#fargo go gone...

[munsster]

road trip (trope bingo)

A/N: thought i might try this format out. also introducing a new face to my tumblr repertoire. i’ve written marvel before, just never on this site. enjoy!! (gif creds: @bubbarnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You think Bucky is shallow for rejecting a pretty stranger in North Dakota. Little do you know. 1.6k words

Warnings: fluff, dummies not talking about their feelings, pet names (doll), slight angst but resolved, perhaps mutual pinging, a really good hug, playful bullying, cursing

"Ooh, she's cute."

You've been doing this for over an hour. He's downed at least four coffees by now. And the worst part is you call it finding a suitable mate. But he's just not interested in the women you're scouting for him at a rest stop a few miles out from Fargo, North Dakota. He would've just left, gone and sat in the truck, but he'd feel bad leaving you rambling to yourself when you're the one paying for this meal.

"Come on, Buck, you're no fun," you huff, dropping your spoon into the thick mug now emptied of hot cocoa.

"You're right. Can we go now?" He starts to slide out of his seat when you scoff. He goes still like a deer in headlights. This should be fun.

"James Buchanan, you're telling me none of the lovely ladies in this diner tickle your fancy? Not even third barstool? She's tall, Buck, like... model tall," you suggest with your brows raised.

"I'm not... we're in North Dakota, you think that's what I'm lookin' for?"

"Just one date! You wouldn't take her on one, single date? The little bar across the street seems sensible, why not?"

"Um—"

"Tell meee," you whine, leaning over the sticky, vinyl tablecloth with a pout.

He shrugs. "Not my type."

"Bullshit. She's everybody's type. She's my type, Bucky. Are you blind or just plain stupid?"

"I'm not interested."

You pull a face like you're offended on her behalf. Bucky rolls his eyes and wishes you'd drop it.

"Oh, I get it," you say. Leaned back, arms stretched across the length of the seat, you huff and glare at him. "You think you're too good for her, huh? Just 'cause she's a North Dakota ten, and you're a Brooklyn eight, you think that makes you better, don't you?"

"What? An eight?" he mumbles, shaking his head.

"Ugh, you men gross me out sometimes. Massive egos, teensy little brains," you say, slapping a twenty on the table and standing with a vicious squint. "Well, let me learn you something, James"—you loom over him and poke your pointer finger at his chest—"you're shallow, and you're no better than her. You prob'ly couldn't take her out if you wanted to. Goodnight."

You huff and walk away, but he chuckles and calls after you: "It's noon, doll." Flipping him off, you march out into the parking lot. He considers the woman for a moment. You called him a Brooklyn eight. She's pretty, he'll admit, but he wasn't lying when he said he wasn't interested. Bucky's seen the far stretches of the Earth, which means he's seen women of all forms. Accountants and soldiers from all over, all professions, all languages. All beautiful. But nothing intrigues him quite as much as you do.

...

"Did you ask her out, or are you choosing to remain a coward?" You've got your boots propped on the dashboard, the truck bumbling eighty down the highway. An emery board swipes back and forth at your middle fingernail as you snap your bubblegum.

"Come on, doll, play nice. We're leavin' anyway, didn't want to hurt her feelings," he grumbles.

"Tough. Doesn't make you any less of a pussy, Barnes."

You flick the nail file at his cheek and drop your feet heavily on the hot car mat. You called him a Brooklyn eight. You cringe at the remembrance while Bucky revels in it. He even grinned stupid all the way back to the parking lot. To himself, but still. He hates how deep under his skin you are. He hates how he likes the itch.

His tongue twists with all the things he could have said. He should have said. But he grips the steering wheel tight and drives till you cross the border into Minnesota.

"Wanna go anywhere before Wisconsin? They've got... lakes here," he shyly suggests, voice soft, hoping you'll just ignore him and turn up the radio. He doesn't think you'll ever ignore him, even if he did prefer it.

"Only if I could push you into one of them."

"Listen, kid—"

"Kid? That's great, Bucky. It's getting dark, why don't we just find a motel." You cross your arms. The cold is getting to you. Even in a down jacket and two pairs of pants. It gets like that up north.

He does what you tell him because the last thing he needs is for you to hold another grudge against him. This one's quaint, so he gets the last double available, chuckling nervously when the older woman at the front desk mistakes you for a married couple.

"Sure you don't want a single, honey? Not gettin' any kids outta separate beds—"

"Nope—thanks, miss—that's—double is fine, double's perfect, thanks," he huffs. You chuckle.

She gives a rolling, belly laugh, head tossed back as she croaks, "Won't file any noise complaints against youse! Have a fun night."

"Geez, she was great," you sigh, still smiling from the ridiculous interaction. You flop face down onto the bed closest to the window, rattling the ice from the crevices in your boots. It crunches to the floor and you wriggle out of your coat as Bucky locks himself into the pale yellow bathroom.

He starts mumbling from the other side of the door, so you sit up and toe your boots onto the floor with a thud. Digging your fingertips into the edge of the hastily tucked sheets, you stare at a wine stain in the middle of the beige carpet. At least it smells nice in here. Even if half the lights are out, and cable doesn't come through clear enough to watch.

You find yourself, cheek pressed to the door, eyes wide as you listen through the flimsy wood.

"I don't think so, Steve. No, listen, it's like... beyond repair. She wouldn't take an apology even if I knew what i was sorry for—no—she's way too good for me, I can't do that to her."

Still moping over women found in North Dakota's lowest rated diners? That's highly unlike him. But even Bucky's a wildcard six-thousand miles into a roadtrip. You press closer, chewing your lip and closing your eyes.

"No, no, everything—this stuff's easier for you, pal, you don't get it, 'kay? I'm just saying... I mean, even a stranger thought we were married"—What—"has to mean something, right? Even strangers are realizing... there's something... there. I just don't want to accidentally—no, I know, not like that, I mean...well, I like her a lot and I don't want it to scare her—"

You back up slightly, hands held in front of you like surrender. Not out of fear, but realization. That's why he didn't ask her out. Or even fish for her number. Because—

You hit the floor with a thump.

"Steve. I gotta go."

The door whips open and floods the room with warm light. You scramble to your feet.

"Were you... I was just talking to... Did you hear any of that?"

You shake your head. He shoves his hands into the shallow pockets of his jeans.

"Okay," he says with a nod, "good." He blows hot air out of his mouth and runs a swift hand through his hair. But he doesn't meet your eyes. Like a little kid so terrified of fibbing that he'd rather swim deeper into the abyss than float to the surface. Can't catch his damn breath around here.

"So..."

"Goodnight, Bucky!" you chirp, turning on your heel with a whoosh of air. And he stops you in your tracks, hand on your bicep. You don't turn back around, stuck staring at the foot of your bed.

"Doll," he whispers, roped up by fear and a pinch of self-pity. Attending his own funeral with a sick smile on his face. "Just how much did you hear."

You spin on the balls of your feet, going hot in the face, fueled by the electricity at his fingertips. "A lot."

"Oh."

You nod and try your best non-psychotic smile. "Sorry."

"No, no... don't be," he says, trying his own. So you're just a couple of smirking idiots at a stalemate in a stale motel room. A couple of idiots with feelings for each other. Unresolved feelings. Unspoken, too.

"I actually—could I?" You point behind him into the cramped bathroom, and he lets go of you like it's his last move before you put him in check. Before he has to hand you the game. Though, he'd do that in a heartbeat. Every game of his is yours. "Thanks."

"No problem." He shuts his eyes when you close the door with a calculated tenderness. Like you don't want to frazzle his poor heart.

But then why would you open the door again? Why would you wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle into his back? Why would you make it all so much worse and spread your fingers over his abdomen, taking a deep breath when he runs his hand down your forearm and turns to face you. Then you melt with his strong arms holding you thisclose.

"Like you a lot, too, Barnes. You're just a big dunce a lot of the time. But that's like... half the draw or whatever," you mumble into his shoulder. And you've never been this close, and he thinks he could pass out. Become a chalk outline in a dusty motel in Minnesota. But if it happened like this, he'd be okay with that statistic.

marvel masterlist

[youthereader]

Gator blackmails you.

pairing: gator tillman (fargo) x teenage fem!reader

summary: 1.9k. to avoid arrest, you do something for gator.

rating: e; dubcon, mentions of underage drinking, reader is an 18 year-old high schooler, blowjob (m recieving), vaginal fingering, praise kink, toxic dynamics

a/n: there's just something about this guy! I hate him but I want him! this is my first ever joe keery character fic, so please be gentle.

“Go fuck yourself!”

“I wouldn’t be talkin’ to me like that if I were ya.”

This town makes it easy to hate cops, especially because of Sheriff Tillman and his son. Luckily for you, or not so luckily, depending on how you look at it, you’re dealing with Gator tonight.

He has you backed into the side of his car, all alone, and it’s freezing cold. You can see your breaths in front of your faces, your body occasionally shivering. Your cute outfit just feels idiotic now, along with many other decisions that led you up to this point.

Gator’s eyes shift to the end of the street, which is completely deserted. You and your friends were there together up until a few minutes ago, when his cop car turned the corner and spotted you.

“Your friends ain’t gonna help ya,” he says. “They’re long gone.”

“And I meant it when I said it the first time – go fuck yourself!”

He smirks, lifting his vape to his lips and inhales. He exhales away from you, but you can still smell the mango scent as it drifts into the night. He smells like whatever body spray he showered himself in earlier, too. It’s not bad, exactly. Just invasive, lingering. Kind of like Gator himself.

You’ve known each other for years. He was in your older brother’s class in high school, in and out of your life forever, and this is the closest you’ve been to him in a long time. He always sort of scared you as a kid, but now it’s a different kind of fear. Less boogeyman, more realistic and sadistic.

Especially after he told you to suck his cock so he doesn’t arrest you for drinking underage.

“Somethin’ like this on your record when you’re applyin’ for college…”

He trails off, shaking his head. Your face warms and your guts twist. He can’t be serious, and yet you find it entirely possible he means it. His eyes dip to your lower half, your stupid short skirt and tights. You’re not even wearing snow boots, what the fuck were you thinking? You’re not even tipsy anymore by how sobering this is.

“Your brother would be shattered, too.”

“Don’t talk about my brother,” you snarl.

You take a step forward and he doesn’t flinch, eyes dipping to your lips. Your stomach flips at the sight of him taking you in like that.

“You a virgin?” he whispers.

You step back, face on fire, ignoring him. He makes a show of sighing, putting his vape away to take out his handcuffs.

“Okay, turn around.”

“Wait-”

“You can explain you and your delinquent buddies down at the station-”

You do think of college now. You care about getting out of this town, away from shitbirds like Gator Tillman. Without college, it’s that much harder to succeed. You think of the shame and humiliation your family would feel, because it would get around so fast, your drinking.

“Okay, okay! Okay!” you yelp, as he spins you around.

He presses up against you, hips to your ass and you gasp at the force of him.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you whisper. Your eyes shut and you gulp. “I’ll blow you.”

“Nope, changed my mind-”

You start to beg, but he still cuffs you, takes hold of your wrists to open the backseat and pushes you inside with ease. He’s deceptively strong. You land sidewards, and he slams the door shut as you struggle to sit up, slipping into the front seat.

“Asshole,” you hiss, hating him.

You start to wish your arrest would be for more, like assaulting an officer. He probably tried to blackmail you just to see if you’d say yes.

He takes off and you manage to sit up, huffing as you glare at the back of his head through the divider. You realize then that he’s not headed towards the station, but further out, further away from the center of town. You feel panic start to set in, your eyes meeting his in the rear-view mirror.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

“Y’know, I was on my way home when I picked ya up,” he calls over the engine.

He’s speeding and you feel each lurch of the car, every swerve.

“I wasn’t even lookin’ for some action tonight. But you always are. Fuckin’ whores.”

He can’t be talking to you. He must mean the collective ‘you’, of all the girls in town he sees. Has he done this before?

“You’re all whores.”

He seems on a roll, so you stay silent. He drives to the high school, to the football field at the back, the turf iced over and crunching underfoot. You know this because you walk across it most days, dreaming of somewhere far warmer. College was meant to take you away from the cold.

He parks the car. As it idles, he turns around in his seat.

“So have we got a deal?” he says, and you blink at him.

“Uh, yeah.”

He seems to have changed, he seems younger. You stare back at him and he frowns. It’s almost comical.

“What did ya think I was goin’ to do?”

“What kind of question is that -?”

He jumps out of the front and opens the back, crowding you, and he shuts it behind him, settling beside you. You glance down at your own arm pointedly, and he moves forward to uncuff you.

“I wasn’t gonna rape you or somethin’… your brother’s my buddy.”

“I hope he’s not,” you snap.

“Hey,” he says, and he tugs you toward him. “I still could arrest ya. Public intoxication? Underage drinkin’? Intent to sell?”

“Intent to sell what?” you retort. “I have nothing on me-”

“For now.”

You glare at him, rubbing your sore wrists, and he smirks again. His gaze dips again to your mouth.

“You’re kinda cute when you’re pissed off, did ya know that? You’re eighteen, right?”

“You are fucked up,” you say.

The silence between you is heavy, and he pulls in a breath, not disagreeing with you. You close your eyes for courage, breathing in his scent. Annoyingly, he smells really good, and the heat of his body makes it weirdly intimate.

“If I do this, then you’ll let me off the hook?”

Your eyes meet and he nods. “Sure, baby.”

You sigh, moving to unzip his fly and put a hand in his underwear. He’s hard already, and huge. Holy shit, you were not expecting that – and neither did you consider physically reacting to him like you do. Your stomach flips as your face burns with want. You want this.

“C’mon.”

You obey, ducking down to swallow him, trying not to cough, and Gator sucks in a breath on impact. His hand finds the back of your neck and squeezes, your thighs pressing together. His direction helps you with your initial nerves. Giving bad head would surely mean arrest.

You find yourself trying to not show too much enthusiasm, either. This tightrope means sucking his cock but suppressing your moans, because you’re not a virgin. You’ve done this many times before, but it hasn’t been like this. It hasn’t been risky, or so matter of fact.

He holds you like someone with experience does, and you like it a lot. You shift your hips a little, heat below your navel. He yanks you off him, drool on your mouth and chin, and kisses you.

His hot tongue pushes into your mouth and you grunt in surprise, not disgust, and he’s good. He’s really good at making you go in for more when he moves his lips away from you, staring at you with a glazed expression on his face.

“I knew it,” he whispers. “I knew you’d enjoy this.”

“Shut up,” you mumble.

“Hmm, I like it…”

His hand trails down your side, then under your skirt. You turn your head away from him, whimpering when his fingers curl into the waistband of your tights, pulling them down. You take his cock into your mouth again, re-doubling your efforts, and Gator groans for the first time, his hand more determined.

His fingers meet your underwear, rubbing over the clothed cut of you. You know you must be wet by now, and he doesn’t humiliate you for that. Instead, he pushes aside the material to reach your cunt, tucking two fingers inside with ease.

“Fuck,” you moan, because he’s not gentle.

You bob your head, tasting his pre-cum, sacrificing air to get him off. You’re fighting the building pleasure inside you, until he pinches your clit and you cry out, starting to tremble.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he whispers, and you cough, taking him as far as you can out of sheer desperation. “Good girl…”

You come, your orgasm ripped from you, and you can’t hide it by how you clench around him and shudder. You ride his hand to the very end, and his fingers stay inside you, that possessive edge to him still as he grips your neck a little tighter.

“C’mon…”

He starts to pant, your eyes streaming now as you commit to his end, and within a minute he follows you over the edge. His come hits the back of your throat and you go still, unsure of whether you’ll swallow. He doesn’t let go, and you decide then that you’ve gone this far already, you may as well…

“Good girl,” he gasps, and that does it.

You swallow, panting. Your ears are ringing and you feel dazed. At some point, the events of tonight will feel real. For now, you have to feel outside of yourself, watching Gator’s fingers move from under your skirt up to his mouth. He licks them clean and then tucks himself away, zipping his fly.

It is utterly bizarre, especially when he glances your way, searching you.

“I’ll drive ya home.”

“Yeah,” you murmur.

“Your friends are shitty, for runnin’ away like that,” he adds.

You nod. You wonder what you look like, sweaty and wrecked.

He moves back to the front seat, and you stare at him through the divider. When he finally looks at you again, you realise he must remember the way to your house from years ago. Something about that makes your chest ache. It’s been a weird night.

“Don’t do shit like that again, alright?” he says, and you nod again.

You don’t know if you’ll do as he says. He is right about your friends, though. Whatever apology they offer you when they see you on Monday will be bullshit and you know it. At least Gator isn’t bullshit.

He stops the car outside your house, and the lights are off. You snuck out hours ago, and your parents won’t know you ever left. But Gator will.

You think about seeing him again in town but don’t feel as miserable as you expect.

“I still think you should go fuck yourself,” you say, ducking under his arm when he lets you out of the car. You feel a little better already.

You glance back at him, and his eyebrows lift. He smirks.

“Okay, baby.”

His vape is back and he watches you walk to your front door. You smell his body spray still, you can taste his come. You’re still a little congested with it, your lips rubbed raw.

“Good girl,” he calls, as you unlock your front door, your back to him.

Your head whips toward him and he disappears into his car, the engine coming to life as you slip inside, heart pounding, the image of his glistening fingers still fresh in your mind.

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, consider throwing me a like or reblog it. 🖤

[sidekick-hero]

caught in the careless arms of lust again

metaldeputy | explicit | 5.6k | tags: crossover Fargo/Stranger Things, No Upside Down, Modern AU, pwp | AO3

Dickinson, North Dakota was as much a shithole in Eddie's eyes as Hawkins, Indiana. The only real difference, as far as he can tell, is the cold, which is more biting than even the worst winter he ever experienced back home, and his balls are trying as hard as they can to crawl back into his body.

It's not like he wants to be here. There was no way in hell he was going to spend more time than it took to take a piss and pump some gas into his van in a state that was mostly God-fearing northern rednecks and a whole lot of nothing.

But of course, nothing ever goes according to plan in Eddie Munson's life, and his van broke down just as he was passing through Dickinson on Interstate 94. He'd seen the sign and giggled like a high school kid at the silly name, momentarily distracted and not looking at the road. That's why he didn't notice the damn deer until it was too late, and like the idiot he was, he swerved to avoid it, skidded on the slick icy road, and ended up in the ditch.

Luckily he wasn't going that fast, so after a few feet the car came to a stop in the snow, the engine dead and refusing to start no matter what he tried.

And now his van is in the hands of a guy named Ray at Ray's Auto Electric, while Eddie has to rent a room in a dubious looking hotel called the Badland Inn. It’s fifty bucks a night, which he certainly doesn’t have, but beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s too damn cold to even consider sleeping outside. Ray, who had taken one look at Eddie's long hair and tattoos before seeming to decide he wanted Eddie gone almost as much as Eddie wanted to be gone, said it would be at least three days, maybe more, depending on how fast he could get the part he needed to get his van running again.

And that's why Eddie is sitting in some dive bar, drinking a cheap watered-down beer, wallowing in self-pity, when Deputy Gator Tillman walks into his life.

At first he doesn't even turn his head to look at the man who just sat down next to him, just nods politely while staring into the smudged glass in his hands. It's only when the guy next to him orders a Bud Light, of all things, that Eddie can't help but snort. From what he's seen so far, the men here are manly men, drinking only the bitterest beer and the strongest whiskey while thumping their chests like apes.

"Something funny, shitbird?" The guy snarls at him.

And here we go again, Eddie thinks, already tired of what's sure to come.

"Listen, man," Eddie starts as he turns around to face whoever's ego he just bruised, only to be stopped by the sight in front of him.

The guy's hot, is the first thing that strikes him, square jaw, full lips, droopy eyes, and a slanted nose. His chestnut hair is slicked back and shaved with racetrack lines, as much a part of his machismo as the combat pants and bulletproof vest he's wearing. Too bad his face is just too pretty for any of it to work.

He must have been staring, because the hazel eyes looking back at him narrow even more, his whole face turning into a sneer that's still far more attractive than it has any right to be.

"What are you staring at, asshole?"

A ghost from my past, Eddie thinks. Because he once knew a boy who looked just like the guy before him, a boy who tried so hard to be the epitome of everything a wealthy white businessman's son in Bumfuck Indiana could want. He played all kinds of sports, was captain of the basketball and swim teams, had a new pretty girl on his arm every week, and sneered down at everyone below him as he looked on from his perch at the top of the high school food chain.

King Steve, a man who had been so goddamn pretty that Eddie could still remember all the times he had jerked off to fantasies of those lips and hands, and that juicy ass in Harrington's tiny gym shorts.

The man before him looked different, of course, but much of him was the same. Maybe that was the reason why Eddie didn't stop his mouth from running off on him.

"You. It's a nice view, that's for sure."

Even as he braces himself for a punch, Eddie can't tear his eyes away from the hauntingly familiar face in front of him as he sees the words land. They're mostly harmless. Not even a pretty boy or a sweetheart thrown in there. At least not yet.

The man's eyes widen, just a fraction, just enough for Eddie to notice. Just as Eddie notices the color rising up his neck and the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Gotcha, big boy.

"What did you just say to me?" The guy demands, taking a step forward, invading Eddie's personal space, bringing with him the smell of cologne and old sweat, tinged with something fruity Eddie can't quite put his finger on.

There’s enough of a height difference between them that Eddie can look up at him through his lashes from his seat. He curls his lips into a smile that has just enough edge to draw the guy’s eyes to it and keep them there.

"Paid you a compliment. Don't tell me a handsome guy like you doesn't get those all the time, huh?"

The brazenness makes the other man stumble, Eddie can tell by the way his mouth opens and closes without a sound coming out of it. He catches himself soon enough and leans back, pulling himself up to his full height and bringing his hands to his hips, drawing Eddie's eyes to where the tips of his fingers graze the gun strapped to his thigh.

Okay, this is how they're going to play this, apparently.

"Listen, you fucking pansy, I ain't got no idea why you think you can just come in here and talk to a man of the law like that, but I'm gonna show you where you and your kind can stick your disgusting tendencies."

This makes Eddie smile even wider. His mantra has always been 'fuck the law', so that's exactly what he's going to do. And he's pretty sure this particular lawman wouldn't mind. Just as Eddie is sure now that Harrington wouldn't have been opposed to Eddie's tendencies, but back then Eddie hadn't been the kind of guy to take such a risk. No experience, just a gut feeling, and that wasn't enough to risk getting his nose broken. Or worse.

Now, with more than a decade of hookups with supposedly straight guys under his belt, he knew the signs. And the guy right in front of him? A big fucking neon sign.

"I dunno, Sheriff. Maybe you’d rather I show you where I could stick my tendencies instead. I'm sure you can take it like a man, big boy."

Eddie makes sure to lean in again as he says this, letting his eyes roam over the guy's body in a blatant invitation that he really hopes will be taken. It's not like he has any trouble picking up guys, even in the backwoods he's been traveling through lately, though he does have to be a little more careful. But he wants this one, badly. He's sure he'll look like sin on his knees for Eddie, eyes as round and wet as his mouth wrapped around his dick, begging for anything Eddie is willing to give him.

The guy in front of him doesn't seem to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he doesn't have to be, Eddie thinks. Not with that face. It takes him more than a few moments to work through Eddie's words, and the first thing he responds to is not what Eddie would think it would be.

"That's my dad." At Eddie's confused look, he adds, "Sheriff. My dad is Sheriff Roy Tillman. I'm his right-hand man, Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman." He says, standing even straighter, voice dripping with pomposity.

"I figured you'd be a mouthful, Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman."

Eddie gives him a wolfish grin and licks his lips, eyes focused on what he can make out of the bulge in the deputy's pants, which are frankly a little too loose. Guys like him should wear tight jeans or those gray sweatpants that show off the goods a lot better than fucking combat pants.

"The fuck you talkin' about, numbnuts?"

Yeah, not the sharpest tool in the shed. But maybe this is his chance to defuse the situation, turn it into a joke, and get the hell out before he finds himself behind bars or with his face bashed in. The Eddie of a few years ago would have run, just like he had run when Harrington had him pinned down at Skull Rock after Eddie had taken his flirting a little too far during a weed sale. He'd had the same look in his eyes that he sees on the Deputy's face now.

Hunger masked as anger.

So instead of running, Eddie decides to show his hand. Make his offer clear and see if the Deputy takes him up on it. And if not, he will hole up in the inn and hope that Ray gets his parts as soon as possible.

"I'm talking about your cock, Deputy." Eddie mutters.

He rises and positions himself to cover his hand as it reaches out to squeeze the bulge, feeling it swell under his touch. Big Boy, indeed. He takes a stumbling step forward to have an excuse to press himself against Deputy Tillman's hard body and leans in to whisper in his ear.

"Too bad we don't get to play with it. I'm sure you'd be so good." Eddie clicks his tongue against his teeth with a soft tzk. "But what can you do, right? Have a good evening, Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman."

Counting on dear Deputy Tillman needing another moment to process what Eddie just said, he steps away from the other man and saunters out, heading toward the inn.

He hasn't even made it out of the parking lot before he hears the sound of heavy footsteps following him outside.

Bingo.

He keeps walking and doesn't turn around, but there's a pleased smile on his face. If the Deputy was going to bash his head in, Eddie hopes he would have done it by now. The footsteps behind him are faster than the saunter Eddie was taking, but they don’t charge at him, just follow a few steps behind.

Eddie makes sure to sway his hips as he walks, feeling the other man's eyes on him the whole way. He can't be sure, but he thinks they're fixed on his ass, and he's glad he put on his skinny jeans that hug his thighs and ass just right. Not that it will see much action tonight. Eddie knows what Deputy Tillman needs, and soon he’ll know it too when he’s on his knees and begging for it.

For now, Eddie lets him think that it's his tight ass that’ll be getting hit tonight.

The walk to the inn is silent and the cold air around them feels heavy, charged. Anticipation crackles under his skin like a summer storm brewing in the sky and he can't remember the last time he felt so alive.

After passing through the entrance, he waits at the bottom of the stairs until he hears the front door close again, and only then does he begin his ascent to his room on the fourth floor, climbing the stairs with the steady sound of steps creaking under two sets of feet.

When he finally reaches the door to his room, his chest is heaving from more than just the physical exertion. Something about the whole night feels so goddamn surreal, and he still half expects to wake up in a ditch after being beaten half to death for flirting with a fucking cop in a part of the country where that could very well get him arrested. Or worse. So much worse.

And yet here he is, inviting danger into his room, into his bed, into his arms.

Something about Deputy Tillman makes him forget everything he's learned about staying out of trouble.

In fact, he's walking right into it, with a devilish smile and a raging hard-on.

Eddie hears the heavy steps behind him coming to a halt as well and he can feel the presence of another body close to his. For just a second, he contemplates calling it off, taking the safe route, just like he promised his uncle to do. But then he remembers the hot, thick girth under his hand and the way Tillman reminds him of a ghost from the past that has come back to haunt him and thinks fuck the safe route.

Slipping the key into the lock and turning it to the right, he opens the door and walks into his room, turning on the light and waiting for trouble to follow him inside.

They still haven't said anything, not since Eddie so boldly proposed the Deputy Sheriff, but he thinks they both know why they're here.

"I take it you're here to play a little, Deputy?" He doesn't even turn around when he asks this, the question being mostly rhetorical anyway. Just him playing with his food, making Tillman admit why he followed Eddie here.

More silence answers him.

"Cat got your tongue? Don't tell me you're getting shy now." Eddie coaxes, finally turning to look at the young man he never expected to meet tonight. He's met with a defiant look on that awfully pretty face, eyebrows drawn together and lips almost pouting at him. Adorable, really.

"Fuck you," the Deputy spits, clearly at a loss for words, inferior in their duel of wits.

Eddie taps his chin mockingly, as if he has to think about it. "Nah," he finally concludes, "I think I'd rather fuck you."

His words don't immediately hit the Deputy, an almost cute look of confusion on his face before his eyes widen, first in shock, then in anger. Too bad the admittedly impressive bulge in his pants gives away just how much Tillman is not against the idea.

"But...you said...in the bar..." he stutters, more indignation in his words than in his voice. Oh, he's precious, Eddie thinks, just the kind of guy he loves to corrupt. He knows he lured the Deputy in with the vague promise of a blow job, and knowing what he packs in those hideous combat pants, Eddie thinks he might still do it. After all, he thinks the man will be much more pliable after a nice orgasm. He doesn't want to hurt his prey, he just wants to play with it, and if his prey enjoys it, that's all the better in Eddie's book.

Taking a step toward the other man, Eddie catches his eyes and raises an eyebrow. "Look, if you can't use your words, Deputy, then I can't use my mouth or my hands on you. Simple as that. Speak up or get out."

Delighted, Eddie notices Tillman's spine straighten at his tone.

Bingo.

It's clear the Deputy needs a firm hand.

With his chin sticking out, Tillman tries again, still stumbling over his words here and there, but doing a much better job than before. "You said I was a mouthful. That my," he pauses before venturing on, "that my cock was a mouthful and that you wanted to play with it."

"I did, didn't I?" Eddie wonders aloud, his eyes deliberately dropping to where the Deputy is still hard in his pants and licking his lips. "And you've been a good boy so far, haven't you, Deputy?"

Tillman nods eagerly, making Eddie grin. He just loves his men easy.

"Good boys get a reward, but I'm not sure you deserve my mouth on you just yet, Deputy. I think you need to show me how good you really can be." Another step forward brings Eddie close enough to the other man to see how his pupils have dilated, swallowing up the beautiful hazel of his eyes. He puts a hand on Tillman's shoulder, fingers spread wide so that his thumb presses into the hollow of his throat, and gently pushes him down to his knees without any real force.

The Deputy sinks to his knees in a fluid and graceful arc that sends the blood rushing to his cock so fast he feels dizzy for a second.

Fuck, who would have thought that a random cop he picked up in a bar in the middle of nowhere North Dakota would turn out to be the sweetest of temptations?

Certainly not Eddie.

"Gorgeous," he praises the man on his knees in front of him, because he is. He looks up at Eddie with wide eyes, dazed, as if he doesn't even know what he's doing here, but likes it anyway. Thumbing his full lower lip until it opens for him, Eddie can't help but want to see how far the man will let him go. When the Deputy sucks Eddie's thumb into his mouth without a second thought, Eddie doesn't even try to stop the moan that falls from his lips. It's obvious that the man kneeling before him is starved for praise, so giving it to him will only make him more eager.

He pulls his thumb out of Tillman's mouth, already missing the warmth, and unbuttons his jeans. He pushes them down just enough to free his cock, the cool air of the room making him shiver. "Now, let's see what you can do, Deputy," he murmurs, anticipation coiling in his belly.

Deputy Tillman doesn't answer with words, but with action, leaning in and enveloping Eddie's hard length in the wet heat of his mouth. It's a clumsy start, but Eddie is more than willing to show him the ropes. If he's honest, it only fuels the flame of lust burning brightly in his stomach to know that it's him the Deputy is on his knees for, sucking his cock when it's clearly something he wouldn't normally do.

It's only fair that Eddie teach him how to be a good boy for him.

Eddie guides the Deputy's movements with a hand tangled in his hair, enjoying the feeling of complete control. He expects Tillman to bitch at him for ruining his hair, but the only reaction he gets when he tangles it between his fingers and pulls is a broken moan. The night might've started with a broken-down van and ended up in a dive bar, but now, it's shaping into something Eddie never could've anticipated.

Tillman may have been clumsy at first, but with Eddie's guiding hand slowing his movements, the Deputy seems to get used to the feel of Eddie's girth in his mouth, growing more confident with every lick of his tongue and bob of his head.

Eddie continues to murmur encouragements into the quiet room, each one swallowed hungrily by the man on his knees before him. As the night stretches on, he finds himself lost in the pleasure, the cold North Dakota winter forgotten in the warmth of Deputy Tillman's mouth.

"God, you're good at this," he praises, voice hoarse and strained. The Deputy looks up at him then, surprise in his eyes, but Eddie recognizes a flicker of something else there, too. Pride. Satisfaction. It makes him smirk.

He allows himself to sink further into the sensation, guiding the Deputy's movements with a firm hand in his hair. When he hits that sweet spot at the back of his throat, Eddie can't help the groan that escapes his lips.

"That's it, Deputy," he encourages, "Just like that."

As Tillman's moans vibrate around him, Eddie can feel the tension building in the pit of his stomach, an all too familiar pressure that signals his impending release. He tries to hold back, to prolong the pleasure, but it's a losing battle. With one last thrust into the warm cavern of the Deputy's mouth, he succumbs to the pleasure. His hips buck and he spurts down the Deputy's throat, a guttural moan tearing from his lips.

Tillman swallows around him, his throat working around Eddie's length, milking him for all he's worth. When he's spent, Eddie pulls back, sliding out of the warmth of the Deputy's mouth with a sigh.

"Well," he pants, "I think that's enough for tonight, Deputy." Leaning back against the wall to catch his breath, he pulls up his pants and buttons them, ignoring the Deputy's whine at his words. It's been a long time since a simple blowjob left him feeling like that. Completely worn out, but deeply satisfied.

When he finally regains his composure, he looks down to see Deputy Tillman still on his knees, looking up at him with wide, dazed eyes. Eddie grins down at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

"Good boy," he purrs, watching as the Deputy's eyes flash with a mix of indignation and satisfaction.

Maybe tonight doesn't have to be over right now.

Smiling, Eddie steps over him and heads for the bed, leaving the Deputy on his knees in the middle of the room. He sinks down on the edge of the bed, his legs slightly apart, and takes in the sight before him.

It takes his breath away.

He can't get over how the hard lines of the man's strong body look unexpectedly soft in his vulnerable position, less coiled serpent and more obedient puppy. The Deputy has surpassed all of Eddie's expectations tonight and he wants to reward him. Wants to encourage this unsuspected side of him, maybe even dig a little deeper to find more of it.

Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman is more than meets the eye and Eddie is itching to know how much more.

“Look at me,” he tells the kneeling man and after a moment’s hesitation, still slightly unfocused eyes find his. Eddie knows that this must have been pretty intense for someone who hasn’t done anything like that before and the Deputy looks like he’s still far away, only slowly coming back to the here and now. His eyes roam over where Eddie’s body is perched on the edge of the bed with a questioning look on his face.

"Very good," Eddie purrs and smiles down at him. "I promised you a reward, and after how well you did on your knees for me, I think you deserve my mouth on you now."

Hazel's eyes widen in pleasant surprise at the promise, but when the Deputy starts to get up, Eddie stops him. "Who said you could get up again, pretty boy?"

The look of confusion on the man's face is adorable, Eddie thinks before he can stop himself. This is neither the time nor the place to get attached. He can't deny that the Deputy has gotten under his skin, but he'll deal with that when he's back on the road and their night is a distant memory. Just another pretty boy haunting his dreams.

"If you want your reward, you have to come here to get it." He waits for his words to sink in, but the confused puppy dog look doesn't leave the Deputy's face, so he clarifies, "On your knees, Deputy."

He can tell the exact moment the words finally sink in when Tillman closes his eyes as his hips twitch eagerly. If he didn't just come his brains out of his dick and into the Deputy's mouth, Eddie would get hard again at the sight. The man keeps surprising him. No matter what Eddie throws at him, he takes to it like a fish to water, so eager to please, so easily led.

With an eager tilt of his pretty mouth, the Deputy crawls over to Eddie, staying on his knees as he moves between Eddie's spread legs, a look of hungry anticipation in his eyes. Eddie can't wait to show him what a real reward feels like.

He cups the man's face with his hand and pulls him closer so he can lean in and whisper in his ear. "Strip for me, pretty boy. Show me how beautiful you are."

For the first time since they started this whole thing, Deputy Tillman is using his mouth for something other than sucking on Eddie's thumb and cock. "Can I stand up for this?" He asks and Eddie hears some of the petulance creep back into his voice even though his words remain perfectly polite. Like a puppy, the man is eager to be good, but he also loves to test Eddie's limits.

"You may. But do it slowly, I want to enjoy the show."

"I thought this was my reward, not yours?"

Ah, there is the fire he was met with earlier, Eddie thinks. Despite what some people might think about him, he likes a challenge, and if the Deputy wants to make Eddie work for it, then he can. It's part of the game, and he enjoys it just as much as he did when the man was on his knees gagging for it.

Eddie leans back leisurely, spreading his legs a little wider, deliberately giving Tillman an unobstructed view of his slender body. He wears a smirk on his face, a confidence born from countless encounters of this kind. "Well, Deputy," he begins, his voice smooth like aged whiskey. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a devilish grin. "It's your reward, of course. But don't think for a second that I won't get my share of enjoyment out of this too." He leans in a little closer, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. "Now, show me what you've got."

Rising to his feet, the Deputy does as he's told and with every inch of tantalizing skin he reveals, Eddie's hands twitch with the desire to touch. His skin is smooth, the fine hair on it almost golden, with the exception of his chest hair, which is dark and thick. There are beauty marks of all sizes and shapes all over his body, little beacons that call out to him to put his mouth all over them. His body is athletic, arms and legs defined but not bulky like Eddie has seen a lot of cops. Those muscles come from physical work, not pumping at the gym.

Eddie's favorite part, though, are the Deputy's legs. They seem to go on for miles, the golden hair and thick thighs make his mouth water. He wants them wrapped around his waist as he pounds into the tight heat of what must be a virgin ass, eliciting broken moans and high-pitched whimpers. For now, though, he'll take those thighs wrapped around his head.

"Come here, Deputy," Eddie says, patting the bed next to him. "Let's see how good you can be for me." He can't wait to feel those strong thighs tremble around his head as he shows Deputy Tillman exactly how good his tendencies can feel.

With a slight hesitation, the Deputy crawls onto the bed, his movements a little awkward without his clothes on. But Eddie doesn't mind. It's just another sign of how new this is for him, how far out of his comfort zone he is. And Eddie likes that about him. The way he's willing to put himself out there, to try something new and scary. It's unexpected, but endearing. It makes Eddie want to reward him all the more.

He guides Tillman until he's straddling Eddie's chest, his knees resting on either side of his shoulders. His cock is hard and leaking against his belly and Eddie can't resist reaching up to wrap a hand around it, giving it a light squeeze. Tillman hisses at the touch, his hips jerking forward into Eddie's hand.

"Easy, Deputy," Eddie says, his voice low and soothing. "I told you, this is your reward. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Then he begins to stroke Tillman in earnest, his hand moving up and down his length in a slow, steady rhythm. He watches Tillman's face as he does so, watching as his eyes flutter closed and his lips part with a soft moan. The sight sends a rush of satisfaction through him, knowing he's the one making the Deputy feel this way.

But it's not enough. He wants to taste him as well. He wants to feel the way Tillman tastes on his tongue, the way he squirms and moans as Eddie takes him in his mouth. He wants to hear the way Tillman curses under his breath, the way he begs for more.

So he leans up, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Tillman's cock before taking him in his mouth. The taste of him, salty and a little sweet, is intoxicating and Eddie moans around him, the vibration causing Tillman to gasp and buck his hips forward. But Eddie holds him steady, one hand on his hip as he continues to suck him off.

The sounds Tillman makes as Eddie works him with his mouth and hands are music to Eddie's ears. He can feel the way Tillman's body tenses under his touch, the way his breath hitches every time Eddie does something he particularly likes. And Eddie uses all of this to his advantage, learning what makes Tillman tick, what makes him moan and gasp and beg for more.

It's not long before Tillman is coming undone under Eddie's touch. His moans grow louder, his hips start to move in time with Eddie's strokes, and his fingers clutch at the sheets beneath them. And when he comes, Eddie swallows him down, his own cock throbbing in response to the sight of Tillman losing himself to pleasure.

But even after Tillman's body goes slack, Eddie doesn't stop. He licks him clean, pressing soft kisses to his sensitive skin until Tillman is squirming and whimpering beneath him. Only then does he pull back, his eyes meeting Tillman's as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That was your reward, Deputy," he says, his voice low and satisfied. "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did."

The look in Tillman's eyes tells him he did, even if the Deputy can't find the words to say it. And that's more than enough for Eddie. Part of him thinks he'd actually like the Deputy to stay the night, to get comfortable under the blankets with a warm body in his arms for the first time in a long time. It's been a while since he felt connected enough to someone to let them stay close after they both got what they wanted out of their hookup.

Even longer since the last time Eddie considered a next time. And then another. It's a slippery slope, he knows, so he does the only logical thing.

He taps the thighs that are still clutching his shoulders until Tillman falls to the side and lies down beside him. Without looking at the other man, Eddie says, "I'm going to take a shower. I think it's best if you're gone when I get back."

Stripping off his clothes as he makes his way to the tiny bathroom, he continues to look everywhere but at the naked, beautiful man on his bed. They've both had their fun and now it's time to move on. Easy as that, right? Right.

Or not, because just as he opens the door to step out of the room that smells of sweat and sex, a deep, gravelly voice stops him.

"What's your name?"

Shit.

"Why? So you can look me up? Arrest me as soon as the sun comes up on some trumped up charge of sucking your dick?"

Maybe that's unfair, but in his experience you can't trust a cop, and it's on him that he forgot that, even for a second. That's what he gets for thinking with his dick.

"No," Deputy Tillman replies, his voice surprisingly soft. "I just want to know the name of the guy who just blew my fucking mind, is all."

And that's...huh. Eddie doesn't even know what to do with that.

"It's Eddie."

"Just Eddie?"

"That's all you need to know so you can moan it the next time you jack off, sweetheart." He turns around with a smirk as he says it, but he'd be lying if he said the thought of Tillman moaning his name didn't do it for him. If a next time wasn't such an epically bad idea, he'd like to hear it himself as he takes the man apart.

"Maybe I will," the Deputy replies, and Eddie wants to believe him. "Next time you should call me Gator, ya know? Only fair."

Next time?

"There won't be a next time, Deputy. This was a one-time thing."

And damn it, he shouldn't have turned around, because the look in Gator's-no, Tillman's-eyes is hurt.

It's not that Eddie enjoys hurting the guy, but it's better this way. Safer.

"Goodbye, Gator." He says as he steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

The hot shower feels good, relieving some of the tension that had crept into his shoulders and neck after their conversation. He loses himself in the task of getting clean, scrubbing away the remnants of the night, and when he steps back out into the empty bedroom, he almost feels like himself again. The last few hours hadn't been how he expected to spend his first night in this shithole of a town, but he can't say he regrets a single thing.

As he settles into the soft mattress, he can't help but think that despite all the trouble, Dickinson, North Dakota might not be so bad after all.

Happy very belated birthday @baronsamediswife 💜💜💜Thank you for indulging me and watching Fargo and Marmalade with me and letting me ramble about how pretty Joe Keery is.

[gambitxrogue11]

My overall Fargo review .. I think the series as a whole was good .. I'm going to be honest I was in it for Joe Keery but I fell hard for every character.. Dot the Tiger, Lorraine the Lion .. Gator the little Rabbit .. also Wayne, Indira, Witt, Munch and even Danish.. and I absolutely despise Roy! ..

I love how the series hits hard on the idea that there are fate worst than death, debt, and women in general..

I hope Juno, Jennifer, Jon and Joe gets nomination for their role ..

I don't have much to complained aside from the final scene where Munch told his back story.. I find it yawn infusing .. the scene could have gone to Roy getting beat up in prison or what happen to Gator ..

Rating 8.5/10

I going to miss weekly Gator Tillman content 😢😢

[spookysteddie]

I'll Take Care Of You

Gator Tillman x fem!reader

18+ Minors DNI

cw: SPOILERS FOR FARGO EPISODE 9, angst / hurt / comfort, Roy being a fucking dick, talks of eyes, medical talk, blood, violence, sad boy!gator, kidnapping, marriage. (Let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 2.6k

a/n: look... I am holding out hope our favorite Sheriff will be able to see. I dunno I'm delulu as fuck okay? Anyway, this is a little sad but I have no shame and love how I ended it. I hope y'all do too!

...

You feel like you’re going to be sick as you stand there staring at the man in front of you.

His eyes are covered and all you can see is blood, his hand tied behind his back and the rope around his neck being used as a fucking leash. You’re back far enough that Munch can’t see you, but you can see him and you can see Roy standing there like a fucking idiot. 

Gator is shaking and it isn’t from the bitter winter. No, it’s fear, pure unadulterated fucking fear. You watch his chest rise shakily. He’s crying, his sobs reaching you, your heart breaking. You place your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your own sobs. You can’t be seen, you can’t risk not being able to help Gator. 

He’s been gone for a little over a day, no one seeing him after he went to talk to Dot. You had gone to work, having told Gator you’d be back by four. But when you got home his cruiser wasn’t in the driveway. You’d called everyone asking if they’d seen your fiance. Even going as far as asking Karen if she knew where he was or what happened that day. Besides Roy being embarrassed at the debate, she said everything was normal. Roy had made Gator stay back to keep watch over Dot. You thought it was fucking stupid, singeling him out per usual. 

By the time Roy gets home, asking you if you’d seen Gator and accusing you of covering for him. Typical Roy behavior, he doesn’t even seem to be worried that his fucking only son is missing, instead telling Karen to get dinner ready because he’s hungry. You want to scream, you want to shake him and tell him how much of a shitty father he is. But you don’t, instead you go to you and Gators shared room, wrap yourself up in one of his shirts and keep calling around. You have no luck and instead, cry yourself to sleep. 

By the time morning rolls around, you being woken up by Roys stupid fucking freedom fighters banging around inside the house, Gator still hasn’t been found. Roys head is so far up his own ass that when you ask if he’s heard anything, he shrugs. 

You’re close enough to hear what they’re saying, Munch speaking in rhymes as usual and Gator gasping for breath every time Munch tugs on the rope around Gators neck. You have a sickening feeling there are two missing pieces of Gator behind that burlap blindfold. Your stomach turns again, bile raising in the back of your throat.

Then, Munch shoves Gator into Roy, knocking them both to the ground. Your eyes close out of fear but when you open them again, Munch is nowhere to be found. But you don’t get up, scared Roy will shoot you on accident (or on purpose).

Gator cries as he rolls over, probably onto his broken arm, “daddy?” His pained cry reaches you, making tears fall faster.

Roy sits up and looks around, definitely looking for Much. “Quiet,” he says. His tone is stern and cold, not giving a single fuck that his son is back and that his son in clearly hurt. It makes your blood boil. 

“Daddy? Daddy, I’m scared.” He sits up, arms still tied behind his back. 

Roy sighs, standing up, “I said shut up.” Gator lets out a little sob, a little boy who is terrified and just needs his dad to show him an ounce of comfort. “If there ever was a point to you, it’s gone now.” 

You swear you can see Gators heart crack in his chest as the words cut through his soul. He’s speechless as Roy walks away, leaving his son still bound on the cold, snowy ground. “Dad?” But he isn’t going to get an answer. 

You decide you can make your move, Roy far out of sight. Gator hangs his head, sobs wracking him. He needs comfort. 

You try and hold back your tears, clearing your throat. It doesn’t do any good, “Gator? Hey, sweetheart.” His head jerks up, blindly looking around. 

“Baby?! Bunny, is-is that you?” He’s panting, anxiety mixing with his fright. He’s in fight or flight and you need to calm him down. You also have to get him somewhere safer to look over any injuries he has. 

You smile, even though he can't see it, just hoping it translates in your voice. It doesn’t, adrenaline overpowering everything. Your hands shake as you carefully lift his chin. “I’m here, my love. Oh, I missed you so much. Let’s get you untied, yeah?” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t let it go,” he sobs while you take the rope off from around his neck, being careful not to touch near his eyes. 

“Baby, you don’t have to be sorry. You and I both know that you were damned if you did let it go and damned if you didn’t.” It was true. There was no winning with Roy. Never. “I’m gonna go behind you and untie your hands okay. I’m gonna use my knife.” 

“The pink one I got you?” He’s trying to distract himself, trying to keep his mind going. 

You smile wider, “of course, my love. I always keep it on me. Never know when you're gonna need to stab someone.” 

He doesn’t laugh. 

When you finally get his hands free, they fall to his sides limply. His cast touching the ground. He just sighs deeply and you know it’s coming. 

“I’m useless now,” his voice cracks and he sniffles. “I’m a loser and I’ll never be able to prove myself.”

You can feel your body heat with sadness and anger. Anger for the little boy who grew up without his mom. Anger for the little boy who wasn’t given a fair chance. Sadness for the little boy who just wanted his father to love him. Sadness for Gator Tillman who tried to be good, who wanted to be good, but whose father corrupted him and snuffed out his light before he turned five. 

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You are not useless. Do you hear me?” Your voice cracks at the end, unable to hold it in. 

Gator shakes his head, reaching out to feel for you. You drop to your knees in front of him, grabbing his good hand. His cast hand reaches out and fiddles with the beautiful diamond he put on your finger five months ago. 

“I am. Dad told me just now that he has no purpose for me anymore. I tried. I tried so hard. Why was it never enough? Why was I never enough?” 

You carefully hug him, wanting to hold him tighter but knowing that’d be a bad idea. “Listen to me right now. You, Gator Tillman, are enough. You always have been. Your father is an asshole. A corrupt motherfucker who took his hatred for his mother out on you. It has never been fair.

“But you are good, Gator. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You tried your hardest and Roy kicked you over and over again. I will not do that. It’s you and me forever. Got it?” 

All he does is nod and you take it as your cue to get him inside. 

“I wanna look over your injuries and we’ll go to the hospital if we need to okay?”

You help him up, wrapping his good arm around you and letting him lean on you, walking towards the house. “I ain’t going to no the hospital. They’ll ask questions.” 

“Gator, you might need to go to the hospital. I don’t even know what’s wrong with your eyes.” 

He doesn’t answer, just silently walks inside with you. You give him time, letting him feel around for the railing so he can make it up to his room. You open the door, noticing the duffel bag of money sitting on his bed, which means Roy found it. It also means Roy was snooping around in here. 

You shut and lock his door after settling him on the bed, making sure to grab the first aid kit from his bathroom. His chest still shakes a little here and there and your heart continues to break. You’d be a liar if you said you weren’t terrified of what you’ll find under that blindfold. There were few possibilities and you were prepared for the worst but hoping for the best. 

You set everything up beside him taking a deep breath. 

“Okay, my love. I’m gonna take this off okay? It might hurt but you can trust me okay?” 

 Gator nods. 

You grab the scissors and start snipping by his ears, doing your best to not tug the fabric. Once it’s free you gently pull it back, swallowing the bile in your throat as you reveal his eyes. 

“Oh, Gator…” 

The cut runs from just above his eyebrow to his cheek. It cuts right through his lids so even as he closes his eyes, you’d still see his eyeballs. You wonder how Munch didn’t knick his eyeballs, he must’ve done it slowly, dragging out the pain. 

You can’t stop the choked cry that flies up your throat. “Can-can you see me?” 

He shakes his head, “I kinda can. But s’blurry and my eyes really hurt.”

You can tell that his eyelid and sewn together haphazardly, clearly Munch underestimated how much the eyes can bleed. You also can tell he’s burnt. 

“Did he use something hot?” You ask as you start to clean the blood and dirt off of him. It’ll be no short of a miracle if he doesn’t get an infection. 

“Mhm. Some kinda hot knife thing. I was awake for it. Hurt real bad.” 

You know what you’re about to say isn’t going to go over well. But you try regardless, “you need to go to a hospital, Gator. I’m worried you’ll get an infection, not to mention tetanus.” 

You watch him freeze, “we can’t. They asked me a ton of questions when Munch broke my fuckin’ arm. I don’t wanna answer their bullshit questions.” 

“Gator, listen to me, I am not a doctor and I am worried that if we don’t help you that you’ll lose your vision.” 

He tips his head to the ceiling, sighing deeply, “m’scared. I’m so scared. What if I don’t get my sight back? We’re supposed to get married.” 

You clean down his neck, sighing at the bruise there. “Well for one, we’re getting married even if you can’t see me. I still love you all the same. And two, the sooner we get you there, the more likely it is they’ll save your vision. Okay?” 

You can see his lips wobble even though he does his best to hide it. “Please don’t leave me,” it comes out in the softest whisper and any remaining pieces of your heart shatter. 

“Never, Gator. Never. You’re stuck with me for life.” 

… 

Six months later

It’s been a very, very long six months. 

After you took Gator to the hospital, avoiding any questions that went further than the basics. You gave them the short and sweet answer, making up a few details as you went. You called in some of Gators co-workers, ones you know are on Roy's payroll to inform them about Munch. 

Needless to say, Munch didn’t live past three days after the incident. You were more than fine with that, making sure to watch them place him in the grave on the farm to know he’s dead. For your sake and Gators. 

Gator had to have a lot of surgeries on his eyes. His eyes were, like you suspected, burnt. It took a good month and a half to heal them. It was painful and you silently cried most nights as Gator groaned and cried in his sleep. When he slept, which was rare. 

His nightmares of the situation causes him to wake up screaming, grabbing his chest as he pants. The first time it happened, you grabbed the gun from under his pillow, looking around for this unknown terror. Then you remembered Gator couldn’t see. He told you about his nightmare and you made sure to hold him tighter at night. 

It was rare that you slept as well. 

You spent a lot of time in church, praying to God that Gator would see again. You didn’t even believe in God, but you were willing to try anything if it meant Gator would be okay. 

By month three they had, somehow, restored Gators sight in one of his eyes, the other one just blurry but he could semi see. It was nothing short of a miracle. 

By the fourth month, he was back at work. On desk duty of course but it didn’t really matter to him. Well, it did but he knew it was more of a risk for him to be out arresting people at this time. The issue with small towns is people talk. You weren’t sure how, but people knew Roy had practically disowned Gator. They knew when he moved out of the house after you bought one for you two. 

What they didn’t know was the conversation had between you and Roy. Conversation wasn’t the right word, actually. No one ever just had a conversation with Roy Tillman. It started with you telling him you were here to pack up Gators room. Of course, he gave you shit, telling you Gator wasn’t allowed to move out, saying he needed Gator close to check up on his health. 

You’d never laughed so hard in your life. It ended with you screaming at him, telling him he was a piece of shit for leaving his hurt son in the dirt, tied up and crying. Roy just said he was weak and needed to be taught a lesson. But the time you left Roy had a bloody lip and a broken nose. 

Now, at month six, Gator is doing well. He can see for the most part, going to therapy and back out in the field. You’ve never seen him so happy. Roy hasn’t attempted to contact either of you, Karen calling here and there in secret to check on Gator. 

The only person who calls every other day is Dot. Dot is the one who came to visit Gator in the hospital, holding his hand while he apologized for not helping her and telling her he hopes she dies there. He didn’t mean it and she knew it. Dot accepted his apology and told him how proud she is of him, how much she’s always loved him. How she knows all he’s wanted was to be good. Gator cried then, hugging her so tightly. 

Dot fixes your hair, smiling at you through the mirror. 

You’re getting married today, deciding with Gator that this union needed to happen immediately. You needed him to be yours for the rest of your life and he wanted no one but you to have a say over his life. 

So, you stand in your white dress, fingers wrapped around beautiful flowers. Gator stands at the end of the makeshift aisle in the field of your own ranch, the scar on his face slowly fading, less red than it was months ago, and tears falling from his eyes. 

Gator’s daddy isn’t there and neither is Karen. But Dot and her husband are front and center, their daughter being your ring bearer and the wedding being paid for – though you argued about it – by Waynes mother. 

And as you hand your flowers to your sister before taking Gator’s shaking hands in yours, Gator realizes that, for once, he’s safe with you and your love.

[seancekitsch]

Wow, I can get sexual, too: an Adrian Chase x Reader fic- chapter 4

series masterlist here

warnings: eventual smut, masturbation, twitter nude culture, the very slightest dub con but not really just saying this to be safe, mutual pining, idiots in love, perv!reader but also perv!adrian

a/n: its gonna be five chapters!!!!! and maybe an epilogue, but ugh there's so much thats gonna happen in this chapter thats STILL somehow not reader and adrian shmangin

You find yourself making uncomfortable eye contact with the little plastic rabbit superglued to the dashboard of Adrian’s car while Blondie drifts through the speakers. Adrian’s been on a women of rock kick lately. Something about Women’s History Month even though that month has come and gone. 

“Every Obstacle is an Opportunity!” his little sign reads. Yeah, right. 

But maybe the weird little rabbit is bright. Maybe he knows better. Totally, the little plastic rabbit is telling you that your borderline creepy crush on Adrian is simply an opportunity! And that this is his way of communicating that sign to you from the universe. 

“Is that a different perfume?” Adrian asks, and you whip your head to the side to look at him. 

Is he really that perceptive? 

“Yeah, actually. Good catch. It’s a bottle called Alien?”

You’re not sure why you told him the name, it’s not like he would know the designer brands.

“Did you buy that because of those alien birds we fought?”

“Butterflies aren’t—,” You pause, and smooth your skirt, “No, I just liked it.”

“I like it too. It’s better than the one you usually wear. It’s sexy. I think I smell Jasmine? Is that it?”

You just stare wide eyed at the fact that he said you smelled sexy, and all you can do is nod. It is jasmine. Adrian is convinced butterflies are birds and you cannot tell him otherwise but somehow he can pick up on exact scents expertly like it’s some kind of superpower.

“Thank you, Adrian,” you say, and you just let the moment sit between you. You have recently had your hand between your legs over the mere sight of him and now he’s here letting you play passenger princess and telling you that you smell sexy. You think of your underwear, now knowing he possesses the other half of the set you feel wildly insecure.

Granted, if he actually does see the set tonight, he’ll know why is doesn't match and rip it off you eagerly regardless, but another more neurotic part of you thinks that the underwear is make or break. That part of your brain says that if your underwear set doesn't match he’s literally going to reject you and either kick you out of his place or leave your place.

You smooth your skirt again even though it absolutely doesn't need it. 

Adrian turns the volume up on the radio, gleefully singing along to the Kylie Minogue song that started playing. His smile and his attempt to act the lyrics pry you momentarily out of your nerves and you join in, singing your heart out trying to harmonize with him.

At a particularly high note, you get bold and grab his shoulder while you both belt the lyric, not unlike how bold you were when you leaned on him during Fargo. Aridan leans into the touch, and even momentarily looks away from the road to meet the intensity of the popstar moment. You smile as you hold the note, eyes meeting his and god, his eyes are so pretty. Your hand stays on his shoulder until the end of the song, and then he returns to mainly focus on the road.

It's easy to take in his features under the streetlights this way, while his eyes scan the road and he now much more quietly sings along to a Taylor Swift song. He knows you're not a Swiftie, but you've told him more than enough times you'd never shame him. He could sing it loud if he wants, you'd be his audience of one.  His smile still tugs at his face, barely dimpled and rising to meet his strong cheekbones. Even with his big aviator glasses you can see the way his eyes wrinkle a little at the corner when he laughs.

Its when your eyes drift down to his jawline that makes you stop. Stubble dusts his jawline, not anything strong enough to be the beginnings of a beard, but not nothing. 

Just enough to give the insides of your thighs a rash if he…

Girl, get your mind out of the gutter! 

The stubble surprises you because Adrian’s usually so put together, at least in this sense. He’s almost always clean shaven, he gets his haircut on routine, and he never bites his nails. Physically, he’s well put together. The stubble makes it almost seem like he was rushing, like he put off his routine for something else. Come to think of it, he seemed kind of in a rush to leave headquarters today, and then he made that video. Did he have enough time to…? No, he couldn't have. Could he?

“Hey, want me to find a classic rock station or something? I know you don't like Taylor, and I shouldn't, Dorian says she’s for whiny girls that cant get a date but I don't agree, I think she's actually really talented,” Adrian stops when he notices you’re just watching him talk. He does that a lot around you, you’ve noticed. Maybe it’s because you actually don’t tell him to shut the fuck up whenever he gets a little excited. 

“Oh, but I don’t mean you think like Dorian. I’m sure your reason is…. nuanced,” he pauses, as if he was searching for the word, “You’re way smarter than my brother.”

“This is fine, Adrian. I can use this little dance you're doing as blackmail sometime when I want  you to do something for me,” you throw that joke out totally expecting it to just go over his head, or for him to say something about the morality of blackmail. 

“Well that’s dumb,” He replies seriously, “You don’t need to blackmail me. I would do anything for you.”

Your hand moves to brush the sleeve of his jacket, moving almost on its own accord. 

“I— thank you. Same, uh, same for you,” you’re a little dumb struck by the earnest response, but Adrian has a habit of doing this to you, whether he knows it or not.

The rest of the ride to the bar is relatively easier on your nerves, his comment giving you confidence to form up a little more firm of a plan. You’ll get him alone, maybe asking for a favor. Maybe you’re worried to get a drink alone in this short little skirt and oh no, you’d hate for someone to get skewered because they touched something that didn’t belong to them, right? 

That’ll have to work, you figure as he pulls into the parking lot of the bar. It’s nothing special, the bar you always go to for hang out nights, but tonight it feels imposing, the building itself feeling like a threat while he puts the Sebring into park and basically jumps out of the drivers seat. You hurriedly do the same and he grabs your hand to pull you into the entrance of the dive, the only sports bar in Evergreen your crew hasn’t been kicked out of yet, but you’re well on your way to being there too. The contact of his hand in yours is warm, so much so that your forearm even burns, you feel his touch radiate all the way up your arm and into your torso. It’s thrilling, walking into this little dive with Adrian holding your hand, like for a moment you can pretend you’re actually his and you’re just a normal couple coming for some beers and a round of pool or two.

But he drops your hand the second you spot the others. You try not to feel completely butthurt about it, but a certain coldness starts to grow within you.

You greet everyone with a smile, hugs and banter and everything normal, and if they sense your nerves towards Adrian, none of them mention it.

It’s easy to get your drinks and settle in at your regular stool at the bar, seated turned away from the bartender next to Emilia while Adrian and Chris stand in front of the both of you. It strategically shook out that way a while ago. Chris was close to Emilia and Leota if standing in the middle, you could lean behind Emilia to speak to Leota, Adrian and you got along best outside of him and Chris, and John could shout if he had something to add to what you were saying and you’d listen even if the other men wouldn’t.

Tonight’s soundtrack is a mystery. That is, whoever has control of the touchtunes for the bar tonight is a mystery. Its routine that at least one of your group throws twenty or so dollars onto the touchtunes app and torments the others with their music tastes for the whole night when you go out. 

Usually you can tell who it is. Adrian goes for eighties pop or top 40 hits, John goes for indie rock or european metal, Chris is all power metal, Leota is blues or early hip-hop, Emilia is early country, and you’re usually the classic rock or nineties pop. Tonight is a weird mix of a little of it all with some pop punk thrown in the mix. Knowing you didn’t touch the app before coming here, it has to be your group fighting for dominance not only with each other but with another patron.

A Front Bottoms song about being emotionally stunted plays while you order your first margarita of the night, extra salt on the rim, and Adrian moves protectively behind you so no one can shimmy their way in next to your seat while you order. He always does this, as he says, so no one butts in and orders when it should be your turn.

That’s fair, you think. 

The bartender puts extra salt on the rim just the way you like it, and you take a long sip before calling Adrian off of his attack dog routine. 

Conversation flows easily from there as the booze keeps flowing. Good natured banter and ribbing sprinkled in with non sequiturs from Adrian that are met with mixed results but it's something you've come to find comfort in. You've almost completely forgotten the annoyance over the fact that your underwear doesn't match.

It gets to the point after your second margarita that you finally feel confident enough to try to get Adrian alone. No better time than the present and you've clocked that he keeps pausing his sentences to openly watch you lick the salt off the rim of your glass. 

You all laugh at something Economos says about a date he’d recently been on- the fact that he’s finally stopped dying his beard seems to be doing wonders for his dating profile, and thankfully Chris doesn't make any comments about that. At least none that you can catch, but you turn your attention back to your drink.  

You take another sip, and then dart your tongue out again to get a little bit more of the salt, your eyes meeting Adrian’s again and you know it's time to pull the trigger on this plan. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask, adding, “Over there? I don’t want to spoil Fargo for Adebayo, she just started watching.”

“I did not—,” Leota starts, and then stops herself. She realizes that she wasn’t supposed to hear you using her as your excuse to get him alone, and is a real one for that. You’ll have to buy a hat for her Keeya’s dogs the next time you get one of those weird targeted ads. 

“Are you sure we can’t just text? I know that's bad friend etiquette, but…”

You don’t know where the fuck he picked something like that up, seeing as this team and your surrounding friends are not typical in any way.

“I want to have a discussion real quick, I promise it’ll be easier than texting,” you shoot him a smile and his concern melts into a smile and he agrees. 

He helps you off of your barstool and you lead him to the other side of the bar, taking advantage of the L-shape that you can still see your friends but theyre far enough that this can be a private moment. You sit in a new barstool, feeling weirdly cold that its not your usual seat and Adrian parks himself on the stool next to yours. 

“So what’d you wanna ask, Cowgirl?” 

There's that damn nickname again, and his tweet from the other night flashes through your mind to shake your composure, but you soldier on. He casually sips his beer and the anticipation is clear on his face. He must be so happy to have someone else to talk about his favorite show with him, and you're just happy you have friends with things to talk to them about again. 

“Do you think Satchel and Rabbi will make it out?” You ask, and maybe you should have thought of a question when you came up with this plan instead of winging it. With five more episodes left of the season, you know the bloodshed isn’t over. 

“I hope so! I don't want the Fadda’s to win the turf war,” Adrian answers, enthusiastic to talk about his favorite show. 

“Do you think anyone’s going to die in the next episode?” you ask, wanting him to just keep talking. You could listen to him talk for weeks and not get tired of it.

“Oh I think Gaetano’s gonna get it next. His brother’s tired of him and wants to take the power for himself! It’ll just be interesting to see if that happens, what kind of a power vacuum that would cause in a crime syndicate like that. I mean, I’ve never seen it. I just kill them all. Get rid of a flower at the root, right?” 

“I think you mean getting rid of a weed at the root.”

“No, it's definitely a flower. What else would gardeners be doing so often to change out flowers?”

You don't know how to argue against that, so you just nod towards him and clink your glass on his bottle.

“Guess we’ll just have to see at the next sleepover, huh?” he asks, and there's pure glee on his face. If you didn't know any better, you'd say your agreeing to a Fargo sleepover was the highlight of his week.

“Guess so, speaking of, should I bring any snacks, or wine?”

“No! No definitely not,” Adrian assures you, “I have a picture of your favorite wine bottle saved in my phone, I’ll make sure you have some for the episode.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you find yourself nervously smoothing your skirt from where it's ridden up on the stool again. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk next week?” You joke, winking and hoping he picks up on your tone.

“No, I’d never do that. Unless you wanted me to. It's your choice, because you're a strong woman and I’m a feminist.”

You laugh, but not at him. That was… the cutest fucking thing.

“Should we go back to the group?” Adrian asks, but whether it's his actual tone or just your margarita fueled hope, he sounds like he’s asking that question more because it's something he's seen as socially acceptable and not because he wants to.

“Maybe in a bit, I like getting to talk to you alone,” you admit, your hand drifting closer to his on the counter, almost close enough to touch. 

“Okay, I might be wrong, and if I am you can just punch me or call me a creep but…”

You lift your margarita up to your lips, eyebrows arched at him and silently urging him to continue.

“Are we flirting?” Confusion is evident on his face, but there's something else there too… enthusiasm? Excitement?

But yes, yes, God fucking dammit yes you want to say the moment youre done with this sip, you want to scream for the entire bar to know you are in fact hitting on Adrian Chase.

But just as your fingertips brush his knuckles, you're interrupted. 

“Hey,” Chris slides into the space to stand between yours and Adrian’s barstools, “You seeing anyone?”

You look confused between Chris and Adrian until you start to see Adrian’s brows furrow behind the wire rims of his aviator glasses. 

When you realize the question is directed at you, you splutter into your margarita, some of it splashing up into your nose. Holy fuck, that stings. 

“Dude, what the fuck…” you hear Adrian mumble, but all you see is red. Chris is playing a dangerous game, with Emilia in the room and you wanting to be able to explode him with your mind right now. You had Adrian right there, you were about to make the move, you were about to do it and then he had to come and ruin it. Cockblocker of the century in all his muscled glory. 

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you confirm not at all trying to hide the venom in your voice, and then add, “Emilia is right over there dude, what kind of fucking game are you playing?”

Emilia and Chris have been sniffing around each other for months now, not unlike… well, not unlike the way you and Adrian have lately. What on earth could his stupid reasoning be for hitting on you in front of her? Of course, he has the audacity of looking shocked at your questions, as if you’re the ridiculous one in this situation.

“You know, I just figured if I bought you a drink and she got jealous she would finally want to… you know…” Chris verbalizes, slowing down when he hears how this plan sounds once it's out of his mouth. 

“Oh.”

“Uh huh. You think that’ll work on someone like Harcourt? I mean, where did you even get that plan, a Disney Channel Original Movie?” 

Even if Harcourt wasn’t exactly in shape to murder him right now between physical therapy appointments and 'taking it easy', you know she would emotionally eviscerate him. You look over his shoulder to try to get Adrian’s attention, only to see him ordering another Miller Lite and fully ignoring what’s going on between you and Chris. Fuck, shit. You can see your window of opportunity closing in on you.

“Listen, some of those DCOMs are solid movies. Camp Rock? Lemonade Mouth?”

Chris is wildly serious about this.

“I’m literally going to kill you,” you seethe, before downing your drink. 

“Oh my god,” Chris exclaims, and then looks between the two of you.

“Oh my god,” he repeats, “Did I interrupt something?”

The people on the stools in front of him paint a story: you about to jump off of your stool to strangle him, and Adrian, equally and uncharacteristically agitated sipping his beer and refusing to make eye contact with either of you. 

“Oh, I definitely did. You and him? Really? Are you—“

“Get out of here!” you shout, and he finally gets the hint to head back to his not-girlfriend. He nods and tips the neck of his beer towards you in salute and you slam your glass down onto the counter so hard you could have broken it. 

Chris walks awkwardly back, not quite a run but not a walk either— he knows you and Emilia are going to have a chat about this later and he knows he’ll hear all about it. You and Emilia are funny that way, you don’t judge her for being into Chris, and she doesn’t judge that you’ve hooked up with two guys named Adrian even though you’ve sworn to her that you totally don’t like Adrian and there’s nothing there. The two of you only text about it at least twice a week.

Adebayo shoots you a weird look from her place next to Emilia at the L-shaped bar, one that has you confused until you realize she’s looking just past you.

Adrian is seething, curled lip like a bad Elvis impersonation and all. You’ve actually never seen him angry, you realize. 

You've seen him annoyed, dejected, worried, that kicked puppy look, but never angry. He’s angry at Chris and there isn't much of a way to interpret this other than he wanted to hear your answer to his question. But would he even want it now? 

“Adrian?” you ask, hand reaching again for him but finding the space on the counter it once inhabited empty.

“Adrian?” you repeat a little more sharply, and he finally looks at you, his gaze instantly softening. The anger is still there, but his face shows it's not directed at you.

“If your drink was empty would you have let him buy you one?” his tone is low and even, and you recognize this as a tone he’s only donned when he’s in Vigilante mode.

“No, are you kidding?” you ask, exasperated by all of this interruption in your plan.

“No?” the confusion is evident in his voice. 

“No,” you clarify, “I don't want Chris to buy me a drink. Ever. Ew.”

“Is it because of Emilia?” he asks innocently, either choosing not to read your signals or just trying to figure out friend-code.

“No. I mean, yes I wouldn't do that to her. But I wouldn't want Chris no matter what.”

He nods, and seems to understand. 

Your answer hangs in the air, though. As if he doesn't know how to parse this territory. You've eased his obvious worries but maybe he needs you to be a bit obvious with making the first move. 

Here goes nothing.

You turn your glass up, tilting your head back as you finish it and immediately slam it back on the counter. You look to Adrian expectantly, crossing your legs as your skirt rides up even higher on your thighs. You don't miss the way his eyes dart downward.

“Buy me a drink, Adrian?”

His eyes snap back up to your face.

“You want another one?”

“I want you to buy me a drink,” you assert, “And yes, we were flirting before Chris interrupted.”

There's no way he could misinterpret that. His face contorts in a few different ways, at first in a twinge of anger, then confusion, then realization before settling in an easy smile, wide and he nods at you. 

“Cool, I was hoping we were. I’ve been wanting to flirt with you for a while,” he admits trying to sound calm, while wildly waving his hand to get the bartenders attention.

The bartender comes over quickly, knowing your team and how they act, that’s probably in his best interest. 

“This lovely lady that I’m flirting with would like a third and final margarita please! And put her other two drinks on my tab too, that’s what actual nice guys do,” he asserts, and watches carefully as the bartender makes your drink, his typical guarding of your drinks not changing even though he doesn’t get up off of his barstool to physically shield you and your drink.

“My other drinks too? Oh my, are you trying to get lucky tonight?” you joke, but god are you flattered. The margaritas here are not super cheap, and your wifi bill is due. 

“Yes?” He confirms it, but frames it like a question.

“You sure?” You ask.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want to get lucky,” he confirms, then realizes what he’s said, “With you. I want to get lucky with you.”

“Good, me too,” you agree, taking a sip of your last margarita. 

“Hashtag me too,” you hear him mumble, a weird little habit you've noticed he picked up. You lick the salt from the rim again, and this time he audibly groans. You arch your eyebrow and do it again, this time taking your time to flatten your tongue along the rim of the glass to get the margarita salt. He digs his fingers into the material of his jeans covering his thigh, and you watch his knuckles turn white. God, if only that was his hand around your neck and…

“It makes me so hard when you do that, you have to stop doing that. Or at least stop doing that in public,” Adrian admits through gritted teeth, and you take pity on him, grabbing his hand from off of his leg and entwining it in your own. 

“Good to know, I’ll only order margaritas when you're about to take me home from now on.”

His hand squeezes yours.

“I don't know if you're joking but every time you order a margarita I want to take you home,” his tone is deadly serious, and his eyes don't even hide the way they rake up and down your body anymore.

“I’ll keep that in mind and use it to my advantage,” you say, taking the initiative to sip your drink a little faster than the others tonight. Not to get drunk, but so that you can get into his Sebring faster and get actually alone with him. 

“I love this outfit,” Adrian says, and it's awkward, but honest. Flirting is… not his thing as far as you can tell, but damn if it is not working on you anyway. 

“Yeah?” you ask, a coy smile as you finish off what you're going to drink of the margarita.

Adrian leans in close, so close you can smell his deodorant.

“Love how easy it’ll be to take off,” he clarifies, whispering in your ear.

What do you even say to that? You don't know, how he manganese so often to leave you speechless, so you just dip your head down to rest your forehead on his shoulder and hum.

His other hand releases his now empty Miller bottle and pulls you back gently by the shoulder. 

“Hey, why are you pouting?”

You hadn't even realized you were.

“Take me home, Adrian.”

You don't have to tell him twice. He slides himself off the barstool before literally lifting you off of yours, being careful not to lift you too high so your skirt wouldn't flash anyone before putting you back down. 

“Bye guys!” Adrian shouts, “We’re going to go back home to our own homes! I’m not going to kiss her once were outside!”

You can’t even feel embarrassed at how Adrian announces your departure because once again his hand is in yours and guiding you. You wave bye to everyone with your free hand, heat rising in your cheeks as you try to hide the fact that you want to smile until your face aches.

He barely gets the door open before hes grabbing you close and kissing you, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly.

It's better than you could have ever imagined. In the many times youve thought about kissing Adrian, you've imagined him eager, enthusiastic, sloppy, fast, but never so achingly desperate. He kisses slowly, like how time moves during a car crash, lips moving hard and deliberate against your own to pull more, more, more, from you. 

When he retreats, your lips follow his before you come back down to earth.

“Wow,” you gasp, “I've been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Not as long as I have,” he retorts, that seriousness still evident in his tone. Holy shit.

“Let's get the fuck out of here, please.”

He wastes no further time bringing you back to where you parked earlier, opening the door for you before trotting around the car to the driver’s side and basically jamming his key into the ignition. 

He gets out of the parking lot and onto the main road before your heart drops. Fuck. Your underwear. Your awkward ugly mismatched set. The bra that's his uniform colors but the basic black panties that match okay but not enough to be sexy.

“Hey, can I be honest with you?” you blurt out before you can really think about what you're saying.

Adrian tenses up, and hits the brakes a little too sudden for the light changing ahead of you. 

“Were you not being honest with me before?”

Fuck, shit, fuck wrong wording.

“No! I mean yes, I was being honest before. It's just…” You try to parse the right words, “I had this planned, to make a move on you. I wanted to impress you.”

“Everything you do impresses me,” he interrupts, and you quickly thank him before you continue.

“But I had this whole outfit, and then a very specific underwear set I wanted to wear in case I was, you know, successful,” you sigh, “But the underwear I was going to wear that matched with the bra went missing, so if you want to like, ignore all this you can.”

You gesture to your outfit and your body awkwardly, not used to feeling so unsure of yourself, but Adrian makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a weird crush again. 

He's silent for a bit, focusing on the road and making his way to his apartment building as fast as he can while still following all of the traffic laws.

“Was it the black and teal set?” he finally cuts the silence, and your blood runs cold. You knew he had the underwear, but you weren't about to call him out about his tweet further than the comment about them missing. 

“Uh, yeah,” you admit quietly, now trying to look anywhere but at the profile of his handsome face. 

“Do you want them back? I can like, hand them back to you and you can go change if you want when we get back to my place?” he asks like it's a normal situation you find yourselves in. Not a ‘coworkers that make weird moves on each other on twitter through nude videos and strategic likes' situation.

“Hey, look at me,” he commands gently, noticing your silence.

You turn to him, and there's this blissful little smile on his face; he’s looking at you like you hang the moon and stars.

“You're not as discreet on twitter as you think you are, but I’m really glad you didnt find it gross,” his voice is wavering a little, like he’s nervous to be saying this. Fuck, you knew you werent as fast on that scroll past his video the other morning. You're just glad he’s not disgusted by you, the fact that he knows, that you're both a little perverted and he accepts it. If he can accept it so can you.

“I’m glad you didnt find me gross either,” you admit, a little less bold than you had been. 

Adrian scoffs.

“Are you kidding? A hot woman like you liking videos of me? Did you get off to me?” he asks eagerly.

“Maybe…” you admit, a little coy, a little more confident again. 

“Maybe?”

“Okay yes,” you admit, finding the courage to reach out and touch his forearm, “I did. More than a little.”

“Good!” his arm slides from where it’s on the wheel to place his hand very carefully on your bare thigh, ‘I definitely got off knowing you were watching.”

You feel hot all over knowing that, the confirmation that the tweets were about you even though you knew they were. That there was no possibility they were about that new hostess at Fennel Fields, and that he was getting off at the thought of you seeing them.

“Can I ask how you knew they were me?” you ask, you hand enveloping his and pushing it up your thigh to flirt with the hem of your skirt.

“That was easy,” he says, not even looking at you as he squeezes your thigh, before dipping his fingertips closer to the inside of your thigh, “Your twitter name was a Fargo reference. You're my Fargo buddy.”

You really should have been more subtle with that, but you don't find yourself giving a shit when his calloused fingers are running themselves up and down your inner thigh and he pulls the car into his apartment’s parking lot.

“Fuck,” you whisper, his pinky just barely brushing under the hem of your skirt. 

“I know, you should have been more sneaky,” he agrees, even though that's not what you were reacting to. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, “Just get me upstairs, Adrian.”

He throws the car in park and gets out as hastily as possible. 

He jogs around to your side of the car and this time you actually open the door yourself. 

“You don't actually want me to shut up, right?” he asks as you climb out of the car, legs a little shaky from nerves and arousal.

“Of course not,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I dont want you to hold back in any way.”

[flanaganfilm]

Hey Mike! Can you talk about your experience going from Absentia to Oculus? That process after Absentia went on its festival run to pitching Oculus? Would love to learn about that time in your life & career!

I moved to Los Angeles in 2003, right after I graduated college. I went to Towson University in Maryland, was an EMF major (Electronic Media & Film) and had wanted nothing more than to make movies my whole life. We were a comfortable middle class military family (my dad was in the Coast Guard) and for most of my life, making movies for a living felt like an impossible dream.

When I moved to LA I took whatever work I could find. I shot and edited those local car commercials you see on TV at 2am, I was a logger and an AE for reality TV shows, and I eventually worked my way to editing.

I said I'd give myself 5 years to make it in Hollwood. By the time we shot Absentia, I'd been here for 7 years, and in that time I hadn't gotten any closer to my dream.

I've already written at length about how Absentia came along and what it was like to make that little movie, and I've recently blogged about how the Oculus premiere changed my life and birthed my career, so I won't rehash those - but I don't often talk about what went on in between.

I finished editing Absentia just before my oldest son was born in 2010, and went back to working full-time as a reality TV editor. In fact, in the months leading up to his birth, I was working double-time - I spent my days at a company called Film Garden working on a series for DIY Network, and my nights editing packages at Nash Entertainment for those true crime clip shows. Whatever it took to keep the lights on and provide as much support as I could for my son.

While this was happening, I'd submitted Absentia to a pile of film festivals. We didn't get into any of the majors - Sundance, SXSW, and Toronto all passed on the film. Our world premiere was at the Fargo Film Festival, where Tom Brandau, one of my former professors from Towson - and one of my mentors - was teaching.

(Our original festival poster, WAY better than the weird clip art that would come later)

The movie got into a fair amount of film festivals, and we traveled with it as much as we could. I have fond memories of the Phoenix Film Festival, San Luis Obispo (where I met Greg Kinnear at a party and very awkwardly asked for a picture - you can see how thrilled he is about it) and my personal favorite: the Fantastia Film Festival in Montreal.

(At one of the screenings, I believe the San Luis Obispo Film Festival)

While this was happening, the film was picked up for a tiny VOD and DVD release through Phase 4 Films.

They were a Canadian distribution company whose claim to fame was putting out Kevin Smith's Red State under a very unusual distribution model. They acquired the movie, which led to a company holiday part in Hollywood.

There, I briefly met Kevin Smith for the first time. We've met again since, and I've now had a chance to thank him for the kindness he showed me back then - I was just some starstruck kid at a party, but he was gracious and available and inspiring. I really admire the way Kevin deals with his fans, and I've tried to emulate it over the years.

So that was kind of it for Absentia. We went to a few festivals, went to a few parties, and posed for a few pictures with some people we admired. Phase 4 designed some truly godawful cover art, dropped the movie into video stores, and that was that.

($2.99 is a pretty good deal)

So Absentia had pretty much run its course. It had a passionate following of fans, but between the crappy art design and glut of low budget horror films on the market, its moment had already come and gone. I was back at work, editing a series for DIY Network called Extra Yardage, and yearning for another chance to make a movie.

Absentia might not have broken open the industry doors like I'd wanted it to, but one thing it did yield was a meeting with an entertainment attorney named Joel VanderKloot.

I had been represented a few times over the years by various managers (to be honest, they were actually Jeff Howard's managers, and they took me on because we had a co-written project together.) But those relationships hadn't gone anywhere, I'd never sold a script or booked a job, and when I suggested making Absentia they were not supportive ("You've already tried the indie thing, haven't you?") so by the time Absentia was made, I was completely unrepped.

Joel was a family friend of Jason Poh, who was one of our Absentia Kickstarter backers. He was a guy who'd just found the project online and donated a thousand bucks. He kept up with us, and loved the final movie. He told me he knew an entertainment lawyer and offered to arrange a lunch.

I left my editing job at Film Garden for a long lunch and met Joel in Santa Monica (this was a day-killing drive for me). Joel had seen the movie and really liked it. We had a good lunch, but wasn't immediately sure about taking me on - it's a lot of work to take on a new client, and there wasn't much heat on my movie. But there was something there that he liked, and he called later that day to say he would take me on as a client.

I was elated. I felt like I'd made my movie to the best of my ability, and that it had flashed in the pan and then died... no one had noticed outside of a few festival audiences and critics. But here was someone who worked in the industry and he saw something in the film that he believed in.

Joel started looking for managers while I clung to my day job. He passed the movie around and we had a few nibbles, which led to the first manager in my career who wanted to simply represent ME: Nicholas Bogner.

Bogner went about setting general meetings at production companies who specialized in horror films. There weren't a lot of takers, and not everyone was willing to watch an entire feature film in consideration of a general meeting. So it was hit or miss - I was a nobody, after all, and they get these kinds of incoming inquiries all the time.

But there were a few takers. And the very first meeting I had was with Anil Kurian at Intrepid Pictures.

Again, I took an extended lunch from my editing job and drove across town to Intrepid's offices in Santa Monica. I was beyond nervous when I sat in the waiting room. The young man working the front desk signed me in and offered me a water. And then, just before the meeting started, he leaned over and he said "I loved Absentia, by the way."

Anil was a really cool executive and we had a good general meeting. At the end of it, he introduced me to the heads of Intrepid: Marc Evans, and Trevor Macy.

We all ended up in the conference room, where posters for Intrepid's other movies - at that time, The Strangers and The Raven - were hanging. I vividly remember staring at them while I pitched all five of the ideas I had for movies.

One of them was a story about a little boy whose dreams manifested in real life, and another was a take on Stephen King's novel Gerald's Game. But at the time, none of these ideas worked. The meeting was over, and everyone was politely going about their day.

I felt a panic in me. It was my first real meeting, the door had been cracked open just an inch by Absentia, and I was about to walk away with nothing. Would my new manager want to keep me? Would my new lawyer think he was wasting his time?

I stopped in the doorway and turned back. "I've got one other thing," I said. "I made a short years ago about a haunted mirror, and I have a take for a feature."

They kind of laughed at the idea of a haunted mirror. "How do you make that scary?" Trevor asked. I said "Think of it like a portable Overlook Hotel," and the room got a little quieter.

"I'd like to see that short," Trevor said. I agreed to send it immediately.

I ran back to work, stayed a few hours late to make up the time I'd burned on my lunch hour, and went home to find a DVD copy of Oculus: The Man with the Plan.

I'd made that short in 2005. It was 20 mins long, and a lot of fun. Over the years whenever I'd get into meetings (all courtesy of Jeff Howard, who had sold scripts long before we started writing together), people would see it and ask about a feature. Every time, though, the conversation stalled because they wanted the film to be a found footage movie, or they'd balk at the idea of me directing a feature.

I sent the DVD to Intrepid and waited. About a week later, they called and asked me to come back in.

I took another long lunch (this would become quite a habit as the project advanced) and drove back down. We met again in the conference room, but this time the mood was a little different.

Trevor said "We're interested in this. How would you expand it? I know there are cameras in the room with the man and the mirror, which begs the question of found footage..."

My heart sank.

"... but we're thinking that's a mistake. It looks like all the fun is in playing with reality, and you can't do that with found footage. So how would you do it?"

And we were off.

I won't rehash the long journey between this meeting and the Oculus premiere at Toronto (scroll down to find another blog about that), but that was really the moment when things changed.

I drove back to work a little giddy. Intrepid optioned the short film, I called Jeff Howard to see if he'd still want to work on a feature with me, and we were commissioned to write the script.

It was my first Hollywood job. I was paid the bare minimum, but I was also able to join the WGA because of the deal. I still didn't quit my day job (and wouldn't for a long time, not until the movie was really shooting in Alabama the following year) but I was off to the races.

Once the script was done, Oculus would lead to my first agents (at APA, and they treated me very well) and my first "real" movie.

What's particularly neat about this time, looking back, is that I owe it all to Absentia. We'd made this tiny little movie to try to kick open the door of Hollywood and start a career. And despite the enormous pride I had in the finished film, it felt for a long time like it hadn't quite succeeded in that.

But quietly, subtly, the movie did exactly what I hoped it would. The festival screenings built up a small but confident word of mouth. The movie led directly to my attorney Joel (who still represents me to this day), which led directly to my first real representation, which led directly to Intrepid Pictures.

Trevor Macy is now my business partner and has produced every single thing I've ever made since. We run Intrepid Pictures together, and I see that same eagerness in the faces of young filmmakers who find their way to us for general meetings. I try to be as supportive and accessible to them as I possibly can, because I remember very well what it feels like to stand in their shoes.

And Trevor even ended up making those other pitches he'd rejected all those years ago - Before I Wake and Gerald's Game followed soon after Oculus was done.

Absentia did everything I could have wanted it to do, and much more. I'll always remember that period of time with great affection... but man, it was stressful. The uncertainty of those years still exists in me, I don't think it'll ever leave.

Someone told me, along the way, that there wouldn't be a moment when I realized I "made it." It would happen while I wasn't looking. That ended up being absolutely true.

[callmebrycelee]

MY MAN CRUSH MONDAY IS...TIMOTHY OLYPHANT SPOOKY SEASON EDITION

FULL NAME: Timothy David Olyphant

DATE OF BIRTH: May 20, 1968

PLACE OF BIRTH: Honolulu, Hawaii

AGE: 55

SIGN: Taurus

BEST KNOWN FOR: Portraying Rickey Altieri in the slasher film Scream 2; Todd Gaines in the crime comedy Go; Dennis in the romantic comedy-drama The Broken Hearts Club; Detective Drycoff in Gone in 60 Seconds; Thomas Gabriel in Live Free or Die Hard; Sheriff Seth Bullock in Deadwood; Raylan Givens in Justified and Justified: City Primeval; Joel Hammon in Santa Clarita Diet; and Dick "Leafy" Wickware in Fargo.

HEIGHT: 6 feet tall

[ghostingghostingghosted]

Lyons and Tigers and Bears (and Gator too) Oh My!

So I've been a Fargo viewer since S2 and have followed each season relatively closely (except most of S4). Noah Hawley is a sucker for hidden messages and meanings, as well as using symbolism derived from inspiration, such as - as shown in S4 - Alice in Wonderland. Hawley symbolically uses Alice in Wonderland in S5 as much as S4, but with a heavier focus on the dangers - "Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my!" Here is an analysis of how some character behaviors entwine with their representative animal's instinct.

SPOILS BEWARE AHEAD

CASE STUDY #1 - WOMEN REPRESENTING LIONESSES

Everyone should know that a group of lions is called a pride. Within a pride, there are multiple lionesses, and one or two male lions which usually have a monopoly on these lionesses. The male lions exploit these lionesses as multiple mates and depend on them for food typically. Mating aspects aside, the group of lionesses are the ones who hunt prey for the pride. Male lions can also hunt for themselves, but I digress with the following statement: when the lionesses are successful in the hunt, they have to eat their share quickly before the male lions come and take the rest of the meat. The male lions have the purpose of protecting the pride from other hostile, wandering male lions, so they're not completely useless.

But that's not the point of this post.

Lorriane Lyons and Indira Olmstead, in my humble opinion, show two sides of a lioness. Their husbands, respectively, represent the male lions and their exploitation of the women's work.

Lorraine Lyons represents the strength, determination, and intelligence of a lioness. I mean, come on! Lyons = lions. Did I just blow your mind with that connection?

Lorraine Lyons has a husband, Mr Lyons. As far as I remember, we don't see him until episode 6 when he's visiting his son, Wayne, at the hospital. Did we even need to know Mr Lyons existed? In my humble opinion: No.

(Tinfoil hat: I thought Danish Graves and Lorraine had something going on, and Graves was Wayne's dad. Secret love affair or whatever.)

Mr Lyons serves no purpose than emphasizing just how much Lorraine works for her, and his, "food." She runs a multi-billion company as a debt collector (or whatever the professional term is). She looks flawless. She has zero time for bullshit. Can't you see she's busy? If it weren't for her, her husband wouldn't have his train collection we later see in the same episode (6). Although she acts like her family is a burden to her, we see in some moments of her immense love for her son: such as her over protectiveness of him and coldness towards the outsider Dorothy, and her love towards her granddaughter, Scotty. Again, in episode 6, we see a brief moment of her smiling when Scotty hugs her father, until she puts back on the facade of HBIC when she speaks with Olmstead. So far, we don't see how she interacts with her husband, which can stand for as its own evidence. Lorraine's scenes with her family and professional life show that they wouldn't be who they are today without her (wo)man power. Another interesting thing to note about Lorraine and her behavior as a lioness is how, even though she doesn't like Dorothy, she still considers her as part of the pride as she's the mother of her granddaughter and her son loves Dorothy. As the idea goes, you're as strong as the weakest link, and Lorraine knows she's better off protected with Dorothy on her side than trying to get rid of her, especially as the season goes on.

(Note: Lorraine had Dorothy committed. Okay, I get that. She still hates Dorothy and wants her gone. However, Lorraine plays the sibling game in that she can bash and ruin Dorothy all she wants - as long as SHE IS THE ONLY ONE DOING IT. When Roy Tillman came around sniffing for Dorothy, she refused to even entertain his wild ideas about responsibility and freedom, and even admitted to keeping Dorothy close because of her being the mother of her grandchild and the wife of her son. She kicked Roy Tillman's ass to the curb with a, "I don't like her, but she's a Lyon now, and you're a dipshit with a 'dead' wife." Rant over.)

Another side note: Regarding Wayne, Lorraine only helps him out in extreme cases of emergency. When he suffers the head injury from electric shock, she makes sure he has the best care and best hospital room. Anything outside of emergencies, he's on his own. While he's not the strong lion we typically picture, Wayne is a lion in his own right. Male lions typically leave the pride when they come of mating age and join another pride of unrelated kin females. Here, Wayne made his own pride with Dorothy and, later, Scotty. By the way, lion prides usually consist of mother-daughter kinship, with a few outsider females and one or two male lions. Wayne still has a long way to go, but we do see him protect Dorothy and Scotty in his own way, such lying for her to the police about her kidnapping, helping her against Gator and his accomplices, etc.

Moving onto Indira Olmstead, she represents the other side of a lioness, which is the exploitation. I won't be nice: her husband is the biggest piece of shit. Even though it would be assault, I wanted her to throw her scalding hot coffee in his fucking face when he went on a tirade about wanting a real wife. Well guess what, fuck face? She wants a real husband. Either go get a job or suck your wife's dick in appreciation. Ya know?

Her piece of shit husband wastes what little money they have on worthless dreams that don't go anywhere. At one point, he wanted to be a famous drummer. Now he wants to make it big at pro golf. He sucks ass. Hard. But that would be a compliment to him. The biggest point of his exploitation is complaining about how Olmstead isn't a wife while eating the food she puts on the table with her income. He doesn't help hunt aka get a job. He doesn't support her. I have a feeling that if Olmstead gets into trouble where her physical being is at risk, he'd run away! Fuck him! Also, he's no doubt cheating on her. Hope he dies. Or gets his dick cut off. One of the two.

CASE STUDY #2 - DOROTHY AS A TIGER

Dorothy Lyons may have taken on her second husband's surname, but she is far from a lion. Several times throughout the season, Munch, and even the narrator in a special episode, calls her as a tiger; in the episode with the narrator, she describes her behavior as the behavior of a tiger. And she is a tiger.

Unlike lions, tigers are not social cats. They are solitary except with mother-cub relationships up to a certain point. We have seen how exceptional Dorothy is at defending herself, especially when she is alone. A pride needs a male lion or two to protect the pride from hostile male lion outsiders. A tiger doesn't have the protection of a pride or pack against the forces of other hostile animals of the same or different species. Dorothy fought off two kidnappers, effectively killing one and wounding the other. She fucks up Gator's accomplices on Halloween through a series of traps and tricks. Later on, she puts up a good fight against the male nurses ready to take her away to the hospital. She outsmarts the FBI detectives. She continually outsmarts Roy Tillman and Gator.

While Dorothy, in her own way, loves her husband, I believe she used him and his family's wealth as a cover at the beginning of their relationship, but only for that extra layer of protection. Later on, she probably developed feelings similar to that of a non-sexual relationship, relying on him as a closely dear friend whom she can trust to protect her and especially their daughter when she isn't around. Anyway, she is cautious because she knows she can only rely on a select handful of people - if that. She goes at life like it's her vs the world, and rightfully so considering Roy's abuse of her during their marriage. Telling of this is how she springs into action when the PTA (?) meeting in E1 descends into chaos and she pulls out a taser on an unsuspecting cop.

CASE STUDY #3 - OLE MUNCH AS A BEAR

I love this character so much, and it's such a shame that everyone is (rightfully so) thirsting over Gator. We get it: pathetic boy with daddy issues and a middle schooler boy personality is cute and all, but when will people wake up and take on the may-be-may-not-be a sin eater from 1522, who is nice to old women, a killer of idiots, and how takes his jobs deadly seriously?

(Don't get me wrong, I like Gator as much as the next person, but everyone is sleeping on the King of the season imo.)

Anyway, I propose that Ole Munch represents a bear. Bears are the king of the forest. They can eat mostly everything, from nuts and berries to full on meat. They hibernate for some months out of the entire year. They can fuck up a full sized moose.

Munch's backstory revolves around starvation: starving so much that eating a deceased's sins is nothing compared to a few gold coins, a loaf of bread, and a goblet of wine - if we take that 1522 flashback as truth, or some part of the truth. Munch can also fuck someone's shit up: exhibit a): the two ranch hands ready to kill him at the Tillman's ranch and breaking Gator's arm; exhibit b): Gator's partner; exhibit c): the old woman's loser son in the latest episode.

When I think of a bear, I think of a creature motivated by food and a lot of it, especially male bears. Bears are one of the higher mammals on the food chain; the only danger to a bear is another bear - or maybe a big cat. Bears wander the forest in search of food, food, food. Unless they have to assert their dominance with another bear in the area, they don't have to worry about costly fights. (If you can stomach it, watch a YouTube video of bears fighting. It's crazy.)

In Munch's early scenes, we see him motivated primarily by money, or in essence, the means to buy food. He only goes out of his way to kidnap Dorothy because Roy Tillman promises him payment, and tries to re-kidnap her by any means, even when she has the upper-hand at the gas station. When he doesn't get paid by Roy, he then sets his sights on fucking with Roy and Gator.

Silent and deadly, but don't fuck with this guy - or shall I say, don't poke the bear. Nothing with Munch is nothing personal. I'd go as far to say him messing with Roy and Gator aren't for personal reasons. Gator keeps insulting Munch right to his face, but he doesn't react at all to it. He only reacts when he doesn't get his payment. Hell, I have a feeling that if Roy tried to kill him after paying him, Munch might not have reacted then, either. He probably would have gotten the hell out of Dodge in search of another job. It's just not worth it when a man's (or bear's) livelihood is at stake as long as food is readily available somewhere else.

Also, Munch always wear brown clothes. The latest is the fur-line neck of a brown coat he took from the old woman. Make of it what you will.

Further, I consider Munch a bear because he "hibernates" like one. When he isn't out causing chaos for Roy and Gator Tillman, he goes back to his place of shelter (aka the old woman's house)and rests there with a cigarette. I don't bother to do the math, but I bet you that half of Munch's time on screen focuses on his "hibernation" at this dark, cave-like home.

RANDOM THOUGHT ON GATOR

Is it just me, but why would Roy name his son Gator? So far, no one calls him by any other name but Gator, so we have to assume Gator is his legal name. Which, imo, is a stupid name.

(Do you think his dad named him after Gatorade? lol)

However, looking deeper, we have menacing characters taking on animal representatives: Lorraine and Indira as lionesses, Dorothy as a tiger, Munch possibly as a bear. Where does (a) Gator in snowy Fargo (or wherever the fuck) fit?

That's the thing: he doesn't fit.

Alligators, as said by the National Zoo website (googled) live in freshwater, slow-moving rivers, and also in swamps, marshes and lakes. Aka, Florida, North Carolina, and Texas. Fargo is the exact opposite of that description: cold, cold, snowy, and cold.

Therefore, Gator Tillman is metaphorically a "fish" out of water. He doesn't belong in this strange environment his father inhabits. He doesn't belong to Roy's idea of what a man should be. Gator doesn't know how to be himself, but he needs to survive and adapt because he's seen what happens when someone doesn't, so he tries to take on the personality of his father - but with heavy failures and setbacks. He isn't built to be like Roy. That's why, in my humble opinion, Gator has that strange name. It's showing how much he, a "Gator", doesn't fit the environment his father created. In the latest episode, Dorothy even mentions this. She says she still sees good in him, but he still wants to be Roy. This implies that a person cannot be Roy and still have goodness in them. The two shalt never intertwine. I'm pretty sure Gator's bio on the Fargo website says something similar to him wanting to become his father, but it never working out in his favor. He wants to be a "winner" or the fittest in survival. But he is struggling hard, and his father is quickly losing patience with him.

Rant over.

Note: Other than the Fargo tv series + movie, as well as some Reddit/Tumblr media consumption, I do not know anything about Noah Hawley or his writing style, inspiration, etc. Also, I did not do much, if any, research on the animals studied here. Everything comes from minimal knowledge. This is purely an opinion.

PS: It's come to my attention that Lyon is not spelled Lyons with an 's' at the end, but simply Lyon. I'm too lazy to fix this issue. Sorry. Also, sorry if there's any incoherent sentences and/or grammar issues. I needed to get this out of my system.

I would also like to say that a lot of my information, ideas, and opinions come from TV Tropes (website) where they have a lot of insightful facts about characters and their personalities, among other things. I suggest checking them out!

[hondagirll]

Favourite West Wing moments? 🩷🩷🩷 on the migraine

Ah, wow this is a hard one. Obviously secret plan to fight inflation is one. Both Thanksgiving episodes because I just watched the butterball hotline one yesterday ("Zip code for Fargo, North Dakota please"). The speech that Sam wrote in the car about the pipe bomb explosion ("they ran into the fire/the streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight"). Donna, Amy, CJ and Abbey getting drunk and Donna getting the Canadian Anthem and Mr. President being all - "I was gone for 5 minutes. They were all Americans when I left!" (🤣). Every single moment in Noel but especially the talk between Leo and Josh about the guy falling into the hole. Danny and his "I just want us to talk because I like the sound of your voice" moment because I am simply a soft romantic bitch. The White House going to California to be there for Sam's election and Toby staying behind because he doesn't want Sam to be alone even though everyone knows Sam is going to lose (🥹). Donna, Josh and Toby getting left behind in the s4 opening and Mr. President being all "if Donna wasn't with them they would have to buy a house". Josh sprinting through the WH to fly out to Germany the moment Leo gives him permission ("if there's somewhere else you'd rather be we'd all understand"). The whole Stackhouse Filibuster episode but especially the last 10 minutes ("we don't raise our hands in here"/ "though that's not a bad idea"). Ellie and the whole "the only thing you ever had to do was make me happy at the end of the day" final scene. Oliver Banish using his gravel to destroy the tape recorder when Leo and Jed tell him about the MS scandal. And of course, Bartlet cursing at God in Two Cathedrals ("yes I lied. It was a sin. I've committed many sins. Have I displeased you, you feckless thug?!?").

[multifandomfanficss]

More Than I’m Willing To Lose Part 2

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

Featuring platonic!11th Street Kids

Adrian Chase Masterlist

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Prompt: Adrian takes care of you after the incident. This is Part 2 for More Than I’m Willing To Lose.

Warnings: panic, meltdowns, hitting yourself and pulling your own hair during a meltdown, gun violence, hospitals, non-sexual nudity, non-sexual showering with another person, wound care, cannon typical Peacemaker violence and language

A/N: Hi guys! I meant to post this yesterday, but forgot. I’ve never been on a weekly posting schedule before. Super exciting! I hope you enjoy the chapter and the rest of the series! ❤️🧜‍♂️❤️

It wasn’t long before you were discharged from the hospital. Adrian had spent as much time with you as possible, occasionally stepping out for a short shift at Fennel Fields. The others took turns hanging out with you in the four hours a day he was gone. He had originally planned on taking time off, but you wouldn’t let him. You knew he needed the money and that it wasn’t healthy for him to spend all of his time awake or asleep in a hospital. He rationalized going to work by promising to take off time when you were discharged so he could help you get readjusted. Truth be told the nights he was gone for a couple hours were your favorite. It wasn’t that you didn’t miss him. It was the opposite actually, but despite missing him you were always excited when he brought you food after his shift. Italian food was your favorite and you were sick of hospital food.

On one particular afternoon you were missing Adrian a little more than usual.

“I know that look.” Adebayo laughed.

“What look?!” You asked.

“You miss Adrian.” She gives an exaggerated sigh.

“Do not!” You protest, but the deep red coming to your cheeks tells a different story. The tv was on and you had been channel surfing until you came upon a channel playing Fargo reruns. It was very obvious who you were thinking of.

“He’s a little interesting…but sweet.” She smiled. “I can understand why you like him.” She says after a short pause.

“I never said-“

“I could just tell. Harcourt and I have been talking about it over the past few days. We think he likes you too.” She cuts you off. You decide to sit silently on that information. Your mind drifts back to your first night in the hospital when you could have sworn you heard Adrian say he loved you. You were on some heavy pain meds and you were falling asleep, so you had forgotten about it until now and you weren’t sure it even happened. That’s going to be the only thing in your head for a while.

Not too long after that you hear a knock at the door. You look up to see Adrian half dressed in his uniform. His apron and hat are missing, but he’s still in his red shirt and black pants. He has a brown paper bag in his hand and the smell of Italian food is radiating from the hallway. Your face immediately lights up.

“I brought your favorite.” He smiles.

“And mozzarella sticks?” Adebayo asks.

“And mozzarella sticks.” He confirms. Leota pumps her fists in the air with excitement and you laugh.

“I missed the beginning of Fargo?” Adrian whines turning his head to the tv.

“Sit down. I’ll restart it. The hospital has direct tv.” You say, patting the bed. He settled into the bed next to you. With Adebayo in the chair, he really had no other place to sit, but neither of you minded. You had become like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together since the night you arrived at the hospital. While Adrian’s eyes were glued to the tv, you couldn’t help, but notice Ad’s giving you a mischievous look.

In the next few days you were discharged. Adrian had the day off from Fennel Fields and Harcourt excused him from the team meeting, so he could help you. He would be helping you a lot after your discharge. You were currently sat in the passenger seat of his Sebring. Your arm was in a sling, but aside from that you were feeling a little bit of normalcy for the first time in forever with your window down and Adrian’s music coming from the speakers. The two of you were quietly singing along to the music as he drove along the familiar streets of your neighborhood. By the time he had gotten to your block you were done singing. You stared down the street at your apartment. You hadn’t noticed Adrian had stopped singing either until he grabbed your hand. You lightly jumped, a little startled by the sensation, but eased into the feeling of his warm hands.

“You’re shaking. Are you okay?” He asks hesitantly, pulling over in front of your building. You take a deep breath and give him a slow nod. He gives you a small smile, putting the car in park. “Look, I know I’m not always the best at knowing what people are thinking, but if any of this is too much for you, just let me know.” He says, trying to make eye contact with you. You can’t peel your eyes away from the place in front of your apartment where you were shot. The blood is gone. If you didn’t know better, if you were just passing by on the street, you would assume nothing had ever happened. You slowly nod again. “We can just sit here for a minute if that’s what you need?” Adrian asks hesitantly.

“I want to go inside.” You say quietly.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“I want to go inside, but I can’t walk up the steps by myself.” You admit shyly.

“You don’t have to. I’m going to be with you every step of the way.” He assures you. He slowly gets out of the car and walks to the passenger door. He opens it for you and undoes your seatbelt. He then holds out his hand for you to take. “Whenever you’re ready.” He says, patiently. Every part of your body feels hyper sensitive, like all of your senses are on fire. You can feel the muscles flex in Adrian’s arm as he pulls you up. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears. Your legs feel wobbly as your feet slap against the hard concrete. As you approach the steps to your building you grip Adrian tighter. He pulls you protectively into his side. You think you can faintly hear him talking, but you can’t process what he’s saying. You are however aware of the sounds of the key scraping inside the lock as Adrian lets you into your apartment on the second floor. After Jack had stolen your keys, Harcourt and Economos had come by the replace the locks. You take one more step and you’re in your apartment. Once you’re inside you look at the posters of your favorite shows and movies and try to forget that Jack had even set foot in the space. This was your safe place and you would make it that way again. Harcourt had offered to get you a place in the building where she was living, but you refused. You didn’t want this asshole to take your home away from you. You would make it yours again.

As soon as you walked into your bedroom and carefully flopped onto your bed, you felt a rush of comfort splash over you; like waves rolling over your body at the beach on a hot summer day. Staring at the familiar ceiling brought you peace. You traced the stars and planets on your ceiling with your eyes. You hadn’t put them there and they had long since been painted over by someone, most likely your landlord, but they were your favorite part of your apartment. The plastic glow in the dark stars and planets covered by white paint had probably been there long before you moved in and they would be there long after.

It was nice to be in clothes you felt comfortable in again. The hospital gown was getting old and the feeling of your couch underneath your body felt so familiar and comforting. You were currently watching Little Shop of Horrors with Adrian and your apartment smelt of slightly burnt popcorn and butter because Adrian was trying to make sure every kernel popped and in the process burnt some of the earlier pieces to pop out of the batch. You were currently waiting for Chris to show up with the beer he promised to bring.

“I don’t understand how he fucked up this badly. He could have easily gotten away with that murder. He’s such a bad lier.” Adrian sighs.

“No offense, but you are like the worst lier I’ve ever met.” You laugh.

“I am not!” He argues.

“No, you are. I don’t know how you haven’t been caught yet.” You continue to laugh.

“I haven’t been caught because I’m the second best superhero in town!” He declares.

“Honey, you’re one of only two suited superheroes in town.” You blush, realizing you just called him honey.

“That we know of.” He says, lips tight in a pout, desperately reaching to win this argument. You open your mouth to respond when suddenly the power goes out. You feel yourself stop breathing. Adrian stands up and gets off the couch. You reach out in the darkness desperately trying to grab for him. He must barely see you because he leans into your grasp. He crouches down to your level, placing your hand on his face.

“I’m here. I’m just going to look outside. Just stay here, okay?” He says. You let out a soft whimper, unable to form words. “I’m not even going to leave the room. I’m just going to look out the window.” Adrian releases your hand, standing up again, walking towards the living room window that faces the front of your building. You find a little peace when his body is illuminated by the moonlight. You try to hold back tears and breathe evenly. Adrian quickly moves towards you as your eyes try to adjust to the darkness. He’s taking something out of the waste band of his jeans. He brings you to the corner of the room. You hear a click and you want to immediately retreat, but there’s nowhere to go. You start to hyperventilate.

“I need you to stay in the corner and shoot anyone who walks through that door that isn’t me.” Adrian says quickly.

“I-I can’t-“

“Yes, you can. You have to.” Adrian cuts you off.

“I don’t know how to use it.” You’re looking for any excuse to not take the gun.

“The safety is off and there’s plenty of bullets for if you miss the first time. Aim for the head or the-“

“Adrian, I can’t.” It was your turn to cut him off.

“Why not?” He asks. The two of your are speaking a mile a minute.

“I can’t do it. I can’t. I never want to see a gun again. Please don’t make me take that.” You beg him.

“I’m sorry, but you need to take this.” He says. Shoving the weapon in your hands.

“Please don’t leave me.” You beg through sobs that you started, but are unable to stop.

“I have to run downstairs for just a minute. I promise I’ll be right back, but I need you to promise you’ll stay in this corner and you’ll shoot anything that moves.” He pleads with you. You nod through your sobs. “I’ll be right back. I promise.” He says before running out the door.

You stand in the corner for what feels like the longest moment of your life. It feels like an hour although you’re sure it’s only been a few minutes. You hear gunshots outside and your heart stops. After a little while you start to hear footsteps coming up the stairs. You don’t recognize the heaviness of the boot and the foot pattern to be Adrian. You wait to be sure until a silhouette comes into the doorframe and it’s taller and wider than Adrian. With the lights still out, you’re able to attack the intruder before they even recognize you’re in the room. You follow Adrian’s instructions and pull the trigger.

“What the fuck, (Y/N)?! It’s Chris!” The voice yells. You freeze in your tracks. Suddenly the lights come back on and you’re met face to face with Chris who is now holding his arm, bleeding. Luckily you had only grazed him. You hear footsteps running up the stairs.

“I found the breaker!” Adrian calls from down the hall.

“I don’t give a shit about the breaker, they shot me!” Chris continues to yell as Adrian enters the room. You stay frozen, staring down at the gun.

“Sorry. I told them to shoot anyone that wasn’t me.” Adrian says.

“You couldn’t have warned me?!” Chris complains.

“You didn’t ask.” Adrian shrugs, walking over to you slowly. You can see Chris’ look of annoyance, but you don’t truly process it. Adrian takes in your posture and facial expressions, analyzing you, before slowly placing his hand over the barrel of the gun. Your hand is gripping it so tightly that your knuckles have turned white. “I’ve got it. Just let go. That’s it.” Adrian says softly as you slowly release the gun. When it’s out of your hand and Adrian passes it off to Chris, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, as you fall forward into Adrian’s arms. You feel your body go limp against his as you start to sob. You drag him to the ground with you. He shushes you, rubbing circles into your back.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize.

“You did nothing wrong. You did exactly what I told you to. I’m so proud of you.” Adrian smiles down at you. You continue to cry into his arms.

“He’s gone. He made a run for it when we started shooting at him. We tried to catch him, but we weren’t fast enough.” Chris tells you. You know this is supposed to be in an effort to make you feel better, but it only makes you feel worse.

You try to keep your body from shaking violently. You wiggle around in Adrian’s arms. He catches on to your attempt to self sooth and he sways with you. You pull your arm that is not in the sling out from under his and start to pound into your head and pull at your hair. You try to hold back screams. He carefully unwinds your fingers from your hair and hugs you tighter to keep you from hurting yourself. You scream into his chest.

“I’m sorry. It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe now. I’m never gonna let him hurt you again. I’m here. I’m here.” Adrian repeats. Chris leaves the room to call Harcourt to give her an update. After a while your sobbing subsides, as you continue to rock back and fourth slowly in Adrian’s arms. “You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you. You’re so strong.” He continues to compliment and reassure you. He places a kiss on your forehead. The warmth of his lips spreads across your whole body. It helps bring you to a calm enough state to speak.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” You let out a quiet, weak sentence.

“Do you want to sleep at my place tonight?” He asks. You nod, but make no effort to get up to leave. Adrian slowly helps you stand and he drags you to your room to sit on your bed while he packs a bag for you. You assume you will be gone for more than one night, as he packs you a bag of several days worth of clothes. He wraps your favorite blanket around your body, and slings the bag of clothes over his shoulder. He then picks up your favorite pillow in one hand and wraps an arm around you with his free hand. You hold onto him tight as the three of you make the trip outside to pile into the Sebring. You hold your breath until Adrian locks your seatbelt in place and drives far enough that your apartment is out of view. Chris is still on the phone updating Harcourt. It was late enough. Tonight she would let you rest, but tomorrow she was going to come to Adrian’s to crack down and close this fucking case.

First stop was to drop off Chris. The guys decided that tonight probably wasn’t the best night for beer and movies. After stopping at the trailer you made your way back to Adrian’s place. You stayed silent the entire time and for the first time in his life Adrian didn’t have much to say either.

“I want you to teach me how to shoot.” You say quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice is dead as you stare off through the window.

“What? I thought you were afraid of guns.” Adrian questions.

“I don’t know what I’m not afraid of at this point, but the next time I see that bastard I’m blowing his fucking brains out.” You inform him.

“Wait a second. You used to be so anti-killing. That was supposed to be my job. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re finally coming to your senses on the topic of killing bad people and this dude totally needs to be killed, this just isn’t like you.” He rambles.

“I don’t even know who me is anymore. He took that away from me.” You let your voice trail off, as you get choked up again. Adrian looks at you, not quite knowing what to say. The truth is he wishes he could say every nice thought he’s ever had about you, but he doesn’t want to freak you out. He doubts you feel the same about him and after getting shot by your first date since he met you a year ago, he doesn’t really think you’re in the mood. After all Chris had spent the entire past year saying you were so far out of his league that it was funny. You wish you knew all of this. You would have proved Chris wrong.

Adrian walks around to your side of the car, opening the door for you. He lets you into his home. You walk around like a zombie with a blank stare, not particularly looking at anything, just sort of disassociating. He takes your belongings and brings them down the hallway to what you assume is his bedroom.

“What do you want to do now?” Adrian asks. You shrug, avoiding his stare.

“Do you want to shower and change into something more comfortable?” He asks. You think about a shower and it’s honestly the best thing you can imagine right now. You nod, speaking feeling like a chore. He pushes you towards the bathroom and starts the water for you. He places his hand inside until the water is the perfect temperature. He turns to leave the room, but you stop him. You call his name softly. He turns around and hums in response.

“Can you help me?” You ask, pointing to your sling. He gulps and nods. You think you see a blush quickly approaching his cheeks, but you’re too numb to care at the moment. He helps you take off your sling. He then places his hands at the hem of your shirt.

“If you’re uncomfortable, just let me know and I’ll stop and leave the room.” He says. You lock eyes with him, trying to keep tears at bay and nod. You hadn’t felt this safe with a man in so many years, you couldn’t even remember. It was especially jarring after that ‘date’. He slips your shirt off of your body, pausing to take a look at your wound. “I’m going to have to redress your shoulder after you shower.” He tells you. You nod again, too tired for words. He then kneels to take off your shoes and socks. He then slides your jeans down your legs. With any other man this would be awkward. It would feel oddly sexually charged. You wouldn’t feel safe. With Adrian you know he would never do anything to hurt you. You know he’d respect you and your body and never take advantage of you. That’s why you take your next step.

He holds out his hands to help you step with wobbly legs into the shower. When he goes to leave the bathroom, you reach out your hand to tug at his.

“Can you…” You’re just so tired of talking. You try to pull him into the shower with you.

“You want me to join you?” He asks, a nervous edge to his voice. You nod.

“Please. I don’t want to be alone in here with my thoughts.” You tell him, honestly. He gives you a sad smile before stripping down to his boxers and stepping into the shower behind you. Despite being naked in a shower with the man you’ve had a crush on for a year, you feel no need to make a move. You’re exhausted and scared and you just need his comfort right now. You hear a bottle opening and the squeezing of shampoo into Adrian’s hands. He begins to massage the shampoo into your hair. He’s so gentle and the way his finger nails scratch across your scalp feels euphoric. You feel like a rag doll, as Adrian moves your body in every which way to clean it. You don’t feel invaded. You feel quite the opposite, like you’re being well taken care of. His hands are soft and he smells incredible. You smile to yourself thinking you’ll smell like him too after using his soap. He hums to you as he washes you. It’s odd to think someone who kills people at night can be so gentle and loving.

After you shower he cleans and redresses your wound. He does all of this wordlessly. You don’t think you’ve ever heard Adrian so quiet. You hiss at the pain as he touches your wound to clean it.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.” He instructs you.

“You could never hurt me.” You smile up at him.

“I definitely could.” He says, missing the point. You stare off into space trying to ignore his hands against your shoulder.

“Better?” He asks after your wound is covered again. You look up into his eyes and nod slowly. You get lost in his eyes, staring at each other. His green eyes seem to put you in a trance. Your faces are even, as the counter you’re sitting on makes you taller. Adrian is standing between your parted legs to have better access to your wound. You’re so close you can feel his breath on your skin. You think you might be drifting closer. You want to kiss him so badly. You think you might before Adrian turns his head away at the last second. A blush comes to both your cheeks. “I bet you’re tired. We should get you set up in my room. I’ll take the couch.” He says before exiting the bathroom. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding before following him.

You take a minute to yourself before walking into his bedroom to see a shirt and a pair of boxers laid out on the bed. He’s already changed, so you assume they’re for you.

“When I packed your bag I forgot to grab something for you to sleep in. Sorry.” He admits. You blush. That wasn’t the truth, but you didn’t need to know that. He hoped you wouldn’t catch onto the fact that he just wanted to see you safe, warm, and comfortable in his clothes.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind wearing your clothes.” You say quietly. The shirt was black, its design faded and the fabric was starting to grow pilly. This was obviously a very well loved shirt. You had seen Adrian wear it from time to time when he wasn’t in the Vigilante suit, which you saw him in the majority of the time. At one point you commented on how much you liked it. You remember him telling you it was one of his favorite shirts. What you didn’t know was that this is his absolute favorite shirt, his comfort shirt, the shirt he practically lives in when it is clean. Despite just seeing you naked, Adrian leaves the room for you to drop your towel and change. When he comes back in, he has a glass of ice water in his hands. You gladly take it. You gulp it down quickly, not realizing how thirsty you were. It’s probably from all of the crying. When you hand him back the glass he asks if you would like another. You politely decline.

“You should get some sleep.” He says, slowly backing out of the doorway.

“Are you sure you want me to sleep in your bed? I don’t want to kick you out.” You ask.

“Pshh of course. It’s nothing.” He says, trying to make light of sleeping on the couch.

“Well, nonetheless it means a lot.” You smile at him. You lay down on the bed before he flicks out the light and goes to shut the door. Your anxiety quickly grows in the dark, unfamiliar room.

“Wait!” You catch his attention. He opens the door and you watch the light cascade in again from the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Adrian asks.

“Can you uh…” you drift off.

“Do you want me to lay with you again, like I did in the hospital?” He asks. You nod, sheepishly. “Uh- yeah.” Adrian nods, smiling. “I can do that.” He affirms, as he gets under the covers with you. At first Adrian is a little stiff. This is admittedly a weird situation. You’re not filled with all of the adrenaline that you were the first time. It takes a minute before you decide to place your head against his chest. He shifts awkwardly before putting his arm around you and pulling you tightly to his body. After you fall into a rhythm and it’s clear what the other person wants, you feel perfectly pressed together like two puzzle pieces. Adrian starts drawing circles on your arm. Between the steady motion, his heartbeat, and the rising and falling of his chest, you’re soothed to sleep. You feel him press a kiss to your forehead as you drift off.

[iirulancorrino]

In 2008, a physician named Susan Wicklund published a memoir about her career as an abortion provider, which had involved travelling to clinics across the Midwest, from St. Paul to Fargo. She eventually settled in Montana, and began working at Planned Parenthood facilities in Billings, Helena, and Kalispell. Some patients in rural areas, she discovered, had to drive several hundred miles to attend their appointments. Wicklund decided that a clinic should be opened in Livingston—a small town in southwestern Montana, not far from where she was living. She told me that when she proposed this idea at a meeting, Stacy Cross, then the C.E.O. of Planned Parenthood of Montana, reacted coldly, informing her that it was not in Planned Parenthood’s financial interest to take such a step. Wicklund responded by saying that she would open a clinic in Livingston on her own. According to Wicklund, Cross said that she would “do everything possible to shut me down, because I was taking patients away from Planned Parenthood.” (Cross, who now presides over a Planned Parenthood affiliate headquartered in California, said, “The assertion that we would try to shut her down is patently false.”) Deborah Erdman, a doctor and a Planned Parenthood donor who attended the meeting, told Cross that she would never give the organization another dime. “She was so angry,” Wicklund recalled. (Erdman died recently, but a close friend of hers confirmed this account.)

In Wicklund’s memoir, she writes of working at a clinic in Minnesota and trying to help an indigent woman who spoke no English and did not know how far along her pregnancy was. Wicklund wanted to perform an ultrasound, which would pinpoint how advanced the fetus was, but another staffer stopped her, because the woman couldn’t pay the fee. Wicklund slammed the door and went ahead with a pelvic exam instead, which she conducted for free. The next Monday, an administrator informed her that her contract had been terminated, “effective immediately.” Although Wicklund doesn’t say so in the book, it was a Planned Parenthood clinic. “I never turned a patient away,” she said.

Wicklund opened a clinic in Livingston in 2009. Some of her patients there told her that they’d first gone to Planned Parenthood but were unable to get care because they couldn’t afford it. This happened often enough that Wicklund began keeping a file of such cases. “Was given a hard time by Billings PP,” she wrote about a nineteen-year-old patient who said she’d been asked, “Do you think you should get free abortion?” Another patient told Wicklund that she’d heard about the Livingston clinic from Planned Parenthood because she “couldn’t afford $1,000.”

In 2013, Wicklund, facing significant health complications, was forced to close the Livingston clinic. Not long afterward, local activists created the Susan Wicklund Fund—a nonprofit that helps poor Montanans access abortion care—in her honor. In recent years, she has received fund-raising letters from Planned Parenthood featuring the “Care. No matter what” slogan. The first time she saw this, she told me, “I just came unglued—I was so livid.” She went on, “When I was a very young woman and would go to Planned Parenthood, it was a feminist organization. At some point, it changed into a business.”

— “The Problem with Planned Parenthood,” The New Yorker (x)

[gerhardtz]

One Hour Ahead of the Posse - Fargo Series 2 AU

Rye is injured and on the run. His conversation with Judge Mundt couldn't have gone any worse... and in his inebriated state, he decided to flee the scene on foot – leaving his car behind. It's not a question of *if* he's found out, but when.

Dipping my toes back into fanfiction for the first time in... what, like 2 or 3 years? I have no idea how to advertise fics on Tumblr so please bear with me 😭

This is an AU for Fargo series 2, where Rye's car accident wasn't quite as serious. Maybe Peggy braked sooner or was going slower. It mainly follows Rye and delves into what might have happened between the Gerhardts and Kansas City if Rye had been in the picture.

The next chapter is currently in the works! I'm not sure when it'll be done but rest assured I am not planning on abandoning it. Probably. I also have a crossover AU planned that I'm going to be co-writing with @pastelspindash if anyone's interested in that.

I didn't post about this sooner because I wasn't sure if i wanted to connect my AO3 to here, but I've decided fuck it. I'm the Rye Guy on Tumblr dot com it's my duty to share my writing here, too.

[tdciago]

Fargo: Author! Author!

I've thought for a long time that what we're watching in season 5 is a story in the process of being written. My initial guess was that the author would turn out to be Scotty Lundegaard, who would be writing it as a way of providing some poetic justice for his mother, Jean, who was killed by Gaear Grimsrud in "Fargo" the movie. But I have come to the shocking conclusion that the author of this story is Gaear himself, and Ole Munch represents the author. Gaear has also reimagined his victim as a worthy adversary, and maybe an alternate version of himself. Let's go back to the first episode of the season, because whenever a mystery is resolved, it turns out that the big clue was given to us right at the beginning, but we didn't have the context to understand it. LORRAINE (to Dot): Or here's a thought. Write your own pulp fiction now that you're an outlaw. Lorraine actually refers to Dot twice as an outlaw. This was concerning to me, because I thought Dot's comment about the author Lee Child pointed to Scotty Lundegaard as the author. Lee Child's pen name was derived from a mispronunciation that resulted in his daughter jokingly being called "le child." But Gaear Grimsrud is a legitimate outlaw, and the term "pulp fiction" is ironic, because wood chips are used to make the wood pulp on which those lurid stories were originally printed. And Gaear Grimsrud knows about wood chippers. He also would know about every detail of Jean's kidnapping, and even the most obscure bits of information, such as Marge Gunderson saying to him, "It's a beautiful day." That phrase has been used twice now, once by Indira in the prowler after arresting Dot, and once by Lindo at Camp Utopia. Roy notes of Munch, "You don't talk much. I like that." Gaear says only 80 words in "Fargo" the movie. Perhaps most significant of all is Gaear's fondness for pancakes. Both Munch and Dot have been connected to pancakes. One of these characters is associated with sin, and the other with Dorothy Gale from "The Wizard of Oz." Interestingly, the town of Liberal, Kansas, the setting of season 4's "East/West," is also associated with both of those things. It is the official home of Dorothy Gale, and the site of a famous Pancake Day race on Shrove Tuesday, a day to prepare for Lent, confess one's sins, and receive absolution. Maybe that's what Gaear is trying to do here. In episode 5, "The Tiger," I was struck by a couple of things that might be clues. Indira talks about Lars blaming his gear for his poor performance. "The nine iron, the eight iron, the seven iron....Keeps thinking it's the gear. 'Maybe with better gear.'" The consecutive numbers 987 made me think of 1987, the year that the movie takes place. And the word "gear" sounds like "Gaear." As though, if Gaear were better, things wouldn't have gone so badly. At the end of that episode, Dot drives off in the Kia with dealer plates, another reference to the film. Then there's episode 7, "Linda," which I want to make a separate post about. Not only does Munch re-create Gaear's murder of Carl, but there are a bunch of references to the movie in that episode, as well as things that point us to the fact that this is very much "a long-ago story, come back to haunt" someone. I think the person being haunted is Gaear, and it's Jean Lundegaard's ghost who's haunting him. Gaear may think of his life in the same way as Munch does, rooted in sin, with no escape. The parallels between Munch and Dot increase with every episode. Since Dot serves as a stand-in for Jean, it's as though the perpetrator has come to identify with his victim, and is trying in some way to give her justice. I should also point out that Peter Stormare, who plays Gaear, also played a nihilist in "The Big Lebowski," and Munch literally says, "I'm a nihilist."

[dreamliners]

fargo spoilers under the cut!

gosh im gonna miss this season!

i wish dot had gone for the head shot but at the same time there's a sweet reassurance that roy will suffer for the rest of his life while he's in jail. when lorraine mentioned vaseline a part of me went there and why not? the man did worse to his wives. i hope he's practically maimed in their.

while i do wish we would have seen more of what happened to gator, he wasnt at the center of the story but im contempt with knowing he's alive. i'd like to imagine he'd be eligible for parole after some years and maybe able to gain some sight back through surgeries that im sure dot would pay for. both her and him were victims of roy's cruelty and if gator is really capable of it he could turn a new page while in prison.

deputy whitt like danish graves deserved better, both men meant well and it sucks that their stories ended like that but especially whitt. im glad that he wasnt forgotten though.

my girls though! indira and lorraine! complete bosses! the fact that lorraine is making sure roy suffers every waking day of his life made me so happy. because i do feel that for dot it is enough knowing he's in prison but for lorraine she isnt letting go and that warms my heart. i feel like it also comes from a place of revenge for what he did to both graves and whitt.

lastly, ol munch, it was interesting seeing how him and dot danced their away around the supposed "debt" she still owed. i kept thinking that she was showing him something he hadnt ever known, which is warmth. dot is kindness and forgiveness (and love too) something which he hasnt ever experienced or doesnt remember. while i dont feel like they should have ended on his story, i suppose it isnt a bad way to end the story.

this show was amazing! literally came for joe keery and stuck around for everyone else by the end. juno temple is a powerhouse! its insane how she went from ted lasso to fargo its just amazing! the cast really did their thing and just drew me in from the jump. idk what im gonna do now that season is over.

[lgbtqmanga]

New Releases Oct. 17, 2023

Breasts Are My Favorite Things in the World! vol. 7 by Wakame Konbu

When bosom buddies Chiaki Ichihara and Hana Harumi share an accidental kiss, Chiaki realizes there might be more to life than just fondling breasts—now she wants Hana’s heart too! Will she be able to confess her feelings during a steamy hot spring vacation...? Meanwhile, discipline monitor Riku Matsuzaka has an awakening of her own!When bosom buddies Chiaki Ichihara and Hana Harumi share an accidental kiss, Chiaki realizes there might be more to life than just fondling breasts—now she wants Hana’s heart too! Will she be able to confess her feelings during a steamy hot spring vacation...? Meanwhile, discipline monitor Riku Matsuzaka has an awakening of her own!

The Lawyer in Shizukuishi Sleeps With a Wolf (novel) by Akira Sugano

Shizukuishi, a small town tucked away in the Tokyo metropolitan area, is home to the law practice of one Sora Oushuu. His devotion to justice ensures that he is good at what he does, but he also has a secret: The white dog he looks after is actually a wolf. This wolf also happens to be his brother, Fuuka, who can return to human form only when the two are alone. The brothers found themselves in this strange state of affairs many years ago, and ever since, their paths have repeatedly crossed with an old enemy of Sora’s. Their journey has been long, but Sora is beginning to see a glimmer of what lies at the end.

Love is an Illusion! vol. 4 by Fargo

AFFAIRS OF THE HEART

Things have been going great for Hye-sung and Dojin’s relationship, and soon they’re finally tying the knot. When Dojin returns to his band and nets a big hit, he suddenly becomes a hot commodity. Though he wants nothing more than to be at home with Hye-sung and Byul, he finds himself working more than ever. Hye-sung feels pushed aside, especially when Dojin’s college ex enters the picture. Can the newlyweds overcome this obstacle, or is it enough to drive them apart for good?

Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story vol. 6 by Magica Quartet and Fujino Fuji

The Girls’ Pasts Connect to a Cruel Reality. The passion of the artist has been enflamed, and even Sana’s formidable shield buckles under the weight of Alina’s fury. Just as Iroha and Sana begin to despair, rescue arrives from an unexpected quarter as Mifuyu steps in to subdue her teammate. Mifuyu maintains that her only goal is to save the magical girls of Kamihama, holding out her friendship with Yachiyo as proof of her good intentions—but can Iroha and her allies truly trust one of the Wings of Magius?!

Minato's Laundromat vol. 1 by Sawa Kanzume and Yuzu Tsubaki

“MINATO-SAN, I HAVE A SEX DRIVE.”

When Akira Minato inherits an old, run-down laundromat from his grandfather, he sees it as an opportunity to recover from his grueling corporate job and spend his days in laid-back leisure. But all that changes when a new customer comes knocking—one who’s maybe a bit too good-looking. Despite their growing closer, Akira is determined not to let high school hottie Shintaro Katsuki find out he’s gay…until a casual slip of the tongue gives away his secret.

Sasaki and Miyano: Official Comic Anthology by Shou Harusono

Cat encounters, arcade trips, book-shopping sprees— sweet moments galore! It’s the simple little things that remind me most of that one BL I just read…

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat vol. 3 by Sakaomi Yuzaki

Though Nomoto is at peace with her sexuality, she can’t shake the uneasiness she feels when she struggles to relate to other lesbians’ stories. Meanwhile, Kasuga receives a text message that causes unwelcome memories to come rushing back…Luckily, the new year brings new friends—and as their dinner party of two expands, so do their feelings for each other!

The Summer Hikaru Died vol. 2 by Mokumokuren

Yoshiki tried to pretend nothing was wrong, but the truth cannot be ignored. Hikaru is gone. “Hikaru” is here. This new version is dangerous...or perhaps not? One thing’s for sure—Yoshiki doesn’t seem to be in harm’s way. In fact, “Hikaru” seems to want nothing more than to befriend and protect him. Despite Rie’s warnings, Yoshiki chooses to extend the hand of friendship, hoping it will help “Hikaru” become more human. But in doing so, what might Yoshiki become...?

CLAMP Premium Collection Tokyo Babylon vol. 1

Tokyo—a beautiful yet cold city, full of life and twinkling lights. There resides Subaru Sumeragi, the thirteenth head of his clan and a powerful onmyouji. Aided by his glamorous twin sister, Hokuto, and the veterinarian who claims to love him, Seishirou Sakurazuka, he solves the supernatural troubles that plague the citizens of Tokyo—both living and deceased!

Twilight Out of Focus vol. 3 by Jyanome

Three months after going from roommates to boyfriends, things are going well for cameraman Mao Tsuchiya and new addition to the drama club Hisashi Otomo—maybe too well. As the two try to find time for each other in their busy schedules, Mao begins to wonder if he’s keeping up his end of the relationship, or if he’s boring his more experienced partner. 

Things get even more complicated when the second year film club’s movie goes viral; suddenly, everyone wants a piece of Hisashi. As their individual paths diverge further apart, Mao and Hisashi must decide whether the ties that bind them together can stand the test of time, or whether their cinematic romance has met the end of the road.