#NEW DIRECTOR OF BOTH

[bl-bam-beyond]

FOUREVER YOU (2024, THAILAND)

Episode 2 (Post 2 of 2)

Hill (PONLAWIT KETPRAPAKORN aka POND) hides nothing in the way he looks at his crush Easter aka Ter (KATSAMONNAT NAMWIROTE aka EARTH/COOHEART)

But their past is still a little murky. And who is Mild?

The way Hill gazes at Ter...it's love.

@pose4photoml @just-another-boyslove-blog

[ruubesz-draws]

Godsh I wish that were me...

Redraw of the Godzilla version cos now it's canon that Minus One likes Monsterverse MV the most!

Link

[honeybee-arts]

Agatha & Rio are the 2024 Shithead Olympics

[patron-saint-of-lesbeans]

I go into a video call expecting to just get information about a ‘come and see’ retreat and I end up having to speedrun coming out to a strange religious person for the third time in like two weeks.

[bagofbonesmp3]

this is how me and my film studies friend sound talking in front of my other normie friends

[carcarrot]

every now and again i go on facebook marketplace and search for the kind of vintage car(s) i want and even save listings even though i most definitely do not have the money to buy them or a driver's license

[truecorvid]

i think god is telling me to find a new job

[velvetjune]

I don’t know what happened but I’m suddenly invested in trench/darling and can’t stop thinking about them

[s0fter-sin]

i’ve been watching yannis marshall choreography for like 15 minutes and i’m back thinking about my dancer au

gaz suggests a pole dancing segment for the music video for price and ghost shuts it down hard, saying he doesn’t do pole. gaz calls him selfish, that he’s just saying no to spite him but ghost holds firm; not even listening to soap as he tries to reason with him and reach a compromise

soap gets to practice early like he always does, just to see ghost blasting another life by motionless in white and doing a flawless pole routine. he’s as mesmerised by him as he always is, such beautiful movements contrasted by the seemingly harsh music, and waits for him to break before teasing, “i thought you said you couldn’t do pole dancin’.”

ghost just wipes the sweat off his face with a towel. he knew he was there

he always knows when soap’s there

“i said i didn’t do pole; not that i couldn’t.”

“what’s stoppin’ you?” soap asks, genuine and innocently curious and it’s the only reason ghost doesn’t completely shut him down

“what ‘bout you?” he asks instead. “ever done pole?”

he shrugs and sets his bag down. “enough to get in a twirl or two. ‘sides, gaz’s better suited to that kinda delicate work.”

“now, that i know is bullshit,” ghost scoffs and soap tenses, expecting him to go off on another rant about his best mate (just like he waits through gaz going off on ghost) but- “i’ve seen your competition tapes; you’re plenty strong enough to work a pole.”

soap stares at him. “how have you-?”

“price,” he answers simply, throwing the towel on top of his gear and all but stalks towards him. “i like knowin’ who i’m working with; he sent me your breakdancin’ comps. if you can hold a three-fingered hollowback handstand, you can bend on a pole.”

soap sputters as ghost grips his tank top and yanks him over to the pole, setting his hands in place on the body-warmed metal; bracketing his body with his own. he guides his body through the motions; teaches him how to fall and catch himself in a spin, how to gracefully climb and hold his body in midair

soap laughs as he throws himself into a spin just to bend his legs over his head, twisting his body to latch onto the pole with knee and lean perfectly horizontal with his other leg splayed out; his arm thrown above his head

he tips his head back to catch ghost’s grin and almost drops himself as he jumps up to join him; artfully climbing above him and holding his whole weight on his hip as he flips down to look at him

soap’s breath catches at the scant distance between their faces; so close he can count the near invisible freckles on ghosts skin, his fair lashes and the deep flecks of gold in his dark eyes

ghost is just as entranced; his grin slowly fading as he looks into the light sparkling in soap’s eyes. he tips his head towards the mirrors lining the studio and they slowly turn to look at themselves; fitting perfectly together

“see?” he whispers. “we don’t look all that outta place, do we?”

“no,” soap whispers back. “we don’t.”

[luvuomi]

an excerpt from my unnamed & heavily unfinished lyney fic:

Thin, frail hands reached out to grab hold of the brass knob that was cold to the touch, slowly twisting and pushing open the grand doors. Their deafening sound disrupts the unperturbed silence of the other room. At first, Lyney is hesitant to continue further in. The lack of human presence indirectly urged him to turn back and find Lynette.

However, as his curious eyes wander across the hall that appears to stretch on for what seemed like several miles, he unknowingly finds himself walking forward. The plush carpet below softening his footsteps as he gazes in awe at the room’s emanate opulence: pedestals where pristine ceramic vases sat upon holding flowers, modest paintings of pleasant fields or mountains of solitude, and the array of tall windows that filter in ample sunlight through draping curtains.

Though he walks a good distance away from such novel furnishings, he continues to remain careful for the unknown fear that he may accidentally knock something over. Forget damaging—he may as well leave a stain on this place with his own breath.

Wavering footsteps eventually recede to a halt as his eyes catch sight of a particular painting.

Gilded in gold, it depicts a woman elegantly sitting upon a throne. Her black gloved hands rest leisurely upon her lap, contrasting her straight and refined posture. Rose gold hair styled in a loose braid that falls seamlessly down her shoulder, complimenting her poised sea-green eyes. Though she displayed a cordial smile akin to that of a loving mother, something about her gaze unsettled Lyney. Like it held a glint of rancor that most would not perceive.

Stationed beside this painting, was another more distinguishable portrait. It portrayed yet another woman of equal eminence, if not more. But even at a mere glance, it was obvious she held more eccentricities about her. She sat upon the throne as though it were any other seat: one leg crossed over the other and cheek languidly resting upon her hand, further emphasizing her impartial demeanor. Layered black and white hair that extends almost down to her shoulders on one side and—her eyes.

They are not ones Lyney has ever seen before. Black as a moonless night with striking red pupils shaped like “X’s.” Compared to the previous woman, this one evidently held a more daunting presence, even within the confines of a painting. Yet despite such looming authority, something about her held more sincerity. For what exactly, Lyney has no clue.

All he knows is that should he ever come face to face with such a woman, he would undoubtedly take her words as they are, without question.

Gradually peeling his eyes away from the paintings, Lyney’s gaze then landed upon another item of interest, one that stood at the center of the room and that he’s surprisingly failed to notice until now—a grand piano.

Approaching the instrument, Lyney’s eyes examine its spotless condition. Free of any marks or scratches as his fingers gently grazed along the black and white keys before taking a seat. He plays one note, and then another, the soft sound managing to echo throughout the entire hall. He definitely shouldn’t be touching this, his mind tells him. Though his actions speak otherwise. Slowly positioning his hands on the keys, Lyney begins to play.

It’s a melancholic tune that plays, but one so cathartic it brings the world to a standstill. He was never one to find great enjoyment in playing such an instrument. Lynette had often told him to put such talents to greater use, perhaps performing in the grandest of stages like the Opera Epiclese, but Lyney never indulged those possibilities.

Such an opportunity should only be granted to those who have a true passion for playing a beautiful instrument like the piano. Not someone like him who only used it as a means to get by.

“What are you doing?” A stringent voice cuts through the somber melody, immediately making Lyney’s hands flinch away from the keys and head dart at the person standing a few feet away. Their expression mirrored their tone of voice: cold and apathetic. Had they been here this entire time?

Upon receiving no response, their eyes narrow at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Lyney!” He blurts out immediately, shooting up from his seat that almost knocks over the stool behind him. He winces a bit at the commotion he’s now caused. “I mean–my name. My name is Lyney…”

“...Lyney?” The person repeats, voice dripping with doubt and ready to suspect him of hiding his true identity. But then there’s a pause and Lyney watches as their face morphs from a look of ponder to a scowl before they speak again. “Oh. So you’re the one “Father” talked about bringing in.”

[femme-foucault]

I just made my own post instead of dumping this on a reblog bc it's not a big deal but....when did Martin Scorcese become a stand-in for "guy who makes gangster movies" or "film-bro pretentious?"

Most of Scorcese's films are not about gangsters. Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Cape Fear, New York New York, The King of Comedy, The Age of Innocence, and in fact pretty much every major Scorcese film that most people have seen that isn't Goodfellas or The Departed...is not a film about gangsters. (Mean Streets is great but it's a deeper cut). Gangs of New York, I think you could put in that category, but it's also a historical period piece and not the Goncharov'd/Godfather'd aesthetic that you would associate with a "gangster movie." Oh, I forgot The Irishman, but come on, that one only came out a few years ago and I know none of y'all watched it or remembered it unless you were a huge film nerd. I didn't even get into it.

When did Scorcese, of all people, become the stand-in for "filmmaker people assume is pretentious?" Was it when he said everything correctly wrong with Marvel films? Or on this site maybe Goncharov effect?

EDIT: I also totally forgot about The Departed, which I guess from one point of view is a "gangster film" (or really, a crime film). I distinguish between films like Goodfellas or The Godfather which are what most people think of as "gangster films" in that they focus on the perspective of people in organized crime vs "cops vs robber" films like Heat which usually include the perspective of law enforcement and The Departed is the later, but that's splitting hairs. It's a crime film, sure, and also a thriller.

[relto]

if my contract gets renewed ill look into moving away waw

[nashishishi]

pretty boy

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

So I'm an area director at a summer camp, but yesterday my boss called me and asked if I'd be down to be the director of two areas and I said yes without thinking about the consequences. So now I'm the director of two areas? That means two groups of staff to train and lead, two sets of lesson plans, two areas to teach at and make the schedule for and make the lesson plans for, two physical areas to set up. They're right next to each other, but this is going to be fucking insane

[daz4i]

as soon as i figure out how to start creating again it's over for you

[shleemies]

Dude what why did they change every single detail of this scene from what they put in the movie???? The framing is more accurate to the manga but that's about it. In what world is gojo wearing a red hoodie and not his uniform in this?