I just watched Ghost and I'm sorry these bitches give me so much bi for bi energy
also Sam trolling Carl was so funny
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Misplaced Lens Cap
Three Goblin Art
Sade Olutola
Stranger Things
Jules of Nature

if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
Keni
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
$LAYYYTER

pixel skylines
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Kaledo Art

Product Placement
YOU ARE THE REASON
trying on a metaphor
cherry valley forever

#extradirty

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@notjustabadguy
I just watched Ghost and I'm sorry these bitches give me so much bi for bi energy
also Sam trolling Carl was so funny
Ghost (1990) 💫
The love inside, you take it with you. GHOST (1990) Dir. Jerry Zucker
Me: I sure wish there was more content for my biggest hyperfixation. I feel like all my friends get sequels and spinoffs and novelizations for their fandoms, and I don't. 😕
Me: *remembering I can create my own content* ‼️😃✨
Me: *remembering that means I have to actually CREATE the content in order to have it* 😤😡🤬
Fitz looking nervously at the others like “Why... why are they all covered in blood? 😰” is my favorite part of this. As if you haven't committed murder in cold blood sir.
Also the fact that Carl is the only person in this image who never directly killed a human, including the two protagonist characters (Fitz and John).
One of my best friends is really into Ghost (the Swedish metal band), and commented how funny it is that we both have a hyperfixation with something called "Ghost." Then later sent me this on Discord. And like... I kinda need it?
This even this St Patrick Swayze #patrickswayze #stpatricksday
So yesterday I mentioned Ghost to my Uber driver in passing, and they told me about this really funny costume idea they'd seen online... so I Googled it, and turns out, this is like, an entire genre of Halloween costume.
no thoughts,, just ballerina patrick swayze
One Night (Part 1: Carl)
A Ghost (1990) fanfiction
For both Sam Wheat and Carl Bruner, there was one night that felt like an eternity. Two different men, two separate nights; and yet, in some ways, these two endless nights were two sides of the same, single, story.
...
Part 1: Carl
Carl paced anxiously. What in the hell was taking Willie so long? He was supposed to call two hours ago now. Carl tried to reason with himself: Willie hadn’t struck him as the most… reliable person. He was just… passed out drunk, or strung out on some shit, something… but surely, surely he’d gotten the address book. How hard could it be? How hard could it possibly be to get hold of one lousy little scrap of paper with some numbers scrawled on it? Even a piece of shit like Willie could do that.
Two hours, 19 minutes overdue. Carl kept trying to distract himself, and failing; he turned on the television, tried to watch the news, and then switched it off almost immediately. He picked up the newspaper from the counter, found all the lines of print blurred together in his mind into an incomprehensible mess, and threw it down in frustration. He tried the television again, blindly flipping channels; a rerun of I Love Lucy was on. Lucy was wailing about something. He clicked the Off button furiously, and Lucy diminished into blackness. He couldn’t stop sweating.
Three hours and seven minutes. Carl felt like screaming. Willie had been caught. He must have been. Carl kept waiting for the sharp, official rap on his door; the coldly formal voice to announce, “Police!” It didn’t come.
The phone rang. Carl uttered a strangled little half-cry and leapt for it in one fluid motion. “Willie! What—”
But it was Molly’s voice that came back to him. “…Carl?”
Her tone stopped him dead in his tracks. Her voice was hoarse and wet, filled with tears, and hardly above a whisper. It was also empty, flat, listless, like all the life, all that special Molly sparkle that he loved so much, had been drained out of it. She didn’t seem to have even registered what he’d said. And then only her harsh breathing, and the faint static of the phone line. He thought he heard an intercom somewhere dimly in the background.
The world went cold.
“Molly? Molly, what’s wrong? Molly, what happened?”
A long, shuddering breath. “Carl? We’re—I’m in the hospital.”
“Hospital?” No no no please no… “Molly, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m… I’m fine.” She uttered a short, painful gasp. “Sam…”
“Molly, is he okay? Molly, is Sam hurt?” But he already knew. His mind was racing wildly. Ok, Sam’s hurt—it sounds like maybe badly—but he’ll be okay, I know Sam, he’ll be fine…
“Carl…”
A long pause. Carl’s heart was beating frantically. Finally, he couldn’t stand the silence. “Molly—!”
“Carl, Sam’s…” A brief, strangled sob. She took a steadying breath, and began again. Her next words were lost and hopeless. “…Sam’s dead.”
Nothing made sense. Nothing connected. Time was frozen. Carl knew he must have said something—something soothing, comforting, he supposed, from Molly’s reaction—but he had no idea what. She said something in return. His brain on autopilot, he carried on talking for a minute or two, still not knowing what he was saying, then hung up. The soft, plastic click of the receiver shattered the painful stillness of his apartment.
That was his last clear recollection of that night—the click that symbolized that the world was breaking. He might have screamed. He thought dimly that he was screaming, but afterward, it occurred to him that it might have only been inside his head. Time stood still, and the screaming went on and on, and everything was colder than he’d ever imagined it could be.
At some point, he must have slept. He woke up, fully dressed, on his bed, curled up like a child in the grip of a nightmare, his hands clutching feverishly at his sheets. His head throbbed with a slow, thumping ache, and his tongue was dry. His lashes seemed to be glued together, and when he pried them apart, the weak autumn sunlight filtering through the white curtains stung his eyes. There was one blissful moment where he wondered vaguely why he felt so rotten; then it sank into him, slowly and relentlessly, the knowledge suffocating. He closed his eyes again hopelessly and forced himself back into unconsciousness.
He woke again, at some point later in the day—the sun was brighter then—and once again retreated almost immediately into a sleep blacker than death. And again. When he woke the fourth time, though—the sun was gone, the street outside now gray—thirst drove him out of bed and into the bathroom. He drank deeply from the tap, gulping greedily, then splashed the cold water onto his face. He felt a little better.
He examined the face in the mirror, which hardly looked like his own. The eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them dark and raw. He would need to do something about that. He couldn’t let people… let them wonder. All his muscles felt weary; movement was slow and painful. He pulled himself into the kitchen. He didn’t think he’d ever feel hungry again, but he still boiled water for noodles.
Sam was gone, and that was awful
(and it was my fault but he wouldn’t think about that)
but he was still here, he was still alive; he had to move on, that was all there was to it. He would go see Molly tomorrow. He could help her. He would call in from work for a few days—they’d understand… in fact, they might be suspicious if he didn’t. He’d be able to get the address book from the loft later. Everything would be… everything would be all right. This was his one chance at life, and he couldn’t afford to waste it.
@patrickswayzeblog Found in the wilds of Facebook and had to show you the Dirty Dancing skellys! (Also, Check out the tombstone inscription!)
Sometimes I’m actually kinda glad there isn’t more of a Ghost fandom.
If there were an actual Ghost fandom, it would be full of so many ships. Like, of course we’d have the “Canon is King” traditionalists shipping Sam x Molly, but it wouldn’t stop there. Not even close.
We’d have Molly x Oda Mae shippers talking about when Sam temporarily possessed Oda Mae to touch Molly one last time, and how that was technically a lesbian love scene. And there would be fanfics set after Sam moved on, where a lonely Molly, desperate to re-live that last moment of contact, gets close with Oda Mae… first she’s closing her eyes and imagining Sam, but then she starts feeling an attraction to Oda Mae herself, and then there’s this big climactic chapter where she opens her eyes while they’re making love and whispers “I love you” and Oda Mae responds “Ditto,” and all the yuri shippers cry tears of joy.
We’d have Sam x Carl shippers, because “this can’t just be a bromance, guys,” and the whole “stoic, ruggedly handsome, by-the-book good guy” x “cheeky, narcissistic, man-pretty villain” is practically tailor-made for yaoi (look at Thor and Loki!). And the fangirls would get into passionate arguments about who’s the seme and who’s the uke.
We’d have a weird fringe ship of Carl x Willie, which is all about power and control, and the sex scenes are heavily S&M.
We’d have Molly x Carl shippers, and the rest of the fandom would get super-pissed at them because “it’s a relationship built on deceit that’s so unhealthy how can you ship that???” and Colly shippers constructing these intricate arguments about how it makes sense.
We’d have a plethora of love triangles and poly ships between Sam/Molly/Carl and Sam/Molly/Oda Mae. Some of them are about one character being torn between the other two, and these are heart-wrenching and full of cheating and guilt. And then others are poly fluff where all three characters find out they all complete one another, and that it’s possible to have more than one soulmate.
We’d have Carl x Oda Mae shippers going on about how it doesn’t matter that they have literally 5 minutes of contact total in canon (and 100% of that was him threatening her), because it’s all about how the personalities fit together, and see, they’re both con artists, they both have a wacky sense of humor…
Dear lord, somebody stop me before I start coming up with hypothetical ship names Crap I’ve already started
normalise flirting with your buddy in the office ig
On September 28, 1990, Ghost debuted in Japan.
i forgot to post this one