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#check these films out!

segretecose · 2 months

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not claudia cardinale saying "no i never fucked alain delon looking back maybe i should've. but there was a waiting list of men and women who wanted to fuck him on set and it was too long" we desperately need to resurrect italo french cinema liaison so bad literally whore nations

#this reminds me i still need to check out mastroianni deneuve mpreg film

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flwoie · 5 months

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꒰ 🕰️ ꒱ SEND YOU MY HEART — BYUN EUIJOO

⋆ It’s different when it comes to crushing on Euijoo, your bestfriend’s younger brother. He hasn’t done a single thing to you and you highly doubt he knows you other than being his sister’s friend, yet you always find yourself running away from him.

STARRING ≻ bsf’s younger brother! ej x gn! reader [guest stars yeojin of loossemble & f! oc (eunha)] GENRE ≻ fluff, comedy, implied mutual pining, bestfriend’s brother au, highschool au CONTAINS ≻ accidental invasion of privacy WORD COUNT ≻ 1090

SONA SPEAKING ≻ no i did NOT choose ej just bc he reminds me of my crush!!

What’s worse than having a normal crush is having a crush on your best friend's brother, Euijoo. He’s not any typical brother; he’s the younger brother who doesn’t talk to anyone besides his friends and family. The younger brother, who only has one face for every emotion. He’s the younger brother who’s the eldest among his friends.

It’s even worse when he goes to your school. Fate loves to be a hater and decided that you two should see each other everywhere, whether he’s behind you in line at the cafeteria or walking the same hall after your drama class and his gym class. Wherever you are, Euijoo is there. Some people would think it’s a blessing to be around their crush all the time, and it is. It’s also a curse, as instead of greeting him, you find yourself running as far away as possible from him.

The idea of your best friend finding out isn’t the reason you're running away. In fact, you even told her you liked him, and she didn’t seem to care at all. All she did was laugh. She finds it hilarious how he’s gullible and you’re here trying to keep yourself from running away when he’s around, especially when you’re at her house. From sitting next to you on the couch for a movie night to grabbing a cup from the cabinet in the kitchen where you’re eating, you’d expect her to glare at you, but she only tries to hold her laughter in.

You don’t know why you can’t function when he’s around every time. Is it because he smells like pencil shaving all the time, his glasses suit his face shape, or he wears that umber leather jacket over his uniform every day? It’s weird since you complain all the time that you miss him, but when you do see him, you’re suddenly meters away from his presence. You hate the idea of talking to him, but at the same time, you love talking about him with your friends. When your friends insult him, like his haircut or the fact that he’s part of the chess club, your mouth starts talking back as if you were a lawyer defending their client.

The one question that makes everyone you know intrigued is: How come you’ve never had at least one interaction with him?

‘I saw Euijoo in the hallway first thing in the morning’. You write on the sticky note, passing it to your friend in the middle of your drama class. Your teacher has been too busy blabbering about her life in acting school for the past hour. You look up at the clock; it’s five before the bell rings. Some of your classmates are doing work, and others are on their phones. No one seems to be listening to her at all; they’re all waiting for the bell.

Yeojin passes a sticky note to you. ‘What did you do?’. She stared at you as you retold her what happened with your fingers. You tried to tell her that you walked past him, but she didn’t understand your gestures. “What?” she mouths. You lean close enough so she can hear your whispers.

“I walked past him,” you whisper lowly so the teacher wouldn’t notice but loud enough for Yeojin to hear. She covers her mouth, restraining herself from bursting into laughter. As the bell rings, your teacher mentions a project due in a few days while you get ready to leave.

The performing arts department is in a long, separate hallway away from regular classes. In that hallway is also the gym, where Euijoo finishes his class. The hallway is tiring for you and Yeojin, but all you want to do is get to your next class without having to see Euijoo. Yeojin leaves you for her class, which is the one near the exit of the hall. You’re here, walking alone to the end of the hall. Sometimes it takes you two minutes to get to your class or more, depending on the number of people. As you go through multiple people squished like sardines in a can and make your way to the end of the hall, you halt, hearing your name and an unfamiliar voice.

“Oh, Y/N, you dropped this,” Euijoo says as you look behind. He picks up a notebook from the floor and hands it to you. You’re frozen and silent, and he simply smiles at you and leaves. You run to your next class and sit down in your seat as you contemplate. Many things are happening at once—things that you found impossible.

He says your name and gives you your journal, the one place where you talk about him, then proceeds to smile at you. It sounds impossible, but it did indeed happen. But what’s really important is that he spoke to you.

You haven’t seen Euijoo since that interaction. You don’t see him in the hallways at school or in the living room at their house. Whenever Eunha calls him down for dinner, he’ll just stay silent or respond that he’s busy. When he did come out of his room, it was only to return your journal. Your best friend accidentally gave him your journal when he asked her to get his notebook.

It was a simple mistake; he didn’t mean to look inside. The outside looked like his, but the inside was totally different. When he opened a random page, he noticed how his notes were colourful, his handwriting was curvier than it should be, and the words were the total opposite of physics. He put his glasses on and immediately closed the book as he read the first sentence.

‘I miss Euijoo’. He quickly pushes the book off his table and backs away from it. He’s shocked in many ways. Those words are playing in his head on repeat. All he can imagine is your voice saying those words. He wants to know what else you say about him, but it’s wrong; it’s your privacy. He approaches the book but is wary of picking it up. His hands are trembling the more he moves closer, until the pads of his fingers touch the leather cover.

He leaves his room with the journal in his hand. His eyes meet with yours as he enters the living room, places your journal down on the coffee table, and grabs his. You quickly grabbed your journal and sat on it as he asked you a question before he walked out.

“Are you busy this Friday?”

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shreddedcardigan · 1 year

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I POSSES A GLOCK WITHIN MY RARI

#lackadaisy #baller #fanart #check out the film on youtube hyuk hyuk

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aquitainequeen · 10 months

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Ridley Scott: I made a film about two rival officers constantly duelling throughout and in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars, and now I've actually done a film about Napoleon!

Me: Great! Could you also do a film about Baron Dominique Jean Larrey, a vital innovator in European battlefield surgery and triage, often considered the first military surgeon; who pioneered the ambulance volantes ("Flying ambulances") to quickly transport wounded men from the battlefield, effectively creating a forerunner of the modern MASH units; co-led the team that performed one of the first accurately recorded pre-anaesthetic mastectomies in Western medicine; was spotted helping wounded men while under heavy fire during the Battle of Waterloo by the Duke of Wellington who purposefully ordered for his soldiers not to fire in Larrey's direction; and when captured by the Prussians after the battle was about to be executed on the spot when he was recognised by one of the German surgeons, who pled for his life because he had saved the life of Field Marshall Blücher's son some years earlier?

Ridley Scott:

Ridley Scott: Um.

Me: Yeah. Didn't think so.

#Yeah; Baron Larrey was one of my dad's heroes #When we went to Père Lachaise Cemetery we went partly to honour his grave #ridley scott #Baron Dominique Jean Larrey #baron larrey #Dominique Jean Larrey #napoleon 2023 #the duellists #the duellists 1977 #check out the duellists; it's a REALLY good film!#Larrey did a lot of other stuff that I didn't mention; otherwise I'd just be vomiting the wikipedia page #He was a close favourite of Napoleon and went on the Egyptian campaign #he started a school in Cairo where he researched opthalmy (inflammation of the eye)#He made sure that all soldiers (not just French and their allies) were treated #The mastectomy was to treat suspected breast cancer #(unknown to this day if there actually was cancer but perhaps better safe than sorry)#and the patient was Frances Burney #who frankly deserves a film or tv series of her own #If you're up for it she wrote her own description of what the operation was like; which is there to read on her wikipedia page #Whether or not her breast WAS cancerous she lived another thirty years #Ironically her husband DID die of cancer #anyway #*jazz hands*

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athousandyearstime · 5 months

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Hey there!! I'm looking for some more blogs to follow, can you recommend me your favorites? Thank you!!

I sure can! Tbh, I don't follow many blogs (and even fewer are still active), so I'll just give you a random assortment of people who are a joy to have on your dashboard 🌼

@dancingcrowley @southfarthing @llokilaufeyson @capinejghafa @pedrocillian @ughmerlin @foolishlovers @wearecrowley @goomens @gooodomens @goodomensedit @sandmancentral @moorishflower @courtjestermerlin @queerfables @crowleyanthonys @iant0jones @toshsato @plumbum-art @gleafer @peregrintook @hardly-an-escape @landwriter @softest-punk @wizardofgoodfortune @wordsinhaled @rooftopwreck @donttouchtheneednoggle @lit-in-thy-heart @botanicallyinclinednerd @rainbowvamp @mumble-muse @queerofthedagger @fellshish @seance

#this list is very sandman/good omens heavy with some multifandom sprinkled in #also not sure if you're new on tumblr #but check out the tags for shows/films/characters/etc you like #and if you're specifically looking for gif makers to follow check out the '-edit' tag for your fandoms #('goodomensedit' for good omens for example)#aaaand! there are usually source blogs for specific fandoms (like 'merlin-gifs' or 'sandmancentral') which are a good way to find people #who are active in a fandom #ask

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heatherfield · 6 months

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@giftober 2023 | Day 9: shadows/silhouettes

Cliff was a big name before Wilhelmina came along. Men want to be him and women want their men to be him. He may resent being in her shadow.

The Case of the Gilded Lily [x]

#giftober2023 #the case of the gilded lily #perioddramaedit #userthing #usercreate #shipwrecked comedy #sean persaud #fig and ford #period drama #1930s #my edits #figandfordedit #it's just so preeeeeetty #all the lighting and angles and shadows #but also go check out the audio drama/podcast #sean looks like he was born to play the film noir/hardboiled p.i.#also i couldn't resist that caption lol

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furiroad · 7 months

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I'm fine. Get her.

MARS EXPRESS (2023), Dir. Jérémie Périn

#jérémie périn #mars express #aline ruby #roberta williams #gif #french animation #science fiction animation #FILM REC! CHECK IT OUT #mine

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miss-spookhead · 15 days

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thinking about a Blast From the Past steddie au tonight. like, think about it for a second--steve as the sweet, well-meaning himbo raised in a fallout shelter and eddie as the cynic who shows him the world as it is:

The year was 1962, and an atomic bomb had just dropped on top of the Harrington household.

Okay, not really. It was actually a fighter jet that suffered a mechanical failure just above the little plot of land the Harringtons called their home, but Walter Harrington took it differently. Far differently.

See, the thing was that the man was living in a state of paranoid delusion over the Cold War--terrified of the possibility of an outright nuclear holocaust over the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Soviet Union. He had been carefully building a fallout shelter under his home for his wife and possible children to live in with the works--canned food, running water, and even a working television.

And one day they went in and simply never left. The explosion right when they closed the door was tangible proof that the nuclear war was happening right above them.

A few years later, around 1968, a baby boy was born in a fallout shelter with no one but his mom and dad to keep him company.

They raised Steve the best they could, even if Walter Harrington was a mad genius and Madeline Harrington was a borderline alcoholic. Even if the boy was living in a perfect little time capsule of the fifties and early sixties. Walter made sure to educate him right and teach him how to be a sociable gentleman--even if he had no idea what swear words or the concept of sex were. That was for another time. Although, twenty-four years came and went for Steve Harrington, his father still owes him 'another time'.

Steve Harrington grows twenty-four years in perfect seclusion, but that changes at the flick of a switch.

The year is 1992: supplies are dwindling Walter is growing sick, and Steve is tasked to bravely set foot in the nuclear fallout to retrieve more material. (The only reason why Walter assumes they can even get more stuff is because he observed the outside world when the shelter unlocked and mistook it as a post-apocalyptic mutant society.)

The moment Steve made it outside his little bubble, he was utterly fascinated by the world--how different the people were outside of his television and his little books, how bright the sky was outside, how the irritable man on the bus wouldn't accept the money he tried to give him, how the bus moved and didn't fling him right off his seat.

(He even saw an adult bookstore. Dad told him that those things were filled with poisonous gas. How were they even to operate if they were filled with poisonous gas? That's dangerous and totally inconsiderate of the general public's safety.)

Anyway, he tries to follow the grocery list that Mom and Dad gave him the best he can, stocking up on poultry and tissue paper and the works. But by the end of the day, he doesn't know where he came from. Not a single sign or building or person can give him a single clue where to go.

After a few hours of wandering, suitcase in hand, he comes across a store with WE BUY BASEBALL CARDS written on the window.

Golly, Steve loves baseball cards--could look at Dad's collection for hours, and with the collection he has, he could make a pretty penny selling them for supplies. Despite the little hobby store being beside an adult bookstore with poisonous gas, he scampers right in.

"I see you're looking to buy baseball cards," he says breezily to the gruff, scary-looking man behind the counter.

"That I am," he replies.

Steve pulls a few from his jacket's inner pocket. "Well, these are a bit old, you see, but I was hoping you still might be interested."

The gruff man yanks them from his hands, a spark in his eye. He looks delighted to see them, and it fills Steve with an excitement he hadn't felt at all today. Nobody has been this happy over something he's done today. "Woah," he gasps, then covers it with a cough. "Mickey Mantle rookie season...how much do you want?"

"I was hoping to sell all of my cards, actually!"

The man sputters incredulously. "All of 'em? Are you fucking with me?"

"I'm not sure what that means, but all I have are hundred-dollar bills and I need something smaller. Like, uh...ones, tens, fives..."

"Tell you what, I'll give you five hundred in small bills for all you got."

Steve smiles brightly. "Oh, that would be wonderful, sir--"

"Five hundred for a case-full of rookie season Mickey Mantles, Rick, are you fucking joking?" A deep voice cuts through Steve's thanks from the other side of the small store. He turns around to find a man leaning against a magazine rack, arms folded sternly.

The man is unlike Steve's ever seen before. Long, long limbs and big brown eyes that look traced with black and smudged around the edges. Pretty lips, too almost girl-ish, in the way they were big and plush like the women he'd see on the television. The strangest thing about him, though, was the curly hair that tumbled past his shoulders.

He looked mad, though. Madder than mad.

"Tell the poor guy you're fucking with him," long-hair-pretty-lips says to the man behind the counter, who bristles.

"Were you raised in a fucking barn, Munson? Who told you to interrupt on business?" Rick counters. Steve was really not appreciating the amount of f-words dropped in the conversation, it was uncouth.

"Sure I was!" Munson saunters towards the counter and Steve's eyes follow him like a moth to a light. "But my morals go past your business practices at this point. You remember the ninth commandment, yeah?"

"You shut your Goddamn mouth--"

"Excuse me sir, but I really don't appreciate how you're using the Lord's name in vain like that," Steve says firmly.

"See?" Munson smiles. It's like sunlight. "He gets it."

He plucks the baseball card from Rick's hand and holds it over his head when he tries to reach for it again. "See this little thing?" He says to Steve sweetly. "This guy costs six grand alone."

"Get out of town! Really?"

"Oh yeah, big guy. Selling the thing would give you a small fortune, and Rick over here is trying to con you out of it."

Steve frowns. "Is that true?" He asks Rick.

"Nothing but," Munson says in place of him. He slips the card back into Steve's hands and gives them a pat.

"The Hell is even keeping you here, Munson?" Rick sneers. "Did the gig you won't shut up about fall through like they usually do? Better to bum it out here than in your shithole apartment? Stop loitering in my damn store and make like a fucking tree. You're banned."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Munson says rolling his eyes. He looks at Steve, then the door, gesturing at it with a flick of his head. "I'll see you out, Beaver."

He walks them both out the door, stopping to gesture at Rick strangely--hands balled into fists with only his middle fingers up--before stepping outside onto the sidewalk.

"Well merci, Monsieur," Steve says appreciatively, because Dad taught him French was always to be used on such occasions.

"What, you're French?"

"Oh no, I'm"--he thinks back to what Dad told him if a mutant asks where he's from. Gosh, he thinks he's supposed to be--"out on business."

"And you don't even have a clue about the little business trick that Rick tried to pull?"

"No...no, I--"

"Yeah, doesn't matter." Munson shrugs. He smiles sympathetically at Steve before turning on his heel and walking off. Oh boy, what would he do without him?

He follows him like a lost puppy, that's what.

"...You going the same way?" Munson asks incredulously. Steve shakes his head.

"Well, I'm following you."

Munson stops in his tracks, blinking, and Steve almost runs into him in his state. "Me?"

"Well yes! Where are we going?"

"We?" Munson asserts. "I'm going back to my shithole apartment, and judging by that jacket you're wearing, you should be taking the next left and hop-skipping straight to the barber college."

"Oh, I'm lost, though."

"Aren't we all?"

"Say, did you just get banned from that hobby store because of me?" Steve says to change the subject.

Munson sighs. "Seems like I did, sailor. The place was shitty anyways, with that dickhead running the operation. Wayne could get better cards from a different joint."

...dickhead? Steve's never heard that leave the seams of anyone's lips before. "Dickhead?"

"Yeah, he's a real fucking loser. A walking talking penis capable of human speech."

Steve gets queasy at the image he's concocted in his head. He leans against the nearest brick wall, his suitcase tumbling to the ground as he drops into a contemplative squat.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?"

"Well, the mental image that I..."

Munson's eyebrows scrunch before he reaches out a hand to Steve. He takes it, letting the man haul him upward. "Look, man, where'd you park your car?"

"I came by bus."

"Aren't you full of surprises."

"I am?"

"Okay look." Eddie raises his hands, palms splayed in the air. "It's your first time in Los Angeles, right? Everyone wants a taste of it, I know, and you're out for business and fucking famished. You got the opportunity to see the great big world outside of your little bubble and you got excited--but you took a bus and got mixed up in the middle of San Fernando Valley without a clue in the world. Am I correct?"

Steve listens in wonderment. So far, Munson's been correct in a way. He's convinced he might be psychic. He nods slowly and seriously just to see Munson flash that lighting-strike smile.

"Great, great. Which brings us to here. Correct again?"

"Oh yeah."

"Where are you staying?"

Nowhere, at the moment. Steve opens his mouth to say so, but Munson interrupts quickly. "Holiday Inn?"

"Yes, the Holiday Inn!" Steve says totally truthfully.

"Okay, cool. Cool." Munson claps his hands together with finality and starts walking. "The nearest bus station is a couple of blocks away if you take a right--"

"Don't you have a car?"

Munson stops in his tracks again. He turns to face Steve once again. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Something warm pools in Steve's gut at the pet name. Something about the way those pretty lips form that word sends blood rushing to his cheeks. "Steve," he says.

"Alright, Steve." Oh boy, his name sounds even better when Munson says it. "Rule number one in Los Angeles? Never let a stranger drive you anywhere."

"If it makes you feel any better," Steve says sweetly, "I don't have a gun."

Munson pales, then starts running.

"Hey!" Steve cries and makes haste to follow him. "I must've said something wrong, please forgive me!"

"Nope, nope--get the fuck away from me, man!"

He grabs Munson's wrist to pull him back, which is a bad move since the man starts writhing around in his grip. "I'm not going to hurt you, sir!"

Steve drops Munson's hand and raises his in surrender. "See?"

"...Just let me get to my car."

"I'll give you a Rogers Hornsby if you take me to my hotel," Steve reasons.

Munson stills. "...That's like four grand, don't bullshit me."

He pulls the card from his jacket and presents it as evidence. "See? I was holding it back." He wants Munson to feel safe. "I got two." He reaches for the other cards in his pockets and pulls them out. "And-and all these other ones, too!"

"Okay, okay. You'll give me four thousand dollars if I drive you to your place?"

"Uh-uh!"

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"And I don't have to give you a quickie in the backseat or anything?"

"Yes sir--wait, what?"

Munson blows past his question like it didn't even leave Steve's mouth. "Can you stop with the sir crap?"

"Well, I'm sorry, sir--"

"My name is Eddie."

Eddie...Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Wow, what a name. It's almost like something he's heard on the television.

"Why, it's nice to meet you, Eddie."

"Tolerable to meet you too, Steve."

Steve smiles shyly, then asks, "So are you a girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well it's just your hair...it's so long." Steve points at his as an example. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Dude, it's 1992, every other guy looks like this--have you been living under a rock or something?"

Something like that. Steve shrugs.

"Well guys having long hair doesn't mean that they're girls, Steve, that's a given. It's not 1962 anymore." Eddie backtracks. "Well, I mean, dudes can have long hair and be chicks and chicks can be dudes too but that's not--"

"Oh, wow, my dad told me about one of those the last time he went here!"

"Oh that's fantastic, sweetheart," Eddie says, sugary-sweet. "But how about I drive you home?"

"That'd be a pleasure, Eddie."