Seen a lot of posts about people coming into your notifications out of nothing and liking your entire blog, but here's a shoutout to the people who do Not follow you, who appear out of nowhere, reblog One (1) post that you are Not the op of, and then you never see them again. Where did you come from girl.
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Fucking love the final flashback montage in saw VI because the way they edited it makes it look like hoffman is pissing directly on an unconscious erickson's bald head
Ive been cry laugghing for five fucking minutes
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honestly just in general it's very exhausting to try to analyze media that is literally meant to be analyzed, only for the replies to be filled with people arguing not against your analysis, but against the premise that the media can be analyzed at all.
i don't even know what to say about it without starting to really betray my frustration, so i'll just settle with— just don't engage with analysis posts? I'm serious. if you're typing a response to a media analysis post, reread what you've written and ask yourself "is this comment/response against the very concept of analyzing the media at all?" and if the answer is yes then delete it all and go sit in the shame corner. throw your curtains away if you want to so bad and stop telling me that I'm not allowed to hum and haw at the fact mine are blue
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"Alastor is a villain because he chained poor Husk 🥺"
I think you all forget THIS is the Husk that made the deal with Alastor:
The Husk that was so careless and selfish that was gambling SOULS, to the point he gambled his own soul away to save his powers.
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So Cater's new groovy...
Oh, I see you TWST.
Ok, something something feeling of drowning, trapped, trying to call for help, no one listening, something something.
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looking after hobie brown with a split lip and an almost black eye and he won’t stop touching you. it’s extremely distracting and you’d tell him so but you’d hate to see the look on his face when you admit he’s flustering you. so you let him be and scrub at the stream of blood trailing from his lip to his chin. you shuffle up his lap (yeah, you’re in his lap, and what about it? he was the one who put you here. he hadn’t given you much of a choice. insisted it was easier to reach and pulled you into him before you could protest) to get a better angle and his fingers press harder into your hips, his grip on you tightening as he tugs you up his lap, somewhat helpfully. you try to ignore the way it makes you feel. the way you’re now practically chest to chest and he can probably hear your heartbeat, it’s so damn loud.
and then, the very tips of his fingers dip underneath the hem of your shirt and brush your warm skin, and you decide you just can’t take it anymore.
“hobie,” you chide, soft and entirely too flustered.
“what?” he says back, dripping with ignorance, and you’d think he was genuinely clueless if you didn’t know him so well. he pushes his hand further up your back, his rough calloused fingers practically burning a mark on your already hot skin.
“quit it”, you say, though you don’t sound very convincing at all.
“quit what, babe?” hobie presses his palm to the small of your back, forcing you ever so closer. you gasp, pressed up against him, your hands braced on his shoulders, but he only smirks knowingly. “m’only helping you out.”
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