Lgbt movies on starz

If you are interested in getting Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation course you can contact us at (+) 447593882116 (Telegram/WhatsApp).
Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation course is now available.
Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation course comes with full updates and complete modules.
Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation course will teach you everything you need to know on how to escalate sexually with your girlfriend the right way.
The course is led by the award-winning adult movie industy star Stirling Cooper.
The information you will get Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation course is unique and acannot be learned anywhere else. The lessons you will get from this program are guaranteed to transform you love life forever!
If you want to get Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation course contact us at:
Whatsapp/Telegram: (+) 447593882116 (@multistorecourses)
Reddit DM to u/RequestCourseAccess
Email: silverlakestore[@]yandex.com (remove the brackets)

I’m looking to discover a book that contains one or, by some miracle, both of these very niche stories:

• A genre baseball story. Literally anything that isn’t standard “dad movie” stuff. Horror, action, thriller. It can be fiction or maybe something about real life curses or ghosts that haunt stadiums. Anything that shows the writer and their intended audience have other interests beyond just reading stories about players and would have an eclectic appetite for literature.
  
• “Nostalgia horror.” I’m talking someone uncovers a sinister truth behind a beloved childhood touchstone. Evil amusement parks, creepy arcades, and the like. Kid MCs are fine but I find their dialogue to usually be pretty cringey so it’d be preferable if they were older teenagers or, even better, adults returning and having their rose-colored glasses broken. I think what I’m also trying to ask for is 90s/2000s nostalgia horror for people my age (30) and not more ‘80s stuff.
  

Just to clarify, I’m looking for smaller indie authors. I’m curious to find something like these because I have a collection of stories out and I’m hoping to connect with authors who share my interests, as two of my favorite stories in my book focus on these topics. I also guess I’m hoping there’s appeal for my subjects and more writers are writing about them. Single novel or short stories are perfect as long as they tap into what I’m craving.

My parents are not well. I mean they are in an enviable situation given the circumstances, but they are not "well." I don't think they have been for a few decades. I will try to unpack this, but it may be a bit longwinded. I promise to use paragraphs!
I am M(50) and my parents are Dad(91) and Mom(80). They adopted my brother and me when were babies in the early 70's. In many ways they were loving parents, but my mom was abusive emotionally, verbally and physically. My dad was very passive with her but very active in our lives. My mom was active too, just not in ways we would have preferred!
In retrospect I think she may have Adult ADD and possibly be bipolar. But she would never seek therapy. She is the type who doesn't believe in that and would not even go to a doctor for 30 years until she had a small stroke 11 years ago. She is also, quite honestly a spoiled brat and acts like a complete Karen and thinks only of herself and her immediate needs.
About 30 years ago, my brother developed a drinking problem followed by crack addiction. My parents drained a significant part of their retirement (and my dad just recently retired as he had to keep working) paying for rehab, his bills, his whims, his divorces, his court cases, his bail, his lawyers, cars that he would sell to drug dealers and God knows what else.
They were fearful that if they left their apartment that they would miss his call that he was home at night and if he didn't call my dad would go out and look for him. My dad referred to this as "keeping him alive." It was a very dysfunctional situation and as a result, they really quit leaving the house (my dad worked in a separate office he rented in the apartment building) to do anything besides my dad getting groceries / dinner or something for his business.
My brother and I had a tumultuous relationship. We would go years without talking. I resented everything he put my parents through - both emotionally and financially. He freeloaded off of them for decades, but they also refused to ever cut him off tried to shield him from any consequences (although he did lose parental rights to his kid and did jail time on several occasions).
I lived out of state for 25 of the last 27 years. I recently moved back to my hometown because my brother died 2 years ago. Of course it was related to his drug use.
I set my parents up with several occasions with someone to come in and help with things. However, my mom kept terminating the contracts with them because no one can ever do anything good enough for her.
She never leaves the house. She has terrible knees (which she will never get replaced) and sleeps a lot. She watches tv all day long (usually 24 hour news - not Fox, thankfully). She has terrible incontinence as well. A few months ago she had decided to stop wearing her diapers and would double up with pads in the bed and just sleep in her own piss every night.
A little over 3 months ago (Dec, 2022), my dad, who has really been a primary caretaker for her (I live 5 miles away and have helped when I can) was helping her change her pajamas. He fell back and hit his upper back on the corner of the dresser and cracked 6 ribs. He didn't tell me about this until 3 days later. I took him to Urgent Care, they told him to rest. He fell 2 more times, the last time in the middle of the night and I called 911 against his wishes and he ended up in the hospital.
Needless to say, with COVID raging and hospital beds filling up, they could not keep him long so they sent to a physical rehab facility. He was very week and could barely walk. He had lost a lot of strength being laid up in bed with the cracked ribs. He is normally very active but he is very small and thin anyway.
During his 2 month stay at the rehab place he contracted COVID and Pneumonia. He is a tough dude for sure.
While he was in there, I took care of my mom along with another helper who she found through a neighbor. I also started the process of terminating my dad's business. I was also running by his place to make sure he everything he needed at the rehab place and trying to find an assisted living place for them both. I also work a full time job, have a side consulting business, a wife, a son in college and I play in a band. Living hell would be a great description of the last 3 months. I also had to coordinate moving them out of that apartment as them being on their own is just not an option at this point.
In any case I found them a top notch assisted care place. They have had a Long Term Care insurance since the mid-90's and basically their care is paid for at this place. They have a beautiful apartment in a complex that has a nice dining, social areas, live music, a bar, a movie theater, a salon, ice cream machine etc..., lots of the fixins.
My mom got their first and the first 2 days she got dressed with assistance (something she cannot do on her own and something she never did in that apartment - she is always in pajama gowns) and went down to the dining room for dinner. After that she started having her meals brought to her. Mind you each meal delivered comes with an $8 delivery fee, also because they encourage the residents to be social and get out.
My dad moved in from the rehab place a month ago - 2 weeks after my mom moved in. He cannot walk very much and is still getting PT, but every time I see him he in a wheelchair. I think he is scared to fall again.
Since he has been there neither one have them have left the apartment. They still get all of their meals delivered which the staff has told me is highly unusual. The only positive is at least they are watching more Andy Griffith than MSNBC.
Today my mom just called me yelling that they have a "huge problem." I winced. "It's 6:15 and they still haven't brought us our dinner! You're father has buzzed the nurse and no one's come."
"Ok, mom, what do you want me to do?" I reply.
She turns to my dad "what do you want him to do?"
My dad: "Well, there isn't really anything he can do."
My mom: "Oh! I'm telling you I'm not happy here and neither is your father although he won't tell you that. This keeps up and I'm moving back to the apartment complex where I was before."
Me: "Well, I don't think you and dad have really given it a chance over there."
My mom: "BYE!" slams the phone down.
I need to have a conversation which is next to fucking impossible with my mom. Either that or I need someone to intervene? Maybe their doctor, I really don't know.
I am going back to see my therapist next week. They are taken care of and I go by 2 times a week or so as they are 5 minutes away, but am trying to maintain some boudaries for my own sanity. Usually they have a list of things they need or errands that they need help with.
I feel my dad may be teetering on the brink of depression as he cannot walk or work. He has no desire to do anything. My mom is just, well, I've explained that. The dynamic seems highly dysfunctional and being that I cannot step back from it I feel maybe I am like the boiling frog. Their situation seems to me to be highly unhealthy. But how do you help 2 people who have been miserable for 30 years and seemingly have no desire to improve their lives?
That sounds like mental illness to me and it is sad. I am just not sure if there is anything I can do or if there is anything I should do? I know the incontinence thing is bad with my mom but at least there in the assisted living she has to wear diapers. My dad has incontinence issues too after this ordeal.
I am open to any suggestions. This was probably therapeutic just writing all this.

Very excited to watch the movie again, but I can’t find the bonus content on my library. Any help?

If you want Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation Course contact us at (+) 447593882116 (Telegram/WhatsApp).
Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation Course is available.
Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation Course is one of the best courses that will teach you how to improve your love life like nothing before, led by the famous adult movie star Stirling Cooper.
To get Stirling Cooper - Sexual Dominance Escalation Course contact me on:
Whatsapp/Telegram: (+) 447593882116
Reddit DM to u/RequestCourseAccess
Email: silverlakestore[@]yandex.com (remove the brackets)

Many people believe that the storm light archive and mistborn are related and take place in the same universe, called “the cosmere.” However, I believe this theory is wrong and I will explain my reasons why:

1. Different magic: In mistborn, we see hemalurgy, ferruchemy, and allowance. However, none of these appear inSA. Instead, we have surgebinding and void binding. If they take place in the same universe, why isn’t there any allowance on Roshar?
   
2. Metals and spren: In mistborn, metal is very important. However, there is no metal on Roshar. Similarly, spren are important in SA, so why aren’t there any spren on scadrial?
   
3. Planters: we know in MB there is only one planter: scadrial. In SA, there are 3 planters: Roshar, Braize, and Shadesmar. We don’t even see the same planters, so they can’t take place in the same universe.
   
4. [TLM/RoW] > ! In both of these books, there is a character called the lord of scars who is head of the ghost bloods. However, in MB the lord of scars island the ghost bloods are good, whereas in SA they are evil. That is why I believe they are not the same group, this is just a small Easter egg like how the luxo ball appears in all Pixar movies, or how Frodo appears in Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers. It doesn’t mean there’s an actual connection. ! <
   

Anyways, these are my thoughts on the cosmere theory, let me know what you think!

I don't want to fucking record netflix or whatever, I just want to be able to record gameplay if I'm watching something on another monitor. Like I'm fucking going around recording netflix using shadowplay, and even if I did who would fucking care. There are like sites where you can simply enter a link and download entire movies from netflix, OBS allows you to record netflix, close to every other program allows you to record netflix. Why does Nvidia have to have the best recording software for games and stuff but have this stupid fucking feature

In the movies a teen invites a friend to his brothers house. They find the brothers weed stash porn and sex toys. They end up smoking and waking with donuts on there dicks and one friend looks like he may have sucked it. Later on in the movie the brothers crazy ex put gorilla shit all over the car they think because she works at a zoo.

I think everyone is hyping the finale as if this gigantic earth shattering event is going to happen. LOGAN WILL DIE! KENDALL WILL KILL HIMSELF! GREG WILL TAKE OVER!
People have been predicting Kendall AND Logan getting killed off for the past 3 years. This show doesn't kill characters off. Kendall isn't going anywhere. Logan is Tony Soprano. They want everyone in the audience to assume he's getting killed off. They keep teasing it. They know exactly what they're doing. I highly doubt it's going to happen. With the huge ratings, you can bet there will be a movie of some sort on HBO several years down the road.
The show will most likely have a normal low key finale. Nothing earth shattering. Someone gets fired. Someone gets fucked over. Someone wins (Roman?). Nobody dies. Nobody goes to jail. This isn't Melrose Place. The last episode will most likely lay the groundwork for any subsequent movies.

Hey there -
Just another girl looking for something more in her life - cool Friend or something more even would be amazing to have in my life.
Just moved now here late last year, and I don’t have much going on at the moment but would love to explore it with someone awesome. Late night calls, texts, movie nights, and so much more awesome things to do.
I enjoy cooking, and baking - love making chocolate chip cookies to a baked chicken with a ton of roasted veggies as a side dish. Got a favorite dessert or even dinner you enjoy?
Favorite genres for shows/movies - horror, comedy, romance, mystery and slice of life are all my favorites to go too.
Message me if you’d like to chat and know more about me ?

The boy next door is no longer an enigma.
No longer a mystery.
For the last few days, I have been laying low after Mrs Wilder kidnapped and threatened me in my own home. I’ve had barely any sleep and my lack of it has definitely disrupted my ability to write. I’m sorry if this update is messy or full of typos. I just don’t know what to do.
I’ve been a mess. I’ve been jumping at every movement. Every time there’s a knock on the door I feel part of myself splinter into pieces I can’t put back together. I did something crazy stupid two days ago. And that stupid mistake has fully exposed me to Mrs Wilder’s secret. What she is hiding behind her walls—and just how fucked I truly am if I disobey her again. Like I said, over the last several days I have been keeping my head down.
I went to school and did my homework and went to bed. That was it. When mom asked if I was talking to any Wilder kids, I shook my head. I had quickly grown afraid of Casper Wilder’s window. I knew something was wrong with him.
Something is wrong with his head.
He had told me. At least, the part of him which was bleeding between consciousness and a submissive state not being controlled by his psychotic mother. I saw him. I saw who he really was. I saw the boy next door crying out to me for help through bloodied fingers and cryptic messages splattered in scarlet. If he had intentionally hurt himself to get messages across to me, there was something he was fighting.
Mrs Wilder’s words were haunting me. The paper-doll rendition of me, blackened and smouldering orange between her nimble fingers-- I couldn’t get it out of my head.
So, I grabbed all the paper I could find and taped up my window, blocking him out. It sounds ridiculous. And it was. Because once I had spent over an hour feverishly taping pieces of paper over my window, I tore them down with a knot in my gut. When I clawed away the last piece of paper, I got a glimpse of Casper. His curtains were open, allowing me to see inside his room once more.
I saw a normal guy’s bedroom once again, guitars leaning against the walls, clothes strewn over the floor and sketchpads littering the bed. Warm light illuminated the window, and I wished what I was seeing was normal.
I wished I had seen nothing bad, and this was just the boy next door.
My completely normal neighbor.
But I couldn’t deny what I’d seen two nights ago. Casper Wilder wasn’t standing at his window with a twisted expression, a cocktail of pain and anger and confusion burning in mismatched eyes I was sure glinted with something metallic. Something man-made—which had been inserted, no, forced inside him.
I expected him to be awake. Even if it was just a single look in his eye which told me he was still there—still holding on. No. It was like nothing had ever happened. The window had been cleaned of blood, and there were no traces of the boy who had cried out for help. In his place was the Wilder son I had found friendship with. Before he cracked, and something inside him, something buried deep, deep, down, ignited. I missed that version of him. Who he used to be.
Because this guy was not Casper Wilder. I didn’t know who he was—and neither did he from the way he’d reacted days before. Underneath this name being forced onto him, there was nothing.
Just a broken kid with no name. No memory, except ones filled with her. I missed the personality Mrs Wilder was trying to hide. Who had told me she wasn’t his fucking mother, and sworn at me, his writing erratic and confusing, clawing into his head with this desperation to be let go.
Seeing him through the window at that moment, I realised, a sickly paste crawling up my throat, that all of that had been erased. He had returned to default. Casper was sitting on his bed playing guitar with a look of content, bed hair falling in sleepy eyes. He was wearing his glasses this time. His fingers moved up and down, feet bouncing to a beat I couldn’t hear.
Stumbling back, I tripped over my backpack with a shriek, which caught Casper’s attention.
When his head twisted around, empty eyes floating towards the window, I ducked. I couldn’t stop myself. After counting to ten, I slowly lifted my gaze.
He was still staring at me, and I noticed he’d stopped playing the guitar, fingers entangled in the strings. Casper’s smile had dimmed slightly. I wondered if seeing me brought something back. Maybe he remembered writing his own bloody messages on the window and trying and failing to speak through his mother’s control. The boy blinked at me before slowly getting to his feet. I didn’t see the chord thing this time. Casper strode over to the window, a giddy smile curling on the edges of his lips.
He pressed his palm against the glass, and I was already grabbing my notepad and a pen. But then his mother’s words sliced through my thoughts. I was back inside my lounge, foggy headed, the stink of pool cleaner still thick at the back of my nose and throat.
Mrs Wilder loomed over me, my paper-doll she had ravaged sticking from the doll-house on mom’s coffee table constructed from our letters. “I hope you understand that if you talk to, or even breathe the same air as my children again, I will rip you apart too.”
Her breath was heavy in my face. I couldn’t help looking at Mrs Becker for help, but her eyes were equally as cruel. I watched perfectly manicured nails pick up one of the four Wilder dolls, making it dance around in circles.
“Do you understand me, Phoebe?”
“Yes.” I said, my words twisted on my tongue.
“I… I understand.”
The memory was painful enough to feel physical knives digging into my gut. Mrs Wilder had made it clear that if I pursued her children, she was going to hurt me. Mom, too. I dropped my notepad and pen. Casper was still smiling at me. His eyes were vacant. He had no idea who I was after months of us talking. Mrs Wilder had taken all of it away. Including him breaking apart and waking up as a confused shell with no name. “Hello.” Casper’s lips mouthed the words, and I took several steps back, my heart in my throat.
He didn’t even blink. I watched his expression fail to flicker and wondered just how the fuck had I never noticed there was something wrong with him in the months I knew him. I watched him search his desk for a notepad and pen. Maybe seeing me was unravelling something inside him, I thought. Maybe I could try and wake him up again. At the back of my mind, however, I could still see my little paper doll’s head being torn off, its body ripped apart.
“What’s your name?” Casper had written in bubble writing. It’s like everything had been reset. His frenzied and wild eyes, that desperation to escape. Gone.
His handwriting was boiling my blood. Just looking at this perfect calligraphy which wasn’t even his. It had been forced onto him. Because Mrs Wilder expected this boy to be the perfect son, a creative prodigy like his siblings. I looked for a splinter in his eyes, just a glimpse that he was still in there. Still fighting whatever his ‘mother’ had done to him. But I saw nothing. I saw a blank fucking slate.
“Phoebe.” I mouthed.
Inclining his head, he scribbled a follow up message. “Can you write it down?”
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I shut my curtains, blocking him and his message out. Then I jumped into bed, turned off my light, and dreamed I was that paper-doll with no mouth to scream with, as Mrs Wilder slowly tore me limb from limb. The next day felt like a blur. I don’t think I snapped out of it until mom poked me with the prongs of her fork, tearing me from a scenario I was going over in my head.
If Casper was a prisoner, were his siblings too? I’d only caught a glimpse of Issac and Freddie Wilder. Mrs Wilder talked of being pregnant with four children. But she spoke like she had lost them. So, my guess was that she had kidnapped four teenager’s in their place—and was raising them as her dead children. “Are you okay, honey?”
Mom’s voice slid through my thoughts, and I realised I had been pushing my pasta around my plate. I wasn’t really hungry.
Mom had made this sort of red pepper spaghetti, but every time I tried to take a mouthful, I was seeing spatters of scarlet running from Casper’s temples, dripping down his face and smudged on the glass of his window. THUD. The image of him slamming his head into the pane, wild eyes and twisted lips, an agonising panic bringing him to the edge of hysteria caught me off guard, and my fork slipped through my fingers, tomato sauce slowly creeping its way back up my throat.
Fuck. I couldn’t forget about him. I couldn’t leave him and block him out after his mother had threatened me. Because if I didn’t help him, who would? It was my word against the town.
Mom cleared her throat
“Phoebe, are you listening to me?”
“Huh?”
“I said, have you been abiding by the rules?” Mom twirled pasta around her fork and took a dainty bite. Since joining Mrs Becker’s book club I had noticed a certain gleam in her eye. Like she was looking through me. “You haven’t been talking to the Wilder children, have you?”
“No.”
After three mouthfuls of spaghetti, I ended up with half of my dinner dripping down my face.
Mom grabbed a napkin, handing it to me. “Clean yourself up. You are seventeen, not seven.” Her expression softened. “Sweetie, are you okay?”
“Yes.” I said, struggling to appear it. I knew she could see my sleep circles.
“Have you been talking to the Wilder kids? I’ll know if you have.”
Technically, I had been communicating with him. But it was one-sided.
Still though, paranoia turned my thoughts against me. Shovelling down spaghetti, I spoke through a mouthful. “No.”
She handed me another napkin. “So, if I talk to Mrs Wilder…”
“Mom.” I grabbed her hand, squeezing it for dear life. Mrs Wilder knew, I thought dizzily. She must have known Casper’s attempt to talk to me, even if he was exactly who she wanted him to be. Still under her demented control. But it was confusing me just how she had that control. This wasn’t a movie or a TV show.
Mind control didn’t exist, right? And if it did, it was barely even a thing—induced by cocktails of drugs and torture. Casper didn’t look like he’d been tortured.
Except that thing inside his head… my thoughts grew foggy, and I was suddenly overcome with emotion. What I meant to tell her was all about what I had seen, and what Mrs Wilder had done to me. Though knowing what the woman was capable of, and thinking about that chord-like thing which surely had been forced into the back of Casper Wilder’s skull… “Can we just…move?” I choked out. “I want to move. I hate it here.” I gestured around.
“I hate this house. It’s too big, I feel like I’m lost every time I go upstairs. I hate school. The kids there freak me out.” Holding her gaze, I curled my lip. “And I hate our stupid neighbors.”
“Phoebe.” Mom’s tone darkened. “What did I tell you about being respectful?”
“It’s not like they can hear us!” I spat. “Did they fit cameras in here, mom? I wouldn’t be surprised! We’re under draconian rules!”
“Young lady, you are acting like a child.” She said stiffly. “Take several deep breaths and tell me what is wrong.”
“I’m fine.” I whispered.
“No, you are not.” Mom sipped red wine. “I know when there is something wrong with my daughter, and you cannot look me in the eye.”
I took a sharp breath and forced myself to stay calm. “Mom.” I sputtered through a sob. “It’s Mrs Wilder. She… she did something to me.”
Mom’s expression twisted. “What?”
“The other night,” I forced out. The images were flooding my head. Smouldering orange tearing its way through paper white. “She knocked me out, and she had this… dollhouse. And four paper dolls.”
I heaved out a breath. “She threatened me, mom. Mrs Wilder threatened me, and I need you to believe me.” I grabbed for her hand again, my own trembling. “Casper Wilder is not her son.” I said. The words felt foreign on my tongue. Wrong. They felt like a time bomb. “I think she kidnapped him. All of them. And she’s brainwashed them into thinking they’re her real kids.” There was a pause, and my mom’s expression didn’t change. So, I continued. “We need to call the police.” I reiterated. “Okay? You’re listening to me, aren’t you?” I swallowed sobs wracking my chest. “Because… you’re my mom. And you’re supposed to believe me.”
She surprised me with an eye-roll. “You are being ridiculous.”
THUD.
It felt like the walls were suddenly closing in. I could smell the stink of pool cleaner and Mrs Wilder’s perfume intoxicating my senses.
THUD.
I was seeing Casper slamming his head into his window once again, his eyes alive with a light I couldn’t understand. Like something was entwined inside his pupil.
THUD.
“Help me.”
God, it wouldn’t stop.
His voice. It was driving me crazy.
“I don’t know who I am.” Casper’s sobs echoed. “I don’t… I don’t fucking know who I am! I can’t remember… I can’t remember who I am!”
I could see his words clear in my mind, red scrawled against white until they were barely readable.
WHO.
AM.
I?
WHO AM I? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM. THAT WOMAN IS NOT MY MOM.
I was going to be sick.
“Mom,” The words were choking from my mouth before I could stop them. I didn’t mean to sound so childlike, but that is exactly what I felt like. A child. I was alone. Drowning.
Looking at my mother’s curled lips, her eyes burning right through me, I felt myself start to come apart.
Like that stupid doll.
“Mom, please—”
She cut me off with a snort. “What? Is this because you're not allowed to talk to the boy next door? You’re creating your own narrative, and it’s… endearing. Childlike, but you are a child after all." Mom chuckled. “Sweetie, I know you love your mysteries, and sure, I can understand the cliché Romeo and Juliet thing going on, but really, there are plenty more fish in the sea. You don’t have to make up ridiculous scenarios.”
I let go of her hand, my toes curling. They didn’t sound like her words. They were someone else’s.
What was she talking about, ridiculous scenarios? Did my mother really think I was capable of imagining all of this shit?
I couldn’t reply. Not when part of me wondered if these were even her words. I had a strong suspicion my mom was just a puppet.
Like someone was talking through her.
“Do you like him?” Mom pressed. In her eyes, I could see Mrs Wilder was asking that question. “Is that why you’re being so… “ She trailed off with a sigh, and I glimpsed her fingers tighten around her wine glass, pressing enough pressure to leave marks on the rim. “Difficult?”
Mom’s lips splintered into a grin which wasn’t hers, and something inside me snapped. She was joking around.
When Casper was suffering, a prisoner of his own mind, my mother was treating me like I was fucking love-sick.
"No!" I shook my head. “No, I want to move.” I whispered. “I want to go back to our old house.”
“That’s not going to happen, sweetie. You know I can’t just leave my job. Phoebe, you’re a senior at school. You have SAT’S.”
“But—"
Her expression softened. “You’ll grow to like it. Don’t worry.” She said, before standing up and carrying our plates to the faucet. “I have a late shift tonight, so I expect your best behaviour.” I barely felt mom press a kiss to my forehead.
Her presence felt strange, like I wasn’t even seeing my mother. After what she said, I was sure her words were being pupiteered. When mom went to work, after yelling that there were leftovers on the counter, I was left with the soundtrack of a stupid dripping tap, and our humming refrigerator. I made several promises to myself in the time I was in the kitchen.
I would save Casper and his siblings, and then I’d force mom to drive all of us out of town. There were logistics I didn’t want to think about. These were feverish thoughts which controlled me. I had to get them out of that house. Time seemed to go by slowly. When I lifted my head from where I’d been staring at leftover meatballs I dropped onto the table, my phone vibrated in my jeans. Pulling it out, there was a DM regarding my post I wrote on here.
I read it. Then I read it again and again until I could process it.
“Film it. Literally get evidence of what is going on with Casper. You need people to believe you. And if people are going to believe you, you need to make a scene. If you want that house stormed, make as much noise as possible. I know it sounds stupid, but think about it like this. All you need is attention. Mrs Wilder can’t hide from the world if you show the world what’s going on. Good luck, Phoebe. Please be safe.”
-- A friend.
I was shaking when I knocked on the Wilder’s door fifteen minutes later. I knew exactly how to cause a scene.
Mrs Wilder answered, her expression cross between frustrated and bewildered. But I could barely focus on her, or the fact that she was holding a ladle like a weapon. The second the door opened revealing Casper’s mom drowning in a homely golden light, something slammed into me. Nothing physical, though it might as well have been. I forced myself to breathe through the stink which hit me like a brick to the face, suffocating my nose and mouth. Lavender. Not just lavender. The expensive flowers mom would get grocery shopping.
The ones which made me sneeze when I leaned too close. The house stunk of flowers—and that was just from standing on the threshold. But I knew better. I knew, once sweet smelling salts and flowers entwined in my senses, that the stink was to cover something up. And the more I edged closer over the threshold, the true smell of the Wilder house began to snake into my nose. Rot. I had once left a donut under my bed as a kid as an experiment to see if I could grow a whole new species. But this wasn’t mouldy food. It was far more potent. More like a decaying animal.
“Phoebe!” Mrs Wilder folded her arms across her apron. “I’m sorry, were my instructions not clear?” She cocked her head, an amused smile curving on her lips. She was triumphant, knowing exactly how to get under my skin. “Are you aware of what a restraining order is?”
Ignoring the smell choking the air, I held up my phone. “I’m live on Instagram.” I said. “Can I come in?”
I’m not sure why, but seeing her cheeks turn white made me feel like I was the one in control. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Live.” I repeated with a cheery wave. “On Instagram.”
I expected her to shove me back, or call out my bluff (yes, I was bluffing). Instead though, the women’s resolve seemed to crumble, her expression twisting, fear igniting in her eyes. She stammered for a moment, her gaze flashing to my phone before she wrapped her arms around herself and seemed to force a nod. “This is my house.” Her voice came out in a hiss.
Mrs Wilder was talking straight to the camera, and clearly faking terror. “Phoebe Daly, this is far past your usual games. This is… this is trespassing! Do you hear me? I’m calling the police!” Mrs Wilder didn’t call the police.
She held her phone to her ear but didn’t dare dial a number. I could see her options flitting across her eyes.
Was she going to attack me, or play it cool? Playing it cool, it was. With a face like thunder, she stumbled aside when I took a step forward and asked to be let inside. I wasn’t live on Instagram. I had barely 10 followers.
But she didn’t know that. Instead of being live, I was filming everything with my normal phone camera, angled at a height so she couldn’t slap it out of my hands. Watching her stumble back, panic twisting her expression into fury and frustration filled me with satisfaction. I had her. The crazy witch really thought I was streaming. I used that to my advantage, making sure to commentate to my imaginary audience as she led me down the main hallway, and I made sure to point the camera at everything I could see. Kids photographs covered neat paintwork.
But they were all different young children taken from a distance. Towards the end of the hall, what I saw did send my heart into my gut. And for a moment—just a brief second—I actually felt sympathy for Casper’s mom.
Four ultrasound’s.
I didn’t let the camera linger on them, instead going to the woman herself, who was following me, trying and failing to stall my effort to delve further inside the house. She stepped in front of me with a huff. “Phoebe. That is enough! You have terrorised me to no end!” her voice rose into a whine. “Whoever you are, Phoebe’s friends! This brat is targeting my children!”
“Casper!” I yelled, ignoring her. “Are you there?”
No answer.
My heart dropped into my gut, though I wasn’t giving up. I had the advantage, and I had to play to it.
“Casper!”
I ran up the first few steps leading upstairs, but Mrs Wilder seemed far too focused on shielding the door at the end of the hall.
“What’s in the kitchen?” I asked with a lump in my throat. Backing down the stairs, I made my way towards her.
“Nothing is in the kitchen!” she spat back, feigning innocence. “We’re having dinner if you must know. And you are ruining it!”
I shook my head. “This is Mrs Wilder,” I announced, pointing the phone at her. “She is holding four teenagers against their will and claiming them as her own children.” I said smoothly. When we reached a sliding glass door leading into the kitchen, I grabbed the handle with force.
Her rough hand slammed over mine, claw-like fingernails slicing my flesh. “Get out of my house,” she said stiffly. “Young lady, you are trespassing on my property.” Every word came out in globules of saliva hitting me in the face. “I have never met such a disruptive and outright disrespectful child without discipline. Your mother should be ashamed of herself.” She shot a nervous look at my phone camera.
“Where’s Mrs Becker?” I asked.
“What?”
Mrs Becker.” I repeated. “She helped you kidnap and scare me into staying quiet the other day. So, where is she?”
She spluttered, clearly caught off guard. “You are delusional!”
“Then show me them.” I said, pointing the camera at the door. “Your children, Mrs Wilder. I want you to show me Issac, Matilda, Freddie, and…” I swallowed hard. “And Casper.” Ignoring her steel grasp on the door handle, I pulled it open, trying to ignore the sudden squawking noise which had escaped her mouth, slamming into my ears. I can’t describe it. Mom has spoken about a mother instinct, and I wonder if it truly was that. This was animalistic. Feral.
Immediately, Mrs Wilder was behind me like a beast, her trembling arms trying to grasp hold of me and drag me back violently. But I was stronger, and desperate. I had to know the Wilder's secret. Stepping over the threshold, I was first aware of a far dimmer light. And when I fully focused on the room, I realised I was seeing candlelight. In front of me was a hardwood dining room table, and five chairs—four of which were occupied. The kitchen was a copy of our own. Except ours had always been lit up and bright.
It felt more like I was stepping inside a cave. An orangeade blur illuminated each face. Three out of four bodies sat stiff, almost… doll like. Mechanical. The way the three were facing me. Their expressions matched perfectly. Wide eyes and wider grins splitting lips apart. I drank each Wilder kid in slowly, as my brain struggled to take in the real horror of the room. What I was failing to fully take in. I couldn’t. I don’t think I could physically understand what I was seeing. I was aware my phone had slipped from my fingers, that I was paralysed to the spot.
The smell of stink and rot, I thought.
It was them.
I couldn’t move. There were three boys, and one girl. Matilda Wilder was a mousey redhead while her brothers were all brunettes. She wore a purple dress which fit her perfectly, her hair tied into pigtails with red ribbons. Issac and Freddie Wilder sat shoulder to shoulder.
They were the twins, I thought dizzily. They were identical twins in Mrs Wilder’s eyes, but these guys looked nothing like each other—one of them sporting a handsome face and razor jawline, while the other had an odd looking nose and jutting chin. Still though, I could tell Mrs Wilder had made an effort to make them look… beautiful. Perfect. I could see her attempt at stitching their lips together.
It wasn’t their appearance that was gluing me to the ground, however. Because looking closer, past the made-up faces on both the boys and the girls, the ribbons and fancy clothes and empty eyes staring right through me, soft candlelight was slowly bringing them to life in front of me. These kids had been hidden away for so long, and I was finally seeing them for who they were. My gaze flicked to each of them. I was seeing… stitches. I was seeing rugged stitches and gashes in their flesh, patchwork skin making up fingers and elbows and cheeks. They had been taken apart over and over again and put back together.
Matilda’s neck was a collage of flesh, rugged markings where a marker pen had clumsily sliced into her skin and pieced her like a jigsaw through mangled body parts and anything left over. Freddie and Isaac’s heads were cocked at an angle, and looking closer I glimpsed the bad stitch-job which had knitted them together.
I could see it in all of them. None of these kids were their original selves. They reminded me of dolls built through old doll pieces. I didn’t know I was screaming until the gravity of the situation hit me, and I realised I was suffocating on dead skin which made them up, their bodies stitched and knitted together, transforming them into her ideal children. Flickering candlelight revealed the last Wilder kid.
There were two significant things which were different about Casper.
The first, was that he must have been her most recent. He was her most… original—and the second? Unlike the others, he was awake.
Until that moment, Casper had been sitting amongst his siblings, head cocked to the side like the others, catatonic.
His dazed eyes slowly found mine—and I glimpsed recognition flickering in his expression, his rigid body starting to contort back to life. He was her paper-doll.
But Casper wasn’t finished.
“Phoebe?” When the boy spoke, his voice was barely a whimper. Frenzied eyes flicked from Matilda to Issac and Freddie, all of which were still wearing their perfect smiles. I noticed the rugged skin of his neck, and my heart sank.
Something was moving behind him, and I forced myself to step forwards. I glimpsed that same chord-like thing. This time it was fully attacked to him. No, it was buried directly inside his head. A sour paste crept up my throat when I saw the carnivorous hole burrowing deeper inside his head. I could glimpse the intense white of chipped skull and a strange looking fluid leaking out —but it looked… wrong. I’ve always imagined the internals of someone’s brain to be pinkish grey. Though what I was seeing was more like a black ooze sliding down the back of his neck. It reminded me of squid-ink. Definitely not blood.
It looked like he had been shot in the head, or had been pulled out of the operating theatre mid-surgery. And somehow, he was still alive. Just like the description, the chord-thing seemed to be attached in two places—to the back of the head, directly on the brain, and stapled to his spine. The device was humming, but I don’t think it was working.
Casper was looking directly at me, and the way his body was angled was different to his siblings. Instead of sitting straight, he was trying and failing to jump to his feet, his eyes wide, almost unseeing. I could see that frustration and anger, that pain from the other night alive in his face. I opened my mouth to speak, though Casper was already lifting a trembling hand, his fingers twining around the chord and giving a pathetic tug. A thin line of dark red, almost black, slid from his nostril.
I knew it was him. “Can you… can you get… it… out?” His hand found the chord again, and his grasp slipped. “Please.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “There’s something… in my… my head, and I need you to… I need you to fucking get it out…. right now.”
“Casper.” I couldn’t resist a relieved hiss. “This woman.” I twisted and pointed at Mrs Wilder.
“Who is she to you?”
The kid blinked, his eyes narrowing. He jolted, twisting around to try and see the thing attached to him. “Why would I know her? Get this shit out of my head!”
He let out a hysterical yell. His cry was more of a demand, and that nameless boy underneath splintered doll pieces began to unravel.
“Get it out.” He kept repeating. “Fucking get it out! There’s something inside my head!”
I nodded, choking back a cry.
He slammed his hands down, but seemingly couldn’t move from the chair. “What the fuck.” He side eyed the others. “What the fuck is this?”
I struggled to answer without screaming myself. “Stuff.” I managed to get out through a sputter. “Can you stand up?”
“What?” He blinked rapidly at me, I was seeing it again. That odd light flickering in his pupils.
“No. I can’t move!”
The humming grew louder, and at the corner of my eye, that thing seemed to dig deeper inside his head.
More blood spurted from his nose, and I could tell that he was fighting it.
The boy’s eyes found mine, his words tangling into an almost slur. “Get it out! I can’t… I can’t fucking think straight. I…. I….”
His eyes rolled back for a moment before he shook his head, lunging against the chair. His head twitched. “I don’t know I am.”
I couldn’t move. Watching this thing take control in real time, it was both fascinating and horrifying, sending my knees buckling.
“Who… who am I?”
His whole head twitched, like he was glitching.
“I know her. I… I know her. I’m her… I’m her son… I’m her s—son.”
Casper hummed, his twitching lips pricking into a demented smile. “I’ll always know her. She’s the one who… who s---saved me.”
Choking on a shade too vivid and dark to be blood, he sputtered, his head drooping.
“Mom?” Casper spoke through mouthfuls of pooling black. He lifted his head, unseeing eyes blinking in dim candlelight. The chord-like thing sounded more like it was drilling into his brain, and I knew I was fucked when his lips spread out into a childlike smile, and he swayed to the left and then the right, the light in his eyes burning. “There’s… water.” He whispered. “So… so cold. I’m so cold.” His voice broke.
“I don’t… want to be cold.”
“You won’t be cold.” Mrs Wilder’s voice was a sharp cry behind me. “Ever again. Your mom is here.”
“Promise? You n… need to… prom…promise me.” His teeth chattered. “You need to… tell me… I won’t… be cold. That my mom… is coming.”
“I promise, darling.”
“Mommy?”
“No,” I swallowed back frustrated tears. “Casper, she’s not your mother!”
His next words split into a guttural screech which almost sent him toppling off of the chair. He grabbed at his head, clawing at face.
But the more he was tugging, the machine fought against him. I could see metallic clamp-like legs stubbornly holding on.
His next words were mangled between cries from his conscious self, and whatever the fuck his ‘mother’ was forcing into his head.
And yet it barely grazed my ears. I was trying to figure out how to get that monumental THING out of his brain. There was no way I could just pull it out. That could kill him, right?
I started forwards to grab him, to try and pry the clamp off his spine, before I was being smothered with the stink of rich lavender. I hadn’t noticed Mrs Wilder swipe up my phone. She was holding it up in the air. “Live? You were never filming anything, you stupid girl! Do you understand what you have done?” She laughed—and I mean cackled like a witch. “I warned you, didn’t I?”
I got one last glimpse of Casper. His whole body was jerking under the chord inside his head, but he wasn’t crying out anymore.
Before I knew what was happening, I was being dragged back, and in front of me a Wilder boy shoving his struggling brother back into the chair. I didn’t have time to cry out.
With strength I had no idea the crazy bitch had, I was being violently yanked by my hair. And while I was flailing, I saw the ultrasound’s once again. Looking closer though, each one had a different name. A different mother. My head spun. That couldn’t be right. Mrs Wilder told me she was pregnant with four children, so who’s ultrasound’s were these? And why had she framed them? I didn’t have time to check it out.
I was dumped on my ass and the door was slammed straight in my face. I tried to get back in, throwing my fists into the door, until my own mother’s arms were pulling me back. I was hysterical. I couldn’t breathe, and mom wasn’t getting through to me. I’d kicked and thrown myself into the door, attracting the attention of our neighbours. That’s what I wanted. I wanted one of them to call the police, and when I picked up a brick, struggling against mom’s attempt to restrain me, and throwing it through the Wilder’s front window, I finally got it.
Two cops arrived, and I was so relieved I almost sobbed into one officer's chest. While my mom was trying and failing to explain my “breakdown” I begged them to take a look inside. And I was loud. I was screaming.
Which they couldn’t ignore.
“Phoebe!” I was partially aware of mom’s voice trying to calm me down, but I all I could see was that thing in Casper’s head, and his siblings made from knitted flesh. When the officer’s exited the Wilder’s house after five painful minutes waiting, I stumbled over to the two.
“Well?” I demanded, shoving away my mom. “Did you see them?” I yelled. “She’s turned them into… into dolls!” I was already going on a tangent, hysteria plunging me further into my own insanity.
“They’re not her children.” I gritted out. “She kidnapped and.. and stitched them up like… like Frankenstein! Mrs Wilder likes dolls! She had this paper-doll of me when she kidnapped me and lit it on fire to threaten me because I was talking to Casper. And he… he’s one of them, and not even her son! She’s controlling his mind with this thing stuck inside—"
“That’s enough!” Mom snapped.
The officer in front of me chuckled. “Breathe, kid!” He said. “Jeez. You’re not even giving us time to talk.”
“What?”
Instead of speaking to me directly, the officer turned to mom. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am.” He said. “The Wilder’s were enjoying a family dinner, and…” his gaze flashed to me. “Well. It appears someone ruined it. There are no current reports of child abduction.”
I couldn’t resist a laugh. “Are you serious? Did you not… did you not see—”
He cut me off. “There they are!” He chuckled. “The Wilder siblings!” The officer saluted the four of them who had wandered outside trailing their mother. Ignoring the other three, I made my way over to Casper. But he looked… I don’t know, he looked like he usually did through his window? There were no stitches or patchwork skin. He was wearing a beanie, and I reached to yank it off, when his hand caught mine.
He was freezing cold.
His skin felt almost slimy, like I was touching the skin of a dead fish. I wanted to hold on, to force the cops to believe me, but he was already speaking—his voice was different, a lot deeper than the hysterical cry of the boy underneath. “Mom?” Casper’s eyes were cold. He shoved my hand away before taking a shaky step back. Like I was crazy. He quickly joined his siblings.
“Who is this girl?”
“We’re going home.” Mom said, grasping my arm. “Can’t you see you’ve embarrassed me enough?”
“Phoebe, huh?”
I turned to find the other Wilder kids. The guy with the jawline still had that doll-like smile. “Please leave our brother alone.”
I couldn’t resist spitting at him. “He’s not your brother. You’re brainwashed.”
Something in his expression seemed to twitch suddenly. Mom tried to pull me back, but I stubbornly stayed where I was.
Issac or Freddie cocked his head. “Brain... washed?"
He started to speak, before Mrs Wilder ushered them all away. But I did notice him turn back to frown at me.
Needless to say, I was grounded—and threatened with a restraining order.
That didn’t stop me peeking through the gap in Casper’s curtains that night. I caught him stumbling around, struggling to get the chord-thing out of his head with manic hands. He came over to the window several times, his bloody hands slamming into the window before slipping away. I'm not sure, but I don't think he knew why his legs kept drawing him to the window.
Mrs Wilder joined him soon after, forcing him to bite into something plastic, as she led him to sit on the bed, her fingers wrapping around the chord, and yanking it out. I didn't hear his scream, but his reaction to it, body writhing, eyes squeezing shut, I knew he could feel it. And part of him was awake. Just part of him.
Not the parts who knew our window sessions and his horrifying reality.
Casper came to his window all bandaged up. He didn’t hold up a message, and his eyes were vacant.
Though his expression told me everything I needed to know.
Engines woke me up several hours later. It was midnight. Sliding out of bed, my gaze went straight to Casper’s window. But it was dark. I pressed my face against my own window and glimpsed Mrs Wilder standing on her lawn in her robe.
A car pulled up, and the cop from earlier jumped out. In his arms was what looked like a body bag. He dropped it on the ground. “Freshly dead.” He said, when I opened my window to hear what was being said. “Car crash. Victim is male. Eighteen years old.” He folded his arms with a light laugh. “I got him straight from the morgue. His parents think there’s no body.” Both of them knelt next to the bag, and Mrs Wilder zipped it open with a hiss.
When the bag jolted suddenly, I realised the body was still alive.
The officer stumbled back. “Jesus. I didn’t even use that much. You said a single shot, right?”
“Mmm.”
Mrs Wilder pulled out a carving knife from her robe, and I felt my entire body turn to ice.
The cop raised a brow. “You came prepared.”
She sighed, her hands on her hips. “He’s spare parts. The expiry is approaching which is why they’re… acting out.”
With startling precision, she aimed the knife above what I guessed was the body’s head, before bringing it down with a sickening crunch. The bag stopped squirming.
I can’t remember anything else from that night.
My mother was gone the next morning. A paper doll replica of her was sitting next to a note and a plate of freshly baked cookies.

“Dearest, Phoebe.
I baked these thinking of you! And my, you should be grateful I have even bothered to do this after playing your games last night. Honestly, I am not the monster you think I am. Your mom asked me to let you know she will be busy with me for a few hours.
I’ve been asked to take care of you, so here are some chocolate cookies! Please maintain the rule I set in place and do not go near or talk to my children. I’m sure you know what will happen if you happen to slip up. I took the liberty of asking your mother to fit specialised devices in your room so I know when you are talking to my son. Writing equipment has been taken away. I hope we can be friends and I can start calling you my daughter. If something were to happen to your mom, do not worry. I will take you in. I want you to remember that.
Love,
Mrs Wilder.
PS: I can’t wait for you to (not) meet my newest son!

I've done lsd a handful of times now a low dose to a heroic dose and still no visuals. Is it all made up what you see in the movies? or is it a just me thing? Like I'm guessing it would be different person to person I feel very peaceful and confident but no visuals at all! Currently on over 600uq

My (19 f) parents have been married for over a decade, and I want to be able to look up to their relationship. I wish they were in love. I want them to be in love so badly, like a hallmark movie, but they aren’t. one always complains about the other; around the clock 24/7. I can’t take this anymore. It is incredibly draining. If anyone has advice on how to deal with this please let me know. I can’t be the only one.

Hi! Hope you're doing well reddit stranger!! I am making this post in the hope that I can make some new friends. Due to some personal choices and due to some unforeseen circumstances I find myself in need of some new friends and people to keep me company.
About me: I am a serial entrepreneur and college student. Balancing those two is definitely not always easy but I do make it work somehow. My work is a wide variety of things but I can sum it up essentially as tech. Mostly 3d design, printing, and software engineering. I really live technology in all forms.
I game on PC and I love to watch horror movies/TV shows and laugh at them. I don't watch things like Game of Thrones, it's usually stuff like south park/King of the Hill/etc. Just a heads up.
Hopefully about you: I am not picky however I do ask a few things.
The first is that if you're going to message me include your age in the message. I will not reply if you just say "hi" without any context to how old you are. If you're a kid, no offense but I have zero interest in talking to you. BE OVER 18
Also I despise reddit's chat platform so if you want to have a long term friendship I would like to move to Discord or maybe even Instagram.
Thanks and happy friend making!!

There's this beautiful, bubbly, film-loving girl who's three years older than me: her name's Shia, and she lives right next door! I'm madly in love with her, and I needed some way to see her! I settled on asking her for movie recommendations, and now I get to meet her every Wednesday! I want to know more about her, and tell her how I feel... but I just can't get the message across! Enjoy this lops ... Read Tonari no Onee-san ga Suki - Chapter 35 - MangaPuma. Read more at https://mangapuma.com/tonari-no-onee-san-ga-suki/chapter-35

my boyfriend (25m) and i (20f) have been together for around 1.5 years. he has never been on time for anything. he was even late to my grandpas funeral.
last night, we were meant to go to a special screening for a favourite director of his, and he went to the wrong cinema. i bought the tickets in january. i made it clear where we were going, and even said so on the phone as he was driving. i had been waiting for half an hour (the movie had definitely started) when he said he had arrived....at a theatre 40 minutes away.
i sat in a park crying until he got there. i was debating whether or not to still go even though we had missed an hour.
i was then made to feel like i had done something wrong. i told him i was over it and it was just a movie at the end of the day. he then gave ME the cold shoulder for the rest of the evening as we sat down for dinner. we both had long days. he had come from work and i had run a lot of errands.
is there something wrong with my brain? why did i feel the need to comfort him so badly when HE was the one who messed up?
please reddit, help me confront him and make sure i'm not a push over anymore.

Just got the snip today, no scalpel no metal clips, everything went about as good as it could according to my doctor. Some pain during the procedure but not terrible. Now sitting watching movies with ice on my nuts.
Question, the after care pamphlet (and my doctor) said keep using condoms for 2-3 months until I get tested, OR 15-20 ejaculations.
What if I just rub one out daily for the next 15-20 days to "flush my pipes". Will that work? Do they base the 2-3 months on the average that people have sex? Could I theoretically jack all my sperm out in a few weeks instead of waiting months?

Over my high school years I've flirted with people a couple times but never anything past that, but just last week someone I didn't know that well asked me on a date. Just to lay out myself so it's easier to imagine the situation, I have always had extremelllly bad anxiety and something very bad happened to me earlier this year that only furthered it. I have to give myself some credit though, I'm pretty good at hiding it, but that might've been my downfall. Anyway me and this person went on a movie date, and it was my first ever date, it went pretty well I think. They want to keep talking to me though, and it has been giving me debilitating anxiety since they asked me. I don't really know why honestly, not to get too deep but my father left when I was around 13 so it may have given me some attachment or self worth issues or something, I dunno I'm just trying to find out why I'm like this (Although ive had extreme anxiety ever since I was a little kid, never medicated though). Anyway we've been talking on instagram since then every day, and they wave and have chitchat with me in class, but I feel really bad for them. Whenever someone wants to date me it gives me extreme anxiety and this person is really perfect, they have a good job good hobbies drive ect. Pretty much they are a competent person. And I have none of those at the moment, because I pretty much spend all my time choosing the best options to not give myself a panic attack, and just unwinding after stressful days at school. I'm scared for a multitude of reasons but genuinely what do I do?? I've been very nice and even paid for our tickets and food, been texting them back every day which only seems to make them love me more (shocking I know, I'd just feel bad if I stopped). I really don't want to disappoint or make them feel sad because I'm flattered anyone would even THINK to date me. Feel free to ask any more questions, I just want some advice is all.

hello! im a 22 year old female from the states looking for people to talk to daily that have similar interests as me! im a friendly, loyal person that loves to be funny and a good listener if you need someone to talk to 💗
interests; dangan ronpa, genshin impact, steven universe, gravity falls, we bare bears, witcher 3, animal crossing new horizon, sanrio, chainsaw man, one punch man, berserk, oyasumi pun pun, sims 4, star dew valley, what we do in the shadows, bojack horseman, kirby, stray kids, nct, twice, japan, korea
hobbies; writing, drawing, roleplaying, practicing archery or throwing knifes
misc; listening to music, watching tv shows, movies and youtube videos
what im looking for: someone that i can message daily on discord, and we can have a close friendship! i get along easiest with people that are polite, friendly and talkative! i love sweet people so much