#j. tillman

[bobdylan-n-jonimitchell]

Wilco “I Shall Be Released” featuring Robin Pecknold & J. Tillman (Father John Misty) [2008]—Alpha Mike Foxtrot: Rare Tracks (1994-2014).

#Wilco #Jeff Tweedy #I Shall Be Released #Robin Pecknold #J. Tillman #Father John Misty #Fleet Foxes #2008 #2000s #Alpha Mike Foxtrot: Rare Tracks 1994-2014 #2014 #Youtube #Bob Dylan & The Band #Bob Dylan #Cover #The Basement Tapes (1975)

[mistyjoshtillman]

Father John Misty photographed by Nicholas Ashe Bateman (2022)

#father john misty #josh tillman #joshua tillman #j. tillman #j tillman #nicholas ashe bateman #2022

[plakatierenverboten]

Kid Cudi: Young Lady

#kid cudi #young lady #father john misty #j. tillman #2018 music

[thebiggerthecushion]

Not enough J. Tillman content on here. All y’all care about is Father John Misty but he wrote 7 albums before he became FJM and u guys are SLEEPING ON THEM!!!!!

#j. tillman #father john misty #text post

[yesiwillyes]

like this is truly one of the best songs ever written

#j. tillman #audio

[ljones41]

Top Five Favorite Episodes of "BABYLON 5" (Season Three: "Point of No Return")

Below is a list of my top five (5) favorite episodes from Season Three (1995-1996) of "BABYLON 5". Created by J. Michael Straczynski, the series starred Bruce Boxleitner, Claudia Christian, Jerry Doyle and Mira Furlan:

TOP FIVE FAVORITE EPISODES OF "BABYLON 5" (SEASON THREE: "POINT OF NO RETURN")

1. (3.10) "Severed Dreams" - In this outstanding episode, President Clark of Earth Alliance tries to seize control of Babylon 5 by force, forcing station commander Captain John J. Sheridan and the command crew to take arms against their own government and initiating the Earth Civil War. The episode won the Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation in 1997.

2. (3.15) "Interludes and Examinations" - Captain Sheridan struggles to gather a force against the Shadows, when the Shadow War begins in earnest. Ambassador Londo Mollari looks forward to a reunion with a past lover, and Dr. Franklin falls further into his stims addiction.

3. (3.09) "Point of No Return" - When President Clark declares martial law throughout Earth Alliance, the command crew tries to stop Nightwatch from taking control of the station. Meanwhile, Ambassador Londo Mollari receives a prophecy from Emperor Turhan's widow when she visits the station.

4. (3.16-3.17) "War Without End" - This is a two-part episode in which the station's former commander, Jeffrey Sinclair, returns to participate in a mission vital to the future survival of Babylon 5 - traveling back in time to steal Babylon 4 and send it to the past.

5. (3.05) "Voices of Authority" - Commander Susan Ivanova and Ranger Marcus Cole search for more of the First Ones with the help of Draal, while Sheridan comes under the scrutiny of the Nightwatch and Babylon 5's new "political officer".

#babylon 5 #babylon 5 season 3 #j. michael straczynski #bruce boxleitner #claudia christian #jerry doyle #mira furlan #richard biggs #peter jurasik #andreas katsulas #stephen furst #jeff conway #bill mumy #patricia tillman #michael o'hare #bruce mcgill #phil morris #kim miyori #joshua cox #jason carter #ed wasser #walter koenig #rance howard #jennifer balgobin #marshall r. teague #vaughn armstrong #merrin dungey #lewis arquette #tim choate #time winters

[breakingcatbad]

Helplessness Blues

Hey there, lovely folks! Today, I just wanted to share some love for a little album called "Helplessness Blues" by Fleet Foxes. Over the past few years, this album has been incredibly important to me as I've transitioned from a young teen into early adulthood. I don't have a lot to say about it, but the lyrics have been incredibly meaningful to me as I've tried to find my place in the world. Romance, hope, and a lingering guilt over the debt owed to those above you are all things I heavily relate to. That feeling of wanting guidance rather than just living life, this album's lyrics capture it all. Plus, the album boasts some of the most gorgeous instrumentation I've ever heard. So yeah, that's basically it! I just really love this album.

#fleet foxes #spotify #robin pecknold #Guitar #Skyler Skjelset #Morgan Henderson #Christian Wargo #Casey Wescott #J Tillman #Craig Curran #Nicholas Peterson

[bitpartinyourlife]

Nu kommer det bli lite elakt och lite snällt om vartannat. Håll i er och häng med.

J. Tillman kallade sig en artist som var verksam under åren kring 00-talets början och 10-talets. Han spelade i Fleet Foxes och släppte ett gäng soloskivor på bolag som Bella Union. Jag var svårt ointresserad av hans typ av musik under den tid han var aktiv. Jag blev om möjligt ännu mindre intresserad när han återuppfann sig som den spjuveraktige Father John Misty sedan han tröttnat på den gravallvarliga singer-songwriterkostymen. Jag tilltalades varken av gravallvar eller pellejönseri där och då.

Men de senaste åren har jag faktiskt med jämna mellanrum snubblat över gamla J. Tillman-skivor med spruckna omslag i Myrornas och Stadsmissionens cd-lådor och inte kunnat hålla mig från att plocka upp dem. Och de låter faktiskt helt okej. Inte omskakande bra, det ska jag inte säga, men behagliga. Särskilt har jag fastnat för skivan “Long May You Run, J. Tillman”. Det är en skiva med ett och samma tonläge rakt igenom. Jag minns inte inte en enda enskild låt. Den är lite som ambient på det sättet. Trots att det är sång kan jag slå på den och stänga av, ägna mig åt annat, till och med läsning som jag annars har svårt att kombinera med musik med sång. En ljudtapet. En kuliss. En sprakande DVD-brasa, ungefär.

#Musik #J Tillman

[rustedhearts]

hunger (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve comes home from jail again with a certain hunger in his eye. but all hungry dogs have teeth that bite.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ but i love him to death ✶ main masterlist

tags: smut right out of the gate here, lads; mentions of suicide/thoughts of suicide; presence of knives + guns; this is essentially gator tillman; unprotected and kinda fucked up sex; toxic (borderline abusive) relationship

rural midwest. winter, 2007.

A beam of blue light fell over the tattered quilt holding your body: a lump under the covers, padded with layers meant to conserve warmth. A snowstorm beat against the windowpanes, bringing the darkness of the night to a hazy, fuzzy grey. Steve always liked how snow fell in the night—how it could turn even the darkest of hours to light.

He staggered into the room with slow, careful steps, watching the bed quilt rise and fall steadily over his shoulder as he dropped his items on the dresser. They used to give him plastic bags like all the other inmates—but when the door started rotating regularly for Steve, he just scooped his stuff from a plastic tub and went on his way.

Three pocketknives, a wallet falling apart at the seams stuffed full of cash and Playboy cards, a silver chain with a thick cross pendant, a lighter, and a silver bullet from a '76 Colt inherited from his daddy smudged with grease and dirt and whatever else might enter Steve's pocket. The bastards took his Menthols.

Steve wiggled out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor. He came undone, layer by layer, and pulled the cross over his head. He brought it to his lips and kissed it quietly before letting it fall to his chest. A couple nights, weeks—hell even a few hours—in the clink always brought him back to God.

And that's how you found him when you turned on your side: bare-chested in only a pair of plaid boxers. He had deep violet bruise on his left rib. The pink scar sliced over his right side shimmered in a silver light against the whiteness of the snow beaming through the drapes. His face was empty, but you knew what was going through his head.

"Steve."

He lifted his eyes, following your whisper to the bed. You peeled back the blankets on his side in invitation. He looked at the empty mattress space for a long while, then toward the cross above the bed. He swept a chapped palm over the top of his buzzed head and stepped forward, boots clunking heavily along the floor. The mattress jostled when he sank down, hunching to yank at his laces and kick his boots away.

You laid back, prepared to welcome him with a sweet, sleepy kiss hello—but he was slipping under the covers and crawling over you, a heavy weight pressing down and grabbing at your jaw with a firm hand. He pulled your head his way and swallowed your mouth with greedy tongue and nipping teeth. The taste of him, the prick of five o'clock shadow gathering around his mouth and along his chin, the stench of his car on his hands—it yanked you from slumber with as much force as Steve's hands pulling now.

Your panties first, twisted and tangled around your knees so he could fit his hand between your thighs. They were so warm and soft under the blankets, and he couldn't help the need to trap his wrist between them and shove two fingers in. You gasped against his mouth, sharp and white-breathed. He squished his other hand a little tighter around your cheeks, giving it a shake to shut you up.

He didn't want to talk. He never did.

The silver cross around his neck tapped into your chin with every push of his fingers in and out, bodies rocking together against the pull of his touch. He kissed when he could, sloppy and untimed. He huffed hot breaths into your open mouth when he couldn't, watching through a pair of bleary eyes as your face scrunched up.

You latched onto his arm when you were close, nails piercing warm skin. He slipped his fingers from between your legs and shoved your thighs apart, sitting back just far enough to let the covers slip down and uncover your bodies. Your panties were kicked somewhere toward the end of the bed now, t-shirt pushed up under your chin to pull your breasts into the cold. He pinched them your nipples peaked in the cold, but he was far too hungry to worry about waiting for you to stop shivering.

Steve plunged in: one rough push that catapulted you toward the headboard and knocked the cross against the wall. An elongated groan filled the room, hoarse and guttural and all Steve. He slipped his hand from your face down to your neck, where his thumb punctured the space against your windpipe and held it tightly in place. You tipped your chin up to tell him it was alright, and he lunged forward to collect your mouth again.

He gave short, rough little thrusts that had you squeaking against his mouth, teeth clinking and bumping together. He was making it known: this was not for pleasure.

This was for possession.

You were his. You were his when he went away, and you were always his when he came home. You were his in the cold, his in the heat, his when he thought about taking that pistol in the top of the closet and putting it between his eyes to put everyone out of their misery. His for all time.

His forever—even the day you'd eventually decide to leave.

Steve brought his hand back up to your jaw again, cupping it in his palm and digging his fingers into your cheeks. You pinched your eyes shut when the blunt edge of his nails scraped at your skin. Sputtering when his teeth sank into your neck, whining when he smacked his hand against your thigh and soothed it with the same heavy hand.

Oh, he loved you so terribly.

You came with a high-pitched squeal, and it was pathetic how you could've done so from just his rough huffing and manhandling alone. Steve on the other hand, was nowhere near done. And he pushed through all your squirming and whimpering, pulling your head back into place by your chin every time you tried to shy away. He watched heat swell in your face until sweat beaded at your head and neck, pooling in the crevice behind your knees. And when a tear dripped down your cheek, he licked it up with a hot mouth.

The salty taste of it on his tongue and the sound of your quiet whining had him convulsing between your legs. His hold weakened around your face, limply falling around your throat when he sank down and nuzzled into your neck. You took a moment to catch your breath, and then scratched at his scalp with your nails gently. Pressed a kiss to the top of his ear, pulsing and beat-red.

"Glad you're home," you whispered in the half-dark.

Steve lifted his hips until he slipped free, rolling onto his side of the bed with limp weight. He groaned as he shifted around, finally deciding on a side comfortable enough to close his eyes.

You fumbled for your panties under the bed and took them to the bathroom. You kept the light off.

✶ ✶

In the morning, you fixed Steve a hearty breakfast that warmed the kitchen with flour and bacon grease. He shuffled awake around ten o'clock. trudging into the kitchen with a scowl and puffy eyes. His cross gleamed in the white light of a snowy morning on his way to the cupboard.

"Morning," you murmured sweetly. "There's coffee on the warmer if you—"

But Steve was cracking open a can of Budweiser and gulping it down on his way toward the kitchen table, where piles of unopened mail addressed to him sat in heaps. Few envelopes were ripped apart on the other side, and Steve snatched at one that was undoubtedly addressed to him.

"Why'd you open this?" he grumbled, pulling the folded sheet of paper out.

You placed another spatula of bacon on a paper-towel lined plate and glanced his way. "It's the gas bill, Steve. I...I didn't know how long you'd be away this time, and I didn't want—"

"Does it have your fuckin' name on it?"

Heat swelled in your cheeks. You turned back to the skillet sizzling on the back burner. Clearly, there would be no sweet good morning kisses or a lull of quiet after such an intimate night.

Steve huffed, flicking the gas bill toward the end of the table. "Don't worry about shit that isn't yours to worry about."

You clicked the burner off and brought the plate of bacon to the table, setting it a little roughly in front of Steve. "I'll let them shut the gas off next time, Steve."

"Why d' you always gotta be fuckin' smart?" Steve scowled again, and you curled your fingers tight around the porcelain plate of pancakes you were carrying over.

"Do you want coffee?"

Steve sighed exasperatedly, snatching a piece of bacon and ripping the top bite off. "No, just—fine, whatever."

You poured two mugs and grabbed extra plates, bringing them to the table. You remained quiet as you sipped your coffee and stared at the remnants of mail on the wood.

"When's your court date?"

Steve tossed you a look, tossing more bacon on his plate. "You really wanna fuckin' talk about that?"

"Just want to be prepared," you explained, cupping your hands around the warmth of your mug.

"Again, not your business—"

"No, but it is my business Steve. You really don't think any of this affects me? Every time you go to jail, who do you think takes care of shit here?"

Steve turned in his chair, cocking his head. "Oh, so that's it? You think you're some big boss when I'm not here? That you run shit—"

"I didn't say that—"

"Let me tell you, sweetheart, you don't run shit. This is my house, this is my business—"

"Then maybe I should just go stay with my mom for a bit."

The proclamation hung there for a bit. You stared at the dark pool of coffee before you, and Steve dug holes into your head. He shifted in his chair and snatched at his beer, taking a loud swig of it before it slammed down again. He slapped a few pancakes onto his plate and wiggled his fork through the pile. Another tired sigh.

"Don't say stupid shit like that."

You picked at a piece of bacon and watched it crumble into bits. “She’s been wanting me to come home for a while.”

“Well that’s great,” Steve huffed, teeth scraping his fork as he wolfed down half a pancake. “How’s that supposed to make me feel?”

You dropped your chin into your hand on the table and shrugged. “Didn’t know you felt things, Steve.”

It was quiet a moment. The light above the sink buzzed behind you. You tapped your finger on your mug and swallowed. Steve worked at the pancake packed in his cheek with slow chews.

His chair flew back and clattered to the floor. You hurried to your feet and backed away toward the hall. Your tapping finger knocked over your mug of hot coffee in the commotion, browning the mail in a puddle. Steve reached for you in one large leap your way, but you sprinted to the bathroom and slammed the door.

From the other side, Steve’s stomps were thundering. The door rattled with his pounding, and you kept a hand firmly around the knob in case the lock didn’t hold.

“They’ll call the cops again, Steve!” You warned him.

“Open this fucking door,” he growled back.

“Fuck you—“

“Fuck you! Bitch,” he grumbled, kicking the door for good measure before his steps faded away.

You waited for them to find a place with your head against the tiled wall. They wandered for a while, pacing and rummaging. He slammed a few cabinets and threw a few things, grumbling as he went. He paused in front of the door after a noisy trip to the bedroom, and you pulled off the wall to stare at his shadow in the beam of light on the floor. Whatever he was going to say or do, he decided against, and stomped away. The front door slammed moments later.

✶ ✶

You did it. You packed a bag. Stuffed it full of clothes and all your necessary things—and then you stared at it on the end of the bed. The quilt had lost its color from all the washing. The pillows were limp and flat. The nightstand collected piles of dust around your things that never moved.

You packed a bag, but you couldn’t leave.

You laid down instead, crawling under the quilt with an aching need. The house ticked with a stilling silence. You watched the snow fall against a grey sky until it stung your eyes. You thought of digging out your diary from the box under the bed and reading all about your early days with Steve to remind you just why you should stay. But you knew you’d find a million more reasons to go. And the bed was so warm, and you were so tired.

Ironically, you just wanted Steve.

He came home as the sun was falling down, kicking the door shut with a quiet clamp. He came stomping into the bedroom with slow, meticulous steps. He was letting you know he was no longer angry. Every move came with a metallic clink from the zipper of his camo jacket and his half-closed pocketknife on his thigh.

The door chittered on its hinges when he nudged it open. You tried not to stir as he moved in closer. The bed dipped with the weight of him, tipping you off kilter.

“Got you these.”

The soft leg of a brown teddy bear touched your arm, and when you turned he was holding a pair of red roses. You accepted them gingerly, pressed onto your back. Steve gnawed on his bottom lip, pulling off a string of skin. The tops of his ears were nipped raw by the wind, cheeks rosy from the cold. He had a new scrape on his left knuckle over the inked cross.

“Didn’t mean to call you a bitch, baby,” he mumbled, scratching at his scalp. “You just…you really fuckin’ get me goin’, you know? You-you piss me off.”

You played with the tiny soft ear on the teddy bear, heart pulsing in your throat. “Sorry.”

Steve sighed, pulling at a loose thread in the quilt near your arm. “Just don’t go, honey. Y’ can’t leave me. Okay?”

You glanced at him, holding the teddy bear on your hip. “Okay.”

The hiss of snow tapping at the glass filled the quiet of the room in the lull. You reached out and placed your hand on his arm, thumb stroking the head of the serpent scaling his thick limb. He watched you all the while, sucking the blood pooling from the broken skin of his lip.

“Got the court thing sorted out. Don’t want you worrying.”

You glanced up at him again, nodding. Getting it “sorted out” meant he paid someone off. There seemed to be an agreement between Steve and the officers that knew him well.

“Okay…wanna lay with me?”

His eyes darted around the bed. His boots were still on, camo jacket unzipped. He smelled like new Menthols, and you could see the outline of a pack in one of his thigh pockets.

“For a minute,” he said, laying back on the pillows beside you. “Gotta take care of some business tonight.”

He tucked his hands behind his head and you curled into his side. You didn’t even mind that he didn’t hold you—he was here, breathing beneath you, warm and tender, and that was all that mattered.

You were his. Every time, no matter what.

#rolly! #steve harrington #gator tillman #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem!reader #joe keery #steve harrington au #steve harrington blurb #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fanfiction

[joshlmbrt]

I Would Still Be Surprised I Could Find You In Any Life. g. tillman x reader.

w; this can be as a stand-alone or part of a mini-series, gator (although oc), mentions of roy, gator being angry - but he’s not used to asking for help, ivy being the cutest and trying to help her daddy around, gator is blind, speaks about that day, anxiety - also yes, dot will be mentioned

an; like i said, this can be a stand alone or read with the mini-series that is linked! @keerygal had requested this & i wanted to do something like this! hope u all enjoy! <333

NOVEMBER 15th, 2022

You feel a hand clasp yours, gripping softly. Your eyes cut over to Dot who gives you a smile. “There’s no need to be nervous.” She whispers.

“I know,” You flush, shaking your head a bit. “I’m just… I don’t know, we moved because I didn’t want Ivy around there anymore, ‘ya know? And now, Gator needs to learn his way around. He doesn’t ever ask for help anymore.”

She drops your hand and rubs your arm, gripping your bicep this time. “He’ll be okay,” She nods, her voice reassuring. “I’m sure of it.”

“Thanks for comin’ with me.” You nod, quickly looking over at the door that swings open. It was only a guard. Dot and you had gotten closer, became best friends really - had brunch on Sundays, went out on mini trips, and Scotty treated Ivy like her own little sister (which kept making her ask Dot when her and Wayne was going to give her a brother or sister).

The door opens again and your head quickly turns towards the sound. Your lip quivers when you see Gator - the tip of his finger dragging against the wall trying to be discreet, feet nervously inching out across the linoleum floor.

His hair had grown, you knew he would be making you cut it as soon as possible because it was too long for his liking. And the ugly orange jumpsuit had been traded for some clothes you had dropped off the day before.

You glance over at Dot who gives you a nod and smile. You walk away and towards Gator, grabbing his hand softly. His hand grips yours, head slightly tilted down before turning.

Your eyes look over his features, the scar that had been carved into his face over his eyebrow. His left eye had suffered the worst - the milky white orb covering the mossy green being proof. His right still had the color, but only duller.

He says your name softly, hand traveling up your arm. You let out a small, quiet sob, wrapping your arms around his neck, hand traveling into his soft locks and tangling into the hair.

“Hi, handsome,” There’s a part of you that wants to stay there and hold him, but the looks on the passing officers and guards has you pulling back, hands cupping over his stubbly cheeks. “Ready to go home?”

✦

Ivy’s head pops up from the coloring book, a gasp leaving her throat as she stands, running towards where you and Gator had stood. Her arms circle around his legs.

“Daddy! You’re home!”

His hand lands on the top of her head as he nods. Your hand lands on his shoulder softly, smiling as you look between the two.

“Mommy has to show you around!” She pulls back giggling.

“Baby, we already talked about this,” You kneel down. “Daddy has to have-”

“Yeah,” He quickly cuts you off. You stare up at him, his fingers grip the skinny mobility cane. “Show me around.”

You glance back at Dot who only nods, eyes landing on Scotty. “Come on, Scotty. I think Dad is finished with dinner.”

Scotty stands and nods, walking towards you and gives you a hug when you stand. She was almost as tall as you now. She walks past Dot.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” You say. She simply sends you smile and another nod, shutting the door behind her. You past Gator, a hand on his bicep, and lock the door quickly.

“Alright, hun. Go clean up, okay? I’ll start showin’ daddy around.”

Ivy nods, turning quickly to pick up some toys and crayons she had left in the floor. Your hand hadn’t left Gator’s arm, tugging him along.

“There’s a corner here,” You say, watching as his hand lifts and slides across the wall. “So just be careful when you-”

“Yeah, I got it.” He nods. You stare at the side of his face, before looking away quickly.

“Right now, we are standing-”

“In the kitchen.” He nods.

“How…” You pause, worried of asking the wrong thing. “h-how do you know?”

“The vibration from the refrigerator,” His hand lands on the door. “We don’t go dumb after.” He mumbles.

“No… No, that’s not what I-” Your hand comes up and scratches at your throat when you feel a knot form, shaking your head. Your fingers rest against your quickening pulse. “Uhm, I…I printed off some small braille stickers and put them on the cabinets.” Your hand softly grabs his, leading him towards one, lifting his finger towards the writing.

“I could’ve just opened a cabinet and felt what was inside.” He states.

“I-I know. I just thought maybe this would be easier that way you won’t get frustrated,” You stare at his face. You’re lucky he can’t see the tears that are forming in your eyes from how snappy he’s being. “I get you don’t like asking for help, Gator… And I’m sorry this is how-”

“No. No, you don’t get it,” He snaps. “People treat me differently now just because of what happened. Even Roy does - and it’s strange hearing how he treats me like a child now and never did when I was an actual child who wanted his attention. You don’t know what I’m feeling. And you won’t ever know unless a man kidnaps you, tortures you for hours on end, and burns your eyes.”

“Gator, I’m not trying-”

“I don’t care what you are trying to do,” He shakes his head. “I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling even more useless than I was before.”

“You were never useless, Gator.” You shake your head.

“Roy tells me different.”

“Yeah, well, Roy is a coward. He couldn’t even-”

“Do not speak about him like that.” You scoff. Roy was still filling his head with little things that had Gator hanging on - maybe it was just because he hoped one day that Roy would feel an ounce of love and happiness, being proud, that Gator was his son.

Just like Gator had felt for his father. Even after all the ugly truth, he still loved and cared for the man.

“Yeah, well your father gave me a concussion,” His lips part - he didn’t know that. You’d never told him, you didn’t want him to know. “Your father beat me until I was unconscious, locked me in our house, and took Ivy from her room. Your father, Gator, hurt people. Hurt you. Killed people. Left us for… dead, really, and yet you still defend him,” You step closer. “Maybe I’m tired of hearing you defend the man who should’ve been shot and killed. Left down in his little hide out where his body could rot.”

You watch the clench in his jaw, the grip on his mobility cane tightens again.

“I’m glad he’s rotting in prison.” That’s all you say, walking past him and out of the kitchen.

He stands there quietly, chin tilted down to his chest.

✦

“Are you okay, Mommy?” Ivy snuggles deeper into her covers that you tuck her into.

“Of course, baby. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her small hand lifts and wipes off a tear that had slipped past your eye and to your cheek. “You had a tear.”

You stare at her tiny finger before wiping it off. “Mommy’s okay. Just tired.” You give her a small smile. Her hand lifts and rests against your cheek.

Your smile grows a bit more. “I love you, mommy.”

Your hand grabs her small one, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it before a kiss to her forehead. You tap her nose. “I love you, pumpkin. Nightlight?”

She nods, long lashes fluttering as she yawns. You get a quick whiff of her bubblegum toothpaste. You stand, fixing her teddy bear by her side, flipping the nightlight on and the lights off, the room being casted in a warm pink.

You watch as she rolls over, snuggling into the bear. You leave the door open a tiny bit before walking into the shared bedroom, mentally preparing yourself outside the door.

You step in, closing the door and walking towards your dresser, pulling out one of Gator’s old shirts, slipping out of your day clothes and slipping the shirt on. After finishing your routine, you slip into bed, back facing Gator.

His back was against the headboard, the light from the side making his temple pound. He fumbles around for the switch, cursing when he can’t find it.

He feels your hand pull his away, flipping the light off. “Almost knocked over some glass,” You say. “Sorry.” You pull away and he’s cold. He feels the bed shift and hears the covers ruffle as you pull them up.

“I’m sorry,” He says quietly. “I…I didn’t mean to snap at ‘ya like that. You don’t deserve it. None of it,” He shakes his head to himself. “I j-just didn’t know if you were still… if you still cared for me, so it was a lot at one time. Hearin’ you say you bought me those little… bumpy words-”

“Braille.” You correct him. He didn’t even think that you were even listening.

“Braille,” He echos, nodding. “And… the teacher you hired to come in to teach me in jail - that surprised me really. They called me in one day and I thought it was you visitin’ me,” He chuckles a bit, his finger picking at the skin around his fingernails. Your hand lands on top of his and he immediately stops.

“I thought I wouldn’t have to ask for any help,” His voice quivers and he clears his throat. “I don’t want to be burden to anyone.”

He feels the bed shift and your arm brush against his. He then feels the softness of your fingertips trail down his cheek. “You’re not a burden. I don’t want you to think that.” “It’s kind of hard when it’s been hardwired into your brain,” He feels your finger swipe under his eye and he flinches a bit - he’s not sure how awful he looks. He wants to cover up and live somewhere by himself where others won’t look at him like he’s a monster when he can’t even see how monstrous he looks himself. “And, I guess, feeling how much you actually love and care for me threw me off in a way because I thought you would realize how much of a disappointment I really am.”

“Gator, honey,” Both hands cup his face and he can feel your stare on his face. He wants to hide again. “Nothing, and I mean, nothing could change about how I feel about you. I’ve told you that before. I wouldn’t lie to you. You are not a disappointment, at all,” He feels your forehead land softly on his, the pads of your thumbs rubbing comforting circles on his temple.

“Ivy and I love you so so much. We are going to be with you for a long time, Tillman. You’re just gonna have to get used to it again.”

The corners of his lips tuck upwards slightly, hands twitching and moving hesitantly towards your face. His fingers trace over your cheekbone, brows pinching together.

“Sometimes I’m scared that I’ll forget what you’ll look like,” He whispers. His thumb flattens and drags under your eye softly. “But then I’ll have a dream of you.”

Your eyes burn, nodding slightly against his forehead before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His finger traces along a scar near your eyebrow.

“That’s new. What happened?”

You chew the inside of your cheek before saying, “Roy.” That’s all the explanation you give. If he asks further, you’ll tell him. But for now, it’s just you two your own small little world.

He nods slightly, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek. The tip of his nose traces along the slope of yours slowly, his lips pressing against the space between your brows.

He lingers there for a while before pulling away. “Can you hold me?”

You say nothing, shifting under the covers and lying back against the pillows and pull him by his arm. His head lands on your chest, your fingers tracing up and down his back softly, your lips landing on the top of his head. “I want to stay like this.” He whispers.

You smile softly, nodding. “Me too.”

“I love you.” His hand grips at your side, his face hiding in your neck, nose nudging at the skin, warm puffs of breath hitting.

You kiss his temple. “I love you, handsome.”

gator tags; @officerrrfriendly, @halflifejess, @whisperingwillowxox, @alltoomay, @aliensufo, @marrowfrog00

some moots; @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @bimbobaggins69, @stevesxyellowxsweater, @starksbabie, @southerngothicchic, @tillmania, @mrprettywhenhecries, @yourfavoritewitchbitch, @reidsbtch, @s6raphic, @keeksandgigz

thank you for reading! reblogs, comments, likes, requests, & feedback is always encouraged, welcomed, & deeply appreciated! 🍓

divider by; @/saradika !!!

#cherry writes ✿ #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman angst #joe keery x reader

[kingslimeball]

Just for you

Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

Requested by; anonymous

Contents; Angst, Fluff, Established relationship

Summary; Gator finds out that his girlfriend was mugged and is assigned to the case.

Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman. With a girlfriend? That seems rather impossible to most, especially his father, the sherrif, Roy. But it's true. Y/n is her name. Gator met her on a failed mission. Roy had sent him purely for one job. Don't fuck up. That all went straight out the window when he saw her.

Gator just knew he had to have her. It was a quick decision. The easiest one of his life. He's always so very confident, but when he approached her a second time to ask her out, he panicked. He just stared at her with his mouth gaping slightly. She looked rather confused and had to pull him from his thoughts. Eventually, of course, he had asked her out. She had said yes.

Gator thinks the world of her, but he has a tendency to snap. He's never been in a relationship long enough to know what he's like or what to fix. If he even could fix it.

The last time they saw each other, she had come back with Gator and Roy to theirs. Roy is always so sceptical of them both, but he always leaves them alone. They had an argument. A petty one at that. Gator had wanted to have sex with her, but Y/n didn't want to disrespect Roy. To Gator, that just means she "doesn't love him," of which he had all wrong.

The night ended with Y/n leaving at around 11 pm. It was dark out, and Gator didn't like letting her leave, but he was too stubborn to stop her.

Gator heads into work with Roy. He has been rather quiet since last night, wondering if Roy heard them arguing. He leans against the wall while Roy sits at his desk. A moment of silence falls, and Roy looks at Gator like he's done something wrong. The usual look.

"Why are you just standin' there?" Roy questions, staring intensely at Gator.

"I got nothin' to do." Gator replies with a shrug, as if it should be obvious.

"Yes, you have. I told you about a call for a mugging during the drive here. Were you not listenin' to me?" Roy replies.

"I–" Gator can't find a response. He stares at Roy and looks away. "I weren't." He finally admits. Gator slowly looks back at Roy. There's a moment of silence again. Roy looks frustrated with his disappointment look this time.

"What do you expect me to say? Go!" Roy commands before looking back at his work.

Gator tries to leave, but Roy's voice stops him.

"Are you forgetting something?" Roy calls calmly from his seat. He gestures to the case file on his desk. Gator huffs and storms back over, swipes it off the table, and leaves in a tantrum.

Gator gets into the truck outside. Skimming through the case file as if it's unimportant, his skimming falters when he reads one name. Y/n L/n. She was the one who got mugged last night.

Gator tosses the file aside. He stares at the steering wheel, his breathing gradually picking up. He's frustrated, not only with whoever did it but with himself, too. He thinks about how he let her leave last night. What if he had stopped her? He could've prevented this. Gator's emotions spill over, and he hits the steering wheel in frustration, the car horn going off.

Driving to the scene in a lightning fast time, Gator doesn't know what he will say or do. He just knows he needs to get there. Get there. Find her. Make sure she's safe. He knows where to find Y/n's house by now. He's driven there many times. Many times. He pulls over outside and gets out.

Dammit. Some other cops beat him to it. No surprise there. There's a cop crouched down by Y/n's side as she sits on the steps of her porch. And Y/n is– crying. Not just crying, but having a full-blown panic attack. Gator's frustration dies down. He just feels guilty.

He's over there like a moth to a flame. He pushes the cop out of the way by his shoulder and takes his place, kneeling down in front of her. "What the f–" He hears behind him. But he takes no notice. It's just him and Y/n right now.

"Hey, hey, look at me, gorgeous." Gator says, his tone as gentle as he can make it. Y/n's eyes move from her lap to Gator. Her breathing is heavy and shaky so a reply would be a struggle.

Gator takes Y/n's hands and puts them on his cheeks, letting his own cover hers. He shuffles ever so closer.

"Deep breaths, okay, baby? Listen to my voice. Focus on me." Gator lowers his voice, trying to sound gentler. It's not often he speaks like this, so he has to physically try, as worrying as that sounds. Y/n just nods along through her tears. Gator breathes along with her, a deep one in, then a deep one out.

"Good girl. I didn't mean anythin' I said last night. I should've kept you safe, and for that, I'm gonna find who did this, okay? I promise ya, I will." Gator promises. Y/n nods as she starts to calm down.

"I won't get a good night's sleep until I've solved this." He adds, taking a hand from hers to gently caress her cheek as her breathing calms down. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Y/n speaks up while she dries her eyes. She moves forward into Gator's arms, and he holds her like that for a long while. Gator gently rubs her back and keeps her close, not wanting to let her go again.

Over the few days, Gator works on making it up to Y/n and also trying to find whoever mugged her. As the days pass, it's proving to be harder than Gator thought. Much harder. Every day that Gator sees her and says he hasn't found him upsets Y/n. It makes Gator feel worse that he can't do this for her. This one thing.

Gator sits on the edge of his bed, music blasting in his ears. He just stares at the wall, hoping he'll have some kind of epiphany. But nothing comes. All he can think of is the look on Y/n's face when he says he can't help her.

"Fuck... I'm so useless." Slips from Gator's lips without thinking. He leans his head into his hands. Y/n is the one person in his life who doesn't entirely think that he's an asshole. Just this one person who needs something. He's disappointed in himself, but to a very high extent.

When Gator wakes up the next morning after chugging some whiskey, through the splitting hangover, he cracks it. He sits up in a flash but quickly winces at the pain. He scrambles out of bed and heads out, putting on his jacket as he goes. He's barely got a clear head, but it's enough to finally do something right.

That night, he knocks at Y/n's door. He's triumphant. He's excited. He had good news, for once. But Y/n doesn't come to the door.

Gator waits a little longer, getting impatient very quickly. He bends down and peeks through the letterbox. The lights are on, so why isn't she here?

Gator walks around the front of the small house to the side, where he looks through the window into the lounge. There, Y/n is – asleep in an armchair. Gator doesn't quite know what to do, so he just repeatedly taps on the window, hoping that will be enough.

It seems to do the job, and Y/n stirs and eventually looks to see her boyfriend outside. He is just staring at her, which is a rather strange sight to wake up to, but she smiles, no doubt. Y/n rises and walks over to open the window.

"Was you watching me sleep?" Y/n asks, teasingly.

"No, no. I just came to talk to ya." Gator replies, unable to stop a smirk. It's clear it's about something good.

"Come in, then." Y/n replies. She steps aside and lets Gator crawl in through the window, supporting him when he stumbles through.

Gator wraps his arms around Y/n and kisses her. He pulls back and looks down into her eyes. He brushes his thumb over her cheek.

"I got the guy who did it." Gator says, breaking the silence. There's no more to explain. She knows what he means, of course. Y/n's face lights up.

"You did? Oh, thank you so much." Y/n's voice quivers as she wraps her arms around Gator's torso and buries her face into Gator's chest. Gator just stands there with his arms around her, not quite knowing what to do except rub her back.

"I told you I would do this for you, baby." Gator replies. "Just for you."

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman #gator tillman x fem!reader #joe keery

[morbidology]

On the 25th wedding anniversary of Harry and Harriette Moore, celebrated on Christmas Day 1951 in Mims, Florida, the couple, prominent civil rights activists, unknowingly became the first martyrs of the early civil rights movement in the United States.

In 1934, Harry established the Brevard County, Florida, chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). The NAACP, under Harry's leadership, advocated for equal pay for teachers of all races, challenged segregation in lunchrooms, and worked towards registering voters of color in the region.

Despite facing opposition, they achieved some success during the burgeoning civil rights movement, witnessing an increase in voters of color in Florida during the late 1940s. However, their activism cost them their jobs at the school where they both worked. The 1940s and early 1950s saw rising racism and violence in Orange County, with the Ku Klux Klan gaining influence and becoming increasingly aggressive.

On that Christmas evening, Harry and Harriette celebrated their anniversary with family. Around 10:15 PM, after a joyful day, they retired to bed. Moments later, an explosive blast rocked their home, as 3 pounds of dynamite had been planted under their bedroom floor. The force of the explosion destroyed the bedroom, shredded the front porch, and left the house's frame in ruins. Harry succumbed to injuries on the way to Stanford hospital in a relative's Buick, the nearest hospital that treated people of color. Nine days later, Harriette passed away due to severe internal injuries, witnessing her husband's burial before her death.

When the police arrived, a sniffer dog led them to Dixie Highway, abruptly stopping without yielding further clues. Sheriff H.T. Williams found footprints at the scene, but they were compromised as he walked through them. Officially unsolved, FBI documents suggest the Orange County Ku Klux Klan's involvement. Four high-ranking Klan members—Earl J. Brooklyn, Tillman H. Belvin, Joseph Cox, and Edward L. Spivey—were identified as suspects. Despite evidence against them, no arrests were made, and all four suspects have since passed away.

#civil rights #history #true crime

[thebiggerthecushion]

There are seven states across / I’ll never see the ending of while I am young / Before they take my legs

#J. Tillman #father john misty #Youtube #link #music #song #fav

[stevenose]

babyyyyyy, I'd be a menace on those Minnesota streets flashing my titties at Sheriff Tillman when his car rolls by just so he'll slap those cuffs on me and take me in for public indecency or whatever. I want him to rail me in the backseat, on the hood where ever the hell he wants as long as i'm getting piped and he's mean about it

“you think you’re funny?”

you can’t breathe. he’s got you pinned face down on his desk, your cuffed hands behind your back. they hurt from the weight on him, but you don’t care. he feels so fucking good.

“you stupid fucking whore,” he spits, pulling your hair til you cry out, hips slamming into your ass. “want - want a fuckin’ p-public indecency charge j… just so you can get fucked on my cock, huh?”

“uh-huh.” it’s punched out of you.

“givin’ you the fuckin’ ticket,” he sneers. “you can pay for it with this tight pussy.”

you moan and thrust your hips back. gator growls, tangles his hand further into your hair and pulls, biting into your neck the second it’s in his view. “don’t even care, huh? don’t - don’t even wanna be reformed, do ya?”

“you,” you stutter. “you reform me.”

“that what you want? fine,” he huffs. “i can get real mean about it, baby.”

#stevenose posts #ns/fw #🐊 #i’m criminal for him.

[fashionbooksmilano]

Ice cold. A Hip-Hop Jewelry History

Vikki Tobak 

Text by Slick Rick, ASAP Ferg, LL COOL J, Kevin”Coach K”Lee, Pierre “P” Thomas

Taschen, Cologne 2022 ,388 pages, Hardcover, English edition with German and French translation as download, 25 x 34 cm, ISBN  9783836584975

euro 80,00

email if you want to buy [email protected]

“Ice Cold: A Hip-Hop jewelry history" presents the bling culture of rappers and their jewelry. Using 40 years of iconic imagery and compelling stories, this visual history shines a light on the world of hip-hop, where mega stars from Run-DMC to Tupac and Jay-Z to Migos and Cardi B flash brilliant custom pieces to show status and personal style.  Ice Cold is a treasure trove of dazzling, inspirational style, featuring the work of leading photographers, including Wolfgang Tillmans, Janette Beckman, Jamel Shabazz, Timothy White, Gillian Laub, David LaChapelle, Danny Clinch, Chris Buck, Mike Miller, Phil Knott, Raven B. Varona, Al Pereira, Albert Watson and many more.

24/04/23

orders to:     [email protected]

ordini a:        [email protected]

twitter:          fashionbooksmilano

instagram:   fashionbooksmilano, designbooksmilano tumblr:          fashionbooksmilano, designbooksmilano

#Ice cold #Hip-Hop Jewelry History #rappers & their jewelry #Run-DMC #Tupac #Jay-Z #Wolfgang Tillmans #David LaChapelle #Albert Watson #jewelry books #photography books #fashion books #fashionbooksmilano

[youthereader]

masterlist.

cillian murphy

emmett (a quiet place ii) emmett breeds you. - Emmett goes feral whenever he’s inside you.

j. robert oppenheimer near zero - brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

other

chris evans

andy barber (defending jacob) andy bends you over his desk. - andy reprimands you for wearing an inappropriate skirt at work.

joe keery

gator tillman (fargo) gator blackmails you. - to avoid arrest, you do something for gator.

ao3

#masterlist #can't be bothered to make this look cute rn lol