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etz-ashashiyot · 8 days

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I'm bored and stuck waiting and happened to remember that on my old blog I had made this statement:

Since I have a minute, I figured I'd finally drop the list with some brief explanations:

1. By Way Of Sorrow - Coyote Grace version

This song and its lyrics, especially as sung by a queer/trans bluegrass band, could not be more Jew-ish in vibe. I am aware this is a cover, but I have only ever heard their version and that's the one that matters to me. I love love love this song, so much, and it perfectly captures how I feel about having been welcomed into the Jewish people after years of exclusion and othering from numerous other quarters. Am Yisrael has taken me in, treated me like family, connected me to the Divine, healed my wounds, and helped me feel as whole as one can in a broken and unredeemed world - while giving me the tools to join the work of tikkun olam myself.

2. The Farthest Field - The Lumber Jills version

This is the best version I could find; the original I was shown I can't find but will link if I do. This song was actually introduced to me by one of my orthodox rabbis, and I agree with him that it can be understood as a beautiful image of geulah.

3. Hallelujah - Coyote Grace & Girlyman

This one just makes me happy, and the words, message, and themes are very on-brand for Jewish vibes as well in my opinion.

4. Be Thou My Vision - old Irish Hymn (this version and this version are my favorites)

This one is very obviously a hymn and therefore decidedly Not Jewish. On the other hand, the words aren't so explicitly Christian that it rules out use by Jews (in my opinion) and especially if you translate the words into Hebrew, it sounds just like a traditional piyyut. (@springstarfangirl if you want to add your beautiful translation, please feel free!)

5. Down to the River to Pray - Alison Krauss

This is one where I do think the lyrics are a lot closer to being Christian specific, but it makes the list for a couple reasons: first, I've encountered it in Jewish-specific contexts without modification (one of our rabbis actually had us sing it like a regular song during zemirot), and second, there's a modified version by Nefesh Mountain that's quite enjoyable.

6. Whither Thou Goest - traditional

Yes, this one is a hymn too, but the words are directly quoting the Book of Ruth - her famous vows to Naomi, and to the Jewish people - and so it's already practically a Jewish song. It also has a special place of pride for me as a ger, and also because I used it as my wedding song in both the English (as heard in this version) and I also transliterated the Hebrew for our singer to do as well. It works nicely in both languages!

7. Roll the Ol' Chariot - David Coffin

This one I think is a little less direct, but I love it and included it for two reasons: first, it's a song of getting through it and surviving and thriving under tough circumstances, and second, you could very easily put liturgy to this melody instead.

8. For the Autumn Sky - traditional

Ignoring the last verse, this hymn could be very easily adapted into a beautiful Sukkot melody. For the last verse, I'd either simply leave it out, or one could write a Sukkot or Tu Bishvat themed verse to distinguish it. Incidentally, this was one of my favorite hymns growing up.

9. Sanctuary - Shaker melody

The video for this one is obviously mega-Christian, but it's on the list because we actually sing it all the time in shul and it has a special place in my memory from going to camp as a kid. Our shul is definitely not the only one who uses it in a Jewish context, either: this version by Cantor Julia Cadrain is really lovely.

10. Genesis 3:23 - The Mountain Goats

Where are my fellow Mountain Goats fans?? I know you're out there, lol. Look, I know that John Darnielle is coming at this from a Christian perspective, but two things: first of all, TMG has a number of Jewish fans I think at least in part because the lyrics speak deeply to the specific feelings around life (and other people) being horrible to you, surviving, and thriving even in the wake of deep trauma. Second of all, I think this one in particular brings up a number of interesting ideas about the meaning of home, of homecoming, of returning to a home that no longer really exists in the same way, and of exile and redemption. What would it look like to return to Gan Eden? Is this what geulah is supposed to look like, at least in some interpretations? What does it mean if not?

Anyway, this is it for now, but I may add to this list later, because there are definitely a few more! Please also feel free to add your own in the notes!

#queued post #jumblr #Jewish music #(kinda sorta)#honorary Jewish songs #Jewish Song of the Day #<<not really but for organizational purposes

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 2 months

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Home for the Holidays

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: some language, mentions of sex, mostly just fluff on fluff on fluff Prompt(s): From novelbear, thank you! 😊 Word Count: 2,338 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.

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #casey novak drabble #casey novak one shot #casey novak fluff #law and order svu #svu #autistic #neurodivergent #casey novak x autistic reader #x autistic reader

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tani-b-art · 1 month

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“This ain’t a Country album. This is a “Beyoncé” album.”

I understand why she said this! Because the way it seems she created a completely new genre with ‘Cowboy Carter’! The Country is there (and all the elements) and there’s some Blues, Folk, Soul, Zydeco, Bluegrass, a lil Rock, Gospel and Opera and then some (all genres with Black (Black) American origins). Almost like she opened a new sonic portal while helping to reclaim the genre made by Black Americans.

First off — the album cover art. She pays homage to a long-standing Black American Southern tradition of Houston rodeo and rodeo queens. Carrying our country’s flag…the imagery is signifying to her being a Black American woman. Who she is.

The album cover alone set the tone for what she presented with act ii. [and the photographer is Blair Caldwell, a fellow Black Texan, who has such an eye for capturing beauty. all his photographs are visually pleasing].

[Even the promo - the track list design is a nod & historical reference to Black American culture via The Chitlin Circuit promotional posters. I love it. Made my little graphic art heart smile. The nostalgia of it.]

From the opening track title and lyrics and later on within other songs, she wove her ancestral claiming to America with so much pride. Pride for our country and our flag that we absolutely should have.

Then to have Ms. Linda Martell, the trailblazing Black pioneer & legend in the genre who broke many barriers, be a part of this album was so reverent. (Especially her spoken word throughout that spoke to the way that she and Beyoncé have had to navigate this music industry. When their presence wasn’t well-received, in the very genre we created, they set out to move in a “non-traditional” way). They themselves are the embodiment of unconventional. Ms. Martell rightfully receiving her flowers at the golden age of 82 is harmonious!

Every part of act ii has made people research and discover. The same way act i did. Gotta love a good educational experience through music. (btw—the mention of Zydeco had me hyped).

Having Rhiannon Giddens on instrumentation (along with other background Black musicians and I’m sure Black vocalists) and sharing this musical journey with Tanner Adell, Brittney Spencer, Tiera Kennedy, Reyna Roberts, Willie Jones and Shaboozey — other young Black women and Black men in the genre…all of this Black fellowship made me so happy.

Just sooo much honoring throughout it all. Lots of love poured into it.

Everything is resonate. Connecting. With purpose.

Her voice, her musicality, the note choices, the lyrics, the song titles and the spelling of them, the arrangements.

It’s fun and beautiful.

It sounds amazing.

A beautiful tribute to her roots.

Bravo Beyoncé!

#Beyoncé #Cowboy Carter #Linda Martell #Tanner Adell #Brittney Spencer #Tiera Kennedy #Reyna Roberts #Willie Jones #Shaboozey #Blair Caldwell #Black music #Black culture #Black American culture #Black American music #country music #go stream Cowboy Carter #go buy Cowboy Carter #and go stream and buy all the artists she featured

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angelkissiies · 1 year

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hcs of poly relationship with abby and ellie please ilysm 🙌🙌

abby anderson x reader x ellie williams headcanons

suggestive content below the cut

╭ thank you anon for the idea, i hope you enjoy !

╰╮the absolute best dance partners, on adult night at the bar they’ll have you in daze from how much they want to be seen with you. twirling you into the others arms until your legs are sore and the entire bar as their eyes on the three of you.

╰╮abby hates cooking but ellie loves it. So most days ellie will take on the responsibility of cooking and abby will happily oblige to every desire she has as long as it’s not having anything to do with the stove. On that topic, neither of them can bake- but you can. So most days in the kitchen are filled with ellie instructing abby on what she needs and the three of you bumping into each other as you tackle different tasks. Hoping from dinner, to dishes, to baking- but you all somehow make it work (with tons of kisses in between traffic jams)

╰╮clothes troubles? always. between massive loads of laundry to abby’s shirts getting snatched by you and ellie alike- there is always a fuss about clothes. Whilst abby doesn’t mind her girls stealing her shirts, it becomes a tad problematic when the only shirts left in the closet are ones that would look like compression T’s on her. Secretly, though she gives the two of you shit, she loves it.

╰╮ellie loves taking photos. It’s something she’s very adamant about, every birthday or anniversary, she has the polaroid camera out snapping multiple pictures to frame or stick into an album. You’d become very fond of it after she’d gone through her collection- showing off every sweet photo she had of the three of you. Including more than a couple of joel and jerry hanging out. (they weren’t aware of their picture being taken, but that made it all the better.)

╰╮you’d never patrol alone again; constantly having the two women at your side to face weather was beyond the wall- not trusting anyone else with the job of protecting you. You could argue and even attempt to sneak out alone, but they somehow always knew and swooped in at the last minute to accompany you.

╰╮joel and jerry become the father figures you never got to have, taking great pride in the fact that their daughters could manage to snag a prize like you (jerry’s words, quote me on it.) they loved you unconditionally and though the idea at first was a little weird to them, once they saw how much love the three of you carried for one another- they knew it was something meant to be.

╰╮so many records. ellie prefers jazz and bluegrass (getting most of her preferences from joel), while abby is a complete opposite listening to 90’s rock and college rock (which had grown to be one of her favorite genres). anytime you all went on a run, you’d pick up all the music you could to bring home and listen to together. It had become a ritual.

╰╮an affinity for children to randomly be running around your shared house. Some days it was yara and lev sitting on the couch chatting about who knows what, others it was half a dozen tiny children running from ellie and dina as they chased them through the house and out into the garden where they’d indulge them with the patch of strawberries that had just started to ripen. It never bothered you, not one bit.

╰╮abby is the big spoon, ellie is the little spoon, and you are the littlest spoon. like a little conga train, you three melted together like this most nights. other times, it was just a massive pile of limbs and sheets tangled into something joel had a-likened to the rat king. He thought he was very funny for that, giving abby a playful nudge as he recalled her horror story.

╰╮kissies galore ! ! neither abby or ellie knew how to not kiss you (or each other) so at the worst moments they’ll press a quick kiss to your lips before moving along to whatever it was they were doing. It always warmed your heart but caught whoever you were with off guard (especially if they didn’t know your situation).

╰╮long, long, long sessions. sex was an all night affair to the three of you, that way you all had a chance to give each other the love you’d set aside for them. luckily for you, abby and ellie learned how to share when it came to you so it was no longer a fight for dominance but a shared experience. give and take. It took them awhile to figure out a way to combine forces but once they did it was game over for you (and your poor legs the next day.)

╰╮constant talk of starting a family. abby and ellie loved the idea of having little mini versions of themselves running around, not to mention how willing you were to carry babies for them if they weren’t comfortable with it. when the baby fever got too bad, the three of you would take a trip to the school to volunteer your time- helping the girls become more comfortable with children before you all made the jump to actually having your own.

#abby anderson x reader x ellie williams #abby anderson x you x ellie williams #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #tlou ff #tlou2 #tlou part 2 #tlou #tlou masterlist #polyamory #abby x ellie #abby anderson x ellie williams #x reader #the last of us part two

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sadhours · 5 months

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scumbag blues: 2) quick and to the pointless

gator tillman x female oc

previous chapter • masterlist

cw: 18+ minors dni, sex work, oral (m receiving), p in v, phone sex

“Gator, need you to head to the Way’s Inn,” Roy tells his boy, sipping on a cup of coffee.

“The Way’s Inn? Why?” he asks, eyebrows bunched up while he can’t help but picture Daisy’s pretty face and body just at the mention of her surname.

“Looking for a fella named Campbell,” Roy adjusts his hat and looks up to his only son, daring him to come up with an excuse, “Bet if he passed through Dickinson, he helped himself to Ms. Daisy’s hospitality.”

“Campbell who?” Gator frowns, pushing down the jealousy. It’s unfounded, she’s a whore, it’s what she does and Gator’s no better than any of the men who find themselves through them doors at the Inn. Still, feels like he owns her.

“Don’t have a full name,” Roy keeps his expression straight, “All y’need to know is he’s armed and dangerous. Stark County don’t need him here and that’s your job. Find him.”

“Yes sir,” Gator nods and turns to walk out of the room when Roy’s voice stops him.

“Don’t go alone. You’re a weak man when it comes to temptation.”

Gator don’t dignify that with a response, as true as it is.

—

A baby pink bubble of gum expands from Daisy’s lips as she stands at the front desk, flipping through a magazine with her long, bleached blonde hair tied in a braid that falls down the right side of her chest. He takes a deep breath, he’s here on police business. Brought Nugent with him so he doesn’t get distracted and end up $200 poorer. Which is gonna be difficult because it’s the middle of June, it’s starting to get warm and Daisy’s clothes reflect as much. She’s got on a pair of cut off Wranglers, a pair of boots and a delicate pink camisole that barely contains her breasts, nipples hard and poking through the worn cotton fabric.

“Deputy Tillman, Deputy Nugent,” Daisy greets them with a breezy voice once her bubblegum pops. “What brings two handsome men like yourselves here?”

She bats her eyelashes as her eyes bounce between the pair of them. She’s got some bluegrass music playing quietly on a Bluetooth speaker. Her favorite, Gator recognizes and while he’s pretty much forced to listen to country music everywhere he goes, it only sounds pleasant when it’s the background music to the vision that Daisy is. Her makeup is simple, Gator wouldn’t know she’s even wearing any if it weren’t for the mascara smudged under her eye. There’s a subtle sheen of sweat on the high points of her face and Gator first assumes she’s just had a customer, but he notices the bandana on the counter next to bright yellow rubber gloves. He tilts his head to see the round basket full of cleaning supplies on the hardwood next to the front desk and feels pride swelling in his chest. She keeps this place spotless and he thinks that’s a good trait for a woman to have.

“Looking for a fella named Campbell, he here?” Gator asks, hands on his belt as he eyes the short woman.

“Campbell,” she drawls out, like she’s tasting the name. “Hm.”

Daisy reaches for the sign-in register book for guests. Her papa Earl ain’t good with technology so the Inn runs like computers were never invented. Daisy shimmies out from behind the desk, over to the couch in the quaint lobby and slams the leather bound book on the marble coffee table. Gator watches her legs the entire time, flooded with the memory of dragging his hands down them and how tightly they wrap his waist. She sinks down on the couch, her petite body bouncing with it and Gator thinks it’s a lost cause that he left his wallet in the cruiser. He’s itching to get his hands on her and doesn’t believe he has the willpower to leave here without doin’ so. Especially so when Daisy gazes up at him and pats the couch cushion next to her. Gator’s legs move on their own accord, sliding down next to her. The gun strapped to his thigh flush with her bare skin. Gets a little dizzy on the look of it.

“I’m rather good at keeping up with filling this thing out,” she insists and then shakes her head as she exhales a laugh, “But Papa isn’t.”

Gator gazes down at the book as Daisy opens it, Nugent taking a seat on a chair opposite of the couch. He reads the last few entries, lip tweaking up at how girly and pretty Daisy’s handwriting is. But then he’s recognizing the names on the list and his blood boils when he thinks about people he considers friends getting a piece of Daisy. Wills himself not to pay attention to the check in and check out times.

“Campbell… yep! Yesterday mornin’,” Daisy chirps while he points at the name. “What’d he do?”

“That’s confidential,” Gator mumbles, catching the way Daisy rolls her eyes.

“What’d he look like?” Nugent asks and the blonde purses her lips as she thinks.

“Older guy,” she muses, turning her head to look at Gator and he realizes just how close they are. Lips almost touching as she says, “50’s, gray hair, kinda funny lookin’.”

“Funny lookin’ how?” Gator asks back.

“Just funny lookin’,” she grins. “More than most people.”

Gator scrunches his face up in response, just as Daisy’s father walks into the room. Gator is quick to make room between him and Daisy, stands up to shake Earl’s hand and greet him.

“Howdy, boys,” Earl smiles, “Looking for another poor fella?”

“Yep, guy named Campbell,” Nugent speaks now, “Recall him?”

Earl looks deep in thought, when Daisy interrupts, “Ya wanna see the room he stayed in, Gator? Might be some evidence.”

Gator’s throat goes dry, turning his eyes from Earl to his gorgeous daughter, eyes wide and innocent. Fuck her, he thinks to himself but nods, following Daisy up the creaky stairs. Doesn’t avert his eyes from her asscheeks spilling from her ill-fitting shorts. It bounces with the way she takes the steps, and once they’re out of eyesight and in the hallway, Gator’s pressing her against the wall, lips flush on her ear, “Don’t have my wallet.”

“S’fine,” Daisy whispers back, hooking her fingers in Gator’s belt straps and pulling him closer, “This one’s for me.”

Gator smirks, catching her lips in a kiss as he digs his fingers in her hips. Hopes to God he’s the only one she’s offering free services to. Daisy slips him her tongue, tilting her head to the side and Gator graciously accepts it, pants stiffening from a god damn kiss. His dad’s right, he’s weak for Daisy. Can’t resist temptation even if it came along with electric shocks. They stumble into a bedroom, lips locked the whole time. But once the doors closed, Gator’s backs against it and Daisy’s on her knees.

She undoes his thigh strap and sets it on the floor before looking up at him expectantly. He scoffs, though it’s through a smile as he fishes in his pocket for his vape and hands it to her. She places it on the floor next to the strap and nuzzles her face against the erection straining behind his black cargos. Her fingers are nimble as they expertly undo his button and tug his pants down his thighs, eyeing him through his briefs like she’s starving. Licking her lips and bouncing on her knees, hooking her fingers into his underwear and pulling them down, his cock bobbing out. Gator exhales sharply as Daisy’s hands wrap around his base, her mouth makes contact with his shaft. Mouths at him, dragging her tongue along the vein trailing up the side of his cock. Makes his head swim as he watches her with lustful eyes. Daisy licks him like the tastiest ice cream cone, squeezing him at the base. She could be doing porn, has the perfect look for it. With her full tits, bleached hair and huge, wide eyes. Them pouty lips he can’t stop dreaming about, swears to God she’s the prettiest woman in Stark County. Maybe the whole world.

“Ain’t got time for much, Daisy,” he mumbles, “Let’s see how quick you can make me cum.”

Daisy bites her lip as she strokes him in her hand, “Bet I could do it quicker than you think.”

“Thirty seconds,” Gator raises an eyebrow, smirk spreading across his face.

“You’re on,” Daisy giggles before she’s wrapping her lips around the tip of his cock and sucking hard, hollowing her cheeks around him. She literally gets paid to do this, of course she’s a goddamn rockstar when it comes to sucking dick. He’s still mad about it, face scrunching up as pleasure swirls in his stomach. An involuntary moan falls from his lips as she sinks down his cock, swallowing around him— throat muscles contracting as the tip pokes the back of her throat. He feels her smile around him and his hands card into her blonde hair, tugging as he feels her relax around him. She blinks up at him, doesn’t move an inch and Gator scoffs, smiling around it before he thrusts his hips. Fucks her mouth as she’s silently asked for. Sees it in her eyes that she likes being used like this.

Gator grabs a hold of her braid, other hand still gripping the roots on the crown of her head as he drills his cock into her wet, hot mouth. She gags with it, eyes falling shut as drool bubbles at the corners of her lips. With Gator controlling it, he doesn’t think it’s fair. Sure he could cum by fucking her mouth like this but he’s doing all the work, so he lets up. Drags her along his cock slower. So Daisy plays dirty, smoothes her hands up his thigh and cradles his balls, squeezing just slightly enough before rolling them in her palm and Gator’s eyes roll back in his head while his hips snap forward. Daisy swallows around him again, moaning muffled around his aching cock which sends vibrations along it and straight down to his balls. He grunts, grabbing her hair and pulling her up to her feet. He shoves her against the door, pushing her shorts over her ass. Daisy’s keening, wiggling her ass at him in her tiny white g-string. He spanks her hard before tugging the thong down, lining his cock up with her leaking hole and thrusts inside, filling her in one swift movement. Daisy yelps and Gator covers her mouth with his hand as he hammers his cock into her pussy with deep and hard thrusts.

“This pussy is all mine, ain’t it, Daisy?” he growls against her ear, “Only fucker you give it to for free, yeah?”

“Gator,” muffled against his hand, other hand on her hip as he holds her still.

“Desperate for me,” he purrs, bringing himself closer as he says it. Daisy clearly wants him, wants his cock at least.

She’s saying somethings into his palm but he’s on the brink, orgasm threatening to bust into her as his balls tighten. Her cunt clenching around him, sucking in his cock in a way her mouth could never. She’s taken cock in this room hundreds of time, but never this good, never made her legs shake like this. He bites her neck as his orgasm washes over him, seed shooting hot and forceful against her spongy insides. Daisy cries out against his lips, wiggling her ass back against him and milking his cock for all its worth. He grips her hip hard enough to leave little fingertip shaped bruises. Gator pulls out and flips her around, pressing his lips to her in a domineering kiss. She melts into it, grabbing a hold of his forearms as she makes this whiny moans into his mouth.

“Is there actual evidence in here?” Gator asks as he buttons his cargos back up, glancing around the room. Daisy shrugs, pulling her shorts back up and trails around the room and into the en-suite bathroom. Gator reattaches his thigh strap and takes a deep pull from his vape before shoving it in his pocket.

Daisy holds up a condom, tied at the end as she leaves the bathroom. Gator’s filled with rage, disgusted at the thought of bringing it to his father. The both of them looking at the spunk and knowing the only woman Gator’s showed remote interest in was the one to obtain it. But it’s good evidence.

“Fuck,” Gator sighs, rubbing his eyes before he says, “Ya know, I’d kill any man who you’ve fucked but I’d have to clean the entire county.”

“Gator,” she whines, “You ain’t no better than those men. I’m just trying to keep a damn roof over my dads head.”

“I am better than those men,” Gator mumbles, reaching for a box of tissues on the dresser and ripping the paper out of it, holding the box out and Daisy rolls her eyes as she drops the soiled condom into the empty box.

“More attractive, sure,” Daisy replies, “But you treat me exactly as they do. A woman you don’t have to do much work to get naked.”

“For fucks sake,” Gator exhales, “In another life, Daisy, maybe. But my dads the fucking sheriff, a preacher. How do you think he’d look if his only son was courting a goddamn hooker?”

“I get it,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m just saying, you ain’t no better than any of the men that walk into here.”

“Keep telling yourself that, with my cum leaking out of you,” Gator narrows his eyes before he exits the room and jogs down the stairs, nodding to Nugent.

“Alright, Earl, it was good catching up. If you remember anything else, don’t hesitate to call,” Nugent shakes Earl’s hand and follows Gator out of the Inn.

—

Roy looks at Gator with disappointment as he hands him the box, peeking down into it.

“Girlfriend of yours keep evidence like this often?”

“She ain’t my girlfriend,” Gator huffs, turning his eyes towards the ceiling.

“Shame about that Daisy,” Roy tsks, “Damned near prettiest girl in this county.”

Gator doesn’t like hearing his dad’s attracted to Daisy. Knows Daisy would offer him the same services as every other man. Wouldn’t care that he’s Gator’s father.

“Yeah, she’s pretty,” he agrees but quickly moves on, “Who is this fella? What‘d he do?”

“Drugs,” Roy purses his lips, “He offer ‘em to your girl?”

“Didn’t say,” Gator replies, face all scrunched up, “Didn’t know to ask.”

“Ask her,” he adds, “What’d she say?”

“He’s funny lookin’, older.”

“That’s it?” Roy looks at him, unimpressed. “Too busy to do your job?”

“She’s secretive about that stuff,” Gator mumbles.

Roy hums, “All that money you give her… all that time you spend over there… and she can’t help you out.”

“I’ll call her,” Gator sighs as he turns, heads towards the stairs.

“I’m off to see Karen and the twins,” Roy calls after him but Gator doesn’t reply, trudges up to his room with a bitter taste in his mouth. Strips off all his gear before he crawls into his bed and shoots Daisy a text.

Need more

Gator realizes he should’ve clarified when Daisy replies with a rather tasteful, yet salacious photo. It’s her silhouette, clearly nude in her bedroom. The shadow casted displays her pert tits and nipples. Gator feels a stir in his pants and groans, temptation almost too good to let slip. But his dads in his head.

Not that. Campbell.

Jizz not enough?

Describe him.

Gator closes his eyes as he rests his head against his pillows. His phone vibrates repeatedly, he lifts it up and looks at the Caller ID.

Daisy. Simple. Not a photo. He almost doesn’t want to answer it but he does.

“Hello,” he breathes into the receiver.

“I told ya, he was funny lookin’,” Daisy greets him. Gator imagines she’s splayed across her bed, in one of her many lacy nightgowns. It’s nearing midnight. He’s happy she’s not with another man but won’t dare say it. Her voice is honey in his ears. Addictive like every bit of her is. Wants to fall asleep on the phone like they used to when he first started seeing her.

“Yeah, we’re all funny lookin,” Gator replies, smoothing his left hand down his stomach. “Details, Daisy.”

“He was circumcised,” she replies and his blood boils. Has a half mind to hang up on her.

“So is like 90% of the male population in this country. Something I can use, please,” he groans.

“You’re no fun. What do you think he looks like?” Daisy asks with a teasing tilt to her voice. Gator imagines she’s laying on his chest, that the hand on his stomach is her hand and not his own.

“A pill pusher. He offer you anything?”

“Funny you say that!” She giggles, the sound making his stomach tighten. “He did! I said no, obviously.”

“What was it?” Gator mumbles back, hand moving down to his cock because he can’t help himself and Daisy‘s voice is making it fill out. God, if only she weren’t a whore. If only he could court her. There’s a girl at the station who started yesterday. His dad told him to ask her out. Said she’s a good girl. Not like the tramp he wastes his paychecks on.

“I don’t remember,” she sighs, “Probably some good ones. Opiates. You know I don’t do drugs, Gator.”

The way she says his name makes him want to drive to the Inn, tell her she’s the only woman he can think about. Tell her he can save her from whatever the fuck makes her sell her body.

“Funny,” he says instead, “You snorted like half the bag I lifted from evidence the other week.”

“Gator!” she squeals, “You were halfway to the goddamn moon when you showed up here! How the hell else was I supposed to keep up with ya?”

“That was a fun night,” Gator remembers as he squeezes his cock, it’s more than just a chub now, “Had you howling, shocker your daddy didn’t wake up.”

“Ya know, he thinks you're courting me,” Daisy replies, matter-of-factly.

Gator guffaws, “What on earth gave him that impression?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s you showing up twice a week. And you’re the only one he ever sees leaving,” she offers.

Gator has to cool it, he knows. Feels like he’s addicted to Daisy, though. Even now, just on the phone with her and he’s lazily rubbing at his cock. Wonders if she’s touching herself too.

“Where’re your hands?” he asks, quietly.

Daisy giggles, pretty and wonderful and straight to Gator’s raging boner. Squeezes himself as he bites his lip. “Tell me.”

“Should’ve figured,” she hums, “Want me to touch my pussy?”

“Yeah,” Gator breathes out, lamely.

Daisy whines over the phone. Gator imagines she’s smoothing her hands between her thighs. That she’s obeying him. ‘Cause she always does.

“I’m rubbing my pussy, through my underwear. Feels nice,” Daisy purrs, “Are you hard, Gator?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, squeezing himself through his pants. “You wet?”

Daisy moans softly, he pictures her moving her fingers in slow circles against her clit. His cock twitches at the mental image. Has to get himself out of his pants and briefs, squeezes himself at the base. Watches as the tip bubbles out some precum.

“I’m so wet, Gator. Your voice is so sexy,” she tells him and he groans lowly.

“Wish I could see,” he mumbles, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m still rubbing myself through my panties,” she admits, “Is your cock out? In your hand?”

“Yeah… take your panties off for me.”

“Anything you want, daddy,” she breathes and Gator reaches for his bottle of lotion, squirting a bit on his hand and smearing it on his shaft. He lets out a low moan and begins stroking himself slowly.

Gator tells her, “Want you to lick your fingers and then rub your clit. Slow. In circles.”

“Okay,” she replies, he can hear her licking her fingers and then she gasps softly, “Want you to tease yourself, squeeze your cock at the base. Don’t stroke, just hold it.”

“Daisy…” Gator whimpers as he listens, stopping his strokes as he grips himself at the base. “Two fingers, inside. Now. Curl them up and drag ‘em back out.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Daisy moans, all breathy.

“Keep doing that,” Gator breathes out, “Over and over.”

“Okay, daddy,” she purrs and moans some more. “Feels… so good… wish it was your fingers… mine don’t really reach. Need you.”

“I know you can make yourself cum, baby girl,” Gator chuckles, “You got toys. I seen ‘em.”

Daisy giggles again and Gator has to stroke his cock, whines as he does it.

“You bought me my favorite,” she gasps, “But it’s so loud!”

“Fucker was pricey, too,” Gator laughs softly, “Makes you cum in like… seconds though.”

“Mhm… only use it with you,” Daisy confesses and Gator’s heart swells a bit. The wand was a gift. Two hundred dollars. But the way Daisy’s eyes rolled back and she screamed when he used it on her was worth it. Came immediately. Gator was unhealthily obsessed with it for a while. Paid Daisy to send him videos of her using it everyday for two weeks straight. Money well worth spent to him.

“You got them dildos too, I know they can reach better than your fingers,” Gator replies, squeezing the base of his cock, waiting for Daisy to give him permission to do more.

“They’re not as big as you,” she complains, “But want me to use one?”

“I do,” Gator admits, “the biggest one you have. Without lube. Bet you're wet enough.”

He can hear her rustling on the other end, digging in the drawer of sex toys in her nightstand. “Maybe the pink one,” he says, quickly, “‘Member when I had that thing in your ass while I fucked your pussy?”

“Gator…” she moans and he bites his lip hard.

“Daisy, I need to move my hand. Please.”

“Yes, Daddy. Stroke your cock but wait, I wanna put it in at the same time. Okay? On the count of three.”

“On three,” Gator mumbles, skin prickling in goosebumps with anticipation.

“One.. two.. three,” they count together and moan in sync.

“Fuck, okay. Hard and fast, Daisy,” Gator instructs.

“Yes,” she whines and they both turn into a puddle over the phone. Moaning into the receiver as they work themselves closer and closer to orgasm.

Gator strokes his cock, tight and quick. Balls tighten as he brings himself on the brink of orgasm. Second of the day, just for Daisy.

“I’m gonna cum,” he tells her, “Cum with me. Fuck yourself harder. Need you to cum with me.”

“Gonna cum with you, daddy, so close…” she whimpers, “Oh… oh, Gator… yes!”

Daisy gasps and then cries out, just as Gator spills all over his fist and stomach. Moaning guttarly as he does so.

They’re silent for a beat, breathing labored into the phone.

Daisy’s the first to speak after she sighs, “Send me… hm… thirty. Since I enjoyed myself so much. I’ll talk to you later. Goodnight, Gator.”

And then she hangs out, and he’s sitting there looking at the spunk on his stomach, phone still held tightly to his ear.

Gator cleans himself up, sends her the money and grabs a pillow, pulling it to his chest as he closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.

#gator tillman #gator tillman smut #gator tillman x oc #gator tillman fanfiction #gator tillman fic

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lothken · 6 months

Text

“Oh Appalachia”

Oh, Appalachia, your dirty hands carved just as much by stone as they carve. While those above the mine eat in a world lit by those below that starve.

Oh, Appalachia, the simplest of lives there guarantee no safety. You're still home to me.

Oh, Appalachia, revival tent pitched for the Gifted to gather. Those whose fervor never has waned make those that have shatter.

Oh, Appalachia, elder mountains shield us from the rising sea. You're still home to me.

Oh, Appalachia, where our roots have grown deep and never give way. Here longer than most, not by Ellis but Chesapeake Bay.

Oh, Appalachia, lands that have been scoured forcing us to flee. You're still home to me.

Oh, Appalachia, home of the intricate labyrinthine holler. They keep us close and yet leave our infrastructure to wallow.

Oh, Appalachia, a mountainous embrace you can never truly flee. You're still home to me.

Oh, Appalachia, whose world is made worse. Here not man and wife but miner and nurse.

Oh, Appalachia, whose mountains are blue and smoky. You're still home to me.

Oh, Appalachia, everybody finds them some pride on Friday night. Appalachian resolve tested with each push, hit, and bite.

Oh, Appalachia, whose world has been tainted by poppy. You're still home to me.

Oh, Appalachia, those who live there may not on Sunday pray. Yet Tradition's grasp will hurt Appalachians, brave and gay.

Oh, Appalachia, whose mountaineers are sometimes Free. You're still home to me.

In the heart of Appalachia, where echoes of hardship linger. Resilience runs through the rivers, flows from every finger.

Oh, Appalachia, where the echoes of coal linger in the street. You're still home to me.

Oh, Appalachia, you are a home not a house. Your Ancient Summits are both loved and renounced.

Oh, Appalachia, with a desire to be there and happy. You'll always be home to me.

#appalachia #poetry #original poem #yallternative #lgbtqia #west virginia #mothman #kentucky #tennessee #north carolina #virginia

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writeforfandoms · 8 months

Note

I recently learned of a song called “raccoon platoon” which is a Swedish bluegrass metal song about being mauled by raccoons. And I just….

Sneaky would have Velcro patches made that say “141-Raccoon Platoon🦝” and try to sneak them onto the gear of everyone on 141. She gets Soap first. (He lets her so they can have matching patches) Then she gets Gaz. Ghost is IMPOSSIBLE to get until they’re on leave and she can sneak into his barracks room to put it on his vest. She finally gets Price by sneaking it on to his rucksack during a mission.

🦝🦝🦝🦝

YES I APPROVE OF THIS SO HARD.

Soap thinks its hysterical and wears his with pride. He may not actually be a raccoon but he's got the chaotic aspect down pat. Gaz is amused but tries not to encourage the mischief too much. Sometimes. Ghost is impossible to get normally, until she sneaks it onto his gear while he's asleep. Literally the only chance she has. He of course notices right away but he allows it because she was sneaky enough to pull it off. It actually takes Price a minute to notice his patch, and when he finally sees it he just sighs and leaves it.

If any of them lose theirs, she's got a replacement ready. When Gaz asks her about it, she sheepishly admits she had to order a gross of them and has a hundred stashed under her bed. Soap nearly makes himself sick laughing.

#🦝 anon #shifter au

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zenaidamacrouras1 · 1 year

Text

Backhoe Bonus Drabble

This is a random summer scene that doesn't fit into any of my Backhoe chapters. I'll have a series of these that I'll probably add on as a separate work in the Backhoe series after the whole fic is finished, but have a tumblr drabble for now. This takes place during the time jump between chapters 19 and 20. I don't think it's majorly spoilery, and I don't think you need to read the fic to get it. If you like to read a fic pure with no surprises whatsoever, maybe read the fic first.

Chapters 1-20 are here, chapters 21 and 22 are mostly ready and will post this week and next, probably going to be like 25 chapters total please stop laughing at me I'm trying to end this damn thing. (initial chapter count was like 5) (go ahead and laugh) (but also feel free to encourage me, I think I'm finally out of my writer's block, yay!)

Late July:

Ever since Bucky became manager for his crew, he’s tried to make sure they don’t have unexpected afternoons off. On the one hand, sure, there’s nothing better than finishing a job early and peacing the fuck off to head home. On the other, well, you don’t get paid for hours you don’t work. So, he tries to make it so everyone’s getting paid, is all.

But sometimes, the timing just doesn’t work out like that. Right now, it’s 1 pm on a Friday, and they’ve wrapped up this gig, and it don’t make sense to start on the next job till Monday morning, so everyone heads home. Bucky promises some long days next week to make up for it on that paycheck. So it’s backslaps and a few dirty jokes while they all pack up, and then Bucky’s in his truck driving the winding roads back home.

Steve’s gonna be there, he thinks, with a grin he’s glad no one can see. Steve’s just come back last night from helping out with some action out in San Francisco. Greenpeace paid him to fly out there and do trainings on art shit and paint some big-ass banners.

Bucky’d like to burst with pride when he saw those damn banners hanging from a god damn skyscraper, protesting globalization. Steve was on strict orders from Greenpeace and one J.B. Barnes not to get arrested himself; he just painted the banners. Bucky had shown the pictures to Peter, cause Peter was the only guy at work he’s out with on both the politics stuff and on the gay stuff. Peter’s genuine “Holy shit, man” was worth all the teasing that followed about how fucking lovesick Bucky is about his sexy little anarchist boyfriend.

But also, he had missed Steve, fuck it all but he did, and dammit the guy was only gone five days. It doesn’t bode well for when Steve goes back to college next month, but Bucky’s never been one to worry about a debt before it comes due. That just means suffering twice.

Bucky listens to the truck for any errant noises as he drives. He'd thought he heard a knock this morning, but apparently whatever it was has worked itself out for now. He switches on the stereo.

Bucky tries one of the playlists Steve loves listening to, featuring Against Me! and a bunch of other political punk bands. Bucky doesn’t hate it, he doesn’t, but fuck, it’s a pretty summer’s day and the sunlight’s filtering through the leaves and everything green is just so happy to be alive and growing in the mountains right now. That music is so damn strident, sometimes a man just wants to enjoy some peace in this world and forget about all the problems. After half a song, Bucky switches to some bluegrass. He and Steve don’t have to like the same music, he figures.

Becca Jane, never shy with her opinion, has declared that Steve’s music of choice sounded "like you stuck a bull in a barrel with an electric guitar and shoved it down a flight of stairs." About three days into listening to the punk music coming out of Steve’s studio in the laundry room, she’d come home from her MCAT prep course and handed Steve a pair of brand-new bluetooth headphones and an ultimatum.

So the Barnes kids like country music and their houseguest, who happens to be Bucky's boyfriend, likes punk. Steve switched to headphones and there really haven’t been any other major conflicts with him living there. It’s kind of a miracle, Bucky thinks, as he turns onto Brushy Fork Holler Road. Jean’s out in her front yard gardening, and he raises two fingers up off the wheel to say hi, slowing in case she’s got something to say, but she just waves and looks back down to her precious rose bushes. Sometimes Bucky thinks she spends more time fussing over her flowers than Bucky does raising five kids, but to each their own. Looks pretty, anyway.

Then it's just another minute until he hears the crunch of gravel under his truck tires and he's looking at the house he's lived in his whole life.

The house is quiet when he climbs out of the truck in the driveway. No one’s expecting him, so that ain’t a surprise. The girls are probably down at the swimming hole or playing video games at Maria and Monica’s. He kicks off his boots on the front porch and goes prowling through the house. He grins when he hears Steve singing from the laundry room.

Steve’s singing is—well, the thing is, if Steve was good at everything, that just wouldn’t be fair, now would it? Steve’s a great strategist on this pipeline shit; he’s been such a help to Bucky on his quest to stop the fucking thing. He has a great head for the lawyer stuff and the activist strategy side of it. He’s learning how to cook and getting real good at it. He’s obviously a gifted artist, as everyone knows, and he’s fucking nice as hell too. The girls love him, and they are a tough audience.

And, well, he has other skills Bucky ain’t shouting to the world about, that’s private, but Bucky sure ain’t got nothing to complain about. When it comes to the bedroom, Steve’s a god damn prodigy, Bucky thinks with a shiver of pleasure down his spine. Steven Brooklyn Grant God Damn Rogers.

So it just makes sense that Steve would have a few faults, and that's the most charitable thing Bucky can say about Steve’s singing. Steve couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket—hell, he couldn’t carry a tune in a semi-truck full of buckets. He’d flip that semi right over, highway’d be backed up and on fire from here to Timbuktu.

Which is why Bucky’s at the door of the laundry room before he can piece together what song Steve’s torturing to within an inch of its life. It’s the fucking Dixie Chicks. Or just the Chicks now, whatever. Steve is obediently wearing the headphones Becca told him to wear at the risk of death if she had to hear “that atonal screeching you call music one more fucking time" and so he has no idea how loud he’s “singing”—honestly, it ain’t anything Bucky’d categorize as singing, but there are words and they are carrying through the door.

I wanna walk and not runI wanna skip and not fallI wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tallI wanna be the only one for miles and milesExcept for maybe you and your simple smile

Bucky feels a slow sly smile stretch across his face and pulls the door open. Steve’s singing a country music love song. Steve's facing away from him, wearing just a pair of boxer briefs and a loose black t-shirt. Bucky sees Steve's pants are in the sink; he must have gotten paint on them and taken them off to soak.

Steve's got one hand wide to the side like he's balancing on a tightrope and the other is painting some kind of white accent on a flower. He makes it look so easy, light movements bringing life wherever Steve touches.

Cowboy taaaaake me awaaaaayyy

Steve caterwauls to his flowers, and Bucky can't take the suspense anymore. He waits until the paintbrush is a safe distance from the canvas, then slips his arms around Steve's slender waist and lowers his lips to Steve's neck. Steve jumps with a little shout and whirls around, dropping his paintbrush. He jerks his earbuds out.

"You're early!" Steve gasps. He's blushing something fierce.

"Who's this cowboy you're singing about running away with, and should I be jealous?" Bucky whispers into Steve's smooth, pretty neck. He gives a small kiss. "Don't tell me I gotta fight a cowboy for your honor. I ain't much with a six-shooter, and I am kindly scared of horses."

"You're scared of horses?" Steve asks incredulously, always looking for something to direct the conversation away from his own feelings.

"Maybe they're scared of me? Me and horses never had much opportunity to get to know each other, makes more sense to be scared of horses than chickens," Bucky says, and offers a few more kisses to Steve's neck.

"Horses are majestic and chickens are evil,” Steve says darkly, and sighs, leaning into Bucky’s lips on his neck. “Hmm. Well, my cowboy is very handsome, you should definitely be jealous."

"Maybe I'll steal him away. I got lots of beans. Cowboys cain't resist a good bean."

"Well, my cowboy is good-looking but a bit slim in the brains department, so he might like you, actually."

Bucky huffs a laugh into Steve's neck, and drops a few more kisses, running his mouth softly up and down Steve's neck. Steve suddenly busts out a loud laugh, which is not the reaction Bucky was going for. He'd been expecting more of Steve's little sighs.

"What?" Bucky says in frustration, when Steve's still laughing.

"Buh—" Steve can't hardly breathe for laughing.

"Spit out whatever fool insult you've done come up with, then," Bucky says, a smile quirking up despite himself. Steve looks so fucking pleased, the jerk.

"Buckaroo!" Steve manages to burst out with a wicked grin.

"Oh, hell no," Bucky says. "Nope. Absolutely not. I ain't a fucking cowboy." Steve's still laughing at him.

"That right, Buckarooooo?" he taunts.

"I'm a hillbilly. It's different," Bucky says with a mock threat in his voice.

"Okay, okay, so what do you have that my imaginary cowboy doesn't?" Steve smirks at him. Everything is a challenge with this guy.

"Hmm, it's more of a show-don't-tell kinda thing," Bucky murmurs, moving back into Steve's space. "See, cowboys are all talk."

"So what are hillbillies?" Steve says, suddenly breathy, Bucky notes with satisfaction.

"Action, Stevie, we're about action."

It ain't but a second till Bucky's pulled out that sweet little sigh he wanted from Steve, and a whole symphony of pretty sounds after that.

#stucky au #stucky fanfic #Appalachian Bucky Barnes #Artist Steve Rogers #Drabble #Idiots in Love #sweet sappy lusting

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