#I could look at this for hours (likes/aesthetics)

[weaselandfriends]

The Making Of: Fargo

Today, May 4 2025, is the tenth anniversary of when I started Fargo! To celebrate, here is a behind-the-scenes/retrospective on the work. Enjoy!

I. This Is Your Brain On Anime

I started writing Fargo at the lowest point in my life. I'd been watching anime.

For years, I'd managed to not watch anime. Sure, there was Pokémon as a kid, and to a lesser extent Digimon and Yu-Gi-Oh. And as a preteen cinephile who followed the Oscars, Spirited Away's Best Animated win got me to pick it up on DVD. I'd later seen a handful of anime films that similarly carried cinephile credibility: other Miyazakis (Nausicaä, Princess Mononoke), Akira, Ghost in the Shell, Paprika. But I had always refused to watch anime anime. You know what I mean. The seasonal stuff.

In 2007, the final fringe of Wild West internet before Facebook changed everything, seasonal anime was exploding in popularity. A lot of this was due to sheer accessibility. No longer did you need to find a VHS release of some OVA or hope for a play on Adult Swim. Fan subbing and dubbing communities rendered more-or-less anything showing up in Japan available to worldwide audiences via a nifty new site called YouTube. This level of immediacy, combined with the niche tight-knit communities that governed the internet prior to social media, made following seasonal anime a social event. Week by week people posted reactions, reviews, theories, and memes, driving up engagement and rapidly expanding anime's reach as an entertainment medium.

The big breakthrough title in this regard is 2006's The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, a massively influential show that changed the look and feel of mainstream anime for years. But my first brush with the anime community came via the following year's Lucky Star, by the same studio and with the same moe stylings. As I prowled the boards of Nintendo's official forum, Nsider, and its successor Nsider 2 (after Nintendo, in characteristically Nintendo fashion, annihilated the site from existence without warning), I found myself constantly bumping into people posting pictures of these four hyper-cutesy anime girls with candy-colored hair. They were everywhere. Teenage me took one look and came to an unshakeable and incontrovertible conclusion:

Only girls would watch this!

Saccharine aesthetic? Lack of plot? And, god, all of the characters are girls? Girl show. No doubt in my mind. Nah, none of this "anime" crap for me. I'll stick with real media, like Leprechaun 4: In Space (which I eagerly stayed up until midnight to watch on the SciFi Channel) and Eli Roth's splatterhouse classic Cabin Fever.

Then some devious motherfucker, I don't even remember who they were, told me something truly insidious, something that would haunt me for years to come. "Hey," they said, "what if there was a show like Lucky Star except they all killed each other with knives? Wouldn't that be awesome?"

And they recommended me Higurashi no Naku Koro ni.

(They showed me an AMV with a similar feel to this one to entice me. Unfortunately that original AMV is lost to history.)

I wound up bingeing the entire 50-episode show, in 10-minute chunks on YouTube, across a single 24-hour period. I couldn't stop myself. It was the same obsessive consumption that would infest me when I discovered Homestuck five years later. Obsession so intense that after I finished it, I immediately went crawling in search of more anime and devoured Death Note in another 24-hour span.

Emerging, blinking, back into the sun, I looked around and realized I couldn't go on like this. I couldn't plunge headlong, headless, into anime. I could not become the dreaded "weeb."

So I cut off anime. No more. As quickly as my drop into the abyss began, I ended it. And a few years later, when I went to college, I cut off the internet as a social experience altogether. No more forums, no more chatrooms. I was an adult. Time to do adult stuff, like read classic literature, write novels, and play League of Legends for 10 hours every day.

Despite how it sounds, college was a great time in my life. I enjoyed learning, enjoyed going to classes, enjoyed reading textbooks, enjoyed writing essays. And I was good at it, very very good—even with the 10-hour League sessions. I felt no need to reconsider anime.

Then I graduated.

Graduating college was like slamming face-first into a brick wall. My entire life until then had seemed to be building toward something. Academia is a series of stepping stones to more prestigious levels of academia (middle school! high school! college!) with a golden gleaming Adulthood at the end of the line, omnipresent. And I did it! My success in college got me a job, eight hours in an office five days a week, much better than anyone else in my post-recession cohort. Adulthood accomplished.

It was miserable. That gleaming paradise Adulthood was a sham. I was doing less work and less difficult work than at college but they were demanding I spend way more time doing it. All sense of fulfilment vanished. There was no longer progress, no bigger and better things on the horizon. I had nothing to hope for. I'd achieved the thing people tend to hope for, and THIS WAS IT. The notion that consumed me was that my life had slipped into overtime, a dead zone past its expiration date, treading water in misery. I also had a 90-minute daily commute in SoCal traffic.

My free time was cut down to a fraction of what it was in college, so no more 10-hour League sessions. I tried to maintain my schedule of reading 50 pages and writing 2,000 words a day, but I no longer had the time or energy, and it didn't make sense why I didn't have the time or energy, because I was doing things that were so trivial and easy compared to my college courseload. Work was an arbitrary time-wasting machine with nothing ahead except 40 more years of work. I wanted to die.

Despairing, seeking nothing save relief, I turned back to anime.

In a Skype groupchat I wound up in, there were two teenagers with their fingers on the pulse of the latest anime buzz. They were my guides back into this wretched world. First, I was served up Fate/Zero, which I consumed quickly (though not with the same leisure time to afford a 24-hour binge) before asking for seconds. I was then recommended Angel Beats. Okay, I said, typing Angel Beats into YouTube, which seven years after Higurashi I still assumed was the main way to watch anime. The first result I got was called Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-chan. Aha, I said. Angel Beats, Bludgeoning Angel, I know what this is. It's an alternate translation of the title.

It's the kind of comedy of errors that could only happen to someone who timewarped directly from 2007 to 2014 with complete ignorance of the intervening years. Angel Beats, of course, is a tearjerking Key show about students in the afterlife coming to grips with their tragic deaths. Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-chan is about an angel repeatedly bludgeoning a boy because otherwise he will grow up and create a world where every woman stops aging at 10 years old—a so-called "Lolicon Paradise." (As someone who reads classic lit, seeing the bizarre cross-cultural route Nabokov's novel has taken always amuses me.)

When I started Bludgeoning Angel, I was a little uncertain whether I had the right show. Its tone didn't quite jive with Bingus and Bungus in the Skype chat. Hesitantly, I decided to react in chat to the first thing that happens in the show. "Haha," I said. "The angel really just killed that guy."

In a sadistic twist of fate, this is somehow exactly how Angel Beats begins, too. My friends responded as though everything was total normal, and I figured I must have the right show after all. Thus, I wound up watching the entirety of Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-chan, which becomes increasingly surreal, violent, and depraved as it goes on, and only learned my mistake after the final episode. That show probably tainted me forever.

Afterward, I watched the real Angel Beats (in my depressive stupor, it made me cry), Mirai Nikki, and the "only for girls" Lucky Star (it also made me cry). I was getting hooked. It was only a matter of time before Bingus and Bungus recommended me a true landmine. They did. "I think you might like this," Bungus said, tepidly, not exactly sure.

"Hit me," I said.

II. Puella Magi Madoka Magica

The League of Legends-induced timewarp that imprisoned me in college had the side effect of allowing me, in early 2015, to watch Puella Magi Madoka Magica completely blind. I hadn't the faintest idea what it was about, or even a hint of its reputation. Bungus said, "Watch it," and I watched it.

Believe it or not, this blindness backfired. Despite the sanctity people place on spoilers, expectations are a crucial component of the narrative experience. Unaware of what I was watching, I was not nearly as impacted by what I saw. The much-famed Episode 3 twist was nothing to me. Why? I was certain, absolutely certain, the death wouldn't stick. I felt extremely confident either Madoka or Sayaka would make a wish to bring Mami back to life.

Nonetheless, the show grew on me. The cute exterior steadily transforming grimmer was a Ratatouille flashback to Higurashi; there's something so delicious about how jaggedly the hyper-poppy upbeat OP jumpscares in the middle of increasingly hopeless situations during the show's back half. After 12 episodes and a movie I needed more. Not more anime. More Madoka Magica.

I didn't get it from the spinoffs, of which there were several even then, most of which I knew nothing about. Instead I went looking for it on more familiar terrain, another relic of my 2007 timewarp: fanfiction-dot-net. This is where people go to engage with media fandom, right? I hit up the Madoka page, sorted content by number of reviews, and got this:

Well, sort of. Fargo wasn't there yet, obviously. The other five were, in this same order. I opened To the Stars, read a chapter or two, found it impossibly boring and nothing at all like the show, and discarded it. Resonance Days, A Happy Dream, and cat's cradle [sic] all looked like shipfics, which was not my speed. That left one fic, which I would read in one day home sick (legitimately) from work, one fic that would prove massively influential on the idea for Fargo I didn't yet have.

Puella Magi Homura Magica by Lestaki, despite its second-place position on this prestigious list (behind only a work once described by acclaimed guy-with-a-blog Eliezer Yudkowsky as the most prescient depiction of future warfare ever written), is a fanfic I have never heard anyone mention once in my now 10-year stint in the Madoka Magica trenches. Even in the subculture it is a blank of memory, which makes sense if you look at its publication and last updated dates. It came out May 24, 2011—barely a month after the show finished airing—and was unceremoniously abandoned, incomplete, little over a year later. It's easy to see the fic emerging in the frenzy of activity prompted by the show's immediate popularity, rising on the tide, and vanishing under the waves of works with more temporally dogged creators.

So what is it?

PMHM is a three-arc story set after the show (and ignoring, of course, Rebellion, which it predates). Its first arc focuses on the three-man band of Homura, Kyoko, and Mami as they prepare to fight against a "demon prince"—an exceptionally powerful, city-destroying wraith—that Kyubey predicts will be born in Mitakihara soon. The demon prince is so powerful that the trio cannot possibly defeat it on their own, causing them to soon be joined by a ragtag team of original characters, spinoff characters, and a contracting Hitomi. The squad butts heads, but ultimately manages to come together to destroy the demon prince when it appears.

The second arc revolves around an inter-city magical girl war. The Mitakihara girls, for reasons I don't fully remember, have to invade and defeat an OC magical girl warlord in charge of another city. Both sides amass allies until the final confrontation involves at least a hundred magical girls. At the end of the arc, the OC villain reveals she manufactured the war to put Homura in a situation where she would be forced to continually use her time-rewinding powers to save Kyoko and Mami (whom she has come to care for over the course of the story), which is part of the villain's plot to generate enough karmic potential that she can create a new Madoka-esque god. Homura is aware that every time she rewinds time, she is helping the villain usurp Madoka, so she's torn between saving her living friends and saving her conceptual girlfriend.

That's where the story abruptly ends, mired in a series of repetitive chapters where the villain keeps finding ways to kill Kyoko and/or Mami and forcing Homura to turn back time. (It seems the author trapped themselves in the concept of showing each timeline in detail and lost momentum fast.)

And that's where Fargo begins.

III. Williston

Fargo was not a conscious work. Unlike most of my fiction, it was not assiduously planned. It was not kicked around in my head for years before I started writing it. It was not drafted and redrafted. Fargo was a creature of instinct, and because of that even now I look at it with a certain sense of wonder. Both Chicago and Cleveland Quixotic originated with me examining Fargo, trying to see what made it so popular, and laboriously reengineering whatever I concluded was the cause (I was wrong both times).

It emerged in my head not as an idea, but a vibe. Frigid, frostbitten wasteland. A tough, take-no-bullshit magical girl, dead inside. She'd use a Gatling gun. Long brown coat.

I was 60,000 words into a draft of a story I'd been planning since I first read Homestuck in 2012, a story I was tentatively calling Soulstealer but would eventually call Modern Cannibals. But I didn't want to write it anymore. At work, I was still miserable. I wanted to write a work of misery. I wanted to write a miserable human being. I abandoned the Modern Cannibals draft despite how far along it was (I was at the scene where Z. rescues Kiki from Mitchum's party). I began, as if automatically, writing something else. It was the same surrender that had led me to anime in the first place. The path of emotional, intellectual least resistance.

It's probably because I was on this path that I wound up unconsciously borrowing so many structural and worldbuilding cues from Puella Magi Homura Magica, especially in the first arc, with the Williston archon substituted for the Mitakihara demon prince. It wasn't even a conscious decision to do what I had seen in PMHM; I didn't realize the overlap until later. I was putting onto page the last thing lodged in my brain, and that was it. At work, I'd recently learned about the homeless crisis in Williston due to the shale oil boom, and that wound up in the story too.

Basically every part of the first few chapters of Fargo manifested on the page without me having any idea what it would build to. When Kyubey told Sloan to go to Williston, I knew he was being deceptive, but I didn't know how, and certainly had not figured out his elaborate plot to defeat Homura yet. Ditto Omaha. Clair Ibsen as Sloan's detested rival was a name I flicked onto the page at random (combining Clair, the gym leader from Pokémon, with Henrik Ibsen, Norwegian playwright, because I figured a character from Minnesota should have a Scandinavian surname). The girl, unnamed, who scuffles with Sloan in Chapter 1 was not yet Anoka; I had no plans for her to reappear, nor plans to make her relevant to how the Williston archon was born. When writing Chapter 2, I had no conception of Delaney or Erika (another Pokémon gym leader) as characters until I started writing them, at which point their personalities emerged, fully-formed, all at once. I didn't know Delaney's backstory, only that she was suspicious.

What made Fargo work is that I very quickly figured this stuff out.

Throwing these ideas and characters onto the board was like putting myself in an escape room, and the challenge then became to figure out how everything slotted together. It was around Chapter 4—which I had written fully before I started posting the story, and which was about the time I realized I actually wanted to go through with what was starting to shape up as a long and ambitious work—that I started seeing the connective tissue. Kyubey's plot came into view, as well as Omaha's role in it. (Hence why Chapter 5 begins with a scene involving Homura.) I figured out Delaney's backstory, though I hadn't yet figured out how she was part of Kyubey's plot yet. The end of the first arc formed in my mind: Erika dead, Delaney alive, she and Sloan en route to Minneapolis to fight Clair. I had the beginnings of an idea how the second arc would go; there was the ghost of an idea for a third arc, but that made the story seem impossibly long, so I wrote with the belief everything would end with Clair. By the end of the arc, when I had started thinking about Clair's goons, I had the idea for Anoka, and incorporated her into the Williston archon's origin story.

I think there are still signs of lack of foresight. The actual plot of Fargo's first arc is like the plot of a Legend of Zelda game. Go to three different places, fight three bosses, then go to the final dungeon where the final boss awaits. What the characters actually do, narratively, is spin their wheels in endless action sequences; all sense of progression is driven by the slow unveiling of Delaney and Erika's backstories, which recontextualizes them as characters, as well as broadening hints toward Kyubey's plot. And Sloan's gradual recovery from the precipice of despair, of course.

That last one was a mirror of the author. Fargo was an immediate smash hit of the kind I had never seen before; I was getting two to three comments per chapter, and they were good comments, too. Before, I hadn't even been able to beg friends and family to read my novels. (I once described the plot of a pre-Bavitz novel to my grandmother; she said, "That doesn't sound any good at all.") I expected obscurity, an obscurity reflected by the aggressively anti-SEO title I decided on as a joke (Fargo being a movie I don't particularly like, and the only real overlap between that one and mine being neither is actually set in Fargo). Receiving any reception at all was a miracle.

At the same time, I moved closer to where I worked, killing my daily commute once and for all. Time, energy, and hope were surging back into me. The dream I had always harbored of being an internationally-renowned author seemed to be finally coming true. Everything was looking up. Riding this momentum, I no longer worried about the ambitious length of my story. It was worth it. I was in for the long haul.

IV. Minneapolis

Clair's personality emerged as the natural foil to Sloan, the brutish, instinct-driven meathead: elegant, careful, intelligent, poised. It was my get-out-of-the-escape-room problem solving that led me to realize this made her similar to Kyubey himself; that connection inspired the plot twist that she was, in fact, a homunculus created by him, which turned into Delaney being a homunculus too. (In early Williston chapters, I repeatedly focused on Delaney's dead eyes to foreshadow her sociopathic turn; this pedestrian bit of description became eerily serendipitous for explaining how she changed her eye color with magic to hide its natural red.)

As an author, I myself was transitioning from Sloan-esque instinct to more careful and intelligent planning. I'd already come up with Anoka, but the other Minneapolis girls emerged in ways I thought would play well off of Clair, emphasizing her uncanny and aristocratic coldness. I entered the second arc with more elaborate plotting, where I would set up characters like chess pieces and knock them over in spectacular and fulfilling ways. It all centered around the Yaldabaoth fight, which was the first part of the second arc I came up with, in a first arc sense of unconsciousness: A massive monster of light, crawling across a city, chasing magical girls as they sped around in a car.

There were some speed bumps. This arc featured the only time while writing Fargo that I scrapped a scene and rewrote it; this being the Terminatrix's introduction, which originally showed her receiving her commission from Kyubey. I felt it was plodding and tedious compared to her current introduction, which remains highly popular. (As a side note, Puella Magi Homura Magica also includes a character whom Kyubey pays to kill magical girls he doesn't like.)

Otherwise, though, I was locked in. Everything just worked. I came up with an idea for a character or a plot twist and it made perfect sense with what I had already established. It was like magic. It was effortless. I was reading literature again, too, after a year away from it; my prose improved as a result. There is unparalleled exhilaration in growth. It was like academia all over again, where I learned new things day after day and always seemed to be ascending to some better place. I started imagining future greatness. It wouldn't stop here. Fargo was just the start. My next work would be even better, would be read by more people. (Modern Cannibals remained bouncing in the back of my mind.) It wouldn't be long before I was breaking out of the internet and into the real world. They'd be talking about me...

V. Mitakihara

Why did Puella Magi Madoka Magica mean so much to me?

Because, as I mentioned, it didn't leave an immediate impact. A lot of what I look at now as masterstroke storytelling—Mami's death, or Rebellion in general—I first watched insensible, uncomprehending, somewhat blandly being washed over. Only a few months prior I had watched Lucky Star, a work that would heavily inspire one of my future stories (Cockatiel x Chameleon), and was profoundly and immediately emotionally affected by it in a way I almost never am. I cried at its conclusion. There was something unbearable and tragic in the ending of such a nice world, no matter how inoffensive that ending was; in the banal high school life it depicted, I saw reflected what I had lost forever, been sealed away from on this side of Adulthood.

(Which explains why my mindset on it changed so radically from when I was an actual high schooler, its ostensible target demographic.)

I didn't have a similar reaction to Madoka Magica. I liked it, for sure, but it was not an emotionally harrowing experience for me. Yet it grew in my mind, in ways I didn't consciously understand. It kept crawling, kept forcing me to think about it, until there was no option but for me to drop what I was doing and write over 300,000 words of fan fiction for it.

I never figured out the answer until a few years later, when I chanced upon a post someone made on Tumblr. "Okay," it said, in typical I-know-everything tone, "but can any of you tell me a single THEME in Madoka Magica?"

It made me think. What IS Madoka Magica about, beyond a plot-and-character level? The story, at least in the show, is so lean and tight that it lacks a lot of obvious signposting in this regard. It's easy to look at Madoka Magica and see a sharp story founded on a series of slick twists, with a banal hope versus despair angle for a bit of emotional punchiness. Regardless of whether you agree with that assessment or not, it certainly couldn't have been what I saw in it to make me so obsessed, right?

It's not even like Madoka Magica is a story that lends itself to fanfic, past the level of shipfic or slice of life AU. Its extreme economy of characters renders it vitriolic to expansion. Everything that matters in the world of Madoka Magica is happening in Mitakihara to five specific people. The system extends beyond them but in a useless way; magical girls in Osaka or Russia or Fargo exist, but they are doomed to irrelevance, doomed to die pointlessly. Every canonical Madoka spinoff falls into this same pratfall; the best involve the backstories of the main cast or past Homura timeloops, the rest fail to rise above sideshow.

I think what gnawed at me, what made me brute force a new narrative into this story that doesn't need one, was the reflection I saw in it. The Lucky Star kids with all their hopes and dreams and pleasant optimism tossed into the clanking reality of Adulthood, forced to work jobs with no point and no hope until they finally just died. The more I rewatch the show, the more I become consumed by a socioeconomic reading of it, the financial disparities between the characters (Hitomi, free from all of this, is rich; Madoka, the redemptive savior, is too—while Mami is faking it and Sayaka is shabbily middle class in a foreboding and monotone apartment complex, consumed by dreams of an upper-class recital she once saw), the conversations Madoka has with her parents (who tell her again and again what "being an adult is like," only to then give advice that is utterly unhelpful), the emotionless and mercenary way Kyubey dissolves all meaning in the universe to a system of pluses and minuses.

Unconsciously, the socioeconomic aspects of the original story emerged in Fargo with even more exaggeration: Sloan is introduced in terms of her outrageous poverty, everyone else is on the economic fringes (prostitutes, drug dealers), and only Clair lives in a state of financial stability. (There's a sideplot in the Minneapolis arc where she plans to gentrify the city by rooting out its Ramseys, all in service of creating a model community to show off online.) Sloan pursues monomaniacal revenge for a betrayal she suffered at Clair's hands, but the crux of the reader's disdain for Clair lies in the unctuousness of her wealth and the disposable way she treats her employees. Plus, there's the plaid-shirted workers who osmose around Williston, silent as they fall into pits and keel over dead on the streets, parts of an economy founded on resource extraction not all too dissimilar from Kyubey's own system (though he, ironically, wonders at one point why humans would get so up in arms over such a "primitive energy source").

Sloan is a have-not and Clair is a have, so there's an innate sympathy for her in favor of her archnemesis, on top of the innate sympathy readers have for protagonists over antagonists. This all sets the stage for what is in my opinion the best part of Fargo, its third arc, where the story's thematic elements come together in more interesting and subversive ways. It's all predicated on Sloan's quest for revenge having been faulty from the start, her motives much less ironclad than they first appear and her bullheadedness making her the perfect pawn in Kyubey's schemes.

The best aspect of the third arc is how Sloan is irrelevant. Seeing the outcome of her self-absorption cuts her off at the knees, and she has to grapple with the fact that the world is a lot bigger than her immediate purview. Ultimately, her role in the climax is tangential, a singular meaningful wrench tossed into a much larger machine that manages to prompt an unexpected positive outcome. She barely even factors into the penultimate chapter. (Fun fact: Chapter 41, Love, with its 10+ character POVs, was both directly inspired by Ulysses but also by a comment I got during the first arc hoping for more POVs with drastically different writing styles.) The emotional power of Sloan's arc stems from her coming to peace with her own inadequacies, both morally and in terms of greatness, and in that way she wound up being a mirror for me to the end, didn't she? In academia, I believed I was going to be someone important, and much of the existential dread of my workplace came from its boundless mediocrity. Fargo allowed me to come to terms with that mediocrity, both in the story and without; though much of that "coming to terms" was based on the new delusion that my popular fanfic would spur me on to mainstream literary success, a delusion I would not need to reckon with until after the minimal readership for my next work, Modern Cannibals.

This also explains my decision to frame Madoka's magical girl heaven as a giant office job. Though I would also defend that decision from a textual standpoint, given the esteem Madoka has for her company suit mother, and how she visualizes her mother as an example of "successful" adulthood in contrast to the cruel failure of the magical girl system.

Lastly, there's the instinctual level of things. All this socioeconomic stuff was not explicitly clear to me even as I was writing it; I didn't consciously think "Oh gotta make this about having a job." It just came out that way, an expelling of the self, the same way I unconsciously modeled some of Fargo's structure and worldbuilding on Homura Magica. The same way, I suppose, I modeled the emotional thrust of the story on Madoka Magica. A bleak downward spiral of misery and death culminating in a sudden and unexpected redemption. When, as a teen, I watched Higurashi, I remember being bowled over by its unexpectedly happy ending. I'd never seen anything like it, not in something otherwise so macabre and pessimistic. As a teen, I enjoyed that ending as a subversion of expectations, an original and novel idea. As an adult, watching Madoka Magica, it held a lot more emotional potency, and that potency was, like everything else, unconsciously replicated in Fargo.

When I wrote that final chapter, I remember being utterly drained. The finish line was in sight and I had been doing this for a year, for 300,000 words, far longer than any other story I'd ever written until then. I remember feeling like my prose was sloppy, like I was stumbling right at the end, like the chapter was no good. But the reviews were overwhelmingly positive, and now when I reread that chapter I see nothing wrong with its prose or technique. Even stripped bare, exhausted, that unconscious emotional core remained, and maybe that sense of being stripped down, so that nothing else is there but it, is what gives it so much power.

VI. Retrospective

There are flaws in Fargo. The prose is not always my best, and there are stretches that are clunky. In Chapter 3 I wrote a 5,000-word fight scene, and became possessed by the notion that all subsequent fights must be even longer, which led to some truly overlong combat sequences. There are a lot of continuity errors and mistakes, some small, some embarrassing (there's a scene where Clair tortures Delaney with boiling water and it's clear I had never boiled water before). And, significant to me, there is a lack of thematic complexity compared to my other works, with long parts of the story that aren't interested in meaning anything at all, at least overtly.

That last part might not really be a flaw, though. There is a singleminded focus on plot and character in Fargo, prompted perhaps by the unconscious way I wrote it, that was a major driver of its success. Nobody has ever complained about the continuity errors, either. At the end of the day, people might care a lot more about what comes from the heart, rather than what comes from the mind.

I'm glad, though, to be writing this retrospective on the heels of When I Win, an assiduously structured work with a lot of deliberate thematic potency that managed to achieve similar levels of success as Fargo. For a long time Fargo was a millstone around my neck. What I once looked at as the start of my literary rise started to seem like its peak. This work that I, its author, so poorly understood, could not replicate even when I tried, and yet was by far my most popular story... It was a terrifying prospect for a long time. Though a lot of detail in this regard should probably be saved for if I write a Making Of post for Chicago in the future. (Side note: Despite the prominent role Cicero and the Chicagoans play in the final arc of Fargo, with their own unresolved theater of worldbuilding, I had no intention of writing a Fargo sequel until after the "commercial failure" of Modern Cannibals.)

Even at the depths of my self-esteem, though, I never resented Fargo or its success. It's a story I like. It's a story with a lot to like about it. And, even if I don't fully understand it, it's a story that has a lot of myself in it.

Thank you, everyone, for reading.

The concept art throughout this post was created by Phetaritette, from whom a fan once commissioned art of the main characters. At the end of the Making Of posts for Cleveland Quixotic and When I Win, I talked about where I got the names of the characters from, but other than the two Pokémon gym leader names and Henrik Ibsen reference I mentioned before, most of the names in this story were dredged from people I once knew. The only other exceptions are Erika's surname, which comes from Frank "Doc" DuFresne from Red vs. Blue; Bloomington's surname, which comes from rapper Dennis "Ghostface Killah" Coles (who would be the primary template for the rapper Malkwon in Modern Cannibals); and Hennepin's surname, which comes from League of Legends pro player Johnny "Altec" Ru.

[milatiny-xx]

once upon a dream | j.yh

pairing: jeong yunho x fem!reader summary: when yunho finds you curled up on the couch after a nightmare, he holds you close to comfort you. you like being in his arms, but you need more. tags: classic nightmare trope, images of being trapped in a prison cell (it's just the nightmare but still), mild hurt/comfort | 18+ MDNI — lead up to smut (no smut yet but if anyone's gonna get it yunho probably will first lol), dry humping, praise, teasing wc: 3.0k a/n: i blushed writing this. also NOTHING in this world is as satisfying as finding a random aesthetic pic on pinterest that ACTUALLY RESEMBLES one of the members (cuddling pic above). i also discovered this while i was looking and why does it genuinely look like him im screaming???? x

⊹₊⟡⋆ masterlist | taglist ⊹₊⟡⋆

You gasp, eyes blinking rapidly. Confused and dazed, you sit up in bed. You run a hand over your face. Your heart is pounding in your chest, aching as if you've been running for hours. As you try to remember where you are and remind yourself that you're perfectly safe, tears brim in your eyes.

You glance down next to you and see Yunho still fast asleep. He looks so peaceful and sweet—round cheeks squished into the pillow, lips slightly ajar. The last thing you want to do is wake him up.

Sniffing, you carefully pull the covers back and make your way quietly into the living room. You curl up on the couch, tucking your knees in toward your chest. Even though you're far enough away from Yunho that he probably won't hear you, you bury your head into your knees.

And then you cry.

It's been a while since you had a nightmare like this. Everything felt so real. You could still remember the panic in your chest when your mind made you see yourself caged inside of a metal prison. You yanked on the iron bars, screamed for help, thrashed against the walls but nothing helped. You were trapped in a dingey, dark place with no light but plenty of terrible sounds. Screams and shouting and crying seemed to come from all around you, but you could never figure out what was making all those noises.

And the worst part you remember so vividly: somehow knowing that no one knew you were trapped there. They couldn't find you and weren't coming to save you.

Your fingertips dig into your knees, and you rock back and forth as you try to catch your breath.

You know you're safe, you know you're loved, you know you're-

"Princess?"

Yunho's deep, smooth voice draws a gasp from your chest. Your head snaps up, angling toward his silhouette in the hallway. You go silent, hoping maybe he would be too tired to deal with you and just go back to sleep. Unsurprisingly, he reaches for the lamp instead. You drop your head back between your arms just before the warm, soft light floods the room.

"Ah, jagiya, what are you doing in here?"

You don't respond, squeezing your eyes tighter instead. A few seconds later, you hear the distinctive sound of his feet padding across the floor toward you.

"Jagiya..." he whines in a sing-song voice. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I'm okay, Yuyu. Just go back to bed, please."

The couch dips under his weight as he sits down next to you. A shiver ricochets through your spine as his palm smooths over your back. His other hand wraps gently around your arm, and he tries to pull it away from your face. You groan, flexing to keep him from succeeding.

"What's wrong? Let me see."

He tries again, but you hold firmly. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. The next time, he maneuvers both of his hands around your wrists and forces you to open up. At first, you fight him but give up easily. You know he won't let you alone until you answer his questions. Once uncovered, he slides a knuckle under your chin and tilts your face up toward him.

You sniff, feeling another wave of tears coming on. Your ears and cheeks feel hot with embarrassment—you hate having him see you cry over something that's not even real. But his eyes soften when they land on you. He grimaces, eyebrows pushing together.

"I thought I heard you crying," he mutters, cupping your cheeks with both hands and brushing his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the stream of drying tears there. "What's wrong, jagi? Did I do something?"

"No," you reply quickly, shaking your head. "No, you didn't do anything. I just...it's stupid, but I had a nightmare."

"Ah, okay. That's okay. Everyone has nightmares sometimes. You wanna tell me about it?"

You stare up at him, your lips quivering in their frown. His eyes look so pretty, deep brown and sparkling even in the dim light of the lamp. His gaze is trained on your forehead, focused as he brushes your messy hair back into place.

Yes, of course you want to tell him about it. But you really don't want to cry while doing it.

"I-I don't know if I can right now," you stutter and sniff as a fresh round of tears slip down your cheeks.

He nods, his stare meeting yours. He swivels on the couch so that he's sitting cross-legged facing you. He gently tugs at your arm, encouraging you to do the same. You obediently shift, scooting forward so that your knees are touching. He takes your hands in his, his thumb running back and forth over your knuckles.

"Then don't tell me now. You tell me when you're ready. But..." he pushes your hands upright and threads his fingers through yours, "I can't have my baby crying. So, what can I do now to help?"

You smile at his sweetness. He returns the gesture with a silly grin. (a/n: he's so precious send help) He reaches up to brush away your tears once again.

"Um...I'm not sure. My chest hurts, and I still feel anxious. Maybe just something to distract me?"

"Distract you? Okay, let's see..." His finger absentmindedly taps against the back of your hand as he thinks. "Ah, how about this—why don't we make up a good dream so that you can forget about the bad one?"

"Make up a good dream? What do you mean?"

"I'll show you. Close your eyes."

You quirk an eyebrow, unconvinced. He chuckles, holding up his hand in front of your eyes and waving it.

"Close! I'll do it with you." Giggling, you follow his direction. "Now, the first step to making a dream is that we have to go somewhere pretty. Where do you want to go?"

"Uhhh...the beach?"

"Okay, we're at the beach. We're sitting on the sand. The sun is shining and it's warm outside—but it's not too hot—it's just right. The water is blue and sparkling. What do you hear?"

"Seagulls...waves...maybe the wind blowing through the trees."

"Mhm," he hums in approval. "Good. What else do you notice?"

"You're sitting right next to me with your arm around my shoulder. And I'm drawing shapes in the sand."

"Nice, very nice." You can practically hear the smile in his voice. "Now I want you to imagine something really special happening. Don't tell me what it is, just imagine it. It's your dream. Anything can happen—whatever you want, jagi."

You breathe deeply, in and out, as you let your imagination take over. Surprised by how creative your subconscious is, you feel heat creeping over your face at what you're seeing. Suffice it to say, there are lots of limbs and very little clothing.

Invested in your selfish fantasy, you jump a little at the unexpected feeling of Yunho's finger gently tapping the tip of your nose.

"Open." You force your eyes apart. Yunho gazes back at you softly. "There, see. No more crying tonight."

You give him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Yuyu. You're too good to me."

He shakes his head, waving dismissively.

"Nothing is too good for my baby girl. Come here and let me hold you."

You crawl onto his lap, wrapping around him like a koala and burying your head in the crook of his neck. He winds his arms around your back to hold you tightly against him. One of his hands slides onto the back of your head. He rhythmically runs his touch back and forth across your hair. You close your eyes for just a moment, comfortable in his embrace.

"There you go," he says quietly. "Feel better?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly? Well, that's not good enough. What else can I do for you, princess?"

You furrow your eyebrows, thinking.

Then, straightening your head, you meet his gaze. His eyes widen expectantly. You smile, biting your tongue as you gingerly run your finger across the adorable morning blush on Yunho's cheeks. He always gets it when he first wakes up.

You touch trails down, working its way to his lips. He watches you with interest, his eyelashes fluttering as he studies your face. Adoringly, you brush your finger over his mouth.

He purses his lips, kissing the tip of your digit, and you giggle. He laughs, too, the sound a welcome vibration against your fingertip. You tap his lip twice, and then move your hand to tap your own mouth.

He angles his head, giving you that look that he always does right before he comes in for a kiss—chin pointing up, slight smile playing at his lips, slightly narrowed eyes. Carefully lowering your face, you meet him in the middle to press your lips sweetly against his. He kisses you back, matching your pressure.

You pull back, not really paying attention to the way your fingers are playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He stares up at you, and his eyes shifting from side to side. He clears his throat and sticks his lips out, asking for another kiss. You giggle and move forward again.

Though you go in with chaste intentions, Yunho has other plans this time. His grip on the back of your head tightens to pull you in deeper. He kisses you slowly as your fingers slide up into his hair. The hand on your spine drops and curves around your lower back.

In response to his touches, you start to kiss him more feverishly, opening your mouth wider. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt—by accident or on purpose, you don't know. Either way, you sigh at the sensation of his touch on your bare skin.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, gently tugging on it. You don't mean to, but your body responds automatically to his sudden aggression. You gasp, legs clenching around his waist. His head jerks back an inch. His hold on your body tightens. You stare down at him in surprise, frozen and not sure what he's thinking.

You've only been dating for a couple of months, and you've both agreed to take it slow. You care about each other too much to mess this up. So, even though you've spent plenty of nights wrapped in his arms and plenty others kissing each other, you haven't actually gotten the chance to do much more. Of course, you've thought about it. A hundred times. You've imagined it a hundred more times and always wondered when the right moment would come up to initiate it.

Deciding this is as good a time as any, you grasp at his shirt. With a fistful of fabric, you pull his mouth back to yours. He grunts quietly as his face crashes against you. But he doesn't hesitate to give you what you want. He kisses you hard and fast, saliva stringing between you.

With your eyes closed, you hardly realize your world is tipping upside down until you feel his weight pressing down on top of you. You sink into the couch.

His tongue darts out to lick across your bottom lip, and you open up for him without question. You can't help but moan quietly into his mouth. Your body feels like it's on fire—every nerve ending vibrating at the same time. Your legs are still wrapped securely around his waist, but he's propping himself up to keep distance between you.

Suddenly frustrated by the lack of contact there, your hands slide down his sides in search of the waistband of his pants. Finding it, you tug at it to try and pull his hips down against you. His mouth slips from yours. Your head instinctively moves forward, searching for him but finding empty air between you.

"Jagi," he gasps. Your eyes flash open. "If I start...I-I don't know if I can stop."

"Don't. Don't stop," you respond, your tone mirroring how frantically you need his touch.

He pulls back, his eyes flicking between yours.

"You want me to keep going?"

"Yes..." you plead, practically begging. "I..."

"What?"

"I..."

He stops, propping himself up on one arm to look at you. His eyebrows are knit in concern, but his big eyes are still cloudy and dark. His plump lips are parted. You're mesmerized by the way they open and close slightly with every breath.

"What is it, baby girl?" he whispers.

You can barely breathe. How can he say such sweet, gentle words when he's looking at you like that?

"This was what I dreamed about, when you asked me to think of something happy. I imagined this. What it would be like, what it would feel like."

"Oh?" he asks, clearly amused. "Just how much did you imagine?"

Heat spreads across your face, burning the tips of your ears.

"Everything," you answer bashfully.

He smiles sweetly, tenderly brushing his fingers across your jaw.

"How am I doing then? Living up to your expectations?"

"Oh, trust me. You're better. So much better."

"Yeah? Just like you imagined? My hands on you like this?"

You shiver as his hand runs up your leg, his thumb brushing along the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh.

"Yeah..."

"Were they here?"

You nod, frozen under his addictive touch. You wiggle uncomfortably as his thumb draws circles on the skin there. Your stomach is starting to feel tight, that familiar coiling feeling building.

"Where else were they, princess? Show me."

You breathe shakily, reaching for his hand. You guide his touch, placing it flat on your stomach and moving it up your body and onto your breast. He inhales sharply, his hand hovering over top of your chest. You curl your fingers over his, letting him know that it's okay to touch you as much as he wants. His palm curves over your breast, and you sigh at the deliciously sore sensation when he kneads you. His thumb brushes over your nipple. Your head tilts back in pleasure. Yunho takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your jaw, kissing down your neck.

He continues massaging your chest while his tongue and teeth work on your throat. Your fingers tangle in his hair, threading his soft locks through your digits. You moan softly as he bites and sucks on your skin. Your legs tighten around him again, pulling his hips down against yours. A gasp slips from your mouth when you feel him hard against the inside of your thigh. Impatiently, you buck your hips upward. Yunho chuckles against your neck.

"So impatient," he mutters.

Despite his teasing, his hips shift forward. You catch your lip between your teeth, giggling breathily. Yunho moves away from your neck. His eyes are like fire when he looks at you. He smirks, and you whimper. He looks so beautiful like this, hungry and dominant. You need more.

Your hips move upward again to meet his. He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. You kiss him harshly, and your tongue explores his mouth while he rocks against you. Your gut churns, that delicious feeling growing in your lower stomach.

"Such a good girl," he mutters against your lips. "So sweet."

You don't know why—if it was his honeyed words or the intensity of his gaze or the leftover anxiety from your nightmare—but your chest suddenly aches terribly. Your face screws up, lips slipping from Yunho's into a frown. You inhale sharply and whimper as if you're about to cry. Before you can cover it up, Yunho notices. He lifts his head, his hips freezing as he examines you.

"Y/N...are you okay?" he asks, seemingly a little panicked at your sudden outburst of emotion.

You sniff, forcing yourself to nod. You blink rapidly and try to push your tears away, but one manages to escape and drips down the side of your face. Yunho clicks his tongue, wiping the tear away with his knuckle.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. Don't stop please."

"Jagi..."

"Yunho, please."

You watch his eyes, gaze drifting between his left and right as you plead with him to keep making you feel like this. But his eyes soften, all of that hungry desire melted from his stare. He shakes his head, sighing.

"No. Not like this," he says. "Not when you're emotional like this. I don't want you to be sad. It'll taint everything."

"N-no, I'm not upset. I won't cry anymore. I can handle it. I swear."

He huffs, pressing his lips together firmly. He leans up, sitting back on his knees. Your legs unlatch from behind his waist, falling limp beside his body. You pout. He reaches forward, sliding his palm onto your cheek. He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone and smiles.

"As much as I love seeing you beg for it," his eyes sparkle as he admits it, "I want our first time together to be special. No tears, okay?"

Your frown deepens, but you reluctantly nod. You know he's right. At the very least, you know your boyfriend well enough to understand that he will not budge one centimeter when he's made up his mind.

"Okay. But soon, Yunho? Promise me."

He nods, clearly satisfied with your answer.

"Soon, jagi. I promise." He carefully untangles himself from your limbs and slides his arms under your body. "Come on, let's get you back to bed. It's late, and I'm tired. Someone woke me up in the middle of the night."

You huff but hook your arms around his neck as he lifts you up. With ease, he carries you into the bedroom bridal style. Your heart flutters at how gently he places you on top. He crouches beside the bed, propping his chin on the mattress. His fingers brush your hair back. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before settling into the bed behind you. He wraps his arms tightly around you, pulling you close to him.

Your eyes droop closed. A wave of exhaustion sweeps over you, Yunho's warmth and sweet smell a welcome comfort. He kisses the top of your head and then tucks you beneath his chin. In a matter of seconds, your breathing has synced with his and sleep is threatening to pull you under. Before you manage to pass out, you hear Yunho's soft whisper.

"Dream of me, princess. I'll dream of you, too. Sleep well."

taglist: @rileylovescats @wooyoungsbrat

[booksandabeer]

Thunderbolts Ramblings

Hi hey hello, I am back after a short self-imposed hiatus. Can I interest you in 2500 words of chaotic ramblings about the Thunderbolts movie? Fair warning: I only just saw it for the first time last night, so I'm still sorting through all my many, many thoughts. This is not a review or meta or anything really. I guess this is what people call A Reaction Post? Ew.

Maybe it's a little bit of everything.

First things first: I really enjoyed watching this movie. Yes, it is flawed. Yes, there are things that I would change, but it is a coherent and cohesive creative work that actually has ideas, features great performances, and that was obviously made with love and care—and that alone makes it easily the best thing the MCU has put out in years, and I'm glad I decided to go and see it in theaters.

(I will put the rest under a 'keep reading' for length and spoiler reasons)

TB is a good, very competently made movie that manages to be incredibly entertaining and funny, and at the same time takes its themes and characters seriously. It has great pacing and momentum, is tightly plotted (a lean 2 hours runtime; imagine that!), finds smart and organic ways to deliver exposition, and all the actors have great chemistry with each other. The score by Son Lux fucking slaps! Practical effects and stunts! Real locations! No 30-minute CGI slop battle at the end where the majority of the audience checks out after ten minutes and starts looking at their phones!

I have to say that for all the promo noise that was made in advance about how the movie was basically made by an all-star team of A24 below-the-line people, it is not able to shake the ugly-ass Marvel “house style” completely, but we get a sleeker, more stylish version of that dreaded flat grey aesthetic and it does actually work here because it makes sense within the context of the film’s plot and more importantly as a visual representation of its themes. The effect of the void looks extremely cool and scary—people actually gasped out loud in my theater when it took the little girl. (Honestly this was horrifying in the very best way because it interrupts a scene at the exact moment when I started to roll my eyes at the cheesiness of it all…and then it did THAT and HOLY SHIT.)   

Like I said above, this is a very funny film. It’s also a very sad one. It’s about sad, broken, lonely people and it deals with depression, isolation, and suicidal ideation in a way that is surprisingly nuanced. Could it be more nuanced? Of course. Is it at all subtle about its central metaphor? Absolutely not. But maybe let’s all calm the fuck down for a second here and remember that this is still a superhero movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and there are limits to what they can and are allowed to do within the narrative and commercial restraints of that world.

And honestly? The world is on fire right now and we are going through a real bleak fucking moment in time (to put it mildly), so I cannot find it in me to be a cynical asshole about a movie in which the Power of Friendship saves the world and evil is defeated via the most dramatic group hug in the history of ever. That said, while I loved this as the climax of the movie and the solution to the Bob/Void conflict, I wasn’t fully convinced as to how all of the characters actually got there. Yelena, sure. But that’s because they did some excellent character work to establish her connection with Bob, and it’s similarly very understandable why Alexei would follow her into the void immediately. But Ava? Walker?? And least of all, Bucky who has never even met Bob and just knows him as that weird Sentry dude with a bad bleach job and a suit that even Homelander would deem too tacky, and who, oh yeah, almost killed him literally five minutes ago? I don’t buy it.

And speaking of my pal, my buddy, my Bucky…I don’t really know what to say here, so let’s just get it over with. He’s barely in the movie. Seriously, it’s a CA:CW situation all over again. If you’ve watched the trailers then you’ve already seen 95% of his scenes. The remaining 5% of his screen time he pretty much spends standing around in the background making reaction faces. Look, I had no great hopes or expectations, so I’m not mad or even surprised at all, but I am still a little disappointed and, frankly, just confused as to what the thought process is here. I simply don’t understand what’s the deal with Mr. Baseball Cap and his Marvel Parliament (cannot believe I just typed that out, what a truly ridiculous & self-important name) continuing to refuse to give Bucky anything of substance to do in these projects. Just…why? You have this widely beloved character with so much juicy narrative potential, so much fascinating backstory to explore, whose own harrowingly traumatic journey makes him uniquely suited to the very story you’re trying to tell with this movie, AND you have a very popular and incredibly charismatic performer playing him who also just so happens to be riding an absolute career high at the moment…and you give him almost nothing meaningful to say or do? Why???

That said, every time he shows up and he actually gets A Moment? He’s fucking electric. I of all people shouldn’t be surprised by Sebastian Stan anymore and admittedly I am very biased—I’m not that far gone down the fangirl rabbit hole not to realize that—but it is truly wild how every time the camera is actually on him it’s like oh ok, hello, the movie star is here now, everybody else can shut up and melt into the background please. Every other actor just looks small by comparison (with Pugh being the only real exception). He brings both a razzle-dazzle and a gravitas to the role that feels completely at odds with the ridiculously little narrative weight that is afforded to his character. What a waste. No wonder Sebastian has seemed monosyllabic and quiet at best and listless and lowkey shady at worst during interviews. Because what really is there to talk about for him? Not much, really.

Let's just run through the other characters quickly because this already getting so long.

Yelena: Florence Pugh is the undisputed lead, and Yelena the beating heart of the movie. I love that she got such a central role here and got to show so many different facets of her character. She’s on fire. I don’t care how fucking cool and how checked out of the MCU you are (while simultaneously talking about nothing else and seeing this on opening weekend, lol), but if you seriously want to tell me that you don’t feel anything at all when she says “But I have so many [regrets]!” in a devastatingly tear-choked voice, then I think you’re either a liar or dead inside. I would also like to once again express my gratitude that they are dressing her in clothes that she can actually move and breathe and fight in. And guess what? She still looks unbelievably fucking hot. 

Ava: I’m not a big Ant-Man person (I’ve only seen the first two movies once and the little interest I had in the third one died the moment I saw that disastrous trailer), so I barely remembered her and therefore had no great expectations, but I liked her, I thought she was really interesting and a great counterweight to the more impulsive and abrasive Yelena. Hannah John-Kamen seems to be a graduate of that very particularly British School of Jaw-Acting. You know that kind of jaw-forward type of performing…very jaw-y…jaw-based? See also: Keira K., Hayley A., etc., you know the exact type of actress that people on this website keep insisting is somehow both uniquely and universally appealing to all bisexual women…and I just cannot confirm that. Sorry. Anyway, H J-K is good in the movie, I look forward to seeing her again and also congratulations to her agent for negotiating that special “with” billing in the end credits because…what. How? But hey, good for her.    

Bob: This is maybe unfair to the character, which is quite well-written, and to Lewis Pullman, who does a great job portraying the wildly different personalities (?) of Bob/Sentry/The Void and yet manages to hold on to an emotional throughline AND be endearingly funny at the same time, but all I could think about while watching this was that this guy is tailor-made (or, you know, genetically engineered…ha!) for the tumblr/AO3 whump girlies. The fanfic is going to be wild. Good character, good performance, GREAT decision to immediately depower him and therefore set him up for an “learning to control/balance your abilities with the darkness inside of you” arc in the next movie(s). Still, I will always wonder about what could've been if my beloved Steven Yeun hadn't had to drop out of the role.  

Alexei: I have very complicated feelings about this character. Objectively, he is an awful, awful person who has done terrible things to people—including the ones that he claims to love. Thanks to David Harbour, he’s also got a big boisterous personality, a striking physicality, and he’s legitimately and wildly hilarious. He made me laugh out loud multiple times! And yet, I cannot help but be very skeptical about this #GirlDadification of a character that literally trafficked human beings and was ultimately fine with handing his “daughters” over to an organization that enslaved them, mentally and physically abused them, groomed them to be child soldiers, forcibly sterilized them, and had them kill other little girls when, again, they were still children themselves. Idk, kind of makes the bile rise up in your throat while you’re still laughing at cute jokes about Wheaties boxes and pee wee soccer teams.      

Walker: Speaking of complicated characters…I have to say, I enjoyed him immensely in this movie. Which, mind you, is very much not the same as liking him. There’s already a lot of heated discourse about the character and if he deserves a redemption arc and whether or not he’s actually given one in this movie. I honestly neither understand the Walker stans who truly think he’s a poor little meow meow with a heart of gold and is really just misunderstood good guy nor his haters who are up in arms because they seem to think that the movie also genuinely believes that and portrays him as such. I think they’re both wrong and that the movie actually does a great job of showing that he’s a pathetic little asshole who blames everybody but himself for his failures and takes out his insecurities on other people that he perceives as weaker than him, while also not forgetting that he is still a human being worthy of some empathy. And bless Wyatt Russell for leaving behind any vanity and throwing himself into portraying this character as a deeply, deeply unpleasant person. Even his fighting style is ugly—all brute force and no finesse. The fact that any of the team members can stand to be in a room with this insufferable man for even just a few minutes without throwing a punch at him says much more about their humanity and innate goodness than it says about him and his supposed redeemability.        

Valentina: I realize that I’m probably the only person in the world who thinks so, but both Valentina as a character and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, as an actor, were the weak links for me in this movie. Despite having seen her appear in one tv show and two movies now, I still do not understand Valentina’s motivations in the slightest—there’s never any explanation given for why she does what she does or what she ultimately hopes to achieve with it (see also her assistant Mel, a complete non-character, whose reasons for working for her evil boss—and continuing to work for her even after she clearly recognizes her as evil and sort of kind of but not really "betrays" her to Bucky et al—are even more opaque). Valentina's shame-room scene only makes her less legible as a person and a villain, and except for one brief moment, she herself doesn’t seem to be bothered or affected by it at all, so I don’t even know why it was included. JLD did not work for me here, not because she isn’t a very talented actress, but because she’s simply miscast and/or misdirected. She clearly has a lot of fun dialing it up to eleven playing the hubristic comic book villain, but since all the other actors give performances that are at least to a certain degree grounded in an approximation of realism, she just comes across as tonally off and like she’s in a different movie than everyone else.    

Sidenote: I have to say that it did amuse me endlessly to see this awful woman who carelessly uses and abuses enhanced humans like they are little more than glorified dolls for her to play with under the guise of wanting to “protect the world” (lol) standing behind the bar of Avengers Tower pouring herself champagne in the very spot where a certain someone mixed his cocktails and monologued about his own greatness. Was this intentional? Honest-to-god lèse-majesté in an MCU movie? Please be serious, that’s never going to happen. But my god, did it make me cackle with glee!

Stray thoughts because omg this is so long:

If I was a Taskmaster/Antonia fan, I would be rioting in the streets right now. Why even bring her back if this is what you're going to do with her? I know the MCU iteration of the character wasn't exactly popular, but wow, to give her such an unceremonious and meaningless death was just mean, bordering on cruelty.

I was pleasantly surprised that aside from the dishwasher joke, the "disarming" Bucky scenes were handled sensitively and seriously. Yeah, sorry I just do not find disability jokes funny. Bonus points to Ava for immediately picking up Bucky's arm to return it to him.

I'm not going to touch the final end credits scene with a ten foot pole because the discourse about what happens in it and how a certain character is referenced/talked about is already absolutely bonkers unhinged in many different ways and I have no desire to wade into that. Folks are being real normal about it, that's for sure, and I would remind them that these are fictional characters, who cannot be blamed for stupid things they say or do or don't say or do. Blame the writers, directors, producers, executives, who are the ones who actually have agency and authority over what is shown and said on screen.

Ok, one thing about that scene because I was so distracted by it that I almost missed everything else: WHAT in the everloving 90s bodice ripper cover model hell is THAT HAIR??? I mean he looks good, because he always looks good, but wow. Yes, yes, I know most of you like that hair. It's fine. The new suit is badass though.

I have so many more things to say, but I will stop now. I'm not even sure if anybody will read this far, but hey thanks if you did and let me know what you thought of the movie.

Just to reiterate, in case this wasn't clear: I liked the movie. I liked it a lot, even. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to go shout from the rooftops that Marvel is so back!!! or something like that. But. This is a giant step in the right direction. More of this please.

[happylittleshrub]

I don't mind at all! :D

(Like if he paints a space, that is him declaring it His) This is a really cool perspective on it! I really like your reasoning even if I still think paint would be more towards the bottom of Rocket's chosen mediums. Not that I think he has anything against painting I just feel like he would opt towards different creative avenues. He doesn't give off the vibe of a painter to me, if that makes any sense lol. But as someone who loves painting I like the idea of a more painterly Rocket existing :)

(I don't know if you've seen it already or not but there's behind the scenes test footage where baby Rocket recreates the Mona Lisa as Lylla)

(He doesn't really have any tech that's mismatched color-wise) My explanation for that is that he mainly uses metal pieces and most metal is metal colored :P Lol But all of his inventions do look really cool, and I think when he's creating stuff in his downtime he does put more thought into how it looks. It's just that aesthetics are the top priority. Most of his stuff ends up looking cool regardless though because it just kinda comes naturally to him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(even if I don't like the look of either...) This is surprising to me because the Endgame outfit tends to be a fandom favorite! Is there anything in particular you dislike about it? I'm just curious since like I said it's generally pretty popular. Personally I think the jumpsuit is cute on him and I just adore the scarf and goggles I think it's so precious. (and the scarf is widely believed to be Quill's because Rocket is a sentimental sweetie who misses his friends)

(Taking into account his ability to bite metal, probably could claw through softer metals, and probably has the strength to bend it at will) Ok so I was thinking more like he would solder or weld stuff but straight up brute forcing the metal into a sculpture is pretty badass ngl! I tend to forget that tidbit about him biting through metal mostly because it was never actually used anywhere lol It's such an interesting bit of lore though!

(It would be a very impermanent art) Yeah I could see that XD

(it would activate the same part of his brain that wants to take apart, and figure out machines and tech work) Oooh that's interesting!! That's sort of the opposite to my hc because to me Rocket isn't interested in art the same way he is with tech because it doesn't give him the same feeling of... intrigue? I don't know how to describe it exactly but you ever think something is cool or fascinating but not to the point you want to do any further research into it? I think Rocket's that kind of way towards painting/drawings. I don't know if I'm explaining myself very well 😅

(I think he absolutely keeps them all stored safely to display when they have a more stable home) Yessss! ❤️❤️❤️ And even before that he would hang them around their ship like when he tells Baby Groot he wants to put his art up on the fridge? 🥺🥺🥺 He's so Dad

(a guy who finds the beauty in every hour of the day) This whole paragraph is such a lovely sentiment, really beautifully written! 👏

Rocket and Art Headcanons

I actually don’t see Rocket as being much of an artist in the painting/drawing sense. 

Sometimes he’ll sketch up drawings of different inventions he wants to make, but they’re not detailed in the way blueprints tend to be. Rocket doesn’t need to work from blueprints so when he sketches down an idea it’s more like him writing a note for himself, how this is something he wants to work on at some point.

I think Rocket’s creativity lends itself more to a 3D creation space. He likes working with tactile mediums. 

In most instances when he makes something the form follows the function. Rocket usually works with a lot of repurposed parts and he’s generally more concerned with what a gadget does than how it looks. 

That being said though he does have a great sense of what looks frickin’ awesome. It’s canon that he’s the one who designed the Bowie which is amazing, and there’s also the aero-rigs which look so cool and sleek. I definitely think he adds flair to different weapons and such when he wants to.

I also like the headcanon that he participated in the creation of the Guardians’ uniforms in Vol. 3.

Headcanon of mine: He knows how to sew. He mends and alters his clothes 

He’d be really good at metal working. He already knows how to make a gun or a spaceship so if he wanted to create a sculpture of something he’d have no problem identifying what metal parts to use and how to put them together. 

I think he would also have a talent for origami (Raccoonfallsharder wrote a rly cute hc about this)

Rocket doesn’t really judge art on its technical aspects. A painting could be the most technically proficient piece ever created but if Rocket feels no connection to it he’d just be like “That’s worth millions of units???” Conversely he wouldn’t get why a single dot on a canvas is worth millions of units either just looking at it. 

For him the context of a piece, who created it and why, would matter far more in determining an artwork’s value

He adores the little drawings Baby Groot would make of the Guardians. He’d call them masterpieces and fully mean it. It’s his son expressing his love for his family and that means the absolute world to Rocket.

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[seagull-scribbles]

☔️ It’s time to loose your self loathing, excuse yourself, let hope in ♥️

[familyoftwo]

continued | @fcllederage

"Oh my god!" Joseph exclaimed and quickly put his arm around them to help them inside. Part of him couldn't believe no one had done anything to help. but obviously not, because if they had. Hyacinthe would most likely be in the hospital right now, or at least being checked up on by some medical crew on site.

He took them to the couch. Looking them up and down for injuries. There were the obvious ones on her cheek, arms and knees. But could there be anything more serious where he couldn't see? "Did you hit your head?" Joseph asked nervously, worried for his friend. "Maybe we should take the wig off. Just check."

[ghostsandmirrors]

isn't it lovely? all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone. tear me to pieces, skin to bone. hello, welcome home.

- lovely by billie eilish — original images loki: [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] bucky: [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] shared: [x] | [x]

texture credits! n/a

( made with @ash-muses' loki in mind )

[wcvensouls]

it might have taken awhile to get right where they had always belonged but oh, did they love every second of the journey — featuring taesoo & harper's wedding celebrations and honeymoon ( @sunchases )

[hollis-exe]

they gotta put some sort of enrichment in my cave man i just spent 3 hours placing cubes

[byanyan]

character inspoㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤblank template here!!

tagged by:ㅤ@skxrbrand ty!! ♡

[queeraak]

i must confess that fall is the worst season in my opinion and i don't know why people like it. everything bad about the world is represented in october - november

[fragmentedblade]

I've been reading about xiangqi a bit and now I'm even more obsessed with that one video of Jing Yuan

[foxy-eva]

Send Nudes

Summary: Chaos ensues after you accidentally send Spencer a nude pic

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) dub-con (Spencer receives an unsolicited nude pic), embarrassment, awkwardness, tension, heavy kissing, male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), handjob, protected penetrative sex

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient Challenge!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Panic. Embarrassment. Shame. 

It was hard to describe what you felt when you stared at your phone, realizing that you had just sent Spencer Reid a nude picture of yourself. 

It was a mistake, of course – right when you wanted to send him a screenshot of an article, you stumbled over the mess in your apartment and selected the wrong picture. Frozen in place, you watched in horror as the read receipt showed up instantly. 

Spencer had just seen your naked body light up on the screen of his phone. 

A picture he never asked for and probably didn't want to see. It wasn’t a bad photo, some might even call it aesthetically pleasing. But you had never intended for anyone else to see it. It was just a way for you to make yourself feel good about your body. 

You contemplated your options. Burning your phone, moving across the country and changing your identity sounded intriguing but difficult to arrange. Instead you decided to text Spencer, hoping that soon you’d both be able to laugh about the embarrassing thing you just did. 

“I am so sorry about that. I really didn't mean to send that! Can you please delete the pic and forget about it?” 

You didn't get a response. Spencer was never great at texting but you had really hoped to hear back from him. It was hard to tell if he felt just as embarrassed or maybe even offended – you certainly wouldn't want to receive unsolicited nude pics either. 

You had barely gotten any sleep when you walked into work the next morning. Worst case scenarios had plagued your mind all night – from another painful workplace sexual harassment seminar to maybe even losing your job over your mishap – you had no idea what would expect you today. 

Everything seemed normal when you got to your desk, except for the fact that your favorite coworker didn't even look at you when you walked by him. Spencer usually liked sitting beside you in the conference room and also on the jet, but he did neither of those things that day. 

“Wow you really must have pissed Reid off, huh?” Luke whispered when he sat down beside you on the plane. 

“Did he say anything to you?” you wanted to know. 

“No, he didn't. What did you do? Spill coffee over his favorite chess board?” he teased. 

“Oh it’s so much worse than that,” you whined while heat rushed to your face. 

Emily decided to discuss the case before Luke could ask more questions. Spencer avoided you for the next couple of hours until you decided you both had suffered enough. 

A quiet moment in the coffee kitchen of the police precinct seemed good enough to approach him.

“Hey Spencer,” you said and noticed how he almost jumped at the sound of your voice. 

“H…hi,” he mumbled, his eyes fixated on the floor.

Stepping closer, he finally looked at you for the first time that day. The rosy shade spreading over his cheeks was impossible to ignore. 

“I’m very sorry about the… you know. I didn't mean to send it but I understand if you feel offended by it,” you sincerely told him. 

“I’m not… offended.”

You took a deep breath before you continued talking, “All I want to say is… if you want to discuss this incident with Emily or even HR, I would understand. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.” 

“No, it’s okay, really,” he lied. “We can just forget about it.” 

Spencer Reid was good at many things. Lying, however, definitely wasn’t his strong suit. You decided to drop the subject for now, aware that talking more about it would probably not make him less uncomfortable. 

The tension between you two was palpable for the rest of the workday. When you stepped into your hotel room that night, you were relieved to finally have a couple of walls between the two of you. 

If this thing didn't resolve soon, you’d have to talk to Emily about it eventually. But there was still hope that it wouldn't come to that. The embarrassment about your mishap was already bad enough as is.

The three knocks on your hotel door startled you. With your heart beating uncomfortably fast, you walked over to the door to find Spencer on the other side. 

He walked into your room without saying a word. Then he began slowly pacing up and down your room, still silent. He looked at you for a second but his sight fell to the floor immediately after that. 

“I uh…” he began before taking a deep breath. “I lied to you earlier.”

“About what?” you wanted to clarify. “Wanting to go to HR?” 

He shook his head. “I said that we can just forget about it but I don’t think I can do that.” 

Your heart felt heavy at his words. His discomfort pained you and you wished nothing more than to be able to take it back. “I’m so sorry Spencer.”

“I deleted the image off my phone but…” he paused to finally look at you. The expression written over his face was hard to read. What you didn't find was the discomfort you expected. Instead he looked… cocky?

He continued, “...it seems like it’s burned into my brain. And I can’t help but wonder, was it really an accident?”

“What?! Of course!” you squeaked. “Believe me, I would never want to send you a picture like that unprompted.”

That was when you saw a subtle smirk on his face. “Interesting choice of words.” 

You thought about it for a moment. Had you really just implied that you would want to send him nudes if he’d ask you to? 

“That's not what I meant,” you tried to brush it off. “And please don’t give me a lecture about Freudian slips.”

His presence filled the room and you felt like you couldn't take deep enough breaths to satiate your need for oxygen. His demeanor was so different from what you were used to and you had trouble wrapping your head around it.

His next question was even more surprising. “Who did you take this picture for?” 

The undertone in his voice was unsettling and you started feeling defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your business but just for the record, I took it for myself. I do that occasionally to make myself feel good about my body.” 

It seemed as if he was content, almost relieved with your answer. You scanned his body language again and replayed his words in your head. Then it hit you all at once. Spencer was not here to scold you for what you did. 

He was jealous. And he wanted to make sure no one else got to see your picture. 

A grin formed on your face as you realized that you could play this game too.

Your tone was laced with a certain playfulness when you asked, “What did you do after you saw the picture?”

The change of your demeanor seemed to take Spencer by surprise. “I just told you, I deleted it.” 

“I don't think that's all you did.” He audibly gulped and you noticed his cheeks taking on a reddish color. Stepping closer to him, you whispered, “Did you touch yourself, Spencer?”

A shaky breath left his mouth before he confessed, “Yes.”

“Naughty boy,” You teased him. “You really liked that image, hm?” 

Nodding, he took a step forward until there was barely any space between the two of you. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

His words boosted your confidence. “I know I look great in that pic. But I think I would look even better in this lighting right here, don’t you think?” 

Before you could bring to action what you had insinuated, you felt Spencer's hands cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. The surprised gasp escaping your throat was muffled by his lips against yours. 

He kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. Weakness rushed to your knees and you had to hold onto him to not tumble back. One hand pawed at his shirt while the other one held onto his shoulder. His lips felt soft yet firm against yours. 

When his tongue begged for entrance, you let it. As he deepened the kiss, you could feel heat rushing through body. A few moments ago you really thought you’d have the upper hand in this game you were playing but now realized you were just as pathetic as he was. 

Maybe sending him that image was a Freudian slip of some kind. Or maybe it was just some odd plan the universe had to bring you together. Either way, you were grateful for how things turned out. 

Your hands became curious as they wandered over Spencer’s body. The tingling in your fingertips could only be soothed by feeling his skin underneath them, so they quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. Spencer showed a similar interest in feeling more of you by the way his fingers dropped down to the hem of your shirt. 

Piece after piece both of your clothes fell to the floor, only ever breaking the kiss for as long as necessary. When you stood completely bare in front of one another, you dared to press your body against his to feel him. 

It was impossible to tell who moaned first when his length pressed against your stomach. With a firm grip on his shoulders, you moved him back until his legs made contact with the edge of the bed. You pushed down until he sat on the mattress, staring up at you with a curiosity in his eyes that made your heart jump. 

As you stepped back, his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick over his lips and you wondered if he thought about tasting you. To your surprise, he managed to not break eye contact until you challenged him, “Go on, take a look.”

His sight scanned your body, lingering on your breasts for a second before moving further down, taking everything in. You couldn’t hold back from looking at him, too. A rosy color had spread all over his cheeks and chest and when you dared to drop your eyes to his cock, you noticed how it twitched slightly against his thigh. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed when your eyes met again. 

“Better than the image?” you teased, smirking at him. 

He only nodded before looking at your body again. It was like he was mesmerized, as if a miracle had just unfolded right before him. It became obvious that he was ready to worship you if you’d let him. But first, you had something else in your mind. 

“Show me exactly what you did when you saw my picture,” you told him. 

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Wh… what?” 

“Don’t be shy now,” you snickered. “Come on, I wanna see how pretty you think I am.” 

The sweet smile on your face seemed to encourage him enough to let his right hand move towards his hardness. It was as if he needed reassurance when he found your eyes and you nodded.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving himself a squeeze and you watched as precum spilled over the tip. Slowly, he began moving his fist up and down his length, swiping his thumb over the head each time he got to the top. The groan that slipped from his lips could only be described as absolutely sinful. 

You couldn’t deny how much the sight in front of you turned you on. Spencer was so incredibly beautiful and the thought that your body had the ability to make him feral like that drove you insane. 

Arousal gathered at your entrance the longer you watched him. This show was no longer enough for you, you needed more. Your hands found the curve of your chest, gently kneading them before your fingers began toying with your hardened peaks. Spencer’s eyes were fixated on your hands, his mouth hanging wide open and unabashedly moaning at the sight while accelerating the pace of his hand. 

Then suddenly, he stopped and got up from bed. Desperation was written all over his face when he looked at you. 

“Please,” he begged as he stepped closer. “I need to touch you.” 

It was everything you wanted right then, too. 

“I’m all yours, Spencer.” 

His mouth was on yours in an instant and he didn’t waste any time to move you over to the bed to push you onto the mattress. He followed quickly, towering over you as he kissed down your neck, making you moan in anticipation of what would follow. 

He moved further down your body, kissing and nipping on the tender flesh of your breasts before focusing his attention on your nipples. The sensation was almost unbearable and you could feel how your arousal began coating the insides of your thighs. 

Spencer smiled against your skin when he noticed you rocking your hips against his leg every so slightly. His confidence grew as he realized that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

“Needy,” he chuckled as he kissed down your stomach. “That’s cute.” 

Right then you couldn’t care less about being in charge, you just wanted to be taken care of. When his lips brushed over your inner thigh, you opened your legs further to give him better access. He lay down between your legs and didn’t waste any time before he began leaving feather light kisses against your folds. 

You watched as he licked his own lips, tasting your essence on them before he found your eyes. 

“You’re so wet,” he teased and let a finger move along your slit. “Is that all for me?” 

He expected a witty response, like you telling him to bring his mouth to good use for once. So it took him by surprise when you simply sighed, “Yes.” 

There was no more game to play. No more back and forth of who was in charge. It was just the two of you, equally as desperate to finally do what you both had been dreaming of for weeks.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, his hot breath tickling your core, before he finally granted you some relief. 

His tongue moved through your folds, collecting your taste before he focussed on your most sensitive spot. He experimented with different motions for a few moments, paying attention to your reactions until he found what you enjoyed the most. Your hand flew to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his curls to hinder him from moving away – even though he had no intention to do so, anyway. 

With one arm wrapped around your thigh he hindered you from bucking uncontrollably against his face while his other hand found your entrance, letting two fingers slip into you with ease. He moved with great precision, adjusting the angle and the pace according to your reactions, bringing you closer to your breaking point with every second passing. 

The sounds of your pleasure filled the room as you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. With just a few more skillful motions, he pushed you over it. Your walls pulsed around his fingers while your entire body shook. He worked you through your orgasm before he lay back down beside you, placing a gentle kiss against your lips. 

You were still panting when you found his eyes. The warm amber of his irises was almost completely swallowed by his pupils, the lust visible in his eyes contradicting the saccharine smile he showed you. 

“You okay?” he breathed as he wrapped one arm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed while one of your hands moved down his body. 

Tentatively, you let your fingertips brush along his length, feeling his velvety skin under your touch. “Now what are we gonna do with you?” you purred as you wrapped your fingers tightly around him, making him gasp. 

With a torturously slow pace, you moved along his cock. “Tell me, Spencer. What do you want?” 

“I uhm…,” he audibly swallowed. “I have a condom in my pocket.” 

The fact that he brought a condom to your hotel room when he came over early amused you. He never had any intention of just talking to you. 

“So, you want to fuck me?” 

“Yes,” he admitted unabashedly. “If you want that, too, of course.”

With a nod you confirmed that that was exactly what you wanted as well. Right after you let go of him, he grabbed his pants from the floor to take out the foil wrapper. You watched as he ripped it open and carefully rolled down the condom. 

Then, he kneeled down between your legs, taking a moment to admire the beauty of the woman in front of him. 

“Come here,” you cooed and he leaned over you without hesitation. 

Reaching between your bodies, you guided him to your entrance. He closed his eyes when he slowly entered you, relishing the sensation of stretching you open inch by inch. When he was fully inside you, he kissed you before he began moving with slow thrusts.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you brought him even closer. When he was sure that you could take it, he accelerated his pace, fucking you against the mattress until you were sure you would lose your mind. 

Spencer’s body began trembling and he suddenly stopped moving. 

“Sorry, I’m really close,” he whined and tried to pull out slightly. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as you kept him in place with your legs around him. “Please, I need it.”

One of your hands moved down to where your bodies were joined to desperately draw circles around your little nub, making you clench hard around his hardness. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered as he began moving again. “I can’t, ah–” 

With just a few more deep thrusts Spencer came, his cock twitching inside you as his whole body shook. It was enough to throw you over edge too, entering a state of pure bliss together with him. After you had both come down from your high, you welcomed him inside your embrace, your fingertips gently dancing over his back as he caught his breath. 

For the sake of getting cleaned up you separated for a few moments, only to lay back down together soon after. A shaky breath fell from Spencer’s lips and caught your attention. 

“So…,” he began talking but didn’t continue. 

You propped yourself up on one elbow to find his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask if maybe–” 

“You want me to send you that pic again?” you interrupted him with a grin on your face. 

“No,” he laughed. “I mean… that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Still in a teasing mood, you snickered, “But you would like to see that pic again?”

“You know what,” he chuckled as he lifted the blanket to get a peek at your naked body. “I think I actually prefer this.”

“Good,” you chirped. “If you want to see more of me you’ll have to take me on a date though.”

Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he whispered, “Deal.”

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[familyoftwo]

moodboard meme | @electricea asked : ✿ for Lucas? ✿ for a general moodboard about my muse

photos found on pintrest . . . . . . . . .

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour is Upon Us

In which Max decides that maybe doing interviews isn't such a bad thing.

Warnings: jos verstappen mention ew Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.5k plus social media posts

Series Master List Main Master List

TheYappingHour posted:

349,219 likes liked by redbullracing, charlesleclerc, and others TheYappingHour Back at it this week with a very super top secret special guest. I simply can't wait to reveal who's on this weeks pod, you guys! You're going to DIE. (peep the clue in the second picture!) user928 her podcast set up is so aesthetic i can't user0928 RED BULL??? what does this meeeeeean??? >>>user1211 she hasn't done a ton of athletes in the past, maybe she got one of the Red Bull athletes!! user00291 DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN. (shhh let me be delulu for a minute) >>>user221 as much as i'd love that, we all know how much Max hates interviews.

There was absolutely no reason why having Max Verstappen on your podcast should be making you this nervous. You’ve interviewed actual heads of state, a former president, and royalty for crying out loud and you’re losing your mind over Max fucking Verstappen? You supposed it came from the fact that you had spent most of your childhood traveling from track to track to watch your dad race in NASCAR, racing was in your blood and you knew how revered and idolized Max was. And how rabid his fans could get. You wanted to get this interview right. Needed to get this interview right. Motorsport were still a huge part of your life, even if you weren’t really outwardly an active fan. You never missed a NASCAR or F1 race and while you considered yourself a Ferrari girlie, Red Bull was most certainly your second team. 

“Everything ready?” Your assistant Shannon pokes her head in as you fluff the last throw pillow on the cream colored lounge chair. Scanning the room, everything looks to be in order. The two overstuffed chairs dominate the center of the small recording studio, each with a microphone set up on a small side table next to each chair. Instrumental versions of Taylor Swift songs floated out of small speakers tucked away and a few candles burned in the low light of the studio, creating the exact ambiance you were famous for. 

You’d been doing your podcast, The Yapping Hour, for nearly five years now and it was now one of the most popular podcasts being produced. You specialized in relaxed interviews of people that the general public don’t get to see relaxed very often. Your big break had come about 3 years ago when you had somehow managed to land an interview with Michelle Obama, her episode was still the most streamed episode of yours to date. Everyone had fallen in love with your interview style, how you got these normally highly media trained individuals to drop their guard down a little and be real for even just an hour. It gave people such a unique glimpse behind the curtain of fame and your fans ate up every bit of it. 

“I think so!” You nod, smoothing down the front of your boyfriend cut jeans even though the denim is perfectly ironed without a single wrinkle. 

“Good, because he just pulled in the parking lot.” Shannon smirks. She knows how nervous you are for this interview and is insisting it’s because you have a crush on the driver. Which would utterly unprofessional if it were true. But it wasn’t true. At all. “And he’s driving this matte black Aston Martin.” She closes her eyes as she bites her lip, smirk growing even wider. 

“Okay, let’s cool it on the hero worship.” You warn, following Shannon out into the lobby of the building. 

 Outside, it’s a dreary late April morning in the heart of downtown London. You had traveled from your home base in New York City just for this interview but had been surprised at how much you liked the ambiance and energy in the city. So much so that you had extended your stay a few extra weeks. The good thing about being your own boss of a podcast was that you could literally work from anywhere you had your laptop. 

Peering out into the parking lot, you’re surprised to see a lone figure in jeans and what looked to be a Red Bull windbreaker, hustling across the pavement towards the door. When he approaches the door, Shannons steps forward to open the door, a gust of wind whipping at your hair when Max comes bustling in through the doors. 

“Hello!” Max’s voice sends involuntary shivers down your spine, a feeling you fight hard to shove down. This is not the time to be a fan girl, you remind yourself. 

“Hi Max, thank you so much for joining us today! Can I get you some water or maybe some tea?” Shannons steps forward first, extending her hand. 

Max takes it and gives her a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Water is fine, thanks.” 

“Max, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” You step forward then, the heels of your black Louboutain’s clicking on the hardwood floor as you approach him. It takes every ounce of focus you have not to react at what feels like a white hot spark flickering over your skin when his hand touches yours for the first time. 

“Pleasure is mine.” He murmurs, cat like smirk replacing the warm smile that had greeted Shannon. Your social media did you absolutely no justice and Max was finding it hard to keep his composure you were so pretty. 

“Are we waiting on anyone else or is it just you today?” You ask, eyes darting above his shoulder to see if there was anyone still in the parking lot. 

“Why? Will I be needing my body guard today?” He quips as he follows you towards the recording studio.  

You pray the dim lights in the studio hide the way you’ve gone pink. “Of course not! It’s just that normally the people I have on the show travel with an…entourage.” 

“I don’t like people.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. “I prefer to travel solo. Besides, I’m no Queen of the Netherlands or Justin Trudeau, I don’t really need an entourage.” 

He casually drops two of your biggest interviews like it’s nothing and you feel the pink tinge of your cheeks heat to a crimson red. “You’ve listened to the show then?” 

He nods, taking the seat you offer him as Shannon and your AV guy Steve bustle around getting things set up. A bottle of water appears for each of you and you take out the pages of notes you’ve made even though you’ve got all the questions memorized. You like to be prepared and prefer your interviews to be more conversational, less question and answer. 

“I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” His eyes hold this glint of mischief that if you were less of a professional, would have you biting your lip and kicking your feet. Truth was, Max had spent an ungodly amount of time on your socials and wikipedia page, obsessing over you and your career. 

“And yet you still came.” You tease.

“I did.” He says simply and you can’t help but notice how his gaze briefly drops from your eyes down to your lips and quickly back up. It’s so quick that if you weren’t in the business of watching and observing people, you probably would have missed it. But those baby blue eyes of Max’s are so easy to read, all you can do is grin back at him. 

“Well, thank you for making the trek into London today. I do appreciate it.” 

You briefly explain how the interview is going to work, how Steve is going to make sure everything is set up and recording, how you’ll post audio and video versions and that he can have final say in anything that goes in or stays out of the interview. You’ve found that a lot of your guests appreciate that little clause and in the five years you’ve been doing the show only a handful of bits have been kept out. You like to think it’s because you’re good at what you do and get people to open up on a level that they feel comfortable with. 

Steve finally gives you the okay and you settle into the cozy lounge chair, Max sitting comfortably in the one opposite you. 

“Thank you again for joining me today, Max. I’ve got to admit, I was a little surprised when your manager said you’d agreed to come on the show. You don’t do a lot of lengthy interviews and I could only find a handful of podcast appearances over the years. So, why The Yapping Hour? Why now?” 

Max takes a sip of water before placing it on the table beside him. His shoulders are relaxed, his ankle sitting on his knee is a causal pose. You’ve become a veritable body language expert since starting the show and you can already tell this is going to be a good interview. 

“I like your style.” His blunt answer throws you off for a moment and your cheeks heat. Again. You make a mental note to make sure they edit your complexion in post production to take the blush out. “GP sent me the one you did with Dale Earnhardt Jr a few months ago and I was impressed at how authentic you were. Dale is a character but you got a lot of depth out of him. Your questions went beyond the typical ‘what’s your favorite race track.’” 

“Well, thank you. That is quite the compliment coming from you.” For the third time in a short time, you blush at the compliments this man is handing out left and right. 

Your eyes flicker above Max’s shoulder to where Shannon and Steve sit, their smug faces tell you that you’re not imagining him flirting with you. 

“I have to tell you, I went karting with a few friends in prep for this interview and oh my God, I’ve been sore ever since! I can't imagine how hard an F1 car is on your body. Talk to me a little bit about your training sch-…”

“You went karting as research?” He interrupts you, face a mask of disbelief. 

Now it’s your turn to smirk, “Of course, I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” You toss him a wink and enjoy the way your stomach flips when his ears go a bit pink. “My dad beat me by almost 20 seconds and I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, but it was worth it. I can see why so many people get hooked, it was so fun.” 

“Karting with a NASCAR legend had to make it a little better though, yeah?” 

“You know my dad?” Your brows nearly hit your hairline, you’re so surprised at this. Your dad had been long retired before Max had come onto the racing scene and there wasn’t a huge overlap in fan bases between F1 and NASCAR. 

Max nods, “He was racing around the time Jos was in F1. I still remember that one Daytona 500 where he stole the win from Earnhardt Jr on the last lap after he’d led for the entire race.” 

You tilt your head back laughing and Max thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard, fully entranced by the long column of your neck that’s suddenly exposed. “Oh God, dad is going to die when he hears you know about that race.” 

“Have either of you been to an F1 race yet?” A plan begins to form in Max’s head. 

“No!" You lean forward to swat at his arm playfullt. I’ve tried a few times but it’s always fallen through. I do watch most of the races though, as long as my schedule permits. Sometimes it’s easier when you guys are in Europe because the races are so early in New York, it’s easy to watch them from bed on Sunday mornings.”

The image of you wrapped up in a fluffy duvet wearing nothing but his t-shirt as you watch him race nearly sends Max into orbit. He blinks furiously, trying to get that vision out of his mind so he can pay attention to you. 

“Tell me this then, if you could pick any garage to watch the race which one would it be and why would it be Red Bull?" 

You can’t help that laugh that explodes from you then and Max preens under your attention, smile stretching wide across his handsome face. “You know, I could have sworn it was my name on the podcast Instagram page.” You tease, giving him a wink. “You keep asking me questions, I’m going to be out of a job, Verstappen.” 

“I can’t help it when the interviewer is much more interesting than I am.” He murmurs, taking another sip of water without taking his eyes off of you.

The rest of the interview continues on for the next two hours and you get so much content you feel a little dizzy at the thought of having to cut over half of the episode. For the first time in the podcast’s history, you may have to split this into two episodes. Max doesn’t mind one bit, finding that he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be with how easy he finds it talking to you. 

You wrap up the interview over an hour past the time you had told Max’s press officer it would last but neither of you make any movement to get up, despite both Shannon and Steve beginning to wrap things up. 

“I’m so sorry I kept you this long, Max. I know you’re not a huge fan of lengthy interviews.” 

Max just shrugs, “If all interviews were like this, I probably would say yes to a lot more of them.” 

You grin over at him as you rise, realizing the sun is setting outside and your stomach is aching for food. Max follows suit, although he feels a clench in his stomach realizing that his time with you is coming to an end. 

“Can I ask you something?” He says when Shannon and Steve walk out of the studio, leaving the two of you alone. 

You look up at him and nod earnestly, “Of course!” 

“Why didn’t you ask me about my childhood? Usually it’s one of the first things people ask me, especially in these kinds of interviews.” 

You shrug, face heating at being found out. “Like you, I do my research and I figured you might not want to talk about that part of your life. I want my guests to feel comfortable when they come on the show, not immediately put on the defensive. I guess I thought there were other more important topics…” 

Your words hang in the air, heavy between you two. Something in Max’s chest aches at the simple kindness you’ve extended him. It’s true, he doesn’t like revisiting his childhood very often, especially when it’s recorded and will be put on the internet. His dad was very much still in his life, obviously, and while he had done a lot of work to move past his childhood, it was still painful to talk about.  

“Thats…wow. Thank you.” Is all he can manage, voice thick with emotion. 

“Of course.” You murmur, reaching out to touch his elbow in what you hope comes across as a comforting gesture. 

Max’s eyes drop to where your slender fingers rest on his bare arm before a smile stretches back across his face. “I know it’s kind of last minute but you were saying earlier you’d never been to a race. We’re in Miami next weekend and I’d love it if you were my guest…” 

You can’t help the flutter in your chest at how nervous he appears standing before you. Your eyes dart over to Shannon, the official keeper of your schedule and are delighted when she nods vigorously, phone in hand with your calendar already pulled up. You made a mental note to give that girl a raise ASAP. “I would love to, Max.” 

“Yeah?” He sounds almost shocked that you had agreed so quickly. 

“Yeah.” You say, a hint of a giggle at the edge of your voice. 

“How about I take you out to dinner tonight and we can work out the details.” 

“Why Max Verstappen, I had no idea you were this smooth.” 

TheYappingHour posted

987,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, susiewolff, and others TheYappingHour SURPRISE! Part one of my interview with none other than 3 time F1 world champion Max Verstappen is live on all socials RIGHT NOW. (yeah, I said part 1! We both yapped so much you're getting a part two next week!) user9382 the chemistry between these two was OFF THE CHARTS >>>user111 ikr? i felt like i was interrupting something the entire hour. MaxVerstappen1 it was a pleasure meeting you! can't wait to see you in Miami this weekend! >>>user2999 MAX WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HER IN MIAMI. >>>user999 stfu she is so coming to the Miami race?? MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN. user3210 has she ever done a two parter before??? not even the Queen of the Netherlands got a two parter!! user9928 i don't think i've ever seen Max this relaxed during an interview EVER. >>>user222 seriously! He was like a little boy with a crush then entire time.

yourpersonalinsta posted

234,100 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, michelle obama, and others yourpersonalinsta we yapped some more and stuffed our faces. til next time, maxie! (tagged: maxverstappen1) user999 not michelle obama herself in the likes maxverstappen1 you're going to be trouble in miami, aren't you? >>>yourpersonalinsta what do you think? ;) >>>user9932 oh my godddddd user028 this is the couple i didn't know i needed

tag list (some of you only requested to be on a series tag list but i am not organized enough for that. lmk if you want to be removed!! also fingers crossed this tag list works this time ffs. sorry!)

@anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @sltwins @linnygirl09 @powerfulmess @technicallypleasanttree @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @strawberryy-kiwii @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @unknownmystery22 @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream