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Goodness sakes, Anor, you don’t even know him yet.
About a week ago I started watching the show Supernatural on Netflix. I’d been meaning to watch it for years because a lot of my friends like it, but since I’m not much of a TV or movie person apart from the occasional anime or Disney flick, it’s pretty rare for me to get invested in a new show, especially one this dauntingly long. But damn, there really is something weirdly addictive about it. I was hooked after only a couple of episodes, and I usually hate stories about ghosts and demon-possession because even the cheesiest ghost stories scare me (yet I can write stories like Ashes; I’m full of fun discrepancies like that). I must say, though, the amount of TRAUMA DRAMA. These brothers are more angsty than a tortured artist, and as a resident tortured artist, I know what I’m talking about.
Me: I think I’ve had enough gore and angst for today. I’ll just finish this episode.
*credits roll*
Me: *clicks on ‘next episode’*
Me: Goddamnit.
Me: I guess just one more won’t hurt.
*repeats ad nauseam*
(I’m on season 4, so no spoilers, please)
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