#Pascal

[pankowcrumbs]

Dad's best friend X Pedro Pascal

MasterList

Trigger warning: Dad's best friend trope - slightly inappropriate

I’d always known Pedro. He’d been friends with my parents since before I was born. The kind of familiar face who showed up at Christmases, barbecues, and birthdays, usually with a bottle of something fancy and a laugh that filled the room. For as long as I could remember, he’d been Pedro, just Pedro funny, charming, warm-hearted Pedro who used to ruffle my hair when I was little and call me chiquita.

But everything changed when I turned twenty-five.

It wasn’t like I woke up one morning and suddenly saw him differently. It was more like a slow unfurling. A glance held too long, a touch that lingered half a second more than it should have. He’d look at me like he was remembering something, and I’d look at him like I was hoping he’d forget how wrong it was.

I hadn’t seen him in a while. Work had kept us in different cities me on a new indie project in London, him flying between press tours and studio lots but when I walked into my parents’ summer garden party, there he was.

Leaning against the stone wall near the kitchen doors, sunglasses perched on his nose, glass of white wine in hand.

He hadn’t changed much. Still rugged in that careless, maddening way. Greying a little more at the temples, his beard trimmed short. He caught sight of me across the lawn and smiled like the sun had finally come out.

“Mira quien es,” ("Look who it is") he said, setting down his glass and opening his arms.

I went to him, trying to act normal, like my heart wasn’t thudding against my ribs. His arms wrapped around me, warm and strong, and I hated the way my body reacted to him the way my skin prickled with awareness, the way my fingers ached to stay curled into his shirt.

“You look good,” I said when we pulled apart. Too breathless. I tried to school my voice, but my cheeks were already warming.

“So do you,” he replied, looking at me a moment too long. “Too good.”

There it was again that unspoken thing between us, floating in the air like a match held too close to dry grass. I cleared my throat, took a step back. My parents were watching from across the garden. Smiling. Clueless.

“How long are you in town for?” I asked, grabbing a drink from the passing tray just for something to do.

“Week or so. Might stick around longer if I can.”

Dangerous words. But I nodded, forcing a smile.

Two days later, we were the last ones in the kitchen after a small dinner. The others had drifted off to bed or to the patio with coffee and desserts, but we stayed behind, finishing our wine and leaning against opposite counters like magnets forced apart.

“It’s been a while,” Pedro said quietly. “Since that night in L.A.”

I closed my eyes briefly. That night. A wrap party. Too much tequila. A moment on the balcony where the world had fallen silent. He’d leaned in, eyes searching mine, and I’d let him kiss me. Soft. Gentle. Terrified.

We never spoke of it after.

“I thought we agreed it was a mistake,” I murmured.

“Did we?” he asked. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

My stomach twisted. I set my glass down.

“Pedro…”

“You’re not a kid anymore, Y/N.”

“No. But you’re still you. You’re my parents’ friend.”

“And you’re the woman I can’t stop looking at like a bloody idiot every time we’re in the same room.”

Silence settled thick between us.

“I know it’s wrong,” he added, voice low. “But tell me you don’t feel it too.”

I hesitated. The truth tasted like guilt and longing. I hated how much I wanted him. How much I’d wanted him for months, maybe years. I hated that this thing between us would never be easy, never be understood.

But I couldn’t lie.

“I do,” I whispered. “I feel it too.”

He crossed the room slowly. Stopped just in front of me. One hand lifted, hovering near my cheek like he didn’t quite have permission.

“You scare me, mi cielo,”("My Darling") he admitted.

“You break my heart,” I replied.

And then he kissed me again.

We kept it quiet.

Which wasn’t hard, considering he wasn’t meant to be staying with us that week. A hotel nearby gave him privacy, and I found every excuse I could to “run errands” or “go for walks” or “help him with something” excuses no one questioned. They trusted him. Trusted me. God, the guilt gnawed at me constantly.

But so did the hunger.

There was nothing casual about what we were doing. Every touch felt stolen. Every kiss a risk. Every moment behind closed doors lit with something reckless and wild and desperate.

It was the best and worst thing I’d ever done.

“I hate lying to them,” I said one night, tangled in his arms on the bed of his hotel suite. Rain tapped softly on the windows. His thumb stroked a lazy circle on my hip.

“I know,” he murmured. “We’ll tell them. When it’s time.”

“When will that be?”

“When I figure out how not to lose them.”

He didn’t say you, and that hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Of course, secrets don’t stay buried forever.

It was my mum who saw us first. At a Sunday market, of all places. Pedro’s hand in mine, our heads tucked together, laughing over some stupid pun at the coffee stand. Her eyes locked with mine across the stalls, and I saw the exact second her face changed.

Shock. Confusion. Betrayal.

She didn’t say anything then. Just turned and walked away.

The fallout came later.

Shouting. Crying. The kind of disappointment that settles in your bones. My dad barely spoke to me for a week. They didn’t say Pedro’s name again. Not once.

He left two days later.

No goodbye.

No word.

Just gone.

It’s been a month.

I still check my phone too often. Still wake up half-reaching for him. Still dream of his voice calling me mi cielo like it meant something only we understood.

I thought maybe he’d call. That he’d fight for us.

But silence can be louder than any words.

Today, I’m back at the house, sorting through some things for my next trip. The doorbell rings and I hear familiar voices downstairs my mum, someone else. I don’t think anything of it until footsteps sound on the stairs and then...

“Y/N.”

I freeze.

Pedro.

He looks exhausted. Beautiful, but exhausted. His curls a little unkempt, his expression soft with something like sadness.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

“They invited me.”

“What?”

“Your mum. Your dad. They… they miss me. They want to talk. About us.”

I stare at him, unsure if I’m breathing.

He steps closer.

“I never should’ve left like that,” he says. “I thought it was the right thing. I thought it would make it easier.”

“It didn’t.”

“I know.” He looks at me like he’s afraid I might vanish. “I love you, Y/N.”

The words hit like lightning. I want to throw my arms around him. I want to scream at him. I want to cry and laugh and kiss him until we forget everything but this.

But I just say, “It’s not going to be easy.”

“I don’t care.”

“There’ll be judgement. Whispers. They’ll always look at us like...”

“I don’t care.”

His hand reaches mine, tentative at first. When I don’t pull away, he holds it tighter.

“We’ve both spent our lives caring what everyone else thinks,” he murmurs. “Don’t you want to live for you now? For us?”

I do.

God, I do.

So I nod. Just once.

And for the first time in weeks, I smile.

Pedro’s hand tightened around mine as we stood at the top of the stairs. Below, I could hear my mum in the kitchen, the familiar clinking of cups, her voice low as she spoke to my dad. The smell of coffee drifted up, warm and grounding.

My stomach twisted.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, glancing up at Pedro.

He gave me a small smile nervous, but steady. “No,” he said truthfully. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

That was enough.

We descended the stairs together. I half-expected my mum to turn the moment she sensed us, arms crossed, mouth tight, her expression unreadable. Instead, she just looked up from the mugs she was placing on the counter, her gaze flicking to our intertwined hands. She didn’t say anything. Neither did my dad.

Pedro cleared his throat.

“Can we talk?” he asked gently.

They nodded. Wordless. Tense.

We sat in the lounge me and Pedro on the sofa, my parents across from us like we were about to give them bad news. Which, in a way, we were. Or… we had.

There was a long silence before Pedro spoke again.

“I want to start by saying I’m sorry,” he said, voice low but firm. “For how it happened. For not saying anything sooner. For leaving when I should’ve stayed and explained.”

My dad's jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.

Pedro continued, “What’s been happening between us… it didn’t start when Y/N was young. I would never ever cross that line. Not then. Not even close.”

I nodded quickly, needing them to hear it from me too. “He’s telling the truth. Nothing ever happened before. You both know what he was to me growing up like an uncle, a friend of the family. I never looked at him like this until…”

“Until last year,” Pedro finished.

My mum’s brow furrowed. “Last year?”

Pedro met her gaze directly. “At a party in L.A. We ran into each other on the balcony. We’d both had a few drinks, but it wasn’t the alcohol, I swear. It felt...” He paused, looking at me. “it felt right.”

My dad let out a slow breath. “And that was… the first time?”

“Yes,” I said. “And we didn’t do anything more that night except kiss. We knew it wasn’t something we could just act on. We didn’t even speak about it again for months. We thought we were doing the right thing by ignoring it.”

“But we couldn’t keep lying to ourselves,” Pedro added.

Silence fell again.

My mum stood, walked slowly to the window, arms folded over herself like she was shielding something inside. “You have to understand how strange this is for us,” she said finally. “I’ve known you for nearly thirty years, Pedro. You’ve been in our lives since before Y/n was even born.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why I stayed away. That’s why I didn’t fight when you were upset because I knew how it looked. I just didn’t know how to explain what it felt like.”

“And how does it feel?” my dad asked sharply, eyes narrowed.

Pedro looked at me again. And then he said, clearly, like it cost him nothing to admit it: “It feels like the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I know it’s not traditional. I know it’s not easy. But I love her.”

My breath hitched. Hearing it in front of them… it felt heavier somehow. Like he’d handed them both his heart and asked them not to drop it.

My dad turned his gaze to me. “And you?”

“I love him,” I said, voice steady despite the tears forming in my eyes. “I love him in a way I’ve never loved anyone. And it’s not some impulsive, silly thing. I know how it looks. I know people will judge. But I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

My mum turned from the window, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re twenty-five,” she said carefully. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. We just… we never imagined this for you. We always hoped you’d find someone closer in age. Someone you could grow with.”

“I am growing with him,” I replied. “He challenges me. He listens to me. He respects me. I’m not some starstruck girl chasing after a fantasy I’m a woman who’s spent months falling for a man who makes me feel like the best version of myself.”

Pedro’s hand squeezed mine again.

Mum looked at him. “And you? You’re fifty.”

He nodded. “I’ve thought about that every day since this began. I know what people will say. I know how much it asks of her. But it doesn’t change how I feel. And it doesn’t change the fact that I would never have acted on it if I didn’t believe it was real.”

My dad stood slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “This is going to take time,” he said finally. “It’s not what we wanted or expected for either of you. And, frankly, we’re not comfortable with it right now.”

Pedro nodded, accepting it with quiet grace.

“But…” Dad looked at me, then at Pedro. “We love you both. And if this is what makes you happy if this is real we won’t stand in your way.”

I let out a shaky breath, tears threatening to spill. My mum came forward, sat beside me on the sofa and took my hand.

“You know this is going to be hard, right?” she said gently. “The press. The fans. Even friends won’t always understand.”

“I know,” I said. “But I don’t care. Not if I have him.”

Mum gave a faint, bittersweet smile. “God help me, I never thought I’d say this, but… you two do make sense. In the weirdest, most unexpected way.”

Pedro gave her a sheepish grin. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched.

“Don’t push it, Pascal.”

That night, as Pedro and I lay in bed in his hotel room properly together now, without secrets I turned to face him, running my fingers through the light grey in his hair.

“Do you think they’ll come around fully?” I asked quietly.

He looked down at me with that soft, familiar warmth. “They already are. Slowly.”

“And the rest of the world?”

He shrugged, then smiled. “Let them talk. Let them guess. As long as you’re here I don’t care what they say.”

I rested my head on his chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel wrong.

It just felt right.

It began with a photo.

We’d been careful impossibly so for the better part of a year. No hand-holding in public, no glances that lingered too long at industry events, no trace of affection on social media. We were like ghosts moving beside each other, tethered only behind closed doors.

Until Italy.

It was my birthday, and Pedro had whisked me away to a quiet village near Lake Como. It was off-season, calm, just the two of us. Or so we thought.

A single photograph. Taken from a distance grainy, zoomed in, barely lit but there we were: me, barefoot on a balcony, wrapped in one of his shirts, and Pedro behind me, arms around my waist, kissing my shoulder. Intimate. Inarguable.

The photo hit Twitter before we even had our morning coffee.

Pedro saw it first.

He held out his phone, eyes wide but calm. “It’s out.”

I stared at the image. My chest thudded.

“Do you want me to deny it?” he asked gently. “Say it’s doctored? That it’s not what it looks like?”

I shook my head.

“I’m tired of pretending.”

He smiled small, proud and leaned down to kiss me again. “Good.”

The headlines came thick and fast:

“Pedro Pascal, 50, Spotted Getting Cozy With his best friend's much younger daughter” “Age Gap Shocker: Inside Pedro and Y/N’s Secret Romance” “Is It Love or a Midlife Crisis?”

The internet, in typical fashion, exploded with takes.

Some fans were supportive. “She’s grown. Let her live!” or “They’re kind of adorable tbh.”

Others… not so much.

I stopped checking comments after day three. My publicist handled statements. Pedro gave a simple, beautiful interview where he said:

“She’s smart, strong, kind and I love her. That’s all there is to it.”

Still, the whispers didn’t go away. The jokes. The memes. The side-eyes from industry friends who didn’t know the full story. I felt like I was defending us on a loop to strangers, to journalists, even to myself on bad days.

But every time I spiralled, Pedro was there.

“You don’t need to explain us to anyone but ourselves,” he’d whisper, pulling me into bed, wrapping me up like the world couldn’t touch us there.

And it couldn’t. Not really.

Because somehow, through all the noise we were happy.

Christmas came quicker than expected.

My parents, who had kept a respectful distance since we’d come clean, sent an invitation mid-November:

We’re doing a quiet holiday in the Cotswolds. Just us, firewood, wine, and snow. You’re both welcome. Come if it feels right.

I showed the text to Pedro that night while he was brushing his teeth.

He paused, foamy toothbrush mid-air. “Do you want to?”

“I think I do.”

He turned, smiled at me through the mirror. “Then let’s make peace with the people who matter.”

It was awkward at first.

My dad greeted Pedro with a half-hug, still stiff but less guarded. Mum offered him a glass of wine and said, “You’ve got more grey in your beard since we last saw you,” which was her roundabout way of saying she missed him.

The cottage was stunning stone walls, timber beams, a fireplace that crackled all day, and windows that framed fields dusted in snow. There was a tree in the corner, half-decorated with mismatched baubles and biscuits I was fairly certain were from the early 2000s.

We brought fresh ones. Mum teared up when I hung a “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament from my birth year.

By Christmas Eve, the tension had cracked enough that we all sat around the fire with mulled wine, laughing about old holidays. Pedro told the story of the time I was seven and made him wear a tutu at my birthday party. My dad snorted. Mum showed him the photo album proof.

It felt… warm. Real. Like something healing beneath the surface.

Later that night, as I sat on the garden bench wrapped in a blanket, Pedro joined me, handing me a steaming mug of tea.

“I think they’re thawing,” I whispered.

“I think your mum offered me a second helping of trifle without twitching.”

I smiled, resting my head on his shoulder. “She likes you again.”

“She never hated me,” he said. “She was just scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of how much I love you.”

I turned to face him. “That scares me sometimes too.”

He kissed my forehead. “Love’s meant to. That’s how you know it’s real.”

On Christmas morning, we opened presents around the fire. Pedro handed me a small, simple box. Inside was a silver locket old-fashioned, delicate with a tiny photograph of the two of us tucked inside. The picture from our first trip to New York, taken in a photobooth where he’d kissed my cheek and I’d accidentally knocked over the stool laughing.

Inside the lid, he’d engraved:

Everything else fades. You don’t.

I cried, obviously. And Mum passed me a tissue without comment.

When we left the cottage on Boxing Day, my dad walked us to the car.

“You know,” he said to Pedro, “I still don’t fully understand this. But I believe it’s real. And I believe you’d walk through fire to protect her.”

Pedro nodded, voice hoarse. “I would.”

“Then that’s enough for me.”

As we drove away, snow flurries catching in the trees, Pedro reached across the console and took my hand.

“You realise,” he said with a grin, “we’ve officially survived the hard part.”

I laughed. “Babe… we haven’t even told your sister yet.”

He winced. “Right. That’s next.”

“Good luck.”

He glanced at me. “No, no we. We’re in this together, remember?”

Always.

[retrogamingblog2]

[jk-arhu]

Animal Crossing quotes I found on the internet that were too real:

love some good existential crisis Animal Crossing.

[tangledbea]

I shall not, will not, tire of seeing people cheer over the live action Tangled being put on pause. 😎

Like to kill the movie entirely, reblog to kill Disney's live action remakes altogether.

[tevallen]

animal crossing npcs

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

wish lantern rewrite

I can’t be the only one that wishes we had actually traveled to a new location… that we had learned about a new culture and holiday… that Riddle had actually had more character development in Wish Lantern instead of being cooped up in the library, being forced to play pretend princess in order to get out, and give like maybe a handful of lines max in the second half of the event 😭 What we ended up getting was fun too, but I keep thinking about the missed opportunities and how great this story event could have been.

If Twst won’t give it to me then I will have to cook my own food 😤

Here’s how I would write Wish Lantern if I was in the Twst writing room:

Since Riddle is the SSR, I feel the story and its set-up should center him. I’m thinking maybe he’s invited to (or told by his mother to attend) some kind of conference or event in the Kingdom of Heroes or the Sunshine Lands for aspiring medical mages. Let’s say it is being held in the same place where the story of the Princess in the Tower originated because the Sundrop flower mentioned in the tale has miraculous healing properties (and the city/kingdom has since become known for its medical advances).

Riddle is uneasy about going there by himself (the implication being that this event is set after book 1 and, more specifically after book 6, when Riddle expresses to Azul he has been considering pursuing law instead of magic medicine/the career his mother chose for him). Maybe he mentions this unease around Deuce, that he feels obligated to go because “Mother knows best… She has always known what is beat for me, hasn’t she?” It could even be in the library. Say that Riddle is brushing up for the conference and happens to run into him, who is looking for a book to help with completing an assignment. After listening to Riddle’s woes, Deuce, being one of the people who knows about his dorm leader’s complicated feelings toward his mother and finding his own independence, offers to come along as emotional support.

As for how Jack gets involved, he’s Deuce’s club member. Maybe he overhears Riddle talking about sports medicine or panels presented by medical mages who work with athletes, or Deuce mentions it in a club meeting. Jack becomes interested because he’s the type of person that’s always looking for ways to enhance his training and to learn more about this subject.

Kalim can either join because he's conveniently in the library + wants to learn more about poisons and antidotes (on his own self-development journey to be more self-sufficient instead of relying on Jamil all the time) or because the Asims are sponsors of the event and he gets a free invite through his Rich Privilege.

Use the usual "Grim overhears and whines until he and Yuu get invited to go along" excuse or maybe have Yuu and Grim come because they, too, want to be emotional support for Riddle. (They could have heard from Deuce?) With that, we have all of the main characters for this event assembled.

Even though this is a rewrite, I'm going to try and follow the conventions of OTHER "hometown" events. That means most of this rewritten event will be exploring the new area, learning about its customs and traditions, souvenir shopping, and sampling food. This would be a great chance to, of course, throw in Tangled references. Because I proposed that this event be focused on a conference for aspiring medical mages, we can also learn more lore about what medical technology and practices exist in Twisted Wonderland and how magic has played a part in advancing medicine.

So it turns out, there's a festival going on in the area at the same time as the conference. That's because there's a holiday in this kingdom that celebrates the Princess in the Tower finding her way home by following a trail of lanterns. Since the conference doesn't start until the next day, we can go out and enjoy the festivities! (Riddle can be hesitant at first, but the others convince him to loosen up.)

The new outfits + hair can be explained away as part of local traditions. Everyone is provided with a potion that lengthens their hair so they can emulate the Princess in the Tower. Or maybe there can be a potion-making station, and length still correlates with the skill at which you were able to brew it. (In this version, the hair lengthening potion isn't made with super rare ingredients; it is something easily accessible for even non-mages to brew and can be made cheaply.) YES, THAT MEANS WE GET LONG HAIR GRIM.

Local specialties could include dishes mentioned or depicted in Tangled, like hazelnut soup (Rapunzel's favorite).

HERE ARE SOME CUTE INTERACTION IDEAS BASED ON RAPUNZEL'S OWN EXPERIENCES IN CORONA: the gang doing chalk drawings and clowning on each other's artistic abilities (or lack thereof), trying out cupcakes (the reasoning being that they're "single servings" so it's okay for Riddle to indulge), exploring bookshops, painting on the walls, and everyone joining in a big group dance! (For the dance, maybe there’s a competition to see who can drag in the most bystanders into the dance and Riddle gradually finds his footing in that + is crowned the winner?) There could even be a tavern that pays homage to The Snuggly Duckling.

While we're out having fun, there should be a consistent pattern of Riddle having to be convinced that it's okay to be participating in these activities. He feels that he should be focusing on studying for the conference, but the others are there to reassure him it's okay to take breathers.

"You won't perform at your best if you're always at 100%. In terms of a workout, you'd be asking to pull a muscle if you push yourself to exercise without end." (Jack)

"Mmm? But how often are we going to be in [name of city]? We're here now, so we might as well experience everything that's here!! The food, the music, the games, the people... You can't find that anywhere but here." (Kalim)

"I get the importance of preparation, but I'm kind of curious about the celebration that's going on. If Rosehearts-senpai wants to study, then he should do that. I'd feel bad exploring the city without him, though... He might miss out." (Deuce)

"Shouldn't you at least grab some grub first? I'm pretty hungry too! Let's check out the food stalls!" (Grim, maybe Yuu can also get a dialogue option)

At some point, the group decides to browse and buy souvenirs. They discuss who they are shopping for and come upon the subject of family. Kalim and Jack want to buy stuff for their siblings and Deuce thinks his mom might appreciate a locally made handkerchief with the kingdom's sun emblem on it. (As a trucker, Dylla often drives for long hours so she might find use in a handkerchief to wipe her forehead.) Yuu and Grim can also bring up potentially getting something for the Ramshackle Ghosts, who are like their found family.

Riddle becomes visibly uncomfortable when the topic of family is brought up. Everyone else sounds so happy talking about theirs, but he has no idea what a happy family is supposed to be like. Deuce (and maybe Yuu + Grim too) realizes why Riddle is uncomfortable and quickly apologize. Kalim and Jack, who aren't familiar with Riddle's background or his attempts to speak with his mother over winter break, are a little confused but the others feel it's not their place to explain why and Riddle doesn't know them well enough to elaborate on personal matters. (Here, Jack and Kalim serve as an in-universe reason to keep his family history vague so as to not spoil people who haven't gotten that far in the main story yet, but the awkwardness is palpable enough to imply something is wrong to serve the narrative of the event story.)

Now, "hometown" events tend to introduce a new character, typically a family member, to us. However, the new characters are not those who appear as the "trauma source" for the respective OB boy. (For example, Falena was not the character introduced to us in Tamashina Mina/Cloudcalling on the Savanna and we met Kifaji instead.) Following this trend, we will not be encountering Mrs. Rosehearts but rather MR. Rosehearts.

I realize that we don't have a ton of lore about Riddle's dad yet so everything I write about his personality is completely headcanon (primarily based on the personality of the King of Hearts). The only things that are canon in this depiction is that 1) Mr. Rosehearts is a medical mage like his wife is and 2) Mr. Rosehearts does not have a happy marriage with his wife.

Anyway, we run into Mr. Rosehearts out in the city. Turns out that he is one of the presenters at the conference and he was supposed to meet and receive Riddle. He's a quiet and slightly anxious man but overall is kind to his son (though we should get the impression that Mr. Rosehearts isn't good with confrontation and folds easily).

Maybe have a part where Mr. Rosehearts is surprised that Riddle has friends because uh... the last time he recalls his son having friends, it was because his wife ranted at them for 5 hours and banned them from their home. But hey, he's chill about it and promises Riddle this can stay between them and he won't tell his mom. Could insert a line or two that implies that the winter break talk didn't go over well. (This is just my headcanon, but you could also stick in a line that insinuates that the Rosehearts parents don't just outright divorce because Riddle's mom can't deal with the potential social fallout + realizing that she is "wrong" in her marriage.)

Every "hometown" event thus far has presented us with some kind of minor external conflict to be resolved. In this case, Riddle's conflict is more internal. He's wrestling with what he wants to do with his future and trying to cope with the reality that his mother isn't the loving, "always correct" woman he thought she was. This, of course, mirrors Rapunzel's struggle with Mother Gothel, who tries to keep her in the tower and doing as she commands.

We finally make our way to our quarters for the night (Riddle has his own room; everyone else has to share one), perhaps in tall tower to mimic Rapunzel's home with Gothel. Riddle knows he should retire early because the conference is first thing tomorrow, but he admits to everyone that after spending time in the city, he has become curious about the tradition of releasing thousands of wish lanterns into the night sky. It happens pretty late in the day though, so he brushes it off and says they should sleep.

... But the others get really hype about Riddle "finally getting into the spirit of the holiday" and decide they should see the lanterns!! The only problem is, Riddle is locked in his hotel room for the night. There could be a local superstition, tradition, or security reason for this. Like maybe due to the story of the Princess in the Tower (and Gothel locking her up), people who are indoors at a certain time of night can't leave until the next day?? Or maybe Mrs. Rosehearts had prepared Riddle's room for him in advance and instructed staff to ensure he doesn't leave because she has been paranoid about him "breaking the rules" again after the tart incident. I don't know, pick your reason.

YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS??? It's time for Jack, Deuce, Kalim, Grim, and Yuu to be Riddle's Flynn Rider + animal companions to break Riddle out. Our group represents the freedom and childhood wonders Riddle missed out on, the antithesis to Mrs. Rosehearts'/Mother Gothel's control. I can see Riddle using his long hair to hoist himself down, Jack using his UM to help everyone race to the water in time to catch the lanterns, Deuce being the muscle if they run into any thugs, Kalim using his social skills to quickly befriend the locals and ask for directions to the best vantage point or using his $$$ to rent the group a rowboat, etc.

We can keep the rhythmic/twistune from the original version of this event where Kalim, Deuce, and Jack were able to safely descend using Riddle’s hair but Riddle hesitates before he’s able to get himself to follow. The reason is the same; he worries about breaking the rules and how his mother would disapprove of him leaving the home. Riddle wonders if the Princess in the Tower felt the same, but ultimately his friends convince him it’s fine (by baiting him with the rules). He will be trapped in this tower forever if he doesn’t summon his strength and take the leap. If not now, then when? When will my life begin? “There are people waiting for me outside, so… it must be okay for me to leave. Right… Mother?”

Riddle keeps nagging everyone about how many rules and social norms they're breaking, but eventually he loosens up and even laughs a little at some of the dumb things they do. We can maybe have him thinking, This is just like… and then flashback to his childhood days with Trey and Chenya.

They're out on the waters just in time to see the lanterns being released. Alternatively, the even runners could be having trouble lighting up all the lanterns or something so Riddle has the opportunity to help with that (this way, we’d still get the other rhythmic/twistune featured in the original event). That particular rhythmic/twistune ends on Riddle with five lanterns floating overhead, which I think could be important symbolism (five lanterns -> five mentions of Heartslabyul).

It's beautiful. Everyone oohs and aahs at the sight--most of all, Riddle. He can say something like... "This city is known for its many contributions to magic medicine. I know that, and yet... I don't believe any magic or medicine could replicate what I am feeling in this very moment." There is some part of Riddle that acknowledges the healing and therapeutic properties of just... being allowed to have freedom, of allowing himself to live in the present and not stress about the rules or gearing up for a future someone else has decided for him all the time. He just doesn't know how to fully verbalize it + has not fully come to terms with it yet, so this is how he expresses it. At last, he sees the light.

While the new location they travel to + the conference provide us with the backdrop of medicine and health for this rewrite, I think there’s also something to be implied about the injuries we don’t see, the pain inflicted that isn’t physical. Both Riddle and Rapunzel were trapped in towers but were also emotionally controlled and prevented from leaving/made scared or the world and disobeying their mothers. When Riddle sees the lanterns, it’s sort of a “wake up” sign to his soul, a reminder of how healing it can be to just… live by one’s own terms, to not be ruled over by fear of disappointing someone else or failing to meet expectations. Rapunzel and Riddle bear scars on their heart from having been raised in the households that they were, and it is seeing the lanterns in-person that helps to “heal” what hurts them.

Riddle recalls the story of the Princess in the Tower and how she made a wish to see the lanterns, so now people make wishes upon these lanterns before releasing them into the sky. He lets go of his own lantern and wishes that, someday, he can be like the Princess in the Tower and this lantern floating up to the sky… and follow his own Road to Freedom.

Everyone sneaks back into their rooms and rest for the day. Uhhh, and there can be a scene of slicing off their hair for tomorrow. Riddle can talk about how the Princess grew her hair long because her mother told her to, but that it must have been cumbersome to walk like this. This way, by cutting off the hair like how the Princess does at the end of her story, it's a liberating act.

It doesn't matter what happens at the conference because what was important was the experiences Riddle had with his friends leading up to it. At most, maybe we see Mr. Rosehearts again while heading to the venue and they have a brief exchange where Riddle lets it slip he's a little tired. "That's so unlike you," Mr. Rosehearts remarks. "Well," Riddle replies with a small smile, "I am a growing young man, after all. I am changing every day."

I want to be clear that this does NOT mean Riddle has had a full character arc to come to terms with how he was raised. He would NOT feel 100% okay with rebelling against his mother by the end of this (hypothetical) event. The point of my version of Wish Lantern isn't to empower Riddle to fistfight Mrs. Rosehearts or to tell her off. The point is that it's supposed to be a small step in helping Riddle through the very complicated process of recognizing he was traumatized and/or abused, accepting that reality, and learning about how he can grow from it and his abuser (who is someone he thought he loved and could trust). This can take YEARS to process in the real world, and it would probably be similar to Riddle. Again, this is meant to be a SINGLE STEP he takes, NOT THE ENTIRE JOURNEY.

So in my rewrite, the event would be split up like this:

Episode 1: invitation to the event; gathering all the relevant characters, hopping through the mirror

Episode 2: arrival in the new location and having fun in the area

Episode 3: souvenir shopping, meeting Riddle's dad

Episode 4: retiring to room, changing mind and deciding to break out instead

Episode 5: seeing the lights, ending

As you can see, the structure is very similar to a traditional "hometown" event. I didn't want to stray too far from Twst's usual writing conventions, as it could mess with the cohesion with the rest of its story events. I did, however, try to change things up a little (like having an internal conflict instead of an external one) and tied in this (hypothetical) story with Riddle's overarching character development, as those are elements that I personally prefer in a story. I realize that the biggest change here is tying my rewrite much more strongly to the main story than similar events have 💦 BUT LET ME HAVE THIS, I think I cooked 😭

... What Wish Lantern could have been OTL Don’t get me wrong, though!! The version we did get wasn’t all bad. There was lore about the NRC library, lots of involvement from the staff, and fun character interactions with the whole student cast. I just feel like those could have all been used for a different event and not the Tangled one which could have been so much more interesting for Riddle and his character.

[orodaeh]

Okay, but listen to me. Apart from the undeniable HOTNESS he constantly radiates… he seems to have such a pure heart. I SO hope he receives the same kindness he gives - no, actually, a lot more! I hope he meets countless kind-hearted people and receives love and passion in the same way he so generously gives to others. And yes, I know some of you will say, "GIRL, you don’t even know him personally," but I truly believe I can recognize a kind, pure, and moral heart (or at least, I hope I can hihihihii!). <3 :)

Picture by ads on Pinterest

[pascal-princess]

‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ the princess’ prayer ✧ ‧ ₊

dbf!joelmiller x fem!reader ‧₊ ♡ ‧₊˚

—> read part two

♡ ↳ dark!joel, manipulation, controlling dynamic, daddy/little girl dynamics, age gap (46+19), slight angst, mentions of smut (m!masturbation, somnophillia kinda,, mentions of cum), christianity themes, talks of church. lmk if anything missed…

Was there any part of Joel Miller that knew his desire for her was wrong? Of course there was… Joel had tried to hold back his temptations since the day she turned 18; watching her blow out her candles with that pretty rosy blush in her cheeks, his fingers tightening around his glass of whiskey.

He knew it was wrong how much he craved her; he wanted to own her, to possess her, to fill every fibre of her being with his existence. He wanted her to kneel before him the same way she did to her god, her dainty little diamond cross held gently in her closed palms as she prayed… why couldn’t he be her god?

He found himself growing jealous of any person who looked at her, any person who talked to her or even breathed in the same vicinity as her… even if that person was her father… Joel’s best friend.

‘She’s my little peach’ her dad, Andrew would remark as he would watch her pick pretty flowers in the garden. Joel would sit on the bench swing, newspaper in hand, eyes barely scanning the pages as he felt entranced by the way her sundress flowed in the summer breeze.

The obsession took over his life, he couldn’t sleep without imagining her beside him, tucked under his arm. He would lie awake at night, stroking himself to polaroids of her that he had taken… he remembered it perfectly; Christmas day, he popped over to have a drink and cigarette with her father when she ran over to him, excited to show him her new present— a polaroid camera. He got drunker than he meant to that night and when he found her sitting on the armchair clad in her pink pyjamas, her head tucked in a book, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Give me a pretty smile baby” he spoke, holding her camera in his hands. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling as they usually did, she offered him her sweetest smile and he felt his heart warm. He snapped the picture and after it came out and he had given it a shake, he swore he saw an angel.

“Lemme see” her soft voice spoke, he walked over to her showing her the polaroid, she turned her nose up slightly “Don’t like it”.

“Shhh, you look gorgeous, sweetheart”

It was clear she didn’t want the picture so he tucked it in his back pocket, never to be seen again apart from every night since when he would retrieve it from his bedside drawer.

When he came back to his senses he was a panting mess; his spill painted his stomach and the polaroid in his hands, he didn’t want the picture to be ruined but he couldn’t help but feel encapsulated by the sight of cum on her pretty lips— even if it wasn’t real.

As the summer drew closer and Joel got hot and bothered, he found himself becoming further entangled in her. He found himself sneaking up to her room whenever he spent the night, creeping into her bedroom and playing with her hair softly as she slept. His fingers would trace her pouty lips and scoop up the slight drool that rolled down her cheek.

One night it got all too much and he couldn’t resist the temptation of pressing his lips against hers, feeling the soft plushy sensation that awakened every bone in his body, that made his cock rise with intent.

He found himself spending more and more time in their house, and conveniently ending up in any room she happened to be in. He would stand in the garden, cooking up a barbecue as she would play with the stray cat that came by from time to time, her father sipping a beer on the bench. He burned way too many things to count as he was too preoccupied with watching her.

One night he was sneaking upstairs when he saw the flickering of candlelight in the cracks of the door, he could hear soft mumbles of prayer from inside of the room— the door was already slightly ajar and he couldn’t help press his side into it gently as his eyes flickered through the slight crack to try and catch a glimpse of something… anything.

“Please forgive me for my sins… i don’t even know if it’s lust or something else but it scares me god… it scares me to my core”

She was kneeling in front of her bed, her hands held together with careful precision, her little diamond cross laid gently over the top. Joel’s brows furrowed as he continued to listen.

“Maybe i don’t even see him that way, maybe this is just a passing phase… but i wanna be around him all the time, he makes me nervous and i-”

Joel felt his body burn with jealousy, his fists clench at the thought of the stupid little boy that had her in his clutches, it pissed him off beyond belief.

“I swear he came into my room one night”

His heart dropped.

“Maybe i was dreaming it might not have been real, but i can still feel the lingering tenderness of what i think was a kiss”

He began to panic— How did she know? how the fuck did she know? he swore he was careful, he swore he studied her face carefully enough to know she was in a deep sleep. Would she tell her father? He’d be sent to hell, the whole town would know. ‘Joel Miller, the man who preys on innocent 19 year old girls’.

“Please forgive me god, and guide me through this test. Please give me a sign of what to do next”

The door creaked as if on cue and she froze, a slight quiver in her spine. Her eyes moved slowly towards the source of the sound and she felt it in her gut— she knew it was him.

“Joel?” She whispered, willing it not to be him. Was this her sign? Was this god telling her this was right?

Joel stood on the other side of the door, breaths heavy and ragged— he was just as frozen. His mind running at 1000mph… did he go back downstairs? His body wasn’t letting him, it was running on overdrive. His temptations and lust too strong.

His body moved before his mind did, opening the door to find her sat back, clutching her cross tightly. He could see the confusion and inner battles going on in her mind.

“Were you listening?” she practically whispered, she was shaking with nerves, her insides on fire. What if she had been imagining everything and now he thought she was crazy, just a silly little girl with a crush on her daddy’s best friend. She knew how it sounded, she was terrified about the idea of a sin. But all of her friends were in relationships bragging to her about the taboo endeavour that was sex.

“Nah I was just umm” he stuttered, struggling on what excuse he could even come up with in such short space of time. His stalling only further confirmed her fears.

“Please Joel… don’t tell anybody” her eyes brimmed with tears. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, hey…” he walked further into the room, kneeling down beside her on one bended knee, stroking the back of her head with his large calloused hand. “What’s wrong babygirl?”.

“I’m embarrassed Joel” she sniffled.

He tried to hold back a smile.

“Don’t be embarrassed baby, ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little schoolgirl crush” his hand was still stroking the back of her head, his large fingers becoming entangled with her soft locks.

“It’ll be our little secret, yeah?”

Joel knew those words had an effect the second her eyes locked onto his, he thought he might’ve been dreaming— he dreamed about this every night; about his lips locking onto hers, his hands dancing across her body… fuck it, he can pinch himself later.

He pulled her face towards him, his lips moving against hers in a blur of risk and meaning. She was frozen, her hands placed at her sides terrified at what was happening. He pulled away at her hesitation.

“This isn’t wrong baby, this isn’t wrong. It’s so right. You were made for me” He picked her up off the floor, her cross falling out of her hands and onto the floor… the same floor that supported her knees every night as she spoke her faith.

He placed her on the plushy covers, moving over her body and beginning to kiss her again. He knew she was so torn up inside— trying to forgive herself and willing god to forgive her for what she was doing.

“Joel, please” she whispered, softly in the candlelit room. Joel thought he was in heaven, these past 2 years telling him for so long he’d be going to hell for his obsession, his fixation. But here she was, below him and laying pretty and perfect just as he wanted her.

“Trust me sweetheart, I ain’t gonna hurt you” He murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Your god ain’t gonna be mad at you, he wanted this to happen. He wanted me to love you”

Was he telling her or telling himself? The lines were so blurred at this point he couldn’t even see sense anymore.

He spent the rest of the night kissing her and caressing her, deciding that her innocence could be saved for him another day.

She fell asleep tucked under his arm, sleeping soundly after tears about the idea of sin soaked his shirt. He held her tightly, his hands tracing circles on her spine as his eyes stared at the gleaming piece of jewellery on the floor— he swore he watched it taint, losing a flicker of shine that it had before.

-

♡ ↳ gonna write a part 2 soon if anyone wants to read it!! thank you so much for your time, i appreciate it sm

love, mila🎀

@roostersgirl-001

[punziebunnie]

frying pans! who knew, right? 🍳💛💜🌸

[theanglethen]

Rapunzel’s Many Hobbies

[jvgsjeff]

[pankowcrumbs]

Younger X Pedro Pascal

MasterList

Word count: 2.6K

Oral sex and sex implied.

Plot: You and Pedro at a hollywood party - there is a 25 year age gap and you have sex seeing where things go.

Hollywood parties weren’t exactly my thing. Too much noise, too many people pretending to be someone else, all while their assistants hovered with bottled water and fake smiles. I usually ducked out early, blaming an early morning or a sudden headache. But tonight, something felt different. Electric. Like the universe had tilted just a little off its axis… and I was exactly where I was meant to be.

The room was buzzing. A-list actors were packed into a candlelit garden, champagne flowing like water, expensive perfumes weaving through the air. I’d just finished talking to someone from some Netflix show I hadn’t watched when I spotted him.

Pedro Pascal.

He was standing by the stone balustrade, half a glass of red wine in his hand, head tilted slightly like he was listening to the low hum of conversation rather than participating in it. He looked so out of place in the most delicious way like he’d stumbled out of a noir film and into this polished, fake room.

Charcoal grey suit. Open collar. Greying curls slightly tousled. Smile lines framing his mouth even though he wasn’t smiling. His fingers idly played with the rim of his glass.

God, he looked good enough to ruin.

I didn’t even think twice. My heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as I made my way toward him, the low flicker of string lights casting shadows on his face. His eyes met mine when I was still a few steps away deep, brown, and wary.

I smiled.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

He gave a soft laugh, a little gravelly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” I leaned on the rail beside him, brushing my bare arm against the sleeve of his jacket not by accident. “You’re Pedro, right?”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

His voice was warm. Slow. Like honey melting on toast.

“Can I confess something?” I asked, stepping slightly closer. Our arms touched again this time longer.

He gave a curious hum. “By all means.”

“I’ve had a thing for you since Game of Thrones.”

Pedro coughed, a surprised chuckle escaping him. “That was... a while ago.”

“I was, like, sixteen. So inappropriate,” I said with a grin. “But you’ve aged like fine wine, so I’m not exactly upset about it.”

That got a full laugh out of him, his head tipping back for a moment. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?” I said innocently. “You don’t like being appreciated by younger women?”

Pedro looked at me, something behind his gaze shifting. Sharpening.

“It’s flattering,” he said, low. “But I’m old enough to be your father.”

I shrugged, leaning closer. “I’ve got daddy issues.”

He blinked, then laughed again, this time nervously. His hand flexed around his wine glass. “You’re trouble.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

He took a sip of his wine, eyes on mine the whole time. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“Not even tipsy.”

“And you’re what… twenty-five?”

“Bang on,” I said, inching even closer, my fingers brushing lightly against his wrist. “And you’re what… fifty?”

“Exactly.”

“Perfect,” I whispered. “You’re in your prime.”

“Christ,” he muttered again, cheeks slightly pink.

We were standing so close now I could smell the warmth of his cologne. Something woody. Masculine. Dangerous. I could see the faint silver in his beard, the tension in his jaw.

He looked like he wanted to kiss me.

I leaned in, my lips just beside his ear.

“You want to kiss me,” I said softly.

His body tensed.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he said, but his voice had dropped.

“Why not?” I whispered, grazing my nose along his jaw, innocent and sinful all at once.

He turned his head, our faces barely a breath apart now.

“Because I might forget how old I am,” he murmured.

I smiled, lifting my hand to rest lightly on his chest, just over his heart. “Let me help you forget.”

His eyes flicked to my mouth for the briefest second and it nearly undid me.

“Y/N,” he warned, but his voice was already trembling.

“Yes?”

“This is… I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s fun. That’s what it is.” My thumb brushed the edge of his collar, dragging lazily over the top of his chest. “You want to be wanted. I want you.”

Pedro swallowed thickly, but didn’t pull away.

“You don’t feel even a little guilty?” he asked. “Flirting with a man who could have raised you?”

I grinned wickedly. “Are you asking if I have a daddy kink, Pedro?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

“I’m not apologising.” I tilted my head. “You’ve been watching me since I walked in. Don’t lie.”

He looked at me, completely still.

And then finally he let his guard drop.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he whispered.

“I know,” I said, tugging him gently by the lapel. “But you like it.”

For a long moment, we just stood there. The world faded. The music blurred. My fingers slipped down his chest, slow and deliberate, resting just at his belt buckle. His breath hitched.

“Tell me to stop,” I said.

He didn’t.

Instead, he stepped into me, hand landing on my waist strong and hot through the fabric of my dress. His thumb brushed slow circles there, as if testing the waters. My heart thundered.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he said, his forehead grazing mine.

“Try me,” I breathed.

His hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer flush against him. I could feel every inch of him. The tension. The want. His lips brushed mine once, barely a kiss.

“People are watching,” he murmured.

“Let them.”

He kissed me.

Not soft. Not hesitant.

It was hungry.

His hands gripped my waist, my hips, as if he was afraid I’d slip through his fingers. I moaned softly against his lips, and he swallowed the sound. The heat between us crackled like static.

I clutched at his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer.

When he finally pulled away, we were both breathless.

“This is a bad idea,” he said.

“The best kind,” I replied.

He looked like he wanted to say something else. Something reasonable. Sensible. Adult.

But instead, he leaned down again, his lips brushing just beneath my ear.

“You’re gonna ruin me, aren’t you?”

“Completely.”

He groaned softly, kissing my neck.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.

Pedro looked at me, the restraint on his face crumbling.

He didn’t answer.

He just took my hand.

And we walked out together.

The car ride to his place was almost unbearable.

Pedro’s hand rested on my thigh the entire way, warm and possessive, his thumb tracing slow circles just above my knee. Every now and then, he'd give me a side glance, lips slightly parted, chest rising just a little faster than before.

Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The tension had evolved from flirtation to something headier. Weightier. Like if he didn’t touch me properly soon, we might both fall apart.

The moment we stepped inside his house, it was like something snapped.

He didn’t even turn on the lights just kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot and pressed me gently against the wall, his hands cradling my face as if I were something precious. Then he kissed me.

God, he kissed me.

Slower than at the party. Reverent. Like he was tasting me, savouring me. One hand slid into my hair, tugging lightly as his tongue swept against mine, coaxing, teasing, deepening. I melted into him with a soft gasp, fingers clutching the lapels of his jacket like I’d drown if I let go.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured again against my lips.

“Don’t you dare,” I whispered back.

He groaned, the sound low and almost pained, and then his mouth was on mine again more urgent this time. His hands roamed, moving down my sides, over the curve of my hips. Every touch was controlled, intentional. He touched me like a man who knew what he was doing like he’d thought about this before, maybe even fantasised about it, and now he was finally allowed to have.

When he slid my coat off, it dropped to the floor with a whisper. Then his fingers were on the zip of my dress, slowly tugging it down, exposing the bare skin of my back. He didn’t rush. He peeled it away like unwrapping something he’d waited far too long to open.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes roaming over me like he was trying to memorise every inch. “You’re perfect.”

I reached for his jacket, tugging it off his shoulders, and he let me. Then the shirt. My fingers worked open each button, slow and deliberate, until his chest was bared to me warm, solid, and so much broader than I imagined. Salt and pepper curls dusted his skin, and I brushed my fingertips over them, watching his breath hitch.

He leaned into my touch like he needed it.

“Pedro,” I breathed, “take me to bed.”

He hesitated just a second his eyes searching mine. There was a softness there. A flicker of something almost vulnerable beneath all that hunger.

“I’ve been with women,” he murmured, “but not like this. Not… when I knew it might mean something.”

I swallowed. My heart did something traitorous in my chest.

“Then make it mean something,” I said.

That did it.

He scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing, carrying me through the darkened hallway, mouth pressed to my shoulder, my neck, my jaw. I could feel his breath, hot and uneven, every time I whispered something filthy against his skin.

When he laid me down on his bed, he stood for a moment at the edge of it, just looking.

“I’m not used to feeling like this,” he said quietly. “Like I could get completely undone by someone.”

I reached for him, pulling him down to me. “Then let yourself fall apart.”

He kissed down my neck, over my collarbone, his stubble scraping my skin in the best way. His hands mapped the curve of my waist, thumbs brushing just beneath the line of my underwear. And when he kissed my stomach slow and reverent I arched into him, threading my fingers into his curls.

He looked up at me once, eyes dark and hungry.

“Can I taste you?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”

What followed wasn’t rushed or crude.

It was worship.

His mouth moved like he was trying to memorise every reaction I gave him every moan, every gasp, every way my hips shifted under the weight of his hands. He was slow at first, teasing, then deeper, more insistent, his tongue working magic until I was trembling beneath him, gasping his name like a prayer.

When I came, I gripped his hair, thighs shaking, and he groaned like the sound of it turned him on more than anything.

He didn’t rush me after. He climbed up beside me, kissing me softly, tasting my lips like he could still taste me on his tongue.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

I nodded, barely able to speak. “Better than okay.”

Then I reached for him, letting my hand drift lower, stroking over the front of his trousers.

“Your turn,” I murmured.

He growled an actual growl and rolled me onto my back, eyes wild with want.

That was the last coherent thought I had for a long while.

The rest was a blur of sheets and skin and moans muffled by kisses. His name falling from my lips again and again. His body moving with mine like it had always been meant to.

We didn’t just have each other.

We claimed each other.

And by the end of it when he curled himself around me, breath warm against the back of my neck I knew I was already ruined in the best way.

The early morning light spilled in through the sheer curtains, golden and gentle, casting a warm glow across Pedro’s bedroom. I blinked slowly, tucked against his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing soft and even. His arm was heavy around my waist, his legs tangled with mine beneath the sheets, like even in sleep he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

I didn’t move at first. Just watched him.

His curls were messy, flattened slightly on one side from the pillow. His brow was smooth, lips slightly parted, the edge of a smile ghosting across his mouth like he was dreaming something good. It made my chest ache a little this sweet, quiet version of the man who had undone me so completely last night.

I didn’t want it to be a dream. I didn’t want this to be just a night.

I shifted slightly, just enough to brush my lips over his shoulder. He stirred a little but didn’t wake. So I tried again slower this time soft kisses along the line of his collarbone, my fingers trailing up his chest, tracing lazy shapes in the faint salt-and-pepper curls there.

Still nothing.

Smirking, I let my hand wander lower.

I was barely grazing him, just fingertips under the sheets, but the second I touched him there he let out a low, sleepy groan.

His eyes cracked open, bleary but amused. “Is this how you always wake people up?”

“Only the ones I want to keep,” I whispered against his skin.

Pedro let out a husky chuckle, voice thick with sleep. “Christ.”

He tilted his head back slightly, letting me kiss along the underside of his jaw, his hand tightening on my waist. “You’re going to kill me.”

I gave a light roll of my hips and murmured, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

His head dropped back to the pillow, a soft, strangled sound slipping from his throat as I continued teasing him, slow and lazy under the covers. Not for long just enough to make him lose his breath and whisper my name like it was holy.

Afterward, we stayed tangled together, the room still quiet except for the birds outside and the occasional hum of distant LA traffic. Pedro’s fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along my spine.

It felt dangerously close to peace.

I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down at him. “Can I say something without you freaking out?”

He turned his head to face me, eyes soft. “Yeah.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” I said, voice quiet but firm. “I mean, it was hot obviously but it wasn’t just hot. It felt… real.”

Pedro exhaled slowly, gaze flickering between my eyes and my mouth. His fingers stilled on my back.

“You’re twenty-five,” he said eventually. “And I’m...”

“Fifty,” I finished for him. “I know.”

He gave a short, humourless laugh. “I’m old enough to be your father.”

I rolled my eyes. “But you’re not. And if we’re being honest, you didn’t seem too concerned about that last night when your head was between my legs.”

That got a smirk out of him reluctant but there. “Touché.”

“I’m serious, Pedro,” I said, softer now. “I’m not asking for a ring or to move in tomorrow. I’m just saying… if you want more, I do too. I want to see where this goes. With you.”

He stared at me for a long moment. Then sat up a little, leaning back against the headboard, the sheet pooling low around his hips. “You have no idea how much I want to say yes.”

“So say it.”

“I’ve had relationships fall apart because of the age thing,” he admitted. “Not because it wasn’t working, but because I convinced myself it couldn’t work. I’ve been running from it. And then you show up in my life like this beautiful little hurricane and I’m just…” He shook his head, a faint laugh escaping. “I’m fucked.”

I reached for his hand, linking our fingers. “Maybe you’re just lucky.”

He looked at our joined hands, then up at me again properly, like he was really seeing me.

“I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” he said. “Not just the physical stuff. You make me feel… lighter. Younger, maybe. Like the weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying just droped when you walked in the room.”

I smiled, leaning in until my nose brushed his. “Then let’s not overthink it. Let’s just try.”

He didn’t answer with words.

He kissed me.

Slow and deep and sweet not like the ones from the night before. This wasn’t about lust. It was a promise. A beginning. A choice.

When we finally pulled apart, his eyes were glassy with something close to relief.

“Alright,” he murmured. “We try.”

I nodded, smiling. “We try.”

Then I pulled the blanket back up over us, curled into his chest, and let myself breathe.

Because for the first time in a long time, this didn’t feel like a mistake.

[retrogamingblog2]

[plum-bug]

Happy 20th Birthday, The Sims 2‼️🎂✨

[tangledbea]

Via Ben Balistreri on Instagram: Here’s an old image I made of Rapunzel celebrating the 60 episodes we made of “Tangled the Series” or “Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure” (depending on what the studio wanted to name it 🤣). I made this print as a thank you present to the people who gave me an opportunity to work on such a beautiful show.