#How to Apply for CRS

[bookishscrolls]

Step-by-Step Guide to Applying for a CRS License in India

You’ve confirmed your eligibility and are ready to set up your Community Radio Station (CRS). Congratulations! Now comes the application process, which can feel overwhelming if you’re unprepared. This step-by-step guide will help you navigate everything, from gathering documents to understanding how your application is reviewed. By following this guide, you’ll be well on your way to giving your…

[lavenderknivess]

[gorgynei]

cant get over the fungi on ruidus sorry. i have more to say

its implied that the reilorans are able to survive and farm the fungus, theres at least 347 different species of fungus native (?) to ruidus, and theres also slime molds*. evolutionarily (assuming the life evolved independently on ruidus which is a very bold assumption) this would imply that theres also prokaryotic life (bacteria, basically) and likely advanced eukaryotic organisms in the form of animal life, which we do see! its very possible that the reason theres so little plant life on ruidus is because something about the makeup of the planet is aggressively harmful to plants, if i had to guess its the lack of easily available sunlight due to the constant dust storms and the soil is probably unfavorable for growing. this probably means that fungus makes up the majority of the biomass for animals to consume or animals are much more adapted for absorbing nutrients from the soil/other sources.

i do think its interesting that fungus seem to survive and thrive SO well in the deep caverns because most fungus (on earth, and exandria. probably) are decomposers and need organic material to survive off of. they could be decomposing the crystal corpse of predathos though, which is the coolest idea in the world to me, or they could just do so well that they've created an independent ecosystem underground complete with its own n- and c-cycles.

the fungus on ruidus seem to take more after kingdom animalia in general, since theyre motile (for those unawares, fungus are actually MUCH much much more related to animals than they are to plants, so this isnt that out there) which is super cool. the myceits are somehow related to the fungi's sexual reproduction because we see the sterile mycelium on it's own and it doesn't seem to be producing any spores, where the myceits do have spore producing structures (specifically they have hymenophores, since they are most similiar to hymenomycete mushrooms). so i think its likely the myceits are just advanced forms of spore dispersal and will run around till they find somewhere favourable to drop spores (or passively will drop them as they move) and probably they have very short life spans </3 sorry myceits

also myceit = mycete = fungi kingdom. proof of earth-equivalent taxonomy existing in exandria? possibly why the ruidians call them myceits is because theyve seen botanists dream about mushrooms and refer to them as "mycetes" !

*gaz, the source for the # of fungus, seems to consider slime molds a kind of fungus, so its unclear whether all the species are actually true fungi, but i digress because slime molds are closely related to fungus anyway. also 347 is a really low number of species for an entire planet, but whatever.

[milquetoad]

of the many injustices put forth toward the show by fans i think the most overall damaging and telling of a complete lack of critical viewership is the idea that sam riegel builds his characters with nothing more than the bit in mind. like you are only telling on yourself if you think characters like scanlan shorthalt and veth brennato are one-dimensional and depthless

[sparring-spirals]

There is a universe in which i was caught up properly on CR whenever what the fuck went down and Imogen verbally and definitively declared that- after everything leading up to this and the back and forth and indecision- that she'd be willing to take down her mom if need be. and i would have been deeply insufferable and writing 20+ separate meta posts and liveblog yelling posts and shitposts. This is not that universe so instead we will put this post here where i can have wildly uninformed (aka 20 eps behind) Emotions about it until someday i actually catch up.

(I know. i accidentally wrote potentially wildly off base/deeply out of date meta again. what can i say. i like shaking the concept of An Imogen (even if it is Outdated Imogen) in a jar. sorry.)

Because i was watching long enough, I think, to see Imogen in the throes of the hope for something better, to understand that Imogen was viewing her mom was a figure and an idea and an answer, that would make things easier. Her mom was- gone, so early. And so her mom, in her mind, was not a person she was an idea, and there was so much hinged on that! Dogged determination and anger at her father and a deep seated dislike of the powers in her hands and head even as they gave her a guilty rush. There were promises there that maybe no one else had made, but Imogen believed. Things built up. Expectations made. Lore crafted, even unconsciously, around someone who was, yes, important to Imogen, but more importantly: Missing. Gone. A blank slate to be filled in. A promise of an answer guide to open questions.

And then she meets her mom, and Liliana Temult goes from a figure to a person- with all the bells and whistles and rough edges. She meets her mom and her mom turns her away. Tells her to run. Tells her she should go. Tells her to leave.

And Imogen doesn't. In the same way she kept visiting libraries, keps asking, kept pushing for answers when it was just about her magic and her headaches and the voices. Imogen always, always wants to know. She keeps digging, she keeps trying, she reaches out, over and over and keeps trying to touch this figure in mist until she's real under her hands, and. Evidence piles up- of deeds gone wrong, blood on her hands, a figure standing next to Otohan (her friends bodies scattered, lifeless, around Otohan). She keeps reaching out, keeps trying, and is rebuffed, over and over. Things get worse and the skies get redder and magic goes dead and she's still- unsure, because what if there's a better reason, what if there's a better way, there has to be a reason, why. There has to be, right- maybe if- maybe. Maybe-

Its just like- a person as an idea. As a symbol. As a promise. One you build yourself up around and towards. One you talk about, not talk to.

And then the fog clears, and they are a human.

(And she's your mom, and she's not what you imagined. She's done you wrong. She's done your loved ones wrong. She's hurt you. She's hurt others. She's going to keep hurting you. She is going to keep hurting everyone. She is too far gone to reason with. She is not listening to you. She is flawed. She is. dangerous. She looks so much like you. You look just like her. You are so similar. You have always known you were similar. You always hoped. You.

Are not her. You are not hers. She is not yours. She is not who you thought she was. She was always someone else. So are you.)

Imogen walks through the bases pretending to be her mother. Liliana is a known face- a powerful one, a figure people fear. A well known silhouette. Imogen slips into the shadows of it, sometimes, when it serves her, but we know- she knows- its all an act. All a lie.

Liliana, after all, is alive, and well, making choices that she believes in and fighting for things with a dogged determination maybe only matched by her daughter.

Imogen knows this. I think. There's a part of her that maybe wishes that wasn't the case.

"There is no loyalty with this blood." And after all- only living people bleed.

[dirtyassvoiceactors]

Okay had to rewatch the beginning right before break cause i missed my British Yehaw so much

The *british*”Unless you want to”*yehaw*”Step outside” with his cocky ass grin :,)

I love him sm, and don’t get me wrong, i love his actual accent, and his whole arc is top character arcs ever, which is why i love him now and all the other reunion one shots pulling the southern drawl just to fuck around kkkkk

(Also with imogen and fcg, i have realized i just fucking love southern drawl as a vocal stim kkkk, her “i barfed down there i threw up” i say all the time, and Fjords “I Apologize”)

Anywho i missed the Nein so much holy fuck thank you Matt for blessing us with all the partys, i watched middle to end of c2 live and now i get to see them in all the lvl20 glory, i love em so

[ariadne-mouse]

Beau and Veth spend an hour and a lot of wine trying to convince Essek that in Blumenthal it's traditional to throw an apple to your love to express your feelings, and that he should use this method with Caleb. Add in the inebriation and dunamancy, and--

(Essek would likely resist but that is far less fun to draw)

[defilerwyrm]

I'll be the first to admit I greatly enjoy taking the mechanics of D&D into consideration when writing fanfic and it's definitely fun to discuss how something would work in RAW, but ultimately, it's your fic and you're free to add, remove, or modify whatever you please. I live by the same philosophy as I do playing the game itself:

[thedragonagelesbian]

its draftedddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

and can i say. healing magic is my absolute favorite kind of magic to write...

[fusioncompliance]

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[abhishekdigi-blog]

Apply for a Canada PR Visa as an Engineer

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[astralleywright]

response to last night's divergence episode reinforcing this strongly. people suddenly understand C3's message about the power of the collective to survive and love and dismantle the systems that would harm them and imagine a better world. because now the oppressing force is landlords, and the (justified, correct) hatred of landlords has become so memeified in online progressive spaces that you can hate them with only the barest of understanding of why they're bad. have you considered that landlords have families and have saved people by giving them places to live and are afraid to die and are really really sorry about all the people they hurt being a landlord but WILL start raising rents again if it helps them-

in general though, a lot of things in c3-ruidisborn, undead, aeormatons, Aeor, Hearthdell, Ruidis-are obviously not one-to-one comparisons for real life identities, or ideologies, or places, or concepts. the gods of real world faiths aren't even really a good comparison for Exandrian gods.

but power exists in Exandria, and the stratification of it, and oppression. Matt is exploring colonialism and cult indoctrination and war. it's fantasy, but the dynamics of the above reflect our own, are built from real world understandings of them.

so beyond the explixcit racism and misogyny that's everpresent in fandom, there's also a lot of stuff that isn't exactly analogous to real world -isms, but is spoken about in a way that calls those things to mind. victim blaming of the oppressed and outcast and othered. villainization of anyone who takes issue with the current system, and dehumanization of those who have done wrong in the name of changing it. impassioned defending of the most powerful. there's a lot of stuff that feels like it was written by someone who may have unlearned this or that real life prejudice but never unlearned the harmful beliefs that underpin and sustain them, and is reflecting that now.

[salemlunaa]

ᥫ᭡∘˚That extra push for pure consciousness ᥫ᭡∘˚

The secret to being victorious like those with the success stories…

∘˚ᥫ᭡PART I | THE VICTORIOUS

Now that it’s 2025 a lot of you have had enough, although time is a concept you’re a little mad at the fact that you didn’t induce pure consciousness last year and you’re NOT taking no for an answer this time around.

Now when we look at this community. Amidst the complaining and some negativity, there are so many success stories, those who were victorious.

Those who went to bed with a body they hated and woke up with their desired look. Those who went to bed in a one bedroom apartment and woke up in a mansion. Those who went to bed hating their family and friends and woke up with their desired relationships with their desired people. Those who went to bed with nothing to their name and woke up with a fat ass bank account.

Those who with their backs against the wall and their outer man experiencing the most treacherous of circumstances made it out of the trenches with one induction of pure consciousness.

You wanna know how to get there. Spoiler alert: you ARE there

∘˚ᥫ᭡ PART II | THE LINK BETWEEN THEM ALL

Before you will ever follow the path of being successful, you must realise what they all had in common.

They realise they that all this complaining was doing nothing for them. They decided that in that moment they had their dream life, no matter what they saw, they were a master at inducing pure consciousness. No matter what the 3D showed their outer man, their inner man was victorious.

No more reaffirming failures, no more revelling in the fact that they fell asleep while trying a few times. No more doomscrolling. No more looking at others success stories wondering when it was gonna be them when it could be them NOW.

They realised it was time for them to adopt a new mindset: That the state of pure consciousness is just first nature to them. That they are gods no matter what. That as god, the 3D and time doesn’t exist to them, nope! not real anymore. That circumstances weren’t a thing anymore. That the void state is the easiest thing a person can induce. That pressuring themselves for a timecrunch is pointless because their inner man doesn’t experience time and they get everything they want instantly. That pure consciousness is just a state consciousness that is something as effortless as being in the state of awake and the state of asleep.

It doesn’t take long to flip your thoughts. So many people with success stories have said so many times that if they knew how easy it all was, they would’ve done it sooner. Challenges are nice but you don’t need to spend weeks on them, never did never will.

∘˚ᥫ᭡ PART III | THE APPLICATION

Another thing they did was fucking apply. You’re tired of hearing that? great! because bloggers are SO tired of repeating it.

Yes failure and procrastination can be comforting. This is a great community, but don't stay here longer than you need to. And yes memes about how you "woke up in your cr again 🙄" and how little time you actually spend trying to shift awareness can be funny and relatable. But those who have success stories under their belts had to choose between comfort, relatability + aesthetically pleasing scripts and actually living their dream life. And to be victorious you must make that choice too.

So go do it, stop this dumbass belief that you are exempt from the success of inducing pure consciousness. Yes, you are the operant power and your reality relies on you and you alone, HOWEVER, if so many can do it, it's evidence that you can too. No more looking at those success stories for motivation or looking at them in jealousy when that can be you now.

To be victorious you must think like them. Believe you are successful and you will be. No you’re not “faking it till you make it” YOU ARE SUCCESSFUL. you ARE one of them.

Believe and assume like a victor and you will be one, the 3D will always conform. That’s law.

🍦🩰 To be victorious like the others, you must believe it now.

[gamingavickreyauction]

I think people delude themselves about how effective intellectual property is. In the pure world of intellectual property you can patent a discovery and sell it for all the value it adds, or use it to make that much profit, but in reality the value of intellectual property corresponds very loosely to how much value it adds.

It's relatively easy to read a few books and write a pop history book about a topic which makes ten times as much money as what the academic history books made, even though those books may each have taken 10 times as long by more skilled workers, and amount to the vast majority of the work that went into your book. The incentive structure is clearly wrong if you want books like your pop history book to be made about more topics.

If you do basic research that leads to an important new drug being developed 20 years down the line, you will get nothing- the organisation that actually gets the patent is the one that does the last step. And many kinds of valuable research don't lead in any immediate way to a marketable product in the first place.

The reason the neoliberal argument fails here is because people are getting patents intellectual property that doesn't just capture the value they added, but all the work others put into the idea before them, which no intellectual property was awarded for. So there is a huge incentivise to focus on the last mile, the marketable part, to the neglect of everything else, even though that's most likely to be the part that anyone could have done.

The neoliberal might reply that this is actually a problem of incomplete property rights- the neoliberal's model works if the basic research was patentable too, so that the person who brings it to market pays for the basic research, gets paid the value of the market product, and pockets the difference- the value they added. But the reason that isn't done is that a world like that would be unlivable. It would be impossible to get any research done because the web of how ideas feed into each other isn't simple, and the negotiation of how much to pay for each idea would be arduous. This is why patents cannot work in the 'ideal' way they do in economic models, and why they will inevitably have this serious flaw in the real world.

The neoliberal might argue that this is a problem solved by universities- universities can do the basic research, which becomes commons, and the researchers are paid salaries because paying them based on their value added would be impossible, and the applied research is done by businesses, who are paid their value added, because it's close enough to the market that that is possible. Aside from neoliberals cutting universities, the problem with this is that it allows private companies to capture the value of research done by universities if there are only a few ways to apply that research effectively. If a company uses X basic research to make Y product, and there are no profitable alternative ways to apply X to make a competitor product, the company hasn't just been given a monopoly on Y, they've been given a monopoly on X- they have captured a piece of the commons, created by a university researcher for the good of everyone, and they're extracting rent from it. This also creates a strong incentive for reinventing the wheel, because if you can turn X into Y in a way different enough to fall outside of that patent, you get half of that economic rent.

Additionally there is no clear delineation between basic and applied research, so there is a balance that must be struck between not letting things too basic be patented, as that would be devastating to all the research that might build on it, while allowing applied research to be patented. But it is difficult to tell early on how far an idea could be taken, and patent assessors are generally not well placed to do that, so it is easy for them to hamstring any attempts to build upon a crucial idea for the duration of the patent- 20 years in the UK. Potentially this creates an incentive to veer away from more basic lines of inquiry.

And there is no such thing as a terminal creation, that there is no point in trying to improve, so counting research as applied and giving a patent is still cutting off the possibility of future improvements being made for 20 years, except by people at that company. This is particularly devastating with arts and writing, where works want to iterate on each other rapidly. Maybe someone made some important discovery, but they're a bad writer, so you want to rewrite their article so that people will actually read it, but you can't do so because that would undermine the incentive to read the original article, the copyright of which is owned by the publisher, so it's illegal- and has to be for the intellectual property regime to function, stifling the spread of ideas.

This capturing of value added by others isn't the only problem. Monopolies are an inefficient way for industries to be organised, leading to higher prices, so less sales, meaning less people are able to actually make use of the innovations, both applied and basic. The number of people who can access a drug is slashed to make sure the value from those who do access the drug can be captured by the market. But even when there are several variations of a product, patented by different companies, this creates the same problem, because of fixed costs- the companies have to charge above the marginal cost to make back their investment, reducing the number of people who can access the product. And this is a drastic effect when the marginal cost is often near zero.

This of course exacerbates inequality, and means that there is a strong incentive to create innovations that are aimed at the affluent, not the poor. Invent Ozempic, not a cure for malaria.

And finally there's the problem of the institutional structure actual people are innovating under. In theory everyone is a lone inventor-entrepreneur who chooses what they research and gets paid by their results, and aims to maximise profit. But really people are employed by a corporation, and when they discover something the shareholders capture most of the value, not them, so after this elaborate, expensive, destructive system to create a financial incentive for innovation, a tiny fraction of it gets passed on to the actual innovators, in the form of increased chance of a promotion or pay rise. And yet the innovations still get made, so clearly this is enough, or people are motivated by the desire to make the world a better place, not just money. Either way the patent system we have is patently excessive.

And if you aren't a researcher at an existing company and you want to get any money at all for your discovery, you're going to have to found a company yourself to extract the surplus- an arduous task, and one that you might not be any good at, and that in any case will take you away from making further discoveries. To be rewarded as an engineer you must remake yourself as an entrepreneur, or accept that someone else is going to take most of your reward. And it may be half your lifetime before you get that reward.

There are additional problems with access to educational resources, incentives for black/grey markets, deadweight loss from litigation, etc. but this is more than enough to show intellectual property is very inefficient at incentivising innovation. So when alternative models are also criticised for being flawed, economically inefficient that shouldn't kill those alternatives- because it would take a lot for them to be as flawed as the existing system.

A panel of experts awarding a payment for a discovery might get its value drastically wrong- but so might investors buying a start up, so might an unwilling, untalented entrepreneur failing to price their product correctly and losing money from their creation. And at least they can go on inventing/writing/innovating instead of changing careers, and the valuation will be based on opinions of people who know what they're talking about, and based on the value of their innovation to everyone, not just the wealthy. There might be political pressure to reduce the value of payments, but there's also political pressure to cut university funding- at least it would mean there is some connection between output and compensation for university researchers, and there isn't an incentive gradient driving people out of basic research and into applied research, and at least all of the value of the payment would be going to the actual innovator.

[vaneshifts]

Idk if I've talked about this before, but I saw someone post about why people who have been trying to shift for so long might not be shifting (this might not apply to everyone, but it really clicked with me). They only explained why, so I'm gonna talk about the solution I came up with.

They specifically said that it was not tough love, but psychological facts: it's possible that your mind registers shifting as a goal in THIS reality.

Think about that for a second. This is the part that really got me when I started to think about it. When you are here, in your CR, your goal is to shift, right? So what if our minds interprets that as a goal IN THIS REALITY, as simple as going to bed thinking "oh, I'm going to unload the dishwasher in the morning." Because shifting is just aligning with your DR self, and guess what?? Your goal in your DR is not to shift! That blew up my brain a little bit.

"But i want to shift" you know how everyone keeps saying "you are already in your DR"? I interpreted that for so long as motivation. It's not. It's the process. To align with your DR self, just like aligning with another person in your CR you have to have the same goals.

So your goal is no longer to shift. Stop thinking like that. Your goal IS NOT TO SHIFT. Waking up where you are meant to has never been a goal, but an expectation. Your goal is to wake up and go downstairs to have breakfast with your DR friends or family. Your goal is to wake up and get to class on time to ace that Defence Against The Dark Arts quiz you totally forgot to study for until the night before. Your goal is to wake up and win that Oscar, to break that curse, destroy the One Ring, you fucking name it babes.

I don't know if this is really dumb and obvious, but it wasn't for me before, so I really hope this post helps someone else too.

XO

[hellinistical]

in which you get him to crush a watermelon with his thighs. And then ask for your head to be next. The thing is, you didn’t expect him to take you seriously.  suggestive. a/n: I know its still winter I just wanna be crushed.

tw: not proof-read wc: 2.1k

It was summer. It was hot- of course it was. 

Unfortunately, your loser boyfriend was a bit too….

You walked in on Caleb getting ready for the gym, his shorts tight and his wife-beater even tighter. Dear lord was this man too much. 

And normally, you’d have some decency. Some modesty with your gaze. 

The words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You could crush a watermelon with your thighs.”

Caleb froze mid-reach for his sneakers, looking up at you in faux confusion, his ears tinged pink for a split second before giving a smug look. “Oh, could I?” He stands up, flexing his right thigh a little. 

You rolled your eyes so hard you might’ve seen your own brain. "Don't let it get to your head," you muttered, trying to recover from the slip, but your face was already heating up like the summer sun outside. "I’m just saying. Objectively."

"Objectively, huh?" Caleb stood up, taking his sweet time, his grin never wavering. "You sure it’s not, like, a little subjective? ‘Cause you’re staring pretty hard."

You scoffed, folding your arms. "I wasn’t staring. You’re just... in my line of vision. Stop fishing for compliments."

"Fishing? Pipsqueak, you just handed me the biggest catch of the day." He leaned down to grab his gym bag, giving you a corny wink. "Watermelon-crushing thighs, huh? Maybe I’ll give you a demonstration later."

You sit up suddenly. Later? Definitely not. “We have a watermelon in the fridge.” He stares back. 

***

And that’s how you ended up in the kitchen on the floor beside him, with a towel under his legs and the poor watermelon that you took a shelf out of the fridge so it could fit between his thighs. 

Caleb glances down at the watermelon, then back up at you, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. "You're actually making me do this?"

"You said you'd give me a demonstration," you say, cross-legged on the floor beside him. "I'm just holding you accountable."

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head like he can't believe he's actually about to attempt this. "This is the dumbest thing we've ever done," he mutters, shifting his legs slightly to adjust the watermelon between them.

"That's a lie," you counter, watching intently. "Remember the time you tried to parkour over the couch and took out the coffee table instead?"

Caleb groans. "Okay, fair. But this is up there."

You grin. "Just shut up and crush the fruit, colonel."

With a dramatic sigh, he tightens his grip on the watermelon, muscles tensing as he applies pressure. For a second, nothing happens. Then, the faintest crack echoes through the kitchen.

Your eyes widen. "Oh my god."

Caleb's expression shifts from mild skepticism to determination. He presses harder. The crack deepens, the rind splitting just slightly, juice starting to bead along the surface.

"Holy shit," you whisper, half in awe, half in horror. "You’re actually doing it."

"Obviously," he grits out, adjusting his hold. "Told you I could."

"This is stupid," you say, even though you’re the one who suggested it. Even though you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, elbows on your knees, watching Caleb size up the watermelon like it personally wronged him.

Caleb adjusts his position, rolling his shoulders back. "You doubting me?" He smirks, gripping the sides of the fruit like he’s about to perform some kind of ancient ritual. "Because I feel like you’re doubting me."

“No- no, I’m not doubting you. I’m just saying-”

He exhales sharply, placing his hands on the floor for balance. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he tightens his grip. You watch as the muscles in his legs flex, the watermelon shifting ever so slightly under the pressure, the cracks in it becoming more tense.

There’s a beat of silence. Then another.

Another tiny creak.

"Wait—" You barely get the word out before the watermelon explodes.

Watermelon juice explodes everywhere. Across the floor, up Caleb’s arms, splattering your shirt. The halves break apart with a sickening squelch, chunks flying onto the cabinets.

For a long second, neither of you move. Then Caleb, dripping in sticky pink juice, turns to you, smug as hell. “Well?”

You stare at him. Then at the carnage. Then back at him. “Great. Now do my head.” You pop another piece of the melon in your mouth. 

“What.” “My head. Crush it with your thighs. It's a thing.” “A thing.” “Mhm. Suffocate me with your thighs. Lemme die with honor.”

Caleb stares at you for a moment, blinking as if processing whether you’re joking or genuinely asking him to... well, suffocate you with his thighs. His lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh, but you can see that he's really considering it.

After a moment, he gets up, pulling you up with him. "Lets get cleaned up then I'll do it." 

You blink, looking up at him in confusion. "Wait, seriously?"

He nods, wiping the juice from his chin. "Seriously. But first, let’s not get more fruit juice everywhere. I have standards, you know?" His hand brushes against yours as he tugs you toward the bathroom, his playful demeanor somehow making the whole situation feel... different.

"But—" you begin, incredulous. "You’re actually going to—"

Caleb just laughs. “Besides, I think I’m gonna enjoy this.”

***

Caleb stretches out on the bed, his movements slow and relaxed, his usual playful energy softened into something more gentle now. He props himself up on one arm, looking at you with a little smile. "Well, you said you wanted me to suffocate you with my thighs. So... I'm just gonna take it slow, okay? No rush."

You, on the other hand, find yourself suddenly way more bashful than you expected to be. The way he's looking at you so calmly, like this is just a casual request, catches you off guard. It’s almost like everything that had been funny and carefree just a moment ago shifted into something heavier.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt, your cheeks pink. "I— I didn’t actually think you’d take me seriously," you mutter, your voice quieter now. "I was just messing around."

Caleb chuckles softly, his tone soothing. "I know, but you wanted to try something, and I’m happy to go along with it. No pressure, okay?" He leans back against the pillows, his gaze soft, inviting you to join him in that space of calm. "So, if you're nervous, just let me know. We can take it one step at a time."

You glance at him, still feeling a little caught off guard. Why is this so much harder than I thought? You swallow the nerves and finally sit down beside him, your legs feeling heavier than usual.

"So, um... no crushing skulls or anything, right?" you ask, trying to ease your own tension with a light laugh, but you’re definitely still flustered.

Caleb smiles, his voice almost a whisper now. "No skull crushing. Just... whatever feels right for you." He shifts closer, his warmth close enough that you feel his presence like a weight against your own. "And if you don’t want to go through with it, we’ll stop."

You smack your cheeks, shaking your head. “Okay. I’m ready. Mama didn’t raise no bitch. Crush me.”

Caleb laughs, the sound deep and amused as he watches you hype yourself up. "That’s the spirit," he teases, shaking his head before gently guiding you down. His hands are warm on your shoulders as he eases you onto your back, positioning you carefully between his legs.

You try not to think about how casual he is about this, how his fingers linger for just a second too long on your skin, how his touch is both firm and incredibly gentle at the same time.

"Comfortable?" he asks, looking down at you with the kind of care that makes your stomach flip.

You nod, even though your heart is suddenly pounding way too hard for something that was supposed to be a joke just an hour ago. "Yeah. Totally."

Caleb hums, adjusting his position slightly, his thighs resting on either side of your head without actually applying pressure yet. He leans over you a bit, his grin teasing but his voice soft. "Alright, baby. Deep breath in… and out."

You do as he says, exhaling slowly, your nerves settling just a little. Then, with a careful squeeze, he applies the tiniest bit of pressure.

Your brain short-circuits.

Oh.

You don’t know what you expected—maybe something overwhelming, something suffocating—but instead, it’s Caleb. Steady. Strong. Unshakable. The heat of his skin against yours is distracting, his thighs firm but still gentle, like he’s holding back just to make sure you’re okay.

You blink up at him, and Caleb chuckles at your expression, his fingers brushing against your hair. "You good down there?"

You make a noise—something between a hum and an incoherent help—because suddenly, words are really hard.

His smirk deepens. "What’s that?"

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to sound normal. "I’m fine."

"Yeah?" Caleb tilts his head, his eyes twinkling. "You sure? You’re looking a little…" He gestures vaguely at your face. "Dazed."

You narrow your eyes, mustering what little dignity you have left. "Shut up and do it properly."

Caleb grins. "As you wish."

And then—he squeezes just a little tighter.

Your cheeks burn—not just from the pressure but from the sheer insanity of the situation. Caleb, your sweet, smug, too-hot-for-his-own-good boyfriend, is up there watching you, his thighs snug around your head, very much enjoying this.

You don’t know what’s worse—the way he’s so calm about it or the fact that your brain is rapidly turning to static.

He tilts his head, his fingers absently brushing against your forehead. "You're blushing," he notes, amused. "Feeling okay?"

You let out a strangled noise. "Shut up."

His chuckle vibrates through the air, deep and easy, and for a second, he squeezes just a little tighter—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that he could.

Your breath hitches.

Before you can even process it, Caleb leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead—gentle, sweet, completely at odds with the absolute devastation he’s about to unleash on you.

And then—you’re smushed.

Completely.

Your entire world narrows down to thighs. Caleb’s thighs, warm and unyielding, pressing in on either side of your face like some kind of divine punishment (or blessing—you haven't decided yet).

Your hands instinctively fly up, grabbing onto his legs as if you need something to ground yourself. "Mmph—"

Your eyes widen as the realization hits you like a damn freight train. Oh.

Oh.

Ohhhh….

No wonder he’s such a fan.

This must be what he experiences when he goes down on you. The warmth, the pressure, the overwhelming sensation of being completely surrounded, the absolute helplessness of being surrounded, consumed, smothered in the best way possible—no wonder he’s such a fan of it. You suddenly have a whole new respect for the man’s enthusiasm.

Your fingers tighten slightly on his thighs, not sure whether to push him away or pull him closer. "Oh my god," you mumble, your voice barely a breath.

Caleb, of course, picks up on it instantly. His grin turns downright wicked. "Oh?" He tilts his head, feigning innocence. "Having an epiphany down there?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, groaning. "Shut up, Caleb."

You gape at him, utterly offended as he mocks you in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice.

"Shut up, Caleb," he repeats, fluttering his lashes dramatically like some damsel in distress.

You push at his legs—hard—but the bastard doesn’t even budge. He just grins down at you, thoroughly enjoying himself, and flexes his thighs slightly like he's showing off.

Your cheeks burn all over again, and you refuse to dignify that with an answer. Instead, you reach up, grab his smug face between your hands, and yank him down into a kiss, effectively shutting him up. Caleb makes a surprised noise before immediately melting into it, his hands finding your face in return, palms warm as they cradle your cheeks, his thumbs brushing lightly over your skin. Caleb deepens the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath his touch.

You swear you can feel him smiling against your lips. Smug bastard.

When you finally pull back, your breaths mingling, his grip on your face lingers, his eyes flickering over you with something dangerously fond.

“…Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing but undeniably soft. “You definitely love this.”

Your heart stutters, but you refuse to let him win.

You huff, trying to look unimpressed despite the warmth spreading through your entire body. “Shut up, Caleb.”

And the worst part? He just grins.