I'm 9wk3 and I'm usually a pretty cool and mellow person. I was hanging the kids laundry on the clothes line yesterday and I noticed that, even though they did their laundry they did not take the time to remove their undies from their pants, or t-shirt from their hoodies, or flip their cloth inside out. They are 10 and 11 and if I haven't told them 100 I never did it! Now the clothes what was left inside out didnt wash properly, I have to fight with clothes bunched up together... And I just lost it!
I called my partner up (he was in the garden) I'm shaking mad, tears are rolling down my cheeks, I KNOW I'm overreacting and I tell him everything and ask him to just help me calm down. So he holds me in his arms and stroke my back. Within 2 minutes I'm fine.
Like, wtf was that?! Its the second time I just freak out like that! Last time is when I saw an older grandpa, hitchhiking under the pouring rain and just starting crying because no one was helping him... I was NOT like that during my first pregnancy. Its overwhelming! Are you overly sensitive?
Edit* spelling

1. "For Godsake, Penelope Featherington are you going to marry me or not?" -Colin Bridgerton
2. "I have not been able to sleep, not been able to eat. I can barely speak these days. My entire thoughts consumed by...By our kiss. By you." -Colin Bridgerton
3. "But living to please others? I imagine it can be wearying at times. Painful, perhaps. So, I do not blame you for putting on armor lately. But you must be careful that the armor does not rust and set so that you might never be able to take it off." -Violet Bridgerton
4. "Your eyes are the most remarkable shade of blue, yet somehow they shine even brighter when you are kind." -Penelope Featherington
5. "Perhaps a casket. The lack of interest here today shall usher me to an early grave at any moment." -Queen Charlotte
6. "Deep inside, I know I can be clever and amusing, but somehow my character gets lost between my heart and my mouth and I find myself saying the wrong thing or more likely nothing at all." -Penelope Featherington
7. Inserts himself? Inserts himself where? -Philippa Featherington
8. "I am not the man I was last season, and I am most certainly not ashamed of you, Pen. I seek you out at every social assembly because I know you will lift my spirits and make me see the world in ways I could not have imagined." -Colin Bridgerton
9. "The truth is, that which some dismiss as common rock, time reveals to be precious stone." -Lady Whistledown
10. "Is this tent a balloon? You all are certainly filling it with air." -Lady Tilley Arnold
11. "And you are Penelope Featherington, do not forget that." -Colin Bridgerton
12. "So you’ve come to my hiding place. Welcome. Although typically only abject failures and social outcasts are allowed." -Penelope Featherington
13. "A diamond is precious precisely because it is rare." -Queen Charlotte
14. "In those moments alone, as my fingers trace freckles from cheek to collarbone, or as I watch the way starlight dances across skin, I marvel at how one can feel such intimacy, but also such great distance." -Colin Bridgerton
15. "I do not fear change. I embrace it." -Lady Whistledown

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52F, underweight— last time we measured 40kg, around 150-60cm tall. First cancer diagnosis was 13 years ago on the tongue, followed by two more diagnoses in the past three years on the inside of her cheek. Fourth diagnosis now on the hard palate. During the first diagnosis she underwent surgery and 30 rounds of radiation, along with removal saliva glands and lymph nodes. The rest were cleared out by surgery.
For the most recent one, she got checked out by around 20 doctors during the past year, including an oncologist, a surgeon, a dentist, several otolaryngologists— both doctors and professors. She was told that it was nothing serious, no one would do a biopsy up until late January / early February this year which confirmed the diagnosis. It is SCC, and on the computer imaging it showed to be 1 by 1.5cm, with no mets. Surgery was not an option due to it being difficult to reach(?) around the jaw area, so they proceeded with immunotherapy (Keytruda) of which she took two doses, and that’s where things went downhill.
Her oral cavity is filled out by the tumor, she has an infection which was transmitted during the tracheotomy procedure, for which we are still administering antibiotics. She cannot eat or drink, since she removed the feeding tube, and now we’re looking into some sort of feeding tube to be placed through her stomach. She’s taking IV.
In one of the hospitals for gastronomy we were told to take her home and look into hospice care.
By this point we were not told by the oncologist that there are any reasons for worry, that the therapy will sort the thing out, and if it only shrinks it, it would be removed by surgery. The last thing the oncologist mentioned is that it would be worth a shot to find a way to feed her, so now we’ll be taking her to a different hospital to try and find a solution.
To say that I’m confused would be an understatement. I am looking for answers, can it really be cured or should I prepare myself for the worst? Could any of this fast progression be caused by the immunotherapy?

‼️TW (CP, CSA, DA, DV, EA, ED, PA, RA, SA, SH, SI, WC)‼️
Sorry I know that’s a lot of TW’s there’s just brief mention of some of this stuff so I don’t wanna catch anyone off guard.
This is also a bit of a vent post.
I have absolutely no idea what I have, I had no idea I could potentially have a personality disorder until a few months ago, I am not meaning to rely on social media for help, though where I’m from there is such a lack in psychiatrists in my area so I feel stuck/lost. I will be venting/explaining my situation in full, I just would like to hear thoughts and opinions, I’m not trying to say I have anything specific, but the different personalities have made themselves apparent over the past 5 months. Whether it’s OSDD, BPD, DID, i don’t know.
There’s so much that I don’t really know where to start, so I guess I’ll just start with when I realized something wasn’t right. (TMI) I was having an intimate moment with my partner, it’s a long distance relationship (new relationship((known each other for about 6-7 months now)) so it was an over the phone moment. (FaceTime). I’ve had issues in the past because of sexual trauma, where immediately after sex/intimate moments i get sent into a huge derealization/panic attack due to feeling vulnerable. Now at this point, i haven’t had sex in about 4 years, and any time prior, it always ended in panic attacks. Me being vulnerable over the phone is not entirely new, but the level of vulnerability in the sense of allowing myself to fully enjoy it, that was new. I started hyperventilating, I couldn’t talk, I was crying, I was fighting with a blanket trying to cover myself all while my partner was trying to console me. I wasn’t really fully there and before this moment, any show of mania, dissociation, stuff like that, it went unnoticed. During this panic attack, I was absolutely in distress at one moment, and all of the sudden, I felt a shift. I didn’t really understand it when it happened but all of the sudden I stopped crying, the pain was still there but it wasn’t present, it felt deeper inside. It felt very different; I felt very different. All I could think and feel in that moment was this protectiveness and thought process of “I need to clean up everything before she comes back.” Now at the time I wasn’t thinking she, but I knew it was before something. Before a feeling came back was more how it resonated at the time before I could understand it better. Anyways, my whole persona shifted and I went into clean up mode and I was very confused. I felt “her” crying inside. My partner works in mental health, so he danced around delicately as I asked him questions about what he thought was going on so I could get a better picture of what I’m going through since everything felt so blinded. At one point, I just asked him. “Do you think I’m manic?” Which was the only question he responded to confidently. “Yes”. At that point, like this may seem so over exaggerated but it seriously felt like the curtains on my whole life, everything, had been pulled back and I could see myself and my actions for what they were. I saw every manic moment as mania rather than just the original gaslighting myself for my very real and terrifying experiences. After that, I was aware of me being manic for the first time and I haven’t felt such fear in a long time. I mean I don’t think I’ve ever felt fear like that before but like the level of intensity was very hard to deal with. I was terrified. I was finally seeing my hyper vigilance as hyper vigilance. I was seeing the symptoms clearly, my excessive sweating, my depleted eating habits, my sleep schedule insanely messed up. Which all before this, just seemed like “my life”. I started doing research, and I ended up needing to write something down. I can’t remember what it was but I will find it and add it.
“I’ve been doing a lot of research and thinking a lot, there’s been a lot of confusion with my identity or identities. I also need to preface that my entire life whenever I expressed how I felt, I was instead told what to do and how to feel. I know this is going to sound concerning, and people will be quick to dismiss it in an attempt to be supportive. But please just allow it to be what it is. Growing up I was always in great distress, constantly. My head was absolutely filled to the brim with worried and fears and as the years went on it only got worse. I’m highschool I transitioned into Blake; I thought it “felt” like me, but after research and certain situations/symptoms since delving back into that, I realized this was a traumatic disorder, even though I don’t know which one. Blakes feelings were 100% valid, but that’s because they were Blakes. What caused the de-transition was this. Beginning of highschool I was in crisis and distress, my brain created another personality to keep lily safe and keep her locked away. Since then I haven’t seen her, none of us have. Once Blake started receiving micro-aggressions and transphobia we went into even more distress. In 2017 my brain was absolutely stressed out from everything during the drug era and how much trauma and how burdened my mind was, I split again. My brain created Bella. Fast forward to now, Bella was breaking, and Blake had already been poking his head out, he’s been seeing the distress she’s been in and came back to take over. I never thought I was capable of having something like this l, but please bear with me as I explain how I came to this realization. This may be TMI but my partner and I were having an intimate moment and instantly afterwards I had the worst panic attack, something I’ve been trying to protect myself from for years. As I’m writing this down I’m starting to realize that those panic attacks after sexual situations are probably lily, but still valid as panic attacks. I have a lump in my throat while writing this, I promise I am not making it up or exaggerating. During the panic attack my partner was trying to console me but I completely switched in that moment to Blake and all he could feel was sorrow and was trying to give her a break. Blake came out to keep her safe. all I could do was clean up and prepare for when she came back so she wasn’t triggered, I don’t know what this is and gender fluid still feels valid and right, but in that moment of switching genders, I realized I am not switching genders, I am switching personalities. One personality could not carry the burden of it all. I am not concerned about this though, I feel with the very realization I am understanding myself better as a while.”
I was very manic when writing this. I believe I mainly wrote it for my parents. I was fearful of being dismissed.
My cousin had joined the call since I was spiraling and the both of them worked really hard to try and get me to stop writing and go to bed, which was really hard for me because I was super hyper vigilant in the moment and when it comes to my independence, I was told I have to deal with everything myself and I can’t rely on people so sometimes listening to help can be hard, accepting that help can be hard. I ended up being able to put stuff down and go to bed, more because I didn’t want to make things more difficult for them but I also could partly recognize that my actions were not helping the state I was in.
Ever since this moment it’s been realization after realization. This is so far what resonates.
I believe I have 3, possibly 4 alters. One I will name lily, she is who I originally was. Main host I guess? But doesn’t feel like it anymore. What I think happened, is that I’ve been exposed to countless amounts of different forms of abuse. When I was 12, is when I believe I split for the first time. I’ve been looking back at photos to see my mannerisms, expressions, I’ve also been expressing alter emotions through art which was another realization I had a month or two ago. This realization came from looking back at my art, and at one piece I had made just before the main breakdown/realization. It was of a face, and my art has mainly been faces. This one I remember making, I was so frustrated; and I remember looking at it and being like, why am I so frustrated, this doesn’t reflect how I feel at all. Since the realization, my cousin had pointed out that it kind of resembled a sense of splitting, which then resonated deeply. It was like I saw my painting clearly, and then I looked at all my art and was like, oh my god. My alters have been here this whole god damn time. The painting I am talking about; is the one attached to this post.
When I was a child, I hated art with a passion. I remember never picking up a pencil crayon or anything because I just didn’t like it. I wasnt good at it, I had no intention of doing art. When I was 12/13 is when I actually started doing art. I remember I did a bridesmaids dress and was like, cool. Didn’t hate it, (yes I know that this is how most artists start) but then it was just eyes. I only drew eyes, eyes and faces. Faces with third eyes, faces with hardened expressions. Now I have said countless times to my family and friends when they ask about my art, that when I paint or draw, it doesn’t feel like it’s me doing it. I once chalked it up to, artists ghosts were using me to express their art. That thought came during a particularly distressing year that when I look back I was def manic. I lost 100 lbs in like a month-a month and a half, could not eat, could barely leave my bed, was not doing well at all. This was 2019 I believe. I looked through all my art recently and during a sketchbook in 2019, during a really hard time, I had wrote down the wrong year when signing my art. Twice. The year I wrote was 2012, when I was 11/12.(2000 baby). Which then led me to look back on my life and look at photos around 2012 which had me thinking it was 1 of 2 things. 2012 was the year I split for the first time, or it was the year something really traumatic happened. I think it was the first one though. Reason being, yeah everything had started changing when I was 12. I mean I was always changing prior, my life has been very tumultuous. An undiagnosed autistic afab kid who had a very manipulative narcissistic father, and a very sweet mother, surrounded by a huge family of cousins who were like siblings. My mom divorced my dad after lots of abuse, he emotionally manipulated me into always feeling sorry for men when they show emotion and I developed Stockholm syndrome towards him which had me defending his every actions, including when he was a drug dealer, and sold enough drugs to an 18 year old to have her overdose, or the child pornography on his computer, or anything really because I was a child and he was my dad he manipulated me at a very young age. My mom married again a year or two after, which prompted her to need to get away from the abuse of my bio dad, and the abuse of religion we had been pushed upon us since birth. Pentecostal. We moved across country, and suddenly she became very emotionally distant as we now had moved away from my entire family, and had a new man in our life who was stable in every aspect besides the emotional unavailability. He tried, they both did. But they were dealing with traumas. He had just gotten back from Afghanistan. We moved because he was stationed somewhere else in the country. I ended up developing a binge eating disorder, had a lot of other intense traumas in between, did not know how to cope. When I was 10, my parents put me in therapy, my sister and I both. To deal with my bio dad trauma. I’ve been in therapy ever since. I’m 23 now.
I realize I am getting off track but I’m tryna lay everything out and not forget anything.
When I was 12/13, a lot had happened with my bio dad and a restraining order was put in place. He also had a kid with another woman and she(my sister) had passed away, a lot had happened on top of many other traumas, and I think lily broke. She didn’t really wanna be present anymore but we had no idea what was happening, but I felt myself changing. I started combating this with hyper-femininity, because who had split was me, who is currently hosting, Blake. (Also I know I use I/me as a whole sometimes, still tryna understand that. The only thing that resonates with what I mean when I say I is higher self. Not in a spiritual sense but like a higher version or a whole version? I don’t know)
Had no idea wtf was happening. All I knew was I started having dysphoria that I didn’t understand was dysphoria, so I combated it with hyperfeminity. Extra make up; always dressing up extra “girly” trying to act “girlier” or more feminine. Until I turned 14/15, and I ended up coming to terms with the fact that I was not who I thought I was, so I started changing to align with who I was. I came out as a trans man, and started the process of transitioning. Cue micro-aggressions, internalized transphobia, as well as a shit ton of transphobia from my family back home which caused me to panic. I ended up becoming really suicidal and made the decision to go hang out with a friend who was hanging with friends I had never met before, which triggered my next traumatic event. I ended up hanging with the wrong people, went down a drug path, was exposed to some very difficult and dangerous moments, felt a feeling of distress I have never felt nor would ever wish upon my worst enemy. I put it on myself as well, to help the friend I went in there with, get off a coke addiction. He went into psychosis and became violent at one point so I had to tell his mom everything and she sent him to rehab which worked but didn’t. He OD’d one night(survived) it was bad. I only ever went as far as psychedelics. But acid was my drug of choice. I was so done with everyone and everything that I just spent like 2-3 months straight, every day, tripping. I was 16 at the time. I also was exposed to the father of the household who had a weird thing for me, he tried sneaking into my bedroom one night when my bf wasn’t home (I ended up moving in with my at the time bf) but I was awake so he left real quick but it terrified me. All of this was such intense distress and I believe around this time was the second split, because it felt like for the entirety of me in that traumatic era, it was Blake and Bella fighting to host and take over. Bella was the host for the past 6 years. She took over around 2017, after like a year of fighting. I(Blake) tend to self destruct, even though I’m overprotective, trying to accept this about myself at the time was impossible because I was dealing with so much anger that was affecting the rest of the system. I also was done. Idk if alters “go to sleep” but Blake went away for a while. But what I’ve come to realize is I don’t think they’re ever went away, like lily has always been here, and I realized that the night of the intimate moment, because me having that panic attack after the intimate moment, and every panic attack prior, I believe that it’s lily. I haven’t touched that too much though because she is so to herself and shy and never comes out and she’s just traumatized, plus the amount of anger coming from Blake, and the amount of sadness coming from Bella, it’s all very overwhelming. But I do think it’s her, I don’t think she understands what’s happening but she like pokes her head out during it because maybe it’s so to with the sexual trauma we went through as a kid? I know something happened to me as a kid but I don’t know what. But I’m not ready for that yet, the anger is a more pressing issue.
Bella is very maternal, she took over and spent the past 6 years working her ass off to develop the coping mechanisms we need, and creating a safe space in our mind. The manic moments have been cushioned without us even knowing it’s manic moments; all she knew was we’re in distress so she found what helped best and worked real hard to keep us afloat. She got us out of the drugs, out of the abuse, out of the toxic relationship, out of anything that did not serve us. But not without giving up too much of herself and being beaten down. Like I know we’ve all gone through it but she took hit after hit after hit and everyone just used her as a projection batting cage. Within the past few months has been her stepping down. 5 months is us fighting, because she doesn’t want to, but she needs to, because she needs a break. And I need a break from the break. I need to deal with my anger and learn to live this world as a man. It’s been really hard to deal with, because I’ve cut off our hair which was a lot for Bella, and I’m trying to give her grace because it’s a huge change for everyone; but I’m so eager to be out. To my friends and family I’ve come out as gender fluid, a safe way for us to just be, even though gender fluid is still accurate to us, but me(Blake) I want to be on T, I want top surgery; the dysphoria has been very intense but I am not making any decisions while untreated in whatever this is. Bella doesn’t want any of that, but a hypothetical compromise that we’ve been thinking about is a breast reduction to start, to ease the mind.
Now when I look back at the past 11-12 years, I see all three of them out and about disguised as each other without realizing. There’s this one song I remember listening to on repeat non stop and idk why it just felt right it sounded right I loved it I needed to listen to it. Now, go listen to Satellites by Sleeping with sirens, think about alters waking up/trying to be known or whatever, like Jesus fuck it’s so obvious to me everything just makes sense (ik that sounds like a stretch but there’s more in my head that relates to that feeling I just can’t put it into words)
I’ve also been dealing with breaking down the walls of expectations. I have never allowed myself to be upset or have quarrels due to feeling like an inconvenience, I believe this has a lot to do with it as well.
Oh and the 4th potential alter is either someone just chillin in the background observing, or the “higher self” version of myself I was talking about. I really can’t tell.
I know there’s so much more I didn’t add but I’m deffo not doing the best rn so my brain can’t remember everything. Anyways, I’m not looking for a diagnosis obviously, but I just wanna hear what it sounds like. Because it feels like a personality disorder of some sort even tho idk wtf that’s supposed to feel like lol, so does it sound like one? I guess is what I’m really asking. Anyways, thanks for reading. Regardless of a response it is nice to get this off my chest aha. It also might be all over the place if so I apologize I think I’m currently manic? Yes I have been talking with my therapist about this, she’s not specialized in this stuff so she can only help so much, I’ve been tryna push my doctor to get me a psych referral to which he says there’s no psychiatrist in my area that are really taking any clients rn. He also sat there and told me I wasn’t dealing with mania and started listening of symptoms that I deal with that he had yet to even ask me about. I was already heated going in there because I knew I was going to have to fight for what I needed. Well the funny part is, the psychiatrist I went in there wanting a referral to; that I thought my therapist recommended me, was not an actual recommendation of a psychiatrist, but of a book of resources for me to look at, but I was manic and not there and I was literally so bent on needing help and needing a psych referral that my brain heard the authors name and was like “okay time to go to the doctor”. And then I had to admit to the doctors receptionist that I was indeed manic when I came in and that i didn’t know what I was talking about which was embarrassing and then I actually heard concern in her voice, rather than dismissal, which should’ve been comforting, but it just pissed me off lol. Anyways, sorry I’m done now lol 😂

“We’re a meat family,” my dad would proudly tell strangers. He’d wait for the quizzical look, then launch into detail, starting with how many freezers we had, how long we could sustain ourselves on the contents. It was just his way of starting a conversation, which made sense when you considered that raising and home-killing animals for food was, for want of a better term, his life-long hobby. His prize possession was one of those industrial-sized vacuum sealers: you could put half a pig inside and wrap it in plastic so tightly that every wrinkle and skin fold waxed unreal with shiny detail.
If we hadn’t lived in a rural area, albeit semi-urbanised, I guess it would have been pretty weird. But the mostly farming-stock locals only found his extra enthusiasm a little bit odd.
When he wasn’t being a bit embarrassing talking about it, I never really paid much heed to his hobby. I had a child’s vaguely grateful awareness that though our family went through some lean financial times, our stomachs never suffered like some of the families around us. All the beef, pork, ham and bacon in those big old chest freezers passed down from his dad really could have fed us for years.
I should preface all this by saying that I wasn’t a particularly bright kid, though neither was I dumb. I didn’t fail badly at anything in school, I just never achieved beyond a pass. I didn’t know it yet back then, still quietly dreaming about being a ballet star or a dressage champion, but mediocrity was my destiny. And I think that’s why I got on so well with my Aunt Liz.
Liz was my dad’s live-in youngest sister. She was one of those women who get described as ‘bubbly’ — not really pretty, not really smart, not a lot going on besides just being… well, all Liz. But she was salt of the earth; kind, caring, and great with kids. She was the only person who would willingly mind my two older brothers, who fought like hellcats and caused more trouble than the whole last generation of my family combined. People would privately lament to my parents that it was a shame Liz didn’t have kids of her own, but dad would just shake his head and say Liz liked it that way – that all the fun of looking after kids is being able to give them back to their parents.
I guess she was like me; nice, but mediocre. Lovely, but somehow forgettable when she wasn’t doing something for you.
But when Liz left us, I couldn’t forget her.
In hindsight, it was pretty weird timing that we had a big fortieth birthday party for Liz right before she disappeared. She was radiant that night; she’d hired a local girl to do her hair and makeup, and it was honestly the first time I’d ever seen her look pretty. She’d even worn a push-up bra under a tight red dress, which flattered her very plump curves well enough that the neighbour’s farmhand was spotted disappearing into the woolshed with her for a snog. In my dawning awareness, that gave a plain girl hope: if Aunty Liz could get a guy at forty, maybe things would turn out okay for me.
Anyway, I couldn’t forget how her pink cheeks, her eyes, her whole self, glowed that night before Liz went to bed. She said it was the best birthday ever, and that she was very much looking forward to the next stage of her life.
Would I have done anything different, if I had known? If I had realised what, exactly, that next stage was?
The week after the party, Aunt Liz said she was going on a little holiday up north, to visit some old school friends. She packed her things – she didn’t honestly have that many – and drove her little orange mini out onto the main road. And with a wave of one fleshy hand, she was gone. Nobody really thought much of it when she didn’t call, because nobody rural had cellphones back then. And Liz was, as I said, somehow kinda forgettable when she wasn’t right in front of you.
When we hadn’t had contact for six weeks, Dad tracked down the land line numbers for their old school buddies. They were surprised to hear from him — Liz had never arrived, so they had just assumed she’d cancelled her visit. No-one had thought to check. I eavesdropped on the conversation, and it sounded for all the world like *they* had forgotten about Aunt Liz, too.
From there it became a missing person case. The local cops came and talked to all of us; the farmhand who’d been seen snogging her was briefly detained, then let go, dad got grilled at length, even my hellion brothers were questioned thoroughly to see if this was one of their wild and dangerous pranks gone wrong.
But everything was a dead end. Nobody knew where Liz was, or what had happened to her.
The remains of her old mini were found halfway across the country, burned out on a beach, on a derelict stretch of ragged, rocky coastline. The police assumed murder and combed the area for remains. But even the most expert divers couldn’t conquer the incredible undertow and fast-shifting seabed of that coastline to look for evidence, so none was forthcoming.
Eventually the cops collectively shrugged and said that there was really nothing more they could do unless more information suddenly came to light. The locals knew nothing, no witnesses had come forward, and the trail was cold. As far as anyone knew, poor aunt Liz had been murdered on some desolate beach, far away from her home.
It didn’t feel fair to me. She’d once mentioned wanting her remains buried on our farm, in the graveyard plot beside grandma and grandad.
So, in my grief, I went into her room to look for something of hers to bury beside them.
Like I said, Liz didn’t have many things. Her room was pretty spartan, and her wardrobe was mostly sensible farm stuff. There was one exception: she, like me, did like to read, and she had a pretty good collection of well-thumbed books. I think it’s the escapism – even the most mediocre girl can lose herself in the plot of some trashy romance novel, imagine there’s still hope of being swept off her feet by that handsome stableboy, his inexplicable yearning for chubby plain girls.
So I set myself the task of going through the books, to find the right one to bury in the graveyard plot.
Most of them were exactly what you’d expect, but some of them were racier than I was used to. I felt various parts of my body flushing and tingling, as I read breathless prose about calloused hands touching the softest flesh of the protagonist. Okay, if I’m honest with myself, I might have got a little *too* invested in my project at that point. But that was also why I persisted going through her entire collection, until I found the ragged paperback from 1970, entitled Tawny Sands. And inside that trashy cardboard romance cover, I discovered not the tale of Tawny Sands, but some carefully hand-cut, stitched-in pages. A handwritten story in my Aunt’s rounded penmanship: Memoirs of a Long Pig.
I read her story twice in a row, utterly gripped.
Aunt Liz was no Stephen King – heck, she wasn’t even the Goosebumps guy – but her story was gripping and compelling, and I couldn’t put it down. Even if I hadn’t known her, I think that would have been true.
The gist of it was that Liz, when she was sixteen, had discovered that our family had a very long history of eating what she described as ‘Long Pork’. It’s an antipodean term, anglicised from the Pacific Islands: human meat.
Like me, young Liz still had some hopes and dreams. In one of her many failed attempts to find a special talent, she’d taken up cooking as a hobby. Naturally, with our family’s overabundance of meat, she’d scoured the freezers in the shed for ingredients: the racks of ribs and stacks of pork chops, butcher-paper wrappings all neatly labelled with the first letter of the name of the animal they came from.
She found familiar meat from Rodney, one of the pigs that had been recently slaughtered, emblazoned with an ‘R’ in her father’s strong, blocky lettering. There were cutlets labelled ‘M’ for Mary, from one of the lambs she’d hand-reared, and ‘F’ for Ferdinand, the steer they’d killed the month before. But she couldn’t explain the many, many curious parcels of meat on one side of the huge freezer, all labelled ‘J’ – at least, not until she took it all out and assembled it as well as she could on the scoured concrete floor of the killing shed. A big, frozen jigsaw puzzle without the box, her best attempt to discover what kind of beast the pieces had come from.
The animal, she quickly realised, was a Long Pig. Her own Aunt Jenny, who had died the month before – just after her fortieth birthday.
Fortunately, or perhaps not, for Liz, her father entered the shed right at that moment and realised his daughter had discovered the family secret. He sat down calmly on the lid of the freezer, and explained to her that this was a long-running family tradition, dating back to at least before his grandfather had been born.
“There are always people in life, Liz,” he’d said, “who won’t really amount to much. They want to be useful, want to be more. They strive and they strive, trying job after job, hobby after hobby, trying to hit on something they’re really good at. Something that makes them special. Those people can waste their whole lives, chasing dreams that never come true. Eventually they die unfulfilled, knowing that all their time has been wasted. That what they leave behind will fade quickly.”
His voice was oddly gentle as he leaned down and patted one of the neatly wrapped cuts of Aunt Jenny, still sitting frozen on the shed floor.
“Your Aunt Jenny was one of those people. So was my Aunt Irene.” He paused to gaze at his daughter, his next words peppered with emphasis. “But you see, my sweet Liz, they did find a purpose in life. They did find a way to be special, and they left this world utterly certain of their gift.” He stood up, stretched his back. “Let me show you.”
Liz waited while my grandad meticulously stacked the meat back into the freezer, all but one J-marked parcel that looked for all the world like a thick venison steak. He took her back to the farmhouse, and reverently unwrapped the deep red, heavily marbled meat to let it thaw. Then he laid it in the family’s ancient, cast-iron pan, basting it with butter and rosemary until a heavenly scent filled the kitchen, and Aunt Liz couldn’t stop her mouth from watering.
“Just try it. Let her show you. You’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.”
Even though she knew it was her aunt, Liz couldn’t stop herself from taking that first bite. There was something transcendent about the smell, overriding her natural revulsion that this was human meat, not one of their farm animals. For the first time, she truly realised it: we’re just another kind of animal. And weren’t her memories of Mary the lamb almost as fond as her memories of Aunt Jenny?
Liz explained then, in her curly handwriting, the explosion of taste that had assaulted her when she tried the steak. It was tender, it was succulent, it was rich beyond imagining. The fats melted on her tongue, lingering somewhere between pork and beef, but oddly neither. The flavour of the meat defied identification; something familiar, yet not.
But one thing she couldn’t deny; it was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten. Tears dripped onto her plate, mingled with the juice, the grease — not grief, but a pure, real, giddy delight.
“You’re tasting your aunt’s love for this family,” my grandad explained. “Her entire life was carefully curated, to eventually make unforgettable moments for us, just like this. This was her way of being special. This was the greatest gift she could possibly bring to our world – and because she realised that, she died with not a single regret. She knew her life had purpose. She was perfectly, completely fulfilled.”
I felt those words. I felt them lodge in my own belly, settling uncomfortably deep. I knew Aunt Liz, probably better than anyone else in the family. I’d seen how fucking happy she’d been on her fortieth, how goddamn fulfilled she was, despite apparently being a *nobody* and achieving *nothing*. Somehow, in the space of a single day, she had gone from being a forgettable background character to becoming the *main character*, immortalising herself in our family’s history with her sacrifice. Quite literally becoming part of all of us, forever.
I went to the killing shed after I finished with the book. I looked inside the freezers.
But there were no vacuum-sealed packages labelled ‘L’, no matter how deep I dug into the frozen stacks of plastic-wrapped flesh. Panicked now, not sure if I wanted to connect all the dots or unconnect them, I tried to think back over the last few months, recall any meals that had been unusually good. A few Sundays ago, we’d had a stew that really hit the spot and left me craving more. And I realised that the family had a really good night that night; my brothers behaved themselves, my parents didn’t fight, and grandma and grandad had been there. Hadn’t they looked far more… expectant than they should have?
I strained my brain, trying to recall if I’d seen the homekill bag on the kitchen bench – if I’d registered what letter it was. I knew it wasn’t an L. I would have remembered if it was an L.
And then it hit me, the memory, the connection, sizzling as if branded with a hot iron.
It had been an ‘E’.
E for Elizabeth. Not for Edward the pig.
I snorted at my own stupidity – of *course* Liz was short for Elizabeth – and as I comprehended my lack of smarts, I felt something give inside me.
I wasn’t clever, and nothing, nothing would ever make me smart. I had no big talents. I wasn’t beautiful, or even cute – and even if I had a million plastic surgeries, it still wouldn’t fulfill me. It wouldn’t be real.
I was a Liz.
I was a Jenny.
I was whoever the first aunt had been, the aunt who had dedicated her life to making her flesh as delicious as possible, who had worked every damn minute to be the best Long Pig she could ever be.
I wondered how many magical family evenings had been spent eating Aunt Jenny. How many glorious, satisfying, memorable dishes had been made out of her.
And… I wanted that. I wanted to finally know I had a *purpose* in life. One so simple, and so easy to achieve.
I wanted what Aunt Liz had.
***
It's my fortieth birthday today and I’m so fucking excited. For the last twenty-four years, I’ve dedicated myself to this moment; I’ve eaten exactly what I needed to, I’ve exercised just enough, but not too much, to maintain that perfect balance of marbling vs tenderness. I’ve relaxed and meditated to keep all those amazing flavours inside of me. I’ve researched all the greatest meats in the world, from prime Angus beef to A5 Wagyu. I really think I may have outdone myself.
I’m having my hair and makeup done at the local salon this afternoon, and I’m going to look so pretty; all prize piggy on show at the fair. I’m even going to have a big red ribbon in my hair, in memory of Aunt Liz.
Maybe there’ll be a cute boy I can snog in the wool shed, maybe there won’t – I don’t really care; because the most important, most certain thing is that I’m going to be the most delicious Long Pig in the history of our entire family.
I’m going to make everyone so damn happy, and I’m just so glad I can share my story with you all, instead of hiding it in a grubby book like poor Aunt Liz.
My only real disappointment? That you won’t get to taste me.
Reader, I have loved, loved my life. My Long Pork will be out of this world: once tasted, never, ever forgotten.

"Why Did Jesus Die on the Cross?"

The main reason Jesus died on the cross was to defeat Satan and set us free from his oppressive rule. Everything else that Jesus accomplished was to be understood as an aspect and consequence of this victory (e.g., Recapitulation, Moral Influence, etc.).
This understanding of why Jesus had to die is called the Christus Victor (Latin for “Christ is Victorious”) view of the atonement. But, what exactly was Christ victorious from, and why? To find out the answers to these questions, we have to turn to the Old Testament, as that's what the apostles would often allude to in order to properly teach their audience the message they were trying to convey (Rom. 15:4).
The OT is full of conflict between the Father (YHVH) and false gods, between YHVH and cosmic forces of chaos. The Psalms speak of this conflict between YHVH and water monsters of the deeps (an ancient image for chaos) (Psa. 29:3-4; 74:10-14; 77:16, 19; 89:9-10; 104:2-9, etc).
The liberation of Israel from Egypt wasn’t just a conflict between Pharaoh and Moses. It was really between YHVH and the false gods of Egypt.
Regardless of whether you think the aforementioned descriptions are literal or metaphorical, the reality that the Old Testament describes is that humanity lived in a “cosmic war zone.”
The Christus Victor motif is about Christ reigning victorious over wicked principalities and Satan's kingdom, and is strongly emphasized throughout the New Testament. Scripture declares that Jesus came to drive out "the prince of this world” (John 12:31), to “destroy the works of the devil” (1 John 3:8), to “destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil” (Heb. 2:14) and to “put all enemies under his feet” (1 Cor 15:25). Jesus came to overpower the “strong man” (Satan) who held the world in bondage and worked with his Church to plunder his "palace" (Luke 11:21-22). He came to end the reign of the cosmic “thief” who seized the world to “steal, and to kill, and to destroy” the life YHVH intended for us (John 10:10). Jesus came and died on the cross to disarm “the principalities and powers” and make a “shew of them openly [i.e., public spectacle]” by “triumphing over them in [the cross]” (Col. 2:15).
Beyond these explicit statements, there are many other passages that express the Christus Victor motif as well. For example, the first prophecy in the Bible foretells that a descendent of Eve (Jesus) would crush the head of the serpent (Gen. 3:15). The first Christian sermon ever preached proclaimed that Jesus in principle conquered all YHVH's enemies (Acts 2:32-36). And the single most frequently quoted Old Testament passage by New Testament authors is Psalm 110:1 which predicts that Christ would conquer all YHVH’s opponents. (Psalm 110 is quoted or alluded to in Matthew 22:41-45; 26:64, Mark 12:35-37; 14:62, Luke 20:41-44; 22:69, Acts 5:31; 7:55-56, Romans 8:34, 1st Corinthians 15:22-25, Ephesians 1:20, Hebrews 1:3; 1:13; 5:6, 10; 6:20; 7:11, 15, 17, 21; 8:1; 10:12-13, 1st Peter 3:22, and Revelation 3:21.) According to New Testament scholar Oscar Cullman, the frequency with which New Testament authors cite this Psalm is the greatest proof that Christ’s “victory over the angel powers stands at the very center of early Christian thought.”
Because of man's rebellion, the Messiah's coming involved a rescue mission that included a strategy for vanquishing the powers of darkness.
Since YHVH is a God of love who gives genuine “say-so” to both angels and humans, YHVH rarely accomplishes His providential plans through coercion. YHVH relies on His infinite wisdom to achieve His goals. Nowhere is YHVH's wisdom put more on display than in the manner in which He outsmarted Satan and the powers of evil, using their own evil to bring about their defeat.
Most readers probably know the famous story from ancient Greece about the Trojan Horse. To recap the story, Troy and Greece had been locked in a ten-year-long vicious war when, according to Homer and Virgil, the Greeks came up with a brilliant idea. They built an enormous wooden horse, hid soldiers inside and offered it to the Trojans as a gift, claiming they were conceding defeat and going home. The delighted Trojans accepted the gift and proceeded to celebrate by drinking themselves into a drunken stupor. When night came and the Trojan warriors were too wasted to fight, the Greeks exited the horse, unlocked the city gates to quietly let all their compatriots in, and easily conquered the city, thus winning the war.
Historians debate whether any of this actually happened. But either way, as military strategies go, it’s brilliant.
Now, there are five clues in the New Testament that suggest YHVH was using something like this Trojan Horse strategy against the powers when he sent Jesus into the world:
1) The Bible tells us that YHVH's victory over the powers of darkness was achieved by the employment of YHVH’s wisdom, and was centered on that wisdom having become reality in Jesus Christ (Rom. 16:25, 1 Cor. 2:7, Eph. 3:9-10, Col. 1:26). It also tells us that, for some reason, this Christ-centered wisdom was kept “secret and hidden” throughout the ages. It’s clear from this that YHVH's strategy was to outsmart and surprise the powers by sending Jesus.
2) While humans don’t generally know Jesus’ true identity during his ministry, demons do. They recognize Jesus as the Son of God, the Messiah, but, interestingly enough, they have no idea what he’s doing (Mark 1:24; 3:11; 5:7, Luke 8:21). Again, the wisdom of YHVH in sending Jesus was hidden from them.
3) We’re told that, while humans certainly share in the responsibility for the crucifixion, Satan and the powers were working behind the scenes to bring it about (John 13:27 cf. 1 Cor. 2:6-8). These forces of evil helped orchestrate the crucifixion.
4) We’re taught that if the “princes of this world [age]” had understood the secret wisdom of YHVH, “they would not have crucified the Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:8 cf. vss 6-7). Apparently, Satan and the powers regretted orchestrating Christ’s crucifixion once they learned of the wisdom of YHVH that was behind it.
5) Finally, we can begin to understand why the powers came to regret crucifying “the Lord of glory” when we read that it was by means of the crucifixion that the “handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us [i.e., the charge of our legal indebtedness]” was “[taken] out of the way [i.e., canceled]” as the powers were disarmed. In this way Christ “triumph[ed] over” the powers by "his cross” and even “made a shew of them openly” (Col. 2:14-15). Through Christ’s death and resurrection YHVH's enemies were vanquished and placed under his Messiah's feet, and ultimately His own in the end (1 Cor. 15:23-28).
Putting these five clues together, we can discern YHVH's Trojan Horse strategy in sending Jesus.
The powers couldn’t discern why Jesus came because YHVH's wisdom was hidden from them. YHVH's wisdom was motivated by unfathomable love, and since Satan and the other powers were evil, they lacked the capacity to understand it. Their evil hearts prevented them from suspecting what YHVH was up to.
What the powers did understand was that Jesus was mortal. This meant he was killable. Lacking the capacity to understand that this was the means by which YHVH would ultimately bring about the defeat of death (and thus, pave the road for the resurrection itself), they never suspected that making Jesus vulnerable to their evil might actually be part of YHVH's infinitely wise plan.
And so they took the bait (or "ransom"; Matt. 20:28, Mark 10:45, 1 Tim. 2:5-6). Utilizing Judas and other willing human agents, the powers played right into YHVH’s secret plan and orchestrated the crucifixion of the Messiah (Acts 2:22-23; 4:28). YHVH thus brilliantly used the self-inflicted incapacity of evil to understand love against itself. And, like light dispelling darkness, the unfathomably beautiful act of YHVH's love in sending the willing Messiah as a "ransom" to these blood-thirsty powers defeated them. The whole creation was in principle freed and reconciled to YHVH, while everything written against us humans was nailed to the cross, thus robbing the powers of the only legal claim they had on us. They were “spoiled [i.e., disempowered]” (Col. 2:14-15).
As happened to the Trojans in accepting the gift from the Greeks, in seizing on Christ’s vulnerability and orchestrating his crucifixion, the powers unwittingly cooperated with YHVH to unleash the one power in the world that dispels all evil and sets captives free. It’s the power of self-sacrificial love.

Why Penal Substitution Is Unbiblical

For the sake of keeping this already lengthy post as short as possible I'm not going to spend too much time on why exactly PSA (Penal Substitutionary Atonement) is inconsistent with Scripture, but I'll go ahead and point out the main reasons why I believe this is so, and let the reader look further into this subject by themselves, being that there are many resources out there which have devoted much more time than I ever could here in supporting this premise.

"Purge out therefore the old leaven, that ye may be a new lump, as ye are unleavened. For even Christ our passover is sacrificed for us:"-1 Corinthians 5:7

The Passover is one of the two most prominent images in the New Testament given as a comparison to Christ's atonement and what it accomplished, (the other most common image being the Day of Atonement sacrifice).
In the Passover, the blood of the lamb on the door posts of the Hebrews in the book of Exodus was meant to mark out those who were YHVH's, not be a symbol of PSA, as the lamb itself was not being punished by God in place of the Hebrews, but rather the kingdom of Egypt (and thus, allegorically speaking, the kingdom of darkness which opposed YHVH) was what was being judged and punished, because those who were not "covered" by the blood of the lamb could be easily identified as not part of God's kingdom/covenant and liberated people.
Looking at the Day of Atonement sacrifice (which, again, Christ's death is repeatedly compared to throughout the New Testament), this ritual required a ram, a bull, and two goats (Lev. 16:3-5). The ram was for a burnt offering intended to please God (Lev. 16:3-4). The bull served as a sin offering for Aaron, the high priest, and his family. In this case, the sin offering restored the priest to ritual purity, allowing him to occupy sacred space and be near YHVH’s presence. Two goats taken from "the congregation” were needed for the single sin offering for the people (Lev. 16:5). So why two goats?
The high priest would cast lots over the two goats, with one chosen as a sacrifice “for the Lord” (Lev. 16:8). The blood of that goat would purify the people. The second goat was not sacrificed or designated “for the Lord.” On the contrary, this goat—the one that symbolically carried the sins away from the camp of Israel into the wilderness—was “for Azazel” (Lev. 16:8-10).
What—or who—is Azazel?
The Hebrew term azazel (עזאזל) occurs four times in Leviticus 16 but nowhere else in most people's canon of the Bible, (and I say "most people's canon," because some people do include 1 Enoch in their canon of Scripture, which of course goes into great detail about this "Azazel" figure). Many translations prefer to translate the term as a phrase, “the goat that goes away,” which is the same idea conveyed in the King James Version’s “scapegoat.” Other translations treat the word as a name: Azazel. The “scapegoat” option is possible, but since the phrase “for Azazel” parallels the phrase “for YHVH” (“for the Lord”), the wording suggests that two divine figures are being contrasted by the two goats.
A strong case can be made for translating the term as the name Azazel. Ancient Jewish texts show that Azazel was understood as a demonic figure associated with the wilderness. The Mishnah (ca. AD 200; Yoma 6:6) records that the goat for Azazel was led to a cliff and pushed over, ensuring it would not return with its death. This association of the wilderness with evil is also evident in the New Testament, as this was where Jesus met the devil (Matt. 4:1). Also, in Leviticus 17:1-7 we learn that some Israelites had been accustomed to sacrificing offerings to "devils" (alternatively translated as “goat demons”). The Day of Atonement replaced this illegitimate practice.
The second goat was not sent into the wilderness as a sacrifice to a foreign god or demon. The act of sending the live goat out into the wilderness, which was unholy ground, was to send the sins of the people where they belonged—to the demonic domain. With one goat sacrificed to bring purification and access to YHVH and one goat sent to carry the people’s sins to the demonic domain, this annual ritual reinforced the identity of the true God and His mercy and holiness.
When Jesus died on the cross for all of humanity’s sins, he was crucified outside the city, paralleling the sins of the people being cast to the wilderness via the goat to Azazel. Jesus died once for all sinners, negating the need for this ritual.
As previously stated, the goat which had all the sin put on it was sent alive off to the wilderness, while the blood of the goat which was blameless was used to purify the temple and the people. Penal substitution would necessitate the killing of the goat which had the sin put on it.
Mind you, this is the only sacrificial ritual of any kind in the Torah in which sins are placed on an animal. The only time it happens is this, and that animal is not sacrificed. Most PSA proponents unwittingly point to this ritual as evidence of their view, despite it actually serving as evidence to the contrary, because most people don't read their Old Testament and don't familiarize themselves with the "boring parts" like Leviticus (when it's actually rather important to do so, since that book explains how exactly animal offerings were to be carried out and why they were done in the first place).
In the New Testament, Christ's blood was not only meant to mark out those who were his, but also expel the presence of sin and ritual uncleanness so as to make the presence of YHVH manifest in the believer's life. Notice how God's wrath isn't poured out on Christ in our stead on this view, but rather His wrath was poured out on those who weren't covered, and the presence of sin and evil were merely removed by that which is pure and blameless (Christ's blood) for the believer.
All this is the difference between expiation and propitiation.

The Content of Paul's Gospel Message

When the New Testament writers talked about “the gospel,” they referred not to the Protestant doctrine of justification sola fide–the proposition that if we will stop trying to win God’s favor and only just believe that God has exchanged our sin for Christ’s perfect righteousness, then in God’s eyes we will have the perfect righteousness required both for salvation and for assuaging our guilty consciences–but rather they referred to the simple but explosive proposition Kyrios Christos, “Christ is Lord.” That is to say, the gospel was, properly speaking, the royal announcement that Jesus of Nazareth was the God of Israel’s promised Messiah, the King of kings and Lord of lords.
The New Testament writers were not writing in a cultural or linguistic vacuum and their language of euangelion (good news) and euangelizomai would have been understood by their audience in fairly specific ways. Namely, in the Greco-Roman world for which the New Testament authors wrote, euangelion/euangelizomai language typically had to do with either A) the announcement of the accession of a ruler, or B) the announcement of a victory in battle, and would probably have been understood along those lines.
Let’s take the announcements of a new ruler first. The classic example of such a language is the Priene Calendar Inscription, dating to circa 9 BC, which celebrates the rule (and birthday) of Caesar Augustus as follows:
"It was seeming to the Greeks in Asia, in the opinion of the high priest Apollonius of Menophilus Azanitus: Since Providence, which has ordered all things of our life and is very much interested in our life, has ordered things in sending Augustus, whom she filled with virtue for the benefit of men, sending him as a savior [soter] both for us and for those after us, him who would end war and order all things, and since Caesar by his appearance [epiphanein] surpassed the hopes of all those who received the good tidings [euangelia], not only those who were benefactors before him, but even the hope among those who will be left afterward, and the birthday of the god [he genethlios tou theou] was for the world the beginning of the good tidings [euangelion] through him; and Asia resolved it in Smyrna."
The association of the term euangelion with the announcement of Augustus’ rule is clear enough and is typical of how this language is used elsewhere. To give another example, Josephus records that at the news of the accession of the new emperor Vespasian (69 AD) “every city kept festival for the good news (euangelia) and offered sacrifices on his behalf.” (The Jewish War, IV.618). Finally, a papyrus dating to ca. 498 AD begins:
"Since I have become aware of the good news (euangeliou) about the proclamation as Caesar (of Gaius Julius Verus Maximus Augustus)…"
This usage occurs also in the Septuagint, the Greek translations of the Jewish Scriptures. For instance LXX Isaiah 52:7 reads, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news (euangelizomenou), who publishes peace, who brings good news (euangelizomenos) of salvation, who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns.'" Similarly, LXX Isaiah 40:9-10 reads:

"…Go up on a high mountain, you who bring good tidings (ho euangelizomenos) to Sion; lift up your voice with strength, you who bring good tidings (ho euangelizomenos); lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Ioudas, “See your God!” Behold, the Lord comes with strength, and his arm with authority (kyrieias)…."-NETS, Esaias 40:9-10

This consistent close connection between euangelion/euangelizomai language and announcements of rule strongly suggests that many of the initial hearers/readers of the early Christians’ evangelical language would likely have understood that language as the announcement of a new ruler (see, e.g., Acts 17:7), and, unless there is strong NT evidence to the contrary, we should presume that the NT writers probably intended their language to be so understood.
However, the other main way in which euangelion/euangelizomai language was used in the Greco-Roman world was with reference to battle reports, announcements of victory in war. A classic example of this sort of usage can be found in LXX 2 Samuel 18:19ff, where David receives word that his traitorous son, Absalom, has been defeated in battle. Euangelion/euangelizomai is used throughout the passage for the communications from the front.
As already shown throughout this post, the NT speaks of Jesus’s death and resurrection as a great victory over the powers that existed at that time and, most importantly, over death itself. Jesus’ conquest of the principalities and powers was the establishment of his rule and comprehensive authority over heaven and earth, that is, of his Lordship over all things (again, at that time).
This was the content of Paul's gospel message...

Justification, and the "New" Perspective on Paul

The following quotation is from The Gospel Coalition, and I believe it to be a decently accurate summary of the NPP (New Perspective on Paul), despite it being from a source which is in opposition to it:

The New Perspective on Paul, a major scholarly shift that began in the 1980s, argues that the Jewish context of the New Testament has been wrongly understood and that this misunderstand[ing] has led to errors in the traditional-Protestant understanding of justification. According to the New Perspective, the Jewish systems of salvation were not based on works-righteousness but rather on covenantal nomism, the belief that one enters the people of God by grace and stays in through obedience to the covenant. This means that Paul could not have been referring to works-righteousness by his phrase “works of the law”; instead, he was referring to Jewish boundary markers that made clear who was or was not within the people of God. For the New Perspective, this is the issue that Paul opposes in the NT. Thus, justification takes on two aspects for the New Perspective rather than one; initial justification is by faith (grace) and recognizes covenant status (ecclesiology), while final justification is partially by works, albeit works produced by the Spirit.

I believe what's called the "new perspective" is actually rather old, and that the Reformers' view of Paul is what is truly new, being that the Lutheran understanding of Paul is simply not Biblical.
The Reformation perspective understands Paul to be arguing against a legalistic Jewish culture that seeks to earn their salvation through works. However, supporters of the NPP argue that Paul has been misread. We contend he was actually combating Jews who were boasting because they were God's people, the "elect" or the "chosen ones." Their "works," so to speak, were done to show they were God's covenant people and not to earn their salvation.
The key questions involve Paul’s view(s) of the law and the meaning of the controversy in which Paul was engaged. Paul strongly argued that we are “justified by the faith of Christ, and not by the works of the law” (Gal. 2:16b). Since the time of Martin Luther, this has been understood as an indictment of legalistic efforts to merit favor before God. Judaism was cast in the role of the medieval "church," and so Paul’s protests became very Lutheran, with traditional-Protestant theology reinforced in all its particulars (along with its limitations) as a result. In hermeneutical terms, then, the historical context of Paul’s debate will answer the questions we have about what exactly the apostle meant by the phrase "works of the law," along with other phrases often used as support by the Reformers for their doctrine of Sola Fide (justification by faith alone), like when Paul mentions "the righteousness of God."
Obviously an in-depth analysis of the Pauline corpus and its place in the context of first-century Judaism would take us far beyond the scope of this brief post. We can, however, quickly survey the topography of Paul’s thought in context, particularly as it has emerged through the efforts of recent scholarship, and note some salient points which may be used as the basis of a refurbished soteriology.
[Note: The more popular scholars associated with the NPP are E.P. Sanders, James Dunn, and N.T. Wright. Dunn was the first to coin the term "The New Perspective" in a 1983 Manson Memorial Lecture, The New Perspective on Paul and the Law.]
Varying authors since the early 1900's have brought up the charge that Paul was misread by those in the tradition of Martin Luther and other Protestant Reformers. Yet, it wasn't until E.P. Sanders' 1977 book, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, that scholars began to pay much attention to the issue. In his book, Sanders argues that the Judaism of Paul's day has been wrongly criticized as a religion of "works-salvation" by those in the Protestant tradition.
A fundamental premise in the NPP is that Judaism was actually a religion of grace. Sander's puts it clearly:
"On the point at which many have found the decisive contrast between Paul and Judaism - grace and works - Paul is in agreement with Palestinian Judaism... Salvation is by grace but judgment is according to works'...God saves by grace, but... within the framework established by grace he rewards good deeds and punishes transgression." (Paul and Palestinian Judaism, p. 543)
N.T. Wright adds that, "we have misjudged early Judaism, especially Pharisaism, if we have thought of it as an early version of Pelagianism," (Wright, What Saint Paul Really Said, p. 32).
Sanders has coined a now well-known phrase to describe the character of first-century Palestinian Judaism: “covenantal nomism.” The meaning of “covenantal nomism” is that human obedience is not construed as the means of entering into God’s covenant. That cannot be earned; inclusion within the covenant body is by the grace of God. Rather, obedience is the means of maintaining one’s status within the covenant. And with its emphasis on divine grace and forgiveness, Judaism was never a religion of legalism.
If covenantal nomism was operating as the primary category under which Jews understood the Law, then when Jews spoke of obeying commandments, or when they required strict obedience of themselves and fellow Jews, it was because they were "keeping the covenant," rather than out of legalism.
More recently, N.T. Wright has made a significant contribution in his little book, What Saint Paul Really Said. Wright’s focus is the gospel and the doctrine of justification. With incisive clarity he demonstrates that the core of Paul’s gospel was not justification by faith, but the death and resurrection of Christ and his exaltation as Lord. The proclamation of the gospel was the proclamation of Jesus as Lord, the Messiah who fulfilled Israel’s expectations. Romans 1:3-4, not 1:16-17, is the gospel, contrary to traditional thinking. Justification is not the center of Paul’s thought, but an outworking of it:
"[T]he doctrine of justification by faith is not what Paul means by ‘the gospel’. It is implied by the gospel; when the gospel is proclaimed, people come to faith and so are regarded by God as members of his people. But ‘the gospel’ is not an account of how people get saved. It is, as we saw in an earlier chapter, the proclamation of the lordship of Jesus Christ….Let us be quite clear. ‘The gospel’ is the announcement of Jesus’ lordship, which works with power to bring people into the family of Abraham, now redefined around Jesus Christ and characterized solely by faith in him. ‘Justification’ is the doctrine which insists that all those who have this faith belong as full members of this family, on this basis and no other." (pp. 132, 133)
Wright brings us to this point by showing what “justification” would have meant in Paul’s Jewish context, bound up as it was in law-court terminology, eschatology, and God’s faithfulness to God’s covenant.
Specifically, Wright explodes the myth that the pre-Christian Saul was a pious, proto-Pelagian moralist seeking to earn his individual passage into heaven. Wright capitalizes on Paul’s autobiographical confessions to paint rather a picture of a zealous Jewish nationalist whose driving concern was to cleanse Israel of Gentiles as well as Jews who had lax attitudes toward the Torah. Running the risk of anachronism, Wright points to a contemporary version of the pre-Christian Saul: Yigal Amir, the zealous Torah-loyal Jew who assassinated Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin for exchanging Israel’s land for peace. Wright writes:
"Jews like Saul of Tarsus were not interested in an abstract, ahistorical system of salvation... They were interested in the salvation which, they believed, the one true God had promised to his people Israel." (pp. 32, 33)
Wright maintains that as a Christian, Paul continued to challenge paganism by taking the moral high ground of the creational monotheist. The doctrine of justification was not what Paul preached to the Gentiles as the main thrust of his gospel message; it was rather “the thing his converts most needed to know in order to be assured that they really were part of God’s people” after they had responded to the gospel message.
Even while taking the gospel to the Gentiles, however, Paul continued to criticize Judaism “from within” even as he had as a zealous Pharisee. But whereas his mission before was to root out those with lax attitudes toward the Torah, now his mission was to demonstrate that God’s covenant faithfulness (righteousness) has already been revealed in Jesus Christ.
At this point Wright carefully documents Paul’s use of the controversial phrase “God’s righteousness” and draws out the implications of his meaning against the background of a Jewish concept of justification. The righteousness of God and the righteousness of the party who is “justified” cannot be confused because the term bears different connotations for the judge than for the plaintiff or defendant. The judge is “righteous” if his or her judgment is fair and impartial; the plaintiff or defendant is “righteous” if the judge rules in his or her favor. Hence:
"If we use the language of the law court, it makes no sense whatsoever to say that the judge imputes, imparts, bequeaths, conveys or otherwise transfers his righteousness to either the plaintiff or the defendant. Righteousness is not an object, a substance or a gas which can be passed across the courtroom. For the judge to be righteous does not mean that the court has found in his favor. For the plaintiff or defendant to be righteous does not mean that he or she has tried the case properly or impartially. To imagine the defendant somehow receiving the judge’s righteousness is simply a category mistake. That is not how the language works." (p. 98)
However, Wright makes the important observation that even with the forensic metaphor, Paul’s theology is not so much about the courtroom as it is about God’s love.
Righteousness is not an impersonal, abstract standard, a measuring-stick or a balancing scale. That was, and still is, a Greek view. Righteousness, Biblically speaking, grows out of covenant relationship. We forgive because we have been forgiven (Matt. 18:21-35); “we love" because God “first loved us” (1 John 4:19). Love is the fulfillment of the law (Rom. 13:8, 10, Gal 5:14, Jam. 2:8). Paul even looked forward to a day when “we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad” (2 Cor. 5:10), and he acknowledged that his clear conscience did not necessarily ensure this verdict (1 Cor. 4:4), but he was confident nevertheless. Paul did in fact testify of his clear conscience: “For our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our conscience, that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of God, we have had our conversation [i.e., behavior] in the world, and more abundantly to you-ward” (2 Cor. 1:12). He was aware that he had not yet “attained” (Phil. 3:12-14), that he still struggled with the flesh, yet he was confident of the value of his performance (1 Cor. 9:27). These are hardly the convictions of someone who intends to rest entirely on the merits of an alien righteousness imputed to his or her account.
Wright went on to flesh out the doctrine of justification in Galatians, Philippians, and Romans. The “works of the law” are not proto-Pelagian efforts to earn salvation, but rather “sabbath [keeping], food-laws, circumcision” (p. 132). Considering the controversy in Galatia, Wright writes:
"Despite a long tradition to the contrary, the problem Paul addresses in Galatians is not the question of how precisely someone becomes a Christian, or attains to a relationship with God….The problem he addresses is: should his ex-pagan converts be circumcised or not? Now this question is by no means obviously to do with the questions faced by Augustine and Pelagius, or by Luther and Erasmus. On anyone’s reading, but especially within its first-century context, it has to do quite obviously with the question of how you define the people of God: are they to be defined by the badges of Jewish race, or in some other way? Circumcision is not a ‘moral’ issue; it does not have to do with moral effort, or earning salvation by good deeds. Nor can we simply treat it as a religious ritual, then designate all religious ritual as crypto-Pelagian good works, and so smuggle Pelagius into Galatia as the arch-opponent after all. First-century thought, both Jewish and Christian, simply doesn’t work like that…. [T]he polemic against the Torah in Galatians simply will not work if we ‘translate’ it into polemic either against straightforward self-help moralism or against the more subtle snare of ‘legalism’, as some have suggested. The passages about the law only work — and by ‘work’ I mean they will only make full sense in their contexts, which is what counts in the last analysis — when we take them as references to the Jewish law, the Torah, seen as the national charter of the Jewish race." (pp. 120-122)
The debate about justification, then, “wasn’t so much about soteriology as about ecclesiology; not so much about salvation as about the church.” (p. 119)
To summarize the theology of Paul in his epistles, the apostle mainly spent time arguing to those whom he were sending letters that salvation in Christ was available to all men without distinction. Jews and Gentiles alike may accept the free gift; it was not limited to any one group. Paul was vehement about this, especially in his letter to the Romans. As such, I will finish this post off by summarizing the letter itself, so as to provide Biblical support for the premises of the NPP and for what the scholars I referenced have thus far argued.
After his introduction in the epistle to an already believing and mostly Gentile audience (who would've already been familiar with the gospel proclaimed in verses 3-4), Paul makes a thematic statement in 1:16: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.” This statement is just one of many key statements littered throughout the book of Romans that give us proper understanding of the point Paul wished to make to the interlocutors of his day, namely, salvation is available to all, whether Jew or Gentile.
In 1:16 Paul sets out a basic theme of his message in the letter to the Romans. All who believed, whether they be Jew or Gentile, were saved by the power of the gospel. The universal nature of salvation was explicitly stated. The gospel saved all without distinction, whether Jew or Greek; salvation was through the gospel of Jesus Christ. Immediately after this thematic declaration, Paul undertakes to show the universal nature of sin and guilt. In 1:18-32 Paul shows how the Gentile is guilty before God. Despite evidence of God and his attributes, which is readily available to all, they have failed to honor YHVH as God and have exchanged His glory for idolatrous worship and self-promotion. As a consequence, God handed them over in judgment (1:18-32). Paul moves to denunciation of those who would judge others while themselves being guilty of the very same offenses (2:1-5) and argues that all will be judged according to their deeds (2:6). This judgment applies to all, namely, Jew and Greek (2:9-10). This section serves as somewhat of a transition in Paul’s argument. He has highlighted the guilt of the Gentiles (1:18ff) and will shortly outline the guilt of the Jew (2:17-24). The universal statement of 2:1-11 sets the stage for Paul’s rebuke of Jewish presumption. It was not possession of the Law which delivered; it was faithful obedience. It is better to have no Law and yet to obey the essence of the Law (2:12-16) than to have the Law and not obey (2:17-3:4). Paul then defends the justice of God’s judgment (3:5-8), which leads to the conclusion that all (Jew and Gentile) are guilty before God (3:9).
Paul argues that it was a mistaken notion to think that salvation was the prerogative of the Jew only. This presumption is wrong for two reasons. First, it leads to the mistaken assumption that only Jews were eligible for this vindication (Paul deals with this misunderstanding in chapter 4 where he demonstrates that Abraham was justified by faith independently of the Law and is therefore the father of all who believe, Jew and Gentile alike). Second, it leads to the equally mistaken conclusion that all who were Jews are guaranteed of vindication. Paul demonstrates how this perspective, which would call God’s integrity into question since Paul was assuming many Jews would not experience this vindication, was misguided. He did this by demonstrating that it was never the case that all physical descendants of Israel (Jacob) were likewise recipients of the promise. In the past (9:6-33) as in the present (at that time; 11:1-10), only a remnant was preserved and only a remnant would experience vindication. Paul also argued that the unbelief of national Israel (the non-remnant) had the purpose of extending the compass of salvation. The unbelief of one group made the universal scope of the gospel possible. This universalism was itself intended to bring about the vindication of the unbelieving group (11:11-16). As a result of faith, all (Jew and Gentile) could be branches of the olive tree (11:17-24). Since faith in Christ was necessary to remain grafted into the tree, no one could boast of his position. All, Jew and Gentile alike, were dependent upon the mercy and grace of God. As a result of God’s mysterious plan, He would bring about the vindication of His people (11:25-27). [Note: It is this author's belief that this vindication occurred around 66-70 AD, with the Parousia of Christ's Church; this author is Full-Preterist in their Eschatology.]

Chapter 1
Mors
An endless void, silence interlaid with its pitch-darkness, greeted an injured man. No light can be seen, sensations be damned, and consciousness spread thin as though taut in this incomprehensive expanse that laid before him.
Callum fell into the abyss, his mind the only thing left to accompany him. He hasn’t even counted the minutes as his mind is plagued by something else. He never considered himself a man of interest, only scraping by with his odd jobs and part-time salaries, hence why he couldn’t understand his current situation.
Betrayal is something that he is familiar with, whether it be a betrayal of his expectations when a co-worker broke his promise or a betrayal of his emotions when his first love interest cheated on him back in uni. However, this betrayal orchestrated by his best friend whom he’d known for 5 years, and girlfriend for 8 years felt more gut-wrenching than the pain he felt from the stab.
Denial was the first thing that stormed his mind. He couldn’t believe that the two closest people in his life would stab him in the back, literally. There was no build-up, he didn’t suspect a thing, and everything was normal until he found steel in his flesh.
He rejected the notion that his girlfriend, Catherine, would betray him like this, an accomplice to a murder that he can’t grasp the motive of. He has built up some savings, but it isn’t something that would be worth murdering someone for, especially after buying that ring.
He dismissed the thought of Jake being jealous of their relationship as he couldn’t see the guy doing something as stupid as this. He can’t form any rhyme or reason as to why they would do it, and the only possible explanation is that this was all a dream and he was actually still sleeping inside the tent.
But as he waited for himself to wake from this nightmare, only darkness greeted him. He had tried moving his body in this sea of blackness, but the movement only felt like going through molasses with tired arms, which is why he attributed this as being only a dream that he would wake up from, which appeared to be wrong as he waited and waited.
Anxiety crept in as he tried to call out, but no sound escaped his lips. He strained his voice to be heard, yet he can't even hear himself. No light adorned this place, no wind to be heard, and he couldn’t feel anything even though he tried feeling himself.
The pain in his back was forgotten as he tried and tried to move, to scream, to flail senselessly, amounting to nothing as he was greeted by nothing.
Feeling anything in this void is something impossible, and the only thing that he can do is return to his mindscape.
He went back to his oldest memories, back to a time when everything felt oppressive and suffocating. Callum was born into a broken family. His mother and father had gone through a divorce when he was only 6 years old. He could still remember the screaming and yelling of his parents whenever night fell in their sorry state of an apartment.
His father, Eric, having not finished his education after Callum’s birth, has been living as a blue-collar worker in downtown New Jersey. Even during his day-offs, he can’t seem to find rest as he goes to do odd jobs and part-time work to stay afloat. On the other hand, his mother would leave him, a toddler, alone in the apartment.
He remembered her putting CDs in a DVD player so that it could keep his attention on a cartoon that his father introduced him to. If he had anything to describe his mother, she would be irresponsible and narcissistic. She would sometimes bring guys over to their apartment, threatening Callum with divorce if he ever told Eric about it, hence why it took several years until his dad caught on and filed for a divorce.
Eric was determined to take Callum with him, he argues that he could take care of his child better than Callum’s mother. But his mother and her twisted pride can’t let go of Callum, which leads to a legal dispute between the two.
The court hearings went on for several months, with each passing day being a lot more hellish for Callum. He was subjected to further insults by his mother as she knew that leaving bruises on her child would lower her chances of winning over the court to her side. Sometimes, she would go as far as manipulate him, gaslighting him into believing that she was a good mother who would take care of him better than his father. But after seeing that the court favors Eric’s side more, his mother took drastic measures to satisfy her wounded pride.
It was the second to the last day of the court hearing, and it was during this time that his father was working overtime. Callum had just gone home from his elementary school, feeling tired as he hauled his bag over his shoulders up the multiple flights of stairs he had to climb to get to their apartment.
As he neared his home, he steeled himself and opened the door, only to be met with overturned tables and broken ceramics. He walked quietly through the scene, afraid that someone might hear him entering his home. Looking back on it now, Calum can’t help himself but laugh at his stupidity. He could have gone and alerted their neighbors, or gone back downstairs to wait for his father, but being a child, Callum doesn’t know what to do.
As he entered his room, he saw black words spray painted on the walls, the meaning eluding him as he didn’t know what it meant since he was 7 at the time, but remembering it now sent shivers down his spine.
The words “This is what you get!” on a torn wallpaper are ingrained in his mind. Seeing the manic letters sprayed over the walls gave Callum anxiety, taking a few steps back towards the open front door of their apartment. Escape was now on his mind as he grew scared of what was to come, something that was far too late as he heard his mother behind him.
It was there that everything turned into a blur. He remembered snippets of yelling and crying both from himself and his mother. He remembered his mother forcing something down his throat. He remembered his father coming home early that day and restraining his mother, a crazy look in her eyes. He remembered the feeling of nausea and the floor colored with his lunch. And he remembered the sirens, red and blue lights dancing in his vision as he was carried to a stretcher. The last thing he remembered was his father crying, holding his hands tightly when he opened his tired eyes.
For the next few days, he learned from the news that his mother attempted a double suicide. The story goes, after losing the custody battle, the mother planned to take revenge by ending the lives of both her child and herself. They said that he got lucky as the neighbors had contacted Eric when his mother turned their home upside down, relating it to a possible home invasion. If not for him, Callum would have died from nicotine poisoning after his mother forced tobacco down his gullet, a morbid story that he uses as a joke during his time at work.
He remembered being inside that hospital for days on end, his body recovering from the poison his mother left him with, and his father was there almost every day even though he had to work to pay the hospital bills. After what felt like forever was he allowed to be discharged, going back to the same refurbished apartment that they lived in, but after seeing how Callum had recurring nightmares and trauma attached to the place, they decided to move to Pennsylvania. A hard decision that needed to be made as his father would put it.
Everything after the whole incident was better for Callum. His father got a job as a mover, still doing some part-time work here and there, and Callum did his best in school so as not to burden his father with more work. Even though they lived in a rundown shack handed to them by one of the locals, they didn’t mind as they knew that getting to live at all was better than what they had before.
Callum smiled in the abyss as he reminisced about his time with his father. He was a great man, a good role model for anyone who came across him. He is kind-hearted and considerate, a hard worker that makes him popular among his peers. It was them that helped move him and his father out of New Jersey and found them a place to sleep in, teaching Callum that socializing and connecting with like-minded people goes a long way when someone needs it.
For the next few years, Callum lived happily. Though there were some ups and downs, he and his father got through it, which is why the memory of his time in university was depressing.
Eric, after having saved some money, gave Callum the go-ahead to enroll in a university in California. But after attaining an athletic scholarship in football, Callum gave his father a surprise to ease his worries and stress. Callum felt bad every time he saw his father work, hence why he tried his hardest to take some of that workload to give him a break. With the tuition being lowered with the scholarship, Callum could give the rest of the money back to his dad. A gesture that was fully gratified as his father had a hard time letting him go when the time came to move over to the university. But it was during this time that tragedy struck.
It was his fourth year in studying anthropology when he heard the news from one of his father’s friends, Robby. After hearing it, he grew distressed and worried, taking a lot of convincing from Robby to keep Callum from moving back to Pennsylvania.
His father has gone missing. The news had spread amongst his co-workers and friends, and a search team was already being dispatched to find him. Even though Callum tried to keep his focus on studying, he couldn’t help but feel agitated as days went by without news of his father being seen. His mental state plummeted, and he grew withdrawn from reality as days turned to weeks, his father still gone.
He could still remember the times when he locked himself in the school’s library, searching the web to find any news or reports of his father's whereabouts, but as he searched for days on end, only one thing kept popping up from the newsletters. His father, Eric Hurst Foster, went missing in his own home. There were no struggles in the house, the CCTV didn’t see him on any of the roads or stores in the town they lived in, he just seemed to have vanished into thin air.
The news ate away at Callum, and his friends that he’d made during the time gave their support to keep him from spiraling out of control. However, even with their support, Callum’s worries over his dad never went away, hence why he threw himself into work. Going to part-time jobs and studying is the only way to keep his mind from blowing. He did this until he finished university and found a job to stay afloat.
This went on for years until he’s come to accept that his father may never be found. With nothing to ground him in their old home, he decided to explore the world, thinking that one day, he might find a lead to the whereabouts of his dad.
Months turned to years as he worked tirelessly in multiple jobs. From being a mechanic, electrician, cook, waiter, and many more to count, Callum went on a work frenzy. He made a plan to scour the states as a freelancer, living in his BMW pick-up truck that was given to him by one of his friends. He stayed in each state for a few months, meeting new people and making some friends along the way. They sent their well wishes to Callum as they knew that he was still trying to find his missing father.
Years went by as he made his way back to California. He had gone and explored every state, and yet no news of his father came to light. The case had gone cold, and it was up to Callum to find any clues to this mystery. His mind has told him to give up the search, and multiple friends have given him consolation as they knew that his father would never be found, but Callum persevered.
It was during this time that he found himself as a mover, the same job that his father had before he disappeared. He had just come back to California after getting the job, and he was about to go check in for his first day when a sudden downpour of rain covered the skies of the city. It was only coincidental that he was near that coffee shop, and it was coincidental that only two customers were present there. He and his future girlfriend turned accomplice to his murder.
The rest of his memories went by as he continued to float in the abyss. From the time of their first years in a relationship to meeting Jake for the first time in that apartment to when he taught PE and History in a school in Minnesota. Everything went by as Callum went from one memory to another until he felt something.
A chill ran down his spine as an indescribable dread manifested in his mind. He knew not why he felt this way, and he felt himself tearing at the seams as a slit of light showed itself in the void. He was then pulled into the light, senses coming back after he spent his time in the abyss for what felt like days. And with a flash, he is back in the same hunched-over position he was in when he was stabbed in the back.
Callum can’t help but laugh as he finally could see again. Trees surrounded his vision, with wild grass carpeting the ground. But before he could truly see the world, he felt a sharp pain in his back. With his body remembering that he was injured, he felt himself sweat profusely as he bled, painting the flowers under him red. And yet he didn’t panic.
After all that time reminiscing, he finally gave in and let death come to him. He fell on his back, sending another wave of pain coursing through his body, cursing under his breath as he regretted not laying himself down slowly. And as he looked to the sky, he felt himself getting colder and colder.
Callum felt at peace as he stared at the clouds above him. The sound of the wind and the rustling of leaves helped him come to terms that he was truly dying. He’d thought about death a lot. During his time when he was a kid, and when he was depressed after his father went missing. But the peace he felt for only a few moments as emotions came crashing down.
He felt himself tear up as he came to terms with his current situation. He would never have a chance to marry the girl in his life. He would never have a chance to have his own children and see them grow. He would never have a chance to be a father. And he would never have a chance to grow old with the people he loved around him.
As he thought of these things, the floodgates opened. Streams of tears fell down his cheeks as he sobbed in his dying state. He could only put his hands over his eyes to stop it from flowing, an action that felt challenging as his body became fatigued from all the blood loss. The crying only hastened his death as he felt his breath escape him, his lungs labored and filled with blood as the stab had punctured it.
Minutes went by as Callum felt himself grow tired and tired. And as he closed his eyes, Callum’s heart slowed and slowed as his body has a lack of blood to pump. His breathing grew shallower with each second until his body gave way and stopped altogether.
Callum died at the age of 34, stabbed in the back by his best friend with his girlfriend being an accomplice for his murder. He died from blood loss as his body colored the ground red.
Callum waited and waited to feel his consciousness fade as he welcomed death to greet him. And as the second grew…
'…Wait.'
His consciousness never faded away.

I've been struggling with an erratic sleep schedule lately, and last night was no exception. I was finally over him, or so i thought. A moment of cool breeze, coupled with the memories of him and i’m back to square one. It’s not that he occupies my every thought, but I'd be lying if I said he doesn’t linger at the back of my mind every day.
The dream was fleeting, yet it left a profound impact on me. We were sitting in his car, driving somewhere unknown. Even in the dream, I questioned its reality. I scanned my surroundings, trying to anchor myself. Then, I looked at him and couldn't help but smile at the sight of his familiar face. To reassure myself that he was real and not just a figment of my imagination, I extended my hand and touched his cheek. The moment my skin met his, I knew this was real. I caressed his cheek and blurted out how much I missed him. He looked back at me with the most sincere eyes and told me how he’s missed me as well.
To my surprise, he drove me home and came inside (I have strict parents). He was visibly nervous, and I felt just as anxious, unable to muster the courage to support him.
And then, the dream ended abruptly, leaving me suspended in a bittersweet limbo. It felt so real and warm, like everything is going to be alright. But here i am, remembering the dream and the memories of him and feeling miserable. well, eff you bridgerton and K-drama😭

Synopsis:
An engineer in another world—blending science and magic to achieve greatness in a world where skills and levels reign supreme.
—
Ethan was just a plain old engineer, but everything changed when he was reborn into a world of skills, levels, and magic. With his advanced knowledge far ahead of the time period he finds himself in, this new reincarnated life will be much different than his last, especially because he can construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct runes—something no one else can do.
But with royal politics, looming tax collectors, a mountain of debt, dungeon incursions, cults, and hostile fantasy races mixing together into a cocktail of bullshit that threatens to bury his dreams; Ethan must bridge the gap between steel and sorcery to grow stronger. — Runecrafting is slow burn. — What to Expect: - Weak to very strong progression - Hardcore wish fulfillment - A balance of action, kingdom building, and runecrafting. - MC will trigger an industrial revolution, revolutionize magic, modernize agriculture, communication, commerce, textile production, education, transportation, sanitation, weapons manufacturing, leisure & entertainment, and medicine.
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Chapter 04

-1-
Ethan's heart thumped in his throat as he looked at the arrow's head glinting. Fortunately, Roland had grabbed it in an instant. The arrow hadn't hit Ethan, and it likely wouldn't have. Roland threw the arrow aside as Ethan heard a muffled grunt and glanced out the window to the right. An arrow had pierced the side of their driver, right between the shoulder and chest. Ethan whipped back into his seat just as another projectile smashed against the other side of their carriage, denting it. Roland immediately stood up with a calm demeanor and unsheathed his sword. "Lord Theodore, please remain seated. This inconvenience will be dealt with shortly."
Ethan blinked up, nodded, and clasped his hands around his knee while resting his head against the window ledge as Roland got out. Situations such as this weren't anything he'd ever dealt with back on earth, but he had plenty of experience keeping himself in check when fear took hold. He'd been a boxer, after all. Ethan tapped his finger on his knee, again and again.
"Die, you shits!" a voice yelled, then a meaty crash was followed by a pained groan. It was clearly someone falling over. Moments later, footsteps approached from the other side. A man swung the carriage door open. "Get—"
Before he could say much else, a sword pierced through his chest. He slumped and hit the ground without a word, revealing Roland standing with a blank expression. His eyes were different than anything Ethan had seen since his transmigration—Roland looked nonchalant even after taking a life, which was understandable given that the man had likely taken a lot of lives. Ethan closed his eyes, refusing to look at the dead body.
More footsteps grew nearer. Two sets. They stopped beside their carriage. "Well fuck, what a piece of trash." one man said, then lurched at Roland with a bloody shout.
The fight was over in an instant.
Roland simply disappeared from his position before Ethan. Reappearing behind the two bandits flanking him, he delivered an equally lethal strike to each in turn. Simultaneously, a sharp crackling and whooshing sound made Ethan tense. Spreading out on the floor before the carriage, a dark blue magical glyph buzzed like electricity, sending sparks of electricity slamming into the bandits.
Then, the bandits' bodies split in two halves, their blood sprayed across the dirt before they even began collapsing with electricity sizzling on their bodies.
Just as he'd felt movement in the air through [Magic Perception], a man materialized right in front of Ethan. Tensing, Ethan didn't know what to do
Roland shouted from outside. Adrenaline rocketed through Ethan's veins. Hand moving, he grabbed the bandit's hand and twisted it. The bandit tackled him, and with the tight space, Ethan felt the tip of a knife nicking the side of his cheek. The wound stung badly, and with it, Ethan's mind blanked and his instincts kicked in.
Roland swiftly spun, but not in time to stop the man from pinning Ethan against the bench.
However, it wasn't needed. Ethan used [Elemental Spells] and summoned fire all over his palms. A sizzling sound erupted as the bandit cried out and went for Ethan's eyes with his free hand. Ethan bit the bandit's hand, and only got half a mouthful of skin and cloth. The bandit reeled back and leapt backward from the sudden burning pain, crying out as he crashed. Ethan lunged at him, grabbed and force-flipped the bandit's hand, and plunged the knife into his throat with an aggressive grunt. There was a short, gurgled cry, before the bandit tried swinging the knife towards him. "Cunt... bastard..." his bloody mouth formed the words, his eyes staring fearfully, but Ethan pushed the knife aggressively.
Blood sprayed and gushed onto Ethan's mouth.
Then, finally, the man stilled.
The corpse's weight fell onto Ethan, hot blood spilling out of the bandit's throat and filling the air with an acrid odor. Ethan felt it on his face. Hot. Metallic smell. He saw it dripping down the bandit's throat, all across his clothes, even in his hair. It was heavy, almost. Layer upon layer, the heavy cloak of the man's life weighting down on his spirit.
System notifications flashed but he ignored it given that bile rose in Ethan's throat. His vision darkened, and a rush of blood roared in his ear as his heart thumped like thunder. A violent urge to vomit rose within him, his entire body twitching. He had never seen a man die in front of him like this before. Disgusting as it was, he gulped everything down, even the reality he had found himself in, the death, the violence, it all set in at that moment. However, he had no time to delve on it. Even though he felt like someone had squeezed his windpipe, like a bullet was tearing through his skin, he needed to act. Now.
Ethan flipped the man aside and sat on his knees, pulling out the knife from the bandit's neck. From his place on the ground, he glanced at Roland engaged with three bandits.
One slipped past Roland and made it to Ethan. They're trying to get a hand on me. Why? The answer was simple. Oh, right... I'm a noble, they can just put a knife on my throat and demand shit...
Instead of giving the bandit the upper hand, Ethan took a breath. Once. Twice. Now or never, thinking so, he raised the knife and dove headfirst toward the approaching enemy. Caught by surprise, the bandit merely moved his free hand to counter attack. His fingers grasping the bandit's arm, he twisted it away, giving him room to go straight for the eye.
With a meaty sound, Ethan plunged the knife through the man's eyes. Blood spurted with a slick sound. The bandit wasn't fast enough to make a full reaction, as a sort of instinctive scream of terror got stuck halfway and died out. Then, as the feeling of having ended another life settled within him, Ethan retracted the dagger and stepped back. His back slamming against the carriage, he slid down and pressed a hand against his forehead. His cheek hurt. He smelled sweat and blood.
Fuck... Fuck... Breathe. This is... I can't... Breathe.
A chill ran down his spine and his heartbeat roared. He took a breath, adrenaline still surging through his veins. The sick feeling didn't leave his stomach, his entire body twitched as if electrocuted every once in a while, and his eyes started going hazy, unclear. Black spots in his field of vision. Sticky warmth all over. Hot metallic odor in his nostrils.
"Lord Theodore!" Roland's voice acted as a way for Ethan to reorient himself into reality. Roland looked ashen, not because he was tired but most likely because he'd let Ethan get into such a vulnerable position. Roland glanced at the corpse, then Ethan, then back at the corpse again, looking tense, lips tight and hands clutched into fists. "Are you alright, my lord?"
"Yes, of course," Ethan said as he studied the wound on his cheek. I need a healing skill. However, he noticed the visible distressed Roland was having and continued. "I'm fine. Don't worry. It's no big deal. For the moment, we need to clean up this mess."
Ethan could tell Roland was uncomfortable with the situation and Ethan's complete indifference, but the warrior dutifully obeyed his lord's commands. Ethan slumped onto his seat and looked through the notifications.
Your race, [Human], has leveled up — Lvl 0 -> Lvl 1!
Your class, [Mage], has level up — Lvl 0 -> Lvl 1!
[Unranked Mage] -> [Initiate]
[Elemental Spells] — Lvl 5 -> Lvl 6!
A [Quest] approaches!
Hmm, this is the second time I see the message 'A [Quest] approaches'... What is it? Why doesn't the system just give me the [Quest]? Are there conditions? Regardless, it seems that [Elemental Spells] just needed some use in battle instead of just plain old practice. Curious.
Ethan leaned back with a sigh. Now that his heartbeat wasn't drumming in his ear, the fear slowly ebbed away. All things considered, this turned out well, given the situation. However, now that he'd calmed somewhat, his eyes landed on the corpse right beside him, and that fresh scarlet blood seeping into the floorboards. The heavy coppery scent, the unmistakable smell of death. It all came crashing into him and he could no longer deny what he'd done. It had all gone so quickly.
No theatrics, the knife had just flown in, and the bandit had struggled, then stopped struggling.
Ethan stared at the corpses. With his hands on his lap, he gazed vacantly. For a single, stretched-out moment, the only thing he was aware of were the lifeless bodies right next to him, the sensation of having one less enemy standing in the way. One of the bandits had his jugular slashed. Another had a knife poking into his eyes. Ethan had killed them. Him. It was nauseatingly easy, taking another's life. It felt good. Ethan was disgusted at that thought, but damn did it feel good. I—I... I won. He wanted to grin, but he didn't.
Soon, the bandits were dealt with. Not a minute was wasted, and they cleaned up and got moving in a hurry, before Roland could throw the corpse inside the carriage out, Ethan stopped him.
He'd been staring at it, sitting there, silently. Bile would rise to the tip of his throat before he'd swallow it, a stone in his gut making his movements stiff. It felt unreal. When he took that step to make sure the bandit was dead, his eyes met with those of the corpse—with glassy black pupils that appeared frozen mid-realization that he was dying. Fearful, horrified eyes. Human eyes. Ethan stared into them, felt every fiber of his body clench, saw the smears of blood across the man's mouth where his desperate breaths had made him cough up, to live.
Ethan stared, not because he was a masochist or someone who derived pleasure from other people's misery. Rather, it was because he wanted this to never happen again. His reaction. It hadn't been optimal. He just knew he'd need to kill and spill blood if he was to survive, and thus, he needed to familiarize himself with the sight of death—death caused by his hands.
His thoughts were a little less orderly than he liked. That needed to change, fast. It would always be a burden, so he simply chose to stare, knowing he was staring down his weakness—at his fear.
After a solid five minutes, Ethan turned around. Roland's gaze met Ethan's. For a brief moment, the gaze was averted, the warrior showing clear guilt. Ethan placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Roland, don't blame yourself. I understand you must have felt cornered and unable to react. Just know I appreciate you. Don't beat yourself up for it. There have been no casualties on our side."
Roland bowed his head. Ethan smiled, though it was strained. Roland had been standing there for a while now but hadn't wanted to interrupt Ethan's self-reflection time, despite being tense himself. The guards had burned the corpses. Soon, the men Ethan killed were taken out, too. Then they left for the woods.
A guard who appeared to be a [Mage] that had a spell called [Cleanse] walked to the carriage, and placed his hands near the gore-splattered interior. In mere moments, a rune flickered into existence, then, mana got sucked out of the guard, seeping into the rune—soon, the blood and even the smells were swept clean and everything returned to being a neat and tidy.
The guard staggered a little before his comrades stabilized him. Must be quite demanding, Ethan noted, nodding appreciatively as the guard stepped out of the carriage. "That's quite the useful skill," Ethan said, examining the results.
Roland gave a silent nod, no doubt feeling pretty damn bad about his failure.
The guard, on the other hand, bowed with a smile, clearly appreciating Ethan's recognition. "It's a pleasure to be of service, my lord. This humble guard has had this skill ever since he became a mage."
Ethan made an impressed noise. "I see."
The guard beamed, then bowed even more before walking over to his fellow guards, who patted his backs at a job well done. Then, the horses pulled the carriage, and the carriage resumed moving. As soon as his back had settled into the cushion of the seat, an exhausting wave rolled over Ethan's body.
Before everything, however. I saw the rune. Ethan grinned a little, then willed mana into the shape of the rune.
It sputtered.
Ethan tried again, connecting different parts of the rune. One. Two. Three. Four. And as the rune sputtered again.
Throughout the journey to Deadwoods, Ethan kept at it.
He failed every time—
—and he didn't know why.
An immense headache assaulted him, and he had to stop his attempts.
-2-
The Deadwoods proved to be just what he'd expected. Dead. Charred branches and crumbling trees lay spread throughout. Roland looked around solemnly. Ethan was more interested in what kept this place the way it was. This land was, to put it simply, the most horrific location in the entire barony. It was a huge portion of a forest that appeared to be dead, thus why it had gotten the name Deadwoods.
Leaves crunched underneath Ethan's feet, and he studied his surroundings with morbid curiosity. The trees, branches and leaves were all dark in color as if something had scorched them. Many creatures lived here, animals like the usual game of deer, wolves, and foxes and sometimes there'd even been bears spotted. The dangerous thing, however, wasn't that the animals existed, it was that they were magical beasts. Mutants.
"Lord Theodore," Roland said, hand on his sword, eyes darting around in caution. "It is dangerous to be here—"
"Peh." Ethan waved his hand nonchalantly, much to Roland's shock at such an uncharacteristic behavior. "It will be worth it."
After all, I'm gonna have fun hunting monsters, leveling up, and finally, finally finding some goddamn tree ash.
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My young female syrian seems to be behaving differently after we moved to a new house a month ago.
She used to be very comfortable with eating while being handled or brought outside her enclosure. When I give her a treat, she eats immediately regardless of where she is. Now she would stuff it in her cheek and only eat after she's back in her enclosure. Additionally, before moving, she almost always runs up my arm right away when I put it in her enclosure to take her out. Now she doesn't seem interested at all and rarely goes on my hand unless I attract her with a treat.
At first, I thought that she might just be getting used to our new house, but it has been a month and she still hasn't returned to her pre-moving behaviours. Is it normal for her to take so long to adjust? What could've caused this change?
As comparison, when I brought her home for the first time, she adjusted pretty much straight away. By day two she was already comfortable with being held and eating on my hand.
For clarification: by moving, I mean that I moved to a different house, not my hamster getting a new enclosure. She has the same enclosure now as she had before we moved. The layout inside the enclosure wasn't changed either.
If anyone has some tips or answers, I'd be really grateful to hear them. Thanks so much! 🥺

"We're your mates." Mates? Six mates? How could it be?! "Wait a minute... you said all of you. That's not how mates work. Fated mates are two people, not an entire harem." I hissed as I shook my head. "This conversation is ridiculous because it's not real." Silence filled the space between us for several long seconds. "You really want us to leave?" My stomach twisted at his words. We just met, and yet he sounded devastated as he asked the question. I silently cursed myself for causing the change I heard. If I was a better person, I would say something else. "Yes." "Fine, we'll leave, but only on one condition. Buss each one of us. Then, if you feel nothing, we'll walk out of here without protest." ———————— I would die in this very spot, and no one would have a clue. Six hours... I'd been trapped under this pile of random things for six hours. My hips and back ached from how long I'd been stuck in this exact position. I'd tried everything I could think of, but the massive pile of unknown stuff never moved. Something heavy had landed on my back, keeping me pinned face down on scattered newspapers and the occasional book. How did I know there were books when I couldn't see them? Because of the sharp corners stabbing into me. If that level of depressing suckage wasn't enough, I had to pee. My bladder hurt... felt like it was about to burst. Because of course, the first time I decided to drink spirits, I'd end up faced and trapped under a pile of a hoarder's treasure. To relieve some of the pressure off my cheek, I dug my shoulder into the newspaper floor and tilted my head until my forehead pressed against the mess underneath me. The small amount of relief I felt from the change of position was enough to stop me from going insane. For now. Ding dong. "You've got to be shitting me." I grumbled into the ancient newspapers. Someone at the door wouldn't matter. I couldn't get off the floor... erm, pile of stuff that acted as a floor, to answer the door. Whoever was on the other side would eventually think someone wasn't home and leave. And so would my only chance at being rescued. "Ha." I couldn't stop the sarcastic laugh from escaping. Even if they did come in, whoever they were wouldn't want to sign up for this insanity. I didn't even want to deal with this nightmare my life had become. Thanks mom. Ding dong. Ding dong. Who rang the doorbell multiple times? Seriously, just go away and let me die. Sure, I would be in the hall of shame for dumb ways to go, but I'd already accepted my fate. Not only would I die in one of the most embarrassing ways in history, I'd go with the dullest life experiences. Why? Because I'd always done what I was supposed to do... every single expectation my parents had, I jumped at the chance to please them. I was an idiot. A boring, lame, not once destined to save the world, sheltered little girl that grew in an inexperienced woman. My life was pathetic. "Parker, are you okay?" The deep voice sent shivers through me. I imagined this unknown man growling in my ear. Then my senses came back to me. While I was on the verge of being crushed to death, someone had broken into my house. Great, just what I needed. Good luck mister robber. If you can find anything valuable, then you deserved it. The logical side of my brain caught up to current events. First thing, a robber wouldn't call out my name as he broke into my house. Second, I didn't know anyone with a voice so delicious... uh, I meant distinct. Yeah. Should I respond or hope they gave up and left? My mother would have insisted I remain silent. Her voice slid through my memory. "Men were a distraction to a woman's career." I rolled my eyes at the phrase she'd said throughout my childhood and even after I'd moved out on my own. If I was going to leave this world, it would be after doing something ridiculous. I'd call the man with the delicious voice over, then I could die from embarrassment. "I'm over here!" What I'd intended to be a shout came out more as a breathy moan. I barely had room to breathe. It seemed shouting was impossible. A burning hot pain shot through my neck as I tried to turn my head to see the footsteps that approached. Nope, that wasn't going to happen. My mysterious, silver tongued hero or burglar's looks would have to remain a mystery just a bit longer. "Over here!" Just like last time, his voice made me shudder. With a voice like that, the man had to be hot. I hoped he had a beard... and tattoos. Not only would it make my mother roll in her grave, I'd always loved looking at burly, tatted up, bearded guys. Add in hair that was long enough to pull and I couldn't think of a good reason to ever leave the house. The crushing weight finally lifted off me. I sucked in a deep breath, then immediately regretted it as I choked on the oxygen. My lungs seized as the rush of air shocked them. Hands grabbed my arms and shoulders, then the world tilted as they lifted me to my feet. I bent over and grabbed my knees as my equilibrium spun. Hands patted my back, helping me calm. Actually, there were more than two hands. I counted enough to equal three people. When I got my breathing under control, I dared follow the black boots that stood at the top of my vision. My gaze slid up, taking in black cargo pants that rode low on a pair of hips. Further up, a black tactical vest contained... bottles of cleaning solution. What the heck? The moment I went full vertical, my balance tilted again. I stepped back to catch myself. In front of me stood a massive man, the kind I had to look up to just to catch a view of his chin... his bearded chin. My fingers itched with the need to touch it. I didn't. It would be weird to stroke a hot stranger's beard. Wouldn't it? I shook my head. Of course it would be weird. I turned, taking in the four men and one woman standing all around me. The sound of newspapers sliding preceding my right foot slid out from underneath me. The giant of a man caught me before I fell on my hips in front of everyone. They all wore similar black tactical gear with cleaning supplies. Colorful bottles of solution, a duster, a roll of trash bags, and... was that a broom and a mop with shoulder straps? Who were these people? "Parker, are you okay?" The deliciously deep voice asked from behind me. After a few tries, I accepted the fact that I was speechless. My brain nudged at me, telling me I'd missed a crucial detail. Every brain cell misfired as I looked them over again. Correction, five of them wore black tactical gear. Every single one of them was drop dead gorgeous, and it made me feel out of place. One of the guys stood off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. I blinked. No, that couldn't be right. I blinked again, but the sight stayed the same. A man stood taller than those closest to him. Peeking over his crossed arms was a ruffled white fabric with black lace woven through it and tied in a bow. There was even a small scattering of chest hair sticking over the edge. The hem of the skirt ended well above his knee, revealing a tattoo that covered his entire right thigh. My gaze traveled up to his face. A plush black beard contrasted with the skimpy maid's outfit he wore. "I..." Words failed me again. I gestured to the man whose outfit didn't fit the others. He rolled his eyes as he tightened his grip on his arms. "They thought it would be funny to prank me. Did you know, not only did they buy this ridiculous outfit, they stole the rest of my clothes, so I'd have to wear this?" "Uh, no. I don't even know who all of you are." For whatever reason, it hadn't dawned on me that all these incredibly attractive people were standing in my house. Like inside, where they could take in the horror of what my mother left me to inherit. Mortification slammed into me. They'd seen the awful mess. "You all need to leave." "Parker?" The burly man's voice from behind me caught my attention. He waited until I turned around to continue. "You don't remember asking us to come here, do you?" Ice slid down my spine. I'd been pretty drunk last night, but since I'd never had spirits before and I'd decided to take shots of everything in my mother's 'social hour' cabinet, I wasn't even surprised I'd woken up with a hangover. "How much did you have to drink last night?" "Seeing how I'm awake now, apparently not enough. Who are you, and how do you know me?" The man bared his teeth at me, making a sound that I could only describe as a hiss. "Never again. From now on, if you need something, you ask us." I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. "Why would I ask you anything?" "Because we're your mates." Hard stop. Mates? A giddy feeling in my belly told me he didn't mean a friend. I held a finger up for him to give me a minute. A sharp pain slid through my abdomen, reminding me I had yet to relieve myself after my drunken night of mistakes. One of the other men spoke up. "I know it's a lot to take in, and you're probably really confused, but we are all your fated mates." I'd read enough werewolf romance novels to know what they meant, and they were dead wrong. Shifters weren't real. "Yeah mate, tell us what you need, and we'll get it for you." "I need to pee." And with that, I stomped out to the nearest bathroom and locked myself inside. Why wouldn't the ground open and swallow me whole? I sat on the bathroom floor with my back propped against the wall and hugged my legs to my chest as I rested my forehead on my knees. Not only had people witnessed the horror I lived in, but they had to be the hottest people in the world. Even the woman had made me look twice and left me shoving a deeper desire I refuse to even consider right now. Knock, knock. "Parker?" It was the giant of a man's voice. Why couldn't they leave so I could be alone? "Go away." I heard sounds on the other side of the door that sounded like he'd sat on the floor. "Come out and talk to us." I pressed my forehead against my knee harder, trying to ignore the giant bearded intercourse god. "Or, just talk to me. We're worried about you." My chest seized as I forced myself to take a deep breath. Irrational anger surged inside of me. Why didn't they understand I didn't want them here? "You don't even know me." The sound of his deep chuckle sent a warm wave of desire through me. Stupid hormones. "Twenty-four hours ago, I would have agreed with you. After last night, I feel like I know you on a level most others never will." What did I do last night? I still couldn't remember what I'd done. I swore to myself I'd never drink again. "It was all lies." "Why are you trying to push us away? What would be so wrong with letting someone in to help for once?" Memories of my parents’ fighting came back to me. It was my tenth birthday. When my dad found out my mom bought a cake for my birthday, he'd attacked her. Everything was a blur until he'd pinned her against the wall. She held a knife to his crotch and threatened him. He'd left and never returned that day. My mind shut down, preventing me from thinking about it any longer. "Because I can't afford to pay you and no one does anything out of the kindness of their heart." I couldn't keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice as I said it. "Parker, you're missing a vital part of this dynamic." Silently, I chanted over and over for him to not use the word mates again. It couldn't be real. Paranormal romance novels weren't real... neither were shifters nor the perfect person walking into my life and devoting themselves to me. That was a fairytale, not reality. "Mates. Just to see a smile cross your lips, I'd clean this entire property. Throw in the others, and we'd do anything to see you happy." He tapped something on the door. "I can scent your annoyance through the door." "Wait a minute... you said all of you. That's not how mates work. Fated mates are two people, not an entire harem." I hissed as I shook my head. "This conversation is ridiculous because it's not real." Silence filled the space between us for several long seconds. "You really want us to leave?" My stomach twisted at his words. We just met, and yet he sounded devastated as he asked the question. I silently cursed myself for causing the change I heard. If I was a better person, I would say something else. "Yes." "Fine, we'll leave, but only on one condition. Buss each one of us. Then, if you feel nothing, we'll walk out of here without protest." I banged my head on my knee. That wouldn't work. They weren't even in the room with me and I already felt things. No way could I buss even one of them without having a reaction. "No." "Is that because you already know what I'm saying is true, or are you just being stubborn?" Before I could think about why he had said it, I jumped up and threw the door open to glare at him. "Are you always a jerk?" The confidence disappeared as I looked up into his eyes. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled it closed behind me, pushing me against him in the process. His gaze locked on mine as he lowered his head until we were almost bussing. "Never, but I'm not above riling you up to help give you the boost you need to confront a situation with confidence." Now that he was so close, I couldn't remember why I'd locked myself in the bathroom. Everything around us disappeared except the door his hard body pressed me against. His free hand caressed my cheek. "Can you genuinely tell me you don't feel the bond trying to form between us?" I clamped my jaw closed. If I didn't admit it out loud, then it wasn't real, but he was right. I could feel a... connection to him and the others. It didn't make sense, and I might not want it, but was most definitely there. His lips brushed against mine ever so slightly, sending a wave of fire through me. I gripped the straps of his black tactical vest to pull him closer, but he didn't budge. He chuckled as he moved from my lips to my ear. "Mate, if I buss you, I won't stop until you're mine. It might not be today or tomorrow, but I will claim you and make you mine." "And if I say we're not mates?" "Your mouth might lie, but your body and soul can't." I heard him inhale deep at my neck. "I can smell your need to claim me. It fills my senses until it's all I can think about. I've just found you and already you've consumed my entire world." It was bizarre, but I completely understood what he meant. Somewhere deep down inside of me, the idea of kicking out even one of them left me feeling raw. Six mates... and one of them was a woman. I'd known I was attracted to both genders from a young age, but I'd always locked that part of me away. My mom flipped at the idea of me dating a single man. I couldn't even fathom how hard she was rolling over in her grave at having six lovers. It was so much to process. "Come on, let's go back to the others." His voice pulled me back to reality. "Not yet." Suddenly, I didn't want to move. When I felt his body pull back, I gripped his vest tighter. My gut twisted as I decided to throw a lifetime of caution out the window. "buss me." He growled deep in his chest as his hands slid down my sides until he cupped my hips. A squeal of surprise escaped me as he lifted me up, then held me against his chest as he pressed me against the door. "You're mine... ours." Then his buss consumed me, mind, body, and soul. It felt as if our life forces bonded together. The mere thought of letting go of this man became too much. It was in that moment I realized I'd screwed up. I'd never be able to give him up, or the others, without ripping my own heart from my chest. I regretted so much in my life. What was one more? I sank my hands into his hair, gripping it at the roots, and tilted his head back. Our buss broke. A smug satisfaction slid through me when I realized he was breathing as hard as I was, but I wasn't done throwing out stupid rules my mother had forced on me. I pulled his head until I'd exposed his neck. The edge of a tribal tattoo peeked out under his shirt. I trailed the tip of my tongue along the dark lines, then bussed a trail along his neck. He moved until only one hand cupped my hips. His other hand caressed the back of my neck, urging me to do whatever I wanted to him. I tightened my legs around his waist, lifting myself higher as my busses moved along the edge of his beard. "That is hot." Another man's voice made it through my lusty fog. "Yeah, can't wait until it's my turn." Someone else said. I pulled back and realized my five other mates were watching us make out. All of them had a hunger in their eyes I'd never seen before...

I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.

Cawthon, Scott. The Bobbiedots Conclusion: An AFK Book (Five Nights at Freddy’s: Tales from the Pizzaplex #5). Scholastic Inc, 2023. 

Hey guys, sorry it's been a few days! I'm finishing up clearing from the Army and moving in with Matt simultaneously so life has been hectic to say the least.
A little more background on us for those that are wondering, he and I have been dating for over a year now at this point, so we have a lot of material I could share. We have grown together sexually over our time together, so obviously the stories will get hotter as we go. I've thought about skipping ahead to a few things, but have decided to just keep going sequentially unless I get a totally negative response.
In this chapter, we find ourselves a few weeks into our relationship, and beginning to branch out in our love of fun in public-ish places. This time...the beach(; I hope you all enjoy! Avery♡
Matt and I had just wrapped up a busy week at work...I was kinda frustrated that he was commenting on how I'm so tired in the evenings and I'm kinda just like "well no shit sir, you had us out working on trucks all day". Not to be mean but when you're my platoon leader, you know why I'm too tired for sex every night. But I digress. He made up for it.
Saturday rolls around, and after letting me sleep in probably a little too late, Matt gently wakes me up with soft kisses and a little bit of tickles from his weekend scruff from where he dosen't have to shave on weekends (totally cute in my opinion). He wakes me up and asks me if I'd like to go relax at the beach. Duh. Its summer, I'm stressed, I have a muscular boyfriend and at a beach I've got an excuse to oogle him all I want. Yes I'm in, let me get dressed.
It dawns on me that hey, I've got no suit here (his house not my barracks room), so I throw on some jean shorts and a sports bra and decide I'm just gonna have to grab a suit at one of the shore shacks when we get there.
Matt drives us to the beach and I tease him the whole way there, lightly running my finger tips along his thigh to see if I can get a reaction. He tries to play it cool, but the bulge in his trunks gives him away. Yeah, I know you like this teasing Matt(;
We roll up to one of the surf shops and i decide to go for the summer's latest trends, "one piece revival". I go with a bright orange, reasonably modest suit that rides up fairly high in the leg opening, accentuating the V where my thighs come together, highlighting in bright orange my barely covered self, scoops low enough in the armpit to give a little tasteful sideboob without screaming "slut", and has just enough of a smaller cut in the butt to show off some cheek without being a thong. I think it's hot. Matt's stunned face and tightening trunks seem to agree.
We spend the entire afternoon alternating between lounging in the sun, playing in the water, boogie boarding, and all around just having fun in a completely nonsexual manner. With the exception of the fact that he looks like a fucking sex god that I just need (and can't believe I'm dating).
As the sun starts to set, a band starts to play on the boardwalk, with a crowd gathering around to watch. I get an idea to use the opportunity, while everyone is focused on the band to slip away into the waves with Matt to try to be a little more adventurous.
The music grows more up beat as the sun goes fully down and I'm dancing on Matt about knee deep in the water, splashing around as I grind my butt against him to the beat, and bend forward to shake my firm little butt at him, giving him quite the view of everything this suit barely covers.
As I back Matt into deeper water, and press my butt against his crotch, his hands are running all over my body, turning me on. He squeezes my B cup breasts sand pulls me back close to him. I turn back and my lips find his as his hands rove lower, teasing me through the front of my suit.
At this point I'm wetter than the ocean. Is making me and I want more. I take his hand and slide it into the thigh hole of my suit and guide him into my slit. He begins to tease my clit as I reach back and stroke his hardening cock as the tempo of the party on the beach grows into a greater frenzy.
With his fingers now teasing their way inside me, and my head leaned back against his chest moaning slightly, I ask him if he'd have the courage to just do me right here and now if I let him. He responds by pushing his two fingers all the way inside me up to the knuckle and I beg for him to give me more.
He spins me around and pulls me into his arms. I wrap my legs around him as he walks us to deeper water so that just our head and shoulders are out of the water. I feel him reaching between my legs to push my suit to the side and he lowers me slight until the tip of his cock is pressed against my entrance.
I feel myself start to relax against his pressure as he kisses me, and my vagina welcomes him tightly in as I lower myself down his shaft, allowing him to fill me completely. He takes one of my buttcheeks in each of his hands and spreads me wide as he begins to rock me up and down his shaft. My suit digs into my butt and soon my cheeky onepiece has collected itself so that its stretched taught, barely covering my butthole.
I bury my face in his neck, kissing him and hopefully leaving my mark as he picks up speed, bouncing me up and down his cock to the beat of the music in an ever more enthusiastic pace. Hi thumb reaches between my legs and begins to circle my clit as my orgasm builds and I begin to clamp down on the rock hard cock, buried deep inside me, and I beg him to cum for me.
With his muscular arms that I love so much, he lifts me nearly off his shaft and then forces me all the way down to bottoming out in one massive thrust as I feel him explode inside me. He keeps himself all the way inside me, pressed almost to my cervix as I feel spurt after spurt erupting in me as he kisses me, and to the casual onlooker, it appears that we're just two lovers making out in the waves.
Beneath the surface, I lift off of him and he helps me adjust my suit to some semblance of modesty. I feel him start to leak of of me and down the inside of my leg. I don't even care as we get back to our stuff, and head back to the car in the dark. Public sex? Another first checked off the list.
Thank you again for all the feedback recently! I promise I won't make you wait as long for an update this time(: I love all the interaction with readers so keep the critiques coming! ♡Avery

Bit of a longer into, skip down 2 paragraphs if you want to jump straight to the story
First of all, thanks for all of the (mostly) positive feedback on my first story, you guys are the best!
A little more description on me, for my reviewers who requested to know more. I'm Avery, 5'4, have slightly bushy brown hair down to the middle of my back. I'm on the olive completion side (my mom is Greek). As I said before, ittybittytittiecommittee, B cup breasts and a firm butt that I tone with a lot of cycling in my spare time. And yes, i shave everywhere(;
Two days after my incredible first experience with my Platoon Leader, my 6'1, muscular hunk that we'll call Matt, things had been awkward. I couldn't help but hope that things would progress further, but at the same time, I was aware of the complications of continuing any relationship with him. At work, we continued as normal, he's my boss' boss, and I go back to my daily job as a truck driver (88M life). In the evenings, it's been another story. He's been texting me and I've been longing for more but super hesitant to go for anything, but my god, I want more of him.
After 2 days, its Friday night and he asks me over for dinner again. "Just dinner", and nothing else so we can hang out and figure things out. I get dressed, wearing a cute little floral romper that is practical yet fashionable, and hoping to avoid a repeat of having to borrow clothes again, I pack an overnight bag, just in case.
Matt welcomes me to his house, meeting me on the front porch just like last time, ever the gentleman. Butterflies right from the get go. Thanks Matt.
When I walk inside, I see that he's prepared a chicken alfredo with broccoli. Can't say I'm not impressed, this man must have really been listening when I told him about my favorite comfort foods while we were in the field!
Over dinner, we make it through small talk and he finally asks the elephant in the room, "what are we doing?" I stutter out some mumbled stuff about me messing with his career as I'm in my last few months, getting ready to get out, and how this probably isn't a good idea and then I flip the question on him, trying to stop myself from rambling my way into killing any chance I have with him. His response melts my heart, "I'm trying to convince a beautiful woman to take a chance on me these next few months until I can come out and tell the world, that's my girlfriend"
Did he just ask me to be his girlfriend??? Was not prepared for that one. My mind is spinning with every conceivable way this won't work and yet there he is, with a reassuring look in his smile that he's going to find a way. He leans across the table, takes my and and kisses it, before asking me to be his girlfriend.
I quickly sputter out something along the lines of a yes before he leans across the table, kisses my lips as he holds my cheek in his hand and I confirm my yes with a firm reply from my lips to his. We part after a few moments and he just sits there smiling at me like a goofball and i fall for him. G.I. Joe has a softer side. Its perfect.
After we finish eating he asks if he can give me a present as he is now my boyfriend. I oblige him of course and he leads me upstairs to his bedroom, where I find the room well lit with candles and smelling of violet. On the bed is a note that says "one free massage"
I see that he's definitely put a lot of planning into this whole asking me out thing, and I'm once again blown away by the man. I ask him what I should wear for my massage, and he replies with "panties only"
I smile slyly at him as I unbutton my romper and let it slide off my shoulders, across my braless chest, and down to the floor, leaving me in just a pale purple thong. I proudly record the look on his face as I can tell that he likes what he sees. I lay face down on the bed and I feel cool lotion being planted down my spine, causing a rush of sensation as he straddles me to rub my back.
He massages my shoulders, paying close attention to the knots he finds along the way, before working his way lower, to the tight muscles right at the base of my spine. His hands feel incredible as they firmly trace their way across my bare skin and I can feel from his "growth" as he straddles me, that I'm not the only one at least slightly turned on by his touch.
He works his way lower, massaging my firm butt cheeks and the backs of my thighs before I feel a finger brush between my legs, over the thin strip of now damp fabric that has buried itself between my cheeks. He knows what he's doing, he can feel my arousal, and it's not long before he's massaging my butt while slipping a finger under my thong to tease at my vagina.
After another minute or two, he rolls me over and kisses his way down my body to my thong, taking it in his teeth and pulling it down my legs before tossing it to the nightstand. He spreads my legs slightly and brings his head between them, lightly kissing the crease where my legs and pelvis meet, right along my bikini line. So close to where I want him and yet so far.
I take my hands and run them through his hair, guiding his head to taste me. He runs the tip of his tongue between the lips of my vagina and settles on my clit, making small quick circles on my swollen nub as i gasp and moan. He continues as i hold his head there, my hands gripping his hair and begging him not to stop. He inserts one and then a second finger inside me which only adds to the pleasure building from his tongue on my clit.
After a few minutes i can't take anymore, my center entering sensory overload, begging for a orgasm to break, but not quite going over the edge. I pull his face to mine and kiss him deeply, grasping his butt and pulling him inside me as his weight presses down on me. I taste myself on his lips and it is purely erotic.
He thrusts deep inside me as I wrap my legs around him, not letting go. He picks up speed and I beg him not to stop as my orgasm finally breaks and my inner walls grip tight against his shaft.
I feel him swelling even larger and I know he's nearing his own orgasm quickly after so much time devoted to foreplay. I ask him where he wants to cum, knowing that anywhere is acceptable to me. He says he doesn't want to break apart so I grasp his hips, urging him deeper as he finds his release deep inside me.
I am utterly spent and overwhelmed by my Matthew and his performance. He rolls off of me and lays next to me on his side, his head cradled against my shoulder. I feel him leaking out of me as he softly kisses my lips again and again until sleep overcomes us.
In the morning, I finally go back out to the car to grab my overnight bag, and get ready to go on an actual date that he has planned for us. The thong from the night before stay on his nightstand, something to keep as a souvenir (;
More details about our date and more in the next story. Thank you for all the feedback! For those of you wondering, I'm about to start my ETS leave, Matt and I are still dating, and these are true stories about how we've both broadened our horizons as a couple, both sexually, and in terms of growth as a couple. Feel free to message with more feedback, or drop something in the comments! ♡Avery

Bit of a longer into, skip down 2 paragraphs if you want to jump straight to the story
First of all, thanks for all of the (mostly) positive feedback on my first story, you guys are the best!
A little more description on me, for my reviewers who requested to know more. I'm Avery, 5'4, have slightly bushy brown hair down to the middle of my back. I'm on the olive completion side (my mom is Greek). As I said before, ittybittytittiecommittee, B cup breasts and a firm butt that I tone with a lot of cycling in my spare time. And yes, i shave everywhere(;
Two days after my incredible first experience with my Platoon Leader, my 6'1, muscular hunk that we'll call Matt, things had been awkward. I couldn't help but hope that things would progress further, but at the same time, I was aware of the complications of continuing any relationship with him. At work, we continued as normal, he's my boss' boss, and I go back to my daily job as a truck driver (88M life). In the evenings, it's been another story. He's been texting me and I've been longing for more but super hesitant to go for anything, but my god, I want more of him.
After 2 days, its Friday night and he asks me over for dinner again. "Just dinner", and nothing else so we can hang out and figure things out. I get dressed, wearing a cute little floral romper that is practical yet fashionable, and hoping to avoid a repeat of having to borrow clothes again, I pack an overnight bag, just in case.
Matt welcomes me to his house, meeting me on the front porch just like last time, ever the gentleman. Butterflies right from the get go. Thanks Matt.
When I walk inside, I see that he's prepared a chicken alfredo with broccoli. Can't say I'm not impressed, this man must have really been listening when I told him about my favorite comfort foods while we were in the field!
Over dinner, we make it through small talk and he finally asks the elephant in the room, "what are we doing?" I stutter out some mumbled stuff about me messing with his career as I'm in my last few months, getting ready to get out, and how this probably isn't a good idea and then I flip the question on him, trying to stop myself from rambling my way into killing any chance I have with him. His response melts my heart, "I'm trying to convince a beautiful woman to take a chance on me these next few months until I can come out and tell the world, that's my girlfriend"
Did he just ask me to be his girlfriend??? Was not prepared for that one. My mind is spinning with every conceivable way this won't work and yet there he is, with a reassuring look in his smile that he's going to find a way. He leans across the table, takes my and and kisses it, before asking me to be his girlfriend.
I quickly sputter out something along the lines of a yes before he leans across the table, kisses my lips as he holds my cheek in his hand and I confirm my yes with a firm reply from my lips to his. We part after a few moments and he just sits there smiling at me like a goofball and i fall for him. G.I. Joe has a softer side. Its perfect.
After we finish eating he asks if he can give me a present as he is now my boyfriend. I oblige him of course and he leads me upstairs to his bedroom, where I find the room well lit with candles and smelling of violet. On the bed is a note that says "one free massage"
I see that he's definitely put a lot of planning into this whole asking me out thing, and I'm once again blown away by the man. I ask him what I should wear for my massage, and he replies with "panties only"
I smile slyly at him as I unbutton my romper and let it slide off my shoulders, across my braless chest, and down to the floor, leaving me in just a pale purple thong. I proudly record the look on his face as I can tell that he likes what he sees. I lay face down on the bed and I feel cool lotion being planted down my spine, causing a rush of sensation as he straddles me to rub my back.
He massages my shoulders, paying close attention to the knots he finds along the way, before working his way lower, to the tight muscles right at the base of my spine. His hands feel incredible as they firmly trace their way across my bare skin and I can feel from his "growth" as he straddles me, that I'm not the only one at least slightly turned on by his touch.
He works his way lower, massaging my firm butt cheeks and the backs of my thighs before I feel a finger brush between my legs, over the thin strip of now damp fabric that has buried itself between my cheeks. He knows what he's doing, he can feel my arousal, and it's not long before he's massaging my butt while slipping a finger under my thong to tease at my vagina.
After another minute or two, he rolls me over and kisses his way down my body to my thong, taking it in his teeth and pulling it down my legs before tossing it to the nightstand. He spreads my legs slightly and brings his head between them, lightly kissing the crease where my legs and pelvis meet, right along my bikini line. So close to where I want him and yet so far.
I take my hands and run them through his hair, guiding his head to taste me. He runs the tip of his tongue between the lips of my vagina and settles on my clit, making small quick circles on my swollen nub as i gasp and moan. He continues as i hold his head there, my hands gripping his hair and begging him not to stop. He inserts one and then a second finger inside me which only adds to the pleasure building from his tongue on my clit.
After a few minutes i can't take anymore, my center entering sensory overload, begging for a orgasm to break, but not quite going over the edge. I pull his face to mine and kiss him deeply, grasping his butt and pulling him inside me as his weight presses down on me. I taste myself on his lips and it is purely erotic.
He thrusts deep inside me as I wrap my legs around him, not letting go. He picks up speed and I beg him not to stop as my orgasm finally breaks and my inner walls grip tight against his shaft.
I feel him swelling even larger and I know he's nearing his own orgasm quickly after so much time devoted to foreplay. I ask him where he wants to cum, knowing that anywhere is acceptable to me. He says he doesn't want to break apart so I grasp his hips, urging him deeper as he finds his release deep inside me.
I am utterly spent and overwhelmed by my Matthew and his performance. He rolls off of me and lays next to me on his side, his head cradled against my shoulder. I feel him leaking out of me as he softly kisses my lips again and again until sleep overcomes us.
In the morning, I finally go back out to the car to grab my overnight bag, and get ready to go on an actual date that he has planned for us. The thong from the night before stays on his nightstand, something to keep as a souvenir (;
More details about our date and more in the next story. Thank you for all the feedback! For those of you wondering, I'm about to start my ETS leave, Matt and I are still dating, and these are true stories about how we've both broadened our horizons as a couple, both sexually, and in terms of growth as a couple. Feel free to message with more feedback, or drop something in the comments! ♡Avery

First, a little about me. I'm 5'5ish, 135ish depending on the day, and have dark brown hair that falls part way down my back with brown eyes. My mom is a Crow (Native American) and my dad is Italian so the olive complexion genes are active in my family. I've got a fairly petite/athletic build with a 32B chest and a toned butt. My nipples are dark brown, on the smaller side, and I shave everywhere. I'm a fan of tattoos and have a feather on my foot, flower pieces on my right hip into my lower ribs, left shoulder, and lower back, a small script piece in my left side bra line, a green carebear in my left bikini line and a large dream catcher down my left ribs. If there's a detail I've left out, feel free to ask ;)
What a week. 18 year old me had gone from a dry spell since AIT and graduation to a blow job, facial, and quick hard sex with a married captain at my first duty station. I was falling fast and hard for him. I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to think of me when he thought of being intimate. I wanted to be his release to do everything she wouldn't.
Dustin snapped me this morning, a pic of his obvious buldge greeting my day. "How's my little Private this morning? I wish you were here to help with this"....You have no idea Dustin. Now that the bandaid has been ripped off, I want nothing more than to keep going. I send him a snap back of my semi sheer, black athletic thong, holding it open in the front with the caption "you could drop your load right in here sir". Naughty I know. For some reason, the thought of him filling my underwear with cum is erotic and in the moment, I crave the feel of his warmth between my legs.
"Come by the house on your lunch break and you can have it" I get in reply. Fuck.
I get dressed in my camo uniform with a generic sports bra and the same black athletic thong underneath and try make it through the morning as routinely as possible. Not possible. All I can think of is what I'm willing to do for the married man I'm lusting for and it's got my mind anywhere but at work.
Dustin let's me know he left early for lunch so he's ready whenever I am. The whole drive over, my mind is racing at the prospect of what's about to happen. I knock and find the door open, with Dustin on the couch, laptop open to some semi sexy photos I'd sent to tease him over the last week while he strokes his firm shaft. "Private Hannah reporting as ordered sir" I say as sexily as I can muster in the spur of the moment.
"Private Hannah, you said you'd found a place to hold my cum" completely keeping character.
"Yes sir" I say, stepping around to stand in front of him, undoing my belt and the buttons on my pants, letting them drop to the floor around my ankles.
"Open up then, I'm already close since you decided to be late"
I hold open the front of my black athletic thong, exposing my shaved pubic area for his inspection.
"At least you remembered to shave to start the week" he says and he builds the pace of his stroking and touches the tip of his penis against my smooth skin. In moments I see him start to swell as he nears his release. A thick rope of white cum erupts from his tip and is followed by a second, third, and fourth. My underwear is filled with his thick, warm release and soon its soaked, mixing with my own minor arousal that has built at the situation. As he finishes, I let go of my waistband and allow my cum soaked thong to cling to my lower lips, teasing me with what could have been.
I pull my pants back up and stand breathless in front of eachother. It's been less than 10 minutes since I walked through the door, we've barely spoken and now his cum is dripping down my inner thigh. What has happened? I feel like an incredibly erotic play thing that's been used for a passing moment of pleasure and right then, I know I'm hooked.
"Hannah, I'm sorry if that was too much" Dustin says, coming to the realization that I'm now back in uniform with his cum filling my panties.
I kiss him square on the lips. "Shhhh babe. I wanted this. I want all of you"
"So you really liked that?"
"Dustin that has got to be one of the hottest things I've ever tried. I'm not changing for work"
I sit on his couch in a pool of his release while we chat for the remainder of our lunch hour. When it's time to go, I feel a glob of him drip down my leg. "Can I come spend the night tonight?" I ask, hoping to get my own release after work.
"Sure hun, I just have a few calls to make but it's okay"
I head back to work with a kiss goodbye and the rest of the day I can feel the stickiness between my legs and it keeps me on edge. I run back to my barracks room, take a fast shower, grab a change of clothes for tomorrow, and something special for tonight. I throw on some gym shorts and a hoodie over my sports bra. Coupled with my slides and I'm back across post and find a note on the door "on a call, be quite when you come in"
I come in and quietly shut the door and make my way past Dustin in the livingroom, obviously on a video chat with someone with the screen facing the wall to the garage. I hear a woman's voice say "oh man those walls are paper thin, I think I just heard the neighbors kids come home from school"
Oh shit, he's on with his wife I realize as I tiptoe my way to the master bedroom where I change into my suprise. Naked in his bedroom, I slip into a teal, sheer lace bra with enough underwire support to give me a little cleavage. I pull on a matching set of panties with an intricate sheer lace front and a single thin string between my cheeks in the back. I fold up my sticky cum soaked thong from earlier and walk back into the livingroom.
Dustin does a double take as I come around the corner. He covers this with a coughing fit as his wife asks if he's okay. "Yeah hun just had an itch in my throat" and they continue chatting, her oblivious to the fact that I've just sat down across from him.
I look him square in the eyes as I begin to tease my dark brown nipples through my sheer lace bra. As he tries to hold a conversation, I do everything I can to lightly tease him. I pinch and massage my breasts, softly run a finger between my legs on top of my lacy bottoms. I stand up and start to stretch, bending forward to let my small breasts hang just out of sight of his camera before turning around and bending forward, reaching back to spread my bum and letting the g-string bury itself between my cheeks, barely keeping my other tight hole from view.
I turn back around and unfold the sticky thong he came in earlier and hold it up for him to see the stain his release left on them, right between the legs. I pull my teal lace thong down in the front, and standing right behind his computer, I begin to lightly tease myself with the soft fabric of the back athletic thong, gently massaging my clit, resoaking the nearly dry panties with another round of sexual arousal.
As my arousal grows, I gradually push into my slick entrance and with one finger and then another, the soft athletic fabric of my underwear once again getting soaked as I rub my clit with them, teasing myself with the over stimulating feel against my raw bundle of nerves. I squat down, my face now right behind the computer screen as I squeeze my breast and open my mouth in a silent moan, performing for the man who can't respond.
All of a sudden I stop, ending my tease at the edge of release, not wanting to slip and give away what's going on...and to tease Dustin further. I stand up, place the arousal and cum soaked black thong on the table right behind his laptop and I walk to the kitchen and begin working on dinner with whatever ingredients I can scrounge up in the kitchen. It's such a turn on to do such a normal task in such a small set of lingerie and I secretly hope that Dustin is sneaking peeks at me from across the house.
At long last I feel warm, strong hands wrap around my waist and a kiss finds my cheek. "How's my baby girl, you little tease?"
I blush at the pet name the gentle touch. "I'm almost done, go sit down you silly boy" I say as I start to plate our dinner of chicken and grilled veggies, sauntering into the dining room like a server at one of those lingerie sports bars.
"So you sure know how to put on a show, Hannah" Dustin says as we begin to eat
"I can be anything you want me to be" I say as I begin a speech I'd thought through in my head, telling Dustin that I don't want casual, I want to be the girl he craves, the one who does the things that no one else does, who let's him try the things he's only imagined I'm his wildest sessions alone with himself.
"What do you get out of all of this?" He asks, questioning this step towards commitment.
"I get to explore myself and act out my cravings without having to deal with all the rumors of barracks and searching for guys to feel safe with. I don't want to be your wife. I just want you to forget her when your with me, and I want you to think of me when you choose how to play"
"Well if you're going to explore, we're going to have to push you out of your comfort zone and actually find new places and things to try"
My heart is racing as fantasies flood through my mind. "What do you have in mind?"
"Just play along with different roles and we'll see what happens baby girl"
Baby girl....is this role number one? Does Dustin think that with our 8 year age gap and my petite frame that we could play out what I think he wants to play? I did just tell him that I want to be the one he thinks of.
"Yes daddy"
"Good Girl"
I. Am. Wet.
"So what did you have in mind for dessert baby girl?"
I stand up, clean up, take Dustin by the hand. "These can end up on the floor too" i say motioning to my sheer lingerie.
"Not yet" he replies, guiding me back to the bedroom.
I find myself once again on Dustin's bed, this time guided into the center, onto my hands and knees. With gentle pressure between my shoulder blades, I drop to my elbows, arching my back and exposing my entrances to open view, my modesty preserved only by the thin g-string buried between my cheeks.
Dustin pulls that to the side, bringing my arousal fully into view. I shudder as a soft, wet tongue traces it's way teasingly between my parted lips, beginning at the bundle of nerves aching in my core and ending in the tight wet hole that's been longing to be filled since I started my teasing back at lunch. I moan a soft sigh of want as Dustin licks me again and again, using his thumbs to spread me open before teasing the inner entrance of my now soaked vagina with his oral stimulation.
After a few breathless minutes of almost over the edge teasing with his tongue, Dustin traces his tongue higher. My eyes go wide and my breath catches in my throat as his tongue glides across my other hole. After a brief pause, he repeats his elongated trail of tongue teasing a second and third time, ending on my bum every time.
I moan "Don't stop, daddy" as his tongue lingers on my hole, swirling around my rear entrance as his calloused fingers reach between my legs to tease my clit. I am so close as his tongue makes headway into my hole which is opening up for him at his constant stimulation.
"I'm going to fill you up baby girl" Dustin leans down and whispers in my ear, his tongue momentarily replaced by his thumb pressing further into my bum, slick with his saliva.
"Please daddy" I moan in reply, eager to keep my promise to do everything his wife won't do.
Dustin pulls away completely and reaches into his wife's nightstand. I see him pull out a bottle of lube and a silver plug with a red jeweled heart on the end, still in its packaging, unopened, unplayed with. I know what's coming and why we're playing this out right now.
Dustin removes the plug from its package and holds it tip first up to my lips. I know what he wants without saying a word. I stick out my tongue and lightly tease the cold metal tip, softly swirling circles around it, further and further down until I bob my head down, taking the whole plug in my mouth and closing my lips around the base. I look up at Dustin, the jeweled heart of the plug between my lips and softly moan in anticipation.
He pulls it out of my mouth and I seductively tease the tip one last time. "Wanna stick it in my ass daddy?" I beg as sexily as possible. After a few seconds of fumbling around with the lube bottle, I feel the cold liquid land on my hole, followed by a finger gently probing my already relaxed entrance. A moment later, the finger is replaced by the cold lubed plug and my breath catches in my throat as I stretch around the plug before closing down tightly on the base. Dustin moves my g-string back into place, covering my soaking wet lips and holding the plug firmly in my butt.
I look back at him pleadingly. I know I teased you hard earlier but if you stop now, this is just cruel. "Daddy please" I say breathlessly, not wanting the stimulation to stop while also acutely aware of the fullness inside my rear.
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me daddy"
"You have two options Hannah. You teased me, so this is a tease for you. You can go to bed, right now, right like this, or you can get your punishment and then a reward like a good girl. Bed or a spanking, your choice"
"Spank me Daddy" I beg without a moment's hesitation
smack the sharp crack of Dustin's hand on my bare cheek takes me by suprise and I clench hard on the plug inside my bum. "Oh fuck daddy" I moan in a mix of pain and pleasure. smack smack smack come three more successive blows, landing on alternating cheeks. I moan almost tearfully as my arousal builds to the point that I'm literally ready to beg for release.
"Daddy please fuck me. Do whatever you want just let me cum please"
A firm tug pulls my g-string down to my knees, still on all fours with my face in the pillows. A hard shaft rubs between my lower lips, finds my eager entrance, and in one firm thrust is buried all the way inside me. I cry out, looking back over my shoulder at Dustin who looks like a man possessed with the overwhelming urge to use me for his pleasure, and in that moment, it's all I want as well.
His firm hands grip my hips and I arch my back, throwing myself back against him to meet his own rapid thrusts. My cheeks clap a faster and faster pace as the overwhelming feeling of being completely filled mixes with the intense pleasure of the moment. I'm red faced and breathless, moaning Dustin's name as he continues in an unrelenting pace, thrusting in and out, in and out. At one point he pulls my face out of the pillows, gripping my long dark hair by my ponytail and commands "You're gonna be a good girl and cum for daddy"
He releases my hair but I remain facing forward, head up and moaning through the moment "Yes daddy, oh my fuuuuuuuuuckkkk" comes from my innocent lips as he simultaneously pulls out the buttplug and buries himself all the way inside me as I can feel him swell and begin to release against my cervix.
"That's right daddy, cum inside my pussy" I beg as he thrusts again and again as my inner walls clench down and my own release spills out of me, uncontained as I find one of the strongest orgasms of my life. His thrusts slow and eventually he pulls out, leaving me leaking cum and lube from both my holes.
He returns with a warm towel and begins to clean me off as I sit up, still in my sheer bra, and kiss him firmly on the lips. "That was incredible, daddy" I whisper, my forehead resting against his as he finishes cleaning my sensitive areas.
"Would you like to rinse off?"
I reply yes and he runs us a sensual warm shower, where nothing but gentle washing and a few lingering kisses happens. He's patient as I take extra time under the soothing water and wraps me in a soft towel when I get out.
As we get dressed into comfy pajama shorts and tshirts, I ask "so was I a good girl, daddy?"
"The best. I think we should stick with this role for awhile if you're into it"
After the time I had tonight, I'm more than willing to play along. We discuss some likes and dislikes and limits (nothing that leaves a mark where I'll have to answer questions about it at work), and reagree that none of this is a thing on the few occasions that his wife visits during her internship. And duh, no telling work, that would fuck us both.
We end the night with gentle pillow talk, and he asks if,for the role, I'd be willing to let him help me get dressed in the mornings, helping me pick out bras and undies from a selection of things I'd actually wear to work. I welcome the increased interaction and dedicated time to talk every morning without a second thought, and I fall asleep with his arm wrapped around me from behind, his strong hand under my tshirt, soothingly placed on my bare stomach, just below my belly button and just teasingly far enough into the area covered by a bikini. I'm in heaven.

If Lumian becomes a red priest then medici role was only for support and cheek was getting hehimself killed by a boy who becomes a Beyonder barely two years and with multiple corruption and always on brink of losing control. Isn't it better to be awaken alista or give role of red priest to medici. I know giving role to a person who was very weak inside but strong outside is captured many audiences but still can't we become little bit realistic.

Hey everyone, im a male, 33 and I was recently told that i developed Reactive athritis from chlamydia/epididymitis that was untreated for atleast 12 weeks. My at the time partner decide to go outside of our "arrangements" and almost 4 Mos later im still dealing with the aftermath. I guess I'm just trying to gain some clarity of all this because it's truly affecting my mental health greatly and even sitting here typing this up it's hard to hold back tears.. basically I caught the clap, had minimal symptoms so i chalked it up as dehydration, and left it untreated for about 10 weeks. then one day I had this huge throbbing lump in my right testicle so I went to the ER and was told i have epididymitus. All the while, I couldn't walk on my feet, all my joints hurt, I went from 195lbs to 171lbs (what I am currently) and literally looked liked death itself. So I ended up landing in the ER again got blood ran and all my levels were out of whack (WBC; Lipase; ect), so they did a CT scan, STDs tests and everything came up completely normal, and thats when I was told I had RA. I did 10 days of dyoxcoline, got a shot of some other hard antibiotic and recently just finished a 6 day prednisone taper. The prednisone helped but I had some crappy side effects and fast forwarding the to the last 3 weeks these have been my symptoms: moving joint swelling/Inflammation mainly in the feet, ankles, knees, shoulders lower back and neck; bad constipation that's now recently turned into horrible indigestion and acid reflux; bloating; jaw pain; sweating; pain in testicals and hips. I also feel like my head is constantly "foggy" and my anxiety has been through the roof. I literally quit ciggerettes and medicinal marjuiana cold turkey over 2 weeks ago (which I find odd because I've never been able to quit). I recently as of now have mouth sores on my cheeks and sides of my tongue. I know this is a lot but I guess what I'm trying to ask for is some reassurance that these things are "normal" with RA? No doctor or ER has referred me to any specialist and basically they've all said " I just gotta deal with it". Lol.
This experience has mentally and emotionally taken a toll on me and my family and i have googled and pretty much ran myself scared half to death because of all this and my anxiety/depression. I have came up with every single reason of why I'm dying or have some terminal thing and at this point im lost at what to do. I can't help that I feel this way each day and this is a really hard thing for me to accept considering I was just normal and healthy and active. Thank you to whoever takes the time to read this because at this point I just need insight..

My family has always been of great minds. I hated it. Growing up and having to study day and night to try and live up to them was extremely exhausting when I couldn't care how things worked as long as I was happy. I gave up but somehow everything kept turning out to be true.
Over my lifetime I have become the Gorden Ramsey of the science world. Known for my temper and also for huge things like curing world hunger using play-doe and cancer with baby powder I got in a back street ally while drunk.
To get my family off my back I started making random ideas so they could see me as a failure and leave me alone but...they keep working. And soon people started to praise me. Fame has left me with nothing but more and more attention. So today I plan to make sure that everyone can just think I'm insane and leave me alone and not some king.
I chuckled like a kid who was opening a Christmas present as I heard the crowd of people chatting and talking loudly as I hid behind my stage in a grey tight suit that my sister had picked out. I sighed and was ready to walk out and make a fool out of myself but my brother stopped me.
" Jack... I just want you to know how proud I am of you. Dad would have loved to see you right now. "
I thought it was ironic because last night while chilling on the couch watching TV and eating chips I made this theory up. He dusted off my shoulders held them tight and looked me in the eyes taking in the moment.
" go give them hell man. "
He had a goofy smile just like Dad but spoke with confidence.
" you got it, man. "
I heard my name being called onto the stage and the uproar startled me for a second but I collected myself and headed out after giving him a nod just to entertain him.
The lights were blinding as I grabbed the mic and looked at the table in front of me with a small box with the ingredients I needed and a chalkboard behind me.
After I stood still for a minute the crowd died down. I had not told anyone what I was presenting so the whole world was watching without a clue of what I was doing this time.
"Hello everyone. Today I believe I have my most important presentation yet..."
The crowd grew silent and hung on every word. And I heard my voice around the room through the speakers.
" Today I have with me a box...and inside is spaghetti I had for breakfast. "
The crowd laughed thinking it was a joke
" shut up "
The crowd grew silent once more
"Behind me is a chalkboard and I will now present my new findings to all of you...I have found out how to make portals to other worlds. "
A man in the far back of the audience yelled bullshit in a heavy Indian accent but he was so far it was a faint sound for me. I smiled at that thinking I had finally found something that would make me lose my title and I could go ahead and live a life without people making me feel like an evil man for not helping others.
I opened the box got a handful of the noodles and threw them at the chalkboard. I then grabbed a paper towel on standby to clean myself.
The noodles hit the board and slowly moved and rested on a spot on the board. I made eye contact with my brother backstage and he had a look on his face showing he believed in me.
I spun the board dropping the noodles to the ground I then grabbed the chalk and drew around the sauce and noodles that stuck to the board then drew my attention to the others that had fallen on the floor and drew an outline of that.
After it finished I threw the chalk in the crowd violently hitting an old lady in the face.
" Quickly I want a show of hands who thinks I'm a crazy guy "
Everyone raised their hands and I laughed to myself
I then went behind the board and laid it horizontally. I grabbed a small knife in my pocket and poked my finger with it. The crimson blood fell and hit the chalk and then as more and more blood hit the chalk it started glowing.
" you have got to be joking. "
I said out loud as it started to spark an orange glow and it slowly grew color to the rest of the chalk in orange sparks.
Once the symbol was fully sparking with orange the sauce began to swell and move around in a counterclockwise manner. I stepped away from it in shock as small parts of the blood in my finger began to float to the parts where it fell on the floor I drew my outlines on and started sparking those as well.
It started to smoke and hiss as if lightning could whisper and the orange began to take shape and the sauce made a doorway. The parts that were not on the board began to grow ice around them and started to make designs on the floor circling me and the board. Suddenly it grew in size and a large booming voice was heard through the portal as I felt panic of people start to set in.
A huge claw came out and scrapped the sides of my table trying to crawl out from the world it had been trapped in. Cold winds hit me as they cut my skin and threw around my clothes. As I saw the table was now melting from its touch.
A slimy green claw with mucus like a face-hugger egg from the movie Alien carved through the floor and pulled the rest of its body out slowly. A beast stood at 12 feet tall adjusting to our world as goop grew and shaped its body as people screamed, ran, and stood frozen in fear.
As it looked around it locked its spider-like eyes and swerled around coming out from the portal and twisting and turning around the body as it made its way to its head finding a place to rest. It then locked its eyes with me and its jaw twisted slowly from an ant-like maw to mine and slowly shrunk and it soon took the shape of me and knelt on the floor and spoke to me.
" master. "
I stood in shock as everyone seemed to calm down and watched to see what I would do.
"...umm "My family has always been of great minds. I hated it. Growing up and having to study day and night to try and live up to them was extremely exhausting when I couldn't care how things worked as long as I was happy. I gave up but somehow everything kept turning out to be true.
Over my lifetime I have become the Gorden Ramsey of the science world. Known for my temper and also for huge things like curing world hunger using play-doe and cancer with baby powder I got in a back street ally while drunk.
To get my family off my back I started making random ideas so they could see me as a failure and leave me alone but...they keep working. And soon people started to praise me. Fame has left me with nothing but more and more attention. So today I plan to make sure that everyone can just think I'm insane and leave me alone and not some king.
I chuckled like a kid who was opening a Christmas present as I heard the crowd of people chatting and talking loudly as I hid behind my stage in a grey tight suit that my sister had picked out. I sighed and was ready to walk out and make a fool out of myself but my brother stopped me.
" Jack... I just want you to know how proud I am of you. Dad would have loved to see you right now. "
I thought it was ironic because last night while chilling on the couch watching TV and eating chips I made this theory up. He dusted off my shoulders held them tight and looked me in the eyes taking in the moment.
" go give them hell man. "
He had a goofy smile just like Dad but spoke with confidence.
" you got it, man. "
I heard my name being called onto the stage and the uproar startled me for a second but I collected myself and headed out after giving him a nod just to entertain him.
The lights were blinding as I grabbed the mic and looked at the table in front of me with a small box with the ingredients I needed and a chalkboard behind me.
After I stood still for a minute the crowd died down. I had not told anyone what I was presenting so the whole world was watching without a clue of what I was doing this time.
"Hello everyone. Today I believe I have my most important presentation yet..."
The crowd grew silent and hung on every word. And I heard my voice around the room through the speakers.
" Today I have with me a box...and inside is spaghetti I had breakfast. "
The crowd laughed thinking it was a joke
" shut up "
The crowd grew silent once more
"Behind me is a chalkboard and I will now present my new findings to all of you...I have found out how to make portals to other worlds. "
A man in the far back of the audience yelled bullshit in a heavy Indian accent but he was so far it was a faint sound for me. I smiled at that thinking I had finally found something that would make me lose my title and I could go ahead and live a life without people making me feel like an evil man for not helping others.
I opened the box got a handful of the noodles and threw them at the chalkboard. I then grabbed a paper towel on standby to clean myself.
The noodles hit the board and slowly moved and rested on a spot on the board. I made eye contact with my brother backstage and he had a look on his face showing he believed in me.
I spun the board dropping the noodles to the ground I then grabbed the chalk and drew around the sauce and noodles that stuck to the board then drew my attention to the others that had fallen on the floor and drew an outline of that.
After it finished I threw the chalk in the crowd violently hitting an old lady in the face.
" Quickly I want a show of hands who thinks I'm a crazy guy "
Everyone raised their hands and I laughed to myself
I then went behind the board and laid it horizontally. I grabbed a small knife in my pocket and poked my finger with it. The crimson blood fell and hit the chalk and then as more and more blood hit the chalk it started glowing.
" you have got to be joking. "
I said out loud as it started to spark an orange glow and it slowly grew color to the rest of the chalk in orange sparks.
Once the symbol was fully sparking with orange the sauce began to swell and move around in a counterclockwise manner. I stepped away from it in shock as small parts of the blood in my finger began to float to the parts where it fell on the floor I drew my outlines on and started sparking those as well.
It started to smoke and hiss as if lightning could whisper and the orange began to take shape and the sauce made a doorway. The parts that were not on the board began to grow ice around them and started to make designs on the floor circling me and the board. Suddenly it grew in size and a large booming voice was heard through the portal as I felt panic of people start to set in.
A huge claw came out and scrapped the sides of my table trying to crawl out from the world it had been trapped in. Cold winds hit me as they cut my skin and threw around my clothes. As I saw the table was now melting from its touch.
A slimy green claw with mucus like a face-hugger egg from the movie Alien carved through the floor and pulled the rest of its body out slowly. A beast stood at 12 feet tall adjusting to our world as goop grew and shaped its body as people screamed, ran, and stood frozen in fear.
As it looked around it locked its spider-like eyes and swerled around coming out from the portal and twisting and turning around the body as it made its way to its head finding a place to rest. It then locked its eyes with me and its jaw twisted slowly from an ant-like maw to mine and slowly shrunk and it soon took the shape of me and knelt on the floor and spoke to me.
" master. "
I stood in shock as everyone seemed to calm down and watched to see what I would do.

"...umm "

Part two of the noodle demon.
Now that this creature knelt before me I realized that the room I was in was so terrible quietly you could hear everyone's ass get tight in anticipation of what would happen next.
" ...what...are you. "
I spoke carefully to the being that had taken the shape of myself. It still took my breath away and my throat was dry.
The beast was a deep green. The color mixed with shades of grey streaming from it. The longer I looked at it I could see it getting closer to what I looked like shaping itself.
From small flowing green tendrils to an arm they grew as they twisted and made bone then muscle and finally skin.
It locked eyes with me and it smiled deeply at me. As it formed the face finally.
" Your vassle. "
My eyes had not moved to the crowd at all but even though the lights hit the stage so hard it was enveloped in smoke.
The creature's eyes glowed as it answered brightly, not figuratively. This thing's eyes were glowing.
"To serve you, We are bound by blood magic. I am a reflection of your desires, Master, " it said, its voice now a whisper in my mind.
It began to stand up as my grey suit began to form on it and by the time it stood fully up it had copied what I looked like.
" let me explain everything. "
My body frozen in fear woke up with adrenaline as I blinked and a flash of green smoke covered my vision as he teleported right to me face to face.
Its body turned to smoke and went into the slits of my eyes. I felt visions follow me in my peripheral vision but surprisingly no pain followed power filled me and it felt like one hell of a drug.
My body and mind altered.
I was now in a very dark place with no walls or light except my reflection on the floor which waved like water.
I took a step back looking around and back to the reflection of me on the ground.
Soon the water rippled and my reflection fell through the floor like gravity was inverted. he flew upright and water fell off of him as he looked at me as he now stood straight ahead of me. He was just reflecting in the water but now eyed me down.
Collecting my nerves.
I begin to speak.
" what do you want..."
He was still in my form and stood perfectly straight. Now with water dripping from his...my hair.
Slight stubble with hair that hung down and my hazel eyes were not present within him but I was greeted with a swelling acidic green that doubled the size of my pupil.
" to serve you. "
He made no other movement than putting his hands behind his back like a soldier at ease.
I could not tell if it was lying or not.
" ...is that it? "
" I am the embodiment of your fear desires and brilliance. You have shaped me. Your desire for solitude birthed me. I will aid you in shaping the world how you see fit. Your reality becomes mine. "
There was a slight echo in the room as he spoke.
" wait...where are we "
I questioned haphazardly
" your mind. "
An awkward silence was in the air until I spoke
" so...am I just standing on the stage not making a sound? "
He gave me a concerned look.
" no...time has frozen outside for you. You may sleep here without having to in the real world so to others you look as if you never rest and you may think and plan what to do in battle here. For them, it will be about two seconds...Do...do you not have any knowledge of what I am? "
Suddenly I felt bad like I had encountered someone famous and I had no idea who they were. A slap in the face like a popular kid meeting someone who had never heard of them. Ego shattered.
" ok sorry no. I...don't go around reading about...monsters?"
I felt like was I saying the n-word of the demon realm not knowing if that word was offensive.
He folded his arms a little upset.
"Are you not a warrior? "
" well...no I...just watch TV and cook here and there- "
The demon cut me off
" weak. "
" excuse me? "
" look. I am an immortal being and after a while you get bored. So I'm sorry if I may be a little upset after being bonded with some nobody. "
I got quiet and I was a little annoyed that I was being roasted by some demon that I just met.
Its form wavers and eyes begin to open on its skin. Cheeks forhead etc.
"After being a god for so long it's fun to play with limitations. Makes things extremely exciting. "
" what do you mean by that? "
" look. You can only be so entertained by the same things. Life gets boring and now...you are going to help me with this. I get to have pure entertainment while you get every wish you could ever want. A mutual bond no? "
He then closed his eyes annoyed and the other eyes meshed back to his skin.
" though... the TV is not that interesting...life is what gets the blood pumping"
I felt the need to quickly change the topic
"Are there others like you? "
The room began to take shape very slowly as the water floor turned to wood and walls went around us.
" of course. You may meet them one day "
Confused and curious I pressed.
"Meet them? "
" yes. Summoning one of us is considered a threat to them. "
He spoke while opening and closing his newly found hand except backward.
" hm...no that don't look right "
I quickly responded
" Wait! How is doing that a threat! "
"Well, one doesn't just accidentally Summon one of us to suddenly get powers beyond human control. "
I thought back to how I summoned him by accident with some food I made.
" well...funny story but I summoned you using my breakfast..."
I had never regretted speaking so much as in that moment.
" What... "
Acid dripped from his words. Literally. His pupils split in half and his bottom jaw ripped open like an ant and curved giving sharpness to the bone.
"Please don't kill me. "
The room began to look like a cozy cabin with a fireplace and he slowly went back to normal.
" I would if I could. I've never felt so disrespected. We are bonded by your blood. If you die...I die. "
Suddenly I felt at ease by this new information.
Then a thought came to my mind
" ...God's can die? "
" you did hear me, right? "
The SAS from this guy was unneeded and I was starting to miss him being on his knees as weird as that sounds.
" so...all that power gone.... in an instant... "
" well...no actually God's powers don't just disappear they transfer to whoever killed them...wait...hold up."
He suddenly had an epiphany.
A smile grew on his face and he grabbed my shoulders
" you! You are going to help me kill the other gods! "
He sounded proud but I let him down.
" ha! No. "
" oh come on! Don't be like that. "
He did a pout.
"Look, man. I'm not killing gods for you. Just because you are bored. "
" hey...they might send people to kill you because you bonded with me. "
"What did I ever do to them? "
"They have a system to this stuff. They like to build and watch things play out. You're a problem. That can mess it up. So...they kill ya...to be honest, I don't know any other way to explain it, man. You know people normally just use my power to kill people and become a king and know this already. "
"This is outrageous. "
" bro. Look if you do this I will be able to get their powers and you will be able to do so much more than what I offer "
I tilted my head
" what can you do? Know what never mind. I will just talk to them and figure things out. "
He groaned and his form melted down sagging and it shot back up reforming
"Is there not anything that you want? Anything in the world? Gods don't put themselves in physical forms. They give people power and can make beings to hunt you. And if they care enough to come down themself. Ha, good luck."
I stopped and thought about it trying to weigh the options of pissing off higher beings.
Suddenly. I found something.
"Can you bring back the dead..."
He stopped confused.
" well...no "
" then I don't want anything "
" wait! "
He threw his arms out pleading
"I don't...but another God does..."
He crosses his arms smiling. He had left the question hanging letting me reconsider his offer.
I stopped and thought for a while before looking back up to him.
I let out a sigh and looked him in the eyes
" ok...you are going to help me get my father back. "
The demon smirked.

Recently I had anal sex (foolishly drunk and unprotected). (Also am gay)
He did a violent ripping motion and the next day I noticed blood and some clear discharge. Scared that I was going to get anal gonorrhea or clamydia I asked my doctor for antibiotics and received doxycycline and ciproflaxin. I completed the regimen of them and the discharge stopped along with most symptoms.
Which is why I assumed it wasn't STD.
However recently I had sex again (stupid I know as it wasn't long to heal), he did wear protection however I'm discharging very light blood and clear fluid.
Besides the discharge I'm not showing any other symptoms besides fatigue and there's something inside my anus. I'm not sure what but I can feel something inside with my fingers. Feels like lumps sort of. So I thought maybe I have an abscess.
I'm hoping fissures honestly as they can heal on their own. An abscess I have to possibly go get drained and do another round of antibiotics.
I don't know. I'm just sort of freaking out. It's come at a bad time when I'm dealing with a diagnosis of manic bipolar depression and I'm just starting new meds and therapy. It does feel slightly swollen and aggravated down there but that could be from trauma.
I just wish I was dead rn. I feel like a piece of shit.