#but otherwise thanksgiving has been great

[exitrowiron]

This note from the IRS closing their audit of our 2022 tax return, in which they questioned the rather large deduction for our solar panel installation, is a GREAT way to start our Thanksgiving holiday!

Although it isn't fun having an audit hanging over your head, our deduction was surely larger than most (we have 102 panels) so I can see why it got flagged. I wish the IRS had been a bit faster in their reply to my initial audit response, but otherwise the process has been smooth and efficient.

This audit was a great example of the IRS targeting its audit efforts appropriately - wealthy people taking large deductions.

[aziraphales-library]

Thank you so much for all that you do! I've found so many good fics from your recommendations ♥️

Do you know of any that involve Crowley being homeless or otherwise seriously struggling financially? Thank you!

I have read one with this theme, Divine Restorations and Repairs, so I'd love to rec that too! It's fantastic.

We have some fics in which Crowley is struggling financially here. And I've got a few more in which Crowley has problems with money/housing...

Copper and gold by Joseph_Amadeus (M)

Aziraphale doesn't pick up hitchhikers but he can't help himself when he sees Crowley getting steadily wetter in the rain one night.

Be Still My Soul: The Romance by MirjamOmens (E)

It’s the summer of 1917 in the Grand Duchy of Finland. The Great War rages over Europe, and the empire of Russia, of which Finland is still part, has suffered a revolution. For Azirafel Fjäll, a minor landowner and a shop runner, all these things are only mildly annoying inconveniences. His dear friend, Anton J. Crowley, is not as fortunate. The working-class people struggle to make a living in a world where there's a constant shortage of food, fuel and work. Despite their class differences, Azirafel and Anton have been friends since childhood--and both secretly yearn for more. Can their two hearts find each other as their country heads from one crisis to another? Or will the ever widening gap between their worlds keep them apart?

Sharp Objects by ElderlySardine (M)

Back in the mid-nineties, Aziraphale and Crowley had it all. They were friends, lovers, soulmates. Life was hard, but as long as they were together it didn't matter. Then in one catastrophic fight caused by Aziraphale's cruel, coercive brother Gabriel, the whole thing came crashing down. The boys parted company for good. Now it's 2021. Life has spun Crowley and Aziraphale in very different directions before throwing them back together at their lowest ebb. Can they manage to hide their history from their new friends? Can they forgive each other, and themselves? Could there possibly still be something there between them? And with Gabriel still lurking on the horizon, will they be strong enough to do anything about it?

The Ghost of Husbands Past by A_N_D (E)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it! But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner. Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either. Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas. It’s a time of hope, love, and family. It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

Magpie by southdownsraph (E)

Ezra has just been hired as a bartender at an underground LGBT nightclub to help supplement his income while he studies for his master’s, and he can’t help but become infatuated with one of the performers, an exotic dancer who goes by the name AJ.

And the one you mentioned...

Divine Restorations & Repairs by skimmingthesurface, SylWritesStuff (E)

While it's unfortunate for one’s car to break down in the middle of the countryside, the pretty-as-a-postcard Tadfield could hardly be considered the worst place Anthony J. Crowley has ever been. Of course, it doesn’t help that it looks like it hasn’t yet seen the turn of the millennia, let alone this decade, but perhaps that’s just what he needs as he crawls his way out of the Hell he’s endured for the past fifteen years. Maybe the last thirty, if he's honest with himself. Though he could do without the rain. When Aziraphale Fell happens upon him and offers him shelter from the storm in his little family-run antique repair shop, neither are expecting it to change everything. The angel with his white umbrella and his tartan bowtie doesn’t expect this mysterious stranger to be able to fill the timely vacancy in his shop or the quiet of his life, but they’ve both had experience in restoring once-beloved items back to their full glory. Perhaps Crowley hasn’t fallen quite so far that he wouldn’t fit in with the rest of Aziraphale’s ragtag team of eccentric restoration experts. And perhaps they may be able to turn that talent on themselves and each other, and seal the cracks in their own hearts.

- Mod D

[geekmystic]

"Adam? What are these?" Barbara pointed at two slips of card stock leaning up against the model of their home.

Adam turned and followed the direction of Barbara's finger. He adjusted his glasses as he stepped over to the model. Picking up one of the slips, he read out loud.

Adam Maitland

The Netherworld Express Cordially Invites You Aboard The Soul Train.

Please present this voucher at the will-call office at any time of your choosing.

The second slip had Barbara's name on it with the same message.

"The Soul Train? What is that? Do you remember reading about it in the handbook?" Adam asked.

"No. Do you think it's a trick? Maybe that Beetleman is trying to trick us? He can't be happy after what we did to him."

"Should we try to get ahold of Juno?"

"No need." A raspy voice startled the couple from behind them. The smell of cigarette smoke tickled their phantom noses.

Barbara turned around and exclaimed "Juno!"

"The vouchers are legitimate. You've been invited to The Great Beyond."

Barbara crinkled her nose in thought. "The Great Beyond? I thought this was the afterlife. You said we were stuck here for 125 years."

"Well, yes, typically, your spirit would be tied to the property for 125 years. However, you two lovebirds found a loophole."

Juno looked the couple up and down, disapproving of their naivete. With a sigh, she continued. "Both the living and the dead have a terrible time letting things go. Most people, upon learning they're dead, cling to the last bit of their mortal life. It could be a house, an heirloom, or a living person or animal. We can't break the bond until either property or living organism is destroyed or after 125 years has passed."

"But the house isn't destroyed," Adam quickly replied. "Though I question some of the choices in decor." Adam gestured downward to indicate everything below their feet.

Taking another drag of her cigarette, Juno clarified her earlier statement. "That's the loophole. You gave the house to the Deetzes. Your spirits have let go of your claim on the property. You're free to move beyond this mortal realm, past the nether realms, to the Great Beyond."

"Oh Adam. I don't know. Lydia would be heartbroken."

With her cigarette pointed at Barbara, Juno interjected again. "I know you love that kid. But my suggestion is that you leave sooner, rather than later. Otherwise, you'll be tied to her. She's still growing up. But she'll want her independence some day. And she'll resent you for not being able to move on. Leave now, while she has good memories of you."

Barbara felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. Juno made a great point. They couldn't be tied to Lydia forever. They also couldn't stay with the property. It was time to move along.

Barbara watched Adam straighten his back, his face growing serious but his eyes remained soft. "We'll wait till summer. When Lydia goes off to college, starting her adult life. That's when we'll take the train."

Barbara nodded in agreement. It would be difficult leaving Lydia but there was a brand new adventure ahead. She hadn't realized how stagnant life felt until this moment. Helping Lydia and the Deetzes was great but the thought of possibly seeing her grandparents again thrilled her. Adam would get to see his father again. "Okay. Yes. End of summer."

Juno clapped her hands together. "Sounds like we have a plan. When you're ready, hold the voucher in your hand while drawing the door. The will-call office will be straight ahead."

***

The end of summer arrived swiftly. A week before Lydia was to move into her apartment, Adam and Barbara sat down with her to explain that they wouldn't be here when she visited at Thanksgiving. Lydia cried herself to sleep that night while Barbara watched over her.

Stroking her hair, Barbara whispered, "You have everything you need, Lydia. You're the strongest and smartest woman I know. Your parents love you and support you, even if they struggle to communicate it well. I know that you'll never be alone. I feel it down in the very bottom of my soul that you'll never be alone. And we will never forget you. When you're old and gray, you come find us then. And not a moment sooner. Okay?"

Lydia whimpered in her sleep but managed to nod in agreement.

***

The night before Lydia was to move out, they had one last dance party. Even Charles and Delia danced with them. Adam and Barbara pulled out all the tricks they had learned over the last couple of years to make it a night to remember. Everyone went to bed laughing.

The next morning, Adam and Barbara watched the car pull away from the house, taking Lydia to her new life. They toured the house one last time, sharing different memories (and dreams) they had of the home. Eventually, they found themselves in the attic. Adam brushed some dust off the model, righted a tree, placed a miniature car just so.

Satisfied with his work, Adam grabbed the vouchers and handed one to Barbara. Lastly, he grabbed the chalk and drew a door...

[ahorsenamedphoebe]

Ride 107 and 108

I have had 0 motivation to ride these last few weeks. Truthfully, I’m very depressed about the US election. It’s been hard to even get out of bed, much less do anything. I’m sad, and I’m very very angry, so my mental state has not been great for riding.

That being said, I did manage to get on Sunday and today for short rides. Tacking up was too daunting of a task, so I popped on bareback both times. We stayed in the indoor, because even though Luna and I both dislike it, it’s the closest and the easiest arena. On Sunday another barn lady joined us, and we mostly hung out and chatted. Because there was another horse, I popped her halter on and used the lead rope as makeshift reins for some control. Luna was not a fan of the other horse, and made her displeasure known, but she was otherwise very good.

We were alone today, so I chose to forgo tack entirely. We did a bit of loading up at the mounting block at liberty, and she got a lot of treats for her efforts. Once I got on she was a bit insistent on treats every step, so we had to work through a bit of confusion at the start. Once she understood she wasn’t getting a treat for every lap, she improved a lot, and her turning cues were very good.

It’s been very slow for miles this month so far. My trail buddy comes back on Friday, so I’m hoping we may get a few more rides out before the end of the year. Last year thanksgiving signified the end of riding season, but I’m hoping we get a few more this year.

[almostgenerallyalways]

tgm fic recs

@stcverogers tagged one of my fics in a rec list yesterday and i thought it was such a good idea, i wanted to share some of my own favs

in no particular order:

* * *

hangman 

one time thing // kiss the sun (fight the fire) // love that’s a real long shot  He nods again like that’s exactly what he expected you to say. “I think you’re wrong. Doesn’t matter now though, does it?” i would rec anything by @callsignvalley but this is probably the series that got me most. i also love tailspin and its rooster follow up steady

california coast in your green eyes // i’ll carry my bags just until i can hold you again (2 different series) Bob’s older sister gets the news that his plane went down during a training drill, and shows up at the hospital at the same time as an arrogant pilot. //  Six months after they break up, Jake shows up at Julie’s Family thanksgiving. A second chance holiday romance with fake dating, family drama, and fall festivities. @theharddeck these fics, esp carry my bags, feel so so real and human to me, i love julie and the characterisation of jake feels so on point i also love her series out of the clear, blue sky as well as kinda might, sorta like, love you a little bit + its follow ups

i’ve been holdin’ out so long (4 part series) You can’t stand Hangman, but your dreams lately say otherwise. He notices. @steadfastconviction i adore Bluegrass and her sass

do not engage (series) You hate Hangman. Really, you do... Or so you like to think, until it begins to seem like that distaste might not be as strong as you’d prefer to believe. @clints-lucky-arrow the entire f&f universe is great but Duchess especially is a badass

afterburn (series) It had been clear from the moment you got inside a cockpit that you were going to be something special. You certainly weren’t the youngest Naval Aviator to be invited to TOPGUN, but you had been the youngest to graduate at number one in more than thirty years. Which is all the more reason why it was so tragic that you would never, ever, be able to fly again. @top-hhun is a master of setting a scene

the off-season (series) It was supposed to just be one summer. But somehow you found yourself living in your grandparent’s Maine vacation house indefinitely. It was quiet when the summer tourists left, but tolerable. That was, until your brother’s friend from college needed a place to crash and he somehow wound up staying in your guest bedroom. Also indefinitely. @ereardon just started this series but i’m so into this world (au) already

fuck (the universe) (series) You’re a Kazansky–Tom “Iceman” Kazinsky’s youngest daughter–and you’ve taken after your father and become a Naval aviator. You finished at the top of your class at Top Gun and have worked diligently and fruitlessly to get to where you are now: North Island. You don the call-sign Wisteria not only because the beauty of the flower but because of its lethal qualities. i mention @roosterbruiser below bc i read landslide first but holy fuck indeed

* * *

rooster 

landslide (series) It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. @roosterbruiser landslide is one of those fics i have to read in little bits because it’s just too good. beautiful writing that just transports me (and i love faye, she may be the most developed fanfic oc i’ve ever read - and I love her taste in music)

baby let’s play house // pt 2  you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas. @seasonsbloom i just really love this fic, it shows all the quietest best parts of bradley

first impressions  at the induction day for the newest recruits of the Golden Warriors of VFA 87, rooster assumes you’re a civilian, instead of, you know, a member of his team? you see how far you can push it before he figures it out.  @ohcaptains‘s pilot in this fic is the badass bitch i wish i could be. as well as fucking funny.

like i can (series) After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay. @sometimesanalice perfect blend of cute, funny and heartmelting

* * *

bob 

he’s so pretty (when he goes down on me) // pt 2  things between you and Bob are strictly business: he’s your backseater, and that’s all there is. @seasonsbloom‘s writing is so good it made me want to try writing fic myself

* * *

hangman x rooster

we’re fools to make war In a Walmart at three am, between beef jerky and tortilla chips, with the lights flickering above them like it’s the fucking twilight zone, Bradley wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone. or: it's a hundred degrees in texas. i can’t find a tumblr link for this but the writer is @baroness-elsa. this is 66k words and i read it in two days which probably says enough. holy shit.

* * *

there are many many more (this fandom is FULL of talented writers, damn) but this already took me an hour so that’ll be part 2 haha

[gemsofthegalaxy]

Greg and Marianne are so interesting, in addition to Greg and Ewan (and the fact we somehow never got any interactions between Marianne and Ewan?). @mossiestpiglet said in the tags of a post that we don't talk about them enough, and I concur. So allow me to do so.

I really do need to re-watch the early episodes to confirm, but from my memory, Marianne says she can't give Greg money and encourages him to go to New York City to ask for a job from Logan despite having, like, $20 left when he arrives (which makes it a huge gamble to do, given how fucking expensive NYC is otherwise). And despite the fact her own father would hate this, and wants Greg to have nothing to do with Logan. I always took it to mean she was not willing to give him money, but later on Greg talks to Caroline how his mother is solvent, debt free now. And even later, he's paying for her credit cards. So perhaps she simply had none to give.

Still, I remember getting the feeling that she was tired of dealing with him in the first few episodes and I sort of think that's part of it, but I also think she just can't help him any more than she has. She probably feels like a total failure, I mean, look at her cousins in comparison. Sure, we as the audience know they are complete messes, but at least they're rich and have the freedom to do whatever the fuck they want. Marianne at the very least does not have that luxury, and I'll say more on the financial situation throughout this post.

Greg is very clingy to her early, on and I believe they're implied to still be in contact afterwards. I think Ewan says that Marianne asked him to make sure Greg ate at Thanksgiving- that means Marianne is worrying over him going hungry (and he was going hungry, he was stealing food from work and Tom made fun of him for it).

Despite one mention in the script, Greg is vaguely not in contact with his father canonically, and I take his father's marked absence (when Greg is so reliant on his mother) to mean that he was raised by a single mother (I strongly believe he would have asked for support from his father too if he was in contact with him. It doesn't make sense to me that he wouldn't.)

Many people have noted that Marianne's scenes are often held in a bedroom, and it gives her a vaguely depressed vibe, and with her alluded financial issues, it seems like she struggled, alone. Even though her own father has millions of dollars he refuses to use.

Greg, although he is taking care of his mother financially (after she was unable and seemingly less willing to do so for him), is also a brat to her despite being an adult. No more than in the scene at a funeral where he tells her to shut up. (I personally have fairly chill parents who I can get fairly angry at and we bitch at each other, so,) I don't see this as majorly out of line or horrific, but rather as portraying that they are very casual with one another and she probably did not do a great job with discipline or, arguably, boundaries.

One thing I do want to take as canon despite it only being in the scripts is Greg's post-funeral fight with Ewan, and what I want to point out is that Greg says "mom and I have been talking and We are not coming to Christmas" which is only one line, but it feels HUGE in put together with the rest of their scenes.

Here, Greg is presenting himself and his mother as a united front against Ewan, a rich man whose child was in debt severe enough to be a topic of family gatherings, and whose grandchild was in such poverty he was sleeping in a church at one point... We have almost nothing to go off with Ewan and Marianne, but, I say again: it is quite absurd to me that he was sitting on 250mil for Greg while she struggled to raise him, presumably on her own. While she clearly checks in with Ewan about Greg back in Thanksgiving (again, unless i am mistaken then oops), Greg sits between the two of them at the funeral although he is her father, not his.

I have had friends tell me that even with their limited interactions, they get a strong impression that Marianne and Greg are quite codependent with one another, and I feel like I agree; he relies heavily on her for guidance and does not want to do things alone, but also takes care of her financially and comes across as mildly defensive about her towards Caroline, at least trying to make sure the family knows she's in a better place than she used to be. And, then with Ewan, he goes out of his way to say something to feel like it's him and mom against Ewan, when he is feeling incredibly, incredibly defensive and upset at Ewan.

For one reason or another, whether it be depression or financial mismanagement (probably a combination of both that fed into each other) Greg probably has not had much stability from Marianne but seeks her out anyway. Sure, he is an adult, and you may argue that he should be able to stand on his own feet by the start of season 1, he doesn't seem to have much else support besides her- and her him, from what very little we have seen. And honestly, parenthood does not stop at 18 years old, parents in my humble opinion should be prepared to support their kids for their whole lives as best as they are able.... and from what we can tell, this very well might be the best Marianne could have offered Greg, with how little support she must have gotten from Ewan who is incredibly gruff and only interested in his own 'environmentally-friendly' agenda. I doubt he was much help if she is indeed depressed, as many have taken her to be.

I am not even sure how to wrap this up. Just- the little glimpses that we get into Greg, Marianne, and Ewan paint such a sad fucking picture to me. Single mom, obstinate grandfather, and child who tries to please both of them but still never quite measures up. Growing up poor, with a grandfather who has millions but thinks money is the root of all evil and would rather nearly starve his own family than give it to them. And Greg doesn't even seem to resent this, although Marianne might at this point; at the start of the series he genuinely wants to make a good impression on Ewan and be sweet with him still. We didn't actually get their funeral fight, either, we got Greg saying "that was a good speech grandpa", playing both sides to the bitter end, still wanting to please Ewan in what tiny way he might be able to after his show of trying to stop him speaking. Greg desperately wants love and approval from Ewan, and he seems to get some but not a ton of support from Marianne, and we have almost no way to know exactly what goes on between father and daughter with the other two but... I cannot imagine it's a strong or loving relationship.

[elvisabutler]

i've had no love like your love

summary: both you and professor presley would like to forget about the incident between you two and you do while still occasionally falling into each other's arms when spending time with one another. the two of you finally reach a breaking point. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: professor! elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x student! female reader word count: 9487. i got a little carried away. warnings: big daddy elvis. elvis using a walking stick/cane. implied praise kink. student and professor relationship ( everyone are of legal age ). religious talk. elvis being ill enough to miss class. unrequited love that would be requited if people just opened up their mouths. oral ( f receiving ). use of psalms in inappropriate ways. bunch of tears. mention of physical abuse/hitting/being kicked out of houses. use of the nickname belle for the reader. use of the derogatory name jezebel. mentions and beginning of impersonal sex like in my hearts already sinned. thigh riding. author's note: so i'll warn you ahead of time you've got to get through a lot of words of sadness to get to their happiness in this but it's worth it. i'm honestly super glad this got the reception it did since when i posted the little teaser/trailer as my last kinktober piece i thought this was hella niche and didn't think anyone would like it since it's big daddy elvis and it's a professor au. but y'all have seemed to absolutely adore it and it makes me happy. this is not the end of them since i've got an epilogue ( purely happy, i promise ) and honestly, if anyone ever wants me to write more of them ( case in point, the ask i got about a movie night with him and belle ) or i have an urge to i probably will. and y'all know the drill, pick your elvis poison, this is written with real elvis in mind but you can imagine austin elvis. and previous parts are here to be read in order: 1 and 2.

There's one thought- or a series of thoughts- his mind keeps cycling back to, that keeps rolling over and over in his head as he looks at the door you just left out of. Gossip isn't something he normally cares about but when he heard your name, he couldn't help but listen in properly because when it came to you he couldn't help it, he never has been able to help it. 

"She's going for Presley? That religious- he won't give her the time of day like that. She's too impure for him."  

"I've heard that's why she wants him because come on man, you know he never has gone for a student. Why not have the Tour Guide show him what he's been missing? Besides she's already spending all that time in his office and wearing his jacket half the time. Bet she's gonna fuck him before Thanksgiving break. Then she'll be free."  

"Two in one semester-" The calculus professor whistles. "Next semester she'll be begging for an orgy at this rate." 

He's not dumb, contrary to what his teachers back in the day might have thought. No, he's not dumb but sometimes he prefers to see the best in people, sees the parts that other people might overlook. Maybe it's just from his upbringing or maybe it's from how he was treated in the music industry but he likes to think himself a good judge of the character people might otherwise keep hidden. And with you he had thought- he had thought there was something there. Something you had hidden away amongst your conquests as ill advised as they might have been. You were- you felt like the sort of person who could be taken care of while still taking care of him. You felt like coming home or like God himself had dropped an angel in his lap. The idea that he was just another man- another professor in your long line of them stung. He knows he's not a great catch any more, that he's not nearly as pretty as he was even two years ago, let alone when he used to perform on stage or was in the movie picture business but you didn't seem to mind. You seemed to enjoy him, unless he had read everything wrong, had read your lingering glances wrong. Unless he had read your reactions to his very presence wrong or how you would smile just so in a way he recognizes from some women.

If he hadn't have read this situation wrong and you had actually enjoyed his company and cared about him at least in some small part the way he cared about you, why had you answered yes to his test. Why in God's green Earth had you told him that you just wanted him to be another professor you fucked? The answer should have been that you wanted to fuck him as a person and not just- him because he was your professor. You didn't need to charm him like this- to worm your way so comfortably into his heart in a way Priscilla had and how Linda had as short as their relationship was. It's- you didn't need to play with him like this- you didn't need to be cruel.

Maybe the best thing for both of you would be to pretend none of this happened. Pretend that everything was normal and that he hadn't seen how your pussy looked in underwear that was barely there. Pretend he hadn't seen you arch your back for him. Just pretend he hadn't had you against the desk in a way that was so far from how he planned. That's- that should be what he does. You were still perhaps that good girl, that wonderful woman he thought you were, you just needed to be reminded of it continuously. Maybe he just wants to be selfish and have you in his life in whatever way he can. God, he was getting to be stupid and silly as he got older, wasn't he?

Love makes you do stupid things, you've realized this more than anything with El- Professor Presley. With other men, with other professors your brain and your heart seemed to actually be in line with one another, seemed to remember that these were flings and while their outcomes led so much to be desired you could file them away as business transactions. Business transactions that allowed you to avoid worrying about your grades if you were sick or if you had too much going on at one time. You figure it's your own fault for taking the challenge Noelle had offered you. Figure that you brought this on yourself despite knowing that you had seen the man for years now from afar and thought that he was the most attractive man you've ever laid eyes on. Thought his waistline- much as it occasionally fluctuated was perfect at damn near any size but you had a special place in your heart for his size now. You should have known your heart would believe one thing- would feel one thing while your brain would try and remind you that this- this couldn't ever be more than whatever it was. You hadn't even needed to do it, hadn't needed to take the chance on sleeping with him because you were fine when it came to his class, never missing a class or a discussion or anything that had him lowering your grades. Yet, you had to be selfish, had to ruin the relationship- the friendship you and him had with each other. You had to ruin him as a person, didn't you?

The man who had sex with you against his desk that day wasn't Elvis Presley, Professor Presley, whatever you wanted to call him. He wasn't the person you had fallen so deeply in love with that your heart ached and twisted and threatened to fall right out of your chest at the mere idea of losing him for good. He was something- someone else entirely, someone who you didn't recognize in the slightest but maybe that's who he always had been, maybe that was the man you had fallen completely in love with over the semester. Your brain hadn't bothered to entertain the idea of a life beyond this semester but you think- no, you know- that your heart had other plans. Your heart dreamed of a life with you at his side at Graceland during the summer and on the breaks at night. It dreamed of a life with you in his lap and his head in yours. You just dreamed of a life with him come whatever may be.

That dream is still in your heart as much as your brain knows it's stupid and silly and a forgone conclusion at this point. Yet, you can't stop yourself from still wanting it from pining for the mere idea of it. You can't stop yourself from taking his jacket you still have and wrapping yourself in it after you come home from that day- that absolute mess of an emotional day because that mere idea of a life with him. A life where he comforts you and wraps his arms around you when you find that life is too much or when he finds that life is too much.

Maybe that's why you don't back away, maybe that's why you let yourself continue on debasing yourself in a way that you're practically mortified to realize. Or maybe it's because after that day things go back to normal. He acts like the man you fell for, acts like the man you could see some form of a future with and could dream of living the rest of his days with. Still, you choose to believe that it's worth it, that this is all you're ever going to have of Elvis. God you wish your brain could just call him Professor Presley or Mr. Presley but when you're in his office talking about what had happened in class or the lesson plans he had for the next one he always insists on you calling him Elvis and it feels so natural rolling off your tongue. It feels like it's meant to leave your mouth in sighs as he brings you pleasure and with fondness that you can only have with someone you love to the ends of the Earth.

You should have known better, you should have known better because you might be strong, you might be the sort of person who can hold herself up with or without praise that Elvis sprinkles into your life. You're the sort of person who shouldn't do this, who wouldn't do this for anyone else if it wasn't him. You should break it off, should give yourself a clean break but he's always there and he's right there saying the words you want to hear. He's there acting like he's supposed to and you find you can't even grieve for the loss of him because he's not gone, is he? No, he's right there in front of you, almost mocking you in his actions and how they conflict when you're up against his desk, his cock sliding in and out of you with such obscene squelching and squishing because he knows how to touch you in just the right way that has you groaning against the coolness of the desk. He knows how to touch you in just the right way that has you so aroused you make a mess of whatever you touch. The times you're just on his thigh because he can't get it up- not for lack of want, but because of his body betraying him like everything else seems to- those times always end in him with a suspicious wet spot that makes him glad he's got on black pants to hide the stain you've put there from riding him.

Things feel so impersonal, such a stark contrast to the actions of both of you around the times you do these things. You're adults and yet the concept of talking about what happens- talking about how you two fall into some natural rhythm of companionship only to have it stripped away the moment one of you climbs on top of the other or the moment he pats his thigh for you to straddle- is so alien to either one of you. When you've fooled around with the other professors even when it came to the worst exits you were still able to look at them, still have that element of attachment when you would be with them up until the point where you were kicked out and where you were slapped and yelled at and chased out windows that had you breaking your ankle. With Elvis it should be the same, you want it to be the same because maybe if it was you could- it would be easier for the two of you to talk. It would be easier to not feel like this is a business transaction and that as much as he'll be the man you started to love before and after it, he won't be that man during the act. You'd say you felt used but how can you be used if you're also using him. It's silly and embarrassing and it wears you down after each time even though you always crave it just a little bit because it's all you feel like you can get of him like that. You want more than his companionship, his praise and his subtle touches on your shoulder and his laughter. You want every single bit of him you can have. You're grasping at whatever you feel you can get and you don't realize he's doing much the same thing.

It has to be impersonal because if he looks at you he doesn't trust himself to not fall to your knees and worship you like the angel sent from on high he believes you to be. He calls you Jezebel because that reminds him how you wrenched his heart from his chest and twisted it in your hands. Staying away from you isn't an option because outside of when you two fall into each other's arms you feel like his- feel like third time is truly the charm on women he adores to the ends of the Earth and that you could be the one he spends the rest of his life with- however long that may be.

However long that may be is always on his mind the more his stomach gives him issues or his body feels like it's breaking down more and more. Should try and get everything in check, try and cut out some things maybe but he's never been the most disciplined in anything that isn't religion and even then he knows he falls off that wagon on occasion. He has to miss two more classes and on one of the nights he can't sleep, his stomach contorting in on itself and his bones feeling an ache he can't shake he wishes you were there. Your presence that one night, curled up against him after he had woken up and found you on the couch only to carry you to his bed had been some of the best sleep he'd had in such a long time. You might not have healed all his ills but you served to be a balm he couldn't help but crave on this night.

The thing about him missing is that he can't know- he doesn't know that you notice the second it's Joe up at the front of your class again and you swear you want to throw up. Your stomach drops so far out of your body that it might as well be in the core of the Earth. Elvis wasn't here again which meant something- some part of his body was acting up again. Maybe you shouldn't have been on his thigh after the last class, maybe you should have just let it be one of those times when you just talked and relaxed with one another and not let it turn sexual. No- No, it would have happened regardless, after all, the last time he had missed you and him hadn't even done anything other than talk. That was before- you wouldn't dwell on it, if this was anything like the last time he'd be back come next class a little more worn down and needing perhaps more company and a bit of help but he would be fine. He's always been so larger than life and so strong that there was nothing to worry about.

Except- he doesn't come back after that first class and he misses another one and you had been lulled into a false sense of security thinking he was alright when no one including Joe was there early. No, instead you had Jerry coming in almost five minutes late telling everyone that class was canceled since anyone who would take over for EP was a little occupied and as nice as he's heard everyone was- he's a business professor- an economics one- not a religious studies kind of guy. You don't expect people to be loitering outside of the class, figuring that much like any college students they'd be rushing to the library to study or to their dorms or apartments to sleep. You wish people had done that, wished the two people you come upon would have done that.

"He's gonna be dead in a year if that, man." The student- James you think- says, rolling his eyes. "My brother had him last year and he missed one class, we're on what, our third?"

"Third and the Tour Guide wearing his jacket. Maybe that's why- she's drained him." The other laughs quietly.

"She hasn't worn it since the middle of October, no, she's already moved on. Wouldn't be surprised if he passed her along to his little Mafia." James pauses. "Whatever the case- he's dead next year. If he even gets through the semester. Sucks, man, he wasn't the worst professor."

There's a part of you that wants to hear what they have to say, hear how they want to blame you for Professor- Elvis not being here but you can feel your heartbeat rushing in your ears and feel your eyes welling up with tears you can't- you refuse- to shed in front of people and find yourself pushing past them, your boots thumping on floor as both of them laugh just a little realizing you had been listening to them the whole time.

They had to be wrong, they had to be wrong because as sick as maybe Elvis was he wasn't- he couldn't be that sick. No, they were just- joking around, they had to have been. Maybe they knew you were there the whole time and just said it to mock you, after all, you know it's truly no secret that you are his favorite student and were even before- the incident. If they were right though, that meant-that meant after this semester he was gone. You'd never hear a story about how stupid some of your classmates were or about hear him sing like he had that one night again. You'd never share another set of snacks and a drink with him. He'd be gone and you'd be- He'd be gone and the world would feel a little bit dimmer.

The idea of a world without Professor Presley, a world without Elvis swirls in your mind that weekend as you force yourself to do your schoolwork. Ignoring it would be so easy and you could just curl up with his jacket and with your favorite book or in front of the little television and just pretend you hadn't heard any of that. Any time you think of doing that, though, you hear a voice that sounds suspiciously like his with a little backing of a voice that sounds like yours in your mind reminding you that you should do your work. So you do and you eat and you do everything you're supposed to that weekend as you try to avoid thinking of what the other students had said. It's hard but you manage well enough. Monday comes sooner than you'd like and you find yourself dreading entering Elvis's- Professor Presley's class. You sit down in your normal spot though, your eyes shut as you try to relax and burrow yourself into his jacket as you do.

His cane taps against the floor and a breath you hadn't realized that you were holding comes out of your mouth in a rush. He's here, he's alive and he's going to be teaching class today. You bite your lower lip as you hear the taps stop right behind you and feel Elvis's hand grasp your shoulder, just as warm as it always is. You hear his voice rumbling, even with so much exhaustion coloring the tone about how he's glad to see you where you’re supposed to be and you look up at him to see something in his eyes, something that feels like a spark of the man you've fallen for completely this semester. Maybe- no, you don't dare hope fully.

Class feels like a blur and while there is a debate as per his usual it's much more subdued with you barely offering input and him still feeling a little too rough to really force some excitement into it. A part of you wants to just head straight to your other class and not entertain the idea of going to Elvis's office but as you start to leave you hear the tap of his cane following you and hear his voice.

"Y/N." He starts, his eyes roaming your top half and settling on his jacket. "Gonna see ya in five minutes?"

The word no is on the tip of your tongue, you should say no but you've been so worried about him that you nod slowly, adjusting the straps on your bag and it earns a small smile from him as he walks off slower than normal but still seeming just as strong as normal with the tap of the cane. It takes you a little longer than five minutes to reach him, almost as if you're too nervous to really go to his office but when you get there the door is wide open and you see two drinks on the desk and you settle yourself onto the couch.

Talking- even with everything- comes so naturally to the two of you that you hardly realize how you both shift closer to the other as you talk. You hardly realize how you're close enough that you can feel his body heat against your side and that he feels the same thing. This is how it always seems to start since the Incident, with you two moving closer and closer until you're in his lap and today is no exception. Except, maybe it is because you're wearing his jacket and you saw a glimmer of something in his eyes that tell you maybe there's something there. That maybe the person you want to spend all your time with is still there underneath everything. You don't know when you decide to hook your leg over his thigh, thanking every god you know that he has a tendency to spread his legs even if there's no reason to and you hike up your skirt just a hair as you start to grind against his thigh, facing him as you do. Your hands move to try and cup his face, try and pull him closer to you before you feel his hands on your hips manhandling you to face that opposite way.

No. This- no, this isn't- you want him but not like this any more. God you can't- why was it so hard for him to let you just look at him when you do things like this. He was gone for two classes and you were so worried but he won't look at you. You're wearing his jacket and he noticed and he won't let you look at him. Your body can't help itself, still grinding a bit as you try and maneuver yourself back to facing him only to be stopped time and time again by his grip. It's not punishing and it's not going to bruise- you hope- but he won't let you turn. He won't let you turn and his mouth starts to spew words that make you want to curl up in on yourself.

His mouth hisses into your ear. "The Jezebel doesn't want it this way? Doesn't want my thigh today? Too good for me?"

You snarl, tears starting to form in your eyes out of sheer frustration and anguish rolled into one. "I never- I'm not saying that, I just- Elvis, please, let me look at you." Your body starts to contort in positions you didn't think were possible as you continue to try and face him only to be brushed aside.

Words are leaving his mouth, you hear them faintly but you finally just launch yourself off his thigh, chest heaving and eyes fiery as can be. Your legs shake at the sudden loss of his thigh that had supported you up until now but you stand your ground as best as you can. "No, I'm not- We're not doing this, not like this, I- What have I even done to deserve this? This- God, I don't even know what to call it. This joke? This playing with me like this?"

"Playing with ya like this?" He barks, heaving his body off of the couch and moving to stand in front of you, his blue eyes stormy as anything you've ever seen in your life. "That's goddamn rich comin' from ya. Lil Miss Jezebel. The Tour Guide. The Harlot who-"

"Don't!" You shout, not even caring if anyone outside in the hallways can hear you. "Stop calling me that! I'm not- You wouldn't call me a good girl if I was any of those things!"

"They're- They don't hafta be seperate, darlin'!" His emphasis on the nickname is punctuated by him inching even closer to you, his words getting lower as he starts to hiss them. "Because you're most certainly a Jezebel, climbin' on me every chance ya get. Actin' like your God's gift to men wit' the others. Tell me, that new professor, t'one in the math department-"

"What other- Is this about-" Your thoughts jumble as they try to catch up with what he's saying. He's calling you a complete Jezebel and asking about someone who doesn't even exist to you. Your chest heaves as you push yourself into the little bit of space between you, your pointer finger pointing at his chest. "The new professor? The one I had to ask for help for because he's the only math professor who hasn't tried to come onto me?"

"Do- Do I look stupid to you, Jezebel?" He asks, almost as if he's afraid to say your name. "I heard from the other professors-"

"You could have asked me!" The words are spit out of your mouth and you can even see a bit of spittle flying onto his face. It brings you a sick sense of satisfaction to see how his already angry face slides between pure shock and more anger. "I thought we were friendly enough to do that! I've been to your house, Elvis!"

The noise that comes out of him before he can even get words out is truly defined as a snarl and a growl in the truest sense of the words. If you hadn't known any better you'd have thought you were arguing with a wild animal. It startles you to the point where you back away just a bit, not because you're worried he'll hurt you- no he's never been that type even with everything- but just because it's your natural instinct in the face of something like that. Despite that, he follows you, moves closer again even as his voice roars leaving his mouth. "You've been in my bed, Y/N! My goddamn bed! Curled up next t'me like ya belonged there!"

You duck away from him, almost as if to escape feeling very much like a cornered animal. He's not going to hurt you- he won't because he's not like- he's not like the rest of them but you can't defend yourself if he pins you down with his body or his words. His eyes follow you like a predator stalking prey even if you both know you've never truly been prey to him or perhaps anyone else. "That's exactly my point! Why wouldn't you just ask me?"

"'Cuz ya'd have lied!" His answer is slurred, the anger truly getting the better of him as he moves to cage you against the wall, only to have you slide away again.

"Not to you, Elvis!" How could he even think you'd lie to him about something like that? That you'd truly lie to him in general? "I've never lied to you!" You hadn't told him things but you had never lied, not a true and honest lie.

"Haven't ya?" He doesn't move this time, instead choosing to stare you down. "Tell me, Jezebel. Did ya just wanna fuck me so ya could tell everyone ya did? How ya got me when I haven't fooled around with a student in all my years and I haven't fooled around with anyone going on at least a year? Or was this just ya bein' sweet on the fat ol' man?"

The flinch that comes from you is unexpected and you look down at your body wondering if he shot you or slapped you and you didn't realize. There isn't a mark on you, no blood showing, no handprint making a mark on you. There is just you wishing he would have slapped you or injured you in some way because maybe it would hurt less than the words he had just said. It would hurt less than the accusation he's just thrown your way. You do not cry in front of people, you refuse to, knowing tears never make things better when you're caged and yet you feel your lower lip starting to jut and your nose starting to run before you shake your head. It's- he's not- he is wrong and you need to prove that to him.

"Just being sweet on the fat old man." You can't help but laugh, the cacophony of emotions threatening to tear you apart at the seams. "Do you- Do you hear yourself? I- What is it, Elvis? Am I your Jezebel sent to what ruin your little God Fearing self? Or am I just some Jezebel who's sweet on you? Or are you going to tell me I'm both? That I'm not good enough for you? Too used?"

You see his jaw tighten and you worry if you've said the wrong thing. You worry that he's seen how you look like you're about to cry and something is going to go wrong but he just takes a step closer to you, his cane tapping on the floor just once. His head tilts just slightly to the side. "I know what I said, lil Jezebel. I know that you've been actin' all sweet, actin' like you're worthy of the nickname Belle. Worryin' 'bout me. Comin' to my house, gettin' me into bed but when I worry 'bout ya, put ya in my bed next to me, ya leave me alone. Then I hear t'boys. Hear what the lil professors you'll eventually fuck gotta say about ya. Ya just playin' a lil game wit' me, ain't ya?"

You bite your lower lip as an answer before you take a deep breath as you start to head to the door, trying to open it only to realize at some point he's locked it. You could unlock it but you feel the need to turn around and defend yourself. "That's- Elvis. No. No- I- I wouldn't- I honestly like you!" You don't dare say love because if he thinks this low of you he's not going to want to hear it. "I care about you! I- You haven't been here for almost a week in actual days counted and I've been worried. They're making jokes about you dying and that idea terrifies-"

He cuts you off as he takes another step and you hear another tap of that goddamn cane as you find yourself moving up against the wall, realizing you can't move. "Stop. Lyin'."

"I'm not- Elvis- I'm not! Why can't you- I'm I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. I wouldn't lie to anyone like this." You want to be strong, you want to fight more but it's as if he's saying everything exactly to hurt you in just the right way. He's saying everything that just cuts through any defense you have for it.

It finally starts to weigh on you, finally starts to drag you down into the depths you were trying so hard not to fall into. He- he won't understand either because of his own choices and stubbornness or because the idea is foreign to him. The idea that you were terrified- you the girl who is so strong that you've taken something that should be an insult and wear it with a bit of pride or at least wear it in a way that lessens its effect- is so foreign it truly refuses to penetrate his brain. At last that's the only thing that crosses your own mind as you feel cornered. You feel trapped and like- you feel like something is finally breaking within you. That this, out of everything you've had thrown at you is what's broken you. The wall behind you reminds you of his solid form except it's all wrong, it's so cold that it can't be him. He's standing in front of you, blue eyes raging like a hurricane and his body coiled like a tight spring, his cane holding up his leg as he moves forward to cage you in again and that's it. 

Your body sags against the wall, using it to remain somewhat upright as you slunk down to the floor, unshed tears congealing in a hard mass in your throat. You try and swallow only to have something again to a low groan or small whine escape your lips. This- he's broken you, you've been so strong only to let this stupid man who you shouldn't have even gone for in the first place break you. This stupid man who was- who felt so different and like he held every promise for happiness in the words he spoke. In the praise he gave you. In the way his body felt like it was made to hold you and touch you in ways you yearned for.

"Jesus-" His voice sounds crushed above you and for some reason there's a part of you that feels a victorious delight in the fact that you've made him sound like that. Made him sound as anguished as he's made you feel for weeks. As anguished as you feel thinking of him dead. “Y/N- Get up- Ya g-gotta stand up darlin’.” 

No you don’t, hell you don’t even trust that your legs would let you stand up at this point, as much as you feel them minutely shaking. No, you’re quite content to stay on the floor, feeling almost catatonic in the way your mind is focusing on everything about the past semester. You try to close your eyes as if that will make the tears that are threatening to fall go away when all it does is make them slide out the corner of your eyes. That's the final dam bursting as more follow even as you don't want them to. All that’s in your mind is every moment he’s touched you, every moment you’ve walked next to him, every moment when his eyes were like sapphires glittering as he looked at you laughing over a bottle of Pepsi while you waved your hands talking. You remember every hint of praise that had your mind going a little fuzzy and had you shiver for a want of more. 

"Anyone ever tell ya how insightful ya are?" No because even if you paid attention during class and did the readings and made the grades they didn't care. 

"Ya ever thought about teachin'? Though the debate was a goner till ya put it back on track." That was nothing, just you wanting to make sure no one lost the point Elvis was trying to teach.

"You've been makin' this semester a goddamn breeze."

Perhaps you had but for what? For him to be missing class and looking half strung out or exhausted when he came back? In all the time you had spent together he hadn't even hadn't even told you what the problem was- what took him away from you and from a job he loved. Maybe everyone was right, maybe this might be his last semester teaching and look what you’ve done- you’ve made it so his last hurrah is being known as your last fling or just another fling in your series. The thought makes your stomach roil at doing that to him- doing that to a man that God help you- you had fallen head over heels for to the point that you wanted him at any cost and in any way you could get him. 

"You're- darlin'- you shouldn't b-be-" He has to stop himself from talking, feeling an old stutter starting to rear its ugly head. His breath comes out shakily as he tries to focus on you, focus on how your shoulders are shaking with tears and how he did this to you. How he's done something that's irrevocably harmed you. He hadn't wanted this, not even at his most angry has he wanted this. "Don't- don't cry. Goddammit, calm down. God, why'd ya hafta get on the ground."

You look up and for a brief moment there’s a flash of fire in your eyes, a pang of pure annoyance at what he says. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you once again! Make the great Elvis Presley have to get down on the ground. Put him at the Jezebel's level. Leave me down here where I apparently deserve to be."

"Ya know I didn't mean it like that! Goddammit Belle, jus' meant my knees-" He has to take a deep breath, slow and steady and shut his eyes as he gets down to your level before he opens them and cups your cheek, trying to be gentle even as you flinch a little and shake your head. "This- you s-shouldn't be cryin' like this." Not over him and what he's done. Over everything that's been done from the very start. "Ain't worth it."

More accurately he ain't worth it.

"I don't know anything when it comes to you, Mr. Presley." You pull away as your tears start to fall even faster. "I am crying like this over a man who thinks I'm- Don't call me Belle, don't call me that like you did when I was leaving you in your bed. Don't act like you care." After all, he doesn't, he can't because who would care for you and feel the way he does about you. Believe the things he does about you without giving you a chance to explain. "I'm just a harlot. I'm the Tour Guide of the school who now even you get to say you've slept with. You've still got it."

"Darlin'." His voice is pitched lower, almost as if he's trying to talk to a skittish animal. As if he's scared if he talks any louder he'll spook you and that you'll run away for good. "I-I never said I didn't care. W-Wouldn't've put ya in my bed that night if I didn't. Ya looked- ya looked freezin' 'n i couldn't stand it." He pauses, his features darkening for a moment. "Then ya left in the mornin' 'fore I even woke up."

You had left in the morning. You had left that morning because every time you stay at someone's house, some professor's house it's always ended so poorly. The way his face darkens as he tells you that makes your body shiver even as his jacket- that for some ungodly reason you still have, that for some ungodly reason you couldn't get rid of- tries to keep you warm. The anger he has makes you think you were right to avoid him that morning- he- but if he cared, if he meant to put you in there- then you should have stayed. He wanted to wake up to you, wanted to have you burrowed into his side. It makes you freeze.

Elvis looks at you and sees how your body tenses up, sees how you're frozen in place and he frowns as you start to speak. "When I stay in the morning, it's not pretty, Elvis. I- I didn't want you to be the same."

His hand clenches into a fist as he shuts his eyes. His breaths are slow and measured for what feels like an eternity before you see him unclench his fist and look at you. "Ya mean how the Chemistry professor's wife would have beaten ya black and blue if she had gotten a real proper hand on ya? 'Stead of the shiner ya had for a week? Or how ya busted yer ankle hoppin' outta tha' one history professor's window. Ya want me to go on?"

Something blooms in your chest at him telling you about those times. You hadn't even met him when any of those times happened. Sure, you had seen him around campus but he didn't- couldn't have even known your name. You open your mouth, tears still falling but slower as your body tries to calm you down. "You- You shouldn't know about-"

"'ve got eyes don't I?" He responds, as if that explains everything. "Y/N- Belle- I noticed ya before ya ever stepped foot in my class. And they talk, darlin', oh do they talk."

It's then that you look away, almost ashamed at knowing that he's always known about you actions. It is absolutely no wonder that he called you what he did, why he believes you to be what he's called you. You have to pause before you speak, trying to gather your thoughts, rubbing at your eyes as you do. "And that's- that's why you've been- if you've heard all the stories and do know about me then I guess you're not wrong in calling me Jezebel. Just adding you to my long list. But- you- when that's what happens when I don't leave- why do you think-"

His voice takes on an edge of frustration you think, or maybe it's genuine hurt. "Ya really think I'd've done any of that to ya? Ya think I'd do any of that t' someone 've been callin' Belle in my mind 'cause I sometimes look at ya n' I can only think of that damn word in French?" He moves to stand up, his knees and other joints cracking just a bit. "Get up, darlin'. I- just trust me this once and get up."

A stubborn part of you wants to stay on the ground, just sit there and stew in your tears and feelings but when you look up at him with blurry eyes you can't help but heave yourself off the floor and plant yourself just close enough to him that you're looking into each other's eyes if you look up through your lashes. "I- Elvis-" You start to speak only to have him cup your face and the warmth of his hand juxtaposed with the calluses on his fingertips has your eyes fluttering shut against your will. He's not supposed to be this soft, not to someone- not to the person he doesn't care about, the person he's only roughly fucked while pretending it didn't happen afterward. "Don't."

When you say that word he pulls away his hand and you think he's listening to you, think that he's doing what you're asking him to do only to hear the next words that come out of his mouth. "Blow your nose, Belle." His hand that hand left your face, had left your cheeks came back with a handkerchief, monogrammed with a cursive EP. He doesn't necessarily shove it under your nose but it's a near miss even as he kisses your forehead. "I'm not moving it from under here till ya do, Belle."

"I'm not a-" You start before looking up at him and realizing despite his comforting air no part of him is doing this because he thinks you're a kid. No, he knows you're a grown woman- you're a grown woman he wants to be with until his dying breath. "I can hold my own handkerchief."

His lips stop in the middle of attempting to give you another peck on your cheek a slight chuckle escaping him. "Would ya quit bein' stubborn? Tryin' to comfort ya and you're tellin' me ya can hold your own handkerchief. 've been a goddamn asshole let me show ya 'm really a good southern gentleman at heart."

"Southern gentleman don't act the way you did." You shakily exhale, realizing that he's trying to comfort you, trying to place small kisses on your face as if that is solving anything. You shake your head. "Southern gentleman don't play with people like that."

"Darlin', trust me, the older we get, the more every single Southern gentleman does." He pauses to look down at you, his blue eyes narrowed. "I try t'be a gentleman but Lord knows 've got a temper wit' a wrath that rivals God himself. 'N I think I took that out on ya. I- I'm- Ya wounded my pride, alright? Sayin' what you said when I asked if ya wanted me t'fuck ya. I know- I know I can get a woman, but I don't- It's usually more of one night stand or somethin' that's lackin'-" He rubs at his neck. "Care. Doesn't have that tender lovin' care I need nowadays more than I did when I was younger."

Care. Oh, you had been so- you both had been so stupid. Your eyes flit up and you notice how vulnerable he looks just in this moment and you swear it takes your breath away. "Elvis. I didn't- I thought you were trying to make me beg." A pause. "I was trying to what I thought you liked. I didn't- You've never been- No one else has made me feel like you make me feel."

So loved, so proud of, so everything under the sun. There's a reason your heart and your brain had wanted to spend the rest of his life and your life together. Being with him felt right when you stripped away everything that's been happening.

Elvis is silent for a moment, almost as if he's debating his next words or actions even as he still places another kiss to the crown of your head and uses his thumb to wipe away tears that keep falling and holding the handkerchief by your nose. He finally puts the handkerchief away, freeing that hand and using it to cup your chin. He tilts your head up just a hair so that you can see his eyes shining with what you think might be unshed tears as his voice becomes so gentle it twists your heart. "What d'ya want from me?"

"Everything." You choke out your answer, your voice scratching and sounding so raw when you do that you almost want to hide. "I want to be with you after this semester. I want to dance with you like we did that night. I- God- I want to wake up with you every day until one of us dies. I just want to be yours."

At your last words the tears start falling in earnest again and it breaks something in Elvis a little, seeing you cry after that confession. He doesn't waste a second before pulling you into a soft kiss, using his grip on your chin to make it easier. You want more but he's pulling away and placing kisses on your forehead and your cheeks, chasing after the tears in a way that's so gentle you'd think it's fatherly but it's not- it's just him allowing you to be a human again. Allowing you to be more than just the harlot or the Jezebel. Seeing you as the person he's always thought you have been before the Incident and even after the Incident.

"Ya mean it?" There's a small part of him that curses how he sounds asking that but he needs to hear it from you. Hear that you're being honest and truthful with him about what you want. "If ya gonna change ya mind I need t'know right now."

You sniffle and shake your head. "I mean it! I want to be with you and only you. I've only been with you since that day. Haven't flirted or anything. I want to do my work on your desk, want to curl up on your couch with you just- I want you. I want you, my Elvis, my Big Daddy because you're- You're the only one who's ever treated me like more." You pause, taking a deep breath. "Like I'm worth getting to know beyond just my pussy. I can't- I don't want to go back to a world where I don't have you. Where I'm not able to kiss you and be with you in whatever way I can. Where I can't fill your house with-" You stop yourself, because that's too much, that's not something you're admitting to him right now. "I just I want you. I'm not changing my mind, if I was going to I would have the second you didn't give me back my panties, Elvis. When you were so mean and hurtful and-"

He cuts you off with another kiss, this time a little less gentle but still nothing compared to what he wants to do to you. His teeth nip at your lower lip just a bit and you can't help the whimper that escapes you as he pulls away your mouth trying to follow his. Looking in his eyes, you see something different, you see the overwhelming lust, the blown pupils threatening to overwhelm his blue eyes but more than that you see a man who looks so in love with you he might as well keel over with the sheer force of it.

"Feel like an idiot for missin' out on that. Gonna keep kissin you like that for as long as i can. Ya realize that." He pauses as his eyes rake over your form. "Get on the desk, Y/N. My sweet Belle." His emphasis on the nickname, Belle versus Jezebel is the only thing that reassures you he's not planning on doing anything rough. That he has a plan for you to look at him while he does- whatever it is. You take a minute to hop up, sniffling once again as you rub at your eyes. Your emotions are still a mess but you can- this helps, you think.

Elvis grunts, using the cane and a grip on your knee to help ease him onto the ground right in front of your legs, right in between your legs as his hands dance up your thighs. His gaze is on you, full of promise and want as his hands inch further up and up until he reaches between your legs, one hand moving to cup your pussy while the other grabs your hip and pulls you a little closer to the edge of the desk.

"You been payin' attention in class?" He asks as you can't help but whimper a little at the feel of his hand covering you like that. "Specifically this one? What we talked 'bout at the beginning?"

Your head nods slowly as you shiver, feeling the fabric of your underwear being pulled lower and lower down your legs. "You mean psalm 51? What about it, Elvis?"

"Think ya can recite it by memory?" The words of his question are punctuated by kisses up your legs, starting with your calves before moving to knees and then to your thighs. He bites softly causing you to clench them together around his head before he mumbles a no. "While I'm here between your legs."

It feels like a challenge and it causes a curl of arousal to shoot directly between your legs as your vagina clenches around nothing. His hand feels the movement and you can feel the smirk of his lips against your skin before you answer as he puts one singular finger inside of you. "I can." You sigh out your answer as he curls that one finger your arousal making it easy for him to.

Hard doesn't even begin to explain how it is to try and speak- to try and remember the psalm as you feel his tongue flick against your clit once, twice, before moving down to your folds. Another finger has joined the first and you can feel them inside of you, following where his tongue traces. His licks and strokes are leisurely done, almost as if he wants to drag this out, wants to go at the pace that you're speaking when all you want to do is have your orgasm that you can feel brewing but when you stop to take a breath, so does he. It's infuriating right until the midway point when you say "grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me" his mouth wraps around your clit, sucking and even giving you a small nip as his fingers curl against your g-spot. It shouldn't be enough to help you cum, it shouldn't and yet you feel your toes curling and your thighs tightening around his head as he hums in satisfaction. Your body shakes, grinding against his mouth even as his free hand tries to keep your hips from moving. Your thighs don't unclench until he taps at your leg and even then they still shake as he pulls away, mouth glistening with your release as you try and pull him up for a kiss only to have him continue his attack on your cunt.

You keep reciting, feeling as if that's what he wants you to do despite how your voice shakes and how you whimper the more sensitive everything becomes. You cum again by the end of your first full recitation, panting with your chest heaving. There is a thought in your mind to tell Elvis to stop, that you need a break but even though you are starting to feel over stimulated, the way he's looking up at you as his mouth does sinful things to you, as he teases your swollen clit with his fingers and his mouth more and more stops you. His free hand moves to lock fingers with the one of your hands that isn't winding through his hair, yanking and earning growls the more you speak. The intimacy of it all has you nearly sobbing tears of joy this time, not the tears of sadness you had been experiencing. You feel yourself cumming in a way that's unfamiliar as you stutter out the words "my tongue will sing of your righteousness" and Elvis has to pull away, a chuckle escaping him as you see his whole face might as well be covered in your release. It takes him a moment to recover but you swear you hear him talking about squirting when he kisses his way up your thigh and back to his task at hand. When you finally finish the psalm the second time your body is shaking and his tongue and fingers and everything are so overwhelming that when you attempt to start the psalm for a third time you say the first words five times.

"Daddy please, let me cum. Please, I've been good." The words are whimpers when they leave your mouth as you try and grind and get to that edge.

"I know, Belle, been so good, taste even better." He mutters against your clit.

That does it, that has your hand clenching his and your other pulling his hair as you grind on his face, practically smothering him as you cum. The sheer intensity of it has you thumping backward on the desk, trying to catch your breath as your legs shake and you hear him speaking against your thigh. You catch bits of the word holy and jezebel and God and you feel a warmth settle in your body that you can't quite explain. You use your hand to pull him away enough that you can understand him before you ask.

"Are- Are you talking to God- thanking God for me?" The concept boggles your mind but it's so touching at the same time that your heart threatens to burst at the idea.

"Think 've been thankin' God for ya since I first saw ya, but 'specially since I saw ya in my class. My holy- My sweet holy Belle." He winces at the crack his knees make when he gets up and leans both on the cane on the desk when he finally stands up. "None of 'em deserved ya 'n I'm not too sure I do but- 'll try to deserve ya."

Your hands move to cup his face, marveling in how he nuzzles up against your palm before you smile, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "Trust me, Elvis, I think you're the only one who ever has." You nuzzle at his nose before pulling away. "How about you let this pretty little sinner, this harlot, this Jezebel take care of you. I don't have a class and-"

Elvis cuts you off with another kiss before he nods. "Only if Big Daddy-" He looks at you, reminding you that yes, your nickname you have for him snuck out. "Gets to take care of his pretty lil sinner, his Belle, and help her wash away all those sins."

The light in the smile you give him could power the whole of the campus for months if you could bottle it up. You slide off the desk a little less gracefully than you mean to before nodding. "Lead the way, Elvis." A pause. "I love you."

"Ain't I the luckiest man for it too." He adjusts himself in his pants, hoping you don't notice that there's a bit of a wet spot on them where his cock should be. "Love ya too. Come on now, never did get to show ya Graceland's shower in my room."

taglist: @elvisgirl35, @butlersluvbott, @lokis-right-femur, @godlypresley, @steph-speaks, @lindszeppelin, @eliseinmemphiss, @thatbanditqueen, @venus-haze, @lrd98, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @notstefaniepresley, @holyastronauts, @vintageshanny, @powerofelvis and @ellie-24 and i think that's it? i don't know and apologies if you got tagged twice, i trusted a copy/paste.

[tonguetyd]

possibly strange question incoming: if you had to make a sandwich out of songs by your favorite artist, what songs would be which ingredient?

there must be bread, meat, cheese, and a condiment but you can add as many other toppings/condiments as you so choose.

THIS IS THE GREATEST QUESTION I COULD EVER RECEIVE.

Okay so off the bat, my favorite artist is a band called The Maine (I know my blog would suggest otherwise but there is just significantly less content of theirs in here. They are forever and always number one.)

I also know this isn’t the question but the best sandwich I ever had was a ciabatta roll with mozzarella and pesto, and all that would have made it better would have been a little turkey and some bacon. Delicious. So I will be recreating this in songs.

Ciabatta bread: the secret to good bread is crust-to-soft ratio. You don’t want it to stab your mouth, but it needs to have some structure to it to support your sandwich. So the first song that comes to mind for this is Slip The Noose. She is a little crunchy with that fast verse, but so very soft with that refrain that soars. Substantial enough to support that entire record. It’s even one of those that repeats at the beginning and end - it’s literally perfect sandwich bread. “I was on the verge of breaking down til you came around.”

Turkey: now we are talking good deli turkey, not thanksgiving level stuff. Nice and smooth and salty and delicious. That you can pile high. Gotta be something off Pioneer, that’s definitely the smoothest record. With a little bit of fire to it, as it’s absolutely a Fuck You To The Man record. I’ll go with Identify for that one. Great opening track, goes down easy, sets the stage for everything else. “3 2 1, here come the fireworks baby”

Bacon: what is not to love about our favorite supplemental meat. Everyone’s favorite. In that case I think I have to go with the crowd favorite song then. Which would be Black Butterflies and Deja Vu. If they’re not closing with Mars, they’re closing with this. You can’t help but love it. “I lose my voice when I look at you”

Mozzarella: I have a guilty announcement. I am not a big cheese person. The only exception. Is mozzarella. I could eat that shit forever. And it’s on everything. It goes GOOD on everything. It’s like the potato of cheeses. Fry it pizza it stick it on a Sammy. So we’re going for versatility. Play it for any kind of music fan and they’ll go “okay! Nice!” Which has GOT to be Dirty Pretty Beautiful. She’s funky (as good cheeses are) she’s fresh, and you gotta dance to her. “We got this thing that’s untouchable”

Pesto: on principle alone, the condiment is going to be Sticky. Because how could it not be (even tho pesto is not particularly a sticky condiment, as far as things go). But also, she is a bright song, makes you wanna stand in the sunlight and go “YES!” Which is kinda what pesto does. Or it’s at least what the pesto on this particular sandwich I had tailgating to see Bruce Springsteen did. “Wanna play you over and over again, sticky just like the song in my head”

AND THATS THE SANDWICH!!! This was incredible and so much fun that you dearly anon!

[thanksitsatraumaresponse]

I hate the holidays. And I’m pretty sure they hate me back.

Growing up in the house I did, the holidays were a time for “family”. We had Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and Easter as our big 4 we would have people over for.

Do not get me wrong, as far as presents go, I was always well cared for. Always fed. Had clothes on my back.

But there was never peace. I was either the pun of a joke or a target for being lashed out at. And the words were never pretty.

C-PTSD does not allow me to ignore the fact that those things happened during the holidays. I feel like a deer in fucking headlights at the thought of attending an actual family function. Because family functions were the equivalent of having splinters shoved under my nails as a teenager.

My brain won’t let my body forget these things because it needs to protect me at all costs. It associates holidays with torture. In conclusion- my brain feels “happiness” from the holidays and signals my body to feel like I’m being hunted for sport because it’s the holidays… this happiness and joy won’t last long. Fear lives where happiness does in my brain.

I have no contact with my father & stepmother. I recently saw a picture of my father and he looked so much older than when I saw him last. I have been crying everyday since.

I see my boyfriend with his family, his dad, and I so desperately wish I knew this feeling. I wish my dad would hug me and get to know me as the person I’m becoming.

And as I wish for these things, I’m hit with the memories of the verbal beatings I took from my stepmother. How I was called fat and lazy and ugly and worthless. Told I was a mistake. And how he sat in his recliner, and never lifted a finger or made a peep to defend me because he didn’t want the beating turned on him. And then I’m angry and sad and confused and ashamed. Now I’m overstimulated. When my bf says something that’s too similar to a memory I flip my switch, making a big deal of nothing and starting a fight because I can’t control the fact that I am terrified.

And although my rational brain knows there is NO DANGER my CNS don’t give 2 fucks. It says we are NOT doing this again. There’s no explaining anything to me. In that moment, there is danger and I refuse to let anyone tell me otherwise because I know how the story ends… or at least that’s what my CNS says.

Now I’m in the car apologizing and crying because I’m scared my boyfriend hates me. He’s going to find someone who isn’t broken and want them and not me— please note, my boyfriend is a great man and would never do those things and has never had any transgressions against him— but my CNS doesn’t want to hear it. *Cue in daddy issues with a steaming pile of relationship trauma on the side*

If you have C-PTSD, please please PLEASE give yourself some grace to feel your emotions, but also be aware of when you do something unkind because of your triggers. We are not perfect nor do we strive to be, but always hold yourself accountable.

For those who love someone with C-PTSD please be patient with us. The holiday season has been a source of trauma for most of us, so we are not necessarily going to be the jolliest. Please make every effort to include us. Please make every effort to listen to us and let us let it out. Make us feel safe because we are only doing this because we feel scared that the happiness we are experiencing will be snatched out from under us.

For me happiness is the soft hands I feel right before fear starts to choke me.

[ghostradiodylan]

Which Hacketteers do you think are pro Christmas music and who do you think is totally against it?

Okay this is a great question and such a hard one for me because I’m kind of ambivalent about Christmas music myself! I like it fine for a couple of days beforehand but when it starts playing in stores right after Halloween? I’m still in spooky mode, stop trying to make me be merry for the sake of capitalism! 😂

Also given the setting of New York state, I wonder if any of them come from Jewish or otherwise non-Christian families. Idk who’s most likely to fit into that category but it’s a consideration. Christmas culture infects everyone though lol.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

I feel like Jacob is a literal child so he probably gets super excited about everything Christmas and is like helping his parents put up elaborate light displays and buying Christmas themed snacks and stuff, so he’s probably listening to Christmas music the day after Halloween and I feel like Emma might be similar. Emma might come Christmas caroling at your house because she loves performing so much! Emma doesn’t mind a pop cover or a bit of Mariah Carey at all.

Kaitlyn might be a total Grinch if left to her own devices but she can’t help indulging Jacob a little. She doesn’t mind Christmas music in the context of Christmas movies but she probably wouldn’t listen to it on purpose just for fun. She has a secret soft spot for the soundtrack to The Muppet Christmas Carol.

I feel like the holidays might be complicated for Ryan. We don’t know why his mom isn’t around, though I obviously have my headcanons for fiction, but that might make it a little bit of a tough time for him. At the same time, he seems really invested in his sister so he probably wants to make Christmas special for her. He lives with his grandparents, so maybe they’re listening to the more classic, old school Christmas music and jazz covers and he’s probably fine with that.

Dylan I think could go either way, either he’s rolling his eyes about it altogether or he’s making massive playlists of indie and alt rock covers and then throwing in annoying goofy songs like “Dominick the Donkey” and “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.” I think he probably does not want to hear Christmas music prior to Thanksgiving. But maybe I’m just projecting as I often do.

Abi’s watching The Nightmare Before Christmas on repeat to match her Hot Topic aesthetic. 😂 She likes that original soundtrack and the various artist cover versions and “Yule Shoot Your Eye Out” by Fall Out Boy. But when it’s actually the week of Christmas she gives in and gets into the regular cheery stuff.

I wonder how long Nick has been in the US because I always think it has to be so weird for Australians to have all this wintery themed Christmas music when it’s summer in their hemisphere at Christmas time! Maybe he gets really into it because it’s so different from what he’s used to. Or maybe he gets cranky and misses the summer and listens to Tim Minchin’s “White Wine in the Sun” to remember warmer holidays. Could go either way.

Maybe it’s his 50’s fit talking, but I imagine Max being into the old crooner type Christmas music, Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra and more recently stuff like Michael Bublé that’s copying that style. I feel like he starts terribly serenading Laura with that music in early November.

I feel like Laura might not get super into Christmas until school is out because she’s so driven, so maybe she pushes all that out of her mind until then, except when Max is badly crooning “White Christmas” in the shower. But then again, I also headcanoned her as a choir kid in high school so she probably had concerts to practice for too that made her get into the spirit earlier than she really wanted.

Thanks for the asks today y’all! I think my brain is tapped out but I will be meditating on some I can send back! 💜💜💜

[jo-harrington]

Jo, my love 🤍

For a little Heaven/AASB prompt: A Nightmare on Elm Street

Chelsea my love 💜 This has been sitting in my drafts for so long. (The last blurb game I played.) I love you and know you needed a little time to feel better, but hopefully this can make you smile a little. Sorry this is so late, I am TRASH.

Haven't ready Heaven yet? Find it here. And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

December 1984

It had been a month.

A month full of nightmares and worry and tentative touches.

Eddie walked on eggshells around you, making sure you knew how much he cared about you—how much he loved you—while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, hoping to soothe whatever demons lurked just beyond your consciousness.

But he couldn’t deny it anymore.

You lied to him.

And he needed to confront you about it.

“You saw Nightmare on Elm Street without me,” he exclaimed as you opened the door to greet him, ready for a night in.

Your previously excited expression fell.

“Eddie, I—”

“Nope,” he interrupted and pushed past you into your apartment. “I don’t wanna hear it. You said you didn’t want to go with me and you went anyway.”

After the whole incident that night in November—the one that had you practically clawing at his door, covered in soot and muck and smelling like smoke—he had treaded carefully. You had put on a brave face but he knew that you weren’t ok.

You flinched when he touched you if you didn’t expect him to. If you spilled any gas when you went to fill up your car, you’d scrub and scrub your hands until the skin was raw and throbbing.

However, the nights where you stayed together—whether at your apartment or at the trailer—and you woke up panting and in a cold sweat were the worst.

Which was why he didn’t protest when you turned down seeing the movie with him, despite having been excited several weeks before when you’d seen the preview for it on tv.

“That looks absolutely amazing. I can’t believe they’re waiting for November. They should have released it for Halloween!” You gushed.

“Listen, that Terminator movie seems pretty cool too,” he justified. “We’ll just have to wait.”

So the two of you waited, and Eddie waited even longer, it seemed.

He didn't bring it up when the Hawk began advertising it on the marquee--he thought he was giving you time before springing a nightmare monster on you--but at Thanksgiving, Wayne had mentioned it after the commercial popped up during dinner and you immediately became flighty.

"That the movie you kids were thinking' of seeing?" he asked around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Yeah, we need to get tickets before the Hawk features another show." Eddie turned to you. "How 'bout it, angel? You're off tomorrow."

"Oh, umm," you pushed your fork through your macaroni and cheese and shrugged. "I'm kind of...tired. I was just gonna stay in, if you wanted to just come over and watch movies with me there."

Eddie agreed, of course. Not only was he eager for any amount of time he could spend with you, he just...didn't want to push you before you were ready. He also didn't want to be the kind of boyfriend who steamrolled you just because he wanted to do something.

He'd been around enough assholes like that and he knew, whether you explicitly said it or not, that you had been too.

Still...he really didn't want to wait until Family Video had the tape for rent.

So on the last day that it was at the Hawk, some dull little Wednesday at the beginning of December, he went. Brought Jeff, Gareth, and Dave under the guise of it being a treat for a great set the night before. (They really had done a good job.)

And on the way out, he noticed the poster still hanging outside of the box office. The creepy claws, Heather Langenkamp's petrified gaze. Maybe seeing the movie would be too much for you, but the poster would look really good on the otherwise-barren walls of your little apartment.

So told the boys to wait in the van so he could beg and plead and possibly bribe the theater manager--one of Rick's fishing buddies--to give the poster to him.

Imagine Eddie's surprise when the older man pulled a post it off the side of the cash register and said it was already spoken for. That surprise only increased tenfold when he recognized your name and phone number scrawled there.

Eddie asked when you'd claimed it.

"Yeah, a big group from Bradley's came by right before Thanksgiving" the manager shrugged. "You know old Tim likes to do...what do they call it? Team building? Whatever new fangled ways that you get out of paying out a holiday bonus."

Eddie didn't know how to feel...he knew you kept secrets...he did too. It wasn't that the two of you were lying to one another, per se...this certainly felt like a lie though.

Why wouldn't you just tell him you had seen the movie?

The two seconds it took for the theater manager to take a breath and get to his feet were an eternity for Eddie, and in that eternity, he spiraled in insecurity. His doubt in you, in your relationship, in himself.

He didn't want to do it. Didn't want to be this way. But what else should he think--could he think--but that it was his fault when everyone left?

The theater manager exited the box office and walked over to the poster display. He fished keys from his back pocket and unlocked the little window, then pulled the poster out and handed it to a numb Eddie, oblivious to his internal conflict.

"She said it was some kind of surprise for her boyfriend," the manager explained. "But...you're practically Rick's kid. I can't say no to you Ed. Just don't tell anyone where you got it. I don't want to get some kind of phone call saying I'm...out to destroy young love or something."

Just like that, all of the doubt exited his body.

Now here he was, standing before you as you stammered and tried to explain, as you tried to say that you had no choice. You paced and worried your fingers together and he knew he had to stop you before you got too caught up in your guilt.

He pulled the poster out from where it was tucked inside of his jacket and held the roll out to you.

"What's this?" you grabbed it from him with a frown.

"The scroll with the instructions for the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch," he grinned and urged you to look at it.

You unfurled the poster and the tension in your shoulders dissipated.

"You could have just gone with me again," Eddie offered. "I wouldn't have minded."

"I just...didn't want to be a disappointment to you," you sighed. "I know you were looking forward to it. You always cover my eyes during the jump scares. That's your favorite part."

"No," Eddie shrugged. "My favorite part is making out with you during the credits."

You rolled your eyes and rolled the poster back up to hit him with it.

"Hey now, don't damage the goods," Eddie laughed and grabbed you by the arms to stop your playful abuse. "It took a lot of work to woo old Bill into giving me that poster."

"I wanted to surprise you," you scoffed. "I was even gonna give him $20!"

"You seriously underestimate my ability to charm people, sweetheart," Eddie teased. "Hypnotize them, get them to fall for my devastating good looks."

"I guess I'm just immune to that charm," you snarked and he shifted his hands quickly to your waist tickle you. "Ah no Eddie!"

You shrieked and squirmed until you started to go limp in his arms, unable to withstand the assault any longer. His fingers slowed down and he took the opportunity to smack a kiss against your lips.

"Just you wait. One day I'll find the right words, the right enchantment," he vowed in a faux menacing voice. "And you'll never escape my spell, ever again."

[barilleon]

Holding A Mini-Con Online For Your Friends, or How To Learn A Lot of TTRPGs at Once

In November of 2020, nobody I knew was leaving their house to go eat turkeys with their family. We wanted to protect the ones we loved, but that left us with a whole lot of nothing to do where usually there was... something. Thus, the TRPG (Tabletop fRiendsgiving Potluck Games) was born!

You can do something like this too! Because chances are, your friends all know at least one game system to teach it to everyone else. And some of these systems don't take long to prep or run at all. In this post, I'll talk about how we do it and why it's a great idea if you and your friends are looking to learn more ttrpgs.

I have a private Discord Server called the Demonweb Shitpit, which is where I playtest everything I self publish. It's a very chill, invitation-only place that is reserved for friends. It doesn't have a code of conduct or anything like that; this isn't a community I'm managing. It's just a perpetual virtual house party. I wanted to wake up and head to the virtual fridge for breakfast and find two people standing in the virtual kitchen yelling about probability distribution, and that's what the Shitpit is. During the early days of the Pandemic, I really wanted to make life easier for everyone at that party.

The rules of the potluck are simple: everyone brings a game (or an event, like hosting a talk or panel) to play. That's what a potluck is. We've done this for three years now, and it is always a blast. I've played so many games I never would have otherwise: If It Hadn't Been for Cotton-Eyed Joe. Kids on Brooms. Blue Rose. Big Motherfucking Crab Truckers.

Here's how we do it:

Gather a group of interested people in one place. Discord works the best, because it has A/V built in for running games. You could also probably use a Facebook Event page or similar if you wanted.

Figure out a time people are available. You can set this over a long weekend (our first year, it was Thanksgiving Weekend) or on certain days of the week over the course of a month (One year it was "weekends during November).

Let everybody bring something to the Potluck. This doesn't necessarily mean that every one of these games is going to happen. You always need more players than you do games. But it is a potluck, and volunteering is part of the price.

Gather this information using a Google Form or similar: what are you bringing, what do people need to participate, when would you be available to facilitate, etc.

Get everyone to vote on which things they are most interested in trying out. Now you know which things are popular and which things might not shake out.

Make a calendar (Google Calendar or a Notion Database work great) of events and let people sign up for them. I usually let people sign up via informal poll on Discord:

After that, we make threads in the Discord channel for each game, and the folks running or facilitating coordinate things like how to prep for the game, safety tools, and content warnings.

Usually at the end of a potluck session, where I'd normally do something like Stars and Wishes, we have a talkback session. We talk about the system moreso than the session itself, give our impressions on it, and highlight moments or mechanics we really liked. It helps with learning a system if you can name one or two things you liked about it after the session is over.

What Games To Bring?

You are probably not going to want to bring a big, involved game with big, involved character creation to the potluck. If you really want to, check to see if the game has a quickstart with premade characters and simplified rules. Also, since you are introducing a game to folks who likely have never played it, multiply your estimated time to run the session by 1.5 at least. GMless games work really well, especially if there is little to no character creation, or character creation is an explicit part of play.

If you're going to run a potluck with your friends but need a starting point for games to bring, here's a quick list of games that might work well:

i'm sorry did you say street magic - worldbuilding, GMless fun

Stealing the Throne - you make your characters *during* play, which means you get to play right away

The Ground Itself - worldbuilding and GMless, a delight

Everyone Is John - VERY simple to learn!

Cozy Town - The best Stardewlike in my opinion

Paranormal Inc - GMless mystery game, where you draw clues and build the story together!

Heart: Quickstart - Dungeon Crawling, Underground City, premade characters

Orbital Blues Quickstart - Premade characters, You're Poor And In Space, Easy to Read & Run

Why Are We Doing This?

Our Potluck is one of the events I look forward to every year, and it's so easy and fun to get started. Also, if you're the kind of person who needs to play something in order to get a good feel for it, this is a really good opportunity. And scheduling to run a game for your friends is a great motivator to learn it. My friends and I are all in this together, and I don't want to let them down, so I prepare a kickass session and show up to their sessions. BOOM, now my horizons have expanded exponentially.

Including the talkback or any space to reflect on the game helps cement in our minds what we liked and didn't like about a system. And in future design conversations, we now have a shared vocabulary of all the Potluck games we've played together. When we talk about something, I'll go, "Remember that time in Blue Rose when you looked around and saw the set pieces?" and the folks who were playing will know what I mean and know what I'm getting at, and what experiences I'm trying to capture in our new project.

It's also just fun! Make fun memories with your friends and step out of your comfort zones. That's what it's all about baby!

[traumacatholic]

A couple prayers, if you please? One for mourning as I lost a dear friend and mentor this week and I was unable to attend the funeral. He was/is beloved by many and devout in his faith.

And a prayer of thanks. Despite loosing my friend, I had an otherwise great week. Two friends and a siblings all contacted me to check in on me independently of each other. One friend I hadn't heard from in about a month, the other a year or two. After venting various woes to them all, I got to talk and catch up with them on the goings on in their lives and it was really nice. I've been getting tons of positive feedback from my employers this week and even my kitty has been more snuggly than usual. 2023 has been the worst year of my life, but this week really made me feel appreciated and loved and I think that's just God reminding me to keep going. ♡

May He bless you and all who read this with many good things to come this holiday season and into the new year. Thank you. 🙏🏻

Of course! I've put some prayers under a readmore that you might find helpful! God bless you, and I hope you have a wonderful Christmas when it comes!

A prayer for someone that's departed:

O God of spirits and of all flesh, Who hast trampled down death and overthrown the Devil, and given life to Thy world, do Thou, the same Lord, give rest to the souls of Thy departed servants in a place of brightness, a place of refreshment, a place of repose, where all sickness, sighing, and sorrow have fled away. Pardon every transgression which they have committed, whether by word or deed or thought. For Thou art a good God and lovest mankind; because there is no man who lives yet does not sin, for Thou only art without sin, Thy righteousness is to all eternity, and Thy word is truth.

For Thou are the Resurrection, the Life, and the Repose of Thy servants who have fallen asleep, O Christ our God, and unto Thee we ascribe glory, together with Thy Father, who is from everlasting, and Thine all-holy, good, and life-creating Spirit, now and ever unto ages of ages. Amen.

A prayer of thanksgiving

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men. We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we glorify Thee, we give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory.

O Lord, Heavenly King, God the Father Almighty; O Lord, the Only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit; O Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Thou that takest away the sins of the world, receive our prayer. Thou that sittest on the right hand of the Father, have mercy on us. For Thou alone art holy, Thou alone art Lord, Jesus Christ, in the glory of God the Father. Amen.

Every day will I bless Thee, and praise Thy name forever and ever. Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin. Blessed art Thou, O Lord, God of our fathers, and praised and glorified is Thy Name forever. Amen.

Let Thy mercy, O Lord, be upon us, as we have set our hope in Thee.

Blessed art Thou, O Lord, teach me Thy statutes. Blessed art Thou, O Master, teach me Thy commandments. Blessed art Thou, O Holy One, enlighten me with Thy precepts. O Lord, Thou hast been our refuge from generation to generation. I said: Lord, have mercy on me! Heal my soul, for I have sinned against Thee! O Lord, I flee unto Thee! Teach me to do Thy will, for Thou art my God. For with Thee is the fountain of life, and in Thy light shall we see light. Continue Thy mercy unto those who know Thee.

Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us (3 times).

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen.

Holy Immortal, have mercy on us. Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us.

Another prayer of thanksgiving

O Lord my Savior and my Master, I, Thine unprofitable servant, with fear and trembling give thanks unto Thy loving goodness for all Thy benefits which Thou hast poured so abundantly upon me, Thy servant. I fall down in adoration before Thee and offer Thee, O God, my praises; with fervor I cry to Thee:

O God, deliver me from all adversities and mercifully fulfill in me such of my desires as may be expedient for me. Hear me, I entreat Thee, and have mercy, for Thou art the Hope of all the ends of the earth, and unto Thee, with the Father, and the Holy Spirit, be ascribed glory, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

I praise Thee, O God of our Fathers, I hymn Thee, I bless Thee, I give thanks unto thee for Thy great and tender mercy. To Thee I flee, O merciful and mighty God. Shine into my heart with the True Sun of Thy righteousness.

Enlighten my mind and keep all my senses, that henceforth I may walk uprightly and keep Thy commandments, and may finally attain unto eternal life, even to Thee, Who art the source of life, and be admitted to the glorious fruition of Thine inaccessible Light; for Thou art my God, and unto Thee, O Father, Son and Holy Spirit, be ascribed glory, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen.

[elminx]

2022 Overview: House plants

2022 became the year of houseplants. This is mostly because we were in a Stage 4 drought for most of the Summer and, as a result, my tiny reclaimed garden was a sad affair that I couldn't (in good environmental consciousness) do anything about. But my need to tend to growing things was strong and I'm not sad to have discovered how to take care of indoor plants, too.

I started the year with six snake plants, an African violet, three Dracaena (two lucky bamboo and one Dracaena fragans massangeana), a spider plant, a coleus, a tiny jade cutting, and a very sad Tradescantia zebrina. Technically, also a Cyclamen and a couple of succulents that have been living at my partner's studio.

I gave a home to a number of propagations this year: a Monstera adensonaii, a Peperomia caperata ripple, an Epipremnum aureum, two cuttings of Pilea peperomioides, and I was gifted an immature aloe cutting by my mother. I was also given a mature Hoya publicalyx.

I bought six houseplants this year: a Dracaena fragans (I think its a "lemon surprise"), a snake plant, a Hoya carnosa Variegata, and most recently my three hoya "rehab" babies (Hoya carnosa albomarginata, Hoya memoria, and Hoya latifolia.)

Most of these plants are still quite small in comparison to their potential mature size. My Lemon Surprise is mostly mature and I have a few snake plants that are, by nature, small plants but the rest will need a lot of room to grow. All but the snakes, the spider, and the Monstera and currently living on my plant stand/earth altar under grow lights but this will have to change as they outgrow their space requirements. That is a problem for a future Minx though and I am sure that I can at least get through the Winter with my current setup.

All in all, the plants are doing really well. Even my super sad Tradescantia has been flourishing under the grow lights. My Krimson Princess has five tiny leaflets starting to appear so I think that she might grow all the way through the Winter.

Ultimately, I'm looking to rehome at least one of my Pilea peperomioides if not both of them. The plant just doesn't really do it for me. I'll probably offer them for free on a FB plant group in the next month or so. (Editing Minx here: I'm gifting one of them to a friend who I think will enjoy the utter cuteness)

Next year, my intention is mostly to watch my plants grow and size up before I take on many more plant responsibilities. I know that I intend to take a cutting of my mother's Thanksgiving Cactus in the spring and raise it as an ancestral plant but otherwise, I'm trying to keep my plant wish list to a minimum. That said, if I did have a plant wish list, it would definitely include a string of hearts (Ceropegia woodii), an easyish Philodendron, and perhaps a Satin Pothos (Scindapsus pictus) - as you can guess, I have a thing for vining plants.

I think that I'm starting to understand my plant personality and what types of plants I enjoy caring for. Though the snakes are great (my partner really loves them) - I am much more interested in plants that grow and change quickly. I'm particularly interested in plants that vine and/or flower.

I am finding that caring for houseplants is very grounding and centering for me. It allows me a space to find mindfulness even when I cannot be elsewhere in my life. I am deeply grateful for that.

[doberbutts]

Hey Jaz! Hope you’re well and still open to questions.

1) Do you like Ghibli films?

2) If yes, which one is your favorite and why?

3) Opinions on Dalmatians?

4) Do you think a Doberman X Dalmatian would create a dog good for personal protection and/or bite sports?

5) Other breeds of dog you’d like to own besides Doberman Pinschers, Swissies, and Chihuahuas?

6) Do you think it’s easier to manage a dog that has people reactivity or dog reactivity? (Assuming they don’t have both)

7) Are dog parks ever a good choice, in your opinion? (genuinely- I’m always curious to hear varying opinions about them)

8) Do you plan on doing any more Discord meetups/meetings/chats for holidays or other occasions? (I had a lot of fun last year’s Thanksgiving and it would be so cool to do that again, I think. Plus, it’s a cool way to get different dogblrs together even if it isn’t physical)

If you answer all of these, thank you! I hope it keeps the despair away.

1: yes! I've watched most of them.

2: oh man. My favorite is a tossup between Howl's Moving Castle (which truly is nothing like the book, which I read first, but still quite a fun ride) and Nausicaa (which I watched a pirated subbed version of that the Japanese students my parents hosted smuggled onto the plane with them)

3: pretty but otherwise meh on interest. I like the idea of them.

4: dals are currently dealing with their own major breed problems such as deafness and uric acid so I don't think that's a great idea. Dals also have never (to my knowledge) actually titled in bitesports which is telling when labs and goldens HAVE. So I don't really think it works.

5: my next small dog is a tossup between another chihuahua or a border terrier. However that will happen after I don't have Fae or Tater anymore, so quite a while from now. I also debated a dutch shepherd for a while but ultimately returned to my beloved dobes.

6: personally I think dog reactivity is both easier to manage and also more forgiving.

7: a friend of mine had a client dog get picked up by two similarly-sized dogs who then played tug-o-war with the living, now screaming, dog. I'll spare you the exact details but suffice to say that the client dog did not survive the encounter. I don't think that risk is ever worth it.

8: I'm debating Christmas and New Years, if y'all are interested, since I'm not working the surrounding days. I'm not cooking though lmao. And I've been tossing around the idea of a movie night thing but for one of the shows I need to catch up on.

[searchingwardrobes]

The morning a comment made me cry . . .

I have been wrestling with posting this for ages. On the one hand, I want to let people who follow my fanfic to know that I haven’t left. On the other, I am an INFJ, an introvert, and a highly sensitive person who never wants to feel like I’m bothering people or whining about my life. Everyone has problems, everyone is busy, am I right? But then last week, I woke up to a comment on Ao3 for a fic that I wrote years ago, and I ended up sitting at my kitchen table and crying.

It wasn’t just the comment. It was that I had just spent the last night in the house we have lived in for the last 17 years. The house each of my children came home from the hospital to. A house I honestly didn’t want to sell or leave. And it wasn’t like we were moving because we found our dream house or because a new job opportunity came up or anything like that. We sold our house because the church my husband just took a new job at has a parsonage, and that means we can live there rent free. You can’t pass that up from a financial standpoint. 

Even if the parsonage is way smaller. And darker. And filthy. And smells bad. And looks like the Byers house in Stranger Things AFTER monsters started coming out of the walls. (ie 80s but gross)

And what makes it harder is that people berate me every time I try to share how hard this is. “You can’t beat free.” I know, I know, but can’t anyone try to imagine how I’m feeling? If you were in my shoes, would it be easy? 

Anyways, so back to the comment. I’ve been doing this fanfic thing long enough that in some ways, the comment just made me roll my eyes. But it was kind of like the proverbial straw, you know? I had been trying to hold it together for days, and this mean comment pushed me over the edge. So there I was, crying at my kitchen table surrounded by moving boxes. 

To compound it all, I haven’t written much at all since November. Scratch that, more like October. This is frustrating because it’s something I love, and it also causes guilt over all my WIPs. But we decided to put the house on the market in early November, and our realtor said we needed to get it listed before Thanksgiving, so there was the frantic race of “decluttering” ie half-packing the house and a million and one little home repair projects and deep cleaning. Then the house was shown only four times, and we got an offer. Great, right? Only they wanted to move in TWO DAYS before Christmas. That was a hard no for me. So they comprised and said two days AFTER Christmas. Their offer was over the asking price, so we had to take it. 

But did I mention the parsonage isn’t livable yet? So yep, we have no home right now. (I won’t say homeless because that word means something very different and much more serious than what we’re going through.) I’ve slept in so many different places over the last week, that this morning I woke up and couldn’t remember where I was. 

Did I mention I also have three kids? 

If you’ve stuck with me so far, don’t worry, I won’t go into all the details. Just understand that our family of five (plus a dog) will soon be living in my aunt and uncle’s basement for possibly two months. While I homeschool. 

And now I feel like I’m whining again. I’m really not a whiner, I promise. I’m just trying to a) explain why I have disappeared for so long and b) why that negative Ao3 comment came at the absolute worst possible time. 

That comment was the least of my worries on that particular day, and a week later, I just don’t think it’s worth discussing. Maybe, though, this tale will help people remember to pause before they type something on the internet. Because the person you are addressing has a real life, and there is no way for you to know what they might be going through. I was actually a little happy when I saw the email because a nice comment would have been a bright spot in an otherwise tough day. Instead, it was a kick while I was already down. Comments have a lot of power for a creator. I wish they didn’t. I wish we all “just wrote for ourselves” or could brush it off easily. But writers are sensitive creatures as a rule, especially fanfic writers who are only doing it as a hobby, not for a career. So, you know, just stop and think for a sec. That’s all. And this comment served no purpose whatsoever. I wrote the fic so long ago, there’s no way I’m revising it. Ironically, the person ended the comment by saying, “Enjoying it so far, though.” Which rang totally false after their long list of what was wrong with the story. 

Side note: the comment has made me contemplate a post on writer’s tips for writing children well. I’m not just a homeschooling mom, I’m also a former teacher. People seem to seriously not realize this, but teachers have to take college courses on child and adolescent development. We are around children a lot, too, so (shock!) we actually are experts in the field. I don’t know - is that something anyone would be interested in as writers? Because you don’t have to be a parent to write kids well - @whimsicallyenchantedrose and @distant-rose are awesome at it, and they don’t have kids. So if you want tips on that, I’d love to share. It’s something I can kind of get on a soapbox about, lol. 

And as for my readers, I’ll tag you all so you know where the hell I’ve been. So here comes the tag list, and I’ll now shut up: 

@snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1  @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @svenjaliv