#Pascal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pankowcrumbs · 2 months ago

Text

Blurred Lines X Pedro Pascal

MasterList

Word count: 6.8K

Sex implied in a movie scene but no actual smut.

Plot: You and Pedro are romantic love interests in a new movie but there is a 25 year aged gap and it gets complicated when the feelings are becoming real underneath the characters.

There’s always a strange rhythm to film sets. Long stretches of waiting around, interspersed with bursts of concentrated magic. I’d learnt that quickly, although this set Falling Slow was different. Maybe it was the subject matter, maybe it was the man I was working opposite. Or maybe it was both.

The film was a sweeping, slow-burn romance between a young academic and her older, world-weary professor. Forbidden, scandalous, but written with nuance and aching tenderness. And, yes, it was about a large age gap. Just like us.

I was twenty-five. Pedro was fifty.

On paper, it should’ve been awkward. But Pedro had this way about him all warm smiles, self-deprecating humour, and inappropriate dad jokes that made the whole cast and crew instantly at ease. He was like the sun on set. Infectious. Easy. Except when it came to scenes with me. Because when the cameras rolled, he changed. He became something else entirely. Something... intense. Something that curled low in my belly.

And today, we were filming that scene. The one everyone had been whispering about for weeks. The sex scene.

It was a closed set. Just Pedro, me, the director, the sound guy, and Elodie, our lovely but terrifyingly precise intimacy coordinator. We’d choreographed it all beforehand where my hands would go, when to kiss, how long to linger down to the second. Every move mapped like a dance. Modesty garments in place. No actual sex. All smoke and mirrors.

But even with all the prep, I could feel the tension humming under my skin the moment I stepped onto the set a dimly lit bedroom dressed with crumpled linen sheets, soft golden light, and a half-empty bottle of red wine on the nightstand.

Pedro was already there, shirt unbuttoned, lounging against the headboard, eyes flicking up when he saw me. He smiled warm and reassuring but there was something unreadable beneath it. Like he knew the weight of what we were about to do. Like he felt it too.

"You good, cariño?" he asked softly as I sat on the edge of the bed.

I nodded, smiling back. “Just thinking I might’ve had one less coffee if I’d known I’d be straddling you today.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “I’m flattered. I didn’t even have to buy you dinner first.”

Elodie raised a brow. “Alright, Pascal. Save the charm for the camera.”

We all laughed, and the tension eased just a little.

After a final rundown of the choreography, we got into position. I climbed onto the bed, straddling Pedro, knees on either side of his hips. He was warm beneath me. Solid. I could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing under my palms as I pressed them lightly to his chest.

“Scene twenty-two, take one,” came the director’s voice.

The clapper snapped.

And then the world narrowed.

In the scene, my character was supposed to kiss him first shy at first, then hungry. So I did. I leaned in, my lips brushing his gently, then deeper, letting it linger. Pedro kissed me back not as himself, but as Henry, his mouth soft but full of restraint, like he was holding back years of want.

Our movements followed the choreography: my hands sliding up his chest, his fingers trailing down my sides, my hips rolling ever so slightly.

But somewhere, somewhere between the scripted kisses and the unspoken glances, something shifted.

His hands gripped my waist a little firmer. My fingers tangled in his hair, not because the script said so, but because I wanted to. And then just barely I felt it.

The faintest shift beneath me.

A subtle, growing pressure against my inner thigh.

Pedro stilled for the briefest second. A breath caught in his throat. And then he kissed me again slower this time, deeper. Less scripted. More real.

I should’ve pulled back. I knew I should. But I didn’t.

The lines blurred.

Heat rose in my cheeks, pooling low in my stomach as I rocked against him again, instinctively, almost imperceptibly. And this time, the pressure was unmistakable. He was getting hard.

I didn’t look away. Neither did he.

His pupils were blown, lips parted, chest rising faster than it had a minute ago. I could feel his fingers flexing where they held me not guiding me, not moving me, just feeling me.

“Cut,” the director called, his voice slicing through the air like a blade.

I jumped slightly, pulling back, blinking as if I’d just surfaced from underwater.

Pedro cleared his throat, giving me a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry. Got a bit... carried away.”

The intimacy coordinator stepped in immediately, her voice gentle. “That was great work. Let’s just take five. Everyone okay?”

I nodded quickly, slipping off Pedro’s lap and wrapping the robe around myself, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of skin.

Pedro stayed sitting on the bed, running a hand through his hair, then glancing at me with a crooked grin. “If I say I’m too old for this shit, do I sound appropriately flustered or just creepy?”

I laughed, breathless, still flushed. “Bit of both, honestly.”

He chuckled, then sobered, his eyes searching mine. “Hey. You alright?”

I met his gaze. There was no sleaze in it. No arrogance. Just genuine concern. And maybe a flicker of something else.

“I’m fine,” I said softly. “It was... intense. But I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were incredible, by the way. I mean that. Professional. Committed. Very distracting.”

I raised a brow. “Distracting?”

He smirked, that familiar playful spark back in his eyes. “In the best possible way.”

We stood there for a beat, just looking at each other, and I wondered if he felt it too that slow pull. That blurred edge between fiction and something else entirely.

Then Elodie called us back.

The rest of the takes went by in a haze. We stuck to the choreography, reined it in, kept it clean. But the charge lingered. Like the air after lightning.

When we finally wrapped for the day, Pedro caught me just as I was leaving the trailer.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Walk with me?”

I nodded, tugging my coat tighter around me as we stepped into the cool evening air. The sky was bruised with twilight, the last of the crew packing up around us.

We walked in silence for a while, side by side, shoulders brushing. Then he stopped.

“Today was...” He trailed off, frowning at the gravel beneath his boots. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” I said quickly. “Not at all. If anything... I don’t know. I felt safe. Even when it got a bit... blurry.”

He looked up, meeting my eyes. “Yeah. Blurry’s a good word.”

Another pause.

Then: “You’re not just good at this, Y/N. You’re magnetic. I’ve worked with so many people, and you” he broke off, exhaling. “You’re dangerous.”

I smiled, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “So are you.”

He chuckled, the sound warm but laced with something heavier. “We’ve got more scenes like that coming up.”

“I know.”

“And we’ll keep it professional. Of course.”

“Of course.”

But neither of us moved. Neither of us turned away.

The next morning, set felt quieter than usual.

Not in the literal sense there were still cables being dragged across floors, PAs shouting about coffee orders, the wardrobe trailer buzzing with life. But there was a hush in the way people looked at us. Or maybe I was imagining that.

Maybe it was just the way he looked at me.

Pedro had always been good at eye contact playful, expressive, sincere. But today? He barely held mine for longer than a second. A quick glance. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. A soft “morning, cariño” that sounded more distant than usual.

And I understood. God, I understood.

Because the moment I’d gotten back to my flat last night, I’d played the scene over and over in my head the way his hands had felt on my waist, how his breathing had changed beneath me, the weight of his body and the way our kisses had slowed, deepened, blurred.

It had been just a scene. Technically. But we both knew it wasn’t just a scene.

Today’s call sheet had us shooting a quieter moment our characters sharing wine in the kitchen, stealing kisses in between bites of takeout. Innocent. Sweet. No sex. No straddling. Still, my heart had already begun its steady, traitorous drumbeat the moment I saw his name next to mine.

I was perched on the counter, wrapped in a faded jumper that wardrobe insisted made me look “young and lovesick”, when Pedro walked onto set.

He looked... tired. Not in the usual way actors did. This was something heavier. Like sleep hadn’t come easy. Like he’d been wrestling with something all night. His jaw was tight, his eyes shadowed.

But still, he smiled. Softly.

“You alright?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper as the crew adjusted lights around us.

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just... head’s full. Long night.”

Before I could ask more, the director called for quiet, and we rolled straight into the scene.

We were mid-take when Pedro, in character, leaned against the counter beside me, close but not touching. I offered him a chip from our fake takeout box, and his fingers brushed mine when he took it. He didn’t pull away right away. Neither did I.

Our eyes met. The silence stretched.

It wasn’t scripted.

“Cut,” the director called gently. “That was nice. Really natural. Let’s reset and go again.”

Pedro stepped away immediately, exhaling through his nose, like he’d just run a mile. I could feel the shift in him something coiled and tense, barely held together.

After the take, he hovered near me, hands shoved in his pockets. Then finally as the crew fiddled with lights and lens changes he stepped closer, voice low.

“Can I talk to you?” he murmured, eyes still not quite meeting mine.

I nodded, following him off-set to a quiet corner behind a lighting rig. The hum of activity faded, and suddenly it was just us. And the air between us felt impossibly thick.

He ran a hand through his hair, took a breath, and finally looked at me really looked at me.

“Listen,” he started, voice rough. “I need to say something, and I hope to God I don’t make this weird, but I can’t keep pretending nothing’s happening.”

My pulse spiked. “Pedro”

“I’m not going to cross a line,” he said quickly, firmly. “That’s not what this is. But yesterday… you felt it too, didn’t you?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. I did.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, like hearing it out loud confirmed some terrible truth. When he opened them again, they were filled with guilt and ache and something so tender it made my throat tighten.

“You’re twenty-five,” he said softly. “You’re brilliant and talented and beautiful and kind. And I am exactly double your age. I’ve been doing this for twenty years longer than you. I’m more famous. I have more power. That’s... that’s not a dynamic I want to mess with.”

I nodded slowly, my heart cracking open. “I know. I’ve thought about all of that too. People would talk. They’d assume the worst. I’ve already seen what they say when any young actress is seen next to an older man. They’d crucify you.”

His jaw flexed. “It’s not about them. It’s about you. I don’t ever want you to wonder if I respected you. If I saw you as just a... a pretty face or a fantasy. Because I don’t. You’re so much more than that.”

I blinked back sudden tears, overwhelmed by the gentleness in his voice.

“I don’t think you’re creepy,” I whispered. “Not even for a second. You’re not that guy.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not crossing internal lines,” he murmured, looking down. “Because I wake up thinking about you. And then I come to set and try to be professional, and then we’re kissing, and suddenly it’s not acting anymore, and I hate how easy it is to forget where the fiction ends.”

A silence fell between us. Neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed.

Finally, I said, “So what do we do?”

He looked up, eyes heavy. “We be smart. We finish this film. We keep it clean. We don’t give anyone a reason to whisper.”

“And after that?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

He hesitated.

“If you still feel the same when the dust settles... I’ll ask you to dinner. Properly. Not as a co-star. Just as me.”

My heart flipped, twisted, bloomed.

“I think I’d say yes,” I whispered.

He smiled small, tired, but real. “That scares the shit out of me.”

I laughed quietly, because it did the same to me.

We stayed there for a minute longer just two people suspended in that blurry space between right and wrong, between reality and longing. Then someone called for us, and the moment shattered.

Back to work. Back to the act.

The set is quiet, save for the sound of the camera rolling and the soft direction from the crew. The kitchen set is warmly lit, almost intimate, and it’s just the two of us in the frame. My heart races, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the scene we’re about to film or the electric tension between us. The weight of our confessions earlier still hangs in the air, unacknowledged yet palpable.

The director calls for a pause as the crew resets a light. I catch my breath, watching Pedro lean against the counter, his expression unreadable. He looks good in this scene his dark hair a little tousled, his shirt slightly undone at the collar. But there’s something deeper in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before. I know he’s feeling it too the same heat, the same unrelenting pull.

"Ready when you are," he says, his voice low, warm, almost inviting.

I swallow hard, nodding as the director signals for us to reset. My body feels light and heavy all at once. This scene it’s supposed to be a simple kiss. Nothing more. But the way Pedro looks at me makes it feel like everything else has faded away. The crew, the cameras, the world outside of this kitchen they don’t exist. It’s just him, and it’s just me.

We’re called into position, and my stomach flutters as Pedro moves closer. His hand brushes against my waist as he adjusts his position, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. It’s a light touch, but it carries an electricity I can’t ignore. This is the moment where everything we’ve been dancing around comes to a head.

The director calls out, “Action,” and I look up at Pedro, my breath catching in my throat. His eyes soften, his lips curling into a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes not completely. I feel my chest tighten, my heartbeat accelerating.

Then, we kiss. It’s slow at first, tender, like we’re still testing the waters. But there’s something else now, something different that wasn’t there before. The kiss deepens, and I can feel his hands on my back, pulling me closer. He’s no longer just my co-star he’s the man I’ve been trying to keep my distance from, and now he’s here, wrapped up in my arms, his lips on mine.

And for a moment, everything blurs. The scene, the cameras, even the crew they’re all nothing compared to the heat I feel building between us. It’s as if we can’t stop ourselves anymore, as if the line between acting and reality is fading.

“Cut,” the director calls. But it’s not a relief. It feels like a premature end to something we both want to continue. I pull back slightly, our lips just a breath apart, and I see it in his eyes desire, conflict, the same storm I feel swirling inside me.

“Sorry,” I murmur, stepping back to give us both space. I’m not sorry for the kiss, not exactly. But I am sorry for the mess this is going to cause. “That was…”

“I know,” Pedro interrupts softly. His voice is low, almost a whisper. “It’s getting harder to pretend, isn’t it?”

I nod, unable to speak. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to convince myself it’s just the job, that the attraction is all part of the performance. But this? This is something different. Something real. And that makes everything so much more complicated.

The director seems to notice the shift, and he smiles approvingly. “That was perfect. We got what we needed. Let’s take a break, everyone.” The crew begins to pack up, but I can’t shake the tension in the air. It lingers, thick and palpable.

Pedro stays where he is, watching me carefully. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I can see the internal battle on his face. He knows this is all so wrong so forbidden but the chemistry between us doesn’t lie. He’s feeling it too.

The lights are blinding, and the cameras flash relentlessly as we make our way down the red carpet. The press tour for our film is in full swing, and I can feel the tension building inside me. Pedro walks beside me, as always with that calm, collected presence of his, but I know he’s feeling the weight of the questions just as much as I am.

“Y/N, Pedro! Over here!” A reporter calls out. They wave their hands, trying to catch our attention. We both smile, the practiced, polished smiles we’ve been wearing all day.

“Your on-screen chemistry has everyone talking,” another reporter chimes in. “What’s the secret to that incredible dynamic?”

Pedro chuckles lightly beside me, his arm casually brushing against mine as we pose for a photo. "I guess we just have a lot of fun with it," he says with his usual charm. "But, honestly, the whole thing is a team effort. It’s about trust, right?”

I nod, glancing over at him. There’s something almost too knowing in his eyes, but the smile on his face says it all. “Exactly. It’s all about trust and respect. We’re both in it together, and that’s what makes everything flow so naturally.”

Another reporter jumps in with a question that makes my heart skip a beat. “So, there’s been a lot of talk about the age gap between you two. How did that affect your dynamic, both on and off screen?”

I feel Pedro’s hand subtly brush against the small of my back as I step forward to answer. It’s almost imperceptible, but the touch still sends a wave of heat rushing through me.

“Well, I’ll say this,” I begin, keeping my voice steady, even though I’m aware of the weight of every word. “Pedro was always incredibly respectful, both in the work and outside of it. He’s very aware of the power he holds in this situation, and he made sure that I never felt pressured or uncomfortable in any way. It’s something that’s really important to me, especially with the age difference.”

Pedro turns toward me then, his smile warm, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that tells me he’s not quite as unaffected by all this as he’s trying to seem. “Yeah, it’s not lost on me that I have a certain... position, you know?” His gaze shifts, and I see the sincerity in his eyes. “But it’s all about making sure that everyone feels safe and respected. That’s the priority.”

The reporters are eating this up, their cameras clicking nonstop as we both speak. They want more, but they’re not going to get anything out of us that feels too revealing.

“I think we’ve both been really aware of the situation,” I continue, glancing back at Pedro to make sure we’re on the same page. He gives me a small nod, clearly in agreement. “We’ve worked together as equals, and that’s what makes the chemistry on screen feel so natural. It’s a partnership.”

Another reporter presses further. “So, with that in mind, do you think the age gap affected the way you approached the romantic scenes?”

Pedro gives a soft laugh, his hand running through his hair. “I don’t think it’s something we dwelled on. We’ve been doing this for a long time, both of us, and we know how to keep things professional. Of course, there’s always a certain level of vulnerability in those scenes, but you can’t let the circumstances get in the way of what you’re trying to achieve artistically.”

“Exactly,” I agree, trying to keep things light but feeling the tension in my chest as the press continues to ask about the dynamics between us. “We had an amazing team around us, especially the intimacy coordinator. Everything was choreographed with such care. So, honestly, it just made the process feel safe. And that’s key to making the chemistry believable.”

One reporter, seemingly a little more daring, steps forward and lowers their voice. “There’s obviously so much palpable chemistry between you two are you ever worried about people reading into it too much? I mean, you’re clearly very comfortable with each other. And let’s face it, the age gap is something that has a lot of people talking.”

I see Pedro stiffen beside me, his jaw tightening just slightly. He’s trying to keep his composure, but I can feel his internal conflict. I know what he’s thinking: This is a line we’re toeing, and if we’re not careful, it could all unravel.

“Well,” I say quickly, trying to steer the conversation, “Pedro and I have worked incredibly hard to develop this connection. It’s all been about creating a space where we both felt comfortable, respected, and safe. And yes, the chemistry is definitely there, but we’re also very aware of how people can interpret things. We have a responsibility to each other, as actors, to make sure we’re always in sync.”

Pedro’s eyes flick to mine then, something unspoken passing between us. He smiles again, but this time there’s a sadness in it, like he knows that the truth is always just beneath the surface, and yet we can’t allow ourselves to fully acknowledge it.

“Y/N is an amazing actress,” he says, turning to me. “She makes it so easy to get lost in the scene. But the most important thing is that we always communicate. Always make sure the other person is comfortable. And I think that’s what made the whole process work.”

I smile at him, feeling my heart swell a little. I’ve praised him countless times today, and I know he’s doing the same for me. The interviews, the questions they’re all just a front, a way to avoid saying what’s really on our minds.

But the truth is, we’re both terrified. Not of the chemistry or the age gap but of what it means if we were to ever let this connection spill over into something real. It’s not just the press, or the fans, or anyone else watching us that’s the problem. It’s that neither of us wants to cross that line. Not yet, at least. Not in a way that can’t be undone.

As we move on to the next round of questions, we’re both exhausted, but the answers keep coming, just as rehearsed, just as careful. Every word a mask for the real truth, the one we can’t say aloud.

I think Pedro feels it too the tension, the pull. But he’s always been good at keeping a straight face, keeping his emotions close. And for now, that’s what I’ll do too.

Because as much as we might want to, we can’t allow ourselves to fall too far into this. Not yet. Not when the consequences would be so much greater than the fleeting thrill of what we feel in this moment.

One month after the movie’s release the buzz still hasn’t died down.

Even with the press tour wrapped and the red carpets rolled away, the film has taken on a life of its own living, breathing, and growing in whispers and headlines, most of them no longer about the movie itself.

They're about us.

Pedro and I have been texting constantly. At first, it was innocent. A few “saw this meme, made me think of you” or “did you see that fan edit?” But slowly quietly it shifted. The texts got longer, deeper. Little confessions snuck in. “I couldn’t sleep, so I was thinking about that night we wrapped filming...” or “Do you ever replay our kitchen scene in your head?”

Now it’s every day. Every night. Sometimes I fall asleep with my phone in my hand, mid-conversation with him, and wake up to a sleepy reply at 3 a.m.

We’re not dating. We haven’t said that out loud. But we’re something.

Something complicated.

Something neither of us can define, because we’re both too scared to say the words.

So we start small.

A coffee run. Somewhere tucked away in a quiet part of the city. We wear sunglasses and hats and keep our heads down. But people notice. Of course they do. The blurry photos hit Twitter before we even finish our cappuccinos.

The headlines follow within the hour:

“Pedro Pascal & Y/N Seen Grabbing Coffee Post-Press Tour: Just Friends or Something More?”

Our publicists are fast. The statement goes out before the afternoon:

“Pedro and Y/N have remained close friends since working on the film. They’re simply catching up and celebrating the success of their project.”

And maybe that’s true. Maybe we are just catching up.

But then it happens again. Another coffee. Then brunch. Then dinner with a group, but we still leave together.

The press might be playing along, but the fans?

They know better.

And they’re relentless.

It’s a rainy Thursday night when we finally cave and just let ourselves be still for once. Pedro’s place is warm and quiet, a world away from the noise. We’re on his couch, legs tangled beneath a throw blanket, my head on his chest. He smells like cedarwood and clean laundry, and his heartbeat is soft beneath my cheek.

He’s reading a book. I’m scrolling.

Bad combo.

“Oh my god,” I say, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Listen to this one: ‘Y’all, they’re not just friends. Look at the way he looks at her during interviews. That’s a man down BAD.’”

Pedro lets out a low chuckle, still not looking up from his book. “They’re observant, I’ll give them that.”

I keep scrolling, barely blinking. “This one says: ‘They think they’re being subtle, but the tension is screaming. Pedro blinked eleven times when she said his name.’”

That gets a real laugh from him. “Okay, that’s impressive. Eleven?”

“I’m serious! I think there’s a spreadsheet. These people are invested.”

I scroll again, my stomach sinking a little now. “Here we go... ‘Let’s not forget the age gap. I don’t care how good the chemistry is it’s inappropriate.’”

I feel Pedro tense slightly beneath me, just for a second.

I try to laugh it off. “Some people are really loud on the internet.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Then, gently, he reaches down and takes the phone from my hand, placing it on the coffee table.

“Hey,” he says softly. I glance up at him. “You don’t need to read that stuff.”

I bite my lip. “I know. I just... it’s hard to ignore. It’s like they’re waiting for us to mess up. Like we’re already doing something wrong, even though we’re not even...”

“Even though we’re not even saying what this is?” he finishes for me.

I nod.

He sighs, his hand finding mine under the blanket. His fingers are warm, steady. “People are always going to find a reason to tear something down. Especially something that doesn’t fit their version of what’s acceptable or normal.”

He pauses, then adds, “But this you and me this is real. Whatever it is, however it started... I’m not playing pretend anymore.”

My breath catches.

“I think about you constantly,” he continues, voice low and sure. “Even when I’m trying not to. And I’ve tried, believe me. I’ve run every reason through my head for why this shouldn’t happen. The age gap. The public eye. The press. But none of it matters when I’m with you.”

I blink, tears suddenly pricking the corners of my eyes. “Pedro...”

He reaches up, brushing his thumb along my cheek. “You’re smart, and kind, and brilliant at what you do. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. And I’m here. I’m real. And I’m... I’m falling in love with you.”

The words hang between us, so soft and certain, I swear the world goes still.

I sit up slightly, just enough to look at him properly. He’s nervous I can see it in the way he swallows hard, waiting for me to respond.

So I kiss him.

It’s slow, sweet, careful like we’re finally stepping into something we’ve both wanted for months. His hand cradles the back of my neck, anchoring me. When we pull apart, his forehead rests against mine.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

“Me too,” he admits. “But I’m more scared of not trying.”

We don’t say anything after that. We just settle back onto the couch, wrapped in each other, the rain still tapping gently against the windows.

And for once, there’s no press. No fans. No judgment.

Just us.

Three Months Post-Release we went on a holiday together to Amalfi Coast, Italy

What started as a “casual friends getaway” to Italy Pedro’s idea, after months of carefully planned dinners and movie nights behind drawn blinds turns into the headline of every entertainment outlet before our second gelato cone has even started to melt.

The pictures hit the internet first.

Pedro and I on a yacht, sun spilling across our skin, his hand around my waist as I laugh at something he whispered against my shoulder.

Then one of him pressing a kiss to my temple, his sunglasses pushed up into his curls, his fingers twined with mine.

Another of us walking along a cobblestone street in Positano, clearly mid-conversation, clearly not aware of the lens trained on us from a balcony above.

And the one that makes every news outlet spiral: us in a quiet candlelit restaurant, sitting side by side instead of across the table, my head tipped against his shoulder, his hand resting gently on my thigh, both of us smiling like there’s no one else in the world.

By the time we’re back in the hotel that night, our phones are buzzing nonstop.

Pedro scrolls through a few headlines and hands me his phone, half-laughing, half-terrified.

“Pedro Pascal, 50, and Co-Star Y/N, 25, Spark Romance Rumors With Intimate Italian Getaway”

“Too Close to Call It Platonic: Inside the Blossoming Off-Screen Relationship Fans Saw Coming”

“From On-Screen Chemistry to Real-Life Romance? Internet Reacts to Viral Yacht Kiss”

I let out a shaky breath. “Well. Subtle isn’t our strong suit, is it?”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“No,” I say softly. “We weren’t. But they’re going to have opinions.”

Pedro is quiet for a moment, then presses a kiss to my forehead. “Let them. As long as we’re clear, and respectful, and... honest.”

We are. So we act fast.

The joint statement goes out the next morning:

“After the completion of our recent project together, we found ourselves growing close in a way neither of us anticipated. With mutual respect, open communication, and the support of those closest to us, we are exploring this relationship with full awareness of the scrutiny that may come with it. We want to be transparent in saying that our dynamic developed after the film wrapped and was not present during production. The age difference has been part of many conversations between us privately, and we’ve approached this connection with care, mutual consent, and a shared understanding of the power dynamics involved. Thank you for allowing us the space to navigate this thoughtfully and respectfully.”

It’s careful. It's honest. It’s us.

Still, the world explodes.

Some are skeptical. Some are cruel. But the overwhelming majority especially fans support it. The same people who tracked every blink in press interviews now stitch together fan edits of our vacation photos, pairing them with dreamy music and captions like “this wasn’t acting, it was real all along.”

There are comment threads filled with speculation:

“You can tell how much care Pedro has for her. Look at the way he moves with her protective, not possessive.”

“Y/N always looks so comfortable around him. Like she knows he’s a safe place.”

And others more direct:

“I don’t care about the age gap, I care about how happy they look. Let them live.”

We do our best to stay grounded. For every sweet photo that gets posted, there are five blurry ones taken through restaurant windows or behind shrubs. I learn to ignore the flash of phones in the corners of cafés. Pedro tightens his hold on my hand when the paparazzi try to corner us leaving a small museum.

There’s one day hot, bright, filled with salt air and sun where we walk through a market in Ravello and split an ice cream cone because mine melted too fast. A fan catches it on video and uploads it with the caption: “They’re so in love it’s ridiculous.”

I want to argue. I want to say “we’re just figuring it out.” That we haven’t put a label on it, that we still talk more than we kiss, that some nights I stay up wondering if we’re really allowed to feel this way.

But then I look at Pedro.

The way he always lets me answer first in interviews, never interrupting. The way he sits just a little closer in photos, but never too close. The way he constantly checks in with soft glances and quiet, whispered questions: Are you okay? Are you overwhelmed? Do you want to go home?

And I know.

I’m allowed to feel this way. We both are.

The car door opens.

And for a split second, I hesitate. Not because I’m nervous about the flashing lights or the ocean of voices waiting to shout my name but because this time, I’m not walking this carpet alone.

I step out anyway, smoothing my hand over the satin of my dress as the warm Los Angeles evening hits my skin. The moment I reach back, his fingers find mine. No searching. No fumbling.

Just instinct.

Pedro’s hand is warm and steady as he steps out beside me, his other hand gently brushing the inside of my wrist in a quiet, grounding gesture. I glance at him, just for a moment. He’s smiling already soft, familiar, like this is just any other day between us. Not the moment the entire world has been waiting for.

Click. Flash. Clickclickclick.

The sound is deafening. But I keep my shoulders back and my chin high, hand wrapped in his.

We walk together down the carpet. Not arm-in-arm. Not anything too deliberate. Just two people... tethered.

And when the reporters catch on really catch on it becomes a blur. Questions shouted. Cameras flashing faster. One voice yells, “Is this official now?” and Pedro just lets out that low, breathy laugh of his. The one that says I’m not telling you everything, but I’m definitely not denying it either.

I feel his hand give mine a squeeze. I don’t look at him. If I do, I’ll melt into this feeling too much. And I need to stay composed professional. It’s what we agreed on. Even if we’re both failing miserably at hiding how giddy this feels.

We’re ushered toward one of the bigger outlets. I recognise the host. We’ve talked to her before back when all of this was just about the movie.

Now? She’s grinning like she’s sitting on a goldmine.

“Y/N, Pedro so good to see you together tonight!” she beams, and I can’t help it I smile too. Because despite the nerves and the constant beat of my heart trying to break through my ribs… I am happy.

“Lovely to see you again,” I say, my voice steady even though my hand is still clutching Pedro’s like a lifeline.

She dives right in. Of course she does. The Italy photos, the yacht kiss, the “mysterious gelato date.” I nearly roll my eyes but Pedro’s already laughing beside me, and it makes me laugh too.

He leans over, mutters, “Told you the yacht would haunt us,” and I elbow him gently.

Then the interviewer shifts. Her smile softens. Her tone goes from playful to genuinely curious.

“In all seriousness… you’ve both released such a thoughtful statement about your relationship. But people want to know what’s it really been like navigating something so personal, so publicly?”

Pedro lets me speak first. He always does.

I take a breath.

“It’s been… a process. But one we’ve been really intentional about,” I say slowly, making sure I mean every word. “We care about each other deeply, and we knew that if we were going to share any of this with the world, it had to be on our terms. Carefully. Gently. With respect.”

I feel Pedro’s hand brush the small of my back, and it steadies me.

“There were so many conversations,” I continue. “About power, about timing, about agency. Pedro’s been incredibly aware of his position throughout all of this. He’s never once made me feel pressured. He’s always made sure I felt safe and heard.”

She turns to him then, and he smiles at me before answering.

“She said everything I wanted to say,” he replies. “But I’ll just add that… being older, I was conscious from the start that I didn’t want to create any imbalance. I didn’t want to cross a line or risk anything we’ve built, professionally or personally. I just… wanted to honour her. And this.”

God. The way he says that.

Honour me.

I think it’s that moment that hits the crowd. Because the interviewer visibly softens. The air around us shifts. And suddenly, it’s not a story anymore. Not a scandal or a headline or a photo op.

It’s love.

Raw and warm and kind.

When the interview ends, we walk the rest of the carpet like it’s nothing. Like we haven’t just publicly opened a door we’ve been peeking through for months.

But I know what’s waiting online already. The screen grabs. The tweets. The shipping hashtags.

And for once, I don’t care. Because when we’re finally alone in the car again Pedro lacing his fingers through mine with a breathless little, “Well, that went alright” I don’t feel scared.

I feel seen. And protected. And quietly, fully adored.

The moment the hotel room door clicks shut behind us, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath since the car ride over.

Pedro doesn’t say anything at first. He just slips off his jacket and tosses it gently over the back of the armchair, his fingers already moving to unbutton his shirt, just the top few buttons. Casual. Comfortable.

Safe.

I kick off my heels with a quiet groan and lean against the wall for a second, still in my dress, makeup still flawless under the dim golden light of the suite. It’s quiet here. No flashing lights, no crowd. Just muted city sounds through the window and the soft hum of air conditioning.

“Do you want to take it off?” Pedro asks gently, nodding toward my dress.

I smirk. “Smooth.”

He laughs and holds up both hands. “I meant the dress, because you’ve been yanking at the zipper all night.”

I sigh dramatically and spin around. “Then help me, smooth talker.”

His fingers are warm and steady as he finds the zipper and drags it down, slow and careful. It’s nothing we haven’t done before, on set or off but tonight, it feels different. Not charged. Just… soft. Unspoken.

When I step out of the dress, I leave it draped over the back of the couch and tug one of his oversized T-shirts from the open suitcase on the chair. He watches me pull it over my head with the tiniest smile.

“Was that mine?”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” I mutter, sinking onto the bed.

Pedro walks over, tugging the throw blanket from the foot of the bed, and wraps it around us both as he sinks down beside me. His arm slips easily around my shoulders, and I tuck into his side like muscle memory.

Everything feels quieter here. Like the world left us alone, just for tonight.

“You were amazing,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my hair.

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it again tomorrow too.”

I turn to face him slightly, my cheek pressed to his chest. “Do you think it was okay? What we said? How it came across?”

He hums thoughtfully, fingers tracing lazy shapes on my arm. “I think it was honest. And that’s the best we can do.”

I nod, letting the silence settle again.

For a few minutes, we just lie there. The weight of the evening slowly peeling away from our shoulders. The heels. The suits. The expectation.

“You know what I keep thinking about?” I whisper eventually.

Pedro tilts his head, brushing his lips against my forehead. “Tell me.”

“That first day we met. The chemistry test. When I walked in and you were so calm. And I was shaking so hard I couldn’t hold my water bottle.”

He smiles into my hair. “You hid it well.”

I pull back just enough to see his face, the tired lines near his eyes, the softness there now that he doesn’t have to perform. “And now here we are. Sharing a hotel bed, still kind of pretending it’s all professional.”

He chuckles. “I think we’re way past professional.”

His hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, and he looks at me like I’m the only person on the planet.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs. “About falling. About being here, being real.”

My chest tightens. In a good way. In a how-is-this-my-life kind of way.

“I know,” I whisper. “I believe you.”

We kiss then. Soft and slow. No cameras. No stage directions. Just his lips and mine and the quiet hum of something real threading between us.

And when we fall asleep tangled up in each other, wrapped in the blanket and the safety of everything we’ve built, I let myself believe this might just be the beginning of something that finally, beautifully, isn’t pretending at all.

#fanfiction #reader #x reader #one shot #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro #pascal

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orodaeh · 5 months ago

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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 :)

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#pedro pascal #frankie morales #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #joel miller #pedrito #marcus acacius #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal x reader #pedrohub #pedro cute #pedro pascals heart #pedro #pascal #pascal love #he is adorable and i am actually too young to say that but lets just ignore that fact

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pascal-princess · 6 months ago

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‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ 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

#joel miller #pedro pascal #pascal #pedro #joel miller imagine #dark!joel miller #dark!fic #the last of us x reader #the last of us #lana del rey #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #smut #fic #imagine #fanfic

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 months ago

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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 best 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.

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