#Gotta be real

[hel7l7]

Some days healing still feels like surviving

[bloodmoonlich]

.

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

Um spoilers?

I saw The Substance, and I had pretty mixed feelings about it. The horror element is mainly focused on body horror and needle based medical stuff. There are so many needle scenes.

On its face, it's a movie critical of patriarchal beauty standards. However, I think the execution leaves a lot to be desired. For 90% of the film, the body horror is really just what old bodies look like amped up to 100. I feel like this kinda undermines her point about older women being cast out of Hollywood. It's basically saying "oh, old bodies are gross. Just that 50 isn't that old."

Another way I think she belies her point is the frankly porny way the camera looks at female characters. I swear to god, 40 minutes or more is of the runtime is protracted shots of both actresses' asses, crotches, and breasts. At a certain point, it feels gratuitous. For example, during the climax, blood hoses down a showgirl's fishneted ass. She's not a character with a name or a face.

I think she didn't do a very good job with making the younger version look uncanny valley enough. There's a male character she meets on the substance who looks almost airbrushed. His eyes are too blue. He looks too young. By comparison, Demi Moores young self looks... normal? I'm not even just used to looking at airbrushed women. It's like she didn't try.

I think there are most subtle points she makes like sunk costs in beauty and the inability to cope with your normal face after beauty procedures. But there's only like two moments of that.

All in all I can't say I hate it though. Like it was okay and it's been a long time since I watched a horror film that I had to cover my eyes during. I think it just wasn't the feminist horror I was led to believe it was. And since it's a little on the long side at 2hrs20 I'm kind of salty so much of it is not even movie so much as soft core porn.

Nah, you're good!

I was definitely a bit uncomfortable with the nudity because I was kinda like. Do we have to see EVERYTHING? I felt like we saw their bodies for no real reason. Also, yea, that young dude was definitely uncanny valley.

I definitely agree that it was a bit weird to make the consequence of abusing the substance looking like an even older woman. When it was just her finger that was effected, especially, I was kinda like. Ehhh, that feels like a weird message to send. Being an old woman shouldn't be seen as a punishment.

I agree it could have been portrayed better.

As a side note, needles don't really bother me so that's probably why I was surprised this is apparently the movie people into gore are walking out of.

[ezra-trait]

BUBBLE & GUM

[plantorpunk]

woah this guy on x files just had crazy tranny sex!!!1!1

[camaelczarka]

Louis dressing Lestat:

Armand dressing Lestat:

Lestat dressing himself:

[retrochao]

Yeah this hedgehog's a star. No it doesnt mean anything <3 I Prommy <3<3

ALSO THIS TOOK TWO YEARS BUT I FINALLY FINISHED IT <3 ENJOY

[chloesimaginationthings]

"Oswald's mom has got it going on" - FNAF Pit bonnie

[empiireans]

this is stupid ik

[cursingtoji]

“hm hello? do you need help?” yuuji approached the lady walking the hallways so slowly she seemed lost.

“huh?” you turned and he smiled, thinking how gorgeous you looked. your uniform was a lot like nobara’s, although it was lighter, like it was slightly bleached or just worn a lot, “no, i… i go here.”

“oh are you gojo-sensei’s student too?” he was excited to meet another student, it was such a big school for just a few people.

“gojo… sensei” you repeated confused.

“oh you must be utahime-sensei’s student then? from kyoto?” he tilted his head, like a puppy.

“utahime…” you whispered, “is geto here?” you asked with a certain urgency in your voice, “geto suguru.”

“who? geto?” he scratched his head, trying to remember if he heard about a sensei called geto suguru, “i don’t think i—“

“itadori!” megumi called from outside, yuuji saw him below through the open windows of the second floor he was at, his classmate probably saw him as well.

“ah fushiguro!” he greeted his friend and turned back to you, “i’ll ask megumi, he’s been here for longer than me.”

“who you talking to?!” megumi shouted.

“her!” he pointed, you were in front of him, right by the opened window too, he couldn’t see you?

megumi even moved a bit, “itadori, there’s no one there. stop playing, we got to leave!” megumi scolded him before entering the building.

“eh?” yuuji was frowning.

“sorry, i think i’m in the wrong place” you bowed and turned away running.

“wait!” he ran after you, turning corners he thought you could’ve gone but after a few ones he reached a dead end.

“hm? yuuji?” gojo emerged from a classroom.

“gojo-sensei! there was… someone…” he looked around.

“oi, we’re waiting for you, let’s go” megumi came from where he was, grabbing yuuji by the hood of his uniform and dragging him away.

gojo watched through a window as they walked down the staircase until both boys walked out of the building.

“that was weird” you murmured from inside the classroom he was in, “that boy called you sensei” you put more rice into your hungry mouth, “does yaga know you’re pretending to be a teacher here?”

satoru closed the door, lighting another incense on the table that you used to sit. where every year on the anniversary of your death he built a shrine with food you liked.

“i thought haibara was on a mission but i saw him by the tree” you pointed behind you with your chopsticks, where, outside the classroom and behind the building remained the tree you always had lunch underneath during hot summer days.

satoru undid the blindfold, letting his hair fall as he sat in front of you, admiring how you never aged a day. after all, you couldn’t.

in fact, it seemed like you didn’t realize how much time has passed. every year you appeared and every year you thought it was still 2006, when you had two kouhais that did everything you asked, a girl best friend that insisted you smoked with her and two boys that were helplessly in love with you. the last year you were alive.

“is suguru not coming?” you asked with your mouth full.

gojo swallowed hard, “no, angel. it’s just us.”

[bacchuschucklefuck]

truly this one's just for me. I can do what I want foreverrr

[12neonlit-stage]

Morning_sun

happy late bday sonic <3 redraw of this

[bittersweet-mojo]

old people should be shot

[soaked-doors]

sabaody’s been rough but at least my son looks cool

[egophiliac]

time for skeleman

with the lack of any other info yet, all I can focus on are those Charles Lloyd-looking sunglasses. they are absolutely sending me. I feel like we're gonna fall through a tree or whatever and this stitched-up boney gentleman is gonna pop out from behind a gravestone and start serenading us with some smooth jazz on the saxophone.

or should I say...the saxoBONE???????

[shotmrmiller]

re: rugby team ghoap

it'd been a one-off, seize-the-moment kind of thing. casual hookups aren't really for you, plus you distinctly remember your ex prating on about how the team would only be here for the weekend hence the absolute burning need to go, and you've got work monday.

goodbye, great knowing them. you'd traipsed out of the hotel room with your sneakers in hand, soap's used jersey in the other- a memento of sorts, a trophy. mild serial killer behavior but you reckon since you just became another pearl in their long string of conquests, the least you could do is take something with you that won't be gone with a warm epsom salt bath and a couple of days rest.

("would ye believe yer the prettiest we've ever brought back with us?" right. you know where you stand on that scale, and people like you don't typically pull men like them. another cringe-worthy comment like that and you'd mistake their interest with pity.)

you'd put both jerseys in the wash later that day, and the rattling of your washing machine marked the end of your exciting weekend.

or so you'd thought. from your side of things, you'd wiped your hands clean of their sweat, spit and come and went home, once again falling back into semi-familiarity, expecting to go to work feeling completely relaxed and loose, in more ways than one, while ignoring the photos taken of you and the "star players" at the stadium on social media.

(no one caught your face, what bloody luck.)

when you see them again, it's by pure chance. you'd been ordering a sandwich at a deli down the street, hand already reaching for your wallet when an arm curls around your shoulders, dark, coarse hair of a forearm brushing against your cheek.

cedarwood and citrus. it clings to your senses— a sharp, tangy reminder of that time you'd only look back on when the familiar pang of want pooled searing hot between your legs. small world, you suppose.

"didnae leave a note. stole my jersey. 'm surprised ye didnae leave us money on the table, bonnie." warmth flared beneath your cheeks but you didn't cow to his crude joke.

"i suppose i could've left a tip. what do you want?"

the playful lines around his eyes smoothed as his lips straightened into a firm line, his eyes frostbitten. you ignore the way his touch makes you feel trapped, tethered, a cage made of velvet.

"took my shirt and then didn't show up to a single game after tha'. jus' gettin' wha' i'm owed. unless he's yer favorite."

how can he be your favorite when you know nothing about the sport they play and have no interest in knowing?

"too bad. we come as a package. get yer food, we've a place nearby."

(simon had been nowhere near as good-natured as johnny had about you leaving without a word. made you spit out apologies with swollen lips, only accepted the ones that came with a fluttering of your raw pussy around the splitting thickness of him while soap condescendingly cooed in your ear about lessons having to be learned the hard way.)