Taurus male in love

November Scorpio (44M) and I (31F) have been involved in some way or another for a couple of years. He has a habit of getting CLOSE and then pulling back. Almost like he suddenly feels he needs to check himself for saying too much, doing too much, feeling too much…
It took a looong time for him to tell me he loved me. I had felt his love well before he said it. I never prompted him or asked him if he did — he just came out with it one day, with that heavy intensity in his eyes Scorpios have. I was shocked that he had finally said it. He is generally very communicative but I know he doesn’t take the word love lightly at all, and has been deeply hurt in the past.
Recently we have had some issues related to circumstantial factors surrounding us. He unexpectedly texted and all it had said was, “I love you”. As always, it meant the world to receive this from him.
The next day I initiated conversation, and he was quite cold and seemed unwilling to talk. I try and give him his space when he seems to need it, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t feel a bit confusing and hurtful.
Is this common for male Scorpios? Or just a sign of his personal difficulties with emotional availability?

I'm a 25 asian male who lives with his parents. I currently have plans to pursue dental school. I've worked in dentistry while preparing my application in dental school. For the past few years, I've only been making 80k/yr (I live in a HCOL so this isn't as much as it seems) living with my parents to save money. After 6 years of investing in the market, I saved a fair amount which was enough to not need to contribute to retirement accounts (coastFIRE for anyone part of the FIRE community haha) and still retire comfortably early at 50. This was a huge goal of mine and I thought I'd be happy once I reached this- this freed up my saving to allow me to buy whatever I wanted but it turns out there's not really many things I want in life. I've spent most of my past years saving every penny to invest in the future, and that future is finally here. And yet, I'm not happy in life.
My goals when I was younger were just to buy whatever video game I wanted and order UberEats whenever I wanted. The problem is I'm on a diet trying to get lean so I meal prep everything which I already outsource. I tried ubering everywhere but I felt very uncomfortable with other people driving me around so I drive or my boyfriend drives me. I thought I'd be happy buying a Tesla but it turns out EV charging is very annoying + Teslas are very annoying to work with so I ended up not getting one after borrowing my friend's. I also thought about getting a luxury apartment nearby that's 4k/month but its honestly less convenient than living at home as I'm a few minutes away from work...The "solutions" to spending more money just end up creating more problems. I've bought a bunch of lululemon to augment my wardrobe, finally got a new phone after 8 years, upgraded to Tmobile from Mint, got a new laptop, basically bought a bunch of material stuff I've been staying away from. I went on a few flights and decided to just buy business class tickets for the fun of it and yes, it was nice, but my day to day happiness is still pretty low.
I also received a massive inheritance that basically means I don't have to work if I don't want to. The obvious question is well why don't you just quit your job? Well...I still really want to achieve my goal of trying to become a dentist and to do that, I need support of dentists to back my application which is why I still go to my job. I also really do love my work/patient interactions and work in a good environment, and something about having the freedom to say "Fuck you I quit" whenever I want makes my job a lot more enjoable. In the future, my goal is to become a part time dentist and treat my friends/family for free/charity cases, and spend the rest of my time with my kids/family/hobbies. There's also a great deal of pressure from my parents to become a dentist- they know financially I'm set (and by extension them as I've managed their portfolio for many years with great success), but this doesn't matter as I'm still not a dentist.
While I'm sure this sounds like a great problem to have, I just don't understand why I'm not happy in life. I think it's because I'm still not yet in dental school/a dentist whereas all my friends are successful in their careers but maybe there's more? I do want to get a therapist but I don't even know what I'd talk about. I know exactly how I sound: I have so much money and I don't know how to spend it wow and I"m not happy. Like jesus what a douche- this is also why I can't share this with my friends, because they'll just think I'm being a dick. Any advice?

We have a male springer spaniel (field) who is turning 3 years old tomorrow and for the last two years he has been suffering from horrible allergies.
His symptoms include ear infections, hot spots, red swollen anus (infected from licking once), skin tags, scabbing, goopy eyes, hair falling off of his eyes, and full body rashes (worse on his chest).
We have done EVERYTHING and I am desperate for something that could possibly help him suffer less. He currently eats a hydrolized allergy diet with NO treats and/or scraps, we bath him in an allergy shampoo weekly, he gets medicated powder on his belly, ears cleaned with preventative solution weekly, and he has tried pills (which we stopped because they weakened his immune system and he got kennel cough 3x) and the allergy shots.
I feel horrible and hate that he suffers like this. It seems as though once we have it under control, a new symptom starts. We have been under the care of a vet who is lovely, but isn’t sure what’s causing his allergies and we have an appointment booked with a dog dermatologist in 3 months (waiting list was insane).
Has anyone else had these problems? How do you help your dogs? If it’s helpful, we are located in the southeastern USA.

I'm a 25 asian male who lives with his parents. I currently have plans to pursue dental school. I've worked in dentistry while preparing my application in dental school. For the past few years, I've only been making 80k/yr (I live in a HCOL so this isn't as much as it seems) living with my parents to save money. After 6 years of investing in the market, I saved a fair amount which was enough to not need to contribute to retirement accounts (coastFIRE for anyone part of the FIRE community haha) and still retire comfortably early at 50. This was a huge goal of mine and I thought I'd be happy once I reached this- this freed up my saving to allow me to buy whatever I wanted but it turns out there's not really many things I want in life. I've spent most of my past years saving every penny to invest in the future, and that future is finally here. And yet, I'm not happy in life.
My goals when I was younger were just to buy whatever video game I wanted and order UberEats whenever I wanted. The problem is I'm on a diet trying to get lean so I meal prep everything which I already outsource. I tried ubering everywhere but I felt very uncomfortable with other people driving me around so I drive or my boyfriend drives me. I thought I'd be happy buying a Tesla but it turns out EV charging is very annoying + Teslas are very annoying to work with so I ended up not getting one after borrowing my friend's. I also thought about getting a luxury apartment nearby that's 4k/month but its honestly less convenient than living at home as I'm a few minutes away from work...The "solutions" to spending more money just end up creating more problems. I've bought a bunch of lululemon to augment my wardrobe, finally got a new phone after 8 years, upgraded to Tmobile from Mint, got a new laptop, basically bought a bunch of material stuff I've been staying away from. I went on a few flights and decided to just buy business class tickets for the fun of it and yes, it was nice, but my day to day happiness is still pretty low.
I also received a massive inheritance that basically means I don't have to work if I don't want to. The obvious question is well why don't you just quit your job? Well...I still really want to achieve my goal of trying to become a dentist and to do that, I need support of dentists to back my application which is why I still go to my job. I also really do love my work/patient interactions and work in a good environment, and something about having the freedom to say "Fuck you I quit" whenever I want makes my job a lot more enjoable. In the future, my goal is to become a part time dentist and treat my friends/family for free/charity cases, and spend the rest of my time with my kids/family/hobbies. There's also a great deal of pressure from my parents to become a dentist- they know financially I'm set (and by extension them as I've managed their portfolio for many years with great success), but this doesn't matter as I'm still not a dentist.
While I'm sure this sounds like a great problem to have, I just don't understand why I'm not happy in life. I think it's because I'm still not yet in dental school/a dentist whereas all my friends are successful in their careers but maybe there's more? I do want to get a therapist but I don't even know what I'd talk about. I know exactly how I sound: I have so much money and I don't know how to spend it wow and I"m not happy. Like jesus what a douche- this is also why I can't share this with my friends, because they'll just think I'm being a dick. Any advice?

Hello My name is Louis and I'm 31 Male Daddy Dom from Australia I have been in this lifestyle for almost 11 years now..I believe in good understanding and a good relationship.
I'm looking for a Lil / sub with whom I can have a good relationship and whom I can take care of. I would love to help her to learn and explore more about the community and the lifestyle if she's interested . I will try my best to make my girl happy and safe while exploring the lifestyle and will never do or let her do anything that can affect her health or personal life in anyway
Btw I have job and I'm single
Looking forward to chat with you if you comfortable

I have this fantasy, y'know. of having some sort of secret admirer. maybe a stranger, maybe a friend. he would just slowly get to learn things about me and I would grow into his heart like that. no sexual motivations, no interest in getting to know me so they can manipulate me into their laps. one day, he knows my favorite color, the names of my cats, he knows what I do when I'm alone and what I doodle when I'm bored and he just realizes he might be in love with me.
I think my wish is to be loved the way I love. everytime, it happened like this. like when I overheard a guy tell his friend he learned to crochet with his granny and when I talked to his friends he made sure I was being heard despite being a quiet talker and I've been heart-eyeing from afar ever since. or the one who was an acquaintance to my acquaintance, sat next to him and cracked jokes non-stop and I couldn't stop smiling. he told us about his mom, his dad, his brother and sister, about his childhood mischief. he made weird, nonsensical and off-putting questions and jokes but I would just feel so happy when he looked my way first to check if I was having fun. and then I had to fight every cell in my body to not follow his around like a puppy just so I know a little more, spend some time more around him. of course I'll see a guy pass by me and think "oh, he's cute" but it's a fleeting thought, not even close to infatuation.
I wish I could have someone to like me like this. not like just some piece of meat served on a plate, you eat away and throw the bones and the skin off once you had what you want. it feel so fucking impossible. it seems like too little men can even differentiate love and lust. have you seen how they talk about us? what they think of us? incels say women only care about looks and if you're not on the best half of the bunch you're not even acknoledged by women, and all women go after some weird ideal man who looks like this and that. hasn't it been historically the exact opposite? seriously, how many men do you know have married someone uglier than them in opposition to someone more good-looking?
for the vast majority of men is all about the sex, the looks. it's all about mentally ill pussy feels the best. it's all about having the old guy having the barely legal girl not because he likes her but because she's barely legal and thus better than any woman his own age or a bit older. it's about the male fantasy of the hot, servile latina/black wife, the male fantasy of the submissive and impressionable asian girlfriend, the innocent virginal blonde, the sensual redhead. this is all projection. after they're done crying about how they're not 6'0 or whatever, turn around and moan about how fucking disgusting would be existing next to a fat woman. if feels so incredibly gross to be in their circles and see what they say.
and I guess that's where I fucking enter. I look and act good enough to fulfill a male fantasy. sure, I guess I could go and pick a random to hook up with me. he will eventually get bored of the novelty, realize I'm not a sex toy and they don't actually like anything about me but sexual favors. suddenly I'm used goods.
at the same time, this is all there's left for me. because the good ones, the ones who care, the ones who are respectful and interested, don't want me. maybe I'm just not interesting enough, maybe I'm just too fucking broken to be deserving of being loved and love back. they have better options, because they always do. god, when was the last time an (available) guy sat next to me and asked about me? not my name or year. me. I can't recall.
I crave love so bad it crawls under my skin, it enters the pores in my bones, between the cells of my muscles, it runs my faces. I feel it with my whole body, I track the smallest sign of love like a hungry dog in everywhere I go, in everything I hear and see. I lay down and let my mind wander to the phantom sensation of a body over mine. my hand running on soft locks of hair, counting freckels and tracing marks, running my thumbs on dark circles. I dream of being clingy and affectionate and it's not annoying or something I should be ashamed of. I dream of movie dates where the movie actually matter, back rubs, gift exchanging. I dream of cooking something good and seeing eyes light up. I dream of hugging the hurt away after an argument. I dream of getting along with his family and him getting along with mine. I dream of a running toddler giggling their way to our bed. I dream of sitting down with a heavy photo album, reminiscing as we turn pages.
and then I realize all there's gonna be for me is being a male fantasy. something flimsy, fragile and bound to end. a toy you get for christmas and by easter it's in a donation box. someone to practice on before they find the one they want. that's all people like me get. and if I gain some pounds, cut my hair and stop giving so much attention to my acne and body hair, trying so hard to be funny and agreeable, probably not even that. ha.

CW: Mention of self-h, a-bus
A close colleague is on administrative leave while under investigation over claims made directly after reprimanding a student for disruption and violating the school honor code. Some claims have merit (self-h*rm comments, mention of firearms ownership as a hunter), and others baseless (inappropriate comments about female students' appearances, comments threatening harm upon students). He's had a visibly rough second semester due to outside factors, involving personal deaths and dealing with abuses at home, and has since let his classroom management deteriorate.
Unfortunately, I've seen how a majority of his students use his weakened state as an opportunity to walk all over him; they violating district policies, disrespect him, and now it's come to a head. Last week, he decided to put his foot down for the first time in the semester, and told two girls (habitual problem-starters and EXTREMELY pampered), informing them that he would change their seats if they continued to talk over him. The worst of the two was also caught that day plagiarizing one of his assignments and reprimanded, though not reported as he felt it appropriate to let her off with a warning.
The next day, Friday, he was called to the office before his 3rd block classes. He said his AP was approached by two girls who reported feeling uncomfortable due to things he would say in class, such as overshare his mental state through making jabs at self-h*rming himself (which I've heard him do in the workroom, as well, the sort of "this makes me wanna just _____" comments not unusual to hear as a response to high stress and depression), to which he said his AP (and mine, she's incredibly supportive of teachers, though hopefully not just vocally) was sympathetic. She recommended he set up an appointment with the employee assistance program and possibly seek counseling, to which he agreed. The next items regarded a story he often shares about meeting his neighbor through hunting weapons (we live in a sub-rural area where hunting is a prolific topic), supposedly threatening to "bash a kid's head into a brick wall" in response to the plagiarism earlier mentioned, when he admitted he said he said that about his own head, something he's said a lot before. Lastly, he was accused of making inappropriate comments regarding female students' appearances, which no one can substantiate, and it seems this was featured because "male teacher = g-word" seems like a free space to claim.
He's rightfully freaked out, as am I, because we both teach very similarly and with the same style, with a sort of "big brother" vibe that's never been a problem, but rather very appreciated by both parents and students alike. He did mention how the admin made a big point about "saying things which could get misconstrued", but he said she was very stern but understanding in her demeanor, even sharing her experience in mourning and still showing up for school as a way to cope. He also said she talked extensively about having "healthy teachers in the classroom", which I believe is code for "we're going to make sure you're just in mourning and not actually going to do anything permanent". We're both on our fourth year of teaching, and our state uses the "continuing contract" system, so we're both unsure how tenure works or if there's protections at all in this state.
Does he have cause to worry for his livelihood, or is this a common, albeit brutal, occurrence for teachers today? I don't think he's registered with the state representation (we're in Virginia), as most of us newer teachers still don't have much wiggle room to afford many biweekly deductions, but I'm nervously optimistic. I'm asking this for my benefit as well, as we teach very similarly to one another, and the last thing I want is for a Children of the Corn situation to arise after.... well, trying to maintain classroom order in any way. Needless to say, this alone is taking the wind out of my sails in regards to continuing in this field, which I loved before this year, and I know for a fact he's having second thoughts; more so, probably.
Tl;dr: Colleague on continuing contract is on administrative leave pending an investigation due to comments made after he reprimanded two students for disruption and honor code violation. Seems retaliatory, though he and I are worried for his future in teaching.

My ex (26M) dumped me (23F) during Christmas week last year. Our almost 2 year relationship wasn't perfect due to our monthly arguments. I've always blamed myself for not trusting him after he broke my trust during the beginning of our relationship which caused the constant fights.
After our breakup, I begged to stay friends. I kept on getting unfriended & blocked. Talking to him felt different. And ofc, I was hoping that I could convince him to love me again but it wasn't working out. But while all of this was happening, I continued on with life by meeting new people, travelling, and doing a lot of things that I've missed out. So after a month, I accepted reality and decided not to be a burden to him anymore. Although it hurts to continue on without him, but at least I get to do the things I love and eventually realized my worth and rediscovered myself that I've lost a long time ago. And like that, I've officially moved on.
Now fast forward to today, I'm really happy with my life. I'm no longer the person he made me then. I know what I want, what I like and who I am. I met a lot of amazing friends, met a lot of people, experienced new things and now in a relationship with an amazing man who is basically the male version of me. I only realized now how much I've molded my personality, demeanor, interest to match his to avoid not feeling cherished and embarrassed by him.
Occasionally he would send me emails and tweet about me. He tweeted that he misses me despite me being abusive and moving on after a month. He also expected me to come back to him now but since I haven't, he said I'm basically unrecognizable. Before we ended, he called me abusive during our past convo and when I asked when, he couldn't answer. I wasn't perfect and no one likes to argue every month, but I know I wasn't abusive.
I don't understand why he's acting this way despite dumping me first. I only did what I have to do since this is my life. I finally feel secure with myself and my current partner. I feel loved, cherished and appreciated by him. I was already happy before we got together, but now I'm happier and he has helped me with my rediscovery a lot. Just annoyed that my ex is acting this way and I don't understand why he's being like this lol

If you're feeling offended already from this post, I highly suggest you click off and make yourself some tea. Please do yourself that favor
[Scroll to the bottom for TDLR]
So there’s this online trend going on right now (it's sort of dying off I think, I could be wrong) where people are asking women if they’d rather be stuck alone in the forest with either a random man or a random bear.
I’ll say it again. Would these women rather be stuck ALONE in the forest with a random man or a bear? Lots of the women are picking a bear. And I also picked the bear. I asked my mom, my aunt, and my dad this question. They all said bear. And here’s why *I* personally chose to pick the bear.
First of all, it’s because God gave me permission. I’m a Christian. Literally, in the Bible, in Proverbs 17:2, it says, “It is safer to meet a bear robbed of her cubs than to confront a fool caught in foolishness” (NLT version). Even God is saying I should pick the bear. If God tells me I’m allowed to do or pick something, trust and believe I’m gonna take it.
Secondly, let’s say that Bibilicality or Christianity had nothing to do with this conversation. I’d still pick the bear and here’s why. Humans in general are completely unpredictable. Yes, a human is smart. Yes, a human could help you survive. But that’s the scary thing. Humans are incredibly freaking smart. So if that person–not just a man—wishes to kill me, abuse me, or whatever—they’re gonna find the best way to do it.
Even then, I’d rather be stuck in the woods with another woman because statistically, women commit violent crimes significantly less than men do. I’m sorry, that’s just the truth. That’s not to say that women aren’t capable of committing crimes either and there’s a chance that the rate women commit crimes is higher than we know—there’s still a consistent pattern in who predominantly commits the overwhelming majority of the crime—men.
Literally, according to the United States Sentencing Commission, women accounted for only 13.5% of crime in the U.S. during 2022 and even then, the majority of the time, those women were being arrested for drug related offenses. Not rape, not kidnapping, not sex trafficking, not murder—DRUGS. And the craziest part is that the number of women committing those crimes had not changed much at ALL during the years between 2013-2022.
If that’s still not enough for you, according to the Bureau of Prisons (BOP – an official site from the U.S. government), women only make up 6.8% of inmates in prisons, whereas men make up 93.2%. Try to discredit this all you want but at the end of the day, men are MUCH more likely to commit crimes than women. Which, by association, would also mean that women are less likely to commit VIOLENT crimes than men are.
So yeah, pardon me if I’m gonna be scared crapless to be completely alone in the woods by myself with a man I do not KNOW. If that’s the situation I’m in—where I’m completely vulnerable, by MYSELF, and civilization isn’t around because I’m STUCK in the forest—what incentive does that man have to be a good person to me (especially considering that no other witnesses are around)? HE HAS NONE.
Note that us women picking the bear is not a man-hater thing. I do not hate men as a whole. But I am cautious of men. I have men in my life that I love and admire like my father, my brothers, and my cousins. If I was plopped in the woods with any of them, I would be 100% fine with it. But if you’re seriously asking me to be stuck ALONE by myself with a random guy, I may as well be playing Russian roulette with my life. A bear is predictable. Humans are not. I am built like a string bean, I cannot fight. So if a man chooses to cripple me for whatever reason, I’m done for.
When it comes to women picking the bear, it’s not necessarily us thinking that the bear is inherently ‘safer.’ We know the bear could eat us. All we’re doing is choosing which worst-possible outcome we’d rather deal with should that worst-possible situation show up. The worst thing a bear can do is kill you. You wanna see the worst a man can do? Search up the Junko Furuta case and then get back to me. Even then, there's probably some sicko who managed to rival THAT.
Don’t even try to act obtuse on the subject, boys. Because I know for a fact that when y’all have daughters, wives, girlfriends, cousins, sisters, etc—and they’re out somewhere late at night, you tell them, “Get home safe.” Safe from what? A bear? (LOL)
You guys know full well how dangerous other men are. That’s why you tell the women in your life not to wear certain stuff. Not to go out late at night. Not to go anywhere alone. Because you know full and dang well that other men are flipping crazy and I’m tired of being gaslit from you guys wanting to play dumb to suit your narrative.
The fact you guys are THIS pressed about a HYPOTHETICAL situation, insulting us and whatnot, is only proving our point. You are the exact type of man we wouldn’t wanna be in the woods with.
If a bear attacks us, it’s not doing it out of malice. It’s doing it because it sees the woman as a threat. If it’s a female bear attacking you, it’s because you were too close to her babies. If it’s a male bear attacking you, he’s most likely hungry. With men (or humans in general), you cannot predict them. There’s actually MORE protocols and steps you can take to avoid or prevent a bear attack. But there is absolutely NOTHING you can do in this situation to prevent the other human from wanting to harm you—especially if they’ve already chosen to do so.
If you’re a dude and still pissed off that we chose the bear, I hope God gives you more empathy when it comes to women and their struggles. Maybe then you’ll understand the reason why God ALSO says we should pick the bear.
Peace.
TLDR: I'd pick the bear because a bear is more predictable than a man, and even then, worst-case scenario---I'd rather be killed by a bear than be subjected to whatever sick intentions a RANDOM man could potentially have. Because humans are unfortunately very creative when it comes hurting each other. Bears are not.

What’s in the closet, Kirsty?
He knew I hid a secret.
I smiled, tried to look confused.
He waited, crossing his arms.
I worried that he'd already seen. He had.
What else could he think about the pile?
His wife’s a cheater. She has another life. Another husband. Children.
He’d never believe the truth: I’m not a cheater; there’s no other life; no other man; I don’t know who the children are who visit me at night.
But I did have a secret. And maybe it’s fair to say another life, even if was smaller and against my will.
I should have destroyed those frames, burned the photos within. Now it looked like I saved them, cherished them. The truth couldn’t be farther. I feared to touch anything to do with… whatever they are…with one exception.
“It started last Halloween,” I said to George, my husband, my real husband.
He stopped packing for a moment, working out the impossibility of this statement. “I’m taking the girls to my parents.” He resumed the tossing of shirts, pants, etc. into our big suitcase.
“It’s true,” I said, but weakly. The children in the picture are at least six and four respectively. They were born six months ago.
“They’re not… my kids,” I said of the boys in the photos. They’re not kids is what I almost said.
George stopped and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Kirsty,” he said slowly, “there are baby pictures. I saw them.”
“That’s-”
He quickly raised his finger, exasperated, angry, done.
“The first picture is you holding a newborn, and…” He swallowed painfully, his throat gone dry. It always does when he’s upset. “And the father in that picture, with his arm around you, isn’t me.”
When I couldn't deny it, he nodded like he knew all along our marriage would end.
We were happy. We really were. George and I had managed to overcome the typical breakdown that often comes with raising children. Only since last Halloween had distance been made by me.
I should have told him as soon as it started.
“Girls!” he called as I followed him down the stairs to the front hall of our lovely home. We’d scrimped and sacrificed to buy and keep this place, our dream by the lake. He’d been so proud. I couldn’t tell him I wanted to leave the first night sleeping there.
Cara and Ella protested through play, ignoring the adults, continuing to jump on an old box they’d long since flattened. Rays from the western sun placed my daughters into an inspired, hallowed light, and I started to cry. He was going to take my babies away.
George opened the door, intending, I’m sure, to drop the suitcase in the car before returning to physically carry the girls out.
But he hesitated in the doorway.
“George?”
The suitcase fell with a solid thud on the floor. “There’s no way,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s no way,” he said, with emphasis on the last word, “you would have had time for…this…”
Not defining "this" as cheating was progress. “Yes!”
He glared, quieting my desperate enthusiasm. I wasn’t off the hook. “Tell me. The truth.”
“I can’t.”
He reached for the suitcase.
“No, not because I don’t want to,” I protested. “I don’t know what’s happening!” I sat on the carpeted steps and stared through blurred vision at my trembling hands. The shriek I’d filled the house with - “happening!” - had put a halt to the box's obliteration. Cara and Ella hesitated for a few seconds before leaping into action.
Cara, the oldest, six, punched her dad in the buttocks. “You have to be nice!”
Ella, four, sat beside me and patted my trembling hands. “It’s okay, mummy.”
Such lovely daughters. Nothing like the boys in those photos when they were this age.
George grasped Cara's wrists and gently walked her back into the house, using his foot to kick the suitcase from the swing of the front door.
"It's alright, girls," he said with weak resolve. "Go and play."
"No!" Cara shouted. She kicked at her father and he pulled her close into a bearhug. Gradually, the girls calmed and were convinced to return to the box in the front room.
"Kirsty," George said, "you have to tell me." He sat down on the step beside me. "Please." I would do anything to take away the hurt in his eyes. "Please."
"I can't. But… I can write it down. Maybe." I took out my phone. We shared Google Drive. When I made a new document, he reluctantly started his phone. The man was a dream. He watched his screen, and waited patiently for my words to appear.
Without preamble, I returned to the awful moment when it all began: a strange and disturbing dream. Words came like an infection from beneath a torn scab. The wound had been opened. Nothing could stop this now.
Sex with another man has never been a desire of mine. I love George. He loves me.
Plus, the man in my dream was a stranger, and not particularly handsome. He has a plain face set to unwavering boredom and unkempt male pattern baldness. Our dream sex felt obligatory, just something we had to do.
I awoke on the wrong side of midnight. November 1st and I was craving ice cream instead of the girls' gathered candy. The freezer left by the previous homeowners came with unopened ice cream. Freezer burned or not, I wanted some.
After retrieving a spoon from the kitchen, I intended to destroy a brick of neopolitan. He waited in his flannel pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor. His arms were crossed.
"Cravings?" he said.
I dropped the spoon. It clattered down the basement steps. Before I could run away, he disappeared like someone had erased him from head to foot in one clean sweep.
Had to be a dream. That's what I told myself. The spoon stayed in the basement until daylight. Ghost or nightmare, there was laundry to do the next day.
I crossed the concrete floor fast and only felt safer when I'd closed the door to the more modern laundry room. Never thought builder's grade tiles and track lights would make me feel anything but sad.
His voice caught me sorting.
"Kirsty!"
I dropped the cup of detergent all over the floor.
"Shit."
I came out of the laundry room, figuring George had been looking for me in uncharacteristically rude fashion. He hated speaking between rooms. Shouting throughout the house was highly impolite. It must have been important, I figured.
As soon as I stepped onto the bare concrete, however, deep sadness, the kind that seems to physically leech the strength from your body, dominated the room.
"Hello?" I don't know why I said that. The basement is a low ceilinged rectangle. There are no hiding spots except for the laundry room I'd come from. After a deep breath, I walked briskly to the stairs.
"Any day now," a raspy voice breathed into my ear. I jolted and slipped forward, falling and clipping my chin off a step. It made my teeth click painfully. Nobody there, of course. I ran upstairs and George had gone outside with the girls to play hide and seek.
I wanted to tell him. He looked so happy. It's hard to convey in words the kind of smile he showed me through the window. Imagine contentment mixed with unreserved joy and hope. Yes, it's difficult to picture. So few of us can ever have such a moment. Sort of like finding a natural view completely untouched by humanity. Beyond rare and precious.
I’m rambling now to avoid writing about what followed. The point is I couldn’t tell him. I hoped it’d go away and stop.
But, of course, it didn’t, and things got much worse.
I awoke in a great deal of pain. Having already given birth to children, the feeling was familiar. Despite getting up and gasping, George continued to snore in our bed. He’s a deep sleeper, but a quick and early riser. I’ve never heard him complain about getting out of bed either, especially when there’s an emergency.
I might have woken him up but I was disoriented and confused. Part of me believed I was still pregnant with Ella. It wasn’t until I’d gone all the way to the kitchen to avoid waking up the girls, that my brain caught up: Girls. Plural. Ella was asleep in her bed upstairs.
“Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiit.” I knew the signs of labour. This couldn’t be happening. “Ohhhhhhhhh.”
I was definitely going to wake everyone up if this continued.
My phone was upstairs by my bedside table. We don’t have a landline. I should have called 911. I should have woken up George.
Instead, I went downstairs where I could vocalize pain without disturbing anyone. Such a pathetically passive response. But that’s how I was raised. Keep it down, don't you frown.
His hands seized mine as soon as I descended the last step. Serious and bald without dignity is how to best describe his physical appearance. Cold and cruel is what he is. The lights turned off and, in the perfect darkness of the basement, he was all that I could see.
He produces a red light from his body somehow but his touch is literally frosty.
"Kristy, it's time," he said. No joy there. Just straight facts. Something was coming. I was going to give birth to it. In the dull red glow of his being, the first boy came.
"His name is Hadad," the man said, placing a large, infant boy with a lot of hair and, I swear, a hint of beard, on the bare concrete. Hadad looked like a three month old they use as newborns on TV. He didn't cry. He hardly seemed to breathe as his dark eyes roamed the darkness. His light resembled the man's, a less intense red.
I felt another contraction, and winced.
"She comes next," the man said.
I felt so weak. "Who are you?" I asked him.
At last, he smiled and I wished he hadn't. It made me feel small, insignificant, and beneath his concern. "You know who I am," he said. "I'm your husband."
Pain wracked my entire body. Something didn't feel right. The birth of Cara and Ella had been without difficulty.
"Push," my "husband" ordered. "She is upset with you, and will kill you if you don't get her out now."
"It has to be a nightmare," I told him. Sweat poured in streams down my face. The unborn "she" in question writhed and damaged my insides. I screamed. I couldn't help it.
"Push!"
I obeyed and the second boy spilled onto the bare concrete, coated in blood and dust.
"It's a boy," I said.
The man looked displeased. "The body is male. She is Hebat. No wonder she is angry." Like the other infant, Hebat appeared aware of her surroundings and had far too much motor control for a newborn. The light pouring from her body was dull silver. Her eye sockets were two pits of concentrated despair. I had to look away.
The babies were pressed into my arms.
The man stretched out beside me. "Open your eyes and smile." I resisted. "Do it. Now." What choice did I have? The flash from his cell blinded me. They were all gone by the time my sight recovered. Only the sweat remained as evidence of the ordeal.
It had to have been a hallucination. Some very bad food poisoning maybe. The source could be as simple as an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. I had been stress eating since we'd moved in. I stood up and took some comfort in a Charles Dickens' reference.
"More of gravy than of grave about you," I said. My words seemed consumed by the dreadful weight of the air. "Whatever you are."
Whatever you are: something bad in any case. At best, I'd hallucinated prolonged and traumatic labour and needed medical attention. Yet, when I limped up the basement stairs, all thoughts of waking George vanished. There on the kitchen island sat a propped frame containing the photograph taken only moments ago.
The man looked happy. Only Hadad appeared in this picture, which meant another one was somewhere. I didn't panic. I worried more about what George would think if he saw the photos. I had to find them all.
Hebat and his father and I were mounted in a dark wood frame by the master bedroom. It'd be the first thing anyone saw if they woke up. I plucked it off the wall and, together with the first photo, tucked it under some blankets in the dresser we'd shoved in the small walk-in closet.
You might not believe this, but I went straight to sleep after. I climbed under the blanket in my sweaty pajamas, shut my eyes, and didn't have enough time to deny what had happened. I was unconscious until morning.
George placed a coffee on my nightstand. That's what I remember. He rubbed my feet while I slowly awoke. The girls were watching TV downstairs, munching on apple slices. There was forty minutes still before we had to seriously consider getting ready to take Cara to school.
George would drop her off on his way to work downtown. He chose his hours and always chose convenience for his wife and kids. Ella and I planned to spend the morning gardening. Then we would nap much of the afternoon away until George and Cara returned. A life so perfect is so very rare.
I didn't want to spoil things with a very convincing nightmare. Besides, I felt fine. Not so good that I wanted to look in the dresser to see if those photos really were there, but not ill. So I remained silent again.
November started fine. Idyllic days and nights filled with laughter and joy and television. Just as I started to believe in the dream we'd made, they came again.
The wail of a child's hunger is a powerful call for a parent. When it's a chorus, even of two, it cannot be ignored. Only I awoke to Hadad and Hebat's cries for their "mother" from the basement.
Half asleep, I drifted into the kitchen and searched for their milk bottles. When no bottles could be found, I remembered they were newborns. Milk swelled in my breasts and made my nipples ache. Just like when Cara or Ella would awaken in the night. It was a relief to feed them.
But what the fuck was I doing?
I was acting like the man in the basement and the devil babies were mine. It'd been less than a week since Halloween and that horrible nightmare illusion. I had already taken on the beleaguered newborn mother role without question.
Their cries intensified and flayed the weak resistance of exhausted reasoning.
Don't wake George. Don't wake my babies, my real babies.
"What took you so long?" the man critized, his voice monotone, the question unrhetorical.
"I… was sleeping. I went to the fridge first." Under his severe gaze, I stopped in the midst of the dark room. Hadad had quieted. Hebat cooed as if laughing at her own joke. I couldn't see them because the lights were off. They liked the dark better. Somehow I knew that about them and him.
"You should sleep down here," he said. "A mother should always be close to her babies."
The statement was nonsense but not altogether wrong. I wanted to be close to my babies, the daughters sleeping in bliss upstairs, away from the evil fermentation in the basement.
"Kirsty," he said. "Are you listening?" His hand touched the small of my back. The gentleness surprised me. I squawked and flinched away. "What’s wrong with you? They're hungry." He pressed on my shoulders until I sat on the cold floor.
They came from the shadows, already walking. I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn't allow it. He pulled my cat t-shirt off over my head and their fierce mouths suckled, relieving the pressure of excess breast milk quickly. It felt physically good and psychologically alien.
I looked down at them once and immediately regretted it. Their emanated light had intensified to a point where perception of them hurt.
Each time I blinked my eyes were drawn to some isolated part of their bodies. The vision got closer to the point of disgust. Everything is gross if you're close enough. There is no beauty under a microscope. If you think there is then you're not using the right magnification.
Hebat's eye drew me in. At first, I saw the dark sphere, and then the strands of her eyelashes. Her gravity kept pulling until the creatures that live in eyelashes were revealed: Demodex folliculorum. I looked the microscopic horrors up.
The babies had more parasites than any child should. They wanted to show me and could somehow do so.
I asked him about it. "Why are they showing me these worms?"
He smiled, contemptuously as usual. "Trying to impress mother. Neither of them understand your horror and insignificance. You are the ant who knows they're an ant. Lucky you. They think you will be proud of the life their corporeal forms produce and host. Give them a few hours. It will pass."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. We're married. Now, prepare to smile." His cell reappeared and I noted the lack of features; it might have been a singed rectangle of spent firewood. He frowned when I failed to smile. "Smile, Kirsty. These are your children."
I managed to stave off the tears and hold the babies close. The smile was more difficult. In the inevitable aftermath of their sudden disappearance, the frames depicted an exhausted, wrinkly woman smiling painfully. It took a second to recognize myself.
The things in the basement sapped my strength. I looked dehydrated, beleaguered. The scale in the bathroom said I'd dropped six pounds. I'd weighed myself the morning before.
"Whoa, you've lost weight," George noted, thinking I'd be pleased. "This place has been so good for us, eh?'
To produce another smile proved as draining as the previous night. "Y-yes," I stuttered too late for him to ignore.
"Hey," he said, touching my forearm.
I flinched.
"Whoa, you okay? What's wrong?"
I should have told him. "Nothing. Bad sleep. A nightmare. I'll be fine."
A lie is an agreement. George wanted to agree, I think. He wanted life to be fine because he was happy for once. We struggled so hard before we came to Bridal Veil Lake. It was supposed to be our dream.
Guilty if I told him the truth. Guilty because I didn't. I began to resent his happiness, though he had done nothing but be the wonderful man he'd always been.
To Cara and Ella I became a body in motion, No brain left to guide them away from harm or answer their questions about nature and the universe.
"I don't know." That's what I told them often.
So they began to treat me like a kind of butler.
"Can I have some juice, please?"
"Sure, sweetheart."
"Mommy, can I have a snack?"
"Of course." And I'd run off to fetch it.
"Cookies."
"Yes, dear."
When Christmas came, I had two and they induced the same level of joy. Visiting the basement to feed and nurture Hebat and Hadad became a nightly occurrence. I'd learned to awaken, if I could get to sleep at all, and go quietly.
He berated me severely if I missed a night, and there were subtle threats made casually.
"I may have to squash you yet," he said, his tone as deep and cold as always.
"It won't happen again," I promised. "They’re getting big." In fact, they were no longer infants. Both had grown to the approximate age of six or seven in a few months. Still, they never spoke. Their dark eyes watched me as they ate food from the kitchen upstairs, food I'd hidden from my family.
"More meat," the man demanded.
"Of course." And I ran to the freezer and gave them frozen sausages in the package. They never complained or demanded the food be prepared a different way. No objections from my "husband" either.
Hebat tore the styrofoam and plastic wrap away and flattened the row of sausages stuck together between powerful molars. Hadad contented itself with licking them like a popsicle.
I'd stay until the photo. Then they'd release me by vanishing. Always with an exhausted breath, I'd trudge up the stairs and search for the frames and hide them in the same place.
They only smiled in the pictures. At no other time did they express any kind of emotion unless indifference counts.
My own children and husband weren't doing much better. Their concerns about my fatigue and ruminating slowly ceased as I repeated the excuse: I’m just tired. It'll pass.
Of course, I did not know when the nightmare would stop.
"When will it end?" I asked him one night, while Hebat and Hadad exercised like they had a mission.
"What do you mean?" he said.
I was surprised he answered. He usually didn't. "This. This. When can I go back to normal and not come down every night? I'm so very tired."
He frowned and I thought some punishment must be coming. Instead, he looked more confused. "I don't understand. You aren't happy? Your children grow into power and strength and will take their place in the world. They will be great and you - you, of all the tiny things, made that happen. Ask yourself what you want out of life, and see if Hebat and Haddad aren't your answer."
Too many words, all at once, for an exhausted mother. I didn't speak for the rest of the night. The infernal trio vanished, and the latter moments of the ritual I carried out with his challenge in mind.
I want my children to be strong, happy, and safe.
"Juice," Cara demanded the next morning, a Saturday, while she watched cartoons.
"Get it yourself!" I hissed, from tired to angry in a second.
"But I can't," Cara accurately pointed out. She didn't look away from the TV. Looking at me wasn't safe, and she knew it. Her and Ella held hands and sat a little straighter. It broke my heart. What had I done?
George came downstairs, attracted by my shouting. "What’s going on?"
Empathy became sadness, and the constant burden rekindled to anger swiftly. "Just children treating me like a servant."
He smiled. "Ah, yes, and how are the royal princesses this morning?"
His levity irked me. "You would know if you didn't sleep in so much."
The smile vanished from his face, and instead of the fight I seemed to want, he mumbled a quiet apology and joined the girls. They climbed onto him as he wrapped them into a cuddle.
"What are we watching?" George restarted his smile, his calm, for the girls. I hated myself. It had to end. Tonight.
After another dreary day of going through the motions, and the girls and George had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and chose the knife I thought sharpest.
"Kirsty," he said, his voice a whisper rising from the depths of the house.
"Coming," I whispered back.
"Mom," said another voice, a girl's, and I knew that Hebat had, at last, found herself and the wholeness of her being had been corrected.
I started to cry. I went downstairs and there she was with her brother and her father. He looked tired but some of the grimness had cracked to allow the first real contentment I've ever seen him express.
"Is that for the cake?" he asked. "We already have one."
I remembered the sharp knife. "Meat," I said. "There’s ham in the freezer."
He nodded, seeming to accept the answer.
"Mom," Hebat said, "Do you think I'm…" She gestured to herself, her face, and her body, and I understood the question, born from doubt and a desire to be validated.
I pulled her close. "You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world." We cried together. Hadad cut into a poorly made, asymmetrical cake by the light of his aura. No one cared that he did so on the floor. I brought out the ham from the fridge and we ate slices with our hands.
"It's almost done," he said. "They’re nearly grown. They are strong, and they are happy. You've done a good job, Kirsty." He watched our children fight to smear icing on each other's faces. "I'm sorry if I was mean. Or cold. I've never done this before." And he meant raising children. "It was the hardest, scariest thing anyone can try. I shouldn't have blamed you for… Hebat… It wasn't your fault."
Before I could pat his hand, he and the kids vanished. Darkness so familiar couldn't extinguish a new fear. I went upstairs and found the last frame. I held my daughter in the photo, my beautiful Hebat. He must have taken the photo without my notice.
I took it upstairs but couldn't bring myself to hide it.
I didn't see that one, George wrote into the document.
I forgot he was watching.
He typed again: Are you saying there is something in the basement?
Yes, I replied.
He stirred in the living room. I hadn't moved from the stairs, but I could tell by his stomping how angry he'd become. All of his negative, violent traits he saved for those in the world who would harm his family. George the Protector was fearsome to behold.
But he had no chance against my other husband.
"Come out! Come out you coward!" George bellowed. At first, nothing happened. The moment before calamity, even when the specific consequences aren't known, is still in slow motion. He carried on shouting. The girls rushed into the hall and didn’t hesitate to investigate.
"No!" I shouted. "Cara! Ella!"
Their feet padded down the steps. A violent commotion followed, screams and raging voices, both deep and childishly shrill.
The most unsettling quiet followed.
I chewed through the fear and the horror tearing me apart and finally moved.
No evidence of violence could be seen from the top of the stairs. The concrete looked bare and dusty and the light revealed nothing more. They were gone, all of them.
"Hebat," I whispered. "Cara? George?"
Him, I thought of, the nameless husband and felt no hint of his presence. He'd always been there. I know that now. It had nothing to do with the house. His absence was felt more than his insidious presence. Yet, I felt no relief. George and the girls were gone. I sat on the floor and cried for all my missing children.
When I finally emerged from the basement, the whole house had been filled with night. Their photos were everywhere. The others were upstairs. I gathered them on the kitchen island. How could I explain any of this to the police?
I needed help. I called my parents. It took twenty minutes before my father picked up.
"Kirsty? What's wrong?"
"Dad," I whimpered. "George is gone. Cara. Ella."
"What? What did you say?"
"They’re gone, dad. George. The girls are gone."
I heard his bed springs protest as he rolled out of bed. My mom said something I couldn't hear, and he shushed her.
"Kirsty," he said, "are you alright? Are you hurt? Are you in danger?"
Why was it so hard to understand? "Dad. George is gone."
"Kirsty, who the hell is George?"
It was my turn to be confused. "He's my- you know him. My husband…"
"Kirsty," he said very slowly, "are you on drugs? Did you take something?"
"No. Are you?"
"Excuse me?"
I hung up.
I have their photos. I have all of their photos. That's what I brought to George's parents before the sun rose. They wouldn't open the door and spoke to me through an intercom.
"George is gone," I said.
"We'll call the police."
"This is your son. These are your granddaughters."
I heard my mother-in-law say, "Who is she?"
"We don't have a son," my father-in-law said. "Go away."
I left.
Back to the house. Our dream sat empty and I live there, but none of the people in my family photos are my family.
I remember but the world never does. My parents think I'm ill and that I used AI to create the family I apparently never had.
How did I buy the house without a job or income? With deep concern for my mental health, they showed me a news story. I had won the lottery the day I turned eighteen.
His influence there, payment for services rendered.
A lie is an agreement.
What had I agreed to? I'm afraid I know the answer: I never wanted a family.
God help me. God help them.
I don't know what to do with these pictures.

Hello all. I hope you're all doing well. One of my gerbils passed this weekend. He was only a year or so old, but even with antibiotics he couldn't make it. We're all heartbroken, and his brother is upset, as you can imagine. He's still eating and drinking thankfully, but we can see the difference in him. I know they're social creatures and I want to make him as happy as possible, so I've started considering getting another male gerbil and introducing them via split cage method, as I've seen recommended on here. I wouldn't do it straight away, I imagine he needs some time to mourn, but it seems like the best option.
But today, I had to go to the pet shop to pick up some more food and asked them about it while I was there. The guys at the counter insisted it was extremely difficult to do, and that they rarely bonded even with the split cage method and it was more hassle than it was worth, especially with males. This seems pretty contradictory to what I've seen on here, but I can't afford to risk getting another gerbil and having to have a whole other cage etc. if they don't bond. I just couldn't afford it.
Are they talking nonsense or is actually that difficult? Would love to hear people's experiences. I just want to give my little guy the best life possible. :[

Hello everyone,
I'm a 23-year-old male with a honeymoon trip in two weeks, and I have a recognised generalised anxiety disorder and severe health anxiety. I've been managing it through cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) and avoiding SSRIs. Despite my interest in aviation and spending countless hours on flight simulators (I love the A320), my fear of flying persists.
Lately, I’ve noticed some improvement – I don’t think about flying as much, but I anticipate significant anxiety on the day of the flight. My psychologist and I have been working on accepting this fear and doing it anyway, while letting go of the need for control, especially on the plane. Although the statistics are reassuring, the anxiety remains. Fortunately, I have another session scheduled with my psychologist three days before the flight.
The flight will be a private charter with a travel agency, from Vilnius (VNO) to Antalya (AYT) on a Boeing B-737-800, which is about twenty years old. Here are my main concerns:

1. Aircraft Type: Despite knowing how common and safe Boeing planes are, the anxiety persists.
2. Aircraft Age: The fact that the plane is twenty years old worries me, as I’m unsure about the maintenance procedures.
3. Loss of Control: The idea of not being in control during an airborne incident terrifies me, as I wouldn’t be able to avoid the worst outcome.

I’ve flown many times before, both short and long flights, but the tension remains constant throughout.
I’m writing this post to seek general feedback from those who have flown on similar aircraft recently, or who have been in similar situations. Hearing from real pilots would be especially helpful – any encouragement or insights to ease my anxiety would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you for reading and contributing. I do have a doctor's prescription for medication as a backup, but I prefer to tackle this issue without it.

Why do they need to transition then ?
I (22F) have been struggling with "trans toughts" lmao since childhood. It can be an obsession during few months then i can live my best life as a lesbian girl and it always comes and go, it scares me as hell i want to be left alone from thoses thoughts.
For 1 year I was very pleased with myself and i was just thinking, well you just have to learn to love the fact that youre a girl. It's not because society wants you to act a certain way as a girl that you have to do so. SO WHY DO I ALWAYS NEED TO LOOK AT TRANSFILMS ON YOUTUBE SINCE IVE BEEN SEVEN.
I love the lesbian community, I dont really want others to perceive me as male. Beeing a masculinelesbian as pretty much been part of my "personnality" even its a weid Thing to Say. It is because i felt very relieved when i cut my hair when i was 16 and discovered my sexuality.
I've got 2 brothers and my father, my mother died when i was 2 yo. Maybe it plays a role in my transthoughts because i was raised by men.
So the question remains thé same why do you need to transition if you can just fuck gender roles ?

Hi all,
First of all, this subreddit has been hugely insightful, I've loved reading the success stories and gauging what I can in terms of Financial Independence and early retirement. I was raised in a poor, what some may even consider financially reckless, environment. Therefore, everything I have / have learnt, has been achieved by moving away from the "live for today, and hope for tomorrow" MO I was raised with.
For context, I am a 37yo male. I have a good income, c£164k per year. My wife-to-be (getting married in a month) has an income of c£33k (including commission). Our outgoings total about £4k per month, though, we're expecting this to drop in the next few years. We were late-comers to the housing ladder, only getting our first home ~2 years ago. I've recently enrolled in a Salary Sacrifice EV scheme as a way to mitigate the stupendous amount of tax I pay per year, so that will effect my income in about 3 months... at which point, I'm expecting my net income to drop by about £1k per month (though, a portion of the loss will be offset by the fact the car I currently lease can be returned in favour of the SS EV). With that drop, our total household income per month will be about £11k.
I should also note, the £4k per month outgoings also includes ~£1k for "float", I.e., money which isn't directly tied to bills, but to allow for luxuries, unexpected outgoings etc. This leaves us about ~£7k per month (which will drop to ~£6.5k per month in 3 months' time after the SS EV kicks in and the current lease is handed back) for savings, investments or anything else.
So, to my questions:

1. We're considering investing in holiday homes, particularly in Eastern Europe where they are relatively cheap, but also have a good potential for year-round occupancy. Ideally, we will save for the next few years to buy these outright, as opposed to an Interest-only mortgage. Our rationale: this will afford a secondary income stream, and an asset from which we can leverage to accrue further properties, thus expanding our portfolio and increasing the net income from said income stream. Do you agree that this would be a sensible investment? Is buying outright a preferable option than an I-O Mortgage, especially considering the additional time required to save, and, as a result, the "loss" of that income stream for the additional period we are saving? Does anyone have any experience they could lend to make sure we don't fall foul of any gotchas?
   
2. We don't want to put all our eggs in one basket, so are also considering investing in Stocks, Shares, and ISAs alongside the above venture. Can anyone offer any advice on how best to go about this? Is there any key considerations we should be aware of? Are there any gotchas, or caveats that we should try and avoid?
   

A key note is that, thus far, we have no investment portfolio (I have accrued ~£80k in Workplace Pension pots, scattered around various providers, but aside from this, the only "asset" we have is a mortgaged property).
In terms of retirement, I'm not sure when that will be, though, I'm hopeful for mid-50s. That being said, it's almost impossible to outline a particular age as everything is so foggy when it comes to how best to invest and get the returns to enable an early retirement.
Again, big thanks to this community for the expertise provided thus far, and further thanks for any input anyone can provide in relation to the above.

heyy, looking for some new friendships.
interested in sports and video games (don’t have much time for it recently tho). i’m IT student, main goal is to become game dev and i could use some motovation ngl lol. i really love learning new things so share some fun facts and your hobbies.
age 20-26, i don’t care if you are female or male. i’m down for chatting about literally everything

please ignore the new account, i swear i’m real! anyways, my lady cat recently had two beautiful kittens. they’re definitely at the age to be getting dewormed/prevention, and their round bellies tell me they almost certainly need dewormed. unfortunately they’re a little bit spicy toward me and handling them has proven very difficult. there’s a SNIP clinic that offers Pyrantel, Praziquantel, and Parasedge for extremely affordable that i plan on taking them to. im just curious if it’s possible to deworm at home? i want to build trust with them so they’re not as difficult to handle in the future (and ofc for love and snuggles), so i was curious if they could be dewormed at home and how. i got their parents (male is now fixed) when they were a similar age but they came treated and prevented and they’re angels for me in terms of handling and vet visits, not sure what happened with these guys 😅 TIA

Hello wonderful people in Netherlands!! Hope you are enjoying spring and looking forward to summer.
I live in Amsterdam. I love to make friends all over the world, but this post is only for people living nearby.
I’m planning few trips in next few months and want to connect with people who love to travel. Preferably to find travel partner(s) to travel to new places around the world.
I am experienced traveler and have travelled to more than 50 countries. I am now looking to explore more countries and it would be fun to travel with someone.
Currently, I am only looking for people who live in Netherlands so that I can also meet (when not traveling) to hangout, grab beers/coffee, do some activities or just talk.
I’m also happy to join your group or activities
I’m 36, Male, Straight, Single, No kids, 183cm, Fit, Speak English. I’m brown - so no racist welcome here.
My hobbies are: Traveling, Moterbiking, Swimming, Running, Cafe/Bar hopping, Watching movies, board games, Outdoor games, BBQ, Parties.
I’m a senior executive in an American company.
Looking forward to hear from you :) Feel free to send DM or comment here.

Think about it:
Leez is the headstrong simpleton village girl (aka our main female lead) who falls in love with Yuta (the main male lead). Leez already has beef with Kali who is technically her mother-in-law so Kali could easily take the role of scheming mother-in-law who constantly tries to get rid of Leez. Sagara could be the homewrecker ex girlfriend, Ran and Agni being the comedic 2nd and 3rd MLs who are related to Yuta's family with Rana and Brilith being the other FLs, Asha being another one of the villains who schemes against Leez aaaannnnddd I can't think of anything else

For context I am religious she only has a connection towards catholism but is not a believer but goes to church with me sometimes(reformed)
Hi guys, so this is from the male side. I got a girlfriend from college I am a Junior she a freshman. We are 6 months in, but I need help. I am a very lovey and clingy person and I love also receiving it. I give it to all those close to me and I do not expect it in return but I do want to expect it from my girlfriend however she does not like to express her feelings as much as I do. On the other hand, when I express my feelings about how I feel of she being distant to me she gets mad at me and i end up feelings worst and hurt and i get more ignored rather than get the attention i want. Lately she went to a school trip and does not have much communication with me due to not having internet but at the place she stayed they did so after the trip around the area (visiting hospitals) i would expect to talk to her however she decided to go out shopping at like after 10pm coming back like at 12 even after spending most day out. I felt like everything else mattered more than me because i made it clear i wanted to talk to her yet she doesn’t want to and this have given us more problems. (She went to a different country and visited different cities) I am jealous i know this and i did not get a clubbing girl for this reason but on her school trip the girls have been going out and she has drank like one drink saying the alcohol there is different as she does not like alcohol here besides being unable to drink it anyways. When i am with her i beg her to come to pool with me but she never wants to in one whole semester we did go once however she has gone once in the trip and wanted to go again the next day at a different resort pool where she stays(i felt sad because she does it with others but not with me) So yesterday we talked over the phone and while on the call she mentioned she put a coin at a guys crack while at a dance party and my head been spinning. I got mad at first “what the fuck you have idea of what you telling me” then i calmed and was like oh okay that’s what u did awkward silence minutes later she ended the call.
I cannot tell her anything she is very stubborn “does not like to be bossed around”
I need help when we are close face to face most of the times it is quite nice in distance we kinda fight, now very long distance she is unrecognizable i do not like her clubbing and she knows yet she has gone to bars and so i am i have been broken i even had suicidal thoughts which is dumb because i am not like that.

I’m a woman, and I have been thinking about male friendships. I have never had a heterosexual male friend, (I talk to men of through regular life of course). I have always felt a deep sense of safety both emotionally and physically with women, shared experiences, hobbies, just deeply feminine energy, we talk about love, cook together and sleep in the same bed, get ready together. don’t get me wrong that isn’t specifically what I’m looking from a male friendship, but I feel like that feeling of safety is impossible with them?
I guess it’s because there’s a deep fear there for me, I don’t want to ignore possible friendships with half the population. But I also don’t know how to make that untrustworthy feeling go away? Or the feeling that men aren’t people worth befriending when I could have such deep connections with women. because I know men can be great friends. :)
EDIT: when I say the feeling that men aren’t worth befriending - I don’t literally mean men aren’t good friends, I mean in the context of the activities described above. Not men can’t be good friends in any capacity… Jesus Christ I’ll probably just delete this and put in the ask/women

I feel like I might not be the typical type of person to post on this subreddit. I'm a male who started watching the show begrudgingly with my partner. I've been watching since season 3 and fell in love with it. I've never been on any social media related to VPR, so I have no outside influences this is honeslty the first time i have seen any sort of posts about VPR
I'm shocked by this subreddit. I'm surprised by all the support for Katie and Ariana and the crazy hate for Lala and Schwartz. I honestly don't understand it.
In my opinion, Katie and Ariana have never been highlights of VPR for me. From season 3 onward, my view of Katie was that she was the miserable, manipulative one who would latch onto anyone who would join her in being an ass hole. The way she treated Jo was disgusting. Jo was only ever nice to her, but as Jo said, Katie was just a jealous ex who hadn't gotten over Schwartz and decided to use jo as a punching bag.
As for Ariana, she was miserable for the longest time, and this season, she really annoyed me. The whole season revolving around her was frustrating. What she went through was awful, and I get that, but expecting everyone to tiptoe around her because of the Tom situation was insane. They are on the same TV show, and not recognizing that other people can still be friends with Tom was grim. Repeating that anyone who is friends with him will no longer be her friend is the most manipulative thing ever! It was crazy to me in the last episode when she said she had never claimed she would stop being friends with Scheana if she made up with Tom—it's just comical!
As for Lala, she is the queen in my eyes, and the amount of hate she gets on here is wild. I didn't like Lala in the first couple of seasons, but her turnaround after she sobered up was huge. After she sobered up, everything that came out of her mouth was straight facts. She doesn't take any bullshit and says things as she sees them. I feel like she is really the highlight of VPR for me and doesn't deserve all the hate.
Go queen LALA👸

Hi, I was wondering if other people have developed masculine and feminine characteristics during adolescence. In my case, I was assigned male at birth, but during adolescence I developed masculine and feminine characteristics (for the masculine characteristics, a voice that moults a bit, a bit of beard and bodyhair). As for the female characteristics (breasts, hips, bone structure and female muscle mass), I'd love to talk to other people who had a puberty similar to mine. Thank you very much for reading. And i have too all periods symptoms but not blood.