dwell in your hearts

How to be happy
  • Remember that other people are independent actors in the world and so what they do is all about them and not about you. Don’t take anything personally.
  • Since others act for themselves for their own purposes if you have expectations they will always, eventually, let you down. 
  • Acceptance of what is and can’t be changed will give you lasting peace of mind.
  • You can love yourself even if you are flawed and imperfect.
  • Learn to intercept and reject painful and destructive thoughts.
  • Understand that the voice of ego is not who you are.
  • Cultivate happiness by noting when you are happy and remembering how it feels.
  • Be kind, compassionate and generous.
  • Remember that all things change and cherish what you have in your life.
  • Let other people be wrong if they choose. It is not your place to teach them or correct them unless they ask.
  • Be humble. The humble person is at peace while the prideful person is at war with all the world.
  • Do not judge others or their path. You are not qualified to do so nor is it your right to do so. Moreover, it makes you unhappy.
  • Remember that everybody suffers even if you can’t see their suffering.
  • Forgive those who harm you or if you cannot forgive then put them out of your mind and heart. Do not dwell on perceived slights.
  • Know that worry solves nothing. Planning and action solve everything.
  • Pain, physical or emotional, is a signal that something is damaged. Finding out what it is and fixing it is the key to ending pain.
  • Remember that most of the things that you are afraid of will never happen, and most of the ones which do happen will not be as bad as you anticipated and for the few that are you will be able to handle them just as you have handled other problems in the past.

Each lion loves their Paladin. They admire how brave their Paladins are, and want to do the best they can.

“My Pilot,” is how Blue calls her Paladin. She is proud he is her Paladin. His type of flying is fun, and it brings her joy. He tells the most wild stories of his home pack, of the other Paladins. Sometimes he misses his home, but he is proud to stand and do his duty to help defend the universe.
“My Pilot, can we do that spin again?! It’s been so long since I’ve done flips!”
“My Pilot, you’ve brought a friend! Oh, is she a friend? That does not look like how you hold a friend.”
“I will not call you Sharpshooter. You are My Pilot.”

“Idiot Cub,” is how Red originally thinks of her Paladin. He is quick to act, he panics internally and is quick to make decisions. She does not initially take to her Paladin, but when he protects her, “Idiot Cub” becomes “My Cub.” She would go to the ends of all universes to protect her Paladin, because his fiery passion is a perfect match for her own. It matters not he is part Galra. She loves him all the same.
“My Cub, as upset as you are, we must continue forward. Do not worry. We will exact revenge for those lost.”
“My Cub, your heritage does not mean you are bad. There was a time I knew many good Galra. Perhaps your mother was one of them…”

“My Bird” is how Green calls her Paladin. Hearing her Paladins friends call them Pidge, she learns Pidge could be short for pigeon, a subtype of an Earth species called bird. She loves to amuse her Paladin, letting them tinker with her mechanics, helping to make her stronger. She listens to her Paladin talk about their family, about how they hope to find them. Green vows to help search the universe for “Matt” and “Dad”
“My Bird! My Bird, you can look at my panels now! Look, look!”
“My Bird, tell me about ‘Dad’ again. Can 'Dad’ be my friend too?”
“My Bird, you have to sleep! You can’t continue working if you are dead on your feet! That’s it! I’m shutting down, and you can’t stop me!”

“Friend,” is how Yellow refers to his Paladin. His Paladin can be very anxious, but he is so brave he will push all his fears aside to help those in need. Yellow loves to hear his Paladin talk, loves to hear about Earth mechanics and mathmatics. Humans seem to be a little behind technologically speaking, but Yellow is consistently impressed with his paladins ability to build, create, and repair with things he has only just started to use as tools. Yellow’s Paladin is kind, he cares deeply for his friends, cares deeply for his lion, so Yellow calls him “Friend” in return, because he cares about his Paladin too.
“Hello, Friend! Have you come to work on your 'Make-shift’ human objects?”
“Friend, you can breathe. There is air around you, open your lungs…”
“Who is this Balmeran girl you think of? Is she nice? Is she a friend? Any friend of Friend is my friend!”

“My Paladin,” is how Black refers to her pilot. She calls him this often, but he always seems to forget. She feels guilt, mourning for her corrupted past paladin, all the while mourning for the loss of innocence for her current Paladin. Her Paladin is too forgiving, in her opinion. He constantly blames himself for things he has no control over. She tries her best to ease his pain, tries to prevent nightmares and occasionally he gets a dreamless sleep. She loves her paladin, maybe more than she ever has. He is brave, and strong, and too self-sacrificial. She will keep him safe.
“Good work, My Paladin…”
“My Paladin, you did what was necessary, dwelling on the past will not ease your heavy heart. How I wish I could remove this weight off your shoulders…”
“Rest, My Paladin, I have you…”

anonymous asked:

Hello! Any tips on surviving the Cancer season? I'm already feeling extra emotive and missing a man I used to see. I feel like I'm not gonna go through this season without making the mistake of following my ~heart~ instead of my reason... sigh

hello~if it’s one thing about cancer season you should know, it’s that following your heart, gut instinct and emotions are not mistakes. just like any cancerian lesson, do not dwell on your past for too long, so much that your heart lives in it, but instead deeply reflect on it & utilize it for the present moment. 

There is only one Love that last forever. There is only one Love that fills our hears from here unto Eternity. There is only Love that is able to fill every crevice our worry, doubt, insecurity, and loneliness and that is the love of God that we experience by faith, in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

So that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. - Ephesians 3:17-19

Whether you’re single, in a relationship, or married, let yourself be rooted and grounded in the love of Jesus. When you find yourself questioning if anyone will ever want you or if your boyfriend or husband will be able to fully comprehend what it means to love you, remember that even if he is a great man of God, he cannot fill your heart with Eternal Love like Jesus can. You can have the most beautiful, healthy relationship, but if you are not rooted and grounded in the love of Christ, then you will never truly be fulfilled.

Thank the Lord daily for His Love. Spend time in worship, not just once a week, but every single day there is breath in your body. Make your life about showing His Love to others, knowing that the Holy Spirit with strengthen you to do so. Wrap yourself in His Love on a daily basis and it let it be your guide for everything you do. Live like you are loved, because you are, and being loved by Jesus is the kind of love worth living for.

Written by @morganhnichols for #TheDevoCo

bookgal13  asked:

How about Jamie and Claire take Manhattan (mid-20th century AU)?

We Live For Love

Two hours into their first rehearsal, Jamie Fraser asked Claire Beauchamp for a break.

Ever since he had shuffled out of The Broch and shrugged his shoulders against the cold wind pushing toward the East River, heading to catch the IRT back downtown, his mind had been swirling.

At this time yesterday he had been ironing his jeans, dreaming of taking the stage at Madison Square Garden. Standing by the side of some faceless frontman whose wails matched those of his guitar.

Now he was sweating in a third-floor room of a run-down factory, in between the flophouses and Chinese restaurants which reminded him why he always steered clear of the Bowery, praying the electricity wouldn’t fry his only amp – and trying for the life of him to figure out how to coax Claire into sounding like a rock and roll star.

Claire looked from Jamie to Ian – sweating behind his drum kit – to Willie Coulter, another guy from The Broch who Ian had quickly pressed into service as a bassist.

“Sure – I don’t mind if you guys smoke. But I could use some lunch.”

Willie set down his bass and Ian stood, stretching. “Want us to bring you something? I gotta take a walk.”

“The Chinese place two doors down has good lo mein. I’ll pay you back.”

“Get me one, too?” Jamie met Ian’s eyes in silent understanding. “And a Coke?”

“Sure.” Willie nodded, and soon his and Ian’s footsteps echoed in the stairwell.

Jamie shifted his guitar and turned to face Claire. She was perched on a high stool – just like she had been last night – pursing her lips.

“Look – you got a gorgeous voice, Claire.”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” she sighed.

He licked his lips. “But you can’t just sing like you’re on a Broadway stage, or in a cabaret. Your voice is too thin above the music that way. It’ll get lost. And you *can’t* get overpowered by the music.”

“I’m not overpowered – ”

“It’s not *you,* Claire!” He stepped a bit closer to her, feeling the ancient floorboards give a little. “Nothing is about you. It’s your *voice.* It’s about how you present your voice – it’s about your attitude. You have to really *feel* what the song is. To really *feel* the instruments – the rumble of the bass, the thump of the drums.”

She stood then, holding her ground. “I don’t want to yell or scream. I can’t lose my voice.”

“You won’t,” he promised. “I won’t let you. Look – you brought me here to help you. Let me help you.”

His eyes searched for hers, pleading. Willing her to understand what he was saying.

Wanting more than anything to establish that connection.

He launched into the opening riff of Blondie’s “Call Me” – the song they’d picked as the first to rehearse.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” he counted, watching her. “One more! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight – GO!”

“Color me your color, baby, color me your car,” she sang. “Color me your – ”

Abruptly he stopped. “No, Claire – no. You can’t just sway into it – it’s not supposed to be a smooth transition from note to note. That’s not how Debbie Harry does it – that’s not how you’ll do it. Make it choppier. Again.”

She frowned, nodded. Wanting to argue back – but willing to learn. Open to his advice.

Four bars – sixteen beats for the intro. He nodded her cue.

“Color me your color, baby – ”

Again he stopped. “No, Claire. Too much. Too choppy.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Show me, then.”

“You’ve got to remember that this is a song about a gigolo, Claire. It’s not a nice topic. Put yourself in his shoes. ‘Color me your color, baby…’”

Then she tried it again.

“Closer. Getting there. You have to just let it out, Claire. Forget every fucking thing your fancy voice coaches ever taught you. Push yourself into it. Let that beautiful voice just GO.”

She looked like she wanted to say something – but then thought again. Steeled herself.

Holy God, she was a warrior.

He plucked the opening chords again – and then –


Her gorgeous soprano floated aggressively over his raw guitar. Ethereal.

“Keep going!” he yelled over the chord progression between the chorus and next verse. “You got this. Keep going!”

She smiled triumphantly. So radiant. And drew from some spirit dwelling deep within her, and sang her heart out.

“Come up off your color chart – I know where you’re coming from – Call me!”

“Call me!” Jamie echoed the backing vocal.

“On the line, call me, call me any, anytime. Call me!”

Her eyes locked with his.

“Call me!”

It happened then – a connection sparking between them. In an instant, he recognized himself in her. Saw his future in her.

“My love, you can call me any day or night. Call me!”

And from the stunned look in her eyes, she did as well.

They finished the song, transfixed in each other.

Shaking with adrenaline.

And woke to the enthusiastic whoops and whistles of Ian and Willie, arms weighed down with paper bags full of egg rolls and lo mein and fortune cookies.

By three o’clock they’d nailed down not just “Call Me,” but also a fun, rollicking version of John Cougar Mellencamp’s “I Need A Lover.” A more traditional rock song, but with much different timing and tempos than Blondie.

It wasn’t too difficult for Willie or Ian – but Claire was clearly exhausted. She was too stubborn to admit it, but the last thing Jamie wanted was for her to truly blow out her voice on their first day.

“Hey – let’s call it a day?” he suggested after they’d finished yet another run-through, watching Claire quietly lean against the stool for support. She had been on her feet since they’d finished lunch – rocking and lunging and strutting as she sang. Her voice – and, more importantly, her confidence – seemed to grow stronger and stronger with each song.

But there was such a thing as too much practice. And Jamie desperately wanted to get some time alone with her.

“Yeah, fine by me,” she agreed, bending over to take a sip from her Coke. “You guys OK with that? Will you be ready for Murtagh to visit in the morning?”

“Not a problem.” Willie was already packing up his bass, and Ian reached for the bag where he kept his drumsticks. “You OK, Claire? Want me to walk you to the subway?”

“We’re going to stay back a bit,” Jamie interrupted, slipping his guitar off his shoulder and nonchalantly unplugging his amp. “Want to pick another song for tomorrow. Three is always better than two.”

He turned back to Claire, who had climbed back up on the stool, watching the three men put away their instruments.

“I want to thank all of you,” she said quietly. Voice strong, but a bit subdued. Awed.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Claire,” Ian smiled back. “We’re happy to – ”

“With respect, Ian,” she interrupted, “You don’t understand. This is – I’ve waited for this day for so long. It’s a dream I’ve risked a lot for. And you’re helping make that dream come true. So thank you.”

Willie picked up his case and softly crossed the room to gently lay a hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“We’re not done yet – tomorrow’s another day.”

She smiled at him – suddenly looking so tired. “Indeed it is. See you here at ten sharp?”

Ian shrugged into his backpack, clapped Jamie on the shoulder, and once again the drummer and bassist for their still-unnamed band slipped out of the rehearsal space.

Jamie knelt to close his guitar case, then stood to face Claire.

How to keep her by his side now, for even a few more minutes? How to extend this indescribable, incredible day?

“You want to get a drink somewhere?” he heard himself say.

This time when she smiled, it went all the way to her eyes.

God, she was beautiful.



Blondie, “Call Me”:


John Mellencamp, “I Need A Lover”:


so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
Ephesians 3:17‭-‬19 ESV

For this reason I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, from whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
—  Ephesians 3:14-19 (NKJV)
Behind Silence and Solitude (Negan x Reader) - Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: You find yourself kicked out of Negan`s place and find a friend in Simon. But what do Negan think of your new friendship?

A/N: Sorry for the prolonged update. Other obsessions of mine took over when TWD was on a break, but now my inspiration for Negan is back ^^ Hope you’ll enjoy this final part.

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3

Tags: @welcome-to-reedushell @socktrollqueen @red-panda-on-the-loose @theamazing-bouncingferret @villainlove @sharknadoslut @wolfangelwings @diehadess @leapslaps

Warnings: A lot of Angst, Jealous Negan, Possessive Negan, Usual Swearing, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Attempt, Unrequited Love, Kind of fluff, Love Confession. 

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How i wish to canvass a broader slighty layer of your heart ,dwelling there even in a tiny  treasuring moment, as a durable plain woven fabric ,touched by your glowing canvas.
—  To canvass the heart 
a letter to you.

a/n: here’s a sad hamilton fic(: almost 1k words oops.

My dearest,

I am sorry that this is the last thing you’re going to read from me. You’re reading this because I had failed to live further on, I want you to know that you are my world and my sun. I am sorry I am having to leave you, I am sorry that I left you with many burdens. You are and will always be the love of my life, the light of my days, the one I wish I had done more for.

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The pain is dull.


You don’t remember being cleaned. You don’t remember nurses helping you into new gown. You don’t remember being moved onto fresh bedding. You don’t remember it at all.

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You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts; And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and pastime. And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.
—  Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
The War (SKAM fanfic)

Pairing : Mikael Overlie Boukhal and Adam Malik

Characters : Mikael Boukhal, Adam Malik, Even Bech Næsheim, Yousef Acar, Elias Bakkoush, Muttasim Billah.

Plot : 

- In which Mikael freaked out and lashed at Even for kissing him, because he was secretly in a relationship with Adam Malik.

- Mikael Overlie Boukhal and Adam Malik are together romantically, but Adam, unlike his lover, isn’t fully coming to terms with doing what he thinks his religion views to be a sin. 


Chapter One : Mates From Among Eachother

The minutes passed slowly, as if holding between their seconds grande ages that time couldn’t sweep forwards in a blink of an eye. Mikael felt the vast moments absorbed by every second, forbidding the world from moving forwards. For it was his own tale stuck between the seconds and minutes of the clock. It was immensly heavy, he almost felt time push his shoulders, crying for him to lighten his heart and let the world go on freely by its laws. 

It wasn’t possible for Mikael though. He couldn’t let his past crumble behind and be swept by time forwards. He couldn’t do but hold still, chained by the memories. His consciousness of time was almost non-existent, and that of the world poured from between his fingers, as his eyes stared into nowhere. He could swear his eyes watched inside his mind. He could swear the world fell off its grounds and emmerged only him. Either the world sucked him in, or he sucked the world into him, for he could only think and feel himself; that mess of a mind. 

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Thoughts flying around and questions colliding. Nothing sitting still, nothing making sense. Not that he couldn’t make sense of it all, not that he couldn’t rid himself off this misery, but he wasn’t free to act. He was emprisoned by morals that, somehow, being a human had obliged him to adopt. The unwritten rule of hiding the mess of loved ones under the rubble and protecting them from what could come of harm from them or from others. He couldn’t know how but he found himself following the rule and, thus, losing his well-being in the process. 

A dear friend of his, one named Even, had done- one among many- an act of oddness. In fact, it was nothing to be frowned up. A mere kiss on the lips, a usual emboddiement of attraction and translation of love. It wasn’t odd from Even’s side, it was odd from Mikael’s side. He couldn’t handle the heavy messages sent through the kiss, beyond the attraction. 

He saw his friend drawing new patterns he had never swam in between. It was as if each human lives inside a framing; one we paint through living but it’s firmly stable to keep us in order, and suddenly the framing breaks, then nothing makes sense. Our eyes can’t read the new visions, our minds can’t comprehend the new uncoded language spoken. Even broke his framing, he was skating out, away. And Mikael couldn’t understand the hazardness, everything was read off as odd. 

And so, he couldn’t figure out why Even kissed him. But he wasn’t sliding back to his past to confront him, nor was he marching forwards to tell the ones who deserved to know. He just rolled at a halt now, stuck in time. He couldn’t push himself forwards and tell the man with whom he shared his heart that another had kissed him. Not just any other, it was Even Bech Næsheim; their bestfriend from little age. 

He knew Adam Malik too well to vomit out the confusion to him. Adam, although a friend of Even himself, wouldn’t be as confused to know of the incident. Indeed, confusion wouldn’t be what will fill his mind upon hearing Even kissed his boyfriend, it would be anger and furiosity. 

Mikael’s body was as glued to the wall as Iblis is to sin. He had been sitting there for three hours. His limbs refusing to budge, his eyelids refusing to move and even his tears refusing to fall. His chest was barely moving up and down in sync with his breathing. Barely. For the heaviness of the secrets sitting on his chest almost put his heart to a deafening silence. It is a human’s most destructive weapon; a secret. That and hatred. Mikael’s heart fortunately was as white as milk, not a drop of hatred towards no one. However, secret upon a secret, the rocks fell into the bowl and the milk poured out, falling here and there, escaping his heart as if Iblis had been chanting evil words to him continuously the night before. 

“Why am I even hiding…” , the words left his mouth like saliva from someone’s lips on a fasting Ramadan day, “…love ?”, he could swear he heard SYML’s The War playing in his head. Appearing out of the crazy chaos in his head to portray his emotions, much to his ignorance, and somehow managing to decipher his puzzle of a question. They say the mind works in boxes, that, from time to time, a box steals in a wordly item from our surroundings to stick into it moments from our lives, as we live. Sometimes, it’s smells, and other times, it’s songs. Like SYML’s The War. That song had its box in Mikael’s mind, and had its memories stuck to it that would rise to surface when Mikael hears the song, or the other way around. 

So his question about why he was hiding his relationship with Adam and why they decided to keep their love a secret, was the suitable thought to provoke the box to open up and let out that song. For, now, his mind jumped back to a memory, one that gives him the answer. 

                                                    *       *       *

“And among His signs is this, that He created for you mates from among yourselves that you may dwell in tranquility with, and He has put love and mercy between your hearts…” , Mikael read off the Qu’ran in Arabic to Adam, not finishing off the twenty-one verse of Surah Al-Rum, only absorbing from it which he wanted his lover to hear. A big smile appeared on his lips as he let the word “hearts” trail in the air, as if he just discovered the preciousness of the world in the words he had just read, to an Adam who seemed a little less happy about the seemingly big revelation that fell upon Mikael from the clouds.  

“Allah has made me of you, and you of me !” , he ecxlaimed, closing off the Qu’ran on his lap and moving closer in bed to the blue-to-green eyes man. Adam wasn’t receptive to the excitement that ran through Mikael though. In fact, his eyes roamed, searching in the eyes of the smiling boy for a hint of anything that would tell him Mikael wasn’t serious. But he was. 

“Ah. If I were a girl, yeah.” , Adam let out a sigh despite of himself, as he watched Mikael’s eyes and lips drop, a cloud of darkness fell over his head.It wasn’t the first time Mika had Adam refuse his thoughts, he thought his boyfriend to be deep into the negative reading of Islam, it would take more than one time of introducing the words of Allah to him under a sweet light, it would take continuous collisions of their relationship with religion. He knew he had to move loads of rocks down the river but he refused to see him drenched by guilt and even dislike towards his own being, thinking he wasn’t accepted by his own creator. 

Here stands a man at the bottom of a hole he’s made,
Still sweating from the rush,
His body tense, his hands, they shake,

It was then, on the sole radio sitting on the salon’s table next to Adam’s room, SYML’s The War started playing. Barely heard, but with the silence swimming between them and the little words jumping from one to another, the song was a clear tune playing in their heads at that moment. 

Adam took a hold of the Qu’ran and shoved it inside the drawer. “Stop trying to merge between Islam and…”, he sounded more hurt than upset, almost sweating of shame, as if he was caught naked, “…us.”, he felt nude. Under the eyes of Allah. Not that He wasn’t always watching, but the thought was always at the back of his head, burried, but with Mikael reading the Qu’ran, it couldn’t be escaped. He couldn’t help but feel sin crawling into him as if worms were eating his skin. 

Don’t you ever leave me alone,
Be my shelter from the storm,
My war is over,
I am a sad boy,

As the song came to an end, the last words ringing in their heads, it was almost a promise to keep both lives seperate, to Allah was the five prayers and to Mikael was what fell between them. And it was also abvious that what Adam wasn’t comfortable in with his own self, he wasn’t comfortable in with his friends, so it needn’t words from any of them to know that what pulled them together was a secret to be burried. 

                                                  *      *      * 

Mikael thought if their love was flying around them, revealed for everyone that even the trees and flowers of Oslo knew of an Adam and a Mikael in love, then maybe Even wouldn’t have kissed him. And maybe then, he wouldn’t have reacted in the certain manner he did towards Even. 

The phone buzzed in his pocket, not for the first time but it was only now that he made sense of it, his grasp of life around him finally breaking into his soul. It was a call from Akhoy, which was what Mikael had Adam registred under as his contact. Akhoy is Egyptian Arabic for Brother, in a Sa’idi dialect for a humorous touch, Mikael thought it to be witty. It was the equivalent of Khoya in Moroccan Darija, the word that Adam used to call Mika more than his own name. Apparently, in Morocco, it was a thing to refer to eachother as Khoya for men and Khti for women as a direct tradition falling from the precious words of Allah : “Humanity is but a big brotherhood, so make peace with your brethren.”. Not that it wasn’t common in Egypt either, but Adam didn’t seem to know any conversational tricks but to call every soul Khoya.

He picked up, but he didn’t utter a word, his fragility working its way to the surface. “Where are you, man? Been calling and sending messages, why you not answering ?”, Adam’s worry was apparent, bursting from his voice into Mikael’s heart, warming him at the realization that Adam was there. At least he had him to worry about him, to hear from him. But it also worried him himself, that the man he loved was rendered into a ball of worry after his disappearance for only a few hours, and that the only man he confined in wasn’t to be his cushion of comfort from the guilt of what he perceived to be a horrible deed he had done upon a friend. 

“At your place. By the door.” , because Mikael couldn’t let his bruised self fall into the arms of his lover, he thought he’d let the shadows of his being embrace his pain instead, so he headed to Adam’s home and just sat by the door, leaning on the wall, crunched down onto the floor, his clothes almost swallowing him away from life. 

“What?”, his question reeked off confusion and a little bit of dread even, but it wasn’t met with an answer, “Alright, coming!” , his words trailed, Mikael hummed a “Hmm” in response, hanging up, and just drowned even more into his own clothes. 

It wasn’t a grave sin that nastily dragged Mikael into this cave of suffocating gloominess, it was the obligation, sitting on his throat like a sharp knife, to keep his insides inside only. If there was anything that blew Mikael off his feet, then it was filling himself up to no end. He couldn’t, to save his life, keep a word sewed to his tongue. If only he could tell Adam, and if only Adam could understand that Even was in disorder


Blessings Part Three


Request Queue

Requests- (Oh boy here we go)

“can you write a part 3 to blessings? also mORE HELPLESS PLS p.s: I LOVE EVERYTHING YOU WRITE THIS ACCOUNT IS MY LIFE”

“Blessingspart 3 please!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3″ - @louderthanthe-crackinthebell


“Heyyyyy! Just wondering, are you writing another part to blessings? I would love another part. Thanks!” 

“also you should do Blessings part 3″ - @ace-is-on-the-case

“I know you’re very busy, I know your work’s important but I’d please like a part three to Blessings and I’m willing to wait (for it)”


“you are doing a part 3 to blessings right bc I need it” - @diamondcutqueen

“*slowly creeps out of blanket fort* is there any chance for a part three to blessings? ily”

A/N- (I GOT ALL OF YOUR BACKS!! There will be one more part after this and oh man I’ve had the idea for this next part since the night after I posted part one and I just can’t wait to get to it you guys like ugh! I hope I can pull it off right because if I do, you’re gonna cry (: Also, I get to research so much about 18th century fashion for these fics you guys I love it. ALSO ALSO TJeffs has a clothing kink (esp lace) and no one can tell me otherwise. )

Words- 3,321

“I hate this.” Thomas sighed. You nodded. Your head was rested on his bare chest as he leaned against the headboard. Your palm rested flat against his heartbeat. His arm went along your back until his hand came to rest on your hip. His other hand rested on top of yours, his thumb rubbing small circles there. 

“Well Thomas,” You shifted slightly. “if I knew you hated cuddling with me so much, I would have never come.” You got up. 

“Get the fuck back over here, Y/N.” you heard Thomas say. You smiled and turned around, crawling back over to him. You placed a kiss on his cheek and resumed your position. “I hate that I can’t be with you publicly.” he sighed. You nodded, feeling a weight on your chest. “You can only come over when the sun has gone down, and you have to leave before it rises.”  

“Speaking of…” You looked toward the window. 

“No. Please no.” Thomas brought your face back to his and kissed you. “One more time.” he pleaded against your lips. You pulled away from him. 

“Thomas, we’ve done enough!” You laughed slightly. “You’ll see me tonight.” you reasoned. He pouted at you. “Fine.” you sighed. 

You rolled off of him and grabbed the object of off the table by his bed. He looked at you eagerly as you opened it up. You rolled your eyes. 

“What chapter were we on?” you asked, fingering along the pages. 

“Twenty-one.” he confirmed. You nodded and faced him, crossing your legs in front of you and keeping a sheet wrapped around your bare body. You started to read the book aloud to him. A large grin spread across his face. You let your eyes float over the words on the page. Every once in awhile, you chanced a glance up at the man you loved. Sometimes his head was against the bedframe, eyes closed letting the sound of your voice watch over him. Otherwise, he stared at you with adoring eyes, hanging on to everything you said. When he got a giddy expression on his face, you knew that you were about to find something really good in the book. 

“Thoms, you’ve already read this. Why must I read it to you?” you sighed. 

“Because I know that you’ll love this one,” he explained, “and I love seeing your reactions to it. I like hearing your voice.”  You blushed and looked down. He leaned over to you, pushing the book out of your hands. “Your intelligence is attractive.” He whispered in your ear. His hand traveled up your bare thigh, tracing patterns he had followed a million times before. 

“Th-Thomas.”you stuttered, feeling flustered. Thomas was the only man that had ever made you feel weak, vulnerable, and dependent.

“Hm?” He hummed, kissing along your neck. 

“Thomas we can’t.” you breathed, stretching your neck to him despite yourself. He sighed and hung his head. You took a deep breath to calm yourself down. He cupped your cheek with one of his hands. You stared up into to his eyes feeling utterly breathless. You didn’t know when Thomas had completely captured every part of your being, but there was nothing you could about it now, not that you would have wanted to. Thomas nodded slowly and placed a kiss on your forehead before backing away from you. 

You both got off his bed and dressed yourselves by the low light of the candles. You had long since given up trying to dissuade him from walking you home. At least you had convinced him to only accompany you for half the journey. If anyone saw you with him at these hours, both of your reputations would be ruined, yours especially. 

You held on to Thomas’ arm as you walked through the empty streets, humming to yourself quietly. Thomas smiled down at you. 

“What?” you asked, feeling embarrassed. 

“Nothing.” He looked out toward the street again. “I’m just certain that you’re the only thing I love more than myself.” he smirked. 

“Shut up.” You pushed into him and laughed. Your face fell, however, when you noticed your surroundings. The familiar lamp post came into view. Your meeting, and parting, spot. You stopped walking and turned to him. His hand traveled down your face while eyes gazed down at you.

“Stop wondering at me, Thomas.” you teased. 

He smiled. “ ‘Wonder is involuntary praise’ my dear,” Quoting Edward Young had become a thing between you two. “and my praise is all voluntary.” He twirled a piece of your hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Will you be at the ball tonight?” he asked. You nodded. 

“Sam is taking me.” you said quietly. 

“Aha. ‘Sam’. Great.” he said bitterly. 

You rolled your eyes. “Thomas, you know I have to.” Dwelling on this too long broke your heart. He nodded and pressed his forehead to yours. 

“I know. “ he whispered. “Will you spare a moment for me?” 

“If we can make it look natural.” you replied. He nodded. 

“I’ll look for the purple dress tonight then.” 

You furrowed your brow. “How do you-”

“It’s your favorite one.” He grinned at you. You smiled and kissed him slowly, unsure of when you would be able to see him like this again. Against your deepest desires, you pulled away from him. 

“Soon Thomas.” You placed a hand on his cheek. “I promise I will find a way for us to be together soon.” He nodded and kissed your hand. 

“Goodbye Y/N.” he whispered. 

“Goodbye, Thomas.” You turned from him and walked away, feeling his eyes on you. It wasn’t goodbye forever, but that didn’t make it any less hard to be apart from him until the next time you could slip away undetected.

You arrived back at your house about an hour before the first signs of sunrise and slept well into the afternoon. 

“Y/N!” your mother called, bursting into your room. “You must get up! Samuel will be here soon to take you to the ball, and you know how difficult these gowns can be!” She gestured to your closet. You sighed and rolled out of your cold empty bed. “Which one shall it be?” 

You smiled softly. “The purple one.” you said almost dreamily.

Your mother frowned. “Didn’t you just wear that one?” Her hands sorted through your wardrobe, purposefully avoiding the one you wanted. 

“Yes, it’s my favorite.” You walked over to the closet and pulled it out, placing the fabric on your bed. You smiled fondly at it. 

“It’s the biggest and most difficult one.” your mother quipped. 

“I know.” Your hand ran over the dark cloth. It was big and fancy and eye catching. Thomas had only been partially right. This dress was your favorite, but only because you’d realized how much Thomas liked it. 

“Well, put your undergarments on then.” your mother resigned. You squealed excitedly and went over to your dressers. You quickly pulled on a pair of drawers and buttoned up the camisole, putting the purple blouse the matched the skirt over top of it. You grabbed your violet corset, trying to hook it on quickly before your mother could interfere. Unfortunately, you heard her voice behind you. 

“We’ll have to tighten this, dear.” She tugged on one of the ribbons. 

“Must we?” you whined. “We tighten it every time I wear it! I won’t be able to breathe!” 

“Are you a woman of poise or not?” Your mother raised and eyebrow. You sighed and propped yourself against the dresser. She stepped behind and pulled on the two loops of ribbon, adjusting the top to match. You let her tug and pull until she was satisfied, effectively trapping you in cloth and ribbing. 

“There.” She took a step back with a smile. You straightened and looked in the mirror. “I think Samuel will like this.” Your mother raised her eyebrows and gestured to your breasts which were now slightly spilling over your corset. 

“Mother!” You reached behind you to hit her arm. She laughed and walked over to your closet. You smiled and sat down on your bed, pulling on a pair of black stockings. 

“Black? Really?” your mother said, somewhat shocked. You nodded, remembering Thomas’ words. 

“Black stockings? That’s new…”

“Does it bother you?” 

“No..no I kind of like it. They’re dark and…sexy.” 

“Well, I’ve been enjoying darker clothes lately. They match my new black bra would you like to see?”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” 

You smiled and attached the stocking to the garters on your corset. 

“Ready for this?” Your mother held up the crinoline. You nodded and stood up. She walked over to you and placed it in front of your feet. You stepped into it and, pulling the hoops up, attached it at your waist. Your mother put and petticoat over your head and then the violet fabric of the matching skirt. You grinned as she adjusted the two fabric to cover your hoops. 

Your mother walked you over to the mirror. “Are you sure? Samuel prefers a pastel yellow and this color clashes wildly with that.” 

“Yes, but it complements magenta.” you thought. 

“I’m sure.” You ran your hands over the fabric fondly. 

“What shall we do with your hair then?” Your mother picked up a handful of it and let it drop. You stared down at your locks, once again thinking of Thomas. 

“I like your hair like this. You should wear it down in public.”

“It is not ‘proper’ or ‘feminine’ for a lady to wear her hair wild and unkempt.” 

“Y/N, I’ve been in bed with you. While I can attest to your femininity, you are by no means proper.” 

You blushed at the memory. “I think I’ll leave it down.” 

Your mother gave a scandalized gasp. “Y/N! This is an official event! At least pin the front back!” You sighed and nodded, knowing that you had a reputation to upkeep. You sat down in front of your mirror and grabbed a few pins, pulling back the front few strands from your face and attaching them to the back of your head. You turned toward your mother. 

“Satisfied?” you asked, slightly annoyed. 

“It will have to do.” your mother grumbled. “Now, Samuel will be here any minute. Go wait in the parlor and make yourself look respectable.” 

You nodded and walked carefully down the stairs. You grabbed a book Thomas had recommended to you and sat down in one of the chairs. You had only made it through two pages when your mother whisked in with tea. 

“Y/N no!” she exclaimed. You looked up from your book reluctantly. “Men want and intelligent woman, but not that intelligent!” She took the book from your hands and placed a much less stimulating one in them. You sighed and started to flip through it. 

Soon enough, Sam arrived wearing a pale yellow suit. He took his hat off and smiled before bending to kiss your mother’s hand. You gently put the book down and stood. 

“Y/N…” Samuel breathed. “You look beautiful.” he spoke with an obvious glance at your chest. Your mother smirked beside you and you groaned internally. 

“And you look very handsome, Samuel.” You held your hand out and he kissed it. 

“Have you time for tea?” your mother asked as a courtesy. 

“I hate to decline, but we really must be going.” he said. You nodded, eager to drop the pretenses of a relationship with this man. He walked you out to the carriage. As soon as the doors closed, you let out a breath. 

“How is your beloved?” you asked Samuel. He let out a small laugh and glanced out the window of the carriage. 

“She’s…great.” he said. “And yours?” 

“Wonderful.” you smiled. He looked down at you with a pained expression. 

“Do you think you will ever tell me who he is?” 

“Maybe.” you shrugged. Samuel nodded and looked away. “Sam?” you asked. 


“When will we bring this up to our families? I believe they are picking a date for a wedding now, and I don’t want their planning to go to waste. If we attend too many events together, it could become a scandal. ” 

Samuel smiled softly. “Soon, we just have to wait for the right time.” 

You frowned slightly, not fully understanding when the ‘right time’ would be. You kept the conversation light during the ride, Samuel gazing at you the whole time. 

When you stepped into the large hall, your eyes instantly searched for Thomas. Despite how tall he was, you could not find him amongst the crowd. You sighed and allowed Samuel to walk you over to his friends. You talked and laughed with them, but you were distracted. Samuel had asked you a question. 

“Hmm?” you said, turning your attention back to him. 

“I said shall we dance?” 

You nodded and allowed him to take you among the couples dancing together. His hand went to your waist, and you placed one on his shoulder. The two of you danced and laughed across the ballroom for quite a long time until a dark hand appeared on Sam’s shoulder. You stopped swaying. 

“Hello there. Thomas Jefferson.” Your lover held his hand out to your fiancee. Samuel took it hesitantly. “Would you mind if I danced with Miss L/N for a bit?” Thomas looked tense. Samuel gave you a look that basically said, “You never told me the man you’re in love with wrote the Declaration of Independence.” You shrugged and looked up to Thomas. 

“Of course, Mr. Jefferson.” Samuel turned to walk away, but leaned back over and kissed your cheek before disappearing into the crowd. Thomas glared after him, practically steaming at the ears. 

“Thomas?” you asked quietly. He turned back to you and visibly relaxed, taking you into his arms and saying to the music. 

“I don’t like him.” Thomas said quietly. 

“He’s a nice man, Thomas.” you reasoned. 

“He’s fallen for you.” Thomas’ grip on your waist tightened significantly as if claiming his territory. 

“What? Thomas that’s ridiculous.” You leaned away from him to look at his face. 

“I can see it in the way he looks at you. He loves you.” Thomas insisted. 

“He loves someone else. He’s trying to help us be together.” you insisted, gesturing between the two of you. Thomas ran a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“Let me talk to your family.” he pleaded. 

“Thomas…” you warned. 

“Why can’t I try to convince your father?” 

You sighed and looked down. “My father….he hates France. He sides with Britain on everything. He’s a federalist. He’d never listen to you, Thomas.” 

Thomas sighed and looked down at you. “You’re breathtaking.” he whispered. You glanced around. Thankfully, no one was paying attention to either of you.

“You look good too.” you winked. 

“I know! Isn’t this fabulous!” he gestured to his suit and you laughed at his eagerness. “This can’t be comfortable, though. I hope you feel alright.” He ran a hand along your side, referring to your corset. 

You shrugged. “I’m used to it.” He smiled. You saw Samuel approaching you over Thomas’ shoulder. The mood quickly turned sour. Thomas turned and followed your gaze, his stare intense. He turned to you quickly. 

“I love you. Never forget that.” he whispered before stepping away. His hands were quickly replaced by Samuel, who smiled down at you eagerly. 

You spent the rest of the night away from Thomas. You danced with Samuel, and Thomas danced with a few different girls, all of them more than willing to spend time with him.

“Y/N. Will you take a walk with me?” Samuel asked suddenly. You smiled and nodded. He led you out into the cool night air, along a moonlit path. 

“I have something to tell you.” Samuel confessed. 

“Of course.” you replied, turning to him. He took both of your hands in his, and you felt the strong urge to tear them away. 

“Rosalie left me.” 

“What?” you gasped. “Why?” 

“I told her about our arrangement. Turns out she only wanted my status, and when it become apparent that she couldn’t marry me anytime soon, she left.” He looked down at your intertwined hands. 

“Sam, I’m so sorry!” you gasped. 

“It’s…fine. It was awhile ago.” 

You furrowed your brow. “How long ago?”

Samuel avoided your eyes. “Several months..”

“Samuel!” you dropped his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I meant to! I promise I did…but something happened.” 

“What?” You had the distinct feeling a bomb was about to drop. Your mouth went dry. Sam wasn’t answering your question. “What happened, Samuel?” 

His eyes met yours. “I fell in love with you Y/N.” 


“You what?” you stuttered. 

“I don’t know when it happened, but I know that I love you Y/N.” he said sincerely. 

“Samuel I-”

“You’re in love, I know. With Thomas Jefferson of all people!” He threw his arms up in frustration. You took a step back. “Look, I’m not asking you to feel the same way, but…” He took a step closer to you. “I think if…if you gave us a chance. You’d see that I can make you happy, Y/N. Really happy.” 

You felt sick. You wanted to run. You wanted to find Thomas and have him hold you, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t. 

“I’ll…I want to give you some time to think about it. So…I’ll send you home in the carriage, but…if you choose to stay with Thomas, I only ask that you put me out of my misery, and tell your family. I can’t stand having you pretend to love me it would just…it would hurt too much.” 

You nodded. “Of course.” you whispered. He sighed and brought you to the front of a hall, situating you in a carriage and sending you home. 

You cried the whole way. 

You stayed in your bedroom for a week, barely talking to anyone else. You didn’t cry. You didn’t get angry. You just thought. You thought of Samuel. You thought of pros and cons. You thought of worst case scenarios. You thought of Thomas. Boy, did you think of Thomas. You thought of Thomas until you couldn’t feel a thing anymore. 

And when you’d made your decision you thought of him ten times more. You thought of him so much that when he was actually standing in front of you, it was hard to tell if he was real or not. 

“Y/N? It’s the middle of the day. What are you doing here?” His expression shifted from confused to concerned. “What happened? What did he do? Are you okay?” He tried to pull you inside but you shook your head. 

“Thomas…” Your voice nearly broke as you said his name. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Of course, what is it, love?” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I can’t be with you.” you squeaked.  His face fell. 

“You’re kidding….” 

“I’m not.”

“What?” His voice sounded so heartbroken. “What happened?” 

“I…I have to marry Samuel. It’s the only way.” you whispered, unable to meet his eyes. 

“It’s not the only way!” he argued. 

“Thomas please.” you begged trying not to cry. He took your face in his hands and forced your eyes to meet his. 

“Look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.” 

You closed your eyes, feeling several tears slip out. You did love Thomas, but the issue was bigger than that. It involved your whole family. You opened your eyes. 

“Thomas Jefferson, I don’t love you.” you said firmly. Thomas stared at you. He did nothing but stare. “I have to go.” you whispered. 

“Yeah.” he spat. “Yeah, you should go.”

You wanted to speak, but you had nothing more to say, so you turned and walked from his house, letting the tears flow down your face. When you got back to the street, you heard a door slam behind you. 

Y'all, the idea that God’s will is never in conflict with your wellbeing DOES NOT MEAN do whatever the hell your pastor, priest, bishop, youth minister or other “holy person” says.

It means God doesn’t will something for you that is entirely bad for you. The same cannot be said for any of the others mentioned above. Trust your heart, where He dwells.

Also, as a sort of aside, you aren’t obligated to always love God’s will, real or imagined. Conscription isn’t a relationship, and you have a choice in almost EVERYTHING. That includes how you feel, at least to some extent. I didn’t love that I was compelled to leave my first college. I HATED IT. It turned out that it made all the difference, but I didn’t have a fucking glad heart. And that’s totally chill. Don’t be shamed into being “grateful.” Trials and tribulations suck, and it’s cool to say that.

Someone Else’s

Originally posted by marvelgifs

Clint Barton x Onesided!Reader, Clint Barton x Laura Barton

Length: 197 words

Warnings: reader likes clint, angsty???

He was married. He had children. Clint Barton already had a family.

It hurt you.

You didn’t exactly keep it a secret, and your affections towards him weren’t subtle. You’d been flirting with him for months now, over-laughing at his quips, smiling as soon as he walked through the door. You’d fantasised about dating him, dreamt of being loved by him, of starting a family with him…

But he was already loved, Clint already had a family.

Had you misinterpreted his friendliness as him flirting back? Was Clint just being a good teammate, when he’d softly touch your shoulder, or your arm? Every smile and glance, the small things you’d spent endless nights thinking of… Any interaction the two of you had ever had, you were now analysing – looking for true hints of attraction.

It didn’t matter, Clint’s heart was already someone else’s.

Now you had to move on. It may take time, but it was what you had to do. It was what was right, you couldn’t dwell like this. Clint couldn’t hold your heart any longer, but maybe someone else could…

Vaguely, you thought of soft silver hair, a mischievous smirk, and sweet blue eyes.