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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"mm i think i have a consistent artstyle no-" shut up, ms paint mephiles that looks nothing like what i have drawn before is here before us
meph w a smile and sketch under cut
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i NEED mike to casually mention jumping off the quarry and i NEED everyone who wasn't there to witness it to Freak The Fuck Out
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It’s all: “you could have been my red queen” this and “thief/obviously” that, but WHEN are we going to talk about: “I thought of you in the end, I saw your face in the water.”????? HMMM?! When? When are we going to talk about this?
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Who are you thinking about? 👀
cough tears cough
but I mean - this shouldn't be too out of the blue, like
I have killed two links in fics before.
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something about getting to the end of something you're making and just like. reconciling yourself to the fact that it's kind of garbage. and then looking at it again a few days later and being like. actually. this is pretty good. and then you get so used to this cycle that when you're at the point of actively thinking something you're making is garbage...you're smart enough to know rationally that you're just In The Thick Of It and it will probably look pretty a-okay in a few days. you're a smart person! you understand this! but somehow. it still just looks like garbage. even though you KNOW what your brain is doing. you know it!! you understand!!!
anyway what's that called.
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After careful thought...
I am now convinced RVB is, in a nutshell at its core, two twenty year long dimetric slowburn romance tropes comprised of viewing each from the lens of 'I'd die for you/I'd live for you' while accounting for the repercussions of those choices on the lives of those around them while also examining at the same time the 'Inability to let go/ever start' and how it ultimately locks your mind in a perpetual state of 'What if?' without taking the risk of DOING all by asking the simple fucking question
Ever wonder why we're here?
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