#and it slapped and had the perfect consistency when microwaved

[torchickentacos]

ADHD WIN! Meal actually tastes way better lazily microwaved instead of, like, prepared and cooked

#ok to rb #i made the most god awful pesto shrimp alfredo linguini thing yesterday #it was another 'leftovers as ingredients' meal #where i see what leftovers we have in the fridge and cook with whatever it is #yesterday it was pesto/corn/shrimp/alfredo sauce only #so i put it all together with pasta #because pasta is great for leftover meals. just toss shit in with noodles and you're usually good to go #um. it was Bad. #hella wet. like unsettlingly wet. i don't know where the wet came from #but it was worryingly wet. even for pasta #but microwaving it again today seems to have. like. congealed it but in a good way #and it slapped and had the perfect consistency when microwaved #so yay for that i guess #food tw

[fwkei]

Excited for what's to come

Rindou Haitani x fem!reader (fluffly, slightly angst, light mention of nfsw)

yass my 2nd request 🥳🥳ik that i can respond to the questions directly but it wont let me put a tittle if i do so i'm just gna do my requests like this, hopefully the person sees it, AND I HOPE U ENJOY! I had kinda a tough time with this ngl also sorry for any mistakes

CW/TW: Mentions of harassment, mentions of drugs

WC: 7.2k

-----------------------------------

Your mouth parted in shock as anger filled you looking at his grinning face. You never thought you’d ever see this man’s face again. And you almost didn’t recognize him. But the second he spoke...you knew it was him...and he knew it was you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” you said under your breath, bringing your hand to your head as he walked over, hands in his pockets smiling.

“Been a while, huh?” he said tilting his head at you

The familiar sight of his cocky smile sent you back, way back to when it all started between you two. Way back to when you were only 15.

You were walking home after finishing a day of school and club activities. It was mid year, finals just finished up and spring break was coming along. You felt relieved that you could finally have 2 weeks of rest, and not worry about your underclassmen and schoolwork. Since tomorrow was the last day of school, you decided you’d make a stop at the corner store. To just grab some snacks, maybe even dinner…

You held your book bag close to your body, as you opened the doors of the store. It was cold inside, you tucked your arms under each other to create some friction for warmth, as you walked around a bit you saw a group of 4 boys who all had matching uniforms, but not school uniforms. Just delinquent uniforms. You quickly glanced to see the sign of their gang, after a bit of looking, you didn’t recognize it, and decided to brush them off.

They looked around the same age as you, maybe a year older. They stood crowded in front of the cooler section laughing and talking pretty loud which already annoyed you a bit since you wanted to get a cold drink. You saw them fill their baskets with different types of beers and candy. You sorta cringed. After grabbing a few snacks and microwavable dinner you walked over to the cooler section, avoiding their presence completely, not interested or bothered by delinquents.

It was common for delinquents to be around where you lived. You often didn’t really like them, since most of them just trashed the streets and caused trouble for others, but you liked the ones that consisted of kids who just wanted to have fun and didn’t cause any harm. But definitely not groups like this, who are always waiting to just ruin someone's day.

“Excuse me-” you said avoiding eye contact, but not in a shy way

“Oh?” said one smiling

“What do you need, pretty?” he asked as his friends slightly moved out of the way, and you looked at him

“..just a drink.” you said smiling, trying to hide your irritated face while pointing to the door they were blocking

“Ahh, my bad.” he said moving out of the way, opening to door for you smiling foolishly

“Thank you.” you said giving a closed eyed smile before lowering your self slightly to grab your favorite drink

After grabbing it, you placed it in your basket and squeezed your way through the boys to get to the cashier. You smiled at the old man behind the counter as he scanned and bagged your items.

“Having dinner all by yourself? C'monn, let me accompany you, huh sweet?” said the leader walking over to you with that same smile on his face while licking his lips making you cringe

“Not interested.” you said not looking at him and grabbing your stuff, turning to walk out

“Aw c'mon..” he said following behind you as his friends dropped their stuff on the floor to follow their boss

You couldn't help but to feel a little bit worried for your own well being. When hearing them call out for you, as you so desperately tried to ignore it and go home. Still by the store's vicinity and still walking you heard him come closer and stand in front you, inching closer and closer to you making you back up with confused and worried eyes

“Don’t ignore me~” he said bringing his hand to twirl your hair

“I said I’m not interested.” you said bringing your hand to push you hair down so that he could no longer touch it

“You think that matters?” he asked as his smile faded into a smaller one but more devious

Suddenly you felt his finger tips touch your waist, and before it could escalate any further your fight or flight kicked in, you quickly raised your hand and slapped the male in front of you, and hard. Causing his head to turn a bit and arms drop from your body. You furrowed your eyebrows in anger as his hand traveled to his red cheek.

“Were you never taught that when a girl says no it means no?” you asked

You saw rage fill the man's eyes, as he brought his hand up to hit you back, both your heads turned to hear another person's voice.

“Really?” is all he said with one hand in his pocket, and the other taking out the lollipop in his mouth as he walked over with a blank expression

“The hell are you?” asked the male in front of you putting his hand down

“You’re gonna beat down on a girl for saying she doesn’t want you? Huh, ugly?” he said smiling as your eyes widened in shock at his insult to the man

Is he stupid? There's 4 guys here and he just insulted their friend. 4 v 1? The odds don’t play in his favor, and there wasn’t much you could do to help him other than call for help. But you couldn’t help but smile a little at his remark, You turnt your head to the side trying to contain your laugh.

“You laughing?” asked the male in front of you turning his rage filled gaze to you

“Yeah she’s laughing, isn't he an ugly guy?” asked the boy with blonde hair and blue highlights with glasses, grinning

“..yeah.” you said holding back your laugh and looking over at the boy, as he looked into your eyes with a look letting you it would all be okay

The male in front of you grunted as he raised his arm to hit you again, but the boy next to you blocked it with ease, signing. He held his arm steady blocking the arm from touching you. He placed his lollipop back in his mouth with one hand, then took off his glasses, turning his gaze to you. You felt your face get hot. He was just so...cool?

He softly smiled and handed you his glasses.

“Hold these for me?” he asked as you nodded your head ‘yes’ looking at him in complete awe

“Thanks-”

“I’m right here!” yelled the male coming in with another hit, you quickly moved out of the way to let him have the floor.

You held the boy's glasses in your hands as you watched him swiftly and easily doge the males attacks, and then it was all over. A single punch from the boy knocked the leader out, as he fell to the floor. Your eyebrows raised, excited.

“Isn’t he your leader? You guys are just gonna stand there?” asked the boy using his foot to turn over the body on the floor as his follower simply just ran away from the scene. The boy walked over to you, twirling the lollipop in his mouth. He took it out, throwing it into the trashcan near you before tilting his head giving you a slightly cocky smile...that you actually liked.

“Thank you.” you said bowing your head slightly at him

“No worries.” he said as you brought your head back up, still looking at him in awe

He noticed. He could tell you were stuck in awe, it was obvious by the look in your eyes. He’s never seen himself make a girl look at him like that, and honestly it made him prideful. But also fuzzy inside since he was able to make you nervous. He watched you earlier, noticing you had more of a calm personality, but the way you were now was different. He could practically feel the heat that radiated from your face. It really made him...happy? Usually all the girls he met fawn over his older brother...and it was nice having some attention for once.

He just kept looking into your eyes for a solid minute, you tried your very best to keep eye contact but it seemed as though he was lost in thought, so you looked off to the side and held out your hand with his glasses in it.

“I- uh..here by the way..” you said still looking off the side hoping he wouldn't notice your flushed face

“Thanks.” he said smiling, taking them from your hand and putting them, blinking his eyes a few times to adjust to it.

“Do you live around here? I can walk you home.” he said putting his hands into his pockets

“Yeah, just up the street. But you don't have to, really! I wouldn’t want to burden you.” you said bringing your hands up frantically at the nice gesture

“I don’t mind, honest. Here...just come with me, I gotta buy a few things first..” he said as his eyes traced your face

“Sure.” you said smiling as you both started to walk to the store

You only followed him around like a lost puppy, as he picked up a few drinks and snacks. Once he finally finished and paid, you both walked out, and started walking to your home.

“What’s your name?” you asked looking at him

“Rindou, or Rin is fine.” he said turning his gaze to you

Every. Single. Time. He looked in your eyes, it was like you were lost in trance. Although it was dark out, you could still so clearly see his eyes, they were so perfect to you. But what you didn’t know at the time was he felt the same way. He finally had someone's eyes on him, for him and no one else. He would feel fuzzy every time you looked him deep in the eye. And you both could tell there was a lot of tension, but not in a bad way.

“Yours?” he asked

“Y/n.” you said looking back in front of you

“Pretty name.” he said making you smile scrunch your eyebrows in confusion as you looked over at him

“Thanks...that’s a compliment I've never heard before from someone.” you said smiling

“Is it the type of compliment you'll remember?” he asked smiling

“Yeah, I don’t think i’ll ever forget it.” you said

“Good.” he said

“Oh- my place is just up the stairs so..thank you for walking me.” you said stopping in your tracks and pointing, smiling

“Yeah, no problem..” he said as you waved and started to walk up the stairs

“Hey-! Before you go-” he said making his way to where you were on the stairs, stopping on the stair below you, making him look up at you

You saw that his face was slightly red, and it made you smile softly as you waited for him to finish his thoughts,

“Would this be a bad time to ask you out or-?” he asked laughing, leaving you surprised

“Yes but I like you..so no.” you said

“..cool.. Then i’ll see you tomorrow.” he said said grinning and turning around to walk

“..tomorrow?” you said under your breath smiling as he made his own way home

After the most cliche moment of your life just happened, you went on to do your regular routine of going to bed. And you couldn’t help but feel so excited for what's to come.

‘What does he mean by seeing me tomorrow..he didn’t even ask if i'd be free, or tell me where we should meet….He’s so different..’

You though tot yourself as you were trying to fall asleep

The next morning, you woke, got ready, and went to school. Everything went as usual. Till one of your underclassmen from your club came barging into the club room, sweating and frantically trying to catch his breath.

“Y/N!” he yelled

“Are you alright?” you asked placing down the pen you were using to help correct a paper, while walking over to him to help him sit down

He only let out heavy breaths, and so you went over to your book bag, taking out a new water bottle and napkin. You handed him the water as he aggressively went to open it and drink it. You kneeled next to the kid and wiped the sweat that was dripping from his forehead, waiting for him to calm down.

“What happened? You look scared.” you said with concerned eyes

“Y/n! There's a man outside in front of the school asking for you!” he said

“..did he threaten you or something?” you asked thinking it was the guy from yesterday who harassed you

“No! But! But!-” he said not being able to speak his mind

“Hey! Hey! It’s alright just relax, grab your stuff and go home, okay? Club is done for today.” you said getting up and patting his head

“Sure but!”

“Don’t worry! Everything is fine-” you said walking over to grab your sweater and bag

“Do you mind locking up the classroom on your way out?” you asked to one of the club members

“Sure!” she said as you handed her the key

“Thanks so much, leave the key at the front office on your way out-!” you said walking out of the club room

You walked down the stairs of your school, walking to the front you carefully looked around, seeing no threat in sight you continued on your way, walking to the front. As you turned to start walking on the sidewalk, your face grew shocked at seeing-

“Rindou?” you asked

“Hey there, took you long enough.” he said looking up from his phone

“Sorry..? How would I know that you would be here?” you asked smiling as you walked over to him

“I thought I sent some random kid to get you.” he said

“You also scared the shit out of him.” you said as Rindou started smiling cheekily

“I swear I didn’t mean any harm-” he said bringing his arm up in defense

“Well sit down, let's go already. It's hot.” he said handing you a helmet

“Where’re we going?” you asked taking it and strapping it on

“You’ll see, come- and I’ll hold your bag for you. he said pushing himself up so that you could sit behind him

You didn't respond and only did as he said, sitting behind him, you pulled your skirt down. You felt nervous at how close you two were right now, but he seemed so calm...it was almost frustrating.

“This your first time on a bike?” he asked slightly turning his head

“Yeah, you’re not gonna wear a helmet?” you replied

“Nope, don't need it, and you should probably hold onto me though.” he said, bringing his hands up to start the motor making your heart jump at the loud sound, and before you could even do anything, he started zooming out of his parking space.

Your eyes widened and you quickly brought your arms, wrapping them around his waist, pressing your cheek against his upper back and cringing your eyes shut. Sacred for your life. You heard him laughing a bit at your reaction, and you couldn't help but to smile at it since it was so cute.

“Slow down!” you yelled trying to make yourself known over the loud engine

“You’re gonna be fine! Just trust me!” he yelled back smiling as you brought your head up slightly feeling the wind against your skin..and it felt so good. Was this what living a carefree life was like?

You couldn't help but smile so big at the feeling you were feeling right now.. It was different from any other feeling you’ve felt. It was happy mixed with...anxiousness? It left you with butterflies in your stomach. That never went away and it just made you feel so good.

‘Is this love?’

you thought to yourself holding Rindou tighter to you as he turned the bike

Rindou felt his heart flutter with your every touch, the fact that you would hold onto him tighter and tighter every time he did something new with his bike just made him smile like a fool. He found it so cute that despite the fact that you were scared, knew nothing about him, and had no idea where you were going and just trusted him because he said so made him feel...light? Like fuzzy and warm. He liked it. No, he loved it. You made him feel happy and jittery even though he knew nothing about you, but he knew how to keep a level head...but that was getting harder and harder for him to do

‘Am I in love?’

He thought to himself

He was snapped out of his thoughts when seeing the spot come into view. He slowed down his bike, turning into a dirt road with lots of trees and bushes, the sun piercing through them making it a beautiful sight. There was also a fence that was about 4 feet tall that also had a sign which said “no trespassing, private property.” which made you raise an eyebrow.

“Are we going on a hike or something?” you asked taking your arms off him and resting them on your thighs, making Rindou feel a little disappointed that your warmth was gone

“Sorta, it’s a short one.” he said, parking the bike and getting off to help you out.

“Hm.” you said smiling taking off your helmet and placing it on the handle of the cycle

You got off the cycle and walked over to where Rindou was, seeing he was making his way over the fence

“Are you sure this is okay?” you asked stopping at the fence seeing he was on the other side

“I promise. Trust me.” he said, pushing up his glasses smiling, you smiled at him and placed your foot through the openings so that you could bring your leg up to the other side.

“Alright, I will.” you said smiling as you sat on the fence, ready to jump off

Rindou held his hand out for you to grab. You placed your hand on his feeling your face get hot, again, as he wrapped his fingers around it. You put some of your weight on him as you slightly jumped off. You let go of your hand and fixed your skirt.

“Ready?” he asked holding out his hand again for you to grab

“Ready.” you said finally letting him see you blush as you held his hand making his eyes soften at you. You felt excited.

After a bit of walking through some nature, you two stopped. You held one of your hands over your eyes since the sun was shining directly at you. But your other hand never let go of his. You tilted your head in confusion seeing that you both were stopped at a lake. It wasn't too big or small. The water was clear and you could see the bottom of the body of water because of the sun's bright rays.

“..hm?” you said seeing that Rindou let go of your hand and started to take off his school shirt and jacket, you quickly turned your gaze from him

“What are you doing?” you asked avoiding looking at him

“We. We are going swimming.” he said walking in front of you smiling foolishly

“I don’t have a swimsuit.” you said smiling slightly seeing he was only left in plaid boxers

“And? C’mon it's spring break, isn’t it? Let loose a bit.” he said taking off his glasses

“Is this your cheap shot at trying to get in my pants?” you asked jokingly

“It can if you want it to be, but don’t worry that time will come eventually-” he said smiling cocky and patting your head, making your face become hot

“Smooth.” you said taking off your shoes as Rindou sat on a rock watching you

“Really?” you said after taking off your socks and skirt leaving you in your undershorts and school shirt

“What?” he said playing dumb

“Fold your clothes, don't just leave it on the floor.” you said grabbing his shirt, balling it up and throwing it at him as he brought his arms to grab it before it could hit him

“Oh? I see what you’re doing.” he said smiling and getting up, doing as you told him

“I’m sure.” you said unbuttoning your shirt, folding it and placing everything on a rock turning around to not see Rindou anywhere, you made a confused look but then you felt yourself being picked up and thrown into the water, but he stayed with you, letting you both hit the water together

You weren’t even angry, you just felt happy.

It all went in slow motion in his eyes, seeing your shocked face turn into a happy one as you splashed into the water. It honestly shocked him, the way you two so easily warmed up to each other.

After about 2 hours of just swimming, talking, fighting, and flirting. You both floated in the water watching the sun go down.

“Wanna be a thing, Y/n?” he asked looking off to the side as you let out a small laugh

“You would like a middle school boy asking out his crush-” you laughed making his face turn to yours flustered

“How else can I say it then?” he asked

“I never said it was bad, it’s cute and sure, let’s ‘be a thing’” you said making his mouth slightly part

“I like hanging out with you, relationships are just friendships but more intimate right? It’ll be fun...I like how I feel when I’m around you so it’s an easy yes.” you said resting your arms on the big pile of rocks in the water looking up at his surprised face

“See, I was gonna say all that but I didn't wanna creep you out-” he said shrugging lightly and slightly swimming over to you

You simply smiled and looked at him as he made his way closer to you.

He was completely lost in your eyes, he didn’t even feel nervous about asking you out. He just felt so comfortable, and he knew you’d say yes. He watched as you got up from the water and ringing out your hair. His eyes grazed your damp skin, and you noticed it. But you didn’t feel nervous anymore. You liked it.

“We should get out, right? The sun is almost down. I don’t want either of us to get sick-” you said making your way out of the water

“worried about me? How sweet.” he teased following you out

“Shut it-” you said smiling as you started to put on your school shirt and socks and Rindou put on his shirt and pants.

“Shit. Quick-” he said grabbing your hand

“My clothes?!” you said in a louder tone as you two started to run to a bush

“We’ll come back, keep quiet it’s the cops.” he said pulling you in front of him so that you could hide behind the bush first

“The cops?! How do you know??” you asked whisper yelling

“Shhh..” he said bringing his hand to cover your mouth as he carefully watched the two cops encounter the clothes on the floor

You brought your hand up to pull down Rindous hand, as you both watched and listened carefully. Your heart was thumping hard, you could feel it all over your body. You watched as the cops picked up the skirt you left on the ground.

“Well jeez-” laughed the cop seeing all the clothes

“Is it those damn skinny dippers again?” said one cop signing

“Probably, just pick it up and throw it away. There's no one here like always, these calls are always a waste of time.” said the cop tossing your skirt into a trash bag

“Kids are too horny these days!” yelled the cop picking up the clothes and throwing it in the trash bag

“PFT-”

Your eyes turned to Rindou who just let out a loud laugh. You brought your hand to cover his mouth quickly, but the damage was already done.

“Who’s there?!” yelled the cop walking over

“Shit, cmon!” yelled Rindou grabbing your hand as he started to run quickly, still laughing

“You DUMBASS-” you yelled as you two ran fast as Rindou was now laughing hysterically

“Stop it right there!” yelled the cops chasing after you both

“Shit!” you yelled after turning your head seeing the cops were catching up to you two

“Are they close?!” yelled rindou as you both started running faster

“Yes!” you yelled back

“Okay as soon as you see the bike just get on it, okay?!” he yelled looking back at you, grinning making your mouth part in awe

‘He’s so cool.’

You thought to yourself

The fence came into view, Rindou used his hand to hold himself up as he jumped over it quickly, and you did the same. You got onto the bike, putting on your helmet as you watched Rindou pull a pocket knife out of his pants pocket.

“What the-'' you said before being interrupted by the sound of a deflating tire, Rindou placed the knife back into his pocket as he ran over to you, sitting down and starting the cycle. Not leaving yet

“What the hell are you doing?! Drive!” you said anxiously seeing the cops come into view

“Just as second…” he said waiting for the cops to become more clear

“Now. See ya!” he yelled laughing after seeing the panting cops finally catch up to you two, teasing them into thinking they caught you both.

You started to laugh as Rindou drove away quickly with a big smile on his face.

That was probably the funniest night of your life. And that's how all your dates went with Rindou. They were all action packed, filled with adrenaline and excitement. He always showed up unannounced at your place honking, or would text you to come over to his place. It was something new everyday with him..from exploring abandoned buildings, to dining and ditching at expensive restaurants, to staying late at each other's houses just talking, to him laying his head on your lap as you treated his wounds, to almost nothing at all.

It had been 3 years of dating Rindou Haitani… The best and worst years of your life. You two fell so stupidly in love with one another. All you guys did was stupid things at first. The love was young, new, and immature. You both were exploring unknown feelings.

Rindou was your first love, and as much as you hate to admit that, you could never forget the day when you realized how you fell for him. And he for you.

After you both passed your high school years, things started to not go so great. Although you loved Rindou with all your heart, some of the stupid things he did were not cute. You were now both 18, and your mother expected you to start helping her out financially, and you completely understood that since you weren’t very wealthy. You started to take up jobs, any that you could find, basically throwing away your high school diploma, using your knowledge for no good. You didn’t mind it, but it did make you feel upset. You hoped that Rindou would notice and ask you about it but it was always the same thing over and over again with him now. Except he just became more and more aggressive with it.

He started getting into a lot of trouble by himself, and not with the help of his older brother, surprisingly. To the point where you would get calls from the police station from him asking you to come and bail him out. At first you didn’t mind, and dug into your savings to do so, but his crimes just became more expensive. You’ve bailed him out 3 times in just 1 month, and it costed you thousands of yen. And he’d only smile at you and say ‘thank you’ nothing more. It infuriated you, but you kept it inside. You’ve asked him multiple times if everything was alright, and if there was a reason for his sudden outbursts of violence. You even went as far as asking Ran, to which you got no answer from both.

Rindou was never ever considerate of your time. At first it was alright, because you two were just kids and had time to waste. But now it was obvious that it wasn't the same anymore. The love you both had, matured greatly and became way more intimate, you both understood that and the risks with it. But as it matured, you both were growing anxious. Anxious at that maybe things would never be the way they used to be. Just being stupid and in love. Like those cliche romance mangas.

You looked down at your phone after serving your last table of the knight. You were exhausted and just wanted to go home, seeing it was 11.

You received a text from Rindou saying “come over?” and it made you angry. So angry. You bit your inner cheek sighing seeing that yet again, he isn't considerate of your time. You had enough, and immediately started walking to his house trying to calm down as you took off your apron.

After walking about 30 minutes, you successfully calmed yourself down. You walked to the door, and knocked, holding all your things in your hands.

“Y/n, hi.” said Ran opening the door smiling

“Hi, is Rin in his room?” you asked smiling

“Yes,” he said, moving to the side. Ran could tell you were upset about something.

You walked over to the door of Rindous room. You knocked before entering the room, seeing he was sitting on his bed with a remote in his hand playing some sort of video game. You took a small breath to try and control yourself. And Ran stood beside the door, he couldn't help but eavesdrop at what was to happen, but you couldn’t see that.

“Rin-”

“Hold on I’m almost done-” he said toying with the remote

“...” you sat there patiently waiting, and after a couple minutes-

“Alright I’m done...What’s wrong?” he said furrowing his eyebrows slightly

“The hell do you mean ‘what’s wrong’?”

“You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset, you texted me, telling me to come over for what? For me to just sit here and watch you play video games? Like every other time?”

“What are you talking about? I always take you out? What made you so mad today?”

“Rindou stop acting stupid.”

“What? How am I acting stupid Y/n?” he asked with an annoyed tone

“...Rindou I’ve told you already, I don't have time like I did before, I can't just drop everything and come and hang out with you.”

“I know that, that’s why I texted you after work.”

“Yeah you texted me after my 9 hour shift, and you’ve been doing that for the past week when you see that i’m clearly tired. I have to walk 30 minutes to get here? You don’t even offer to pick me up.”

“I told you my bike is broken.”

“And?! I told you I would pay for it to get fixed but you didn’t accept my money.”

“Because I don’t want you to waste your money on something stupid like that? Maybe think Y/n.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with me using my money to bail you out of jail, that’s just as stupid.”

“I’m stupid now?”

“I’m not saying that! The things you do are stupid!”

“I told you I’m sorry, I haven't gotten in trouble at all this week for you, okay?”

“For me? I lectured you for your own good.”

“I don’t need to hear a lecture from you right now.”

“Rindou I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, but if something is bothering you and making you act differently just tell me and I’ll help you.”

“Nothing’s wrong, you’re just so sensitive now.”

“...”

“I’m always the one planning things between us, and you’re getting mad at me for continuing to do that?” he said

“Planning what? You never tell me anything until the last minute, and you just expect me to follow you.”

“And that's why I text you after work.” he said choppy breaking down the words

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Mock me, asshole.”

“..”

“I’m fucking tired after work, okay? And seeing how we’re becoming distant just makes me so upset and exhausted. I’m trying to fix things here.”

“There’s nothing to fix, if you don’t like how it is, then just leave me. It’s that easy.” he said

“Are you serious?” you asked biting your inner cheek to hold in your tears

“Yeah, I’m serious.” he said with a straight face

“So you’re okay with me just ending things right here?” you said fisting your hands out of frustration

“If that means you’ll stop complaining then yeah.” he said

You felt your heart ache, you were so unbelievably angry and sad. You got up, not looking at him as you turned to leave

“Fucking dick.” you said under your breath before making your way out of the house, passing by Ran who had wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Really Rindou?” said Ran to Rindou while standing at his door smiling

“What? I wasn’t the one who ended things.” he said

“Sure, but you were the one who enticed it.” he said bringing up his pointer finger

“And?” he said

“Nothing...just surprised you're not upset, she was crying as she left.” said Ran signing

“She was..?”

“Obviously.” replied Ran smiling

“It’s a shame really, I liked you two together. She was good to you, I hope you won't take a person like her for granted again, Rin.” said Ran signing before making his way to his room

Ran was always a tease to Rindou, especially about girls and you. Rindou could tell though. He could tell that Ran was trying to tease but also get an important message across to him. Ran could tell Rindou wasn't in the right headspace. He’s been out of it, and honestly Ran envys you for being able to put up with it, and also his normal crazy demeanor at the same time. There really isn't any other person other than you and Ran that have had such an impact on Rindou.

After you left, Rindou just sat there with a blank expression. He got a notification on his phone, lighting it up, forcing him to see his screen saver which was a picture of you two. Your laughing face at the bottom of the screen, as his hands were messily in your hair, spreading hair dye all over with a smile on his face looking down at you with such awe.

He looked away from his phone and brought his hands to his hair, grasping it in frustration. It was what RIndou wanted. In your eyes, you saw Rindou losing interest, in his eyes, he saw someone too good for him. He held you back, right?

---

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Been a while, huh?”

“You two...know each other?” asked Kakucho who was showing you around the building

“...”

Complete silence as you both just looked into each others eyes, you slightly angry, and him smiling.

“Yeah-” you both said at the same time looking over at Kakucho

“Oh! How so?” he said giving a surprised smile

“...”

You both looked back at each other, you switched your gaze to look off to the side

“Old...uh..friends.” you said smiling at Kakucho as he nodded his head

“Friends?” said Rindou furrowing his eyebrows playfully, making you feel anxious.

“Yes, friends.” you said

“Should I give you 2 some time alone-?” asked Kakucho sweat dropping

“No-”

“Yes-”

“..”

“After the meeting.” you and Rindou said at the same time, again.

“...Well alright then, let’s go to the table?” said Kakucho trying to ease the tension between you two

“Sure.” you said smiling at him

“Right this way-” he said walking in front of you as you followed, feeling Rindous presence behind you making you nervous.

As the table came into view, you saw a few other men sitting down and discussing things. You smiled and waved as they turned their attention to greet you.

“Y/n?” asked Ran smiling, clearly very surprised standing up a bit to reach your hand

“Hello! Good to see you again,” you said smiling and shaking his hand

“...Interesting.” he said sitting back down smiling over at his younger brother who looked annoyed

“Ran, you’ve met Y/n?” asked Kokonoi

“Y/n was friends with Rindou and Ran-” said Kakucho smiling trying to avoid another tension filled conversion

“I see, then Sanzu will be right over. But Y/n is going to be our financial guide/supervisor. Today’s meeting is about the recent drop in our drug sales.” said Kokonoi passing around packets

You pulled one towards you and sat down between Kakucho and Rindou, reviewing over the packet immediately noticing some major details.

“Alright!!” you heard a man yelled as he walked into the room throwing himself onto his chair

“Oh, new girl that Koko haired right? Y/n is it?” he asked looking over at you

“Yeah-” you said smiling

“Pleasure~” he said smiling leaning over the table to shake your hand

“Likewise.” you said letting go and sitting back down fixing your dress

After a bit of bickering between the men for about 10 minutes, you finally finished your analysis.

“What you should do is drop oxy shipments, sales go down every month by 2%, Within 6 months you’ll be losing more money than you will make with drugs. Also the place you’re getting your oxy shipments from recently is just faux opioids. I get you switched to a new provider since you weren't making money but they’re not even a type of opioid. They were recently in a feud with another gang just a week ago for selling synthetic drugs. They make business by buying cheap things and selling it for 10x it’s price. So the reason you’re losing money is simple, your clients aren’t getting their desired high. Opioids are too expensive to buy in big shipments so I recommend switching to another drug. Adderall is becoming popular among students and soon with others. Taking it gives you a rush of energy and good feelings all around, switch to selling adderall instead of faux opioids, and you’ll be making a lot more money.” you said showing your paper to the men

“How are you so sure?” asked Rindou looking over your notes

“It’s right in front of you.” you said not looking at his direction causing Ran to put his head down to contain his laugh and Rindou smiles at you remark

“I’m all for it.” said Sanzu smiling

“I also brought samples if any would like to try.” you said

“Oh how nice!” said Sanzu smiling at you as you placed the small container in his hand as he opened it and swallowed one happily

“When will we start to see an increase?” asked Kokonoi

“Oh right so here I made-”

You went on to explain your reasoning to Ran, Koko, and others. Within an hour they all seemed satisfied and impressed with your work, while Sanzu was just in a mind of his own enjoying himself

“Alright then I'll start making calls.” said Koko giving you a soft smile

“Sure, let me know if you need any help.” you replied back as the other men started to pack their papers

“Y/n, would you like to finish the tour?” asked Kakucho

“Maybe next time?” you said smiling trying to cover your annoyed face at feeling Rindou tap your shoulder

“Ah understood- no worries.” he said smiling

You turned to look up at Rindou

“My office alright with you?” he asked placing his hands into his pockets

“Yeah.” you said bringing your hand to your necklace, playing with it

You felt nervous as you followed Rindou into his office, anxious, like that first time he walked you home. You haven't seen him in years, it was so overwhelming. You were surprised at yourself for not getting more angry today.

He opened the door of his office for you, you walked in and sat on one of the chairs, as Rindou closed the door, walking over, leaning himself against the table as he just looked down at you. You looked to the side to cover the flushed face you very much did not want him to see.

“Stop looking at me like that.” you said looking him in the eye

“Like what? You look good.”

“...Just say what you want to say so that I can go home.” you said looking off to the side trying to ignore the fact that butterflies just filled your stomach

“How’ve you been?” he asked smiling noticing how his words took affect on you

“Fine. Went to university like I wanted..” you said

“I’m glad, Y/n.” he said

“What are you getting at here?” you asked getting frustrated

“Nothing, I just miss you.” he said

“Don’t say things like that. It’s not fair.”

“Y/n-”

“No, don’t say anything anymore-”

“I’m sorry.” he said making your mouth part then close quickly as you looked to the side trying to control the overwhelming emotions taking over you right now

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” you said getting up from your seat, walking to the door, stopping in your tracks when you felt his hand grab your wrist gently

“Just say what you feel like saying.” he said, getting up from leaning on his desk to stand in front of you, making your eyes widen in shock at the sudden intimacy

“I-” you said, getting lost in his eyes again like it was your very first time looking in them. Your eyes traced his face, appreciating every little detail, finally looking at his lips seeing them smirk slightly

“Fucking dick.” you said under your breath before bringing your hand to his jaw, pressing your lips onto his. You felt his arms hold your waist as his mouth moved in sync with yours, his mouth was so warm and hungry for yours. You missed being this intimate with him. He moved you against the wall of his office before breaking the kiss, breathing heavily and looking you deep in the eye

“are you...seeing anyone?” he asked 

“..No.” you replied

“Then..Wanna be a thing, Y/n?” he asked smiling after seeing you smile at the familiar words

“Sure, let’s be a thing’”

You said, excited for what's to come.

------------------

Bonus lmao

“You guys are done, great-” said Kakucho as his smile faded as he realized what just happened in Rindous office.

“Yeah. We’re done.” you said patting down your hair and fixing the strap of your dress

“We made up.” said Rindou smiling while fixing his tie and wiping under his lip

“...” Kakucho was left with wide eyes and a flustered face, as Rindou and you nonchalantly walked back to the meeting table to grab your stuff and leave.

#rindou haitani #bonten rindou #rindou x reader #ran haitani #boten #tokyo revenger x reader #tokyo rev #fluff to angst #angst to fluff #idk lol #i spent way too long on this

[bluearson]

Dancing King in Quarantine

Warning: ‘Daddy’ mention once & Reader’s contact name for him is Daddy D The news played quietly in the background as breakfast cooked on the stove. You were getting ready to go out and buy more groceries before lockdown, slipping on a hoodie that threatened to drown you in its folds. At least it smelt just like your boyfriend. You shot Dabi a glance across the room, a grin plastered across your face ear to ear. There was something comforting about seeing the raven haired man impatiently holding a spatula as he watched over pancakes. “This fucking sucks.” he complained as he shuffled through a playlist looking for the perfect song.

“The song.. or cooking breakfast? You know I-” You reached over to snatch the spatula out of his hand. Dabi’s hand shot out and gripped your wrist firmly but not enough to hurt. “I said I was going to cook us breakfast today. Thank you for your offer to help though little mouse. I promise, Daddy has it covered. Let me take care of things.” He kissed your cheek and slapped your ass with his free hand. “Don’t worry about a thing, I wouldn’t burn down the house on purpose.” You traced a pattern onto his bare chest before pressing your hand firmly on his chest and giving him a kiss on the lips, “You sure you don’t want me to wait to eat breakfast with you?”  “Stop worryin’ bout me and get that cute ass in gear before all the good stuff is gone sweetheart. Breakfast will still be warm for you, I’ll have a fresh pot of coffee ready. Maybe even a warm bath if you’re back within the hour.” “Okay... I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.” With one final parting kiss you left the warm comfort of your apartment and made your way to the grocery store. You spent most of your time sending texts back and forth with Dabi asking if you had enough of something and then trying to explain what you were talking about when he couldn’t find it easily. To: Daddy D -I’m on my way home!  ( ˙꒳​˙ ) Read 2:15pm From: Daddy D -Plain, Blueberries or Chocolate chip? Read 2:17pm To: Daddy D -Surprise me! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ -I’ll eat anything you make  („• ֊ •„) Read 2:17pm You struggled to get your key out when Dabi opened the door, he traded you a mug full of coffee for the bags in your hand. He offered you a small smile as he stepped aside and gestured for you to come in. The kitchen island counter was cleaned except for a plate of pancakes, eggs and a small bowl full of fruits. Dabi kissed your cheek again before taking the rest of your bags away from you.  You made yourself comfortable, staring down the man who made a pretty convincing double of your boyfriend. The pancakes were neither gooey nor almost burnt, the eggs were a perfect consistency and you swear you got a few whiffs of bacon. “Did you eat all the bacon, Dabs?” He froze in place for a moment, offering up no response for what felt like an eternity as the silence stretched on between the both of you. He shifted his glance from his task of putting away groceries for you to your face as if he was calculating what to say next. “No.” He pointed to the microwave, “I saved some for you.” You beamed as you sipped your coffee.  You thanked him for breakfast and showered him in compliments about how much better his cooking was getting. You swear you saw him even blushing as you paid your compliments. Together with your beloved you lazed around together on the couch for a cuddle-movie night session to forget about the state of the world outside the comfort of your home. “I’m boooooored” you bemoaned as you stretched out and sprawled across your boyfriends lap.  “What do you want me to do about it?” He asked, absent mindedly trailing a hand across your tummy and tracing patterns into your skin with a finger. He leaned down and peppered kisses along your jawline as he played with your hair. “Care to dance with me?” He whispered. Your dominant hand searched for his hand lacing your fingers together as you pressed a kiss into his backhand. You nodded solemnly, releasing the hand that you had momentarily captured to get up on your own. Dabi managed to swiftly scoop you up before you had the chance to stand up on your own though and rose up off the couch like you weighed no more than a bag of grapes to him. He gently set you down and smirked as he snatched your phone off the couch to surf through your collection of songs and queued up a bunch that he liked after connecting it to a portable speaker. He held his hand out as the first song began to play. It was a little slower than the usual upbeat music you were used to hearing him blasting through his headphones.  Together you glided across the living room, careful to mind the furniture and not cause one another to have a fresh set of bruises peppered along the others thighs from unremarkable circumstances. You both got lost to the rhyme and sway of the music together. The rasp of his laugh makes your heart swell, it’s almost musical to your ears. You took a seat as you watched him lose him himself to one of his favorite songs, singing along at the top of his lungs and god.. you loved every second of it. It sent flutterers throughout your core, to watch him become so comfortable with you. You sung along after the chorus repeated, joining him on the “dancefloor”.  After three more songs passed you both began rearranging furniture so that you had more room to dance. Dabi was ecstatic when you gave him the go ahead to play whatever he wanted. Proudly he belted the lyrics after the G note hit. Your eyes lit up as you realized what song it was.  Together you both got lost in the throws of the dramatics, pantomiming along to the lyrics, thrashing around, the occasional headbanging, and of course.. you’ve both had your fair share of rockstar moments. It was a night to remember. “If you were a rockstar would you write songs about me?” You asked tentatively as you nursed a warm cup of tea while Dabi made himself comfortable sprawled out on the floor.  “Uhh.. yeah?” He popped himself up on an elbow, “I’d write total bangers about you. The media would ask me who’s my muse and shit and I’ll tell em it’s all bout the MVP.” “Would you keep me your little secret if it meant you’d be more popular for not being publicly taken?” You mused as you took a long sip of your tea. “Do you have some sort of fantasy about me becoming a world famous rockstar you failed to tell me about?” He laid back down to stare up at the ceiling, “I dunno.. I don’t think I’d really care about being like.. you know popular just because of my looks.” He grimaced, “I’d want to be popular for my music, cause people like my sound and it resonates with them. If you didn’t mind the problems that could occur with being public about our relationship in that scenario.. I wouldn’t mind.”  “What if I made a recording of your laugh and sold copies of it? You know.. in this scenario.”  “If it’s made into a song I want a cut, if it’s just my laugh straight up I think that’s really weird but I hope it’s overpriced and limited edition so you know the super fans would be all over it.” “You didn’t even need time to think about it huh?” “If I can make money off just laughing I would. Sadly there’s not really a market for it considering the only people who hear me laugh well.. are my friends and you.” Taglist: @some-kindofgnome @humanitiesstrongestchicken

#Lighting the Bonfire #Dabi #Dabi bnha #Dabi x Y/N #Dabi x Reader #Dabi fanfic #soft Dabi #tw daddy mention

[7-wonders]

The Devil Wears Jaclyn Hill

Word count: 1678

A/N: Yikes I’m nervous about posting this. This is my first time writing for Michael, and I really have no clue how it went. Let me know what you think, and if you want to see more of Michael!

Michael’s a man of elegant tastes. He enjoys the finest fabrics, the most decadent food and drink, top-of-the-line cars, and anything with a price tag more than some people's’ college tuitions. That’s part of the reason he finds you so intriguing.

You, in your cramped apartment that you share with two other people to cut down on costs. You, who rushes back and forth between your two jobs that leave you tired and sore daily. Your life is one that consists of microwaveable foods, coupons, and upcycled clothing. It’s a world that’s vastly different from Michael’s, which is probably why he likes spending so much time with you.

When the rising Antichrist steps through your threshold, gone are the responsibilities of Cooperative meetings and eager Satanists. No longer is he fawned over and waited on hand-and-foot. When he’s with you, he’s just ‘Y/N’s boyfriend.’ One of your roommates laughed in his face once when you asked him to load the dishwasher and it turned out he didn’t know what a dishwasher was.

Where Michael’s Gucci and Versace, you’re Target and Forever 21. While Michael only dines at restaurants owned by his father or those with Michelin stars, you’re more than happy with Qdoba or In-N-Out. Michael’s diamonds, and you’re cubic zirconia. The differences between your lives are almost startling, if Michael didn’t take every opportunity possible to spoil you. Normally you refuse his expensive gifts, but you’re more than happy to let him treat you to some new makeup every now and then.

Makeup is your medium. It’s how you unwind after a long day of work, watching the newest tutorials and studying them intently. It’s how you can make your regular outfits look a little bit more special. More importantly, it’s what you love to do, even if it frustrates you to no end. Plus, your makeup is priced on the drugstore end of the spectrum, so you don’t feel too bad about finally giving in.

Michael’s sitting in the corner of your room, answering work emails on his phone while you watch a new James Charles video for the fourth time. You groan when the video cuts from a half-done face to the finished look.

“‘And there you have it, sisters!’” You can’t help but to mock the guru’s voice. “Better sister shut the fuck up before I sister slap the shit outta you.” Michael chuckles at your angry muttering, glancing up to look at you.

“Everything okay over there?” He asks. You turn to face him, shaking your head.

“He just goes so fast! The video’s over and I look so stupid.” You gesture to your face as an example. Pursing his lips, Michael looks at your eye makeup. It’s actually not that bad for such a complicated look, it’s just that you only have one eye done.

“It doesn’t look bad, my love, it just looks half-finished.” You playfully roll your eyes at him before grabbing a makeup wipe and wiping your canvas clean. Michael watches as you organize your makeup again with care, making sure everything’s in its’ designated spot.

“Michael?” The man lets out a hum of acknowledgment, letting you know he’s waiting. “What would you say if I wanted to do your makeup?” The silence in the room is overwhelming to you. You know that Michael would never get upset at an idea of yours like some of your past relationships would have. Still, your anxiety skyrockets whenever he gets quiet. He’s always so good at reading people without sparing a glance their way, that you envy his ability in this moment.

“Never mind, it was stupid. I’m sorry.” You start babbling, taking his silence as an answer. He grabs your hand to stop you from getting up, pulling you into his lap.

“Nothing you ever say could be stupid. I was just thinking. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, now that your plans are all starting to be put in motion, you’ve been developing a very specific style.” You reference his hair, which has started to touch his shoulders in recent months, and his outfits. He doesn’t need to be reminded how much you love the gloves he’s added to his wardrobe, and you flush at the mere thought of those leather-clad hands on your bare thighs. Shaking your head slightly, you continue. “Well, what if you spiced it up with an eye look?”

His eyebrow quirks, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“You don’t have to do all the face stuff?” He asks.

“No, we can do as much or as little as you’d like. I was thinking some red? Nothing too crazy, just enough to make those eyes of yours pop.” A slight smile graces his face, and you find yourself grinning at the very sight of it.

“Show me.” He demands. You nearly jump out of his seat in excitement.

“Seriously? You’re not just doing this to, like, make me happy, are you?”

“I’ve always been fascinated with makeup, and lots of men wear it today. Besides, in the new world, we can do whatever we want, be whoever we want.”

The new world.

Michael’s been talking of this for weeks now, ever since the plans for an apocalypse were finalized. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little sick at the idea of nuclear annihilation, but Michael insists that it’s all for the greater good. The world needs to be cleansed and remade, you remind yourself. You know that the destruction and nuclear winter will only be temporary before a new world flourishes from its’ ashes. There’s a part of you that trembles with excitement whenever Michael goes on about ruling, telling you that, as his queen, you’ll be right next to him.

You stray towards your desk, running your hands over your palettes. After careful deliberation, you decide that the Jaclyn Hill palette has the color range you’re needing. You grab the palette and a couple of brushes before making your way back to Michael, who grabs you again. For the harbinger of the apocalypse, he’s very clingy and touch-starved. You straddle his hips and move his hair out of his eyes.

The process is slow at first, with you having to remind Michael to keep his eyes closed until you say so. When you put primer on his eyes, he jumps back.

“That’s cold!” He yelps. Laughing, you dab it on his eyelids, forming an even base.

“It’s primer. It makes the makeup stand out more and makes everything look even.” You patiently explain. “Open your eyes, please.” He looks at you expectantly and you giggle. “Do you have a color preference?”

You pop open the palette and watch as his eyes take in the myriad of colors. Pointing to one, he glances at you.

“Is this one okay?” He’s pointing at Hunts, the most pigmented red in the palette. You nod.

“Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.” You’re not all that shocked that he’s picked the most vibrant red there is. The man has a near-obsession with blood, after all. You grab one of your brushes and dip it in one of your neutral shades. Even though your attention is on the makeup in front of you, you can tell Michael is watching you. You’ve been together long enough now that you can feel his piercing gaze from across the room.

“That’s not the red.” He points out obviously, grinning when you roll your eyes.

“Don’t want the primer to be the only thing on your eyes.” You swipe the color across both of his lids, satisfied with the effect it has. Grabbing a smaller brush, you gently dip it into the red shade Michael had picked out. You tap the brush against the pan, making sure there’s no fallout before you start lightly applying it to the inner creases of his eye.

“You’re thinking about it again.” He mumbles, not wanting to mess up your concentration.

“Thinking about what?”

“My plans. My father. The apocalypse.” You move the brush in a circular motion, blending the shade out.

“Yes.” You settle, knowing arguing about it is futile.

“Why? Are you scared? You’re going to be safe, my love, you know that.” Dipping back into the shade, you tap the brush on the pan again, harsher this time.

“I’m scared that you’re not going to be safe, Michael.” You explain. He somehow manages to furrow his brows without moving his eyelids, and you’re mildly impressed.

“Honey, I’m the Antichrist. Nothing’s going to hurt me.” You nod before remembering what can’t see you.

“What if something goes wrong?” He grips your waist with his hands, squeezing reassuringly.

“I’ve been preparing for this my entire life. My father has been preparing for this since the beginning of time. I promise you that everything will go as it’s planned.” You lean back, choosing to study your work. Satisfied that it looks even, you lag a hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“I’m done, I think.” Moving off of his lap, you wait for him to stand and face the mirror.

“Wait.” He grabs your wrist, standing so he’s eye-level with you. “Are you okay? Did that help ease your nerves?”

You love getting to see this soft side of Michael, the side that’s reserved only for you. You’re pretty sure all of his devoted followers have no clue he’s even capable of being like this.

“Yes, it did. I just want to get this over with. I wish I could just wake up and be in our new, perfect world now, y’know?” Michael nods, kissing the top of your head.

“Soon.” He walks the two of you over to the mirror, where he scrutinizes his new look. “You were right about the red making my eyes stand out.”

“So you like it?” You ask, hiding your smile in his shoulder.

“I’m thinking you might have to buy a few more of those palettes before the bombs drop.”

If there were angels in hell, you’re pretty sure Michael would be the prettiest of them all.

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #ahs #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #ahs imagine #american horror story imagine

[lovequinn]

so. pitch perfect 3.

i have a lot of feelings about this. spoilers under the cut!

the pitch perfect fandom has been my family for five years now. the people that i have met and spoken to and laughed with ever since that first watch in 2012 have been my home away from home. i’ve been using this url, inspired by the movie, on and off since 2013 and it’s my screen name for pretty much everything else. i can’t even communicate how much pitch perfect means to me. i’m rewatching the first movie as i write this because nostalgia.

i went into pp3 already emotional because of the week i’ve had. i also went in with low expectations because of the spoilers and reviews i’d been reading and the queerbaiting and all of this mess. and honestly? i walked out really satisfied with it. it wasn’t perfect, but i don’t think any sequel or threequel or whatever could ever be.

some stuff, good and bad:

- i actually really missed jesse and benji and the trebles??? i know people were thrilled when they heard they weren’t going to be in it but tbh if they were gonna break up beca and jesse i would not have minded him hanging around as her friend like...at all. i love skylar astin and i always thought jesse was super charismatic and fun, i just didn’t love him with beca. and benji is a cutie. idk i would’ve liked them to have a cameo or something

- chloe, beca, and amy living together is perf

- i adored all the music in this movie. i wasn’t sure if i would when i first listened to the soundtrack since there were only a few tracks i really loved but watching the numbers performed really brought them to life. also, watching the bellas do toxic??? one of the best numbers in the whole franchise. to quote benji, “totally changed my life, i have not stopped thinking about it since”

- the action plot was fucking awesome i’m sorry i know it was super cheesy and a lot of people aren’t going to go for it but personally i am LIVING for the bellas on some stupid campy james bond adventure

- all the little callbacks were great. the bellas throwing their hands together during the final number, the dude throwing the microwave burrito at fat amy. one of my favorite bits of the movie was when chloe pulls out the cup and beca immediately slaps it out of her hand--i laughed so hard i choked.

- it was a little disjointed; it kind of felt like a bunch of separate scenes edited together instead of an actual coherent narrative. it was enjoyable and made sense but it felt almost unfinished?

- the chloe and chicago thing was bullshit. putting bechloe completely aside and removing my bias, it still didn’t make any sense. they had like, what, two or three conversations together max? and those just consisted of chloe being awkward and stumbling on her words. they didn’t give enough time for anything to build and there was zero chemistry, and it was hard to watch because chicago seemed like he could’ve been cool and chloe is one of my favorite characters ever so it was...painful.

- stacie naming her baby bella??? yes??? hell yes???

- LILY ISN’T LILY BIGGEST PLOT TWIST EVER. was satan really in her body? who fucking knows!

- extreme, huge, gaping black hole where all our bechloe interactions should’ve been but i’m trying not to talk about that here since i made a separate post about the queerbaiting issue.

- seeing how beca has grown since pp1...ugh. yes. my baby.

- i bawled like a small child during the end credits.

idk i don’t wanna give much more because you should see it for yourself but what i really want to say is this: i think the reason so many people were disappointed by this movie, and by pp2 as well, is because they were expecting...well, they were expecting to see the first movie all over again. something unique, something that touches us like pitch perfect did. and there are definitely moments like that in the two sequels, sure, but to be perfectly blunt, pp2 and pp3 are cash grabs by universal because they want to ride the coattails of the first movie’s success. and that’s fine! you just need to go in knowing that. you need to look at this not as another fresh, new, inspirational story, but as just another chance to follow the whacky adventures of the characters we love so much and support the family the cast has become as we’ve followed them through three films. i think if you keep that in mind, you’ll love it as much as i did.

#personal #pitch perfect

[asfeedin]

Tips for Making the Best Tuna Melt

[Photographs: Daniel Gritzer]

On April 19th, Virginia Senator Mark Warner posted a video on Instagram that horrified a nation. In the video, title simply, “Tuna Melt,” Warner stood in front of a modest electric stove in a bare home kitchen and made what he described as one of his favorite recipes, one he said he’d learned as a kid. He described it as a way to “go back to basics” and get through these difficult months of coronavirus and quarantine.

His tone was earnest, his recipe choice humble, but, boy oh boy, there was no forgiving the string of culinary sins he proceeded to commit against bread, condiment, cheese, and fish. First, he squirted thick globs of Hellmann’s directly onto soft, un-toasted slices of white sandwich bread. Then he scraped big chunks of poorly drained tuna directly from the can on top of that, attempting and failing to mash down the stubbornly dry flakes of canned fish with a fork.

After that, he slapped a couple slices of cheese on top, proudly proclaiming himself a “two-slice man,” and then put his creation in…the microwave. What came out could only be described as an abomination.

At the very same time that Warner was massacring his tuna melt, I, as if guided by fate, had already started my own efforts at the sandwich’s redemption. I was on a mission to create the most righteous, and undeniably delicious tuna melt I could—and, though I didn’t know it at the time, restore order to the Tuna Meltiverse.

The tuna melt is an American culinary icon—admittedly one hell of a strange one—and so instead of declaring from high on the mount my own rules for the perfect tuna melt, I wanted to build these commandments as democratically as possible. And so I asked the people, What makes for a good tuna melt? The answers poured in, and they were more varied than I ever could have imagined.

The range of opinions on the “right” cheese, the “right” bread, the “right” flavorings, the “right” textures and temperatures convinced me that no single “perfect” tuna melt exists. Instead, there’s an infinite number of potentially perfect versions, each reflecting the diverse tastes and experiences of the people who share, if nothing else, the conviction that canned tuna and melted cheese belong together on bread.

The resulting commandments are better than I could have ever come up with on my own because they take this diversity into account. There’s even a tidbit of wisdom from Warner, proof that even the worst tuna melt isn’t entirely terrible. The recipes I created to accompany these commandments are equally diverse: Instead of a single tuna melt recipe, I’ve created three, each representing a tuna-melt archetype. There’s the “All-American,” a diner-esque creation that strips the tuna melt to the basics of fish, cheese, mayo, and white bread. Then there’s the “Jewish deli-style,” which offers a tuna salad flavored more assertively with celery, sweet relish, mustard, onion, and dill. And finally, there’s the one with “The Works,” which in my recipe’s case includes bacon, tomato, avocado, pickled jalapeños, and more, but really just serves as an example of how personalized a tuna melt can become.

A Jewish deli–style tuna melt with rye bread, Swiss cheese, and a tuna salad spiked with celery, red onion, dill, and sweet relish.

To be honest, I suspect Senator Warner knew more than he let on when he decided to share his tuna melt how-to. The signs that he was in on the joke were there from the beginning—the self-aware editing and captions, the shocking close-ups and clumsy execution, the suggestion that “unless you’re a professional chef, you may want to pause the video so you can keep up,” and, perhaps most telling of all, the gorgeous Mediterranean mortar and pestle that could only be in the kitchen of someone who knows a thing or two about good food.* I think he wanted to get us all talking, and it worked.

*I reached out to Warner’s Digital Media Director for comment on the mortar and pestle and was told Warner’s daughters are much better cooks than the Senator. Still, even if he can’t cook as well as his daughters, merely being in the same family as someone who would know to invest in a mortar and pestle of that caliber would lead to some culinary knowhow.

Thou Shalt Use Whatever Bread You Want, But Respect its Proportions

An open-faced tuna melt needs a thicker slab of bread than a closed sandwich does; in fact, roughly twice as much so that the proportion of bread to tuna salad remains fairly consistent.

It must be rye! It must be white! No, whole wheat is where it’s at! Opinions on bread type were strong and varied, and, after testing numerous versions, I’m gonna be honest with you—I really don’t care.

No, that’s not it. I do care. I just like them all. Different breads can work well in different tuna melt constructions. The key, then, isn’t determining the best bread for a tuna melt, it’s in understanding the role each kind of bread can play in a specific recipe.

Rye is great in a Jewish-deli style tuna melt that’s seasoned more assertively with relish, dill, and celery, and finished with melted Swiss cheese. White bread is great on an All-American diner-style tuna melt made with little more than Hellmann’s and slices of Cheddar or American—the “basic ‘wich” of tuna melts (bonus points if you pair it with a can of TaB). Sourdough, brioche, challah, boules, and baguettes—you name it, and it can make a good tuna melt if it’s thoughtfully combined with the right cheese and mix-ins (although it’s best to avoid using bread with an open crumb, which would make for a very messy melt).

Here’s what does matter about the bread: You need to respect its proportions. Too much mayonnaise-y tuna salad becomes grotesque without an appropriate amount of bread to cut its fishy, fatty intensity. But how thick the bread needs to be depends on both its tenderness and whether you’re going with an open-faced construction or not.

Heartier, more rustic bread with more chew and crust should be sliced thinner than light and fluffy white bread, since it’s more work to chew through. The slab of bread used as the base for an open-faced tuna melt, meanwhile, should be approximately twice as thick as the same type of bread used for the two pieces on a closed version; assuming the amount of tuna salad is equal on both sandwiches, a double-thick single slice ensures that the ratio of bread to tuna remains consistent when going open-faced.

These are ballpark ratios and will depend on the specifics, of course, but I found the sweet spot to be in the following zone: For every five-ounce can of tuna, you should make either two open-faced tuna melts on one-inch-thick slices of bread, or two closed sandwiches with half-inch-thick slices of the same bread.

The other important thing with the bread is to toast it properly, but that one’s so important it gets its own commandment…

Thou Shalt Toast Thine Bread Properly

While I’m sure most of us can agree that Warner’s steamy microwaved sandwich bread isn’t the way to go, that’s where the consensus ends. I tried a bunch of toasting options from dry-toasted to mayo-slathered to oil and butter-basted bread and beyond.

Dry-toasting the bread, which I did carefully over an open flame to get some nicely singed edges, was tastier than I expected, and helped keep the sandwich from seeming greasy. It’s nice to know that dry-toasting works, but we still need to work out the best way to use oil or another fat during toasting for a more traditional griddle-style sandwich. This is key, because managing greasiness is a primary concern for such a rich sandwich.

A good tuna melt has contrasting textures: melty cheese, fluffy tuna filling, and tender bread that’s crisp as can be right on its surface. The risk with most toasting methods in a skillet or on a griddle is that you accidentally add an excess of oil or butter to the cooking surface, since the cooking surface is larger than the bread you will toast on it. The bread, acting like a sponge, soaks it all up, and before you know it you’re eating a mayo-rich tuna salad, with gooey melted cheese, on grease-laden bread. It’s a gut bomb.

Step one in avoiding this result is to brush the bread with fat before toasting instead of adding the fat to the pan or griddle. By brushing the bread you can evenly and thoroughly cover the entire surface of each slice without over-saturating it.

Step two is toasting both sides of the bread, which, just like with a well-made grilled cheese, delivers a more pronounced crisp texture when you bite into the sandwich.

Step three is to be thoughtful about the fat you choose for greasing the bread. Oil makes for the crispiest toast. Butter is tastier, but its water content can hamper surface crisping, something that was pointed out to me by the chef Jason Vincent on Twitter, and which I confirmed in my own tests.

Clarified butter would solve this problem since it no longer has any crispness-hindering water in it, but most of us don’t keep that on-hand in our home kitchens and are unlikely to make it just for a tuna melt. One method suggested by Vincent is to toast the bread with oil for maximum crispness, then lightly brush the toasts with melted butter after to add just a touch of that rich dairy flavor flavor; it’s a method that works well. Another, which I stumbled on when adding bacon to one of my melts, is to toast the bread in rendered bacon fat if you happen to have some available. In the end, melted butter works well enough on its own, though it’s harder to get quite the same degree of crispness on the bread, so you just have to keep that in mind.

As for slathering bread with mayo for toasting? It’s a popular trick used for grilled cheese sandwiches, but I didn’t like it for tuna melts. They have enough mayo as it is thanks to the tuna salad, and adding more to the bread only risks a heavy-handed vinegar tang that pervades every layer of the sandwich. It was my least favorite option.

Thou Shalt Smash the Tuna to Smithereens

One of the big questions many may wonder is what kind of tuna to use. Oil-packed? The watery stuff? Some $15 jar of imported Spanish tuna? This one I already knew the answer to from my earlier tuna salad tests: When it comes to a mayonnaise-based tuna salad, it really doesn’t matter. The addition of mayo masks differences in tuna type. In most cases, a basic water-packed tuna, or tuna in its own juices is fine, no need to pay an olive-oil premium.

What does matter, though, is how you handle the tuna, and the secret is to absolutely smash it into tiny shreds with a fork. Tuna muscle is lean, which means that well-done tuna, which all canned tuna is, is incredibly dry (the exception is tuna belly, sold as “ventresca,” which is way too fancy and pricey for a tuna melt). That dry texture will be detectable in the final sandwich unless you pulverize the tuna so thoroughly that every last muscle fiber is coated in mayo.

It’s not hard to do, it just takes a fork or stiff spatula and some committed stirring and mashing. Keep at it until every last flake of tuna has been crushed and incorporated into a light and fluffy cloud of tuna salad. You’ll find the tuna also hold and binds with the mayo once it’s been completely mashed.

Thou Shalt Add Lots of Mayo, Then Soak it Up

A good tuna salad doesn’t skimp on the mayo—as we just established, canned tuna is dry and needs all the moisture help it can get. But a funny thing happens as you spoon mayo into your tuna: Right when you get to the perfect amount, the very last dollop that erases any hint of lean-fish dryness, the tuna salad becomes just a tad too loose.

The solution came from Serious Eats contributor Allison Robicelli, who tipped me off to one of her favorite tricks: adding panko bread crumbs to tuna salad. A couple spoonfuls of panko is just enough to soak up and thicken the excess of mayo, but because panko is such an airy bread crumb, the result is a tuna salad that still seems lighter and moister than one without panko made using slightly less mayo.

Tuna salad made with panko is light and fluffy, but not runny, as seen by the whipped-cream-like mounds here.

If you don’t have panko, don’t worry, just cut down on the mayo slightly and do without (don’t add other, denser bread crumbs!). The tuna salad won’t be quite as light, but it’ll still be good.

As for the mayo itself, in most cases good old Hellmann’s (or another regional favorite like Duke’s) is the way to go. Those tend to be thick and creamy, making a tuna salad that’s less slick and runny than one made with fancier store-bought or homemade mayo—and I say this as a card-carrying member of the homemade mayo society.

Though Shalt Choose a Good Melter, and Then Melt It

So many cheeses work in a tuna melt. Cheddar, American*, Swiss, Gruyère, Pepper Jack—even low-moisture mozzarella. Which one you use depends on your preferences and the flavor profile of the tuna melt you’re making. I like Cheddar on a basic diner-style melt, Swiss on a dill- and relish-packed version, and Pepper Jack for a tuna salad spiked with pickled chili peppers. Which is to say, you’ve got options.

* Full disclosure, as good of a melter as American cheese is, I find it adds a goopy texture to a tuna melt that I don’t love. I’d take Cheddar over American any day on my melts, but I know not everyone will agree with that, so go with whatever you prefer.

What matters, though, is that you actually melt the cheese. It is a tuna melt, after all. You can sometimes pull this off in a skillet as you griddle the sandwich, as long as there’s enough time for the heat to penetrate through the bread to the cheese slices. You can also use the broiler to melt cheese on top of an open-faced melt, or a hot oven to give a final dose of heat to get your cheese melted. Whatever you do, don’t skip this step, and maybe try not to resort to the microwave, which will steam the sandwich and destroy any crispness it might otherwise have had.

Thou Shalt Use Two Slices of Cheese

The bottom cheese on the toast, before tuna salad and another slice of cheese go on top.

Senator Warner got this part right. Two slices are the way to go, though unlike Warner, who put both slices of cheese on top of his tuna, I think it works even better to sandwich the tuna filling with melted cheese both above and below. Once again, two slices of cheese is a proportion thing. Any less and it’s skimpy—it’s a warm tuna salad sandwich without enough of that essential melt. Any more, though, and the sandwich risks veering into gut-bomb territory. You can do it, but proceed with caution.

Thou Shalt Weigh The Tuna Melt Down

Pressing a closed face tuna melt as you cook it is an important step. I do it when I toast the bread slices, since the added weight ensures even browning and crisping all over and helps the heat penetrate into the slices more quickly.

I also do it after I close the sandwich, to help it all become a seamless whole, because a good tuna melt shouldn’t seem like a bunch of components stuck together. It should instead fuse into a distinct entity, in which it’s hard to determine where the bread transitions to cheese, and where the cheese transitions to tuna.

The exception? I don’t weigh down an open-faced tuna melt—that’d just be a mess.

Thou Shalt Avail Thyself of Whatever Add-Ins You Want

There’s a lot to be said for the simplicity of a perfectly made plain mayo-based tuna salad on toast with melted cheese. But there’s also a world of variation that’s possible with flavorings, mix-ins, and sandwich add-ins. Here are just some ideas:

Panko bread crumbs (see above about why)

Celery

Onions and shallots

Chili sauces and hot sauces

Herbs like parsley, dill, tarragon

Capers

Olives

Mustard

Mayo (duh)

Scallions and chives

Relish (sweet or dill pickle) or other minced pickles

Chopped hard-boiled egg

Pickled chili peppers like jalapeños

Soy sauce, Worcestershire, and other umami bombs

Bacon

Avocado

Tomato

Lettuce

Spices like garlic or onion powder or coriander seed

Potato chips (particularly salt and vinegar)

Some of these are best mixed into the tuna salad, some should be layered on the sandwich, and a few work both ways. That’s a large part of the fun of tuna melts—there are so many possibilities, all of them delicious. But if you’ve learned one thing after all this, I hope it’s to pay attention to the basics, because without that, you’re lost. Senator Warner, you hear that?

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[photograpia]

12 Japanese Pharmacy Favorites

A little self-care goes a long way.

I’ve been in medical school for about three and a half years now and am always worried about the effects of academic and adulting demands on my health. As much as possible, I try to schedule in at least half an hour everyday for quiet time for myself- taking care of my skin, my mental health, and preparing for sleep- what little of it can be had, anyway.

It has also been a blessing to find a second family in Japan in these last few years and through them, learned innovative ways to care for these concerns- just by picking up the right products in the drugstore! I often get asked about what products I would recommend to friends visiting Japan, and figured after forever to finally sit down and write a short list of my favorites. These are some things I highly recommend you pick up next time you find yourself in the land of the rising sun:

1. Perfect Whip: I’ve used this cleanser for almost 3 years now, and believe it does a great job at keeping my skin clean. It’s called perfect whip for a good reason- you take a dollop of the cleanser and whip it up with a little water until it looks like heavy whipped cream. Not sure about the precise science, but I do feel like the whip consistency is so much gentler on the skin. Also in photo: Perfect Double Wash, which I plan to try after my whip stash runs out. Hope it’s a good alternative to double cleansing with multiple products. 

2. COW Beauty Soap: I am very sensitive about scents in general, so when I find something that is subtle and not cloying but still smells clean, I stick to it. I was at a pharmacy in Chiba when I picked up my first blue box of Cow beauty soap. The Cow brand was founded in 1909 in Kyoshinsha, Japan, and has been an icon in Japanese hygiene since. It comes in two variants- rose (red box) and jasmine (blue box) and is loaded with great moisturizers like milk fat. This is the closest thing I’ve tried that makes your skin baby soft, and it’s at a great price point- only 108 yen.

3. Naturie Skin Conditioner: I am constantly in pursuit of the perfect toner that wont dry my skin out. This Hatomuji Toner is made of pearl barley or job’s tears, which has long been used for medicinal purposes. I like that it has kept my skin breakout-free since I’ve started using it, and am excited to try the skin conditioning gel- reminds me a lot of all the new hydrogels on the market. 

4. Biore UV Aqua Rich Watery Gel: My mom and grandmother both look at least a decade younger than they actually are, and what they both attribute to this is coconut oil and sunblock. So when I entered my 20s, I decided early prevention was best and embarked on the mission to find the perfect sunscreen. I’ve tried almost 20 brands over the years, but finally found my matches in the Biore UV Aqua Rich Watery Gel and Canmake Mermaid Skin Gel UV SPF 50 PA++++.  I have probably gone through four bottles of this since I first tried the watery gel and wear it all over every single day, even when I’m just working from home. I love that it has the absolute lightest consistency, doesn’t leave a white cast, and is protective against UVA and UVB rays. Holiest of the holy grail in my beauty regimen.

5. Canmake Mermaid Skin Gel UV SPF 50 PA ++++. Unlike most sunscreens, this does not have alcohol in it, and for this reason it is what I use the most for my face. A little thicker than the Biore BUT much smoother in consistency, it is also light and leaves a nice dewy, glowy finish. This mermaid gel claims to have 85% of beneficial skin ingredients including hyaluronic acid, job’s tears, cherry leaf extract and other botanical extracts.

6. Shiseido Water in Lip Balm in Mint: I am the type of girl who keeps lip balm in every purse and the most intensively hydrating one by my bedside. I was using Vaseline’s lip treatment in Crème Brulee at night for a long time but was starting to get really annoyed with how greasy and tacky it left my lips in the morning. I bought the Water in Lip balm on my last trip to Japan and regretted immediately only having bought one. Intensely moisturizing, not greasy, and refreshing- my nightly regimen feels incomplete without reaching for this. Also makes for an excellent lipstick primer, especially when working with mattes. 

7. KAO Megurhythm Steam Hot Eye Mask: I am the type of person who has a really hard time sleeping on planes. It’s usually because I’m cold intolerant and simultaneously always so excited to travel, so I can end up watching an entire season of a new show or six films on a long haul. That all changed when I found these MAGICAL eye masks. They’re paper mask that you unfold over your eyes that magically give the effect of a hot towel without the wetness. So wonderfully relaxing, I can’t travel without them anymore.

8. Kincho Heating Pads: The ultimate dysmenorrhea buster, ensuring pain-free days and the nicest warmth in the most discreet way. I usually go all-natural for rough red days (my lavender heating pillow is a godsend) but when I’m in school or need to be out for long periods with no access to a kettle or microwave, these have become absolutely essential.

9. Kyusoku Jikan Cooling Leg and Food Gel Pads: On my very first trip to Japan, I was so excited to sightsee Osaka that I walked a total of 32,000 steps in a day. Naturally I came home with swollen ankles and sore legs, and could barely walk the next morning. I mustered the strength to walk to the nearby convenience store that morning with every intention of buying painkillers, but found this aqua box with refreshed looking legs on the packaging. I bought these Kyousoku Jikan Cooling Leg Pads instead, slapped them on the back of my calves, and proceeded to walk another 18,000 steps that day. 

It was like a miracle. Since then I always make sure to stock up on these. They’re incredibly effective- it’s like they suck the tiredness out of sore muscles. The Cooling Foot Gel Pads were a recent discovery on a trip to Tokyo. They work just like the leg pads, but have acupuncture points for the soles. Not going to lie, they feel like 100 tiny sharp points poking at your feet at the start (do not walk with them on), but they really do wonders for painful soles at the end of a long day. 

10. Kinomegumi Natural Foot Detox Relax Sheet Pads in Lavender: In the spirit of transparency- I don’t really believe in Japanese detox foot pads, or at least that strapping a pad to the sole of your foot can really rid your body of toxins. I do believe though in the power of both temperature regulation and aromatherapy, so the lavender pads’ claim to help with stress really does work in my case. Whether it’s because I sleep better when warm and cozy or am really susceptible to the calming effects of lavender I will never know, but what I am sure of is that these really help me sleep. 

11. Cough and Cold Warriors-Meiji Iodine Gargling Solution, Nazal Nasal Spray Pump, Nodonool Sore Throat Spray: Climate change in Manila is unkind to the allergy-prone, and can result in chronic sniffles. I personally am super atopic and have a ton of allergies, so I’ve learned to listen to my body and attack with preventive measures as soon as I can. Being a medstudent, I am also slowly realizing that it’s important to use medicine when really needed and according to prescribed use. So I am grateful to have found these more natural medicine cabinet staples that I really use at the onset of any attack of a cough or cold. 

12. Ammeltz Yoko Yoko and Cura Heat Patches: In many ways I am a Tita, but in many ways I am also a little old lady. At the onset of any muscle aches or spasms, my family has learned to reach for our bottles of Ammeltz Yoko Yoko, which has become as integral to our homeopathic home health care as Arnica gel used for bruises. For days when we lift too much and our weakened rotator cuffs- all injured from a myriad of events- act up, the Cura Heat Patches are perfectly designed to cover all the spots where lamig or those nasty lactic acid deposits settle in. 

All these can be bought in any Japanese pharmacy or drugstore. I’ve found that the best prices are at Don Quijote, Welcia Drugstore (Japan’s version of CVS, my personal favorite), or Matsumoto Kiyoshi. Avoid buying them at the airport or in tourist department stores as much as possible- prices tend to be significantly higher. 

If you’ve made it to the end of this list, I hope you’ve found something new to try! Would also appreciate recommendations- what are your favorite Japanese health or beauty buys? 

#travel #beauty #japan #beautyblog #beautywriting #wellness #health #medicine #tokyo2017

[ventingblacklist]

Selections from the complaining past. Consider this a master post of me b**ching about Keen2 in real time in season three - 

Liz proposing (or accepting said proposal). Listen, even if you still like the guy, maybe date? You don’t even actually know him.

So the main problem with the show is Liz makes no sense lately. If the writers could have at least had her sit down and explain to someone what on earth she is thinking. Like, why she feels the need to re-marry Tom right the f**k away.

#I honestly don't think the marriage will happen #but if the writers would write Liz halfway consistently it would improve show quality by 500%

So last episode Tom talked about wanting to do good in general (it seemed), so I guess that’s progress. That’s the kind of thing you would be looking for in a redemption arc. I just wish it was a redemption arc I remotely cared about.

Tom is way more interesting as a bad guy, IMHO.

So Liz watches the adoption video Tom made back when he was undercover and therefore, ya know, lying about everything. See, that would make me pause. Right? Because he seemed super sincere back then. But turns out he was working for Berlin. But apparently Liz doesn’t see the massive flashing warning sign and takes it as another sign of how awesome Tom is for her.

#I thought her trusting him based on a convincing video he made back when he was clearly not who he said he was  #that was kinda weird

I highly doubt Liz and Tom are actually ending up together. If they are, it makes me mad, not because I hate Tom, not even because I’m bored whenever his scenes come on, but because it’s just being horribly written. Liz is a few eggs short of a dozen the way they’re going about this.

I don’t understand how you can watch your ex kill someone, see that someone’s grieving family, provide a college education for the dead guy’s daughter because you feel so guilty about it, and then go on to bone and re-marry said ex.

Don’t get it..

So, I really wanted it to end with Tom spiriting Liz away to whoever hired Solomon. Like that was the plan all along. Betrayal. Ah, sweet betrayal.

DundundUUUnnn…

#oh but that would be more interesting than a microwaved love story

#my bad

Two seconds of Jacob and Gina has more chemistry than two seasons of Tom/Liz did. To me anyway. I don’t know why the writers felt the need to replay something we’ve already gone through. We’ve been here before. A lot. Many times these two have exchanged the vows.

(On Kaplan yelling at Red in the nightclub): 

There was a guy in the delivery room that blew Liz’s cover a few years ago by betraying your employer. And apparently he doesn’t know where the brake is on a car. But I don’t see you yelling at him.

I could have dealt with Tom being in the picture where the baby was concerned, him and Liz hashing it out and deciding to take it slow and see what happens while Jacob tries to put a life together. Instead it was all “lalala, forgiveness, lalala, normal.” And then let’s get remarried. ????

I will not be okay until someone in the blacklist universe tears Tom apart for his role in all this.

Elizabeth was safe. She was hidden. She was a normal person with an adoptive father, a promising boyfriend, and budding career. Her greatest worry in life right now should be whether her hunk of a surgeon husband is banging nurses on the side.

Enter Tom Keen. The man who (according to current canon) was hired to keep an eye on her from afar and make sure no one shot her in the head. But the dumbass couldn’t follow simple instructions, let his man parts do the leading, and ended up in a relationship with her. He gets fired for this and is employed instead by the enemy.

Now, everything is shot to hell. Liz is on Berlin’s radar. Her life is in a constant state of peril and she doesn’t even realize it. Red is forced to insert himself into the picture.

There is a way the writers could salvage this and still keep everything they want (including their precious Tom Keen), but they seem unaware their “redemption arc” has a problem, so I doubt they’re going to do it. Probably too late now, in any event.

My only consolation now is that bulgy eyes will be gone soon.

Someone damn well better make him feel at least a little bad for all of this. But everyone will probably just comfort him as if he wasn’t the person who ruined all Red’s plans.

Red did stay away. He stayed away for twenty-some years. He too lived through updates and photographs. You know why he had to re-enter her life? (*sigh* never mind. no point in ranting that old rant again.) ...

I don’t mean to pile on Tom. It’s not like he knew any of this would happen. It just bugs me that its never mentioned at all. I just wish Red would slap him with it once and get it over with. I haven’t been too concerned with it until now because I thought the writers had another card up their sleeve as to why Tom got with Liz, but it appears more and more that that’s not the case. So now I want Red to chew him out for exposing Liz to Berlin.

I never wanted Tom redeemed. I like him as a morally gray, even bad guy. I was bored by puppy, perfect husband Tom in the first season, ditto for the third. I don’t think he even had to be turned into a “good” guy in order to have the spin off. They put Solomon in the spin off, for crying out loud.

(after seeing that Tom and Liz were in on the fake death) - 

Well, now I hate Liz. And Tom. And pretty much everyone.

When Liz woke up in the hospital at the end of Devry, I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Held out hope that the writers knew what they were doing.

lol

#anti-tom keen #anti-keen2 #this is basically so I don't reblog everything #and for my own amusement #I should probably post something positive today #hm

[ratherhavetheblues]

PAUL VERHOEVEN’S  ELLE “You’re so selfish it’s frightening…”/ “I know…”

© 2017 by James Clark

   This film (from 2016) is as devoted to the undeclared war, between old world-history and something beyond that, as Kiarostami’s Taste of Cherry (1997). The latter, in its denouement, pours out a Bronx cheer upon an oldie for the sake of its overwhelmed eccentrics, knowing all too well that victories will be very scarce and very incomplete. Elle shows us what such victory of the “selfish” self-starters is apt to look like.

   Our more than unusual protagonist, Michele, on being raped one evening in her house by a figure pleased to look like Spider-Man, has her doctor arrange a STD blood test next day—a “full panel”—and, in line with the physical and financial authority she exerts, the specialist suggests a new medication, PEP. She has already covered that avenue and declares, “Too many side-effects… I can’t miss any work.” She adds, metaphorically blowing the roof off the tony clinic devoted to classical science, “I guess we roll the dice…” Albert Einstein, a master of pushing the envelope the better to hide out, poured forth a Bronx cheer of sorts upon youthful researchers in the early days of quantum studies, who were struck by a creative field shot through with uncertainties, by, that is, unpredictability in the ways of nature as crucially including humans. He capsulized his contempt for those renegades by declaring, “God does not play dice with the universe.” Immediately after that appointment she and we are in the midst of the first of a series of locales (at Christmas time) where chains of small white lights flash about, approximating elemental phenomena soaring in electrodynamic outbursts. That such heady take-offs are far from carefree is announced—truth to tell, with nearly as much shock as the oddly truncated sexual assault—at a lunch bar (lights in its doorway and visible through the whole scene) where a splenetic diner dumps the dregs of her tray all over Michele’s shoulder and sleeve, along with the denunciation, “Scum! You and your father!” Her still and silent response is a reprise of her undemonstrative rally after the rape.

   Although several melodramatic narratives seem to be vying for attention which would pay dividends, we might find that the outcomes very closely approximate that inconsequentiality of the suicidal obsessive in Taste of Cherry; and that it is the major-league (which means far from perfect) coordination of Michele amidst myriad cons and a few pros which lifts the proceedings to regal stature. (Isobel Huppert’s performance as Michele, though marvellous, constitutes another distraction by which those not having a clue about what is going on can invest the action with a shot of the “powerful,” which can mean anything they want it to mean. This is, in fact, a film [like so many of Kiarostami’s works, and those of Jarmusch] to embrace, not to pigeonhole.)

   The out-of-the-starting-gate-assault upon Michele brings her emotive sensibility to the forefront where it endeavors to thrive—until she loses heart. The remarkably abbreviated outrage consists of a longish run of black screen with screams and smashes to set the tone of cosmic pitfall rather than protracted prosecution and life-long emotional pain. The visuals, when they do come, show a swift trespass and an equally abrupt exit involving his wiping her blood from his midriff with a piece of fabric torn from her dress. Far more absorbing than the chaotic intimacy is Michele’s prompt rally, from being sprawled out on the floor, as her limbs take carnal precedence over the option of a crusade. The closing of the scene is as understated as the rest. The torque of her spine brings her upright. Then she’s seen to be vigorously clearing away broken Chinaware from the tablecloth she had clutched as a straw. Then to a bubble bath from out of the pretty froth of which a red stain surfaces for the sake of an organism with better things to do. Then she’s on the phone ordering sushi delivery. “What’s a Holiday Roll?” she needs to know at that moment when more mainstream women would be asking what the police can do for her. In comes her 20-something son, Vincent, with whom she has some daunting business while sampling the quick bites, Vincent having very recently suspended his drug dealing and now planning to spend the rest of his life as a father to his girl friend’s imminent baby. Michele is no enthusiast to that conventional conversion, referring to the-mother-to-be as “clearly dysfunctional…She hasn’t a clue. She was raised in a commune by unwashed idiots…” (Vincent thinks to correct an oversight, by interjecting, “An arts collective…”) He drops his chopsticks, along an almost endless vista of proceeding in darkness. Nevertheless, she acts as if he might be induced to acknowledge that the romance is a travesty (physical rapists being brief; child-scammers being nearly endless). “Why you? What’s she after?” The now-burger-joint-employee, experienced in contretemps with the police, reads out, “What could she be after? I have no money…” Michele rhetorically slaps him around with, “I have.” The hardened lawbreaker comes back with the fat-cat-in-the-wings complicity, “What’s with you today?”

   That sprung-by-powers-that-be significantly includes Michele—for all her hard-boiled push-back in a world of uncertainty—who goes on to evince a striking indifference to probability. She feels some obligation (details of which coming up, as the heart of this film) to set them up in what is more a consortium than a marriage—her asking Vincent if “the black guy left” and the love story disclosing, before long, that three’s-a-crowd at the maternity ward with its black baby. The designated money machine coughs out (for starters) a three-month down payment on a one-bedroom flat. On her inspection of the outlay, she finds that the happy couple have taken possession of a spacious two-bedroom (Josie, of the arts collective, declaring the place Michele had tolerated to be “a dump”). Josie refers to a wall accommodating very well a 120 cm television screen, and Vincent concurs, “A TV makes a better homecoming gift than a microwave…” On the seeming cash cow’s finding the arrangement not to her liking the long-term, publicly-fed dignitary delivers, “I don’t give a shit about your money!” In response to our protagonist’s asking, “How will you get by?” [without it], the lifetime parasite obliquely moots a return to crime, which she reckons Michele can’t stomach. (At which point, of course, Michele’s most resolved and fertile move would be to let them twist in the wind. That nothing of the sort takes place makes clear that new-frontier precepts by the likes of Kiarostami are not in vigorous force, but rather that the fount of generosity within that bountiful sensuousness at the heart of Michele’s adventure is dangerously broken. Verhoeven and his writers want us to contemplate not the rarities of deep dynamics, but those more numerous anti-heroes who should not be entirely dismissed.)

   When was the last time we encountered such vain and rude delusion just waiting to be squashed like a bug? Why, of course, in Kiarostami’s Ten, where a “collective”-comfort imam has primed his early adolescent son to pour viciously arrogant charges upon his secular and investigative mother, now happily divorced. Perhaps better still, she rope-a-dopes the doctrinal child into full-time with a dad who had been too busy with righteousness to contribute to raising him. Her “Alright” [you’ll never again inhabit such an evil orbit] does not end her having to deal with various and odious assailants; but getting the little complainer dumped into outer space fosters her outreach (longshot, to be sure) to find some tuning at a better than savage level. During Josie’s address from her imaginary dais, Michele states to Vincent, “You see she’s an idiot…” Fair enough, on one count; but has that matrix somehow disarmed her capacity to pull the trigger which the lady in Tehran so satisfyingly did? After beholding the considerable aplomb of our protagonist’s maintaining cogent traction after the attack by a stranger/ action hero (she accounting, to Vincent, for her abrasions, as falling off her bike—definitely a rhythm or system having been interrupted; but, then again, it’s very unlikely she is a confirmed cyclist at all), we feel embarrassed for her allowing her anger toward Josie to impel her to name-drop her previous coup in the land of twitchy-fingered cyber-games. In response, Josie, clueless except for the dregs of visceral provocation, induces Vincent into a long kiss while keeping her eyes on the older sucker, in the capacity of bringing off a clever heist, a variant of rape. (Over sushi, Vincent had assured his mother, “I planned to ask you to provide collateral, not money.”) As a measure of Michele’s more resolved interpersonal energies, there is her visit, after the daring at the blood lab, to her mother, now devoted to Botox and a well-paid young boyfriend. The latter asks, “What would you say if I remarried?” Our protagonist finds some fire in the belly, as expressed, “It’s simple. I’d kill you. No need to think.” The elder mumbles out, “You always wanted a sanitized sense of life… You’re so selfish it’s frightening…”/ “I know,” the tough-talker quietly admits. Within that quietness, we discern far from an acknowledgement of a sanitized sense of life. An earthy uncanniness has descended upon her, a perspective endowing her with the sense that very few people count for anything to her. Finding the paradox that that’s so, and not so, keeps her flipping haplessly like a character in the grotty profit centres she calls a career. (Terrence Malick’s Song to Song [2016] is a kindred spirit to Michele’s showy rout, amongst movies where the stars are largely lost; but in their very lostness being light-years beyond Einstein and his ilk.)

    That being the case, the swarm of incident features feckless appalment surrounding Michele’s on-again/ off-again delivery of warrior initiative. The pseudo-parents split on the hardly credible grounds of Vincent being unable to keep up the payments on his car as prompting him to quit his job because the Metro is a swarm of germs. At the hospital, she’s too disgusted to stick around simpering at the alien baby; and seated with a nurse on the grounds she declares, “Sometimes I have to admit I don’t know him” [Vincent]. She moots that her child died at birth and that the lout she calls her son was the result of a bureaucratic error. The father of this error is more of the same, she having ditched him years before, but maintaining cordial relations nevertheless. He’s a college literature professor, prone to believe that the real must be what serves interests making him feel good. He decries the field she’s in, inasmuch as it’s focused upon “a demographic oblivious to quality…” He’s invited, as usual, to her Christmas Eve party (a hiving of those little lights); and, as usual, he bores the assembly with his ideals of a rationality whose time has come, and gone. “The art muscle needs training. That’s what we’ve got now—flabby culture!” While Michele, unhappy about that drift, tries to arouse the neighbor, Patrick, by rubbing his leg with her foot—Patrick now clearly to her the first assailant seen, the early mistake drones on, “Originality or singularity used to be valued and sought after.” (To twist the knife farther, the ex [Richard] is dating a yoga instructor [Helene], also at the table, whom Michele had visited at her studio and heard her rounding off a class reminding them to give motion to the floor, roll-the-dice-style. Helene’s connection with Richard crashes when she gives the wrong answer—another Richard—to his demand, “Which of my novels is your favorite?” The art-muscle maven jumps at the chance to contribute to a constituency oblivious to quality, namely, those addicted to pricey games; and, in the final frame, Michele and her business partner, Anna, chortle about playing him along to be inevitably dumped back to the church of academia.) During the Christmas feast, the protagonist’s mother and the rapist’s wife prove to be loyal viewers of Midnight Mass on TV, filmed in such an array of spectacular and bulky costuming and baroque decor as to veer toward the flashy hulks populating the works-in-progress that Michele never finds embarrassing enough to quit.

   The structure of the narrative is such that the early episodes (ending on Christmas Eve) find her to be a devote in fairly good standing of that roll which promises to change everything. And as we proceed with her downfall we must realize that the pulse of the work does not unduly dwell on her personal loss, but rather the leeway she takes to delude herself all is well. Verhoeven and his writer outriders provide us with a visceral disaster the better to convey the nature of a most wide-spread evasion. Minutes after the Midnight Mass, Michele’s mother suffers a massive stroke and dies on Christmas morning. During the meal, her daughter had noisily and cruelly laughed when her mother announced she was engaged to be married to a gigolo. Though a stupid move, the hostess, in being such a crude ass, was showing downward motion in face of an array of alien guests. She maintains that errancy by questioning the doctor, later that night, if the bride-to-be could be faking. (Her mother, soon after the ridicule, had denounced her with, “You’re cruel when you find anything or anyone unpleasant…”) Before sinking into a coma, her mother urges her to visit her father who had been in prison for 39 years after a rampage of serial murder, ostensibly in revenge for no longer being able to deliver ritual benediction to the neighboring children. Michele had filled out more detail of intent in telling Patrick, with the Midnight Mass still polling healthy numbers, “He decided to burn everything in the house. I helped feed the fire… It was exciting. You get caught up in it! The police arrived and someone snapped a photo. Bizarrely, it’s that photo that stuck in people’s minds… The photo of a little- girl psychopath, next to her father, the psychopath… My empty stare in the photo is terrifying…” Her mother, in tasking her to see her father, counted on some vestiges of valuable residual sparks. No such eventuation would be likely to register in our protagonist’s wading through a quagmire of contradictory initiatives. But the stamp of death delivers her to an investigation she could not have explained (just as the investigation on tap with her assailant). Informed of the child he found unwelcome, he commits suicide before she arrives. She bends over his body at the morgue and imagines herself on track by whispering, “I killed you by coming here.”

    On the drive back, she’s reached by a gutter-journalist wanting a juicy statement about the sensation. That a deer dashes across the highway causing her to crash in some trees, suggests how far from managing ferocious motions her rambling has become. She calls Patrick who pulls her out of the wreck; she takes to using a cane; and, though she does regain full control of her limbs and joints, she goes on to forever be an ungainly, self-impressed, bourgeoise brute (resembling a Bunuel target; but having that extra dimension of invoking [weakly] the heady uncertainty of true power. Whereas Bunuel reveled in figures undergoing bemusing, quasi-miraculous pathology, Verhoeven loves the entirely carnal, this-worldly, stomach-churning ride which Michele provides, in its [crippled] mission of uncanny concord.)

   That smash-up in the woods was the prelude to an irony-soaked disintegration. While his wife is visiting the Vatican, Patrick hosts Michele and a Vincent in exile over a bit of precious transportation. They all have a hankering for good and copious wine, with the eternal boy getting drunk and musing that the Pope couldn’t have mere feet. (In a saga of traction, this bites.) The sort-of-father passes out; and Michele observes, “Eyes bigger than his belly.” The shortage of guts does of course also pertain to her. (What to make of her masturbating while viewing Patrick from her window as he installs the santons in his yard?) While Vincent saws logs, she is introduced to a cutting-edge design feature of the unstable neighbor’s house, which keeps the floors warm on cold winter nights. The name for this creature-comfort is ‘inverted flame combustion.” It nips at her upside-down sensibility. She allows herself to be taken on a tour of that marvel, situated in the basement, and to be once again violently raped. Her ambiguous groans devolve to waking up Vincent where he lies on the sofa; going across the road to her own brand of inverted dispensation; and, in the course of which, calling back to her catastrophic partner, “Thank you for dinner.” (“Any time,” the perfect road kill triumphs.) Her hobbling across by means of that cane reminds us of the rancid pillar of society and his fetid approach to history, in Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us. The cut to Michele’s celebrating another big cash flow in the violent horror digital games dodge beats her up even worse than Patrick did. We have visited several times our guide to real-time violent horror at the animation studio she owns and operates. The central motif of this workaday/workanight industry consists of one of her staff, namely, Kurt (with the body build and hostility making him an early suspect of rapist-Spider Man), hectoring Michele for obtusely designing a literature-based vehicle when something more visceral is required. On the first glimpse of that Klondike seam, she refers to a previous coup readily making a fortune and reminds him that she is the boss—somewhat. By the time more big money is the order of the day, we’re treated to a snippet of the new product sure to keep kissing-cousins, of the righteous rat in Ten, up all night. There in all its supposed glory, a hot girl strides our way, emerging from a furnace that might be called “inverted-flame combustion.” But, this being a big-stakes game, Kurt has taken over some of the desperate abysses stalking Michele and being repelled by her pragmatic side. During the wrap-up party, she singles out Kurt as the main reason they’re all in the money. (Patrick has been invited; and though, from his stock market brokerage perspective, he declares, when Michele encourages him to sample the game’s addictive logic, “I’m not a game-player,” we can readily recognize his being very comfortably in the big tent of jerking off, a drift Jarmusch has been studying for years; and a drift another player, from way back, namely, Martin Heidegger, pondered in terms of “concern” and “everydayness.”) That Michele has departed all vestiges of being on the scent of an equilibrium (almost) too hot to handle has been handled in a very fine way, in the form of a call for a toast from management. Anna blurts out an inane expression of being happy, and then all Michele can say, about a career she’s sliding toward shareholder-status, is, “I couldn’t put it any better.” To round out a reception rubbing her very much the wrong way, she informs Anna that she’s been fucking her husband for several months. (Two incidents form a crazy alliance displaying the bewildering spin of loyalty Michele finds ultimately unmanageable. She discovers that it was the seemingly most emotionally positive staffer who had devised and circulated the CGI of the game’s hulk raping her. And it is Patrick’s widow, on leaving town, who thanks her for having provided the, in her words, “tortured soul, but essentially good” felon a bit of happiness. Michele’s gaze in this context of disinterestedness is a study of being touched by a monumental ignorance which she, for all her bravery and sophistication, cannot match. Her intentional decision to skitter into that woodwork where mechanistic, mathematical dynamics prevail would constitute tolerating the absurdity and boredom of “common sense” and its hastily assembled dogmas of science, humanitarianism and religion. On consulting the documentary news program pertaining to the empty motions for parole for her father, who added butchery of pets to butchery of owners, a sparrow crashes into her window and is immediately pounced upon by her black cat, Marty (a name carrying loads of bemusing domesticated insistence), who was an equivocal witness to the first rape. Michele, though slow to shoo Marty away, lovingly places the body on a soft cloth and covers the small life in a carriage-trade container. Late at night she’s intercepted by Patrick on her way to the recycle bin. He calls out, “I hope that’s recyclable!” She, all vestiges of mourning having disappeared, calls back, “It’s [only] a dead bird!”)

    She catches a ride home from Patrick, her slap-in the-face-mode partaking of the suicidal. As the miles go by for this nebulous and yet weighty partnership, she sees fit to denounce his failings. “…twisted… diseased!” she mentions, in a resort to a new (and very old) universe of vocabulary. “I was in some kind of weird denial [Where did that caffeeklatch miasma come from?]. But I see it now… You don’t expect to get away with what you did to me?... I’ll go to the police… [at the film’s outset, nothing could have induced her to consult a policing regime she regarded as inferior to her own attending to her needs].” She adds, “I’ll tell them everything!” But we have an angle that makes certain she’s in no frame of mind to go anywhere near that far—the true far being abandoned entirely in this pestilence of easy verity. While she is still intent on a rapid transformation to becoming as innocuous as everyone else— “There’s your wife, too…” [and how many other women had to endure that clownish savagery?] —Patrick attempts to kill her in her living room. Vincent, who had been waitering at the awesome party, intervenes in time to smash off much of Spider-Man’s skull with a fireplace log. (Omnipresent Netflix.) The large whiff of death wish in her awaiting him to don his stupid outfit at home and smash through the garden door is something else we shouldn’t fail to factor into the loss of a serious player of rolling the dice, of choosing a shot of exploration, for the sake of real excitement. She bullshits the detective as the body bag goes by, doing an effective facsimile of a long-range pussy like everyone else. “Who could have imagined that!” [being an ally of sorts with a public enemy]. With this brazen lockdown Michele is Elle, indeed—a she, and nothing else; someone to have her ass kissed for being a smart little cookie. After braining Patrick, Vincent falls to pieces and his mother tells him, “It’s over.” She buys him an expensive car, the priceless Josie returns; and we see them paying a visit to the Bank of Mom, momentarily forgetting there is a baby on board. Their sit-com lives (now Michele’s life as well) are far from over. She and Anna, now having fired her worse half, pay a mainstream visit to Michele’s mother’s grave—something the former Michele would not have seen fit to do, but now being perfect since the end of real life. (She had, not long before, articulated to Anne the lynchpin of her defeat. “Shame has never prevented anyone doing what they want.”)  As mentioned, from the perspective of what is likely to be Montparnasse Cemetery (where self-promotion is the name of the game), along the route to the Port Royal Maternity Ward and its own kind of self-promotion, the wheeler dealers dump on the idea of Richard making serious money, his fogged-in intuition going for naught.

   Talk about writing, Elle’s writing crew puts on a show of sterling discursive logic which someone really should attend to. The screenplay, by David Birke, might tend to be overshadowed by the film’s cascade of physical, stunning and relentless viciousness. But Birke (no doubt in close coordination with Verhoeven) has woven within the fabric of the hyperactive narrative a dark and discerning comedy. Not, however, to forget the writer of the novel, Oh, Phillippe Djian, from which the film more or less stems, who would also have been instrumental.

#paul verhoeven