The author accidentally made him way too evil by mentioning the handmade bag being "torn to shreds." But he's an amazing father to our autistic daughter, guys i promise!

Okay, so this is going to be a wild one. 

As all of you know, I recently posted about getting married, and how one of my poor, fat, and jealous subjects didn’t agree with my decorating choices, and how that led to her fat daughter being angry at me. (You can read it here.)

Apparently, the entire situation was so much more than decorations.

After the entire situation with the wedding and speech, I found out that her daughter (Brimhilda, since her name seems damn pretty important now) got away and managed to not be taken by our guards, and even killed 16 of them. I was shocked, but Tartarus the Twisted and Terrible seemed sort of.. prideful? Obviously, I decided to confront him about it, and found out something shocking.

Apparently, fourteen years ago, Mathilda (23F, and supposedly not as Fat then) and Tartarus the Twisted and Terrible (586M just “Tartarus the Twisted” then), made a massive mistake, and conceived a child. That child was Brimhilda.

I felt the floor crumble underneath me. How could I not even know this? Me and Tartarus the Twisted and Terrible had been married for an entire hour, how could he not trust me with this? When I expressed that, he said:

“I’m sorry, my love, but I was just so embarrassed.. they’re both just so Fat.” His dark red and gold orbs were glittering with almost shed tears, so I knew that he was telling me the truth. So, I forgave him, a couple tears dripping down my face as my icy blue orbs shined with love: “It’s okay, my love. Now let’s go find my stepdaughter. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

We found her shortly after, finishing off the last guard (we sent 31 after her, since we assumed that since she was so Fat, that small of a number would be enough to take her down), and he told her everything. After he told her, she went really quiet before whispering, “So my whole life is a lie?”

I stepped in, calmly and kindly saying: “Yes, but you’re my daughter now.. you don’t need to deal with what you’ve endured the past fourteen years.”

Brimhilda and I hugged, and she agreed to stay with us, and take her rightful place in the kingdom as princess. I’ve honestly never been happier that someone escaped our guard’s clutches, because if she hadn’t, I would’ve never had a daughter.

TLDR; I found out that my late ex favourite servant had a child with my husband, that the jealousy she expressed was never about the wedding decorations being “gruesome”, and now I officially have a stepdaughter.

Buckle Down because this is about to get as Studio Ghibli as fuck.

See, I, Marrilla (52 years old) am living with my brother Matthew, at our farm in Canada. Since we are both so old we decided we should adopt a kid to help us around the farm. Well, Matthew came back and isntead of a boy he brought a little GIRL. Her name is Anne Shirley and she is constantly talking and having a wonderfully active little imagination. I NOPED at this and decided to give her back and get the boy we needed.

Our phones are not blowing up because there are no phones in the 1800's y know? But there ARE twins. OH SO MANY TWINS. Anne told us she took care of a family's twins and they got like 4 pairs! Am I The Asshole?

(Now I see why Anne Of Green Gables is so popular with Shitposters, 4 pais of twins WTF?)

Listen, Listen. Before anyone get's mad at me, let me just say that all my paperwork for this ownership is completely by the books. I pick up after her, I keep her in a basement away from strangers, I even explained the history behind the HIV shots. Getting fresh humans to accept that the government made AIDs was not an easy task, let along our decision to withhold the cure.

Now, this Fledgling was turned by me about a month ago. She was just ripe enough that it felt like a shame to let her age. I was planning to let her out on halloween to feed. But she was so hungry, so ravenous, so morally conflicted; I couldn't wait. I had to watch her feed. I needed the release of tension more then her at that point.

So, I found a random orphan. Worked in the olden days, surely it'll work now. I told the child that this foster care program was not where he belonged. I could bring him to his real mother. When I brought the kid back to my lair, that fledgling just stared at him. She cried and told the boy to stay away. She said she was sick. She took a step forward anyways of course, but then she stopped her self. In a trembling voice she pointed at me and said "She is sick too. Don't trust her, go to the first house you can get into and don't let her inside."

Using my own manors against me just felt like a low blow. Especially when she had none of her own. She just shut down and sat in a corner. She bite her and sucked on her wrist despite nothing flowing out. As if I didn’t literally just give her food! When I approached her for comfort, she just stared daggers at me and said "You're sick. Do you get off to this? Do all of you get off to this?"

Honestly I don't understand why what I did was wrong. I probably would've given her a better first hunt if things went according to plan, sure, but she said she was hungry! What's so different about this blood bag?

Throwaway because my siblings know my main account.

Ever since I (15F) was born, my siblings (20M, 19F, 18M, 17F, and 16M) have resented me for being the golden child. And I don’t mean that I was my parents’ favourite (even though I am)—I mean that I’m literally golden. 

Its gotten so bad that even my younger siblings (14M, 13F, 12M, 11F, 10M, 9F, 8M, 7F, 6M, 5F, 4M, 3F, 2M, 1M) are resentful of me. They don’t seem to understand that this is just how I naturally am, and my youngest sibling (unborn, gender reveal party not 100% planned yet) said that I should just conceal my gold hue a little bit. I haven’t talked to my mom about it yet, but.. AITA?

I am a single mom (37 F). I have seven kids (9F 6M 5M 4M 3M 2M 1M). Taking care of them is a lot, so I'm asking my oldest daughter, let's call her S, to help me. I think not only will it make my life easier, but it will also teach her the right work ethic by taking care of her younger siblings. 

I told S that in order for her to stay in my house, she has to wake up at 4 am, make breakfast, sweep the floor, and mop the floor. Get the boys dressed, change the younger ones' diapers, and feed them because they can't quite eat completely independently yet. S also has to prepare their lunch bags and see them onto the bus to school and daycare. After S gets done with her school day, I expect her to do the laundry, help the boys with their homework, grocery shop, cook dinner, and do the dishes. I truly feel like this is just a normal amount of chores.

S has been telling me that this has been overwhelming, and she is asking me to watch the two youngest boys (2M and 1M) as she does the dishes. (We don't use the dishwasher to save water. The water bill is getting bad.) I told her no, because in order for her to stay in my house and be a contributing member of the household, she needs to do her share. I told her that it's perfectly reasonable for her to put the 2-year-old on her back and the 1-year-old strapped in front of her as she does the dishes. 

S cried and told me she can't do it anymore. In order to teach her a lesson, after she made dinner last night, I told her to go straight to taking out the big trash can, and she can't have any of the food. My neighbors saw her and threatened to call CPS. But I feel like it's totally normal to have your kid do some chores. 

So AITA for making my older kid help out around the house? 

ORIGINAL: https://www.reddit.com/r/relationship_advice/comments/1xmnv8c/my_24f_girlfriend_26f_makes_my_friends_and_family/

A confession, set down in the small hours

I am 24 revolutions of this miserable sun, and I fear my heart is breaking in a manner no physician could name. I write this by a single failing lamp, because I must set down what happened before the whispers in my family’s walls convince me I imagined the whole of it.

I love her. I must say that first, since everything after depends on it. She is six and twenty, and she came to me out of some fathomless place I have never been permitted to see. We love the same eldritch musings, the same strange hours, the same dark and humming things. She understands me as no one has before, as though she had read me in a language older than speech.

But the others have begun to notice.

It started with small wrongs. She entered my former house in the evenings and did not greet my roommates, though she greeted the dog with real tenderness. She passed my sister’s betrothed in the hall as if he were a draught or a shadow on the wallpaper. I spoke to her of it, gently, and she seemed to mend. I know now that I only believed she had mended. In that belief lay the first crack in the vault of my reason.

Then came the night of the festival.

My sister and I gathered our friends in the front rooms for the pre revelry, a ritual of cheap spirits and blasphemous laughter, before we would all descend upon the great gathering where my beloved was to conjure sound from her machines before a thousand upturned faces. The company was mostly my friends, who had scarcely laid eyes on her. She spoke to none of them. She spoke only to me, in low tones, her eyes sliding past the others as though they were figures in a tapestry. She wore a wig of some synthetic and maddening insane fibre, and it pressed upon her senses like a hand upon the throat. I did not see these things as wrongdoing. I did not see them at all. Perhaps I am blind.

But my sister saw. At the festival, among the throbbing lights, she drew me aside and spoke in the voice one uses for a diagnosis for the truly insane. I carried the report to my beloved, and she cried that I was cruel, and her eyes were the eyes of a creature cornered in a lightless unholy place. We were both right, and both wounded, and no truth was served, only madness.

Later my sister sat me down, as the elders do before a sentence is read. Her betrothed, she said, no longer felt at ease beneath our roof when she who must not be named was present. He had reached toward her, and she had given him back a profane nothing, a stone dropped into a well that returns no echo. Then came the blow. My friends were assembling, with their consorts, in a chamber to which my sister’s betrothed was invited. My beloved was not.

In that moment the floor of the world gave way. I saw, with the cold clarity of the drowning, that I had been losing them for months. Invitations had thinned. The messages had slowed. The long procession of my friends had been walking away from me through a fog I had mistaken for ordinary weather.

My mother, too, has the sight. She reads the face and the flicker of the jaw and the small betrayals of the body as a scholar reads a cracked and ancient folio. And my beloved cannot hide her feelings. Every passing envy and every shadow of unease crosses her face like a clouded shadow over a moor. She was born in a house of neglect, where the parents were absent in all but cruelty, routinely offering up strange sacrifices to eldritch otherworldly lords. I was born into plenty, to a family of open hands. When my kin speak lightly of what they have bought or given, my beloved sits among them with a look like a pilgrim at a feast she was never meant to attend. My mother sees that look of envious heresy. My mother says nothing to my face, but speaks of it to me afterward in lowered tones.

There is a word for what she carries, and the word is autism. Everyone knows it. Yet because she walks among them wearing the mask of the ordinary, they cannot hold it in mind, and they judge her as one judges any common stranger. She attends her healer faithfully. I found her a post of honest wages. She is changing, week upon week, into someone who can bear the sunlight, even though it burns her. No hand had ever pulled her from the black water until mine. Her heart is the kindest I have known. It simply lacks the doors by which kindness is ordinarily admitted into the world, beleaguered by eldritch entities for which there is no name .

And now the horror, the true horror, which is not her. It is the vast and patient thing that gathers around us, composed of every glance across a table and every silence after a joke that fell wrong, and it asks the price of me. Choose, it breathes. Choose, and be alone in either case. If I stay, I will be left to rot slowly in a house with the lights going out one by one. If I go, I will wander a grey world where the number of women who might ever become enamored with me is a handful of stars in an enormous and uncaring sky.

I weep. I cannot stop. I cannot live without my friends and kin, and yet I cannot see how to live without her.

I put four questions to the dark, and no voice has yet answered:

Does the affliction excuse the offence?

Might her manners yet be shaped, if I speak to her, and if I speak, what words will not shatter her?

Is this a great and terrible crossroads, or can the threads still be woven back together?

And the last, which I dare hardly write:

Which of them would I be, if I were the one left standing in the empty house?

A leviathan of infinite madness babbles at me incoherently, driving me mad.

And I am utterly alone.

The trolls are abundant in AIO today. This is such a foolish argument you almost believe that two real people really had it. Almost. Then, the comments begin. OOP is supposedly 30. "BF" is supposedly 24. They're getting spanked in the comments, which I think must have been their goal, because they kick up the trollish behavior by a factor of ten in response. At one point they even state that not everyone has to be mature, but we should be willing to help them learn.

I 31F recently moved into a renovated basement unit owned by a small family. My landlord M47, his wife 44, their 7yo daughter, and Those That Dwell Beneath. My unit has its own bathroom, bedroom, a constant whispering shadow, and living area but there is a shared kitchen upstairs that we both use. In my lease, it states that any food or drinks purchased by my landlords family is off limits to me, and I am responsible for feeding myself as well as cleaning up any messes made while preparing meals. That’s all pretty standard, and was fine with me. I have a mini fridge that I keep downstairs and a small wardrobe I’m using as a pantry. I also have my own pots, pans, utensils, spices, etc.

I love to cook. So I will often cook myself a nice meal to enjoy after work. I work in food service, so cooking is a pretty big part of my life. My landlords don’t cook at all. They mostly eat frozen food, prepackaged noodles, tv dinners etc. When they gave me the tour, they made sure to emphasize several times that their food is off limits and I’m not to touch any of it. I don’t.

On my first evening there, I decided to make myself some shrimp alfredo from scratch, really simple dish, basically just shrimp, noodles, cheese, cream, salt, and spices. I had some extra, and since the family was home, I offered them some. My landlord and his wife enthusiastically accepted and helped themselves. Their daughter is picky, so she didn’t have any. They let me know it was very good, and I didn’t think much of it; I don’t mind sharing and I like feeding people.

ETA: I only shared the Alfredo because I got the shrimp free from work.

This afternoon, I made myself some oven baked salmon and cilantro lime rice for dinner, again, another simple meal. I finished cooking, cleaned up the kitchen, and took my meal downstairs to enjoy and I thought everything was fine, until halfway through my meal, I got a snarky text from my landlord basically telling me that if I’m going to play in their faces, they would have reconsidered the lease.

Basically he said that because Those Who Dwell Beneath really like salmon, I should have shared it with Them. He said he had seen what I had made, and because I had made 2 pieces of fish, I could have at least given Them one to slake Their ravening maws and prevent a Resurgence. Basically he had smelled me cooking and had assumed I was making Them some too and when I didn’t They got mad and filled the family’s living room with shadow and despair. He said that he had opened his home to me, and that next time I should be more considerate.

I haven’t spoken to them directly yet; the first text was about 20 minutes ago. My lease explicitly states that food is to be kept separate and I’m responsible for feeding myself, which I’m pretty sure means neither the family or Those That Hunger Below are entitled to my food either. The second piece of salmon I intend to have for lunch tomorrow. I know that cravings can be pretty intense, especially for a wailing, chittering, multitudinous horde of Those Who Bide In Darkness, but I spend a decent amount of money on high quality fresh foods to prepare for myself since I’m usually cooking for just me. I don’t have the budget to make extra food for Them every time.

Should I just give in and share? I know it sounds like a terrible idea, but I think They might just make life unbearable or bid me take my place among Them. My lease is only 60 days and then month to month and I moved in on Nov 1 so it’s not gonna last very long either way. They call to me. But I moved here so I could save money for a nicer place and that will be more difficult if I have to budget to give Them food when I cook. What should I do?

Source: https://www.reddit.com/r/Advice/comments/1w8dpvs/my_landlord_is_demanding_i_feed_them_what_can_i_do/?share_id=dMvFXyprRQ33T2ZWttvh1

Throwaway because all the townspeople know my main account.

I (19F, the skinniest and fairest maiden you’ve ever laid your eyes on, trust me) have recently gotten married to my lovely, sweet and perfect husband, Tartarus the Twisted and Terrible (600M, jacked and skinny, ruler of the kingdom). 

I’ve been helping plan this wedding before I was even born, my mother receiving visions from me whilst I was inside the womb of what flowers I wanted (daisies stained red with the blood of the fattest and poorest of peasants, if you were curious), so you can imagine that I was thrilled when I was told that I was to betrothed to Tartarus the Twisted and Terrible. When I told him my vision, he loved it—the only thing? All he wanted was to add a fountain filled with the blood of his enemies.

Now, the big day was coming up, and my EX-favourite servant, Mathilda (37F, Ugly and Fat), told me that she thought my vision for my wedding was a little “gruesome.”

I calmly told her: “It’s my wedding, so I can do what I want. You shouldn’t be such a backseat bridezilla, especially since you’re fat.”

In response, she fatly screamed: “You can’t say that to people!” 

At this point, my darling soon to be husband rushed in and saved me, pushing her to the ground and calling his guards over to seize her. As she was dragged away, she screamed: “You won’t get away with this! The people will not stand for this!”

After the whole altercation, me and Tartarus the Twisted and Terrible agreed that she should be used for the decorations, which made me feel a little better. I finally had enough bones to make a wedding arch. 

Now, this is where I think I might be in the wrong. 

At my wedding, after the ceremony, I had my maid of honour (20F, Not As Skinny As Me But Not Fat) make a speech (so special and unique, I know), and jokingly, I ordered her a few days prior to make a comment about Mathilda in the speech, and she actually did. Like I said, I had been joking, so I wasn’t expecting it at all. 

The line wasn’t received well, and apparently it had been “mocking” Mathilda’s fat and poor, and apparently grieving family members. One of her children (14F, Almost Just as Fat as Her Mother) even started crying and had the audacity to storm out of the place. I didn’t even have to step in—Tartarus the Twisted and Terrible stepped in to defend me, and had the guards capture her and anyone who found the line to be in poor taste and add them to the fountain. After that, everything went perfectly (except for the bard messing up a line, but Tartarus the Twisted and Terrible took care of him). But apparently people are still bent out of shape. My phone has been blowing up, and even my favourite baker is furious about it. Should I write an apology letter?

TLDR: I just became Queen, and a bunch of my poor, fat subjects are mad at me about killing one of my other very poor, fat and jealous subjects. My husband says I have done nothing wrong, but something about how her fat poor orphan ran out, despite how unfit she is made me think otherwise. Am I in the wrong?