How to love everything in your life
This is a twin post for Why discipline is toxic.
Let's start with your environment.
Credit to Marie Kondo because most things here are from her book. (a summary here but i suggest people to read the manga or watch her show for more details)
Don't clean just to clean. Clean for your self. Why do you want to live in a clean environment? Be very specific. (Wanting to feel less stressed, wanting to feel organized, wanting to be surrendered by things you love etc)
When you clean, remember why you do it. You do it out of love for your own person because you want to feel comfy in a clean space. (Or any other reason) Just don't think you have to clean for the sake of cleaning. There are so many reasons why living in a clean space can be great.
Look at your things and remember why you like them. Kondo suggested keeping around things which "spark joy". The thing is, when you do this, you feel happier because you like everything. Suddenly folding clothes is nice, moving books to their place is nice, keeping papers only in a certain spot brings happiness etc.
Don't think of this as a chore but as an activity to relax. Folding clothes is origami, doing the dishes can be avatar water bending style, cleaning cupboards can be a puzzle for organization etc.
Walks can be intimidating when you're alone but...
Try looking for a nice place in your city. Try finding beauty in a common spot. Try looking at things like you're a tourist fascinated by everything. Or an alien, that works too.
Look at the nature. The sky is always different yet beautiful. The sunlight is delightful, especially in the morning. Doesn't the grass look enchanting and makes you want to have a picnic? When you see the same things daily, it's difficult to see them as something special every day. Try learning that.
Walks are good for your body. You walk around to relax. It's an act of love for yourself.
What's something you like about that activity/task? Find something, anything. Maybe you like how fast you can type and look at it as a game while you write emails. Maybe think how pretty food looks when you have to cook. (Anime moodboards help a lot with this) Perhaps you like the happiness people display when you help them with your job.
Try thinking it's an important task and how would you teach someone to do it. Everything is worth teaching and sharing knowledge seems to be a love language many have.
Maybe you don't like the task in any way, how about the feeling you have when it's done? Or the activities you can do after you're done? Think of the pleasure you have once the task is done if the task itself is so unlovable.
Worth mentioning, think of the concept of everything having a spirit. (this way of thinking is popular in witchcraft and Shintoism) won't you enjoy thinking the fairy next to the pile of dishes will he happy they're clean? Maybe it likes the dish soap's scent. Your imagination/perspective can make a task fun.
When you dislike someone, write a list with what you dislike about them. Then write another list with tasks you love/like. Try to make the like list as long as the disliked traits list.
For your friends, ask yourself why you like them? Is it the way they listen to you when you need? Is it the silly sense of humour they got? Is it their optimism? Bonus points if you tell them your every once in a while why they're important to you.
Write a like/love letter. Not in a romantic way but in an appreciation way. No need to give it to them. Just write it to see what makes these people special in your eyes.
Strangers, try to think they are undiscovered treasures. You can always learn something from anyone. You don't have to talk to new people, but this way of thinking will make you seem more invested in what they have to say.
You can write yourself love letters~ really, when was last time you took time to appreciate your own beauty?
Avoid criticism to your own person. Yes, you can make mistakes. No, you shouldn't be cruel because of the mistakes.
Do daily something that makes you happy.
How to actively make you happy
You can find love in everything and everyone. There's always something to appreciate in people and there are always certain emotions which are triggered by things or concepts. (The smile of your friend, the fluffy fur of the pet, the pretty decoration of a cake, the softness of your blouse etc) Just pay attention around you.
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Summary: Tommy doesn’t say ‘I love you’.
(Gif by @nofckingfighting)
A/N: Sweet anon asked: Hello i love you're writing! Can i request a tommy one shot imagine where the reader (his girlfriend or wife) finds out in his office, one of the locked drawers has everytning shes ever given to him? Maybe like love letters or random￼ flowers everything he keep 😍🤍 thank you so mych. This request was so amazing to me, because you it made me feel like you understand this character so well? Either way, it made me think, and this is the result. It’s kinda different but I hope you like it!
“Hmm,” the preoccupied reply came.
You sounded defeated, against your best efforts, “I love you.”
There’s blood on his shirt. It’s the first thing you noticed when he walked in. Not the mud, not his eyes, not his energy, just the blood on his shirt.
“Who’s is it,” you asked as casually as you could.
Tommy lit a cigarette in reply.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he drew out the ‘s’ like he usually did when annoyed or tired.
“Who was it?” you continued.
“Y/N,” he held up a hand, “not tonight, eh? Not with the hundred fucking questions tonight, alright?”
You remained silent for as long as you could bear, “Just need to know you’re safe.”
“You knew who you married,” a low voice replied.
Tommy stood up again slowly started to walk away.
“Do not,” you hissed, “walk away from me.”
“Y/N, what the fuck do you want from me, eh?” he raised his voice, “This is me. This is who I am. And I’m doing it all to give you everything you want. To keep you safe. Alright?”
You leaned forward and tried to lock eyes with him, “What I want, Thomas Shelby, is you. In one piece, preferably.”
“I know,” he lowered his voice again, “And I understand.” He waved a hand like he was about to say more, but didn’t.
“It’s because I love you,” you emphasized.
He nodded slowly, “And that’s why I’m doing all of this.”
You were sitting at your desk writing. Some people seemed to think that being married to Tommy Shelby was a fulltime job and it could be if you’d let it, but not for you. Even before Tommy you’d been a writer, a journalist and an author of short stories. Neatly you typed them out and send them to the publishers in question. It was the one thing in life that always offered you solace.
“You spelled ‘enthusiastic’ wrong,” you husband commented helpfully after having popped up suddenly behind you.
You ripped the page irritably, “Says the man who never even went to school.”
“Life taught me how to spell, Y/N,” he sort of joked.
“Life taught youhow to spell ‘enthusiastic’? Can’t remember the last time you were ever enthusiastic about anything…”
He raised one eyebrow slowly, “How about ‘sarcasm’, can you spell that? Or ‘devil’, how about that, eh?”
You pouted theatrically, “Sometimes I’m not even sure you take me and my work seriously…”
“Oh, I take it seriously,” Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, “I know it’s enough to keep my wife away from me.”
You smiled back at him when he did, but still a pang of hurt went through you: you’d give up everything just to have him say ‘I’m so proud of you sweetheart’. Just once.
“Come on,” he whispered.
You looked up.
“Come on,” he repeated, cigarette hanging from his lips, “let’s go upstairs.”
“Why?” you asked, as you already started to follow him.
Once inside the bedroom, he started undressing you with surprising tenderness.
“Tommy,” you breathed, “look at me. What is it you want?”
As a reply without words he gazed at your body, like he was drinking in very detail and getting drunk at the mere sight of it.
“You and me, Tommy,” you said in between kisses, “remember it’s you and me. Fuck the rest of them. Fuck your family. Fuck the whole world. I love you and you love me. It’s you and me and nothing can ever come between us, right?”
As he took off his own shirt, he gently pushed you down onto the bed.
“You and me, right Tommy?” you repeated, a little breathless as his head disappeared between your legs.
“No,” he finally spoke, “you.”
Thomas Shelby had a long day of dealing with renegade family and dangerous enemies, so when he got back home, all he wanted was his wife and some peace and quiet.
“I cooked,” you said as you lingered against the doorpost. Tommy looked tired, worn-out, dead almost, with his head in his hands, “even told the cook to take the evening off,” you commented while your voice sounded flat. It was funny, because your emotions were all over the place, but your exterior just didn’t show any of it.
He slowly lifted his head, “You did, eh?”
“Thought you might like it…” you fidgeted in spite of yourself.
“I pay that cook for her to actually fucking cook,” he grumbled.
“Fine,” you snapped, “I’ll feed it to the dog,” and you started to walk away.
“What?” You didn’t even really turn around.
Tommy sighed again and for a moment it was like he noticed the disappointment in your eyes, “What did you cook?”
“Mint leaves. Your favourite.”
And then a minor miracle took place and Tommy Shelby actually smiled a little.
“You were late today. I waited.”
“Do you love me?”
“I do. Every day.”
“Not with words…”
“No, not with words.”
“Tommy, tell me again.”
You were still half-asleep in Tommy’s arms. His eyes were closed and his breath was steady. Outside, the sun wasn’t up yet, but it wouldn’t take long now.
Next to you, there was a gun on the table. Tommy had just taught you how to shoot. He’d shown you over and over again, even though you’d protested. But he said you might need it one day.
On the other side there were his cigarettes and whiskey. His medicine. His comfort.
His eyes were closed and his breath was steady. But for how long? How long would it be until he’d die by his own gun, or get killed in some fight? Or met some other girl, prettier and smarter than you?
As if he could read your insecurities, he shifted in his sleep and hugged you even closer to him. Thomas Shelby might not be perfect or a gentleman or eloquent when it came to expressing his love, but he did hold you at night.
“Tommy?” you shouted out through the house, “THOMAS!”
“Fucking hell, woman,” his head appeared around the corner, “What is it?”
Slightly embarrassed by your own volume, you said, “I can’t find the scissors.”
“They’re in my desk somewhere,” he put on his cap and added, “I need to see a man about a horse. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
You made your way to the desk that was always so tidy and neat. So you did as any sensible woman would do and turned over everything in search of a pair of scissors. Nothing. Angrily you threw down a pile of papers. And that’s when you noticed it. One drawer hadn’t been opened at all.
When you tried it, you found it locked. But you were a girl from Small Heath and no locked drawer could stop you. In less than twenty seconds you had managed to force the lock en slid the secret hiding place open.
Inside there were more papers, neatly stacked and tied together with pieces of string in different piles. Breathlessly you took them from the drawer and examined them one by one.
“Still looking for those scissors, eh?” a low voice grumbled in your ear and you practically jumped from fear.
“For fuck’s sake, Thomas,” you mumbled as you tried to hide the papers you’d just found.
Tommy was eyeing them already, but didn’t say a word.
So you went back through them, “These are the letters I wrote to you, when you were in France. I thought you threw away everything. Your medals, everything…”
He didn’t reply.
Tears sprang into your eyes as you examined the second pile, “And these are all my short stories. Did you cut them from the papers? Did you really keep them all?” You quickly went through them and they were all there, from the very first one ever published, “And these, my articles…”
Tommy cleared his throat once and cast his eyes down when you looked at him.
Lastly there was a small box. When you opened it, you found, “The rose I wore, when we were kids. The one my brother stole…” And now you couldn’t find the words, “I hardly… I didn’t even know you… back then. Why?”
Tommy grabbed his case and started searching for a cigarette.
“Tommy,” you insisted, “I had no idea. Why did you keep all of these?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he smirked lightly.
You stared at the content of the secret drawer and decided that nothing was ever obvious when it came to Thomas Shelby.
“Well?” you questioned.
“I love you.”
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