Girl Where The Fuck Is Your Bra

Yall ever get sooo bored that you draw Billy on your eraser?

I dont know if its just me, but i really hope that Saw 11 shows us why Hoffman and Amanda hate each other so much. And yeah it could just be because they want to take John's place when he dies, but wheres the ✨️spice✨️ to that? It would be interesting if they were old lovers when they started working for John and then something tragic happened to them that caused them to hate each other.

Since I couldn't name my new gecko Pinhead I named him Leviathan. This is the best name I ever gave anything. Also he was my best purchase

is this anything

we need to revive hammer horror so we can get colorful horror again. im so tired of squinting in the theater cause i cant see a damn thing anyone in the movie is doing

Best friends in another universe

saw IV (2007) promotional stills

"One day, as I was in the shower, I thought, 'What about a movie with two people stuck in a bathroom with a really grungy toilet? They have no idea how they got in there, and they’re chained to opposite sides of the room.' So I only knew the rough setup, and then I knew how I wanted the story to end with Jigsaw, this person who put them in that situation." – James Wan TWENTY YEARS OF SAW | Released October 29th 2004

What would Amanda Young as an older sister be like?

WARNINGS: very triggering. blatant mentions of self harm, abusive parents/corrupted childhood, drug use, alcohol, murder. reader’s discretion is advised.

CHARACTER(S): Amanda Young (SAW/“Jigsaw” Franchise)

🪡 .*.. 💉

Amanda as an older sister is something you never asked for, but appreciate everyday.

-> it’s her terrified eyes that glance back at yours— at your sudden discovery of her slicing into her arms and thighs, your own pain reflecting hers.

-> it’s the sound of her sleep-ridden screams that wake you, nightmares so familiar to her, yet never easier to shake.

-> it’s the discovery of needles, filled to the brim under the kitchen sink’s cabinet that bring tears to your concerned eyes.

-> it’s the soothing texture of her hair through your fingers as she lets you play with it, giggles passed between the two of you from gossip about some new kid in your school.

-> it’s the old band tees and over-worn lacy bras that make you laugh at old photo albums of your childhood together.

-> it’s her laugh that’s so contagious, yet so terrifyingly unfamiliar.

-> it’s the smiles she passes you in the middle of an argument with someone on the phone, reassuring you that she’s just fed up with her ‘boss’ where she works.

-> it’s the way her facial expression contorts into a motherly amount of relief when she comes home late at night, finding you passed out on the shared, worn-in couch, TV static from a finished VHS tape illuminating your features in a way that shows you’re at peace. that you’re safe.

-> it’s the discomfort on her face as you question the markings on her inner forearms; immediately ignored, and told ‘(not) to worry about it, pumpkin”.

-> it’s the realization that this domesticated life she’s formed with you will end at some point.

-> it’s the pain-relieving pills that take up half of your side of the shared bathroom’s sink, scattered about miscellaneously the morning after a night out of partying together.

-> it’s the way she’s dreading telling you she’s not what you think she is- that she’s a monster; that she kills people.

-> it’s the comfort in John Kramer’s words that churns her stomach; aching for a father figure she never had, the very father fighre you’ll never get to experience— eating away guiltily at her conscious.

-> it’s the “imposter syndrome” she’s formed over the years that slowly tears the both of you apart— you’re too pure, to perfect to know of the bloodshed she’s caused.

-> it’s the tears shed into her dingy mattress that wakens you from your sleep, pulling you to her room and sitting with her, immediately diving into an embrace so tight you can feel the way her heart rapidly ‘thumps’ against her skinny frame.

-> it’s the way the words ‘i’m so sorry i’m the way i am’ passes her thin and chapped lips so unfamiliarly, you’re almost scared by the sheer force of emotion in her tone.

-> it’s the way she knows you don’t understand what she means, but stay near her anyways, her fingers delved so far into your skin you’re sure it’s bound to rip.

When the trope is brunette final girls protecting a blonde gifted child in a mental hospital :