#but you feel self conscious and constricted and it’s not something you’d ever wear

[seagull-scribbles]

“Ain’t turtles supposed to be endangered?”

“Only the ones who can’t do this!”

[readwritealldayallnight]

Right With You (Part 2)

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 2.8k words

warnings/tags: fluff, mutual pining

“Any time you’re ready lass, would be real convenient!”

“Well you’re kidding me right?” You shout back to the Scot stood on the other side of the door. “This isn’t actually the dress you expect me to wear??”

“Laswell wanted something where they wouldn’t suspect you’d be able to hide any weapons on you.” Gaz, equally waiting for you in the hallway, attempts to interject some logic into the situation. “Sorry if it’s a bit small…”

“A bit small? I don’t suspect I can hide myself in this thing! Let alone a gun.” You mumble to yourself, begrudgingly pulling the zipper as high as you can manage in the garment. Admittedly, it’s not the worst dress that could’ve been picked out for you.

It is your size, and it’s certainly not constricting enough that you worry it’ll compromise your ability to perform the mission tonight. It definitely is much more form fitting than anything you’ve worn in a long time, and certainly hugs your figure in a way the 141 hasn’t seen before, leaving you feeling apprehensive.

But Soap is right, unfortunately. You don’t have time to waste feeling self-conscious about your outfit, you’re here to play a role tonight. And part of that role is going to have to be coming across as much more confident than you currently feel.

Taking a deep breath, you smooth the fabric of the skin tight dress down, definitely not trying to dry the nervous sweat off of your hands. Deciding to just get it over with, you swing the door open, stepping out in the hallway to meet the waiting Sergeants, pointedly avoiding their eyes. At least, until Soap lets out a wolf whistle.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph… look at you bon…” Soap murmurs under his breath, heavy gaze looking you up and down.

“Shut up, Soap.” You grumble, adjusting the hem of the dress, feeling a blush spread across your face.

“Nah, he’s right, love. You look proper stunnin’.” Gaz adds, doing a better job of keeping his eyes on your face, a kind smile plastered on his own. You offer him a meek smile in return, brushing your hair over your shoulder.

A part of you feels silly. You’re got makeup on, your hair is done, you’re wearing a pair of modest but still fancier-than-you’d-ever-really-wear heels, and a dress that leaves little to the imagination. In comparison to the intimidating, fully geared-up, macho Sergeants stood before you, you look like you belong in different worlds, let alone the same task force.

But even you cannot deny, this get up of yours will certainly catch the attention of your target, which is the whole point of this operation. It doesn’t feel like it right now, still smelling of hairspray and remembering not to accidentally smudge your lipstick, but you are contributing the team, which is all you ever really want.

Any doubts that still linger in your mind are immediately squashed however, the moment your Captain turns the corner and locks eyes with you.

“Ah Cap! Finally got this one out of her cave.” Soap teases, having spotted Price. His elbow playfully nudges your side, and though you’d usually get him back with as much vigour, you cannot avert your gaze from the pair of sea glass orbs that slowly, oh so slowly, move away from your own and take in the sight before him.

You can see his throat bob as he swallows harshly, heady gaze travelling from your heel strapped feet, up your legs, perhaps straying a fraction of a second too long on your chest, before landing on your face again. Any feelings of self consciousness have been completely erased, your cheeks feeling as though they might be catching fire with how warm they’ve become.

“Everything in order?” He asks, slowly slinking his way closer to the three of you, a hand reaching up to scratch through his beard. You notice your Captain is fully geared up as well, and you hope you haven’t been making everyone wait for you as you got ready.

“Aye, sir.” Gaz confirms with a nod, hands grabbing ahold of his tactical vest. “Do we know which vehicle I’ll be takin’ her in?”

The plan was for Gaz to act as your driver, taking you as close to the gates as he would be allowed to go. The rest of the lads would be approaching from a different direction, finding their own opportunities to get as near as they can without drawing attention. The goal was still for you to distract the target, and hopefully lure him to a secluded spot where your men would be waiting for him.

In theory, it should be straight-forward enough. You’d memorized photographs of your target to be able to pick him out of the crowd more easily, there were a handful of other operatives that would be lingering throughout the party, ready to interfere should something go wrong. Really, all bases had been covered and accounted for, which is why you were genuinely surprised to hear the Captain say:

“Slight change o’ plans. I’ll be takin’ her myself.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine, something you hoped wasn’t noticeable to the two men who were now glancing at their superior in confusion. “I want you on with Ghost and Soap. We’ll rendezvous once I’ve seen her in.” He reaches into one of his pockets, pulling out a pair of keys.

You can tell the Sergeants want to ask questions, glancing between each other and Price, but the Captain’s voice holds a certainly finality to it, that they choose instead to nod in agreement.

“Sure thing, Cap.” Gaz says to him, before turning to face you. He offers your upper arm a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “You’ve got this.”

“Aye, yer right she does! We’ll see ya on the other side, aye lass?” Soap forgoes the gentleness of his colleague and instead gives you a firm but loving punch to the bicep. The men offer their Captain nods of acknowledgement, before they’re slinking their way past him and down the hall, leaving the two of you alone.

With a few feet still separating you, you poke the floor with the tip of your shows, suddenly finding his gaze too heavy to meet.

“I know. I must look like one of those beauty pageant toddlers they ha-”

“Beautiful.” Price cuts you off instantly. Your head snaps up, finding him to be stepping closer, shortening the distance between your bodies. “You’re … so beautiful.”

Okay, now you’re certain that it has to look as though you’ve applied an absurd amount of blush to your cheeks, feeling your face grow impossibly warmer at this compliment.

“Don’t even try an’ call yourself anything else, love, because you won’t be convincing me.” He’s now stood in front of you, only a foot apart, so similar to how close he’d been just a few nights previous, as he taught you to dance. His hands claps and unclamp at his sides, as though he’s unsure of what to do with them suddenly.

He knows what he wants to do. When you’re shyly smiling up at him like this, sweet blush painted across your soft skin, wearing something like that, all he wants to do is hold you as close as he once dared to, to feel your heart beating rapidly against his own, to slide his hands up to your face and pull your lips to his once more, just once more.

However, he knows he has to be a Captain right now. The two of you aren’t hidden in the privacy of his office late at night, where the consequences of your actions feel inconsequential in comparison to the heat building between a man and a woman. You’re in a public hallway on base, where anyone could walk by and see you, not as two individuals with raging, undeniable chemistry, but as a soldier and her superior.

Price knows how hard you’ve worked to get to where you are now, and how much pride you take in everything you do. He would never want to risk putting you in any position where someone could question how you earned your way up the ranks. He is still your Captain, and as new and exciting as whatever has begun to build between the two of you is, in addition to how tight the front of his slacks have suddenly become, he has to remember that fact.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him, equally aware of your surroundings. “You’re driving me now? Something happen?” You can’t help but to ask with a raise of your brow.

“Nah,” he informs you, jutting his chin in the direction where he’d come from, indicating you’d best start heading to the garage. He permits himself to spread a palm between your shoulder blades as he walks alongside you, a perfectly respectful, appropriate touch, but still an excuse to get his hands on you. “You’ll have to forgive me love, but I’m not lettin’ any of these other muppets alone with you while you’re lookin’ like this.” He tilts his head down enough so that only you can hear him, giving you a quick wink when he sees your eyes widen slightly.

“I think I’ll be a little more forgiving when I’m not wearing these heels anymore.” You tease, trying to not let his comments get to your head. This is the first time you’re alone with John since he’d kissed you in his office those few nights ago. From such a large, intimidating, burly man, you might have expected his kiss to have been rough, commanding, assertive.

But the way John Price had held your face in his large palms, gaze scanning your expression for any hint of reluctance, groan of desperation rumbling in the back of his throat, he was nothing short of reverent. When your lashes had fluttered shut, his lips met yours in the softest, gentlest caress, as though he were still waiting for you to change your mind. Realizing that you weren’t going anywhere, he allowed himself to release a deep breath of relief though his nostrils, warm breath fanning across your features, as his lips more insistently pressed against yours.

His stubble grazed your skin and you both stood there for what might have been a minute or an hour, the rest of the world long forgotten as you held one another close. Truly, John could not recall the last time he’d felt so at peace. Everything just felt so right with you.

When he had eventually pulled away, lungs desperate for air, your gasping breaths met in the middle as satisfied smiles tugged at the corners of your mouths. Still holding onto you, John had pressed one final kiss to your forehead, before declaring that it was well past time you made your way to bed, watching as you practically floated out of the room, both of your hearts still threatening to leap out of your chests.

“They hurtin’ ya?” He asks in concern, glancing down at the heels in question.

“They’re alright. Don’t think heels are meant to be comfortable honestly. You oughta start making recruits wear ‘em as punishments.” You joke, earning you a small scoff and a sideways smile from him.

“Well, m’afraid you’ve still got a long night ahead of you yet, pretty.” You’ve finally made it to the garage, and he opens the door for you, letting you walk in first. If you catch him looking at your bum it’s only because he’s making sure his soldier is ready for a mission, definitely nothing else. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good. I’m ready. I feel ready.” You’re surprised at how confident your voice sounds as you answer him. It’s true, you do feel as ready as you can be for this mission. You’d all gone over every aspect of the mission again in that morning’s briefing. The impromptu dance lesson from John put your only real concern at ease. But a small part of you isn’t being so truthful. Yes, you’re ready for the mission and you’ll do whatever has to be done to ensure its success. However another part of you, a part that been lying dormant until only recently, doesn’t feel so ready to dance. At least, not with someone who isn’t John. You don’t feel ready to put your hands on someone else, and to in turn feel their hands on your body.

But this is what the mission calls for this time. Hell, maybe if you’re really good at your job you can sweet talk the target and get him alone without ever having to get him on the dance floor. The sooner the job is done, the sooner you’re out of these heels, and back with your boys (because you definitely love them all equally and don’t favour any superior at all, nope).

“That’s good.” He says, eyes scanning the garage for the vehicle he plans to lead you to. Noticing a distinct absence of anyone else present, Price allows the hand between your shoulder blades to slowly slip down more towards the small of your back. “We’ve already got eyes covering nearly every inch of that place. We’ll be closer than you realize.” His reassurance is welcome, as is the heat that his wide palm spreads to your skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

You walk up to a black armoured vehicle, one of the bases more civilian resembling ones. Price leads you to the side door, where you presume he’s going to open the door for you again, but instead he leans his shoulder against it, turning to face your front.

“Grabbed this for ya.” He says, reaching into another pocket before extending his palm out to you. The tiny earpiece almost looks comically small in his massive hand, but that’s the point. The device is small enough that no one should notice it, and it’ll allow you to stay in contact with the rest of the team while you’re inside. You take it from him, ignoring the spark that shoots through your nerve endings at the feeling of your skin touching his for a brief moment. Slipping the device in your ear, you wait for him to move from the door, but he still remains in his spot.

“Anything else?” You question, brows scrunching in confusion, noticing that he’s not exactly meeting your gaze anymore. His eyes meet your once more, almost as if he hadn’t himself noticed his distraction.

“Right, yes. Um-” He’s reaching into his back pocket, appearing as though he’s more reluctant this time around. What he pulls out, steals your breath away. A shimmering, simple jewel the size of your thumbnail hangs from a delicate chain. This item clearly didn’t come from the armoury nor the technology sector of the base. “Wanted to give you this as well. Wanted you to have it.” His fingers delicately wrap around your wrist, gently pulling your hand up to slip the jewelry into your palm, closing your fingers around it.

“John…” You say, taking the time to admire the necklace, and how each angle catches and reflects the light so stunningly.

“It’s a panic alarm as well.” He explains after clearing his throat. “You press on it and I’ll come runnin’, love. No matter what.”

“It goes to everyone?” You question, holding the necklace up to the light.

“No. Just me.” At that, you lower your hand, gaze shifting back to his eyes, which haven’t left your face for a moment. “Want you to feel as safe as possible on this one. You feel hesitant about anything, you press it, and I’ll be there.” He steps closer now, reach to hold both your hands in his own, attempting to get across how serious he is. Mission be damned, you are your safety is his priority.

“Just you, huh?” You whisper, gazing up at him with a look on your face that if you could see, you’d probably want to smack off. But right now, you can’t feel anything but grateful towards the man in front of you.

“Just me.” He whispers back. You stand there for a while, holding each others hands, gazing into your eyes as though the answers to the universe are hidden in them, if only you can search far enough. But you know that time is ticking. Wordlessly, you slip your hands from his, holding the necklace up for him to see. With a lift of your brow, you tell him everything he needs to know, turning around so that he may slip the dainty jewelry around your neck.

As he fastens the clasp securely, his hands rest atop your shoulders, spinning you back around to face him.

“I’ll be with you the whole time.” He says. “Right with you.”

Part 3

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Four

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 3k author note ::  you should also check out my ao3 and wattpad my username is LEVIATTACKS on both platforms. ao3 usually gets to see my updates first, feel free to leave any comments you have i appreciate all feedback ^___^ → next part is here!!

"Refer to me with that name once more and I'll see to it that your neck is snapped in two. Fucking Brat." His voice curls into a low hiss.

He rises from the bed making you jolt, if he's moving towards his dagger everything will be over in a matter of seconds. The tension between the two of you is foggy and uncertain.

Your line of vision is cloudy, bleary tears seize it. You should have tried harder whilst researching, found a way to make Lev stay, it hits you like a sack of bricks - you didn't try hard enough, was that the issue, was that the mistake you made this time? Mind full of harsh expletives you continue to curse yourself. Of course he left, of course he fucking did. Your life was one large cyclical narrative of earning the love of others and ultimately losing it along the way some how.

The world conditioned you to become independent, to not rely on others for affection, earn what you must on your own. Making your own way through life is all you know yet here you are. On the verge of tears because this damn fool won't remember you. Happiness is a privilege.

Staring into the distance you don't see the way your husband's glare thins out, neither do you notice how he leans forward invading your personal space.

"Care to explain how we got into this situation?" Breath fanning across your face exactly the same way it had months ago you gulp and realise he's staring at your lacy nightgown in sheer distaste. Oh no, He's got the wrong idea completely.

You jerk your head up to explain and only then is the close proximity between the two of you evident, you nearly knock your head against his as if you're inebriated. "No, no. We've never done that. I promise we haven't. I wouldn't take advantage of you." You're sputtering and are all over the place trying to hold some sort of ground in this conversation.

"I see that you saw no issue with taking advantage of me in other ways. You scheming money hungry roach."

You want to clear your name and tell him you really haven't touched any of his money. None of it at all to the point it's shameful to admit, especially considering the fact that everyone else sees you as Duchess Ackerman.

"I have not spent any of your money I swe-".

A deafening bang resounds through the room - in his fit of rage he kicks one of the solid oak drawers at the side of your bed to the floor.

A squeaky gasp falls out of your mouth and you flinch away as you cover your chest defensively. Your arms aren't the best armour but they work for now. If he's to stab you your worst fear is him piercing through your heart. What you fear most is him ripping the vital organ out of the confines of your chest. If he laughs hysterically and watches it bleed out you'll never forgive him. Your worries and doubts are internally eating away at you as you witness the darkness seeping into the corners of his vision.

It's quiet and dark and with him as well as a heavy silence looming over you, the pressure on your shoulders is quite literally immense.

He takes a hold of your chin and obnoxiously squishes your rosy cheeks together, dark tundra eyes never falter from yours, that is until they abruptly sink south and he catches drift of the way your night gown has ridden up. Thighs on full display you want to pull the edges of the material down but are too afraid to move under his deathly stare.

"Do you know how long I was stuck inside of my own body? Having to act like a fool on the daily."

"What?" You shakily reply through parted lips.

He was able to see everything he did under the spell? This changes the dynamic significantly. Cheeks flaring up in embarrassment you recall how you ate up all the sweet nothings he whispered into your ears, the scarlet blush creeps to the back of your ears when you think back to how you fervently kissed him goodbye whenever he was sent to venture outside the walls. The sanguine tint only intensifies when you think about the night where you accidentally let his bare hands venture a little too far.

"Naive little thing," he grunts. "You will never be my wife." He scowls sniffing at you in pure repulsion.

Whiskey, cigarette fumes and strong sweat infused cologne revoltingly is what you're reminded of when you hear those words leave his mouth. The stench isn't present but nevertheless you feel your throat constrict, never expecting to see any sort of parallel form between Levi and that man. The one time you stood your ground against Father it led to you being dragged away from the palace grounds, beat until you were unresponsive and left for dead. He left you there with the intention of extermination, his final words as he bid you goodbye that night had been - "You will never be my daughter."

You have no words left to offer, you're tongue tied. Expressionless whilst he gauges your reaction, the both of you don't register how Levi's grip on your cheeks loosens, that is until the look in his hooded eyes changes. They're inky now smoldering with resentment, he lets go of the hold he has on your face completely.

The separation between your face and his palm is stony.

All you want at that moment is for Lev to come back and wake you up from all of this. You've had enough of this sick and twisted nightmare where he doesn't look at you the way he normally does. The way he manhandles you irks you and lights a dangerous fire in your stomach.

Blinking your tears away you finally speak after your long silence "I know that My Lord." taking what may be one of your final breaths you announce the unthinkable "Feel free to finish what you were unable to last time."

"No begging?" he chastises you pulling you by the back of your ear.

"Would you spare me if I did?" The close ended question you respond with leaves him stiff.

Snatching your forearm you note that even when he's not under the constraint of the spell physical touch is consistently one of his ways of getting a point across. He jerks your tired form forward. "Who do you work for?"

Blood running cold you know he won't kill you now. He thinks you've come here with a purpose, a motive, a reason. Hell, all you did was ask to be loved, to experience something before the candle which was your life burnt out.

"No one. You said you were conscious in your mind whilst it all happened, correct?"

He nods albeit begrudgingly.

"Then you must have seen how I tried."

His right eyebrow cocks upwards ever so slightly. "Tried?"

Now it's your turn to be frustrated. "Tried to keep my distance, tried to ignore your advances, tried to refuse your gifts, tried to maintain a level of respect so the both of us would have some dignity remaining if you were to return some day. When I realised you would not stop with your persistence I accepted." You fumed - the fretful irritation you feel only increases by the second.

"Cut the crap." He snarls at you.

You want to snarl back with just as much impatience but you bite your tongue.

Maybe it's because it's late at night, maybe it's because you're fatigued or maybe it's because you already felt feverish and emotional - Honestly, any other reason apart from your husband turning his back on you and announcing you're a mongrel. Feeling light headed you clutch at your scalp harshly trying to control yourself, even Levi's firm hand which until recently held your left arm recoils away.

Falling to your knees you feel the way the floor grates against your bare legs. Your urge to pass out is nearly met but then you hear him.

"Honey???" The concern in his voice which had made you fall in love with him now repulses you.

Fists balling at your knees you silently sob, pitifully shaking your head.

This can't be your reality.

It can't be.

You won't let it be.

That night you find out nightmares can happen in real life.

Levi Ackerman being a prime example.

After the bitter encounter you leave the room and order Lev to not come after you, you need your own space and as much as you want him to return to his sweet, loving self it's pathetic to seek any comfort in him. That tyrant is bound to make another appearance soon enough and mock you for falling into his trap again, but really can you blame the man? Is this his fault or your own?

Whoever is at fault there will still come a time where the Levi you love won't come back and call you his Love. You'll have to get used to that bleak desolate reality. Assuming he doesn't kill you before you have to.

Day has now broken and the brisk morning air bites at you, scantily clad in your nightgown, It's abnormal, you think to yourself. The position you're in is one you imagined countless times but you never really thought you'd end up this way. You're about to drift off to sleep right there in the middle of the Estate's field of hydrangeas, too tired to actually care anymore when you hear a rustle from one of the surrounding bushes.

"Duchess?" Your head turns when you hear Mikasa's soft voice emerge from the hedges, she steps through them and you both stare at each other. Mouth open, gaping in shock she takes in your appearance. You can only imagine how you look right now. Dark eye bags, you aren't wearing your usual noble attire not to mention Levi has accidentally left a bruise on one of your arms. It's faint because it is accidental (you hope) it does not go unnoticed by Mikasa.

Her gaze hardens and she approaches your disheveled form kneeling in front of you.

"What happened?" She whispers, the panic is evident in her voice and you awkwardly chuckle in response.

"I had a horrible nightmare. That's all, honest."

"And it's Y/N need I remind you again?" Mikasa is big on respect and sure, it is cute but you want to remind her it really is okay to call you by your first name. After all you would consider her a friend, you hope she sees you the same way.

Giving you a look of disbelief she takes the hint that you don't want to talk about it but much to your delight she does take the advice regarding your name. She sounds hesitant but that's how she usually is, she'll get used to it in no time at all.

"Well...Y/N, Breakfast has been prepared." You can see the way she eyes your unkempt hair and shivering form. "Would you like to eat with me and Sasha?" this is her way of comforting you.

Your lips quirk up into a smile for the first time in a while.

"I would love that."

Twenty minutes and a change of clothes later you've all relocated to your tea room, Sasha doesn't ask questions about your hair or odd choice of clothing earlier this morning. The shadows Levi's fingers left on your arm are now carefully hidden by the sleeves of your baby blue dress. "Oh! Viscount Kirstein me and Y/N saw him yesterday. He's just like the rumours." Sasha exclaims as she stuffs her face with a croissant.

Mikasa takes a short sip from her tea cup. "And the rumours would be?"

You pick a cinnamon roll from the center of the table."Undeniably handsome. I mean he's not my type though."

Sasha looks momentarily confused. "He was drop dead gorgeous what do you mean?"

You laugh a bit at the disbelief on her face, Mikasa chooses to not intervene - she's obviously yet to come to her own conclusions about him.

"Yeah but you said it yourself he fucks anything in a skirt." Sasha, is wide eyed at first and chokes on part of her buttered croissant, you have never been so vulgar before. You guess the argument has left you more likely to voice your reckless thoughts. Snorting you try to keep your laugh in, the ghost of a smile makes its way to Mikasa's face and eventually she too dissolves into a puddle of laughter. The three of you laughing together genuinely eases the recent burden on your soul.

Just as you're about to crack another joke the door to your tea room rumbles.

BANG!  You seem to always be cut off when you're here because Eren Jaeger has burst inside perhaps for the seventh time this month. It's the same routine as usual, he's panting and catching his breathe before he speaks. You're in no mood to hear what he has to say.

"If the Duke has sent you please leave."

Mikasa gives him a "You better not ask any questions and take the damn hint" kind of look but bless Eren for he is completely and utterly clueless.

"It's urgent."

"Still rejecting." You hotly reply.

Mikasa icily interjects "Eren, would you stop being so bothersome?"

He looks between you and Mikasa helplessly. "The Duke says he expects your refusal but I can't return empty handed, I'll be given a punishment and it'll be worse than being made to clean the stables." He gives you a pleading look and he's so much younger than you, it makes you feel like he's your responsibility. Eren has a charming way of making himself feel like everyone else's annoying younger brother. You accept that he can't suffer because of your selfish denial.

Sighing deeply you take a final bite of your roll, if you're going to die you may as well do so on a full stomach. Before you depart you awkwardly get to your feet dusting your dress to buy some time as you bid Mikasa and Sasha goodbye.

You're now following Eren through the halls of the estate. Deep down inside, you know you aren't fearful. He won't kill you, not yet at least, he thinks you're a useful source of information relating to his external enemies, he would be stupid to overlook that detail. You'll exploit it for now, your key is survival, it always has and always will be that way.

Bumping into Eren's back you apologize for being absent minded, you swear the walk to Levi's office has always been much longer. He spares you a worried glance and looks as if he's about to offer you words of support but he stops himself before he opens the heavy door to Duke Ackerman's office. Perhaps he doesn't find it appropriate. Good, you think to yourself. You don't wish to hear motivation from anyone right now, it's nothing personal, it's that nothing can possibly be of motivation right now.

The door opens ever so slowly, your brain races making everything move at a sedated pace. Then you find yourself jolting upright in surprise. You soon realise expecting Levi to be the only person there was naive on your part. Eyes tensely land on the blonde in one of the cushioned caramel chairs. It's the Commander of the Empire's entire battalion — Erwin Smith.

Levi has ratted you out for sure, you spare a glance towards him and see the way he's trying to hide his feelings of amusement. You want to lunge over his desk and wipe that smug smirk off his face. The playful lilt in his usual unreadable expression is driving you mad. Next to Erwin is respected and high ranking Squad Leader Hange Zoe, you're quite well accustomed with them you've exchanged your fair share of words together and Hange has never failed to bring a smile to your face. The amusing air around them lights up any room they're in... Apart from this one that is.

Eren closes the door behind you and you're silent not really knowing what to do.

"Take a seat my beloved." Levi drawls. This isn't Lev you know that much, he's always enthusiastically jumping to his feet when he greets you.

Awkwardly sitting in the chair next to your husband you shake Hange's hand first then move to shake Erwin's. His warm palms envelope yours and he places a hand on your left shoulder. It's not at all similar to the way Levi held you earlier in the morning, the feeling is genuine. He has no ill intentions, all he seems to want to do is open a conversation.

"Y/N, we may not have much time but." He stops, unsure if it's for dramatics but you still intently listen.

The sea that is his blue eyes draws you in, you've only ever seen him from afar. If honesty and gentleness were a person it would be him no doubt about it.

He pats your shoulder and you snap out of your day dream. "Y/N. Thank you for your sacrifice and commitment to this Empire." His warm yet serious smile which follows simply confuses you, in fact this entire situation is doing that.

Jaw slacking you're dazed and bewildered, your thoughts are diverting in all sorts of direction now.

Whatever does he mean by sacrifice?

[theelvenhaven]

I can hardly stand myself

Maglor x scarred!Reader

1.8k words

Court does not go how it was intended. A councilmen and a few humans are caught speaking ill of the reader who grows hysterical and retreats to their room. Maglor does what he can to comfort them.

                                                      *   *  *

Maglor was silent as he stood at the door, ears laying back sadly as he listened to your sniffling. He'd try and come in but he knew your door was locked... it wasn't often did you ever locked him out, of all people. But you were in awful ruins over what had happened in court today. A vile monstrosity of an ellon and a couple of visiting humans had the audacity to make horrific comments about how “horrendously” disfigured you  were...

Their claims were a slither of the truth. The truth was you were indeed disfigured, but not to the extent they had made it out to be. You had a deep wide scar on your left cheek that ran down your cheek and beneath your jaw. Burn scars visibly on the same side that ran down your neck and covering your chest. They were strewn with no rhyme or reason extending past your chest. It had happened in your time before meeting Maglor, you had been kidnapped by orcs and tortured for days before your rescue.

You had always been incredibly self conscious about those scars, even more so when you and Maglor had begun courting. But they were the last thing you thought of when you were with him, and if anything it seemed as if he was helping you work on getting over the insecurity. But he had always known all it would take was for one miserable soul to berate you and it would pull you down, and he knew unfortunately he couldn't prevent it from happening.

As of now he could hear you shuffling around, drawers opening and closing. Furniture being moved, something banging against the wall as you flitted around the room in horrible panic. No doubt in the mix you had stolen horrified glances at your appearance, he could only begin to imagine how far the scars ran down. Hearing you undress in panic and your heavier sobs only allowed for his heartbroken imagination to run wild.

"Meleth..." He began in a gentle voice, but you didn't answer him, you couldn't bare to face him right now of ALL times. Not when you were feeling like this, it felt like your world crashed down upon you. Maglor could hear more shuffling around the room as he was sure looking for heavy clothing to hide your scars despite it being late spring and it going to be awfully warm outside today. It made him sigh and it was times like this he had Carnistirs rage to have punched them. They deserved it...

He almost wished they saw what they had done to you to maybe understand how awful it had hurt you. Then again he was grateful that they didn't, not even Maglor had ever seen you so vulnerable before. Eru knew the how much that they'd possibly revel in all of this.

"Meleth nin... You don't need heavier clothes... You need not hide them..." He said gently through the door and he only heard another muffled sob come out from the other side. It sometimes felt like it was so easy for Maglor to say! He wasn't disfigured in anyway! Maglor was intimidatingly perfect even if he never compared you to himself. In a way as much as you loved him, you resented him for the moment because you'd give so much just to look normal. Like you did before your kidnapping.

"Just go away please..." You whimpered out to him, your back to the door as you finished dressing yourself, the collar was high covering up your collar bones. Your clothes even completely covered your legs, you made sure all of your marred skin covered. There wasn't even a cut out on the back, or any slits to show a sliver of your skin. Even though Maglor stood on the other side of your door you couldn't help but begin to wonder what he'd even think of you if he saw all of them.

Quietly you crawled into bed under the blankets. Scooting to the side of the bed furthest away as you heard Maglor walk off, you sighed out shakily with mild relief. Though your heart continued to constrict painfully in your chest with deep distress. Weeping quietly in self loathing, that was until there were two approaching sets of foot steps.

While laying there you could hear Maedhros' deep voice speaking softly and gently to Maglor and you squeezed your eyes tightly in frustration! It was incredibly unfair sometimes that Maglor's brother was the Lord of Himring. Because if ever there was a concern when you locked yourself away, he willingly just gave up the spare key to your bed room. It was a wonder your partner didn't own a key at this rate.

The tears didn't stop as you listened with dread in your stomach as the key slid into the door and unlocked it. Maglor slipping into the room alone after some departing words with Maedhros. As he slipped in, he was greeted to sight of it blacked out. Candles out, curtains shut, a few outfits strewn out on the floor surely in your attempt to find the heavy one he knew you had on now.

Even your mirror had been removed from the wall... Maglor spotted you beneath your comforters, a solitary sobbing lump on the bed. He looked at your shaking form sympathetically as he moved to sit on the empty side of your mattress. Carefully he pulled the top of the comforter down to reveal your face that you kept staring away from him.

"Meleth nin..." He whispered comfortingly, bringing a hand to run through your long silky hair. You shook hard sniffling trying to control yourself but with Maglor being so sweet it was so hard. Maglor desperately wanted to tell you not to cry, but he knew just how badly their words had struck you.

"Everything they said was unbelievably cruel and said strictly out of spiteful jealousy..." Maglor said in his soothing voice, you only shook your head at his words as your curled in on yourself. He made a soft sound of sympathy gazing down at you sadly,

"But they are not wrong! None of what they said is wrong! I AM disfigured, I look horrible!" You cried out sadly only hurting Maglors heart further for you. To know you thought so little of yourself,

"But they are wrong Meleth nin... Not once has your scars ever taken away from your beauty. You are absolutely beautiful they are fools and selfish to even speak so horribly of you." Maglor said with anger in voice but you knew very well it was in no way directed at you. His hands gently rubbing your back now as he leaned over to sweetly kiss your forehead.

"How can you possibly think that I hold any beauty? You haven't even seen how many there are!" You explained in a choked voice, terrified and angry of what he might think of you now. No one except one solitary healer knew the extent of just how bad the scars had been, and how much skin they really covered. Maglor was quiet as he continued to stroke your hair lovingly,

"I can hardly stand myself. I cannot even begin to imagine what you will think if you ever saw the rest of me." You bawled out heartbroken, that was your biggest fear. The disgust and rejection that he'd bestow to you once he saw you bare terrified you. Maglor held his breath at your words, it made more sense now as to why you hadn't wanted anything more intimate in your courtship to progress.

He was quietly praying to Eru that Maedhros would punish them appropriately. Maglor was confident he would, considering Maedhros knew precisely how you felt.

"I adore you meleth!" He said in a breathless manner to you, leaning over to rest his forehead against your temple as his hair draped forward tickling your skin as his arm wrapped around your waist.

"I love everything about you... You are incredibly exquisite! From your beautiful eyes and how they light up when you are excited or when you see me. To the smile you wear when you're in absolute bliss... Your skin is absolutely radiant, and it glows beautifully in the sun and in the light of the moon. And your scars, shimmer like stunning streaks of precious metal. They are apart of you and I adore and love all of you." His entrancing voice spoke to you in your ear, quieting your sobs as you listened to his words.

"You mean the everything and more to me. You are radiant in every way, you are kind and gentle.. You are caring and compassionate. I love you with all of my heart, my darling one." He breathed out sweetly arm pulling you a little closer to him, his lips pressing to your cheek. Making sure he was gentle and even running his lips over the scars he could see not caring that they were there. They were apart of you and just as he said Maglor loved every part of you.

You sniffled quietly before slowly rolling over to look at him. Your eyes were red and puffy, your cheeks blushing a soft pink. You could hardly believe that he saw all of that in you, when you saw none of what he spoke of. Maglor couldn't help but smile softly at the sight of you, adoring the way the wonder seemed to twinkle in your eyes at what he said to you.

"Really..?" You whispered out and a gentle smile grew wider as he nodded at your words. His freehand coming to your cheek where he caressed sweetly and wiping away your tears. His hand calloused but it felt so good against you, Maglor was satisfied that you seemed to melt at his affections.

"Truly, my dear. I mean every single word." He said lovingly to you before he leaned down to kiss your lips sweetly. You couldn't help but hum at how good and sweet this ellon was to you. And you loved him with all of your heart.

"I love you, my darling. No matter what it is you may think of yourself, or what anyone else might say." He whispered to you, lips brushing against yours as he spoke to you. You hummed softly at his words, heart swelling by how genuine and tender he was being with you. It helped make so many of your insecurities melt away for the moment.

"I love you too..." You whispered in return, fingers coming to gently hold his face. He pressed his forehead against yours rubbing his nose softly against yours.

"Would you like to change? It is going to get warmer today." He whispered his hand on your hip squeezing gently. Slowly you shook your head and as much as he loathed it, he understood completely. Maglor only nodded at your gesture,

"Once, I feel better I'll change back, But right now..." You whispered and Maglor nodded again, he didn't blame you. With as much panic that they induced he wouldn't dare press you, instead just like Maedhros suggested, he'd give you time.

"It's okay meleth, I understand." He whispered to you kissing you softly again and you only hummed again at how good it felt to be loved so unconditionally.

[aziraphalesrarebooks]

Day 14- Eggnog

Various locations, London

 The staff Christmas party was in just a few days. It was the one night of the year where the entire staff was off and of course, required to be in attendance. There would be plenty of booze and food to be had, along with gifts and holiday cheer. 

 The house was a buzz of energy and excitement. In the kitchen, three women spoke of a shopping trip in the upcoming week for new holiday dresses in hopes of tempting their crushes. 

 “I think it’s a great idea, Liz, really,” Crowley said with a grin. Spending their entire Christmas bonus on a new dress guaranteed to never be worn again? It could easily be written as a temptation in his book and get Dagon off his ass for a few days. A true Christmas miracle. 

 Liz raised an eyebrow at him, “What about you Coraline? Hm? Plan on dressing up for a certain gardener?” she teased. 

  He blushed, unable to control the heat that crept up the back of his neck and cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, looking down at his feet and certainly not towards the two maids who were now grinning cheekily at him.

“Coraline!” laughed Sarah, “You know he’s sweet on you!”

 “Exactly, oh!” exclaimed Liz, “You should get something that shows a bit of skin! Honey, show a man some cleavage and tell ‘em whose boss and you’ve got him!”

 Crowley had turned red from the tip of his nose to the top of his chest, this was not behavior becoming of a demon such as himself. He wondered how his simple temptation had suddenly been turned around on him, “Girls, he’s not interested in me like that.” He'd know, it wasn't like he hadn't been trying to get Aziraphale to notice him in that way for the last six thousand years. 

 Sarah snorted as Liz rolled her eyes.

 “Please! Honey, you don’t bring someone bouquets and plant their favorite flowers if you aren’t interested in them. He’s probably just shy!”

 Sarah nodded, “you don’t see the way he watches you when you walk away.”

 He tapped the side of his wine glass, a bottle they’d procured from the wine stores below the kitchen. Then, he sighed, “alright, tomorrow morning I’m off and so are the two of you.”

 “Yes!” said Liz, turning to high five Sarah, already making plans for a girls day out. 

   The next morning dawned bright and early, he’d hardly slept at all, especially once a certain three-year-old had found his way into his Nanny’s bed and was currently somehow taking up the entire mattress despite his size.

 He carefully lifted the child and returned him to his bed, then began to dress.

 His casual clothes as  Coraline Ashtoreth ��were less constricting, softer and more flattering. He dressed carefully, pulling on a comfortable blouse, blazer, and jeans. He did his makeup as usual before deciding to allow his hair to hang in loose curls around his face.

 He was nervous, he knew clothing and he knew temptations; however, he’d never known the angel to be easily swayed and could only imagine what Aziraphale would do if he thought he was being tempted into something.

 The truth was, even if Aziraphale did for some reason decide to kiss him, hold him, do all the things Crowley so desperately wanted; nothing would come of it. Nothing good could come of it, no matter how much he wished it. 

 Aziraphale was his friend and the time for anything more developing between them was over and had been for a very long time. The moment he fell, Aziraphale put him out of mind. Which was fine. Yes, it hurt but he’d had time to come to terms with the fact Aziraphale didn’t want him in that way. He could love the angel and that would be enough.

 Crowley just hoped the night didn’t end in disaster.

   “Come out, Cor!” said Liz from outside the dressing room. They’d ended up in Knightsbridge after a brunch he’d paid for at a restaurant well above their paygrade. He liked them well enough and didn’t mind using a minor demonic miracle so they wouldn’t question how the Nanny could afford to eat at the  Mayfair .

 They’d been trying on dresses for the last two hours, Liz and Sarah had already purchased their own; and if by some chance both dresses rang up significantly less than on the tag, it was just a nice surprise that he certainly had nothing to do with.

 The dress was floor length with a deep plunging v-neckline. The slinky black material was adorned with silver sequined Celtic knots that accentuated his curves beautifully. Looking at himself in the mirror, he gulped.

 He opened the door to the dressing room and slowly stepped out, feeling much more self-conscious about himself that he had in the past.

 Sarah elbowed Liz and her mouth fell open, “Oh honey, you have to get it! Francis won’t know what hit ‘em!”

 He was starting to flush again, an excited flutter in his abdomen churning, “alright.”

   The day of the party, Crowley, Liz, and Sarah met for lunch followed by a brief spa day. Nails were manicured and hair perfectly coifed.

 They’d returned to Liz’s flat to get dressed, gossiping about the other staff and their new favorite person of topic; Francis.

 Once they were dressed, a cap arrived to take them to the Bulgari Hotel.

 The two women had excitedly been chattering beside him, mainly about David, one of the new secret service agents that had been assigned to the residence only two months prior.

   He’d yet to see Aziraphale, he knew he was going to be in attendance, it was expected of them and he’d mentioned that he would see him there.

Besides, when did Aziraphale ever turn down free food?

   He was feeling pleasantly buzzed between the eggnog and cranberry cocktails that he’d been consuming since they arrived.

 “Don’t look now, but your man is over there by the punch.” Said Liz, elbowing him not so subtly. 

 For the hundredth time that day, he flushed. He was a demon, the creator of original sin and fallen Archangel… who also happened to be completely besotted with an idiot and was unable to control the blood flow to his face. 

 He flicked his long curls over his shoulder, tipped back his third cocktail and sauntered towards Aziraphale, hips swaying seductively as he moved across the floor. 

 “Angel,” he purred as he came to stand beside his friend. He was dressed in clothes more similar to what he typically wore than his typical outfit as Francis. 

 When he turned to look at him he dropped the mini-quiche he was holding, his eyebrows raising into his hairline. “C-Crowley!” he stuttered, “what are you doing dressed like  that !”

 The demon frowned, “just wanted to look nice tonight, angel.”

 “Oh, of course.” Aziraphale, Crowley realized looked hurt and he couldn’t figure out why.

 He grinned at his friend, ladling some of the drink into the mug in his hand before passing it to Aziraphale, “try the eggnog, I have on good authority it has been spiked no less than three times.”

 Aziraphale nodded his head, a slight smile replacing his uncertain expression as he accepted a mug.

   They ended up sitting at the same table as one another while Crowley’s new friends went off to dance.

 Aziraphale sighed, glancing at the demon beside him, “Dear, you look lovely tonight.”

 Crowley felt heat rise to his face, “thankss, Angel, so do you.”

 Aziraphale looked away, tapping his fingers on the white linen cloth. “James has been looking at you all evening, as has Evan and Thomas.”

 Crowley shrugged, “part of the job, temptation and all that.”

 “Of course, of course… it’s just, I wouldn’t mind you dancing with them if you wished, I know I’m not the best company.”

 Crowley tilted his head, gazing at Aziraphale intently, “I’d rather sit here with you than get groped by inexperienced men any day.”

 The angel visibly relaxed but refused to meet his eyes, “but you like dancing, Crowley.”

 “Well, if we’re being honest here Angel, I’d hoped you’d saved a dance for me,” he winked.

 Aziraphale’s featured betrayed his shock momentarily before slightly nodding, “Well, then… that’s,” he swallowed, “My dear, would you care to dance?”

 Red lips pulled into a wide smile, “yeah, I think I would.”

   Aziraphale clumsily led Crowley towards the dance floor, placing his arms in the proper spots as he stiffly began to lead.

 Crowley chuckled warmly, “Angel, nobody dances like this anymore.”

 The angel huffed, furrowing his brow and pursing his lip in annoyance.

 “Here, like this Angel,” whispered Crowley as he pulled the angel flush against him, taking the opportunity to wind his arms around the angel.

 It was a bit awkward at first, but by the end of the song, they were happily swaying to the tune.

 One song, then another.

 As the notes faded on the third song, Crowley felt Aziraphale pull away.

“We can’t dear, you know we can’t.”

 Crowley nodded, “I know Angel.”

 Aziraphale opened his mouth the speak before deciding better, instead, he glanced around the room before leaning over to place a small kiss on Crowley’s cheek.

 The demon felt warm the rest of the night. 

   It had been years since the party at the Bulgari Hotel, years since a stolen peck on the cheek and years since they  finally ��confessed their love for one another.

 Aziraphale had decided It was past time to clean out the demon’s wardrobe that had somehow managed to make its home in piles on their bedroom floor and every surrounding flat surface.

 Between the two of them, there were several piles of designer clothing to be given away to charity. The closet had nearly been cleared, as had the piles laying around their bedroom.

 Aziraphale was pleased he could once again use their chairs and see the hardwood floor of their bedroom.

 The angel was rummaging around for more items to donate when his fingers brushed across a familiar garment.

 “Oh Crowley,” whispered Aziraphale as he pulled out the long dress from its spot in their closet, “you still have it.”

 “Hm?” he asked, not looking up from the pile of belts he was looking through.

 “The dress!”

 He glanced towards Aziraphale, ducking his head when he realized what he was holding, “Oh, course, Angel. It was a lucky dress.”

 Aziraphale leans over to give him a quick peck, “dear, perhaps you could wear this to dinner soon. It would be lovely to see you in the dress that sparked many  inspiring  dreams.”

 “Ngk,” he replied as a heavy flush bloomed across his face and neck.

[pr0sciutt0]

Could I please get some fluffy Bruno reassuring his plus size fem s/o that she’s beautiful after an unsuccessful clothes shopping trip that’s made her feel very self conscious about herself. Thank you angel! ❤️

"I can come in and help," your boyfriend's voice says, from just outside the changing room, as you struggle with the third zip of the day. It's hardly something that you're not used to, but still . . . you can't help but swallow back the tears and the lump in the back of your throat as you say;

"No, it's alright, Bruno. It's not going to do up."

"Are you sure, amore? You know, zippers are my speciality--"

"I'm sure," you say, hoping the tears clogging up your throat aren't too obvious to him. You know that they will be, of course - Bruno can read you like an open book - but you don't think you could bear looking into those gorgeous sapphire-blue eyes and seeing pity in them. "It's . . . You won't be around to help me every day. If I can't get in and out of it on my own, it doesn't fit."

You succeed, the dress pooling around your ankles. It hurts more that Bruno had been the one to choose this dress, that look in his eyes as if you were the most beautiful girl in the world when he handed it to you. You hate disappointing him!

You step out of the changing room with the dress hung neatly back on its hanger, and Bruno sees your red-rimmed eyes and the puffiness of your cheeks and the stoop of your shoulders but doesn't say anything except a soft whisper of your name as he places his hand on the small of your back and guides you out of the fitting rooms. You hand the dress to the attendant with a shake of your head, and she - the kind of girl who's probably never had to worry about something not fitting her in her life - gives you a smile that you can't help but read as mocking.

(It's not, coincidentally; it's her customer service smile, and she's been on her feet for seven hours straight, and she can't wait to get home and take off her heels and collapse onto her bed. But when you're in as low a place as you are right now, it's hard not to feel jealousy constricting everything you do - especially when she gives Bruno a smile too, and he smiles back, and that poisonous little voice in your head whispers that she would be a far more fitting lover for a man such as him than you will ever be.)

You hold it together until you get to the car, and then the dam breaks, and Bruno is ushering you into your seat and murmuring soft, sweet things to you, and reaching across to do up your seatbelt as you gulp back noisy tears.

"It's alright," he's murmuring, his voice soft. "We can go to a different shop, amore - it was probably just the cut that didn't fit right, you know none of these places use proper standard sizing - ah! We could get something custom-made for you, hmm?  I know the most wonderful little tailor--"

"D-don't," you choke out. "I'm not worth it."

Bruno is sitting beside you now, preparing to engage the car, but your words make him pause and turn to you with a stern face. You feel disgusting - your face reddened from the sobbing, your eyes running, all red and puffy and disgusting. You don't know how Bruno can look at you and feel anything less than revulsion. Heaven knows sometimes you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and all you can think about is how disgusting you are. How your hips curve and your arms bulge in sleeves and how round your face is. How your thighs rub together when you walk.

Bruno is so elegant in everything he does. His movements are always so fluid and precise, his face always perfectly set, his hair impeccably silky as it falls over his forehead. In another life, he could easily have been a model - even now, he wears his clothes like the most fashionable catwalk model in the whole of Milan Fashion Week. And you are simply . . . you. Oh, you never feel as though you're worthy of Bruno Buccellati even when he's kissing you.

"P-please can we go home?" You manage to choke out. You'd planned to get some light lunch and then resume your shopping; you were supposed to be looking for a dress that would match Bruno's brand new custom-tailored suit for a fancy party that Giorno was throwing. But after the third shop and six dresses that looked awful on you, two that fit in only the loosest sense of the word, and three that were nowhere near fitting, you had simply lost any energy to carry on embarrassing yourself in front of svelte lovely shop assistants and full-length mirrors.

He looks at you, his face turning impossibly soft. One hand scoops up your chin, a thumb wiping away one of the hot, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. You try in vain to jerk your head away, hating knowing that Bruno must be looking at you and seeing all of those imperfections that haunt you every day, but Bruno's grip is strong. You don't deserve him.

"Of course we can," he says, very soft. "And when we get there, will you let me talk to you?"

Panic rears in your stomach like a wild horse. Oh, it's been coming for some time, hasn't it? You ought to have known that somebody like bruno could never want to stay with you. You're moments away, you think, from Bruno ending it altogether. And though you know he will be kind and he will not tell you the truth, you will know that it's because he knows you are not worthy of him. Surely he sees photographs of you two together sometimes and he wonders where he could have gone so wrong in his life?

It's been nice, up until now, even if it was merely a fluke that meant that for a year Bruno Buccellati has been by your side and kissed you like you're the most beautiful girl in the world.

When Bruno brings the car to a stop outside your modest little home and he comes around to your side of the car to proffer you his hand to allow you to get out of the car elegantly, you don't even try and give him a watery smile. Your heart feels like it is shattering into a hundred tiny little pieces.

He leads you to the front door, your teeth digging into your bottom lip. You won't burst into tears again, you promise yourself. You won't make this embarrassing for Bruno. Any more embarrassing, at least, than it must have been for him to go to fancy mafia parties with somebody like you on his arm.

And when he leads you to a chair at the dining table and takes one next to you, his stance pleading as he leans his elbows on the table and brings his face closer to yours, you can't bear the tension, and the words come spilling out of your mouth before Bruno can say anything himself.

"It's alright," you say, "I'll pack--"

Bruno's face twists in confusion.

"I don't--"

"It's okay," you repeat, though it feels anything other than okay. Oh no. You promised yourself you wouldn't cry, but hot tears are already springing into your eyes and your voice is already cracking. "I w-won't make a scene. I understand. You're you, and I'm just . . . not good enough for you. I'm just--"

Bruno clasps your hands suddenly, and he's pressing his forehead against yours.

"The love of my life," he says, and you look into the blue eyes with a trembling lip. "You're just the love of my life."

"You don't have to lie to me," you whisper.

"I'm not," he says, and his voice is firm. You've never heard Bruno plead. He brings one of your hands up to his mouth and drops a feather-light kiss on it, not breaking the eye contact he and you are holding.

"I've never felt as connected to somebody as I feel to you, amore," he admits, and his voice is breaking a little now. "Not just in the physical sense - though, believe me when I say that I'm extremely connected to you in that way - but I feel like we are kindred spirits. You understand me. You're there for me, and lovely and kind and sweet and perfect--"

"But I'm disgusting," you say, your stomach rolling over itself in waves of nausea at yourself. "How can you bear to even look at me?"

"Looking at you is a pleasure," he says, emphasising every word with a squeeze of your hands. "Every part of you is beautiful."

"We couldn't even find a dress that looked nice on me today--"

His eyes sparkle.

"I thought you looked beautiful in everything. Though I have to admit I prefer you in nothing at all."

You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, and before you know it, Bruno has dropped to his knees in front of you and is looking up at you like you're some beautiful Goddess who he is lucky to worship at the feet of.

"I don't know how to make you believe that you're beautiful to me," he breathes, "but you are. The way your eyes crinkle when you smile. The way your lips curve just so, the way your hair looks against your shoulders, the way your hips feel in my hands - oh, amore, I wouldn't trade you for the world."

"I'm sorry," you say, voice small. "For always being so needy."

"Oh," Bruno says, "I'm more than happy to shower you in the compliments you deserve, tesoro. Now. About this dress. Shall we have a good look in your wardrobe together? Will you have a little fashion show for me, hmm? And we can order a new colour of something you already like instead, si?"

Bruno gently tugs on your hands, and you rise at the same time as he does. One of his arms cradles you and pulls you into a kiss, and under Bruno's gentle gaze you allow your eyes to flutter closed and to let yourself feel safe instead of disgusting. To let that feeling of Bruno telling you how beautiful you are suffuse your body with a warm glow. When he kisses you, his mouth is soft but hungry, and when he pulls away there's clear adoration in his gaze that makes you feel like perhaps he was telling the truth.

"Si," you breathe, and Bruno smiles.

[jksangelic]

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: romance, angst, dry humor, smut, undergroundrapper!yoongi (don’t be fooled, yoongi is a soft lover in this), one-shot (divided for the sake of a functioning mobile tumblr)

↳ pairing: yoongi x reader

↳ parts: 1 | 2 | 3

↳ word count: 2.8k

↳ a/n: here’s the first part! second part comes tmro, and third comes the next day, both releasing at 10PM PST! please look forward to them heehehehe. 

this part does not contain smut, only light swearing and maybe some sensual themes? i don’t remember lol. it’s also not very edited hehe i’ll come back to it.

*each squiggly divider represents a flashback, straight divider represents current time*

Yoongi preferred the heat set to exactly eighty degrees Fahrenheit, which was utterly ridiculous. It caused you to toss and turn in a pool of unattractive, and possibly foul-smelling, sweat all throughout the night. Even more so, he trapped you with his own limbs, protecting you like that stupid dog from Tom and Jerry protected that awfully large and awfully raw steak. You’ve fallen in and out of consciousness because of it, surely waking up every thirty minutes while the man slept like a log.

But it was wonderful.

You open your eyes for the umpteenth time, assuring he’s still attached to the hip and planting a kiss on his forehead sleepily. What a dream it would be to stay like this forever, you think, tossing the idea away as quickly as it came. It was punishing as is and you dare not tie the noose around your own neck.

You scan the room, curtains drawn closed and tv silently flicking through commercials, casting a dim width of light onto the bed. It must still be pretty early in the morning, you assume, a bittersweet realization.

Enjoy the moment, you correct yourself, be happy that you were able to have this. So you peer down at him through foggy vision, his eyes closed and mean, twitching a bit enough that you suppose he’s dreaming of something himself. Nudging your face into his hair, which smelled faintly of smoke and peaches, you force yourself back into slumber.

For the first time tonight, you sleep deeply.

Wondering how the hell anyone was permitted admission after the venue breached occupancy threefold, you rub at the aching spot of your ribs that your neighbor unintentionally keeps jabbing. You attempt to peer over the sea of heads anyway, looking for that goddamned girl that dragged you here in the first place. Where was she? Why was she so short? Why did you wear heels to a concert?

Never did you suspect you would be pushed against barricade at 11PM on a Thursday, waiting for an artist you have never heard. The sweat that accumulates, quite frankly, everywhere was probably starting to stain your clothes at this point. The beauty of public outings.

“Y/N! Y/N! Right here!” screams the woman of your nightmares, waving maniacally more towards the middle of the crowd than you but nevertheless farther than you would like to travel in this density. You make your trek, apologizing profusely as full-grown adults glare at you for moving, oh help them all.

“I will have your head for this,” you yell into her ear, gripping the divider to ease the stinging pain stemming from your toes.

“Lighten up, you’re at a concert that you got into for free, for heaven’s sake,” Chungha pouts, bopping her head happily to whatever DJ was opening for her beloved. “I think you’ll like these guys, anyway. Really good rappers, up-and-coming and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, if they even show up. This poor dude has been playing for over an hour. Do you suppose his fingers hurt from pressing all those buttons?” She rolls her eyes in a way that says, please stop already. You really just want to know.

If this DJ had any influence of what the main act would be, you would rather just leave, plain and simple. This wasn’t really your thing in the first place, Overwatch and Red Dead Redemption (not one, but TWO!) sounding much more appealing than listening to EDM’s Worst Hits. But Chungha was a sweetheart who you’d marry in an instant, and when she asked you to come and claimed she already got you a ticket because she knew you couldn’t possibly say no to her, well, you couldn’t possibly say no to her.

You even dressed up for the occasion, a mix of Instagram baddie and Tumblr aesthetic (a sum of words you’d never like to use again) smooshed into one oddly cute outfit, if you did say so yourself.

It wasn’t worth your time.

But then the music starts changing pace, lights changing colors and dimming and smoke machines going ham and you suppose it’s finally starting. Three men walk out, one with orange hair and a long but pretty nose, heart mouth showcasing the straightest teeth you’ve ever seen on a human being, the second slightly shorter, bleached hair styled messily and the hand holding his mic covered in rings, the final with a smirking dimple, leading them out and hyping up the crowd with a few welcoming words that you don’t quite make out.

“There’s three,” you state dumbly.

“Great job counting! Remind me to give you a cookie later,” Chungha retorts halfheartedly, much more intrigued by seeing these men in person, “The guy in front is RM, he’s their leader. Blonde is Suga. J-Hope is the sexy one—HOSEOK OPPA!” She screams as if she’s been struck with a spatula, eyes wide and focusing.

You like their style, you’ll give them that. RM starts the song strong, lyrics so quick and diction so clear that it sounds as if he’s rapping directly to you. They all bounce around the stage, people at barricade, including your friend, reaching out and bobbing along in synchronization. J-Hope follows suit, stage presence oddly intimidating and seductive concurrently, his body more fluid and powerful than any dancer you’ve seen before. You can see why he would be the ladies’ man, lying to yourself if you said your eyes haven’t focused on his hips more often than not.

And without warning, Suga bursts into his own lines, atmosphere changing almost immediately when he brings the mic to his mouth. It’s hypnotic, his words continuously stringing out without break, without a single beat missed. You watch in fear. As the crowd around you screams and attempts to chime in, Suga steps closer and closer to them, squatting down right in front of where you stand and finishing his part with a deep, breathy note. He sits there as both men and women (and Chunga) paw at him and for the smallest of moments, do you think, his eyes lock on you.

It sets you on fire.

Yoongi always made it a point to study the faces of his fans out of appreciation. It would be foolish to say he’d be able to recognize each and every person he’s ever encountered, but he knows you were one to sketch into the archives of his mind. It doesn’t help that you are the only one, mouth slightly agape and teeth biting the inside of your cheek, completely still and studying. For the first time in a while, he feels intimidated; self-conscious even. More than a listener amongst the energetic mob, you look more like a critic.

It makes him shiver.

I would be his groupie in a heartbeat, you think, no doubt that he too is infamous around women wherever he goes. Whatever the matter, seeing this enigma of a man was worth your whole night’s experience.

I love, I love, I love myself! The audience screams, bass intensifying as the other two reach for water bottles propped on the stage. I love, I love, I love myself!

J-Hope throws in some ad-libs, sipping from his water before chucking the lid entirely, Namjoon putting a hand to his ear to egg everyone on and holding his own water above. You still stand in place, astonished how ethereal someone can look on stage and you instantaneously understand why people barricade. Suga catches you again, still squatted in the same position, possibly too lazy to get a water for himself but lets his brothers do what they must, and grins subtly.

You must look absolutely moronic gaping at this man, tongue-in-cheek impressed and hands barely gripped around the bars while everyone else around strains to be closer to the stars of the night.

I love, I love, I love myself! Y’all player hater, you should love yourself!

And that’s when you get—at least, half of a water bottle’s worth of water thrown at your direction. Right in front of the newfound man of your dreams. Everyone else screams madly, acting like these gods have blessed their parched souls with water after days on end, while you now look a little like a wet dog dressed in a hoochie skirt. You shrug, wiping at whatever was worth attempting to dry and thanking the gods that your makeup wasn’t running.

“Oh my god, your shirt is soaked!” Chungha lately notices, head whipping back and forth from the boys to you, back to the boys just in case she was missing something important.

“I would sell myself for that man,” you deadpan, not even blinking towards her.

“Suga? I bet he would accept if you managed to offer it to him.”

“I would easily give him all of the money in my savings right now.”

“You don’t have a savings. Pay attention.”

So you did.

You relished in every part Suga had, finally gathering up enough brain cells to at least rock with everyone else. Every song was like a lucid dream, the concert high really resonating with you. Either that, or you were literally high off of how much smoke there was. Gotta love rap concerts.

Perhaps it was the luck of the opening song, but Suga didn’t make eye contact with you again, a beaten disappointment gurgling in your stomach. But instead of behaving as a kicked puppy and moping about losing every possible chance that the blonde devil would bring you atop the stage and dedicate his serenade of sorts strictly to your face in front of hundreds of people--well, the chances were nearly zero. We're not all winners.

Suga continues on, trying not to focus on the girl with the sharp eyes that makes him clammy to the point where his throat threatens to constrict on him, which isn't optimal. He finishes song after song with his brothers, taking long enough breaks in between to catch his breath and focus on the bigger picture: that there was an entire crowd to please and not just you. Besides, there would always be a pretty or handsome face no matter where he went, he was Suga, goddammit, he wasn't a high school horndog ready to pounce on every intriguing entity he just casually glanced at. That role was a style more befitting for his brothers.

 Upon your cognizance that this group was downright brilliant, the concert ends much sooner than you would have liked it. And just like that, the three send their love and are ushered behind the stage. It takes a while for the swarm to dissipate, interlacing your fingers with Chungha's to insure you don't lose her again.

 "So, I take it you liked them," she giggles, forehead sheen with sweat because holy shit it's so fucking hot in here.

"They are really... talented. I award proper recognition when it's truly deserved." Tired of waiting, you practically shove your way past the bodies, dragging your poor friend behind you and bee-lining for the entrance.

"Wait! Do you want to get merch?" You twitch your nose, not entirely opposing the idea.

"Are you sure you don't want to just hop in? I'll pay for you!" Chungha cries, halfway into her Uber.

"Sis, I live down the street, I promise I'll be fine. I'll call you when I get home."

"That's so far!"

"I'm walking away now. Go home."

She harrumphs once for effect before waving goodbye, Prius soundlessly whooshing away while your best friend sticks her tongue out at you in the back window. You laugh at her foolishness before spinning on your heel and making your way.

It was just the right amount of chilly, breeze cooling you down a notch. You bet your ass you would remember this night forever, writing a mental note to check out the group on every social platform there was when you got home.

 You skirt down a corner of the building, aiming for the route of your apartment--or, at least, where you think it is? "Sense of direction" surely wasn't the best trait on your resume. Walking down the dim street, you notice a few trickling souls walking in and out of the building, probably help from the venue closing up. It's when you see Suga, attempting to light his cigarette and leaning against a black van that you stop like a deer in headlights.

"Suga!" you point and exclaim like a child.

"... Wanna say that any louder, toots?" He chuckles, though, seemingly pleased rather than offended. He scoffs at his empty lighter, tucking the thing in his pocket and leaving his cigarette unlit on his lips.

"S-Sorry. My bad. Do you, uh, need a light?" you offer apologetically, digging through your purse to grab your lucky lighter, an embarrassing bright pink thing with Betty Boop floating in the middle.

"Thanks," he smiles, grabbing the lighter from your hand and flicking it to life as he takes a drag. "Do you smoke?"

"Not cigarettes. Honestly, I already regret offering that to you. That's a bad habit to kick," you sigh, taking it back when he hands it to you.

"Don't I know it." He glances up at your face when he returns your lighter, showing a regretful smirk but studying your face in the process. Well, hell, if it wasn't for the barricade critic.

"I recognize you," he continues, "you were up front, right?"

"Oh, god, I can't believe you remember that."

His heart skips at the match, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth and pushing himself off the van. "You, uh, looked unimpressed. Got me worried that I lost my game for a bit."

"No! I wasn't unimpressed at all. I'm just a new fan, I guess. My friend brought me. I think I was just in awe, if anything. I even got this hood--"

You quite literally bite your tongue, wishing you could slap your face at the outburst, realization running over you like a train.

"You got what?" he presses, a sly curiousness brimming.

"N-Nothing. You were good. That's all."

"'That's all'? Geez, you're really putting me down over here, toots." He throws the butt and stomps it out, "Those eyes of yours really made me nervous."

Your eyes? How smooth of him. "Oh, I doubt that. You seemed just fine to me."

He hesitates to respond; what exactly are you trying to get at here? Sweet and sour, he supposes. It's interesting to him compared to the countless amount of substance-less gals that suck up to him to simply suck him. New fans certainly were feisty, he supposes.

"Do you live around here?" he asks.

"Are you going to stalk me? Yes."

"Well, if I was, you probably shouldn't have said yes before I answered. But luckily, no." He sticks out his hand, clad with rings of, you're sure of, soaring prices beyond what you can imagine for jewelry, "I'm Min Yoongi. But I guess everyone kinda just calls me Suga now. You can call me Yoongi, if you'd like. Can I ask for your name?"

You take his hand softly, hoping he doesn't notice the way you shrink in it because heavens that near-zero chance of meeting Suga certainly did skyrocket. "It's Y/N."

"Mm, pretty," he comments surely. "Well, Y/N. We're actually going to be here for a while, just finished a few shows here and there and decided to take a break until we can figure out bigger plans," he's talking too much, "Anyway, would you want to hang out sometime?"

You shiver in astonishment, what was happening here? What kind of lucky star flew over your head for this? Your goosebumps had goosebumps.

"That... Yeah, that would be great! Do you... Do you want my number?"

"Would love it," he declares, taking his phone out and setting up your contact without delay.

"Do you do this much? Snag a girl's number after a show?" you joke as you type in your number. Yoongi snorts.

"Girls don't necessarily talk to me in a well-respected manner, let alone offer me a light."

"Well, don't expect that last bit anymore. Smoking really is a pet-peeve of mine," you warn. Who were you to warn him of something you didn't like? Idiot!

"Yes, ma'am. I'll shoot you a text sometime. Was nice meeting you," he says, watching you nod and smile and wave goodbye as you continue on home, Suga's name printed enormously on the back of the new sweatshirt you bought from the merch stand. He bites back a snicker, picking at the hair on his neck before walking back inside.

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 10 - Friction Effect

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1886

Summary: The heat of day breaks as Cas struggles with uncertainty to make a move toward broadening his relationship with the reader. (Warning - in the event this “bothers” you as much as it bothers a certain angel - for a skinny dipping reader.)

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

It’s not the ocean – although, the cold water flows refreshing and free around flesh salted by heat and kissed to a polished luster by the sunny exertion of an afternoon amble; nor does the torpid humidity of the Kansas dusk hanging overhead in the guise of a hazy purple, wispy grey-streaked, star-pricked blanket hold the same guileless promise as that long ago unblemished blue sky of a summer day at the beach. There’s something profounder than innocence prevailing here – a charged potential building between atmospheric particles signaling the sort of lightning strike that heralds a heaven-sent bone-drenching downpour of relief after an unrelenting drought. The electrifying thrill pertains to someone you ceased hoping existed as your world burned, funneling you and every other isolated soul surviving in it toward a fiery finale.

When you break upward in an effervescent breathless burst from the pond’s cooling liquid embrace, airy liberated laughter sputtering through rivulets wetting your smiling mien, the unexpected renewal of hope waits for you on the shoreline. With eyes encompassing the eternal blue of a sky unfurling into the depths of forever – even at this distance, the luminosity contained therein shining brilliant in defiance of the enveloping darkness – hope dons the charmingly cut contours of a man shrouded in a trench coat. No, not a man – an angel; though, that’s not how you define him. You understand now an angel is what he is, not who. This distinction in your reasoning, too, arises entirely unforeseen given an accumulation of harrowing experiences involving the mercilessness of his kind up to and including the singular sadism directed at you by his counterpart in your world; the disparity makes all the difference in your heart’s racing reaction to the image of him standing sentinel.

Appearing equally startled under the circumstances, the crinkle of confusion contorting his brow as he peers between you and the collected mass of crumpled clothing cradled in his arms reveals nothing sinister. He’s not like them; and certainly, nothing like the other him – he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever known. It’s not fear exciting your pulse at the sight of him in all his, at present anyway, categorically un-angelic glory – it’s unbounded affection; it’s a yearning for more.

Stone still at the pebbled margin of the rainwater reservoir used in times past for irrigation, in these latter years by Dean as an ersatz fishing hole, in humming perpetuity as a mosquito den of iniquity, and most recently by you as a pool, Castiel stares out, struck speechless, to where you swim in what he personally deems an oversized manmade puddle; your grinning mug bobs above the water amid broadening ripples.

Accounting for the number and intimate nature of the discarded garments he gathered in his advance toward the sound of gleeful splashing – the pleasant scent and residual warmth of you clinging to the fabric clutched in his fingers – he suspects you’ve removed all of your attire to inhibit the effects of friction hindering your impromptu plunge. Judging by the decorum defying response of his vessel to the awareness of your bared flesh concealed beneath the inky surface, it occurs to him you’re not alone in harboring corporal concerns involving the concept of friction – your less begets his desire for more.

More than purely empirical mimicry of a pornographic pizza man. More than the biological satisfaction of momentarily weak submission to a reaper’s lustful lures when overwhelmed by the physically sensational circumstances of the human condition’s reflexive need for connection in a lonely world. This full-fledged and yet totally confounding want of more with you, and what more means, restrains him from making a move toward attaining it. He nurses serious doubts whatever blundering version of more he has to offer you is less than enough to content a soul too special to possibly reciprocate fond feelings for the undeserving likes of a fallen angel.

Interrupting his inner lambasting, limbs wildly whirling to wave whilst staying afloat, you shout, “Come on, get in! The water’s fine!”

“I’ll, uh, watch from here,” he stammers. Self-conscious of the immediate influence of your proposal on further inciting the involuntary flush afflicting his physical form, never more aware than in this moment of the rough rub and restriction of layers of material covering almost every inch of his hide, gulping against the growing constriction of the shirt collar and tie cinched around his throat, he adds in a tone firmer in conviction than necessary, “Watch over your clothes I mean.” He exhales a flustered sigh at the dubious sound of the excuse to his own ears.

You glide deeper into the water in an eddy of giggles.

Ever the pragmatist, his glance drops to your castoff clothes as his thoughts drift to wondering what you’ll wear when you emerge from your drenching dip. Fingering the thin white cotton of your t-shirt, he divines it will surely turn translucent when soaked through and stick to the supple curves of your body – a development that will do nothing to quell other rapidly escalating developments transpiring in his wantonly dissenting vessel. There’s little time for him to dwell on planning a defense against the eventuality of the reversal of your submersion; in the periphery of his vision, he witnesses you rise in a cascade of clear water, bare feet and resplendently wet figure proceeding to pick a graceful path toward him over the rounded rocks.

The heat of his furtive gape steeps into your already saturated skin. His visibly quivering confidence as he tries and fails to redirect his regard captivates you. You’d have thought an angel would be unmoved by nudity. After all, he beheld the creation of humankind, observed Adam and Eve before the venom of modesty tainted the blood rushing through their veins – a shyness sustained still in their descendants; a shyness you increasingly remember in yourself as you close the distance to him. Your exhibition of boldness wavers in the demure crossing of your arms over your breast and sex.

His discomfiture dissipates upon seeing your insecurity. Stooping to place your clothes in a neat pile, he shrugs off his coat, strides forward, and wraps it hurriedly around your shoulders. Knowing full well there is no one save a smattering of lightning bugs engrossed in their own luminescent conversation, he scans the stretch of shore for unwelcome onlookers as he snugs the sagging material taut to shield against exposure and dry you.

“Thank you.” Licking at several stray droplets of water wending over your upper lip, you avoid his gaze by looking straight up at the mushrooming clouds refracting ghostly golden glimmers of distant lightning. Booming echoes muffled through the trees, thunder rumbles somewhere far off. The air, absent the departed breeze of day and stagnant with calm ahead of the oncoming storm, swells oppressively thicker between you. “Is it always like this?” you ask.

Your inquiry, of course, refers to the sultry weather; the angel’s dazed intellect, however, distracts metaphorically to acknowledge in his seemingly endless, and multiply resurrected existence, that no, it’s never been like this for him with anyone else – angel, human, or otherwise. No one before you succeeded in awakening this ache of irrepressible want within him – a longing and desire to not only care for you and protect you, but to ensure your happiness by pleasing you in every way conceivable. It’s a feeling so foreign to celestial custom he has no idea where, in a tidal wave of sentiments ranging from a humble declaration of devotion to an impiously reverent show of passion, to begin.

“Cas?” In the silence, you peer into his pensive features.

His concentration resides somewhere between here and the center of the universe as he endeavors to determine what to do next; if he has the right, considering what you’ve been through because of him, to do anything at all without knowing for certain it’s also what you want. He resolves his attention on your searching eyes, his focus falters to the soft temptation of your questioningly parted lips.

The entranced flicker of his blues does not escape your notice; your tongue darts to dampen your lips in enticement. The subtle strain etched in the lines of his face as if he’s holding back prompts you to prod, “What were you thinking about just now . . . when you got quiet?” What you want to know is why he hasn’t laid siege to your mouth when all signs point to a kiss.

He has several specific answers: The distance of separation he must cross rounded up to the nearest hundredth of a millimeter in order to caress the pink petals of your lips with his pouting ones to feel the swift rise of life surging thereon beneath the delicate tissue. The inopportuneness of the approaching storm, which he calculates will douse you both in rain in 2 minutes and 8 seconds, well before you could make it back to the shelter of the bunker. The radiant warmth of your flesh beneath his fingers where they encircle your upper arms helping to secure his coat from slipping off your frame. How, although the themes of free will and choice continually preoccupy his existence, actually choosing never gets easier. How the brightening cloudbursts of lighting reflected in the beads of water amassed on your brow pale in comparison to the vibrancy of beauty originating within your soul. And whether, like the pearlescent raised scar crowning the bend of your knee that he knew existed based on a memory laid bare to him while healing you days ago and then literally as you rose out of the water tonight, an injury that grieved you for weeks but with which you associate the happy memory of learning to peddle your bike at age 6 without training wheels, you could one day rewrite the painful scars of what he did to you with similar happiness.

He shares none of this rich and poignant introspection with you; instead, formality of his demeanor stiffening, Adams apple undulating beneath the scruff prickling his neck to swallow his conflict of indecisiveness, he defaults in his uncertainty to stating an entirely innocuous and impersonal fact to deflect the pressure mounting in his heart. “Are you aware that the human body is made up of, on average, approximately 60% water? I’ve always thought it’s why humans feel so at ease submerging themselves in a treacherous element powerful enough to have helped hew the very planet.”

“Oh.” You utter the ambiguous, vaguely disappointed, vowel sound aloud – perhaps you read his unspoken cues wrong. “That’s, uh . . . interesting.”

He realizes although he doesn’t know what the right thing to do is, this was definitely the wrong thing to say.

In inclement intervention of the awkwardness, thunder cracks and growls overhead. A single fat cold raindrop splatters your cheek. Innumerable of its drizzling kin follow as the clouds unburden themselves of moisture a solid half minute before the angel anticipated. Bending to pick up your water-logged clothes before they wash away in the deluge, your heel slips.

Atropos, sister of fate, being no friend of the angel’s, he’s a dozen or so seconds too late to alter his choice. Routed, he snakes an arm around your waist for support and steers you toward the canopied cover of the tree line.

Next: Ch. 11 - Under Your Spell

[cosmicsnowcryptid]

Remains to be Seen

Thank you for the 900 followers, lovely owlets. As promised, I wrote you a little something. Actually, well, a lot of something. It’s incredibly long. 

I had you vote on who you’d like me to write about- The Host or Darkiplier- and… well, you’ll see.

While this is a reader insert, it is pure angst, featuring lots of blood. There is no romance or fluff. Not even close. I actually had to go through and rewrite a portion of it, because it was way too dark, even by my standards. (That’s really saying something, too. Oops.) It’s still incredibly dark, actually. So, you know, apologies in advance.

This is not a happy story, because the entities you are dealing with do not live happy lives.

Enjoy.

You don’t trust him. You don’t trust any of them.

But you don’t have a choice.

Not anymore.

The feeling of your hand gently rapping against the door is a comforting one. There’s nothing particularly special about the door itself, except for the fact that it exists; in this place, a place of void and shadows, anything truly tangible is a welcome relief.

“Come in,” a voice calls. You swallow back your fear and walk inside, silently willing your legs to stop shaking. Whatever’s in there can’t be any worse than what’s out here.

When you had questioned the others, all four gave the same description: a man with no eyes, one who lived in self-exile in the darkness. You expected to encounter something equally as horrifying as the man you were now trying to escape, the one who could warp and twist the world around you in flashes of red and blue, filling your skull with a piercing ring and your mind with thoughts that weren’t your own. What you weren’t expecting was... this.

“Please close the door behind you.” His voice is gentle and clear. “I don’t want the warmth to escape.”

You nod once, stupidly, before realizing he can’t see you. A blush creeping up your cheeks, you quietly murmur an “okay” and shut yourself in the room.

The bookshelves around you are stuffed to the brim, books stacked haphazardly upon each other and in piles along the floor. This should make the already small space feel constricting, but instead it’s oddly cozy. The warm lighting and earth tones in the room make your shoulders relax instinctively. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you feel… safe.

“Would you like to introduce yourself, or would you like me to do it for you?” His head tilts up to meet your gaze, and you find yourself grateful that he’s wearing clean, neat bandages.

“I’m not… I don’t know what you mean.” You admit.

A soft smile graces his lips. “You can tell me what you look like, or I can see for myself. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”

“Um.” You look down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious. “You can see.” You say, although you still don’t understand what that means.

Almost immediately, his voice slips into a lower, more even rhythm, as if reading from a script. “The Host studies the stranger standing before them, trying to read their facial expression.” His words become increasingly quieter until you can hardly decipher them. You pick out a few- something about height, the anxiety in your eyes, the shape of your lips, possibly. After a moment, his voice picks back up.

“...realizes that the visitor is uncomfortable and straining to hear. The Host offers his apologies, explaining that his narration was only for his benefit, to understand what the stranger looks like, and he didn’t know that they would want to hear. He shares with them that there is no reason to be afraid of admitting that they didn’t know what was happening, and they are always welcome to ask him if they are confused. The Host gestures to the chair in front of the desk, offering it to the stranger, before he slips out of his narration.”

You blink hard and take him up on his offer, settling into the plushness of the chair in front of you. “...Oh.” is all you can think to say.

“I hope that didn’t startle you. I know that can be a little unsettling at first.” He rests his hand on the book in front of him, gently brushing his finger over the raised dots on the paper before closing it softly.

Softly, softly, softly. Everything he does, everything about him, seems soft.

“No, it’s okay.” You insist quickly. “I just didn’t know what you meant. They didn’t tell me much about you. They made you sound like some sort of… oracle or something.”

“That’s not entirely off-base. Just a little more ominous than I’d like. I can only see things as I say them, but my voice can outpace events. It’s a bit of a trade-off, you see. Talking like this, I am in the dark, both literally and metaphorically. I don’t know what will happen or what is happening around me, unless it’s something one of my other senses can help me understand. When I’m narrating, however, I see more than I ever could when I had my vision. It comes with the curse of always being a few seconds away from the present. You can see how that would be…”

“...anxiety-inducing.” You finish his sentence without entirely meaning to. He gives one short nod.

“I was going to say ‘isolating’. But that works as well.”

You look down at his desk, studying the items on display to avoid looking at his face any longer. There is too much sadness there, too much grief, and knowing that you can’t do anything about it makes your heart ache. Although he is technically one of them, you get the sense that he feels almost as trapped in this place as you do.

He pushes aside the recording microphone that rests in the middle of the desk in order to fold his hands on the table. “I assume you’re here for a reason.”

“I… yes. I am. I need your help. They said you help people.” You feel an unusual pang of guilt in your heart, wondering if anyone ever visits Host simply to provide him with company.

“Who are ‘they’?”

“They…” You frown. “The four. The ones that answer your questions. They’re the only ones who will talk to me here. I think… I think they have to, though. I asked them for help, and they told me they couldn’t, so I asked if they knew someone who could.” Almost as an afterthought, you add, “I think one was called Oliver. I’m not sure about the others.”

The Host leans back in his chair a bit, giving a small sigh. “Let me guess. ‘A man with no eyes, self-exiled into the darkness, beyond the shadows but not beyond their reach.’ Am I close?”

“That’s… exactly what they said, actually. It seemed a bit cryptic considering how concise they were about everything else.”

The sound of his quiet laugh is not exactly bitter, but is lacking any semblance of joy. “It’s not their fault. That’s the only description they have in their database, and I can’t exactly blame them for that.” He clears his throat. “Now, I would very much like to help you. I will let you explain the situation yourself, but if you need help at any point, I can narrate for you. Does that sound alright?”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, letting yourself melt a little more into the chair. This is a safe place. I have someone on my side now. I’m not alone.

“That sounds wonderful. So… um, I don’t know exactly how you can help me. If you can help me. But I need to get out of here. I just want to go home.”

He absently nods, considering your words. “That shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. I don’t know why no one else was willing to help you. It’s unusual for someone to end up here on accident, but it’s happened before. I don’t know why they sent you to me instead of guiding you back themselves.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as you shift in your seat. “Well, it wasn’t really an accident.”

Host’s entire body suddenly tenses up, his fingernails digging into the fabric of the chair. “...How did you get here, then?”

The anxiety radiates from him in waves, disrupting the serene feel of the study. Your heart drops as the feeling of safety leaves you all at once. “I- um. I don’t remember the details. It’s a bit fuzzy, with, um…”

Your stuttering is interrupted by his narration voice, still smooth, but a bit more strained than before. “The stranger can’t recall all of the details of the event, and the Host, riddled with anxiety, takes over the conversation for a moment. If he prods the stranger, he will find out the details they do remember. They recall only bits and pieces of the situation leading up to their arrival here. Desperation, pain, the smell of smoke. They remember crying. They remember faces, blurs of motion. A scream. It may have been their own.”

“Host?” You slowly begin to rise from your chair, alarmed at the increasing intensity of his words, feeling a twist in your gut as your memories are recounted in front of you.

“The stranger tries to cut him off, deciding not to reveal any more of their memories, but it’s too late. The Host has already seen the diverging paths, the way the future may have gone, and he has heard their story. He knows.”  His breathing speeds considerably, and your hand hovers in midair, as if to touch his shoulder. He moves out of the way before your arm is even in motion, pulling his chair back sharply and raising his voice.

“He knows what the stranger has done. He has seen the paths that the future may have taken, and he has seen the one where all is revealed. He cannot help the stranger. He will not help the stranger. They must leave immediately.”

You pull back, stepping around the chair as if to put something in between the two of you. “Host, what happened? What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“THE STRANGER KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT THEY DID.” He shouts, hands balling into fists. “And if the Host had known, he would not have allowed them entry. The Host cannot undo what the stranger has done. The stranger has made a deal with Dark, one that they did not uphold, and that is why they have been brought to this place. The stranger wants the Host to cross Dark, to help them get away, and the Host would not help someone escape a deal with Dark. The Host would never disrespect Dark. The stranger must leave, now.”

Your eyes widen as you watch his trembling figure, and all at once, you realize what is happening.

“The Host begs the stranger not to ask.” His voice is now a whisper.

But it’s too late. The words have already left your mouth. “Host, why are all the lights on in here?”

He takes a shallow, ragged breath and backs away from his desk until his back is pressed against the wall. You begin to back away, too, one hand in front of you as if for protection, the other behind to search for the doorknob.

“Host?”

No reply. You hesitate for a moment, watching his face pale and his knees wobble dangerously. You can’t leave him like this, can you? Your self-preservation instincts scream at you to turn and run,  but he looks so… vulnerable.

“The Host insists one last time-” He begins, voice breaking on nearly every other syllable.

“Host.”

“The Host can’t breathe. The Host is terrified. The Host is begging, please, please, please. The stranger will get in trouble. The Host will be hurt again. Please, please, please.”

“Host, what did he do to you?” Your hand brushes against the doorknob, but you don’t make a move to leave.

“You don’t know what he’s capable of, he tells the stranger, he yells at the stranger, he SCREAMS TO THE STRANGER THAT THIS IS THEIR LAST CHANCE TO LEAVE.”

“Host, was he here? Did he hurt you?” And then, dread lacing through your veins, turning them to ice, you quietly add,

“We’re not alone right now, are we?”

Everything happens in slow motion.

The Host slides down the wall, gripping his knees to his chest and letting out a choked whimper. At the same time, you spin around and try to rip the door open.

The handle will not budge.

When you turn back to face him, another figure has placed themselves between the two of you, drenched in shadow and wearing a wolf’s grin.

“The Host is so, so sorry.” You hear him murmur. “He should have known why the stranger approached him. He should have narrated. He should have made the stranger leave. And now it’s too late. The Host is so, so sorry.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” the man in front of you says, waving a hand dismissively. “He can’t help but narrate when he’s upset. And he tends to get upset when I find out that he has tried to betray me, again.” He makes a soft tsk in the back of his throat and turns to regard the other man.

“What am I going to do with you, Host?” He sighs, weaving his hands behind his back and taking a few slow steps in the Host’s direction.

“The Host is so very sorry. He did not mean to betray Dark, but he did not want to watch another stranger get hurt in his room. The ringing in his head is growing stronger, and it hurts. It hurts so much. The Host wants nothing more than to make it stop. The Stranger is still standing by the door, but they are unable to move, no matter how hard they try. They have to watch, just as the other visitors have, just as the Host has had to watch so many times.” The words are barely more than whines.

“Have to watch what? What do I have to watch?” The words escape without your permission. Why won’t you move? Why can’t you move? Why won’t you help him?

“The Host has always had to watch. The Host has had to watch since he was the Author. The Host has had to watch Dark use him to get to other people, to hurt other people. Dark’s influence was so much stronger than the Author’s, and he filled the Author with hatred. Anger. A lust for blood. He made the Author destroy lives, and when he started faltering, when he was too weak and the characters could fight back, Dark showed him things.”

“That’s a decent summary.” Dark muses. He’s standing over the Host now, regarding him with a pleasant expression. “And what kind of things did I show you, Host?”

“Dark would take away his influence, release control of the Author, and then he would make the Author watch what he had done. He made the Author watch them scream, watch them writhe on the ground, watch them beg for death. Look at what you’ve done, Dark would tell the Author. This is what you wrote. This is what you do to people. How could you be such a monster? As the Host continues to tell the story, Dark removes the physical restrictions that were placed on the stranger, silently inviting them to step forward and watch.”

It takes you a moment to realize that he has switched back to the present, and you take a tentative step forward.

“A little closer, dear.” Dark invites. “No need to worry, I don’t bite. I want you to be able to see. Come and look.”

Your eyes flick between the two men. Although they have the same general features, the Host looks so much more… fragile. You bend down to his level, close enough that you can see the indentations in his bandages, the concave markings where his eyes once were.

“Good.” Dark whispers in your ear. You don’t know when he moved behind you- and, in fact, you don’t know when you moved so close to the Host. When did you take more than a single step at all?

“The stranger’s confusion is justified. Dark’s influence can make a person do things without their knowledge. It terrifies the stranger. It terrifies the Host, too. The Host begs the stranger to put the letter opener down.”

What?

As the words come out of his mouth, you become acutely aware of the sharp object in your hand. Why do you have it? When did you pick it up?

“The stranger is inching closer with the blade. The Host cannot fight back. Dark is smiling.”

You blink, and you’re suddenly holding the weapon inches from the Host’s face. You let out a gasp, one that turns into a shriek, and fling the letter opener across the floor, letting it skitter to a stop against Dark’s foot.

“What are you making me do?” You demand, standing abruptly and whirling on Dark.

He gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder and tilts his head, almost looking sympathetic.

“Host, do you remember when you were shot?” Even though his words are directed elsewhere, his eyes remain locked on you.

“The Host could never forget.”  

“And I saved your life, did I not?”

“Yes. The Host is indebted to Dark. He owes Dark. Without Dark, he would be nothing.”

“But I saved it on one condition. We don’t have to get into the details. I’m sure our friend here doesn’t care about the ins and outs of our business deals. Let’s skip forward a bit, shall we? To the part where you broke our agreement. You had only one rule and you failed to keep it. And what was the punishment?”

Dark’s arm snakes around your waist and he shifts slightly, placing you side by side, facing the Host. His grip is firm, almost painful, and a violent shiver races up your spine.

The Host does not reply.

“Oh, come now. You’re an author, are you not? And we have a guest here who is patiently waiting to hear your story. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you? So, let me ask again. What was the punishment?”

“The Host… struggles to narrate with-with the pressure. It hurts. The Host would b-be more understandable if Dark would s-stop the ringing in his head.”

Dark’s fingers dig into your side, keeping you from reaching for the tortured man on the ground. “I can understand you perfectly well. Tell our friend what the punishment was, and then I’ll consider helping you.”

Another long pause.

“...She was so kind.” The Host’s voice is almost inaudible. “She was kind to the Author. She understood what he had been through. She knew that he was only operating under Dark’s influence, and that he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He had never wanted to hurt anyone. And she knew. She was gentle, and she was patient, and she was so, so beautiful. The Author… he wrote so many stories about her after his abilities waned, after they no longer affected the world around him. He loved her. It’s impossible to put into words how much he truly, deeply loved her.” He wavers, and for a moment you think he may pass out. You want to wrap him in your arms, to stop the pain, to help him breathe.

But still you stand, doing nothing.

“And?” Dark urges.

“...And the Author killed her. Dark had saved the Author’s life, and the Author had broken his promises. He had tried to run away with the girl. So Dark got in his head, and he made the Author kill her. He stabbed her. He stabbed her over and over and when she wasn’t dead he strangled her and there was so much blood and she was screaming and the Author was screaming and there was so so much blood and then Dark, Dark made him watch, he made him watch it over and over and HE DIDN’T WANT TO SEE IT, HE DIDN’T WANT TO SEE IT EVER AGAIN, HE WANTED TO STOP SEEING IT BUT HE COULDN’T AND IT WAS THERE WHEN HE HAD HIS EYES CLOSED AND IT WAS THERE WHEN HE HAD THEM OPEN AND THEN HE GOUGED THEM OUT SO HE WOULD NEVER HAVE TO SEE IT AGAIN BUT THAT DIDN’T STOP IT, IT NEVER STOPPED and and and there is so, so much blood.” His nails dig into his face wildly, clawing at the bandages. “So much blood. So much.” He doesn’t seem to be aware that he is even speaking anymore, repeating the phrase until the words jumble together into an intangible babble. “Somuchbloodsomuchbloodsomuchsomuch.”

You thrash against Dark’s grip, throwing your arm out to the Host in a desperate attempt to latch onto him and pull his hands from his face. “You bastard.” You hiss. “Are you making him watch it again? You BASTARD. Let me GO. Host, listen. Listen, come back to me. It wasn’t your fault. You’re hurting yourself. Please stop.”

“It was his fault, though.” Dark purrs in your ear. “He made a deal, and he didn’t follow through. He clearly hasn’t learned his lesson yet, has he? Because when he found out why you were here, he tried to let you go. That sounds rather unrepentant, doesn’t it?” You can’t see his expression, but you can feel his amusement as you struggle, watching the blood soak through the Host’s bandages and streak his face like tears.

“And this,” he lightly grabs your wrist and uses your own hand to gesture to the Host, “is your fault.”

You stop thrashing.

How? You’re not sure if you say it out loud or not, but either way, he seems to hear you.

“I am a forgiving man. I brought you here to give you a second chance, another try at holding up your end of our deal. That’s a kind of mercy that no one else would ever offer you. And yet, I look away for one second and you try to betray me.” He gives a heavy sigh, laced with faux regret. “Instead of accepting my generosity, you tried to turn the Host against me. And now look what’s happened.”

The Host is on his side now, curled up in the fetal position, cradling his head between his hands.

“How could you do this?” Dark’s voice echoes in your mind. “He didn’t deserve this, did he? See, this kind of thing is why he’s hidden himself in this room, away from everyone. People like you are the reason he lives in fear. Just look at what you’ve done.”

“Th’host so sorry.” The man on the floor mumbles.

“He can’t even snap himself out of his narration. It’s pathetic. And look at all that blood. He was only trying to help.”

You sway a little, only being held up by Dark’s arm around your waist. The grip is no longer painful- it’s strong enough to keep you upright, but loose enough that you can feel how dangerously close to toppling you really are.

“Dark’s n the stranger’s head. He-his t-the shadows in their mind and his influence k-keeps them- k-keeps- he’s in their head n the stranger they know, they know and they can’t stop it. There was so much blood. The Host, he- he is so, so sorry. He knows the stranger doesn’t want to. He knows. B-but that doesn’t stop him from being afraid.”

“‘Doesn’t want to’ do what? Host, what don’t I want to do?” You feel Dark’s rumbling laugh against you as you struggle to speak.

“Look at that.” His voice is doubled, tripled, an entire jury condemning you at once. “After everything you did to him, he’s still trying to clear your conscience. It’s such a shame that you’d let this happen to him. What’s even worse is that, even after watching all of this suffering, it’s just not enough for you. You’re going to stab him, too. That’s just cruel.”

The letter opener is back in your palm. Your eyes drift in and out of focus. You try to drop the weapon. Your hand curls around it instead.

“The stranger pushes away from Dark’s grip and drops to their knees, hovering over t-the Host.”

The metal in your hand glints under the lights. It is cold. So cold.

“They run their h-hand over the Host’s side and push away his coat. Dark is smiling again.”

Your fingers brush against him, and through the fabric of his shirt, you can feel the scar tissue.

“The stranger wonders how many times this has happened to the Host. The answer is many, many times. The Host should have stopped trying to help his visitors long ago. He is lonely, though, so lonely, and he clings to the company they give him. The Host must learn that he cannot trust anyone. He should not trust anyone but Dark. The strangers, the visitors, they watch him suffer, they break him. And then Dark puts him back together.”

“I can’t believe you would do this.” Dark chides you. “He was the only one here who wanted to help you- besides myself, of course. This is heartless. You know that, don’t you? And yet, you’re going to do it anyway.”

“The Host is s-so, so sorry. He knows that the stranger doesn’t want to. He knows that Dark’s influence is making them do it, is keeping th-them silent. They want to scream, but all they can do is cry. They are trying to tell him something. Dark is not putting you back together. He is the one breaking you. Those are the words that are stuck in the stranger’s throat. But what they don’t understand is that Dark is doing both, and it is a mercy. He uses the visitors against the Host so that the Host can learn. If the Host stops letting them in, Dark will not need to use others against him.”

Dark claps once, the sound distorted and harsh. “I’m so proud of you.” His voice is velvet. “You learn more and more each time. Maybe this time will truly be the last.”

“I can’t do this.” You manage to force the words past your lips in an almost inaudible whimper.

He clucks his tongue. “You think much too highly of yourself.”

“The Host is so, so sorry. The stranger is, too. They run their hand along the side of Host’s face, softly, before sinking th-the blade…. His side, between his r- between his ribs… they twist. It hurts. H-hurts.”

His words trail off. They morph into a strange choking noise. A gurgling sound.

He is silent.

“Look at what you’ve done.” Dark is behind you now, twisting your wrists, forcing you to look at the palms of your hands. “If you had just done what I asked, this never would have happened. Do you understand why it’s so important to listen to me, now? Why you need to keep your end of the deals you make?”

You feel yourself nod, eyes locked on the blood dripping from your fingertips. Dark hums his approval. “Good. Now, let’s have you sit back down and we’ll talk about how you can make amends. If you’re willing to cooperate this time, we may not even have to make you see that again.”

Even as he says it, you know it’s a lie, because you’re still seeing it. You haven’t stopped seeing it.

The droplets snake down your palms and stain them scarlet. He says something else and you nod, not knowing what you’re agreeing to, but not particularly caring, either. All you care about is the steady drip, drip, drip of your sins falling from your hands.

It will never matter how many times you wash them, how you try to hide them, how clean they will look to everyone else.

To you, they will always have blood on them.

“And there is so, so much blood.”

[letheavenspeak]

Something Unspoken

Peter x Reader

Hey, I know it’s been a while but I recently saw Guardians Vol 2 and was inspired, so I hope you like it!

Edit: Also, would anyone like a sequel to this? Let me know if u do!

Words: 2,306

Something Unspoken

Traveling with the Guardians is not an easy feat what-so-ever, but in all honesty, as much as I complain, I wouldn’t give it up for the world. Before I spent my time roaming through the galaxy with my new team, I was head nurse for Tony Stark, and when Peter and the rest of his team had met up with the Avengers, I volunteered to go back with them. They had no kind of medical expert on board, and I craved a new sort of adventure. Cap had tried to talk me out of it, said it was too dangerous, to which I told him how much of a stupid hang up that was, seeing as he was a super solider who had fought off aliens himself. He soon realized how silly his initial argument was.

Ever since I’ve stayed with the Guardians, helping patch them up after a long battle, or just being a person from another perspective to listen to their problems. Although Rocket seemed the most hesitant at first, he eventually became a trusted friend just as all the others had become, and I truly felt apart of their small family. I had even convinced Peter to teach me how to fly the Milano, just in case of emergencies of course.

Speaking of, I had grown incredibly fond of the leader of the group; he was kind and sensitive, and he often opened up about how he wondered about his home planet, and how it had evolved, but how he had no longing to go back, not since his mother was no longer there. I think that he likes having me here, having another human who grew up around the same time he did. He finally had someone who understood his references and jokes, and who could appreciate his sense of music; although it was a little outdated, it still was classic. I took it upon myself to show him some new music from different decades from the ones he had missed, and although he seemed hesitant at first I could I tell he was excited to get something new to listen to, as well as the rest of the team who had grown tired of the same two playlists that had repeated over and over again. I had initially kept with the smooth rock genre, introducing bands like Oasis and Radiohead. They were somewhat clichéd on Earth, but Peter grew to love them, and was amazed at the amount of music he actually liked. I guess he never thought he would enjoy any songs as much as the ones his mother introduced, but the slow smile that crept onto his face the first time he listened to Wonderwall said otherwise. 

I hear the familiar tune playing through the empty halls of the Milano now which had woken me from my sleep. I stay in my bed, too caught up in the warmth of my it and the coziness compared to the cool steel of the ship. I nod my head to the mellow beat, mouthing the words as I try to close my eyes and fall back asleep but as the song comes and goes it never happens. Eventually I decide to go see whose awake at the moment; the team had just had a pretty rough battle, and by the time I had finished double checking the nasty gash on Gamora’s arm the rest of the team had wandered off to bed. I turn to check the time to see it had only been a couple hours since I had fallen asleep, but the telltale sign that someone was up was unavoidable. So, I slip on my favourite sweater that I have by my bedside and brace myself as my feet make impact with the cool floor, sending a shock that definitely woke me up just in case the music hadn’t. 

My theory that most everyone was sleeping is confirmed as I walk through the mostly quiet ship, noticing that Rocket’s door at the far end of the sleeping quarters was closed, as well as Drax’s. I keep my footsteps quiet as I continue toward the cockpit where I see the outline of a broad back as it sways to the current song that plays just a little too loudly for the time. 

“Peter?” I ask, careful in case I startle him, and in the instance he may be armed. He jumps at the sound of my voice, and spins around to see it was just me, my concern evident on my face.

“Oh, Y/N, hey what are you doing up?”

Peter’s POV

Y/N stood there, looking so incredibly small, her arms hugging her body, trying to shield herself from the cool air of the ship.

“I was sleeping, but your music woke me up. Are you alright?” I could tell she was tired by her tone, though the sincerity seeped through it as it did through her large eyes. It felt as if I was being compelled to tell her the truth. 

“Yeah I’m fine, I just moved in my sleep and hurt the cut on my side and couldn’t fall asleep after, so I came up here and just decided to listen to some music.” As I tell her what’s happened she immediately comes up to pull up my sleeping shirt to check on my most recent injury. She looks at it for a moment, not saying anything. Her warm hands send a chill throughout my body that I try to hide from her. She doesn’t react to it and we both say nothing, and I try to ignore the fact that my face is suddenly a lot warmer than before.

“Well, thankfully you didn’t pull any stitches, but it is a little red. Did you put any of that ointment that I got from Knowhere that I gave you on it?”

“Ugh no, I couldn’t find it so I just took a couple of painkillers,” I admit. She lets out a little huff and walks off the main part of the pit and I try to suppress the laughter that bubbles within my chest as she walks away. I go to sit in the Captain’s seat as I hear a few clanging noises and an ‘aha’ as she finds what she was looking for. I roll up my shirt once again, allowing her access to the sore spot just to the right of my stomach.

“You are the worst with misplacing shit, and that’s saying a lot, we leave with Rocket for Christ’s sake.”

I laugh at her comment, but she keeps going on about how I should take better care of myself, but the words start ringing together as I watch the way her lips move with such certainty; it’s like art, and I could watch for hours. Everything about her is intoxicating, and although I’ve tried flirting with her in the past, she always waves it off as nothing. Most times it is nothing, but every now and then I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me to be serious for once in my life. The first time I got it was when she talked about life on earth, and how much she missed her friends and family that she’d left there. I understood the pain and longing, and even offered to take her back for a short visit but she declined.

“My home is here now, with you,” she had said, smiling at me. The words had melted my heart and turned my tongue into jelly.  We sat in an awkward silence as the weight of her words hit us both. The blush that had flushed her cheeks mad her look so adorable. 

“And with the rest of the team, of course,” she added, looking down at her nails. She quickly changed the subject not too long after that.

I was reminded of the moment as she finished wiping the cream over the sore wound, pressing her whole hand against it as she finished. Though she kept speaking, the words didn’t register in my mind as I noticed what she was wearing.

“Is that my sweater you’re wearing?” I asked, chuckling. She looks down, watching the fabric and playing with the zipper, trying to hide the blush that had just formed on her cheeks.

“Oh, yeah I guess. Sorry, did you want it back?” her voice is so small and quiet, I can barely hear it over the music.

“No you look better in it than I do anyway.”

Your POV

I can feel Peter’s gaze on me as I pull the sweater tighter against my skin, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious. 

“Are you cold? I could turn up the heat if you’d like,” he offers as he stands, finally breaking the silence.

“No, I’m fine thank you though. I think I’m just gonna try to go back to sleep.” I smile up at him to see he’s been watching me.

Suddenly Making Love Out of Nothing at All by Air Supply starts playing and Peter offers his hand.

“One dance first, for me.”

“Seriously Quill? You’re so corny.”

“The corniest actually, but you know you love it.”I smile, contemplating my warm bed compared to the heat of Peter’s embrace and decide on the latter. I place my hand in his and he immediately twirls me and locks me into position. His left hand placed lightly over my side, the other holding mine a little too tightly. I place my other hand on his shoulder and feel the abundance of muscle there. There’s barely any space between us, so close I can feel his chest constrict and relax as his breathing increases in just the slightest. We move slowly to the music, just a simple sway with the occasion spin but it’s calming and I let all my previous worries fly out the window. I lay my head down on his chest, relaxing even further; my breaths have become long and deep as I try and remember everything I can about this moment. The simple melody, the way the floor still chills my bare feet as we move, the pressure of Peter’s hand which has now shifted to the small of my back, and Peter’s fragrance which is a mix of his musky cologne, oil, and sweat are permanently fixed into my head.

“I know when to pull you closer

And I know when to let you loose

And I know the night is fading

And I know the time's gonna fly

And I'm never gonna tell you everything I've gotta tell you

But I know I've gotta give it a try” 

Peter sings along softly, making me chuckle. He’s almost whispering the lyrics, his mouth right beside my ear making me shiver. 

“So, how do you do it Quill? Magic?” I ask after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Woo girls the way you do; it seems to come as naturally as breathing to you.”

“Well, it does, when I have the right girl in front of me.”

I laugh at that; he was just too smooth for his own good.

“I’m serious Y/N, there’s something that takes over me when I’m with you. A feeling that just tells me that this,” he motions to the two of us, “is right.”

I scoff at the thought. Peter frowns.

“Why is that so difficult to believe?”

“Because Peter we both know that you’ll get tired of me and move on to the next unlucky lady and we’ll still have to work together.”

“Oh come on- “

“Gamora.” It’s all I have to say. We both know how hung up he was on her, and how long it took for him to get over her.

“Gamora is- “

“Someone you still deeply care for, I know, but I don’t wanna be some rebound for you and get tossed aside once the next one comes along.”

“Y/N, whatever I’m feeling, I’ve felt for a while, and I know that you feel it too. It’s been this unspoken thing for ages, even Drax asked me about it.”

“There is no unspoken thing Peter,” I say as I let go of his hand, the song ending. The next song is another slow one, but I pay no attention to it, wanting to leave the scene and retreat into my room.

“Why is it so hard for you to admit that you like me as much as I like you?” I hear Peter call out as I start to make my way back to my room.

“Because, Peter, I can’t loose you! I’ve lost too many people because of our jobs and I can’t have my heart broken again and again! Loosing you, the team, it’d be too much for me. It’d break my heart for good.” I start by yelling at him, but by the end my voice grows quiet, tears threatening to break through.

“Oh Y/N, I could never do that to you. You mean too much to me. I know my past with women isn’t the greatest, but I swear to you that you’re different. You are so important to me, much too much to just let you walk away right now. I’m not asking for much, just let me take you out on one date, and if you don’t like it then I swear we won’t ever have to talk about us this way again.”

I think about the proposition for a moment. 

“You swear?”

“On my mother.”

The sentiment takes me aback; his mother is the most important person in his life, and whenever he talks about her it’s not lightly.

“Well, Star Lord, where do you plan on taking me?” I ask after a moment of silence, making him smile.

“The only place worthy of your beauty, the stars.”

[almajonesnjna]

3 Ways to Stop Judging Others

A long time ago, I wrote a blog post on one of my favorite body image “tricks.”

My super-secret trick was, in short, to stop judging the bodies of other people.

What Makes This Trick so Effective?

Every single time you make a negative judgement of someone else for something, you re-affirm for yourself the fact that you live in a world where everyone judges each other all the time, and that you’re in constant danger of messing shit up without realizing it.

You also affirm that there is a “right” and  “wrong” way to be a woman, to have a body, to dress, to look, to exist.

This is a shitty message to keep affirming for yourself, and the more you do it, the more paranoid and self-conscious you get about all the possible ways you could be doing things wrong. This habit is bad for confidence, peace of mind, and yes– body image.

Hence, the less you think judge-y thoughts about other people, the easier it is to relax and stop judging yourself. I mean, think about how you feel when someone you’re spending time with says something judgy about another woman.

If you’re like most people, you have two responses.

The first response is a little thrill of exclusivity, because your friend has chosen you to confide her judgement in, thereby exempting you from the judgment. This means you’re momentarily safe. Also, being the judger instead of the judgee is like feeding your ego a cookie. It wakes up and gets all excited, like YEAH MOTHERFUCKER, I’M SPECIAL!

This feels good, because being special brings with it a particular kind of pleasure. Unfortunately, the second response is often a bit more subtle, and a lot less pleasant.

The second response is a constriction, often felt in the form of an unpleasant emotion like disgust or anger. Have you ever noticed how judging someone brings up something not-very-nice inside us? That’s because the ego feeling special is always a zero sum game: you can only be special if someone else isn’t, you can only be right if someone else is wrong.

Sometimes the thing that gets awakened when you’re being judge-y is the same nasty “ugh, ew” part of us from middle school, or sometimes it’s outrage disguised as concern, like “I just don’t understand why she doesn’t lose weight!”

Either way, you’ll usually feel an emotion that brings with it a tightness, an unpleasantness, or a defensiveness.

This is because you have just affirmed for yourself that everyone is constantly judging each other, and that the world is a place of scarcity and competition, in which you must always be striving to be different and better in order to get your due. If you (an obviously good person) are so judgmental, then everyone else must be as well. Deep in your subconscious, this fact feels yucky.

Somewhere deep down you tighten your grip on making sure nobody can judge you. Something inside you resolves a little harder to be likable, and reasonable, and to do everything RIGHT so that you can’t be the target of judgement.

I assure you, everyone does this. Judgement is the result of an evolutionary gift– thanks to our evolved brains, we get to decide for ourselves what we think about everything, which is cool! Because of this however, humans are constantly coming up with stories about everything, as though it was our job to decide if every single moment is good, or bad, or right, or wrong. We want to categorize everything into either “I like this” or “I don’t like this.”

When it comes to body image and self-esteem, judging everything this way leads to nothing but fear, pain, and unhappiness.

But you probably know this already.

Maybe you’ve read articles on TinyBuddha and the spiritual path has convinced you to stop judging other people. Maybe you want to lessen anxiety, or you’re coming at this from a body image perspective, and want to love yourself more. Maybe you just want to be a more compassionate person.

No matter what your reason for trying to stop being so judge-y, the obvious next question is… how?

Your Path to a Judgement-Free Life

What I’m about to tell you is incredibly simple, but I assure you it’s not easy. If you’ve been practicing judging other people your whole life, then it’s going to take an absolute ton of practice, patience, and dedication to create a brand new habit.

But that’s exactly what you need to do. Instead of just trying to quit cold turkey, you need to replace your old habit with a new one:

the habit of checking in with what’s going on inside you that caused you to judge someone.

Simple, right? Sure. But let’s take a look at how that actually works in practice:

Step 1: Become aware of when you’re judging someone.

You’re not going to be able to succeed at step 2 or 3 until you manage to identify and catch yourself every time you judge someone. Sometimes keeping a judgement journal can be extremely useful for this step, where you write down every single negative judgement you make about anyone throughout the day.

Step 2: Interrupt the pattern.

Our brains are good at doing what they’ve practiced doing. If you’ve been judging people a lot, you’re going to have to interrupt that mental pattern in order to stand any chance of changing it. This interruption is called cognitive dissonance, and can take place the moment you notice yourself judging someone, as long as you do something– anything— different.

Some people have luck saying the word STOP outloud, or picturing a big red stop sign, as soon as they catch themselves having a judge-y thought. Other people prefer to do something completely random and weird in order to interrupt the mental pattern, like reciting the alphabet backwards, or doing a weird dance, or picturing a purple elephant.

Whatever works for you is fine. The goal is to simply interrupt the old mental pattern. By interrupting it, you create the space for something new to happen, and new (non-judge-y) thoughts to show up.

Step 3: Bring it back to yourself.

Take total responsibility, and bring the judgement back to yourself.  Ask questions that take responsibility for your judgement, like “what about me right now is making me feel this way?” or “what’s going on with me that I’m judging this person for this thing?”

The truth is, when you judge someone it’s always about you; it’s never about them.

Explore your role in the judgement with curiosity instead of judgement. We often judge the stuff we wish we could do but don’t, for whatever reason, and there’s a lot to learn from the stuff that triggers judge-y thoughts.

If you have kids for example, and you spend a lot of energy making sure they don’t bother other people in public, then seeing a mom who lets her kids run around and cause mayhem might be a huge judgement trigger for you. Or if you decided a long time ago that you “can’t” wear mini skirts with your big legs, then seeing another big-legged woman wearing a miniskirt might make you feel real judge-y.

By gently questioning what’s going on for you that’s causing your judginess, you have the opportunity to learn a ton about yourself– possibly even including some ways in which you’d like to act differently! Try these three steps and see how it goes. You might not like how it feels to be under scrutiny at first, but I promise that by habitually taking responsibility for your role in your judgement, you will both improve your own life through better self-awareness, and you’ll find yourself judging other people less.

Which in turn means you’ll feel safer, more comfortable, and more relaxed to be yourself: win/win!

I’m passionate about helping women learn to love and accept both their bodies, and their authentic selves. That’s why I created the Love Your Body Workshop live event! If you’re interested finally breaking free from body image issues, self-criticism, judgement, and comparison, this unique workshop is coming to two different cities in June:

Love Your Body Workshop San Francisco, June 18th

Heal your heart. Find your truth. Remove your armor. Love Your Body Workshop

and

Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop  NYC, June 24th & 25th

Healing Body Image through Biology, Authentic Movement, and Self-Compassion Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop

Secure your spot in one of these workshops to get the actionable tools, practices, and education that will help you finally learn to love your body, embrace your authentic self, and expand your life.

Sign up now for either workshop, and receive the early bird discount, PLUS the first five people to register for each workshop will receive Body Image Alchemy Blueprint, a 6 week e-course designed to help you explore your personal inner blocks to self-love ($97 value) for FREE!

The post 3 Ways to Stop Judging Others appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2q3iCVv

[neilmillerne]

3 Ways to Stop Judging Others

A long time ago, I wrote a blog post on one of my favorite body image “tricks.”

My super-secret trick was, in short, to stop judging the bodies of other people.

What Makes This Trick so Effective?

Every single time you make a negative judgement of someone else for something, you re-affirm for yourself the fact that you live in a world where everyone judges each other all the time, and that you’re in constant danger of messing shit up without realizing it.

You also affirm that there is a “right” and  “wrong” way to be a woman, to have a body, to dress, to look, to exist.

This is a shitty message to keep affirming for yourself, and the more you do it, the more paranoid and self-conscious you get about all the possible ways you could be doing things wrong. This habit is bad for confidence, peace of mind, and yes– body image.

Hence, the less you think judge-y thoughts about other people, the easier it is to relax and stop judging yourself. I mean, think about how you feel when someone you’re spending time with says something judgy about another woman.

If you’re like most people, you have two responses.

The first response is a little thrill of exclusivity, because your friend has chosen you to confide her judgement in, thereby exempting you from the judgment. This means you’re momentarily safe. Also, being the judger instead of the judgee is like feeding your ego a cookie. It wakes up and gets all excited, like YEAH MOTHERFUCKER, I’M SPECIAL!

This feels good, because being special brings with it a particular kind of pleasure. Unfortunately, the second response is often a bit more subtle, and a lot less pleasant.

The second response is a constriction, often felt in the form of an unpleasant emotion like disgust or anger. Have you ever noticed how judging someone brings up something not-very-nice inside us? That’s because the ego feeling special is always a zero sum game: you can only be special if someone else isn’t, you can only be right if someone else is wrong.

Sometimes the thing that gets awakened when you’re being judge-y is the same nasty “ugh, ew” part of us from middle school, or sometimes it’s outrage disguised as concern, like “I just don’t understand why she doesn’t lose weight!”

Either way, you’ll usually feel an emotion that brings with it a tightness, an unpleasantness, or a defensiveness.

This is because you have just affirmed for yourself that everyone is constantly judging each other, and that the world is a place of scarcity and competition, in which you must always be striving to be different and better in order to get your due. If you (an obviously good person) are so judgmental, then everyone else must be as well. Deep in your subconscious, this fact feels yucky.

Somewhere deep down you tighten your grip on making sure nobody can judge you. Something inside you resolves a little harder to be likable, and reasonable, and to do everything RIGHT so that you can’t be the target of judgement.

I assure you, everyone does this. Judgement is the result of an evolutionary gift– thanks to our evolved brains, we get to decide for ourselves what we think about everything, which is cool! Because of this however, humans are constantly coming up with stories about everything, as though it was our job to decide if every single moment is good, or bad, or right, or wrong. We want to categorize everything into either “I like this” or “I don’t like this.”

When it comes to body image and self-esteem, judging everything this way leads to nothing but fear, pain, and unhappiness.

But you probably know this already.

Maybe you’ve read articles on TinyBuddha and the spiritual path has convinced you to stop judging other people. Maybe you want to lessen anxiety, or you’re coming at this from a body image perspective, and want to love yourself more. Maybe you just want to be a more compassionate person.

No matter what your reason for trying to stop being so judge-y, the obvious next question is… how?

Your Path to a Judgement-Free Life

What I’m about to tell you is incredibly simple, but I assure you it’s not easy. If you’ve been practicing judging other people your whole life, then it’s going to take an absolute ton of practice, patience, and dedication to create a brand new habit.

But that’s exactly what you need to do. Instead of just trying to quit cold turkey, you need to replace your old habit with a new one:

the habit of checking in with what’s going on inside you that caused you to judge someone.

Simple, right? Sure. But let’s take a look at how that actually works in practice:

Step 1: Become aware of when you’re judging someone.

You’re not going to be able to succeed at step 2 or 3 until you manage to identify and catch yourself every time you judge someone. Sometimes keeping a judgement journal can be extremely useful for this step, where you write down every single negative judgement you make about anyone throughout the day.

Step 2: Interrupt the pattern.

Our brains are good at doing what they’ve practiced doing. If you’ve been judging people a lot, you’re going to have to interrupt that mental pattern in order to stand any chance of changing it. This interruption is called cognitive dissonance, and can take place the moment you notice yourself judging someone, as long as you do something– anything— different.

Some people have luck saying the word STOP outloud, or picturing a big red stop sign, as soon as they catch themselves having a judge-y thought. Other people prefer to do something completely random and weird in order to interrupt the mental pattern, like reciting the alphabet backwards, or doing a weird dance, or picturing a purple elephant.

Whatever works for you is fine. The goal is to simply interrupt the old mental pattern. By interrupting it, you create the space for something new to happen, and new (non-judge-y) thoughts to show up.

Step 3: Bring it back to yourself.

Take total responsibility, and bring the judgement back to yourself.  Ask questions that take responsibility for your judgement, like “what about me right now is making me feel this way?” or “what’s going on with me that I’m judging this person for this thing?”

The truth is, when you judge someone it’s always about you; it’s never about them.

Explore your role in the judgement with curiosity instead of judgement. We often judge the stuff we wish we could do but don’t, for whatever reason, and there’s a lot to learn from the stuff that triggers judge-y thoughts.

If you have kids for example, and you spend a lot of energy making sure they don’t bother other people in public, then seeing a mom who lets her kids run around and cause mayhem might be a huge judgement trigger for you. Or if you decided a long time ago that you “can’t” wear mini skirts with your big legs, then seeing another big-legged woman wearing a miniskirt might make you feel real judge-y.

By gently questioning what’s going on for you that’s causing your judginess, you have the opportunity to learn a ton about yourself– possibly even including some ways in which you’d like to act differently! Try these three steps and see how it goes. You might not like how it feels to be under scrutiny at first, but I promise that by habitually taking responsibility for your role in your judgement, you will both improve your own life through better self-awareness, and you’ll find yourself judging other people less.

Which in turn means you’ll feel safer, more comfortable, and more relaxed to be yourself: win/win!

I’m passionate about helping women learn to love and accept both their bodies, and their authentic selves. That’s why I created the Love Your Body Workshop live event! If you’re interested finally breaking free from body image issues, self-criticism, judgement, and comparison, this unique workshop is coming to two different cities in June:

Love Your Body Workshop San Francisco, June 18th

Heal your heart. Find your truth. Remove your armor. Love Your Body Workshop

and

Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop  NYC, June 24th & 25th

Healing Body Image through Biology, Authentic Movement, and Self-Compassion Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop

Secure your spot in one of these workshops to get the actionable tools, practices, and education that will help you finally learn to love your body, embrace your authentic self, and expand your life.

Sign up now for either workshop, and receive the early bird discount, PLUS the first five people to register for each workshop will receive Body Image Alchemy Blueprint, a 6 week e-course designed to help you explore your personal inner blocks to self-love ($97 value) for FREE!

The post 3 Ways to Stop Judging Others appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2q3iCVv

[johnclapperne]

3 Ways to Stop Judging Others

A long time ago, I wrote a blog post on one of my favorite body image “tricks.”

My super-secret trick was, in short, to stop judging the bodies of other people.

What Makes This Trick so Effective?

Every single time you make a negative judgement of someone else for something, you re-affirm for yourself the fact that you live in a world where everyone judges each other all the time, and that you’re in constant danger of messing shit up without realizing it.

You also affirm that there is a “right” and  “wrong” way to be a woman, to have a body, to dress, to look, to exist.

This is a shitty message to keep affirming for yourself, and the more you do it, the more paranoid and self-conscious you get about all the possible ways you could be doing things wrong. This habit is bad for confidence, peace of mind, and yes– body image.

Hence, the less you think judge-y thoughts about other people, the easier it is to relax and stop judging yourself. I mean, think about how you feel when someone you’re spending time with says something judgy about another woman.

If you’re like most people, you have two responses.

The first response is a little thrill of exclusivity, because your friend has chosen you to confide her judgement in, thereby exempting you from the judgment. This means you’re momentarily safe. Also, being the judger instead of the judgee is like feeding your ego a cookie. It wakes up and gets all excited, like YEAH MOTHERFUCKER, I’M SPECIAL!

This feels good, because being special brings with it a particular kind of pleasure. Unfortunately, the second response is often a bit more subtle, and a lot less pleasant.

The second response is a constriction, often felt in the form of an unpleasant emotion like disgust or anger. Have you ever noticed how judging someone brings up something not-very-nice inside us? That’s because the ego feeling special is always a zero sum game: you can only be special if someone else isn’t, you can only be right if someone else is wrong.

Sometimes the thing that gets awakened when you’re being judge-y is the same nasty “ugh, ew” part of us from middle school, or sometimes it’s outrage disguised as concern, like “I just don’t understand why she doesn’t lose weight!”

Either way, you’ll usually feel an emotion that brings with it a tightness, an unpleasantness, or a defensiveness.

This is because you have just affirmed for yourself that everyone is constantly judging each other, and that the world is a place of scarcity and competition, in which you must always be striving to be different and better in order to get your due. If you (an obviously good person) are so judgmental, then everyone else must be as well. Deep in your subconscious, this fact feels yucky.

Somewhere deep down you tighten your grip on making sure nobody can judge you. Something inside you resolves a little harder to be likable, and reasonable, and to do everything RIGHT so that you can’t be the target of judgement.

I assure you, everyone does this. Judgement is the result of an evolutionary gift– thanks to our evolved brains, we get to decide for ourselves what we think about everything, which is cool! Because of this however, humans are constantly coming up with stories about everything, as though it was our job to decide if every single moment is good, or bad, or right, or wrong. We want to categorize everything into either “I like this” or “I don’t like this.”

When it comes to body image and self-esteem, judging everything this way leads to nothing but fear, pain, and unhappiness.

But you probably know this already.

Maybe you’ve read articles on TinyBuddha and the spiritual path has convinced you to stop judging other people. Maybe you want to lessen anxiety, or you’re coming at this from a body image perspective, and want to love yourself more. Maybe you just want to be a more compassionate person.

No matter what your reason for trying to stop being so judge-y, the obvious next question is… how?

Your Path to a Judgement-Free Life

What I’m about to tell you is incredibly simple, but I assure you it’s not easy. If you’ve been practicing judging other people your whole life, then it’s going to take an absolute ton of practice, patience, and dedication to create a brand new habit.

But that’s exactly what you need to do. Instead of just trying to quit cold turkey, you need to replace your old habit with a new one:

the habit of checking in with what’s going on inside you that caused you to judge someone.

Simple, right? Sure. But let’s take a look at how that actually works in practice:

Step 1: Become aware of when you’re judging someone.

You’re not going to be able to succeed at step 2 or 3 until you manage to identify and catch yourself every time you judge someone. Sometimes keeping a judgement journal can be extremely useful for this step, where you write down every single negative judgement you make about anyone throughout the day.

Step 2: Interrupt the pattern.

Our brains are good at doing what they’ve practiced doing. If you’ve been judging people a lot, you’re going to have to interrupt that mental pattern in order to stand any chance of changing it. This interruption is called cognitive dissonance, and can take place the moment you notice yourself judging someone, as long as you do something– anything— different.

Some people have luck saying the word STOP outloud, or picturing a big red stop sign, as soon as they catch themselves having a judge-y thought. Other people prefer to do something completely random and weird in order to interrupt the mental pattern, like reciting the alphabet backwards, or doing a weird dance, or picturing a purple elephant.

Whatever works for you is fine. The goal is to simply interrupt the old mental pattern. By interrupting it, you create the space for something new to happen, and new (non-judge-y) thoughts to show up.

Step 3: Bring it back to yourself.

Take total responsibility, and bring the judgement back to yourself.  Ask questions that take responsibility for your judgement, like “what about me right now is making me feel this way?” or “what’s going on with me that I’m judging this person for this thing?”

The truth is, when you judge someone it’s always about you; it’s never about them.

Explore your role in the judgement with curiosity instead of judgement. We often judge the stuff we wish we could do but don’t, for whatever reason, and there’s a lot to learn from the stuff that triggers judge-y thoughts.

If you have kids for example, and you spend a lot of energy making sure they don’t bother other people in public, then seeing a mom who lets her kids run around and cause mayhem might be a huge judgement trigger for you. Or if you decided a long time ago that you “can’t” wear mini skirts with your big legs, then seeing another big-legged woman wearing a miniskirt might make you feel real judge-y.

By gently questioning what’s going on for you that’s causing your judginess, you have the opportunity to learn a ton about yourself– possibly even including some ways in which you’d like to act differently! Try these three steps and see how it goes. You might not like how it feels to be under scrutiny at first, but I promise that by habitually taking responsibility for your role in your judgement, you will both improve your own life through better self-awareness, and you’ll find yourself judging other people less.

Which in turn means you’ll feel safer, more comfortable, and more relaxed to be yourself: win/win!

I’m passionate about helping women learn to love and accept both their bodies, and their authentic selves. That’s why I created the Love Your Body Workshop live event! If you’re interested finally breaking free from body image issues, self-criticism, judgement, and comparison, this unique workshop is coming to two different cities in June:

Love Your Body Workshop San Francisco, June 18th

Heal your heart. Find your truth. Remove your armor. Love Your Body Workshop

and

Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop  NYC, June 24th & 25th

Healing Body Image through Biology, Authentic Movement, and Self-Compassion Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop

Secure your spot in one of these workshops to get the actionable tools, practices, and education that will help you finally learn to love your body, embrace your authentic self, and expand your life.

Sign up now for either workshop, and receive the early bird discount, PLUS the first five people to register for each workshop will receive Body Image Alchemy Blueprint, a 6 week e-course designed to help you explore your personal inner blocks to self-love ($97 value) for FREE!

The post 3 Ways to Stop Judging Others appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2q3iCVv

[ruthellisneda]

3 Ways to Stop Judging Others

A long time ago, I wrote a blog post on one of my favorite body image “tricks.”

My super-secret trick was, in short, to stop judging the bodies of other people.

What Makes This Trick so Effective?

Every single time you make a negative judgement of someone else for something, you re-affirm for yourself the fact that you live in a world where everyone judges each other all the time, and that you’re in constant danger of messing shit up without realizing it.

You also affirm that there is a “right” and  “wrong” way to be a woman, to have a body, to dress, to look, to exist.

This is a shitty message to keep affirming for yourself, and the more you do it, the more paranoid and self-conscious you get about all the possible ways you could be doing things wrong. This habit is bad for confidence, peace of mind, and yes– body image.

Hence, the less you think judge-y thoughts about other people, the easier it is to relax and stop judging yourself. I mean, think about how you feel when someone you’re spending time with says something judgy about another woman.

If you’re like most people, you have two responses.

The first response is a little thrill of exclusivity, because your friend has chosen you to confide her judgement in, thereby exempting you from the judgment. This means you’re momentarily safe. Also, being the judger instead of the judgee is like feeding your ego a cookie. It wakes up and gets all excited, like YEAH MOTHERFUCKER, I’M SPECIAL!

This feels good, because being special brings with it a particular kind of pleasure. Unfortunately, the second response is often a bit more subtle, and a lot less pleasant.

The second response is a constriction, often felt in the form of an unpleasant emotion like disgust or anger. Have you ever noticed how judging someone brings up something not-very-nice inside us? That’s because the ego feeling special is always a zero sum game: you can only be special if someone else isn’t, you can only be right if someone else is wrong.

Sometimes the thing that gets awakened when you’re being judge-y is the same nasty “ugh, ew” part of us from middle school, or sometimes it’s outrage disguised as concern, like “I just don’t understand why she doesn’t lose weight!”

Either way, you’ll usually feel an emotion that brings with it a tightness, an unpleasantness, or a defensiveness.

This is because you have just affirmed for yourself that everyone is constantly judging each other, and that the world is a place of scarcity and competition, in which you must always be striving to be different and better in order to get your due. If you (an obviously good person) are so judgmental, then everyone else must be as well. Deep in your subconscious, this fact feels yucky.

Somewhere deep down you tighten your grip on making sure nobody can judge you. Something inside you resolves a little harder to be likable, and reasonable, and to do everything RIGHT so that you can’t be the target of judgement.

I assure you, everyone does this. Judgement is the result of an evolutionary gift– thanks to our evolved brains, we get to decide for ourselves what we think about everything, which is cool! Because of this however, humans are constantly coming up with stories about everything, as though it was our job to decide if every single moment is good, or bad, or right, or wrong. We want to categorize everything into either “I like this” or “I don’t like this.”

When it comes to body image and self-esteem, judging everything this way leads to nothing but fear, pain, and unhappiness.

But you probably know this already.

Maybe you’ve read articles on TinyBuddha and the spiritual path has convinced you to stop judging other people. Maybe you want to lessen anxiety, or you’re coming at this from a body image perspective, and want to love yourself more. Maybe you just want to be a more compassionate person.

No matter what your reason for trying to stop being so judge-y, the obvious next question is… how?

Your Path to a Judgement-Free Life

What I’m about to tell you is incredibly simple, but I assure you it’s not easy. If you’ve been practicing judging other people your whole life, then it’s going to take an absolute ton of practice, patience, and dedication to create a brand new habit.

But that’s exactly what you need to do. Instead of just trying to quit cold turkey, you need to replace your old habit with a new one:

the habit of checking in with what’s going on inside you that caused you to judge someone.

Simple, right? Sure. But let’s take a look at how that actually works in practice:

Step 1: Become aware of when you’re judging someone.

You’re not going to be able to succeed at step 2 or 3 until you manage to identify and catch yourself every time you judge someone. Sometimes keeping a judgement journal can be extremely useful for this step, where you write down every single negative judgement you make about anyone throughout the day.

Step 2: Interrupt the pattern.

Our brains are good at doing what they’ve practiced doing. If you’ve been judging people a lot, you’re going to have to interrupt that mental pattern in order to stand any chance of changing it. This interruption is called cognitive dissonance, and can take place the moment you notice yourself judging someone, as long as you do something– anything— different.

Some people have luck saying the word STOP outloud, or picturing a big red stop sign, as soon as they catch themselves having a judge-y thought. Other people prefer to do something completely random and weird in order to interrupt the mental pattern, like reciting the alphabet backwards, or doing a weird dance, or picturing a purple elephant.

Whatever works for you is fine. The goal is to simply interrupt the old mental pattern. By interrupting it, you create the space for something new to happen, and new (non-judge-y) thoughts to show up.

Step 3: Bring it back to yourself.

Take total responsibility, and bring the judgement back to yourself.  Ask questions that take responsibility for your judgement, like “what about me right now is making me feel this way?” or “what’s going on with me that I’m judging this person for this thing?”

The truth is, when you judge someone it’s always about you; it’s never about them.

Explore your role in the judgement with curiosity instead of judgement. We often judge the stuff we wish we could do but don’t, for whatever reason, and there’s a lot to learn from the stuff that triggers judge-y thoughts.

If you have kids for example, and you spend a lot of energy making sure they don’t bother other people in public, then seeing a mom who lets her kids run around and cause mayhem might be a huge judgement trigger for you. Or if you decided a long time ago that you “can’t” wear mini skirts with your big legs, then seeing another big-legged woman wearing a miniskirt might make you feel real judge-y.

By gently questioning what’s going on for you that’s causing your judginess, you have the opportunity to learn a ton about yourself– possibly even including some ways in which you’d like to act differently! Try these three steps and see how it goes. You might not like how it feels to be under scrutiny at first, but I promise that by habitually taking responsibility for your role in your judgement, you will both improve your own life through better self-awareness, and you’ll find yourself judging other people less.

Which in turn means you’ll feel safer, more comfortable, and more relaxed to be yourself: win/win!

I’m passionate about helping women learn to love and accept both their bodies, and their authentic selves. That’s why I created the Love Your Body Workshop live event! If you’re interested finally breaking free from body image issues, self-criticism, judgement, and comparison, this unique workshop is coming to two different cities in June:

Love Your Body Workshop San Francisco, June 18th

Heal your heart. Find your truth. Remove your armor. Love Your Body Workshop

and

Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop  NYC, June 24th & 25th

Healing Body Image through Biology, Authentic Movement, and Self-Compassion Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop

Secure your spot in one of these workshops to get the actionable tools, practices, and education that will help you finally learn to love your body, embrace your authentic self, and expand your life.

Sign up now for either workshop, and receive the early bird discount, PLUS the first five people to register for each workshop will receive Body Image Alchemy Blueprint, a 6 week e-course designed to help you explore your personal inner blocks to self-love ($97 value) for FREE!

The post 3 Ways to Stop Judging Others appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2q3iCVv

[joshuabradleyn]

3 Ways to Stop Judging Others

A long time ago, I wrote a blog post on one of my favorite body image “tricks.”

My super-secret trick was, in short, to stop judging the bodies of other people.

What Makes This Trick so Effective?

Every single time you make a negative judgement of someone else for something, you re-affirm for yourself the fact that you live in a world where everyone judges each other all the time, and that you’re in constant danger of messing shit up without realizing it.

You also affirm that there is a “right” and  “wrong” way to be a woman, to have a body, to dress, to look, to exist.

This is a shitty message to keep affirming for yourself, and the more you do it, the more paranoid and self-conscious you get about all the possible ways you could be doing things wrong. This habit is bad for confidence, peace of mind, and yes– body image.

Hence, the less you think judge-y thoughts about other people, the easier it is to relax and stop judging yourself. I mean, think about how you feel when someone you’re spending time with says something judgy about another woman.

If you’re like most people, you have two responses.

The first response is a little thrill of exclusivity, because your friend has chosen you to confide her judgement in, thereby exempting you from the judgment. This means you’re momentarily safe. Also, being the judger instead of the judgee is like feeding your ego a cookie. It wakes up and gets all excited, like YEAH MOTHERFUCKER, I’M SPECIAL!

This feels good, because being special brings with it a particular kind of pleasure. Unfortunately, the second response is often a bit more subtle, and a lot less pleasant.

The second response is a constriction, often felt in the form of an unpleasant emotion like disgust or anger. Have you ever noticed how judging someone brings up something not-very-nice inside us? That’s because the ego feeling special is always a zero sum game: you can only be special if someone else isn’t, you can only be right if someone else is wrong.

Sometimes the thing that gets awakened when you’re being judge-y is the same nasty “ugh, ew” part of us from middle school, or sometimes it’s outrage disguised as concern, like “I just don’t understand why she doesn’t lose weight!”

Either way, you’ll usually feel an emotion that brings with it a tightness, an unpleasantness, or a defensiveness.

This is because you have just affirmed for yourself that everyone is constantly judging each other, and that the world is a place of scarcity and competition, in which you must always be striving to be different and better in order to get your due. If you (an obviously good person) are so judgmental, then everyone else must be as well. Deep in your subconscious, this fact feels yucky.

Somewhere deep down you tighten your grip on making sure nobody can judge you. Something inside you resolves a little harder to be likable, and reasonable, and to do everything RIGHT so that you can’t be the target of judgement.

I assure you, everyone does this. Judgement is the result of an evolutionary gift– thanks to our evolved brains, we get to decide for ourselves what we think about everything, which is cool! Because of this however, humans are constantly coming up with stories about everything, as though it was our job to decide if every single moment is good, or bad, or right, or wrong. We want to categorize everything into either “I like this” or “I don’t like this.”

When it comes to body image and self-esteem, judging everything this way leads to nothing but fear, pain, and unhappiness.

But you probably know this already.

Maybe you’ve read articles on TinyBuddha and the spiritual path has convinced you to stop judging other people. Maybe you want to lessen anxiety, or you’re coming at this from a body image perspective, and want to love yourself more. Maybe you just want to be a more compassionate person.

No matter what your reason for trying to stop being so judge-y, the obvious next question is… how?

Your Path to a Judgement-Free Life

What I’m about to tell you is incredibly simple, but I assure you it’s not easy. If you’ve been practicing judging other people your whole life, then it’s going to take an absolute ton of practice, patience, and dedication to create a brand new habit.

But that’s exactly what you need to do. Instead of just trying to quit cold turkey, you need to replace your old habit with a new one:

the habit of checking in with what’s going on inside you that caused you to judge someone.

Simple, right? Sure. But let’s take a look at how that actually works in practice:

Step 1: Become aware of when you’re judging someone.

You’re not going to be able to succeed at step 2 or 3 until you manage to identify and catch yourself every time you judge someone. Sometimes keeping a judgement journal can be extremely useful for this step, where you write down every single negative judgement you make about anyone throughout the day.

Step 2: Interrupt the pattern.

Our brains are good at doing what they’ve practiced doing. If you’ve been judging people a lot, you’re going to have to interrupt that mental pattern in order to stand any chance of changing it. This interruption is called cognitive dissonance, and can take place the moment you notice yourself judging someone, as long as you do something– anything— different.

Some people have luck saying the word STOP outloud, or picturing a big red stop sign, as soon as they catch themselves having a judge-y thought. Other people prefer to do something completely random and weird in order to interrupt the mental pattern, like reciting the alphabet backwards, or doing a weird dance, or picturing a purple elephant.

Whatever works for you is fine. The goal is to simply interrupt the old mental pattern. By interrupting it, you create the space for something new to happen, and new (non-judge-y) thoughts to show up.

Step 3: Bring it back to yourself.

Take total responsibility, and bring the judgement back to yourself.  Ask questions that take responsibility for your judgement, like “what about me right now is making me feel this way?” or “what’s going on with me that I’m judging this person for this thing?”

The truth is, when you judge someone it’s always about you; it’s never about them.

Explore your role in the judgement with curiosity instead of judgement. We often judge the stuff we wish we could do but don’t, for whatever reason, and there’s a lot to learn from the stuff that triggers judge-y thoughts.

If you have kids for example, and you spend a lot of energy making sure they don’t bother other people in public, then seeing a mom who lets her kids run around and cause mayhem might be a huge judgement trigger for you. Or if you decided a long time ago that you “can’t” wear mini skirts with your big legs, then seeing another big-legged woman wearing a miniskirt might make you feel real judge-y.

By gently questioning what’s going on for you that’s causing your judginess, you have the opportunity to learn a ton about yourself– possibly even including some ways in which you’d like to act differently! Try these three steps and see how it goes. You might not like how it feels to be under scrutiny at first, but I promise that by habitually taking responsibility for your role in your judgement, you will both improve your own life through better self-awareness, and you’ll find yourself judging other people less.

Which in turn means you’ll feel safer, more comfortable, and more relaxed to be yourself: win/win!

I’m passionate about helping women learn to love and accept both their bodies, and their authentic selves. That’s why I created the Love Your Body Workshop live event! If you’re interested finally breaking free from body image issues, self-criticism, judgement, and comparison, this unique workshop is coming to two different cities in June:

Love Your Body Workshop San Francisco, June 18th

Heal your heart. Find your truth. Remove your armor. Love Your Body Workshop

and

Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop  NYC, June 24th & 25th

Healing Body Image through Biology, Authentic Movement, and Self-Compassion Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop

Secure your spot in one of these workshops to get the actionable tools, practices, and education that will help you finally learn to love your body, embrace your authentic self, and expand your life.

Sign up now for either workshop, and receive the early bird discount, PLUS the first five people to register for each workshop will receive Body Image Alchemy Blueprint, a 6 week e-course designed to help you explore your personal inner blocks to self-love ($97 value) for FREE!

The post 3 Ways to Stop Judging Others appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

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[albertcaldwellne]

3 Ways to Stop Judging Others

A long time ago, I wrote a blog post on one of my favorite body image “tricks.”

My super-secret trick was, in short, to stop judging the bodies of other people.

What Makes This Trick so Effective?

Every single time you make a negative judgement of someone else for something, you re-affirm for yourself the fact that you live in a world where everyone judges each other all the time, and that you’re in constant danger of messing shit up without realizing it.

You also affirm that there is a “right” and  “wrong” way to be a woman, to have a body, to dress, to look, to exist.

This is a shitty message to keep affirming for yourself, and the more you do it, the more paranoid and self-conscious you get about all the possible ways you could be doing things wrong. This habit is bad for confidence, peace of mind, and yes– body image.

Hence, the less you think judge-y thoughts about other people, the easier it is to relax and stop judging yourself. I mean, think about how you feel when someone you’re spending time with says something judgy about another woman.

If you’re like most people, you have two responses.

The first response is a little thrill of exclusivity, because your friend has chosen you to confide her judgement in, thereby exempting you from the judgment. This means you’re momentarily safe. Also, being the judger instead of the judgee is like feeding your ego a cookie. It wakes up and gets all excited, like YEAH MOTHERFUCKER, I’M SPECIAL!

This feels good, because being special brings with it a particular kind of pleasure. Unfortunately, the second response is often a bit more subtle, and a lot less pleasant.

The second response is a constriction, often felt in the form of an unpleasant emotion like disgust or anger. Have you ever noticed how judging someone brings up something not-very-nice inside us? That’s because the ego feeling special is always a zero sum game: you can only be special if someone else isn’t, you can only be right if someone else is wrong.

Sometimes the thing that gets awakened when you’re being judge-y is the same nasty “ugh, ew” part of us from middle school, or sometimes it’s outrage disguised as concern, like “I just don’t understand why she doesn’t lose weight!”

Either way, you’ll usually feel an emotion that brings with it a tightness, an unpleasantness, or a defensiveness.

This is because you have just affirmed for yourself that everyone is constantly judging each other, and that the world is a place of scarcity and competition, in which you must always be striving to be different and better in order to get your due. If you (an obviously good person) are so judgmental, then everyone else must be as well. Deep in your subconscious, this fact feels yucky.

Somewhere deep down you tighten your grip on making sure nobody can judge you. Something inside you resolves a little harder to be likable, and reasonable, and to do everything RIGHT so that you can’t be the target of judgement.

I assure you, everyone does this. Judgement is the result of an evolutionary gift– thanks to our evolved brains, we get to decide for ourselves what we think about everything, which is cool! Because of this however, humans are constantly coming up with stories about everything, as though it was our job to decide if every single moment is good, or bad, or right, or wrong. We want to categorize everything into either “I like this” or “I don’t like this.”

When it comes to body image and self-esteem, judging everything this way leads to nothing but fear, pain, and unhappiness.

But you probably know this already.

Maybe you’ve read articles on TinyBuddha and the spiritual path has convinced you to stop judging other people. Maybe you want to lessen anxiety, or you’re coming at this from a body image perspective, and want to love yourself more. Maybe you just want to be a more compassionate person.

No matter what your reason for trying to stop being so judge-y, the obvious next question is… how?

Your Path to a Judgement-Free Life

What I’m about to tell you is incredibly simple, but I assure you it’s not easy. If you’ve been practicing judging other people your whole life, then it’s going to take an absolute ton of practice, patience, and dedication to create a brand new habit.

But that’s exactly what you need to do. Instead of just trying to quit cold turkey, you need to replace your old habit with a new one:

the habit of checking in with what’s going on inside you that caused you to judge someone.

Simple, right? Sure. But let’s take a look at how that actually works in practice:

Step 1: Become aware of when you’re judging someone.

You’re not going to be able to succeed at step 2 or 3 until you manage to identify and catch yourself every time you judge someone. Sometimes keeping a judgement journal can be extremely useful for this step, where you write down every single negative judgement you make about anyone throughout the day.

Step 2: Interrupt the pattern.

Our brains are good at doing what they’ve practiced doing. If you’ve been judging people a lot, you’re going to have to interrupt that mental pattern in order to stand any chance of changing it. This interruption is called cognitive dissonance, and can take place the moment you notice yourself judging someone, as long as you do something– anything— different.

Some people have luck saying the word STOP outloud, or picturing a big red stop sign, as soon as they catch themselves having a judge-y thought. Other people prefer to do something completely random and weird in order to interrupt the mental pattern, like reciting the alphabet backwards, or doing a weird dance, or picturing a purple elephant.

Whatever works for you is fine. The goal is to simply interrupt the old mental pattern. By interrupting it, you create the space for something new to happen, and new (non-judge-y) thoughts to show up.

Step 3: Bring it back to yourself.

Take total responsibility, and bring the judgement back to yourself.  Ask questions that take responsibility for your judgement, like “what about me right now is making me feel this way?” or “what’s going on with me that I’m judging this person for this thing?”

The truth is, when you judge someone it’s always about you; it’s never about them.

Explore your role in the judgement with curiosity instead of judgement. We often judge the stuff we wish we could do but don’t, for whatever reason, and there’s a lot to learn from the stuff that triggers judge-y thoughts.

If you have kids for example, and you spend a lot of energy making sure they don’t bother other people in public, then seeing a mom who lets her kids run around and cause mayhem might be a huge judgement trigger for you. Or if you decided a long time ago that you “can’t” wear mini skirts with your big legs, then seeing another big-legged woman wearing a miniskirt might make you feel real judge-y.

By gently questioning what’s going on for you that’s causing your judginess, you have the opportunity to learn a ton about yourself– possibly even including some ways in which you’d like to act differently! Try these three steps and see how it goes. You might not like how it feels to be under scrutiny at first, but I promise that by habitually taking responsibility for your role in your judgement, you will both improve your own life through better self-awareness, and you’ll find yourself judging other people less.

Which in turn means you’ll feel safer, more comfortable, and more relaxed to be yourself: win/win!

I’m passionate about helping women learn to love and accept both their bodies, and their authentic selves. That’s why I created the Love Your Body Workshop live event! If you’re interested finally breaking free from body image issues, self-criticism, judgement, and comparison, this unique workshop is coming to two different cities in June:

Love Your Body Workshop San Francisco, June 18th

Heal your heart. Find your truth. Remove your armor. Love Your Body Workshop

and

Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop  NYC, June 24th & 25th

Healing Body Image through Biology, Authentic Movement, and Self-Compassion Love Your Body *Special Edition* Workshop

Secure your spot in one of these workshops to get the actionable tools, practices, and education that will help you finally learn to love your body, embrace your authentic self, and expand your life.

Sign up now for either workshop, and receive the early bird discount, PLUS the first five people to register for each workshop will receive Body Image Alchemy Blueprint, a 6 week e-course designed to help you explore your personal inner blocks to self-love ($97 value) for FREE!

The post 3 Ways to Stop Judging Others appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2q3iCVv