#Fuck Hollywood

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

[captaingenocideevans]

Captain Genocide

[blueribbonbaby]

[triple-tree-ranch]

[thisonewhocanbreathe]

I am so, so mad about it.

They actually fired her.

Assholes like Noah Schnapp and Timothee Chalamet can get away with whatever just because, but she DARES to speak her mind and to support victims of a genocide and she's kicked out? That's how Hollywood works? They'll fire a talented, passionate actress, who was so invested in her character and brought so much to the franchise just because she's being a decent human being while they'll keep being absolute bastards?

Perfect, then. That says a lot about them. Fuck Paramount. Fuck Hollywood. Fuck absolutely everyone who still support this genocide. Fuck everyone who'll be working in Scream VII, and purposefully ignoring that they're actively supporting murderers by staying quiet.

Scream is now ruined for me. I will proudly boycott Scream VII. For me, the franchise is now dead. Scream VI was the last one.

And finally, shout out to Melissa Barrera for being an absolute queen. They never deserved you in the first place. We all stand with you and I'm so fucking proud of you for doing what is right. Thank you for Sam Carpenter, who wouldn't have been the same without your amazing acting. Slay.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.

[r0bita]

Remember that even if the ceasefire happens that doesn't mean it's the end of this nightmare.

Land, rights, and bodies still need to be reclaimed to Palestine and it's people. If Isntreal is still allowed to have any power after all this hellfire then it will never be over until the dump is dissolved entirely.

Palestinian lives still need to be protected and z*onists must be called out for their bullshit.

Politians, celebrities, and others will also need to be taken account for their actions these past weeks.

At this point Hollywood is just full of s*** and I hope everyone looses their credibility and never get's it back. Fuck your favorite celebrity and fuck your favorite TV show. (The writers and actors should go back to striking anyway)

A ceasefire is only a first small step in the long, LONG, run.

Also don't forget Lebanon, Congo, and Sudan as well.

[ijustwantogohomehogwarts]

m i n e | (s e c r e t l y)

m i n e | (s e c r e t l y)

Y/n recounts the struggles of Timothée going back to work after spending time with her, knowing there's nothing she can do about it because, to the eyes of Hollywood, she doesn't exist. There's nothing she can do...as a girlfriend-

Warnings and such: established relationship, secret/private relationship, sad reader but major fluff points!

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I rolled over in bed, the gut wrenching realization that I was, once again, alone hit me before I even opened my eyes. The spot beside me was cold, covered pulled up and long abandoned...but his scent lingered. The warmth of his embrace, the feeling of his skin, his lips on mine...he was gone, but the memory burned in my mind like it was brand new- present.

I had myself convinced that I was handing this whole situation very well, he even gave me credit for how well I was 'holding it together,' and keeping everything a secret. Oh the irony in having secrets in Hollywood. I knew it was going to be hard, there was no way to make it any easier, but the façade shattered like glass each morning after he left.

It never mattered how long he was here; 12 hours or 12 weeks, it never felt like enough time. Who am I kidding- the rest of my life wouldn't be enough time to spend with him. We never wasted a moment, and made up for all the lack of physical touch until reality ripped us apart again. I'd fall asleep and convince myself that the next morning would be just the same, but nothing ever prepared me for his absence.

God, it was such a cliché thing to think! I could call him 10 times a day if I wanted, I could send him 100 text messages and FaceTime just to stare at his face! We live in a world where technology makes it almost impossible to miss someone...almost. Close isn't good enough...

I trudged around the empty apartment, the sound of his voice, the echo of his laughter; played loudly in the back of my mind. There was no trace of him. Keys, shoes, coat...all gone.

"Stop whining, he'll be back in a week!" I scolded myself in a desperate attempt to pull my head out of my ass and carry on with my life. "He's not dead!"

I made breakfast, cleaned the apartment and played music so loudly I couldn't hear my own thoughts. No thoughts, no tears. Besides, it was selfish for me to be upset: this was his life, I'm just a small part of it. He's got work to do, projects to finish and I'm so proud of him, truly I am! Who am I to hold him back from any of it because I miss him?! I turned the music up louder. No thoughts, no tears.

The afternoon rolled around and I dragged myself into the patio to enjoy the city. There was something magical about the time between when the work day ends, and the night life begins- there was a sense of calm amidst the chaos, something you only got to experience once a day. This is normally the time where I get to call him, or where he calls me, and we talk about the 9-5 grind as if either one of us had one, but I remember his speaking, as he drifted off to sleep last night, that today was going to be different. Busy. Demanding. Attention and time consuming. But he was excited, so I was excited for him.

There was no call.

When the noise started up again on the street below, I resolved myself to spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching movies and wallowing in my own self pity. I knew this feeling wouldn't last, that in the next day or two life would go back to the way it was before he was here, and the cycle would repeat itself. The thought of giving it up never crossed my mind...the days we were together made it all worth it. I was just a person who got too attached and I know that I would eventually learn to handle this better...good things take time after all.

I turned to shut the door, my eyes glancing over the table for the first time all day. It took another glance to notice that something on it didn't belong to me. The undeniable sparkle of designer diamonds. A ring. His ring. One of them anyway.

Maillon Panthere Ring. Cartier. $12,000. Maybe more.

Sticker shock is still very, very real.

He's left things here before, why wouldn't he, but this seemed like too much to simply forget. Shoes and t shirts were one thing, but he's never left something he wears regularly, something so expensive. I smiled, realizing that it was undoubtedly a mistake, and he had days where he would loose his own head of it wasn't attached.

"Missing something?" I texted him, though I didn't expect a response.

I set the ring down on the bathroom counter and indulged myself in a shower that lasted all too long. I threw on a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt that didn't belong to me and picked up the ring again. Funny, I had seen it so many times since he bought it, but it looked much different not wrapped around his fingers. I spun it around my own, blushing feverishly when I realized the only one it fit was my ring finger.

My phone chimed, drawing me quickly out of my thoughts.

"You. Filming on Astoria Boulevard probably until midnight...it's beautiful here. I'll bring you sometime! Call you tonight? xoxo"

Would it really be so wrong...

I jumped off the couch, giddy like a child on Christmas with a plan that would either end horribly or wonderfully, but if I was careful, the latter was the only option. I made myself presentable, without putting in too much effort for the sake of time constraint, pulled on a pair of shoes and a sweatshirt (which also didn't belong to me) and headed out the door.

I walked quickly towards the subway station a few blocks away, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the ring still on my finger. Astoria Boulevard in Queens was about an hour away, and I could only hope he was serious about being there well into the night, or this would be an all for nothing excursion out of the house.

There was a small group of people, only about 12 maybe and mostly girls, giddy with excitement and staring through their phone screens. If that wasn't enough to give away that they were all still there, the sidewalk closures, flood lights and film equipment was. I stepped over the barrier and slipped in with the group when no one was looking, though it didn't appear to be a big deal that they were there so what was one more? I made my way to the front, stopping when my fluttering in my chest became near overwhelming.

"Isn't he dreamy?" Someone whispered beside me.

"I hope we get to meet him!" Someone else replied.

"QUIET ON THE SET!"

Like a light switch, the world fell silent around us. The people beside me all hit record simultaneously and watched the magic unfold in front of them.

"ACTION."

There wasn't a whole lot to see from where we stood, but for a moment, I saw a mess of dark curls. I didn't need to see the face that they belonged to to instantly recognize him.

Him.

Everything came flooding back: the sound of his raspy voice, his lips on my neck, bare skin on bare skin, his fingers laced in mine. The smell of his skin, damp with sweat as he fought to catch his breath. I wonder if anyone had caught sight of the faint red lines down his back, or the dark purple bruises on his hips. My fingers instinctively traced my collar bone, knowing that I had matching bruises just below the fabric of this sweatshirt. My cheeks felt warm- warmer still when the train doors open and my eyes instantly fell to him.

I took in every inch of him; savoring the fact this was one of the very few times I was able to do so in public. There was an overwhelming feeling of excitement, a fear of being caught, though to anyone else I was a fan, nothing more. I felt my pulse quicken as adrenaline coursed through my body:

"I've kissed him. I've ran my fingers though his hair. I've shared a bed with him. I have his number saved in my phone. I'm wearing his clothes. I've seen him naked. I-"

Okay, simmer down.

"CUT!"

"That was great guys! Let's take 5 and we'll try to wrap this up."

There was a commotion of equipment moving and people shuffling around, but through it all I caught glimpses of Martin Scorsese (which was awe inspiring on it's own) and his muse. His beautiful, beautiful muse. The people beside me grew louder, desperate to capture his attention.

"Guys," The man who appeared to be assigned 'Crowd Control' turned towards us. "He knows you're here, he'll come say 'hello' when we're all done. Please let him finish or you're going to have to leave." He was met with muttered apologies, but didn't seem to mind.

I've never gotten to watch him work before, but there was something about it that was so...intoxicating. I already knew he poured everything into his projects, but watching him make it come to life was stunning. He took direction, looked, moved, breathed as instructed. I smiled when the rain machine came out and watched him slowly get drenched, curls sticking to his head, his white shirt becoming sheer...

I stared, unabashedly, until the final 'cut.'

"He'll be out in 10 minutes." crowd control guy spoke.

Almost to the second, the official new face of Chanel jogged around the corner. Clad in heavy sweatpants, t shirt and jacket, his hair was still damp and there was music blaring from his phone. The fans around me were screaming, though defiantly not as loud as I'm sure they have before, seeing how few of us there was. He stopped just short of the barrier, eyes locked on me, and froze.

I bit back a smile, watching him do the same as a beautiful color painted his cheeks. I dropped my head and stared at my fingers when I couldn't control myself any longer. I pulled his ring off my finger and rolled it around in my hand. I stole glanced as he made his way down the line. He was a model (literally) celebrity: doting on his fans, signing every autograph, making small talk, taking pictures...he was genuinely happy to be with them, and I know without a shadow of a doubt he would act just the same if I wasn't there.

"Don't be shy," his voice washed over me, hand touching my arm quickly. "I'm Timothee Chalamet, what's your name?"

"I'm [The nickname he gave you], it's nice to meet you!"

I stifled a laugh as the color in his cheeks began to match my nail polish. I rolled his ring back and forth between my fingers, eyes flickering between his and my hand. In public he was quick on his feet; he ran his hand from my shoulder down to my hand, taking the ring from me leaving no one next to us any wiser. In private, this may have taken him quite a few minutes to realize.

"I like your sweatshirt," A shit eating grin was plastered on his face. "I have the same one, but I seem to have lost it."

"Well, I hope you find it! It's very comfortable!"

"Yeah. I know!"

"You looked great out there! I can't wait to see the final commercial. When does it come out?"

"Thank you! Yeah, I'm not sure, but I'm sure you'll all see pictures soon!" He turned to everyone else who began cheering. "Say cheese!" He called, holding his phone above his head.

We all huddled together and he snapped a picture. I've seen a few like this on his phone- he never deleted them. He looked at me for a moment longer before asking, shyly, if i wanted a picture too. It would match the ones I already have, sure, this felt different...like a risqué little thing I wasn't supposed to have. Of course I said yes!

"Everybody get home safe, okay? Thanks for coming out and I appreciate your cooperation! I hope to see you guys soon!"

Tim turned his back towards the crowd and whispered something to crowd control guy. He turned back and waved enthusiastically at everyone who was being escorted away, though I couldn't help but notice the ring that suddenly adorned his finger was gesturing towards the ground, the same way you would tell a dog to 'stay.'

I walked impossibly slow behind everyone else, and as they rounded the corner, I fell back, following Mr. Crowd Control. He must know...right? Does everyone who works on these types of projects sign nondisclosure agreements? They must, right?

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Tim laughed, falling in step with us as we made our way through what was left of the make-shift set.

"You're young, you'll be fine!" He tried to act offended and even made Crowd Control chuckle.

"Wanna meet Scorsese?"

"No! I look like a bum!"

"Excuse you!" He laughed, tugging on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "Come on, it'll be quick, we gotta clear out anyway."

Martin Scorsese was a very nice man, though firm and to the point. He admired Timothee and told me, very sternly, to not let him doubt himself. 'He's going places, just you wait!' All of this I already knew, but nodded along enthusiastically. To Scorsese, I was just a 'childhood friend,' which isn't a lie, and though I don't think he would care who I really was to Tim either way, perhaps it was best that the less people that know the better.

"Thank you for the delivery," Tim smiled, wiggling his fingers in front of him. "but you didn't have to come all the way down here to do that!"

"Fine, give it back!"

"Wait- no!"

We stood quietly in a corner while everyone was packed up, finding any excuse to touch or otherwise look at each other. It wasn't long (enough) until Tim's driver came. The feelings which I had first thing in the morning, that lingered through the day began to return...loneliness began to wash over me as I was desperate to hold him. Regretfully, Tim had a redeye flight to catch and had to be to the airport in a few short hours- there was no way I could ask him to come back home for one more night.

"It's not long this time," I reminded myself. "9 days and he'll be back for 3 weeks!"

Still, I couldn't help myself and I watched as my fingers reached for one of his own.

"Do you mind if we take her home first?"

"Tim-"

"Not at all! We should get going though..."

His driver pulled the car around and I got in on the blindside, just in case. There was a strategy to doing- and therefore getting away with- just about everything in Hollywood. I had so much to learn! I rested my head on his shoulder, fingers interlaced as we rode in silence back to my apartment. It was nice. THIS was the kind of intimacy I was going to miss with him.

9 days, I reminded myself.

The rest of the night was a blur, even more so when the headlights disappeared down the road, and I could no longer see my hand in front of my face though the tears. I could feel the pleasant sting on my lips where they began to swell slightly, and I groaned audibly, desperate to have him back already. This of course made me frustrated because I had no logical reason to cry, so I cried some more and the cycle continued.

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache but immediately reached for my phone. 10 text messages, 1 missed call.

-I love you! -I'm so fucking lucky to have you in my life! -I'll call you when I land, but it will be late, please don't wait up for me! *1 missed call* -Thank you :) -I miss you already :( -You have no idea how happy I was to see you tonight! -Like, OMGGGG that's my babbyyyyy -Fucking beautiful! -I'm going to go to bed....but I wish you were here! -I love you! I love you! I love you!

I smiled to myself and began reading over the messages before they dropped to the bottom.

-Bien matin, mon amour :)

-TIMOTHEE HAL CHALAMET

-I literally just woke up, there's nothing I could have done yet-

- I FUCKING LOVE YOU

-lol I love you more!

*Incoming FaceTime call*

"Good morning," I yawned at the boy who was still in his own bed.

"Good morning...I don't have to go anywhere for a few more hours...If you want to go back to sleep..."

"Not without you..."

"I'm not hanging up."

I'm happy the world doesn't get to see this side of Timothee Chalamet...this is the type of intimacy that I want to keep all to myself- all the intimate moments for that matter, but even when we're old and grey and celebrating 50 years of marriage, this is the type of thing I'll hold most precious. I am undeniably IN love with him.

My muse. My beautiful boy. My baby. My Timothee.

Mine.

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Gal Gadot does not deserve to be Wonder Woman. She let me down. Her true colors are exposed. She is a terrorist villain and not a hero.

[queerpunktomatoes]

To those of you mourning the loss of a good Minecraft movie in favor of whatever that trailer was, I present you with this free audiobook.

It's called Minecraft: The Island by Max Brooks, and it is actually really good. I've listened to it multiple times. It's narrated by Jack Black (which might give more context to his role as Steve) but he's a Zionist and this is a free copy so he makes no money. This book tells the story of someone who just wakes up in the Minecraft world with no idea what's going on. It reads more like an audio drama than an audiobook, complete with actual Minecraft sound effects. Enjoy <3

Some posts about the problem with the trailer:

It's unprofessional

It just misses the point / Another one about it missing the point / Still missing the point

It's confusing storytelling

It's ableist

Wait, what about Jack Black?

[blueeyeddarkknight]

Another wholesome story about Val : 🥺😍

Ray : He speaks English 😳

Walter : Only when he's really pissed off 😬

He finally got something back 😂😩

Article Source :

[lcandothisallday]

justice to melissa barerra fr and fuck noah schnapp. the double standards in hollywood are fucking insane.

[thowawayuntilfurthernotice]

Noah Schnapp and Brett Gelman get to keep their jobs despite being pro genocidal fuckheads, but Melissa Barrera gets fired from Scream 7 for voicing her support for Palestine on social media.

Hollywood is truly rotten to the fucking core.

[meet-me-in-the-pouringrain]

A lot of y’all follow me for Criminal Minds content but for the next however long, all i’m going to do is reblog and spread awareness surrounding WGA and SAG strikes.

I used to be an actress and it was really fucking soul sucking and horrid to take part in. I was paid £10 for a full day of shooting an advert that never even ended up airing. I have a screenwriter for a friend and currently she’s on disability allowance. She cannot get a working job because of her health and is living of her allowance and student loans. She’s depending on screenwriting to LIVE. Her future is at a huge risk with this AI shite these execs are trying to pull.

These billionaires are literally attempting to ‘starve them out’. This is a disgusting lack of humanity.

Lot of shit to say so there’s more under the cut 👇

Writers deserve to be paid fairly. Without them, there would be NO Hollywood. They’re struggling to make ends meet. Some are on food stamps, some are at risk of losing their homes.

Actors are not rich. There are 160,000 actors unionised in SAG and 99% of them barely make working class income. Your Jennifer Anistons, Margot Robbies, Tom Cruises are the HIGHEST of the HIGHEST paid actors. they got lucky. Most actors don’t even have health insurance.

Along side this bullshit pay, AMPTP wants to scan actors digitally and replicate their likeness with AI. The actors would be paid for a SINGULAR day of work, while their likeness would be used how the studios would like, for as long as they would like.

It’s horribly dystopian and fucking horrific. Like we’re living in a black mirror episode.

Everyone should care about this.

Support the writers. Support the actors. Support other fucking humans.

[thisonewhocanbreathe]

I just learned that from TikTok so I have no idea if it’s true, but if it is, that’s so fucking disgusting. The fact that it’s worded so disrespectfully, too. Like, not only is it disrespectful for Tara and Sam’s characters’ arcs, it’s disrespectful for Jenna and Melissa, and how much they got invested in their characters and their acting. It’s not necessary to kill them off at all, but you want them to ‘get run over by a taxi or something’? The way this movie is going to flop so bad. « Oh, we should call Tara and Sam for help, they killed the last Ghostface! » « No, man, ain’t happening, they crossed a road at green light. » Be fucking for real.

[deandoesthingstome]

PSA

You know what would be awfully awesome, guys?

Zero posts bemoaning the delay of your most anticipated shows or movies because the studios still refuse to pay writers and actors appropriately.

Thanks.

[mourntomidnight]

Just remember when talking about M*nson pls do not paint the Hollywood pigs as mere victims of some evil wizard that just came and starting wrecking havoc, nor paint the Hollywood pigs in M*nson’s favor. The Hollywood pigs at that time knew him and were 100% aware of the fact that M*nson was essentially running a human trafficking ring with a cosplay hippie n*zi death cult coat of paint and were 100% complicit in those girls’ trafficking, but we will never know the full details because of the murders happening due to M*nson being ejected from cool hip Hollywood scene via getting his pendejo ass beat by that Beach Boy drummer that wound up with the murders happening at all. If the circumstances were turned different, M*nson would’ve been remembered for being a late 60s version of either R Kelly or Jeffrey Epstein.

Again:

Ch*rles M*nson was a n*zi whose murders were based on a delusional yt supremacist fantasy.