plant these corms again in the spring to enjoy another beautiful year of blooms.

[mindsetmentor]

#Every Individual Is a Byproduct of Their Thoughts!

In the vast tapestry of human existence, our thoughts play a pivotal role in shaping who we are, what we become, and how we perceive the world around us. It is often said that we are the architects of our own lives, and at the heart of this creative process lies the power of our thoughts. In this blog, we will explore the profound idea that every individual is a byproduct of their thoughts.

The Seed of Creation: Thoughts

Imagine your mind as a fertile field, and your thoughts as the seeds sown into this rich soil. These thoughts are not mere fleeting ideas; they are the blueprints of our reality. Just as a skilled gardener carefully selects and tends to the seeds they plant, we must be mindful of the thoughts we cultivate.

Positive thoughts are like seeds of beautiful flowers. When nurtured, they bloom into a life filled with joy, optimism, and resilience. On the other hand, negative thoughts are like weeds that, if left unchecked, can overtake the garden of our mind, stifling the growth of positivity and potential.

Perception Shapes Reality

Our thoughts shape our perception of the world. Consider two individuals facing the same challenging situation: one with a positive outlook and the other with a negative one. The first individual may see opportunities and solutions, while the second may perceive only obstacles and despair. This stark difference in perception arises from the thoughts that have taken root in their minds.

Our thoughts not only influence our perception but also determine our emotional responses. Positive thoughts generate feelings of happiness, gratitude, and hope, while negative thoughts breed stress, anxiety, and discontent. Thus, our thoughts have a direct impact on our emotional well-being.

The Power of Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

The relationship between thoughts and reality extends beyond perception. Psychologists have long studied the concept of self-fulfilling prophecies, where a belief or expectation influences a person's behavior in such a way that it causes that belief or expectation to come true.

For example, if someone believes they are not capable of success, they may subconsciously sabotage their own efforts, leading to failure. Conversely, those who believe in their abilities tend to persist, overcome obstacles, and ultimately achieve their goals. This phenomenon underscores the profound influence of thoughts on our actions and outcomes.

Cultivating a Positive Thought Garden

Understanding that our thoughts shape our reality, it becomes clear that nurturing a positive thought garden is essential for personal growth and fulfillment. Here are some steps to help you cultivate a more positive mindset:

Awareness: Start by becoming aware of your thoughts. Pay attention to the patterns and recurring themes in your thinking.

Challenge Negative Thoughts: When negative thoughts arise, challenge their validity. Are they based on facts, or are they distorted perceptions?

Practice Gratitude: Regularly acknowledge and appreciate the positive aspects of your life. Gratitude can shift your focus from lack to abundance.

Surround Yourself with Positivity: Spend time with people who uplift you and engage in activities that bring you joy.

Visualize Success: Use the power of visualization to imagine your goals and dreams coming true. This can boost your confidence and motivation.

Mindfulness and Meditation: These practices can help you observe your thoughts without judgment and promote inner peace.

Conclusion

In the grand tapestry of life, every individual is indeed a byproduct of their thoughts. Our thoughts are the foundation upon which we build our reality, shape our perceptions, and determine our actions. By nurturing a garden of positive thoughts, we can create a life filled with purpose, resilience, and fulfillment. Remember, you have the power to choose the seeds you plant in the garden of your mind, so choose wisely and watch your world blossom with possibilities.

[uniqueyouthcomputer]

The Dandelion in the Garden

I slipped and fell through the cracks where I though myself a flower only to be seen as a weed. We rapidly multiply while the gardener  diligently works to keep us out. A weed who knows better than to spread their seed, the gardener doesn't need more of us ruining their sanctuary they've kept so beautiful and pristine. I didn't ask to sprout in your garden. The wind brought me here. You're upset at the dandelion for growing in your perfect garden even though the dandelion is just doing what it's programmed to do, deeply rooted into the ground with all those ugly asymmetric leaves starting to brown. They want us out of sight, far away in the fields. Using a psychic pesticide to let us know We Are Not Welcome. Cast away, only to grow in the in the alley behind their trash, convincing the dandelion this is what it wants. What they don't realize is that together we make a beautiful golden ocean seen far past the horizon, glistening in the sun and blowing with the breeze under the moon. We are beautiful flowers able to grow in the roughest of situations. By the time they see us for our perfect imperfections, their garden begins to wilt. The morning glories became evening shames. The garden is over run by dehydrangeas, and the poppies lost their pop. Nothing to show except photos of their once beautiful garden. Only then does the gardener realize that "The only difference between a weed and a flower is one's judgment".

[makeaheartshine]

[fantastic-miss-fatemeh]

Love this 🥰 stop weed discrimination!

[eatfood-nottoomuch-mostlyplants]

“The only difference between a flower and a weed is judgment” – Wayne Dyer [850x400]

[unknownwriting]

Hiiiii, can I request of Ace survived b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ f̶u̶c̶k̶ A̶k̶a̶i̶n̶u̶ and his s/o was pregnant with his child then after 2 years of time skip (they don't know Ace survived) can please Luffy & Sabo reunited with Ace, to his s/o and child and having family moments 🥺🥺🥺 👉👈

ｓｕｍｍａｒｙ- requested ^^

ｗｏｒｄ ｃｏｕｎｔ - 2.9 k, i honeslty could write a whole book 

ｓｏｎｇ ｉｎｓｐｏ- i love you - billie eilish

ｃｈａｒａｃｔｅｒｓ - Portgas D. Ace, Sabo, Monkey D. Luffy

ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ - None :)

ａ/ｎ- my sense of time is fucked. I could’ve swore it was Tuesday...but i still had a lot of fun writing this. I cried half the time but Ace 🥺🥺 so I hope you enjoy

(unedited)

“The weeds!! The weeds Luffy!! Not the flowers!” (Y/n) shouted as she leaned out the kitchen window. Even then Luffy still began to yank out the barely budding roses. For as much as he wanted to do the garden, Luffy sucks at it. (Y/n) eyes trailed over to the small pile of weeds and roses, where Luffy continued to toss the roses in. Let out a heavy sigh, (Y/n) called out to him again, “Luffy! Not the roses!”

“Huh?” Luffy hummed as he looked up and around before finally making eye contact with (Y/n). She scoffed at her absent-minded brother-in-law as she stated again,

“Your weeding the weeds, not the roses.”

“Eh? But they all look the same?” Luffy hummed as he looked back to the pile of weeds and roses then back to the rosebuds in his hands.

“See the little green ball on top of that the stem, those are roses that have yet to bloom. Those need to stay in the ground so they can bloom, what your getting is the other green plants.” (Y/n) explained as she pointed down the weeds that surrounded the roses. Luffy’s eyes followed as he began to finally see the difference between the 2. And with a chuckle, Luffy had gone back to work pulling out only the weeds this time. (Y/n) scoffed once again as she leaned back from the window and turned around on her heel and looked back at her blonde brother-in-law. She was so grateful for Sabo and Luffy. They sat through everything with her and supported her throughout it too.  Keeping her safe and healthy when she found out about Ace’s death, being there to help her through her pregnancy even sitting with her through her labor, and even now they still come and visit her regularly, checking up on her and her family. The trio of brothers are the best people she has ever met. Brightening her smile, she shook her head and began to walk past them.

“Ya’know for as much as Luffy wanted to do the garden, you’d think he’s at least how to do it.” (Y/n) sighed as she made her way next to Sabo at the table. She had taken a spot right next to him and picked up the pair of pants she was stitching back together. Sabo continued to shuffle through some paper as he glanced over at (Y/n) and chuckled.

“Well, you pretty much banned him from doing anything else. The garden is the only thing Luffy can do now.” Sabo pointed out, taking the pile of papers in his hands and setting them to the side, then began working on the other pile.

“...It’s his fault for being so reckless. If he’s your brother you should’ve raised him better.” (Y/n) huffed, cutting the string off the pants and tying them up. (Y/n) was currently fixing a pair of Estelle’s pants that were destroyed when he and Luffy were playing. It wouldn’t be a big of a problem if it wasn’t one of Estelle’s good pants. It was one of the best days Estelle had though, so it was easy for (Y/n) not to get too mad.

“Ace was the one who was the closest to him. I lost my memories although that time.” Sabo answered, as his gaze shifted down to the paperwork

“Looks like Imma have to call Ace out on that then-”

“Mama!!” A loud voice had shouted as the door to the small house swung open and a small (h/c) colored child had rushed in. (Y/n) was quick to drop the pants and open her arms to greet home her child.

“Estelle! Welcome back, baby.” (Y/n) smiled brightly as she gave a huge hug to her child. Estelle giggled and happily hugged back. Estelle wasn’t gone for long, only about 3 hours but it was easy to tell that he missed his mom. He definitely takes after his dad, being a very family-orientated person. Standing up from her chair, she pulled away from Estelle yet keeping him on her hip, she smiled, “We’re you nice to Doctor Cherry?”

“Yeah, she even gave me a candy.” Estelle proudly shouted as he stuck out his tongue and showed (Y/n) its blue color.

“Wow, You must’ve been such a good boy. I bet Dcotor Cherry was happy to spend the day with you.” (Y/n) smiled, as she set Estelle back on the floor and looked up at the red-haired lady that stood at the door.

“Of course, Estelle’s one of my best patients.” Cherry smiled as she looked down at Estelle. Estelle giggled loudly as grinned up from his mother's side. Cherry was another person who stood by (Y/n) when she was going through such a hard time, helping (Y/n) nurse back to health and helped a lot with the pregnancy. She was another that was close like family. As Cherry took a step into the house, she had opened her mouth to speak again but Sabo and Luffy were quick to interrupt.

“You’re not even gonna say hi to your uncles. Estelle, you make us so sad.” Sabo teased as he and Luffy walked up to join (Y/n). Quickly turning around to the sound of the voices, Estelle smiled brightly again.

“Uncle Sabo, Uncle Luffy!!” Estelle shouted as he jumped into their arms. The boys were quick to hug back and spoil Estelle in all types of affections. (Y/n) smiled at the view, that's one of the many things that she wants Estelle to learn that no matter what family is always important. With Estelle already being a very family-oriented person, it seemed that (Y/n) didn’t have much of a lesson to teach. Giggling to herself, (Y/n) turned back to Cherry to see what she was gonna say early. Once Cherry had seen that (Y/n) was back on her, she began again,

“Someone was asking around for you early today. I’m not sure who, but he seemed almost desperate.” Cherry explained as she watched (Y/n) face twist into shock and just for a moment, there was a huge flash of hope in her eyes that seemed to cloud her judgment for a moment. It was for a brief moment, but even with that flash of hope Cherry could tell that (Y/n) wants, more like needs, to see who it is.

“Asking for (Y/- Ow!!” Sabo hisses as he quickly pulled his arm towards him and began to rub the red spot that Estelle pinched, “He’s still in his pinching phase? I thought we were over that.”

“With Estelle? Of course not, he still goes around pinching everything and everyone. I’ve been trying to get him to stop but he doesn’t want to. I’m surprised that you thought he grew ou-”

“Ow, ow, ow, ow!! My nipples!!” Luffy cried as he pushed Estelle away from him. With the pain still written over his face, Luffy cupped his nipples and hissed. (Y/n) laughed as she watched Luffy sit there trying to soothe the pain running through him.

“Yeah no, he’s still pinching.” (Y/n) laughed before her, and Sabo, both turned back to Cherry and continued to question her.

“Who’s looking for (Y/n)?” Sabo questioned. It was easy to tell that his overprotectiveness was kicking him. The only response that Sabo got from Cherry was a shrug and then slowly walking out of the house as if to lead the others. Sabo then turned to look at (Y/n) asking the same question to which (Y/n) only ended up shrugging too.

“I’m not sure. Sail with Ace and Whitebeard-san I’ve met a lot of people, so I don’t know.”

Sabo hummed in response as he began to follow Cherry outside. Something inside of (Y/n) made her so anxious, but something has her heart racing, palms sweating, and her legs aching. Something about this guest just had her body aching, as if she couldn’t sit still. In the back of her mind, a small voice continued to echo, but there was no way it could be true. He’s dead, he passed away 2 years ago. Last time (Y/n) you can’t raise the dead either. So with one last shaky sigh, (Y/n) began to make her way out the door and towards Sabo and Cherry. Trying to push back her feelings, it’s like this every time, always getting her hopes up only for them to come crashing down. She tries to keep her cool.

“So, does it look like anyone we know?” (Y/n) questioned, as she took a spot next to Sabo’s side. Sabo let out a small grunt as he squinted his eyes to see the figure. (Y/n) had followed suit. Just at the bottom of the hill stood a man with broad shoulders. He looked around confused as he stumbled around the bottom of the hill. A soft laugh left her lips as she watched him, he looks so out of place.

“I-I-I….I don’t wanna jump to conclusions here, (Y/n), but doesn’t that look like-“

It didn’t take long for the man to make eye contact with the 2 at the top of the hill. He starred for a moment as if he was taking in the view before he smiles brightly and slowly began to make his way up. As if the world has stopped around (Y/n). That smile. That was the same smile that started this whole adventure, that made her happy even on the saddest days, that was the same smile that she fell in love with.  It was hard to believe. As if time itself has stopped, (Y/n) stood there speechless. She couldn’t even muster a sound or a reaction. Something like this never happens, maybe one in a million but last time she checked the skeleton on Luffy’s crew was the one. This was impossible, it had to be a prank or something. This couldn’t be happening and just as (Y/n) had open her mouth and rat at the person standing below them a laugh echoed through the field. It was real, this is all real. That laugh was one she couldn’t and wouldn’t forget. That laugh belongs to her later lover,

“Ace.” Breathlessly and barely above a whisper was all she could do. She was scared if she said it any loud she would have started to cry right there. (Y/n) began to inch forwards slowly trying to wake her body up and tell it to move. God, if only she could wake it up faster. Soon enough those baby steps turn into bigger ones then fast ones, then finally she was running. She was running as fast as her feet could carry her down the hill. Tears swiftly fell from her eyes as she made her way to her lover. Maybe dreams do come true. After all these days, weeks, months of wishing, her wish came true. And even now it’s better than what she wished for.

Not being able to stop herself and not even trying to, (Y/n) jumped straight into Ace’s warm embrace for the first time in years. Automatically (Y/n) inhales deeply taking in Ace’s smell of burnt ambers and sunk deeper into his strong and warm embrace. By now she couldn’t help the waterworks from coming. Neither could Ace, the 2 of them held each other close, taking in each other scent and loving embrace. As if this moment latest forever, the 2 of them didn’t let go for as long as they could. However, (Y/n) can only cry so much into his shoulder before taking a deep breath. So barely pulling away and with a red-eyed and snot-filled face, (Y/n) smiled as she tried to speak up the loudest and clearest she could.

“Y-y-y-your… you’re alive!! Ace is alive. Your alive!!” (Y/n) cried as she tried to call out to the others however your attention was all on Ace. She was scared that if she looked away he would disappear, so she kept her around him and locked her eyes with his.

“I’m alive. I’m really alive.” Ace sobbed back keeping his eyes locked with (Y/n)’s. She didn’t even care if his voice has reached them, she doesn’t want it to reach them. All she wants is to be with Ace now. Smiling through her tears, she pulled her hand up to Ace’s cheeks and began to rub her thumb against his freckled cheeks feeling his rough skin against hers. Ace, still through his tears, smiled and hummed as he leads into her hand, enjoying the softness and warmth her hands had provided. This moment should last forever, they both wished. Just as (Y/n) has dropped her hand to his chest and was able to lean in to kiss his lips that she wanted to feel and taste once again, 2 pairs of very loud footsteps came behind them. Before the 2 of them could even react, 2 bodies came crashing down onto them.

“Ace!!” The 2 of them sobbed as all of the 4 bodies fell over in the grass. Both Luffy’s and Sabo’s sobs could be heard for miles, like (Y/n) and Ace, they couldn’t hold back their tears. So all 4 of them laid on the ground and just sobbed, they couldn’t do anything else. Each one of them held onto the other with such an iron grip, it was hard to breathe but nobody wanted to move. The only time they moved was when Ace pulled back and started at Sabo for a while trying to figure out who it was.

“S-s...sabo. Y-you’re alive too?!!” Ace gasped as he could feel more tears falling. Sabo looked up and smile at him, nodding. And Just with that simple nod both of the boys began to cry even harder and the hug got tighter. This whole hug was a mess, they were all crying loudly. People in the village soon came to even check on them but none of them cared. After 2 years each of their dreams had come true and nothing else mattered.

“Welcome home, Ace.”

~~

“Luffy don’t-!” (Y/n) tried to protest all she wanted, but as soon as she had put down the food, Luffy was all over it. And taking after his uncle, Estelle was right there digging into the food with Luffy. Let a heavy sigh past her lips as she walked back into the kitchen to get the rest of the food.

“Oi! Luffy save some for us!!” Ace’s voice rang through the house as a loud thump followed along with Luffy groaning in pain. Like music to her ears, hearing Ace’s voice once again causes (Y/n) so much happiness and relief. Having her black-haired lover back is the best feeling in the world.

After all 4 of them had somehow managed to stop the tears, they didn’t spend a moment from each other. Where ever one went the others always followed because they were all scared that if they left then Ace would disappear. Although, out of the whole reunion, being able to reunite Estelle with his father was the best part. Luckily he’s only 2 so things weren’t awkward and he was able to quickly adapt to Ace. Being again to finally introduce Ace to his son and Estelle to his father was by far the best part. It only made (Y/n) cry even more.

“Hey, Daddy you can’t hit Uncle Luffy. Mama will get mad at you.” Estelle laughed as he waved around the bone. Even the word was foreign to Ace, it still took him a while to get used to even being a dad. But after staring at Estelle for a moment, just taking in the fact that Estelle’s actually his kid. Ace chuckled and smiled.

“Oh, will she now? Last time I check, I think I can handle your mother when she’s angry.” Ace chuckled as he leads back in his chair and crossed his arms. She could cry just looking at him. After all these years he hasn’t changed a bit. Messy black hair, freckled skin, a huge smile that could light up the room. The only thing that had changed, was the giant burn mark on his stomach. It was huge and very upsetting but it’s not like Ace didn’t have scars from before. With one last shaky breath, (Y/n) pushed back any sadness she had and quickly replaced it with joy. There is no way (Y/n) was gonna be sad.

“You better think again fire boy.” (Y/n) had stated as she hit the back of his head while she took a seat next to him at the table. Ace hissed at the pain while Estelle laughed in response. Sabo and Luffy were quick to follow in suit. All their laughter sounded like music to her ear. There really wasn’t anything else she could wish for. Ace was back, she’s having dinner with her family, and she was happy. It was all too perfect, it was almost like this whole thing was a dream. God, (Y/n) was terrified that it was all just a dream. The thought of having them go back to a time where Ace was gone and that-

“Ouch.” (Y/n) hissed as she grabbed her arm. Looking over next to her, she saw Estelle gigging up at her. Estelle and his pinches are gonna be the death of her.

“You so deserve that for early. Good job, Estelle, you’re learning quickly.” Ace laughed out loud as he looked over at his son. Estelle smiled bright and laughed along with him. (Y/n) couldn’t even be mad, but she wasn’t about to let Ace get away with it.

“Oh, you watch it, because last time I checked Estelle was still a mommy’s boy just like his father.”

[marshmallowprotection]

I just realized that GE Saeran would probably appreciate one of my favorite sayings!

"The difference between a flower and a weed is a judgment"

I've always loved flowers that many dislike and call weeds (dandelions, clover flowers, violets, etc) so I love this saying very much~ 😊💗

Wasn't there a line in Ray's route that was, "If we think it, even weeds can be flowers" or something similar?

You’re most definitely right! It’s actually something that we, the player, say to Suit Saeran because he thinks of himself as a useless weed. But that’s right, if you’re trying to see something from another angle, you can see something that you’ve never seen before. Weeds aren’t ugly or useless. 

Think about a dandelion, for example. Some people do not care for them, and yet, we hold them close and make a wish upon them. They don’t have to be ugly if we look at them as something hopeful... the same way that we try to tell Suit Saeran that he isn’t a monster and he isn’t ugly... he just needs to look and see himself from another angle.

[iwantitiwriteit]

Love Lockdown - Part 2

Big Girl With a Brave Face

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: You brace yourself for your FaceTime with Chris.

Warnings: Angst, Pandemic backdrop, Profanity

Notes: More heart strumming feels! Read the previous part! Gonna try and put these up on Monday’s starting next week 8/10, along with In My Feelings Monday™, when my asks will be open for all your romantic musings! Let’s get sweet and sappy y’all! I know you wanna 🥰 

The sun shines down, a crisp wind whisking by you every so often; applause for your hard work in the garden. You found a circadian rhythm. Grasp, pull, dump. Grasp, pull, dump. It afforded you an opportunity to get lost in thought… and memory. 

You just don’t get it, do you?

Baby, I want to!

Why didn’t you say anything?

Would it have mattered?

I think we can both agree we need the space…

We need to talk…

I love you.

I love you too.

“Are you okay Aunty?” Iris’ innocent voice drifts into your trance but doesn’t break it completely.

You absentmindedly respond. “Uh huh. Why do you ask?”

“Probably ‘cos you're pulling at those weeds so ferociously I think you might’ve got a few good plants,” Ines answers for her younger sister, the teenage ‘tude snapping you to reality.

You assess your handiwork and sure enough, in your pile of weeds, some good plants lie there with them, undeservedly plucked from the earth. “Oh, my bad,” you sheepishly apologize.

“It’s okay. The only difference between a weed and a flower is judgment. Here,” Ines shuffles over to your spot. 

“Ines, you’re wise beyond your years, you know that?” You stand up, placing your palms on your lower back, arching and stretching in a moment of respite. Looking over your nieces tending to the greenery you botched, their youthful vigor bring a genuine smile to your face. Those have been few and far in between these days. 

“I know, right? Could you tell my mom for me?” she kids, making you laugh. “It couldn’t have been that long since it was you and Mama doing this,” Ines smirks at you briefly before refocusing on rerooting.

You chuckle, “Ha! Feels like a lifetime ago. But, yeah, it really hasn’t been that long. Guess I just kinda lost touch.”

“Do you miss it? Do you miss being here?” Iris asks. 

“Umm… honestly?” The both of them look up at you, eyes wide and expectant. “I thought I didn’t. L.A. can be blinding in that way. But now that I’m here, I feel a little more… myself. Not to mention that I’ve missed you girls soo much! C’mere!”

A niece under each arm, hugging your middle tightly, you can feel how much they’ve missed you as well. You want to be a better aunt to them. Your love for your family is as expansive as the family farm you marvel at in front of you. Acres of green going beyond the quaint garden near the house, with the barn just behind the rustic office and rec building where the farmers are currently gathered for lunch just a few feet away. But your feelings were much like half your sister’s employees as of late; they didn’t show, especially in crisis.

Through one of the windows, you catch sight of a familiar profile; hand to his temple pressing deep into his smooth, mahogany skin, thick, dark brows knitted together in concentration, plump lips puckered as he writes furiously, occasionally taking a bite of his sandwich. He must feel your eyes because he looks up to meet them, breaking focus from his working lunch. The hand that was to his temple is now raised for a tentative wave, just as the corner of his mouth is raised for a beautiful, sweet smile. 

Your shoulders tense, your wave is curt, and your smile is barely there. You avert your eyes not wanting to see the effect of your abrupt actions. 

“I know Keith is glad you’re back, too.” You look down to see Iris looking up at you, her 10 year old face contorted into her best suggestive look. 

Ines rolls her eyes at her sister’s antics, “Oh, stop it! She’s already got the most perfect, dreamy boyfriend, remember?”

“Well, I’ve never met him. Have you? How do we know if he’s even real?”

“She’s got a point. Why haven’t we met him yet?”

“If he thinks he's too good to come down south, meet your family, let me tell you something Aunty, that’s not the kind of man you should be with.”

“I don’t think Aunty had ‘take dating advice from a child’ on her quarantine to-do list. Maybe he’s just busy; he is a movie star— correction— a superhero! Superhero equals stable income, stable income means husband material. Simple math.”

“Well, Keith has a stable and would never be too busy for her!”

“Keith runs a stable… a horse stable. Not exactly a selling point, right Aunty?”

“Aunty, tell her she’s wrong!”

The girls get to bickering and you wipe your forehead, not too sure if it’s from the heat or the interrogation you’re enduring. You check your watch. 1:39 pm.

“Shit!” Your exclamation silences your nieces as they whip their heads towards you. “Sorry ladies,” you offer an apologetic smile for the obscenity. “I, uh, gotta get ready for a call. Let’s turn it in early, yeah?” They race in the house without a second thought, and you trail behind them.

You remove your shoes in the mud room, then stalk down the hall toward the main part of the house. You wave to your sister as you pass her home office where she’s pacing, busy on the phone, swamped in paperwork. She waves you over with a confused face and shrugs as she sees her girls buzzing around.

You go to lean in the door jamb of her office as she asks, “What brings y’all inside so early? Wasn’t expecting you to be back in for another couple hours.”

“I have that FaceTime call at 2 I gotta get ready for, remember?”

“Right, right… remind me again. It’s for a writing gig?” she asks, sifting through her mountain of papers, as distracted as she was this morning when you told her your afternoon plans.

“Uh, no. It’s um, with… Chris,” your voice trails off with each word.

Your sister whips her head around, interest now piqued. “Really? That’s good, right?”

You shrug and sigh, indifference in your expression, “It’s, y'know… whatever, Mina.”

Wilhelmina furrows her brows, “What’s wrong?” Before you could contemplate an excuse, she puts a finger up to you, “Yes, thank you, I’m trying to get in touch with…” she answers to the person on the other line.

Your watch buzzes with your 15 minute reminder for your FaceTime with Chris. “I gotta go,” you tell your sister, before turning to head upstairs. The ascension to the second level feels like a death march, the impending doom of your relationship finally setting in. Each step feels increasingly weighted. Once at the top of the staircase, you pinch the bridge of your nose as if that will alleviate your anxieties. 

“Let’s get you ready,” Wilhelmina’s maternal voice drifts to you as she comes up the stairs, melting your nerves a little. She shoots you a pity smile before ushering you into your guest room, where you make a B-line for the bathroom.

You take your time and delicately wash away the grime and sweat from your face. It’s like a Neutrogena commercial, the way you come up from the sink, staring yourself in the mirror. You take note of the creases in your forehead caused by your tense brows, the pain in your eyes, your overall sullen expression. And this feeling. This feeling is like being suspended mid-air, knowing the dreadful drop was any minute now.

You know very well who is in control of the drop. You just don’t know when you gave up that control to him. The only thing you can do now is go with grace. In an effort to have some sense of control, you did what anyone in your situation would do: You turned to Google.

“what to do when your boyfriend is about to break up with you” is what you typed into the search engine this morning. You felt like a teenager. Young and dumb. Like you’d never been in a relationship before. Like you’d never been broken up with before. None of this is new. And yet, it is. You hadn’t been here before. You hadn’t known this feeling before.

The feeling of knowing the one to make the dreadful drop happen is the same one that you love more than you knew was even possible, and damn did it hurt like hell. But could it have hurt more than knowing you’re the one that brought him to this point? Especially when you know these deep feelings are requited? The love is requited.

Who knows. You just file these feelings away for later in the hopes that it’ll inspire your pen. Right now it’s time to put on a brave face. You’ve gotten so good at it.

“So, what brought this on?” Wilhelmina inquiries after a few minutes of you lollygagging in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Oh, umm… well, he called last night. It was the first time we talked since—”

“You got here.” 

“Yeah, but who’s counting,” your deadpan earns you a disapproving look from your sister. You’ve learned to ignore it. You check the time. 5 til. “Ugh, I don’t have time to pretty myself up. Breakups are ugly anyways; guess I’ll have to be, too,” you joke, leaving Whilelmina bewildered.

“Wait, what? You’re dumping him? I know it’s tough, trust me, I get it, but—”

“No... he’s gonna dump me,” you correct her.

“What would make you think that?”

“I don’t know, maybe cos he said ‘we need to talk… for real’,” you mock his deep voice; it’s how you read his text last night in your head, “and we all know what that means…”

“Hold up, it doesn’t necessarily mean that!”

“C’mon Mina! It’s textbook breakup prep!”

“Maybe for a teenager, but he’s a grown ass man. If he says he wants to talk, he probably just wants to talk.”

“Yeah, about dumping you…” Ines mumbles under her breath from the doorway. Wilhelmina stares daggers into her mouthy daughter, and she shrinks away to mind her business.

You continue to get ready, mainly focusing on laying your edges before finding a new shirt. “So, why would he suggest we quarantine separately knowing we had issues we were working on?” you debate your sister.

“Because like he said: you need some space. Totally normal for maintaining a healthy relationship.”

“Is it though? Cos when I say “I need space”, I’m thinking about making an exit. And that’s on a good, non-pandemic day. Hell, our issues alone would make me bow out. Now you add this stressful shit on top?”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Her simple question makes you stop in tracks, your brave face wavering for just a moment. “B-Because— it doesn’t matter. He’s ending things with me, in,” you check the time, “3 minutes. And I don’t blame him! I’ve been a mess lately! An emotional wreck lately! You should’ve heard me last night, it was gross!”

Wilhelmina starts to chuckle at your dramatics, but you can tell she’s laughing at you, not with you. “What’s so funny?”

“Sweetheart, you’d have to show emotions to be an emotional wreck. I think you skipped a few steps.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes as you peel off your sweaty shirt and toss it in the laundry basket. You take your wash cloth to dab your underarms before putting on a nicer top. A proper shower will have to wait til later.

“I’ll have you know that I do, in fact, have emotions. I just channel them into my writing, to avoid sapping them all over any- and everyone… like some people I know,” you quirk your brow and tilt your head in Wilhelmina‘s direction.

“Girl, whatever! From what you told me, Chris is as much a romantic as I am, maybe even more so. You don’t hate it as much as you let on. Just admit it.”

You slowly turn away from Wilhelmina to primp yourself in the full length mirror. She follows you, glaring at you in hopes she will break you down. You decide to throw her a bone.

“Last night, I told him how we should’ve been together right now. There was even a quiver in my voice because I do really, really miss him. It was all so, so...” Your sister’s hands are clutching her chest, eyes glazed like she was watching a romcom. She’d finally gotten through to you. “… so pathetic.” Or so she’d thought. The sound of frustration that came from her amused you greatly, your eyes now glazed from crying of laughter. 

“See, that’s what the hell I'm talking about! If he brings emotion— vulnerability— out of you, why do you resist? He’s worth keeping around, sis. I would think you: an artist, a writer for god’s sakes, would find some value in that.”

You stare straight ahead, fixing imaginary stray curls in your hair, and avoiding eye contact with Wilhelmina. She awaits your response, brows raised, neck craned toward you, hands below her chest with palms up, as if to say ‘Sooo...???’. You wondered how long she’d stay like that before you said something. “Are you done?”

Your sister sighs, and it’s quickly followed by ringing from your laptop. You both look in its direction, then at each other. The moment you’d been bracing for all day is here. You hesitantly move towards the chair at your desk where your laptop is sat. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Wilhelmina says before excusing herself. You almost didn’t want her to go. But you’ve got to be a big girl with a brave face.

“One last thing?” you twist in your chair to look at her in your doorway, “I know who made you believe that big girls don’t cry, but it’s bullshit. It’s good to feel. It’s okay to show it sometimes, too. Especially with the ones who showed and proved they won’t judge you for it,” she motions to your still ringing computer before closing your door.

You turn back to your desk, swallowing thickly. Here goes. You answer the call and Chris’ smiling face fills your screen. That beautiful face that’s worth doing right by.

“Hey baby! For a second there, I thought you wouldn’t answer,” he nervously chuckles. 

You smile at him but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He senses your apprehension. Even through a screen, he’s perceptive. Chris starts to small talk, rambling about work and the weather, intending to ease your guard down before getting to the tough stuff. But it’s absolutely painful pretending to be strangers. 

“Chris?”

“Yes honey?”

“I don’t wanna do this with you.”

Part 3

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 2

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: N/A

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 2: Little Shop of Everything

He stood in front of your cage with his hands on his hips, staring at you... or perhaps the bars... or the wall. Who could tell. It was like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. You figured you were probably the first of his prisoners to make such a request and now he had to decide on the logistics. A part of you couldn't help but feel special, to be the first of something. But mostly you were just uncomfortable waiting for him to make up his mind about whatever decision he was wresting with.

Finally he moved, opening the barred door and gesturing for you to stand. He removed the shackles from your wrists, which were hurting the more you wore them. They weren't tight, but they were heavy, as if made to restrain someone - or something - bigger than you. He was silent as he guided you to the back of the ship. When you reached the hatch that would lead outside, he halted and rummaged through a compartment in the wall.

You peered curiously over his shoulder. He pulled out two objects, one of which he promptly snapped over your upper left forearm.

"Ow," you said. It hadn't hurt, but you felt the need to say it anyway.

There was a low red light pulsing from the cuff now on your arm, and a matching light flickered on the other object that he held. He stuck it against the wall before pushing a button on a nearby control panel and opening the hatch door.

"Run too far and you get shocked," was the only explanation he gave about the bizarre set of actions that just occurred.

You glanced at the light on your arm uneasily, hating how it glowed ominously. How unnecessary. As if you would try to run given your situation.

You followed him down the ramp and into the daylight. It took you a minute of furious blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness. You hadn't expected to recognize the planet you'd landed on, but you were still disappointed by its unfamiliar appearance nonetheless. The ground was mostly dirt with the occasional weed poking through. Buildings were scattered haphazardly across the plain, no sense of order or pattern to them. A group of kids from various species kicked a ball around in the distance. Their laughter and shouts carried over in the slight breeze passing by.

Boba Fett was ahead of you, marching toward a building that didn't seem any different than the others, but you trusted his judgment and picked up your pace to follow. A strange smell hit you as soon as you walked through the doorway. It didn't take you long to pinpoint it was coming from the strange looking animal being roasted on a spit behind the cash counter.

"Get what you need," Boba Fett instructed as he turned away down the first aisle.

You were in some kind of store, though you couldn't figure out what kind as it seemed to have everything. There was fresh food being made on one end. Strings of dried meats and fruits hung like vines from the ceiling. The shelves and stands themselves had every item imaginable, from tools to shoes to stuffed animals to medicine. One wall had coats hanging, in every color of the rainbow. In the back corner seemed to be a bunch of brightly lit lamps.

You passed by it all slowly and in awe. Much like the buildings outside, there was no rhyme or reason to where anything was. You found a box of nuts and bolts next to a stand of fresh flowers, which was just across from a stack of designer pillows, which was above a row of pill bottles. You had no clue where to begin looking for what you needed.

The only employee was a creature with six arms sitting on a stool by the register. It looked to be asleep. You decided to keep wading through the aisles until you either lucked out or ran into Boba Fett again and asked for his assistance.

You twisted and turned around the store, surprised such a small place could hold so much. You were trying to make mental notes of all the things you saw, in case one day you made it back home and needed details for the story you'd tell your family.

Your family.

You'd been trying your very best to not think about them, to just live from moment to moment until you could finally make it back. But every so often, and without much warning, you'd find their faces flashing in your mind and a pang of sadness would hit you square in the chest.

Thankfully some clothes caught your eye from the next stand over and you forced yourself to shake off the feeling. If no one could tell you were wearing the same clothes you'd been teleported in several days ago by their wrinkled and dusty appearance, they certainly could by the smell. You draped a few articles over your arm as you passed by, figuring it was worth a shot to try buying them. You had been told to get what you need, after all....

Several minutes later and Boba Fett ended up circling his way back around to you, finding you scowling between two almost identical boxes of tampons. Everything on the products was in a strange language. You'd seen the symbols on the Slave I, but they were nothing like the languages from your planet.

"What does this say?" you asked, pointing to a group of symbols on one box that you'd finally deciphered were not on the other.

"Organic," the man grunted before walking past you and back toward the front of the store.

You decided organic was too hippy for your comfort, especially considering there was mystery sausage hanging just above your head, and so you grabbed the other box and hastily made your way to the counter.

Boba Fett didn't protest to the clothes you tossed onto the pile, much to your surprise and relief. Also surprising were the few things he'd picked up for himself: a razor, blaster cartridges, and a book. Again, you couldn't understand the symbols on it to tell if it was more of a manual or a bedtime story. You secretly hoped it was the later. Anything to show this strange man wasn't as dark and serious as he tried to come across.

The six-armed creature was ringing up the items while also shaving meat off the animal on the spit. Boba Fett was pointing to it and speaking in an unknown tongue. As you waited for the additional purchase, your eyes wandered to a section of the back wall that was filled with posters and other notices. Some were old and starting to fall off. But there was one that was newer, tacked over the top of the others. At the top in a large font were a few of those strange symbols. And at the bottom, a blurred picture of a face.

Your face.

[jaeminlore]

The Sun Shines in the Knight | Mark Lee

playlist

summary: golden, as i open my eyes. hold it, focus, hoping; take me back to the light. — golden, harry styles. / mark doesn't want to fall in love, but he doesn't want to be forgotten, either.

words: 4.05k+

category: knight!mark x gardener!reader, gender neutral reader, mark is on the ace/aro spectrum but idk how to label it, mark is in love with the sun.

warning(s): injuries, anxiety

a/n: this is lowkey inspired by me and my friend but its also taken a mind of it's own

The sun is the last think Mark sees on the battlefield. Just as his back hits the damp grass and his ears ring in the anticipation of a long nap (read: a concussion) he sees the sun pulse in his vision, brighter and brighter until he succumbs to his injury.

The sun is, coincidentally, the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the healer's room. There's a bandage around his bare torso to cover a particularly nasty blade wound, and a thin scab across his jaw. The only window in the room, high and arched, serves as a direct viewing of the sun in all of her glory. The rays warm his skin, and for a moment, he thinks about going back to sleep.

His head pounds when he closes his eyes, though, and he figures it'd be better to get up and force his blood to do some circulating.

The healer — Jaemin — isn't in the room, and so Mark decides he isn't under any important watch that would force him to stay cooped up all day.

He sits up, the anticipated curl of his spine sends an immediate zip of pain through his ribs, and Mark groans aloud, having forgot what a broken rib feels like. 

But the sun moves to his shoulders, and the feeling is euphoric, so he braves the pain in favor of visiting the garden. There has to be a hidden patch of grass somewhere, sun kissed and waiting to be slept upon.

Mark briefly pauses in his journey to take a detour into the kitchen, where he fills up a wooden cup with cool water directly from the pump. He drinks three full glasses before he decides he's properly hydrated, then he slowly makes his way to the back garden, side-stepping the noble children who run around the roses while their mothers attend afternoon tea.

The royal garden has many sections: a garden for the kitchen, where vegetables are grown, a flower garden for the royal florist, color coded for easy arrangements. There's an herbal garden just for Jaemin and his peers, for balms and potions alike. There's a fruit orchard too, but it's past the garden wall, closer to the abundance of the lake and the clear water it produces.

The garden wall itself is somewhat of a maze. While the outer is a high stone gate, made to keep intruders out, the following layers are made of thick shrubbery that are often clipped into different shapes. Then there are hedges, planted to be somewhat of a maze for privacy. It's often in the maze that nobles walk with their suitors, or where strategists discuss their, well, strategies.

Mark dives into the maze and searches for whatever empty landing he can find. After sidestepping a few appalled nobles (apparently a beaten-up knight dressed in nothing but bandages and cotton is not what one wants to see during tea time, but Mark doesn't exactly know where his shirt is, so) he finds a patch of clovers. The weeds are plentiful, and a bright emerald green that makes Mark feel happy for no reason. The sun shines down on the overgrown patch, and Mark realizes that the patch is already occupied by a small rabbit. It's a grey cottontail, one he's seen a few times in the garden. He's sure it belongs to one of the gardeners, or is at least comfortable enough with them to hang out so much. Mark knows rabbits don't particularly like people.

The rabbit in question is munching on a clover, it's little pink nose twitching as it does so. 

Mark decides that he'll risk it, so he approaches the patch anyways, and lies down on his back, letting the sun blanket him. 

(He can hear the rabbit's clicking as he falls asleep.)

-

"Oh, hi." It's your voice that wakes Mark up from his dreamless slumber. He's surprised to find that it's already sundown when he wakes, and his body is still just as weak as it was when he fell asleep. Maybe moreso now (what is Jaemin always chiding him for? Heat exhaustion?) At least he drank enough water to stay hydrated throughout everything.

It takes him a few moments to get reoriented with his surroundings. And finally, he remembers your presence; curves his neck to see where you've gone off to.

You're still there, in a shirt that's far too big for you. The collar nearly hangs off of your shoulder, showcasing your soil-stained collarbones. You're not paying attention to him anymore, not that Mark really expected you to.

You pick up the rabbit instead, chiding it in quiet an exasperated voice as you warn him about being in the sun for too long. (Maybe you and Jaemin would get along.)

"'M sorry," Mark mumbles out, stumbling over his dry mouth and his slow-to-rouse brain. He finally sits up, his ribs still screaming in protest, and he looks at you.

You gaze back at him, the grey rabbit snuggled close to your chest. You're not smiling. You look uncomfortable, if anything, and Mark hesitates to keep talking to you. 

But you speak first. "Why are you apologizing? You have every right to sleep outside."

The tone in your voice makes Mark feel warm inside. It's hardly judgmental, bordering between disconcertment and daring. There's hesitance in your words. Your voice wavers as you assure him he can hang out as long as he needs to, and Mark wonders if you're making up these rules for him, or for you.

"I should head back to Jaemin and get my bandages changed," he says matter-of-factly, like you care or asked.

"Okay." You blink at him, and although the sun is setting, Mark can still he it's reflection in your eyes. He wonders if you know that the sun is attracted to you.

(He thinks it'd be weird to ask. No one else thinks about the sun as much as him, so it might sound less like a compliment and more like a creepy overstep. Mark never wants to overstep.)

-

Getting back into training is harder than Mark thought it should be. Sure, it's been months, and his wounds have healed completely, but he still has visions of the battlefield, still gets anxious at the sound of a blade, and lately he's been longing for something more peaceful.

He's not trying to be selfish. Really, he loves knighthood. He loves protecting his kingdom and helping the innocent. It's all he ever wanted to do since he was young. And sure, he's gotten older and more solemn, but it doesn't change the fact that he's halfway there. He's still a young knight, just years past being a squire, and he still has so much to prove and so much to learn.

He absorbs information like a sponge. He practices his moves until daybreak, often slumping into his bed without so much as a bath or a meal to heal his aching bones. He does everything he can to please his captain and fellow teammates. The thought of their disappointment shatters him already. Anxiety floods his veins at the mere thought of them disapproving of his actions.

That's precisely why he doesn't tell anyone he's slowly breaking on the inside. It's nothing he can't handle. Nothing he hasn't been through before. Only this time it's not well hidden in the privacy of his bunk. This time it's starkly noticeable in the way he flinches at every swing of the blade, every clang of a shield against a suit, every shrill call to order from his captain.

He falls again, the sun both his enemy and closest friend as he's chided once again about the dangers of dehydration. 

His mouth is too dry to tell his captain that it isn't dehydration at all. It's anxiety, and the fear that this feeling is going to be his forever. He kind of wants to go to sleep and never wake up, but even that thought brings on shame.

He closes his eyes, feels the sun burn against his eyelids, and wills it to burn him up, if just to let him feel something.

-

You're in the clover patch again. Not again, because Mark hasn't seen you since the first time and it's been months, but again, because he sees you now, and the days blur so easily in his mind nowadays that he really feels like he just saw you yesterday.

You have a basket in your hand, and you're gathering bunches of clover with precise care, ignoring his presence. Mark figures you just don't hear him, but he sees your gaze flit to him and he realizes you're avoiding acknowledgment on purpose.

Mark supposed this is where he leaves. 

Only he doesn't, because he's drowsy beneath the afternoon sun, and this is the only place he can go where he won't be chided for his rash decisions.

(The sunburn on his chest is actually healing nicely, thank you very much.)

"What do you use so many clovers for?" He asks, eyes hesitant when they meet yours.

You look shocked that he's speaking to you. Not in an appalled way, but more like you expected him to ignore you altogether.

Mark doesn't want to ignore you; never really has. 

"Jaemin asked me to." So you already know Jaemin. "For cough syrup."

"Ah." Mark doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want you to think he's done talking to you, but he's horribly awkward at things like this. Talking. Friendship. Whatever is going on here.

"You fainted today," you say. "Maybe you shouldn't be out in the sun so much."

"Oh, it wasn't because of the sun," Mark amends. He sits down, away from the clover patch so he won't disrupt your progress. "I get anxious when I fight now. That's all."

"You were anxious enough to pass out?" You ask him, and then your voice gets lower as you seem to answer yourself, "Well yeah, I guess increased blood flow would make you pass out. That was stupid to ask."

"Not stupid," Mark says. He doesn't know what else to say though.

It's a weird in-between place of wanting to talk to you and having nothing to say. He decides maybe he should just dive into the deep end. "Ever since the last battle... it's been hard for me to keep up. I'm afraid of swords now, which shouldn't happen, but I guess something in my brain got triggered when I was wounded, and now swords connect with pain. They've always been connected with pain though, so it shouldn't be new. It's just new to me."

You hum. It's enough for Mark to know you listened. He thinks maybe you're good at listening, even if your only reply is a solemn hum. Then, "You can't help it if you have trauma in your life. It's expected since you're a knight, but don't push it down so much that you fall ill."

"Yeah." He says. "I won't."

(He doesn't. And sometimes he does. It really depends on the days, but he's trying, and somehow he thinks that's all you meant for him to do.)

-

Mark is always around so many people. He thinks about it on his birthday, when Jaemin takes him and all of his fellow knights to the nearby inn for drinks. Mark feels the numb sting of a person who has many companions but no one to confide in. He takes it in stride; always has, but it burns down his throat along with the whiskey.

He watches Johnny flirt with the innkeeper, and when the tall man comes back with keys to the nicest room, he gives them to Mark. A "Happy Birthday, man." on the top of his tongue.

Everyone howls, their minds going to dirty places, and Mark has to quiet them down by saying he doesn't want to have sex tonight. Or any night for that matter. Everything in his chest burns from the laughter he receives in turn, along with the assurance that he'll get intimate when the right person comes along.

He visits you the next morning and recounts the tale. 

"Some people don't want sex," you say. There's a surety in your voice that makes Mark wish you were with him last night, if only to defend him. He doesn't want to be selfish, though — doesn't want you to think he's only using you for his own benefit — so he leaves with his thoughts and the sun on his back.

-

Your schedules don't really coincide. Mark never sees you; not in the audience at jousts, or in the kitchen during meal time. He knows the both of you are in completely different sectors of the castle — your presence is really only mandatory in the garden, while Mark's is mandatory everywhere the king is.

But sometimes Mark thinks about you during jousting tournaments, when he gets a high score but no one praises him for it. It's just expected of him, and yet he wishes there was someone to praise him for his hard work. It's not easy doing what he does, especially when he has so much anxiety doing it.

He wants to find you. He wants to breathe in your presence— wants to ask you if you think about him too, in the spaces between obligation and freedom. In the moments where you can be whoever you wish.

He wonders if you picture him.

The sunburn on his shoulders makes his skin itch more than usual, and Mark thinks about taking a swim in the lake to clear his mind. 

He stands on the dock, mind foggy with the what-ifs and the how-tos and the imagine-if-Y/n-ever-thought-about-yous. He hesitates to take off his shirt, because left in only his cotton shorts he feels vulnerable. The scars that mark up his chest make him feel weak, like he's never been enough, and he'll never be enough so long as his skin doesn't clear. 

He doesn't feel like a man. Never really has. In his mind he is still a child playing pretend, and life is catching up to him, all too quickly and all too harshly for him to prepare for whats to come.

The sun reflects on the surface of the lake. Shadows of minnows and frogs pass beneath him, and Mark finally loses his shirt.

He dives in, feeling the slimy seaweed wrap around his ankles almost immediately. And yeah, it's uncomfortable, but it beats his leather boots and the sweat that builds up after a full day of practice.

A small frog hops onto his shoulder, frightening him, but it dives back into the water just as quickly, so Mark focuses on calming his breathing.

"Mark Lee," you call out. 

Mark slips on the seaweed and falls back into the water. He closes his eyes tightly and lets himself break the surface. He feels his cheeks flood with heat, and he wonders if the sun can penetrate the water.

"Hi," he says softly. Water drips off of his eyelashes. Drops land on his cupid's bow and stay there as he stares at you.

Maybe you could feel him thinking about you. Maybe he sent some kind of cosmic energy out into the world, and you sensed it.

Maybe fate just works in mysterious ways.

Mark doesn't know what to say. He watches you sit on the dock and take off your shoes. You dip your toes into the water and smile at him. It's a bigger smile than he normally receives, and Mark feels like maybe you're opening up to him. He feels really good, and he isn't sure if it's the sunny daze or your warm gaze.

Maybe it's both.

Mark decides that he wants to hold you. Maybe it's too romantic a thought; maybe it's not romantic enough, but it sears his eyelids, and when he closes his eyes he can feel his hands splayed at your waist.

Yes, it's too romantic of a thought.

The sun is glaring now, taunting him. It's as if he doesn't know that he's failing in every way, staring at you without saying anything. He wants to reach out and ask you for advice on anything. Everything. He wants to get you talking; thinking about him, even just for a few minutes, but it's hard when he can't find his voice.

His shoulders itch again. He takes it as a sign. "Do you know any- uh- plants to help with sunburn?"

You smile even brighter somehow, and the sun is behind you now, mocking him as it rings a halo over your head. The light romanticizes you in a way Mark doesn't think he can. He doesn't think he's capable of it, but he longs for you.

He longs for you harmlessly, and his heart aches at the thought of you out of his life. Despite your monthly appearances, they mean more to Mark than he realizes most of the time. And he wants to tell you that he'd like to see you more often. Monthly greetings could turn into weekly meetings. He could see you more— bask in your presence; your light. He wants to drown in the way your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He wants to fall apart at the sound of your laughter.

He wants to love you, and he knows he isn't quite capable of love. Not in the way his mother expects him to be. Not in the way his friends expect him to be. Certainly not in the way he expects of himself. And yet, some selfish part of him hopes it will be enough for you. He hopes more than anything that one day you might accept what little love he can offer amongst the busyness of his life. Amongst the closed doors of his heart.

"Aloe vera," you say. "There's some one the healer's room, even though Jaemin is out for the week."

Mark finds a piece of himself feelings rather jealous at the fact that you seem to always know Jaemin's schedule. Why can't you know his?

"Okay," he says. "I'll ask him for some when he returns."

"I have a key." You stand up. "Come on, I'll find you some."

Mark stumbles his way out of the water, slipping twice on seaweed and three times over his words. "You really don't have to." He buttons his shirt over his scars, ears burning red because he can sense you looking at him. Studying him like you're hoping to find something amiss.

Mark follows you to the healer's room. When you order him to sit down, he obeys.

"Here," you hand him a jar of clear goop. "Rub this on your burns until they go away. And if you need any more, come find me."

Come find me.

Your words still ring in his head that night, as he applies more aloe to his body. He wants to come find you tomorrow, and he wants you to stay with him the entire day. He wants to hear about what goes around in your head and in your heart.

He wants to break the wall between the two of you and reach out; touch your soul and find that his is the same.

Mark stays awake until the sun comes up.

-

Beneath the lemon tree, you lay half-asleep. You stroke your rabbit's head and hum a tune, something you heard a long time ago. Maybe in a lullaby or an old shanty.

The sun is far too hot for you, which is why you've found a place in the shade.

You can hear the sounds of swords clanking against each other. Despite your reluctance, you think of Mark, and you wonder if he's doing alright. With his anxiety, and the way he's prone to accidents, you tend to worry about him a lot.

As much as he might think he's hiding it, Mark is a perfectionist just as much as he's a worrier. The two are more than likely related, but they double up in your brain as reasons to reach out to the boy every so often.

You aren't even sure Mark likes you. Like, as in, just enjoying your presence. Mark always seems a little too nervous; a little too eager to leave when he's around you.

You're sure it's you: the only common denominator in every situation.

Mark has a lot on his plate; he's got so much to deal with and so much he puts on himself.

You want to help, but you aren't sure where your place is in Mark's life. You could just be a passing soul; not an actual friend. You don't know, and you don't know the protocol for asking.

You told him to come find you if he ran out of aloe, but does that mean he isn't allowed to find you otherwise? You've only given him an option, and yet it doesn't feel like enough. It feels like maybe he won't visit you at all.

The sound of practice ceases, though your mind doesn't know if it's because practice is over or if it's because you're nearly asleep.

You wake up, and Mark is sitting a little ways off, clicking his tongue at the rabbit. He doesn't notice you've waken up.

"Hi," you say. "You found me."

Mark looks up, mouth open in a shocked expression. His neck is still red from the sun; and it creeps down onto the skin of his bare collarbones. "I didn't- I didn't see you there. Your shirt is the same color as the grass."

"Huh?" In your sleepy daze, you look down at your sleeve and notice that is does match the ground. Maybe Mark really didn't notice you. Maybe this is all fate. "Oh. Sorry then."

"No!" Mark crosses his legs. "No! Uh, I wanted to find you. I just thought you wanted me to wait until I was finished with the aloe."

"That was just an excuse," you say sheepishly. 

Mark is in his uniform (sans the jerkin). Leather pants and a violet shirt, untied at the chest. His skin is still colored, but it seems a bit more pink than the bright red it was yesterday. "It's been working then?"

Mark looks down at his chest and clothed shoulders and nods. "Yeah, uh— It's been working. So, uh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm just taking a nap away from the sun," you say. You roll onto your back and look up, eyes locked at the giant star that shines through the lemon tree leaves. 

"Why would you want to be away from the sun?" Mark narrows his eyes, shoulders hunched over as he reaches for the rabbit. 

"Her name is Garnet," you say. "And the sun is harmful. It can hurt your skin and your eyes. It's better to stay cool."

Mark picks up Garnet and snuggles her into his chest. "I don't think I could ever stay away from the sun. I love the warmth."

"Seems so," you murmur. Mark seems to exude warmth. Seems to radiate the sun itself, like Apollo personally kissed his shoulders; his cheeks; his lips, and Mark shines more golden than the sun at times. Especially when he smile, he seems to personify the sunbeams. "You should stay here with me."

"In the shade?"

"Lay beneath the sun," you reach your hand out.

Mark looks surprised, his golden eyes shining with a sort of gleam that rivals the lake surface. He lays down beside you in the sun and takes your hand in his. "Okay."

You smile, heart full at the action, and even though Mark seems sleepy, you will yourself to stay awake and immortalize each moment in your memory. 

And when his breathing slows; when you think he's finally asleep, he turns on his side and faces you. "Is this... Is this enough for you?"

Something unsaid slips between his words, like finality. Like, this may be all you'll ever get, and he wants to know if it's enough.

You smile at him. You can the sun in the reflection of his eyes; feel the soft grass beneath your skin; the warmth of Mark's hand in yours. 

"This is more than enough."

[beloved-31-proverbs-women]

Negativity is sneaky. It is a new day. Do not let bad creep in. Declare: I woke up blessed. Not stressed. I don’t do drama, I do business. Never lower your God given standards. The difference between a flower and a weed is a judgment. Some days I have no idea how to do it. But every day the Holy Spirit gets it done. Your body is a huge reflection of your lifestyle. Focus on your own issues. If you do not move on you will not move up. Never a victim. A forever prayer warrior. Ephesians 6:10-20. Starve those distractions. Do not think about quitting, your children are watching. Humble but aware of my value. Declare: My attitude is a reflection of my knowledge of the Word of God. Never miss a good chance to Shut Up. Proverbs 18:21. When we make feeling good our priority, everything else can flow. Whoever counted you out, can’t count. Amen 🙏🏼

[5sh]

The difference between a flower and a weed is a judgment.

-sh

[sleepfight]

Bart’s Tattoo

I’m still on my first rough-draft so this is still a little messy and bare bones but since I’m posting more Bart art, I thought I’d share a little excerpt from my fic where Bart tells Uri the story behind his desert rose tattoo.

Uri belongs to @iigoeyei! TW for referenced child abuse, internalized ableism, mental health issues, and alcohol consumption  

Uri knocks back the last of his beer and crushes the can in his fist before chucking it blindly into the flatbed of his truck behind them.  

“What about this one?” He asks and hooks a finger into the collar of Bart’s hoodie so that he can tug it down, exposing the soft, pink petals of the tattoo on his neck. “It looks older than your other ones.”

Bart looks down at his feet as they swing below him, restless hands fidgeting with his own beer. He’s quiet for a moment, trying to think of how he can condense the story of this tattoo in a way that won’t leave them parked in the oppressive humidity all night, but he doesn’t think Uri would mind if they did. That’s why Uri is one of Bart’s favorite people; he has an abundance of patience regardless of whether Bart is going a million miles a minute or has been paralyzed by silence.

He drops one shoulder so that he can pull his shirt down further, letting Uri have a better look. The tattoo is one of his oldest but the colors are still vibrant and the shades of blended pink and yellow stand out against his otherwise chalky complexion like a rash; a flash of something beautiful somewhere it doesn’t belong. 

“It’s a desert rose,” Bart murmurs while Uri tilts his head closer and scrutinizes the small flower. “When I was a kid, we had a neighbor who was really into nature-mysticism and shit. Lynn-Marie Porter. She used to watch me and my sister sometimes after church and she’d make us help her in the pastor’s garden, picking weeds and stuff like that. She made us memorize different types of plants and flowers and what they meant.”

“You mean like if they were poisonous?” Uri asks.

“No, like what they represented. Spiritually, or whatever.” 

“And there were desert roses in the garden, I take it?”

“No.” Bart scowls and stares at the ground. He doesn’t like telling this story, it makes him feel stupid. 

“I was always--I was a different kid,” he says, voice low enough that it can’t carry with the sound of croaking frogs or rustling catkins in the pond, content to keep this between Uri and himself. “My parents took me to all kinds of doctors but they gave up after a few years and everybody in town knew it. Most of ‘em just accepted I wasn’t right and let me be but just as many people tried to stick their noses in with ‘advice’ on how to fix me.”

Bart licks at his dry lips. “Miss Porter was one of those people. She kept telling my mom to hang a dreamcatcher above my bed or that she should put echinacea under my tongue before I went to sleep. One time, I got in trouble for yelling during Sunday service which is something dad would normally slap me around for but Miss Porter took me outside before he could. Sat me down in the garden and told me I had to start behaving properly if I wanted to stay welcome in God’s house.”

Uri’s brow wrinkles in distaste and he blows a long, exasperated sigh out of his nose. “Fuckin’ hell, church sucks,” he grumbles, reaching into the cooler for a fresh beer.

"You're named after an archangel, dude, I don't think you're allowed to say that," Bart smiles crookedly.

There was a time he enjoyed going to church, back when he still thought belief would be the refuge he needed from his own mind. Back when he was little and his ‘eccentricities’ were accepted as normal growing pains and the pastor would still reassure Bart and his parents that God’s love was eternal and unconditional; before the congregation started to view him as a troublesome distraction to be hidden in the back row where the good word barely reached his ears. 

“She told me I needed to find a desert rose and carry it with me wherever I went,” Bart continues after a long moment wherein Uri slurps loudly at his Budweiser and Bart picks the skin around his fingernails. 

“Said that a desert rose would help my brain be quiet and would help me--” he grimaces, almost a flinch. It all sounds so absurd now that he is an adult. “That it would make me understand my emotions and give me serenity.”

“So you got one tattooed?”

“Not at first,” Bart shakes his head. “I didn’t know what a desert rose looked like but I spent all summer looking for one. Got in more trouble rooting around in people’s lawns than I ever did fucking around in church.” 

Bart huffs a laugh, eyes unfocused on the horizon and setting sun. “I hunted everywhere. Broke into hardware stores, backyards… even took a bus all the way to Billings once because I heard MSU had a greenhouse but they wouldn’t let me in.” 

His hands flex around the can he holds and Bart scowls, familiar anger bubbling in his throat along with the equally intimate feelings of shame and inadequacy that are always resurrected when he thinks about his old life. 

“I thought if I could just find one, then all my problems would be solved and I’d get all my old friends back. That I would be normal for as long as I could hang onto it. I was completely obsessed.”

Uri smirks and nudges Bart’s ribs with his elbow, a good-natured jostle that pulls Bart back to the present. “Some things never change, huh?” He teases. “Did you ever manage to get your hands on one?”

“Naw,” Bart sighs. “When I was sixteen, I found a picture in a field guide and convinced my sister’s boyfriend to tattoo it for me. I figured that would be the next best thing if I couldn’t get a real one.”

Now comes the part of this story Bart hates telling and he yanks the zipper of his hoodie back up his neck despite the sweltering temperature. “I found out a few years later that she wasn’t even talking about flowers. A desert rose is a type of fuckin’ rock that hippies use to meditate with or some shit. I got a stupid flower tattoo for nothing.”

Uri leans back on his palms and considers Bart from beneath his eyelashes, brown eyes glowing amber in the dying light. His expression, so open and non-judgmental, makes Bart’s stomach churn. 

“Y’know,” Uri drawls. “I don’t know much about spirituality or however you’d define this kind of thing but I’m pretty sure it’s not the object that counts so much as your belief and conviction in what it does.” He claps a wide palm in the center of Bart’s back. “You were just a kid, misinterpreting the message is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, well.” Bart drains his lukewarm beer in a few quick gulps and throws the can as far away from himself as he can manage, watching it sail into the approaching shadow of the treeline. “Belief obviously wasn’t enough because I’m still--” he points at his own ear and mimes a spiral with his finger, the universal sign for cuckoo-crazy. 

Uri’s face falls. “Bart,” he prods gently.

Bart shakes his head and pulls his hood up over his hair, burying himself beneath his clothes again before hopping off the hood and crossing to the passenger-side door. 

“I have shit to do tonight,” he grumbles and folds his exhausted body into the cab before Uri can stop him. “Take me home.”