Maybe it's a 'study finds water is wet' type of thought, but
considering it's an action movie whose overall plot is "immortal warriors Fuck Shit Up™️", I think it's significant that in The Old Guard the thing that makes Copley pull red strings through his Murder Conspiracy Board and say "[Merrick] doesn't care what [Andy]'s done with [her immortality]" is the people they save, not the ones they kill
Most of the Conspiracy Board is him circling random newspaper headlines and faces on old photographs to (more or less realistically) follow the immortals' treck through the world and big historical events. Which is, in-canon, not much different than putting portraits from different centuries next to a picture of Keanu Reeves and saying "they look the same, clearly Reeves is an immortal!"
But then there are the connections. A little girl holding Joe's hand in WW1 becoming the youngest (and first) woman to be awarded a Nobel Prize for Medicine (suck it, Kozak). Or the grandchild of a family that Andy saved from [something] helping people escape from the Khmer Rouge genocide in Cambodia.
They are warriors. They have fought and been in the midst of countless wars, major or minor, throughout history. They must have killed as many people as they saved... and yet.
It's not them taking out a random warlord or dictator or rabidly hateful politician that has tangible repercussions in history. It's the children and families they get out of war zones, save from accidents, protect from natural disasters. People to whom they give a second chance at life, and grow to change the world (or even just their own world), like a mysterious stranger once changed theirs just by holding out a hand or patching a wound.
I don't know I just think it's particularly neat
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Guys hear me out...
What if the reason why Branch was singing all the time when he was a kid in that flashback in Trolls was because he was hoping that his brothers will return and they will reunite and he practiced because he wanted to be in their band again and when he lost his grandma that's what made him realize that he's now all alone (he was a literal child how did he even survive all alone)??? And on top of that she got caught and killed BECAUSE he was singing and didn't pay attention??
And remember in Trolls when it's confirmed that despite never going to any party Poppy threw he saved all invitations that she sent him cuz he secretly wanted to be a part of her crew and have fun again? This is way sadder now when we remember that he wanted to belong in any crew and enjoy life but he was way too traumatised for that.
So what if all those supplies he was saving in his bunker weren't only for him but for his brothers too cuz he still believed that they will return and he wanted to have stuff prepared for them in case they show up cuz he knew he will have to hide and protect them so that they wouldn't get eaten by Bergens like his grandma?
Someone pls hug this baby boy he's been through so much shit
Edit: Spoilers for Trolls 3
Holy shit I was right this was all for them 😭
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Going off the Ingo and Emmet had a big fight before Ingo gets ebbie debbied.
I can only imagine how Spice would feel about this. Like they try to psychologically torment Ingo who only as fragments of memories, at best, of who he was and the people in his life. Spice fails, ends up being the warden's partner, and worst of all ends up having an emotional attachment with this man. Spice won't admit it, but he's come to like the strange human.
Fast forward and Ingo get undebbied from the past. Spice and the other pokemon follow cause they care deeply for Ingo and don't want him to be on his own like he was in Hisui. A wacky adventure begins and everything really looks hopeful from here on out.
And then they find Emmet and then it all goes south. Spice (in his Zoroark form) and the rest wait out as the brothers talk, until they can hear yelling. They hear the slamming of a door open and see Ingo yelling at Emmet to just listen to him, but before he can finish Emmet pushes Ingo to the ground.
All hell breaks loose. The other pokemon react but Spice is faster. He gets in-between Emmet and Ingo putting some space between the two, and while facing Emmet, he transforms. Emmet now faces himself but this him is not smiling and his eyes are full of scorn.
Emmet's Psychological Torture 2: Electric Boogaloo. This time with intent to kill
Ougggh... good food
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Hii, I'm here to drop a request~
Okay so, i have a thing for self-distrustive characters. Here's the idea: give me a self-harming hero who is too weak to act on it alone and willingly surrenders themselves to villain assuming (hoping maybe) they would torture them for information. Villain tho reluctant, doesn't hesitate to hurt the hero not too seriously tho. But for our self distrustive hero whatever the villain is doing is not enough to make them feel the relief they're seeking so~ let it slip out. Let them thoughtlessly cry out for more. And then give me a shocked villain. A concerned, regretful and lastly caring enough to treat their wounds villain. Give me an unresponsive to the villain's treatment hero. If you'd like to ass anything feel free <3
Much love to you friend, stay hydrated, we love you ~<33
It wasn’t like it didn’t hurt.
It just didn’t hurt enough. That’s why the hoarse please had slipped from their tongue. And it was why the weak more followed. Judging from their actions, the villain hadn’t heard it right away but when the hero cried harder, the villain’s hands came to a stop.
They’d broken three fingers, not to mention the shattered ankle. What had happened to their ankle had felt just but once the villain had moved on to their fingers, the hero had secretly begging them to break harder bones, like their collarbone or maybe even their ulna. It was sick, they knew it in their heart. It was maniacal and disturbing to feel like this.
Heroes were supposed to save people, even if their own well-being came in last. Saving themselves counted too.
The villain let go of their hand, eyes darting between the hero’s.
“What did you just say to me?” The villain’s hands went through the hero’s hair, getting a full grip of them, pulling them up.
The hero thought about their broken ankle. About how they wouldn’t be able to walk for weeks, maybe even a few months…? They always concentrated on the pain, rather than the period it took place in. By the time old pain faded, the hero always managed to get themselves into new trouble.
Letting injuries heal had never been an option. The villain let go of them.
It was hard. It was hard to lie there and accept their defeat, the fact that the villain had found out about their secret and more importantly, that they had stopped bruising the hero.
“Please,” the hero sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Their nose was running and their tears gathered together, falling down their cheeks like raindrops from the sky. Breathing was hard, their lungs felt frail from these past months and the world came crashing down around them.
When their sobs echoed from the walls, they felt truly defeated, humiliated, and the pain wasn’t enough to forget that.
For a moment, nothing happened. Neither of them said anything. All that was left in the room were the villain’s questions and the quiet sobs the hero made. Feeling overwhelmed by the horribleness of it all, the hero rolled themselves into a little ball, crying into their torn sleeve. They were ready for everything. Ready to die, ready to be bled, to be beaten, anything.
“Hey, easy there.” Once again, the villain combed their fingers through the hero’s hair but this time it was much more gentle and softer, leaving the hero with the taste of bile on their tongue. They braced themselves for new pain, impatiently waiting for the lashing out and the violent actions but nothing of that sort came. Quite the opposite: the villain scratched their scalp softly.
“Darling, what happened to you?” Their nails scraped across the hero’s skin, taking their time. It was oddly comfortable. Even though their muscles ached, they looked up at the villain crouching above them.
“Please,” the hero begged again. “Please hurt me.”
The villain was silent, biting their inner cheek as if they were considering it. But when they answered with a tender “no,” all hopes the hero had were crushed.
“Please.”
“You’re a mess. Hurting you seems to be what you want. I don’t want to give you what you want,” they explained. They wiped away a tear. “Don’t mistake this for compassion. This is me controlling your desires. This is me taunting you.”
They pulled the hero who had exhausted themselves and was completely defenceless into their arms.
“And this is me wanting information. Why did you say that?” They held them close and embarrassingly enough, it dawned on the hero how touch-starved they were.
“I am so alone,” they whispered. They mumbled the words, not even believing their own mouth for saying it. No one was supposed to hear this. “I am so alone.”
They started sobbing again. It was hopeless. The villain was the only comfort they had — even now that they weren’t hurting them.
“You will never be alone with me,” the villain said carefully. “I’ll make sure of that. Now, come on. Let’s treat your wounds.”
In all honesty, the hero had never done that. They weren’t sure if there were rules to it.
“If this is you taunting me,” the hero said, “then why do you want to treat my wounds?”
The villain gave them a grim look that didn’t leave room for protest.
“I’m asking the questions, not you.”
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