Summer (Taehyung x Reader)

Your summer consists of waitressing, Jungkook’s sass, and a certain hot surfer guy.

Inspired by this gifset and also by the lovely @theboyswhomwelove

comedy + fluff, 2.2k words, taehyung/reader, normalverse + surfer au

Waitressing at the beachside cafe just got better.

Sure, there’s always the decent pay, free ice cream, and a nice view of the beach, but now there’s also a nice view of hot guys. Hot surfer guys. The attractive pink-haired guy you’ve been ogling for the past hour or so does that celebrity hair flip, except it’s like a bajillion times hotter than when any celebrity does it. You’re about to fan yourself with a plate, but remember just in time that there’s still food on it. Close catch. You give yourself a mental pat on the back.

When you head to the back, Jungkook gives you a judgmental look as he wipes down a countertop. Although he’s typically at the register, he also takes on a bunch of the other jobs, being the son of the owner. Looks like he’s currently on some sort of cleaning duty.

“What?” you say, brushing past him.

“If you think you’re being subtle, you’re not,” he replies, tossing the rag to the side. He steps in front of the kitchen entrance, cornering you before you can make a run for it, or something.

“Subtle? About what?” Even after a good 7 years of friendship, understanding Jungkook is as hard as ever. He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe about staring off into the distance, probably at some hot guy,” he replies. “It’s really obvious. I saw you almost empty that jug of ice water on a kid like, two hours ago, because you were too distracted.”

Keep reading

Nothing But Trouble (1991)

What’s that? An article? On a film podcast’s blog? You heard it here second folks (because we talked about it on the last episode). To fill in the gaps between podcasts, Ross and I are going to be publishing short pieces on some films we think are worth recommending, but not “classic” enough to make it to the full podcast. The plan right now is one article every week we’re off, with us two alternating- so more or less, one review per month from each of us, plus the two podcasts, and then whatever else gets reblogged/posted to here. We want to make this whole endeavor more engaging and lively, and this seemed like a solid way to get there, but as always we appreciate any suggestions, be it about the podcast itself or our social media platforms. You can contact us here, on twitter (@reloadingcanon), or at our email ( Thanks again to all our listeners- you all mean a great deal to us.

And now, let me lose absolutely everyone (and possibly all the respect I’ve garnered in my life) to really, like I’m actually doing this, recommend Dan Aykroyd’s sole directorial effort, Nothing But Trouble. Now, before you burn me at the stake as a heretic, I want to be clear: I’m about 70% sure Nothing But Trouble was meant to be funny. I am also 100% sure it is, in no conceivable sense of the word, funny. But it’s that extra 30% of uncertainty I have that makes it, if not necessarily a good film, a perplexingly, disgustingly fascinating one, not dissimilar from the ten minute long promo Aykroyd did for his own alcohol, Crystal Head Vodka- there’s enough winking in there that some of it must be a put-on, but the exact tone is entirely up in the air, a gyre of bewilderment. There’s a scene in Nothing But Trouble where Aykroyd’s prosthetic nose, which already looks moderately phallic, is replaced with just a penis, glans and all, and then switched back moments later without explanation besides Chevy Chase’s dumbfounded yet disinterested double take. That’s the kind of movie we’re talking about here.

Here’s what happens in Nothing But Trouble, more or less: Chevy Chase and Demi Moore, a rich yuppie and a a rich yuppie who needs to get to Atlantic City, respectively, take a scenic detour on a drive together and wind up in Valkenvania, an old coal mining town which, after some mishaps and real-estate thievery involving bankers (it’s not explained much more than that), has a constantly burning coal fire underneath it and the dictatorial vision of judge Alvin Valkenheiser (Dan Aykroyd, in makeup so grotesque it should have been criminal) holding its pieces together. After being brought to the judge by cop John Candy for speeding, the yuppies (along with Taylor Negron and Bertila Damas, two Brazilian passengers brought along for tedious reasons) are sentenced to a night in the judge’s sprawling, Winchester Mystery House styled mansion, where…a bunch of bullshit happens. I could try and build a road for you to walk this winding path, but just know that there’s two massive, oiled-up, deformed children who (maybe?) want to eat Demi Moore, a performance by the hip-hop group Digital Underground (where Dan Aykroyd rocks out on the organ), a scene with the most noxious hot dogs ever presented on screen, and a rollercoaster that strips your flesh from your bones. Yeah.

Here’s the biggest problem (even bigger than the wishy-washy acting, workmanlike cinematography, and dreadful ADR): this is the grossest, most off-putting film I’ve ever seen, every single image dripping with goo or viscera or just a sickly grey and brown, like the whole world is in a state of decay. If this were a straight horror film, that would almost be appealing in its grimy, mucus-tinted way. The atmosphere of a defiled, aberrant coal-mining town- air thick with dirty smoke, citizens turned inwards, morphed into broken reflections of the outside world through decades of being exploited and sickened- would match up perfectly to the kind of grindhouse thrills and bummer-hour notes of your Eaten Alive’s or Wrong Turn’s. Instead, we get a sort of Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, shockingly, sickeningly violent and depraved, so warped that it comes back around to being a black comedy, but without any control whatsoever over the tone. Genuinely, at no point in the film after they reach the mansion did I know whether I was supposed to be enjoying myself or disgusted, and that uncertainty is what makes it stick like glue in my mind. Maybe it’s secretly a masterpiece, or maybe it’s the worst movie ever made- it’s all wrapped up in whatever you can divine from Dan Aykroyd’s stone cold poker face, a man totally unwilling to tell you whether it’s a goof or not.

In a way, that’s both an extremely tentative and very strong recommendation for Nothing But Trouble, a confusing mess of awfulness that might actually be a great horror-comedy, possibly, with the comedy part being almost an affectation meant to heighten an overwhelming sense of dread and misery. It’s unpleasant, off-putting, even vomit-inducing, and I dread the day that I have to sit through it again, but it’s definitely not middle of the road in its ambition or execution. It feels like an illness when you watch it, like a head cold coming on, like the world is just a bit more jaundiced when it’s all said and done. Entertaining it’s really not, but as an experience? I can’t really argue with that.

-Michelle Arf


Rob and Twigs went to the Upright Citizen’s Brigade comedy club in the East Village last night. An observant fan saw them in the small audience and tweeted: “Yo last night I ended up in some underground comedy club with Robert Pattinson and FKA Twigs.”

In 2014, Rob and Twigs were photographed on a few different occasions coming out of comedy clubs in Los Angeles. The Upright Citizens Brigade is an improv workshop that has spawned stars like Amy Pohler and Tina Fey (a Rob fav).

Last night’s show featured performers from the Montreal Just For Laughs Comedy Festival doing original characters, impressions, parodies, musical acts, and monologues. Pic above from May 2, 2016