pedro pascal doesn’t owe you shit.
it is absolutely fine to be disappointed by his absence at cannes. i am too. but he does not have to be there.
for whatever reason he’s pulling away from the attention. the esquire article talked about how guarded he is and his socials have really slowed down. maybe he’s unprepared or overwhelmed by all the tlou hype. i mean his follower count went up by the tens of thousands the day after the premiere. that’s insane.
but some of you have lost the plot. the ones wearing d*ddy’s little girl shirts in fucking public and yelling d*ddy at him at events and trying to convince everyone whether he’s queer or not and complaining there isn’t an explicit scene of him fucking in the strange way of life. it’s not a gay porn made for your fetish. ‘oh but narcos!!’ that’s called characterization. read literally any article from almodovar and understand why sex isn’t the point.
interacting with paparazzi content and making cute little edits - jfc. that’s creating demand and supply and paparazzi know no fucking boundaries. man’s got anxiety and no doubt the paps and fans watching his every move are probably making that worse.
let him make movies and rotate through his four shirts in peace. pedro pascal doesn’t owe anyone shit.
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Eddie, on a live-stream: Steve is a master at making a situation as awkward as possible and it’s not even an accident. He does it on purpose.
Steve: It’s the easiest way to get someone to leave. Everybody wants to see something embarrassing. No one wants to be a part of it.
Eddie: Yeah, for example. One time I got pulled over for speeding and Steve told the cop - unprompted, I was going to take the ticket - that the reason we were speeding was because I was about to shit my pants.
Eddie: Which, ha ha ha. You’ve used that one before, whatever. We were coming home from the park and the park we went to at the time, hid their trash cans so you could never find them.
Eddie: So he makes things infinitely more mortifying for me by holding up a doggie bag of dog shit and said that I had already had one accident.
Steve: Didn’t get a ticket though, did you? You’re welcome.
Eddie: I’m not thanking you!
Steve: I think I’ve actually perfected getting people to go away. I’m really good at it.
Eddie: Yeah, as evident by your entire childhood.
Steve:
Eddie: I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.
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The Curse Of Hope
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Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.
The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.
“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”
That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.
Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.
“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.
The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.
“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”
Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.
The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”
Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.
-Or-
Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.
Luckily, Danny can provide that help.
But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.
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what are your good omens s3 nightmare scenarios. the cursed choices neil could very well make because he’s writing a season he claims he’s had plotted since the period of time he was still making blog posts mad about slash shipping. like an s3 created in a saw trap for you specifically and if he goes that route you will never fully achieve closure for good omens as a whole
i’ll start: if they’re turned human and decide to stay human i think my brain would immediately block the show out as a trauma response
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Headcanon that the boys were first introduced to Lou Jitsu through Splinter scrounging up an old movie to watch through a grainy projector. Splinter wanted to hype himself up at the time, to see a version of himself - however fictional - succeeding and being happy.
He watches, and smiles, mouthing along to the dialogue and outright whisper-shouting “HOT SOUUUP!” whenever it comes up.
Nestled in his lap are his four new sons, still learning the world around them and heavily reliant on their new father. They watch with wide eyes how lively their guardian looks, how happy he sounds, and they turn to watch the movie closely. Because, for as young as they were, they could recognize the source of their father’s joy.
So naturally, they come to associate Lou Jitsu with their father’s smile, and in turn, they feel happy themselves. To them, Lou Jitsu will always be a source of joy, and always make them smile, even if they forget why as they grow.
They’re not just movies for the four of them - they’re the distant memories of a warm lap and a smiling face.
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