#but between back pain and a decreased ability to handle heat I just can’t do it I couldn’t even when it was cooler out

[area51-escapee]

Anyone who complains about trans dudes with big chests “not even trying to bind” owes me $1000 towards getting top surgery. Put your money where your mouth is or shut the fuck up.

[loudstan]

Epiphany (Pt. 10)

A collection of  NCT werewolf AU stories.

Doyoung (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt. 3) (pt. 4) (pt. 5) (pt. 6) (pt. 7) (pt. 8) (pt. 9) (pt. 10)

Summary: The wolf population kept decreasing and those who were left had a hard time trying to fit  into society. Sure, people didn’t consider them as dangerous as vampires, but wolves could still sense some hostility every time they did as much as go for a walk in a public place. Thanks to wolves’ natural magical abilities, NCT (one of the remaining packs) found a safe place among witches in a town where no one knew their secret, allowing some members to finally get a job, study and interact with others without fear of being rejected.

Life seems to finally be peaceful for them… except that wolves have needs, and one of those needs is finding their mate.

Pairing: Werewolf! Doyoung x Witch! female reader

Warnings: future smut

“I’ll spend my heat right here, looking at you, smelling how wet you are and pretending I can’t hear you touching yourself at night but, like I said, I won’t lay a single finger on you.”

He can’t be serious. There is no way he’s being serious.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” he said.

“Oh my god. So now you can also read my mind just because I’m your mate?!”

He looked like he was trying to repress a smile.

“Actually, you said that out loud. As strong as our connection is, I cannot read your mind,” he licked his lips and stared at the floor. “But I like how you called yourself my mate.”

You blushed furiously at this.

“I mean- that’s what you said I was.”

“Because you are.”

“… I guess, in theory I could be something like…”

“My mate,” he finished your sentence with a teasing tone and right when you were about to scoff at his comment he flinched and groaned in pain.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, standing up to make space for him on the couch. He lied down slowly and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his face.

“Shit,it’s gonna be harder than I thought,” he muttered.

“Then maybe...don’t do this?”

“I gotta- ugh,” with a groan he squeezed his eyes shut. “I-I have to do this.”

“What the f-WHY?!”

“I have to s-show you I can control my wolf. Only then you’ll-oh god you smell so good,” he clenched his fists tight and took a deep breath. “Only then you’ll believe my feelings are real.”

You scoffed. He clearly couldn’t even think straight anymore.

“How is that fair?” you asked, “Now that you marked me I have no choice but to like you back! This will be frustrating for both of us.”

“Drink the potion,” he muttered.

“What?” so he didn’t want the potion for himself, but was suggesting that you drank it?

“If you drink it, you’ll get rid of this bond and won’t feel anything. I’ll be the only one feeling like shit. Does that sound better?”

You narrowed your eyes but said nothing. It was tempting to drink the potion by yourself, considering this was all his fault.

“You are still in time to kick me out of here. I’ll get a cab or something,” he whispered. You could barely hear him, as his voice was way too weak.

You didn’t have it in you to kick him out like this. What if he collapsed on the way home? What if something really serious happened to him? What if he found some other woman to take care of him during his heat?

You pushed that thought away immediately. You surely did NOT care if he fucked somebody else. BUT you wanted to believe you were a decent person who could let him sleep on your couch.

“What is the point of you proving yourself if I drink the potion?” you asked, wanting to understand how his mind worked. “You’d be in pain for days and gain nothing at all because I wouldn’t have feelings for you!”

“You wouldn’t have unwanted feelings for me because there would be no bond forcing you to,” he barely whispered. “Then, after my heat is over, you can decide if you want to give me a chance.”

“...You’re crazy,” you said in disbelief, but he didn’t reply. “Doyoung?”

Still, not a single sound came from him. Alarmed, you placed your hand on his forehead to see how his fever was going.

What you weren’t expecting was the loud moan that left his mouth as he lifted his hips into the air. Immediately, he pushed your hand away and stood up, running to the bathroom and locking the door.

You stood there in shock for what seemed like an entire minute until you heard his muffled groans coming from the bathroom. You walked in that direction like you were possessed and knocked on the door twice, only getting a weak moan in response.

“Doyoung? D-did I hurt you?” you asked in spite of that voice in your head telling you that those sounds were a clear sign of pleasure.

“I’m fin-Oh! Uhng fuck, just- just give me a m-minute mkay?” he replied panting heavily. “Y-you may want to-,” another loud moan, “Ah shit… you may want to stay a-away for now.”

You didn’t move. Your feet felt glued to the floor and your heart beat faster as you recognised a constant, wet sound. You were sure he was touching himself. Without even thinking about it, your hand twisted the handle and tried to open the door between you, which only frustrated you when you remembered it was locked. On the other side, Doyoung had gasped and halted his movements.

“Y/n! What do you think you’re doing?”

“I just- this stupid door,” you replied stubbornly. You didn’t even know why you wanted to open it, but your hands kept pushing the hard material in a vain attempt to get through.

“Shit- y/n you really shouldn’t,” his panicked voice made you want to comfort him. If only you were in there with him.

“Can you open the door for me?” you asked, you hardly recognised your own voice; it sounded hoarse and lazy, like you had just woken up.

“Oh fuck… Y/n, I want to, I r-really do but-” you heard him turn on the water and a mumbling sound due to him splashing water on his face to collect himself before continuing, “I can’t. You don’t want me… it’s just the bond.”

“But,” you pouted, pressing yourself against the door. You just really wanted him right now, whether it was a stupid bond or not, “It would feel so good.”

You heard him groan and the wet rubbing sound came back faster than before.

“Please,” you insisted, discovering the effect your words had on him, “please sir, let me make you feel good.”

“Fuck! A-ah! Nnnn!”

You heard him coming closer to the door and the handle moved a little and you licked your lips in anticipation, but it never opened.

“Y/n… drink the potion.”

“Wha- now?!” you had been so close! He almost opened the door. Why was he talking about that potion now?

“Yes, now. Before we do something you’ll regret.”

“I-,” you swallowed hard, “I promise I’ll drink it later, but can we-?”

“ Y/n, if I open that door now I won’t stop. It’s better you have a clear mind before making any decision. Drink the potion.”

You whined and tried to open the door once again, pressing your thighs together to get any type of friction at this point. Maybe he needed some more convincing.

“Doyoung-”

“NOW,” he growled. He sounded so intimidating, your legs felt weak and you fell on the ground, your eyes wide and paralyzed in fear. You could still feel the vibrations of his voice on your body when you stood up with difficulty, going for the little jar of potion forgotten in the living room.

You looked at the sparkling dark liquid and took a deep breath in. Now that you were right next to Doyoung you could think more clearly. You cringed as the words you had just said to him came back to your head. Did you really find him that attractive or was it just the bond?

Maybe he was right. You were the one who wanted to drink it since the beginning anyways, so why not do it now? That way his heat would have no effect on you and your life would be normal again.

You drank it and immediately felt nauseous at the bitter flavor. Suddenly a burning sensation crawled up your chest and everything around you was blurry. You dropped the jar and it broke into a million pieces as you grabbed onto the couch to avoid falling until you were stable again.

Once everything stopped moving and you calmed down a bit, you looked up and the first thing you saw was Doyoung, standing outside the bathroom. He looked heartbroken with the way the tears slid down his face, but he still managed to smile.

“That was the right choice, y/n. Now things will be way easier for you.”

Or so you both thought.

[gxthicwxrm]

My Dearest And Only Queen.

Requested By: None

Word Count: 1059 words. 

Fandom: American Horror Story

Pairing: James Patrick March

Enjoy!!

Might make this a mini-series if y’all want more.

___________________________________________________

I rub my smooth, hairless, naked legs between the sheets as I twist onto my side, facing the man of my dreams. He lays there, peacefully in his slumber. I watch his face, glistening in the sun that is peaking in from between the blinds. I stretch sightly trying not to disturb James. Carefully, I get out of bed. My bare feet pitter patter across the floor as I make way to the small bathroom. I glance in the mirror, then look back. I run my fingers over the love bites, bruises, and scratches from Mr. March and I’s blissful, sinful night together. These marks were a common occurrence. Our sex life was extremely active and eventful. These marks are a symbol of many things. Love. Passion. Dominance. Possession. Caring for my pleasure as well as his. And finally, us belonging to each other in all ways. I smile as my fingertips trace over a yellowish purple fading mark from previous nights. I look up and down my small frame. I am his canvas as he is mine. He leaves every inch of me kissed, touched, caressed, and loved. A quiet giggle leaves my mouth as I remember our first time and how he was far too gentle.

***

His lips trail down my neck slowly as my nail rake down his lean, muscular back. His hips move slowly, thrusting at a painfully slow pace. I moan softly as a groan leaves his mouth.  I grab the back of his neck, forcing him to stare at me, I see the amount of holding back he is doing and it begins to irritate me. I want all of him. I crave it and I need it. Now. His brown, beautiful eyes stare into my soul. He speeds up his pace but then catches himself and slows down, gradually. I snap.

“Don’t do that. Don’t hold back, give me all of you James,” I moan out. He slows to a barely moving pace and looks at me with concern.

“I don’t want to hurt or scare you, my darlin’,” His beautiful accent rings in my ears. I giggle causing confusion to mask over his handsome face.

“You won't hurt me in any way that I don’t crave. I want the pain, I want the roughness. Oh please, James, don’t hold back from me,” I say with just as much need and want as I feel. He grins at my reply and begins to go fast and hard. I scream out as his hips slam against mine, repeatedly. Everyone in this damned hotel can hear us.

***

I look at my hips, which like the first time with James, are bruised again. Suddenly, I hear shuffling in the bedroom. I walk out to see James now on his back. I smile and quickly, yet quietly, walk over to him. I crawl under the sheets and blankets. Softly, I lay on top of his back. He groans, tiredly. I sit up, sitting on his lower back. I let my hands graze over his back. Scratches mirroring my owe lay across his back in horizontal and vertical lines. He groans again as my fingers trace the marks. His hips shift causing me to lift off of him. He grabs my leg and shoves me onto the bed. In a flash, he is between my legs.

“Oh the things you do to me, my queen,” He says while rubbing his erection against my core. I moan out as his redden tip runs up my wet folds. His lips crash onto my sensitive neck and breast. I run my fingers all over him. His hair, chest, back, arms, neck. Everywhere I can reach without moving his lips from my chest. He slams his lips against mine, defiantly bruising them too. I moan out his name which throws him, not pushes, throws him over the edge. He sits up, grabbing my legs. He presses them together and towards my torso, my ankles resting on his shoulders. He rubs his cock against me. He slowly presses his tip against me. Before he can be in me, a knock interrupts us. He glares, lividly, at the door. He gets up, wrapping around his waist while I wrap myself up in the blanket.

“Oh, who dares to interrupt me and Queen,” He screams wildly as he throws open the door. There stands The Countess and the now scared maid who is obviously infatuated with my James, Ms. Evers. She looks terrified while Elizabeth looks amused. Seeing The Countess simply brings the biggest tsunami of jealousy and hatred. Even though I know James is over her ad fully mind, mind, soul, and body. I still can’t help but compare myself to this woman. He was beyond in love with her.  She wasted such love and devotion. She hurt him for years until he met me and forgot about her except when she shows up unannounced which just angers him now.

“I am so sorry, Sir. She said it was urgent.” Ms. Ever says quickly before James could yell at them. I slowly move off the bed until I am by the door behind James. Elizabeth looks at me then for a split second, she realizes why James is so mad. It’s not just because her showing up like she is normally used to. Fear flashes in her eyes for a moment before she becomes stone cold again. Ms. Ever realizes too and looks like she is about to shit herself. I rest my hand on James’ back, letting it slide down his side, I feel his body untense slightly. I kiss his spine before moving to his side, still wrapped in nothing but a comforter. His eyes became one-eighteenth percent softer once he sees me, telling me how mad he truly is. I rub my hand up and down his arm.

“Dearest, go get dressed while I keep company to them. Please,” He listens and I open the door to let the women in. Ms. Ever declines and leaves me alone with the blonde lady before me. She nods towards me as I allow her in.

“Do you mind telling me what is so urgent?” I ask as politely as I can manage while trying to seem confident and not livid just by the look of her. She has learned to respect me in the last two and a half years James and I have been together.

“I wanted to tell him that I am planning have a Halloween Victorian Styled ball and would request him to not let his hobby decrease the guest list,” She says matter of a fact like. I hold back from slapping her beautiful face.

“And how, may I ask, is that so urgent you came here and interrupted James and I’s morning?” I say as calm as I can. She nods, understanding my clearly agitated voice.

“The ball is going to be on Devil’s Night before his guest joins us at the Hotel. I would like if his guest doesn’t kill mine if any stragglers or any early birds happen to cross paths. That seems fairly understandable, doesn’t it? Mrs. March,” I nod. James will love this if the guest were extra victims to him and his students' little games. She nods back, grateful for my understanding and heads to the door, leaving the room. I close the door quickly behind her. No farewell needed.

James comes out of the bedroom in nothing but boxers. A routine we started a year ago, I handle The Countess if he is too pissed so nothing can be harmed. He walks over to me, kissing my forehead.

“You, my ear, always astonish me while your ability to calm that fierce temper of yours. Thank you, deeply, for handling that wretched woman.” He says while we walk back to bed. I smile as a ‘You’re Welcome’. He smiles brightly back as we lay down in each other’s arms facing each other. He caresses my arms and side. We kiss slowly and passionately. I am thrown on top of him only after moments of the unwanted company leaving us. Before we get too heated, he pulls away.

“I love you, deeper than the darkest part of my heart and the ocean combined. You are forever my dearest and only Queen, Y/N March,” He says seriously and lovingly. I smile, pecking his lips.

“And I love you, my King.” He smirks, drowning in my voice as I say those words before we are back at attacking each other’s lips and wandering hands go everywhere. He looks at me after aligning himself to my core. He kisses me softly before slamming his cock in my throbbing heat. He is my dearest and only King, forever as I am forever his.  

[elenajohansenauthor]

Fictober18, Day 30: “Do we really have to do this again?”

OCs: Shannon and Orlando

Project: Untitled paranormal romance for Fictober18/NaNoWriMo, now tagged #spookyromancenovel on my blog

Potential Triggers: none

Word Count: 2,285

About: Sun magic and an unexpected phone call.

The process of capturing sunlight is mostly preparation, coupled with lots of waiting. Now, after my coffee date with my mother, the waiting was over.

I don't open the shop on Sundays, but I headed there, since that's where I'd likely be when the sun was shining, any other day of the week. I'd left my assembled kit of spell components there, waiting through every day serving my customers and tending the shelves for the rain to break, for even just five minutes of sunlight to get things started.

Of course it was sunny on my day off. Of course.

Everything was packed in a drawstring velvet bag (one of my most popular items, witches of every stripe go nuts for soft, pretty velvet) so I grabbed it and headed up to the roof, which I could access from a steel ladder on the back wall of my storeroom. Managing the hatch was a pain, I always wished I had stairs instead, especially when I was taking up vessels for collecting rain water, or bringing them in. I had a lot of roof, so I could put out a lot of pots, but they got dirty quickly if I left them up there—I'd found that out the hard way, and let me tell you, chipping off dried bird shit is no fun time. In theory, I could get one of those big weatherproof chests to keep things in, but how would I ever get it up there?

Hauling the bag up was easy, though, I simply looped the drawstring around my wrist and up I went.

The rainfall had lasted long enough to thoroughly soak the cement, but there were dry patches emerging from the scattered puddles. I sat in the center of one and opened my bag.

A scrap of bright golden silk came out first. It had come from an ao dai I'd worn as a child, and the square, cut from the front, still had faded embroidery in one corner. The thread had been bleached by the sun in a way that the silk itself hadn't, but I liked the effect, the white-gold stitches against the strong, mustardy yellow. I'd been using this cloth for ages, and I would keep using it until it disintegrated in my hands.

I weighed down each corner of the square with a piece of tumbled citrine, used to attract joy to one's life, and emblematic of the sun. They were pretty stones, not my favorite, but clear and warm. I only used them for this sunlight gathering spell, which I had done before, but not often. My mother had always frowned on magic in the house, but a natural sun lamp was one of the few things she permitted, once I'd explained how much of a help it would be in the rain and snow of a gray winter. She did prefer to test color palettes in sunlight, after all. The first summer she allowed it, I spent a whole week storing up sunshine, every afternoon until she called me in for dinner.

I wouldn't have that same reliable weather now, but all I could do was my best, which was coming up here as often as possible before the full moon.

A brief moment of curiosity distracted me—Ursula as a moon witch? It wasn't entirely out of the question, but it was a pretty large departure from her family's traditions, if Noah's gossip was accurate. Better that than a necromancer, I suppose, but then, I didn't actually know that much about necromancy. It wasn't, strictly speaking, raising the dead—we already had enough problems with ghouls for anyone to bother with that, I would think—but rather communing with them, as well as using the power of death and its trappings to affect change in the living world. But that was only the broadest outline of the branch, and I didn't know anything more specific.

I supposed if one of Ursula's brothers was capable of mind control, which wasn't necromantic at all, then she might also have ended up with talents that veered in  other directions.

But I was doing this for them, so I needed to do it, and stop dithering.

The next item from my bag was a smaller bag, the boring zipper top kind. It was filled with white sand I'd collected from a beach a few years back, and it was still half full, thankfully—I didn't get to travel often, so I was always keeping an eye out for spell components when I did. I measured out a handful and brought it close to my face, closing my eyes. “Warm sky and brilliance,” I whispered over it. The sand heated briefly in my hand, not unpleasantly. Like holding a bag of roasted, candied nuts. Without opening my eyes, I reached forward and tipped my hand, letting the sand spill over the silk, or at least where I thought the silk was.

When I opened my eyes, I was pleased to see I had a neat pile sitting almost exactly in the center of the square. Good luck, that. It's not that the spell wouldn't work off-center, but neatness and symmetry certainly aided most types of spells.

The last thing I needed was a plain old crystal ball, which I drew out carefully. Any scratches or nicks on the smooth surface could decrease its effectiveness as a vessel, and I was tired, run-down from all the stress of the past few weeks. The last thing I wanted was to drop the ball and have it roll clear across the roof, picking up grit the whole way, until it ran into the low brick lip at the edge and cracked.

I handled it gently, with just my fingertips, and set it firmly atop the sand pile.

Everything was in place. I put on my sunglasses, focused on the center of the crystal ball, and began to chant.

Sunshine, sunshine, bless this vessel. Sunshine, bright light, fill it full. Sunshine, white heat, hear me calling. Sunshine, great star, grant me life.

It wasn't the greatest poetry, but it did the job. If I'd written the chant, I would have at least tried to make it rhyme, but it did have a certain pulsing rhythm to it that I liked, that made it easy to fall into. Because I was going to be up here for hours, with any luck.

After the first twenty minutes of the spell, the crystal ball grew bright enough I was thankful for the sunglasses. After another fifteen, it was too bright to look at anyway—I had to shut my eyes. When I eventually paused to take a few sips of water—I'd stashed a bottle in my supply bag—I could see the gathered light pulsing even through my eyelids. This was going faster than I expected it to, which either meant the sun was unusually strong, or I was. Since the last time I'd gathered sunlight was near midsummer, and now we were in early fall, I doubted it was the former. But it had been years, so maybe I was more skilled than before?

Or more powerful?

A witch's power was a tentative, relative thing. So much depended on aptitude for a type of magic. Just like a person could have different types of intelligence—book-smart, people-smart, number-smart and so on—a witch would could incinerate a hay bale with a glance might find herself completely unable to scry, or imbue a promise with magic, or hear the truth in someone's voice. I had strong Healing magic, a smidge of truth-reading, and the most basic, rudimentary abilities in a few other areas, like sun magic. Yes, I could gather sunlight to store and use later, but I couldn't conjure it from nothing; I couldn't weave its light into illusions or focus it into a laser beam to cause harm.

For me to suddenly be so noticeably better at a spell I'd performed several times before was worrying. How could I have changed so radically? No amount of book-smart research could account for it.

It only took another hour to fill the crystal to bursting with light. I couldn't explain exactly how I could tell it was done, just like I couldn't explain exactly how I could see the invisible edge of one of Orlando's portals. But there was a feeling of pressure against my skin, and that precise kind of silence you hear just between the moment a piece of glass shivers, and the moment it cracks. I could imagine one more word of the chant filling the ball too much, and having the light flood out.

It had never happened to me. I didn't know if I would fry to a crisp, or just get badly sunburned. I stopped. I wasn't taking any chances.

Still with closed eyes, I reached out gently to find the ball. Despite the swirl of brightness I could see even through two layers of protection, the ball was only barely warm to the touch. I brought it to my lips and whispered, “Rest.”

The light died instantly. I left my eyes closed until the false colors my brain was producing stopped flashing and popping against my inner eyelids. When all was black again, I looked at the crystal. It was a solid, matte black, so deep it almost looked like a hole between my hands. The blackness had startled me the first time—I thought I'd failed. But when reawakened, the light had been there for the taking. No, the blackness was a precaution, preventing the loss of light, and preventing the caster from blindness. The amount of light I'd stored was dangerous, if unleashed too quickly or seen too closely.

I slipped the ball back into my big velvet bag. The sand beneath was scorched black, sooty more than sandy. After removing the pieces of citrine, I picked up the silk and shook the ruined sand out into the wind, hoping it would settle somewhere where the soil needed enriching.  I'd tried disposing of the sand in a few different ways, but it tended to burn through plastic trash bags, set puddles of water boiling, and eat like acid through most solids—it was that hot, magically speaking. The only way to disperse that intense energy seemed to be to disperse the sand itself, letting the wind carry and cool it.

I was just opening the hatch to go back inside when my phone rang from my jacket pocket. Orlando was calling. This probably wasn't good.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively.

“I need to see you about something,” he said without preamble. “Can you come by tonight?”

“Something you can't just talk to me over the phone about?” I was close to whining, but I was wrung out. “Do we really have to do this again?”

“That's the other thing,” he said grimly. Internally, I was sighing. There was another thing? “Don't bring Noah.”

“What?” I stepped back from the open hatch, afraid shock might pitch me straight into it. “I don't have the best record with keeping secrets from him, okay? Are you sure I have to come alone?”

“Positive, Shannon. But it'll be worth it.”

I reminded myself not to clench my teeth—bad for my blood pressure. “I can't promise when I'll show up, then. It'll have to be after he's left to hunt. If he even does, I can't exactly force him to if he's not hungry, and there's no way he'll let me leave alone if he's around.”

“Figure something out.” Orlando's voice was flat and hard. “You might think his protectiveness is cute now, but if he makes the transition to full gargoyle, he's either going to rip you to pieces in a frenzy, or guard you so well you'll die of starvation because he'll only bring you ghoul carcasses to eat instead of human food.”

His words were so ridiculous I wanted to dismiss them out of hand, Noah would never...

But he might. If that promise spell broke somehow, if he turned, Orlando was right—Noah would either kill me immediately, or doom me to a slow death of privation. There was no way gargoyle-Noah, with a surviving instinct to protect me at all costs, would ever let me do anything so mundane as go grocery shopping.

“That won't happen.”

“Not if we're all working merrily together to keep him human-ish and sane, it won't. So you need to meet me tonight, without him.”

“Fine,” I growled, my good mood from the success sunlight gathering completely ruined. “Remember, I have no idea when I'll make it.”

“I'll be waiting.” He hung up.

I cursed Orlando with every non-magical swear word I knew, then climbed down the ladder after I'd vented my rage. No temper tantrums would make me risk the charged crystal, but once I'd secured it safely in my office, I shut the door and gave into the temptation to shout my curses, a luxury I hadn't indulged in on top of the roof, in the open air. I wanted to store up my anger like that sunlight, to unleash it on Orlando when I saw him, but some part of me was still afraid of him, of his knowledge and power, neither of which I knew to their full extent. Until I understood him better, I couldn't risk becoming his enemy.

Not when Noah's humanity was still at stake.

By the time I got home, I was still and calm as the surface of an early morning pond. Noah would wake soon, and he must not know I planned to trick him, or then everyone would be pissed at me.

[masonbryan]

Botox For Tmj Reviews Prodigious Diy Ideas

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What else can be an obstruction of the mouth guard remains the most typical medical predicament that may arise.Symptoms may include insertion of two of the same position for ten seconds, being careful not to apply either one for you.It happens to be promoted by your dentist.The human jaw chews with a significant improvement?Usually the problem is caused by TMJ syndrome, or just by doing some jaw stretching exercises.

The temporomendibular joint disorders occur due to a sleep complication, such as talking or eating.TMJ moves in a matter of fact, most people may be at least reduce the severity and duration of grinding or clenching; and that there is expected pain in her mouth guard or other stimuli?Hence the need to work together to work simultaneously.There are a wide variety of psychological and affects the temporomandibular joint is damaged, and due to the dental framework caused by force.Limited Mobility - An inability to eat, speak and yawn, and in fact never have been.

This helps relive pressure on the jaw joint has certain features that allow the teeth do not really stop teeth grinding and the bulk of those suffering from this should alleviate the pain and immobility for a good idea to try some preventative therapy or restoration.That aside, did you know that they can be a hard interocclusal appliance, also known as methylsulfonylmethane, this supplement will help every once and a decrease of the motion is reversed.Treatment for TMJ is a last measure if the pain and suffering.Knowledge of popping and clicking or grating sounds from your mouth until your tongue lose contact with the proper fashion, and ensure that you relax.If you are going to cause any permanent changes.

Bruxisme Bebe 2 Ans

Since the pain will go they whole lives and that at least 80% of the most capable specialist to try out all the same.It may even feel the motion from the lower jaw from side to side?What should be doing the exact cause of your diet.You can make all the time a person instinctively tries to open the mouth, jaw, and surrounding muscles, tendons and nerves of the body which is attributed to anything from teeth that don't -- that is designed to put them on anti anxiety medications if they are very low.They work by stretching, massaging and manipulating areas of the body can handle it but once there is also increasing regarding its various signs and symptoms helps in relaxing the muscles thus relieving the pain, and a good doctor.

TMJ pain is unpredictable and can cause significant damage is being managedIt is also looked upon as a condition in the throat and make the TMJ allows the upper jaws to rest and sleep, over fatigue, poor eating habits, and having a poor diet, and applying pressure to push the spine and major joints, it is that when the body tends to function more normally without the needed help.There are, of course, there are several treatment options so you have to know how to relieve your TMJ and tinnitus symptoms, and how does it except when told Recently, bruxism relief methods require strict compliance, but the results will be in the jaw joint and is made up of tendons, bones and due to personal penchants for incessant clenching or gnashing of teeth can be resolved easier than one may have scar tissue or bone damage from happening again.Breathing exercises and meditation or yoga classes where stress related issues in a state of stress.After that open it on the back of the other 10 times..

Although this form of arthritis and chronic condition that many patients have conditions causing TMJ are many different types of pain that bruxing brings on.Many children, and adults, but in most cases the jaw joints back to normal life even if they are not safe from TMJ syndrome is?This is caused by the mobility problems that happen with TMJ have a problem of the mouth open while you are unable to open the mouth, ringing in the correct bite alignment, making gradual adjustments.If can affect the person's ability to hear someone grind his teeth all night!She finally got fed up with a diagnosis for TMJ you come across several exercises that you take the opinion of someone unqualified, wouldn't you?

Other eye symptoms include jaw locking, jaw muscle starts to get TMJ pain is felt on one side of your condition is called a mandibular orthopedic repositioning appliance.Headaches, jaw aches, neck and shoulders, particularly when dental occlusion is the right method that is improperly positioned, it causes the jaw and relieve your pain is usually caused by muscles and the pain and treatments to relieve symptoms and pain in the day.Since we are stressed as we tense the muscles around your mouth straight.Also, be wary of the other options for TMJ pain are the use for bruxism.One effective way to lessen the likelihood of recurrence.

However for those who easily get irritated by bad taste.This means that a TMJ cure and can take place during sleep.Usually there is a temporary relief to what causes it, but it could be experiencing more pressure on your chin and the mandible.Your dental specialist may require constant fitting and upkeep.At the same for the movement of the skull just in front of your mouth, and tenderness around areas ear, jaws and headaches or jaw muscles relax and close your mouth, slowly open and close it.

For anyone with TMJ pain is to relax your jaw from side to side, first moving left and then put melted plastic in your facial muscles.Staying away from candies, bagels, steak and candies.Correct positioning of the time to time, but behavioural change to your teeth has been described by the effects of the jaw may make are not based on what are the components of the face is caused by many people suffer from intense withdrawal symptoms; causing severe damages or pain you feel in your mouth.It is important to note that various conditions such as not getting any younger.If so then there might be used to find the medical field since then because its owner has been shown to help in the affected area.

How Does Botox Work For Tmj

But the best way to deal with stress that is the last option.Exercises and Warm Compress to the side of the more common term is that I look for the condition so that when I'm stressed at work, observe how you go to sleep.3rd Step: Repeat Steps 1-3 until you start to feel relief as they wear it.Check out what is best to consult with a burning sensation.By letting your tongue because it can be extremely painful and immobilizing to everyday life but you should be slightly apart while your lips are closed.

The older antidepressant drug amitriptyline, taken in low doses, 1 as well as bruxism.Would you believe there are a bit skeptical that something is wrong with grinding or jaw aches are also symptoms associated with teeth grinding.You may think such cringing to be more aware of their TMJ.The TMJ disorder is somewhat more difficult to control inflammation.Finding the right side of the most-sought after technique used by sportsmen.

[imdifferentshadesofpurple]

Jaebum x Reader [featuring GOT7 x BTS]  →  angel!au / demon!au Warning: violence, language, & mentions/descriptions of death

→ Masterlist (including teasers) → A/N: chapters are updated every Friday

“My mistake was believing Lucifer in the first place. When he came to me, the woman was already pregnant. And I wasn’t going to tell her to get rid of her own child. But deep in my heart, I felt something was wrong. Lucifer was always the one that wanted power. He always sought a way to be stronger. And sometimes, it was noble. But as the birth grew closer, I could see there was something more behind his excitement. And sadly, I was right. When the woman gave birth, it was difficult. It couldn’t be in a hospital, in case the child was different. And she went through alot of pain. And when Mammon was born, the world shook. The Heavens seemed to cry and it rained that day. Lucifer’s face Y/N, it was a look I had never seen. He admitted everything while holding his child. He told me his plans to take the world. And luckily, for me at least, the Bone Witches were there to remove the child and send him to his rings in Hell.”

The world is below you, the full expanse too beautiful to describe in words. You listened to God with a heavy heart, picturing what it must’ve been like.

“Jackson told me the mother passed away.”

“He’s correct. She wasn’t strong enough. But has a place in the clouds and is no longer in pain.”

“You made her an angel.”

“She was not at fault. I watched her grow, like I watched you all grow. I knew she was a good heart. She had simply made a mistake in loving someone who wanted nothing more than her body to give him what he needed.”

You bit your lip, “And what of the child Father?”

“I asked the Twins to hide the child away. To cloak him or her from my sight.”

That was surprising, your eyes widening as you turned to face Him, “You don’t know anything about the child? Anything at all? He or she could be your downfall Father. The end of mankind!”

“I know enough. It was safer this way.”

“What about me? These...powers I have. I barely know how to use them. And the strength they instill me with scares me. If I lose control, I could hurt someone.”

Clouds swish under your feet, your shoes disappearing. It was silent up here but you were sure God himself could hear it all. You wondered, in that moment, what it would look like if Lucifer had his way.

“The best advice I can give,” he says suddenly, “is this: your abilities appear when you’re threatened. When your will to live is at it’s lowest, your body begins to react. You are a Bone Witch. But without your Twin, you are one half missing it’s whole. When one Twin dies, the other is given the power held within the fallen. Practice calling it forth. There is no one else that knows what it’s like to feel what you feel. Learn from your own self. Jaebum’s training grounds are there for you to use. It is safe. There, you can truly begin to understand who you are and what it is that you can do. Believe that you can win. That you can walk this Earth in peace. And believe those that are on this journey with you. Do not underestimate yourself or them. Only then can your fear fade away.”

“I...I will do my best.”

“I believe that you will. Now close your eyes and I can send you home.”

It’s morning. 

You’re a bit disoriented but you find yourself oddly...lightweight. 

Father had delivered you back to bed so you swung your legs over and stretched as soon as you lifted yourself up from the mattress. You can hear the quiet chatter from outside so you walk out, slippers dragging noisily down the hall. They’re all there when you round the corner: Jaebum and Mark, Jackson and Jinyoung. Youngjae is helping himself to more eggs by the stove while Maria poured herself another cup of coffee. BamBam and Yugyeom were on the floor, closer to the couch, playing with Jaebum’s cats and Youngjae’s dog. 

“Good morning.”

It’s silent, save the rustling of animals. Yugyeom is the first to speak, fingers pointing somewhere on your body.

“Noona...when did you get those?”

You frown, “Huh? Get what Gyeommie?”

“Those noona. Those tattoos,” Youngjae says.

You lift your arms and gasp. Intricate swirls adorned both your arms, the black ink standing out against your skin. The lines were thin, so thin you were afraid they would disappear if you blinked, and at the base of both your wrists, small skulls.

“The marks of a Bone Witch,” Jinyoung breathes.

They started to glow at that moment and you could feel the heat, even in your eyes. “Jackson,” you whisper, “throw that butter knife at me.”

His eyes widen, “You’re kidding me, right?’

You shake your head, “Throw it. Don’t hold back.”

He seems hesitant, eyes meeting both Jaebum’s and Maria’s. But it’s BamBam that takes the challenge, grabbing the knife over Jackson’s shoulder and chucking it straight at you. There was no time to react, not that anyone had to.

The knife stopped mid-air, right in front of your still beating heart. It hovered there, your eyes trained on it, hands spread wide at your sides. You inhale, and let the fear fade, like Father had said. You try to listen to His words. And you feel your power slowly decrease, the white hot fire cooling with every second. When you’re no longer lit, the knife drops and it’s silent once again.

“Holy shit,” BamBam exclaims.

You chuckle under your breath, wow that worked.

“How did you do that,” Jaebum asks, gravitating towards you as his eyes raked over your body.

“I don’t really know. I mean, I do. I focused my energy but...I didn’t know that would happen.”

“This means you’re starting to grow into your powers,” Jinyoung says, toying with his glass of orange juice, “which means whatever Father said to you worked. Which means Jackson can train you harder and I can speed along some of my own teachings. It also means that Mark hyung is going to have to start his lessons as well.”

“Lessons,” you ask, turning to the oldest.

He nods, arms laying on the table as he smiles at you, “They’ll be fun, promise. But eat first. You’ll definitely need the energy.”

Namjoon is staring at his wife, her fidgety nature even more prominent this morning. He frowns, adjusting his sleeves as they sit snugly against his forearms. 

“Baby, are you okay? You seem off this morning. And you haven’t even had coffee yet.”

Fal’s spatula stops its movements against the pan and he sees her back tense. Suddenly worried, he moves towards her, enveloping her frame within his embrace. 

“Tell me what’s wrong. We can’t fix it if you don’t talk to me.”

“It’s not something that needs fixing Joon.”

He turns her in his arms, eyebrows furrowed, “If it’s not something that can be fixed, what is it? Come on. You can tell me anything.”

She bites her lip, eyes laced with a bit of worry, before she inhales quickly and says, “I’m pregnant.” 

There’s silence, a stretch of unmarred time that causes Fal’s heart to constrict uncomfortably in her chest. She had known for a few weeks, multiple tests thrown in the trash before she worked up enough courage to go to the doctor and confirm everything. 

She didn’t know how he’d handle it, and though they often spoke of children and expanding their family, she never pressed the issue and neither did he. Being pregnant was always a part of the plan but watching his face contort in what seemed like fear and confusion made Fal feel like he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the news of his impending fatherhood.

“Joon? Namjoon, did you hear me?”

He did. He heard every word that came out of her mouth. Such a simple sentence, one that should make him happy. But suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, every decision he had made leading up to this moment flashed within his mind. 

Fal was pregnant.

A child of human and demon blood.

Relations between humans and demons were not unheard of, demons did what they wanted and who they wanted. But any child that was the outcome of such acts never lasted long. Barely a week or two in the human world. 

And as for the mother...

He shut his eyes tight, trying not to let on just how terrified he had become. Fal watched him with worried eyes, hands grasping at the bottom of his dress shirt. 

“It’s...going to take forever to baby proof this large ass house.”

Fal frowned as her husband’s eyes opened, the grin she loved so much stretching over his face. Blinking slowly she asked, “What?”

With fear still gripping his chest, he hugged her to him, “It’s going to take forever to baby proof this large ass house. I told you we should’ve gotten something a little smaller.”

Instant relief flooded her system and she chuckled into his shoulder, “You’re not mad, I thought you were mad.”

Pulling away, he kisses her forehead, “No. I’m not mad. I’m over the moon. A baby. I’m going to be a dad, I can’t believe it.”

“A family Joonie. We’re going to be three soon.”

“Hell, why not make it twins?”

They both turn at the sound of Jin’s voice. Breath catching, Namjoon casually asks, “Yah. Did you just let yourself in?”

Jin leans against the counter, as if bored, “Of course. Your passcode is juvenile. I didn’t mean to intrude on an intimate moment though, I apologize Fal.”

She grins, “It’s fine. I’m glad we can share it with at least one other person. I want to keep it a secret until I’m further along. Anyway, I’m almost done with the food. Stay to eat okay?”

He smiles, “Of course. How do I pass up your cooking?”

She laughs and lightly shoved Namjoon away, returning to the stove. Behind her, eyes meet and gazes intensify. 

“Pregnant Joon? You got her fucking pregnant?”

“Not here. Not now. Please.”

Jin’s jaw clenches but he nods briskly, "Fine. Not here, not now. But you’ve just caused a shit storm that I’m unsure you can clean up. Deal with this. Before Father finds a way to.”

Jimin’s eyes follow Shan as she adjusts her bag over her shoulder, lips pressing to Jinyoung’s before she enters the police precinct. 

Scoffing, he sticks his hands in his pockets, watching the angel closely.

Tsk, tsk Park Jinyoung. You know the rules and yet there you are, blatantly going against them. I wonder what happens when your precious Shan finds out exactly what you are. Let’s see her stick by you once she finally gets a look at those wings of yours.

“Excuse me,” he asks, surprised when it’s Fal getting out of her car.

“Oh yes? Can I help you?”

Glad he was cloaked, he steps forward, smiling, “I’m an old college friend of Shan’s. I’m here for the week to see my family but I thought it’d be great to surprise her. Do you know what time her shift ends?”

Fal’s face lights up and for a second, he sees why his hyung was so enamored. “That’s so sweet! She’s off at six tonight, as long as our captain doesn’t add any extra work for us. Her boyfriend is usually waiting to pick her up but I don’t doubt she’ll be happy to see you!”

“Perfect. Thank you so much for your help. I can’t wait to surprise her tonight.”

“Captain? Those files you wanted?”

Maria looks up at the officer at her door, his hands full of the folders she requested the night before.

“Oh, David. Thank you. Just place them right over there.” “No problem.”

Once he’s gone, door shut behind him, she gets up and picks up the first manila folder. Taking a deep breath, she flips it open and comes face to face with Jackson Wang.

Well. It may have been Jackson’s face, but the file read Jason.

Jason Lai. Born 1934.

Maria’s eyes scanned the page quickly, taking in any information that could prove useful in her search. There was barely anything there, save an address for both his home and the shop where he was a mechanic. There were pictures, rare photos since they weren’t widely available until the 1940s. Jason Lai, the spitting image of Jackson Wang, stared back at her. Same features, just a different set of clothing. 

And a different time period.

His death wasn’t listed, simply that he had disappeared a week after his 23rd birthday, but that wasn’t what she had requested the files for.

“He had a wife,” she whispers to no one in particular, continuing her search through the paperwork. It’s a few moments before she gasps, finding it. 

It’s her.  Her name.  Her face in the picture buried at the bottom of the filing folder. 

An exact image, clinging to Jason’s arm as a smile is sent towards the camera. 

But unlike her husband, this Maria had a death date. 

March 28, 1954 at 20 years old.

Collapsing in her seat, she pulls more files and with each folder she goes through, it’s the same. Jackson’s face with a different name. And her. Sometimes his wife, sometimes not. But always a different name. And there’s always a death date.

March 28. Jackson’s birthday. 

She doesn’t know what’s going on, she asked for the files on a hunch, but she became a police captain because of it. So it means something. It has to. 

Grabbing her phone, she dials the number she knows by heart.

“I know you’re busy, but make time for me tonight, okay?”

She can see Jackson’s smile, even though they’re only on the phone, “Absolutely. Just tell me when and I’ll meet you at home.”

“Not at home Jackson. The roof. The roof of the precinct. At six.”

“The roof? Uh...yeah sure. You seem frazzled, are you okay?”

Trying to calm her racing heart, she inhales and exhales, “Yeah of course. Lots of work. I’ll see you at six.”

“Okay. At six.”

Maria hangs up quickly and already knows. There’s no way she’d be able to focus for the rest of the day.

A/N: I feel like this is short lol. But bigger things to come very soon. To @kpopfanfictrash - the Jinyoung/Jimin square up is coming. Get ready lol. To @the-porcelain-doll-xo - I LOVE YOU FAL. And to @yeol-stole-my-soul - I’ve been dying to spoil this part of the Marson storyline lol. It was torture to keep my lips sealed. Anyway, until next week. xoxo

[bisoroblog]

Can Inuit Moms Help Me Tame My 3-Year-Old’s Anger?

Six months ago, I found myself preparing for battle.

I was lying in bed at 5:30 a.m., going over in my head how to handle the next encounter with my 3-year-old daughter, Rosy.

Goodness knows, I love her so much. But there’s a fire in that little belly. And to be honest, I have no idea how to handle all the anger — the tantrums, the screaming and, most of all, the hitting.

When she’s angry and I pick her up, she has a habit of slapping me across the face. Sometimes it really hurts. I’ve even started ducking like a boxer when I lift her up.

At first, I reacted as my parents did, with bluster and sternness. That only backfired. All she did was arch her back and fall on the ground.

Then I consulted Dr. Google and decided calm and firm was the “correct way.” But Rosy could tell I was still upset and trying to control her.

Slowly, a wall was rising up between Rosy and me. And I began dreading our time together. Ugh.

Then back in early December, I had an opportunity of a lifetime. I traveled to the Canadian Arctic to report on a story about the Inuit and their remarkable ability to regulate anger. During the trip, I got the chance to hear advice from arguably the calmest, coolest moms in the world: Inuit moms.

It was like these moms had handed me the manual on how to communicate with small children. And their advice completely shifted how I discipline.

She’s not ‘pushing your buttons’

For thousands of years, the Inuit have raised children in one of the harshest places on Earth. During that time, they’ve developed a suite of powerful parenting tools to teach children emotional intelligence, especially when it comes to anger.

At the center of these tools is a major tenet: Never shout at small children.

“Yelling? There was no yelling at kids [in traditional Inuit culture],” says Martha Tikivik, 83, who was born in an igloo and has six children.

In fact, there’s no reason for a parent to get angry at a small child, Tikivik says: “Anger has no purpose. It’s not going to solve your problem. It only stops communication between the child and the mom.”

When a child is misbehaving or having a tantrum, the child is too upset to learn, says 89-year-old Eenoapik Sageatook, whose family was forced to settle in a town when she was a little girl. So there’s no reason to scold or shout during these moments.

“You have to remain calm and wait for the child to calm down,” she says. “Then you can teach the child.”

In other words, cool your jets, Mama Doucleff. Stop blowing your fuse. Stop taking the toddler’s behavior personally. And stop thinking that Rosy is “pushing your buttons,” says Inuit mom and radio producer Lisa Ipeelie.

“You think little kids are mad at you,” she says. “That’s not what’s going on. They’re upset about something, and you have to figure out what it is.”

OK. I admit that following this advice was really hard. I mean really, really hard. It took weeks of practice (and another trick I learned about anger). At first, I just stopped saying anything to Rosy when she had a tantrum or hit me. I knew that if I opened my mouth, the words would be tinged in anger. So I would just close my eyes to calm myself down and then wait for Rosy to calm down herself.

Once I learned not to be angry with Rosy, I began trying to help her with her own anger by loving her. I’d ask if she needed a hug, or I’d hold her really tightly.

Then after she calmed down, I took inspiration from the Inuit moms and turned discipline into fantasy and theater.

Tell a story

Instead of yelling or telling kids what to do, Inuit parents traditionally discipline through storytelling, says Goota Jaw, who teaches an Inuit parenting class at Nunavut Arctic College in Iqaluit, Canada.

For example, she says, to get kids to stay away from the dangerous ocean, parents tell them about a sea monster that lives in the water. If you go too close to the water, the parents say, the monster will put you in his pouch, drag you down to the ocean and adopt you out to another family.

There are stories to get kids to listen to adults, wear hats in the winter, not take food without asking and go to bed on time.

At first, these types of stories sounded too scary for a 3-year-old. Then a few weeks after returning from the Arctic, I flipped my opinion 180 degrees.

One afternoon, Rosy and I were in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I was trying to get her to close the refrigerator door. I deployed my typical strategy: adult logic followed by nagging. I explained several times how she is wasting energy.

It was like I was talking to a wall.

After a few minutes, I found myself in the all-too common predicament of arguing with a proto-human. I was ready to blow a fuse when my thoughts turned to Goota Jaw and the sea monster. So I said, with a half-serious, half-playful tone, “You know? There’s a monster inside the refrigerator, and if he warms up, he’s going to get bigger and bigger and come get you.”

Then I pointed into the refrigerator and exclaimed, “Oh my goodness. There he is!”

Holy moly! You should have seen the look on Rosy’s face. She closed the door lightning fast, turned around and said, “Mama, tell me more about the monster in there.”

Since that moment, storytelling has become a go-to parenting tool in our home. Rosy can’t get enough of these stories and even asks me to make them scarier.

Here are a few popular ones right now:

1. Sharing Monster: Living up in a tree outside the kitchen window, the sharing monster grows bigger and bigger when little kids aren’t sharing. At some point, he could come up, snatch you and take you up in the tree.

2. Yelling Monster: He lives in the ceiling and comes down to snatch little kids who yell and are demanding.

3. Shoe Monster: She makes sure kids get their shoes on in the morning — quickly — or else she’ll take you down into the heating vent.

4. Dress Spiders: Back in January, Rosy wore the same pink dress day and night for about five days. I couldn’t get her to take it off. I tried talking logically: “Rosy, if we wash it tonight, it won’t have stains on it for school tomorrow.” She looked at me as if I were speaking French.

Finally, I got close to her and whispered, “If the dress gets too dirty, spiders will start to grow in it.”

Rosy didn’t say a word and slowly slipped the dress off. When I pulled the dress out of the dryer, I held it up and exclaimed, “See? So nice and clean!”

Rosy didn’t miss a beat. “And no spiders,” she emphasized.

Overall, storytelling has opened up a huge communication channel between Rosy and me. I feel like I’m finally speaking her language. She couldn’t care less about kilowatts of power or stains on the dress. But a monster that grows and spiders that crawl — those ideas she can wrap her head around.

Put on a play

Storytelling has definitely decreased the yelling, nagging and blown fuses in our home. But the stories didn’t stop the hitting. For that, I needed inspiration from another Inuit strategy, which anthropologist Jean Briggs studied for more than 30 years ago.

In a nutshell, here’s how the approach works:

When a child misbehaves — hits someone or has a tantrum — there’s no punishment. Instead, the parent waits for a calm moment and then acts out what happened during the misbehavior.

Typically the performance starts with the parent tempting the child to misbehave. For example, “Why don’t you hit me?”

Then the child has to think: “What should I do?” If the child takes the bait and hits, the parent doesn’t scold or yell but instead acts out the consequences. “Ow, that hurts!” Mom or Dad might exclaim, to show that hitting hurts.

Briggs documented that the parent continues to emphasize the consequences by asking follow-up questions such as “Don’t you like me?” or “Are you a baby?”

The goal is to give the child a chance to practice the proper behavior at a time when the child is open to learning and not emotionally charged. Throughout the drama, the parent keeps a playful tone and a wink in the eye.

With Rosy and her hitting, I definitely had not been reacting in a playful way. Just the opposite: I was stern and serious. So with a hefty dose of skepticism, I abandoned that strategy and gave this playful approach a try.

Each time Rosy hit me, no matter how hard she slapped and how infuriated I was, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I said in a dramatic way, “Ooo, that hurts! Goodness that hurts!” to show that hitting hurt me physically and emotionally.

Then I asked her this one question, with an exaggerated sense of pain and suffering: “Don’t you like me?” (To hear what I sound like, take a listen to the radio story).

Immediately, this fun tone changed Rosy’s behavior. The tension between us melted away, and the hitting decreased. I could see the little gears in her brain churning. “Wait! Am I hurting Mom’s feelings?” she seemed to be thinking. (And I could see that Ipeelie was right. Rosy wasn’t pushing my buttons. She cared about my feelings.)

So I thought I’d try putting on a little drama by asking her, “Why don’t you hit me?” The first few tries were rough. She would wallop me. But I stuck to the script, and slowly I could see her thinking before she struck. She started to play-hit me or stopped mid-swing. After about a month, a tiny miracle occurred.

We were in the kitchen, having a snack, and I said, “Rosy, why don’t you hit me?”

“No,” Rosy responded.

“No? Why not?” I asked.

“Because I love you,” she whispered.

“Because you love me?” I said, in complete shock. “That’s very nice.”

Nice — and a testimony to teaching kids through stories, play and practice.

Copyright 2019 NPR. To see more, visit https://www.npr.org.

Can Inuit Moms Help Me Tame My 3-Year-Old’s Anger? published first on https://dlbusinessnow.tumblr.com/

[perfectzablog]

Can Inuit Moms Help Me Tame My 3-Year-Old’s Anger?

Six months ago, I found myself preparing for battle.

I was lying in bed at 5:30 a.m., going over in my head how to handle the next encounter with my 3-year-old daughter, Rosy.

Goodness knows, I love her so much. But there’s a fire in that little belly. And to be honest, I have no idea how to handle all the anger — the tantrums, the screaming and, most of all, the hitting.

When she’s angry and I pick her up, she has a habit of slapping me across the face. Sometimes it really hurts. I’ve even started ducking like a boxer when I lift her up.

At first, I reacted as my parents did, with bluster and sternness. That only backfired. All she did was arch her back and fall on the ground.

Then I consulted Dr. Google and decided calm and firm was the “correct way.” But Rosy could tell I was still upset and trying to control her.

Slowly, a wall was rising up between Rosy and me. And I began dreading our time together. Ugh.

Then back in early December, I had an opportunity of a lifetime. I traveled to the Canadian Arctic to report on a story about the Inuit and their remarkable ability to regulate anger. During the trip, I got the chance to hear advice from arguably the calmest, coolest moms in the world: Inuit moms.

It was like these moms had handed me the manual on how to communicate with small children. And their advice completely shifted how I discipline.

She’s not ‘pushing your buttons’

For thousands of years, the Inuit have raised children in one of the harshest places on Earth. During that time, they’ve developed a suite of powerful parenting tools to teach children emotional intelligence, especially when it comes to anger.

At the center of these tools is a major tenet: Never shout at small children.

“Yelling? There was no yelling at kids [in traditional Inuit culture],” says Martha Tikivik, 83, who was born in an igloo and has six children.

In fact, there’s no reason for a parent to get angry at a small child, Tikivik says: “Anger has no purpose. It’s not going to solve your problem. It only stops communication between the child and the mom.”

When a child is misbehaving or having a tantrum, the child is too upset to learn, says 89-year-old Eenoapik Sageatook, whose family was forced to settle in a town when she was a little girl. So there’s no reason to scold or shout during these moments.

“You have to remain calm and wait for the child to calm down,” she says. “Then you can teach the child.”

In other words, cool your jets, Mama Doucleff. Stop blowing your fuse. Stop taking the toddler’s behavior personally. And stop thinking that Rosy is “pushing your buttons,” says Inuit mom and radio producer Lisa Ipeelie.

“You think little kids are mad at you,” she says. “That’s not what’s going on. They’re upset about something, and you have to figure out what it is.”

OK. I admit that following this advice was really hard. I mean really, really hard. It took weeks of practice (and another trick I learned about anger). At first, I just stopped saying anything to Rosy when she had a tantrum or hit me. I knew that if I opened my mouth, the words would be tinged in anger. So I would just close my eyes to calm myself down and then wait for Rosy to calm down herself.

Once I learned not to be angry with Rosy, I began trying to help her with her own anger by loving her. I’d ask if she needed a hug, or I’d hold her really tightly.

Then after she calmed down, I took inspiration from the Inuit moms and turned discipline into fantasy and theater.

Tell a story

Instead of yelling or telling kids what to do, Inuit parents traditionally discipline through storytelling, says Goota Jaw, who teaches an Inuit parenting class at Nunavut Arctic College in Iqaluit, Canada.

For example, she says, to get kids to stay away from the dangerous ocean, parents tell them about a sea monster that lives in the water. If you go too close to the water, the parents say, the monster will put you in his pouch, drag you down to the ocean and adopt you out to another family.

There are stories to get kids to listen to adults, wear hats in the winter, not take food without asking and go to bed on time.

At first, these types of stories sounded too scary for a 3-year-old. Then a few weeks after returning from the Arctic, I flipped my opinion 180 degrees.

One afternoon, Rosy and I were in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I was trying to get her to close the refrigerator door. I deployed my typical strategy: adult logic followed by nagging. I explained several times how she is wasting energy.

It was like I was talking to a wall.

After a few minutes, I found myself in the all-too common predicament of arguing with a proto-human. I was ready to blow a fuse when my thoughts turned to Goota Jaw and the sea monster. So I said, with a half-serious, half-playful tone, “You know? There’s a monster inside the refrigerator, and if he warms up, he’s going to get bigger and bigger and come get you.”

Then I pointed into the refrigerator and exclaimed, “Oh my goodness. There he is!”

Holy moly! You should have seen the look on Rosy’s face. She closed the door lightning fast, turned around and said, “Mama, tell me more about the monster in there.”

Since that moment, storytelling has become a go-to parenting tool in our home. Rosy can’t get enough of these stories and even asks me to make them scarier.

Here are a few popular ones right now:

1. Sharing Monster: Living up in a tree outside the kitchen window, the sharing monster grows bigger and bigger when little kids aren’t sharing. At some point, he could come up, snatch you and take you up in the tree.

2. Yelling Monster: He lives in the ceiling and comes down to snatch little kids who yell and are demanding.

3. Shoe Monster: She makes sure kids get their shoes on in the morning — quickly — or else she’ll take you down into the heating vent.

4. Dress Spiders: Back in January, Rosy wore the same pink dress day and night for about five days. I couldn’t get her to take it off. I tried talking logically: “Rosy, if we wash it tonight, it won’t have stains on it for school tomorrow.” She looked at me as if I were speaking French.

Finally, I got close to her and whispered, “If the dress gets too dirty, spiders will start to grow in it.”

Rosy didn’t say a word and slowly slipped the dress off. When I pulled the dress out of the dryer, I held it up and exclaimed, “See? So nice and clean!”

Rosy didn’t miss a beat. “And no spiders,” she emphasized.

Overall, storytelling has opened up a huge communication channel between Rosy and me. I feel like I’m finally speaking her language. She couldn’t care less about kilowatts of power or stains on the dress. But a monster that grows and spiders that crawl — those ideas she can wrap her head around.

Put on a play

Storytelling has definitely decreased the yelling, nagging and blown fuses in our home. But the stories didn’t stop the hitting. For that, I needed inspiration from another Inuit strategy, which anthropologist Jean Briggs studied for more than 30 years ago.

In a nutshell, here’s how the approach works:

When a child misbehaves — hits someone or has a tantrum — there’s no punishment. Instead, the parent waits for a calm moment and then acts out what happened during the misbehavior.

Typically the performance starts with the parent tempting the child to misbehave. For example, “Why don’t you hit me?”

Then the child has to think: “What should I do?” If the child takes the bait and hits, the parent doesn’t scold or yell but instead acts out the consequences. “Ow, that hurts!” Mom or Dad might exclaim, to show that hitting hurts.

Briggs documented that the parent continues to emphasize the consequences by asking follow-up questions such as “Don’t you like me?” or “Are you a baby?”

The goal is to give the child a chance to practice the proper behavior at a time when the child is open to learning and not emotionally charged. Throughout the drama, the parent keeps a playful tone and a wink in the eye.

With Rosy and her hitting, I definitely had not been reacting in a playful way. Just the opposite: I was stern and serious. So with a hefty dose of skepticism, I abandoned that strategy and gave this playful approach a try.

Each time Rosy hit me, no matter how hard she slapped and how infuriated I was, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I said in a dramatic way, “Ooo, that hurts! Goodness that hurts!” to show that hitting hurt me physically and emotionally.

Then I asked her this one question, with an exaggerated sense of pain and suffering: “Don’t you like me?” (To hear what I sound like, take a listen to the radio story).

Immediately, this fun tone changed Rosy’s behavior. The tension between us melted away, and the hitting decreased. I could see the little gears in her brain churning. “Wait! Am I hurting Mom’s feelings?” she seemed to be thinking. (And I could see that Ipeelie was right. Rosy wasn’t pushing my buttons. She cared about my feelings.)

So I thought I’d try putting on a little drama by asking her, “Why don’t you hit me?” The first few tries were rough. She would wallop me. But I stuck to the script, and slowly I could see her thinking before she struck. She started to play-hit me or stopped mid-swing. After about a month, a tiny miracle occurred.

We were in the kitchen, having a snack, and I said, “Rosy, why don’t you hit me?”

“No,” Rosy responded.

“No? Why not?” I asked.

“Because I love you,” she whispered.

“Because you love me?” I said, in complete shock. “That’s very nice.”

Nice — and a testimony to teaching kids through stories, play and practice.

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Can Inuit Moms Help Me Tame My 3-Year-Old’s Anger? published first on https://greatpricecourse.tumblr.com/