#limits questions class 11

[9nid]

BASICS OF LIMITS Part-03 LIMITS BEGINNER'S COURSE DL Hospital Rule

[edusquaremaths]

BASICS OF LIMITS Part-03 LIMITS BEGINNER'S COURSE DL Hospital Rule

[yourfxllenangel]

50 NSFT questions for May (Ask Game):

1. Top, bottom or vers?

2. Dom, sub, switch?

3. On a scale of 0 to 10 how kinky would you say you are?

4. How many people have you had sex with last year?

5. Bare, pattern or unshaved?

6. When was your most recent hookup?

7. When did you last cum?

8. How often do you masterbate?

9. What is the last thing you touched yourself to?

10. How did you last cum?

11. Are you hornier in the morning or evening?

12. What are your 3 favorite kinks?

13. What are your limits?

14. What kink would you most like to try?

15. What kink have you tried but didn't enjoy?

16. Do you have a master/sub?

17. What's the kinkiest thing you've done?

18. Favorite piece of underwear you own?

19. What underwear would you like to buy/be gifted? (pics welcome)

20. What underwear are you wearing right now and how long have you been wearing it?

21. Have you ever worn a toy to work/class?

22. Have you ever gone to work/class commando?

23. Do you like humiliation/to be humiliated?

24. Do you like dirty talk? What names do you like calling/being called by?

25. Do you like spitting/being spitted on?

26. Do you like being punished/punishing a sub?

27. Do you enjoy receiving/ inflicting pain? How strong?

28. What is your favorite pain instrument?

29. Do you like giving a spanking/getting spanked?

30. Do you like slapping/getting slapped?

31. Have you ever gotten marks/given a sub marks from impact play?

32. How many fingers can you fit inside of you?

33. Do you have any specific fantasies?

34. How vocal are you (playing solo or with partner)?

35. What are you wearing now?

36. Favourite positions?

37. Biggest turn on?

38. What size bra are you?

39. Favourite colour lingerie (on yourself or partner)?

40. Favourite place to receive/give kisses on the body?

41. Favourite phrases to hear/say in the bedroom?

42. What’s the most surprising/unexpected kink you have?

43. What do you do for aftercare?

44. Monogamous or Poly?

45. Wildest Wet dream?

46. When was the last time you sent nudes?

47. 🍃 Or not during sexual activity?

48. Oldest person you’ve dated/crushed on?

49. Favourite part of your/your partner’s body?

50. Truth or dare?

[rebelspykatie]

Steve comes from a long line of only children. He’s the last one standing after his mother dies, left alone on a barren family tree. This deep longing for an extended family made a home in Steve’s soul at a young age. For so long, it was only Steve and his mother. She raised him as best she could, but Steve never wanted that lonely existence. 

Finding someone that would want that life with him didn’t pan out the way he thought it would. Dating in Hawkins was limited and if he wanted to be truthful with people, also dangerous. Robin was the best dating app mishap turned best friend Steve could’ve hoped for, and she encouraged him to look into solo parenting, promising to be his platonic coparent every step of the way. 

Before his transition, he started a grueling IVF journey. Wanted to quit more times than he wanted to carry on. It didn’t take the first time, and Robin was there to hold him when he wasn’t sure he could handle another round of it. They didn’t know how lucky they’d get the second time. 

Dustin was born just after Thanksgiving that year, and he turned into a precocious toddler faster than Steve could blink. He had this mass of hair that Steve was in awe of, the height definitely coming from him but the curls were a mystery gift from their donor. Steve loved his chubby cheeks and toothless smile more than anything on earth. 

Everything about Dustin brightened up Steve’s world, even when his screams kept Steve and Robin awake all night, or he spit up on Steve’s shirt right before work and he had to change into a questionably dirty shirt because he hadn’t had time for laundry. Steve loved it all. He especially loved how smart his kid was, shooting straight to the top of his class, reading above grade level, doing math equations faster than Steve could comprehend. Robin joked that the donor must have some strong nerd genes to come from Steve and be that much of a math genius. 

He doesn’t actually know much about the donor, other than the recording he has from the interview and a brief profile of his family’s medical history. It might be silly, but Steve ended up picking this donor because of his laugh. It was melodic, ringing in the air long after he finished laughing, and something about it pulled at Steve’s heart in a way the others didn’t. 

Steve doesn’t hide much from Dustin, there’s no point really when your kid’s a genius, but he doesn’t give Dustin the file until he turns 11, doesn’t even hint at it. While Dustin is a curious kid, he’s also got a knack for knowing when to press an issue or not. He had a lot of questions about the process, but always shied away from asking more about how Steve chose or who his donor was. When they finally talked about it as Steve handed over the file to Dustin on his eleventh birthday, Dustin said he always knew Steve chose to have him and that was all that mattered. 

But once he gets his hands on that file, the curiosity voyage sets sail and Dustin’s chasing leads on who this man is like he’s in an episode of scooby doo. The agency will only give them the contact information they had on file 12 years ago. It’s a long shot, expecting someone’s number to be the same, but it’s all they have. A single phone number. 

When a gruff voice answers the phone and Steve explains the situation, the man on the other line agrees to meet them. The address he gives is for the Munson ranch about an hour outside of town. He knows about the ranch in the same way everyone in a small town knows of each other. He’s never been there, but the owner brings a lot of money into the town and mostly keeps to himself. His nephew was a few years ahead of Steve in school, but they never crossed paths. 

It turns out there’s only one Munson left in Hawkins, and Steve’s pretty sure the bald man that’s twice Steve’s age and looks down his nose at Steve and Dustin, isn’t the donor. Recognition sparks in his eyes, though, when Dustin starts talking, some of that defensiveness melting off his face. It’s softening into the same fondness Steve has when looking at Dustin, that inescapable way he pulls you into his orbit and snatches your heart right up. He lets Dustin take the reins, watching Wayne fall under Dustin’s spell.

His first words after Dustin’s long rambling opener about their predicament are, “Your hair looks just like his at that age.” 

Hope blooms in Steve’s chest. He’d been afraid that they wouldn’t find anything, or what they found might disappoint Dustin. But there’s someone out there that’s half of Dustin. Someone that might have given him all these little quirks that Steve’s so fond of. Someone that might want to be a part of his life, even if Steve isn’t sure he’s ready for that. 

Wayne explains that his nephew is out of town with his band, touring somewhere until the end of the month when they come home for the holidays. That’s only two weeks away and it doesn’t give Steve long to prepare for meeting someone that helped bring the best thing into his life, but it’s enough time for Wayne to welcome them into his home with an open heart.

It’s just long enough for Steve to find out that Eddie grew up on the ranch with Wayne and his father, who abandoned them when Eddie was about Dustin’s age. To find out that Eddie always loved music more than the horses and took off the first chance he got once he had the funds. To see pictures along a mantle of another precocious kid with a wild mane of hair that looks about as unstoppable as Dustin. 

Robin comes with them the night they’re going to meet Eddie. It’s a few days after he’s returned from tour. Wayne wanted enough time to prepare him before getting Dustin’s hopes all the way up. When they got the okay, Steve wasn’t sure he could do it alone, so Robin is glued to his side when they pull up at the ranch and come face to face with Edde Munson. 

But Steve relaxes when he sees the same wide grin on Eddie’s face that he sees on Dustin’s every day. And he doesn’t know it yet, but maybe he’s finally filled out that family tree and found the home he never knew he needed, with branches for Robin, Dustin, and maybe two Munsons.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi bisexual sex ed person batman

Do you think teenagers masturbating to porn is bad or neutral

And also i have another question. We know young kids and sex is not a good match. Not questioning that. But do you know why, exactly? Like why is it traumatizing for a small kid to watch porn but not for a teenager. Like how does that work

Thank you in advance. And uh. Happy saturday

hi anon,

okay, so. I need you to understand that you're first question is basically this.

like, you want me to classify EVERY teenager who's ever jacked it to ANY kind of porn as either bad or neutral? good's not even an option? jesus christ.

let's say that I think any body jacking off to anything is for the most part a pretty morally neutral act so long as they're not cranking it on public transit or while spying on someone who is unaware of their presence and therefore unable to consent.

as for your second question, this is going to be unpopular but it's actually not inherently traumatizing for a prepubescent child to see porn. don't get me wrong, I'm in no way advocating for showing your baby porn instead of cocomelon or whatever, but there's no trauma button that automatically gets switched if it happens.

which I can say with a decent amount of firsthand experience because, you know, I work with kids, and I also work with their parents to talk about the experiences that they had as children. every time I teach my class I get parents telling me about how they found porn mags for the first time when they were young, in their parents' bedroom or in a gutter or, once, hidden in some farm equipment. and a lot of their kids have seen porn online by the time they're in the age range I teach (about 11 years old), whether accidentally or shown it a a crude prank by another child.

and for the most part they're like... completely fine. the adults who saw porn as kids grew up to be the kind of thoughtful, conscientious parents who want their kids to receive quality, inclusive sex education. most of their kids find it silly, because they can't imagine why adults might want to do something that looks so weird and awkward, or they get a little kick out of seeing something adult that they know is supposed to be off limits, or they don't get it and don't think much about it at all. hell, some of those kids will experience one of their first encounters with sexual arousal; that's a thing that's perfectly healthy for kids to experience and some are early bloomers!

some kids might find it confusing or upsetting, sure, but those kids also tend to put the magazine away or close the video very quickly. kids are, you know, people, and they're pretty good at just moving away from things that bother them. and discomfort is, ultimately, not the same thing as trauma.

to be sure, some kids have a long-term bad reaction, but there are often extenuating circumstances in that case. there are obvious cases in which porn is shown to a child specifically by an abuser, but I've also found that for a lot of people what causes their long-term psychological distress wasn't them seeing porn but the way their caregivers reacted to it, making the child feel ashamed and dirty without ever giving them an explanation for why the adults in their life reacted so negatively. that can create a huge burden that leaves people feeling shaky and insecure in their sexuality for decades after the fact.

once again, I just want to be super clear on this before anyone starts trying to make it seem like I think Coolsville sucks: I don't think little kids should be seeing a lot of porn! if a kid in your life is doing that, they should be directed gently away with a thoughtful explanation of what they've been looking at and why it's not a good fit for them at their age nor a good model of what real sexuality is like. it can be difficult to suppress the urge to panic and react harshly, even if you feel it's in the kid's best interest, but they deserve an explanation that will make clear that they're not the one in the wrong.

but, again, there's not a switch in a child's brain that automatically traumatizes them if they see a titty.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

HBCU CONFESSIONS.

Part Two

The Great Conversation: A Historical Introduction to Philosophy sat on a circular table within the study hall of the dorm building. Erik was dressed down in a red graphic hoodie that read Lost Tribe in black letters with the map of Africa on the back. He paired it with grey joggers and Jordan retro 11’s. He checked his I-watch for the fifth time. It was going on 5:20 pm and Valencia hadn’t shown up yet. Erik wished he’d gotten her number.

Two minutes later, Valencia came rushing over, carrying her books in the crook of her arm and a flustered expression on her face. Erik sat up straighter in his seat and his eyes couldn’t help but scan her body. She was still wearing the same curve-hugging dress she’d worn earlier that day. Her braids were now up in a ponytail with a few hanging in front of her face.

She sat her bag down beside the table and before she could even pull out her own seat, Erik was behind her in a flash. Valencia’s back stiffened and she gasped. Erik gripped the back of the chair and slid it out across the carpet. Valencia couldn’t help but notice how Erik towered over her. He was standing at 6’3. She looked up at him with a faint smile and bashful eyes.

“Thank you, Erik.” She says with a light voice.

“You’re welcome.”

They each took their respective seats. Valencia opened her bag to retrieve her book and her notes. Erik waited patiently, staring at her with a slight, dimpled smirk.

“I’m so sorry, I’m all over the place.”

“No worries, Valencia.”

She finally had everything in order. Valencia exhaled and sat her palms down on the table to calm herself. She giggled and Erik couldn’t help but to laugh himself.

“I’m not always late, you know.” Valencia said to her defense.

“Can’t always expect to be on time every single time.” Erik replied with a smirk.

“I knowww,” Valencia tucked a braid behind her ear, “But you’re a TA. This isn’t a great first impression.”

Erik folded his arms against the table and leaned in. He quirked a brow up at Valencia, staring her down through his gold-rimmed glasses.

“You have a point,” Erik swiped the bottom of his lip with his tongue, “Prove to me that you know your shit, and I won’t hold it against you.”

Valencia turned away because she couldn’t stare him in the eyes.

“You have a deal,” her eyes darted towards his face then down towards her lap.

Erik’s eyes burned with mischief. He loved that she was shy and he wanted to push her limits. See how far Miss Valencia could go.

“Aight, let’s get started.”

Erik opened his textbook.

“Where exactly are you in class?” Erik asked.

“Free will,” Valencia sorted out her notes, “Yes, Free will.”

“Okay…”

Erik combed through the textbook until he found where he needed to be.

“What do Philosophers believe about free will?”

“Uhm—”

“Don’t look at your notes, tell me.”

Valencia was startled by Erik’s command. She cleared her throat and started playing in her hair.

“Uh—well I know that it’s a requirement for agency, rationality, creativity…”

“Okay, that’s good. So, as far as accounts of Free Will, what exactly is the Faculties Model of Will?”

Erik glanced over at Valencia. She was pondering his question.

“…It’s the dominant view of the will for much of medieval and modern philosophy…their possession of certain powers or capacities…”

“Very good. They also possess the capacities for intellection and volition. Another way of saying this is that free agents alone have the faculties of intellect and will.”

Valencia clicked her pin and scribbled down what Erik said like a good pupil. Erik continued to throw questions and topics at her, challenging Valencia. It was the way he did it that helped her retain the information.

“I’m so used to just…reading from my notes over and over.” Valencia said.

“It’s the active recall. Don’t get me wrong, using notecards is okay, but all that time you spend creating fifty cards, you can use this study technique by asking questions about the subject you want to learn after reading the subject, which will help you retrieve information deeper. You want it to go deeper, right?”

Valencia stared at Erik with a dazed look.

“Valencia? Did you hear me?”

“Ye–Yes—”

“I said, deeper, right?”

Valencia chewed on her bottom lip. Erik wanted to chew on it himself…

“I do. I want to remember the information better. The method helps me out a lot.”

Erik smiles at Valencia and she glanced up at the ceiling with a blush. He couldn’t visibly see the heat creeping up her face, but her cheekbones and half-smile was enough to tell. They went on to cover one last topic, Epistemology. After another thirty minutes, their study session was complete.

“You got it, just a little more practice and you’ll be set.” Erik encouraged.

“I hope so. How did you get so good at everything?”

Erik laughed, “Everything?”

Valencia giggled into her hand. She couldn’t stop smiling. It was the most adorable thing Erik had ever seen. Her giggling and smiling was infectious. This is probably the most Erik has ever smiled and laughed in one sitting.

“I mean—what I’m saying is—I saw your achievements and you’re pretty impressive. I aspire to be like that.”

“…Thank you. What are you studying again?”

“Psychology. I want to branch off into Neuropsychology. I plan to go back to school for my PhD.”

“There’s so much you can do in psychology. Believe it or not, I wanted to major in psychology at one point but engineering just stuck to me.”

“Why engineering?”

Erik gave Valencia a lopsided grin that showed off a glint of confidence. She focused on his plump lips, porcelain teeth, and gold slugs.

“There’s so much you can do. You can choose to work on projects that benefit society, help clean the environment, develop prosthetic aids, create clean and efficient transportation systems, find new sources of energy, alleviate the world's hunger problems, and increase the standard of living in underdeveloped countries. The possibilities are endless. And on top of all that, you make a lot of money…”

Valencia couldn’t tell you everything he was saying honestly. This man was too fine. The way his voice sounded to her ears felt like asmr.

“…job security and excellent job prospects—”

“You’re like, very attractive.”

Erik rested his hands in his lap and cocked his head. Valencia jerked her head in the direction of the window and shook her head.

“That came out unexpectedly,” Valencia laughed with embarrassment, “But you are—”

“Thank you.” He drew in a long breath, “Coming from someone as beautiful as you…”

Valencia held her breath. She hung her head and smiled. Internally, she was jumping up and down.

“Thanks,” Valencia fidgeted.

“Anytime, beautiful,” Erik continued to stare at her while his fingers tapped on the table.

“Are you from Houston?” Valencia questioned with a timid voice.

“Nah. I’m from California. That’s where I live currently but I decided to come back here for my doctorate.”

Valencia nodded her head. She crossed her right leg over her left thigh and leaned in with her elbow on the desk. That gesture showed that she was warming up to him.

“I love California. I have an aunt and a few cousins that live there currently. They’re in San Francisco.”

“That’s where I’m from. Oakland. I’m staying in LA right now though. Are you from here?”

“Yes. Born and raised in Houston.” Valencia replied.

Erik stretched his arms above his head.

“Tired?” Valencia asked.

“A little. I worked out really early this morning and I had to deal with that party.”

Valencia giggled, “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. I didn’t see you there.” Erik said.

“Rochelle used to let us get away with a lot…”

Valencia looked over at Erik.

“I know. Which is why she’s no longer your RA…”

Her body shivered slightly. The air was too cold in the building. She thrust her chest out unknowingly and Erik could see the outlines of her erect nipples through her dress. He leaned back in his chair to admire her fully.

“I’m not an uptight motherfucker but I’m not gonna let these students walk all over me. I have a great rep here at TSU and I wanna keep it that way.”

“Oh, no, I totally understand,” Valencia reassured him, “I love that you follow the rules. Rochelle acted as more of a friend and she really didn’t know how to discipline…”

Hm,” Erik licked his lips, “I’m really good with discipline.”

“Oh?” Valencia says. She felt her body tremble.

“I’m very assertive. I tend to…take the lead in situations. It can come off as aggressive…sometimes I have to work on that.”

“Okay…”

Valencia rubbed her arms.

“Cold?”

“A little—”

“Here…”

Erik stood up and proceeded to take off his hoodie. Valencia paused, staring at Erik’s torso. He had on a white T-shirt underneath that clung to his biceps and chest. The muscles put her in a daze. He handed her his hoodie from across the table. Valencia accepted it and pulled it over her. It fit her like a dress. She fixed her braids and smoothed down the wrinkles in the hoodie. It smelled like him. She fought to press her nose into it.

“It looks good on you.”

“You think so?” Valencia wasn’t so sure.

“Yeah. So Valencia, do you mind if I have your number?”

She was not expecting that. Her eyes went wide with surprise.

“Is that okay?” Erik asked with furrowed brows.

“YES!”

She covered her mouth with her hand. She didn’t expect to scream it. Erik was cracking up.

“Yes, it’s okay. I’m sorry I don’t know why I yelled like that.” Valencia toyed with one of her braids, “Yes you can.”

She retrieved her phone and unlocked it. Erik did the same. They exchanged numbers and switched back.

“That way, you know how to get in touch with me if you have any questions about philosophy or just…anything in general really.”

“Definitely. Thanks so much, Erik. I really appreciate you.”

“Anytime. And you know you can always knock on my door…”

Oh, yes. He does have a dorm on the same floor as hers. She beamed at him and he smiled back.

“Sure…I can do that.”

They both stood up and gathered their things.

“Well, this is goodbye for now. I have to get ready to meet some friends tonight.”

“I hope I didn’t hold you up,” Erik tucked his textbook inside his bag.

“No, no.”

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Valencia broke eye contact first and turned away to leave. She glanced back at Erik, giving him a final wave goodbye before heading towards the elevators. Erik returned the wave with a smirk, his eyes never leaving Valencia.

—————-

Cindy, Skai, and Brielle were sitting in a booth nursing mixed tequila cocktails. Skai was sitting next to Brielle and Cindy was third-wheeling. She rolled her eyes every time Skai and Brielle would eye-fuck each other. Valencia texted Cindy’s phone that she just parked and is on her way in.

The Poetry Party Live is a college hotspot. They’re known for playing great music, having tasty food, and drinks that sneak up on you. It was definitely a more romantic vibe that Friday evening. So many couples were on dates. Cindy spotted two professors in the booth in front of them. Professor Boyd and Professor Parham.

Valencia came in and she searched the throng of people until she recognized Brielle’s ginger coils. She changed into an orange dress that compliments her mocha skin. Cindy looked up and over her shoulder, waving Valencia over with pleading eyes.

“What took you so long?! I’m dying over here!”

“My bad. I had a tutoring session that ran a little late.”

“They’ve been torturing me,” Cindy cringed, “And Dior isn’t here yet.”

Valencia frowned.

“Who invited Dior?”

Cindy pointed to Skai. Skai sipped her drink with a guilty look.

“I’m sorry! She really wanted to come. You still don’t like her?”

“No, I don’t, Skai. She’s weird.”

Skai rolled her eyes. Brielle laughed.

“Is she drunk already?” Valencia asked.

“You know she is. This is her third one.”

“Brielle!”

“It’s a Friday night and I passed my lab practical!”

“WOOHOO!!

Skai bounced up and down in her seat. Valencia squealed, reaching over to shake her friend excitedly.

“YES BITCH!—oh shit, I’m loud as fuck.”

Andrea looked up from her seat in the booth over and noticed Valencia. They locked eyes and waved to each other. Brielle glanced over her shoulder at Andrea. James turned around with a smirk on his face and a glass in his hand with dark liquor.

“Oooh! Ya’ll on a date?!” Cindy teases.

“Yes, we are,” James replied with a chuckle, “Hope you’re ready for that test on Monday, Cindy.”

Cindy shot James a playful glare that had everyone laughing.

“I’m kidding! Enjoy!”

James turned back to his date and the girls snickered.

A waiter brushed past Valencia and Brielle shouted to get her attention. She halted her footsteps, long ombré braids swaying against her back. She smiled and made her way over to them.

“Need anything else ladies?”

“Our friend just showed up! Can you get her a—”

“Long Island Iced Tea please.”

“Okay! Can I see your ID?”

Valencia opened her small white Telfar bag and plucked her license from her wallet. She showed the waiter and she put a thumbs up.

“Almost your birthday!” The waiter said.

“Yeah! Twenty-two.”

The waiter sauntered off and then a round of applause erupted around them. A full-figured woman with sister locs made her way on stage. She stopped in front of the mic, testing it to make sure it was on. She scanned the crowd with a warm smile before introducing herself. The instrumental to Floetry Say Yes started playing. She was blanketed in spotlights and the rest of the club was shrouded in low ambience.

“This one is called Enticing Night…”

whisper light, a sigh so deep,

In tangled sheets, secrets keep.

Your touch ignites a fevered glow,

As fingertips trace paths below.

On velvet skin, my hands explore,

Each curve, each line, I yearn for

more.

She paused, appreciative hums making her words all the more real.

Breath mingles in the heated air,

A rhythm builds, we're lost in where.

Our pulses race, in sync they beat,

In this embrace, our worlds complete.

“Thank you…”

Snaps filled the room.

“That was good,” Valencia accepted her drink.

“Dior!”

Skai stood up to get her attention.

Valencia looked up at Dior fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t understand what Dior didn’t like about her, maybe it was because of Isaiah? As far as Valencia knew they weren’t together. And she didn’t want him anyway. Dior scooted next to Skai, directly across from Valencia.

“Brie, Cindy, Val…”

“Hello,” Valencia waved.

“Why ya’ll chose this place? Ya’ll don’t wanna shake some ass?”

“Girl, we did that last weekend. It’s okay to switch it up,” Skai argued.

“I feel like I need whatever Brie sippin’ on because she is lit!”

“Peach Tequila!” Brielle shouted.

“Okurrrr. I’ll have that then…who the waiter?”

Cindy pointed at the young girl who was currently clearing off a booth.

“She got a phat ass butt,” Dior bit down on a long acrylic french nail, “She can have all my monies…”

“You’re such a whore for some booty, Dior.” Skai jokes.

Valencia giggled. She swirled her straw around her drink before taking another sip. Cindy rocked back and forth in her seat, singing along to Beyoncé Check Up On It.

“Hi! I’m Chanel…”

“Hi, Chanel, I’m Dior. I wanted to order what she had.”

“Okay, ID?”

Dior flashed her ID at Chanel while giving her a seductive look. Valencia and Cindy share a look before laughing into their drinks.

“you fine. You like girls?”

Skai slapped Dior on her arm. Chanel laughed at Dior.

“I have a man, but thank you.”

It was so cringe.

Chanel walked away and Dior’s eyes were glued to her ass like flies on shit.

“You need to chill. What’s up with you and Brooke?”

“That bitch? Girl…”

Dior and Skai talked about her drama while Valencia excused herself to the restroom. Brielle ended up following her. They entered the bathroom and Valencia let Brielle go first since she was on the verge of pissing herself.

“You never told me who you tutored with!!!!” Brielle yelled.

“My crush,” Valencia smiled.

“For real?! What does he even tutor?”

“A lot of shit but it was for philosophy. He asked for my number.”

Brielle flushed and damn near shoved the door open. She gawked at Valencia before they switched places. Meanwhile, Andrea exited the stall next to theirs and she walked over to the sink to wash her hands.

“So basically that means he’s into you? So the HBCU blog was the right thing to do, huh?”

“Yep! If it wasn’t for the advice the owner of the blog gave me, I wouldn’t have made it this far!”

Andrea slowly dried her hands while hanging onto their every word. Valencia flushed and left the stall. Andrea tossed her paper towel and stood within the mirror to fix her ponytail. Valencia caught her eye in the mirror and smiled.

“How’s everything going this semester, Valencia?”

“It’s going good. A little harder than last semester but I’m close to graduating so that’s good.”

Andrea nodded her head with a bright smile.

“You got this girl. And good luck with your crush…”

Valencia giggled. Andrea left the restroom, holding the door open for a woman to enter.

Back at the table, Andrea scooted into the booth to find another drink. She gave James a look and he chuckled.

“You know I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, James.”

“That’s why you need this drink. Take a damn break.”

Andrea rolled her eyes sassily before grabbing her drink. She toasted with James before taking a sip.

“What took you so long to ask me out?”

Andrea peeked at James from the top of her glass.

“I didn’t want to cross any boundaries. I didn’t wanna look like that guy friend who only wants one thing. That’s not what it is with you.”

“I get it,” Andrea sat her drink down, “I’ve crushed on you hard since undergrad…”

“Same. I always thought you had a thing for Daka though.”

“Seriously?” Andre laughs, “Everyone says that.”

“I see now it’s like a brother and sister thing.” James said.

“I used to sit back and watch you run after all these chicks…Thinking back to that Kappa party, my Delta sistas kept hassling me to tell you how I felt…”

Andrea traced the rim of her glass with her finger. James watched her intently.

“I’m just happy both of us get to sit here and express how we really feel.” James said.

“Me too.”

James cracked a smile before reaching over to grip Andrea’s soft hand. He stroked the top of her hand with his thumb.

Valencia and Brielle walked past their booth and settled into theirs.

“…That D9 party is gonna be lit tomorrow night!”

“I’m tryna go. Took y’all long enough!”

Brielle slipped past Dior and Skai to take her seat. Valencia sat down and pulled out her phone.

“You still talking to Isaiah?”

Valencia looked up at Dior.

“No. I’m over him.”

“Oh wow, what happened?”

“He wasted my time and he’s annoying as hell.”

Dior let out an obnoxious laugh, “YEAH. I could have told you that.”

Valencia looked towards the ceiling.

————

-I know it’s late, you’re probably not up. I just wanted to thank you again for your help 🥰 he asked for my number today! I don’t think it was because he’s interested but it’s a step, right?

Valencia sat alone in her dorm room wearing Erik’s hoodie and some panties with her braids tied down with a satin scarf. She sat at their desk with the television on in the background.

-I’m here ☺️ I’m happy I could help. If he asked for your number, I’d think it’s because he’s interested. It’s a big step actually.

Valencia typed a reply.

-You think so? I mean, he did flirt a little today. I just get so nervous around him.

Erik was in the middle of sprucing up his gold boots. He’s wearing a pair of red briefs with no shirt. It felt weird staying in the dorms when he has his own room at the Omega Psi Phi house. He picked up his phone to see the message that Valencia sent him.

-Don’t be. Try to be more open with him. See where it goes 😏 did you do anything special tonight?

-I went to this poetry club with some friends. Had two drinks and I’m a little tipsy now. It was an okay experience.

-...Is there anything that could have made it even better?

-yes 😭 if I was spending it with Erik. I wonder what he’s doing right now.

-you should text him. See what happens.

Valencia looked over at her phone next to her.

Fuck it. She had a little liquid courage.

Valencia: Hi ☺️

She made her way back to the blog

-I did it! 😭

Erik fell back against his bed. He typed a reply.

Erik: Hello 😌

Valencia: I hope I didn’t wake you.

Erik: I’m up. How was your night?

Valencia: it was alright. You?

Valencia nibbled on her nails anxiously.

Erik: Hazy. Had a little smoke session.

Valencia returned to the blog.

-Is it too late for a dare?

-Definitely not lol. This is fun. What’s the dare?

-I dare you to send a risky text. However you want to.

-How risky though?

-😈

Erik waited to see what she would do. He wanted to see how far she would go. The fact that she would have preferred to spend the evening with him made him wonder what they would have gotten into.

Erik: Did you crash on me?

Valencia:

She couldn’t believe she sent that picture. She tossed her phone on the bed and stood up from the desk. Valencia paced back and forth. Hands covering her face, heart racing, stomach in knots. Did she do the right thing?

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…

That picture was meant for Isaiah and boy was she happy she sent it to Erik instead. She’d heard her phone vibrate minutes ago but she was too scared to see what he said. Valencia walked over to the bed and picked up her phone. She pressed it against her chest, scared out of her mind. Overthinking per usual. Finally, she looked at his text and boy was she glad that she did.

Erik: Shit girl 😍

Erik: 😍😍😍😍

Erik: I can’t stop staring 😩

He didn’t expect that at all. That was the furthest thing from what he expected. He sat up in bed and drooled over that picture. That ass up and that beautiful arch. He wondered what other pictures she was hiding. He loved her body so much. He knew exactly what to do with all of that. Play into his size kink. His dick was brick hard. No pussy in almost a year. The longest he’d ever gone without sex. He could have easily linked with his ex girlfriend on campus but he pictured himself digging Valencia’s guts out whenever the fuck he pleased.

Valencia: 😛

Erik: You tryna tell me something? 👀

Erik: I see you do like it deep…That tutoring session was necessary after all 😍

Valencia was over the moon thrilled at Erik’s reaction to her pic. So much that she was jittery. Back on the blog, Valencia quickly typed.

-I can’t believe I sent him a risky photo. I thought he wouldn’t have liked it but I was wrong 😂

Ping.

Erik went back to the blog messages. Wouldn’t like them? Was she crazy! He loved them! Boy was he happy that he found out about Valencia when he did. He wanted to put her in that position. Arch that pretty back over the edge of his bed, slip her panties to the side, and slide his dick in deep and slow. He wanted her to feel his length. He had a big toy dangling between his legs. Girls with that type of body can take dick. Girls who arch their backs like that need the dick.

-No. if the feeling is mutual, why would you think that?

-IDK. I’m always overthinking shit. 😭

Valencia had to take a second to rethink what she was doing. Sure, she wanted to do unspeakable things with Erik. Nasty things. But she felt she was coming on too strong. Maybe she should dial it back a little…make him …yearn for more? Tease him. He’s older and definitely has more experience. He’s probably used to woman throwing themselves at him. No. Valencia was going to do the opposite. Who said she couldn’t be shy and purposely excite and sexually arouse while withholding gratification?

She left him on read.

Valencia logged out of the blog and shut off the light for bed. She pulled her duvet back and just then, Brielle came in. She had her curly, ginger hair up in a puff. Her pleated skirt was situated higher around her waist, showing some of her ass. Her cropped shirt was dangling from her shoulder and she looked freshly fucked.

Brielle noticed Valencia was still awake and she gave her an enigmatic smile.

“I’m surprised you’re still awake.” Brielle whispered.

“I’m surprised you’re still walking,” Valencia laughs.

————

It was 6 am and Erik stood on the race track and stretched his quadriceps. Flexing his toes in his green Nike running shoes, he took off running. He liked to go for a run around the track before he did any strength training. AirPod Max Pro’s over his ears, shirtless, and black running shorts on, Erik was a mission. In the zone, the heavy bass from the rap song he was listening to fueled him.

Erik made it around the track once before stopping to take a sip of water he’d left at the bleachers. He jogged over to grab a drink and when he looked up he saw his ex girlfriend from undergrad, Jeanette, stretching her hip flexors. She glanced up at Erik and waved to him. Erik returned the gesture. She stood tall and made her way towards him. She’s wearing a track and field outfit, similar to what she wore back then when she ran.

“Stevens. It’s been a while. How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“Great. Have you been avoiding me?”

Erik arched a brow.

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know…you’ve been back for a minute now and I haven’t had the chance to catch up with you. It feels like you’re dodging me.”

“Nah, Jeanette. I’ve been busy. What happened to that dude? The one that keep running his mouth?”

Jeanette broke out in a fit of laughter. Erik was dead serious. That nigga better be lucky he don’t go to TSU. That nigga better be lucky Erik didn’t find him yet.

“Erik, relax okay?”

Jeanette caressed Erik’s sweaty bicep. Erik eyed her down with a stony expression.

“What do you really want, Jeanette?”

“Whatchu think?”

Erik carefully moved Jeanette’s hand away from his arm. She kissed her teeth at him.

“I haven’t seen you in years. You look good…real good.”

“I know,” Erik smirked cockily.

“Still got that big ass ego…”

Erik glanced down at his I-watch. He needed to finish his run.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Jeanette. I gotta finish my run…”

“Mhm, am I gonna see you at the D9 party tonight?”

“Of course I’ll be there.”

Erik backed away towards the track. Jeanette placed her hands on her hips, eye-fucking Erik while continuing her stretches.

“Ima put this AKA ass on you tonight, Daka!”

Erik sprinted off with a shake of his head.

Some time later, Valencia had finished swimming laps and doing a bit of water aerobics with weights. Her body was sore and drenched. After taking a shower, she gathered her things and walked out of the gymnasium. On her way back to her dorm, Valencia wasn’t paying attention and she almost collided with someone as she was leaving.

She didn’t have the best workout today because her mind continued to wander. She still hadn’t replied to Erik. The thought made her smile to herself. She shouldered her gym bag and took sips from her water bottle. As she approached her dorms, the man that distracted her was busy texting on his phone while listening to music. His head popped up and he paused in his tracks, staring Valencia down hard.

Valencia spotted Erik opening the door for her and she automatically grew timid. She tucked her chin and gave him a shy wave. Seeing him in person was completely different from texting him last night. The recollection of what she sent him hit her like a freight train. Her heart was practically rattling around in her chest cavity. The closer she got, the more his penetrating stare commanded her.

“After you.”

“Thank you…”

Valencia felt so exposed in her little gym shorts. He was directly behind her. She could smell his natural musk and it sent shivers throughout her body.

“Mm…mm…mm…”

She couldn’t contain her shaky exhale. He was probably picturing himself bending her over right there…

“Sleep well?”

Valencia blinked her eyes up at Erik.

“H–Huh?”

“…sleep? Did you get some rest?”

“Yeah! Sorry…”

“I figured you went to sleep since you left me on read and shit…”

Erik pressed the button for them to get on the elevator. Valencia avoided his gaze, her eyes looking around her.

“Valencia?”

She snapped her head in his direction. He was already on the elevator. She could tell he was fighting a laugh. Embarrassed, she walked in.

“You’re hella distracted…I’m the one that should be acting like that after what you sent me last night, girl...”

Valencia took in a breath. He did things to her body she couldn’t control. The trembling, the uneven breathing, the wetness that drenched her panties. She was in lust for this man and she needed him to fuck her. She wouldn’t say that to his face though.

“I…I have a lot of work to catch up on…and I’m really hungry…”

They left the elevator and Erik walked slowly so Valencia could catch up with him. She spotted Skai and Cindy sitting in the lounge studying and when they noticed her they gave her a weird look. Erik looked down at Valencia, biting his bottom lip openly so she knew that he was feeling her. Valencia slowed down her footsteps in front of her dorm room door. Her eyes discreetly roamed Erik’s body. His russet skin glistened with sweat and his muscles looked defined and sculpted. His locs were messy and resting against his forehead. He looked so fucking edible.

“This is me,” Valencia pointed to her door, giving Erik a quick glance with a smile, “I guess I’ll see you later…”

“You guess?” Erik cocked his head back.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that.” She spoke with a barely audible tone.

Erik startled her by reaching out to caress her arm. His hand stroked from the back of her upper arm, past her elbow, and down her forearm until he was holding her hand in his firm grip.

“You know you have a lot of explaining to do, girl.” Erik whispered.

He smelled so fucking amazing. His natural scent crowded her. She wanted to press her nose against whatever area that had exposed flesh. Lick his skin to see what his sweat tasted like—

“Do you know about the D9 party tonight?”

Valencia twisted her lips to fight a smile.

“I do. Are you asking me to go?”

Her eyes dropped down to her hand in his. She swayed from side to side.

“I am. I wanna see you there.” Erik said.

Valencia’s cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling. She tried to hide her face so Erik took it upon himself to lift her chin.

“You gonna be there, Valencia. I want to see you there.”

She blinked at Erik slowly. His eyes dropped down to her juicy lips. He wanted to taste them…

“I’ll be there….”

“You better.”

Erik stroked her chin with his thumb. It sent shockwaves throughout her body. Straight to her pussy. It was such a small gesture that held so much dominance. Erik finally let go and backed away, his eyes dancing up and down her frame while he drew his plump bottom lip into his mouth. His eyes were low and almost sleepy-like and it made him look dreamy. Valencia giggled and looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

“We should get lunch later.” Erik said raising his brows.

“I’d like that.” Valencia replied.

“Aight, I’ll see you then, beautiful.”

He turned and strolled down the hall with a gait.

[starlightwoofwoof]

sooooo i had a little idea in the middle of class teehee

what if there was a scenario in which Toodles got akumatized, and whatever it was about her villain form's powers made her just too much for Luckylady to handle, so because Rodger obviously wants his daughter to go back to normal, Luckylady enlists his help with the Fox Miraculous :)

i know you had that one little art piece a while ago, but it would make sense to a degree for Rodger to have the Fox Miraculous because he's a detective and his whole thing kind of is figuring out secrets, and the Fox Miraculous creates illusions, so it makes a neat contrast

and because the appearance of the Miraculous suit is dependent on what the wielder desires, then Rodger doesn't necessarily need to have an orange suit, he could will it to be black/dark gray instead! call him Silver Fox (another name for black foxes and also a term for older men. haha rodger is an old fart) and bada bing bada boom Akuma!Toodles is defeated yippee!!!!

idk just wanted to yap about this random idea i had

ALSO QUESTION.

since Shelly is an adult, would she have access to the full extent of the Miraculous's powers???? like multiple uses of the Lucky Charm type dealio. or have you retconned that for convenience sake

god I need to start answering my asks this was from like 11 days ago- ANYWAY

I actually love the idea of Lucky Lady giving other Miraculouses to the toons so that they could help- not sure about the whole timeline in the cartoon but ye-

honestly you’re right about the whole suit thing, I like the idea of Silver Fox :] (makes sense for the fox miraculous because, y’know, the whole camouflage thing it has going on, idk what that was about but ye)

also I haven’t even really thought about the whole power thing honestly- but I think I might still keep the time limit becaaaaauuuuussssseeeeee ✨ stakes ✨ (idk how that would work with Allureium lol)

………. this whole thing made me think of something btw

[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM

DRC, Public Affairs Division, Civilian Services Command

To: Director [REDACTED]

From: Regional Oversight Coordinator [REDACTED], Paternity Compound 132

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Community Re-Education Efforts in Rural Tennessee

Location: Church of the Immaculate Conception, [REDACTED], Tennessee

Objective Statement

This transcript, sourced from Reverend [REDACTED]’s recent sermon at the Church of the Immaculate Conception in [REDACTED], Tennessee, highlights our ongoing efforts to align religious communities with national surrogacy objectives. Given this region's exceedingly low socio-economic and educational prospects, messaging must be tailored to emphasize divine purpose and moral duty, ensuring surrogacy compliance through faith-based narratives.

The Reverend’s inclusion of visibly pregnant surrogates and theological framing of their sacrifice was effective in capturing attention. However, his unscripted interaction with Surrogate S142-317-K revealed the risks of granting surrogates a platform to express personal dissent, even in a controlled environment. Future engagements must avoid such pitfalls to maintain community trust and focus.

Action Items

Develop stricter scripting guidelines for public appearances involving surrogates.

Evaluate congregation reactions and adjust messaging to address residual discomfort.

Monitor flagged individuals for dissent and determine appropriate countermeasures.

Community Description

Nestled in a rural expanse of [REDACTED], Tennessee, this community reflects the hallmarks of low socioeconomic status and deeply ingrained religious traditions. Most residents are employed in small-scale agriculture, local manufacturing, or service-sector jobs, with limited post-secondary education and social mobility. The population skews towards large families due to cultural and religious norms. Religious affiliation is nearly universal, with the church serving as a central hub for social interaction, moral guidance, and community decision-making. Despite economic hardship, the community demonstrates resilience and a firm adherence to conservative, faith-based values.

Transcript Submission

Congregation Description

The congregation at the Church of the Immaculate Conception consists predominantly of working-class families, retirees, and local farmers.

Opening Hymn: “Great is Thy Faithfulness”

Reverend [REDACTED]

"Brothers in faith, we gather here today in the spirit of sacrifice, in the spirit of service, and in the spirit of salvation. For the Lord Himself said, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth.’ And so we find ourselves in a time of testing, a time when the Lord calls upon us to serve not just with our hearts, but with our very bodies."

"Today, I am blessed to share this sacred space with two of our surrogates, young men chosen by God for a divine mission. These brave souls are bearing the weight—quite literally—of our nation’s future. Let us welcome them as they sit among us, shining examples of what it means to live according to His will."

Congregation turns to see two surrogates seated at the front of the sanctuary. Both are visibly near full-term.

Surrogate S142-317-K

18 years old, former high school athlete from the immediate community, pregnant with hendecuplets (11). Surrogate was selected for his quiet and submissive demeanor. 

Surrogate S142-225-L

20 years old, family members from an associated rural farming community and is currently pregnant with dodecuplets (12). Surrogate was selected for his stoic and resigned demeanor. Condition is very advanced, and movements are limited to assisted mobility only. 

Reverend [REDACTED]

"Now, some of you have questioned the changes in our congregation, the ways in which we have been asked to adapt, to welcome this previously unfathomable mission. But let me remind you: God works in mysterious ways. His plan is not always clear to us, but it is always righteous. Today, we are called to embrace a new chapter in our walk with Him—a chapter of extraordinary giving."

Congregation murmurs softly. 

S142-225-L, struggling with his bulk, shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Reverend [REDACTED]

"For as the Good Book says in John 15:13, ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ And what greater love can there be than these surrogates, who are laying down their strength, their comfort, and yes, even their very lives, to bring forth the next generation? These young men are not merely surrogates—they are chosen vessels of divine purpose."

A few hesitant amens from the congregation. 

S142-317-K wipes away a tear, while S142-225-L stares blankly ahead.

Reverend [REDACTED]

"I know some of you are struggling with this new reality. Perhaps you have seen your sons, your brothers, or even your neighbors brought into this new calling. Perhaps you have wrestled with anger, confusion, or despair. But I tell you, do not grieve! Do not resist! For as Paul reminds us in Romans 12:1, ‘Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.’ These sacrifices are not in vain—they are the foundation upon which our future is built."

"Let me share a story. Last week, I visited the gestational ward at Paternity Compound 132. I met one of the young men seated here with us today. He told me, ‘Pastor, I don’t know why God chose me for this, but I trust Him. I trust that He has a plan.’ That, my friends, is faith. That is courage. That is the spirit of true service."

Note: No interaction beyond observations through the sound-proofed glass was allowed when Reverend [REDACTED] visited Paternity Compound 132. The surrogate in question he references appears to be fabricated for the purpose of the sermon.

Reverend [REDACTED]

"These young men are heroes. And heroes don’t always look the way we expect them to. They don’t wear capes. Sometimes, they wear hospital gowns. Sometimes, they lay in beds, swollen with life, praying that their sacrifice will make a difference. That their pain will pave the way for a brighter tomorrow."

The congregation grows quiet, many appearing uneasy. 

S142-317-K exhales deeply, his hands resting on the vast curve of his abdomen. S142-225-L does not display any emotive response.

Reverend [REDACTED]:

"We, too, must do our part. We must support them. Pray for them. Celebrate their courage and remind ourselves that this is God’s will made manifest. If you are called to give a son, give him with faith. If you are called to serve as a surrogate, serve with pride. And if you are called to bear witness, do so with humility and gratitude."

Reverend [REDACTED] continues to proselytize for another 23.7 minutes. The congregation appears to be losing focus, but attention is regained when the Reverend begins "interviewing" surrogate S142-317-K.

Reverend [REDACTED]

"Good afternoon, son. What an honor it is to have you here with us today. The congregation is inspired by your courage and sacrifice. Now, tell me—how does it feel to be chosen for such a divine purpose?"

Surrogate S142-317-K

"Pastor, I—"

Reverend [REDACTED]

"Ah, I can imagine it’s overwhelming at first! To know you’ve been selected to carry not just life, but hope, for an entire nation. That’s a weight most young men will never understand. Truly, the Lord works through you miraculously, doesn’t He?"

Surrogate S142-317-K

"I mean, I guess, but—"

Reverend [REDACTED]

"That’s right, that’s right. And think of the joy you’re bringing to so many families who have prayed for children but could not have them. Every kick you feel, every movement within you, is a testament to God’s plan. Don’t you agree?"

Surrogate S142-317-K

"I don’t know if I’d call it joy, Pastor. It’s actually—"

Reverend [REDACTED]

"Oh, I understand! It’s humbling, isn’t it? To feel the enormity of your task. But let me remind you, son, humility is a virtue. Philippians 2:3 says, ‘Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.’ That’s exactly what you’re doing!"

Surrogate S142-317-K

"But it’s not what I—"

Reverend [REDACTED]

"You see, the Lord guides us even when we don’t understand His methods. I’m sure, at first, you might have had doubts or fears—that’s only natural. But look at you now! A shining example of faith and resilience. How proud your parents must be to see you serving this way!"

Surrogate S142-317-K

"My parents didn’t give me a choice! They signed me up—"

Reverend [REDACTED]

"Ah, yes, choice. Sometimes, the greatest choices are made for us, aren’t they? Just as Abraham was called to sacrifice Isaac, not every calling is one we’d choose for ourselves. But, son, you’ve risen to the occasion. Surely, you can see the greater purpose in all this?"

Surrogate S142-317-K

"Pastor, with all due respect, I’m in constant pain. I can barely—"

Surrogate S142-225-L begins to display visible physical discomfort. 

Reverend [REDACTED]

"Pain! Yes, yes, the pain of sacrifice. The pain of labor. The pain of the cross. None of us can achieve greatness without hardship, my boy. Jesus Himself bore the weight of the world’s sins—just as you bear the weight of these precious lives. What a beautiful parallel, don’t you think?"

Surrogate S142-317-K

"I just want this to end. I can’t—"

S142-225-L groaned audibly, his hands clutching his abdomen as multiple fetuses shifted within. The pronounced movement of his belly draws gasps and murmurs from the congregation. 

Several attendees appeared visibly distressed, with one man crossing himself repeatedly. 

Reverend [REDACTED] momentarily paused, offering a solemn nod in acknowledgment before continuing his dialogue with S142-317-K. 

The incident visibly heightened the unease in the room.

Reverend [REDACTED]

"In God’s time, all things come to their conclusion. For now, focus on the gift you are giving. Focus on the good you are doing for countless others. And remember, ‘Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial.’ That’s James 1:12, by the way."

Surrogate S142-317-K

(quietly) "What the actual fuck?"

Closing Hymn: “Onward, Christian Soldiers”

Reverend [REDACTED]

"Heavenly Father, we thank You for the blessings You have bestowed upon us, for the surrogates who carry the burden of life, and for the wisdom of those who guide this blessing. We ask that You give strength to those who serve, comfort to those who grieve, and faith to those who doubt. In Your holy name, we pray. Amen."

"You, my boy, are an instrument of His will. And there is no higher calling than that."

Post-Sermon Observations

Surrogate S142-317-K appeared visibly distressed and unresponsive for the remainder of the service. 

S142-225-L returns to staring blankly ahead, though now massaging his belly.

Reverend [REDACTED] has been instructed to avoid conducting unscripted conversations with surrogates in future appearances.

Addendum (Confidential)

Following the service, S142-317-K fainted while being escorted out, likely due to the extreme strain of late-term pregnancy. Medical staff intervened promptly, though the surrogate later went into labor, birthed, and expired in the compound the following morning.

S142-225-L also continued gestating for 5 days (34 days total) before entering labor, birthing, and expiring.

No overt objections were publicly declared. 

Reverend [REDACTED] has been instructed to continue incorporating surrogates into his sermons to normalize their role within the community.

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

DRC agents noted mixed reactions among the congregation, ranging from quiet acceptance to visible discomfort. Several individuals were overheard expressing objections to the surrogates and their presence. Operatives have flagged them for further observation and, if necessary, detainment. 

----------------

[asapart]

Help Support my BPS Classroom!

Please help me by filling up my empty classroom with supplies, books and games. After a decade of teaching I moved back to the Boston Area and in the move donated everything I had at the time to the schools and kids in the area. Now that I’m back in a classroom in this fun late-stage capitalist hellscape I am back into an empty classroom full of needs...and even after spending over $200 in the first week, the classroom is still largely empty. Please support in any way you can, even if it’s just sharing! Amazon Classroom Supplies List: Amazon Classroom Book List: TPT fundraising:

FAQ Below

It’s summer WTH?: Yeah, it’s summer! But fun fact, most kids are 1-2 years behind academically after the pandemic (awesome) so therefore more and more programs are running summer school. My program is part of BPS (Boston Public Schools) and focuses on ESL and Math for 2 hrs a day, with art, STEM, and Nature programs coming in the rest of the time to expose them to more things. However we are just in random classrooms in random schools in Boston, and have very limited supplies... What’s your class like: Chaotic Fun. They are 12 kids aged 9-11, half of whom are ELL, a third on IEPS, and all living around or below the poverty line. They love art, hate math (except for 2), and are neutral on ELA (depends on what we’re doing). I have 2 who cannot read at all, and 1 who reads at a 7th grade level. Most of them would be quite happy if I just always let them play with supplies rather than actually use them in any academic sense. You know, typical kids. What supplies do you have?: Upon arrival I was given 1 pack of 25 pencils, 6 packs of 10 markers, 1 ream of colored paper, Popsicle sticks, graphing paper, measuring tape(?), tissues and lysol, and two board games...Basically, what was donated to the program. Here’s a photo.

If it’s a summer program what will you do with the supplies after the summer?: Pencils, markers, crayons, notebooks...that stuff I’ll give to the kids at the end. Extra larger supplies I’ll give to the program if they want them (they run after school programs during the year) or keep for the work I do during the school year (intervention work and contracted tutoring) What if i just want to give you money? What if things are too expensive? For legal reasons, classroom aren’t allowed to ask for just money. That’s why we do supply lists instead, or raise funds for something specific (the TPT fundraiser). We are allowed to get gift cards though, so that is why they are on the amazon list. If there is is something else you’d want to donate, please ask! I have another question. Ask me!

[uravitypng]

𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞

pairing: best friend! eijiro kirishima x innocent chubby reader

word count: 1.3k words

"you know kiri i've never been kissed before," you tell him quietly when you're watching a kissing scene come on the tv.

kirishima thought he knew everything about you, he knew you were innocent and pure but he was sure you must have been kissed once, you were both well in your 20s at this point. "how?" kirishima asks matching your volume.

"well is it really that surprising? i've never been in a relationship or anything and i've never been to many parties to randomly kiss people. i'm not really a party person and whenever i do go to parties i stay with you the whole time and i don't drink at all." you lean your head against him and link your arm around his.

"i guess it's not that surprising..." he trails off at the end.

"yeah, plus i don't really know a lot of people and i'm pretty sure you scare people off. you're so big it probably freaks them out, thinking that you'll fight them or something," you say while giggling.

kirishima grins, he would never admit it but he has intentionally scared some people off. in his eyes they don't deserve you so he purposely increases your already physical friendship and touches you more so they know you're off limits or he purposely stands really close to them which makes them back away when they realise how huge he is and how if they got on his wrong side he could absolutely destroy them. because, in the end, you're too good for them, too pure and kind and wonderful and they don't deserve you.

"it's okay that you've never kissed anyone. you shouldn't kiss someone random, like if you're at a party and drunk or something. you should kiss someone you should trust," kirishima reassures you.

"like you?" if kirishima was in the middle of having a drink he would of spat it out. his back straightens, and his cheeks go red. his adorable best friend just cocking her head to the side and asking him such a loaded question so cutely.

"what- what do you mean?" he slightly stumbles over his words but you don't notice.

"well... who was your first kiss."

kirishima slightly deflates, he then realises of course you'd never ask a question like that to him. you don't think of him like that. you just want to know if his first kiss was special and with someone he trusted. "not quite, it was a dare when i was 11? or 12, maybe? i kissed mina, mina ashido. she was in our class when we were kids, you remember her right?"

you disliked that and you went sour, out of all people why did it have to be her, of course kirishima would like her, who wouldn't, she's everything you're not though and it reminds you how you'll forever be just his friend. she's an extrovert and extremely brave and thin and conventionally attractive, you're not.

kirishima notices the way your body shrinks in on yourself and how your expression has changed. "are you alright sweetheart?" you nod your head and hum, maybe to everyone else it would be convincing but not to him.

you don't know how you do it but you gather another confidence for just a second to ask him a question that you wanted to ask him originally a couple minutes ago. "i trust you." you look down, unable to look at him in eye or even his face.

"yeah, i trust you too," he replies cautiously unsure about what you're going on about.

"well...you said my first kiss should be with someone who i trust," you say while twiddling your fingers.

kirishima's mouth becomes suddenly dry as he now realises what you're talking about. "that would be very unmanly of me. i don't think you really want that sweetheart," he says reluctantly, he wants you to mean it but he thinks you don't.

as soon as you hear him you look up frantically because if he's being honest when he said that it means he didn't deny you or your request but denied that you actually wanted him. you grab hold of his arm and look him in the eye. "no, no that's not true! i want you!" kirishima's eyes widen at your raised voice and how you're shaking his arm, he can't help but grin at your reaction.

"alright sweetheart," he can never say no to you, he never wants to and now he'll actually be able to kiss you. to do the thing he's been dreaming about for years.

"holy shit, really?"

kirishima bursts out laughing. "yeah." you give him a soft smile and momentarily bury your head in his chest before looking up at him and giving him an even bigger smile.

"so um, what do we do?" you question shyly while kirishima grins at your cute naivety.

kirishima tucks some of the strands of your hair behind your ear, "you can close your eyes if you want. just close your eyes and relax, i'll do the rest." you mumble out an okay and flutter your eyes close.

kirishima gently holds your cheek in his hand and presses your foreheads together. you can feel his callus hands on your skin and it's making your face heat up at the contact. his other hand rests on the nape of your neck, keeping you both close to one another. he presses your lips together in a sweet kiss that makes you melt into him and it makes you both dizzy in the process. he can smell your pretty perfume and his shampoo is overwhelming your senses. he smiles against your lips and pulls you even closer.

your arms are stiff and slightly raised in the air and your fists are clenched, not knowing where to put your hands. as the kiss carries on you press your lips harder against his, wanting more. kirishima takes the hint and gently bites your bottom lip causing you to gasp. you're unsure of what to do but kirishima takes charge and you make out until you both have to break away for air before going in to kiss again.

he groans as you slip your tongue against his. "fuck," he groans roughly as he lifts you on his lap. you make a small shriek at the movement and he chuckles. all he can think about you, your lips, your face, your body, you. he runs his hands along your body, holding your love handles and grabbing chunks of your plush thighs. he can't help but place wet kisses against your neck causing you to gasp again and hold onto his arm, making crescent moon shape indents with your nails.

at the noise kirishima holds onto your chubby cheek again and stops kissing you, you open your eyes and look up at him. "how was your first kiss sweetheart?"

"i'm pretty sure that was more than just a first kiss kiri." you giggle back at him.

"well excuse me for kissing the woman i love," he says cheekily with a huge grin on his face.

"who you what?" you both freeze. you press your lips together in a tight line to try to stop yourself from smiling and he turns the same shade as his hair.

he bites his own lip trying to figure out what to do. he doesn't know what he can do to get out of this but he knows that no matter what happens you'll always remain friends, you'd never stop being his friends because he loves you.

"i do... i do sweetheart. i love you. i know you don't feel the same and that's okay." your eyes start watering and tears start running down your face, he quickly wipes the tears away and rushes out, "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to make you sad."

you grab hold of the collar of his shirt afraid that he'll change his mind and leave. "i'm not sad. i'm happy, so terribly happy." you pause as you take in a breath, trying to stop crying. "i love you so much."

[9nid]

BASICS OF LIMITS Part-01 | LIMITS BEGINNER'S COURSE | FULL PREP FROM BASICS

[edusquaremaths]

Limits: Concepts & PYQs Covered, JEE Main & Advanced Part-02

Struggling with LIMITS? No worries! In this video, we break down all the essential concepts and tackle previous year questions for JEE Main and Advanced. It’s a one-stop shop for everything you need to ace this topic. Grab your notes and let’s get started on this math journey! #jee2025 #MathMadeEasy #examready

[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 11: Between Two Suns

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try.

Pairing: Female! MC x Caleb

Spoilers: Spoilers for Caleb's Myth's as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers.

WARNINGS:

Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Very explicit smut (Chapter 12 onward): PiV/oral (male and female receiving)/anal sex. Fingering. First time. Pet names (angel, babe, baby, pip-squeak). Kinks: Praise, breeding, creampie, light dom/sub. Rough. Some consensual degradation talk (MC is into it). Probably many, many more that I am forgetting to name. If you see one that should be listed that isn't, feel free to let me know. (MC is a repressed deviant, and so is Caleb.)

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be different from the memories in-game.

As proofread as I can get it, but not beta read, so probably some mistakes.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions.

More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

From up here, I can only see a glint of Skyhaven’s steel and glass towers between the tears in the clouds as they drift lazily through the sky. The heat of Caleb's lips still lingers on mine; his touch branded against my skin. One minute, his hands were on me, his breath tangling with mine, the weight of years pressing in around us. 

Just as quickly as it all escalated, it crumbled. He was gone before I could even form a coherent response, his expression closed off, his voice clipped and professional. The moment we had shattered in an instant.

I rake my fingers through my hair, exhaling sharply. A sharp chime interrupts my spiralling thoughts. My Hunter’s watch vibrates against my wrist, its display flashing a stark red.

**Urgent Mission Alert: UNICORN Team Deployment Required.**

Normally, I wouldn’t think much of it—urgent missions come and go. But something about this one makes my stomach twist before I even look at the details. I tap the display, and a holographic interface flares to life.

Metaflux Surge: Detected

Wanderer Attack - In Progress  

Location: Skyhaven

Threat Level: Critical

To get the exact coordinates, I need to accept the mission. My fingers hover over the command, but my mind is already ahead of me, racing through possibilities, through logistics.

There is no way off this damn island. Caleb took his plane. I curse under my breath and push off from the railing, rushing inside. The sleek, minimalist interior feels too pristine, too still. I grab the remote and flip on the news.

Smoke coils into the air over Skyhaven, thick and black against the blue sky. The camera feed jitters as a news drone zooms in, capturing the chaos unfolding in the heart of the city.

We are bringing you live coverage of an ongoing attack in the East Nexus District,” the news anchor says, voice tight with urgency. “Authorities have confirmed that a Class-7 Ignitus Wyrmlord has emerged near the main transit hub, causing massive structural damage. The Fleet is currently on-site, working to contain the threat.”

My breath catches. The Fleet is on-site. Is this the ‘minor problem’ Caleb had to go look into? I clench my fists. Did he sideline me—again?

I spin on my heel and storm inside, shoving past furniture as I snatch my phone off the table. I dial Liam without hesitation.

He picks up on the second ring. “Colonel’s adjutant, Liam.”

“Liam, I need a transport.”

There’s a pause. “Inara?”

“Yes, me. I need to get to the station in Linkon—Association business.”

Another beat of silence, then, “The Colonel didn’t mention any Association assignments.”

I grit my teeth. “Because it just came in. It’s urgent.”

“Inara—”

“I’m not asking, Liam. Get me a shuttle.”

A sigh crackles through the speaker. “You’re really putting me in a bad position here.”

“Liam,” I say, forcing my voice into something softer, more pleading. “Please.”

A long pause, then a resigned exhale. “Shuttle’s en route.”

I tie my hair back, securing it tightly before strapping my holsters into place. Caleb’s room is my last stop—I grab my guns and extra ammunition before sprinting back outside. The minutes drag by agonizingly slowly before the shuttle finally arrives, but at least the descent is swift.

The moment the transport lands in Skyhaven, I move quickly. The officers accompanying me attempt to guide me towards the train station, but I have other plans.

“Sorry about this.” I barely give them time to react before knocking them both out cold. 

They really should train their recruits better. I make a mental note to tease Caleb about their training program after I’m done chastising him for leaving me behind.

Lunging into a sprint, I bring up my Hunter’s watch and accept the mission. The real-time GPS flickers to life, mapping out my route.

The city is a mess of noise and motion, people fleeing in all directions, alarms blaring, the sky stained with plumes of thick, black smoke. The closer I get to the fight, the more the air thrums with the crackle of energy weapons and guttural roars.

Above me, through gaps in the steel and glass skyline, I catch fleeting glimpses of the hulking, winged monstrosity, its body like dried, cracked magma, glowing veins of molten red searing through its form like rivers of fire. Its wings beat against the sky, the force sending gusts of scorching wind spiralling downward. 

The ground shakes as another explosion rocks the district, debris pelting the street ahead of me. I don’t stop. I leap over fallen signs, weave around abandoned vehicles, push past the few stragglers still too stunned to move. I barely register the sting of smoke in my throat, the acrid taste of burning metal on my tongue. 

I skid around a corner, nearly colliding with a barricade hastily set up by the Fleet. Heavily armed officers stand guard, rifles slung over their shoulders, their faces hidden behind tactical visors. 

Beyond them, I can see the towering wreckage of a collapsed building and, farther ahead, the sky boiling with embers as the Wanderer banks in the air, its massive form circling like a vulture. 

“Let me through,” I demand, barely stopping myself from shoving past them outright. “I’m with the Association—Deepspace Hunter, UNICORN Team.”

The nearest officer, a woman with a sharp stance, doesn’t so much as flinch. “This is Fleet business. You don’t have clearance.”

I grit my teeth. “You’re looking at a Hunter. My jurisdiction is wherever a Wanderer is.”

“Not today.”

I inhale sharply, forcing myself to stay calm. “I can help. I have field experience, and I can—”

“You’re not authorized. Step back.”

Every second I waste here is another second Caleb is out there, fighting that thing. Every second is another chance he gets hurt—or worse. Frustration coils in my chest, burning hotter than the embers still floating through the air. 

I clench my fists, weighing my options. I can’t just stand here. I have to get through. One way or another.

Before I can make a move, an explosion rocks the barricade. The force sends me stumbling, hands flying up to shield my face as shards of glass and steel rain down. The Fleet officers duck, turning toward the source of the blast, their attention momentarily diverted.

That’s my opening.

I lunge forward, shoving past the first guard. Another reaches for me, catching my wrist. I twist, using my momentum to wrench free, planting my foot into the side of his knee just enough to make him stagger. Someone else grabs my arm, but I ram my elbow back into his gut and pull away before he can tighten his grip. 

Another officer tries to tackle me outright, and I barely manage to slip under her grasp, rolling forward and springing up into a dead sprint.

The battlefield is chaos incarnate. The streets are torn apart, flames licking up from shattered vehicles, debris scattered like a warzone. 

The Ignitus Wyrmlord wheels overhead, its molten veins glowing brighter as it gathers power. Fleet soldiers scramble for cover, weapons firing in desperate bursts. Some are down, clutching wounds, and I don’t hesitate—I duck behind cover, drag an injured officer away from the open, tucking them behind a crumbling wall before leaping back into the fray.

The Wanderer lets out a bone-shattering roar, swooping low, and I seize my chance. I spring onto the hood of a burnt-out car, vault off it into a backflip, firing mid-air. My shots strike true, the beast reeling back with a snarl.

I land smoothly, pivoting, eyes scanning the battlefield. Where the hell is Caleb? A man that tall shouldn’t be this hard to find.

The Ignitus Wyrmlord is fast in the air, but its wings are too heavy to keep it aloft for long. It has to land often, claws slamming into the pavement and sending fresh cracks splintering through the ground. 

That gives me my chance.

Between lunging strikes, I finally spot him. Caleb is directly beneath the beast’s molten belly, his Evol engaged, hands braced upward, holding back its crushing weight. His entire body strains, muscles taut with exertion, veins prominent as he keeps it from flattening him and an unconscious officer at his side. His knees are bent, feet planted, but he won’t be able to hold it forever.

No time to think.

I sprint, dodging the burning slag that drips from the cracks in the creature’s hide. My feet barely touch the ground as I throw myself into a slide, skidding on debris and dust, right underneath its stomach. Caleb doesn’t see me—his jaw is clenched, eyes fixed upwards, focused on not being crushed—until my hand clamps around his wrist.

The moment our skin connects, raw power surges between us, an energy that crackles and hums through my very bones. His strength expands like a dam breaking. 

With a snarl, Caleb heaves, forcing the Wyrmlord’s bulk upward just enough to shift its weight off them. It stumbles back, unbalanced, and he seizes the moment to shove it away. It lurches backward, buying us a few precious seconds before it regains its footing and takes to the sky again.

The unconscious officer is still sprawled beside us, and I grab her under the arms, dragging her away from the fray. Caleb is already moving to help, despite the exhaustion evident in his posture.

As soon as we have the officer tucked behind a slab of fallen concrete, Caleb turns to me, panting, “What are you doing here?”

I flash a grin, breathless. “Apparently, saving your dumb ass.”

His lips press together in a thin line, but I see the way his shoulders lower a fraction. He’s relieved, even if he won’t admit it. He shifts, checking the ammunition left in his gun, exhaling sharply when he realizes it’s not enough.

I casually hold out a new clip, wiggling it between my fingers, smug. “Looking for this?”

Caleb snatches it from my grasp with an irritated grunt, but the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying him. He reloads with practiced efficiency. The gunfire around us is relentless, but the bullets barely scratch the Ignitus Wyrmlord’s molten hide.

I snap a fresh magazine into place, double-checking my clips while I talk. "Its weak spot is near the top of its head."

Caleb leers at me. He knows exactly where I am going with this before I even say it. "No."

I arch a brow at him. "No?"

"No, I am not liftin’ you up there."

"Well," I say, gesturing vaguely to the beast still circling overhead, "it is either that, or we just plug it full of bullets until they run out. And then what, Colonel?"

His eye twitches. "I will suck it into a black hole."

I snort. "Oh, sure. If you weren’t already so damn tired, I might actually believe that is an option. I can do this. Trust me.”

With clear reluctance, he snaps, “Fine.”

I nod. “Wait until it lands, and then get me up there. I'll do the rest.”

There’s no more time for second-guessing. We break from cover, guns blazing, the sharp retort of bullets cutting through the air. The Wyrmlord snarls, wings beating as it dodges, but we press it, pushing it lower to force it down. It slams into the ground with an earth-shaking impact.

The moment it touches down, I move. Sprinting full speed, I launch myself at a steel beam jutting from the street, using it as a ramp to propel myself higher. The second my feet leave metal, Caleb’s Evol surges around me, gravity bending in his command. I feel it—an unseen force gripping my body, flinging me upward with a sudden, stomach-flipping burst of power.

I’m weightless—suspended in the ash-laden air as I arc toward the Wyrmlord’s back. I land hard on the beast’s neck, knees bending to absorb the shock. Heat radiates, searing heat through the soles of my boots, warning me that one wrong move could cook me alive.

It screeches, body twisting violently, trying to shake me off. I stumble but lurch forward, sprinting up the sinuous column of its neck. Every step is a battle for balance as it thrashes to throw me off. 

The beast jerks, throwing itself into the sky. My stomach lurches as the ground vanishes beneath me. Damn it. I reach for any handhold, fingers scraping against the jagged cracks of its molten hide. Heat licks at my gloves, blistering even through the reinforced fabric, but I grit my teeth and hold on.

It thrashes again, twisting mid-air. My grip falters—I slide, my body dangling off its side, only held up by sheer desperation. The sky spins in a dizzying blur, the ruined city below a patchwork of fire.

Gritting my teeth, I haul myself up and push past the burning ache in my muscles. I swing a leg over, straddling the beast’s neck again as I finally reach the vulnerable patch at the base of its skull. I press the muzzle of my gun flush against the exposed, softer tissue.

I empty the clip in rapid succession, each round ripping through the weak spot, dark ichor splattering across my arms and chest. The Wyrmlord lets out a piercing, gut-wrenching shriek that rattles my bones, its body convulsing as its wings seize.

Then, everything gives way. It disintegrates into a cascade of embers and ash, vanishing into the wind like a dying star.

And I’m falling. No time to think. No time to scream. Just the cold, crushing realization that the ground is rushing up to meet me at a speed my body will not survive.

Fuck.

Caleb's Evol slows my descent, and then he catches me in his arms. He's sweaty, covered in ash, dirt, and blood. I know I have probably fared no better. My damp clothes cling to my body, hair sticking to my forehead. Still, we just stare at each other.

Until someone calls out for Colonel Caleb, and the moment breaks. His expression shuts down, his face smoothing over into that unreadable mask of his. He sets me down without a word.

"Get the medics in here to treat the wounded," he orders, striding away. "Evac any civilians still in the area. Secure the perimeter, and make sure none of those bastards are left lurking in the rubble. I want a full report on my desk within the hour. And someone call the cleanup team—we need to clear the debris before the next patrol shift."

I leave him to it, stepping off to the side to find a relatively intact piece of debris to sit on. Pulling up my Hunter's watch, I report back to the Association that the area has been cleared. 

The message is barely sent when hands clamp around my arms from behind. I jerk instinctively, but another set of hands grabs my wrist, twisting it just enough to make me stop struggling. I whip my head around and recognize them instantly—the officers from the barricade. 

"You are under arrest for assaulting officers of the Fleet," one of them snarls. "You ignored direct orders and interfered with an official operation. Your reckless actions endangered personnel, and you will be detained pending further investigation."

I laugh. Actually laugh. "Oh, come on. Do you know how many Fleet officers I just saved? I should be getting a damn medal, not—"

They yank me forward, cutting me off. I wrench my arm, but their grip tightens. "You do not get to disregard Fleet authority just because you are a Hunter."

"Unhand her.” Caleb’s voice is cold, commanding, and immediate. 

The officers freeze. 

"Sir," one of them starts. “She—she assaulted—"

"She assisted in neutralizing a critical threat to Skyhaven and prevented further casualties," Caleb states flatly. "If you have an issue with her methods, you can take it up with me. Understood?"

There is a beat of silence before the officers reluctantly let me go. Caleb’s gaze doesn’t shift from them, his stance rigid. "Dismissed."

They nod stiffly before turning on their heels and walking away. 

He doesn’t even look at me before saying, "It’s time to go. Our evac is here."

I rub my wrist but don’t argue, following him to the waiting transport. The flight back to Fleet Headquarters is silent. Caleb sits stiffly, arms crossed, staring out the window. I know that look—he’s thinking, dissecting every moment of the battle, calculating his next move.

When we land, he doesn’t even wait for me to get out of the shuttle before asking, "How did you get to Skyhaven?"

I blink, feigning innocence. "Oh, you know. I jumped off the edge and flew down like an angel."

His glare could cut steel. Without a word, he presses his earpiece. "Pull the Fleet shuttle logs for Skyhaven."

Shit.

I sigh, knowing Liam’s about to get caught in the crossfire. "Okay, okay! I called Liam and had him send a shuttle. But it wasn’t his fault! I lied to him, told him I had urgent Hunter’s business and needed to get to the Association right away. He even sent guards to escort me to the station!"

Caleb’s eyes narrow slightly. "And what happened to these guards?"

I scratch my cheek. "Well, I might have, kind of… well, you see… I… knocked them out."

Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. "Of course you did."

Something inside me snaps. I keep my voice low, but the anger is there. "You sidelined me. Again. Just like when we were kids. You can’t keep doing this, Caleb."

He lifts his head slowly, expression unreadable. "Can’t I?"

There’s something dark in the way he says it, a quiet warning—almost a threat. My anger boils hotter, but before I can say another word, a voice interrupts.

"Colonel Caleb."

Aurelia Voss.

I turn, immediately not liking what I see. She side-eyes me—not in a dismissive way, but in a calculating, judging-my-worth kind of way. Like she is trying to determine if I am even worth acknowledging.

Caleb steps aside with her, far enough that I cannot hear their conversation. My anger simmers, but my focus shifts. I watch the exchange unfold with a growing sense of irritation. She stands too close to him. Leaning in, batting her lashes, laughing at something even though Caleb’s face is as flat as a white wall.

What could she possibly be laughing at? Colonel Caleb does not joke. He does not even smile unless it is at someone else's expense.

Oh, and now she is touching his arm?

My jaw tightens. I cross my arms, glaring daggers at her back. If looks could kill, she would have dropped dead the second she walked up to him. My fingers twitch with the urge to—no. I cannot just shoot people.

…Can I?

If she leans in one more time, I might just have to conveniently trip and spill something on her. Shame there is no coffee around.

She laughs again. My eye twitches. Aurelia is practically purring at Caleb, her voice all sugary and sweet, like she’s auditioning for some romantic drama where she gets the guy. Every little movement she makes sends my blood pressure skyrocketing.

What if I shoved her into one of those industrial trash disposals? I could make it look like an accident. Yeah, nobody would miss her.

My foot starts tapping, a telltale sign that my irritation is growing. God, I hate her. She puffs her chest out like a peacock, parading around like she’s the queen of the universe. I can almost hear her in my head, like a broken record: “Oh, Caleb, you’re so strong, capable, and devastatingly handsome. Can I lick the sweat off your abs?”

I scoff loudly, so loud even I’m surprised. They both look at me. She bats her stupid lashes and turns her head slowly, like she’s just realized she has an audience. Caleb doesn’t even acknowledge me, his eyes flicking toward me for a second before he returns to listening to her.

But she? She smirks. That smug little, “I’m-better-than-you” smirk. My teeth grit as I stare at her. I’d like to see her try this crap when I’m holding a gun.

The tap-tap-tap of my foot is getting faster with every second she stays there. It’s so hard not to do something ridiculous—like just storm over and slap the shit-eating grin off her face. I cross my arms and lean against the wall, eyes glued to them like I’m watching some soap opera unfold.

The conversation finally ends, and Caleb strides back over to me. "Come on," he motions toward the flight deck. "The plane is ready. I'll take you home."

I walk beside him, grumbling under my breath. Caleb has always had ample admirers. In middle school, high school, and college, he had me pretend to be his girlfriend on several occasions lest he have to beat them back with a stick. I mean, I get it. Look at him. He's handsome, talented, and caring. The whole package, really. 

It didn't irk me as much back then, but it downright pisses me off now. I should not even be focusing on this. I should be focusing my rage into trying to get Caleb to see me as someone capable of walking beside him instead of behind him. 

We climb into the plane, buckle up, and I sit there with my arms crossed and stew in my jealous spiral.

"Whatcha grumblin' about, pip-squeak?" Caleb's voice is back to being animated and warm. 

"She was flirting with you," I snap.

"Was she?" He shrugs. "I didn't notice."

I gawk at him, my mouth hanging open for a second, stunned by his complete lack of awareness. “You didn’t notice?” I practically choke on the words, my voice a little too high-pitched with disbelief. “She was literally batting her lashes at you like she was trying to hypnotize you with them, and you didn’t notice?”

Caleb shrugs again, the casual, unfazed idiot. “Guess I was too busy focusin’ on other things. It’s not like I’m interested.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Uh, hello? Newsflash, Colenol Caleb, you’re always the centre of attention. It doesn’t matter whether you’re interested or not. It’s just… the principle of it. She was all over you!”

He leans back in his seat, giving me a sideways glance. “You know, you’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat before my temper catches up with it. “I am not jealous!” I snap, trying to bite back the sudden flare of heat in my chest. I cross my arms even tighter, as if physically holding in all the ridiculous feelings I’m having. “I’m just—ugh, whatever.”

He tilts his head. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

“Well, maybe you should show her that you're not interested,” I grumble, staring out the window, willing the irritation to just dissipate. “Because I swear, if I see her trying to wrap herself around you like that again…”

“Again? You’re really worked up over this, aren’t you?”

“No!” I almost yell, but I manage to keep my voice from fully rising.

“Alright, alright,” he says with mock surrender, leaning back in his seat. “But you know… I think it’s kind of cute how worked up you get. Makes me feel important.”

“Do you wanna pretend to be my girlfriend again to scare away any potential advances?” Caleb teases, his voice dripping with mischief.

I freeze, the words catching in my throat. Could I really go back to pretending? I’d slip into the role of his fake girlfriend, and bam, problem solved. Something about the notion stings.

I stare out the window for a moment, my mind racing, and then I murmur, “What if…”

“What if what?” Caleb asks, guiding the plane into an easy bank as we near his house. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge of curiosity there.

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts back. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

Caleb glances over at me, one eyebrow lifted in that infuriatingly calm way of his. “C’mon, pip-squeak,” he urges, leaning a little closer, like he’s genuinely interested. “What if what?”

I glance down at my lap, my fingers playing nervously with the edge of my sleeve. I’m quiet for a moment, my thoughts all tangled up in each other. The words finally slip out, quieter than I intended. “What if I don’t want to pretend anymore?”

It feels like I’ve just dropped a bomb, and I don’t know how he’s going to react. My heart races, but I can’t take it back now.

Caleb is silent for a second, and for a moment, I think maybe I’ve said too much. Then, his expression softens. A wide grin spreads across his face, and his voice, usually so cool and composed, comes out with excitement, almost breathless.

“You don’t?” he says, his eyes lighting up. “You mean it? You’re serious? This isn’t a prank, right?”

I blink, taken aback by the sudden change in his energy. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

There’s a lightness to him that’s contagious. His hand reaches over, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a casual gesture. It feels right, and I let him take my hand without hesitation. 

“It’s always been you, pip-squeak,” he assures, his voice suddenly low, full of sincerity. “It always will be.”

Chapter Masterlist

[warsofasoiaf]

A feudal contract is a method of gaining power for rulers, ensuring loyalty of the support base they need. The Targaryens didn't need the nobles as a support base before the dance, they were kept around as a convenience. The field of fire and Harrenhal prove that beyond any doubt. Even after the dance you had people like Aegon the Unworthy brutalizing people and taking noble women as he pleased (heavily implied to be without consent in some cases). There was no feudal contract, The Targaryens began as absolute monarchs with dragon power and continued to act as such until people realized that they could put a stop to it.

Westeros is it's own world with it's own politics and culture. You can't understand it perfectly by assuming it functions like medieval Europe. The fact that letting the peasants die during war is standard practice disproves the idea of a feudal structure on the lower end of society as well. The social structure is closer to ancient China.

A feudal contract is also a means to devolve power in the absence of a established central bureaucracy to administer territory. House Targaryen's use of Torrhen Stark to put down the Sunderland revolt or the various (failed) uses of viceroys and other noble appointments to administer the failed conquests of Dorne handily rebut your thesis that they kept around the nobles as a "conveinence." Aegon ruling on legal matters using maesters to advise on legal precedent and customs, and Jaehaerys I's consolidation of the legal code to ensure specific rights granted to lords, knights, and kings from everything to the right of pits and gallows to who is mandated to sit "above the salt" demonstrate that there are very clear structures in place that are very much not an "absolute monarchy." Nobles inherit their fiefs by right, a hallmark of a hereditary military caste and one of the key elements that advanced aristocratic power in regards to royal power.

Moreover, the predation of the nobility over the smallfolk, from Aegon IV's use of the Goldcloakd as his personal kidnap squad to provide women for sexual assault to the vast toll that noble warfare takes on the peasantry is very much keeping in line with history, and GRRM's writing style of "history taken up to 11." Legal protections for young peasant women who found themselves pressured to satisfy a King's lust were minimal (feudalism depended on legal inequality between the social classes). Warfare on medieval Europe often depended upon the chevauchée, a deliberate targeting of peasants to weaken an enemy's economic base and stir up unrest from the peasants who would fear the lack of protection. Medieval warfare of knights versus knights was often a chaotic affair, it was more reliable to strike at a noble's lands and villages, raiding the granaries and terrifying the populace. Taking into account GRRM's own self-described penchant for exaggeration for dramatic emphasis and his style where he often focuses on the lurid even to the detriment of the book in question (Coryanne Wilde), it's quite understandable.

I've never pretended to say that I understand Westerosi society perfectly as you assert. GRRM has been rather open about using a rough layman's grasp of English and European feudalism as a model for the political landscape of Westeros that he drew from that is relatively common to plenty of fantasy writers. He draws from plenty of sources that have shaped his own life as well - a lot of the troubles of war against the smallfolk are drawn from his experiences as a Conscientious Objector in Vietnam portrayed through medieval warfare. He's not a medievalist, but to deny that feudalism is a key component of Westerosi society is not correct, going either from GRRM's own statements or an analysis of the text as a whole; it's just flat-out wrong. You seem to have a singular fixation on the idea that because of the dragons, the Targaryens acted like absolute monarchs, but that's both not true and a remarkably limited conception of what feudalism was.

-SLAL

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Roll for Initiative--Part 4

Joe’s managed to keep the lock down about his limited knowledge on Dungeons & Dragons. He won’t say he learned about it because of you.

It only takes one text message though for the truth to start to unravel. If slaying dragons and BBEGs isn’t the place to confess feelings, where is?

Joe Burrow x Black Reader.

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Joe’s not paying attention. He hasn’t been able to since the question came up two and a half weeks ago, What if I said he’s my husband? It assumes a lot. The question makes leaps and bounds that you and him haven’t even touched with your pinkie toes yet. But he likes the sound of it, the possessive, my husband. It’s not about being owned. It’s about the quiet reassurance the way he’d belong to you and the way you’d belong to him. The kind of devotion that Joe knows is real work. But fuck, he wants that. With you. 

He always wanted that, but the timing was always all too poor to let himself envision more. It still isn’t great timing, yet the damn remains broken. Joe has imagined it now for the last two and a half weeks as he settles in for sleep, how you might curl up next to him, into his side and rest your head on your chest. Or how you too would laugh way too long about something not that funny, but it wouldn’t matter if no one else got it, because it’s just for the two of you. No amount of dodging the teases of Tee or Ja’Marr can reign in the feelings now that Joe’s heard the phrase from your lips.

And he’s fucked. That much he knows. So utterly fucked because you’re going to be sitting across from him, pages and die set out, and Joe’s not going to be able to pay a single ounce of attention to the game when it’s start. He really needs to get it together and keep it together. But he’s not sure how that’s possible—given how you look in those jeans, the chunky knit sweater hanging off your frame, a V deep enough that it shows off the middle planes of your chest, which Joe wonders would feel and taste under his tongue. 

Let’s not go there, Joe reprimands himself as he looks back down at the character sheet. He’s here. In the conference room. Under bright fluorescent lights. With important people who do not need to see him half hard. 

Joe did reach out to the social coordinator for the team—who’s seated to his left, her own pages stacked in front of her—and that’s landed Joe here in Paycor in the middle of his off season, much too early. He sits among the creative and digital branch of the team with you to do a test run of a mini campaign, before larger conversations about slating the filming of an actual series. And he should not think about you like that. Not right now. 

Initially, It was just going to be some of the guys from the team to play. But then it did seem like the kind of thing that could be interesting to show fans, so Joe pitched with the understanding a No could come. So far though, that hasn't happened.

Joe’s supposed to be helping though. And he’s not. He’s so not helping, distracted yet again by you getting your computer set up to the projector. There’s a bit of a crackle through the speakers before haunting piano sings out, strings coming in but not brightening the mood in the slightest. 

“So, Joe, help me out here,” Ashlyn, the social media coordinator, laughs, gesturing to the page in front of her. His name is just enough to tear his gaze from you. “AC is armor class and I know it determines if I get hit and such. But if someone rolls the same number as it, would they actually be able to do damage or not?”

“Meets it, beats it.” Joe echoes the phrase you and your friends used to teach him. “So yes, if your AC is 12 and your opponent rolls at 12 on their first combat roll they would then roll for the damage you’ll take. If they rolled say like an 11, the next person in the combat order would go. The action wouldn’t actually go through.” 

“Brutal. Okay, thanks. Like I know vaguely of this game but haven’t actually played so I apologize now for the million questions I’ll have.” 

“No problem. I still have questions, so don’t worry about that.”

“And how do you know what order you go in?” 

“So, before each combat scene, we’ll roll our d20’s. This one,” Joe points out, holding his own d20 out his palm for everyone to see. “You’ll take the number that shows up on top of the dice and then add the small number under Dexterity. So for example,” Joe shakes the dice in his palm before letting it fall. The dice falls onto the velvet box. “My base is a 9. It’s the number that’s face up, towards the ceiling. Then, I have a small 3 under my dexterity and I add that to 9. My total would be 12. We’d all go in number order, highest to lowest.”

“So,” one of the main marketing executives interjects, “if I got a total of 15, I’d go before you?”

Joe nods at the question. “Yep. Exactly like that.”

“Got it, got it.”

“It makes a lot more sense when you’re in the moment,” Joe reassures and he’s incredibly grateful to have the distraction of the questions. It puts a bit more distance between him and the thoughts that are circling in the background, on if he should even ask for more. It’d be too messy with your mother’s health at the helm. 

Patience is a virtue and Joe’s supply is running a little thin. Especially so when you move in closer to the table. Your addition back at the head of the table shifts the attention. “Welcome weary travelers,” you begin. 

Joe watches you turn your phone over, but keep it close by. Your mother just returned to work this week, light duty on the administrative end, but she’s yet to be able to pick up her shifts at the second job just yet—weekends for a retail store. He knows you're worried and though you agreed to hold this date, it’s obvious that you’re still a little anxious. 

Your mother recovered well, no issues swallowing post the operation. But the hurdles haven’t disappeared. She’s on thyroid medication and will need follow up scans to make sure no more cancer is present. A journey that continues to unfurl and unfold as the visits go on. 

“This should be a quick story. Single objective here. But you all are at the helm of this boat. Your decisions will dictate how this journey actually goes. Feel free to get creative. But be kind to your die. They will be our guiding stars. Wish upon them well.”

“You haven't cursed these, have you?” The senior manager of digital strategy laughs. Joe knows her face but tries as best as he can to recall her name. It dances on the tip of tongue but never comes fully. 

You laugh at the question. “No. They have their own minds. Care to see for yourself?”

“I’m game.” Ashlyn pushes in a little closer with her chair and picks up her pencil. 

“Our story starts in the Halls of Eve. The six of you have traveled wide and far in your lives prior. But here, when called upon by the Queen--a scarlett scroll you’ll find on your sheets--you all know that you must answer,” you start, setting the scene for the rescue mission for the lost prince taken by the hands of a cult. 

“I’m out of spell slots! I knew I shouldn’t have taken the middle firewatch.”

Joe laughs a little at the frustration from AJ, the name finally returned to him after way too long in the midst of their game and with a lot of help from the group’s introductions. She shakes the pencil between her fingers as she looks through her sheets. 

Joe leans in a little closer trying to get a peak, not to tell her what to do, but to help her think outside of the box. “That’s okay. Don’t forget that you have cantrips though. Things you can do without needing those slots.”

“Oh, good call, Joe.”

“I want to rage so bad,” Ashlyn laughs, flipping over her sheet. “But that’s a little too risky, with how close to the ledge we’re on.”

They’re so close to bringing down the biggest guy in the cult--not the head, but clear the muscle of the group. The tank, Joe remembers, from all the previous conversations you’ve had with him. Joe looks down to his sheet. He’s testing the waters with a paladin, his only request to you when you agreed to host the trial run. It’s a good balance for him to fade into the background just a little, but still be important--healing and strength, his ideal combination. Which Joe is more than okay without having the flair if it means the others around him get a chance to really feel out the characters and mechanics of the game. 

“Hear me out,” Rob, one of the marketing executives, starts. His gaze settles on you. “If we get a distraction going, specifically Joe taking on the big guy, could I try to sneak around to untie the prince. At the very least he’d be free and then if that son of a gun in our way just happens to go tumbling off this cliff with the horse into the chasm below and we never speak of it, then that just happens, right?”

You merely shrug. “Doesn’t sound like it’s my character at risk of going down the cliff. Joe, how do you feel?”

Joe knows you’re asking about the plan and he knows he’s probably hallucinating the dripping sincerity in your gaze. But he wishes for a moment that it was a question getting at something more. Until the realization hits that the entire room is waiting for him to answer. “Uh,” he stutters, looking down at his sheet. He has more than half his health. But the drop is steep--30 feet you mentioned earlier when AJ nearly slipped down off it. She managed to recover and not find an untimely end. He does have a halfway decent Athletics bonus though. “If it’s our best shot, and if I go down, tell my story well.”

“Oh, wait a minute, Joe,” Ashlyn interjects. “We still have to make it back to the castle with the prince and no one knows what that will be like. I do like the idea of a distraction.”

“No, really, it’s okay. A lot of you are already doing the most you can. We still need to get the prince free and back home. So, one sacrifice isn’t the worst thing.” 

“Rob, you’re a druid, right?” Ashlyn asks, clearly not entirely happy with the initial plan. 

“Yeah,” Rob answers, voice tilted upwards with his own uncertainty. 

“You’ve got animal handling, right? That’s something your proficient in, yeah?”

“Oh, let me see now.”

Your tuft of laughter is soft, the cardboard DM screen hides away what your fingers are doing, but Joe sees the amusement in your eyes, the way you lean in just a little. The smile lights up your face, though the bags aren’t gone, the levity brings something warm and bright to your face that Joe never wants to leave if he can help it.

“Oh, wait,” Rob exclaims. “I do! Thanks Ashlyn. Could I get in buddy with the horse and lure it away from the ledge? The horse the prince is tied up on. We can still take out the big guy but then there’s less risk.”

“So, do you want the horse to come to you or are you asking that you sneak in and lure the horse away?” you ask.

“I still need a distraction, so I guess sneak.”

You nod at Rob’s answer. “So who’s helping with the distraction and what is it?”

“I’m helping,” AJ and Ashlyn answer at the same time. 

“I mean I have to be in,” Joe laughs. “I’m thinking a blitz, rapid fire sort of thing. All of our powers combined or something?”

“Or something,” you laugh. “Joe, you can do better than that.”

“No, no, if we coordinate a strike--long range weapons, it’d be enough. We shouldn’t group together, but if we stay sort of spread out like this,” AJ waves to the markers on the board of where their characters are, “he’d have to pick who he goes after.”

Joe’s already wielding the longsword, so keeping range should be fairly easy. But he notices the asterisk he left next to it. You’d described in more details than usual about when Joe came across the sword at the bottom of the creek they crossed. Like a moth to a flame, Joe picked it up from the waters. To find it hadn’t rusted. As if by magic in damn near pristine condition. There’s a hum--a vibration really. You feel it in your palms each time you touch the hilt. You know it’s magic, know it’s something calling out to you. But it is distant, a whisper in the wind that you strain to hear. Familiar in the way that coming back home is the same, but also different--time has worn away some of the familiarity. 

“My longsword is enchanted, yes?” Joe asks. He’d attempted on his watch to attune to whatever magic was calling to him. He’d gotten close, but hadn’t broken all the way through. 

“Is it?” you pose in return. 

“Combat is not the time to do this, but, could this be the lost sword of my great great uncle?” Joe noticed on the sheet he’d been given the tiny breakdown of a backstory--a human who found religion to soothe the ache after the loss of both of his parents. His only family left that his character knew was a great, great uncle that had been gone for fifteen years. Adventuring isn’t so much about getting the loot, as it is the hopes that his character happens across something of his uncle, something to connect him back to his family. 

“The thought of your uncle crosses your mind briefly,” you begin, voice dipped in something like chocolate as you speak--a smooth cadence that wraps each word gently. “A thought so brief that you nearly don’t register you’ve thought it until the sword’s hum turns into a buzz. The hilt warms between your palms, a yellow glow casting off the iron. The air crackles around you and the blade, charged now. There’s a kind of power surging into the sword, the vibration stronger now and though it feels like it’s almost too much--it feels right.”

Your eyes dance as you speak, the kind of excitement and joy that kids have in candy or toy stores. “Your great great uncle--a patronage of Anhur, a god of the storm--blessed and now so are you.”

“Oh, that’s cool as fuck,” Ashlyn laughs. 

But Joe’s focused on you, the pull of your lips back over your teeth with your smile. The bubble of your laughter bouncing off the sounds of the music playing around them. You’re in an element, a space, Joe’s never seen--wrapped up in portraying the emotions and scenes just right. Body hunching over as you work the words up and out, like you can’t help but act out the scene. Breathtaking in a way that makes Joe want to seal this moment up, put it into permanent etchings so it’s never lost. 

“Joe, you can roll with advantage for this.”

Joe blinks, his name yet again bringing him back down to earth. He picks up the d20 though and nods. “So that means I roll twice and take the higher base number, right?”

You nod. “Yep, perfect.”

“8,” Joe hisses watching the dice settle after his first roll. He picks it up again, and shakes it in his palm. His heart thunders in his chest. He can’t have such a stellar moment flattened like this. To have the sword of his great great uncle feels like a huge win and Joe desperately wants to follow up that revelation with something big. “It would suck to have such a shitty roll after I finally got something cool.”

“C’mon, c’mon, higher than a 10,” AJ chants. “Big guy’s number looks like it’s 14 or 15 to succeed.”

“Roll with the gods,” you laugh. 

Joe tilts his palm, lets the dice tumble down and into the velvet box. It bounces once, then rolls. The rounded edges catching the dice after a long tense second. He almost doesn’t look. Joe watches you and the way you smile, and the way you lean in, and the way you look utterly stunning in the late afternoon sun that glimmers in through the window. But he has to look down. He has to know if he’ll actually get away with something cool in the game. 

“Holy smokes!” Rob cheers. “It worked. Holy fuck it worked!”

A natural 20 stares back at Joe. No modifiers. No finagling. The number 20 stares back at Joe. He laughs, an incredulous sound barking up from his lungs. “A crit! That’s a critical hit, right!?” 

The nod from you is all Joe needs before he’s pushing away from the table, a shout leaving him in his excitement. “That’s a crit,” you laugh. 

“Now that’s what the fuck I’m talking about,” Joe barks again. He looks down at the dice again, unsure if it’s disappeared and he’s celebrated much too early. But the 20 is still there, it’s still facing the ceiling. Joe laughs at himself, the roaring of his heart still whooshes in his ears. “I feel like I do when I play football on a 3rd and like 8 drive. This is insane.”

“Welcome to the magic. Now, c’mon, c’mon. You haven’t even gotten to the best part. Sit,” you urge. 

Joe exhales deeply before plopping back down into his chair. He pushes his hair back, nodding at you to continue. “I’m listening.”

“So, how do you want to do it?”

“Do what?” Joe asks. Part of him still can’t believe the roll. But it’s still there when he looks. 

“Between the other two successful hits, totalling up to a staggering 16 points of damaging, plus your critical hit, this poor cultist doesn’t stand a chance. There’s more stricter rules for crits among other DM’s. I believe the technical rule is that whatever your damage die is you roll both die twice and then add all numbers up together. I’ve played with a house rule, an unofficial rule, that you double the dice and then just use that. Roll once, times that number by two. But as you recall, I did say we were playing with some training wheels so here again, I ask, how do you want to do it?”

The words are hitting Joe’s ears. He swears they are. But the excitement still bubbles in his veins and he’s laughing at how excited he is and how excited you look. None of the information is fully processed. 

“God, I don’t know,” Joe huffs. “Jeez, okay. Let me think.” The room falls mostly silent. 

It could be bloody. But Joe’s not sure about that, if he’d really want the dramatics of something visceral. He doesn’t want it to feel too lame. After a natural 20 dice roll he needs something with a little bit of flair. “So you said that the crossbows hit the guy like in his ribs, right?” Joe questions. 

“Yes,” is the near immediate reply from you. 

“Okay, I think when those arrows pierce around his side/ribs, I’m going to go for like a one-two punch and go right for the heart. Insert flair for the dramatics that I can’t think of right now.”

“I got you, Joe.”

And you do--as you recount the two blows to the sides, and you ham up Joe’s base, the scene playing out in front like a movie. The slow motion on the arrows, the slight leap of Joe’s characters off the fallen trunks from their earlier encounters in the battle as the blade pierces through flesh. The hot crackle and slight smell of burning flesh. The groan the cultist wheezes out. The hooves of the horse as it’s lured away from the cliff’s edge. It all plays with the crackle of the lightning from the blade of the sword. 

When the dust settles, there’s only the carnage of the cultist bodies and the haggard breathing of Joe’s character before the journey back to the castle. The air is thick with the smell of copper from the blood mixing in with the rocks and blades of grass. The prince is freed. He blubbers his gratitude the entire journey back. The cuts are still weepy. The bones still ache. But the entire party sets out back to the castle and when they return, with no other combatives in the way, they’re greeted with cheers, claps to have the prince returned back home. 

A victory.

“Keep an eye on your email. We’ll see what we can do,” AJ offers with a smile at the end. “This was such a thrill. You’re a great storyteller.”

“Thank you,” you whisper in return. Your backpack rests in the chair you sat in. All the dice are put away. The boards are packed up. Pencils have been returned to their pouches. Your computer’s been disconnected. All the maps and markers are bagged up too. 

The room clears with the tail end of conversations echoing in the halls. Joe stays behind to help you get everything packed back into the crate and bags as they come in as you double check that you have all your cables and cords for your laptop. The work is easy enough that Joe can’t help but recall how you looked, how proud you sounded at their collective efforts. The kind of pride that is self-less. But the kind of thoughts that will distract again so Joe pushes them to the side as he pulls the small plastic crate behind him though you’ve mentioned a thousand times that you can handle it. This is just what you two do though. When you say you’re okay, Joe still does. It’s the way it’s supposed to be. 

“How does it feel to be a cultist slayer?” you tease, fishing your keys out from your pocket. The parking structure is fairly empty at this time and Joe made sure to park next to you. Your vehicles backed in side by side--your reliable CR-V parked next to the Taycan. Joe remembers how proud you were to show off the keys to him when you purchased it by yourself 3 years ago. 

He laughs at the question and pushes the handle down on the crate to get it into your back seat. “Feels pretty damn good.” But Joe knows what would feel better. It’s just not the right time. He’d want to approach you right, not blind side you with a confession. “Thanks for doing this. I appreciate it.”

“Thanks for actually putting it out there. Any more plans for today?”

“Uh, grocery shopping,” Joe laughs. “Pretty riveting things.”

“Would you want company? I think my mom is sick of me calling and I don’t think I could sit still by myself.”

He knew you were worried, just not this worried. Joe nods easily though at the ask. He’d be more than thrilled to have you join him. Though he already suspects you’re going to absolutely roasts his choices. 

“I’d love your company,” Joe answers with a smile. 

*******************

Grocery stores aren’t first date material. Not that you think any of this is a date, except for the way Joe takes your hand once inside of the store. He’s got one of the handheld baskets in his left hand and your hand in his right. Yet, this isn’t a date. Even if it does feel a little too intimate, like it’s just breeching through, cracking through the exterior that you always wondered if it was flimsy, when he pulls you even closer to his side. It’s not a date. 

It’s just desperation, to keep yourself from absolutely sending your mother through the roof and knowing that home is somehow too still for you to be.  Joe moves through the store with ease. He stops to grab some avocados and an onion, dropping your hand just long enough to press at the fruit and bag it before picking it up again. 

“How are your parents?” you ask as you follow behind Joe towards the bread. But you’re following too far behind, it seems as Joe slows his stride and urges as gentle as wispy winds you next to him--again.

“They’re good. Mom says she’s glad to hear things are going well with your mom, by the way. I think if my dad doesn't find another house project to do he’ll combust. Or Mom will combust.”

That doesn’t surprise you. The Burrows are do-ers, the kind of busy that’s not always about doing, but is about having a plan, knowing what the next thing to do is, even if it’s not going to get done yet. A trait that you swear is just as genetic as it is learned.

“And your brothers?” you question. The bakery next to you smells heavenly of freshly baked pies--apple you think, but you don’t get much time to decipher that. 

Joe slips some tortillas into the basket alongside the loaf of bread and then continues on towards the meat section. “They’re good too. They’ve asked when you’re going to come with me to visit again. I think they like you more than me, which if it weren’t you, I would absolutely take offense too.”

Joe’s brother’s are nice. You’ve really only managed to meet them briefly, not long enough that you see where you could’ve made such a lasting impression on them. Yet, the compliment still warms your chest. “Tell them I said hi and tell them the second you tell me with advance warning that you’re going back to visit, I’ll be joining.”

It’s bold to invite yourself. You know that, but you figure that perhaps this is the door creaking open a bit more. 

Joe laughs, gaze lifting up from the lean ground beef to you. “I’m visiting again next weekend. Want to join?”

You’re supposed to go out with Bianca, one of your work friends, for drinks Friday night. You two have a long standing date though and you did go out last Friday even if the entire time you nursed one singular drink. “Count me in.”

And it’s so incredibly bold and so incredibly stupid to agree. The words remain, even as Joe debates on what packs of ground beef to get, you don’t take back the agreement to join him. And the second it remains, you wonder what you might’ve gotten yourself into. But perhaps worrying about that is fruitless when you’re already standing next to him in the grocery store, selecting packets of ground beef together. 

With some minor rearranging, Joe places two packs of the ground beef into the bottom of the basket and then heads to his left--the aisle littered with jarred salsa, bags of rice and beans. “Do not tell me you’re making white people tacos,” you tease, putting together the ingredients in his basket.

Joe pauses with one hand on the jar of medium salsa. “Is it a crime?”

“Yes,” you return flatly. “Especially when you’re grabbing these ingredients right in front of me.”

“Show me the code then. Show me the penal code.”

You tug at the basket. But Joe doesn’t relent. So you point instead. “There, that’s the penal code right there,” you laugh. 

It doesn’t stop him. He slips the jar of salsa and the taco season packets into his basket. “If I bought hard shells and promised to warm them up in the oven, I bet you’d join me.”

It’s what your mother did, passed down from her grandmother. And you’re sure the box does have instructions to warm in the oven before serving but you like to think it’s a personal lineage. One you can’t do without now. “Whether or not I’d agree with you doesn’t negate that these are in fact white people tacos,” you defend. 

Joe grabs a box of hard shells. “I promise to heat them up in the oven, just for you.” 

The sentence is followed up by his turn facing down the aisle. You stand there, frozen from his audacity--the quiet confidence like you won’t say no. And you can’t. You’ve got nothing else to do on a Friday after getting off work early to host the test session. Maybe you shouldn’t be so shocked. It is Joe you’re talking about. The man who has a quiet confidence that oozes off him, makes it damn near impossible for anyone that gets close not to feel a little charmed by it. 

He moves on, hardly a step or two, before his hand reaches back, fingers stretched and waving. He doesn’t move at all. And you wonder if he’s calling for you. His gaze is distracted, staring at some sauce. The beckoning continues so you answer in turn and walk over to him. When your hand settles into his, he smiles a little. 

The thing about Joe’s charm is that he’s not nearly this touchy or insistent on it. Maybe he needs it. You know that your life has been hectic but you’ve done your best to keep tabs on his world too. Not that Joe would always come outright and say it, not now at least. 

“Want anything? Since we’re here.” 

The question is an easy one to answer. But the steady stroke of Joe’s thumb over the back of your hand hitches your breath and you have you to pray to all gods in existence you don’t say anything particularly reckless. It’s a comforting feeling, tucked in this close to Joe’s warmth. You’ve always been able to melt into him just a little, but you know it’s pushing the boundaries. So you don’t let yourself do it often. 

But right now, the desire calls out to you. You want to give in. You swallow it down though and nod at the question though he’s not looking at you anymore, paused now on the drink aisle. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? I don’t mind. Even though it kills me, I’d get you a 7-Up.” They’re not readily available as much as they used to be. But you do have a habit of grabbing a can or a bottle of it whenever you see it. So, you’re not shocked Joe has picked up on, but it still makes your chest warm to realize that he has noticed. 

“7-Up is delicious. Take that slander back immediately.”

Joe squeezes at your hand. “Sorry. Can’t do that.”

You’re not sure if he’s doing this on purpose, when he tugs you back into him again even though you’ve tried your damndest to put even just a measly few inches between the two of you. But you think it might be the death of you. He might be the death of you. 

But it doesn’t matter how much you protest, you don’t need the drink. Joe grabs a case, a passing apologetic glance as you wordlessly take the basket and follow him up to the register. He ensures that he’s carrying the case and the bags, having you tote only his keys. “You’re ridiculous, Joe,” you laugh as you hold the button on the fob for the truck to open. 

“You say that like it bothers me.”

The thing you’ve learned about Joe is that while it looks like a lot doesn’t bother him, you know that there’s a lot more that does. And it’s not about Joe thinking he has to appear masculine. or that he can’t emote. He just compartmentalizes. There’s a part of him always looking to analyze, and breakdown and calculate. 

And the off season rumblings, paired with a less than stellar season, are bound to be a natural disaster if Joe’s not careful. You wouldn’t put him on the back burner and you’re worried now with everything in your life you might have. 

“Is there anything else bothering you?”

He pauses, the 12 pack of 7-Up just brushing the lining of his trunk. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just checking in. That’s all. Friends are allowed to do that, you know.” 

“Have I done something that worries you? Because I don’t mean to worry you.” The words come out rushed, like there’s true panic behind them. He’s still careful as he places the groceries inside but now his worried glance is turned towards you. 

This is not how you planned on it going. “No, no, it’s not bad. You’re just touchier than normal. With the hand holding and I wasn't sure if something happened.”

A small portion of the worry eases off Joe’s face. Even as he slips the trunk close, you can see the cogs turning the way he works his teeth gently over his bottom lip. “Are you not a fan of that? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you rush out. Because you do like the contact--more than you probably should like it. You’re not even embarrassed about the speed of your response because the last thing you want to do is give Joe the wrong impression. “It didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. The exact opposite really. I just wasn’t sure is all.”

That’s maybe not what you should’ve said. Because now his grin has turned devious. He presses in just a hair closer. The thrumming of your heart quickens just a little when he leans in. “So you liked it? That’s what you’re telling me.”

His eyes dance, the teasing tilt to his tone makes your stomach warm with desire. You are dancing next to the fire. You are asking to be burned. But you press in close to Joe, meet him just an inch or two in the middle. The tiny gap grows even smaller. “And if I said I did? Then what?”

It’s seven words. Two words. One challenge. 

And you know Joseph Lee Burrow will not back down from a challenge. 

The parking lot of a grocery store is much too public. There’s too many people who could be watching, who probably are all watching. But you don’t care. You hope the grates in the asphalt can handle the flood now. 

The dam in its entirety is broken. 

Joe’s jaw tics. His eyes dance behind those blue shaded glasses. He looks torn, like he wants to give into something and like he knows he shouldn’t. That liminal space that the two of you have always danced in.

Instead, Joe takes your hand, walking you to the driver side of your SUV. And here, though Joe’s still just tall enough to peek out over the top, he leans in, lips pressed against your ear. His voice is lower than usual. His breath brushes over your skin and sends a shiver down your spine. One hand squeezes at your hip. The skin nearly burns with his touch, underneath the denim. 

“We can do this, if you want. But, please, do it only if you want.” Joe’s voice cracks, heavy with a kind of pain-though you might call it cracking restraint- that makes you wonder how long he’s been holding this back. Then Joe’s gone. He walks towards his car. 

You really fucking want to. The only thought you have is I want to during the entirety of the drive.  You’ve never been more sure of something that you’ve wanted. 

Joe’s house has always felt big, open in a way that doesn't feel uninviting or intimidating. But now, in his kitchen, as you watch Joe peel open the carton and fill a glass with the soda, you’re annoyed and relieved by the distance. The tension pulls at his shoulders, you can see it underneath the white t-shirt. 

“Hell of a move to pull in a Kroger parking lot,” Joe teases. He places the glass in front of you, a soft and dulled clink as it settles against the marble. All perishable items have been placed into the fridge and you and him stand on opposite sides of the kitchen counter. 

But, please, do it only if you want. How long had Joe been harboring feelings? How long did you not pretend, how long could you have avoided the nagging worry? 

“Tell it to me straight, Joe,” you request. But you’re not above begging. 

His laughter falls in short bursts, bouncing off his pristine floors. But his gaze is warm, piercing blue eyes dark and his cheeks flushed. The man that’s almost always put together, who’s never caught really off guard, even if he does get heated in the moments, looks just the tiniest bit frazzled in front of you. 

But you need an answer, even if everything screams at you to reassure him. You need an answer. 

“You know, there’s a part of me that gets a little excited each time you say my name. Because I really do love the way you say my name. And I like it when you text me in the middle of the day--the most random things, if the chicken salad was good that day, or when you ask me about my day.”

The words leave him like he can’t stop them, like now that he’s going he can’t stop. Joe eases around the corner of the kitchen island, his steps steady and his hands warm when they capture yours. “And I like it when you trust me--tell me the things you’re probably too scared to tell anyone else. Because then I know I can tell you the things I’m scared to tell anyone else too. Because then I want to text you in the middle of the day--tell you about a restaurant I tried that I think you’d like or ask your opinion on shoes to buy. I want you to be there for me like I want to be there for you.”

You squeeze at his hands. “That’s not straight, Joe.”

He exhales. His eyes close and he laughs again. The sound that you’ve always wanted to keep in your pocket. You’ve saved the rare voice notes from him just to be able to replay the sound. I really do love the way you say my name. “It is straight. Because it’s the way I feel. I like you. A lot. More than I may have let on previously. But I meant it, I’m not going to push you. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

The plate may be full. You may not be done with your mother’s health journey. You may not ever get to a place that makes you feel 100% ready for anything in life. But you do know next to Joe all of that feels less overbearing. You do know that with him life’s a little bit more worth living. 

Your palms slip up his cheek. The stubble along his jaw scratches every so lightly and you halfway anticipate him to stop you, pull away from you. But he melts. You feel the tension slip from him. Joe settles into you, presses just a fraction of his weight into your body--hardly noticeable in the grand scheme of things. But you notice. 

“I don’t give a damn about a plate right now,” you whisper, inching up with every word. “But you should tell me now to stop, if I’m reading this wrong.”

His lips are soft--not that you imagined otherwise--but it’s different. He’s firmer against you, pressing you now into the edge of the kitchen island. It’s more hesitant, the kind of kiss that tests the waters. Yet the second it’s over you miss it, want more of it. 

“You’re not reading this wrong,” Joe whispers against your lips. His hands are pressed at your hips, in a tug between pushing you away and pulling you in closer. 

“Good,” you laugh and seal another kiss to his waiting mouth,

The second kiss is steadier, more sure of itself. You and him haven’t learned a lot, but enough. There’s a push and pull. The stroke of his fingers underneath your sweater, dancing along the band of your jeans but it doesn’t feel greedy. His touch feels reverent, a touch to commitment to memory and you hope you never forget this feeling. 

You hope you can always remember the way he tastes. How the flesh of his shoulder molds to the press of your fingers, how you pull Joe into you, how you want nothing more than to consume and be consumed--simultaneously. 

You don’t know how long you two have been standing in the kitchen kissing. It could be mere seconds. It could be minutes. All you can focus on is the way Joe feels, the faintest of whimpers that emits from his chest when you whisper out his name, reveling in the feeling of the kisses along your neck and jaw. 

All your senses are filled to the brim with Joe that time doesn’t matter. All you want is him. Just Joe. 

“I am going to do this right, just so you know,” Joe states. It falls in pieces around his ragged breathing. The forced inhales and exhales give him extra wind so he can speak the words. “Ask you properly. With flowers over dinner, pick you up. The whole nine. I’d clear your Friday night next week in addition to your Saturday, if I were you.”

“I think I can keep those dates on the calendar free.”’

“You had better. Until then, I-I mean I want to continue, eventually, of course. But I’d prefer not to right now.” 

The evidence is pressed up against you, highly indicative of just what the kissing has done to Joe. But you nod at the request. “Thanks for telling me,” you return softly and press one last kiss to his lips before you start to untangle yourself. 

You hear it, the exhale from Joe as his mouth works around the starting sounds and see the phrase primed on his lips and you shake your head. “You better not be apologizing, Joe. I swear to God, if you’re apologizing for saying that you don’t want to have sex right now, I’m whooping somebody’s ass. Not sure who’s, but I’ll do it.”

“No,” he sighs, a tuft of laughter falling behind it. “I definitely was not about to apologize. Tacos--that’s what I was going to say. I’m going to go fix those ‘white people’ tacos that you were bashing earlier and warm up your hard shells.”

The stubble scratches at your lips as you press the chaste kiss to his jaw. “Good, that’s more like it.”

[mistfallengw2]

GW2 OC Questions: Combat Edition ⚔️✨

General Combat

1. How good are they in combat? Can they handle themselves in most fights? Is there anything that hinders them or acts as an exploitable weakness?

2. Do they like to fight? Is it something they only do when necessary, or are they always looking for a fight? Is fighting an important part of their life or something they actively try to avoid?

3. Are they good at hand-to-hand combat or do they prefer to keep their distance? Can they handle both situations? If not, what happens if they're forced to fight from an inconvenient distance or too up close for comfort?

4. How do they fight? Do they tend to stick to a strategy or just improvise? Do they prefer to win fast and hard, or to let their enemy tire themselves out before striking them down? Do they favor brute force and resistance, speed and dexterity, or something else? Do they fight fairly or is winning the only important thing? Elaborate!

5. Are they good at fighting alongside allies or are they better fighting solo? Are they better at taking orders or leading? Is there anyone (friends, pets, summons, etc) they synergize particularly well with?

6. What combat situation are they better suited for? Can they handle a 1v1 fight or do they prefer to have someone always on their side? How do they deal with larger-scale combat and what's their role in it (frontlines/leading the charge, backline/support, as far from it as possible, etc)? What happens if they are ambushed or outnumbered? Is there any situation that stressed them particularly?

7. How much have they trained to get where they are? Were they a prodigy/naturally talented, or did they have to struggle a lot to reach their current skill level? Did anyone teach them or are they self-taught? Have they ever had a regular sparring partner? Do they still train regularly?

8. Do they have any visible scarring or lasting injuries from previous combat experiences? How did they get them? How do they feel about them?

9. Are they also a healer/medic? What can they do if someone is hurt and needs assistance? Can they heal themselves? Do they have a plan for when they're injured?

Weapons and Magic

10. What weapons do they generally use? Are they particularly proficient with anything specific or have a preference of any kind?

11. Are there weapons they can't use to save their life? Why?

12. They have no access to their usual weapons of choice. What other weapons do they pick? How do they fare?

13. Can they use magic? If yes, what kind? If not, is there a specific reason?

14. Is there any particular quirk to their magic? Is there something they can't do with their magic that others usually can? Is there something they can do particularly well?

15. How powerful is their magic compared to their peers? How do they feel about it? Is it their limit?

16. Is there any unique way in which they mix their magic and weapons? Can they do it at all?

17. Do they have any fears or traumas tied to their own weapons/magic? (ie: sharp weapons user afraid cutting themselves, elementalist afraid of fire/deep water, necromancer afraid of death, etc)

18. Can they handle themselves in a fight without using weapons? And without using magic? What would they do if they were in a fight and disarmed/unable to use magic?

19. Are their skills augmented by anything? (ie. enchanted armor, prosthetics/physical augmentations, blessings from powerful beings, rituals, experimentation, etc)

In-game Questions

20. What's their profession/class? Is it by the book or is there anything unique? If not one of the playable professions, what's the closest one/the one you use for them in-game?

21. What are their usual builds/roles? Is there any they can't do for lore reasons? (can be specific builds or just the general role)

22. What trait lines/specializations do they use? Is there any they can't use for lore reasons?

23. What utility skills do they tend to use? Is there any they can't use for lore reasons?

24. What weapon skins do they use? Is there a skin that has a lot of meaning to them? Do they stick to specific sets or not? Why?

25. Do they use a weapon or magic unique to them/that's not present in-game? If so, how does it work?