#fuck yeah bluegrass

[brazenbutch]

At a party w my friends rn. Have had several drinks. So much fun I love my friends :)

[icaruspendragon]

yeah yeah i question the romanticization of every little thing as much as the next cynically-inclined gal but like. there really is beauty everywhere. it is kinda refreshing to let bitches be whimsical. to let yourself be a bitch with a penchant for whimsy. because sometimes the only thing that eases the heaviness put in my stomach by the abject horrors is when my friends come over on tuesdays and i get to make them dinner. when i’m drinking a glass of wine and making pasta and dancing to bluegrass in my kitchen and i hear laughter from the other room. like it really is okay to let the little things warm you.

and i know i have a reputation of goodness and kindness and resilience and whatever so i’m sure you’re thinking “that’s so easy for you to say!” but i had to work for that shit. i had to fight for a sunny disposition.

my dad was never around, always choosing women and booze over me and my brother. i was the weird kid people bullied practically my entire time in school. i’m an addict who was forced kicking and screaming into sobriety. i was assaulted in college and the university didn’t believe me. i’ve got depression and insomnia and severe anxiety and panic disorder. i’ve been on 23 different antidepressants/anxiety meds/mood stabilizers over the past 15 years and none of them have worked and sometimes i’m afraid that i’m meant to be sad forever. sometimes i worry that i’ve never actually been happy. my brother died from suicide on my 25th birthday and there wasn’t even a note. i’m well aware of how awful the world can be. of how terrible shit can get.

and i know it’s not life changing or revolutionary, but damnit, i’m going to get excited when i’m reading a fanfic and the two characters finally kiss. i’m going to laugh when my brother tells me a dumb joke. i’m going to let my heart swell while i’m wearing my flour covered apron, when i’m leaning against the doorway to my dining room, holding my glass of wine curled close to my chest while my friends are eating happily and i’ve finally perfected my gnocchi recipe and all the people i love are happy and safe and full of food i prepared with my own two hands as they sit around my table.

the world has not been kind to me but i’ll be damned if i let it continue to make me hard. i deserve softness. i deserve sweetness. i deserve gentle moments. and if the world won’t give them to me? fine. i’ll make them myself.

so yeah, i often wanna scoff when i see someone stop to smell the roses. but i don’t. because the world is so fucking hard. and i don’t see the point in making it harder on ourselves. it’s so much easier to be numb. to be jaded and bitter. to think of my heart as a wretched organ trapped by a terrible vise of a bone. but then i see sunlight filtering through leaves and it makes me smile and i feel my heart beating and i remember i may be small and i may be fleeting, but i’m alive. and my heart, that wretched organ, beats defiant and persistent in my chest. and the sunlight tells me courage, poor stupid heart of stone, and it makes me brave in a world that makes me ache.

so i will be whimsical and silly and happy despite it all, because if i don’t have that, what the hell do i have?

[desire-mona]

MONANA OH MY GOD IM ACTYALKY FREAKING OIT

so i come to find out that nickel creek is touring near me and i’m like. oh my god. so i look at my table and i’m lowkey like stimming and tweaking about this hard and i’m like “GUYS. WOULD ANYONE GONTO NICKEL CREEK WIHT ME????” and and i explain to them who they are and my knox friend goes “yeah sure id totally go with you!! i don’t know them all that well though,” so i made her a playlist and i’m forcing her to listen to it but she already likes bluegrass so so so my mom said that i’d need someone to go with me if i wanted to go SO I THINK I MIGHT BE GOING TO SEE NICKEL CREEK. LIVE. LIKE IM GONN be IN THE SAME BUILDING AND IM AAAHAHHAHSHDKWJHXBSSNNKDKSN

i’m so sorry if none of that was coherent at all i’m so excited about this because I CAN AFFORD TICKETS!!!!!!!!!

WHAT THE FUCK RALPHIE RHATS SO AWESOME (shaking with envy) IM SO HAPPY FOR U I RLY HOPE U GETVTO GO (turning red with rage) /silly i prommy

SEND ME VIDEOS IF U GO!!!!!!! ill relay to my creek posse wnd also my Brain. u need to send chris thile psychological brainwaves and tell him i love him and ask if he likes house md

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Home for the Holidays

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: some explicit language, mentions of sex, mostly just fluff on fluff on fluff Prompt(s): From novelbear, thank you! 😊 Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You bring Casey home to meet your parents and siblings. Adorableness ensues.

Casey's leg bounced up and down as she stared out the passenger window of the rental car. You were only a half hour away from the Nashville airport, and already the crowded city streets had given way to fields, barns, and the occasional herd of cattle on a hillside. Bluegrass played softly through the speakers. You sighed contentedly, knowing just when to turn, just when to slow around a curve, just when to watch for deer crossing the road. You were almost home. Casey let out a shaky breath and you took her hand, pulling it to your lips for a quick kiss before lacing your fingers through hers. "Casey," you sang, trying to get her out of her head. She didn't answer.

"Honey, you're gonna be fine."

"God, I hope they like me," she muttered, her breath fogging up the car window.

"Of course they'll like you. What's not to like?"

"Oh, I don't know," Casey replied sarcastically, throwing up her hands. "I'm a lawyer. I'm blunt as shit. I probably swear too much. And I'm fucking their little girl."

"Okay, first of all, I'm not little. I'm almost thirty. So that'd be a dumb thing for them to care about." Casey said nothing. "Secondly, you're the only person I've ever brought home. If anyone's gonna be scared, it's them! They don't want to scare you off. Chances are not good that I'd ever bring someone home again." Casey bit at her fingernails. You batted them away from her mouth. "Quit with that, you just got them done."

"I'm just saying it's a lot of pressure!" she said, pulling at the strings of her hoodie.

"This is a lot of pressure!?" You laughed. "You made me meet your parents two months in! And you gave me one day's notice!"

"Yeah, but they live in the city, so it wasn't a big deal. I see them all the time. And it wasn't Christmas."

"Oh, don't even start. You were so butthurt when I went home for Thanksgiving without you."

You pulled down your street, houses twinkling with holiday lights, and waved at a neighbor walking a dog.

"Who's that?" Casey asked.

"I don't know."

"You just wave at people you don't know?!"

"Here? Yes. In New York? No."

You pulled to a stop in your family's driveway and grinned at their decorations–a giant pride flag, made entirely of Christmas lights.

"Wow," Casey said, gawking at the display.

"What can I say? They're aggressive allies."

You sat silently in the car for a moment, then took Casey's hand. "You ready?"

You nearly leapt out of your seats as two hands slammed on the driver's side door.

"Y/N!!! Come on, come on, come on!"

You smiled big, eyes sparkling, stimming quickly at your ears and shaking your head. It was your baby brother, Eli. Not such a baby anymore–16 years old. You threw open the car door and he barreled into you, squeezing his arms around your neck as tightly as he could.

"Who's here?!" he said, bouncing up and down with his hand on your shoulders. "Y/N's here!!!"

Casey watched you from a distance. You'd told her all about your youngest siblings–the twins. That they were, quite literally, one in millions. Fraternal twins, both born with Down syndrome. Casey knew, from you, that Eli loved Mario Kart and Les Misérables and called once a week to sing "One Day More" with you. She knew Winnie was a hotshot in the local Special Olympics basketball league (even at 4' 10"), a budding artist, and "kind of a bitch right now," as you'd told her on the way over.

"Can you say that about someone with Down syndrome?" Casey had asked.

You'd scoffed. "People with disabilities can be bitches just as much as anyone else."

Now, as she watched you with your brother, she got it. She got it when you said that they were your favorite people in the world which, until now, had made her ridiculously jealous. She got it when you said that you would give up everything to take care of them when your parents weren't able to anymore. Your face was alight with so much joy, so much connection. Connection that Casey knew you didn't get many other places, aside from her. And she knew then that she'd give up everything for you to have that, even if it meant moving to help you take care of your siblings when the time came.

When you and Eli finally separated, he turned his attention to Casey.

"Hi, Eli!" she said, bending down to be a bit closer to his height. "I'm Casey."

Unlike Winnie, who could talk the ear off a donkey, Eli was mostly non-verbal. He had autism, too, like you, and for this reason, you'd always felt a deeper connection to him. You knew you weren't supposed to have favorite siblings, but Eli was yours. So when he decided to use his limited words to talk with Casey, it was a big deal.

He looked first at Casey, then at you, and asked, "Girlfriend?"

You nodded, beaming. "Yep! Yeah, Casey's my girlfriend."

He stepped closer looking Casey over. After a moment, he seemed to decide that he liked her.

"Casey, big squeeze," he said, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Eli pronounced her name "kissy." You thought your heart might explode. She patted his back and looked to you for a translation.

"Big squeeze means he wants you to hug him as tight as you can. Like, really tight, to the point that you're afraid you might hurt him." She obliged and he laughed in her grip. When she let him go, he patted her on the back and jogged inside.

"It helps with, uh, autism stuff. The deep pressure," you explained.

"Does it help you, too?" Casey asked as you took your luggage out of the trunk.

"What?"

"The big squeeze. Do you like those, too?"

You smiled at her, quick and bright. "Yeah. Yeah, I really do."

"Come here." She pulled you into her and squeezed as hard as she could, using every muscle in her body to put pressure on you, flexing so hard you could feel her shaking. Your body, on the other hand, felt light as a feather, as if all the stress, all the tension in it was seeping out. When she let you go, you sighed happily, your body tingly. You felt almost high.

"Yeah, we're gonna do a lot more of that," Casey decided, observing how much you'd relaxed.

Tennessee wasn't cold, not like New York, but the warmth from inside hit you hard anyway. "Come on," Eli urged, impatiently motioning you toward the living room, where you knew your parents would be sitting. You helped Casey out of her coat, then took off yours, hanging them by the door.

"Mom, Dad!" Eli yelled. "Who's here!?"

Your parents walked into the kitchen, absolutely beaming at you. They'd never say it, but they'd given up on you dating. You just hadn't been interested. They'd gotten used to the idea that you could be happy without a relationship, after years of you sending them articles about asexuality. But you could tell they were happy to see you in love.

"Hey, y'all," your mom said, wrapping Casey in a huge hug that took her off guard.

You smiled as your dad did the same to you, kissing the top of your head. "Hey, sweet pea," he whispered. "Glad you're home."

Casey cleared her throat and reached out to shake your dad's hand. His biker-style beard and imposing height always made him seem scarier than he really was. "Mr. Y/L/N, it's very nice to meet y–" Once again, she was cut off by a bear hug.

"Welcome," your dad said, nearly smothering her. "We're so glad you're here."

"Where's Winnie?" you asked, looking around.

"Upstairs on her iPad." Your mom rolled her eyes. "Want me to get her?"

"Nah. She'll figure out I'm here eventually."

You all made your way to the living room, where Eli promptly got on his own iPad, put his headphones on, and proceeded to perform a series of silent, choreographed dances in front of the Christmas tree. Casey watched him, amused and delighted that neither you nor your parents seemed to find this out of the ordinary at all.

"How was your trip?" your dad asked, lowering himself into a seat next to your mom.

"Good," you said, taking Casey's hand in yours when you noticed she was picking at her fingernails again. "The airport wasn't even too bad."

"I bet it'll be a shit show tomorrow..." your dad mused, thinking about Christmas Eve flights of years past.

"So, Casey," your mom started, clearly eager to get to know the only person who'd ever managed to turn your head. "Tell us about yourself. Y/N says you're a lawyer?"

"That's right." You squeezed Casey's hand as she spoke. "I'm an Assistant District Attorney at the Manhattan DA's office. I prosecute cases for the Special Victims Unit."

"Special Victims?" your dad asked. "Like victims of assault?"

She glanced at your brother who shimmied in the background. "Uh..."

"He can't hear," you told her.

"Yes. Assault, rape, sexually-motivated homicide, child abuse, things like that."

"That's gotta be such a hard job," your mom empathized.

"It's admirable work." Your dad nodded approvingly at Casey, and she seemed to relax a bit. "Those pieces of garbage deserve to rot in hell. But jail's a start."

You rolled your eyes. Your dad was a passionate man, with a tendency to turn more aggressively passionate at any mention or hint of violence toward women and children. Come to think of it, Casey reminded you of him in that way.

"I couldn't agree more," Casey told him.

"You met playing softball?" your mom asked, clearly trying to redirect the conversation.

Casey's face brightened. "We did!" She wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you leaned into her, blushing a little. Your parents shared a glance; they had never seen you this close to anyone. "We're on the same rec team. Y/N's the catcher and I pitch."

"Still got that catcher's gear?" your dad joked, winking at you.

You shot him a glare. "I know I'm not that much taller than I was when I was twelve but, no, Dad, the gear from my middle school team doesn't fit anymore."

"Ooh!" he exclaimed, sitting up and pointing at Casey. "Has Y/N ever told you about her softball nickname?"

"No, she hasn't," Casey said, smirking at you.

"I coached her team when she was little. She played catcher, of course." Your dad leaned forward, as if he and Casey were in on a delightful secret together.

"But she would jump forward to grab the ball," he continued. "Which was obviously a terrible idea because–"

"She's gonna get hit," Casey finished, nodding.

"Exactly. She was really good, but she always jumped out and we kept telling her, 'You can't be pouncing like a tiger, you're gonna get hurt.' And one day, sure enough, she leaned forward and bam! She was laid out. Thank god she had the helmet on, or it probably would've cracked her skull."

Casey laughed, but placed a hand absentmindedly on the side of your head, as if checking to make sure you really were okay, all these years later.

"After that," your dad chuckled. "Word got around with other parents and the girls on the team, and they started calling her El Tigre. For the rest of her softball career–El Tigre!"

Your cheeks were burning as Casey and your parents laughed together, but your heart was warm, too.

"Okay, okay," you said, "I'm gonna go say hey to Winnie." You looked at Casey. "You want to come?"

"Sure!" she said, standing next to you and placing a hand on the small of your back as you moved toward the stairs. You looked back at your parents to see them watching you intently, holding hands, nearly bursting with happiness. They liked her. You could already tell.

As you emerged upstairs, you gently grabbed Casey's waist and pressed her lightly against the wall.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I thought we were going to see your sister."

"We are," you said, standing on your tiptoes to kiss her softly. You felt her body melt into yours, the stress of the day dissipating. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay first."

Casey sighed contentedly and brushed your hair behind your ears. "I'm good. They're really nice people, your family. They really love you."

"Yeah, well," you scoffed. "Wait until you meet this one."

You knocked on Winnie's door and threw it open when she called, "What!?"

Winnie sat at her desk in all her diminutive glory, Special Olympics medals hanging from a cork board and Usher's "Yeah!" blaring from the speakers.

"'Sup, nerd," you said, standing in the doorway.

Winnie gaped, looking from you to Casey.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?" she finally said.

"Uh, it's Christmas?" you responded.

Winnie pointed at Casey. "Who are you?"

You could tell that Casey was holding back laughter. "I'm Casey."

"You're Y/N's friend?" Winnie asked, leaning back and swiveling in her desk chair.

"No, I'm not her friend. I'm her girlfriend," Casey said as the two of you took a seat on the edge of Winnie's bed.

Winnie seemed to think very deeply about this. "Her girlfriend?"

You both nodded.

"Like, when you have a crush?"

You blushed.

"Yep," Casey nodded, patting your leg. "I have a big crush on Y/N."

Casey shot you a cheesy grin. She was loving this.

Winnie smirked and waggled her eyebrows. "Do you kiss!?"

"Oh my god," you groaned, rubbing your forehead.

Casey on the other hand, seemed to be living for this conversation.

"Oh, absolutely," Casey told her. "I do kiss Y/N. I love to kiss her."

Winnie scoffed and turned back to her desk, fiddling with her iPad.

"What about you, Winnie?" Casey continued, crossing her legs and getting comfortable. It blew your mind that Casey seemed to be getting along with Winnie so well. Or maybe Casey just liked pushing people's buttons. God knows, Winnie was nothing but buttons to push these days. "Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?"

The look of absolute condescension on Winnie's smug face finally drove Casey to the edge. She burst out laughing. "Why are you looking at me like that!?"

"I don't have time for that," Winnie said. "I have to work out." She pulled up her sleeve and flexed her bicep.

"Damn!" Casey exclaimed, standing up to squeeze Winnie's arm. "You are strong!"

Winnie pulled her sleeve back down. "Yeah, I know."

"I hear you're really good at basketball," Casey said conspiratorially, squatting down next to Winnie's desk. "I'm more of a baseball girl myself, but you wanna play tomorrow?"

"Yeah!" Winnie exclaimed, genuinely excited before she remembered she was too cool for us. "But I'll win."

Casey raised her eyebrows. "That's some big talk."

Winnie shrugged. "I can't help it that I'm the best."

"You got me there."

You gestured to Casey and she followed you to the door.

"Y/N can't play, though," Winnie added, glancing back at Casey.

"Aw, why not?" Casey protested. "I love playing with Y/N."

Winnie shook her head. "She is really bad."

"Ouch, Winnie," you said, glaring at her.

Casey cracked up again, and you elbowed her in the stomach.

"Good night, loser," you called as you shut Winnie's door.

"Good night, dork!" she yelled back.

Casey had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

"See?" you whispered to her. "I told you. A little bitch."

Casey grabbed your face in her hands and pressed her forehead to yours. She kissed you quickly, then laughed, a wide grin on her face.

"What's this for?" you asked, as if you needed a reason.

"Oh, it's nothing," Casey said, serious, before giggling, "I just have such a big crush on you."

"Ugh, stop!" You pushed her away. "That's so dumb."

"It's cute!" she protested, and you didn't know if you'd ever seen her this giddy. She came up behind you and wrapped her arms around your waist, pressing her face into your neck. "Come on, you say it, too."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "I have a massive, huge, heartstopping crush on you, Casey."

She buried her face into you, planting kisses up and down your neck as her fingers tickled your stomach. You squirmed and giggled and shushed her as you both headed back downstairs. You didn't want to seem too in love. Your parents would never let it go.

[kingofthewilderwest]

Half my problem with relearning how to be trash (affectionate) on tumblr is that I'm used to being a hyped-up nerd about certain categories of things with certain groups of friends. It's a matching exercise. You match X with X, Y with Y, and Z with Z.

I change my groups and hype convos depending on what things I'm being nerdy about. I like being in multiple groups. Sometimes I like a sense of separation between groups. Makes me more comfortable, ya know?

As an analogy, the dorky things you do with family you might not want your friends to see, or vice versa. Mixing the two is where it gets uncomfy.

I've well-established my tumblr circles and know what I'm comfortable raving about. But I feel uncomfortable raving about X class of things because X doesn't fit into my tumblr communities. I'm like, "Ahhhh, I don't want THIS group of pals seeing me unrestrained about X! EMBAWWASING!"

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah sideblogs exist, I've used 'em, but I'm at the point I recognize it's useless to sideblog forever because it fragments me into artificial pieces. Toooo many sideblogs can turn into losing out on fun, too.

This is the trash site, Haddock. Regardless of whether you've posted anything like that in the ten years (TEN!?!?!) you've been here, no one is gonna blink if you're looking at YouTubers being like, "Oh my gawwwsh he's so hawt" or "Marukaite chikyuuuuu" or thirsting about fucking 1950s bluegrass or whatever it is you wanna say.

[hetaologist]

APH America "Ethnography" and Headcanons (SFW)

The United States of America, Alfred F. Jones, Mr. Stars and Stripes, 'Merica, Pretty Boy, um... or just simply America.

Here is a list of data I have gathered from this country and oh boy, what an interesting specimen we have here....

Ethnography

You will find this find this mythological creature at your local Walmart superstore during the evening hours on a weekday, sporting flannel loungewear pants (The plaid kind), a cotton t-shirt that definitely has been worn no less than two (2) times, Old Navy $1 flip flops, and a gray jacket.

When asked about his late night runs to the popular supermarket chain, his answer is just simply:

"There's nothing else to do and no where to go."

America's Cart Inventory for March 22nd:

One (1) package of "Mega Stuf Chocolate Oreos" for $5.97, One (1) 6-Pack of "Starbucks Frappuccino Chilled Coffee Drinks" in Caramel Flavor for $7.98, One (1) Family Sized Bag of "Flaming Hot Cheetos" for $5.94, One (1) "Furby Interactive Toy" for $39.19, and One (1) Stick of " Axe Apollo Men's Deodorant Stick" for $4.97. Total of purchase was $64.05 before tax.

When questioned about the "Furby Interactive Toy", he replies:

"Yeah dude, there's this thing I wanna make that's called a "Long Furby". Wanna come by my place and check it out?"

I agreed to the invination as it would give me a better look into his living space and lifestyle. He's very friendly person.

Living Space (Home):

Oh dear god, why did I agree to come here?

House is a what you would expect from a typical American college student such as:

"Saturdays Are For The Boys" banner flag, Marvel and DC posters, a very unsettling looking blue leather couch that looks like it has been through hell and back, random dumbbells and untouched exercise equipment, every game console from the 1972 "The Magnavox Odyssey" to the PS5, action figures from various popular TV shows and comics, an old KFC bucket with half eaten chicken on the coffee table and a shelf with a huge vinyl record and CD collection.

Conclusion: What a fucking gross nerd.

America offers a cold can of Coca-Cola, I accept it.

He shows me a very long light blue "Long Furby" from his collection, further proving how much of a dork he was.

When asked what kind of music he liked (in regards to his music collection), he replies:

"That's hard to answer, it changes every week. Because of my diverse music, I pretty much like everything. One week I could be listening to 1980's classic rock, 2000's techno-pop, Bluegrass Country, 1990's Hip Hop or anything. But, if I had to give you this week's favorite artist, it would have to be Taylor Swift and Doja Cat."

"Interesting..." I replied.

I have recorded enough data for today (the smell was bothering me) and left his home to do further extensive research.

Headcanons:

America has a deep love for cars and trucks, he can be seen working on his vintage 1968 Dodge Charger R/T called 'Thunderbird' (an absolute speed demon that can reach at top speeds of muthafuckin' 156 mph), and his enormous 2019 Ford F-150 'Big John' that he loves to drive to world meetings because he is a total stud muffin showoff.

Oh yeah, he defiantly modded 'Big John' horns with airblasters. So when he parks his car and he sees other nations come out of their vehicles, he pounds on that horn and scares the living shit out of them.

He totally does 2 am donuts in the Thunderbird the front of Walmart parking lots with his brother Canada to freak him out.

Other than seeing him work on his cars while listening to "Waking Up in Vegas by Katy Perry" on the radio, he's in his room sorting out his action figure and comic book collection.

Damn, what what a geek.

He has an eBay account where he buys, trades and auctions his collection as his interests constantly change.

If you think him being a geek, dork and a nerd is gonna save him from getting a basic ass Stanley cup, you're wrong.

He has a navy blue one that he takes to meetings and he would get dirty looks from the other nations.

"Goddamn it America, you do not need that much coffee."

"Fuck you, you scone sucking twink. It's not coffee, it's the Panera Super Charged Lemonade mixed with Redbull."

"I beg your fucking pardon..."

He gave Canada a red one for his birthday that he also takes with him to meetings.

"Canada, mon ami~. That better not be that merde American drinks that makes your heart explode."

"No, it's Tim Hortons iced coffee."

"Well.. that's better than what America drinks..."

[isawken]

Damn I would also love to be assigned a American state in place of my Australian one! (Y'all's state name are sick honestly.)

hell yes let's go!! i bequeath unto you, the great state of...

here's some 'tucky fun facts!

-kentucky is home to Mammoth Cave system, which is the longest in the whole earth, which is fucking insane. this shit is 83 sq miles/214 sq km!!! i'm terrified by the thought!!!

-in addition to the natural holes, we got manmade ones too. kentucky is prime coal minin' country. any and all mentions of coal and/or mining must elicit a deep sorrow from your soul

-kentucky has a super varied history of indigenous peoples but the most well-known are the Shawnee, Osage, Chickasaw, and Cherokee. there was apparently a rumor that native peoples never lived in kentucky, just used it as a hunting ground, but that's been proven to be false. there's been settlements here for over 10K years!

-i hope you like bourbon cus baby, it's alllll over here. one of my favorite drinks of all time is basil hayden, but maker's mark is fine too. if you ever get the chance to indulge in genuine small batch or home made moonshine that's even better

-the guy who is the logo of KFC did just straight up look like that. like that is a 1:1 of what that dude's appearance was. KFC is fine, but be sure to get visibly irritated if someone expresses that yeah, they've totally had real 'tucky fried chicken, but then admit it was just from KFC

-i'm sorry, but you have to get into bluegrass, at least a little. if you wanna ease into the country/bg genre in general, start with hometown boy tyler childers. if you wanna get into the thick, check out other hometown boy roscoe holcomb.

-eastern kentucky is lucky enough to be situated in Appalachia, which is essentially just what we call a chunk of the appalachian mountain range! you may know this mountain range as being older than literal bones. the appalachians are sacred. the appalachians are deep and dark and thick and they will love you, but just keep that head o yours on a swivel

-bigfoot has been sighted in kentucky (as with most US states) but the real MVPs imo are the hopkinsville goblins. also the pope lick monster. mostly just cus the name let's be real here

-you want to eat a hot brown. everyone wants to eat a hot brown. do not question why it's called a hot brown. just enjoy. the hot brown

and here's your complimentary badge and "_____ MENTIONED" meme!

[peedie]

". . . bands like Blondie, Talking Heads, Television- they all get lumped into the punk rock genre, because they were all playing at CBGB’s at the same time that punk rock was beginning to emerge onto the scene. But what you gotta understand is that nobody called themselves 'punk’ at the time. The label was applied retroactively, by the media, and later by streaming platforms. Are you listening, V?"

"Mhm."

"They were influential in the scene, sure. But you listen to Marquee Moon or the Disco Song and tell me what that shit has got in common with punk rock."

"Mm-hm. What’s CBGB mean?"

"Country, BlueGrass, and Blues. Obviously. It was in the mid 1970’s when what we would call punk rock really started to gain traction, starting with bands like the Ramones. It was partly inspired by girl groups-“

"Girl groups, eh?"

"Oh yeah. Big time. Girl groups dominated the airwaves in the late fifties and early sixties. The Ronette’s, the Shangri-la’s, what have you. Everyone in the scene loved girl groups. And why not? They had it fuckin’ figured out. 4/4 time signatures with catchy three-chord melodies. So simple, yet so brilliant. Leaders of the pack, if you will."

"That had the cadence of a joke. Was that a joke?"

"Forget it. What's important is, punk took that, and then made it go harder and faster than music had yet seen to that date. But because it was so also damn simple, it was the kind of shit that would make anybody who saw them perform think, hey, I could do that. And then a lot of them, they did."

"Damn that’s crazy."

"You're damn right it was. That was probably the single greatest thing punk itself brought about, by the way, if you ask me- the DIY ethos. "

"Hm."

"Xeroxed zines. Trading self-produced seven-inch singles. No getting fucked around by a record label. Just normal, everyday people using their limited means to make serious and influential work. You didn’t even have to be good at playing your instrument, as long as you said something that was real.

"Hmmm."

"I showed you the Misfits already, right? Pioneers in the 'horror punk' genre."

"Uh, maybe. I think I’ve seen their tee shirts."

"Yeah, I bet you fucking have. Well, supposedly Glen Danzig wanted to be a comic book illustrator, but I guess he didn’t have what it took to be a professional or something, because he started a band and designed all their graphics instead. I mean, he straight-up stole the Crimson Ghost, which is probably their most recognizable piece of iconography, from an obscure comic from the 40’s. Whatever. But he silk screen printed their band merch by hand in his mom’s basement- which is fuckin’ awesome, if you ask me.”

"Mm.”

"Ian MacKaye, though, is the first guy that comes to mind when you talk about American DIY attitude- he was the granddaddy of the DIY scene, over in DC."

"Oh shit, I think I remember this. Straightedge, right? The archivist-type figure."

"Very good."

"Who’s boyhood friends with. . . Henry Rollins."

"Correct."

"Who was also in the Misfits, right?"

"No, he was in the Rollins band, dumbass. Among others. Henry Rollins just has multiple prominent Misfits tattoos is all. God. Are you even paying attention? This is important."

"I'm in Hell, for the record. This is Hell for me."

[4x01]

i would like to add onto your post about americana and folk as someone who lives in tennessee and is aware of their local music scenes: go to a fucking bluegrass show or jam, those people are having the time of their lives and it is a lively and joyous place. i wouldn't even call bluegrass my favorite genre but the few bluegrass jams i've gone to have been amazing and you can feel their sense of community and soul. fuck the white guys singing about farm labor they've never done though

OH YEAH FOR SURE! i’ve never been just because of the area i live in but there is sooo much beauty and value in the music from like appalachia and the general southeast and it sucks that it gets lumped in with like. jason aldean just because it’s southern

[odoroussavourssweet]

Olympic Orchids Dev 3: The Inevitable

Nose: Ellen Covey

notes: sandalwood, labdanum, jatamansi, amber, ambergris, black truffle, cinnamon, frankincense, davana, bluegrass, motia

I don't love the opening here; it's a heavy, woody, brown note with a surly quality, like an olfactory glower. Presumably this is the New Caledonian sandalwood.

A few minutes in the cinnamon comes out and brings a dry spicy crackle. This isn't sweet cinnamon; it's almost savory. It's a loud chord (especially since I accidentally put on more than usual) -- we're in the Fuck Yeah Perfumery Zone now, Cinnamon Edition. Oddly satisfying.

A little reminiscent of the salty and cinnamon-spicy chord in Ummagumma, but simpler and more coherent.

[acommonloon]

Bar talk

- Caitlyn Clark being battered in her first season in the WNBA and will be better for it. The women in the WNBA feel disrespected because a skinny white girl suddenly made them relevant.

- 3 fellas at the Rover suggested I stay and buy them a drink. Ok. We talked movies and documentaries about serial killers, bluegrass music, the Beatles, and I was offered a free murder or at least a beat down should I need one. I’d stopped in for a pint of ESB before driving home. I felt proper sober when the bar began to close down. My three, thirty-something bar buddy stooges tried to talk our bartender into, first, one more round then she should join them for a drink somewhere else. She said no.

- the idea of drinking Mezcal in Oaxaca has been aging in my brain pan like old bourbon. John, owner of Pretty Decent was telling me about the barrel pick he’d poured me. I said do you sign up for trips on your website? He stared at me, I said, “You need to know who you’re traveling with?” Bingo, he replied. K

- “Hi, I’m John. Want to come see the brewery.” Not really, I didn’t say. I followed him into the large open space full of towering fermenters and bright tanks, transformed from the GettoKroger into Noble Funk Brewing. Tbh, I’ve seen enough breweries to last a lifetime. I began by complementing him on the Tripel I was drinking. We talked about beer, I reminded him we’d met at the Hall on Washington where he was slinging beers and sausages. He reminded me that was five years before.

- another critter living under the porch. For weeks I’ve been unable to catch sight of it but it’s a noisy fucker. I thought it probably another groundhog. Yesterday, while sitting in my living room chair, the fucker, another ground hog, walked out onto the patio. I went upstairs, loaded the 12 gauge, quiet as an assassin I opened the balcony door. Fucking venomous spiders on webs interrupted me pause retreat. Yuck. Okay now, they’ve scurried off. No groundhog. Canny fucker.

- the 75 acre parcel next to us is in winter wheat. Love it! A couple weeks ago I barefooted it over to the neighbors. I think it’s winter wheat, they said yeah. They lease it to someone. Last fall, that someone dropped a triaxle load of chickenshit about a hundred feet from our house. This stuff is fantastic fertilizer but it’s full of tiny black beetles. Chicken shit beetles. They get in.

- it’s Sunday. I’m drinking De Garre on the patio. I’ve asked D to bring me a bucket of KFC. She’s in Lexington. A whole bucket she asked? You can have the white meat.

[fraidy-farfelle]

An Artist's Inspiration

Vincent Sinclair x Fem reader

Warnings: NSFW

Notes: Song is True Love Ways by Buddy Holly, image is not mine

Tagged Moots: @rottent33th @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better

A groan of frustration echoed in the basement, momentarily drowning out the gentle hum of the water heater. The crinkle of paper heralded yet another failed design, and was tossed with disdain into the recycling bin. Vincent got up and stretched his arms above his head, the pops of his vertebrae telling him he’s been hunched over his desk for a while. 

What was with him today? 

He mulled this question over as he paced around the large table in the center of the room. There were no bodies today, but a bluegrass music festival that was scheduled in a few day’s time, a half hour’s drive from Ambrose promised new models for the museum very soon. 

Vincent had spent the morning attempting to sketch out some designs for the incoming arrivals, but nothing he had come up with appealed to him. Were the arms too long? Was the torso too skinny? Maybe the costumes he had to choose from weren’t exactly right? He ran a hand through his hair, and heaved a great sigh. He needed to get a grip, and quickly. 

As he stewed in his melancholy, the beautiful notes of the House of Wax’s piano wafted through the air. Vincent’s demeanor immediately brightened. He felt foolish. Of course, the answer was right in front of him. Or right above him, in this case. Some time with his muse should help. He made his way up the stairs, and listened intently as she began to sing. 

Just you know why

Why you and I

Will by and by

Know true love ways

Sometimes we’ll sigh

Sometimes we’ll cry

And we’ll know why

Just you, and I

Know true love ways

Throughout the days

Our true love ways

Will bring us joys to share

With those who really care

Sometimes we’ll sigh

Sometimes we’ll cry

And we’ll know why

Just you and I

Know true love ways

(Y/n) jumped as she heard Vincent giving her applause from behind her. “Jesus, Vinny! You scared me! You’re as quiet as the dead folk in here!” she exclaimed, rising from the bench. He signed an apology and opened his arms, gesturing for her to embrace him. Shaking her head with a grin, she approached him and gave him a squeeze, sighing as he held her close and rocked her back and forth. “You’ve been cooped up in that basement all morning. Everything okay?” she asked him, holding him at arm's length. “I can’t seem to come up with anything good enough, today. It’s so frustrating!” he signed, accompanied with an annoyed huff. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey! You’re a wonderful artist, you just need to take a break.” Vincent tenderly brushed some hair behind her ear, giving her a needy look that wasn’t lost on her. “Ah, I see… the artist needs some… inspiration from his muse, is that it?” she teased, her hands traveling up to lock behind his neck. “Have I told you I love you?” “You may have mentioned it a time or two. Bo and Les are getting some things ready for that festival, so they’ll be gone all day. Let’s get that frustration fucked out of you, yeah?” “God, what would I do without you?” 

Vincent lifted her effortlessly, gripping her by the back of her thighs. She squealed with laughter as he quickly made his way to their shared bedroom. He helped her out of her shirt and jeans, tossing them in the general direction of the hamper. After Vincent shed his shirt, (y/n) delicately put her hands on his mask. “Are you ready for this to come off, my love?” Vincent audibly swallowed but signed, “Only for you, (y/n).” She gently pulled it off and placed it on the dresser. “There you are, handsome!” she cooed. Blushing furiously at the compliment, he drew her into a sloppy, but passionate kiss.

He groaned into her mouth as she slipped a hand down his happy trail, down into his boxers and began stroking him. Vincent unclasped her bra from behind and slipped it off. He broke the kiss with a gasp as she gave him a squeeze. (Y/n) flashed him a cheeky grin and knelt in front of him. She undid his belt and pulled down his pants and boxers, his member springing out proudly as she did. Looking up at him, she pressed a kiss to the flushed head. A moan tore from his throat as she swallowed him and began bobbing her head up and down. Vincent gently took her hand off of his thigh and pulled her back to her feet. “Lay down for me. I want to be inside you.” He signed, somewhat frantically. He was dripping precum as he crawled between her legs. He pulled her panties off and guided her to wrap her legs around his hips. (y/n) moaned as he rubbed his cock along her entrance, making sure to let the head catch on her clit. When he felt he was lubricated enough, he pushed inside slowly, giving her time to adjust. They both let out groans of pleasure as their hips met. 

(Y/n) wiggled her hips and nodded at Vincent to move. He leaned forward onto his forearms, his right hand caressing her cheek as he set a rhythm. “Fuck, you fill me up so good! Faster, Vinny, please!” she cried, tangling her fingers in his long, soft hair and pulling him into a deep kiss. He moaned into the kiss as her legs tightened around him. His thrusts picked up speed as they both approached their ends. (Y/n) called out Vincent’s name as she came, the squeezing of her cunt triggering his release. He let out a strangled cry as he spasmed and emptied himself inside. 

Vincent pulled out and flopped to the side, catching his breath. She curled into his side and pressed a kiss to the scarred side of his face. Vincent’s expression suddenly brightened. He kissed her on the forehead and rolled on his side to rummage through his nightstand for a sketchbook and pencil. (Y/n) watched in amusement as he began sketching feverishly, human forms and designs taking form on the page. 

She scooted over to spoon him from behind, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he made himself busy. As she made herself comfortable, Vincent flipped to the next page in the book and he wrote: “That was exactly what I needed. Thank you. I love you so much.” She giggled at the little heart he doodled next to it. “You’re welcome, Vinny. I love you, too.” She let out a long yawn and drifted off to sleep, happy that her artist had regained his inspiration. 

[eruditetyro]

"banjo banjo" is absolutely more my speed. bonus points for mandolin. i feel like mainstreem jingoist country music so rarely goes in for mandolin meanwhile the actually good country/folk/americana/bluegrass is like oh you want twang? you want a beat and some fucking strings being plucked? hell yeah brother let's do it

[confirmedcannibal]

Oh yeah I fucking hate pop country too, but I love bluegrass and outlaw country. That’s the good stuff right there.

I'm not sure if he counts as either of those but I really need to listen to Orville Peck? I've only heard good things about him and I love his aesthetic.

Feel free to recommend music to me!

[flesh-into--gear]

@rozecrest this was just easier but im so glad you liked it!

honestly you can't go wrong with any of his albums.

Purgatory is hilariously strong from start to finish and has these tracks which i love (i love the whole album but, in order)

I Swear (To God)

Feathered Indians

Tattoos

Purgatory

Universal Sound

Lady May

Live at Red Barn Radio I & II in absolute entirety tbh but the usual standouts are here

Shake the Frost

Deadman's Curve

Charleston Girl

Rock Salt and Nails

Follow You To Virgie (oof, about his mom, its a hard listen some days but FUCK its good.)

Bottles and Bibles

Country Squire was a mild style change-up, a little more honky-tonk. it's got some great tracks on it but it was also a mild writing departure for him as well, focusing a little more on country tropes and a LOT more tongue in cheek (the song Ever Lovin' Hand is a masturbation joke wrapped in a song about missing the person you love a lot). probably his weakest album? but:

Creeker

House Fire

Peace of Mind

All Your'n

Long Violent History is a kinda cool album, it's all instrumentals, old school holler jams and stuff. kinda hard to get into unless you're from that kinda thing i would assume? just reminds me of when i was a kid at thanksgiving and christmas back when we still spoke to my dad's side, and he and my uncles and one of my aunts would all get together and jam on some old gospel and bluegrass tunes. everybody brought instruments.... ah well. but i digress. you can take me out of the country but ill always be a big tomboy butch who gets a little too excited around jacked up trucks of a specific set of years, or the smell of gas and oil in the morning.

Can I Take My Hounds To Heaven i admittedly completely checked out on because i was deep in covid depression throes so i can't and won't comment because it won't be an accurate representation so.

Rustin' In The Rain I still haven't taken time to fully check out, as im working through a music backlog, but.

In Your Love is an incredible song and go watch the video because it cut me deep as fuck. i know a lot of people still stuck in those mines and i have friends with family members dying today because of coal companies. and im a trans woman from backwoods VA with all my roots in Appalachia from both sides (we had a handful of bootleggers in the family, explains a lot tbh). song hit me hard, in a good way.

anyway! im sorry! thank you for listening to me ramble about an artist i really enjoy! one of these days i should really just start a podcast called "Nobody Asked" and it's just me screaming into a microphone about stuff like this!

like dave matthews! like yeah i get it "ha ha dad rock" but come on!

Live at Radio City with Tim Reynolds is a fucking MONSTER album! and dave is a good guy! or at minimum is actually worthy of supporting because the dude has been doing activist things quietly and loudly for longer than ive been alive! and their music spans so many genres!

Eh Hee

Bartender

Still Water / Don't Drink The Water (back to back! they must be listened to together! please listen to this and Bartender off Live at Radio City)

#41

Two Step

Satellite

Some Devil

Grace Is Gone

and thats not even touching a fraction of this man's catalogue, he's been making music for forty something years

ahain im sorry i just really really love music and GAH theres so many artists from my chilhood and teen years and stuff that get so undeservedly swept under a rug because... i really don't know why. i feel like a lot of artists immediately get written off because of styles or genres or whatever and thats just so unfair and upsets ke geeatly.

that's not directed at you whatsoever rozecrest to be clear lmao sorry it may have come off that way

also anyone who has an interest in bluegrass/gospel go listen to The Seldom Scene's "Old Train" and "Live at the Cellar Door" in their entirety

[swordofazrael1992]

Jpv 2, 7, 14, 27!! Shatterstar 1, 20, 23, 28 >:) go autism on me!!!!!

AUTISM TIME FORREAL!1

okay okay so

jpv 2) probably after reading sword of azrael '92. i had a mutual who was posting a lot of jpv stuff and i had previously read tynion's writing of her in tec 2016, and then my lcs had a trade collecting soa 92 + the first seven issues of azrael '95 so i went "fuck it" and bought it. i can't remember if i read what was available of watters' stuff at the time before or after soa 92 but that was definitely where i started to really love jp/az and it's stuck with me (as you can tell by the url)

jpv 7) FOREVER AND EVER the "perhaps this azrael does both" quote from sword of azrael (1992) #3. technically it is alfred talking ABOUT jp/az in response to nomoz saying that azrael punishes, and doesn't/shouldn't think. and then there's also the soa '92 #4 of azrael straight up telling nomoz "no" when nomoz says they need to leave, because azrael only avenges, not rescue. either way i think those are really interesting and have Stuck With Me

jpv 14) i know i'm an soa 92 type boy but....this one is definitely a hard one and i don't think soa is in my top two choices. i'd have to say his no man's land arc, i'm a huge fan of it and his dynamics with other bat charas (esp babs and cass!). my second choice pick would probably be soa '22--i just love it so much and it's so beautiful. so while soa '92 might be my favorite, i don't think it's his absolute best. but it's top 3 for sure

jpv 27) the most fun, for me particularly? i think castiel from supernatural. i have no idea what the fuck would go down, but it would be entertaining. other than that, probably vash or knives (or livio/razlo) from trimax specifically, or sister lilith from warrior nun. lets just get all those religious imagery bitches in a room together and see what goes down

star 1) so i THINK my first impression of star was in young avengers: children's crusade, WAY back when i first started reading comics. like young avengers '05 was my first comic, and ya:cc my second. i think i just looked at him and rictor on panel together and, knowing nothing about them, was like okay yeah they are DEFINITELy gay. i probably thought he was a little weirdo (affectionate) but i didn't become a fan of him and rictor for another year or two i think

star 20) star is the only person in the world who actually MEANS it when he says "i listen to a little of everything" about his music taste. he really genuinely listens to everything, and everyone who knows him HATES when he's on aux because listening to his playlists gives them whiplash. seriously, he goes from mid 1800s orchestral music to hyperpop to 90s hip hop to 00s top 40 to 1960s bluegrass to music you're not even sure is from this dimension and that you're pretty sure is from some future timeline. star sees no problem with it, though. also i think he takes really long showers and uses up ALL of the hot water + has a really extensive hair/skin routine. so you go into the bathroom of his and ric's apartment and you see the shower and sink counter practically overflowing with all these extravagant and fancy products and then in the corner there are like 4 or 5 things that belong to rictor and it's just shampoo/conditioner/body wash/other essentials

star 23) i want him to live happily ever after with ric in a cozy house with weekly therapy appointments and dinner with his parents every month + an actually good/existent relationship with them where they aren't just kinda coworkers and maybe a dog or a couple cats and a garden in the backyard and a giant tv in the living room and a good relationship with life and maybe a couple college degrees or maybe he just learns so much about the things that interest him and everything else without feeling the need to have a degree to show for it and andand. but i don't think that will ever happen because marvel hates me personally

star 28) stabbing himself in the stomach that one time. and the other time. and the next time.

and being his own grandfather. that was really unnecessary of him

(+ i know you didn't ask but songs i've been associating with them recently:

jp/az -

https://open.spotify.com/track/4zlRCThoy7Wops9GF11kQX?si=0494cd4331cc411b

star -

https://open.spotify.com/track/6EqCxnulMcawu0qN8B8Y5W?si=2f23a62fe7bf4d8c

w/ jp/az's being about how they are pretty impulsive and need to get from point a to point b as fast as possible and star's being about the entire "raised as an arena slave to fight to the death for other's entertainment" thing. also on second thought i might put nothing lasts forever on my shatterstar playlist)