#fargo season one

[mediademon]

Fargo

Season 1 (2014)

[apazmackpie]

TW: Light blood

Blood & Desperation - Lester Nygaard

[pocket-notebook]

Mmm. Long time no see wonderful Tumblr community. While I haven't been active on here, I HAVE been active with making art. Specifically.....

Crossing over the stop motion puppet animation show Moral Orel with season 1 of the live action crime drama show Fargo by making PUPPET LESTER NYGAARD!

My friend @lester-nygaard and I have had this insane crossover idea of these two shows. And I knew in that moment of beautiful fandom creation, months before, that I had the perfect birthday present idea.

And now I've got the itch for it.... so if there is anyone else as insane as me and my friend about this idea... I wouldn't say no to making another

Sometimes you can make the coat, sometimes you can fly the plane, sometimes....just sometimes you can make the puppet ("puppet").

[lornemalvo]

♰ ‧˚₊ Ⳋ᧙

[peculiaritybending]

Why does he do that with his jacket four times that’s so funny.

[nonsensicalcomics]

Something, red tide, something, wolves, something or another

[apazwtsn]

Heck.

Tiny Lester in my school folder!!

[alizaisfine]

[hidrep]

part 1

[reheatedcoffe]

I miss him so much

[wroteclassicaly]

Like A Wildflower

Gator Tillman x Plus size!female reader

Summary: Unpredictable things, they tend to fall apart…

Wordcount: 1,821

Warnings: Language, smut, vaginal sex, hurt/no comfort, anxiety, mentions panic, self-esteem issues, insecurities/body insecurities, Gator is a bit of an ass, and a secret relationship.

A/N: Sooooo, this is pretty self-indulgent. It’s a lot different than some things I’ve written. I wanted to try a different perspective/one of my opinions on how Gator would be in a relationship like this. Obvs. I cannon him loving bigger girlies (even when my self-esteem says no sometimes), but I wanted to explore one of the very accurate ways he could react to the situation. I was mega inspired tonight, what can I say?

This fic was intense, and I had two songs I used to inspire me whilst writing this. One of them is Wildflower by Billie Eilish. Which… I know the lyrics aren’t at all aligned with this situation (I know the song’s meaning), but I just love it so much and it resonated with me for this story in some different way. Let me know if you’re interested in part 2 (that would be partially from Gator’s POV)? One last thing, I hope those who read enjoy this, that it makes sense, you know?

The girlies who know, they know. Right? ❤️ It brought me a lot of comfort and self-strength, and I nearly cried writing it, so I guess that’s something? Anyways, if you got through this long ass author’s note - Gator loves you and so do I! Enjoy! - Kristen 💐

Gripping the leather above him, it crunches beneath your fingertips - indents, perspired palm print left behind. His dark hair is uncoiled, strewn about his side shaved head. You give it a grip in your spare, his neck rolling with your guided motion, tendons made to stand out, jugular constricting around a vice inhalation. You feel the panting hot breath hit your cheek before his nose nudges your ear.

“Holy Christ,” he stammers.

You hear the sounds of his boots arching by a crunched, worn heel, helping him bounce them, pushing his muscular thighs into a guiding assistance. His massive paws find your overflowing waist, squeezing. And with teeth clenched, Gator Tillman unravels, scatters into your airspace. With darting eyes left towards the ceiling, you’re pulling back just enough to see his tongue slick across those pearly white teeth. His mouth is smeared red, marked clean with your lipstick.

Making a map is what you find yourself doing next, digging into the tense muscles at his nape, only to push his jacket off his shoulder, bending to nose your way into his t-shirt. He bucks in between your legs the moment your lips find that constellation spattered skin, damp from a day’s musk and fading cologne spices. So warm… So Gator…

His head slams into the rest, fingers digging painfully into the bunched dress around your waist. A gone, honey soaked rasp. “Shiiit,” he’s whining. “you’re so fuckin’ slick, baby… never felt you this ready for me.”

You can’t stop your body’s automatic reaction to the first time nickname usage. You tighten around him, his massive girth nudging on that spot now, tickling electricity zaps into your stomach. Your eyes clenched closed, hips giving a particularly rhythmic roll over this man’s lap, that it has you seeing literal spots in your vision. An ache, a fucking burn that sizzles all the way down to your toes and curls them into your boots. It hurts, god does it hurt so badly that it’s hard to breathe.

You’re already starting to pick up your pace, body leading first and foremost. The lace cups of your bra become pushed beneath your breast, dragging over his t-shirt clad chest by rough movements, his hands trembling against your waist as you ride him for all he’s worth into his own driver’s seat - one hand still where it was mid-way. He keeps trying to lean in, to abide the kisses you usually chase but rarely get, his mouth left in ungodly puckers. He’s biting at mid-air, high-tailing your lips. However, you aren’t giving in, unable.

His truck is rocking with each motion, wind sweeping russet colored leaves, soaked with rain across the windshield from the tree above. You start to become shaky, falter, emotions briefly winding around the coil inside your stomach, keeping it hostage. Tears brim your sclera, sticky, soaking into your lash line as you realize you won’t be able to come too, sharing it. Of course this would be hard, how could it not be? Maybe it isn’t going to be for him, but for you..

His trim hips are stuttering beneath you, hairy thighs slamming to meet your efforts, making this so real that you can hear everything morphed inside, taste how your blood is rushing, despite it not making any sense. You’re on fire, doused in heated flames that you won’t be escaping from. One of Gator’s arms stretches the length up your back, cupping your neck, bringing you away from his shoulder that you’ve again found, to make contact with you. Shrugging it off, you don’t even look at him, eyes staying closed.

He is unsatisfied with this, uses a strong forearm to sling beneath your tailbone, hoisting you higher, making your mouth fall open enough for him to kiss his way into. Fuck it. Wet, hot, his tongue works its way into your mouth and then you’re gasping, working with him together, foreheads smashed, breaths panting around parted lips, sought between each kiss. On a particular break off, he cradles your head in his massive palm, amber eyes blown into shards, flecks of cinnamon scattered apart from that only black abyss. He’s damn near snarling, a dip in his brows, an expectant struggle.

You cry out into the vehicle when he finds what he was hunting, his crooked smirk, tongue dipping into that corner of his mouth to go with it. He grumbles into a deeper tone. “Yeah? That’s what I was fuckin’ lookin’ for.”

Saying his name, it doesn’t come out. So he keeps on going. “M’ just gonna stay right here, baby. You keep goin’. Finish us off.”

You give it your all, knowing what he likes, what will give him what he seeks. This is it… You continue your own lead instead of following his, purposely leveling yourself off that spot. His brows knot together, bushy and confused. But he doesn’t have time.

He’s fading, and going out fast for you. Gator reaches, clings, tries to take your hand, see your face as he feels you wrap around him to the point that it all drawls and reaches into his abdomen, attempting to burst through. You hide into jawline the moment that he cries out broken chants of your name, rejecting his reaching for you. He comes moments later, regardless. Tremors settle into his worn bones, muscles sated with vibrations of his release.

You resist every urge to hold him through it, shifting your hold off the seat, off him, turning yourself around to settle into the passenger seat. Your chest is heaving heavily as you push your breasts into their cups, tugging your blouse back down, lifting enough to gather your panties off the floorboard and raise your heavy, boot clad feet into the legs. He’s staring, you don’t have to check your peripheral to know this. A wounded, baffled mix of emotions cloud his face. Suddenly, Gator feels more vulnerable with you in this very moment, than he’s ever remembered feeling in his whole life.

Your knuckles scratch across the silk of your knee sock thigh highs, bringing your underwear completely up, sealing the evidence of him with you. The skirt you wear is the last thing to be readjusted. It’s silent in the cab, with the exception of rainfall, uneven breathing patterns. There is only light from street posts, houses down the pathway of the road you’re parked on. You miss every hint he throws, every single hurt, wounded look that molds his features into a haunting sight.

His belt buckle clanging as he brings it back together, along with the defeating sound of his zipper, that’s what has you glancing in his direction. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, arm propped on the driver’s window, knuckles of that hand tight. His spare is wound around the wheel, eyes haunted, unfocused as they look ahead to meet damp, black pavement. Of all the things you expect him to say, it isn’t what leaves his mouth next. Wobbly and unsure.

“I’ll make ya come next time, I promise. I got so caught up, I —“

It sounds so pathetic that you have to break it off. Deserved reservations.

“This was the last time.” Fucking Christ, it feels as if someone cracks open the bottom of your ribcage and your organs are spilling out. It’s too hard to breathe, your own cowardice showing as you finish the reveal of your sentence, of what you’ve known you had to do for yourself to keep from developing a hate for him, and all the self-berating this relationship has caused you inside. “I’m seeing someone next weekend.”

At first, you think reality has settled in on him. But then he snorts, a sound that goes right through you. He’s in disbelief, which proves that this was the right decision all along. It’s when you aren’t laughing that he gets the hint. And this time, you don’t look away. Let it all go…

“I know that you make fun of me behind my back. To your friends, to your dad when he asks why you’re with me so much, to the other women you flirt with around town. It’s how you justify doing this.”

There’s a pure amount of shame that coats his cheeks and it makes you laugh bitterly, stinging your mouth. You reach to collect your purse from beside your feet. Gator is ashamed, worked up, so overstimulated and caught that he barely is able to grab your arm as you push his door open and one leg hits the asphalt. His mouth moves as if he’s communicating some silent, pleading apology. Begging you to understand.

And you have always understood. More than you should ever have to. He’s like a deer in headlights, panicked, jaw twitching, nose scrunching. At least it affects him some, he’s not emotionless to this situation. It leaves you very little comfort, though.

His silence is one with his learned cowardice. He knows what’s right, but he’ll never cater to anything that set aside this image he’s tried to build for everyone (including Roy) to see. Instead, he’s losing the one person that’s taken everything she has in her to give - offering. A wounded animal in the driver’s seat, waiting on you to lead, to accept what little he’s willing to give. Your heart skips, launching into your throat, damp and slippery words pressing your lip’s seam apart.

“You know, I really do care about you, Gator. And I hope you find your way away from your dad and all of this bullshit.” Your voice is jagged, dragging over each word as you motion your hand around, before continuing. “But I don’t deserve this.”

You don’t any more of his silence, climbing completely out and slamming your door, prepared to walk away with remaining dignity. Gator Tillman, he has one final pulsing drive that propels him into following suit, calling at you from the opposite side of his car. “No, please?”

You tilt your head towards the sky, rain flowing feeling from murky night skies, glittering across your face, painting itself into your brows. Gator’s hands find the truck’s roof, his messy hair shining underneath the half-hidden moon, the lights lining the roadway. His breath is puffing his chest into a theatrical exertion. And you two just stare at one another across the hood of the tan GMC cab. His bridge ruffles, nose wiggling to adjust his emotions.

To his credit, he tries. But both of you know that it’s not going to be enough this time. “I do care.”

An automatic rebuff. You sink in on yourself, retorting. “In the dark, right?”

You leave him with this, his sucker punched expression, not there to see anything more, and begin to walk in the direction you came from, back towards town. By the time the rain picks up, you’re crying and a horn is blaring behind you, coming from his parked truck.

[fishfooddude]

Pretty Girl (Gator Tillman x Reader)

Directory

Kinktober MasterList

(Divider Credit @strangergraphics)

You were lying on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the front door open. The distinct sound of heavy boot steps followed. “Baby, are you here?” Gator’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs, assuming you were upstairs. 

“In here.” You called, pulling his attention back to the living room. He turned his head and saw you sitting on the couch. He immediately walked around the sofa to hug and kiss you on the forehead. Before you had the opportunity to kiss him, he moved down the couch and lifted your legs to sit under them. You giggled, “Do you not want a kiss?”

“I do, but it can wait, " he said as he rubbed your shins. You shot him a confused look, “Didn’t you hang out with your sister today?” 

When the realization hit you, you couldn’t help but giggle. “I did, Gator,” you confirmed. He was itchin’ in his seat as you spoke. I think you know which color I chose.” You brought your socked feet to his thighs and saw him light up as he moved to remove your socks.

“Fuck baby… look at those,” he muttered as he stared down at your freshly painted white toenails. You giggled as his hands moved to rub your feet. You had to pry the information out of him when the two of you had first gotten together. Gator Tillman, Stark County’s finest officer, has a foot fetish.

It started subtly. He’d offer you a foot rub when you got home from work, justifying it by saying you'd been on your feet all day. Then, as a kind gesture, he started giving you money to get your toes done. Gator wasn’t the kind of guy to perform cunnilingus from the get-go, but after some coaxing, he got into it; it then progressed to him bringing one of your feet to his shoulder and kissing down the entirety of your leg. The delicate kisses he’d place on the side of your foot were your first inclining. 

It was sweet; he really did love every bit of you.

[apazmackpie]

i finally finished Fargo :)

(it wasn't an excuse to draw blood. not at all.)

[cerise-angel]

suddenly remembered the porcelain gator and im mad they arent for sale or even real 🤬🤬🤬

[hotwritergf]

Ok… I would like a gator tillman smut like maybe he has been away for awhile because Roy asked him to take care of something and when he comes back all he wants it’s reader but he’s not only f*cking reader but makes love to reader… idk something like that

Far too long / Gator Tillman- Fargo / One Shot / Smut

CW- smut, the term daddy is used, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, p in v, porn with a slight plot, established relationship, x reader.

“Been a while huh princess? Daddy has to work, you know that right? Daddy works to keep those hands of yours soft and manicured, while mine are dirty and calloused. Y’like that though don’t you? My hands all rough, rubbing against this pretty little pussy. Look at her, she’s crying out for me. Your little princess brain is leaking out of her.” Gator teases, he rubs his middle finger through your slit. Separating your folds and zeroing over your clit. Your breath hitches as he begins to curl his fingers inside of you, his fingertips grazing your g-spot every time he pumps them into you.

“Please.. No more. No more teasing. Want you. Please.” You’re begging him, he’s been away for little over two months, some bullshit that Roy had sent him away to take care of. You weren’t interested in his work, you learnt a long time ago to ask no questions. Ignorance is bliss. But your body aches for him, your head full of nothing but Gator Gator Gator. Your clit practically throbbing his name in morse code. He knows just how to tease you, having dated you for so long he knew your weak spots, how to melt that mind of yours.

“See, any other time, Daddy would tell you to be patient. But fuck. Babe, I need to be inside you. Been away far too long. Never again. I’ll work from fucking home and dad can just fucking like it.” He spits his words out like venom on his tongue. You knew he was lying, as much as you loved him, he could never stand up to his father. That’s a problem for another day, you hum as he rubs his dick against your slit. Your pussy acting as all the lubricant you could ever need, leaving his length slick and wet. Ready for you.

With his first thrust inside you, you’re putty in his hands. Your breath hitches as his cock hits your g-spot, violating the area until all you can think about is how good it feels. Nobody has ever fucked you so good.

“My girl. My fuckin’ girl. Missed you so much. Not just this ass of yours either. Missed your love.” Gator groans as he gently slaps your ass, leaning forward to rub your clit. It’s almost too much, the praise and the feeling of his fingers kissing your hypersensitive clit.

“Daddy. Missed you too. Love you. Love how you make me feel, love you.” You manage to get those words out in-between moans, your eyes rolling into the back of your head with every movement he makes deeper inside you. You’re convinced you can feel him in your stomach.

“Love’ya too- Gonna fill you up so good baby.” His words tease you, all your thoughts muddle up into one, Gator. Gator and how he feels, fucking the moans out of your mouth. Gator and how he’s over-stimulating both your clit and your g-spot at once. Gator and how he’s still wearing that shit eating smirk on his face, knowing how much it gets to you. All you want in your life is Gator.

Your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach, the familiar feeling rising higher and higher. You clench around Gator’s cock. Almost trapping him into cumming inside you as you come undone yourself.

“Close.. so close. Please.” You whimper, your face buried in the pillows of your shared bed as you desperately dribble saliva from your mouth onto the sheets. He picks up the pace, not wanting to waste any more time. He just wants you. He wants to make you feel incredible. And that he does, when your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. Gushing over his cock as your tormented clit becomes even more sensitive after cumming. He doesn’t stop fucking you, he pounds into your hole faster and harder than before. It’s all too much for your little body to handle and he knows that. You can’t hold it any longer, your pussy squirting over your boyfriend and the bed.

Soft groans come from behind you as Gator ruts. Wiping the sweat from his brow and pulling out of you, ropes of cum still dripping from cock and dribbling out of your abused cunt.

Gator wipes the mess from your body and his, ripping the soiled sheets off the bed as you both collapse on the mattress in each other’s embrace.

“Love you.” He whispers against your cheek before planting a gentle kiss through panted breaths. “Love you too.” Your eyes still tightly shut, as if opening them would make the moment just a dream. You squeeze his arm a little, needing something to grip onto as you crash back from ecstasy to reality. The pair of you lay there, breathing each other in, not wanting to move a muscle. Roy better not send him away for this long ever again.

[peculiaritybending]

Fargo season 1 is so good because you get to watch Martin Freeman fall into a frozen lake and die.