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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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Glass Cuts Deepest (5)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, fluff, trauma, mention of rape, indecent student-teacher relationship ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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She herself did not know what to think about what she had seen. On the one hand, she felt honoured, but on the other, she felt uncomfortable, as if he was showing her some unhealthy kind of attention in this way, which he was obviously ashamed of himself.

For a long time she tried to work out the reason why he didn't let women into his workshop, why he didn't want to cooperate with them. She thought that maybe he was prejudiced, maybe he had a bad experience with them, maybe he had some kind of trauma.

She noticed that he kept a greater physical distance from her than he did from men, as if he wanted to make sure she wouldn't touch him even by accident, when at the same time he had no problem shaking Cregan's hand in greeting.

A strong feeling in the back of her mind accompanied her that there was something more behind it, and once she was left alone with Cregan she tried to gently explore the area.

"Why our professor doesn't want women in his workshop? He had that attitude even before he slapped that girl." She said uncertainly, standing next to him with her mug of hot tea, taking a break for a moment as she watched him work on the Apostle Peter's face.

She heard him sigh heavily and move restlessly, turning anxiously over his shoulder to make sure no one could hear them.

"He doesn't confide in me about this kind of things, but I suspect it's some kind of childhood trauma. He says it's about women being weepy and easily distracted, being too loud and frustrating him. But still his approach is very restrictive and, viewed from a gender equality approach, unfair. Nevertheless, I respect him as an artist and a professional and I think it would be better if we didn't talk about it." He said quickly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye with a look that told her she wasn't going to get anything more out of him.

She nodded and left, going back to cutting orange and yellow glasses for the golden background behind the Virgin Mary.

From the moment he caught her in his studio the situation between them had been tense and when he wanted to tell her something he sent Cregan to her. She knew he was angry with himself and with her and she couldn't understand what was going on.

She thought he didn't like her, so why had he painted her?

She wondered if maybe he had some issues with his sexuality, that maybe he was ashamed of his desires, the fact that he was attracted to female students and that was why he didn't want to accept them.

One day Ned ran into their workshop and, making sure that neither their professor nor Cregan were among them, approached them with his phone.

"Did you guys hear that? Holy shit. The girl our professor slapped reported Jason Lannister to the police with several other girls he molested. Listen to this:

For years I was controlled and manipulated by him, enervated by him and in love with him, believing that everything others said about him was lies, caused by jealousy or mental illness. Despite the fact that Professor Targaryen spent years trying to get Professor Lannister expelled from the university as soon as he perceived that he might be harassing his female students, the rector did not react, and I myself contributed to the destruction of his image. Incited by Professor Lannister, I went to him and told him many things for which I am ashamed. Professor Targaryen has recently apologised to me for his aggressive response he made at the time, and I want it to be clear that there is no longer any dispute between us, and I hope that if there is a court hearing, he will appear as one of the witnesses to testify and confirm about what we said.

He read aloud, and she swallowed with difficulty, feeling her heart pounding hard, analysing everything she had heard.

The professor had recently apologised to me for his aggressive response.

She felt a squeeze in her stomach at the thought that he had done so after talking to her.

No.

Her words didn't matter to him.

She wanted to speak with him again, feeling uncomfortable, feeling that something had been left unsaid between them.

She didn't dare.

As their work leaned towards completion, and all the glass was slowly fitted into the lead surrounds and brought to its final shape, she watched with pride and joy as her project became a reality, even more beautiful than in her mind.

Her colleague, seeing Our Lady's face, approached her and asked her in a whisper if by chance she had her facial features.

"It just seems that way to you." She laughed nervously, feeling her heart pounding hard, looking at her figure and seeing her face painted so beautifully, melancholy and solemn, not knowing herself what she felt.

During one of the weekly meetings, their professor had announced that in a few days there would be an installation of stained glass windows in a church that was an hour from their town. He and Cregan were to go there to supervise the work, so he was scheduling the tasks they were to do in his absence.

"I think, as always, it would be appropriate to take the author of the project to the montage so she can see the final result of her work." Said Cregan lightly, but swallowed loudly as soon as he saw his professor's deadly stare.

He sighed, clearly furious that he'd said that out loud, that he'd put him in a position where he couldn't say no, where they'd take any other student with them.

It ended up that the three of them were to drive there by his car and sleep in separate room hotels, staying there for three nights, as that was how long the whole montage was to take.

She was excited and terrified at the same time, happy to see her work in its finished, complete form, but on the other hand, she dreaded being in private with them and thanked God that Cregan was going with them.

They had arranged to leave in the morning, having to meet outside the university by the professor's car − she could see from a distance they were smoking cigarettes waiting for her.

Although it was hot she dressed as she would for class, carrying a backpack with her belongings on her back. Her professor did not greet her but took it from her out of politeness − he threw it in his boot and got behind the wheel, extinguishing his cigarette with his boot in the meantime.

They drove along the highway listening to the songs of the band Depeche Mode, which she was very fond of, her professor and Cregan talking among themselves about their other commissions they had to carry out and their deadlines for completing the work, pretending she wasn't there. She settled comfortably in the back seat, looking out of the window, trying simply not to exist.

When they arrived at the hotel they picked up their keys, their rooms were next to each other. They left their belongings and drove to the church to see how looked the windows where the stained glass was to be inserted, which were travelling properly secured with a separate truck.

She marvelled at the interior of the church and its décor and saw that her project would be behind the altar itself, towering over everything around it. She felt her cheeks turn red with happiness at the thought that in a few days, her own design, which she herself had put her hand to making, would shine in these quarters.

She swallowed loudly at the thought of seeing her face in the figure of the Virgin Mary and glanced involuntarily at her professor, who was looking ahead thoughtfully, depressed, sad.

She felt her heart squeeze, feeling that he was still fighting something, that something was poisoning him inside and not allowing him to breathe or function, hanging over him like black storm clouds.

She felt helpless knowing there was nothing she could do to help him.

When the work began they personally checked that everything had arrived whole and no glass had broken, after which the technicians moved on to removing the old windows.

With nothing else to do they went into the local shop to do some shopping, after which they all locked themselves in their rooms.

She thought hopefully and happily that it wasn't so bad, that thanks to Cregan the atmosphere was quite bearable and that she was actually glad she had come with them.

The night was exceptionally hot and she curled up on her bed, unable to sleep, wearing only a white t-shirt and blue tracksuit shorts. She sighed heavily, remembering that her room had a balcony, and got up, hoping it would be a little cooler outside.

She opened the door and frowned, immediately smelling the smoke. She leaned out and saw her professor's shocked face sitting in a wicker chair with his cigarette in hand − she stepped back immediately, confused, noticing that both her room and his had an exit to the same balcony.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled quickly, but his voice stopped her.

"Stay. I'm finishing up anyway." He said lowly, and she swallowed quietly, not sure if she should do that.

She glanced down at herself and her bare legs and sighed softly, walking barefoot out onto the cold tiles. She sat down on the opposite side of the table in the other wicker chair and leaned back, looking at the buildings around them, feeling her heart pounding hard.

She heard something rustle and slide towards her on the coffee table − out of the corner of her eye she noticed it was an open packet of cigarettes. She shook her head and he hummed under his breath, taking a drag on his half-burnt smoke, looking at her intensely.

They stared at each other like that and she felt something hanging in the air, that after she discovered he had sketched her there was a tension between them that she didn't know what to do about.

Nothing she wanted to say seemed right to her.

He let out a loud puff of smoke through his mouth without lowering his gaze, shaking the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray with a tap of his finger.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked coolly, lowly, but with some hint of amusement from which a shudder went through her. She swallowed loudly and looked at him again, tightening her hands on her knees.

"I'm not afraid. I just don't understand you, Professor." She said with some kind of weariness, lowering her gaze. She heard him chuckle under his breath at her words.

"And what is it you want to understand?" He asked defiantly, tauntingly, as if he wanted to provoke her, toying with what reaction he could get out of her. She looked at him furrowing her brow feeling her heart pounding hard.

"What has happened to you."

His pupil narrowed like that of an animal − she had the feeling his eyes had gone completely black. He took a drag on his almost-smoked cigarette, not taking his eyes off her, one dangerous, dark, the other one empty, dead.

"Careful now. You're treading on thin ice."

She felt the weight of this situation and their words on her shoulders, she felt like something was crushing her − she looked at him pleadingly feeling that this was her only chance, that some part of him wanted this, that's why he told her to stay.

"Please. Please, sir, let me understand." She whispered, feeling that she was breathing through her mouth, all tense, focused only on him, only on the expression on his face. He pressed the remnants of his cigarette to the ashtray extinguishing it, letting the smoke out through his nose.

"I was raped by a woman when I was 16."

She looked at him in disbelief, a powerful shudder went through her, her throat tightened, her eyebrows arched in pain. She felt her lower lip tremble as he continued to look at her with some kind of satisfaction in his eyes as he reached for another cigarette.

He slipped it into his mouth, reached for his lighter and after a moment the warm light of the flame enveloped his face, the cigarette hissed and smoke began to pour from it while he take a drag.

She didn't know what to answer, what to do, what was the right thing to say when someone confessed something like that to you, her heart was pounding like crazy. She felt like her body froze, she couldn't believe he had actually said that to her.

She couldn't look away from his face.

"It's a pity you can't see yourself. They should give a Nobel Peace Prize to every woman who looks at me like that when she learns about it." He said with malicious, cold irony, taking a drag again, more intensely this time, releasing the smoke through his mouth with a hiss of his tongue.

She felt tears involuntarily run down her face, one after another − she wiped them away, but they were followed by more.

He shook his head, sighing disapprovingly.

"Always this crying." He muttered dryly, shaking off the ash into the ashtray with an impatient gesture of his finger.

She got up and walked out, feeling she couldn't take it, closing the door behind her. She burst out sobbing as soon as she hugged her pillow, trying to stifle her sounds, humiliated, terrified and sad, feeling every possible emotion she could imagine towards him, shaking all over.

She shuddered when, a moment later, she heard a knock on the glass − she rose and turned, spotting the outline of his silhouette between the curtains of her window.

"Please, open. I'm sorry." He said loud enough for her to hear him, fatigue and pain in his voice.

She stood up slowly on trembling legs and opened her balcony door. He turned towards her and looked at her, his lips pressed together.

She saw him swallow with difficulty, lowering his gaze, clearly wanting to say something. He finally let the air out with a loud sigh, as if he had made up his mind that he was giving up.

"I am not a good person. I do and say worse and worse things. I'm tired of myself and the people around me. I feel like I'm spiralling down and there's nothing I can do about it. I can't understand why you cared so much about me teaching you, but what I said just a moment ago was an expression of my pure cruelty." He said lowly, looking at her with some kind of helplessness.

She didn't know what to make of his words − she felt that somehow he was asking for her help by telling her all this, but she didn't know how to give it to him, what to do.

She swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze.

"I wanted to work with you because you are the best. Because you are to me the model of an artist, a hard-working man doing everything with care and attention to detail. I respect you very much in this regard, sir, and I try not to make you feel uncomfortable with me, although I am only now beginning to understand what this discomfort is caused by." She choked out with difficulty, feeling her heart pounding like mad at the idea that this was a conversation that could change everything between them.

He looked at her silently, sadness, fatigue, resignation in his gaze. She thought that in all these years he had not known rest, had not slept peacefully at night, eternally prepared to attack and to react.

She saw, surprised, feeling a squeeze in her heart, that his lower lip began to tremble involuntarily, his eyes glazed over with tears, his brow arched in pain.

He was vulnerable.

"Will you let me touch your cheek?" He whispered in a trembling voice.

She swallowed loudly, shocked, looking at him in disbelief, her face red and wet with tears, her heart pounding like mad.

Oh God.

What should she do?

Did she want it or not?

She nodded involuntarily, wanting to see what it would feel like, whether she would feel discomfort or repulsion, whether her body would automatically try to protect itself from something she didn't want.

She watched, breathing as loudly as he did, as he lifted his large, trembling hand and ran his fingertips over her skin, so gently, tenderly, respectfully, that she felt a tightness in her throat and warmth in her chest, for some reason she felt like crying again.

"You are so beautiful." He whispered in a pained, quivering, breaking voice and she realized that he felt something for her, that was why he had sketched her, why he had looked at her like that, why he now stood before her, heartbroken.

"You are beautiful too, sir." She whispered quietly what she really thought, simultaneously fearing and admiring him from afar, only now from close up could she appreciate the shape of his nose, the outline of his jaw, his full lips, his infinitely dark, mysterious gaze.

She heard him draw in a hard breath at her words, looking at her in pain, his hand stroking her cheek as if she were something precious, valuable.

Vulnerable.

She wanted to lift her hand, to touch him, to stroke him as he did her, but his other hand tightened quickly on her wrist, his breath wheezing in his throat, his eyes widening.

"No. Don't touch me." He said quickly, breathing hard. "Please."

She lowered her hand, looking at him horrified, only now seeing what it had done to him, her heart breaking at the thought of how much he must suffer every day.

"May I touch your hand?" She asked quietly.

He looked at her for a long moment in silence, fighting with himself. He swallowed hard and nodded uncertainly, watching her every move.

She took his free hand in hers, barely touching his fingers, leading him behind her to her room.

"I don't −" He started apprehensively, but she didn't let him finish.

"I know. That's not what I want either." She said quietly, sitting down on her bed, looking at him warmly and calmly, reaching out her hand to him.

"Turn your back to me." He commanded low, breathing heavily, and she swallowed hard.

She did as he asked, and laid on her side with her back to him, feeling her heart pounding as the place between her thighs clenched involuntarily in a feeling that she knew too well.

She felt him lying a short distance beside her, his warm, uneven breath enveloping the skin of her naked neck − she was both terrified and aroused by what he wanted to do, what he really needed from her.

She knew he was looking at her.

She heard him lick his lips with a quiet click of saliva, his mouth dry with emotion.

She knew that something very crucial, very important was happening to him now, and that he didn't want to hurt her.

"Can I touch your hair?" He asked in a whisper, uncertainly, fearfully.

She swallowed loudly and nodded, tense.

She felt him place his large hand on her head after a moment, with slow, gentle movements of his fingers combing through her hair, repeating the same movement again and again.

She felt a pleasant tickle and heat in her heart at this innocent, tender gesture, and for some reason she felt tears under her eyelids.

Despite all the inappropriateness of what they were doing, she felt it was so innocent, so pure.

"Is it pleasant? Are you uncomfortable?" He asked quietly, as if he wanted to make sure he wasn't hurting her, that she wasn't just keeping quiet through fear of him or her own apprehension.

"No. It's very pleasant. I think I'll fall asleep if you don't stop, sir." She whispered softly and he hummed under his breath, the affectionate, soft movement of his fingers through her hair making a pleasant shiver run through her every time.

Neither he nor she moved, lying like that for a long minutes, listening to each other's breaths and the sounds of the street outside the window.

She could smell his intense, masculine perfume and aftershave, the gentle touch of his hand making her calm down at last, filled with some strange, warm feeling, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

She fell asleep.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

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yandereunsolved · 8 months ago

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Hello!

So I had this idea for a yandare oneshot about Kit Walker from AHS Asylum and I was wondering if I could maybe request it to you... It goes like this:

A yandere female nun who is secretly obsessed with Kit while he's an inmate in Briarcliff, so one day she goes to the extreme and assaults him while he is in bed or something

I would really appreciate it if you could shape this idea into a oneshot xxx

God's Design - ,, yandere fem. reader nun × kit walker

tw(s): yandere themes, physical assault, suggestive themes, toxic religious ideals, dubcon kissing, semi-graphic gore word count: 2.5k a/n: thank you, anon! Hope I fulfilled your request correctly. :)

The halls of Briarcliff almost near cease their cacophonous noises: patients screaming at the top of their lungs, the pipes straining from being overused, the sound of the orderlies correcting someone, and the loudest of them all was the noise of God. That nagging feeling in the back of your head whenever a sinful thought came to mind. How tempting the devil had made those thoughts to your malleable mind. One moment you were praying with your rosary, and the next your hand was slipping down towards your frilly-laced underwear.

It was an unspoken rule to never adorn anything provocative, nothing possibly pleasing to the eye. It was a rule that every nun held sacred. Not allowing men's eyes to stray was the woman's job. Those were the rules set within the pages of the holy book.

Despite that, all you wanted to do was make his eyes stray. From the first time you saw him, you could feel your determination crumble. That holiness within you began to shrivel up like a prune. You began wearing lingerie under your uniform, teasing yourself at night. You began fantasizing about what a night with him would look like. You had never been with a man before. You had promised that you would wait until marriage.

They call him Bloody Face, but he didn't have the eyes of a killer. No, his hazel irises encapsulated much more of a lamb to the slaughter, a spooked doe in the field of life. Those eyes have called to you since you first glanced at them. They were drawing you in like a sailor at sea. Only the sea you have yet to sail is one of the most forbidden ones—the seven sinful seas. All you yearn to do is explore lust, dip your toes into its waters, and relinquish control of your sails to allow the winds of sensuality to guide you.

You sneaked peeks at him in-between your normal shift. You tried your hardest to suppress these bubbling desires. Every time you popped one another, a few would float to the surface. It was like a never-ending cycle of torture. Each peek and small exchange left you wanting more of him. You wanted to devour him entirely, to wholeheartedly feel him in ecstasy. You wanted to see those tears and puppy-like expressions directed at you. You didn't. You still don't want any of the other nuns near him.

You sat at the foot of your bed for many hours that fateful night. You re-read many biblical passages to set yourself right. Losing yourself in your bodily flesh would be a great sin, wouldn't it? Your mind brimming with these detestable daydreams only led you to seek further counsel. You prayed to the highest angels and saints and to the great God himself for guidance on what was to become of you.

'1st Corinthians 6:18— Flee immorality. Every other sin that a man commits is outside the body, but the immoral man sins against his own body.'

You repeated it quietly, with your hands ardently colliding together. The other night, there had just been a slip in your judgment. You hadn't meant to walk past his cell and feel your body grow hotter. You hadn't meant to skip your nightly devotional in favor of more covetous inclinations. You hadn't meant to slip on that white, satiny baby doll and admire yourself in it. You hadn't meant to almost break into his room and show yourself to him like a needy whore.

How vile! You recoil from your bedside at your own enervated nature and decrepit mind. The devil is tempting you and your womanly nature. You took a vow—an oath. You have to wait until your marriage. You have to wait for your man.

He killed women after all. He is not a man of God. He is a man of pure sin. He is a man of cruelty and evil. He could be the devil himself, trying to tempt you into impurity. Yet you wanted to allow him in.

'1st Thessolonians 4:3— For this is the will of God, your sanctification; that is, that you abstain from sexual immorality.'

You read again. Your eyes are blurred as heavy droplets of your own suppressed sexuality bleed onto the pages filled with divinity. You were slipping. Are you losing your devotion to God? Are you losing your devotion to the cause of saving these twisted souls?

No, you assure yourself. This must be God's calling for you. He's telling you that Kit is innocent. He's compelling you to marry this man. He's urging you to find sanctity within his arms. God knows he is your future husband. That's why you feel this way! It has to be.

In the next few weeks, you will begin to add Kit to your normal schedule. You assure the other sisters that you want to take on the challenge of caring for such a dangerous man. Sister Mary Eunice keeps giving you weird side glances and avoiding you, but you don't quite care. Her overall attitude has changed towards Briarcliff, but so has yours. You've found your purpose now.

Every interaction with him fuels your desire to be his wife. You flirt with him subtly. When he gives you that curious expression you brush it off with a certain amount of charm and naive innocence. Your attempts at courting him are clumsy at best. Yet, it seems to be working well enough.

You keep him away from Grace forever. They had been growing too close. They had been through too much. You planted fake evidence in her room so that she would get punished. You whispered rumors around her and sowed distrust in their once-inseparable bond. You make her life a hell of your own making. One even worse than the walls inside Briarcliff had given her.

You saw the wedge growing in their relationship because of you. You planted yourself in her place, like a sprout replacing an invasive weed. You always slipped him extra food when it came time. You always read the Bible with him; he gave his life to Christ because of you. You both shared your most intimate secrets in the dead of night. Your relationship had grown to be something even God would envy.

That bitch just had to go and sow discord into your plentiful relationship.

You walked into the kitchen with a batch of dough that needed to set for a few hours. Your eyes widened in horror at what you saw, your pupils dilating to adjust to the lack of light in the kitchen. The large bowl slipped from your hands and crashed onto the floor. You turned around and bolted away like a frightened rabbit. You couldn't even stand to look at the scene for more than a moment. It was like seeing an angel get its wings torn off while falling from paradise.

That succubus was defiling your man. His head was thrown back in pure ecstasy—a dream in your head that you wanted to be between the both of you. Instead, that leech had him in between her legs. They were both in sync, their souls and hearts intertwined. It tore what little self-restraint you had to pieces. You could no longer wait for him to realize God's plan for the both of you.

In the dead of night, after both earned their punishment, you sneak into her room. A kitchen knife lies in your left hand, right behind your back. You'll stab her and make her feel the excruciating agony you felt. Every last drop of it. You enter her room swiftly with a slightly unhinged grin gracing your shadowed features.

She turns and gives you a surprised expression. Her stomach rumbles as she is expecting a bland dinner with as much nutrition as a wet rock. She blinks wearily as you move towards her. She seems apprehensive, but her body language is mostly relaxed. You were the one person who always seemed to be there for her. You were there for every patient. That's what made you everyone's favorite nun.

"Sister?" She calls out anxiously as she wraps an arm around her midsection. "Is dinner late? Or is this concerning my sterilization?"

"Oh, Grace." You murmur in a frenzied manner.

She backs away against the wall as her eyes dart quickly towards the door and back at you. You had locked the door, and your key was somewhere under your garments. She really didn't want to have to grope you to escape. Still, if you did have ill intentions towards her, she'd do whatever she needed to survive.

"God gave me a Revelation. I found it in my Bible."

You move towards her and swing the knife clumsily. You were a nun, not a murderer. You weren't a murderer until your one true love came along. He just makes you a little unhinged sometimes. It's all in God's plan.

She stumbles back as her palms rest against the stone walls. Her breaths become frantic as her heart speedily beats. She goes into survival mode. A punch is thrown at you as her eyebrows furrow in concentration.

"What the hell! Doesn't your little book tell you not to murder or something?" She screams in a high-pitched tone, doing her best to possibly get someone's attention in this damned hellhole.

She begins to shriek like a banshee as she fruitlessly struggles against you. Your free hand wraps around her wrist as you sink the knife into her throat. It makes a satisfying squelch as it slices through her skin like a knife through hot butter. She bucks against you like a wild bull as the sanguine fluid spurts out of her gaping wound.

Another strangled scream escapes from her cracked lips. Her cries and wails fuel your murderous rage as your knife continuously sinks into her supple flesh. You stab, and stab, and stab for what feels like hours on end. You make sure she knows how much she betrayed you. How much she betrayed her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Eventually, her body and mind fail her. She slumps against your figure as the light escapes her eyes swiftly. Her soul is forced out of her body as she becomes a permanent part of Briarcliff. You giggle and smile as the knife digs into her heart. You carve it out of her chest and stab it for the umpteenth time. It squirts out more of her sinful, gooey fluid.

You stare at her limp, lifeless body. Your rage cools a few moments after that. You have no regrets. In the eyes of God you were doing something holy.

"I gave her time to repent, and she did not want to repent of her immorality." You state passively as you grimace at her corpse.

You'll clean yourself and then tell everyone tomorrow that a crazed patient broke into her cell and killed her. You are the asylum's perfect little golden nun, after all. No one will suspect a thing, just as they shouldn't. Visting her was only your first stop tonight. Your second and final, Kit's holding cell.

You slip through the darkened halls with a spring in your elated step. You stopped at your room to wash off and get rid of the kitchen knife. You slip into that precious baby doll as you put your coveted uniform over top of it. You smile in the mirror gently, your spirits as high as the heavens.

Entire months now come down to these few moments. Your figure slips into his room. The poor thing is still strapped to his bed. Bruises line his toned figure. The paper-thin blanket barely covers his body. His thick, white hospital shirt ridding up, exposing his v-line and abs. His chest is gently moving up and down, calling to you.

You don't want to interrupt your man's slumber, but you need him to know the truth. You climb on top of his sleeping body. Each of your thighs straddling his side. One of your hands reaches down to his exposed stomach as you trail feather light touches over it. An overly excited giggle escapes your lips.

It has all led up to this moment. Your meeting, your small talk, and your private moments. Those torturous minutes that turned into hours transformed into days in which you were barely able to see a glimpse of him. You spent all those nights praying for a man, and now you have the one that God meant for you. You'll make him forget all about that whore who besmirched him.

"I wore something just for you, Kit." You whisper those honeyed words into the soft flesh of his pale ear.

You press a hungry kiss onto his lips as your nails dig into him. He bolts awake and panicks as his mind tries to sluggishly process what is happening. He struggles against you for a moment as his pupils dilate to adjust to the surrounding darkness. He recognizes you as his hands grip onto the sides of your thighs. A strangled groan escapes his lips as your assault on them doesn't stop.

"Sugah, slow down now." He murmurs gently with a purr escaping his velvety throat.

His lips don't resist you but return your fervent devotion to his. Everything stops in those moments as the world fades to black. There's nothing more to the both of you than two touch-starved bodies that crave an intimate connection. It was as if, in that moment, both of your hearts became one; your souls had found each other after so long.

Kit hadn't realized how starving he had been. Not just of mind but also of body. This pure sense of need wasn't something he got from Grace or Alma. Somehow, theirs was something corruptly desperate. Yours was nothing more than a divine and guttural urgency for his presence. Your movements were like those of a follower pleasing their divine being.

Everything that happened so far was for this moment. It was worth every single moment. It was worth getting caught with Grace. To see that absolute expression of anguish in those saintly irises of yours. He knew it would drive you right over the edge. He knew you wouldn't be able to resist him after that. He just wanted needed to have a pretty little nun save him from his sins.

"No, no, I can't. We were meant to be. I—"

Kit cuts you off as his hands curl around the edges of your uniform. He presses his forehead against yours intimately as he looks up at you with those doey hazel eyes. A short pant escapes his mouth as he tries to form words. It proves difficult because his entire being is yearning for the proximity of yours.

"I love you." He croaks out in pure bliss. His mouth moves from sacred lips down to the inviting nape of your neck.

God's design? No, it was his.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

✎...ღ taglist: @coentinim @cxndiedvi0lets @nahoyasboyfriend @bluerthanvelvet444

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dyed-red · 1 year ago

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happy ww! <3 if sam and dean don't get together until they are older, what do you think that looks like for them? how they come to realize their feelings, how they act on/address them, how they even begin to broach the subject with the other?

I have this view of late seasons sam and dean as incredibly settled and comfortable with themselves and each other in this regard, in a way that simply is not / was not possible when they were younger. Both because youth is tumultuous and learning to be okay with yourself takes time and experience, but also because your first apocalypse is a cataclysm, and your tenth is old hat.

Not only that, but through their various journeys together, particularly after s8 when we see them resolve their "infidelities" and commit to one other (in holy matrimony in that church), they have a level of trust in their bond that is different. It's tested in s9 with the lying/possession and then the attempt at distance following that, but reaffirmed from the s9 finale all through s10 with sam's willingness to damn the world (and die himself) for dean.

Which means that if they don't get together until they're "older", which I'm going to interpret here as late seasons or at least after s10, then i think it looks like a weirdly healthy and comfortable journey given that it's fraternal incest with enmeshed codependency and the fate of the world as collateral damage.

in their earlier years, there's this real fear of 'losing' each other, which comes in many forms but which includes the potential to do something so egregious as to alienate themselves from the other. this means that there is this possibility, real or imagined, that hangs over them, that if they admit or act on this (potentially unrequited because neither is testing if the other feels the same) attraction, they could damage their brotherhood. they have something huge to lose and feel a real potential to lose it. even if they trust the other won't abandon them over an attraction they didn't necessarily choose if it were to be discovered and unrequited -- and that trust itself is hard and fraught -- then it would still complicate and disgust and alienate, or so they would be likely to believe, at least in this mental scenario of them feeling attracted but not acting on it until they're older.

i suppose there are other scenarios, where they don't realize or experience that attraction yet, although that feels unlikelier to me, and it makes more sense to my mind that the attraction wouldn't suddenly manifest when they're older, but would be there the whole time, if latent and not even that important (because nothing is so important as their bond, and sexual and/or romantic attraction just isn't the most critical thing about how they feel toward each other).

but by a certain point, they've done so much worse to and for each other, and been through so much together and for each other, that worrying about this as if it's a huge dark evil secret would eventually start to feel almost childish. it would still enervate while hidden and unspoken, but it wouldn't feel like this damning thing in the same way, and i think would become an unspoken but obvious understanding between them.

meaning that by the time it slips from unspoken to spoken, it would be almost incidental or accidental, a quirk of 'oh we're acknowledging that now?' and a tension of 'are we sliding into that territory for real?'. It would still involve some potentially nervewracking navigating, but less on the "oh shit he knows oh fuck" side of exposure, and more on the "so what the fuck does this look like and is it worth it to explore knowing it could go wrong or is it better to keep things how we have them know, which is pretty damn good actually". It's a more mature and complex discussion, even if a silent and internal discussion, and a little less "throw overselves over this cliff and see what happens".

i like late season domestic era first time. i like to think that in a certain way, it feels like a foregone conclusion to them, and a bit like coming home, and a bit like "finally". <3

#happy wincest wednesday #i'm a week late answering this but shhh it's still a wednesday #wincest #domestic #married bros #look they are married after s8 i don't make the rules #it just might take them a little while to figure that out themselves #nothing wrong with that

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freddiemercurylegendabovelegends · 10 months ago

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Today, on 11th February, 1975 - Queen Story!

Toledo, OH, USA, Student Union Auditorium

'Sheer Heart Hattack Tour'

Extract:

"Freddie chuckled at the memory as he sipped tea from a ceremonial bowl. He was clad in a dazzling kimono, and sat crossed legged on the floor of his abode, decorated with Samurai swords and hand-made parasols, just down the road from Shepherd's Bush.

Rather like the Victorian explorers, he had brought home the lifestyle and artifacts of a foreign culture, and seemed anxious not to lose the magic of a country that had obviously made a considerable impression.

"I loved it there, the life style, the art...I'd go back tomorrow if I could," insisted Freddie shooing his cats Tom and Gerry off a Led Zeppelin album that had been carelessly left exposed.

How has it been these last few months? Freddie seemed just slightly enervated, not quite the garrulous showman I first met on a dark night in Liverpool, on their British tour last Autumn.

"It's been...fun. When we finished the English tour we went to Europe. We came back at Christmas and then went to America, which was quite a bash Two months.

"That's when I came a cropper.

I had voice trouble, these horrible nodules began to form on my vocal cords.

"I went to see specialists in England and America, and they were talking about an operation, but fortunately they seem to have gone down now and it won't be necessary.

Thank God.

In America they were talking about giving me laser beam treatment. They just singe them off, but they still don't know about the after effects, which could be dangerous.

"I had experienced trouble before, and always thought it was just a sore throat.But in America it really started hurting, especially after we did six shows in four nights."

..........

"How long had this been going on in Japan?

"Well, 'Queen II' was the LP of the year, and since then it just built up. We were given so many beautiful presents, dolls, lanterns, and they're so into rock music."

...........

"Freddie in jest, to avoid questions about their next album, which was not yet in the works: "Did I ever tell you about the time a girl pushed a dog into my arms while I was singing on stage in Toledo?"...

#1975 #1975sheerheartattacktour #sheerheartattackalbum #freddie mercury #queen band #london #zanzibar #queen #brian may #john deacon #freddiebulsara #roger taylor #legend #toledo #usa

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thequeenskeep · 4 months ago

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Divine Feminine

Rest and Reciprocity

A part of the journey is seeing where the universe takes you. Reflection. A lackadaisical attitude and thoughtless behaviors are the antithesis of Her. It is disrespectful to assume She is merely a stagnant pawn, waiting to be moved.

When most people envision rest, they imagine nothingness. But what is nothingness if not everything? Femininity encapsulates the all-in-nothing-the brilliance of possibility in darkness. Our darkest periods awaken a dormant primordial beast, nudging us to explore our wilderness with a newfound guilelessness. At night, a guiding light of the psyche softly illuminates the monster, fearful of the sun due to its ghastly appearance. This ghoul of ourselves is the crux of our humanity, produced by our polyvalent nature. Through rest and receptivity, we familiarize ourselves with Her. Her nature is our nature; our wilderness is Her playground.

Rest is a limitless energy; it is supportive by nature and seeks to relieve us of our worldly duties. Chronic exhaustion and lethargy often point to a deeper enervation of the soul. When we are consumed by our physical reality, our spiritual body suffers. Sleep is one method of release, but is by far the least practical. Our compulsion towards stillness is generated by our multi-dimensional presence. When we close our eyes, we are greeted by the purest form of the Divine Feminine-darkness. In stressful times, we often find solace in shutting our eyes momentarily. Breathing deeply, we feed Her as She caresses us with the promises of finality.

As the sun sinks and moonlight flies, the promise of rest beneath the skies, work is done, and dreams now seep, lulling us softly into sleep.

In reciprocity, we allow Her to guide us down our winding rivers, as She ventures through undiscovered territories, She brings sense to the nonsensical. Detached from the controls, we allow our masculine, conscious mind to find relief in submission. Only She is granted access into the unknown and unforeseen, for She holds the key. The wind and sea favors those who perceive. Through storms, we are weathered as Earth, molded by clay, reformed and reframed, only to realize we’ve been born again.

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sorenblr · 11 months ago

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Now that you've completed the SMT V stream, I (and I'm sure some other folks, too) would love to hear what you think of it compared with the other main Megaten games you've played on stream. I think you've done SMT 1, SMT IV and SMT IV:A so far. Include Persona 1 too if you'd like.

And that dreadful Tokyo Mirage Sessions: pound sign Fire Emblem, too

SMTV is hard for me to discuss because there's very little about it that compels me to deeper thought. It really, genuinely bores me to think about, and anything I do have to say about it only evinces an incredibly cynical read of the series. I'll just put whatever I have left to say here, so that I don't feel the need to revisit.

It's just, you know, this bloodless cultivation of recycled semiotics from Nocturne. We ragged on IV for being overly invested in derivation and homage, but it looks almost daring coming off of V. The only really original idea that it brings to the table, the notion of Nahobino as the 'true' form of these divided and depreciated myth images, is almost offensive in the way it reframes designs that at least try to approximate real cultural attitudes towards religion as lesser, enervated reflections of yet more Tokusatsu tripe. Apart from that, it's a very inert piece of storytelling. I feel like a joke is being played on me whenever the game presumes an emotional investment in characters like Tao or Yuzuru.

I generally think highly of all the little design wrinkles that were implemented under Komori's stewardship, and that owe to his experience directing the more balance-intensive affairs of Etrian Odyssey. The new utility of consumables, dampeners as a limited means of addressing weakness in party structure, the need to attend to enemy and player Magatsuhi gauges etc. All necessary supplements to a battle system that was beginning to wear thin by 2016. Only my opinion of everything that enfolds it, the exploration, was diminished on this second playthrough. The layouts are still compelling, with a novel emphasis on managing layers of verticality, but they're populated with so much idiot open-world cruft. Vending machines, chests, glory crystals, health orbs, Miman. An overabundance of piddling incentive to keep you in a state of compulsion, and which I believe contributes to the exhaustion that many players feel come Taito. I still like the Miman, but they essentially exist in a continuum with the fucking feather collectables in Assassin's Creed.

(All the colored orbs littered around the sands are the perfect wedge to that design sensibility. They're almost totally inconsequential and only worth pursuing for the feeling of having absorbed more bright bobbles into yourself. They whisper to your lizard brain so that you don't feel too unstimulated navigating the space, which is never deigned to be worth the doing for its own sake. I'm out here picking up orbs and I can't even use them to extend the duration of Spartan Rage. Videogames are fucking stupid.)

It also made me more conscious of the ways the game fails to leverage art direction against what were probably non-ideal production conditions. It's never easy to forget that you're in a world of economically distributed UE4 assets, with no less than four brilliant hues of sparkling sand and ruined structures that have largely forfeited the Tokyoite specificity of previous games in favor of the same vending machines and multi-floor apartments and office buildings repeated ad nauseam. Daat never feels more like a hostile environment than a self-conscious playground. The concept art backdrops and rudimentary 3D textures of IV/IVA, and the claustrophobic interiors of I- all more lively by far. Pretty good skyboxes, though. No complaints there.

I think the series has moved into the sort of tired self-pastiche that every franchise turns to after decades of iteration. Time and chance happened, and now it's Angus Young crawling out of his mansion and into his boy-clothes to duckwalk across the stage while his grapefruit-sized prostate wages war against him from within.

If I were to rank just the main series from what we've streamed thus far, it would be something like I > IV > V > IVA. The only sense in which TMS has it at a disadvantage is that it emulates more cleanly. I'm glad that we're done with the latter half of the series and can finally move on, but I'll never forget that big huge enormous ass...

#ask #smt #megaten #atlus #smtv #streaming knowledge

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cannolicreme · 5 months ago

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fucked

a slutty little love story about two ghouls on different wavelengths learning to hear each other. alternatively, this fic explores the challenges neurotypical and neurodivergent partnerships might encounter (and overcome).

this is primarily swiss & phantom, but there are references to others (generally comedic - i can't not meme). characterization by me and my best friend @crunchy-munch. swiss can do magic, rain is perpetually serving snatched-waist sub realness, and nothing fazes phantom.

six chapters total; updates weekly on fridays (we're on chapter 3 now). thank you for reading 💞

pairings: swiss x phantom, cunty rain with a chanel handbag x dew, a swiss x rain x dew threesome at one point rating: porn with feelings 💀

Swiss did not like discipline, particularly when it pertained to depriving himself of his own desires. He watched Phantom’s tail sway in anticipation, noticing how his cheeks glowed with ingenue blush and how his eyes shone with intrepid longing. The conquest would be easy, and fast, and even if it meant the glory of watching that little bitch eat his words, Swiss could not bring himself to do it. “I’m not in the mood,” was the excuse that he went with, but he knew the correct answer was, I’ll fall for you. “But I know you want me, anyway.” The bastard was cheeky, but he was right, and Swiss wanted to slap the smugness from his growing smile. “How do you even know what you want?” He hadn’t meant for the interjection to be so sharp, and instantly regretted it, watching Phantom shrink a little in the wake of his scorn. “Look, I just–I can’t sleep with somebody who doesn’t wanna kiss me.” As if it’d just dawned on him, Phantom told him excitedly, “But I do wanna kiss you right now. Honest.” Even if Swiss knew it was a gambit, the wistful amethyst staring up at him and the pathetic whimper that accompanied his entreaty - “Please, Swiss?” - had rendered him incapacitated. He let go of the wheel, curled his massive hands around the untouched throat of the beggar at his throne, and lifted him upwards by the chokehold. Against his right hand, he felt Phantom’s pulse quicken from the danger, or the thrill, or the manifested desire flourishing in his blood; other than that, he was quiet and controlled, amenable inside the trap, and for a moment, felt Swiss’ breath against his uncoupled lips. The affirmation of the kiss - sweet, but rough, until the larger one could restrain himself enough to stop softly groaning into it - had liberated Phantom and poisoned Swiss. He released the smaller ghoul, pridefully collected the venom in his mouth with a swipe of his forked tongue, and swallowed. It would wear off eventually, he told himself. Each pair of enervated eyes, through fluttering lashes and dilated pupils, scanned the other’s for a signal of surrender. “Now, be a good boy and finish your game.” The growl, spoken into his mouth, was unnecessary; Swiss knew he was going to lose. He was fucked. Phantom licked his lips, smiled, and obeyed him, receding to his spot on the floor and picking up the controller - but not before correcting him. “I’m not a good boy.”

read more on ao3 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

#ghost fanfiction #swiss x phantom #swisstom #swiss ghoul #rain ghoul #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #rain x dewdrop #dew x rain #phantom x swiss #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #dewdrop ghoul #ghost band fanfic #ghost band fandom #ghost fic

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finedinereception · 1 year ago

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Why is Sirius on your brain SO much?

Explain in Mario terms

make my brain go -flag pole noise-

haha okay but actually here we go. this is disorganized and more me vomiting my thoughts out and making you look at him but yknow.

the black hole server: the most soul sucking and messed up place to live since america

thanks for the insightful commentary, buddy

so sirius lives the life of the average True Gamer, in a dark hole full of anime figurines and merchandise or whatever. he likes adding to that collection and then fucking around with it because bloodsport really never died to him. who cares what ign had to say.

unfortunately, like all gamers, his home is not hospitable to most life.

weaker em beings apparently “enervate and die” within the server. thats delightfully fucked up, and honestly, a vast empty, dark, cold space that sucks the life out of pretty much everything around it and is only truly habitable to one lifeform is an insanely cool idea that i always love.

uh…. roche limit????

obviously, with such an unfriendly gamer den, sirius himself does not get a lot of company.

we’ll come back to this next section.

but basically the black hole server is a really cool idea and location that really serves to emphasize what an outside-context issue sirius is. he feels very “other” in this world, in part thanks to where hes made his home.

with friends like these, who needs mega man?

sirius has some… interesting ideas about what is good and reasonable for people. or what constitutes a healthy platonic relationship. actually just relationships in general.

i think its interesting he jumped straight to this with mega man, when he also harbored apollo flame, who was pretty damn open about his intentions to eventually usurp and subjugate sirius

WHICH SIRIUS WAS AWARE OF BTW

apollo flame! oh, you, always on about taking over the universe!

this is weird to say, with what we know about sirius in general and his personality (which we’ll be getting to soon) but… theres this pervasive sense that he views the Rs as a mix between pawns and, like, his perverse version of “friends”

the use of “our” here is interesting, along with the implication that sirius shares more information with them than he actually needs to

and the fact that sirius has the tendency to start talking to himself in the middle of a conversation…

and the fact that he enforces a friendly relationship between those who dont get along…

theres just a weird sense of sirius “playing” with dynamics, and while its certainly useful to him, its easy to imagine a hint of curiousity in there. the exploration of one of the only things that cant be taken by force.

of course you have blue skin and pronouns

look at him. look at him. hes based on a squid. hes got that squid drip. i think sirius would be into deep sea life. im choosing to view this as an in-character choice. he likes squid now, okay?

also. he canonically sparkles. LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT THIS SPARKLING SQUID TWINK. GOD. HE MAKES ME INSANE.

i also dont know where else to mention this, but hey what was up with mu metal. is he tied to mu. what was that about lmao. bro got pica.

he has 97 mental illnesses and is banned from most public spaces

he is so fucking stupid😭

the main, and final, thing i want to bring up is his extreme case of blue and orange morality. because being rude is worse than destroying a planet to him.

from here on out ill be using direct quotes since i actually have access to these and writing and ive hit image limit. what can i say theres so much i want you to look at.

Sirius: ... I don't need that rude EM being for my collection.

and

Sirius: I was hoping to enjoy watching everyone on the planet panic for a bit... But I suppose destroying it outright would be fun too.

back to back is an interesting display of standards. but id go further and argue that… sirius doesnt really act with malice.

MegaMan: Peoples lives... Planets... They aren't toys for you to play with. Have you even considered the pain you are putting all those people down there though? Sirius: Everything here will cease to exist. A black hole has no need for such things as emotions. You should... be happy. You will live forever within the darkness. You will be mine. MegaMan: I wouldn't call that living! I'd rather not exist! Sirius: ...I see. Do you think that you might change your mind? Stopping you without causing you any injury would be a bit of a nuisance to me. It will be hard for us to play together with you injured.

and you could argue that this is an attempt at persuasion… except that sirius doesnt really need that. hes pretty confident in his ability to win a fight, so id argue this is genuinely just how he thinks. his fascination with destroying things is processed not with malicious intent but the same perverse curiosity that drives a child to pour water on an ant hill.

mean spirited? yeah, but its all in good fun to him.

hes the living version of all those jokes about a person who never talks to other people or goes outside or anything. hes had his own little bubble to develop the most deranged moral compass and interal narrative of all time.

tl;dr - ITS HARD TO NOT THINK ABOUT HIM A LOT

#asks #sirius #mega man star force #mmsf #siriuscore #<- putting it here so people randomly scrolling through that tag without context sill Know #and also so people who find this post can see the siriuscore tag <3

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lola-andheruniverse · 1 year ago

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WIP Saturday - Caryl Fanfiction Rec

Dear carylers, I know a lot of fanfic readers prefer to read complete works. It's an strategy to avoid being frustrated after getting excited by an abandoned work. But I truly believe reading WIPs is a fundamental part of being in a fandom. WIPs allow us, the readers, to witness how a story is born, how it develops, and hopefully, how it gets finished. It's a sometimes enerving but always fascinating process, in my humble opinion.

The fascinating WIP of today is Saudade by @indigoraysoflight, currently posted on 9Lives and AO3.

Summary: As the dust settles after the battle of the Commonwealth, Carol and Daryl stand in the ruins of their fractured bond. Their wounds, aching to be healed. Their scars, waiting to be discovered. A storm of unspoken words and feelings swirling around them. The chasm between them – wider than it’s ever been before.

Will they find each other before the world pushes them apart again?

Rating: E / Explicit Word count: 15691 (4 chapters of ?) Published: July 15, 2023 - WIP

My native language is (brazilian) portuguese so I'm very familiar with the concept and feeling of bone-deep nostalgia and longing that is 'saudade'. Fun fact: we use 'saudade' for everything because we long very deeply for things, places and people. Eu tenho saudade dos meus amigos de infância. I miss my childhood friends. Nossa, saudade de quando a apresentadora do jornal era a Sandra. How I miss when Sandra presented the news. Trust me, for us, it's the same feeling.

So, when AK described Daryl and Carol feeling 'saudade' on S9E1, she was very right. It's an ongoing feeling for both of them since S5, always missing each other even when they are on the same room. Being so on and out of sync simultaneously. Our dear author decided to explore what happened between the battle of the Commonwealth and the moment Daryl rides out on the show finale using 'saudade' as the conductive narrative/feeling. We are only four chapters in, but, oh, dear caryler, what a beautiful story she's telling us! It's cohesive and Daryl and Carol's character traits are on point. It's also incredibly sad and angsty but she also promised us sugary caryl moments and I'm on board for all of it.

If you're not following this WIP, I honestly encourage you. It's a great ride and it's just the beginning. Feedback can make the difference in whether or not a fanfic will get finished so, please, consider leaving the author a review to inspire her to keep writing.

I hope you've enjoyed my recs for this week, dear caryler! Tomorrow it's your turn to rec a fic you love. I'm counting on you! Caryl on!

#caryl #caryl positivity #caryl fic rec #caryl on #caryl fanfiction #caryl fandom #wip saturday #my fic recs

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maclee547832 · 10 months ago

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Is surgical intervention the only cure for spinal issues that are leading to back pain?

Title" Navigating Back Pain Beyond Surgery withDr. Shrey Jain, the Stylish chine Croaker in Delhi"

Back pain, frequently stemming from spinal issues, can be a enervating concern affecting diurnal life. While surgical intervention is a feasible result in certain cases,Dr. Shrey Jain, honored as the stylish chine croaker

in Delhi, emphasizes a holistic approach to spinal health that extends beyond surgery.

** Understanding Spinal Issues and Back Pain **

1. ** Diverse Causes **

- Back pain can affect from colorful spinal issues, including herniated discs, spinal stenosis, degenerative slice complaint, or structural abnormalities.

2. **Non-Surgical Interventions **

-Dr. Shrey Jain advocates for a comprehensive evaluation to determine the root cause. Non-surgical interventions like physical remedy, drug, and life variations are explored before considering surgery.

**Dr. Shrey Jain's Holistic Approach **

1. ** Precise opinion **

-Dr. Shrey Jain employs advanced individual tools to precisely identify the underpinning spinal issue causing back pain.

2. ** Individualized Treatment Plans **

- Tailoring treatment plans to each case's unique condition ensures a substantiated approach, optimizing issues.

3. **Non-Surgical results **

- Emphasizing conservative treatments, Dr. Jain explores non-surgical options similar as physical remedy, pain operation, and life adaptations to palliate back pain.

4. ** Minimally Invasive ways **

- When surgery becomes necessary, Dr. Shrey Jain specializes in minimally invasive ways, reducing recovery times and postoperative discomfort.

#doctor #hospital #health #disease #wellness #surgery

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thatmcgwords · 1 year ago

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If you’ve ever been in a situation where you, your partner, friend, or colleague had crashed against the wall of misunderstanding, it most likely resulted from the inability to connect or bid emotionally.

Bidding means seeking emotional closeness with another person. An eye contact, body language expression, or verbal message — bid can be anything. ~ John M. Gottman, Joan DeClaire

Instead, they react to emotional bidding in three possible ways: accepting, rejecting, or turning away from the bid. When we accept someone’s bid, we respond positively. For example, we gladly brew coffee for our loved ones when they tell us they’re a bit tired. By rejecting bids, we discourage others’ requests to connect. Finally, we can overlook bids — a silent response to a regular ‘how was your day’ question illustrates it perfectly.

Extremely high divorce rates are the by-products of people’s failure to connect and their ties decaying. ~ John M. Gottman, Joan DeClaire

Phase 1: Explore the way you connect with others and acknowledge the main bidding mistakes

Individuals who regularly react to each other’s bids positively create a deposit of emotional warmth, which they can use later during conflict management. ~ John M. Gottman, Joan DeClaire

Some signals we translate are vague and difficult to read. But do we deliberately confuse people we care about? Definitely not. We tiptoe with all this bidding stuff because a) we’re afraid somebody will hurt our feelings, b) we struggle to specify our genuine desires, and c) — we aren’t even aware of our need to connect. The good news is that no one is hopeless. We’ll have a pinch of understanding for starters and a glass of attention for an aperitif.

Phase 2: Examine your brain and its command systems

“Each person’s brain has seven command systems that navigate our physical, emotional, and behavioral reactions essential for survival. We can communicate and build connections with others more effectively if we know our stimulation parameters.”

Exploration of our emotional command system is a great way to understand our relationships with ourselves and learn our emotional commonalities and differences with others. ~ John M. Gottman, Joan DeClaire

“The Commander-in-Chief. We activate this system when we face challenges. Confidence indicates its optimal activation level, while fear, aggression, or distress signify something isn’t right.

• The Explorer. When we adequately activate this system, we feel excited about learning something new or moving towards goals accomplishment. We overperform our curiosity efforts and are bored learning when the Explorer works at a non-optimal level.

• The Sensualist. This system enables us to feel intimate stuff like mutual sexual desire or deep romantic feelings. It can cause intimate frustration and relationship problems when it is poorly activated. Alternatively, too intensive sexual behavior is a symptom of an overactivated Sensualist system.

• The Energy Czar system works for our physical wellbeing. It signals when we feel discomfort and functions to recover our organisms. Its insufficient activation can cause serious health issues.

• The Jester system reminds us to entertain and have sources of joy in life. Enervation and delight are the optimal outcomes, while the state of overexcitement or depression is a sign of inadequate activation.

• The Sentry system contributes to our alarming states like worrying or defensiveness. It helps the body to respond to threats relevantly.

• The Nest-Builder system sets up functions essential for bonding and attachment. The system’s optimal work allows us to feel appreciated and loved. Simultaneously, when we under- or overactivate the system’s functions, we risk engaging in codependent relationships or falling into the trap of chronic loneliness.”

“Phase 3: Take a journey throughout your emotional legacy”

Although emotional legacy origins in our past, it has a tremendous impact on our emotional connection in future life. ~ John M. Gottman, Joan DeClaire

“First, it includes emotional history — the combination of emotional experiences a person observed and was subjected to in the past.”

“Third, our emotional heritage includes stable weaknesses — a sort of negative experience which accompanies our lives and affects our interactions with people. Such vulnerabilities are diverse and can range from school bullying to surviving military conflict. Understanding and articulating such traumas is vital for building closeness with people we love and finding our place in the world.”

“Phase 4: Fine-tune your communication skillset”

“In a perfect world, people would read between the lines and understand each other at a glance. It means they wouldn’t feel difficulty expressing their feelings or understanding even unsaid bids.”

From first smile to first date, childhood is a tremendous training ground for learning to detect, convey, and respond to feelings. But that learning process doesn’t have to stop after we grow up. ~ John Gottman

“This bidding tool is impossible to underestimate: people convey sadness when bringing together the inner corners of their brows and lower lips outside corners. Alternatively, they purse their lips when they disprove something. ‘Reading’ faces is easier when we possess good intuition. However, such simple steps as learning a person's relaxed facial expressions, asking questions about one's feelings when it changes, and mastering observation skills are great for honing attentiveness and benefiting from it in bidding.”

“Have you ever noticed how your friend constantly touches one’s nose or mouth during the conversation? Most likely, one experienced tension and couldn’t even say it. And what about holding hands? This touch cue reveals people’s attachment to each other. See? No words are needed.

The truth is, even such insignificant physical movement broadcasts valuable emotional data. Become a curious and caring observer, and you’ll understand that another person is full of regrets or delight. An ability to ‘read’ others is vital for enhancing bidding for emotional linking.”

Understanding the mechanics of verbal and nonverbal communication is essential for denuding the feelings of our loved ones and building solid mental bridges between our hearts. ~ John M. Gottman, Joan DeClaire

“Phase 5: Learn to acquire emotional common ground with other people”

“This fifth step is vital for sustaining a stable emotional bond which is curative not only for our relations and friendships but also for effective conflict management with people we don’t know so well. So, what are the main elements of common ground we all strive for?”

Focus on a shared dream instead of conflict that temporarily interferes with it: traveling to a new country or buying a car are so much more important than debates about whether to go by plane or to choose a beige interior instead of black. ~ John M. Gottman, Joan DeClaire

“Shared rituals are another excellent strategy for acquiring shared meaning. Rituals relate to regular practice, which helps us connect emotionally”

“countryside. The main thing is that rituals are incredibly powerful for strengthening bonds because they mirror values we share and provide us with precious time for emotional connection.”

“Imagine moving to a new city and having a goodbye party with all your friends present — such significant support means that there are people who believe in you and your aspirations and are always there for you.”

“sharing our perception of meanings, and discussing conflicts and dreams that we pursue, support, and rituals help us find common ground even in bad emotional weather”

“communication. Most of our relationships fail because we underestimate the importance of talking with each other and exploring the uniqueness of emotional communication styles. Thus, whether you’re falling head over heels in love or have been happily married for twenty years, it’s an excellent time to learn or remind yourself of the essentials of emotional connection.”

“We cannot suddenly become masters of conversation and empathy — every bid is an opportunity to fine-tune our emotional connectedness to others. We must hone communication skills, constantly keeping in mind that all people are different in how they express their feelings. Luckily, the introduced practices are a great way to decipher the code of any sensitive treasure trove.”

“In the current rapid life tempo, rituals seem a good starting point for quality bonding. Making breakfast in bed, buying flowers or a new book for your partner on Fridays, or meeting one after work with a cup of hot chocolate are some ways to showcase the care and make a sensitive investment into developing your shared meanings system.”