#god he could choke me

[girlyfart]

hes husband material

[allforthe-gay]

it is completely one hundred percent baffling to me that any of the foxes would come away from witnessing neil and andrew's reunion in baltimore with the opinion that their relationship was just hate fucking . like my brother in christ are you blind

[aroaceleovaldez]

Nico and Percy's dynamic through the series is eternally funny to me, because it's just. like.

Percy's having a constant mental struggle between his fatal flaw of loyalty with a promise he made to Bianca to protect Nico, versus his Big 3 kid desire to maim other Big 3 kids / Poseidon descendant urge to totally maim Nico specifically. He hates Nico so so much. He thinks Nico's annoying and weird at best, and creepy/sketchy when he's older. The only positive thoughts Percy has towards Nico are "He's Bianca's brother and Bianca was my friend and I owe her/He's Hazel's brother and Hazel is my friend and would kill me if I was mean to him," "He's a powerful asset and useful ally (if questionable)," and "He's kinda pathetic and I feel maybe a little bad about it." Percy has multiple occasions throughout the series where he strongly considers - and on one occasionally actually goes through with - throttling Nico.

Meanwhile, Nico is following around Percy like a lost puppy. He explicitly can never bring himself to even dislike anything about Percy no matter how hard he tries. He has a whole bit in BoO where he's mentally going "UGH he's so stupid BUT IT'S ENDEARING HOW DARE HE." He's totally smitten. He's making deals with his dad for Percy. He's making convoluted plans to help Percy stand a chance against Kronos. During the entirety of BoTL it's like he's playing tsundere - "I'm helping NOT PERCY SPECIFICALLY with this quest! Me helping Percy would be SILLY because I DEFINITELY HATE HIM." Then he proceeds to show up to Percy's birthday party to basically ask him on a weird date and spend the entire next book scrambling around trying to help him or protect him or impress him. And Percy could not give less of a shit.

Just. That dynamic is so funny to me. Percy is the founder of the Nico Protection Club in that he's the one they're all protecting Nico from and meanwhile Nico is throwing himself at Percy to the point where the literal god of gay love calls him out on it.

[teehee-vibes]

Agonized over the fact that when Chip reunites with Arlin, no matter how it happens, whether Arlin is dead or alive, corrupted or stable, preserved as he was or aged by time and magic… whether it’s a moment of joy and relief at a long-awaited reunion or a heart-shattering episode of grief because Chip is too late, Chip can’t even cry about it.

[mitskiluvr]

watched the persona 5 proof of justice ova from years ago and was getting acid reflux with how queer everything was... what do you mean its just 20 minutes of joker mourning his boyfriend. that's the entire ova.

[vii-doodles]

Dark mode vox (inspired by @/mr.malum on insta) has me and Luci in a firm chokehold I'm ngl

[brainrotcharacters]

I think I finally know why this shot was a religious awakening for me

more in tags because you fuckers seem to enjoy that

[smartwatermagic]

Smartwatermagic "I can make you worse" dynamic but it's Al knowing his partners can be one of the biggest threats against Olympus and insistently trying to get them to turn their backs on the gods

Oh Olympus exiled him because he's a corrupting influence? WELL WHAT IF HE ACTUALLY BECOMES ONE, CHECKMATE OLYMPIANS—

[sapphire-weapon]

I’m about to vomit out a bunch of thoughts, and I’m not sure any of this is going to make sense by the end, but. I’ve been thinking a LOT about these three lines in RE4make:

“You haven’t changed. You just think you have.”

“You can’t save her. You can’t save anyone.”

“This time, it has to be different...”

I’ve seen people focus in on that Krauser line and tie it directly back to Sherry, which is cool! Even as recently as five years ago, people completely glossed over Sherry’s impact on Leon’s life, and it’s cool that the remakes have had people digging into his character and realizing “oh shit, literally everything that happens to him after RE2 is because of his paternal love for Sherry.”

But... Krauser’s line is about more than just her.

With the remake turning Krauser into Leon’s combat trainer, chances are he knows about everything that happened in Raccoon City. And I don’t mean, like. He read a government file. Leon probably told him.

In OG, Krauser and Leon have this exchange of dialogue:

Krauser: “What is it that you fight for, comrade?” Leon: “My past, I suppose.” Krauser: “Hmph. Umbrella.”

It was axed completely from the remake, because it doesn’t make sense for it to happen in the remake. If Krauser was Leon’s trainer, that question was probably asked very early in their relationship. And since they weren’t currently in a fight to the death, and because they weren’t already six years removed from Raccoon City, chances are, Leon’s answer was a bit more involved than just “my past.”

So, let’s back up a little bit. In RE2make, they basically turned Kendo into a completely different character. OG Kendo was literally just there to point a shotgun at Leon and/or Claire and then go “oh my bad you’re not a zombie” and hook them up with some guns before he gets eaten. In RE2make, he’s a desperate and terrified father just trying to spend his last few moments with his infected 6 or 7 year old daughter before she turns. After he shuts the door on Leon and Ada, Leon turns to Ada and says, “Protecting people like that is why I joined the force.”

But Leon doesn’t protect or save Kendo or his daughter. He doesn’t protect or save... anyone. Every single person that Leon comes into contact with and tries to save dies horrifically -- and some, he even has to kill, himself (Marvin Branaugh). The only people who make it out of Raccoon City alive are people who saved themselves (Claire and Ada).

Of course, there is Sherry. But Leon didn’t save Sherry; Claire did. ESPECIALLY in remake canon, since nearly all of Leon’s scenes with Sherry got severely shortened or removed completely in RE2make.

But then, when Claire entrusts Sherry to Leon’s care (on his own insistence, per her RE3 epilogue), he goes and fucks that up, too. Gets her kidnapped and held hostage indefinitely by the federal government, and the only thing he can do about it is do exactly as they say and just hope they keep their end of the bargain and not hurt her.

So, when Krauser says “You can’t save anyone,” he means anyone. Ever. And even up to that point in RE4... Leon got the two officers who drove him into town killed, and he watched Luis die a slow, agonizing death right in front of him. And then, past that point, Leon has to kill Krauser with his own hands. Then he watches Mike die.

Ashley is literally Leon’s first and only success story, up to this point in canon. (And even when you go all the way up to current-day canon, Ashley is one of... three? People? I can think of? Total? Who Leon actually saves?)

So, Leon saying, “This time, it has to be different,” he doesn’t just mean Sherry. He means Ada. He means Kendo. He means Marvin. He means the entirety of Raccoon City. He’s staring down a repeat of what happened back then, not in terms of the bioterror situation, but in terms of his own personal failures. His survivor’s guilt. He can’t handle the thought that he’ll be the only person to walk away again -- and he refuses to be.

And that’s why Ada’s line bothers me so fucking much.

I mean, first of all -- Ada, you haven’t seen this man in six years, and you’ve spent a total of like five minutes with him since meeting up with him again here, so how the fuck would you even know -- but even aside from that...

To be clear: she’s right.

But she’s also wrong.

Leon has changed -- to an extent. In RE2 (OG or remake), Leon honestly believed that if it was lawful, then it was also morally right. He doesn’t believe that anymore. There’s no more “letting the law sort it out” or trusting in the power of authority for him anymore. His moral compass has been boiled down to: “If you hurt or murder innocent people, you’re a fucking asshole, and I don’t really care who you are, I’ll kill you myself.”

RE2 Leon was willing to hear people out and give them an honest benefit of the doubt -- even Annette Birkin. RE4 Leon just tells people to shut the fuck up before opening fire.

RE2 Leon was honest and trusting to a fault, and he felt stronger as part of a team. RE4 Leon is suspicious almost to the point of paranoia, and he just wants to be left the fuck alone to do his job.

These are all things that were really important to who Leon was in Raccoon City, and they’re reasons why things turned out the way they did for him, back then.

But at the same time, Ada’s right in saying that, at the core of it all, Leon is still that kind-hearted, decent guy who just wants the good guys to win and the bad guys to lose. That’s why it hits him somewhere sensitive when Krauser says: “You can’t save anyone.” 

It’s just that, now, the way he approaches it is different. His outlook on life in terms of his goals is different. His expectations for it have changed.

So, if Leon had been smarter/wittier, he absolutely could have turned it around on her and said: “No, I’ve definitely changed. You just think I haven’t.”

And not only would that sound threatening as fuck, he’d also be right. They both would be, at that point.

And for all of those major parts of him to have changed and still be facing down the possibility of failing every single person he comes across, especially Ashley...

"This time, it has to be different.”

And this time, it was.

[immamapletreekid]

ok movie thoughts time

[girlyfart]

i just finished red eye for cillian murphy and ive never been more jealous of rachel mcadams in my life

[notpaulsguitar]

DADDY, YES

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[zappedbyzabka]

Kreese would stomp multiple glasses at his and Johnny’s wedding and no he wouldn’t wrap them in napkins first

[divinekangaroo]

Tommy's 'i have no limitations' after he shoots michael dead via bullet to the eye = his most depressing rote realisation, that he will do pretty much anything? (kill and fuck?)

there is the other way to read that line, which is that supposed god complex reading that the sigma boys enjoy, but TBH every time tommy goes near that line (or even the "you're not God" / "not yet" exchange he has with Charlie) it's usually so bitterly tongue in cheek it sounds like he says it like a blatant inverse relevation OF his limitations.

but the way Tommy says that after Michael, after killing his cousin which he...probably didn't really want to do except for the way Michael absolutely wouldn't let him be. Tommy couldn't guarantee everyone's safety back in England (especially Charlie) after his own impending death unless Michael and his vengeance campaign was out of the picture.

Therefore: no limitations. he does what it takes

[lifesver]

@meatriarch said: [ 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 ] : sender attempts to stab the receiver. ( mama luda, does lee have the heart to hurt a poor older woman? 😞 ) + [ 𝐧𝐨 𝐚𝐢𝐫 ] : sender is holding the receiver by the throat. ( thomas ((: )

it's obvious, by the way he nearly stumbles straight into her kitchen knife, that he doesn't expect to see mrs. hewitt — although he was certainly standing in her house, suddenly. hadn't paid enough attention to know where he was in the tunnels — just ripped a shard of rib from a carcass, and sprung for the first set of stairs he came across. anything — fucking anything to get out of that rot-smelling basement.

❝ mrs. hewitt — ❞ comes the beginning of an instinctive, startled apology.

she must have heard him come up in a stumbling hurry. must have heard the metal door thrown on its hinges. hands comes up instinctively, to shield from the wicked edge. instead, it catches across his palm, spatters new red on the peeling wallpaper.

leland hisses, clutching injured palm. shoots a wild look around him — trying to mentally re-orient. prolonged time in the tunnels had a way of making you lose your fucking mind.

' you stay right where you are, son. where's johnny? '

leland blinks; johnny was probably already looking for him. mind reels with the very real possibility that this was another test of some kind. wouldn't be a big shock, anymore.

leland doesn't dare answer her — her look of consternation and grandmotherly disappointment was piercing enough. her knife points outward, a warning, and he skitters back slightly. run — just fucking run, you have a chance just take it just run — she's just like all the rest of them. she'd kill you, all of them would kill you, they're fucking crazy —

— she's all that stands in his way between an open back door. he can feel a touch of night air. it was that close.

he could get by her. he could get free.

— but he freezes. has the truly stupid, guilty thought that she could be one of his aunts, or a grandmother. that he'd never hit a woman before, let alone an elderly one, and — she was kind to you, wasn't she? one of the only people here that was. the first face you saw waking up, after you fell down half-dead in that sunflower field at johnny's feet. patched you up after he was finished with you — as per johnny's request, he understood.

but it still mattered, to him.

even if he still didn't understand why. ( why are they doing this to you? )

his eyes flutter a dizzied blink, the walls of the front hall threaten to close in on his sides. threaten to warp and bend like a funhouse maze. floorboards give a low, tell-tale crr-reak. he can hear heavy, recognizable steps. then, an equally recognizable monstrous silhouette, stepping into the kitchen light behind the hewitt matriarch.

breath freezes. the big guy. now you're fucked.

he think he whispers a curse; harsh, fireworks adrenaline overtakes exhaustion, and leland staggers in a backtrack, away from luda mae and into the hallway.

straight into charlie hewitt's chest.

leland whirls around, having to think fast. having to immediately wrestle for the shotgun in the sheriff's hands. who laughs in his face, with fake, sinister cheer;

' well, look who it is — '

leland growls, slams the sheriff into the wall with force. operates on instinct, on some animal baseline of survive, survive, fucking kill him if you have to — he pins the man by his unrelenting grip on the shotgun. reels free fist back, nails the man in his ugly scowl so hard it reverberates back through the bones of his wrist. makes the sick bastard bleed, and that's satisfying, but —

click, bang. the shotgun goes off. feels like it shakes the hallway. his right ear blasts with everything and then nothing but a ringing white noise. dust from the ceiling lands in his hair, his eyes. he can hardly take inventory of himself — if he's been fucking shot — before the the side of the sheriff's shotgun cracks him across the cheek, spins his vision out.

hits the ground before the world can stop spotting and bleeding together.

boot slams firmly between his shoulder blades, shoves him down to the floor with a grunt. and before he can move to throw him off, he feels the barrel of the weapon nudge the back of his head, press his stinging cheek into the floorboards a little harder. reddened eye rolls up under his mussed, sweat-stuck hair. he scowls at sheriff hoyt — charlie hewitt — around bloodied teeth. but he goes still.

at least he hasn't been shot. yet.

' ain't you supposed to be tough? '

crackling, mocking laughter, and the man removes boot from leland's back — only to deliver a swift kick to his side that knocks him flat before he can recover.

' — what's that, son? you wanna speak up? ' charlie leans down a little further. he takes notice of the injury to leland's hand — drops boot down hard there, instead, to pin it in place. leland's back jolts against the floor with a cry. he groans with crunched expression, gives a sputtering cough around his bloody nose. still blinking back colour and shape while the man talks to hear himself talk, crouches downway too close. so close he can smell the man's whiskey-stinking breath wafting down on his cheek. he can feel the shotgun muzzle move, while charlie idly decides what part of him to threaten with it next.

leland's breath quickens, rabbit-fast, hearing the weapon adjust. a million horrifying images pass through his mind at once. every sound is muffled, or painfully-clear. no in-between. distantly, he thinks he can hear luda mae hollering something about ' don't you fire that thing in this house, charles hewitt. '

jesus christ. this fucking family.

( come on, you're not dying like this. )

fingers curl tighter around the scrap of ribcage he hides under his opposite palm.

❝ hey. asshole, ❞ he growls. dark eyes turn down to him for just a moment — and leland promptly spits a mouthful of blood up into the man's face. sheriff snarls a string of curses. with free hand, white-knuckle grip plunges bone shard into charlie hewitt's ankle. this time, the man jolts back with nothing short of a howl — weapon twists in the muscle, and rips free with a spatter across leland's cheek. he doesn't think much, then — uses the moment to scrabble out from under the man. he forces himself up to his feet, staggering to drag himself along the wall. back to the kitchen, chased straight back into luda mae.

square one. the door, the night air. can't get to the front of the house. can't run into that shotgun again. can't go back to the basement —

down the hall, it rings out again; the sound of the man he hated — truly fucking hated, who's shouting something to the effect of ' goddamnit tommy — '

worse, maybe; the crr-eaak-thud across the floorboards. it makes his blood run fucking cold.

— just get by her. just run. you have to just run. the bloodied piece of ribcage in his hand feels unwieldy, suddenly. suddenly he feels like he's done something wrong. hadn't she helped you? wasn't she the only one that had been kind —

it's all too much noise. his head hurts — you can't. you can't do it. not to mrs. hewitt.

❝ wait, please, ❞ breathless rasp; his hands come up halfway in a surrendering motion, eyes wide and sharp.

❝ — i don't … want to hurt you, mrs. hewitt, i — ❞

— just want to go home. you just want to go fucking home.

but there's no point in saying it. not one of them cared.

— it's just that you care. you care that this old woman doesn't get hurt in the middle of all this — and you're going to get killed for it. he can hear the big motherfucker coming up at his back. thomas hewitt. he had just threatened his mother, attacked the sheriff. pretty damning list, so far. he might as well be dead, actually.

leland can hear the low, rasping breath from behind the mask. breathing down his neck. he makes a show of dropping his makeshift weapon — but it's too late for good faith, as far as the monster in the mask was concerned. leland turns halfway, just to get a rough hand around his throat, all but tossing him, with little effort, into the nearest wall.

violent thud, quake of every bone in his body — a few picture frames are shuddered off their nails. new starry patterns blacken his vision for a half-second, but neither thomas, nor his own body are forgiving enough to let him fall into unconsciousness so easily. the heavy hand around his throat is dragging him up the kitchen wallpaper, harsh, and reopening cuts in his back. pained gasp — but no real coherent sound making it past the bruising chokehold.

eyes pinprick wide, helpless, when he stares at luda mae over her son's shoulder, as he seems to take immense satisfaction in crushing the the life out of him. heels try, fail, to catch purchase on the wall, fingernails clawing at thomas' arm — felt like the only sound, besides his strangled gasps for air. consciousness slips; and eyes draw up toward the ceiling, blink full of saltwater. the pressure in his skull, behind his eyes, feels impossible. and just as his world threatens to swoop dark and empty — a voice speaks again, distant, sounds underwater;

' — think the boy's had enough, thomas. '

a pause. sound of gruff assent in his un-ringing ear, and the pressure around his throat releases abruptly. thomas drops him without ceremony, and his body immediately crumbles like a ragdoll. painful shocks bounce up wrists and knees as he hits the wooden floorboards. every breath compresses into one tight ache in the center of his chest.

leland blinks, exhausted, hardly able to breathe, at the blood spots landing between his trembling hands. it always ended the same, didn't it?

( these people are all you have, don't you know that by now? )

… and maybe if you give up now, it won't be so bad. when johnny gets here.

he's not allowed much space at all by the brute, who makes sure to stand between him and his mother. but still, he scrabbles back like a cornered animal, eyes flicking between thomas hewitt, and the doorway, where he expected the sheriff to appear at any moment. he doesn't regret what he did to the sheriff.

❝ — i'm sorry, ❞ he gravels out, stinging lungs heaving, ❝ i wasn't … i wouldn't have … ❞ tries to string together another few incoherent apologies, before thomas roughly pulls him to his feet, iron grip closed around his arm. leland grits his teeth, pride long dead, and doesn't fight him. head bowed slightly, he stares at the floor — at his blood on the floor — hiding the burning look on his face.

quietly, softly, he draws stinging gaze to luda mae;

❝ … please just. take me back. i swear … i — i won't try anything. just … take me back down. ❞