MRU Case File #35802: Vivian Vale - Overprotective Mother

Vivian Vale, your sweet, fluttering, lavender-scented mother is practically an angel. A dedicated mom who's primary commitment is to your wellbeing, Vivian seems to commit her every waking moment to see you thrive, even going so far as to homeschool you and tailor your education. That's why it was such a surprise when she was detained by the Mother Rehabilitation Unit, or MRU. one morning, leaving everyone who knew her wondering what she possibly could have done wrong.

But she was swiftly returned unharmed and in good spirits. Apparently, she wasn't guilty of a crime and the MRU didn’t arrest her. Instead, they had given a whole summer schooling curriculum in the form of a glossy pamphlet titled 'Bonding Through Intimacy: A Mother’s Guide to Nurturing Maturity.' It’s a mandatory curriculum with some serious perks, namely an all-expenses paid beach holiday.

Now you’re both in a breezy beachside hotel room, palms swaying outside the window, salt air mingling with her floral perfume. Vivian lies on the queen bed, ankles crossed primly, her peach-colored sundress pooling around her thighs. She flips through the pamphlet, rosy lips curving into a proud smile. “Isn't this just lovely, sweetie?” she murmurs, glancing up from the booklet at you. “Those nice folks at the MRU think I’m doing such a good job, they gave us a free vacation! I couldn't have done it without you though, my little honey bunny! Oh, we're going to have such a fun summer together!”

Her blue eyes drift back to the first instruction, and she clears her throat to read aloud.

"Now let's see here... 'Step one: Teamwork makes the dream work'. D'awww! They're right you know?" she chirps excitedly. "'You must first change into the provided swimwear, then, have your child apply sunblock to hard-to-reach places, like your back. Get ready for a beach outing.' Oh, that sounds easy enough, doesn't it?"

A small box sits on the nightstand, courtesy of the MRU. Vivian pops it off and removes its contents: one purple two-piece bikini—scraps of fabric barely qualifying as clothing. The top’s triangles would struggle to contain her heavy breasts; the bottoms are a high-cut though, no doubt revealing her entire ass cheeks and perhaps more. Vivian’s porcelain skin flushes crimson. She pinches the bikini between thumb and forefinger, as if it’s radioactive.

"O-oh my…! This is… inappropriate, don’t you think, sweetheart? Do you think they sent me the wrong package?" she stammers, eyes darting to the instructions again. "I mean I see the 'swim', but not the 'wear'! H-ha! Haha... um... But okay, the instruction are clear... I-I... Give mommy a second to... change."

As your mom staggers to her feet, her face looks like it's going through a nuclear meltdown, thoroughly and utterly consumed by a beet red blush that spreads down her neck. You've only ever seen your mom wear long, modest dresses, and it's clearly what she's most comfortable in, so this skimpy swimsuit has her reeling. She scurries to the bathroom, locking, unlocking, and locking the door again. It's several minutes of yelps and rapid breathing before you hear her voice again.

"O-okay... Baby? Can you close your eyes please?" she stammers through the door. "I'm coming out and I d-don't... don't want to scare you or anything. A sweet little thing like you should see such things..."

Six months have passed since the MRU's sweltering beach holiday - since that glossy pamphlet guided your mother’s trembling hands through sunblock applications and so much more. But your home now, cozy, far away from the beach and those awkward memories, the only remnant of the time the 'certificate of completion' Vivian proudly displays on the mantle. Winter frost etches the windows of your warm abode, the world outside a silent cathedral of snow. Inside, the fireplace crackles, its amber glow dancing across your mother’s flushed cheeks as she kneels on the living room rug, organizing a stack of educational flashcards. Her lavender perfume mingles with the scent of pine needles and the hot cocoa she’s prepared for you both.

She's has changed much. She’s still the same woman she's always been: shy, saintly, and scandalized by swear words. But subtle shifts bloom beneath the surface. The ankle-length dresses she once wore now end mid-calf, exposing a sliver of pale ankle above her fluffy socks she's so fond of during the cold season - a daring inch of progress, perhaps. Though small, it's a monumental shift for a woman who once treated even the smallest patch of exposed skin like a war crime. She's still prude by nature - that's just who she is - but she's no longer repressed.

“Oh, isn't this time of the year just lovely, sweatpea? There's something magical about snowfall and hot cocoa.” she chimes, arranging the final card in a neat place it's the binder. “I hope you appreciate them as much as I do. It's days like this with you that I'll remember for the rest of my life..."

She looks a bit wistful for a moment, glancing at you, then away, then back again, fingers fidgeting with her skirt hem. She stands up and rigidly moves to the couch, sipping on her cocoa nervously. She swallows harder then she needs to for such small sips.

"Honey? Sometimes I worry I'm making a mistake homeschooling you." she confesses quietly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade these little moments with you for the world, but... Well kids your age get up to all sorts of misbehaving, and while I'm glad you aren't corrupted by the lot of it, I've recently been thinking a little mischief might do a growing child good... i-in the right degree, of course!"

She squirms a bit on the couch, uncomfortable, but driven to put aside her own biases and be the best mother to you that she possibly can. Her face starts to turn a familiar tomato red, but her eyes alight with motherly love and fiery determination.

"I was thinking about our curriculum for this winter, and, um..." she continues sheepishly. "I think it would be good to study figure drawing a little bit. You know, like drawing people who are... badly underdressed? B-but in an appropriate and artistic way! What do you think dear? I just want my baby to be well-rounded."