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courtingchaos · 1 year ago

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Speeding

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Warnings: Cheating, sex, mean-ish reader

A/N: starting off, this isn’t my Gator from Shared Inflicted Pain. This is me trying to Frankenstein Fargo Gator together, though I’m probably still off 😂 anyways this is a little rough, a little sloppy, but it’s a prompt! It’s okay! Have fun!

Having to fuck your way out of a speeding ticket or a possession charge or something with gator (from that prompt ask from last week)

Red and blue lights flash off the tree line and the spotlight blinds you where it reflects in your rear view. You’ve been sitting here on the shoulder, both wrists draped over the steering wheel with your ID and insurance in hand. The muggy heat of the night creeps in from your rolled down windows, just incase whoever is pulling you over decides to ride your ass about your tint too.

The cruisers door closes and you can hear footsteps approaching your driver side. He comes into view slowly, his hand resting on his gun, thumb tapping the nylon of the holster. You don’t even need to look all the way up or make out his badge, the tilt of his hips telling you exactly who it is.

“I caught you doing 85 in a 40.” He bends down to look into your car, a few strands of his slick hair falling with his head tilt. “That sounds like you were tryin’ to get caught.”

The flat look he levels at you makes you smile big. “Well if it isn’t Sheriff Tillman! Didn’t know you were patrolling this particular stretch tonight.”

“Where you going in such a rush?” He ignores your comment and swings his ticket pad around so you can see it.

“Oh like you give a shit.” You snort and start to relax, dropping your hands into your lap. “Do we really need to do this little song and dance?”

“I should be arresting you.”

“Come on, you really need these?” You barely flash your drivers license at him and he’s reaching in to snatch them out of your hands. “Hey!”

“45 over!”

“Are you suddenly Mayberry’s finest? Seriously you’ve never actually written me a ticket.” Gator just shakes his head and laughs, wedging his penlight between his lips to shine on his notepad. “What, daddy on your ass about quotas or something?” You see his eyebrows knit and you can hear the huff he pushes out from his nose. “Oh that’s what it is, Roy’s disappointed.” You lean on your windowsill and prop you chin on your forearm, other hand freely dangling down your door. “Still not his favorite deputy?” A big frown pulls at your lips and you slowly reach out to hook a finger in his belt.

He’s annoyed. No longer writing your ticket but staring through the pad of paper as you tug on a pouch. “You’re my favorite deputy, though.”

“Don’t be a bitch.” He mumbles around his flashlight and starts writing again quickly. Your head shoots up and you pull yourself up and out of your window. “I’m not being a bitch!” You gasp, the hurt in your voice true. He was your favorite deputy and not just because he let you flirt your way out of umpteen tickets. “I’m serious!”

“Get back in the car.” He drops the light into his open palm and rips your ticket off to shove in your face. “Make sure you actually pay this on time, I won’t be the one to come get you otherwise.”

You snatch the ticket and your license and he immediately turns on his heel to walk back to his cruiser. “Gator!” You yell out the window and he doesn’t turn but you can see his shoulders all hunched up around his ears. There’s a minute where you sit in your car and contemplate speeding off, gravel kicking up into his headlights and making him chase you but you know it’ll just end in cuffs and not in a fun way. You listen to see if he’ll start his engine right away and when he doesn’t you roll your windows up and turn off your headlights, pushing your door open with a kick. That spotlight is still on your car so you can’t see into his windshield but you keep walking, shoving the ticket into your pocket.

“Get back in your fuckin’ car!” He yells out of his window. You ignore him and when you stop next to him he pretends like he can’t see you staring directly into his SUV.

“What are you upset about, huh?”

He pointedly ignores you now, instead looking over to his laptop dimly lighting up the front seat. You lean into the driver side, face close enough to his to smell his aftershave.

“I’m not upset, I need you to get in your car.” His jaw flexes when he clenches it and you laugh.

“Yes you are! I thought this was our little game? I speed around the county roads and you pretend to get all mad about it and be a ‘real sheriff’.” Your air quotes get his attention but the look he levels you with is dead weight. “You threaten me with a ticket, I bat my lashes, we get in the back of the cruiser.” You jerk your head towards his backseat with a slick grin. “What changed?”

That muscle still ticks along his jaw, especially when you drag a fingertip down it and flick up off the tip of his chin. “You got a girl now or something? Anyone I know?”

“No.”

“Oh then she doesn’t need to know I guess.”

He pushes your hand away from his face but keeps his eyes trained on you.

“I can keep secret.” You start to inch your way to the back door, waiting for him to unlock it. When you’re far enough back you watch him in the side mirror sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. A click from inside and you’ve got the door open, pulling yourself up and into the back, fingers weaving into the small holes of the partition. He gets out before you can open your mouth again, undoing his belt and tossing it in the front seat. He climbs into the back and shuts the door behind him, sliding into the middle of the bench seat. You don’t wait for him before you crowd him, swinging your knee over to straddle his lap.

You’re immediately working at his buttons while his hands find your hips. The small gold cross glints in the dark as you work your way down to pull the hem out his pants and he watches your fingers move smoothly to unbuttoning his pants.

His front pocket vibrates and you laugh. “Excited?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He digs his phone out and ignores the call before you can see who it is. You can’t even get his belt undone before it goes off again a moment later. He tries to toss it off the seat but you snatch it before it leaves his hand. The contact says Jess and her long hair gleams chestnut in the setting sun behind her, gold chain cross prominent around her neck, an obvious selfie sent with the intent of a contact photo.

“Is this her?” You flash the screen at him. His eyes flick to the phone still vibrating in your hand. “You might want to answer it before she calls you in.” You grin at his predicament and he snatches it back from you.

“Hey.” He answers, a flat tone to play at neutrality. Her voice comes through tinny, an immediate dive into a conversation that he won’t be paying attention to. You move with purpose, avoiding anything that would make a sound over the phone, a slow roll of your hips while you close in on his other side. Lips pressed to his warm ear that turns bright red under the tip of your tongue.

“Is this one Roy picked for you?” A whisper made of mostly breath and directed only to him. He stutters for a second before clearing his throat.

“No, I’m just…sorry I’m working on paperwork. Yeah, just lost track of time.”

You grab his earlobe with your teeth, a soft press before you pull a little. “Church leader? Something to do with the kids, right?” You run your tongue up over the shell of his ear before you trail kisses back down the side of his face. “She looks like a preschool teacher.” You giggle quietly, still firmly on the other side of his head. Fingers push up the hem of his shirt slowly, featherlight touch of your hand so you can keep him quiet.

“I got it. I know, he told me.” He sighs deep when you run your palm up his stomach but it’s not from pleasure. “Well why are you talking to him about that? No, it’s a valid question.” He snaps and there’s a change in the mood. “You don’t need to talk to my father about it!”

You refuse to let the church mouse ruin your good time. Gator sighs again and tries to sit up, tries to push you off his lap but you press your knees in and hold on. He shoots you a dark look and nods his head to the side like that would make you move, instead it just urges you back into the crook of his neck. You find those two moles under his jaw and start there, lips and teeth and tongue leading your way to his collar. Still quiet but no longer silent, you almost hope she catches a hint of a wet kiss against his neck through the phone.

You undo his belt slowly to avoid the clink and rub of the nylon and metal slide, he keeps arguing with Jess and you get his pants open. He’s close to pushing you off at this point but your hand getting in to grab him over his underwear makes him falter.

“L-look. I’m gonna call you on my break.”

You run your tongue up his flushed neck as you run your hand down his cock and he has to tip his phone away from his mouth, face pointed into the roof to catch his breath.

“Yes I will, I’m busy.”

“So busy.” You say and he turns his head enough that you can see the red circle to hang up. With one hand still in his pants you creep your other up and tap the screen once, cutting off his conversation. He stares at you and blinks slowly before clicking his tongue and dropping his phone.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of that.”

“Do you think she heard me?” You ask, leaning away and taking your hands off him.

“No, but it doesn’t matter, she’s gonna think I hung up on her.”

You start working on your own jeans. “Do you even give a shit?” He helps you when you struggle to pull them down your hips, his brows creased in thought. When your shoes and pants hit the floor you settle against him again and leave space so you can work him out of his underwear.

“If Roy’s picking them then why do you care?” You ask softly while wrapping both hands around his cock. He’s still a little soft but he throbs when you let a line of spit fall from your lips, collecting it in your palm to slide over the fat head of him. “Or do you actually prefer her?”

He won’t look up at you, just watches your hands working over him slowly, concentrated on something that isn’t your voice. “You can be stoic all you want, I’ll keep asking questions.”

“She’s fine.”

“Just fine?” You let fingers wander lower so you can grab his balls firmly. That earns you a pant that blows across your face and makes you smile. “Does she fuck you in your cruiser too? Right here?” You move both hands in tandem and he still won’t look up at you. He grips at the hem of your t-shirt and pulls it in his fists to wrap around his knuckles when you spit into your hand again.

“N-no.”

“Not even in the church storeroom?” You tut, palm rubbing over and over the sensitive underside of his cock. “No?” There’s a tremble in his breathing that tells you he’s loosing his focus on his anger, exactly what you were aiming for. “See, there’s the difference.” You speed up your hand, wet sound of your spit loud in his backseat. “I would.” He squeezes his eyes shut and whimpers through his nose, fists digging into your sides. “I do.” You can feel his balls tighten in your palm and you know your teasing should come to an end. He just looks so different like this, face twisted in pained pleasure in the dark. No shitty smirk or grimace on his face and you can actually see how handsome he is under all his stupid bravado.

From the front seat there’s a crackle of his radio, the station calling in to check on him. A line of codes you don’t know and then a pause.

“…Gator where are you?”

You let him go to slide your underwear over and before he can protest you guide him along your folds, already wet from your antagonizing. “Yeah Gator, where are you?” You rub the head of his cock against your clit and grin at him falling apart at the seams.

“Tillman? Jessie called and said you hung up on her.”

“Jessie?” You laugh and roll your hips against him more, slowly working him towards your entrance. He does look up at you then, his fingers leaving your shirt to dig into your soft hips.

“Gator…c’mon answer damnit, I don’t wanna have to call Roy.”

His cock finally catches and you push down in one swift move. He stretches you but it’s his jaw dropping and his cursing filling the air.

“Oh fuck fuck.”

“You better be dead in a ditch if we send someone out, asshole.”

You use the back of his neck for leverage, nails digging crescents into his hairline every time you roll your hips. Knees dig into the cloth seats, the feeling of rug burn already evident. There’s more radio talk and you can see that frustration shining in his eyes, that anger rolling back in when he drops your gaze.

“Don’t listen to that.” You grab his head between your palms and make it a point to drag your nails against his scalp. “Listen to me.” You pant through your smile at his rapt attention, slight nod under your hands. His phone vibrates against the cloth seat, ignored again in favor of keeping his eyes trained on yours. You can see that sunset photo bright until she hangs up again and you give him a shake to keep his eyes on yours.

“Look at me.” You’ve built a rhythm that he’s just along for, something he’s actually good at. He can follow instructions, just from the right teacher. You rock into him, thighs sweaty against his canvas pants, the cargo pockets digging into sensitive skin. The humidity in the backseat rivals the outdoors, the murmur of the radio mimicking the crickets outside in the tall grass. His jaw tenses before he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes tight again, forehead dipping down to hit your chest.

“Aw, Gator.” You coo and cradle the back of his head. “She doesn’t fuck you like this, huh?”

“No.” There’s a sob somewhere in his throat that he’s keeping down and you make it your goal to ride it out of him.

“You wanna cum inside me so bad, don’t you?”

“Fucking-please!”

“Who’s Jess?” You ask it right into his ear, fingers gripping his hair to pull his head to the side.

“Nobody.” He bucks up into you then, pulling your hips down to keep you against his lap. You clench around him when you feel him throb and that cry finally cracks his voice when he bursts. Still pressed into your chest, nuzzled into the underside of your jaw, this is better than any climax you could hope for in the back of a sheriffs car. He trembles under your hands and breaths heavy against your neck, a distinct wetness that you don’t draw attention to.

He doesn’t say anything in his afterglow. He stays leaned into you until you push him back against the seats and then he sits there looking lost.

“You okay?”

“Mm.” He feels blindly beside him till he hits his phone and flips it so he can see his screen. Another blank stare until he snaps out of it and taps your leg to get you off of him. He shoves his pants back up his hips and has the decency to gather your stuff off the floorboards for you before he jumps out of the back.

“Oh what, no goodnight kiss?” You laugh at him and he shuts the door in your face just to open the driver side to grab his radio. You listen to him call in and apologize, tell dispatch he was doing paperwork and fell asleep. When you’re dressed you make it a point to slam the door on your way out so it makes him grimace. He gives you a stare when you stand in front of his headlights and wait for him to finish.

That sweet begging he slides into when he’s close never lingers long, something you miss when he puts his sneer back on.

“Should I tell them we already handled the ticket?” You wave the paper in front of you like a white flag and he hastily puts his uniform to rights. He hitches his belt back in place and double checks his holster and hefts himself back into the driver seat.

“You can tell them whatever you want.”

It’s then that you actually look at the ticket for the first time and see his note.

Your backseat or mine?

#Gator Tillman Fic #Gator Tillman Smut #Gator Tillman x Reader #My Work #My Fic

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thepurpleprince · 7 months ago

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FARGO S2.E1 - Waiting for Dutch

In a small Minnesota town, a shooting at a diner disrupts the lives of a state officer, a married couple, and a North Dakota crime syndicate.

dir. Randall Einhorn, Michael Uppendahl

#fargo #fargo fx #fargoedit #fargo s2 #fargo season 2 #tvedit #tvgifs #cinematv #cinemapix #televisiongifs #tvandfilm #jokerous #dailytvfilmgifs #dailyflicks #tw blood #gifsedit #userdprplprnc

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safedistancefrombeingsmart · 2 years ago

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Martin Freeman being a BAMF Well, not really Martin himself but his characters. 🤓

Andy Rose (Cargo)

Thomas (The Operative)

Oliver Chamberlain (The World’s End)

Lester Nygaard (Fargo)

John Watson (Sherlock)

Bilbo Baggins (The Hobbit)

Phil Rask (StartUp)

Chris Carson (The Responder)

John Wat... oh again? Well, who cares...

Everett Ross (Black Panther)

Again thanks to my favorite Watsons @colourfulwatson & @xeniawatson for feeding me ideas and pointing me to the perfect scenes. 🥰

Fun fact: the Black Panther scene is the only scene where Martin shoots a gun and does NOT close his eyes. 😅

#martin freeman #john watson #everett ross #lester nygaard #bilbo baggins #sherlock bbc #the hobbits #my gfx #the responder #phil rask

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spookysteddie · 1 year ago

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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.

#Gator Tillman #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fargo #gatortillmanedit #gator tillman hurt #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x reader #fargo s5 #fargo fanfic #fargo season 5 #fargo spoilers

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onlydylanobrien · 25 days ago

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Becoming ‘SNL’: How the ‘Saturday Night’ Cast Captured the Magic of the Not Ready for Prime Time Players

TheWrap magazine: Nicholas Braun, Ella Hunt, Gabriel LaBelle, Kim Matula, Lamorne Morris, Dylan O’Brien and Matt Wood talk playing the most famous ensemble in TV history

In Jason Reitman’s “Saturday Night,” we meet the original Not Ready for Prime Time Players mere minutes before they revolutionize comedy — and television itself — with their live, late-night NBC variety show dreamed up by an inscrutable Canadian named Lorne Michaels. Buzzing with nervous energy, the film tick-tocks through the chaotic final 90 minutes before the first episode of “Saturday Night Live” (which at that point didn’t have the “Live” in its title) hits the air on October 11, 1975.

We see John Belushi (Matt Wood) and Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt) narrowly miss getting crushed by a falling studio light; Dan Aykroyd (Dylan O’Brien) flirt shamelessly with Laraine Newman (Emily Fairn); Jane Curtin (Kim Matula) and Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris, no relation) bond over feeling sidelined; and Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith) announce himself by falling over a trash can and boasting about his manhood. Adding to the mayhem are a beleaguered Jim Henson and an impish Andy Kaufman in full Foreign Man persona (Nicholas Braun plays both). And at the center of it all is Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle), maneuvering through the maelstrom of egos.

After reuniting for TheWrap cover shoot on a crisp fall day in Manhattan, LaBelle, Braun, Hunt, Matula, O’Brien, Smith, Wood and Morris — fresh off his Emmy win for “Fargo” — sat for a lively chat.

You play one of the most famous TV ensembles in history. How did you come together and bond as an ensemble yourselves?

LAMORNE MORRIS Should we say cast camp? [Group nods] You know, we don’t talk about cast camp because it’s a thing between us.

Oh, is it like Fight Club?

MORRIS [Laughs] Jason, in an effort to get everybody to feel more familial, it had to be a setting where we got rid of trailers. There were no separate spaces, really. We had our own little rooms, but they were all in this massive [open space] and we just hung out and played ping-pong and board games and watched TV, things like that. All ’70s-based, by the way. KIM MATULA And it was beautiful. Each room had its own theme. “SNL” was playing nonstop on the TV. Season 1. ELLA HUNT Yeah, it felt like “Groundhog Day” every time you turned up there. GABRIEL LABELLE Ultimately, we’re all in the same position of playing real people and we’re all working on the voice and the walk and we’re all together in that, sharing each other’s nerves and comparing notes. We’re all studying the same period of time so naturally, we just bonded in that.

Gabe, you mentioned how you all played real people. And these particular people are extremely famous. You can’t capture the totality of a person in a movie, especially in an ensemble of this size, so for each of you, what was the most important aspect of your character that you wanted to convey?

MORRIS I would say for Garrett, he told me he just wanted the audience to know that he didn’t quit. He really worked his ass off to become what [the other cast members] were already. He wasn’t a sketch writer. He was a playwright, and this was a medium of entertainment that he wasn’t familiar with. And so it took some time, but he figured it out. And there wasn’t a lot for me to do because Jason [and Gil Kenan] wrote it. It was there, the arc was already written. HUNT I think you’re underselling yourself there. MORRIS No, no, I won an Emmy. I’m good. I know I’m great. [Laughs] HUNT Your custodianship of Garrett, to me, was one of the most beautiful things to witness on this shoot. We have a scene together in the film that happens three quarters of the way through, where Gilda checks in with Garrett, and then he proceeds to share with her all of his many talents. And watching Lamorne, take after take, imbue Garrett further and further into the performance was giddying and really moving.

Who wants to follow that?

MATULA God, that’s a good answer. MATT WOOD [Sits up dramatically; speaks in a gravely, Belushi-ish voice] I guess I’ll talk. [Laughter] DYLAN O’BRIEN This is how Matt really sounds, by the way. MORRIS Go from here. [Pats Wood’s chest] From the heart. WOOD From the heart? OK. [Puts hand on heart] John. Because we’re doing this 90 minutes before the first show, we don’t have the pressure of needing to capture the full span of these people. And in regards to John, one of the most cool, beautiful, heartbreaking decisions in the movie is to put him at a little bit of a low. Big mood swings are very famous with him. This big, enigmatic figure that we all know as so boisterous and engaging — and he’s starting off in a pretty low place. A famous quote of John’s is, “My television is covered in spit,” just to explain to Lorne where he’s coming from. He doesn’t like the medium and he doesn’t trust these people. In this movie, we’re getting this cool opportunity to show that anarchic spirit, that brick wall that is Belushi. And something that Jason would always say to me on set if I was getting lost in the sauce is, “Hey, [Belushi] doesn’t give a f—.” And it’s like, right? He doesn’t give a f—, you know? That was a good north star to hang on to. LABELLE You had a great one, Kim, when you were talking to Jane. MATULA Oh, yeah. I was able to talk to Jane on the phone. The opportunity just presented itself to me, and I wasn’t going to turn it down. That would be nutter butter. [Laughter] CORY MICHAEL SMITH She just was Jane Curtin. MATULA I wanted to know how she felt being on that set, what her relationship was like with the rest of the cast. It was a boys’ club. There were men in the cast who were actively like, “Women are not funny.” If you wanted to really be seen, then you had to write it yourself. And she was not a writer, so she got thrown into this being like, Oh, they want me, so they’ll use me. But that ended up not being the case for her, and she felt like she really had to prove herself. But despite all of those things that were such a challenge, she also said that it was some of the most fun she’s ever, ever had. She said when she walked out onto the stage on show night, she could feel the buzz start from her feet and just radiate up through her body. Jane came from a background of commercials. She was the commercial queen. After a table read, Jason came up to me, and he was like, “Jane needs another moment.” And then two days before we shot the scene with me and Lamorne, he was like, “OK, I wrote this monologue for you. It’s this weird blend of commercials that she’s done, and you get to show the highs and lows.” It was one of my favorite scenes to shoot. I loved it. MORRIS First of all, I was impressed by her performance, but more so impressed by how fast because I’m memorizing the same scene. I’m working on the exact same scene, and then I get these new pages and I’m like, Oh, there’s no way she’s gonna pull this off. There’s no way. She’s gonna ruin the whole movie! [Laughs] There are moments where I’m just watching her and it’s my line and I’m like, Oh, s—. I gotta talk. HUNT For me, with Gilda, it was her empathy. We know her as this comedic gold — the vastness of her characters and her ability to shape-shift into little old ladies or children or whatever. But she had this magic ability to clock anyone in need in the room and check in with them and use every element of her being — whether it was flirtatiousness or kindness or a childlike naivety — to put them at ease. And that was just a beautiful thing to spend time sitting into. NICHOLAS BRAUN I’ll talk about Andy and Jim.

You had an extra challenge, playing two people. And Andy Kaufman has a quality of being unknowable.

BRAUN Yeah, he was more intimidating to play than Jim. They both have this lore around them, and they’re beloved. Andy was 25 at the time and Jim was 39, so I wanted to tap into [how] they’re going through super different things. Andy’s doing his first TV appearance of his career tonight. Jim already had “The Muppet Show” greenlit, and [“SNL”] was experimental. He was trying to show other levels of himself. So they’re both trying to prove things in completely different ways. With Andy, I wanted to have a certain wonder about him. I thought I’d do Andy’s normal voice, so I sent Jason a clip. It was Andy’s audition for the show. I was like, “I’m gonna work on this.” He was like, “I think you should do the Foreign Man voice.” [With Henson], I wanted to nail his voice, I wanted to nail his passion. I wanted to nail his feeling like an outcast, like he wasn’t a part of this thing. Jim is getting rejected by everyone there, so this is a tough night for him. He couldn’t write his own stuff. He was writing and creating the rest of his Muppet career, but the union thing was that the [“SNL”] writers upstairs had to write stuff, so his hands were tied. O’BRIEN With Dan [Aykroyd], what really struck me about him — especially him younger, which I was a lot less familiar with — was just how absurdly intelligent he was and precise in his improvisation and his cadence. And he possesses seemingly no insecurities. But he doesn’t dominate a space. He’s so not competitive in any way. He just has this really quiet confidence of knowing how fast he is. His screen test, I was so fascinated by it. That became fun homework for me. I always just used that as a little compass to try to train myself. And he really loved women. That’s in the movie. SMITH The Chevy that most people know and see in his films is: He has this outrageous confidence. He’s just so smooth, he’s so fast and he’s able to be goofy and still sexy because of this confidence. What I find so interesting in Jason’s script is that he gives [Chase] the same attributes of confidence from the very beginning. He walks into this film talking about his own…[pauses] appendage — you know, bragging about its size. He’s cocky, literally. But the thing is, he gained that confidence from his first season of “Saturday Night Live” and everything that came after it. The show was October 11, 1975. By December, he was on the cover of New York magazine. And so Jason wrote this arc about a young man who is born to be confident, born to have this amazing career, but there’s nothing underneath it. And someone like Milton Berle [played by J.K. Simmons], who is accomplished, who is the biggest name in television, can come around and say to him, “Kid, you’re a nobody.” And he can be swatted down and shattered in an instant. Chevy in 1985, that wouldn’t happen to him, but it does here. LABELLE One of the first things Jason told me about why he’s making this film is he wanted to show a group of young people who [are saying], “Just give me a chance to make something.” So what is that yearning for Lorne? He was dreaming about comedy since he was 14 years old. I didn’t talk to Lorne, but I wanted to imagine, OK, what’s that dreamer? What’s this person who just loves this so much? Why does he care about this project? And I think that was part of the relationships he formed with all of these people, his friends he invited to come on the show. I wanted to show how much he loves this brainchild of his and what’s at stake if it doesn’t happen and the responsibility he feels if he fails the people he loves.

For each of you, what is your favorite “SNL” sketch of all time?

MORRIS “More Cowbell.” There’s a bunch. That’s just one that I just threw out there. BRAUN Will Ferrell and Cheri Oteri cheerleaders. Anytime they did the cheerleaders. LABELLE I rehearsed that and performed that at recess in, like, Grade 5 all the time. I grew up on the best of Will Ferrell, Chris Farley. MATULA “Schweddy Balls.” SMITH Of Chevy’s, my favorite is the sketch called “Word Association.”

With Richard Pryor?

SMITH With Richard Pryor. It’s so great.

I don’t think that would even air today.

SMITH I don’t know. I mean, it was wild and risqué in 1975. MORRIS On “The Chappelle Show,” it could live. WOOD My favorite John sketch is “Little Chocolate Donuts.” I think that’s really sweet. “For breakfast every day, I have little chocolate donuts.” HUNT Favorite Gilda? Judy Miller. Her hopping around as a little girl. The moment she comes out of the closet as the French [queen] and bangs down on the bed is so glorious. O’BRIEN My favorite Aykroyd, I love Fred Garvin. We tried to squeeze it in the movie, [when I say], “I’m a strumpet.” He’s a male prostitute, but he’s a nerdy guy with, like, a sinus infection. He’s all blocked up. It’s really funny. HUNT So there you have it, folks.

Source: thewrap.com

#dylan o'brien #saturday night press #saturday night cast #gabriel labelle #matt wood #cory michael smith #ella hunt #kim matula #lamorne morris #nicholas braun

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gatheringbones · 1 year ago

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[“How do we, today, make the poor in America poor? In at least three ways. First, we exploit them. We constrain their choice and power in the labor market, the housing market, and the financial market, driving down wages while forcing the poor to overpay for housing and access to cash and credit. Those of us who are not poor benefit from these arrangements. Corporations benefit from worker exploitation, sure, but so do consumers who buy the cheap goods and services the working poor produce, and so do those of us directly or indirectly invested in the stock market. Landlords are not the only ones who benefit from housing exploitation; many homeowners do, too, their property values propped up by the collective effort to make housing scarce and expensive. The banking and payday lending industries profit from the financial exploitation of the poor, but so do those of us with free checking accounts at Bank of America or Wells Fargo, as those accounts are subsidized by billions of dollars in overdraft fees. If we burn coal, we get electricity, but we get sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxide and other airborne toxins, too. We can’t have the electricity without producing the pollution. Opulence in America works the same way. Someone bears the cost.

Second, we prioritize the subsidization of affluence over the alleviation of poverty. The United States could effectively end poverty in America tomorrow without increasing the deficit if it cracked down on corporations and families who cheat on their taxes, reallocating the newfound revenue to those most in need of it. Instead, we let the rich slide and give the most to those who have plenty already, creating a welfare state that heavily favors the upper class. And then our elected officials have the audacity—the shamelessness, really—to fabricate stories about poor people’s dependency on government aid and shoot down proposals to reduce poverty because they would cost too much. Glancing at the price tag of some program that would cut child poverty in half or give all Americans access to a doctor, they suck their teeth and ask, “But how can we afford it?” How can we afford it? What a sinful question. What a selfish, dishonest question, one asked as if the answer wasn’t staring us straight in the face. We could afford it if we allowed the IRS to do its job. We could afford it if the well-off among us took less from the government. We could afford it if we designed our welfare state to expand opportunity and not guard fortunes.

Third, we create prosperous and exclusive communities. And in doing so, we not only create neighborhoods with concentrated riches but also neighborhoods with concentrated despair—the externality of stockpiled opportunity. Wealth traps breed poverty traps. The concentration of affluence breeds more affluence, and the concentration of poverty, more poverty. To be poor is miserable, but to be poor and surrounded by poverty on all sides is a much deeper cut.Likewise, to be rich and surrounded by riches on all sides is a level of privilege of another order.

We need not be debt collectors or private prison wardens to play a role in producing poverty in America. We need only to vote yes on policies that lead to private opulence and public squalor and, with that opulence, build a life behind a wall that we tend and maintain. We may plaster our wall with Gadsden flags or rainbow flags, All Lives Matter signs or Black Lives Matter signs. The wall remains the wall, indifferent to our decorations.”]

matthew desmond, from poverty: by america, 2023

#Matthew desmond #currently reading #history stuff

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