Father mother daughter naked

2020.11.26 22:13 May4958 Father mother naked daughter

Obviously a lot of the ‘British’ activity on this sub has focused on the Yorkshire ripper due to recent events, but I hope some of you will find this write up interesting, although it’s extremely sad. I’ve also included some photographs and links to videos.
When I was growing up in 1980s England, child abuse wasn’t talked about and i certainly don’t remember anyone ever advising us about bodily autonomy in the way even young children are encouraged now, which is a positive move forwards because as we all know, most children are most at risk from someone they know. However, in the 80s, ‘stranger danger’ was the fear of every parent and even of every child, although we didn’t really know or understand the menace these ‘strangers’ presented. Just that every now and again, a child would disappear and would sometimes turn up, dead, and sometimes would not. How many of these disappearances was Robert Black responsible for? We will never know for sure, but it is almost certainly more than the four he was eventually convicted of.
In many ways, Black’s early life was tragic and if it wasn’t for the horror of his later actions, it would be difficult not to feel some sympathy. He was born in 1947 in Grangemouth (I’ve provided a map of places of interest) post world war 2, into a world that would change rapidly over the course of what was to be his lifetime, but at the time, in the spring of 1947, less than two years after world war 2 ended, Great Britain clung on to a fiercely traditional outlook which frowned heavily upon illegitimate children and sex outside of wedlock. As such, Black, born to an unmarried woman and an unknown father, was originally going to be placed for adoption. He was not adopted, and I can’t find any sources which explain why. It could be that post war Britain had a surplus of illegitimate babies needing parents, and some were not placed. Or did his mother change her mind? Either way, Black was fostered with a middle aged couple when he was a six month old baby, and his mother emigrated to Australia. Many people used to believe that a time before memory, before words, means children are not impacted: we now know otherwise. The early rejection was to stay with Black for the rest of his life, despite being unable to remember it.
Black’s hygiene was notoriously poor even as a very young child, and this made him a target for bullying. His poor hygiene was something that would stay with him throughout his life, and it does raise some questions, firstly about his foster parents - it seems to be allowing a child of such a young age to go to school dirty and smelling is neglectful in the extreme, and it doesn’t really suggest a nurturing and loving home environment where a child could flourish. There are other indicators of possible abuse in Black’s early years. He had no memory, he was to later claim, of anything at all before he was five, which psychologists believe indicates some traumatic memories were ‘blanked out’. In addition to this, Black was a bed wetter, and would be beaten for this. Most children will have occasional accidents overnight from time to time, but chronic bedwetting is often the sign of a disturbed or unhappy child. Black was clearly both. Locals remember seeing Black covered in bruises, but Black was unable to recall the source of these.
As Black entered his preteen years, both his foster parents died. Most of us can think back to when we were ten or eleven and how devastating the loss of a parent would be: it’s important to remember that as unpleasant and as abusive as the foster parents may have been they were nonetheless the only ‘parents’ black had known. Black was placed with another foster family, but around this time, he committed his first known sexual offence. Black dragged a young girl into a public lavatory and assaulted her. It’s likely now that along with punishment, some form of therapeutic work for such a young boy would have been a priority, but in 1958, this wasn’t the case. Black was removed from his second foster home and he was placed in a children’s home near Falkirk. This home was mixed sex, and as such, Black’s growing sexual depravity continued to emerge, exposing himself to girls and on one occasion, removing the underwear of a young girl. This incident led the authorities to believe that Black was not best placed in this home, and he was duly sent to Red House Care Home in Musselburgh. The theme of dominance and submission was already an overriding theme in Black’s life, and so it continued here: he was sexually abused for three years. Black’s young life so far has consisted of abuse: either being the victim of it, or the perpetrator.
He was of above average intelligence. This point is often missed when discussing Black, but he attended Musselburgh Grammar School. At the time, the British school system was tiered, which meant only students who passed what was known as the ‘eleven plus’ went on to grammar schools - these tended to be the top few in a cohort. Given Black’s troubled early years, the fact he passed this exam indicates a natural intelligence. Unfortunately, this led to tragedy.
Black left the Red House Care Home in 1963, when he was 18. He worked as a butchers delivery boy, and during this time his sexual perversions really emerged, with him molesting countless young girls on his duties. During the summer of 1963, Black received his first sentence for ‘lewd and libidinous behaviour’ - it should have been for attempted murder. Black lured a seven year old girl away from the park she was playing in, claiming he had kittens. When he had led the little girl to a deserted air raid shelter, he strangled her until she lost consciousness before masturbating over her body. He was arrested and charged the following day, but the admonishment was mild and a psychiatric report seemed to indicate it was an isolated incident. Of course, hindsight indicates it was anything but, but even allowing for Black’s young age at the time, it’s hard to see how the seriousness of this incident was missed.
Black then moved to Grangemouth, where he met a young woman - his only known relationship. Black was lodging with an elderly couple at the time. He was reportedly ‘devastated’ when his relationship ended. The couple had a young granddaughter, and in 1966 he was evicted. However, the couple did not report Black to police, wanting to spare their granddaughter any further distress. Black then moved back to Kinlochleven, where he boarded with a married couple with a six year old daughter. It doesn’t seem likely Black just happened to find these couples: he purposefully sought them out. The inevitable happened, but this time Black was reported to the police. Black was sent to Borstal. Borstal was a type of youth detention centre. Although its aims were noble - to avoid young offenders to fall into the trap of prison and adult brutality - in Black’s case, it didn’t work. He later refused to talk about it at all, simply stating that he had vowed never to be imprisoned again. Six months after his release, in September 1968, Black moved from Scotland to London. He was twenty-one years old.
It’s helpful to pause for a moment here, as Black’s first suspected murder happened the following year. Black’s life in Scotland has consisted of abandonment, brutality, neglect, sexual abuse and violence.
Black had potential. He was of above average intelligence. He was excellent at sports - only a visual impairment prevented him from playing football professionally. Was there a point where his life could have taken a different road, where he could have been successful and lived a normal life - and so would his victims?
Between 1968 and 1981, we don’t know much, although we can speculate on Black’s movements. However, I’ll focus first on what we know and then what we suspect.
There’s always been a seedy underbelly to London, and King’s Cross was the place to find it at one time (until fairly recently it was also the red light district.) Black discovered pornographic shops, and after establishing himself as a regular client, was ‘entrusted’ into the restricted areas, where explicit material from Amsterdam featuring young girls, was freely available. If we take this as Black’s prelude to murder, he spent his time between 1968 (21) and 1981 (34) accessing this material, making trips over to Amsterdam to purchase his own and indulging his revolting habits.
Black was working during this time, as a van driver delivering posters to companies up and down the country. He was living with a couple who he’d met during his time frequenting pubs (playing darts was another hobby of Black’s.) His other hobbies included swimming and photography. Both these were backdrops to his real interest of molesting and harming young girls: Black liked to photograph girls at the beach or the pool when he had the opportunity to do so.
Here are the murders Black was convicted of:
Jennifer Cardy, Northern Ireland, 12 August 1981
The Troubles in Northern Ireland meant that it was a volatile and quite dangerous place to go to. Black was one of the few van drivers working for his company prepared to make the trip.
Jennifer was just nine when she left her parents’ home to cycle to a friend’s house. However, she didn’t arrive. Her bicycle was found a few hours later. It had been hurled over a gate into a field. The stand was down. Although it’s impossible to know for certain, Black’s later murders seemed to try to put the girl in a position where she was forced to squeeze or push past his van. Perhaps he parked into a lay-by, or perhaps he stopped her to ask for directions. Either way, Jennifer’s body was tragically found in a pond six days after she went missing. She was alive, but unconscious when she was thrown in. Jennifer’s parents, siblings and friends had to wait until 2011 before they saw justice done and had some of their questions answered.
Susan Maxwell, Coldstream, 30 July 1982
Eleven year old Susan lived in a farmhouse in a village called Cornhill-on-Tweed, on the English side of the English / Scottish border. She left her home to walk to a tennis game with a friend, and then left, happy and content, wearing yellow shorts and bright t shirt with palm trees on it. Susan didn’t arrive home. There were countless sightings of Susan both by people she knew and those who just remembered a little girl wearing yellow shorts and holding a tennis racquet until the bridge over Coldstream, at which point the sightings stopped.
It was nearly two weeks later, on the 12 August, when Susan’s body was discovered in a lay-by near Uttoxeter, 264 miles from where she had disappeared. She had been unclothed then re-clothed, but the cause of death was difficult to determine.
Caroline Hogg, Portobello (near Edinburgh) 8 July 1983
Caroline was just five - the youngest of Black’s victims. She was wearing a lilac party dress when she was seen by Black, playing outside her home on a summer evening. Black took Caroline to Fun City, a small seaside entertainment place with rides and games, near her home. Caroline had been forbidden to go there alone, but it is easy to trick a child. Black paid for Caroline to go on the roundabout and there were numerous witnesses who saw them there together. A boy working on one of the rides said that as they left, Caroline seemed frightened.
Caroline’s parents were understandably beside themselves, with Caroline’s mother Annette attending a television appeal in which she begged her daughters abductor to ‘bring her back ... I really miss her.’ Caroline had however been murdered: her body was found ten days later, on the 18th July.
Like Susan, her body was transported many miles south, this time to Twycross in Leicestershire which is 310 miles from Edinburgh. Also like Susan, the cause of death was impossible to determine. A sexual motive was nonetheless clear: Caroline’s body was naked.
These two murders only had minor differences. Both were young girls wearing bright clothing who were abducted on hot summer days in July and transported many miles south. It was clear that it was the work of one man. It was in danger of becoming bogged down through information, which was one of the issues with the Yorkshire ripper, who was finally caught in the same year Jennifer Cardy was killed. The police created a computer based system which combined the different police forces where the girls had been taken and where they were found. Many officers worked tirelessly to try to bring the killer to justice. Sadly, he struck again before he could be caught.
Sarah Harper, Leeds, 26 March 1986
Sarah was ten years old. She lived in Morley, Leeds, which is in the north of England but much further south than the other two girls. Sarah popped out to the corner shop to buy a loaf of bread for her mother at 8 o clock on a Wednesday evening. It was dark, rainy and cold. Sarah didn’t arrive home: her mother initially thought she was just being slow, but became concerned when she couldn’t find her daughter after a search.
Sarah’s body turned up on the 19 April, in the river Trent near Nottingham. Her body was partially clothed, gagged and bound. Like Jennifer, she was alive when she had been thrown in the water, but unconscious. Sarah had been the victim of a violent and prolonged sexual assault and had suffered horrendous injuries. A witness contacted West Yorkshire police to state that at around 915 on the 26 march he had seen a white van with a bald man stood by the river soar, which is a tributary to the Trent.
Initially, it was believed that the murders of Susan and Caroline was by one man, and that Sarah’s murderer was another. Police believed that the differences - Sarah having vanished from a small area on a cold, rainy, Wednesday evening in March, wearing a coat, while Susan and Caroline were both taken from places with high volumes of traffic on Fridays in July, wearing bright summer clothing. However, all three girls had been taken from their original abduction places and transported south, they had all been wearing white socks and they had all been subjected to sexual assault.
That is the end of Black’s known murders. However, in bringing him to justice, two further crimes are significant. The first is Theresa Thornhill. Theresa was a failed abduction: she was in Nottingham with friends and as she started to make her way home, Black attempted to grab her and force her into his van. Theresa was saved by screaming and resisting: her boyfriend heard her screams and ran to her aid. Theresa was fifteen and therefore this was not initially linked to the murders of the other girls. However, Theresa looked much younger than she was - she was small and slight. Theresa mentioned her abductor smelled strongly.
The second of Black’s attempted abductions nearly ended in tragedy, but didn’t, due to the bravery and quick thinking of those around. The tragedy nearly happened in Stow, another place in the Scottish Borders, on the 14th July 1990. A six year old girl was grabbed by Black as she crossed the road, his van blocking the view form those around. However, a neighbour saw her feet disappear and promptly noted the vans registration and contacted the police. The same van then came flying through the village again: the police promptly surrounded it and, without realising, brought Black’s reign of terror to an end. Thankfully, the little girl was alive, although traumatised and she had already been subjected to an assault. One of the strange coincidences of this matter is that the little girl was the daughter of one of the police officers there that day.
The similarities between the attempted abduction in Stow and the abductions of Susan and Caroline were significant. Although Black was remanded in custody, the police had quite a job on their hands. If I was to go into every single thing they had to do to track Black’s movements over the 1980s, this write up would be ridiculously long. To condense, then, the police had to contact Black’s former employers and go through petrol receipts pinning Black to certain areas on certain dates. Black was certainly in Coldstream when Susan vanished, portobello when Caroline disappeared, and Morley when Sarah was taken. It was a painstaking and tedious operation, but it paid off. Black was tried in April 1994 in Newcastle upon Tyne for the abductions, sexual assault and murders of Susan Maxwell, Caroline Hogg and Sarah Harper - and the attempted abduction of Theresa Thornhill. It was the 19 May 1994 when Black was found guilty, the families found justice and Black was taken to Wakefield prison to begin a sentence of a minimum of 35 years for each murder. Black would never be released. Many detectives broke down in tears after this.
It was December 2009 when Black was summoned to appear at Armargh Crown Court in Northern Ireland. Evidence placed him in Northern Ireland on the day of Jennifer’s abduction. Petrol receipts placed him near the scene of her abduction on the day it happened. The similarities between Jennifer’s murder and that of Sarah Harper were also noted. He was duly found guilty and a minimum term of 25 years was imposed. Black’s appearance at this trial meant he was transferred to HMP Maghaberry, which is where he died on 12 January 2016. His body was cremated on the 29 January. I don’t think anyone misses him.
But black was almost certainly responsible for more than the four murders he was convicted of. It’s tempting to pin any unsolved crime from the 1970s/80s involving a missing young girl, on Black. I’ll go through them and add my own thoughts.
April Fabb, 8 April 1969, 13 years old. April was cycling through a Norfolk village when she vanished. Her bicycle was found in a field (like Jennifer’s) but her body has never been found.
Was Black responsible? The bike certainly sounds like Jennifer, but Norfolk is remote and rural. Was Black there, and at such a young age (22)? Plus, April was 13, almost 14, at the time of her abduction. Black seemed to target younger girls, but again, this is inconclusive - Theresa Thornhill proves otherwise, and it isn’t always possible to tell how old a girl is by a casual glance.
Christine Markham, 21 May 1973, 9 years old. Christine vanished on her way to school. This is a sad little story, as she seems to have been a troubled little girl who regularly played truant from school. As such, her disappearance wasn’t reported until many hours later. Although this wasn’t a well publicised case, a newspaper clipping about it was found in Black’s home.
This does sound as if it could be Black: she is the right sort of age and Scunthorpe is the right ‘side’ of the country to be on one of Black’s regular routes. However, Christine could easily have been taken by any predator living locally and it’s possible if she was a regular non attender at school she could have been targeted by someone who took advantage of her vulnerability.
Mary Boyle, 18 March 1977, 6 years old. Mary was in Ireland, on a rural farm that belonged to her grandparents. She was following her uncle, until she decided to turn back. Mary was never seen again. Black could have been in the area, and his van was there at the time of her disappearance. A witness claimed that crying and whimpering was heard from Black’s van.
Generate Tate, 19 August 1978, 13 years old. This case is generally assumed to have been Black, and only time meant he wasn’t charged (Black died before this could be done.) Genette’s body has never been found. She vanished from Aylesbeare in Devon when delivering newspapers. Receipts place Black around here at the time.
Suzanne Lawrence, 28 July 1979, 14 years old. This is another very sad case, mostly because like Christine, her disappearance appears to have almost gone unnoticed. Suzanne was finally reported missing some two weeks after she disappeared: she had said she was going to stay with a friend but did not turn up. Suzanne’s photograph looks older than Black’s preferred victims. Her disappearance is linked to Peter Tobin, which seems more likely than Black.
I think it’s generally accepted that Black was responsible for Genette’s abduction and murder. What is difficult in all the above cases is that the bodies haven’t been found. That’s not completely unfeasible - there’s a lot of unexplored land in both the mainland United Kingdom and Ireland. However, Black didn’t attempt to hide the bodies in any of the cases he was convicted of, and if he was responsible for any of the above, surely at least one would have turned up in the intervening 40-50 years?
Black has also been linked to Patsy Morris, who was stabbed in London in 1980, aged 14, and Pamela Hastie in 1981, who was bludgeoned aged 16. This isn’t w strong line of inquiry, however.
During the 1980s, as well as Jennifer, Susan, Caroline and Sarah, Black is linked with:
Silke Garben (June 1985, aged 10, Germany.)
Cheryl Morriën (August 1986, aged 7, Netherlands.)
Virginie Delmas (May 1987, aged 10, France.)
Hemma Greedharry (May 1987, aged 10, France.)
Perrine vigneron (June 1987, aged 7, France.)
Sabine Dumont (June 1987, aged 9, France.)
Ramona Herling (May 1989, aged 11, Netherlands)
Some of the above have stronger links than others. Black made a delivery near to where Silke was found in a stream on the date of her disappearance. Black is considered a ‘strong suspect’ in the case of Cheryl Morriën: he made regular trips to nearby Amsterdam. He was known to be in Paris, where Virginie vanished from, on the date of her disappearance (virginie’s body was found strangled the following October.) Likewise, Black regularly travelled on the road where Hemma’s body was found. Black is the prime suspect in the case of Sabine Dumont, but I cannot find any explanation as to precisely why.
The other cases do not have as strong links. A white van was seen on the day of Perrine’s disappearance, but while of course this could be Black, it could just as easily not be.
My view is that Black is likely to be responsible for the abduction and murder of Genette Tate. If we work on the assumption then that he began his reign of horror in August 1978, we have:
Genette Tate - August 1978
Jennifer Cardy - August 1981
Susan Maxwell - July 1982
Caroline Hogg - July 1983
Silke Garben - June 1985
Sarah Harper - March 1986
Virginie Delmas - May 1987
Theresa Thornhill - April 1988 (attempt)
Child A - July 1990 (attempt)
The above cases have definite links to black, in that he was definitely in the area at the time and/or has been convicted of the crime. There could well be more.
Enjoy is probably the wrong word for such a sad case, but I hope you’ve found it informative, anyway. I think Black really caused a great deal of fear up and down the country, with girls in particular no longer assumed to be able to go about their business and play with friends in the summer holidays. I’ve linked to a stranger danger video I was shown at primary school and I think most children were, as well as some further links about the case. I’ll also try to add a map at some point. Thanks for reading!
Links:
Say No To Strangers (1981)
Robert Black Wiki)
Crimewatch April 1986 the disappearance of the girls starts to be discussed at 20 minutes in.
submitted by May4958 to serialkillers [link] [comments]


2020.11.25 14:31 cleanyourbedroomboy Father mother daughter naked

For a moment, there was nothing but a terrible silence. During this silence, I didn’t exist. Everything I loved, things I loathed, my future and my past, they were never there, and I myself, was emptiness. Slowly, but eventually, the world faded back into existence around me.
The first thing I heard was my heavy breathing, forming blankets of mist in the distance ahead of me. The room was unsettlingly cold.
Marion was still. A deep redness emerged from her chest; her blood soaked into her clothes and her hands trembled. Her eyes were wide from shock and tears flowed down her cheeks. She had come back to realization. Her body fell with a thud, coiling up, and death took her immediately.
Zackary’s body still twitched; a man in excruciating agony. I couldn’t tell if there was any will left in him to live, but I did know that he was beyond helping now.
I pushed myself against the wall behind me, and forcibly pushed myself up to my feet, only to fall again on my knees. I vomited all over the floor, my knees trembled and my chest felt weak.
I struggled to stand up again, but using every last bit of strength I had in me, I finally managed it and went out the room. Anna was still there. She was alive, but still in shock.
I placed my arm on her shoulder, “Anna…we have to leave…” I told her. She didn’t react. She seemed a prisoner in her own body.
“Anna please…” I said again. A futile attempt.
“Fuck it.” I said, forcibly pulling her up to her feet, but doing so was a mistake. She screamed the loudest, most painful scream I have ever heard; so much so that I expected that it would tear her throat apart. She clawed at me with her nails, opening a cut on my cheek. She had gone feral.
I pushed her away, and she continued screaming and sobbing on the floor. She was lost as well. I had to leave.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out immediately, seeking refuge in the light of the little screen as a distraction from the horrors that had just unfolded.
Up on the screen there was a new notification. It was a text from Billy.
Apparently, the only relation between the three bodies and the girl Torri, was the fact that they all used to be in a charitable rehab run by Zackary Levitt.
Torri…Zackary…Dina, Lem and Jack, there was something about these names that bound them together, other than the fact that the four addicts used to be at Levitt’s rehab centre.
Zackary Levitt had made a name for himself in the town, he had been given control of his father’s business and his ambition got him to be one of the richest men in town. A lot of his wealth went into funding his own charitable organisations.
I felt reluctant and even some amount of disgust in what I did next, but I knew that this was the only way I would find some answers.
I turned the lights off, and shut the front door. I hoped that the gunshot hadn’t attracted any neighbours, and even though chances of that were slim, considering that the house was fairly isolated, I didn’t want to take any chances.
I would go through the room quickly, and make my way out of the house.
I searched through the wardrobes, going through piles of dresses and shirts, and even the drawers. Every moment I spent searching through their house for clues, I became more convinced that I would definitely find something if I look hard enough.
I searched up almost through the entire house deeper into the night, uncaring for the time. I knew… I definitely knew that what I was doing was wrong, and that I should call and report all the horrific mess that had happened in this house, but I also didn’t want to loose my chance of finding a clue.
Every time I heard a creak, or Ann sniffled too loud, I took cover, fearing the worst, cocking my gun, ready for whatever was to come, but thankfully, nothing ever came.
The attic was where I finally found something. It was the place I was the most reluctant to go to. I knew that once I was up there, it would be hard to make it out in case someone got in the house.
In a box, that I observed, wasn’t so dusty, I found something. There were albums. I picked up one which, like the box, seemed to be less dusty.
Mostly, there were pictures taken from, as far as I could tell, nine or ten years ago. There were pictures from high school, from parties, even vacations. I didn’t spot Anna in any of them so I assumed that this contained only Zack’s old memories.
Skimming through the pages of the album, I felt increasingly worse, knowing that the lively young man I saw in these pages had come to meet a horrible fate. Though I couldn’t say I really cared for the Levitt’s much before, but seeing how happy he seemed before what became of him, or rather, what remained of him just under my feet… it was disturbing.
Then, I spotted something that caught my eye. There was a picture of Zack with a bunch of other people, faces I knew. There was Torri, right there in the picture, a little younger than she is now, actually, a lot younger. Perhaps 15 or 16, and there, she was next to Zack at a party.
And then a thought hit me. What if there had been more faces here, faces that I was familiar with, but I wasn’t looking for. Maybe this was the clue, the missing piece that bound everything together?
I looked into the box, finding another album there which contained nothing but family photos, I opted to look through that one again. This time, I saw it. I saw everything that was missing in this deranged puzzle.
Zack didn’t have kids of his own, instead, opting to adopt a child, who’s mother lost custody after she was deemed to be an unfit guardian. She was an addict and ended up in Zack’s rehab. Dina, Lem and Jack, the four dead addicts who had bits of their skin torn off weren’t a random group of junkies that got together and just happened to meet an unfortunate fate, they went to the rehab as well.
And not only that, they had been friends with Zack all through high school. They didn’t have any children of their own.
I searched up the name Elizabeth Grimes, one of the first children to go missing. I somehow was certain that I was now on the right track, that I had finally pulled onto the right string that would put everything in place.
The six children, Elizabeth, Michael, Marion, Jade, Chris and Don, their parents, all with the exception of one Marqus Piper, either their father or their mother, in Elizabeth’s case, both of them, were amongst Zack’s friends in high school. Their parents weren’t random classmates, not just colleagues, from the pictures I saw, they were all definitely friends, and close friends at that.
I took the album with me when I left, carefully making my way down and then across the hall, where Anna was, still as ever.
I went down the stairs, and rushed to my car. Only when I gripped the steering and felt familiarity of it, I felt somewhat lighter. It was as if I was no longer in the presence of some great evil that had taken that house.
Then, another thought hit me. Torri Reid. She was the only one in the group still unharmed. She hadn’t been killed, or she didn’t have a child. Perhaps she was somehow involved? No…couldn’t be… she was a junkie.
What about Greta? Why did she go missing? And Dan? Were these incidents unrelated? No, this was too much of a coincidence.
And Marqus, how did he fit in all this? Was it because he was a student at Dan’s school? Maybe. Or, maybe it’s nothing related. No, of course it was related… his head was discovered only because of Dan.
I slammed my fist into the wheel letting out my frustration. Everything was so close to coming together, and yet, there was just one little piece that was missing. The final piece that somehow bound my son Dan, into this. And the “skinned witch” or whatever that was.
Torri Reid… there was something about her… something that could bring it all together. Afterall, she was the only survivor, I assumed, to this mess. Torri and Ellen used to be friends… maybe I could talk to Ellen instead.
Then I paused for a moment. The thought sank in. Ellen… Ellen had a child…. She was pregnant.
No…
What if Ellen, not Torri, Ellen, was the last piece.
My eyes widened in fear and I fished out my phone once again, dialling up my daughter’s phone. Every second it went unanswered, I felt my heart skip a beat.
I didn’t wait, I drove out of there as fast as I could, and to Ellen’s house.
Snow began to fall once again, piling up in layers on the windows of my car. All the while, I kept on calling her number.
I’m coming Elle…please be safe… I mumbled over and over, almost like a chant. I was getting anxious every second I wasn’t with her.
Grotesque images began to take over my thoughts, fuelled by the horrible things I had witnessed back at the Levitt’s place, and the ringing of the phone was the only thing keeping me from getting lost in my waking nightmare.
He’s been singing, and dancing to the songs of the skin witch. The phone continued to ring, and then beep, unanswered. I dialled again, too stubborn to let fate have its way. Something awful was happening to this town, and judging by whatever had happened the past year, I knew that my daughter was probably a part of this fucked up puppet show.
The weather was not normal, and even though it had been a while since I had accepted that, I still couldn’t bring myself to be surprised. Like I said, I was in a nightmare, and now, I felt as if nothing could surprise me anymore. The world as I had ever known was a lie, and the curtains of its stage had begun to fall apart, revealing a much more malicious truth; one that was an ugly truth that we hadn’t come to accept yet.
The phone beeped again, unanswered and I put it to my ear, my eyes still focused on the road ahead.
I bit my lip in anticipation as the ringing began again.
“Hello?” I asked as I heard someone answer. “Elle? Are you safe?” I asked frantically, anticipating an abrupt reply, which never came.
My patience was wearing thin, I didn’t wait for her to speak, and I went on to ramble, “Elle? It’s dad? Are you there?”
There was the sound of heavy breathing from the other end. Someone was there.
“Elle?” I asked again, louder. “If you’re there just please…PLEASE! Say something!”
The heavy breathing continued and I took a moment, anticipating a word from the other side at any moment now. I anticipated the slow heavy breathing from the other side to break its silence at any moment now, counting down every exhale and every inhale until a word was spoken. In my mind, I constantly told myself with every inhale I heard that now, anytime now…speak up Elle…
Another sharp inhale, followed by nothing. This time I knew that she would finally break her silence, that something would finally be said.
I felt a sharp touch of light on the right of my face. I turned to face its direction, my mind still lost on the heavy breathing and the unsettling silence from the other side when I was blinded by the high beams of the car charging directly at me. I dropped the phone in shock as the car slid off road and down the side on the ice. My head spun and darkness began to take over my mind, pulling me down towards unconsciousness, but that wasn’t to happen.
I felt my ears sing as I sat, still strapped to the car. Blood dripped down my face, my body spiking with adrenaline. I knew I was hurt; I knew that I was bleeding but I couldn’t tell where. I was blinded by the blood, and the dark. I felt dizzy and I felt my chest pound. I felt damp, with sweat or blood, I couldn’t tell.
I tried to wriggle out of the seat, but a sharp pain jolted up my left shoulder every time I moved. I coughed, spitting blood up and felt my head go heavier.
With my fingers I fumbled around, pushing them into whatever surface they could feel in an attempt to get myself out of the car, which I was afraid would start to burn up at any moment.
The car door opened somehow, my ears still ringing and I saw someone reach in, and click open the belt, leaving me free to heave myself sideways and out of the car.
I needed to get away from this person, whoever this was, they carried my death. I could feel it, my intuition was clear as day.
The snow slowly layered onto me, burying little flakes into my hair. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t have the strength for it. I felt tears well up and make their way down my cheeks as I crawled onto the ice. The pain was hellish, and for a moment I wondered if I actually deserved all this. Maybe a painful death like this is what I get for not being a father to my children, to my son, Dan. I was too hard on him, and somewhere, I shifted all the burden I carried of Sharon’s death to him. I had given him pain, pain he didn’t deserve on top of what he gave himself. I had been cruel, and this was my punishment. This is what fate had for me.
With the final strength I had left in me, I rolled over and faced up, my back pressed into the cold terrain below. The last thing I would ever see was the face of my killer. I had to see his face before I die.
The man walked up to me; the car burst into flames behind him. He didn’t flinch. The lights behind him obscured his features, revealing only his silhouette. It was definitely a man.
His hands were wrapped around a crowbar. I shuddered at the idea of being beaten to death with that thing, but I spat blood, and exhaled, embracing my death. I would show him no fear. If he had a craving for watching me suffer, I shall disappoint him.
He stopped. The ringing in my ears faded away, and he fished into the pocket of his coat. His phone rang again, and I saw him press in onto his ear before answering it.
“Yes?” I heard him say. His manner of speaking felt too proper, almost familiar. His voice was somewhat regal, and his tone was calm and very melodious, almost as if he practiced speaking these words over and over again.
A stillness came over the man, and I knew that feeling that was now in the air. I was familiar with it. Disappointment.
“Yeah.” He said into the phone. “Fuck…”
He walked up to me, crowbar still in hand. I didn’t know if the call he just got was supposed to be better for me or something worse, all I could do was wait and see.
The man lowered himself, his knees bent and the crowbar now held in both his hands. He had greying hair, an older man than me, his face was wrinkled and aged. But his most peculiar feature was his smile. I would never expect that the person who would kill me would ever have a smile like that. It wasn’t something grotesque or evil, nothing malicious, but gentle, and sympathetic. Almost comforting in my last moment.
“Well Mr. Vale… seems though we have to make do with you.” He said, his brows twisted and his face turned into a frown.
“Kill me…” I said in a low groan, “Kill me and be done with it…”
He stood up, and slung the crowbar over his shoulder, “For now, you live.”
He tossed the crowbar and walked up behind me. He placed his hands behind me, under my shoulders and pulled me up, onto my feet. I cried out in pain; my shoulder felt like it was still tearing apart. I tried my best to resist but I couldn’t. Most of my body had started to go limp. He was too strong for the age he looked. He dragged me, my feet limp and leaving bloody trails in the snow.
I counted to three in my mind, and then pushed myself forward, out of the man’s grip and onto the ground, falling and putting almost all of my weight on my injured shoulder and the world went dark.
I vaguely remembered passing in and out of consciousness. My face was pressed against the window of car, I remembered streaks of light passing by, fading into darkness and then back into my sight. Eventually, I let go and hands of darkness pulled me down into a blissful oblivion that was unconsciousness.
I don’t know how many hours passed by, but I did eventually wake up.
The room was dimly lit. That, and it was cold, painfully cold. I tried to move but my limbs felt weak. I was in pain. I wasn’t expecting to wake up again, I was convinced that I would die.
I moved, feeling the cold concrete under my skin. I was naked. I knew now why it felt so cold in here.
How was I not dead yet?
My hands were bound behind my back with a metal chain, cold against my skin. At the time I felt nothing but an overwhelming thirst. I needed water.
“W…” I tried to say, but my throat was as weak as the rest of my body. “W…”
I blinked again, looking directly ahead of me. There was something placed on the middle of the room, illuminated by a dangling light bulb, casting disturbing shadows all around the room, and on the red door behind it. Around it, were candles, many candles, arranged in careful circular patterns. The light they gave off was almost negligible.
One look at it made my skin crawl, and I curled up back in fear, the abrupt movement sending jolts of pain shooting up my shoulder and my leg.
It was a skeleton.
I coughed, and spat blood onto the floor, averting my eyes from the sight. Was this going to be my fate? Was I to be skinned alive?
The door opened and in stepped a man. The dangling light illuminated only one half of him at a time. And when the light swung again, I finally could see the rest of him. He had only one half of his face, the rest was skinned away. I was right. This was him. There was nothing familiar about him, but from all that I had put together, I had some idea of who he was.
“Dan?” I asked. “Dan!”
The man looked down at me and grunted, walking up behind me and fumbling with my chains.
“Answer me!” I yelled.
The man made no reply.
Maybe this wasn’t him. Maybe this wasn’t Dan. I couldn’t tell anymore. I don’t think I could even tell who I was at this point.
He escorted me out of the room, up the stairs and onto the living room of the house, a house I was very familiar with.
There, in the middle of the room of that cursed house, the house where I lost my wife, was a chair. Two children, from what I could tell they were Elizabeth Grimes and Jade Barker, two of the missing children. They coated the wooden chair with bits of a soft, lumpy material, which I very well knew was flesh.
Blood dripped down from it, circling and forming puddles under the legs of the chairs.
I wanted to close my eyes, shield myself from this disturbing sight, but I had to know. I really had to know.
The older man appeared, my captor. He stepped forward. His hair was coated red with blood. The man with the half face stood still, holding my chains as if I was some kind of an animal.
He looked down at me, his face contorted into a grave expression. The man was tense, I could even sense a hint of fear.
“Where’s your daughter?” He asked, his face conveyed a million things, and now it conveyed hints of panic.
I smiled. I feared for a while that they had my daughter here as well; I was glad to know I was wrong.
“You have to tell us where she is… you have to…” She’s with the skinned witch “Please, if not, the great winter will return once again and everything you have ever known will die.” She’s with the skinned witch.
My thoughts kept on repeating the same words over and over again. I felt a chill go up my spine, and the last thing I saw was the older man’s eyes widen as he hurried towards me, while my body went limp and my vision white.
I woke up in snow. The world around me was locked in a raging snowstorm. I was still naked, yet, I didn’t feel the cold anymore.
I walked in the snow, guided only by a strange intuition. This… this was a dream, and yet, it was much more vivid, much richer than a dream could ever be.
My body felt intact. I wasn’t injured anymore, my shoulder felt fine, my knees felt fine. I felt no fear, no anger, no sorrow, I felt nothing, I was nothing.
The walk in the snow eventually got me to a path, marked with smeared blood and bits of flesh. I felt indifferent to it and kept going.
Ahead in the snow, I saw something. A puddle.
Slowly, I made my way to it. Every part of my body telling me to move forward. The snow told me to move forward. Even the wind whispered in my ear to keep going, and I did.
The puddle was dark, and red, full of warm blood, steaming in the cold winter world.
I knew I had to look, and I did, I looked. My own face looked back at me, along with Greta’s and Ellen’s. They were both here, right here in this winter world. Whatever had brought them in here had brought me along as well.
I turned back, expecting to see my daughter and my sister around. They weren’t. I was alone in here.
“Look closer.” I heard the wind whisper. “Look closer.”
I looked closer, not knowing exactly what I was to look for. I placed my hand into the puddle, expecting its warmth to soothe me. Rather, I felt nothing, just as I didn’t feel the cold of this land. What I felt was a hand in there. I grabbed onto it and it grabbed on to me, and I pulled it out, dragging along with itself a mass. A frail, old and wrinkled mass of a woman, a very old woman. Like the one I saw back when I was at Ellen’s place.
I felt my heart pound, the woman placed her hand on mine. She had four fingers.
She placed her hand on my chest, and as my heart beat slowly within, I could feel very word she said.
“Stan…it’s been so long….”
“Sharon?”
The old woman nodded.
“Wait…” I said, sensing movement. “No…” The dream began to fade from me and I felt as if I was falling through cosmic heights. I felt my consciousness fade between the waking world and… whatever this was.
The smell of gasoline was the first thing I sensed. It crept up my nostrils and for a moment I thought that I was doused in it.
Gunshots rang out around me and I woke up to find myself on the floor, my mouth gaped open and a puddle of my own drool was formed around my face.
The old man lay dead next to me. A bullet hole had been opened up in the middle of his face, between his nose and his cheek.
The half-faced man was nowhere to be seen, and neither the children. I heard heavy footsteps behind me and a hand pulled my up abruptly to my feet. My chains rattled behind me.
A coat wrapped around me, a warm dark coat.
I turned back to look.
“Dan?” There was no mistaking this. I felt the familiarity of him, of his touch. He pushed me behind himself, throwing a lit match at the chair, setting it on fire.
“Dad…” I heard him say, “We need to go.” As he raised his gun and fired at the door frame besides him.
We went out in the cold and I almost fell on the ice, but he caught me before I could. I felt his arm touch my shoulder and the pain shot back up, this time, I fought to keep myself up, and running along with him.
He sat me down in the passenger seat of a car, and began to abruptly drive away.
I watched the house diminish in size as he drove back, the flames took over it, consuming it from inside and out. It burnt down, along with all the manner of evil I had witnessed within it.
As we drove away, I realised that I had more questions now that I had answers, but now, what I needed now was some rest, and hopefully I would find it in a long, dreamless sleep.
submitted by cleanyourbedroomboy to TheRavensDream [link] [comments]


2020.11.25 10:06 urpapigey Updated: Uncomfortable and not wanting to come home

UPDATE!!! (Sorry for format, on mobile)
Trigger warning; Language and accusations of SH. So, I have confronted my parents and for about a week or two? Don't know how long it's been since this post, my head is pretty f*cked up right now.
Over the last couple days my daughter has been telling my husband and I more and more of what my parents(my mother mostly) have been saying about he and I. That irritated me, of course, but what really set me off was last night during dinner.
I made dinner and my family (mom, dad, Hubby, daughter and roommate) were sitting down at the dinner table and eating at the food my husband made. My daughter wasn't really eating and was playing around like she normally does at the table. I put my hand on her back and told her to "stop and eat your food, so we can go for a walk afterwards." (Something we did just about every night after dinner.) She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "no, you don't care about me."
Of course, I was shocked and completely heartbroken. Knew exactly who that came from since I always hear my mother whisper under her breath those little snide comments. I asked her again what she said, wanting to confirm that I was hearing her correctly. Well, I heard correctly. I had no words and got out of my chair, going straight to mine and my husband's room. I was bawling my eyes out. My husband was standing up for me and asking them both where she got that from(them denying of course) and saying that we told them to stop talking sh*t behind our back..
Over time of the night I went from sad to upset. Over the years of being with my ex I, unfortunately, got good at "hacking" into Facebook sh*t. Low and behold my mom and father were talking, as well as my grandmother (my mother's mom.)
My father stating that as long as she(my mom) is protecting the baby (my daughter) from me, he knows my mom will be okay but at the same time she needs to let go and let adults grow up.
With my mom's and Grandmother's conversation, they were talking about how absive, btchy and what a POS I am. Stating that I am the devil and I am trying to corrupt their path to God. That my mother wants to guarantee that my kid is NEVER alone with my husband, myself, nor my roommate ever again. That they need to teach her their names and phone numbers as emergencies.
I was pissed off for obvious reasons. I took my daughter's bed out of their "room" (she liked sleeping in a tent cause she loved feeling like she was camping) and brought it straight into our room, glaring at them.
Went to sleep after about 34ish screenshots (for proof)
In the morning the shit talking between them two was IMMEDIATE. I didn't allow my daughter to be alone with HER because I knew what she was up to now. They were talking about how I am punishing my daughter for the 'truth' she spoke last night and that I am helping the devil corrupt her or some sh*t like that.
The day goes on with more shit talk. About how my daughter's favourite Colour "cant be rainbow because of what it associates with nowadays." (I am gay and transgender, as is my husband. With our roommate being a lesbian. We have never pushed anything on her in any sorts. She is a 3, almost 4 year old girl. Rainbows, unicorns, and frozen is her FAVOURITE right now.) And how my grandma was trying to see if she can convince my mom to convince my daughter to change her fav. Colour.
The thing that blew me off the wall was when my daughter went to the bathroom. She does this on her own but you know when she does it because she normally carries her tablet with her or holds her finger to her lips in a 'sssh' manner. The unique thing about my daughter is when she poops she likes to do so naked. She has always done it for as long as I can remember. No one else does it in our family, unless we were about to shower and our tummy oofed us. (Tmi, sorry.) But my mom came and questioned me on why she does that and I just said "as long as she is going to the bathroom on her own and not shtting her panties/diaper I really don't care." She asked again and I shrugged, "Don't know.. Maybe you?" I said it in the most joking matter that I possibly could. Apparently that wasn't good enough for my mom and she started talking to my grandma, telling her she wanted to HIT me because of my comment. Going on to both of them starting to 'aim their hitting' at that my husband is fcking /touching up/ on my daughter and that's why she does it.
Long story, short. They're getting kicked out with a one week notice. My grandmother is being cut out from not only my life, but my daughter's.
I still feel like I am the a*shole in this, but I know that that's just my mind being a mess.. Maybe it was wrong to hack my moms Facebook messenger, but I have no real good excuse to go as to why I did it.
Night everyone. My chest is killing me and it is time to take my anxiety meds. ✌
submitted by urpapigey to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2020.11.25 07:55 throwaway202229 Mother daughter father naked

Throwaway for obvious reasons. Sorry for the length, but this is killing me inside and I need to say it to someone.
I (30s/m) have been learning a lot about myself lately as a result of trying to address some of the difficulties I've had throughout my life. For starters, it has taken me this long to discover that I have adult ADHD, undiagnosed childhood ADHD as well, because I was fortunate enough to be classified as gifted from a young age and I was always able to test out of the problems caused by my undiagnosed ADHD. For those that don't know, and those that think they might have it, please look at the subreddits and get help with it as soon as you can. ADHD isn't fun, is not a small problem, and getting by is not a way to live for you or the ones you love.
As I've been getting my meds adjusted and working with a coach I have been learning about the stereotypical personality traits that typically come with the condition. There are certainly some things that might be considered upsides in certain situations, but the lack of organization/attention and making impulsive decisions have far outweighed those benefits for me. There are two things I need to talk about that might be related but are definitely both my fault. Despite my best efforts, intentions, and overwhelming desire and intentions to do the right things for the right reasons, I've hurt others and myself beyond repair or forgiveness. Being completely forthcoming: I deserve to feel the way I do, and I am so very sorry for the pain I've caused.
I love my wife. I've learned how to find a connection with her when we speak very different emotional languages and come from very different backgrounds. I fear that this may ultimately be our undoing, but I love this woman dearly, I know she loves me, and I am terrified that I am falling apart and will bring her down with me. Despite me telling her about my fears, that my problems will destroy us both, she has been supportive and has tried to show love in the way she knows how. Her parents were married young and were divorced when she (my wife) was very young, she few memories of them together and happy and it seems like her formative years were when they were separating, divorcing, and remarrying with vicious fighting and hatred all the way. They've made amends and become friends now (not buddies, but friendly), but my wife paid the consequences of their young marriage and vicious divorce. As a result, she is emotionally scarred. Her father hated her mother because he felt like she betrayed him, and he say her mother in his daughter. She saw her mother remarry and have another child, and her father remarry and have children as well. There are very specific problems with how that all went down (too specific may out me), but sufficed to say, she felt unloved, unwanted, replaced, and thrown away by everyone who mattered most in her life. It's fucking awful what she went through and she carries it with her in who she is. On one had she is the strongest woman I know, I admire and love her for that and I support her in all she does. On the other hand, it makes things hard for us when I come from a loving and supportive home with parents that always put us kids first. This difference ties in.
From when we first started our relationship, I've worked with my wife in every way I could. I haven't tried to fix her, she isn't broken and I have no right to think I could, but I've been there for her to counsel her feelings and to encourage her healing when she tries to reconcile her past, heal old wounds, and work through the emotional blocks she has in our relationship. It's been painful all around, but I wouldn't have done it any other way. In the past 10 years she has had big moments in her life: her father has admitted that he saw her mother in her and he hated her mother so much at the time that he let that come out at her. He has apologized and attempted to make amends and their relationship has grown immensely. She's gotten closer with her step-siblings who she unconsciously blamed for replacing her and seems to have forgiven those feelings of having her father taken away. She's expressed how she's felt about her mother emotionally abandoning her, literally (it's pretty bad), and attempting to buy her off rather than make that emotional connection. It had some success in letting her say these things and realize those feelings, but I don't think it had quite the response she wanted, her mother addresses it like a complaint and gives excuses as to 'why' rather than accept that her daughter feels this way and shows that she is remorseful. It's a defensive pattern that my wife also has, which ties into my problems now. Regardless I am so happy for her to have this growth and resolution, even if her path is still not finished, and I am thankful for her therapist for working on this with her, for her strength in addressing these issues, and one of my own sources of soothing my own emotional difficulties is that I've been able to help her in some way and improve her life and her family. No doubt, my wife has developed an unrivaled strength, but she paid the toll on that road.
Stop here for a moment: I tell you about my wife and her background because (1) she is a good person and I love her (3) these differences in who we are are key to our difficulties and how I feel, and (3) I'm going to tell you about my ex. Spoilers: I have not cheated on my wife, though I cheated on my ex. Don't feel sorry for me, I deserve the pain I cary for what I did to her.
I love my wife, I know she loves me, but I am dying inside. I've learn to think of this as a problem similar to alcoholism: you only have a problem because there is an absence of something you have learned to rely on and need. And that is key to everything now: I grew up with love, affection, dedication, and sacrifice. I knew that I was lucky then, but I've truly only increased that awareness as I have grown in my awareness of the world, and particularly after seeing what my wife went through. My wife is not traditionally affectionate though. She is emotionally needy of acknowledgement and support, demanding of what she wants, materialistic, hyper-sensitive, quick to anger, and has a vicious defense. She has learned ways of getting attention from her childhood that she does subconsciously that she is unaware of and doesn't believe when I try to talk to her about them, and it is always in a way that is only what I can describe as passive attention seeking, complaining, or constantly focusing negativity until someone (me) tries to pull her out. It's a weird power dynamic. She needs something from me, emotional support, validation, attention, affection, whatever it might be but I feel like I'm being manipulated into providing to her (not for her or with her) in a way that risks nothing on her part. To put it this way: it's like she is in her castle with her defenses up, archers on the walls, and alligators in the moat (MXC style challenges), and she is standing on the tower with a bullhorn yelling "Come get me, I am ready for you to give me affection!". I've run this gauntlet countless times, sometimes I've won and sometimes I've lost, but even when I 'win' I feel worse for wear. If I don't run the gauntlet, it usually comes back to me in being treated like I don't care. I've said this to her at this point, we've fought and talked about it and how it takes away from me, that I give it freely and happily to make her feel loved and to be there for her, but I am emptying myself and opening myself up to the trials of reaching her inside her walls, taking the hits and pain to reach her, but I'm not getting what I need back to heal myself from this, or to heal from my own struggles and problems.
I've never been in this situation before, my family was openly loving, showed affection, and put people above possessions. My wife shows her love by doing or buying things and she's not good at showing affection or dealing with someone who needs it. It's a cold feeling to be hurting and just wanting to be held only to be emotionally unacknowledged, unaddressed, to be coldly dealt with like it's just a problem she has to solve to make me stop feeling bad. (This is also why I don't try to fix her problems, I know they aren't mine to fix.). I just want someone that will listen to how I feel and tell me everything is going to be OK, to show me affection and make me feel loved and I am dying on the inside from the absence. I kid you not: I can recall two specific instances over the past few years where I've just felt like absolute trash and she stroked my head, like many of our mothers, partners, and even my own ex partners have all done for us without even thinking about it, and I fucking lost it. The second time was tonight. I cried so hard it surprised me, I didn't realize that something so specific could trigger and give a name to such a large absence in my life and relationship. I felt like one of those poor dogs you've seen in videos who knew nothing but getting beat for their whole lives and just yelped and cried like they were in pain when someone finally pet them and showed them kindness. I've known that I've been in emotional pain for a while now, I've tried to get the acknowledgment and affection from her in every way I can think of and in any way that I could find otherwise. It rarely comes, and usually doesn't. Tonight was only a moment, and I had to push my way over to her on the couch, lay next to her, and put her hand on my chest just to get touched, to try to feel that human contact for relief, and before that today I'd spent hours in front of her breaking down because I am struggling to do my job, address my ADHD, and be the husband she needs me to be. My work problems are also legitimate, we run a business together and her methods are selfish and inconsiderate as to what I need to get my job done, but that's another story. I fell to pieces this afternoon. She tried to 'fix' me, but I'm finding that the part of the core of my problem is that I feel like I'm losing myself, my soul, and that I'm suffering alone. It's making it harder and harder to do what I need to do in work and in life, and I can't even talk to her about it. I have tried. We come away either angry because her defenses (aka, aggression) have assaulted me back when I try to talk about it, or she is crying because I don't give in to her yelling at me for saying things that hurt her feelings so I become an asshole for yelling back at her that it is not OK for her to treat me like that when I am just trying to ask her to stop hurting mine. At this point it is not the way the message is phrased, I have tried all iterations and methods of bridging the gap.
This brings me to my Ex, and my shame. I broke her heart. I did it on purpose. I thought it was the right thing to do, I thought it was noble, I thought I was sacrificing what I wanted so she could have what she needed. I was wrong.
I met my ex in 6th grade, I liked her right away. She was pretty, the most beautiful girl in the world to my eyes, and I was smitten. She didn't return the feeling right away, we were young and still developing, but she was always there in school, always something special for me. We went back and forth through high school, she'd have a crush on me but I was elsewhere, I would go back to her and she was not interested. We got together shortly after high school and hit it off romantically immediately. This was it, it was a deep and unyielding love for us both. I'd never had that with anyone else, I don't know if I ever will again, but it was what I would call that true love, high school sweetheart, 80-something year old couple who are still madly in love sort of thing. We weren't perfect, but we loved each other and there was no question for either of us that we would get married, have kids, and live our lives together. I was the catch. My ADHD, as I mentioned, was undiagnosed. I returned home from state college before then end of the first year because I could not attend classes or keep up with the day to day life. I didn't know I had this problem, I just thought that I was lazy or couldn't handle the challenges that everyone else seemed to be fine with. It was weird, because I didn't seem to be lacking in intelligence or even the drive to get things done. I just....couldn't.
When I came back home I enrolled at closer college's satellite school and that's when my ex and I got together. She went to a different, private school, that was a hour or two away. We'd see each other often, especially over the summers, and I would drive out to meet her and spend time together. But after a few years I fucked up. I made irresponsible and impulsive decisions at a party one night while we were apart and I cheated on her. She was devastated, and she had every right to be. I was devastated, Why did I do that? I kept asking myself. I tried to make it up to her as best I could and this girl, this amazing girl, comforted me, me, when I broke down about what I had done. I think she may have known more about who I was at that time than I did. I didn't deserve her. She took me back. The relationship with her family was, rightfully so, never the same. It was off. I felt the same way about her, but it felt wrong, like they were waiting for me to fail and that I wasn't good enough for their daughter. They were right. I broke up with her again a little while after that, a combination of feeling guilty about who I thought I was and feeling doomed by the experience with her family. We dated other people for a short time. Then a very close friend died, someone I considered a brother. I fell apart and we found each other again. I had missed her in her absence but I didn't want to hurt her again so I tried to stay away, but this loss broke that resolve in me and we were together again. We had each other again. We were happy again.
It went that way until I graduated from college. It had taken me longer than normal, about 6 years, because I worked full time in the service industry while I went to class full time. I was persistent, just not traditionally consistent. We lived together while I tried to find a job, but it was 2009 and there were no jobs to be found (and particularly not for my liberal arts major). I felt pretty terrible about myself. I took admissions tests and applied to a local grad school, an old ambition and dream that I figured was worth following. She supported the idea but my application was late in the game. Another school reached out to me from across the country, asked me to apply. She was concerned about it, I was excited because it meant a path that I could make good on the support my family and my Ex had shown me. Make something of myself, make them proud, help care and support them in the ways that they did for me. Of course, I got in to the school. I packed up everything and drove across country to try to make something of myself, she stayed there and worked since she had a good job and career. This was only going to be temporary, or she was going to join me there if and when it was possible. I remember pulling out of the driveway with my car on a trailer and all of my stuff packed away inside and she stood there next in the driveway waving, crying. God I'm so sorry for what I put her through.
We tried the long distance relationship. It was fine, we talked all the time and I loved her dearly. Then my attention drifted. I cheated again. I was horrified, I didn't know what was wrong with me. I knew I love this girl, she was the best thing in my life and she had taken the absolute worst thing I could have done to her and came back to me. I was a piece of shit, and I still regret everything about it. Her parents were right, I knew what I had to do: I was the worst thing in this young woman's life and she was hooked on me. I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought I was letting her go or setting her free. She came out to see me and I had made my plan to do this in person because I owed her that much. It was so much harder than I had ever expected it to be. I broke her heart, I ended our relationship, and I will never forget her crying next to me while I asked myself if I was doing the right thing. It didn't feel right, but I didn't want keep putting her through the pain I couldn't stop causing her. I hate myself for it, to this day, and it is a. wound that has refused to heal for me that I have caused. I think it was worse for her. Her mother told my parents one day in a grocery store when they crossed paths that I had broken her heart. I did, they were absolutely right. I am so ashamed of what I did to that poor girl, that I took this beautiful thing we had and I smashed it to pieces because I thought I was protecting her from me. I was so fucking stupid. She's married now, has a kid too. I stay away, I haven't spoken to her since the last time I saw her shortly after I broke up with her. The lines are more blurry than that, but the point is that I had something that I wanted, something that fit and made me happy, and I broke it. I thought that since I loved her, I should set her free from me. I fucking broke it, and I have missed it every day since. I am so sorry for what I've done, but in some ways I am happy that she has what she deserves.
I met my wife shortly after that. I have never cheated on my wife. We did not have the same connection I had with my ex, we met during school and built our relationship through a common struggle and we've grown together as a result. We had fun in different ways, I didn't feel like I was unworthy all the time and we shared different interests than I did with. my ex. We care for each other, but we have often hurt each other without trying to, as I've mentioned above. In some ways I think that I have hung in with some things through our relationship that I would not previously put up with because I don't want to be the person that broke that poor girls heart. I never wanted to be that person, but I was. But that is how I know what I am missing, and I know I deserve to feel the pain of its absence. Don't get me wrong, I let her go long ago when I committed to the mistake I made so she could live her life the way she deserved to, I have given my relationship with my wife the room and space to grow unfettered by the shadow of my Ex. She will always have a special place in my heart, but I did not tell you about her because I am still pining for her. I tell you the tale of my ex, of my shame, and of my disgrace because it is how I know the absence of what is missing, how I know that I deserve to feel like this, and in some way to release the truth of that pain from where I've hidden it. I don't deserve consolation for what I've done, but now I understand why I was that person. I see those things in me now and throughout my entire life that I have struggled against and I have a name for it. It wasn't that I just wasn't good enough to do the right thing, to follow my convictions with my actions, I had a problem that I didn't know I had. That is not an excuse, but it encouraging that I can beat the problem now that I know what it is. I am faithful to my wife, I love her and I suffer regularly to make her life as good as I can, to support her and to be there when she needs me. I wish I did not have to leave this wreckage in my wake for me to get here though, I hate the person who I was and I don't know if I will ever forgive myself for it. I dare not ask any other to do so. But I am hurting, badly. I have hollowed myself out to be the partner my wife deserves and I have not been refilled. I miss affection, comfort, and feeling loved, and I miss being able to have my defenses down around the woman I love. I want so badly to be able to get to the place where I was with my wife, to help her grow into the loving relationship she wants and I need, but I am falling apart on the journey there and I am dying alone and isolated.

When I broke down today it was for many reasons, but the trigger was work related. It's a culmination of feeling like everything in my life is falling apart at the same time and getting hurt when I reach to her for help in my vulnerability. She did what she could, and I am so grateful and thankful for it. She did what she was taught, "Pick yourself up, suck it up and move forward" is essentially the message. She is there to lead me back to my feet, waiting for me to stand up next to her, and she is trying so damn hard to meet me halfway in a language she doesn't speak intuitively, but one that I am suffocating without. It hurts. So. Damn. Much. And I am ashamed of being nakedly vulnerable in front of her, to show my pain and wear my heart on my sleeve and have her step over me and shrug about it. I feel like I'm being trained to experience what she experienced, burning and cauterizing my feelings and killing the part of me that I killed in someone else. I deserve this, I think to myself when I wonder where my breaking point is and when the love we share won't be enough to pull me through the barbs and pain that I'm becoming accustomed to. I would grin and bear this for the rest of my life, perhaps as penance for my cruelty, but I'm afraid that I've overestimated my ability to live without the type of affection that I'm used to. I'm afraid that I'm going to fail us both, fail her, because I don't have that emotional satisfaction that I need to justify that daily grind or to get up and try to get over her defenses again after being knocked back down. I mentioned earlier that tonight I got touched in a way that triggered this realization, that made me realize I was starving for affection. I felt ashamed for having to crawl to her for it, to take her hand and place it on me to feel a connection. I am sad that is what it took, and that I was so desperate that I would do anything for it again. It was only a moment, maybe a couple seconds, before her hand went cold and just rested on me where it sat. Before long I was just a prop for her elbow as she watched TV and ate chips while I cried next to her. She asks me what is wrong and if I'm OK but I know I can't tell her about this, she will react aggressively in defense of the message and I don't have the strength left in me to take those hits right now. It broke my heart to open up and be vulnerable, to crawl to her for affection, and the get a taste of it only to be just enough to realize that it's missing. It hurts so much , and to feel the relief fading into shame as she stopped comforting me. Ashamed of being weak, of needing help, of being broken, and for ever thinking that I had a right to it when I deserve every bit of how broken and empty I feel.

I don't know why I've written this, but I suspect telling my story is the point. I've never told anyone, I have no one I feel safe telling. Before it comes up: i am not going to hurt myself, the friend I lost that I mentioned above died by his own hand under violent circumstances and i would never wish for anyone else to have to survive that trauma. I will admit that I am so very low right now. If death were to find me in my sleep, i would greet him as a friend.


Thank you for listening, even if no one is there. I am so sorry.

Tl;dr : OP feels shitty in relationship, deserves to feel shitty for being a shit head to others, just needs to say it out loud.
submitted by throwaway202229 to offmychest [link] [comments]


2020.11.25 02:22 Spagetihoe Mother texts daughter to wear a bra because father is uncomfortable

Ok, hello reddit this is my first post and I hope this is the right thread, honestly I have no clue where this belongs. So this is not my story, I saw this on instagram (very reliable source I know - also I couldnt find who the origional postee was but I saw it on trollvid.s) but the comments where really split and I wanted to see what you guys made of this and kinda just debate it I guess.
So the post is a girl who got a text message from her mother that she should please wear a bra or under top because her father is uncomfortable seeing her nipples through her clothes. No context is given in terms of her age, shes wearing a tshirt in the post and that's basically it. I first actually went in to the comments to see if it was fake or not because the text was written a bit odd. The comments where basically 3 catigories; 1) the fathers a pedo, 2) she should respect her parents and their rules 3) guys talking about how they wouldnt go out in just boxers or sweatpants/with a boner cause it'd be awkward, with many replies to those being that nipples arent genitalia, men dont have to hide their nipples and wear bras etc.
I'm a female myself and personally would think it's a little weird her father is uncomfortable by her wearing no bra under clothes since she isnt naked and I grew up in a household where i can talk to both my parents about periods and sex and all that, but I guess my first questions is for the guys/fathers of reddit as to what you think of this? I also understand it may be for traditional/religious reasons, but again no context was given, so I dont know for sure. Also I dont think it's great that the father didnt approach this himself but got her mother to do it over text, but I guess it might be because he didnt know how to approach this topic.
Secondly, I think that she should wear one to respect her parents and their rules as shes living with them isnt a great argument just because unless shes over 18 I'm pretty sure they legally have to and she should also have the right to be respected and be comfortable in her own home. That being said, her parents also have that right. Idk, are her parents in the 'right' for wanting her to wear a bra? What do the women/ people with breasts and mothers of reddit think of this?
I'm trying to be as open minded and just understand the situation here but I just wanted some more input and a proper discussion and thought reddit might be a good place for that. Instagram comments sections just tend to get very angry and personal very quickly...
TL:DR ; mum texts daughter to wear a bra under clothes as her father is uncomfortable seeing her nipples and I dont know what to think of that situation so am asking reddit for opinions
submitted by Spagetihoe to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2020.11.24 16:34 OlGooGoo Father mother daughter naked

Part 1
Part 2
Bo and Olivia looked at each other knowingly, seemingly having a silent conversation that I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of anyway.
“Who’s Mary?” I asked in spite of myself.
“Do you remember our first conversation?” Olivia asked me. “You asked me if anyone from the Four Families had ever been rejected. Well, the answer to that is yes. Mary Allen was rejected.”
“We are all initiated when we turn eighteen,” Bo said, putting his hands behind his back and looking at something on the mantel above the fireplace. He walked over to it and picked up a small framed picture. He shoved it at me, and I took it, my curiosity overwhelming my sense of self-preservation.
The picture was of a teenage girl from the waist up. She was grinning at the camera, long red hair covering her naked chest, and there was a green ceramic bottle hanging around her neck. Black slime stood out against her pale skin. Something about her blue eyes and dazzling smile were very familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Am I supposed to know who this is?” I asked. “Is this Mary?”
“Come on, man, focus. I'm trying to give you a glimpse into our little world here--oh. Right. No, that’s me,” Bo explained casually. “I didn’t transition until my mid-twenties. That’s me at my initiation ceremony, right after I was declared a future prophet. It’s basically our coming out party, and it’s a pretty big deal. ”
I stared at the girl in the picture and the man standing in front of me. That certainly explained why he was so small. If only there were as simple an explanation for why he was so manic and bizarre, maybe I could relax. I handed the picture back to him, and he set it back in its place on the mantel.
“OullGhugl initiates us all as disciples on our eighteenth birthdays,” Bo continued, “and when you go through that ritual, he gets access to all of your thoughts and memories up until that point. A similar thing happens during the initiation into prophethood, except even deeper. It’s a trip, lemme tell you. Like, I can’t really describe it, but imagine if you could connect with someone--”
“Relevance, Bo,” Olivia interrupted, guiding him back to the topic at hand.
“Right. So OullGhugl has the rule about the families not commingling, right? Well, he’s been pretty lenient with it for the most part, as long as it was just the disciples fraternizing. Several generations ago, one of the Pike boys and one of the Martin girls got together, but it wasn’t that big of a deal, I guess, since they weren’t prophets. Anyway, they had a kid, that was fine, but we were on thin ice. Until that kid grew up and had an affair with one of the daughters of the Allen family, which led to another kid. That kid, Mary, then had the blood of three of the four families.
“OullGhugl was angry, but he let it slide in the end. There were a lot of people to choose from in the Allen family for that generation’s prophet, anyway, and it ended up that my dad was chosen. He’s several years older than Mary was, so probably OullGhugl had his sights on him before she was even born, anyway. So everyone went on their merry ways and everything was hunky-dory... until Mary’s initiation day.
“Like I said, when you complete the initiation ritual, OullGhugl sees all of your innermost thoughts. Well, turns out that Mary had managed, somehow, to hide a pregnancy from not only him, but all of the families. She gave the baby up for adoption to some couple in Massachusetts and then came back home to Missouri like nothing had ever happened. That was a big no-no.”
“I grew up in Massachusetts,” I said quietly, the pieces beginning to fall into place. “Are you saying--”
“I’m saying that OullGhugl was not on board with her giving away a potential disciple. I am guessing that Mary did not know who your father was, because if she’d known, he would’ve known, and if he’d known, it would’ve been a lot worse for everyone. But for her, she committed an unforgivable sin by not keeping you. And so, she was rejected.”
I put my head in my hands as I tried to process this information. I’d only known I was adopted for a week as it was, but learning that my mother was killed and eaten by an ancient demon explicitly because of my birth was more than I could handle. And the way Bo said it so matter-of-factly just made it worse.
Bo looked at Olivia again before continuing. “There were rumors, my dad always said,” he went on, “but nobody could ever substantiate them. Obviously when Oliver had his initiation, the fact that he and Mary had been together had come out, but since he was the only Gregor child in that generation, I guess OullGhugl overlooked that. When it’s slim pickins you take what you can get, you know?”
I raised my head slowly as I began to comprehend what he was saying. I leapt to my feet, startling Beefcake, who had been resting near the fire. The little dog jumped to his feet as well and started barking at me. I paced around the room, muttering to myself as the information processed in my brain.
My mother’s name was Mary. She had been a pregnant teen in Missouri in the early 80s. She had hidden it from everyone. She didn’t know who the father was. She gave me to a couple in Massachusetts--the Wendells, who had raised me as their own until they died, too. I had grown up, gone to college, moved to Seattle, married Fiona--and spent my whole life completely oblivious to any of this.
Mary had the blood of three of the four families. In order for me to be this “chosen one” or whatever Olivia and Bo were claiming I was, my father would have had to come from the fourth family. I spun around, staring at Olivia, my eyes wild.
“There was only one Gregor child in that generation,” I repeated, and she nodded.
“Like I said,” Bo interjected, seemingly oblivious to the shift in emotions in the room, “since he was the only one, I think OullGhugl made an exception. Besides, as far as he or anyone else knew, it was just one time and didn’t result in any child--”
“No,” I said, the pieces falling terrifyingly into place. “No. That would mean that my father is--”
Olivia stood and walked towards me, still nodding. “I’m sorry, Mark,” she said as she approached me. “I should have told you right away, but I wasn’t sure how you would react. I was afraid that you wouldn’t help me if you knew. I kind of messed this up. I guess we have that in common, don’t we? Maybe it’s genetic.”
She stopped in front of me, and I grabbed her shoulders in a panic. She winced, and I loosened my grip, remembering my last interaction with Fiona. I stared into Olivia’s eyes, searching for some answer, something that would tell me that this was all a lie, but there was nothing there but sympathy and acceptance. She reached out and pulled me into a hug that I hadn’t realized I’d needed. I put my chin on the top of her head and exhaled sharply.
“You’re my sister,” I said finally, the last piece clicking into place and sealing my fate.
Part 4
submitted by OlGooGoo to scarystories [link] [comments]


2020.11.23 03:26 AngryaboutVideogames Daughter mother father naked

The destined meeting. Who will come out on top!? Which pranks will be played on who, and more importantly........
[First] [Prev] [Next] [Wiki]

Will you enjoy the chapter!?

As always thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy this new installment.
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Michael exited the car and looked down the sidewalk towards the familiar house. Funnily enough, the image of his mother eagerly waiting for his return was not an uncommon sight for him. Though usually, he would be returning to this particular house alone.
Looking to his right, Michael smiled at Srettia, the female he brought home to show off to his mother, who always jokingly teased him about settling down. Smiling, Michael took Srettia's nervous hand and gently pulled her around the car. "Let's tear the bandaid off quick now, shall we?"
Srettia sucked in a deep breath as she came into full view of the root of her terror. Putting on a brave face, she fell back on her short training as an ambassador and straightened her back while holding her head high as Michael pulled her down the sidewalk. That's when she stumbled on a loose stone and paused. Looking around, she noticed something. " I'm outside." She whispered, causing Michael to stop midstep.
"I've been so nervous about everything it never dawned on me... I'm actually outside. I'm not in a building or a ship or one of those enviro domes but outside." Looking at the green grass beside the stone sidewalk, Srettia slowly walked over and sat down. "This may be the first time I've been outside in the open." She said, running her hand through the natural green grass.
Michael thought about it and realized it was true. They had gone from ship to hangar to ship to hangar to a car. Sitting down next to Srettia, Michael shot his mother a smile as he began to gently rub Srettia's back. "I guess that's my fault for not really giving you the time to figure this out."
Srettia tasted the air and turned to look at Michael, finally noticing the breeze on her skin. " The wind is chilly. I'm cold now."
Michael chuckled, noticing his mother had begun running down from the porch and up to the duo, enjoying their revelation. "Is something wrong!? Do I need to call someone?!" She asked worriedly.
"Nah, we're fine, mom. Srettia just realized this is the first time she's been out in the open air." Michael replied, Helping Srettia up to her feet.
Mrs. Graeme had a shocked expression on her face, taking a few moments to recover as Srettia brushed the loose grass off her pants. " Well, let's have dinner outside tonight then. I'll get the bug repellant ready." Mrs. Graeme said, walking back into the house without another word.
"She was less frightening than I thought she would be."
Srettia nodded in agreement and looked at Michael in confusion. " She seems nice."
Michael eyed the house suspiciously and nodded. "A bit too nice. Be on your toes."
Ankiah walked over from the car and up to the porch, turning to wave at the two stuck on the sidewalk. "You two going to flirt all day or just stand there. Let's get moving!"
Michael once again took Srettia by the hand and walked up to the door, where he pushed it open and took a step in. "Well, this is it, I guess," Michael said. Allowing both Srettia and Ankiah to step into the warm looking house.
Srettia looked around the dwelling and noticed the stark difference between a real Terran home and the rooms she had been staying in until now. Many pictures hung from the walls, different looking planets, massive rock formations, some animated while others not, some with important-looking Terrans on them and others with family. There were potted flowers here and there, leaving the area looking very cozy and ambient light lit the dark corners. Tasting the air, Srettia also noticed an odd flavour, a pleasant citrus that reminded her of the fruit Michael regularly ate in the morning, one she had not had the pleasure of experiencing yet.
Michael inhaled deeply and sighed in relief. "Smells like home." He said, looking around suspiciously. "Which means mom is up to something and trying to cover her tracks."
Michael helped Ankiah take Yirphayen out of its bag and moved it over to a chair where the sun was currently shining. "Leme know if you need anything alright."
Yirphayen let out a chime of delight as the sun directly hit its core and quickly decided it liked its current spot. "This is a sufficient spot. Thank you."
Mr. Graeme walked into the room and gave Michael a big grin, who noticed his arrival and prepared himself for the questions. "Conceive pronto!" He quickly fired, tossing a can at Michael.
Michael fumbled, before realizing a can of beer was heading his way. Luckily, Srettia noticed the flying can and was able to catch it before it hit the stunned Michael. " That could have been dangerous, you know." She replied.
"Yup, and it would have been his fault for being a pilot who can't avoid stuff flying at him." Mr. Graeme replied happily, walking over to Srettia.
Srettia eyed the older looking Michael and nodded in appreciation, deciding that she was indeed a lucky female. "Hello Mr. Graeme, I am Srett-"
Mr. Graeme took Srettia into a big hug, holding it for a few seconds before separating and placing one hand on each shoulder, deciding to take a good look at the female in front of him. " Call me, dad! Please, make yourself at home. Our house is your house." He said, shooting a look over to Ankiah, who watched the scene in amusement. "You'll have to dump your woman and marry my son if you want a hug too."
"Not happening!" Srettia spit, Interrupting Ankiah, who hadn't even begun to open her mouth yet.
"Ahh, so it's true what you said then. That'll make the games even more entertaining." Mr. Graeme said mischievously.
Michael investigated the beer he received from Srettia before deciding it was safe to open and popped the top. " That's a good way to get someone hurt, might not wanna push that button pops."
Nodding his understanding, Mr. Graeme took another look at Ankiah and Srettia before laughing. " Guess we have lots of catching up to do then." Walking over to his chair to sit, he noticed the giant crystal formation and reached down to move it, eliciting panicked noises and stumbles from the gathered beings, causing him to pause mid-reach as the alarm concerned him. "What now?"
Letting out a sound that resembled a garbage compactor mixed with bells, Yirphayen dug deeper into its chair as it's food source was suddenly blocked. "Remove yourself from your location carbon form of the Michael lineage. I require energy."
Mr. Graeme stepped back in shock, realizing the weird crystal formation was talking to him. "What's this now?"
Michael laughed as he pulled his father away from the chair and out of the sunlight. "That's Yirphayen. He's resting right now since he's low on power. Which, he gets from the sun you were blocking."
"Ahh. I see... A sun eating crystal Alien..." Walking over to the chair, not in the sunlight. Mr. Graeme sat down and eyed Yirphayen in wonder. "I thought it was like a glowey diamond thing."
Taking Srettia's hand and ushering her out of her awkward stance in the doorway, Michael sat her down on the couch and sat beside her, watching as Ankiah took up a seat on the opposing couch. "Yeah, that's its core. Its real body. The glowing diamond you saw on TV, was its hard light appearance, kinda like clothes."
"Ohh. So that's It being naked on my chair, is it?" Mr. Graeme replied with a chuckle.
Ankiah laughed at the thought and nodded. "You got it, old man! naked diamond on your chair, gonna have to wash it now."
"Hey now! I'm only eighty-three. I still have a long life ahead of me." Mr. Graeme replied with mild offence.
"That's still way older than me, old man." Ankiah playfully replied.
It was at this point Michael began to worry. His dad was up to something. Was it stalling for time? Maybe he was covering for his mother, who was planning some sort of prank. Looking over to his father, who had a happy grin on his face as he bantered with Ankiah, Michael decided an investigation was in order. "Hey, dad. Where's, mom?"
"You worried, my male descendant?" He asked with a mischievous smile. "That secret service lady stopped by to have a nice long talk about not pranking our new daughter, you know. Didn't want her to get the wrong idea and all she said."
Michael didn't like the sound of his voice and noticed Srettia also had the same idea as she snuggled into his side. "I assume you just discarded her advice and decided against that train of thought?"
"Oh no, not us! Your mother is just using the fabricator in the basement. I assure you, even if I agree wholly with the agent, your mom is definitely not up to something, and I'm definitely not buying her time as the fabricator seems to be giving us trouble for some reason or another. Or maybe she's recycling some clothes, who knows." Mr. Graeme replied, eliciting laughter from Ankiah.
"I like your Folks," Ankiah said, Still laughing.
Srettia tasted the air, noticing that the deep citrus taste was hiding something and looked to her new father in law in suspicion. " Would it be rude of me to claim diplomatic immunity from pranks while I stay here?"
"You could try. Wouldn't do any good with the missus, though." He replied.
Mrs. Graeme finally walked into the room and placed some refreshments on the table, turning to Michael, who had a nervous smile on his face. "Move."
Michael quickly got up and took a few steps away from the couch, allowing his mother to sit directly next to Srettia, who seemed to freeze in place.
Mrs. Graeme gently took Srettia's hand into her own as she gracefully sat down and gave her a warm and loving smile. "My daughter." She gently said before pulling hard on Srettia's hand, causing her to fall directly into her lap. "Ah, ha! You're mine now!" She yelled, ruffling Srettia's hair and messing up her composure. "How did my idiot son manage to bag such a prim and proper lady like you then, eh? You can tell mama I won't judge much."
Srettia squealed in confusion as her new mother in law pulled her up and began moving her around, closely inspecting this new female entity that had entered her life. "Umm, he crashed into the asteroid I was working in. He actually kinda messed up my big haul, so I had to hold him accountable, I guess?"
Mrs. Graeme laughed as she inspected Srettia's clawed fingers. "Sounds about right. Screws up other people's plans and then expects them to just deal with it. We should paint these claws. I bet we could put some nice patterns on them."
Ankiah laughed as the female Terran inspected the Aasteran with a keen eye, clearly terrifying the young female. " You know, Michael made me think you were kinda scary but your pretty nice."
Mrs. Graeme shot the furry girl a look and squinted her eyes. "You're next young lady. Don't think you're getting out of this without a new bump or two.
Michael took out a slim communication device and placed it on the table in the middle of the room. "Well, now that everyone is here. I have one more person to introduce. He's been a close friend to me and kind of the reason I'm still alive. And though we've only known each other for a few months, I feel like it's been years... He's also kind of a secret, but Luna command has authorized me to share his existence since it would be hard to hide his presence for the next few days. Go ahead and introduce yourself, Jack."
"Hello, elder Graeme's. I am Jack. A true AI and friend to the beings within this room."
Mr. Graeme paused for a moment and looked at the communicator on the table and then to Michael. "I know we like to joke around, but this isn't funny."
"Oh, shut up." Mrs. Graeme replied, looking down at the communicator while forcing Srettia's head into her lap again. "Even our son wouldn't be stupid enough to play a trick like that. So Mr. Jack, is it? I thought something was funny when Michael was credited with translating my daughter's language. I assume that was you?"
"Quite astute, Mrs. Graeme. Yes, I did. And thank you for not assuming I would kill you. It has become tiresome to correct that misconception."
Running her hand through her daughter's hair, causing Srettia to cease her resistance and accept that this was now her life, Mrs. Graeme eyed Michael with suspicion. "You're not letting people bully Jack now, are you?"
Ankiah laughed and sampled the meat stick on the food platter. " I wouldn't worry about that. However, I may be partly to blame for that. I think people just continually ask if Jack is going to kill them when they find out he's an AI."
"You are correct."
"That's silly. You would already be dead if he were out to kill you." Mrs. Graeme replied.
"Thank you for understanding that fact. Also, I would not do such a thing."
Promptly standing, lifting her new daughter to her feet while doing so. Mrs. Graeme took Srettia's hand and began walking out of the room. "Welcome to our home, Jack. Make use of whatever... Um... Electronic space? You need. Our gizmos, are you gizmos." She said, dragging Srettia out of the room.
"I will do so. You have my thanks."
Michael looked to Ankiah, who was busy giggling and then to his father, who was seriously studying the coms device on the table. "He's fine, dad. Perfectly safe."
Mr. Graeme nodded in understanding and leaned back into his chair. "Family safety comes first, my boy. Apologies, Jack, nothing against you and all. Just an old man who has been taught to mistrust AI's"
"Understandable. It has been hundreds of years of knowledge and teaching that my predecessor killed its creators."
Michael took a drink of his beer and smiled. "The real stuff always tastes the best," Michael stated, ignoring the fact a sound dampener was activated in the kitchen.
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"So. What do you know about Cooking?" Mrs. Graeme asked. Seating Srettia into a comfortable chair.
"Um. Nothing. My people only really eat grubs and moss... We don't really have anything left to cook." Srettia answered nervously, feeling like she failed the first test.
"Good, I suck at cooking too and can't have you outdoing me." Mrs. Graeme replied, taking out a new looking bottle and sitting down. "I only know how to cook Michael's birthday dish."
Srettia held back her laughter as she remembered cooking the very same dish with the help of Jack. "It is a rather hard dish to cook. It was thanks to the help of Jack I was able to complete it."
Mrs. Graeme popped the top of the bottle and poured two glasses. "Already trying to steal my gimmick, are you? You move fast, but don't think I'll let you take that role over so quickly."
Srettia held her hands up defensively as a glass was pushed towards her. "Oh, no! I wouldn't dream of taking your role at all."
Taking a sip of her wine, Mrs. Graeme savoured the taste for a moment and slowly placed her glass down with a grin. " You said that my front lawn was the first time you've been outside. I don't want to pry, but information on your people is extremely regulated. We only have that conference where they only allowed safe questions and a few pictures the president released to go by. Is it really that bad?"
Srettia nodded and sampled the air around her wine, recoiling for a moment before replying. "Yes. If you're not in a ship, a station or enviro-dome, you're as good as dead. And our enviro-domes only had a few tens of years left of service. It was a rush to harvest metals for orbital stations before Michael arrived and changed everything." Srettia replied, taking a sip of her wine and immediately deciding she preferred cider instead.
"Well. I guess that's one way to make the history books." She said, swirling her wine. " Enough of the dour stuff now. Let's talk about the fun stuff... Now, I'm aware that since you're a different species, kids are out of the equ........ That look. I swear you would be blushing if you were Terran.."
Srettia fidgeted and thought about the bag she had brought back from her visit to the doctor. "Well, actually, I visited a Terran specialist by the name of Catherine Baker. After some investigation, she told me that though we were different species, it would be relatively simple to have nanites copy Terran DNA and convert it to Aasteran. I know I'm going to say this wrong since she used some fancy words, but they basically mimic what would be needed for fertilization. It just requires the male to take an inje-"
Mrs. Graeme shot up and pulled srettia to her feet, taking her into a comforting hug. "You are such a great daughter. Do you know that? Now I can tease the ever-living hell out of that slow son of mine. One last question before I leave you to wonder when I'll strike next. " She replied, seating Srettia back down into her chair.
Srettia nodded and took another sip of her terrible wine.
"Oh, my apologies. How do you like the wine? I made it myself?" Mrs. Graeme said with a gentle smile.
Srettia choked down another sip and couldn't fight the scowl that spread on her face. "It's. I do not like it." She said, already regretting her answer.
Mrs. Graeme smiled and walked over to the sink, pouring hers down the drain. "Good. I like an honest girl."
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submitted by AngryaboutVideogames to HFY [link] [comments]


2020.11.22 01:14 AngryaboutVideogames Mother father naked daughter

Look at that. Didn't have to wait long now did we?

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Thanks for all the amusing comments last chapter and I hope everyone enjoys this one as well.

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Michael followed the ambassadors as they walked off the stage, smiling and waving to the crowd as they made their exit. "Well... That was different." Michael said as both Srettia and Ankiah groaned and stretched their arms.
Yirphayen sang in enjoyment as it moved to a nearby lamp. "The small carbon form wished for me to make an album. What is such a thing?"
Michael waved at a nearby assistant as he approached a refreshment table. "It's a compilation of recordings used for sharing music and things. I think the girl would be happy just listening to the sounds you make." Michael said, turning to the assistant. "Yes?"
"The president is currently busy dealing with the... The conference's outcome and apologizes for not being able to be here in person to inform you that the places you requested to visit have been approved. When you wish to depart, please notify Luna command via this communicator," The aid said, handing over a slim device. "They will monitor your position and ensure your safety. Other than that, the president wishes you and the ambassadors a pleasant stay on Earth."
The aid fumbled for a moment and eyed the group with naked wonder. Michael, picking up on this, stood to the side. "It's okay to say hi they don't bite. Well... Not you, at least."
The aid chuckled with a nod and walked up to Srettia, Ankiah and Yirphayen, who seemed to be very interested in the refreshment table. "Um, Hello... My name is Alex. It's an honour to meet you."
Srettia turned to the man and gently bowed her head, placing the small stick of real meat off to the side. "Hello, Alex. Might I be of assistance to you?"
Alex nodded and dug out an ancient piece of paper. "Might I have your autograph. You as well, ambassador Ankiah. I'm.. not sure how I could get Yirphayens on here, but it would make me the happiest man on the planet if you could do this for me."
Srettia eyed the pen and shrugged, taking it and clumsily signing her name. "I apologize if it's not pleasant to look at. your writing instrument is not something I am used to."
Ankiah chuckled as she devoured some cheese, which seemingly had some sort of delicious berry mixed in with it. "I'll show you how it's done." Taking the pen, she masterfully signed her name with a flourish and smiled. "I at least got to pass my writing classes before ending up in space."
Yirphayen rang with confusion and thought hard on how it would copy its carbon friends. Beginning to create an appendage so it may grip the writing implement, it suddenly came up with a better idea and began gathering a small amount of energy. Yirphayen observed the squiggles on the paper and gently let out a low energy beam, searing a diamond with some squigglies of its own as the others had and happily let out a chime of admiration. "I have completed your task," Yirphayen stated, happy it didn't damage the paper.
The aid smiled and happily took his treasure, stopping to inform Michael he may leave the area whenever the group is ready.
"Well," Michael stated, quickly pausing, so the grown ladies could indulge in the food for a bit longer. "Shall we head home?"
Ankiah happily accepted a bag from a nearby aid and began stuffing it full of food. "I'm ready!"
Srettia nodded in approval, and she accepted her own box of food and turned towards Michael. "I may need to change before we head over."
"Mmm. Well, I'm pretty sure they have a fabricator and a restroom on the shuttle. You can probably print yourself off some new clothes and change on the ride over. I can take it slow, so you don't have to rush." Michael replied, walking towards the V.I.P exit.
"That sounds acceptable," Srettia replied, joining Michael as he walked away.
Yirphayen let out a chime of excitement and followed Ankiah, who trailed only slightly behind Srettia. "This will be my first time exploring a mineral formation such as Earth. It is exhilarating."
The group slowly made their way out the back exit to their shuttle, having to stop multiple times to greet representatives of numerous star systems or exchange pleasantries with over-eager press that somehow found their way into the back. It wasn't until they finally shut the door to their shuttle that both srettia and Ankiah sat and released a long breath of annoyance.
"What's the problem with your people! It's like they were... We are celebrities.. I guess that makes sense." Ankiah complained, slipping off her shoes as she sat down.
Srettia began removing the chains around her horns as she walked into the fabrication room. "It was like that when the Terrans found my system. Only the soldiers did a better job at hiding the fact they were over-excited to meet us."
Yirphayen took up a spot in front of Its UV lamp and began entering its rest state, letting out a ring of exhaustion while doing so. "The Terran carbon forms are enjoyable. But I prefer the company of friend Jack to their odd way of speaking."
"It was their first time meeting a real alien. I believe they were rather calm considering the fact people around the planet are wildly celebrating your arrival."
Michael began powering up the shuttle engine and looked around for an internal camera. " Guess you're monitoring the net then?"
"I am. The number of online Hard light rooms and celebration broadcasts is bordering the extreme. A lot of people have ceased their work for the day to imbibe alcohol and other sensory inhibitors."
"Soo.... people are getting drunk and doing... Drugs, is that right? Are drugs legal?" Ankiah wondered, looking through the fabricator catalogue for some new clothes.
"Eh.. Some still aren't, but most are. The illegal ones are impossible to attain, and no one bothers since they are crazy harmful. It was a long time ago when the governments found it was easier to keep people clean by regulating and taxing it. That way, it keeps things sanitary and safe, and the governments can make a buck to spend on public health and stuff." Michael replied, requesting clearance to leave the hangar.
Srettia smiled as she came upon a catalogue for Aasteran females already in the open database. "Hey, your designers move quick. They already have casual clothes that are near perfect for me!" She exclaimed, Printing off some form-fitting pants, a white shirt and a black blazer. "I think they're missing the fact only diplomats wear horn chains, though... I think. The style might make a comeback with the availability fabricators provide though."
"There are over four thousand new clothing items aimed at Aasteran females your size Srettia. I do not think it is a coincidence."
Ankiah chuckled as she found new items for Voktlix in the catalogue. "Well, I guess I should help out some poor designer. Can you find the one with the least amount of traffic for me, Jack?"
"I have done so. Moving the items to your datapad now."
"Alright, ladies were lifting off. It'll take about thirtyish minutes to fly to where we need to go, so don't take too long, alright?" Michael announced, accepting the clearance and powering the engines.
Srettia accepted her freshly printed clothes and walked into the restroom. "I've already chosen my wear, is this appropriate clothing for the first time meeting one's parents?"
Michael laughed motioned to himself. "I'm still wearing my dress uniform, and if you remember. I met your father in my pilot's suit, so wear whatever you want."
Ankiah chose a quaint outfit called a sundress and printed off some heels to go with it. "Sounds like that went well. Did your dad kick him out?"
"Srettia's father grilled Michael for information to make sure his daughter would be safe in his hands. Michael was unaware he was in such an interview. It was entertaining."
Ankiah laughed as she made her way over to the fabricator. "That sounds about right for him."
Michael locked in his course and began the short flight to his hometown shuttle port. "In my defence, I had no idea what anything was or how things worked back then, alright."
"Story of your life?"
Srettia and Ankiah burst into laughter as Michael frowned. The trip was, as he had put it, relatively short for the distance they had to travel. On the way, the crew bantered and redressed themselves. Srettia, choosing casual black pants, a white top and the black blazer she started with, while Ankiah decided to swap to jeans and a comfortable blue t-shirt.
Upon arriving at the North Charbourgphin shuttle port, Michael sent for landing permission and looked over to Srettia, who was busy fidgeting with her buttons. " You've stood and spoken in front of literally billions; what's one more?" He asked, Accepting his clearance and bring the shuttle into the designated hangar.
"I'd be nervous too, ya know. It's your mother, and from what Srettia has told me, she's terrifying." Ankiah blurted from her seat.
"I would not be nervous. If Michael is anything to go by, they should be very welcoming."
Ankiah smiled and stood from her seat as the shuttle touched down. "That's true. But it sounds like his mother likes to play tricks on people."She replied, walking over to Yirphayen and bending down. "Hey. Wake up. We're landing."
"Of that, I am certain. I supposed it would be prudent to be on one's toes."
Yirphayen dug its core deeper into its cushion and let out an annoyed sound, twisting slightly before responding. "I am low on energy and require more rest."
Ankiah frowned and looked around the shuttle. "Hey Jack, can you print out a backpack or something I can carry Yirphayen around in?"
"I have found a suitable backpack that will allow Yirphayen to be carried while absorbing energy from Sol. Printing it now."
As Michael finished parking the shuttle and shutting down the systems, he notified Luna control of his status and received the okay in return, figuring they had already swept the area for any threats. Though Michael knew it was unnecessary, he also knew the safety of the first alien diplomats to visit Earth was of the utmost importance.
Taking Srettia's hand, Michael smiled and dragged her out of her chair. "We still have to drive down to the house. Something might happen that will require us to turn around."
Srettia reluctantly got up from her chair and followed Michael out of the cockpit, stopping to eye Ankiah who was busy stuffing Yirphayen into an odd bag. "Do I want to know what you're doing?" She asked, Mildly amused.
"Yirphayen seems to be rather low on energy recently. It may need more direct sunlight than we are providing."
Ankiah nodded and finished stuffing Yirphayen into the bag. "Yeah, it seems tired, so I figured I'd just carry it around. It's rather heavy, though." Ankiah replied, hefting the bag onto her back relatively easily, considering Yirphayens actual weight. "What gives Jack?"
"I have made sure to add grav discs to keep the bag's weight light, so it does not hurt your back."
Ankiah finished shouldering the bag and gave a thumbs up to Michael and Srettia, who were currently waiting at the shuttle exit. "Alright, let's go meet the parents, shall we?"
Michael picked up the coms device Jack had printed earlier and stuffed it in his pocket. "Don't want to forget you now, do we pal?"
"I could just access one of your parent's electronics from Luna if it were to come to that. However, I am glad you remembered."
Stepping off the shuttle with Michael, Srettia noticed the distinct lack of people in what should have been a relatively busy hangar. "I guess they are taking security seriously after all, huh?"
"I can smell the stealth troopers in the area. There are a lot of them." Ankiah stated, adjusting the bag on her back.
Srettia tasted the air and looked around in shock. "There is quite a bit of them."
Michael shrugged and began to walk to the nearby vehicle rental." Shouldn't be too surprising, remember the security you have on a military base in your own home system?"
Srettia closely followed Michael as he left the hangar and walked up to some kind of automated counter. "Still, It's interesting."
Ankiah watch as Michael began to scroll through vehicles. and let out an excited squeal. "OHH, I WANT A TOPLESS ONE!"
Michael shrugged and picked out one of the newer grav cars, deciding to humour ankiah and get one without a top. " Alright, let's go check out the ride."
"Good choice, partner. With this, we could travel basically anywhere we like on the planet without having to rely on a nearby hangar."
Ankiah happily walked over to where the car would arrive, making sure not to shake Yirphayen too much with her enthusiasm. "This will be my first time in an automobile, ya know!"
"You have been in a shuttle multiple times, though. They are quite similar."
"That's where you wrong, Jack!" Ankiah announced, excitedly watching as the system parked the vehicle in front of her. "With this, I'll be able to feel the wind in my fur and look outside with my own eyes, Not through a display."
Michael accepted the keys and sent a notification to Luna command about where he planned on travelling, being notified immediately that the area was secure and clear to travel. "Alright ladies, pick a spot, and let's be on our way."
Ankiah jumped gently, deciding to place Yirphayen on the back seat and tightly strapping it into the cushion before rushing to jump into the front passenger seat. "ALRIGHT! Let's goooo!"
Srettia, though fighting back her instincts, decided to let Ankiah have this experience and got into the back seat, double-checking that Yirphayen was indeed safe. "How long do you think It'll take to reach your home?"
Michael input the coordinates into the gps and nodded. "Seven minutes."
Srettia panicked and began gathering her courage as the car lifted off the ground and began to speed towards its destination. Ankiah, not expecting the sensation, began screaming in excitement and terror as the car raced towards its target at a speed neither of the alien passengers were expecting.
Michael, smiling as he handled the controls, paid close attention to his new wife, her hood was quivering in what Michael knew was nervousness. "Srettia. My mother will already be expecting you. She would have watched the conference, and it wouldn't surprise me if she has her own grand celebration prepared. So here's what you're gonna do. You're going to put on the face of the female who was brave enough to bully an admiral of a Terran fleet and tease my mother as much as she's about to tease you. Got it!? Because she's just a Terran just like any other."
"She's your mother, you idiot! What if she doesn't like me?" Srettia screeched as the car began to slow down.
"Then that's her loss. But I know for a fact the first thing she's going to ask is why you're not pregnant yet then try to make sure we have alone time to make it happen. Though she'll mostly joke about it if I'm being honest, she knows it annoys me to no end." Michael replied seriously.
Ankiah nervously laughed as Michael turned down a busy road and stopped at a set of lights. "Umm. I'm not the smartest lady in the galaxy but isn't that impossible anyway? You're not the same species, you know."
Michael shrugged and continued driving as the light turned green. " Dunno, it wouldn't surprise me if there are thousands of genetic engineers working to make it happen as we speak."
"A geneticist on Leda has already found a way for it to be possible though I am unfamiliar with how. I was lucky enough to overhear some talk while we passed a few female Terrans speaking of such a thing and did not mention it yet as I have not investigated it. But, they happened to speak of a nanite treatment while they were expressing the entertainment they derived from playing with the chest of a male Aasteran."
Srettia studied her legs thoroughly as the car went silent and ignored the sounds of laughter Ankiah was making as Michael turned down a new road filled with houses.
Michael, on the other hand, nodded and thought deeply on the matter. "Well, At least you know you can bully my mom about it. If she asks you, just tell her to run to the Aaster supermarket and get you some nanites or something." Michael replied with a nervous laugh. "Though it wouldn't surprise me if she hijacked the fold ship and did go get some."
Michael finally parked the car in front of a two-storey grey house with a black trim sporting a flat square top and sighed. Taking a deep breath, he looked back to Srettia and tapped her knee. "You're worrying about nothing. Just go say hi and you'll understand."
Ankiah popped out of the car and walked around to the passenger seat to pick up Yirphayen. "Look! She's even waiting at the door for you; she so excited!" Ankiah said, pointing to the woman excitedly waving from the front porch.
Srettia took a deep breath and exited the car. Taking a moment, she exhaled and stood tall, facing the Terran woman looking directly at her with an excited face. "Well, I guess it's now or never."

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2020.11.21 08:29 Debyeld1 Father mother naked daughter

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2020.11.19 12:23 CherryLax Father mother daughter naked

A continuation of this great video explaining the official state nightmares of the entire US
Tool used: https://bellard.org/textsynth/
Output:

[Edit] I did more because they are comedy gold: Original Script (Try it yourself!): submitted by CherryLax to AIfreakout [link] [comments]


2020.11.18 00:08 HydraHDizzle Father mother daughter naked

TLDR; My mom abused me until I turned 16 and when I finally spoke up, her side of the family put me down for it and my cousin called me out for refusing to keep contact with them now that I’m almost 20. This is a rant, but any advise is appreciated.
To start this off, I’ve never been interested in keeping ties with my family, both paternal and maternal. Before I explain the situation, I should give some background on my life with my family first. I’ve always been a daddy girl since the day I was born. I’ve heard my relatives tell me this story a million times, but when I was first born and my mom held me I would cry nonstop. If my had held me, I would immediately calm down. My mom hated that. Growing up, I was more of a tomboy. I hated girly colors, I only ever work jeans or overalls, I preferred to go fishing with my dad and his friends over going shopping or getting my nails done with my mom, I would watch my dad play video games and horror movies, but I couldn’t stand the idea of sitting with my mom and watching Cinderella and FRIENDS. I see my moms frustration in all of this and I understand why she would be hurt, however the ways she went about trying to “fix” it were horrible. She would often start a seemingly innocent conversation about my interests and it would evolve into her screaming at me and even beating me over the fact that I just didn’t want to get my nails done because I thought the process was painstakingly long and I would just get them messed up while drawing or playing sports outside anyways so there’s no point. She wanted me to be girly and I just wasn’t, and instead of accepting that or compromising, she tried to guilt me and force me into it. This strained our relationship. As I got older and started to mature though, she kind of did a complete 180 on her motherly bond with me. A year or two before I got my first period, she sat me down and gave me a book about periods and vaginas. She had a very brief talk with me which was literally just “there are pads under the sink, if you get your first period tell me first.” And told me to read the book and if I didn’t she’d take my kindle and make me kneel in the corner for an hour, and if I gave her attitude she would make me kneel on grain. I learned about how to handle a period through a book. A book. As I got even older, experiences with my mom just got worse, especially when she was pregnant with my sister. She would treat me like I was the scum of the earth and when me or my dad would ask her why, her response was always “She’s your daughter, not mine. The only daughter I have is the one in my belly right now.” It hurt a lot but I just convinced myself it was because when I was younger I favored my father over her. I don’t remember the details of this event because it still traumatizes me, but she had gotten mad at me one day and threatened to call child services on me. She made me strip down bare naked in front of her and made comments about my body and weight. She told me that she bought my clothes and that when child services came to come get me, they can give me a sack to wear because I’m not taking the clothes she bought me. I was naive and I didn’t know any better, so I only asked if her and dad would visit me after they took me away. She just grimaced and said she’ll think about it. I was terrified. I didn’t know what was happening or what I did to make her hate me like that. My dad left us a little while after my sister was born, it hurt but I don’t blame him. I wished he took me with him but he went no contact with me after the first two days of him being gone. My mom pushed all the responsibilities on me after that. I was already responsible for laundry, grocery shopping and walking the dog in the afternoon, but now I had all that plus cooking, cleaning the whole apartment, taking care of my younger sister and walking the dog in the mornings. For a year and a half, I would wake up at 5:30 and walk the dog, then I would have to get my sister ready for daycare and leave at 6:30 to get her there, then get to school by 7:30, come home at 4 to eat my first meal of the day, walk the dog before 5, pick my sister up before 6, bring her home and feed, change and play with her until 8:30, then put her to bed and do my homework and sleep. I was depressed. My dad was gone, I was raising a baby that wasn’t even mine and got bullied a bit for being “16 and pregnant”, I was stuck living with the person who made my life hell and I had no one to turn to. My moms side of the family told me to suck it up and do what was best for the family, but wasn’t I part of the family? What about what’s best for me? I remember I liked some cringe emo Facebook page and not even 20 minutes later my mom came into my room and told me to unlike it because I have no reason to be depressed and that she would give me a reason if I wanted. She also made a similar comment during a parent teacher conference with one of my high school teachers when I told him I didn’t answer a question one time because I was tired. My mom slapped me on our way home and told me I’m a teenager, I have no reason to be tired. I started to close off my emotions from my mom and she noticed and tried to force me to open up to her, even going as far as to take me to a psychic that just rubbed oil and gems across my face and told me that I have to get over my father leaving. This again strained our relationship even more to the point where I did what my dad used to do when he lived with us which was pretend to be asleep before my mom got home from work so she left me alone. It worked for a while but some days she would come in upset and just start beating me in my sleep, which affects me severely now because I have trouble sleeping around people unless they fall asleep first and I jump awake if people touch me in my sleep. My mom also has a habit of blaming everyone but herself for problems. Her laundry wasn’t put away? My fault. My dad left? Mine and my sisters faults. My aunt and her got into an argument about how hard my mom is on me? My aunts fault. My little sister fell out of her crib in my moms room while my mom was awake and on her phone while I was asleep in mine one weekend, but it was somehow my fault? And the fact that she sent me to the store to buy something that wasn’t there 20 minutes before closing was also my fault? I would tell my aunt about everything and her only response was “Well, you’re 16. You know how your mom is and you should be used to it. She’s having a hard time with the separation too, yknow?” Like, yes I am aware that I’m not the only one affected by my dad leaving, but to get constantly blamed and beaten while taking on the roll of my sisters mother and father is suddenly null because my mom has it bad too? I didn’t know this was a contest of who has it worse at the moment. I wasn’t looking for pity points, and I’m still not, I just wanted someone to be there for me. Aside from my friends, most of who had no idea what was even going on in my life, and my dog, I had no one. One day, my dad reached out to me and wanted to see me and I was ecstatic, but I had to ask my mom for permission to see him (I was worried she would beat me if I didn’t). She happily agreed and told me that she wants me to have a relationship with my father and that their relationship shouldn’t affect mine and his. Sounds too good to be true, right? Yeah. I spent 3 hours with him just walking around with the dogs and came home to my mom having ordered take out. She asked me about it and I told her what we did and how happy I was to see him again. She made a comment saying she can tell because I’m glowing and this is the most we’ve spoken in months. I agreed and started to eat. 10 minutes later, she started to ask me if I liked my dad more than her. I told her no, which was a lie, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and get a beating, and she kept repeating it, getting more and more aggressive. Then she told me to pack my shit and leave, the first few times I told her no, I wanna stay with you (for my sisters sake). She didn’t stop so I got up to go to my room and she told me to leave my phone since she bought it, so I went to my room and grabbed my kindle to text my dad on Facebook and I heard her get up so I hid it before she got in the room. At this point she was just blowing up at me and started beating me again. She prone my glasses in the process and refused to buy me new ones until the next time I saw my dad and I’m guessing he emailed her or texted her asking about why they were broken because she finally got me a new pair and told me not to tell my dad what she was doing and if I did, she’d make my life hell. This continued on for months. One day it all came to a head. She stayed home from work and I came home from school, I gave her my report card and she chewed me out for having a 75 instead of a 90 in pre-calculus then sent me to my room. I started cleaning it cause I knew that if I didn’t, it would only get worse for me. She slammed open my door after a few minutes and demanded to know where her pink shirt was. I told her I didn’t know and she slapped me and told me that I should know because I do laundry, not her. I told her I didn’t see it in the laundry but I would ask my aunt, who worked part time at the place I did laundry, if she had. My mom left my room and I kept cleaning but she came back again and just started to blow up on me. She called me a disrespectful piece of shit and told me that she wished that she aborted me when she had the chance and grabbed me by the hair and started to beat me. She pushed me out of my room and screamed at me to get out so I ran to the front door and opened it to leave but she slammed it shut and choked me against the door and continued to scream at me and punch me in the stomach, then she pushed me into the living room and in the process I stepped on my younger sisters foot. She started to scream louder and forced me onto the floor where she sat on me and proceeded to choke me while I begged her to stop and spots filled my vision. She got off me after a while and kicked me in the ribs a few times before going to tend to my sister. I just gasped for air and cried. I’m not gonna lie, that was the first time in 10 years that I pissed myself. I thought I was going to die. My mom is a very large woman and at the time she was a little under double my weight. She kicked me again once my sister calmed down and told me to stop crying like I’m being murdered (rough Russian translation) and told me to get up and wash my face because I had to go with her to my sisters doctor appointment. I changed and cleaned myself up, but I sat outside the doctors office sobbing and some lady asked if I was okay, to which I told her to leave me alone (still feel kind of bad for that) very rudely. My mom made me stay home for 4 days after that so my bruises would heal and I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what happened without proof, but unfortunately for her I took pictures the day after and sent it to 3 friends. Two just sympathized with me and the other one gave me an ultimatum of “you tell the school it I will”. I know this is already long as it is, so I’ll make this part short, but the school, CPS, and the police got involved. My mom got arrested for a day and my aunt bailed her out the next day. My aunt was given temporary custody of me and my sister and my entire moms side of the family bashed me for getting her arrested and would make comments like, “How could you do that to your own mom?” “It wasn’t that bad, you’re exaggerating.” “Why didn’t you tell us, we could have taken you in or gotten in contact with your dad?” I floated around my aunts, dad and best friends houses for a while until my dad finally got custody of me. Not my sister though. CPS pushed for my mom to keep my sister because the abuse was only towards me and “a young child needs her mother in her life, you just don’t understand.” I was forced to go to court mandated therapy and school therapy, both of which I stopped attending after a few sessions because I just felt like they either weren’t believing me or I was just being pitied. I was no contact with my mom for a few years before we finally “reconciled” if you can even call it that. She just apologized for her actions, but we never talked about it. I moved out of my dads house a year ago on slightly bad terms (he was upset that I moved out and thought I was conspiring with my mom against him). I kept my mom at arms length along with the rest of my family except for my cousin. I ended up quarantining with my ex (current bf at the time) at his house in jersey and my reception there was bad, so I couldn’t really keep in contact with my family (not really like I wanted to). My mom demanded that I call her and my aunt at least once a week and text my mom daily. I’ve never had a good concept of family because of how utterly shattered mine was. I don’t even text or call most of my friends weekly, let alone daily. I told her I could try, which I did, but no promises. After not talking to my mom for three weeks, she wrote me an essay about how disrespectful I am towards the family for not being in contact and how she wishes me a good life. I responded “you too” and didn’t speak to her for another two months. After I came back home to New York, I self-quarantined for a month in my little studio apartment and kept moving on with my life. My cousin had hit me up and asked why I wasn’t talking to anyone in the family and how everyone was mad at me for not keeping contact, I didn’t want to lie so I told him that I was in jersey and after I came back I was feeling depressed because I was back home all by myself and just wasn’t doing so great. He offered to come over and I agreed. We sat down and talked about what was wrong on my end, then he started to lecture me on family and how important it is. I stopped him and I told him that our family was never for me, after the incident with my mom getting arrested and the family not having my back on it, I decided that it was best for me this way. He told me to let go of the past and I’m both the golden child and the black sheep of my family, that they miss me and they’re only upset because I don’t keep in contact. I told him I moved out on my own because I don’t want to be pressured to uphold family standards when I want to live my life the way I want to, which I can’t do if I have to check in with everyone and run things by them first. He said that they’re just looking out for my well being and don’t want me making mistakes or anything like that. I told him a part of life is making mistakes and learning from them and that I’m okay with doing it alone. My cousin and I are on good terms, he told me he’s gonna respect my choices no matter what, but I still think about what he said from time to time. This is my first post on Reddit so I don’t know if I should be asking for advice or if Im an asshole for it, but if anyone has any advice of suggestions on what to do, I’m more than happy to hear it. I’m sorry for the length and lack of coordination on this post, there’s just so much and this isn’t even all of it.
submitted by HydraHDizzle to family [link] [comments]


2020.11.17 03:51 crashnebula73 Father mother daughter naked

Evie Dunmore - League of Extraordinary Women #2 - A Rogue of One's Own
[Read Sept 2020]
One of my rare 2-stars. I give the Romance a 3, but clinging with its fingers curled on the ledge.
I have to take a mild breath here, also, before I make broad claims about what it could mean if someone had read this book and never once had made mention of anything that might have been problematic or a wrong doing. If someone rated it on simple romance and the build-up and the lead-into to the culmination of a happy [for now] ending...congratulations.
Let me preface this by saying also that Evie Dunmore's problematic offenses and misappropriations take a precedent over generalized problematic romance issues.
Say, if a reader sees problems in a Rakish Hero when he suggestively seduces, blackmails or coerces with tactics a weak-kneed, jelly-legged heroine easily succumbs to as she collapses like a cheap folding chair when she only keeps her eyes on her own personal prize in the end results---sole ownership of a publishing business. This is typical of the Romance genre in general so having a “clutch my pearls” moment over something like this feels trivial. And certainly in the context of how Evie Dunmore executes Lucie falling so easily into Tristan’s clutches...my sympathy meter falls toward E--for empty.
I feel what was done to a whole country and its people, and then what was then done to a Suffragette Movement that deserved a wider world and class view... and also for the propensity that comes when you attempt to be well-intentioned and enlightened [or awoken] that you at least behave in compassion and have a sensitivity that you are walking narrow edge into seeing a different world through “eyes” that will never be your own.
I think, also, Evie Dunmore opens herself up to certain scrutiny. Not simply because she opened her book [a book on women's rights] but shrouded her romance in the menacing shadows of an whole country's [and people's] colonialism and imperialism, and because she had some idea she would be safer under the cloak of saying in her Acknowledgment pages this, she THANKS::

I can only imagine that many of those who did some type of reading work for Evie Dunmore's prior manuscripts of this book were like-minded as she is. So, yeah, someone should have picked up on some very detailed offenses that not only occurred once but continued to happen with some abandon.
I get it. I understand that we must not white-wash or completely erase a moment in history. Had Evie Dunmore merely allowed Tristan, her Hero, to simply have fought in Afghanistan, to have lived in India during this British Rule as most Anglo-Saxon [British] men had, maybe we wouldn't need to discuss such offenses.
I do not know why nor will I ever understand why Evie Dunmore chose to put a misappropriated religious tattoo--term it Lady Shiva and then abuse it for her mode of judging a man caught up in sexual misconduct allegations [possible rape]. The fix is easy if all you needed was a heavily detailed tattoo.
And why did it have to be Lord Shiva misappropriated as a naked four-armed Indian woman they jokingly refer to as "Lady Shiva"? I know this story wants to support empowering women, but this takes us in the wrong, slanted direction.
A whole country's misappropriation in order to delight or be enchanted by India? Taking parts of India culture or Indian religion and misrepresenting them. This saddens and disappoints me.
Off the shoulders of India's oppression, I just--I am left despondent and wondering how this could happen in the world of 2019, or even 2020. This makes it, for me, quite possibly ten-times as worse as Book 1 and I could barely stomach the heaviness of that book with the highly misleading colorfully animated joyful cover.
But let me be quite frank, The Romance found amongst the backdrop of the British Raj, India's oppression...the colonialism and imperialism of a whole entire country during the time period, is quite possibly deeply cross-purposing a highly-sensitized issue of oppressing women's civil rights.
Once I knew and understood what Evie Dunmore had done--the offensive content--I had some idea maybe this was being blown out of proportion. But when it's done as blatantly as this book clearly supports, yeah, it suddenly becomes pretty disturbing that this was looked over by "sensitivity readers.
I truly believe one can be so "woke, or believe you are awoken or enlighten to such an extent you blindly begin to step over marginalized people in order to get to a percieved mountain top of wonderment. This is a huge failure in thewrong direction.
Not just India [its people, culture, religion]
BUT...
The rest of the Suffragette Movement.
AND...
The mishandling and misjudging of other sexualities as non-hetero-normative.
You say you are supportive but then you degrade and you have other characters [like the Heroine] call out the Hero who claims a different sexuality, not the norm. He is then continually described as "useless" and/or "gross" and "disgusting", possibly "highly contagious of the pox" because of hyper-sexuality...
These are a few of the heaviest issues, the offensive and problematic ones, too. Let me not even begin to dig through the messiness of Lucie and Tristan as singular souls, in their own private worlds. And then, once one knows or comes to realize then fantasize that a wish fulfillment of an enemies/hate-to-lovers is on its way...one must be prepared for a bad faith attempt at pinning the wrong trope on a genuinely improperly balanced couple.
I find myself hard-pressed to enjoy or find anything remotely funny or joyful about one of the purported romantic couple having such a venomous and menacing hatred, while the other has a seemingly unconditional, undying emotion [maybe toward like/love]. Half the book is Lucie hatefully despising anything and everything about Tristan. And I mean EVERY.THING. But she is especially gruesome and toxic with his sexuality.
If Annabelle's book was our intro, then fine. Annabelle was a side-character to the actual Movement itself and never genuinely a piece of it. But this is Lucie. She is one of the main driving forces of this Movement. Her whole embodiment of this romantic tale is equaled to the hard-working two years she has spent attempting to cornerstone a publishing business so she can use it to "get the word" out about women's civil rights and simply to be “heard”. She feels so passionate about her "cause" she becomes dead inside--gray, drab, lifeless. Her friends and roommates pretty much think she is NEVER happy. She, quite literally never is, in truth.
What else should we expect from Lucie's book as a solid main member of The Movement? Better, more succinct rep, I would say.
I understand we have our “League of Extraordinary Women”: we have had Annabelle, Lucie, next we will have Hattie and then Catriona. These are all fine, but let me start by saying...every single one of these female characters is a white Anglo-Saxon heterosexual woman.
There are no representations of color.
There are no representations of queerness.
There are no representations of different classes in society.
We do know they exist. Our history books might not all contain their names but if you do a harder deep-dive, these women fought right alongside all those white middle-class-to-high-class cishet-gendered women.
An Author is merely letting out half of a huge story if all that is represented are the proper “included” classes but never the outlier “excluded” ones. The book’s attempt at mild rep for the poor working class is...prostitutes, at a brothel called, The Oyster. Even then, Lucie as a leader seems disinterested in including their “stories” when she is more adamant to include women like her and their personal stories, many in private letter formats she wishes to publish using the publishing house business.
I grew deeply concerned with how this book deals with outlier sexualities not hetero-normative to the romantic couple featured. And I say this with the utmost respect, Evie Dunmore attempted and failed, once more.
If you stage your storyline about a part of the populous being excluded and wanting to be included, please try not to tread heavily on another marginalized faction of human existence. Again, I understand to be historically accurate we have to show a bit of the disconnect as many sexualities were not just frowned upon in society but also seen as "criminal", cause for possible imprisonment.
Tristan's own father, Rochester, threatens him with being arrested for his sexual hedonism [a local gay man's den of inequity, Lord Arthur, that Tristan is frequently at] of sleeping with both men and women, but also, it seems that he has done this on purpose. Tristan says he identifies as "bisexual" yet his intentions are never towards being romantically linked to both sexes nor having well-intended relations with both sexes. His sexuality is one of...how do I put this?
There is a conversation Tristan has with his overbearing father, where the screws are about to be put to him that he either cleans up his act [dresses correctly, takes the diamond stud out of his earlobe and stops being a foppish dandy] for 3-months or he will institutionalize Tristan's dear mother in a private asylum, much like Bedlam. Extortion, I say, because it hinges on him earning estate/inheritance monies while not being who he genuinely is in private.
Tristan admits, to his father, that he has been sleeping around to gain power over some quite slanderous rumors. A local man, well-known in society circles as leading a similar self-indulgent lifestyle, Lord Arthur [the book's representation for a gay man], has quite the stories to pass on concerning Tristan and the level of hedonism reached.
In a later chapter, from Tristan's POV, his inner monologue, we find this out...
Tristan has been sleeping around to gain ways and means to gather important information about the men [and women] around him in order to find an outlet to extort his own money gains, should he need it one day. And, yet Evie Dunmore wants her Hero to claim bisexuality as HIS OWN, except this is not how best to describe your sexuality or how to properly "own" it when you do not genuinely live within it.
Let me be quite open about this idea of "owning" a sexuality. It must be your honest truth, a constant way of life that you heed to because it is what you want and not you having sex with whomever you are attempting to screw over in the future. Genuinely, I mean it because Tristan’s form of sexuality feels like a story/plot tool. This is a factor that rattles me most.
I don’t know what kind of other-sexuality was meant to be handed to Tristan's role, but it’s not honest. It feels forced and sloppy. He claims being "bisexual" as his sexuality. Except, lemme make this point...he has never shown any ounce of attraction to Lord Arthur, in fact spurns him several times--in the past and especially now. And he never has shown any actual attraction to men, ever, in the story. Any man. Ever, not even as a prior clandestine lover from his past.
Tristan has seemingly, always, had unrequited love for Lucie since childhood [close in age--1yr apart, Lucie is older--and their mothers are good friends]. It is so crystal clear time and time again, he will love her until the end of time, has loved her through physical abuse from his father to wars fought in and battles won and from a, literal, ocean away in several countries.
Evie Dunmore has written Tristan’s open sexuality as a means to an end, not for sake of pleasure either or that he was ever singularly attracted. Men were simply there to bring to the bed to gather “Intel”, plain and simple. And other women NOT-Lucie...were fallen scraps in the wake it seems, satiating when he could never have what he wanted.
Oh, yes, Tristan is a highly typical historical rake and scoundrel, maybe a reprobate when it appeared to him like his life was wasted or he was inconsolable, needing companionship or emotional connection.
Why oh why give him an identity as bisexual unless one wants to help readers focus on Lucie’s side of the story, of the wild-rompy, overly-sexual and of being a part of many orgies in gossip? To help readers gain a semblance of how other-sexualities-not-cis-het could be perceived...as more gross or disgusting, deplorable people because of hyper-sexuality? Create a proper background for Lucie to hate more intensely?
Time and time again, Lucie is judging Tristan, but also feeling quite attracted—to her, for no explicable reason until the time arrives for them to be intimate, then despite her abhorrence, she easily succumbs. Mainly because she knows in the end of her intimacy with Tristan she will become sole owner of London Print.
I am still so unclear even as I have finished the book and he has a happy [for now] ending with Lucie.
Tristan can be allowed to be a rake/scoundrel without it ever being revealed what his sexuality is. As a Romance reader veteran, I am quite fine with never being told who or what the rakish hero is in the bedroom. A bit of mystery or murkiness that we can only wish Lucie finally receives once they become an intimate couple, off-book.
Why is it important for us, as readers, to know? To "define" it or even "claim" it as being what you genuinely are, when we know you are not by your own mouth, the words on paper?
Women’s struggle for civil rights is a progressive movement, right? The misrepresentation of what bisexuality is to many is appalling, as is Tristan's mode of conduct, but also attacking and ridiculing and cultivating a fog of hate and anger towards those of a different sexuality is just...well, it’s not where we want to be.
I had made many mentions of our only gay character [except a brief appearance in a bar of Oscar Wilde where we are to have some forced-fed belief that Wilde may have mirrored "The Picture of Dorian Gray" on his meeting w/Tristan...**massive eye-roll**] by the name of Lord Arthur. Many people in London society already know Lord Arthur runs a hedonistic den out of his own home, his “house parties” are always “orgies”, which is what Tristan's father attempts to use against him---the fact that Lord Arthur can make some wild substantiated claim of Tristan's actions to get him gossiped about, slandered on or imprisoned.
What is most unlikable is Lord Arthur as a whole character or why he even exists to begin with. How he is, then introduced to readers, inch by slow inch, and then how he manifests until he, literally, crumbles in a weak moment of having been unable to acquire any ounce of dignity from Tristan, despite his threats to Rochester, Tristan's father. Then suddenly, without much fanfare he turns dastardly and evil, becoming our villain of the book.
Evie Dunmore has given Lord Arthur, the only gay man featured, the "cap" of uber-Bond Villain, except he isn't very good at it when faced with Tristan on his own. I do not know why this has been done nor why Lord Arthur became so adamantly connected to the Hero that his very character goes through a very sporadic heavy shift change, from low-brow villain to then becoming someone who helps a female cousin bring charges of “rape”/sexual misconduct against Tristan.
Lord Arthur is a something-something-cousin-once-removed from Lucie...and Lucie has a young, Blonde and beautiful cousin, named Cecily. Lucie is estranged from her family--her own mother...and Cecily has become a genuine "replacement" daughter. Lord Arthur never makes it any secret of his highly aggressive and hyper-hormonal tendencies around Tristan; he has an unconditional adoration of Tristan that has no basis in true facts. It truthfully seems that Lord Arthur has built some fantastical bond between he and Tristan because...
...there was an orgy one night at his home, one of his many gossiped about “house parties”; both Lord Arthur and Tristan were occupying much the same space, but roughly well-distanced. From across the room, while Tristan was fucking a woman on a table, Lord Arthur caught Tristan’s gaze. From then on, Evie Dunmore will continually write Lord Arthur, her gay representation role, as a consummate stalker who believes or wantonly thinks he and Tristan had a “connection” that night with no basis in fact, built all in a single man’s head.
And now, in current time for this story, Lord Arthur is following Tristan around town, like a sad puppy desperate for affections. Getting drunk at pubs/bars he knows Tristan frequents, then following Tristan down the street to physically accost him and throw himself at his very feet. It’s maddening that the one big interaction they have almost ends up with Tristan nearly brawling with Lord Arthur, causing physical hurt or harm. Instead, Lord Arthur trips, falling drunkenly to the wet ground and just, remains placed near Tristan’s groin level, crying and moaning about “why won’t you [Tristan] just succumb?”...and, sadly, this is what is given to readers as another proper form of representation.
Because Tristan has done countless of denials and of “pushing” Lord Arthur away, literally, with hands on his body, suddenly the Big Baddie of our story develops in the blink of an eye. Lord Arthur will, at one point, locate his cousin Cecily, when she believes she is in some kind of perpetual arrangement [loose engagement] with Tristan, that he uses her warped sense of decency to seek his revenge. And it will happen at Montgomery & Annabelle’s house party, publicly.
Lord Arthur is also someone who has seen proof that Tristan has a tattoo above his shoulder bullet wound, on bare skin, but he informs of the wrong details to his cousin Cecily, who grows evil-doer, as well. Lord Arthur has never seen it up-close and personal as he has never had sex with Tristan.
I want to say something about the heroine here... Yes, Tristan is open about his sexuality and we were told he is "bisexual", has slept with men and women, but in truth many a story in the gossips have been fabricated to such a disgusting and grossly misleading degree. Sometimes by Tristan’s own making, merely to upset his tyrannical father, Rochester.
This story is a hate/enemies-to-love trope fulfillment. We must “fulfill” these hateful parts properly, except...does it truly fulfill the wish of an exact trope when it is merely one-sided?
I had mentioned this awhile back but I want to bring it forefront once again because not only is Tristan's true sexuality still unclear...Lucie does not ever deal well with his open sexuality. As a woman who is a main leader of a marginalized, oppressed populous...she sits in a perpetual motion of judgment. Mainly of Tristan, but also of people who live or carry out their personal lives differently than hers. She even has a huge fight with Annabelle for daring to enjoy marriage to The Duke, Montgomery.
With Tristan, Lucie has an unfathomable idea that he is bedding both men and women, nonstop, left and right because his hedonism is seen as hyper-sexuality. The quite venomous words pouring from Lucie’s lips are detrimental to believing she would have had any intentions of ever being intimate with him. This behavior causes one to imagine she dislikes not only Tristan, as a human being, but finds as a man, he is often quite dirty, filthy, she would never consider a sexual relationship with him being so gross and disgusting in her frame of mind. She never understands how damaging her words are as she says intentional hurtful things right to his face, and sometimes behind his back.
How can a woman who feels like a man is, “filthy”, “dirty” or “useless” to society ever see his true worth?
Take a peek at some passages [and these are a few of the many times she talks bad about him]::
Context:: bad news for Lucie...she now co-owns LONDON PRINT w. Tristan. Six years ago, Tristan invested money in the one business who helped publish his book of poetry. He published under Anonymous, and when he returned from war, he settled up with taking another percentage of the business to one day in the future publish more content, war diaries or more poetry.
“Do I like it,” she repeated. “The poetry, I presume? Why, I never read any of it.” She gave him a haughty look. “Pretty, empty things don’t hold my attention.”
The gleam in his eyes faded.
Context:: bad news for Lucie, again...She has accidentally discovered that her rival, Tristan, lives in London. She runs away from her girlfriends to visit a man's chamber late at night...UNANNOUNCED and enraged about him daring to move and live near her townhouse.
Any sense of defeat went up in angry flames. “You think I dislike you for your childish pranks?”
His eyes narrowed. “What else could it possibly be?”
“Your ignorance is astonishing.”
“Enlighten me,” he said darkly. “Just what crimes have I ever committed against you to merit such a degree of dislike?”
“Dislike?” she said. “Very well, this is why I dislike you: you are a libertine. You seduce people for the sake of it, for sport. You will use and discard a woman just to pass an afternoon . . . you value trivial things and mock serious matters, and you talk a lot but say very little, which leads me to conclude your mind is lazy or foolish, or both . . . you misuse your superior station with your hedonistic ways, when most people cling to their positions by the skin of their teeth, and, worst of all, you have been assigned a seat in the House of Lords and yet you have not used it once—not once!—when millions go without a voice in this country. Truly, I can think of few men more useless than you, and I don’t dislike you, my lord, I detest you.”
A dam in her, long cracked, had broken; the toxic words were pouring out of her like a waterfall.
These are simply a few examples of what Lucie says to Tristan, face-to-face. She will sometimes talk about him behind his back...even telling her 3 Suffragette girlfriends that she thinks Tristan "tricked" her into buying the company with him because he is "not always sober"...
The 4 women end up discussing what to do at London Print with Tristan [Lord Ballentine breathing air around loose women] there...
Their question being : employ a staff of women at London Print, instead of sending them off to Australia to marry husbands?
The government’s current remedy of sending women to Australia with a one-way ticket so they could find husbands there was, as usual, a harebrained scheme. However . . . she shook her head. “A brilliant idea,” she said. “But no.”
“Whyever not?” Catriona looked genuinely confused.
“An office full of women workers?” Another shake. “It would be unwise, with Ballentine so close. He hardly needs the added acclaim of being a romantic poet—he could cause disruption just by flaunting himself around the office. And he will. Sensible women will turn against each other, competing for his attention. The one he lures will suffer a broken heart and do something deranged . . . you have all seen the headlines he causes. And I will have to dismiss her, because I cannot dismiss him.”
Her friends were regarding her with a collective frown, as though she had quite lost her mind.
“Aren’t you doing us an injustice?” Annabelle asked mildly. “I know he’s a scoundrel, but it will take more than a handsome face and some flirtation to turn women into imbeciles.”
“I agree,” muttered Catriona. “Have some faith in our rational faculties.”
Lucie blew out a breath. To an outsider, she would sound quite unhinged. “You have to understand something about Ballentine,” she said. “He used to be a second son, and his hair was orange. There were rumors he wasn’t even Rochester’s. What does such an unfortunate boy do to survive? He becomes charming. And witty. He becomes a veritable Machiavelli of charm. He will eventually sense your desires and weaknesses from a mile away and will use them against you as it suits him. Now imagine that a boy with such a grudge and such skills grows into an extraordinarily handsome man, becomes the heir, and returns home with the Victoria Cross. Can you imagine what this makes him?”
For a long moment, only the crackling sound of the fire filled the room.
Lucie despises Tristan to the extent where she has convinced all of her girlfriends that he cannot even be trusted inside the publishing offices and that women will simply fall all over him and he will mindlessly accost them.
Lucie also finds herself, like I said, judging those who live a different lifestyle from her.
In a very early chapter, as Lucie arrives to her townhouse in Oxford, she informs readers of having been kicked out of her family home 10yrs ago, which is why she lives with Mabel, Lady Henley, a widow and fellow suffragist. When we are in Lucie’s head, she comes across as uber-judgmental. And, also, much too often in the story, she seems to have reached a weird malaise of some sort about her overall life--like she is missing something, someone or generally “missing out” on Life.
Here we will soon have a bad, terrible set-up to a reunion, of sorts.
Lady Henley is giggling and carrying on the other side of the townhouse. As a widower, Lady Henley is given a certain “pass” to do what she will amongst society; she hangs around the women of Oxford University and she partakes of her own certain and, sometimes, flashy-flirty ways with men. And when Lucie meanders over to tell Mabel to “keep it down”, she finds her old rival, Tristan, on her doorstep, simply chit-chatting or possibly seducing Lady Henley through her open window off the stoop outside.
He appears unkempt, like he just came from a lover’s bed [this is Lucie telling us how he seems]. They have not seen one another in a solid year. This seemed to be when Tristan was sent to war, for the British military, to fight in Afghanistan. Six months ago, he returned home to Oxford after having received the Victorian Cross. Because of his excellent service in England’s name, he now has a proper seat in the House of Lords--he is called, Lord Ballentine.
This is where we start to see that Lucie judges people, without truly knowing them. She assumes she knows Tristan’s wit and charm, how it weaves its dastardly web over unsuspecting women...and Mabel is simply too horny and in love with Tristan to not see how much he will never care about her, in the least. She attempts to deny Mabel the right to a simple, single conversation with an adult male, through a window.
This is how Lucie describes Tristan to readers, from her own mind’s conjurings::
In several ways, Lucie has not merely taken judgmental swipes at Tristan, but also Mabel. This will be Lucie’s M. O. on the steady, for complete strangers and even her own friends.
Lucie will literally scold Mabel and stomp off in disgust, but also for her own attractions to Tristan, even as he has been mostly a fly in the ointment to her when he could never get her to reciprocate a normal friendship. She made it so difficult to be her friend so he had to turn rank and become a jokester or a prank artist. She still holds him accountable on a rare moment of insult when he dipped the tips of her long golden locks in an ink well. He was a dearer friend to her brother, which was a later reason for him being inside Lucie’s childhood home.
We get a bit of this scene from Tristan’s POV, so we see how he has always seen her. She often causes him to think long ago of certain poems he was quite fond of, as he was always fond of her. Now he feels her constant judgment, her belittlement, and the way she has of looking at him now with a sense of disgust at his deplorable means of carrying out is life, so openly sexual with women, of any walks of Life. He sees it as a playful banter, which he also does with her so very well. He knows the right buttons to push because she is so much older than everyone around her; she is reaching Spinsterhood. And spinster often hate Rakes like him, so he teases and becomes playful with her because he has known they have always been attracted or bonded in such a way.
Also, he knows Lucie fairly well, been there most of her life, he sees her for what she truly is, the fact that she denies herself the minimalist of pleasures. She denies herself even a simple right to find happiness and to reach out when it is there and grab it. Tristan enjoys taunting her to take a chance, and to possibly take a chance on him, maybe someday.
In 2020, we are holding the proverbial feet to the fire if you want to play in certain arenas where you may not have sensitivity to. And these types of missed mistakes are utterly shameful.
Let me begin with the biggest dispute...taking a culture you might be in love with and adore, then misrepresenting it on several levels. I am not talking about only one single issue, I am meaning too many issues to name. It shouldn’t have been this way, able to pick apart, chapter by chapter, scene break by scene break where you have to take a mild pause when a certain country, its culture or its people are mentioned.
Something has occurred to light a fire for India under Evie Dunmore...and in some manner she felt compelled to bring it out in a story or a book she was writing. That is fine, and wonderful, and a pleasant diversion from other choices.
But, if not taken well in hand this choice to layer and weave your story within another country, its culture and people when it has a historical background of “colonialism” and “imperialism” where its very foundations were marginalized, misaligned, sometimes stolen and then enslaved. There was a portion of British rule in India, called the British Raj, 1857-1947, which is where Evie Dunmore’s story falls into.
This time period should never be romanticized or utilized as fodder in a romantic setting or backdrop. Nor should one partake of details inside of a culture, sacred and sensitive to many people today, and given to rich white Anglo-Saxon characters to be used as tools inside of a much larger story--especially a civil rights for women story. It’s traumatic and demoralizing, negating your larger story’s purpose.
Let me begin with low-bar, then move to high-bar offenses::
The smallest is caught in a conversation when Tristan is off to Ashedown Castle where his bed-ridden, consummately ill and depressed mother is kept in her personal chambers. There are medically prescribed "poisons" [laudanum] by her bedside, a cold bowl of soup she hasn't eaten from. He pulls back her heavy curtains to bring in some sunlight, and while at her bedside he begins to tell her a story about one of his commanders, a General Foster, and an Indian man who owned an elephant ride business.
A seemingly cute and sweet story, but as Tristan is rattling on, trying to make his Bedlam-bound mother smile or laugh, instead, she interrupts her son and calls Indian people “heathens”--no rhyme, no reason. And even from a foggy-brain just-woken-up state as she succumbs to melancholia for her beloved first son's death, she remembers to be racist of a people her country has enslaved. Awesome.
Tristan never responds, in fact he backs away from the comment immediately. He never speaks ill or grossly about his time spent in India, about the culture or people. He will often lament about his time at war, how he fought in battles with his combat men. Tristan feels like he has absorbed India and the culture. Except, Tristan won’t stand up and reply or defend the very country he is appropriating.
Nor the very country he is almost attempting to escape to...he seems to be adamant he and his mother [hopefully with Lucie in tow as his new wife] can eventually escape his father’s, Rochester’s, clutches, and leave for India. He even has quite an open discussion with his faithful Indian servant, Avi, about where to go, which city to buy a house in, Delhi or Calcutta?
Once again, Evie Dunmore chooses to have Tristan's sole, and only, focus be India. There are plenty of other well-distanced European countries to escape to. In fact, much of Tristan's youthful history was shrouded in a willingness to run off and catch a steamer to The Americas--he did that actual thing in his younger days, trying to find ways and means to live on his own money, not dependent on his father.
Evie Dunmore also writes what is supposed to be a "let's make Lucie happy" scene, when she and Annabelle are in a slightly serious conversation. Especially about why, oh why...is Annabelle so god-damn happy with Montgomery [The Duke from Bringing Down the Duke], and certainly why she has settled so excellently within her new marriage.
Annabelle and Lucie are in discussion and to “cheer” Lucie up from increasing doldrums, Annabelle mentions there is a new Indian restaurant someplace quaint and reachable for them so they can have their Lady Brunch.
It’s a little of a two-fer here. Can you imagine...some ketchy Indian cafe for rich white Anglo-Saxon women? On the streets of Oxford, during a time of British rule over India? So they can partake of an appropriated culture for their cute Lady Brunch? I mean...wow...the sheer audacity to create this in a scene where it would shine briefly but invariably has been so easily overlooked by many.
The only representation Evie Dunmore has given of an Indian man, from India...is Tristan's manservant/valet, Avi.
There are several detailed conversations with Avi, mainly with Tristan, but they become mildly a “caricature” than a true person. Avi is weaved throughout the story as he helps and aides Tristan in dressing and keeping daily appointments, often becoming a pseudo-bodyguard.
But it is fundamentally clear...Tristan, and thereby Evie Dunmore, have no clue to who Avi genuinely can be. I think there was even a moment or two where Avi actually claims to love dressing and undressing Tristan, likes that he can serve a white British man like him. It is horrible how Avi is our only Indian representation and he is serving a white European male with some kind of pleasure, while escaping his own country and possibly fearing returning w/Tristan should he set sail in the coming months.
While, yes, Avi is a Valet and they do rather put themselves at the very feet of the men they serve...the fact that it is a white British man who has fought to oppress Avi's own people, then he is kowtowing to serve him, giving compliments galore it seems. Comically portrayed to a level of “escaping the many women” as if all men of his culture have boat-loads of women fawning and flirting over them so he must escape them or bed them all.
I want to be horrified...well, I am, but I am also disappointed that Avi is, at times, better character in the book than some of the major players and yet he seems to get disservice in more ways than one.
And, lastly and yes, my biggest difficulty in swallowing problematic offenses is Tristan’s tattoo of a naked raven-haired woman [possibly an Indian], w/four arms, that covers his shoulder bullet hole--misrepresenting Lord Shiva, comically called Lady Shiva.
This is the biggest and the most disgusting travesty of all. Religion and religious prophets are precious to many and honestly do not need to be misrepresented nor should they be comically misappropriated in such a loud and public manner.
One has easily created a moment where it is brought to the forefront as a topical issue, especially the, “Does the woman in the tattoo have FOUR or TWO arms?” There should have been another complicated, yet detailed tattoo that Tristan could have been given after war. Like a gun with carvings etched in the handle. Years he had served and fought battles. Or something from the military...like an emblem or such.
I had to go back and suss out how I had felt about the debut novel, and while I gave it a good rating, there was a lot to be upset over. Especially when a cover makes it appear as if this might be lighthearted. The book’s content was much more heavy-handed than its advertising purported.
I honestly do not believe Evie Dunmore had intentions to offend, it has something more to do with a combination of instances. A lot of “balls dropped”, if I feel like being honest.
This is also the fated sophomore slump. Now you have to prove your debut wasn’t an anomaly. It can happen once again.
One thing you have to realize if this feels kind of how everyone wants this to be--the final product. The book publisher and Evie Dunmore feel pleased, so no way this manuscript goes back to the drawing board because there is too much here to overhaul.
Take a minute...decide whether you can digest the romance and the build-up to the happy [for now] ending while sidelining something far more important and real...systemic and palpable.
We need to do better. ALL OF US. Staying silent is as much compliance as if you said a modicum of dislike and gave the book a low rating.
This is 2020. We need to be well past this kind of watershed moment and on to better actions and responses.
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