Hallo about 3 months ago I missed the punching bag on a punching machine and hit the metal part. My knuckle was swollen bruised and sore for at least a couple weeks with there being pain when closing my hand. the pain went away with time but the sensation is still a bit strange. The middle knuckle is also still slightly swollen but I’ve now noticed a dent on the actual knuckle. Was this a break

Hi! I'm Ivy, several of you may have run into me on recent TLPs. I'm someone who can't pull or run around much in indoor zones.
I would very much like to play a monk on Teek. I've tried everything else out and while rogue nearly works, constantly keeping at the back of the boss can sometimes set off my vertigo, and they can't solo their way out of a wet paper bag. Monks are slow to solo, but at least they can do it, or FD if the jumjum hits the clockwork whirlygig.
I have several issues that can make gameplay difficult. Namely the big one is that lots of indoor movement gives me a splitting headache and vertigo- couple that with the social stress and focus demand on pulling mentally exhausts me within 10-15 minutes, it has made monk a 'no-go' class for me for many years.
People have exhaustively tried to help me improve settings and hardware to reduce flicker which as helped, but unfortunately does not actually stop the problem. Thank you though!
I am perfectly willing to very slowly solo my way up to get into raiding, but it would be better if I could find some understanding folks to group with too!
So!;
I'd really like to punch things! Monks are premier DPS and you could make the argument that they're more useful punching mobs in camp than leaving to pull.
I'm just looking to make friends who don't really give a damn about monks being good at pulling and wouldn't say no to some extra melee DPS.
Just message me character names or discord names directly if you like.
My schedule is up in the air at the moment as I am between jobs and also looking into uni, though my general timezone is daytime in England, with time to play most evenings.
Thanks!

Here is the original post. Rather innocuous, it details a video Nerd City had made regarding the recent SSSniperwolf drama.
The OP OP started this chain of events by asking about the lore behind Nerd City, and why there is some animosity towards his channel.

Commentor 1: "I'm a bit out of the loop on Nerd City, what exactly did he do?"
Commentor 2: "All I'm familiar with is he got really into NFTs. He made a whole video talking about this huge NFT scam and how these guys were manipulating gullible people into buying low quality worthless crap, and then he ended it with, "And that's why you should all buy my NFT's, which are actually good because I'm definitely not scamming you."

Little did we know, this comment here had started a ticking time bomb. As if a Humvee driving through the deserts of the Arabian peninsula, unaware of what lurks beneath the sand, Nerd City stumbles upon this landmine of a comment 36 days later, and chaos ensues.

Nerd City: "Do you struggle with nuance in every subject, it's all just binary to you? What about genders, I bet you understand this spectrum, no?"

Completely incredulous to the fact that someone would reply to a pot 35 days stale, commentor 2 shares this embarrassing ordeal with youtubedrama. Now, everyone, grab your popcorn.
Some people can't even believe the entire ordeal is real

Link the post. Please. If this is real, genuinely sad to see. If you're reading this define Marxism genuinely wanna know what you're gonna say lmao
Its him. Doctor Downvote is an alias of his according to a Youtuber wiki. Link is here. Probably best not to poke the bear.
Oh, never. I'm more an observer type. But if he replied to a post that old, there's a non-zero chance he's searching for posts about himself specifically.

To say the bear had been poked would be an understatement. It seemed as if this bear had been stabbed. As if his name had been repeated three times in the dark, in front of a mirror, Nerd City is summoned to this comment section where he begins arguing with a subreddit of individuals seemingly genetically predisposed to suffer from a disliking of Nerd City.
While managing to call the entirety of the subreddit's inhabitants coordinating liars while simultaneously rejecting the claim that he is actively looking for content about him to complain about, Nerd City enters the playing field with this comment.

searched for a tweet about GoT I made and found this club of coordinating liars. I treat people how they treat me. If you’re respectful, I’m respectful back.

Some can't even believe what's happening and even concerned, and others are quite entertained

It genuinely is unhealthy behavior to respond to so many Reddit comments that are this old. Like, it suggests a deep seated issue when you lash out so aggressively at criticism like this. It lowkey makes me worried for your mental health if you’re this upset that ppl in a community disagree with you on something. I’d hate to see what happens if someone irl disagrees with you
Damn I just lost respect for you
Imagine being the guy who systematically destroyed Paul’s nft scam, and then just making your own. Gotta edge out the market, eh?

What kind of weird type of masochism is this? Too kinky for me bro
OP and friends speculate that Nerd City's erratic behavior may be due to unfortunate circumstances in his life.

I kinda don’t want people to argue with him, he might be going through a rough spot and I don’t want to poke the bear more than I already have. Now if he comes to this post and bitches, that’s just his fault, it’s fair game.
Yeah I can’t imagine this person is doing too hot in the other areas of their life if this is how they’re spending their time. Happy fulfilled people don’t do that. At least I’ve been told lol. Edit: oh I just realized that’s actually nerd city and not just some guy. I’d say my point stands even more in that case, I don’t know much about nerd city but no big YouTuber would be doing this shit if they weren’t like actively losing their mind.
He’s got a hot wife who helps him clown on instagram girls, you’d think he’d be living the dream life.
Does she come braless to give him sandwiches (not asked for) with chips as he gets a double kill bot lane tho?

The Bear responds to these accusations not with denial, but with a valiant effort to stand up for himself.

That’s true, but can’t I also defend myself against a mob of fibbers and jerks? I always punched back, this is normal for me when I’m active online.

OP responds by proposing an unheard of solution

Have you considered logging off?

One user speculates that Nerd City might delete his account following these recent events, to which he replies:

I’m not saying anything I would need to hide or delete. I’m on main and reading Reddit notifs while simmering at about 3/10 Annoyed. I’m not happy to read lies, and clapping back when people lie has become underrated IMO
Insane behavior is thinking you can lie in a public forum with other cowardly people tittering word salad exaggerations and not be held accountable. These threads are big enough now that I’ll keep coming and kicking your asses like my enemies until one of your mods starts censoring me.

In what appears to be one of the only comments featuring meaningful insight, there is to nobody's surprise no response from Nerd City

You put all your eggs in a hollow basket. You wanted the profits that came with branding/merchandising without any of the products for consumers; which sucks cause you clearly are someone who cares about their art and presentation with your upload frequency and quality of content. Sucks that it came at the cost of your sanity and creativity. You spent a year on some discount pop-art fit for 3.5g bags, on a quick bag that was late to the party.

When one commentor asks why Nerd City is in the comment section, he promptly responds with an answer.

I’m letting the liars know I found their little liar’s club. Holding it accountable, one might say\

One lone person attempts to stand up for Nerd City, upon which he immediately expresses gratitude

Why do people give nerd so much flack for the nft stuff, on the tbh podcast he seemed really genuine about the whole thing and said that it wasn’t a scam or anything they even had coffezila one an episode which would seem really stupid if nerd was actually scamming people
Thank you. Finally, a single brave person stands up and spits some facts.

The rest of the comment section legitimately just consists of back and forth discourse between Nerd City and other commentors that is basically just identical to what has already been displayed.
Potential flairs !!
If you're reading this define Marxism
He’s got a hot wife who helps him clown on instagram girls
Does she come braless to give him sandwiches (not asked for) with chips as he gets a double kill bot lane tho?
can’t I also defend myself against a mob of fibbers and jerks?\
I’ll keep coming and kicking your asses like my enemies until one of your mods starts censoring me.
I’m letting the liars know I found their little liar’s club
Having a zyn induced meltdown

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I don't really no where to start. I feel I've lost myself, consumed with anxiety and guilt and fear and regret and I fear, this new fear, that it's going to be the end of me if I don't start to get it out in some way, shape or form.
I guess I'll begin at the beginning...
​
I had a difficult childhood with fairly neglectful parents. A mother who openly expressed she never felt she really stepped into her mom shoes until she gave birth to my younger sister, who is three years younger than me. She is my only sibling. My mother told me when I was a kid that she "had to love me", but when my sister came around "she was finally a mother and over the moon", or simply "I always always wanted a girl". I'm not sure if this could be attributed to Post-partum depression, not that she ever researched that or was daignosed with it. That's probably just me trying to pardon my mother or something to the effect. She was 17 when she had me and I'm sure times were different then, my parents both were raised religious, father christian, mother mormon. Maybe their guilt. I ask myself why they brought me into this world if I wasn't wanted to begin with. Or, give me up for adoption to a set of guardians that would have loved me better. I know I was an accident and that's not what gets me down, I get that life be lifing and what happened happened. My difficulties stem from the feeling that my presence never gave my mother any sense of purpose, responsibility or love, or concern. She was emotionally unavailable to me virtually my entire life and I feel like that caused many issues later in my life and how I perceive myself and what I deserve. Coupled with the fact that my neglect met such extremes that I am frankly shocked that I was never picked up by child care services, maybe things were different in the 90's. I'm not sure, I was just a child then.
Much of my upbringing I didn't receive a lot of the things most people would consider essential. As a baby my crib was the sock drawer, then I grew large enough to have a closet, then slept on the floor of a walk-in closet, then I had a single bed from what I recall for maybe a year or maybe two years and I remember feeling metal springs poke me in the my ribs and I recall it being uncomfortable enough for me to move back to sleeping on the floor next to the ratty old used mattress my father found from who knows where. I remember feeling like I had to keep that secret, that the mattress they gave me was uncomfortable enough for me to sneak sleeping on the floor next to it. I think I was really afraid as coming across as ungrateful. My father came from a third world country, so the "gratefullness issue" was address frequently by my mom because "I don't have it even half as bad as what my father had to endure. And she was probably right. But it just silenced me ultimately, didn't put things into a mature context for me. I just learned that I can't complain about anything ever. Anyway, that trend didn't really change when I grew older. grade 9-10 I was sleeping on the living room couch so my sister could have privacy and a bedroom to exist in for herself - which I realize is important for an individual so I encouraged her to have the bedroom. Although I figured my parents expected me to do this for my sister regardless. I was okay with making sacrfices for those I love, it was instilled in me from a very very young age.
I do feel like my father took advantage of me in the form of labour as well, having to do custodial work with my father from 10pm to 3am, at two highschools I believe he was contracted, at that young age I honestly enjoyed just spending time with my father I think, working alongside him. When I was in grade 2 and 3 I had garbage bag duty for all the students bathrooms, and I remember loving snapping the bags open by rushing air into the bag and making it blow up like a baloon. I remember the scary unlit shadowy hallways that I couldn't perceive the ends of. No bodies to see, it felt eerie but exciting in a way - like it was a whole different world.
School was a different experience for me. It was very stressful, my parents had to move a few times a year because they would dodge rent or just generally be selfish with their dual income. They loved to party hard on the weekends. I remember wondering why my father did this to himself all the time. Hoping that we could spend quality time on a saturday, but he wouldnt get out of bed until just before dinner. I didn't really understand hangovers or alcoholism and how it meant our plans would get cancelled. I think I remember trying to wrap my head around willful self-poisoning for entertainment and how could that be more enjoyable then spending time with your son? I couldn't tell my mother why I was so sad about it. Why I didn't want to move again and again and again. Why I found it so difficult to make new friends everytime I had to switch schools. Why I couldn't just do one single full school year with one class of students. It was so hard and at the time, I didn't know anything different. It was so hard to make friends and I think it created this approach to making a "new family" of friends when I became a teenager and young adult.
​
I remember always wanting to be a "good kid". The "best kid" for my parents. I feel like my parents attached this moniker to me that made things harder for me to mature into a rounded adult later in life. My parents always flaunted me as this point of accomplishment, the accomplishment that I was "so extremely well behaved". I would strive to be super polite, and a good host, try to help out when my parents had their friends over, literally fill their cups when the opportunity presented themselves. I think I did this because I must have made the conclusion that if I was quiet, super polite, helpful and useful then I had value. That I could be loved. That I could earn this love from my parents through acts of service.
I remember feeling like my sister and I had extremely different experiences growing up. When my parents were at work I took care of her, cleaned and cooked. one time my sister told my mom to eff off when she was 5 and I was 8. My mind was blown. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that she had the bravery and courage to defy my mother. Looking back, my sister was just mirroring the language she learned from my parents from whenever they fought. I remembering seriously worrying and getting scared that my father was going to belt her, or use the coat hanger, which was his preference with me. I feel like my mom was always checked out and I'm hurt that she allowed my father to take his rage out on me. That my mom could care less about me being beat, but never my sibling. It was very confusing and difficult for me to process. Not that I really processed it much as a kid. I honestly just wanted to be loved and be the best child possible. Honestly though, 'm seriously so glad that my sister was spared all of that complete non-sense. I don't wish that on anyone in the world. There were some punishments where he would walk in and tell me to pull my pants down without explanation. I have memories of tearing up and saying I didn't know why this was happening, asking what I did wrong and he would just remind me that if I resisted then I would get it worse and to hurry up and get ready. My father has since apologized. I think it is how he was raised. I didn't know what to say in response, but I told him I loved him and it's in the past. But I don't know if I was being honest when I said that. My mother would still gaslight me to this day if any of this became topic of discussion, not that I'm guessing. A year ago she told me that much of my pained memories were false and this never happened. My father on the other hand typically stays pensive and unchallenging.
It seems so damned crazy writing all of this out, it feels like a heartbreaking novel and not my life at all. But it was and is my life. I have difficulties opening up and expressing my feelings and advocating for myself when the moments are true and appropriate to do so. I know it's the healthier way to communicate, but I was literally taught to stay quiet and be useful. Fast forward 20-25 years and I'm going to be 35 and I feel like just ending it all. Every year my birthday passes and I'll get a text from my family happy birthday. But they know I'm in a difficult place, they know I miss them, they know I love them and forgive them, I try the high road whenever I can but I just don't see the point anymore. they won't celebrate my life and existence, but they'll throw family gatherings for each other, birthdays, christmas, fathers day and mothers day.
On that note, another mother's day has recently passed and my mother never invited me over, I texted my father three weeks in advance in hopes of securing a time to come over and celebrate my mothers life with my family as a family. I felt particularly stung this mother's day when they celebrated and didn't text or call to invite me over. I live in the same small town so it's easy to hop over. I literally live three blocks away.
Anyway, my mother was diagnosed with cancer over christmas this year and I have been worrying for my mother ever since and thinking about my life with her and the mortal coil and the finite mount of time I may have with her. I feel like there is a large empty part in my heart that wishes my mother and I could go grab a coffee together. She can show me her ipad app art that she has been really excited about for a couple years now. She loves showing off her digital art and I love seeing her joy and how proud she is about her art. I just don't know why she couldn't feel the same for me, her only son. Maybe I'm just a her dissapointment.
I dropped out of highschool and left the family home when I was 16. I just couldn't work for my dad during the night AND go to highschool AND socialize. Something had to give. Unfortunately it was highschool and my parents didn't really care about that at all. They were just... fine with it. they supported my sister through college and she was fortunately able to graduate with a veterinary degree of sorts. she still lives with them now as she pays off her student debt, but I left and travelled and worked on music for over a decade so I admit that I was entirely out of the family picture for some time. But as I get older, not wanting to repeat the mistakes of my parents I fear that that is precisely what's been creeping up in my life.
five years ago I met the absolute most wonderful human being and I am so lucky to have my partner in my life. She and I are engaged now and set to be married. I hoped that the news would overwhelm my parents with excitement and joy. Maybe a facebook post about their son, share some family pictures or something. But they did nothing at all. I think they showed off pictures of the trip to Mexico that week instead.
I just don't really understand how I'm this unworthy of their love and unfortunately now I'm realizing that illusion that I am unworthy has infected my relationship with my fiance. I love her so much but when I can't fix everything in her life I feel like I am the failure and the guilt overhelms me so much and the guilt is such a strong motivator for me, and it usually motivates me into becoming the biggest doormat in the world. I've never worked harder for a relationship or invested this much energy. I feel she deserves it. But I don't advocate for myself. So I build up resentment. Like I clean the house constantly and work and help bail out of her bad spending habits and cover her rent without question and this and that. To be clear, she doesn't take advantage of me and that's not how I feel about it. But I do let this annoyance build up inside of me because I don't know how to communicate my feelings in a healthy way. I'm scared I'll lose the person if I speak up, or I'll be gaslit. Again, that's not my partner that gaslights. That's just generally how I feel I'll be treated if I open up with people. It all goes back to my childhood. It's affected every friendship and work relationship I've had since.
When I was 20-ish, 15 years years ago I did the classic, "seek the relationship that most comfortably fits into the patterns you experienced with your parents". And so I trapped myself in a horrific and extremely damaging relationship with a girl I'll call K. She has undiagnosed bipolaBPD, she would never seek help but self-medicate. She ended up in the hospital maybe four times for self-harming and this where she was considered to have these diseases by a few doctors on different occasions. Anway, it turned into a relationship of abuse and it wasn't exactly new territory for me. I was ashamed in that 8 year relationship. I wanted out so bad, but she would threaten to unalive everytime I tried to get away. Of course, some weeks would go by and i would get my hair pulled out of my scalp, a knife waving in the air in front of my face, spat in the face, kicked, punched, bit, a pot of freshly boiled ramen soup thrown in my face and eyes. What's worse is that I seeked police intervention on multiple occasions. Every single time the police visited, they talked me out of pressing charges, asking me " well if she doesn't have any place to go, then do you have a place you can stay at, or the shelter?". twice they talked me out of a restraining order, that legal proceedings would take forever. Adn de-escalting me from wanting to take measures to ensure my safety because she may end up on the street as a result. To this day, I absolutely wish I advocated for myself here and pushed for a restraining order. I'm so mad at myself for not doing so.
Unfortunately, fast forward a couple years into that relationship and one evening everything would finally hit the fan. I told her to never touch me again and I absolutely meant it. she had just yanked out the largest chunk of my hair to date, to the point where my scalp was bleeding and I could even see epidermal matter still attached to the folicle ends that were in her clenched fingers. My head bled a bit and I pushed her off of me. Telling her that I needed to leave, that I was walking to my secure jam space just a 10 minute walk away. It had a leather couch in a cold concrete basement, but hey at least I would be safe for the night and I could play my drums and try and blow off this anxiety and fear in a way that was safe albeit very noisy.
She hated that I wanted to leave and convinced herself I would never return. To be fair, that was the energy I had. I never wanted to see her face again and have her name on my lips after that night. So her tactic was simple, to threaten me with calling the cops and tell them that I violently pushed her. I called her bluff and said "go ahead and I will just tell them everything you've done - yet again. All I am doing is going to the space to sleep, I said, maybe play drums." She called the cops and told them she was pushed into a wall, and she felt very unsafe. Which yes, I did push her off me when she attacked me. In the past, I tried various tactics, to run away didn't work, she just always chased me down. Or sometimes I would just sit there while she was violent against me and I just "dissapeared" kind of like how I would when my dad used his coat hanger. This time, I just pushed her off of me, I was done with the relationship at that point and we both knew it. Anyway, she called the police, they arrived and when questioned I told them that I pushed her off of me in self-defence. I was drinking that night and it didn't help my case as I was arrested without question that evening and I was charged on the spot without question with domestic assault. It devasted me. I asked the police how this could happen lawfully. That she is an abuser and there is a history of this multiple times. That I've requested a restraining order. They explained that in quebec the laws are a little different and in the case domestic cases, if there is a male aggressor against a female, then the male is automatically charged to the fullest extent. I was absolutelyu devasted by this. I can't tell you the amount of fear and anger I felt in that jail cell that night.
I feel so incredibly betrayed by the justice system, keep in mind, this is law that from what I understand is only in Quebec, I was there for music at the time with an old friend whom I am no longer in contact with. I don't think the rest of the country operates under law in this way. Now I appreciate that they are vigilant about woman abuse victims, but the law shouldn't be this absurdly biased. It just doesnt feel just and fair to me. Covert abusers shouldn't be able to take advantage of the justice system in this way, but it happens.
It was an awful experience, I was homeless for a couple months afterward, not allowed to retrieve my belongings, so I lost all of my life "crap" that I had built up, years of hardwork and investment. I mention this because I realize later in life that I have intense collecting behaviour. maybe as a self-soothing behaviour. But I love building up collections of my hobby stuff as I have many and I feel they keep me regulated and it's a form of therapy for me. In any case, I lost everything when I left that whole situation. It sucks, although ultimately it's clearly best that I got out of that dreadful circumstance. I flew across the country to my hometown and to be closer to my family and old friends from highschool. It's quite a small town mind you.
Unfortunately, my classic tendency to hide and not advocate for myself created an opportunity for my abusive ex. A year following those events, despite me assuring her that I had to block her because I flew away to start a new life provinces away. That I wished her the best. That I even promised I would never tell a soul what she did to me. Not to mention that unfortunately we live in a society where nobody really has an ounce of sympathy for a male abuse victim. I had every intention to keep that promise, but she couldn't trust me ultimately. I think her logic was maybe to just beat her ex to "the punch". Kill or be killed or something like that. I don't live my life like that so I don't really know what her plan was. But she made a bunch of posts on various social media platforms for all of our mutual friends, music friends, coworkers etc. that the relationship was over and she was free. That she got out of a cycle of abuse and she was ready to start a new chapter of her life. She never used my name, just that she was glad she got away from her toxic and abusive ex once and for all.
It was exactly like that night a year prior, she threatened me with this outcome she could design for me, and I called her on her bluff by saying I was still going to block her and I can't control what she does with her life or how she conducts herself, but that I was out and to never contact me ever again. She made me regret that decision.
The posts she made that day got so many likes and support from so many of our mutual friends, even musician mates that were closer to me than her, and it absolutely destroyed me, not just internally but socially. I no longer make music anymore and it hurts to go outside into the world because it feels like everybody sees me as this monster. And still I don't have a voice to inform anyone otherwise - except my family and my fiance. I have no friends anymore. They all left my life with the belief that I did all of these horrible and awful things.
I just don't trust people anymore as a result and it's just caused me to become extremely bitter and depressed. I ruminate on the past, maybe in attempts to fix the past so I can move on. So I could do better, so I don't have to punish myself for my mistakes in the past. But it just reopens every emotional wound I have and they never get a chance to heal. That was maybe 7 years ago now and I'm still replaying these events in my head every single morning for about 1 - 2 hrs. Then I go completely numb for the majority of the rest of the day, shallow breathing, and the mildest sadness that mascarades as fatigue and disinterest.
There are some days where I seriously fear for the future and I just feel like every cruel soul will inherit this earth and that's the future, they built this world of suffering and they deserve to inherit it. Their toxic flag staked so deep into the earth in reclamation. The future isn't holding any seats for people like us. I'm so heartbroken and defeated. I feel like white-wolfing my fiance because she deserves better than this traumatized person that hides from the world. I feel like giving her my collection of collections so she can sell it all off and pay off her 10k of credit debt, then with this act of kindness I can go out not feeling like a guilt-ridden defeated loser. And leave on a high note.
When I'm alone, I get trapped in these ruminating cycles and it's the angriest I ever get. It's reached the point where I feel like I am actually reliving all this past trauma every morning and I can't do it anymore. I just feel like I am so at the end of whatever this ride was.
I don't have any friends anymore and everyone but my fiance thinks I am a monster and it's just unbearable.
I just don't even know. I am even afraid that someone will read this post and suss through all of this and make the connection. Then I'll get another new email or random throwaway account with an insta message that says "I told you you would never be able to get over me. You can move on, but you will never be able to erase the past. Never truly. You know where to find me."
It's haunting and it's poisonous. I just feel haunted and poisoned and I don't know if there is a snake oil potent enough or antitode true enough to get me back to the generous, lighthearted, energetic kid I once was.
To whoever was willing to read through all of this, thank you for hearing me out. I don't know what advice I am even asking for here. I'm hoping just speaking this out into the world in some way can alleviate this misery. I don't know.

Slutty Sister Has Her Brother Locked For Life (non-con, forced chastity, bondage, punishment)
Part 1
The keyholder nurse gave me instructions and explained everything after it was all over. My family had told me that I was a sex pervert and I was "being dealt with". I knew I was in trouble, but I was a young man, only 18 and I didn't understand what was going on. No one had told me anything after the hearing.
Mom drove me to an odd building, led me to a secure room and left. A young nurse told me to undress. I was totally naked. An older woman in scrubs and a man entered. They strapped my arms and legs down to a cold steel table. The nurse offered the woman a syringe, but she declined and said "No, I want this creep to feel it".
It all started a month ago. I lived with my mom and sister, dad was gone. My sister was 19, with a tight body and medium sized, perky tits. Mom was thick, curvy, with giant tits. Both recently got their naval's pierced with matching studs. Neither had boyfriends, but they were very promiscuous. We lived in a mobile home with thin walls, so I could hear them getting fucked often.
I made some mistakes. First, my sister caught me peeping on her in the shower and told mom. Then, two of her "friends" came over for sex. They took turns on her. She got very loud. After they left, I went in her room. She covered herself, but I saw her pussy and stomach first. There were small puddles of cum around her pantyline, and some more of it leaking out of her. I told her I was still a virgin and asked if I could "go next" on her. She yelled "get out" and told mom when she got home from work.
The third incident was more serious they said. Mom would sometimes drink and pass out. I'd never felt tits before and hers were so enticing. She had some drinks and went to bed. I snuck in. She was asleep, uncovered, wearing a gown. I grabbed her heaving boobs. Then I took one of my hands off her chest and pulled the gown above her waist, exposing her. I slid my hand between her legs and rubbed her pussy. She woke up and caught me. She was pissed. The next day my sister told me they had turned me in and there would be a hearing.
So I knew why I was on the metal table, but I didn't know what was next. I couldn't see, there was a drape at my waist. It started with gloves and cold metal on my genitals, then clamping, pinching, pulling, and eventually a sharp puncturing pain near my balls. I begged them to stop, but they did it 2 more times, once on my cock. Finally a metal device was brought out. I could feel it being slid on, clamped down, tightened, then locked. "All done" they said and left. The young nurse stayed behind.
She removed the drape and released the straps. I inspected the "device". My cock and balls had been fed through a steel ring that tightly encircled them at the base. It was secured to a piercing just above my taint and another at the top. My penis was locked in a tight steel "cage" with a hole at the end for pissing. The head had been pierced and a metal bar went through me as extra security. It wasn't going anywhere. The whole thing was super tight.
"What is this?" I asked.
She explained. "It's your chastity device. Your genitals have been locked up. At the hearing, your mother and sister requested that you be put in chastity. The safety council asked them how long they thought would be appropriate and both wanted you locked forever. Since the incidents involved incest, the council agreed. Your penis is locked for life. I'm your keyholder nurse. I will help with adjustments, cleanings, draining your balls, and anything else needed for chastity".
"When do I get to take off?" I said.
She answered, "You're locked forever. So you wont get to take it off. They have to keep you locked so your sister is safe and to punish you for what you did to your mom. You wont be able to have sex or force anyone. Since you can't masturbate, your balls might swell, so you will see me every other month to drain them, do a deep cleaning, and tighten your cage, if necessary.
--------------------------------XXX--------------------------------

Part 2

The room was cold. My keyholder nurse was a cute twenty-something. A name tag with "Beverly" was pinned above her perky boobs. Her scrub top was tight around her chest. I could see the shape of her breasts and her hard nipples pressing againt the fabric. I stared and my cage got tighter. She noticed and grinned slightly.
I got back to business, "Can I appeal or get parole or something? What happens next?"
She answered, "Sorry, no appeals for chastity. There is parole, but not for incest cases. What you did is considered extremely disgusting, so they deemed you a "most extreme pervert". Incest offenders get more severe penalties and no parole. I'm not supposed to be judgemental, but you're my first incest case and it sounded really awful at your hearing. It's hard to believe creeps as bad as you even exist, who rubs their own mom's pussy? This case is really bad, so I'm gonna go harder on you than my other guys. I hope it was worth it. So here's what's next...your mother and sister are entitled to a final inspection of your genitals, then you'll go directly to prison to be processed and locked up in the chastity unit."
I was confused and responded with frustration, "I can't believe this is happening to me. I just got too horny seeing the girls dressed like sluts and listening to them getting fucked all the time. After seeing my sisters cum-filled pussy, I lost control and slipped up. If she just gave me sloppy seconds, I wouldn't have done all that to mom....What do you mean prison?!?!"
She responded, bursting with excitement, "Dont worry, you'll learn your lesson! OH! I see they didn't tell you about prison yet, since you were a rush case. Chastity is just an add-on to your prison sentence as an extra penalty and to keep everyone safe. Let me look at your file to see how much time you'll serve."
Looking at her tablet, she smiled big and replied, "I've never gotten to do this before! Most guys hear about their sentence before they get to me...Ok, so they actually got you taken care of pretty good here. It got split up into multiple counts, so fortunately, they were able to put you away for a long time."
She continued, "Your sister had you convicted on two charges, one for the shower incident and one for the bedroom incident. You got two more for mom, one for groping her tits and another for going between her legs. I'll read them off...
Count 1, Incestual peeping, sentence: 1 year special confinement
Count 2, Incestual peeping with propositioning, sentence: 1.5 years special confinement
Count 3, 2nd Degree Incestual Sexual Battery, 2 years special confinement
Ok and here's the big one! For touching mom's pussy...
Count 4, 1st Dregee Incestual Sexual Battery, 4.5 years RIGOROUS confinement in the SCU-I, (Special Chastity Unit, Incest wing), with intensive perversion correction."
So you'll do nine years total, with the first four-and-a-half in the incest wing."
I was completely shocked, "Nine years!? Are you serious? What's special confinement? Am I going to regular prison or what?
Beverely explained, "Special confinement means you'll be put in the chastity unit. It's a separate level for inmates that have their genitals locked, like rapists and other perverts. It's a little different. The cells are super small, you don't get any privileges like TV, and you stay locked in your cell for 23 hours a day. But don't worry. Most of my guys are in the chastity unit. They all want out really bad, but they're fine. Some eventually leave for regular population if their sentence allows, but you'll actually just be finishing up in the main chasity unit after you're done with rigororous confinement for the first four-and-a-half. You'll start off in the incest wing".
"What is all that? I asked
Beverly explained further, "It's a big deal. That's why I got so excited when I read your sentence on count 4. It wasn't just the amount of time you got, but what'll be happening to you that makes it a heavy one. I've heard it's very extreme. Since you're my first incest case, I'm not as familiar with it, but I've heard you're basically caged up 24/7 and pretty much treated like an animal. I'm not sure if you even get a toilet or a bed. You only leave your cage once every two weeks for perversion correction, which I might get to assist with, and you'll get another device I've heard about, called the "silver bullet". I think it's an anal device? You'll learn more about that when you get there. Oh! Looks like it's time to get you ready for inspection."
The door opened as she left and two female guards entered. One had a tazer. They led me to another table. This one had wheels. I sat on the edge. One grabbed my ankles and another tried to push me on my back. I resisted, trying to spin off the table. I was immediately tazed, then sedated, imobilizing me. "This will be easier for if you just comply" she said. I was on my back again. My ankles were lifted toward my head, folding my legs over me. Thick zip ties were placed around my ankles and calfs. My hands and forearms were looped through both, then "zzzzzzzztttt", it was all cinched down tight, securing my arms to my legs. A bar was secured between my knees, keeping me exposed. Beverly came back in. One of the guards said "He's all yours hon" as they left.
"Let's get you cleaned up" Beverly said. "Your mom and sister are on their way and they're excited to see your private parts all locked up for good.
She put gloves on, then approached the table, placing one hand over my nose. I opened my mouth and she shoved a gag in and secured it around my head. "This is just a temporary gag. Your sister didn't want you talking during inspection. I believe you'll get more securely gagged and muzzled when you get to processing. I've heard the guys don't get solid food in the incest wing, you get fed a liquid diet, like that soylent stuff, that you'll take through a drinking tube in your gag. It's really amazing how good they have you incest perverts locked up over there. I can't wait to see you like that.
She started the cleaning by soaping and lathering around my crotch, exposed parts were shaved. She walked away, coming back with a tube and a bag full of fluid that she hung from a pole. The label read "Enema". Beverly explained, "Gotta clean you inside and out. First I'll get you lubed up". She grabbed a metal syring, inserted the tip in my ass, and injected me with lube. At the end of enema tube, there was a detachable nozzle with two inflatable bulbs. One was forced in my ass and both were inflated, locking it in place. I could see the tube going from the bag to inside me. I felt like I was being treated like an animal already. She turned a valve, the fluid began flowing and filled me up. She set a timer for 35 minutes, and sat on her stool, reading cosmo. After an agonizing wait, she removed the nozzle plug, allowing me to release. Finally, thank goodness. I was soaped up again and rinsed. She cleaned up the enema nozzle plug, added more lube, and shoved it back1 inside me. "Putting this back in so we dont have any potential leaks" she said, as she inflated it. She disconnected the outside end of the inflatable nozzle where it attached to the longer enema tube, clamped it off, and let go of it. I felt it bounce around as it settled. "You're all set" she exclaimed.
I was wheeled on the cart-like table through a long, busy hallway to a different room for inspection. I could feel the protruding nozzle plug in my ass flop around as the cart moved. The other employees stared as I went by, a few smiled with satisfaction. How humiliating I thought. I heard murmuring. "Bitchtied pervert getting what he deserves!" one girl said angrily.
Finally in the inspection room, I waited. The door opened, Beverly entered with two blondes behind her, my mom and my sister. The two gorgeous sluts were dressed similar. My mom was wearing tight, denim, high waisted shorts that displayed her ass and curvy hips, they were pulled-up high in a way that you could see the denim tight against her twat. My sister came dressed in super short spandex yoga shorts, tight ones that lifted her already firm butt into perfection. Both wore crop tops with their stomachs and matching naval piercings exposed. Images of my sister's sloppy pussy flashed in my head, my cock and balls both swelled. I stared at their bodies and let out a loud, desperate moan as my cage grew excruciatingly tight.
Part 3 to follow...

I'm (20F), it's been around 7months dating my bf (22M), when we met we honestly were not expecting anything long term from anyone ,but then feelings developed and atp we have fun have the best discussions joke, hang out with each other's friends and our parents invite each other over, all in all, knock on wood everything is going perfect. He's the sweetest, most understanding and communicative partner; we have discussed this topic multiple times but honestly I just need reassurance from people who have been successful in getting through it.
We are in our last year of college, graduating in 1-2 months and chances are we'll move away for jobs by November this year. We both don't want to jinx it and we've decided to work and save up money, then after that see where we go and what we do ,etc. maybe in the same place together too if life works out. But point is this is a pretty serious long term relationship, and we might have to go LDR for a year (or even more if life gets in the way.)
I'm awfully scared,the last time I tried LDR I was stuck w this narcissistic selfish guy who never listened to any of my concerns and regularly yelled at , insulted me and even cheated and blamed it on me. That one had gone LDR by the 4 month mark and ended by the 9 month mark, so maybe yes I never knew the person well enough and it bit me in the ass.
Of course now I feel much more comforted, heard and appreciated by my boyfriend , and I can confidently say this that I thankfully don't imagine him using me like the previous guy. But god I am so scared I will fuck this up.
Being in a healthy relationship for the first time where I'm not seen as a whore or a punching bag, but a bestfriend and life partner it's amazing and terrifying I'm so scared I'll fuck up the LDR somehow. I am very scared of losing him to the distance too, I keep taking examples of my mother and aunt who had to live away from their husbands for 1-2 years at a stretch as a way to calm me down and reassure things will be alright.
Thankfully I can say this confidently that we both have similar mutual life goals and we both treat each other with proper respect , support and actually want this to work out properly long term , we discuss these fears and plans sometimes but not too much bc we're both scared, upset and afraid it'll get jinxed.
Now that graduation is so close the thought of it is getting scarier. So honestly I KNOW if we try we can make the LDR pass together, we'll communicate honestly and spend as much time and effort as possible, since our hometowns are the same we always have that comfort too .
So I just need people who are making their LDR work or went through it successfully, to assure me it's going to be fine and not every LDR has to be painful like my last experience, I truly believe a good partner makes every experience go by even better, and I pray that's the case with him 🧿🧿
tld Graduating college soon, about to go LDR with boyfriend for a year or so while we work and decide what to do next. Scared due to my past experiences with narcissistic ppl. Relationship going good and steady, however i need confidence and reassurance from people who have made LDR successfully work with their partners.

My thing is why is Bria with Simon? She sits there and says that she’s concerned that he doesn’t protect her over racists incidents. she’s embarrassed by him on so many levels. Three, she clearly does not choose to embrace the fact that they have cultural differences that are pretty different. like if you’re not gonna except him for who he is. Then why are you with him? To yell at him and use him as a punching bag to start arguments with all day long.
And the way she spoke to Nick this episode. And has spoken to some of the girls that she’s had issues with previously. Shows me that maybe Simon isn’t potentially the full problem. Bria does not speak to people nicely. She’s always running away from the conversation. Or if she stays in the conversation, she just talking down to the person or yelling the loudest.

As the title says, I grew up in a family where my mom was physically and emotionally abusive and my dad was neglectful (he wanted sons and I disappointed him by being born), I have a little sister who I’m hot and cold with (we were not close growing up because she was too similar to my mom). Now I’ve made a life in Belgium where I’m working on my PhD and have a bf (and his supportive family), I’ve also made my own chosen family of friends. I’m in very low contact with my family (mostly talk to my sister) and my mom is still passive aggressive in telling me I’m useless because I’m not present virtually/physically to be her punching bag/therapist.
Ask me anything.

Tw: family death and emotional abuse/neglect
I hate venting online as it’s futile and embarrassing for me (no one has to feel this way. This is just my own personal view that is mine and only mine) So, I will probably delete this soon for I also hate showing weakness to strangers since it always leads to more abuse it seems and i am often weary of others. So, with this, I’ll try and open up even if it’s temporary.

A bit of backstory I guess. My mother died when I was 7 which left behind a hole that needed to be filled for dad and I. She, the step “mom”, came along to help us for she struggled with a divorce of an abusive ex husband. She had issues, as you would expect, yet here I thought of her as someone I could get along with, to play with, to be around when things got bad, and all the things a little kid would think. At first, everything was fine, I even had silly nicknames for her that she “enjoyed” she responded with kindness to these (one was care bear, another was pumpkin because it was fall and she liked the smell, the others I don’t remember) and I remember how happy I was when she liked the little nicknames. Since it was the beginning, I would want her over often as I wanted someone to become a person I could look for as a mom but not as a replacement to my actual mom who recently died during that time. I liked her. 

Alas these things don’t get a happy ending, as with time, dad got more ill. During this time she would be by his side more (which is totally understandable, I would too for my lover I didn’t show jealousy during this time but support as I got to spend more time with my “sister”) and it slowly evolved to hospital visits. I would slowly pick up being a “parent” for her disabled daughter when I was 9/10/11 (can’t remember exact age, sorry). This was because she would go out with dad to spend time with him, go to the other room to isolate from us (either needing alone time or to help him. Not my business), be with him for hospital stays, etc. I was used to this since I was accustomed to helping my dad with his medical issues and helped him get ready for “life” by the time I was late 7/early 8 due to his own health failing as well.
Hop years later. After problem and after problem I had gotten in with her and vice versa I realize my step mother never genuinely cared about me. I know it takes two to tango and it’s partly my fault, I get where I fell in my faults and I’ve accepted them as my lessons in day to day life. I’m not perfect. As I became more reclusive to her as she showed a lack of accountability (and to this day, she won’t admit and see why it was so wrong for her to do things that were heavily against me) I was then always the scapegoat as she showed love and gushed over her actual kids (this was always a issue, I just didn’t think about it as a little kid and I got “bratty” when I got older as i began to recognize the “unfairness”). My achievements were worthless and often met with a “you should’ve already been good at that”, “you should know better by now”, or “that should already have been done if it was something important to you”. The typical “you aren’t good enough” wearing different clothes.
The feelings of being useless had already creeped in by the time I was 10/11 so this was going on for a long time (along with many other issues that I’m not gonna get into). Even as I got nearly straight A’s in college I was never praised except by dad (who unfortunately died when I was early 19. I miss him to this day). I know I should not have sought out praise, especially if I was grown, but I would’ve loved a “good job” from her… I know that’s silly but it would’ve been nice to be seen as her actual kid worthy of love and being seen that way just a little. I know my pesky teen years didn’t help but I was still her kid in some capacity but I was treated like a punching bag. All because she had her own jealousy and hate for me. (Even her own kids called her out on how she treated me, nothing changed from her.)
Now with no family left except a few aunts, she tried everything she can to ensure I don’t become independent (I don’t wanna talk too much about it, I’m too tired plus this post is getting rather long as it is).
The parts that hurt the most were: She refused my safety from my childhood to adulthood. She never cared what truly happened to me it seems.
Never really paid attention to me unless to berate me which was done usually in the form of gossiping to others. Plus attempting to embarrass me in front of others so when my teenage self got upset she can use my reaction as “proof” and to “justify” herself, sometimes trying to attempt it to adult me as she smiled and snickered about it. Thankfully most adults who were older took pity and even commented on how arrogant and awful she seemed as a person (adult me, they never did anything about teenage me which I get, I fell for her tricks that made me look bad. Happy I learned that lesson young, at least there is that).
She snooped around my room and life to gossip to her kids about me on how much of a failure I was and how disgusting of a person I am. Then got mad when I isolated or kept my life very secretive.
She would find issues with me just to try to make my dad hate me which thankfully it failed. I’m unsure if this was a attempt to further isolate me because I wasn’t a part of her “actual kids”. I don’t know and I’m too tired to know, it’s done and over with I can vent about that in therapy. However she sadly was successful in getting him to yell at me. The worst part of the yelling is that she would watch me cry or go to the other room to listen rather than just leaving me alone. I now realize it was a way for her to “get off” I believe.
When she realized she couldn’t control my life she tried hiding food from me as I was early 20’s because she had “control issues with me” (her words not mine). I didn’t like things going to waste so I’d eat nearly expired foods often and she would get pissy that I was “stealing from her”.
She gossiped to strangers about how I never do anything with myself and suspected I was just a useless failure. (I was in college with a job, thanks.)
When I did finally snap from the times she would treat me poorly she held on to it. I guess to put it, think of me over reacting I get I did wrong and I learned my lesson but when she snapped with a over reaction or something really hurtful she expected to be forgiven.
She also would steal from me and blame me (but would expect me to keep my hands to myself when I was hungry and didn’t have the time or funds to get food… this one still bothers me but I will talk in detail of this to my therapist not here as I’m tired and the post is already long enough).
All I wanted was a mom to care but I guess I couldn’t get that because the one I got died when I barely got to know her. There is more to say but I think that is all of us here, too much to say about someone who was supposed to love us. My apologies if my post is in shambles I never really let anything out like this so I’m sure I kinda sound “childish” but like- I really hate Mother’s Day and I just wanted to let it out, even if I delete this later.

I've always wanted to own a Filson briefcase, and last week, I found this 258 on a sale for roughly 165 usd. I could not missed such a good offer so i made a purchase. The bag arrived yesterday and, Im still a bit flinch by the size of it. After I loaded it up with my daliy carry, it weighs 7.5 kgs (about 16.5 pounds). Im planning to punch a few hole on the strap as the bag sling quite low on me, crossed body. Have anyone got any experience carrying it around, any davice would be appreciated. I am planning to walk around the city with it, any tips on how to make carry it less daunting?

Hello guys,
I have seen a lot of Redditors asking questions about which creatine powder is best to buy. So, to make it easy for them I have compiled a list of top creatine powders according to what Redditors like the most. I've made this this after reading a lot of discussions on different subreddits and According to my insights these are the most liked creatine powder by Redditors:

Best Creatine Powder:

• Thorne Creatine
• Klean Athlete Klean Creatine
• Transparent Labs Creatine HMB (For Women)
• Gnarly Sports Nutrition Creatine
• Nutricost Creatine Monohydrate

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Thorne Creatine:

Thorne Research is a company that produces high-quality, sustainably sourced supplements. Thorne Creatine earns our pick as the best overall, thanks to its affordable price, use of high-quality creatine monohydrate, and NSF Certified for Sport designation, which means it has undergone third-party testing to ensure that it’s free of harmful contaminants and specific substances that are banned for athletes.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Klean Athlete Klean Creatine:

Like most other Klean Athlete products, Klean Creatine is NSF Certified for Sport to ensure it meets strict quality standards. It’s unflavored and can be easily mixed into smoothies, shakes, and juices.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Transparent Labs Creatine HMB (For Women):

All products from Transparent Labs are third-party tested by Analytical Resource Laboratories. On its website, the company offers a certificate of analysis (COA) for each supplement, which provides information on the quality, strength, and specifications of a product.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Gnarly Sports Nutrition Creatine:

This high-quality creatine product from Gnarly Nutrition is made for athletes looking to increase: endurance strength stamina. It features 5 g of Creapure per serving which some athletes claim is more effective, but we have not been able to find studies to back this up. However, it does come in a bag instead of a tub, which could make it more convenient for workout bags.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Nutricost Creatine Monohydrate:

Nutricost carries fewer certifications, it’s still third-party tested at a lab accredited by the International Organization for Standardization (ISO). It’s made without any GMOs, but it’s also gluten-free and manufactured in a current Good Manufacturing Practices (CGMP) certified facility, which means that the facility adheres to strict safety and quality standards set by the FDA. In addition to the Unflavored version, it’s available in Fruit Punch and Blue Raspberry flavors, which you can mix into your favorite beverage after your workout.

I’ve tried to cut off my mother before, but I think I’m finally done. I’m over the antics. She decided not to say anything for mother’s day until late last night. We ignored each other this holiday for the past 5 years and I stayed low contact to appease her. Well, I ignored the plain “HMD” text she sent super late last night, which felt like an afterthought. Now today she’s obsessively calling texting and leaving voicemails.
The way she’s acting is confirming it’s all about control.
So I guess I’m just deciding if I want to send her a final text telling her to stop contacting me. I’ve over explained my entire life, there’s nothing left to say. She’ll never hear it. She’ll never apologize. She’ll never take accountability. She just doesn’t want to lose her punching bag.
I’m not worried about her aging - I’ve asked so many times about her plans and she shrugs it off. Her lack of planning won’t be my emergency. I don’t care about her hoarder house. I already looked up filial laws & grandparents rights. Her side of the family is already cut off, years ago.
I have freedom staring me in the face and I think it’s my turn.

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

I hate venting online as it’s futile and embarrassing for me (no one has to feel this way. This is just my own personal view that is mine and only mine) So, I will probably delete this soon for I also hate showing weakness to strangers since it always leads to more abuse it seems and i am often weary of others. So, with this, I’ll try and open up even if it’s temporary.

A bit of backstory I guess. My mother died when I was 7 which left behind a hole that needed to be filled for dad and I. She, the step “mom”, came along to help us for she struggled with a divorce of an abusive ex husband. She had issues, as you would expect, yet here I thought of her as someone I could get along with, to play with, to be around when things got bad, and all the things a little kid would think. At first, everything was fine, I even had silly nicknames for her that she “enjoyed” she responded with kindness to these (one was care bear, another was pumpkin because it was fall and she liked the smell, the others I don’t remember) and I remember how happy I was when she liked the little nicknames. Since it was the beginning, I would want her over often as I wanted someone to become a person I could look for as a mom but not as a replacement to my actual mom who recently died during that time. I liked her. 

Alas these things don’t get a happy ending, as with time, dad got more ill. During this time she would be by his side more (which is totally understandable, I would too for my lover I didn’t show jealousy during this time but support as I got to spend more time with my “sister”) and it slowly evolved to hospital visits. I would slowly pick up being a “parent” for her disabled daughter when I was 9/10/11 (can’t remember exact age, sorry). This was because she would go out with dad to spend time with him, go to the other room to isolate from us (either needing alone time or to help him. Not my business), be with him for hospital stays, etc. I was used to this since I was accustomed to helping my dad with his medical issues and helped him get ready for “life” by the time I was late 7/early 8 due to his own health failing as well.
Hop years later. After problem and after problem I had gotten in with her and vice versa I realize my step mother never genuinely cared about me. I know it takes two to tango and it’s partly my fault, I get where I fell in my faults and I’ve accepted them as my lessons in day to day life. I’m not perfect. As I became more reclusive to her as she showed a lack of accountability (and to this day, she won’t admit and see why it was so wrong for her to do things that were heavily against me) I was then always the scapegoat as she showed love and gushed over her actual kids (this was always a issue, I just didn’t think about it as a little kid and I got “bratty” when I got older as i began to recognize the “unfairness”). My achievements were worthless and often met with a “you should’ve already been good at that”, “you should know better by now”, or “that should already have been done if it was something important to you”. The typical “you aren’t good enough” wearing different clothes.
The feelings of being useless had already creeped in by the time I was 10/11 so this was going on for a long time (along with many other issues that I’m not gonna get into). Even as I got nearly straight A’s in college I was never praised except by dad (who unfortunately died when I was early 19. I miss him to this day). I know I should not have sought out praise, especially if I was grown, but I would’ve loved a “good job” from her… I know that’s silly but it would’ve been nice to be seen as her actual kid worthy of love and being seen that way just a little. I know my pesky teen years didn’t help but I was still her kid in some capacity but I was treated like a punching bag. All because she had her own jealousy and hate for me. (Even her own kids called her out on how she treated me, nothing changed from her.)
Now with no family left except a few aunts, she tried everything she can to ensure I don’t become independent (I don’t wanna talk too much about it, I’m too tired plus this post is getting rather long as it is).
The parts that hurt the most were: She refused my safety from my childhood to adulthood. She never cared what truly happened to me it seems.
Never really paid attention to me unless to berate me which was done usually in the form of gossiping to others. Plus attempting to embarrass me in front of others so when my teenage self got upset she can use my reaction as “proof” and to “justify” herself, sometimes trying to attempt it to adult me as she smiled and snickered about it. Thankfully most adults who were older took pity and even commented on how arrogant and awful she seemed as a person (adult me, they never did anything about teenage me which I get, I fell for her tricks that made me look bad. Happy I learned that lesson young, at least there is that).
She snooped around my room and life to gossip to her kids about me on how much of a failure I was and how disgusting of a person I am. Then got mad when I isolated or kept my life very secretive.
She would find issues with me just to try to make my dad hate me which thankfully it failed. I’m unsure if this was a attempt to further isolate me because I wasn’t a part of her “actual kids”. I don’t know and I’m too tired to know, it’s done and over with I can vent about that in therapy. However she sadly was successful in getting him to yell at me. The worst part of the yelling is that she would watch me cry or go to the other room to listen rather than just leaving me alone. I now realize it was a way for her to “get off” I believe.
When she realized she couldn’t control my life she tried hiding food from me as I was early 20’s because she had “control issues with me” (her words not mine). I didn’t like things going to waste so I’d eat nearly expired foods often and she would get pissy that I was “stealing from her”.
She gossiped to strangers about how I never do anything with myself and suspected I was just a useless failure. (I was in college with a job, thanks.)
When I did finally snap from the times she would treat me poorly she held on to it. I guess to put it, think of me over reacting I get I did wrong and I learned my lesson but when she snapped with a over reaction or something really hurtful she expected to be forgiven.
She also would steal from me and blame me (but would expect me to keep my hands to myself when I was hungry and didn’t have the time or funds to get food… this one still bothers me but I will talk in detail of this to my therapist not here as I’m tired and the post is already long enough).
All I wanted was a mom to care but I guess I couldn’t get that because the one I got died when I barely got to know her. There is more to say but I think that is all of us here, too much to say about someone who was supposed to love us. My apologies if my post is in shambles I never really let anything out like this so I’m sure I kinda sound “childish” but like- I really hate Mother’s Day and I just wanted to let it out, even if I delete this later.

I really don’t want any help or sympathy talk. I don’t want my best friend talk to me out of guilt, I don’t want justifications or reasons of why I was an easy punch bag instead of treating me gently, you treated others that way and I got the worst side of everything.
I need a hug to tell me there there, just finish crying it out and I’m here.
But whom am I to need anything. Just shut up and try to sleep. Thanks for my nightmares, its a bonus treat.
No matter how old we get, we feel scared. I have been scared and can’t tell anyone.
Will show my fake im ok smile or hide till everyone forget me.

ever since that fated day back in chapter 1079 (if im remembering correctly, itd be lowk embrassing if i mixed this up), kid has been (more than ever) mocked as useless. i mean, he didnt even TOUCH shanks, wow: he's ASSSS😭
but i think his confrontation w the red-haired yonko is often misunderstood. and would reflect much better on kidd if people cared to consider his character.
imagine you're eustass 'captain' kid: three-billion-berri man who just helped take down an emperor of the sea after a prolonged raid on the base of ANOTHER emperor of the sea. to get here, youve bled, youve cried -- but damn it, youve FOUGHT. through droves of kaido's fodder, up and up and up to the setting of ROOF PIECE. u did alright, all's considered: off to a new adventure!
why, look here: an island...elbaph? red-haired shanks you say? the bastard whose right-hand man took your...well...left hand (and most of the arm with it?) well, hell, you're MUCH stronger than you were when that happened. in fact, you've fought TWO yonko.
alright alright ill cut the theatrics, but fr -- think about it as kidd would. he's fought two yonko and lived to laugh about it: a feat FEW other pirates can claim. so when approaching shanks' allied ships, it wouldnt be much of a surprise for kidd to treat it much like he did onigashima: there's a structure to this. beat some low-bounty nonames for about 20, maybe thirty minutes, work your way up to the named enforcers like, idk, rockstar -- after you beat HIM (which lets be fr kidd washes rockstar no matter what) work up to monster, bonk punch maybe -- yo throw in LIMEJUICE. you punk gibson up the chain of command to, well, the senior officers - then finally the chief himself.
kidd, at this point, never fought shanks. not head on: the aforementioned senior officers got to him before he could. so you could argue he doesnt know how shanks differs from kaido or big mom: that's he's mister 'you can piss in my beer n thats fine w me but hurt my friends and it's my fist you'll meet😡' but i wouldnt be surpised if kidd took what he learned from wano and applied it to fighting shanks: he took confidence both in his gained experience AND strength (letting off a damned punk because he assumed nobody would be strong enough to interrupt him). was this overconfidence on kidd's part? he's an overconfident man, for sure. but that doesnt neccesarily make him wrong.
because, let's face it, kidd couldve lasted longer if shanks didnt catch him by surprise. kidd pulled up thinking he could use his awakening, and developing understanding of his conquerors to put up a fight. and, honestly? who's to say he couldnt. would he win? that isnt my argument. all i'm saying is i doubt shanks has the durability of big mom ORRR the endurance of kaido. but kidd was blitzed, caught unaware in a compromising position (damned punk doesnt really give him a lot of room to defend himself) -- kidd wasnt EXPECTING to fight shanks at the shore. he was high off wano: in his head he'd come face to face with shanks after storming the island and boxing a giant or two!
people (fans) dont like kidd, be it cause of agenda or cause they genuinely dont gaf about his character. kidd's a comedic punching bag. kidd messes up? idiot! (which, like, he is but in a GOOD way trust me) kidd loses a fight? FRAUD! when engaging w their consumption of the manga, they read with bias. we ALL do. but i feel as if some people refuse, or perhaps fail, to engage with kidd as a character earnestly, to give him a shot due to this. they fail to consider his outlined traits and flaws, his established patterns and behaviours. when kidd loses a fight it's cause he's dumb asf n cant fight for shit, end of.
but we know that's a diminutive reading.
kid's a smart man, i dont think you can argue against this. even if he decides against his (or killer's) better judgement, if he acts against his best interest: he's a billion-berri captain of a crew ALMOST as small (in numbers) as the straw-hats. you dont have to like him to acknowledge his competence. he's an engineering whiz with an obvious aptitude for on-the-fly thinking in battle. so then u gotta ask: did kidd set himself up to lose? #isHEstupid? should he have thought about shanks differently, prepared? did some recon? tried to use a bit of observation haki? sure, maybe, whatever -- but that aint kidd. that wasnt EVER how he was gonna do things. cause doing things his way (with SOME compromises) is what's gotten him this far: that's the man, the pirate he is. he's an idiot, sure - as much as law or luffy. it's a part of his charm and what attracts me to his character: he isnt a perfect pirate (nor would i want him to be), he's an emotional character. because without his flaws and motivations, without the ability to rush into battle (especially one as personal as this) reason be damned (fafafafa) -- it wouldnt be kid. HE wouldnt be kid.
it's best to read his confrontation with shanks as a reminder: he aint there yet. but like when kaido bodyslammed him from the heavens, or when beckman shot off (? seriously, what did he do, we've never seen him fire a bullet) his arm: TRUSSSSTTT that he'll get back up. because captain kidd is the kind of man to keep getting back up: not cause he's just that cool, or just that strong: but because that's who he IS.
or like he dies off screen n we never see him again who knows😯☝🤔

You've got your sweet mountain bike all set up and ready to hit the trails. But before you go shredding those epic singletrack loops, there are a few key accessories you'll want to have on hand. Proper gear can make the difference between a fun ride and a total bummer of a day. So let's dive into the must-have items to round out your mountain biking kit.

Hydration Pack

Staying hydrated is crucial when you're putting in long hours on the trails. A hydration pack is a backpack designed specifically for mountain bikers and hikers. It has a built-in reservoir that holds water and a drinking tube so you can sip on the go. Most packs hold around 2-3 liters of water, which should get you through a solid 2-3 hour ride. The pack itself has room for snacks, an extra layer, and other gear. CamelBak is one of the biggest names in hydration packs.

Multi-Tool

Unless you want to get stranded trailside with a broken chain or stuck seat post, you'll need a good multi-tool. These compact tools have all the essentials like allen wrenches, screwdrivers, and sometimes even a chain tool. Throw it in your pack and you'll be able to handle basic trailside repairs and adjustments. Brands like Topeak, Crank Brothers, and Park Tool make great options.

Pump

Flats happen to everyone eventually. You'll want to make sure you have either a frame-mounted pump or a pump that fits in your pack. CO2 inflators are another solid option if you want to skip the elbow grease. Quality pumps from companies like Lezyne, Topeak, and Blackburn should get you rolling again without too much of a struggle.

Spare Tube

Having that fresh tube is only half the battle though - you'll also need to pack a spare tube along with tire levers to swap it out when you get that dreaded hiss. Ensure you have the right size and width for your tires. Some riders also stash a spare tubeless valve stem in case theirs gets damaged or gummed up.

Multi-Tool & Tire Plug Kit

For a much quicker flat fix, pick up a plug kit that lets you jam a sticky reusable plug into the hole and get back riding lickety-split. The plugs work decently for smaller punctures in the tread area until you can get a more permanent repair.

First Aid Kit

Mountain biking's not exactly a dangerous sport, but you're still cruising over rough terrain at high speeds. It's smart to have a basic first aid kit with bandages, antiseptic wipes, etc in case you take a spill and need to patch yourself up. Pre-assembled kits from brands like Adventure Medical Kits are a convenient solution.

Protection

Speaking of crashes - elbow and knee pads can be smart armor additions if you tend to push it a little too hard on the gnarly stuff. You can even find trail-certified helmets with extra coverage around the back of the head.

Snacks

Don't underestimate how much energy you'll burn shredding the gnar for hours on end. Trail snacks are essential to stay fueled and powered up. Energy bars, gels, chews, nuts, and jerky are all great compact options to stuff in your pack.

Lights

If your rides tend to stretch into the evening hours, having a good lighting system is pretty key for seeing the trail and being visible to others. Most riders opt for a headlamp and a handlebar-mounted light. Just be sure to pack spare batteries!
There are plenty more optional accessories out there from trail tools to frame bags to spare gear and more. But those key items should cover your bases and ensure you're prepped for whatever the mountain throws your way. Stay safe, have fun, and get out there!